#so like. not in a position to be completely immobilized just yet.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

2

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him

The initial idea was to despair, cry, and pack my bags to flee, but none of this made sense. It was like being immobilized in time and space; maybe I had imagined everything, fallen asleep on the couch as I often did, the nightmares that accompanied me had become more fanciful and seemed real, but time was passing, and it was getting dark outside, it was obvious that even nightmares didn't last that long.

I moved in search of something to do, and the desire to eat became strong, so I opted to cook something while I thought about myself, the Jedi, and Qimir... it had been foolish of me to think I could escape. That no one would find me. And this pregnancy was sapping all my strength, if before I had been confident in my survival skills, now I doubted them. It was already a miracle that I could walk five meters without feeling exhausted, fighting was impossible. I had already admitted some of my activities to the Jedi, but it was obvious that as long as the target was Qimir, I would seem almost innocent in their eyes.

Yet... he was still looking for me. I was sure of it. Maybe the fact that the photo was still in the same condition was a sign... negative or positive, I couldn't say.

I finished preparing something for dinner and turned on the holonet, even though I didn't pay much attention to it.

I had to decide what to do, carefully plan all my next moves, the lies, the escape.

I tried to swallow another bite, but a sob stopped me. It had taken me a month to decide what to do with my life, how to escape and live peacefully after everything we had done in these years, and now I had less than twelve hours to come up with anything to do. I couldn't let the Jedi take me away, someone in the Order could recognize me, or recognize my voice, they would feel my signature in the Force, anything could betray me, or worse, they could take my child away once born and throw me in prison, the mere idea terrified me.

Tears fell into the plate as I tried to stifle another sob. At this point, maybe it was better to return to Qimir and ask for his forgiveness, maybe he would refrain from killing me at least while I was pregnant with his child, even though nothing would stop him from killing me afterward. I had betrayed him. I had led him to this, to what he was now, and then I had abandoned him. I had been a fool, I had seen all the signs that the situation was slipping out of my hands and now that I no longer had control, from perpetrator I had become the victim.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my pajamas before forcing myself to finish the plate, walking around the house like a ghost, someone who had already been condemned to death and had accepted it.

In the bathroom, I changed into something softer and looked at myself in the mirror, I was ashamed of myself, my completely tattooed arms were witnesses of my victories and a black map on the skin that I had decided to form over time to describe my path, yet now they seemed like the whims of a rebellious child. They clashed on the body I had, sure the muscles were still there, it had been too little time to lose them, but my big belly was a huge beacon in the middle. I no longer recognized myself in my skin, I was a symbol of death, but in the mirror, I looked like just a failed mother. The bags under my eyes, the tired look, the condition of my hair, everything, it was terrible. I would never be able to escape from anyone, and at that moment I realized it more than ever.

Reaching the bedroom, I immediately lay down under the covers, the mattress was divine for my back, and despite the anxiety, I fell asleep early anyway.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was a sea of green. I was in a forest in the middle of the night, maybe... a jungle or worse, I had never seen such trees. I jumped up, feeling a piercing cold in my bones, immediately recognizing the presence hiding inside. "Qimir?" I called out with a trembling voice. If I could feel him, he could feel me, it was useless to hide.

"Darling" his voice behind me made me turn quickly, and finally, I saw him. The man I had run away from five months earlier and hoped never to see again, injured, tired, and dirty... our minds had reconnected after I had severed the bond, this shouldn't have been possible.

"My love, you are as beautiful as ever" he addressed me with that gentle smile I had learned to love, even at that moment despite the fear, that look warmed my heart. "Am I perhaps going mad dreaming of you pregnant?"

He approached me, but I didn't have the courage to move, he hadn't noticed that our bond had reformed? Did he think it was a dream? Maybe hiding my presence made me intangible even in the connection, making him believe he was dreaming.

I pressed my lips together before taking a step forward and pushing myself into his arms, I couldn't smell or feel his warmth, but I could imagine it from the vivid memories I still carried. "Qimir..." the words got stuck in my throat, I wanted to say so much, to vent even just the last few hours, but I risked making him understand too much, that something was wrong and if he found out it was really me... and I was pregnant... "I miss you so much, darling. I was so furious when you disappeared, I'm looking for you everywhere. And when I find you..." he squeezed my arms tightly before pulling me away a few centimeters, our faces brushing as his eyes scrutinized me deeply, and I could perceive the anger behind them. "I will punish you for leaving me, my love. And when we have solved this problem, we will continue our plan, you will be proud of me, when you discover how much I have done in these months" my heart pounded in my chest, here was that side of him that terrified me, I tried to free myself, but he squeezed my arms even tighter. "But look at you, trying to run away from me even in my dreams" the smile he gave me was terrifying, the kind of grin he used when facing an enemy, the one he had started to use on me when... "Qimir you're hurting me-" I gasped, feeling trapped, this was too much, if he realized I was more tangible than usual... I had to wake up.

He instead pulled me back against his chest before kissing me forcefully, the touch of his lips on mine was familiar, I couldn't help but let out a moan at the gesture, despite my reluctance, my body desired him more than my mind. "When I find you, maybe I should really make you pregnant, we would be a nice family, the sweet mother of my children" he whispered on my lips, I squirmed even more and luckily as soon as I freed myself from his grip, I woke up.

Outside, the first lights of dawn were peeking into the room, my heart was racing, getting up quickly, a pain in my arms made me hiss. Despite the numerous black tattoos covering my arms, bruises could be seen on the skin, the marks of Qimir's fingers that had managed to mark me even galaxies away, almost proving he was becoming stronger in the Force.

I stood up and took a quick shower, by then I was too scared to fall asleep again, I put on comfortable clothes and went to make myself something for breakfast.

It was only after eating that I felt the need to check my things. In the bedroom, hidden in a hole I had created in the closet, a box held the few personal items I had brought with me. Opening it, everything was as I had left it, my rolled-up clothes, my photo of me and Qimir along with others from my childhood, and my lightsaber. I looked at everything for a few minutes, the idea was to also put the photo of Qimir among these, but I didn't want the Jedi to request it and find me with my hands on it. Yet the idea of letting go of this memory to them burned my stomach even more than the fear of getting caught.

I put everything back, walking around with a lightsaber wasn't a smart move now, I had to convince the Jedi to leave me alone quickly, despite not liking the idea, if they were after Qimir, he was too busy fighting them to look for me, and maybe I had more time to find an even more distant place to hide.

It was around eight that someone knocked at my door, I took a deep breath before opening it, expecting to see the two Jedi, but in front of me was Yord. Alone. "Hey... did you come to continue the conversation from yesterday? Where's Sol?" I said, quickly looking down the hallway. "Hey good morning, no I... wanted to see how you were doing. Yesterday we stressed you out a lot, and I wanted to make sure you were okay" *or that you hadn't run away*, but I kept the thought to myself.

"I'm fine, I went to bed a bit late, but I've had worse hours" I tried to joke, showing him a smile, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced by my act. "Yeah, well if it makes you feel better, we're making sure no one suspicious followed us," I moved aside to let him in and realized he had a bag with him.

He sat at the counter before pulling out several paper bags, the smell of sugar was unmistakable. "I brought some things to apologize for my presence at this hour, you need to rest, and I was afraid you were still sleeping" Approaching the counter, I could see the various sweets he had chosen, among the different creams and pastries. "I don't know what you like, so I practically took every kind of sweet, and... and maybe you like salty food" he said as if struck by lightning. "Sorry, I didn't think of that—" but he stopped when he heard my laugh. "It's all okay, Yord. I like sweets" I said, reaching him and sitting on the chair opposite his. "You really didn't have to—" "But I wanted to" he interrupted immediately before giving me a small smile.

For a moment, it seemed like I was seeing Qimir again, yet despite the same mischief in his eyes, it was evident that Yord didn't have the same dark side; his smile was genuinely playful.

He took the cutlery and juice as if he was already accustomed to the kitchen, which made me giggle again. "You move around my kitchen better than I do" he replied with a smile before sitting down, the sweets in front of us ready to be eaten. "Well, I struggled yesterday to figure out where to put some things, so I actually opened the cupboards a million times." I laughed again while taking the first bite of cake. I had just had breakfast, but whether it was the pregnancy or the nerves, I was more than ready to eat everything he had brought.

"So..." he began, glancing at me nervously, "if you have something to ask, do it. I already said I would cooperate." I gave him an encouraging smile even though the irritation burned at the back of my throat. "No, actually, I wanted to ask you something more... personal." He waited a few seconds, expecting a negative response, but I was more curious than I wanted to admit and nodded for him to continue. "You and him... Qimir. You know, I met him a couple of times and... he managed to deceive me the first time. We met again a few days ago on a sparsely populated planet. We unmasked him and found him standing in front of us..." I listened in silence, taking in all the information I could passively. Some questions would have been too suspicious and not in line with the story of the love-blind girl I had built around myself. "It's a really bothersome question, but I couldn't stop thinking about it all night. You told us you knew he was a Sith. Even if you didn't know exactly what it meant, being so close to him, you must have seen that... something much worse was hiding beneath the surface, right?" The grimace he gave me was sad, almost pained, and I took a deep breath before answering him.

"As I already told you, I'm not a completely innocent girl. I'm used to meeting more dangerous people even though I've always kept my distance." He responded with a tight smile, "Yes, but you were a thief. Or at most, you smuggled stuff. He... he slaughtered half of our team without blink an eye. He's not just a man with an illegal job. He's a murderer. That's what he does best."

Of course, the truth was complex. I remembered well the first time I met him. Liars recognize each other, and we both knew from the first moment that the other was hiding more than just stolen items.

"At first, I didn't suspect anything. He always told me he did dangerous business, so I took it for granted that he knew how to handle unpleasant situations." I cleared my throat, looking intently at the plate in front of me.

I could feel Yord's eyes on me, and the sensation made me move uncomfortably in my chair. "When he opened up more and more, he confided in me that he had been trained by someone, that he had done much more difficult jobs than he had told me in the past, and that... he had hurt many people." I forced a smile before finally managing to look him in the eyes. "I know it sounds stupid, but words aren't enough to help you imagine actions like these. He had warned me, but I didn't really understand how dangerous he was." I took a sip of juice.

"He made me feel safe. He protected me... I trusted him" I continued, perhaps voicing one of the most sincere statements about what I had experienced and felt for Qimir.

Yord remained silent as he finished one of the slices of cake he had brought, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat. "I’m probably speaking out of turn, as a Jedi, I’ve never been able to form a bond beyond the Order or even think about falling in love" he gave me a forced and slightly embarrassed smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

"And if you could? If you found the woman of your life, wouldn’t you leave everything to live a happy life?"

The silence that followed was perhaps the best of the last twenty-four hours. Yord was clearly uncomfortable with the question, but from the lost look he gave me, I understood he was seriously thinking about it. "I... I’ve sacrificed a lot to be a Jedi Knight. I was never a good student and... I took the trials several times before passing them" he cleared his throat for a moment, "it would be crazy to leave now that I’ve made it, I have a Padawan and... and..." he glanced at me quickly, his gaze settled on my belly and then returned to his plate. "I don’t know. If someone like Qimir can fall in love and make a woman happy, then maybe it’s worth it."

He gave me a gentle smile, but I couldn’t return it.

Gentle? No, Qimir was many things but not gentle by nature, definitely manipulative. Looking back, perhaps he managed to hurt me more with the kind gestures... which I allowed like a fool.

"He treated you well... right?" Yord’s voice woke me from my thoughts, I realized how he was looking at me, I had taken too long to respond and now there was doubt in his eyes.

Great job, idiot.

"Yes, yes, as I said, he made me feel good. It’s just that he wasn’t ready for a family, let’s say," his gaze became more intense, and the thought that he didn’t believe me lingered in the air.

"Yesterday you told us you were afraid of his reaction. Were you afraid he would react violently?" I hurried to shake my head, "No, no, it’s just that I thought he wouldn’t stop being a smuggler, not even for a child. He just wasn’t ready—" "But you preferred to run away without telling him anything. What were you afraid of then?"

The forced smile I had maintained disappeared completely. I put myself in a corner, again.

"I..." I took a deep breath to buy time, but I was only making things worse, "Sabrina, if there’s anything else you can tell me, do it, if something is bothering you, we’re here for you too."

My heart was pounding in my chest, I felt like a fool, I had managed to survive with worse lies than these, years of anonymity right under everyone’s nose, and now when I was asked something more personal, my brain was turning to mush.

I realized how this story had only reopened a wound that had never healed and perhaps had been bleeding for years.

It was easy to play when you were the predator, and it was fun as the prey, but like this? Caught between two fires you didn’t want to be part of but couldn’t choose between?

There was only one answer.

A half-truth. A half-lie.

[redr0sewrites]

HI!! again congrats on 2k you deserve it!! :3 i wanted to ask for prompt #49 for my wife adam hazbin hotel. nsfw if it’s alright with you and an male reader! <3

-Sniigura

🥀A/n: AHSHSJS OFCCC!!!! tysm for requesting, hope u enjoy 👹

🥀 Prompt: "i can't get up with you laying on top of me!"

🥀Cw: nsfw, smut, male!reader, slight degradation, implied size kink, dirty talk

🥀minors dni

you groan, shifting beneath the weight engulfing you. the sunlight streaming through your window is warm against your skin, illuminating the large man that was currently having the best sleep of his life- on top of your chest. your lovers' wings are stretched out across the length of the bed, golden plumage practically glowing in the sun. despite the fact that he was quite literally flopped on top of you, Adam was deep asleep and completely immobile.

"adam, baby," you murmur, trying to squirm away from his grasp. he groans in his sleep, one muscular arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you back close. as you attempt to wriggle away again, he begins to stir.

"whatever fucking happened to goodmorning?" he grumbles, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. you sigh exasperatedly, twisting in his hold. "goodmorning Adam, my dear, my angel, light of my life. now can you please get off?" Adam snickers, wrapping his wings above you, keeping you pinned beneath his weight. he turns over onto his stomach so that your faces are inches apart, bodies pressed together in perfect tandem.

"no can do, babe. i do like when you beg though-" you cut him off with an irritated shove, and he just laughs at you.

"i need to get ready!" you grumble, accepting your defeat as he begins to kiss your neck. "i can't get up with you laying on top of me.." Adam doesn't reply, instead opting to nip at the conjunction of your neck and collarbone. "that's just the point, toots. take the day off an' relax f'me."

you scowl, and somehow his smirk widens. he begins to toy with the hem of your shirt, grinning against your skin as you squirm. "i can help you calm down a little, how 'bout that?"

"you fucking perv.." you mumble, yet don't protest when he lifts up your shirt even more. Adam begins to press sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your tummy, trailing up your chest beneath your shirt. you squirm from the contact, unable to move beneath him. you let out a breathy moan as his large hands find purchase on your hips, and Adam snickers.

"can i take this off?" he says gruffly, tugging harder on your shirt. you nod, and in seconds, your left in nothing but your boxers before him. Adam follows suit, taking off his shirt and resuming his previous actions of smothering you in kisses. you can feel his growing erection pressed against your thigh, and you reach down the front of his boxers to gently palm his cock.

Adam hisses in your ear at the sudden contact, dick twitching against your palm as you continue to stroke him off.

"fucking bitchboy... can't wait f'two seconds..." Adam grumbles, pulling your hand out of his boxers and flipping you over so that your face down ass up in the sheets. you gasp as his large hand presses down on the small of your back, forcing you into an arched position. you barely have a moment to think before he's leaning over you, whispering gruffly in your ear.

"can i continue?" he asks, pressing himself up against your ass and grinding against you for good measure. you nod dumbly, already feeling your own boxers growing uncomfortably tight. Adam wastes no time in ridding you both of your undergarments, finally freeing your cock from the restrictive material. you let out a soft whine as your dick slaps lightly against your tummy, already aroused and at full mast.

after a quick application of lube, one of Adam's hands slaps the plush of your ass appreciatively, while the other aligns itself with your asshole.

"y'ready babe?" he coos, toying with your entrance before slipping one finger inside. you gasp at the intrusion, allowing yourself to arch back against him as you adjust to the feeling of him stretching you out. it isn't long before he adds in a second thick finger, slowly scissoring inside of you and reaching the spots your own fingers could never touch.

"gotta get you nice 'n prepped f'me, so you can take it like a good boy..." Adam murmurs, mostly talking to himself as he presses hard against your prostate. you keen, burying your face in the pillows as his movements begin to quicken. "fuuuck, baby, im just too fucking big for you- your already getting all worked up from just my fingers, can't wait to see you whimpering on my fat cock.."

his filthy words only turn you on more, and you struggle to form words.

"please-" you gasp out between moans, and Adam pauses. "please, i need your cock," you whine, arching back against his fingers to get him to move again.

"aw, since you asked so nicely, who am i to hold back?" Adam responds condescendingly, pulling out his fingers and aligning his aching cock with your hole. reaching for the nighstand, he grabs a bottle of lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your entrance. the cool liquid makes you squirm in anticipation, and when Adam sends you a questioning look, you nod in approval. his tip prods against your entrance, and he slowly begins to slide in. "o-oh, ffuuuck-" you gasp, adjusting to his size. you swear you'll never get used to the stretch.

Adam slides himself in, his dick reaching places that make you see stars. giving you a second to adjust to his size, he leans over you, wings fluttering slightly as you clench around him.

"relax, babe," he mutters, pressing a few messy kisses to your spine before beginning to thrust. he sets a steady pace, the head of his cock thrusting hard against your prostate. the pleasure is mind numbing, and you bury your head in the pillow to muffle your pathetic mewls. Adam takes notice immediately, and fists a handful of your hair, forcing you to look up.

"don't- fuuck- don't hide those pretty noises from me, baby, wanna hear it all," he moans in your ear, increasing his pace. he lets go of your hair, trailing his hand down to fist your cock.

"oh fuuck- ngh- Adam!" you let out a string of wanton moans and curses, and your noises combined with the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. "takin' me so well, fuck," Adam curses, rutting into you even harder.

"im gonna cum soon, are you close?" you nod, cock twitching in his hand as he increases his pace in stroking you off. your eyes roll to the back of your head from the intense pleasure building in your gut. it isn't long before the coil in your abdomen is tightening, and you try to warn Adam before you cum.

"ffuck- Adam 'm gonna-" you slur out, cutting yourself off with an especially needy whine. "yea, me too, let go f'me," he rambles, struggling just as much as you to stay coherent. he increases his pace, and with a few more deep thrusts, you reach your peak. Adam continues fucking you through your orgasm, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each of his thrusts and the pretty tears streaming down your face. the sight of you coming undone is just enough to push him over the edge, and he cums hard.

Adam buries his head in the crook of your neck, whispering soft praises to you as you come down from your high, his hands rubbing circles into the skin of your hips.

Adam turns you over onto your back before laying back on top of you. he traces his name lazily onto your arm, and you automatically begin to caress his wings. "you took me so well, babe," he mumbles against your skin. "such a good boy.."

"shut up.." you grumble, scratching his wing ever so slightly with your nails, causing him to shudders. "you want another round, bub? 'cause that's a one way ticket-" you groan, removing your hands from his wings completely and setting for caressing his hair.

"i love youuuu" Adam teases, and you pretend to ignore him.

"i said i love you."

"..."

"say it back!"

"no!"

"whyyyyy?? i cant believe you don't love me anymore... :("

"fuck you"

"already did, babe. now say it back"

"... i love you Adam"

RAHH WROTE THIS IN MY HOTEL ROOM 🫡🫡🫡 i am pushing through the 2k requests + the jason todd soulmate au fic, PLSSS SEND IN MORE REQS FOR THE 2K EVENT 🙏 LOVE YALL AND HOPE U ENJOYED!

[maracujatangerine]

85. Chunk of clay

CW: NSFW, violence, forced nudity, forced medication, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The hash glare from the overhead lights glinted off the tabletop. The young man stretched out on the metal surface was completely naked. His golden-toned skin pricking with goosebumps. His every muscle taut with fear and anticipation.

The two handlers with him, the man and the woman, were both fully clothed.

The woman, dark-haired and brown-eyed, just completed her slow circle around the table.

“Give me your hand.”

Her tone was quiet and very calm. When the man on the table tremulously reached out to her, she took a roll of thin, dark blue sewing thread from her pocket. She methodically wrapped the end of the thread around the leg of the table and then looped it around his wrist so that his hand, palm upward, was tied to the table. A red and white tattoo of chrysanthemum flowers circled his forearm, the beautiful imagery at odds with the clinical surroundings.

“Now, your other hand.”

Slowly circling the table once more, clockwise this time, she tied his other wrist. The WRU barcode tattoo clearly visible. Then she carefully tied down his ankles. It was as if he was bound to the table with gossamer strands.

If the young man had but twitched, the thread would instantly have broken.

She took a step back, surveying her handiwork with an air of satisfaction.

“That’s good.” She smiled. “You are doing good.”

She brushed her hand across the dark, curly hair covering his chest, gently, as if petting a cat. Then, she moved her hand down his chest in a languid caress, following the string of hair down along his rib cage, pausing to stroke her hand a few times over his flat stomach. Then, decisively, she moved further down.

The young man jerked involuntarily, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping himself completely immobile.

She just rested her gloved hand there, between his legs. Her skin warm beneath the thin, black rubber of the glove.

He is hardly breathing. Rolling his eyes to watch her without turning his head. Fear written in every line of his face and body.

“Now,” she said, “I know you haven’t been trained for this. But, what if I wanted to have you? Or… what if my colleague here did? What would you do?”

The young man’s bottom lip shivered, his eyes glassy with tears. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… I w-would do my best, Trainer Álvarez.”

”That’s good.” She nodded. “What if I asked you to break the thread that I used to tie you to the table, would you be able to do it?”

The young man blinked, clearly surprised.

“Yes, Trainer Álvarez.”

“And what if I - or your future owner - would tell you that this is a magic thread, totally impossible for you to get out of. Would you be able to break it then?”

“Eh…” He looked at her, bewildered. “…no?”

“That’s right. I’m telling you that this is a magical, unbreakable thread. What is the rule? The owner…”

The pet on the table relaxed visibly. This was home ground.

“The owner is always right, Trainer Álvarez.”

“That’s right. Good boy.” Letting go, she instead reached out and cupped his cheek affectionately. The young man eagerly leaned his head to press into her touch.

With her free hand, she fished something out from her trouser pocket, holding it up for the man on the table. His dark eyes instantly fixed on the small, white pill, tension returning to the set of his jaw.

“It’s time for you to take your medicine.” She said, deceptively gently. “Now, open up, but don’t swallow yet.”

He instantly opened his mouth, dark eyes wide with fear. It was clear that resisting was not an option he even considered. He held the pill on his tongue, while she turned and took a few steps to the sink in the corner of the room. She filled a glass of water and returned to the table.

“Now you can swallow.” She said, carefully cradling his head and raising the glass of water to his lips. It was an uncomfortable position, spread-eagled like that, but her raising his head helped and he quickly swallowed the pill with the water. Afterwards, she gently lowered his head to the table.

“I want you to lay here and just relax for a while. Unbreakable thread, remember?”

The fear was back with full force in his eyes, but he nodded immediately.

“Yes, trainer.”

*

The trainers fill their WRU-branded mugs from the coffee machine, a double espresso for her, an Americano for him, and watch the naked young man shivering on the table from behind the sound-isolated two-way mirror.

“I always like to teach them all the ways to take their medicine.” She explains. “Pills, liquids, eye drops, through their nose, up their bum… you get the drill. They should be fine with all of it. You never know what an owner will need or enjoy. It is also important to train in different situations, you want them to be absolutely rock solid in their ability to obey.”

“What about injections?”

She nods.

“Of course. Well. Not for this one at the moment. This is a trust-building exercise, not punishment. We want him to learn the lesson that good dogs get rewarded… sometimes.”

She smiles again, this time with an edge, like a hidden knife glinting in the dark.

“Just give him that hope for ‘sometimes’. He is going to chase that high so hard. There’s no limit to what he will do.” She pauses. “Anyway. Needles, he has a bad time with those. That is something we’ll have to deal with, but this is just an exercise reinforcing focus and obedience. There’s no need for torture.”

The man nods respectfully.

“What drug dig you give him?” He asks.

“It’s just a mild painkiller. Punishment pills should be reserved for special occasions only.” She takes a sip of her espresso. “They need to know that the pain is a possibility, but there’s no…” Her explanation is interrupted by the door opening.

“Hey.” The large man in a black handler uniform rolls his shoulders and stretches before stepping up to the coffee machine.

“Harris.” Trainer Álvarez nods in curt greeting.

He chooses an Americano and glances idly out the two-way mirror while waiting for the machine to finish his drink.

”I see you’re still playing your little sewing games, Gabriela. How’s that coming along for you?”

“It’s going great. Thanks, Harris.” Her tone is carefully neutral.

“Mhm… Well, I guess…” He turns and nods to the younger man. “Don’t worry, Jason. Next rotation you’ll be shadowing me, and I’m not afraid to show you the ropes of the real, hard work.”

He grabs his coffee and walks towards the door. “Later, guys.”

As soon as the heavy door falls closed behind him, trainer Álvarez scoffs.

“Jesus, he’s such a prick at all times. I’m sorry you’ll be stuck with him.”

She turns full on to face the younger man.

“Listen, Jason. You are going to meet a lot of guys like Harris here. They talk a lot and they think they are so great at their work, but actually they’re just getting off on their own fantasies of violence and domination. But really….”

She pauses and shakes her index finger back and forth in a ‘no’ gesture.

“They have no finesse. You need a light touch with this job, you might not think it, but it is true.

If you like to just break someone, his methods are just fine, but that… I think that is not enough. We should aim to create works of art.”

She gestures out at the bound man behind the glass.

“I like to send them out to love their master. Not just fear them. Jason, do you know what a golem is?”

“Ma’am?” Confusion is written all over the younger man’s face. Gabriela smiles.

“In Jewish mythology, a golem is a figure created by clay or mud. It can do tasks, but it is mindless, without a soul. That is what Harris and his ilk does. He makes the pets into empty husks. They obey, all right. But no one is home.”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes shining.

“I want to make them beautiful. When I am finished with them, they will obey, yes, but more than that, they will feel and love and desire. I don’t trample all over their hearts. I cultivate them, strictly, but carefully. It is like trimming a fruit tree, or cutting a hedge. There is violence, yes, but also gentleness. In the end, with all their being, they don’t only fear, but they yearn to please their master.”

She walks over and puts her empty mug in the dishwasher.

“Come on, it’s time. Let’s go shape our chunk of clay.”

*

This post has really been a long time in the making. I have had several people asking about Brutus. (Thanks for the asks! ❤️) I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse into his past.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[cr4yolaas]

mezzo forte — birthday boy

track 2: homesick for a person | masterlist | track 4: the horse

hajime feels heavy on her couch. his head has been pumped full with compressed air and is bound to burst if he gets up. he hates the vulnerability that comes with being drunk.

"...yeah, i'll text sakusa and have him pick haji up tomorrow. just get home safely. bye, tooru."

all he can see is her back, but he can envision the expression she's making right now — brows furrowed, the inside of her cheek caught between her teeth, and a collection of creases on her forehead. he wants to laugh. but the pressure on his body is too much of a burden to bear, so instead, he waits.

she turns around to meet his sleepy, weary face, riddled with exhaustion and ache that she doesn't want to imagine experiencing herself. "'m sorry i couldn't get you a gift," she whispers. her hands adjust the blanket she'd draped over him moments prior, ensuring the fabric reaches up to his shoulders. "i wasn't too sure what you'd like. i feel like i get you the same thing every year."

the couch dips with her weight as she sits beside him. apologies spill from her tongue, but he can't quite hear them over the ringing in his ears. "it's alright. don't need a present when i have you, anyways," is all he can muster under heavy, alcohol-ridden breaths before he falls victim to his own slumber.

there's a pause in the air. she's the only one awake to feel it.

under the influence, people are bound to say words they don't mean. they're bound to form sentences that bear no real representation of their true thoughts, thus leading to misconceptions. she figures this is one of those moments.

beneath the cave of her chest, her heart beats faster than it should — so much so that it's unhealthy. his words, construed from what she assumes to be a place of inebriation, render her immobile, and she fights a long-winded battle with herself about the truth of it all.

frankly, she doesn't want to believe it.

hajime was a straightforward man; that much was an inarguable fact that had maintained its consistency throughout the course of their lives. he expressed what was necessary. and so, if he could not — or rather, would not — voice any means of reciprocation for whatever had been boiling and bubbling in every inch of her being when he was sober, she would take that as the truth. for now.

a headache cracks away at her skull. too many thoughts spiral without any end, and she wants nothing more than to rid herself of them.

the blue light of her laptop burns her retinas, but she figures it's the reasonable solution. the safest solution. garageband slowly opens up, and a small tab of her notes sits in the corner, etched with another love letter yet to be littered throughout another melody. something in her chest aches and burns. she can't escape it.

somewhere in the middle of it all, the man beside her stirs awake. she fails to notice the soft groan he releases nor the shift of his body to a more comfortable position. he's met with the blaring screen propped up on her knees and a soft instrumental pouring from the speakers of her computer, the volume low enough that he has to strain his ears to capture it completely. his eyes fall to the lines that take up the other half of her screen.

it's different. he recalls her other lyrics being vague, hinting at a feeling that he didn't know of himself. but something is more explicit in these words, and the lines form between the dots scattered throughout his brain, albeit blurred.

in his limbo between sobriety and intoxication, hajime finds himself fighting against the belief that it isn't him. that, in the words she so carefully crafts, he isn't the one she thinks of — but he wants to be.

♪ hi i've risen from my deathbed !!

♪ i hope this chapter made sense </3 i'm not cooking very hard with the pacing of this smau

♪ yn freaked out about tooru visiting irl and got all of the excitement out of her body before texting the gc so she didn't seem too hyper LOL

♪ the bday dinner was a mess ... they didnt even make reservations bc they werent initially planning on going out to eat so they kept going around in a big group trying to see which restaurant had available seating ... it did not go well

♪ everyone kept calling iwa the bday boy and he kept drinking to distract himself from it (out of spite) but it did not go as planned clearly

♪ imo haji has a pretty low alcohol tolerance despite having a "tough guy" exterior. it's one of his gap moes iykwim

♪ yn has been using garageband since hs and never changed to any of the apps that her label recommends bc she's scared of using a different interface </3

♪ i don't have much to say i just want to work on the next couple of chapters already

♪ but i think by this point i've decided this smau isn't going to be as long as blue spring, esp bc i don't have much to establish on the main dynamics btwn oiks iwa and yn given that they have such a long history together

♪ but idk !! we'll see where my heart leads me

♪ i already feel kinda uninspired for this smau which hurts my heart bc i really liked the concept and there was sm hype for it but i feel like it was never meant to be a long story yk

♪ sorry there's my impending doom rant

♪ i hope u all enjoyed <3

taglist: @froyaoya @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @yuminako @chemiru @sunnyskiezzzz @httpsivy @itsdragonius @theycallmenanamisgirl @wyrcan @19calicos @hunnies4bunnies @mawenskiblue @diorzs @loverlunaire @mfcherry @solaqes

[sunnynwanda]

Hi, how are you doing? I hope you’re finee❣️

Can you write a snippet with a huge fight scene and a lot of action (you can include some weapons or gadgets if you want!). Make the villain or hero very angry at their nemesis cause they feel too much tension between them. If you want, make it spicy. Ik it’s hard to put some suggestive things here but that’s exactly why i am curious to see how you will make it! No forcing tho, i would be happy with a fight only too

Two to Tango

Warnings: Suggestive. Slightly spicy. Language. Minors beware. P.S. 'Sternchen' means 'little star'.

They sense the weapon aimed at them, an imaginary red dot dancing over their strained back. Their body fails to match the speed of their gut feeling, causing them to turn with a seconds' delay. The electricity shocks their shoulder, piercing through their arm and shoulder blade. It hurts like a bitch, and with a loud hiss, Hero retreats behind a wall, cursing under their breath. Villain's triumphant cackle riches their ear a few moments later.

"Is our brave Hero scared of a little tickle?" Their tone is taunting, a smug smile undoubtedly tugging at their thin kissable lips. "And here I thought you could take it."

Hero grits their teeth in annoyance. "I'll show you a little tickle, bitch." It's a promise, not a threat. Hero doesn't know what they are going to do yet, but they intend to pay back tenfold for every single time Villain's weapon has fired today.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Villain sings, cocking their newest toy again. They were dying to test it for weeks now, and Hero seemed the best target to do so without actually killing someone. "Watch your language, Sternchen. We don't want to ruin your goody-two-shoes reputation now, do we?"

"This was the fifth fucking time you've zapped me tonight," Hero snaps. Villain came dangerously close to discovering their true personality this time, and - Hero was sure of that - Villain would live to regret provoking that revelation. "Fuck off already."

Today's patrol was meant to be a short round around the city. Hero was exhausted from the shit of a week they had and in desperate need of a break. They had intended to finish their round and spend the evening in bed, eating junk food and watching mindless rom-coms - a guilty pleasure of theirs. Yet here they were, hiding behind a wall with a half-numb arm while Villain closed in on them.

"And where's the fun in that?" Villain rounds the wall only to discover Hero long gone. They look around, confused and slightly on edge. Something tells them to avoid getting caught at all costs tonight. The shock effect from their gun didn't last all that long, but Hero's irritation sure did. Villain did not test their weapons to know for sure, especially not on themself. "Hiding from me, are you? It takes two to tango, darling. You're gonna have to come out."

When no reply follows, Villain pauses. They could bet they heard Hero's voice from this exact spot moments ago, yet they are nowhere to be seen. They scan the area, holding their breath to hear any shuffling of Hero's clothes.

Where the fuck did that fucker go? Villain thinks to themself, still too wary to lower their gun. They couldn't have just left, right? The floors sure look empty. Wait a second.

Villain fails to complete the thought when Hero lands behind their back with a loud thud, and before Villain can even register the situation, they are pushed face-first against the wall. Hero twists their arms harshly, pinning them near the small of their back and pressing one knee to the back of Villain's to effectively immobilize them. Their weapon clings on the concrete floor, sure to be scratched.

Villain should probably focus on what's gonna happen to them instead. Their cheek is flush against the cold stones, their chest heaving in sharp inhales from the discomfort of the position and suddenness of their capture. Shit, they were fucked.

"Hey, it's dusty here," they attempt to sound light-hearted but can feel the anger radiating off of Hero in raving heat waves. Definitely shouldn't have gotten caught. "You're gonna ruin my costume."

"Oh yeah?" Hero's voice is sheer venom that sends a chill down Villain's spine. They refuse to acknowledge the pleasure and anticipation it carries within. "Does it look like I fucking care?"

"You obviously don't," they bite back, earning a disgruntled huff from Hero, who steps on the handle of their gun with their toes, lifting it up into a position that allows them to grab it without releasing their hold on Villain. "You wouldn't dress like you do if you had any regard for fashion... or any damn taste, really?"

Okay, Villain knows they are in no position to be cocky at the moment, but they can't help their smart mouth. The fact that their comment earns a dark chuckle from Hero has nothing to do with the warm feeling in their stomach - it's pure satisfaction from a successful jab, nothing more.

Hero's breath fans over the shell of their ear in time to draw them back from the pointless argument with their mind.

"Want me to show you my taste then?" Hero purrs, but there is something sinister in the brush of their lips against Villain's jaw. They press their hips further against Villain's half-bent form and use a combat knife to rip a large cut through Villain's expensive leather suit.

"What the fuck?!" Villain's voice is incredulous. They look down in disbelief, trying to free their hands from Hero's grip in vain.

"Shut your mouth, or I'll keep going," the knife grazes against the exposed skin of their upper thigh, too light to cut but enough to send a shiver down Villain's leg. Hero was surprised at the rush of pleasure that shiver sent through their bloodstream, attributing it to the adrenaline from their battle.

You keep telling yourself that. Their inner voice is interrupted by Villain's actual one.

"Shit, fine," Villiain surrenders, as if there is any other choice at this point in their predicament. They definitely overdid it with the teasing today. It didn't help that Hero was in a mood, either. "Just stop."

"Good villain," Hero pats their cheek, withdrawing the knife from their thigh and going to release Villain's hands. It would have been all done because, honestly, Hero was exhausted and had no intention of retaliating today of all days.

It would have - had Villain had any control over their goddamn mouth, that is.

"Motherfucker," the word rolls past their lips before they can consider the consequences of voicing it. Hero's hold tightens around them almost instinctively, their leg returning to its position behind Villain's knees. If they thought they were fucked then, now they are fucking done for.

"You wanna repeat that?"The knife returns as well, only now it's against their throat, grazing their skin with a kiss of the cold metal. And Villain will be damned if they don't hear a rasp in Hero's voice. "I said repeat that."

"N-no," they breathe out, feeling a bead of sweat run down the side of their face and over their neck. They freeze when Hero kisses it, their tongue hot and wet against Villain's feverish skin.

They barely contain the whimper that threatens to spill past their lips when Hero drops the knife, instead wrapping their hand around Villain's throat. They squeeze harshly, choking a torn exhale out of Villain, and pull their back flush against their chest, another arm winding across their torso. It takes Villain a minute to register their hands are free of Hero's iron hold. Free yet entirely useless as they flex at the sensation Hero's tongue wrecks in its wake.

"It takes two to tango, darling," Hero whispers, nibbling on the sensitive spot beneath their ear. Villain's head drops against Hero's shoulders, exposing their neck to Hero's impatient mouth. They struggle with their mind, trying to come up with a response, but fail miserably upon contact with their own gun.

"Hero," they startle, twisting their head to look at their nemesis when a numbing pain pierces through their hip. "Fuck, fuck! That hurts!"

They jerk away, but Hero maintains their hold of them. Something tells Villain they would collapse to the floor had they not.

As if on cue, they let go of Villain's body, and Villain's knees buckled under them, muscles still numb from the shock of electricity. They lean against the wall, sitting down to collect themself. And that's one shot. How the fuck was Hero able to walk around after five?

Hero grabs their gun again, snapping it in half before discarding the pieces. Villain brings a hand to cover their watering eyes. They aren't sure what's causing them more distress - the pain imposed on them or the sensation ripped away from them. They expect Hero to leave and are determined to keep their eyes shut until they do, but when an arm snakes around their waist, their eyes fling open against their will. They perk up as Hero pushes another arm under their sensation-deprived legs, pulling them up in bridal carry.

"And here I thought you could take it," Hero murmurs, pressing another kiss to Villain's temple. Villain's irises are dilated, tears still pooling in the corners of their eyes. Their pettiness be damned.

"How are you fucking alive after those?" Villain questions, noting that Hero pauses, unsure where to take them - their apartment or Villain's lair. "I can't feel my legs."

"I'd much rather you said that for an entirely different reason," they mumble under their breath, but Villain hears.

"You wanna repeat that?" They let out an amused chuckle, staring at the thick blush creeping up Hero's neck.

"N-no," their voice is small. Villain finds it amusing after everything they took the liberty of doing to them. "I'll take you to my place in case you still need assistance. And to make it up to you."

"Uh-huh," Villain quirks an eyebrow but nods, a satisfied smirk finding its place on their face as Hero's blush intensifies. "Solely for that purpose."

Hi, love! I'm doing quite well, although busy - as indicated by my relative absense here. I hope you are fine too!

Can I just say I absolutely loved this request! It had my fingers itching to get to the keyboard from the moment I read it. I'm not quite sure if I've followed your idea but I still hope you'll like it. I sure had an absolute blast writing it... and I kinda love them. They felt exceptionally alive. Although, the hero/villain duos always do.

Thank you for the request and thank you to everyone for reading. Love you,

Sunny xo

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose  @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood

[florymere]

Hiii.❤️❤️

This morning I saw your fanfic about Joel and I was like OMG, I need to read it as soon as possible. And I did I loved it. 👉👈🥺❤️

So I see your requests are open so I thought I can ask something. Can you write a Joel fanfic where he is the dominant one but he let the reader take control for once, like tie him up or something. And he watches the reader as she cums over and over again but he can't touch himself and he begs. Something like that. Uhh and add a little bit of sir kink please.

Thank you.❤️❤️❤️

Control - Joel Miller smut

💕 thank you sweetheart. I'm so happy you liked it. It was the first fic in a very long time that I wrote for a new character. 💕

Warnings: 69, dirty talk, bondage, sir kink, pure smut...

"You want what?" Joel voice interrupts the oppressive silence that has reigned after your question.

Begging, you look up at him as you sit on your bed clad only in his shirt, "Please?"

He looks more surprised than really averse to your question, even if it is rather unusual.

Your dynamic is clearly defined and normally you wouldn't even think of asking him about it, but just today, when you've seen him flirting quite openly with another woman, you really want to.

The only problem is that he has to say yes because you wouldn't be able to physically get him to do it on your own.

He could just push you off of him and he'd probably laugh at your bad plan too.

You bite your lower lip and bat your eyelashes, "I really want to try it, Joel."

His eyes slide over your body before he looks you in the face again and then sighs, "Fine, whatever. Move over."

Excited, you do as he says and murmur a soft, "Thank you, sir."

He barely responds to your submissiveness and pulls his belt from his pants to hand it to you.

Excitedly, you reach for it and Joel sluggishly drops himself onto the bed. 

His movements are slow and completely unimpressed as you crawl on top of him and he holds his wrists in front of your face.

It seems like he doesn't care at all that you're putting his belt around his wrists. 

Every time you're in his current position, you're already trembling with anticipation and writhing underneath him, but with him, it just looks like he's doing you a huge favor.

You tighten his belt and he growls, "Do you even know what to do if I can't touch you?"

Jerkily, you look him in the eye and the arrogance with which he looks at you doesn't leave you cold.

That's exactly why things are going so well between you. 

He's more of a dominant and demanding character by nature, while you like to let him make you small, especially in the bedroom.

Even now that he's the one you're now tying to your bed frame, he remains cocky and you avoid his gaze as you pull on his tied hands again for a test, which makes him grunt softly.

Satisfied, you let go of him and look down at the man below you.

As you expected, from the look he gives you, he doesn't seem to be averse to being the immobile one for once, but he doesn't know what you're up to yet.

Quietly clearing your throat, you lick your lips, "Don't worry. I'll do my best, sir."

Interested, he follows you with his eyes as you slide back so that your butt rests between his legs on the bed and you place your feet to the left and right of his narrow hips.

Because you're not wearing any panties, this gives him a direct view of your pussy, already glistening with wetness, and you smile slightly as his hands clench into fists.

Oh, he would regret underestimating you and flirting with this blonde.

You make yourself comfortable between his legs and as you slide your hand between your thighs, he almost breaks his neck to see more.

His hair is sticking out in all directions and his dark eyes are glued to your fingers, which spread your labia and then gently play with your clit.

Granted, it doesn't feel as good as Joel's fingers, but his greedy gaze and the bulge in his pants that's becoming more obvious are enough for you for now.

Using your feet, you push his shirt a little higher, needing at least some contact with his bare skin, then moan hoarsely, "You like the view?"

His thighs twitch and he growls, "Shove your fingers up your cunt."

Out of habit, you do as he says with two fingers and you throw your head back.

In response, a jolt goes through his body and you open your eyes.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you finger fuck yourself while Joel lies completely at your mercy, unable to take his eyes off your leaking pussy for anything in the world.

With each thrust of your fingers, you set up a mess between your legs, and with a thumb on your clit, it's not long before you're moaning harshly, "Joel...oh god...Joel..." Your voice breaks toward the end and your pussy throbs around your fingers as Joel tugs at his bound hands for the first time and barks, "Come here."

But you fight the reflex to obey him, shaking your head still sluggish from your orgasm, "No."

Incredulous, he tries to sit up, which of course is completely pointless, and he hisses, "Sugar, you do what I ask you to do right now, or else-"

Your eyebrows go up and you interrupt him, "Or else what? Are you flirting with that blonde chick again?"

You roll onto your stomach and he growls, "Is that what this is about? I wasn’t serious about that at all."

"Well, too bad I took it seriously," you lift your ass and slide over him until your pussy is hovering over his face like an unattainable reward and you rest your head on his thigh so your face is inches away from his now hard cock.

It's hell on earth that you won't touch him and he can't do anything about it himself either, that his cock is pressing painfully against t his pants and he can't do anything but look at your wet swollen cunt.

Grinning, you bite your lower lip as he lifts his head again and tries to press his lips on your throbbing sex, but just before touching you he can't get any further and frustratedly drops his head back on his pillow: "Okay, I get it. What do you want? Do you want me to ask for your forgiveness? I'm sorry and it will never happen again."

Again you let your hand slide between your legs and with a quick glance at his crotch, you see his cock twitch and you purr, "I accept your apology."

Your fingertips slide up through your cleft from the bottom and Joel rears back, "Then undo me or take my cock in your mouth, I don't care."

Your juices run down your thighs and you moan softly against his wrapped cock, "No sir."

With all his strength he pulls on the belt and you're glad the restraints don't give up because he would punish you hard for your ordeal and instead he grumbles, "Fuck, what the hell do you want?"

His cock feels like it's strangled and he wouldn't need anything more than a kiss from you on its tip to come, but you continue unperturbed, now fingering yourself inches from his face, "Beg me."

Again a jolt goes through his body, "What?"

It goes against his whole being to beg for something, even as you moan, "Beg me to take your cock in my mouth."

Silently, he remains lying there, staring at your cunt, which you are now fingering faster and more urgently.

Joel can see your pussy tighten around your fingers again and again and as you move your head a little on his thigh he curses loudly, "Oh fuck it. Will you please take my cock in your mouth, sugar?"

"I'm not convinced yet," you let your fingers slide out of your tight cunt and he turns his head a little to lick your juices off your thigh with his tongue and your body gives in almost completely at his warm tongue lash.

You stroke your finger over your swollen clit and you notice him give up, murmuring softly, "Please touch me, sugar. Please? I swear to you, I'll never even look at any woman again, but please, please suck my cock."

Satisfied, you whimper, "Yes, sir." And grab his pants with both hands, freeing his hard cock.

Freed from the confines of his pants, Joel moans deeply and at that moment you lower your hips and press your cunt against his mouth as you lick the precum from his cock and let it slide into your mouth.

The deep growl from his throat vibrates against your sensitive sex and you whimper with your mouth full.

As if it were his calling, he licks your cunt, pushing his hips towards your pretty lips again and again to get deeper into your throat.

With your hands you grab his balls and when you hear Joel's deep and loud moan, he already comes in your mouth.

Hectically you try to swallow it all as he sucks your clit in an uncoordinated way and you collapse on top of him, trembling and with your pussy pulsating.

It all happened so fast that you couldn't get it all down your throat and some of his cum drips out of your mouth as you roll off his strong body and finally look him in the eye again.

His gaze follows the wet trail on your chin and the drops of his cum dripping down to your thighs, "Sugar..."

Blinking, you look down at him and he licks his wet lips, "Untie me."

His voice is soft and as obedient as you normally are, you nod, "Yes, sir."

Thanks for reading my fic 💙

Gif is not mine 💗

It's my side blog so I'll answer comments with my main blog (@catt-leya) 💕

[tinytalkingtina]

Never Split the Party

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild kinktober day 27 prompt "tentacles"

Rating: E (18+ only please!) | ~2.5k words | Ao3 link to full fic

Please mind the tags in this one!

Tags/CW: rape/non-con, Demogorgons/Upside Down Vines/Steve/Eddie, Vecna is there, pwp, abduction/kidnapping, tentacle sex/rape, mind control, drugging, choking, wet & messy, slime, forced nudity/orgasms, bondage, blow jobs, anal sex, Steve/Eddie forced to bottom

Thanks to @vthx for betaing, and steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

Why had he agreed to break off from Eddie and strike out on his own?

Steve turned and hacked away at another grasping vine. Dustin had insisted they never “split the party”, and yet he and Eddie had decided that covering more ground on their scouting mission through the largest portal was a smarter plan.

They hadn’t considered that the Upside Down would be prepared for them this time.

Together, the two of them might have been able to withstand this assault. Alone, Steve didn’t see the vine that snuck in from behind to sweep him off his feet. His axe went flying off, and before he could reach for the knife in his boot, another vine grabbed and bound his wrists tightly together.

Steve didn’t have much time to regret his decisions as more vines immobilized his legs. He was helpless to resist as they dragged him off the streets into an abandoned house and onto a grime-covered bed.

One of the tendrils came up and tore his shirt right down the middle. He yelled and struggled to move away. In response, he felt something snake its way around his throat and squeeze. Steve fought back, trying to contain his panic, but he couldn’t do much with his arms forced behind his back.

Just as his vision began to go spotty around the edges, the vine finally let up. As he gasped and coughed, Steve’s attackers continued their earlier work, this time unzipping and ripping away at his jeans. He did his best to kick out once their grip on his legs loosened, for all the good it did as the vine around his neck tightened once more. By the time he was permitted air again, Steve had only exhausted himself.

Left with no choice but to lie there and take it if he wanted to breath, Steve shivered everywhere the vines touched him. The icy caresses to his bare skin were a mockery of affection as they quickly finished stripping him.

Once Steve was completely naked, the vines pushed him onto his back and bound each of his limbs to a post of the bed frame. He squirmed at the new position, being left on display and open to the room.

More tendrils came up to fully encircle his arms and legs. The slimy mass brought no comfort though: the sensation felt like he was being slowly swallowed alive.

Another tendril pushed against his lips. He turned his head, one of the few movements he could still make on his own.

“No, please,” Steve whispered, but the vines didn’t care as they yanked his head back to face the ceiling and held him in place. One covered his nose until he was forced to open his mouth and accept the invading tendril. Unlike demobat tails, the vine had a tough rubbery texture he couldn’t bite through, no matter how hard he tried. Steve gagged as some sort of goo dripped from the tendril down his throat, but he was trussed up too tightly to remove it.

He was so cold.

Dimly Steve felt time passing, but it was hard to tell how long he'd been left alone, liquid seeping down his throat. He hoped that his patrolling partner had made it back to their base by now, safer again in the real world.

At the thought of Eddie, a spark of heat flickered to life low in his belly. To his horror, Steve realized the slime he was being fed was starting to have an effect on his body. His dick filled out and bobbed against his stomach. Slowly, a burning need built in his veins, one that did nothing to fight off the chill.

Noises of a struggle roused him out of his icy-hot purgatory. Unable to turn his head, he only heard a muffled “Teev?” before someone was forcibly pressed against his chest. Steve swallowed down a moan at how good the warmth felt on his skin and found himself staring straight into Eddie's terrified face.

Similarly gagged, his pupils were dilated so much his eyes looked black. Over the top of Eddie’s hair, Steve could just make out the small swell of his exposed ass, so pale it nearly glowed in the perpetual nighttime of the Upside Down. He closed his eyes and suppressed another moan when he felt Eddie’s heavy dick leak a dribble of precum onto his stomach. Steve had spent so many nights wanting to undress him and take his time to learn the shape of Eddie’s body, but not like this, oh G-d, not like this.

The vines slithered, moving and adjusting their grips so that the two of them were suspended in midair, face to face. More vines came up to spread their legs and arms wide and pin them tightly to each other. They both let out “oomph!” noises as their torsos were squished together with enough force to knock the air from their lungs.

With nowhere to hide, Steve’s erection twitched against Eddie’s hip, and he felt an answering hardness jerk against his thigh. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as a whimper escaped his throat. Steve could feel him tremble against his chest. He tried to move away, but their bindings held them both rigidly in position.

All his wiggling just stoked the fire in his veins, each point of contact with Eddie sparking little jolts of pleasure. His hips moved without permission a few times until Steve froze, ashamed he’d lost control so easily.

Eddie’s fingers brushed against his.

“Teev, itf oay. Plefs don top,” he said awkwardly through the gag.

To drive home his point, Eddie wiggled right back and stroked his thumb across Steve’s palm.

Oh. The sparks became fireworks across his skin. Steve pushed his hand into Eddie’s and squeezed before thrusting his hips with purpose this time.

As if it could sense their intentions, one slippery tendril pushed its way between them to take hold of both their dicks. Torturously slow, it began to pump up and down. Another fondled their balls, while a third much thinner vine played with their slits, dipping in every so often. The sensations were magnified by every little movement Eddie made. But the longer Steve was touched, the more a sense of emptiness gnawed at his insides. He whined and tried to suck as much of the vine as he could into his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to quell the growing need.

Held on the knife’s edge for who knew how long, Steve froze when he felt something wet and cold press a featherlight touch to his exposed ass.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[clariannahoney]

Johnny's Devoted Fan Surrenders

Johnny's fingers deftly worked the ropes, binding Emily to the chair with practiced precision. Each knot he tied sent a shiver down her spine, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. The coarse texture of the rope grazed against her skin, leaving a faint, tingling sensation that contrasted sharply with the plush padding of the chair beneath her. He secured her wrists to the armrests, ensuring they were just tight enough to be a bit uncomfortable, but not enough to cause real pain. Her ankles were similarly bound to the legs of the chair, rendering her completely immobile.

"Perfect," Johnny murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a thrill through Emily. She could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. "You look so beautiful like this, my little submissive."

He stepped back momentarily, and she heard the soft rustle of fabric as he blindfolded her. The darkness enveloped her, heightening her other senses. She could hear every little sound—the distant hum of the concert venue, the faint chatter of staff members outside the room, and the steady rhythm of Johnny’s breathing. The air smelled faintly of leather and musk, a scent that seemed to cling to Johnny, enveloping her in an intoxicating cloud.

Johnny's hands moved to her chest, gently cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, teasing them until they hardened into tight buds. Emily gasped, her breath hitching as a wave of arousal crashed over her. She could feel the heat pooling between her thighs, a wetness that betrayed her growing need.

"Such a good girl," Johnny whispered, his voice dripping with approval. "Do you want more?"

Emily nodded eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, please," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Good girl," he repeated, his hands sliding down to her waist. He undid the button of her jeans, slowly tugging them down over her hips. The cool air of the room hit her bare skin, causing goosebumps to rise along her arms and legs. He slipped his hands inside her panties, his fingers finding their way to her slick core.

Johnny's touch was electric, his fingers stroking her clit with expert precision. Emily's back arched involuntarily, pressing herself further into his hand. She could feel her orgasm building, a storm that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. But Johnny had other plans. He pulled his fingers away, leaving her aching for more.

"Not yet," he said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through her. "I want you to squirt for me, Emily. Can you do that?"

She nodded again, desperate to please him. "Yes, I can try."

Johnny knelt in front of her, positioning himself between her legs. He leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste her. Emily moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the small room. His tongue was warm and velvety, lapping at her folds with a rhythmic precision that sent waves of pleasure crashing over her. He flicked his tongue over her clit, then traced circles around it, never staying in one place long enough to allow her to fully climax.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice muffled by her flesh. "Feel it, Emily. Feel how wet you are for me."

Her hips bucked against his mouth, driving herself harder onto his tongue. She could feel the pressure building inside her, a tension that demanded release. Johnny's hands gripped her thighs, steadying her as he continued to tease and torment her with his tongue.

"Please," she begged, her voice trembling. "I need... I need to come."

Johnny paused for a moment, looking up at her with dark, smoldering eyes. "Are you ready to squirt for me, baby? Are you ready to show me how much you want this?"

Emily nodded frantically, tears of frustration and desire blurring her vision behind the blindfold. "Yes, yes, I'm ready!"

With a wicked grin, Johnny returned his attention to her pussy, his tongue working faster now. He pressed harder, his tongue thrusting in and out of her with a relentless pace. Emily's body tensed, her muscles quivering with the effort to hold back. But it was no use. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, a torrent of pleasure that washed over her entire being.

Her body convulsed, her hips bucking wildly as she came. Johnny kept his mouth firmly pressed against her, swallowing every drop of her release. Emily felt like she was floating, her mind disconnected from her body as the orgasm tore through her. She could feel liquid gushing from her, soaking into Johnny's mouth and drenching his face.

As the last shudder of her orgasm subsided, Emily collapsed against the restraints, gasping for breath. Johnny stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked down at her, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Well done, baby," he purred, his voice thick with arousal. "You made quite a mess for me."

Emily could only manage a weak nod, her body still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She felt utterly spent, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. Johnny reached down, untying her wrists and ankles, releasing her from the chair. He helped her stand, guiding her to the edge of the bed where he laid her down.

"Now," he said, crawling onto the bed beside her. "Let's see if we can make this even better."

Emily's heart raced as she felt Johnny position himself between her legs once more. She could feel the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance, the head slick with her juices. He teased her, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back, driving her mad with desire.

"Tell me what you want," Johnny demanded, his voice a harsh command. "Tell me, or I won't give it to you."

[valscigarette]

Mine (Ones I Used to Know)

Summary: Vox reminds Val who he belongs to. For Day Twelve of the December Challenge.

Tags: Smut, Bondage, Overstimulation, Degradation, Top!Vox

WC: 1.5k | AO3 | Art by @aflatfacedprick

-

  Restraining a demon with as many limbs as Valentino is a feat, but after decades together, Vox has it down to science. Each of Val’s wrists is completely immobilized by coils of Vox’s cables, his thighs are pinned under Vox’s knees, and his face is mashed into the pillow from Vox’s grip on the back of his neck. He can struggle all he likes; he’s not getting free, and his desperate attempts to escape only provide more friction against Vox’s clothed dick.

“Fucking asshole,” Val complains into the bedding as he makes another attempt to pull his arms free. “You haven’t put out in weeks, and now-”

Vox shuts him up with a smack to the ass that makes his own hand sting. He sneers, “That’s rich coming from you.”

   How dare he complain as if he hasn’t spent days so far up Angel Dust’s ass that Vox considered building a probe to find out if he stores coke in there or something. It’s not fair. He gives Valentino everything. Fucking everything! Vox has wracked his brain trying to determine what that gangly slut has that he doesn’t, but has yet to come up with a single satisfactory answer for why Val keeps dragging a junkie into a dressing room bed instead of returning to theirs.

“With how busy you’ve been, I almost forgot you were married to me, not your cotton-candy whore.”

Val laughs until Vox digs his claws into the sides of his throat and taints the air with the copper tang of his blood. Vox’s filters are fine-tuned to protect him from noxious fumes like pollution or Val’s toxins, but no amount of programming overrides the thrill of smelling freshly spilled blood. As much as he wants to taste it, he needs to make this last. 

“Jealous?” Val pants. 

“Sick of your shit,” Vox corrects. “You promised, you said no more public performances, no more fucking around, I-” He reins himself in. The more upset, the more vulnerable he sounds, the less likely he is to get Val back under control. “I just think you've gotten confused, is all.”

Under him, Val bucks his hips, trying to throw Vox off with the might of a scruffed kitten. “Confused? You’re fucking confused.” His struggles only chafe the tight binding of Vox’s cables. “I told you that I wouldn’t star in any more films-” his long tongue lolls out of his mouth as he inhales like it’s the last breath he’ll ever take, “-which I haven’t. And you should be grateful, Voxxy.”

“Should I?” Vox bites. 

He grabs the central cord down Val’s back and yanks him upright, his torso forced into such a tight arch by the bondage that he trembles to hold the position even with Vox’s support. The funny thing is that Vox has seen this porn: Val trussed up, writhing and helpless, to receive his punishment from an overlord whose face never came on screen. It’s a classic vintage Valentino, and one of Vox’s personal favorites. 

When he reaches around Val’s waist, Vox doesn’t have to grope around for his cock. The excitable appendage seeks him out first and winds itself between his fingers, already sticky with precum like Vox knew it would be. Nothing gets Val going like a fight. And, despite his many irritating protests, he always has the most spectacular orgasms when he loses.

“This,” Vox growls, tightening his hand around Val’s dick, “belongs to me. Not the cameras, not your sluts, not you. Me.”

Val chuckles even as he blurts precum over Vox’s fingers from the possessive spiel. “Very funny, baby. But this cock is under contract; half my bitches signed their souls over for a standing appointment.”

On some level Vox knows that–he’s read all of Val’s contracts–but the reminder glitches his systems badly enough for his screen to blank as electricity sparks from his claws, drawing another glob of fluid from Val. It really is no wonder he wound up doing porn with his afterlife. He’s made for it. 

“Good for them,” Vox sneers, a cheering sound effect bolstering his words, “but you’re mine.”

Another condescending laugh bubbles from Val’s throat until Vox shoves him back down in the blankets and kicks his legs apart once more. While Val will fuck anything that moves, he’s tetchier about who gets to rail him. He’ll swear up and down that it’s because no one compares to the skill of his own prehensile genitalia’s reach, but Vox knows the truth has more to do with how sensitive the pink pussy tucked between Val’s balls and asshole is. Since becoming an overlord, there’s no one he trusts to destroy him like that. Even Vox typically gets relegated to the backdoor.

“Or did you forget?”

“Fuck off.”

Val continues struggling as Vox trails his hand down to press against his dripping pussy. The first press of his thumb into the slit spills slick down to Vox’s wrist and makes Val shudder, his arms flexing against the cables restraining him as if he’ll suddenly be able to break free now, when every attempt so far has been endearing at best. 

“This is mine too,” Vox carries on conversationally. He doesn’t have the caps that would protect Val’s delicate insides from his claws, but he doubts Val is going to complain, especially when Vox doesn’t plan on much prep. He simply pets Val’s pussy, smearing his juices from his hole to the base of his cock and back again. “No one else’s. Right, Val?”

“I’ll kill you,” Val sing-songs.

But his voice wavers, shivering worse than he’ll be after Vox fucks some sense back into him, and the threat dies in the air between them. If Val was serious, he would’ve killed Vox the first time he tied Val down to prove a point. Or the fifth. 

“Good luck with that.”

Vox lets go of Val completely to pull his own dick out and stroke himself a couple of times to coat it with Val’s slick. The aphrodisiacs in it don’t affect his mechanical body like it would most sinners, but the warmth leftover from Val’s body is a potent enough drug to make up the difference when Vox shuffles forward to press the head of his cock against Val’s hole.

Val groans like the sound was forced out of him and shudders. It’s a pitiful showing for a demon that used to make his living off taking the biggest cocks in Hell, but then again, he doesn’t let anyone fuck him like this anymore. No one but Vox. 

“That’s more like it,” he purrs. He can’t move as fast as he’s used to, Val’s too tight around him, but that’s probably for the best. If Vox was able to fuck Val at the pace his instincts demand, then this would be over before the real fun starts. “Want to know how I can tell it’s mine?” 

Before Val can answer, Vox spanks him, which in turn has Val cursing into the pillows and dribbling more precum as he tightens around Vox’s dick. He thrusts the rest of the way in until his hips press into the backs of Val’s thighs. 

“Because I fit perfectly.”

“Has nothing to do with you,” Val whines. “It’s my fucking pussy, of course it’s perfect.”

It’s not that Val’s ass isn’t great, but it doesn’t mold around Vox like a sleeve designed to the contours of his body, and it’s never this wet no matter how much lube Vox uses. More importantly, it doesn’t make Val melt like this. He can play feisty all he wants, and it won’t change the puddle forming beneath him, or how easily Vox can feel Val clenching around him.

“Right.” Vox withdraws halfway just to bottom out again in a single rough thrust, punching a wet moan from Val in the process. “That’s why you save it for me, then?”

If Val planned on replying, his words disappear behind another moan when Vox takes hold of his bindings and uses them to pull Val back onto his cock. The cables help, but Val is too heavy to really use like a fleshlight when he’s gone dead-weight from being fucked in a way he so seldom indulges. 

“Don’t tell me you let Angel Dust fuck you like this.”

“Nnnn,” Val gurgles, probably meaning to say no but unable to manage it when Vox is fucking him with computed efficiency. 

A buzzer sound snarls through Vox’s speakers. “Not really an answer, but great effort!” He smacks Val’s ass again and adds, “Good thing I don’t keep you around for your brains.”

Val keens, seizing up around Vox like a vice as he comes, splattering the sheets with an obscene amount of jizz. He’s always a firehose but milking an orgasm out of him seems to make it worse, to the point that the bed becomes too slippery for Val to hold himself up on his knees and he collapses prone atop the mattress. Vox follows him without allowing a second’s reprieve.

“There you go,” he coos, worming a hand under Val to curl around his oversensitive cock. It spills another wave of cum despite Val’s sobbing. “See? Mine.”

And with Val’s nonexistent refractory period, Vox intends to prove this particular point as many times as it takes.

[lost-inthedream]

A.C.E headcanons to celebrate Pinata

How they feel about BDSM

genre: smut (light bdsm because girl is soft)

warning: bad language, use of pet names, dirty-talking

pairing: a.c.e x gn reader

Junhee: Domination, Submission, Bondage

Accessories such as leashes, collars as well as ribbons are his playground. He may straight up ask you to dominate him by bringing you those accessories like a puppy in the middle of the afternoon. He's way too shameless, kneeling at your feet and getting his head pets before you leash him.

You all don't have super kinky sex often but at some point, you settled that you gotta request it when you are in a mood. Whenever you're feeling kinky just say it!

On other occasions, he whispers in your ear how much he would like to tie you to a chair. He does his work with ribbons so slowly that you think he won't ever finish it. Dirty-talks you like hell but he is actually making sure that you are comfortable and enjoying it as much as him.

"You look like a slut now. Are you my sweet slut?"

He sucks on your inner thigh as soon as you agree. Your legs are forced to remain open so you are retrained from sandwiching his head as you would eventually do while he nibbles and gives you hickeys there.

Donghun: Domination, Submission, Discipline

You two have an established day of the month to go hard and stupid, which means someone is gonna be mean (and both will be the embodiment of lust)

He may call you when you are waiting at home and order you to dress in your best lingerie and land a very specific toy on the bed. You gotta make everything ready for him to subdue you because you're his good girl/boy.

Sometimes he completely immobilizes you for the sake of overstimulating you without you pulling him away. Sometimes he just wants to edge you for an hour before he releases you, then you fuck yourself on his cock because he's a bit lenient after all.

"Don't curse me or I'm gonna gag you too. If you want dick you're gonna wait". (He never grabs the gag ball but you know he has one)

On the other hand, the same restraints can be used on him too, so you can twerk on him freely on another day. But that's maybe another post. Wow: Domination, Bondage.

Why would you ever buy a pretty silk cloth if Sehyoon will just restrain your wrists with his tie or whatever he finds on his way. "How kink you are feeling today, daddy?" you ask sitting on his lap. Your chest is bare and wet from his saliva. You swear his lips are swollen from both sucking on your nipples and receiving occasional love bites.

He puts your wrists together and manhandles you in a random position. Maybe face down ass up, maybe back against the wall hands above your head, maybe folded legs against your chest.

I have to add that you keep remarking on things while he responds with yes or no. He loves it that you can't shut up and often kisses you so he can swallow your mumbles. "Do I have to stay like this, daddy?"

He may end up tying your legs open, with smooth ribbons around your ankles and attached to the bed, if you keep closing your legs when he wants to eat you badly and forget anything else.

100% likely to be interested in a sex swing if you explain to him what it is lol

Byeongkwan: Domination, Discipline, Sadism

Omg, BK is such a pro. He's so creative and keeps surprising you. ice cubes, candles, paddles, and even bandage tapes might appear during your playtime. Yet he ALWAYS gives you enough time to decide whether you will accept the experience.

When he showed that red candle with wax play purposes to you, you and he lied comfortably on the bed and he talked you through it. You could feel he wanted it so bad but he would be fine if you disagreed.

All your first times include him being extra sweet, even though he is in control of everything. Do I have to say how hot this is?? He settled you shirtless and straddled you. You observed him with curious eyes, you were nothing but a cute lamb according to him. Being trustworthy, he poured the first drop of wax on his own forearm and then winked at you.

"You're gonna be imprinted on my mind just like this: with hard nipples and squirming out of pleasure" he voices after transforming you into a work of art. He is naked on top of you, the tip of his cock almost as red as the wax glued to your abdomen.

Yuchan: Submission, Masochism

Chan is so fascinating, let me tell you. He won't let you tie or handcuff him but there is no mention of anything else.

If you surprise him with a dominatrix-like outfit he will fall to his knees, calling you "mommy/daddy". It's like pushing the right button to have sub Yuchan.

One of his favorite activities is ice play thanks to those shivers, plus the ice cubes can go anywhere: on his tongue, on his spine, on his pelvic area. You blindfold him and get your man to anticipate your cold touches.

A Flogger or a feather to tickle him in the right places is something he enjoys as well. Floggers work to slap him too, if you are this kind of baby... Deny him real pleasure as much as you can, I mean don't let him jerk off. He may be whining and cute but he obeys pretty well. Make him eat you out and lap up all your juices before you finally touch his hard member.

[soapels]

HEYYYYY, I saw your requests open and I thought why not trying it. So, could you please please please write something with König and like, they're training or something and the reader or König (dc about who's going to do it) does that move that you take down the other person but you sit on their lap if you're not fast enough. And they're like panting from training.

I have more things in mind, so I'll be here for a while 😁

grim reaper

könig x female reader

content: slight suggestive themes, sfw, konig is down bad for reader but also a bit cheeky lol

hii nonnie! hehe i didnt know if u wanted sfw or otherwise, so i ended up somewhere right in the middle- or teasing at the latter, at least 😳 lol but i hope u enjoy!! i really love this idea so much! i wanna do this eventually with alejandro too ♡ good day! c:

all hearts, comments & reblogs are very appreciated!

König’s a tough guy.

Big, solid, more of a fucking mountain than a living breathing man, to be entirely honest- and it certainly don’t help when you put a gun in his hand- or worse, when his eyes are set on you.

Those shimmering blues are pretty, you can’t help but think even as he slowly rounds the mat with you. So pretty that they might succeed at distracting some poor bastard behind enemy lines, make them believe it’s an angel come to save ‘em from war rather than a ravenous, feral beast responding to the dinner bell.

There’s a reason he wears a hood.

All grim reapers do.

The air is somewhat thick between the two of you. Growingly tired. A healthy amount of sweat beading below your lighter fatigues.

You’re both a panting mess of missed punches and a few exchanged, light jabs. You managed to score a low kick at the back of his calf- perhaps your hardest hit yet- and it’s probably why he’s limping now. Just slightly.

It must still sting a bit, though. Because his delayed dodging time is enough for you to swoop in and pull the rug right out from beneath him, immediately pouncing on him as he falls.

Eager, you’re overwhelmingly eager to finish sparring, because while it’s fun being pitted up against Konig (he’s your favorite partner for these sessions), you’ve been at it for closer to an hour and supper will be served soon.

Straddling his waist, you pin his brawny arms back over his head, your smaller fingers struggling to wrap around his thick wrists.

He’s so much bigger, so much stronger, such a pain in the ass to immobilize.

And still, pinning him down on the mat, your hips anchored firmly over his- you know with one mindless buck, jerk, or thrash on his end, you’d go flying.

So it’s a mercy, really, hair hanging over your head and almost touching the tip of his nose, that instead of that- perpetuating the session and perhaps stinging your pride- Konig merely lies there beneath you.

Accepts it and you.

Lets out a little, breathy sort of giggle.

“Ah, you got me.” He surrenders, yet your hands must be completely deaf to his words because they don’t loosen at all.

His broad chest shakes with every heaving breath he takes, jostling you both, but it’s only when you feel him make an uncomfortable shift beneath you that you truly realize just how exhausted he is.

Blues eyes glinting tiredly through the holes of his hood, holding an odd little twinkle to them as he runs them over you— nervous, but curious, too.

So, so curious.

As if common sense hits you, you let a playful grin finally carve into your cheeks. “Did I?” You ask softly, and his head tilts some at you. “I’ve got the feeling you could switch our positions easily, if you really wanted to.”

He’s vaguely jittery, your sparring buddy, but when you make that mindless comment, for reasons beyond you, König visibly flusters, jerking his chin the other way.

His cheek rubs against the mat through his mask, mumbling a polite rebuttal.

“Y-You underestimate yourself, Y/n… You knocked me right off my feet! Isn’t that good?” His gaze does find yours again, then- quietly, “…I think you are good…”

It’s your turn to giggle.

The sound is pleasant, the sort of sound that he’d play on repeat if he could. But… those are feelings that the brute of a man is vaguely aware are offhanded, and certainly not the kind you divulge to your comrade.

So he nibbles on his lips, though you don’t see, and keeps quiet on it.

“Well, thank you, König,” your cheeks are a bit warm, either from tussling with him or just the fact that it’s him and not anyone else, you’re not so sure.

“I think you are good, too.”

Oh.

Oh.

That feels nice to hear… And your mouth looks so pretty when you say it, too.

You are beautiful, the man steadily comes to terms with- in one staggering, full gust of wind beneath you- you are so beautiful and you are straddling his hips and you said with your own tongue that he is good in your eyes.

You don’t know just what possesses him when he turns to you after, letting a nervous, yet deft hand rake the entirety of his hood over his head. But the truth is that he also doesn’t know why- or anything, to be fair, in that brilliant, awing moment- just that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and he loves sparring with you and he can’t fully stop himself in time from saying—

“Yes,” he admits. “For you.”

And you are so startled by his sudden spur of confidence, and also the hint of a cheeky grin curling at his lips, that you are silent for a moment.

Stunned, perhaps.

An addicting, bubbly sort of feeling rises between you.

…S-Something else does, too, but lower— poking persistently at the start of your tummy.

You blink owlishly at the belated realization. So does he, all blue and hopeful yet also, apparently, growingly excited.

You clear your throat, slowly sliding off of his lap, praying to God your buddy doesn’t see the evident stirrings of something smitten on your face.

“H-How nice,” you murmur. And you mean it.

The both of you stand up, inconspicuously brushing off the fronts of your thighs, trading off see you in a bit’s and good spar’s, the male following shortly after you- sort of like a lost puppy- towards the shower block.

Washing off sounds nice- even better, settling down at the cafeteria and digging into his meaty portion of dinner- but to be entirely honest, he’s still basking in the sweet afterglow of his small (yet no less revolutionary) victory.

…Maybe he ought to let you win more often.

[jump-in-the-whump]

thought of this as I took a nap on the freezer in my laundry room

consider a whumpee confined to a tiny space, but it's not in a cage surrounded by tight stone walls or at the bottom of a well or anything like that. Rather, the whumpee is situated at the very very top of a tall spire on a little platform surrounded by open air.

they're chained, so they don't have to worry about falling, but they barely have any space to lie down or much less move around. Plus, they're left completely bare to the elements. Would it be considered a claustrophobic environment?

- consider anon

Woow! I like the way you think, anon!

I can already picture Whumpee on an iron platform no wider than an outstretched armspan, perched atop the needle-like pinnacle of a spire that jutted defiantly into the heavens. The platform is made of thick, rust-pitted iron, its surface slick and unwelcoming.

This certainly can be claustrophobic: Whumpee is utterly immobilized, chained to the center of the platform with heavy iron manacles that bite into their wrists and ankles, which act as both their restraint and a mockery of stability. The chains allow just enough slack for a semblance of movement (a step or two in any direction, a feeble attempt to curl up) but not nearly enough to lie down comfortably.

Of course, when they get too weak, Whumpee tries to curl into a shivering ball, pressing their side against the unforgiving metal and folding their limbs awkwardly, but the smallness of the space means that even this position is impossible and every attempt to shift brings another bruise, another scrape, and another reminder that there was nowhere to go.

And Whumpee is at the complete mercy of the elements and there’s nothing they can do!!

During the day, the sun blazes mercilessly, baking Whumpee’s exposed flesh and turning the platform into a searing griddle. The chains, blackened by countless hours of exposure, grow hot enough to scorch, branding them whenever the wind failed to cool them quickly enough.

At night, the opposite torment awaits, because the spire becomes a monument of frost and chill. Temperatures plummet to bone-numbing lows, and the wind, unrelenting and unkind, cuts through every inch of them, leaving them trembling uncontrollably. Without shelter, blankets, or even clothing, Whumpee’s body is their only protection against the elements, and it is completely inadequate.

But I think rain is the best one: clouds roll in suddenly, heavy and gray, thunder crackles ominously, and the first droplets soon fall. The chains grow heavier, slick with water, and the wind whips the rain sideways, stinging Whumpee’s face and leaving their hair plastered to their skull.

The worst is the feeling of helplessness. Whumpee is trapped in limbo, suspended between earth and sky, unable to escape either. From this height, Whumpee can see far and wide, their vision stretching over forests, rivers, and hills that blur together like a painted tapestry. Yet none of it is reachable. The world below is achingly distant, mocking them with its inaccessibility. Birds occasionally fly nearby, their freedom underscoring Whumpee’s imprisonment. Even they, however, never linger long.

Freedom lays just beyond their reach, tantalizingly close yet impossibly distant.

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

[bombdiggity666]

Here Comes Judgement Day Pt.2

A few years ago, I attempted to draw a fan comic to resolve the ambiguous ending of the MTMTE/LL Comic series. I managed to complete one panel, but lost the other three when my computer crashed.

Now, after some time has passed, I feel encouraged to try again. This time, I've written a multi-part story to better guide my comic.

It's worth noting that when I began this project, I was feeling edgy, so it's all based on the song posted below

A Summary:

Megatron faces his impending execution in Garrus 9. As he reflects on his fate, Ultra Magnus grapples with his role as a witness. Through introspection and discussions with Rodimus, Ultra Magnus ultimately decides to attend the execution as Minimus Ambus, embracing his true self and honouring Megatron's last request. Tensions mount as the time draws near, with Rodimus struggling to cope as Megatron's death approaches.

Was he in a different room now? He couldn’t activate his optics, but the environment felt colder than before. Prickling static sensations danced across his arms and chest. Surprisingly, he could feel another medical program running behind the overbearing corruption code that idled in his systems menacingly. Luckily, its suffocating presence was still dulled by the sedative. This new program, he recognized, was a standard vitals systems check. A quick yet inhibited jolt of his right servo revealed a second medical cable jacked into his wrist port, this one far more comfortable. He huffed a vent to test his surroundings.

"Take Me Away"

Megatron regained consciousness quickly, or so it felt. His heavy-duty engines metabolized narcotics swiftly, especially when deprived—a function that had aided him through many of Starscream’s assassination attempts. As he searched for his chrono, the inability to gauge time reminded him of his current situation. Stirring slightly, he realized he was restrained once again, but this time in a far more exposed position. He lay on a different berth now, a surgical one with arm boards. The hum of the stasis restraints felt stronger; testing them, he found he couldn’t even lift a finger. ‘Do they think they're immobilizing a titan?’ he pondered loosely, his head still spinning with disorientation.

“I know you’re awake,” came a confirmation, not an irritated remark. The muffled voice, unmistakably from Evac, gave his ringing audio receptors something to focus on.

“What-” He was cut short with a static cough, his vocalizer rebooting as slowly as his optics.

“Shh, right here.” He felt a light servo’s touch on his right shoulder, more haunting than comforting.

“You were out of it; I brought you the rest of the way.” The servo ran down his arm, stopping at his wrist to fiddle with the connection.

Unable to respond in a civilized fashion, Megatron's engine subconsciously revved low and primitive in a threat display. The frequency resonated throughout his frame, communicating his irritation efficiently.

“Stop that. It was just me. No one saw. You got here all on your own.” Evac brushed off his display with a smack to his forearm, as if such behavior from him didn’t bring opponents in the pits shaking to their knees.

Where was here? His frustration grew.

“Okay, just let me…” He could hear typing, “There, try now.”

His optics onlined with the assistance of Evac’s manual start-up code. The room slowly cleared into focus. His revving engines stalled.

The execution chamber.

He was bound at a slight incline, his frame fully exposed to a viewing window where live witnesses would soon be sitting. The room had a solemn feel, nowhere near the clinical setting as before. A dull light lit the immediate area around them, but Megatron couldn’t spot the source, just glad that it wasn’t above him like an interrogation or operating room. He glanced to his left; the uncomfortable cable was still spooled and strapped to his wrist. A loose end hung ominously, but still unconnected to whatever equipment held the kill code.

“Hey,” Evac tried to pull his attention softly, using her servo to redirect his optics.

Megatron groggily gazed up at her. She must work with sparkling’s with how effectively she corrals his attention away from unpleasantries.

She sat near the right of his helm, monitoring the large screen exhibiting his vitals. The displays left nothing to the imagination: spark pulse, processor activity, fuel consumption ratios, all of it on display for the viewers. He doubted any of it was legitimate medical monitoring.

Looking past her smile to the screen, he could see a diagram of his own frame. It was spinning slowly, with certain pieces of his armor colored red. ‘Strange,’ he thought. All bots of Tarnish origin exhibited some degree of leucism, him being mostly affected with the exception of red pigmentation of his upper arm plating and abdominal vents. This model was wrong; he didn’t have red wrist or chest plating. In fact, he didn’t have wrist armor at all at the moment…

Oh.

No.

He gawked, stunned, as the realization of what he had seen washed over him. Evac noticed his expression changing.

“No no no, don’t-“

But her warning came too late. He dropped his helm in a lightning-quick reflex which should have been inhibited. He nearly threw Evac out of her seat as she attempted to grab his faceplates.

His Spark was exposed, pulsing and spinning fast, it bathed the room in an ebb of twisting light. His chest plating gone. Removed entirely. He was utterly exposed, freezing cold, and completely vulnerable. A touch could kill him right now.

He heard Evac speaking, though neither words nor tone registered. Distantly, he felt the medibot pulling at him, trying to get him to lay back down. Despite both physical and chemical restraints, she didn’t have hope in the Pits of moving him. The glare of his spark lit his reflection in the field of the viewing window, catching him by surprise. Barely recognizing himself as he had never before been forced to examine his appearance; especially in such a position. In the mines, mirrors were nonexistent. Any Pit mech who glanced at the monitors for even a nanosecond in the arenas where slaughtered. He never paid any mind with Autobot propaganda…

It wasn't until the Necro world, standing before the statue of his youth that he truly understood the monstrosity he had become. A cold calloused war monger, hungry for control and blinded by it.

But now? He looked frail. Bare. Weak. Yet, he was closer to his true self than he had been in millions of years.

The hardest part wasn’t seeing his exposed lifeforce or his restrained frame. The hardest part was staring into his own optics and finally seeing that once youthful face. The face that once held the resolve and determination for a better world. The naive slave from Tarn who had once foolishly thought he could change the world with his rhetoric. He couldn’t see the monster anywhere, and with the clarity of it, he felt the urge to apologize for failing them both. A bitter smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. ‘I know you wanted to change the world,’ he mused.

‘And you did,’ he recalled his session with Rung on the Lost Light. ‘But not for the better.’

“No,” he murmured. “But now…” his optics softened, losing focus on his reflection before offlining as he slowly rested his helm back against the berth. “For the better.”

Evac remained silent, unsure of what to say. Words seemed inadequate in the face of Megatron's internalized closure. He seemed to be coping well. She reached out and placed a servo firmly on his clavicle plating, messaging her thumb along the unnatural coolness of the metal beneath her touch. Megatron didn’t flinch, so they stayed like that for as long as they could, the weight of their shared silence hanging heavily in the air.

She glazed over at the chrono on the monitor before sighing lightly, leaning in close to whisper into his audio receptor.

“It’s time”

A bell sounded, stirring them from the peaceful silence.

---

Cycles blurred together after Rodimus’ final conversation with Megatron, the weight of sleeplessness pressing down on him like a relentless burden. Though he was well aware there was never going to be an out between the two verdicts, he clung to a faint hope for some kind of miracle. Megatron always seemed to conjure those when backed into a corner. Downing the rest of his engeX, he slammed the container down to join the mounting pile at his side.

The oil house was bustling tonight, everywhere was, streets, parks, fragging libraries were ablaze with hollering, singing, and dancing in celebration and anticipation for the viewing of Megatron’s execution. The enormous monitors, typically reserved for sporting or political broadcasts, stood ready, awaiting the live transmission of the ‘event’ from Garrus 9. Rumor had it that the council would likely declare this day a new Cybertronian holiday. 'Sick,' he thought, sarcasm thick on his glossa. He could fix that. He waved down the bartender, gesturing towards his empty pile of Engex containers, indicating his displeasure with a circling motion of his finger. 'Keep them coming,' he thought, not trusting his voice right now after his conversation with Minimus resulted in a good sob-fest out in the back alley. It was hard to maintain his composure in a bar full of retired Autobots and neutrals; being on the verge of black-out drunk was somewhat helpful, or so he thought.

The bartender placed a glass down in front of him with a concerned look. “You wanna slow down there, kid? The slagging screening hasn’t even started yet, and you’re 12 deep.”

Rodimus scoffed in indignation, his servo rising to his chest in offense. “I can count, my guy.” Dodged that one like a pro. The bartender rolled their optics as they whisked away, too busy to babysit a drunkard on a day like today.

He swirled the liquid in the glass, unsure of what else to look at. He was too drunk to hide all his feelings and fought to avoid catching optics with anybot. He really shouldn’t have come here today, but he thought being around others might help him through the process. That their excitement might rub off on him. A true extrovert at spark. Honestly, he just didn’t want to be alone…

A soft servo landed gently on his back. ‘Or maybe I did,’ he deliberated.

“You’re hard to find when you want to be found.”

Rodimus paused, processing the vague and confusing attempt at a pick-up before slamming his servos to the countertop of the bar, nearly spilling his Engex, and knocking several empties over. Hopefully this display was enough to dissuade any other onlookers from approaching; he wasn’t in the mood for flirtatious conversation right now, too drunk and distraught. Spinning around in his seat, he attempted to address this bold bot directly.

“Who would fragging be looking in the first pl-“ He was caught off guard immediately.

Drift stood behind him with a soft, sorrow-filled smile and a consuming presence of warmth. He didn’t move his servo from Rodimus’s back kibble; instead, he applied more comforting pressure, sprawling his fingers to cover more area. Rodimus continued to stare, confounded, his intake opening and closing as he chewed over words. He had not spoken to anyone in person since the sentencing, purposely isolating himself in his pain until his dumbfounding decision to be here today. He had specifically hidden from Drift, as he didn’t think he would be able to understand his conflicting emotions over Megatron’s Verdict. He shrunk in on himself suddenly, and after a moment, he managed a shaky question.

“…Minimus?”

“Ratted you out, yes,” Drift soothed, moving to sit in the seat next to Rodimus’s hunched frame, nonchalantly pushing the empty Engex containers off the bar with his forearm, earning a scathing glare from the bartender across the counter. He seethed back with equal intensity momentarily, enough of a threat to make the bartender turn on his heels.

Rodimus stared down at his drink, optics spacing out in broken thought. “You didn’t…” he quickly brought the glass to his intake to shoot it down, conversation was difficult. “You don’t need to-”

“Yes, I do.” Drift hushed assertively, placing a servo over the glass of Engex Rodimus was preparing to down, easing it back to the countertop with little convincing.

Rodimus looked at him from the corner of his optics, unwilling to turn his whole body. A prickle of shame sprouted somewhere distantly in his mind, which was silly; Drift had definitely seen him in much more embarrassing states. However, being in such a drunk grief over a bot who murdered little over half the known galaxy, including himself at least once, probably came pretty close to ‘taking the cake’. Drift was Ex-Decepticon, he likely knew the spell Megatron casts on ones psyche. When their goals aligned, that is.

“We are still a team, you know,” Drift lightly shoulder checked him in camaraderie, hoping to capture Rodimus' full attention. It didn’t work, so he persisted. “Even without the Lost Light. Without a mission, without an adventure, I’m still on your team. Whatever happens today, tomorrow, cycles from now, I’m going to be on your team.”

A flicker of a grin flashed on Rodimus’s faceplates as he offlined his optics. After a moment, he scrunched his facial plates and dropped his helm to the bar counter with a resounding thunk. Drift looked up apologetically to the patrons it may have startled. After throwing his whole arm across Rodimus’s shoulders as he pulled himself closer and leaned into his audio receptor. “And teams are stronger together,” he said, placing his hand over Rodimus’s, squeezing it in a grounding manner. “So we are going to do this together, understand?”

A snort, or perhaps a strangled sob from Rodimus, was muffled by the metal of the counter, his shoulders jerking, concealed from onlookers by Drift’s supporting arm.

“…Thank you,” Rodimus murmured, rolling his head slightly towards Drift. “You're too good to me.”

-----

From across the oil house in a darkened hallway, Ratchet stood leaned against the wall as he watched Drift console the hot mess of his former captain. There on 'standby', he had no intentions of taking part in today's celebrations. Not that he didn’t agree with it, just done with the war and all of the remnants of it. To see a society so excitable over the death of another bot filled him further with pessimistic bitterness. To him, it was just another bot dying for nothing. No progress would be made of it.

Despite his bitter nihilism, Ratchet cared deeply for a select few and how this would affect them. Drift predominantly, and if Drift was worried about Rodimus, well then he was worried about Rodimus too.

There was a buzz of static and a flash of light which blared from the monitors, resulting in an uproar from the crowds gathered in both the oil house and throughout the streets. Bots flooded in closer to the screens as the voice of a council orator began to speak.

Ratchet cursed, swinging his head away in disdain. He had no interest in watching this garbage today; he had seen enough death in his lifetime, so watching a screening of it on his free-time would be absurd. He glanced back to where Drift was consoling Rodimus. His cold spark pinged slightly at the state of him. Such an impressionable bot, getting so unhealthily attached to anything that remotely resembled a parental figure. Disgusting that Megatron was ever given the chance in the first place. Optimus set the poor kid up to hurt before promptly dying there after. Idiot.

He looked back again towards the monitor, following Rodimus’ saucer-optics stare to find Megatron, restrained with spark exposed. He was slightly taken aback by it. He never imagined a day where he would see Megatron so tolerant of such ministrations to his frame. Than again, he never anticipated seeing the day Megatron renounced Decepticonism either. As a doctor, such imagery had little effect on him, he’d seen bots in such position of vulnerability millions of times; However, for Rodimus, it was likely quite distressing. ‘For the love of Primus,’ he thought, as if his scolding thoughts could reach Megatron’s processor. ‘Don’t you dare make this any worse for Rodimus.’

-----

The resonating ting of his pattering steps down the metal corridor was comically light. Minimus pressed on with speed and purpose, his frame devoid of Magnus armor now, though it wouldn't matter; they already had his spark signature on file. He marched towards the witness hall, attempting to subdue the pit in his tanks with a false air of superiority. Passing two guards, who stared for far too long with dumbfounded expressions, he noticed their perplexed glances shifting between him and their scanner before they yelled out after him.

“Hey, you! State your role and purpose-”

“That would be 'Excuse me, Sir'!” he chastised, spinning around aggressively.

Approaching him somewhat cautiously, the guards looked down at their spark scanner while also placing servos on their weapons. “These scanners are saying that you are Ultra Mag-“

“That is because I AM Ultra Magnus,” he declared, his servos landing on his hips as he leaned forward in a posturing position. “And you are keeping me from my assigned role as a witness to the execution. Which I better not miss.”

The two guards exchanged confused glances. One of them pressed a finger to their audial, undoubtedly sending out a com. Minimus realized this was not going to be as simple as he thought.

“Forgive us, uh, sir?” One of the guards began, patronizingly. “But you are going to need to step aside and-”

“WHAT?” Minimus roared, holding out his identifier tag now. “Two spark scans and an identifier code, and you still don’t accept-“

“You don’t look anything like Ultra Magnus,” one guard interrupted, moving around Minimus to box him in.

“Yeah,” the other guard accused bluntly. “You’re looking more like a Decepticon minibot to me.” He reached down quickly, snatching Minimus’s upper arm with a powerful jerk.

Really?! How astoundingly racist. Were his red optics enough to be considered a Decepticon? Three authentication procedures be damned?

“Release me this instant! This is a major violation under- URK!” A fist smashed into his left faceplate, sending him whirling to the floor, his frame skipping twice off the metal.

“Shut up, a MAJOR violation would be impersonating a senior officer. Pick him up.”

Dazed from the hit, Minimus struggled to prop himself up, his servo lifting to his olfactory sensors only to come away bloodied in fresh energon. Distantly, he heard a bell ringing, and with stark realization, he knew that it was the start of the Execution screening. He only had minutes now.

“No,” he coughed, attempting to move towards the noise. Rough servos clasped his shoulder plating hard enough to dent the metal, lifting him clean off the ground. “You’re making a mis-“ a punch to his abdominal plating had him keeled over, peds not even touching the floor.

“Let’s get him out of here quick, I wanna watch that fragger die in real-time,” one guard murmured to the other, dragging Minimus in the opposite direction of the Witness room.

“No… wait,” he pleaded weakly, unable to catch a vent as his bent fans kept stalling.

“At ease!” An approaching voice hollered from behind them. The two guards stopped immediately, standing tall and leaving Minimus dangling in the air, fans clicking and vents hitching. He knew that voice…

“What is all of this about, soldier? Explain.”

The smarter of the two began, stuttering over their words at first. “Sir! We found this Decepticon trying to infiltrate the witness hall, claiming to be Ultra Magnus, Sir!”

“Ultra Magnus, huh?” the voice began to round on him with the speaker almost in his line of view. “Definitely doesn’t seem to fit the build, now does he?” The bot stepped in front of him. Minimus cowered slightly. Prowl. He and Prowl haven’t exactly been seeing ‘optic to optic’ as of late. Their relationship had soured further with Minimus’ appointment to Megatron’s case. Now would be a perfect time for Prowl to do what he does best. Act out about it.

“…Prowl...please,” he wheezed.

“Would we know each other, little bot?” Prowl teased while leaning down, olfactory sensors remaining high and mighty. He smirked. Minimus's spark sank.

“I- I know we have never agreed on methods, Prowl,” he started, his voice still shaky. “I-”

“-Was just going to stroll into a live broadcast and shatter the legend for everyone on Cybertron, and on such a joyous, sought-after day? All to make your best friend happy? How incredibly selfish, Minimus,” Prowl spat venomously in a mocking sneer, leaning in close to minimize what his underlings heard.

“Magnus, the Armor, I’m done with it. Through,” Minimus continued, hissing through dentae at the effort. ”After today, we can go our separate ways.”

“I think we can do that right now, actually,” Prowl smirked, standing to his full height. “Brig this Decepticon sympathizer, I’ll deal with him after the show,” he ordered the two guards before turning back to the execution chamber. “I don’t want to miss Megatron’s face when he realizes you’re not coming.”

“NO, PROWL,” Minimus thrashed, kicking but unable to land anything substantial. No longer having might on his side, he had to think. He had to think of something fast. What would work on someone as cynical, calculating, and arrogant as Prowl?

Blackmail.

“Overlord!” Minimus shouted, craning his neck back towards the direction Prowl was walking. He stopped abruptly. Listening.

*I am aware of your involvement with the release of Overlord, Who is still out there! Don’t you think for a second that anyone has forgotten* Minimus commed, the blackmail would fall short if others listen in.

 *As I recall, your crew played an unmistakable role in that…Mishap* Prowl didn’t move, back stiff. Calculating.

*Under your direction, discretion, and trusted advisement. Overlord was a prisoner assigned to you and you foremost.* Minimus bit back, he was getting further and further away. He could hear the orator beginning to read out the jury’s sentencing.

*And?* Prowl spat back, turning his head to glance, a sliver of blue shining from his silhouette.

*Nobody needs to know* There was no reply. Minimus panicked briefly, knowing any further discussion or clarification would ruin the offer. He just needed Prowl to take the hook.

“Drop him,” Prowl commanded to his bots after careful consideration. Mimimus hit the ground hard, crumpling to his knees. He could hear Prowl approaching quickly. “Dismissed,” he hissed with a wave of his servo. The guards nodded, continuing their march down the hall. Before he could rise, a ped slammed into the crease of his back painfully, pinning him back down into a crouched position.

“You’re going to go in there, make googly optics at your genocidal BFF, watch him die, and then I am never going to see you again. Do you understand?” Prowl leaned down to whisper the threat directly into Minimus’ audio receptors.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way…” Minimus grunted, shrugging Prowl’s ped off his back. A rag fell to the floor in front of his face.

“You tripped on your way here, smashed your face into the bulkhead. You needed a minute to look presentable. That is why we are late,” Prowl hummed as he walked away.

Minimus took the rag, dabbing the drying energon from his faceplates as he rose shakingly to his peds. Perhaps he was a Decepticon sympathizer, he thought as he began to limp after Prowl’s steady steps.  Never has he ever thought so lowly of the Autobot peacetime they had created.

[ntls-24722]

Immobiles! I actually hadn't drawn a fullbody of tjem because they look so similar to the steeldrakes but in the concept art, because of the positioning, I wasn't able to include their thickly-based tails, as their organs extend into their tails just a little bit rather than the long, whiplike tails of their original designs.

The comids and the immobiles are subspecies of eachother and are able to have fertile hybrids, but they will have muted or non-existant transformative abilities/tranformative intelligence.

Immobiles kind of keep a big role as for allowing society to be accessible and to properly progress - if society was composed of solely of comids, society probably would've had a significantly larger accessibility problem for any comid that was born without transformative qualities or any disabilities of any sort, considering the mantra might likely have turned out to be "either get fixed or fix yourself" rather than provide a better environment (or, at least, an environment that isn't completely built like surreal art. I don't want to even imagine how their cities would look like if the expectation was that everyone was able to literally grow wings and fly or grow extremely tiny). They uphold the tenant (I also realize these are less a religious commandment but moreso a very rudimentary worldwide constitution) of making "cities fit for all," which is important not just to the immobiles they were meant for but also the countless ethnicities that are vastly biologically diverse.

@thebookowal your hiding spot has been found. Get outta that pocket!

Not sure how ergonomic a kangaroo pocket would be on account of them using all 8 limbs to walk, but I think the appeal would be there somewhere if it was centermost.

@artastic-friend you have been spotted by: concerned child.

Evolutionarily, all life on Drohnen have 8 limbs, but also the comids/immobiles have the interesting lack of a need for molting, despite all other life on their exoskeletal planet needing to. Their exoskeletons have multiple places where they split and they are able to grow with them, held together by cartilage and their muscles. However, a child who doesn't know that they've contacted life on other planets would probably think YOU would need to just like everything other than them.

fritz eats giant and DIES. not sure how dronen plants/fruit would work quite yet. but i made a Big Berry.

regular comet and fritz as a closing doodle. :)

[pangtasias-atelier]

Summoner's Sedentary Supports: Tibarn

Finally got around to writing this after getting out a huge funk. So might be complete nonsense since like hrghh blorbs that I'm blinded and ofc I like it lmao

Warning: This is a fetish story!

In the very distant, most remote wing of the Order of Heroes brick white castle—the area originally physically remodeled a couple of years back before being magically reinforced another year afterwards—the entire wing is only occupied by the Order's summoner and all of the men he's supported. The area would appear vacant from the lack of activity in the expansive hallways, if not for the loud whirring of machines sounding out from every room alongside the small yet incessant tremors that ring out from varying unknown gurgling sources, said sources all ones that Kiran intimately knows and takes care of. The only room that currently displays some different sort of sound is Tibarn’s.

“You ready for another helping, big guy?” Kiran calls for Tibarn from the comfort of Tibarn’s enormous chest. Tibarn’s own tits large enough to make a transformed dragon seem reasonable, the summoner gladly takes advantage of the pillowy breasts, which serve as the finest bed Askr has to offer. 

The position where Kiran rests is a bit of distance from Tibarn’s head with his mountainous figure that only manages to stay within the shelter of his room with the aid of Kiran’s magic altering the dimension of his quarters. The distance, when coupled with the gurgling of his own enormous gut that only continues to grow hungrier the more he gluts out and stuffs himself, makes it difficult for Tibarn to hear Kiran. Though he also focuses on devouring the last remaining bits of his buffet sized snack, the magically controlled food gushing into his ravenous mouth that’s surrounded by his own lard from his puffed out bloated cheeks and several, countless rolls of lard for a neck and chins. 

Kiran teleports up to Tibarn, a miniature portal—as small as it can be to fit his prodigious 600, pound figure—created by his own magic much like the other portals the world of Zenith is known for. “My, you’re so greedy,” Kiran pouts at Tibarn’s sunken pile of lard for a face. “Can’t even bother to give me an answer,”

With as much energy he can muster up when he weighs several tons, Tibarn looks up at Kiran’s visage. And to his credit, Tibarn does look apologetic, the immobile Hawk King sporting a faint crimson blush on his rich, dark-tanned skin. “S-shouhrry,,,” The act does expend a lot of Tibarn’s energy. His face even turns a bit brighter. “I didn’tsh -huff- heahrr,” Tibarn continues to eat all the while; the act is the only thing he can do when not shrunken down to more reasonable weights to allow him some mobility when he craves moving around. 

“Shoo whaatsh-” Tibarn gets forcibly shut up by more food, the immobile blob willing to slow down his eating just for Kiran, only to have the summoner feed him faster.

Kiran conjures up another banquet for Tibarn to feast on, buttery rolls, grilled chunks of meat, among a myriad of other treats flung into Tibarn’s mouth with little more than a thought. “It was nothing. If anything, I shouldn’t have bothered you while eating,” Kiran adjusts himself to lay back down on Tibarn. “I promised I’ll take care of you and since you’re so hungry, I better do my part,”

Tibarn's own body is a testament to Kiran's promise. The Hawk King’s body, which is surprisingly still clothed with swathes of fabric that could clothe multitudes of people, is a far cry from his original appearance when he had been first summoned; long gone is his muscular physique that many other's envied. Instead, Tibarn’s body is a mountainous blob of fat, his immense weight now making him even larger than the transformed state of his dragon laguz brethren. But the largest aspect of him is his gut, the bulging stomach surges out in front of him, taking up the entire expanse of the magically enhanced room. Kiran’s spell meant to enable Tibarn’s gluttonous habits and give him ample enough room to grow—not that he can outgrow the ever growing room that's meant to keep up with his ever expansive size—has his current room far surpass Tibarn's throne room back in Phoenicis. Tibarn's lake-sized gut spills out in front of him and past his useless legs, leaving them looking more like overblown mattresses. Tibarn forgoing a shirt, unbelievably not because of his current size, his quivering gut is only covered up by his deep green coat. His coat remains unbuttoned to show off the splendor of his enormous girth rather than his former well built and maintained pecs and abs which seem impossible to have ever existed on his whale like body. The flaps of his coat splay down both sides of his stomach—portions of said coat caught in and outlining the shape and heft of his countless folds of fat—the sea of green also broken up by the light green lining. That, and the exposed tanned mass of his gut; Tibarn’s gargantuan belly is composed of numerous folds of blubber. His stomach has multiple rolls to it. His stomach’s largest roll is the bottommost one. It cascades out in front of Tibarn, spreading out dozens of feet in front of him. His stomach seems close to caving in on itself with so much fat packed into it, the uppermost portion of his lowest stomach roll lurching ever so slightly further than the rest of the blubber it rests on, the roll of stomach fat squishing down on his cavernous belly button, his navel pitch black by all the lard surrounding it. Tibarn’s upper roll of his stomach has much less weight to it compared to the lower section—not that the comparison is very fair to it, the still massive roll of lard far, far bigger than anything else in Zenith that isn’t one of Tibarn’s fellow residents. It sits comfortably atop the bundles of lard for a stomach, the pressing amount of fat lightly squishing the fat underneath it. His stomach billows out on both sides of Tibarn; not to the extent it does in front of him, but it does manage to ooze out onto the expanse of his thighs. Tibarn’s mammontine thighs are covered up by the beige, ever-stretchable fabric of his pants; likewise, his over bloated legs that are sunken into his cankles which in turn sink into his legs are covered up by his black boots.

While Tibarn's lower half hasn’t received quite the same amount of size and girth as his gut, his immobilized limbs still spread out far and wide, the outermost parts that aren’t smothered by his gut. His enormous, useless limbs cover up TIbarn’s crotch with the help of his mountainous stomach. Tibarn’s bulging fat pad is a rounded, squished mass of lard that remains hidden without the assistance of Kiran during more intimate moments. Meanwhile, Tibarn’s breasts have no trouble making themselves known with how much space they occupy. Tibarn’s swollen tits are large enough to make any other being jealous, what with each generously sized breast filled with a heaping amount of lard, more than enough lard to leave Tibarn’s tits larger than entire sitting areas, each. His chest demands attention with how much space it takes up on top of his monumental stomach. The two massive features of Tibarn completely obstruct the rest of his corpulence. Like Tibarn’s useless arms, his biceps filled with enough lard to leave them nearing the size of tables and causing them to sink into his own expanse, the upper portion of his arm fat swallowing his forearm like they do to his wrist and hands and fingers which he can barely even move, the simple act causing him to tire out. Hidden behind all of his splendor are his wings. The massive wingspan that the Hawk King sports—a domineering feature he enjoyed as the bird laguz with the largest wingspan in all three tribes—now seems so miniscule with his expansive blubber that far surpasses it. His wings are now completely useless, the extra appendages nothing but another adornment on his bloated blob of a body. 

Kiran stops for a brief moment, ceasing the flow of ludicrous amounts of food straight into and down Tibarn’s gullet. “You still got room for more, big guy?” Kiran peers down at Tibarn’s smothered in food cheeks that jiggle and wobble from breathing alone. Kiran cleans up Tibarn’s face with towels that he summons, grinning down at Tibarn while reaching into the depth of Tibarn’s crevices where sauce has even dribbled down into his chin and neck folds from his voracious eating. In truth, Kiran merely wants to hear Tibarn demand more, the summoner just as greedy as Tibarn’s endless cravings for food when it comes to seeing just how gluttonous Tibarn has become.

“BouuRRPP, I’m jussht.. haaahh gehttin’ shtaahted….” Tibarn’s stomach gurgles, the always starving throne room filling gut causing its own miniature earthquake with the way the walls rumble—the tremors thankfully being only in the room with extra enhancements from Kiran’s magic.

Kiran traces his own portly fingers over Tibarn’s cheeks, the overflowing jowls framed by Tibarn’s pitch black hair. “Just what I love to hear,” He summons more food, the entirety of it meant just for Tibarn.

But Tibarn makes him stop for a brief moment with him continuing to speak, albeit as sluggish as ever. “Whaashh nouht… tuh -hnnngh-.... love? I -nggnhh- goot'sh… goooohd -wheeze- f-food and better …-aaahhh-... c-company….” Tibarn’s face is bright red. Practically left panting from speaking, his hunger oly grows from the precious calories exerted, calories wasted to the two men.

“My, you do know how to sweet talk,” Kiran closes the portal of food only to open another one. He pulls out two tubes and shoves them into Tibarn’s mouth who begins to voraciously guzzle the liquid with zero hesitation. “How ‘bout a nice few barrels of milkshake to cool you down. And after that, I’ll make sure to give you a dozen plates of everything a big guy like yourself deserves~,”