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aurorasgate · 3 months ago

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I adore sephiroth x readers where he thinks he’s lost the reader like he thinks they’re dead for a sec and then they show up and he’s just all clingy and relieved. Or he has a nightmare that they’re dead in his arms and wakes up and they’re alive. I can’t find a lot of those kinds of Sephiroth fics and I think its absolutely criminal.

sephiroth x gn!reader

warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, mentions of blood

ooo anon i adore these types of fics too! i hope i was able to provide and help towards this injustice for these type of fics hehe thank you so much for requesting, i really hope you enjoy it<3

“sephiroth..”

he looks around for the two voices calling his name, each one familiar and bringing about very different and distinct feelings, but there’s nothing around him that he recognizes and neither you nor hojo are anywhere to be seen despite both of you sounding so close. something that puts sephiroth on edge as is, never wanting the professor to be anywhere near you if he could help it.

surrounding him lies only walls of dark petrified ice that keeps the world in a frozen stasis, the deepest glacier blues sparkling with the same mako of his eyes. the cold doesn’t bite at his skin but he knows it’s there by the clouds his shallow breaths make. masamune feels light, ready, in his left hand, awaiting her wielder's command. above him is what looks like a starless night sky and is seemingly just as endless in its depth but it feels as though as encased with no way out.

utterly alone he stands in the middle of it all, searching for who he loves and who he loathes.

“sephiroth!”

it’s only you he hears this time and at the sound of your distraught voice crying out for him in a way he’s never heard from you before, full of pain and pleading, he’s quickly on his feet to turn in the direction it came from only to be met with a sight specially crafted for his nightmares and that his own hands would make worse still.

with tears rolling down your cheeks and blood dripping from a cut on your cheek, you’re on your knees an arms length away from him, struggling through every breath, but not taking your gaze off of him. the way you draw your brows together and the deep frown to your lips might have made anyone think you were angry, and perhaps you are, but the anguish behind your eyes is undeniable. deep enough he feels it in his own chest.

“you have to stop this! please! ” you beg of him, your beautiful eyes trembling with more tears than before.

he wants to sooth you, take you into his arms and promise you that everything is okay, that you’re safe when he’s here to protect you, but he can’t move. it's as though his body isn’t his own, every command he tries to give it to bring him closer to you or say anything unwilling to obey.

sephiroth can only watch as crystalline tears freeze upon touching the icy ground at your knees and when droplets of your blood join them, his head starts to hurt, an aching pressure behind his eyes that he’s felt many times before and conjures images of raging flames and a pool of blood he knows is yours.

when he’s able to open his eyes again, there’s a split second of relief that he feels when he sees you still in front of him before it’s replaced with an emotion he couldn’t put a single name to. he only knows that his very soul is being ripped in two and set a blaze at the sight of blood dripping from your mouth and masamune sinking into your chest, his bare hands driving the blade deeper into you. your pleas quickly turning into a cry of pain that rings in his ears, unrelenting and heart breaking. through masamunes hilt he can feel the way it breaks through your bones and cuts the soft petaled flesh he’s kissed countless times. deeper his blade goes, effectively skewering through you all while his muscles scream out in agony as they’re pulled each way in his attempt to stop himself.

he has to stop - he can’t - he won’t - but inevitably it means nothing.

you’re so close he can taste the metaliciness of your blood in the air, can feel your fleeting warmth kissing his chilled skin and the weight of your body growing heavier on his sword. sephiroth can only stare helplessly at the way you bleed and grasp onto your life. behind him, echoing along the icy crystals, is hojos amused laugh. the same one he often used watching sephiroth hurt just as the professor had warned him he would if he didn’t his warnings.

“i told you,” hojo says, his prideful smile painted in his words telling of just how much he’s enjoying being right. “there was never any chance of saving them from you.”

hojo says more but sephiroth can’t hear him through the rapid drumming of his heartbeat in his ears as your trembling hand reaches out for him, your other being used as leverage to help bring you further down masamunes long blade, closer to him.

at the touch of your fingers grazing along his cheek, covered in blood and losing heat so quickly, whatever had hold over his body gives enough way that he doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of in order to reach for you in return but as soon as his hand is on your arm, trying to pull you into him, the aching in his head surges tenfold.

without letting go of you, his vision blurs, the entire world vibrates violently, but rather than seeing any of the mirage of images he had before, it’s only you that distorts between how you had looked mere moments ago to your skin turning different shades of splotched gray and deep purple veins spread everywhere; your head hung lower as you fight for life viruses the tender expression that’s worn by your visage but isn’t truly yours. not like he knows it to be.

each shot of pressure behind his eyes makes you blur back and forth but your words ring clear and soft, kinder than he ever deserved and with all the love you hold for him. “it’s okay seph. as long as you’ll get to be with j -”

the touch of your forehead to his chest feels more like the entire planet of gaia is crashing into his rib cage and makes him take in an unsteady gasp for air that burns his lungs as though it was his first breath ever -

sephiroth is forced awake, the discomfort in his chest mirroring how it was in what he knows was a nightmare. he’s had so many before, for as long as he can remember, but it had not made it easier to swallow the effects they had on him; the way it could blur reality and dreams even after waking.

surely that was why he could still feel the cold of that frozen place and the thickness of blood on his hands despite being half covered by the duvet and the pale skin of his hands looking completely clean as he sits up and stares down at them like they had truly taken the life of the person he cherishes the most. he could still feel it all, down to the way he felt masamune - a very extension of himself - cutting through you without mercy and the ringing in his ears that mingled with your resounding sobs.

everything only seems to grow worse when, like a child afraid to wake their mother in the middle of the night, he wordlessly reaches out for you and is met with a cold, empty, place where your body should have been curled up next to him. and when sephiroth sees he is utterly alone, the world seems to move painfully slow. gravity growing heavier and making it more difficult to shift onto his knees and for his hands to clutch at the sheets on your side of the bed as if searching for an ounce of your warmth, any reminder of your presence, within the threads.

but there's nothing. no warmth, no comfort, no you and the longer he tries to find you there, the more it feels as though the entire planet is devoid of your love and light. all because of him and before he knows it, he’s dragged further into darkness.

his hands are shaking, his breathing painfully ragged and his chest aching with a crushing pressure. he’s endured much discomfort before but nothing like this. nothing like the agony of being without you after finally letting himself have you. not after swearing to protect you with his very life.

silver strands of hair stick to his sweat beaded skin and catch in his blurry vision with every heavy blink of his eyes that sephiroth swears are deceiving him. they must be when he can feel your blood on him despite not being able to see it. it’s there, he knows it is, staining his soul, flooding his lungs, sitting heavy on his heart. ready to break him.

he finds comfort in the sweet cruelness of his own mind when it betrays him further and makes him see your hands reaching for him in the dark. he expects them to go right through him before they’re gone once more, nothing more than a ghost of a touch he hadn’t deserved in the first place, that his own hands had snuffed out, but no - he feels the warmth of your fingers, the unreal softness of your skin, that travel down his palms, the benevolence of your touch that always seemed accompany the way you handled him, washing away the sticky feeling of blood he thought might never leave, and sees them wrap around his wrists as if to tether him to this world. to you.

“sephiroth..”

it’s not the only time you’ve called out to him since reentering the bedroom and finding him on his knees, hunched over, the broad expanse of his back rising and falling with quick, uneven, breaths and clinging to the sheets on your side of the bed like they were a life line but with the way he looks up at you now, mako eyes seemingly glowing in the dark, pulsing with a mix of torment and realization, you think he’s finally heard your voice.

“love, what’s wr-” you don’t get the chance to finish before his arms are around you and you’re being pulled onto the bed, into his embrace, in a dizzying display of his strength and gentleness. but it’s easy to find your bearings when you’re quickly pressed flushed to his chest and your legs settle on either side of his like this is exactly where you belonged.

he’s burning up, hotter than he normally runs, barely breathing and trembling all over. the parts of his skin that touch your own damp with cold sweat but you don’t let it stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck, maneuvering under his hair, and pulling him as close to you as possible.

sephiroth whispers your name, broken and wavering and followed by his arms around you growing tighter, nearly crushing but it doesn’t hurt and you only encourage it more when you return it in kind, bringing one of your hands to hold the back of his head and keep him pressed, hidden from the world, in the crook of your neck.

“i’m here,” you promise and wonder if perhaps it’s exactly what he needed to hear when his hands bunch up the fabric of your shirt - one of his old training shirts you’ve confiscated as your own.

the thundering of his heartbeat can be felt throughout your whole body and you hold him like he’s something precious. as gentle as thin glass and as close to your heart as a cherished locket. your voice is a mirror of your emotions and meant to sooth him, remind him that he’s as safe in your arms as you are in his. “it’s okay seph. i’ve got you.”

he doesn’t speak or say anything but he doesn’t need to. you know by the way he holds you like you may slip through his grasp, like maybe this isn’t real, that he’s had a nightmare. one of so many you’ve been around to see him have, but this is also different than anytime before. he must have seen something truly horrible and it breaks your heart, brings unshed tears to your eyes.

your body had picked the wrong night to be so restless. you thought you were doing him a favor by slipping out of bed and waiting for tiredness to wash over you in the living room before returning to where you normally slept curled against him. he’d fallen asleep so quickly, needed the rest, and the last thing you wanted was to disrupt that but you’d have stayed if you knew what was going on behind his closed eyes.

he’d be vehemently against it, you know he would, but you’d have happily taken all of his bad dreams and dreamt them yourself if you could.

wordlessly you hold each other for an amount of time you don’t care to count. you’d stay here till the sun rose and fell again so long as he needed it. as time ticks by, slowly but surely, his heartbeat steadies, falls in line with your own, and each deep breath he takes that’s so full of you helps to relax the muscles of his body. your fingers run through his silken hair, careful in the way they untangle little knots that are proof of his fitful sleep and provide a comfort he isn’t sure he deserves. sephiroth has never been sure he’s deserved you but that would never make him let you go. especially tonight when his mind continues to echo hojos words, ‘there was never any chance of saving them from you.’

despite the calmness that has washed over him in lulling waves, his hold is unrelenting, unwilling to let you go, a silent vow that he’d never let anything happen to you. nothing and no one, not even himself, could harm you. he’d use every single ounce of his power and strength to ensure that. anything could happen to him so long as you were safe.

you’d never be as strong as he is, never know the other worldly power he holds and is forced to use for the sake of those who use him, but that would never stop you from feeling and doing everything to keep him safe too. many times it has made you wish you were stronger but at times so little do you understand that all you do for him, the way you protect him, has nothing to do with strength. the love and care you have for him, that you show him every day, is more powerful than any physical prowess. and right now, as you continue to hold him, love him, he thinks it to be more true than ever.

when he finally moves, neither of you being able to bear letting the other go far, it’s just enough so he can look into your eyes, remind himself that what he saw in his dreams was truly only a dream.

just a dream. he repeats to himself as he stares at you and brings a hand up to cup your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. as you lean into his palm, the smile you give him is both calming and radiant and proof that there’s no trace of how you were in his nightmare. no blood, no tears, no pain, no discolor of greys and purple to your skin. you’re beautiful. very much alive. his.

“everything’s okay,” you whisper, as if you could read on his face what was running through his mind. “what you saw in your dream wasn’t real, i promise.”

“you’re okay,” he says aloud, reassuring himself, his vocal cords crackling with the remnants of being unable to speak or have control over his body, even in his dream.

“i’m okay,” you echo without missing a beat, not needing him to elaborate. “safe and sound with you.” the last of his discomfort vanishes at the weight of your forehead on his, a distance you close, and the way you rub the nip of your noses together. “just like you’re safe and sound with me, my love.”

with a sigh of relief that you feel the heat of on your mouth, his fingers tangle into your hair and pull you closer till your lips meet in a long, soft kiss that seals your promise into his heart and soul.

i know i already wrote a nightmare fic for him but idgaf. poor baby has too many nightmares

#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 x reader

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skzdreamer13 · 5 months ago

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Rest

LeeKnow Cuddle Time 🖤

Minho x Reader

Minho's turn for the cuddle time Chapter!

Thank you @intrikatie, my love for ideas! ♥︎

Cuddle Time Masterlist ~ Here

Info ~ fluff, cuddling

“Ugh, Finally!” You shout as you step out of the passenger side of the car, leaning back with your arms up in the air to stretching your back with a loud ��ahhh’

Two hours in the car isn’t very long but it was uncomfortable nonetheless.

"I'll get the tent set up" Minho says as he walks around from the drivers side and plants a quick peck on your cheek.

He smiles fondly at you and walks around to the trunk of the car to start unloading.

After about an hour and a half of setting up you both finally rest in your respective chairs, next to one another with a campfire blazing a few feet in front of you.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" You say getting up excitedly and running over to the car.

Minho raises an eyebrow at you, but you are too preoccupied to notice. When you return you have a large thermos in your hands and as you walk towards him, the inquisitive look on his face still hasn't dissipated.

"Hot chocolate silly! Remember I packed it this morning." You say and excitedly plop back down in your camping chair to pour a cup of hot cocoa for each of you.

"Oh yeah! That's what you were doing? That's sweet." He smiles at you softly as you hand him his mug, and he takes it. He may not be as expressive as most but you cherish when he is, as it's such a rarity. Almost like an occasion. They way his lips curl upwards and his teeth peak out, a cute soft gummy smile that makes him look like an adorable bunny.

For awhile you both sit in a comfortable silence, drinking hot chocolate, watching and listening to the crackle of the fire. One of your hands are intertwined with one of his, dangling your arms slightly over the armrest of your chairs. Anything to be closer to one another.

His thumb is softly rubbing circles into the skin on the back of your hand as he takes a big sip and finishes his drink. As he lets go of your hand to set his cup down, a loud clap of thunder sounds around you.

You jump slightly not expecting the loud, almost booming sound. A wide smile paints his lips and a chuff leaves him as he finds your reaction endearing.

Your eyebrows knit in annoyance and you push his arm slightly as a small laugh leaves him. He gets up and plants a kiss on your forehead before reaching his hand out for you to grab.

You place your hand is his warm grasp and let him guide you out of your chair. You both stand at the end of the covering, that the tarp you set up earlier, provides as the rain starts to pour down.

Minho wraps his arms around your middle as you lean back into him, your mug of hot chocolate warm in your hands as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You both love to just watch the rain together, the sound of water beating down bringing you both peace.

Peace brings relaxation and relaxation brings drowsiness. You start to slump in his hold, laying more of your weight back into him, your head leaned back into his shoulder and the now empty mug is held loosely between your hands. Feeling you start to grow heavy in his arms, Minho grabs the mug from you.

"Let's go to bed." he says and puts the mug away so no critters get at it in the night.

You shuffle over to the tent and are grateful that you both worked so hard earlier to have everything set up as you can just lay down and rest not with no preparations.

You lay down in what is basically a pillow/blanket fort. Four or five blankets on the large air mattress in the tent, dim light from a battery power gives just enough illumination to the small sleeping space. You get under the many blankets, and as Minho enters the tent and zips it close behind him, you reach your hands up making 'grabby hands' at him.

A smile graces his beautiful lips and he crawls into bed beside you. You snuggle in close to his chest letting his distinct smell surround and relax you. His arms wrap around you, he instantly makes you feel safe and attended to.

"Thank you, for making the time to do this with me." Your voice is soft, just above a whisper so he can still hear you over the pitter patter of rain that still comes down above you.

"I'll always make time for you." His arms wrap around you tighter with his words and you feel his sincerity through it.

Slowly you fall asleep surrounded by his warmth and soft rain around you.

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#skz #stray kids #kpop #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz lee know #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz minho #lee know x reader #stray kids lee know #lee know imagines #lee know #lee know fluff #skz lee minho

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helreginn · 6 months ago

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@eyes-blazing asked:

Message me with “Hey there little one” to interact with my muse as a child (From Jörmungandr. Because who else.)

She pulled her brows low but there was a distinct gleam in her eyes as she stared up at her big brother. He called her little? He will see the fury of a little giant. Before he could speak a fourth word, she crouched low and sprung fast, leaping onto his arm and clambering up onto the back of his shoulders, her little hands around his neck.

Just giggling the entire time.

"Who's little now?" She asked, reasoning that she was just as tall as him since her eyes were near enough to his level.

It was comedic, that Hel remained humanoid yet here she was, acting so very much like a monkey.

#eyesblazing #eyesblazing: Jörmungandr #BB!Hel #asks #ic #meme #eyes-blazing

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 4 months ago

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Cariño [Part 7]

Jake Lockley x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Series Masterlist

Summary: The story comes to an end.

A/N: I know, it's been centuries, chapter 6 was posted in June 2023 (the shame), but here is the ending. Finally. Honestly, I'm not very happy with this story as a whole, but now it's done.

Warnings: kissing, p in v sex, cream pie, oral (both receiving), reader can't speak Spanish, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3239

You had gone to Jake’s room early the next morning and knocked. No answer.

You’d tried calling his phone, the one that worked yesterday. His number was out of service.

After speaking to the front desk, you found out he had checked out the night before, barely two hours after you had last seen him.

A little after 8am you received the rest of the money into your bank account, payment for the job.

It was fine. Really.

He is an adult. He could do what he wanted. He didn’t owe you anything.

But it hurt. A lot.

You pushed the feelings down deep until you could almost walk on them. There was no need to dwell on this, dwell on him. But your thoughts kept migrating back, like a compass needle swinging north no matter how hard you shook it.

You got ready and boarded your flight, not home, but to another job. Procuring and authenticating a Ruben, the honest, legal work you had pushed back a little so that you could get Jake his ankh.

It was simple enough, practically a done deal and you were home and paid within two days.

You heard through one of your contacts that the day after his party Edward Malay’s mansion had caught fire. He had seemingly died in the blaze.

All you could think of was the look he had given you when Jack’s hand was on your waist.

You let the rest of the following week slide by without any work, your heart just wasn’t in it. But by the Wednesday Detective Eric Peterson, the officer who worked for the police art and antiques unit, had called you asking for your help and promising you weren’t going to get hit in the face again this time.

You took the job and got on with your life. There wasn’t much else to do.

It was evening on a Friday night, and after trying to stop yourself from nodding off in front of the television you finally admitted defeat. Switched it off and got up to go to bed.

There was a knock at the door. Ordinary and repetitive.

You frowned. Waited a moment before moving closer to the door, keeping your footsteps light.

Ever so carefully you checked the peephole and saw…

Jake.

It was like a pin had been pushed through your chest, a sharp and small and perfect pain.

Jake.

He hadn’t knocked like he usually did, forgone that familiar, distinctive sound.

You swallowed and opened the door. There was a split second when his gaze fell on you, the tiniest moment where he seemed to disappear and be replaced by someone else.

“Jak-”

He surged forward before you had even fully opened the door, his hands cupping your cheeks and his lips meeting yours.

The force of his actions made you step back as he stepped forward, moving with you so that the kiss remained unbroken.

You froze, surprised and questioning whether you had actually fallen asleep on the settee and this was all about to become some half remembered dream.

He pulled back, crestfallen, mistaking your shock for rejection.

“I’m-”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence.

You moved forward, grabbing hold of his jacket and pulling his mouth back to yours.

He let out the sweetest little moan as he kissed you back, wrapping his arms around you as his tongue slid into your mouth. He nudged the front door shut with his foot before he walked you backwards and further into the room.

For a moment he pulled back, breathing hard, his hands still on your face. “Cariño,” he stroked his thumbs over your cheeks, seemingly searching your eyes for something and kissing you again deeply when he found it.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and the back of his neck, running your fingers through the hair that wasn’t covered by his cap at the nape.

Slowly he continued to urge you back until your legs nudged against the armrest of the settee. You let out a small moan as his tongue danced over yours and pushed you back into the sofa, his right hand coming around to press flat on your back and keep your descent slow and controlled.

You pulled off his hat and pushed his coat from his shoulders, urging it down his arms as he shimmied it the rest of the way down and climbed on top of you.

He slid his right hand down your side, your outer thigh, before hooking his fingers under the back of your knee and pulling your leg over his hip. He pressed in close, lightly grinding against you for a second until you pressed at his lower back with your calf and pushed him fully down.

The fiction sparked pleasure along your veins, burning into your skin as you clawed at his shirt trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter between kisses. “I shouldn’t have just taken off.”

You kiss him back fiercely, “You don’t owe me anything-”

“I do cariño, I do.” He kisses down your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin until you yelp. You can feel his smile as he presses his lips to your skin to ease the burn.

“Jake,” You pull him back slightly, tugging lightly at his hair so that you can see his face. You’re not sure why you’re doing this, why you need to have this conversation now of all times. But emotion twists in your gut and won’t let you let this slide.

His eyebrows pinch together slightly as he moves back, his eyes soft and hesitant. Expecting more rejection.

You can’t help but stroke his cheek, the beginnings of stubble brush along your fingertips. “Jake,” you repeat and he closes his eyes briefly at the softness in your voice. “You don’t owe me anything, you can do-”

“I owe you an explanation.” He stares at you so sincerely it’s like his gaze is piercing into your soul. “I owe you-”

“Ja-”

“I wanted to kiss you again… back at the hotel. I wanted to…” He moves a fraction closer, his right hand sliding down to your waist as he presses his hips more fully against yours and rocking ever so slightly.

You bite back the little gasp that wants to escape your lips.

“I wanted to…” he swallows, his line of sight fixated on your lips as his tongue runs along his own, “make love to you.”

Your heart beats so rapidly that it echoes in your neck.

“But instead I,” he shakes his head, crunching up his face as he internally chastises himself. “I fucked up, I-”

You silence him with your mouth on his, unable to hold yourself back any longer.

He moans wantonly against your lips, eagerly accepting your tongue when you lick into his mouth. His hands are cool from the outside air, but it’s a balm to your feverish skin as he slides the tip of his fingers under your top and skims along your hips.

Jake rocks against you feverishly, groaning happily when you wrap your legs around his waist fully. His erection pressed against you, the zipper of his jeans brushing perfectly along your core. The sensation spikes along your nerves and makes you squeeze his arms in a desperate attempt to pull him closer.

He mouths at your neck, sucking and licking, paying particular attention to every sigh and hitch of your breath.

“I have… so much,” he swallows, his voice muffled by your skin. Not able to pull himself away for even a second to speak clearly. “I need to tell you,” he pauses, biting his lip. “There are things that you should kno-”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him again, soft and sweet even though his lips are hot and wet. “Later.”

“Cari-”

“I mean this in the nicest way Lockley, but if you don’t sit back,” you move as you speak, unhooking your legs from his waist and urging him into a sitting position on the sofa, “and let me do what I want, then I’m never going to forgive you.”

He keeps his hands on you as you gently manhandle him. A soft expression all over his face, as if his heart had cracked under the strain of carrying his emotions for far too long. And now the joy in his chest had no choice but to seep into his skin.

“What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet, reverent almost. And, in that moment you’re sure he would fall on a sword if you uttered the words.

You shift back, off the sofa and onto your knees between his legs, your hands on either side of his thighs to push them a little wider.

The heavy bulge of his erection strains against the denim, practically seconds away from popping the neatly stitched seams. His cock twitches under your gaze and Jake lets out a soft groan as you squeeze his thighs, scrapping your nails along his inseam.

“I want you to…” You slide your palms higher until your eager fingers can reach his belt. You flick open the buckle, pulling the leather free before you undo his trouser button and start to pull down his fly.

“You don't have to.” He whispers. His eyes glued to your face, his hands balled up by his sides and pressing into the sofa, barely resisting the urge to grab the back of your neck and pull you close so he could rut against the heat of your mouth.

“I want to.” You hold his gaze, slowly tugging the zipper down.

Jake breathes hard, the air catching in his throat as his cock throbs. It's painful how much he aches, straining against the tough, unyielding fabric.

He gasps when your fingers touch the skin just about his waistband and eagerly raises his hips to help you pull his clothing down to his ankles. His cock bobs free with a dull slap against his stomach and when you finally take him gently in your hand and kiss the very tip, he nearly comes on the spot.

You press the palm of your free hand firmly against his inner thigh, a gentle reminder to keep him vaguely still and his legs parted. His muscles tense and twitch, flexing under your fingers.

His voice is weak when he mutters your name, soft and strained. You flick your tongue over his head, swirling twice before pulling back a fraction and look up at him.

The warm artificial light makes his skin glow, the shadows on the sofa perfectly outlining his form, like a work of art you’d been tasked to assess.

“Please,” his breathing is controlled even as his chest rises and falls.

You wait until he starts to continue, to finish his thought, it’s only fair really due to the amount of times he’s teased you in the past with trivial things, before you take the tip into your mouth.

Jake swears under his breath, his eyes screwing up as he fights the urge to buck and you bob your head slowly before you sink deeper.

“Fuck,” He hisses, his eyes glazed.

You hum softly as you suck and lick, relaxing your jaw as best you can to take as much of him as possible. His little pants and gasps for air make you lightheaded, your blood singing as he twitches on your tongue.

You slide your hand from his thigh, up his leg to lightly roll his heavy balls in your palm.

“Shit, cariño, I…” He moans, his stomach muscles clenching as he flinches forward. Pleasure sparking up his spine and twisting along his nerves. His orgasm so close it’s almost blinding.

He wants to press close, to let you play him to your own heart's desire and come down your pretty throat with a scream.

But he won’t. Yet.

Jake finds the strength to take hold of your shoulders, “Stop, please.”

You do instantly and he sighs, eagerly leaning forward and kissing you fiercely. Licking into your mouth and groaning when you sink your fingers into his hair.

He gently guides you into his lap as he hurriedly helps you pull off your clothes and the rest of his.

“So pretty,” he groans as he mouths at your breasts, suckling lightly as he slides his left hand down your side and presses at your core.

You shiver involuntarily under his touch, swallowing down a moan as he softly circles your clit with his calloused fingers. You squeeze his shoulders, your hips bucking automatically at the slow drag.

He hums low in his throat, watching you with dark eyes. Languidly he runs his middle and forefinger over your folds, barely there pressure. “Can I?” He mutters as he rubs at your clit again, hardly even taking the edge of the ache.

You nod rapidly, “Jake, please, I want you to-” You moan loudly as he presses inside.

He swears at the wetness that greets him, quickly curling his fingers and stroking as he presses against your bundle of nerves with his thumb. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he moves, keeping time with the rocking of your hips.

“That’s in cariño,” he whispers, his voice thick, “take everything you want.”

You almost don’t recognise the whine that leaves your lips as your own. Pleasure twists and pulses in your stomach, claws at your skin as your thighs burn and shake.

He litters your chest with wet, desperate kisses, his stubble scraping deliciously over your skin. Somehow he manages to swallow a groan as you tense, his cock twitches, smearing salvia and precome against his stomach.

“Jake,” you gasp, the weight in your stomach dropping as he strokes and pulls the pleasure from your bones.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he whines, his voice nearly as desperate as your own. “Please, please,” his throat is dry as he mindlessly begs, transfixed on the look and feel of you.

You come all at once, your orgasm piercing through your muscles and running like a current through your nerves. Jake guides you through it, holding you close and muttering sweet words and you shake and shatter in his arms.

He slowly pulls out of you as you weaken, kissing your temple and stroking your back. You press your face into his neck, breathing hard. Your skin is hot but his touch is soothing.

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t tell you what cariño means,” he whispers, there’s a weight in his chest, a tightness he needs to shift that’s fracturing. “It-”

“I know what it means,” you smile and pull back so that you can look at his face. “I just kept asking to see when you would tell me.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re cruel to me cariño.” He teases, his eyes bright. “Too cruel.”

You grin before you kiss him deeply, wet and warm as your tongue slides over his. He shivers delightfully as you just scrape your nails over his scalp, lost in your touch.

His cock presses hot and heavy between your bodies, desperate for any kind of friction and when you angle your hips away from his slightly Jake just thinks you mean to tease him all the more.

He certainly doesn’t expect you to raise up on your knees while you kiss him feverishly, nor did he predict how you guide him to your centre and just sink down.

He moans, his forehead pinched together in ecstasy as you envelop him, so soft and warm and he nearly chokes, stammering out swears and please as you squeeze.

“Cariño,” his hands fly to your hips, tensing and desperate as you finally take all of him.

You rock slowly, moving in a long figure of eight as your body adjusts to his size. The thickness stretching you wonderfully.

Jake gasps, his fingers digging in as he holds on for dear life. Bliss buzzes along his skin, settles at the base of his spine with a dizzying speed. “I’m,” he swallows, his breath hitches as you move a fraction faster. His cock pulses as it rubs within you, pleasure building and building and building. “I’m so sorry, I can’t, I’m gonna…”

You don’t let up your movements as you lean forward, ghosting your lips over his. “Please,” you dart out your tongue, running lightly over his bottom lip. “I want you to.”

Jake groans loudly, gasping for air as he pulls you as close as physically possible. His hips thrust up as he comes hard, the sensation whiting out his vision as he calls out your name in prayer.

‘Thank yous’ fall his hushed whispers from his mouth as he shakes and recovers, his heart racing in his chest. You can’t help but watch him, transfixed in how his face pinches and glows in pleasure.

You’re smiling at him when he opens his eyes, and you brush some of his loose curls from in front of his face as he gazes at you.

“You okay?” You giggle, joy rising up in your chest at the love sick look he gives you.

“More than,” he kisses you softly, his strong arms hugging you close. “More than more than.”

Without warning he twists, moving you onto your back flat against the sofa while staying deep inside of you. You let out a little yelp of surprise that turns into more laughter.

“I love that sound,” Jake kisses your nose, grinning. “I think it is my second favourite.”

“Second favourite?”

He nods, “This is the first.” He moves quickly, pulling his softening cock from your pussy only to quickly dip down, kissing your stomach once before he presses the flat of his tongue in one long, slow lick through your folds. He groans as your combined fluids fill his mouth, and your cry of pleasure sounds in his ears.

He swirls his tongue over your click one way and then the other before he gently presses two fingers on either side of your entrance and stretches slightly, opening you wider. “Fuck, such a mess here.” He groans, biting his lip at how your muscles flutter under his hold before he gets back to the task at hand.

“Jake,” you gasp as his warm tongue runs over you again, the tip just dipping inside as he flicks up, trying to gather as much of your combined release as possible before he swallows.

You wriggle under the onslaught, your back arching off the cushions as he works on you, quickly hurtling you towards another orgasm.

He groans as you writhe, using his hands to pull your legs over his shoulders without breaking his rhythm. He flicks his tongue, alternating between sucking and licking until you’re sobbing and soaking a wet patch into the sofa.

His fingers knead your thighs and ass cheeks, coaxing you to buck and grind exactly how your desperate body is begging you to.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. One second you’re moaning and thrusting up into the wet heat of his mouth, the next you're practically paralysed as pleasure washes over your mind, body and soul.

Jake groans as you come, not letting up on his onslaught until you're panting heavily and limp. As he sits up you can feel his cock against the back of your thigh, hard and ready once more.

He grins devilishly, “Can I fuck you again cariño?”

Thank you for reading!

want to be tagged? • if you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#jake lockley #moon knight #moon knight mcu #jake lockley x reader #x reader #jake lockley x you #x you #jake lockley x female reader #x female reader #jake lockley x f!reader #x f!reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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sanjisleggy · 3 months ago

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the siren and the sun (portgas d. ace x reader) [pt6]

a/n: this was truly a test in writing fear and grief :D do let me know if i succeeded or failed

contents: graphic descriptions of bodily wounds and assault bc good times never last :’)

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 5

drip.

thump.

you aren’t initially alerted by the noise, still bleary-eyed from sleep as you leave your room, on the move to the galley solely due to the dryness of your throat. Ace had been stirred awake by you wriggling yourself free from underneath him just a minute ago.

“don’t go…” he’d slurred, long fingers grasping weaky at your shorts. you told him you were too thirsty to fall back asleep and that you’d be back before he knew it. now, as you make your way to the open deck, you wish you’d listened to him.

on the ground lays a limp body surrounded by a pool of thick, red blood. the life-sustaining substance seeping into the very grooves of the same wooden planks you’ve stepped on every day for nearly three years now. your blood runs cold when you recognise that signature hairstyle.

Thatch…?

his skin is deathly pale and his body completely unmoving as he lays face-up on the floor. even through the darkness of the night, you can see faint bruises forming on the exposed parts of his skin and the countless gaping wounds decorating his torso. the one in his chest is so large you swear you catch a glimpse of his ribs. his cold lifeless eyes are blasted wide open as a lone knife lays near his feet, drenched in blood.

“Thatch…?” you murmur, the name slips past your lips but you’re suddenly so breathless it barely comes out as a sound. “Thatch?”

he doesn’t respond.

a handful of seconds stretch into an infinite number of years as an unimaginably cold feeling washes over your entire body and goosebumps ripple over every inch of skin. you feel yourself begin to sweat in spite of the frigid night air as your lips part to make way for a cry for help.

but before any sound comes out, a loud bang reverberates through your head just a split second before you feel something hard collide with the back of your skull. the impact knocks the wind straight out of your lungs as you fall to your knees. unable to get your bearings in time, you feel yourself get flipped over as effortlessly as one would do with a ragdoll before your assailant slams your head against the deck as one large hand covers your mouth while the other clutches your throat.

you flail your arms and legs as panic sinks into your very bones, your eyes burning with tears not only from grief but also fear. your vision begins to blur at the edges as the grip around your esophagus tightens slowly but surely and though you try your best to make out the face of your attacker, it’s only when he speaks do you fully realise who it is.

“it’s nothin’ personal, kid,” Teach whispers as he pins you underneath him. “yer just at the wrong place at the wrong time… but now that i think about it… we wouldn’t be ‘ere if ya just gave me the Fruit, would we?”

it was during a recon mission with Ace when you found the Devil Fruit. it had been sitting so innocently on the ground–partially hidden by blades of grass–that you nearly missed it entirely had it not been for its distinct colour.

word that you’d found a new Devil Fruit spread across the Moby Dick like a hungry blaze the moment you stepped foot on deck with it cradled in your arms. while many either congratulated you or joked lightheartedly about how unfair it was that you’d found two, others were inclined to give bartering a shot, seeing as you “couldn’t eat this one anyway.”

as much as you were tempted by their offers of taking up your night shift for the rest of your life or being your personal bodyguard–Ace in particular had a big problem with that one–you quickly decided it would simply be a gift.

“i can’t just give it to anyone,” you replied with a laugh when Teach asked if you could perhaps give it to him. “it’ll have to be for someone special. it could potentially be so life-changing, y’know?”

he agreed and didn’t push any further.

Teach grins down at you when he catches how your eyes widen at the revelation.

“that’s right, girly,” he sneers almost gleefully, “you got Thatch killed, didn’t ya? ya wanted so badly to make it some sentimental present but instead ya doomed him the moment you gave him the Fruit.”

you try to shake your head as the sheer overwhelming grief at the accusation wracks your brain while your lungs continue to fight for air that’s so painfully out of reach. fresh, hot tears gather at your eyes even faster than before as you fight to stay awake against all odds.

“if ya just gave it to me like i asked,” Teach leans down closer to your face, pinning you even harder against the cold wooden floor, “i wouldn’t even have thought of killin’ ‘im.”

“are you sure, (Y/N)?” the head chef asked, eyes widened almost comically at the sight of the Fruit sitting in your hands as you offered it to him. “i don’t feel like i deserve something so special,” he admitted as he scratched the back of his head.

“don’t be silly,” you replied, shoving it into his hands. “you take such good care of all of Pops and all of us. i know you’ve always been interested in having Devil Fruit powers yourself so here’s your chance.”

“thank you, (Y/N). truly.” Thatch pulled you into a tight hug, nearly squishing the Fruit in between your bodies. “i’m touched you think so highly of me.”

“of course i do… and now you won’t have to be jealous of Marco, Ace and me anymore either!”

“hey now.” he pulled away with a smile on his face before he reached out to pinch your nose lightly–a gesture he adopted soon after you first joined the crew. “don’t say the truth so loud.”

“take one last look, (Y/N).” Teach jerks your head abruptly to the right so that Thatch’s body is in plain view. “this is my farewell gift to ya before i go.” although your vision is blurred by the never ending stream of tears, his bloodied face flashes across your eyes as clear as day.

Thatch… i’m so, so sorry.

“tell Whitebeard this is what’ll happen to his precious family if anyone comes after me, got it? that’s if ya live, ‘course.” Teach lifts your head off the ground just to slam it back down against the deck.

once.

twice.

after the third time, you feel something warm seeping into your hair. it’s only when he lets you go do you realise you’re not lying in a pool of your own blood.

gasping desperately for air, you choke and writhe as every breath sends an unbearably sharp pain down your throat and through your skull. your vision blurs in and out of focus as you feel as if the world is spinning on its axis. you slump onto your side, the warm wetness of your blood staining your cheek as you stare straight ahead at your friend’s body.

a fresh wave of anguish washes over your entire being and, against all common sense, you begin to inch closer to Thatch, your bruised muscles screaming at you to stop. broken sobs force their way out of your crushed esophagus and you nearly pass out from the physical agony alone.

“please…” you croak, “please, Thatch… wake up.” unable to move any more, your body slumps uselessly as you lay on your side, just an arm’s length away from Thatch’s body.

“wake up…” you babble repeatedly as the realisation that he’s truly, actually dead because of you begins to fully sink in. “wake up. wake up. wake up.”

in midst of your grief, you fail to notice the familiar numbing, tingling sensation from your Devil Fruit ability blooms across your tongue.

“wake up… please, you can’t be dead… wake up!” you raise your volume with every syllable, as if death was simply something you can startle someone awake from.

before you know it, you start screaming.

“wake up w̸a̷k̴e̶ ̵u̶p̵ ̸ẁ̸̧a̷̙̓k̶̹̓e̴͎̎ ̴̢̅u̸̡̕p̷͍̊ ̴̰̀W̸̬̾͑A̶͜͝Ḵ̷̯̌͆Ę̶̺̊͠ ̶͙̪̀Ṷ̵̀͗P̶̦̓͝ NOW”

a searing pain rips through your throat as you begin to cough up blood. a loud ringing noise reverberates through your brain and you nearly begin to choke on air from how sudden the sensation hits you. you’re used to your Devil Fruit ability wearing down your throat but never like this.

thump.

Thatch’s dead body jolts for a split second before it contorts almost violently as he sucks in desperate sips of air through gritted teeth, pausing only when his head turns and his bloodshot eyes meet yours.

“Thatch…?” you whisper hoarsely as a deathly chill runs down your spine.

tears begin to well up in his eyes as he struggles to move his arm, barely shifting it enough so that his cold hand brushes against the tip of your nose. Thatch attempts to say something, his bloodstained lips shivering as they open and close. “... (Y/N)...” is all he manages before the light leaves his eyes once more.

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16

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#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x yn #op #op x reader #imagine #fanfic #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace #portgas d ace x reader #cw blood #cw violence

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agentstarkid · 11 months ago

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YOU'RE THE STAR OF THE SHOW, YOU SHIMMER LIKE GOLD ✦ LN4

✦ pairing: lando norris x karateka!reader ✦ words: 4K ✦ warnings: female!reader, latina!reader, no use of Y/N, no use of physical description, a little bit of flirting. ✦ may's radio: me, actually writing for these men going vroom vroom??? whaaaaa?? shut up! lol I tried to explain the techniques to the best of my abilities as a daughter and sister to Senseis (and a once upon a (very short) time karateka). I hope it is understandable!! if not, let me down slowly!! SO, Boy-o needs a badass girl in his life PERIODT!!! And let's all pretend Monster gives a fuck about Karate. I've had this idea for lichrally months, dude. And I was supposed to do another thing with it, but here we are hehehe. Also, not using any name or description for this girlie was HARD so I think I deserve some of y'all thoughts ad nauseam 👉🏽👈🏽, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking btw. N E WAYYYZZ. I love u. I hope u like it. k byee <3

— back to general masterlist

The sun blazed over Monterrey, casting a warm glow on the sprawling city nestled against the Sierra Madre Oriental mountains. The streets buzzed with excitement and anticipation as athletes and fans from around the world gathered for the 12th WUKF World Karate Championships. Banners and posters adorned with the tournament’s emblem fluttered in the breeze, while the iconic Monster Energy logo prominently featured alongside, symbolizing the brand’s unwavering support for the event and its athletes.

Among the throngs of spectators and competitors, one figure stood out, drawing the attention of both fans and the media. Lando Norris, the young and charismatic McLaren Formula 1 driver, had been invited to the championships as a special guest of Monster Energy. Known for his prowess on the track and his engaging personality off it, Lando had a magnetic presence that resonated with fans across different sports.

The event was a world away from the high-octane world of Formula 1, but Lando was excited for the change of pace and the chance to meet young athletes from around the globe. Recently, Quadrant—a brand founded by him—had been sponsoring young athletes in different sports. It was a new venture for Lando, driven by his passion to support and uplift emerging talents. He had been looking forward to finding more promising athletes to add to Quadrant's growing roster, and the World Championship seemed like the perfect place to discover some of that potential.

As Lando navigated the bustling venue, his thoughts were a mix of excitement and curiosity. Though the world of martial arts was vastly different from the high-speed circuits he was used to, the principles of discipline, focus, and determination were strikingly similar.

He had to admit to himself that before receiving the invitation, he knew next to nothing about karate. In fact, he’d even had to google the sport just to get a basic understanding. Embarrassingly, he had initially thought Karate and Taekwondo were the same thing. The search results had quickly set him straight, teaching him about the rich history and distinct techniques of this martial art, and giving him a newfound respect for the discipline.

He was eager to meet the athletes, particularly one individual who had captured the world’s attention with her remarkable skills and indomitable spirit.

A 20-something karate athlete from Latin America, had become a sensation in the martial arts community. With two world championships under her belt and many other championship victories, she was not only a formidable competitor but also an inspiring figure for young athletes around the globe. She was specially known for her exceptional skills and strategic prowess in kumite, the sparring discipline of karate.

Sponsored by Monster Energy, her journey had been one of relentless perseverance and triumph over adversity. Her presence at the championships was not just a testament to her talent but also a symbol of her dedication to the sport she loved. And from what he had seen on videos while he was on his way, Lando also saw potential in her for Quadrant, imagining how she could inspire a whole new generation of athletes under the brand's banner.

The sound of rhythmic, powerful strikes filled the air as athletes from around the world prepared for their matches. Lando was led through the bustling venue to the competition floor, where the large tatami mats were situated. As he walked, he could hear the short—some even lasting longer—, loud shouts of "kiai" echoing through the hall, each one accompanying a sharp, strong technique from the karatekas already competing. The intensity and focus behind each shout sent a thrill through him, underscoring the seriousness and dedication of these athletes.

As he approached, he saw her warming up with stretches, under the watchful stare of one of the coaches of her national team. Lando felt a mix of excitement and slight nervousness. From what he had seen on videos from her past fights, she had a really strong presence, commanding the tatami mat whenever she stepped on it. Her intensity and focus were palpable, and he wasn’t gonna lie and say he didn’t think she was a little bit intimidating. And after spending a short—long—time going through her Instagram, he could also admit he found her beautiful, with her fierce determination adding to her allure.

Once she finished her stretching, he could see her coach pointing his way, making her turn around. He was approaching her with one of the energy drink’s representatives. Noticing them coming closer, she took off her earbuds and looked up with raised eyebrows, her demeanor immediately softening.

Actually…he didn’t know how to explain it…but now that he was in her presence, she didn’t give off intimidating vibes. She still had a commanding presence, don’t get him wrong, but she seemed to be more reserved and shy. He could see her fidgeting with the little device in her hand.

“Lando, I’d like you to meet one of our top sponsored athletes. She’s an incredible talent in kumite,” the representative said. She smiled warmly, a hint of bashfulness in her eyes, as she extended her hand.

“Hi, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your incredible achievements,” Lando greeted, shaking her hand.

“Likewise, Lando. It’s great to have you here. I’ve always admired the skill and courage it takes to race at the speeds you do,” she replied, her voice gentle and modest, a stark contrast to the powerful warrior he had seen in videos. “And congrats on your first win back in Miami!”

Lando was pleasantly surprised. “You know about that? Thanks! I didn’t expect to meet a karate champion who’s also an F1 fan,” he said, feeling a bit cocky despite the bashful smile creeping onto his face.

She laughed softly. “I’ve been a fan for years. Watching F1 races is one of my favorite ways to relax on weekends.”

Lando chuckled, his confidence bolstered. “Well, that’s great to hear. Maybe I can give you some tips on racing if you teach me a bit about karate,” he said, winking playfully.

She laughed again, appreciating his playful attitude. “Deal. I’ll teach you how to throw a punch if you show me how to handle those high-speed corners.”

Lando tried to joke, “It’s all about the neck strength, really,” but let out an awkward little laugh as he got a bit flustered. Her reserved demeanor was deceptive; she could hold constant eye contact with a calm intensity that he wasn’t prepared for.

She smiled, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her eyes never leaving his.

Lando felt a strange mix of admiration and nervousness under her steady gaze. Wanting to know more about her mindset before such a big competition, he asked, “How are you feeling about today?”

She took a deep breath and looked down for a moment, then back up at him, her expression humble yet determined. “If I told you I was completely confident about winning everything, I’d be lying. I have pre-fight jitters, just like anyone else. But I’m going to give it my all. That’s all I can do.”

Lando nodded, impressed by her honesty. “I get that. Even in racing, no matter how prepared you are, there’s always that bit of uncertainty. It’s what makes the victory even sweeter, though, don’t you think?”

She smiled, appreciating his understanding. “Absolutely. The nerves mean you care. They keep you sharp.”

Their conversation flowed easily, the initial awkwardness melting away as they shared insights from their respective sports. Lando admired her resilience and the way she embraced her nerves, turning them into a source of strength.

As the announcements for the upcoming matches began, she glanced towards the tatami, her focus sharpening. “I should get ready. It was really great talking to you, Lando. Thanks for the encouragement.”

“Anytime,” Lando replied, genuinely meaning it. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

She gave him one last smile before heading towards her coach. Lando watched her go, struck by the contrast between her shy off-mat demeanor and the commanding presence she exuded when she was about to compete. He couldn’t help but feel a deep respect for her dedication and the way she handled the pressure—and that was kinda hot to him.

Professionalism, Lando. He scolded himself. She’s an athlete, and you’re here to do your job—or a small part of it.

As he found a spot to watch the competition, he thought about the unexpected connection they had made. Despite their different paths, their shared commitment to excellence and the way they embraced their nerves set them apart as true champions. Lando knew that whatever the outcome of her matches, she would give it everything she had—just like he did on the track.

He could hear the announcer's voice booming through the venue. “Athletes competing in the Seniors D Female category: 21 to 35 years old and 65 kg and over, please approach the number 3 tatami mat.” He listened intently, waiting for her name to be called. It came in the middle of the list, and he could see the group of female athletes approaching the announcer.

She stayed behind the group, her demeanor calm and composed as she waited to hear her name being called. There was a quiet confidence about her that set her apart from the others. Lando noticed that some of the other girls would steal glances at her, fidgeting with their belts or adjusting their karate-gi in a nervous manner. Her presence seemed to unsettle them, a testament to her reputation and the respect she commanded among her peers.

As the roll call continued, Lando observed the competitors closely. The air was thick with anticipation, and he could sense the mixture of excitement and tension that filled the room. When her name was finally called, she stepped forward with a graceful nod, acknowledging the announcement with a quiet strength.

She joined the others on the mat, and the athletes began their final preparations, mentally psyching themselves up for the upcoming matches. Lando watched her closely, noticing how she seemed to center herself, taking deep, measured breaths and rolling her shoulders and neck to release any remaining tension.

As the roll call concluded, the athletes lined up in front of the referee and judges. Lando watched closely as the referee shouted something in Japanese—a command that he couldn't quite understand. Both parties then performed the ceremonial salute, tilting the upper part of their bodies in a bow. The referee shouted again and gestured towards the flags and the public, prompting another salute.

After the salutes, the athletes moved to their respective sides of the tatami mat. On the right side, some of them were tying up red belts around their waists and putting on red gloves and knee protections. On the left side, the competitors were doing the same but in blue. She was on the left side, methodically securing her blue belt and adjusting her gloves and knee pads that matched her new karate–gi that had blue stripes on the shoulders.

Lando observed the attention to detail in her preparation. Every movement, every adjustment of her uniform, was part of her mental and physical ritual to enter the competitive mindset. It was a fascinating glimpse into the discipline and dedication required at this level of competition.

After three intense matches—all of them won by her—, the announcer announced the final match. He called for her to stand on the two red tatami mats on the left side of the big blue square tatami. Lando watched as she took her place, her expression hardening with concentration. Just before stepping forward, she gave herself a couple of hard pats to her chest—a ritual, he guessed, to psych herself up for the fight.

Her face was set with determination, eyes focused intently on the task ahead. The referee approached both competitors, methodically checking their mouthguards and ensuring all their equipment was in place.

The formalities concluded, and the competitors performed the ceremonial bows to each other and to the referee. She took a second to walk up to her adversary and offer her hand to shake and a head nod as a greeting.

That’s a nice, respectful and full of sportsmanship gesture, he thought.

The referee then gestured for them to take their positions and announced the start of the match. Each competitor started to move around each other with their guards up and an intense focus. She moved with a grace and confidence that was mesmerizing, her every step exuding a calm readiness.

Lando could feel the intensity radiating from both competitors as they engaged in a series of swift, precise movements. Each strike was met with a counter, each block with a follow-up attack. The "kiai" shouts punctuated the air, underscoring the power and focus behind each technique.

Even though she seemed already tired after her past intense fights leading up to this one, she moved with a fluidity and strength that was both beautiful and formidable. Her opponent was skilled, but she maintained control of the match, her strategic prowess and physical strength shining through. The rhythmic exchange of attacks and defenses was like a well-choreographed dance, each move calculated and deliberate.

He found himself completely engrossed in the match, his heart pounding in time with the athletes' movements. It was only a 3 minute fight but somehow it felt longer. He could see the strain and determination on her face, the way she pushed through every challenge her opponent presented. Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable.

Suddenly, when her adversary moved forward in a punch, she ducked under—and somehow—managed to lift the other girl with her shoulder and drop her to the ground. In a display of quick and swift precision, she then threw three rapid punches to her opponent on the ground. Immediately, Lando saw every judge in the four corners lift their blue flags high in the air.

The entire place erupted in excited shouts, the crowd amazed by her impressive movement. On the large screen above, the score shifted dramatically from 3-4 to 3-7 in her favor. Kenneth—the energy drink’s representative standing next to Lando—explained to him that the move she pulled was one that immediately granted you 3 points—the highest score you can get. Lando couldn’t help but cheer loudly, caught up in the exhilaration of the moment.

Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable. She had turned the tide of the match with a single, decisive move, showcasing her skill and strategic brilliance. As she stepped back, she offered her opponent her hand to help her rise, the referee called a brief pause to reset the match.

The crowd's energy was palpable, and Lando found himself on the edge of his seat, completely engrossed in the action. The match resumed, but it was clear that her opponent was shaken by the sudden shift in momentum. She maintained her advantage, her movements confident and controlled, her strikes precise and powerful.

At one point during the match, she received a hard kick to the ribs, and Lando saw her doubling over in pain. Instinctively, he stood up, feeling a surge of worry for her. The referee immediately called one of the medics, who rushed over to check on her. The medic spent a minute examining her, asking questions to which she only nodded in response. After a few tense minutes, she stood back up, her face hardened with determination, ready to continue.

The referee gave her opponent a penalty for the hard kick before signaling for the match to resume. Once it did, she seemed eerily calm, her demeanor even more focused than before. Her opponent, on the other hand, appeared unsettled, thrown off by both the penalty and the unfavorable score. With only 1 minute and 30 seconds left on the timer, visible on the screen above, the other girl began attacking rashly, desperately trying to close the score gap.

But then, in a fluid, lightning-fast movement, she spun and lifted her right leg towards the back of her opponent's head, delivering a light tap with the heel of her foot to the back of it. The technique resembled a scorpion's strike or a spinning hook kick, in Lando��s opinion. But Kenneth identified it as an "ura mawashi geri." A hard and powerful kicking technique. He explained.

The judges instantly raised their blue flags high, signaling their approval of the impressive technique. The crowd erupted once more as the score on the screen shifted from an already commanding 3-7 to an incredible 3-10. With only one minute left, it was clear she had secured the victory.

Lando's heart raced as he watched her dominate the match. The final whistle blew, the referee raised his hand in her direction indicating her victory, and her teammates as well as the crowd’s cheers reached a deafening crescendo.

As she bowed to the referee and then approached her opponent for a respectful handshake, Lando couldn't help but marvel at her resilience and skill. Despite the setback of the hard kick to the ribs, she had emerged victorious, showcasing the true spirit of a champion.

As she left the mat, Lando could see the emotions overwhelming her. Her coach rushed to embrace her in a tight hug, both of them sharing a moment of pure joy and triumph.

Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of relief, happiness, and pride in her achievement. The weight of all her hard work and dedication had paid off in this victorious moment.

Lando watched from a respectful distance, filled with admiration for her incredible achievement. The crowd erupted in applause, acknowledging her exceptional performance and celebrating her as a true champion.

After a few moments, she composed herself and turned to face the crowd, holding up her hand in a thankful gesture.

As she made her way through the cheering crowd, Lando approached her with a heartfelt congratulations. “That was mental! You were absolutely amazing out there! Congratulations on becoming world champion again," he said, genuinely impressed.

“Thank you so much, Lando,” she replied, her voice still tinged with emotion and sounding a little bit out of breath still. “It means a lot to have your support.”

“You deserve every bit of it,” Lando said warmly. And immediately after, looked at her with concern painted all over his face. He noticed she was still having some trouble breathing and was holding her left arm to her ribs. “Are you feeling alright after that kick you received?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

She smiled, trying to ease his worries. “Yes, I'm okay. I had the chest guards on under my karate-gi, so it wasn't too bad.” She paused, then added with a light-hearted chuckle, “I did feel the kick, but it's nothing new at this point.”

Lando nodded, relieved but still a little bit concerned. “You've shown incredible strength and determination.” he said, genuinely impressed.

She nodded, gratitude evident in her eyes. “It's been a tough journey, but moments like this make it all worth it.”

Lando smiled, feeling privileged to have witnessed her victory. “Enjoy every moment of it. You've earned it, champ.”

“Thank you, Lando. It feels surreal.”

“You really commanded the mat out there," he said. “It's no wonder everyone looks up to you. You were truly brilliant.”

She nodded, the shy smile returning to her face. “I just try to do my best. It helps to know there are people cheering for me.”

“Well, you've got one more fan in me now,” Lando said with a grin. “I knew you were good, but seeing it in person... you're incredible.”

As the excitement of the victory settled, Lando leaned in slightly and asked, “Hey...uh... I've been thinking. Would you maybe be interested in joining Quadrant?”

She looked at him, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected offer. Her eyes widened slightly, reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity. After a brief pause, a smile spread across her face, and she eagerly nodded. “Sí! uh…,” she shook her head a few times, like she was trying to shake the language off her head. Cute. “I-I mean yes! I’d be honoured!”

Lando grinned, pleased by her enthusiastic response. “Fantastic! We'll talk more about it soon. I think we could do some amazing things together.”

She smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. “I'm looking forward to it.”

A moment of silence passed before Lando chuckled nervously. “By the way, I should probably explain what Quadrant is all about.”

Before he could continue, she interrupted gently, “Oh, don't worry. I'm actually a fan of the YouTube videos. I know about the brand already.”

Lando's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You do? That's... really cool!”

She chuckled softly. “Yeah, I've watched a few. You guys have some pretty entertaining content.”

Lando felt a flutter in his stomach at her praise. “Wow, I'm glad to hear that! Means a lot, especially coming from someone as talented as you.”

She blushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Lando. I'm excited about the opportunity to work together.”

Lando grinned, feeling a sense of excitement about the future collaborations. “Likewise. I think we can create something truly special.”

As they parted ways, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement and anticipation for what the future held. Being able to collaborate with someone he admired both as an athlete and as a person was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

Before they fully separated, Lando impulsively went in for a hug. She hesitated for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed as she was still sweaty from the intense matches. But Lando reassured her with a warm smile, “Hey, it's not a problem at all. I totally understand. I’m super used to the post-competition sweat.” He chuckled.

Her expression softened, and she returned the hug gratefully. As they embraced, Lando felt a sense of something developing slowly within himself.

Oh, Bob has a crush! He suddenly heard the teasing voice of Max, his best friend, in his head.

Shut up, you muppet. He groaned. Lando lingered in the hug for a moment longer than intended, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment himself.

When they finally pulled back, he chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No worries, Lando. Thank you again for your support.”

They exchanged a final smile before she had to part ways, both looking forward to the exciting opportunities ahead. Lando watched her walk away, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities.

As he watched with bated breath as the ceremony began, the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, calling the winners to the podium. When her name was called, the small crowd standing in front erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating her hard-fought victory.

She walked confidently to the podium, her coach following closely behind. The gold medal was placed around her neck. Beaming with pride and joy, she was handed her country's flag. Draping it around her shoulders, she stood tall on the podium, her smile radiant and her eyes shining with accomplishment. The audience’s cheers intensified, and Lando found himself clapping enthusiastically along with them.

It was a powerful moment, and Lando felt a deep sense of respect for her journey and massive achievement.

But it was more than just respect that stirred within him. Watching her bask in her well-deserved glory, Lando felt his heart swell with admiration and something more tender. The way she carried herself, the mixture of strength and humility, her fierce determination on the mat and the shy kindness she showed off it—all of it combined to create a powerful impression.

There was something profoundly inspiring and undeniably attractive about her, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her even more. She scanned the crowd and her eyes met his. Her face lit up even more, and to his surprise, she smiled and winked at him. The unexpected gesture caught him off guard, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth to his cheeks. Blushing, he quickly looked down, feeling a mix of bashfulness and happiness. However, he gathered his courage and returned the gesture, smiling and giving her a small, appreciative two-finger salute.

She laughed softly and sent him the gesture back. Lando felt a warmth spread through him, a hopeful anticipation of what their future interactions might hold.

As the ceremony concluded—and after getting photographed a thousand times, and having shaken what felt like a thousand hands—, Lando found himself back in the car on his way to the hotel. Gazing out the window at the bustling city, he couldn't help but feel grateful for having been there, witnessing her triumph and the beginning of what promised to be an exciting partnership.

His mind replayed the moments of the day: her powerful performance on the mat, the way she carried herself with grace and determination, and their brief, meaningful exchanges. The flutter in his stomach returned, and he allowed himself a small smile, knowing that this experience had been special in more ways than one.

Lando knew that this was just the start of something truly special, and he looked forward to the adventures that lay ahead, both on a professional level—and perhaps something a bit more personal.

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staarboyyy · 2 years ago

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Compliance - ktober week 1 [ Blood / Bound ]

homelander x reader | no pronouns, afab anatomy

explicit - minors dni

tags / warnings ; sublander, bloodplay, knifeplay, handcuffs, dom/sub dynamic, consent, communication, prior planning

summary ; getting homelander in a vulnerable position where you put him in cuffs he's not allowed to break

word count ; 1.6k

a / n ; i want to continue this at some point, lemme know what yall think :)

“Come on, Sweetheart. Give me something,”

Homelander’s voice was unlike you had ever heard before. The man breathed soft spoken words, riddled with a tremble that balanced skillfully between fear and something else. Something much darker than you had anticipated. You stood above him, staring down at his tightly bound wrists resting behind him, white-knuckled into tight fists. His knees were spread, staring up woefully at you, who now pressed a dagger firmly against his throat. Homelander watched you, eyebrows knitted upwards into a tangled and desperate expression; His lips were ajar, breathing hard as he kept his chin tightly angled upwards, the cool metal contrasting his hot sweat-glazed skin. You pressed it with more force to his larynx, pulling a low pleased purr from the man whom had begun shifting his hips in an uncomfortable manner. He cursed himself for this, cursed himself for all of it. Even letting you see him so vulnerable made him feel sick, sweat beading down his forehead and hanging off his jaw, his stomach churning angrily. It was much easier to digest the idea of being angry in his mind. Better than coming to terms with what he genuinely felt when gazing up at you like this.

“Please,”

The word fell into a pathetic whisper, Homelander's fingers twisting around one another in desperation he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted to move, to free his hands and touch you — He winced at the idea, his hands on you, underneath your loose clothing, pulling his hips against your own, all of it at once had begun truly washing over him. The thoughts trickled down in blazing components, traveling down from his corrupt mind, lower, lower, lower. Without distinct warning, the blade swept to the left with a sudden twist, so the sharpened metal scraped against the exposed skin. Homelander thrust upwards slightly, only to be met with the friction of his suit, now suddenly very tight. His breathing quickened, eyes not leaving your quizzical and guarded expression. Your gaze stumbled down to where his hips loosely thrusted upwards, cautiously gripping the dagger.

“Please, what?”

Your question hung in the air as the fevered pain on Homelander's throat stung dimly. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, lips parted with anticipation. With a clench of his jaw, he pressed his hands to the cold cement floor behind him, pushing himself closer to her with caution. Homelander knew all too well what position he was in - You were in charge, whether he liked it or not. Goosebumps began to garden themselves in cascading bouquets over the back of his neck as he came to a stop in front of you, your boot-clad feet standing between his spread thighs. He could feel his mouth beginning to water, eyes still staring up at you with a pressing need. Blood seeped from the cut on his neck, a pearl of ruby staining its path on his skin. Your looming stare nearly forced his back to slowly arch, squaring his shoulders as he adjusted his hips once more; Every stretch and crane of his neck rippled torrid pain down his frame, sweat rolling down the nape of his neck, only propelling his fixation on you, still standing above him.

“Touch me,”

The few fragile syllables had been interrupted almost immediately as the flat of your foot lifted and fell between his thighs, causing Homelander to let a single whine further dislodge itself from his chest. After a few moments, you pursed your lips, fingers still dawning the dagger with the most authentic intent to use it against him if you deemed it necessary. By instinct, Homelander’s hips drew upwards to grind against your foot, his erection aching against his tightly worn suit with unfamiliar desperation. Hungry desperation.

Homelander had always been the man to know what he wanted and, soon thereafter, when he wanted it — flashing a toothy smile at certain women, making under the table deals with co workers, receiving preposition after preposition. These simple passing whispers dawned upon the ears of the innocent, and oh did they listen with stiffening fear. His rough hands would needily grope at the warm skin of these women, sliding easily underneath their clothing to find dewy skin, the smell of sweat and head-spinning desperation. The feeling of Homelander’s breathing sped at these flashing memories, nails digging ruthlessly into the palms of his hands as the same waves of heat from before returned, soaking his body in an insatiable and unplaceable hunger. You watched him with skeptical eyes, squinting down at him dubiously. His gaze was unrecognizable, only in your mind comparable to an animal. A starved, depraved, and weak animal. You pressed your foot down harder, gauging his reaction slipping between covetous and fragile. Oh, how the man sang, a strung-out groan exposing his relief in the change of your pressure.

“Fuck,”

He choked as you began to move again, removing your foot from him to replace it with your ankle pressed snuggly in the space between his thighs. Homelander leaned forward to the best of his ability as if on cue, defying your silent demand to stay still. He could now easily ignore the biting sting of sweat pooling into the small cut on his throat; he could ignore the blade rising by your side. He could ignore everything as he thrust messily onto your leg, lips falling open once more. He wished he could see himself in this position, at mercy to you entirely. His rolling hips steadied into a regulated pace against you, the once electric new sensation growing into a more tolerable one. With a loose push of his fists off the floor, he attempted to move even closer but instead was met with the sight of you slowly beginning to pull your pants from your waist.

“You’re gonna stay on your knees,”

Your words didn’t raise a question, the tone instead making an assumption. Homelander watched your fingers slowly trace the button on your pants, his lips still parted, taking in slow sharp breaths. “Isn’t that right?” The words no longer registered with the man, his attention entirely fixated on your hand and how it moved over the small buckle. He simply nodded slightly, and that was all you needed to understand.

You let the dagger clatter against the cement, unphased by the sudden loud echo as you began to undo the buckles of your pants, bringing them down to her ankles to kick off casually. You tossed your discarded clothing to the side after you removed them calmly, as if you were simply changing your clothing before bed or taking a shower. This drove Homelander up the walls, having to watch you confidently bare yourself in front of him, not giving him the time of day even to meet his desperate gaze. He couldn't help but let a wry smirk push itself up to his lips as he admired your body, one like none other that he’d seen and wanted to cherish. When you walked back to the knelt man, you let your arms slide over yourself, resting your hands on your hips. You resumed the position from before, but now your bare legs had been exposed to him, opportunities blooming in his mind faster than he could gather them. Homelander dove forward with little to no hesitation, his mouth catching your skin instantly. He ground against your radiating warmth, frantically attempting to collect every caress, every gentle touch, every sharp movement and noise you made above him. His teeth crushed nastily against your thigh, sucking the untouched skin with a fierce appetite. You studied how he curved and coiled around you, akin to a snake drawing in prey and suffocating them slowly - You found it difficult to breathe, cheeks flushed, as his demeanor switched from yearningly patient to gluttonous and predatory. Your stomach stirred warmly as you watched him move over every point of your bared skin within his depraved reach. Homelander left bundles of clashing colors over your thighs, the shapes warping as you began to tremble slightly underneath his invasive mouth. His misted hot breathing against your underwear made you readjust yourself in anticipation, the nervousness and sudden wavering anxiety bubbling in your stomach. You swallowed thickly, watching him lean closer towards the band of your underwear, sharp teeth skillfully hooking on the elastic. The pooling heat in your abdomen and trembling breath took the place of what words you now so desperately sought out. Your mind ran in circles, yet you stood on trembling thighs, eyes glued to his while your underwear began to ever so slowly be pulled down. Homelander's breathing hitched as your nudity became more apparent to him, underwear drawing out a long string of pooled moisture. He could feel his steady breath waver hastily, his teeth still iron tight on the elastic waistband.

The smell of you filled his senses, your rocketing heartbeat drowning out his own as he let the underwear slide past your knees. He would never be able to put into words quite how difficult it was to keep himself restrained, not to move unless directly given the order to do so. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin against his own - The cuffs binding his wrists were akin to tissue paper, and you had both agreed if he snapped the weak chain, the scene would come to a stop. It was torture, in it's most carnal form.

Training a wild animal was no easy feat; The feeling of his tongue gently darting over the skin on your thighs was electric, tracing a painfully slow path towards your aching cunt. Homelander didn’t need to be in control to tease, yet his own greed would always trample the satisfaction of watching you squirm. His mouth met you desperately, tongue sliding over your heat with a quiet groan - He couldn't look away from you, not even when your eyes slid shut, eyebrows furrowing from the sudden pressure of his tongue lapping needily against your clit. He ravaged you, jolts of pleasure sparking in your veins with every lash of his tongue, sucking gently, savoring you and the noises that soon followed. You'd ruin him, surely. But in this moment, this second, his mind refused to let him see such a thing - It was you. Only you.

#bowies fics #ktober #homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #homelander x oc #the boys #the boys x reader #homelander smut #homelander x reader smut #homelander x y/n #the boys smut

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unstablebill · 2 years ago

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For Pride as a Special Treat™ I'm buying a BLAZE of my queer murder mystery novel! 🤩 PLEASE LOOK UPON IT!

I love cozy mysteries but there is a distinct lack of them in queer/furry spaces, so I wrote one 😌 You can find it on lovely indy press Furplanet at the link below! 4 illustrations and covers by @jayfitzmaurice

A Summer Vacation to Die For

Dr. Ino Reamer has a lot of plans for his summer vacation — relaxing, working out, trying to conquer the crushing ennui of his 30s. Solving a murder was not part of these plans. But when a colleague's grim demise very nearly ends Ino's tenure, the hyena can't help but apply the scientific method to his search for the truth. When a few suspicious characters take note of Ino's investigation, the case takes on a new urgency, and now Ino must crack the case before Finals Week becomes his final week! 😱

386 pages, rated R (murder off screen)

https://furplanet.com/shop/item.aspx?itemid=1202

(you CAN get it on Amazon but please support my independent publisher!!)

"Enthralling murder mystery? Check. Loveable furry characters? Check. Adorable/cheesy romance? Double-check. If you share any of these interests, I highly recommend picking up this book, you won't regret it!" - review

This is part 1 of a planned 4 part series so please watch me for updates on my upcoming books. I am a small author so I appreciate the support - please follow and reblog and like and share and subscribe and whatever else we do these days!

Thank you for reading! 😁

#murder mystery #cozy mystery #furry #hyena #novel #independent publisher #small author #anthro

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bartokthealbinobat · 18 days ago

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Huckleberry Pie- 2

Master List

Castiel had broken some rules, true, but it was for the right reasons. Rescuing Dean from hell wasn’t exactly, how to say this, completely in line with what heaven wanted him to do. Okay, in fact he had been specifically warned to leave “that goddamned mess” right where he was.

It threw a wrench in their plans, having Dean in hell, but everyone else was too concerned with upsetting the balance between heaven and hell to do anything about it. Cas had no such reservations, he knew that ideally Dean would be Michael’s vessel, so he was going to make it happen. It was all for the greater good, a holy purpose to send him blazing through hell as a one-man army. That was, it had been for the greater good, until the second his hand met Dean’s shoulder.

Hell had welcomed him with an embrace of ice and fire, the chaos of the under-world trying to pierce its way into his mind like an ice pick. Castiel had been prepared for that, for the torture and discomfort. He had not been prepared for the prayers. He could not hear them up in heaven, not even on Earth, but many of the souls in hell were praying. They were begging for help, for an escape, begging for God to notice them. It was very… human, and it tugged at Cas’s heart to hear them crying out like that.

As he wove through the chains and bursts of lightning, wings straining with the effort, the angel’s jaw clenched as he tried to drown out the cries of the damned. It was overwhelming, a literal tidal wave of want and need and prayer. He was not here for them. There was only one soul that Castiel could save here.

As he drew near to Dean’s soul, strung up in the sky like a marionette of gore, Castiel couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack. Dean was not praying. There was not an ounce of longing, begging, or crying coming from the man’s soul. It was striking to Cas that he was not asking for help. Obviously, he didn’t expect help to come. One of the most important men in the world, and he didn’t believe he was worthy of being saved.

He was going to get saved whether he asked or not.

Castiel wrapped an arm around Dean from behind, clutching the man tightly to his chest. Unhooking chains carefully, cringing at the damage they had done to the man’s soul, Castiel flapped his wings hard as the heavy weight of Dean’s soul slumped into his arm. He smelled like smoke and cherries, like he had been manning a barbecue before being dumped in hell. The brush of his hair against the angel’s jaw ignited a protectiveness that Cas had never felt before. This was no longer just a soul he was saving for heaven. This was his Dean, and he was going to get him out of here no matter what.

With the unhooking of the last chain, a far-off alarm started to blare, and Cas held Dean with an iron grip as he shot off towards Earth. He wasn’t one to brag, but if there was one thing Castiel excelled at, it was flying. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around a soul held an angel blade, glinting with every flash of lightning that arced past them.

Demons swarmed towards the pair, riding hellish flying creatures that looked like a cross between a fanged jackalope and a beetle. They were deeply unsettling, and the riders wielded swords and maces, balls and chains, wickedly sharp throwing stars. The demons came at Cas from every angle, swinging at him with everything they had. Castiel turned, wrapping his wings around Dean, dropping into a whistling-fast dive. He bombed past the demons, banking hard to the right and entering a cave system. With yelling all around him, Cas tightened the hand on Dean’s shoulder. They wove left and right through endless tunnels, moving so fast that the angel could barely avoid hitting every rocky ledge that popped up in front of him. An outcropping clipped him on the wing, sending them spiraling into a wide column, shaking the whole structure with the impact. Dean tumbled from Cas’s arms, only his shoulder staying in contact with the angel’s hand. Castiel would be okay, but he was worried about the soul, which had already been damaged almost beyond repair. He rolled back onto Dean, curling the unconscious man back into his chest, and took off again.

They broke out of the cave system and Cas could see the shimmering of a thin space between hell and Earth. It was almost close enough that he could reach out and…

Part 3

#castiel #dean x castiel #dean winchester #destiel #spn #fanfic #supernatural

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imtrashraccoon · 4 months ago

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Ahem You're welcome. :3 But seriously, I wish I could have spent a bit more time on this because I looove making Horror spooky. He's the best!

@owl-bones

First, Previous, & Next Day

Bad Sansuary II: Horror - Prey

Word Count: 1,314

You woke with a start, feeling like your heart was going to drill a hole through your ribs. It was the middle of the night and the fire had long gone out. To top it all off, the usual forest ambience had gone silent, almost as if something horrible was out there.

Another scream echoed through the darkness and you quickly pulled the blanket up over your muzzle. The scream sounded almost like a woman's, but more guttural, like whoever was out there had been attacked or was in excruciating pain.

When the scream came again, you couldn't sit still any longer and crawled out of your lean-to. Bracing yourself on a tree, you managed to stand up, being careful not to put any weight on your injury. You needed to find out if someone was hurt or at least make sure the camp was safe.

At first, you tried to hop on one foot to where you knew the supplies were kept, but soon gave up and just crawled the rest of the distance as it was easier. To shed some light on the situation, you lit a lantern and opened the hood to illuminate the whole camp.

Nothing seemed to be amiss. The supplies were how they had been left before you went to sleep and there was no sign of intruders. You crawled over to the fire pit, setting the lantern on a log to free up your hands. The screams seemed to have stopped, at least for now. If it wasn't a person, what could make such horrible noises like that?

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an effort to calm your pounding heart. There was no immediate danger and the camp seemed safe for the time being. The unfortunate part was that if there was a person out there, you couldn't do anything to help them in your condition.

It was a little weird that Maul hadn't gotten up to investigate though. Even if he was a heavy sleeper, anyone would have been woken up by the sound of someone screaming bloody murder. Actually, the longer you thought about the situation, the more it didn't sit right with you.

When you went to check on him, your heart sank to find his lean-to empty. His blanket had been tossed aside as if he had been in a hurry, but his greataxe was still propped up against a nearby tree where he'd left it. Maybe he had gone to investigate the screams? It was a little odd that he hadn't brought his preferred weapon along though.

Since you were in no position to go looking for him, you opted to stay up and see if he came back on his own. After crawling back to the fire pit, you managed to start a small fire after only a few minutes of trying which soon grew to a roaring blaze. As well as providing more light, you took comfort in the knowledge that the fire should keep any dangerous animals away.

An hour passed before the nighttime ambience resumed and the lingering eerie feeling passed. You made sure to refuel the fire when it began to go out, in hopes that Maul would notice the smoke or light and come back soon. If you weren't so worried about him, you might have actually enjoyed the peacefulness of it all. Unfortunately, your anxiety kept you from remaining idle for very long, but once you found a long, sturdy stick, you were able to get around easier. Even then, there wasn't a whole lot you could do without losing your balance.

You eventually just sat down to wait and prop up your ankle. After a while of staring into the fire and listening to the crackling embers, the fur on the back of your neck suddenly stood on end. You froze, getting the distinct feeling of being watched. You began to scan the surrounding forest, slowly turning your head until you were able to look behind you.

For a moment, you didn't notice anything, but you just couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. Slowly, you drew your dagger, keeping it close to your side for the time being. You turned back around, scanning the trees again, only to hear a heavy footstep from behind. You whipped around only to make eye contact with Maul. He definitely hadn't been there before, but in the moment you were relieved he wasn't someone else.

"Oh, there you are. Are you alright...?"

You trailed off as he took a slow step forward. It was then that you noticed his eyelight was different. It was smaller and the center had narrowed into a slit, making him look even more menacing than he usually did.

Your eyes widened as he began to silently move closer. Each step was deliberate, calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey before an attack. As he drew closer, you glimpsed some small whisps of purple energy surrounding his blood red eyelight. His body language nearly screamed aggressive as if every fiber of his being was pulled taut, like a bowstring, ready to spring forward at a moment's notice.

You got to your feet, leaning on your staff for support. "Maul, what's the matter? Can you hear me?"

He ignored your questions, not even giving any indication that he understood a word of what you had said, only continuing to move closer until he was barely a few paces away.

You started to back up in an attempt to keep some distance between you and your comrade. You didn't know what to do. Even if you weren't injured, you knew that you stood no chance against him in a head to head fight. He may not have muscles, but he possessed an almost unnatural degree of strength and his size completely dwarfed your narrower frame.

Then you tripped and toppled backwards. From this angle, Maul only loomed over you even more and you felt a fresh wave of panic well up in your chest.

"Hey! S-stay back!" You suddenly realized that you had dropped your dagger and in lieu of a weapon, bared your teeth in a futile attempt to look even remotely threatening. "I'm serious!"

He slowly crouched down, crawling forward as you attempted to scramble away. He put a stop to that real quick by grabbing hold of your good ankle and pinning it down to the ground. His claws pressed into your skin through your fur and you couldn't suppress a whimper of pain from escaping.

He suddenly lunged forward, his other hand closing around your shoulder, and roughly shoving you onto your back. You tried to fight back, but his bones proved too solid and no matter how much you kicked and clawed at him, you only managed to hurt yourself. If anything, it only seemed to excite him. He leaned closer until your faces were nearly touching, letting out a low snarl, and in one last ditch effort to keep him away, you pressed your free paw against his face.

His eyelight briefly contracted as you made contact with his skull, pausing for a brief moment. Then, his attention seemed to shift and he pressed his nasal cavity into your palm, inhaling your scent. His other hand came up and he pulled your paw away with a surprising amount of gentleness. You let out a soft whimper as he peeled back what was effectively your last line of defense. His eyelight darted to your face and you noticed an odd glimmer in his gaze.

"Maul...?"

He tilted his head at the sound of your voice before leaning even closer, burying his face in the scruffy fur on your neck. You squirmed, but your attempts to escape only caused him to hold on tighter. He shifted his body weight, effectively caging you beneath him as he laid down.

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #horrortale #the dark fortress #a sight for sore eyes #horror sans #reader #gender neutral reader #horror sans & reader #platonic relationship #i think i channeled my other horror sans for this one #i miss writing for him #i might go read the oneshot one more time #or pass out because i am very tired

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years ago

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Jungkook

𝐄𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Pull Me Closer

Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon!Jungkook, strangers to lovers/mates, mentions of folklore and traditions, modern fantasy, romance, human?Reader, Fluff, Courting, MC kinda wary of kook at first, but he's cute give him a chance pls

Additional Chapter Warnings: tensioooon, the hunt is near, some steamy action that made me hit my desk

Length: short, tumblr hates long evocation updates for some reason

A/N: There is no taglist. I continue to force you to eat the dragon!kook meal, so you better finish your plate or there wont be any dessert. Also there is no taglist.

-> Masterlist

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It's hot this year.

You're usually not this bold with your choice of clothing, but the heat pretty much forces you to dress a bit more revealing as to not overheat- simply summer dress and underwear already feeling as if it's too much under the blazing sun. It makes most dragonkins laze around and bathe in the warmth of the giant star up in the sky, soaking up the sunlight as if they're some cold-blooded lizard recharging their energy and upping their body temperature.

It's funny how some instincts never leave, even if your body isn't the same anymore.

According to legends and some research, dragonkin had been, at some point, actual dragons- their blood slowly becoming less and less pure as they began to fall in love with the human kind. Their bodies changed, becoming less distinguishable from one another, as nowadays, only little hints remain in their visual appearance. It's honestly best seen in Jungkook, as you watch him push his hair back out of his eyes, beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He's tall, muscular but not too much so, with sharp eyes and traditional ink underneath the skin of his arm. It's not too different from a regular human- it's more so the way he carries himself, the way his instincts seem to lead him.

And yes- he's also got that very distinctive spot on the back of his neck- similar to you, and all of the other dragonkin around.

It's called a dragon's burn- a story as old as time saying that it's the soul of the last living dragon-mother burning her mark into the skin of a newborn, so she can still find her children amongst the humans. And while there's no actual proof or rather explanation from science as to why this mark appears or how it forms, its also said to determine one's personality and future, depending on it's shape, size, and position.

You've got your eyes closed as you soak up the sun as well now- dragonkin practically immune to sunburns, which is another thing that's still being researched. You're softly swinging from side to side in the hammock, one leg dangling out when you notice steps coming closer. By now, you're not worried about it anymore- it can really only be one person seeking you out.

He's not talked to you since you'd offered him the bracelet- you wonder if he still wears it.

There's a hand around your ankle, and your eyes open at that as you watch him, his gaze on you. He's looking at you a little differently today- not so bold anymore, not as fierce as usual. There's a certain softness to his eyes that you've not seen before- but you feel oddly comforted by it, as his fingers run over the soft skin of your leg. It's now that you notice the bracelet still hanging around his wrist, securely tied as if he didn't even think about how to open that knot ever again.

Maybe because he really doesn't intend to do so.

"You make me want to join you." He chuckles, watching as you stretch your arms above your head before relaxing again.

"I doubt the hammock can hold both of our weights." You respond, and he grins.

"If Yoongi and his mate can have sex on this thing, I'm sure it can handle us both simply cuddling on it." he comments, and at that you shoot upright into a sitting position.

"On this thing?!" you ask, scandalized, and he can't help but laugh openly about your face full of shock. It's a nice laugh- it's free, open, honest. You like it.

"I don't think it was this specific one." He reassures. "Or maybe. They probably cleaned it though, don't worry." He says, before he holds onto it, making you lean back as to not be forced too close to him.

"I- did not agree to the cuddling part though.." You stammer as he climbs in without really asking any further, moving around and boldly using his strength to push and move you into a comfortable position in his arms- and despite your vocal protest, you can't help but scoot a little bit closer than he'd placed you, leaning halfway on his body as he chuckles.

"Well it sure doesn't feel like you're too upset over it though." He offers, and you're quiet- because you're not sure what to say. It takes a moment or two before you point towards the bracelet around his wrist- his hand on his chest close to you as you tap one of the wooden beads.

"M' sorry about that one, by the way." You mumble disappointed.

"Why?" He asks, genuine surprise in his voice. "Did you not want to give it to me?" He worries, but you shake your head.

"No, I wanted to.. you know, give you something." You shrug. "But this thing sucks. It looks awful." You say, and his hand instead reaches out to hold yours now, thumb running over the back of your palm.

"It's made by you." He offers. "You've put effort into it, and I appreciate that." He tells you, and you shrug.

"You can be honest." You say. "It looks-"

"Like a gift given to me by my future mate." He says, and at that you freeze. It's the first time he openly calls you a future mate- even though he's not given you anything in return yet. "Let's not dwell on it for now, okay?" He asks, and you shrug. "Let's just exist for a moment. I just want to hold you." He says, and at that, you nod, before you lean in closer.

Soaking up both the sun- and the warmth of his skin and body next to yours.

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The first preparations for the festivities are in full force, but tonight, things are still calm and easy.

Some are still hammering together the stages and booths, nails hit into wood in a steady rhythm, while others have gone to bed early. You yourself are still sitting outside- air cool now, refreshing as some insects chirp somewhere in the distance.

In a way, you dread the next two days. Because it'll be the last, and then you'll be back in the loud, bustling city full of noise and stress.

Someone sits next to you on the edge of the stage, a sigh escaping him as he looks at what you're watching. "It's nice like this." He comments, nodding to himself. You nod as well.

"I don't want to go home yet." You mumble almost more to yourself than anyone else- but he still hears you.

"You don't have to- not yet." He tries to lift your mood. It works only a little. "Dont let the thoughts of what's to come ruin what you've got right now. That's what my mom always says." He playfully shoves his shoulder against yours. "But- that's not actually why I wanted to see you." He suddenly says, jumping down from the edge of the stage, pulling something from the pocket of his pants. It jungles distinctively- a high sound indicating a small bell of some sorts, and his hands are almost hesitant as his fingers wrap around your bare ankle.

"Dont think I've forgotten.." he starts, and you can't help the goosebumps that erupt from the way his hands pull you closer by your leg. "...or that I have chosen someone else.." he tells you, gaze sharp and fierce again as he watches your every reaction from his position. He reveals the delicate, silver anklet that he's got, wrapping it around before he uses a small pair of pliers to bend close one of the chain links.

There's no way for you to take it off now without breaking it. A silent offering that also showes his urge to make sure you know that his decisions are final. That he stands by this gesture, by his words, his choice.

And he's choosing you.

"Thats cheating." You tease. "You're making the hunt easy on yourself." You jab at him jokingly. "Scared you won't catch me without the help or a bell around my leg?" You ask, tilting your head innocently while he leans down to kiss the side of your knee- and action that makes your breath hitch a little, something that doesn't go unnoticed as the corners of his lips lift.

"Oh, that bell isn't for me." He chuckles, hands at the very edge of the hem of your dress, never daring to go any higher. "Its so everyone else knows to stay away from you, because you'll be mine." He says.

"Bold." You just tell him, as he helps you down from the edge of the stage and into his arms, before he cages you in with your back against the wooden front of the structure, arms on either side of you.

"How could I not be?" He wonders, looking down at you, eyes jumping from your lips to your eyes. "I've got to be, considering all the others who lick their lips after you."

You scoff. He tilts his head for a second in confusion.

"You don't believe me?" He asks, and you shrug, looking away- but he doesn't have it, pulls your face back with his hand on your chin- before said hand moves to hold your cheek instead, an awfully tender gesture from the otherwise rather rough dragonkin. "You've got no idea how much you're desired."

"I'm not, really." You deny, but he instead leans in to nose at your neck, breathing in your scent. "Except, maybe by you." You try and joke, but you can instead feel his grin against your neck as he places an almost teasing kiss close to your dragon's-burn on the back of your neck.

"That you are." He affirms. "I desire you a lot. Not just.. physically though." He explains.

"Huh?" You stupidly sigh, unable to think straight under his ministrations.

"I desire all of you." He tries to explain. "I want to hear what worries you, what you think of, what you believe you can't tell anyone else. I want to know what makes you happy, what gets you excited, what makes you sad." He rambles, leaning his head on your shoulder now, lips tenderly kissing the tip of it. "I don't just want your body." He says. "I want you."

"Jungkook-" you sigh, and he can't help but laugh boyishly to himself.

"I love the way you say my name." He chuckles. "I love that you say my name." He clarifies, and you can't help but smile as well now, butterflies no longer being ignored now as they flutter in your heart at his clear display of affection.

You've never been desired like that. Wanted. Almost needed, in a way.

"Tomorrow." He reminds you, leaning away from you again. "Tomorrow, you'll be mine." He tells you.

"I won't make it easy." You threaten playfully, and he grins.

"And I wouldn't want you to, either." He responds before you both part ways-

Barely sleeping as the excitement sets in.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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itsnotamatterofif · 5 months ago

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YEEEEEESSS I live for steamer/freight family. Slick is very definitely the rogue sibling that no one can control but they don’t half worry about. Have a little scene between her and Rusty

✨Want a stex mini fic? Send me an ask!✨

Once again, Slick is in a ditch.

It's not even a nice ditch. Usually when she's pissed off an engine enough to be thrown off the train she's left at a station or a delivery yard, but being ditched in the middle of track following a scam on a particularly cantankerous engine isn't exactly uncommon. At least this ditch is pretty close to a town, so she should be able to hang on the back of a passerby without a problem, but it's just annoying; she was this close to taking a good bet from him about a race she'd rigged for next week, and if he hadn't recognised her at the last minute she would have been a hundred and fifty pounds richer.

With a huff, she squats near the tracks, scuffing at the rocks and pebbles with the brake plate of her boots. She'd probably be home in the next ten minutes if that fucker hadn't gotten all grumpy about it, but now she's stuck here, reading the graffiti that lines the walls of the bridge up ahead. If she was a bit more daring, she could probably attempt to make it home herself, but someone finding her passed out on the tracks is infinitely more embarrassing than actually having to ask for a lift, so in her spot she stays. Thankfully it's a nice day, and it's not raining as long as that grey looking cloud stays where it is, so the waiting game it is.

Within five minutes she's bored of looking at clouds, and within ten she's bored of kicking her feet in the rocks. It's not like this is a quiet line, quite the opposite usually, but apparently Sunday timetables have decided to kick her ass today. There's a faint sound in the distance, a reverberation along the rails, but it seems far off as Slick sits uncomfortably on the pebbled floor with a grumble.

The rumble gets louder, the rails clattering slightly, and Slick perks up. Sounds like whoever it is is going fast, but that shouldn't be a problem, she's had plenty of years experience of jumping at the right moment to cling onto the back of whoever is going past. Hopefully it's a diesel, hopefully it's not Greaseball-

As the engine gets closer, the sound changes. Rhythmic in its movement with distinct push and pull, Slick feels whatever hope she had drain away as she looks out to the eastwards track and sees a plume of steam shooting up over the treetops. It's ain't Momma, that's for sure - she hardly ever leaves the yard these days - and as the distinct scream of a whistle echoes across the tracks, she rolls her eyes and kicks the dirt again.

Of course, it had to be Rusty.

There's no time to hide as he turns the corner onto the straight that she's stuck on, hurtling along the track whilst Slick prepares for the inevitable one hundred questions he's going to ask. Looks to be just him today, no coaches or trucks trailing behind him; it's almost strange to see him without Porter at the very least, as if he looks top heavy or slightly unbalanced with just his own bunker, but she's sure there's a good reason. Rusty is one of those people who has an excuse for everything no matter the situation, which pisses her off to no end.

By the time Rusty spots her and slams on the breaks, it's too late for him to stop in front of her, stuck on the side of the tracks as he hurtles past with a screech. The heavy sound of pistons and blazing fire kicks up as his wheels slowly spin backwards, almost painfully slow as he rolls back to her; it's kind of funny in a way, watching him try and reverse when she knows just how much effort it takes for him to get started once he's stopped, but it doesn't seem to bring him down. As she folds her arms and rolls her eyes impatiently, Rusty finally stops within reach, apologetic smile etched on his face as he reaches to let out a billow of steam awkwardly.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Slick," he says, voice laced with surprise, "I thought you were on shift with that visiting diesel, what happened?"

"Pissed him off," she answers brashly, huffing out an annoyed breath, "apparently he couldn't stand the sight of me for ten more minutes just to get me home, so the asshole uncoupled."

It's not the whole truth, and she knows Rusty knows that from the slight raise of his eyebrow as he purses his lips in thought.

"Well, you ought to hop on then." He straightens his back, scooting forwards slightly so that she can hitch up. "I'm heading back to the yard, if you can cope with being stuck to a steamer, that is."

He sticks his tongue out in jest as Slick rolls her eyes and clambers back onto the tracks.

"Good fuckin' thing it's only for ten minutes then," she argues, rolling her eyes again - riding with Rusty is never ideal, she hates the stink of coal smoke and ash that settles into her armour when she gets stuck on a train with him, but right now it's either hitch up or sit down. It barely takes a minute before the sound of Rusty's pistons pumping echos along the track again, and, albeit very slowly, they're away.

"So, what did you do this time?" Rusty asks after a minute or so of awkward silence, "insurance fraud? Revenge hit-?"

"None of your fuckin' business," Slick snaps back, and annoyingly she knows the exact expression of mock surprise that Rusty is wearing without seeing his face.

"Just thought I'd ask in case-"

"Well don't," she hisses, and crouches to hide behind him slightly as a bigger train speeds past, "what are you doing out on your own?"

"Orange Flash broke down at Leamington, so Control asked me to take the repair truck over since I didn't have anything scheduled for today," Rusty explains easily, no hint of any frustration found which frustrates Slick in turn, "dropped them off about an hour ago, and then they can ride home with Flash once they're fixed - good thing I took the job, how else were you planning to get home?"

He says that like there was a chance he wasn't going to accept the run, which makes Slick frown a bit in thought; it's no secret to anyone that Rusty has been getting less and less jobs following some new financial directive putting more focus on the newer diesels, and his frame is looking distinctly worse for wear in the gloomy afternoon sun, whole flakes of rust visible from where she can see. It must be painful, judging from how much Momma complains about it when she hasn't been cleaned for weeks, but if it is, Rusty doesn't say anything.

"Dunno," she answers as Rusty draws to another stop at a set of signals up ahead, "I'm pretty good at hitchhiking-"

Rusty hums, equal parts concerned and unimpressed. "That's dangerous, Slick, what if you missed and got hurt or the engine threw you off?"

"Hasn't happened yet," she grumbles - she’s a really on a short fuse from being dumped, if Rusty wants tell her how to live her life he can shove it, "I can handle myself - I don't need a second Momma, Rusty, I knew I'd get a godamn lecture from you-"

The lights flick green, and Rusty shrinks away, shoulders hunching slightly as his pistons begin to push; if they were face to face he probably would be walking away by now, Rusty’s not one for blow-up arguments with her.

“I know,” he mutters, barely audible over the hissing of his engine, “I just worry about you sometimes.”

She clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Then don’t.”

“Trust me, I try not to,” he argues back, and there’s a sudden bit of fire in his voice that she wasn’t expecting - Rusty stopped arguing with her a long time ago, having learned any argument with her was a lost cause, but apparently picked today to break the habit, “I’d rather not think about you mangled somewhere because you’ve pissed off the wrong engines, but at least, I dunno’, let someone know if you’re planning on pissing someone off on the rails? Even if it’s not me, either Lumber or Porter, then if something goes wrong they can get help for you-“

“Control would have sent someone out eventually, Rusty, chill-“

“What if they didn’t, though, or you were hurt?” There’s a distinct clack of his jaw snapping shut, steel hitting steel as he squares his jaw in frustration. “I ain’t trying to be Momma, she’d tell you to stop fuckin’ about completely, I just think if the folks you target can dump you in the middle of the tracks without a concern, what else would they be happy to do once they find what you’ve planned for them?”

She doesn’t have an answer for that.

The yard station looms before them as Rusty pulls into one of the side sheds, the one nearest the freight yard. Blessedly, it’s empty, and as Rusty slows to a stop, Slick can’t help but jump off the tracks as soon as possible.

Reaching round to a small pouch on her external tank, she pulls out a few notes, shifting through them as Rusty sorts himself out and chills his firebox back out for resting.

“Oi, steamer,” she calls - why is she nervous about this? - as Rusty’s head snaps around, “next time you’re in Birmingham, take this to a maintenance engineer called Amal, he’ll get you cleaned up.”

Rusty’s eyes widen for a second as he wheels over, looking between her and the pound notes. “I’m- I’m fine, Control said they’re getting someone in next quarter-“

“And you know as well as I do that that skimping bastard isn’t maintaining you and Momma anymore,” Slick interrupts, grabbing his hand to stuff the notes into whether he wants them or not, “you’re on a freight run on Saturday, right? Ask him then, before your creaking gets bad enough to wake the whole yard up.”

As Rusty’s hand closes around the notes reluctantly, she spins on her break plate. Rusty’s a sentimental bastard at the best of times, if he starts trying to give the cash back or thanking her for it she might just lose it again. Behind her, she can already hear Rusty stammering, and can’t help but laugh slightly at his predictability.

Maybe she’ll just let him know next time she tries something big.

#stex #starlight express #starlight express london 2024 #slick the oil tanker #rusty the steam engine #pebs writes

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

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Broken Record

It all started that first loop, when Smokescreen was branded. Now he is stuck in a loop and absolutely determined to make sure Optimus Prime survives. The only problem? It seems that Primus himself has other plans.

(This thing is bloody LONG so be wary if you decide to start reading. I am not joking this thing is crazy so PLEASE if you are going to read be PREPARED.)

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It was the greatest cycle of Smokescreen’s life when he landed on Earth. There could have been no greater honor than coming to a world and being given the chance to serve directly under the one and only Optimus Prime. And for a few short Earth months, Smokescreen learned and fought alongside the most elite of their kind, growing and coming closer to the team all while being able to interact with the leader of the Autobots. It was a dream come true… until Megatron found their base.

Optimus decided to stay behind. Smokescreen and the rest of the team hated it, Ratchet most of all. But who was he to argue against an order? And so Smokescreen fled when he was told to, at least at first. He could not allow his Prime to die, especially not without honor. And so he threw himself back into the groundbridge, emerging into fire and ash just in time to find Optimus and drag him away with the help of the phase shifter.

It was bad, and even after what had to have been millions of years, Smokescreen recalled the distinctness of that first loop with crisp clarity.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t worry Optimus! I’ll get Ratchet and he’ll patch you right up!” Smokescreen attempted to soothe despite seeing Optimus’s optics flicker more with every nanoklik. This was bad, this was very very bad. He wasn’t trained in this-

“The time for a new leader… is upon us.” Optimus’s voice called out in the darkness, his vocalizer straining with each glyph he uttered. His frame heaved, his battered body failing more every time he vented. Smokescreen wanted to panic, but Optimus’s field washed over him sadly and in understanding. There was something sorrowful in his optics, something that did not seem to be the languishing of a dying mech. His field spoke of… pity for Smokescreen of all beings. Why?

“And I believe in my spark, that… that leader stands before me right now.” What?

“Optimus, I can’t-!” He tried to object, to step away. But Optimus held firm, grabbing his arm with strength a dying mech should not have had. His gaze held a fierceness that Smokescreen could hardly comprehend as the failing Prime again spoke into the darkness, his will so mighty that for a split second, Smokescreen found himself afraid.

“The will of Primus is absolute. This is the calling, and you cannot escape… none of us can.” Optimus’s field flared, his optics blazing as Smokescreen felt a searing heat creep into his spark. He cried out as he fell to his knees, looking toward Optimus in terror. The Prime however merely gave him a pitying look before he sighed, his vents fluttering before he ultimately fell still, his spark sputtering out.

Smokescreen could only gape as his spark flared in agony, a brand now placed upon it that ached unendingly. Optimus’s broken torso split as the Matrix revealed itself, shining in all its glory. And yet when Smokescreen viewed it, his very being cried out in terror. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want that accursed thing in him. Something deep down within him told him that the relic before him was dangerous.

“No, this isn’t how the story is supposed to go.” He attempted to get up and run, primal fear directing his movements. However when he ran, leaving the body of his Prime behind, something shifted. The brand in his spark burned with such fierceness that by the time Smokescreen managed to track down one of the team, he all but collapsed. He didn't recall what followed perfectly, but he was sure it was Bumblebee who tried to hold him up and figure out what was going on.

Smokescreen could do nothing as his vision swam and he purged until he had nothing left to give. It BURNED and there was nothing he could do as he heard Optimus's soft voice in the back of his mind and the world became a mess of colors before fading to black.

"The choice is neither yours nor mine to make. When the time comes, the Matrix will choose one who is worthy."

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Just as quickly as it all ended, Smokescreen found his optics booting online again to the sight of his stasis pod opening. He found himself climbing out into a burning crater, unable to figure out what in Primus's name was going on even as Vehicons swarmed his pod. He knew this scene. He had lived this scenario. However he had no time to figure out what was happening as the Autobots arrived with a very much alive Optimus Prime leading the charge.

He decided not to question as he threw himself into battle, a little wiser and better trained than before. He quickly jumped into formation, flanking Arcee and laying down suppressive fire as she had directed him before. By the time he was finally questioned, Smokescreen found himself in total disbelief. He had watched Optimus die and yet here the Prime was asking for his designation and thanking him for his efforts. Arcee was still as snarky as the first time and Ratchet was firmly sitting in the boat of suspicion. But this was just as things played out before.

"I'm Smokescreen, a member of the elite guard." He stuttered, his optics wide and his spark flaring as the brand pulsed. It ached and all Smokescreen could do was stare up at the mech he thought dead until Bumblebee stepped forward in concern.

"Are you alright? You are leaking coolant." Reaching up to touch his face, Smokescreen found coolant falling from his optics. That wasn't right. Why was he crying? Optimus was alive. It had to have all been some sort of relic induced fever dream. He had been abusing the phase shifter before all this and he had been guarding the Hall of Records. Strange things happened to mech who worked there. Maybe it was doing things to him, giving him visions.

It couldn't have been real. He refused to believe it was.

"I'm fine. Just a bit out of it. It's not every day you meet Optimus Prime of all bots!" He shelved his memory and forced himself to smile. Arcee glared, Ratchet scoffed, Bulkhead nodded, and Bumblebee got back in position. Optimus for his part merely made a soft sound, his optics glinting before he ordered a groundbridge back to base, regardless of Arcee and Ratchet's complaints.

Smokescreen simply smiled. The brand burned, but he did his best not to feel it. Everything had just been a bad dream. It was all going to be fine now. He would use what he knew to his advantage, and this time, he would ensure Optimus Prime survived.

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He did his best to warn his Prime without putting too much faith in his vision. He directed the team away from dangers and jumped into the fray with more wisdom than before. Nothing changed all that much, but there were a few less scars than in his vision and that was a small relief. Despite Smokescreen's efforts, Megatron found their base again. It was not ideal, but this time Smokescreen knew how damaged Optimus would be. He couldn't get Optimus to change his decision, he knew that much. But if he could get Ratchet to stick with him, then he could stop the devastation he knew was coming.

"Ratchet, he's going to survive the blast, but he won't last much longer afterwards. He needs a medic on call." Smokescreen murmured as he pulled Ratchet aside. The medic gave him a sharp look, seemingly about to say something snippy before Smokescreen shushed him.

"Listen to me! You won't believe me if I tell you, but I know what is going to happen. The blast will hit, the Cons will arrive, and Optimus will survive for a few more days after the attack." Ratchet's optics blew wide, his field radiating pure suspicion. Smokescreen grabbed the medic's shoulders, trying to convey his conviction as much as he possibly could. Ratchet was a hard nut to crack, but not impossible.

"Are you a traitor? Is that how you know what's coming? Did the guilt of knowing eat you up inside? Is that why you are telling me this now that it's too late to stop our base from being destroyed?!" Ratchet's voice raised as the ceiling shook. It wouldn't be long now.

"You just need to trust me! I'm no Con, but I saw the future! So please, listen to me!" Optimus and the rest of the team began to return back into the base through the elevator shaft. Smokescreen could only curse as he hurriedly hissed.

"There is a cave system under the base not far from here! I will take Optimus there after the blast hits! Meet me there with your medical kit!" The sound of blaster fire and the team rushing into base had Smokescreen pulling away, but before he left, he did his best to nod toward Ratchet and pray that his words were taken to spark. The medic glared, but his servos shook enough that Smokescreen could hope.

He was right to hope. When Smokescreen pulled Optimus from the ash this time, Ratchet arrived not an hour later and began to dutifully tend to the ailing Prime. It was bad enough that even the medic seemed to be on the brink of a mental breakdown, but as wounds were welded shut and energon siphoned into Optimus's battered frame, Smokescreen found himself hopeful. Things were still rough, but Optimus wasn't about to die anymore. They could make this work-

"Smokescreen." Optimus called out from where he lay on the ground, Ratchet still fussing over him. The medic stilled and Smokescreen paused as the brand burned. Coolant began to fall from Ratchet's optics as his scanners blared.

"No no no, Optimus please no." Ratchet pleaded, his voice edging into static as he desperately tried to weld more wounds shut and repair the extensive damage to Optimus's systems. Smokescreen shook his helm, this couldn't be possible. He had made things better. His vision couldn't have been real. He was meant to stop this from happening.

"The time for a new leader... is upon us." The same line. The same look. Optimus stared at him in understanding and again Smokescreen found himself afraid. This wasn't right. Optimus wasn't meant to die.

"Not again! I am not doing this again! I am not letting you die, Optimus!" Smokescreen cried out even as the Prime repeated that same pitying stare. Smokescreen did not wait for the inevitable as his brand burned. He ran faster than he ever had before as Ratchet wept behind him. He wouldn't stay, he wouldn't wait for what was now a certainty.

He ran until he could run no more, falling somewhere in Nevada far from Darkmount. His processors screamed at him to return to the team, but as he lay on the ground, the brand burning just as hot as it had in his vision... he knew that was no longer an option. Optimus was dead. He had failed. As his vision began to swim once more, he found conviction lacing his very being.

This was not how the story was meant to end.

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Again he found himself coming online to meet the familiar sight of his stasis pod. This time, he wobbly emerged. He looked around in disbelief, glancing down at his servos and the Vehicons surrounding him in absolute fear. He was back again. There was no way that was all just a vision.

When the team arrived, he was too shaken to help. He hid within his stasis pod, watching the fighting playing out from within. Vehicons were shot at until they fled, and despite feeling like a coward, Smokescreen remained huddled up in the only space he knew to be safe until at last the team neared. From the inside, Smokescreen could see them arguing over whether or not to open his pod. Smokescreen made the decision for them with unsteady digits.

"A youngling." Optimus mused as the pod opened and Smokescreen's shaking form became visible. He tried to still his movements, but his vents came in broken sputters and he could hardly move with how much it all was. He was back again. HOW was he back again?

"Part of the Elite Guard based on his badge, although he doesn't look the part." Arcee taunted, her blasters lowered but still ready to turn him into scrap metal if Smokescreen acted out of line. The rest of the team made similar comments, all appearing highly unimpressed. Smokescreen wished he could speak in his defense, but he was shaking too much. His spark ached, the brand still burned, but it was easing. The fragging brand had to have something to do with this. Whatever Optimus did to him the first time had changed him, he could feel lit.

"Youngling, you are safe with us. Can you tell me your designation?" Optimus knelt down and reached into the pod, offering a servo to help Smokescreen up. It was all so very wrong, but Smokescreen accepted the aid and stood before the team, trying desperately to find his voice. He was back again, he didn't know how, but he was. And if he was back-

He could change things.

"Sorry Sir. I was... not expecting my arrival here on Earth. I'm Smokescreen, an elite guardsmech." He saluted, but he did not smile. This was no laughing matter, not anymore. What he thought to be some sort of dream last time was evidently something else entirely. He refused to fail again.

"I will not fail you." He bowed, his oath flowing from his vocalizer smoothly despite the way his doorwings still twitched. He was going to make things right or die trying. Maybe then whatever this was would come to an end.

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"I want you to teach me to fight." Smokescreen proclaimed as he stood before the team. Bulkhead paused, Miko silenced her guitar with a strange look, and the other two children glanced over at him. Arcee glared, an act he had long grown used to, and Bumblebee's faux vocalizer whirled in confusion.

"You fight well enough to hold your own. What brought this up?" Arcee questioned as she crossed her arms. She didn't seem upset but rather intrigued. This time around Smokescreen had not made the best of impressions considering his hiding away in his pod. But he knew what he needed to do now. He needed to be better, fight harder. Then he could turn the tides and hopefully make it so that the team's base didn't get discovered at all.

"You are all elites. I want to know everything I can so that we don't lose any more good mecha due to my idiocy." A few raised optics ridges met his statement, but none outright rejected him. A long silence followed before Arcee made a hum of understanding and nodded.

"I'll teach you what I can. Just don't die rookie. I won't be going easy on you." The two wheeler smiled for the first time since Smokescreen's arrival. He returned it with glee. Finally, he could begin trying harder to make things right.

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Learning under Arcee was its own form of torture, but Smokescreen was devoted. When he wasn't training, he was reviewing his memory to prepare for what was to come. Battle after battle met him and each time he walked away more skilled. He was no longer the barely trained recruit who arrived on Earth two loops ago.

He moved faster, utilizing his size and the phase shifter to his advantage. Arcee became a close friend, at least as much as one could call Arcee that. She was there to guide him, and when he started working himself toward exhaustion, she was there to smack him back down to earth and give him a reality check. She cared about him in her own strange way, and Smokescreen appreciated it. Every smile she offered told him he was improving, and for the first time he felt as though he was really part of the team, if only because Arcee approved.

"I thought you were just a skittish deadweight, but you've proven me wrong." Arcee patted him on the back after a training session well done. Smokescreen grinned even as the brand ached. Soon, the time for the Cons to attack was coming. As he threw himself against a training dummy, he felt that maybe this time, he would be ready.

He was wrong. Despite his efforts and the additional victories for the Autobots, Megatron found their base again. He had no clue how the fragger did it, but somehow, regardless of whether or not Smokescreen gave up the base's location by accident, their whereabouts found their way to Megatron. Optimus stayed behind, and again Smokescreen pulled him from the ash. This time he tried something different, running to Darkmount to attempt to reclaim the forge of Solus Prime.

He tried to get it the first time around, but it had meant so little in his shock that he had forgotten to use it. This time he would not make that mistake, especially not now that it had been proven not even Ratchet could repair his Prime. But by the time he dragged the relic back to where Optimus again lay dying, the Prime once more gave him that pitying look that Smokescreen was quickly coming to associate with failure.

"Optimus! I brought the forge! It'll fix you up good as new!" Smokescreen pressed the hilt of the forge into Optimus's servo, but the Prime shook his helm in distress.

"The time for a new leader... is upon us." Frag it all.

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Smokescreen didn't hear the rest as Optimus's spark went out. He grit his denta, feeling rage run hot in his spark alongside the brand. He was doing something wrong. He had to be.

Twenty eight more loops Smokescreen threw himself into training. He was inadequate, and that he could fix. He learned under all of the team, doing everything in his power to train and become better. The novelty of waking up in his pod stopped shaking him sometime around the fifth loop and from that point onward, he moved directly into his next plan as soon as he was able to. Sometimes he learned under Arcee, trying to squeeze all the training he could from her and doing his best not to think about their lost friendship. Other times he worked with Bulkhead, learning the ways of strength and training with a hammer instead of a blaster. In a few instances he served alongside Bumblebee, learning the ways of the scout and exemplifying his already present skill with speed and stealth.

There were moments of levity amongst it all. Times when he would play video games with Bee and laugh until his vents ached. He missed those times most, especially the handful of loops where they became friends. Sometimes he would banter with Arcee, enjoying the short victories he earned before Arcee shot back at him. He missed her snark and fond chastising, more so during loops where he threw himself into training with another. Occasionally he even spent time with Bulkhead, reveling in dealing with the children and causing a degree of chaos. The Wrecker was not a mech Smokescreen would have normally befriended, but during the loops he worked with him, Bulkhead was a good teacher and Smokescreen enjoyed the stories the elder mech told.

The children themselves were plenty fun to converse and play with. Jack he found he had the most interesting interactions with. More than one loop he helped the boy get revenge on his bully. Miko was entertaining and quite a few times during his loops he ended up joining her collection of favorite bots due to his increasing skill in battle. Rafael and him never really got along, they had different focuses, but he came to appreciate the child. There were several instances where he spent quiet nights up with the boy, ready to take him home as soon as he finished attempting to decode Cybertronian glyphs. He tried not to think about those lost moments when he started the loop over again.

It was never enough. Every single time he always ended up at Optimus's side after the destruction of the base listening to that same line over and over again. Sometimes he dragged Optimus farther away to different locations, wondering if that would change anything. On other occasions, he left Ratchet with Optimus and went with the team to raid Darkmount alongside the mighty Ultra Magnus. That too was never enough. Optimus always died, and soon after he did, Smokescreen found himself once more in his pod.

It enraged him, but it taught him a lesson. Fighting would not save Optimus Prime. He needed to try something else. And so he instead turned to Ratchet. The doctor was one of Cybertron's finest, but he was only one set of servos. If they could repair Optimus after the blast, then all would be well. As such, when Smokescreen awoke for the twenty ninth time, he went directly to Ratchet.

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"You want to become a field medic? You are a guardsmech." Ratchet looked him up and down, that same disgruntled expression on his face as always. Smokescreen nodded, his conviction thrumming through his entire being. He'd already attempted battle as a means to fix things, and that had failed. Being a medic was the next best option.

"I know that. But the team come back injured far more often than they should and you only have one set of servos." Smokescreen pointed out with a raised optical ridge. Ratchet tisked and looked ready to object until Optimus spoke up.

"I see no harm in Smokescreen learning the art of medicine. You are overworked and we could use the additional skill, Old Friend." The Prime rested his servos on his hips, smiling fondly at Ratchet who waved dismissively even as he covered his face in what could have been embarrassment. Optimus chuckled softly as he continued.

"You have trained plenty of apprentices. What is the harm in one more? Smokescreen has already proven capable of fighting if need be. We would not be losing a soldier and would instead gain an additional medic." Ratchet grumbled, but after a moment, he sighed and shoved a series of datapads in Smokescreen's arms.

"Read all of those and come back when you can identify all outer components of the Cybertronian frame. If you can do that, then I will know you really want to do this." Smokescreen internally winced, but he did as he was told.

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That loop he learned under Ratchet, and while he was not skilled enough to save Optimus that time, he did not despair. Again and again he returned, devoting himself to his task. When he had free time he trained in combat just so that he wouldn't lose what he'd gained, but almost everything else was put away in favor of his medical training. He missed conversing and bonding with the others, but Ratchet was a good teacher, if a little gruff.

The cycles repeated, but every time, Smokescreen learned a little more about the medic who came to be a mentor to him. His education progressed, and he understood more and more why Ratchet was so very tired. Too many loops ended with one of the team coming close to death, and in one loop, even offlining permanently. Ratchet worked himself half to death just to keep the group operating, and for that, Smokescreen came to respect him. At first, he could hardly handle the sight of wriggling internals, but as he continually worked with Ratchet, he calmed. He stopped being concerned by the sight of innards strewn across the ground or energon spilled after the forty third loop. He watched bots die, he put torn limbs back into place, and he was no stranger to plague.

Most loops followed the same old tune, but every now and then, there were differences. Optimus always died, but the small differences taught Smokescreen valuable lessons. Serving under the doctor gave him ample time to learn and observe. He was familiar with the team and their past from his time training with them in prior loops, but working as a medic gave him greater insight. Arcee had aches in her joints from being stuck in the arctic. Bulkhead's hydraulics sometimes locked up when he tried to stand too quickly. Bumblebee's vocalizer always bothered him, and Ratchet himself had enough aches and pains that Smokescreen had to question how the medic still functioned. Optimus's medical files were extensive enough to have Smokescreen simply put them down quite a few times.

He learned, he grew, and loops passed by in a blur.

To learn of the war and its origins as he cleaned tools in the medical bay was by far one of his most favored memories with Ratchet. Odd as it was working in the dark and listening to Ratchet talk, Smokescreen cherished it. The conversations distracted him from the loss of friendships that plagued his mind.

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"You would hardly believe how much Optimus has changed over the vorns. Before the Matrix, he was a bit like you. Not much mind you, he had more political awareness." A slight jab, but Smokescreen did not react. He had long grown used to Ratchet's manner of speech.

"He was a cunning character, that's for sure. He walked on a knife's edge all throughout his time in the Archives. But after the Matrix, something changed in him." Ratchet stalled in what he was doing, his shoulders falling. Smokescreen looked up from where he was putting away the scalpels he was tending to, his fresh medical insignia glinting in the light. This was the eighth time Ratchet had deemed him skilled enough to bear the mark.

"He looked at everyone strangely. He stopped trying to connect with anyone. He seemed almost... defeated. I tried asking him about it, but the only answer I managed to get out of him was that the Matrix put him through a trial when he took it." The elder medic scowled and Smokescreen listened attentively. All details were important. He couldn't afford to waste what Ratchet was giving him. Building up trust with the medic in each loop was a time consuming affair.

"Do you know what the trial was?" Smokescreen asked cautiously. Talking with Ratchet required a degree of skill. Too informal and he wouldn't get anything, but being too formal had earned him the status of co-worker rather than confidant. He needed this information.

"No. All he's said is that every Prime goes through it so that they make the 'correct' choice." Smokescreen paused as the words reached him. What was it Optimus said during the first loop?

"The choice is neither yours nor mine to make. When the time comes, the Matrix will choose one who is worthy." He murmured to himself. Ratchet all but did a complete 180 to turn and face him, suspicion written all over his features.

"What was that?" The medic questioned sharply. Smokescreen waved him off.

"Nothing important. Just some old script I read." He had long become proficient in the art of warding Ratchet off. Besides, in the worst case scenario, he could just rebuild the relationship by making the correct verbal statements next time.

"Old script my aft. You are keeping secrets Smokescreen. I don't know what they are, but... I am here if you want someone to listen." Ratchet's field brushed over him in a fond manner. The doctor offered a rare smile and Smokescreen found his resolve shaken. Who would believe him if he spoke? Besides, Ratchet was already overworked enough.

"Maybe next loop." He whispered as he turned back to his work. Ratchet's concern washed over him, but the doctor did not pry. It was both a comfort and a curse.

Loops passed by, and every time he returned, he came with more knowledge and maturity. No longer did he find himself as energetic as before, likely an effect of Ratchet rubbing off on him. What used to leave him thrilled meant so little. He enjoyed praise and comfort from the team when he developed friendships during a loop, however, he simply wasn't as active. Patience was his priority and greatest asset... no matter how much it hurt to return again and again only to lose the bonds he formed.

Even still, the mission came first.

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"I find it hard to believe you were a guardsmech before this, Smokescreen. You have the skill to rival Ambulon prior to the war." Ratchet commented as he watched Smokescreen patch up Bulkhead's shredded arm. The Wrecker made a noise of agreement even as Smokescreen swatted him for trying to scratch at a fresh weld.

"I've been trained by the best doctor on Cybertron. I pin all of my success on him." Ratchet raised an optical ridge with an almost coy smile.

"Oh? And who would that be? I doubt Pharma would take an apprentice like you." Smokescreen knew this game. He returned the smile, and Bulkhead froze up on the medical berth.

"Guys?" The Wrecker called out before promptly attempting to claw at his welds again. Smokescreen smacked him upside the helm without even looking away from Ratchet. Bulkhead for his part cursed as Smokescreen spoke.

"Would you believe me if I said that I learned everything from you?" Ratchet scoffed and rolled his optics.

"Don't be ridiculous. You've been here a few weeks at most. Even I didn't learn that fast in medical school." The elder medic wandered off to do something or other, and Smokescreen returned to his task mechanically. It wouldn't be much longer now. Soon he would have enough skill to fix Optimus.

He waited, and finally during the sixty seventh loop, Smokescreen felt confident.

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"Smokescreen? What are you doing?" Bumblebee asked, his optics cycling in worry. Smokescreen did not look up at him as he feverishly reviewed his tools. Weeks had been spent working up to this moment. He had patches, faux fuel lines, energon packs, replacement parts stolen from deceased Vehicons, and so much more. He was going to do it right this time. Optimus Prime was going to live.

"I'm going to make sure Optimus lives." He answered honestly. He saw no point in playing pretend. When the loops ended and all was well, he would tell the team about his experiences. But for now, there was no use worrying them with things they couldn't do anything about.

"This isn't healthy. Ever since you got here, you've been... on edge." Smokescreen wanted to glare, but he kept his optics firmly on his tools as he loaded them into his pack. The phase shifter thrummed against his arm and he checked it over, ensuring it wouldn't go anywhere. Everything relied on his skill and the relic.

"I have work to do. I refuse to fail." He replied curtly, unwilling to bother with the details. It wasn't worth the effort anyway. However, when he turned to leave, he was met with the towering form of Optimus Prime blocking his path. The rest of the team loosely circled him, their gazes uncertain.

"You've been taking rations from storage and behaving suspiciously, Smokescreen." Optimus watched him critically, and for the first time, Smokescreen found himself looking around to see the team's equally calculating gazes. He hadn't been the most social this time, but he wasn't that suspicious, was he?

"I am not taking them for my personal gain, Sir. I am preparing for what is coming, and I will ensure that we come out on top of this war. You may not believe me, but I am not asking you to." Optimus's optics cycled, and his helm tilted as he thought. The brand on Smokescreen's spark flared as the Prime before him seemed to reach a conclusion.

"So it has chosen you... I understand now. Continue with your work, I will not impede your efforts." Just like that, Optimus walked away. The team gawked, and Smokescreen did so as well. What in Primus's name did that mean?

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He tried not to think about it, not when the time was so close. When Megatron finally destroyed the base, Smokescreen again dragged Optimus from the rubble. Only this time, he was fully prepared. With Ratchet coerced into joining him, he worked alongside his teacher in the dark of the tunnel system beneath the base to repair the ailing Prime. Ratchet did not question his preparations and instead got to work in silence. Wounds were shut, fuel lines sewn back into place, cables tied to their appropriate skeletal structures, and constant scans were run.

They worked like a well oiled machine, and Smokescreen at last allowed himself to feel giddy as he managed to get the worst of the damage closed off. According to all his calculations, Optimus would at least have another Earth year in him, so long as he remained still and received energon supplements. He was no longer critical, he was going to be fine. Years upon years and loops upon loops were finally yielding results-

"Smokescreen... How long has your trial gone on?" What?

"I don't understand." Smokescreen replied in confusion as the Prime's venting eased. Ratchet was passed out on the ground nearby, long groons of work exhausting him to the point of being forced into recharge. It was just Smokescreen and the Prime, and somehow that made the situation so much worse.

"You know more than you should... you are trained more than what I would have expected... I know these signs... I know what the trials look like." Optimus gently held Smokescreen's servo, his gaze again returning to that pitying look that Smokescreen feared and despised.

"Optimus, you are still in recovery. You must be a little disoriented." He tried to divert the conversation, but the Prime held firm, his optics cycling down and his gaze sharpening.

"How long?" The question hung in the air. Smokescreen's spark fluttered in terror as the brand burned and Optimus remained stony. He was unyielding. Smokescreen could not find it in himself to deny the question.

"Sixty nine loops. They start with my arrival on Earth and end when you die." Tortured venting filled the tunnels as Optimus began to tense up. On instinct, Smokescreen began running scans and preparing his tools. But again, Optimus grabbed his arm, just as he had in the first loop so long ago.

"You cannot stop this. It will continue until you give in." Optimus's optics flickered and his voice weakened.

"There is no escape." The Prime's field flared and Smokescreen cowered as his spark blazed in agony.

"This is the will of Primus." Optimus uttered before his entire frame seized up and fell still. Ratchet startled awake as his alarm blared, but it was too late. Smokescreen stepped back and watched on in total silence as Ratchet tried everything to restore Optimus's frame and force his spark to continue to blaze.

Optimus told him to give up, to let him die. After so many long years and countless hours thrown into his training? No, Smokescreen would not be giving up. He was going to save Optimus Prime, whether the Prime liked it or not. He made a promise, and he was going to keep it.

He woke in his pod, but this time, Smokescreen's processors whirled with a new plan. He had written off trying to keep Optimus from sacrificing himself simply because he thought it would be impossible to convince him. That was likely still true, but Smokescreen was wiser now. If he could get the team to listen, he could make this work.

Again, he was accepted amongst the Autobots without much argument. Optimus took one look at him and allowed him access. He was far more agreeable than the first loop, but Smokescreen was different now. A trained warrior and medic, he had skills that put him on par with the rest of the team. It made sense for the Prime to allow him amongst the ranks of the team.

It certainly saved Smokescreen trouble.

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"The Star Saber is on Earth and Megatron will arrive to try and take it. He will not succeed, but if he knows how powerful the blade is, he will create his own weapon. The Dark Star Saber." Smokescreen rattled off what he knew as he stood before the team, his expression steely.

"How do you know that?" Arcee's question came off as more of a threat, but Smokescreen remained unfazed. He knew the team far better than they would ever know.

"I have seen what is coming. I know exactly what the Decepticons are going to do and how they will do it. I know every possible variable for the most important events ahead, and I can tell you now that unless you listen to me, you will lose." The team froze, Optimus regarded him with something akin to shock, and Smokescreen stood firmly. He would make them listen, no matter the cost.

"So you're a Con?" Bulkhead all but growled before charging forward, not heeding Optimus's command to stand down. Smokescreen did not so much as flinch as he tucked and rolled, bouncing back onto his pedes and dropping down into a combat position. The Wrecker huffed and came at him again, but every time he swung his hammers, Smokescreen moved out of the way with expert precision. He knew Bulkhead better than the Wrecker knew himself. He trained under the heavy hitter and performed enough examinations over the loops to know each and every seam by spark.

"Enough. You are wasting your time." Slipping under Bulkhead's arm, Smokescreen landed a solid punch to the exposed cabling on his shoulder. Bulkhead's arm immediately went limp, and he fell to a knee, clutching the limb and looking up at him in anger.

"You little-!" Glaring, Smokescreen walked away from the cursing Wrecker and again stood his ground.

"I mean you no harm. I am only here to help you escape the doom that is coming. So please, listen to me." The team had their weapons ready, all save for Optimus who regarded him in interest. Smokescreen prepared to run if he needed to, but he had no intention of leaving until he got what he wanted.

"Stand down. We will listen to what he has to say." The Prime spoke and the team gawked.

"Optimus, you can't be serious!" Ratchet began before he was silenced.

"We will heed his wisdom for a time and see what it brings." That was the end of that. Smokescreen grinned, and he was quick to begin further explanations.

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He had not fully expected things to work out during his first attempt at piloting the team. As such, he did not despair when he failed to keep the team out of trouble the first time. There were always new variables, always new data points to consider. Loops came and went. Sometimes Megatron found the base earlier, and sometimes he did so later. Optimus always died in the tunnels in those loops. Other times, Smokescreen managed to convince the team to drag Optimus kicking and screaming away when the blast rained down. In those instances, the Prime was always killed by a stray bullet or through some other totally unexpected means.

It was infuriating, but Smokescreen learned and he adapted. Again and again he tried different things, moving the team in different ways and trying to avoid any and all potential causes of death for the Prime. However, as the deaths added up, there was a need for him to begin recording his thoughts and plans.

He began to keep a log each loop, just to ensure he didn't miss anything. And through those efforts, he found himself working alongside Optimus at the main console far more often than he anticipated. It was unsettling the first few loops, with Optimus often just standing by watching in silence. However, as the loops wore on and Smokescreen grew more and more passive as he worked, Optimus crept closer. Eventually, during the one hundredth and fifty seventh loop, Optimus spoke to him.

"You carry the weariness of the trial. I assume this is far from your first time experiencing these things." Smokescreen, no longer surprised by just about anything, nodded once and kept up his typing. Optimus hummed as he continued.

"You aren't willing to give in. I understand. I behaved similarly during my trial." Again, Smokescreen said nothing. He had no clue what this 'trial' was, but frankly he didn't care. The 'trial' wanted Optimus to die, and so Smokescreen would give it the middle finger regardless of the specifics of its nature.

"I would like to teach you." That gave Smokescreen pause. He looked away from the screen, only now feeling the weariness hanging on his very core. Optimus smiled gently and placed a servo on his shoulder.

"I did not have the luxury of a teacher during my trial. I wish to give you what knowledge I have, so that when yours ends, you may perform better than I did." Confusion laced every part of Smokescreen's mind even as he processed the words. Optimus, with far more kindness than Smokescreen had ever seen him, drew Smokescreen in for a hug.

He remained stiff for a klik, but as tears began to fall from his optics, he leaned into the Prime's embrace. It had been so long since he allowed himself to be cared for, to feel. The mission always came first... and yet in Optimus's arms, he found himself safe and comforted. He couldn't help his tears.

"I will not remember you when you come back, but speak the words you were imbued with when you were given the brand, and I shall know what you are." Comforting touches to his helm had Smokescreen nodding even as he sobbed. Oh, how it hurt. So many deaths, so many loops. The same cycle, never-ending. He hated it.

"I wish that it was not you who was chosen to bear this burden, but there is nothing that can be done now." The words hurt, but Smokescreen understood. Whatever this trial was, Optimus was familiar with it. The Prime knew and understood. He refused to believe that there was nothing he could do to change Optimus's fate, but he would relish what comfort he was given.

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He continued attempting to pilot the team, guiding them around the various key events he now knew as well as his own designation. He failed to save Optimus each time, but he did not allow himself to give up. Every instance was recorded and each time he returned, he rewrote his records. Somewhere there was a set of choices that would ensure Optimus lived, and Smokescreen was going to find it or die trying.

"Speak with confidence, Smokescreen. A leader must be able to convince those under him to follow a cause even to death." Optimus was a distraction in the extreme. Ever since that loop, Optimus had taken the time to teach Smokescreen everything under the sun whenever there was a spare moment between them. He should have really stopped allowing Optimus to teach him, but he couldn't help but crave the attention and understanding.

"Broaden your brushstrokes. The Praxian dialect requires less formality and more elegance." Language, culture, and history were a part of every loop now. Evenings once spent training with the team or under Ratchet were instead dedicated to study of Cybertron and the ways of rulership under the Prime. Smokescreen quite frankly enjoyed every single lesson. There was always something new to learn, and he never ceased to marvel at the stories despite his general apathy toward life in general.

"That strategy would work in most cases, but you must consider all the variables. Let us review the battle for Kaon and the siege of Iacon to review." War tactics that Smokescreen might have found boring long ago were now the staple of his life. He loved every lesson, and he adored the fact that despite the rest of the team failing to remember their bonds, Optimus remained static. As soon as Smokescreen uttered the words and mentioned what the Prime taught him, Optimus would immediately ask how far his education had progressed and work from there.

It was a comfort. However, with every loop, his agitation grew into boiling anger. None of the variables were working. His calculations always came out wrong. Every combination of choices led to Optimus's death, regardless of what was done. The forge's usage meant nothing, the deaths of teammates were irrelevant, and it seemed as though nothing could be done to stop the most impossible slag from killing Optimus if he didn't die after the blast struck the base.

It accumulated until Smokescreen could take it no longer.

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Three hundred and seventy three loops. None were successful. HOW were none of them successful?! He had done EVERYTHING.

"Why won't you live?" He murmured as he was brought back to the base for what felt like the billionth time. The team looked at him in confusion, but Optimus understood. He always understood.

"It is inevitable." The Prime answered simply as if he were talking about the weather. Smokescreen, despite being long hardened by every imaginable outcome and horror, scowled and flared his plating before clamping it down tight around him.

"I've done EVERYTHING, Optimus! Every possible variable! Every conceivable set of choices! I have made them all! WHY WON'T YOU LIVE!?" He cried as tears pooled in his optics. How hard was it for a mech to be kept alive? Evidently, if the mech was Optimus, it was fragging impossible.

"You always speak of this fragging trial and tell me to give in, but HOW CAN I DO THAT!? You are the PRIME! We need you! How can I just let you DIE?!" His vocalizer strained, and his voice dipped into static as he screamed. Everything had reached a boiling point, and he was unable to stop the stream of tears that poured down his cheeks as Optimus ushered the team back and stepped forward, kneeling down to Smokescreen's level.

"You must make the correct choice, Smokescreen. This torment will not end until you do. There is nothing in this universe capable of defying the will of the divine." Smokescreen wanted to scream more, but in the end all he could do was cling to Optimus uselessly as the Prime drew him in for a hug.

He heard the team murmuring as Optimus took him to an unused hab, the one that always ended up being given to him. Optimus stayed with him as he cried and blabbered, pouring out all his woes and his anger. He told Optimus everything, not sparing anything as he described the pain of lost bonds and the frustration of never being able to win. All the while, Optimus hummed a simple song until at last recharge took him.

He did not get up when the dawn came. He didn't want to. He stayed in his hab and huddled in the corner. Why should he care what the team thought of him? It was useless anyway. The only time he did much other than lie around and lament life was when Optimus brought him energon and coaxed him into drinking. He didn't want to fuel. He wanted it to be over.

Eventually, Ratchet started to bring him energon as well. Part of Smokescreen languished in the guilt of being a deadweight, but he was too tired to care. Optimus never shouted or scolded him. Ratchet made attempts to talk him through it, but Smokescreen remained silent. There was no point. It made no difference anyway.

The loop ended as it always did, and Smokescreen was dragged out of the base by the team despite his uselessness. They treated him kindly even while on the run, trying to help him even as his vision began to swim.

“Smokescreen, can you look at me? Please, we need you to be aware.” Ratchet knelt in front of him, true grief etched onto his features. He needed hope, but Smokescreen had nothing to offer.

“There is no point. He always dies, and he always will. I’ve tried everything.” Smokescreen muttered into his arms as he sat curled up in the junkyard Ratchet had hauled him to. The medic rubbed his face, trying to hide tears as he attempted to stay composed.

“I don’t understand Smokescreen. We need to get back to the team before the Decepticons-” Ratchet went on about a variable Smokescreen had already considered to the point of true apathy, but the mention of the Decepticons caught his attention.

The Decepticons.

What a fool he was. They were the one variable he had never considered properly. He’d tried moving the team to his specifications, but he had not even so much as attempted to touch the source of the problem to begin with.

“You have given me a new variable to test out.” Smokescreen managed a crooked smile as his vision continued to swim. Ratchet looked at him in absolute confusion, but Smokescreen merely chuckled.

“You are so going to hate me for this, but this next run, I am going to become a Con.” The elder medic looked absolutely baffled, but in his emotional turmoil Smokescreen merely laughed.

Finally, a new variable to consider. He could still prove Optimus wrong and save the fragging Prime from a universe that seemed dead set on killing him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The loop began and Smokescreen steeled himself. This was going to suck big time, but at this point, there was no other option.

“Soldier, what are you doing?” Optimus called out to him, but Smokescreen merely stood in the center of the crater coldly. He needed to play the part to make this happen. As much as he despised it, this was the only choice he had.

“My allegiance is to Lord Megatron of the Decepticons.” Raising his blasters, Smokescreen fired on the team. He took care not to hit any of them, as Vehicons finally saw that he was an ally and joined him on the battlefield, pushing the team back. The expressions of shock on their faces hurt him more than he thought, but this was what needed to be done.

The Decepticons were rightfully dubious, but he was brought to the Nemesis, where he knelt before Megatron. It felt foul to do so, but after so many loops… there was little he would not do for the sake of his mission.

“An elite guardsmech betraying the Autobots to come to me. That seems too good to be true, don’t you think so, Starscream?” Smokescreen remained in his kneeled position, but his sensors blared as he noticed the Lord of Vos nearing him. The skinny flier smiled evilly before strutting toward Megatron’s side.

“Indeed my lord. Not to mention, this reeks of a trap . A grounder has little use to the Decepticon cause anyway.” Frag-

“Then I believe it is decided. I have no need of you guardsmech.” Smokescreen only had time to regret his life decisions before he was face to face with a blaster and promptly knew no more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Again, he was in his fragging. POD.

It seemed that not even death could save him, and evidently, Megatron would not be easy to fool.

“What is your name, soldier?” Ah, there it was again. Smokescreen stood stiffly before the Autobot leader, the one he was trying so slagging hard to save. He sighed and gave his designation for the millionth time as plans formed in his processor. This was going to take far more work than he thought… but he could be patient. He’d long ago mastered the art.

There was a great deal of trial and error involved in the recruitment process. He had to get very good at remaining inconspicuous. Since death was apparently no longer an issue for him, Smokescreen took more risks over the next few dozen loops. He attempted the rushed recruitment a few more times before becoming acutely familiar with the pain of getting his helm blown off and promptly deciding that it wasn’t worth it in that manner.

From there he developed a plan to move slowly. Getting in contact with the Cons was not hard at all, and becoming an inside agent was even easier. He took absolutely no joy in feeding information to the Decepticons, but he needed an in. So when the relics came into play, it was the best information he could give without jeopardizing the team.

Not that it mattered much. He just needed to exploit this variable until Optimus survived. Then he could deal with the fallout. Even still, it took a hundred or so loops before he managed to find just the right line to walk. If he was too eager, the Cons would kill him on account of suspicion. If he didn’t tread carefully enough, the Bots would get him. He was not exactly the most pleased when Ratchet killed him once after catching him. Arcee cut him down a few times. Bulkhead was too heavy to land a hit and Bee generally didn’t aim to kill, but both still slagging hurt . Not to mention, he never enjoyed having to off himself afterwards in order to reset things.

Perhaps it was an abuse of the loop, but he simply didn’t care. Wounds hurt less now that he knew it wouldn’t matter anyway. He hated betraying his fellows, but they wouldn’t remember in the end, just like they didn’t remember the bonds they forged over so many cycles.

Optimus found out he was a double agent every single time, though. Smokescreen had no clue how the Prime did it, but as soon as Smokescreen began negotiations with Megatron, the Prime was onto him. However, he never stopped Smokescreen, not once. He never helped, that much was for sure. Yet, he would still teach Smokescreen as if nothing were different about him. The lessons continued, and Optimus took the time to give Smokescreen access to spy training videos left behind by Jazz before the Exodus.

He didn’t like thinking about how much it must have hurt Optimus to watch Smokescreen do what he did. Smokescreen didn’t like thinking about the team much at all anymore.

Finally, after what was likely over eight hundred loops, Smokescreen managed to swap sides with reasonable credibility. He gave Megatron the location of relics and sabotaged the team in a manner that wasn’t really meaningful. Bulkhead would walk off the burns, and Arcee was small enough that being chucked wouldn’t be all that bad. Walking onto the Nemesis was terrifying, even more so once he had to begin blending in.

“Since you have proven capable in a variety of fields, you may decide who you wish to serve under directly.” Megatron gestured toward his lieutenants. Starscream made a disgusted face, Knockout shrugged and moved on, Soundwave said nothing as usual, and Shockwave did whatever the pit it was Shockwave did.

More variables to consider.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Deciding it would be best to cover his bases, Smokescreen stuck with Knockout for a few dozen loops. He appreciated the mech and managed to weasel all sorts of juicy information out of him once he proved a capable doctor and showed himself willing to polish the elder medic’s plating. It honestly wasn’t the worst experience. Smokescreen never looked better, but the position of Knockout’s fellow doctor simply wasn’t high ranking enough to get him anywhere, even if it did yield valuable information on the Decepticons. Of course, having spent so long training under Ratchet, there were a few interesting interactions in his loops before he moved on.

“What are you doing? Using a circular saw on a regular patient is asking for disaster!” Smokescreen exclaimed as he reached for a normal saw. Knockout pouted and activated his in-built saw to emphasize his point.

“It is more effective, though, is it not?” It was at times like these that Smokescreen wished he was with Ratchet again.

“The patient is AWAKE, Knockout.” He stressed while rubbing his face. Obviously, he had maintained a few bad habits from his time as a medic. He could really go for some high grade. Ratchet let him sneak a few sips off and on, and Primus, he really wanted a bottle at this point.

“And? Anyone who walks in here knows that it's my way or the highway.” The red medic smiled lovingly at his perfectly polished saw and Smokescreen lamented life. Knockout was a pain in the aft, but he was a good distraction.

Of course eventually he needed to get back to work, and so after an extra loop just to blow off a bit of steam, Smokescreen turned to the next mech on the list.

He went to Starscream next simply because he was familiar enough with the seeker in his many many visits to the medical bay. Starscream hated him, and he hated Starscream. It was by far the least productive few loops Smokescreen had ever dealt with. He spent more time taking Starscream’s punishments for him than actually doing anything. Starscream got him killed twice by framing him, and that was enough for Smokescreen to decide it wasn’t worth it.

Shockwave was next on the agenda, and much like Knockout, while a valuable learning experience, there was not nearly enough influence in his position to help him. He could do nothing to assist the Autobots from the labs. He attempted releasing creatures a few times, but that simply never ended well. He tended to wind back up with the Autobots in restraints until everything came crashing and burning down. Science was never his best class anyway.

Finally, he settled on Soundwave. With the others already tested and Smokescreen being totally unwilling to risk it with Megatron without further information, he resigned himself to serving under the creep fest that was the spymaster. Smokescreen lost count of how many times Soundwave sniffed out his intentions before they could even begin. Those times ended with him being thrown off the edge of the Nemesis to his death. He was not fond of crushing as a form of offlinement. It took too long.

After what must have been a series of loops entering into the thousands, Smokescreen at last got himself together enough to last more than a cycle under Soundwave. He religiously studied Jazz’s instructional videos while with the Autobots as an inside agent and did his very best to play his part. Then, when he got onto the Nemesis and chose Soundwave, he went through what quickly became a very routine series of interrogations. Smokescreen found that the best way to not be caught was to never think of anything Autobot or mission related. It was a hard ask, but he learned a few meditation tactics over the loops that worked well enough.

He made a few valiant attempts at getting to know Soundwave for information’s sake, but the spymaster never told him much. The best he got was access to the Decepticon databanks, an event that changed his perspective on things wildly. It was also the only time Soundwave ever actually spoke to him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Soundwave… is this really what happened at the high council?” Smokescreen asked hesitantly as he reviewed the file. Ratchet and the Autobots always spoke of things as though it were Megatron who caused the war… but looking at this, it seemed the betrayal went both ways.

“Megatronus: Wanted power to free our people. Orion Pax: Was politically tied. Both made decisions in their best interest. Neither could comprehend the other.” Soundwave spoke and Smokescreen listened. It was no wonder Megatron wanted Optimus dead. If things were as it seemed, then the war was the result of one big misunderstanding turned into a grudge.

How ridiculous.

“Why are we still at war? Why couldn’t they both have just talked?” He found himself asking as he looked over the footage showing the rapid changes in both Autobot and Decepticon values over the vorns. Each side grew more and more radical to the point of detrimental behavior taking sway. Optimus taught him much of the old history of Cybertron, but not much about this.

“Megatron: Was humiliated. Orion Pax: Was coerced. Something changed. Megatron: Became darker. Orion Pax: Became Optimus Prime.” The spymaster replied emotionlessly as he typed away at his console. Smokescreen nodded grimly and returned to work. Was this really all the war was? Frag it all, he just wanted Optimus to live.

“Megatron isn’t right in the helm anymore, so why are you still loyal? Whoever he was isn’t who he is now.” Datacables hovered above him threateningly as the spymaster turned to face him. Smokescreen froze, but he did not back down. Soundwave seemed to think about the proper response before he settled on calming back down.

“Megatron: May not be fully sane. But Megatron has vision. Megatron: Is not a dead mech walking.” Soundwave’s spindly digit pointed toward a screen, and Smokescreen’s optics widened a fraction as he saw an image of Optimus standing in what looked to be a proud manner.

“What do you mean by that?” He questioned sharper than he intended. Soundwave regarded him with suspicion, and Smokescreen knew he was done. Even if he got his answer, he was fragged.

“Optimus Prime: Has been waiting for death. Smokescreen: Shall be there to greet him in the Allspark.” Smokescreen only had enough time to process the information before a blade sliced straight through his neck. He fell to the ground with a pained gurgle before his vision turned into a mess of color, and he woke in his pod once more.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

He made valiant efforts to use his position amongst the Decepticons to help. He really did. But attempting to help the Autobots from the Nemesis was an impossible task. Again and again he returned, only to meet the same roadblock. If Megatron didn’t find the base, he found Optimus. The result was always the same. No amount of smuggled information, swapped allegiances, or dedicated spying ever did anything. Nothing. Ever. Worked.

He even tried to kill Megatron a few times. He might have had the experience of a mech with millennia of combat experience on his belt after so many loops, but Megatron was large and in charge. Smokescreen just wasn’t fast or old enough to do the necessary damage needed to offline the fragger. Thus, he changed his approach yet again. He attempted to try and play therapist to the warlord in an effort to possibly convince him to sign for peace. It was a vain attempt, and he knew it, but still, he tried.

And surprisingly, despite how much he still despised the mech, he came to understand him, just as he did with all the others he served under.

“My Lord, why do you hate Optimus so much?” He asked firmly but without any tonal indicators. Megatron killed him a few times for being too mouthy. He had long learned to question carefully.

“Inquisitive today, aren’t you?” Megatron shot back with a hint of venom. Smokescreen held his ground, Megatron respected those who did not flinch.

“I joined the Decepticons to help end this war that has gone on for too long. I want to know your views, why you began all of this, and why this war has continued.” Smokescreen explained simply as he stood at attention. He was not fond of the darker purple tones he had been painted in since he began his infiltration, but he appreciated how it shone now. Knockout had taught him a thing or two about plating care, and it showed.

“Well, since you are so eager to know, allow me to keep things simple. I created the Decepticons in order to give our people equality and freedom from the caste system.” Megatron began, his voice becoming softer and less… harsh as he spoke. Smokescreen tilted his helm ever so slightly in curiosity as he listened. This was… informative.

“Cybertron was torn between the high and the low caste. The latter were treated as cattle, slaves to be abused, while the former relished in the gains of millions of mecha unable to get proper fuel, much less go anywhere in the world.” Passionate. That was the way to describe Megatron’s words. Not the vicious, angry rants that Smokescreen knew among the Autobots, but rather a soft and true care for the issue.

“I rose up with my fellows to speak for the people. I took Orion Pax under my wing, teaching him of the issues of our world and showing him all that he could not see in his comfortable middle caste position.” Smokescreen observed as for a split second, Megatron looked young and hopeful again. The scowl he always wore faded away, and his optics glinted as he stared into space. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“When we stood before the high council, Orion Pax, whom I trusted with everything, betrayed me. He shot down my proclamations and stood for what he saw as peace. He took everything from my cause, humiliating us.” Megatron’s servos shook with renewed anger, and Smokescreen stepped back on instinct as the warlord turned to face him.

“You remind me of him. Curious and cautious. Maybe that’s why I haven’t killed you yet.” The warlord growled, his digits twitching before he turned away again. Smokescreen’s vents fluttered as he struggled to return to his normal cooling cycle, fear thrumming in his fuel lines.

“Or perhaps you remind me of myself. You have that spark of determination in your gaze… and that makes me wonder, what is it you are fighting so hard for? What conviction has taken your spark so fully as to abandon your faction for mine?” The tables had turned. Smokescreen stalled, panic beginning to flare in his spark alongside the brand. He expected to lie, but instead he ended up speaking the truth.

“I was told to give in. I refuse to accept that order, and so I am fighting against it in order to stop needless death.” Silence reigned for a long moment before Megatron nodded once.

“A noble goal, guardsmech. You will make a fine Decepticon.” Megatron stalked away and Smokescreen stood in shock. However, as he returned to his quarters and thought…

Was Megatron really wrong? At this point, his goals had long since shifted away from the Autobots and more toward ending everything.

Perhaps he was a Decepticon deep down.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

It wasn’t fair. So many loops, and it was all for nothing.

He did everything in his power to work with the Decepticons, and yet absolutely nothing worked. And after his discussion with Megatron, he began to come to a realization.

What was it he was really fighting for? Obviously he wanted to save Optimus, but he wasn’t trying to really stop the Decepticons anymore, was he? In the beginning, he put everything he had into fighting back, into giving the Autobots their victory. But now? After so many loops? He just wanted the war to stop. He wanted everything to end and for the needless death to cease.

It hit him rather suddenly, but after what could have been thousands of loops, Smokescreen at last admitted that he was… tired. Truly tired. He fought so very hard for so long. He rose up time and time again, hoping for things to change. And yet, just as Optimus said, there was no escape.

He wasn’t sure when he made his way to his quarters or what look it was, but Smokescreen made a choice. It had been so very long…

“Optimus.” He spoke into the communicator softly, hoping the Prime would hear him.

“Smokescreen, are you alright?” Optimus asked immediately, concern lacing his tone. Smokescreen merely sighed, rubbing his face. He had no more tears to shed, not anymore.

“You were right. There is no escape… is there?” Optimus remained silent for a long moment, and Smokescreen could hear the nervous flutter of the Prime’s vents before he answered.

“No. There is no escape. I have tried, we all have.”

The words echoed like a weight in his spark chamber, and all Smokescreen could do was darkly chuckle as a dry sob built in his throat.

“What do I do now?” He asked gently as he rubbed at his face, trying to keep his composure. Optimus sighed across the line and spoke as though he were soothing a wayward sparkling.

“Finish this cycle, and when it ends, come back to me. Let things play out as they should. I believe you finally understand.” A small part of Smokescreen wanted to keep fighting, to ignore the Prime’s advice. But as he thought, it made sense. What would further struggle gain him now?

“Alright… I’m sorry Optimus. I’m so sorry. I tried to save you. I tried so fragging hard.” His words came out in a choked mix of static and sobs, and he wept. Optimus, the kind mech that he was, uttered a single sympathetic phrase.

“I know Smokescreen. You would not have been chosen otherwise.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the loop began again, Smokescreen didn’t fight, he didn’t weep. Instead, he joined the team quietly and mingled with them as if he did not know what was to come. He kept his skill and knowledge behind wraps and pretended just to gain a sense of normalcy. The only times he allowed the mask to drop were when Optimus came to him, and they would sit and speak. Smokescreen told him of all his experiences, and the Prime in turn nodded in understanding.

Optimus did not share what he knew, but he didn’t need to. Smokescreen didn’t want to know. Not anymore.

Something in Smokescreen’s spark told him this would be the end of his endless loop. And so he devoted himself to bonding with the team. He did not laugh as he once did, but he played with Bumblebee, enjoying the familiarity of video games and good times. He trained alongside Arcee and Bulkhead, remembering bonds now long gone, as he pretended to match their moves and flounder despite having more experience than they likely did at this point. He went to Ratchet regularly, asking to be taught the art of medicine as a pastime. The doctor was a crankpot, but it was familiar, and that was all Smokescreen wanted.

The children kept him busy, the team gave him a home. Beneath it all, he knew what was to come, and so did Optimus. Neither fought against it when the time came for the base to burn. And when Smokescreen dragged Optimus from the rubble down into the tunnels, he did not cry as the Prime spoke.

“The time for a new leader… is upon us.” How very familiar. Smokescreen almost didn’t hear with how many times he had endured the same line endlessly.

“I know. You’ve said this before.” He muttered as he sat beside Optimus, holding his servo in a comforting way. He was older now, wiser. No longer did he panic at the sight of his ailing leader.

“You show no fear… your conviction has eased… you are… ready.” Optimus’s hoarse voice caused Smokescreen to frown, but he nodded all the same. For once, the brand did not burn. Instead, it soothed the pain of his long memory.

This was meant to be. He knew this now.

“Forgive me… for leaving you like this.” Optimus gasped, his frame tensing up as he clung to life. Smokescreen washed his field over the elder mech and Optimus attempted to do the same in return. They understood one another. There was no point in fighting it now.

“I pray that our kind… have no more need for a Prime… once this war… comes to its end.” The Prime whispered as his frame failed him. Smokescreen merely nodded again as he replied softly.

“No other should endure this torment.” He agreed quietly. Optimus coughed and managed a smile before squeezing Smokescreen’s servo.

“I do not remember all you have endured… but I know in my spark… that a true leader stands before me… right now…” They shared their fields in silence as time dragged on. Smokescreen didn’t bother keeping track of it as he waited until he had the strength to make a new oath.

He failed to save Optimus, but he had not failed his people… not yet.

“I won’t let you down Optimus. I promise you, Cybertron will be restored, and this war will end.” With the last of his strength, Optimus smiled and Smokescreen returned it. Then, just like that, the Prime vented his last and fell still. Smokescreen remained with him, holding his servo for a klik until Optimus’s chassis split and the Matrix revealed itself.

He wasn’t afraid anymore. He had no reason to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The world was brighter now in a strange way. No longer did knowledge of the future loom over his helm. For once, all was calm. But of course, there was still work to be done. Admiration could come later.

“Where is Optimus Prime?” Megatron growled, his blaster aimed at the team who were held in chains. They glared at Megatron, but their expressions quickly turned to shock.

“Optimus Prime has become one with the Allspark. I am Nebulous Prime, his ordained heir.” Nebulous now stood at around the same height as his predecessor, but it did not concern him. The Matrix sat heavy in his spark chamber, but it did not burn. With the memories of his fellow Primes imbuing him, he now knew that one day the weight would kill him.

But for now, all was well.

“I come with an offer of peace and a plan to restore our world.” The team gasped, and Megatron regarded him with pure suspicion. Nebulous did not falter as he strode forward, uncaring of the weapons aimed at him. He was no longer functionally immortal, but death did not shake him.

“What is it you offer Prime ?” There was a hint of sorrow in Megatron’s tone. Nebulous noted it with a hum. Perhaps he had not thought this far, but whatever the case, it was irrelevant now.

“We shall repair Cybertron together. I shall retrieve the Allspark, and as co-leaders, we shall fix our shattered world.” The team looked ready to object, but Nebulous paid them no mind. They would not understand. How could they? So very blinded by war and hate. They did not know the agony of reality.

“How am I to be assured you won’t eliminate me the moment it becomes convenient?” Megatron questioned with a low hiss. The Matrix thrummed comfortingly, providing knowledge which Nebulous happily accepted as he spoke again.

“I am not my predecessor. My trial was different from his… and I know that what you seek to gain at your core is also the goal of all Cybertronians.” All those present paused, and Ratchet looked ready to purge. Megatron for his part lowered his blaster and seemed contemplative.

“You truly desire peace, little Prime?”

The question hung in the air as Nebulous approached and extended a servo.

“More than anything else. This war has dragged on long enough, so please, let us bring it to its end.” He and Megatron locked optics for a long klik before the warlord nodded and took his servo, shaking it with considerate strength.

“For Cybertron.” Megatron murmured, his expression returned to that hopeful visage Smokescreen saw so many loops ago.

This was not the end Smokescreen wanted, but it was the end Nebulous strove for. Personal connections and petty grudges meant little now. All that mattered was restoring their home. Enough had perished as it was.

Optimus would have wanted this.

Nebulous would not fail, not again.

“For Cybertron.” He agreed.

And he meant it with all his spark.

Wherever Optimus was, Nebulous hoped that he was finally at peace.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #smokescreen #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #soundwave #decepticons #angst #character death #long fic #one shot #whoooooooo boy #sorry this is so long #wanted to share it but dang I didn't realize how crazy this thing was #thanks for reading if you got this far #three days of my life went into this thing

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jinxhallows · 2 years ago

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kinktober #oo3 | my turn

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows my turn (role reversal) || jisung x fem!reader summary: you have the coolest partner in the world, the literal rockstar Jisung of the band Eternal, and the best part? you knew he was one before the rest of the world found out. you two met over a shared love of music, and you let your dreams fall to the wayside to support his. but when jisung hears you with his band for the first time, the roles are reversed, and he becomes your biggest fan. warnings: rather fluffy for kinktober, plot heavy, pet names, established relationship, non-kpop idol AU.

word count: 3.2k masterlist - click here

You’re a supportive girlfriend, so it's your job to be the one front and center when your boyfriend performs at festivals, waving a big sign around like an average fan, despite the badge hanging from your neck indicating you were very much not an average fan, and had full and complete access to the artist. Jisung is undoubtedly a rockstar, the charismatic lead guitarist and vocalist of the alternative rock sensation, Eternal. Following the blazing success of their recent single on the radio, their demand has skyrocketed, securing them bookings at renowned festivals with extensive media coverage. But your unwavering enthusiasm for Jisung's music dates back to the days when it was just him and his band in a rented-out rehearsal room inside an old warehouse in your hometown. There, you'd watch him perform, feeling your heart swell with pride and admiration as he poured his soul into his music, singing about his tumultuous past.

In the last two of your five-year relationship, Jisung has been urging you to step into the limelight with your own unique voice. He's convinced that your vocals have a distinctive quality, a gritty edge that perfectly complements grunge and rock music. However, you've hesitated, recalling your past as a pop artist that didn't quite take off. You're afraid of experiencing the heartbreak of the music industry all over again.

It's been easier to live vicariously through Jisung's success, still being close to the music scene that makes you feel alive. Your dreams haven't faded entirely, but for now, they simmer on the backburner.

After a year of pestering you, Jisung manages to convince you to get on the microphone after you two have shared a few beers and a couple of shots in between runs of his set at rehearsal. You’re barely walking, and he’s pushing you while you make an effort to lean back against him, half fighting and stumbling your way up. Giving him a sideways glance, he winks at you and turns to his rack of three guitars. He selects his vintage strat, slides the leather strap over his head, taps his foot on his pedalboard with a dozen pedals, exchanges nods with his drummer and bassist, and begins strumming chords.

As the chords fill the air, they feel almost deliciously right, which is no surprise. Jisung knows your musical tastes well—Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Staind, 3 Doors Down, Nickelback—and he's giving you something distinctly different from his usual style, something that resonates with your soul. You close your eyes, furrowing your brow in concentration as you sway to the chords. Then, you open your mouth, and the words flow effortlessly: My anxiety, It just ain’t been getting down with your sobriety As the words leave your lips, you're pleasantly surprised at how good they sound, both vocally and lyrically.

Jisung signals the band to continue with a circular motion of his finger. He adjusts his playing to complement your voice, encouraging you to keep going.

Closing your eyes once more, you raise the microphone to your lips:

My anxiety, It just ain't been getting down with your sobriety And I can tell how things are changin’ cause you’re just like me. The next set of words come to you within seconds. And I’m gonna take you to that place where you don’t wanna be, don’t gotta be. You hear that familiar switch and whirr of the high pitched amp as Jisung switches pedals again, the sound harder, with more overdrive. His strumming pattern has changed, and it makes you feel like a chorus should come out naturally. Take me out onto the wide and open roads, I’m just waiting for you to tell me when to go. We can take it slow, I don’t have to know. But I can’t promise that you’ll find your way back home. You're completely immersed in the world of your lyrics, lost in the music until you hear Jisung's whistle followed by hearty laughter as the band comes to a stop.

Jisung steps on a pedal, deactivating the overdrive, and asks, "Holy shit, did you write that, y/n?"

You shrug, "No, it just came out—the way you were playing, that's just what came out."

He widens his eyes, brows raising in surprise. "Wait, you mean to tell me you came up with that off the top of your head?"

You look at him, puzzled. "Jisung, we do this at home all the time. We freestyle together when we're drunk. I used to be a musician. Is this new information?"

He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "Don't be a smartass. You know I've never heard you with a live band. When we freestyle when we're drunk, you don't come up with stuff like that. That was... poetry."

Jisung steps back and adjusts his pedals, strumming lightly. "Do the same thing, but Troy, hold out that E string through the first eight bars."

And so, your very first alternative rock song, 'Home,' was born during an organic jam session. It was so impressive that Jisung funded its professional recording in a studio and helped you release it as a single, under his publishing.

You landed 68k streams in the first week. People were hungry for more. The band lent their full support as you embarked on your first major project, a small EP comprising eight remarkable songs. The pinnacle of your excitement came when you received news that you were invited to perform at none other than the prestigious Coachella festival.

Your excitement matched the enthusiasm radiating from Jisung. He couldn't contain his joy, and as the news broke, he screamed, hugging you tightly and even jumping up and down with sheer delight. When he finally released you from the hug, his eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as he looked into your eyes. "I get to be your groupie now," he exclaimed. & Jisung meant that shit. He purposefully schedules a leg of his tour to leave that night open so he can be free to attend and play for your performance, instead of the hired gun guitarist that takes his place when he has to prioritize his own band. He’s headlining a top venue in the city the next night, but tonight is all about you. But for tonight, Jisung is your guitarist, so he can’t wave a sign in the crowd for you like you do for him, so he gets a little creative. As the band began playing the intro to your song, the stage lights transform into a dim, muted blue, and you gaze out at the vast, massive crowd before you. It is undoubtedly the largest audience you have ever performed for in your career.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jisung stepping up to his microphone, still strumming his guitar. "Tonight is special to me, to be playing for Y/N, really, it's an honor," he announced, causing you to cover your mouth and nose with your hands, concealing your wide smile as the crowd erupted in cheers, urging him to continue.

"I am her biggest fan, and it sucks that I can't be in the audience, watching you do your thing from their point of view," Jisung continued with effortless stage presence. Laughter and whoops filled the air as he spoke, still strumming his guitar. "You guys are some lucky motherfuckers." His stage presence is effortless as the crowd reacts with laughter and whoops. He’s still playing, the band perfectly vamping the song in the background as he points to the front row, “So I gathered some fans to help me out tonight.” Before your very eyes, signs go up one by one across the front. M A R R Y M E ? You take a step back, your eyes widen as you squint to see. The crowd's deafening roar and the giant screen above capture the moment, alternating between the sign and your bewildered expression. It's a surprise you could never predict.

"Jisung—" you begin to exclaim, but your voice breaks into sobs as he embraces you tightly. The band briefly pauses, and the crowd's cheers grow louder.

"It's okay, baby," Jisung reassures you, laughing as adrenaline courses through him. He rocks you from side to side, and then, he pulls out a box from his back pocket, dropping to one knee. With tears in his eyes, he opens the box to reveal a stunning ruby ring surrounded by diamonds on a gold band. He wipes his cheeks, trying to maintain composure as emotions overwhelm him.

Your shocked reaction, a mixture of surprise and joy, draws raucous laughter from the audience. You hadn't expected him to propose right then, and you had no idea he had a ring. You don't even know any of this has been planned. As you say yes, barely above a whisper, you nod and let him slip the ring onto your finger. It rests perfectly between the silver carved wolf ring on your pinky and the owl eyes ring on your middle finger, with turquoise stones set into the irises. It's a ring that proves he knows you well and listens to the things you love and want. You hadn’t mentioned wanting a ruby engagement ring since you first started dating and it came up randomly when you two were at a mall together and happened to pass them by.

- “Do you like this one?” Jisung asked. “Nah, too traditional. I love rubies. I’d love a ruby one.”

- Now, you shiver with emotion, looking down at the ring and sniffing as he stands up to kiss you. It's a brief kiss, but you know there's more to come later. He steps back, never taking his eyes off you, and the introduction to your song begins once again.

Through your tears, you laugh. "Now I have to sing the song, asshole," you tease.

Jisung chuckles with the crowd and leans over to quip into the microphone, "Yeah, but you got this, rockstar."

As you prepare to start singing, the crowd's voices join in unison, singing the opening phrases with you:

"My anxiety..."

You feel a surge of happiness and gratitude as you close your eyes and sing the lyrics, your voice soaring as the song reaches its climax and descends gracefully, like a plane landing smoothly. The audience erupts in applause, and soon after, you find yourself in the dressing room. You're sweaty, makeup smudged from tears, but you're buzzing with excitement. Your heart races, and it feels like a fluttering butterfly has replaced it, its wings sending a rush of blood through your veins.

Your team rushes in, surrounding you in a massive group hug. Some of them hold bouquets of flowers, and your manager pops a bottle of champagne, filling flutes for everyone in the room.

"Attention, everyone, I need to make a toast," your manager announces, raising her glass above the chatter. The room hushes. "To new beginnings!" she declares, and everyone cheers, clinking their glasses together. You raise your glass from where you sit on a makeup table, taking a sip as the room bursts into conversation again.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Jisung walks in, greeted by more whoops and cheers. He's visibly exhausted from his set and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, but Jisung plays along, accepting the enthusiastic welcome as he makes his way over to you.

"Han Jisung!" you exclaim, shaking your head as he wraps you in a warm embrace. Your legs wrap around his waist as he hugs you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips and looking into your eyes.

"It sounds even better now that it's gonna be your last name," he says with a grin.

"Let's take this to the afterparty!" your drummer yells, and everyone starts gathering their belongings, excitedly agreeing.

"Leo, we're playing Thunder Eagle tomorrow, don't get too messed up, man," Jisung says over his shoulder, calling out your shared drummer, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be cool Jay.” “I’m serious.” "I'll make sure they behave," Jisung's manager chimes in, patting Leo on the back and pointing towards the door, silently advising him not to argue tonight.

Jisung is a Virgo, a perfectionist, and he wants his set to be flawless, even if it never quite reaches his impossible standards. She reassured him that everything would go according to plan so he could enjoy his proposal night.

"Thank you, Rina," Jisung says.

Rina nods. "Meet us back at the hotel. We need to go over tomorrow's itinerary."

She knows Jisung has no interest in afterparties, especially not tonight. His social battery is drained as well.

After Rina leaves, the steel door slowly closes behind her, and you and Jisung let out synchronized sighs, followed by shared laughter. Those sighs communicate everything you both feel—the relief of finally being alone.

"Wow, I can't believe I got backstage with Y/N," Jisung teases, his eyes playfully wide.

"Got past security and everything, huh? You must've really wanted to meet me," you playfully comment.

"Of course," Jisung responds, placing his hands on both sides of your face and looking into your eyes. "I told you, I'm your biggest fan."

And then, Jisung kisses you for real this time, like he means every bit of it. Your head tilts to follow the rhythm of his tongue as it rolls over yours, and you give him a forceful shove backward as you hop down from the countertop. He stumbles back a few steps while you push his leather jacket off his shoulders. Eventually, he lands on the black futon, looking up at you with a crooked grin as you straddle him. Your knees sink into the leather, and you can feel just how aroused he is when you lower yourself against him. Both of you are still clothed, and you rest your arms on his shoulders, your breasts grazing against his chin as you start grinding in his lap.

"You're my biggest fan, Jisung?" you inquire, your voice low and teasing.

"I am," he confirms, his eyes lifting from your chest to meet yours as he answers your question. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down firmer onto his lap.

You lean in close, murmuring in his ear, "Wanna be my groupie?"

"Mhm, I do, I do," Jisung breathes, his hands gripping your ass.

But then, you stop, lifting yourself up slightly. “Let me fuck you then.” you say with a firm grasp of his erection. You stroke him a couple of times through his jeans, your lips hovering over his. You watch his expressions, the way his eyes cross, and his lids flutter, his vision blurred by the shockwaves your touch is sending throughout his body. "Y-Yeah?" Jisung stammers, a reply that makes you both laugh, briefly breaking the intensity of the passion between you. How can you still have this effect on him? Jisung melts under your heat, and he always will. “Take your dick out, I need to spell it out for you?” You grant him a bit more space, allowing him to lift his hips and deftly slide out of his jeans. His brain finally clears the fog of desire, and he's acutely aware of how badly he craves to be with you at this moment.

"Sorry," he stammers, "I'm like...star-struck or something." You straddle him once more, your thumb gently grazing his lower lip, the delicate almond-shaped acrylic nail tracing along his upper teeth. You observe the transformation in his expression as he shifts from awe to sheer desperation, all while you slowly lower yourself onto his throbbing anticipation.

“Hmm,” You throw your head back with a blissful sigh of contentment, adjusting to his size. And Jisung can hardly believe it; he’s actually going to marry you and keep you in his life forever. He gets to feel this forever.

The thought is making him impossibly hard as hips rock into you, emptying out those moans he’s grown to love so much.

“Jisung, you feel so good right now, baby,” you purr into his ear, his nails digging into your thighs to get a firmer grip as you ride him, writhing, whining hips giving him chills as you engulf him from every angle.

“Goddamn,” He moans. “You do too.”

When Jisung vocalizes during sex, it comes from some deep, carnal place that drives you absolutely mad. And then, he finds his second wind, snaking one arm around your waist, the other supporting his weight on the couch as he starts plunging into your pussy. You're losing composure, your choppy moans matching the tempo of his thrusts as your eyes roll back in your head, being fucked dumb over his shoulder. When he tires, it’s like a perfect pass off, the way you grind against him. He releases a guttural noise, head back against the futon as he slaps your thigh in encouragement, coaxing you to keep riding him just…like…that. He looks up at you again, with stars in his eyes. “I wish you could see yourself right now.” “I can.” Your arm around his neck, fingers in his hair, you can see yourself in the reflection of the chain of mirrors along the wall behind you both. “Oh, good,” Jisung says with a half-smile, your cunt still swallowing him up at this languid pace. “See how pretty you look when you’re being fucked senseless like this?” He watches your face, the way your chest flutters with tiny gasps and your face twitches when you hit that certain spot. "Yeah, I do," you barely manage to respond. “Only thing prettier is how you look when you cum.” His praise pushes you further, two fingers sliding between your lips that you welcome, and Jisung closes his eyes, all of his senses overstimulated as he dangerously evades his orgasm, thanks to shutting out the sight of you absolutely wracked with pleasure, bouncing on his cock, with his fingers at the back of your throat. You can’t speak, your mouth obstructed, so you begin to whine instead, and he presses on your tongue, making you gag over and over again as you unravel on him. Jisung feels you cumming, he puts both arms around your waist as he pounds into you from below until he pulls you down a final time, his breath hitching as he allows his release to take over, cursing as he empties inside of you. As your bodies slowly come down from the peak of ecstasy, you stay intertwined, breathless and sated. The room is filled with a warm, intimate silence, broken only by the occasional soft sigh and the sound of your synchronized heartbeats. Jisung gazes into your eyes with a tender expression, his fingers softly brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispers. You smile warmly in response, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “I feel the same way,” you murmur against his lips. “Forever sounds pretty perfect.” The two of you lay there for a while longer, basking in the post-coital afterglow and the knowledge that your love has reached a new level of commitment. The future seems brighter and more promising than ever before, filled with endless possibilities now for the careers of you both.

Eventually, you two gather the strength to get up and clean up the evidence of your passionate encounter. As you help each other get dressed, there's a sense of contentment and serenity in the air. With one last lingering kiss, you make your way back outside to catch an Uber back to the hotel, likely for a highly-anticipated round two. What? You two are rockstars. Did you expect anything less?

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