#BUT NOW THE WORMS ARE DRIVING ME UP THE WALLS... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oldsoul007 · 4 months ago

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back to you

joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel lose each other 20 years ago until now

joel miller masterlist

It had been a time of desperate chaos—the world falling apart piece by piece as the Cordyceps fungus ravaged the human population, turning family, friends, neighbors, and strangers alike into mindless monsters. The infection had spread fast, too fast, and when the first signs of the outbreak hit, Joel and I had no idea how bad it would get. We had no way of knowing how quickly the world would change, how our lives would shatter.

We had been living in Austin, Texas, just before everything unraveled. Joel and I had found each other after both had weathered our own storms. Joel, already hardened by the loss of his daughter, had been reluctant to open up again, to let anyone in. But me, with my quiet strength and fierce protectiveness, had somehow wormed my way past his walls. We had been inseparable—cooking dinner together, taking long walks in the park when the world still felt like it could survive, making plans for a future that now felt like a dream.

We were out at a grocery store one night getting supplies, It was late, the store empty, when the panic started. At first, it had just been rumors, whispers about some kind of outbreak, about people getting sick, acting strangely. No one really knew what was happening. But the fear was palpable, and soon the streets were filled with people shouting, running, and driving in every direction.

Joel and I had been in the store, frozen, trying to piece together the chaos around us, when the first outbreak in the city was confirmed. Someone came running into the store, screaming. “They’re coming! They’re here! They’re killing people in the streets!” The words were barely out of the person’s mouth before the man was shot—killed by an officer who had clearly snapped under the pressure. The gunshot echoed through the aisles, and the reality of what was happening struck both of us like a blow.

Joel grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the exit. He was already thinking ahead—where to go, how to survive. His instincts had kicked in, and all that mattered was getting us both to safety.

But as we reached the parking lot, the world outside was nothing like we had ever seen before. People were running everywhere, cars were abandoned in the middle of the street, and screams filled the air. There was no order, no government, no protection anymore. The world had just… collapsed.

Joel and I jumped into the truck, making a run for it, weaving through traffic, heading toward what we hoped would be safety—toward the country roads, away from the violence, away from the chaos. The radio was filled with static and terrifying reports about people being “turned” into monsters, the cities being overrun, and the government preparing to implement martial law.

But the further we got, the more the roads became impassable. Traffic ground to a halt. People were panicking, leaving their cars behind to run on foot. The military had begun to set up barricades and block roads, trying to contain the spread of the infection, but it was clear they weren’t winning. In a matter of hours, it was every man for himself.

As we approached a bridge on the outskirts of town, the military set up a roadblock, and the situation escalated. The soldiers were desperate, their faces wild with fear. Joel could see them shouting at people to stop, to turn back, but chaos had already descended. Some people obeyed, others didn’t. The soldiers were growing more aggressive by the minute.

Then, the first gunshot rang out, echoing through the air, followed by the staccato of multiple shots. People screamed and scattered. It was a massacre. I clutched Joel’s arm, pulling him toward the back of the truck as we tried to take cover.

But in the madness, the truck was hit. A soldier fired at our vehicle—one shot, then another—and we were caught in the crossfire. Joel shoved me down into the truck bed as bullets ricocheted around them, his mind racing. He could hear me scream, but everything was a blur of motion and panic.

The next thing Joel knew, the truck was overturned. He was thrown to the ground, and the world spun in a dizzying whirl. His head slammed against the asphalt, and when he opened his eyes, everything had changed. The truck was in flames, the sound of gunfire was distant now, and the road was littered with bodies. But y/n was gone.

Panic flooded him as he tried to sit up, his body aching, his mind foggy from the blow. “Y/n!” he shouted, his voice raw, desperate. His hands were trembling as he pushed himself up, looking around. But the smoke from the truck and the blur of his vision made it hard to focus. “Y/n!” he called again, stumbling toward where he last saw her.

But there was no answer. No sign of her.

His heart hammered in his chest as he fought to stay calm, trying to think. She couldn’t be far. She couldn’t. But every direction he turned led to more chaos, more destruction. The world was coming down around him, and he couldn’t find her.

He ran, calling her name until his throat felt raw, but all he found were empty streets and the distant sounds of chaos. People running. Soldiers shouting. The infected tearing through the streets. And through it all, he couldn’t find y/n.

Eventually, he was forced to retreat. He couldn’t stay on the streets; it wasn’t safe. He had to keep moving, had to survive. But every time he looked over his shoulder, he expected to see her, standing there, coming toward him.

But she never did.

For weeks, Joel searched, desperately trying to find any trace of her. He moved from city to city, scavenging for supplies, trying to avoid the growing number of infected. He asked anyone he met, hoping against hope that someone had seen her, that someone knew where she was. But no one did.

As the months passed, and the world became a nightmare of survival and bloodshed, Joel’s hope began to wither. Y/b was gone. And the life he’d once known—those simple, precious days of being with her—had been buried by the weight of everything that had happened.

The days turned into weeks, then months, and the years stretched on. Joel tried to survive. He tried to forget. But he couldn’t.

Y/n was a ghost in his mind, a presence that never fully left him. He thought about her in the quiet moments, when the weight of the world wasn’t pressing on him, and he wondered if she was still out there—alive, surviving, thinking of him as he thought of her.

But every time he let himself think of her, the fear would grip him. What if she wasn’t alive? What if she hadn’t made it?

He never stopped looking. But after so much time, after so many broken pieces of the world, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been lost forever.

It was a wound that never fully healed.

Until now. Until Jackson. Until he saw her again.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the town square of Jackson, and everything felt… surreal. The world seemed quieter here—safer—but that didn’t change the gnawing ache in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything that had happened, despite all the time that had passed, something was about to happen. Something big.

It had been months since Tommy had returned. When he’d arrived back in Jackson, he’d been a man worn down by years of survival, much like the rest of us, but there was something different about him. Something in his eyes. Something in the way he carried himself, like there was a weight on his shoulders that wasn’t just about the chaos of the world. Something about the way people spoke when they saw him—the way they avoided certain questions, the way they looked at me with a mixture of pity and hope.

Then came the whispers. Joel was alive. Joel Miller, her Joel, was alive.

I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. Not after all this time, after everything we’d been through, after the last time I’d seen him. It had been 20 years—twenty years since I last saw his face, since I last felt the warmth of his hands in mine, since the world had fallen apart.

I’d lost him then. Lost him in the chaos. In the violence. In the desperation of that world where nothing, not even love, could survive for long.

But now, standing in the square with Tommy in front of me, I felt the pull of that memory—of the person I had been before all of this. The woman who had loved Joel with everything she had. The woman who had believed they’d somehow be okay, despite everything. The woman who had lost him anyway.

Tommy’s face was tight, his jaw set in that way that always made me nervous. Something was off with him, something hidden. His eyes flicked nervously to the side, like he was trying to gauge something, or someone. I didn’t know if it was me he was avoiding or the truth that had yet to come out. But then I saw him.

Joel.

My stomach flipped in a way that was both familiar and completely foreign. He was standing there, just a few feet away, as though he’d been watching us the whole time. His face was gaunt, like he hadn’t eaten in days, but there was something unmistakable about the way he stood. The way he held himself. It was him. My Joel. After all this time. After all the years of wondering, of waiting, of fighting to stay alive in a world that felt like it had no room for love, it was him.

I froze. The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, my feet, my thoughts. I could barely breathe, could barely move.

Then I did.

I started walking toward him—slowly at first, unsure if I was dreaming, unsure if I could trust what I was seeing. He didn’t move at first, just watched me with that same look I remembered—like he couldn’t quite believe it, either.

“Joel…” My voice was barely a whisper, like I wasn’t sure I even had the strength to speak his name after all this time.

And then, as if the world around us had ceased to exist, I was in his arms. His rough, calloused hands were on my back, pulling me in, holding me against him. I buried my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of him—the faint trace of earth and leather and everything I’d forgotten I needed.

He smelled like home.

His voice rumbled in my ear, hoarse with emotion. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

I nodded into his neck, unable to speak, not sure if I was even capable of forming words. I hadn’t let myself think about him for so long, hadn’t allowed myself to believe that I might see him again. That maybe, just maybe, I could find him.

But here he was. Alive. Real. And I couldn’t remember a time when I’d needed him more.

I felt his hands trembling as they ran over my back, as if he couldn’t believe I was real either. I stepped back just enough to look up at him. His face was rough, older, but still the man I’d known. The man I’d loved.

Tommy, watching from a distance, smiled softly to himself, his eyes flicking to Ellie, who had her arms crossed, watching with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. It was a strange thing, witnessing the reunion, but it was also a rare, beautiful thing. He could see the weight of the years lifting from Joel’s shoulders, even if only for a moment.

“Joel, I thought… I thought you were dead,” I whispered. The words sounded strange, as though I’d been carrying them around for too long.

His eyes closed briefly, and I saw the pain there. The same old pain that never really left him, no matter how many years had passed.

“I thought the same about you,” he muttered, brushing a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the years. “I didn’t think I’d ever find you again.”

And for a moment, there was nothing else. No chaos. No world falling apart. Just us, standing there, lost in time.

Joel’s hands tightened around me, as if he wasn’t ready to let go. I wasn’t either. The air between us was heavy now, charged with all the things left unsaid.

Joel squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing over the back of it. “We’ve got time, y/n. Time to figure this out.”

I nodded, barely able to contain the wave of emotion that had built up in me. I wanted to say something—anything—but the words felt too small for what I was feeling.

Instead, I just held onto him. The man I had once thought I’d lost forever. And in that moment, I let myself believe that, maybe, we could find our way back. Together.

The sun had dipped low, casting a warm, golden hue over Jackson. The town, though small and humble, had become a symbol of stability in a world that had long been devoid of it. The smell of fresh bread from the local bakery drifted through the air, mixing with the earthy scent of pine and the faint hum of distant laughter. It was a peaceful night—one that Joel thought he’d never see again, especially after everything that had happened with Ellie, the Fireflies, and the things we’d both lost.

I stood just a few steps away from him in the courtyard, my hands folded tightly in front of me, my brow furrowed as I glanced down at the ground. The years had left our marks—on both of us—but there was something familiar in the way my eyes met his. He could see the same spark, the same strength. He felt a rush of relief in his chest, but also something else—something he hadn’t quite expected.

Fear.

Joel cleared his throat,

I sighed, my gaze drifting toward the horizon. There was a long pause. After a moment, I spoke again, voice steady, but my words were pointed. “I thought I’d lost you, Joel. I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

My eyes softened, and I stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm, but my gaze remained intense, searching his face for the truths he hadn’t shared in all the years they’d been apart. “I need you to understand something. I don’t just… need you here now. I want you here. With me. I’m not letting go of you again.”

The words cut deeper than he expected. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear that. But as she spoke, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—a decision she was making, and he wasn’t going to like it.

He swallowed hard and met her gaze. “There’s something you need to know about what I’m doin’, y/n.” His voice softened, but the weight of it was unmistakable. “I’m takin’ Ellie to the Fireflies. She’s the key to everything. Maybe the cure.”

My face remained neutral, but my jaw tightened. “I know. I heard about it. You’re gonna try to save the world, right?”

Joel flinched at the way I said it—like I was trying to keep my emotions in check, but the words cut anyway. He hated that she had to be so strong, so distant, but he understood why. We had both lost too much in this world to trust anything easily.

“I have to do this,” Joel said, his voice thick with determination. “It’s for Ellie. It’s for everyone.”

My expression hardened. I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest, as if weighing something. “And you think you’re just going to leave here alone? After all these years?” I asked, my tone cutting now, almost like a challenge. “You think I’m just going to sit here and let you go off on your own? No. I’m coming with you, Joel.”

Joel’s heart skipped a beat, his thoughts momentarily swirling. “Y/n, I just got you back. I—I can’t lose you again.” His voice faltered for a moment, the rawness of his emotions slipping through despite his best effort to stay composed. “You’ve already been through enough, seen enough. You don’t need to be part of this.”

My face was unyielding. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “I’m not who I used to be, Joel. I know what it means to survive, to fight for what matters. And you—you are what matters. You think I’m going to sit back and let you walk into danger without me?”

Joel looked at her, his mind racing. His first instinct was to protect her, to keep her safe from the world and all its cruelty. It was why he’d shut her out for so long, why he’d tried to push her away before. But she was different now. Stronger. And she wasn’t backing down. Not this time.

“Don’t make me choose between you and her,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

My eyes softened, and I reached for his hand, my grip firm but gentle. “I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you to let me help.” My eyes locked onto his. “We’ve been through too much to turn back now. We’ve already lost so much. I’m not losing you again—not when we’re so damn close.”

Joel closed his eyes, his breath coming out in a rush. The pain of his past, the burden of Ellie’s safety, the fear of losing y/n all pressed in on him at once. But when he looked at her again, something in her expression—a quiet strength, an unshakeable resolve—made him realize that this was something he couldn’t keep from her. Not anymore.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Joel said, his voice low, filled with a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself to show in years.

“You won’t stop me,” I replied softly, but there was no hesitation in my voice. “And you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

For a moment, the world outside of Jackson felt like it didn’t exist. In that space, with my hand in his and the years between us seeming both too short and too long, Joel knew that I wasn’t just offering him my presence. I was offering him something he didn’t know he needed: a partnership—a choice to face whatever was coming, together.

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice steadying, his decision made. “We do this together. No turning back.”

My smile was small but fierce, the quiet promise of our unspoken bond lingering in the air between us.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t going to lose everything he loved again.

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sweet-hedonist · 3 months ago

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Lessons in Restraint

Viktor x fem! reader

After losing a bet to your partner, you end up having to deal with the consequences of your actions, no matter how much you beg.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, bondage

A/N: wrote this in a fugue state at 4am and finished it on public transit, I’m a god of creation lol. Not proofread at all but I like it. This is so horny and debauched have fun. Reblogs and comments make my day (I read every single one)

“You know, it’s incredibly satisfying to see you like this after talking such a big game.” His voice is lilting and thick and like a haunting melody that weaves its way into your brain and doesn’t leave, no matter how hard you try to expel it.

The smirk is audible and as you stare up at this man from your place on the floor, rage bubbles deep within you, flavoring the already cultivated desire that has been driving your instincts.

A bet. A stupid, idiotic, ridiculous bet was all it took to end up here: naked, bound, and kneeling before Viktor as if he were your king.

The bet had been simple.

“You have no self control.” He’d mocked you one late night in the lab as you lay draped over him on the small beat to hell couch they’d brought in for you. Basking in the post-sex glow, you laughed airily, your mind still a bit foggy and blissed out.

“Neither do you. Can you blame me? I’m a girl who knows what she wants.” You punctuated your statement by snuggling further into him.

A chuckle, then “Patience is a virtue. God you’re probably not even able to last a week without needing me.” His hands tracing lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Is that a challenge?” Your eyes narrowed at him from your place on his chest.

“Perhaps.”

He’d been right of course. You didn’t last a week without needing him, folding just on the morning of day 6, practically begging him to fuck you, touch you, anything at all.

The smirk that split his face was so vile and hypnotizing that you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Of course, he obliged and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk for a day.

“You need lessons in restraint, humility. And seeing as you lost the bet…”

Which led you to right now.

Two in the morning.

Completely alone in his lab.

At his mercy.

The soft rope around your wrists and ankles caresses your skin, knots only tightening as you squirm. Wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and just for an added kick in the mouth, wrist to ankle. Knees spread and back arched as Viktor sat in his desk chair, which from this angle looked much more like a throne on which an emperor sat.

Alas, it would not be the benevolent kind.

“What, no witty comeback or retort for me? Are you all out of fight? Or are you just learning to mind your tongue?” he leans forward, forehead almost touching yours but not quite. He hasn’t touched you in over an hour. Just lingering stares or fabric or even the occasional breath of air. Nothing else.

“Or…” he leans close to yours ear, “you’re just being quiet to avoid the shame?” White hot fear washes over you. It’s so hot it’s freezing and you want to simultaneously worm away from the sensation and also surrender to it.

“Pity. This is a lesson in humility. Obedience. Discipline. Trust.” His voice softens at the last word and there’s a brief moment where his gaze shifts, full of adoration and love and awe. It doesn’t last long though; enough for you to smile back, and give a quick confirmation that ‘yes you’re ok and want to keep going’.

“Well? Nothing at all?” He sits back up, towering over you and you cannot help but avert your gaze underneath his stare. It pins you to the wall like a pretty butterfly in a shadowbox.

“Unh-unh…” he tuts disapprovingly and it’s all the warning before the end up his cane is tipping your chin back up, allowing you to properly look at him.

“None of that. So rude, absolutely no manners. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He stares down the length of his cane at you, eyes molten and burning as he speaks.

“I…” but there’s nothing you can really say for yourself now. He’s right. As he usually is. You are ashamed.

“No? Not a thing in that pretty little head of yours is there?” He removes his cane from your chin and lets it fall to the floor, hands folding on his lap as he ponders what to do with you.

Eyes rove over your twitching body, no doubt a puddle of wetness below you dripping from your aching core. It’s pathetic and humiliating and some sick fucked up part of you relishes in it. He knows it too, head tilting as he looks down.

“Oh, poor thing. You’re just drenched aren’t you?” the mockery in his voice stirs a frustrated whimper out of you, pulls it from your chest like one would pull a hook from the stomach of fish who’d swallowed it. Bloody and violent and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Such a pretty sound.” It’s not to you, just musing to himself. You whine again, roll your hips as you stare up at him, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Touch you.

“Viktor…you’re being cruel…” your voice is fucked out and ragged, despite the lack of stimulation. He’s brought you this close with barely anything but his voice and a few lengths of rope. A feat, really. He’ll brag about it for the rest of your life.

“Am I? Or are you just not prepared to accept that your actions have consequences?”

“I just wanna touch you…” you crane your neck up at him, staying rooted to your spot but reaching. He is a planet and you a mere comet pulled into his gravitational field, circling.

He thinks for a moment, you can see the gears working in his head.

“You want to cum?” No one, nor any amount of liquor could get you to admit how earnestly you nodded your head at his words, how desperately. With a quick move you weren’t expecting, he bends forward in his seat and wraps a pale hand around your throat. The sensation is near overwhelming as he hasn’t touched you in an hour, fingers now digging into the delicate column holding up your head.

“I think…” he tilts your head this way and that, ever the scientist, taking in every observation, every bead of sweat, every tremble, “…I have a compromise that will suffice.”

With a bit of a gentler hand, he pulls you forwards by your neck, his own rolling chair moving to meet you as you shuffle forward. He pulls you closer, closer, until his knee is flush with your sternum, and you’re situated directly over his shoe.

Fear washes over you, curls its fingers into your hair, your spine, your stomach.

“You want to cum so bad?” He jerks up his foot at the end of his sentence, bumping it against your clit in a way that has you nearly doubling over and letting out a strangled yelp.

“Go ahead, sweet thing.” Your neck is still in his grip, so you know he can feel the way your pulse races forward like an engine.

“B-but-“ a protest forms in your mouth but it’s squeezed out of you as his hand tightens.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making the decisions around here. And that wasn’t a request. Do it.” His tone is icy and piercing and it scares you in a way that urges you forward, letting the humiliation continue to worm its way into your synapses.

He lets go, a little roughly, and straightens his back, looking down at you as if you were an amusing pet.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shut your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, pushing it out rather forcefully.

The first roll of your hips is torturous. It’s friction you haven’t had in hours, so sensitive and swollen that the leather and lace send fireworks through you.

But it’s something, and you’ve been so patient, so agonizingly horny that you’ll take anything. And he knows that.

And the motherfucker is laughing.

“Oh…wow…I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Just so eager to please and be pleased aren’t you?” A deceptively gentle hand caresses your cheek and you lean into it instinctively, the sweetness juxtaposed to his cruel treatment making your head spin a bit.

“What base creatures we humans are. Willing to throw pride and dignity aside all for a biological need to fuck each other like rabbits. All for the pleasure of climax. Slaves to our hormones; all the blood being sent to your swollen cunt, none left for your brain.” The last bit is a coo, a mocking pity that weighs heavy on your sensation addled mind. His hand on your cheek is a cool balm on your feverish skin, tracing your cheekbone in reverence as the words he spits tear at you.

You move faster, chasing the high that is slowly but surely building in the lowest part of your stomach. It’s a dull burn that exponentially increases in intensity and heat. Every word he says is a stoke to the catching blaze.

A low rumble of appreciation stirs from Viktor’s chest, and the pride that swells in you as you look up at his appraising gaze pushes much of the embarrassment aside. The joy of approval, the delicious praise that a mere look can bestow; you need it like you’ve never needed anything before.

“Oh you are splendid, sweet thing. Such a good girl, so eager to please.” His hand drifts to your open mouth, fingers dancing along the pad of your lip. With no other instruction, you lean forward and take two of his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits in such a lewd manner that the workers of the brothels would blush.

There’s a small intake of breath from your Viktor, a brief slip of composure as he stares at you in awe. His eyes sparkle with want and need and adoration.

“You…are perfect, so wonderful for me.” His other hand cradles your head as his fingers push in deeper, pressing down on your tongue slightly. You double your efforts at his sweet words, spurred on with renewed vigor. For me. Yes. For him, always for him, his, his, his, his.

“Oh you liked that did you? You like when I tell you how good you’re doing for me? How beautiful you look there on your knees, fingers in your mouth, truly you put fine art to shame. You were made for this, perfect, so perfect.” He muses, and the heat in your core grows hotter with every breath he takes to speak. Your poor hips are stuttering, so desperately close to cumming all over his pristine leather shoes. Moans spill forth around his fingers as you lose your grip on sanity, oh but what a sweet descent into madness it is.

“Go on. Go on darling, cum. That’s it, make a mess of yourself, that’s it, good girl, oh…” he marvels at you as you contract into him, the force of your orgasm pulling a strangled scream from your lungs. It’s wave after wave of white hot ecstasy, and your hips undulate a few more times as you ride it out, milking it for every last drop. His hand retracts from your mouth and he holds you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Wonderful darling, you did wonderful, absolutely perfect. So good, so good for me.” Fingers card through your hair, hands guiding your head to rest on his knee. You’re grateful for the support, it’s getting awful hard to keep your head up. The thigh of his good leg is sturdy and strong from baring the brunt of his weight. It’s grounding beneath you.

Slowly but surely, your breathing evens out, his hands petting your hair reverentially, holding you as you come down from your high. You stay like that for a while, until your knees start to hurt and your wrists ache, causing you to whimper at the newly forming pain.

“Are you alright lásko? Can I move you?” He whispers, hands never stopping his movements. You nod against his leg, weak but sure.

“M’good. Just go slow.” Your voice is hoarse and crackly from exhaustion. He bends down, kisses your head, and picks it up off of his thigh. With a twist, he adjust his chair so it’s a bit lower to the ground, closer to you. He reaches around, kissing your shoulder as he does so, and unties the ropes around your wrists and ankles. They fall away, and your arms instinctively reach for him.

“Soon, miláčku. Can you stand?”

“Mhm.” He grips your hands, helping you to your feet, and you’re alright for the most part, just a bit shaky. Viktor reaches for his cane, stands, and leads you by the hand to the couch in the corner of the lab. The leather is cool against your skin as he situates you in the cushions.

“I’ll be right back, just getting you water. Wrap the blanket around you alright?” You nod, his voice your tether to reality. In mere moments he’s back with water in hand, and not long after he’s sitting next to you, pressing you into his good side, arm an anchor over your shoulders. You curl instinctively into him, clutching the blanket around yourself.

“Are you sure you’re ok, sweet thing?”

“I’m sure Viktor.” Your voice has returned to you, as has most of your facilities. The weight of Viktor against you helps immensely.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed.” He knocks his head against yours, and you laugh, snuggling further into him.

“I can’t say I didn’t know you had it in you, because you’re the most in control person I’ve ever met, but holy shit Vik.” The smell of his cologne and shampoo washes over you as you nestle closer into his neck, so ineffably him.

His cheek is pressed to the top of your head as he says , “I hope that is a positive ‘holy shit’.”

“Oh certainly.” You sit up slightly to look him in the eyes, “Vik. That was amazing. I…you were fantastic. It was everything I could’ve wanted.” A dopey smile spreads across your face and you can see the blush forming on his cheeks, the pride swelling in his chest.

“Thank you for trusting me with you.”

“Vik I trust you with my life.” You kiss his cheek, and he chuckles, a pretty sound that you wish you’d hear more often. But as the months go by, it’s starting to become a bit more familiar.

“And I trust you with mine.”

“Yeah but I just use that leverage to get you to bed at night so you don’t die of sleep deprivation.” He snorts as he pulls you in closer to him.

“Isn’t it common practice for someone in your position to nap after a scene?”

You laugh, but acquiesce and snuggle into him further, “you’re just deflecting, one day I’ll fix your sleep schedule.” But your eyes are already closing and his hands are playing with your hair.

“Sure, lásko. Sleep well. I love you.”

You smile, though you’re already halfway to sleep, “love you too.”

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane #arcane league of legends #viktor arcane #izzy writes

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itoshhi · 21 days ago

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𝜗𝜚 karasu tabito | friends with benefits

❕smut mdni, humiliating, rough sex.

do you remember the rules for FWB?

be quiet. don’t tell anyone about what you did or what happened.

what were you thinking when you went to the place where your close friends and the friend you only fucked for pleasure were? didn’t you guess that on your way to your friend otoya’s house, another friend of yours would make you cry with pleasure in a room?

"nngh! k-karas-" your eyes rolled back as his long fingers closed over your mouth, your hands holding on to something hard. one of your friend karasu’s hands was holding your waist and your hips while the other was busy covering your mouth. "do you wanna tell our only friends how i fucked you, honey? do you really want this?"

your phone screen lit up with the colors of your wallpaper as you tried to shake your head from side to side with difficulty due to the grip of his hand. one of your friends waiting for you downstairs.

➤ hiori

y/n babe where are you dude…

yuki has warned otoya at least FIFTY TIMES not to go upstairs and otoya can’t stand still like he has a worm up his ass

whatever, get our friend and yourself here as soon as possible.

“babe, huh?” karasu almost laughed as he fucked you right behind you. “they’re curious about us…” damn it your vision was blurry because of the fucking tears that were gathering under your eyes right now, you didn’t even know what he was talking about or who was texting you.

“they don’t know how i fuck you, do they?” you held onto the drawer he was leaning against as he sped up even faster. “do they know how i destroy you when it’s just the two of us between in fucking walls, y/n?” he was hard, fast and lustful. there was no lovely emotion, you were just driving each other crazy for pleasure. “tell me, answer my question. do they know how well i fuck you, honey?”

you let out a small scream against his hands as you were spanked on your ass. he pulled his fingers back a little, making it easier for you to breathe, as he waited for an answer to his question. you shook your head quickly, “n-no! fffuck, ah! no! they don’t know, oh my…” what were you saying? is that a game of saying the first word that comes to mind? my god…

“atta girl.” he knew exactly how stupid he was making you and how desperate that tight pussy of yours was for his cock. “i’ve complete control of your body right now, that pussy shaking is thanks to me, don’t i?” his fucking ego was only turning you on. his hand was covering your mouth again to muffle your moans as he sped up his movements behind you. he knew you were close.

“gonna cum? am i making you that dumb?” his hand on your waist moved down to your clit. you could die of pleasure as he sent new vibrations of pleasure in circular motions. “m-mmph!” “oh, you’re right.” he was mocking you with the knowledge that he was making you crazy, just like always, fucking bastard…

a wave of pleasure was starting to take over your entire body as all your folds vibrated. his pressure on your clit increased as you continued to make obscene noises against his mouth. his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and damn if you could see him right now you would cum even in this state. his grip on you never loosened as he leaned forward slightly and placed a wet kiss under your ear. “c’mon then, be a good girl and show your best friend all you can do.”

oh, wait.

➤ otoya

LMAAAOOOOOOOOO IS THIS REAL

IF YOU ARE ACTUALLY FUCKING IN MY ROOM I WILL BURN MYSELF LAUGHING

fuck.

#bllk x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock #bllk smut #tabito karasu x reader #karasu smut #bllk karasu #karasu tabito #karasu x reader #karasu tabito smut #blue lock karasu #blue lock headcannons #smut #fwb #i need a fwb #fwb to lovers

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queenendless · 2 months ago

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*°◇■¤ SHAPE OF YOU ¤■◇°*

A/n: Yeah the same English VA voiced all these dudes, and his B-Day is TODAY!

Tbh though, I wanna take a break from this one sided infatuated hellhole I dug myself into and write for other series again, that aren't dubbed with him in it. The irony of me saying that when I wrote this of all things. I ❤️ that madman though. Ah, the mess of a crush!

Pairing: Adult! Makoto, Anos, Jiji, Mash, Nagumo, Mikey, Lighter, Jinwoo, Ryoji X Fem!Adult!Reader.

CW: SPOILERS FOR ALL THE FANDOMS INVOLVED SO BE PREPARED.

Characters aged up 21+. Isekaied reader. All shows coexist in this anime world AU.

SFW and NSFW CONTENT INVOLVED. Kinda headcanons/daily life with the various tagged dudes, mushy fluffy romance with eventual brief short smut. Voice kink, lovesick/lovestruck reader, reverse harem vibes.

Getting reborn in a world choked full of anime characters would be any weeb’s greatest dream. Your inner wish finally gets granted, at last!

So many cameos, easter eggs, references serving the overstimulation you craved.

Urban dystopia, cyberpunk, fantasy, and even classic and modern day Japan structures this conglomeration that is the capital of this anime city in this anime world.

In one way or another, you yourself seek out such dashing men that all had their unique quirks and styles straight out of the gate. Even in this new life they still hold a place in your heart.

Unlike most leads in reverse harem stories, you wanted to embrace this fantasy. Your lovesick self literally gave off such an intense lovestruck aura as is. You crave that kind of affection and attention, in this life as the last.

Someway, somehow, it worked.

Your bois … them dudes … ah what a lineup.

Mash, the magicless exercise buff, secretly likes you watching him doing weight lifts with one hand and eating cream puffs with the other. While workouts with him are more casual, he still appreciates you wanting to bond over it, inspiring him to do his push ups and sit ups with you kissing him when his face gets close enough as his motivation and reward. That and sharing slash feeding each other cream puffs together whenever you get the chance.

“You don't have to dote on me so much. Even without magic, I will use all of my strength to keep you safe. And bake cream puffs for you every day. I'll dote on you all to show you just how much you mean to me.”

Jiji, the goofy quirky red-head that he is, despite the Evil Eye yokai of hatred using him as its vessel, slowly but surely wormed his way into your heart. The stupid jokes paired with those face expressions laced with the boundless energy he has despite the hell he's been through grew on you over time until his beaming smile got you turning to mush. Being able to wind down and relax when he started gaining control over his alternate self, taking naps with you got you being the big spoon for this cutie. Cuddles are inevitable.

“Your laugh is infectious. Getting you to smile is my daily goal. It really does make my day. Gets me smiling every single time. I never want this feeling to end. So let's have more bright filled days ahead together, Y/n~”

Lighter, the red scarfed honor bound Champion, rightfully won your heart with his protective romantic dorky self. Meeting each other through your shared friends that are legendary Proxies, you become entangled in each other's lives. Giving you rides on his motorbike went from convenient transport to enjoying the scenic drive together. Sharing some Nitro Fuel together as he quipped out some dorky puns all to make you smile. You keep him grounded in return. Kissing every single scar his past left him with, being able to let down his walls and be open with you, it all means so much.

“You can count on me to get the job done. Whatever it is, whenever you need me, I'm there. I'll fight for you until my dying breath. Hey now, don't cry. I'm not going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

Anos, the misfit that is the Demon King of Tyranny, exudes natural charm and strength that is indeed OP. Building bridges, ending divides, bringing everyone united in a new age for his descendants. So of course the strapping reincarnated man bewitched you as well. Sure he has his own group of comrades on the side – a harem in a sense from others perspective – but from his self awareness, you have an actual harem. He was amused, intrigued even, that you would see him as another potential mate, so he humored you. His parents were more than welcoming to meet a bride he wouldn't mind marrying one day. You're just that interesting to him.

“Did you really think that just because I was part of your little court, that I would be outdone by my competition? I'll be as savage as well as benevolent to my rivals. Why am I going along with it? Well … I'm enthralled by you, my lovely human.”

Nagumo, one of the strongest assassins there is, would deem crossing paths with you during a mission not as a coincidence but as fate. He felt light as a feather, walking on air, as he made small talk with you after finishing his tasks for the day, that elated smile that came with blood stains. The fact that you reciprocate his assassin lifestyle had the arrow of love striking him true, mirroring Sakamoto's reason for leaving the Order all to be with his own special someone. Introducing you to said former comrade at his convenience store came soon after.

“Getting close to me will put you at risk, no doubt. And I barely have time to see you as it is due to my job. But I'll gladly kill anyone that dares harm a hair on your pretty little head. I really like you, after all.”

Mikey, the leader of his own biker group, can be quite the handful. Being overprotective about keeping his family safe, blood bound and found, you were no exception. He'd do anything for you, day or night. He is as loyal as he is a kid at heart. He wears his heart on his sleeve in your honest opinion. Giving him PDA really lifts his spirits; loved fill squeezing hugs, smooching him senseless, and being a shoulder to cry on for those tough days.

“Oi. I'm grateful to you. Ya know that, right? When this city sees delinquents in a better light through the Tokyo Manji Gang, my brother's dream will finally become a reality. And I hope you'll be by my side when that happens. I can't imagine anything else worthwhile.”

Jinwoo, an E-rank hunter reawakened to become the next Shadow Monarch took the world and beyond by storm, sweeping all off their feet. Slaying magic beasts all around you to show off his growing strength and speed. Saving those that are genuinely worth it helped balance the OP aura he gave, winning your heart in his favor. Seeing his former self in you brought out his overprotectiveness, aiding in winning him over in turn. This Ruler rather carry you princess style himself than his shadow generals.

“We've both been at the bottom. But while I've been fortunate to have agency and power to lead a better life, you haven't been so lucky. If you wouldn't mind, I want to look after you. I … I care about you. Very much. I want to be there for you like you have been for me.”

Ryoji, the Appraiser of Nyx herself, could not believe it himself. He was back together with his friends, making new memories with this second chance. And he had you to thank for that. The anomaly that is many worlds meshing together to create this one has you literally radiating at its core, having him hone in on you. You're an angel in his eyes. Hence, serenading on the piano for you, affectionately swaying you over with his wise words about embracing life to the fullest, and wrapping his scarf around you for you both to share. You got Death wrapped around your finger.

“I didn't expect to be in the presence of an angel, yet here you are. Knowing you had a hand in making all this possible, allow me to thank you personally. Beneath this moon, beside this sea, will you share one dance with me?”

Makoto, the savior literally tied to Death itself, willingly gave up his life to save his world from the literal end. In this alternate life, he too had been given another chance to live a long life. And like his close friend, he gets drawn to your presence. But unlike the former, you're the affectionate one. Petting him, sharing headphones in exchange for letting him rest against you, even looking unto his big blue eyes had him blushing and ducking his head in embarrassment. This silent loner boi is not immune to your smitteness.

“You're strange. Putting yourself out there … because you like me? Sorry. I've had admirers before, but I've never wanted to ruin those friendships. So why …? Maybe Ryoji was right. You're like a kindred soul to us … to me. We've all died yet came back. All to meet one another. I've dealt with stranger things … but I don't mind. You, that is. I mean it.”

While they were all different, the similarities when it comes to their bond with you are all there.

Shaking their warm calloused hands, no other kind of handshake could ever hope to top it.

Those marvelous eyes fascinate you.

Their modest encouragement sends your heart ablaze.

The many things they do to make each day easier, comfy, worthwhile.

Their fingers rubbing sensually along your cranium down to your tense neck. Massaging the rest of your stressed sore body followed suit. Of course they'd flex for you as you return the kind act, giving their lean builds love bites and smooches in the process.

Your drained hum of thanks reaches their ears as you use their lap as your pillow. They would do the same if they're too drained to go to bed or they need your presence to cheer them up for whatever reason.

Their hand brushes through your hair strands, pushing them aside to trail along your flushed cheek, causing it to darken further because it's their touch.

Many times you fall asleep against them, whether leaning into their side or using their lap as a pillow, it always ends with them rearranging yourselves to sleep on the couch together with you on top on them or they carry you to bed and keeps you in their arms still as you cuddle amid la la land.

Their laughter, whether deep or light, is a musical score you cherish to hear much more.

Lounging together with you sitting up against his front, your legs in between his own, his arms wrapped around you, he held the console controller in your lap with his hands overlapping yours as you played whatever video games piqued both your interests.

Spotting you squeezing the life out of chibi plush doll versions of themselves always brought out their envy. But it was your comfort whenever you couldn't hug their real life counterparts due to work or any other occupying situations. But you do get the chance to see them again, cuddles and kisses come in tenfold.

Even being able to spend time with them along with their comrades and friends always ends up with you staying glued by their side.

Days turned to weeks and then months, for each passing moment you were interweaving a web of bonds that got you attached to these fine nine beings.

For they share the same voice.

God that voice …

Such versatility and tenor. So sultry, sensual, and sexy all at once. It should be a crime to sound that fine. Of course it will slide. That kind of voice times nine. Like a soul split into nine sublime forms.

Comforting words. Encouragement. Goofy impressions. The puns. Saying your name. Pet Names. Any and every word. You could never get enough.

Then there are the salacious moments.

Them whispering in your ears to utter any and all such things. Dirty, romantic, primal. Whatever suited the mood. Whichever made you both comfortable.

“Does my voice really make you come that much? Interesting~”

That exact sentence would become like a motto – a slogan perhaps – to these guys. Teasing you in that tempo and timbre all to make you melt. Never letting you live it down.

“The ways in which you talk to me~”

Your own tease earned you being pushed up against the wall, your free hand supporting you since your other hand was pinned behind your back. His free hand grasped your chin, tilting your face around all to devour you. Just one of many scenarios that play out between you and your many partners.

Your first time with each of them is equally special, ingrained into your mind and your core.

Whether decent or long, wide or thick, so much variety with every cock that stuffs up your needy pussy.

Smooth and sly or sculpted and rough are such fingers that get to touch you, trace patterns along your sensitive flesh.

To pinch and rub your pearls, leaving love bites on every inch of you to remind one another who you belong to.

Fondling and massaging your frame, suckling on your stretch marks along your fine as fuck dumpy, stuffing their fingers in both your mouths to lather up your essence, licking from your ass crack to your clit.

They all share the intoxicating crave for your addictive taste, devouring your cunt for hours on end, their faces squished between your quivering sweaty thighs, their noses buried in your pubic hair while they're sloppily making out as their dexterous fingers and skillful tongues went to work on having you come so many times.

Missionary, backshots, the mating press, against the wall, on the floor, across tables and couches, even on the roof — when there's a will there's a way.

They love replacing the pearls around your neck …

Titty fucking. Throat fucking. Ejaculating all over your sweaty sheen self. Jacking off through your thighs, your peachy hills, all to tease you so close to edge yet striving to be within you.

Of course, they let you have your way with them in kind. Their egos and hearts soar as you claim them, the bite marks and bruising sucks litter their lean firm vessels to match yours. The tattoos, the scars, those get you showering smooches like mad.

Whether hugging their waist or throwing them over their shoulders, they love to rub and grip your legs enough for fingertips to be left behind as your latch onto them is ironclad.

Weaving hands through each other's haphazard hair while tugging on them hair strands roughly amiss lust, interlocking their hands with yours that need that tether to keep hold onto through the hectic ride of orgasmic paradise.

Massaging your ever tight gummy caverns all to see your expressions of vulnerable passion, falling apart easily while stuffing their cream in you, hitting that sizzling bundle of nerves all to tip you over the edge.

Those feral groans, them unhinged moans, such breathless cries of euphoria with your name reading such a crescendo off their swollen wet mouths as they could never get enough of your vice grip firm enough to leave their fingerprints behind.

Your curling, squirming self crying and breathless as creamy goodness dripped down your valleys, their comforting warm bodies draping over your beautiful self, holding you while the highs of sex would soon calm down.

“Let me fight for you.”

“Laugh with you.”

“Cry with you.”

“Reshape the world for you.”

“Kill for you.”

“Protect you.”

“Rule with you.”

“Live life with you.”

“Love you.”

In this alternate universe, in a world full of vibrant people, with limitless possibilities and potential …

The shape of them — their very existences — ingrained in your type of mate. Partner. Perhaps the shape of their souls are all one in the same. All intense, driven and outrageous.

Maybe because of your preference in your former life. Through their voices all stemming from one. Perhaps your rooted desire for a significant other with that boundless voice created so many options and you finally hit the jackpot.

When the day comes you wake up amongst all nine men strewn about, bare to the bone the same as you, in sheen gleaming ecstasy, soiled sheets and pillows thrown about all over the spacious bedroom, as you smiled all dopey like at those peaceful sleeping dreamboats.

The shape of you might as well be a heart because you too wore it when you're with your favorites.

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qlala · 18 days ago

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i love coldflash because logically both of them would freak out and immediately regret that spontaneous hookup (which they knew was a bad idea at the time, but beforehand it was a bad idea (sexy!), and afterwards it was a bad idea (jesus christ))

but the consequences of that freak out and how much it tanks them depends entirely on which one of them freaks out first

like, if len does, then he’s going to shut down and get flippant and try to leave immediately, which is going to make barry feel stupid and naive and used (the thing he’s sensitive about) and now he’s getting defensive and angry, and the entire situation devolves into barry making snappy accusations and len shutting down even further and walking out with no intention of ever touching that can of worms again

but if barry freaks out first, he starts making excuses and rambling and tripping on his own jeans as he tries to get his clothes back on and head for the exit at the same time, and that completely derails down len’s own pending freak out, because he’s a man with a one-track mind, and barry disheveled and backing toward the door just set off his prey drive

no one is leaving that situation with their pride intact enough to bail out because len is pinning barry up against the wall for round two and barry forgets every reason he shouldn’t let him as soon as he does

this is by far the more catastrophic situation btw because barry getting even a little bit invested increases the chances of len hitting his cut-and-run point in the future and causing option 1 to execute instead. except it also gives barry the leverage to ignore len’s freak out and be like “oh okay you’re a ~villain ~ again, got it. well, i’m gonna take a nap. so text me whenever you’re done with… whatever this is, and want me to blow you again” and len is extremely cranky about it. but he does

#rinse and repeat until they’re functionally living together and both pretending not to notice #coldflash #rotating them in my mind this morning. defensive idiot 4 defensive idiot

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dipperscavern · 7 months ago

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The brain worms have brain wormed once more, my friend. Tonight, they writhe for Cregan Stark. As do I but that's not the point.

I am a firm believer Cregan has a corruption kink. Something about his sweet, blushing bride, and her timidness when it comes time to consummate the wedding just makes him want to howl at the moon. Doesn't matter if you're always shy and submissive after that or if it was just for your first time, he looooves to see you blush and whimper and plead for him to be gentler, that you can't take it, that it's too much.

Maybe after some time together, you throw in some roleplay. The blushing bride and the big bad wolf. Sounds like a shitty porno honestly. You're so sweet and soft and shy, and he just wants to ruin you and make you cry.

God, the things I would do to this man and let him do to me.

-chonky anon.

P.S. I think Robb might also be into corruption but moreso pretending to be the one getting corrupted. Idk, I can feel it in my ovaries. Something about virgin!Robb just speaks to me. And my coochie.

CORRERERRRRRREEUPTION KINK 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

when it comes to cregan & kinks like this, he’s so ashamed that he feels that way. but no where near ashamed enough. he’s so close to feeling guilty about it, but he can’t help himself in the satisfaction he feels knowing he’s ruining you. knowing he’s making you feel so good you’ll never be able to go back to the way you were.

and the trust you put in him drives him crazy. sorry, it drives him up the walls and around the corner. it’s part of that more domestic-vibe he loves, and you (accidentally) feed into it by submitting yourself to him during those few times you were getting a grip on ‘the act’ (or, if you’re the submissive type, then indefinitely. but even if you’re not, he still has the corruption kink) (don’t make me elborate) (or do, this is a democracy). showing that trust when he’s sliding in for the first time (or the second, he takes a while to get used to), mumbling something about how it’s too much. how you can’t take it, and he just presses a kiss to anywhere he can reach n reassures “You can.” (because you can. you aren’t pulling away, you’re just unsure. cregan knows what you need)

AND ROBB BEING ON THE RECEIVING END OF IT.

you being the one to take robb’s virginity, and now you both are certified fuck buddies. you’re so good and so gorgeous it’s all he can think about. spotting you around the castle, in the most innocent of settings, even, and his mind is plagued by thoughts most unbecoming of a prince. and he loves it.

#dippys asks #chonky anon #house of the dragon #game of thrones #cregan stark #robb stark #cregan stark x reader #robb stark x reader #and jon has a corruption kink too wait who said that #arguably more than cregan AND robb #robb !

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shadow211e · 3 months ago

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Gina went into her stepmom’s room to find out what was really going on. Her stepmom had taken over the house over the last few years and her dad was just acting more and more clueless to it. Anything she wanted she got. He even moved into the spare room so she could have her “beauty” sleep but there has been more than a few times she swore she could here her getting fucked in there, while her dad was in the other room snoring away.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even the new larger closet didn’t seem to hold any secrets. Maybe she was over reacting maybe she was just imagining it all. She turned to close the walk in closet’s door and noticed a small panel out of place. It was flush with the wall and she touched it and it sprang open. Revealing a glass and a bottle. She looked around curious why a glass would be in there. The bottle looked sealed so that too wasn’t anything weird.

Then she noticed the glass, it wasn’t empty anymore, but filled with something, she reached in and touched the glass, feeling a shock she gasped but her fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. She brought it to her nose, wanting to smell the liquid. It smelled really good, she should have broken the glass, tossed it and run, but she brought it to her lips.

A moan escaped her lips, her nails were already starting to extend out on her fingers, she felt the need for getting dressed in something sexy and stylish, the jeans and tshirt she was wearing was sickening to her now. She pulled another long sip from the glass, the glass not being noticed never emptied as she drank. Her morals were starting to disappear as a bitchy superior attitude was forming. Her stepmom was so right to act how she did. Her father was a pathetic worm.

After an hour she strolled downstairs, her transformation almost complete. She could escape it, she could fight it. But there was a ring of the front door. Gina looked through the small window and saw a neighbor was there. One of the men who came over frequently to visit her stepmom.

She looked at her phone as it buzzed, it was her, messaging her. “Watched you on my hidden camera, glad you are finally joining me, you can run if you want, this will be the last chance to, go past him and just drive away and by tomorrow you will be normal again, but if you invite him in, he will fuck you, make you like me. Your call.”

She looked at the door, it was still closed, she had a chance. She put the phone down, picked up the glass and the bottle, opening the door, a wicked smile “Coming in?” She purred

#f2f corruption #f2f transformation #bitchification #personality change #magic

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ihavethedreamiesx · 1 year ago

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Heat | Wonwoo [NSFW]

Jeon Wonwoo - Seventeen

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~8.5k

Pairing: Wonwoo x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Acquaintances-to-Lovers, This One Actually Has Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Minor Background Character Gets Shot (Wow! Plot), Pet Names (Pretty, Pretty Girl, Princess, etc.), Daddy Kink (oops), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Wall Sex, Marking/Biting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!)

Author's Note: This one has way more actual story than Hoshi's and Woozi's. Wonwoo tends to need time to warm up to people, so I didn't feel like I should do a quick one-night stand deal with him. So, I wrote in some story so he and the reader weren't total strangers.

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Woozi's <-

-> S.Coup's <-

-> Mingyu's <-

Revised (1/30/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"You have GOT to be kidding me…" You grumble, huffing a few harsh breaths, and trying again. There’s something stuck under the sand, and you really want to see if it’s worth anything. However, every time you get close to brushing enough sand from the surface to see the logo, a gust of wind covers it back up again. Adjusting your head covering over your mouth again so won’t sand in your mouth, you also brush off your goggles of the fine particles sticking to it. You’re starting to work up a sweat, the blowing dust and sand mixes with the perspiration and coats you in a horribly scratchy paste. Whatever is under the sand is big, and that’s what you’re looking for. However, you really need to determine the make and model of the crashed ship to determine if it’s worth reporting for salvage.

"Finally!" You groan, getting the metal brushed clean. You quickly snap a photo with your holo-tracker, the blue paint still relatively solid, enough to identify. The device spins, trying to connect to the extranet and you click your tongue as it takes for seemingly forever.

"What?!" You swear multiple times when the device flashes, 'no results found’. Maybe you can show it to someone at the Assembly office that’ll know something. You already have a few pictures and coordinates of a few smaller wrecks you can report, but they probably won’t grant very many credits. This thing is huge though, so at least the scrap metal will be worth something. Another blast of wind nearly knocks you over as you stand back up, trying to climb out of the small crater to get back to your rover. The crappy thing about wrecks on Sierra-Vector-Tango, since the entire planet is a desert, is that they’re quickly covered by sand; even if they create massive craters when they fall to the surface. However, that means more money for finding salvage than some other planets. Bad thing? Sand worms. Their saliva gets into the particles and can make it acidic, which makes digging through the sand more dangerous. This, once again, causes the number of credits to be higher.

"Let’s go back for now." You jerk back with your entire body weight as you pull the handle for the door of your rover. It finally opens and you huff, throwing the end of your head scarf aggressively to wrap it around your neck better. Crawling up and into your rover, you rest back in the seat, trying to catch your breath. Pressing the button to start the vehicle it roars to life and the air conditioning flares to life and you just sit in the cooling air for a few minutes.

"Water!" You gasp dramatically, grabbing your canteen from the passenger seat, and drinking so aggressively the liquid spills out of your mouth some.

"For fuck's sake…" You groan hard, the water mixing with the layer of sand on your skin, thickening it.

"I need a real shower, with water." Shifting the gear of the rover, you start to drive back to the main road so you can start heading to the nearest Assembly office. It’ll be about an hour to Drent, and a little under two for Jaron, but you really don’t like going to Drent. Not only does it have the name of some dude-bro fuck boy, but it’s also full of them too. Drent has one of the biggest…adult establishments in that quadrant. Not only do they have sexy blue alien ladies dancing on tables, but it also allows you to sleep with them. Last time you went you nearly got mugged, and the guy just wanted your underwear. No thank you. Jaron is farther away, but a much nicer place and has a very old-style diner reminiscent of Terra from the 1950s. It’s cool to go somewhere that’s reminiscent of a time over two-hundred years in the past. Plus, they have a hotel with real water showers instead of the air-blasting kind that’s more common. It’ll be more expensive, but worth it.

"This time I wanna rock with you~" You sang along to the song playing over the speakers, drumming your hands on the steering wheel of your rover as you get back to the main road. Turning right to go north toward Jaron, you set the autopilot on and plug in the town, sitting back to watch the view as your rover drives itself. When you can start to see the sign for the town, you shut the auto-drive off and take control again. Large vehicles like yours aren’t allowed in the city proper, so when you reach the entry checkpoint, you pull off to the side and get out. The sun is setting, nearly below the horizon, stars starting to twinkle in the night sky. Getting out of the rover, you slam the door as hard as you can to get it to shut and go around to the back. Grabbing your big pack and smaller bag, you also have a make-shift safe that you keep smaller salvage pieces in. You let it fall to the sandy ground with a thud and jump back out. Keying in the code on the side, the rover beeps as it locks, and you head to the entry booth.

"How old is your rover?" The kid at the booth is at the most eighteen, and his condescending tone is completely unnecessary.

"Doesn't matter." You try not to sneer, slapping your credit chit on the counter and he slots it into the console. He really has no room to talk, his setup is just as old if not more so than you rover. Sliding the chit back out, he grab a small holo-disc and lets the machine stamp it with the time and date.

"Thank you." You emphasize with fake kindness, and he rolls his eyes as he lets you into the town. You let the parking disc fall into your bag along with your credit chit and start to head down the road. Your 'safe' is basically a suitcase that you made more secure and added a few locks to, so you can roll it behind you. The wheels thunk over the creases of the pavement and you wonder why the town is so dead. At that time, most people would be milling about after supper and going to bars and such. As you pass a store, you see a sign blinking on the glass advertising some kind of political rally, must be where everyone is at. At least the hotel is still being manned, though you aren’t sure the old man behind the counter is even still alive.

"Hello, dearie." He smiles up at you, wrinkles so prominent his eyes nearly disappear.

"Hello, sir. Can I get a single room for…" You think, sucking air through the side of your mouth in thought, "how much is four nights?"

"At 250 credits a night, that’ll be about a thousand…If you stay one more night, I will keep it that price?"

"Sweet! Thanks!" You smile back, digging through your bag to look for the chit once again. It’s a bit pricier than you normally like, but it’s worth it to get a shower with water.

"A single bed, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think we only have two-bed rooms…this one is two singles, does that work?"

"Sure!"

"Water shower?"

"Please~" You groan, and he chuckles.

"It’s quite slow today for the rally, so I do not think any restaurants are delivering…" The old man works faster than you thought he would and when he slides the chit back to you, he includes the room key. It looks like a glass playing card and has the room 24H-13 on it.

"It’ll be the second floor, take a right to the fourth hall, then its room thirteen." The old man smiles, and you thank him, heading for the elevator, the wheels whirling on the tile floor. Once you get to the room and inside, you put everything in the room hastily before dashing into the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you shed the extremely sandy clothes, and you notice what looks like an old-style clothes dryer in the corner. It only has two settings, one of which is covered with a piece of tape and the handwritten words, ‘FOR SAND,' on it.

"Perfect." You shrug and shove all of your clothes in the drum, shutting the door, and letting it spin and get rid of the dust and grit.

"Oh~" You hum in delight when you see the water heating panel on the wall. You plug in the best temperature and the water immediately comes out perfect. Standing under the spray, you stand for nearly ten minutes just letting the water flow over your tired body. Glancing up at the shower head, you click your tongue in annoyance, it’s fixed on the wall without a hose…

"Need to find a guy…" you grumble and then proceed to actually wash up. The soaps and cleansers all smell of Terra fruits and you wonder what they might taste like. Getting out of the shower nearly an hour later, you wrap a towel around yourself and your hair, heading back to the main room of the hotel. Flopping onto the bed, your stomach rumbles loudly, and you sigh dramatically. No delivery…The only place that’s probably open is the diner and luckily it’s right next door to the Assembly office in the strip mall. It’s always open since the employees of the Assembly will eat there most of the time, but they never deliver anyway. When your skin finally no longer feels wet or sticky, you put on your set of spare clothes and grab your smaller bag.

"Sandy." you mumble, going back to the bathroom, taking your now sand-free clothes out. Taking everything out of your bag and setting it on top of the machine, you put your bag in to get the sand off and while you wait, putting your boots back on. As it continues, you brush your hair out and braid it again. Looking at your face, you have a slight tan line from your goggles, but it’s nearly unnoticeable thanks to your head scarf covering most of the rest of your face. The machine dings and you retrieve the satchel, putting everything back and making sure you have your chit and keycard, you leave the hotel room to go get dinner. Waving to the old man at the desk, you dash out to the street and jog down the sidewalk. The rally is still going, you can hear the shouting and cheers in the distance. Must be a more local election or campaign because you don’t recognize the politician on the flyer. Most of the store fronts are closed, even as you turn the corner to get to the main street. In the distance, you see the light pouring out of the windows of the Assembly office and the diner, shining like a beacon among the darkened stores surrounding it. Like a good child, you look both ways before you cross the road, despite there not being anything or anyone nearby. The doors slide open when you approach the office and the guy behind the counter looks up lazily from where he’s counting something at the desk.

"Can I help you?" He sounds very tired. You dig in your bag once again and pull out your credit chit as well as your ID so he can see you’re a legit scavenger, but also a freelancer. Freelancers actually tend to gets more money than their own employees because they don’t have to pay benefits and all that other stuff.

"I'll let the Salvage Officer know you're here." The guy hands you your stuff back and you go to sit in the empty waiting area. Tapping your toe on the floor, you look into the entrance of the diner through the windows and door inside the office. There’s only one or two customers inside and just one waitress. There’s a guy sitting in the back corner, thin glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read. A paper book? Who has physical books anymore?

"(Y/N)." Your name is called by a familiar voice, and you smile at the owner.

"Junmyeon!" He motions with his head, and you follow him into his personal office.

"Didn’t know you’re working here now." You sit in front of his desk, and he chuckles, relaxing back into his office chair.

"I just transferred. What have you found?" He takes the holo-tracker from you when you hand it over and plugs it into his console.

"Most of them are small…" You dimple the corner of your mouth, looking at the monitor the best you can from your angle. He shifts the screen so you can see better, and you point to different marks and give more details.

"What one is this?" He’s looking at the blue logo and you shrug.

"I have no idea; it’s huge though. Looks like a Meteor-class size ship, maybe bigger. It’s totally covered and left a huge crater." You emphasize with hand motions, and he pans the picture out to get the measurements before he taps the logo so the computer can analyze it. As it spins you dig through your bag, looking to see if you have lip balm or something. You don’t notice your business friend simply watching you, more like staring. His eyes flash to your lips as you paint the balm on your lips with your ring finger. When the console dings, it brings both of your attention back to the machine.

"Oh, wow." He leans in to read the information.

"I need to make some calls, can you come back in a few hours?" He looks at you and you nod, standing.

"I can grab something to eat in the meantime!" You wave goodbye and don’t even notice when he tries to calls after you. Heading back to the front of the office, you go to the door leading to the diner and the door slides open with a ding.

"Just you, girlie?" The older waitress calls from behind the counter, and you nod, going to sit at said counter.

"What can I get for you?" she asks, sassily chewing her gum. You look over the menu and make your choice, pulling out your holo-tracker to play a game as you wait for your food. You glance over to the back corner over your shoulder, looking at the guy reading.

"Who is that?" you ask the waitress when she comes back with your drink.

"He's been hanging around here for a few days. I'm not sure what he's doing, but I know he's waiting for something. The secretary in the office might know." She nods back to where you had been, and you tell her you’ll be right back. Leaving your bag on your stool to save your spot, you jog back into the office and the guy at the desk casts you a tired glance.

"Who is that guy?" You point toward the back corner, leaning your elbows on the ledge of the front desk.

"He's a bounty hunter of some sort I believe. He’s looking for someone for some reason, and is waiting there for leads. He's offering money for any information." He shrugs and you nod in acknowledgement and head back to the eatery. Your food is ready by the time you get back, and the waitress chuckles at how fast you shovel it in. When you’re done, you hand her your chit and meander on over to the guy.

"I heard you're looking for someone?" You start casually and he looks up at you over his glasses and your eyes widen. He’s freaking gorgeous. His left eye is highlighted red, it seems he has some kind of hologram-like contact in it or something. His black hair is styled half up, his bangs resting over his brow. He’s got a few ear piercings, his left nostril has a simple loop ring, and a matching one in the middle of his bottom lip. A chain hangs around his neck with a pendant on the end that’s some kind of upside-down triangle design. He simply hums in response and puts a slip of paper in his book and shuts it, taking his glasses off. You sit on the end of the booth, a big gap between the two of you since he’s sitting in the corner of the circular seat. He slides his holo-tracker across the table showing you a blurry image from some kind of security feed. It’s a person, that’s about all you can tell, and they have a hood up over their head and only the bottom part of their face is visible.

"This it?" You look back at him, and he’s sitting there stiffly, just looking at you. He’s really hot, actually. He has a tan, old-style button up on with the top few buttons undone. His pants are a brown leather of some kind, and he’s got a belt on with an attached thigh-holster that holds a pistol blaster.

"They stole some schematics. I need them back more than to find the person." He taps the screen as he looks at it upside down and it shows a second image. The person has a cylinder with a strap hang over their back.

"It’s a set of old maps, they were stolen from the archives at the museum in the Capital." he explains, and you slide your finger over the full image, zooming out to see the area.

"You a bounty hunter?" You slide the holo-tracker back to him and he puts it back in his pocket.

"Not really. I'm a Ranger."

"You're a Ranger!?" You perk up and he seems taken aback by your sudden excitement. Rangers are a small and elite group, they’re essentially vigilantes, freelancers. They tend to do more things like rescues or arrests, or other odd jobs. They have a pretty strict rule of not killing.

"So, you want the maps but don't need the thief?"

"Yes. It would be nice to get both, though."

"Hm. I'll ask around and see, I travel quite a bit-"

"Scavenger?"

"Y-yeah." You chuckle nervously under his intense gaze.

"Be careful out there, if you get a lead, message me." He gets his tracker back out and you scanned his with yours to save his ID.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Wonwoo…"

"(Y/N)." You smile and get up from the booth, going to retrieve your chit.

"I'll let you know!" You grin and wave goodbye, heading back in. Your timing is perfect because Junmyeon is finished and he tells you the first wrecks aren’t worth a whole lot, but the last one is.

"Two million credits?!" You balk at the number.

"Yeah. Seems it was some kind of cargo vessel, and they think it might still have all of the packages on it still. You can get even more depending on what's inside." He smiles at your gawk, and you finally shut your mouth.

"Woah..."

"I can get you the two million now-"

"Really!?"

"Yes." He chuckles and you dig your chit back out and he slides it into the console so he can transfer the credits.

"Shit…" you whisper, your hand shaking a bit as you take the chit back.

"Are…you staying in a hotel tonight?" Junmyeon asks as you scroll on your holo-tracker, admiring the giant number registered in your account.

"Yeah! I might upgrade my room~" You giggle, and he takes a breath, trying to psych himself up, but no words come out before you stand to leave.

"Thanks, Myeon! I'll make sure to come here when I can, kay?" You wave goodbye and he sighs as you dash out of his office. As you leave to head back to your hotel, you see that Wonwoo has left his booth, and you wonder why. Getting outside, you realize the rally has gotten out, floods of people now walking the streets, a big crowd heading toward the diner.

"Ew." You sneer at the globs of people and dash back to the hotel. When you get in the lobby, you skip up to the front counter, ready to ding the bell and call the nice old man out for assistance.

"Oh?" Someone is sitting in the lobby, a book in his hand.

"Run away from all the people?" You speak a bit louder so he can hear you and he glances up over his glasses again. His face isn’t quite as cold as before, but he isn’t smiling either.

"Yes." His tone is also lighter.

"There's about to be a bunch more. The campaign team is staying here and will be back soon." The old man comes out of the office, and you sneer as he laughs.

"Are you staying here too?" you ask Wonwoo who puts his book away and takes his glasses off.

"I hadn't checked in yet."

"We don’t have any more rooms available, sir. We just had an influx of online reservations since the rally got out so late…" The old man sighs, and you hum.

"I have a second single bed in my room…?" You suggest not meeting his eye as he comes to stand by you. He has a small duffle over his shoulder. His eyes finally meet yours, and he seems a little nervous, but you can only see it in his eyes, past that red glowing contact.

"Is that alright with you?"

"Yes? I wouldn’t have offered otherwise…" You huff and the old man hums.

"Here, I will get you a key as well." You both wait and when Wonwoo receives the clear keycard, you both scurry to elevator, people starting to enter the lobby. Neither of you say anything till you shut the door to the hotel room.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you ask him, he’s even stiffer than before.

"Y-yes." He clears his throat, and he goes further into the room, taking the bed near the window since your stuff is on the other one. He tells you he’s going to shower, and you nod as he dashes past you. Sighing, you shake away some very impure thoughts, and go to your safe, rolling it over to the bench under the clothing rack and hauling it up onto it with a grunt. It takes two physical keys as well as two padlocks and a dial lock. You click each one open and then you’re able to open it. The air seal 'shunks' as you open it, and you carefully rest the lid on the wall so it won’t scratch it. Looking over your objects, you have some small crystal-like artifacts that you’re worried just fakes from some kind of gift shop. You also have some intact parts for ship consoles and even jewelry. There had been just a random case you found washed up on the shore of an oasis once that had gold and silver necklaces and rings inside. It’s never reported missing, so you just kept them. Other bits and pieces are inside as well, and your mind goes back to the image Wonwoo had shown you. The hood was what caught your eye. The person was experienced, knowing how to hide their face from all angles, so they’re probably an experienced thief. Who would want ancient maps though? Especially from Terra.

"What is all that?" His deep voice startles you; you hadn’t even heard the bathroom door open. Glancing up, you swallow hard at the sight. He’s put most of his clothes back on, but his shirt is still unbuttoned, allowing you to see his toned torso. He’s flops a towel onto his head to dry his hair and puts his glasses back on. Trying to ignore how freaking sexy he is, you clear your throat and start to point things out. When you get to the crystals, you let him pick up the one that’s shaped like a pyramid.

"I don’t know if they’re worth anything, they might be fakes.”

"Have you shone light through them?" he asks, and you hadn't even thought of it.

"No?" He hands it back and you dig through your bag and find your flashlight, holding it to the crystal.

"Woah!" You gasp as a map of the stars shines on the ceiling as the light passes through the crystal.

"Is it worth anything?" you ask him. It’s cool but could still theoretically be from a gift shop.

"The fakes have a button to turn on the light, that's the real deal. Where did you find them?" He’s buttoning his shirt up, unfortunately, picking up the three other crystals and coming to sit on his bed across from you. There’s a sphere, one that looks like a big diamond and an obelisk. You hand him the flashlight and he shines it through the other ones. The sphere shows a projection of a globe, but it isn’t S.V.T or even Terra.

"Mars." he mutters, and you look closer, recognizing the small dots over the surface as the towers that hold the barrier around the planet. The diamond one lights up a bright aqua blue, but that seems to be all it does. The obelisk projects the time and date, but it seems to be from Mars as well.

"I found them in some cave. How the did does they get all the way out here?"

"Were these the only things in the cave?"

"Yeah…So even though they’re legit, are they worth anything?

"Hm. Maybe to a collector. I can take them to the museum when I go back-" he halts, "If you're okay with it, I'll pay you back." If he wasn’t a Ranger, you’d be more hesitant to allow it, because he could just pocket the money. You don’t think he would though, not with the reputation of his group at stake otherwise.

"Sure." You shrug and he takes them and puts them in his own pack, and you go back to your safe and lock it up.

"Thank you for letting me stay here." He calls suddenly as you try to figure out how the holo-screen works and what channels there are.

"Sure. I'm not a fan of big groups of people either and this is the best hotel in town." You smile at him, going to hand him the remote.

"Oh, no, you can choose. I'll just read." You nod and don’t press to continue the conversation. While it’s quiet between you two, it’s companionable and before you know it, you have drifted off the sleep, listening to some show and the flipping of his book pages. When you awake, he’s gone, but it’s like ten in the morning, and there’s an unread message on your holo-tracker.

Sorry I left without saying goodbye. Thank you for letting me stay in your room for the night. I am heading back to the capital for now and will get your crystal projectors estimated. Please let me know if you get any leads on the map thief. - Wonwoo

You sigh, a little disappointed he just left, but he seems quite shy and closed off. Whatever. For the rest of the day and the next few you laze about and do some fun things to spoil yourself after your big payout, enjoying your little vacation. Over the week afterwards you’re having trouble finding anything significant and have stopped at a small tavern set up near a small oasis. You sit at the bar, laying on it dramatically. The bartender has moved the fan closer to you so it could blow straight on you as you lazily sip from the straw in your fruity drink. You glance casually at the entrance when another person enters, and you zero in on their face. They have a hood on, but that doesn’t mean it’s for sure the person Wonwoo had been looking for. After he got the money from the crystals, more than you thought but not a huge amount, he’s sent you more information. It was a woman, presumably, and she’s pretty tall and even always wears heeled boots. Your gaze shifts to their feet but can’t see for sure and you can’t even tell it’s a woman. You and Wonwoo have actually been messaging some even past leads on the thief. You don’t have many friends and while he has the other rangers, he says it’s nice to talk to someone new. As you sit at the bar, you watch her, pretending you aren’t. You casually take out your holo-tracker and take a picture of the person as discreetly as you can, then head out. You continue to wait and watch in your rover, ready to take a picture of their vehicle when they leave. You think you know which one it is, but don’t know for sure, so you wait till they come back out. They get in the one you’d been eyeing, and so once they head off, you send the two pictures and a few more details to Wonwoo. He thanks you for the update, then asks where you are. He then tells you to meet him in the next town of Falko, and since you’re headed there anyway…

The town is much smaller than Jaron, so there’s only one small motel, so it’s easy to find where he is and get to his room. He’s on the first floor in room three. You knock and barely wait before he opens it. He’s…smiling. You didn’t know he could do that. You forgot how gorgeous he is.

"T-thanks." You smile bashfully and follow him inside. It seems he’s been there awhile based on everything spread out across the room. There are a few consoles set up as well as tablets and other tech.

"What's going on in here?" You motion around the room.

"While I'm looking for the map thief, I'm also trying to get the Ranger's new communication array set up. I'm making the program myself so it can't be hacked by outside sources." Wonwoo shrugs, moving various tablets from one of the beds so you can sit down. He sits at the small desk and turns to face you. He asks a few questions about the person you saw, and you give him more details from the pictures. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but if it is them, then he now has their vehicle information. Before you can talk past leads on the thief, his holo-tracker goes off and he read the message. He sighs.

"What's wrong?"

"My partner is coming back. It might be better if you leave." He stands to lead you out and you grimace.

"I-It's not…I just don’t want him to meet you…" He mumbles and you want to press the issue. His cheeks are slightly red, and he flashes another genuine smile as you leave the motel room.

"I'll let you know if the lead pans out." You nod and before you can turn and leave, he’s holds something out for you.

"What's this?" You take the little holo-card.

"Um…it's my address. If you are ever in Ratalla…I won’t be back home for a few more days, but I should be working from there after…" Wonwoo rubs his hands on his pants, then shoves his hands in his pockets when you notice.

"Thanks." You give him your own smile, then leave giddily.

~θωθ~

Nearly another month passes before you see him in person again, but you’ve messaged back and forth quite a lot. There was once you were near his hometown, but he wasn’t there, so you missed the chance of seeing him again.

You’re currently meeting with a repair man in a city called Guro; your rover hasn’t been driving straight. It seems he’ll need it for a few days to even determine the issue, let alone what to do after. At least you’re in a place with lots of activities. You had actually gotten another half a million credits from the giant wreck you found and had more funds than you know what to do with. As you leave the shop, looking up on the extranet for the nicest hotel, someone catches your eye. Despite the heat of the desert and the midday sun, there’s someone slinking around with a hood on. You watch them, eyes glancing at their feet. Heeled boots. It’s also a woman, and her height matches the parameters. There’s even a cylinder vessel hanging over her shoulder. It’s her. The area has mostly warehouses, and she might be meeting a buyer, so you decide to follow her. You send Wonwoo a message with your coordinates to see if he can send someone by as well, or better yet, call some Guards. You trot behind her, trying to stay out of sight and remain quiet. Hiding quickly around the corner, you watch her go into an unmarked warehouse after looking around for followers. Not well enough. The thief goes in through a large open garage door, so it makes it easy for you to follow. Crouching against the wall right near the edge of the door you peer around the corner and see she’s alone, probably waiting for someone. She glances at her holo-tracker, then goes further in, toward the garage door on the opposite side that opens to a scrap yard. Looking for another hiding place, you dash forward and hide behind a column. When you peer around though, she’s gone.

"Why are you following me?" A voice calls from behind you, and you spin to see the thief, holding a pistol blaster aimed at you. Your heart falls and sweat breaks out on your brow. Those maps must be really valuable if this person is willing to shoot you to prevent the interruption of the hand-off.

"I-I was just trying to figure out who-" The woman pulls back the hammer on the weapon and your stomach drops.

"Shit!" You scramble up and try to at least get around the column when you see her finger going to the trigger.

"Fuck!" You slam your back against the column, seeing a smoking scorch mark on the ground.

"(Y/N)!" a familiar voice shouts, and you’re shocked by Wonwoo's presence, distracting you.

"Stupid bitch!" The thief is back behind you, and you spin to see the gun nearly at your head. You yelp when something yanks you back and you fall into a hard body. Leaning into him, you watch in terror as the woman falls back onto the ground, a hole in her head. Then you notice not only are you breathing hard, but so is he. He spins you around to look over you, his hands on your shoulders, one going to your jaw to adjust your head so he can look you over.

"Are you okay?" He’s nearly frantic, his face and tone full of panic.

"Y-yes." You aren’t sure if you should be more surprised by his sudden appearance or the clear worry he has for you. It makes your heart thud but for a much different reason. When he’s finishes looking over you and determines himself you are okay, Wonwoo pulls you into a hug. You return the embrace, more trying to comfort him than anything.

"Fuck, I was worried..." He sighs right in your ear, his deep voice rumbling through you.

"You were?" He pulls back enough so he can meet your eye and huffs.

"Of course. You didn’t reply when I messaged you to stay away…" His hand goes back to your jaw, his thumb brushing over the skin of your cheek, which is rapidly getting warm and red. When you meet his eyes again yours widen, he gets close again and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Are you okay?" You chuckle a bit, kind of worried. He’s never shown this level of emotion before.

"Yeah." Wonwoo pulls way, petting your hair then goes to the body of the woman. You try to avoid looking at her as he takes the map holder from her and soon the Guards show up. It’s another good hour or maybe two before you both are finally allowed to leave after giving statements and answering questions.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" he asks you as you leave the warehouse district.

"Not yet. I was just about to find a hotel when I saw her…" You drift off, pointing with your thumb in the general direction of where you just were.

"I got a crap ton of money from a wreck I found so I’m going to go somewhere fancy." You smile wide and he gives you a smaller one. Wonwoo takes a step closer, looking a bit nervous, his voice has a slight waver when he speaks.

"Wanna get a room together?"

~υ3υ~

From everything after he asked that question, till your back hit the door of your hotel room, was a blur. You got one of the deluxe suites of the nice hotel, so the bedroom is separate from the living area, and there’s a small kitchen even. As soon as the door closes, he presses you against it, his lips swallowing yours. His big hand goes to the back of your head, making sure it doesn’t hit the wood of the door. When your lungs start to burn for more air, he finally pulls his mouth from yours. As you catch your breath, just looking at each other, Wonwoo leans in to whisper in your ear, "I'm going to fuck you on every surface in this place." He promises. Your head swims at the statement and you whine.

"Please~" As soon as he gets permission, he grabs and turns you around, your front pressed to the door and his nose nuzzles behind your ear. You let him do as he wishes, running his hands under your thin top, starting to suck on the skin in the crook of your neck. You’re a bit worried about him having to stoop over so far since he’s so much taller, but if he isn’t complaining, neither will you. You can tell he’s marking your skin as he licks, sucks, and nibbles over your neck and shoulders. His hands quickly get your shirt off and as his hands dance over the skin of your stomach, you toed your boots off, shoving them to the side. Before he completely removes it, Wonwoo slips his hands under your breast band, palming the flesh, making you shiver. Undoing the latch, he takes the wrap off and it falls to the floor as well. Not turning around to see for sure, you hear more fabric rustling and assumes he’s removing his own top. You sigh when his arms wrap around you, holding your back to his bare chest, the right hand cupping your left breast, and his other hand skating over your stomach. He smiles at the whining moan you let out when his hand finally goes into your pants, long fingers stroking the wet patch on your panties.

"So wet, pretty girl." He kisses behind your ear, fingers tweaking your nipple.

"Wonwoo~" You whimper when his bare fingers finally meet your folds, and he groans.

"Let's see how tight you are." Every time he rumbles words in your ear, it makes your entire body shiver. Sighing when his finger slides inside, he huffs, his hips twitching as your gummy walls suck his finger in. You can feel his hardening cock through his pants, pressing into your back side. When Wonwoo adds a second finger, crooking them up and pressing hard into your back wall, your legs buckle, and the only reason you don’t fall is his arms around you.

"Need to get your pussy ready for me, pretty." He smiles against your neck when your groan fades into a whine.

"Fuck~" You practically cried as his palm dig into your clit and you’re already close.

"No!" You gasp when his fingers left right as you’re getting to the edge.

"Wonwoo?" He’s pulls away entirely, you only knows he’s still behind you because his hands are on the waist band of your pants. He pulls them along with your underwear down and kneels behind you, helping you get them off without falling over.

"Hold on, pretty girl." While you aren’t sure what he’s about to do, your fingers dig futilely into the wood of the door. Your breath escapes you when he, without real warning, shoves his tongue into your cunt, his thumb flicking your clit. Your legs immediately begin to shake, a mewl escaping with each rapid breath. You’re done for when his lips seal around your clit, barely flicking with his tongue, and your nails dig into the wood as you cum on his tongue. He chuckles, your cunt dripping release onto the floor.

"Gonna have to clean this place good…" You joke, breathless and he laughs harder. Wonwoo hums, standing back up. There’s more shuffling as you rest against the door panting. You sigh when his arms come back to you, pulling you back into his now completely naked body. His cock is wedged in the crook of your ass, and you swear under your breath, why is he so freaking big? He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, and apparently has to have a fat cock as well.

"Fuck!" You groan when the head of his cock goes to the entrance of your core. One of his arms wrap around your ribs, the hand resting under your breast, and the other is at your hip.

"Ready?" His tone shifts, it’s playful and cocky, a slight laugh accompanies the word.

"Please!" You gasp as he starts to push in, your legs shake as his dick stretches you open. You hadn't been fucked in a long time, and longer still fucked good. You pant out little whines as he keeps filling you, and it seems like he’s going to end up in your throat. Your entire body is trembling when he finally bottoms out, his strong hips pressing against your ass.

"God, your cunt feels so good, princess." His groan rumbles through both of you. You can’t see, but his head is thrown back, adam's apple bobbing as he tries to get used to how tight you are. When he realizes you’re on your tip toes trying to compensate for the height difference, he shifts to ease the strain. He backs up so you can lean forward more, and he angles his hips down. Your feet are no longer burning, and his new angle seems to get him even deeper somehow. Your cunt is burning too, trying to accommodate his size, slick walls fluttering from the stimulation. He still barely moves, letting you adjust, but you’re growing close again.

"Move…" Your request is very quiet. You’re trying not to moan likes a bitch in heat even though that’s exactly how you feel.

"Slow? Fast?"

"Fuck- Wonwoo, just-" He pulls out about halfway and thrusts back in, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. You both moan, his hands leave their original positions to grip the flesh of your ass, and he chuckles when you nearly sob as he starts. Only pulling out part of the way, he’ll fuck back into you hard, grinding his pubic bone into you each time.

"Fucking hell, Wonwoo~" You end up back on your toes just from the pleasure and you hope they won’t fine you too bad for the scratches your nails are carving into the wood. All your breath gets fucked out of you when he finally gives a full thrust, your orgasm slamming into you.

"Shit-" Wonwoo grunts when your already tight cunt squeezes him even more, he has to slow down just to keep himself from cumming as well. He smirks, watching your fingers twitch as you claw the door, your head flopping forward between your shoulders.

"No, no, no!" You babble as he pulls out all the way, huffing in amusement at your whining.

"Come here, pretty." Wonwoo easily lifts you, somewhere between like a sack of potatoes and a princess. Your head is still swimming from your orgasm, so the move to the next location is a bit blurry. You shiver and mewl when he sets you on the counter in the mini kitchen of the suite, the marble very cold on your bare thighs and pussy. He laughs at your yelp when he pulls you so your butt is right at the end of the counter, and doesn’t hesitate to bury himself back into you. The thrust is harsher and faster than the first and your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself as he restarts the brutal rhythm that he’d fucked you against the door with. The man groans when your nails dig into his skin instead of the wood, so he decides to mark you himself.

"Wonwoo~" Your voice wavers, eyes starting to tear up at the feeling of him fucking your brains out. His mouth goes to your own shoulder, at the base of your neck. He starts with open mouth kisses, then sucks the skin before lightly sinking his teeth in. He can feel your whimper against your throat, and you feel his responding hum from his lips. Wonwoo tightens his grip as well, wanting to leave bruises shaped likes his hands on your skin. He’s struggling to hold you upright enough, so you don’t bang your head against the counter, and his knees keep knocking into the cabinet.

"Hold on…" He grunts, and you squeak when, without withdrawing, he picks you up, holding your legs around his waist. Not going far, one hand holds your butt and the other goes to hitch your leg over his elbow as he pins you to the wall. Luckily the paint on the wall isn’t textured, your back rubbing over the surface as you bounce on his cock. Wonwoo looks even more gorgeous than normal like this, naked, sweat covering his brow, pupils blown wide. The red, dancing hologram of his eye contact contracts and spins, and you wonder what it does, if anything. With hazy thoughts, you glance down at his body, whining at the sight of his abs, clenched to work his hips and hold you up.

"Fuck, pretty girl-" He exhales harshly, his thrusts getting less regular as he grows closer to his orgasm.

"Inside, please, fuck!" You plead and he has no desire to argue. His forehead lands on your shoulder, and he moans higher than you thought he could go as he pumps his cum into you. In the silence, cutting through both of your panting breaths, your combined release drips onto the tile floor. Your head is so empty you nearly don’t realize you’ve cum again as well. You try hard not to slump like a rag doll since he’s completely holding you up, but you nearly have no strength.

"Let's get to the bed." Wonwoo stands up straight, staying inside, his cock still rock-hard and he carries you to the separate bedroom of the suite. While he means to set you down on the bed gently, you flop onto it, letting yourself finally go boneless, your muscles and mind are mush. You aren’t sure if you can go any longer, but despite a bit of sweat on him, he’s unaffected.

"I've been waiting to fuck you since you came to my motel room in Falko." He admits, shifting you higher on the bed, following suit, his hard cock covered in both of yours cum resting between the folds of your cunt. You barely registered the confession before your back arches, his cock finding its home inside of you again. It’s hard to fully catch your breath, he’s battering his cock into your dripping cunt without any mercy. As he rolls his hips just right to hit every single good spot inside of you, his hands grip your thighs, maneuvering your weakly shaking thighs so they press to your chest, knees at your ears.

"D-daddy, go slower!" You cry out and his hips immediately stops. You’re too far gone to feel anything but a bit of respite, head flopping so your cheek rests on the pillow.

"Fucking hell, princess." Somehow his voice has gotten deeper, and he starts the brutal pace back up, snapping his hips even harder than before. If you have the strength to scream you would, but your throat is hoarse, so you just mewl and squeak, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth, tears down your cheeks.

"You love daddy's cock ruining your sweet little cunt, huh?" He huffs when your glassy eyes meets his. The red hologram spins and dances, and while you can’t see, through the lens he has a much different view. Little numbers and labels show in the air around your body, telling him how and where your brain is firing, your heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure. He can even highlight where blood pools to the bruises his hands have made.

"Yes~!" You gasp as his thrusts slow down, but just as hard, he barely pulls out before grinding down into you. Different sensors from his lens flashes on and he can tell you’re getting close already. Even without it, he can feel your walls pulsing, more of your wet dripping from where your bodies meets.

"You wanna cum, pretty?" You nod rapidly, whimpering positively.

"Cum for daddy, then." And with one more thrust you fall over the edge. Not just from his words, but also the rough friction of his pelvic bone meeting your clit. Wonwoo chuckles as he feels your pussy spasm, more of your cum squirting from your quivering folds, coating his skin as well. He has a feeling you’re spent even though he knows he could keep going. He’s still inside of you, so he doesn’t overstimulate you too much, and he isn’t for sure you’re still conscious. Your eyes are closed, arms resting on the bed up by your head. He smiles warmly, cooing at your fucked out state, letting your legs go so they can rest onto the bed as well. When he pulls out you shudder, a long shaky whine floating from your parted lips. He’s shocked at the globs of thick, white cum that drip out of your swollen cunt and he’s still unfortunately still very hard. After feeling your core milk him dry, he isn’t sure even a cold shower will calm him down. Though, seeing you laying there, he feels a little bad he’s caused you to become so worn out and doesn’t want to be selfish.

"Oh, princess." Wonwoo leans back over you, kissing your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then softly presses his lips to yours. You sigh and it makes him grin, you’re at least conscious.

"You're still hard." Your voice is quiet, higher than normal, almost whiny.

"It's okay, pretty, you're tired." Wonwoo nuzzles the side of your neck under your ear, lightly sucking on your ear lobe. If he wasn’t careful, he won’t be able to resist sliding back inside you. With the little strength you have returned to you, you push him back just enough that you can flop over onto your stomach.

"(Y/N), we don't-" You don’t let him finish, grabbing a pillow to shove under your hips, lifting your butt a bit higher.

"Please, daddy~" You look at him with shining eyes over your shoulder, and who is he to resist?

"Oh, fuck, princess. If you insist…"

Master-List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

Black Light 16

Warnings: noncon, namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“Stop!” August swats you away as you play with his chest hair, “God’s sakes, do you sleep? Why are you in here?”

“If I was a worm--” You begin.

“Don’t,” he catches your hand as you reach for him again. “Why won’t you go away?”

You pout and glare at him as you sit back on your heels. You cross your arms as he closes his eyes and drapes his thick arm over his face. You have that urge again. The one that makes your palm itch.

“Why didn’t you?”

He huffs, his broad chest rising and falling, drawing your attention. Despite the mess of feelings you have about this man, from fear to fury to furor, you can’t help but notice how cute he is.

“Trust me, I’m asking myself the same thing,” he growls.

“Oh, I have a question,” you pop your hand up as if he could even see.

“No more questions.”

“How old are you? Because I’m sensing a bit of a gap here. I don’t mind, though. Older guys are cute,” you giggle and wiggle giddily, “but like you’re handsome. Rugged. Anyway, I just figured that silver hair right there--”

He rips his arm away from his face and catches your hand, threatening to crush it as he squeezes. You gaze meets his agitated scowl and you smile. You wiggle free of him and drop your arm.

“You have beautiful eyes,” you preen.

His forehead lines and he turns his attention to the ceiling. He grinds his teeth as he puffs out through his nose. You admire the strength corded into his thick neck. You lean forward and plop a kiss on his cheek. He snarls again.

“Well, I’m awake now,” he bristles.

“Oh, me too,” you chime, “I remember you like coffee, right? After our first time you--”

“Jesus fuck,” he sits up and his muscles bulge. “Yes, go make some coffee. Just get away from me.”

“Right,” you turn and bounce off the bed. You look down at yourself and let out another bubbly trill, “do you have something I can wear? Unless... you like the view.”

He grumbles and looks over his shoulder. He stares for a moment before turning back to face the other wall. He shrugs.

“Closet.”

You search around and find the sliding doors. You roll it back and find an endless supply of black button-ups. Not much variety. This whole place is drab. Not the shades of grey that makes people happy. You take one of the shirts and swoop it up your arms. You face him again as you do it up.

“Oh, do you have any hot chocolate? I don’t drink coffee. The caffeine makes me buzz.”

“You serious? This is you without coffee?”

“Or tea? I like tea. Ohhhhh, I can bake cookies.”

He bends forward and holds his head, “you can drive me fucking crazy!”

“Oh, pookie, you know I’m mad about you too,” you spin and skip to the door, “I’ll figure it out.”

You breeze out into the front room and through to the kitchen. It’s tidy. You search the cupboards and find a canister of coffee. You measure it out like you do at home for your dad and find him a mug. All of them black too. This place exists in monochrome. He needs someone like you to brighten it up.

You take your time and so does he. The pot finishes and he’s still in the bedroom. It’s like he’s avoiding you or something. That’s absurd. He wasn’t so shy last night, was he?

You traipse over to his bedroom door and peek inside. You get an eyeful of his ass and giggle. He glances over as he pulls out a pair of briefs. Also black. Maybe slate gray.

“What?” He tweaks a brow.

“Nothing, you’re just...” you flex your arms as the sleeves gather at your wrists, “so strong.”

“Stop.”

“Stop? Well, I’m just saying. You’re thick.”

“Thick?” He squints and looks down, brushing his hand down his hard stomach. “I work out more hours in a day than you’ve done in your entire life.”

“I can tell,” you stick your tongue out. “It’s a compliment.”

“Mmm,” he growls and steps into his underwear. “Don’t you have stuff to do? Somewhere else to be?”

“Hm,” you tap your chin with your finger, “I haven’t heard from my friend but I’m sure she’ll get back to me. And my mom and dad trust me, they won’t worry.”

“You don’t have any hobbies?” He says as he shakes out a pair of jeans and pulls them on.

“Oh, loads. I love to make dreamboards. What about we look at the scrapbook I made you? Or we can make one together.”

“No.”

“How about... knitting. I can show you how--”

“No.”

“Quilting--”

“No fucking way.”

“We could go for a walk? We can hold hands and look at the butterflies--”

“You are delusional,” he unfolds a tee shirt as he approaches you. “I’m not into all that shit. I’m barely into you when I’m not balls deep.”

“Well, we could do that too,” you offer.”

He inhales deeply and rolls his eyes, “I get it, alright? You’re upset. If you think that what happened was so wrong, why don’t you go to the police? I’m sure they’ll be happy to knock on my door.”

You waver and your smile falls. You’d rather an actual slap in the face than this feeling. You narrow your eyes. He lets the hem of the shirt slip down his torso.

“Did you know that the majority of victims don’t report. Those that do are rarely even investigated, let alone convicted,” you chirp up as you lift your chin defiantly, “bet you were counting on that?”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” He exclaims as he throws his hands up, “leave me alone. Get over it!”

“Get over--” you sneer and bite your tongue.

You can’t stop yourself. You throw your fist at him and he deflects it easily. You follow with another, and another, but he easily bats them all away. He grabs your wrists and stretches your arms up, letting you dangle from his grip.

“You are fucking ballsy,” he growls, “you keep this up and you won’t like it when I fight back.”

You curl your lip and swing in his grasp. You stretch your neck awkwardly and get as close as you can. You snap your teeth down and bite his chest as he cries out and lets you go. He stumbles backwards and you unlatch as he staggers back. He rubs his pec through the cotton and gives you a stunned look.

“Did you just fucking bite me?”

“I’ll do it again, you big meanie!” You stomp your foot and ball your fists.

“What the fuck,” he pulls the collar of his shirt away from his neck and peers down it.

“We’re going to have a romantic walk, you hear me, Auggy,” you furrow your nose, “or I’ll bite something else.”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #series #drabble #black light #the club #au #mission impossible: fallout

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undercovergamer · 3 months ago

Text

❤️Squirmy Worm❤️

⚠️This fic focuses mainly on tickling. Please do not read it if that upsets you.⚠️

Yes I’m postponing my only requests to make a fic on a whim, so what? It’s my blog and I don’t get to choose my whims ✨🐊✨ just know, anon, they’re definitely in the works and have many words written, I just need to write more and proof read and so on. sorry for taking so long 🐀 I was depressed but I recovered 👍👍👍

anyways have this bite sized fic :3

Word Count: 890

Sometimes, when there’s nothing else to do, Gorou will seek out Itto to spend time with him. Usually they play some silly games, but this time they chose to snuggle, all nice and toasty in their cozy bed. Sometimes they would ask each other silly questions as a way to bond. It was a fun activity, and a real nice way to spend time together.

“Itto…?” Gorou laid snuggled up next to his lover, hugging him from the side while his head rested on his chest.

“Mm? What’s up, pup?” Itto smiled and gently squeezed him closer, nuzzling his cheek against the warrior’s head. The soft hair felt so nice brushed up against him like that.

“Mm… would you still love me if I was a worm?” Gorou asked with sincerity, glancing up at his partner’s surprised look. He was only joking around for funsies.

“Pfft, what? Of course I would, ya goober! I’ll love you no matter what!” Itto exclaimed, chuckling at such a silly question.

“Hehe~ really? Even if I was a slimey worm? Wouldn’t that be gross?” Gorou asked, grinning playfully as Itto adjusted his position.

“Yeah… heh, bet I could turn ya into a worm right now~ hahaha!” Itto teased, moving to hover over his partner with a mischievous look.

“Hahaha! How would you do that, hm?” Gorou chuckled when he got rolled to his back as a result, smiling at the oni while wagging his tail.

“Oh, just you wait. I’ll turn you into my favorite kind~” Itto teased, sticking the tip of his tongue out in a silly expression.

“Mhm? Heh… I-I hope you don’t mean the slimey one…” Gorou’s ears lowered nervously.

“Nah, it’s not... it’s a different one!”

“Huh? Wh-! Hey!” His relief was short-lived.

Itto snickered and grabbed the blanket, attempting to wrap Gorou up in it, but the canine had other plans and put up a fight instead, squirming and trying to wrestle his way out while laughing with amusement.

“C’mon! Co-operate, will ya? Hold still!” Itto complained, pinning the other down against the bed.

“Ack-! Let me go! Hahahaha!” Gorou laughed, having fun with their silly game even though he failed to escape.

“Ah, what the heck…” Itto dropped his previous plan and simply raised Gorou’s arms above his head, gently, but firmly, holding his wrists down with one hand.

“H-Heh…! Whoa, w-wait!! What are you doinnggg??” Gorou questioned nervously, giggling already as his shirt slipped up a little. His ears twitched and his tail wiggled with excitement…

“Heh~ Who’s my little squirmy worm?” Itto didn’t answer his question, deciding to tickle without warning instead, which made the general squeal loudly.

“EEK!! NahahahAHAHAH!! Stahahahahahahap!!” He exclaimed with surprise, squirming around like crazy. Itto laughed, tickling the other’s armpits one at a time, switching between them to make him squeal and wriggle in different directions.

“Ooh, look at you go! Hahaha! Tickle tickle tickle~” the oni teased, letting go of Gorou’s wrists to tickle his sides with both hands instead. If he hadn’t switched it up, the poor boy would’ve suffered. “Tickle tickle~!” Still, all that teasing was driving him up the wall.

“Nahahahahahaha!! Nahahat thahahahahat!!” Gorou’s high pitched laughter spread throughout the room as he wiggled and flailed, free to move wherever he could since Itto wasn’t sitting on his legs this time. He usually doesn’t, anyway, since Gorou is short (lol).

“Hahaha! You’re so cute~ I love your little giggles so much…” Itto said lovingly, smiling at the other with pure adoration on his face as his tickling slowed, his nails gently tracing the tummy under the canine’s shirt.

“Eheheeheheheehee!! You’re sohohoho mehehehean!!” Gorou hid his face in his hands, giggling up a storm while happily wagging his tail. Even though the sensation was very, very ticklish, he found the softness of it comforting somehow.

“Heheh! You love it~” Itto said, moving one hand to pet Gorou’s head and play with his hair.

“Eehehehehehehee~!!”

“Who’s a good boy~? Who’s a good boy~??” Itto ruffled Gorou’s hair, pausing the tickling to rub his ears with both hands instead.

“Mhmhmhm~ hehehehe~! I-I am! Hehe…!” Gorou felt very brave for answering that. Usually he’d die of embarrassment…

“Oh yes you are! Yes you are! Oh, you’re so cute…” Itto struggled to contain his cute aggression, ruffling the other’s hair some more before growling and tickling him silly. “I just can’t contain myself! You’re way too adorable not to destroy!” he exclaimed, playfully scribbling at whichever spot he could reach, adoring each and every squeak, shriek, and hysterical laugh he got out of the other.

The tickling went on til Gorou’s squirms got less frequent, and they resumed their warm snuggles soon after. Gorou laid on top of Itto, resting his head against his chest as if it were a pillow. His cheeks were rosy, his tail was wagging gently, and his smile hadn’t left his face while he panted.

“Heh… ehehe… huff… hehe…” He’d had a lot of fun, now resting after so much silliness and laughter.

“I love you, my lil’ squirmy wormy~” Itto teased, adjusting their blanket and hugging his darling close, petting his fluffy hair and ears.

“Heheh! I-I love you too… but don’t call me that!” Oh, how he wish he could get proper payback for once… Perhaps that day would come soon.

One can only hope…

#my private twashcan #genshin impact tickle #genshin tickle #genshin impact tickling #genshin tickling #tickle fic #ler!itto #lee!gorou #genshin tickles #genshin impact tickles #ticklish!gorou

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lets-try-some-writing · 9 months ago

Note

I'm behind because you posted this like 6 days ago (when I write this ask) but when you asked if someone was asking you to make Smokescreen angst... I'm asking.

Idea: Cortical Psychic Patch. Screw with his mind and drive him insane. You may take that as you will.

Please and thank you

I know it took me like three months to answer this, but here is a 10K or so long fic to make up for the wait :D

Seriously be wary if you click read more because this is LONNNNNNG

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

He shouldn't have tried to play the hero.

Strapped down to a medical berth with harsh clasps and half blinded by the lights above, Smokescreen regretted every decision leading up to the present moment. That wasn't to say he wasn't proud of himself for getting as far as he had, but he really should have listened to Arcee and Ratchet more. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have rushed to get the Omega Keys on the Nemesis of all places and promptly gotten himself caught at the last possible moment.

His plan had been to jump and use the phase shifter to escape certain death. But one wrong move later, and Megatron had him by the arm with no room for Smokescreen to squirm away. That was how he found himself in what he could only assume was either Shockwave or Knockout's workspace, strapped down and ready to be tortured, picked apart, or whatever Cons did to their prisoners.

He'd heard more than a few grizzly tales, so he was really putting his shanix on the hope that they would go for verbal interrogation over straight-up killing him. He'd gone through some basic interrogation training with the Elite Guard. He could probably hold out until the team found a way to get him out, or barring that, he might be able to squirm enough to escape. The clasps weren't impossible to worm his way out of. Sure, he would probably have to snap his thumbs to make it happen, but that's why it was a last resort.

What he was really concerned about was Megatron doing something to him. He could probably deal with Shockwave. Probably, at least if he made himself interesting. But Megatron? He doubted he would hold out longer than a few cycles. If he had to pick someone to torture and interrogate him, he was really, really hoping Starscream ended up in the same room as him. The Screamer was easy to rile up and just as simple to calm down with insults and compliments, respectively.

He could hear pedesteps coming closer. He couldn't really see because of the light, but he prayed to Primus that it wasn't the warlord.

"Smokescreen, that is your designation, is it not?" Slag it all. His luck was the worst.

A familiar, scarred face showed itself through the blinding light. Bright red optics bore down on Smokescreen with maliciousness and venom so strong it practically permeated the very air. If he lacked the training he'd gone through as a youth, Smokescreen would have crumbled under that gaze. As it was, he forced himself to frown, pushing up against his bindings in a show of rebellion and strength. He would not falter, not because of Megatron.

"What's it to you? Aren't you going to kill me now that you've caught me?" Bearing a bitter smile, Smokescreen sneered. Megatron was quick to grab his face, his cold and dangerous claws threatening to crush his jaw with strength hardly contained. Smokescreen tensed on instinct, and his well hidden fear only grew as the light was removed, allowing him to see just where he was.

Cords ran along the ground and up the cold steel walls. Purple lights flared periodically as a mech Smokescreen, recognized as Shockwave, prepared something on the other side of the room. Smokescreen was bound at a slanted vertical angle, giving him a solid view of the room while also keeping him from being able to work up the strength to snap his bindings. It was a minor form of physiological warfare that Smokescreen was familiar with.

Give a prisoner a taste of potential freedom, but keep them held on the edge, forever unable to escape but still hopeful enough to have some fight left in them. It was a method used to exhaust prisoners, keeping them more docile over long periods of time. Smokescreen was not thrilled to think about the possibility of being held captive for any length of time. But from the looks of it, Megatron had plans.

"I considered the idea, even indulging in the thought. But I believe I've found a better use for you." Megatron smiled, and by Primus, that set Smokescreen on edge. It was hard to keep up his rebellious outward appearance when the scourge of Cybertron was grinning like he'd just won a million shanix.

"You aren't well trained enough to bother recruiting. And unfortunately for you, the value you hold as an Autobot has proven less than spectacular. Optimus won't act as quickly because he knows that I know you aren't worth killing." Smokescreen wanted to be bitter over the statement, but logically, he was well aware Megatron wasn't wrong. Smokescreen was a rookie, and as it stood, his usefulness was limited. When push came to shove, he wasn't as valuable as the other members of the team, at least on the surface. Knowing Optimus, the Prime would be quick to try and get him back, regardless of his value.

"I could hand you back over in exchange for the relics I know your Autobots house. But I think this opportunity would prove far more valuable.” Smokescreen watched Megatron like a cornered animal. It took all his strength to not tense up or flare his plating as the warlord finally released his jaw, instead opting to stand with his slag eating grin proudly displayed.

“You can’t make me talk.” His voice wavered slightly, despite his best effort. The warlord in front of him merely grinned wider, his optics bright with mania.

“I don’t need to. In fact, I don’t want you to.” Smokescreen's fuel lines practically froze as Megatron chuckled, standing back to his full height with all the regality of a monarch. If he weren't the leader of the Decepticons, Smokescreen might have been able to find it in himself to appreciate the stance the warlord had.

“Shockwave. Begin preparations for the cortical psychic patch.” Fear roared in his spark as he tugged on his bindings. He didn't know everything about the patch, but he'd heard rumors. He wouldn't allow himself to give Megatron any information. He'd rather take his chances leaping off the edge of the Nemesis than let his mind be tampered with.

“You bucket helmed piece of slag! I won’t give you anything!” He struggles against his bindings, his wrists and ankles burning with the effort. He fought with all his might, trying to thrash. All it earned him were a few scuffs that ached with every movement.

“Good. Then you will have more to give to your new master.” No, no, no. He wouldn't serve the Decepticons. He wouldn't give them anything, not even the color scheme of Optimus's windshield.

“What?” His voice shook and his door wings, pressed awkwardly as they were against the slab, twitched in response to his growing fear. This wasn't what he was trained to handle. How could he fight against someone tampering with his processor? That sort of thing only happened before the war with the old Council of Cybertron.

“Optimus Prime, my ancient nemesis. He claimed he had no interest in accepting the Matrix. I remember quite vividly how he denied any desire to take it.” Megatron met his terrified gaze with a smirk worthy of Liege Maximo himself. Smokescreen could only watch in horror as Shockwave, now visible at the far corner of the room, prepared a series of needles and cords.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Keep him talking. If he could just keep Megatron talking, maybe he could still get out of this.

“Optimus claims he does not want to be seen as a god. He preaches that he is a mere mech, despite the relic he carries. He despises the worship of the faithful. Truly a humble mech to the bitter end.” Megatron's gaze felt like a hot iron against his plating. Smokescreen wanted to run, he wanted to phase through the walls and into the ground, where it was safe. And yet, he could do nothing except shake faintly as Megatron circled him, his clawed digits running along the slab that bound Smokescreen in a threatening manner.

“And yet, he took the Matrix anyway. He never even considered stepping aside so that real change could be enacted. We all would have been so much better off if he’d put down his arrogance and allowed those more suitable to step up.” The screech of Megatron's claws tearing through metal assaulted Smokescreen's audials along with the sheer venom in his captor's voice. For a moment, he couldn't vent. He expected white hot pain to overwhelm him, but when he worked up the courage to look, he saw that Megatron's claws were dug into his slab, not his plating.

“He took on a role he was never meant to fill, and now he heralds himself as a leader, a commander, and a vessel for ancient wisdom. And yet, he refuses to take responsibility for all he’s brought upon himself. He won’t accept the praise of the faithful like a good puppet-Prime. But he also refuses to silence the whispers about his supposed divinity.” One by one, those claws pulled out of the slab, leaving terrifying gashes in their wake. Smokescreen had to fight back the urge to cry out in terror as Megatron's voice edged into something even darker. He was practically seething as he ranted. Smokescreen could hardly understand all of it.

“He stole a station he was never meant to take. Maybe he did it to spite me and is now too devoted to back down. Perhaps he truly thought, in his naivety, that he was better suited for the role. Whatever the case, I will abuse his humility. I will make him pay for taking the place that was rightfully mine.” Megatron's arms rose to the skies, almost as though he were preaching to a crowd. His back was to Smokescreen, but his words were still just as cruel and wicked. He spoke Iaconian common for Smokescreen's sake, but it was so heavily layered with Kaoni subglyphs that Smokescreen could sense every last iota of emotion.

Megatron was truly bitter. It had been generations since the start of the war, and still Megatron was clinging to an ancient conflict. Smokescreen wouldn't dare claim to understand it all, but he knew for a fact that Optimus was a better Prime than the crazed warlord ranting before him. It didn't matter if Optimus got the Matrix through underhanded means, he'd long proven himself worthy of the title in Smokescreen's mind. The fact that Optimus refused worship merely showed his humility and devotion to the cause. He expected nothing, save for the cooperation of those around him.

A true Prime did not enslave. A true Prime was kind and commanded respect through actions, not words. Optimus didn't need to be worshiped. He had long since become a mech worthy of respect far exceeding the bounds of religious bindings.

“He will become the thing he sought to escape, and you, guardsmech, will be the key to all of it.” Smokescreen gawked as Shockwave began to gather up the cords he was working with. Megatron grinned in a convoluted fashion, almost as if he'd already won. What were they planning? What could they possibly want, if not information?

“I won’t do anything for you! Never!” He thrashed against his bonds again. It did nothing but prompt Megatron to laugh.

“Struggle as much as you want. It will yield you nothing. In the end, you will make Optimus squirm and drown in his guilt.” Megatron stood like royalty, but to Smokescreen, he looked like nothing more than a mad ghoul eager for its next hunt. Smokescreen would rather die than betray his team and Prime. Whatever Megatron had planned, it could not be allowed to succeed.

“The patch is prepared, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave approached the Lord of the Decepticons, a threatening series of cables in his servo. Smokescreen could see a needle on the end of one, likely meant to stab directly into his processor.

“Excellent. Begin uploading the simulation schematics. I want him fully engrossed in it until Optimus agrees to a conference.” A simulation? Were they going to try and turn him into a Con or something?

“Optimus won’t ever surrender to you!” He flailed, fighting desperately enough to tear his armor around his wrists as he fought to be free. He wouldn't become a weapon. He refused to become a tool for Megatron to use.

Despite how hard he tried to get away, it wasn't long before part of his slab was removed, leaving his helm exposed from the back. He tried to move, but he could do nothing except bite back a scream as something sharp and painful jabbed directly into the back of his helm. Coolant threatened to gather in his optics as his systems were thrown into overdrive, trying to find the source of the problem to little avail. All the while, Megatron continued his mad monologue.

“The Primes of old were heralded as gods. The Primacy was devoted to their every wish and fancy.” The warlord paced, his sickening smile still ever present. Smokescreen could feel a faint buzz at the back of his mind—the beginnings of the patch's work, no doubt.

“It is ancient history now, but before the war began, every Prime was given devotees who were meant to serve them.” Smokescreen's optics trailed the leader of the Decepticons, observing with growing horror how much emphasis Megatron put on the word, 'serve'. Just what was Megatron hoping to make him into?

“Mecha personally trained to meet their Prime’s fancies.” No. No, Megatron couldn't be trying to change him. Information fishing was one thing. But changing his mind?

“Warriors brought low through humiliation and submission so that their will could become an extension of their Prime.” This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't succumb to Megatron's twisted will. He had to keep himself composed.

“The most loyal and submissive servants. Just the kind of subordinate Optimus fears and despises in equal measure.” Megatron loomed over him, his gaze knowing and expectant. Smokescreen wanted to spit curses, but everything was starting to feel fuzzy, almost as though he were drifting into recharge.

“He fears becoming corrupt if given such devotion.” Twisted laughter bubbled in Megatron's vocalizer. His amusement rang out in the air as Smokescreen frantically tried to keep coolant from gathering in his optics. He couldn't show how scared he was, even though his shaking door wings betrayed him.

“Let’s see if his fears become reality.” Red optics glared down at him, demanding results. Smokescreen wanted to cry. Torture, interrogation, and suffering of all kinds—he could endure those. But changing his very core? His mind and his beliefs? How was he able to withstand that?

“The processor is a delicate organ. Despite how firmly sentient species claim to be unchangeable, a certain degree of stimulus can alter the very core of a Cybertronian’s personality.” Shockwave's clinical voice echoed in the space as Smokescreen's vision began to fade. He wanted to scream, to do anything. But his frame was sluggish, and darkness threatened to overwhelm him.

“I intend to test a few hypotheses and see how long you can withstand the conditioning I’ve prepared.” Shockwave's sickening statement was the last thing he heard before the world faded away, leaving Smokescreen in darkness.

----

“Smokescreen, wake up.” A gentle voice called out to him in the darkness. Deep, but soothing. Amidst the sensation of slow wakefulness, Smokescreen could hear what sounded like a choir, singing in Ancient Cybertronian. Their words were strange, but they worked with such skill that they sounded almost exactly how old recordings of the Primacy Temples made the priests out to be during services.

"Wake, my chosen." Smokescreen's optics began to come online, a cold stone floor greeting his frame as he groaned and pushed himself up. His processor ached, but he paid it little mind as he started to come to awareness.

He was... in a Temple. He'd never had the chance to go into one before coming to Earth. The Temples had long since fallen, leaving nothing but their ruins as a stark reminder of the glory of the old world. But this place was not in disrepair. If anything, it looked as though it had just been built. Blue and gold walls arched around him, grafting into shapes he could hardly comprehend as they turned into a domed roof. Pillars covered in ancient crystal growths towered high into a ceiling that faded into a sea of stars. It could have been painted, but Smokescreen honestly couldn't tell.

The entire place was warm, with light coming from stained glass windows along every wall. Each depicted a Prime, every one of them holding the Matrix with solemn expressions. Despite the gloom of the ceiling, the Temple was not dark. Not in the slightest. Instead, it was lit by a great stained glass window that took up the entire front wall. The mighty work of art was stunning. Each piece of glass carefully placed to create an image of Optimus Prime himself held in Primus's servos, the chosen of their world's god.

"Come, my chosen. Let not the darkness of your thoughts distract you." The voice called out again, and this time, Smokescreen saw the speaker. Standing on a dias just below the great window was... Optimus. The Prime was stunning. His armor was perfectly polished and his plating tended to with expert precision. He looked healthy, no longer weary from war. His red and blue paint stood out like stars amidst the hues of the Temple, drawing Smokescreen's attention.

The Prime was covered in gold markings, the script of Ancient Cybertronian. He was adorned in similarly colored ornamental armor, with accents that ran along his audials to give him small angelic wing shaped attachments. More such pieces crept along his chassis, emphasizing his open spark chamber where the Matrix shone, pulsing faintly. A cape fell from Optimus's shoulders, segmented and made of precious metals much like Alpha Trion, before his fall.

Optimus looked like a god.

And for that reason alone, Smokescreen knew that this being was not his leader.

“I call upon you to serve.” The fake Optimus held out a servo, a pleasant smile upon his perfectly sculpted features. He looked so gentle and yet so stern all at once, truly the embodiment of Primus's chosen. The fake was nothing like the leader Smokescreen knew. Optimus bore scars just like everyone else. He was weary, just like them. He was still just a mech, no matter the origin of the relic he bore. He was not a god, nor did he parade himself like one.

“You aren’t real.” He spoke softly, almost afraid that the moment he uttered his thoughts aloud, Megatron's plan would leave him in agony. Whatever all this was, it was the work of the patch. It wasn't real, no matter how real the cool stone felt beneath him or how warm the gaze of the fake Prime seemed.

“You deny me?” Optimus tilted his helm ever so slightly, a sad frown upon his features as he slowly began to descend from his place. Light emanated from him in such a way that it almost seemed as though he had wings as he carefully made his way down each and every step leading to his dias. His pedesteps were feather light, nothing like the heavy treads of his leader. Yet another difference to focus on.

“You aren’t Optimus. You aren’t my Prime.” Smokescreen got to his pedes shakily, unintentionally shrinking back as the light of the fake Prime drew nearer. It was intoxicating, but so very foreign. He wanted to flee, and at the same time, he wanted to bask in it. What the frag was wrong with him? It wasn't real. None of it was.

“Retract your declaration and come to my light. You need not be punished by the divine.” Optimus, still appearing saddened, paused a few steps away, watching Smokescreen with optics that glowed both blue and white, the hidden essence of the divine. He seemed genuinely upset, not angry, just... sorrowful.

Smokescreen bit his glossa softly, trying to give himself something to focus on aside from the being before him. The fake Prime wasn't threatening, if anything, he seemed loving. But that was what set Smokescreen on edge. It was so very wrong. All of it was wrong.

“You. Aren’t. Real.” He fought to force out the words, trying to not let the look of hurt on Optimus's face phase him.

“My chosen, how can you not see the light before you? Does my divinity blind you so much that you are incapable of reason?” The fake Optimus held out his arms, his optics sad and pleading. His field extended, wrapping around Smokescreen in a comforting manner that merely served to make his plating crawl.

"Stop it! You aren't, Optimus! He's like the rest of us! Not angelic or perfect! Optimus isn't a god!" Smokescreen screamed, desperately trying to step back but only managing a few steps as the fake Optimus allowed his arms to drop to his sides. The exposed fake Matrix pulsed, its light covering Smokescreen like some sort of mark. The chanting of the priests he hadn't even noticed began to die down as Optimus looked down to the ground, the winged audial attachments showing themselves as he did so.

"Of course I am not a god, I am merely a vessel for the one and only. How you see me now is only made possible through Primus's touch. Without him, I am made weaker, more weary." The fake Optimus traced his false Matrix lovingly, a faint smile on his face as the relic blazed with unnatural power. Smokescreen tried to activate his in-built blasters, but his frame would not obey him. He was trapped, watching as the fake Prime spread his arms wide, in a mockery of an embrace for all creation.

"Primus suffers under Unicron's tainted blood, and for that reason, I bear the marks of mortality." The fake Prime's form shifted for a moment, showing the Prime Smokescreen knew. World weary, tired, and so very wise. For a klik, Optimus Prime, as he knew him, stood in the light of the great window, no longer basking in the strange innocence of the fake Prime's false divinity. This Prime was exhausted—an angel who'd long since had his wings cut away.

"But do not mistake my outward appearance for my true essence. This is what Primus intended for me, and my will is his. I desire only to protect his precious children and bring them home." The Prime spoke, and the illusion was broken as the fake returned to its previous form, glittering and without even the slightest imperfection.

"Shut up! You are just a simulation!" Smokescreen tried to yell, raising his voice above the soothing buzz at the back of his mind demanding his submission. He shook, trying desperately to force himself to leave, to think, to do anything other than give in.

"Smokescreen, has the brokenness of my mortal frame deceived you so much?" Again, the fragging false Prime put on a facade of sorrow, his optics glittering with so much pain that Smokescreen could have momentarily believed that the fake truly did carry the weariness of an entire world. His servos were held out in a pleading manner, begging Smokescreen to return to him.

Smokescreen didn't so much as twitch. He glared. The false Prime sighed.

"Neverthematter, I will not abandon you, my dear chosen. Primus did not cast me away in my foolish unbelief, and I have no intention of leaving you to wallow in the shadow of lies woven by those of mortal make." The false Prime stepped back, allowing shadows to creep over the windows. The faint whipping of wind and the crash of thunder echoed throughout the Temple, all light dying, save for the glow the false Prime emitted.

"See that which awaits you. See a world without my light." The false Prime raised his servos, cupping the Matrix and meeting Smokescreen's gaze as everything grew darker and darker, leaving only Optimus to light the way.

Then, with a sad smile, the Prime stepped into shadow, vanishing.

Smokescreen was left in darkness, his optics were his only light.

He took shaky vents, trying to stay calm and reminding himself that the whole scenario was fake. Megatron was just trying to mess with his mind. So long as he kept calm, he was going to be fine. He just had to vent and walk, keeping his focus on his mission.

Stay sane. Stay focused. And keep Megatron from winning long enough for the team to get him. Simple enough, right?

He walked carefully in the gloom, expecting to hit pews or to see even the barest hint of the Temple windows. Instead, he walked through rubble and destroyed structures. It was almost pitch black in many places, but in others, he caught sight of a world filled with gray. Not a hint of life was to be found anywhere, although more than once he saw what remained of corpses, long since left to rot.

He liked to think he had a firm resolve, but as he walked, he found himself growing more and more... lonely. It never seemed to end, the gloom just continued on and extended into the void. He almost purged when he came across the corpse of a youngling, perhaps no more than a deca-cycle old, crushed beneath a building. Their expression was agonizing, and Smokescreen was only able to continue walking along in growing unease.

The dark was suffocating, and no matter where he wandered, it seemed to grow denser. Towering buildings lay in ruins. Great statues were brought low and left to be claimed by the shadows all around him. Smokescreen was the only living being left, and no matter how much he called out, nothing ever met his cries. More than once, he thought one of the corpses might have still been a living person, but each time, he was met with disappointment.

He didn't know how long he wandered in the dark, moving through cities inhabited by the dead. But eventually, his limbs began to burn and his mind started to unravel. He was alone, so very alone. He knew it was fake, but there wasn't anything for him to cling to. No plants, no animals, not even stars. All he had was the gloom and the bodies of mecha long since left to be taken by time.

Kliks, groons, cycles... he wasn't sure how long he wandered. He tried lighting a fire, but he had no kindling, and when he tried to cut his digit and use his own energon to create a temporary burst of flame, he found it wouldn't light. The energon glowed, taunting him as Smokescreen fell to his knees, clutching the ash and dust beneath his pedes. He hated to admit it, but he missed the fake Optimus's light. He missed the warmth and the kindness shown to him. He despised the creeping cold and the eternal gloom.

“Smokescreen, you need not linger here. Come with me, enter my light, and be free of this grim place." Light entered his vision, a blessed light breaking the never-ending darkness. The fake Prime stepped forward, glittering and perfect as always. His expression was soft, like a mentor looking upon their foolish student. He did not kneel, but he leaned down, offering his servo with a hint of a smile.

It was welcoming, almost like being brought home. But Smokescreen could not falter, he had to remind himself again and again that none of it was real. This fake was not his Prime, no matter how kind he seemed.

“You aren’t real!” Smokescreen covered his audials, not wanting to listen for fear that his resolve would crack. He could handle the darkness. He had to. Just until the team saved him from this wretched place...

“This you proclaim with such dedication. Why must you stay in this world of darkness and gloom? This place is for those who turn away from Primus. I know you are capable of returning to him. I know you can still change.” The fake Optimus reached out, cupping Smokescreen's face with servos so strong and yet so kind. It made him sick, but he didn't have the will to pull away. It was so warm, so bright and safe.

“Shut up.” His voice shook, his servos clutching his audials tighter to drown it all out. He couldn't succumb. He had to be strong.

“It will only get worse. Let me guide you. Come into my light, come unto the divine and I shall protect you from the darkness.” The fake Optimus leaned closer, his light wrapping around Smokescreen like a shield. He almost sobbed in relief as the chill of the dark, which he hadn't even noticed, began to flee his limbs. He wanted to beg the fake to stay with him, to keep him warm and away from the gloom.

But he couldn't. The fake wasn't real. None of this was real. There was no salvation to be found in Megatron's curated dystopia.

“Leave me alone!” He tore himself away from the false Prime, throwing himself onto the ground in an attempt to keep from giving in. His body ached, the cold seeping back into his tired limbs. Looking back, the fake Optimus stood there sadly, his perfect face contorted into something worthy of tears if the false divine had the capacity to cry.

“Very well.” Turning away, the false Prime vanished into the gloom once more. Smokescreen was, once again, left alone. But before he could act, his vision faltered and the world fell into a mess of code and pixels.

-----

“The subject is showing surprising levels of resistance.” Smokescreen gagged, his helm ached and his optics couldn’t properly process the visual data around him as he was dragged from the world of dark he had come to know. Everything was hazy and his entire frame felt distant, not quite painful, instead like an unbearable itch was crawling along his plating in waves.

The light above him was blinding and cold as he struggled momentarily against his bindings. He tried to cycle his optics and see, but all he could pick up with the warped forms of Megatron and Shockwave working away on the other side of the room.

“Integrate an external threat. Some warriors can withstand solitude, but I doubt the guardsmech can endure being hunted while entirely alone.” Smokescreen could almost hear Megatron’s cackle in his words. He wanted to act, but everything felt sluggish and out of place, almost like he’d just woken up from stasis lock all over again.

“Very well. Artificial fear response protocols will be injected into the subject and the Prime simulation will continue when the subject shows sufficient mental weakness.” What was going on? Smokescreen’s optics burned and all he had the power to do was shutter them as he heard Megatron approaching. It was all a simulation. He had to keep being strong. He didn’t want to think, he only had to act.

“Fight as much as you like guardsmech. It will make your fall all the sweeter.” He didn’t see Megatron’s expression, but he could feel claws running along his chassis in a threatening manner. It took all his power to not cry in fear as his senses started to fade and the patch again activated.

-----

Smokescreen awoke with a gasp, his frame shaking as he frantically felt the ground. It was dark, with only his optics lighting the space around him. He tried to process what Megatron had said when he was momentarily pulled from his living nightmare, but the knowledge faded away like a distant dream as suddenly, he heard things in the gloom with him.

He heard creatures that scuttled in the dark, dozens of terrifying legs clattering over lifeless ground. He was no longer alone. Now... he was being hunted.

“It's not… real.” He tried to comfort himself as he walked, tripping and stumbling over obstacles as his exhausted frame struggled to keep going. Every time he faltered, the things in the dark drew closer. Even with the light of his optics, he could never see them for long, always obscured by the gloom.

He couldn't help it when coolant finally fell from his optics, rolling down his cheeks as he frantically tried to keep moving. The things kept getting closer and closer, sometimes so close he could feel them running past his pedes or caressing his legs as he stumbled along. He was terrified, and his terror only grew with every passing moment.

It didn't feel fake anymore. He was scared and no matter how much he tried to remind himself to be strong, he couldn't help but sniffle and wish that the false Prime would come back and take him away from the things in the dark. He didn't dare utter his silent wishes aloud, at least not until the monsters in the gloom started to become more bold.

He could never see them, but soon enough, they began to claw at his plating. It was never anything serious, a cut here, a scratch there. They whipped around him, hissing, growling, and laughing as they prodded at him, toying with his mind. Smokescreen tried to find high ground and activate his blasters. But no matter how hard he tried, the creatures always followed, and his frame refused to obey him.

He cried in the darkness, finally tripping and falling to the ground shaking like a sheet of tin. The creatures crept closer, threatening to have their fun before even giving Smokescreen the mercy of death. He sobbed, clawing at the ground as he tried to pull himself along. He crawled, lighting his path with his coolant-hazed optics, as the creatures nipped and bit him.

“Primus, Lord below, to you will give our sparks and sight. May our optics bring forth your light.” Desperation left him singing an old prayer from his time with the Elite Guard. He was never particularly faithful, but left alone in the dark with things that hunted him, he wanted to have faith; he wanted to believe. His helm buzzed and his mind felt like it was made of static. All he had was his terror and his frantic pleas to a god who may or may not have been listening.

"Primus, please, save me from this place." His words were choked as prayers made way for a desperate plea. He curled up, clutching his helm as he cried into the void, dust and ash seeping into his vents and seams. He wanted it all to be over. Why couldn't the team save him? Why weren't they faster?

“I am here, my chosen. You only needed to call for me.” A soft warmth entered his tired limbs. Light filled his vision, and the creatures of the dark fled before the divine glow of the Prime before him.

“You aren’t real. None of this is real.” He murmured despite the relief that flooded him. His very spark seemed to ache as again, the false Prime offered a servo. Smokescreen could feel himself being lifted, held against divine armor and cradled like a youngling fresh from the Well. Despite his protests, it was comforting.

“Child, you cause yourself more pain this way. I carry Primus’s light. Let me share it with you.” Optimus carried him out of the darkness, back into the Temple so full of light that Smokescreen couldn’t help but sob in sheer relief for a moment. As he was deposited on the ground, he curled up, basking in the glow of the space.

“Stop. Don’t talk like that.” He covered his audials again, trying desperately to drown it all out. Why did it have to feel so nice basking in Optimus’s presence? Why did it all have to feel so real?

“You have seen the darkness in which you still suffer, and yet you refuse salvation?” The Prime stared at him, his optics showing nothing but pity. Smokescreen despised it, and yet he couldn’t pull away from Optimus’s light. He didn’t want to be cold or hunted. When Optimus was around, it was safe, even if that safety was fake.

“I don’t need any salvation.” His words sounded hollow even to his own audials. He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t understand what was going on or what Megatron was trying to gain, or rather, what Optimus was attempting to gain. Why was Smokescreen forced to endure the dark? He didn’t understand…

“I hate to do this. I despise using suffering to showcase truth.” Optimus sighed, his angelic form comforting even as the Temple darkened again. Smokescreen prepared himself for the dark world he had been cast into, but somehow, what greeted him was far worse. The Temple was still alight, but the colors were all off. The golden morning light was replaced by the harsh light of dusk. The walls of the Temple shone, their biolights flashing red in warning. The painted sky above was dark and hollow, no longer comforting in the slightest. It was all the same, yet so different.

It frightened him, and looking at Optimus, he saw the Prime take no joy in his suffering.

“You have seen a vision of the doom that awaits you. And yet you reject Primus and his chosen.” Priests came forward from unseen halls, their frames covered in ceremonial robes. He saw each of their faces, but he couldn’t recognize or remember them as they hummed a haunting hymn. They circled around him, each watching Smokescreen with white, almost sickly optics.

“This cannot stand.” Optimus’s voice rang out clearly, sending a bolt of terror through Smokescreen’s frame. He looked at the Prime, seeing a true frown of displeasure for the very first time. It frightened him, so much so that he could hardly force himself to speak.

“What are you-?” He didn’t have time to speak before the priests forced him to his knees with strength they shouldn’t have had. One at a time, they began to pull on his plating. He tried to stifle his cries of pain as armor was forcefully removed, one small plate at a time. It burned it burned it burned-

-----

“The subject’s mind is threatening to fracture without sufficient intervention.” Smokescreen’s optics blazed as he came back online, he was gasping, thrashing against his bindings as he struggled to comprehend what was going on. Where was the Temple? Where were the priests? Where was he and why didn’t it hurt anymore?

“He’s a soldier. He should be able to handle a little pain.” Megatron? Yes that was Megatron’s voice. Was he in the Temple too? Where was Optimus?

“Too much mental strain has been placed upon him. Too many new scenarios with too little time to adjust.” Through the blinding lights above him, Smokescreen could vaguely see Shockwave. He recognized that lone terrifying optic and the monotone voice. It didn’t frighten him, not nearly as much as the dark did at any rate.

“What do you suggest then?” He sensed Megatron near him. He still didn’t know how Megatron was near him, but he could feel the warlord nonetheless. It was unsettling, but it didn’t prompt panic, not anymore. The creatures of the gloom were far more frightening. At least Megatron had a face, a voice, and a presence Smokescreen could actually target.

“Reprogramming. I understand Lord Megatron wishes for the subject to break naturally, but we do not have enough time for such an outcome to take place successfully.” Smokescreen’s optics cycled, but they were out of sync. His vision was all over the place, but he could still pick out Shockwave holding up a set of strange looking needles. He’d mentioned something about time perhaps? It was hard to think.

“What would need to be altered?” Claws tapped against the back of his helm, right where the patch still connected to his processors. At that motion, Smokescreen did stiffen in terror. It was too close, far too close.

“A simple personality matrix realignment. Currently, the subject lacks sufficient religious inklination to take to the Prime simulation in such a short period of time. The subject will need to be reconfigured to be more susceptible to indoctrination.” Reconfigured? Smokescreen tried to focus on what was being said around him, but everything was so out of place. Looking over to his right, he momentarily wondered if it was because of the strange looking IVs hooked into his frame. The liquids didn’t seem right. Their colors were off.

“How long would that take?” The claws tapped again, freezing Smokescreen in place in silent terror. He almost couldn’t hear what was being said around him due to how sharp those claws seemed as they ran along the back of his helm.

“The adjustments can be made while the subject is undergoing the Prime simulation. They will be integrated as the scenario is playing out.” Shockwave’s lone optic blazed in the darkness beyond the overhead lights. To Smokescreen, it was a sign of doom to come.

“Excellent. Send him back in, I have Optimus on the line eager to hear about the status of his new devotee.” Megatron laughed. Smokescreen flailed for only a moment before his vision failed and he was again cast into the Temple.

-----

When he woke once more, Optimus remained standing a ways off, his expression settled into a distinct frown. He only had a moment of respite before the priests descended on him like rapid cyber-hounds, pinning him and returning to their gruesome work of making him in their image.

He couldn’t flail, he couldn’t fight back. The priests held him there, digging their digits under his armor and pulling away anything that wasn’t vital or attached directly to his protoform. He tried to maintain his dignity, but they were so slow, and by the time the priests started to pull knuckle plates from his digits, he screamed without restraint. It all burned, his frame felt like it’d been cut into with a million knives and all he could do was wail as energon fell from new wounds, leaving his delicate protoform exposed to the elements and countless connectivity points bleeding and stinging.

Logically, he knew it wouldn’t kill him. But every single plate torn away felt like fire was sent scorching across his very protoform. All the while, his Prime watched on, disappointed.

He remembered babbling, begging for them to stop as the priests maneuvered him to keep prying armor off of him. Sometimes they tied him to the ground; other times they would hold his helm in place so that he could see exactly what they were doing to him or so that he could witness the sheer sorrow on his Prime’s face. Optimus didn’t want this, he didn’t like seeing his suffering. If Smokescreen had only listened, this wouldn’t be happening.

He couldn’t recall exactly when the pain started to ease, but eventually, Smokescreen was tenderly lowered to the ground, almost in a loving manner. The priests each touched his wounds, running their digits along them with hymns pouring from their vocalizers. They were the ones that tore away at him, and yet their touches were so caring. It was a blessed relief.

“None are hidden from Primus’s holy light. Your armor will not guard you, nor shall it disguise your sins.” His Prime’s voice reached him eventually, and while weakened, Smokescreen found the strength to force himself to his knees. He was laid bare before his Prime. His armor was stripped away, leaving him in protoform alone. Being like this, so open before his Prime, it felt… right. His processor screamed at him, saying that everything was a lie and that he was meant to fight. But it was all so fuzzy, like something in the back of his helm was blurring rational thought.

He didn’t mind it, not when his Prime’s light could infuse every part of his bare protoform. It was warm. So very warm…

“No longer are you shrouded in darkness. You see me for what I am. You are beginning to come unto my light.” His Prime did not smile, but he did reach out, touching Smokescreen for the very first time since he was carried out of the darkness. It felt like he’d passed a great trial, and as his Prime’s servo cupped his cheek, Smokescreen wanted to sob. Optimus’s touch filled his entire frame with warmth and a sweet buzzing sensation, almost as though he were inebriated but still more aware than ever. It was intoxicating.

“But you do not yet see your shortcomings, your sins.” Smokescreen’s spark sank as his Prime pulled away. He reached out, trying to grasp Optimus’s servo but aborting the action halfway as those powerful blue optics met his own. It was not his place. He wasn’t allowed to touch. Every fiber of his being told him so.

“Do not despair, my chosen, for at the end of the long road, you shall be ready to come unto me.” He couldn’t help the tears that fell from his optics as Optimus moved away from him, allowing priests to take Smokescreen away. Unlike when they took his plating though, they did not force him to stand; instead, they offered him the chance to move on his own.

He looked to his Prime, seeing that his frown had diminished. This was a choice, an opportunity, and a test all wrapped into one. He had to accept this trial, or be cast off. He didn’t want to endure the darkness again, especially not so exposed. Only his Prime could see him like this.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I did wrong.” His voice shook as he got to his pedes, exposed cables, and protoform tensing at the chill in the air now that he was so far from his Prime. Hearing him, Optimus smiled again. His arms spread out, as if to embrace him.

“Endure your trial, my chosen. Now that you have emerged from the dark, you must shed your impurities. Only then can you be made mine.” It sounded so very wrong, but Smokescreen nodded anyway. His mind screamed at him, but his spark flared in joy. The warmth that came from his Prime was beyond comprehension, and he would do anything to have it wrapped around him once more.

“I will do my best.” His words came out strange, almost as though he himself had not spoken them. Smokescreen didn’t care, he smiled as he followed the priests, rationality slowly being overridden by newfound purpose. He had to be clean. He had to be worthy of his Prime’s light.

He was taken to a dark room, one where only a symbol of the Primacy was carved into the wall. He was left there, alone in the gloom. But unlike the shadowed world he had been left to suffer in, this darkness instead felt defeatable. It edged in all around him as Smokescreen fell to his knees, but his optics bit back the encroaching darkness, and that gave him a sense of peace.

He prayed, his voice echoing as he struggled to recall the few songs he learned in the Guard. Whenever he stumbled, a priest would provide him with the words he was missing through the door, helping him complete the hymn. It was comforting, alone in the dark with nothing but his mind and his growing faith to shield him. Why had he feared this all so much? Once he was made better, he could serve and bask in holy light. All was going to be well.

Time blended into a strange mess of experiences and songs. Prayers poured from his derma endlessly, his chanting never ceasing. His faltering grew less and less frequent, and while his knees and back ached from his submissive posture, Smokescreen ignored them. He ignored the screams of his mind, demanding he remember.

What was there to remember? He was undergoing a trial of purity. Nothing else mattered.

“Are you insane? This is fake! It’s a simulation designed by Megatron!” In the dark, he saw himself. His counterpart screamed, his plating flared, and his optics were wide and desperate. Smokescreen frowned, watching his wilder self try and reason with him. He could almost see scrips of code run along his and his counterpart’s plating as he looked both of them over.

Smokescreen was in his protoform, open for the light of Primus to fill his very spark. His counterpart was armored, closed off, and unwilling. His voice was loud, and his temperament was unruly. He was unfitting. Seeing him, Smokescreen could almost feel the shift in his very being as those distasteful pieces of personality began to fade away. Was this truly who he was before his Prime came to him? It was no wonder Optimus had to drag him through the pits and back to make him see reason.

“Even if this place I find myself in is just a crack in reality, it has brought me to the light. Through this place, I am made whole.” He spoke simply; his glyphs layered with pure devotion as he continued to pray silently. His counterpart screamed, clutching his helm in agony, before moving closer, trying to reach out with tainted servos.

“It’s not real! Megatron is trying to turn you into a tool!” Smokescreen’s optics cycled down in distaste as his counterpart shrieked like some sort of dying animal. How undignified. His Prime would never stand for such dishonorable behavior. Optimus was his Prime, and it was only right that Smokescreen emulate him and keep such aggressive behavior to a minimum. If he was to die, he would do so in graceful silence. His counterpart should know that much.

“If a tool is what he seeks, then he shall find none here. I am devoted to my Prime.” He returned to his prayers, trying to block out all of the distasteful aspects of the mech before him. His counterpart screamed again, his form flickering. Faintly, Smokescreen could sense something changing in the back of his mind—an aspect of himself warping. Part of him wanted to fight the change, but he saw no need.

“That’s what he wants! He wants us to hurt Optimus with our devotion! Optimus is just a mech! He’s not a god, and he doesn’t want to be treated like one!” His counterpart fell to his knees, and for the first time, Smokescreen stood up. He stared down at the creature before him, pitiful and desperate, wild and untempered. Was this how his Prime saw Smokescreen when he first arrived? If it were Smokescreen who was Prime, he would have cast such broken things aside long ago.

Such mercy from his Prime. To spare him and to heal him. It was beyond admirable; it was godly.

“Our Prime is a humble being, one who is kind enough to walk among us without showing his true nature.” He remembered every instance where Optimus gave a speech to the public as the war dragged on. He’d only ever seen the videos, but looking back, his Prime was truely a merciful being. He stood before them all, wearing mortal protoform when he could shine as a true god among them. He bore pains and scars just so he could walk among them, easing them and bringing them back to him.

They did not deserve their Prime. They had taken much from him and given little in return. Smokescreen’s devotion would do little to change that, but at least he could begin to carry some of the weight of his people and their collective sin. Even one small shift could bring forth a tidal wave of faith.

“Our Prime is merciful. Our Prime is an aspect of the divine. It is only right we worship him.” Approaching his counterpart, Smokescreen stared down at his mimic in distaste. There would be no saving this one. This shell of his prior self.

“He gives us his wisdom and offers us a direct connection to our god. He is all that matters in this grim reality plagued by war.” Smokescreen quickly pushed his counterpart down, straddling the pitiful creature to wrap his servos around the thing’s neck. His counterpart thrashed as Smokescreen held it down. The thing’s door wings cracked as they hit the ground and tears fell from its optics. Smokescreen’s spark cried out within him as his counterpart met his gaze pleadingly.

“Optimus doesn’t want this. You will only hurt him this way.” His counterpart spoke softly, and for a moment, Smokescreen considered halting. What if his counterpart was right? Something in his spark told him that all of this was… somehow wrong. But that couldn’t be right. He was becoming purer. It was only natural that he would feel discomfort becoming greater than what he once was.

“Our Prime is perfect, but trapped within mortal frame, he is weighed down by sorrow. I will carry that burden. I will make it so that our god may again speak through him.” His servos tightened their grip. The priests sang somewhere in the dark, urging him on. Smokescreen’s optics were wide, most likely wild from an outsider’s view. But as he cut off energon from his counterpart’s processor, watching the light bleed from his optics… Smokescreen felt nothing but sheer and complete satisfaction.

His Prime was burdened. But now that Smokescreen knew the light, he could help. And it all started with removing this thing, this tained echo from his life. No longer would he be foolish. No longer would he fight against the divine. He now knew his place.

“Please…” His counterpart’s vocalizer spit a plea in a mix of static and garbled glyphs. Smokescreen frowned, keeping his grip tight enough to crush cables in his counterpart’s neck. The thing before him gagged, coughing up energon, his optics wide and terrified. For a moment, Smokecreen found himself pitying the thing, enough to try and ease him as he was returned to his maker.

“Rest. Know that I will take care of him. Our Prime will never again walk this world alone.” His counterpart cried, his face contorted in anguish, before he, at last, fell still. Smokescreen maintained his grip a while longer before he finally stood, watching in distaste as the echo of his former self faded away into nothing.

It wasn’t right. Something in him told him that everything was wrong.

Smokescreen silenced those thoughts the instant the door opened and he was led back to the main Temple where his Prime stood, smiling in greeting. He’d done well. He was worthy.

-----

“Basic indoctrination has been completed. The subject likely will not reach the levels of fanaticism Lord Megatron desires at this rate.” Smokescreen’s winced, his voice coming out in a hiss that bordered on a growl as artificial light assaulted his optics. He was back on the Nemesis. He could sense it clearly now that his Prime’s light was not wrapped around him. This place was evil in the most despicable of ways.

“We have some time before Prime comes to collect his prize. Introduce a new scenario.” Smokescreen snarled, a ragged sound escaping him as he did so. Megatron no longer scared him, not nearly as much as he had before at any rate.

“The Prime simulation has largely run its course. What adjustments does Lord Megatron desire?” Shockwave seemed somewhat uncertain. Smokescreen watched him like a hawk, trying to see just what was going to be done to him. Now that his mind was clearer, he could understand what they were aiming to do. They were attempting to remake him.

Instead, all they had done was wake him up.

“Show him some of Optimus’s history. Drive home his Prime’s ‘fallen’ state. I want the guardsmech willing to throw himself into the pits without being ordered.” Fallen? Smokescreen scoffed. His Prime was not fallen, merely burdened. He would ease that burden over time.

“Lord Megatron wants the subject to feel superior to Optimus Prime?” Again, Smokescreen fought the urge to cringe in disgust at Shockwave’s commentary. How could he ever feel supreme when a shard of the divine called for him?

“No. He must worship and obey his Prime. But I want him to be willing to disobey when he thinks he knows what’s best for his Master. Let him sow discord among his Autobots in an attempt to ‘help’ his beloved leader.” Megatron put a certain emphasis on the glyph for ‘help’ that made Smokescreen distinctly enraged. He couldn’t act on it while bound, but he glared daggers at wherever he assumed Megatron was in the blinding light.

“Very well. An additional simulation will be run for the subject and further social restriction coding will be implemented.” Smokescreen growled, words unable to form in his vocalizer despite how aware he was. Megatron smirked, he could sense it. Nonetheless, Smokescreen silently cursed the warlord as he was pulled back into the false reality that brought him to the light.

“My chosen, you have done well.” Smokescreen returned to awareness just in time to see his Prime waiting for him. No longer did his Prime or the Temple frighten him. This place was a holy one, even if it was just a string of codes. No program could replicate the glory of Primus’s chosen. Even if the scene was fake, Optimus was real. His Prime was real. And his Prime was pleased.

“I am honored by your mercy, my Lord Prime.” He fell to a knee, bowing his helm respectfully as he basked in the golden light of the divine. His protoform felt tingly in the best of ways, his frame was rejuvenated and his mind was more active than ever. Just being near his Prime made everything so much better. No longer did the world weigh him down. He was loyal, and that loyalty had earned him the cleansing praise of the most holy.

He wanted to reach out and touch his Prime as Optimus stepped closer, his winged audial attachments seemingly glowing as he did so. The Matrix shone within his exposed chassis, gold paint glittering like stars all over his frame. He was perfect, and Smokescreen meant that in a way that far exceeded any potential attractions of the frame. Everything Optimus was, everything he happened to be, all of it was perfect.

Optimus was his Prime. He could not disobey unless it was to protect him. A good guardsmech did not touch. A good devotee was forever near, ready to act. Always ready, always loyal, never questioning-

“It is my pleasure to grant you such an honor, my dearest chosen.” His thoughts came to a screeching halt as his Prime reached out to touch his helm. For the first time since he’d been lifted from the darkness, light radiated through his entire being, filling his spark with sheer euphoria. He didn’t have the strength to even so much as twitch, instead basking in the gift his Prime was bestowing upon him.

“The time has come for you to see your design now that you are freed of delusion and sin.” His Prime’s optics were almost blinding as Optimus met Smokescreen’s gaze. He couldn’t shy away, not when Optimus held his face so tenderly.

“Look and see all that was; see what I have been forced to become.” Those blue optics widened, almost comically, if not for the sheer power contained within them. Smokescreen gasped as his vision shifted, blue overtaking everything until scenes began to play out before him. Or rather, memories.

He saw Optimus, or rather, the mech he was before he took the Matrix. He watched as the Archivist became god born, his frame restructured, and his spark made pure through temporary agony. His awe with the scene quickly shattered when he saw his Prime be forced to war, pushed to slaughter. Energon coated his Prime’s frame and blade, dulling his divine glow and haunting him. Smokescreen could see the horror in his Prime’s optics, the sorrow at what he’d been forced to do in the name of protecting the good and the faithful.

He saw his Prime executing a whole battalion of Decepticon soldiers, his blaster raised to each one at a time. The Prime’s battlemask was in place, but Smokescreen saw the growing horror in his gaze. Optimus took no joy in his grim work. He hated what he had to become, and Smokescreen could see it in the faint tremor of his digits as he held the blaster to each and every soldier’s helm, murmuring faint reassurances that the victims had no time to process.

He saw his world weary leader, exhausted and battered, slaughtering his way across a battlefield to buy his people time to flee to their ships. Viscera and energon flew, coating the chosen of Primus and the ground in the remnants of vicious brutality. His Prime moved fluidly, but every action was desperate, with not a hint of divine light infusing them. It was the action of an angel with his wings torn off, a beast hunted until it could no longer run. His Prime had been forced to fight until his light had all but gone out, only dark cynical brutality evident in his actions.

“Never should a Prime sully his blade with the energon of his own people. A Prime is meant to protect, not to destroy.” Optimus’s voice rang out in his mind as countless depictions of violence flew across his vision. He saw wars, burning cities, and dead and dying mechs piled high as his Prime waded through it all. He witnessed ships fleeing to the stars, soldiers on the ground frantically fighting to buy them even the smallest amount of time.

“My spark is burdened by the cries of the sinful and innocent alike. I was never meant to raise a weapon of war against Primus’s precious children. It has damaged me, and my ability to commune with our god.” He could feel coolant gathering in his optics as he was given a final vision, one that showed his Prime standing still in the wastes of a devastated battlefield. There was no life, there wasn’t even the faintest hint of peace. It was a mess of weapons long discarded, corpses lacking proper funeral rites, and trenches abandoned for Primus knew how long. Optimus tood amidst it all, his expression stoney and his gaze haunted.

He looked dim, his plating worn, and every part of him battered and torn. There was none of the divinity Smokescreen witnessed when the Archivist became something more.

Primus’s angel had fallen. His wings clipped by the weapons of mecha far beneath him.

“Forgive me for failing you. Forgive me for allowing you to be drenched in the sins of our people.” Smokescreen’s tears fell silently. He couldn’t make noise, that would be disgraceful for a follower of Primus’s chosen. But as the visions faded as his Prime’s touch again returned, Smokescreen lamented his very existence. How many vorns had he wasted with the guard sitting around doing nothing, when he could have been serving?

“You were lost in the darkness. You are not to blame for this. But my dearest chosen, I cannot continue on this path. The more lives I am forced to take, the further I fall.” Optimus’s touches were feather light, but Smokescreen leaned into them all the same as frantic determination surged in his spark. He could not allow this. He refused to be the one responsible for allowing his Prime to continue drowning in the sorrows of their tainted species.

“Then let me be your blade! I will carry out your will so that you never again need to suffer like this!” He spoke with all the conviction in his spark, ignoring the faint buzz at the back of his mind that still screamed at him that something was very VERY wrong. He chalked it up to the visions. Of course, he would be unnerved by them. His Prime was hurting and he hadn’t even noticed until now.

“It is a heavy burden to bear. In times long gone by, you would have had brothers and sisters by your side to aid you. But in this age of war, you are my only devotee.” Optimus dropped to a knee, prompting Smokescreen to all but scramble to fall to his knees properly, his helm bowed and back exposed. He could never stand taller than his Prime, that was beyond heretical.

“I understand, and I accept the burden. Even if my impact is small, I will help you. I will not allow Primus’s chosen to be tainted any longer.” He meant every single glyph he uttered as he clawed at the pristine stone floor beneath him. Anger bloomed within him, righteous and hot in a way he’d never experienced before. It was so sudden, it hurt.

Optimus was hurt because of his inaction. He could no longer allow it. Good devotees died for their divine.

“I am in awe of your growth. So short was our time together in this place of glory, and already you are a worthy devotee.” Against all expectations, Optimus lifted him from his prostrate position, urging Smokescreen to sit upright. He almost didn’t listen, but his mind screamed with such ferocity that he swiftly obeyed.

“I am your blade, your voice, and your subject. Your will is mine, and yours is the will of our god. I am honored to help fulfill the rite of the divine.” He spoke without meaning to, almost fearing retribution. But the smile on his Prime’s face eased him immediately, even more so as his Prime drew him closer.

“This is as it should be.” Strong arms wrapped around him, metacloth falling from the Prime’s shoulder to briefly brush against Smokescreen’s frame. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Smokescreen’s every thought fell still, his mind clearing and yet also turning into mush all at once.

“Mortal frame weakens the mind. Sorrow dampens the spark. Do not fear the murmurs of my waking self. With time, he shall understand.” Optimus’s words sounded like a choir, the essence of a thousand mechs speaking through him all at once. For a moment, it almost seemed electronic, fake in a strange way. But Smokescreen shook away the murmurs of his blasphemous consciousness, instead leaning further into his Prime’s embrace.

“As you will it, my Lord.” He could feel his vision beginning to flicker and fade as his Prime held him. It was so very peaceful here…

“Our time has come to an end. You must return and make things right.” Digits caressed his helm, soothing Smokescreen even more. He wanted to fall into recharge right then and there, but he felt the call, the order his Prime had given him. He could not disobey.

“I will fulfill your will, chosen of Primus.” His voice echoed, almost as though he were not the one speaking at all. He could barely see Optimus’s face as his vision faltered. But he saw a smile, and that was good enough for him.

“Then go in peace, my chosen. Fight in my name. Sully your blade to preserve the divine. At the end of the long road, Primus shall welcome you home.” With those final words, Smokescreen found himself ripped away from the Temple, away from the light and the warmth it brought.

-----

“The reprogramming had taken root. The subject has had basic devotee doctrine fully implemented with his base personality.” Smokescreen shot online, his mind and everything around him hazy in the extreme as he felt his straps come undone. The patch in his helm came away with a click, but the fog did not clear.

“As a safety measure, the subject will only experience full awareness when around Optimus Prime. This will ensure the subject maintains loyalty and that Optimus Prime experiences guilt, just as Lord Megatron desires.” What was being said? Smokescreen wasn’t catching any of it. He just knew these mechs were enemies—or, worse than that, heretics.

“Perfect. I am sure Optimus will be thrilled to have his new and improved guardsmech back.” Smokescreen couldn’t think, he couldn’t even move as he was picked up and slung over someone’s shoulder. He could see, but he couldn’t process anything. All he could understand were the commands screaming at him.

Fight in my name. Sully your blade to preserve the divine. Protect the Prime. Bear his burdens. Do not leave him. Make him understand. He cannot fall. The Prime cannot fall. He CANNOT FALL-

It hurt to think. He had to get to Optimus. He needed to get back. He couldn’t leave his Prime alone… but it was so hard to move.

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty Optimus Prime?” Smokescreen jolted to awareness as he finally registered the fact that he was outside again. He wasn’t in the Nemesis, he was… on the ground. Harsh and rough earth was getting into his seams now that he noted his place prone in the dust. When had he been dropped?

“Give him back, Megatron.” That was Optimus’s voice. The moment he recognized who was speaking, it was as if the haze in his mind had cleared. White hot anger and sheer determination infused every part of his frame as he rushed to his pedes. His vision still swam, but he bolted all the same.

“Take him and enjoy the alterations I’ve made! I am sure you will find them quite entertaining.” Megatron laughed, but he wasn’t a threat right now. He didn’t matter. Smokescreen needed to get to his Prime and he didn’t care how.

He leapt from ledges and rockfaces, hardly noting where he was stepping until he finally stood before Optimus and the rest of the team. His fans were spinning wildly and he could see just how shocked the team was. He paid it little mind. Of course, they would be startled. He’s been woken from the dark after Megatron tried and failed to make him into some sort of weapon. He was bound to look a little different.

"Rookie, are you good?” Bulkhead stepped forward first, but Smokescreen didn’t move yet. He needed permission. One did not just approach the divine without being invited.

“Smokescreen, what did that slagger do to you?” Arcee tried to speak as well, but Smokescreen’s optics were locked onto his Prime. His digits twitched as he noted the many scars and the sheer weariness in his Prime’s gaze. Oh, how his Prime had suffered… He needed devotees. He needed help.

“My Lord Prime, I have returned to you. May I have the honor of serving at your side once more?” The team froze, each staring in horror. Ratchet even dropped his scanner in shock. Smokescreen regarded them all with a sigh. He knew what he was like prior to his cleansing. Wild, untamed. He was a beast before; it was only right that they expected a creature of sin and sacrifice. To see him purified had to be quite a shock.

“Smokescreen, come here.” Optimus’s voice was shaky, but Smokescreen felt sheer euphoria as he hurried to obey. He stepped around Ratchet as the doctor tried to stand in his way. Within a nano-klik, he was knelt before his Prime, content to be in his presence.

“I apologize for my prior demeanor, my Lord Prime. I was impure and blinded to your light.” Optimus didn’t respond. Smokescreen risked retribution to look up and see the sheer shock on his Prime’s face. How long had it been since his Prime was properly cared for? When had a devotee cleaned his plating last? When was the last time a devotee was given the honor of tending to their precious Prime?

“But no longer. Megatron attempted to turn me against you, but instead he brought me to full awareness. I now know your glory and am eager to serve, if you will accept me.” Not a spark said a word, and for a moment, Smokescreen worried he’d said something wrong. Was his oath incorrect somehow?

“What in the Allspark are you talking about?” Ratchet was the first to break the silence, giving Smokescreen reason to snarl. How dare the doctor speak before the Prime. It was not his place.

“You should know when to shut your trap, Doctor. Your Prime has not yet spoken!” Smokescreen’s optics widened and he almost activated his blasters, but the faintest sound of shock from Optimus had him returning his attention to his Prime. Optimus’s optics were flashing, his digits trembling in a way Smokescreen had never before seen. Was it due to awe? Confusion? He didn’t know. He decided reassurance was the best course of action.

“Forgive my outburst, my Lord Prime. I know you have not yet acknowledged me as a devotee, but I cannot bear to watch such disrespect play out in your presence.” The team seemed horrified as he spoke. Why?

Smokescreen tried to focus on his Prime. He tried to smile and show his devotion. Why did Optimus look so scared?

‘Mortal frame weakens the mind. Sorrow dampens the spark. Do not fear the murmurs of my waking self. With time, he shall understand.’

Right.

Optimus was burdened with too much to see clearly. Smokescreen would have to be his optics and his blade. That was fine. He could work with this.

“I assure you, my Lord. I am perfectly functional. I am willing and eager to serve just as I did before.” Optimus stepped back, his plating flaring defensively. Ratchet clutched his scanner like it would protect him. Meanwhile, Arcee and Bulkhead raised their weapons in confusion. Even the ever quiet Bumblebee was on edge, standing next to Optimus in a defensive position.

They didn’t understand, that much was clear. But Smokescreen would help them. He would remind Optimus of his divinity and help him recover. Then, when that was done, he would help the rest of the team.

He would make things right.

“Allow me to be an extension of your will. Grant me the honor of the divine so that I might serve Primus’s chosen.” He received no response, merely a short gasp from his Prime. He looked terrified.

His poor Lord. He was so unused to devotion that it frightened him.

Smokescreen would have to change that.

#yes yes I know I have a problem #I like the religious fanatism theme #I just think its neat #that said here you go #smokey angst because why the heck not #transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #alternate universe #smokescreen #megatron #shockwave #optimus prime #one shot #transformers fanfiction #angst #brainwashing #religious imagery

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