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theharddeck · 5 months

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santa baby (been an awful good girl) // coyote x f!reader

pairing: javy coyote machado x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: coyote dresses up as santa + reader is only human = reader and coyote get it on in santa's workshop

word count: 6.6k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: unprotected sex, explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, slight overstimulation, lowkey desecrating the concept of christmas but like in a hot way

A/N: i...i have no excuse. thinking of javy being dorky during sex has effectively ruined me. merry chrysler

The second Sunday in December was the tree-lighting at Miramar.

The event entailed, of course, the lighting of the tree at the center of base, but also a crafts market, an ugly-Christmas sweater competition, and breakfast-for-dinner, but most importantly: a meet and greet with Santa.

While it wasn’t required attendance for any of the Service members, most everyone who wasn’t on leave found some way to be involved. You found yourself at the cookie decorating station, trying to teach kids a modicum of restraint, and sneaking glances at your boyfriend over in Santa’s Workshop.

That’s right, Javy Machado – distinguished Lieutenant, Louisiana’s finest, and your personal hero – was currently drowning in red velvet and faux ermine, dressed up as jolly old Saint Nick. His diamond-sharp jawline was hidden behind a monstrosity of a fake beard, but he had managed to master the twinkle in his eye. The night was winding down, but he showed no waning energy, just endearing interest in each and every child that made its way into the small structure.

You could just barely see him through the front window of the Workshop, but every time you looked over at him, your heart fluttered.

It was the way he hunched his shoulders, clearly trying to diminish his size to make himself seem less intimidating.

It was the way he met each child’s eye, exuding comfort and kindness.

It was how after a couple of minutes, even the shyest child seemed to relax against him, how their smiles brightened and their giggles echoed around the family center.

You knew Javy was a total sweetheart, but it made you so proud to see how special he was making this Christmas for each of these kids, some of whom were having a dark season with their parents being deployed.

There was a clatter and you looked away from the workshop to find RJ, one of Payback’s kids, looking guiltily up at you, holding an entire paper plate covered in Snowman sprinkles. The faint outline of a sugar cookie was visible under the blue-and-white pile, but not by much.

Good thing it was only the ninetieth time this had happened today.

“Happens all the time,” you said brightly, keeping your voice happy so the kid wouldn’t panic, and thinking of a diversionary topic. “Did you see Santa already?”

RJ nodded, willingly distracted.

“He said he’d get me a Lego set!” he said, the slight lisp in his voice absolutely adorable. “A Lego set!” you repeated, folding the plate slightly so that you could pour the excess sprinkles into a dixie cup. “One of the Star Wars ones??”

“Yep!” RJ told you excitedly, his eyes widening, the sprinkles dilemma forgotten. “With an X-wing, so I can have a plane, like Daddy!”

You finished pouring off the sprinkles, and turned the still-overly-sprinkled-but-now-recognizable-as-a-cookie plate back to RJ. He grinned up at you through a missing tooth and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Payback might be nearly as bossy as Mav when you were up in the air, but he did have damn cute children.

You were halfway through helping RJ with a sleigh-shaped cookie when the Christmas music they’d been cranking turned off with reverb, and someone cheerily announced over the loudspeaker that it was time for the festivities to draw to a close. Overhead lights turned on, dispelling the ambiance created by thousands of christmas lights, but you were halfway through the cookie, so you two kept working on it.

What were they going to do?

At some point, Reuben came over with a couple wrapped packages tucked under his arm, giving you a grateful look for keeping an eye on his son.

The only warning you had was RJ’s reverent gasp and the widening of his eyes before you felt familiar hands on your waist and an unfamiliar beard scratching your neck.

“Santa,” RJ breathed, and you tried to delicately step out of Javy’s grasp as he realized he couldn’t exactly greet his real-life girlfriend while there were still kids who believed in the magic of Santa within eyesight.

Javy cleared his throat and you pressed your lips together to hide a smile as you watched your boyfriend stand up straighter under the boy’s worshipful gaze.

“RJ,” Javy said, his voice pitched lower than normal, to disguise it, and you noticed he was avoiding Reuben’s gaze pretty determinedly. “Doing some serious cookie decorating, I see?”

RJ nodded animatedly, holding up his plate to show “Santa” and nearly tipping both cookies off it in the process. Reuben dove for it, and you tried not to laugh, leaning lightly against Javy. You noticed absently that he must’ve taken the suit padding out, because you could feel his stomach through the red velvet.

Unfortunately, when RJ looked up from his plate, he noticed your lean, as well as Javy’s hand on your hip. He frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, and he tipped his head up at Javy.

“That’s Coyote’s girlfriend,” he told Javy archly.

“Uh,” Javy stalled, and you again found yourself fighting the urge to laugh, “yes. And…that’s why I want to steal her away for a moment. Coyote’s been a really good boy this year, and I want to talk about what kind of present he would want.”

RJ’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something else, before Reuben gave an exasperated sigh.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered, reaching for RJ’s cookie plate, effectively poaching the boy’s attention.

“Let’s show these cookies to your Ma, yeah, Junior?” he asked, before turning back to you and Javy. “And you two– behave.”

He spun on his heel, and RJ waved enthusiastically to you before following his father happily, and you turned to Javy, smiles breaking over both of your faces.

“Not your most graceful, lieutenant,” you teased him, but Javy was already looking around the recreation center.

With the overhead lights on, and the Christmas music off, it was rapidly emptying. Teams had already been tasked to come in tomorrow to clean it out, so for now everyone was clearing out, trying to get their kids home before the sugar crash set in, and Javy’s gloved hand found one of yours.

“Come on,” he said quietly, in his normal voice, and you followed him instinctively when he tugged lightly on your grasp.

You were surprised when he led you back over to Santa’s Workshop, and you ducked into the entryway.

It wasn’t a large space, something constructed of red and green painted plywood pieces, barely big enough to accommodate Santa’s throne. The throne itself was a replica of the Iron Throne that Fanboy had paid a preposterous amount for, and had been convinced to donate to the greater good. He had then had to be led away from in agony, as Army Wives sanded down the pointy edges, and repainted the swords as candy canes.

“Nice digs, Santa,” you said wryly, your sentence ending on a squeak as Javy pulled you into his arms.

Kissing him with the fake beard was funny, but his mouth was distracting enough that you soon forgot.

You melted into him as you always did, your hands pressed against his broad chest. Javy’s strong arms banded around you as he kissed you hungrily, like he’d been waiting, like he’d been missing you. He tasted like peppermint, like the candy canes the “elves” (Natasha and Jake) had forced on him any time he started looking bored.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, blinking up at him slowly.

Javy smiled at you softly, his own chest rising and falling underneath your hands. He was so unbelievably handsome, always, but you loved his sweet smile.

Especially how it looked from this close.

“Hi,” you whispered, and Javy groaned, leaning down to kiss you again.

His tongue swept into your mouth, and your knees almost buckled, causing you to cling to his shoulders. He was so strong, so big, and you knew he loved holding you, nearly as much as you treasured being held.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt your skin heat. You were just wearing a festive sweater under a pinafore-style skirt, aiming for comfort and festivity over something that accentuated your figure.

“It’s just a–” you tried, but Javy made a disapproving sound and kissed you firmly, interrupting your rationalization.

“Beautiful,” he insisted, after a moment, and you nodded dazedly.

Javy hummed, approving, and he shifted to pull off his gloves. A moment later, you felt his index finger under your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, and his kiss turned gentle, indulgent.

“I could feel you watching me, you know,” Javy murmured, between kisses.

You shivered when his thumb brushed over your jaw.

“Hard not to,” you managed to say.

Javy laughed, a low, warm sound, that you felt like a caress.

“What is it, honey,” he teased, brushing light kisses up your cheek, and ducking his head to reach behind your ear, “the red velvet doing it for you?”

You let out a breathy gasp when you felt his teeth ghost over your earlobe.

“‘Course not,” you mumbled, but it didn’t sound convincing.

It actually wasn’t the red velvet.

It wasn’t even how sweet he had been with the kids, which was pretty darn sweet.

“What was it?” Javy asked, as he kissed down your neck.

You shivered as his tongue and teeth teased you. When he reached the collar of your sweater, he nosed it aside, and sucked lightly at the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“The glasses,” you blurted.

You felt him hesitate, and he pulled back, looking at you amusedly.

“The glasses?” he echoed, and you tried not to squirm.

“Well, and the beard,” you admitted. “Not the actual aesthetics, just, like, the idea of them…the idea of older you. Silver fox Javy, you know, graying and—”

With a whoosh, the overhead lighting in the recreation center shut off.

You turned to look out the window, surprised to find that no one else was left in the recreation center. They had cleared out quickly and the large room was suddenly dark, except for the lights strung around the “roof” of Santa’s Workshop.

When you looked back at Javy, his teeth gleamed as he smiled.

His hand trailed down his arm till it tangled with yours, and he pulled you deeper into the workshop.

“Javy, we should go–” you started to protest, but you broke off when he sat on the throne.

The twinkling lights cast a golden glow into the otherwise dark room, and even in the shadows, Javy looked so damn sexy. He shifted in the seat, his thighs spreading, and planted his boots on the ground. He still held your hand, and you really did feel like you were standing in front of a throne, a queen to his king.

“It’s just us, honey,” he said, his voice deep, and you were having a hard time coming up with a response. Not when he looked this good, not when he was looking at you like that, not when you could already see the outline of his hardening dick against the inside of his velvet suit.

God, what a thought–velvet and Javy.

Your mouth practically watered, and when Javy tugged lightly on your hand, you let him pull you. You stood between his spread legs, the throne tall enough that you barely had to bend down to kiss him. This kiss was impossibly slow, leisurely.

Javy’s hands trailed down your body, settling under your ass as he pulled you closer to him. You whimpered as his touch pulled you flush against him, his body hard against you, and his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ran over his chest, around the back of his neck, anchoring you to him.

His big hands kneaded your ass, and you whimpered against his mouth when he guided you slightly sideways, against where his dick rested on his thigh.

You felt your kisses turn lazy as he overwhelmed you.

His big hands, his strong thighs, his hot cock, his broad chest…you felt your knees weaken as the kiss deepened.

Javy knew, and he pulled back, giving you space. His hand found yours again, and he led you from between his legs, before reaching under your skirt.

His touch was slow, certain, as his fingers trailed up your thighs to your waistband, where he found the edge of your tights, and slid them down your legs. He went slowly, and you were grateful for it; your head was spinning and you didn’t feel like you could catch your breath. You watched as he pulled the tights down your thighs, prompting you to step out of your shoes first.

“Here, honey,” he prompted, guiding you to balance on the thick toes of his boots, so you wouldn’t have to stand on the floor, before he peeled your tights off.

That thoughtfulness, combined with the determined carefulness with which he undressed you, sent another wave of arousal for you, and you followed his instruction without thinking.

His hands were back on your legs then, reaching under your skirt again, up and up, and you shivered when his hands ghosted over the front of your underwear.

“Were you telling the truth?” he murmured, his voice low, and you pressed your lips together to trap a whine inside your throat. “Am I gonna find you worked up under here?”

You weren’t sure until his fingers pressed between your thighs.

And then you moaned, you couldn’t help it. Javy’s fingers pressed into your center over your panties, his touch collecting your arousal and you felt the drag of wetness between his finger, the thin fabric, and your skin.

Javy hummed his approval, and his pleasure had you bowing into him.

“Javy,” you whispered, not sure what you were asking for, but certain he would know.

“C’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling you into his lap, his hands not leaving your panties, but still keeping you covered by your skirt. He guided you over his thighs, your legs spreading to rest in his lap, and you immediately were obsessed with the feeling of velvet stretched over his strong thighs.

You looked up at his expression, and you felt your heart flutter.

Christ, he was so beautiful.

His expression was one of intense focus, but the panes of his face were so gorgeous, all the more for the fondness between the both of you.

You pressed yourself up to kiss him, knowing you’d stumble over finding the words to tell him. Javy’s lips were so soft, his mouth so gentle, and the hand that wasn’t under your skirt cupped the back of your neck. The tenderness in his touch coupled with the strength in his hands was a heady combination, and you melted into his arms again.

After a couple long, sweet kisses, you felt his hands move against you.

You broke away from his kiss, breath catching as Javy dragged a thick finger over your now soaking panties.

“You’re so warm here,” Javy murmured, his voice almost reverent, and your hands splayed over the red coat, grasping whatever you could. The pressure of his hand and the deep timbre of his voice were enough to drive you mad, and he knew it.

“You feel so good, honey, so inviting…” Javy continued, and he pushed your panties aside.

You whimpered at the first brush of his fingers against your core, slickened by your arousal, and warm against your skin. Your fingers scrambled to undo the red coat, fumbling with the buttons until you had the jacket undone, and you could feel the familiar cotton of his white undershirt.

It wasn’t enough, you needed his skin.

“Off,” you mumbled, and Javy chuckled as you pulled weekly at the bottom of his undershirt. It took some maneuvering, but you got the jacket off, then the undershirt, and then decided the beard and hat – while they had their charm – needed to go as well.

And then you were breathless for a whole other reason.

“You look like a damn fireman calendar,” you told him, your voice somewhere between amused and chagrined at the perfection that was a shirtless Javy Machado in red velvet pants and thick black boots, reclining in a garish throne. You decided that indulging the fantasy couldn’t hurt, and you guided the suit jacket up over his shoulders again. You tipped your head to the side, regarding your amused boyfriend.

“Some mom in New Jersey would lose her shit,” you told him honestly, and it probably should’ve made you jealous, but it made you just so damn thankful he was all yours.

You watched Javy’s abs contract as he laughed, pulling you back to him, and you smiled as he kissed you. You loved that it was like this with him – playful and fun, as well as just so fucking hot.

It only took a moment for the laughter to fade from your kiss, and Javy’s hand was back inside your panties a moment later.

He pulled a finger through your folds and your head fell back at his tease. He gathered your arousal with his finger, pulling his hand back up to the top of your slit. He found your clit easily, a familiar path, and when he pressed firmly, your legs jolted.

“You’re Coyote’s girl, aren’t you?” he said thickly, and you wondered if he was thinking back to what RJ had said, or if he just liked the thought of you being his. Either way, you nodded weakly, overwhelmed by the pattern he traced over your clit.

Javy turned his head so he could kiss your neck again, his lips pressing into you, tongue teasing you in a motion that mirrored his fingers at your core. You leaned into him, loving his strength and his focus on you. His hand, his mouth, his broad chest, all had your head swimming, and building up a heat within you.

Your hips were moving, rocking into him, and you felt empty, needy.

“Answer the question, honey,” he murmured into your neck, and he pulled back his hand to readjust.

“Yes, Javy,” you breathed, forming the words feeling like a gargantuan effort, “yours.”

“Damn right,” he said, and then a finger was pushing through your folds as his thumb traced over your clit.

You moaned as he pushed into you, a steady intrusion and just what you wanted. You rocked your hips into his touch, seeking more, deeper, and Javy chuckled.

“Easy, baby,” he said softly, and you shook your head.

“Need you, Javy,” you protested. His finger was thick, brushing into you, but you knew it wasn’t enough, knew it wasn’t what you needed. He grunted, shifting again, and then another finger was between your legs. Javy’s hand on your hip angled your hips downward, and your mouth fell open when he lifted his palm so you could grind your clit against it.

His fingers inside you were pressing deep, stretching you, and you welcomed the width of them as you ground into his palm.

“Baby, fuck,” you panted, and you felt his hips jerk up into you.

Which had the opposite effect than what he had intended.

Because his fingers were good, and his hand was good, and everything felt so fucking good– but you knew what was between his legs. And his hand wasn’t enough.

“You need to be fucked, don’t you, honey,” Javy asked hotly, his voice low in your ear. You nodded desperately, your hips working against his fingers eagerly. He’d fill you so good, fuck you so full, and you needed it, needed him.

You were overheating in your sweater, nearly wild with wanting him so bad, but you were taking everything he’d give you, always would.

“Please, baby,” you whispered, and it sounded like a whine. You felt his hips press up again, an unintentional response, and your hips worked faster.

“‘s too fast, sweetheart,” Javy said, but it sounded like maybe he was trying to convince himself too. “You’re not ready…”

You moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder.

You knew he was right, knew you had to be worked up to taking his cock, but you wanted to be full of him, wanted to feel like his, wanted him to push everything else out of your mind with his dick.

“Please,” you whimpered, unafraid to beg, and you felt Javy’s breath catch.

“Cum for me first, honey, come on,” he said determinedly, and you would’ve scowled at him for his stubbornness, but he was working your body so fucking well.

His fingers were pressing deeper inside of you, searching for the spot that would tip you over the edge. He knew when he found it because your whole body seized, and he fucking cooed, pleased and proud. His fingers worked faster inside of you, his palm grinding back into your clit, and you felt your body hurtling towards completion in spite of yourself.

You whimpered his name, and Javy soothed you, his other hand falling to your ass again. He pressed you into him, shushing you as you trembled, and it was too much, too fast.

Your orgasm broke through you, heat crashing over you as your boyfriend rocked you in his lap. You were shaking, you were pretty sure you were babbling, as Javy worked you through your orgasm, his strong fingers pulling steadily inside of you.

You shuddered as you came down, the world fading from technicolor to the dark light of the rec center, and the ringing in your ears quieted enough to hear Javy murmuring praise into your ear.

“So beautiful, honey, always so beautiful when you come. Fuck, you did so good, coming on my hand like that, such a good girl for me, always so good…”

You were pressed into his chest, and you snuggled closer to his warmth, temporarily sated. You felt Javy shift his hand, pull your panties back down before sliding his hand out from under your skirt. A moment later, you felt his chest vibrate, and when you pulled back to look, his eyes were closed, head tilted back, his fingers between his lips.

“So fucking sweet,” he said, almost to himself, licking your orgasm off his fingers. You felt your core clench at the sight of it, at the everything of him, and you tilted your head up to him, needing his kiss.

Javy acquiesced, and you both moaned when his tongue swept into your mouth, sharing the taste of your release. It was so hot, everything he did was so hot, and impossibly, you needed him again.

You reached down between you, your fingers skating over velvet until you found his cock. He was fully erect now, trapped against his thigh, and when your fingers coasted over him, Javy’s breath caught.

You hummed when his hips pressed up into your touch.

Even without your body moving to encourage him, his thighs pushed his dick towards your hand, and you loved the feeling of him. Even through the soft material, he was so hard, so thick, and you were desperate for him.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Javy panted, and you loved it when he sounded like that, like he was barely clinging to sanity.

“Don’t want to wait,” you trailed your hand up to his tip. You couldn’t feel the details of him through the suit, but you knew his cock, you knew where he was sensitive, and Javy groaned as you traced over him. He mumbled something into your sweater, but you couldn’t hear it.

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and he groaned again.

His hands were on your waist, and they tightened when he pulled back. You were surprised by the truly forlorn look on his face when he looked up at you, and your hand paused, suddenly concerned.

“I don’t have a condom,” Javy said dejectedly. “I’m sorry, honey, it felt pervy to put it in a pocket around all the kids and I–”

“We don’t need one.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but as soon as the words were out, you knew you meant them. You’d been exclusive for a couple months now, and you were tested regularly, and you trusted him. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it– the more you needed it, the more you knew it was exactly what you needed.

Javy was so still underneath you.

He was looking at you so closely, hope and caution warring in his expression.

“Are you absolutely certain, honey?” he asked, and the way he was double checking was all the confirmation you needed.

You leaned down to rest your forehead against his, loving the way his eyes followed you, even this close. You lowered your head to his, pulling back slightly when he reached up to kiss you.

“100%,” you said against his lips, and Javy moaned, something deep in his chest, the hottest sound you’d heard.

He surged up to kiss you, and you felt dizzy from the lingering taste of you on his tongue. When he pulled back, you were both breathless, just shy of giddy.

“You want me to fuck you bare, sweetheart?” he asked, and his soft question made you shiver.

“Please,” you managed, and Javy huffed something that might’ve been a laugh.

“You’re gonna let me into that pussy raw?” he breathed, and you squirmed in his lap. You wanted him so badly, needed to feel him, just him. “Gonna let me fill you up, feel this cock press all the way into you?”

“Javy,” you moaned his name, fully wanton, unable to say anything else.

Your hips were already rocking into him, craving the stretch of him.

He seemed to understand, guiding you back to stand on his boots, while he shifted, sliding the suit pants down his thighs, along with his underwear. The red velvet pooled over his boots, brushing the tops of your feet, but you barely noticed. Instead, your eyes were trained between his thighs, where his dick was resting against his stomach.

He had such a pretty cock.

Long and heavy, curved slightly to the side, a plump head that felt absolutely unreal when it breached you. You were practically salivating for it, and you pressed your thighs together as you balanced on his boots.

“Now you,” he prompted, and he helped you out of your sweater and skirt. A moment later, you felt Javy pull your panties off, now with no worry for the suit.

He dropped the thin fabric to the ground and you stepped out of it, his fingers curled up to cup you. God, you loved how he touched you, so certain and steady, like him. You clutched his shoulder for balance, and Javy’s hand tightened over your pussy, pulling him to you by your pussy.

You might as well have been on a leash.

You could feel your legs trembling, you wanted him so bad. He guided you back onto his lap, your legs spread over his thighs again, but it was different now, because you could feel him. When you settled, your core brushed against his hot cock, and you both hissed out a breath. Desperation seemed to build between you, and Javy finally, finally let go of you, reaching down to hold his cock steady as you lowered yourself towards him.

“Give me that pussy, baby,” he commanded, his voice low, and you wanted nothing more.

When you felt the first press of his fat cockhead between your legs you felt like weeping. It was the smallest brush, but he was so thick, so broad, a promise. You held your breath as you lowered yourself down, a high-pitched moan working out of you when the head of him was fully inside you.

“Ah, honey,” Javy breathed.

It sounded like he was praying, and you understood, because it was just the tip of him, but already you were dizzy with how full you felt.

You looked between the two of you, at the vision of his fat cock pressing into you and you moaned again. You looked so good together; it was amazing that he fit, that you could take him. You could feel his eyes on you, knew he was watching your face as you were watching where you were joined.

“It’s so good, Javy,” you whispered, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Your nails were probably leaving marks, not that either of you cared.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Javy said, his voice hoarse, “it’s so fucking good. How does my dick feel inside you, just me, so close to you?”

Your eyes closed and your jaw fell slack as pushed yourself farther onto him. The stretch neared on painful but nowhere near painful enough to make you stop. You felt him, like he said, you felt so close to him. It felt perfect, like you were made for this stretch.

“Halfway, baby,” Javy encouraged, and you practically choked at his words.

Fuck, you thought you were farther along than that; it felt like you’d gotten farther along than that.

But when you opened your eyes, there were still inches left of his cock, thick, searing length that you needed to fit inside of you. Javy’s hands rubbed encouraging circles on your back, and you realized your thighs were shaking. It felt like you were boiling, melting, but you knew you couldn’t stop, knew you needed to take all of him.

Still, you couldn’t stop your whimper, “It’s too big, baby.”

Javy’s hips jerked up at your words, and his head fell back against the throne as he forced himself down, to be still. You both groaned at the ground that gave you, and Javy’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You can do it, honey, you’re doing so good for me, so damn good,” he gritted, and you loved him so much.

Loved that he was fighting for control but he still found breath to encourage you, soothe you, care for you. Your face felt wet, from sweat or tears, you couldn’t tell, but you made it the final few inches.

When your shaking thighs met Javy’s legs, you both let out a trembling breath, and Javy wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Just stay here for a moment, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you lay your head on his shoulder, resting.

You were so full.

So sated, so absolutely content, like all you ever wanted to be was in this moment. You wanted to wrap this feeling up, remember it forever, this closeness. This perfection.

Javy’s hands were still moving slowly up your back, his fingers pressing gently over you. You recognized he was breathing deeply, whether to help you monitor yours or because he needed to be controlled, you weren’t sure.

You felt out of your body.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough for the stretch to ease and your body to adjust. As you accepted him, as you welcomed him, your head cleared slightly, and you became aware of the gnawing need at your core.

You needed him to move.

You shifted in his lap, just slightly, and Javy’s breath punched out of him, as you clenched around him.

“Jesus, honey, warn a man,” he choked, and you smiled.

“Can’t help it,” you said, honestly, “just feels too good.”

“You’re telling me,” he murmured, turning towards you.

He kissed you slowly, languidly, his tongue pressing between your lips as he gently pushed his hips upward. You felt your limbs go lax; he wasn’t even pumping but he was so damn deep inside you. It felt like a caress, something gentle and sacred, and you rested on him.

He pressed up again, and he broke the kiss, his warm breath coasting over your lips.

“Feels fucking unreal, honey,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re so tight, so wet. God, I can feel every inch of you like this, feels like heaven.”

You hummed your agreement, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. Your lips brushed over his jawline, your tongue tasting his sweat, kissing him lightly as he rocked slowly into you again. Time felt like molasses, seeping so slowly by, and everything was distilled to the press of his hips into yours, of his cock straining inside of you.

You whispered his name, and his hands slipped from your back to your waist.

“Need something, honey?” Javy asked, and you whined in response.

He was slow and steady, unhurried, stoking that heat inside of you. It was perfect, it was killing you, you needed more.

“Do you think,” Javy’s voice was still breathless, but took on a teasing lilt, “you were naughty or nice this year?”

You swatted at him weakly, his chest already huffing as he laughed.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, turning to a moan at another gentle rock.

“You know I’d know if you’d been bad or good,” he said, amusing himself even as you squirmed on his cock. “I’ve got a list.”

“I swear, Javy–”

“Do you think you’ve been a good girl for Santa?”

God, he was such a dork, but he was also so hung, and you couldn’t handle both at once. But then Javy’s hands wrapped under your ass again. Before you could sigh in relief, he lifted you up, strong arms fully pulling you off his dick, and then thrusted up into you.

You screamed.

You couldn’t help it, you felt it so much, so deep, so fucking full of him, and Javy’s proud laugh turned to a groan as you clenched around his cock. He’d scrambled your brain with his dick, that was the only explanation, because you were moaning and you felt every limb shaking, and you needed him to do it again.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted someone to hear us,” he chastised you gently, and you whimpered at his words.

You both knew no one was left in the rec center, probably not even the parking lot, but fuck if the idea of someone walking in on you fucking your boyfriend on this throne of his didn’t turn you on even more.

Javy sighed, something awed. “Is that it, honey? You want someone to see you? Want someone to walk in on you milking this bare cock? Want someone to watch me shove it so deep into your pussy, see how badly you need it?”

He lifted you again before you could respond, his strong arms pulling you up and then bringing you back down into his lap, his cock thrusting deep into you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only want more, need more. You felt something drip out of your mouth, realized belatedly you were literally drooling.

Javy swore when he felt it, too, and his hips moved faster. He held you steady as he pushed up into you, slamming his hips up to meet yours.

It was fast, it was rough, it was so, so deep, and you could only think that you needed him to keep going.

Javy was grunting with each thrust of his hips, a gorgeous sound that had your mind racing. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass as he drove into you, so deep, and you scrambled for purchase, your hands clinging to the back of the throne, anything for leverage as he pumped into you.

“I wouldn’t care,” Javy said, almost growled, and you felt your core clench tighter on him at that tone in his voice. “Fucking Simpson could break in now, honey, and I wouldn’t care, I couldn’t stop. You think anything could stop me now that I’ve felt this bare cunt around my cock? Nah, it’s too good, it’s so damn good. Fuck, honey, you feel—”

He broke off, and you felt his teeth bite into your shoulder, grounding himself as he drove into you. Vaguely you knew you were close, knew it in an abstract scientific way, because you could barely string two thoughts together, much less words.

You could only cling to him, to your sweet, strong, Javy.

“Riding me so good, baby,” Javy mumbled into your shoulder. “Being so good for me, honey, you’re always so good for me. My best girl, my beautiful, best girl. Sweetheart, I’m close, are you close?”

You nodded, or maybe you wailed, but you knew he could hear you, because his thrusts got more frantic. His thrusts were getting shorter, and you realized it was because he couldn’t reach as deep as he wanted, as fast as he wanted. Javy made a noise of frustration and his thighs flexed, then he was lifting you.

Still impaled on his cock, he shifted you, turned you, and then your back was pressed against the cool surface of the throne. Javy was between your legs, then, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into you.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned in response.

“Anything, fuck, you know that, sweetheart, anything,” he whispered, and then he grabbed the throne.

All you could do was take it.

Lie in the space between his arms, between his legs, clinging to him as Javy gripped the throne for leverage and thrust into you. You were held firm as he thrust into you, the new angle causing his dick to brush against a spot inside you that had your toes curling.

“Right there, Javy,” you cried, and you felt him press deeper, determined.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he panted, as his hips slammed into you. “God, you feel so good, I’ve got you… I know you feel good too, come for me, please..feels like fucking home in you, please honey, I need to feel you come–”

The throne was shaking with each of his thrusts and he pulled you even closer to him. Your body shook with each rutt of his hips, but as you molded to him, your clit brushed against the hard wall of muscle that was Javy. His cock hit that spot deep inside of you, your clit rubbed against his skin, and it was overwhelming, it was everything, it was enough.

“Come with me,” you gasped, begged, feeling a blinding heat at the tips of your toes. Javy groaned, and you knew he wanted to protest, but as your body seized, you felt him tense with you.

You cried out as you came, exhausted and overwriting and flying, but you felt it, felt him. Javy surged up to kiss you, his mouth locking on yours. You were too tired to kiss, too poised to respond, but so was he. And as you tipped over the edge, as you cried against his lips, Javy’s strong hips stilled, and you felt his chest heave as he pumped into you. Then you were warm, so warm, feeling his cum spill inside of you, feeling the world burn around you. It was everything, you and him, locked together and spiraling, shaking.

You were so full.

Javy collapsed against you, somehow finding the strength to push himself onto the throne beside you. You fidgeted, squirming until you were once again in his lap, panting and shaking, as Javy held you tight while your orgasms rolled over you.

You were grateful for the Christmas lights.

They were a gentle light, soft when you opened your eyes, illuminating Javy’s profile like a poem. Sweat slicked between both of your bodies, and you didn’t want to think about the state the suit was in. You could feel Javy’s heartbeat through his chest, a pounding rhythm, strong and steady as he was.

You should get up.

But you snuggled deeper into his chest, relieved by the deep breath you felt him draw. You both basked in the muted light, the warmth of each other's arms, and you decided the feeling was also the answer to Javy’s question– you’d been nice.

.............

Tagging some mutuals, some folks who asked for it, and general lovers of Javy: @daggerspare-standingby @blowmymbackout @teacupsandtopgun @mandylove1000 @callsign-fangirl @cheekymcgrath @goldenseresinretriever @mxgyver @laracrofted @coyotesamachado @wildbornsiren @bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @roosterforme

#javy machado #javy machado fic #javy machado smut #javy coyote machado #javy coyote machado smut #coyote x reader #javy machado x reader #i've got to stop posting at 11pm and expecting people to see it #sorry in advance for all the reblogs i will be giving this #misskielwrites

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sterlingsilver-starlight · 6 months

Text

Talk Too Much 💘

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: flashbacks of emotional abuse (reader has emotionally abusive mother), self-harm (briefly graphic), implied suicidal thoughts, brief strong language (mild throughout), intimate moments (very steamy makeout session, but nothing further)

Word Count: 3195 words

Summary: When Reader excuses herself to the bathroom, Seonghwa begins to grow suspicious as minutes turn into an unusually long absence. Can he unravel the truth behind her melancholy, and perhaps something deeper?

Inspirations: During the sadder parts, “Kamihitoe” by Uru and this slowed/reverbed version of Lolo Zouaï’s “Desert Rose” were my comfort. And then for the cute parts, BLACKSWAN’s “Cat & Mouse” :)

(I love the title GIF for this 🤭 but I also am still recovering from the Arriba one…I swear, I will not be the same when the full song drops in a week 😩🥵) I had something like an epiphany while writing this…the comforting words resonate on many levels, and I had to remind myself that people like that do exist out there. Even if there is someone in your life who throws harsh words or vibes your way, that’s not to say someone who does the exact opposite might not cross paths with you, too ✨🫶🏼

Also please note: This is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual Park Seonghwa; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :D

A hard swallow, followed by the relentless jab of another burgeoning stomachache. You set your fork down again, barely scraping the potatoes at the edge of your plate.

“Hwa, I…I don’t feel too good. I can’t eat this right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile as you got up from your seat. “It’s alright. Just…let me know if you need something. Okay?”

You offered a small smile, biting your lip. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

The bite dug deep enough to draw blood, but you tasted nothing like iron on your tongue. It was a flavor you had become all too accustomed to, one too bittersweet to fully enjoy or shy away from.

As soon as you were out of your friend’s line of sight, you bolted down the hall for the bathroom, only slowing down once you’d gone inside and shut the door.

A click at the knob. A snap of the fingers, idiosyncratically, to distract yourself from the sudden echo the lock gave. Did he hear that?

You hoped to God not.

Seonghwa was your most trusted confidant, but even the strongest of bonds could harbor skeletons in the closet, so as far as you were concerned, it would need to stay that way until you were able to get over this on your own.

Slumping against the door, you let yourself slide down to the ground, hugging your knees as they bunched up against your chest.

You didn’t know what you would ever do if he found out. About the thoughts, about the self-hatred…

Heck, let alone the self-harm.

Seonghwa was the twinkling star in your life, lighting up any room he entered, constantly finding ways to make you crack a smile from absolutely nothing. He was too precious for this world, you were sure of it.

Which is why, on this otherwise fine and calm evening, you found yourself yet again questioning why in the hell he put up with you as much as he did.

What if you were just fooling yourself? What if this persona you felt from your very core was nothing more than an act, masquerading from the demon that had hidden inside you from years long past?

A silent cry threatened to surface. You took a sharp breath and reached in your pocket, fumbling around until you felt what you had been looking for: a rusted metal nail file.

The lump in your throat made you feel guiltier. It’d been mere days since you’d promised yourself that this wasn’t going to be an option…

Again.

But though time could heal wounds, it could only erase so many still embedded within your subconscious, still playing like a broken record during your moments of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Do you ever shut up?! I swear, one more word and I’ll rip your tongue off!”

You bit your lip harder, genuinely wanting to taste the pain. What did it matter anymore?

“Sure, keep doing that shit. So we can all feel sorry for you and tiptoe around your stupid feelings? I don’t think so!”

You gasped with every memory, tears blinding and blurring your bearings, the file now slashing oh-so elegantly through your flesh like a knife through butter.

“Slam your door again and I’ll make sure your head is the next thing that slams against the wall!”

You almost didn’t notice the crimson streaming down your arm, or the way it cascaded onto your other hand, dyeing the creases of your palm in a heartbeat, while numbness continued feeding your indifference.

Maybe there is no purpose to my life. Maybe I’m just meant to be a casualty and —

“Y/n?” You jolted, the three knocks on the door vibrating through your skull.

But you said nothing, afraid even a single syllable would give away your current state of mind.

“Y/n?” Seonghwa repeated, the worry carrying in his voice.

Panic kicked in and you started hyperventilating. Much to your chagrin, however, that only alerted him more.

“Okay, I-I’m coming in.” You heard the twists and click of the knob — darn it, I forgot he has keys for the place — and hastily shuffled over to the adjacent wall as he squeezed his way into the bathroom.

A sharp gasp hushed within the small room. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: the rusted nail file still in your hand, the blood-stained arm, the haunted look on your face — it broke your heart, to have him see you like this.

What you didn’t realize, though, was just how much his heart was breaking.

“Hwa, I…I’m sorry.” You hugged yourself tighter, wanting nothing more than to be a turtle hidden inside its shell.

“Y/n…what happened?” His voice was laced with worry as he carefully approached you.

You tried to conceal the evidence, quickly slipping the file back into your pocket and attempting to wipe away the blood with the hem of your sleeve. But the damage had already been done. “I…I just had a little accident, is all. N-no big deal,” you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked away.

He crouched down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Y/n, don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you debated whether to spill your darkest secrets or to continue this facade. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes, you knew what your answer must be.

“I…I’ve been struggling, Hwa. There’s this darkness inside of me that just won’t go away,” you whispered finally, trying not to cry mid-sentence.

His expression softened, and he pulled you into an embrace. “You don’t have to face it alone, Y/n. I’m right here for you, always.”

The warmth of his hug felt like a lifeline, a tether grounding you in this moment of many that felt overwhelmingly chaotic. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him tightly, slowly but surely releasing the weight that you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Seonghwa pulled away slowly, his hands holding yours gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then we can talk about this, together.”

You nodded, rubbing your thumbs against his in return. “Okay.”

He helped you to a standing position, and from there you both walked over to the medicine cabinet: you leaning slightly on the sink countertop, him removing a roll of gauze, bandages, and a few creams. Grabbing a nearby cloth to run it under warm water, you inhaled nervously. As he began tending to the wounds on your arm, still streaked in raw red, you hesitated, grappling with the storm of emotions brewing deep down. The bathroom felt like a fragile sanctuary, and you were on the verge of shattering its peace with the weight of your confessions.

“Hwa,” you began hesitantly, “I’ve…heard things. About myself. Terrible things that echo in my mind every day.”

He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a warm understanding. “It’s okay. Tell me as much or as little as you need to.”

With a shaky breath, you started to unravel the web of painful words that had been haunting you, from the cruel insults and relentless belittlement at home to the internalized hatred that had since taken root in your heart.

“I’m a failure. That’s what she says. My own blood mother.” You shuddered. “That I’m a disappointment, a burden…that her life would have been better if not for the presence of such an ungrateful bitch like me…t-that I ruin everything around me.” Your voice wavered as you stopped to catch a breath.

Seonghwa’s expression tightened with anger. “Y/n, believe me when I say you are none, and I mean absolutely none, of those things. You are strong, kind, and worthy of love. Don’t believe those lies. Please.”

You just shook your head. “I can’t accept your kind pity, though, Hwa.” Tears welled and clouded your vision as you continued. “She said I should be grateful that anyone tolerates me at all, that I’m lucky to have friends because I don’t deserve them…that I’m not good enough for anyone out there.”

His eyes softened with empathy. “Y/n, you’re more than good enough. You’re fucking incredible, and I…I care about you deeply.”

Your eyes widened at his choice of words, confusion and hope written all over your face. “Why, Hwa? Why would you care about someone like me?”

He sighed, setting aside the cloth, and cupped your face with his hands. “Because you’re not just someone, Y/n. You’re a remarkable person. Your strength, your kindness — it shines through even in your darkest moments. And…” He chuckled slightly. “I like you. More than just as a friend.”

A gasp caught in your throat, and time became still within the room as his confession hung in the air. Seonghwa’s eyes searched yours for a response, but you remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

A spark of worry flickered across his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said —”

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “No, Hwa. I’m honestly really glad you did. I just…I need a moment to process everything. It’s a lot, but I really appreciate your courage to tell me that.”

His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile breaking through. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

He resumed cleaning your cuts, all the while as you couldn’t shake the startling but exciting realization that maybe, just maybe, someone as wonderful as Hwa could see past these insecurities, could see you for you.

An almost eerie silence hung between you two, broken only by the sound of running water as you rinsed off spots of leftover blood. Hwa glanced at you, debating whether or not to break the ice.

“To be honest,” you admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good enough for someone like you.”

He scoffed lightly, covering your hand with his. “Y/n, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

His words lingered in the air, a poignant moment of vulnerability shared in the dimly lit bathroom.

And then something shifted.

With a playful smirk, you couldn’t help but bring up your insecurities, caught in a suddenly desperate vying to test the waters and see how he would take it. “Come on, don’t be silly, Hwa. I mean, look at me!” You raised an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile teasing at your lips.

He took the bait. “Okay, and? What about it?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, for starters, I’m not even skinny, my face is rounder than the boba in that milk tea you were swirling around the other day” — he broke into a fit of laughter at this, prompting you to punch him gently on the arm (“Hwa, I’m being serious!”) before resuming your, he thought, rather dramatic speech — “and my body is far from what’s considered attractive these days.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your fists before inspecting yourself through the bathroom mirror. “Especially with these…” You gestured vaguely to your rounded backside and thick thighs.

Hwa’s low, throaty chuckle reverberated in the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, you really think any of that matters to me?” He shook his head, his gaze intense. “You’re focusing on things that turn me on more than you could possibly know.”

To say you were surprised — curious, even — was an understatement. “W-what do you mean?” you dared to ask.

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Your curves, the roundness of your face, that body you seem to underestimate so much — they’re all things I fantasize about more when I’m around you.” His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“But why?” you managed to stutter out, genuinely baffled.

Hwa pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you up and down. “Because, Y/n, it’s those very things that make you uniquely you. There’s…an allure throughout, if I’m being honest…and your body is nothing short of perfection in my eyes.”

He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And let me tell you,” he continued, snaking his fingers across one of your thighs, massaging it with his thumb, “these parts of you aren’t just attractive. They’re downright irresistible.”

Your breath caught in your throat, desire rushing through your veins as he leaned in again, his fingers tracing patterns that left your skin tingling. “I think about you in ways that would make you blush,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. “You’re beautiful, Y/n. In every way imaginable.”

With that, he closed the distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that held the weight of his confession. The bathroom seemed to vanish into the distance as Hwa’s lips kept meeting yours in a slow, tantalizing dance, each kiss a revelation of shared desire. His hands, warm and possessive, explored the curves of your body with a deliberate sensuality. Fingers traced the contours of your back, leaving a trail of trickling sensations in their wake. As the kiss deepened, his touch became more fervent, a silent promise of passion yet to unfold.

Your hands found their way into his soft, tousled hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pulled him closer. His tongue prodded your bottom lip playfully until you indulged him, allowing the sensation of his tongue to slide against and around yours, igniting a fervor that sent electrical currents through every nerve ending.

The room seemed to get hotter and hotter, but nothing could have curbed the chill in your spine by this point. Hwa’s touch was both gentle and confident, a melody of desire that crescendoed as his kisses lingered longer and he began sucking your tongue slowly, making you moan ever so softly into his mouth.

Your own hands mirrored his movements, traveling across the edges and ridges of his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your touch. The bathroom echoed with intertwined breaths and whispered promises.

As the intensity built, you couldn’t help but straddle his lap, your bodies pressing together with an urgency that mirrored the passion between you. Hwa’s lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Moans continued escaping your lips as you felt his teeth grazing gently down the side of your neck. You clung to him, lost in the intoxication of the moment.

Your heartbeats all but synchronized as his lips found their way to your collarbone, his whispers of passion mingling with your soft gasps. He pulled back slightly, eyes looking deep into yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in to place gentle kisses on your earlobe, his breath sending a flutter of anticipation through you. “I want you to feel cherished, desired, and free from any doubt about your body,” he whispered finally, his tone laced with sensual liberation.

His hands, like flames against your skin, caressed the small of your back. The room was filled with the harmony of your shared desire, moans and breaths alike embellishing the melody sounding strong.

As sweat dripped down your foreheads, the intensity reached its peak, and with a shared understanding, you both began to ease out of the fervent exchange. Hwa’s lips lingered on yours for a moment, a final note in the passionate composition.

His arms wrapped around you, nestling you within the sweet scent of his aroma, heaving heavily, slowly, as you both took a moment to catch your breath. You could spot the glimpse of a tender smile dancing on his lips. “See, Y/n, you talk too much,” he teased, his eyes alight with affection.

You chuckled finally, feeling a warmth enveloping you. “Maybe I do,” you agreed, “but I think I like it that way.”

Hwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at you playfully. “Well, you better, because I enjoy every word,” he smiled, leaning in to peck you briefly on the lips.

As you both settled into a cuddle, an air of contentment permeated within your space. Hwa’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back as he spoke. “You know…I think we should have a date tomorrow. I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “A date, huh? Where are we going?”

Hwa’s playful grin widened. “Somewhere nice, but you better promise me you won’t just order a small appetizer. I want you to enjoy the food, Y/n.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright. No small appetizers. Got it. But you’ll have to deal with me talking your ear off about how delicious everything is.”

Hwa leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “I can’t wait. And besides, I enjoy every word, remember?”

The banter continued as you both playfully argued about your plans. Hwa grinned mischievously, glad that you were cutting loose for a change and genuinely enjoying yourself now. “And promise me, no salads as the main course. We’re going for the good stuff if this is a date.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Salads are healthy and delicious.”

He chuckled. “Healthy? Yes. Delicious? Debatable. We’re going for flavor explosions, Y/n, not the world’s best landscape on a plate.”

You countered with a smirk. “Okay, first of all, tabbouleh is to die for. And maybe I like my explosions with a side of greens.”

Hwa pretended to gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. And here I thought we had a connection.”

You burst into laughter, eyes watering within seconds. “Oh, we have a connection, alright, but my connection with tasty salads might just outdo it this time.”

He pouted. “Fine, have it your way. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m ordering the biggest, heartiest dish on the menu just to torture you.”

You grinned. “Challenge dutifully accepted. I’ll enjoy my dish while you tackle your food mountain. We’ll see who’s satisfied in the end.”

Hwa leaned in, whispering. “Well, just so you know, if you end up trying a bite of mine, you might never go back to salads again.”

You smirked at him. “We’ll see about that. You can’t deprive me of my greens forever, you know.” You pretended to think hard for a moment. “I know, I’ll revolt! I’ll revolt and you won’t know what’s coming to —”

He pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, actually sweet kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning slyly from ear to ear.

“You were saying?” he teased.

You snorted. “Well, I was going to say that no matter how tempting your ‘food mountain’ may be, my love for salads will endure. Just like my love for you, even if you try to sabotage it with impeccably irresistible dishes.”

He tried and failed to suppress another laugh. “You talk too much.” You grinned in satisfaction.

“Maybe I do, but you love it.”

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hearts-hunger · 8 months

Text

i'll be your medicine || sam kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: They say laughter is the best medicine, but you're pretty sure that's only because they haven't met Sam. | Standalone in the Sunshine Daydream universe

Pairings: Sam x Reader | Genre: fluff, sickfic (migraine), hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: none! | Title song: “Deep End” by Holly Humberstone

A/N: My very first standalone fic for Sam and Birdie! This fic is a special gift to all the Sunshine Daydream besties. I hope you like it! ♡

“Yeah, man, I don’t know. I think if we add any more freakin’ reverb we might as well trash it.”

You winced a little as you listened to Sam talking on the phone, feeling from the tone of his voice that he must not be in a great mood. You couldn’t exactly tell — he’d been talking to Jake as he came in the door, and they had been talking steadily as Sam started up the handful of household chores he liked to knock out before he settled in for the evening. He was unloading the dishwasher right now, and he seemed to be very impassioned about whatever song they were talking about.

“That’s not going to fix the problem, though,” he said firmly. “The whole tone of the song is riding on that.”

You still couldn’t tell if he was arguing with Jake or just having an overzealous discussion. You didn’t like not knowing; it had always made you uneasy to not be able to read someone’s mood, and that was especially true with Sam. He knew that about you and was usually very good about being straightforward if he was upset, but he’d barely said a word to you since coming home half an hour ago.

As worrying as that was, though, you had more pressing things to worry about. The familiar ache of a budding migraine was becoming less and less easy to ignore, and you felt yourself flinch when the plates Sam put away clattered against each other.

You curled in on yourself on the couch, praying the medicine would kick in before it got too bad. The last thing you wanted was a full-blown migraine with a grouchy boyfriend, if that’s indeed what he was, and you’d rather just take care of it by yourself if you could. Unfortunately, you were beginning to think you’d taken the medicine too late to head it off at the pass. Rosie was curled up next to you, and you tried to relax against her solid warmth and manifest a beautiful migraine-free evening with the power of positive thinking.

It took about five minutes before you gave up that dream. You could feel the pain starting to spread, settling in deep where it usually hit behind your eyes and over the crown of your head. You wanted to ask Sam to get you an ice pack, but you didn’t want make him more annoyed than he already was, and you didn’t feel like you could raise your voice enough to interrupt his phone call anyway.

“Rosie, come get your dinner.”

His voice carried from the kitchen, and you guessed you’d missed him getting off the phone with Jake. You weren’t surprised; it was getting to the point where a bomb could go off and you’d be too distracted with pain to worry about it.

Still, you tried to stay tuned in to Sam; you’d missed him, and you were looking forward to spending time with him now that he was home and off the phone. He called for Rose again, but she didn’t move from her spot beside you. With effort, you sat up and tried to nudge her to go into the kitchen.

She looked up at you and cocked her head, and you knew she wouldn’t get up unless you did. She always knew when you weren’t feeling well, and she liked to stay close and keep an eye on you when you were sick or unhappy.

You sighed. You didn’t want her to feel torn between you and Sam, but you also didn’t have the energy to try and redirect your sweet, protective, somewhat stubborn dog.

“Come on, Rosie,” you said quietly. “Daddy’s calling you.”

You only managed to get her to hop off the couch, and she looked up at you as she sat at your feet. You thought you heard Sam again, but all of a sudden, you couldn’t think about anything but the pain you were in; you sat on the edge of the couch and rested your head against Rose, burying your face in her soft fur, trying to ride the wave of dizziness and pain without bursting into tears.

You felt Rosie’s tail thump against your foot, and you guessed that was in response to Sam coming in from the kitchen.

“Rose,” he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “Come on, now. I know you want to be with mama, but it’s time to eat.”

She still didn’t move. You felt the tension in her even as she kept perfectly still for you, and Sam came over to see what the holdup was.

“What’s going on with my girls?” he said, hunkering down be the couch so he was at Rosie’s level. “You two just can’t be separated for even a minute, huh?”

Sam put his hand on your knee, and Rose gave a tentative kiss to the back of his hand.

“Come on, birdie,” he said to you. “You know she won’t go anywhere if she thinks you want her to stay.”

You nodded. You did want her to stay, but you didn’t want to annoy Sam.

“Sorry,” you said, lifting your head. You stroked Rose’s ear. “Go on with daddy.”

She gave the quietest bark you’d ever heard in protest.

“Rosebud, you are being downright contrary,” Sam said, giving her a playfully vigorous few pets. “You just don’t listen to anybody now, is that it?”

He looked up at you with a smile that was reassuring to see. “Has she been like this all day?”

Before you could answer, his expression clouded with alarm.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

You touched a hand to your cheek and felt a few tears. You hadn’t even noticed them.

“Oh, uh... I guess,” you said weakly. “Sorry.”

“What do you mean, sorry?” he said, his voice tight with dismay. “Birdie, honey, what’s wong?”

“Um...” The brave face you’d tried to put on had started to crumble, and even if he was in a bad mood, you needed his help.

“Migraine,” you said in a small voice. “It’s really bad.”

He took a sharp breath. “Okay, baby.” He kept his voice calm for you. “Have you taken any medicine?”

You nodded. “It’s not — ” Your voice caught. “Not really helping.”

“It will in a little bit,” he assured you. “We just have to give it some time to work. Let me go get you an ice pack, okay?”

He left Rosie with you and went back to the kitchen, and you heard him rummaging around for a few moments before he returned.

“Drink some water,” he said, handing you his water bottle. He turned the lights off in the living room, leaving only the light from the kitchen, and knelt in front of you again to hold the ice pack to your temple. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” you said miserably. Your head was wreathed in pain, but the ice was helping a little.

He studied your face with worry and gentleness. “I’m sorry, birdie. Did it come on all of a sudden?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked at him. “No,” you said quietly.

“No?” he repeated. His brow knit. “You didn’t say anything, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know if you were angry.” Your voice was wobbly. “I thought if I took some medicine, I wouldn’t have to bother you.”

Even in the dim light, you could plainly read the surprise on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Why would I be angry?”

“I thought you were arguing with Jake,” you admitted. “That maybe you had a bad day at work, and you were still in the middle of it when you got home. And since you didn’t say anything to me when you got here, I thought...” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, honey.” He touched your cheek. “I wasn’t angry. I just got caught up talking to him, but I shouldn’t have been on the phone when I came home. I’m sorry. Thank you for being so patient with me when I’m being stupid.”

That coaxed out a watery laugh, and he gave you a gentle smile.

“I’m really sorry, birdie,” he said sincerely. “You know you can interrupt anything if you need to ask me for help, right? Especially if you’re hurting.”

Your eyes welled with tears, but you didn’t know if it was from the pain or the relief of having Sam with you after missing him all day.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“No need to thank me, birdie,” he said gently. “I love you, and I want to take care of you.” He switched the ice pack to rest against the opposite temple and brushed the tears from your face.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft and worried. “Does it hurt that bad?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He hummed. “Yeah. Just everything all together, huh?”

You nodded. “I missed you.”

“Aw, birdie.” He kissed your face when you hugged him, holding you close for a moment. “I missed you too. I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

He ran a hand over Rosie’s head, and she wagged her tail at finally being included after sitting patiently at your side.

“And you were just looking after mama, weren’t you, sweet girl?” he said. He gently scuffed his hand up and down her side. “You’re a good girl, Rosie.”

She rested her chin on your knee again, and Sam smiled.

“Yeah, you love your mama. I know.” He patted the couch cushion. “Come up here and lay with her.”

She did obey him that time, and you curled up with her as Sam spread a soft blanket over you.

“What can I do, birdie?” he asked, brushing your hair back from your face.

You tried to think of what had helped last time you got a migraine this bad. You knew there wasn’t much for it but to wait until the medicine kicked in, but surely there was something you could do.

“I don’t know,” you said pitifully, knowing it wasn’t helpful.

“What about some coke?” he offered. “I think the caffeine helps, right?”

You nodded. “I don’t think we have any here, though.”

Sam had already pulled out his phone. “Good thing we live in the modern age. Do you want anything to eat?”

“I don’t think so. Well, maybe. I don’t know.” You groaned. “I hate this. I can’t even think straight.”

“So you’re thinking about Anne Hathaway? Sounds like a pretty good migraine to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but I made you laugh, and you know what they say about laughter being the best medicine.”

You tipped your face up towards him, and he leaned down to give you a gentle kiss. You felt an incredible relief to be with Sam, to have him making dumb jokes for you, to know that you could depend on him and rest completely in his care for you. The tension you’d carried since he’d come home gave way to the familiar comfort of simply being with him, and it made all the difference.

“So, a large coke... extra ice, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes please.” You hid your face behind the blanket and pressing the ice pack to your forehead. “I wish this medicine would be the best medicine. That would be great.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, a little distracted as he placed your order. “Listen, I’m just going to get you something to eat, and you can decide later if you want it. Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave a sympathetic chuckle. “My poor birdie.” He pocketed his phone. “Do you want to watch a movie to take your mind off it? Or will the sound and the light make it worse?”

“I think I just want to lay here in the dark for a while, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.”

“Can you sit with me?”

“Of course.”

With a little maneuvering, all three of you found room on the couch; you lay with your head in Sam’s lap, and Rosie was curled up at your feet.

“Can I put the ice pack on the other side?” you asked, feeling a little sheepish.

“Oh, sure,” he said easily, doing it for you and putting the ice pack between your head and his lap. “You know, I was just thinking I wanted a nice ice pack to the crotch. It’s refreshing, really.”

You laughed. “Thanks. Let me know if you get a little too frosty.”

He leaned his head back and absently played with your hair, breathing a tired sigh. “This is nice, actually. We should lay in the dark more often.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” You wished you weren’t in pain, but other than that, it was nice. “So what were you not-arguing with Jake about?”

He hummed. “Well, that’s kind of a long, involved story.”

You closed your eyes and relaxed against him. “I like long, involved stories. Tell me.”

He did, and it was soothing to listen to him as he wove you a tale of brotherly bickering and artistic decision-making. By the time your food arrived, you’d managed to follow only half of the narrative twists and turns, but the sound of his voice had worked its magic.

“There’s your coke, birdie,” he said quietly, easing you up so he could get off the couch. “Be right back.”

He came back in with bags of takeout, and you found you were feeling well enough to sit up and take your drink when he offered it to you.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked.

“A little,” you said. You took a long drink. “Thanks for getting this.”

“Sure. I hope it helps.” He set the bags on the coffee table. “Are you hungry?”

You thought about it. You still felt achy and woozy, but your appetite had returned somewhat.

“Did you get any fries?” you asked.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Yep.”

The three of you got settled again, and Rosie took a few minutes from her vigil to have her dinner; you and Sam started a documentary about the making of Friday the 13th.

“I still don’t know why you like to watch this documentary when you won’t watch the movie,” Sam said. “Makes no sense, birdie.”

You laughed. “The movie’s scary!” you said. “And lakehouses are supposed to be about romance, not murder.”

He gave you a cocky smirk. “You’d know all about lakehouse romance, wouldn’t you?”

You blushed. The two of you had just celebrated your anniversary a few weeks ago; you’d gone up to stay at the same cabin where you’d fallen in love, and Sam had certainly pulled out all the stops to make it romantic in every sense of the word.

He picked up your ice pack and touched it to your cheek. “Here, birdie. Your cheeks are all red.”

You laughed and pushed it back towards him. “You’re awful.”

He kissed your cheek to soothe the icy sting. “You’re beautiful.”

You finally felt the medicine start to work as you had dinner, and Rosie came back with her chewy bone to keep her occupied as she sat next to you. Sam cleaned up when you were done, and when he came back to the couch, he asked if you wanted him to braid your hair.

“I just thought it might help,” he said. “But you look like you’re feeling better, actually.”

“I am,” you said. Between the medicine and Sam’s ministrations, you had started to feel much better. “But I would love it if you braided my hair.”

He smiled. “Say no more, my love.”

You sat on the floor between his legs, and from the first moment his fingers started to gently untangle your hair, you were in heaven. He took his time, lightly scratching your scalp, rubbing circles along your temples and behind your ears, gathering your hair just to brush his fingers through it in a soothing, repetitive motion.

“This is some braid,” you mumbled, content and starting to feel sleepy now that the pain had subsided.

He chuckled. “Does it feel good, birdie?”

You hummed in agreement. “Thank you.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “You’re welcome.”

He finally did put your hair in a simple braid, and you rested your head against his knee when he was done.

“I decided something,” you said.

“Oh yeah?” He traced his fingers over your jaw. “What’s that?”

You wrapped your arms around his leg. “I think you’re the best medicine.”

“Sweet birdie,” he said gently, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad I could help, honey. And I’m really glad you’re feeling better.”

He tugged lightly on your braid. “But I can tell you’re sleepy, and I don’t think you want to sleep on the floor.”

Reluctantly, you got up from your spot and joined him again on the couch. You snuggled up to him as he leaned against the arm of the couch, and he tried to pull the blanket over the two of you.

“Rosie,” he said. “You’re on mama’s blanket.”

He pulled it again, gently, just enough to tell her to move. She hopped down from the couch and then hopped right back up, tucking herself by your feet once you and Sam were settled.

“There we go,” Sam said, putting his arm around you. “Sammy and birdie and Rosie, all snuggled up.”

You toyed with his necklace as he put on another movie, knowing you’d be asleep before it was five minutes in.

“Just push me off when you want to get up,” you said. You knew he wasn’t ready for bed yet and didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay for your sake after you’d fallen asleep.

He laughed, and you loved the sound of it all rumbly and warm in his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll just push you off, birdie,” he said. “But thanks. I’ll keep that option in mind.”

You cuddled close. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said gently. He ran his hand up and down your back, easing the last of your pain until it faded completely. “I love you, birdie.”

You gave a sleepy, contented sigh as you fell asleep. “I love you too.”

sam taglist: @lil-twilight-glow @ageoffleeet

gvf taglist:@malany-gvf@spark-my-nature@eearevee@madneedshelp@demonrat444@josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny@gretavandann@sacredjake@myleftsock@joshskittytickler21@hellowgoodbye@watchingovergvf2@fearfulspirit@mywaysoon@carbondancingthroughtime@caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran@shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444@wildflowerxx-x@tearsofdanny @iluvjoshkiszka @jordie-gvf-admin@demolitionndann @hi-hi-hello11 @wildbluesorbit @nessie-glorpa @laneygvf

@gvfrry@ohhey1293@the-chaotic-cow@mountain-in-springtime@xserenax-13@stardustjtk @brooke-gvf@weightofdreams-gvf@jakeydoesit@gretasmokerising@hayley1623@doodle417@finestoflines@brokenbellz@bowievanfleet@s0livagant@strugglingtodoshit@s-u-t@kay-jordan@gretavanfleas@jakeyboiiiiiii@gretavansteph@gretavanbitches@myownparadise96@luverleaver@weightofdreamz@greatervanfleet@maedesculpaeusoubi@jakekiszkasbestie@pineapple-photographer@baguettejuliette@alexxavicry@levi-wants-ur-bones@carlybubs@cowboysamkiszka@dannyandthekiszkas@jordierama@slutforsteve@starshine-wagner@quartzzzzzzz@edgeofdreams@writingcold @lostoverseer @catharu77 @mackalah@jaketlove @haileygvf @blacksoul-27 @ur-m0ms-blog

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here! ♡

#sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam x birdie #sunshine daydream series #sam kiszka fluff #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf fluff #maddie writes stuff!

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snellyboi · 7 months

Text

EPISODES I'D LIKE TO SEE FROM A FULL DIGITAL CIRCUS SERIES

THE SNARGORG FEAST: the gang goes on an adventure to feed the Snargorg - a beast with a lion's head and a dodo's body. Can they find food before it eats Kinger's coat?

ZOOBLE GETS SOME SCREENTIME: After Jax comes down with pixel pox, Zooble is forced to go and get him his meds from the Digital Pharmacy. But it's not as simple as waiting in line! Can Zooble make it back before Jax gets too sick?

SURF SUN AND PLATE REVERB: After a trip to the Digital Lake, the gang runs into a surf rock band called the digitones and is challenged to a battle of the bands on Digital Bikini Beach! Can sensitive pop genius Gangle pull together a setlist in time?

THE VERY SPECIAL EPISODE: Ragatha isn't feeling great - can Pomni cheer her up? And who's that face she keeps seeing in her nightmares?

These might turn into oneshots if I have the time.

Or they might not.

But they seem fun to me, so. Yeah.

I'm so hungover I gotta stop with the barleywine before 5.

#snelly writes #fanfiction #the amazing digital circus #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc caine #tadc ragatha #tadc zooble #tadc kaufmo

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

When It Rains, It Pours

Rudy Parra x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: ;) -Thorne

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

They’d all scattered into the wind like bats out of hell when Graves and his team had opened fire on them. She had been one of the first to start moving back the second Graves’ tone had changed, only turning tail and running when the gunfire started. She didn’t know how far she’d run but when she stopped, there were no Shadow’s tailing her, and she was on a side of the town she hadn’t seen before.

Hiding in an alley behind a dumpster, she took out her scanner and tapped at the screen, trying to pinpoint Ghost and Soap’s locations. Nothing would come up and the rumble of thunder echoed in her ears, signaling that if she hadn’t already lost tracking ability, she was about to. She tried once more for their locations before switching course of action and pinging Alejandro’s and Rudy’s. Alejandro’s hadn’t moved much from the former location, and she cursed, knowing he was either dead or captured. Rudy’s however was moving quickly out of town.

She put the device away and started out towards the street when a jeep pulled up beside her. “Ah shit,” she muttered as two of Graves’ Shadows crawled out and pointed weapons at her.

“Drop your weapons!” one shouted, the other coming around the vehicle.

“C’mon boys, lets just pretend we didn’t see each other, yeah?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t want to do this, you don’t want to do this. Neither of us really want to do—"

The one stalked towards her, rifle pointed. “I said, drop your fuck—”

She grabbed the barrel of his rifle, shoving it down before she sunk her forearm into his throat, shoving him sideways when the other opened fire. His body floundered from the impact, gargles escaping him as his teammate gasped in shock, and she grabbed her knife, throwing it as hard as she could. It sunk into the Shadow’s eye, and he jerked, hitting his knees, body pitching forward onto the concrete.

Taking the knife out, she wiped the blood and brains that had come with it on the poor bastard’s back. Sheathing it, she slipped into the driver’s seat, not bothering to move the body as she drove over it, though she did wince as she heard cracking and squelching; one handheld the steering wheel as the other felt around for her device again. Rudy’s location had moved much farther, and she followed it, hoping that it was him driving whatever vehicle he was in and not a Shadow.

***

By the time she’d pulled up to the small building, the rain had started pouring, lighting scattering across the sky as thunder shook everything in its path with reverb. Rudy’s location had fallen off the map about thirty minutes prior, and there was no vehicle in sight, part of her wondering if she had followed wrong. She got out of the jeep, turning it off before stowing the keys under the driver’s seat. Rain drenched her clothes as her feet sunk into the mud as she walked around, barely managing to avoid stepping on a pressure plate in the front. Nope, she was in the right place.

She looked around for an entry to the building, seeing an open window across the wall; hurrying over, she shoved some of the wooden boxes closer and stepped up, pulling herself up the ledge. As she cocked her leg over, the mud on her boot slickened the ledge and her grip slipped, a sharp gasp escaping her as she fell head first onto the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered with a groan, and she rolled over, forearms and elbows aching from the brunt of the fall—at least she’d managed to not break her neck, what a shit way to go that would be for her friends to find out. She gathered her things, intent to stand when a red light flickered on her chest and she muttered, “Fuck me.” She lifted her hands slowly beside her head in an act of peace. “Easy, buddy,” she said loud enough for whoever was up in the back to hear. “Graves is going to want me alive, not dead. You shoot me and he’s not going to be happy.”

“Empress?” someone called, the red light sliding off her chest and she squinted in the dark as a head appeared from the side.

“Rudy?” she returned. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he replied, dropping down from the ledge to walk over.

She couldn’t see him in the dark but every time the lightning streaked the sky, she saw his face; he knelt beside her and she reached up, pulling him into a hug. “Estoy muy feliz de verte,” she breathed into his ear. “Dios estoy feliz de verte vivo.”

His hands wrapped around her waist hesitantly and he murmured, “Estoy feliz de verte vivo también.” He pulled back slightly, gazing at her. “Where are Ghost and Soap?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Couldn’t get their locations to show up on the scanner. Ghost would’ve done away with the tracker and Soap’s may have fallen off.”

“Trackers?”

She reached up behind him and snagged something out of his hood, showing it to him. About the size of a thumb nail and no longer beeping red like it usually would’ve. “I tracked you here.”

Rudy pulled away from her to take the tracker from her. “When did you put this on me?”

She stood to her feet and stretched. “Remember that time I told you that your time on your knees was next?” she asked. “That’s when.”

He stood too. “Oh, so it was a ploy to put the tracker on me?”

“Oh no,” she replied with a smirk. “I’m still one hundred percent serious about you, cowboy.” Walking away, she looked around. “Where are we?”

“Alejandro’s safehouse.”

“Hmm…doesn’t feel very safe. Feels more like storage.”

“Storage for his gear.”

She started tugging off the gear she had on, yanking off the sopping jacket she had on. “Rain’s coming down like a goddamn flood. Get me a clean shirt if you can find one.”

“Sure,” he said, sounding like he almost tripped over himself when the tight, black shirt came off too; he returned moments later with a clean white shirt, a size or two too big but it would work until hers dried out. “Aquí.”

She took it from him. “Thank you, Rudy,” she murmured, taking it from him; he stood there, and she looked at him. “I’m going to take my bra off, Rudy.”

“What?”

“My bra. It’s wet too.” She blinked. “I mean, I have no issues with you staring at my girls. They’re pretty. And pierced. But I mean, I figured I’d warn you before I stripped more.”

“I, uh, Dios mío,” he breathed, spinning around with such a speed it made her head spin.

As she lifted the sports bra, she asked, “Rudy, eres virgen?”

He spluttered. “Qué!”

She wrung the water from her bra. “You are, aren’t you?”

“No soy un virgen,” he flustered. “He tenido sexo antes.”

“Uh huh,” she doubted. “Well it was either terrible or it’s only happened once because you still act like a virgin.”

“Or I act like a man who wants to show a woman respect,” he retorted.

Slipping the white shirt on, she nudged him in the knee and he turned around. “How many times?”

Rudy cleared his throat, looking past her at the wall. “Sólo una vez.”

“What was it? High school girlfriend? A girl you met in basic training?” she couldn’t see it, but she knew his cheeks were reddening. “Basic training, wasn’t it? Was she older?” his foot sunk into the dirt as he scuffed his boot. “Oh, she was? Rudy, tú perro picaro,” she chastised. “You slept with your superior.”

“It was only once,” he admitted. “We were drunk and flirting and it—”

She grinned at him and crooked a finger at him; Rudy stepped forward like his feet were full of lead, breathing quickening when she grabbed the side of the table and inched herself to the edge until her knees were tucked snugly on either side of his thighs. “There’s no need to explain how it happened when you can just show me, Rudy.”

“Ay Cristo, ay mierda, ay joder,” he started muttering to himself, hands into fists like he was trying to keep himself from grabbing her.

She let her hands come up, teasing beneath his vest. “Take a breath, Sergeant Major, you look like you’re going to combust.” He swallowed thickly and she added, “if you want to stop we can always consider this just…light-hearted teasing.”

“No, quiero esto,” he blurted out and she fell silent; Rudy then took a deep breath. “Simplemente no quiero hacerlo aquí.” Finally, he found his hands, and reached up, warm fingers brushing along the column of her throat. “Te mereces algo más que una mesa dura.”

“Oh, honey, I’d take a dirt floor if it meant I’d get you.” Her hum made the tips of his fingers tingle and she cooed, “But please, be a gentleman. Lucky me. Most guys would jump at the chance.”

“I am not most guys,” Rudy retorted, fingers clenching at the nape of her neck.

“No you’re not,” she said, and reached up, curling her fingers in the opening of his jacket. “Now if you’re not going to absolutely ruin me, kiss me at least?”

He leaned down, let her close her eyes, and he stopped, lips brushing hers as he warned, “Oh, te voy a destruir, pero no aquí, Emperatriz.”

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him onto the table with her. “Ooo, I like it when you find your guns, cowboy.”

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carolmunson · 2 years

Text

good cop, bad cop II: daddy lessons

real brain rot shit. recommended reading: good cop, bad cop part one.

warnings: fem reader, daddy kink, dom!steve, dom!eddie, sadist!eddie (also soft, he can’t help it), brat!reader, sadist!steve (not soft at all unfortch), bdsm aligning punishments and actions, humiliation, degradation, dom training, forced orgasm. female anatomy mention. p in v sex, oral (m and f receiving), angst, face slapping (in like a bad way), severe name calling, some dubcon at the end

but in this realm (at least for me) all violent acts are previously consented to

pls don’t engage if under 18+ cause yikes! (like really, YIKES.)

authors note: this was going one way to start, and then i slept on it and i changed my mind and then i changed my mind again

still a continuation to where we last left off, but a mean steve during the first half gets a little more defiance than he bargained for in half time. steve and eddie bicker like a married couple. a very much ‘anything you can do, i can do better’ take on the night.

and then it took a turn, like a scary turn that i sort of like but oh my goddd????

—

“Daddy’s gonna let you cum as many times as he wants,” Steve stopped teasing you, reaching past your writhing hips to the top of your underwear. You lifted your hips so he could wrench them off of you. Eddie watched them get tossed off the bed to the side, he frowned a little – they were his favorite after all.

“What do you mean?” you asked, a little gasp falling out of your mouth as Steve’s fore finger probed between your legs. Your lips already puffing up, aching for him to touch you more. Eddie’s hands on your chest kept you satisfied enough, but there was always more fun to be had – if you played your cards right.

“I think you know exactly what it means,” he said, pushing your knees further apart and placing himself between your legs. He flattened himself on the mattress, a strong hand pushing one of your legs to the side, using them both to help pull you closer to him.

Eddie pushed your hair back from your face so you could watch Steve start leaving love bites on the delicate skin of your inner thighs. They were sharp and dominant, leaving you wincing in the wake of each one. You leaned back to face Eddie, squirming a little. He looked down at you and then scanned the rest of your clothed body, a little frown poking out at the sight of your battered knees and the bruises on your neck.

Then it hit him, “Wait, wait, time out. Time out.”

Steve immediately sat up and got off the bed, “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m good,” he said, the reverb of his voice in his chest vibrated against your back. He turned your face to his, “Have you eaten at all since this morning?”

You shook your head no, and you were surprised that the realization, “Oh, no. I haven’t. Yikes. Can we stop? Can I eat something first?” You started scooting off the bed, the subby lilt in your voice dropping out completely. You walked over to the end of the bed and shimmied your panties back on.

Steve nodded as the three of you headed down the stairs to the kitchen, trying to pull himself back into a regular headspace – but Eddie couldn’t stop running his mouth.

“It just really blows my mind sometimes how you wanna be King Steve so bad in this house, but you can’t even do a simple temperature check before you throw her back in the ring,” he complained, “I bet you didn’t even think about it.”

Steve shook his head, “I didn’t, you’re right.” His voice was low, his eyes still glazed over a bit. You caught that look and grabbed his hand, running your thumb across the back of it to soothe him back to moment. Daddy’s need love too, after all.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked you.

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t okay,” you said, putting a hand on his cheek, “I am hungry, but I’m totally okay.”

Eddie was still ranting as he pulled some paper plates out of the cabinet above the stove, “And like, ‘Cum as many times as I want.’ That’s literally my whole thing! How are you gonna just co-opt my whole thing?”

“We don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want to,” he said, tuning out the other man’s voice. His expression was softer than she’d ever seen it, “We can wait, if you need some time.”

“I rested, I’m gonna eat. It’s okay, we can do it tonight,” you reassured, lifting yourself up on your tip-toes to kiss him, “You’ve got me trained up for this, coach, c’mon.”

Eddie flipped open a new pizza box on the counter, plating up a couple slices for each of you as you and Steve sat down in your respective places. He squeezed your hand gently from under the table before letting go.

“Do you you need three slices?” you asked Eddie, looking at his plate, overflowing with pizza grease and cheese.

“It’s called carb loading, babe,” he replied matter-of-factly, “Look it up. ‘Cause with the way I wanna play with you tonight, we’re all gonna need it.”

“We’re playing the way I want to play,” Steve asserted, utensils clattering, “It’s my scene. You both do as I say.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you responded, folding your pizza in half. You all ate in silence, clear that Steve had a short fuse on him tonight. He hated when Eddie called him out on etiquette in front of you, even if he was right. He couldn’t deal with feeling any loss of complete control over you, and getting called on his bullshit made him nervous you’d stop respecting him.

“Um,” you started, “If…if we’re starting you know, with going down on me. Could uh…hmm.” You opened your mouth to continue, and then closed it, and opened it again, “I’m trying to figure out the right way to ask this.”

“Just ask it,” Steve said shortly.

“If you’re gonna start with going down on me, could um, could Eddie do it?”

Eddie snorted into the cup of water he was drinking, it quickly turned into a full belly laugh, “Oh my Goooodddd, this is the best day. Oh, fuck, that’s gold.”

Steve tried to ignore him, “And why is that, princess?”

“I don’t think you’re bad at it, you’re great at it,” you quickly assured, your voice raising several steps, “It’s just that Eddie, he…he’s just–”

“It’s okay sweet thing, you can say it. I’m better,” Eddie interrupted, looking at Steve while he said it.

“Ed, enough,” you urged, it was so clear he was trying to push Steve’s buttons, and you didn’t want to be the outlet for that. You turned your attention back to Steve, “It’s not that he’s better per-se, he’s just…he’s got a different style is all.”

“You heard it hear first, Steve-o,” Eddie said with a shrug, a new spring of cockiness electrifying him, “I got a different style, and the style is better.”

If there is anything that was true, it’s that Steve fucked you for his pleasure, and Eddie fucked you for yours. Steve was always more likely to steal you for a quickie in the morning before work over the bathroom sink, leaving you sniveling and whimpering with a stinging behind. He’d rut into you after getting belted, still high on power, forcing you to swallow all of his cum. He’d bounce you on his cock on the couch while he watched TV if you started talking to much. It was take and take, always leaving you a little broken and needy for him after.

Eddie worked slow, he loved watching you go completely stupid under him, barely even talking – couldn’t even say your own name half the time. He made sure to take his time with you, making you finish at least two or three times before taking you all the way. It drove him wild to watch you shake and writhe beneath him while he tested your limits, mixing pleasure with pain at all times.

And if anything else was true, it’s that Eddie wrote the book on eating pussy. You’d put yourself in enough embarrassing positions and situations just for a hint of feeling his tongue on you – recalling the time he rigged you up and put you on display in the center of the kitchen table while he cooked dinner, just to feast on you after he finished. (He put that together when Steve was on vacation with his parents though, Eddie didn’t want to share you at all that weekend.)

Steve took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, “Okay Ed, why don’t you show me how it’s done, since you’re so much better.”

Eddie stretched and put his hands behind his head, leaning back on the chair, he tossed you a look, “Baby, go grab my cuffs out of the closet upstairs, please?”

You pouted, “But then I won’t get to grab your hair.”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, “But I think Steve would like it better with you a little tied up. You don’t wanna mess up his hair would you?”

“That’s enough,” Steve said sternly, getting up so quickly the chair toppled over behind him. He grabbed you by the forearm out of the chair and pulled you out into the living room and up the stairs. Eddie followed quickly behind.

Back in the bedroom, Steve took your clothes off, sparing the skirt. After seeing you in it all day, it felt right to ruin you in it, too. In his own way, he didn’t want you to associate that skirt with Eddie anymore, just him, just your daddy.

Ed emerged from the closet, swinging his cuffs on his fingers and catching them in his palm. He smirked at you, pulling you in close to him by the waist for a deep and slow kiss, “Are you ready? You’re gonna look so pretty, all chained up.” Steve watched from the edge of the bed with his arms crossed while Eddie got you set up. A perfect picture of authority standing over you, veins in his arms pulsing, his brow set and concentrated, there was a steady rise and fall in his chest. He locked his eyes with you while Eddie clicked the first cuff into place.

“Tighter,” he said, “I want it to hurt her.”

Eddie huffed a little, clicking the cuff two more notches, you winced. He made quick work of wrapping the chain between the cuffs around one of the center post of the iron bedframe, and getting your other wrist secured.

Steve kept eye contact with you while you laid there, exposed. .A small hiss came out of your mouth when you struggled against the cuffs after feeling too seen and squirming.

“You know it has to hurt so you can learn your place, baby,” he said, his voice low and husky. He ran this thumb over your lower lip, only for you to obediently take it in your mouth and suck on it. When it was released, he wiped your spit off on your cheek.

“There’s daddy’s girl,” he said, his gaze still hard. He forgot how turned on he got, seeing you tied up, helpless and begging. Maybe Eddie was right, maybe he wasn’t taking his time the way he should have.

Eddie peeled his hole riddled Metallica shirt off and unhooked his wallet chain from his jeans, putting his effects on his bedside table. A true specimen under his clothes, pale skin and a body that looked like it was carved from marble – tattoos littering his chest to cover up the scarring.

“You’re gonna want to take that shirt off Harrington, we’re bordering watersports territory,” Eddie warned. Steve followed suit, spit pooled in your mouth at the sight of his chest. The hair wasn’t for everyone, but this chick dug it, for sure.

Ed got on one side of you, Steve on the other, the lesson has begun.

“So, it’s best to start in a way that gives you the most access,” Eddie explained, pushing your legs up so the length of your thighs laid flat against your chest, your ass a little off the bed, “Open up a little for me, princess.”

You excitedly opened your legs for him, feeling his breath on your thigh. Your heart raced with excitement while being on display for both of them.

“And you know, you can’t just dive in, and from just lookin’ at ya Stevie, I can tell you want to. And I get it, who wouldn’t?” he looked up at you from between your thighs, a purr settling in his throat, “Who wouldn’t want to get right into that pretty pussy?”

His fingertips made lazy circles on your inner thigh. You shivered at the gentle touch, muscle memory making you want to reach down to run your hand through his hair. You rolled your hips even has the metal of the cuffs bit into your wrists.

“Tsk, tsk, so impatient,” Eddie said, placing two fingers in a V over each of your lips, puffing up more with every brush of his skin against yours.

“See, this is why you can’t just jump in,” he said, looking down at you and then over to Steve, “You gotta tease her a little first.” He massaged his fingers over you slowly, the action moving your hood over your clit in slow motion. Your thighs twitched, the feeling making breathy quiet moans spill out of you.

Eddie kept you like this for about a minute, you rolled your hips in time with his touch trying to get yourself off as much as you could, but it wasn’t enough. God, he knew how to tease – everything just so out of reach.

Steve hadn’t spoken, transfixed on you, whining and writhing – he wasn’t sure if he was angry or just more aroused than he’d ever been. Any time Eddie touched you in front of him like this, it was on his command. When he said it was okay. He knew you fucked around without him, and that was fine, he didn’t have to see it or think about it. But this? This felt offensive, like you forgot who you worshipped.

Eddie dipped his head down, “Look at me, sweet girl.” Steve watched as your eyes went from him to Eddie with immediate obedience, his jaw clenched. He reached over and put a hand in your hair, letting his thumb slide over your temple while you mewed down at the other boy in your bed.

Eddie winked at you, putting both hands on your thighs, letting his bottom lip drag over your aching lips resting at the skin just above your clit.

“Pleeeaasssee,” you whined out, tears pricking your eyes, unable to hold back anymore.

“Seeeee,” Eddie said, turning his head to Steve, his hair tickling your thighs like fire, “Already almost crying, your favorite.”

“So when you go in, it’s kind of like…I don’t know how to explain it really,” he explained while using his fingertips to part your lips. Slickness glinted in the low light of the room, Steve’s hand dropped to the side of your neck, thumbing your jugular absentmindedly.

“So pretty,” Eddie murmured to himself. He flattened his tongue, starting at the bottom and gliding it up past your opening before capturing the rest of you in his mouth and sucking with intention. He smirked into the motion while you gasped at first contact.

“Fffffuck!” you cried out, it was the only time you were allowed to curse.

Eddie pulled away, and turned back to Steve, “It’s kind of like how you kiss my neck when you’re feeling a little needy.”

Steve let a little sigh come out through his nose, a whisper of a smile washed over his face, “Watch yourself, Munson.”

“You wanna taste our girl?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss. Steve grunted a reply, taking his hand off your neck and into Eddie’s hair, the other dominantly clutching the back of his head. They were like animals when they kissed, each trying to out do the other.

When they broke apart, Eddie grinned down at you, getting back into position between your thighs, “Daddy must love how you taste, huh?” You nodded eagerly, the cool air hurting you more than helping you as it met with the wetness running down onto the bed.

“So now you can vary it, or keep a similar pace until you want to start getting her ready for more,” he spoke like it was a museum tour, or an infomercial.

“This is her favorite, though,” he said, going back in with his tongue fluttering over your clit. Switching from rapidly from fluttering to sucking, letting out a deep guttural groan while he did.

You let out loud moans, the ones Eddie would open the windows for (our little exhibitionist).

“Yes! YES! Ooh, more, more like that, please,” you cried out, your voice trailing up and octave with every moan.

“She sounds like a porn star,” Steve commented in his normal voice.

“That’s kind of the point,” Eddie said against your thigh, “That’s like, my favorite part about it.” Without warning, he slipped a finger into you, already expertly teasing at your g-spot like you were a new B.C. Rich.

Eddie let out a sharp exhale, “So fucking wet for me tonight, baby girl.” He pushed a second finger in, and your eyes rolled back at the fullness of his fingers in you. He felt you pulse over him and snickered.

“Far she blows, Harrington,” Eddie joked, getting on his knees and leaning over you, his other hand pressing down just above your pubic bone. The pressure building in your stomach released almost immediately, sending a gush of liquid out over Eddie’s hand and over the mattress.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Eddie whispered, “You’re so fucking hot.” He wiped his hand off on his jeans, immediately unbuttoning them and abandoning them next to his belt on the corner of the bed. His boxers not helping in any way to hide how hard he was for you.

“Don’t let her wait in between,” Steve commanded, “Don’t let her have time to catch up.”

Eddie nodded, taking his dick out lazily stroking himself while repositioning between your legs. His tongue was quickly gliding back over your pussy, fingers pumping into you while your hips met his rhythm, coming again soon after the first. Eddie didn’t let up, but your insides ached and your legs hurt.

“It h–ooh, it hurss, ah! Oh, ooh,” you were caught in the cross roads, some touches feeling good, some stinging. “God Steve, let me fuck her,” Eddie begged, his chin and cheeks covered your juices. An evil glint flashed in Steve’s eyes as they met yours.

“That’s what you want, right?” he asked you. You nodded, trying to swallow your cries so he wouldn’t catch you slipping too early, but your cheeks were already stained with tears.

Another orgasm shook through your body onto Eddie’s fingers, shorter than the other two. You expected a moan to come out, but instead a full shuddering cry rang through the bedroom. Steve nodded in Eddie’s direction, signaling that it was good to go.

Eddie eased in, wanting to savor how wet you were. Warm and inviting, already spasming over his cock as he’s pushed in slowly. It took you a moment to adjust to him, but you growled at how full you felt when he got to the hilt, feeling his balls at the bottom of your opening.

“That feels good huh, pretty baby?” he asked, steadying himself with a hand on your jaw while he stroked back and forth into you, “You love how this cock feels, don’t you?”

“Oooh, yes, I love how your cock feels,” you repeated back to him, your voice raising to something high and nasally. Eddie gritted his teeth to keep from cumming at the sound. The world seemed hazy around you, only focused on the feeling of Eddie’s cock pumping into you and the pain on your wrists. The ache in your pussy and abs, the backs of your thighs. Your breaths came rapidly as Eddie picked up his pace, using his free hand circle your abused clit.

Eddie’s eyes were wicked, beads of sweat dripping down his neck, some of his curls matted to his face, “Such a fucking whore, such a whore for me.”

Your mouth lolled open, eyes half closed as you let your body bounce loosely against him. Your arms fell slack against the restraints, you were fully going under.

“Such a whore for you daddy,” you mumbled lazily to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie muttered to himself stopping mid thrust at the sound of that word. He immediately getting off of you and pulled up his boxers.

“What did you just say?” Steve asked, anger burning in his face, “Did I hear you right?”

He issued a hard slap across your face, “Back to reality, you fucking bitch, what the fuck did you just say?”

You snapped hard out of your lulled state, your mouth running dry as you realized your mistake. His hands were rough on your face, fingertips digging into the sting blooming on your cheek.

“Is that what you call him when I’m not around? That’s your Daddy, huh?” Steve glowered, his chest heaving. He looked rabid over you.

Steve turned his attention to Eddie, “And you let her? I bet you just fuckin’ love that don’t you. Finally getting to be the big boss.”

“No, no, it’s not his fault, please,” you squeaked out, terrified, “He doesn’t ask me to call him that.”

“I swear Steve, I would never ask her to do that. That’s a hard line for you, we’ve talked about it,” Eddie said, his voice normal, out of the scene. This was going off script.

“Take the cuffs off her,” Steve demanded, rage bubbling inside him. Eddie clicked the cuffs open, starting to go in and start soothing your reddened wrists but before he could, Steve wrenched you up by the hair.

“That’s your Daddy?,” he repeated, pulling you off the bed to your feet, your scalp screamed, “That’s fine.” He dragged you to the end of the mattress and threw you over it.

“Get your ass up,” he hissed. You were shaking, but assumed your position as the end of the bed, on all fours so your feet hung off the edge. You arched your back deep, your forearms quaking. Steve went into the closet silently, the air was filled with tension and the sound of you sniffling.

He emerged with one of Eddie’s belts, the one with the pointed studs on it, the one he said he’d never take out unless you really deserved it. Steve approached Eddie, still in just his boxers, and clasped the belt in his hand. He pushed your skirt up over your belly so it hung off your waist.

“Go ahead, punish her,” Steve said, his voice calm but his face taking over by something evil, “Show her what a good Daddy you are. Put her in her place.”

“Steve…” Eddie started.

“Toughen up, Ed, you can do it,” he said, unbuckling his own belt and taking his jeans and underwear off, “I was gonna finish her off with a spanking anyway, but you know, since you’re running the show here, now. By all means…”

Steve kneeled in front of you on the bed, adjusting to find the best angle of his dick in front of your face.

“I don’t wanna hear you cryin’. You want me to give you something to cry about?,” he muttered, fisting your hair again, “Put this fucking cock in your mouth.”

You quickly did as you were told, immediately putting it as far back in your throat as you could. You prayed that if you just did a good job here he’d cool out a little bit, but this was a very different Steve than you were used to.

“Go ahead, Munson, show me what you can do,” he said, guiding your head up and down his length.

Eddie got behind you, nervous and unsure. He’s dealt you some beatings before but not like this – belts and spankings were Steve’s thing, not his. He wrapped the end of the belt on one hand, and ran the length of it through the other, then folded it in half.

The first strike was weak, you out a little whimper, but nothing that really moved you. You’d had much worse with more tame belts. The second was a little harder, you let out a groan on Steve’s cock. You tried desperately to focus on the task at hand, but the uncertainty and unpredictability of what might happen next made you anxious.

“Come on Eddie, you can do better than that,” Steve cooed, “Come on, she’s still got a lesson to learn today.”

Eddie brought the belt down again on your thighs, but again, it was nothing compared to kneeling on rice earlier that afternoon. Eddie ripped your head off of his cock, you immediately gagged as the tip slid out of the top of your throat.

“I’ll show you,” Steve said, “Switch with me, her dick sucking is boring anyway.”

“I dunno, man,” Eddie said, concerned. Steve got up, and took the belt from him, nudging the other boy back to the mattress. Ed just sat in front of you stroking your hair. Your lower lip wobbled as he degraded you, he’d never said you weren’t good at something before. He was being mean just to be mean.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good.”

“So Ed, you have to mean it,” Steve said, his eyes were wide, an unhinged smile spread across his face.

“You have to really mean it,” he said through gritted teeth. The belt came down so fast you could hear the ‘thwup’ of it breaking the sound barrier. You saw stars immediately, your whole body lurched forward. You tried to catch your breath but he knocked the wind fully out of you.

“And she can really take a beating, Ed. It’s important to know for the future,” he said, the belt coming down hard again, once from the left and the right. You coughed and sputtered trying to find a breathing rhythm, tears were pouring out of you now.

“And you’ll know her limits over time, y’know?” he explained, “But I’ll tell you, when she’s really bad, she’s rotten.” Steve whipped you with Eddie’s belt recklessly, you knew this pain would last for weeks at this point, you were certain he drew blood. Pain bloomed and bloomed again at every ‘smack’ of the belt hitting your skin.

You turned your head to look back at him, globs of tears streaming down your cheeks, “Ple-ease Steve, stop.”

He lifted the belt again, but you put your arm back to stop him, “Please stop,” you begged meekly, “I’m sorry, please. Please st-st-stop.”

He looked at you and dropped the belt to the ground with a hard thud.

“You’re sorry, hm?” he said, taking a step closer to you, “You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” you rasped out quietly.

“Speak up, baby, I can’t hear you,” he said, pulling you up from the arm you put out to stop him. Your back was against him, you could fell his erection up against your ass and gulped.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you choked out.

He sheathed into you without warning and it burned. He knew it would, he knew you weren’t wet anymore. You were shaking and scared of him and it drove him insane.

“Love when you cry for me, princess,” he said in your ear, “Fuck, I love when you cry.”

He put one arm around your chest to keep you up while he fucked you and the other fixed on your jaw so you were in the same eye line as Eddie. The slap of his skin against your beaten ass and thighs made you dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm, you were inconsolable. But to your surprised, you started to get slick around his cock, cursing yourself for your body betraying you so quickly.

You choked out a moan, your nipples peaking against his arm.

“Oh yesss,” he growled, his lips lingering against your temple, “Who’s your Daddy now, huh?”

“Mm,” was all you were able to choke out. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame.

“Who’s your daddy, you fuckin’ whore,” he asked again.

“You are,” you squeaked out, sobs wracking you as Eddie looked on in horror.

“Come on, say it all the way, look at Ed when you say it. Who’s your daddy now, baby?” he grinned wickedly, pressing his cheek against yours, keeping eye contact with Eddie.

“You’re my Daddy,” you cried out, looking right at Eddie while he railed you, “You’re my Daddy, Steve.”

You felt warmth pool inside of you, hot and stinging, and his thrusts came to a stop. He shoved you forward on the bed and issued a hard final smack on your ass.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he muttered darkly. You felt his cum drip out of you as you climbed onto the mattress, crying and empty. You felt used and dirty, it had been a long time since you felt like this after sex. Steve was always so quick to praise you, even half way through, even close to the end.

Eddie got up, “Go cool off, dude, get out.”

“I’m good,” Steve said, lacing his fingers over his forehead, his elbows sticking out to the side. He took a deep breath, “I’m good.”

“You’re not good,” Eddie said in a measured tone, ushering him towards the bedroom door. He picked up Steve’s pants and shirt on the way, tossing them out into the hall. Shoving Steve in the chest out with them.

“Go take a walk, man,” he said, “Come back whenever you’re done with, whatever the fuck this is.” He gestured at Steve’s whole being, and shut the door in his face, clicking the lock. A muffled ‘Fuck!’ rang through the hallway, and the sound of glass breaking crashed a few minutes later.

Things were blurry, you felt exhausted. Tremors of your body protecting itself from the pain inside and outside shook you. Your cheek was squished against the mattress. You felt the bed shift as a now clothed Eddie appeared next to you, you shimmied your head onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, “I need you to be honest – are you with me right now?”

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. You felt his warm hand on your back, sliding up and down the slope of your spine.

“Do you need me to let you just lay down for a little before I take care of you?” Ed’s gentle tone made you want to cry again, but you held it in, just nodding yes to his question.

“We’re gonna have to have a biiiig talk about boundaries, later,” Eddie said to himself out loud, “Steve needs some fucking therapy, man.”

#DOM EDDIE MUNSON #DOM STEVE HARRINGTON #EDDIE MUNSON FANFICTION #EDDIE MUNSON #EDDIE MUNSON IMAGINE #STEVE HARRINGTON FANFIC #EDDIE MUNSON SMUT #STEVE HARRINGTON SMUT #STEDDIE X READER #the steddieverse

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guitarbomb · 3 months

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nctrnm · 6 months

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#NowPlaying: "Shakuhachi Mic Test 2" by bartonmusic

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fushic0re · 2 years

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─ 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇

𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗡 𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗠𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘!𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 ❞𝗗𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗬❞ 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — you and lloyd’s fights are…intense.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. DARK THEMES. rough sex. knife play. consensual hitting. blood play. pussy spanking. degradation. possessive behavior. spitting. physical violence & threats of violence. yall know the drill, these 2 are literally insane and their relationship isn't ideal in the slightest.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — the relationship dynamics between lloyd and reader in this series are not for the faint of heart. they’re not a cute couple. realistically speaking, their relationship can hardly be considered healthy. if that kind of dynamic is not for you, this is your sign to exit this fic. heed the warnings and understand that you are responsible for what you read. for a heightened and ✨ spicier ✨ experience, read while listening to “teeth” by 5sos slow + reverb.

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

DINNER WAS TENSE as you and your fiancée sat opposite each other, the pair of you opting to occupy both heads of the table of the grand dining table rather than next to each other.

Fed up with Lloyd’s bullshit, you were fixated on ignoring him for the rest of the night. All you wanted to do was have a nice meal, a long bubble bath, and the California king bed in your master bedroom at your complete reign. Lloyd could sleep with the goddamn roaches for all you cared. Every now and then, the harsh clench of his jaw as he aggressively chewed and glared at you would catch your eye. You remained unmoved, your mood lightening as your hunger began to subside.

Once your plate was clean, you made your presence scarce, heading straight up to your bedroom. Humming to yourself, you flittered around the premise as you prepared for your night; removing your clothes, jewelry, and makeup while waiting for the tub to fill up. Like a kid in a candy store, you picked out your favorite Epsom salts, bubble bath, and a couple of essential oils and got to concocting your dream bath potion. When all was said and done, you finally sunk into the steaming water with a deep exhale of relief. Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to drift into a state of ataraxis, hoping the essential oils would soothe the headache your fiancé had caused you.

They say when you think of the devil, we will appear. He did just as that the second his angered face danced through your thoughts.

“Stop fucking ignoring me.” Lloyd commanded, marching loudly into your ensuite.

You huffed sharply, turning around in the tub so that your back was to him. He didn’t appreciate the gesture in the slightest. Within the next couple of seconds, Lloyd had made his way around the tub, standing behind you with a ring clad hand wrapped around your damp throat.

“I could drown you right here. Right now. Leave your pretty body to the vultures and replace you with some other little whore who doesn’t dismiss me like I’m some cuck.” He growled into your ear. “You wanna ignore me? I’ll pretend like you never even existed to me.”

You scoffed.

“You won’t get rid of me. You can’t. You need me, you breathe me.”

His grip tightened.

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Then why am I still alive shit talking you, Hansen?”

The chord in him snapped. Lloyd hauled you up out of the tub by your jugular. You countered his rebuttal with viper like speed, reaching for a glass decanter and striking him with it. Trillions of tiny crystalline pieces adorned the ground as the glass shattered. Crimson drizzled from his temple down the side of his face, curling around his jaw before soaking the collar of his shirt.

“You’re ruining my bubble bath!” You shrieked angrily, attempting to free yourself from his grip and sink back into the water.

If he knew he was bleeding or was lightly concussed, he didn’t show it. Instead, Lloyd grabbed you by your shoulders and violently shook your naked form as he spoke.

“And you have ruined my entire day with your insufferableness, you dumb fucking brat!”

You cranked your head back before bashing your skull into his. It disoriented him momentarily. He took a moment to gather himself, shaking his head and reorienting his center. A wicked stretched across his loathsomely handsome face from ear to ear.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Like the complete heathen he was, he carelessly tossed your body over his shoulder and hauled you out of the bathroom. The marble tiles and his clothes were soaked, but it didn’t phase him. You thrashed wildly in his hold, screaming like a banshee.

“I said leave me alo—”

Your words were cut short when your body was slammed on the bed and you were met with a sharp slap to your cheek. His body loomed over you like a predator would its prey, clutching your face harshly and squeezing your cheeks together while you looked up at him with wide, inferno eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, princess. You know you like it—”

It was your turn to interrupt him with a wad of spit to his face.

Lloyd shut his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he wiped your saliva away with the back of his hand. His grin widened.

“Baby,” He began. His candy coated words were seemingly sweet, but anyone with a brain could see the venom oozing out of them. “Daddy doesn’t wanna fight with you.”

He reached into the back of his pocket and fished out a knife, the twin to yours. Its blade shimmered as the twinkly lights of the diamond chandelier ahead of you bounced off of it.

“So, I’m going to give you a couple chances because I love you. That’s what we do for the people we love, hmm?”

He brought the knife closer to you, tapping the flat side of its tip against your lips.

“We’ll leave this face alone though. It’s too precious.” He cooed. “Now, love of my life…”

Llyod leisurely trailed the knife from the skin of your neck, down to your torso in between your breasts. Its sharp edge just barely kissed your flesh, drawing the thinnest line of blood. Your fire didn’t die. Despite that, you continued to glare into his cold eyes defiantly.

“Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

Testing his patience, you remained silent. You wanted to push him to the edge and watch him lose his shit. And just as he thought he was the one in control, you wanted to be the one to force him back into subordination. Lloyd’s muscles relaxed as he mistook your silence for cooperation. His guard was slowly dropping.

Hook, line, and sinker.

A tiny giggle escaped your lips. It escalated into full maniac laughter in the span of seconds.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could blink, his knife was in your grasp and his back was hitting the mattress of your California king. It was now his throat that his own blade was pressed against, your body straddling his. For a split second, Lloyd wanted nothing more than to flip you over and make love to you until the sunset came up. You were gorgeous when you were like this; bare for him in more ways than one. He loved when you bore his soul to him, letting the pure madness that resided deep inside you out to play.

“You sure talk a lot for the only person bleeding right now.” You snarled, applying pressure to the blade and drawing more blood.

Lloyd chuckled, raising his hips slightly off the bed and firmly pressing his arousal against your unclothed core. The roughness of his pants against your clit nearly made you cave in. You loved the man, there was nothing you wanted him than to kiss him breathless, but he drove you insane. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him. Not only could you adore him without any boundaries, but he was able to root up the deepest, darkest emotions you had ever felt in your life.

“This feels like a repeat of the first time we met. You tried to kill me.” Lloyd purred, grinding against you at an agonizingly tantalizing pace. It made you dizzy, your lids dropping down along with your walls.

He took the opportunity to take back the knife and sit up, nuzzling his face into your neck. He nosed the wound he created.

“I knew I’d do anything for you the second you held that gun to my head. That if I died right then and there, my last thought would be of you without a single regret. You knew that. You knew I’d follow you to the ends of this earth on my hands and knees no matter what. That’s why you keep me around.”

The blade once again made itself at home between your breasts. This time, Lloyd didn’t hold back. Swiftly, he sliced your flesh. Seconds after. He reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He pulled you against his body; flesh to flesh. Your blood smeared against his alabaster chest.

“But let me remind you, sweetheart. If I bleed, you bleed with me.”

Lloyd’s lips attacked your throat, his tongue lapping against at the lesion he created there. You gasped at the initial sting, the muscle feeling rough against the newly formed lesion. Soon, however, his ministrations began to soothe you. Giving in finally, you began to grind against him. The action caused Lloyd’s reverie to splinter. Before you could blink, the man had flipped you over onto all fours. He kneed behind you, undoing his belt and taking off the rest of his clothing. You knew you were in for it when you heard him expeditiously slip his belt from the belt loops of his pants. Expertly, he wrapped the strip of leather around your throat and fastened it. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt you, but it was tight enough to remind you of your place. The mere thought humored you.

“You’re going soft on me, bub—”

Your remark was rudely cut off when Lloyd yanked the tail end of the belt. Your spine was arched so hard it was almost unnatural. He drew himself closer to you, cradling the underside of your jaw affectionately before retreating his hand in between your thighs. Your head was cupped in his large palm.

“I’ll still break your fucking jaw.” His hand dipped in between your legs, meaty fingers dipping into your entrance and swirling around in your wetness. He massaged your clit in slow circles before withdrawing and placing an acute spank on your core. You yelped as one followed another in meteoric succession.

“You have pissed. Me. Off.” Lloyd seethed, landing a couple more slaps to your core before reaching in between his legs and gripping his cock. “You and that stupid, uppity fucking attitude of yours.”

He drove into you with one long thrust. You cried out loudly as you tossed your head back, not even recognizing your own voice as it left your body. Lloyd wasted no time, pistoning into you with so much force that your body was almost knocked over save for the length of his belt tugging you upright once more. His pace was rapid, barely giving you time to process when he was inside of you before he was retreating from your heat again. Lloyd wasn’t exactly the softest lover. Even when he was making love to you rather than just fucking you, he was still rough and possessive. You were used to marks on your skin and soreness between your legs as a result of your trysts. But this? He had never been this feral. A slither of you was fearful that this wasn’t the extent of his cruelty – that you had completely and utterly exasperated every ounce of mercy he had to give. But that part was just small enough to excite you.

“Do it.” You breathed. “Hurt me. I w-want—”

The words couldn’t leave your mouth, your brain only able to form wanton sounds of pleasure. He breathlessly cackled from behind you, planting a sloppy smooch on your heated cheek dewy with perspiration.

“I fucking love you. You were made for me. Say it. Use your dumb baby brain, and tell me you belong to me or I’ll fucking end you right here.” He growled in your ear.

“I love you!” You whimpered loudly, your eyes welling up with tears as the pleasure became too intense. “I love you, I n-need you, p-please...”

Your sentence trailed off as you panted wildly, your beloved’s pace and vigor unfaltering. You felt the stickiness of your blood on his chest as he pressed his flesh against your back, the sensation causing your eyes to roll backward. Lloyd kissed away your tears as they slid down your cheeks, chuckling lowly and sadistically.

“I love being the only person to see you like this. Submissive. Weak. At my mercy What would everyone think if they knew the person they feared the most could be taken down with something as simple as cock?” He taunted.

For once, you had nothing to say. You only mewled indecently, gripping Lloyd’s forearms, your manicured nails penetrating his skin and drawing tiny half moons of blood. Your reverie reached its peak as your walls fluttered around his length before unclenching compactly. All strength left your body as your orgasm sent you into a frenzied state of lust. Lloyd did nothing as you fell flat against the mattress, fisting the sheets in your palms as he fucked you through your high.

His large hands fell to your hips.

“You can give me another one, hmm, sweet girl? Give daddy another one, baby, make me cum,” Lloyd moaned lowly, his eyes closed, and his lips parted as he sloppily thrusted away.

You began to squirm as another orgasm rapidly approached. Lloyd cursed loudly before the first rope of cum was shot into you. His body crashed down on top of yours, hips still moving on their own accord as he pumped every last drop of his spent into your core. You hummed in content, basking in his warmth. You reached up with one arm, grasping the back of his neck and tangling your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck. He practically purred your affection, leaning down to litter butterfly kisses across the span of your naked back. There was a peaceful silence as the two of you caught your breath, your bodies coming down from the wear and tear of your activities. It wasn’t until Lloyd cupped your face gently and turned it towards him that you realized that time had indeed passed.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered earnestly.

Shaking your head, you leaned forward and placed a loving kiss upon his awaiting lips.

“No, I am.” You lamented. “I forgot what we were even fighting about.”

He chuckled, nosing your shoulder affectionately.

“That means I did my job well.”

Snorting, you flicked his forehead. He chuffed aggravatedly.

“Has my head not suffered enough damage today? You literally headbutted me and hit me with a vase! Why the fuck would you do that, woman?!”

You soothed the spot with a kiss.

“You owe me a new vase.”

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x asian!reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen imagine #the grey man #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x asian!reader #chris evans one shot

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mighty-ant · 4 months

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don't go breaking my spark, part 1

ao3

Noah thought he understood war.

A mess of treaties and broken alliances that changed by the decade. The political power plays that went over the heads of grunts like him. The staccato of gunfire around him, no idea what direction it was coming from. Squinting against the glare of the sun, explosions of dirt, and the blood trailing from the gash above his eyes as his CO screamed in his face to get them reconnected with SatComm and keeping his hands steady at the same time he thought about his last call with Kris, who had quietly admitted that his arms had started hurting so bad that he couldn’t sleep some nights.

But for all the chaos of the battlefield, none of it seemed to matter when he was back home. Noah still jumped every other time he heard an engine backfire, the rattle of the subway sounded like the ratatattat of machine gun fire, and the nightmares were…pretty bad, but on his block, in his borough, in this city, life moved on without incident. Largely unaffected by the outcome of wars taking place hundreds of thousands of miles away.

It was almost quaint, knowing what he knew now. Having fought beside beings who were trillions of lightyears from home, and still had their war following them on bleeding, dogged feet. Whose war had lasted longer than humans had walked the Earth.

“Had” being the key word. Past tense.

Because Cybertron was dying.

“The core, the Well, they’ve gone dark, Prime,” relayed a gaunt red and yellow mech across a shuddering connection, the reverb only adding to the strain of his words. “Not destroyed, not taken, just—dark.”

For the first time in eight years, the Autobots were able to create a secure communication line with their forces on Cybertron, with help from the Joes’ advanced (by Earth standards) tech. The signal had to be bounced from Arcee’s comm station, between satellites, off a nebula, triangulated by an Autobot spaceship named Cosmos (as in he was a bot who turned into a spaceship), and finally decrypted by Blaster, chief communications officer.

Only Optimus was directly on the call, but the rest of them stood gathered around the projector, secure in the Autobot wing of the base. They were all anxious for news in their own way, even Mirage—or should he say especially Mirage, who tried so hard for nonchalance that he wound all the way back around to deranged, even insisting Noah join him on a quick joyride not even ten minutes before the transmission was scheduled to go live.

Only Ratchet threatening to weld his aft to the floor got Mirage to finally sit still. That, and maybe Noah letting Mirage gleefully perch him on his shoulder had something to do with it. He rarely let Mirage cart him around outside of vehicle mode, especially in front of the others. Noah wanted them to respect him after all, and he figured that might be a little tough if he let his best friend use him like a personal shoulder angel, no matter how much he maybe sorta enjoyed letting Mirage get his hands on him.

Unlike Noah, Charlie had no such qualms, today or any other day. If she wasn’t in the medbay or one of the garages, she could be found lounging in Bumblebee’s arms while playing video games or chatting with another bot. Even now, Bumblebee had her carefully cradled in his folded arms. Hell, if he had it his way, he’d probably never let her feet touch the ground at all.

All this to say, because of his unique perch, Noah felt the way Mirage’s plating rattled and the steady hum of his fans went silent when Blaster haltingly explained that transwarp or no transwarp, there would be no going home.

Most of the explanation went over Noah’s head since he was still playing catchup with his Cybertronian vocabulary. There was talk of energon shortages and bloody battles over resources against Decepticons with scary-ass names (names like Shockwave, Brawl, and Skullcrusher, what the hell ). Ultra Magnus and the Wreckers were MIA. All of the Aerialbots were dead. After four million years of fighting, the planet couldn’t sustain life anymore.

And all the while, a pit opened in Noah’s gut so deep he felt it might swallow him whole.

An entire planet, lost. Mirage’s planet. Even with the nightmare memory of Unicron fresh in his mind, this was almost just as impossible to imagine. Made even more so by the fact that he’d actually seen Cybertron—or at least parts of it, thanks to Mirage’s holo tech.

(“Don’t go snitching on me,” he’d warned as he locked the doors to training room Β behind them. “Don’t even tell Charlie, cuz she’ll 1000 percent tell the Hatchet and I’ll get lectures about straining my emitter for a week.”

“Let’s just see if this light show is worth it, or I might just give you up to Ratchet myself.” Noah grinned. “Performance issues are no joke, man.”

Mirage just rolled his optics, such a purely human gesture in his uniquely alien face that it sparked fondness in Noah’s chest even when Mirage was being a little shit.

“It’s cute that you think you’re funny. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Noah felt his ears go red, an awful tell that used to have him sticking his head under the faucet to make it go away when he was Kris’ age. Luckily, Mirage looked like he actually was busy concentrating, so Noah’s growing inclination to act the fool around his best friend stayed his secret.

For a couple seconds, nothing happened. The training room was easily half the size of a football field, built out of concrete and steel beams that were already showing signs of wear despite the Autobots only being two months in residence. There were a couple suspicious blaster burns in the ceiling that made Noah think that Ironhide and Aileron might’ve gotten a little too trigger happy with Brainstorm’s latest weapons upgrade.

He started to hear something. Not quite music, since no instrument he knew of could make a sound like this. It was more like a hum, almost too quiet to be registered, but thrumming under his breastbone like a second heartbeat. Utterly unfamiliar, but calming instead of frightening.

And around Noah, the drab walls of the training room melted away with a flicker of residual blue energy. The ceiling shifted into a purple, starless expanse and the stars were instead flung all around him, stretching seemingly for miles in every direction. Floating everywhere, inches in front of his face and even thirty feet above, were glittering crystals in various shades of blue, green, and teal arranged in intricate geometric shapes. The cement floor under his feet became a path through the crystal artwork, fashioned from perfectly smooth, round metal facets.

“Holy shit…” Noah breathed, spinning in a careful circle. “This is…How’re you even doing this?”

It didn’t even feel like he was in the same room anymore. Far overhead, he could spot little specks soaring through the cloudy purple sky that he was pretty sure were Cybertronian flyers. He’d never known Mirage to project a hologram so huge and detailed.

Mirage chuckled, a low rumble that paired with the humming all around them (the crystals, it had to be coming from the crystals) shot a small thrill up Noah’s spine. “Well it’s not easy, let me tell you.” Despite his flippant tone, there was a hitched quality to his voiceprint that Noah immediately clocked. Not pain, but discomfort, maybe. A projection this complex must’ve been putting a strain on him.

Before he could call him out on it, Mirage went on in a much quieter, reverent voice that Noah had only heard from him a few times before. The one burned into his memory was when Mirage first reawoke after Peru.

Noah hadn’t left the garage in days, couldn’t remember the last time he slept or ate or did something that wasn’t piecing his friend back together and praying he wasn’t too late, and the half-built Porsche had shuddered under his hands before almost transitioning to root mode, briefly revealing a flicker of those arresting, otherworldly blue optics that Noah thought he’d never see again. Mirage’s voice had warbled out into the air, groggy and disbelieving and maybe a little bit awed: “ Noah, love. That you?”

“All this is footage I pulled outta my memory banks. It’s impossible to create a holo like this from scratch, even for me,” Mirage explained as he stepped up beside Noah.

He tore his eyes away from the crystal artwork to glance up at Mirage, and found himself mesmerized all over again.

Privately, Noah had realized that he enjoyed tracing the shape of Mirage’s high silver cheekbones and the curve of his waist in his mind’s eye as much as he did human men and women in the past. Everything machine, everything alien , about his best friend that had so unnerved him in those first frantic hours following his attempted car theft-turned alien abduction wasn’t just familiar now, it was comforting. Breathtaking. Alluring .

And now, with Mirage’s silver plating reflecting the glow of the crystals like a living kaleidoscope, Noah couldn’t look away if he tried.

His throat worked uselessly for a second. “So where, uh,” he started, hoping he didn’t sound as hoarse as he felt. “Where are we supposed to be?”

“These are the Helix Crystal Gardens before the war. A place of peace, tranquility and blah blah blah.” Even if he was trying to be flippant, Noah was well-practiced at recognizing the sincerity in Mirage’s voice, so he didn’t take the words or the sarcastic roll of his wrist all that seriously. This place, so indescribably beautiful it almost felt holy, meant something to Mirage as more than just another chance to show off.

Instead of the smartass remark that Mirage seemed to be gunning for, something careless and easy like, ‘Tranquil? You?’ Noah said, “This place is beyond dope, man.” He felt he should whisper like he would in church. “It’s fucking beautiful . Don’t tell me you could come here whenever you wanted?”

While maybe subtle to the untrained eye, Noah watched the curve of Mirage’s cheeks rise with his smile and the way the tires on his back hitched up slightly, bashfully even, and Noah felt himself go flush with victory usually reserved for the battlefield.

“Well, Praxus was clear on the other side of the continent, but I could afford to spare the energon back then,” Mirage drawled, looking pleased.

He started walking, taking the smaller, careful steps he usually adopted when they walked side by side. Noah followed, fairly confident that Mirage wouldn’t let him walk into a wall or anything, and was amazed when the projection of the gardens moved with them, as if they really were journeying along the path.

“Praxus?” Noah repeated. Another alien word, one of dozens he’d heard and even fewer he’d learned the meaning of, but each one piqued his curiosity like nothing else.

As usual, Mirage didn’t hesitate to explain but because Noah was still watching the play of light across his face, he recognized the instant Mirage’s easy smile turned brittle. “A city-state on Cybertron. Neutral. Until Megatron had it bombed to the Pit and back about 500,000 years into the fighting.”

Around them, the projection seemed to flicker. Noah turned just in time to watch Helix Gardens vanish and the glimpse into serenity replaced with fire and smoke, the humming Noah felt in his heart turned into distant screams. The path beneath them was coated in ash, pockmarked by craters, and littered with the broken shards of every gleaming crystal that had once floated around them, now gone clear and dead like glass.

Then, the hologram disappeared altogether and they were back in the training room like nothing even happened.

Then, Mirage collapsed.

Noah whirled back around, his heart shooting up to strangle him. His immediate terror barely backed off when he saw Mirage was still conscious, if leaning heavily on one knee, his head bowed and expression hidden.

Still, he rushed forward, practically slapping his palms against Mirage’s shoulder plating in his agitation to get close. The metal beneath his hands was warm and trembling almost imperceptibly.

“‘Raj,” Noah started, but wasn’t able to even get out an ‘ are you okay?’ before Mirage raised his head, a tired smirk curving his faceplate that was suddenly inches away from Noah’s own face. This close, Noah could count the individual facets that made up his glowing optics, like the crystals of Helix Gardens but about a thousand times as striking.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Mirage joked weakly.

“Jesus, don’t apologize,” Noah muttered, his cheeks burning, and he jerked his gaze away to stare at the safety of Mirage’s plating instead. He spread his fingers wide against the warm metal, and felt the rumble of Mirage’s engine under his skin, as familiar now as the steady sound of Kris’ breathing when he slept without pain. “You were there? When Praxus was…”

Mirage shrugged under his hands, his smile fixed and usual drawl rendered toneless. Almost matter-of-fact. “Officially, I was undercover with the ‘Cons. But after the bombs, I…I split. Went looking for survivors.”

Noah made himself look back at Mirage’s face, and though Mirage wasn’t staring back, his hollow expression hadn’t changed. Dread was an old friend at this point—so far, none of the bots’ stories about the war included a happy ending.

“Did you find anybody?” he whispered, suspecting he already knew the answer.

“Nah. There was nobody left to find.”)

Noah thought back to all the places on Cybertron that Mirage had shown him: golden Iacon, bars bustling with Cybertronians ranging in size from barely taller than a human to Stratosphere’s height, the skeletal spires of Vos, Helix Gardens, Six Lasers Over Cybertron. Whether the memories were of quiet cityscapes or places crowded with mechs, Mirage had made Cybertron feel alive to Noah.

How much of that, if any, was still standing? Did it even matter, if the planet itself was unsalvageable?

Blaster’s news had a ripple effect among the gathered Autobots, who shared expressions of shock or grief or utter shutdown. Noah barely noticed when Ratchet started clinging to Ironhide’s arm, only that he looked ready to collapse, as Ironhide went blank with shock. Arcee and Aileron were holding hands, the pair of them impressively stoic if not for the way their grip shook between them. Bumblebee had hidden his face in Charlie’s hair, and then her shoulder when she turned to wrap her arms around his neck. Noah thought Brainstorm might’ve left the room entirely, sharp wings pulled taught and trembling. Wheeljack simply sat down, staring dazedly at nothing.

Mirage wasn’t doing any better.

He was glaring at the floor, optics hidden from Noah, and arms folded tightly across his chest. He was still alarmingly silent, though there was a nearly imperceptible whine building from within his chassis, where his fans were straining against his forced stillness. His plating rattled under Noah, like he was trying not to vibrate straight out of his armor.

It was at that moment that Noah realized he’d never seen Mirage angry before.

He was jovial when facing down Scourge, a monster who’d laid out Optimus and killed Bee, when he was taking blaster shots intended for Noah, when he relived the destruction of a city.

But this—getting a secondhand account that his planet was dead? It broke through his force of personality, and Noah felt like a voyeur up there on Mirage’s shoulder, intensely awkward and out of place.

There was a catwalk behind them, just above shoulder length with Mirage, and intended to allow the humans to interact with the bots on more equal footing. Noah started to scoot back towards it. Inelegant maybe, but Mirage had to be way too distracted to care about his stupid ass still sitting up here like a damn parrot.

He’d barely grabbed the railing when Mirage’s hand came down over his middle, holding him in place. It wasn’t especially fast, and it definitely wasn’t painful, but Noah still startled. When he turned back to Mirage, feeling his ears going red, he saw all traces of anger gone from his friend’s face. Instead, he looked unmoored. A little scared. And there was a question in his optics that had Noah nodding in answer and stuffing his own anxieties back in their boxes.

I’ll stay.

Optimus, for his part, had gone stock still. Every piston, strut, and vent was near vibrating with tension and his hands tightened into fists with an intensity that bordered on pain.

“I’m sorry, Prime,” Blaster was saying, his professionalism hanging by a thread. Noah couldn’t even begin to imagine the chaos taking place over there on the other side of the galaxy. “There’s nothing you could’ve—”

“How long?” Optimus scarcely moved, even to speak, and his words came out sounding like boulders grinding against each other. “How long ago did this happen?”

Even over this tenuous connection, the distressed whine of Blaster’s fans could be heard loud and clear. “I—sir, it’s been—”

“Sergeant Blaster.”

A voice interjected from offscreen, and even though the deep voice was utterly calm and measured, Blaster silenced his vocalizer immediately. He ducked his head and stepped back from whatever terminal they were using for the video feed, looking relieved. “Commander,” he said respectfully.

Another Autobot took Blaster’s place, standing stiffly at attention, and Noah would’ve recognized this new mech even if Optimus hadn’t said his name, sonorous with relief that was almost jarring to hear after experiencing the despondent fury of the last few minutes.

“Prowl. It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Black and white, with a red chevron on the front of his helm, this new bot’s doorwings were hitched up high on his back. Compared to Bumblebee’s, which fluttered all over the place with every passing emotion, these were practically immobile, much like his expression, which betrayed almost nothing in its flat impassivity.

(“Now Prowlie, he’s got a stick so far up his ass it’s a miracle he can even transform! You think Optimus was bad when you first met him? Prowl probably would’ve left you handcuffed in that janky warehouse and that would’ve been the end of it,” Mirage had crowed from within the pile of bean bags that he’d dragged into Noah’s on-base quarters next to his, which Mirage had basically commandeered for his use too. With Autobot-sized doors everywhere, Noah had just been asking for it.

He flopped onto a beanbag by Mirage’s head, so that they were only a few feet apart. “So, what? The dude Optimus left in charge of all the Autobots on Cybertron is just a huge jackass? Why’d big man even pick him?”

Mirage vented out slowly, like a sigh, and Noah was close enough that it ruffled his curls. “It’s not like that,” he said grudgingly. “He might have the sense of humor of the T-1000, and kept me and the twins in the brig for like half the war, but he’s one of the good ones. Still a huge dick, though.”)

“Prime, sir. You’re still online. There was a 77.344 percent probability that would not be the case,” Prowl said dryly. “The troops will be pleased.”

Optimus smiled, a small thing and unremarkable by most bots’ standards but the equivalent of breaking into song for him. The last time Noah had seen him so relieved to reunite with another surviving Autobot, it had been Ratchet, who’d been pieced back together by Charlie with the Joes’ resources after his disastrous crash landing on Earth.

“As always, your faith honors me, Prowl. But please tell me, what has happened to Cybertron in my absence?”

The tinge of humor in Prowl’s face disappeared like it had never existed, and he somehow stood even straighter. His words were grim, if short and to the point. “It is as I predicted, and as we feared would come to pass. As of two stellar cycles, the core ceased functioning, and the production of energon has stopped. And as you are well aware, with the Allspark lost, we lack the ability to revive the planet.”

Optimus vented deeply, a sharp, prolonged hiss that was practically deafening in the dead quiet meeting room. “My Autobots?” was all he asked, utterly grave.

Prowl inclined his head. “Many have already fled. Those who made it past the Decepticon blockade above the planet have scattered. As we speak, the remaining command staff and our squads are preparing the Ark for interstellar travel. We intended to follow the Decepticons, as we all detected the signal beacon of a…a Transwarp Key on the far side of the galaxy.” Here, Prowl’s calm, near-monotone cracked slightly with disbelief. “In fact, though the signal has been lost, it seems to share an origin point with your current transmission.”

“The Transwarp Key was here, Prowl, on Earth,” Optimus explained. “Although I was forced to destroy it, to prevent Unicron from entering this galaxy and devouring this planet, as well as countless other worlds.”

Prowl stared, his yellow optics unblinking. “Unicron exists. And you defeated Him.”

“I had help,” Optimus demurred.

“ I wish I could say I’m surprised, Prime, but I learned to disable the majority of my logic circuits when conversing with you approximately 3 million years ago. This planet you’re on: if the Transwarp Key was sent there, it would mean that there is energon present.”

“Yes, the planet Earth is rich with it. And if the Decepticons get to it first, I can only imagine that they will seek to reignite our war on this planet. How soon will the Ark be ready for launch? We would welcome your aid in repelling their invasion.”

Prowl held up a hand to stop him. Most startling of all, Optimus acquiesced.

“Prime, you misunderstand. While we possess an operational spacebridge, the Ark was damaged in the fighting. Its repairs won’t be complete for an orbital cycle at least. And the Decepticons are already on their way. ”

…

Having Sigma 6, G.I. Joe-Autobot headquarters, built deep in the base of the Adirondacks was one of the best things to come out of this alliance.

With the existence of giant alien robots still being a Secret with a capital “S,” they’d mostly been stuck in hiding these last seven years, traveling between abandoned warehouses to filthy junkyards to dense woods (if they were lucky), and so on. But Sigma 6 was isolated, with a security perimeter of several dozen miles making sure no lost hiker wandered into live fire drills or an Autobot taking a stroll.

Relocating to the base had itself been a relief to Noah, who’s guilt had grown every month Mirage stayed cooped up in Reek’s garage after Noah finally finished piecing him back together. With all its people and cameras, Brooklyn just wasn’t built for a tirelessly gregarious, unapologetically loud bot like Mirage, who chafed under prolonged solitude and the need to stay incognito. And even worse, Mirage chose the cramped garage over staying with the rest of the Autobots full time.

“Y’know you don’t… owe me or nothing like that, right?” Noah had blurted one night, as they parted ways with Bumblebee after catching Back to the Future at a drive-in in Hoboken. Bumblebee’s taillights were shrinking in the rearview mirror and Noah felt like a selfish bastard for hoarding all of Mirage’s time. “If you want to go back to Bee and the other guys, you can. I don’t want you feeling like you’re stuck with me, man—”

“What, and break up the band!” Mirage demanded, sounding hurt and not just for show. Even without seeing his face, Noah had learned to tell when he was being purposely dramatic. “Noah, forget the fact that I wouldn’t even be here without you; you’re my boy! There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Honest.”

Noah had chuckled, swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat. “Cross your spark?”

Mirage laughed, low and warm, the sound seeming to come from all around Noah, and it raised goosebumps along his arms and the back of his neck. “And hope to die.”

Nevermind that back then, Mirage’s paint was still mismatched and his new parts had yet to fully integrate with his protoform (new terms Noah had since learned from Charlie and Ratchet). It hadn’t stopped him from still feeling guilty, but also maybe secretly a little…pleased that Mirage would choose Noah and all that entailed (cooped up in a garage he could barely stand up in and a nosy little brother who’d taken it upon himself to integrate him into human culture by way of every episode of Power Rangers) over his own team.

Even now, with the rest of the Autobots literally feet away, it was still Noah who Mirage sought out.

Beyond the east entrance of Sigma 6, there was a small valley that bottomed out into a lake. Thick with pine trees, the shore scattered with thousands of stones worn smooth by the lapping water, it was always empty save for the occasional wild animal, and so far they hadn’t seen anything bigger than a coyote. In the last few months it had become his and Mirage’s go-to hangout spot when they wanted it to be just them. If the others knew about it (which was likely), well, finders keepers was apparently a universal concept.

Once the direct line to Cybertron was cut and Optimus, Arcee, and Ironhide locked themselves in with Joe command to discuss what to do about the hostile alien invasion force apparently on a beeline for Earth, the rest of the team scattered. They disappeared deeper into the base in pairs or trios, nobody wanting to linger where grief still hung heavy like smoke, noxious and black. It felt like attending a wake with no funeral and no body to bury.

Mirage glanced at Noah out of the corner of his optic and just said, “Lake?”

Noah barely started to nod before Mirage folded into vehicle mode around him and tore out of the base like Scourge himself was back from the dead and hot on their tail (or more likely directly in their path, as Mirage had proven the sort who sprinted toward danger with a smile on his face).

They often drove down to the lake when Mirage needed time away from the others, or Noah wanted a taste of fresh air and real sunlight after one too many days underground. They’d even brought Kris up during the winter months to let him see real snow, not the freezing gray street sludge they knew from living in the city.

But this was no normal lake visit, even by Noah’s now extremely skewed definition of “normal.”

Mirage actually drove them all the way to the lake without a word of protest, even after repeatedly bitching and moaning on past visits about not having four-wheel drive and not being made for offroading despite being an alien robot who literally traveled through space to get to Earth. In fact, after his single request, Mirage hadn’t spoken again.

Trees blurred past them as they left the dirt road leading to Sigma 6 and crossed over to a rocky, uneven hillside. In the driver’s seat, Noah didn’t complain either as he was bounced all over the place, keeping a hand braced on Mirage’s roof. There was a frantic edge to the silence pressing in around him, like a rubber band pulled taught, and Mirage was racing to reach their destination before everything finally snapped under the strain.

It was a feeling Noah was familiar with, that anxiety buzzing under his skin, like he was gonna explode if he didn’t sprint ten blocks or beat his knuckles purple and bloody on the heavy bag. It was a feeling that demanded action, not stillness, when he was powerless. For Noah, that meant endless bills, Kris’ health. For Mirage, it was home .

And as soon as the shine of the lake’s surface came into view, Mirage proved him right, changing to root mode and dropping Noah on his ass between one blink and the next, the fastest transformation he had( ‘nt) seen yet.

And Mirage didn’t stop. Without any of his usual grace, Mirage stormed down to the shoreline, kicking up stones and dirt along the way. He was shaking his hands out at his sides, a constant, antsy movement matched by the way he was swearing under his breath, mostly in English, other times in Spanish, and some words in Cybertronian, a language that sounded like dialup and Latin had a baby.

Forget the way Mirage held it together back at base; he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about how he felt now, no bad jokes or swagger. It was an extremely rare display of Mirage’s temper, and on the one hand, Noah knew it meant Mirage trusted him enough to let those defenses drop.

But on the other hand, it hurt to watch his best friend in this much pain, so much that for the first time, raw anger was his only outlet. Mirage’s engine growled as he paced and his steps were loud and heavy, throwing every pound of his several-ton body into his stride, in direct contrast to the usual uncanny grace that had him dancing across battlefields and sneaking up on Noah in the garage.

With almost anyone else, Elena or Kris or his Ma, Noah wouldn’t hesitate to get close, to cradle their cheek, hug them, anything to try and comfort them. It had always been second nature for him to protect, to try to fix things anyway he could, ever since the front door slammed behind his dad for the last time, leaving Ma frozen at the kitchen table and Kris sobbing in his crib.

But with Mirage, something always seemed to hold him back. He second-guessed damn near every word, every gesture, and would lose his mind making sure his eyes didn’t linger too long on the curve of Mirage’s lean thighs or the cables that made up the line of his neck. Noah didn’t want to ruin things between them.

Only now it felt like he was watching Mirage unravel, and for all that Noah wanted to help him, he felt worse than useless. There was still so much he didn’t know, hadn’t thought to ask, about the Autobot-Decepticon War and all the Space Robot: 101 he was still catching up on.

To make matters worse, he’d had months to ask his questions, not just of Mirage but the other bots too, and unless he wanted to be a total dick about it then he’d lost his chance.

All of which brought Noah back to the fact that Mirage deserved better than him, but as usual all he had to offer was himself. And since Noah was the only one out here, he would just have to try and be enough.

“C’mon, ‘Raj, warn a guy,” Noah huffed as he got his feet back under him, keeping his tone light as he brushed half melted snow off the seat of his pants, glad that he’d had his parka on him before they booked it. Unlike Brooklyn, which was creeping into humidity in mid-April, the cold up here was constant and jarring whenever they came back to base after spending a couple weeks at home.

As Noah breathed warm air into his cupped palms, he was unable to take his eyes off the way pale sunlight bounced hypnotically off of Mirage’s plating as he moved, sinuous and silver as the lake behind him and just as untouchable as his namesake.

Usually, this was the only reason that it hurt to watch Mirage. But seeing the tension knotting his shoulders and putting that scowl on his face made the ache of longing turn into a fist pressing against his sternum, starting to dig in too deep.

Noah called out to him again, breath fogged in the cold and throat gone tight. “Slow it down, man, not all of us have long-ass legs like you do.”

That finally got Mirage talking, but not to Noah.

“Four million years of fighting for the ‘greater good,’” he barked without looking over, like he hadn’t even heard Noah. “And for what? We still lost the goddamn planet!” He spun around and kicked a hollow log washed up on the shore, and it went searing over Noah’s head with the speed of a jet missile. It exploded into pieces against the trunk of one of the pine trees behind him, knocking the tree itself askew.

Noah ducked, a second too late, and if the trunk had flown a few feet lower it definitely would’ve taken his head off. His heart slammed against his ribcage like it hadn’t since Nightbird snatched him off the ground in Peru, and he was only saved from getting sliced in half by Cheetor’s sharp eye and sharper aim.

“Jesus, watch it, ‘Raj!” he hissed, rising carefully out of his defensive crouch. A surge of delayed adrenaline made his hands shake and words come out sharp and fast, but he was too stunned to be truly angry.

Noah barely caught the slight crunch of stones underfoot before he looked up to find Mirage had already closed the distance between them, kneeling over him with his face inches away and optics spinning fiercely.

“Shit, Noah, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush, all traces of that overwhelming anger gone and the smooth panels of his face crumpled in anguish. “Primus smelt me, I’m a fucking idiot. Is your central processor in one piece?”

Then, with no advanced warning whatsoever, Mirage’s hands were in his hair, big and yet impossibly gentle for their size. His palm cradled the back of Noah’s head as his fingers wove through his curls with more care than even his Ma had ever shown his hair.

Noah’s voice died an instant, inglorious death, shriveling up before he could do something unconscionable like let out a whimper. His pulse thundered in his ears, the fight-or-flight instinct that had started to fade returning with a vengeance that knocked every thought out of his head.

To make matters worse, at this close range he couldn’t drag his goddamn eyes away from Mirage’s lips. To hell with almost getting his head caved in. Noah wondered, like he had way too many times before (usually late at night, like the lead in some awful romcom) whether his lips would be warm or cold. Would they be soft, with a similar give as a human’s? He’d certainly seen how expressive Mirage could be, his faceplates bending every which way with his emotions.

With Mirage’s hand behind his head, it would be so, so easy for the bot to drag him forward and connect them at the mouth.

Did Cybertronians even kiss? Noah thought so. Or, at least he’d seen Charlie kiss Bumblebee all over his faceplate and the scout nuzzle back, seemingly the best he could do without a traditional mouth.

And hell, he’d been quiet for too long hadn’t he?

Noah dragged his eyes away from the magnetic pull of Mirage’s lips, grasping at the dregs of his sanity like escaping balloon strings as he tried to remember what it was Mirage had said. All that stood out was one of the Cybertronian vocab words he recognized from plenty of Charlie and Ratchet’s ‘Don’t Be A Fragging Idiot’ safety lectures and he latched onto it.

“You mean my head? Nah, man, I’m fine, didn’t even touch me,” Noah blurted, talking way too fast.

He knew he wouldn't be able to think straight with Mirage’s hands on him, so he grabbed Mirage’s wrist (so big his fingers could wrap around it and be nowhere near touching) and tugged it away. He barely applied any force—not that it would’ve made a difference if Mirage really didn’t want to move—but Mirage followed even that gentle pressure and let Noah guide his hand up and away until he was holding it in the space between them.

Noah felt his ears go red and tried laughing it off. “Looks like someone’s gotta work on their aim, huh? What would Ironhide say?”

Mirage didn’t smile back. If anything he just looked more upset, his optics pinched and the glow of the delicate mechanisms dimmed. Just watching him made Noah lose his smile, a pang of worry straightened his spine.

“Noah…” Mirage ducked his head, just for a second, before making himself meet Noah’s eyes again. He raised his free hand, visibly hesitating, before carefully covering the one Noah still had wrapped around his wrist. “That wasn’t…I shouldn't have…you know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right? Not-not by choice. That back there…I don’t want you to think—”

“Gonna stop you there,” Noah interrupted gently, smiling up at Mirage’s big anxious face. He started to wiggle his hand free and Mirage let him go almost immediately—but Noah didn’t let him get far. Screw his hangups, screw his way-more-serious-than-just-a-crush, Noah grabbed Mirage’s hand and held on tight. Or, technically he grabbed the two fingers he could feasibly wrap his hand around.

“It was an accident,” he said firmly, not breaking eye contact. As volatile as Mirage seemed right now, it was crucial that Noah’s sincerity got through to him. “I trust you, ‘Raj, probably more than anyone else I know. Nah, definitely . I know that when I’m with you, I’m safe. Me and my family.”

Mirage sighed, warm air from his cheek vents brushing against Noah’s curls, releasing the tension that had been holding his struts so painfully still. He even smiled, bashful and small. “Thanks, Noah. You and Kris and your Ma…you all matter a lot to me. I never had people before, y’know, not like this, and when I’m with you guys, I dunno. It’s the safest I’ve felt in…hell, stellar cycles.”

Noah knew he hadn’t said as much, but he already thought of Mirage as family. He was practically Ma’s favorite already and the less said about his and Kris’ “secret” two a.m. McDonald’s runs the better. But maybe as anxious as Noah was to say it out loud and claim Mirage as his, to belong among the bots, maybe Mirage felt the same way. Unsure of his place and not wanting to overstep.

Mirage started running his thumb up and down Noah’s knuckles, and he resisted the urge to shiver. Apparently he didn’t do a good enough job, because Mirage frowned and leaned forward, tugging Noah closer by the hand. Noah froze like a damn deer in headlights as their faces got closer and closer and for one breathless, heartstopping moment, he was positive that Mirage was about to kiss him.

Instead, Mirage split apart around him, his transformation to vehicle mode slower than usual as he carefully accommodated for Noah. Even this felt a little bit like an apology for dumping him on his ass earlier.

Either way, it gave Noah precious seconds to get over his own wishful thinking before he found himself in the front seat of the Porsche, the heater running on full blast and already warming his chilled fingers.

“What was that for?” he laughed, stroking a hand across the steering wheel.

Mirage’s engine rumbled around him, like the purring of a housecat. “You humans are so delicate! Couldn’t let my boy get, uh, frostbite or whatever.”

“Yeah huh. Y’know, doc, one of these days I’m making you sit through one of Ratchet’s lectures on human first aid.”

Mirage made an exaggerated sound of disgust through his radio. “Oh, eugh, mercy! I don’t ever wanna think about having to put you back together.”

Noah chuckled quietly, moving his hand lower to thumb over the Autobot symbol on the center of Mirage’s steering wheel. Without Mirage’s stare making him self-conscious, Noah couldn’t help touching him when he was in vehicle mode.

“Nah, I feel ya, man. There’s a lot that I can’t unsee. And people are a lot harder to put back together than ‘bots.”

Mirage didn’t speak again, but his engine let out a whine, plaintive and sad, and Noah knew they were both thinking of the bridge, the heat of blasterfire, Mirage shuddering above him. He flattened his palm over the center of Mirage’s steering wheel and ran his other hand along the inside of his door panel, feeling it tremble. It was just as much a reminder to himself as it was for Mirage that they’d survived and were both far, far from Peru.

The mood had definitely shifted in a more solemn direction, but Noah didn’t mind it. Not the silence that stretched between them either, heavy with feeling but not strained under the weight.

Since he brought Mirage back (and hell, he’d never get tired of saying that), he found there was almost nowhere he’d rather be than in his partner’s presence. Whether that was puttering around his work station in the garage back home while Mirage watched MTV or tried to goad Noah into joining him for a drive, or sparring in his new Wheeljack-designed, Brainstorm-made, and Ratchet-approved exosuit, it didn’t matter what they did so long as Noah could lay eyes on him and remind himself that Mirage was alive and in one piece.

A few minutes passed before Mirage rolled forward, out of the shadow of the treeline and closer to the shore where the sunlight was shining pale through the clouds. Crazy to think after all that had happened, it wasn’t even midday.

As if Mirage had read his mind, he finally spoke again, resigned in a way that Noah didn’t like. “I guess you must have a billion questions, huh?”

“About you? Sure, but only ‘cuz you’re so damn interesting,” Noah teased with the ease of long practice.

Mirage rewarded him with a burst of staticky laughter and a bleat of his horn, hastily silenced. Noah grinned at the sound, and wondered when a Porcshe cracking up had become something so charming.

“Primus, that was embarrassing,” Mirage wheezed through his radio. “You’re a menace. Do the others know how much of a menace you are?”

Noah crossed his arms, leaning back and getting comfortable in the leather seat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a model Autobot, ask anybody.”

Mirage’s biolights, usually darkened while in vehicle mode, pulsed and illuminated his cabin in brilliant, pale blue. And to Noah’s delight, they didn’t dim again immediately. He preferred them, honestly; they made Mirage look more alive, more himself, even when in disguise. Noah loved tracing the glowing seams of blue when it was just them.

“Noah, seriously, we got a whole slagheap dropped on us today,” Mirage’s voice deepened with sincerity, rumbling pleasantly around him in a way Noah tried not to enjoy too much. “I mean, shit, love, the ‘Cons are on their way here right now, and apparently so is Prowl , y’know, eventually , and I know he hasn’t forgotten about the time I switched out his acid pellet ammo for rust sticks and he’s gonna get his revenge when I least expect it but in a way that makes him look totally innocent—”

“Mirage!” Noah interrupted with a laugh, ignoring the way his face heated at the use of the pet name. “Relax, man. If you wanna talk, we’ll talk, but otherwise I’m fine just chilling here with you. Today was a lot for both of us.”

Mirage more than Noah, but he wasn’t about to say that now.

“Yeah,” Mirage said more quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

And for a couple minutes, that was it. Silence, a rarity in Mirage’s case, went on uninterrupted. Noah leaned his head back but kept his eyes open, tracing Mirage’s nearest array of biolights with his fingertips.

Mirage kept kicking his engine on and off intermittently, like he was talking himself in and out of just gunning it back to the main road and not stopping till they hit Jersey. But the most he actually did was flick his windshield wipers at a squirrel that dared jump on his hood.

His engine roared to life one more time, seats rumbling, and then sharply shut off again. Before Mirage’s engine had completely quieted, he let out a sigh through the radio.

“Did anyone ever tell you how the war got started?”

Starting from the top then.

Noah leaned forward until his chest was pressed against Mirage’s steering wheel and wrapped his arms around the top. “I assumed it was something’ along the lines of Decepticons bad, Autobots good.”

“Heh. Maybe it got more black and white towards the end, as more of us got killed off,” Mirage said in that mournful, earnest way of his whenever he talked about the war. “But really, at first, the Decepticons were almost what Cybertron needed. A revolution. Until everything flew off the rails.”

This was definitely a side of the story Noah hadn’t heard before. Listening to Ironhide and Ratchet tell it, you’d think the Decepticons ate babies and personally created the hole in the ozone layer. Noah didn’t doubt they were evil—he’d heard about too many friends who’d been cut down, the cities leveled, and a deathtoll that broke his brain—but no one had ever explained where it all began and Noah hadn’t known how to ask.

“Even before the war, Cybertron wasn’t exactly a paradise. Our society was based around the idea that your alt mode was your Primus-given gift and if he made you a drill, then you literally had no choice but to slave away in the energon mines. If you were a microscope, you were meant for science, and a career-change wasn’t an option. The Senate made it law that your alt mode equaled your class, your function in society, whether that was as a disposable fourth-class sanitation ‘bot with no rights or a filthy stinking rich noble who could do whatever the hell he wanted,” Mirage finished with surprising bitterness.

Noah stroked Mirage’s steering wheel with his thumb. A weak attempt at comfort maybe but he couldn’t exactly ask Mirage to transform just so he could try to give him a hug. “Which one were you?”

He could hear the way Mirage preened, but even that fell flat, like his spark wasn’t in it. “What, can’t you guess?

The thing was, Noah could sorta see it: a Mirage with gleaming, undamaged plating living some pampered life on a shiny alien planet he’d only seen snippets of. After all the shit Mirage went through in Peru, he probably deserved to get the royal treatment. But at the same time, it didn’t fit the image of Mirage that Noah knew—the Mirage who raced through a battlefield just to save his sorry ass, who made a promise to Noah’s little brother and almost paid for it with his life.

Some rich prick (former or otherwise) wouldn’t have accepted Kris’ crappy plastic radio and integrated it into his systems just so they could talk video games and keep tabs on Noah from a million miles away. Not to mention everything Mirage had done for his family since then.

“So, what? Were you like a duke or something?” Noah asked, still trying to wrap his head around it all. Alien robot classism. Huh.

Mirage made a ‘so-so’ sort of noise. “Something like that. An empty title that came with plenty of perks I didn’t do anything to earn.

“And since I was blowing all my time on Velocitron race tracks and getting wasted at bougie clubs, I sorta missed the start of the revolution. I mean, I’d seen the Decepticon propaganda—it was all over the place back then—and I agreed with what they were saying. Abolish the caste system, make all Cybertronians equal, give them the freedom to choose what to do with their lives. All good things, right?”

Noah winced at the plaintive strain to Mirage’s voice print. He remembered that Praxus had been neutral in the civil war when the Decepticons bombed and burned it to the ground, leaving no survivors. When Ironhide arrived on Earth, he’d brought the remains of an Autobot named Cliffjumper to give him the proper funeral rites—he’d been found split down the middle, his body in two clean, gruesome halves.

It was obvious that whatever good the Decepticons promised at the start didn’t mean shit now, and they were uniquely evil in a way Noah hadn’t thought possible. Until he watched Scourge murder Bumblebee and add his badge to his collection. Until he corrupted Airazor, making her rot from the inside out. Until he fired on Mirage, huddled over Noah as a living shield, and kept firing until he’d blown off Mirage’s arm, his leg, and burned a hole straight through his spine. Until he thought he’d killed them both.

Until Scourge brought Unicron to Earth, ready to sacrifice billions to his master’s hunger.

“I thought about joining,” Mirage muttered. “I almost did .”

“The Decepticons?” Noah asked with as little inflection as possible. He knew what side Mirage landed on, and more importantly, he knew Mirage .

But he reacted like Noah had just accused him of masterminding the entire Decepticon agenda, his engine whining in distress. “I thought about it,” Mirage stressed. “But before I could get serious about it, the ‘Cons up and executed the Senate, killed the old Prime, and BOOM we were at war. And we stayed at war for 4 million years. Give or take a thousand.”

“Jesus,” Noah breathed. He felt a little queasy, like he always did when he was reminded of how insanely long-lived Mirage and all of the ‘bots were. It was easy to forget that his best friend was older than human civilization when he and Kris were tag teaming Noah into letting them stay up late playing Yoshi’s Island on a school night.

Mirage was a world unto himself; Noah would never see Cybertron except through his eyes, his words. He’d lived an entire lifetime, and a war, on another planet that could never return to the way it used to be.

“I joined the Autobots ‘cuz I wanted to help end the war as fast as possible,'' Mirage rumbled around him. “I thought it would all be worth it in the end. When we saved Cybertron, I’d be able to look back and know I did my part.” He scoffed. “Well I did my part, all right. Dead core means dead planet, dead people, Cybes at the top of the intergalactic endangered species list. Let’s just name me the next Prime while we’re at it!”

That brought Noah up short. He lurched away from the wheel, and Mirage immediately jolted around him, his frame tensing like he was expecting an attack.

“The hell do you mean ‘endangered?’”

That was a word reserved for pretty little birds in the Amazon or dolphins caught in fishing nets, not Mirage , powerful and alien and ethereal. Not Optimus, or Ratchet, or any of the other ‘bots whose bodies were half weapon and all power.

Noah wracked his brain, thinking back to Blaster’s grieving, panicked report and Prowl’s more perfunctory recap. Most of what they’d said had flown over his head, sure, but he would’ve noticed them mentioning something that intensely dramatic on top of the whole dead planet thing , right?

‘Endangered’ meant a species couldn’t make any more of themselves. And yeah, it’s not like he thought giant alien robots were having sex to reproduce; he didn’t know how they did it, but he did know that they had relationships and got married, just like humans. There was enough innuendo thrown around on base for Noah to figure out that they did something that was like sex but wasn’t , and he didn’t want to know any more than that (a baldfaced fucking lie. He wanted to know, he really, really did but who could he ask? Charlie? Ratchet? Mirage? He’d rather face down Scourge’s Sweeps again than put himself through that).

“Oh, right,” Mirage murmured, like he’d just remembered something obvious to everyone but Noah, which wasn’t doing him any favors.

Then Mirage shifted around him, still keeping his transformation slow, and a couple seconds later Noah found himself sitting on one of Mirage’s folded knees instead of his front seat. If Noah wanted to, he could reach out and lay his hand flat against Mirage’s abdomen, a recurring temptation whenever they were this close and he wasn’t doing any repairs on Mirage’s reckless ass.

Instead of just blushing and fantasizing about tracing his transformation seams (again), Noah looked up at Mirage’s hesitant face and dim optics and determinedly locked down the usual minefield of want-to-touch/don’t-be-stupid that came from being so close. He leaned back, trusting Mirage to catch him, and his boy didn’t disappoint. One of his wide silver palms came up to wrap around the middle of Noah’s back, pressing softly to keep him supported.

“Do you remember what Blaster and Prowl said about Cybertron’s core? About how it’d gone dark?” Mirage asked gently. His tone reminded Noah of the leadup to Ma explaining that his baby brother, who couldn’t even walk yet, was very sick and he was going to be sick for a very long time.

Noah nodded haltingly.

“The thing is, we don’t make new beings the way you humans do. Don’t have the right equipment , y’know?” And Mirage winked, putting his whole body into it, even giving a little hip wiggle that made Noah snort with unexpected laughter. He almost fell right off Mirage’s knee for real this time, but Mirage reeled him back in with both hands, his grin only a little of the shit-eating kind.

“So how—?” Noah wheezed.

“Think of us as being born like cabbage patch kids instead,” Mirage interrupted, almost sending Noah into another laughing fit that was toeing the line of hysteria. But even with the tension broken, there was something flimsy about Mirage’s usual easy levity that made it impossible to completely banish the dread from the back of Noah’s mind.

That dread proved justified as Mirage continued explaining, trying to keep his tone light, but the tightness around his optics and the way he curled around Noah betrayed his true misery. “Cybertron’s core seeded fields of hotspots on the planet’s surface, creating new sparks. New life. So with no Allspark, and a dead core, well, that’s sorta it for us as a species. Zip. Zilch. No new ‘bots, maybe ever again.”

Noah’s stomach plummeted so fast he almost staggered, horror rushing in to fill its place. “Oh, ‘Raj…” he murmured, at a loss for what to say. What was there to say?

From a human perspective, it was impossible to imagine his entire species losing the ability to give birth, to create children and watch them grow up to be the next generation. Everyone would just linger, getting older and dying off until there was no one left. It would be the end of human civilization, period. All that on top of a war that already resulted in the deaths of….thousands? Millions?

What could Noah say to fix that?

Mirage bowed forward until his forehead was almost touching Noah’s, and his voice rumbled through the inches of space between them, so quiet it was almost drowned out by the water lapping at the lakeshore.

“The thing is…we were fighting for so long over who should control Cybertron’s spark that we ended up being the reason it was extinguished. And now, oops! Our bad! We couldn’t even keep Earth secret from the ‘Cons! Now I just…I don’t want the same thing to happen to your planet.”

And with Mirage sounding so pained and hunched so close to him, close enough for Noah to cradle his cheek and smooth the regret and apology from his faceplates if he was brave enough, it brutally reminded him of Mirage huddled over him, shuddering under blaster fire, and still smiling down at him as his optics went dark.

Blinking past the memory, Noah reached out and traced the ‘Y’-shaped biolights on Mirage’s chest before laying his hand flat against it, covering it with his palm. He focused on the purr of the countless components and gears that made up Mirage, humming their secret song beneath his armor chassis.

Mirage just watched him, his optics at half-mast. After all that talking, he seemed fine with the quiet now, weary in a way Noah hadn’t seen since the night Ironhide arrived with Cliffjumper’s body. It pained Noah to see him this way, even more than it had back then.

He knew there was nothing either of them could do to fix this, not now and not in a month. They were gonna be in limbo until the Decepticons made landfall, and Cybertron would still be dead. But the more he thought about packing it in and driving back to base, where Mirage would be trapped under the same roof as the rest of the Autobots’ and their shared grief, the worse it sounded.

Maybe there wasn’t anything Noah could say to fix this. But then again, they’d already done enough talking.

“Hey.” Noah patted Mirage’s chestplate. “Let’s get outta here.”

He looked up in time to catch Mirage’s faceplates going slack with confusion. “Huh?”

“Let's go home,” he pressed. “Ma’s been asking for you and Kris has been buggin’ me nonstop about this movie he wants you to watch with Keanu driving a school bus or something.”

Mirage gasped, scandalized, as he hid a shitty grin behind one hand. “Nah, it can’t be! No way! Is the model Autobot suggesting we play hooky?”

“Fuck you, man,” Noah laughed, shoving him away–which should’ve been as effective as shoving a brick wall, but Mirage moved with his hand, leaning back obligingly and making Noah’s stomach do an embarrassing flip. “I’m serious! If Prime needs us, we’re a comm call away. ‘Sides, weren’t you the one betting Bee that you could make the drive back in less than three hours? You might need the practice to cash that in.”

Mirage narrowed his optics. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“Yeah,” Noah grinned. “Is it working?”

Mirage pretended to glare for a couple more seconds before sighing a very heavy, Optimus-like sigh. “Well, duh.”

He fell forward and transformed around Noah, returning to alt mode with Noah back in the front seat. Mirage waited long enough to buckle his seatbelt before taking off for the road, their trek through the untamed underground just as bumpy as the first time but without the frantic, breakneck pace.

Mirage didn’t speak again until they’d leapt out of the treeline and hit the slightly smoother stretch of dirt road leading down the mountain. “By the by, I know you weren’t just slandering the name of Speed earlier, masterclass of suspense and action set pieces—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can just say you have a crush on Keanu, you know?”

#miroah #rise of the beasts #rotb #transformers rotb #transformers #mirage #noah diaz #ant writes

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