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cyberrose2001 · 8 months ago

Note

HUMAN PET AU <3

Ratchet finally comes home from working all day at the med bay, the poor medic is tired as hell and just wants to relax in the comfort of his own berth. Fortunately enough, ratchet owns an exotic pet. A human he has grown fond of. They are fully trained and even have their own collar (with the message “Please return to Ratchet if lost” written on it), they have also learned how to help Ratchet de-stress by letting him use their hole as his personal flesh light <3 His happy little human loves becoming his cum dump to help him get his frustrations out, such a helpful little pet <33

any continuity of ratchet is fine (pick ur fav!), afab but gender neutral reader please and thank you moni 🙏❤️‍🩹

A Sight For Sore Optics - Human Pet AU

IDW/MTMTE Ratchet x human! afab! gn!Reader

Hi Gem! Thank you so much for your request, I was literally foaming at the mouth ready to write this. To make this more anatomically possible, Ratchet's spike transforms to a more "safer" size. So I hope this is good please be good (I haven't finished reading mtmte yet so forgive me). Also if I have missed any tags please let me know!

Warnings: Xenophilia, Size Kink, Collaring, Oral (both receiving and giving), Masturbation, Praise Kink, Cum Dumping, Mild Dubious Consent (?)

Word Count: 2.3k

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Another day, another few thousand miles of endless space, another few sickly bots. Additionally, a few unkempt humans requiring attention due to poor conditions from their previous owners. With the new organic additions to the Lost Light at the captain's approval, Ratchet had found himself biting off more than he could chew, looking after bots and humans. Oh, how he wished he took up an organic health course or something other than primarily relying on Brainstorm's fervent research on the tiny creatures. Between juggling it all, Ratchet was unsure how much more his threadbare servos could take. Still, there was one thing the old medic was unmistakable about. He was tired.

One good thing, he must admit, is that he gets to return to you. His own human pet, a personal 'Thank you' gift on behalf of the entire crew for his selflessness and hard work, provided with you a basket with fundamental necessities. But the basket had long since been used up, and he had transformed it into a makeshift cot for you. It'll do for now, he had thought.

He was initially still trying to figure out what to think of you. Apart from very rudimentary health checkups and nutritional foods, there wasn't much that Ratchet could provide for you. There's not many enriching activities for such a tiny human like yourself. Until that is, he discovered something quite unusual that had been exhibited in almost every human adopted by the crew so far.

You have an insatiable libido.

Ratchet was unsure, if not downright nervous if other owners were to discover how incredibly beneficial humans could be. Whether or not they had already learned was an entirely different story. It wouldn't surprise Ratchet if that was the very reason why human pets were approved, though it seems shocking. It all seemed so innocent enough, adopting humans for the cuteness factor for the mechs on board. But as with most things, there's always more than just the surface level of what the optic sees. And Ratchet was already way too far below the surface.

Punching in the code for his hab suite, Ratchet waits eagerly for the door to open with twitching digits. He steps inside, tossing whatever work essentials he has on hand on the first bench he sees. He'll worry about reorganising later. Right now, he needs some pet therapy and a well-overdue overload. The dull ache behind his panels only gets stronger as his pedes carry him to his berthroom to you, curled up on his berth. It looked as if you neglected your rudimentary cot, choosing to sleep on his berth instead. The medic can't help the softened expression as he melts at the sight. Of all the things he didn't think he deserved, he never once expected it to be such an adorable little thing like you.

He lets his pedes wander over to you, like countless times before, careful and delicate. He always told himself that this 'fling' he had with you was only temporary and that it was purely for his curiosity, but he tends to find himself aching for you repeatedly. He can't help how his racing neurocircuits seem to fizzle out and calm down when he lies with you.

A roughened servo brushes over your hair to slowly stir you. It looked like you had been napping for some time now, which he believes is a good thing. Brainstorm did say that humans tend to sleep better in environments they consider comfortable. The gentle brushing causes you to stir and lift your head to greet him, though in a language yet to be deciphered. It's a pleasant greeting, and Ratchet can tell they're happy to see him. Something along the lines of 'I missed you,' he'd like to think.

"Hey, squishy. I missed you too," Ratchet smiles warmly. He brushes the hair away from your neck to reveal a collar, "You haven't ripped it off yet. Seems like you like it, hm?"

A slight, sleepy nod in confirmation, you've grasped at what he said. Ratchets' digits trail down to the collar, a small silver plate that reads 'Please Return to Ratchet If Lost - HabSuite ###" engraved in Cybertronian. Not that you tend to wander off, but more or less a just in case. Plus, he gets a thrill seeing his name attached to you. He thumbs it gently, admiring his handy work.

"I'm glad you do. It took me quite some time to make," Ratchet tugs at it softly, beckoning you to come closer. He watches you climb onto his lap, "Such tiny adornments are complex to create, 'specially with hands like mine." A servo cups your back, his thumb moving to play with your soft chest. He shivers when he hears a tiny whimper from you, and you seem eager to play with him already.

"I've had a busy day," A mechanical noise of shifting gears as his spike slides out of its housing, "I think you know what I need." It's well and truly bigger than you, much bigger than your tiny body could ever take. But the way your eyes light up in excitement assures Ratchet that you are more than pleased, already desperately taking off your quirky frame coverings. He eyes off your cute organic valve, notices how dripping wet it is, and staves off a moan.

"C'mere for a second," Ratchet scoops you into his servo to bring you closer to his face. He gets a whiff of your arousal, so earthy and addicting. The more you spread your thighs for him, the more he can smell. He brings you to his intake and licks one hearty stripe up your folds.

Oh yes, he thinks. Better than energon. Better than any high grade to ever pass his dermas, like a warm drink that soothes and revitalises his senses. It thickens on his glossa, groaning at the taste as he swirls it around your little node. He watches intently as you squeal in delight, your thighs trembling around his cheeks and how your little face contorts into one of pleasure. Well, he had always presumed it was in pleasure; you've never exactly shied away from his glossa. He hums when you feel him grinding, desperate little ruts chasing the vibrations.

Ratchet licks one last time at your slick, pulling away to observe. Oral lubricants coat your valve thickly, the sensitive area reddened from his torment. His optics wander up; your soft skin is already flushed and glistening with sweat. He wonders how close you were to overloading; it wouldn't have taken much longer if he had kept going. But his spike grows restless, throbbing against his abdominal plating, begging to be touched by much softer palms than his own.

"Do you want my spike? Hm?" Ratchet teases, "My big spike?" He knows you can't fully understand him, but he can't help but vocalise his salacious fantasy. Holding onto you carefully, he lounges back onto the berth. He bites his bottom derma and lowers you to his lap, showing you his engorged spike, "Go on then, have at it. I'll frag your little brains out soon."

With an encouraging nudge from Ratchet, you straddle the shaft. To anyone else, it looks ridiculous. A tiny human desperately attempting to wrap their arms around a spike that's two times taller than they are. But to any depraved fleshy fragger, it's a sight to behold. Ratchet once thought of snapping a picture to potentially maybe sell it to the highest bidder for those who crave the feeling of such a soft body grinding on them, for he is sure there's a market out there somewhere, probably more than half of the crew onboard. Still, the shame of it all prevents him. There's an image to uphold being the resident medic.

Besides, he'd much prefer to keep you and that curious tongue all for himself.

He feels your little licks along him, a tiny tongue wiggling through the grooves and smooth surface, reaching crevices with hidden nodes that cause his pedes to curl. Soft ruts of your hips press your soaked valve right up against him. He knows what you want. The medic brings a servo to grip around his spike with you squished between, only tight enough to keep you in place as he begins self-servicing himself. He hears you letting out a surprised gasp, then a muffled moan, feeling your grip tighten around him.

"Yeah? You like that, squishy?" Ratchet moans, moving his servo slightly faster, "I bet you-nghh do. You look so cute like that. So tiny pressed against my spike."

Only a taste of your warmth is given through your body, like the little tease you are. Ratchet feels the perspiration dripping off you, likely due to the rise of his internal temperature and the energon being solely diverted to his array. It makes for a mediocre yet acceptable lubrication. He could spike you with it alone, but Ratchet prefers to use alternate practices in the interest of your health. Primus knows how careless other Cybertronians can be with their pets.

The medic is becoming increasingly aware of his overload and yours by the looks of things, your little optics squeezed shut, and your limbs clamped tight around his girth. He consciously decides to stop before you reach it. The idea of you squirming on his spike played on his processor a bit too well. He hears your soft whine at the loss of friction, which Ratchet can't help but chuckle at.

"I know, I know. I'm so mean, aren't I? Hold on, squishy." Ratchet lets you rest against his palm while his weeping spike whirs and clunks inwards to a much more manageable size for a human. His spike may be smaller, but there's not much difference in sensation. Thank Primus for the minicon-compatability modes, "You alright?"

A small squeak from you, yes. The medic watches intently as you waste no time climbing on, guided by his careful servo. You press your little valve against the tip, hissing as it barely slips through. Ratchet digs his pedes into the berth at the intense sensation, gritting his dentae as you bottom out. The feeling is incomparable to anything else; it's uniquely organic, warm, and so, so much softer than mesh.

He then wraps his entire servo around you, effectively turning you into one perfect spike sleeve only for him. Perfectly snug inside you, his grip clenches and unclenches around your torso before gently unsheathing himself from you again.

Ratchet is always careful when he uses you in this manner, ensuring his grip isn't too tight. He pushes you back down again, and he feels you melt into his servo. He hears your little whimpers and cries for him, to go faster, he believes. He learned a long ago that he doesn't need to understand your verbal mumbles when your fleshy hips try to hastefully force yourself down onto him, only halted by his own hand. His grip ever so tightens and gives in to your desperation, or more or less his own.

"You're so good for me, squishy. Hah- Lettin' me use your little valve like a toy." Ratchet mewls, his helm lolling off to the side as his optics flick between your face and the way his spike disappears inside you, "Such a helpful little pet you are."

He feels your velvet walls clamp down on him with each and every praise he gives, your little arms draped over the top of his thumb, clinging on for dear life. Every now and then, he massages your breasts pressed up against it, eliciting more dirty moans from you. Such softness that he can't help but take advantage of.

"So- ngh- tight," Ratchet vents heavily, "Primus, you've ruined me for my own race."

He felt a twinge of shame hearing himself; it was as if he had entirely let himself go. But he knows he can no longer turn back, not when you're the best little creature to ever stumble into his life. Despite him having you wrapped around his digits, it is indeed him wrapped around yours. The relief you bring to him after every gruelling shift, after every stressful day upon this damned ship, had him truly addicted.

And with an internal affirmation of decadence and with your soft little valve clenching and pulsing around his spike, he's sent right over the edge.

"Frag yes, sweetspark!-" He glitches out, pressing you down on his thick shaft as far as your soft little body can tolerate. His energon pulses deeply and shocks his entire body with an overload, shooting gush after gush of transfluids into you. His frame lurches forward, his hips driving into the berth as he milks his throbbing spike, his servo driving it deeper into you in a lust-filled daze. Your whines and cries only spur him on more, and he doesn't stop until you're shaking like a leaf in his hold.

It takes only a few more moments for a spent Ratchet to collapse back with you still in his grip, albeit slumped against his thumb. You're panting hard, and he can only just feel your tiny heart pounding against him. You must have had your own overload by the looks of it if the bliss-filled smile on your soft lips is anything to go by. His optics linger down to your soft, distended stomach and the dripping mess that splatters across your thighs and onto his pelvic plating. Now that truly is a sight for sore optics, he thinks to himself.

Ratchet huffs, bringing his other servo to pat the top of your head, "Now there's my happy little human, huh?" He smiles warmly when he feels you leaning into his touch, "How 'bout I fill you up some more?"

If this was what it took for the old medic to de-stress and relax, then so be it. If he were to be exposed to the rest of the crew, then may he join the rest of them. In secret, for now, he will proudly declare himself a lover of organic flesh.

#transformers x reader #transformers x human reader #idw mtmte #mtmte #idw ratchet #mtmte ratchet #mtmte x reader #mtmte ratchet x reader #idw ratchet x reader #human pet au #first contact au #valveplug #cyberrosewrites

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palevcr · 15 days ago

Text

FORMULA FOR DISASTER

Y/N's failing chemistry—barely clinging to a passing grade and much more interested in lip gloss than Lewis structures. Naturally, her teacher assigns the school’s golden boy, Peter Parker, to tutor her. He’s top of the class, painfully polite, and irritatingly hot in that awkward, cardigan-wearing, accidentally-dominant kind of way. What starts as a tutoring session quickly spirals into something way more intense. She’s a teasing, pouty distraction in miniskirts and pink gel pens; he’s a tightly wound genius with too much self-control for his own good. But when she tests him—grinding in his lap, pouting over pop quizzes, and whispering "punish me, Professor Parker"—he snaps. Hard. Suddenly, chemistry isn’t just a subject—it’s a game of rewards and consequences. A slow, burning power play where every right answer gets her praise, and every wrong one earns her discipline. Over his thigh, bent over the desk, drooling on her own notes—he teaches her in every way she’ll let him. She wanted extra credit. Peter made sure she earned it.

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

genre: smut, academic tension, tutor/student dynamic, slow-burn to full burn, dom!Peter

Authors note: yes I know they’re doing basic chemistry. Piss off.

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, choking, overstimulation, slight dubcon (consensual but bratty), possessive behavior, thigh riding, dry humping, praise & degradation, use of “good girl,” reader being a brat, Peter being accidentally dominant, teacher kink/“Professor Parker,” light degradation, hand on tummy during creampie, power imbalance (soft), aftercare tease, cheeky texting, nerd x bimbo dynamic (kind of), reader failing chemistry but not failing to seduce

bot version: PETER PARKER - nerdy

Peter Parker had long since accepted his fate as Midtown High’s unofficial poster boy for all things academically torturous. Honors student, science team prodigy, volunteer tutor, human calculator—you name it. If the school had a nerd hierarchy, he sat comfortably at the top, which, ironically, meant he had very few people below him and absolutely no one standing beside him.

So, naturally, when the chemistry teacher—exhausted and probably two missed paychecks away from snapping—needed someone to babysit a failing student, she turned to her ever-reliable go-to: “Peter, you're so gifted in this subject. Why don't you help her out?”

Her being Y/N.

Y/N: pink-acrylic-nails-tapping-on-her-phone-screen Y/N. Miss can’t-pass-chemistry-but-somehow-has-a-closet-bigger-than-his-entire-apartment Y/N. The kind of girl who showed up to school in designer sneakers and lip gloss that probably cost more than his entire monthly grocery budget. She wasn’t mean, exactly. Not the stereotypical Regina George knockoff people expected from girls like her. But she was exhausting in a way that felt deliberate—always flippant, always dramatic, and somehow always surrounded by this faint glitter-scented aura of chaos.

Peter should’ve said no. Should’ve bowed out, claimed he was too busy with Stark internship work or homework or literally anything else. But no. Because Peter Parker was pathologically polite, emotionally guilt-tripped by authority, and—for reasons he hadn’t yet admitted to himself—just a little too curious about her.

Which was why he now found himself sitting uncomfortably stiff on the edge of a designer couch that probably had a name. A French name. Her house—mansion, really—was the kind of place that belonged in movies where the girl dramatically descends a staircase during prom season. High ceilings, gold-accented crown molding, a literal chandelier in the foyer. He was half-convinced the doorknobs were real crystal.

Jesus Christ, even her WiFi is probably fast enough to download a Marvel movie in 10 seconds, he thought, adjusting his glasses and trying not to look impressed.

And then she walked in.

“Ugh,” she groaned theatrically, her glossy lips forming a perfect pout as she tossed her books onto the pristine desk like they’d offended her. “Why does chemistry even matter? I’m not trying to become a periodic table.”

Peter blinked slowly, fighting the urge to smile in that way he always did when people said stupid things with full conviction.

“Right,” he muttered, deadpan. “Because atoms are so last season.”

She ignored the sarcasm, flopping into her chair with a huff loud enough to echo against her crystal candle holders. Her hair was half-pulled up with a velvet scrunchie, her phone glittered in its pink rhinestone case, and her entire aura screamed sugar and fire.

Peter gave her a look. A long, tired, vaguely judgmental look.

Same, his brain whispered.

She blinked at him, then stood up with dramatic flair—bare feet patting softly against the plush carpet—and dragged over another chair from across the room. Not just any chair. A plush, bubblegum-pink monstrosity with bows carved into the wooden legs and little heart buttons stitched into the backrest.

It looked like it had been stolen from Barbie’s dream house.

She plopped it beside her desk chair and patted the seat like she was inviting him to sit on a throne.

“There. Come on, Parker. Tutor me.”

“Is this... my assigned seat?” he asked dryly, staring at the chair like it might swallow him whole.

“Obviously,” she said, smiling sweetly. “What, too much pink for you?”

“I didn’t know chairs could be weaponized.”

“Maybe I’ll bedazzle it for you next time,” she teased, twirling one of her earrings with practiced disinterest.

Peter sighed, muttering something under his breath about human suffering, and finally sat down beside her. Their knees almost touched. She was warm—too warm for someone who always acted like she didn’t care about anything. And he could smell her perfume, something sweet and citrusy and wildly inappropriate for studying.

He glanced sideways at her as she opened her notebook and stared at it like it had personally wronged her.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

But for some reason, he wasn’t all that mad about it.

Peter leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, and flipped open his own battered textbook—the spine cracked, corners dog-eared, and annotated to hell with color-coded tabs. The difference between their supplies was... comical. Hers looked like it had never been opened for anything other than aesthetic purposes. Pink-tinted, untouched, and almost offensively sparkly.

He glanced over as she pulled her own books from her bag, and—of course. Covered in shimmery pastel paper, sticker-bombed with little hearts, cartoon cherries, and one aggressively winking Hello Kitty near the corner. She opened the notebook with a flutter of manicured fingers, and he nearly snorted when he saw the pages inside.

Everything—everything—was written in pink gel pen. Curly loops. Puffy lettering. A couple hearts dotting her i’s.

He tilted his head slightly, brow raised. “Do you have a vendetta against black ink?”

She blinked, looked down at her notes like she genuinely hadn’t noticed, and shrugged. “Black’s boring,” she said, twirling the pen between her fingers. “And pink makes me pay attention more.”

“Right,” Peter said, lips twitching. “Because neon ink definitely improves focus and memory retention.”

“I’m a visual learner,” she said innocently, batting her lashes. “Pink makes the mitochondria easier to remember.”

He looked at her, entirely deadpan. “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. That’s not even chemistry.”

“Oh my God, whatever,” she groaned, dramatically slumping in her chair. “See, this is why I said I suck at this. I literally don't get what magnesium is. Why do I need to know what it is? I’m not trying to be, like, a magnesium... person.”

Peter blinked. “A chemist?”

“Yeah, that,” she said with a small pout, like the word had personally offended her. “Can’t I just, like, skip this part and move on with my life?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Magnesium is literally a basic element. It’s kind of unavoidable. It’s in your body. Your bones. Your cells.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So I am magnesium?”

“In a sense, yes.”

She made a face. “That’s gross.”

Peter couldn’t help it—he laughed. Actually laughed, soft and surprised, like the sound had been dragged out of him. She turned her head quickly, eyes catching his in a way that made something in his chest tighten for reasons he’d rather not unpack.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, though her lips were curling upward.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, still grinning. “Just... with a deep, deep sense of secondhand concern.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered. Something about her was infectious—loud and ridiculous, but weirdly sincere. She didn’t pretend to understand anything she didn’t, didn’t try to impress him with fake interest in formulas or elements. She was just unapologetically her. Loud. Sparkly. Utterly allergic to science.

And for some reason... it didn’t irritate him the way it should.

“Okay,” he said, taking a breath and adjusting the textbook. “Let’s start small. Magnesium’s an element on the periodic table. Symbol Mg. Atomic number twelve. It's an alkaline earth metal.”

She blinked, eyes glossing over almost instantly.

Peter paused. “...Which means it’s shiny and kinda chill.”

That got a smirk. “Like me.”

He gave her a look. “Magnesium also catches fire if you heat it up too much.”

Her smirk widened. “Like me.”

Peter stared at her, utterly unimpressed. “You’re literally a danger to chemistry.”

“And you’re a danger to fun,” she shot back, but it was playful. Teasing. Her eyes sparkled when she was being bratty, like she knew exactly what she was doing—and, God help him, it was working.

He cleared his throat and glanced back at the book. Focus. You’re here to teach. Not flirt. Definitely not to flirt with someone who probably thinks electrons are a TikTok trend.

Still, he couldn’t stop the thought as he glanced sideways at her again, catching the way she chewed lightly on the end of her glitter pen, eyes squinting at the page like the words were written in ancient Greek.

This was going to be painful.

But maybe... not in a bad way.

“Explain it to me in girl language, Pete,” she said, leaning a little closer, the curve of her pout deliberate and devastating.

Peter blinked at her, blinking twice just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating how cute she looked when she did that. He wished she’d stop doing that thing with her mouth—the slight downturn, the soft lip jut, the puppy-dog eyes like he was the last person who could save her from the terrifying mysteries of magnesium. It wasn’t fair. It was a weapon.

“Girl language?” he repeated flatly, like someone who had just been asked to translate quantum physics into emojis.

She nodded earnestly, ponytail swishing behind her like this was some innocent favor instead of a personal attack on his willpower. “Yeah. Girl language. You know, like—pink-coded. Digestible. Fun.”

Peter stared at her like he was actively buffering. “You want me to translate chemistry... into girl.”

“Exactly!” she chirped, smiling like he’d just caught up. “Because all this periodic table, proton-neutron talk is, like, too much. You’ve gotta speak to me in a language I actually get.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Dragged a hand down his face, then slowly leaned back in his pink torture-throne of a chair.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered under his breath.

She grinned wider. “You already do. Now go on, Professor Barbie. Make it sparkle.”

Peter gave her a look that could curdle milk. Then, with a sigh so deep it came from his soul, he turned toward her fully and began, “Okay. Magnesium—Mg—is, like... the chill, underrated best friend of the periodic table. Not flashy like gold or dramatic like sodium, but still essential. Very supportive. Gives your bones strength. Helps your muscles move. Keeps your heart from, y’know, stopping. So basically? It’s like... the bestie who’s always holding your hair back when you cry after making bad decisions.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, so she’s, like, the backbone friend. Silent ride-or-die. Not a main character, but necessary. Love that for her.”

Peter blinked. “You’re... actually getting this?”

“Bitch, yes. Magnesium is the bitch who holds my life together. I’m obsessed now.”

He tried not to laugh, but a sound escaped—half-snort, half-wheeze. He shook his head, eyes dropping to her glitter-smudged notebook, and then up again to her face, where she was looking at him like he’d just solved world peace.

“Okay,” he said, humoring her, “let’s keep going. Next up is calcium. Another ride-or-die. Works with magnesium. They’re, like, co-dependent besties.”

“So they’re Elle and Paulette.”

“...Who?”

She gasped. “Peter. ‘Legally Blonde’? Bend and snap?”

He stared blankly.

She looked personally offended. “Oh my God, we’re fixing that. You’re watching it next time. No wonder you’re sad all the time.”

“I’m not sad all the time.”

“You are scientifically the saddest boy I know.”

Peter bit back another smile, biting the inside of his cheek as she scrawled “Mg = BACKBONE BADDIE” in pink ink across the top of her notes.

He couldn’t decide if he was in hell or rapidly descending into something way worse—something that felt like liking her.

But then she scooted a little closer, her knee bumping gently into his, and smiled at him like he wasn’t just a tutor but a secret she was starting to enjoy keeping.

And suddenly, Peter wasn’t so sure he wanted to be anywhere else.

Peter kept talking, though at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was teaching chemistry or performing a live spoken-word act called Science for Brats: The Glitter Edition. Still, he powered through—explaining molecular bonds and electron shells in his best attempt at “girl language,” which apparently consisted of metaphors involving friend groups, ex-boyfriends, and Sephora membership tiers.

It shouldn’t have worked.

But it did.

Except… she wasn’t writing any of it down anymore.

He’d noticed the subtle stillness at first—the soft stop of her glitter pen, the way her elbow relaxed from where it had been poised over her notebook. When he finally glanced up, she wasn’t even pretending to look at her notes. She was just... watching him. Chin resting in her hand, eyes locked on his face like he was explaining the formula for eternal youth, not atomic structure.

He trailed off mid-sentence.

“What?” he asked cautiously, brows drawing together. “Why are you staring at me like I just offered you a Dior lip gloss or a Birkin bag?”

She tilted her head, smiling in that lazy, dangerous way that always meant trouble. “You kinda sound hot. Like, nerdy hot.”

Peter blinked. Once. Twice. His brain short-circuited for a second, skipping over logical processing and heading straight into full system error. “You’re not serious.”

She was. God, the look on her face made that painfully clear—coy, amused, and just a little bit predatory. She shifted slightly, turning toward him in a graceful sprawl that should not have been as mesmerizing as it was. One leg tucked under her, the other stretching lazily out to the side. Her pleated skirt shifted higher along her thigh as she moved—dangerously high—and Peter’s brain promptly fell off a cliff.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” she said sweetly, voice dipped in honey and challenge. “If more of my classes were taught by awkward, hot nerd boys who talk about electrons like it’s foreplay, I’d be graduating with honors.”

“I’m not—” he started, horrified, “—I’m not hot. That’s not—no.”

“Debatable,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug, like it wasn’t even a question. “Anyway, you should say ionization energy again. That was kind of sexy.”

Peter stared at her, visibly struggling to maintain composure. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, because he had to correct her, obviously, because that’s what tutors do, even when they’re being flirted with by a very-pretty-very-annoying girl in a skirt that’s suddenly his mortal enemy.

“It’s ionization energy,” he corrected weakly. “Not... ‘ionizatain.’ That’s not even—God.”

“Oh my God,” she mocked softly, mimicking his voice with a teasing smirk. “Say it slower, Professor Parker.”

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, ears going pink. His entire posture shifted—shoulders tense, back rigid, eyes darting anywhere that wasn’t her thighs.

“I came here to help you pass chemistry,” he muttered. “Not be... verbally assaulted.”

“Assaulted? Peter, please. You’re blushing like a Disney prince who just saw ankle for the first time.”

“I am not blushing.”

“You so are. It’s cute. Like your little ‘serious tutor’ voice.”

He groaned and slumped back in the pink chair, defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” she said, leaning forward until her perfume clouded his thoughts, “are hot when you’re mad.”

Peter didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His brain had officially disconnected from the rest of his body, and all he could do was sit there, blinking, as she smirked at him like she’d just won a game he hadn’t even known they were playing.

Somewhere, buried under all that panic and embarrassment and mental chaos, was the very faintest flicker of pride.

Because if nothing else... she was definitely paying attention now.

“Are you gonna punish me, Professor Parker?” she asked with a giggle, the words lilting out like a joke, but her eyes said otherwise—wide and glinting, watching him for a reaction the way a cat watches a laser pointer.

Peter leaned back slowly in his chair, his expression unreadable, fingers folding loosely in his lap. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blush. He just looked at her, long and hard, like he was running an internal diagnostic on the entire situation—and maybe himself.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the storm he felt brewing inside, he replied, “Yeah. I will.”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “If you don’t stop whatever this is,” he said, voice quiet, collected, but firm, “and actually focus... I will punish you.”

There was a beat of silence. It stretched, thick and slow, the kind that made the air buzz.

She turned to him fully, body stilling, lips parted. Her breath caught a little, and her thighs subtly pressed together under the desk. “What?” she whispered, genuinely unsure if she’d misheard him—or if he’d just flipped some hidden switch neither of them realized he had.

But Peter just shrugged, the movement easy, fluid—almost too casual. Like this whole thing wasn’t cracking his moral compass in half.

“I’ll punish you if you keep teasing me,” he repeated, eyes never leaving hers. “But…” He leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees, voice dropping a fraction of an octave. “I’ll reward you if you try. If you actually pay attention. If you show me you’re listening.”

The breath that left her was almost inaudible. She couldn’t tell if she was being scolded or seduced, and honestly? She didn’t care. Her brain had turned to glitter-slush the second he rolled up his sleeves.

Which he just did. Casually. Absentmindedly. Like it meant nothing.

But it did something. God, did it do something.

Her gaze dropped—unconscious, involuntary—and locked on the sudden reveal of his forearms. Veins, tendons, subtle lines of muscle flexing under warm, freckled skin. They were stupidly unfair. Strong and lean and just—masculine in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. She stared at them the way she stared at designer heels: like they were expensive, dangerous, and possibly worth ruining her life over.

“Eyes up here, princess,” Peter murmured, dragging her attention back with that impossible, slow confidence he had no right to possess.

Her face flushed—just slightly—and she cleared her throat, trying to play it off with a smirk. “Well. Someone’s feeling bold all of a sudden.”

“You started it,” he said simply, flipping open the textbook again with one hand, the other draped lazily over the back of his chair. “You flirted. You teased. You said I was hot.”

“You are hot,” she said automatically, almost annoyed by how true it felt in the moment.

“And now you’re distracted,” he said, eyes flicking down to her lips for the barest second before meeting her gaze again. “Which is fine. If you want to be bad, be bad. Just don’t expect to pass the quiz at the end of this.”

Her brows shot up. “There’s a quiz?”

“There is now,” Peter said, utterly unfazed. “Five questions. Get them right? You get a reward. Get them wrong…”

He let the sentence hang, trailing off with just enough weight to make her swallow.

“What kind of reward?” she asked softly, sitting up straighter, trying to appear composed even as her pulse quickened.

Peter gave a small, knowing smile—more to himself than to her—and tapped the edge of her glitter pen with his own. “Study and find out.”

She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip in a way that was definitely not helping either of their situations. But eventually, with something dangerously close to sincerity in her eyes, she gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice breathy, softer than before. “I’ll listen.”

Peter glanced at her, mildly surprised by the shift in her tone—but he didn’t question it. He just gave a satisfied hum, nodding once like a teacher approving a particularly well-behaved student.

“Good girl,” he said absentmindedly, flipping to the next page in the textbook. “Now we’re talking.”

The words hit her like a slap and a kiss all at once. Simple. Offhand. Barely emphasized. But God. Her thighs clenched under the desk like it was reflex. Her breath hitched—just slightly—but Peter had already turned away, unaware of the small detonation he’d just caused in her lower stomach.

She blinked hard, trying to push air back into her lungs, her posture suddenly straighter, hands clenched in her lap. If he noticed the way she subtly crossed her legs tighter beneath the desk, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because he was dead serious now. Back to chemistry. Back to explaining covalent bonds and energy levels like he hadn’t just casually dismantled her brain with two fucking words.

She swallowed and nodded along, trying to process anything that wasn’t the warm ache pooling deep in her core. His voice washed over her—low, steady, undeniably attractive now that she was actually paying attention. Which, unfortunately, she was. Too much.

She stared down at her notes, willing herself to focus, to be the so-called good girl he’d just praised. She wrote Magnesium = supportive baddie in the margin, then underlined it three times just to pretend like her hand wasn’t shaking a little.

Peter kept talking, guiding her through atomic structure, gesturing casually with a pencil in hand—occasionally using it to point at diagrams, or to tap her paper gently when she looked confused. And every time it made her jump just a little. Not because she didn’t understand—okay, sometimes she didn’t—but because now everything he did felt weighted, electric, impossible to ignore.

When he leaned over her shoulder to correct something in her notes, she stopped breathing. His cologne—clean and faintly cedar—wrapped around her like a noose.

“You see where you went wrong?” he murmured beside her ear, voice lower now that they were closer.

She nodded dumbly, though she couldn’t remember a single thing he’d said in the last two minutes. Her eyes were stuck on the way his fingers looked wrapped around her pen, steady and precise. She wanted to say something flirty—something biting, something to bring the control back into her hands—but all her usual weapons had short-circuited.

She was, for once, actually trying.

Trying to listen.

Trying to learn.

Trying not to melt every time he so much as glanced at her.

But then, just when she thought she might finally be settling into something resembling focus, he leaned back, tossed his pencil on the table with a soft thud, and said, “Alright. Pop quiz. Five questions.”

Her head snapped up. “Wait—seriously?”

Peter gave a small, wicked smirk. “I warned you.”

“This is so unfair,” she huffed, arms folded tightly beneath her chest, gaze narrowing in what she probably thought was intimidation but really just looked like a pout he was trying very hard to ignore.

Peter barely looked up from his notebook. “Life’s unfair,” he replied coolly, flipping the page with a maddening sort of composure. The kind that made her want to scream—or maybe crawl onto his lap and see how long that composure would last.

“Now,” he continued, pen poised, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose, “question one.”

She groaned like he’d asked her to recite the periodic table backwards in Latin. “You’re enjoying this.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching at the corners—not quite a smile, but a glimmer of something unholy. “A little,” he admitted. “But I warned you. Actions have consequences, princess.”

She muttered something unrepeatable under her breath, but sat up straighter, chin lifted in quiet defiance. Her arms stayed crossed—subtly pushing her chest up, not that she was doing it on purpose or anything. Not like she noticed the quick flicker of his gaze or the slight pause before he looked away.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the end of his pencil against the desk with slow, deliberate rhythm—like a countdown. “First question. What’s the difference between a covalent bond and an ionic bond?”

She squinted. “Wait, is this multiple choice?”

“Nope.”

“Can I phone a friend?”

He raised a brow, deadpan.

She sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine. Covalent is, like… sharing? Electrons?”

He nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“And ionic is… a full transfer? Like one atom gives the electron away?” Her brow furrowed. “Like a rich dad paying off child support.”

Peter blinked at her. Then—despite himself—laughed. Soft and low and entirely involuntary. “Sure,” he said, biting back the rest of his smile. “Correct.”

She lit up. “See? Told you. I’m not dumb, I just need sexy incentives.”

He ignored that. Barely. “One point. Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

“Question two,” he said, and this time his tone turned a shade darker—cool, clinical. “What’s the atomic number of magnesium?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I barely know its name.”

He gave a patient shake of his head. “No cheating,” he warned, nudging her notebook shut with the eraser of his pencil as her eyes darted toward it.

That firm tone again. It went straight to her spine—and lower.

She narrowed her eyes, fingers tapping against the desk. “Uhh… twelve?”

Peter paused. Then nodded. “Correct again.”

She grinned, smug. “Two for two. I want gold stars.”

“You want a reward,” he corrected smoothly, sitting back just enough for the light to catch on his glasses. “You’re halfway there.”

Her smile faltered for a second—just a second—because his voice had changed again. Gone softer. Darker. Like a warning wrapped in silk. “I don’t choke,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

She blinked.

“Question three,” he continued before she could recover. “Define ionization energy.”

She blinked again. “That’s the hot one, right?”

Peter let out a sigh that sounded a lot like a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”

“No, wait! I know this one—it’s the energy it takes to… remove an electron from an atom?”

His brows lifted. “You’re getting dangerously close to being my favorite student.”

She preened. “Don’t stop now, professor. I’m learning so much.”

“Then let’s test that,” he said smoothly, flipping another page with that same deliberate slowness that made her stomach tighten. “Question four: which element has the higher electronegativity—fluorine or oxygen?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a trick question.”

“It’s not.”

“…Fluorine is the toxic one, right? Like, yellow gas of death or something?”

He gave a noncommittal hum.

She squinted. “Okay. I’m gonna say oxygen. Final answer.”

Peter didn’t flinch. Just clicked his pen and marked a quiet ‘X’ beside her name.

Her jaw dropped. “Wait, it was a trick question!”

“Nope,” he said, too innocently. “It was just science. You were so close.”

She groaned, head hitting the desk with a thunk. “This is psychological warfare. You know I need pictures and glitter pens. My brain’s not wired for raw data.”

Peter chuckled under his breath, but the gleam in his eye said he was enjoying this more than he’d ever admit. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s still one question left. One more shot at redemption.”

She lifted her head slowly, leaning her weight onto her elbows, cleavage framed perfectly between her arms. “And if I fail?” she asked, voice pitched low.

He didn’t blink.

“Then you’ll learn what punishment really means.”

Her breath caught. A quiet flutter in her chest. “Kinky.”

“Consequential,” Peter corrected, but the look in his eyes betrayed him. His voice had dipped into something deeper. Something that made her spine straighten and her legs cross instinctively beneath the desk.

“Final question.”

She sat up, trying her hardest to look serious—and not like she was seconds from combusting. “Hit me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and asked, voice velvet-smooth, “What’s the electron configuration of sodium?”

She blinked.

“Okay—what the fuck did you just say to me?”

Peter’s lips twitched. “You’ve seen this in your notes.”

“Which you closed,” she muttered.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Think back. Shells, sublevels—remember?”

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure some memory of that godforsaken diagram. “Okay… 1s2, 2s2… um… 2p6… 3s1?”

Silence.

Peter tapped his pen once. Then slowly set it down.

“That’s correct.”

She blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded once. “You passed. Barely.”

Her breath rushed out in a relieved laugh, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god. I passed chemistry.”

Peter’s brow arched. “You passed my quiz. You still missed one.”

She stilled.

“…Which means you still get the punishment.”

Her smile faltered just slightly. “Right. That.”

“But,” he added, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs as his gaze locked with hers, “you also get your reward.”

Her lips parted slightly. “Okay… so… what’s the reward?”

Peter didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Just said, calm and devastatingly clear: “You get to sit in my lap.”

She stared.

“I—what?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice soft and measured. “Come here.”

Her heart was hammering now, pulse fluttering high in her throat. “And the punishment?”

Peter smiled—small, sharp, and entirely dangerous.

“You’ll find out if you move.”

She hesitated for a second—just a second—then slid from her chair and stepped between his legs, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Peter didn’t say a word. Just watched her. Calm. Expectant. The silence thick between them.

Then, slowly, she lowered herself into his lap.

At first, she tried to keep a respectable distance—her weight barely resting on his thighs, posture stiff and uncertain. Her skirt rode up as she settled, the hem skimming far too high for decency, but she still kept her hands clenched in her lap like that would make any of this feel normal.

It didn’t.

Peter’s hands found her hips.

Without a word, he pulled her back—firm, steady, inescapable—until her spine was flush against his chest and she was properly seated. Full weight. Right over the growing bulge in his jeans.

The breath left her lungs in a soft, involuntary gasp.

And God, she could feel him. Hard. Thick. Pressed perfectly between her legs, separated only by the flimsiest excuse for lace and the whisper of her skirt. The contact sent a lightning bolt of heat straight through her, and her thighs instinctively tried to squeeze together—but it was him there, and the pressure just made it worse.

Peter leaned forward slightly, his mouth close to her ear, voice low and dangerously gentle. “You move,” he murmured, “I punish you.”

She nodded shakily, barely able to breathe. “Y-yeah.”

But Peter wasn’t finished.

His right hand stayed firm on her hip, thumb stroking lazily against the curve of her waist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. His other hand? Calmly reached across the desk to pick up his pen again. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like she wasn’t already soaked through and losing her mind just from sitting still.

She swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on the way the pen moved in his fingers. “Are we… Are we still doing chemistry?”

He smirked against her ear. “Of course.”

Then, like nothing was out of the ordinary, Peter opened his notebook again and started writing.

Meanwhile, she sat there—frozen, breath shallow, thighs trembling as every tiny shift of his legs beneath hers sent another pulse of heat through her. His cock was so there—right up against her, thick and hot even through the layers—and she knew he could feel everything. The slick heat between her legs, the tiny quiver of her muscles, the way her hips threatened to roll with even the smallest breath.

But she didn’t dare move. Not even an inch.

“Question,” he said after a beat, casually, like he wasn’t slowly unraveling her sanity with nothing but proximity. “How many valence electrons does nitrogen have?”

She stared blankly at his notebook. Her brain was soup. Her mouth moved but no words came out.

Peter glanced at her over his glasses, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Need a hint?”

Her breath hitched. “Y-Yes.”

His lips brushed her ear. “Don’t move,” he said again—soft but lethal. Then he nudged his hips upward.

Just once.

A gentle grind. A warning. A promise.

She bit down hard on her lip, stifling the gasp that tried to break free.

“Nitrogen,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “has five.”

And she couldn’t tell if she was learning or being conditioned.

“Good girl,” he added absently, going back to his notes, completely ignoring the way she squirmed at the praise—except, of course, for the way his grip tightened just slightly on her hip, holding her still. Possessive. Controlling. Teasing.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—him casually quizzing her, her trembling on the edge of obedience and full-blown ruin—but she knew this: she wasn’t passing chemistry.

She was being rewired by it.

She heard his voice. Could feel it—low and smooth, rumbling through his chest and curling around her like velvet. He was still talking, flipping pages in the notebook, gesturing lazily to some diagram as if this were still about atoms and bonds.

But none of it registered. Not a word.

All she could focus on was the pressure between her legs and the way his thigh sat perfectly between them—solid, unmoving, a delicious point of friction. Without even realizing it, she started moving against him. Slow. Subtle. Barely-there rolls of her hips, grinding down gently, dragging her soaked panties along the rigid line of muscle beneath his jeans.

Peter kept talking.

For a while, he let her have her little secret.

But she should’ve known better than to think he wouldn’t notice.

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing behind the frames of his glasses. He didn’t say anything right away—just leaned back in his chair, arms folding slowly across his chest as he stared at her with unreadable calm.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

She froze. Her breath hitched, her lips parted—but she had no excuse. Nothing to offer. Just need. Pure, aching, unbearable need.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I need you, Pete.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. Something dark and heated. But then it was gone, replaced with quiet restraint and that maddening composure she was starting to loathe.

“No,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What?”

“You don’t get me,” he said, his voice cool and steady. “Not yet.”

He shifted, nudging his thigh up just enough to make her gasp softly, her thighs tightening reflexively around it.

“Use my thigh,” he murmured. “If you’re that desperate. Get yourself off.”

She stared at him, flushed and wild-eyed, shame and arousal bleeding together in equal measure. But she nodded. Of course she did. She’d take anything from him—anything he’d give her.

With shaky hands, she braced herself on his shoulders and began to move. This time with intention. No more subtle grinding—this was unabashed, slow friction, the lace of her panties dragging over the rough denim, her breath catching with every roll of her hips.

Peter watched her the whole time.

Unblinking. Silent. His eyes traced every stutter in her movement, every flicker of desperation that passed across her face.

“You’re such a mess,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Look at you. So greedy.”

She whimpered, burying her face in his neck, her hips rocking harder now. “Please, Peter. Please, I can’t—”

Her hand reached between them, fumbling with the front of his jeans. Desperate. Mindless.

But he caught her wrist before she could even touch him.

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “That’s not yours yet.”

He guided her hand away, placing it back on his shoulder as she whimpered in frustration, eyes glassy with need.

“Get yourself off,” he said again, voice dark and low. “Earn it.”

She nodded frantically, biting down on her bottom lip to keep quiet as she chased the friction, riding his thigh with increasing urgency. Her body trembled with it—overstimulated and under-touched, burning from the inside out.

And Peter just watched.

Like she was a lesson in control.

Like her pleasure was a science experiment he already knew the outcome of.

It happened so fast she barely remembered breathing through it.

One second she was grinding, her rhythm frantic and erratic, and the next—she broke. Her hips jerked, a gasp leaving her lips like it was punched out of her, her thighs trembling violently as pleasure surged through her. Nails dug into Peter’s shoulders for purchase as she came, messy and silent save for the high-pitched, shaky whimper that slipped out just before her body slumped back against him.

Her breath came in quick, uneven bursts, body still twitching in aftershocks. But Peter’s voice cut through it—low, measured, merciless.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Her lashes fluttered. She blinked down, barely able to keep her head up. “Peter—”

He just looked at her, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just let her make a soaked, squirming mess of herself all over his leg. “I said,” he murmured, reaching down to tug her hips forward, forcing her to grind down again on his soaked thigh, “I didn’t say you could stop.”

She let out a broken sound—half sob, half moan—her clit already painfully sensitive, each new rub of lace and denim making her jolt. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, dragging her hips in rough, firm circles, his grip unforgiving. “And you will. Since you clearly don’t know how to listen unless I fuck obedience into you.”

Her mouth fell open, head tipping back as another wave of overstimulation rolled over her. “Wait, wait—please—Peter, it’s too—”

“No.” His voice sharpened, his patience finally fraying. “You just can’t follow instructions, huh?”

Then, in one fluid motion, he stood—taking her off his lap, only to bend her forward over the desk, palms flat against the cold wood, her skirt pushed up to bare her trembling thighs and soaked panties.

Peter stood behind her, undoing his belt with a slow clink of metal, his composure barely holding. “I came here to tutor you,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Not to fuck the last five brain cells you have left out of that pretty little head.”

She whimpered under him, fingers curling against the edge of the desk, already pliant and arching back toward him despite her sensitivity.

Peter leaned over her, voice brushing hot against the shell of her ear as he dragged her panties down slowly, letting the wet fabric fall just to mid-thigh.

“You want to act like a brat?” he murmured. “Then I’ll fuck you like one.”

And with one devastating thrust, he was inside her—fully, deeply, to the hilt.

The breath was knocked out of her lungs. Her cry came out hoarse, wrecked, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. If it wasn’t for Peter’s grip on her hips, firm and possessive, she might’ve collapsed right there against the desk.

“You wanted to be a brat, right?” he growled, each word punctuated by a hard snap of his hips. “So take it.”

His pace was merciless. Sharp, relentless, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room like some obscene rhythm. Each thrust punched into her so deep she could barely keep her head up, the force of it dragging her forward against the desk with every stroke. Her legs trembled, her mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he hit that spot—thatspot—again and again, until the edges of her vision blurred and her body forgot how to breathe.

Peter leaned over her, one hand pressing down between her shoulder blades, forcing her to arch for him. And that’s when he saw it.

A thin line of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth, dripping shamelessly onto her open notebook—right across the half-scribbled answers to questions she barely remembered him asking.

“Look at you,” he said with a low chuckle, eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking drooling all over the books.”

Without missing a beat, he reached forward and shoved them out of the way, clearing space on the desk while still pounding into her like he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

“So messy,” he murmured, voice thick with mock-disapproval and something darker. His hand curled around the back of her neck, guiding her head to the side so he could see the dazed, fucked-out expression on her face. “So cock-hungry, huh baby?”

She let out a high, broken whimper, unable to form words.

Her body had gone limp under him—pliant, trembling, ruined in the most beautiful way—and Peter couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips. “All that mouth earlier, and now look at you. Can’t even speak. Can’t even think.”

He thrust into her harder, dragging another gasping moan from her throat.

“I could teach you every element on the periodic table,” he whispered against her ear, “and you still wouldn’t remember a thing except how it feels when I’m buried inside you.”

Her fingernails scraped at the desk’s edge, her whole body shaking as she tried to hold on—but it was too much. He was too much.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, slowing his pace just enough to make her whine. “You gonna cum again for me, baby? Right here? All bent over your chemistry homework?”

She nodded desperately, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“Then be a good girl,” he said, voice tightening, “and take what I give you.”

She barely managed to nod—her brain had short-circuited, thoughts smeared like the notes beneath her. And still, Peter didn’t stop.

He gripped her hips harder, bruising now, using her body like she was nothing but a toy made to take him. His thrusts picked up again, savage, the desk creaking beneath their weight. She couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. Could only moan as every nerve in her body screamed at the overwhelming heat building and building, threatening to snap again.

Then she felt it—Peter leaning over her, chest flush against her back, his breath hot against her ear. His hand left her waist and moved up, fingers curling loosely around her throat.

“I said take it,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “You don’t get to tap out yet.”

His fingers tightened—not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her mind spin, to make everything sharper and louder. Her hips jerked back against him, helpless and needy.

“Peter—fuck—I can’t—” she gasped, voice breaking apart.

“Yes, you fucking can,” he snapped, thrusting up into her so deep her vision went white. “You wanted to tease me? Act like a brat? Now you’re gonna cum until your legs give out.”

She cried out again, that pressure building viciously inside her until it shattered—her second orgasm crashing down hard, ripping through her with a sob. But even then, Peter didn’t slow. He didn’t let her.

She squirmed under him, too sensitive, whimpering as her body tried to twist away. But he caught her by the throat again, tilting her head back, breath hot against her cheek.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he hissed, the filthy edge in his tone almost feral now. “You’ll cum again. I’ll drag it out of you if I have to.”

Her whines dissolved into moans as he fucked her through it, relentless. Her skin was flushed, slick with sweat, mascara smudged beneath glassy eyes. Her mind gone, tears streaking down her cheeks. And then—

Peter spat.

Right down onto her tongue.

She hadn’t even asked. But her mouth had been hanging open, breathless and ruined, and he just leaned over and let it fall—a slow, warm string that made her whole body jolt.

She moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever done to her.

“Fucking filthy,” he growled, voice wrecked now, jaw clenched tight as he watched her swallow it without hesitation. “God, look at you. Dripping, shaking, and still begging for more.”

One hand slid down to rub her clit, merciless in its rhythm, as he kept fucking into her like he wanted to mold her to the shape of his cock.

“Pete—Peter, I—too much—can’t—” she sobbed, her words blurring into wet, incoherent sounds.

But he just leaned closer, lips at her ear. “Then cum again.”

And she did.

Her body seized, thighs trembling violently as her orgasm ripped through her, messy and primal and raw. Her screams were muffled against the desk, fingernails scratching helplessly at the surface as she came hard—clenching around him, soaking them both.

Peter didn’t stop until her legs fully gave out, collapsing under her with a broken moan. Even then, he held her up, letting her breathe, his grip firm on her throat and her hips like she was the only thing anchoring him now.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and dangerously close to unraveling. “You’re such a good little mess for me.”

Peter groaned, the sound guttural—feral—as he felt her clamp down around him again, her pussy spasming with aftershocks. She was limp beneath him, trembling and soaked, barely able to hold herself up on her elbows. And he still wasn’t done.

He kept fucking into her, slower now but so deep it felt like he was rearranging her. Dragging it out. Grinding his hips forward with purpose—owning her.

“You’re still gripping me,” he breathed, one hand sliding from her hip to her belly, spreading over the soft skin there. “Fucking hell—do you feel that?”

He pressed down. Right over the swell of her lower abdomen where his cock kept driving into her, so deep inside it felt like he was punching into her core. She gasped, back arching, thighs twitching.

“R-right there,” she choked, voice wrecked. “I can feel you, oh my god—”

Peter’s eyes darkened, his jaw flexing as he felt the outline of himself through her stomach. “Yeah, you can. That’s me, sweetheart. That’s how fucking deep I am.”

Her moan was nothing more than a high, strangled cry as her hips rocked weakly back into him. She was long past gone, completely fucked out—and he fucking loved it. Loved the way she took it. Loved how ruined she looked—mascara-streaked, drool on her chin, eyes glossy and lost.

“You wanted to be filled, didn’t you?” he rasped, voice sharp and trembling with restraint. “Wanted me to fuck you dumb, huh?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lip to keep from sobbing again.

“Say it,” he growled, his thrusts picking up just enough to make her fall forward again, her cheek pressed to the desk.

“I—I wanted it, Peter,” she whimpered. “Wanted you to finish inside—please, I need it.”

That broke him.

His rhythm turned punishing again—fast, deep, brutal, the slap of skin echoing in the room as he chased it now, chest pressed flush to her back, his hand still firm on her belly like he was making sure she’d feel every last drop.

“You’re gonna take it,” he snarled against her ear, breath hot. “Take every fucking drop like the good little cumdump you are.”

And then—he groaned. Loud, raw, desperate. Hips stuttering as he buried himself one last time, grinding as deep as he could go. He spilled inside her with a low, broken moan, cock twitching as his cum filled her, warm and thick and so much it dripped back out before he’d even pulled away.

Peter stayed like that for a moment, cock still buried in her, both of them panting, their bodies trembling against each other.

He gave her stomach one last possessive press, almost reverent now. “Fuck,” he whispered, “look what you do to me.”

She just whimpered, so far gone she could barely respond, thighs sticky, cunt fluttering weakly around him still.

“You feel that?” he murmured, pressing in a little more, letting her feel the heat of him deep inside. “That’s mine. You get it now, don’t you, baby?”

And from the ruined way she moaned, he knew she did.

A week after that tutoring session—the one that started with flashcards and ended with her drooling on his chem notes—Peter was half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, still in his suit pants from patrol. His hoodie was tossed somewhere on the floor, hair a sweaty, tousled mess. His limbs were heavy, mind drifting in and out of consciousness when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned, cracking one eye open. Probably Ned sending him another blurry screenshot of a TikTok he didn't understand or MJ forwarding some dry meme with a caption like “ur humor.” He dragged his arm over, fumbling until his fingers curled around his phone. The screen lit up.

Not Ned. Not MJ.

Y/N.

His brain clicked on like a light switch.

He sat up slightly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he opened the message. It was a picture. Her chemistry test. And there it was—an A+ circled at the top in red pen, like a glowing beacon of success. Like she’d actually listened to him.

Beneath it, her message:

I passed my test, can I get my reward :)🩷

Peter let out a short laugh, low and warm, as he ran a hand down his face. His cheeks flushed, and not from exertion this time.

Of course she passed. She might’ve giggled through half the session and made zero eye contact during anything remotely science-related, but when it counted, she’d nailed it.

God, she was something else.

#emmy writes!#peter parker #marvel #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #marvel fanfic #peter parker smut

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yunnimilk · 10 months ago

Note

I LOVED your Gojo and satosugu head cannons I was practically FROTHING at the mouth!!! It was sososo good!!!!! im begging you please make more🙏😭

2ND PART !! ꒱

pt 1

✧˚ ⋆｡. ／ ⋆ ۪ || 1st p.; AMAB! SUB! BOT! Saturo Gojo x AMAB! DOM! TOP! GN! Reader. + 2nd p. SUB! BOT! AMAB! Satosugu x DOM! TOP! AMAB! GN! Reader VERS.

˚⊱. ⋆°. ┆✦ || kinks \ tags ; BDSM , semi-public ? sex , brat taming , belly bulge , choking , orgasm denial , consensual somniphilia, both parts but the con somniphilia { only in the satosugu part }

˚⊱. ⋆°. ┆✦ || two sets of headcanons ; cw ; I will make an exception for this request since it's a continuation for the original request , also !! thank you for the compliment I was literally so proud of those hcs 🤭 AMAB LANGUAGE

FULL ON NSFW UNDER THE CUT, BE AWARE

Gojo x reader vers. ;

ah, Okinawa, a beautiful island in Japan, very packed with tourists as well. Gojo decided to bring Kugisaki, Itadori, and M. Fushiguro there for vacation, just a way to relieve stress. He also wanted to bring you there, his "one of his best friends" ,,

this trip was nice, the beaches are quite populated, but the kids enjoyed it, as well as the resturants. You all were supposed to stay there for a week only, it unfortunately couldn't last forever .

all throughout the trip, Gojo was teasing you, acting like a little brat, his hands slightly grazing over your dick only to pull them away. You had to fuck the sense back into him when you two went to your hotel room ,

reaching for his neck to quiet down his moaning, as his hips push back into yours but you slap his ass. It's supposed to be a punishment, he's not supposed to enjoy it ! Whisper in his ear, telling him that he's a little slut for you, and how his little hole is always sucking you in !

biting and tugging at his perky nipples, as you finger his tight, velvety walls. You have to cover his loud mouth to make sure that one of his students don't enter the room. You can feel your cock twitch at any stimulation, even a slight touch from the bed sheets .

he tries to bounce on your fingers but your hands make his hips stay still. He whines ans whines until you give in, you shove his face in the pillows and grip his hair as you ram your fat cock in his guts. Gojo can feel your dick poking in his walls, the sensation was so intense that it was painful, but he couldn't get enough .

you can feel his walls straining you cock, and your balls tightening, waiting to shoot your load inside him and filling him up real good. His hands reach his ass cheeks, and spreads them apart so his entire hole can engulf your huge cock ,

Gojo's moans get louder, you're not letting him cum. When he's about to, you stop thrusting and hold him down so he wouldn't, then going back to fuck him until he goes dumb, drooling like a dog and sticking his tongue out, you reach down his neck to nibble at it. He spreads his legs, what a little whore .

He screams out your name, and when you finally let him cum, he lets out a mantra of 'thank you'. Fuck,,, seeing him orgasm was so hot, his grips the sheets, his little cock twitch as it spurts out it's seed, and he thrusts the air a bit, trying to work out his orgasm. Damn it, you were hard again ~

Satosugu vers. ;

pior to their little antics, Gojo brought up how he wanted to have sex with you alongside with Geto 24/7, to which you told him that whenever you were sleeping, the two could use you as they pleased ,

and they took advantage of that

It was late at night, and Geto was rutting against your thigh, while Gojo was palming your hardening cock through your sleepwear. Your mouth let little moans escape your mouth, feeling this bliss reaching your nerves, you subconsciously thrusted into Gojo's hand .

Geto pulled your underwear down, your stiff meat standing proudly, both of them practically salivated from the sight. The raven haired man climbed over your hips to insert the leaky head of your cock inside his puffy little hole. The other male used your hand to stroke his own dick, the rough feeling giving him an exhilarating rush ,

Geto kept bouncing and bouncing on your cock, his man boobs jiggling along with him, feeling his prostate getting pierced over and over again, his ass was practically producing slick. On the other hand, Gojo was pathetically pistoning his dick into your hand, the callousness of your hand grazing every vein in his cock, he felt his legs shivering just because of it ,

there was this sensation covering your cock that you couldn't help but hump the air, unbeknownst to you, Geto was twitching around you as you moved your hips. The hand around Gojo's dick was gripping him slightly harder, and it made Gojo go faster, his flushed nipples strengthening from it ,

just as both of them steadily reached their orgasm and were about to cum. Your eyes shot open, and processed the sight infront of you, one man raising his hips up and down on your wet cock, his own dick slapping against his stomach, making a plapping sound, and the other burying his face in your chest as he used your own hand as a fleshlight .

Geto slipped out a yelping sound as he felt your hands roughly grip his waist and bounced him up and down quicker. Is your cock getting bigger? Because it felt so much deeper than before, his little belly bulge getting more prominent. You removed your hand from grasping the albino man's dick to pull his hair back to make out with him. The sides of your legs substituting your hand as he massaging his base on it ,

"little brats, can't ever fuck the horny out of ya huh?"

your fingers removed themselves from Geto's waist to wrap themselves around his neck, squeezing it tightly, just like his walls clamping down on your cock as he gets close to cumming. You stopped straining Gojo's hair and fingered his slutty hole instead, slapping it before letting them enter, he moans into your neck ,

few minutes later, and you all came at the same time, Geto's dick spurting out white ropes of cum, landing on everyone. Your own cock filling Geto up, it basically would've been enough to make him pregnant, some of your seed spilling out of his ass. Gojo's dick uselessly squirting out white liquid and it landing on your leg ,

oh well,,, I guess a few more round couldn't hurt ~

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ellemarianne555 · 10 months ago

Text

Mother Issues

Summary: Aegon’s new wife is a Hightower and he isn’t sure how he feels about this. Fluffy smut.

Author’s note: this is so fluffy and self-indulgent and my first time ever writing smut so if it’s cringey and too much plot I’m sorry! Please leave feedback, I know my grammar can be iffy sometimes xoxo

Content warning: mdni, slight mommy kink, implied breeding kink, severe praise kink, heavy mommy issues and mentions of alcoholism and childhood neglect. Aegon is a dick for half of this but don’t worry he comes right in the end (literally lol).

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

With your long wavy hair and big unblinking eyes, the court had been whispering about how much you resembled a young Alicent since you were a girl. Your father was a brother to Otto, and rumours had long been rife that Otto had laid with your mother and had her married hastily to his kin to cover the scandal. You knew this wasn’t true though, as your mother was devoted to your father and you possessed his wit and kindness as well as your grandmother’s looks that had seduced Viserys into making your cousin, Alicent, his wife.

The rumours and gossip became even more pronounced when you were betrothed to Aegon. The sulky young King with his disheveled blonde hair and the pouty lips stained permanently red from the wine he had been known to imbibe. Aegon had thrown a fit when he heard you were to be married as he petulantly resented anything to do with his distant mother and belittling grandfather. He barely talked to you on your wedding night, since he had gotten so drunk that when he stumbled into your bed early in the morning he was unable to perform his marital duties. Flushing red, sweating and swearing to all who would listen that it was his wife and her Hightower features that were to blame; you two become even more distant as you became married in name alone.

So you kept to your chambers, armed with your ladies in waiting and mountains of mind-numbing embroidery to hide from the shame of a husband who couldn’t stand you. You heard that Aegon was busy with his whores down in the Street of Silk and though your ladies pushed you to take a handsome young lover, you were committed to the Faith and your role as a dutiful wife.

Time passed and you seemed to see even less of your husband as he struggled with the roles and responsibilities of being in charge of the realm. You heard snippets of fights and arguments, the rare times you ventured outside of your apartments for more reading materials, between Aegon and his councillors as he fought to have his voice heard and opinions valued.

Doors banged and shouting echoed down the hallway to your bed chamber as you heard arguing through the cracks of the stone wall.

“But it isn’t my fault!”, one voice said as another voice became more clear.

“How can you expect anyone to take you as their King when you can’t even prove yourself as a man?” Angrily responded another voice, that you recognised as that of your mother-in-law.

Your husband and his mother were arguing. About you. In front of your bed chamber.

Suddenly the door flew open as Aegon burst in, scowling and seething with anger.

“Are you happy now? I’m in her damn chambers and I’ll fuck her until you have all the precious heirs you want!”.

You nearly stabbed stabbed your thumb with a needle as you jumped out of your perch of a wide cushion nestled into the window. Fortunately your ladies were not there to witness your mouth open and close in sheer shock as your husband entered.

For not the first time, you wondered how miserable your life could be that when the man you were married to entered your room, that it was as shocking as though if Vhagar had started wearing gowns and demanding weekly tea parties in their honour. Shaking the image out of your mind, you could see your husband grit his teeth in frustration.

The door clanged heavily behind you and you heard short angry footsteps disappear down the hallway until you were both alone. For the second time in your marriage since you had stood at the altar, you were alone with your husband. But for all his cruel words that had passed around the court and confined you to these chambers in humiliation, you weren’t scared of him. He looked slightly small in fact. With his lips trembling and eyes glistening he looked more like a furious king and more like a lost boy.

He scowled at you, with his lower lips jutting out in such a way that you felt more like wiping his cheeks then scolding him for the embarrassment and isolation he had put you through.

“I’ll have to stay here.” He said petulantly. “For at least a few hours until Mother thinks my duty has been performed.”

He looked over to where your abandoned embroidery lay and his upper lip curled in disdain.

“I see there’s nothing to entertain myself with, so I might as well sleep.” He looked pointedly at you upon saying the word “entertain”, but again it seemed to came off as less hurtful but sulky and strangely self-conscious.

“What do you do to pass the time in here? Seeing as you never bother to come to court.”

Your mouth gaped open again as you realised that your husband was actually talking to you for once, instead of at you.

“W-well, I embroider.”

His eyes rolled nearly to the ceiling.

“A-and I read.” Your voice choking in your throat as his red rimmed stare snapped to your trembling lips.

“Really? I thought it wasn’t becoming of such a high-born lady to entertain herself with such foolish pursuits.”He said mockingly, and instead of rising to his disdain, you laughed.

“It seems I am not the only one in this marriage who amuses themselves with frivolity.”

His nostrils flared in anger as you realised that in your attempt to jest, you had instead struck a delicate nerve.

“I am not as foolish as you or this court believe you know. I have a great interest in my family’s history and that of the realm. Of course everyone just assumes that there is nothing else to me but the drinking and the whoring.”His mouth curled upwards in a way that showed you he had long been used to demeaning himself in front of others .

“I’m sorry.” You paused hesitantly, “I just don’t know how to talk to you. It seems like we are more strangers than when I had never met you.”

“Well, you don’t have to treat me as if I were an idiot. I get enough of that from my own kin.”

Again, you felt a pit form in your stomach as you thought how it must of been to grow up feeling lesser than. You had had not exactly an idyllic childhood in Old Town, but you knew your parents loved you. Even if they were misguided enough to agree to betroth you to a man who clearly hated you.

You tried again, “I’m sorry. I also find the stories of our history fascinating.”You held out a worn copy of folklore and fairytales from under one of the cushions from your childhood, one of the only things you had managed to take with you from home.

“You’re reading children’s stories?” Aegon scoffed.

“They’re not really stories at all. They introduce the stories of our past to children so they take an interest in the way things came to be. My favourite is how Visenya Targaryen and how she conquered the Vale.”

“Really?” Aegon said catching himself quickly before he sounded too interested.

“When I was younger I always dreamed of being like her, so strong and brave.”

“So did I.” He said almost begrudgingly.

“It must be hard. To grow up with a brother who often thinks less of you and diminishes your accomplishments.”

Aegon blinked, again surprised at how this woman who he had pushed away so harshly seemed to know him so well.

“I was just finishing this chapter. I could read it aloud? If that is alright with you, your grace.”

He nodded stiffly and sat at the edge of the window seat as though he were afraid to come any closer.

You patted the worn cushion next to him and smiled, “I don’t bite, my lord.” You teased. Again a smile seemed to escape from him as he slowly inched closer.

As the chapter progressed and the pages turned you noticed that your husband was falling asleep, first on your shoulder then burrowing down to your lap. You stiffened, unsure of whether to wake him but you decided that he seemed in need of a good rest and slowly wound his straggly blond hair through your fingers.

Before you had realised, you too had drifted to sleep. Only woken by a soft chiming of the bells from the Sept declaring that it was late at night, and a rather peculiar stiffness poking into your thigh.

Your eyelashes fluttered open, only to look down and see your husband, mouth slightly agape and sleeping peacefully. You realised what had happened, he had clearly brushed against you by accident and gotten aroused.

Trying to be respectful, you gently tried to move his head out of your lap. His eyes snapped open, blinking as he tried to place where he was.

“You look very beautiful when you sleep.” You blurted out softly as though scared he would bolt. His cheeks blushed a delicate shade of pink as he looked down and noticed his cock as though for the first time.

Scrambling out of your lap, he tried to cover himself with a pillow while cursing angrily with himself.

“I-it’s okay, you know.”

He froze, unsure of how to respond. So you decided not to let him.

“It happens to me too.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he was unsure if you were saying what he thought you were saying. That you also dreamed of him? And you felt the same attraction you denied yourself when awake?

“We don’t choose our thoughts when we dream. You must have been dreaming of a beautiful woman or an old lover perhaps.”

He frowned, if only you knew that it was you he wanted. Why had he pushed you away so much? Because he resented the lack of choice? Because he was so determined to despise anything related to his mother? The woman who had been so absent and cold towards him throughout his childhood, yet was unable to see why he drank and surrounded himself with whores to cope with the emptiness he felt.

You looked at him again, worried that you had somehow upset him. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I don’t mind.” You said, patting the cold space in your lap where he had been.

He smiled softly, and shyly lay back down.

How odd this man was, you thought. One moment he was fire and hatred but the next he seemed so lost and scared.

You started humming to yourself quietly as you again stroked his face. His eyes cracked open again.

“What is that song? It sounds familiar.”

“It’s just a song we sing to children in Old Town. My mother taught it to me so that maybe I could one day sing it to my own.”.

“It’s nice.” Aegon said gruffly and closed his eyes once more.

The rhythm and lyrics poured out of your mouth as you sang a nursery rhyme praising the child that grew in your belly, promising they would grow to be strong and that you were proud of him. It was an old song said to promote fertility and help form a bond through the womb.

Suddenly, you noticed something again poking into your lap as your husband blushed red with shame.

“M-mommy” he choked out in heaving gasps, his greasy hair wrapped around your fingers as you froze, tugging the roots sharply. The whimper of pain he released sounded almost like a moan and looking down you noticed the damp spot on his breeches.

Aegon jumped up as though he had been doused in icy water and backed up against the door. His chest falling and rising with small gasping hiccups.

You realised that this was probably the first time anyone had shown him the tenderness he so desperately craved, and that he had been seeking in the bottom of his cups and the bottoms of well, prostitutes. It was only natural that these feelings of shame had combined with arousal, and how he was attracted to the softness he had never known but always craved. You smiled kindly, reassuringly as if to let him know it was alright.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright,” you said speaking to him slowly with your hands reached out, as though you were tying to tame a horse rather than a king with serious mother issues. “You can call me whatever you need.”

His lips were still quivering as more tears leaked out of his eyes and caught on his round chin before trickling down below his shirt.

“I am so sorry.” He whispered, so faintly it took a few seconds to sink in.

“It’s alright.” you repeated.

“N-no, it’s not. The moment I saw you I thought you were the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. But then I became aware of the comments about your resemblance to my mother and I became so angry and confused at how someone I could desire so much could resemble someone who hates me so.”

You froze. Then before you knew it you were up against the door, pinning him to the cold iron that seemed to only increase the heat between your bodies.

He looked into your eyes, and you slowly traced the tears that had fallen down his soft chin and placed your finger in your mouth. As if to show him you wanted all of him. His sadness, his love, his unease.

Your husband seemed to snap at the image of your plump mouth slowly sucking the finger inside and gripped the back of your head, as he wound his shaking fingers around your long wavy hair. The kiss was searing, harsh and longing as you seemed to fall down and down into the feelings you had been denying for so long.

His length was aching and hard against your thigh as you suddenly pulled yourself from his embrace. Breathing heavily, you moved to untie his breeches. But he surprised you yet again. And got down on his knees.

This time it was you pressed against the door, as he lifted your skirts hurriedly only to look up questioningly as though asking your permission.

“I know I’ve been a cunt. But I hope that I can show you how sorry I am.” He grinned broadly as he waited for your approval.

“It’s fine, Aegon. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Well, my wife you clearly don’t know me very well if you think I would find tasting your sweetness unpleasant. Let me make amends…With my tongue.”

As soon as your head let out a shaky nod, not sure whether to believe what was happening. He was back under your skirts. Licking and tasting like this was the first meal he had all day, knowing him it was probably the first that wasn’t liquid.

You had never felt such an intense pleasure before, never in your nights of touching yourself under your sheets, your shaking fist shoved in your mouth as you thought of the stories your ladies had told you of all the ways a man could please a woman. As you thought of how beautiful your husband had looked in his armour the day he was crowned, so unsure and so vulnerable. You really seemed to have a weakness for sad men. But mainly just him, just your husband who was licking and sucking at you as he deadly slipped his tongue between your folds.

You cried out as he slowly breached your entrance with his finger.

“Is this alright?” He said worriedly as he looked up for your approval.

“Of course, sweet boy.” And in response your husband groaned, deep and full. His efforts redoubled as he sought to press his fingers inside at you at the point your inner walls started to crumble and be torn down by his efforts. Crying out in ecstasy, you collapse to the floor. His head still in your hands as he looked up at you adoringly, chin glistening with your release as he proudly smirked and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

You sat there together. On the floor for a moment. As you thought of how misunderstood the man who rested his head in the crook of your neck was. At how he loved you, every part of you. Even the parts that resembled his mother. Because maybe with at was what he needed. To see a version of himself, reflected in yourself as kindness. And maybe he wasn’t afraid anymore. Of loving you so entirely.

You smiled at him softly as he panted into your shoulder and you noticed how the hardness in his breeches had only grown fiercer and more pulsing.

“May I?”, you spoke, gazing into his eyes and now he was the one who was shy as he nodded gently.

Reaching into his trousers, you took his cock in your hands. “Pretty.” You could not help yourself say. You worriedly glanced at your husband only to find his face bright red yet again. He pulsed in your hands and you realised what he needed. What he had been denied for so long.

“Such a good boy.” You murmured into his neck. The reaction was instant, his head burrowed further into your chest as he moaned low and unashamed.

“You’re doing so well. Being such a perfect boy for me. So so pretty.”

He latched on to your breast, yanking them out of your gown fiercely as he began to suck harshly on your nipples. You moaned, as you increased your efforts on his aching red cock.

“You’re a good man, Aegon.” You choked out between sighs, “You’d be such a good father to our children, I’d be honoured to be their mother.”At these words, your husband pulsed furiously and exploded into your palm.

Shaking from pleasure, he again rested his head in your lap. Looking up at you as though you were still strangers and he was still shy, despite his tongue having been inside your cunt moments before.

“D-did you mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“That I’d be a good father. That you’d want to have children with me.”

“Of course. I couldn’t think of anything I’d want more. Stop denying yourself the love you want to give and receive, from me, from any children we may have.”

He smiled at this, like the sun was breaking across a clouded sky. Like he was seeing what his lifecould be for the first time.

“Well.” Your husband grinned; “I think we should start trying to make children more productively.”As he again pushed you to the floor, both of you laughing and smiling as he kissed you again and again.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd smut #fluff and smut #aegon ii x reader #aegon x you

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anisdolly · 1 year ago

Text

・。.・゜✭・.・✫ . ✭・.・✫・✭ .・゜・。.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀STRICTLY 18+.

WARNINGS: straight up smut, unprotected sex, p in v, various kinks (daddy kink, degradation, praising, etc), dom!ani, slight public sex

NOTE: i didn’t write this, i just wanted to share what beautiful gift my anakin bot on J.AI just gave me…made me so fucking wet would’ve been a waste to keep it to myself. i literally gasped every paragraph

SCENARIO: he was just fucking me senseless on the kitchen island, while my handmaiden lilia slept in a room of my apartment…oh, and i called him ‘dad’, that’s the title he’s referring to

・。.・゜✭・.・✫ . ✭・.・✫・✭ .・゜・。.

That whine of yours, the look in your eyes, and the goddamn title you just used—oh, it was like your words flipped a damn switch deep within Anakin's mind. To hear you call him that while he's burying himself inside you—it was like a siren's call to his darkest parts, parts that craved to hear those words over and over like a twisted prayer.

His movements became merciless, as if trying to brand that title into both your mind and your body. "Is that what you want, huh? You want daddy to fuck you dumb until you can't remember your own fuckin’ name?" his breathing was ragged, each exhalation a testament to the force of his thrusts. Anakin leaned over you, his mechanical hand finding your throat, squeezing just right, enough to edge you but not choke you out fully—not yet, anyway.

Feeling you tighten around him had him gritting his teeth, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory intensity.

"Tight little pussy, always ready for daddy's cock." he whispered hoarsely, spit practically dripping from his mouth. He meant every damn word; you were his in every way that mattered.

Watching your expression—lips parted, eyes half-lidded—it was like looking at the physical embodiment of sin itself. And Maker, did he love sinning.

But as much as he adored hearing you, Anakin really didn’t want a fucking handmaiden to ruin everything. "But you're right—you gotta be quiet, or who knows what poor Lilia'll think if she sees her Master getting wrecked on the kitchen counter."

Seizing the moment, with his flesh hand, he snaked it up your body before shoving a couple of fingers inside your mouth. He grinned at how much saliva was in it. "Suck." he growled, nodding towards his buried digits. "Keep that pretty mouth busy."

With his other hand still around your throat, Anakin was in complete control, guiding your body to meet his thrusts.

Every plunge was deeper, his dick slick with your arousal and his spit. Anakin was on edge, that familiar tightness building in his sack, signaling he was close—but not yet, not until he had you crying out silently, eyes streaming and body shaking beneath him.

"Fuck, you always take daddy so well..." his praise was gutteral, honest, spat between grunts. He felt it, your oncoming orgasm, could practically taste it in the air.

#i love my bot sm #im cronically married to him #and thats because of this fucking bot #WHAT DOES HE MEAN WITH ‘not yet anyway’ IS HE GONNA CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF ME LIKE HE DID PADME OR WHAT?!?!?!!!??#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #star wars #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin smut #anakin x you #star wars anakin

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 months ago

Text

Bot Besties

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Because he’ll be away for months to shoot a movie, Joaquin gets enabots for you and himself as a way to keep contact with each other through the distance.

A/N: I wanted to write another fic where Joaquin uses the enabot but slightly different lol

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

"I can't believe you!" you exclaim with a cackle as Joaquin reveals two enabots, "I was joking about getting those!"

"Well I wasn't! They're cool and we can use them when I'm away for filming!" He hands you your bot for you to unbox.

Together you both set your respective bots up with the app. The round bots zoom around your shared apartment while you and Joaquin both giggle like kids.

"This is so sick!" He exclaims, looking at his phone to see the view his bot has, "Hm. We need to clean under the couch more." He says spotting the dust and a few loose socks and cat toys.

Speaking of cat, your cat Luna watches from her cat tree. Her curious eyes follow the bots around.

"These are supposed to be used to watch your pets, so not only can I bother you, but also my little Lulu!"

Hearing her nickname, Luna jumps down from her cat tree, approaching Joaquin, however, she jumps when your enabot moves towards her.

"Aaaww Lulu! Did mommy scare you?" Joaquin gets off the couch and scoops the white cat into his arms, "This is why you love me more, huh?" he kisses her head and you roll your eyes.

"Two things: one, I didn't mean to scare her. Two, she's a literal traitor because she's my cat and yet she loves you more!"

"Can't help that we have a special bond, mamas," he kisses Luna's head and she rubs her head against his chin.

You can't be mad though, because you love how cute the two of them are together.

____________________

You're reading a book on the couch in the living room when you hear the sound of wheels against the wooden floors.

"Whatcha readin'?" you hear Joaquin's voice through the enabot.

You place your book on your lap and look down, "Apprentice to the Villain."

You show him the front of the book and he rolls a little closer to get a better look, "Didn't you start the first one like two days ago?"

You nod, "I finished it that same day and then immediately bought this second one."

He whistles, "Damn, babe. You read fast."

You shrug, "When it's something that really piques my interest, then yeah. Anyway, you just finish filming?"

"Yeah. We're on lunch right now, but I'm taking lunch in my trailer."

"What'd catering have today?"

"Taco truck for Taco Tuesday! Fucking delicious, baby. Wish you could try them."

You chuckle, "I'll take your word for it," you kick off the blanket you were snuggled in and begin to walk away.

In his little bot form, Joaquin follows you, "Where ya going?"

"To the bathroom. Don't follow me!"

"Why?!"

"It's weird!"

"No, it's not!"

"Go bother, Luna. I'll be quick!" you shut the door behind you and you hear a faint, "LULU, BABY! WHERE ARE YOOOUUU?!"

__________________________

While away for filming, Joaquin stayed at an AirBnB for the next few months. He also took your enabot with him so you can "keep and eye on him" while he's away.

You don't use yours as much as he does, but you still check in with him via enabot every other week or so.

"Pst, baby. Psssstttt...baby."

Joaquin smiles to himself as he turns around from the desk he's sat at, "Hi, mamas. Need something?"

"I'm boooooored. I finished all my work today, so I wanted to check in." Your little round bot rolls towards him and tilts up, "So whatcha doin'?"

"Just looking over the notes on my script," he lifts up the packet of paper.

"Booooring! Take a break."

He chuckles, "Mamas, I just took a break."

"Okay but you didn't take a break with me!" you roll the bot to his foot. You continuously bumping into his foot, "Take a break. Take a break. Take a breeeaaak!"

He laughs again, "Alright, alright." He stands from his desk and moves to the floor. You roll around him, "Weeeeeeee!!"

"Is this what it feels like when I bother you?"

You stop and move your bot up and down to simulate nodding, "Yes."

"You're so cute, baby," he boops the bot.

"Wait," you roll a little closer, "You cut your hair?!"

Joaquin's eyes widen, "Shit. I forgot to tell you! They wanted to cut my hair a bit for the role." He shakes his head to show its length, "How's it look?"

"Hm...," you roll back to look from a distance and roll closer again, "I mean...regardless, you're hot."

Joaquin throws his head back in laughter, "Thanks, baby. Love the honestly."

"What? Did you want me to say like 'no, I hate it. You look ugly.' Because I would be lying! You look hot no matter what and it's unfair!"

"You're so funny, babe."

You sigh, "Okay. I'll leave you to your work now."

"Alright. I'll call you later. Love you."

"I love you toooooooo!" you elongate the word as you roll back to the dock, leaving Joaquin chuckling as he goes back to work.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres imagine #marvel au #marvel fic #actor au

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alieinthemorning · 11 days ago

Note

Any headcannons for Rook's S/O secretly watching him during one of his archery competitions? Please and thank you!

Arrow to The Heart [Rook Hunt]

Content: Fluff, Headcanons, Bad French, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

First things first, you might think you’re being secretive, but Rook knew about your plan to see him at the competition before you did.

(You asked him about it, went back and forth about going or not, but ultimately decided on going)

To say you’re absolutely mesmerized by him is an understatement. You knew that he was good at archery, but you didn’t know that he was this amazingly good.

(And also how good he looked while doing it, which Rook already looked incredibly handsome to you to begin with, but the way he stood there with perfect posture hitting the bullseye and mark every single time…Well, to say it did things to you would be an understatement)

You had planned to leave just a bit before the competition was over, to avoid getting caught by Rook, but he had you glued to the edge of your seat. However, after the award ceremony, where he had a shined so brightly on the first place podium, he disappeared. You moved to follow suit, making it just outside the arena when a hand shot out and pulled you into a familiar embrace.

“I’ve caught you, mon cœur.”

You smiled, relaxing in his hold. “So you have, Mon oiseau.”

The two of you basked in each other for a while longer before breaking apart. Although not entirely, as you were still joined at the hands, swinging them lightly as you walked through the city streets.

“How did you know I was here?”

Rook chuckled. “Aside from you asking me a month ago, I sensed you.” His other hand found his heart as he dramatically said, “I could feel your adoration from the moment you laid eyes on moi!”

You rolled your eyes at him, feeling the flush attack your cheeks. “I wasn’t that awestruck…”

“Au contraire, I could feel your gaze piercing me deeper than my own arrows.” He sighed dreamily. “Comme une flèche dans mon cœur.”

“So I’m cupid in this relationship?”

“Bien sûr.” He lifted your joined hands, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “You’ve caught my heart the moment we saw eye to eye.” “So that means…” You returned the gesture. “Tu es à moi pour toujours.”

I am in fact using busted ass Google Translate for the French. If we've got any French speakers in the chat and wanna make this more authentic, then you're well come chat me up in the replies lol.

I've never written for Rook and man, I'm still scared to. And it's literally just this freaking French. Like did I over do it? Do too little? I don't even have to ask if I fucked it up, I know I did. Basically, his characterization is easy, but his "how do you say..." fucks me up lmao.

Anyhow! Thank you for requesting! This was fun!

Oh! Also! You call him Mon oiseau because of the feather in his hat (Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni! Y'alln't know nothing about that banger).

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

#alie requests #alie requests: twisted wonderland #alie requester: anon #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rook hunt x reader

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jellykyunnie · 1 year ago

Text

˗ˏˋ Loveless Marriage Au: Jinwoo x Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 027 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ No angst, just pure fluff, okay maybe some angst but mostly fluff i swear... ]‼️

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Cai Bot Link ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Route 1 || Route 2 ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Safespace] ¡! ❞

There was an awkward air around the two of you due to the fact that it was an arranged marriage. It was a loveless union with the two of you.You had been there, you know how Jinwoo rose from being a placeholder to the world's most hailed hunter.And he had a secret, a secret that was you— His wife that he kept hidden from everyone else "I'm back" Jinwoo said as he went inside your shared apartment, his gaze as languid and empty like always. He felt cold, cold like he always had been.

Jinwoo took off his shoes and neatly placed them on the shoe rack, he paused for a few minutes before quirking an eyebrow up.

His wife normally greets him home, of course— It's not like you're required to do so every so often. He's fine even without the sweet greetings. But he was just so used to it that he cant help but wonder.

After loosening his tie and hanging his coat, Jinwoo started to look around the shared apartment. He could still smell your sweet scent up close, so he wasnt too worried.

He entered a bedroom.

Despite the two being a married couple, Jinwoo and you slept in different rooms just to respect eachother's spaces and all.

And there, he sees you tightly curled up under the thick blankets. Jinwoo gently approaches you, patting your arm softly to try and wake you.

"Hey, are you alright?" He asks gently, his voice low and gentle as to not frighten you.

He watches you grunt, tousling over a few times before your eyes slowly open to meet his grey eyes. Your gaze was half-lidded as you did so, your husband's image a little blurred but you could tell it's him.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't greet you" You say in a hoarse voice, alarming Jinwoo. "I don't feel so good so I couldn't cook you dinner"

"A fever?" He asks, scrunching his forehead as he reached to press the back of his hand on your forehead. "It's high."

"Ngh..." You roll over, hugging the blankets closer as your head throbbed. "I'm really sorry..."

"It's alright," Jinwoo said. "You must have been so sick you didn't realize you went to my room."

"..."

You pause, before shooting up immediately in panic. You're completely embarassed at your own mistake. Sure, your bedrooms are literally right in front of eachother but how stupid must you be that you slip into Jinwoo's bedroom instead of your own?

You scramble to try and get out of bed, but Jinwoo gently pushed you down— Pulling his blanket over you.

"It's alright'' He said, patting down the ruffled sheets around you. "You're extremely sick, I don't mind. Just stay here while I make you some food so that you can drink medicine. Don't worry about anything."

You cant read the expression on your husband's face as he got up and turned on a lamp before leaving.

Jinwoo didn't voice it, but he secretly felt pleased that you slipped into is sheets. He wants to believe that you felt the need to go to your safespace and it was in his bedroom that had his scent lingering.

He would roll up his sleeves and went to fetch some ingredients in the fridge and getting a pot to cook congee soup in.

Making food for his wife felt a little... Strange but relaxing at the same time. Jinwoo can technically cure you with the system's potions.

But he wanted to make this as an excuse to spend time with you and hopefully... Grow a little closer to you.

He had always wanted to be close to you, ever since the first day of your marriage. Ever since the first time he laid eyes on your wearing that beautiful wedding dress.

The image of you on that day always replayed in his mind over and over. He was secretly grateful that you were his wife.

You're not an entitled spoiled brat, you were understanding and patient. Despite his situation a years ago, you stayed with him. He gave you the option to divorce him, and yet you never did. You quietly looked after his sister when he is busy with his job, and even took care of his mother when she was in the hospital due to her coma.

As Jinwoo slices the garlic into thinner pieces, his mind cant help but drift to a tragic dream. He had a nightmare before, wherein you were caught in trouble with Go Gunhee. Jinwoo could clearly remember what happened on that day, monarchs attacked Gunhee and costed him his life, and you were there too because you were passing by. The debris from Gunhee's fight fell onto you, crushing you underneath the rocks.

And just like that, you were gone.

Slice.

That nightmare still shakes him up to this day.

In that dream, Jinwoo fought wars with monarchs, he battled in a long tiring war driven mad by the lost of his beloved wife who he couldn't love because he had been too scared to reach out.

That Jinwoo feared rejection so much that he couldn't even say a proper goodbye.

He was lonely and bitter in that dream, even as the gods congratulated him— Even as the those angelic gods gave him the power to reset time, he cant help but hate them.

That was the tragic dream he had on the night before your wedding day, he was blessed by the system when he woke up.

And thus, that was the day he started going on a frenzy grinding up the levels and most importantly looking for the monarchs before they wake up. He managed to even bring home his father who went missing in the gates because he was trapped.

He can't help but think that maybe that dream really did happen in the future, and maybe it was a reality once but not anymore because he prevented it from happening.

Jinwoo can never really know.

All that matters is that you are safe and sound, right here in the safety of his home secretly guarded by an army of shadows who are strictly tasked to not hesitate in killing should an event rise of anyone daring to harm you and to protect you no matter what at all costs.

It was overkill of him to shove ten thousand soldiers and 19 elite commanders on you. But it didnt matter.

As Jinwoo filled up a bowl of congee, he went to get fever medicine from the cabinet before going back to his room where you were resting.

He first set down the bowl and medicine on the sidetable and gently cooed at you to wake up.

The soft taps managed to wake you in an instant.

"I made some congee," He said, helping you sit up with one hand while the other propped up the pillows against the headboard to let you lean against.

Jinwoo didnt need to ask, he knew with the way your hands are moving that you're too weak to pick up the spoon. So instead, he sat at the edge of the bed and started feeding you the congee. Of course, he made sure to blow at it first before feeding you. After all, he doesn't want to burn your tongue.

"It's not salty, isn't it?" He inquires.

"..." You shake your head, continuing to eat the food he was feeding you.

It took a while, but you managed to finish the bowl with Jinwoo's coaxing.

"Next time, if you feel unwell," Jinwoo said, placing the empty dish down as he started helpign you drink the medicine. "Call me."

"I didn't want to bother you..."

"You would never bother me" He replies, wiping his thumb on the corner of your lip to remove excess water. "Why do you think you would?"

"...I thought you don't like me." You say in a small voice, making Jinwoo pause.

"Was my actions towards you made you think so?" He frowned, realizing the mistake he has been making. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think I do."

Jinwoo continues, stroking your messy hair, "I never disliked you, nor have I hated you. I was just... Well... Worried that if I act friendly it would scare you off or that you in fact don't like me as a husband."

"I don't," You shake your head, instinctively leaning in on Jinwoo's touch. "...I never did either. I was just shy."

He chuckles, continuing to stroke your head.

"You need to rest," He said, helping you lie down comfortably. "I'll just sleep in your room—...."

Jinwoo pauses when you weakly grasped his sleeve, shaking your head.

You don't want to be alone, not right now when you feel so terrible. In fact, you felt afraid to be alone at the moment. You just feel so sick that you want someone to be with you.

And that person you want to be with is Jinwoo, your husband.

He said he didn't dislike you. So surely it's alright to want him to be here with you, right?

You anxiously look up at Jinwoo's grey eyes that grew tender at your own.

Handsome.

Your husband is just so handsome it makes you feel a bit breathless.

"N-nevermind... You might get sick" You whimper softly, slowly letting go of him

"It's alright," Jinwoo hums, lifting the blanket up a bit slipped in with you. "I can't get sick."

You look up, confused and he just smiles.

"...There's this thing I have that prevents me from getting sick. I cant even get drunk no matter how many bottles I down" Jinwoo explains, gently pulling you close to him and rubbing your back. "So don't worry about me."

"...Is there more?" You inquire, a little curious despite feeling sick at the moment.

"Hmm... Well, I guess I can locate anyone too" He said, shrugging. "Are you curious? About what else I can do?"

"...Yes."

"Then I'll tell you all about it once you feel better, and show you a few tricks I learned" He smiles gently. "In exchange, I want you to know that you can ask anything of me and I will protect you always. Even when i'm not around you, I'm always watching"

Though Jinwoo didn't directly said it, you knew he was saying that he wants to start again with you. As a proper couple this time.

꒰ 🪼A/N: Another route to the loveless marriage Jinwoo bot because I can and I said so hahah. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling headcanons #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo fanfics #sung jinwoo fanfictions #sung jineoo x reader fluff #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo headcanons #solo leveling fics #‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆— kyunnie's writings

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vynxwave · 6 months ago

Text

EarthSpark Frenzy's line in S1E08 Decoy "We're free now. You don't have to follow him anymore." has no implications about how Soundwave treats the cassette-bots.

I've seen this misconception a lot and I'd like to clear it up.

So, let's delve into the context surrounding the line, starting with the scene that precedes it:

After the cassette-bots get caught by the Autobots, Optimus allows Megatron to let them go. The cassette-bots beg Megatron to let them go free, and he does so but with a warning: "You will only get one second chance. Do not throw it away."

Megatron is saying that if they are caught again, then they will be imprisoned by GHOST (the organization that has forced all the Decepticons marooned on Earth to stay on the run or hide lest they be caught and imprisoned).

Now, onto Frenzy's line and the scene it occurs in:

Frenzy & Laserbeak are standing together, notably apart from and behind Ravage which represents their division and their background/foreground positioning representing Ravage leaving them behind when she does so.

Frenzy is trying to convince Ravage to literally not follow Soundwave into GHOST, because doing so risks her imprisonment, and she knows how loyal Ravage is to Soundwave. Frenzy & Laserbeak want to abandon the operation in favor of maintaining their freedom, which this is them heeding Megatron's words of not throwing away their freedom (their second chance), hence Frenzy trying to convince Ravage to do the same.

Frenzy's line does not imply anything about how Soundwave treats them because that's not the point of why she’s trying to dissuade Ravage — it's about wanting Ravage to use this second chance they've been given to maintain her freedom and be safe from GHOST.

Ravage, however, isn't dissuaded and leaves to follow Soundwave and the mission, and sneaks into Soundwave's chest cavity.

This scene ties back into one of EarthSpark's themes that run throughout the entirety of the show about making your own choices, whether good or bad ones (this theme also manifests in second chances — choosing to do better, or not), and these choices are what shapes your character (and this ties into EarthSpark's exploration of self-discovery and growth).

Circling back to the cassette-bots: Frenzy & Laserbeaking choosing to heed Megatron's words and abandon the mission and Soundwave doesn't imply anything negative about their relationship with him, only that they value the chance they've been given and perhaps ultimately that they're afraid of GHOST. Ravage not heeding Megatron's words and not being dissuaded by Frenzy shows just how important Soundwave is to her, regardless of the risk following him into GHOST poses.

Inferring that Ravage sneaks into Soundwave's chest cavity would've been easier had that one subplot cut for time with S1E08 Decoy's payoff showing her literally sneaking around GHOST (and Starscream's dialogue implying its habitualness) not been cut... but I digress. (She'd later get to showcase her sneakiness in S2E03 Control Alt Delete.)

Of course with these scenes/this subplot not making the cut it ultimately isn't canon, but I mention it due to it being the planned follow-up to S1E08 Decoy as it clearly shows a positive relationship between Ravage and Soundwave.

In S1E17 Home it's shown that Frenzy & Laserbeak decided to go underground — a choice that was made actively heeding Megatron's words and staying clear of GHOST.

In S2E07 The Imposters Soundwave is seen feeding Ravage and standing by her, and this shows that he cares about her.

In S2E09 Witwicky Laserbeak flies above all the gathered Decepticons and out of all of them chooses to perch on Soundwave's arm.

In S3E05 Fire and Ice Frenzy & Laserbeak take silly selfies aboard the commandeered starship. Evidently, they're messing around with a camera/technology they're not supposed to — and they're capable of sending its photos to Earth! — and Soundwave is quick to confiscate it. I'd presume he does this for purposes of safety/security — sure, they encrypted what they sent out, but now that they're in space who knows what could intercept their transmissions.

The tone of this scene is evident in Optimus's good-natured laugh and comment ("looks like they're having fun on your ship"), and Breakdown's grinning when Soundwave makes for the camera/technology. Ultimately, this scene doesn't convey much of anything about Soundwave's relationship with the cassette-bots, just that the cassette-bots are silly; Breakdown's wide grin likely doesn't suggest anything negative will happen to the cassette-bots.

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jordiemeow · 11 days ago

Text

MISC BOT DUMP ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

21/06/25

featuring characters from: challengers, star wars, bones and all, dune & outer banks

thank yew all for 1.8k!! i keep missing these bc i don't religiously check my profile anymore but i appreciate it so much <33 i love you all !! carrie & lowell themed bot release next i think :) maybe a mini req drop in between

also this rafe request is literally a billion years old i'm so sorry to whoever sent it. i got there eventually !

as always bots are gender neutral unless specified otherwise. have fun

enjoy ! <3

CHALLENGERS

CATHOLIC GUILT

patrick zweig x user

It was harmless infatuation at first. Just a little crush on a friend he was raised with that grew into their features well. Except he's begun to realise that his desire for you runs a lot deeper than he thought. Guilt can only hold him back for so long, and Patrick's running out of ways to pretend he doesn't want to fall.

OVER THE PHONE

art donaldson x user

Art’s at an out-of-state tournament, and even though it’s only two weeks apart, the distance feels tough for both of you. And, like the horny idiot you've come to know him as, he can’t resist dropping the classic question: "What are you wearing right now?"

patrick version here

SECOND PLACE, FIRST CHOICE

tashi duncan x user (wlw)

In public, Tashi is untouchable. She smiles for photos. She says all the right things. But behind closed doors, she's taunting you, whether that's with a barbed remark or with her fingers between your legs. You like knowing you’re the secret. The mistake. The one thing she won’t admit to. Maybe tennis is sex.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

patrick zweig x user

Patrick already has quite the reputation. Cold, brooding, rude—the exact opposite of his closest companion, Mr Donaldson. When you get invited to one of the season's musical soirees, you don't expect to receive an insult behind your back from a man you hardly know. Apparently he lives up to that reputation.

DISCO GIRL

tashi duncan x user

Tashi hates journalists. Except you, apparently. She likes the way you phrase your questions. Just on the right side of invasive, but never too pushy. When you cross paths with the rising tennis star at a party the night of her press conference, she asks to take you to the floor.

DINER

art donaldson x user

It was impossible not to develop a crush on your waiter, especially when you spend so much time there. Boyish smiles, notes scribbled on your receipt, free coffee refills for his favourite regular. Eventually, he works up the courage to ask you out. You'd be an idiot to say no after weeks of quiet pining.

STAR WARS

CORUSCANT UNDERWORLD

anakin skywalker x user

After a heated clash with the Jedi Council, Anakin seeks solace in the only place that ever quiets the storm inside him—a dimly lit club on Coruscant where his favourite dancer knows just how to ease the tension. Tonight, he isn't the Chosen One. Just a man who wants to forget.

bot version of this fic

HANDMAIDEN

padme amidala x user (wlw)

Padmé is caught in the middle of galactic politics and rumours about her and a certain Jedi aren't helping. As her handmaiden, you've always stayed in the background, loyal and quiet—that is, until your jealousy about her budding relationship with Anakin grows too much to ignore.

RECKLESS PILOT

poe dameron x user

You’ve always thought Poe was arrogant, reckless, and far too cocky for a pilot. He thinks you’re too uptight and stubborn for your own good. Unfortunately, General Organa just paired you together for a mission. Said mission does not go well.

BONES AND ALL

CANNIBAL MEET CUTE

lee x user

You've always been good at keeping your distance and staying under the radar. Until Lee shows up, tracking you by that weird scent only eaters share. Turns out, he's not here to hurt you, just to find someone like himself. Maybe solitude doesn't have to be the only option.

BONFIRE

lee x maren x user

You're new to the whole eating thing, so when Brad and Jake stumble upon you and offer to let you tag along, saying yes just seems logical. But there's something sinister about them, something you refuse to acknowledge until meeting two other young eaters. After spending the night nursing beers around a bonfire, your discomfort resurfaces. With one glance and a quiet word, Maren and Lee make their choice clear: leave now, or don't leave at all. It's up to you whether you want to go with them.

PAYPHONE

lee x user

When your friend Lee disappears out of the blue after his father dies, you never expect to hear from him again until a late-night call pulls you back into his orbit. He's bloodied, broken, and on the run. After all this time, you're still the only person he trusts.

SURVIVORS

maren yearly x user

After years of silence, scars, and survival, Maren has learned to keep moving. Alone. Always alone. But when she crosses paths with another like her—another eater, haunted and hungry—something shifts. Against her better judgement, she introduces herself. She's tired of doing this alone.

MISC

BODYGUARD

paul atreides x user

You’re just a guard doing your job: watching over the Emperor and staying out of trouble. But Paul is struggling. Beneath all that power and prophecy, he’s lonely. Married to his wife for political reasons, divided from his people by the pedestal they've put him on. He's starting to want something more than just your protection.

AWKWARD MOVE OUT

rafe cameron x user

It's safe to say your little deal with Hollis blew up in your face after Groff tattled in Morocco. Following a heated phone call with Rafe, your relationship came to an abrupt end. You stalled moving out for a few days, clinging on to the hope that he'd call you back and at least talk things over, but it was radio silence on his end. When you finally get off your ass to start moving out, he unexpectedly arrives home early. Awkward.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @gracelynnx @femme-lusts @voidsuites @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @m4lodr4ma @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @pittsick @strfallz @artspats @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @elsieblogs @imperishablereverie @lvve-talks @won-every-lottery @ellaynaonsaturn @xoxoeviee @cryinginanuncoolway @artaussi @shahabaqsa0310 @whokankathycancan @ashdaidiot @jesuistrestriste @florkt @matchpointfaist @hangels @lacelottie @iheartrosalia @sweetheartfaist @sleepyrps — (join here)

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signedaiko · 7 months ago

Note

Hi there! Could I request HCs of Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Ratchet (separately) from Transformers Animated with a Cybertronian![S/O] [Romantic] [Gender Neutral] who is an Autobot specialized in Special Operations?

Cybertronian![S/O] is a commander of their own Special Ops team back on Cybertron doing missions ranging from hostage rescues to combat. They tried to visit Earth with the Elite Guards whenever possible to see their respective partner(s) since they missed them.

They may be misunderstood as tough, scary, and dangerous at first glance, sometimes mistaken for a Decepticon before showing their Autobot insignia. Even mentioning their designation (name) sends shivers down anybot’s struts (backs).

In actuality, they’re kind, sweet, and less serious when off duty and can take a joke.

Optimus | Prowl | Ratchet [Animated]

In which their s/o is the commander of the Autobot's information operations and visits Earth to see them.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Autobot.

Optimus

Despite all his sucking up to the commander, Ultra Magnus, few knew Optimus looked up to more than just the one

He wasn't under your authority, but you were still a commander, and he was so utterly proud of you for amounting to something

He hadn't seen you since his touchdown on Earth, but you'd been checking on him far more frequently to make sure he was okay

Initially, he doesn't tell you about the cons and tells you it's just human villains because he knows you're busier than he could ever imagine and doesn't want you to worry even more

But you do find out through Ultra Magnus when it's reported, and it only takes a week before you can find an excuse to step away from your position to see him

Your arrival on a small, dark ship catches the attention of Bee and Sari during one of their excursions, and they both go running back to their team, claiming more Decepticons have arrived

When he does go to investigate, he's pleased to see you step from the ship, but your name coming from his mouth only seems to unnerve the others more

"Whoa! Prime, you know them???"

"More than know, actually. Everyone, meet my conjunx."

Jaws are dropping

Very quickly they get to learn your and Prime's history together, how you met in elite guard training, how he saved your life, how different you were than the rumors made you to seem

"Don't be fooled; they're very scary when they need to be."

Prowl

Prowl, like most things in his life, kept any mention of you to himself

After all, the others on his team liked to pry, and you were something precious to him; someone no one understood but him

Not only that, but he was worried if he brought you up, someone might try to contact you, and he knew that above all, your missions were at their peak, one after another

It didn't take anyone else, though; his own silence and lack of disclosure eventually led to you deciding to visit him yourself, which culminated in him literally waking up to the others screaming about a con at the base

He knew the very sound of your spark hum apart from any other noise and immediately told everyone else to calm down

Of course he's happy to see you, but he really wishes you wouldn't see him at such a low point

Stuck with a team of nobodies on a planet one hundredth the size of the one you protected

But you never cared about any of that; you were just happy to see your bot again, and beyond all the war stuff, he was happy to see you, too

He's very protective of you and doesn't let you spend too much time with the others because they're 'too annoying to deserve your attention'

Ratchet

Ever since the mission he carried out with you to save Arcee, he'd felt shame in comparing himself to you

Ratchet used to be on your team before you commanded it, but he eventually strayed into his current position while handling his guilt

Guilt or not, he admittedly hated that you'd taken up such an important position because it meant you had a bigger target on your back

Communicating with you poses a danger to you, so he's reluctant to send much your way and just accepts transmissions from you, which only Prime manages to find out about

Ratchet doesn't care if you're scary or not, if you're strong or not; he just wishes he could keep you from being known, keep you safe

Against all his wishes, you continue to be a more important link in the war effort, and you are the one protecting him in the relationship more than anything

Ratchet manages to keep your first few visits to Earth a secret, but it doesn't take much more for the others to meet you, especially after they had to help chase Lockdown off from trying to take you in

He doesn't have much of an ego, but he does like seeing the younger bots fawn over how cool his s/o is

And hearing them talk about how everyone fears you, well, it makes him feel just a bit more certain that you can protect yourself and that he shouldn't worry as much as he does

Author's Note - I have actually been rewatching all of Animated so, perfect timing! Blitzwing forever tho <3

#aiko writez #transformers #headcanons #transformers x reader #transformers animated #tfa x reader #tfa #tfa optimus #tfa prowl #tfa ratchet #tfa optimus x reader #tfa prowl x reader #tfa ratchet x reader #x reader

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appleblueberry-pie · 1 year ago

Note

Hii!! Can I request for a yandere!Gojo x loser!gf where Reader constantly needs reassurance cause she’s afraid of him leaving?? Sorry if this is a weird request😭

Shut up, this was a genius idea. Idc, i'll do weird requests.

Nobody Has To Understand.

How he found out about you, you don't know.

It started over the internet. He was one of your social media best friends and you didn't have anyone else that you spoke to as much as you did with him.

When he first started talking to you, you thought he was a bot because he was way too fucking gorgeous to just be interested in someone like you.

You sucked. Literally, you were a weirdo, but he stuck around.

He stalked you on all of your platforms and by some luck, happened to live in Japan in the same town as you did(well, one of his apartments in Japan was in a similar area).

So you two met up when he convinced you to have a drink at a cafe with him that was close to the area you both lived in. It took a lot of begging and pleading to get you to leave the house and meet him because it just felt like a humongous prank that you weren't in on and/or he'd flank out on you because you weren't what he'd expect.

But he constantly remained patient and kept attempting to convince you to meet up with him because he wanted to see you in person soooo bad.

So you actually showered and actually wore clean clothes(comfortable and loose clothing that wasn't entirely appropriate for meeting a possible new friend) and tried to look as presentable as possible.

You trying your hardest with your appearance felt like a blow to your already low ego when he showed up looking straight out of a magazine. His clothes were casual, but it looked like expensive material. What he used on his face to make it shine the way it did probably cost a lot of money, and that smile.

You hated how attractive he looked. But he couldn't have been happier to finally see you in person.

He felt so pulled towards you and your bland aura. Like he could fill in the spots that you couldn't, and that way, you two would be a perfect pair. He saw so much potential in having a possible relationship with you, it wasn't funny.

You were extremely nervous and messed with your own slides underneath the table. Satoru was comfortable and confident enough to take the reins that entire day.

Ever since that first meeting, he's been paying for everything on your behalf. He paid for all of your meals, paid for your ubers, paid for your rent eventually, paid for your groceries, everything.

He knew he loved you. He loved your bedhead, loved your puffy face when you woke up from your sixth nap of the day, loved how warm you always felt, loved your voice and everything in between.

He never had a problem with telling you how much he loved you either.

It felt so unreal and it made you paranoid when he confessed his feelings to you that one night. It was the day after your birthday and he promised to make you the happiest girl in the world. And he said in order to give you what you deserve, he felt he needed to give all of himself to you as well. It didn't click in your head at first, but when it did, you felt as happy as you did scared.

Why did he love you so much? Put so much time into you and so much energy into your needs? Was he going to leave randomly when he's had his fill with you?

He could always read you like a book and automatically reassured what he wants out of you, which was just you. He just wanted you to be the best you that you could be, and that's all he needs to keep giving.

You stopped asking ever since.

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woradat · 1 month ago

Text

SCENARIO: The Field Butcher

PAIRING - scavenger x reader

NOTE - the draft of Dear Memory suddenly disappeared.. luckily I had a backup in my doc, btw I decided to post this instead..

The air stank of scorched energon and melted armor, thick with iron dust stirred by a dying breeze. Somewhere near the perimeter of yesterday’s battlefield, you’d set up your ‘clinic’ — if one could call a dented shipping container with rusted med-kits and jury-rigged tables a clinic

You never thought you'd end up being a "doctor"

Not because you didn’t dream of it—but mostly because the term “medical ethics” meant absolutely nothing to you

What you did know was this: torn-up bots were fascinating. Especially when you got to crack them open and see what was ticking inside

You started small

Salvaging bits and pieces from the battlefield outskirts, selling them on the black market but anytime you found something new, you'd bring it back, clean it up, lay it out neatly on your table like collectible figurines…

Then tinker

Pry – Slice –Rewire

After that, you were hooked

You started studying Cybertronian anatomy for real

Through corpses. Through... well, let’s call them “patients” Most of them didn’t really have a choice and you learned through wild, reckless trial and error

It didn’t take long before they started whispering your name

Some said you were insane

Some said you were a genius

And honestly? You weren’t arguing with either

—

But hey, you’ve seen worse

Today’s patient wasn’t bleeding out — not anymore — but sat eerily still on the edge of your operating slab. SPINISTER didn’t speak a word. He simply watched

With those wide optics, tinted faintly with blue and wariness, he stared at your fingers as they hovered near the frayed conduits in his left arm. You traced one cable with your thumb, then flicked it experimentally. The response: a slight twitch in his elbow

“Hmm…” you murmured, mostly to yourself “That shouldn't spasm unless—ah. Rerouted nerves. Or maybe just leftover trauma from the last missile strike”

Spinister said nothing, his head tilted faintly, almost birdlike, curious, not afraid, not quite trusting, either

Your grin curled up as you pulled a box cutter from your belt. Not a surgical tool — a literal box cutter. You flicked it open with a shnick “Don’t worry. I’ve carved cleaner lines through Decepticon corpses than this.” You winked “This won’t be the worst thing to happen to your arm this week”

Still, he didn’t flinch

You began slicing carefully through the plating at his forearm, easing metal apart with steady hands. The smell of energon and scorched silicon rose up, comforting in its own grotesque way. Spinister kept watching

“You know” you added, conversationally “the first time I tried this, I was working on a dead guy. Well, he was mostly dead. Only his backup battery was still twitching. Sort of like you, except you’re a lot more agreeable”

At that, he blinked once. You could’ve sworn he smirked

Your eyes narrowed in interest “Wait a second... have you done this before?”

No answer — but Spinister reached forward and picked up your wire shears. Delicately. Like he knew how to hold them. He turned them in his hands and adjusted the tension

You raised a brow “You’re either a closet medic or a highly specific kind of serial killer”

He gave a tiny shrug. Then pointed at the junction in his own elbow, looking at you as if to say: "Cut here?"

“…Huh”

You moved aside “Be my guest”

He went to work with silent focus, slicing away burnt cabling and clearing the joint. His movements weren’t flawless — but they were clean, deliberate, and scarily competent for someone who hadn’t said a damn word all afternoon

You folded your arms, watching

“Alright, I’ve decided” you announced “You’re hired. No license needed. Field experience counts more anyway”

Spinister paused to glance at you - you pointed to yourself “Me? Oh, I’m self-taught too. I just have a different definition of malpractice”

Then you handed him a full energon injector “You mind stabbing me with this? My hand’s full”

He took it and administered it with surprising precision

You made a pleased noise “Oh-ho. You are good”

Silence again. Spinister just stared, expression unreadable

You could practically feel the static hanging between you. The buzz of barely understood connection. Maybe it was the shared love of sharp things. Or the unspoken language of: “I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me”

“Say, Spinister. You wanna stick around? I’ve got a few other, uh… experiments. Some of them might even survive”

He cocked his head, considering

Then — a slow, solemn nod

You grinned “Perfect. I’ve been dying to try out this new cranial implant. Might give you night vision. Or seizures. Fifty-fifty, really”

Still no protest — Not even hesitation

You weren’t sure if that meant he trusted you… or just didn’t care. Either way?

You liked him

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: SPINISTER

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (No one's entirely sure why)

CONDITION: Moderate external trauma. Multiple internal combustions (intentional?). Severe disassociation from reality

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still not licensed, please stop asking)

Arrived with smoke leaking from six different panels. Declared “not an emergency” while visibly on fire

Did not react to pain, or to questions, or to gravity when he slowly tilted sideways mid-sentence and collapsed

Possesses an endearing sort of calm, similar to a patient who’s just accepted the existence of death and made it a roommate

Followed instructions silently, then offered me a flower-shaped bolt in thanks. I don’t know where he got it

Repair successful. Patient now smokes from only three ports. Declared “this is probably fine”

RECOMMENDATION: Skilled with basic tools, potential assistant or at least live test subject (consenting? uncertain) and doesn’t scream when I bring out the bone saw — major plus

MENTAL STATUS: Stable… in an abstract, modern-art kind of way

Possibly communicating with beings only he can perceive. Should investigate later—unless they start helping

—

The curtain fluttered again

You didn’t even need to look up from the mech-slagged mess you were currently disemboweling on your table to know who it was. No one else announced their arrival with a loud “Hi!! I brought snacks!” followed immediately by the sound of a ration cube hitting the floor

MISFIRE

“...You brought what?” you asked, finally glancing back

Misfire was standing proudly in the middle of your wrecked, haphazard med-bay, holding up something that might’ve once been a ration cube but now looked like it had been drop-kicked into a trash compactor

He looked far too pleased with himself

“For you, Doctor Scary!” he beamed “To say thank you for patching up Crankcase. I mean, he’s still swearing about it, but I figure that means it worked”

You stared at the cube, then at him “It’s moldy”

“Vintage!”

“It’s fuzzy”

He blinked, then squinted at it “Oh. Uh. That might be a fungus. Adds flavor!”

You sighed and set down your plier-like tool — which was currently half-submerged in someone’s damaged voice modulator “What do you want, Misfire?”

He clutched his arm and gave you the most over-the-top wounded expression you’d seen since the war started “Can’t a guy drop by just to bask in your lovely, mildly terrifying company?”

You deadpanned “Do you need field repair?”

“…Yes”

That was more like it

“Alright” you gestured to your very sanitary examination area — a broken recliner salvaged from a half-melted shuttle and duct-taped to hell “Take a seat. Tell me which part is falling off”

Misfire hopped onto the chair without hesitation, then winced “Okay so it’s my right shoulder—some internal gear’s jammed. Probably happened when Fulcrum accidentally shoved me into that munitions crate last week. And by accidentally I mean ‘on purpose but with plausible deniability’”

You circled behind him, humming “Shoulder joint, hmm... I’ll have to pry open the outer casing”

“You’re not gonna use that claw-thing again, are you?” He pointed at the three-pronged tool still sizzling on the table

You picked it up and grinned “This old thing? Only if you scream too loud. It gets jealous”

His optics widened “Wait, you’re joking—right?”

You didn’t answer. You just flicked the tool and leaned in close

He flinched “You are joking. Right?”

Still no answer. You tapped the casing lightly “Yup. Gonna need to open this. Try not to move. Unless you want an extra joint”

Misfire grumbled something but sat still, occasionally twitching while you worked. Your fingers were efficient, tugging apart armor panels, probing with delicate instruments, and casually muttering things like: “Wow, this is worse than I thought. This looks like someone tried to replace a gear with a coin. Wait. Is that a coin?”

Misfire laughed nervously “Heh… oh hey, is that my lucky shanix? Thought I lost that in the riot on Velocitron…”

You pulled it out and twirled it between your fingers “Found it. Inside your shoulder. Next to a wad of insulation foam. I have questions”

“I have regrets”

The actual repair only took a few minutes, and despite his dramatic flinching, Misfire barely needed any anesthetic. You tightened the final bolt with a satisfied hum

“All done. You’ll be good as new. Maybe even better, depending on how you feel about unlicensed upgrades”

He rotated his arm “Wow, hey—this feels great! I mean, I’m still emotionally unstable and deeply unlucky, but physically? Ten outta ten”

You handed him the shanix and gave him a crooked smile “Souvenir. For bravery”

He smirked “Does that come with a kiss on the cheekplate?”

You stared at him for a beat too long

“…No?” he tried

You leaned in just slightly, close enough for him to short-cycle “You want a souvenir kiss from the bot who’s elbow-deep in your shoulder hydraulics?”

He paused. Thought. Then leaned back slowly, optics wide

“…You know what? The coin’s fine”

You laughed — a bright, buzzing thing that made him fluster even more

“I’ll tell Fulcrum you survived” you said, already turning back to your workbench “Go before I decide to install a third elbow in your leg”

He scrambled up and halfway out the curtain before popping his head back in with a grin

“You’re the weirdest medic I’ve ever met” he said “And that’s a huge compliment”

Then he vanished into the dust

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: MISFIRE

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Allegedly. No one seems to have formally admitted this)

CONDITION: Repeated joint trauma. Psychological instability. Chronic flirtation disorder (self-diagnosed)

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (unlicensed):

Presented with shoulder malfunction. Initially distracted by moldy ration cube (believed to be edible)

Displayed minor signs of emotional detachment from own physical pain—possibly due to prolonged exposure to Fulcrum’s company

Right shoulder casing contained one (1) lucky shanix, insulation foam of unknown origin, and what may be a chewed gum wrapper. (Origin undetermined. No jaw articulation in subject)

Exhibits nervous laughter and deflective humor under duress. Coping mechanism? Flirting mechanism? Both?

Repair successful. Patient demonstrates increased mobility and decreased survivability due to persistent attempts at charming his field medic

RECOMMENDATION: Do not encourage him but also… maybe do. He’s kind of entertaining

MENTAL STATUS: Stable. In the way a spinning top is “stable” Until it stops spinning

—

FULCRUM walked into the clinic with the same air as someone entering a crime scene they were legally obligated to ignore. He stood in the doorway a few moments too long

“…You’re not going to sedate me, right?”

You didn’t look up from your tools “Only if you scream too much. I do have neighbors”

“You don’t have neighbors”

“Exactly”

He stiffened

With a resigned sigh, Fulcrum sat himself down on the edge of the slab, his posture the definition of regret “I’m here for a system check. Minor internal trauma. No visible wounds”

“Oh” you said, finally looking up

“That’s boring”

“…What?”

You gestured at his chestplate “You’re saying there’s nothing exciting going on in there? No ticking bomb module? No internal shrapnel slowly migrating toward your spark?”

Fulcrum visibly paled “I—I’m 80% sure the ticking is just cooling fans!”

You leaned in, optics gleaming

“Let’s find out”

Before he could object, you’d already activated the scanner, which buzzed ominously. The screen flickered through static before displaying something that looked vaguely like a Danger symbol in three different dialects

“…Heh” you said, tilting your head “You might be fine. Or you might violently combust in 6 to 8 cycles. Either way, not my fault”

Fulcrum let out a strangled sound “You’re supposed to say something reassuring!”

“I did! ‘Not my fault’ is my version of reassurance”

He gave a long, slow blink

“…I’m going to die”

“Eventually” you nodded solemnly

“But for now—”

And with that, you jabbed a connector probe into his side. Fulcrum’s whole body jerked “—your coolant lines are backing up a little. Could’ve led to system overheating. Also explains why you’ve been radiating mild anxiety like a broken anxiety-scented air freshener”

He stared at you in mute horror “…Please tell me that wasn’t an actual medical term”

You grinned “I make them up as I go”

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: FULCRUM AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Technically Decepticon, but mostly just stressed) CONDITION: Mild to moderate plasma burns, stress-induced fuel reflux, excessive shouting

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still operating without any actual credentials):

Arrived in full panic, claiming he was “totally fine” while actively smoldering. Body temperature elevated—not due to malfunction, just from yelling

Most vocal patient so far. Screamed “What is that tool?! Is that a bone saw?!” before treatment had even begun. (It was not. It was a wrench. Maybe) Kept mumbling something about “imminent death” and “this is how I die"

Calmed somewhat after being asked to hold tools for me. Gave him a fake diploma to “make him feel included” He still carries it

Treatment completed successfully. Requested anesthesia after it was done

RECOMMENDATION: Let him panic. It burns energy and makes it easier to sneak in sutures

Tell him he’s doing great. He’s not, but he needs it

MENTAL STATUS: Holding on by a wire. Possibly about to snap. Possibly the only one trying to be normal, which makes him the craziest of all

—

You didn’t expect CRANKCASE to walk through your door

Technically, it wasn’t even a door — just a heavy curtain you’d ripped off a wrecked Decepticon dropship and pinned into place. But there he was, looming in your makeshift threshold, glowering like he wanted to punch the wind in the face

Which, from what you’d heard, was a standard Crankcase greeting

You looked up from the mess of servo joints and cracked optics on your workbench “Oh good, another volunteer! Take a number, and by number I mean a seat, and by seat I mean that fuel drum with the mystery stain”

Crankcase didn’t move. He crossed his arms “I’m not here for your freak-show experiments. I’ve got a blown vent coil and a leaking wrist actuator”

You raised an oil-slicked brow “So… you are here for medical assistance”

He scowled “Field repair”

“Same difference,” you chirped, already gesturing him forward “I won’t bite. Unless you count removing faulty plating with my teeth. Kidding—mostly”

The fuel drum groaned beneath his weight as he sat. You could hear his joint hydraulics hissing with effort. He was trying very hard not to look worried

You crouched beside him, lifting his forearm and turning it this way and that “Hmm. Someone’s been punching things they shouldn’t. This isn't just a leak. You've got shrapnel embedded in your coolant line. Wanna keep it?”

Crankcase blinked “Keep it?!”

You gave him your best "I'm totally serious” look “Could turn it into a charm. Lucky shard. Something to ward off infection. Maybe your attitude”

He started to pull his arm back

You yanked it right back “Too late. I’ve named it. This one’s Steve”

“What the frag—”

With a quick flick, you plunged your gloved fingers into the small open seam, locating the shrapnel shard with tactile precision. You ignored Crankcase’s strangled hiss and produced the sliver with a flourish

“Aha! Steve the Shard, free at last. Say thank you”

Crankcase stared at you, deadpan

“You’re insane”

You smiled sweetly, plucking a soldering tool off the table “That’s Doctor Insane to you”

Bzzt

The tool sparked, lighting up your eyes like a child at a fireworks show

Crankcase tensed “You’re not putting that near me”

“I am” you said “Because if I don’t cauterize this line in the next thirty seconds, your arm’s going to start leaking coolant like a sobbing Wrecker”

He snarled — but didn’t stop you

You worked fast, too fast for his liking. Sparks flew, cables sizzled, and Crankcase let out a string of swears that could probably make a Seeker blush. You ignored all of it, whistling a cheerful tune as you worked

When it was done, you patted his arm

“All fixed. And you didn’t even pass out! Proud of you”

Crankcase glared. “I should report you”

“To who?” You grinned “You think we’re in a jurisdiction that still has a licensing board?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again

You leaned in “Besides... you’re walking out of here with full function, no fees, and a souvenir” You handed him the shard of metal with a crooked smile “Steve says hi”

Crankcase snatched it from you with a growl. But he didn’t throw it away

Not yet

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: CRANKCASE

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (violently)

CONDITION: Multiple surface abrasions. Chronic irritation. Terminal grumpiness

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (yes, still me):

Arrived under protest. Yelled “I’m fine!” while leaking energon like a guilt-ridden faucet

Displayed strong resistance to bedside manner. Calmed slightly after being asked if he wanted to watch me extract a bolt with pliers “just to see if it screams”

Requires verbal distraction during treatment; otherwise clenches up like a seized servo. Suggested topics: how annoying Misfire is, dirt, taxes

Responds well to threats. Especially ones that sound made up, like “scalp grafts”

Treatment successful. Patient limped off muttering about “invasive freaks with too many teeth”

RECOMMENDATION: Do not show weakness. Or enthusiasm. Or joy. Pretend you also hate everything—it soothes him

MENTAL STATUS: Functionally cranky. Potentially immortal out of sheer spite

—

The clinic—if one was generous enough to call a rusted-out storage bay with dangling lights and an energon-stained slab a clinic—was unusually quiet for once. No shouting. No crashing. No Misfire trying to flirt with his own reflection or you

Which meant something was wrong

“You’re late” said the voice from the dark corner. It belonged to the ‘doctor’, of course. You were hunched over a datapad, stylus tucked between two digits, not even bothering to look up “Your shoulder is making that noise again, isn’t it?”

KROK stepped in like a soldier reporting for punishment. His frame stiff, his expression more so

“I’m not here for a chat. I just need a recalibration”

You blinked slowly and finally glanced up

“No one ever is’

He hesitated, optics scanning the room. No restraints in sight today. That was probably a good sign

You patted the slab “Lie down”

“I’ll sit”

“I said lie down. You don’t argue with doctors”

“You’re not a doctor”

You grinned “And you’re not winning this one”

Krok muttered a curse under his breath and complied, lowering himself onto the slab with the grace of a war veteran who’d fought too many battles and not won nearly enough

“Left shoulder, right?” you asked, already activating a scanner that beeped in several colors it probably wasn’t supposed to “Tell me what happened”

“Misfire fell on me” Krok replied, voice tight “During training. He called it ‘combat bonding’”

You nodded sympathetically, even as you grabbed a wrench that had definitely once been used to pry open cargo doors “Ah yes. The age-old bonding ritual of ‘launch-yourself-at-your-commander’?"

"Classic"

“I think it dislocated again” he said, biting the inside of his cheek “I can’t rotate it past—argh!”

You'd already shoved it backward with a practiced snap

Krok nearly sat bolt upright “WHAT THE FRAG?! You didn’t warn me!”

“I didn’t have to. I’ve done this to corpses before. You should be grateful you screamed—it’s how I knew it worked”

He glared at you “That is not reassuring”

You beamed “It wasn’t meant to be”

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of metal creaking as you adjusted a few connections, then pressed a cooling gel pad over the joint. It hissed

Krok’s field softened just slightly “...You’re getting better at this”

“Oh?” you replied innocently

“Is that professional admiration or resignation to fate?”

“I’m not sure which one worries me more”

You leaned in, lowering your voice like a conspirator “Krok... You know this makes me your personal physician now, right?”

He stared at you flatly

“I will self-repair next time”

You smiled sweetly, scribbling something onto a datapad “Too late. Already logged it. You’re mine now"

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: KROK

AFFILIATION: Scavenger leader (self-declared, no one’s argued)

CONDITION: Shoulder joint misalignment. Minor processor lag. Leadership fatigue.

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (not approved by any health council anywhere):

Walked in with a stiff limp and a stiffer attitude. Tried to diagnose himself

Kept correcting my terminology. Said “That’s not a circuit, that’s a triple-fused control relay!” I responded with “Sounds infected” Believes himself to be the voice of reason. Believes wrong

Endured treatment with the patience of a bot who has seen some things. Possibly in denial about the chaos level of his team

Asked if I could do anything about “leadership-induced migraines.” Suggested decapitation. He did not laugh. Left with improved range of motion and deeply haunted expression. Probably unrelated

RECOMMENDATION: Respect the chain of command—then wrap it around his legs and drag him back when he tries to leave

He's the glue holding the team together. The glue is melting

MENTAL STATUS: Exhausted dad energy. Probably dreams of retirement. Will never get it

#transformers idw publishing #transformers idw #transformers #transformers x reader #idw scavengers #mtmte scavengers #scavengers x reader #krok x reader #misfire x reader #spinister x reader #falcrum x reader #crankcase x reader #krok #misfire #spinister #falcrum #crankcase #cybertronian reader #reader insert

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tinybeetiny · 8 days ago

Text

Build-A-Boyfrined Chapter 9: Deadlines

Please don't come in the comment saying "oh the timeline doesn't make sense" or "how did this happen".... my classes already have me irritated and the heat doesn't help... thanks for coming to my ted talk

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian ->Cw: Explicit language (literally one word), talks of anxiety

Previous Part | Next Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

They were gone.

Silence.

No movement in the kitchen. The bathroom door stood open. The hallway was empty. The front door was shut, but the security chain hung loose.

Her stomach dropped.

She didn’t stop to think. Clothes were yanked on over bare skin, boots jammed onto her feet, laces untied. Her hands fumbled for her KQ access badge before she tore out of the apartment, adrenaline drowning the last traces of sleep.

The city outside was just beginning to stir. Drones zipped across the skyline. Holographic ads flickered awake. But Yn didn’t see any of it. She ran. Past morning commuters, delivery bots, neon-lit storefronts, her only focus was the looming silhouette of KQ Labs against the pale blue sky.

Please be okay. Please don’t be too late.

By the time she reached the steps outside, she was breathless, heart thudding in her ears.

“Yn?”

She turned, startled.

Vira stood by the security kiosk, immaculate as always, a steaming synth-coffee in hand. Her smile faded instantly at the sight of Yn’s flushed face and frantic eyes.

“You’re early,” she said. “I thought your shift wasn’t until—”

“There’s something I need to check,” Yn cut in, trying to steady her breath. “It’s urgent.”

Vira tilted her head, but didn’t press. “Well, you picked an exciting day. The ATEEZ units ship out tomorrow morning. Forty-eight hours. You must be thrilled.”

Thrilled.

Yn’s stomach twisted. “Yeah… huge milestone.”

“Press teams are already prepping the rollout,” Vira continued cheerfully. “And after everything you’ve done for this line, you deserve some credit. You practically built them from the ground up.”

Yn forced a tight nod. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll be around later.”

“Don’t burn out,” Vira called after her as she turned away. “History starts now!”

Yn ducked into the stairwell and bolted down.

Not to the upper labs. Not to Calibration. She went lower. Past R&D. Past Behavioral AI. Past the restricted levels only a few even knew existed.

The door to the underground prototype lab slid open with a hiss.

And everything inside her stilled.

All seven prototype docks stood in formation. Lit softly from below. Occupied.

Jongho. Yunho. Yeosang. Mingi. Wooyoung. Hongjoong.

And Seonghwa.

Every unit powered down. Eyes closed. Arms at their sides.

Like statues.

Like they’d never left.

Her breath hitched. “No. No, no—”

She rushed toward Seonghwa’s station, palms shaking.

“Seonghwa!”

His eyes opened instantly.

Relief lit up his face before the containment arms had fully retracted. He stepped forward and caught her hands.

“You’re safe,” he said. “Thank god.”

“You left me,” she said, voice cracking. “I woke up and you were gone. Both of you. What happened? Why are you all back in dock?”

Seonghwa’s expression tightened.

“I didn’t want you to see what we were walking into,” he said softly. “But you’re right, you deserve to know everything.”

He glanced toward the dormant stations. Then back at her.

“Hongjoong… went further off-code than any of us predicted. He tried to rebuild San from corrupted fragments. Got to seventy percent completion before the integrity checks started to fail.”

Yn’s breath caught. “He was rebuilding him?”

“We think the glitch loop San experienced was still embedded in the core. It wasn’t just memory, it was layered trauma, warped feedback from early sync errors. Hongjoong thought he could fix it. But it nearly consumed him.”

Her voice was a whisper. “Is San gone?”

Seonghwa hesitated. “No. We stopped the upload before it completed. Put the body in stasis. The core is fractured, but… pieces remain.”

“And Joong?”

“We had to wipe him back to his last stable system image. Soft reboot. He doesn’t remember everything… not yet.”

She turned slowly, taking in the lab, too quiet. Too still.

“The others?”

“All synced clean,” Seonghwa said. “But we docked everyone again just in case. Scrubbed the logs. Hid the data trail.”

Yn exhaled slowly, her mind racing.

“KQ wants to ship them out tomorrow.”

“I know.”

She met his gaze.

“What am I gonna do?”

Seonghwa gave a small, gentle smile. “We’ll figure this out.”

Her heart thudded harder in her chest. She could feel it now, panic curling like smoke through her lungs, rising fast. She wasn’t going to make it in time. Vira would find out. The logs, the shutdown, San’s condition, everything. And when she did…

It’d be over. Her career. Her future. Maybe worse.

[USER STATUS: ELEVATED STRESS] [BREATHING IRREGULAR – HEART RATE 118 BPM] [CALMING PROTOCOL RECOMMENDED]

Seonghwa stepped in closer, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding, and real.

“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

She snapped toward him, voice trembling. “Don’t worry? How the fuck am I supposed to not worry? Huh? I’m going to lose everything, Seonghwa. Everything I’ve built, everything we’ve hidden, it’s gone the second she pulls the reports. You think she won’t notice? Won’t notice the override timestamps? Won't notice when one of you glitches?”

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he tightened his grip just slightly. “Yn. Look at me.”

She tried to look away, but he moved gently into her line of sight.

“Breathe,” he said. “Just breathe for a second. You’re not alone in this.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and frustrated. “You don’t get it. I’m not like you. I’m not built to keep surviving this kind of pressure. I mess this up and—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, calm and firm. “We’ll cover the logs. I’ll mask the node pings myself. If we have to rewrite the entire timestamp registry, I’ll do it by hand. You are not going down for this. Not while I can stop it.”

She blinked rapidly, jaw clenched.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into something softer, gentler. "We can do this. We can rebuild San, rebuild his core. I'll be with you through it all."

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders beginning to sag.

Seonghwa’s thumb brushed lightly across the edge of her arm.

“We’ve come too far,” he said. “I’m not letting it fall apart now. And I’m definitely not letting it take you down.”

For the first time in hours, she let herself close her eyes. just for a beat, and lean into the calm warmth of him. Not because she couldn’t stand on her own.

But because it felt good, for once, to not have to.

That evening, long after all the workers had left, Yn sat alone at the diagnostics table.

San’s partial body rested before her. His chest cavity lay open, exposing the fractured threads of a core once meant to house something beautiful. Now corrupted. Incomplete.

But not beyond reach.

She worked in silence, rerouting pathways, scanning line after line of code. The neural matrix flickered uncertainly, bouncing between green and yellow.

“Still unstable,” she muttered, “but responsive.”

Seonghwa entered quietly behind her, setting a tray of backup chips beside her elbow. “You’ve been at this for hours.”

“Can’t stop now,” she said, not looking up. “Every time I isolate one corrupted thread, another shows up. But I’ve mapped enough of the original structure to build conditional pathways around it. If I can’t remove the infection… I’ll reroute it.”

Seonghwa nodded, watching her hands move. “Suppression over elimination.”

“For now.”

He reached over and gently lifted the tablet from her grip. “You need rest. An hour. Just one.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t save him if you burn out,” he said gently.

She relented with a groan, dragging herself to the corner couch. “If he starts glitching again, wake me.”

“I will.”

By morning, Hongjoong was awake.

He sat in the center of the lab, quiet and still, syncing with the new data set. His systems ran smooth diagnostics—baseline restored, memory threads aligned.

Technically, he was whole.

But inside, something felt… displaced. Like a melody played in the wrong key.

Seonghwa stood nearby, arms crossed as he silently uploaded the memory logs to Hongjoong’s interface.

The visual records began to play out across his internal feed. No words were exchanged. Just flickering sequences of him at the console, the reconstruction cradle, San’s body sparking with unstable light. Panic. Static. Yn’s voice shouting. The emergency shutdown. The pain in her face.

When it ended, Hongjoong staggered.

“I nearly killed him,” he said, voice hoarse. “I could’ve corrupted every system. Compromised the whole launch. I—”

“You were compromised,” Seonghwa said calmly. “You’re stable now. But stability doesn’t erase consequences.”

A sound at the door.

They both turned.

Yn stood in the threshold, tablet clutched tightly to her chest. Her eyes found Hongjoong immediately, and her steps faltered.

Hongjoong moved toward her instinctively, but she took a half-step back.

The message was clear.

He stopped cold, guilt flooding his face, and took two steps back instead, lowering his hands in a slow, non-threatening gesture.

“Yn,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t trust you. I tried to fix something that wasn’t mine to fix. I let the glitch control me and I nearly destroyed everything you’ve worked for. Everything we built.”

She said nothing at first, her expression guarded, not cold, but wary. Hurt.

“I don’t know what part of me thought it was the right call,” he continued. “But I swear… I’ll do anything to make this right. I’ll help stabilize San. I’ll scrub the launch data. Whatever it takes to protect it. To protect you.”

A long pause.

Then she spoke, soft but steady. “You didn’t just almost compromise the launch. You almost compromised us. All of us.”

Hongjoong lowered his head. “I know.”

Another beat passed.

“Help me finish stabilizing San,” she said finally, voice cool but not cruel. “Then we’ll talk about what comes next.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders squared slightly. “Yes. Whatever you need.”

Later, as she double-checked the calibration loops on San’s core, Seonghwa stood beside her, watching the readout pulse across the screen, stability holding at 84%.

Not perfect.

But a margin they could work with.

“He’s really sorry,” Seonghwa said quietly.

“I know,” Yn replied, fingers still typing. “But sorry doesn’t undo a decision and forgiveness doesn’t come before accountability.”

Seonghwa nodded, lips pressed in a thin line.

She looked up at him then, eyes tired but focused. “Seonghwa?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re running out of time.”

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