#or maybe it's indeed just jazz

[blood-orange-juice]

I keep thinking about this post.

How Childe does something incredibly badass in that scene but in a way that at first glance seems pathetic and dumb.

And it's his whole theme, isn't it? Paradoxes, contradictions and how the form never matches the essence.

Tricks and uses us without saying a word of untruth.

Offers friendship that "can only be expressed through trading blows on a battlefield".

Inserts "children must all learn to eat their vegetables sometime" into a villain speech.

Commits war crimes out of loyalty to a goddess of love.

(doesn't see her as a god and is not interested in love)

Does epic and awesome things to be able to continue to lie to his siblings.

Performs a gesture of incredible trust in a way that makes me question if he is, in fact, a sociopath.

Sounds most genuine when he's pretending. Sounds fake and uncanny when he's genuine.

An incredibly beautiful tune played off-key.

[pholla-jm]

My Wife is Real

IMAGINE: MY WIFE IS REAL~ GOJO X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: not proof read. use of y/n. use of she/her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who do you think he’s texting?” Nobara whispers to her two classmates, Yuji and Megumi. 

Their teacher, Gojo Satoru, sat at his desk. Legs kicked up onto the desk while he was on his phone, giggling here and there. 

It was questionable if Gojo even knew that class had started. 

Megumi didn’t even bother to pay attention. He also sat on his phone, scrolling through social media. 

“I don’t know…” Yuji ponders. “Ugh, he has to be harassing a poor soul.” Yuji gasps at Nobara’s response, “no.” 

Nobara sits up in her seat, “Gojo-sensei,” she calls out. Gojo peeks up, “oh. I didn’t know you were here.” “Maybe if you stopped bothering people, you would notice.” 

Gojo places his hand on his chest and gasps dramatically. “I am not bothering anyone.” “Then who are you texting?” “My wife, duh.” 

Nobara bursts out laughing, “hahaha, yeah… yeah right.” She wheezes. Tears left the corner of her eyes as she tried to take him seriously, but she really couldn’t. 

Yuji just stares at him in confusion, “you’ve never told me about his wife. I don’t believe you.” 

Gojo gasps in shock and disbelief at his student’s words. “Huh?! I do too have a wife. That hurts my feelings that you don’t believe me!” 

Gojo’s full focus was on his students now. Trying to convince them that his wife is indeed real. “She’s literally the best person in the whole world, and the prettiest.” 

Nobara scoffs and rolls her eyes, “stop making things up Gojo-sensei. It’s getting sad at this point.” 

Gojo pouts at her words. He then grabs his phone, typing something in his phone. He puts his phone down with a triumphant smile on his face. “You’ll see.” 

“Yeah… we’ll see.” Nobara says to Megumi and Yuji. 

Megumi on the other hand was not paying attention to a single thing that was going on. He assumed something stupid was going on, so why even bother to pay attention? Yuji just has a thoughtful look on his face, trying to remember any mention of a wife. But there is no mention of one. 

“Yeah… I think you’re making this up… sorry Gojo-sensei.” “This is just getting sad…” Nobara whispers while shaking her head. 

“I can’t believe my student’s have little faith in me.” 

Only five minutes passed of slight bickering between until a knock was heard at the door. The bickering died down and all heads turned towards the door. 

Nobara’s and Yuji’s eyes widen seeing a woman at the door. 

“Who is that?” Yuji whispers to Nobara. She shrugs her shoulders, “has to be someone he hired.” 

Gojo jumps from his chair, a huge smile on his face. “Wifey!” 

He runs over to you, pulling you into a tight hold. 

You let out a strangled gasp from the impact. “Gojo,” you start, “this is the second time you forgot your lunch… and it’s only Tuesday.” 

Gojo pulls back, a faux pout on his lips, “I’m sorry.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I bet you’re just using this as an excuse to see me.” “Whoops, you caught me. Well, while you’re here. Let me introduce you to my students.” 

“Wait wait-” You didn’t get a chance to stop him because he dragged you into the front of the classroom. 

You eye the three students. Megumi had finally put down the phone, giving you an apologetic look. Nobara and Yuji were looking at you in shock. 

“Students, this is my wife, (y/n).” Gojo basically shows you off with a bright smile on his face. Hands in a jazz hand formation. You nervously smiled at the students. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello Gojo-san.” Megumi quietly said, but it was still loud enough for everyone to hear. You gave the boy a sweet smile, nodding at him. 

“What?! Do you know her?” Nobara and Yuji ask him. “Yes…” 

“Yes, they’ve known each other for quite awhile now…. Sorry guys. She’s a bit shy.” Gojo says while you continue to smile at them. 

“They didn’t believe Gojo-sensi had a wife..” Megumi tells you. 

You hum before turning to Gojo, “I see… I don’t blame them.” 

“Huh?! What is that supposed to mean?” You roll your eyes. “Ever so dramatic.” “...so mean.. How can my wife be so cruel?” 

“Ugh, no one cares,” Nobara sighs, “come sit down with us (y/n)-sensei. I have so much to ask you.” 

You just smile at the girl and move over to the desks. 

Gojo looks at you with a shocked look. Not believing that you were leaving his side. 

“What are you doing?” He asks you. You look back at him, “well, you wanted me to meet your students. So I’m getting to know them.” 

You give him a little smirk and Gojo knows that type of smirk. The one where he’s going to regret his actions later. 

Maybe not now, but he knows that this decision will come to bite him.

[safflowerisyes]

Okay, so I was looking at @keferon's mecha pilot Jazz au, and I just had to write abt it because oml the angst

Also, keep in mind I haven written anything in a very long time

Prowl was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around it. His emotions were a hurricane of confusion, rage, and betrayal. As he stared down at the organic infront of him, he couldn’t help the deep frown that formed on his faceplates.

“I guess this is a lot for you, huh Prowler?”

The organic stared back up at him with an apologetic smile. It rubbed the back of its neck awkwardly. Jazz was never awkward. At least, not that Prowl could tell. Though, it wasn’t like Jazz had an EM field to show that.

“A human, you said?”

Prowl needed to hear it again to believe it. There was no way this tiny little bag of flesh had been controlling Jazz. No way it had been Jazz.

The organic nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably very confusing, but imagine my confusion when I found out you were all actually sentient mechs, not pilots in mecha suits.”

This was indeed all very confusing, and yet it also made a little too much sense. It explained why Jazz had always felt so… hollow.

Prowl scoffed at the organic’s words. The implication that he was just some lifeless suit to be worn was insulting in the very least.

The organic seemed to recognize Prowl’s disdain, quickly revising his previous statement, “But that makes so much sense now! It makes sense why you’re so expressive, and how you have all these little ticks and habits. Like whenever you’re flustered your wings turn forwards a little.”

It noticed? The organic took notice of his mannerisms. That would imply that it cared enough to pay attention to those things. Well… Prowl knew Jazz cared enough to notice those things, but this organic, this human…

It made Prowl think. Think of something other than the fact that his crush friend had just opened up, and a small organic crawled out of said friend’s chassis.

“Prowl. It’s still me. It’s still Jazz. I’m just… smaller.”

The organic was giving him a hopeful smile, its voice soft as if comforting a close friend. It made Prowl’s spark melt. A part of him wanted to take the small organic and hold it in his embrace for all eternity. He just wanted Jazz back.

But the other part of him wanted to squeeze the organic till it popped. He just wanted Jazz back.

Prowl glared at the organic, and its smile faltered. This sent a pang of hurt through Prowl, but he ignored the aching in his spark.

He turned to walk away. Being there talking to it wouldn’t make things go back to how they were. Things would never go back to how they were.

“Prowl, wait!”

Prowl turns to see the organic running after him. It gets to the edge of the table and tries to stop, but it’s going too fast. It stumbles, loses balance, and falls.

But Prowl is quick, and catches the tiny being in his servos. His expression is that of fear. He felt like he was about to lose Jazz. Again.

The organic smiles. “So you do care about me.”

Prowl’s expression swiftly turns to annoyance. But… the organic did have a point, he had to admit.

Prowl began to look at the organic differently. Instead of being the parasite that crawled out of Jazz’s chassis, it was now what remained of said mech.

And maybe… just maybe… Prowl could get used to him.

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 ✿

characters: self aware!acheron x isekai!gn!reader, slight dan heng x reader to the end

warnings: fluff, poor attempt at humor, consumption of alcohol, lying (from dan heng), brief appearance of playable characters, description of acheron test run, reader is isekaid into the hsr world and is just trying to live their life, reader is referred to as aeon of life and your excellency

notes: just had a shower thought and remembered acheron interaction from the cosmodessy event and BOOM! part 2 of dragon fic is on the work i swEAR PLS DONT EAT ME the divider is from @/rookthornesartistry

“hmm…”

what a tricky situation. acheron had been wandering through the dreams of penacony to find out about the truth of the oak family. or at least, finding some hint and cases that has been silenced by the family. but on the way…

“i seem to be lost”

yes, the amnesiac galaxy ranger had found herself lost once more. she had briefly agreed with the astral express to meet them later at the clockie statue of golden hour, but the poor woman was now wondering which way is which and which direction she should be heading towards. oh well, she’ll figure it out later. right now, she needed to know where she was or attempt to find a familiar face.

looking around herself, acheron could hear the faint sound of jazz playing further down one of the halls. there also seem to be other people there as she could make out laughter and murmuring of people alongside the scent of alcohol wafting through the air.

a bar, perhaps?

quietly, she makes her way to the end of the hall, opening the double doors and coming to what she guessed was a bar. it did indeed seem like it, though just maybe a bit smaller than the usual grand and bright neon sign filled ones at the golden hour. briefly, the woman takes a moment to look around, hoping to find a familiar face. there was a bartender behind the bar, a halovian mixing a drink. perhaps she could ask her—?

a familiar colored hair catches acheron’s attention just as she was about to make her way over to the bartender. there, far away from the crowd of people at one of the seats sat the aeon of life. their back turned to others, seemingly running away from attention as they hunch over their table. acheron had never personally met the aeon of life before but she had felt their warmth, heard some snippets about them through the trailblazer and during an odd battle she was forced to fight in and have seen glimpses of their visage through the screen that the trailblazer allowed her to.

when acheron was first teleported to some theme park of penacony, she wondered if someone had kidnapped her. but when the ranger tried to move herself, she had found it impossible. until she did. someone or something was controlling her body, making her draw her blade and fight, yet she found it hard to hate the puppeteer. it felt… warm. to the lone galaxy ranger, this odd puppeteer of hers gave her a warm feeling, like being gently cradled by the sun. gentle and kind as the puppeteer moves her around, muffled gasps of awe and words of admiration falling onto her ears. this puppeteer of hers’ voice sounded gentle, soothing her heart, filling the loneliness of her soul. as quickly as it came, it disappeared and she was back in her room at the reality of the hotel.

when she briefly mentioned of this incident when she met welt of the astral express, he simply smiled with a knowing expression. the older man had told her about the aeon of life — or at least their reborn mortal self — and how they would sometimes guide some people to help them solve their problem or to bless them with more strength. most of the times though, these people were pathstriders, he told her.

and now here she was, in the flesh, being able to see the aeon of life themself.

quietly, the ranger makes her way towards the hunched over aeon. they seem to have had some glasses of drinks, the ice in them melting inside the glass as they lay their head on their arms, one hand wrapped around the glass of their next drink.

meanwhile, you try to fight back some sleep. drowsiness falling over you due to all sorts of drinks you’ve consumed. though, most were alcohol free, they still managed to knock you down a peg. must be the secret of being penacony dreamscape drinks or something. or maybe it was just siobhan’s specialty. she seemed very skilled in the art of free mixing.

the faint sound of heels clacking catches your attention though, making you stop and take a moment to listen carefully. not so soon after, the sound stops right behind you, along with a faint presence behind your back. you try to play asleep, hoping the person would just buy the act and leave you alone. ever since you were isekaid into the star rail world, people have been clamoring for your attention left and right. you came to penacony with the express in hopes of blending within the bright lights and dazzling signs of the dream world for people to ignore you and give you some time to breathe.

though, the presence continues to stay. lingering just behind you.

gulping, remembering an iconic meme back from your world, you slowly get up from your laying position and turn your head around to see who it was.

“YAAGHH—!” you yelp out loud, nearly shrieking as you jump from your seat when you saw acheron just silently staring at you, a bit closer than what you would prefer. the woman blinks, eyeing you carefully as she takes in your appearance. meanwhile, you hold a hand over your heart to calm the rapid beating of it.

breathing in and out, you eventually manage to calm yourself down. keeping an awkward eye contact with the ranger, you reach out to your unfinished glass of drink, taking a long sip from it. all the while, acheron continues to hold this somewhat awkward stare down.

“a-acheron, what are you doing here? you scared the shit out of me” you say, now finally calm after that last gulp of your drink. the woman’s exposed purple eye widens slightly, as if she was surprised by the fact you knew her. ah right, you two haven’t officially met each other in the flesh. so of course it will come off as weird to the galaxy ranger.

“i appear to be lost, your excellency” she replies, noting the unusual hue of your eye. it had a ring of gold in it, making you look otherworldly. but in this life where people can easily travel from one world to the other, that wasn’t exactly a compliment enough to say that you looked beautiful.

right, you remembered now that acheron had a tendency to forget things very easily and she would continue to be amnesiac until she draws her blade.

“well… where do you need to go then?”

the two of you have made your way out of siobhan’s bar, out of the dreamscape reverie hotel and towards the golden hour as she had said. but first you made little detours in your walk, stopping a few memory zone memes that has become unstable — during the whole time, acheron had told you to stay behind her so you would be safe — taking your time to admire the scenery of the dreamscapes before you two finally made it to the golden hour. it was buzzing, bustling with people from all over the galaxy and street vendors raising their voices to catch someone’s attention.

seeing a floating ice cream at the other end of the street, acheron steps onto the road without looking.

“ache, watch out!” you quickly reach out, holding her hand and yanking her back to yourself as a speeding car nearly runs her over. warm. you felt warm to the touch, gentle in the way you handled her as if she was made of glass. tender, almost, like a lover would hug another to their heart. she liked the way you hugged her, even though it was one born out of protective instinct.

“are you okay?” you ask, squeezing her bicep gently to take her attention. acheron turns her head to look at you, nodding her head that she was fine. everyone would be fine if they were in your protection after all. warm, safely tucked into your loving embrace.

“ache” she spoke suddenly, taking your attention back to herself. “you called me ache, your excellency. do you like the nickname?” the ranger asks, having never received any nicknames from others. this was her first time, having lost everyone she was close to and being forced to walk a lonely road until she caught the gaze of nothingness itself. even if she did indeed had gained nicknames from others before, she had long forgotten them. so this newfound form of kinship in you, in being given something intimate to be referred to by someone, brought a feeling of joy to the lonely ranger.

“i mean… do you like it?” you ask, looking at her face if she would give away any indication that she disliked it. to which you saw nothing. only the faint smile growing on her face. you liked that look on her face. the brooding, sad, melancholic look that she usually wears never fitted her. but when she did that, had a small smile on her face with a face of contentment, it seemed to suit her much better.

“mhm” acheron simply nods, an odd feeling of childish glee in her heart at the thought of having earned an intimate nickname. not from just anyone, but from you — the aeon of life, the very first living being that came to existence and decided to bless other lifeless things into meaningful ones. the aeon of life whose love and care held no bounds, reaching all over galaxies and world — even to ones that were distant and lone — embracing them in your love and care.

acheron liked the nickname “ache”. a heron liked to enjoy her time beside you. with you.

holding hands, eating floating ice creams and magical popcorns, the two of your take your sweet time during your detour to the clockie statue in golden hour. some people stopped you to ask for your autograph or a selfie together. it had become a common thing for you to experience ever since you got isekaid into this world.

the way you stopped to laugh at acheron’s face, where she had undoubtedly made a mess when eating her newly favorite peach flavored ice cream, the way you took out a napkin, wiping away the mess from her lips in such a tender manner caught the attention of a certain bloodhound. gallagher watched, jealous and other unknown bitter feelings swirling inside him as he watches your “date” with acheron from a bit away. he didn’t understand why he was so jealous. he was already in your grace, having come home to you many times while the ranger hadn’t came home to you even once.

but coming home, being in your grace and going on dates with you and holding hands were two completely different things. maybe he should invite you to come over at siobhan’s bar more.

finally, the pair of you made it to the clockie statue. when nearing to your destination, you felt the metal clawed hand of acheron tightening around yours. she seemed sad over the fact she had to let you go. it was nice to be beside you. holding hands, making jokes, feeling of belonging and comfort easily sweeping over her in waves that she never felt before. and yet she had to let go now. the express members were looking at you two weirdly.

“it’s alright, ache. we’ll go on more walks together later, okay? you have my phone number after all. you can text me if you want” your soothing voice graces her ears, filling the empty void of her heart. the woman remembers now. you gave her your number on the way here.

nodding, very reluctantly, acheron’s hands lets go of yours. immediately she wanted to reach out to hold your hand again, to feel the warmth of the sun from your skin again. but she holds herself back, afraid that she might scare you off with how forward she may come off as.

“see you later!”

“aaah… hopefully, today won’t be filled with creepy stalkers or annoying fans running after me…” you groan out, slumped over on one of the seats at the theme park. there wasn’t much people around, even if there were, the people here were too immersed in the exhilarating experience of the theme park. this place really was the world of dreams, huh…

“good afternoon, everyone. this is the ipc broadcast, coming back with news from all over the galaxy” one of the radios that was placed around the theme park speaks up, the familiar voices of the two npc’s coming through to catch some gossip loving folks’ attention.

“yesterday, at the world of dreams penacony, many people have reported to seeing their excellency, the aeon of life, going on a date with a certain mysterious purple haired woman” oh fuck no. no more gossip regarding the most basic things you do. please, no more scandals.

“some reports have stated that their excellency was sighted holding hands and going around one of the most famous dreamscapes of penacony — the golden hour — in a seemingly intimate date with the woman” it wasn’t a date! besides, people were too damn invested into your life.

groaning and silently spewing curses under your breath, you tune out the rest of the news broadcast, instead focusing on the taste of soulglad in your hand. at least there weren’t anyone around to bother you today. or anyone to spook you by just silently standing behind you. breathing down your neck, quietly standing there as if waiting for you to slowly turn around with “it’s behind me, isn’t it?”.

wait that’s too specific.

“your excellen—“

“whAT THE FUCK?!” safe to say, you jumped out of your seat when the familiar soothing voice of dan heng reached your ears. some people around turned to give you a weird or concerned stare.

“dan heng?! the hell are you doing here? aren’t you supposed to be back at the express?” you choke out, thankfully having not thrown your glass of soulglad in your fright. in return, the quiet dragon only tilts his head slightly, a sheepish look on his face. he lowkey reminded you of a puppy with that face…

“i came here to check on the other express members. they weren’t replying to me in the group chat. and now—“

“— and now you’re lost” you finish for him, waiting, keeping an eye contact to see if he would deny or agree. to which he simply nodded his head as slight pink hue spread over his cheeks.

“alright where do you need to go?”

“the golden hour, clockie statue”

“alright, alright. jeez, what’s up with you guys always meeting up at the statue?”

“uhm… your excellency?”

“yeah?”

“can we… hold hands?”

tomorrow, another hit news was broadcasted by the ipc broadcast, speaking of how the aeon of life was spotted going on another date with a young, handsome man from the astral express.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Gala, But It's Not Wayne, It's Masters

This just lives rent-free in my brain, so I'm here to share. And maybe get help.

Batfam probably don't only go to galas and events in Gotham, right. Bryce Wayne is a rich bitch and WE has contracts and ties around the world, so Wayne Wards have to attend events out of state (and out of country) from time to time. This time, they are invited by Vladimir Masters, the owner of DalvCo.

Coincidentally, Vladimir Masters is rumored to have some hidden Kryptonite stash. So Bruce decides to go, taking some of his kids with him, because it is also rumored that Masters has two wards of his own, and, first, Bruce has to bring his kids for disguise, second, he needs them for some team building, bonding and whatnot, and last, he really needs to check if Masters' children are living in a safe environment. Cue all his family making fun of him for wanting to adopt more kids.

What makes the jokes even worse is that both Master's kids have black hair and blue eyes.

When they arrive, they are greeted with a sight of a full-sized gothic castle. It looks really out of place in Illinois, but the vampire vibes are there, definitely. And said vibes only become stronger when they meet Vladimir and his kids - all three of them are giving the Batfam goosebumps, and not in a good way. Now, the things capable of giving Bats goosebumps are very, very limited. And never good.

Vladimir - he insists they call him Vlad - is a fairly tall, gray-haired man with piercing eyes. His smile is nice and polite, but it kind of reminds Tim of Ra's, which is, well, not a good thing. But overall, he is... Okay. They can definitely take him down if they need to (they really can't, but they don't know it).

The kids, though. They are twins, probably fifteen or sixteen, a boy and a girl, and they look like they came straight from a horror movie. Calm and even, mirroring each other's gestures and finishing each other's sentences, no facial expressions, and they don't seem to be blinking. Cass has a hard time getting anything from the way they hold themselves - they seem to only show any kind of emotion when they are addressed. Damian can't shake off a feeling of being watched, even though the twins barely look at him. Tim, raised in a family of socialites, notices how both of them have really nice manners, the kind you learn when someone teaches you etiquette specifically.

Bruce is unnerved by the sight. Are the kids mind controlled? Are they okay? This is definitely not how kids should act at fifteen at a gala, holy shit. Granted, he's seen not that many kids at galas, but the point still stands.

Now, at this point, I have a few ways this can go. First one, the suffering orphans way, Danny and Dani are actually controlled by Vlad, who wanted perfect heirs. Second, the little shits way, Danny made a deal with Vlad to attend a gala and Dani joined him, so now they are having fun with acting as eerie as possible since Vlad strictly forbidden them from shenanigans. This can be either redeemed Vlad or not. Third, the demonic twins' way, where Vlad is definitely redeemed and is taking care of the Fenton kids, raising them however he sees fit. Jazz is also under his care, but she is mostly an adult now, and they have more of a 'caretaker on paper and legally not old enough to live on her own' relationship than a 'parent and daughter' one.

Do the Waynes befriend them? Do Bats get caught while investigating? Do Danny and Dani cause trouble at the gala? Maybe they get to prove to Bruce that they are, indeed, perfectly happy about living with Vlad?

Inspired by this art

[tinydefector]

Hello! How are you? This is my first time requesting so I hope this is okay, but can I request a shorter scenario g1 Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz and Ironhide with a human s/o lives for chaos? They would point at Megatron and say ‘bitch’ just for the reaction. 🩵

Cursing Megatron out

Ps I'm sleep deprived af it's 12am right now and just finished this so enjoy.

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: description of fighting, swearing

Masterlist

Ratchet masterlist

Ironhide masterlist

Jazz masterlist

Optimus prime Masterlist

________________

Optimus Prime

They yell loudly as Megatron goes to grab them, they smash him in the face with a tire iron as he is then tackled by Optimus. The Decepticon leader had ruined their date night. They flip him off as Optimus throws Megatron across the ground, his servo wraps around them quickly pulling them closer as they scramble up onto his shoulder. "Eat shit and die Fuck face!" They yell at Megatron. 

Optimus clutched their small form protectively against his plating, battling protocols roaring. Had circumstances been different, the Prime would have roared in fury at your fierce defence against the tyrant but he was dealing with trying to keep them safe. 

Megatron howled, clutching a fist to his dented face as energon streamed between digits. His optics blazed murder, craving nothing more than to snuff the fluttering spark of Optimus' and the human he held so closely. 

"You've made a grave error this day, little beast. No corpse shall hide you from my wrath!" Megatron bellowed, brandishing his fusion cannon as if to raze the very earth. His field screamed promised agony that sent lesser mechs scampering for shelter.

Optimus vented his battle mask into place, tucking them securely against the safety of his backstrut. weapons primed and wrathful fields promising eons of hurt against any who dared to touch his Human.    

"You shall not harm them, Megatron. Leave. now. while your spark yet functions," Optimus warned in a voice low and in a heavy growl that sounded feral and unlike the Prime.

"Maybe you should get Shockwave to give you a facial reconciliation!, oh wait I did it already!" They sneer back from Optimus' shoulder at Megatron. Their teeth are bared at him as they snarl. If anyone else had seen the human they would have thought they were an animal.

Optimus suppressed an amused sigh at their show of fangs, so small yet fearless against the monster terrorising his people for millennia.  Megatron bellowed in foaming rage, lunging toward where they perched upon Optimus's armoured pauldron. "Insolent pest! I shall grind your bones to powder and force-feed them to - aggh!"

A well-placed shot from Optimus's ion blaster struck the warlord, toppling the tyrant shrieking to the dirt. "Last warning, Megatron. Leave. or face me," Optimus rumbled, field pulsing protectiveness intertwined with fierce Protection.  

With a snarl Megatron takes off. Once both Optimus and his human lover settle from the adrenaline and battle protocols. Optimus cradled their small form within his battle-worn servo, venting slow ex-vapor to purge lingering fumes. His optics dimly regarded their fragile body. 

"That was a foolish act of bravery, little one," Optimus rumbled gently, digit carefully brushing across their  forehead and down their cheek admiring their eyes alight with fire. His spark swelled at the determination.  

"Sorry, I..  I got caught up in the moment, he missed me off ruining date night" they huff out while pressing their face into his neck cabling. Their body shakes from the adrenaline. "I hit Megatron with a tire iron" they whisper as it slowly registers in their own brain.

Optimus vented a soft huff of static, equal parts worry and weary amusement filling his field at their admission. "A valiant act indeed, though foolhardy against one as powerful as he," rumbled Optimus, vocals warm with approval despite the danger of the situation. His optics flicker in fondness. “Please do not do that again” 

Ratchet 

 Megatron let's out a horrific scream as he gets electrocuted. He hadn't noticed the humans who had shoved the taser between the plates of his armour. "Get Tazered Bitch, not so fucking tough now huh?" They shout at the downed Decepticon only to be scooped up by Ratchet. Ratchet swept them into his servo with a staticky huff, deftly dodging the warlord's flailing blows as voltage shocks wracked Megatron's colossal frame. His field buzzed approval at their fearless defence of him. 

"Reckless sparkling! You'll deactivate my rusting struts with stunts like that," Ratchet grumbled, though optics shone bright relief beneath grizzled plating. Megatron howled upon the earth, shaking off aftershocks that would crush the stoutest Autobot, madness glinting a terrifying helm snapped halfway 'twixt beast and machine.

Ratchet backed swiftly from flailing reach, hoisting their small form beyond harm's sight. Ratchet takes off transforming around them before he begins scolding the for how stupid they were, how dangerous it was. And the fact Megatron would personally hunt them now.

"Have you any idea how foolish that stunt was?!" Ratchet's engine revved indignantly even as he sped across the scarred earth, his cabin vibrating with barely-suppressed wrath and equal measure relief. 

His sensors remained fixed upon the precious organic cargo nestled within his altforms cab, monitoring vital readings  "Do you want a personal vendetta from Megatron? Because that's how you get a personal vendetta, you glitched little slagger!" Medical scans analysed each minute shift of breath. 

"Reckless, Just...do not scare me so, small one," Ratchet rumbled quietly, worried and care etched in every bolt and wire. 

"He had it coming Ratchet, plus that Amazon taser is getting a 10/10. 'WORKS GREAT, I Tazed a large alien warlord and he screamed like a bitch, will in fact work on creeps on the street' " they laugh while they look in the revision mirror to make sure they aren't being followed by said Decepticon.

Despite himself, Ratchet's engine sputtered an amused huff at their tone - so fearless in the face of giants who had destroyed armies. "Oh I've no doubt - the reviews certainly won't lack colour!" Ratchet agreed wryly, subtly activating scanners to sweep their escape route while watchful optics remained pinned to their reflection. 

His vents sighed relief upon confirming no stalking signatures upon their trail, enemy or otherwise. Swinging wide the Ark's bunker doors, Ratchet transformed with care not to jostle his delicate cargo. Blue optics peered down aglow with a glare "Come now, troublemaker. No more outings for the next month for you while the oaf licks his wounds." His states while guiding them to the medbay. 

“no fair Ratchet!” 

Jazz

They cling onto Jazz as the bot hides behind a boulder, multiple autobots had been out when the Decepticons had attacked. They are held tightly by Jazz as he debates the best possible to get them out of there unscaved.

Jazz vented softly, hugging their form protectively against his plating as pedefalls rumbled outside their scant cover. 

"Ain't nothin' t'fear, li'l light. Ol' Jazz'll getcha outta here one piece, ya feel me?" he murmured soothing static against their ear, subtly scanning surroundings through plating. An opening presented itself, if he could provide distraction just long enough...

Pressing a swift kiss to their forehead, Jazz.” Go, sweetspark! Ain't got but a klik - I'm right behind ya!" Jazz called desperately over the roar of weapons, swerving and banking with abandon to keep pursuers engaged but alive. 

 "Hey ol' buckets 'a bolts! Over here!" With that, he peeled from cover in a burst of speed, transforming mid-leap to present the biggest possible target, tailfins flared wide. Weapon systems engaged, greeting the three pursuing seekers with enthusiastically snarky exclamations as he led them on a merry chase. His sole purpose in those seconds - buy precious time, before sharply veering back toward cover with afterburners blazing. 

They do take off running but stop as they see Megatron advancing towards Jazz. They aren't far from either bot and in a split moment of bravery or stupidity their shoe is off and being flung right at Megatron's helm. "Your shit ass piece of Junk you lay a fucking hand on my boyfriend and I'll rip you apart with a fucking Magnet and plyers, don't you fucking test me you dipper wearing, goofy as looking supervillan wannabe!" They shout. It make the whole battlefield go almost dead silent. " Yea you fucking hear my bucket head, ill make you wish you were rusting!" They shout again. 

Jazz's optics widened in horror behind his visor, witnessing your defiant act through static-laced vision. Fear gripped his struts like freezing polyhexian tundra. 

Megatron's helm barely shifted from the impact, regarding their small form with optics glinting cruel amusement. His cannon charged with purpose to squash resistance as pointless and fleeting as an organic.

"Foolish creature. Your lives mean less than insects" Megatron sneered, taking ponderous steps their way that may as well have been a funeral march. The field around him broadcast murderous intentions that sent even the seasoned warriors around bolting for cover. 

Jazz would not be denied. With a grief-stricken keen that curdled energon in lines, he flung himself between you and that doom-wielding arm aiming to end what meaning he had left. His field pulsed frenzied protectiveness tangled with pleas no words could voice. 

"Ya want 'em, Megs, you'll hafta go through me first! An' I been dancin' this dance a long time..." Jazz spat static. Jazz was quick to get them out of there grabbing them and taking off. It isn't until they were back at the Ark did he finally transform, arms wrapped around them as he gives the a peace of his mind.

Jazz clutched their body against his chest plates long after abandoning the battle site, fleeing farther than ever felt safe from those sworn to end all he had left. His engine roared wildly, fuel pump pounding faster than any sabotage mission's duration against the relief of delivering them from harm. 

Only within the Ark's fortified bunker did his struts unlock enough to collapse wearily to the floor, holding them close as grateful cries and static escaped in equal measure. "Don't you ever fraggin' do that ta me again, ya hear?" Jazz gasped brokenly at last, cupping their face desperately within his quaking palm. His visor glimmered tears unshed, relief and terror warning in equal measure. 

"Can't lose ya...yer all Ah got left in this mess. Please, li'l light...don' scare me like that." Raw emotion clogged his vocalizer to near uselessness, pressing reverent kisses between choked intakes. 

"He was going right for you baby!, I'm not letting the 3 tonne prick hurt you, so what I lost a shoe next time it will be a hydro flask of salt water and I hope it dents his helm" they state as they grab his face plate returning his kisses with fevor.

Jazz huffed a static-tinged laugh at their fierce declaration, so brave yet trembling in his gentle grasp. His cooling fans cycled accelerated drafts, systems still buzzing from terrors faced alone to shield them from doom's sightless gaze. 

"Frag if ya ain't the bravest thing this side'a Cybertron," Jazz rumbled. He pressed his faceplate into their shoulder holding them tightly, not willing to let go yet. Curling them protectively against the humming mass of his spark, Jazz vented shaky ex-vents. "Mah brave, beautiful li'l light...keep shinin' that fire, sweetspark." Jazz whispered raggedly into their shoulder. 

Ironhide 

 Ironhide shoots at Megatron. His human companion latched to his back as he uses his body as a shield so the war lord couldn't get them. But they were making it rather hard as they tried antagonising Megatron. 

"Damn did they build you like a shit box on Cybertron or did you pick this form yourself!" They shout out. 

Ironhide careened across the scarred terrain, engine roaring as his heavy cannons unloaded volley after volley into the Con warlord's encroaching chassis. Megatron's howls shook the earth, armour blistering under Ironhide's righteous fury for daring to threaten his human lashed securely to broad backstruts.

"That's it, slaggertits, dance for me!" Ironhide bellowed back at Megatron. 

Megatron lunged forward through a hailstorm of plasma, cannons charging in a frenzy to end lives denying his rule. But Ironhide spun on a dime, releasing another blast to cave in an optical relay before transforming ram-tight around you both. 

His engine pounded like the Pit below, field alive with devotion harsh as his bearing yet gentle as newborn sparks flickering against red-and-blue armorweave. When Megatron gets too close they lob a can of WD-40 At him which Ironhide shoots cause it to explode in his face. "Get sunbeam shitlips!" They yell in delight as Ironhide takes off with them trying to get to safety.

"That's enough outta you, squishy," Ironhide rumbled, yet his cannons sang in harmony with your unbound spirit. His mission remained unchanged - shield the light of life, defying all forces that sought to smother its radiance. Ironhide's cannon fire consumed the volatile projectile in a brilliant fireball, engulfing Megatron in inferno. As they take off leaving Megatron in a fireball of energon and wounds. 

"Right in the visual output, squishy!. Primus, I think I'm in love," Ironhide roared instatically, tires biting earth as he tore across the ravaged wastes well beyond enemy sensors. His spark soared like the smelting winds of Vos. Ironhide's engine purred a low rumble as his struts unwound, tension leaching from armour plating now safe. His field pulsed weariness, yet underlying it swirled pride and fierce gratitude for your indomitable spirit so small, yet burned brighter than any star.

"Can't say I approve of y'all's antics out there, squishy. But Primus if you didn't frag up that rustbucket good," Ironhide chuckled, copper-sheened plating creaking in amusement. Never had he witnessed such fearless bravery, nor met a soul so worthy of the praise.

"He had it coming, Ironhide!You're not going to tell prime are you?" They had just faced down Megatron and cursed him out yet they were worried over being ratted out. Ironhide's engine grumbled a tired huff, his massive frame unwinding into a sprawl across the barren earth. He transforms lifting them up into his arms

"I'd be a fool to deny you put the fear of Primus in that rustbucket," Ironhide chuckled. "But Prime's got enough weighin' his wires. Don't need him fryin' more circuits over our antics." A digit gently booped their nose, gaze softening. "Your spark burns brighter than all the Well's glory. Ain't no mech takin' that from you - least of all one as glitching as Megs."

"Our secret?" They asked looking up at him.

"Our secret, squishy.” Ironhide replied, massive frame creaking gently as massive fingers curled to cradle them against his chassis.

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

[deadghosy]

"You...love me? HAHAHAHHA! You must be out of your sick, pretty little head..."

"You're my angel."

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER

LUCIFER IS CHECKING his phone as he had messaged you about something important. It's been a while since he seen you after you left with Charlie.

The King of hell himself keeps lifting his phone and putting it down acting as if he isn't desperate to see his favorite person. I mean of course his daughter is like his other half, but no one is his best other half than his first servant who never knew how important they are to the big boss of hell himself.

The king of hell himself is totally not obsessed over you, and totally not protective of you….

god he so is as he wants to hold you again his arms…..

Lucifer fiddles with a duck by him that seems to resemble you with your natural smile and black accessories. "Cmon cmon cmon" Lucifer says as he eyes the phone for any response. Minutes must have passed as he gets off his chair and start to pace back and forth.

"Okay okay..calm downnn Lucifer, you're the man. You can handle a little reunion with them." He says to himself as he grips his hat. He kept pacing not noticing you coming out of the shadows of a corner.

You literally just woke up to see it was an "emergency" on your phone and got ready quickly. You didn't mean wake up to see the king pacing back and forth talking to himself.

"Uuuh how do I start a conversation again...Okay, ask them how the weather is. Or maybe ask them how their day is...." he says as he slumps in defeat . "Ugh this is useless!"

He grabs his phone and looks at it like a rejected puppy as he was about to call you only to hear a voice.

"Sir?"

Lucifer jumps, almost dropping his phone and turns to you quickly with whiplash as he smiles. "My angelll!" He says teleporting over to you and hug you while spinning you around. You looked confused as you were  sure an emergency would make someone not so smiley. Or excited.

"Sir what is the emergency. Are you going to a meeting you don't want to go?" You said asking as you turn into vapor moving out of his hug.

Lucifer falls on his face after you got out of his arms. He picked himself up with a derpy smile as he dust himself off, he looks at you as you are ready for his command as he awkwardly smiles at you.

"Actually there is no emergency..." he said putting his hands together looking at you.

There was silence as you both stare at each other. His derpy expression and your blank one as you looked at your watch.

"...okay bye."

"WAIT NO!" He yells grabbing onto your legs as you stumbled.

"Then sir what is it? Just tell me the truth please." You say at the man below you having puppy eyes as he gets up clearing his throat.

"Almost lost my cool there." He thought as he dust himself again. "I want you..to hang out with me!" Lucifer says smiling with his hands out doing Jazz hands with fireworks.

He did that on purpose to see if it convinced you or not. He knows you can't resist his beautiful fireworks.

"....."

"...."

You sigh as you rub your eyes, he really hasn't changed ever since you left.

"Fine Luci, I'll hang out with you. Just let me notify Charlie that I'm with you."

Lucifer nodded excitedly with a hint of pink to his cheeks after you called him "Luci". As you turned around to call Charlie as Lucifer was pumping the air excited and jumping as he dances with your duck doubleganger.

Charlie had said that it was fine as long as you two have fun. You nodded hanging up as you turn to see Lucifer standing still trying to act as if he didn't do an excited dance.

"She said yeah, so I guess we can hang out. What you want to do sir." Lucifer just stand there before it clicked in his head that his plan worked.

"Oh! Uhm..shit! Welllll we could go shopping." He says pulling out a golden credit card as he waves it between his fingers with a toothy smile.

You hum nodding with a smile, "Doesn't seem like a bad start Lucifer. Not bad indeed."

Lucifer smiles smug at your praise as he holds out his hand to grab yours. You put your hand on his as a gold wave comes over you both teleporting the two demons to the shopping area of the pride ring.

—

YOU MUST ADMIT, this was amazing as you almost spent 500k.

Lucifer didn't think you would be spending so much money as he was behind you holding shopping bags. As much as he hates to say it, you have a shopping addiction. But that's what he loves about you. He love that he can buy you things you want without a care in hell.

After you two exited out of the clothing shop, you spotted a bakery. Lucifer was holding your hand while walking, so when you stopped, he stopped and turn to see what you were looking at.

"You want that my love?" He asked looking at your face which showed hunger for sweets. Hell you didn't even care if you heard him call you a nickname, the only thing in your mind was the bakery and what was displayed what seemed to be a [favorite flavor] cake.

You nodded drooling as Lucifer chuckled as he brings you over there with a soft smile. You both entered to be kinda surrounded by demons who either fangirl over Lucifer or was just shock to see the king of hell to be with someone who doesn't even look powerful.

Lucifer wasn't great with the people around so you made shadow bodyguards as they push the demons away while you two order the cake. Lucifer chuckled under his breath as he watches your mouth drool taking the pastry bag with a huge smile. It wasn't expensive but it was worth it.

While you sat at the bench eating the cake with a huge smile and some cake frosting smudge on your face, Lucifer was doing his own thing as he sweats looking at two pair of rings.

One of the pair was duck theme matching rings, while the other had your first letter of your name and the same for Lucifer. So he got two as he sigh, he just couldn't pick only one. So he put the duck theme on his fingers as he smiles at the one that would fit your ring finger.

He smiles at the thought of you wearing the ring he brought for you as he blushes with a soft puppy expression....

—

AS YOU FINISH your desert, Lucifer poofs next you with an apple scent and red smoke. Lucifer had a proud smile as he sits next to you and lift your hand.

You raised brow as he puts the duck theme ring on your finger as he shows you with a happy smile he also had one. You must admit it was cute as you put your hand in-front of your face checking the ring. Your silence while checking the ring was making him nervous as he had thoughts.

"Oh no..do they not like it. Damnit! I should've know to put on the golden one with our initials!" He thought as he also thought about you rejecting him harshly.

"You...love me? HAHAHAHHA! You must be out of your sick, pretty little head..." Fantasy you said as you smirk smugly, tossing the ring At Lucifer's face as Lucifer looks defeated.

Your voice snapped Lucifer backed into reality as you smile happily, "Yo, this is so cute Luci!" You said looking at him as he chuckles pulling his collar off his neck a bit. He was relief you liked the ring gift, he looked at your hand and liked how cute you looked.

"Hahah...well I'm glad you like the gift my angel!" He said cheesing his sharp teeth towards you as he grips your hand into his. There was a calming silence between you two as demons walked past.

Lucifer cleared his throat looking away from you but still gripping your hand, "Sooo...what else you wanna do?" He asked looking down nervously.

"Well, it seems we still have time. I guess we could lunch since we mostly just shopped." You said looking at your watch.

Lucifer smiled, "Can it be at my home, I don't think I can handle too much attention." He asked you chuckling as you nodded. You don't mind not being part of the public eye.

The king himself smiles as he poofs out his apple cane and taps the ground as gold waves around the two of you. The shopping bags and you both are now in his palace as he smiles.

"Welcome home dear." He says kissing your hand.

You only chuckled not taking it in an imitate way but a friendly way. But you still felt flustered as he stares into your eyes, it was like he was hypnotized by them as his eyes dilated like a cat. You could've sworn you heard a purr as he smiles lovingly at you until you pointed at the way of the kitchen.

As much as you haven't been here for a long time, you still remember where things were. "Luci, we should get ready for lunch." You says softly towards him as you pick his chin up to face you as he purrs at you with a soft pink tone to his cheeks.

You stare with a raised brow, "Lucifer?" That seemed to snap him out as he just stand there embarrassed of his drunk love for you as he just nods and walk without saying a word.

As you watch him leave, he bumps into a wall before chuckling turning around and doing finger guns at you as he quickly fixed his mistake and run to the kitchen to make lunch.

You chuckle behind your hand as you look at the duck ring, "That dork..." you said quietly to yourself as you let your two pair wings out.

—

A WHIFF OF APPLE hits your nose as you are wearing one the outfits you bought from Luci's card. Apparently he painted the card gold as it was originally black as he didn't like colors that were plain like that. When you were alive a black card meant you were the most wealthiest person alive. So you could've guessed that why the card never ran out after you almost bought 500k of stuff.

You walk elegantly to the kitchen where you suppose the king of hell is at. As you walk, the scent of apple and cinnamon hits your nose hard as your stomach growled. Turning a sharp left to the kitchen to see Lucifer out of his white coat as he smiles at you coming into the kitchen.

"Ah, finally took your time getting ready for lunch Y/N!" He says cupping his hands together with a small smile with his sharp teeth. He got up and pulled the chair for you to sit.

He really wanted you to see him being a gentleman as you sat on the chair. He pushes the chair to the table for your liking and sat across of you.

"Soo...it's been a while so I made an Apple cinnamon pie..haha. I hope you like it my angel." He says as a pie suddenly appears in front of you on a nice plate with red markings. You smiled grabbing a fork and eating it. Lucifer also had a piece as he eats, he was hoping you liked the pie as he actually had to look for a recipe instead of burning the kitchen.

Your eyes sparkled with a smile, “Holy shit! This is the best pie I had Luci…goddamn!” You smile wildly at the taste of the pie, it seemed to satisfy your hunger for the sweet lunch meal as Lucifer smiles at your smile as he eats his own pie.

“I’m glad you love it dear. Made it special for you, since I love you and all that.” He said catching you off guard.

“What?”

“What.”

Now Lucifer blush wildly catching what he said, he cleared his throat. “You know, like a dear friend! Hahaha! I so absolutely love you dearly old friend!” He was sweating bullets with an awkward smile as you stare confused but pushed it off as you smiled

“Sure, I love you too dear friend.” You said back as you start to finish eating. As you two talk, Lucifer ranted about how he sucks trying to talk to his daughter based on his depression and loneliness after his wife left him. You nodded as you remembered how Lucifer made you sleep in his room after Lilith left. He was so lonely and had some slight anxiety panic attacks about you leaving as well.

Before you two noticed, it was time for you to go back to the hotel as your hell phone rang at the contact name.

❤️CHARLIE CALL INCOMING❤️

>decline >accept

You picked up the phone as Lucifer grabbed your plate with a hum as he went to put the plates up. You accepted the call as it is your duty to protect the royal family, you heard Charlie asking when you are coming back to the hotel as you could have sworn you heard a pout in her tone.

You chuckled as you look at Lucifer cleaning the plates who is obviously happy to have you next to him. You wanted to leave but you actually had fun with the majesty of hell himself.

“Hold on Char.” You said pulling the phone from your ear as you look at Lucifer.

“Your daughter says it’s time for me to go back the hotel Lucifer.” You say getting up, dusting off your (color palette) clothes.

You couldn’t see his face but his face had a pout as he places the plates down, drying his hands as he sighs. He turns to look at you patiently waiting for his words, but no words came out as he wrap his arms around your waist. His head in your neck as he smelt your signature scent from your body. You could smell his scent was apple with hint of vanilla.

You thought Lucifer was sad that you had to go, and you were right as he hold you tighter to his body. “Don’t leave me…please..” he says softly as his breath hits your neck making you shudder confused at this feeling.

“Uh Hello!”

The two powerful demons jolted from each other not realizing the princess of hell was still on the phone. You quickly put the phone to your ear as you gave her an answer.

“Sorry Char, your dad really needs me. But I can come first thing in the morning. Don’t worry!” You say smiling as Lucifer was doing his happy dance in his head. Charlie sighs sadly but you reassured her that you would be there as fast as you could. She agrees finally and hangs up, next thing you know you are hugged again by Lucifer.

He has his hands on your hips as he smiles nuzzling his face in your neck. You chuckle at his weird gesture as he yawns.

Guess it was time to sleep.

—

LUCIFER WAS IN DUCK PJS, while for you were in the bathroom as you looked at this robe he brought without you knowing. If was giving cunty wife vibes as the robe was slick in your favorite color but lighter. Your eyes sparkled putting it on as it felt beautiful on you.

Lucifer was waiting on you as he held his breath waiting to see you in the robe as he heard the bathroom door open. He could’ve sworn stars and a glowing vibe came off your natural beauty as you walked out looking fantastic. He blushes like a wild fire as you smile at him.

“Does this suit me?” You said softly like baby lullaby.

He nods as he starts to purr at the sigh of you, his drink love coming back as he has a loving smile on his face as he looks at you walking to the bed. For you, it’s been a while since you slept in the same bed with him. So you kinda felt nervous, but that feeling went gone as he immediately pounced on you.

He was holding you closely as he nuzzles under your chin, it’s funny how the most powerful being in hell is acting so soft for you. But he didn’t care as he had his eyes half-lidded looking up at you as he stares into your eyes. He slowly moved his arms around your waist as you blush at his movement, he bite his lip but stop as he puts you ontop of him.

“Luci?..” you said weary but he only stared at you as you stare back into his half lidded eyes. “Please…just don’t leave me again..” he says softly as he pulls you close to his chest making you hear his heart beat.

You nodded as a smile grew on your face slowly at this moment. He rubs your back slowly making you tired, your eyes fluttered as you get knocked out seconds later. Lucifer stares at your face and kisses your head with a small gentle smile.

“You’re my angel.”

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

[keferon]

OH FUXK WAIT. w a i t.

The last time we collectively tried to find Prowl's cogged design was when the movie wasn't available in decent quality yet. Everything was blurry as fuck and I ended up thinking that was someone else.

But looking at his red chevron now. Yeah it HAS TO BE either Prowl or Bluestreak?? Right??

First! Lmao his chevron is still fucking tiny ahaha

Second. Thinking really intense if he doesn't have doorwings or he does but we can't see them because of the angle.....

Third...wow..that.. chest to waist to hips ratio...that's..yeah. If that design ends up being canon the fanart will be..it will be.

WAIT

WAIT

WAIT

[finniestoncrane]

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 3k the night after cooper finds out about barb and vault tec he goes looking for something destructive to do. his plans were to get black out drunk, but then he finds you, and you're far more destructive 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: cheating/affair sort of (he's asked for a divorce but it is not official yet), hate fucking, hair pulling, angst, shame, rough sex

There was a brief moment where Cooper wondered if he actually wanted this. Any of it. A divorce. A reason for Barb to get angry back at him. But he'd already decided in his mind, even if his heart was a little bit behind. The second he had removed his ring, setting it on the dashboard as he gripped the steering wheel, he'd sealed his fate.

With a deep breath, he left the vehicle and made his way towards the entrance of the bar. An expensive place, one he could afford now but potentially not for much longer depending on how the alimony worked out. But for tonight, at least, he could afford to be Cooper Howard, the movie star. Buying rounds, sending drinks in lieu of actual flirting, letting his money speak for him. Hopefully, given the clientele, he might attract someone worth hating himself for.

Because that's what he was here for. Someone else. Someone to comfort him. He didn't want his friends. He didn't want Barb. He wanted someone he could pin his anger to, someone to do something reckless with. Someone that would help him to understand that his marriage was over. A misdeed that would secure his separation.

He couldn't burn the bridge alone. Someone else needed to be there to hold his hand.

As his palm pushed open the door he was assaulted by the noise, and then the smell. A cacophony of chattering, soundtracked by the loud and frenetic jazz coming from the band on the stage. A sniff of perfume, the assault of cigarette smoke, and a lingering hint of desperation. It bode well to know that there were others here in the same state of mind as he was. Despite having this in common, however, Cooper refused to mingle, at least not until he was sufficiently addled by a few drinks. So he walked past the crowds and the groups at tables, noting each person who turned to comment on his presence which was almost all of them, and pretending to ignore the loud remarks and gestures as he found himself a seat at the end of the bar.

The darkened corner suited him, a slightly hidden spot for him to search out his target, his prey. But distanced enough that people might not notice him, or at least they might leave him alone. He wasn't sure if he would back out of this yet, and the isolation gave him the option at least. Although, as the hour passed by, Cooper felt distinctly lonely, a little bit put out by the lack of attention he had received. Even the bartender, who Cooper was sure had the look of a man who enjoyed a good Western, hadn't recognised him.

So when he noticed you staring, an attempt to surreptitiously confirm who you thought he was, his heart thumped, pathetically grateful for the morsel of attention you were offering him. He held back though. Nothing, he reasoned, would stink of desperation like speaking first, confirming that he was indeed the Cooper Howard to someone who might not know who he was, but just happened to find him attractive. But you were equally nervous, afraid to say anything to someone so far above your station. An actual movie star, and one you'd harboured a crush on to boot.

He was alone, but maybe that's how he wanted to be. What would you say to him anyway? How would you approach him? What did you expect was going to happen? He was a married man, you knew that from his interviews.

But there was no ring on his finger.

Rumours of Hollywood sham marriages, attempts to hide sexualities or proclivities that were a little too out there for mass consumption, but Cooper had always seemed so in love with his wife. Maybe he was a greater actor than you thought. Or maybe you'd caught him at his most vulnerable. Either way, you weren't brave enough to make the move, so with a sheepish smile towards the bar tender, you lifted your drink and began to walk away.

Realising that he was missing his chance at the only person who had looked his way since he had sat down at the bar, Cooper spoke suddenly, not even aware that he'd begun speaking until he could hear his own voice.

"You know, that tastes a lot better neat."

As you turned you pressed on your best smile, watching it melt away into a lopsided grin as his own smile took your breath away. You made an attempt to push away the immediate anxiety you felt from knowing that Cooper Howard himself was addressing you and looked at your glass.

"Are you sure?"

He raised his hands, opening himself up to you.

"I swear, I wouldn't lie to you."

He spoke so softly, an instant relaxation warming you as his charm put you at ease.

"Here, let me buy you another. And this time, you can drink it the right way."

It felt a little bit like a power move, but the way he winked made you feel ok with it. It was playful, mischievous, and maybe just an excuse to talk to you. And it worked. Once you had your drink he offered you the seat next to him and for the next hour you found yourself talking to him effortlessly. There was something so easy about him, like he had enough confidence to share, enough pull and magnetism that you felt like you were the only two people in the world. But there was still something holding you back.

Even with the flirtatious back and forth, the little movements of his hand against your thigh, his eyes lingering on your lips as he spoke to you, there was a block there. And you decided it was worth asking.

"Ok then, Mr Howard. You said you wouldn't lie to me, so I have a question for you."

His soft brown eyes focused on your own, watching you with a calm smile as he nodded to you.

"What's with the tan line? No ring? Is this... what is this?"

It felt completely invasive, but at the same time, you knew you owed that much to yourself. And to his wife. And to Cooper. But the guilt settled in immediately as his smile turned into a pained expression. Cooper stayed silent for a minute, sipping his drink and avoiding eye contact. But eventually, with a deep sigh, he spoke.

"It's over. That's what it is.

"Oh, god... Cooper, I'm so sorry."

Your cheeks felt warm, embarrassment at your social faux pas spreading through you.

"If there's anything I can do..."

It took a moment for you to register your own movements, but when you realised your hand had fallen to his thigh you chose to wait for him to move it away. When he didn't, you let your fingers squeeze the limb, emphasising the meaning behind your words as if there had been any doubt as to what you were alluding to. You were braver now, three drinks in, and he had given you the go ahead to flirt throughout your conversation. With his permission, his consent, there wasn't much that could stop you now. Especially not when he finally spoke, drawing his eyes from your fingers to your own gaze.

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Cooper placed his hand over yours, his eyes boring into you. As you looked back into them you could see that they were sad, something glimmering behind them that told you how tired he was, how much he was aching. But beyond that, there was something pleading, begging you. He needed a little bit of attention, of something good to keep him going. So you grabbed his hand, fingers entwined together, and you pulled him out of the stool, waiting for him to toss down more than enough cash to settle his bill, and led him out of the bar.

Outside, Cooper began guiding you instead, tugging your hand towards his car.

"You're drunk, Mr Howard. I don't think you should be driving."

He stopped for a moment before stepping closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist and settling at your back as he pulled you into him.

"I agree, I can't drive. But I'm not drunk. I don't want you thinking that I don't know what we're doing here. I'm very aware. Are you?"

With a smile, you leaned in to kiss him, lips meeting his with a sharp inhale as you realised what you were doing. He was kissing you back, though, assuaging your concerns that you were overstepping his boundaries, or setting yourself up for embarrassment by thinking that someone like him would be interested in a stranger in a bar. As you pulled back, he grinned.

"I'll take that as a yes, then, shall I?"

You nodded, raising your hand and waving to one of the cabs in the rank outside of the bar and taking Cooper's arm as you walked towards the one at the front. Ever the gentleman, he remained polite and civil in the back of the cab. It was only a short distance, anyway, and the driver insisted on spending the journey telling Cooper how much he loved his last film, asking when he'd see him again on the big screens. And Cooper avoided any definitive answers, maintaining an air of gratitude despite the tell-tale expression of disappointment he wore on his face. Still, he tipped generously when they exited the cab, shrugging his shoulders at you as he opened your door and walked you up the steps to his apartment. He stopped at the front door though, pausing for a moment, as though he were reconsidering everything. And afraid that that was exactly what was happening, you took the opportunity when it presented itself, lunging into a kiss when he turned to speak to you.

It worked, knocking him back against the wall, silencing him from whatever he might have been about to say. Instead of hesitation, he was now focused on the moment, his hands tracing your sides, gripping at you as he caressed your body, exploring it, new and exciting. Only when he ran out of breath did his palms find your shoulders, pushing you off slightly, but keeping his fingers tensed so you couldn't get away.

"I assume that means you will join me for a drink inside?"

You barely managed to nod before he had grabbed you once more, his hand flung clumsily around your waist, free hand working his key into the door and fumbling with the knob. Once you were inside, he wrapped both arms around you, keeping you to him as he kicked the door closed and walked you to the bedroom. No drink. No sofa. No chit chat while he waited to loosen you up a bit more. Cooper wanted you to have your wits, to be able to consent to this. He didn't want to make this mistake any worse than it already was.

As you made your way to the bedroom, Cooper began grabbing at your clothes, pulling hard enough to let you know how desperate he was, but gentle enough that he wasn't about to ruin anything you had on. You tried to express your gratitude, to confirm your enthusiasm for what you were sure was coming next as his hands caressed you lips grazing over your neck hungrily, but you found it hard to catch his eyes.

In fact, since entering his apartment, you'd found it hard to make any eye contact with him, as if he was avoiding it for some reason.

And he was. Cooper was well aware of your efforts to catch his eye, knowing that it might provide you with some comfort but unable to afford it to you. He was too full of hate, angry at himself for going through with this, angrier still for wanting it, wanting you. If he stopped for a moment and let that feeling sink in, let your eyes see behind his and into his pained soul, then neither of you might have the stomach to continue. But he needed it. He needed to feel the heat of desire, the warmth of another person, the self-congratulatory pride of orgasm.

With his lips firmly pressed to your throat, tongue lapping out over your skin in intermittent flicks, he brought his hands to your waist and sat down, pulling you with him, resting you on top of his body as he sank into the mattress.

"You ok... with this?"

He sounded nervous, his voice quiet and low, almost shaking. It could have been excitement, perhaps anticipation of what you were about to do, but it felt like the unmistakeable shudder of fear that lingered below the deep tone of his words.

"Of course. Of course."

With that, he rolled you over onto your back, quickly settling himself on top of you. His eyes still avoided yours, but it wasn't bothering you all that much now that his hands were skating over your sides, his lips peppering gentle kisses over your exposed skin as he undressed you, his hands fumbling with his own shirt and pants until you were writhing together, entirely unclothed. The sweet sting of whisky on his breath, the dark musk of his nervous sweat mingling with your own scent as you became one on top of the sheets.

Each kiss felt almost deranged. Angry, passionate, hungry. Lips that dragged down over your skin, teeth that were bared, scraping over you. His fingers, ghosting over your chest, circling your nipples until he pinched at them softly, then firmer, releasing the grip only when you hissed, wincing slightly at the dull ache.

He was considerate. And that at least calmed some of your nerves as you considered what you were in for when he decided to start fucking you. You'd only managed to steal glances at his body, his firm chest, surprisingly toned abdomen, and the worryingly large, fully erect cock that pressed against you.

"You look nervous?"

He followed your gaze, glancing at his own length before giving you a slick smile.

"Don't think about it too much, it's not so bad. In fact..."

His fingers dug into your waist, rolling you over under him until you were on your stomach, legs spreading in anticipation of his cock. Cooper retrieved some moisturiser from the drawer at the side of the bed, not exactly a good substitute for lube, but you weren't about to question him. You waited patiently, instead, quiet except for the small mewl you gave as he pressed the tip of his dick between your folds and lowered his body onto yours.

With a soft roll of his lower body, he inserted more of himself into you, an immediate filling sensation dulling your other senses, your eyes half-lidded as you focused on letting him enter you as completely as he wanted to.

The gentle pace didn't last long, however. The moment he felt your walls cling to him, the feeling of his head hitting the furthest point in you, he begun to rut wildly. You were wincing in pain, moaning in pleasure, allowing yourself to be flattered by the fact that you felt so good that he was struggling to control himself.

But the animalistic way he had begun to pound you was less an expression of arousal and more out of anger. He was full of it. Anger for Barb for what she had done, for what she had made him do. Anger for himself, for stooping to this level, for not seeing the truth sooner. Anger for you, because you were letting him fuck his emotions into you, every aggressive thrust of his cock a little bit of relief from the pain and misery he felt, but only for the split second afterwards, because then it came back ten-fold. It was a vicious cycle, one he could get addicted to, pummelling himself into your open, willing cunt over and over, just to briefly rid himself of the feeling of loneliness and misery that surrounded him.

He ran his hand up your spine, tangling his fingers in your hair before he pulled your head back. Your body arched a little, raised off the mattress as you hissed in pain. He didn't let up though, in fact, as he saw his wedding ring glinting though the strands of hair wrapped around his fingers, he only got rougher.

Cooper's eyes drifted backwards, and when he pulled himself back to focus, he caught a glimpse of the photo of Barb on the dresser, a memento he'd taken from the house he once shared with her. Shifting his attention to something else, anything else, he found a spot of damp on the wall, yet another thing to add to the list of shit in his new apartment. He stared at it intensely as he rammed his hips into your body, pushing the rage and dissatisfaction out of him, letting it fill you instead.

That notion, the idea of getting rid of his bad feelings, of depositing them inside of you instead to keep them for him, had a profound effect on his psyche, an instant relief, and one that he felt physically too. His cum, warm, copious, drained inside of your welcoming cunt, walls painted white, inner thighs dripping in him as he pulled out and lay down on the bed with panting breaths.

When he rolled onto his side, you did the same, facing away from him, unsure of what he wanted you to do now. He hadn't asked you to leave, but he hadn't asked you to stay either.

You got your answer, however, when you'd moved away from him a little bit, trying to give him space, and he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back to him. It was so obvious to you that he wasn't sure what it was that he wanted, or what he needed, but whatever it was, you were grateful to have the opportunity to offer it to him.

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!” 

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.” 

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander. 

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.” 

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights. 

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

[maybege]

Drained

Summary: Donating blood suddenly has a very different meaning.

Pairing: vampire!Paz Vizsla x fem!!Reader

Wordcount: 3.9k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, explicit sexual content, dry humping, blood

Happy October everybody! I hope that autumn is treating you well and if it is not, that I can make you feel a little better with this Halloween-y Paz piece. As always, this is an AU that has existed extensively in my mind for a very long time, so it was fun to actually write something about it lol I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please leave a comment or a reblog, so we can all freak out about what a hot fun guy vampire!Paz is.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The night air was crisp as you made your way to one of the most exclusive clubs in the whole city and your choice to wear high heels felt stupider with every step you took over the wet streets of downtown but it was too late to change your mind now. In more ways than one.

You threw another look at your phone, where your navigation app guided you down yet another dark alleyway until you arrived at a door that couldn’t look further from trustworthy if it tried.

But as you pushed the door to Vizsla’s Speakeasy open and made your way behind a deep red velvet curtain, you were suddenly enveloped in pure luxury. You could make out leather tufted booths in the candlelight. The walls were dark but shimmery, looking soft to the touch, and more than one wall was covered in golden picture frames. Jazz music played in the background, though you could not see a live band, though maybe they were just hidden in the depths of the bar.

The place was packed – so packed, in fact, that you were surprised you hadn’t heard the commotion outside. Those brick walls must be very thick, indeed.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that you were surrounded mostly by vampires, you made your way to the bar which was set up on the long side of the room. A tall woman stood behind the counter, looking busy. The shelves behind her were stacked with easily hundreds of liquor bottles, creating a colourful backdrop.

“Uh, hi, I am here to, uh, to – “

“New donor?” the gruff woman asked, not stopping her work of wiping down the counter.

You nodded quickly, trying to make yourself feel tall and confident and hoping that no one saw how tightly you were gripping your bag.

Marylin had sworn on her new designer bag that blood donating was one of the safest things one could do (“and it gets you bags like these!”). Considering how long you had worked together, it was kind of tragic that it took four years and her floating into work with that cherry red bag that you had seen in a window one day and had dreamt of ever since to ask her where she had all that disposable income from.

After all, you both worked the same job.

“Oh, that is easy,” she grinned, “I am donating blood.”

It was common knowledge that the streets of the city belonged to the creatures of the night. At least it had been that way ever since you could remember. Your grandparents sometimes still talked about the time before vampires and werewolves suddenly appeared at every corner, drastically changing life as they knew it.

The time of change was something neither of your grandparents ever talked about. It must have been rough. But somehow, after years of tensions and deaths and protests, it all settled into something that everyone could live with. And part of that was that the cities were flooded at night with people that previously had to hide. There were establishments specifically for them, where like and like mingled, and from a young age you were taught never to go out at night.

As you grew older and actually moved from your parents' place in the peaceful suburbs to the city, you knew that nighttime was not as dangerous as they had made it out to be. The interest vampires and werewolves had in actually tearing you up was overrated and you could still go out for an after-work drink or celebrate your birthday by going out until the sun rose. There were just some streets you tried to avoid.

But a huge part of why it was no longer so dangerous was because blood banks existed. And not the kinds to save people’s lives. Although, in some way, they did. Vampires no longer having to hunt and drain innocent bystanders entirely of their blood to survive made the biggest difference in being able to share a society.

You could go to any hospital and donate blood just like in old times and, just like in old times, you were compensated with a small fee. Charitable work, truly.

Unless you wanted to get a cherry red handbag, pay off the medical bills inherited from your childhood, finally afford an apartment bigger than a shoebox, or invite your friends out for dinner sometime.

Then, you wanted to go where Marilyn directed you. Into one of the vampire-owned locations where said vampires would splurge a lot of money on getting blood that was not vacuum sealed in a medical-grade plastic bag.

“It is like a very unusual cocktail bar,” your colleague had explained, showing you her neck and wrists to make her point about how no marks were left after a few days, “And I have never felt safer anywhere else. Just try it and thank me later!”

Which is why you were now standing in front of a woman who looked nothing like how you imagined a vampire to look. She was wearing normal clothes, for one, and her tattoo sleeve did not make her look very immortal. “Name’s Steph,” she introduced herself. “Care for a welcome mocktail while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded. “Mar sent you, right?”

It took you a moment to realize that Mar was Marilyn and you nodded, nervously looking around. There was no official dress code but you were happy you ended up going with the black pumps and the little black dress. Everyone here looked like they were dripping in understated wealth. “She said she wouldn’t be here today.”

“Nah, she only comes on Tuesdays,” Steph explained and set the glass down, “But you’re not here to see Mar.”

No, you were not, and the reminder made your throat feel very dry.

“There is no reason to be nervous,” she smiled, “The first donation is always with one of your more senior guests. They have more experience with feeding off someone alive and can control themselves if you show any signs of discomfort. If you feel in any way unsafe, just say Geronimo, and I will come and make sure you are okay, okay?”

You nodded, biting your tongue to ask how she was supposed to hear you over the noise.

“I am sure you want to get to know who is going to be assigned to you tonight – Pat!”

A woman turned around with the happiest smile you had ever seen. Her dark hair was in a tousled updo and heavy diamond earrings swung when she turned around. Though that was not what you focussed on. There was a small trail of blood down her throat and you wondered if you should tell her. How hard was blood to get out of clothes anyway?

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Djarin tonight?”

“Oh, he's gone camping again,” she explained, “He asked Mr Vizsla to take over, he should be here somewhere, I just saw him …”

“He is right here, ladies,” a deep voice said right behind you and you turned around.

You were not sure what you had been expecting. Certainly not this specimen. He was tall. And broad. And handsome.

Oh fuck, why is he so handsome?

Mr Vizsla was the biggest man you had ever seen and if you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was a werewolf. He had a strong, stubbled jaw and his dark hair was swept into a hairstyle that made you think of your grandmother's movies. He wore an all-black suit with the first few buttons undone, which meant you got a peek at his chest and the gold chain that was around his neck.

“She’s the newbie that was assigned to Djarin tonight.”

You met his gaze and immediately knew he had caught you ogling him. Shit. But then his eyes roamed over you and you swallowed, trying to stand a little taller even if your feet were already killing you. This was the most beautiful man you had ever seen and everything in you wanted to impress him. The side of his mouth quirked up into a charming smile.

“I'll take it from here,” he announced and held out his hand to you, “why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, darling?"

You followed him silently through the bar that seemed to much deeper in the building than you had originally thought. At one point, you even passed the band. You spotted his face in a few pictures, several of them black and white.

He looked older than you but he didn’t look old. Not like he had lived entire millennia. Maybe he hadn’t. Was it considered rude to ask vampires their age?

“Did you read the pamphlet?” he asked when he stopped you both at a small and empty booth. His hand was warm and dry, you could feel a few callouses at his fingertips and you wondered if he worked. Or if he had always been a … businessman? Bar owner?

You nodded, listing off every bullet point that had been on the online info sheet Marylin (Mar, apparently) had forwarded to your email. “I made sure to hydrate plenty, am not taking any blood thinners and my last check-up at the GP did not show anything wrong with my bloodwork. I should be good to donate blood.”

“Good,” he nodded, “do you have any questions before we get started? Anything at all?”

You shook your head. You knew why you were here but why did it suddenly all feel so fast?

His strong hand wrapped around your wrist and you let your eyes drift over the tattoos on his knuckles and the girth of his fingers and … damn it, how could one man be so … handsome? You had always thought of vampires as pale-faced, porcelain statue versions of humans. But he looked … rugged, and warm, and real. And pretty damn sexy.

“Do you have a preference?”

“What?”

With burning ears, you realized you hadn’t listened to a word this handsome stranger had said. He realized it too because he had that cocky smile again. “Don’t get distracted by my dashing looks, sweetheart,” he teased you, “This is important.”

You nodded numbly, still watching your hand in his. “I will take a bite at your wrist first,” he repeated gently, “Some people have a strong preference for where to bite and we find that it is a good test to see how you feel afterwards. I usually suggest the non-dominant hand but maybe you already have a preference?”

“No, uh, non-dominant is fine,” you murmured, holding out the hand in question.

Mr Vizsla did not look away from you though. His dark eyes were filled with mirth as he patted the spot right next to him. “Might be a bit more comfortable if you're closer,” he said and you looked down at the big space between your bodies. He was right, you knew that, but you also knew that your heart was not just racing because you were nervous to give yourself over to a vampire. No, you were pretty sure that the closer you got to him, the likelier you would be to embarrass yourself.

You really did not want to embarrass yourself.

Not even a second later, you could feel his thick thigh press against yours. Your heart skipped a beat and you wondered if he could hear it. It had been too long since anyone touched you and of course, it had to be at the most inopportune moment that you realized that.

“No need to be nervous,” he assured you, “If you feel in any discomfort if you want to stop for whatever reason, just say Geronimo and Steph is right there to punch me off you if you feel unsafe.”

“Steph?”

Who was Steph? All you could focus on was the sight of him gently cradling your hand and brushing his mouth over your palm. The touch was so gentle, yet so intentional, it made your thighs clench. His lips brushed over the inside of your wrist and your breathing stuttered. “Think of nice things,” he winked at you before his teeth sank into your skin.

An image flashed in front of your eyes. Nice might be the wrong words to describe it. You saw him – felt him, more like – bent over you, driving into you from behind. Your eyes rolled back, hands fisted into white sheets. It was warm, you were in the tropics somewhere, but that did not bother you. Because the man behind you fucked you so good you were crying, begging him for more and all you could see was –

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked, feeling dizzy at how violently you were pulled away from an idea that felt so real. What was that?

The dark-haired man still had your hand in his and you could see two little drops of blood forming on your wrist. It did not hurt, not really, except for a dull throbbing in your veins. You frowned, trying to clear your head of the image that had been so real for a moment that your body still craved being filled by … him.

“Good,” your voice felt hoarse and you swallowed, trying to get rid of the sudden dryness in your throat. He had no business looking so devilishly handsome with his lips stained dark from your blood.

Your neck would be next, you knew, and immediately your mind was filled with pictures of you in his lap, closer than what was probably appropriate. Then again, it didn’t exactly seem like society’s rules were followed in this place.

He shifted in his seat, his legs spreading and your eyes involuntarily darted to the bulge hidden by his slacks. With the dim lighting, you shouldn't have been able to see anything but still, you imagined to see a very distinguishable something between his legs.

And then an idea popped into your head that you could not get rid of.

“Would it – would,” you swallowed again, trying to find the courage to ask what you wanted.

“What, darling?” he asked, his tongue darting out to lick over the puncture wounds on your arms. You gasped at the feeling. Maybe someone should add spontaneous arousal to the side effects section of that pamphlet.

“Can I – Could …”, you stopped short, frustrated at how nervous you were.

“You want to straddle me?” he suggested his legs spreading the tiniest bit more and you could feel your core pulse at the sight of it. Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

“Is that very inappropriate?” you rushed out, “I am sorry, I don’t mean to put you into an awkward position and –“

“Hey,” he murmured, his hands on your waist gently guiding you to him “Whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, all right?”

You took a deep breath, “All right.”

His large hand was on your neck, gently cupping one side so you could rest your weight against it, offering him up all this space. There was faint music in the background and you could feel his breath wash over the sensitive skin.

Your breathing stuttered, your heart raced and you shifted closer to him, your core settling over his which made you even more.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your jawline, the tip of his nose over your neck, “It is like I can hear your thoughts from here.”

Your laugh sounded breathy even to your ears but before you could worry about how you wanted to make sure you were not being a nuisance; his teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck.

The images returned almost instantly.

This time it wasn’t him behind you in the tropics. This time it was right where you were sitting. But instead of straddling him, you were kneeling between his legs, your mouth wrapped around the girth of his cock. You were caged in by his thick thighs, you could feel the heat of his body at your shoulders, his hand at the back of your head, pushing and pulling you on his shaft.

Good fucking girl, he rumbled in your mind and you gasped out a moan. With a particularly deep thrust, he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes eager to find him even through the tears.

The scene morphed and you were somewhere else, wearing next to nothing. There were people all around you, club music pounding in your ears. You wore a mini-dress with an orange pattern looking like it came out of one of those retro shows. But that was not what you focused on, no.

You were on him, his cock nestled inside you as he faintly talked with other people and you were just there, moving in minuscule thrusts as he kept his hands on you, his mouth occasionally on your neck, whispering things you could not hear but knew were dirty.

Oh fuck. You wanted to pull away, feeling your pussy getting wetter. At this point, you would not be surprised if you had left a wet patch on his pants. But you would be really fucking embarrassed.

The burning in your cheeks made you want to jerk back, get off his lap and run away to move to the other side of the county.

Don’t, sweetheart, you will hurt yourself.

Your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but the dark corner of the ceiling. He was in your head. Was he in your head?

You are in my head?

His mouth did not leave your throat and his other hand landed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. Right onto the growing bulge in his pants.

Believe me, that’s my first time, too, his voice sounded amused, almost, don’t stop on my account. I quite enjoyed the little picture show.

The hand on your neck spanned wide and suddenly he was tilting your head differently and your eyes fell closed, returning to the images in your minds – and in his, too, apparently.

Your hips started moving on their own accord, grinding against his prominent erection as you found yourself chasing a high you had not felt in a long time.

Fuck, sweetheart. You could faintly hear him groan against your neck and you bucked against him again, the pressure on your clit delicious. The hand on your back wandered lower, to your ass and with how you were moving against him, it was easy for his fingers to slip under the hem of your dress.

Please, Paz, you thought, your pussy aching when his calloused fingertips brushed the lacy edge of your panties before finding the wet spot between your thighs.

Come for me, sweetheart, his voice commanded in your hand.

Countless scenarios flashed in your head, each one more pleasurable than the last but all of them too quick to focus on one. Even if you had wanted to, you would not have been able to form a coherent thought as your orgasm crashed through you.

When you came back into reality, his tongue was on your neck, closing the wound just like on your wrist before. Your thighs felt uncomfortably wet and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Well, that was a first,” Paz breathed and you blinked, trying very hard to be present. The high you were still floating on came crashing down when you realized you were still sitting on his lap and you had just come in front of this, essentially, stranger when that had really not been the plan.

Fuck, you had to get out of here before he kicked you out. How could you have dropped the ball so badly on this?

“No movement,” his hand flexed your back, stopping you from clambering off him, “We don’t want you to get dizzy. Stay here for five-ish minutes and we will see how you feel after some aftercare.”

“A-aftercare?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing over your neck. “A mocktail and the pastry of the day,” he elaborated, “I think it’s croissants today. “

You really liked croissants.

“I am so ashamed,” you whispered, your eyes firmly fixed on his collarbone, “I am so sorry. I promise I will never come back. When Marylin explained donating blood, it didn’t sound like – I wasn’t prepared for –“

“Please do come back,” he interrupted you gently, fingers tipping your chin up until you had to meet his dark eyes, “It – What happened is rare. And I never heard of both happening at the same time.”

Your puzzled expression was enough for him to continue.

“Some people are more … sensitive,” his deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, “When it comes to feeding from them. And I have heard of the odd pair where there was a telepathic connection, but I’ve never – haven’t experienced either. There is no reason to be ashamed. Clearly, I was affected too.”

Your cheeks burned at the memory of that one image that you were certain your head hadn’t come up with.

“Though I have to warn you that if you do come back, I might ask you to be assigned to me every time,” he teased, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. When he spoke, his fangs did not seem all that prominent but would it be different if you kissed?

“I – I wouldn’t mind that, Mr Vizsla,” you admitted quietly.

He scoffed, “Call me, Paz, sweetheart, please.”

The arrival of the waiter interrupted any further conversation and Mr Vizsla (Paz) gently eased you off his lap until you were sitting right next to him. Although the movement was slow and minimal, a wave of dizziness still washed over you and you understood why he had kept you from fleeing.

“Drink,” he offered you the fancy glass and you took it. His arm was draped around the back of the booth right behind you and you felt both comforted and nervous by how close he was.

“Slow and steady,” he murmured as you gulped down the fruity mocktail. His forehead was almost leaning against your temple and you had to resist the urge to just … relax into him.

This felt like the best sex you ever had and yet this man was virtually a stranger. But there was no hesitation in his gentle touches as he offered you the plate with the croissant and there was no flinching on your part when he put his arm around your shoulders.

Was it possible to feel such deep trust in someone you had met only once?

His phone rang and you watched as he pulled it out of his pocket, the sizable screen dwarfed in his hand. A frown formed on his face and your smile fell.

“I am so sorry, but I need to go now,” he announced with a frown on his face. With you still sitting down, he seemed even bigger and you looked up at him with big eyes. Somehow, you had hoped that he would stay. That you could get to know him more.

“So soon?”

“I have to be home in time to feed the cat,” he replied.

“You have a cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Biscuits and if her dinner is late she will start killing any mice she can find and I will not spend my eternal life digging small gravesites.” As if to prove his point, he unlocked his screen and showed you a picture of the fluffiest cat you had ever seen. Biscuits seemed a fitting name.

“Will – will you be here next time too?” you asked before you could lose your courage.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “Remember what I said, love, you’re stuck with me now.”

[crying-fantasies]

Frame modification

Masterlist

Featuring TFAnimated! Jetfire and Jetstorm, smut/humor, CW: heavy touching, licking, massage(?), fingering, blowjob, humping, alien courting (gone wrong), aerial crash.

It was an accident, you swear in everything loved to you that it was a sincere, clueless accident, yeah, there's direct affirmative in the fact that you didn't know what was happening at first, but then it just got so messed up so fast after the realization, but how could you stop the whole deal was beyond salvation, sincere curiousness got out of proportion stupidly quickly from both parties involved in, you could still feel the whiplash of the morning after.

What was worse than dealing with touchy servos as soon as the sun rises was having to talk to the one in charge of the well-being of your principal headache.

But before diving down into your debauchery, curiosity peaks its ugly head above the anxiety and the black hole that once was your embarrassment, because you have to know if what happened yesterday (or today's first hours?) was common for robot alien standards or if you have updated the term hoe to another level.

“Oh”, Jazz is driving, impossible to see his faceplate due to him being in alt-mode, but he sounds sincere enough to make you feel worse, “well, yeah, split sparks tend to share the same partner”.

Your suffering groan almost shows his amusement, “you're kidding, right?”

Jazz was an easygoing and nice mech to be around, ironically the first and last person, or not, you wanted to know about the incident, but he seemed anything but serious and understanding, “They once were the same spark, they may be in different frames now, but the bond of love blends them once again”.

Why did that sound like the lyrics of a goddam Madonna song?

When did all go down? Maybe it was a bad idea to exhibit them the beauty of Earth by flying over the city only to spite Sentinel, and since the twins could fly, why not? They offered to give you a ride in the first place, making peace at the very end as Jetfire let Jetstorm be the one to take you. Memories are distant as you were more focused on seeing the revolted face plate of the Prime once he found out you entered inside the twins, maybe while you were getting into Jetstorm there was a moment when your hand lingered over his wing, he trembled, strange static bouncing inside his cabin as you were searching for his seatbelt, “What was that?”

He seemed out of breath, but alien robots from space don't breathe, “Worries not! Brother just happy to help!”

You believed in Jetfire, but the kick he gave to his brother's side was evident and loud like a frying pan falling, certainly making it seem different like it was indeed something of importance.

The twins were gentlemechs in all that time, also watching your manners the whole ride and making sure to not touch anything on his board, figure out what all those buttons were for, Jetfire was saying something about “greenness fields! And doted mammal quadruples!”, there was little time to explain those were cows before Jetstorm put on his own two cents, “Little two-pedes mammals too, coming to say hi!”

Those weren't mammals you wanted to say, but had little time reaction once you crossed eyes with the dark, soulful eyes of a whole flock of birds, news of high-speed jets and the likes of it impacting birds flashed inside your mind, and headlines of death, destruction as the twins were greeting the animals.

The twins weren't the brightness, your whole body moved before your brain, Jetstorm made the same sound as before when you impacted with his board and turned right, Jetfire soon followed as his brother came over him, and the last you saw was the birds continuing their path. Life does flash in front of your eyes, as you hear both twins scream, or is it you? Not sure, maybe you didn't even blink during the whole ordeal as your consciousness came back, Jetstorm was performing, or trying to do, CPR with his massive digit over your chest, maybe the pain woke you up, or Jetfire’s pedes pacing from one place to the other, asking himself, if not to his brother, what they were going to do now, was he crying?

But you woke up, and they both screamed as high school kids who didn't believe their hamster was still alive before you laughed at the absurdity, the nerves and the adrenaline flushing over your body, maybe madness was contagious, as Jetfire left his fussing over your wellbeing aside and started to laugh once Jetstorm did accompany you.

“Brother really believe soft human went to the Allspark!”

“Did not!”

You wanted to ask what the Allspark was, and how come they didn't know about the dangers of flying, before realizing, once again, that yeah, they did tell you about not being familiar with their new alt modes or even the new coding, Jetfire was the nearest to you as they were too occupied still placing faults, laughter was soon dying out as the open fields were anything but chilly at this hour of the afternoon, and you could feel him being so warm.

Jetfire made the same sound his brother did earlier, as you snuggled on his side, maybe that was another red flag, well, not a red flag, but a signal indeed.

But you kept on, “touchy feeling today, ya?” Jetstorm accused you, but not really, his words lacked annoyance, rich with amusement instead, perhaps alien robots don't touch one another so easily?

Possibly not, they liked to touch you, too, one digit over your head, one pressing your belly, feeling how things moved inside, they liked your touch, if only laughing or making that static again.

It was your fault, believing it was a good thing once Jetfire didn't escape from it for the first time, leaning onto your hand instead, believing it was good when Jetstorm got you shiny pebbles and maybe quartz before his brother accused him of not being fair, of going too fast, their discussion was lost on you as the quartz shined in your open palms, Jetfire got you a pebble of gold the next day, saying it was tasty and that he didn't know humans also consumed metals.

“It's not your fault”, Jazz said back to the present.

Maybe it was indeed your fault, no, scratch that, it was totally your fault.

It was you who noticed how much static they built up once your fingers traced over their arms, just where their wings got when they were in root mode, Jetstorm smiled, almost like a grin, before pressing it to you, letting you explore before transforming, still in root mode, but with his wings in full display, his grin was now a little, tight smile as he didn't have to say anything before having you over the surface of it, a shiver ran along his whole plating, loud enough for you to hear, he was warm to the touch when he was the coolest one of the two.

Realization dawned upon you when his cooling fans started to work and his hips stuttered.

Did alien robots of space do that?

It was a question without a direct answer, Jetstorm was fast to cover his intake with a servo, his sitting position now more relaxed but also more tense, if it even made sense, “okay” he said with a puff of hot air, “Softy don't know, better stop now-”

But you didn't stop, your finger gripped a little harder over his wing, and this time Jetstorm's hips moved forward, it was clear as the day.

Something inside you did a hard jump too.

“Softy!” he called out, whole frame trembling, as your other hand reached out too, experimenting, was he being serious? Did his wings feel good if you did this?

There was only one way to know, “Storm?” he was lost on his own, a gentle pinch over his wing got him back to reality, followed by something similar to a moan, you related the motion just to be sure, and holly, it was, “does it feel good?”

Took him a moment, but his helm moved, “ya”, his back strut was almost sliding down the wall, screeching metal could be heard as he descended but he never flexed his wings back, “feeling great”

Did that make something to you, of course, face deep red for all to see, grateful it had happened inside, where no one could notice, “Do you want me to do it again?”

New experiences are what move the curious and the youthful, no matter the species as Jetstorm encouraged you once again by flexing his wing in your hold, whimpering when you grabbed it again with both hands, “New frame, new wiring, not normal for me”, his helm was thrown back with heavy ventilation once your lips made contact with the surface, not colliding with the wall by pure miracle “Ah! Soft! Softness much!”.

It was a guilty pleasure, seeing him come undone, is this how it feels to have someone so receptive as a partner? The dopamine flush was making you feel dizzy, having control over this literal giant, brave enough to try and show off, dragging your whole body over the surface, pressing yourself against it, earning a whimper soon to be a lustful moan.

Jetstorm and Jetfire always talked endlessly about how they liked your squishy bits and the fluffy feeling of your hair, you raised the likeness to the limit when your tongue made contact with the plating, and Jetstorm screamed.

Someone screamed from the corridor too.

What a sight it must have been, Jetfire opened the door and looked as if he had run to get there, you could almost see the heatwaves streaming out of him as the snacks he went to get were falling from his servo, you took a glimpse at Jetstorm, sprawled over the big mattress they used to hang out with you, ventilating so hard his chassis was rising and falling, intake wide open, something pink coming from between his leg struts, wings stretched and trembling, you, red in the face, hands still over said wing and still holding to them for dear life, your t-shirt showing the fat of your belly in your desire to press yourself on him.

Fear splashed on your face, this is it, you were about to do the nasty with your friend's brother, who is also your friend, and he caught you in the act, there was no way to say “It's not what you think” but you still did so.

Jetfire, with his big optics over you, directed his fury over the almost unconscious bot, “Brother! How could you!”

Oh, this is it, you fucked up, in more than one sense, you braced yourself for losing a great friendship over your stupid horng mess, but Jetstorm talked back from whatever post-nut clarity he had on himself, “Sorry, brother, poor pitiful me could no longer wait”

“Softy is a high-end!”

“Oh, a luxury one indeed!”

“But what about organic courting? The wine dining! The three decacycle celebrations! The slow dancing!The song under tree! Brother messed all up!”

“Messy indeed, brother!”

They lost you in that argument, but pieces came together, the rocks, the touches, the spare time here and there to hang out, whatever alien ritual was going on shattered over you as Jetstorm didn't want to wait anymore, and requested to a handjob from you, finally, it made sense, as they kept on fighting verbally, your shock was broken when Jetstorm's wing pushed against your hand once again.

The gall of this fucker.

“So”, you tugged hard, Storm cried out, again, and Jetfire shut up for good, “you were ever going to talk with me about it?”

That was a point of no return.

And then a point of discovery that you were a freak in the sheets.

Having reduced Jetstorm once again to a messy rebooting state on the floor was one thing, another different thing was having Jetfire thrusting into the air, sitting as he gave you free access to the wielding point at the base of his wings, must have hurt, but it also left you flabbergasted how much sensitivity it was holding.

Curiosity reached another level, as the tip of your tongue made minimal contact with the length of his wing, Jetfire cried out and there was a sound, something dripping, “Where- where Softy going?”, you were no acrobat or gymnastic, but you could be bent to his side and see some wiring flicking light over where Jetfire’s stomach should be, going south and falling behind.

That day you not only found out your peculiar nature but also that those wires in the protoform were the cybertronian equivalent of a happy trail you were happy to follow, being presented with the cybertronian equivalent of a dick and a vagina once your hands touched enough for him to finally let go, accompanied by the last pieces of your sanity as Jetfire did the most fuckable face you've ever seen before diving down to it, Jetstorm was now pressing his spike between your legs as you worked on his brother.

“Well, all I’m saying”, Jazz’s voice brings back the present, “is that they've been very interested in you for so long, I'm happy you guys figured it out”.

You didn't figure out shit, and it showed when Safeguard appeared that very same evening at your house with a rose bush in hand, looking like a flimsy virgin searching for their date, your mother gave you the most scorching glance in forever.

You wanted to vanish from existence.

Just what you would expect of the crash course into the deep and delicacies of cybertronian courtship.

.

I'm taking too long, am I taking too long? Kind of hard to put my ideas in order, no angst this time, but more silliness from one pair of twins I love dearly since I was a kid.

For the Jetwins lovers.

@tf-kinktober2024

[haleswallows]

Mourning ‘til Dawn Fandom: DCxDP Teen (minor descriptions of injuries, vivisection, off-screen deaths) For the @dpxdcbigbang Inspired by a prompt by tourettesdog where Agent O is a GIW whistleblower.

Arc 2: Healing now live!

Teaser:

Diana holds Danny’s hand between her palms. He lets out a shuddering breath and she bows her head until their hands are pressed to her forehead. From the outside, it looks as if they are posed in prayer.

It isn’t too far from the truth. Diana begs favor from her patron gods. Begs for relief, begs for rest. “Would you like some more ice, brave one?”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up. Why does this suck so much? Ecto-Dejecto never made me sick like this before.”

Diana hums, taps a slow rhythm against the back of Danny’s hand. To give him something to concentrate on. “How about a few crackers?” Danny makes a retching sound and smiles when Diana huffs. “If not crackers, maybe a story? I have many League adventures that are amusing. Or stories of the gods.”

Another shiver wracks through Danny. He huffs out a small cloud of mist. “Ugh. Um, silly League stories. They’re much better than mine.”

“Then shall we trade, little warrior? A League story for a ghost story, it is a fair exchange.” And her eyes gleam a little bit when Danny manages a laugh. Diana finds it admirable and endearing that Danny’s sense of humor has been as durable as the teen. 

“You first,” Danny declares. “Hang on, I think I’m going to sneeze and it’s going to be disgusting.”

“The color is amusing at least,” Diana offers as she grabs a tissue. “You’re already better than this morning. The fever has definitely lessened.”

The tissue is wadded up and tossed away, but not until Diana confirms the snot is indeed day-glo green. “Ghost biology is weird. Yeah, my headache is better too.”

“Yeah?” She pushes his bangs back. “A good sign. How do your wounds feel?”

He flaps his free hand in a circle. “Not as painful, mostly itchy. Weirdly slimy. Did you know human bodies make mucus to heal most things? Human biology is weird too!” A beat. “Wait! You promised a story.”

“I believe I negotiated for a trade, little warrior.” Diana lets herself sound smug. “Hm, there’s a lot. I don’t know where to start. I’ve been a hero a long time.”

Somehow, Danny weedles hours of stories from her. A number of Leaguers’ ears are probably burning, particularly Batman and Flash. Reluctantly Danny shares a few of his own heroic tales. She especially loves the story with Jazz and Youngblood. 

He holds things back. Diana can tell. Whether he fears her reaction or wants to obfuscate the real danger he was in, Diana does not know. His stories come with the realization how alone Danny has been. She can’t stop herself from praising him.

“Without a mentor! Impressive. Utilizing the inventions available and optimizing them for your own use is incredible. We can teach how to be a good hero, but we cannot teach how to be clever or how to adapt. You should be proud, I hope you are.”

At Danny’s silence, Diana realizes she has been rambling. She smiles ruefully at him. Shocked, she leans closer to his bed. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s smiling.

Danny squints at her. His eyes are barely cracked open. She can just begin to see how blue they are.

“There you are.”

He closes his eyes, squints them back open. Diana’s heart clenches.

“Hello, brave one. Please call me Diana.” He clings to her, one hand in hers and the other on her bicep. She slots their joined hands underneath her chin.

“Would you like to see space?”

[ineffable-rohese]

Neil's picks for Aziraphale & Crowley's Angelic Playlist were Cry Me a River (Julie London), The Book of Love (Peter Gabriel), and The Show Must Go On (Queen).

Three songs. Two about the aftermath of a break up, and one about coming together in love. So very clearly, we can infer a Crowley POV song, an Aziraphale POV song, and a song for the two of them and their happily ever after. (Song lyrics for all three after the cut for reference.)

The Book of Love is a perfect wedding song. It's a song to play under two people declaring their desire to spend eternity together. With lines about dancing and reading and it's perfect. It's originally a Magnetic Fields song that was released in 1999. Peter Gabriel recorded a cover in 2004 for the movie Shall We Dance about which I know nothing but the Wikipedia summary. But since we know how movies are important here... It's a standard rom-com with a bored Richard Gere secretly taking up ballroom dancing after following a pretty lady from the train (J-Lo). His wife (Susan Sarandon) thinks he's cheating, turns out nope, just dancing, drama ensues, he gives up dancing but eventually his wife becomes supportive and he realizes he loves his wife. And dancing. And they live happily ever after, with both of them getting what they want. Maybe we can draw some parallels here? But I think the song speaks for itself better than its connection with what sounds like a standard early 2000s romcom.

The individual songs are where it gets interesting.

Cry Me a River was first released by Julie London in 1951, but became popular after she sang it in the 1956 film The Girl Can't Help It starring Jayne Mansfield as an aspiring rock 'n roll singer. Again, relying on Wikipedia here, but there is an interesting bit about a blossoming forbidden relationship, wiretapped phones, and someone editing the recordings to keep the love affair secret. But again, it's probably a stretch to look too deeply into the movie.

The song has a very classic jazz feel. It's from a decade and a half later, but if you were, say, an angel who enjoyed Moonlight Serenade or A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square, it has a similar feel. You definitely wouldn't say it's bebop. The lyrics are about someone who was in love and had their heartbroken. Their former love (who never shed a tear over the break up) has returned and wants to make up. The singer essentially says "you love me? Prove it. Cry me a river like I cried when you left." Which, fair, but in our context, ouch.

The Show Must Go On is a Queen song, and we know how much Queen we hear in association with Crowley in particular. But this just isn't any Queen song. It was written by Brian May about Freddie Mercury's struggles as he neared the end of his life, and it was recorded in 1990. (Coincidentally or not, the year Good Omens was published, a book co-created by friends, one of whom would die too soon, and the other of whom would reflect on his friend's end of life struggles as the story was told more fully. Yes, I'm crying about this.)

In the song, the singer is fighting to reach a place of freedom, away from empty spaces and heartbreak. They are fighting with pure will, and even though their heart is breaking they smile and carry on because the show must go on.

What I really appreciate here with the POV songs, is that they are cross-coded. Queen is Crowley-coded, but the song about someone fighting through heartbreak to achieve something vital, while forcing a smile for the audience? That's absolutely Aziraphale in Heaven. And the 40s/50s jazz ballad is absolutely Aziraphale's style, but the jilted lover who may be willing to give their love a second chance but needs to see proof that the lover cares as much as they do is Crowley all the way.

It's almost like... Well it's almost like even in their separation, they are each carrying a piece of the other. The book of love has music in it, indeed.

The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring No one can lift the damn thing It's full of charts and facts, and figures And instructions for dancing But I I love it when you read to me. And you You can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring And written very long ago It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes And things we're all too young to know But I I love it when you give me things And you You ought to give me wedding rings

Cry Me a River

Now you say you're lonely You cry the whole night thorough Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry For bein' so untrue Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head While you never shed a tear Remember, I remember all that you said Told me love was too plebeian Told me you were through with me and

Now you say you love me Well, just to prove you do Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on, yeah Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance Another heartache, another failed romance, on and on Does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning I must be warmer now I'll soon be turning, round the corner now Outside the dawn is breaking But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies Fairy tales of yesterday, grow but never die I can fly, my friends

The show must go on The show must go on I'll face it with a grin I'm never giving in On with the show I'll top the bill I'll overkill I have to find the will to carry on On with the show Show Show must go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on

[ss-skyearn]

Ketamine

❝Are you floating again?❞

PAIRING : Lee Felix x female reader.

WORD COUNT : 4.6k.

GENRE : Smut, Angst, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Felix freckles appreciation, substance abuse (mentioned; not too graphic), I can't write him without glorifying his cunty voice so there's that.

SMUT WARNINGS : Soft dom!felix, sub!reader, praise, gentle dirty talk, choking that's more of just throat holding, size kink for like a second, unprotected intercourse, some of the hottest and most explicit shit I've written in forever 🔞

Seizing kisses. Skin hot to the touch. Burning mouths. Blood ready to boil over.

There's not much it takes to be riled up all over again, not when it's him in question.

Mind growing soft with a single touch, numb with a single caress, blacking out with a single press, you wish you had time enough to find out if he could someday anaesthetise you better than ketamine.

You're pretty sure of the answer regardless.

The floor buzzes beneath feet thumping to the music, disoriented, uncoordinated, moving along to a rhythm all together different, hazy minds conjuring up varying interpretations of the EDM pulsating through the crowded nightclub, swarms of bodies lost in a world far off from reality.

But you are focused on just one. The one who happens to be in your arms. Lost in a world you so wish to be a part of— come to think of it, maybe you are, for his hold on you, your waist tightens a measure, pulling you into his frame, all lithe figure and lean muscles, no damn given to the sweat running down your backs.

"Hey, pretty," he grins. Mischievous. Risqué. Indecorous.

"Hey, pretty," you echo. Capitulating. Yielding. Succumbing.

It's been far too long of this already.

Wrapping arms around the long neck that's entirely too unmarked for your liking, you lean forward, press your mouth to the sweaty skin of his earlobe, let out a confession, soft and sultry, "Care to help get the bead off my bracelet?"

He chuckles, pulls back enough to fix you with a look so deep you feel you're drowning, smirking as your eyes linger on his lips which he then licks, slowly, as if savouring his own taste, "That's one hell of a unique preposition," voice a striking undertone to the bass of the jazz infiltrating the club, you wish the ketamine had been a little stronger.

You shrug, the leer to your mouth unrelenting, "What can I say, I'm full of surprises."

"How many?"

"Why don't you find out?"

He laughs again, this one high pitched, leaking delight. The contrast baffles you— the low baritone to his voice when he commands it, the joyous shrill when he lets go. The itch to uncover its various pitches, vibrations and frequencies runs rampant, deep to the bones, the urge far from being tamable by now, and really, you hold no desire to pursue such fruitless a task.

You encircle your palm around his wrist, secure, enough to let him know of your intentions, and he does— well, he thinks he does.

You tug him along, him following willingly, and breeze past the turn to the rooms—

"Where are we—"

—to stop right in front of the round table, barely visible in the darkness engulfing the space, if not for the neon paints and brushes thrown astrew, the wooden surface marked with streaks of neon.

"Let me paint you," you breathe, looking straight into his eyes, expression unreadable.

He laughs again, this one deep and low, and you resist the shiver that's already threatening to move up your spine, "Huh, full of surprises indeed," he says in lieu of an answer.

You'll assume it's a yes.

So you put your palms flat on his shoulders, forcing him down on the chair in an unexpected display of impatience, and he squeaks, "I don't think it's allowed. Only the artist can use the paints—"

A finger to his lips, his mouth sealing shut, the almost immediate obedience a cause to your smile turning saccharine, "Don't you worry about that. Stay here."

You make your way over to the artists behind the counter, a few feet away from the workstation Felix is sat at, and true to form, make your way back to him with a stamp in your hand.

His eyes widen in intrigued surprise and you smile, wordlessly tugging his wrist and pressing the bottom of the stamp, it leaving a blue hued clover leaf on his pale skin, indicative of the liberty you're both now allowed of indulging in the wide variety of the UV paints decorating the table top.

"How did you manage that?"

You shrug again, amused at his bafflement, "I just don't like hearing no."

"Good thing I didn't say it, then," he says, alluding to the conversation you had the day prior, on the wet sand, by the shore, under the moonlight.

"Good thing you didn't," you agree with a grin.

The brush calls out to you, drawing you in like a magnet would an iron nail. You dip it in the neon green colour squirted onto the pallet from earlier, swirling till the bristles saturate with tincture.

The first press of the tip of the brush to his cheek causes him to gasp, the cold paint a bright contrast against his overheated skin, one you try to ease with the moulding of your lips to the opposite cheek, planting a loud, wet kiss.

He sighs at that, hand reaching forward to rest on your bare thigh, a silent appreciation to your display of affection.

You smile against his skin, taking it as the cue to continue, repeating the process over and over— meeting just the tip of the brush to the skin on one side of his face, brushing your lips to the side opposite.

By the time you're done with him, his cheekbones are dusted pink, lips parted to give way for silent, laboured breaths, chest heaving, both hands now gripping onto the flesh of your thighs.

"There you are," you reward his patience with a kiss to his slightly open mouth, knowing the effect the temperature play had on him.

"Done?"

"Yeah, just—"

"Is it done or not?"

"Yeah, it is, just—"

You don't get to complete the sentence, for the second it makes its way past your lips, he's already hauling you up and away from the metal stools, weaving the way around sweaty bodies a little too precisely given his dazed state, and you attempt to stop yourself from letting out the endeared chortle tickling your throat.

You fail.

The laugh is genuine, a rarity for you as of late, "Don't you want to see the design on your face?"

Grip on your wrist tightening, he mutters something incoherent— and impatient, if your ears don't fail you— and your laugh only augments, the flutter to your heart almost as genuine as one a long time love would elicit.

That's cause enough for the laugh to die out, and there it is again, the voice in your head, the gaping to your heart— what if you don't see it through, what if it isn't enough, what if all the beads to your bracelet are gone but it still doesn't amount to anything, what if, what if—

"What is it, angel?" his voice is gentle to a degree of surprise, only further confirming of your apprehension of the outcome to this idea, this stupid idea you once thought would be the answer to all that is wrong with you, the mindless proposition you let sweep you off your feet, the scheme no longer seeming likely to be met with a satiating ending, after all.

Is there a way for it to be? Is there really such a thing as a satiating ending?

The graze of fingers against your cheek is grounding, clementing, nurturing in a way it's not allowed to be, you're sure, but you lean into it all the same, the urge to be taken care of encompassing all else.

"Look at me," the taste of his Martini breath in your mouth is what lets you know of his sudden proximity, for your mind has long since lost the ability to pick up on the ongoings of your surrounding, doing the only thing it's good for lately— turning and turning, overthinking, not thinking, processing, comprehending, giving up, crying out to be shut down.

"Angel," the word is lost between your mouths, the Martini flavour so much more prominent now that you feel in it straight on your taste buds, and maybe it's your brain playing tricks that it so loves to, but you swear it tastes better on his tongue than it did on the sugar coated rim of the lowball glass; enough to render you dizzy with a wet contact lasting no more than a few seconds, something seven glasses of watered down alcohol couldn't achieve.

The touch ends before you've had the opportunity to savour it for what it was, and you find Felix looking down at you with so tender a look, you almost wish it didn't have to end like this, that maybe, just maybe, you would've stood a chance, had fate not been so cruel, "Are you floating again?"

You smile, a bearing you've taken to displaying on occasions where emotions fail you, where your feelings are too complicated to be picked apart and be presented with a singular expression, and it's only with years of conditioning that you've trained yourself to perfect it, the reality of it being unalike from the humorous stretch of lips not something anyone is able to pick up on— not that they care enough to anyway.

But he does.

He does pick up. He does care.

You almost believe it.

"Mm," you hum in place of an answer, neither confirming nor refuting, and much like it's always been, you assume there's that, an open ending, a loose offer to mark the end of this discussion, for surely no one is interested in actually knowing you, not now at least, even if they once did, not when it's this close.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't ignore it. He does care.

"I told you not to do that when you're with me."

"Couldn't help it," you despise it, you hate it; the wobble to your voice, the wetness to your tone, the perspiration already forming around your orbs, you hate it all.

He thumbs the tears yet to be shed, wipes them before they have a chance to taint your skin with a wet trail, "That's why I'm here, aren't I? So that you don't float away from me?"

"Then make me stay," you say, without thinking much of the ambiguity of that which you just uttered, and you wouldn't, not if he didn't suddenly look so stricken, "I-I mean—"

"I know, angel, I know what you mean," understanding to a fault, he'd make for a good partner your betraying mind tells you, for all the act of non-functioning it put forth, it certainly has no problem coming up with this particular notion.

Your hand has a mind of its own, reaching forward to trace the specks of neon green dusting his cheekbones, and it's like he suddenly remembers they are there at all, "What did you draw on my face anyway?"

The smirk you sport is more endeared than anything, but it's reason enough for him to cock up an eyebrow nonetheless, "Angel. What did you draw?" there it is, the low baritone, the bass so low. Chill. Arousing.

"Just made you look prettier," you shrug, as though the sentiment was at all possible. Lee Felix looked like a heart attack at the worst of times, bad for the weak of heart, lethal for the thrill-seekers. Gorgeous. Deadly.

"Come on," the tug to your wrist isn't as tight at it once was, but you don't, for once, think about the fact that your stalling might have dampened the urgency of the affair, for as much as you despise yourself for doing just that, you'd despise him even more for tending to your needs so sincerely when it wasn't his care to give in the first place.

So you don't think about it. You let yourself be swept up in the thump of the track, the jostle of the bodies as you make your way to God knows where, the security of his hand wrapped around your wrist, just a tad above the bracelet left with a lone bead, the last one. Bright green, almost the same as the paint decorating his face.

The door collides with your back, closing with the impact of your body, and you barely register the click of the automated lock, as your mind is otherwise occupied with a swollen mouth, soft tongue, sticky lips, all over your own.

He kisses you like he's consuming you, licks you like he's tasting you, bites into you like he's considering cannibalism.

How do you know? Because you feel the same. Or maybe you're projecting. Maybe. It's hard to think when he's pressed up against you like this, the perfect moor to grip on to, the desired anchor to your ever floating mind.

Hands on either side of your head, he parts from you, the reluctance written all over the lines of his face, popping open the buttons to his silk shirt with no small amount of ungrace.

"Fuck," he utters as the third button pushes back into the slit he just so tiringly worked it out of, hands slick with a nonexistent lubricant, for surely getting a simple button undone isn't as tedious a task as he's making it out to be, the booze in his system not withstanding.

The thought gets a laugh out of you, genuine and happy, and the lust brewing up in his orbs dims just a little as he catches your gaze, hands slipping from the cursed button to find purchase on your waist, "Help a pretty boy out?"

You snort even as you reach forward to oblige, "Full of ourselves, are we?"

"It's hard not to be when the sexiest girl just spent almost an hour painting my face," he chuckles, as self assured as ever.

Was that really a whole hour?

"Your horny was showing, babe," he winks, cheeky and all sorts of suggestive.

You swat at his arm, only half trying to escape his grip on you, the subsequent sigh of defeat more for show than anything.

"Speaking of," he pulls back only from the waist up, his hips very distractingly still pressed into yours, "what did you even do up there for all that long?"

As his eyes latch onto something on the bedside wall, you see the playfulness drain from his face, lips parting into a silent gasp, eyes the widest they are able to go, "Holy shit."

You turn your head to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, the way his eyes glide over the constellation of the varying dots and sparkle-shaped neon face paint scattered across his face, carefully marked exactly over each of his freckles.

One of his hands snakes its way up to his face, fingers hovering over each spot as he maps out the path trailed by the paint, as if himself paying attention to the position of the beauty spots marking his skin, "You drew my freckles," he whispers, voice sounding far away, as if emerging from somewhere deep under the water, muffled by the current of the flow, suppressed under the weight of the fauna, the food chain, crushed by the waterspout of emotions, knowing the futility of trying to voice out his feelings over the violent buzz of the storm, and so doesn't even try.

"I told you I made you look prettier. The prettiest," you fake nonchalance, trying to mask how much your heart wants to leap into a giddy dance at his reaction, trying so hard to not let it say : See, I told you. He sees it, sees it for what it is. Not a casual painting. He sees me in it, no matter how much you try to hide it.

You take his face in your hands, the shock and awe and whatever else that he's feeling having made him numb, soft, pliant, and guide him back to your mouth.

I cannot be hidden, your unforgiving heart echoes.

You push at his chest, willing for desire to overtake the ringing in your head, back him up until the back of his knees touch the edge of the bed, until he buckles under the momentum and falls on his back, one hand still lightly touching a painted heart on his left cheek, over the most prominent one of his freckles, one that stood out to you the most every time you tried to memorise the pattern the marks on his skin make, one you deemed fit to be assigned a different shape, a heart no less. He touches it softly, tenderly, as if afraid to smudge it away should the pressure at the pad of his finger be too much.

But it is too much. It's all too damn much.

"Let's not talk about it," before the sentiment could even make its way out of your mouth, you had known yourself to be a vile creature to even say it out loud, but the bile clogging up your throat is just the cherry on top. Great. Even your body agrees with how deplorable you really are.

But he smiles. Your heart breaks into a million little shards of ice, sticking into your soft organs, threatening to slit open your skin and fly out of your being.

It's not so bad, you think, at least the blood pumping beast is no longer there to echo how much it yearns for him anymore.

"Got it. Got you," he says, slipping into the role previously requested, taking the signals of start now when you don't even remember giving them away.

He flips the two of you over, bracing himself above you, bringing his mouth towards yours slowly, in a fashion completely opposed to the hungry way he lashes onto you awaiting lips.

He tastes as bitter as alcohol, as sweet as the cranberry juice mixed somewhere in the cocktail, as tart as the lemon he bit into not long after. He tastes like want, like ardour, like a mistake that's not a mistake if you don't let it be, like a regret waiting to be felt that doesn't need to be present at all, like everything that you could ever want, like everything you can't have, not in this lifetime.

Seizing kisses. Skin hot to the touch. Burning mouths. Blood ready to boil over.

There's not much it takes to be riled up all over again, not when it's him in question.

Mind growing soft with a single touch, numb with a single caress, blacking out with a single press, you wish you had time enough to find out if he could someday anaesthetise you better than ketamine.

You're pretty sure of the answer regardless.

Shucking off the rest of your clothes is a frenzy, one you don't remember amidst the clatter of teeth and clash of tongues, but you're elated that it's over all the same, and it's with barely controlled impatience that you manage to urge him to hurry along.

The sink stings a little, like it always does the first time, but you're not too proud to admit that his size might have something to do with it burning a little brighter than it has with past partners.

"That's it angel, nice and wet for me, that's it," he rasps from somewhere deep in his throat, deep voice turning down another octave, working you up even more, enough to allow him free access into your inviting heat, all restraints barred.

"That's it," he hums, hands grasping your waist, thumbs rounding gentle circles on your hip, letting you adjust.

Little does he know, you don't want to.

"Move, Felix—"

He chuckles, that throaty voice doing more for you than you care admit, leaning down to his elbows, swiping his nose left and right, across your own, "Is my angel impatient, hm?"

You whine, having had enough of his teasing, burning hot to the touch, and in this moment, it's all you can do to not snap.

"Felix, I swear to fucking god—"

He just laughs, apparently amused by your misery, head dropping down even lower, long platinum strands tickling your forehead.

In a momentary lapse of judgement, you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around neck, arching up, building the momentum to flip the two of you over, and you swear you're this close to having him on his back, so so close—

A click of tongue, a shove to your calves, and you're flat on your back again, caged in by his weight.

"None of that," he tsks, "you just lie there and look pretty for me, okay angel?"

You whine again, patience hanging onto the last fucking straw, "I don't think—" you gasp, the palladium of his rings cool against your neck. He applies no pressure at all, but the mere act of him wrapping his hand around your throat has you panting, eyes drooping with arousal, vision blurred even more.

"You were saying?" though unaffected at the surface, his fingers are burning hot on your neck, a sweet juxtaposition to the chill of the metal.

"Fuck—"

"That's what I thought," just like that, he's pulling out so far that you fear he's taking it all away from you, before gliding right back in with a loud slap of his pelvis to yours.

"Oh s-shit."

"This what you wanted?" he sounds cocky, painfully so, and if you were of a more sound mind, you might think of riding the attitude off of him, but as you continue to stare up at him and his stupid pretty eyes, accentuated by the stupid attractive face painting on even more stupid face, you just huff. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Aww," he coos, trails a single lean finger across your jaw, ghost touches over your front, down to your waist where he grips it, hard, "can't speak?"

Oh, this motherfucker.

"You know I could—"

"I know, I know. You could dom the hell out of me. But that's not what you want, is it?" he licks your lower lip, thrusts coming to a stop just to prove a point.

"N-no."

"There's a good girl," the haze to your mind from being handled this way might have something to do with it you assume, but you swear his thrusts are more controlled, more dominating, more demanding, "Just like that, baby. Just lie pretty for me. Just for me, right?"

"Fuck, babe—"

"Answer me. You're pretty just for me, aren't you?"

"I-I'm—"

The condescendance to his smile is something you never thought you'd end up liking, but when he's giving it to you so good, you doubt anything he does will be off putting at all, the power he holds reaching concerning heights, but in this moment, it's all you can do to not give in completely.

"I'm aware angel, it's difficult to talk, isn't it?" he coos, and the subsequent pout that settles on your lips is entirely involuntarily, "I'll help you, it's okay. I'm here, right?"

Your hands reach forward, clawing at his biceps that flex with every forward push of his lower half, forcing your body up with each motion, only to bring you back down with the unyielding grip on your waist, the bruises forming there something you look forward to cherishing, long after the lone bead to your bracelet is gone.

"Say 'I'm pretty. Just for you,' " each word is punctuated with a thrust unlike the ones he's given to you up until now, long and hard, unforgiving, not like you want to. Be forgiven, that is.

"I'm p-pretty—"

"Mhm, that you are."

"For.. f-for—"

"For who, princess?"

"Y-you. Fuck, you-"

"And who am I?"

Your eyes snap open, wide and glassy, and looking up at him, the knot to your tongue tightens, the words you were barely able to string together on the plastic rope now spilling out of it, the bracelet you so hoped to make now gone, leaving behind just the string hanging off from the eye of the metaphorical needle.

You whimper, a sound you barely recognise, the first tear rolling down your temple to find home in your already damp locks, only for another one to follow the wet trail it created.

"Easy, angel," he's a little late in thumbing away your tears this time, them having already marked the skin with their sticky essence, "You do know who I am, right?"

You do, you really do. How could you not? He's the one, the company to your last trip, the shoulder so generously offered, the warm body to your cold nights in the unknown city. The one.

But no matter how hard you try, how much you attempt to channel your thoughts, the name at the edge of your mouth, yet it fizzles out the second you try to force it out. It burns on your tongue, the familiar taste of it, and it's so close, you can feel the silky texture of the way it sounds, it's just there—

"Felix!"

Your body tightens, strains, then convulses with intensity more befitting a seizure, eyes barely coloured, for your irises have all but disappeared in their chase to roll as far back as is humanly possible, a string of nonsensical gibberish falling from your lips, his name suddenly tearing its way past your throat, and once it's said, it's the only thing your vocal chords are capable of vibrating out.

This seems to have awoken something in him, as he yanks at your wrist with unadulterated force, biting into the string of your bracelet, snapping the it with a fierce pull of his teeth, the single bead clattering onto the ground, the resounding bounces clear even amidst the sounds blanketing the room.

"Yes, that's right, that's me," he growls, claiming, animalistic, hips unrelenting in their chase to unmake you, pushing your body up with each stroke, "Say it again, say my name again."

"Fuck. Felix, Felix, Felix, fucking hell—"

"That's it, that's it. Keep calling me. I'm right here."

Your voice grows small, heart thumping loud enough to mask the sound of his body colliding with yours, all that wetness, all that want, all that ardour, it masks it all, "Felix," the name ends with a sob, your mouth parted, body arching up into his.

"You know me now? You know who I am?"

You're still shaking, your thighs trembling, high lasting longer than it ever has, and you are left to wonder if you've begun coming down at all. Indeed, the white hot pleasure has spread all around your field of vision, blending, merging, no longer distinguishable. You don't know where your pleasure ends and his begins, but you behold the scrunch of his face, the slack to his jaw, the shutting of his eyes, the deep moan he tries and fails to stifle with a sink of his teeth into the plush red carpet that is his lower lip.

He catches himself at the last moment as his elbows give out, face mere inches above you, long silver locks having been segregated into sweaty ropes to curtain his forehead and temples, and he looks down at you, panting hard, breath condensing onto your skin.

He's dishevelled. Far gone. Broken.

He still looks like a heart attack.

"Thank you," you whisper, nuzzle into his chest further, plant a grateful kiss to his pectoral.

Perhaps it'd be foolish to thank him for spending a night with you.

It would be, had it been that— a mere night, living on the edge of pleasure, with a warm body, never to meet again.

But it's not, and so it's not.

It's not a mere night. So it's not foolish.

He knows as much, it's reflective in the way his arms wind around you in a fashion that makes you fear he doesn't plan on letting go, and despite the alarms blaring in your head, you lie there, pliant and unmoving, blaming the fact on your exhaustion, "Will you be here when I wake up?" a kiss is pressed to the top of your head, an act somehow more intimate than the activities partaken in thus far.

If he thought that simple action might convince you to change your mind, you're afraid you'll have to let him down.

"You know the answer," you stay still, barely breathing.

"I do," he stays still, mimicking the stance you uphold.

Both still, wide awake, trying to commit the warmth of the other's body to memory, for the night is over, and so is your stay here.

[I plan on writing a spin off to this piece explaining all that's left unanswered; the bracelet, the reason for the main character's departure, why they can't be together, etc. Send an ask if you wish to be tagged when it drops. Meanwhile, you could send me your hypotheses and what you think could be the reasons for the aforementioned events, my ask box is always open to chat. ♡]

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