#mech groping i guess?

[kivaember]

looks you dead in the eye. yes. i wrote viv621 AC... groping... idek what this is. it's late and i should sleep but my brain was like WRITE THIS WRITE THIS so here you have AC petting. Enjoy(?).

When Raven had floated the idea to him initially, Rusty had thought it'd been nothing more than a strange joke.

It'd been on the tail end of a sortie, a quick and dirty job of crushing a Balam raiding party that had been harassing Arquebus supply lines a little too much. It'd been just MTs, but one had managed to get a lucky shot on STEEL HAZE, a wayward round lodging into the joint of the AC's left shoulder. It hadn't been enough to limit his range of movement, but it squatted in juuuust the right spot to constantly trigger his pressure sensors around there, a phantom sensation that twinged and jolted like minute electrical shocks down his arm - a pinched nerve.

It was a big drawback to being an augmented human, in Rusty's opinion. True, their high levels of synchronisation with their ACs meant they could move it as fluidly as their own body, respond as quickly as their synapses could fire without that deadly split-second processing pause that unaugmented pilots suffered from, but the big drawback was that this required their ACs to have delicate pressure sensors for their proprioception to fully translate.

Rusty had heard all the 'funny stories' of the early Gens accidentally having their ACs smack themselves in the face with their hands or tripping their own feet, complaints of feeling utterly numb and not knowing what their "body" (AC) was doing or where their limbs were. Pressure sensors were the answer, the AC's own nervous system, and through that their brains could translate sensations and signals in the only way it knew how: pain and pleasure.

That trapped bullet in STEEL HAZE's shoulder was definitely pinging pain, over and over, though. Enough to make him grit his teeth and his voice come out a little strained, and to have Raven inquire about his health.

"Ah, well, one of the Balams got a lucky hit in, is all," he said breezily, trying to brush the whole thing off. "I think a round is stuck in my left shoulder."

«Let me look,» Raven offered, and Rusty didn't know why he agreed to it but he did, standing perfectly still while Raven's AC, STALKER, carefully probed the joint of STEEL HAZE's left shoulder, sending pulses of sensations ghosting along Rusty's corresponding shoulder.

It was a mingle of pain and something indefinable. Despite the friendly and approachable personality he presented, Rusty was unused to being touched. The only time he had 'contact' was when someone managed to get a glancing blow on STEEL HAZE, an echo of pain thrumming through him - encouragement not to let that happen again. Every touch made him tense, half-expecting pain to follow, and this presented itself as minute twitches and flinches as STALKER prodded and teased its mechanical fingers into the soft, delicate writing inside his shoulder.

«Does it hurt?» Raven asked.

"Just sensitive," Rusty said, his voice strangely taut to his own ears.

Raven said nothing more, and only minutes after that he found the trapped round and extracted it, that nervy, stinging pain immediately vanishing. Rusty rolled his shoulder, thanked him for the help, and turned to go, oddly flustered and feeling the need for space when-

«It can feel good too.»

Rusty didn't know what to say in response to that. He stared at him, and Raven stared back, the round pinched between STALKER's fingers. It was slightly flattened at the tip.

«I can show you sometime,» Raven continued, and flicked the round away.

"Um, sure, sometime," Rusty stammered, thrown by the offer, and tossed in his goodbyes before quickly leaving the scene.

Afterwards, when lying in his cot and rubbing his shoulder, still feeling the odd twinge, he dismissed the whole thing as Raven's strange sense of humour rearing its head at an inappropriate time. He hadn't meant it like that, obviously. It had probably been a comment on how field repairs weren't normally that painful or uncomfortable.

So he put the whole thing out of mind.

-

Actually, that was a lie. The whole thing lived in his mind rent free for days afterwards.

The memory of that ghostly sensation of Raven's fingers inside his shoulder joint haunted him, something so viscerally intimate yet alien that his mind simply didn't know how to compartmentalise it. He ignored it instead, throwing himself onto sorties despite the monotony of it all. He'd almost convinced himself he'd forgotten entirely about it until his path once more crossed with Raven's.

Another job. They were going to reclaim an oil refinery from Balam which was guarded by nothing but MTs. The Redguns being so few in number and overstretched meant that whenever they overextended their lines, their men were sitting ducks for the far more numerous Vespers and their deep pockets to pay for Raven's services.

It'd been overkill using both Rusty and Raven, but Rusty suspected Snail just wanted him out of the base. He'd been getting particularly surly as of late.

There'd been no lucky shots from desperate MTs, but a stray shot had detonated an oil tanker. Chunks of shrapnel had been thrown across the battlefield, and while STEEL HAZE's armour had deflected most of it, one particularly large chunk had somehow managed to wedge itself in the hydraulics of STEEL HAZE's neck. He couldn't turn his head in either direction without experiencing an incredibly unpleasant, choking sensation lancing right down his throat. It made even talking a bit of a breathless affair.

Again, Raven asked if he was okay.

"Uh, yeah, just... think some shrapnel's stuck in my neck," Rusty muttered, knowing he was holding STEEL HAZE too stiffly. He was fighting the base, animal urge to scrabble at his neck, but STEEL HAZE's frame wasn't built to accomodate that. He was likely to accidentally cause damage than do any real help.

«Let me see.»

Rusty stayed still as STALKER crowded into his personal space, unable to look at anything but STALKER's asymmetrical head right in front of him. STEEL HAZE's pressure sensors detected STALKER's fingers very gently probing at his throat, a phantom touch that made Rusty instinctively swallow.

In the bottom right hand corner of his HUD, where his vitals were monitored visually, he saw his pulse spike.

«There is shrapnel lodged in there. It's jamming the left-front neck hydraulic.»

"Mn," Rusty responded, and felt a tremor wrack up his spine when he felt STALKER's fingers dig into his- STEEL HAZE's throat. It had his breaths stuttering in his lungs, nerves firing with a sensation that was too intense to call merely pain or pleasure.

The shrapnel felt like it was being scraped through his windpipe, STALKER's fingers gently weaving through his vocal chords to reach it. Rusty found himself blinking rapidly, his gaze fixed on the bottom right corner, seeing his pulse spike higher, higher, his body unsure on what to make of such a visceral touch.

STALKER's questing fingers finally pinched against the edge of the shrapnel, and began to tease it out. Some sort of- noise left Rusty, feeling like Raven was running the sharp edge of a knife gently along his nerves. It was a dizzying relief when he finally yanked the shrapnel free, Rusty gulping in a deep, shuddering breath.

«Sensitive?»

"Wh- wha- huh?" Rusty coughed, trying to recall his pulse from the stratosphere.

Raven didn't repeat himself. STALKER flicked away the piece of shrapnel, but didn't move out of his personal space.

«You have some more shrapnel in your waist. I'll extract that too.»

"Oh... okay," Rusty mumbled, only half-listening. Adrenaline still fizzled through him, almost making him jump out of his skin when he felt STALKER's hand brush along the side of STEEL HAZE's Core, a metallic scraping noise as it trailed along the lip of its armour.

Raven paused, as if waiting for a protest, before it slipped its hand underneath the Core, where STEEL HAZE's waist joined with the Core block underneath the lightweight armour. It was a place that was rarely, if ever touched - by enemy fire or a melee strikes. Rusty genuinely thought there was no sensation there, but-

He felt it, a sensation like a hand was sliding into his guts and partway up to cup his heart against a palm. He went rigid in his seat, and something in STEEL HAZE's posture must've betrayed him, because STALKER immediately withdrew its hand.

«Sensitive?»

It took Rusty a few tries to remember how to talk. "Y-Yeah. One... one word for... for that."

Raven was quiet, the crimson light of STALKER's ocular feeds regarding him. Slowly, STALKER reached out again, but it didn't slip its hand back underneath the vulnerable spot beneath STEEL HAZE's Core block. The tips of its fingers gently caressed the very edge of it, pressing against where soft wires nestled beneath the overhanging armour of the Nachtreiher Core.

Rusty's body didn't know how to translate that sensation. He felt like Raven's fingers were idly stroking along his diaphragm - almost ticklish, stealing the air out of his lungs, not painful, but not pleasure, but some other intense third thing that had his fingernails leaving grooves in the arms of his cockpit chair.

«Does it hurt?»

If he said yes, Raven would stop immediately, he knew this instinctively. If he said yes, Raven would back off, likely apologise, and then they'd never discuss this strange, heady moment ever again. It was on the tip of Rusty's tongue, to say yes, but it didn't leave him. He sat there, quivering with an indescribable emotion, feeling STALKER gently stroke exposed circuits and Raven touch the very core of him, and mumbled some sort of half-garbled: "Nno- no, it's- sensitive."

«Bad sensitive?»

Rusty made an ambigious noise.

«Bad sensitive?» Raven repeated.

"No," Rusty breathed out, and bit the inside of his cheek when Raven pushed his hand higher - deeper - into him, until that 'palm-cupping-his-heart' sensation returned. His pulse spiked again. He watched the numbers shoot up, dizzy, and heard/felt the slight scratch of STALKER's finger stroking along the underside of his Core block.

It was- indescribable. The intense third thing again. Rusty's brain didn't know how to handle the feeling of a hand so tenderly, gently, cradling his insides - shrapnel inside his waist his ass how was any of this his waist - his pulse shot higher, beepbeepbeepbeep, a light blinked in the corner, yet Raven didn't back off and Rusty didn't tell him to stop.

He was so conscious, so conscious, of Raven's hand inside of him, of STALKER's hand below him, the slight vibration of that finger scratching along the bottom of the Core block, reverbing through military grade metal and making the cockpit quiver, of feeling Raven's finger gently stroke along the underside of his pounding heart, making weird little lights sort of flicker in his vision and the pulse numbers on his HUD go all funny and weird. Oxygen levels were coming back low. That was odd.

And as Rusty felt himself teeter towards something horribly intense yet amazingly new, STALKER's hand dropped away and Raven's hand left his insides. STEEL HAZE swayed dangerously.

«Very sensitive,» Raven said, resting a hand against STEEL HAZE's shoulder to steady him. «We should probably start small.»

"Wha." Rusty mumbled deliriously.

STALKER patted his shoulder in what could arguably be called affection. «Take a moment.»

Rusty did take a moment. Actually he took several moments, but once his wits returned from whatever zonked out plane of existence they had flown to, he felt nothing but self-conscious embarrassment.

"Uh, really sorry about that..." he mumbled as they returned to the rendevouz point, leaving the smoking oil refinery behind them. "I'm not quite sure what happened there."

«It's okay. It's intense the first few times,» Raven reassured him. «We'll just build it up. We can start with holding hands and going from there.»

"Um." Holding hands was... "That's really... tame...?"

«We'll see.»

-

It turned out holding hands was a little more intense than he thought it'd be.

#armored core #armored core 6 #viv621 #v.iv rusty #c4 621 #uhhh idk what this is #mech groping i guess? #raven's being a freak as per usual

[nikki-ships]

I have been given confirmation that my smut is good, so I guess I will post it now lmao

It is 100% self-insert and self-indulgent, only warnings I can think of is for degradation.

Summary: It’s been a rough couple of weeks for Nikki.  She’s been drowning in college, group projects, homework, and, most recently, final exams.  This has limited the time she’s been able to spend with her two favorite bots, both casually and intimately.  It has also raised her stress levels drastically.  Fortunately, Ratchet and Wheeljack know just how to take back their time with her and help her relax.

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

The pace is anything but gentle as metal hips clash against much softer ones, pushing the much smaller human into the mass of pillows propping her against the mech behind her.  Every movement elicits soft but sharp sounds from her, while the servos gliding over her body make her squirm against them both.

Ratchet coos softly over her from behind, telling her what a good girl she’s being.  Large servos slide over her exposed skin, groping at her breasts and hips.  Nikki moans softly at his touches, wanting so badly to arch into them, but it’s impossible to do with Wheeljack holding her thighs in place, his grip loosening and tightening with every movement.

The way the wrecker talks to her is the exact opposite of Ratchet’s praises.  His words are mean, degrading, and they make her clench around him so so good.

“You fucking slut, you like that don’t you?”

“That’s a good girl.  Taking it so well.  You’re doing so good.”

The conflicting treatments have her head spinning.  Soft moans slip through pursed lips after every word, every name, everything.

She’s not the only one struggling with her words, however.  Every time Wheeljack thrusts into her, Nikki and the pillows she’s resting on grind against Ratchet’s interface panel.  The friction has him stumbling over his words here and there, but he manages to hold his composure together.  Mostly.  The blue blush dusting his faceplate would not go unnoticed.

“What’s a matter, Sunshine?  The little whore’s lust rubbing off on you?”  Wheeljack’s tone is snide and taunting as ever.

Ratchet scoffs, snapping at Wheeljack about the nickname as he has many times before.

“C’mon, Doc, I doubt a filthy little thing like her mind servicing you, too.”

The heat building up in his frame is almost unbearable, and it only gets worse when he looks back down at Nikki.  Her eyes are unfocused, she looks completely blissed out.  He’s supposed to be helping her relax, allowing her the chance to let all the college-related stress melt away…  but she’s never hesitated to help him before.

Wheeljack chuckles, halting his thrusts.  Nikki’s eyes come back into focus as she whines needily, squirming against his spike.  Wordlessly begging for him to keep going.  A pathetic, teary-eyed pout takes over her face when he pulls out of her completely.

Servos move from her thighs to her waist, lifting her off of her pillow pile.  She’s placed back down on her stomach, this position allowing her to see the state Ratchet is in.  His spike is fully pressurized, dripping in transfluid and twitching even with minimal friction.  Nikki doesn’t hesitate to take him in her mouth.

The medic’s servo quickly finds itself on her head, caressing her face gently as she works her lips over the tip and gradually down the shaft.  Soft groans fill the room, mostly from Ratchet but they can hear muffled moans coming from Nikki, too.

Wasting no time, Wheeljack pushes back in, relishing in how her cunt squeezes around him.  “Scrap.  She’s so much wetter now that there’s a spike in her mouth.  What a filthy slut.”

Another muffled moan follows his comment.  As Wheeljack rails her from behind, Ratchet focuses on Nikki’s face.  How her eyes get more and more unfocused as her cunt and throat fill more and more with their spikes.  It’s strange how it suddenly flips a switch in him.  Praising someone so desperate to get fucked into a brainless mess is so… difficult.

He won’t take to calling her filthy and disgusting the way Wheeljack does.  She is still such a good girl, taking their spikes so well.  However, there is a title more befitting than simply ‘girl.’

The servo on her head grows a bit more forceful, guiding her down his spike.  Teary eyes look up at him, still barely able to focus for long.  “That’s it.  Such a good little slut.”

Her eyes roll back slightly, cunt clenching around Wheeljack’s spike once again.  He comments on how much tighter she got when Ratchet called her that, urges him to do it again.  Being called a filthy whore and a good slut, degraded and praised in a derogatory manner, all on top of being railed from both ends pushes Nikki over the edge.  Her two lovers are soon to follow.

She trembles in the aftermath, tears finding their way down her face.  At first, they’re scared they may have pushed her too far.  Wheeljack takes to cleaning off her face gently with a warm cloth while Ratchet gathers clean pillows and a heating pad.

“You guys didn’t do anything wrong,” Nikki eventually speaks up, “the orgasm was just… really intense.”

After getting cleaned up and making sure she wouldn’t be uncomfortable or in any kind of pain, Nikki snuggles up between the two of them on the berth.  She’s comfortable, warm, and satisfied.  And so very ready for a long, long nap.

#nikki writing #lemon #💕🌡i've got a bad case of loving you💕🌡 #💣💥feelin' bombastic💥💣 #thanks sugar bat for always reading my nasty indulgent writings and letting me know it's good #I'm still meh about it but I trust your judgement more than my own lkl #*lol

[riddleredcoats]

“You’ve fucked up for the last time!” + bellamort

Prompt - You’ve fucked up for the last time! 

Thank you for asking, I hope you like it (whoever you are!)

Rated: T bordering on M, for a little foreplay. I need fluff after that last one I did.  (She said like an idiot but still found herself crying at the middle of it)

Sorry, this was so late, XD. Starting a new school year put a damper on things. This was actually ready a couple days ago but needed serious editing.

The cool night air of an otherwise hot summer day was like a balm on Bellatrix feverish skin. She bit her blood-red-painted lips to keep an uncharacteristic girly giggle contained deep in her chest and tilted her long neck to give better access to the man’s lips on her pulse. She moaned when his tongue swiped against her skin and his mouth climbed to nibble her ear, his hands, however, descended from her waist to sneak up her legs beneath the knee-length black skirt.

The cold skin of his palms rubbed against her burning hot tights, “Oh,” She whimpered loudly, grey eyes closed tightly, unaccustomed with the carnal desire that was warming her veins starting and spreading to wherever he touched her, “Oh, Tom.”  

He smirked into her neck, although it didn’t last long as she instinctively bucked against him. He groaned from deep within his chest and moved his mouth from her neck to her lips, giving her feverish hot kisses, deep and hard and all-consuming, leaving her dizzy and high and wanting oh, so much more. He pushed her further against the outside wall of her parents’ Manor set against the path that gave way to her mother’s Greek-inspired garden, the wall that stood right beneath her bedroom’s balcony. If he wanted, and oh how she hoped he wanted, they could easily sneak up her bedroom and finally, finally, finally…

Abruptly, he pulled himself away from her, leaving her cold against the summer breeze. Bellatrix could feel a pout starting to form on her kiss-swollen-lips as she knew the routine by now. They’d been…- well, she hesitated to say dating, but really there wasn’t any other word for it – dinners at fancy restaurants, private lunches during his lunch break, nights at some library or another, political rallies for his movement hosted by friends and acquaintances - … So, yes, they’d been dating and sharing fantastic – mind-blowing, breath-taking, unbelievably scorching – kisses for a couple of months now and every night he brought her home they ended up like this; endlessly kissing while he teased and groped and seemed to lose himself a little more each time. But he always, always, always – frustrating, how consistent he was – stopped before he fully took her.  

She sighed, despairing and needy, oh, so needy. She felt him chuckle against her mouth, this infuriating man who held so much power in his hands that it made her literally tremble with unrestrained desire. She gasped, half-panting, half-mad at the vibrations his laugh caused to ripple through her.

“Please.” Oh, he’d be so smug that she’d begged, but she couldn’t help herself. Her desire to have him had only climbed higher and higher in these last months. She ready. Oh, she was so ready.

Unfortunately, he seemed to disagree.

He put some distance between them and exhaled painfully, as if it tortured him to do so, “We can’t.”

Bellatrix groaned at the predictable answer but instead of being difficult and trying to press against him, Bellatrix decided instead to take him in. He was older than her, certainly, clear by the scarce lines in his face and the greying black hair, but he was so handsome, still. Dark eyes staring deep into her grey, sharp lines across his jaw stained by her lipstick, perfect lips swollen from their kisses, hair left in disarray by her frenzied hands. She took a step back and simply admired his good looks, as she often did much to his amusement and unbearable ego.

She’d never forget the first time she saw his face proper; intelligent eyes and power flowing all around his delicate features and when he ‘d first spoke to her she’d forgotten her damn name, he had then kissed her hand, setting every part of her aflame. They’d started a conversation and for the first time in her life, it was Bellatrix who struggled to keep up, no one had ever matched wits with her the way he did.  

He was near penniless, obviously, she had gathered that much from the conversation, but she continued talking to him, accepting even a dinner invitation that had doubled as their first date. She had left the restaurant even more enthralled by him. She had quickly summarized their chances in her head after the first date: One; She was a girl in a world in which her only job was to secure a good, profitable match, her father had no sons, so it fell to her to find an advantageous match and Tom was penniless and a half-blood, but that didn’t make her want him any less. Two; She had a match already, technically, and although Rodolphus fell below her family’s standards he was a good match. Three; She was a Black and that would elevate his status, she’d have to be naïve to set that aside, but if she gave him legitimacy, he gave her freedom.

In the end, she had decided he was worth the trouble. Not enough to elope, certainly, since it would ruin both their plans, but enough to try.

“You know,” Bellatrix smirked up at him, coyly, “My bedroom is right upstairs.”

He groaned, “You’re young, still.” He rumbled against her, despondent. And as lustful as her.

“Not that young.” She replied with a wicked look in her eyes, and moved her legs against his, feeling his attraction to her as strong as hers if the hardness against her stomach was any indication. He groaned again and bent his head to crash their lips together in a lust-filled kiss. She whimpered and near downright mewled against his heavy, demanding mouth and felt him close to giving in, for he was moving against her with a fervour that betrayed his intentions perfectly. Her hands instinctively rose to fiddle with his tie, but he seemed to regain his senses.  

He grabbed her hands tightly, “Wicked little thing.” He whispered, his lips brushing against hers with every syllable he uttered. Bellatrix leaned up trying to steal another kiss, but he pulled away from her at the last millisecond, so close that she felt a whisper of his lips on hers, and she sighed when he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed away a little. Tom took a deep breath, to steady himself most likely, before speaking, “We have to stop.” It was clear how it pained him to say so. “Until Rodolphus’ contract passes to your sister, we can’t… I-It’s too much…” He uncharacteristically stumbled through words, his desire truly making itself known, he took another deep breath, he took a mech of her hair and stroked it, “We need to restrain ourselves. You can’t break your marriage contract, your father-…”

Bellatrix smiled brightly up at him. That was her big surprise for the night; she had no marriage contract to break, because finally after two months of trying and trying, she had managed to direct Rodolphus’ contract to her sister, Andromeda, who had always gotten along swimmingly with Rodolphus. Her daddy had been fondly exasperated by her scheming and her reluctance to get a fiancé, but when she said she had someone in view, he had relaxed and sent her on her own merry way with the promise to remain pure until her engagement, at least.  Which now really was, thankfully, only a few days away.

At her smile, he’d paused. He’d guessed then, of course. His intelligence was as attractive as his body and his power.  

“Did you-…?” He didn’t finish the sentence, there was no need to, her smiling eyes and bitten lower lip twisted up in a smirk were enough of an answer for him. He picked her up again, and then ravenously crashed their lips again. As his tongue pressed voraciously against her lips, Bellatrix realized with a needy moan then that he’d been holding back all this time. He grabbed her with a force, lifting her by her ass and pinning her up against the wall, Bellatrix moaned as his hand felt heavy on her tights and climbing up to caress her. But if his hand felt heavy and hard, it didn’t compare to the heaviness of his kisses and how he thrust his tongue down her throat.  

Merlin, it was as if something had suddenly shifted now that they were free, now that they could – and would – marry. The very ground on which they stood was shaky, but with him, she felt as if he was the ground beneath her feet. The solid base from which she’d build her life.

“We need-…” Bellatrix laughed as he kissed her again, impeding her from completing her sentence. She tried again, “We need to-…” Another kiss. Bellatrix, tilted her head so his next kiss was on her jaw, instead of her already swollen lips, she breathed heavily “We need to tell Daddy.” She finally got the words out, but to no avail, it seemed since all he did was kiss her lips again.

“Tomorrow.” He guaranteed, between heavy kisses, “We’ll tell him tomorrow.” And then, the blasted man put a little distance between them, making her sigh in protest and – unfortunately – resignation at her fate. “You can wear your ring when we tell him.” She smiled at that, she had wanted to put it on from the moment he had presented the ring to her on a little black box.

Bellatrix took a step back, willing herself not to drag him upstairs by the neck, “Alright. I need to go up, I’m already late.” She lamented the fact that at her age she still had a curfew, but just because she had to be in her bedroom it didn’t mean she couldn’t be with her… fiancé, “Unless you want-…” She gestured upstairs.

“No. We’re so close. No.” He repeated. With a heavy, “If I want to win this war, I need your father’s support.” His tone was nearly apologetic, although she was aware he was only sorry he couldn’t have her now. “We can’t risk doing anything to jeopardize his support.”

“Daddy wouldn’t-…”

“You’re your father’s favourite daughter,” He responded, dryly, well aware of what that preference had brought them, “He would blow a casket if he found you… sullied in any way.” Bellatrix glare told him exactly what she thought of his choice of words. “I-… Well, I mean-…” He stumbled through his words, only she left him like that. Impossible woman.

Blessedly, Bellatrix stopped his flailing about, “I know what you mean.” She pouted, “Fine.” With that she turned away, ready to climb up the little hidden ladder that gave way to her bedroom. Just as she was about to start her climb, he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him for one last kiss. It was a mere brushing of lips, but it still calmed her temper well enough. When he pushed her away he had a mischievous smile on his lips, as if terribly proud of himself to be able to deter her temper. She hmphed, unimpressed, and threw a half-hearted glare his way, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” He echoed and took a step back, letting her climb up the ladder.

Bellatrix spared him one last look before climbing up, and as she did so, she bit her lip, amused. She could his eyes on her. Well, on her ass to be specific, it was terribly flattering really. Once she reached her balcony she managed, after some maneuvering due to her tight skirt, to slip into solid ground. As soon as her feet were steady, she rushed to the railing just in time to see him turn to leave.

Bellatrix leaned against the railing and watched him disappear into the forest that surrounded her Manor. Only when he was out of sight did she finally turn to enter her bedroom. She pushed open the grand French doors and just as she was about to cast some light into the room a voice spoke low from the darkness, making Bellatrix jump.

“You’re late.” The words sounded slurred, barely understandable.

Despite this Bellatrix was barely to decipher just who exactly had spoken.

“Daddy!” She yelped and let out a little chuckle, “You scared me.” She breathed, “You do there are candles in the room, right? You could have lit one, for heaven’s sake.”

He gruntled and with a flick of his wrist the candles in her room came to life, casting a glow all around him. Bellatrix closed her eyes tightly willing her eyes to adjust to the light, and when she opened them again, she had to bite her tongue to not yelp in surprise. Her father looked a mess. He’d been drinking, that much was obvious but by itself not overly concerning, he had probably been celebrating with Lancaster Lestrange their new-found match. However, when Bellatrix looked at his accusing grey eyes, she knew differently.  

He seemed to have been stewing in his bad temper all night. Bellatrix tilted her head at her father, unsure as to why he was looking at her with such eyes. It scared her, how deranged he looked; his grey eyes – almost like a reflection of her own – were wide and wild, the iris barely visible under the emotional torrent that swirled all around him, his black hair was in disarray and mussed by what seemed to be his own hands, his suit was wrinkled and stained with what smelled like whiskey.

Cygnus snarled, “Lancaster saw you with your tongue shoved down some man’s throat.”

Bellatrix looked baffled at her father, “Yeah, you knew I was dating someone, Daddy.”

Cygnus spoke through gritted teeth, “Tell at least that you’re still pure, you wretched girl.” Bellatrix startled at his accusation, and Cygnus spoke through his daughter’s sputtering, “Tell me you haven’t fucked up that badly.” Bellatrix could seem to form words, her father’s implication honestly insulting to the point of speechlessness. Cygnus then rose his voice high enough to make the picture frame on Bellatrix’ desk tremble, “TELL ME YOU’RE STILL PURE!”

“I AM!” She yelled back, unaccustomed with her father’s strict tone, “Daddy, for Gods’ sake, I am still pure. It was just a kiss!” She explained, her hands animated her frustration, “And why the hell does Lancaster Lestrange even care, exactly? The contract is with Meda now.”

That seemed to set Cygnus’ temper aflame.

“You’ve fucked up for the last time!” Cygnus pointed at his daughter, furiously moving in her direction. Bellatrix, fearful of father for the first time in her life, took a step back and flinched back into the wall. “Bellatrix, this can’t happen again… No!” He roared, and the entire estate shook under its Lord’s temper, “This won’t happen again, hear me, girl?!” He approached her and trapped her against the wall, got close enough that when he snarled at her, she could feel droplets of spittle on her face, “You will not be a disappointment, my girl, oh no, no, no!” He seemed deranged, “You won’t embarrass the family any further!” He grabbed her arm tightly and dragged her even closer to him and roughly lifting her head to look her in the eyes.

Then, he suddenly stopped. He stopped as soon as he took the fear in her grey eyes – eyes so resembling his and his other daughter. Bellatrix saw, panicked, her father’s face twisted into a grimace and his grey eyes filled with unshed tears, and then Cygnus Black, tall and strong – a titan among men, really –, suddenly fell into his knees, sobbing and clutching his daughter tightly to him. He buried his head in her stomach, pain and misery irradiating off of him like a wave.

“D-Daddy!” She yelled, rendered utterly speechless at the display. Her father, however, didn’t listen so deep in misery he seemed to be. Bellatrix, worried for her mother or oh, Gods above, no, please, please, not her sisters!  She tried to shake him off his hysteria, “Daddy! What’s wrong?!” She desperately tried disentangling them to no avail. She realized that she had to let him calm himself down, she aided him by carefully rubbing his back, the way he had done when one of her nightmares had plagued her mind while young.

When he seemed far more in control, and yet still clung to her, Bellatrix tried again.

“For Gods’ sake, tell me what’s wrong.” She whispered, afraid to set him off, “Is it mum?” He remained quiet and unresponsive. Her fear rose, if it wasn’t her mother…, “Narcissa?!” Bellatrix gasped through her youngest sister’s name. But when her father said nothing, she knew. She knew, even if she didn’t want to believe it, and she managed rasped out a resigned, “…Andromeda?”

That had made a rise out of him.

He stood abruptly and she let out a cry, as a result, he pushed her back roughly and as he did so, he towered over her and then spoke, vitriol in his every effect from his tone to his red-rimmed, mad grey eyes which looked to be raging like one of Zeus’ legendary thunderstorms.

“That name passes through our mouths no longer.” Bellatrix felt an icy grip to her heart. It couldn’t be. Her sister wouldn’t have. She refused to believe it. Her father’s wrath, however, told her otherwise, “From now on,” magic rose in the room as Cygnus Black – second son of the Black golden generation, Heir to Britain’s oldest Noble Family, Inheritor of titles that rightfully belonged to them for a millennium now – vowed before his ancestors in that most ancient Estate, “I only have two daughters.”

The ancient magic in that place willed it so and Bellatrix felt a stung in her eyes, knowing without needing to look that the Tapestry in their living room was missing another name that night.

Her father rose, his long robes billowing about him from both his magic and the wind coming from her open balcony. Her father made way to storm out of her room as Bellatrix stood stock-still, still processing what her sister had done. Her father didn’t need to explain, everyone knew… Her sister had run away with the Mudblood. Bellatrix swayed a little under the heaviness of the situation, the consequences hitting her like a stab wound, one by one each more painful than the last, and she collapsed shell-shocked on the white chaise long that was luckily there to catch her flailing knees.

Her father however, twisted the knife further, “Rodolphus contract now rests with you, daughter. This man you’re seeing… It’s over.” With that he turned and left her alone.

Her thoughts, as they often did, settled on Tom. A fear unlike any other gripped her heart for she knew what had to be done.

The next day…

Bellatrix nodded at Stephan Wilkinson, the guard in the ministry’s office of Accounting and Financing, as she passed the threshold of the fireplace into hall of that part of the Ministry. Stephan knew her well by now, these past months she had come and gone often enough that he didn’t even raise his eyebrow anymore and in fact merely nodded right back at her. She walked to along the brightly lit hallway and as she found herself at the door of his office she swallowed a gulp.

She’d considered delaying it, but knew if she’d done so, she’d never be able to go through with it. Bellatrix took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing, distraught heart but to no avail, there was nothing to be done; her heart had hardened to many things but to this – to him – she knew she’d never be able to, her heart had never done her bidding when it came to him, she doubted it ever would. She knew her fate, to be perpetually in love with a man who wanted her back, but who she could never have.

Her hand gipped tightly the little black box in her hand, the ring he had given her inside, not as fancy as Rodolphus’ own that now adorned her hand, but dearer to her heart than any jewellery, mansion, or thing that Rodolphus could ever give her. The tears that sprung in her eyes were a familiar sting now, all night they fallen down her face, so much so that not even the heavy amount of makeup she was wearing could hide the swollen face and blotchy, red-rimmed eyes. Still, Bellatrix steeled her heart and knocked on the heavy brown door.

“Come in.” His voice sounded cold from the other side of the door, but that was nothing new; he was always cold as ice when at the office. With a last steadying breath she opened the door to his office, and as he looked up, his voice warmed along with his eyes. He spoke her name gleefully, as his lips twisted up to form a barely detectable smile, “Bella.”

His small smile was her undoing.

Bellatrix felt her lips twitch under unbearable misery and grey eyes cloud with unshed tears, she bent her head trying to hide it from him, but he saw it well enough and he knew her well enough. It took him seconds to approach her and even if he didn’t touch her, or didn’t comfort her, his mere presence was enough. It was always enough.

“What’s wrong?” The urgency in his tone seemed to spur something in her. She threw herself into his chest, clinging to him as her tears reached a silent, but grief-stricken, crescendo. He didn’t touch her, didn’t pull her to him and didn’t hug her like one might. He simply let her be inconsolable in her grief. When her sobs settled and his tie was well and truly soaked through with her tears, he asked her again, “Bella, what’s wrong?”

She rose her head from his chest and selfishly – greedily, angrily, agonisingly – gave him their very last kiss. Their lips touched without a plump, her misery making the kiss nothing more than a messy, uncoordinated mash of lips, teeth and tongue. His hands finally rose to touch her; more precisely to touch her shoulders and push her away, unable to withstand her wretched desolation.

She felt him withdraw and an involuntarily muffled howl escaped her raw throat; it wasn’t enough, their last kiss shouldn’t be so, so, so… There were no words left within her to express herself. He withdrew from her with a wince, he wasn’t a stupid man by any means, he knew – had felt in her kiss – their time was over.

“No.” His voice was the one spoke, sounding as icy cold as it first did when she knocked. Now, it was Bellatrix herself flinched. He spoke again, this time his voice rose with a command, “Explain.” Single words were the extent of their ability to communicate under such a gut-wrenching sate.

Bellatrix swallowed the heavy lump in her throat and spoke for the first time since the night before, her voice raw, “Andromeda.”

He straightened himself up. He didn’t need any more than that. Andromeda was gone with her Mudblood, and the consequences were all too clear. A contract was waiting to be fulfilled.

Still, he tried; he tried, one last time, “Marry me, still.” Pleading was perhaps too strong a word, but it didn’t make it any easier to refuse. His intelligent eyes were wide, almost desperate, even if the rest of his face stood stock-still.

“I can’t.” She was steadfast and it broke her to be so, but there was no other choice. Not for her. Her family and its honour would always come first. She had made a pledge to bind herself to Rodolphus and she’d do so, no matter how agonizing it would be. And Tom? Tom simply stood there, his face harder than she’d ever seen it and she forced herself to repeat the words that shattered her soul, “I can’t marry you.” A flinch made itself known in his otherwise stoic face and, oh, he was Tom no longer, not to her anyway, and Bellatrix felt a stab in her heart. He was simply the Dark Lord now. Bellatrix swallowed the tears in her throat and then in the spur of a moment born out of utter desperate misery, knelt, deferent before him, “But I will fight for you, my Lord.”  

After a heavy sigh, his hand settled on black hair, petting her head a detached sort of way, it would be in a way, the only sliver of the burning, whirlwind romance that had claimed their souls.

 ————————-

Oh, I am in a MOOD these days. Again, this was supposed to be a funny little romp where Cygnus discovered Tom/Bellatrix but it ended up taking me here… How fun. (Please kill me)

Also please tell me, does this still count as Bellamort? I think the plot ran away from me.

#bellamort #fanfic #mine #bellatrix black #Voldemort

[seekingjets]

Pre-War StarPrime(Pax) thought...

Orion Pax has run into Starscream before. More than once.

Unfortunately one time in particular was due to Ironhide and Jazz dragging Pax by the moral compass to the edges of Kaon. They want to celebrate his promotion. They want to spoil their favorite Sergeant with gritty energex in chipped canisters. They want to drown him in the sight of swaying frames drawn in organic lines (as is the fashion in Kaon) until Pax might actually slip and be normal for once.

No stuffy student, no longer a twitchy cadet. They want and hope some flirty mech, modified to vibrate under hand, can give their Orion a good time.

Orion is mortified, of course. He's citing regulations and code of conduct all the way past rusty doors. Tossed careless into the throb of overlaid beats. Flashing colors and swinging limbs as the (Bar? Club? Law suit?) carries on in full swing despite his objections. Orion only can sit back in a corner booth, wishing Ironhide could complete his paperwork as swiftly as he procures drinks. Bright, frothy vermilion in cups cold to the touch and static on the tongue.

Jazz is of no help and if he hollers to giggling patrons (with their colors rearranged to highlight obscene carved hips and decorative glyphs delving between glossed thighs) one more time to "come and get it" while motioning to Orion's pelvic area one more time...Orion is going to write up an official reprimand.

This has to qualify as kidnapping. Perhaps even attempted murder (as he will die if he's bullied into drinking one more chunky shot that slithers down his intake and sizzles the tanks.)

They won't let him leave until he's "having fun" but Jazz is quick to sneak off to the dance floor at the first opportunity. Wedged between a broad chest and someone with huffing smokestacks which leaves the cramped club hot and suffocating. Vents whining to filter the smoke and gasping exhales of folded bodies and sticky floors. Lamenting his pride now washed away in the funk and tact clinging to his frame as foreign servos find the audacity to grope what they can as they pass by.

"Ya havin’ fun?” Ironhide grins, mouth damp with drink.

“You’re under arrest.” Orion answers and doesn’t appreciate the deep guff of a laugh in return. No one should be able to make that noise, not when aiding and abetting a crime. He’ll suffer for now, but even as Orion slinks forward to dodge a friendly squeeze from a passerby, he’s preparing for the look of betrayal on Ironhide’s face come the next shift after Pax refuses to complete the administrative portion of their work for his dear friend.

Then Ironhide smacks his waist and it’s like a blunt weapon knocking into his frame, leaves him choking and reeling as his partner motions across the flashing lights and displaced bodies. Orion tensing. Expecting an obvious danger in their reach, ready to lunge at the closest threat...

Instead he spots wings.

The pale frame and violent shine of red effortlessly divides the floor with a confidence Pax is stilling trying to fake. Body paint bright and catching the colorful lights, casting a neon wildfire across strutting wings. The comfortable sway of red hips and matching optics which trail light as they gently survey the world before him.

Casting judgement and finding the offering of the universe wanting before a prideful sneer.

“Well damn, never seen a stock model look so...” ‘Hide trails off, likely because Orion’s mask has snapped shut with a startled hurry. Ironhide doesn’t have much time to question it due to the impending doom as the seeker draws near without much prompting.

“Hi.” Ironhide is a confident mech, strong and stubborn. But pretty things are blinding and he’s certainly distracted by the glossy thigh pressed against their table.

“Buy me a drink.” The seeker orders and doesn’t lift his gaze from Orion’s figure - which only gives Ironhide the wrong idea.

“I’ll take my time.” He winks and shuffles up and out before Pax can drag him back by the scruff. Awkward silence managing to fill the void between the newcomer’s cut smile and Orion Pax sitting at an angle in the booth trying to survive the scalding seeker’s stare.

“Officer Pax.”

“Starscream.” Pax shifts in his seat uncomfortable by far, looking towards the crowd for both Jazz and an exit...finding neither.

“Haven’t seen you since you tried arresting me not a few blocks away.” The seeker pressing pale blue servos on the grimy table, spreading elongated digits until the metal of the table sang with vibration and Orion withdrew further into the booth.

“Haven’t seen you since you shot me resisting arrest.” The bright quirk of Starscream’s smile shouldn’t send his spark to do a funny little pulse, wavering in response to the seeker’s amusement. Orion wasn’t seriously injured but showing up, blasted arm and no suspect in hand, had been a rough day at the station.

Starscream decides it’s perfectly acceptable to sit down, likely realizing how uncomfortable it will make Orion Pax. Body moving in a neat shuffle before falling loud and heavy into the space at Pax’s left. Posture curved towards Orion who wasn’t and never will be a small mech. The edge of his elbow joint tickles the glass of the seeker’s canopy and it feels indecent with the undulating crowds of the dance floor not a stretch away.

“Of all the stuffy cops out there, you’re the last one I would expect to be slumming it.” Starscream speaks and the surrounding space quivers. Perfectly symmetrical face, literally one of hundreds, moving to rest a neat chin against the perfect curl of his own palm. “You know what this club is famous for? I didn’t guess you were into that kind of thing.”

“Not my idea.” Pax answers quickly, then recalculates. Always a danger not to consider each and every one of the criminal’s words before giving too much. Starscream was a mid-level crook with a magician’s touch for getting out of trouble. His rap sheet practically a history lesson in “what not to do”. Yet nothing sticks and nothing ever holds the seeker down. “What kind of thing?”

“Don’t worry,” Starscream and he have history the same way a splinter embedded deep into the under dermal layer has history with its host. Not too much a pain until agitated...but never truly forgotten. “I can tell you’re not having fun.”

“Why are you here?” Stupid question and the seeker finds it funny. Shifting to swing legs up and over Orion’s lap, leaning back into the curve of the booth as he watches with delight the expressions the masked-Pax can run through before settling on slightly disturbed and unsure what to do with his hands.

“Me? Just enjoying the view.”

“Starscream…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about getting shot?” Starscream’s glossa peeks from his mouth, teasing while Pax is left to catch Ironhide’s shape from the bar, giving him two thumbs up for all the wrong reasons. Starscream’s heeled turbine digs into the plating of Orion’s thigh and he wants to relocate the pedes to the floor - but shoving them away would be rude. Surely that’s his only reason for resisting the urge.

“It wasn’t getting shot that upset me.” He responds without thinking and that’s the worst thing you can do in the face of that smile. That all-knowing clever little devil disguised as something warm and pretty you can never own. Orion was distracted by that smile once, let the seeker curl in and hold tight as the loveliest snake in all Cybertron spilled a sob story that had his spark weeping and a flare of protective nature scorching his logical core.

Orion hadn’t noticed at the time of the arrest that Starscream slipped the cuffs. Hadn’t noticed because he was busy with a processor full of heroic acts and flashing white wings fluttering lovely and exotic before him. It was an interesting picture, bulky him with the curvaceous and venom tongued seeker whispering desperate and beautiful all the things a would-be savior wants to hear.

Rookie mistake.

Highlighted by the fact Starscream shot him the moment Orion shuddered with the brush of a mouth against his jaw.

“Oh? That?” Starscream seems to know Orion’s shame, pulls himself closer by the anchor of his legs across Pax’s lap. He’s clearly no more than an obstacle course for him, he’s sure. Orion still allows it somehow, still bewitched by that pretty thing in the wild night who whimpered for his help with a stunning act. “You can’t still be mad about that?”

“I’m off-duty.” Orion tries cutting him off, face guard secure across his features and hopefully that gives a sense of disinterest. Of false fortification against the seeker who is all but curled in his lap, knees brushing intimate and familiar against Orion’s side. “But were I not…”

“Oh officer!” Starscream gasps and a few lingering patrons turn their gaze in voyeuristic curiosity. “I’ve been good little jet, I promise.”

“You?” Pax chuckles despite himself, wondering if Starscream can see the grin he so desperately wishes to hide from the world. (Not the world. Just from Starscream who has a way of looking at you with the promise of wanting and enjoying anything he sees.) “Unlikely.”

“You’re handsome when you smile.” Optics flicker to the mask and dim when it remains in existence. Gathering himself up and wings stretch wide against the cramped space. Red lights of his gaze blurred and streaking across the flowing lights causing him to appear ethereal in the flashing room. “You know, it’s a shame you won’t come to play without your friends dragging you. I think we could have some fun.”

“I’m still an officer of the law.”

“We all have our flaws.” He purrs and Orion can feel it against his field which settles hungry over the seeker’s frame. Resonating and responding. Sending a gentle pulse to work its way up Orion’s back and nestle deep into his over-extended processor. “Maybe next time.”

“Likely not.” Orion finds his voice lacking as the other rises to stand, heel digging into the seat between Pax’s thighs with expectation. Forcing him to accommodate the change and out of instinct Pax reaches to cup the backs of blue detailed knees and ensure the jet’s stability.

Starscream stands tall and warm above him, a bouncer or bartender yelling in his direction to “sit the frack down” as the pede between his leg ghosts intimate plating. Devious and curled smile worn like a crown, just as dangerous as the rest of him.

“Well then, you better get me in cuffs next time.”

He almost answers eagerly, slouching grip as the seeker dips and hops down from the booth - ignoring the bartender’s scathing reprimand for walking on the furniture. Giving an impolite motion to emphasis how little he cares. The thrumming crowd and blinding lights agree with Starscream, all chaos and motion as he gives a final glance over the delicate wing before parting the crowd once more - vanishing from sight in the shifting bodies and hungry stares.

Orion exhales a sound he hadn’t known he was clutching, both proud and mournful of the brief encounter. The officer in him knowing what a danger the seeker was...the dreamer thrilled by it. He hardly acknowledges his partner’s return, Ironhide grinning from gear to gear as he plops down in the booth. Elbowing Pax with a proud laugh that is nothing compared to Jazz’s struck expression when he’s finally reeled from the dance floor to ensure Pax survived.

“It’s nothing.” Orion lies, shrugging off ‘Hide’s assumptions or Jazz’s disappointment that he didn’t follow the seeker out. “It’s not like that.” He assures, hoping the display at least would give him room to encourage their departure from the wild atmosphere.

“Hey man, I’m just glad he wasn’t causing trouble.” Jazz chuckles, chugging something bright and green from thin tubes brought to him by star-speckled fans of his dance floor performance. “Pretty thing like that? Seems evil.”

“No, he just...came to say hi?” Orion guesses. He’s not versed in what a  havoc-hungry seeker might get out of crawling into the lap of the very cop who tried to arrest him on multiple occasions. Perhaps there’s a challenge he can’t understand. Perhaps he’d like to. But just stopping in to “say hi” wasn’t a very Starscream-like behavior....

“He stole from you didn’t he?” Jazz waits until Orion checks his accounts, gagging at the multiple digits withdrawn and the lingering signs of a proximity hack subtle but still there. Like a rough edge against his coding as grating as the seeker’s voice.

“That...little…” Orion was already lunging over the table before the bartender could complain, heavy body shaking the floor as he moves broad and fast towards the direction of Starscream’s swift escape, Only hoping he can catch him before taking flight.

Handcuffs at the ready.

#starprime #optimus prime/starscream #longpost #kinda #iono how to tag fics here #oh how about never ever ever edited? #seems legit #the read more better work #scriptjet