#translation: Prowl look

[ask-tf-first-contact]

Blog Start!

*last thing you can remember is the alarm as your shared escape pod made a crash course for an unknown planet. someone managed to get the distress signal out before the pod hit the planet and you black out.

....

...

..

.

*you're waking up. it's a struggle, but you manage. how long where you out..? where are you, what's that-

*the thing crouching in front of you sounds like it speaks garbled nonsense as it inspects you from a short distance. the other looks shocked, staying back

#Transformers #Transformers AU #Transformers redesign #Transformers ask blog #Transformers Ratchet #Transformers Prowl #First Contact AU #First Contact ask blog #ic post #translation: Prowl look

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, even though I haven't yet read a full translation of "Bad Boy, I just want to talk about some things from the pages we do have translated and what we see happen in the story itself.

I don't t think the level of psychological trauma Levi's experiences in this story can be overstated.

We see Levi cry when his mother's cup breaks on the floor. I think what's important to note about this, is that it takes place directly following Levi violently and brutally killing a group of men who had been threatening and beating him.

The first man Levi kills very nearly beats Levi to death. He's using a hammer fist to beat him, meaning his balled fist, and using the edge of his fist, not his knuckles, to beat Levi over and over, with Levi's head against the stone ground. He would have eventually beaten Levi to death if Levi's power hadn't awoken when it did. We also realize that Kenny has abandoned Levi before this happens. Looking through the panels again, I noticed Levi is wearing different clothes when Kenny leaves him than what he's wearing here, in the present. That means Kenny left Levi before his powers even awakened. He left him to fend for himself, a 9 year old child, on the streets of a place that had men like these prowling around, waiting and looking to prey on children, men who felt no hesitation in beating a child to death, or selling that child into sexual slavery. Clearly, Kenny couldn't be bothered to even wait for Levi to develop his actual powers before throwing him to the wolves. And once Kenny walks away, after years of drilling into him that strength is the only thing that matters, Levi is left not understanding what any of it was even for. His power finally awakens, and he brutally kills these men, and he doesn't understand any of it. He was taught violence, but for what purpose? He even asks "What's it for?" to the sole remaining assailant. He's talking about his strength. He doesn't understand why he's so strong, when it's gained him seemingly nothing, and resulted in nothing good. He's still alone, he's still in the dark, he's still existing in a world and in a life that offers him nothing but despair and hopelessness.

And this last man, in my view, is truly the most vile of the group. A truly cruel and hateful coward. We see this man begin to try and manipulate Levi, threatening him and lying to him about his own intentions, trying to claim he meant to "save" Levi, and perhaps most disgusting of all, using Levi's love for his mother against him in some twisted attempt to save his own life, by telling Levi that he would be sullying the memory of her by killing him. I can't begin to imagine the psychological toll this man's words had on Levi following this entire experience. I don't know what the entirety of the dialog between them is, yet, and I'll give a better analysis once that's revealed. But I think it's safe to assume, given what happens with Levi after, that this man's words to Levi likely solidified in Levi himself a belief in his own monstrosity.

Because we see Levi crying, after. When his mother's cup breaks in his hand, and shatters against the floor.

This is a trauma response.

Levi was clearly in shock leading up to that moment. We see him return to the place he and his mother presumably once lived, and we see Levi prepare a cup of tea, afterward staring vacantly into the liquid of the cup, remembering a clearly romanticized image of he and his mother drinking tea in that same spot. I say it's clearly romanticized, because we see a shaft of light in Levi's memory, coming down on the two of them, when in reality, in the present, there is no light at all. It's complete darkness. It's complete despair. I don't think Levi remembers his mother well. He clearly only has an impression of her, and it's an impression he's clearly idealized. An image of elegance and beauty in a world of filth and ruin.

When he picks the cups up to drink from it, the handle snaps, and the cup falls, shattering on the floor. The cup breaking is what finally snaps Levi out of his shock, and finally all the emotion of what's just happened to him comes crashing down, and he begins to cry. Again, this is very obviously a trauma response. It's not the cup itself breaking, but what it represents, I think, that reduces Levi to tears.

Because, really, that cup shattering represents the shattering of Levi's own innocence.

We can assume this is the first time he kills, and we see the devastating effect of it on Levi in the aftermath.

He's alone, abandoned by Kenny without explanation, after Kenny's approval of him had seemed predicated on Levi becoming strong. And so Levi is left here with nothing but confusion, the fading memory of his mother, the blood on his hands, something forced on him both by Kenny and the men who were attacking him, and with that horrible man's words no doubt echoing in his ears about how killing him would sully his mother's memory, that idealized image he has of his mother. One has to think Levi's own self-image was warped into that of a monster.

Levi killed those men with his bare hands, and in doing so, he displayed a truly shocking amount of strength. I'm talking something equivalent to or even greater than a brown bear or a tiger. We have to remember here that Levi is only 9 years old. He's a child. And he's able to do this.

And yet, it didn't come naturally to him at all.

Levi wanted these men to give back his mothers tea set. He asked them to give it back to him, because it didn't belong to them. He still asks, even after they beat him badly.

It's only after the brutality of their attack increases, that we see Levi try to actually fight back. He lands a punch on the man holding him down, and then that man begins to beat Levi to within an inch of his life, bringing his fist down on him over and over again, until Levi's power awakens and explodes out of him.

Levi resorted to violence in response to their increasing violence against him, but it wasn't his initial response. I know I go on and on about how I don't believe Levi is naturally inclined toward violence at all, but I think this story, for all its intense violence, demonstrates that beyond doubt.

Because Levi finally loses it, and he kills these men, and he does it in truly terrifying fashion. He tears them apart the way an animal would tear a person apart. He shows no mercy to the final man, who tries to squirm his way out of paying for his actions by lying to Levi and guilt-tripping him. It doesn't work, though. Levi kills him, too, and he does all this with seemingly no remorse and no feeling.

But, again, I come back to the immediate aftermath, when Kuchel's cup shatters on the floor, and we're reminded in stark, naked fashion that Levi is just a child. He was an innocent child. And that innocence was stolen from him by this incident. By Kenny teaching him how to kill, teaching him that strength was the only thing that mattered, but not explaining to him why before leaving him. By these men nearly killing him, by their brutality and cruelty and ugliness. By Levi having to kill them to save himself. And by his grieving fury and confusion over the point of any of it, when he kills the final man, even when he didn't have to. Levi breaking down into tears has nothing to do with the cup itself, but with what's just happened. He's horrified. I think he's horrified with himself, and he's alone, and the last, good memory he has, the one point of light in his life, this single, vague memory of his mother, has been shattered to pieces, literally and figuratively, with the shattering of Levi's own innocence.

I think that point of contrast, his memory of his mother's elegance and grace, with the brutality and violence of himself, in that moment, devastates Levi. I think he feels ashamed. I think he believes in that horrible man's words to him, about how he's disgraced his mother's memory by doing what he's done. Can there be any doubt that Levi begins to think of himself from this point on as an animal? As a monster? As "abnormal"?

We know from "No Regrets" and Isayama's own words, that Levi didn't have any friends until he met Furlan and Isabel, two people he didn't know until he himself was full grown. And so we know that from the age of 9, or even younger, since we see Kenny leave Levi before his powers even awaken, he's been on his own. He's been on his own all this time, while harboring the belief that he's some sort of savage and violent killer. That he's some kind of monster, possessing an immense strength that seems meant for nothing but death and destruction. As though he were an engine for pointless death and destruction.

And yet, all on his own, he comes to realize that his strength can be used for something else. That it can be used to help people. He saves Furlan's life, and he saves Isabel's life. And from that point on, with this realization of what his strength can be used for, Levi dedicates himself to that end. To using this immense and frightening strength to help people.

That Levi could come out of this experience still with the ability to love, to still have in him the ability to be loved, despite how all he'd ever known from love was suffering, and that he could come out of this still with the deep desire to help others, to do good, is honestly nothing short of a miracle, and I think it demonstrates more powerfully than anything the innate goodness in Levi.

Because there's so much negativity wrapped up in the concept of love for Levi. He watched his mother die, succumbing to disease, and there's little doubt in my mind that Levi blamed himself for that, her ability to care for herself compromised by his presence in her life, by being another mouth to feed, another back to clothe, when she could scarce afford to feed herself, could scarce afford to put clothes on her own back. And for his own love for her to end in an eruption of blood and violence, and the loss of his innocence, for Levi to come out of that with the ability to still connect with people, to form connections, to love and care for them, and allow himself to be loved and cared for in turn, it can only come from a deep well of genuine and innate goodness. From a heart that longs for kindness and compassion, even in the face of utter cruelty and despair.

Levi's tears demonstrate his despair and grief at his own violence. They demonstrate his bereavement and regret. They demonstrate his horror and loneliness. And they demonstrate, at his core, the persistence of a pure and loving heart that wishes to do and be good.

All of this horror wasn't enough to stamp out the goodness in Levi.

Despite it all, he became a genuine hero.

Despite it all, the goodness in him remains.

#Levi Ackerman #Bad Boy #bad boy spoilers #analysis #commentary

[pedge-page]

I'm on a baby Sarah binge with Joel and Preggo Wife.

@millercontracting this ones for you!

- - - -

2 year old Sarah sitting in her car seat watching outside go by in Joel's truck when she spots something in the neighbors flower bed.

"DADDY!"

"Hmm?"

"Keekee!" She shouts excitedly, pointing out the window.

Joel looks around the street but would have no idea what a keekee would look like if it were right in frojt of his face.

"What's that baby?"

"Kee kee! I WAN keekee!"

"I... honey no 'keekee' now okay?" Hes gonna have to ask you what new definition shes concoted today. You're way better at deciphering and translating Sarah's botched verbiage than he is.

But Sarah starts tossing her legs up and down crying "KEEKEE! I WAN KEE KEE!" All the way home.

And even as he wrestles her squirming body out of the car seat and carries her by her ankles into the house, she's still crying KeeKee over and over again.

"WHAT is a KeeKee!" You shout, running over to carefully take Sarah from Joels inhuman manhandling and set her up right on her tiny feet. You wipe away her eyes as fat tears slide down her chubby red cheeks, boogers spilling down her nose.

"I dont know! She saw something and won't shut up!"

"I WAN KEEKEE!" she wails pointing to the door with slunch shoulders. She huffs each breath and cry as if she's hyperventilating.

"Sarah--"

"KEEKEE. MOMMY KEE KEE. KEE KEE. KEEKEEKEEKEEKEE--"

You take her hand and walk with her outside.

"Where are you going??" Joel shouts from the entryway.

"She could have dropped something! She's not gonna calm until we find out what--"

"Kee kee!" She shouts happily, tugging your arm to pull you towards the neighbors house.

Deanna waves over to you and a very excited Sarah. Your neighbor has one hand protectively slung under the chest of Ramsey, her sphinx cat that you and Joel had baby sat 2 summers ago.

"Hey! Ramses slipped out the front door and was prowling around the garden bed."

Sarah giggly laughs and points to Ramses naked little self.

"Good thing you caught him! Do you mind if Sarah pets him?" You ask hesitantly. She seems to be distracted by the cat, now happy and tugging on your arm incessantly.

Deanna sets down on her knee and shows Sarah how to gently pat Ramses with two fingers on the head.

The toddler crouches down in a squat, giggles excitedly and says "Kee Kee!" As Ramses purrs under her belly.

You and Joel look over at one another in realization and say in unison: "Kitty Kitty!"

-

Sarah looks up to you expectedly 10 seconds later. "Momma, kee kee?" She asks sweetly.

You feel your heart swell at such a brilliantly beautiful display of your young daughter taking passion in love and nature and animals, so gentle and kind and soft, full of heart and warmth, deserving that kind of companionship for herself--

"Absolutely not. Don't you dare," Joel snaps at YOU, knowing the face you were about to make as you turned to him to open your mouth and ask if you could get a KeeKee.

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel and sarah #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #tlou fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

[sluttsumu]

THEIR FAV SLUTTY COSTUMES

.ೃ࿐ feat. various characters (haikyuu, bllk, jjk)

in which: halloween is the one night a year a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girl can say anything about it.

warnings: 18+ mdni, mature themes, mentions of: knifeplay, corruption if you blink really fast

.ೃ࿐ ki’s note: here’s my surprise bonus for my kinktober! headcannons are very close to my heart so i had to make something sexy for one of my fav “holidays”.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ kinktober masterlist ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ THE PLAYBOY BUNNY

listen…it’s a fucking classic and you look so sexy. the ears, the corseted bodysuit, the bow tie, it’s all just a turn on and he can’t wait to take it off of you when you get home. it’s unbearable, he’s been teasing you with that stupid little nickname all night, “c’mon bunnie, let’s have some fun..”

— GOJO ( he’s hugh hefner), geto, kuroo, atsumu, shidou, bachira

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ A BARBIE DOLL

what a doll! you look absolute perfect. pretty hair, pretty clothes, pretty pussy, he knows that he has the prettiest girl in the party hands down. whether your a natural blonde or not (613 included) he wants to tug on those goldie locks tonight from the back if you’ll let him.

— miya twins (atsumu is literally ken) , iwaizumi, SUNA, itoshi brothers, kaiser, gojo again because he’s ken pt 2, bokuto

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ MRS. GHOSTFACE

oh you wanna play psycho killer? he’ll gladly be your helpless victim. bonus points if you wear fishnets while you ride him with a knife to his throat. he’s not sure if he wants to cum or die but either at your hands is acceptable.

— suna, kageyama, MEGUMI, nagi, kunigami, rin

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ CAT(WOMAN)

he’s busting out of the fucking seems seeing you in this full latex bodysuit and mask, this whole sexy dominatrix looks really suits you. you’re on the prowl kitty, (into his pants he hopes). bonus if you have stiletto nails that can claw at his back.

— NANAMI, choso, barou, KUROO DUH, kita too

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ AN ANGEL

look at you, innocent little thing in all white. though dressed as a symbol of purity his thoughts are rather…unholy. he just wants to taint you, colour you red. he’s most definitely wearing a devil costume, making to two of you a very sinful duo.

— suna, OSAMU, kenma, SHIDOU, kaiser, YUJI, akaashi, oikawa

© SLUTTSUMU 2023 - please refrain from copying, reposting or translating. DO NOT REPOST MY WORKS ON OTHER PLATFORMS.

#*ೃ༄ ratedK #*ೃ༄ kicannons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu x reader #blue lock #bllk #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru #suguru geto #atsumu miya #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo smut #suna x reader #suna smut #haikyuu headcanons

[throneofsmut]

BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 10

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

Warnings: Smut, violence, injury and mentions of trauma and death.

Authors Note: Sorry this part took forever !! i literally kept rewriting because i didn't feel like the story was flowing 😭 and idk about you guys but im in my house of the dragon era rn so there is some valyrian in the fic but i also wrote the translations... but i hope you guys enjoy this part 😚😚💕

Word Court: 7.9k

****

“Why are you looking at me like that, Eris?” He doesn’t respond, his eyes just keep darting from you to Raihn and from Raihn to you. Your own eyes darted from Eris to Raihn and back to Eris.

From the corner of your eye you see Raihn tilt his head at Eris—confused. I think he thinks he’s seeing things. His deep gruff voice was clear in your head.

Your brows furrow at Raihn’s admission, shaking your head slightly, Did I grow a second head or something?

Not that I can see.

Looking over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him, I didn’t mean literally!

He grumbled something you chose to ignore.

Sighing, you took a step closer to Eris, stopping until you were a step away from him, “Eris what’s wrong?”

“What. The. Fuck.”

“What?” As soon as that one word left your mouth it set Eris off.

“What do you mean, WHAT!?” Eris shouted at you immediately. Angrily. Making you flinch.

He hadn’t raised his voice at you in the hours you were together. Hell when you first met he had a knife pressed against your throat and he didn’t scare you. You didn’t flinch, if anything you leaned into it, as if it was a caress—a lover's soft touch.

But this—him shouting at you angrily had you flinching. Only because it caught you off guard. He caught you off guard. It was so subtle, almost imperceptible, but you know you did. Those gold eyes remained on yours and your body subtly settled into a fighting stance unconsciously. Your hands twitching, wanting to clench into a fist.

Eris took a single step forward, making you tense, falter.

And Raihn saw it.

The white wolf prowled forward, moving around you and advancing towards Eris. Each step powerful. Menacing. Lethal. His lips curled back in a snarl, baring his teeth—each as long as your fingers—as he growled so low it shook the cabin. A reminder of what stood in front of him. Of what he was.

A true predator.

Eris moved, so fast you would’ve missed it had it not been for your fae senses, now standing in front of you. Shielding you with his body from Raihn, his hand gripping his dagger and the other firmly gripping your hip.

Raihn tracked the hand Eris placed on you—the silent claim he made on you—and growled. Possessively. Snapping his jaws at him before stalking forward again.

Eris widened his stance, bracing for a fight, baring his teeth at the white wolf. Stay close to me, his voice a desperate plea in your head, speaking to you through the mating bond.

Raihn snapped his jaws again as if he heard Eris and when he growled in your head as if in answer, you realized that he did.

Readjusting his hold on his dagger, your mate growled one word at Raihn, “Mine.”

And Raihn growled back, hackles raised before leaning back, getting ready to lunge at Eris. Raihn, don’t! You said to him mind to mind. Please. He only growled back in response.

Then he lunged.

And it was all Eris could do to push you out of the way as Raihn pinned him to the ground with a massive clawed paw on his chest. You didn’t have a chance to react before you slammed against the wood paneled wall of the bedroom.

Your vision was blurry and when you touched the back of your head it was wet. You didn’t have to look at it know it would be red with your blood. The bits of broken wood from the cabin wall around you was confirmation enough.

Blinking a couple times until your vision cleared and once it did you saw Eris’s dagger was mere inches from Raihn’s fur before the wolf knocked it out of his hand with a massive paw.

Eris cursed as his arms shook, straining with effort from gripping Raihn’s fur on the sides of his neck, struggling to keep him from shredding him apart with his teeth. You groaned, pushing yourself up on unsteady legs and took a breath before running to tackle Raihn off of him.

You held on as you both rolled off of Eris and then let go, muscle memory kicking in making you land on your feet. Raihn’s rage was flooding the bond he and you shared in waves and he was getting ready to lunge again. To get to Eris. “Rybās,” you commanded him. (Listen. Obey.) The massive white wolf still shook with rage but he stilled, awaiting another command.

Being that you were a High Lord's heir, you could command anyone with only your voice if you needed. Wanted. And they would bow to such dominance and power. Except for other High Lords and their heirs—if their wills were strong enough. “Dohaerās, Raihn,” through your bond you willed him to meet your gaze. (Serve, Raihn.)

His blue eyes were still alit with rage as they bore into yours, snarling softly. “Umbās.” (Wait.) It didn’t matter that he would never hurt you—intentionally—since you were bonded. Above all else he was still a wolf. Still a predator in his own right. Still wild.

Eris moved behind you and Raihn’s eyes immediately tracked the movement, but before he could do anything, “Dokimarvose! Laehossa ynot, Raihn.” (Focus! Pay attention, Raihn.) You prowled closer to Raihn until you stood right in front of him and he had to lower his head to meet your gaze. “Lykirī.” (Be calm.) He shook his head as if clearing the rage he felt and then pressed his forehead to yours.

Your hands instinctively went to pet his head, his face, “Lykirī, Raihn. Lykirī.” (Be calm, Raihn. Be calm.) Physically feeling him relax under your touch as the seconds went by. Then he moved his head to rest on your shoulder like he was hugging you.

You don’t know how long you stood there, in comfortable silence, until you heard him. Sunshine? He called softly. Cautiously.

You smiled softly at the nickname even though he couldn’t see you. Yes, Raihn.

I’m sorry. . . I didn’t mean to lose control.

You sighed. Why did you?

I was worried. . . You hadn’t checked in or come back yet and then when I found you I saw you were fine. But, then everything happened and when that male yelled at you, I saw you flinch, barely but you did. I saw you tense. Falter. And the last time I saw you do that was the day I lost you. The day I lost him, the day I lost my mother and my fathers. The day I lost the only family I ever knew. Then I saw him holding you—keeping you from me and I just. . . I just snapped.

He moved, so you were looking at each other again and his nose twitched. Once, twice, then he nudged your hand for you to lift it. You did. He shuddered when he saw your blood on it. Not even a second later you felt his disgust at himself through the bond you shared.

I am so sorry, sunshine. I never meant to hurt you, but I won’t lose you again. Yell at me if you want—

You shook your head.

Sunshine—

You put a hand up stopping him, Raihn, I understand. Trust me. It’s all right, but now I want you to meet someone. Someone very important to me.

You turned around to look at Eris, only to find that he wouldn’t look at you. “Eris?” You called softly, “what’s wrong?” He shook his head. Walking up to him, slowly, giving him the chance to stop you if he wanted. He didn’t. You held his face in your hands, tilting his head up to meet your gaze and he shut his eyes. “Eris?”

He shook his head again, “I’m so sorry, little flame,” he whispered.

“What for?”

“Hurting you.”

This time you shook your head, “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fi—“

“Your head.” He said it so quietly, that if you weren’t in front of him you wouldn’t have heard it.

Your hand immediately went to your head, gently touching the gash that you had felt earlier and nothing. It was already healed. No doubt Raihn’s doing, but your hair was still sticky with blood. “I’m fine. I swear.”

His eyes opened, “I yelled at you, when I shouldn't have and you got scared.” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I scared you and you got hurt. As your mate I'm supposed to protect you and I can’t even save you from myself.” He squeezed his eyes shut and a single tear fell from his left eye. You wiped it away.

“Eris.” His throat bobbed. “Eris, look at me.” He did. Those gold eyes bore into yours, full of unshed tears and a second later you felt all his feelings flood the mating bond. All of his love, but also his regret, his shame, pain and all of his self-loathing for scaring you. Hurting you. You didn’t know what to say—what to do to comfort him except to kiss him. So you did. All while sending him all the love, all the comfort you could through the bond. You didn’t pull away until he did.

“I’m so sorry, little flame,” he breathed.

“It’s all right. I’m all right. We’re all right,” you swore. You took a step back, holding your hand out towards him, “I want you to meet someone.” He glanced behind you and then looked back at you unsure. “Do you trust me?” Your hand still outstretched towards him.

His eyes blazed with something you couldn’t name. Something so intense that it gave you goosebumps as he swore, “With my life.” Then his hand took yours and you walked back towards Raihn. Together.

Once you were in front of Raihn, you gave them each a smile only reserved for them. “Eris, this is Raihn, my ceangailte (bonded). And Raihn, this is Eris, my mate.”

Both of their eyes widened as they realized what you said about the other.

Eris turned to you, his eyes narrowed and his face flushed a bright shade of red. “Why didn’t you tell me, he was bonded to you?” There was an obvious shift in his demeanor as he crossed his arms defensively. He was offended—upset—that you didn't tell him about Raihn.

And at the same time Raihn asked, Why didn’t you tell me he was your mate?

You narrowed your eyes at them, “You didn’t give me a chance too!” you answered them both.

Eris scoffed. “Don’t you know who he is—what he is?” He said pointing at Raihn.

“No, Eris. I don’t,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Y/n. I’m being serious.”

You huffed, “All right, then.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Tell me who he is. Tell me who I’m bonded to.”

“He’s infamous all throughout Prythian''—he tried suppressing a shudder and failed—“probably in Hybern, the mortal lands and the other Faerie Realms too. He’s known for killing fae—here and in Hybern. He’s ruthless.” His eyes slid to Raihn for a moment before turning back to you. “We call him “Ghost” and everyone knows Amarantha has been hunting him for the past decade. Yet, every time she sends the Hybern soldiers under her command, they don’t come back. Ever.”

You didn’t bother hiding your grin as you looked at Raihn, but he wasn’t looking at you, lost in his own thoughts before his glowing blue eyes finally landed on you. So that’s why I could hear him, when he spoke to you mind to mind. It was through the mating bond, Raihn said more to himself than to you.

One side of your mouth quirks up in a smirk, Well, you’ve been busy, Raihn or should I say “Ghost.”

His deep chuckle fills your head. I’ve been hunting them all down, one by one. Making them pay for what they did. He didn’t have to explain who “they” were for you to know he was talking about the soldiers that killed your family.

You nod at him once. Good.

Raihn’s eyes settle on Eris, So he’s your mate.

Not a question but you still answer, “Yes. He is.” Your own eyes settle on your mate.

Eris looked at you with an arched brow, “Yes, what? What’d he say about me?”

“Well, go on. Tell him.” You jut your chin at Raihn, grinning, waiting for Eris’s reaction.

The first time Raihn spoke to someone else mind to mind was your mother, she screamed so loud and you laughed until you cried from laughing so hard. It was the first time you used your daemati powers to allow Raihn to speak to others. You annoyed him until he gave in because he had said that bonded wolves have a special telepathic connection with their chosen Illyrian companions. This connection allows them to communicate directly with their bonded, sharing thoughts, emotions, and intentions without the need for spoken words. And since it’s special not everyone has the privilege to hear him speak but he did it for you. And then when he spoke to your fathers—the two Illyrians who helped raise and train you—you nearly died of laughter.

Raihn huffed looking at Eris. I said, That’s why I could hear you, when you spoke to her mind to mind. It was through the mating bond.

Eris flinched, his breath hitching as an unfamiliar deep voice echoed within the caverns of his mind, clear and commanding, yet undeniably non-human.

You can hear me, can't you? Raihn asked him, his voice dripping with wicked amusement.

Eris’s eyes were almost bugging out his head and his jaw was slack. The wolf's presence in his thoughts was as startling as a splash of icy water, leaving ripples of shock. Yes.

Hearing your own laugh echo in Eris’s head and then he whirled on you, crossing his arms, “What’s so funny?” Your lips were pressed tight but it wasn’t enough to stop your laugh from bursting out. Which quickly turned to tears when you remembered your mother’s face and both of your fathers faces after Raihn spoke to them for the first time.

You tried taking in a deep breath to stop crying but it just made it worse and before you knew it you were sobbing. Then Eris was wiping your tears away, “what’s wrong, little flame?”

“You—Your—Face”. You said in between sobs. Your whole body was shaking now and when you looked at him again, he was frowning.

But his eyes held a teasing glint in them, “I’m hurt.” He placed a hand on his chest like you physically wounded him, “I thought you said I was beautiful.”

You know he’s trying to cheer you up and you tried to laugh but it came out sounding like a choked sob. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then, what?” He asked as he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You sniffled a couple of times before taking in a few deep breaths to calm yourself. Letting his scent wash over you, relax you, even though your hands were fisted at his back as you hugged him back.

Taking in one last deep breath. Exhaling sharply, “The face you made when you heard, Raihn, reminded me of the face my mom and dads made when they heard him for the first time.”

“Dads?”

You let out a sad laugh, “Yes, dads.”

“But I thought your father doesn’t know about you?”

“My biological father doesn’t.”

“So, how many dads are we talking about?” Eris asked with an arched brow.

“Two.” Your voice coming out rougher than you mean it too.

“What’s their names?”

“Declan and Callum.”

“Are they— Did they—“

“They died the same day my mom did.”

“Were they”—his voice comes out as a whisper—“mated?”

“No. But they loved each other so much. . . I don’t think they could have loved each other any more if they had been.” A genuine smile graces your lips as you remember them together.

“And they loved you too?”

“So much,” you answer without hesitation. “Sometimes when I was little I used to cry because I thought they would leave since I wasn’t their real daughter. And they used to promise me saying they wouldn’t, that I was their daughter in every way that counted. That it didn’t matter if we were blood or not, they loved me and they would never leave me. And they kept their promise.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Until they were taken from me.”

Eris just hugs you tighter, “I’ll never leave you and no one is going to take me from you.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t call him out for lying, you know he’s trying to comfort you, but you both know he’s going back Under the Mountain in less than two hours.

Amarantha is taking someone from you yet again.

Eris unwraps his arms from around you and cups your face in his large hands, “You don’t believe me.” He says and even though it’s not a question, you nod your head anyway. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “Raihn, I have to leave at dawn which is in less than two hours. So go for a walk and we’ll let you know when to come back. Be on your guard.” Raihn grumbles something that you both chose to ignore as he goes to leave, and a moment after he walks out of the front door, Eris restores the cabin to how it was with a snap of his fingers. You wouldn’t have known anything happened at all if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes.

His eyes drop to your lips and it’s the only warning you get before his mouth slams into yours and you deepen it, earning the sweetest groan from him. Everything about your kiss is desperate. Feral. Then he moves on to kissing your neck and it’s the type of kiss that promises more before he’s pulling away.

He smiles at you softly, “Let me show you how no matter what, I’ll always be yours.” He places your hand on his bare chest, over his heart, “This is yours.” Then he grabs your other hand and places it over his clothed cock, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “And this is yours too.”

Your cheeks heat at his words and you just know he’s smirking right now because he knows how undone he makes you. So you do the only reasonable thing you can think of and grip him harder through his pants and he hisses. “You’re mine,” you breathe.

“I’m yours,” he echoes.

Moving the hand that was placed on his chest to his hair and tugging on it. Titling his head back before rising on the tips of your toes, licking a broad stripe up his throat, before grabbing his face and crashing your lips into his. You know you’re running out of time which only spurs you both on as you ravage each other’s lips.

Only pulling away as you tear each other’s clothes off and get back on the bed.

Eris pulls you to lay on top of him so you’re straddling him. Then his lips find yours again. Desperately. His hands are roaming all over your body as if he’s committing it to memory. Finally settling on the swell of your ass and gripping it. His tongue sweeping into your mouth as your lips part in a moan. Your tongues fight for dominance until you give in to the only person you will ever give in to—your mate.

He groans as he pulls away and flips you so you’re lying on the bed. Biting his bottom lip before letting go to let him stand upright.

Leaning back on your elbows, panting, as his eyes devour you.

And your mouth waters as you see just how hard he is. Your tongue darts out wetting your lips as you see the bead of precum on his tip. You let out a groan as he fists his cock and pumps it a couple times.

He chuckles darkly, “Like what yours?”

You bit your lip as you hum a yes. Not capable of words right now.

He lets go of his cock and grabs your ankles, pulling you towards the edge of the bed so that your ass is almost hanging off the bed. Then kneels on the hardwood floor in front of you and spreads your legs apart.

He nudges your thighs apart wider to accommodate his broad shoulders as he settles himself between them. Your breath hitching as he alternates between licking where your inner thighs meet your cunt and sucking. Earning a few whines from you as you try and fail to move under his hold to get his tongue where you want. Which only makes him huff out a laugh.

His warm breath fans over your wet cunt—glistening with arousal—making you squirm under him, “Eris, please!” You beg.

“Please, what?” He taunts.

“Please touch me—“ the words die in your throat as he licks a single broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Just like you did to his throat.

He pulls back only for a second to sit up and brace his forearms on the backs of your thighs. Baring you to him while also keeping you in place. Then he’s diving right back in and lapping and sucking at your clit like a man starved. “Oh, f-f-fuck, Eris!” You cry out as your hands desperately fist the sheets that will surely be ruined later.

Another scream rips free from your throat as he continues his assault on your clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bundle of nerves, back arching off the bed while your thighs shake as you writhe under his tongue but he keeps you in place.

Then he’s licking broad stripes from your entrance up to your clit and every time he gets to your clit he flicks his tongue against it with precision. Heat begins to build in your tummy and you both know you’re not going to last much longer. He licks another broad stripe but he leaves your clit alone this time in favor of fucking you with his tongue.

Your cunt clenches around his warm tongue as he continues to fuck you with it. He relents only to lap at you again with a flat tongue. Then he goes back to your clit, swirling and flicking his tongue on it as you continue to moan and cry out for him. “Eris! Eris! Eris!”

He groans low in his throat every time you say his name, the vibrations of it going straight to your clit, making the heat spread under your skin as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. “Mhmm, Eris,” your chest rising and falling as he continues pulling moans and whimpers from your lips.

His tongue doesn’t give your clit any reprieve as he buries one long, thick, finger inside you. Then two. Fucking you with them, curling them so they hit that sweet spot he knows will send you over the edge.

“Eris! Eri—“ His name a shattered cry on your lips as you fall apart under his touch. Your body trembling, hips bucking as he continues to swirl his tongue around your clit and fucks you with his fingers, working you through your orgasm.

Panting as you come down from your high, Eris stands up and looks down at you with a feral grin on his lips. His lips and chin covered in his spit and your release. Even his chest is covered in your release.

He follows your gaze and looks down at his chest then looks back up at you again. “Good girl.” He praises before sucking the two fingers that he’d fucked you with into his mouth. Cleaning them off.

With that same hand he pumps his painfully hard cock, once and then twice, placing his other hand on the back of your thigh, keeping you spread before he slaps your cunt with his cock. Whimpering as your hips jerk in response to the overstimulation.

“Aww, is it too much? It is too much, little flame?” Eris teases.

You shake your head no.

His heavy cock presses against your cunt as he leans down inches from your face, “Is it too much. Tell me.” A command not a question.

“No,” you breathe.

His pupils flare, then his lips crash into yours and without breaking the kiss in one quick thrust he buries himself all the way in, to the hilt. Your lips parting in a scream as he splits you open which he swallows greedily as he stays still letting you adjust to his size. His tongue exploring your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as your tongues fight for dominance.

You win before he pulls away and moves onto kissing your jaw and neck. “Eris, I-I need—“ Your words get cut off by a moan as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Fingers burying themselves in his red hair as he swirls his tongue over the hardened peak.

He smirks as he moves onto your other breast, giving it the same attention, What does my little mate need? He asks mind to mind—through the mating bond. His deep voice is full of mirth.

You. . . I need you to fuck me. Even your voice sounds out of breath and full of lust in your head.

His chuckle is your only warning as pushes you farther up the bed so he can kneel on it. He places one of your legs on each of his shoulders, his hands wrapping around your wrist—holding them down on the bed. Pulling almost all the way out to the tip before pushing right back in.

Fucking you mercilessly without abandon.

The head of his cock hits your sweet spot, walls fluttering around him as your pleasure builds. “Gods. . . Oh gods!” you cry out above the sound of his hips slapping against your skin.

“That’s it, take it, take all me.” His eyes flicker between watching his cock disappearing into your body and tits bouncing wildly. The sight of you making him let out a lewd groan, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” You whine in response.

“P-please, Eris,” you beg. “Let me touch you.”

“So needy.” He teases.

“Please!”

He kisses your swollen lips, then you feel his lips brush against your ear, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, letting your hands go.

And they immediately find him.

Dragging your hands down his powerful, muscled back, over scars from battles and terrors long since past.

And as his thrusts turn deeper, you dig your fingers in, dragging your nails across his back, claiming him, marking him. His hips slamming home at the blood you draw. “Such a good little slut,” he praises. “Marking me. Claiming me. I’m yours, little flame.”

“Mine,” you echo, “and I'm yours.”

Eris growled his approval. “Mine.”

That one word was your undoing, your release blasting through you like wildfire. You couldn’t even remember your own name, you remembered Eris’s as you cried it while he kept moving, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from you.

Eris’s own release barreled through him at the sight of it, and he groaned your name so that you remembered it at last, the mating bond set ablaze with your pleasure.

You held him through it, on and on, as he spilled himself in you.

The mating bond continued to glow, silent and lovely, even after he stilled. The sounds of the world came pouring back in, his breathing was ragged as yours was while he brushed lazy kisses to your temple, your nose, your mouth.

You were trembling—and so was Eris as he remained in you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, his uneven breath warming your skin. “I don’t. . .” he tried, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to go back. . .”

You ran your fingers down his scarred back, over and over. “I know,” you breathed. “I know, me either.” Already, you wanted more, already you were calculating how long you’d have to wait.

He pulled back, a sad smile gracing his kiss-swollen lips, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“It’s safer if we don’t tell anyone about us being mates, but I still want to claim you.”

“Eris, we don’t have enough time—for the mating ceremony or frenzy.”

“I know,” he runs a hand through his hair, “I know. Gods, I wish we had more time. But I can still claim you another way.”

“You want to mark me.” Your lips curve up into a knowing smirk, “You want to bite me.” Not a question but an answer to an unspoken question.

He nodded his head. “Only if you let me.”

“Can I claim you?” He began to harden again inside you as the question lingered.

Eris rasped, “Do you want to bite me?”

You eyed his throat, his glorious body, and you wondered if it were possible to love someone enough to die from it. If it were possible to love someone enough that time and distance and death were of no concern. “Am I limited to your neck?”

Eris’s eyes flared, and his answering thrust was answer enough. You moved together, in an almost hypnotic rhythm like the flames in both of your veins, and when you reached your peak again, he bit you—where your neck and shoulder met.

Then when Eris roared your name as his release barreled through him and you bit him—where his neck and shoulder met, you hoped that Amarantha herself heard it and knew her days were now numbered.

You fucked three times—twice in the bed, then a third in the bathtub. You’d gone in to wash off, but you had wrapped your legs around his waist, kissed his neck, then licked his ear the way he liked, and he was buried in you again. You knew why he needed the contact, why he’d needed to taste you on his tongue, and then with the rest of his body. You’d needed the same.

Still needed it. You’d never had anything like him.

And when you had bit him during that second time in the bed. . . His magic—his fire had set the entire bedroom, the entire cabin, on fire as he came hard enough that he thought his body would shatter.

But once you were finished, he pulled back the flames and still panting he explained how the cabin and everything was warded not to burn. And it was true nothing was burnt, charred or ash.

Then he’d gone into the small kitchen and mixed some salt and water in a cup before pouring it where you’d bitten and scratched him, to make sure the marks—the claim would remain.

And then he’d poured the salt-water mix on you—where he’d claimed you, ensuring the mark would remain.

Eris Pov:

I marked her deep and true, and there was no undoing it, no washing it away. She’d claimed me, and I claimed her, and I know she’s well aware of what this claiming meant—just as I knew. . . I knew it had been a choice on her part. A final decision regarding the matter of if she actually wanted to be mated to me.

And she did.

I would try to live up to that honor—try to find some way to get back to her.

To prove that I deserved it. Deserved her. My Y/n. My mate. That she hadn’t bet on the wrong horse. Somehow. I’d earn it. Even with so little to offer beyond my own magic and heart. For now.

She is the reason I made a deal with Rhysand. A deal to kill Beron; my father and High Lord of Autumn. So she’d be safe and happy.

And after I’d be High Lord and she’d be High Lady.

****

The sun is rising, it’s not safe out here in the open with so many fae around, Raihn warned in both of your minds.

Eris flinched, “Gods, I don’t think I'm ever going to get used to that.”

Raihn only huffed, his eyes scanning the forest surrounding you.

You chuckled against Eris’s chest, “You’re gonna have to. There’s no me without him.”

“Anything for you.” Is his only response before tightening his arms that were wrapped around you and kissing the top of your head.

Without taking his eyes away from the forest, Raihn backed up towards you, lying down next to you. Sunshine, we have to go now. The sun rises in 5 minutes and it’s going to take me 10 to get you back to the manor.

All right.

It took everything in you to pull yourself out of Eris’s arms, but before you even took a step back toward Raihn, he grabbed one of your hands, “Wait, I want you to have something.” He turned your hand and placed a gold signet ring set with an emerald cut ruby, with a gold chain threaded through it.

You stare at it for a couple seconds longer before closing your fist around it and holding it to your chest and see that one of his fingers is now bare. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, little flame. Remember, what’s mine is yours.” Then he opened his mouth again to speak but closed it. His cheeks now tinged pink.

Your brows furrowed, one side of your mouth quirking up in a smile, “What?”

He cleared his throat, “I-uh, warded the ring and necklace so that only you, Raihn or. . . I could touch it. If someone else does, it’ll burn them.”

“Good.” You said, giving him a smile that’s only reserved for him and Raihn.

Yes, yes, very nice but we need to go. Now. Raihn grumbled as his tail swatted your legs.

“All right, all right, we’re going,” you mumbled. Rolling your eyes as you swung your leg over his body and as soon as you did he stood up. “Raihn!” you chided.

What? He snapped.

“I almost fell,” you muttered as you fisted his fur to keep yourself from falling from his back.

Then don’t fall.

Eris walked, standing in front of Raihn, getting his attention, “Get her back safe. Protect her.”

Raihn dipped his head, With my life.

Then Eris walked to his side and titled his head up, and you leaned down, meeting him halfway for your last kiss, for now.

You both pulled away at the same time, pressing your foreheads together, “Be safe,” he breathed.

“Be safe.” You echoed.

And then he winnowed.

And you closed off your side of mating bond. Telling yourself it’s better this way.

****

You awoke hours later, around noon, judging by how bright the sun was.

The servants were sleeping in after their night of celebrating. Your body was pleasantly sore from the long night Eris and you had, so you made yourself a bath and took a good, long soak. Washing up but also leaving just a bit of his scent on you, just enough so that others would really have to look for it to detect it.

After bathing, you dressed and sat at the vanity to braid your hair. Once you were finished, you opened the collar of your tunic, pulling the chain out with the ring he’d given you, letting it rest on your chest.

Raihn and you strode downstairs and went your separate ways. He went out to hunt for his food while you followed your nose to the dining room, where you knew lunch was usually served for Tamlin and Lucien.

When you flung open the doors, you found them both in their usual spots. Except Feyre was sitting directly across from Lucien and Feyre and Tamlin were currently arguing. Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. Clearly amused but as soon as his eyes locked on you—he glared.

And you frowned, “What?”

Even Feyre and Tamlin stopped arguing their attention now on the both of you.

“Where were you?” Lucien spat.

“In my room.” You took a step forward and his nostril flared, his eyes narrowed into slits.

He snarled, “Liar.”

Fuck it. You titled your head to the side, smirking, “I mean I was in my room this morning but last night. . . well you know where I was last night.”

Lucien growled as he winnowed right in front of you, before pinning you to the ground, “You fucked him?!”

“Lucien!” Tamlin’s shout rattled the glasses on the table.

“Did I?”

“His scent is all over you”—his eyes fell to your chest, to the ring around your neck—“you have his fucking ring around your neck!” He grabbed it. No doubt trying to rip it off you but hissed as soon as it made contact with his skin. It burned him.

You only grinned at him. Turning your head to look at Feyre and Tamlin who were both gaping at you, “Want to know what I learned last night?” You asked both of them. They didn’t say anything and just kept staring so you took that as your cue to continue. “Autumn court males have fire in their blood. . . and they fuck like it too.”

“Y/n!” Feyre gasped.

Tamlin’s jaw was practically on the floor, then he was shaking his head, sputtering, “Wait-wait, you and Lucien?”

Lucien answered for both of us, “Eris.” As soon as his brother’s name left his mouth he punched you.

You laughed and when he reared his hand back again, you took your opening, fisting the collar of his tunic and head-butting his nose. Rewarding you with a loud crunch.

His hand flew up to his nose and you took the chance to flip you both over so you were on top and with your left hand you pried his hands away from his face. The second his face was open you punched him in his mouth like he punched you.

“Enough!” Tamlin bellowed.

Lucien tried punching you again but you were too fast and moved out the way, then you landed another blow.

You were gonna punch him again, your fist inches from his face when you heard Feyre, “Y/n, stop!” she yelled.

So you did, you got off of Lucien and stood to the side of him. Your chest was still heaving as you offered him a hand, “We good?”

He eyed your hand before sighing, “We’re good.” His hand closed around yours before you pulled him up.

Feyre cleared the space between you in a couple steps—“Y/n what’s wrong with you?”— she cradled your face in her hands, looking you over.

You pulled away, “I think it’d be easier to tell you what isn’t wrong with me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Trust me, I know.” You walked around all of them back to the table and sat down and began filling a glass with wine and piling your plate with food. You didn’t turn back to look at them as you said, “So. . . are you all not gonna eat?”

They all sighed before muttering their agreement as they found their seats and began eating.

No one said anything for a while, until Lucien cleared his throat, his eyes on you, “Why?”

Such a simple question with a complicated answer.

You took a sip of wine before answering, “Can’t say. But, I can say that Raihn is gonna kill you when he comes back.” You said sweetly.

Lucien, Tamlin and Feyre all blanched making you howl with laughter.

It was Feyre who spoke first, “You shouldn’t trust that-that wolf as much as you do. He’s still wild—still a beast.”

You stared at her, for so long that she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and Lucien and Tamlin stiffened. They way only fae could go still. You titled your head to the side—a predator looking at prey. “He’s not a beast to me. . . No matter what he looks like or how terrifying he is to everyone.” You got up to leave and Feyre grabbed your arm and you ripped it free from her grasp, “Don’t,” You warned.

She grabbed you again and you whirled. Tamlin and Lucien lunged for you, knocking back their chairs hard enough to flip it over, but Feyre threw out a hand. The High Lord and Emissary stood down.

That easily, she leashed them.

You laughed, the sound brittle and cold, and smiled at all of them in a way that usually made others throw the first punch.

But they just set their chairs upright, sat down, and leaned back, as if they already knew where they'd strike your death blow.

Feyre was their salvation and they wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

But she’s your sister—the closest thing you ever had to one. you would never hurt her. Never.

Feyre pointed at the door. "Get the hell out. I don't know what’s going on with you but I don’t want to see you again for a good while."

The feeling was mutual.

****

Without even realizing it you’d walked back to your family’s cottage. Your real family’s cottage.

It looks the same as it did the last time you saw it. No doubt because of the wards your mother had placed on it.

You don’t know how long you stood there on the porch, just staring at the door, until Raihn nudged your shoulder with his snout.

Why aren’t you at the manor?

You shrugged not answering his question. “Did you stay here while I was on the other side of the wall?”

Most of the time. Unless I was hunting them. Them; Amarantha’s soldiers. Do you want to go inside?

“No.” You shook your head, sniffling, “I’m not ready yet.”

All right… I was waiting to bring you here—to show you something.

Finally turning to look at him, “To show me, what ?”

It’s better if I show you first.

Sucking in a deep breath, you willed yourself to move, “All right, show me.” You followed him as he walked towards the back of the cottage. You walked for about five minutes before you realized where you were going. “No, Raihn. No. I-I can’t.” You pleaded.

Please. . .

“No. I’m not strong enough to go to her grave.” You had told yourself you would come see her but every time you tried you found an excuse not to. It hurt too much.

Please, Sunshine. You shut your eyes at the nickname. The nickname your mother and fathers called you. I need to show you something.

You were trembling now as hot tears streaked your cheeks, “I’m not strong enough,” you admitted.

Raihn nuzzled his head against yours, You don’t always have to be strong. I'm here now. Let me be strong for the both of us. . . please.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you simply nodded your head and you began walking again. Raihn a constant and steady presence beside you.

Your legs felt like they were going to give out from under you as you saw what he wanted to show you.

Not one but three graves.

It was then that you fell to your knees, sobbing, they were finally together again. Your mom and dads.

You couldn’t stop crying long enough to ask how but you didn’t need to, Raihn’s always knows what you need.

I found their bodies in “The Middle” a few yards away from The Sacred Mountain. They were barely alive when I brought them back. Amarantha had the wings cut off.

You let out a scream, as you pressed your forehead to the grass beneath you, sobs racking your entire body. Their wings. She took their wings. Their wings.

After I killed the soldiers who hurt me, I tried feeling where you were through the bond but I couldn’t feel you. I was so weak from what they did to me and still I tried tracking all of you. But their scents were the strongest yet it was only because I was in The Middle too. When I found them I thought they were dead. There was so much blood. So much.

Raihn let out a pained, sorrowful whine, he loves them just as much as you do.

But I focused my hearing and I could still hear their hearts beating—barely but they were. So I got them onto my back and came back home but I tracked your scent here. It was so faint, practically nonexistent but it was here. And then I saw her grave. Your mother’s grave. I remember she told you that she always wanted to be buried beneath a yew tree and how your father’s always said they didn’t care as long as they were all together. It was as if the mother was playing a cruel joke because you buried her beneath one that had two more yew trees that were flanking it. So I buried them here. At her sides, flanking her, as they did in life.

You don’t know how long you had been crying but you finally stopped. “Thank you,” you whispered so low you weren’t sure he’d heard you.

But then he laid his massive head on your lap, I love them too.

“I know. I know you do.” Without thinking, you started petting his head. You both needed the comfort.

I miss them.

“Me too.” You lifted your head up to the sky and closed your eyes as you imagined the three of them together, happy and flying. A small smile still graced your lips as you opened your eyes again. Finally taking in the area.

The grass was trimmed, flowers placed on each grave and three simple but beautiful headstones. “Raihn, how’d you get the headstones?”

Do you remember, Adair?

You nodded your head even though he couldn’t see, “Yeah, their friend from summer, right?”

Yes. Well he heard about what happened and found me on the porch of the cottage covered in dirt and blood. So he cleaned me up, got me food and water, because I was still weak. And after I got some strength back, I walked him here and pawed at the graves where a headstone belonged and he understood.

They were simple headstones—all three—but still beautiful. You couldn’t stop rereading them.

From left to right they read:

Declan Hawthorne

Beloved Husband and Father

Rhaenyra Blackfyre

Beloved Wife and Mother

Callum Rivers

Beloved Husband and Father

There’s something else I need to tell you, Raihn said.

“What?”

Wesley—one of Amarantha’s lieutenants is in Summer. Him and a few Hybern soldiers under his command, they’ve been going court to court.

Your brows pinched together, “For what?”

Not, what. Who. Raihn corrected.

“Me,” You sighed.

Yes. They’re looking for the “Sun of the Night Court.” After they ensnared one of the Suriel and they told them the prophecy. That the “Sun of the Night Court” is the heir of the Spring Court. The heir that is promised to free Prythian—to kill her. So she killed the Suriel, sent out her lieutenants, making them go court to court searching for a boy that doesn’t exist.

“Because, it’s me. I’m Tamlin’s heir.” You finally said the words that have been haunting you for more than 10 years, out loud. “I’m the “Sun of the Night Court.”

Yes.

“And when Amarantha assumed that the Suriel said son instead of sun, they didn’t bother correcting her, if it wasn’t a direct question.”

Yes.

“Because no High Lord has ever had a female heir. Until me.”

Yes.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 11

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk @fandomrejects @wasntpriscilla @brandywineeeee @thescooby-gang @annblvd @isa1b2h3 @tele86 @glaciuswduo @laceandsuch @hnyclover @spookyboogyuniverse @kennedy-brooke @minaethrym @dustyinkpages @azzydaddy @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @phoenix666stuff @starryhiraeth @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @esposadomd @poetryinshadows @consultinghuntresshasthetardis @lili-flower03

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris smut #eris x reader #bound in flames

[oakbuggy]

Liar, Liar Chapter 4

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting, ANGST

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 4 (NSFW) ~9.8k words

AO3 Link Here!

Prev Chapter / Next Chapter

Tala unceremoniously woke up in her cell, her body completely sore and wrecked, and no memory of how she got back. She endured hours of self-pitying and Orlek’an’s intense questioning of what happened and if she was okay and yes, the sex was extremely good and she didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Her next sessions in the lab were more bearable, a silver lining of pleasantries was included in each meeting. Patty had also surprisingly apologized and ‘gifted’ the Tawkami with her own starched white lab coat, filled with pockets.

Well, it was less of a gift and more of a ‘all the bites and marks on your body are making us uncomfortable so please wear this piece of clothing’-type offering. Tala did question why not they just look away but she couldn't necessarily blame them, the soldier wasn’t very gentle with his ‘playing’. She had also been spared embarrassment and given a replacement tewng, but this one was so strange. It was a tawtute piece of clothing, underwear that dug into her hips a bit, an ugly grey color. Still, better than the shreds Neteyam had left her with.

Scientists trusted her more and allowed her closer to materials. So much closer that she was able to build up her own collection, including a paralyzing agent to coat Orlek’an’s crude darts and needles with. The pockets were like godsend.

The only one who didn’t trust her any more in the time she’s been here was unsurprisingly and so frustratingly, Corporal Tom.

He dragged her away at careless hours of the day and night since then, to the quiet and somewhat disturbed acceptance of all the scientists and Patty. Every kiss was wounding, every touch was rough, and his steadfast meanness was grating on Tala’s resilience.

And by Eywa, so was his stamina. Any peak she caught of the soldier in the hallways made her scowl. While each step made her wince and tremble, oh no, perfection himself had the swagger of a palulukan prowling their territory. 

He’d come to find her every few or so days, so Tala took these breaks as little gifts from Eywa. Hidden in high corners, hallways, and window corners, she would etch clues of the prophesied danger. ‘Tsefta’ Eywa’ [Eywa’s Revenge], she wrote. Vrrteps could translate it, true, but the People would know it was a warning, a true sign. Even if Tala got caught, the rest would follow in spreading the message, though she obviously hoped this wouldn’t happen. 

A few days passed, it was no worry. The few days stretched into a week and she still hadn’t seen neither boot nor tail of him. Not that she was worried. 

Not that she missed him, Great Mother, she’ll poison herself before she ever admits that.

“Haven’t seen Corporal Tom in a minute, he… alright?” Dr. Hanson said awkwardly as the two of them waited for the droid to bring out the next sample. Tala snorted, how would she know?

Patty knew. “He sick.”

The Tawkami proudly fought the urge to twist her body at a breakneck speed to interrogate the guard but her shoulders did tense. He’s never been sick, and, extreme headaches aside, he was all the makings of a healthy and hardy soldier. 

Dr. Hanson spotted Tala’s pinched focus on the table, so he took pity and asked for her.

“Sick with what?”

Patty shrugged.

“Ramirez spotted him hiding out in his room and the medics are salty ‘cause apparently, that’s just ‘what he does’ instead of going to them.” The guard explained, picking dirt from underneath her nails which only got a scolding from the other scientists. Tala could feel her ears perking up, intrigued, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes focused on the plant material before her. It wasn’t any of her business, even if she burnt for answers.

Before her was a cluster of hardened plant sap and crystals before her, golden, and still connected to violet tree bark. Previous thoughts of the Corporal were quickly replaced by delight.

“Oh. This is… sweet thing. Honey.” She replied in her simple English, and Dr. Hanson’s previously unreadable expression broke when his eyebrows shot up.

“Honey? So, just edible, no medicinal properties?”

Tala smiled and quickly swiped a tiny crystal to taste, causing the scientists around the table to squawk.

“What are you doing!”

“H-hey!”

“Spit it out!”

Tala let it melt on her tongue, smiling cheekily. “Properties… makes other medicine easier to eat.” She said with a giggle and pushed the cluster towards the tawtutes. They eyed each other before shaking their heads, deciding to input their observations instead. She shrugged, savoring the sweet, tart, taste, the flavor like a melody on her taste buds. It’s been so long since she’s really tasted anything besides those miserable dry bricks of vitamins. As she licked her fingers clean she remembered something.

He liked honey when they were younger, didn’t he?

Tala blew some dark strands out of her face, eyelashes fluttering like a tizzy and she paused. Her green eyes snapped up to see Dr. Hanson’s extremely observant and bespectacled brown ones.

She felt her cheeks heat up, Great Mother, how affection-starved was she to consider Neteyam’s continued absence discomforting? 

She blinked twice before smiling, pointing her ears down as if bashful. “You’re staring very hard, it embarrasses me.” She teased and puffed up internally when he sputtered.

Dr. Hanson sheepishly looked down and with a glance around the room, pushed the honey cluster towards her. 

“You can have it.”

“Really?”

“Well, I think honey’s a small price to pay for saving my life.”He said with a small smile. He straightened up nervously but Tala delightedly leaned across the table close to his face. She blinked prettily at him and smiled, her nose almost touching the glass of his exo-pack. 

“I think you just like me!” She said delightedly and carefully placed the little cluster in her pockets, licking her fingers. When the tawtute’s face flushed, Tala smiled to herself. She was far more used to this sort of reaction. Not Corporal Tom’s indifference tinged in distaste.

She grimaced suddenly when the sweetness on her fingers made her feel so terribly homesick. 

She missed her medical alcove, the crunch of grass as she walked, and the smell of everything in the air. She didn’t miss the raids, nor the trepidation she felt every time she awaited her friends to return from their own missions.

But now because of one single prick, she was forced into a new normal. Tala was sure he saw it as Eywa’s strange sense of humor that he was burdened to come find her for his aching head. Both the one on his shoulders and the one between his legs. 

The mark on her neck stayed ever deep and ever sore. And yet despite the evidence of his outright obsession, which Tala felt like she was running in circles in making him admit, his bruising indifference was prevailing. The tranquil seed in her back fangs didn’t feel like enough to get back at him for, not by a long shot.

The mechanical doors whirred open and already her mouth poised to snark at the corporal for his absence, but the face she saw was much uglier than she was expecting. Corporal Halloway smiled broadly, to her chagrin, and noisily stomped into the lab, arms wide open.

“Hey there eggheads, and Private!” Corporal Halloway walked into the room with the confidence of a man who was not sporting a healing black eye. The disgust replaced shock when he grabbed her chin, making her hiss.

“Aw, hey to you too, sweetheart. Still mad?” He asked with mocking kindness. A hazmat-suited scientist guffawed from the corner.

“Your black eye looks like it’s healing well.” They said in the back smugly. The corporal flipped them off and fingered through Tala’s braids roughly until he found her kuru and pulled it harshly to get her feet. She shouted from the pain and her legs bumped painfully against the side of the table.

“Not feelin’ like talking to the eggheads today. How about you and I get some privacy?” Corporal Halloway said heatedly, eyes dangerously gleaming. She grimaced and the rest rose to their feet as well.

“You can’t-“

“We’re in the middle of-!”

“Hey-!”

The corporal leaned over Dr. Hanson in a way that made the scientist step back and strain his neck. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to and even Patty was shifting her eyes in apology.

After a few seconds of tense silence, he suddenly laughed.

“Thought so,” Halloway said and quickly dragged Tala out of Lab 12. In the narrow halls, he dug his dirty nails into her hip.

“Hurts.” She tried to say without hissing but her revulsion peaked through too obviously. His loud boot stomps echoed along the floor, her own feet skidding along. He had dragged her out so quickly that thankfully her inhibitor cuffs were still unlinked, but who knew how long that would last?

“You don’t seem to mind when it’s the big blue boy scout doin’ the hurtin’.”

Her nose scrunched up. Maybe her reaction was a touch dramatic because the Recom barked a laugh loud and hard, so pleased.

“What, you don’t like him either? That’s a shame, I think you’re his favorite.” His eyes looked strange when he said that last word. Tala didn’t like that, didn’t like him, for some reason, she felt like something more dire than a disappointing fuck was awaiting her and her mouth felt dry. His gaze right after he kicked her to the floor was so… intense. Scary.

The sour aftertaste of honey stuck to her tongue.

Corporal Halloway nearly dislocated her arm when they made a turn into an unfamiliar set of hallways. While Tala appreciated the new addition to her mental map of the facility, the pit in her stomach grew. Just weeks ago she was fine with Halloway’s advances, but now he seemed even more disgusting an option. His already awfully-stale smell was mixed with blood and gunpowder, smoke. He had returned recently from battle.

Tala’s green eyes worriedly darted around, the empty metal passages, the corporal’s face that towered over her with an unsettlingly friendly smile, and his gun still holstered on his harness. She had forgotten that despite his harshness, ill-treatment, and manhandling, Corporal Tom never acted with an intent to kill her, not really. Corporal Tom cursed and used her, but he was at least reliant on her, even if he hated it.

Tala avoided making any further eye contact with Halloway. She knew that looking into them would only set off more dread.

–

Neteyam could smell her before he could hear her and at first he thought those whiffs of honey and rose were only his delusion.

His body was sore, his bedsheets were covered in his sweat and he huffed, vexed at the thought of her.

A simple mission turned out to have much more annoying consequences than Neteyam had expected. It was a simple raze and redevelop; Raze the ground and redevelop for more RDA bases. More Bridgeheads.

The roads were developed but on this side of the moon, barely inhabited. Most fled, the few warriors the na’vi were more focused on evacuating the many young they traveled with, which the Omaticayan thought was so outrageously reckless of them. How could one think to travel with so many helpless clan members in the open? How could they let themselves be targeted like that?

Neteyam’s scope remained fixed on grown warriors, knives and bows in their calloused hands. Halloway’s accursed chuckles from his throat comm about ‘easy pickings’ made his jaw tense. 

But his headaches and mind soothed with each shot he, as a soldier, took. Perfect, accurate.

The battle was barely worthy to be called such. His migraine returned to manageable levels, his supplies were hardly dented and when Quaritch recalled the team to the center of the field Neteyam saw no movement.

The arrow shot at Neteyam’s clavicle was surprising, to say the least. He had seen the half-dead na’vi on the ground, her arm still in the air, and the both of them dropped onto the grass to bleed out.

Visceral shadows of sensation coursed through his body as he bled out, it prickled muscle memories that he didn’t know where from. Had he bled out before? His scars felt like they glowed red-hot but he had enough sense to apply emergency care and pressure to staunch the bleeding.

“Tom down, requesting extraction.” He hissed into his throat-comm and he knew he was conscious as another squad member arrived and dragged him back to the helicopters. He knew he was awake when the Colonel asked for his condition, of which he answered positively, and Halloway painfully clapped his hand on his back like a dickhead.

And maybe Neteyam was awake when Quaritch then told him to report to medbay and Neteyam instead went back to the darkness of his private quarters, deciding he’d rather hunker down and tend to himself. He had made his own collection of RDA medical supplies inside his room, increasingly avoiding any medical staff if he could.

He didn’t know why he did. He just never wanted them to touch him, never to set him inside one of those chambers.

Neteyam, still in bed, looked down at the haphazard bandages awkwardly applied around himself to cover his clavicle and the dried blood on his mattress. Ah, yes. After he got shot, he developed a fever and continued to seclude himself.

He groaned when he realized he could still catch her scent, still provoking him and perplexing him. It must have been days, how did she always manage to worm her way into his thoughts? She confounded him, which was precisely why he avoided seeing her. Neteyam needed actual strength every time he saw her, or else he’d end up falling for her cloying words or stabbing her dead, it was for both their sakes really. He kept her distant even despite their intimate closeness, kept her screaming with his fingers instead of letting her poke her away around his mind with careful touches. He kept her shut up with kisses that made them both taste blood because even if he couldn’t stand her, his feet would take him to Lab 12 and back in the sights of her infuriatingly pretty green eyes.

Damn her. And damn Eywa, for making him reliant on her, he could feel the veins on his forehead pulse and it felt like gunshots were hammering away in his head. He was fine before he found her.

Halloway’s barking laughter was so loud Neteyam could hear it through his door and thankfully he harbored absolutely no goodwill towards that irritating person. He regarded his fellow Corporal with the barest respect, he was more cruel than he had to be on the battlefield. It bristled against Neteyam’s previous warrior sensibilities, he would definitely have considered Halloway dishonorable.

Neteyam shot up in his bed as the pieces of his mind finally clicked together. Halloway and Tala?

The soldier walked to his door with minor difficulty and it hummed fully open. There was Halloway, lecherously draped around Tala, leading her through the soldiers’ living quarters. Her tail was swishing anxiously.

Neteyam glowered when the two of them turned towards him but all he was focused on was Halloway’s hand squeezing her ass through her lab coat.

Her fucking pert, round ass he’d watched bounce on him just a week before-fuck. His nose wrinkled, he didn’t feel like sharing.

“Get over here.” Neteyam’s voice rumbled through his chest dangerously low, not acknowledging his fellow squad member. Tala blinked her stupid pretty eyes and she cautiously leaned her weight forward, toward Neteyam. The soldier above her kept her still.

“Hey sunshine, you finally awake? How you feeling, big guy?” Corporal Halloway greeted him, friendly, but when he adjusted his grip on Tala to kiss into her hair she could feel the temperature drop as Neteyam’s pupils turned to pinpricks

“Fine. How’s your eye?” The snark in Neteyam’s voice felt too personal and the way Halloway’s pulse quickened made Tala immediately look back up his face, the black eye. He did that?

“Cute. I’m gonna go get my dick wet now, you can have her when I’m done. But, uh, I wouldn’t wait.” The Recom said dryly, winking, and began dragging Tala back to their original destination. Neteyam’s growl was enough to get everyone to freeze and Halloway faced him again, she could see Neteyam’s knuckles turn white.

The Tawkami na’vi thought quickly, a second option had become available to her and though she loathed to admit, Neteyam was by far more attractive. As an option.

She discreetly rolled the thinnest of Orlek’an’s crude darts at the bottom of her lab pockets with her thumb and finger. The Anurai woman had taught her some new tricks and Tala’s tongue ran over the tranquil seed still tucked securely in her back fangs, another option if things went awry.

She could do this.

Tala pressed herself firmly onto Halloway’s arm and let him feel the contours of her body through her closed lab coat. Both soldiers’ ears perked up, alarmed. She fluttered her eyelashes up at Halloway coquettishly while ignoring the holes she felt burning on the side of her head.

“Can we go already~?” She whispered with a small whine, and Neteyam could feel his fever spreading tenfold down his fucking bloodstream what the fuc-

Halloway’s eyebrows shot up and the wolfish grin on his face was so immense Neteyam considered kicking his teeth in. Halloway turned to him, dramatically shrugging.

“You heard the little lady.” He said before picking Tala up, she tried to hide her yelp as a squeal of delight. When her eyes caught Neteyam’s unreadable yet simultaneously rageful expression Tala tilted her head and smiled innocently, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

He looked so stupid, what was he all angry for? Adorable.

The Omaticayan was losing his mind, his scowl was deep and he huffed when Tala smiled. When the door shut, he bruisingly hit the side of his fist against the wall. Yomioang [chalice plant], he couldn’t have picked a better plant for her, she seemed all too fine with ensnaring whoever she could with her nectar and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Neteyam felt all too much like the stupid boy he’d acted around Tala when they had first met as children. Pretty flowers, sweet scents, he wanted to murder something.

Tala wondered if she had gone too far, seeing the way the male na’vi’s back muscles flexed, tight. His hair had whipped away from her so dramatically. But her attention was demanded when Halloway punched in the code for his private quarters and nearly threw her in his bed.

The smell overwhelmed her, and so did he as he immediately ripped her coat open, groaning at the sight of her in this grey underwear. He grabbed at her hips and pawed at her breasts, and Tala obliged despite feeling her skin crawl.

“Finally got you all to myself. Come here, sweetheart…” *He breathed into her darker blue skin as she held the crude needle in her palm. She sighed breathily and arched her back to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Halloway started to laugh. “Don’t worry I’m not going anywhe-ERK!” Halloway’s body nearly suffocated her as it fell on her diaphragm, heavy as a rock. She quickly pulled out the needle from the space near his adam’s apple, just as Orlek’an had taught her. A new trick, just to cause a fainting spell.

Tala blew more dark strands of hair away from her face as she poked him hard a few times and checked if he was still breathing. He was out cold and Tala nodded to herself, impressed. She would need to ask the Anurai woman to teach her more, though she did also offer a quick prayer to Eywa that she hadn’t just killed him.

After some major effort, Tala rolled the soldier off of her, bit into his skin here and there despite the revulsed reaction it brought to her tongue, and scampered quietly to Neteyam’s door.

She knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, louder.

A crack opened and even from the tiny space, Tala could confirm what she thought she had smelled earlier: dry blood.

She could see Neteyam's bright golden irises blaze at her through the crack and she beamed at him.

“Missed me?”

The door quickly shut and she made the brilliant decision of letting Neteyam nearly break her toes as she tried to stop it. She bit her lips and hissed in pain. Neteyam smiled, almost amused.

“Ow!! Really?” She whisper-shouted to him, feeling extremely vulnerable out in the bright hallways of Bridgehead.

“What did you do to him?” Neteyam asked, eyes flicking to Halloway’s door. Tala rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, he’s just taking a little nap.” She grumbled and attempted to get further inside by squeezing her arm in now, the door digging painfully into her tit as she tried to force her way through.

“You told me to get over here, didn’t you? I had to think of something.” She huffed.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”  He kept his hand firmly against the door, though her efforts amused him. He kept enjoying the view of her breast squeezed, her lab coat now open, he let his eyes rake through her exposed figure.

“Toys have to look like they want to play if they want to survive, adorable warrior.” The tease in her voice died when Tala’s nose scrunched, the smell of sickness apparent on him. “Let me in, you’re hurt.”

Neteyam quirked his brow but relented, not wanting the two of them to get caught by anyone.

Tala entered and immediately re-examined him. His striped body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and pale, She noted a mass, of bandages she assumed, protruding from underneath his black, tight shirt, around his right-side clavicle. When her hands reached out he pushed it away.

“Show me your pockets.”

“What?” Tala’s ears folded back. Neteyam raised his brows as if his request was predictable and she was the one being unreasonable.

“How did you ‘make him sleep’, Tala?” He said, a slight growl to emphasize his soberness.

Tala made a face. This wasn’t cute.

“How do I make you sleep, Neteyam?” She replied, a challenging swish in her tail. She crossed her arms, they stared at each other in silence, his mouth was set in a hard line.

They stared.

Neteyam lurched forward and dug his hand into her pockets himself.

“You-!”

He pulled back only to reveal fingers covered in sticky and spiky clusters of honey. Tala’s heart had jumped out of her chest for a moment there but his fingers were mercifully too big to sense the tiny needles still deep inside. She made a very good show of her innocence with sass.

“Yes! I poisoned the poor corporal with honey, best be careful. This yomioang is just full of tricks.”  The Tawkami woman said tartly as he stared down, still confused about what the heck was on his hand. He hadn’t seen honey since he had left the forest with his family.

“Why do you have this?” His voice was more full of wonder than she had expected.

“The scientists. They-“

“They?”

“Dr. Hanson just gave me some as a thank you. That’s it.” Tala looked up at him through her eyelashes. “And I didn’t hurt the corporal or poison the honey if that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

Neteyam pursed his lips, it was. Tala sighed and stepped forward and he was damned to admit that the gentle air of her perfume did make him feel better.

“If I wanted to hurt him I wouldn’t have come back to you now.” She cautioned another step forward and she delicately picked out the sticky sweet crystals from Neteyam’s hand. He froze, eyes warning as the veins on his neck pronounced itself. She was close enough for him to count the tanhi on her face and now the real sweet thick substance was setting his nerves on fire.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. You know I know how to help, let me help you. If I’ll heal the vrrteps, I’ll heal you. Please.” Tala said again, her green eyes gazing straight at his, she noted how the golden syrup reflected against his eyes. She used to think he was sweet. For that, she couldn’t ignore how his mottled blood-stained stank, how the sick clung to his skin and his breath was short.

Neteyam’s eyes softened a percentage under Tala’s determination. The plea in her voice seemed sincere to him.

He sighed and kept his eyes on her, suspicious. She frowned, about to give up and her fingers started to leave his skin. 

The soldier sighed again, tugged off his shirt, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Tala let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she quickly looked around the windowless room, closed off and the only comfort it possessed was that it smelled like him and the forest. Pine, sunlilies, and, somehow, sunlight.

She picked out what she needed from the available medical supplies and sat down delicately next to him, barely disturbing the wrinkles.

The bandages were decent, but they were old, Tala worked quickly. He hissed when she cleaned the wound.

Tala pushed the small cluster of honey she had recollected from his hand into his mouth as if she were comforting a child.

“Tawtute medicine stings, you’ve always known that. Just enjoy this.” Tala said, a small smile quirked on her lips as she foresaw the scowl begin to sink into the wrinkle of his mouth.

He definitely didn’t appreciate it but kept stoic as he let the honey roll around on his tongue. Sweet, his eyes flickered to the navi in front of him. The scene felt so… familiar, despite his best efforts to resist 

The Tawkami alchemist finished and quietly touched his exposed forehead. The fever wasn’t too strong, he had sweated out the majority of it and Tala had spotted some pill bottles earlier. She wished she had her usual ingredients, the Tawkami medicine and recipes that could heal him faster.

“How did this happen?”

“Do you really want to know?” Neteyam mumbled though he did admire her handiwork as he looked down.

It wasn’t from uncooperation that he asked this, Tala knew. She paused if she really did want to know. What was a messy scar and a fever for this solder was likely something much more permanent for whoever did this to him, it made her chew the inside of her cheek. The tranquil seed was still always an option.

“Why didn’t the vrrteps heal you? Your wound shouldn’t have gotten infected.” She switched her question.

“I told you I don’t like the scientists.” Neteyam thought her change in topic was prudent.

She nodded and he realized she still didn’t understand.

“I’d rather tend to myself, I know how to and I don’t need them to run their… tests on me. Keep me under observation for something as small as this.”

Curiosity flashed in Tala’s eyes and Neteyam mentally decided he’d only humor her for as long as this small ball of honey in his mouth lasted.

“Do they do that often? Keep you under observation?”

“They brought me back from the dead, Tala. Of course.”

“What do they do?”

“They check my vitals, lay me inside one of their bio-lab chambers.”

“And what else?”

The ball of honey was melting fast.

“I’m unconscious when I’m in the chamber.”

“But does it… hurt? When you wake up?”

Neteyam didn’t feel like answering, so he sucked until the honey disappeared completely on his tongue.

“Thank you for tending to me, Tala. I’ll call a guard to escort you back.” He was not surprised from the severely offended look on Tala’s face.

For she didn’t appreciate the clipped ‘thank you, get out’ from Neteyam’s mouth. Tala kneeled up to tower over him, letting the unbuttoned lab coat fall off her shoulders as she placed her hand on her hips.

The soldier would hurl himself off a cliff before confessing that his eyes strained not to stare at that deliciously thin, tiny, piece of grey cloth that covered her cunt. She looked too good in it, no loincloth to cover the supple fold of her flesh, her thighs and pelvis meeting- focus.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She said.

“I’ve answered enough.”

“You didn’t answer an important one.” Tala was slowly realizing she should not have missed him as much as she did in his absence. She sighed, and Neteyam took minor offense to being treated as if he was the source of her vexation.

“I’m just… Of course, I’ll leave, you need to rest.” She figured she wasn’t going to get any more information and a larger part of her was scolding her for trying in the first place. This skxawng wasn’t worth the effort, she had done her duty as a healer and alchemist. This was enough.

Neteyam stilled his movements, taken aback at her so quickly giving up. He regarded her suspiciously and sighed. He lets the wrist tech fall to the floor.

“You drop-” Tala was about to be very helpful and reach down to retrieve it until Neteyam suddenly grabbed her by her waist and pulled her down with him, letting his back fall onto the mattress.

“Neteyam! Your wound!” She yelped.

“Just be quiet.”

Tala looked at him in complete disbelief, Neteyam kept his eyes trained on the ceiling since he didn’t need to look at her to already know what her expression was like. She was stunned, to say the least, but Tala was also minding the feeling of her body pressed onto his bare chest. This felt the closest thing to tender between them.

She decided being a little selfish for the comfort wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Instead of asking more questions, which the soldier was preparing himself mentally for, Tala surprised him by simply sighing and settling in, tracing the stripes on his chest. Her fingertips danced lazily on the skin, careful over his old gunshot wound on his left pec. Whatever, looks like she was stuck here.

Now Neteyam knew he was still delirious from his fever when he found himself not stopping her. When he found her soft curves like a blanket on top of him and her careful touch endearing. This was why he needed strength every time he saw her, already he was letting her entrap him like a small animal, attracted to her warmth and smell. He had to remember that even wasps also settled within her, waiting to attack him on all fronts.

His tail thumped softly against the side of the bed, agitated. Tala noticed but stayed quiet. She reminded herself that every show of embarrassment was because his ego was crying, not because he considered her capable of affecting him.

“Why do you help me?” When Neteyam asked it he wondered to himself why he was so eager to get eaten and stung.

Tala could feel the bass of his voice tremor through her and she raised her face to look at him.

“A healer doesn’t need a reason to heal, remember?” Tala replied softly, simply, she rested her cheek on her arm. In the end, this was what she believed in, even if her wartime experience told her this was reckless.

The Omaticayan was not expecting to be so unscathed.

“Mm.” He hummed.

“Did you give Halloway that black eye?”

There it was, the first sting. Neteyam shrugged and then winced. Tala was immediately amused and scooted closer to his face, grinning.

“How come?” She asked, beginning to sound all too excited.

“… You were unfairly punished, remember?” His heart didn’t know whether to feel lighter or heavier when she giggled.

“You got revenge for me before I even asked!” Tala was smiling, wasn’t this a treat? Did this skxawng actually have the capacity to be charitable? “How come you didn’t tell me?”

It was when it dropped that he realized he was smiling at all. He trained his eyes back on the bare ceiling. He remembered when he used to ache to see stars.

“What would you have done if I did?”

“I probably would’ve kissed you.”

He furrowed his brows at her, unimpressed. Tala scoffed and laughed again.

“A real kiss. Not that bloody mauling you make us do with our lips.”

Now that offended him, Neteyam propped himself up by his elbows.

“I don’t ever hear you complainin-”

Tala pressed her lips so completely softly against his, it should’ve been so easy for him to shove her off. 

Yet his voice broke off instantly and her eyelashes brushed against his cheek. Her eyes were mercifully closed so she couldn’t see the war his ears flushed red.

Another sting.

“You taste like honey,” Tala said, smiling into the kiss. She didn’t have any real reason why she was doing this. Maybe she wanted to prove herself wrong. Maybe she wanted to check really how little Neteyam cared for her… and how much.

His body felt hot, Great fucking Mother why was she so… It was embarrassing how quickly he was getting enraptured by her whims. She always did whatever she wanted, he hadn’t seen that as something attractive before.

The Tawkami pulled her face back and so embarrassingly his own chased after hers until she put his hand over his mouth.

“See? A real kiss.”

Neteyam dumbly nodded and only when Tala ever so softly giggled did he regain some sense. He scoffed and quickly turned the both of them to properly lay in his bed, pulling the covers over them.

He settled his face into her soft breasts, the only thing that he felt hadn’t betrayed or embarrassed him that day.

“Excuse me??” Tala squeaked, amused though.

“Shu’up. Tired.” His voice was muffled into the fat of her breasts but Tala basically understood. She chortled, was this fondness she was feeling? His resistance towards her was bordering so much closer to adorable than to infuriating just then, the flashes of his old self were… bring up warm reminders. Of when he was much nicer and much funner to be around, much kinder.

Tala settled in, supposing correctly she wouldn’t be let go any time soon. Her hands softly patted his back as they laid there.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be since you’re hurt.” She said in her magnanimous good grace. She decided to also ignore Neteyam snorting between her breasts. 

Silence returned and Tala considered speaking of something of much more substance, of importance. Like the war, his family, but the words stuck in her throat. They were virtually strangers. Even strangers in war could share intimacy like this if they were desperate and tired enough.

The thought made playing with Neteyam’s unadorned braids of hair feel… invasive. She stopped.

They were just starved for warmth, that was all. Neteyam felt lucky that he was drowsy now. Like Tala, there was too much he didn’t want to think about, no intention to release it all.

Both kept silently awake for hours before drifting into slumber.

—

Neteyam’s face was lit by stinging sparks of fire and magma.

It was hot, so hot he could barely breathe. He looked around, coughing, and there he saw the slender back of someone who looked too eerily familiar. He groaned internally, he had always hated Eywa’s ability to send visions in dreams, did he really have no place for solace?

“Mother.”

Neytiri turned, her amber eyes wide and blazing as she looked at her son with a face of anguish. She ran towards him, through plumes of burning stone.

“Maitan [my son]!”

Neteyam grimaced as his mother’s arms encircled him, her grip tight and pleading. She was shaking, he could see how aged the skin on her hands had become, her smell of daffodils.

He saw his songcord hanging on her hips and he felt as if the splatters of fire were less painful a sensation than seeing that.

Neytiri stepped back to look at her firstborn, miracles and blessings on her tongue. Her fingers wandered along his face, his scars, the one on his forehead was hidden from her however.

Her reverie was cut short when she truly looked at the RDA vrrtep uniform he was fully clothed in

“You are alive.” Her voice trembled regardless, too much pain and happiness bubbled up to the surface as the lines of her conflicted smile deepened, she was trying not to sob.

“Mother.” Neteyam couldn’t help but want to be kind. He had often daydreamed of how such reunions would go. He had calculated soon enough his mother would see him, as he is now. He knew she would know she’d have to kill him and how she would want to refuse to. He counted on it.

“M-my son, how could you think like this?” His mother’s voice broke at the question, somehow everything the two were thinking was so plain to them here.

Their ears flicked at the roars of fire and heaviness settled.

“If the People give up Jake Sully, I won’t have to.” Neteyam said and he could feel his mother start to draw blood. Nothing, it felt like barely anything.

“What is this poison, Neteyam? What have they done to you, maitan?” Neytiri nearly shouted, her own songcord swinging as her whole body shook in anger, imitating the volcanoes around them. “I will kill them, I will avenge you-“

Jake Sully first. He alone should be the only casualty, Neteyam knew that, all of Eywa'eveng knew that. But even in his clearheadedness, not at all shrouded in migraine, he could feel his scars emanate a heat hotter than fire. Nothing to hide behind, resentment filled up so much of his core.

His head and his heart wanted revenge. It wasn’t even his fault, none of theirs, Neteyam knew so logically.

“Bro…?”

He turned his head so quickly his plain braids whipped to see a na’vi too familiar to him. Five fingers, eyebrows, face and limbs inked with dark tattoos, and taller. He walked towards them, somehow feet not burning and the heat made his visage blurry but not his emotions.

“Lo’ak…” it was their mother, Neytiri called out to him in warning. The son in front of her, she would not dare take her eyes off of him now.

Not when the inferno reflected in Neteyam’s eyes was overflowing, his jaw tightened, if his nails were longer he’d long be drawing blood into his palms.

“You do not want this.” Neytiri’s voice rose as Lo’ak approached them, his lips parted. Wonder, horror?

Guilt.

“Bro-, Neteyam. Neteyam I’m so sorry-“ Lo’ak wanted to believe it was because of the way even the air sizzled that he found it harder to breathe, not because of his… did he have the right to call him a brother?

“First, Dad. Because we shouldn’t even exist and you know it.” Neteyam’s voice was eerie and he stepped closer to his younger sibling, it made Lo’ak’s feet falter and Neytiri’s throat bubbled up with panic.

“What- What are you talking about-?”

“There was something Quaritch told me since the time I’ve come back.” Neteyam spat at the words ‘come back’ as if he had any choice in the matter. Neytiri followed as her sons came closer and closer to each other, no one backing down. The lava was following the steps of each warrior.

“Something about the ‘sins of the father’ to be paid by his children.”

Lo’ak kept his gaze steady, his hands twitched at the threat. Neteyam didn’t have a clue what his face was like now, but he could feel it through Lo’ak. Monster, freak, he supposed it was unsurprising. 

A son that was supposed to be dead.

Both sons of a traitor.

Neteyam stopped a meter away from the younger. Their heights seemed even, Lo’ak’s warrior garb and belly band looked similar to the one he had had. He wanted to laugh, was that a tribute to him?

Lo’ak’s ears turned down, jaw set.

“Do you really think that’s fair, baby brother?” His voice was too calm.

“Neteyam, stop this, they have poisoned you against your own family, your people! Please, just come home maitan-“

Lo’ak heard the mistake in his mother’s plea too late.

“Home? Like when I asked to come back home when I died?” His fury was overwhelming, Neteyam was seeing things he did not recognize. He was shot in the head, when had he the time to tell them? What was this dark view of the stars, faces of loved ones looking down on him, where was this from?

The other two sensed the confusion, only making their own burst through.

“Neteyam, please, just listen to us-“

“Maitan, it will be okay! Your-your father has barely slept since you-“

“Why should the People continue to suffer for his actions? Jake Sully already doomed this place-!”

“Dad doomed this place? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Lo’ak’s tone turned grave with this outburst and he ventured closer to his brother despite Neytiri’s protests.

“You’ve got to fucking joking. You’re actually on the side of the people that ruined our lives, destroyed our homes, killed everyone, killed you, mom’s family-?!” They were growling at each other now, Neteyam no longer had the significant height advantage he was used to. Their fangs gleamed red in the dream, as if already bloodied, he always hated Lo’ak’s were sharper but he was confident it wouldn’t help that much.

Both were suddenly aware that in their respective war costumes, both had knives strapped to their bodies.

“No!” Neytiri sobbed with a pain that both brothers knew they’d never forget. She reached for her own, to protect, to defend, Neteyam’s gloved fingers wrapped around the handle of his black combat knife, and Lo’ak’s citrine eyes begged for peace as his hand reached for his carved hunting knife.

Neteyam recognized that knife. He gave it to him, a present for Lo’ak’s iknimiya, recently sharpened. Neytiri’s knife hung with a feather he had gifted to her as a child.

Neteyam now truly knew Eywa was cruel.

-----

“Neteyam!!”

The soldier gasped and immediately hurled his body forward to break the bones of whoever was in front of him.

Tala choked and she placed her hands on his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.”

One blink and he could see the cool-toned blues and greens of dull and dark silver walls in shadow. Bridgehead. His room.

Inferno-yellow eyes met cooling leaf hues. Green, green eyes, Tala.

The breath he let out was shuddering and violent, he immediately crumpled tightly around her and Tala found herself now trying to hold the soldier up with wrinkled, damp blankets.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry…” he gasped out quickly, his entire body felt so fucking cold now, it hurt. Tala blinked owlishly but her sleepy state focused on comforting him.

“It was a dream, just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered soothingly, she rubbed his back. They were sitting up in the middle of his bed now, though Neteyam was still hunched over and breathing hard to regain himself. She felt his calloused hands dug into her body as if tattooing her stripes into his palms…

“It’s your fever, you’re sweating, you’ll warm up in a bit.” Tala continued and her voice stayed calming and even. She couldn’t do much else when Neteyam’s remedy to whatever he had seen in his sleep was to bury their bodies impossibly closer together. The soldier hadn’t meant to hurt her. 

He pushed his face into her softness, desperate for real warmth, not the clammy fabric of the blanket.

“Li’Tala…” Tala jerked her entire body away, stunned. He didn’t know why he said it, her full name, one that he knew-

“Don’t call me that, Neteyam.” She said, her firm voice edged on icy.

“Only my mate is allowed to call me ‘Li’Tala’ so I don’t want to hear my name out of your mouth again, you!”

“Oh, and I’m sure your mate will be crying tears of gratitude for finally becoming worthy of it, of you, beautiful Li’Tala.”

Their second meeting as young adults was not… frictionless. But as childish as it was, Tala never wavered in this little dream of hers. Who cared that it was immature, she didn’t allow exceptions, even though the Omaticayan prince bristled hard when not given one.

Neteyam always remembered this of her, yet her insistence and denial of him now made his body feel that much more frozen-numb.

He chased after her skin and stuck his tongue out to taste its natural salt, reminding him of the first time they had reunited. Her taste and her everything, his whole body was shaking for it.

“Li’Tala, Li’Tala…”

“Neteyam–stop–” Now Tala started to squirm in his desperate hold. She could feel his hardening arousal between them, settling so perfectly against her vulva. She pushed against him.

“You need sleep, not a fuck.” She hissed. Tala shivered as the soldier switched between licking, sucking, and biting lightly along the tanhi on her shoulders and chest.

“I need you, Li’Tala.” He rasped deeply. She ignored the way his voice made even her toes curl because now her blood was pumping far too loudly. What did he just say to her? Was he losing his mind, what pills did he take??

“Eywa, get a grip!” 

He suckled at the flesh of her tits, Tala shoved his face away with the thick metal of the inhibitor cuffs. He groaned and settled for simply pulling her onto his lap closer than ever, taking a break from his ministrations.

She huffed, she was panting much harder than she realized.

“What happened, what did you see?”

Great mother or whatever being out there, if there ever was one…  what could he do to make her realize his ache for her?

“... I need your help, Li’Tala.” He started, fangs catching onto her skin as he spoke. It all made her freeze, she peered down and tried to gently bring his face back towards hers. He let her and looked up at her, she caught herself thinking it was as if he was beseeching her. There was no way.

“I need to forget it. I know you can help.” He said, sunspot yellow met with her cool green. She knew she could to, it’s just…

“Stop calling me Li’Tala” She tried again, this time much more softly. He groaned.

“Let me pretend.” He whispered hotly, his fingers reaching for her cheek. His fingertips barely touched hers and yet she felt only heat.

He still felt so cold.

She gulped. What did pretending mean, what was he thinking of? Tala usually felt like she was the one getting burnt by him, now it seemed like he was starving for her kindling because now… his fire was weak. He was begging her.

Tala bit her lips, frustrated, conflicted. She could just do the same to Neteyam as she did with Halloway, she didn’t need to comfort him.

The Tawkami glanced at her wrists still heavy with metal inhibitors, he needed her?

She would blame her drowsiness for it, just… fuck it. Fuck it.

“You follow my lead then.” Tala whispered and Neteyam swore he could feel his cock twitch at her tone. He nodded eagerly.

Tala then smashed their lips together. His tongue immediately sought inside her, to explore the cavern of her teeth.

She was practically sitting on him now. She could feel his bulge dig into her thigh, he was pawing at her, palming whoever fat he could. He groaned into her perfume.

Tala shushed him softly. She raised her hips just enough for him to frantically shove down his sweats and Tala delicately pushed the tawtute tewng to the side, it squeezed her pink and puffy folds so perfectly that it made him nearly weep. He was already leaking as he heaved, not noticing the bitter look on her face.

“Don’t worry.” She cooed so nicely in contrast. Her voice was like those tawtute myths he was told about by his father, angelic. She slowly and carefully sunk down her pelvis, his cock head breached her open none too gently and she muffled a high-pitched moan, letting Neteyam’s hard shaft split her open. The stretch ached but she kept her voice even and breathy.

“Be good.” She whispered and waited for his reply. The soldier groaned, every strand of muscle forcing him to not push her down right there and then.

Tala sunk down completely it made Neteyam groan harshly and loudly at the feeling of her tight and warm walls surrounding him. His nerves were shot. Naturally, he was about to fuck into her heat when she did it for him. She dragged her hips up unbearably slowly, both reveling how her cunt squeezed each ridge, so hot, so tight.

“Stay still.”

She slammed her hips down with a ferocity that made both of them moan loudly, she nearly cried out. She started to bounce, holding onto Neteyam’s broad shoulders for support.

“Mmmm…” Tala moaned low, each moan punctuated every time she felt her ass slap against his thighs. He moaned with her, finding himself on the receiving end of her fast pace. He groaned into her hair wantonly, cock twitching inside her.

“Fuuckkk, hahh, fuck.” He cursed softly then latched his mouth on his first mark on her. She stopped suddenly and it embarrassed him how nearly he fucking whined.

“No biting.” She cooed and Neteyam thought he was being driven insane tonight. Today. Since he had taken Tala.

He growled but nodded, settling into a tight embrace instead. He looked at her expectantly, was this allowed?

Tala’s smile was enough to replace the ache for stars he usually felt whenever he looked up in his room.

Then his eyes nearly rolled back when she slammed and bucked harder onto him.

“F-uuuck, haaah, aangh~” Tala graphically moaned into his ear. She panted and her tits bounced as she pistoned herself on his cock. “Aahhh, nnnggg…” she quietly moaned, angling her hips just so to make the fat tip brush against her sweet spots. Neteyam rutted into her uncontrollably, losing himself as he mindlessly chased her warmth. His mouth was open in a silent moan, holy shit.

Tala’s so fucking wet now and she rolled her pelvis to award herself louder moans from Neteyam’s lips.

“Li’T-tala, so good, fuck you’re so good.” He praised, face still stuck to the crook of her neck. She switched her pace and started rotating her hips, rolling them as she still lazily stroked herself along his shift. She felt her self-satisfaction spike when the soldier’s yellow eyes rolled up and fluttered, pupils were so blown out. She admitted he was adorable like this too.

She brought Neteyam’s hand to her belly, pushing down his hand with hers against the bulge there. They both groaned deeply at the sensation, Tala was near hiccuping from the pleasure. A toy that she was, she had only a toy’s ability to see Neteyam unravel. And she chased it hungrily.

His vulnerable expression contorted from the pleasure. To say Tala’s pussy was the best medication he’s had all week would be an understatement.

“Am I doing good, mighty warrior?” Tala squeezed her walls tight for good measure, a moan ripping out her throat as she did. It was worth it, hearing Neteyam’s louder and deeper one that ended with his teeth back on her skin. He quickly ripped his head back when he remembered her little rule.

“So fucking good, please. Fuckk…” He groaned, massaging her belly now even harder, the thought alone made him want to cum. Tala gasped.

“Mmmm, nnng!!” She squealed, and she fucked herself on his pulsating and thick cock even faster, the squelching sounds fueled the both of them.

Plap, plap, squelch, the mattress started to creak. The soldier switched to holding onto her hips, just to make each thrust that much deeper, to feel her cunt flutter at every brush near her cervix and Tala was seeing stars.

Each ridge and thick vein on his shaft was melting and massaging her cunt. She was enjoying herself fully, from the perspective of the toy she was. He certainly needed this toy so badly now.

“Mmm, mmm!! Haah, hahh, is this really helping? Is your toy pleasing you? Maybe we should stop…” She teased, suddenly slowing down, and was delightfully surprised when he mindlessly begged.

“NO! Fuck, please, dont’s-stop, such a good toy, Li’Tala. So fucking wet, so fucking tight.” He blathered, arms only tightening around her desperately.

Tala threw her head back when Neteyam reached between them, with intense accuracy, to squeeze her clit.

“Oahhh!! Mmmg- Neteyam!” She cried out, the sounds of slapping skin made him laugh dumbly. Their pelvises were completely covered in each other’s slick.

“Take my cum, Tala, need you to take all my cum..” he muttered into her ear and he used his grip on her clit to guide Tala’s pace, she was so close now. 

“Don’t stop, so fucking good ma’fil, Li’Tala…” he breathed out, his voice unsteady and deeply tinged in pleasure. The way Neteyam husked her name made her pussy walls convulse.

“Haa, haaa, ahh, I’m close~! I’m close, Nete-yam, Neteyam, so close, close!” Tala whined and dug their pelvises so tightly together that her pearl of nerves rubbed harshly against his toned muscle. She grinded on him wildly, his cock hitting her gummy walls so good, she abused her sweet spots with him.

“So hot, so hot…” he was praising her, the sight of her had made him completely forget how he felt like he was freezing just moments ago. Her soft breasts bouncing, torso in a light sheen of sweat and her eyes so fucking focused on him, her cunt was devoted to squelching lewdly every time she grinded on him.

He was close too, he could feel how heavy his balls were now and without either of their warnings, Neteyam spilled his load into her, it made her mewl as she came hard with him.

Black spots dotted their vision as they painted, their juices had overflowed inside Tala and usually the sight would irritate Neteyam, making him wanna fuck it back into her.

But Tala didn’t mind the mess. In fact, she wanted more. After a few seconds, she rolled her hips again and even though they stuttered, she felt herself able to overcome the crackles of overstimulation.

Her hands delicately laced through his hair to gently stroke at the base of his kuru.

Neteyam hissed loudly and squeezed onto her ass in warning, barely able to stop himself from bucking into her overflowing cunt.

Too fucking soon, the sensation of her pink flesh was overwhelming, the friction was making his muscles involuntarily twitch, he groaned as he rested his head back.

“What’s wrong? You don't want to?” Tala asked, her voice soft and sultry. The question just sounded like the deadliest taunt to him. She was rotating her hips and twisting him from inside her, his cock felt like it was being choked in different ways, squeezed and massaged in a way he hadn’t been before. She was fucking milking him, Neteyam only dumbly shuddered and thrusted upwards weakly.

Her tiny pussy was soaking him, his balls, and his mattress but that didn’t matter when it was the only thing on his mind, her gummy flesh was the only thing reminding him he was still breathing. 

After what felt like an eternity of the most delicious torture, Tala finally screamed her last climax and mercifully stopped, shivering from aftershocks of pleasure. She had pulled so much more ropes of cum from him and just staying inside her nearly made him cum again, it made Neteyam whimper low and hotly, his golden eyes barely able to stay open. Tala finally collapsed on him, muscles were burning and she was breathing heavily, but the look on his face made it all so worth it.

She was impressed with herself, her body was heavy with what felt like deep buckets of creamy liquid spilling out of her. She noticed now how tightly his tail had encircled her thigh, a slight mark left from it now.

“Fuck… Li’Tala…” Neteyam drawled out wearily, he collapsed onto his back and brought her with him. Her full name brought back shudders along her spine, the way he said it was positively lewd and so, so, intimate.

Tala hummed, fully able to feel the slowly calming pulse on his neck. She licked her lips, she was enticed. Not one had she left marks on him, she never felt a desire to.

The Omaticayan breathed hard, when he felt her fangs push past her perfect lips and onto his skin. It wasn’t deep, barely a bruise, but Tala finally figured out why he enjoyed doing it to her so much. The way his scent covered her face and somehow she could taste it in his skin was intoxicating.

She licked the small wound while Neteyam fought internally how horny he instantly became again despite his exhaustion. Tala hummed, the two too tired to even look at each other from where they rested.

“Good boy…” She said softly before fading into slumber. Only Neteyam could feel how hard his cock twitched when he heard her whisper. They were fucked out and warm and his miserable dreams were nothing but fuzzy images.

His own consciousness was fading fast and any shiver his body felt was definitely from no bite of cold, regardless of the sweat. Now it was more like pinpricks of pleasure and pain, definitely distracting. Neteyam closed his eyes.

He embraced Tala tenderly, he breathed in her hair, and his mind was completely soothed. He slept wholly to Tala, to the smell of her sweetness, the beat of her heart, the sound of her breath, choosing to forget about those damned dreams and his damned existence.

He breathed out once again, vague recollections of fire licking at his skin.

Neteyam forced the thoughts away by lightly running his fingers on the mark Tala just left on him, barely aching, he could only find it by carefully sensing the barest indentation. He then felt for the one he left on Tala all that time ago, the texture of the scar made it much easier.

Both comforted him, grounded him, he didn’t notice the way his tail wagged a bit too contently. All of his muscles relaxed and gratefully his sleep was dreamless.

His last thought was how much he enjoyed calling her Li’Tala than ma’fil.

tag list: @xylianasblog @itchaboi-itchyboy @hotdsworld @pandoraslxna @luvv4j4ybe11 @neteyamsyawntu @akoyaxs @whatevenisagrapefruit @teyamsatan @justcaptiannoodles @theblueflower05 @neteluvr @neteyamssyulang @plooto @hao-ming-8 @teyamsilly @vivid-ink @vampirefilmlover

notes: hi! finally getting into the plot portion of the fic lol, hopefully this will be all finished v soon! maybe 2 or 3 more chapters? hope yall enjoy~

#recom neteyam #doodle #smut #fanfic #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #avatar 2 #liar liar #fanart #avatar fanfiction #female oc #neteyam x oc

[draculasfavoritewife]

Misconceptions

Summary: Traveling with the Mandalorian was always going to create false impressions -- if only they knew what he was like behind closed doors.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader being a bit of a tease, implied smut, heavy sensuality and SOFTNESS! Din is a bit of a soft dom (according to me).

So I came up with this idea on a road trip last year, when I read a theory about the concept of Mandalorian celibacy, and the dialogue generator in my brain went off the rails 😁. My personal headcanon is that while Mando is not a full-on dom like I've seen some write him, he does like to be somewhat in control so yeah.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

You knew something was wrong the second he entered -- or rather,  stormed into -- the small room in the inn your little crew was occupying for the night. Normally even when fully armored he can move with surprising stealth, stalking his prey like a wild nexu on the prowl.

You've always wondered how he manages to not clank like a droid wherever he walks.

Now, though, none of that control softens the thud of his heavy footsteps as he passes you without even so much as a greeting and aimlessly unpacks his gear, taking no care to muffle the clatter of his personal arsenal before he chooses his pulse rifle to dismantle and start cleaning.

You approach him cautiously, noting the deadly sharp motions of his gloved hands and the stiff angles of his shoulders. He's quiet, much too quiet, only the crackle of his tight breaths sounding through his vocoder.

"Want some help?" you ask, keeping your own tone warm and flashing a brief smile at his gleaming helmet.

Silence.

Undeterred, you delicately pull his EE-3 carbine from the mess and seat yourself cross-legged near his feet, expertly taking it apart and starting to lovingly free it from the layers of buildup caused by frequent use.

A side glance reveals that his shoulders have loosened slightly, rolling forward as a longer breath drags from his lungs. He's not angry at you, as your unsolicited presence actually seems to have calmed him a tiny bit.

The pair of you work in the quiet for some time, only disturbed by the child whenever he toddles up to one or the other of you to eagerly show you some new insect he's found in the dust of your temporary lodging quarters.

"So," you finally say casually, not taking your eyes from the detailing of his rifle as you finish your task. "Want to talk about what's got you in such a snit?"

He snorts. "No."

"Din," you finally look up at him then, and see his head tilt towards you as it always does when his true name leaves your lips, "you know you don't have to shoulder everything yourself anymore. We're partners. I'm more than capable of carrying my share. What's happened?"

"It's nothing like that," he grumbles, his visor flicking away. "Someone just made me angry, is all."

You wait, opening your arms and lap to Grogu as he squeals and reaches for you. Din's already said more than he probably meant to, which means there's more coming.

You just have to wait for it.

He doesn't keep you waiting long, to both his surprise and yours. You've been wearing him down with your patience lately, it seems.

"Some piece of bantha fodder in the cantina made a comment about you after you took Grogu back up here," he mutters. "He had the GALL to ask me what I pay you."

You hear leather protesting as his dangerous hands clench into fists.

By what he leaves unsaid, you know the implications of the remark meant something much different than simply a relationship of business employment.

You blink up at him, oddly more touched by his rage towards the scum who would suggest such a thing than bothered by the story itself.

"If we weren't already trying to keep a low profile here, Cyar'ika, I would have stuffed those words back down his vile throat until he choked on them."

You rise to your feet, Grogu still cradled to your chest, trying to deny that you find his threat on your behalf so arousing. "Well, I can't decide whether to be insulted or flattered. I never thought I could pass for a courtesan."

"You're not helping" he tells you dryly. "And you know that's a load of bantha."

With a grin, you take the child to his little bed in the next room, and place your palms against the Mandalorian's cool beskar breastplate when you return. "I'm sorry for joking about it, ner'cyare. And I'm sorry you have to hear people speculating about our relationship. I wish they could keep those thoughts to themselves."

Letting your fingers drift upward to tug on his cowl, you add, "But it's not even as bad as what someone said to me while I was getting food for Grogu."

He goes rigid. "Tell me."

"Some old guy gave me a pitying look when he saw I was with you. Came over and basically said something along the lines of, 'Best to give up sooner rather than later, Sweetheart. You know those Mandalorians...they're CELIBATE.'"

Din's left speechless for a moment, and you can almost imagine his eyes blinking in shock.

"I...what...why...?"

You shrug carelessly and step away from his body, crouching down to reorganize his weapons where they lie forgotten on the floor. "It's just a rumor, Din. Since our people pick up foundlings all over the place and have so many rules of conduct. The galaxy's just jumped to the conclusion that our people don't actually engage in...intimacy, of any kind. I used to hear the same thing said about me, before I stopped wearing the armor."

He's quiet again, thoughtful as he draws the curtains across the window, shrouding the room in shadow. You allow a wicked grin to curve your lips for a moment, confident you've rerouted his focus from his earlier outrage.

A muted clank tells you he's removing his beskar now that it's dark.

"I hope I didn't offend you by relaying that story," you sing-song into the shadows behind you.

Nothing.

As soon as your guard is down, a pair of long arms has you in a durasteel grasp and you're lifted from the floor and tossed onto the bed before you can even make a sound.

"What's brought this on?" you half-laugh into his bare chest as he all but smothers you.

Hot lips tease your throat and rough hands crawl up your spine beneath your shirt, making you arch into him for more and wrap your legs around his hips.

"I'll show you who's celibate," he growls close to your mouth, punctuating his words with a kiss that hints at teeth. "Someone's asking to be reminded."

"Teach me a lesson, then, ner'alor," you hum into his hair, reverently inhaling the smell of leather, sweat, and smoke that always saturates his skin. Most times he protests your use of such an authoritative term for him, but when he's riled up, you know that some deep dark part of him likes it.

He needs no further urging, and soon both of your respective annoyances are long forgotten in the throes of bliss.

Much later, when the flames have cooled, you lie tangled together in the sheets, his head resting on your chest and your fingers lovingly working the knots out of his thick hair. As much as you yearn to someday look upon the face of the man you love so deeply, you can't deny that the darkness gives a gift of true closeness you might never have known in the seeing world. The flicker of his eyelashes against your skin and the way his now-tranquil breaths warm your body are enough in this moment, and no amount of credits could ever persuade you to give this up.

"Your helmet has really made a reptavian's nest of your hair this time, my love," you observe as your fingers catch in his curling locks for the umpteenth time.

"Mmm, most of that mess is your doing this time, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is husky, as it always gets when he's on the verge of sleep, but he sounds more at ease than he has in days, and you allow yourself to hope that he'll sleep through the night tonight, that his body will actually let him fully rest for once.

"At least I can undo that with time. I'm afraid once daylight comes, my new skin pattern won't be so easily hidden." You have a few suspicions already of where the bruising evidence of his zealous kiss blossoms across your flesh, and as you prefer to dress much lighter than your armored companion, such adornments do not go unseen.

"You love wearing my mark." There's the barest hint of smugness underlying his tone. "Don't try to pretend otherwise."

"...Alright, I won't." You reach down to toy with his mythosaur necklace, letting the tips of your fingers flit down his torso and feeling him pull you closer in response, his own hands settling into their place at the top of your hips. "Whatever other people might say, Din Djarin, I love you. Never doubt that."

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la."

You're about to drift off, there in his embrace, when a lonely chirp from the other room jolts you fully awake and you sigh.

"I'll go get him, Din."

"Hurry back," he murmurs, reluctantly releasing you from his warm hold.

You scrabble around in the blankets for a moment, unable to locate your clothes, until Din tosses his shirt at you. "Here, take mine."

You pull it over your head, feeling immediately oddly at home swimming in the folds of the massive piece of clothing. It's unexpectedly soft, well worn from years of use -- and abuse -- and it smells just like him. You smile to yourself as you crawl out of bed, the shirt's hem drifting to the tops of your thighs.

"Cover your eyes, I'm opening the door," you tell him.

"I'm not going to go blind from a sliver of light," he grumbles.

"Just thought I'd warn you." You push the door to your shared room open, about to go rescue Grogu from his solitude.

"Wait. Stay there."

You hear him dressing in the other half of his clothes, and the bed creaks as he rises. You instinctively let your eyes flutter shut as his quiet footsteps approach from behind.

"Just for a minute...I want to really look at you with my own eyes."

Your heartbeat quickens at that, and you realize then that he's never really seen you, either.

Through the visor of his helmet, sure, but he's never actually set eyes on you this vulnerable, this...undressed.

You're almost as much of a mystery to him as he is to you, intimately as you know each other.

It amazes you, the trust you've established between the two of you as he stands before you and his breath rustles your unkempt hair. He doesn't reach to cover your eyes himself, worried that you'll look at him without consent. He trusts that your love and respect for him is enough to keep your eyes softly closed.

He studies you, hands tracing down your arms and along the shape of your body covered in his dark shirt. His touch is light, almost shy as he takes the sight of you in. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that one day he would be standing here with someone like you, someone wearing his clothes, who loves him enough to share everything with him and not demand that he break his sacred creed before he's ready.

Someone who he wants, more than anything, to be his forever, to one day, if his life ever allows it, become his riduur.

The person that he almost -- almost -- for a second entertains the thought of telling to open her eyes, to really LOOK at him as he is, unmasked in the soft light of the hallway.

But he doesn't, not this time.

Someday.

You feel his hands frame your face, melt into the familiar calluses of his fingertips as his thumbs lightly caress along your cheekbones. You smile wistfully as he tenderly kisses your closed eyelids, then rests his forehead against yours in a keldabe kiss.

"Mesh'la," he hums quietly, and you can hear the hushed awe in his voice, the way he gets when he's overwhelmed by feelings he can't put into words. "Dank farrik, you're so lovely."

You shiver slightly at his words, feeling heat race to your skin. You don't know exactly why, but you've always loved the sound of his voice when he lets that particular expletive slip.

"Careful, Djarin," you murmur as your lips seek out his. "You don't want me asking for another round before you're ready."

"Why do you assume I'm not ready?" he teases, teeth catching playfully at your bottom lip as you pull back.

"Developing more of an appetite, I see." You rise on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his, grinning as always at the way his scruffy facial hair tickles your face.

"I had to, to keep up with you." His hands tighten on your waist, drawing you against his well-muscled body suggestively.

You reluctantly push away from him, though not before planting a kiss in the hollow where his throat meets his collarbone, a place you know drives him wild. "I do have to go. Your ad'ika wants his buir."

"That was a dirty trick, Mesh'la." He sounds put out, and a little pent up now.

You twist your finger in his necklace, before turning away so you can open your eyes and finally go rescue your foundling. "I'll make it up to you later, Cyare. I promise."

"Don't make me pay you," he deadpans, reminding you of the comment that first started off this very pleasurable evening.

You smirk, knowing he can hear it in your voice as you saunter away. "Oh, I'm very certain I'll get exactly what I want from you."

When you finally return, the child clutching the folds of your borrowed shirt, he's in bed again, so once the door is shut the darkness swallows you in its comforting shroud once more.

You listen to Grogu's happy squeaks as he clambers across from your chest to Din's, and the answering murmurs of his father. Content in the company of the two beings you love most in the galaxy, you stretch out to lie against your lover's warm body, relishing the temporary luxury of a soft mattress to sink into and room to spare. You're not going to wake up with kinks in your spine for the first time in forever.

"You should get a bigger bed on the ship," you suggest through a yawn. "This is awfully nice."

"What's wrong with mine?" He sounds offended, the fingers of his free hand searching until they find their way beneath the draping excess of his shirt that's still cocooning your form. It surprised you at first, probably surprised him too, just how much the man craves these rare spells of skin-to-skin contact, made all the more meaningful by his personal restrictions. You settle into his languid stroking before mustering a reply.

"It's just nice not to worry about falling off the bed when all three of us are together."

"I suppose," he concedes, pausing a moment to no doubt smile at the tiny snores of the now-sleeping child. "But there is something to be said for how close necessity draws us. Don't you roll away from me in the middle of the night."

"Or what, you big gundark, you won't pay me?"

He squeezes the soft part of your waist at your teasing. "Maybe I won't."

"That's a breach of contract." You tangle your legs with his and wrap your arms around his midsection, assuring him without words that you're not going anywhere. "Admit it, you'd like it too. Imagine a world where you don't wake up every morning with stiff muscles." You lazily start to knead into his back, soothing out the weariness and tension that like to take up permanent residence there.

He sighs appreciatively, breath hitching slightly whenever your ministrations encounter an especially stubborn knot. "I do not wake up EVERY morning with stiff muscles."

"Could've fooled me, with the amount of old-man groaning I hear whenever you get out of bed."

"I don't do that."

"Why do you think I always wake up when you leave, hmm?"

"Because you're incapable of keeping yourself warm and you need me to keep from freezing to death." His reply is certain, leaving no room for further rebuttal.

"Kriff. You do know me too well. You still sound like an old man in the mornings, though."

"Don't argue with me, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is warm, but his hand starts straying from platonic towards more intimate. "You're at a bit of a disadvantage."

"How so?" You shouldn't ask, but an impish desire to hear him actually voice his dangerous thoughts overpowers your common sense.

The smirk in his voice is audible. "You have a much more difficult time keeping quiet than I do. You wouldn't want to wake the kid now, would you?"

"Dank farrik."

He relents when you wordlessly concede, returning to a comforting caress rather than an instigating one.

You've almost dozed off again in your shared darkness when the mattress bucks as he hauls himself out of bed to take Grogu back to his own room. You gaze through half-closed eyes at his silhouette when he pauses, back-lit in the warm glow of the opened doorway. You take him in without detail for a brief moment, the curves of his well-defined shoulders and arms, the textured mess of his hair, the slope of his prominent nose. Your heart blossoms with the affection and passion this wounded, pure warrior ignites within you, and you are hit once more with the desire to truly see him, bare and in the light, all his barriers laid down for you.

He's the only man you would ever consider taking as riduur.

Someday.

Before you know it, your brave hunter has returned to your embrace, leaning over you and trapping you between his arms as he rests his scruffy cheek against your smooth one, the two of you allowing a long moment to simply breathe each other in, thankful once more to whichever gods you may believe in that for one more day, you are alive, and you belong to each other.

Then he rises to his knees and pulls you up with him, his breath warm on your skin.

"Don't ever leave me, Mesh'la," he whispers roughly into your throat.

Your head snaps back in delight at the sensations his mouth stirs within you, and your nails scrape across his scarred back in answer, drawing wordless sounds from deep in his chest.

"Never, ner'cyare. I would hunt you across the stars if ever we were parted."

He sighs, the movement of his body rocking yours. "Thank you."

"Can I keep this shirt?" you ask saucily.

"Yes." His hands curl around its hem and start lifting. "But take it off for now."

You hum questioningly as you allow him to guide the thick fabric over your head.

"After all," and his voice hardens, taking on the dogged quality that makes him the best there is at what he does.

"I haven't forgotten about that next round you promised, my love."

Ner'cyare = My beloved

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la = I love you, Beautiful

Riduur = Spouse

Ad'ika = Little One/Small child

Buir = Parent

#mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #x reader #female reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian and grogu #bounty hunter #steamy #din djarin #soft #star wars #found family #i love him so much #this is the way #I'm a huge sucker for the wearing his shirt trope if you can't tell 😋

[patchworkgargoyle]

Dudes Kissin' Dudes

So this post broke my writer's block...

Buckle up for a fluffy fic of Eddie thirsting over Steve at the bar after he overhears him tell Robin he's kissed dudes before. Modern AU, aged up, first meeting and first kiss, rated T, 3.1k words! Also posted to ao3!

One of the things Eddie loves about bars is people watching. Some nights he'll just sit at the counter and observe the throngs of people. It’s fun to admire their looks and their clothes and the way they dance, sometimes to make up stories about them in his head about who they are, why they’re here, what they’re in search of. He’s gotten quite a few NPC ideas from it, the occasional character or two. 

The other thing he loves is the buckwild stories he overhears. No one gossips like loose-lipped drunks. He weaves some of those into his campaigns too but mostly he just gets to have a good laugh or a sigh of relief that he’s not living out that particular drama.

The bar Eddie visited tonight was a little further than home from usual, but the queer scene there was always great and there was a live band playing that he’d seen a few times before. He’d heard a few good stories tonight too–a woman walking by exclaiming about some roommate entanglement gone wrong, one person’s aunt having been arrested for an illegal zoo complete with an emu that almost disembowelled a guy and then escaped–so it’d been worth the longer trip.

For now, he sat at the bar nursing his third drink, one elbow propped up as he scrolled through instagram to snoop on whatever his friends were up to and hoping the lull in patrons passes. A couple people had come up to chat, but no one sparked any mutual interest. It was fine, he wasn’t really on the prowl tonight.

Or so he thought.

Two people approached the bar, just one stool’s distance away, and Eddie’s eyes flicked up from his screen on instinct. The one furthest from him, with a dirty blonde bob, wore a bright patterned shirt and suspenders combo that screamed lesbian, to which he gave an internal nod of approval and solidarity, but then her friend pulled up beside her. And oh. Oh, her friend.

In the dim lighting of the room he still somehow shone just a little golden. Mole-flecked, with a strong nose and wide, easy smile. Warm eyes that sloped in a graceful downturn made him look a little soulful. And his swooping brown hair that fell with a touch of deliberate unkemptness that made Eddie want to mess it up, see if it was as soft as it looked, dig his fingers in and pull. He can’t look at the guy’s lips too long or he’ll start imagining things he really ought not to do outside the privacy of his own bedroom.

Unfortunately he also wore the straightest outfit he’d seen all night: khaki shorts and a white and blue striped polo. He would’ve looked right at home at a frat party, even ordered a bland pale ale those types chug right from the keg. Sighing, Eddie returned to his phone. There was no way he’d waste any more energy mooning over a straight man. Of course, that doesn’t mean he won’t eavesdrop.

Settling in, the pair leaned against the bar and surveyed the crowd. They started to catch up and the woman–Robin, he learns–went on a rambling rant about a needy client at what sounds like her translator job. Apparently the friend’s name was Steve, if Robin’s shouted, “Twenty-five pages in two hours. Two hours, Steve!” was anything to go by. He just listened with encouraging head-nods and appropriately offended gasps as he drank, sometimes surveying the other people mingling or dancing. Eventually, he stopped her with a smack to her shoulder, and pointed with the hand holding the bottle off in a corner.

“What about her?” he asked with an eyebrow wiggle, and Eddie narrowed his eyes as he stared at this guy.

“God, no. She’s way out of my league,” Robin says. Eddie relaxes, glad he’s not about to listen to some dude creep on someone.

“Are you crazy? Robs, leagues don’t exist, for one-”

She cut him off, claiming, “That’s what hot, confident people say to make us awkward ducklings feel better.”

“You’re not an awkward duckling, you’re a very majestic full-grown lady duck. And I bet you twenty bucks that lady duck over there would be thrilled if you crossed this pond to talk to her.”

“Please, for the love of god, never call me or another woman ducks ever again. That’s just weird.”

Sputtering, Steve said, “I was just following the- the metaphor!”

Eddie valiantly contained a snort while Robin rolled her eyes so hard her head rolled back with them. He appreciated the dramatics. But, looking at the woman Steve referred to, Eddie saw his point. He kept it to himself, but he believed in Robin.

Steve levelled a determined look at Robin. “Listen, I’m a phys ed and history teacher, not english, you get what I mean. You could absolutely sweep her off her feet.”

Frowning, with only a tiny bit of a stubborn pout, Robin fussed with the curling corners of the label of her own beer. “Well, what happened to this being girl’s night, huh? If I go home with someone–which I’m not saying I will, dingus– then you’re probably gonna have to hang around the bar all sad and alone and stuff.”

“Honestly, I’d probably go back and watch a movie with Roommate Greg.”

Robin made a face. “Not Greg. I can’t wait until he moves out.” Sighing, she finished her drink, left the bottle on the counter and asked the bartender for another. “I’d feel better if you’d be able to find your own lady duck here, but I think you’d be out of luck. If only you liked kissing dudes too.”

Eddie gave a silent, slightly ironic amen to that statement. But then, as if the gods themselves heard his plea, Steve said something that nearly had Eddie spitting out his drink.

“I mean, I have kissed dudes before.”

Robin went silent as Steve’s head turned to face her, her eyes wide, mouth open. Eddie’s phone screen had enough time to go black as he waited, on the edge of his stool, to learn more about this very handsome Steve kissing dudes sometimes.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told you this before, Robs, it’s not that shocking.”

“Apparently you haven’t! I definitely would have remembered if my very straight male friend suddenly confessed to me that he’s ‘kissed dudes,’ plural, to my face,” she said, both hands gesturing wildly. She almost knocked over her refill.

God, Eddie wished he could see Steve’s face now, but he refused to move much in case they both realise he’s desperate to hear what comes next. He couldn’t even look away, he just stared like a weirdo, but he couldn't help it. This was juicier than killer emus. Eddie flat-out refused to acknowledge why, despite the tiny thrum of excitement in his chest.

Shoulders falling with a heavy sigh, Steve shook his head and leaned further into the bar, all too casual for this conversation in Eddie’s opinion. “It’s not that big a deal, jeez. Sometimes, with my old friends-”

“You do not mean Tommy and Carol.” Steve was quiet and Robin’s eyes got even wider. “You do not mean Tommy and Carol!”

“Well, yeah, it’s just. Y’know, when you’re hanging out at a bar and you’re at that happy tipsy point, not drunk, like, you’ve still got all your awareness or whatever, sometimes you just wanna show your friends you’re happy they’re around.”

“By… kissing them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“On the lips?”

The shrug Eddie witnesses is surprisingly easy for the sheer amount of obliviousness Steve was clearly carrying. “Sure. I won’t do it with someone who wouldn’t want it, of course, and after Carol saw me and Tommy do it a few times she’d asked him to stop, so we did, but if you’re confident in your sexuality it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Steve. You are like my platonic soulmate and brother wrapped into one, and I mean this with all the love in my heart, but you are, on some occasions, extremely dense.”

“Hey,” Steve said, sounding offended, and Robin placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean you’re stupid. But sometimes it takes some time for things to click, my guy, and this might be one of them.”

Eddie couldn’t help but agree at least a little, having struggled with his own comphet demons, but even as an out and proud bisexual he certainly never kissed his friends unless he was trying to annoy the shit out of them or they were in a “with-benefits” situation. There were so many more ways to show appreciation than to tenderly kiss your buddies on the mouth.

As Steve started to speak again, someone walked up to the stool between Eddie and Steve, his eyes on Eddie. With a slightly mean grin, swung his foot up onto the stool with a clang and said, “Sorry, waiting for a friend.” The guy left with a judgemental side-eye but Eddie couldn’t care less. When he glanced back at Steve, Robin caught his eye with a confused look, and Eddie quickly unlocked his phone to pretend to be busy, hoping the low lights hid the slight flush in his face. It’s not like he hasn’t been caught doing this before, but in this case Eddie really, really wanted to hear the conclusion to this conversation.

“Let me get this ‘straight,’” Robin began, “you’ve kissed Tommy, on the mouth, multiple times.” Steve nodded. “In front of his girlfriend.” Another nod. “With tongue?”

“No, never with tongue.”

“But like, softly. You’re not mashing your faces together.”

Steve sounded annoyed when he stated, “I know how to kiss, Robin.”

“Humour me.”

“Yes, it was soft.” He’d crossed his arms now, and Eddie had to force his eyes away from Steve’s biceps.

“Did you… enjoy it?” Robin asked, much more gently than the rest of her inquisition. 

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it.”

“I know I’m thoroughly a lesbian but I cannot fathom enjoying kissing Tommy Hagan even if I wasn’t.”

Steve snorts at that and some of the tension leaves his shoulders at the joke. “It’s not just Tommy, though, like I’ve done it with Jonathan, so it’s not just one person.”

Robin’s lips curled inwards like she was biting back something she desperately wanted to say, but wouldn’t. With one long breath in, then out, she said instead, “Okay. So. Two guys you’ve enjoyed kissing.”

“And Argyle. He’s great about it, actually, we kiss all the time.”

“Three. Guys.”

“Guy friends,” Steve clarified, as if that helped anything.

“That’s like this far away from being boy friends.” She held up two fingers that were basically touching, right in Steve’s face, and he swatted her away with a laugh. Taking her hand back, she leaned forward instead, asking, “Have you ever, I dunno, tried kissing a guy who isn’t a friend?”

Something in Eddie’s gut dropped at the question, making room for butterflies that had absolutely no right to be there and needed to vacate immediately. At the same time, a tiny, loud, selfish part of him wanted to raise his hand and yell, “pick me! Please, for the love of everything holy, unholy, and in between, fucking pick me!”

“What? No. That’s rude, I’m not just gonna walk up and kiss a stranger, I’d either be a massive creep or get punched.”

“Not if you ask, and especially not in this bar. You’re allowed to experiment, if you’re open about that.”

Silence lay thickly between them as Eddie watched Steve tilt his head to the side. Like he was actually considering it. He even let out a small “huh” and Eddie felt the seconds slide by like molasses, his own head tilted down at his phone but his eyes fixed on that perfect head of hair just a few feet away. Slowly, Steve turned so his back was to the bar again, and Eddie saw those puppy dog eyes glancing over the other patrons.

“Have you even seen anyone checking me out, though?” Steve asked.

Robin stared right at Eddie, and he swore his heart stopped. Oh fuck. “Probably the guy who’s been looking at you like you’re his last meal on death row all night.”

Oh fuck.

Twisting, Steve finally noticed Eddie. If his heart had stopped when Robin completely caught him out, it started back up again at a rabbit-fast pace, blood rushing straight to Eddie’s cheeks and ears, staining them bright red. Having the full force of Steve’s gaze on him was equal parts awful and wonderful and deeply fucking embarrassing. It was worse when Steve started looking him up and down, eyes tracing a languid path down Eddie’s body and along the leg still resting on the spare stool.

He knows what he looks like, and it’s nothing like Steve. Lankier, dressed in all black and ripped denim. Eddie had just enough self-esteem to acknowledge he could attract a few people with his long curls and dark, intense eyes, but not enough to think that this guy right here, seemingly checking him out, would find anything all that appealing. And yet.

“Hey,” Steve said when he got back to Eddie’s face, all calm confidence.

“H-howdy,” Eddie squeaked, zero charm to be found.

“I’m Steve.”

“I’m Eddie,” he said with slightly more vocal control, and the slight smile that brought to Steve’s face could spawn entire hair metal ballads.

Steve readjusted so he actually faced Eddie, and Robin leaned on his back, peering over it with a conniving little smirk. “So I guess you heard all that,” he said, and Eddie nodded.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh you totally did,” Robin said, grinning.

Eddie’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but all that did was make Steve chuckle. It wasn’t even a mean chuckle, he sounded amused, like they were all in on a joke instead of justifiably pissed that a stranger had heard their entire private conversation. Robin, also laughing, pushed off of Steve with a pat to the back and a “good luck,” walked off towards the dance floor. Eddie watched her leave with only a little bit of malice.

“So what do you think?”

His head whipped back to Steve, who’d stepped a bit closer. One of the track lights above highlighted the natural tan to Steve’s skin. Eddie bet he’d look stunning with a bit of glitter on his cheeks. “What?”

“About experimenting, dude,” Steve laughed, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I won’t push. I’m not a shitty person.”

“And you’re just. Okay with this.” He couldn’t help waving a hand between them with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” Steve’s arms were crossed again, making some frayed wires spark in Eddie’s poor, overwhelmed brain as he took in Steve’s patient, friendly smile. His lips made this adorable wide v-shape like that, and whatever remaining restraints held Eddie back from this idea swiftly dissolved at the idea that he could kiss that smile away, even if only for a moment. Even if he knew he’d probably think about it for a year, or, likely, more.

With a sharp exhale, Eddie said, “Fuck it. Yeah. Let’s do it.” He stood, finding he was more or less as tall as Steve, and dredged up every ounce of bravado he could manage. “Any time you wanna stop, you stop, ‘kay? I’ll back off.” He paused to lean closer, glanced down at Steve’s lips with all the hunger he’d been fighting off all night, then back up for effect. “But don’t blame me if I rock your world.”

“You’re a dork,” Steve teased but, if Eddie wasn’t imagining things, he sounded just a little breathless.

Eddie closed the distance. Instead of getting right to kissing, he gently nudged Steve’s nose with his own, ghosting his full lips over Steve’s and earning a tiny, frustrated huff, and finally, with a smile, Eddie dove in for a kiss. It was soft, like he imagined Steve giving all those other guys, and intentionally short. Eddie pulled away a smidge, only to find Steve chasing after him, his broad hands grasping Eddie’s belt loops and yanking their hips closer.

Their kisses grew more fervent. Hands roaming, Eddie got his wish and buried his fingers into that silky soft hair, his other hand cupping the small of Steve’s back and bringing them flush together. He could feel the small groan in Steve’s chest when Eddie pulled his hair just the right side of too hard and gave a short laugh. Steve swallowed it, drew his tongue over Eddie’s lips in a question Eddie answered by letting him lick his way inside. Fuck, Steve really did know how to kiss.

A push, and Steve was pressed into the bartop, his hands slipping to Eddie’s ass and kneading while Eddie had him pinned. He could feel Steve getting hard in his preppy little shorts, felt it against his own hardness and couldn’t help but grind into it, both of them moaning low into each other’s mouths as their kisses grew hungrier, sloppier. 

Neither of them remembered where they were until hands slapped both of their shoulders and they jolted apart, pupil blown and lips pink.

“Welp, looks like you figured your shit out, dingus. I’m heading home with Chrissy here,” Robin wiggled her and the woman that was apparently Chrissy’s hands in the air between them all, Chrissy giving a little giggle.

“Hey, I knew I was right about the lady duck!” Steve said, still clinging to Eddie, and Robin groaned.

“Yeah, and I was right that it’s not straight to enjoy kissing your guy friends. Have fun, be safe, make good choices, give me the address of wherever you’re going,” she said, turning to leave, but glanced back. “Also, nice to meet you Eddie. I’ll probably see you around.”

Eddie snorted but waved goodbye before turning his attention to the handsome man he still had trapped against the bar. Steve was already looking at him with a mix of heated desire and genuine interest that bolstered Eddie’s ego considerably. “How would you say your experiment went, big boy?” he asked despite still being able to feel the results between them.

“Pretty good I think.” Steve’s hands wandered up under the hem of Eddie’s shirt, making his shiver. Shit. He wanted those hands everywhere immediately. “Wouldn’t mind a few more test runs though. Gotta follow the, uh, scientific method.”

“Of course, of course. We definitely need to see if the results can be replicated.” As he spoke, Eddie started to trail light kisses along Steve’s jaw, then down his neck.

“Fuck yes.”

P.S. If you got this far and liked this trope, but want something a little 👀spicier👀 may I recommend greatest hits by @/scarcrossdlvrs? (I didn't wanna tag you bc I didn't wanna force you to read this just to see why you were tagged! xD ) Enjoy!!

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #sav scrawls stuff

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕸𝖔𝖞 𝕸𝖎𝖗

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Sorry, Night Lord lovers.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: Be 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 for/of yourself. Even it’s just a tiny cut. I also don’t ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ these 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

TW // Slight SMUT/NSFW? Yandere Themes, Google Translation.

It’s only been two weeks since he's been away from home, from his little Мир. All he wanted to do was lay his head on her lap. To feel how her hands dragged along his head that sent shivers down his spine, calming his wrath. He wanted to smell her comforting scent mixed with his own, telling him that one else tried to take her from him. To take what is his.

There has been sometimes where one would try and take her themselves. Especially the humans, they were the worst at it. Trying to steal away his bonded. His Мир. The only human to bring him solitude, and it infuriated him to no end. Did they not want him to have the peace she has given him? Did they want him to massacre them for the blood god? Because that is something he will do if they don’t stop their meager attempts. He’s already killed many before, what makes them think he won’t slaughter anymore?

The Astartes were much more honorable to deal with than the cowardly human. They would wait for his return to challenge him for his bonded or make a challenge to him when he was there, out of his bonded sight. Knowing how… empathetic most humans can be. It's something that he lets most of them live for. Their consideration of not ruining their bond for the other.

Though, sometimes he would like his bonded to watch. To watch his prowess of how he pulls the limb off his opponent's body. How he snaps their bones into two, leaving shards of their bone with their torn flesh in the terra, feeding the flora with their blood. He wants to see her marvel at him. To admire his hulking physique. Even applaud for his performance of slaying his contender. Khorne, just even gift him a flower and he will know that he’s been rewarded for both approval and defending her like in one of those “knight movies” she saw her stare at.

He would also like to do more with his bonded, but he wasn’t one to force. He didn’t want to ruin what he already has with his bonded. He knows that she can not feel the same bond as he does, and that irritates him slightly.

He just wishes he could pin his little Мир down to the ground right after showing her what lengths he goes through to keep her by his side. Watch her weep tears of pleasure as he fills her again and again, staking his claim on her in more ways than one. He wishes to feel her soft skin on top of his. Feel her ride him up, and down as he pulls her back down on him, rutting up into her, listening to her cry out for him. Khorne, he even wished to know what she tasted like.

Yet, he forced himself to be patient. He didn’t want to spook her away just because of his unfathomable desires. He didn’t want to lose what bond they already have, but he was tired of being stuck in this “friendzone” the humans called it. Some even spoke of “cockblocked” Whatever that meant. It must mean something similar to friendzone right?

Upon coming closer to his little Мир home. He realized something was off. Her scent didn’t cling to the house, it was faded. Meaning she was gone for a long time, too long for it to be fading. Did someone take her while he was on his mission? Oh, that thought made him spark with fury. Who dares to take what his without him noticing?

He marches inside the home. Bending a little to get the through door. Knowing that if he even remotely destroyed her nest, she would not talk to him for days afterward, and that was hard enough for his anguishing mind.

His eyes carefully scanned the area around him that looked relatively clean for someone to come in and steal his bonded. While he looked around for clues of his bonded. He had remembered this Night Lord who thought he wasn’t around. Prowling around with his blue armor shimmering against the moonlight. It was clear that this was a younger Night Lord, considering that his stealth was not mastered like the ones he’s faced off against before. Plus, this one didn’t even come up to challenge him like the others did. This one was trying to be discreet, and that sent him into a frenzy.

He didn’t hesitate to rush at the Night Lord, slamming into him as they shook the ground beneath them. Both talon-like gauntlets tearing at each other's armor. Creating sparks, and scratches in their armor before pushing off and circling one another.

Threats, and unholy promises of him, and his bonded were made between the two. Enraging Spartak further. How dare this youngling defile her name upon their tongue?! Speaking of ways he could use her for his own enjoyment?!

Spartak roared out, dashing at the Night Lord once more. Doing a fake strike down at the Night Lord, watching them dodge right into his real strike into his chest-piece. His gauntlet piercing their chest piece, picking them up, and hucked them to the side. Taking a tree down with a loud snap! This Night Lord might be younger, and faster, but he wasn't stronger nor experienced than Spartak was. He has defeated many before, what makes this one think he can escape for him too?

The Night Lord scrambled up from the ground, and charged him, letting out their own snarl. His form unexperienced; laughable.

Spartak growled, and shot forward, snatching the Night Lord by the gorget, and rasied him up to his own helmet. A surprised, robotic gurgle coming from the Night Lord. Gauntlets desperately clawing at his chest-piece, and pauldrons in a pathetic attempt to dislodge him. If he could, he would have torn this welp piece by piece, limb by limb.

However, what he couldn't account for was his bonded to witness everything he has done to the Night Lord so far. A shout coming out from her lips as she demanded him to let go of the Night Lord.

Spartak huffed, but reluctantly obliged. Throwing the Night Lord off to the side again. Watching him as he scrambled to get back up on his two feet before dashing away into the forest. His arm settling close to his chest. Getting the message, for now.

He also remembered how upset his little Мир had gotten with him that day. Her eyes looking up to him in a furious expression. Her own little body rising up in mock anger. It sent a certain yearning down his body that he was all too familiar with.

Oh, how cute she was when she was angry. When she didn’t even know the true definition of rage. Especially, the one he feels now.

He has checked the house over, and over again. There was nothing out of place. No furniture overturned. No scent of another human or Astartes in the home. No missing items or gifts he had brought to her except a few pieces of clothing.

Except, a few pieces of clothing.

An anguished roar left him. Rattling the houses walls; cracking some windows and then, he tore against his better judgment. Shredding through walls, tearing down support beams, throwing furniture out of his way through plain walls and windows until there was nothing left of the house, but its cement foundations and a layer of debris with him huffing in the middle.

She had left him. She had left him willingly.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #fanfiction #yandere #oc: spartak #world eater #x reader #reader insert

[anon-e-miss]

The Desert Blooms - 9

“Where’d ya find the moonstone,” Ricochet asked. He and Jazz had not spoken about it but they seemed to be on the same wavelength so far as their “matches” were. Ricochet could not disagree with Ori’s subtle manoeuvring. The prince would suit Jazz better than the hot-helm and Ricochet supposed the hot-helm would suit him better than the stoic prince. Discovering Barricade’s interest in carving was a boon.

“A scrap heap,” Barricade replied. “Someone got a long way in carving a brick before they found a fissure.

“Barricade is forever searching scrap heaps for useful stones,” Prowl replied.

“Ya carve the table ‘n chairs?” Ricochet asked.

“Yes,” Barricade replied. “The Duke sent the granite from Praxus.”

“Did ya wanna see where ya can find some bigger pieces to work wit?” Ricochet asked.

“The private hoard Punch mentioned?” Barricade asked.

“Ori’s been tellin’ tales,” Ricochet exclaimed, with a chuckle. “Ain’t really my hoard. ‘M sure ‘m not the only carver that goes down there.

“Down where?” Barricade asked.

“Caves,” Ricochet said. “Most Polyhexian cities are mostly underground, outta the elements, except for businesses o’ trade ‘n the like. Ya seen how Darkmount is sorta in a bowl? That’s cause the walls o’ the main cavern collapsed. The smaller ones were abandoned outta... convenience? Who knows.”

“I do have something big I’d like to work on,” Barricade confessed.

“Great.”

Ori beamed and Ricochet rolled his optics behind his visor. Barricade was already standing before Ricochet thought he out to offer him a servo. He had been raised in camps and caves cut into the cliffs, not the court and he had no courtly manners. Jazz came to it naturally. His charm would make up for any misteps. Ricochet was rougher around the edges and with none of the charm. It would be Jazz who would lead the way when, eventually, envoys came to call, Ricochet thought he would do less damage if he smiled and nodded. Barricade may not have emerged to the Duke but he had been raised in his home a long time. Though how Praxian manners really translated in Polyhex’s court, Ricochet did not know. He tried to think of something to say but empty prattle had never been his thing.

“This way,” Ricochet scowled to himself as he realized these were the first glyphs he had spoken in the breams they had been walking. Barricade’s red optics narrowed. “Y’re fine. ‘M just thinkin’ I ain’t been much o’ a guide.”

“Oh?” Barricade asked.

“Well I outta be tellin’ ya where we’re walkin’,” Ricochet said. “What all this ‘n that is.”

“I don’t mind silence,” Barricade replied. “I grew up with Prowl.”

“He ain’t chatty?” Ricochet asked.

“He can be,” Barricade said. “If something interests him. You’ll see how he is eventually. When he gets into his own helm, he goes down deep. Whether he’s gardening, painting or just sitting at the same time, he only comes back up in his own time.”

“Ya don’t mind it,” Ricochet said.

“It’s how he is,” Barricade replied. “Enough mecha hate him for drawing breath, I figured as his brother, the least I could do is work with him.”

“How’d he react when the Duke brought ya home?” Ricochet asked.

“He took care of me,” Barricade replied.

***

“They did not even wait for the rent to come due,” Barricade peered up from under the box he was using to shield himself from the rain and saw an elegantly armoured mech, wearing a heavy velvet cloak looking down at him, sitting amongst the trash in the alley next to the boarding house he and his origin had lived, where his origin had died. Barricade scowled at the well-spoken stranger. The way his armour was cut reminded Barricade of his progenitor and he hated this mech on sight.

“What do you want?” He hissed. The stranger knelt in the puddle in front of him and pulled back his hood. Like Origin, the stranger’s faceplates were gold, though his optics were blue.

“I am designated Camshaft; your progenitor was my consort,” the mech said. Everything amount the mech, down to his accent, was so fine, unlike Barricade. “I found the letter you wrote him, telling of your originator’s death. He has passed as well. I am here to take you home, Barricade.”

“Home?” Barricade asked. “They kicked me out.”

“So I see,” Camshaft replied. “I will send someone to collect a refund on the rent remaining for this quartex. No, Barricade, I am taking you to my home, yours now as well.”

“I don’t understand,” Barricade said.

“I will explain,” Camshaft said. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around Barricade before picking him up. “My carriage is close.”

Origin had always told Barricade to be weary of strangers, even well armoured ones, but origin was gone. Barricade wrapped his arms around Camshaft’s neck and his legs around his waist. He shivered, the rains had soaked into his protoform. The strange mech crooned to him as he carried him down the block. Rain drenched Camshaft but he did not seem to care. He only paused a moment to pull the hood better over Barricade’s helm, shielding his faceplates from the rain. Barricade heard a scandalized gasp. Camshaft made no sound at all. Head heard doors creak as they were pulled open. When Camshaft set him down, Barricade pulled back the hood, far too big for his helm and looked around as the stranger climbed into the carriage with him.

“Take us home,” he ordered the coachmech. He turned to Barricade and gave him a soft look. “You are soaked to the struts, poor thing. Turn up the heat.”

“Where are we going?” Barricade asked. Hot air blasted all around him and Barricade was warm.

“To my home,” Camshaft replied. “I live on an estate in Petrex with my mechling, Prowl. You are his brother and thus you are mine so you will live with us now.”

“But... I’m just a bastard,” Barricade said. “I’m not even your bastard.”

“The only bastard in all of this was your progenitor,” Camshaft declared. Barricade could not argue that point.

At first, Origin had just had a little cough, something he had said, he figured, he had picked up backstage. But then the coughing had gotten so bad Origin’s armour rattled with the force of it and at the same time as he had spiked a fever, a rash had appeared on his chassis. His vocalizer had swollen so much he could not speak. Barricade had tried to fetch a medic but Origin had not been paid for his last performance. He had gone to the hall but the manager had said he had deducted fees because Origin had failed to appear for the last few shows. Only after exhausting these avenues had Barricade written to his progenitor, a mech he had only seen three times in his whole life. He had only answered once, to tell him his whore of an origin was not his concern. No matter how much Barricade had begged in letter after letter, he never sent a shanix, or another glyph. No medic had come, no matter how much he had begged them, no priest either, not even when Origin had ventilated his last.

“I am so sorry, Sweetspark,” Camshaft said as he wiped a tear from Barricade’s faceplates.

“They wouldn’t give him Last Rites,” Barricade cried. He wriggled out of he cloak so he could climb off of his bench and into Camshaft’s arms. “They didn’t want to catch it.”

“We will build your originator a shrine,” Camshaft promised as he stroked Barricade’s helm. “And we will light his path to the well.”

“Promise?” Barricade asked.

“I promise,” Camshaft said.

Barricade believed him. There was something about Camshaft, something different than his progenitor, that made Barricade feel like his glyphs were true. He set his helm on the stranger’s shoulder and closed his optics. Camshaft hummed and the lullaby, along with the rocking of the carriage, lulled Barricade into recharge. Sometime later he woke to the carriage rolling to a stop. Camshaft stroked his back and hummed a reassuring note. Soon the carriage was on the move again and Barricade looked out the window to see that they were riding down a long drive. Fields covered in wild blooming crystals stretched further than Barricade could see. When they came to a stop again, Barricade could not see the habsuite but he imagined it was huge. The doors opened and a coachmech stood in the opening.

“I’ll take him to the servants quarters,” the mech said.

“You will not,” Camshaft declared. “Barricade will live in the nursery with Prowl.”

“But that is... scandalous...”

“I am the Duke of Petrex,” Camshaft replied. “This is my estate and my household. I will manage it as I will. Let it be known to my staff, Barricade is equal to Prowl and should I find out he is being treated in any way less, there will be Pit to pay.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the coachmech said, bowing low. Barricade looked up at Camshaft... highness?

“Good,” Camshaft said. “Come along, Barricade. It is time for you to meet your brother.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Barricade replied. Camshaft smiled down at him.

“You do not need to address me as so,” he replied. “I am Camshaft. I am your caretaker. I am not your lord. Do you understand?”

“No,” Barricade replied. He really did not.

“That is alright,” Camshaft said. “You will.”

“You are back, Originator,” a new voice spoke. A mech Barricade’s age with a silver face and the Duke’s blue optics stood on the steps of the grandest home Barricade had ever seen. It must have been as long as the whole block Barricade had lived on.

“Yes, Prowl, I have brought you your brother,” Camshaft explained. “By your progenitor. He is designated Barricade.”

“Hello Barricade,” Prowl greeted Barricade. He had a funny tone. His accent was similar to Camshaft but different... almost flat. Barricade stood very still as the Duke’s creation walked down the steps at stops in front of him. Prowl looked Barricade up and down and then looked up to his originator and back down again. “You were caught in the rains, Barricade. I will draw you a bath and fetch some tea.”

***

“Just like that?” Ricochet asked.

“Camshaft said I was his brother and so in Prowl’s processor, it was so,” Barricade explained. “There were servants, of course there were servants but Camshaft mostly had them barred from the nursery. He, we, kept it up. The only servants allowed in were tutors and Camshaft kept a close optic on them.”

“Why?” Ricochet asked.

“Because he could never be sure who might be one of his brothers’ or originator’s assassins,” Barricade explained.

“Assassins?” Ricochet gasped. “They wanted your brother dead so bad.”

“Fratricide is the family business,” Barricade explained. “The first time Camshaft’s elder brother tried to kill him, he was a first tier sparkling and his brother a second tier. It did not get better as they got older and more brothers were added.”

“Fraggin’ Pit,” Ricochet gasped. “The Emperor is okay with this?”

“It’s tradition,” Barricade explained. “The strongest and smartest survives over his brothers to become emperor.”

“That’s insane,” Ricochet declared. “Ain’t sorry to say that… That’s just crazy.”

“It is,” Barricade agreed. “Camshaft stayed in his dukedom, he still does, versus court. It’s been a long time since they tried anything.”

“They don’t think he’s a threat?” Ricochet asked.

“No, they’re all terrified of him,” Barricade explained. “The last time he had to dine with them, he put every one of them into stasis with a bit of poison. When they came back on line, all hungover as Pit, he warned them to leave him be or the next time they wouldn’t wake up. The Emperor was furious.”

“Why?” Ricochet asked.

“Because poison is the coward’s way,” Barricade said. “And if he was going to go and do it, he should have at least done it properly and wiped them all out.”

“But he didn’t,” Ricochet said.

“He doesn’t want power,” Barricade said. “Not anymore than he has as Duke of Petrex. He loathes the court, loathes the tradition. He would have had a whole gaggle of sparkling but he only had Prowl because he didn’t want his creations pitted against each other.”

“He probably thought bringin’ ya home was a blessin’,” Ricochet said.

“That’s what he told me,” Barricade replied.

“He sounds like a good mech,” Ricochet declared.

“I’ve never met a better one,” Barricade replied.

There was love there, as deep and as loyal a love as Barricade had for his brother. Ricochet did not understand why he would not go home but then he supposed in their situation, nothing could convince Ricochet to leave Jazz’s side. Barricade and the prince might not have been twins or even full brothers, they had a powerful bond. It was something Ricochet could respect. He took Barricade’s servo and guided him over the rubble that partially barred the mouth of the cave. Barricade was sure of ped, the doorwings probably did not heard so far as balance went. He clicked his glossa as they descended into darkness, with only their headlights to light the way. Having evolved for low-light environments, Ricochet saw as clearly in the tunnel as he did on the surface, once he retracted his visor. Barricade clicked his glossa and walked along at Ricochet’s side as sure of ped as ever.

“Click,” Barricade clicked his glossa and walked along.

“What’re ya doin’?” Ricochet asked.

“Echolocation,” Barricade said.

“I didn’t know Praxians could do that,” Ricochet replied.

“Most can’t,” Barricade replied. “Camshaft taught us.”

“Sounds like the two o’ ya got an eclectic education,” Ricochet replied.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Barricade said.

“Here we are,” Ricochet replied.

“What am I looking at?” Barricade asked. “Since I don’t actually see anything.”

“Roots,” Ricochet explained. He lit a lamp and held it up. “From the trees that topped the oasis that used to sit above the cave.”

“Nice,” Barricade said. He ran his servos over a broken crystal root. Barricade took the lantern from Ricochet and studied the roots all around him. “Hmm.”

“What’re ya lookin’ to make?” Ricochet asked.

“A cradle for the bitlet,” Barricade said. “So if you have optics for something for a loftier project just tell me now.”

“I don’t,” Ricochet replied. “‘N anyways, makin’ a cradle seems like a pretty worthy purpose for any o’ these crystals.”

#valveplug #maccadams #anon-e-miss writes #tf barricade #tf ricochet #mechpreg #non consensual body modification #the desert blooms

[heliopauseentertainments]

Course of Treatment

For TFMegaRatch's "Unexpected" prompt Continuity: IDW1

Rating: General Relationships: Megatron/Ratchet

Characters: Ratchet, Megatron

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Not Beta Red

Summary: In which Ratchet is the only concession requested by the Decepticons in the peace treaty.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth | TFMegaRatch

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

Ratchet couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He leaned back in his seat, jaw slack and optics wide in shock.

That couldn’t have been correct.

Absolutely not.

He shook his head as though that would make the world make sense again.

It didn’t.

The meeting had started simply enough; his presence at the peace negotiations had only been a formality—a function of his high rank—since he had little de jure authority beyond medical decisions. Sure, he had some measure of personal influence but that generally didn’t translate to political sway.

Ratchet slowly turned his head sideways to look at this fellows. His side of the table all appeared to be in various stages of shock. Prowl looked like he’d been zapped by an electrified pylon. Ironhide looked like Megatron had insulted him personally. Kup looked like he thought this was all some kind of joke. And Jazz… for once had been rendered utterly speechless.

Optimus leaned forward in his seat, cautiously like the entire situation was a bomb. It might as well have been.

“Would you… run that by us one more time, Megatron?” he asked, surely making some kind of baffled expression with his mouth behind that battle mask. “I’m… not sure we heard you correctly.”

Megatron, for his part, sat there on the opposite side of the literal bargaining table, hands folded together as he frowned. Nothing unusual about how he was holding himself, except perhaps the usual signs of exhaustion and fatigue that Ratchet had noticed over the years. Optimus bore similar signs, making them easy to recognize.

It was as though he thought he hadn’t said anything remarkable at all.

None of the lieutenants at his side seemed surprised either. However, two of them had no visible face and Starscream did tense his own frown in what might have been a measure of disgust.

Ratchet wasn’t sure what to make of this.

“Is your hearing going, Prime?” Megatron scoffed. “But, very well, I suppose I could do you the courtesy of repeating myself.”

Ratchet braced himself, certain that he wouldn’t say it again. That they had heard incorrectly or that Megatron had misspoken the first time. There had to have been some kind of mistake.

“All I’m asking for… is Ratchet.” There was a pause. “In a conjunxual union.”

Then he hadn’t misheard after all.

--

The shuttle, rickety with age, shuddered as it passed through the outer layers of the atmosphere to enter a high orbit. It whisked Ratchet away from the ruins of Iacon, the one city remaining on Cybertron that had enough structures intact to call it a settlement… up to where the Nemesis waited, falling perpetually around the planet.

The reflected light of the sky dropped away as the shuttle left the firmament, and thus Cybertron, behind.

Everything since the meeting had been a blur. Optimus and the others had decided that peace and control of the planet had been worth the low, low cost of handing over Ratchet to Megatron.

Even Ratchet could understand the logic of the choice. At the time, he had even verbally agreed.

In a way, he had reasoned at the time, he would be sacrificing himself for the good of them all. It was, comparatively, a small cost.

Megatron could have demanded land for settling, resources, a skewed trade agreement, access to research and technologies, hostages, political power, anything that made sense to ask for when negotiating an equitable peace treaty… but he hadn’t.

He had only asked… for Ratchet’s hand in union.

It was baffling.

Something clearly wasn’t right here.

Ratchet didn’t even know Megatron particularly well, not personally. He knew of him; he had seen him many times in meetings and battles, had heard him bloviating in both person and media releases. He didn’t know him in the way that Optimus did, through close, direct opposition.

By that token, Megatron couldn’t have really known Ratchet either. It was highly unlikely that Megatron had been secretly nursing a flame of unrequited love—or lust—for a random Autobot medic for some indefinite amount of time. Why pick him? Why demand him and no one else?

The blackness of the void moved slowly outside the shuttle; the sliding points of light—distant stars—and the growing edge of a warship’s hull were the only visual signs of motion now that the sky had vanished.

An unkind thought in the back of his processor pushed its way forward: Ratchet likely deserved this. For something. For patients he had failed to save. For conflicts he had failed to intervene in. For something. There was always something he could have done better.

And Megatron, personally, was to be his punishment.

That and separation from his fellow Autobots until such a time as relations between the two armies could be normalized, if such a time ever came. Until then—even then—Megatron would loom large in his life, an all-encompassing shadow.

The worldburner-class ship that was to be his home loomed ahead, now filling the entirety of the shuttle’s forward viewscreen, blocking out even a hint of the field of stars beyond. The Decepticons were to live in exile and search for a new homeworld elsewhere among the stars; it would be a long journey to find a place both suitable, uninhabited, and far enough from any civilizations the Decepticons had angered. They were, quite understandably in Ratchet’s opinion, also barred from settling on any worlds that they had previously sterilized.

Ships like this, Ratchet knew, could easily destroy worlds, even if now it’s role was nominally that of a colony ship. This flagship had proved its power many times over throughout the war. It was only happenstance that Cybertron had the near-sacred status of “home” even if it was in ruins, destroyed in all other ways that mattered. Worldburners were saved, it seemed, for organic worlds.

Ratchet could only hope that once he boarded the Nemesis, that Megatron wouldn’t turn the ship’s armaments against their planet in one last vindictive blow before speeding off into deep space to… wherever it was they were going. Somewhere far, far away.

The Decepticon pilots aboard the shuttle, thankfully, ignored Ratchet and his silent musings as he sat in one of the passenger seats, his medical kit tucked underneath behind his legs.

At least, he thought, he had few belongings. His medical kit and nothing more, not counting the long-distance communicator Prowl had granted him. “Just in case” was what he had been told. Over the millions of years of war and constantly being on the move, he had learned to not keep more than the essentials.

His real dowry was the treaty. For all the good it did.

He leaned forward in his seat to watch the final approach.

A small square in the distance opened up in the worldburner’s hull, a little hatch of some kind, barely visible on the viewscreen.

At first, he thought, perhaps it was for a docking cable or some other equipment, but as the square grew in size as they neared… the sheer scale of the Nemesis became clear.

The “small square” was the mouth of their distant landing dock on this utterly titanic ship.

His spark stirred uncomfortably in his chest, chilled by a sense of his own frailty and insignificance.

It had been some time since Ratchet had felt so… minuscule.

--

The Nemesis’s corridors were vast, designed to allow huge warframes to pass through unencumbered. Ratchet, an average Cybertronian in size, felt like little more than a minibot as his and Megatron’s footsteps echoed off the walls. Even Megatron seemed comparatively small.

It would be easy to get lost for hours, maybe days, in a warship this size, simply by taking one wrong turn and ended up in an entirely different deck or sector.

Megatron’s voice joined the footsteps in the echoes, detailing to Ratchet general information about the ship, what deck they were currently on, what the current work shift was.

A strange first topic to discuss with a legal partner, Ratchet thought, letting the data wash over him as he tried to habituate to hearing Megatron’s voice without imagining Autobots shattered into pieces on a fuel-soaked battlefield at the same time.

Perhaps it was for the best that whatever Megatron was telling him was mundane, momentarily unimportant. The information could get lost and do no harm in disappearing.

Megatron and Soundwave had both met him in the shuttle’s docking bay.

Soundwave, of course, had remained inscrutable. As usual.

Yet, Megatron had scowled.

However, that had seemed to be his default expression over the last millions of years, so Ratchet had reasoned that it likely wasn’t a particular scowl meant for him personally. That was, unfortunately, just his face rather than a sign of displeasure or impending threat.

With no preamble other than a brief “welcome,” Soundwave had presented Ratchet with his identification documents, allowing him the rights and privileges of any Decepticon, though strictly, for now, he was one of the Decepticons’ few civilians. He hadn’t been given a job classification or salary schedule, but he would be offered those, apparently, after he had gotten settled in.

Soundwave, however, had then promptly left, leaving Ratchet alone with Megatron… for the first time… of what would likely be many such occasions in the coming endless years.

Ratchet had opened his mouth, like he had wanted to say something, to tell Megatron that this had only been for the good of their peoples, to not expect much despite the legal paperwork that was already in place.

But Megatron had suddenly smirked, a look oddly more threatening the scowl had been. Maybe it had been intended to be a smile, but at the time Ratchet couldn’t have been certain. Whatever it was supposed to have been, it had interrupted whatever sounds had been waiting in Ratchet’s vocalizer.

“Allow me to echo what Soundwave said before: welcome, Ratchet,” he had said, his smirk struggling slightly as though the word sans sarcasm had been foreign to him. There was a twitch to his mouth, not unlike when certain patients were hesitant in telling Ratchet how exactly they had come by their injuries. “Your stay here has been a long time coming.”

What had that meant?

Now, walking side by side easily twenty minutes later, Ratchet could only wonder just how far they had to go to reach their destination… and what Megatron intended upon their arrival.

Megatron had, of course, managed to talk the entire time. A great windbag.

He abruptly turned down another, smaller corridor, one with a lower ceiling and closer walls, clearly not meant for the largest of mechs. The likes of Overlord and his ilk would have had to stoop. Perhaps this was intentional in the design.

Though the floors could have used a shine, scuff marks on the surface and clumps of dust congregating in the corners.

Ratchet nearly walked right past the turn before scrambling to change direction.

“Hey!”

Megatron stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

“My apologies, Ratchet.” What apologies? Had Megatron ever once possessed apologies to offer anyone? “Old habits, you see; it’s easy to forget you don’t know your way around yet.”

An oddly reasonable excuse for just ducking around corners without warning.

Terrible.

It was a shame that Megatron was still smirking at him. Though, that might have been meant as a smile. Did he even know how to smile normally? Was he trying and failing?

“It’s fine,” Ratchet said, letting it slide.

His patience would probably be truly put to the test before long, but so far this was nothing. He had gotten more lip from Prowl and Ironhide while getting loaded up into the transport shuttle that morning when they warned him to keep his wits about him.

All the same, he narrowed his eyes as he caught up to Megatron’s position.

He didn’t really know Megatron as a person beyond his warmongering and murderous roles. It was hard to know what to expect, despite the fact that they had already been joined in the legal sense.

There hadn’t even been a ceremony; it had all been done through Ultra Magnus and Prowl mediating paperwork. For most people, no ceremony would have been unsurprising. The decision to become conjunx endurae was a private, personal matter. For a high-ranked individuals joining as part of a peace deal, though, a nominal ceremony would have been more expected.

It didn’t quite add up.

Ratchet let Megatron continue to lead the way to wherever it was they were going. Most likely some private residence. He hadn’t been sure if he would be expected to reside with Megatron or if he would be allotted his own private space.

Soon, however, after ducking through another few hallways, they stopped at a nondescript door.

“Here we are.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?” Ratchet asked, putting his free hand on his hip as he frowned up at Megatron. Some of his initial discomfort having worn off in the mundanity and boredom of wandering around the hallways.

“Our quarters.”

So they would be sharing after all—but in this out of the way place? Was it to deter intruders and traitors? It would be harder to locate the leader if the leader didn’t reside in obvious places, Ratchet supposed.

Being alone in private quarters with someone perfectly capable of extreme violence, while not unknown to Ratchet from caring for various high-risk patients, was not something he relished. Who knew what Megatron would do?

“Our?” he questioned, despite the obvious implication of Megatron’s original answer.

“Of course, it goes without saying.”

Megatron shrugged nonchalantly as the door slid open. He gestured inside for Ratchet to go in ahead of him.

“Does it though? Does it really?” Ratchet pressed, stubbornly keeping his place in the hall. He raised his hand, pointing up at Megatron’s nose. If Ratchet stretched up just a little, he could probably jab Megatron right in the face. “This is just a political—“

“Yes,” Megatron cut him off, still keeping his arm out towards the door. His posture was stiff, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Ratchet wasn’t one of his soldiers to command; there was no reason for Ratchet to defer to his authority. Retaliation could endanger the treaty: one little call to Prowl on the communicator and the Autobots would extract him.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

If they weren’t too far away to mount a rescue if—when—something went wrong.

If they didn’t deem the costs of retrieving Ratchet too high for the value of keeping the Decepticons out of sight and out of mind. Why bother demanding a refund when the deal was such a bargain?

Maybe Ratchet ought to be mindful of proverbial land mines—

“Yes, it is a political arrangement, but it needn’t be solely such.”

Ratchet’s jaw went slack, his hand still raised.

Megatron continued regardless, as though what he said didn’t have serious implications.

“Even with a political arrangement, it would look like we’re flouting the treaty to not cohabit by disregarding the spirit of the thing.”

He waved his arm up and down, nonverbally reiterating his request that Ratchet cross the threshold.

“A separate room has been set aside for you personally, which you would see if you went in.”

“Oh—” Ratchet finally dropped his hand, feeling a little foolish.

So he wasn’t expected to share a slab with the oaf, at least not for the time being. And, by extension, he probably wasn’t expected to share a slab in less literal terms.

“Alright, but no funny business. I may have taken oaths to heal, but don’t think that makes me helpless. You know better than that by now.”

During the war, field medics often had to become just as handy with guns and hand-to-hand combat as the soldiers they put back together. Ratchet just always preferred to head off violence with other means wherever possible, but he wouldn’t let Megatron forget that he wasn’t some pushover.

Megatron held up his palms in mock surrender, grinning like he thought this whole thing was funny.

“Ratchet, I wouldn’t dream of such a fallacy.”

Ratchet scoffed, ducking around Megatron to avoid contact as he went through the door.

--

Megatron slumped into his chair on the Nemesis’s bridge, rather than standing like he usually would during a launch.

He had left Ratchet to their quarters, so that he could explore and settle in. Maps of the ship and other informational materials about the vessel, its utilities, conveniences, and sundries had been left with him for perusal.

Their personal refinery in the quarters had been stocked with fuel and whatever sparse flavorings and additives the Decepticons had been able to source. Ratchet would not be able to accuse him of having abandoned him to starve.

Mechs scurried back and forth in Megatron’s field of vision, coming and going and shuffling about throughout the bridge. Even though they were already in orbit, rather than lifting off from the ground, it still took a lot of coordination to move a ship of this size.

Especially given the condition it was in.

At first glance, the vessel was impressive, powerful and in great shape.

But having spent untold eons dwelling on it after it had been discovered, Megatron and the other Decepticons stationed here knew its failings, saw where its condition had deteriorated.

There was metal fatigue in places where there oughtn’t be, corrosion without explanation, paint flaking akin to nutrient deficiencies. The hull and bulkheads would groan without obvious cause. Components would fail sometimes without warning. Each of the engines required “rituals” of percussive maintenance unique to each one, to kick on and stay on.

The ship was, for lack of a better word, ill… and becoming slowly sicker by the day.

A ridiculous statement, but one Megatron had had to confront on the daily for ages now. If something wasn’t done….

Megatron leaned his head against his elbow, propped up on the arm of the chair. He closed his optics against the headache building in his forehead.

“What did you tell him?” Starscream’s voice grated against his audio receptors.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, still not bothering to look at his second-in-command. He knew what Starscream looked like. He could easily imagine what skeptical expression was being made in his direction.

Keeping the identity of their flagship a secret from the Autobots had been a major logistical challenge during the war. If they knew that the Decepticons had been piloting around a comatose, chronically ill titan for ages—Their ship had been the model for the other worldburners, the remaining fleet waiting patiently near the heliopause to set off for their final destination.

“Nothing,” he said, “yet.”

He couldn’t afford to show their hand too early. With his own medics either too incompetent or too inexperienced to treat a titan, Ratchet was their only hope.

#fic #one shot #idw1 #maccadam #megatron #ratchet #megaratch

[unfreeeeeeeee]

someone can't sleep at night so passion output a thousand words about cbv ark AnalogHorror, containing a little bit of the other universe

seems to be AnalogHorror but half in play（。。）

I tried to translate them into English, you can read the text below the picture if you like！👉🏻

The Rules on the Ark Cyberverse

Welcome to the Ark, the home of the Autobots! We are on our way back from Earth to our homeworld Cybertron. Before arriving, please be sure to abide by the following regulations to ensure that you can and can return to the correct Cybertron.

1.The Ark is usually driven by Commander Optimus Prime. Sometimes Hot Rod will be in the driving seat, but he won't always be there. If you do not see Optimus Prime on the ship, please go to the laboratory immediately and ask Perceptor for help.

2. The Ark is usually piloted by Rack n' Ruin. If the Ark you are on suddenly changes its driver and you can see another yourself, please go to the laboratory immediately and ask Wheeljack for help.

3. Perceptor do not exist on the Ark.

4. If you see Perceptor anywhere on the Ark, please tell yourself that he does not exist.

He will return to the█████on his own.

5. It's normal to see Perceptor at parties.

6. Jazz does not exist on the Ark. But you will hear someone talking to him, this is normal, please make sure Jazz only appears in people's conversations.

7. Please make sure there is no WildWheel among the people who mentioned Jazz. If you see the WildWheel appearing on the Ark, please confirm your built-in calendar and the calendar displayed on the Ark. If there is any discrepancy, please go to the laboratory for help immediately. If the calendar is correct, stay away from him and, if necessary, stay away from Optimus Prime.

8. Wheeljack sometimes is not trustworthy (this line seems to be a little blurred by something, and there are some handwriting on the back)

Hey not kidding he is the greatest scientist in the history of Cybertron!

9. Bumblebee will not attack anyone on the Ark with its stinger. If you see him doing this, please check the back of your neck immediately and wake yourself up.

None of this is real. What you are in The location is very dangerous.

10. Deadlock and Drift are exist on the Ark. They may appear alternately, but they will not appear at the same time.

<(this is written a little crookedly next to it, and it looks like the handwriting is very new)

Deadlock's optics are red and Drift's optics are blue. If the Drift's optics you seen are red, please move far away from him as soon as possible. He is no longer a█████

Red is safe。

11. Drift has three knives, but make sure you see that he has and only has one.

12. The Ark has a large crew. You can see their names on the crew registration form, but some crew members can only see their names.

13. There is no Starscream on the crew register. It is normal for Starscream to appear in the cell. If you see Starscream elsewhere on the ship, please contact Prowl for handling.

14. The number of Prowl will not be empty.

15. If the number you dialed for Prowl is not available, please immediately to██████████████████

The number of Prowl will not be empty until it reaches the end point.

16. Please don’t wear█wheeljack'████badge█████t██party, it wil█████████make you██████████████see the red。

17. If the Ark you are traveling on does not carry a allspark, please do not cross any space bridge.

18. It is normal for the Ark's dormant cabin to be missing. Please be sure to believe they are still alive.

Still alive。

19. If the cabin of the Ark you are in is not missing, please check the calendar and ask the lab for help.

20.Labs are not always safe.

21. The laboratory where the Wheeljack is is（smear)safe.

22. If you are in the laboratory, please do not touch anything you do not recognize. If someone invites you to use items in the lab before you ask the question, decline.

23. Hot Rod on the Ark doesn't raise Soundwave.

24. Starscream’s transformed form is a jet plane, and he has complete body. He ██won't███████(Grassy and crazy handwriting)

I WILL COME BACK! I will ALWAYS come back! I am THE JUDGE! I am THE MASTER OF THE MULTIVERSE! I will██mak███u████universe█████████

(smear)

25. Please stay with Commander Optimus Prime when necessary, Optimus Prime are safe most of the time.

26. If you always feel like you are spending the same day, stay away from the Optimus Prime, and██████████████

Transform. please remember to transform. Pleas███must█████tran███████████

█████████████ ██none██████s█true

◎27, Oh hey dear Cybertronians, if this AnalogHorror has helped you while you were having a relatively boring day, then I hope you can still read it tomorrow, as you never read it ;)

#transformers #maccadam #cyberverse #transformers cyberverse #tf cyberverse #analog horror #Cbv #my work

[novafire-is-thinking]

(If you're still doing the headcanons) Chromedome?

Headcanon A: realistic

Sometimes, Chromedome’s old conjunxes show up in his dreams. They repeatedly show up in small roles, but he fails to recognize them even though they feel oddly familiar.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Back in the day, Chromedome used to carry around a dart gun with him; he would shoot Prowl every time he was annoyed or just wanted to be annoying.

Prowl would sometimes walk around with stray suction darts in hard-to-see places, and wouldn’t realize it until someone pointed it out or laughed and pointed at him.

Soon, Chromedome was getting the same treatment by Prowl’s personal dart gun. lol

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

After Rewind’s death, Chromedome gradually isolates himself from everyone. Eventually, he disappears, and no one can find him.

One day, Prowl receives a message. It’s Chromedome, who explains that his health is declining. All those years of mnemosurgery are catching up to him, and his mind is failing.

CD doesn’t say it outright, but he wants Prowl to be there for him until the end. Does he still hate him? Of course. But that’s the point: he doesn’t want anyone important to him to witness him slowly losing his mind. He’s counting on Prowl to feel just sentimental enough to come to his aid, yet detached enough that he won’t fall apart when the inevitable happens.

Remarkably, Prowl shows up—ready to be there for Chromedome.

Old hurts inevitably rise to the surface. They fight. They laugh. They fight again. Chromedome kicks Prowl out a few times.

But Prowl keeps coming back.

Eventually, Chromedome’s condition declines to the point where he’s nearly catatonic, and can’t tell the difference between reality, his personal memories, and acquired memories. Prowl can no longer leave CD alone.

Prowl does his best to keep Chromedome comfortable. He ends up confessing the majority of his crimes to Chromedome, since CD can’t tell the difference between reality and memory anymore.

One night, during a final moment of lucidity, Chromedome types up a note to Prowl while he’s asleep.

The next morning, Prowl wakes up and finds the note on a datapad under Chromedome’s lifeless hand:

“Nice stories, asshole.

You were my favorite person to hate all these years.

Good luck.”

Prowl saves the note. He personally oversees the removal of CD’s body and registers the death. Chromedome is buried next to Rewind. There’s no funeral; just Prowl saying his goodbyes.

The only way anyone else from CD’s past finds out about his passing is by doing a search on Cybertron’s death record database or by visiting Rewind’s grave. After the shock wears off, they wonder what happened and how he spent his last days.

Prowl tells no one. He takes the secret to his grave.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Chromedome Tumbler once looked up to Pharma.

In fact, judging from the fact that Tumbler wasn’t bothered by Prowl’s arrogance, bluntness, and know-it-all attitude, I’m going to say that, at the time, he got along with Pharma better than anyone else (besides Ratchet). After all, JRo made it a point to show Pharma addressing him by name at least once.

Happy to have someone who did more than tolerate his presence out of politeness, Pharma would take the time to listen to Tumbler. Amongst other things, Tumbler would talk about the latest developments in mnemosurgery. Trepan certainly wasn’t going to share any of that.

Tumbler discovered that if someone gained Pharma’s respect or fondness, the doc was weirdly good at giving advice, or at least saying things that could be translated to helpful advice. In fact, Pharma was the one to give Tumbler the final push needed to leave the New Institute.

While recovering from his run-in with Overlord, in a moment of vulnerability, Tumbler confessed to Pharma that his spark was no longer in his work at the New Institute, and that he was considering quitting and starting over.

Always one to follow his own passion to the point of obsession, Pharma didn’t hesitate to tell Tumbler he should go through with it (1) if he had a practical plan to transition to something else, and (2) if it was what he really wanted.

After all, the war was only beginning, and they’d all need to find things to give them reasons to hold on…

#wasn’t planning on going this far for Chromedome since I don’t think about him a lot #but once I got started I couldn’t stop #had to dig into my own memories of dying people for this one #thanks anon for making me think about a character I don’t think of often /genuine #headcanons with nova

[starliights-shining]

Party goer.

Pairing: Jazz x reader

Warnings: NSFW, fem word uses,

A/N: this is like 4400+ words and 8 pages in my docs, ive been working on it fro the past week or so. Its not proof read, i simply just dont proof read. I've been preoccupied with RE4s remake coming out soon, but i swear im not ignoring the TF request I have, it'll just take a long time for them to come out. :) anyways enjoy!

Parties, loud music, drinking, the mixing crowd of bots and people. You didn’t really care for them, but Jazz did. When you say a lot of parties, you mean a lot of parties. Ranging from weddings, funerals, battle victories, hell even political ones, Because if Jazz got an invite, he was going with you of course. This party was different. He got his invite from Prowl, but when Jazz brought the invite to you, it said in fancy italics “No Humans!”. 

“It says no human Jazz. I'm not going to some stupid party just to be denied entry or worse bullied.” 

“You won’t get bullied, you’ll be with me. For the last time (Y/N)” 

You were on the couch, You looked at the bot, a disappointed frown on his face plate. The invitation is gently in your grasp, its fancy English writing and other language translations. 

“I don’t know that Jazz, you want me to get all dressed up just to be denied entry or be sat outside the entire time?” 

You placed the invasion on the coffee table. Leaning back into the couch, you were upset. Your lover was basically asking you to get dressed and all just to be denied entry to a party, no, you will not be doing that. 

“You’re acting like I'm asking you to fight in a war, I’m not.” 

“You, Jazz, you're not understanding.” 

You're stuttering over your words, he was upsetting you. 

“I am understanding, if you don’t want to go just tell me the real reason. Is it prowl? Is there someone else you’re avoiding?” 

“I don’t want to be bullied at a party for being me, that's all Jazz.” 

“Cut the slag, (Y/N).” 

You were taken aback, why was he so upset with you. 

“You know what, yes Jazz. It’s You and Prowl” 

You were now standing up, he had finally gotten the same energy match. You were pissed. 

  “I dont want to go to a party, where I sit in a fucking corner by myself, and watch you and Prowl get fucking drunk. I don’t want to sit outside a fucking club or god fucking knows where, while you and your shit cop buddy go inside and get fucked up and hit on. Just go by yourself.” 

You walked out of the living room, hell you were tempted to go for a walk. Instead you walk straight to your room. Locking the door and just sitting on the edge of your bed. How the hell could he just yeah at you like, over not wanting to go to a party that says “No Human.”

You woke up to a knock on the door. Multiple knocking, getting up you opened the door to see Jazz, his smile not wearing as you gave him a tired look. 

“You wanna get ready, and like come with us?”

You stared into his visor, until the movement of Prowl behind him caught your attention. You sighed before motioning your head for him to enter and moved towards the bathroom. He closed the door behind himself, and followed you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

His question felt stupid, of course you were still mad at him. He made you feel bad, how would he feel if you made him feel like shit for following directions. You took your clothes off and stepped into the shower. 

“No, just tired.” 

“Tired, tired of me?” 

He laughed, he was trying to lighten the mood, considering he could probably feel the heavy atmosphere. 

“I guess you could say something like that.”

“Alright well, I’ll be downstairs with Prowl, we’ll leave when you're ready.” 

You actually don't know why you're going, you had expressed very aggressively why you didn’t want to go. Yet, the moment Jazz asked you didn’t hesitate. He just had that effect on you, a simple command and you’d do it, but he doesn’t ever want to understand your side. The noise of Jazz laughing took you out of your thoughts, the cold nipping at your skin as you three stood in the que line to get in. You peeked around the bot in front of you to see the line, an arrangement of all all types of people, but not a single human. You straighten up, standing behind the two mechs, an uneasy feeling washed over you. You truly felt like you weren’t supposed to be here. You felt someone bump into you, turning around, you were met with an ugly look. 

“Sorry, I didn’t,” “I don’t care, just watch where you’re walking.” 

They had cut off your apology, completely blaming you for the encounter. The person had tried to step in front of you, assuming the line ended right after Jazz and Prowl. You stepped back in our original spot, looking up at the person and smiling. 

“Sorry, I was actually here before you.” 

Bring your hand up to point at the spot you were standing at, the same spot you’ve been at, right behind the two Cybertronians. Jazz turned around at the sound of your voice. Looking between you and the person. 

“Is there a problem?” 

He placed that ‘I’ll act nice, but am i really’ smile on his face plate. You watched as the person backed up, looking at you with an upset look before mumbling no. Jazz pulled you to stand in front of him. 

“Did something happen?” 

“No, he was just trying to cut in line. Probably because I was human.” 

You spoke, turning around and looking forward. This was the exact reason you didn’t want to come. You weren’t even inside yet and there was already someone trying to start something. All these other space people, some of them look like humans, You can’t tell the difference unless you ask them, and even then some won’t even admit they're human. 

By the time you remember what you were here for, Jaz had already gotten both you and Prowl into the party. 

Jazz bends down to your head level, before speaking. 

“See, we’re in. No need to worry.” 

You looked at him, why the fuck would he say that. He started walking towards an empty booth, sitting you inside. 

“Now, Prowl and I have some things to attend to. Stay here, if anyone asks, you're waiting for someone.” 

You nod, placing your hands in your lap. Before Jazz leaves he places a kiss on your forehead, causing you to look over at him, he smiles, snaps one of his servos before pointing a finger gun at you. You watched as he disappeared into the crowd, this is exactly how you thought it'd go. Being left in some strange club, while he goes off to go god fucking knows where. A waiter came up to your table asking if you wanted anything, considering you knew you’d be there for a long ass time. You ordered yourself something, anything to keep you occupied. The last thing you wanted was to think about your situation. 

The waiter brought the drink out and after a few sips you just ended up swirling the liquid around. The mix of human and cybertronian alcohol mixed into a light neon blue. Maybe this was just part of the every plan, drag you out to a party and have you sit alone. You can't seem to figure out what comes after that, some random person hits on you or the Prowl keeps you company until Jazz comes back. The simple thought of having company while sitting here just kept creeping into your mind. 

You were left with your own mind, something that can pull your moods up or down with just simple thinking, but considering you’ve been at this party for some time and no one seems to notice or care, it was time to just relax. You leaned back in the booth, your head resting on the stuffed leather as you closed your eyes. Pulling your drink close to you, but keeping your hand on it. You know closing your eyes in a foreign place isn’t the greatest thing to do, but who really cares, you didn’t want to come here anyways and hopefully Jazz or Prowl would return soon. 

You were just getting comfortable when you felt a knock on the table. Your eyes open to see the familiar blue visor. He smiled at you before sitting around from you, a drink in hand. 

“Whatcha doin?” 

His tone was playful, it seems like his drink was really getting to him. 

“Sitting here,” 

You reply as you close your eyes again. 

“I don't know, it seems like you were sleeping.”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

You lifted your hand up moving it around in front of your face in a shade gesture. 

“That's bad because anyone could slip something into your drink.” 

You shrugged, you knew he was right but you really didn’t want to admit he was, you were still upset at him. So instead you acted like you didn’t care. 

“And then they’d kidnap you, my beautiful girlfriend.” 

He was sweet talking you. He knew you were still upset at him and the thought of that simple just couldn’t exist within him. You didn’t respond, if he knew the true reason he’d recommend leaving, and you really like the drink you have and you're super comfortable. 

“Now, tell me, why are your eyes closed? Is it the lights? Thinking about getting me in bed already?” 

God now he was asking questions and his questions were getting out of hand, so you acted like you couldn't hear him over the loud music and chatter. You finally decided that keeping your eyes closed would mean no looking at Jazz, so you lifted your head. Making eye contact with his visor while pulling your cup up to your lips. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” 

You just wanted to know what he wanted, disturbing your peace in your small corner booth. He looked taken aback, he placed his free hand on his chassis and let out a dramatic gasp.

“I just wanted to see what my beautiful girlfriend was doin, am I not allowed to be with you.” 

You rolled your eyes, is this really how he was trying to get on your good side? 

“And now you’ve seen, Don’t you have things to attend to, like,”

You paused looking around the crowded room, your eyes scanning for anything that looked of interest or be of interest to Jazz. You saw multiple people dancing, a group of girls getting drunk and being hit on by some space robot, the DJ trying to keep up with everyone's requests, the bartender yelling at someone for hitting on her, and then your eyes landed on Prowl. The cop sat with a lady at the bar, that was your goat out, Jazz would see Prowl finally getting some and then it’d be enough to convince him to either wingman for him or leave with you. You lifted your hand with your cup in it, your index finger pointing towards the bot.

“Like Prowl, He seems to have found himself a lady.” 

Jazz whips his helm around, searching the bar for the bot.

“I don’t believe it.”

He trailed off as he turned back to you. Now was the time he’s supposed to get up and go talk to them, get her to fall in love with his close friend, but for some reason, he doesn’t. He leans back into his spot in the booth, taking a sip of the drink he harbored. A sly smile on his face as he watches your face. 

“Was that your plan to get rid of me?”  

You sighed, downing the last bit of your drink. You shifted your position in the booth, Placing your arms on the table as you leaned in. He leans in himself, that same smile on his face. Your eyes trail from his visor to his lips and then down his chassis and finally to his servos. Your eyes flicking back up to his visor and then back to his drink.  Learning a tad bit more and smiling. 

“Yeah, kinda hoped it would work, maybe I could get you to leave me the fuck alone.” 

You said his smile fading as he started to move back to his original position, your hands swiftly grab his cup, It being slightly larger than yours, as you bring it up to your lips, taking in the liquid. You thought it tasted ten times better then whatever the fuck you hand before.

“You little,” 

he was cut off as you got up from the booth, placing the cup back on the table. Since Jazz wasn’t going to wingman for Prowl, you thought you’d do it. Walking towards the bot, you felt a pair of metal arms wrap around you . 

“Where do you think you're going little miss.” 

Jazz’s voice being heard a little too clearly in your ear, you giggled, leaning back into him. You moved to grab his arms.

“I wanna go tell Prowl that we’re leaving,” 

You lied, the original plan being thrown out the window the moment Jazz grabbed you, the same thought about how you’d do anything for him. 

He hummed his response letting god of you and settling for just holding your hand as you dragged him towards the bot. As you got closer until you got the attention of Prowl, You put on your brightest smile and gave a big wave.

“Prowl,” 

You drew out his name, His optics met your eyes. 

“Jazz and I are going home, I thought I’d tell you just in case you were to leave later and couldn’t find us.” 

He nodded, after getting confirmation you looked towards the lady, smiling before turning back to Prowl and waving. You turned around and started to leave. Walking through the crowd of people and to the door, you could feel the occasional squeeze from his servos. 

The feeling of the cold night breeze hit your face hard, shivering as Jazz moved to stand next to you while letting go of your hand. Fresh air never felt better, a deep breath coming from you, eyes closed relaxed. It seemed like the headache you had while in the building disappeared the moment you stepped outside. The noises of cars and other city noises take over your ears. 

“Soo, what do you wanna do now,” 

He paused, you opened your eyes to look over at him and smiled. 

“I know you didn't actually want to go home, come on, you look too good to just go home.” 

He moved his servos in a gesturing motion towards your outfit, yeah you did like your fit and did think it was kinda too early to go home, but you didn’t need him to know that. 

“We could just go for a walk, see what we see.” 

You suggested, bringing your hands up to the sides of your arms, the chill of the air seeping to your bones. You started in a direction, the bot following behind you. You could hear the sound of whirling from his intake. 

“Got anywhere special you wanna go?” 

He moved up to walk next to you, a smile on his face plate as he analyzed your reaction. The city was large, and you could practically go anywhere you wanted. So you thought, trying to come up with something cool other than just going home. Cool, something cool for Jazz to enjoy. He could just enjoy your company, but the idea of a walk didn’t really seem to interest him whatsoever. 

“It's okay if you don't have anything to do. I already dragged you to that party,” 

He paused, he was thinking, your eyes met with his visor. Your reflection looking back at you in the shiny blue material. At that moment, you thought you could look at yourself for the rest of your life through that visor, a visor brighter than the blue sky. You didn’t practically like looking at yourself, but this time, you thought you could do it for hours on end. Your eyes trail down to his lips for a split second before looking back at his visor. The cold air seemed to hit your body differently at that moment, almost lighting a fire of lust within you. 

“Hello, (Y/N)? Y’a there!” 

Jazz moved his servo in front of your face, breaking you from your trance. Your hands came up to your mouth in a cupping motion as you blew hot air into them, a desperate attempt to warm up. You could just take one and tell him you’d like to go home, but who knows what’d go down if you both went home with the amount of alcohol in your systems. Maybe that’s what made going home so exciting, the thought of desire and being under the bot you so desperately love. 

“I’d like to go home, it’s getting colder and I didn’t dress for it.” 

You stated, the idea to cover the real reason for going home with freezing being the only thing keeping you going. 

You both arrive at your house, the bot standing behind you while you fiddled with your keys to get the door unlocked. You opened the door to be met with the warmth of your home and its familiar comforting smell. The sigh coming from you is a signal of home. You had walked further into your home, forgetting about the bot who was behind you. You just wanted out of your clothes, the redistricting fabric from the dress and the heels you wore that was making it feel like you were walking on pins and needles. 

When Jazz looked up from closing the door you were gone, the faint noise of your heels going up the carpeted stairs . 

“Slow down, pretty girl.” 

He called out, as he started following you. It didn’t take long for him to catch up, walking into your bedroom to see you standing next to the bed, one hand placed on the mattress and slightly bent over as your other hand reached for your heel that was kicked up. He leaned against the door frame watching you, arms crossed over his chassis. 

Once you got your heels off you dug your feet into the carpet, the feeling getting you to sigh in relief, no more heels. Both of your hands were now planted on the bed and your head hanging down, all you needed was to get your dress off and then get a warm bath and your night would be complete. Complete? I’d be complete if you could get Jazz on top of you. Your thoughts were cut short when you felt a pair of servos on your waist, his digits playing with the fabric of your dress. 

“You look too good in this dress, just for it to go to waste. Don't you think so?”

You could feel him pulling you into him, your back meeting his chassis as his helm rested on your shoulder. You’d be lying if you didn’t agree with him, you looked too damn good in your dress just to give it up in a matter of seconds. His servo was traveling downwards, stopping at the hem of the dress. He took a deep breath in, his servos playing with the end of your dress. 

“I’ve thought about you in this dress since we left.” 

His servo moved to your inner thigh, and moved upwards towards your panties. A whimper left your mouth, his digits started to move from your clit to your entrance, he wasn't even in your panties yet. 

“Yet, I still don't know how i want to fuck you.” 

The dirty talk was getting to you, fueling the fire of desire and want within you, and with how close to your pussy he was, it was getting hard to stay patient. HIs digits moved the fabric of your panties aside, his digits circling your clit and occasionally going down to circle your entrance. A moan leaving your mouth, he was picking speed up and then slowing down in a steady pattern. If he kept this up, you’d be a moaning mess by the end of the night. 

“That feel good, enjoying yourself baby?” 

He spoke in a mocking tone. Of course it felt good, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He finally fully put his digits in you, rubbing against your walls before deciding to go in a scissoring motion. There was no more holding back, your head leaned back against his shoulder plating, and you did not stop moaning. 

“Yeah,” 

He paused, taking a moment to fully enjoy the sounds you were making, and change his pattern fingering. 

“I’d say you're enjoying it a little too much, it's gettin’ a little too tight. Getting close aren't ya.”  

All you could do in that moment was nod and whine out his name. The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter by the second. 

“Yeah, let's speed this up.” 

His servo on your waist goes to circle your clit, you were already trying to last longer then you wanted, but you guess that is out of the window now. The sensation from his digits in you and circling your clit was getting to much, your hands came up to grab his helm 

“Jazz, please.” 

You were able to get out in between moans and whines. The knot was going to break any second now, and you wanted to be vocal about it. 

“Yeah, come baby.” 

You did just that, came all over his digits. His pace not once slowing or stopping, a steady pace as you rode your high out on his servo. Wiggling and grinding your hips into that same servo in an attempt to keep the high longer. 

“Don't worry, I’m not done just yet.” 

He moves to help you out of the dress straps and moves it down below your breast, servos moving to play with the flesh, pitching one nipple and rolling the other with his digits. A sharp gasp came from you, He pulled you into him, this time it was more aggressive as he littered your neck and jaw with kisses. 

“You're so pretty, you know that.” 

He lets go of you and pushes you face first into the mattress. 

“Pretty enough to take my spike.” 

The sound of his shuffling around behind, as you took your panties off and hiked you dress up above your hips, why not give him better access. He smacks his spike against your pussy, causing you to let out a dreamy sigh. After that he didn't waste any time, pushing his spike straight into you. His servos are going to grab your hips immediately after, his grip tighter than any other time. His pace was steady, he occasionally flexed his digits. He let out a few grunts here and there, but nothing was louder than your moans. 

“Primus, you take my spike so good.” 

You felt your walls clench down on his spike, now he really knew what dirty talk did to you. His servo came down with a smack, the noise jolting you from your haze, his pace picked up, and a loud groan came from him. 

“Yeah, keep that up baby. You might get me to come first.” 

He lifted your hips up and fucked into you, his grip brusing the soft skin. You knew there'd be some sort of imprint tomorrow. His spike felt like it was kissing the knot forming. You guessed his grip on your hips wasn't enough, because he had now moved one of his servos to grab the dress, bunching it up in his hand and holding onto it like he was in a rodeo and fucking into your pussy, and god you were enjoying it. Every little noise coming from you sounded like you were in a porno. 

“Yeah, you like that pretty girl.” 

His pace quickening, you felt like you were going to crumble, once that knot snapps you’d be no more, and that time was coming quicker and quicker by the second. You whined to jazz, he whined back at you. 

“What is it, you're gonna come?” 

He knew he was making you feel good, because god you were making him feel good.  You nodded the best you can through the movement from his pounding. 

“Oh primus, I love how you can’t control yourself,” 

His free servo coming down on your ass, that signature smack. He enjoyed watching the way your ass jiggled from the hit, he liked watching just like your boobs, the way they both jiggle, but more importantly the way he saw your skin move like waves when he brought your hips into his. God not only was your pussy intoxicating to him your entire being was intoxicating. You smile, the way you hand fit in his, your kisses, the simple way you looked at him, it was like watching you fall in love with him every time. You were far too intoxicating, just like his own brand and he just couldn't get enough. 

“If you wanna cum, I’ll let you, just one request.” 

Your arms are stretched in front of you on the bed, gripping the sheets beneath them.

“Anything, I’ll do anything,” 

You were practically moaning out your response, you’d simply do anything to come, to feel the warm welcome of hot desire. 

“Tell me who you belong to.” 

His free servo was now gripping your waist, pulling your hips to meet his thrusts every time. His grunts were starting to be more consistent, he was close. Far closer than you thought he’d be. You thought about his request, any other time you wouldn’t even think twice to say it. You thought about it like your life depended on it, but you really didn’t care. He's yours right now, not buried in someone else right now, he was buried deep in you, and that was simply all you needed to know. 

“You, I belong to you Jazz.” 

You grip on the sheets tightening. 

“Come on, keep it up. Gotta have everyone hear this. Can’t have anyone trying to take you now.” 

His servo let go of the dress now both on your hips, as he was hunched over, Spike going in and out with lewd noises as you both almost went over the edge. 

"Yours, I'm yours jazz.” 

You were almost not able to get your words out, you let out a few more moans before you crumbled, the last moan being dragged out as Jazz released into you. He let out a groan, thrusting his hips into you a few more times before stopping. The only thing heard within your bedroom was both you and Jazz trying to catch your breaths. 

“You're always so good.” 

You laughed, taking your time to recollect yourself before speaking. 

“Of course, You’re all I ever wanted.” 

#transformers g1 #transformers #transformers jazz #tf x reader #transformers x reader #tf jazz #tf jazz x reader #jazz x reader #prowl #tf prowl #transformers prowl #tf g1 #transformer mtmte #prowl x reader #prowl x jazz #stars writings

[malcontentmathador]

Idk if I am reading too much into it but I love how weird Agni and Vayu look, even compared to other Atma avatars. Varna, Prithivi, Dyaus look fairly close to human with extra teeth, Indra just looks cool, but I feel like Agni is fairly monstrous, and Vayu is just bizarre.

For Agni, I think what gives me that vibe is the weird hunched up posture and the double-head action. The former in particular really gives the vibe of a prowling predator, and his physical move animations have him jumping around very suddenly like he's pouncing on prey. @goatwithaplan also mentioned in a post that the 2 mouths are probably representative of how willing he is to abide by the new laws of the Junkyard; my guy needs two mouths cause he do be eating a lot. It's really cool; I think "this guy is kind of violent and means trouble" is clearly communicated through Agni's design

The clearest inhuman thing about Vayu is the insect-like elements of its design, like the elytra. The Atma avatars that are clearly animal inspired draw primarily from mammals, since we have an easier time projecting humanity onto them; Cerberus and Hayagriva, for instance. Insects, by contrast, are harder to project onto; we're used to thinking of eusocial insects which have little or no individuality to speak of. It fits well for early DDS1 Gale, who is preoccupied solely with the Embryon's success and relatively little for his comrades ("Bat would make a better ally than Cielo"). This is totally vibes based, but Vayu always makes me think of a praying mantis.

Vayu's split head and idle animations also contribute to that alien vibe. The former is, again, clearly inhuman; all the other Atma avatars have recognisable head shapes and mouths. And unlike the subdued idle animations of other demons, he does that very noticeable side-to-side jerking motion over and over again, like he can't quite find his balance, or as if his body was constantly jolted by an electric current. It's weird!!

Those things play in the general autistic pattern I've mentioned in the past for Gale. Autistic people often relate with robot characters because they struggle with social cues and emotion, and because they are othered and isolated from their peers due to their nature. Those aspects of Gale's character translate into his Atma being bizarre, inhuman, and othered even when compared to the rest of the monstrous cast

(also the side to side swaying reminds me of physical tics)

I have fewer opinions on villain atma avatars. Rahu is very weird, but Mick is not really much of a character, so I don't want to read too much into it. Ravana is also very weird, in much the same "clearly alien" way that Vayu is, but I'm not totally sure what it's meant to convey about Beck. Opinions welcome :)

#dds2 #gale #heat #digital devil saga

[i-fondued]

Kinktober 2022 | Ghost - Confessional

Confessional with Cardinal Copia is a little unique when it comes to one member of the Sisters of Sin, the real question who is confessing to who…

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Oral, squint and there is a fem!dom, public-ish sex, church sex??

A/N: This has lived in my head since the idea slid into my brain and I had to get it out before I had yet another dream about Copia. Solid PWP, with plenty of my dirty ex-catholic thoughts mixed in. This no-name Sister of Sin is going to end up being the main character of any of my Ghost writing going forward because I am so uncomfortable writing in a y/n style like the other stories I’ve been writing the last few days. I’ve also given up on trying for something every day as I am a full time working mom now and I have to eventually sleep…

Anyways!!! Enjoy!

AO3 Link HERE

The bells of the abbey tolled, the sound echoing off the stone of the abbey that housed the church of satan. Thirteen chimes, a nod to his darkness below but also the way to tell us siblings of sin that our day of studies were over for the day. 

I stood from my spot deep in the abbey’s large library, surrounded by dusty tomes that I had been entrusted to translate from old world Latin to English, and stretched. The sound of my back cracking practically echoed in the quiet hall. 

“Buongiorno, Sister.”

I jumped slightly, used to being left alone to focus on my task, and looked towards the person who spoke. Standing with his hands wringing together softly, the sound of black leather squeaking made me smile softly. This man, who looked so unsure of himself and was barely able to keep his mismatched eyes on me, was dressed in his red cassock today. His traditional face paint a stark contrast against his pale skin. His beretta was perched on top of his head, slightly askew. I walked over to him and reached up to adjust his hat, hand sliding to caress his cheek softly.

“Afternoon, Cardinal.” I smiled at him, his cheeks flushing instantly as I touched his face. “What can I help you with?”

“S-sister Imperator asked that I check in on the sisters who haven’t had a confessional in a few months.” He spoke quietly, his hands flinching toward mine at my sides before thinking better of it. “You’ve gone the longest, she’d like you to come to me after dinner this evening.”

“Ah, of course. I’ve been preoccupied with all my translations and research recently.” I turned away from him, stepping out of his range just as Copia lost the battle of wills and his hand slipped to my waist. “Shall I meet you in the confessional booth at 7?”

I turned back to look at him, eyes locked on him and he nodded mutely. I smiled again at him, turning back to my work at the table and bending over to move things around. I could hear his breathing increase just slightly as I bent over, giving him a better look at my curves as I collected my work in its proper folders. “I’ll see you then, Cardinal.”

~*~

Dinner was a calm affair for once, Papa Emeritus III was currently on tour with his band of nameless ghouls. The abbey felt empty without his presence home and with less ghouls prowling around the halls the dinner went smoother than it had in a long time. 

Every so often my eyes would drift up to the long head table where the prior Papas sat, Copia on the end next to Sister Imperator. His mismatched eyes would lock on mine and I could feel a blush spread over my cheeks. My table mates none the wiser to who I was eyeing at the table, talking amongst themselves. When the plates were being cleared, some siblings tucked in for the post dinner desserts and coffee time before curfew, I excused myself from the table and slipped from the room. 

I darted down the hallways to the vestibule prior to our large worship hall we used for Sunday night masses and holiday mass. I saw the door to the confessional was closed and I smirked, my hands reaching up to slip the Bobby pins from my habit. I knocked twice and the grate slid to the side; a familiar pair of dark rimmed eyes locked with mine. 

“Evening Cardinal.”

“Sister.”

The door opened a fraction and I had barely the space to slip into the tiny room, not much bigger than a broom closet. Along the back wall was a bench where a member of the clergy would sit to listen to the confessions of the siblings of sin and ghouls during working hours. There was a small glass window on the wall as well, the pane tinted red caused the small space to feel bathed in blood. Combined with the constant smell of thick incense and the smoke of the candles it gave the space a heady feeling. 

The door to the space had barely closed before Copia was on me, my back slamming against the wall across from the other empty confessional room. His hand yanked the habit from my head, my hair spilling from its confines, and his fingers instantly tangled in the strands. I moaned softly as his painted lips pressed frantically against mine, his tongue brushing softly against my bottom lip. I let my tongue slip from my own mouth to tangle with his own, coaxing it to follow my own. My arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tugging gently on the longer strands at the base of his neck as we kissed. His hand came to settle at my waist and I could feel his fingers pressing into the flesh, likely to bruise if he kept up the pressure. 

“Cardinal…” I moaned, tilting my head to the side to take a breath and his lips traveled down the column of my neck leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. His teeth nipped at the pulse just under my ear and I couldn’t help the way it made my hips jump forward to grind against his. 

He parted his cassock and slid his right leg between my legs, pressing his knee up against my core as I soaked through my underwear. I rolled my hips against his thigh, a shutter running through me as heat pooled in my belly. My nails dug into Copia’s neck and hair, my back arching against the wall and thrusting my chest into his.

“S-sister.” Copia groaned, forehead resting against my shoulder as he rolled his hips against mine. I could feel how hard he was already and a thrill shot down my spine.

“Touch me, Cardinal.” I hissed, taking his hand to press against my breasts. Like the good student he was, he understood instantly. 

His fingers brushed against my hardening nipple through my bra and robes. He shuttered quietly, still rubbing himself against my hip as I rode his thigh absentmindedly. He rolled the bud between his fingertips and I hissed under my breath before my hand cupped his cheeks, pulling him up to kiss him fiercely. It was getting hot in this tiny room, I could feel sweat sticking the back of my robes to my skin and I could see how red Copia’s face was even in the rose colored room. I could see the thick pain around his eyes wobbled faintly, I couldn’t imagine how hot he was in the layers of wool he was wearing. 

Pulling my lips away from his I focused on pushing the biretta off his head, flinging it to the bench to our right. Next I pulled off his caplet, then I tugged at his long belt with its intricately beaded grucifix and tossed it to the side. The heat of the room felt sweltering suddenly as Copia pushed forward, lips coming back to suck and nip at my neck while grinding against me. I moaned quietly as my fingers started to undo the many buttons of his cassock, fingers deftly starting at his neck before pushing against him to give me space to undo more of the buttons. When I reached his waist he took over, seemingly just as impatient as me for my touch on his bare skin. Quickly he shrugged out of the heavy wool coat and tossed it to the side. 

Under the cassock he wore tight fitting trousers, leaving nothing to the imagination of what his cock looked like as it strained against the stiff fabric. He wore a black button up with black suspenders to hold his trousers up. My fingers twitched and I could help but to softly run my fingers against his straining cock, his whole body shuttered and he groaned into my neck, bucking softly in my hand. 

“F-fanculo…Sister.” He whimpered, his hands tugging at my own robes. I grabbed his wrists and he paused, his one white eye practically glowing in the low light. “Per favore, let me touch you.”

“I want you to taste me, Cardinal.” 

Copia’s eyes blew wide, surprise written on his face, as a deep red blush spread across his cheeks and spread down his neck. There was a squeak that slipped past his lips as every joint in his body locked up. Eagerly he nodded before dropping to his knees in front of me. His chest looked like it was heaving as he locked his gaze with me, my own cheeks flushing as I watched him push my skirts up my thighs. I grabbed the fabric and pulled it up to tuck into the band of my bra, I knew I wanted to make sure my hands were free to be able to slide my fingers in his hair. 

Copia brushed gentle kisses against my skin, his tongue slipping out to taste my skin as he went. His fingers hooked around the waistband of panties, letting his fingernail scrape softly against the sensible skin near my hips as he pulled the scrap of fabric till it fell down my legs. He paused, allowing me to step out of them and kick them to the side before he greedily threw my left leg over his shoulder. My breath came in short bursts as I felt his fingers teasingly run against my outer lips, I couldn’t help but whimper as I bucked against his fingers. He teased me for a few moments, his breath softly brushing against my bare inner thighs as he watched with hooded eyes as his fingers slid back and forth. 

He paused only for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to the very inside of my thighs before I felt his fingers spread me open before his tongue brush against me in one long languid brush. My head fell back, thudding against the wood of the wall, and my fingers tangled in his hair as he began to tease my entrance with the tip of his tongue. His lips descended against me, pressing a kiss as his tongue swirled my clit for the first time. My hips bucked against his face, his nose buried in my curls between my legs, his eyes looking up at my flushed face. 

“Oh…Copia.” I moaned, nails digging slightly into his scalp as I pulled him closer to me, grinding against his face as he sucked at my clit. He hummed in approval, fingers gently slipping inside me. One then two, his fingers curling inside me causing a whole shudder to roll through me. 

The cardinal’s tongue set a rigorous pace, the tip flicking against my clit before he sucked it into his mouth while his fingers plunged in and out of me. I could feel the pleasure pooling in my belly as I rode his face, his mustache rubbing roughly against my inner thighs as I failed to not squeeze his head. His mismatched gaze turned on me, my own vision practically cloudy while I fought to keep my breath under control and my voice low. His eyes were locked on mine and I felt pinned by the pure lust in his eyes. I felt his free hand snake around my thigh, gripping almost painfully, before I felt him add a third finger. I groaned. loudly before shoving my free hand in between my teeth, muffling the noises as best as possible while my eyes rolled into the back of my head. 

“C-copia, don’t stop…” I hissed, tugging on his hair roughly as my orgasm began to come on fast. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Two more thrusts and a swirl of my clit with his tongue and I bit down on my fist so hard I thought I was going to break the skin; my hips grinding roughly against Copia’s face while I rode out my orgasam. I could feel my chest pounding, as my hands slipped from his hair to caress his cheek. I couldn’t help but to smile at him warmly, as he pulled back away from me. His face was soaked with the combination of my fluids and his spit, I watched with hooded eyes as he licked at his face before sucking his fingers into his mouth. His eyes never left my face. Ever the gentleman, he helped me get both feet down before standing. 

Gently, such a far cry from how fiercely he was just devouring me, he pressed his lips to mine. I could taste myself on his lips and I felt the flutter in my belly again as I shivered. As we kissed softly, I was well aware of something hot and hard pressed against my lower belly. Copia’s hands came to cup my face before slipping down to slide under my bra, fingers deftly manipulating my hard nipples. I pushed my chest into his greedy hands and I leaned forward to press my forehead against his shoulder. 

My hands drifted down to his cock, straining against his trousers. I cupped my hand against him and I felt him buck into my hand, whimpering in my ear as his fingers twitched and pinched my nipples. His hand slipped from my breasts to cup my face again, kissing me more forcefully this time and I matched his movements with that of my hand on his cock. He rolled his hips and suddenly I was impatient. I wanted him, the painful clench in my belly obvious to me now. I pushed away from him, the look in his eyes confused before I pushed him to sit on the bench. 

He looked up at me eagerly, his hands absentmindedly drifting to cup his cock as I pulled my robes over my head and unclasped my bra. His eyes drifted to my bare chest and I blushed slightly before I pushed at his suspenders, shoving them from his shoulders. I unbuttoned his trousers as well, pulling at them before he helped me slip them down his strong thighs. Copia’s hands came to rest on my hips as I moved to settle in his lap.

We started to kiss again, our tongues lazily curling around each other as I ground down against him. He met my hips with his own, I could feel the precum beading on his head against my belly. I couldn’t wait any longer and I sat up, gripping his thick cock as I guided him inside me. I sank all the way down on him, feeling my walls stretched by him and I threw my head back a hiss slipping from my lips. 

“Carina, s-sister.” Copia muttered, one hand gripping my hip while the other settled on my lower back to help with the angle we were sitting in. “Sei cosi stretto, fanculo.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t quite know all my Italian, so as I begun to move up and down on his cock I answered him by a searing kiss. Pressing my whole body against his, our bodies slick with sweat, I rode him like my life depended on it. I felt the cardinal begin to thrust up to match my pace as his hand gripped my waist firmly, moving my hips back and forth as we chased our orgasam in each other’s arms. His other hand slipped from the small of my back to the back of my head, tilting my neck to the side as he sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh there. My arms snaked around his neck, fingers tangling in his messed up hair as I felt my orgasam beginning to build. 

“I’m so close, Copia…” I whimpered, rolling my hip with each of his thrusts. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my back and flipped us so I was laying at an odd angle on the bench and he was on his knees on the floor. He took my leg and hooked it around his waist as he suddenly began thrusting into me hard enough I had to put my arms above my head to prevent my skull from slamming into the walls of the confessional.

His fingers slipped between our bodies and he quickly rubbed at my clit. I suddenly saw stars as my orgasam slammed into; I moaned loudly, my voice echoing in the antechamber due to the volume. Copia’s hand flew up to cover my mouth as he grunted, his hips snapping up to meet mine at a punishing pace. A few more erratic thrusts and he surged forward, his lips crashing into mine so forcefully I felt our teeth clink together. 

I could feel him release inside of me, his whole body shuddering and taut as we both fought to catch our breaths. He rested his head on my chest, pressing lazy kisses on my bare skin and I couldn’t help but to gaze at him fondly. My fingers brushed against the top of his head, practically petting him which was even more surreal when it felt like he was practically purring. I have no idea how long we stayed like that but it wasn’t long enough. The gently gong of the bells signaled final lights out in the siblings quarters; meaning it was just after eleven in the evening.

“I’ve got to go Cardinal…” I sighed softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t say anything, he rarely did after the haze of lust faded and we had to part.

Slowly but softly, we helped each other dress again. I made sure that Copia’s biretta was on correctly, his clergy paints were a whole other story. Between the steamy conditions in the room and our vigorous activities, there were plenty of places where the black paints had migrated. I smiled affectionately at him before leaning in to kiss him softly, his hands sliding up to tangle in my hair before I pulled away and pulled on my habit to cover my hair.

“Thank you, Cardinal, for hearing my confessional.”

“Of course, Sister. Please come see me anytime you need to confess your sins.”

“Yes Sir, have a wonderful evening.”

#Ghost #ghost band #the band ghost #cardinal copia #cardi c #copia #cardinal copia x reader #Copia x reader #papa emeritus 4 #ghost fanfiction #popia #my writing #fanfiction #The lust and love I have for this rat man is borderline pathologically insane