#this is my first time leaving such a long comm on a fic ...and on blr...sorry about that

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

Going for a blr comment instead of AO3 as I feel this might get lengthy. 

Firstly, something that has been popping in my mind while reading for a while and some lines in this chapter fully cement the feeling so I think it's well due that I say it. You write like Astarion loves. And the smut parts rise to the level of his lover skills. 

The rest of my thoughts here concern Ava (and Tav). *Taking a deep breath*:

It might be the way I got deeply invested in this story and how Tav is written in a way that I can connect ~100%, but Tav said to Ava here exactly what I thought of a few days ago. Almost word-for-word, I had to put down the phone for a break. 

“It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.” 

*screaming and shaking like a chihuahua* Of course this is the kind of thing this Tav would say to her when accused of jealousy! I would also say she is right, especially because she is talking to Ava. 

That woman also had something to say that made me go up the walls anyway. In her talk about Astarion’s “devotion”, feeding on Tav and her experiment on the spawn, I got that she is hinting that Astarion’s feelings for Tav are actually, somehow, an effect of Tav’s blood. Like HOW DARE SHE??? 

Tav and us readers may not know enough to pass a judgment on Ava, not on her being a friend of foe, not on her as a person, which is one of the main frustrations BUT Lord, is every conversation with or about her full of red flags! Everything she says or does, the more it is exposed, while not enough to support accusations, is enough to sustain distrust, wariness, anxiety, anger, general feeling that something is not ok, maybe quite bad actually. I feel like she is manipulating Tav this whole conversation, while keeping Wyll out. It is clear what she wants now, what the knife and glass are for, she wasn’t even subtle. While Tav wouldn’t be one to agree to her proposition, I feel like she will now try to exploit Tav’s protectiveness towards Astarion, and it's enough to make fury bubble in me right behind the surface.

And her killing her companions and searching for Astarion to do all this now… again, not enough to pass judgment but doesn’t sound right at all. Instead of an explanation and assurance that she is not a foe, is quite the contrary. More like her “genuine care” for him is twisted, sick, and most importantly detached from who he is. Fundamentally different from Tav's feelings for Astarion, although in story a nice thing to make comparations. Ava sounds crazy…. which might explain why Astarion is ok with her company… and Tav may not know enough to judge why she killed her companions, or how she feels for Astarion, or their bond. But Ava doesn’t know about Astarion and Tav’s story either, not their travels, not their quest in Cazador’s palace, not their bond. She may know enough to try to exploit it, but not to appreciate its true value and depth. I don’t believe her saying she would stop if Astarion asked, I don’t believe her change of heart is with good intentions, not towards Astarion, or the other spawns, not towards Tav. Even if she thinks its for good, her very perception of what is good seems twisted at best... in which case, given she seems also smart and cunning, makes her feel so dangerous.

Ava does feel complex and intriguing as a character. She obviously is great enough to keep my mind busy…busy rotating her like a pig on a spit above fire, anyway. Chewing on her character as we speak.

Thank you for providing us with such delectable story and new characters! I love it so so much, this fic has me in a chokehold

The Arrangement (8) - Revelations

Chapter summary: You finally confront Ava, but the conversation takes an unexpected turn.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Innuendo. Mentions of abuse and trauma.

Word count: 5.3k

Series Masterlist

You found him by the edge of a cliff overlooking Baldur's Gate.

The first rays of light began to spill into the morning sky in hues of yellow fused with orange. You would never tire of watching the city you called home being engulfed in such beauty.

“Enjoying the view?”

Astarion was holding a somewhat mellow smile on his lips as he turned to face you.

“I hadn't seen this much colour bathing the city in over two hundred years.”

You stopped next to him, looping an arm around his and resting your face against his shoulder.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

He sighed. “I do not want to get too attached to it. In case things go awry, that is.”

‘Awry’ meaning that he wouldn't be able to ascend…

It always made your heart clench to think about how much Astarion still held on to that.

But you didn't want to think about such things for now.

For now, you were more than content to share this moment with him.

“The sun looks beautiful on you,” you said truthfully.

It wasn't exactly a challenge, but you adored praising and stroking his ego.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “As most things do, darling."

"That is true.”

He then placed his cold hand atop yours. “As you once did.”

His words hit you with such force that you felt your chest too heavy all of a sudden.

You glanced up at him, meeting his soft crimson eyes. “Astarion…”

Would he ever move on?

Would he ever move on from you?

He offered a defeated smile. “I know, I know. Just friends, right?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He didn't utter another word as he looked on ahead.

You kept your grip around him, enjoying his firmness and how he made you feel so safe and comfortable.

Deep down, you were just thankful he couldn't see the single tear that streamed down your face.

The cold and wet trail brought you back to witness the sight of the sun emerging on the horizon line. 

You pulled your legs up so you could rest your chin on your knees, hugging yourself as the breathtaking view filled your vision.

How you wished you could share this with him like many times before.

As lovers.

As friends.

You wiped the tear away with the back of your hand as sadness spread inside you.

There was no point in dwelling in the impossible. At least until you found a way for him to experience all the colour the world had to offer with no limitations.

Sleep hadn't come to you this night and it wasn't because of nightmares or the fact that Astarion had left you painfully yearning for his touch.

Your mind was just all over the place, trying to make sense of how things felt with him after that conversation.

Truth be told, you were more than happy with the occasional intimacy and giving him space.

But his taunting words still lingered in your mind.

You were certain he craved more than a friendship, but how much of that spread beyond carnal lust was something you weren't sure about.

Maybe even Astarion didn't know.

As much as you longed for more, you still wanted to mend your friendship first and bridge the distance that had come between you two. 

As you pushed yourself from the bed and slipped into your robe, you took a quick glance at the mirror in front of you.

Eyes puffy and reddened paired with deep eyebags.

Wonderful.

You heaved a deep sigh as you exited the room, heading towards the kitchen area to brew some tea.

The door to his room was firmly shut and you hurried past it with bare feet.

The entire house was still swallowed in silence and darkness.

You quickly lit up a few candles before reigniting the fireplace and putting the kettle on.

The familiar squeak of the door to his room filled your ears.

As the water came to a boil, you poured a few herbs inside the cup as you poured the scalding liquid.

You heard him call out your name and your stomach immediately fluttered as he came into view, slowly pacing towards you.

“How did you know it was me?”

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. “I know the sound of your footsteps by heart.”

There was no trace of deceit in his remark.

His voice rang true and not as a mere attempt at flustering you with honeyed words.

He meant it and you felt the warm embrace of his presence tightly enveloping you.

Astarion had learned the way to your heart like no one else had ever tried to. 

He could crawl under your skin and have you yearn for him like no one else could.

And he did all of this effortlessly and like second nature.

You returned a warm smile, feeling the addictive embrace of his presence.

He felt like the home you longed to come back to.

As you moved to sit on the sofa nearby, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the cup in your hands, he eventually sat next to you, crimson eyes meeting yours and, for a moment, you held your breath.

He was your home.

“You look horrible.”

A snarky one.

You chuckled at his bluntness, taking a sip. “Didn't get much sleep.”

“Nightmares again?”

“No. My mind was just busy…”

He slowly nodded. “Was it too much? What we did?”

You glared at him in surprise. “What? No. What about you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I wanted more.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

He crossed his legs, adjusting his elegant shirt. “It wasn't nearly enough.”

“You were the one to stop it…”

“Because I had to. Gods know how long it took to… calm down, so to speak.”

The implication that dangled from his words wasn't particularly subtle.

Oh.

Oh.

Your cheeks flared up. “I… didn't hear you…”

Astarion flashed a teasing smile. “I know how to avoid being heard, unlike a certain someone.”

Bad timing had you nearly choking on your tea.

“Careful, darling. You'll get all wet… again.”

The nerve!

You shot him murderous glare, wiping your chin.

Then the two fell into a comfortable silence.

You melted into the backrest of the sofa, cradling the cup in your hands, humming a tune that you had almost forgotten about.

“I find myself missing our journey, you know?” he said after a while.

“Even having to play the hero?”

He tapped his chin pensively. “Even that, as surprising as it sounds. I could have done without all your ridiculous acts of heroism, but I grew to enjoy indulging in some of them.”

Your heart thudded happily at his honesty.

“Who would have thought that you’d find joy in being selfless,” you teased with a smile.

He lifted one finger. “Do not misunderstand. I still come first. I spent too many centuries not being able to and I won't give that up now.”

You nodded, fully understanding his line of thinking.

In the meantime, your hand had dropped in between you two and you felt coldness reach your fingers.

You looked down, startled, only to be met with his fingers gently brushing against yours.

And just like clockwork, your heart sped up.

Astarion had his eyes fixed on the swirling flames that emanated from the fireplace.

Little by little, his fingers began to intertwine with yours until his hand gripped you tightly.

Your mind blanked for a moment at how unexpected this was.

In time, his cold skin began to warm up against yours.

And then it dawned on you that he had never held your hand this way.

He had helped you up on your feet more times than you could count.

He had gripped your hand in his as both of you hurried along collapsing halls and while being chased by the most vicious of creatures.

But he had never held your hand as if seeking for silent comfort.

You shifted so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

He tensed slightly under your touch, but eventually relaxed and you seized the opportunity to melt into his side, enjoying the familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary.

Home.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the tear in your cup had gone tepid and you began to feel guilty.

You had considered not telling him about confronting Ava.

But you didn't want to lie and hide anything from him, especially if it concerned him in the first place.

You pulled slightly away from him and he met your gaze.

“I'm going to meet Ava tonight.”

You expected an angry outburst of indignation from him, but were met with an inquisitive glare instead.

“Why doesn't that surprise me at all?”

That was it?

“Wait… you are not going to talk me out of it?”

At this, he faintly chuckled, still firmly gripping your hand in his.

“Honestly, darling, when has that ever worked?”

Point taken.

He knew of your stubbornness all too well.

“Besides, do you intend on killing her?”

You widened your eyes. “I – no? I don't think so?”

Though you couldn't swear on this until you were actually absolutely sure she was as harmless as he claimed her to be.

“Then, you have my blessing.”

You then narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him. “You don't even want to go with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“It's not necessary.”

He shrugged. “Then I won't.”

Astarion was acting uncharacteristically accepting of your intrusion, and that rang a plethora of alarm bells in your head.

It was as if he knew you'd have no reason to harm her.

“Why are you so… calm about this?”

His eyes met yours. “I am well aware you can turn Ava into a pile of dust should she cross your path. But I don't believe you will do such a thing.”

“Why not? I don't trust her.”

His grip around your fingers eased slightly. “I don't expect you to, but you do trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

You didn't hesitate for a second. After all, you had trusted Astarion through things that most people would have staked him for. The two of you were way past the uncertainty of not trusting each other's intentions.

It was more evident that the glaring issue that plagued your relationship was rooted in miscommunication and not mistrust.

“And I trust her.”

That ground on your nerves. “But why?”

“Because I have to.”

You immediately dropped his hand, turning in your seat to fully face him, already feeling the familiar irritation that came with him not being fully open with you at times.

“Astarion, you need to start telling me why you hold her in such high regards,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You can also trust me. Whatever it is… just tell me.”

He glared at you with a faint scowl. “She is taking my blood with the intention of lessening some vampirism weaknesses.”

Oh?

“Such as?”

“Well, the insatiable hunger is the main focus.”

You stared at him in silence, not quite sure what to make of this.

The Wish Spell could grant him the ability to walk in the sun again, but this seemed even more ambitious.

And dangerous.

“Obviously, this is all rather theoretical, but it seemed like a sound prospect,” he went on, sinking into the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “As selfish as I am, I also considered how this could be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

His words took you quite aback.

“This… seems too good to be true,” you said hesitantly.

“Oh, I'm aware. That is why I am keeping my expectations in check.”

You really, really wanted to hate Ava.

But if her motifs were truly this altruistic, then you were going to have a hard justifying that feeling, which provided another added layer of anger altogether.

“So, if you want to talk to her, you are free to do so. Seeing is believing or so they say,” he said with a witty grin.

You sighed.

Astarion was a bad planner.

No. He was a terrible planner.

He could identify the end goal, but would have no clue how to get there and would merely make adjustments as he went along, hoping for the best.

Luck had been on his side as of late, but you lacked that optimism.

And he obviously saw that splattered across your face.

“Oh, please. I know that look – just say it,” he scoffed.

You weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Deep down, you felt extremely protective of him and didn't appreciate that she was exchanging lessons in intimacy for his blood.

It all seemed very one-sided and the promise of also helping him – and by extension, the spawn in the underdark – still seemed unrealistically… convenient.

“Are you even sure any of this will work? Has she made any progress with your blood?”

“Some progress. Not enough to keep me too hopeful, but I will take anything these days.”

You could sympathise with the sentiment, but…

“I still think there is something off about her.”

Astarion just looked as amused as ever. “No jealousy?”

You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Well, she would have nothing to gain from sending us both to prison,” he said. “She knows I exclusively feed on you and that I do need to feed regularly.”

The nonchalant way in which he uttered those words, brought a wave of heat to your face, as the events from a few hours earlier resurfaced in your mind.

There was a hint of intimacy in the act itself, but also in the aftermath. Astarion's senses would be sharpened as your blood coursed through his body.

“Seems like I broke your concentration, darling,” he said teasingly, effectively snapping you from your thoughts.

You jolted briefly and then scowled, annoyed that he could see right through you so easily.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

He gave you a devious smile. “I don't have to. Not when your body provides the finest flattery there is.”

Gods.

You wished you could turn off the effect his honeyed words always had on you.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up in your seat. “Very well, then. I am willing to be enlightened.”

A teasing smile tugged faintly at his lips. “Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Regaining your composure, you said, “Wyll is going there with me tonight.”

Astarion drew a sleazy grin this time. “Oh, so that was what the two of you were plotting yesterday.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And here I thought sweet Wyll had finally mustered the courage to take you out on a lavish date,” he said with a dramatic and forceful pout. “Seems like romance is dead, after all.”

For some odd reason, Astarion was under the impression that Wyll harboured feelings for you that surpassed friendship.

But what Astarion didn't know was that your heart was too full of him to allow room for anyone else.

His taunting words created the perfect opening for you to return the gesture.

“No jealousy?”

His smile only grew wider. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

You were entering his territory, and should tread lightly. 

“Maybe you should be jealous,” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you and you held your breath.

“And why is that? Why should I be jealous of your friendship with him?”

Gods, he was good .

Your heart drummed faster in your chest as his face drew near.

He was a master at disarming you with carefully laid out traps whilst using his words as alluring bait.

“He's very… friendly.”

You inwardly cringed at your ridiculous remark, which earned a chuckle from Astarion.

At this point, he was so close you almost feel his cool lips on yours.

“Well, hopefully not this friendly.”

That was it.

He was going to kiss you and you couldn't give a damn about it.

But before he could do so, the faint rhythmic thud of footsteps pulled you out of immersion, and the two of you pulled apart at once.

Lae'zel.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, eyeing both of you like she had just run into the most disappointing event of her life.

“The sun has yet to fully rise, and the two of you are already at it again,” she said with a scowl. “Wasn't the coupling from last night enough?”

Your jaw dropped open in sheer mortification.

Surely she hadn't… heard anything… right?

“Where is your sense of decorum, Lae'zel?” Astarion clicked his tongue, leaning back against the sofa once more.

She gave him a stern glare. “You wouldn't know decorum if it hit you in that pale face of yours, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “My, my… someone is feisty today.”

“The sounds you two made could raise the dead from their graves,” she said, moving swiftly towards the front door with her sword keeping her company. “I am not sure how much more of this torture I can take.”

You stood up at once, feeling embarrassment take over. “Oh! We… uh… Astarion was just feeding and–”

She held a hand up. “Spare me the grotesque details. I'll be going out on a hunt. Don't expect me for lunch.”

And without a further exchange, she slipped through the door.

Astarion was now on his feet and heading towards the staircase.

Somehow, you couldn't help but feel a tad of disappointment as he left your side.

His company was something you reckoned you'd never tire from.

“See you later, darling. And do fix that lovely face of yours,” he teased dramatically. “Rose water works like a charm.”

And you couldn't hold back an endearing smile.

The night came quicker than you had hoped.

Confronting Ava made you feel truly uneasy, especially after learning some more about her.

As promised, Wyll had come to you, escorted by two Fists. The mage slayer stationed outside, quickly joined the four of you, and you felt the magic within you dip dangerously low from her presence.

The journey to The Blushing Mermaid proved to be rather uneventful and you were more than thankful for it.

“Does Astarion know about this?”

You nodded. “He has also told me the reason why she's taking his blood.”

Wyll's eyes met yours and you could see the tension on his face. “Whatever could be the reason?”

Fortunately, the two Fists walked far behind the two of you to preserve some privacy.

“She wants to lessen the effects of vampiric hunger.”

He arched an eyebrow and you approached the familiar tavern.

“That sounds too convenient .”

You almost pulled Wyll into a kiss as he unknowingly validated your concerns.

“Exactly. Maybe I am overthinking it, but I need to make sure nonetheless.”

He nodded firmly.

Those crowding the entrance immediately made way for you to walk inside, and you heard a few salutes as others inside bowed to Wyll.

Bork approached the counter with a tilted smile on his face. “Duke of Ravengard. To what do we owe the pleasure? Hope we are not in trouble?”

A few drunkards nearby erupted in laughter.

“Unless you have indeed done something unlawful, I wouldn't worry too much, Bork.”

He offered Wyll a forced smile, which he didn't return.

“We are looking for Ava,” you chimed in impatiently.

His face instantly dropped. “Ava? Is she in trouble?"

Honestly, what was with everyone and this woman? Was she some goddess in disguise?

“We just wish to talk to her,” Wyll answered.

Bork hesitated at first, but glared at the two Fists flanking you. “First floor. Third room to your left.”

You nodded and swiftly made your way upstairs, feeling your heart hammering fast in your chest as you paced along the corridor.

Wyll knocked thrice on the large door.

It swung open almost immediately, and Ava came into view, holding a knowing smile.

“I was expecting you.”

A swirl of nausea settled in your stomach.

She extended one hand, standing to the side so you could walk in.

“As pleased as I am to be visited by our Duke, I shall ask for you not to enter.”

You immediately turned to see Wyll scowl deeply. “Tonight I'm no Duke – I'm her friend and you shall let me enter.”

Ava tapped on the door lightly. “These are my quarters, and unless I am being charged with wrongdoing, I have the right to decide who to invite inside, Duke .”

The two Fists were gripping the handle of their swords, ready to draw them.

Wyll motioned for the to be at ease and turned his head to you. “I will be waiting outside.”

Ava wiggled her fingers dismissively, further gnawing at your nerves.

“Do not try anything witty, hunter,” Wyll said in a tone you hadn't heard since he last faced Mizora.

She chuckled. “I have abandoned those ways. You may simply call me Ava.”

But before he could reply, she pushed the door closed in one swing and glanced at you with an excessively sweet smile.

“So? I don't believe you came all the way here to simply gawk at me.”

You cleared your throat. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course. I would be surprised if you didn't.”

Your patience was running thin.

“It concerns Astarion.”

“Still not surprised,” she said with a tilted smile. “I'm all ears.”

“He's told me about you.”

“Hopefully not everything, but do go on.”

She moved to a table and poured a red liquid into a goblet. “Can I tempt you with some red wine?”

You scowled and she laughed. “It is not poisoned, though I do understand your hesitation.” She then took a long sip.

Glancing around the room, you realised it could easily pass off as the inside of an apothecary store. There were endless rows of shelves and cupboards that housed countless vials of glass with suspicious content.

There was a small fire burning by the window with a large flask set right above, the flames barely reaching the bottom as a deep dark red liquid gurgled.

Ava sat on a lavish armchair, holding the goblet to her lips.

“I know you're taking his blood for some experiment in regards to vampirism,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “Even to supposedly help the vampire spawn in the Underdark.”

Her pleasant face wavered momentarily. “He's offering it to me. Freely.”

“You are taking advantage of him.”

“I am not taking advantage of anything. It's a mere transaction that we have both agreed upon.”

“Blood for intimacy?”

“That seems rather… crass.”

“You are taking advantage of his… wounds…”

“Why are you so hellsbent on accusing me of being the one taking advantage of him? He also has much to win from this arrangement.”

“Because you have the upper hand here. The price for a chance at healing from his wounds seems rather unbalanced,” you said, feeling heat flare throughout your entire body. “You get his blood, which is a sure thing, and he gets a ‘perhaps’ on all fronts: intimacy and that hunger “cure” you're promising.”

Ava glared at you with eyes slightly narrowed, chin resting on the back of her hand.

“There are wounds that take time to heal. Some never heal at all, my dear.”

“I'm aware.”

“Are you? Are you, really?” Ava said with a scoff. “I am not the enemy here. Your vitriol against me is rooted in something primal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Primal?”

“Is it jealousy, I wonder?”

You clenched your fists. “It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

“Actually, I do believe your words… it is not jealousy, indeed,” she said, tapping a long nail on her chin. “But rather… protectiveness.”

You remained silent.

“I dare say that protectiveness can blind even the wisest.”

“I am not blinded. I can see there is something unsettling about you.”

“You look, but you do not see,” she said as she took a sip of her wine. “Your attachment to him is your weakness.”

“Caring for others isn't a weakness.”

“You taught him that, did you?”

The faint mockery wasn't lost on you, and it made your nails dig further into your palms, regning in your temper as best as you could.

“He doesn't need to be taught anything. Astarion may need some guidance, as we all do from time to time.”

Ava merely chuckled. “May I see your neck?”

What?

Her words caught you off guard, but you did not move an inch to comply with her request.

“Ah… your reluctance is answer enough,” she tutted. “He has fed on you recently, hasn't he?”

Now, that immediately had your stomach turn in revulsion, realising just how transparent she truly was.

“So this is what it's all about – you just want him to feed on you instead.”

Ava rolled her eyes with a forced yawn. “On the contrary. Of course, I have vaguely wondered what it feels like, but Astarion is far too devoted to your blood to even entertain the idea.”

“Then why did you complain to me about him not feeding on you?”

She crossed her legs elegantly under her emerald green dress. “I was merely taunting you. Again, his devotion gets in the way.”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it ‘devotion’.”

“Oh, but I would. See, Astarion's bond to you is exquisite and much welcome… to say the least.”

Her flowery words were really testing your patience now.

“Elaborate.”

“The last time he fed on you and gave me his blood was right when you left The Blushing Mermaid. A few days later, I tried his blood on some spawn in the city outskirts that have taken to living underground in search of a cure.” She paused briefly to take yet another sip from the goblet. “The results were vastly different from my previous experiments.”

“Can you just get straight to the point for once?”

“Oh, you really are a feisty one…” Ava said with a teasing smile. “As I was saying, the results were rather interesting and unexpected. The spawn reported feeling sated much quicker than before, but the effect wore off in the first hour, which was a disappointment.”

You froze instantly. “You're… using my blood?”

“Well, yes… and no,” she said in a casual tone. “Your blood mixed with his, that is. Before that day, I had never tried his blood after he fed on you.”

You felt as though you might be sick as your stomach lurched violently.

“This is… I – does he know?”

“Well, I haven't been given the chance, considering how the two of you got thrown into prison,” she said with a shrug. “And I am fully aware you think I am somehow responsible for it.”

You were still so taken aback by her earlier revelation, that you had momentarily forgotten about that detail.

“Now, what would I gain from setting you two up, especially after I just told you this.”

She did have a point.

Seemingly.

“You mentioned other spawn – why not use their blood instead? Why his?”

“Oh, darling… ” 

The way that word rolled out of her tongue grated on your nerves, and you realised only one person could masterfully use it without provoking a visceral reaction.

“Astarion isn't really your regular spawn, is he? Even when he was under Cazador Szarr's influence, he would still rebel against his commands while his siblings cowered in fear of defying their master.”

An overwhelming sense of dread took over at once.

Astarion has revealed how Cazador had kept him buried alive for a whole year as punishment for letting a potential victim go.

He had clawed his hands raw from despair as he wished for death to just take him.

Even remembering this vaguely, made your heart hurt for him.

“How do you know that?”

Ava rose to her full height, brushing her long and dark curls from her shoulders.

She paced towards a desk and began ruffling through pieces of parchment.

“I was a monster hunter for over twenty years and my group kept a close eye on Cazador and his spawn,” she said, not lifting her eyes. “Astarion had been on our radar for a while, but he was quite experienced in slipping through the cracks whenever we tried to go after him.”

You swallowed.

“Imagine our surprise when he suddenly goes missing. My partners were dumbfounded beyond belief. No vampire spawn is able to resist the compell of their master for that long.”

She then moved back to the armchair, flipping through a couple of scrolls.

“We thought he had met his demise somehow, so imagine my surprise when I find out that he's back in Baldur's Gate. Walking in the sunlight and next to… you.”

You weren't sure where this conversation was headed and you weren't sure you wanted to know.

Ava took your silence as encouragement. “Cazador was attempting to become the Vampire Ascendant and we were set on stopping him, but were instead met with his manor bathed in blood and corpses littering the place.”

So they had gotten there after your group stopped the ritual and prevented the rite from taking place.

“So now you're suddenly an alchemist who wants to help vampire spawn? Why the change of heart?”

Ava met your eyes and her face was void of any amusement. “Astarion and I connect in more ways than you think.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and waiting to hear some circus clown reasoning.

“I wasn't a monster hunter by choice,” she said sternly. “I was born into it and molded into their ways.”

Your defensive demeanour wavered momentarily.

“I shall not go into details, but all you need to know is that once Cazador Szarr was gone, I was driven by curiosity and sought Astarion out so I could learn more about what makes him so different from all the other spawn I've come across.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “So you just left your group? Just like that?”

She snickered. “They were killed.”

“What? By whom?”

She snickered as she took another sip. “By me.”

You were left speechless.

“I thought that if a vampire spawn could break the chains from his master and embrace freedom again, so could I.”

She let out a chuckle, emptying the goblet in one sip.

“So, I offered to help him as he's helped me. No more, no less.”

You really wanted to hate her.

You wanted her to give you a solid reason to be suspicious of her intentions.

But…

“So you genuinely care for him?”

She nodded. “I do. And if Astarion were to walk through that door and ask for us to part ways, I would accept it. It would essentially kill my research until I found someone remotely adequate, but I would make peace with it.”

This conversation had not taken the turn you expected.

At all.

“I can see the confusion in your eyes. You truly believed I am out to get you when I'm probably your best option right now.”

“Best option? In regards to what?”

She extended her arm towards a chair in front of her. “Take a seat.”

You did so, reluctantly, never letting your guard down and her out of your sight.

“Cazador Szarr had many enemies, but he also had many allies. People who were not pleased with his death.”

She now had your undivided attention and you felt your palms sweat.

There wad actually someone going after you? After Astarion?

“I have ways to find who they are.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you immediately asked, feeling rather unsettled by her words.

She clicked her tongue. “I need assurances first, and I have a proposition to make.”

You saw the flash of a knife emerging from her sleeve and a tall glass container being placed on the table by her side.

TBC

Ao3

Series Masterlist

[ghostarii]

GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, ��Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

[cosmicgendershifter]

More Completed Gentlebeard Fanfic I Recommend

This continues from my previous fic rec post, but since it was getting super long, I am starting a new one, haha. 🌈🏴‍☠️

Without 🔞 Content

"I'm Used to Death" (T, ~119,400 words) by @dimplyowl (same writer as "The Curse of Blackbeard's Sword" and "Invisible String") and @thatmothra (same writer as "Salt, Sweet") is a beautiful and heartwrenching Hunger Games AU that does a more brilliant job at combining that dystopian novel with OFMD than I had thought possible! There's some notable Mary/Evelyn too as a bonus. Don't forget the sequel, too: "But Not Your Death" (T, ~108,700 words).

"#OldManCrush" by @petrichorca and @veeagainsttheday (T, ~13,000 words) is a short but vibrant modern AU full of delicious mutual pining where Stede writes an op-ed about his later-in-life crush that goes viral and sends his best friend Ed, the co-owner at their new shared newspaper, into a spiral.

"there's always an escape" (T, ~4,400 words) by @ghostalservice (the same writer as "mighty real" and more) and @mahnaah is a delightfully silly modern AU meet-cute where Stede solves a hidden bonus puzzle in the pirate-themed escape room that Ed created.

"Smile for the Camera" by @piratecaptainscaptainpirates (T, ~3,900 words) is a fun modern AU meet-cute, centered around a clothes-swapping scene and featuring some emotional hurt-comfort, that has Ed as a struggling trans autistic rockstar who appears on Stede's local news show after firing Izzy as his manager. I also recommend "Ed's Feel-Good Recipe Blog" by this writer (T, ~3,400, words), a fun and sweet little multimedia modern AU about Ed as a burnt-out trans celebrity chef meeting Stede through the comments on his side project recipe blog.

"blue canary in the outlet" by @ladohstry (T, ~3,400 words) is a very soft, sweet modern AU oneshot where Ed and Stede share a bed--and then a first kiss--after a night on the club with their friends.

With 🔞 Content

"My Soul Remains With You" by @bonnetpetit (same writer as "Fox Fires", E, ~130,400 words) is a gorgeous, smutty modern fantasy AU with big season two vibes, in which Ed is the lonely cursed forest creature haunting Bonnet Industries' latest development project, and Stede decides to leave his old life to stay with him.

"Rinse and Repeat" by @theyellowestmustard (same writer as "Swedish Cult Bullshit" and "Magpie", E, ~106,300 words) is a lovely, sensual modern AU in which touch-starved Ed seeks out Stede the hairdresser to do a fancy funeral braid for him and then gets a little bit addicted. "Somnophobia (and Other Eleven-Letter Words" is another great one by this writer (E, ~10,500 words), a heartfelt season two missing scenes fic featuring Ed not wanting to risk falling asleep, Stede comforting him, and hand-holding during sex. 💜

"The Broken Lines" by @clairegregoryau (cowriter of "'Til We See the Sunlight," M, 82,200 words) is a poignant, fantastical WWI AU where comm officer Stede struggles to regain his memories and find his lost love after the trauma of the war, even as he communicates across time with canon Ed.

"Star Waka" by @piratecaptainscaptainpirates again (M, ~55,800 words) brought me to tears with its sci-fi AU depiction of severe depression, with trans Jewish-Maori Ed being assigned to train Stede as a starship captain for a very shitty company, just after Ed survives a suicide attempt.

"But the Dream is Strong" by @babykittenteach (E, ~31,400 words) is a fascinating omegaverse AU, with big genderqueer and kink energy, where Ed realizes he wants Stede to ~ravish~ him so Ed can turn from an alpha to an omega.

"soft like silk chiffon" by @impossiblebird (same writer as "Andante, Andante, E, ~12,400 words) is a post-canon fic that thoughtfully explores Ed's enjoyment of being submissive to Stede's soft domming, with some lovely bondage and lingerie included.

"Men on Fire" by @petrichorca and @mahnaah again (M, ~9,900 words) is a fun and sweet short modern AU where Ed is a pornstar whom Stede interviews for his video series about the queer community, with instant chemistry happening between the two of them.

"twenty years and twelve hours" (same writer as "blue like cut sapphires" and more, E, ~9,500 words) is a delightful modern AU in which Ed and Stede are each other's very awkward (but still good) first time at college, and then they get to reconnect twenty years later! Another throwback fave from this writer is "Unparalleled" (E, ~20,300 words), a post-season one reunion fic full of intense emotion and sexy angst, with the soft dom Stede/sub Ed intimate dynamic that I love most for them.

[kybercrystals94]

Come Back (ch. 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 12 - Prompts: Underground Caverns // "Just a little more"

Rated: T | Words: 573 | CW: non-graphic mentions of blood and injury.

Next Chapter>>

A/N: This fic is for @fionas-frenzy, because she mentioned a Tech-Lives fic yesterday, and I just had to make it happen. Also, yes, another Tech-Lives fic, because denial isn't just a river in Egypt, ya know??

It won’t be the fall that kills him. 

Although, that certainly did not help matters. 

Tech holds the shattered remains of his comm, cupped in trembling hands. Entirely irreparable without proper replacement parts. His pack is gone too. If he rests long enough, perhaps he can garner enough strength to find it. Or what’s left of it. Find something. 

He is not optimistic.

Strangely, the first loss that seems to trigger an emotional response is his goggles. It is less their importance to him, and more that they are the final straw placed on an already precarious situation. He is frustrated to find himself brought to tears as he pulls them from his bloodied face. 

Because he is bloody. There is blood everywhere. Head wounds have the unfortunate tendency to appear far worse than is necessarily accurate. He tries to find comfort in that, but it is threadbare and flimsy. Hardly worth considering. 

The goggles slip from his hand, falling amongst the wreckage of the railcar. He is not sure how he survived. It all seems surreal. The pain, the circumstances, the depravity of the whole situation. They’d lost their chance to find Crosshair. He sacrificed himself to give the remainder of his siblings a chance, fragile as it might be. He hopes they do not squander it. He hopes they get away. 

He hopes they are not foolish, and try to come back for him. 

He hopes they do.  

Sucking in a shaky breath, Tech knows he has to move. He cannot remain here. The Empire will come to scour the wreckage, find salvageable parts. Maybe even try to find him, or what is left of him. 

He moves to get up, tries to push himself to his feet, but his strength has abandoned him, pain excruciating. He only manages to draw himself up enough to crawl. And so he does. He is his only chance of survival, he only needs to put himself out of reach. 

His brothers will not come back for him. 

His brothers will think he is dead. 

Afterall, no one could survive such a fall. 

It is only logical. 

Please, come back. 

He finds an opening in the ground. An underground cavern. Cavern might be a generous description. He debates the likelihood that it is a dwelling for some sort of ferocious creature. He cannot remember what sort of animals are native to this planet. He knows he looked it up. He and Omega had discussed the likelihood of running into such things. The odds were low. What was it? 

Another defeated sound escapes him. He arranges himself, every movement agonizing, to descend boots first. It is a slight descent, easily manageable, even in his broken state. It is dark, but he is not afraid of the dark. He is alone, but he is not afraid of being alone. That is not entirely true. He does not have a memory of ever being truly alone. Not like this. Never like this. 

I don’t want to die like this. 

He knows he is hidden now. He just needs to rest. Close his eyes. Sleep for a moment. Maybe his mind will be clearer when he wakes. Maybe he can find a way home. Home to his brothers and his sisters. He never thought of them as home before, but it makes sense now. 

He isn’t ready to leave them yet. He just needs a little more time, yet.

END

A/N:

I might do something more with this story. Maybe. Possibly.

But if I don't, here's a spoiler: Tech does survive and he does find his family again. I promise! This fic might end hopelessly, but the greater picture is hope 🥲

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @royallykt

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

Dumb, Dumber and Dumbass by tempestaurora

As Coach Wilson peered out the window in the living room, May said, very quietly, “You didn’t realise your brother worked at Peter’s school?”

“We all make mistakes!” Sam hissed.

Then Coach Wilson was leaning back and a figure in a hoodie and jeans stepped through the window and into the living room, and Peter’s heart sank into his stomach like a rock. Sam’s brother was, true to story, scarred from head to toe. He could see the puckered skin on his hands, the burns across his bald head. But that wasn’t the shocking part—the shocking part was that he’d already seen it before: he’d seen it when a certain vigilante’s suit had been destroyed three nights before, and Peter had walked with him back to his backpack to loan him some clothes.

“This is Wade,” Sam introduced.

Sam Wilson had two brothers: one was Peter’s gym teacher, and the other was fucking Deadpool.

OR: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Family Dinner, during which Peter and May meet Sam's family. Meanwhile, Tony sends constant text updates about his search for whoever graffiti-ed Avengers Tower.

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg

"Fuck off, Nicky.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

DC / Star Wars (Crossover)

Obi-Wan in Gotham by hoebiwan (+ podfic)

Obi-Wan falls through a hole in the universe and ends up in the Batcave.

Clone Wars

the war has just begun by unintentionalgenius

The first problem was that the Supreme Commander didn’t give them enough warning about what they were stumbling into, when they were ordered out into it. Someone above General Kenobi’s head sent the men planetside in standard-issue gear, without thermal clothing or heat packs or sleeping kit or enough food for more than a single day. They had no extra ammo, no tents, no heavy artillery. They had barely any warning.

The second problem was that Supreme Command underestimated the strength of the enemy; it was supposed to be an easy enough job, holding the planet long enough to route the Seppies and then right back to the ship, leaving a contingent of troopers stationed there to retain what they’d won.

The third problem - the real problem - came when they let themselves become surrounded and the Separatists cut their supply line. Cody’s partially at fault for that one; a better Commander would’ve seen it coming. A better Commander would’ve had more backup plans, been prepared for more contingencies.

Being cut off from re-supply would’ve been a problem before the snow started.

Then the snow started.

I've never made it with moderation by Trixree (+ podfic)

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA.

It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing.

Not until Kamino.

Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not.

The Hunger Games

Lover & Loner by amateurwordbender

Haymitch once told him that he’s a survivor. It hadn’t been a compliment; he’d slurred out the words in pity after finding Finnick shaking apart from a panic attack.

Jo’s a survivor, too.

(Finnick and Johanna, from the moment they meet to the bitter end)

Original Works

for the want of a jewel by FormlessVoidbeast

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country's surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian's sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.

[thebestbooksaround]

This is a Buddie fic rec list where "one of them isn't a firefighter" That makes me warm and happy every time I read them <3

Part 1 || Part 2

Spousal Secrets and Celebrity Crushes by AshwinMeird (@ashwinmeird) | 9k | General

Eddie joined the 118 and Hen learned plenty about his husband and son through endless stories, but she knew almost nothing about Buck. Then a movie being filmed not far from the station starts to become very relevant to her life. Or Five times Hen was confused about Eddie's husband and One time it all made sense

i'll walk through fire for you by prettyboybuckley (@greyacebuckley) | 3k | General

Eddie just shrugs, and they leave him alone, chattering about something he tunes out as he stares out the window. At least, until Bobby starts briefing them on what they're walking into.

He hears the address, and his stomach turns. That's where Buck lives. 

"There was an explosion somewhere in the building," Bobby tells them over the comms. "Third floor is fully engulfed, the building is unstable, and there are people trapped up there, still. There's one other firehouse on the scene already."

OR: In a universe where Buck is not a firefighter but they're still best friends, Eddie gets called to a fire at Buck's apartment building

call you home by ashavahishta (@ashavahishta) | 6k | General

"He’s like, so pretty sometimes I can’t believe he’s real?” He’d rambled once, so tired at the end of shift he was basically drunk with it.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hen had said patiently, and patted him on the shoulder. “I like girls, remember?”

“He’s built like a Greek god with the face of an angel,” Eddie had argued, a stubborn set to his mouth like he was determined for Hen to believe just how gorgeous his husband was. “Even you couldn’t resist that.”

Or: "Eddie Diaz drinks his 'I fucking love my husband' juice for 6,000 words." OR "5 Times Eddie Told The Firefam About Buck and 1 Time They Actually Met Him".

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless | 15k | Explicit

Eddie is new to LA. Feeling lonely, he goes to a bar for a drink and meets a beautiful stranger that kisses like a dream. What starts as a one night stand quickly moves to frequent no strings sex. When circumstances lead to them spending time together out of bed, Eddie realizes he’s attached to Buck in a way he never planned for.

the handyman can ('cause he fixes it with love) by iphigenias (@oatflatwhite) | 4k | Teen

Eddie’s first thought when he opens the door is that Hen’s finally getting payback for Eddie hustling her in pool last Friday. The guy standing on the stoop is sweaty, smiling, with biceps that look like they could jaws-of-life a car all on their own and a very pink, very biteable kiss of a birthmark above his crinkled blue eyes. His toolbelt looks like every toolbelt from every bad porn movie ever, slung absurdly low on his hips, and the acid-wash jean shorts he’s wearing absolutely cannot be OSHA-approved.

Eddie decidedly does not look at the thick muscle of the guy’s thighs when he says, “uh, I think you have the wrong house.”

we can’t fight gravity (love is like falling) by alasse (@alasse9) | 21k | Teen

Eddie is an actor (a former child star of a major franchise who only does weird indie movies nowadays), and Buck is still a firefighter. The universe screams at them a few times—through a tsunami, an unfortunate misunderstanding, and an emergency at a movie set—until they finally get it together.

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania (@hmslusitania) | 21k | Mature

Eddie's PTSD is just that little bit worse and when he moves to Los Angeles, instead of joining the LAFD, he joins dispatch.

Which is all good and fine, except for this one firefighter he keeps ending up talking to.

(is in the back of my mind and on the tip of my tongue) by waferkya (@oursisthewinter) | 17k | Teen

Soft, dark hair, just long enough to begin curling at the tips; expressive eyebrows and an impossibly straight nose that should belong on some Greek statue, full pink lips stretched in a wide smile just this side of goofy, and a wonderful amount of stubble dusting his jaw; broad shoulders hugged to perfection by the dark blue police uniform, his entire body a stretch of tight muscle. Yeah, yup, yes. Chim is not wrong. The man is handsome as sin. Also, he’s a cop, which—hi, hello, that’s hot.

[AU in which Eddie is a cop who just moved to LA; Buck has zero self-esteem, a praise kink the size of the desert and no clue on how to pick a decent Dom; and eventually love conquers all.]

Write me into your happy ending... by ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie | 16k | Teen

Four years ago when Eddie and Christopher started reading the book series about Daniel's Adventures together before bedtime, Eddie never would have guessed that he would run into the author of said book series in the middle of a Barnes & Noble in LA. He also wouldn't have guessed that said encounter would begin with him sternly lecturing the stranger and making a slight fool of himself. Nor would he have predicted that this terrible first impression would somehow make the published author want to give his phone number to Eddie.

Or, Eddie the firefighter and Buck the writer have a meet-cute, and things progress from there.

i wanna be known (by you) by chasingoblivion (@starlightbuck) | 12k | General

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief. “How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?” Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

String of hearts... by ReallySmartLadyMarieCurie | 11k | Teen

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos | 31k | Mature

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck.

With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys.

AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

serendipity (can't get him off my mind) by elless | 7k | Teen

Buck has his job at the daycare, his sister, and good friends. And not much else. His life hasn't turned out how he expected. Then he gets a wrong number text that changes everything. He and Eddie click instantly, but Eddie lives in Texas while Buck is in LA. It can never work, especially if Buck is too afraid to make a move.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno | 23k | Teen

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day.

Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (@florenceandthemachine) | 8k | Explicit

unknown sender: Hi! unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run. unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way. sent: hey um sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black (@redtooblack) | 13k | Mature

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer.

(Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

i'm gonna make this place your home by chromatophorica (@chromatophorica) | 11k | Teen

"Hey, did you know that other people can go to the kids' islands on that game?" He asks Hen the following day at work, stocking up the ambulance with her while Chim teaches the probie how to roll hoses.

"Yeah, I mean, they go to each other's all the time." Which, yeah, in a way, Eddie knew that part

"No, I mean other people, like people on the internet or whatever." Hen shoots him a look, one that states he's showing his usual technophobic ways again. “I'm just saying, some person that Chris called 'Buck' was on his island just like... giving him things.” It feels a lot like those stories about grooming or whatever, when the internet was new and people pretended to be something they weren't. What if this Buck person was an old guy in a creepy basement trying to befriend kids on a game? --- During the pandemic, Christopher gets more involved in online gaming. Eddie promptly freaks out when he realises his son has made a friend through the games. It takes Chimney's girlfriend and a car crash to understand how important that friend will be.

[annonciggy]

Flu

SFW - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Male reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Summary: Your ill, Johnny won’t leave your side, Simon is kinder than usual. 

TW: Swearing, The Flu 

A/N: You are a British man who grew up in the southeast – Aldershot is in the southeast and you're a medic. This is the first fic I’ve written in a long ass while and I have never played Cod :) I was also ill with the flu recently. 

Words/ Length : 1.2K

“He’s a fucking slut.” 

“For the love of God johnny what the fuck are you going on about now?” You almost sobbed, “I should’a stayed in fucking Aldershot.” You sniffed 

“Ghost’s a fucking slut.” He repeated  

“How is he a slut?” You sniffed again. 

“I saw tits.” 

“How dose that equate to you calling him a slut? And we’ve seen his pecs many times.” You sighed 

“They’re fucking massive. I wanna-” 

“Johnny, you assaulted his thighs yesterday please stop.” You wailed/ whispered. 

“Fuck no. We’re dating him to you have to keep on listenin’ to me.” He replied 

“Southern eastern English pain.” You coughed back, Johnny hand you a class of water. 

“Tae fuck do you mean by that?” 

“Your accent Johnny, and you – I love you – but good god you’re so loud. Shuuu.” You hushed putting the glass of cold water against your head and enjoying the coolness. 

“But you love it when I talk.” He whined  

“I love it when I’m not ill, love.” You replied a slight chuckle in your voice before patting at the bed beside you. He slipped under the cover next to, his arms wrapping around your waist snuggling into your side. 

“’m sorry” He murmured, whatever he’d been so excited about previously had died away. 

“’ss fine.” You whispered back putting the glass back on the bedside table, a hand snaking its way into Johnny’s mohawk.  

It didn’t take long till he heard you snoring. Johnny’s own hands started to wander tracing the tattoos on your arms saying sweet things in Scottish before, like you, he fell asleep. 

It was 2 in the morning when Simon walked into their shared bedroom, glancing at the two men cuddled together on the king-sized bed. He started to strip when he heard a certain Scott murmur 

“My love, look at ‘em tits.”  

“I was asleep Johnny, I was asleep.” You coughed turning to look at Simon. Pulling his mask of last that left him in his boxer briefs, he sat next to you on the bed before kissing your forehead. 

“Mornin’ love.” He greeted, his hand gently gliding over your jawline while you gave him a weak smile. The sweet and quite moment was ruined by the Scott whining loudly. 

“Morning to you too, Johnny.” Simon said looking at Johnny, who was pulling a puppy dog face, before caving and kissing his forehead. 

“Come to bed.” You whispered with Johnny nodding in agreement. 

“Saucie.” He replied in a low tone. 

“You can sleep on the sofa if you say that again.” You said looking at him unimpressed by the comment. 

“You let Johnny get away with it.” Simon said getting in under the cover next to you. 

“Johnny is Johnny and you Si – are not – you’re also my favourite pretty boy.” You murmured resting you head next to his. 

“’Scuse me!” Johnny almost yelled sitting up in bed and staring at you. 

“I said what I said. ‘Nd go to bed.” You replied, using one of your arms to pull the man closer. He stared a little longer before lying back down and cuddling back into your side. Simon enjoyed the gentle reassurance of your touch while Johnny gazed up at your face, you were visibly sick, and he didn’t like it. 

Johnny liked it when you’d you spar with him after breakfast, help count reps, keeping him company on long runs, the weird or downright hilarious comments you’d make over the comms on a mission. Your mixture of posh English or the Queen’s English as you’d so often correct him on, and downtown Londoner accent was a good 50% of the reason whatever you’d said was funny. But when you were sick the accent and the funny words were dropped and replaced by a tired groaning, one that couldn’t decide whether the water you were drinking was helping or just painfully highlighting the pain in the back of your throat. On the other hand, Simon saw little change aside from his empty office whenever he was doing paperwork and maybe he missed the tea you’d bring for him whenever you’d deemed, he’d gone too long without or when you just sat in his office doing your own paperwork since the others were too loud. 

“I love you both.” You said breaking the silence before you had a coughing fit. Johnny practically jumped up grabbing the glass of water and handing it to you. By habit you sat up carefully drinking the water and resting your head on the wall. 

“You’re both gonna get sick ya know that right.” 

“Who cares, more time with you.” Johnny piped up, taking advantage of the situation and putting his head on your thigh. 

“Why dont’cha lie down, love?” Simon said looking up at you. 

“’S cool.” 

“What the wall?” 

“Mmm.” You hummed back, Simon sat up resting his head on the wall and then hummed in agreement. 

Simon rested a hand on your other thigh before turning his head and kissing your cheek. 

“All loving in the early morning?” You asked, eyes closed and resting your head back on his shoulder. 

“So, it ain’t a dream.” He huffed back while Johnny got more comfortable on your thigh. 

“Mmm Lover boy. We’ll all grow old together and raise copious amounts of dogs while living in the middle of nowhere up north.” You could feel Simon nod as some of his stubble rubbed against you. 

“Just a couple more decades till retirement then.” You smiled, almost deliriously before falling back asleep. 

‘Would ya believe it?! When I tell ‘em their gonna get sick they are shocked when the next day they get sick!! XD’ It was the message you sent in the group chat ‘Big ol’ Naturals’ that Gaz had showed to Price that explained why 2 of his men were missing. He also had the unfortunate pleasure of reading what Roach sent next 

‘Swear you need to exchange bodily fluids for that so- what we’re you three doing?’ followed by your 

‘And that is the reason why I’m the medic and you’re not.’ Also followed by ‘Jesus’ also from you, you lot were actively giving him grey hairs. 

‘Where is Soap he hasn’t made a comment yet.’ 

‘He’s yet to discover it but I am sitting on his phone ;)’ 

“Take your phone back Gaz.” Price said pushing the phone back to Gaz whose eyes widened when he looked at the message Roach had sent before laughing at the rest of the comments. 

‘Also, what I have is the Flu – its spreads though tiny droplets in the air that spread when I sneeze, cough or talk.’ And then ‘Amazing doctor explanations from the medic’ Gaz decided to join in on the conversation 

‘What about Soap’s phone situation?’ 

‘He is slowly but surely getting closer to my ass’ 

‘Lol’ - Roach 

‘You guys had food yet?’ - Gaz 

‘Nope’ - You 

‘Bring us food!!!!’ – Soap 

‘Please’ 

‘Wait you guys knew my phone was under his ass?!’ 

‘And didn’t tell me scandalous!!!!’ 

‘He’s cursing in Scottish’ – You 

‘Sound about right. We’ll bring some food shortly and a barrel of water :)’ – Gaz 

‘Si's going to cry could you also bring a kettle, mug and tea bags, plz’ 

‘You’re telling me Ghost cries?’ – Roach 

‘I think the lack of sleep is getting to him’ - You 

‘It’s actually the lack of tea 🍵’ – Soap 

‘Si’s listing off all the names for the dogs we’re getting in the future so if you could be quick, it would be deeply appreciated from both my recovery and headache.’  

‘On it Medic boss man 😎’ – Gaz 

‘Get well soon. I’ve just seen the amount of paperwork I have to do and it’s not looking pretty.’ – Roach 

[setokaibapetty]

5 + 1 Fic Friday Roundup: ABO sans Smut (ft. Batfam)

As the title indicates, have some ABO fics that don't feature smut but do feature characers from the Batfam.

Homeward Bound, Safe and Sound (AO3) - "The baby was swimming in blood and Jason’s instincts are screaming. Servants come to clear the dead nursemaid away, but they are harmless compared to the alpha currently cradling his pup. Jason doesn’t—can’t remember much. He doesn’t know who the mother, Talia’s mate, is. Jason doesn’t know much of anything besides what he’s been told since he burst through the oily slick surface of the Lazarus pit."

Love is Warmth (AO3) - "There are some... unexpected side effects when Jason meets Dick's daughter for the first time."

My Heart to Joy at the Same Tone (AO3) - "It's blatantly obvious that Batman can't be trusted with Tim's Robin. It's time to bring Jason into the Drake Pack."

Sentinel Over Golden Bough (AO3) - "Jason Todd yanks on his red helmet and switches over to the Bat comms. The comm line is a scramble of everyone talking around and over each other, hunting for Robin."

The Best Taste in Omegas (AO3) - "There's a pup in Jason's nest. He's here, covered in blood and guts after a long night spent, uh, clearing up some misunderstandings with the drug smugglers over at the docks, and there's a fucking strange pup conked out in his nest. Fuck his body for presenting omega, fuck omega hormones for being catnip for kids, and fuck him for being too soft to kick the brat out." Set to Private

Bonus: A Gift of Knowledge (AO3) - "Dick’s voice is hoarse with suppressed fury. “So, you’re just exposing us to this, this outrageous substance, and torturing us by leaving us here, bound and drugged?”

[paradlselost]

RADIO WAVES

john seed x female deputy

My first fanfic on here so apologies for anything wrong. I’ve only stalked other fics, never posted myself. Also not my favorite writing 🙏

Inspired by Adelaide’s voice line: “John Seed hunched over his map getting a hard-on by the sound of his own voice …” she’s literally me, I need him carnally. It’s been years and I think about him 24/7 (I’m supposed to be working on midterms help.)

John Seed x Fem!Deputy. CW: SMUT - dirty talk, radio sex, masturbation (m).

Night descended onto the Valley, crickets sang their sharp tune outside the concrete walls of the bunker. Peggies had long since stopped pacing the halls, preparations for the sabbath now over, a good night's rest being the last thing on their checklist.

But for one John Seed, sleep was the last thing on his mind.

Static echoed over his radio, body leaning against the table adorned with gashes and crevasses from the many times he ran a blade over the once fine wood. His fingers traced over his tattoo gun anxiously, one hand reaching to grab the handset.

“Can someone fucking answer me? Huh? You better not get a single scratch on one of my planes!” He shouted over the comms, fingers trembling with the sheer amount of anger that flowed through his veins. These were the chosen, the best pilots out of the entire congregation?

What a joke.

He slammed the hand radio back on the table at the answer of static. He had sent out three planes, none responded. There was no way she could’ve taken them all down, was there?

He didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening behind him, nor at one of his Peggie’s asking if he was okay. No, instead he stayed hunched over the table, seething. He gripped the handle of his tattoo gun now, his knuckles turning white. This was the last thing he needed, a lowly cultist practically cooing over a Herald like he was a child.

Grasping the gun, he turned and threw it at the wall beside whatever Peggie decided to have a shred of decency to check on him, shouting expletives as they hurriedly left and shut the door. The tool now lay on the ground, broken into two pieces.

A sigh fell from his lips as he stood up straight, standing there for a moment and observing what he had broken. Wrath. Joseph would be upset if he saw his little brother like this. Slicking back any strands that fell from his perfect hair, he grabbed the pieces of his precious tattoo gun.

“Holy shit, is this thing still working?”

He tensed at the sound of a familiar someone speaking over his radio. The audacity of her, did she not know she had a direct line to the youngest Seed? He wasn’t in the mood for her voice to be crooning over his comms.

“Sharky get over here, lay down a beat I’m gonna start spitting.”

He heard her laugh, almost as if she was carefree, opposite to how she had cried when he straddled her, carving her sin into her flesh for her to adorne, to show everyone what a sinner she was. Her own personalized scarlet letter. She was such a beautiful crier, if he could have bottled up her tears and kept them forever he would’ve.

He traced his fingers over the gun once more, this time not in a bid to calm himself down, but out of reminiscence. How he had held it tight as the two of them sat on the floor of that church, how he had grabbed her chin when she awoke, how she thrashed and cried and almost ruined her perfect carving. Now he had gone and broken it.

Somewhere between Henbane River’s resident pyromaniac making noises that could barely be considered beatboxing and the Deputy poorly rhyming ‘Bliss’ and ‘diss,’ he interjected.

“Ah- now that’s not very nice, is it, Deputy?”

He was met with not the deafening sound of static, but silence this time. For a moment, he thought she had run at the sound of his voice, he would’ve relished in that thought had she not been the only thing keeping him sane. Ironic.

“I save my kindness for people who deserve it, Seed.” The playfulness didn’t leave her voice as she shooed Sharky away, her companion rolling his eyes and probably leaving to go to the pizza diner. Privacy when talking to John Seed was a must, she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed over teasing him.

“I don’t deserve it? I’m a fairly good person.” He scoffed, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he moved from tracing his tattoo gun to tracing the map pinned to the table in front of him.

“Kidnapping, torture, murder, that’s all being a good person to you?”

“You call it that because you’re blind to the good intentions of Eden’s Gate. Do you take joy in misinterpreting our mission to save sinners?”

“I-unno. Is there a sin for that too? Gonna carve that into my skin and stare at my tits while you’re at it?”

He could hear the smirk in her voice, how she teased and played with him. He would carve every sin onto her skin if he had the chance, if Joseph would let him. Pride for her unwillingness to see the truth, Envy and Greed for her taking of the compounds that belong to the cult, Sloth for sending her resistance companions to do her bidding, Gluttony for the alcohol she consumed to wash away what she had seen. And Lust, for the feelings she incited in him.

“I never stared at your breasts.”

“Do you like being a fucking liar?”

Her tone was rougher, the only time he had heard her speak to him like that was when Hudson was tied to a chair in front of her, his bunker dark and dingy as it was her decision to choose between who got marked first. When she spoke to him like he was nothing but a bug underneath her boot, when he had to take Hudson out of the room and fix the problem growing in his pants.

“Fuck.”

He didn’t mean to slip, to let her know the absolute power she had over him. Ever since he saw her in the church, when she handcuffed his brother and attempted to arrest him, he knew it was over for him.

Every thought he had belonged to her, every waking moment and every dream was hers. He was pathetic, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Fuck? Use your words, John.” She was using his name now, not just resorting to his surname. She was playing into every fantasy that ran through his head, how had he gone years without her? “I’ll ask you again. Do you like being a fucking liar?”

“Mm- no- i'm not a liar-… cmon, where are you?” He whined out softly, tugging on his ‘EG’ belt buckle. His pants had grown uncomfortably tight without his permission.

“Why would I tell you? So you can send your Peggie’s after me again? I don’t think so.”

He bit his bottom lip, cursing himself mentally. He stood up straight, running his hand through his hair exasperatedly, dark blue eyes trailing down to the LUST marking he had over his lower stomach. He was reduced to nothing more than a filthy sinner now.

“It’s a day before the Sabbath, Deputy. Please don’t talk to me like this.”

“Like what? Ohh… are you getting hard at the sound of my voice?”

She was awfully perceptive, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear the metallic clinking of his belt buckle as he shedded it from its loops with one hand. He needed some kind of release.

“Fucking -… cmon, don’t do this to me.” His voice was soft and pleading over the radio, something she had never heard from him. He seemed so needy, the way his breath picked up, the small pants that escaped his pretty lips. She could only imagine how he looked now.

“A day before the sabbath just means you can atone tomorrow, doesn’t it? Cmon, I know you wanna be a good boy f’me.”

God, he tensed at her words. Fingers greedily grabbing at his pants, playing with them till they pooled at his ankles, tattooed fingers massaging the fabric of his blue boxers, a small patch darker than the rest as his precum stained the polyester.

She had power over him, and she knew it too.

“Hnmm - keep ta-talking please…”

“God, you really are pathetic aren’t you? First Herald of Eden’s Gate whimpering for the resistance leader over his peggies radio.”

His head buried against the crook of his arm that rested on the beaten up table. Pretty blue eyes fluttered shut as his fingers delicately wrapped around his angry red tip. Dick gently throbbing in his hand at her words.

John Seed, deemed the most sadistic out of the entire fucking cult, reduced to a whiny, submissive mess from the Deputys harsh tone. If anyone found out about this, he’d never be able to live it down.

Soft spouts of precum dripped over his fingers as he pumped his aching cock, a small layer spread over his flesh. What a pathetic display, what a man to let lust consume him once more. He felt like he was that Lawyer again, hopped up on cocaine and whiskey just to give him a nice buzz. But now, he had the Deputy, and she was better then any substance he had had before.

“Don’t f-fucking stop.” How many times had he said that years ago? How many women had made him feel like this? His years before reuniting with Joseph were a blur, but he remembered the longing feeling he felt. Different was he now, but still pining for something out of his reach. “When I-I get you I’m going to-“

His words were cut off by a pathetic whine as his hand slicked back from his tip, starting on the base and pumping his throbbing member. How pretty she would look with her lips wrapped around him, her eyes all teary as she took him down her throat.

“Gonna what? Finish your sentence, baby.”

Gonna coat your mouth, make you cry for me like you had in that church. He wanted to say, wanted to flip it around on her, make her cover his fingers with her arousal. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. John Seed was a taker, and right now he was too caught up in his pleasure.

His cock was throbbing uncomfortably in his hand, veins flowing with blood, he felt close and he had barely started, but the sound of her voice could make him cum in his hand in an instant. He bit his bottom lip, attempting to swallow the weak whines and moans that threatened to spill from him for her, though most escaped anyways.

Soft, pathetic ‘please’s we’re all he could respond with, they fell from his lips like a prayer - one only she could hear. He was good, good for her, he deserved to cum in his hand, didn’t he?

“Hmm after all you put me through, I think a good apology would be a nice way to end this, don’t you?”

He could practically hear the delight in her voice as she noticed how close he was, she reveled in the fact she had brought him to his knees through her tone alone. He was putty in her hands, molded and contorted into a submissive shape.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m sorry-“

He whined out, back arching from the wooden desk as his hand pumped faster around his aching cock. A soft ‘tsk’ came over the radio waves, causing another whine to fall from his lips. “Cmon - i-i said sorry-“

“You pray with that mouth? Again. Lose the swearing.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

“There you go, that’s a good boy.”

He moaned at her words, legs trembling slightly. One, two, three more pumps and he absolutely came undone. Ropes of cum messing his hands and the concrete floor below him, a panting and whining mess of a man as he stroked himself till he was empty.

When he lifted his head and the cool air of the bunker hit his flushed cheeks, the clarity set in. He had just fucked himself with his hand over the Deputy of all people; all on his radio. Hurriedly, he pulled up his boxers and jeans, wiping up the mess on the floor and on his hands with a towel.

The familiar sound of static from the radio setting in once more. She must’ve destroyed what was left of the plane. What a fucking mess.

A congregation was held the next morning in Joseph’s church, bells ringing above sung for the holy day, John made his way past Jacob and Faith to his seat behind the podium. Faith was giggling about something or another, probably high off bliss, and Jacob was scowling at him slightly.

“I know you were always the youngest, but I didn’t think you’d be so weak, Brother. Even Faith has more resolve then you.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

please can I request soft/ fluff HCs with Peter quill? it’s sinful how little fics there are of him, so had to ask you :) 💕 preferably female but GN is fine too

hii! omg yess that’s so true, there is literally no fics of him! I have searched for so long to find some quill fics but often come up empty, so if anyone has recs, please please send them my way (I need them and him) ive never wrote for quill so hope these are accurate. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

headcanons/ imagines

peter quill x f reader

warnings || none

a/n || I may have done this first, sorry to all the others in my inbox, this was something fun to do and hopefully it might kick me into writing again

masterlist + rules

taglist

- it’s a given, but you guys talk about music ALL the time, it’s definitely a very important part of your relationship. maybe you share new songs with him from different decades, but you definitely prefer his music and he loves that you love his music

- he has an abundance of funky, fun and cool graphic tees, he loves to share them with you and probably prefers them on you

- he definitely fell first

- he loves to make you laugh, constantly cracking jokes. doesn’t even need to try and you’d just be laughing or smiling at him. his favourite laughs of yours are when you snort or cackle at his unintentional jokes

- it makes him feel special that you pay attention to the little things he says and when you react earnestly to them

- even though he LOVES the other guardians, he definitely prefers one on one time with you and loves to have you all to himself. he also loves your attention, and he definitely craves time with you

- he has major abandonment issues, so he doesn’t like you leaving his side. you’d be like his lucky rock, or a special penny that he always needs near. you are incredibly special to quill and he is often terrified that he’ll lose you too

- he craves validation, especially from you

- he is a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for. he’s definitely learnt tonnes from rocket over the years

- if he ever has to do a mission separately from you (would take a lot of persuasion and reassurance first) but he always brings back some special for you, something tailored and important to you, something that holds significance

- he’s incredibly sentimental, again not always showing it. he feels safe with the other guardians, but even more so with you. he doesn’t often like talking about his mother (he finds it too difficult) it took a lot of time, but he eventually shared that part of his life with you, and he was glad he did because your reaction was exactly what he needed

- an amazing hugger, he’s super comforting and safe. he has a very homely vibe and instantly makes you feel at ease

- you two have a very fun and easygoing relationship, it’s light and airy, but serious and passionate when it needs to be. a very sincere and genuine dynamic

- he taught you how to speak groot, he’s a great teacher but it took some getting used to

- he likes when you sit on his lap when he steers the ship, even though it’s not technically safe, he loves having you near when he is in the captain's seat (or just on his lap in the seat in general)

- but if need be, your seat is behind him, so it’s not too far away

- he loves teaching you things, he wanted to be the one to teach you about the ship and its buttons and controls

- I had this idea: that you take him to earth (he might not be too fond of the idea at first) but you surprise him with concert tickets so you both could see a band he loves. he’d never stop talking about it, and he’d keep the ticket stubs pinned up so he could look at them all the time

- he would do ANYTHING for you, he goes love blind (may have gotten himself hurt a couple of times to protect you)

- you both invented a special code/ encryption so you can talk to each other over comms. if he is on the other side of the ship (maybe tinkering) he’ll send you a secret message to let you know he’s thinking of you

- you guys don’t really argue (that’s not a bad thing either) if you have a disagreement it’s usually very light, and unserious, he’d probably accidentally make you laugh during it and then everything goes back to normal

- but if you ever do get into an argument, he can be quite stubborn

- he is a man-child (but the best kind!!) he can be immature and cocky but he’s always lighthearted. he’s just a fun-loving goof

- he loves when you call him starlord (but you don’t say it too often, so it doesn’t lose its meaning)

- you helped him process his grief, especially after yondu. once he felt comfortable talking about him again, he’d tell you all of these stories about him growing up

- he no longer drinks to forget, he now prefers a social drink after a mission with the crew instead. he doesn’t feel the need to drink himself silly now that he has you

- the guardians think you’re a great addition to the team and love that you make quill so happy

- you and peter share stories of earth with the others, sometimes you’d bend the truth and say wacky absurd things to joke around with them, but that being said it often flies over their heads, especially drax and mantis

- you two are definitely best friends as well as a couple, the perfect balance of friendship and romance, which is what makes the connection so special

[plo-koons-favorite-padawan]

Last line challenge from @biscuityskies

Actually putting two snippets in here. As a treat! I'm not sure who to tag so you can consider this your invite to post anything you want!

From my Codywan fic (on my extended Clone Wars timeline AU—this is year 7):

The journey to Moraband saw the revival of the 212th hull-ball tournaments. Cody watched Wooley lead Team Bridge Command against Team Parjai, who were the undefeated champions, in the opening rounds. Five days in, Team MedSurg upset Team Bomb Squad in the day’s quarter-finals. Cody, as the highest authority on the rules by which the game is played, found himself adjudicating point disputes. He started using his HUD to give him an action-replay to analyze particularly close calls. Watchdog acted as a second pair of eyes when necessary.  Obi-Wan commed him every night. He filled Cody in on details of his Temple life. He had been mobbed by Jedi Initiates that morning in one of the meditation halls. He was spending more time teaching. He was thinking about taking another Padawan, after the war. They spoke in code about information not available in reports: Vos was alive. Fox had eaten a meal that day. The full journey took three weeks. By the end, Parjai were still undefeated, and most of the men had moved on to gambling at cards. Vos was still alive. Fox was going for a lot of long runs.  Cody had decided somewhere around year two of the war that ferruginous planets were his least favorite. The reddish, oxidized soil rubbed into armor or mixed with sweat on skin always looked like blood. It took days to polish the red scuffs out, and that was after the actual blood was all washed away. Obi-Wan had told him that Moraband used to be known as Korriban, that it was the homeworld of the ancient Sith race. Cody was not sure what else he could have expected, other than this blood-colored mess of mountain ranges and sandstorms that vomited hundreds of thousands of battle droids into the galaxy each week. Watchdog stood with him on the bridge, looking out at the rotation of the planet as the atmo transports were prepared.  “Ugly fucking thing, isn’t it?” he asked. Cody hummed in agreement, hands folded behind his back. “First wave leaves in fifteen. Figured you’d want to be on it.” “Thank you, Watchdog. Keep everything locked down up here,” Cody said, nodding to him. “You have the bridge.” Watchdog saluted.  In the lift, Cody sent a typed message to Obi-Wan’s comm. Landing soon. Will report tonight. The doors opened to a rush of astromechs and GNK droids. Mechanics, pilots, and troopers flowed along walkways and into larties, into Nu-Class shuttles, and smaller fighters.  Moraband did not get any prettier when they got closer to the surface. Breaking atmo revealed hideously jagged mountain ridges. The droid foundry was ten heavily-armed kilometers from the drop zone. Cody was not looking forward to the trek.  He never got that far.  He was glad that he was wearing his jetpack, because when the first round of anti-air artillery hit the LAAT, he had less than two seconds to react to the gaping hole in the hull, to the sudden absence of eight other troopers, to the breach alarms wailing, before the next blast hit. He grabbed two of the other men and leapt out the side of the ship. His jetpack was not designed for this heavy of a lift, and they were falling too fast. The propulsion was sputtering; the explosion of the ship above them hailed flaming debris and blasted them towards the surface of the planet. His comms were screeching in his ears as fighter pilots scrambled to support. The ground was coming too fast. One of the men, Quarter, was shouting to drop him so that he could save himself and the other man, Piecemeal. He started to beat on Cody’s wrist, but Cody held on. The ground was coming too fast. Cody’s jetpack sputtered out, and they fell the remaining one-hundred and sixty feet to the surface of the planet. Cody went out on impact.

From my QuinFox fic (same timeline, this is year 1):

Fox’s office was empty when he opened the door. It was empty when he tugged his helmet off and set it on the shelf by the door. It was empty when he keyed the door closed and locked. It was not empty when he turned around.  “So,” said the man leaning against Fox’s desk. “Pretty interested in Kenobi, hm?” He had a lightsaber clipped to his belt. The gold tattoo across his nose and cheeks flashed in the light.  Fox had a hand on his blaster. “Don’t move,” he warned.  The man raised his hands. “I come with peace in my heart and curiosity in my mind. You’re a great slicer, for what it’s worth. Took me forever to figure out that it was you.” “That what was me?” Fox was grinding his teeth. His right hand was itching. “You pulled Obi-Wan’s records. Don’t totally understand why you covered your tracks so thoroughly, though. That’s what I want to know.” He stepped forward, hands still raised. “It’s not like you were breaking any regs. What gives?” “Get out of my fucking office,” Fox snarled. “Ooh, you’re mean,” the man said, smiling at him. Fox stepped back and adjusted the grip on his blaster. “I like that in a guy.” Fox knew he was blushing. Idiot.  “And shy, how charming.” The man had crossed his arms. He had a matching gold tattoo on his bicep.  Fox called to mind the standard punishment for murdering a superior—firing squad—and weighed his options. “How did you get in here?” “Oh, it’s a fun trick. But if I explain it, it’ll ruin the fun.” “I’m not very interested in fun,” Fox retorted. “Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” the man said. “But if you insist…” He vanished. “Fuck,” Fox whispered, followed by a much louder, “Fuck!” when the man reappeared inches from his face.  “Part of the job,” the man said, smirking at him and not the least bit uncomfortable being within striking distance. Fox swallowed. “You’re a Shadow?” The man nodded, spreading his arms.“Quinlan Vos, at your service. No need for any formalities—I’m not technically a member of the GAR.” “Fox.” “So, back to my original question. Why so interested in my friend Obi-Wan?” “I think you probably already know. Why come if you know who I got them for?” “You caught me,” Vos said, smiling. He had a small gap between his front teeth. “I know you got those records for your batchmate, who they call Kote.” “Cody,” Fox snapped. “Cody, sorry. He wouldn’t have had access to those without going through Obi-Wan. You don’t have a Jedi overseeing you,” Vos said. “So you can get any records you want.” Fox raised his eyebrows. “I fail to see how any of this warrants sneaking into my office.” “Well, this was more for fun,” Vos admitted.  “You have a strange definition of ‘fun,’” Fox said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “And you don’t?” Vos had one eyebrow raised. “Well, you’ve had your fun,” Fox said. “So, now you can get out.”

[siilvan]

proximate

characters: rodolfo “rudy” parra

summary: an undercover operation goes awry, leaving you and rudy in a tight spot – literally.

prompts: 3. "first one to make a noise loses" & 19. "the choice is yours"

genre: general, fluff, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: not proofread (i'll do it later </3), cursing, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, classic stuck-in-a-closet situation 😏, like two spanish words since i'm still a beginner lol

word count: 1.9k

note: RAHHHHHH RUDY MY LOVE‼️‼️🗣️ once again, shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this event!!

also wrote most of this while fighting off sleep so if it's bad, i'm sorry, i have another rudy fic on my WIP list <3

things can't get much worse than this, right?

right?

"a simple mission," he said. "just a quick in-and-out." he said.

you swear, you're going to to kick alejandro with the heels that you're wearing if you come out of this alive.

as you go to round a corner, a few voices make you stop dead in your tracks and tuck yourself back against the wall. it's a small group, no more than four men, and you hold your breath as they stroll right past you without even sparing a glance in your direction.

if there's anything to be thankful for, it's the lack of discipline in the guards. they're all too worried about getting drunk at the party still raging elsewhere than catching the "agent" in attendance.

you let out a soft sigh as you watch them disappear down the corridor, until footsteps quickly approaching from behind make you jump and spin around, preparing to face the would-be attacker.

before you can even turn, though, a pair of gloved hands grab ahold of you, one coming up to cover your mouth as you let out a surprised yelp, and the other pressing you into the wall again. it's an instinct when you fight back, lifting your foot and stomping on theirs, praying that the heel of your shoe is enough to force them to loosen their grip and give you a chance to escape.

the grunt that leaves them – him, you realize – sounds all-too familiar. you hesitate, which gives the man enough time to yank his foot back and lean closer, mumbling something into your ear despite the pain lacing his every word.

"it's me—!" he says through a pained groan. the dots finally connect in your head and you crane your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

the man stares at you through a black balaclava, but his eyes are unmistakable. it's rudy.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, voice slightly muffled against his palm. rudy pulls his hand away and steps back, giving you space to face him properly. you mutter a quick apology upon seeing him stumble a bit, obviously sore from your attack, but he brushes it off with a casual wave of his hand.

"heard about the situation over comms, figured you could use some help." he shrugs as your gaze drops, dragging over the dark suit that sits snugly on his form. "we need to move quickly. the security's scattered right now, but it won't be long until they find the body." he adds, tapping your shoulder gently as he moves past you.

you follow close behind as he starts down the corridor that the group of guards came from earlier. "i'm assuming you mean the guy who's clothes you're wearing – did you not hide him well?"

rudy pauses at another intersection, holding a hand up to signal for you to stop behind him. "didn't have time to. i was more worried about you."

with the way he says the words so casually, you know that it's nothing more than work to him. helping a fellow soldier, assisting you in the field for the sake of the mission, doing his job as the second-in-command. still, you don't miss the way your heart skips a beat at the thought of rudy rushing to your aid for a different, more personal, reason.

after a mumbled "come on," he's continuing down the hallway with you right behind him, the distinct sounds of your heels clacking against the floor with each step and his leather oxfords echoing off the walls.

you nearly slam into his back when rudy suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway, opening your mouth to protest, until you hear aggravated grunts and conversation coming from further down the corridor. before you can react, though, rudy's grabbing your shoulder to guide you as he swings open a nearby door and hastily shoves you inside it.

he slips in with you and lets out a heavy breath as the door softly clicks shut behind him, leaving you in almost total darkness. you press your back to the wall and flinch when the handle of a broom brushes against your spine, making you shuffle forward a bit to get comfortable in the cramped space.

unfortunately, "comfortable" equals standing so close to rudy that you worry about him hearing the rapid beating of your nervous heart.

you're in a small room, some kind of broom closet, with one of your superiors confined and standing just inches away from you. the shadows obscuring your face end up being your saving grace— if he could see the way you're reacting to the close proximity, you'd probably die from sheer embarrassment.

"they were heading our way?" you manage to ask, whispering through the pitch blackness.

you can make out some movement in the shadows akin to a nod. "party guests aren't allowed in this area. it's safer to hide and let them pass by." rudy mutters in reply, shifting. his hand, covered by a dark leather glove, grazes your arm lightly, his touch leaving behind a faint heat that slowly spreads through the rest of your body.

he lifts his arm fully and finds something that you can barely make out: a string, hanging in the air between you two. rudy gives it a single tug and suddenly you're squinting, eyes adjusting to the dim, artificial light that fills the small space from the bulb at the center of the ceiling.

seeing him semi-clearly again is enough to make you stare, eyes greedily drinking up his disguise as he keeps his attention trained on the little bit of space at the bottom of the door. you manage to tear your gaze from him after admiring the way the balaclava clings to his focused expression, clearly outlining strong features that you know will make you melt all over again once the mask is removed.

fleeting shadows obscure the light coming in from the crack, signaling that the group from before is passing by. you remain quiet, practically holding your breath as you watch the last person's silhouette appear and disappear under the door, the group's conversation gradually fading as they continue down the hall without a single alarm raised.

rudy goes to open the door, hand firmly wrapping around the knob, but when he tries to twist it open, you're both a little shocked at it not budging. he twists it again, but to no avail.

"mierda," he whispers harshly, fidgeting with the doorknob. "it's stuck." he adds, shooting a glance in your direction.

you briefly meet his gaze and blink at him, swiftly understanding the implications.

you're alone, very lightly armed, and trapped in a stuffy closet with your second-in-command whilst surrounded by enemies. somehow, things did find a way to get worse.

the two of you fall into a tense silence as you take in the situation: rudy, testing the strength of the door once more, and you, carefully listening for anyone nearby with an ear pressed against the wall. catching a guard's attention isn't ideal, but two or three men shouldn't be too difficult to take out discreetly.

you don't hear anything for what feels like ages. no footsteps, no voices, not even a peep from your ally. with a frustrated huff, you pull back from the wall and settle for staring into the minimal space between you and rudy.

at some point, he pulls off the mask, allowing you to drag your gaze up to his uncovered face. you can see thoughts swimming behind his dark irises, plans being formed off the cuff, preparation for any and every possible outcome. if rudy's anything, it's meticulous and levelheaded, even in a bad situation. he's everything a leader should be, and you commend him for it.

the silence lingers heavy in the air, settling like an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders. you swallow down the lump in your throat awkwardly, wracking your brain for an excuse to break it.

"first one to make a noise loses," you mumble, sending him a cursory glance.

rudy chuckles softly, his shoulders drooping slightly. he meets your gaze and seems to relax, lips twitching into a small smile. "i think you lost when you said that."

you roll your eyes half-heartedly. "that doesn't count." you lean in, mirroring his smile. "you lost by responding, though."

he concedes, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. "you got me, i guess you're the winner." he says, before letting his hands fall to his sides once more.

you're left staring at each other again. the tension dissipates with those few words, however, and you let yourself bask in the warmth of his gaze. it isn't special, you know that rudy looks at all of his allies with the same warmth, but a part of you clings to the hope that his affection is reserved for you. it's silly – juvenile, even – to think of your teammate like this. what you have is just a schoolgirl crush, feelings that he'd never reciprocate—

"you look beautiful," he utters, nearly inaudible despite the lack of other sounds. "i, uh... wanted to tell you that before the mission."

did you hear that correctly?

you keen under his praise, muttering an equally soft "thank you" before mentally kicking yourself for the awkward response and opening your mouth to speak again. "you look handsome. maybe you should've been on this mission instead." you add with a laugh.

"you were handling yourself just fine." rudy says, eyes narrowing when you shake your head.

"there's a reason why you had to step in. besides—"

"—besides, why would i miss out on this view?" he asks. you stop short, jaw practically going slack. again, did you hear that correctly?

you blink at him, dumbfounded. "that's bold."

another mental kick makes you flinch at your own reply.

gloved hands wrap around your own, guiding your hands to sit between yours and rudy's bodies. he squeezes them gently, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver coursing down your spine.

"maybe this isn't the best place to say this," he starts, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "and, maybe that's exactly why i finally can say this, but... i've always thought that you're beautiful." he continues, voice dropping from a quiet timbre to a whisper.

"i want to be more than just teammates, if you'll have me." he quickly says, his grip tightening as his eyes search yours for an answer.

"rudy..." you trail off, before he speaks – again.

"the choice is yours. i'll respect your decision, no matter what it is."

if you didn't know better, you'd tell yourself that you're dreaming. it's not an ideal confession, not in the slightest, but there's something about it that's so very him. your chest tightens in the best way as you slide your hands from his, fingertips dancing up his arms until you cup his cheeks and bridge that final gap.

the kiss that follows is chaste and saccharine sweet. strong arms circle around your waist, drawing your body closer to his, grounding you in the moment as you threaten to slip away in the pure bliss of it.

after a few moments, you manage to pull back enough to give a verbal answer. "if we get out of here, then it's a date."

rudy chuckles, warm breath fanning against your lips. "keep your weekend open, cariño."

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! I've been reading a lot of your content lately and love your writing so much! I was wondering if I could request a little fic about Dogma x a very outgoing, naturally confident social butterfly kind of reader who works on base and a lot of clones seem really into them, but they only ever flirt with him or try to ask him out. And their admirers can't figure out why Dogma of all people but the reader has no kriffs to give and just keeps giving him all their romantic attention until he gets it. Thanks in advance!

Two Souls Intertwined

Summary: You’ve made your choice, you just have to convince Dogma that you mean it.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Dogma x GN!Reader

Word Count: 886

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! Thank you for your request! I'm always happy to write for Dogma, so I hope you like this!

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” You don’t look up from the game you’re playing on your comm as your coworker, and sometimes friend, drops into the seat across from you. “You’re surrounded by attractive men. At all times. And you want Dogma?”

You glance up at the way she says Dogma’s name, “What’s wrong with Dogma?” You ask, offended on his behalf.

“Well...he’s just...he’s not much fun, is he?”

“He doesn’t have to be fun, I like him anyway.”

“Just…” She shakes her head, “I know that so many of the men have a thing for you. And you’re, like, scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

You scowl at her, “I’ve made my choice, and, just for your comments, I’m going to go flirt with him even harder.”

She chokes on her caf, “I...what?”

You throw a cocky grin at her, and push to your feet, downing your caf in one long gulp, before you head out of the break room.

At this time of day, Dogma is probably outside. He likes to take what free time he’s allowed to read something. For a moment, just a moment, you feel bad about interrupting his free time, though you push the guilt aside with ease.

It’s not like he’s ever said, “Leave me alone,” after all.

You head through the halls, and open the door that leads to the courtyard in the middle of the base.

Why this base has a courtyard is beyond you, but you’re glad it does. It offers a nice change of pace from the sterile white and gray halls of the base.

And there he is, sitting under a tree with a datapad in his hands.

A bright smile crosses your face and you dutifully ignore the way that your heart skips when you see him.

You’re well and truly in love with him.

Dogma doesn’t say anything as you walk over to him, and he says nothing as you settle onto the ground next to him. Though he does glance at you when you shift so that your back is pressed against his arm and your head is tilted back to rest on his shoulder.

“Back again?” He sounds more amused than anything.

“Always.” You counter cheerfully.

“You are determined, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head back so you’re able to grin at him.

Dogma’s smile is tiny, but it is there, “Alright. Lay it on me.”

“What?”

“Today’s pick up line.”

You press a hand to your chest, a look of mock offense crossing your face, “I would never-”

“Ah, so I’ve been imagining all of those other pick-up lines, then?” Dogma asks with an arched brow, and you laugh and shift so you’re sitting next to him properly, “You know, my brothers are convinced that you’re using those just to get a reaction out of me.”

You roll your eyes, “They’re just jealous that I only have eyes for you.”

“Or they don’t believe it.” Dogma points out, “I’m sure that there are people who are more similar to you in personality than me.”

“Eh, maybe. But I’m not interested in them, I’m interested in you.” You reply.

Dogma sighs and rubs his hand over his face, “You...someday I’m going to actually believe you when you say stuff like that, and then what are you going to do?”

“Plan our date. Well, schedule our date. I already have our first date planned. We’ll get dinner and go for a walk, and then I’ll kiss you on the way home.” You nod once, “It’ll be perfect.”

He blinks at you, surprised.

You flash a crooked smile, “What? Is it really so hard to believe that I only have eyes for you?”

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“Hm, well then.” You muse thoughtfully, “How about this then? I’m in love with you.”

Dogma jolts in surprise, and you smile at him.

“I’m in love with you, and if you’re really not interested then let me know and I’ll leave you alone. But. Until that happens, I’m going to keep pursuing you.”

“...you’re in love with me?” He asks slowly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason? I like you. You make me feel safe when I’m around you. You don’t judge me for being me.” Your grin widens, “I love you.”

Dogma releases a strangled noise and lifts his datapad to hide his face, “You’re impossible.” he complains, though he drops the datapad and flashes a small smile, “I’d like that date, actually.”

“...really?”

“Really.”

You laugh and fling your arms around him, knocking you both over, “Thank you! It’ll be the best date! You’ll see!”

Dogma just laughs and folds his arms around you, “I’m looking forward to it.” He replies, a warm smile on his face, “But I need you to get off of me.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You scramble off of him and settle on the grass next to him as he sits back up. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Want me to read to you?”

“Will you?”

“Yeah,” He flips back to the start of the book, “Get comfortable.”

You shift and drop your head to his shoulder, and as soon as you’re settled, he started reading.

And this, really, is all you ever wanted. Who cares if no one else understands. You certainly don’t.

[ierofrnkk]

Of Starships and Songcords [1]

Poe Dameron x Na’vi Reader

summary: Poe Dameron is doing reconnaissance for the Resistance, and ends up on a moon far, far away from home. (1.7k)

content: all ages, Poe is in unfamiliar territory, gender neutral reader, not beta read, Poe POV for this first chapter

a/n: starting a series!!! how about that!! I’ve been hyperfixating on Avatar for years now, and my little monkey brain couldn’t let go of the idea of Poe somehow ending up on Pandora and finding a hot 9’ tall blue partner. Thankful for the Kelutral community for helping me with the Na’vi dialogue! Also my fic, I make the rules, don’t talk 2 me about how these universes are so far apart ok !!!!!!

—

Poe Dameron was in a very, very bad situation.

He had no idea how he’d ended up here, in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, in a system much more unfamiliar than anything he’d ever experienced.

He’d been sent out to do recon, to see if there were any Resistance members far beyond the looming shadow of the First Order.

There was a point during his flight when he lost contact with home base, his comms fizzling out from being so far out of range; it was terrifying, admittedly, and now was a time he would’ve loved to have been hearing BB-8’s frantic, nervous beeps.

There was nothing but silence, but he persisted onward, long enough until he’d found a planet—much larger than anything he’d been on recently—with several moons.

This was purely unfamiliar territory here for Poe, but the readings from his ship were telling him that one of the planet’s moons was habitable, and he prepared for a quick landing, hopefully finding what he was looking for so he could return home.

The descent was a lot different than he had expected. The atmosphere was dense, but finally gave way to sprawling forests and clear skies.

He didn’t really notice it until he’d begun looking for a place to land, but the trees on this planet were massive, much bigger than anything he’d ever seen before anywhere.

He was certainly, definitely far away from home.

Poe managed to find a clearing, enough for him to land Black One safely and assess his surroundings.

It looked like there had been people living here at one point, the remnants of their presence left behind like echoes. Concrete buildings, vehicles left abandoned and overgrown.

Whoever used to live here hasn’t for a long time.

He knows that there isn’t much else for him to do besides leave the cockpit and seek out anyone that can help him get in touch with home.

This is a completely different system, so he brings his rebreather mask, knowing full well that the atmosphere might be completely toxic to him.

After a few more beats of preparation, Poe opens the hatch of his X-Wing, swings his legs over the side of the ship, and drops down to the ground without any more hesitation.

The flora of this moon was like nothing he’d ever heard of—massive trees, stretching to the heavens, the strangest shaped plants in the most bizarre of colors. It fascinated him.

Poe begins walking, picking a direction and deciding to go in it. He can hear the soft chitter of unfamiliar animals through the thick brush of the forest, and he keeps a wary hand on the holster that holds his blaster to his belt.

In his life, he’s encountered lots of different creatures—some of which he still owes credits to—but the fauna of this moon is a lot for even him.

He’d never think he’d ever be wishing to see a bantha, but he would do anything right now to see one.

Poe treads carefully through the forest, and it feels like he walks for forever before he comes across one of the seemingly abandoned buildings. It’s eerie, the sight of something that clearly was once teeming with life, now having fallen silent and into disrepair.

He’d hoped that this had become a new resistance base, but that doesn’t look to be so.

No ships here are like anything he’s familiar with; no speeders, no X-Wings or quad jumpers. It all looks incredibly…sad. Dull and grey. Military. This was something very far out of his realm of expertise.

Grass has begun growing through the cracks in the concrete, reclaiming the land as it’s been left abandoned for what must be years at this point.

He keeps walking, finding very little of any use to him.

He does, though, manage to find what was helpfully labeled ‘Exopacks’, opening the steel cabinet to find a much better rebreather pack than anything he’d had with him.

He takes the pack, getting one last good breath in before he takes off his rebreather, exchanging it for the Perspex mask that fits nicely around his face. What he assumes is the filter pack is clipped to his belt, and after a few brief moments, he gets the mask sealed on properly, continuing on his way as he explores this unfamiliar space.

As he gets away from the hard stone of the building and returns to the soft grass and lush flora of the forest, he gets the strangest feeling; a tingle on the back of his neck, the slightest bit of unease that makes him feel as though he’s being watched.

But that can’t be, can it? Who would be watching him?

Poe isn’t even sure where he’s going at this point, besides walking in the hopes of finding someone familiar; a resistance member, something.

He continues through the forest, the trees stretching high into the sky, with leaves bigger than himself. He catches a glimpse of a creature through the brush, something that can only be closely compared to a fathier, but much different; skin like a lizard, all different shades of teal and blue and yellow, with six legs.

It notices Poe briefly, its frill going up in defense, before it takes off running in the opposite direction.

Poe relaxes once the creature’s run away, the knowledge that he’s in unfamiliar territory being solidified even further with every passing minute.

That feeling remains, though, the feeling of being watched. He keeps glancing upwards, trying to parse anything out of the thick foliage, hoping to see someone or something there, watching him.

But nothing. Not at first, at least.

Light is beginning to dim, the brightness of the daylight giving way to something beautiful. Every plant glows, a bright and incredible bioluminescence that seems to react to every step he takes.

The entire forest is blooming with life, with a fascinating brightness and beauty that—of all the planets and moons he’s been to—he’s never seen before.

Another creature chittering, the sound akin to laughter, putting him on edge.

He fumbles for his flashlight, needing some better visibility, even in such a beautifully lit space. When the light goes on, is when he sees exactly what’s been laughing at him.

A creature, one that he at first mistakes for a vornskr—but with six legs instead of four, and with much nastier teeth and claws—circles him. His light catches the eyes of a few more, lurking in the shadows and making him feel more vulnerable and exposed.

He fumbles for his blaster, the weapon still set to stun as he aims it at one of the creatures, and fires.

The bolt hits it somewhere in the shoulder, and it whimpers, falling to the ground briefly before getting up dashing away.

Another one emerges from the shadows, baring its teeth to him as it circles. Poe fires again, this time the bolt hitting more in the chest. It drops to the ground, whimpering and wheezing as its legs kick aimlessly.

A third comes out, teeth bared in the low light as it prepares to lunge at him. Just as it jumps, though, an arrow is fired from somewhere unseen, the point landing square in the creature’s throat, dropping it right where it had hit.

The fletching of the arrow glows like the plants do, feathers brilliant and bright, and it doesn’t take him very long to find the source of such a thing.

A humanoid drops from one of the trees, and Poe is immediately intimidated.

Taller than him, at least twice his height. Skin blue like the clearest oceans. Pointed ears, a tail. Big, beautiful eyes.

They look down at him, gaze narrow and bow drawn.

“Kempe si nga?”

Poe puts his hands up defensively—quickly holstering his blaster—and looks up at the humanoid with frightened, wide eyes.

“What?” Is the first thing he asks, the language unfamiliar to him and seemingly only making things worse.

They repeat themselves, this time a bit more firmly.

After another beat of him not responding, certainly looking confused and bewildered in this situation, they loosen the draw of their bow slightly, their gaze still hard and narrow as they look down on him.

“What are you doing?”

It takes Poe a few seconds too many to realize that he can understand them, and he manages a response.

“What—you— you can speak Basic?”

They ignore the question, waiting for him to give a better answer than that.

“I- I needed a place to land, my ship’s—“ he gestures vaguely in one direction, hoping it’s where he’s landed Black One.

“—it’s over there, I was looking for a Resistance base, I didn’t mean to- to intrude or anything..”

Cautious, they lower their bow, taking in the sight of him.

“Are there more of you?” They ask him, ears lowered defensively.

He shakes his head so fast he’s sure that the mask is going to come flying off.

“No! No, it’s just—it’s just me, I swear, I—“

He stops when they reach down, wrap a hand around his bicep and begin pulling him along. He stumbles and rushes to keep up, the fact that they’re twice his height not helping in the slightest.

“What are you—where are you taking me? Oh, kriff.”

Poe is certain he’s just been captured again. Probably by some race that has an alliance with the First Order, and now they have the Resistance’s poster boy on their turf.

“Taking you to the Olo’eyktan. He will decide what to do with you.”

Poe follows along as quickly as he can, doing his best to keep up, the ground beneath their feet lighting up with each step they take. It’s beautiful, and he wishes that he was able to capture the sight of it all.

Thankfully, the journey doesn’t take very long, and they end up at a tree so much larger than any of the other ones. If he was flying, he’d be concerned about such a tree being in his flight path.

This is definitely not good, Poe thinks as he’s pulled along into the base of the massive tree, where dozens more of similar-looking humanoids stand, watching them as they enter.

Maker, how he wishes he could record this moment, remember it forever, especially since this confrontation is not looking promising, and the last thing he wants is to be held hostage by a First Order ally.

Again.

—

First chapter complete!! If you haven’t noticed, this is loosely going to follow the plot of the first Avatar film, but obviously a little different and hopefully enjoyable! I don’t have a set schedule for these, but I hope to put chapters out semi-regularly! Thank you again for reading! <3

Next Chapter

tags: @winniethewife @ominoose @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame @silvernight-m @faretheeoscar @midgardian-witch

[skyracer-in-space]

like memories of dying days

Hiding had been boring, sure, but it also had been lonely. Really lonely.

Or, touch-starved Bumblebee has a Time™ around the Maltos. And not necessarily a good one, but it gets better.

Written for Hurtcember prompts: 6 (Touch starvation), 7 (Abandoned), 10 (Touch aversion), 19 (Desperate), and Alternate 3 (“Leave me alone"; replacing 18)

-x-x-x-

my first earthspark fic, let's go! i spent the better part of five days working on this & it was only lightly looked over before clicking post. welp. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

title from saviour by rise against.

i used half-normal, half-cybertronian terms so here's the dictionary~

frame: body

optics: eyes

EM field: electro-magnetic field, allows cybertronians to feel others' emotons

helm: head

servo: hand

digit: finger

-x-x-x-

As far as the Maltos knew, Bumblebee had been brought out of hiding to train the Terrans. That was what Optimus had made it out to be, and what Bumblebee had confirmed. But what they didn’t know, was just how long the yellow Autobot had been in hiding for. Close to seventeen human years.

There wasn’t a solid date marking when he first went into hiding. But there was that comm that he had received from Optimus in the middle of another back-to-back mission at the tail end of the war, where the Prime had ordered him to go into hiding to avoid a particular fledgling human organisation. There hadn’t been an explaination, the comm. had just been long enough for Optimus to give him the order before it disconnected and the scout had been left wondering why.

But then the next thing that Bumblebee knew, it had been almost five human years since he had last seen another Autobot. He spent a lot of that time in his alt mode. A lot of it was spent mimicing a normal human car. That was fine! Because he was undercover and he had spent time away from other Autobots like this before — many times! It was pretty much part of his job as a scout.

And then it had been a entire decade and Bumblebee had to scan a new alt mode because the human organisation that Optimus had warned him about — GHOST, or something — had discovered his old one and he needed a new one to remain hidden.

Later, he had been pretending to be a normal car parked on a curbside as a parking officer was making her way down the row of parked cars when a notification from his chronometer popped up: fifteen years.

On year seventeen of hiding, the scout received another comm from Optimus, and by the end of it, he’s assigned to train two newly-created Cybertronians (which, what.).

Once Bumblebee had gotten over his initial…friction about his newest assignment, and at the Prime too, things went a lot easier. Somewhat. Kind of. Things were a lot easier if he ignored the problem that was right in front of him, every day. Okay, it wasn’t causing any actual problems so he shouldn’t really call it problematic, but it still was all the same.

The Terrans were…close, to one another and to the two human children — Robby and Mo. And that was the root of Bumblebee’s ‘problem’, wasn’t it? Their closeness.

He wasn’t sure why it got under his plating so much. It wasn’t a rare occurance, plenty of Autobots were just as close to each other as the Terrans were.

Bumblebee watched as the two humans and the two techno-organics chased each other around the yard after dinner. Twitch zipped up into the air out of Mo’s reach as Robby darted around a tree being pursued by Thrash.

The sky had already started to get dark when the four of them had started this game but now it was getting to be too dark for the humans to see by, based off of how he had just watched Mo trip over a branch.

“Robby! Mo!” Ranger Malto’s shout from the house drew all four of her kids, and Bumblebee’s too, attention to her. “Go wash up. It’s movie night,”

Friday nights, he soon discovered, were family movie night in the Malto household. This had been a thing, the Autobot was also told, long before the Maltos had come to Witwicky where they would all pile onto the sofa in the living room and watch a movie (or two, if school was out). But that wouldn’t work now. Not when some of their family can’t even fit through the doors of their house, let alone in the living room.

“What about the barn?” Alex suggested, when the issue was brought up. “I think I’ve got my old projector somewhere, that we can set it up opposite one of the barn’s walls,”

With that decided, he headed into the house to look for said projector.

“Hopefully this goes better than family game night,” Robby commented, to no one in particular, as he carried a stack of cushions from the house towards the barn.

Bumblebee hovered awkwardly as the Maltos set up for movie night.

Was he supposed to join them? Or not? He’d joined them for game night but everyone knew how that had gone…

The scout watched the Terrans head into the barn.

“You coming, Bumblebee?” Dot asked. “We’re watching Back to the Future, the first one,”

The question made his optics fall on her and away from the Terrans.

There was his answer.

“Yeah. I’m coming,”

He joined the Maltos in the barn, where he found the two human kids sitting on the ground with their backs against a hay bale, that had previously been shoved up against a wall so somebody must have pushed it over here, Thrash was between Mo and Robby, and Twitch was perched on the edge of said bale. Alex was setting up the projector on a precarious pile of books on top of a stool that had been brought out from the Maltos’ kitchen.

Where they were sitting wasn’t the only thing that Bumblebee noticed. They were all so close to each other, in the physical sense. The kids on the ground had their shoulders touching one another, or if it wasn’t shoulders, it was some other part of their frames. And Twitch had her foot resting against Mo’s side too.

The sight made his spark twist uncomfortably in his chest and a breeze of wind (in the dead-still evening) flittered across his armour.

But none of that should even happen — that was just how families were with each other. It was.

Bumblebee turned down his pressure sensitivity and elected to ignore whatever that had been in favour of grabbing the other hay bale to make a seat for himself. He ended up on the ground, leaning against the bale he’d nabbed a couple of metres away from the others.

Alex finished fiddling with the projector and joined his kids. Dot

“Bumblebee! What are you doing all the way over there?” Alex asked, just as the movie was starting. “Come closer,”

So the scout got up and moved to sit closer to the others. As he settled himself back down, his arm accidentally brushed against one of Twitch’s stabilisers. The contact sent a shiver up his arm plating that made it clatter against itself softly and made him recoil away. Bumblebee caught himself before he could react too much and alarmed someone.

Dot was staring at him from across the makeshift living room, his sensors noticed, and she had a look in her eyes which he pretended not to see. The ranger said nothing and just turned back to keep watching the movie.

At some point, all four kids had reshuffled themselves and as a result Bumblebee had ended up in the middle of them all.

If he thought that his frame had reacted strangely to light touch, then prolonged contact in the form of somebody resting up against his side had an even stranger effect.

There was a spark of heat against that same side despite his sensors not registering anything unusual. What. It only grew with each passing second, growing to become painful now.

But unlike before, his frame responded far more violently to the contact; kicking into action even before his processor had a chance to generate a thought.

Bumblebee pushed away and up to his feet, the transformation seams in both of his arms splitting apart and reforming into blasters to defend

From the corner of his optic, he saw both Alex and Dot jump to their feet even before any of the kids reacted.

“Hey!” Alex shouted at the same time that Dot hollared

“Bumblebee! Put the guns down!”

The loudness of her shout cut through the barn and made Bumblebee stop dead in his tracks.

…His battle protocols were running. He had been so convinced that there was a threat attacking him that every single one of his battle protocols had been activated.

Bumblebee transformed his blasters back into arms and reset his optics to see Dot and Alex standing protectively in front of their kids. The same kids that he had just been pointing his blasters at.

From here he could feel the Terrans’ fright and their fear. Fear of him.

Oh Primus.

Bumblebee raised his hands, now that they were back to being hands again, up to show them that he didn’t mean them harm and was (now) unarmed.

“What was that, Bumblebee?” Alex questioned as everyone relaxed and settled down again.

“I think Twitch leaned against my side in a way that accidentally triggered my battle protocols,” he told them all.

Twitch looked up at him from where she was standing on the hay bale. “Did I accidentally press something?” she asked.

Her EM field was now full of worry—concern—mistake—remorse.

“I…don’t think so? My pressure sensitivity must have been too high, or something,”

Only…he had already turned it down earlier, so it couldn’t be that. It had to be something else. He didn’t voice that part out loud.

As he spoke, Bumblebee reach out with his own EM field, making sure that he projected reassureance—alright—safe into it.

“Do I have to worry about you being near the kids now, or?” Dot asked.

The Ranger was looking at him the same way that she looked at Decepticons: cold, skeptical, and most of all, distrusting. To be fair, he did just aim weapons at her children. But there was another emotion in her eyes that he hadn’t seen when she looked at Decepticons, one that he can’t decode.

Once his frame had settled down, Bumblebee ran a diagnostic scan of all his systems. It came back normal.

Okay, now he was confused; because something had definitely been wrong back there. Something had to have set off his battle protocols, they didn’t acitvate without a reason.

After that first Friday, the following family movie nights were officially moved to the barn. Bumblebee joined for most of them but a couple times, he chose to go racing instead (not that any of the Maltos were aware of that).

The times he did join them, he sat a good four metres away. Was it overkill? Maybe; but there was no way on Earth he was going to risk a repeat of what’d happened at the first one. Despite this, Bumblebee always ended up moving closer by the end of the night, usually after being asked to by one of the Terrans. So no matter how much he tried to keep a distance between them and himself, it never lasted.

The first movie night was a nerve-wracking enough experience, but it wasn’t the only one. And it hadn’t only been happening at movie night, either. That was the worst part. Because now that he had been made aware of it, it only seemed to happen even more often.

‘It’ being the way that his frame reacted to touch — and seeing other people touching each other in such a causal and friendly way, mostly the second.

Bumblebee was starting to go mad. He was sure of it.

Movie night was the closest that he got to the Maltos. But it wasn’t the only time he could come into physical contact with them. There was also the Terrans’ training sessions, especially the ones where he incorporated games.

In one of those training sessions in particular, he had them doing what was essentially capture the flag combined with a scavenger hunt. It started out with him guarding the 'flag’ (also known as a shovel) which Thrash had to steal and hide for Twitch to find; as then it would become more a scavenger hunt and less capture the flag.

Thrash, to Bumblebee’s surprise, chose to approach him head-on to grab the ‘flag’. The scout would have expected that from Twitch, if she had been in his position, but not him.

The motorcycle alt crashed out of the treeline to speed directly at Bumblebee. And then when he was close enough, Thrash transformed and pushed against the ground to vault over Bumblebee, grabbing the ‘flag’ on his way over helm.

As Thrash took hold of the shovel, one of his digits brushed against Bumblebee’s servo.

Unlike previously, the contact made a warning flash across his vision. It wasn’t warning him of anything specific, though, instead all it said was that his sensors had detected an anomaly in his servo. He hadn’t felt anything wrong — hadn’t he?

Very helpful.

Bumblebee had his pressure sensitivity turned down so low around the Maltos after that fiasco at the first movie night that he shouldn’t even have been able to have felt the contact at all. Yet here he was with a warning guaranteeing he had not only felt it but had also picked up on something anomalous in it. But what the anomaly was, he had no clue.

Bumblebee spent the rest of the day as well as a good chunk of the night too, staring at that particular warning in an attempt to decipher what the anomaly it detected could be. In the end, it was futile and he slipped into recharge.

Arcee was here, at the Maltos’. Bumblebee hadn’t even known that she was on Earth but here she was. She wasn’t able to stay long, only just long enough to meet the Terrans before she had to go.

The Terrans — all of the kids, really — were excited. To them, Arcee was a cool, badass warrior. To Bumblebee, Arcee was his friend. Before Arcee was about to leave, she bumped her shoulder against Bunblebee’s. His processor ground to a halt at the electricity that zipped through his shoulder right where she had touched him. The armour there buzzed with the unmistakeable zing of electricity. A servo came up to touch it but the ‘electriticy’ didn’t tranfer to his digits.

Huh?

He tried again, and once again the ‘electricity’ remained only in the armour of his shoulder.

It was a playful gesture — maybe a bit rough but this was Arcee, and Arcee was his friend. So would his plating and processor both please calm the frag down?

His sensors hadn’t registered any transfer of electricity either.

He really was going mad.

“‘Bee?” The sound of Arcee’s voice tugged him back out of his processor and reminded him that there were people watching. “You good? I didn’t hit an injury, did I?” she asked.

The mention of injury made four pairs of shocked eyes and optics dart to him.

“No, I’m not injured so you didn’t hit anything,” he told her.

Bumblebee refused to meet her optics because he knew she knew that there was something more to what had just happened. And if she asked about it, he had no answer. It was also sort of embarrassing because what kind of scout — what kind of hero — was he if he couldn’t keep control of his systems and frame?

“Bumblebee,” Dot stopped him rather than joining her family in the barn for movie night one evening a few days later. “Can we talk?”

“Sure?”

She led the two of them both away from the barn — away from where they could be inturrupted, because if they were then there was no way this conversation would be successful. They ended up sitting underneath one of the trees just as the sun was starting to disappear below the horizon.

“What did you want to talk about, Dot?”

“What do you know about touch starvation?” the ranger asked response to his question.

In the distance, a bird squawked and took off into the sky causing a hanful of leaves to float down to the ground.

“It’s a condition that humans can develop when they spend too long without physical contact from others, right?”

Dot frowned.

“That’s half right. Touch starvation isn’t something which only affects humans, ‘Bee, it can affect bots too,”

“And you’re bringing this up, why?” he asked, an obvious attempt at deflecting the conversation.

Dot didn’t answer and just looked at him. Waiting for the scout to put two and two together to it out. Waiting for the much overdue realisation.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” she eched.

Honestly, she was kinda surprised he hadn’t realised what was going on until she literally spelled it out for him.

Bumblebee stood back up. “Even if Cybertronians can be touched starved, I am not,” he denied.

She raised an eyebrow at him. Bumblebee wasn’t getting out of this that easily.

“Then explain to me what that was at the first family movie night here, or what had happened with Arcee?”

Shock-wide optics snapped to her. He clearly hadn’t known she had seen that second one. Bumblebee said nothing for a long minute, so long she started to think he wasn’t going to say anything.

“…Okay, you might be right,” he admitted eventually. “But I can’t actually do anything to fix it, it’s not like I can just walk up to Optimus and ask for a hug,”

Dot couldn’t read EM fields, but she’d bet Bumblebee’s field was chock full of embarassment right about now.

“Fair point. Although I would bet the Terrans would be more than happy to, if you asked,”

The ranger stood up and brushed dried grass off of her pants before she started heading in the direction of the barn, leaving Bumblebee behind under the tree and without time to say anything more.

Dot had meant that truthfully — Twitch, at least, would be certainly be willing to give him a hug if she asked. And as it turned out, she was right too. A few days later, she got home to see Bumblebee being hugged by both of her Terran kids and only looking midly uncomfortable.

[moonyasnow]

Hello!

I saw that your requests are open, and was wondering if you could maybe write the „dancing in the dark with him“ thing for Rook?

It’s your favourite fic of mine so far!!

This is my first time requesting + English isn’t my first language, so I hope I did this right, I’m sorry if not ^^“ pls take as much time as you need!

Dancing in the Dark: 2

PROMPT : Dancing in the dark with him

(This is the 2nd entry of 'Dancing in the Dark'! The first one, featuring Idia, can be found here)

CHARACTER(S) : Rook

TYPE : Short fic (~1.2k words)

CONTENT: PLEASE forgive my French I used Google Translate ; ;, Reader is implied to not like crowds, very brief mention of some of my OCs in the background, takes place during Glorious Masquerade but has no spoilers

The stone-columned hall swelled with music, its polished marble floors reflecting the candelabras to cast a dreamlike candlelight over the room.

'Comme une histoire.'

Oui. Like a scene from a storybook. And out of second nature, he watched.

Watched his dear Chevalier de la Reine and Monsieur Pommétte dance, the former attempting to teach the latter. Watched Roi de Neige in all his glory, kindness radiating from him. Indeed, it had been a delight to observe him so closely on this trip.

Yet still… His eyes were drawn to a small corner of the dance floor, one where few would look, to see you twirling in the small circles of a makeshift waltz, your feline companion in your arms to indicate him your dance partner.

It was true that he had been enjoying this chance to watch Roi de Neige up close. Yet, as had begun to be commonplace as of late, he found his attention drifting from his target, and towards you. He'd found himself drifting even from his Roi du Poison. Like a planet caught in your orbit. Or a comet, perhaps? Bound to burn in your orbit, ashes scattering to the winds of your skies, never again to leave?

As he pondered over the nature of your magnetism, he saw the tell-tale signs of fatigue grace your features. That meant you'd be going to seek out solitude. Crowds had a tendency to tire you out, he was well-aware. He had once compared you to the Mimosa Pudica; the 'Touch-Me-Not'.

For a split second, your eyes locked with his, across the ballroom.

Ah, had you known he was watching you?

His heart beat wild with excitement as he began to weave his way, seen yet unnoticed, across the throngs of people on the floor. What a wonderful feeling! One he knew well, surrounding himself with beauty that touched his soul. Yet your particular charms had their own flavor of allure.

And like a bee to nectar, he found himself craving to know more of it.

He caught you in the dark of the courtyard, away from the lights of the venue, the moment you stepped outside for some fresh air. He stepped lightly, on the tips of his toes, simply as second nature to him. But he knew you were easily spooked. -snap- So for your sake, he stepped on a twig to foretell his arrival...

"It isn't very wise to separate from the herd, mon oiseau."

You turned around to face him.

"Oh, Rook." You pretended to act surprised, like you hadn't been expecting this.

He could see it in your eyes. The anticipation. He felt it, too, charging the air. Perhaps you thought that he had you right where he wanted? He let out a chuckle at his thought. Did you believe this to be the end of your little chat perché? There was still so much of you for him to discover.

The more you kept your secrets close to your chest, the more he desired to know of them. And each time you let the hunter a step closer to the core of your heart, he was sliced deeper with the sweet sting of love.

It was a long, slow game. And he loved every second.

"People saw me leave; I'll be fine, I think. It's not like you'd hurt me."

"Non. Indeed, I would not. But I urge you to caution all the same; I would not want some other predator to snatch you up for themselves."

He smiled that enigmatic smile of his that made mere slivers of his eyes visible, the one that always sent your heart racing. He definitely knew what he was doing. It was just unfair sometimes.

"So you admit you're a predator?"

Thinking it over with a hum, he strode toward you.

"It is true that a hunter is not unlike a predator. It is such a delight to observe you in a new environment. Yet," Taking your hand gently in his own, he swept his cape back and bent his knee to deliver a kiss to the back of your hand. "far lovelier still," his eyes captured your own "to see you flourishing in your natural environment, where I may be graced with sides of you not visible to others."

"'Natural environment'…you mean alone in a dark corner?"

"Non, mon petite." he rose from the ground in a fluid motion, shaking his head. "Away from the prying gaze of others. Being observed, you always behave differently than when alone."

"So then here, where there is none but you and I, voulez-vous danser?"

He would have loved to teach you French, if only you had asked. Yet the way your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion each time he spoke it and did not translate himself was too lovely, he feared, for him to offer to teach you himself. The color of your cheeks tinged darker when you saw his outstretched hand and realized what he'd meant, and he heard your breath hitch, the sound sweet music to his ears. Without a word, you took his hand.

Looking at you now, face the very image of one absolutely besotted— much such as himself, he imagined— it was almost hard to imagine you were scared of him when first you met; uncomfortable by his watching... Oui, your expression of unease was beautiful as well. Yet he could not claim to miss it. Not when he was allowed to see the sight before him in that very moment.

When, then, had that aversion turned into this? To flushed cheeks in his presence, subtly trying to stand closer? Though of course, nothing was ever too subtle for him not to catch it.

He knew when. For he had engraved the precise moment into the very flesh of his heart. Did you know when? Ah, non, this wouldn't be something he'd tell you. He would much rather watch you realize it for yourself.

Held delicately in each other's arms, swaying gracefully to the three-step rhythm of the waltz, you seemed almost to be floating over the grass and stone of the courtyard, spinning in circles around the well.

'Just like...'

He found himself laughing.

"See, the way we're spinning around the well? Almost as though it was our point of gravity. It made me think of us akin to twin moons, orbiting the same planet."

"Where do you get it all..."

He'd thought of you as someone else to be figured out, even as he fell deeper for you.

Yet with his eyes opened by the image newly sprung into his mind...

'Maybe I'll let you keep your secrets.'

He knows when. Engraved the precise moment into the very flesh of his heart. Do you know when? Ah, non, this won't be something he'll tell you. He'd rather watch you realize it for yourself.

Might you be able to keep this up for the rest of your lives, he wondered?

He held your waist closer, touching his forehead almost reverently to your own, eyes closed in bliss. "Mon cœur..." he sighed

In other circumstances, he might think he was dying to find out. But for once, no.

He'd rather hold back; let the mystery warm his heart.

He had believed himself to be the one cornering you.

'Mais, mon ange... There in your hands, I see my own heart'

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

I hope my use of French wasn't too atrocious! ; I vI) And to the anon who requested this, I hope you liked it! ^^

I guess this is a series now??? I was originally planning to include more than just Idia in my initial post, so I'm not unprepared at least!

Oh— but definitely don't expect me to make one of these for EVERY character. Having the exact same prompt 22+ times would get SO reppetetive But more requests are very much welcome!