#if I get one more nice anon I am going to weep into the floor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

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Doubt Comes In

Requested by anon: Hey!! Can you maybe right a fic where the reader is having a panic attack and Loki finds them and helps them or maybe where they’re having a panic attack and they go as Loki for help. Whichever you’re drawn to I’d love either. Thanks sm, sorry to bother. You’re amazing btw Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When depression and anxiety get the better of you, Loki is there to help you through it. Warnings: Talk of self-harm, depression, and panic attacks, as well as a brief mention of suicide. If any of these things upset you, please do not read. A/N: This is the first request I’ve ever gotten, so thank you to the lovely anon that sent this in. Sorry that I added some things to your request, but I’d already started writing this and felt that they worked well together. Hopefully I still did your request justice :)

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

There were days where you just had to shut yourself away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world. The first time you did this, it alarmed the rest of the team who were used to you being one of the most social of the group. You seemed to have infinite patience for the people who stopped you on the street, both fans and media alike. During parties, you could be found with a large group of people, nodding along and adding your own thoughts where they seemed appropriate. Of course, if anyone bothered to look close enough, they would have seen that your smiles were just a little too bright, and your responses just a little too polite. No one ever did, though, so you suffered in silence.

On days like today when depressive thoughts claimed your mind, the whole act was too hard to put on. The team had come to know times like this as your sick day, though they were all suspicious of the flimsy excuses you made when you told them that’s all it was. Just a stomach bug, you’d say one time. Another, a minor headache supposedly plagued you. Nothing to worry over, you assured them. Out of respect to you and the space you obviously needed, they hardly ever questioned you any further.

You tried to calm the shakiness of your breaths as you made your way to the kitchen. Tony had taken the rest of the team out for mini-golfing, something you usually would have been ecstatic to take part in. Even if you had to force a smile for strangers, you were genuinely happy to do things with your friends. It was just the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness that kept you from joining them today. You did your best to ignore your feelings, which always left you on a hollow sort of auto-pilot. Staring blankly into the fridge you opened upon arriving in the kitchen, you tried to force yourself to find something you wanted to eat. You knew you needed some kind of sustenance, but somehow your brain always convinced itself you didn’t deserve to eat when in a mood like this. You grabbed a berry smoothie that you knew you probably wouldn’t finish and headed to a common room couch.

The view was much better here than from your room and you were glad that everyone else was out, allowing you to wallow anywhere in the Tower, not just your bedroom. You hated to be inside at all, let alone cooped up in your room, on a day as nice as this. Going out, though, meant you ran the risk of running into someone. So, you leaned back and felt the warm sun filtering in from the large windows wash over your skin, and opened the cap of your drink. You managed to take a few sips before setting it down on the table in front of you. That relentlessly chipper voice in your head told you that if you weren’t going to eat, you should at least finish the smoothie, but it was met with an even louder, more persistent voice telling you that you shouldn’t. You peered at the pinkish liquid and managed to take one more gulp before setting it back down. It was better than nothing, you figured.

Psychoanalyzing yourself never really ended well for you. You had a nice home, friends that were practically family, and pretty much anything you could ever want. So why the fuck were you so messed up? Deep down, you knew it was in a large part, if not wholly, due to your home life from before becoming an Avenger. Your parents would tell you to talk to them, to express your emotions, but the second you did, they told you it was wrong to feel that way. To just stop feeling like that without any clue as to how to do that. It left you drowning in emotions too difficult to repress, in a house filled with screaming matches between people who supposedly loved each other. Eventually those screams gave way to icy glares and clipped conversations. You quickly learned your place in a house like that: Listen to everyone else’s problems and deal with your own, on your own.

You were trembling now, just like days long past in your childhood home. You still remembered times you just collapsed into a ball on the floor behind closed doors, silent sobs racking your body. You weren’t so quiet now that you didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing. Hands trembling, you reached into your back pocket as you remembered the other way you used to deal with your emotions. You held the Swiss Army knife in your hands and stared at your red eyes reflected in the unforgiving metal. You weighed the pros and cons of what you were about to do, but right now you were only interested in the relief it could offer you. You’d deal with the guilt after.

Before you could bring the blade down to meet your tender flesh, a hesitant voice called your name. Your head whipped around to meet eyes just as raw and red as your own. It made the green of his irises pop.

“Loki,” you gasped, hastily standing up. His eyes flitted down to the knife still in your hand, and you quickly hid it behind your back. “I can leave if you want.”

“No. You stay, I will go. Unless, that is, you wouldn’t mind if I...if I joined you?”

You still didn’t particularly feel like talking to anyone, but staying alone now meant that you would hurt yourself. The part of you that desperately did not want to go back down that road beckoned Loki to sit next to you on the plush cushions. He didn’t press for any more information, and you both sat in the silence, sniffling for the next half hour. After a few deep breaths, you gently placed one of your hands on his.

“Are you alright?” your raw voice said, cutting through the stillness of the room.

Loki laughed, though not unkindly. Something flashed across his features, but you hadn’t spent enough time with him to know the nuances of his expressions. True, you’d been getting closer with him these past few months, and he ranted to you about some of his troubles such as disagreements with his brother, but you’d never seen him in a state quite like this.

“And why, my sweet mortal,” he said, picking up your hand and holding it in both of his own, “should you have to worry about that when you are so obviously distressed yourself?”

There was nothing you could do to stop the tears that burst forth from you. Slowly, Loki wrapped you in a hug and stroked your hair.

“It’s alright,” he cooed. “I am right here. You can trust me.”

“I’m just-just so worthless!” you shouted between hysterical sobs. “I can’t even deal with my feelings properly. Everyone would be better off if I was dead.”

“Do not say such things!” Loki said with a sudden fury, grabbing your shoulders and pulling your body away from his so he could bring his face level with yours. Not that you could see him through your tears and hands, which were rubbing your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the deluge. “If you were to leave, you would be missed by anyone who has ever known you. Your family. Your friends. Me.”

Apologies fell from your lips, almost in a chant. He shushed you, returning to gently hugging you after his own emotional outburst. You stayed like that for the better part of an hour until your sobs subsided and turned to shaky breaths.

“Darling, look at me,” Loki said when he felt you’d calmed down enough. “You matter. You need to hear that. You deserve to hear it. You matter.”

You barely manage to stop another round of tears from taking over your body. “Thank you,” you croaked out. “I don’t think anyone’s ever let me know that before.”

Actually, you knew they hadn’t. For most of your life, people never even bother to check if you were ok. You’d been told that crying was wrong, and you’d never been allowed to weep into someone’s arms as Loki had just allowed you to.

“It is no problem, my dear. In fact,” Loki started, but trailed off, tears forming in his own eyes.

“Talk to me,” you said with rapt attention, ready to be his shoulder to cry on.

“I understand what you are feeling all too well. That feeling of worthlessness... It is all-consuming. And it is ok that you feel this way, but you must know that you can work past it.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

“Remember all the good you put into the world. And do not say that you you haven’t contributed anything; I know you have. Think of times when you have helped me. When you have saved the city. Even when you have held the door open for someone. It all counts, and it all matters.”

You contemplated his words and slowly nodded. After a whispered ok passed your lips, Loki lifted you and placed you on his lap. He rested his head on your shoulder and, in turn, you placed your head on his own.

“And,” he added, his breath tickling your ear, “if you cannot think of anything, come find me. But do not ever even think of harming yourself again.”

You nodded and snuggled in even closer to him, enjoying the peace for as long as you could. Soon, the rest of the Avengers returned to the Tower. You made some small talk with them before excusing yourself to your room. Loki was waiting for you in the hallway with a tray of food that he sheepishly passed to you when you reached him.

“How did you know?” you questioned the god, wide-eyed. Never before had someone noticed your poor eating habits when depression set in.

“I am the same way myself,” he responded with a distant look of sadness and resignation on his features.

You thanked him and stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, neither of you really knowing what to say. Finally, he took your hand and placed a gentlemanly kiss to your knuckles, and with a promise to check on you tomorrow, Loki took off down the hall.

You managed to finish the sandwich he brought you before collapsing on your mattress and falling into a restless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been months since you’d first opened up to Loki. After a little while, he finally confided in you, too. Most days, things were better for the both of you now that there was someone to talk to about it all. Despite your best efforts, you fell for him. Hard. You just couldn’t help it, not when he felt so safe. Not when he felt like home. That’s why you hastily agreed to a date when he asked you out after teary, late-night confessions of love.

Tonight was the night of your first date and you knew he had something amazing planned. You should have been over the moon, but some nasty voice in your head was keeping you from that feeling of elation. It kept telling you that you were going to screw things up and drive Loki away. You didn’t doubt that he cared about you, but you certainly didn’t understand why he did either. He was a god, for crying out loud, and you were just, well, you. Trying to still your shaking hands as you put on your shoes, you reminded yourself of all the tender words Loki whispered to you. Unfortunately, your mind was quick to warp those thoughts, telling you that they were probably lies. That’s what he was the god of, after all.

Suddenly, you realized what was happening to you. You’d experienced it once before; you recognized it in the uncontrollable shaking of your hands and shortness of breath. You attempted to calm yourself down before it got too bad but to no avail. Before you knew it, you were hyperventilating, tears streaming down your face. You wanted to call out for help, but the words wouldn’t come. Then came the crashing sensation of impending doom. Your mind was a jumbled mess, repeating over and over again desperate pleas for it to stop.

A knock sounded at your door, but you barely heard it over your own thoughts. So deep into this pit of despair, you couldn’t pull yourself out to answer whoever was there. Through bleary eyes, you saw a flash of green in your room, and soon you were caught in a loving embrace.

“Look at me, darling,” Loki said. “I am here now. Just breathe. It will all be ok.”

He continued to whisper calming things in your ear as you gasped for air, the panic attack subsiding. Slowly, the rest of the world came back into focus and you grounded yourself, staring straight ahead and concentrating on Loki’s soothing hands rubbing circles on your back. As you calmed down, you noticed he was softly singing in a language you didn’t recognize. Still, though, he sounded beautiful.

“It’s something my mother used to sing to me when I was a child,” he explained after finishing the song, the comforting melody still ringing in your ears.

“Will you sing it again, please?”

He obliged and this time you hummed along, a small smile playing at your lips. You were still shaking when he scooped you up and placed you on the bed. He pulled your back against his chest as he continued the Asgardian song.

“Our date,” you gasped, suddenly remembering your plans for the night. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do not apologize, my sweet. After all, I see no reason why we cannot still have our date.”

With a snap of his fingers, you were both in your pajamas, and pizza boxes were resting on your nightstand. You smiled at Loki as he stared in confusion at the TV remote. You giggled and helped him flip through the channels, before settling on The Wizard of Oz. You were glad to know that no matter how many times your mind was filled with doubt, Loki would help you through it. The safety you provided for each other was so precious to you that you wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“Hey Loki?” you said as the movie was finishing. “What did that song from earlier mean?”

And so he began to sing it again, this time in English so you could understand the words.

Don’t worry, sweet darling, do not cry Let me wipe those tears from your eyes Don’t fear, sweet darling, do not fight Let me hold you; everything’ll be all right

You gazed at him with admiration in your eyes. He looked away as a slight blush colored his pale cheeks, but you cupped his face and brought your lips to meet his in a sweet kiss.

“Rest now, my love,” he said after you had to break away for air.

The complete fatigue you felt made you follow his gentle command as he sang you off to sleep.

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isis-astarte-diana · 4 years ago

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Biological Imperative

Summary: “I need you, and that makes you need me. It’s a hormonal feedback loop.” For a few days each month, life with Missy can get... intense.

Warnings: NSFW. A/B/O dynamics. Cheetah!Missy. Penetration with less conventional sex organs. Painful sex. Dub!con. Ovulation, breeding, ejaculate and other potentially icky or dysphoric things. Possibly not one for everybody. MIHOW.

Word Count: 2838

NB: Complete and total PWP for the humble 🍑 anon who has waited so long! It’s not explicitly A/B/O but it’s heavily inspired by it and the heat/rut/breeding dynamic is there! The ‘cheetah virus’ is an insanely stupid bit of Classic Who that happened to work very nicely to justify this unjustifiable porn. Some anatomical details are unspecified so it’s entirely up to you whether Missy has a weird alien penis or a weird alien strap-on, but either way, it’s big and it’s barbed and you know damn well where it’s going. You already know I have a size kink and painful penetration is my jam.

“God, don’t you knock?!”

Missy grins, a predatory flash of gleaming teeth, as you cross your arms over your naked body. “And give you the chance to cover up, dearest? I think not.” She closes the bedroom door behind her and sweeps closer, lifting your chin with her fingers. “Why so modest, hmm?”

“You surprised me!” Any venom in the rebuttal dies in your throat as she presses her lips to the underside of your jaw, warm and damp, grazing it with her teeth. With a soft sigh you drop your arms from where they meagrely cover your modesty and draw her to you, letting the fabric of her clothes press against your skin. “I thought you were supposed to be busy.”

“I am.” She snarls the words into your neck, nipping sharply so that you whine. Her hands stroke possessively across your back, your arse, your thighs. “But as it turns out, there are more pressing matters to attend to.” Gripping the back of one thigh she tugs you against her leg, rocking your hips into her until unyielding friction makes you cry out. “I could smell you from the console room.”

“I’m sorry?” It’s hard to focus on anything with her mouth and hands on you like this, the pressure of her thigh beneath the skirt dragging fabric against your slick folds and when did you get so wet? You were only getting changed into your pyjamas when she appeared.

“Lutropin,” she mutters, as if that’s the answer to something, working her tongue now into the hollow of your clavicle. You squirm in her grip, succeeding only in pushing yourself harder against her thigh, and she growls, actually growls in a way that shoots to the core of you and makes you fall still. “Stupid mammals.”

“Missy...” It comes out weak and breathless, her name a quiet plea, the unspoken what’s happening? as loud as your pounding heart.

“You’re ovulating.” Her fingers creep around your thigh, brushing your labia, testing the arousal there and finding it abundant. The touch makes you squeak. “Or you will be, in the next day or so. Your hormone levels are peaking.”

“I don’t-” your voice breaks into a wordless groan when two impatient fingers slide into your cunt, meeting no resistance and filling you swiftly. You clutch at her blouse, falling limp and pliant in her arms. You’re dripping for her. Thick trails of arousal mark the insides of your thighs.

“It means you’re fertile.” She crooks her fingers, scissors them, massaging your walls as if to gauge your readiness while you cling to her and pant for breath. “Which means that my residual feline DNA is loud, and single-minded.” She punctuates the words with harsh thrusts that make you yelp and jerk.

“But you can’t- we can’t actually-” you pull her closer as if she’s the only thing keeping your feet on the ground. “We’re not compatible like that.” She laughs, cruel and bitter.

“Funnily enough, it doesn’t seem to matter.” A third finger presses in, no trace of tenderness in the invasion, no thought given to comfort that you yourself have forgotten. All that remains is the need to make way, to be open for her. “You can feel it too. I need you, and that makes you need me. It’s a hormonal feedback loop.” The strain in her voice makes your abdomen clench. “A small mercy, I suppose. That’s why you’re so wet for me, that’s why you’re letting me do this.”

Missy bites down on your shoulder with punishing ferocity, as if to prove to you that you shouldn’t want this. As if the pain would even give you pause. Tears stinging at your eyes, you remind her in a desperate sob, “I’d let you do anything.”

“Let me take you.” She forces you back towards the bed even as her rocking fingers split you open, most of your weight hanging on her arms looped around your back. “Let me have you, let me fill you, my little human. My dearest girl. My mate.”

The words are your undoing.

“Please.” You scrabble at her shoulders with weak hands when the bed hits the backs of your legs. “Please, Missy, please, I need you.”

“I know,” she snarls, a cruel twist of her fingers inside you almost knocking you down to the mattress. “Just- need you ready. Don’t want to hurt you too much.”

Too much.

Ordinarily you might shrink at the implication but now it makes you whine, one hand threading in the dense curls of her hair. “I don’t care,” you beg, and it’s the truth. “I don’t care how much it hurts, just please-”

She needs no further invitation than that.

Her fingers withdraw, leaving you achingly empty, but your strangled noise of frustration is quashed when she licks at the deep groove her teeth have marked in your shoulder, soothing the pain there. A low rumble from her chest that sounds unmistakeably like purring renders your body slack and calm. Strong hands find your hips and guide you backwards, easing you comfortably onto the bed you share with her.

Reaching up, she looses your arms from around her neck and repositions you as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. She rolls you onto your stomach, tugging down two pillows from the head of the bed, and you lift your hips to let her tuck them beneath you like muscle memory draws you to do it. The elevation is enough to push your knees up under you and you eagerly open your legs for her.

When the warm weight of her lifts from your back you whimper, reaching blindly behind you for her, feeling cold and small and lost without her to pin you down. She growls at the sound.

“It’s alright,” she soothes, over the soft thud of her clothes dropping to the floor. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Missy,” you croak, burying your face in the duvet. “I can’t- I need-”

Such need as this you’ve never known.

She takes your hand. “I've got you,” she reassures in a voice like warm earth. The mattress sinks behind you when she plants her knees between your legs, and she guides your hand back down to rest on the bed. “Just relax for me. My beautiful human.”

The words seem to sink into your bones and when she brushes up against you, a startling thickness at the lips of your weeping cunt, your hips jerk as if to take her in. She holds you still with an arm across your back as she lines herself up. Pressure, enough to tug and drag at your labia with pinching discomfort, makes you gasp. It's sobering in the haze of desire.

“Relax,” she says again, this time with a hint of warning, sensing the distress in your unsteady breaths. “Don’t fight it. Just let me in. Just let me take you.”

It’s all that you can do to keen in response. You twist your hands in the duvet cover in preparation for pain.

It doesn’t help.

Sharp, stinging, all-consuming, the invasion forces a wordless shriek up your throat. You muffle it in the bedsheets but that does little to conceal it. Your hands scrabble for purchase on the bed as she presses deeper. Finding another pillow, you drag it closer with a white-knuckled grip so that you have something to stuff in your mouth.

Missy spots your intentions and intervenes. Quick hands wrap around your wrists, pinning them to the bed either side of you with enough force to make the mattress creak.

“Don’t hide,” she commands on a harsh breath, even as the steady force of her hips works the pain further in, opening you up with an aching stretch that brings tears to your eyes. “Let me hear you.”

You twist beneath her, teeth bared, shameless in your agony. “Can’t, I can’t, it’s too much-”

“You can.” Her weight presses down against your back, warm and soft, mouth at the nape of your neck. It’s a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless. “You will. You are.”

When her hips finally cradle yours she’s deep enough to make your abdomen clench with tight cramps. You gasp and sob for breath underneath her. The fullness is dizzying. Despite the way your cunt screams in protest, your thighs are soaked, sliding obscenely against hers.

“Good girl.” She purrs again, and the vibrations ease the strain in your muscles. Your walls throb around her length in time with your heartbeat. Slowly but surely you relax, each pulse less painful than the last until - beneath and behind the torment - an excruciating pleasure flickers to life once more. She works soothing kisses across your shoulder. “My little human. So good for me.”

“Missy,” a broken plea sobbed into the sheets. “Please-”

“I’ve got you.” Her tongue, slick and scalding on your shoulder blade. Your back is drenched with sweat, your head swimming like a fever has hold of you. “My girl, my precious girl. You take me so well.”

“I- I need-”

You need more.

It’s impossible. You couldn’t be more full than this, stretched to the limit around her, writhing and moaning and mercilessly impaled, but howling delirium consumes you and demands that she does not stop.

“I know.” She adjusts her grip on your wrists, tightening it, forcing them deeper into the bed like she expects you to fight her. “I know you do.”

When she starts to withdraw you understand why.

Incandescent pain like a hundred papercuts lights up the tender walls of your cunt. You clench down around her as if you could stop the steady drag of her length, but it does nothing. You tug at her restraining hands and claw at the sheets.

On the tail of a hopeless shriek you beg, “no no no no Missy it hurts-”

“It has to, dearest, it has to.” The hoarse desperation in her voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. She presses her weight down harder, stopping your feeble and mindless attempts to crawl your way out from beneath her. Her teeth graze the back of your neck, a comfort, a warning. “It’s the barbs, they stimulate ovulation.”

“But-”

“Shh, shh, shh,” her palms slide down from your wrists and cover your own hands, fingers interlocking with yours. You hold onto them like a lifeline. “It’s alright, you’re alright. You can do it. I’ve got you.” She scatters gentle, sucking bites along the curve of your neck and shoulder, sweetening the agonising slide of her inside you. “Just squeeze my hands when it hurts.”

Obediently you crush her fingers with your own. Missy growls. You shrink at the sound, whining into the damp duvet beneath your tear-stained face, and she soothes you with a soft murmur. “Good girl, that’s it. You’re doing so well.”

She rocks her hips back to fill you again. The ache in the pit of your stomach is a welcome relief from the way the tiny barbs irritate your walls when she withdraws, and you feel that rippling pleasure once more that makes your clitoris throb and your thighs clench. When you gasp and squirm this time she purrs.

The rhythm she takes up is unforgiving. Pinned beneath her deceptively powerful frame, she strings you between the blazing pain of withdrawal and the crushing pleasure of being filled until you’re senseless to all else. The barbs that rake your tender flesh leave you stinging and sensitive around her. In an attempt to soothe the inflammation, each drag and slide of her length summons yet more thick arousal to flood your cunt.

Soon enough, you start to crave the pain.

It’s maddening, torturous, the way your body screams for more of this when every second of it is excruciating. The freedom to writhe, to beg, to sob through the overwhelming sensation without shame, knowing that each pleading cry only encourages her desire is incredible, and it is one of which you take full advantage. She comforts your cries and urges your pleasure with her mouth on your neck and shoulders, her purrs, her growls.

You feel like an animal; and it feels good.

Ever-observant, Missy notices the change. She nuzzles your shoulder with a purr of satisfaction.

“Feel better?” She teases, but the usual composure is gone from her voice. You breathe a shaky affirmative and twist awkwardly to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to her arm where she holds you down. “Such a good girl. My docile little mate, accepting her place.”

Her words make you groan weakly. “My- my place?” So needy for her to continue, you graze her forearm with your teeth and she rewards you with a sharp thrust that makes you jerk and yelp.

“Your place,” she hisses, “is under me. Just like this. Taking me in like breeding stock.”

You can barely hear her over your own shuddering moans. She snarls, bringing her mouth closer to your ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Teeth bared, you nod against the mattress. “You want to touch yourself.”

“Please,” you tug against her hands and they tighten. “Please, please, Missy-”

“Not until you’re full.” You cry out in frustration, bucking your hips uselessly, chasing stimulation for your aching clitoris. “Not until you’ve been bred, my girl.”

“So breed me!” The abject, feral ruin in your voice would alarm you if you weren’t so desperate for her. “I’m yours.”

Delighted, she half purrs, half chuckles, “oh, yes, you are.”

One hand releases yours but before you can even think to reach down and touch yourself she braces her palm against the back of your head, gripping your hair, forcing your face down as she fucks you into the bed with punishing force.

You mewl and writhe underneath her, fisting your free hand into the sheets, the knot behind your navel drawing tighter with every wave of agonising pleasure she forces into your cunt. It’s not enough to push you over the edge - there’s too much bitter with the sweet, too much frustrating pain that keeps you grounded - but it drives you into a frenzy.

Missy sinks her teeth into your shoulder when she comes inside you.

It’s a sharp bite, almost enough to draw blood, and you howl like a cat in heat. The evidence of her orgasm is copious, thicker and cooler than your own slickness when it floods your cunt. It soothes some of the sting but, in the same instance, inflames your need.

“That’s my good girl.” She lets go of your hair, her shuddering breaths heavy and scalding on your injured shoulder. “So well-behaved. My tamed little brood bitch.”

Whining, you squirm on her length. “Please, please, Missy-”

“Do you want to come for me now?” She purrs at your hoarse cry. “Alright, I suppose you deserve to. Besides,” she slides her free hand between your stomach and the pillow, wriggling her fingers until she finds your soaked vulva. You gasp at the first touch. “There are some benefits to it.”

“I- ah!” Your eyes clench shut when she presses her fingertips to your clitoris, making you jerk in place, your walls drawing tighter around the impossible thickness of her. “Benefits?”

“Helps you relax.” She starts up a swift rhythm of strokes with her hand, and you shriek. “Opens up your cervix for me. It’ll be easier next time.”

“N- next time?” You’re trembling violently beneath her, just barely able to process her words as she works a long-awaited orgasm out of you with newfound patience.

“Hmm.” A tender kiss to your neck. “This- ugh- reproductive frenzy will last until your hormone levels drop. Could be an hour.” A sharp graze of teeth. “Could be a day.”

“Fuck, Missy, I can’t-” but your protest is weakened by whimpers of pleasure, and she laughs.

“You can.” Your thighs twitch and clench as the pressure in your abdomen grows, close to breaking point, all the more intense for the aching size of her inside of you. “You will. Come for me, my sweet little bitch. Let me have you.”

You break beneath her with a snarling fury.

Your grip crushes her hand, your back arching and hips rolling against hers. Noises you didn’t know that you could make stream from your mouth and soak the duvet cover with tears and saliva as your teeth rip at it. You twist and writhe where she pins you down.

It’s futile, of course.

With a low growl of warning she rocks her hips, the new slickness of your orgasm easing the way but doing nothing to stop the burning discomfort as barbs once more rake at your walls. It fuels your climax and drags it out longer than you think you can bear it.

“My good girl,” she grins, a dangerous flash of teeth at your neck. “Do you need more?”

The pleasure has knocked some of the fight back into you. You lift your hips and twist to snap at her over your shoulder, “do your worst.”

Cackling ecstatically, she does.

#mine #nsfwork #missy x reader #the master x reader #a/b/o fanfic #a/b/o femslash #alpha!master #alpha!missy #reader insert #request #🍑#cheetah!master #cheetah!missy

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narumi-gens · 3 years ago

Note

ukai decides to propose. you've already talked about it, you KNOW you want to spend your lives together, he knows hopes you'll say yes.

(his heart might never recover if you don't)

so he goes about buying a ring. he steals a ring of yours when you're asleep for sizing purposes. selecting a ring wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be — he knew his budget, he knew what you liked (he's known you your whole life). so he goes out and buys a pretty little silver band inlaid with three tiny diamonds. it's a little heavy on his wallet, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you deserve nice things.

then came the planning of the actual proposal. this was, he realized, significantly harder than he'd thought it would be.

maybe he should keep it simple? dinner followed by a walk under the stars. he'll get down on one knee and—no. isn't that too cliché? he can do better.

an elaborate treasure hunt throughout your house? maybe he can make up clues based on all the memories you've made together: eating dinner on the floor the first night of moving in because the dining table was too hard to assemble, or learning the importance of separating whites and colours when your favourite white blouse comes out the washing machine stained a murky blue because of that damn t-shirt of his. or something to do with that time you'd had a stomach bug and he'd nursed you through it, staying by your side even after you'd thrown up on him.

no, he decides, it'd be bad if you couldn't connect the clues to these events. besides, he's no literary genius. coming up with elaborate prose for the clues is not a task he considers himself capable of.

then what?

ukai is standing in the karasuno gym, thumbing at the ring box sitting snugly inside his jacket pocket. he'd taken to carrying it around with him after you'd almost stumbled upon the ring hidden behind the plants you'd insisted on keeping in the house.

he's exhausted his creativity racking his brain for ideas. everything he could come up with seemed too cliché, or too cringey, or just downright stupid. he's suddenly brought back to reality when takeda clears his throat next to him, 'is everything okay?' falling from his lips, tone polite as ever.

fuck, he shouldn't be zoned out during practice. he really needs to put a stop to this. ukai looks at the man standing next to him. maybe he could help? takeda was a poet at heart, after all, so he should be able to come up with a romantic proposal.

ukai confides in him, accepting the congratulatory pat takeda gives him. by now, this little interaction has attracted the attention of the nut more curious of his boys. tanaka, nishinoya, hinata gather around him with kageyama creeping up behind them. he can tell that the other members are listening in too, just not as obviously.

'what's the matter, coach?'

ukai eyes his team. it wouldn't hurt to tell them, right? they don't really come into contact with you all that often, and when they do, it's for brief moments only, when you're popping in to drop off his keys or his wallet that he'd forgotten at home.

'i'm, uh, thinking of proposing. bought the ring and everything, just need to come up with a plan now.'

dead silence echoes throughout the gym before complete mayhem breaks out.

he's being congratulated simultaneously by sawamura, azumane, and ennoshita while tanaka and nishinoya are huddled together on the floor, weeping tears of happiness (at least, ukai thinks they're tears of happiness. you can never tell with these two.) tsukishima goes back to sipping at his drink, while yamaguchi's eyes light up, much like yachi's. shimizu, too, offers him a soft smile and a congratulations before tanaka pipes up.

'can we see the ring?!'

well, they already know, so ukai reckons it wouldn't do much harm to let them see it. he reaches into his pocket and takes out the box, flipping it open to reveal the silver band wedged inside. the team crowds around him, oohs and aahs falling from their mouths. tanaka nods somberly, a finger stroking his chin, as he mutters, "excellent choice, coach. she's going to say yes."

"who's going to say yes?"

fourteen pairs of eyes land on you, holding so many emotions in them, from amusement to sheer panic. you stand at the door of the gymnasium, holding ukai's lunch. he'd accidentally taken yours today, so you thought you could pop in to exchange it and see your boyfriend while doing so. but the scene you happened upon was completely unexpected.

ukai scrambled violently with something in his hands, while takeda looked like he'd seen a ghost. the kid with the goatee was panicky, his eyes flitting around for an escape. the two shortest of the bunch were fidgeting with whatever keishin was holding, apparently trying to help him with it.

keyword: trying.

all the jostling and shoving they did managed to knock the thing out of keishin's hands. you squint as it flies through the air — was that a box? — as keishin desperately tries to get to it before it lands in front of you.

he draws on every single diving receive he'd ever done in his entire life and swoops across the gymnasium, towards you.

he does not get there in time.

the box clatters to the ground in front of you, keishin landing there a second later. you're still stuck trying to process the situation, but you have enough presence of mind to lean down and pick up the box, finally being able to see its contents.

oh. oh.

keishin thumps the ground with his first before he looks up at you, eyes filled with resignation. he's quite the sight - his hair had slipped out of his hairband and his nose was bleeding. yet he drags himself to sit up on one knee.

you've already seen the ring. might as well get it over with.

keishin opens his mouth, ready to launch into an unrehearsed speech, cursing the universe with every fiber of his being for making things turn out this way. but you don't give him a chance to say anything.

his eyes widen before he's knocked to the ground by you flinging yourself on top of him. you're hugging him, face buried in his neck, whispering 'yes, yes, yes, always, a thousand times yes' and suddenly he can't bring himself to care about the awkwardness of the situation.

keishin laughs before sitting up, bringing you with him. he gently separates you from him before taking the ring tightly clutched in your palm and slipping it onto your finger. the whole scene feels a little too intimate for a high school gymnasium, but it's only fair that it happens here, he thinks. after all, this is where he'd realised he loved you, all the way back when you two had been first years.

he blinks back the tears suddenly clouding his eyes and restrains the urge to kiss you senseless right there. the two of you had created enough drama for the day. instead he settles for kissing the inside of your wrist as he laces his fingers through yours, before lifting them up in the air, as if announcing his victory.

the entire gymnasium burst into cheers once again. this time it was asahi and kinoshita in tears while hinata and nishinoya jumped around in joy. takeda was grinning ear to ear when he gave you his congratulations, followed shortly by daichi and sugawara. and you could've sworn you saw the senior manager's eyes flit to the bald-headed boy, a blush coating her cheeks. but that was something for another day.

today, right now, you would celebrate. sure, the proposal had been far from ideal, but keishin was yours and you were his and you found yourself wishing it would be this way forever.

i do not know what this is but this scenario refused to leave my mind unless i wrote it down aaaa

sorry for the long ass ask!! please feel free to ignore i just wanted to share ❄️

....anon....I am SPEECHLESS!!!! what did do to deserve such a wonderful anon who drops such amazing things in my inbox 😭😭 (and while I may be slow to reply bc...life...ugh... don't worry anon, I would never ignore something like this!!!! god, nothing gets me more than dorky, lame, grumpy ukai who's such a sweetheart and so soft and I'm just DYING over this.

everyone be jealous of my amazing anon 💕

(also don't catch me going through all my ukai wips that haven't been touched in a year+. nope, definitely not doing that... 👀)

#long post #anon #haikyuu #ask

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the--sad--hatter · 6 years ago

Text

Songbird (One-Shot)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEMALE READER

WARNINGS - NONE

DESCRIPTION - Requested by anon

Request - for one shots : Bucky goes on an undercover mission with reader to a private luxurious club where they both have a role to play, Bucky is a customer and Reader the singer who’s supposed to entertain the members of the club.. Bucky is in awe in front of reader’s performance.

A Little Wicked by Valerie Broussard is the song used

Songbird

“Wanda and Nat, you’re serving the customers.”

Natasha and Wanda looked displeased but resigned.

“Banner, we’ve got you behind the bar.”

Bruce looked slightly terrified but nodded.

“Sam you and I are working security”

Sam nodded to Steve.

“Tony, Clint, you’re outside on the roof across from the club.”

Tony looked put out that he didn’t get to be in the club but Clint looked pleased.

“Buck, you’re on the floor as a customer. So be nice to Wanda and Nat.”

“I hope you’re a good tipper Barnes.” Natasha smirked.

“What about her?” Bucky asked, nodding towards you.

You were supposed to be sat at the table, paying attention to the briefing but had rolled your chair out of the room and were currently talking to the secretary as the team all turned around and looked at you through the glass wall.

“Little Miss Short Attention Span over there will be unleashing her secret talent, her superpower if you will.” Tony said with a smirk.

Friday had dug into your background the second you had joined the team and Tony had been sitting on the video he had unearthed for some time now, waiting for the right moment to use it. As soon as he had heard about this mission he had had shown it to Steve gleefully.

Steve looked slightly guilty and apologetic as Sam sighed and got up, grabbing the back of your chair and rolling you back into the room.

“Hey guys, what are we talking about?” You asked cheerfully.

“Nothing important, the best vacation spots, the latest Kardashian controversy, and the important mission tonight, whether or not Lily in diagnostics will finally tell Susie in Filing how she feels about her....” Clint quipped.

“Ah, Sily. My OTP.” You sighed dreamily while everyone rolled their eyes at you and waited for you to catch on.

“Wait, the mission! What have we got?” You finally asked.

“Uh well, you have an important roll. You’ll be taking centre stage on this one.” Steve told you while Tony rubbed his hand together evilly.

“Sounds good.” You said, unaware of just how very not good it was.

Four hours later your infamous short attention span had dissipated and all your energy was being focused on the many ways you were going to torture Stark before you gave him the sweet release of death.

You were incensed and mortified that he had found out about this chapter of your history.

Once upon a time you had led a very different life. Your uncle had owned an upscale club in Chicago, one that happened to be a front for his real business. You had been born into a rather well known crime family and for the first eighteen years of your life it was all you had known, until you turned on them and spent three years playing a double agent for the FBI and CIA, helping take them down from within. When the operation ended when you were twenty-one and most of your family were behind bars, Shield had snapped you up.

All of that was fairly common knowledge to The Avengers, what was less known was how you had gotten unfiltered access to the club. Since you were sixteen, your uncle had been making you sing for the patrons of the club.

It was why you had been given the moniker ��Shrike’ by Fury. Named for the butcher birds that sang to lure in their prey and you hated it. You hated being reminded of your past, of how you had betrayed your family.

“Agent Shrike, are you in place?” Steve’s voice asked in your ear.

You smiled and gave a thumbs up into the mirror and adjusted the pinhole camera attached to your deep black floor length sequinned dress. You couldn’t risk verbally responding, if this club was anything like the one you had spent your youth in then there were camera’s everywhere.

“Ok, you know what to do.” Steve told you.

You did indeed, this was old hat to you. Swinging your hips seductively as you exited the dressing room assigned to you and slipped out of the back door, you smiled at the two large security officers stationed there.

“Either of you gents got a light?” You purred at them.

The one on the right smirked and flicked a lighter he pulled out of his pocket, his eyes fixed on the large slit running up the right side of your dress. You leaned over and lit your cigarette, letting him get an eyeful of your cleavage.

You inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke as you turned to look the other guard up and down. He was less taken in by your charms and maintained a professional demeanour. No matter, the smoke curling of the end of your cigarette would end up in his lungs regardless and in around 20 minutes, the toxin would begin it’s work.

The anti-dote was in the breath freshener you spritzed into your mouth when you were done. Sam and Steve were at the front door and now the back door would be clear when the mission was underway but your part wasn’t over.

Slipping back inside you got ‘lost’ on your way back to your dressing room as you looked around, making sure the hidden camera on your dress picked up everything you saw.

Out on the floor, Bucky was sat in the VIP section, two tables away from the boss of the club. He kept a close eye on Nat and Wanda as they smiled and served drinks to the customers. Thankfully nobody was getting too handsy or flirty with them yet. Banner looked a little nervous but thankfully, in a place like this very few people went to the bar when they could have a beautiful woman take their order for them.

The lights dimmed suddenly and Bucky was on high alert until he realised it was just the start of your performance.

“Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome a special guest we have with us tonight, for the first time... Samantha Barton.”

Bucky snorted at the fake name you were using but the laughter died in his throat as a golden spotlight revealed you on the stage.

The sequins on your gown shimmered under the light, creating a kaleidoscope of colours that danced across the stage and it was utterly breathtaking. Not nearly as breathtaking as you yourself were and Bucky sat forward in his chair without thinking about it as his eyes hungrily drank you in, his eyes roaming across every inch of you, lingering on the exposed slit of the dress and the hint of suspenders it offered a peek of.

As sinful and delicious as you looked, the things it did to him were nothing compared to the way the sound of your voice made him feel. Your lips parted as you crooned the opening lines and his head went fuzzy as your voice enthralled him.

“A little wicked

That's what he calls me

'Cause that's what I am

That's what I am”

Coherent thoughts were gone as he listened to you sing, your rapturous voice entrapping him where he sat.

“No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

Beware the patient woman, 'cause this much I know

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

One of these days a comin', I'm gonna to take that boy's crown

There's a serpent in these still waters, lying deep down

To that King I will bow, at least for now

One of these days a comin', I'm gonna to take that boy's crown”

The beat of the song kicked up a notch and you stalked off the stage, your body swaying to the beat. No, you weren’t moving with the beat, the beat was moving with you.

“'Cause I am, I am

A Little Wicked

I am, yes, I am

Hands red, hands red

Just like you said

I am, A Little Wicked”

You moved through the audience, flowing through them like water. You hands danced across shoulders as you teasingly touched the adoring patrons who were gazing at you with wonder struck expressions.

“No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

I'll be high up in that tower, he'll be down there getting stoned

Beware the patient woman, 'cause this much I know

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne”

You approached the Club Owner, paying him special attention. It didn’t raise any suspicion as you walked around him, circling him like you were sizing him up. He practically glowed under your attention, his eyes glued to you. You ran your fingers through the owners hair, tugging at it and he was so enchanted and filled with desire he didn’t feel you simultaneously slip your hand into his pocket and steal the key to his office.

“A Little Wicked

I am, I am

Hands red, hands red

Just like you said

I am, A Little Wicked”

You were right in front of Bucky now and his heart raced in his chest as your eyes locked on his. His blood was heating up in his veins and despite how dumbstruck he was, when you draped yourself across his lap, his arms automatically encircled you.

“As I lay me down to sleep,

I will not scream, I will not weep

If he should die, before he wakes

I pray the Lord, his soul to take

'Cause I am, I am

A Little Wicked

I am, yes, I am”

You ran your hand up his chest, slipping beneath the suit jacket and you could feel the heat of his skin through the thin materiel of his shirt and leaned in, your lips close to his for a split second before you pushed off of him and sauntered back towards the stage.

“Hands red, hands red

Just like you said

I am, I am

A Little Wicked”

Bucky’s hands clenched around the armrests of the chair as you left his lap, leaving his body cold. For the briefest of seconds, he thought you were going to kiss him but then you were gone and he remembered that this was a mission, not a real seduction. A heavy weight in his shirt pocket brought him crashing back down to earth and he realized you had slipped the key into his pocket.

You stood back under the spotlight on the stage and the lights dimmed on you, leaving nothing more than a shadowy figure on the stage as your spellbinding voice crooned out the last lines.

“No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne”

Applause rang out for the club but Bucky was too busy trying to control his body’s reaction to you to join in.

“You’re up Barnes.” Clint said in his ear and Bucky stiffly stood up, subtly adjusting his pants as he walked away.

You splashed cool water on the back of your neck in the bathroom attached to your dressing room and tried to calm yourself but it was a useless endeavor. It wasn’t having to sing or the reminders of your past that had you so riled up, it was the proximity to Bucky that had you spiraling.

You hadn’t known that man long nor did you know him well but from the moment you had met him you had been attracted to the dark, brooding soldier. Whenever you were in the same room, rather than try to crack his terrifyingly cold demeanor towards you, you would usually ignore him in favor of absolutely anything else.

Office gossip, funny shaped clouds outside the window, TV shows you had no interest in... anything but Bucky. All so you didn’t do something stupid, like throw yourself onto his lap.

Well, that ship had just sailed.

You took a deep breath and exited the dressing room. The guards at the backdoor were unconscious, you had already checked on them and you were supposed to leave now that your part was done but you couldn’t resist the urge to check on Bucky.

It was a good thing you had because he was about three seconds away from being caught in the boss’s office. The Club booker had his hand on the door handle and was swinging the door open when you all but threw yourself at the man before he could look into the room.

“Well then, do I get a repeat performance hmm?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes as you ran your hand up his tie, subtly turning him so his back was to the office.

As the man chuckled you could see Bucky over his shoulder, stood at the desk and tucking papers into his coat. Bucky nodded to you in gratitude as he walked up behind the man.

“Well sweetheart, the boss seems to like you.” The booker told you and you leaned on the wall beside the office door, pushing your chest out so his eyes were on you and not Bucky who was right behind him.

“What about you, do you like me?” You asked as Bucky slipped away unseen.

“Oh I le ya sweet thing. Why don’t you come back to my office and I’ll show you how much I like ya.” The booker offered.

“Why don’t you call me?” You laughed, backing away quickly and rushing down the corridor.

“Tease.” You heard the man snap as you rounded the corner and barrelled into Bucky who quickly put his arm around you to keep you upright.

“Barnes, you’re supposed to be gone.” You hissed.

“So are you doll, how could I leave you alone after you stuck around to save my sorry ass?” He said, smirking at you.

“Well... we should go. I need to get this dress off.” You rambled and Bucky’s eyes went dark.

“Yes, we should.” He agreed as his eyes roamed over said dress.

Your breath was laboured as he held out his hand to you.

“What do you say doll, should we go and get you out of that dress?” He asked.

You didn’t say a word, just took his hand and let him lead you out of the back door, stepping over the unconscious guards.

By the time the Club owner realized he’d been had, it was too late, The Songbird and The Soldier had already slipped away into the night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To the anon who requested this, I hope you like the song I went with and that this request was something like what you had in mind. Thanks so much for requesting it.

Also

I could easily be convinced to do a smutty part 2 to this if you guys want it?

@buckitybarnes @littledeadrottinghood@pinkisokay@jsmith509 @brownlee-22 @angieptt @fairislesheets

#hattersmarvelverse #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky one shot

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frangipanidownunder · 6 years ago

Note

Would you write a sequel to your last One Son fic, maybe before The Unnatural where Mulder tries to apologize? Your fic hurt me in the best kind of way.

Healing: fic

A/N You can read the original fic Superficial Burns but you don’t have to read it to understand this sequel, but it might help.

Thanks for the prompt, anon. This is set post One Son through to The Unnatural.

They play house too soon. He presses to share the master bedroom,“to add authenticity”, but she pushes him out. She’s being petty, she knows, pointingout toothpaste tube and toilet seat misdemeanours. Still, he’s genuinely playful,attentive for a while, but she flips her gloves at him, bats away thecamcorder, turns her cheek as he goes to kiss her. Ironically, their discordonly gives them more authenticity as a couple.

She shut him out and sheshouldn’t have been surprised when he drops her home and doesn’t ask to carryher bag up. Her apartment is as empty as she feels. She goes to bed and punishesherself with the desperate noise he made when he came inside her, the way hislips pressed against the juncture of her jaw and ear lobe, the slow opening ofhis eyes, pupils dilated, surprise followed by awe followed by guilt.

She should have quit. She shouldhave walked away. He did.

Arthur Dales tells Mulder she saved his life, that she issavvy and Mulder has the good grace to look contrite. He’s mysterious about therobbery in the bank, about how he knew the female accomplice. He rambles onabout déjà vu and Scully can’t help but review the past through the lens of thepresent. Like the memory of their frantic coupling in her kitchen is trapped inthe wrong spot in her brain. Like if it only happened yesterday, she would saysomething to him, he would say something to her.

And then he admits to an onlinefriendship with Karin Berquist, a woman enamoured of him yet he acts like hecan’t see it. She wonders just how ignorant he can really be.

He fucked her in her apartmentand hasn’t talked about it since.

She saves a boy in a phonebooth.Saves a child. What she can’t do is save herself. Padgett’s words burn throughher. Agent Scully is already in love.She hates it. She fucking hates that it’s someone else telling her the secretsof her own heart. And that it is so fucking obvious.

She should have quit.

After, Mulderbooks a motel room. He won’t leave her alone. Part of her wants to yell at himthat he’s as bad as Padgett, always there, hovering. He keeps looking at herchest like there’s a gaping hole there. It’s not that her heart is missing,that’s the thing. It’s that it’s still there. Beating. Full of a secret, hersecret. And she’s sure he can see it.

“Scully,there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a while,” he says buthe’s lying across the bed with his long legs stretched out and his tee clingingto his frame and that soft expression he wears when he’s off the clock.

“I’mtired.” She sounds like Laura Petrie.

His lipspush out and his eyes flick to the television screen briefly. When he turnsback to look at her he sits up and rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing atthe back of his hair. He’s tired too. “I thought I’d lost you,” he says and he’salready taking a huge gulp of air in. He slaps the bed linen and she sees thathe is trembling. “I thought you were dead. In my apartment. On my floor. Yourheart gone.”

“I’mfine, Mulder.” She’ll always be fine. Heart or not.

Hecovers his face with his hands. Beautiful long fingers. His strangled moan is ashock. For a split second she thinks he’s weeping, but when his hands fallaway, his eyes are dry and angry. “You’re fine,” he says. “Well, that makes itall right.” The low rumbling is not, she finds out, on the television. It iscoming from him.

Sheslips under the covers of her bed and turns out the lamp. He doesn’t move. Justgrowls like a wounded, angry Alpha.

The case in Las Vegas is nothing but a fever dream. Mulderpries her for more information but she can’t tell him anything. He accepts it,offers to buy her a bagel.

“Realcream cheese,” he says and she laughs. It feels like her heart is beating to adifferent rhythm. A lighter one.

Thediner is too shiny but she lets him yammer on as she tries to hide her eyesfrom the brightness. The bagel is good. Mulder is relaxed, smiling. These arethe times she knows she’ll never quit. He sips his second coffee so slowly shebegins to wonder if he’s building up to something.

“You okay,Mulder?”

He looksout to the street where an old couple wander past, arm in arm. “They seem happytogether,” he says. “How do you suppose that feels?”

“Are youreally asking my expert opinion on the longevity of relationships, Mulder?”

Hisfingers thrum on the table top, scattering grains of sugar. He chuckles. “We’reshit at this, aren’t we Scully?”

“This?”

“Talking.”

“Ah,yes. That.”

He doesthat slow blink again and she sees them in her apartment, rutting. Baseemotion. Need. The burn on her fingers.

“Ishould have told you earlier, after…you know…that night. I was out of line.What I said to you about making it personal. Diana…she believes in me and I…”

“Ibelieve in you, Mulder.” She stands up. He says nothing more. No scramblingbackwards, no apology, nothing. He fucked her in her apartment and then walkedaway. She holds his gaze just enough to make his lips press together. “I alwayshave.”

He letsher leave. She should have quit.

He callsher later. Wants to come round. She tells him she’s busy. He whispers a sorryas she cuts him off. He arrives 30 minutes later. He walks past her, goes tothe kitchen. To the same spot.

“Why areyou here, Mulder?”

Hestands where he stood, where he put his hands on her. Where she unzipped hispants and he bunched up her skirt. “You said that before,” he says, “And thenwe…”

Shefolds her arms around her ribs. Covers her heart. “Fucked.”

Heflinches.

“It’swhat we did, Mulder. You could hardly ascribe a more romantic name to it. Didyou tell Diana?”

“What?No!”

His too-quickoutburst makes her feel unexpectedly superior. He fucked her and walked away.And maybe he has pushed it deep inside ever since, too.

Hescratches his chin. “I stood outside your building for ten minutes that night, arguingwith myself about whether to turn round and go back to you.”

“You’repretty hard to argue against,” she says. “You have this way of twistingeverything into the neat theory you’ve already designed.”

“Scully.”It’s more resignation than warning. He leans back against the counter, one kneebent towards her. “I came here to say what I should have said then. That I’msorry I said that to you, about Diana. That I should never have reduced yourinput into our partnership to something purely emotional. I…” His hand slamshis bent thigh. “I am sorry, Scully. Truly. I never meant it to happen…”

“Youneed to leave.”

“Thatway,” he adds but he’s already nearly at the door. He looks back, framed in thedoorway. “I never meant it to happen that way, Scully. You mean more to me thanthat, much more.”

He shutsthe door and she leans against it listening to him leave again. Footstepsfading. He won’t wait outside tonight.

Shetries to sleep but her skin is crawling, burning. Her heart is red hot andheavy in her chest. She imagines strips of it peeling away, shavings of herlove falling deep into an empty cavity. But this time, she doesn’t think sheshould have quit. She knows she can never.

At 2am she drives across town.She knocks quietly. On his couch, he is backlit by the soft ocean colours ofhis fish tank. His stubble cuts a line across his jaw that is as sharp as thestabbing in her chest. Her fingers slide in and out of each other, knucklesrubbing together.

“You mean more to me too, Mulder,”she says. “And I’m sorry for asking you to leave. I…” she licks the dry patch onher lip and the couch creaks as he stands up. “I just wanted to say I’m sorrytoo. I am not good at this.” There is a tear building at the corner of one eye.It’s a weakness she dislikes. A demonstration of her vulnerability that she’sspent years trying to overcome. But he presses his thumb to it, collects hersoftness and lets it run down his wrist.

“Can we start again?”

“Ignore six years of partnership?”

His hand is a familiar comfort onher lower back as he urges her to sit. “No, use six years of partnership to ouradvantage instead of using it as wedge between us.”

One of his mollies floats to theside of the tank and she watches its graceful fins and tail fluttering in thewater. “How do we do that?”

“Doing more of that thing we’reshit at?” He laughs and she cuffs away the tears streaking her cheeks.

“And Diana? Where does she fit inall this?”

He looks ahead, at the posters onhis wall that catch the passing headlights from the street below. “Where shealways did, Scully. In the past.”

They flirt over clichés in the basement office. When hegrapples her tofutti rice dreamsicle from her hands, their skin sparks togetherin way that tingles but doesn’t burn. He kisses her lips and tells her he’sgoing to see Arthur Dales.

“InFlorida?”

“No, he’shere in Washington.”

She watches him for a while. The ease with which he swingsthe bat. The movement of his shoulders. He’s in his element.

“So,uh… I get this message marked urgent on my answering service from one FoxMantle telling me to come down to the park for a very special very early orvery late birthday present. And, Mulder… I don’t see any nicely wrappedpresents lying around so, what gives?”

It’s notuntil he tells her to “get over here, Scully,” she fully understands what thisis. Sure, it’s baseball. Sure, they flirt. Sure, it’s a date, Mulder-style. Butit’s more than the sum of its parts.

It’shealing.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #angst #fictober #post one son pre the unnatural

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zxanthe · 7 years ago

Note

hello!! for the au prompts — maybe 14 or 22 or 32 for soma?? (love your writing btw!!)

phew, sorry for the wait, anon! this got a lot longer than i expected it to. have ~3.5k of complete and utter (though fun to write) nonsense. i decided to go with #22, the two miserable people meeting at a wedding au.

(prompt from here)

***

Crona lets her down gently.

“I don’t hate you,” they tell her. Even over the phone, Makacan hear the way their voice gets all high and reedy like it does when they’rereally stressed, and she feels absurdly guilty for a moment before sheremembers she’s in the middle of getting broken up with.

“It’s just, I, I know you want sex, and there’s reallynothing wrong with that, but, but I don’t think I want that, sex I mean, and Ijust feel really bad –“

“Crona, no,” Maka says, because even though she knows something’sbeen wrong for weeks and that something like this was coming and a millionother different, more subtle things, she does love them, really, and so she hasto try. “It’s fine, I’m fine with it, I’m fine with you. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Ifyou don’t want sex I’m okay with it! Really, babe, I am!”

“But I’m not. Not okay with you being okay with not wantingit even though you do, I mean. Maka,” they say, and their voice goes reallysoft and gentle. “I love you and I appreciate you and I’m so glad you werethere for me when…when…when all that stuff happened back then. I just…you neverput yourself first. And. And I really wish you would sometimes, a lot, becausea relationship isn’t focused on what one person wants, but I feel really g-guiltybecause I don’t know if I could deal with a lot of the things you want to do,not just sex, not because they’re bad or anything, but because I still have alot of issues, and I feel like I’m holding you back.”

“You’re not!” There’s something thick clogging up Maka’sthroat. “I swear you’re not, you were never a burden – “

“Please don’t lie to me,” and Crona’s voice is the steadiestshe’s ever heard it. “I think, that we want very different things out of life,and that I can’t keep using you as a crutch forever, and that you shouldn’t letme use you like that anyway, it’s not good for you. I need some time to be bymyself, and figure things out.”

Maka opens and closes her mouth several times, unable to getany words out past the tightness in her throat. The phone line crackles withstatic.

“M-Maka? Are you still there?”

She sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. “Y-yeah. Do you…doyou still need a place to stay? Or…”

“I-I’ve got something l-lined up.”

“Great. That’s…really great. I’m really proud of you,Crona,” and her face splits into a smile, even as the tears spill over down hercheeks. “I can help you move when I get back.”

“N-no, it’s fine, I don’t want to inconvenience – “

“It really wouldn’t be – “

“P-please, Maka, l-l-let me do this myself. I’m sorry,really s-s-sorry – “

“Crona, shh, shh. It’s okay. Really. I get it.”

Through the crackle of a thousand miles, Crona takes a deepbreath. “I’ll be gone by the time you fly home,” they say. “I’ll leave you mynew address. We can mail letters, if you like.”

“Y-yeah. That’d be nice.”

Silence falls again. Maka desperately tries to control herbreathing, to stop it hitching, stop it betraying her, but she never was allthat good at that sort of thing.

“I’m sorry, Maka,” Crona says, very softly. “You’ll alwaysbe special to me. I’m really glad we met, and that I got to be with you. I didlove you, and I think a part of me always will.”

“I love you too,” she chokes out. “I’m. Really happy foryou, Crona.”

“T-thank you. Well. Good night, I guess. Goodbye, Maka.”

“Bye,” she says, and then the line goes dead.

She’s far away in a strange city, in a cold and unfamiliarhotel room in a building full of rooms just like it. She buries her face in theimpersonal white linen pillow and weeps.

Soul’s dreaming that he’s in the band again, sweat runningdown his forehead while lights flash frenetically over a writhing crowd, butthen on the street below a motor tears the quiet of the night to ugly tattersand he finds himself staring wide-eyed up at his ceiling fan, revolving in thedark. He rolls over. His bedside alarm clock reads 2:43 in chunky red numbers. He has work tomorrow. He has to be upearly.

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment beforeletting it out, the exhalation deafening in the settling stillness.

In another life, things were well underway at this time ofnight. In another life, he went onstage and played his heart out, fingersscraping over the strings of his bass, wailing in harmony to Liz’s raw vocalswhile Patty’s drums sent him soaring, soul straining against his ribs, shiveringwith the sheer delight of it, ofbeing there, of being truly, completely alive.

The fan turns, turns, turns, there on the ceiling, hummingsoftly. Endless. Quiet. One pull of a cord would make it stop. Every evening hecomes back to his tiny apartment and falls asleep on the couch. Sometimes hecooks, when he’s feeling particularly festive. Sometimes he listens to music,or watches a movie, or smokes a cigar. What friends he has are all the wayacross the country, people he realizes he hasn’t seen in years now, people whohe may not have anything at all in common with anymore besides a smattering ofshared experiences in a past no longer relevant to much of anything. His coworkersare simply and thoroughly uninteresting. The city is neither big nor small andequally nondescript in its forms of entertainment; he got tired of bars and livemusic and meaningless conversation years ago, and there really isn’t much elseto do.

(he wonders when exactly his life got so small and stagnant.he wonders if there was a point to any of it, really. all that anger and joyand despair, all the fear and exhilaration, all the giddy fuck-yous shouted from the tops of buildings. if there was somekind of meaning lurking in all those nights spent sleeping on strangers’ floorsand writing songs, smoking cigarettes and getting drunk and laughing like agoddamned crazy fool. he wonders what would have happened if he had stayed putand played the part of the dutiful younger son like his parents wanted. hemight be just as dead, deader even, asphyxiated by what-ifs and self-loathingand impossible expectations. he lies on his back with his fingers lacedtogether atop his chest. the fan turns in circles and circles and doesn’t movea damn inch; it’s the same everywhere. his heart beats; his lungs fill andempty and fill again; he lies in sodium-tinted darkness and cannot understand whyhis body would keep doing such silly meaningless things.)

On the kitchen counter is a creamy white envelope cordiallyinviting him to the wedding of one Tsubaki Nakatsukasa and Elizabeth Thompson.On the back of the invitation is a handwritten note – Hope you’re doing okay, Soul Eater. It’s been a long time and I hellamiss my favorite bassist – my wedding (don’t laugh!!!) wouldn’t be the samewithout you. Much love xoxo, Lizard Breath.

Once upon a time he thought he was in love with her, but hewas a damn fool kid who wouldn’t have known what love was if it had walked up andgiven his ass a nice firm squeeze. She was beautiful, and when they fucked itwas hells of nice, but there were no fireworks or whatever the fuck wassupposed to happen, and one night sprawled naked together in some hotel roomshe’d told him I don’t think this isworking, and he’d laughed and agreed, and then they smoked half a pack ofcigarettes and watched shitty Lifetime movies until they fell asleep.

Things were always easy with Liz.

He gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom. In the dimlight, he looks at his face. Shadows pool beneath his cheekbones, in his eyesockets, in the hollow of his throat. There are lines forming around his mouthand bags beneath his eyes. Pale stubble coats his cheeks. He frowns and rubs atit and wonders when he got so damn old. He’sthirty-three years old. Maybe it’s his hair, old-man colored, white as snow butthick as ever. It needs a trim. He wonders if Liz will recognize him. If anyonewill recognize him. If he recognizes himself, hands clenched on the cool porcelainof the sink, so very tired and gaunt. He swallows. He looks into his hollow,sleepy eyes, reflected back at him through the glass.

Two days later, he buys a plane ticket to New York.

In her wedding dress, Tsubaki is radiant. It’schampagne-colored lace, and it clings to her curves with the precision of aglove before puddling demurely around her feet. Her hair is dark and shiny andpiled in a soft updo, a flower crown woven through its curls.

“Knock knock,” she says.

Tsubaki turns around and smiles. “Maka!”

Pearls glitter in her ears. Her makeup is fine-tuned toperfection. “You look absolutely beautiful,” Maka says, and hugs her bestfriend tight.

“Thank you,” Tsubaki replies. She takes a deep breath, herhands knotted in her lap. “I’m. Terribly nervous. Is that a bad thing? Mystomach’s just all full of butterflies. I can’t believe I’m here.” She laughsshakily.

“Oh, Tsu, it’s okay to be nervous. Getting married is apretty big deal, after all. And Liz loves you no matter what.”

“Yes.” Tsubaki takes a deep breath. Some of the tensionleaves her shoulders. “She does, she truly does. I’m sorry, everything’s just beensuch a blur today. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even actually gotten marriedyet.”

Maka grimaces sympathetically. “You’ll get through it. Justthink, these are going to be some of the happiest memories of your life.”

“So no pressure or anything.” Tsu laughs. “I hope I don’tfall over in these heels.”

“You’ll be fine, Tsu. Pretend it’s another dance.”

“I will. How was California, anyway? You’re looking nice and tan.”

“Kim twisted her ankle in San Francisco, so her understudyhad to step up. Otherwise the performances went really well. Nygus wants toknow when you’ll be coming back.”

“After the honeymoon, probably. Liz is excited about goingon tour with us.”

Maka laughs. “She would be. Wasn’t she in a band once upon atime?”

“Mhm. She misses it. She plans on being our number onegroupie and buying all themerchandise.” Tsubaki smiles fondly. “I don’t think we have any, though. Do we?”

Maka shrugs. “We’re a ballet troupe, not a rock band.Although now that you mention it, merch isn’t actually a bad idea…”

“Hush, Maka, no business.” Tsubaki smiles. “I’ll bet Crona’sglad you’re home. Where are they?”

Maka keeps her face carefully neutral as she desperatelytries to think of a way to respond. In the end she presses her lips togetherand goes for it. “Crona’s…we’re not together anymore, actually.”

Tsubaki blinks, the smile slipping off her face. Maka’s gutstwist. “N…not together? What – “

Just then there’s a knock at the door. A veryharried-looking Kid pokes his head in, a clipboard clutched in his left hand. “Ihate to interrupt, but are you almost ready, Tsubaki? It’s nearly time. I wouldsuggest you hurry; I cannot keep Blake out of the hors d'oeuvres forever. Hello,Maka,” he says, nodding at her politely before withdrawing as quickly as hecame.

“I’m sorry,” Maka mumbles, looking at her friend’s concernedface. “Today’s supposed to be a happy day for you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Tsubaki shakes her head. “No, no. Stop that. It’s okay. We’lldefinitely talk about this later. Do you know if Crona’s still coming?”

Maka shrugs. “I don’t know. They said maybe. They weren’t sure if they could deal with a wedding, whatwith all the changes in their life. They gave me a card, though, just in case.”

“Well, it’s good that you two are still friends, at least.”Tsubaki stands and pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m really glad you’re here,Maka,” she mumbles. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Maka says, and squeezes her back beforehurrying off to find her seat.

The reception takes place in a small dance hall festoonedwith flowers. There’s a DJ, and people crowd the floor, dancing and laughing.Liz’s black dress glitters in the party lights as her new wife twirls herenthusiastically. They both look radiantly happy. When Soul had come up tocongratulate them, Liz’s eyes had nearly popped out of her skull. “Soul?!” she’d blurted, and then she’dgrinned and slapped him hard on the back. “Hey! I wasn’t sure if you were gonnamake it!”

“Figured I might as well,” he said, trying for a smile.“Congrats, Lizard. I didn’t think you had it in you to settle down.”

“Fuck you. People are full of surprises. Tsu, this is SoulEvans. We used to be in a band together once upon a time.”

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa smiled. “So you’re the famous SoulEater. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?”

Before Tsubaki could reply, something slammed into Soul andwhipped him off his feet. It was all he could do to cling on for dear life ashe was whirled around and around. When his assailant finally set him down, hebarely had a chance to say “hello” before he got kissed exuberantly on themouth.

“Soul!” Patty cried happily while he tried to catch hisbreath. “How’ve you been, buddy?! Whydidn’t you ever call us?? Sissy and I missed you so much, we’d thought you’d diedor been abducted by aliens or thegovernment or something!”

“Jesus, Patty, hello to you too. I tried calling, but you gaveme a bad number.”

“Mm, yeah, sorry about that,” said Liz. “We should have toldyou before we changed it.”

Soul shrugged. “S’cool.” Itdoesn’t matter anyway.

“How long are you gonna be in town?” Patty asked

“Mm. Just for a few days.”

“Boo. I was hoping we could all get lunch, but guess it’s justgonna be you and me. No buts about it!”

He sighs. In the present, the party has gotten well underway.Soul can’t remember the last time he was at something like this. He sits at anempty table and sips at his third gin and tonic, wondering if it would be rude toleave right now. Liz and Tsubaki and Patty look like they’re having plenty offun on the dance floor.

“Hey,” says a voice. “You okay?”

He turns. The speaker is a small woman with a cup of wine inone hand, looking down at him in concern. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, alittle puzzled.

“Oh, okay,” she tells him. “You just looked so sad for a whilethere. I couldn’t not say something. Sorry. I’m a little drunk.” With that, sheplops into the seat beside him.

“Mm. S’okay, it happens.”

Quiet falls between them, and they watch the dancers for atime.

She takes a gulp of wine. “I always thought that I’d bemarried by the time I was thirty,” she says thoughtfully. “But I’m thirty-oneand my partner just left me and…and I don’t know if it’s ever gonna happen. And.That makes me really kinda sad. Not that I’m jealous of Tsu or anything. Just.”She swallows and dabs at her eyes with a napkin. A few tears escape anyway. “God.Okay, I’m drunk. Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re okay. I’m thirty-three and I haven’t been on adate in years.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Don’t see much point it in, y’know?”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “People are the same everywhere.”

“What makes you say that?” She’s watching him now. Absently,he notes that her eyes are bright green, the same as her dress. A tendril ofashy blonde hair has broken free of her updo and rests against her cheek. Hishand twitches, as if to brush it away, but instead he shakes his head.

“When I was younger, I thought things would be better if Ileft the house to make my own way, y’know? My parents were dictators. But themore I think about it the more I’m thinking, damn, what was the point? Everybody tells you to followyour dreams or whatever the fuck like that’ll make you happy, but…but I didthat. And nothing’s really changed. I’m still stuck, still the same. No matterwhat I do. People out west can be just as boring and uptight as people back east.We all do the same things.”

“I disagree,” says the woman. “That’s a really silly way of lookingat things, I think. Things can always change. Things always do change. That’s life! My partner had hada pretty bad life before we met and they were hurting but last week they toldme they wanted to break up and move out! That they wanted something forthemselves and that they were acting on that desire and finally being selfishand growing and healing and – and – “

Shit, she’s starting to cry. Awkwardly, he reaches over andpats her shoulder. She coughs and takes a deep breath and noisily blows hernose.

“You can change,”she croaks when she’s done, poking him in the chest. “And grow. People aresimilar, but not the same.”

He shakes his head, smiling a little despite himself. “Shutup, you sound like a motivational poster.”

“Oh my God, fuck you, I’m drunk. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Somebody’s gotta say it.”

She swats at him, and the laugh bursts out of him unexpectedly.She smiles, and party lights dance in her green, green eyes. “Well, you soundlike…like a wet dishtowel. A soggy dirty dishtowel that needs to be thrown inthe washer and then dried in the sun.”

“Damn, nailed it. That’s so me. You’ve got a real way withwords.”

She finishes off her cup of wine in two large gulps. “You’redriving me to drink, you douchewhistle. I hope you know this, and feel suitablyguilty, mister…mister…”

“Soul,” he says. “Soul Evans.”

They shake hands. “That’s a funny name,” says the woman. “I’mMaka Albarn.”

“Ah, so the pot calls the kettle black…”

“This is so unfair, I can never think of any good comebackswhen I’m drunk.”

He laughs again, and he’s laughing an awful lot tonight, isn’the? It’s gotta be the alcohol. He leans his head on the back of his chair andlooks at her. The words are out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. “MayI have this dance, Miss Albarn?”

She blinks at him, and then grins. “Of course.”

One dance turns into two, then four, then ten. She finds outthat Soul Evans lives in New Mexico and he works as an accountant and that heused to be in a band with Liz and Patty in his twenties. He likes cooking andmusic and movies. He dances really well, for a drunk guy. But then, she’s drunktoo. Still, his form is impeccable; they glide across the dance floor like they’rewalking on air.

“Did you use to be a dancer, or something?” she asks ontheir seventh or eighth turn. Against her, he stiffens ever so slightly. “Nah. Whydo you ask?”

“You just move really well. I’m a ballerina. I know thesethings.”

He shrugs. “I’m just talented, I guess.”

“Or you’ve had lessons.”

“Mmh.”

��No shame in taking lessons! It’s not unmanly or whatever if you want to learn how to dance. Women lovegood dancers.”

“S’not that,” hesays with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine, if you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. Buuut,” she says, a wicked idea comingto her as the song changes, “why don’t we show these chumps what we’re made of?”

“What?” He looks down at her, dark eyes confused.

“I mean,” shesays, grinning excitedly, “that we both know how to dance, so why not bust somemoves? You know how to swing dance?”

“A little…”

“Perfect!” Maka chirps, and then they’re off.

Soul was severely underestimating his own abilities. Makafinds herself unable to stop grinning because she’s finally found a partneroutside her company who can keep up with her, and it’s wonderful. Soul is hesitant at first, but soon he takes the lead,and Maka finds herself being dipped and lifted and twirled with astonishing precision.By the end of it he’s smiling as widely as she is, and when he looks at herthere’s a spark of something wondering and exhilarated in his tired dark eyes.

There’s claps and cheers from the crowd. Someone evenwolf-whistles. Soul only grins lazily, but Maka doesn’t miss the color thatappears in his cheeks.

They spend the rest of the night on the dance floor, separatingonly when Liz or Tsubaki or another friend swoops in for a dance. The last songof the night is a waltz, slow and sweet. They’re both sweaty and hot, but Soulholds her close anyway.

She finds she doesn’t mind.

#soul eater #soulxmaka #soma #soul/maka #se by z #zxanthe writes sometimes #ask fic #thanks 4 sending in a prompt bro :)#this was fun #anonymous #Anonymous

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anonymous-human · 7 years ago

Note

MTMTE Bots and an immortal S/o who can regenerate limbs? Rodimus, Drift/Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, Swerve, Rung, CyClonus/Tailgate, and Chromedome/Rewind!

(17/23

*coughhackcough*Iamnotamarysue*coughcoughhack*

So,,,, like,,, can they drink Energon and not die? because that’d be really cool despite it tasting like gasoline, and you’d probably have radioactive poisoning and can never go near a human ever again.

Also upon research, a bot can’t really die from old age, or as someone said and I quote,

“Basically [IDW] says they can, but nobody is old enough to have actually died from it.”

What?

*squints* so, what you’re saying is that they don’t die from old age bc no one has.

*squints harder* I sometimes want to charge people for their bloody stupidity.

Oh, and one hc I’d like to share about Energon. The actual good/expensive energon is actually sweet to humans, it just tastes a tad metallic, that is something cybertronians are used to though.

(Anon informed me they forgot to say Whirl.))

Rodimus

“Pfft, yeah right.” he’d laugh. He needs hard proof.

Welp, I guess you just have to break yourself-.

(NOTE: I’m not enforcing self-harm!!! If you need to talk I AM WILLING TO TALK! I WAS MY SCHOOL PSHYITRIST WHILE IN SCHOOL! I GOT A LOT OF KIDS THROUGH!!! {It wasn’t a volunteer thing, I just became a physiatrist to some sad kids.})

You know what? He’ll believe you if you just chugged some Energex and displayed 0 side effects.

Then he’d believe you.

But that just means you’ll be doing dumb shit with him or often.

You know the dumb shit he did with Drift? Yeah.

Also, you are the only living human to see and survive his ‘flame-out’ move? congrats.

Drift/Ratchet

Drift thinks it’s really interesting! Whether you're actually strong as him or not is up to you, but that’d be EVEN AWESOMER! We should spare some time, no?

Now, Ratchet, he doesn’t buy it.

It’s up there with healing crystals and the stuff Drift believes, it’s a bunch of bull-scrap.

Okay.

But one day, you end up losing your legs and as soon after ratchet ran in, you showed then the magical thing about limb regeneration.

All ratchet can say is that he still doesn’t believe it. And he won’t ever admit he does (not for another century), but he does like to entertain the fact you won’t die. It’d be nice to have you around for a long, long while.

Ultra Magnus

You’re pretty much just like Minimus, physically. Smol, old (possible super strength), and good looking! ;)

It just means he doesn’t have to go the extreme to be careful when he’s in his Magnus armor.

But being with you as minimus is 10/10 great, too!

Also, despite being lovers, you WILL get charged for using this as an excuse to do dumb stunts.

Swerve (This is all I want him to have.)

He wouldn’t believe you the first time you said it.

Pffffft, you’re lying!

He either never believed it until like 100 years later and you still look 18-21 and ur not dead.

Or he just sits down with you at his bar and you’re pounding the Energex drinks you won from another mech and don’t seem to be dying so…

What other choice does he have?

Actually, he thinks it’s really cool. The fact you’ll live perhaps longer than him, and you’ll never leave get’s him excited!

The first him he saw you lose a limb in some freak accident and saw you get up with a new arm was freaky as fucc to him.

he dragged you straight to the med-bay.

Rung

You have no idea how happy it makes him be able to be with you for longer than a century! It makes him really happy!

(He just hopes and prays you don’t abandon him like others have, even if you say you won’t.)

He’s a careful person, so nothing really changes when you tell him.

He does weep a little bit when you tell him. Just a little.

Like.

you really fragging care about him.

Like. Whoa.

So to know you can stay with him for a long, long, long time, it makes him overjoyed!!!

…

!!!

So can you eat energon?

(He’ll totally share some energon treats with you if you can stomach it).

Cyclonus/Tailgate

WHOA!

Tailgate always had this fear in the back of his head after he met you that you’d have to offline someday, but now- OH PRIMUS YES.

He was so stoked!

He’s not as careful around you anymore as he was.

Now Cyclonus, he thinks it’s great, because now he doesn’t have to deal with the pain of losing you in the next century, but he will be able to be with both you can Tailgate for centuries.

And he now as two (2) smol strong s/o’s.

It’s so cute to him.

The first time you lose a limb they’re like ‘OH FUCK now they’ll have to

live the rest of their life without an arm/leg! Ah shi-’

and Tailgates’ apologizing and crying.

while Cyclonus is frozen with a wide-eyed stare of shock by the amount of blood all over the floor and the pained look on your face.

but then you regrow a new limb and they metaphorically shit their pants.

Whirl

Holy shit that’s fucking cool.

The first time you lose a limb he just stares. He didn’t know what to do!

But then you regenerated and his head looked at your eyes, then at your limb, then back.

“Cool.”

It works great bc you could do dumb shit together and you wouldn’t have any consequences if you blew half the ship.

He’ll become really rough when it came to joking around, but he’d NEVER go across the line where you lost limbs…

Only the line where you lost a limb.

(Yes that obviously makes it so much better).

And he’d buy you drinks all the time.

Amputation and organic fluids are his kinks.

Chromedome/Rewind

Domey’s so relieved! He is so happy you won’t actually die in a century!

Rewind thinks it’s interesting!

The first time you lose a limb, rewind immediately starts recording while Chromedome freaks.

And the whole regeneration was something Rewind had to re-watch. More than a few more times.

It makes Dome heave, stop that!

Rewind finds it to be really interesting, though!

overall, they’re just both happy you’re happy with them.

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