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#people to be either worried about or feared to be sure
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"Friends with feelings" - Luke Hughes x Reader
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Summary: In which forgetting a glass of water before bed might just be the best thing you've ever done. Based on this blurb.
Warnings: Kissing, a lil ass grabbing, alludes to self-pleasuring, mentions of abs, nipples and pretty curls.
A/N: Hi! It's been a while since I've written a longer fic (it's 5.5K words, that's a lot for me HAHA) like this, and I would be sososososo very appreciative of any feedback at all<3 Also, I've written Luke slightly differently than I usually do, a little bit more cocky and confident and probably a bit more like how he'd be with his actual friends/ a girl he's liked for a while and is close with, but anywassss, I hope you enjoy! __________________________
Usually, you like to think you're a person with little to no regrets, always finding a way to appreciate the memory or use the situation as a valuable life lesson.
Not bothering to go downstairs and get a glass of water before you got into the air mattress on the floor next to Jess, your best friend and designated roommate for the week, though? That's probably the biggest regret of your life. Or, at least that's how it feels when you wake up at two-thirty in the morning, mouth dryer than the Sahara (the effect of a few too many beers and cups of Pink Whitney trying to exit your system, no doubt). The last two days have mostly consisted of varying types of drinking; day drinking, night drinking, drinking games, you name it, but that also always seems to be the case when your college friend group meets up over summer break.
This year, Luke Hughes, despite not actively being in college anymore but still a valued member of the friend group, has so graciously been allowed to borrow his big brothers' lake house for the week, saving your group money on an Airbnb and the struggle of finding something big enough to accommodate ten people. Despite not having enough rooms for everyone to get their own (hence the air mattress and the sharing of a room with four girls), the lake house is by far better than whatever cramped shoebox of a house Mark and Ethan managed to book you into last year.
Truth be told, you were thankful for Luke even asking his brothers in the first place, especially since you had been walking around with a slight fear of not getting to see him this summer, considering the whole NHL-Star-Rookie-Thing. You and Luke had always had a weird thing going on, good friends, maybe slightly more but also...not?
 The youngest Hughes had never made a move on you, despite people telling you on multiple occasions that he "definitely has a thing for you" and that "it's obvious you like each other". And sure, you hadn't chanced your luck either, too worried about a possible rejection, that people were overanalyzing his feelings and it all would end up one awkward mess you would then have to navigate on top of your broken heart and bruised ego.
So, Luke and you stayed just friends until his inevitable departure to the big league, your daily coffee meetups now replaced by the occasional call or Facetime.
 Despite the inconsistent calls, your string of texts never seemed to waiver.
 Luke telling you about the smallest, seemingly insignificant, updates in his life, you complaining about school and the dad-joke competitions, all came together to silence the voice inside your head yelling at you that he'd forget you into nothing more than the faintest of whispers.
Nevertheless, it's nice to see him again, to hear his voice and his laugh, and to see his smile in real life and not through a tiny pixelated screen. The way you had fallen straight back into your old rhythm is nice too, if you're being honest.
Combined with the presence of your other most precious friends, the amazing weather and having the big lake house all to yourselves, you can't be happier about how great this summer is going.
Well, except for one teeny, tiny, insignificant thing: seeing him again made you realise your feelings for him hadn't disappeared one singular bit, as you have otherwise spent months trying to convince yourself and your friends off. Every touch, laugh, look into his eyes and comments from your friends about how "close the two of you look" disguised as friendly banter throws you off your game, making you nervous and self-conscious about how much your feelings are showing and if he notices. You're still debating with yourself if you want him to or not.
But that is also a lot of deep thoughts considering the time of the night, and as five minutes of laying wide awake turn into ten (mainly contemplating the pros and cons of getting up), you finally decide to do something about your predicament. You're hardly going to be able to fall back asleep now anyway, the dryness of your mouth combined with the constant quiet psst of the air slowly leaking out of the mattress beneath you and thoughts of your crush coming together in a lovely way of torture you like to call sleep deprivation.
Pushing the duvet aside and trying to make the least amount of noise as you rise, you decide to forgo the effort of putting any additional clothing on besides your oversized t-shirt and panties (because, really, who would be up at this hour?) and walk on your tippy toes towards the door. Slow, slow, slowly you turn the golden knob, freezing instantly when a loud click echoes throughout the otherwise dead silent room.
"Where are you going?" Jess mumbles, face pressed into her pillow, making the voice slightly incoherent.
"Water," you whisper back, hoping to not wake any of your other friends, could you help it. A brief pause leaves you wondering if Jess is even actually awake, but then her sheets rustle and she hums. After a few seconds, a mumble meant to sound like Bring me some comes from her general direction, your best friend no doubt already crossing back over the border to dreamland before the sentence is fully out. You nod in confirmation, not sure why considering she can't see you in the dark, and once more move slowly and quietly when opening the door.
The feeling of success from not waking anyone else doesn't last long, though, replaced by remorse of not at least finding some socks. Silently cursing the Hughes Brothers and trying not to yelp as your feet leave the warm fluffy comfort of the guest bedroom and are instead met by the cold hardwood floor of the hallway, you try to navigate your way to the kitchen through the still-unfamiliar house.
 Despite it being your second night here, the layout of the upstairs interior still confuses you, even more so in the dark, and it takes you a while longer than it would in daylight to find the correct staircase. Which, by the way, seems a ridiculous thing to even have. What house, what people need not one, not two, but three whole staircases? It's like those idiots (affectionate) want their guests to get lost.
 You're still grumbling about the absurd amount of staircases when you turn the corner into the huge eat-in kitchen, foregoing turning on the lights, and your faux annoyance only fueled by the water glasses of course having to reside in the top cabinet. The poor brothers receive a string of new curses.
Ever the problem solver, you swing one leg over the white marble counter, plant both hands on the cold stone, pray the limited hours in the gym working on your biceps could just be a little help, and count to three before hoisting yourself onto the counter. With it taking far more effort than you're proud of, your knees hit the marble, the wood of the beige cabinets scratching against your palms as they close around it for balance. So far so good.
 Despite a fair amount of wobbling, you manage to grab a glass, choosing the one looking most like it will help bring your ice-cold-water-chug-in-the-middle-of-the-night desires to life.
 "I was planning on asking if you need help, but this is far more amusing to watch," a voice brings you out of your deep concentration on your mission, startling you and having your neck turning so fast a whiplash almost sounds. Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide and cheeks heating up faster than the new induction stove your mom was recently raving about to you.
Because there Luke stands, not only proving your nonchalant dismissal of anyone being awake wrong but also making you incredibly aware of a few things you'd like to change at this very moment. Like the fact you're currently perched on top of not his, but his brothers' marble counter, gripping a glass like it's a precious painting stolen from a gallery. Or maybe like how his stare, amused and holding your own, ever so often dipping down a few inches, reminds you how you aren't wearing pants. With that realisation, you drop your arms, hoping the t-shirt is long enough to provide you with some sort of modesty. A sort of half-smirk paints his lovely face, eyes shining with amusement, as he leans against the archway into the kitchen.
Mouth opening and closing a few times, you try your best to come up with something witty, anything to not let it show how his mere presence in the room affects you - or how you feel a little guilty for sneaking around in the middle of the night, despite his instance of make yourselves at home!
"How long have you been standing there?" you land on instead.
 A hint of accusation laces your words like he's the one who should be ashamed in this situation.
Luke cocks his head to one side, sleep-riddled messy curls bouncing a little at the motion, drawing your attention to them and the way you would really, truly, like to run your fingers through them. They've grown to the perfect length since he sent you a picture of the fresh cut earlier this summer, still holding the mullet form but longer overall, only adding to his attractiveness.
 "Long enough to watch you calculate how to climb the counter," you jump at his words, not having noticed how he's slowly been stalking towards you, now across from you, leaning against the island parallel to the counter you still reside on. Crossing his arms over his chest, Luke carefully watches as you gently place the glass down next to you like this is the most intriguing yet amusing thing he's seen in a while. The remaining steps of the plan don't involve accidentally splintering a glass into tiny little pieces, so you're playing it safe, okay?
Deciding to ignore him, you focus on the next task at hand: getting off the counter. Or, at least turning around. You sorta manage to do it without much damage, the only victim a small pot with salt falling over after contact with your knee, leaving a trail of the white mineral on the blank surface.
"Not helping a damsel in distress isn't very gentlemanly of you," you say matter-of-factly once you've managed to manoeuvre around on the limited space, finally facing him without having to turn your neck in an uncomfortable direction.
 Luke simply shrugs at your words, his chain, one you gifted him, you realise with gleeful pleasure, catches in the moonlight shining through the window, in return making your breath catch in your throat. It has you questioning if he's been wearing it since Christmas when you gave it to him, or if he just recently thought to put it on. Maybe to make you think he enjoys the present, wearing it in your presence and all. Or perhaps, it's been a permanent fixture around his neck since the cold months?
 Could the silver jewellery be joining him at games? On road trips, in the shower, in his bed- electricity shoots through your mind as it wanders too far, conjuring up images of him in bed, but soon turning sour at the thought of him sharing those sheets. The green monster inside you jolts awake, clawing at its bars, begging to be let out and riot at the thought of him with another girl. Somehow, some way, you manage to silence it, throw on some extra locks and throw away the keys.
If Luke wants to sleep with other girls, he can. Now, that's a bitter pill to swallow, but nevertheless, the reality is that he can do anything he wants. After all, he isn't yours.
 He could be, Holden the Hope whispers, caressing your mind with lovely images of shared confessions of love, kisses of adoration and tangling in sheets.
 Don't let flowers bloom in the false spring, Reese the Realism scolds, burning the images with a snap of her fingers.
"You're not a damsel," he finally says, clearing his throat like the words hurt him to sound out. Molten eyes meet yours, so green and distracting that you don't even notice yourself leaning forward, less than a centimetre, but enough to make the fun little thing called gravity suddenly decide it wants to play. Fate, or maybe just pure clumsiness, seemingly joins in, giving you the final push, and before you know it, your arms are flailing, your body unable to stop the descent towards the floor.
Strong arms move quickly, engulfing your waist and bringing you to a stop, steadying you against the counter with the added press of a body against yours. "Just in distress then?" your voice comes out breathy and unsteady, craning your neck to look up at him, the closeness of your bodies rendering you unable to do anything else if you want to see the self-satisfied smirk on his face, obviously proud of his heroic action and quick reflexes (thank you, hockey).
 And you do, gosh do you want to stare at any and all expression he makes for the rest of his, and your, life. "You had it under control," he drawls, noticing your body shaking at the same time you do. His first instinct seems to be to tighten his arms around you, muscles twitching at the motion. You hope your peeking isn't noticeable.
Instead of thirsting over your friend's arms, you try to focus on not shaking (the near-fall may have shaken you a bit more than you'll willingly admit), grounding yourself in the feel of the cold tile beneath your feet, toes scrunching to limit the contact. On the other hand, you can't help basking in the way Luke's body seems ten degrees hotter than yours, engulfing your body and sending heat throughout it- okay, maybe that isn't the best thing to focus on either.
"Yeah, until I fell."  "Can't all be perfect."
A smile threatens to break free on your lips at the lighthearted banter returning to your conversation, willing you out of your Luke-induced haze and giving you enough strength to push him away with a soft palm flat in the square centre of his chest. Mentally, push him away, that is. Physically, it would have been impossible without his compliance.
A funny look flashes briefly across his sharp face, something looking a lot like disappointment, but the likelihood of you misjudging that is high. The mop of curls dances once more as he shakes his head, letting that gorgeous lopsided grin out of its box and completely disarming you. The executive board of directors in your brain forces you to look away.
"Why are you up, anyways?"
 The inquiry brings you back to your briefly forgotten quest, having you spring into action, hurriedly turning to locate the abandoned glass. Luke snickers at your eagerness but stays silent, awaiting your answer.
"Getting water, overthinking," you explain, keeping it vague, as you turn the tap to cold and wait for it to forget its previously warm preference. The stark sound of running water fills the otherwise quiet kitchen and even quieter house, and you internally wince, hoping it doesn't wake anyone up. You'd be lying if you said that hope doesn't stem from a bit of selfishness, quite like the way this little meet between Luke and you is panning out. Like a little pocket in time, it's almost as if anything goes, anything can be said and maybe, just maybe, anything can be done.
"You?" You interrupt him just before he opens his pouty mouth and asks just what you're overthinking exactly.
 So, maybe not everything can be said, you think, suddenly finding yourself not fully prepared to take the embarrassment of telling him he's a part of the whole not-sleeping thing.
Luke's eyes flicker away as you bring the now-filled glass to your lips, fixating on a spot above your head, suddenly very interested in the cabinet you have yet to close. A few seconds pass before he deems it safe to look at you once more (criteria? unknown) and answers your inquiry.
"Was wondering why a robber would be yelping each time they take a step down the hallway, needed to see I would have to defend the house," he teases, immediately bringing a pout to your face and getting you defensive. Placing the glass back down on the counter with a thump, you close the distance between you and press your pointer finger into the middle of his chest.
"Hey, you guys keep this house concerningly cold!"
 Luke catches your hand in his before your finger can do any more damage to his chest, all amusement flickering out of his eyes as quickly as a gust of wind passing by a fickle flame.
"Yeah..." he trails off, eyes moving downwards, like something's drawing his gaze in and he can't control it the moving of his pupils.
Suddenly, you find yourself acutely aware of the way your nipples have hardened from the low temperature, now straining against the thin material of your sleep shirt and you silently beg, plead and pray like a sinner about to enter hell, that he doesn't notice. Okay, who are you kidding here, he definitely does, he's practically making eye contact with them, but to his credit, though, it looks like he's trying really hard not to. Jaw clenching and unclenching, he almost manages to tear his eyes away each time he tries.
 Hopefully, he thinks it's just from the cold.
If you guys could stop standing attention just because he keeps looking, that would be great, you mentally scold, choosing not to dwell too hard on the fact that A) you're scolding your nipples and B) how Luke can't stop staring.
You decide it means nothing, part B, at least, (you should probably deal with the slightly concerning part A), because Luke is merely a boy and honestly, you should probably be concerned if he didn't stare. Yet, a tiny flicker of hope blooms in your chest, fueled even more so by the way he clears his throat a few too many times to be casual and lets go of your hand to drag his own over his face.
 Your wrist burns from where he held it, branded by him and his touch and god do you wish you could feel that brand everywhere.
Not sure where to go from here, you decide to put him out of his apparent misery and make light of the situation once more.
He almost beats you to talking, though, and your voices blend as you ask, "Well, you've established I'm not out to rob you. Going back to bed?" at the same time Luke asks "This my shirt?"
 You didn't realise it was his, or maybe you did and you didn't realise he would notice the plain fabric once belonging to him. You stole it way back at one of your first visits to his dorm.
"Don't think I can sleep now." "Yes."
Time stops and words seem to have different meanings, the lightheartedness you went for not having the desired effect, only adding to the tension slowly building between you, leaving the air hot and heavy. You're not sure what the change is this summer, and if your mind wasn't currently clouded and preoccupied with having him so close and looking at you like that, you'd probably reason your way into it being the fact you had been a part for months. Seeing him again has surely unlocked a part of your heart, the part wanting to throw caution to the wind and finally feel what it would be like to not be just friends. Seemingly, hopefully, a similar part has been unlocked in Luke's as well.
Summer being his best season didn't help your case either. Luke always looks more relaxed in the warmer months, healthier and more vibrant, the tan he so quickly manages to obtain has you wanting to lick him all over, the sun practically dripping from his skin and his curls, your favourite curls, looking their best. You never fail to notice his happiness in the off-season either. Sure, he loves hockey and he loves playing it all season, you know that, but he's also confessed to you on multiple occasions that the pressure gets to him, residing just under his skin like a rash never quite going away.
Here, at his brothers' lake house, surrounded by his favourite people, he laughs more, smiles more and reminds you more of the boy you knew in those very first few months of your college career. Summer Luke is the real Luke, your Luke and the Luke you so desperately want to pull close and kiss silly.
Yet, it's also the Luke in front of you now, confident and with all the power in his hand, as he, at once, brings you back to your previous question and both of your apparent dilemmas of not being able to sleep.
"I'd challenge you to a game of ping pong to get us tired, but you tend to get loud when you get worked up."
 White, hot flashes of embarrassment fill you up from the inside out, wondering if he's alluding to yesterday's weak moment of self-pleasure. You had allowed yourself it after seeing him shirtless on the boat wakeboarding, the motions making his hard abs twist and turn deliciously, droplets caressing his stomach and- "losing, I mean..." he clarifies, the smirk on his face making a return, hinting that he may or may not know exactly where your mind went just then. He had definitely heard.
Seemingly deciding to cut you some slack, Luke offers you an out. "What do you usually do when you can't sleep?"
 It doesn't help, not at all, because now you're thinking of your usual way of tiring yourself out, and that looks a lot like what he apparently heard you doing last night. The pink on your cheeks deepens to a healthy red and Luke no doubt notices, judging by the small grin appearing on his face. You huff out a nervous laugh, one that quickly dies out as a yawn stretches over Luke's face. He wipes it off, or at least tries to, by bringing a hand to his mouth. The motion makes his shirt rise the tiniest of bits, just as you open your mouth to speak.
"Usually I'll try to distract myself, try to get my brain to stop working overtime," you say, eyes finding a life of their own, drifting down to the peak of skin between his plaid pyjama pants and white t-shirt. That would make for a nice distraction.
"Are you still drunk?" your face scrunches up in confusion at his words, the change of subject catching you off guard. Turning your head, you search his face with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out his angle. "No, it wore off a few hours ag- oh," you cut yourself off as the counter hits the top of your ass, not even having noticed Luke backing you into it until he's right there. Caged in, you once more have to tilt your head to stare at his pretty face. The intense look he's giving you leaves you stumped, lips parting slightly- maybe in a silent invitation. At this point, your brain has switched off, his closeness and the way his cologne overpowers your senses leaving you completely at his mercy.
The little people in your head seem to have taken over your actions, leading you like a puppet on a string and you don't mind. Not when Luke moves his hand to rest on your hip and the other on the column of your throat and they allow him.
Not when they move your hands to rest on his broad chest, his heart pounding against your hands and letting you know he isn't as unaffected as he appears.
Not when he leans down and hovers over your lips and they don't make you pull away. Luke's hot breath mingles with yours and you can almost feel the way he's holding himself back, letting you decide if you want this. In the end, you regain control from your puppeteers, rising to your tiptoes, just that last bit needed, and meet Luke's soft lips.
It's like the restraint he's been having over himself snaps, the hand on your hip tightening and bringing you close, close, closer until he's got you completely caged between him and the counter. You get braver too, your fingers finding the curls you've been so desperate to touch. As you tug ever so slightly, Luke lets out a gasp and you can't help but use the opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth.  
A thousand tiny explosions go off in your body, angels sing and the sun comes out behind the dark clouds. Too cheesy? Perhaps, but it’s like your world is clear again, your focus turning sharp and honing in on Luke, his touch (soft, urgent, guiding), his taste (mint, did he brush his teeth before coming down here?) and the delicious way his teeth are tugging on your lower lip.  “Been waiting…so…long,” breathy words tumble out through breathy kisses, Luke's confession spreading warmth throughout your whole body. Sure, you are putting two and two together just from the heavy make-out session you’re currently partaking in, but either way, it’s nice to know that it isn’t just you who has been harbouring the very same desire. 
Taking you by surprise, Luke grabs ahold of your shirt and in one swift motion lifts you onto the countertop so you’re both in a more comfortable position. His big hand slides up your thigh and under your shirt, stopping just over your panties. Hesitantly, Luke pulls away from your lips to look you in the eye, removing his other hand from your waist in favour of running it through his hair. The messy curls fall all over the place, even though he tries to shake them out, and you can’t help but grin at the fact that you messed them up.
Reaching behind you to rest his hand on the counter, effectively caging you in, Luke opens his mouth to no doubt ask for permission to move his hand higher. The words yes, god yes are on the tip of your tongue, but instead of sticking to the script, Luke yelps out instead. His eyes go wide, quickly shooting to his hand beside you before an annoyed expression overtakes his face.
"Salt," he mumbles into your lips, already on them again like he just can’t help himself. Reaching under your shirt, you guide his hand higher, silently letting him know it’s okay. Your whole body feels on fire with the way he’s touching you, thumb swiping over your underboob, goosebumps erupting in its wake. If you could stay like this forever, you would, with no hesitation. It feels like you’re sinking, deeper and deeper into the abyss that is Luke Hughes. The harness is off and you’re barrelling straight to the bottom with no regard for your safety. But that’s just the thing; you feel safe. So very safe with the way Luke is touching you, kissing you and wordlessly assuring you that he’s got you. Forever, if that’s the case.
Unfortunately, the universe isn’t a fan of forever. Or at least, it just has a very poor sense of humour. Because just as you’re about to spread your legs a little more, let Luke in a little closer, the kitchen door bangs open. Two drunk idiots, otherwise known as your friends, tumble inside, arms around each other holding on for dear life, one more gone than the other. You would later learn they had been out and about crashing all the nearby house parties.
“Dude, I so could have taken him- what the fUCK?” Mark screeches when he notices Luke and you, who just barely manage to tear your lips apart before Ethan straightens himself up and turns in your direction. 
And so a period of awkward silence and confused glances begins. Mark and Ethan are not quite sober enough to put the evidence presented before them together, their brows drawn together in funny angles. Mark lifts his hand and motions between you and the boy still pressed to you, now just with his back facing you. Probably to spare your friends from seeing you in just your panties, you realise and just like that, your heart turns to mush. You sneak your hands around his waist and prop your head up on his shoulder. Luke leans back into you, hands going to your knees, as he levels Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum with a warning look. 
Never one to let his friends off easy, though, Ethan flashes a megawatt grin before copying Mark’s actions.  “What’s going on here?” 
“Late night snack.” “Luke had something in his eye.”
Silence. Luke’s hands squeeze your knees, you press your eyes closed. Surely they would catch on.
Then, a slow nod from a contemplative-looking Mark and a slap to Ethan’s chest as the blonde’s too-talkative mouth starts to open once more. “Sure, have a good night, guys!” Mark rushes out, a firm hand on Ethan’s shoulder guiding his friend out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their room. There’s no way Mark believed that lie (your suspicions would later be confirmed when you walk past their room and hear him explain how it “would make no sense since the lights were off”) but as Luke lets out a deep sigh and turns around, you can’t find it in you to care. 
The second he’s fully facing you again, his hands come up to rest on either side of your head, pressing a soft, much sweeter and slower, kiss to your awaiting lips. As he pulls back, a different Luke stands before you, all traces of his previous confidence leaving him, nervousness taking over as he brings a hand up to the back of his neck. Your favourite crooked smile returns, but this time filled with awkwardness and uncertainty. 
“Would you, um- Would you want to go out with me? Tomorrow, maybe? Or later today, I guess, considering the time and all-”
“Yes, god yes,” You say, finally getting the chance to voice the words, immediately getting flashbacks to a mere ten minutes ago when they had been on the tip of your tongue and his hand had been under your shirt. At your agreement, confident Luke returns, not wasting any time before he’s diving back in for your lips.
Half an hour later, you’re standing in your bedroom, leaning up against the door. Touching your fingers to your lips, no doubt a dazed expression on your face, you will your heart to stop galloping like a thousand wild horses. Maybe, if you pinched yourself- nope that just hurt. Luke kissing you in the kitchen hadn’t been a dream and neither had it been when he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and then your forehead, only a mere minutes ago. You had said goodnight with the promise of seeing him when you’re both well rested. When you asked him about the upcoming date, he only smiled and told you it was a surprise. You do not doubt that the speculation will keep you up for at least another few hours. Or perhaps that will have more to do with you replaying every kiss and touch over and over in your head.
“Did you get me water?” A voice croaks out in the darkness, duvets and sheets shifting loudly in the silence. Water, Jess. You had completely forgotten. 
"Shit, I’ll be right back," you promise, this time determined not to get swept up in stolen kisses.
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mantisgodsdomain · 11 months
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Got new news from an old fandom today. We... remembered just why we left. Might've given a bit of insight into our current modes of writing, too. It's still a shitshow over there, but it's shone a light on things.
What we like in fiction is... nuance. Cohesion. When the pieces fit together, when we can dig deeper and find a bigger picture, when it's art that we can look at from a multitude of angles and gain new insight from that. We try and work at ever-so-slightly new takes on characters, but we still have to put the work in to avoid drifting, to avoid flanderization, to avoid losing the plot.
And we aren't sure we could do that with a live, multi-chapter work. And we're even less certain we could handle it with the potential of having to readjust course partway through a fic. We are not a fast author, for the most part. We sit and we plot and we plan, and it takes a lot of revisions to hit the final draft. We could not uphold a solid schedule unless everything was already written.
We want to avoid our art running into the pitfalls we've already seen in action, and so we try and work to make things that won't fall into those pitfalls.
#tbh we do worry about rev a bit if only because like. the pieces for something similar are there#we worry about being so close to the creator. we worry about it being so easy to affect things.#a bit of healthy distance is perhaps best when it comes to works#for context the fandom in question is riddled with problems we cant quite complain about without sounding like a middle-aged republican#and has a VERY consistent problem with the author being harassed every time they do something too “problematic” in their work#examples including “a relationship has communication issues” and “people think a characters hair isnt ethnic enough”#which. sure it isnt the same but there are a lot of the same ingredients around and we fear itll reach a boil similarly#we fear we might be one of the pebbles in the landslide if we arent careful and we dont want that because we've SEEN how it turns out#and worrying wont do us any good but we still worry if only because there's little else to do#its all... we dont know#we're going to go and shore up our character knowledge soon. make sure we aren't falling victim to the same problems#if an author cant keep their own characters consistent it grows harder and harder to trust theyre working the right way#and if an author audibly doesnt care for a character then it grows harder and harder to trust that what theyre doing Works#and we dont want to fall victim to being the sort of author who does either of these things esp. when we're watching the fallout of both#we speak#negative chatter
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inpraizeof · 4 months
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Hello!! Would you be able to write a request for finnick? Just like he’s the capitols darling, reader is the capitals hound dog. Known to be fiercely protective and exceptionally violent and brutal. During the third quarter quell, katniss’ group is afraid of reader because they haven’t seen her all match, but they run into her and she defends them brutally against something? Sorry I know it’s specific:) love your writing!
my body is a cage
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finnick odair x reader
synopsis: his focus was protecting katniss, but he sleeps with an eye open as long as you’re still out there..
a/n: i made some changes, jus go with it lmao
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“she’s still out there, katniss.” finnick had made this pointedly to katniss, who wanted to go out hunting for the remaining victors with johanna. you were shrouded in mystery, out of all the victors, finnick knew the least about you.
“where would she be?” peeta looked at finnick, who sighed, shrugging, “the arena is different than the arena she won in, i assume somewhere low to the ground-“ finnick sweeped the beach, eye catching on a rustle in the bush, straight across from them, “and close.” he remembered now how you had won your games.
you had tracked all the tributes like prey, manipulating their surroundings to kill them, it had been one of the most invigorating games for the capitol ever. “she’s a bloodhound, probably sniffed us out before we realized.”
johanna watched the area that finnick had saw you, but still offered her commentary, “she’s brutal, katniss.”
katniss looked at them all, surrounded by skilled people yet found herself doubting their abilities, especially her own. none of them were sure they’d win, not against her.
“the careers are the least of our worries with her out there.” peeta noted. finnick looked at him and shrugged, “she might just kill them herself.”
they knew getting back on the island was a bad idea. katniss ducked at the sound of a mysterious voice, feeling as something flew past her head, stabbing cashmere right in the chest.
“get up.” katniss looked up to see you, standing over her. you had an array of weapons on you, and you were reaching for another one. katniss felt the panic in her throat until you launched it at enobaria, who had thrown herself at katniss. “get up!” your voice sounded more frantic and katniss did, struggling from keeping her eyes off of you.
suddenly the island began to spin.
your grip was loosening, and you groaned with slight fear as you felt the cold water thundering against your feet. katniss reached out for you, “grab my hand!” she screamed, but the water trashing drowned her out.
you could see her hand amidst all the water and grabbed it tightly, closing your eyes as the island slowed to a stop.
you sat on the beach, alone as the others argued over you. katniss had defended you, deciding she wanted you as an ally. but finnick and johanna deemed it too risky, “she could kill us all in our sleep, then what?” johanna had made that point as one of your methods, and you inhaled sharply.
finnick glanced at you, noticing the solemn expression on your face. he had known that expression far too many times, and it made him change his mind.
“johanna.” finnick called her name and sighed, “she saved her life. that’s not something we can just ignore, we don’t even know her.”
there was silence between them all, katniss had looked to johanna, watching as she fought internally before giving in. “i’ll go get her, maybe threaten a little.” she stood up, taking her axe with her.
finnick looked to katniss as johanna left, “i’ll keep an eye on her. for you.” he knew that once katniss settled on allies, she settled. her choices weren’t always the best, but somehow it would work itself out.
“why did you save her?” finnick had taken the first watch with you. johanna had convinced him, as just having you as watch would be ‘asking for it’.
you shrugged, “why not.” there hadn’t been much decision making on the island. it was either her or cashmere, and you didn’t see much of a choice.
finnick looked at you, “i don’t believe that.” his eyes slid themselves back to stare at the beach and you scoffed, “and why is that?”
finnick shrugged, “no one would just randomly save someone without an ulterior motive.” he said it like a fact and you smirked, “do you have one?”
“have one what?” he looked confused, obvious by the furrow in his brow.
“do you have an ulterior motive?” you repeated the full length question and watched as finnick practically whipped his head around.
“no.” he stated plainly, and you rolled your eyes, “i saw you saved katniss, similiar to how i did. you and johanna can’t just be doing this,” you glanced back to katniss and peeta sleeping, “for nothing. whatever it is, finnick, is an ulterior motive.” finnick pursed his lips, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.
“i’ll let you have yours if you let me have mine.” you finished, catching his gaze. finnick knew there were layers to you. you were different than most victors, your brutality is what made you like the rest of them, the willingness to kill. but you were turning out to be way more than what meets the eye. whatever your motive was, finnick sensed it wasn’t malice.
finnick settled to watch the sun rise upon your face, ending the conversation with a nod.
finnick watched as you sat by the beach. it had been post jabberjays, you, him and katniss had all been trapped with the birds, fluttering and screaming your names. now it seemed, like you had decided to decompress by the beach, just as he was going to.
he piled up next to you, close but far enough to give you a good amount of space.
it was then that finnick realized you had been crying, tears evident on your cheeks. he had heard katniss yell her sister’s name, and he had heard annie. you had just screamed in response, as if you were trying to drown out the birds with your own voice.
“i’m sorry.” you apologized to finnick, wiping your eyes as he settled down. you sniffled, watching as the waves moved.
“don’t apologize, there’s no need.” finnick spoke, “who did you hear?”
there was silence for a moment, until you spoke, “my best friend.” your mind shuddered back the sound of his screams and you laughed, painfully. “he’s been dead for years. i killed him.” you admitted, “he died because of a mistake i had made during the games.”
your mind flashed back to the games, where you had accidentally launched a knife to his chest, thinking it had been another tribute.
“he had spent all of his games searching for me. and once he found me, i had killed him.” it was cruel for him to be your district partner, for only one would survive, but you “never thought it would be me.” you glanced at finnick, who had been listening.
“it was supposed to be him.” you cried, “i killed everyone else to get to him, and when it was down to four, was when he came to get me.” you shook your head, “there is nothing in this world that i loved more than him, finnick. now that he’s gone, there’s nothing left for me.”
finnick shook his head, “stop. you know that’s not true.” he tried to comfort you, your words mirroring his own thoughts.
“that’s my motive, finnick.” you revealed, “my body is a cage, and i can’t stand to live in it much longer.”
johanna had woken up abruptly. she clutched onto her weapon, eyes glancing around before she settled on the two figures on the beach. she squinted and made out finnick’s hair, and you. the only two missing from the group. you had your head leaned on finnick’s shoulder, as the two of you watched the rising sun.
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yourmidnightlover · 20 days
Text
forever?
pairing: mob!bucky x reader
summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.
warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!
a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling
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two months out of forever.
two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.
in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 
the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 
you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 
on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 
they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.
so far, he’s been the opposite. 
for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 
because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 
but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 
the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.
the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.
you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.
those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…
you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 
peace.
a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 
but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 
“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 
“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”
you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”
“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 
-
the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 
you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 
you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.
“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 
“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”
“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”
you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 
you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 
luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 
t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 
the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 
“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 
“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”
as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 
“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 
in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 
you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 
you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 
you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 
you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 
“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 
“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.
“i don’t-i’ve got it…”
“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.
“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 
“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”
then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 
“i think he might mind.”
you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 
his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.
“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.
your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 
you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 
your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.
and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 
you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 
“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 
“but the dish-”
“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 
“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.
he won’t hurt you.
he has to protect his image.
you’ve embarrassed him.
you’re his wife.
you’re his business deal.
you’ve humiliated him.
he’ll hurt you.
you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 
your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 
and then there was a knock at the door. 
your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 
he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 
“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.
automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.
“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 
you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 
“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”
“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 
“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 
“you don’t have to-”
“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.
you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 
how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 
“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.
“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.
“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 
sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 
but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad. 
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motherlvr · 10 months
Text
3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader
SPOILERS FOR ATSV
read part 2 here!
3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.
Word count: 2.7k
Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.
Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)
A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out
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1.
Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.
"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.
Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.
"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.
After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.
It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.
After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"
Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.
You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.
2.
Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.
Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.
While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.
"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."
Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"
Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.
You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.
You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.
3.
If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.
"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.
"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.
"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.
You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.
The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.
You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.
Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.
+1
Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.
Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.
As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.
Oh, great. It's the Prowler.
This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.
As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.
I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.
"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.
You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.
The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.
"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.
He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.
His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."
Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.
"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.
His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.
Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.
“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.
"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.
"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.
When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.
Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.
"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.
Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.
He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.
Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.
---------
part 2!
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aplpaca · 1 year
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thinking about how I've seen OCD get talked about now, but haven't really seen many posts that actually explain what it is. And like, obviously people shouldn't get all their info about mental conditions from posts, but u can't deny that internet communities and stuff play a major role in people recognizing and putting names to their own experiences.
But like since the general public has like absolutely no idea of what OCD actually is (no thanks to popular media), and a lot of things I see talking about intrusive thoughts don't mention OCD (either bc they originated in OCD circles or bc intrusive thoughts aren't Exclusive to OCD or for some other reason), there should prob be more explanation put out on what OCD actually consists of.
Which is kinda hard in some ways, bc there are so many ways OCD can present in terms of what "themes" a person experiences, so someone talking about what their themes are might not ring a bell with someone who experiences different ones. But like, the core thing with OCD isn't the presence of certain themes, it's a specific pattern of spiraling thoughts and reactions.
Like. OCD is a mental condition/illness where people experience stressful, unwanted, repetitive thoughts. These are intrusive thoughts are what make up the "obsessions" part of the disorder. In response to these intrusive thoughts, a lot of people will perform certain actions or think certain things in an attempt to neutralize or disprove the threat they represent. These are the "compulsions" part of the condition.
For a more "traditional" example, someone experiencing intrusive thoughts that they might catch a communicable disease may obsessively wash their hands or google their symptoms to try to lessen the anxiety. While someone who is worried they might hurt someone (even though they very much do not want to hurt someone) may avoid being near sharp objects or may avoid the people they're afraid of hurting.
One of the issues with OCD is that performing the compulsions provides short term relief, but in the long term it only strengthens the stress caused by the intrusive thoughts, thus furthering the thought spiral and actively making it worse, to the point where, depending on your themes, you may be (almost) convinced that your intrusive thoughts represent the truth or the inevitable or something permanent.
Intrusive thought themes cam be literally anything, but some of the common ones are stuff like
Questioning your sexuality, gender, etc (what if I'm actually straight/gay/bi/trans/cis/etc?)
Being worried about losing control and hurting yourself or others physically, sexually, emotionally, basically any way (what if I want to kill someone? What if I'm a pedophile? What if I'm an abuser? What if I want to stab myself? Etc)
Fear of becoming or being sick
Worrying something bad will happen to you or people you care about
Worrying about your spiritual beliefs or lack thereof (what if I'm actually Christian? What if I'm actually atheist? What if i don't believe in the faith i ascribe to? Etc)
Worrying about relationship status (what if I don't actually love them? What if they're not "the one"? What if they're cheating? What if *I'm* cheating? Etc)
What if I'm a bad person?
Fear of losing things
Fear of things not feeling right (this is often be related to other themes via magical thinking. ex: if I don't have my things organized Just Right then something bad will happen)
Fear of unreality
Compulsions vary by theme a lot obviously, but some common ones include
Hand washing
Organizing things until they Feel Right
Checking and double checking and triple checking to make sure you did something correctly
Obsessively reviewing your memories to disprove a thoughtor make sure you don't believe something
Arguing against the thoughts in an attempt to disprove them
Testing your mental reactions to a thought or to certain kinds of content, to show yourself you don't actually believe or feel something
Obsessively googling symptoms, testimonies, things related to your thoughts
Obsessive prayer
Repeating phrases, mantras, affirmations, etc in an attempt to make thoughts go away
Avoiding things and situations that set off your intrusive thoughts
Repeatedly asking for reassurance from others ("I'm not being xyz, right?")
But yeah this obviously isn't exhaustive but, just, if this kind of thing sounds familiar, you should probably do some research on OCD, bc while intrusive thoughts can occur with other conditions, the intrusive thought-compulsion spiral is the core of OCD and isn't really a subaspect of depression/anxiety/ptsd/etc. and the treatment and management of OCD can look different from other stuff, so its a good thing to look into.
(Also it's important to keep in mind, esp if you're someone that doesn't have it, that someone's intrusive thoughts Are Not "secret desires" or "repressed urges" or anything the person even remotely wants to act on. Someone having harm-related intrusive thoughts is not at risk of actually acting on them, no matter how worried they are of doing so.)
Anyway this was a long post and I don't have a neat way to wrap it up and also I accidentally added a poll and now can't get rid of it so here's free poll. I'm running on nyquil and a small amount of straight gin (which works very well at numbing a sore throat) rn gnite
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Eddie is gushing about Steve to Robin and he mentions how it's so fucking metal the way he never shies away from danger. Like, quite the opposite, he literally jumps right into it without a second thought!
And suddenly Robin remembers how Steve wanted to be tortured by the actual real Russian secret service if it meant that his then friendly coworker who he never saw outside of Scoops would be at least a little bit safer. And she notices for the first time how Steve always makes sure that everyone is safe before he leaves a dangerous place - how he makes sure to always be the last one - and she thinks fuck.
(She feels so fucking bad. He is her best friend. Her soulmate. The person who knows her best and vice-versa. How has she never noticed this before?!)
They start paying closer attention to him, then. Neither like what they see. Steve's eyebags grow bigger with every day that passes. He doesn't eat a lot. He can never say no to others, no matter how much it inconveniences him. And when Robin and Eddie gush about what an awesome person he is, he gets an uncomfortable expression on his face and denies it. Robin had never noticed how most their interactions were self-deprecating jokes until now, either.
They need to stage an intervention.
The next time Steve walks through the doors of Family Video, Robin and Eddie are ready. They lay down all the facts and propose a simple deal: either go talk to a professional, or they will explain everything to the rest of the party and they will force him to talk to a professional. It will end the same way no matter what he chooses, might as well take the path with least resistance.
The only thing that sounds worse than paying a stranger to talk about his feelings is to be forced to talk about them to his friends, so he agrees.
He doesn't think it will make a difference, at first. It's not like he is allowed to talk about monsters and other dimensions.
The first session is awkward. But Robin and Eddie always look at him with such worried and expectant looks and he cannot bear to burden them in any way, so he starts opening up more. He can't talk about the time he almost got eaten by Demogorgons in a secret supernatural underground tunnelsystem, but he can talk about the time Billie almost beat him to death. He can't talk about the secret Russian operation beneath the mall, but he can talk about almost dying in the "mall fire". (His memories of his time there are all scrambled because of the drugs, anyway. It is more about the 'near-death' thing and never being able to feel safe, which he can talk about)
He doesn't mean to talk about his interpersonal relationships at first. But then his therapist cautiously asks him about his parents, and before he knows it he is spilling beans he didn't even know needed to be spilled. He talks about how he only seems to be friends with people who went through traumatic experiences with him, and what does that say about him? He talks about when he first realized that other kids are not left behind by their parents for months at a time. He finally starts unpacking the whole Nancy situation and realizes, wow, turns out he isn't nearly as over the whole thing as he'd hoped. (There are a lot of tears).
He seamlessly fills session after session, and at first he doesn't think that it makes much of a difference. Until the kids meet him after he is exhausted from a double shift at Family Video and beg him to drive them somewhere or other, and he can say no and not give in without fearing that they will cast him aside.
(Robin and Eddie are smug when they also notice the changes, but Steve supposes they have earned it this one time.)
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luveline · 4 months
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my lovely jade would you consider writing more about new to the team reader and fresh out of prison spencer?😇🩷i'd really love anything, they make me kick my feet and blush so bad!🥰 love you <3
love you gorgeous <3
“Here.” Spencer puts a granola bar on top of your notebook. 
It slides down the slopes of the page into the centre and disrupts your train of thought. Your stomach stirs, remembered, and your fingertips shake ever so slightly as they curl around his gift. “Thank you,” you say, the grit of the packaging like a pinprick. “Sorry, I was somewhere else.” 
“If you don't eat, you'll get foggy, and then you'll be unhappy,” he says, sitting in the chair between yours and Emily's. 
“And you need a clear mind to work,” Emily says. 
She's Unit Chief, as formidable as her predecessors, but it's her demeanour that intimidates you. She's confident in how much she cares about people and she won't let you forget what this is all for, nor the strength of it. You find yourself nodding like an obedient puppy whenever she talks —whenever any of them talk. 
Spencer watches your expression. You aren't sure why. “And less coffee.”
“That's a little hypocritical,” Emily says, her voice stretching with humour, “but I'll allow it.” 
“That's why her hands are shaking.” He nods to the granola bar, and when you struggle to open it, he reaches for it with a gentle touch. “Do you think you might have a low tolerance for caffeine?” 
The shaking worsens at the question, though it's innocent enough. You don't want to explain why you're shaking because you know it paints a poor picture of professionalism, but you can't lie to them. It almost feels like the idea of shoplifting, the fear of being caught. You desperately want them to like you, trust you, and respect you, and lying this early on won't help that. 
“I need to do better,” you say. 
“You're doing amazing,” Spencer says, as Emily asks, “Why do you say that?” 
“I'm having trouble, uh, sleeping. And remembering to eat enough. That's why I'm shaking so badly. It'll go away soon, I promise.” 
“Are you drinking any water?” Emily stands. “You have to stay on top of this stuff.” 
She stalks off looking pissed. You wince, and Spencer puts the now opened granola bar in your hand, curling your fingers around it nicely. “Here, take your time.” 
You are shamefully desperate for reassurance. “Is she angry?”
“Yeah, she's mad.” Spencer doesn't smile. His voice doesn't betray much else. “She wasn't always good at taking care of herself, either, but now she doesn't have a choice. She has to be the best, and she has to make you the best you can be. Which is why she's angry.” 
“That I'm not currently at my best,” you surmise. 
“That she didn't notice.” He takes a pen from his pocket and a post it note from the table. “But Emily doesn't need to worry, because I'm here, and I would've looked after you anyways, even if she wasn't Unit Chief.” 
You take a bite of granola bar to pretend he hasn't winded you. I would've looked after you anyways. He writes a quick list as you chew, unaware of his affect on you or choosing to ignore it. 
He hands you the note. 
2 meals
4 glasses of water 
4 cups of coffee
702-555-0103
“I already have your phone number,” you say, hot in the face. 
“And you could stand to use it more often.” He takes your shoulder into his hand and leans in, giving you a nice squeeze, his thumb rubbing a line into your blouse. “Yeah? I know this is all harder than it looks. I promise I get it.” His voice creeps down into a more playful teasing, “Why are you so reluctant to call me? You're breaking my heart.” 
You laugh breathlessly. He pats your shoulder. “Finish that, okay? I'll go find us something more substantial for lunch.” 
Obviously you want him to take care of you, whatever that means, but it's still startling. He's smart, and so, so pretty, and he has this obsession with teasing you… if he even knows he's doing it. 
“Oh, Y/N?” he asks from the door. You look up, eyes wide, a deer in his headlights. “You really are doing amazing.” 
“Thank you.” 
Emily comes in a few seconds after he leaves, the biggest bottle of water you've ever seen in her hand, her eyebrows raised sceptically. “What's he smiling about?” 
You clear your throat. “I’m not sure.” 
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semercury · 1 year
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Shes maybe a 4 on her best day, but she also wishes she had died as a baby so like.
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tlou-reid · 5 months
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Cheese Danishes ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner
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♡ SUMMARY: aaron is struggling to navigate his feelings, and his fears, as his relationship with his younger graduate student neighbor progress
♡ WARNINGS: smut (piv) mdni, oral (fem recieving), fingering, fluff, angst mentions of criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and george foyet, age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s)
♡ NOTE: the timeline on this is wonky when compared to the show. in my head, aaron and jack did go into witness protection and left for a while, but once foyet was caught aaron returned as unit chief to the BAU. so the team is made up of the people in the later seasons, including prentiss, but aaron is still in charge.
Part one
—♡
Aaron pulled your body tighter against him amidst the start of the season’s first snowfall. “Thank you,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. It wasn’t very often he allowed himself to stay after you two had been intimate, only after he had been away for a rough case. You basked in the attention every time.
As much as you wanted more, your relationship with Aaron has been primarily physical. You could count on one hand the amount of times you two had a connection outside of sex. It wasn’t necessarily his ideal either, but life gets in the way when you’re pulled away to attend to serial killers every week, in between spending time with your son.
You two lay together for a while, not saying anything. This was the time you used to pretend things had turned out the way you wanted them to. Of course, you lusted over him when you first met. Something about having a sexy, older neighbor fulfilled a fantasy you didn’t know you had. But, over the months you got to spend with him, both before and after your drunken declaration of interest, your feelings for him had evolved.
You’d learned how much more he was than his stoic exterior. He was gentle, like the way his calloused hands caressed your hips as he pulled you into his lap while you made out. He was funny, constantly teasing you for your abnormal habits. He was kind, making sure you were safe and sound before he retreated to his home.
But, most of all, he was distant. Physically distant a good portion of the time, being needed in different parts of the country at any given time. Mostly, he was emotionally distant. It was as if something was tormenting him most of the time, keeping him from truly giving himself to you. Even when he was buried deep inside you, it was as if there was a gap between you, preventing any real connections.
He gave you an even tighter squeeze, warning you he would be leaving soon without using words. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your body tensed back up when he did this, knowing how empty the house would feel in just a few minutes. He let out a familiar sigh, before pressing one more kiss to your forehead. “I should probably head back,” he spoke his usual phrase into the darkness of your bedroom. You nodded against his chest before pulling yourself away from him, allowing him to get up.
He noticed the way you pulled your comforter closer, trying the replace the warmth he had been providing. Aaron’s heart broke, wanting to crawl back next to you and hold you close for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if he could.
But, he couldn't. He knew that. If he allowed himself to be honest with you, to tell you all the ways he has fallen for you since you showed up on his doorstep with a container of desserts, he would ruin everything you had. Whether it be from him not being able to handle his own emotions, or something as terrifying as George Foyet, something would ruin the sparse nights he got to spend with you. He came with too much baggage, too many ways you could be hurt, to allow himself to have everything he wants.
So, he slips back on his pressed slacks and buttons up his white shirt. He moves quietly, trying to convince himself you are falling asleep, not worrying about what he is doing. Your soft voice ruins this, “Let me know when you get home,” you say, as you do every night he’s here. He lets out a sound of agreement, even though he knows he won’t do it.
The room falls quiet again as Aaron tries to find his suit jacket. He uses his phone flashlight and sees the arm sticking out from beneath your bed. He quickly bends over to grab it, hoping you don’t hear the way his hips creak as he lowers himself. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he finally makes his way to the door. He’s one step through it when you speak again, “Aaron?”
“Yes?” he replies quietly, ignoring how timid your voice sounds. “Maybe we could get lunch or something soon?” Your heart beats against your chest, reverberating in your temples as you ask. It doesn’t make sense. You have no problem letting him know when you’re soaking through your panties because of the lewd photo he sent you, but you’re on the verge of a panic attack as you ask if he’d like to have a meal with you.
“Yeah,” he nods, actually meaning it. He would love to have lunch or something with you. Of course, no one knows if it will ever actually happen. “Cool,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll text you.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he closes your bedroom door, making his way back to his house. Your body shivers with both chill and loneliness when you hear your front door close.
Aaron’s shoulders were slumped as he made the trek across the street. He threw his jacket over his shoulders, but not putting his arms through the sleeves, to try and protect him from the cold. This year’s winter had come in full swing this week, with the first snowfall happening tonight. He couldn’t make out where the little hand on his watch was, but he knew it was some time after midnight.
He was carrying a lot of guilt and he had no one to share it with. He couldn’t tell you because the repercussions could result in you losing your life, the same way Haley did. He couldn’t tell the team because they didn’t know about you. And that was all of the adult people in his life, pretty much.
His key turned in the door and he let out a sigh. He’d forgotten to turn his heat on when he left for the last case, so it was freezing inside. He stopped in the hallway to change the thermostat, before making his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting it properly heat up before he began to remove his clothes.
The cold he was feeling was both literal and metaphorical. The chill air burned his skin, opposite from the way your warm touch soothed it.
Aaron felt like he was on autopilot as he cleaned himself, put on his warmest pajamas, and made his way to his bed. It felt bigger than it did before he left. He fell asleep pretty quickly, both from the strenuous case and the orgasm he had not that long ago.
The next morning, you were woken up by the sun casting through your window. You had forgotten to close the curtains last night. You reached for your phone, seeing two messages from Elise. ‘Meet us for brunch?’ and ‘Bring your old man ;)’. The “us” in question was her and her new girlfriend, Annie. They were a cute couple: they seemed like they were made for each other.
You texted back, asking about the time and place, choosing to ignore her second message. When you got up to get ready, you couldn’t help yourself from peeking to see if Aaron’s car was parked across the street. It wasn’t, so you pretended like you didn’t consider asking him to go to brunch.
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“Alvez,” Aaron’s voice cut through the chatter in the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing, focusing on the glare on Aaron’s face as he continued, “Stop.” Luke had been teasing Spencer, making the entire team laugh. Luke didn’t answer, knowing it wasn’t worth messing with him anymore. The entire team had picked up on the attitude Aaron had been carrying around lately. There was no more room for teasing in the BAU, as he always seemed angry nowadays.
As the team finished debriefing their last case, Emily lingered inside the meeting room. “Hey, Hotch?” She questioned, usually being the advocate for the team. Aaron didn’t answer but shifted his attention away from the files in front of him and to her. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Just fine, Prentiss,” he lied, becoming embarrassed under her harsh stare. “Hotch,” she cut through the silence again, “we both know that’s not true.” As much as she was trying to be sympathetic, her prying was just pissing him off. “What is going on in my personal life is none of your concern.” He ended the conversation bluntly, not wanting her to pry anymore.
Like a dog who had just been scolded, Emily made her way out of the room. Hotch lingered for a little longer, hoping the team would disperse before he made his presence known again. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking over what Emily was saying to him. Something was wrong, but nobody could fix it. Nobody but you.
Your phone dinged from its spot beside you, and you tried to not let your professor see you reach for it. Sure, you were a grown woman who was allowed to be on your phone, but you didn’t want to seem rude by being distracted from his lesson. You set your pink pen on top of your notebook and lowered your phone into your lap. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you saw the message was from ‘Aaron &lt;3’.
It had been about four days since he left your house and he had not texted since. You refused to text first, not wanting to appear desperate. ‘Hello, I am dropping Jack off at a friend’s at 6:30. Could I come over after? I can order us dinner.’ You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. You quickly typed out a reply, ‘My class ends at 5 and I have to stop by Elise’s to pick something up. Meet at my house at 7?’. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
Your leg excitedly bounced throughout the class, willing the clock to move faster. Your notes were messy due to your brain moving faster than your hand could go. When the professor finally wrapped things up and asked for any final questions, you shoved things into your bookbag, knowing you’d regret it the next time you needed something from it. You were the first one out the door.
You tried not to speed as you drove to Elise’s. You were picking up a new dog bed that Anna was getting rid of. Your dog, Jackson, would love it. You left yourself in her house, yelling out to let her know you had arrived.
You had not been completely honest with Elise. You had told her your relationship status with Aaron was complicated, which was half-true. It was very complicated, but also very non-existent. You rushed through your interaction with her and Anna, ignoring the joke she cracked about you having a hot date.
You arrived home close to 6:45 and immediately made your way to your closet to throw on something nicer than the leggings and sweatshirt you wore to class. You used the extra time to clean up around the house.
Aaron knocked on the door at 7:00 on the dot, making you giggle at his punctuality. “Hello,” you smiled at him as you opened the door. He said his greeting and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You could feel your face warm up at his actions. When he came in, you two settled on the couch, catching up on the things you had missed in each other’s lives.
“Is that new?” Aaron asked, putting at the large dog bed Jackson was resting on. Your heart swooned at him noticing such a small detail. “Yeah! Elise’s girlfriend, Anna, was getting rid of it. She fosters dogs most of the time but she had to stop after the last one got adopted because her dad moved in with her. He’s sick, so she spends a lot of time taking care of him.” Aaron nods in understanding, “You spoil him, huh?” You giggled at his answer, knowing most of your paychecks went to funding Jackson’s expensive lifestyle.
It didn’t take long for you to wind up in his lap, his hands gripping your ass. He was holding you close, pressing his tongue into your mouth. Aaron had a lot of skills, and kissing was probably one of his best. When you pulled away to breathe, he made quick work of moving his lips to your neck, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear. You let out a gentle moan, moving your hands from around his neck to tug on his hair.
Your moment was interrupted when your stomach grumbled, surprising Aaron. He pulled away, looking up at you with wide eyes and puffy lips. You giggled out an, “I’m sorry.” Aaron soon joined you in your laughter. “You said we’d order food! I haven’t eaten since breakfast!” You smiled, enjoying this sweet moment with him.
He tapped your side, signaling you to get off of his lap. He reached for his phone, “What do you want to eat?” You two scrolled through your options, settling on a local pizza place. Your stomach grumbled again after he placed the order.
It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive, and you two watched silly YouTube videos while you waited. The evening was filled with giggles and greasy pizza. It was everything you wanted with Aaron.
Once your bellies were both full and the paper plates had been thrown away, you two resumed your position on the couch. You were back in his lap and his lips were back on your neck. His hands were tight against your hips as you rocked against his cock, which was growing hard underneath you. The room was filled with languid sighs and deep moans as you made out.
His hands slid up your sides, moving to pull your shirt off. You separated for just a second, just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. Once it was thrown by the brand new dog bed, Aaron’s large hand was reaching up to cup your bra, quickly aggravated by the material blocking your skin. His hands moved to unclasp it, not letting his lips leave yours. The bra joined the shirt, and Aaron brought one of your nipples into his mouth.
The rough skin of his right hand felt like heaven on your right breast, eliciting moans of his name to fall from your lips. He was leaving deep, purple marks around across your tits, fueled by the sounds you were making. The light tugs of his hair had him painfully hard in his dress pants. 
You pulled away to look him in the eye, “Bedroom?” Aaron shook his head no, lifting your body to lay flat on the couch. “Wanna take you right here,” he rushed through. Stoic, well-spoken Aaron Hotchner was reduced to slang like “wanna” in these moments with you.
From his spot between your legs, he kissed down between your chest, down your stomach, to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, asking for permission to take them off. You nodded and your pants quickly joined your ever-growing pile of clothes. “Aaron?” He let out a ‘hmm’, entranced by the wet spot in your panties. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” This broke him out of his spell and he stripped himself down to his boxers.
His hands made their way under your thighs and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your clothed sex. “Take ‘em off?” You nodded at his words, lifting your hips so he could pull them off. As soon as your panties were off, he licked a long strip up your slit.
You let out a moan as he began to bury himself into your pussy. His tongue delved into your hole and his nose nudged your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer. You weren’t sure if he could breathe with how he was pressed into your pussy, your juices spreading all over his chin. Once your grip on his hair relaxed a bit, he pulled his face away. As he slid two of his thick fingers into your hole, he said, “Taste so good, honey.”
As soon as he finished his sentence, he moved down to use his tongue to draw little figure eights along your clit. You let out a loud moan, “Aaron, ‘m gonna,” you cut yourself off with another moan, “gonna cum.” Your thighs held him in his spot as you reached your high. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move from his spot as you came on his fingers.
His fingers didn’t stop as he rode you through your orgasm. Once your thighs relaxed, he brought himself up to you. You could see the way your juices glistened on his chin as moved himself to kiss you, then you could taste them on his lips.
“Taste yourself?” He asked. You felt your pussy clench at his filthy words and gave him a shy nod. He smiled, before resting his head in the crook of your neck, pressing more kisses into it. Your arms came to wrap around him, holding his bare chest against yours. You two stayed like that for a little bit, basking in each other’s aura.
“Gonna fuck you now,” He informed, lifting his body a little. He looked you in your eyes, making sure you were still okay with it. You nodded, reaching down to align his dick with your entrance. He kept his eyes on you as he pushed in, noticing the way your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out.
Aaron’s cock wasn’t too long, but the thickness of it left a satisfying burn inside you. Aaron wasn’t one for an intense sex life. He was mostly content with missionary, enjoying the closeness and eye contact that came with it. You’d begun to get him out of his shell, testing things like riding him and doggy style throughout your three months hooking up.
His thrusts were deep and slow, drawing out the delightful burn in your pussy. After your previous orgasm, the stretch of his thick cock was almost enough to send you over the edge again. Everything about him was intentional, especially the way he held your legs so he could angle himself to hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl.
“Faster,” you moaned out, needing more. “You take what I give you,” he demanded, letting his rare dominant side come out. He knew you liked that by the way you clenched around his cock, squeezing him just right. It only took a few more strokes for him to start increasing his speed, never wanting to displease you.
He was chasing his own high, bottoming out with every deep thrust. You could feel the way you were leaving a ring of your arousal at the base of his dick. “Aaron,” you sighed out, trying to let him know you were about to cum again. While you couldn’t get the words out, he could tell by the way your muscles were beginning to tense up and you were letting out higher-pitched moans.
The way you clenched his dick had his orgasm following close behind your own, allowing him to ride you through your high. He let out a deep sigh as he came down, burying himself back in the crook of your neck. He placed gentle kisses along your neck as your hand drew loving circles along his shoulder.
You willed him to keep his head buried in your neck so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes began to fill with tears. It’s not that you were sad, or even disappointed. There was a deep longing feeling in your chest. In your heart, you knew this was where you wanted to be, but, in your brain, you knew it wouldn’t last.
Aaron let himself lay there with you for a while. He didn’t move as his dick softened inside of you and as your loving caress left goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill in the room, he was comfortable.
A few moments pass before he pushes himself off of you, making his way to the bathroom to clean up. When he reappears in the living, he asks “Do you want to take a shower?” You eagerly accept his offer, getting up to guide him to your master bathroom. He smiles behind you as you turn on the water.
You’re very surprised at his actions but scared that if you mention how different he’s acting, he’ll stop. He usually doesn’t stay to clean up with you, besides retreating to the bathroom. You both step into the shower, muscles relaxed by the hot water. Aaron flinches away from it. “Too hot?” You ask, forgetting that not everyone takes scalding hot showers.
“I’ll get used to it,” he compromises. It’s a tight fit, but you both make do. He’s the first one to reach for the wash rag. Soaping it up with your lavender-scented body wash and bringing it to your shoulders. He allows himself to enjoy washing you, taking time to massage and caress your skin. He moves gently and lovingly, as if he would break you if he pushed too hard.
Despite the amount of times you had sex, this shower was the most intimate thing you and Aaron had ever done. It would’ve been easy to convince yourself that you two were a couple, one that is deeply in love and would never hurt each other. However, you could never do that because of the gnawing knowledge of his future departure. You weren’t a couple and he would be retreating to his home any minute now.
Aaron let you stay under the warm water as he washed himself, both of you opting to not worry about washing your hair tonight. You stepped out first, grabbing a towel off of the rack attached to the shower. You wrapped it around yourself, moving to get Aaron one from your towel closet. He enjoyed the warmth of the shower while you were gone. Once you appeared in the steamy bathroom, he turned off the water and wrapped himself in the towel you handed him.
It was quiet for a moment, both of you just enjoying the presence of each other. Aaron was rubbing the towel, trying to dry his hair when he spoke up, “I don’t believe I have any clothes here. Do you have any you think could fit me?” You were gobsmacked at his words. Luckily, you weren’t facing him, so he didn’t see the way your mouth dropped in surprise. You quickly turned around to face him, “Are you staying the night?”
“Is that okay?” He sounded awkward, not really knowing what to do. Sure, he’d left every other time, but he thought it would be okay since you spend so much time together anyway. He was trying to be better than he was before, trying to overcome the fears that had been keeping him from truly being with you. “Of course it is!” Your voice was excitable again, almost as lively as it was the day he met you. “I think I have some sweatpants, I can look.”
Your heart was pounding as you left the bathroom to dig through your dresser, seeing if there was anything you wouldn’t mind Aaron keeping. He followed behind you, settling on the edge of the bed. He was distracted as you looked, admiring you in just a fluffy towel. He wished he saw this side of you more often.
Once you found an old, gray pair at the bottom of your third drawer, you tossed them at him. You got dressed and he slipped them on, choosing to forgo underwear rather than put on the precum-stained ones from earlier. “What do we do now?” You asked sweetly, not really knowing how to go about this sleepover, but excited to have it nonetheless.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” He suggested, subtly pointing at the TV hung on your wall. “Sure! What kind of movies do you like?” You asked him as you moved to sit criss-cross on your bed. He chuckled at your cute demeanor, “Me and Jack tend to watch action or comedy, but I love a good romcom now and then.” This sent you into a fit of giggles, picturing Aaron curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and ‘When Harry Met Sally’ being the only thing illuminating his face in the dark room.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” He said with a fond smile on his face. He laid down, leaving space for you to curl yourself against his side, tucked right into his armpit. You felt like you belonged there. “I just didn’t realize you were such a softie,” You said with a few more giggles. He shifted his head down to look at you the best he could, “I can be.”
You two settled on ‘Do Revenge’, playing into Aaron’s apparent love of chick-flicks. You two got comfortable under the covers. About halfway through, Aaron heard your gentle snores filling the room. He reached across you to grab the remote and turn off the TV. He reached back over you to put the remote on your nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled himself down, falling quickly into a deep slumber.
The next morning, you woke up to an unfamiliarly cold room. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, looking at the messed up bed. Your gaze followed the blanket that had been thrown around to an empty bed.
Your eyebrows crinkled in confusion, remembering that Aaron had spent the night. A part of you hoped when you got up, he’d be making breakfast for you like the husbands always did in the cheesy romcoms you two talked about last night. The other part of you knew he had left.
To confirm your suspicions, you made your way to the living room, trying to ignore the steadily increasing beat of your heart. You made your way to Jackson, who was asleep in his brand-new bed. You sat next to him, tears filling your eyes. His clothes were gone. Even the stupid sweatpants you let him borrow. Jackson snuggled closer to you, almost providing the warmth Aaron took with him when he left.
You let yourself lay there for a while, dwelling on the hurt in your heart. It wasn’t as if this was unexpected, but he could’ve had the decency to not lie to you. You explicitly asked him if he was staying the night and he said he was. How could he just leave? As if your time last night didn’t mean anything? As if any of the nights you two spent together didn’t mean anything?
You were forced to get up when you heard your phone alarm going off in your bedroom, indicating it was time for you to get ready for work. You had a busy day ahead of you that would consist of work and catching up on homework. You didn’t have time to worry about a man who wasn’t worrying about you.
You felt numb throughout your whole shift. You ignored Elise’s texts asking you to go out tomorrow, considering you hadn’t had a Friday night out in a while. You ignored pretty much everything, burying yourself in your tasks. You were on autopilot as you drove home. You quickly took care of Jackson, taking him on a brief walk and feeding him. You went out your back door and followed it until you knew you couldn’t see Aaron’s house. You didn’t want to think about him, and you definitely didn’t want him to see how sad you were.
You did homework for the rest of the night, ignoring the world around you. You didn’t turn on the TV or look at your phone once. You took another scorching shower, basking in the burn it left on your skin.
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You went on like this for another day. It wasn’t until you returned home from work late on Friday night that you had to come face-to-face with your feelings.
It was actually your choice. No one forced you to slam your car door as soon as you saw Aaron get out of his in his own driveway. No one forced you to stomp your way across the street. No one forced you to yell his name.
No, you were solely guided by your own anger, your own sadness, to approach him. You didn’t know who was around, and you didn’t really care as you started yelling at him. “Fuck you,” You spit out first, “You said you were staying. I wanted you to stay. But you fucking left. I was going to make you breakfast, you know that? The best fucking baker around was going to make you breakfast. But you left. Without saying goodbye.”
You didn’t normally cuss, or yell, really. The anger you felt became too much and you were talking before you could really think about what you were saying. Your eyes started to fill with tears. “Y/N,” he interrupts. He wasn’t yelling at you, more raising his voice so you’d let him talk. “I didn’t want to leave you.” He confesses, a guilty look spread across his face.
You’re instantly quieter and the tears start falling as you speak. “You didn’t?” You quietly question. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to scream and cry and cuss at him so he could feel just a little bit of the hurt you felt when you woke up yesterday morning. But that wasn’t in your nature. You were good and kind and sweet, not mean and nasty.
“No, honey, of course not,” He speaks softly, taking a few more steps towards you. You let him rest a gentle hand on your shoulder as he continues, “I got a call from Jack’s friend’s mother. They had snuck out and gone skateboarding. Jack fell on his arm and they were on their way to the emergency room. I had to meet him there.”
Guilt started to fill your chest as you listened to his explanation. “Aaron, I’m so sorry,” You breathed out as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he spoke, “There’s no need to be. I should’ve called you but I got distracted with work.” You nodded against his chest. He held you as you calmed down, letting your tears subside. “I’ve got to run, we’re leaving for a case and I forgot my go-bag,” You nod at his words, “Be safe, please.”
“Of course,” He said as he started taking a few steps backward. He turned around and made his way to his door. His hand was reaching out for the knob when you called his name. “What are we?” You asked the dreaded question that had been weighing on your chest. It seemed childish, but there was no other way to phrase it. You hoped he wanted to be in a relationship. You hoped he wanted you the same way you wanted him.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” He said as he made his way back to you. “I owe you a conversation, that’s for sure.” You nod at his words, “When can we have it?” You asked, knowing he needed to leave for work. “I’ll text you as soon as we wrap up the case.” You nod again as he makes his way back to his front door.
He’s the one who turns around this time, calling out your name. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “For everything that happened before. I’m going to make it right as soon as I get home.” You give him a soft smile and a gentle nod before turning around to make your way home. 
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It takes a full week for the team to wrap up the case. Reid and JJ ask if they can spend the night in Phoenix, not wanting to be on the jet at three in the morning. However, Aaron vetoes this immediately, knowing he needs to be home as quickly as possible to talk to you.
He texts you while Luke drives the SUV, letting you know he will be boarding shortly and to expect him to be over sometime in the morning tomorrow. You’re fast asleep and do not reply, but Aaron knows you’ll see it in the morning. 
And you do. You check your phone first thing in the morning. Usually, your Saturdays are spent catching up on missed homework throughout the week, but today you immediately made your way to the kitchen. When you are stressed, this is where you usually find yourself. You threw on the “kiss the cook” apron Elise had given you a few Christmases ago, pulling up the recipe for raspberry cheese danishes you had seen online the other day.
You had just put them in the oven when you heard the knocks on your door. Aaron had gotten just a few hours of sleep before he made his way to your house. His heart was beating in his chest as he waited for you to open the door.
All of his nerves quickly dissipated as he saw you in your apron. He smiled at it, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss before either of you could even say hello. You giggled when he let you go, opening the door wider so he could come in. You were glad he greeted you the way he did. It took away some of the awkwardness that was looming over you due to the conversation topic.
“It smells phenomenal in here,” he complimented as he made his way to the dining room table. He sat down at the of the table and you settled into the seat on his left. “I’m sorry I had to run the other day, duty calls.” You nodded in understanding at his words. “Did you think about my question?” You asked timidly, wanting to get the conversation started so it could be over sooner.
“I did,” he said with a thoughtful nod, “I’m not quite sure how I would define us if I’m being honest.” His answer left you speechless. Not in a bad way, and certainly not in a good way, but in a way that signaled that you didn’t know how to reply. “I mean, I don’t know how I would define us back then.” He continues on.
For the first time since he kissed you when you opened the door, he made eye contact with you. “I would like to define us as a couple now if that is alright with you.” He didn’t miss the smile that quickly spread across your face and the way you started to twiddle your fingers. “Aaron Hotchner,” You let out an overdramatic gasp, “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
Aaron laughed at your theatrics, “Yes, I am.” You immediately threw yourself in his lap, pressing a kiss to his blushed cheek. “I would love to!” He could feel you smile against his face as you threw your arms around his neck. He let you love on him for a little bit before you made your way back to your seat. “I think there are a few things I have to tell you first, though,” Aaron informed again and you noticed the way his body tensed up. You didn’t say anything, creating a safe space for him to get anything he needed off of his chest.
“Ever since the day I barged in after you left me that voice message, this is what I wanted. I wanted to kiss you when you greeted me at the door. I wanted to watch cheesy films with you. I still really want all of that,” He let out a deep breath, “but I come with a lot, Y/N. Even just being with me puts you in danger. My last relationship ended due to my job, and I lost her. My wife, she, uh,” His eyes began to well up with tears.
You reached your hand out to hold his, understanding what he was trying to tell you. His wife, Jack’s mom, had died because of something related to his job. You weren’t going to force him to continue if it was this painful for him to talk about. “I understand,” You spoke gently, not wanting to upset him more, “And I’m okay with that risk.”
Aaron nodded at your words, not really knowing if you meant them. You did. Even if you wouldn’t admit it quite yet, you were in love with Aaron. You understood his job was scary and he dealt with a lot of evil in his line of work, but not even that could keep you from wanting a relationship with him.
“And, there will be times when I’m not around. My job, it is very demanding and very important to me, and to the world, I think. When they need me, I have to go.” You knew this part, he was away a lot. That’s why you had spent so much time texting before he was aware of the crush you had on him. However, before you could respond, the oven dinged, telling you it was time to take out the danishes.
Without thinking about it, you jumped up from the table, exclaiming, “My danishes are done!” Aaron laughed at this, following you with his eyes as you made your way to the oven, pulling out the desserts and sitting them on the counter to cool. You were looking over them are you spoke, “I know that, Aaron. I’m a busy bee, too. I think I’ll be okay when you’re away.”
“These look this delicious,” he complimented, reaching for one. You quickly swatted his hand away, “They need to cool!” He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. “What are they?” He asked, not moving his face from the crook of your neck. “Raspberry cheese danishes! It’s a new recipe.” You could feel yourself getting giddy at the thought of Aaron Hotchner, your boyfriend, and personal taste-tester.
“Well, they look and smell amazing. You’ll have to make some for the BAU holiday party.” He said, very casually. You froze in your spot as he unwrapped from your figure. “You want me to go?” You were surprised at his invitation. From getting to know him, you’d realized that the people in the BAU were some of the most important people in his whole life. “Of course,” he smiled, “Everyone brings their significant others.”
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♡ TAGS: @himboelover @zaddyhotch @lcvdoll @h0t-as-h3ll @lamentis-10 @cherubswhispers
disclaimer: i will only tag accounts that have an age on their profile that indicates they are not a minor
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chronicbeans · 2 months
Text
Yandere Platonic Alastor x Victim Reader
You got killed by him when you both were alive, because you accidentally ended up witnessing him burying a body. Unknowingly, because neither of you recognized each other in Hell, you both became friends... Now the memories are returning.
TW: Death, Murder, Cannibalism (again, this is Alastor), Fear and Anxiety, Invasion of Privacy/Personal Space, Stalking, Manipulation, Yandere Behavior (Upped to more than usual, for Alastor)
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• You remember how you died relatively well. Back in the 1920s, you decided to go on a nighttime walk in the woods... well, more like heavily wooded swamps of New Orleans, only to stumble across a man burying a body in the ground. You panicked, which alerted him, and you got shot. That's the gist of it. You don't know who did it, you don't know why he killed that person he was burying, but you have always vowed revenge on the person who did it.
• However, you decided to try to redeem yourself, still. You entered the Hazbin Hotel, being led in by an excited Charlie, only to then be met with Alastor. You recognized his voice as one you heard on a radio show, when you were alive... and when you asked, he confirmed your suspicions that it was him who was the host! You were surprised, and although you never met him in life, you were comforted by at least having someone from your time period here.
• And as such, you mostly stuck by him. Although you wouldn't call him a friend. It was more like he was a familiar presence for you. Sure, he was the Radio Demon, but he hadn't shown any hostility towards you. So, in your opinion, there was no need for concern or fear. He never seems to mind, either. The most he does is stare at you or ask why you spend so much time with him, and you always be truthful.
• In truth, although he doesn't want to admit it, he enjoys your company. Alastor views you as a sort of lost soul who needs guidance... and by that, it means he wants to take your soul. You seem a bit naive to his true nature, so you'd be relatively easy to trick, yeah? You may not be strong or a good tool to use, but keeping you on a leash would be nice, in his opinion. It's not everyday he finds someone from not only his time period, but his area! You're like a little rare gem, who brings him nostalgia.
• He's proven wrong, however, as you deny his offer for a deal. So, he was proven wrong. You're smart enough to deny his offer for a deal... Which, although he is irritated, he has to applaud you for. You're smart, and he loves smart people! It beats the idiotic brawn he often interprets many of the inhabitants of Hell to be run by, which he despises. So, although he never gets to own your lovely soul, he earns more respect for you as a person rather than just a nostalgic memory from the past. Seeing people less as people, such as viewing them as tools or objects for his own enjoyment, is a problem he has... One that you've gotten past due to being a bit more intelligent than some of the other sinners, and gained his respect as a person.
• The more time you spend together, the more you two become friends... Sure, it takes a long time, but it eventually happens. You find him to have his own sort of charm underneath the eerie exterior, and he sees you as someone at the hotel who really understands him and where he comes from. Sure, Mimzy is also someone who he sees similarly since they were friends in life, but she is rarely at the Hazbin Hotel, if ever. You're a guest of the establishment, though, so he can hang around with you more often.
• Though... you are beginning to have... memories coming back. Alastor sounds a bit like the man who killed you, so you have been thinking about your killer. It's been becoming distressing, because you are worried about meeting him in Hell. Sure, you want revenge, but you are not a very strong demon. There's about a 50/50 chance he might be stronger than you. It's gotten to the point where you decide to confide in Charlie about it. She decides that, the next day, she'd have everyone do art therapy with the task of drawing their greatest stressor. Of course, with your permission, of course...
• So, you alongside the other residents start the next day making art while eating breakfast. You all are not exactly sure who is going to be participating in the sharing process Charlie wants to try out, but you know you sure as Hell won't. You only plan to share it with Charlie... and maybe Alastor. You're not sure, yet.
• You doodle what you remember your killer looking like, the body he was burying, alongside the area you died in. Then, once you're done, you bring it over to Charlie. She seems a little disheartened, as if upset that the situation still impacts you to this day, but supportive. Then, she suggests that you could show it to Alastor. Maybe he will recognize him? And, if anybody could protect you if you do meet your killer in Hell, it'd be him. To be honest, you didn't even think of the fact that Alastor might recognize him!
• Now excitedly, you go to find Alastor. You notice that he also seems to be participating in the workshop. It is probably the first time you've seen him participate in one, but you always suspected he'd join in on one that involves drawing, since he had mentioned enjoying doodling things from time to time. You don't peek at it, considering the challenge is to draw what stresses you, but from the brief glimpse you get you see a bunch of chains.
• "Alastor! Hi! Charlie recommended I show you my drawing, in case you can help me... would you be willing to take a look?" He looks over to you, grinning widely. His first few thoughts are about how he can use whatever problem you have to try, once again, to sucker a deal from you. So, he nods his head rather quickly. "Of course, dear! Anything for a friend."
• You show him your picture, explaining that it's the man who killed you... only for his face to suddenly go pale. He's grinning, like always, but you can tell something is wrong. "Alastor? You okay?" For a few moments, he's quiet, before he snaps out of it. "Ah, yes, dear! I'm fine! The man is um... familiar to me. I just need to try to remember who he is... I'll let you know if I remember."
• He may sound calm, but inside, he's panicking. It's him. It's him. He killed you. He remembers who you were, too, considering the scenery. That, and you decided to keep your name. You were the one victim he didn't plan to kill. The only one that he felt a little remorse for, since you didn't fit the criteria of his usual victims. He killed based off of his weird morals, so killing someone who he usually wouldn't have hit him a bit. So much so, even in Hell, his mind wandered to you from time to time... Now, you're here, and you don't recognize him.
• By a little remorse, he means much more than he'd like to admit. He may be the cruel, sadistic Radio Demon, but back when he was human he still had a bit more care for others. That, and in Hell, it's a lot easier to find people who fit his murderous criteria he had when he was alive. So, although he doesn't go by that code as much in Hell, he still believes you didn't deserve it. You just were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he couldn't let a witness live.
• Meanwhile, you're completely oblivious to his internal panic. All you're noticing is that, as the days go by, he's keeping a closer and closer eye on you. While you would usually go and seek him out, now, you don't need to! It's his turn to do the seeking! Though, it is odd how he seems to know where you are all the time... That, and he's been knocking on your door the second after you wake up, almost like he's some sort of psychic, or something!
• Now, while Alastor is usually more obsessive and possessive when it comes to relationships, to the point where one may say he's a yandere by default... When Alastor actually is a yandere? You're screwed. Those behaviors are upped to the max. There's no escaping him.
• He's spying on you, yes. He normally would. Now, though, it's almost constantly. From your room, to the store, to the park, to anywhere else you go. He's a lot more obvious about it, too. He'd normally let you have other friends, but in this case, you're not allowed. Well, you are, but he will actively try to get you to not trust them. What if they're your killer? The only exception would be the others at the Hazbin Hotel, since he wants you to stay there. If you're too scared, you might leave, and it'd make it harder to find you to stalk you.
• He's also going to try to make deals with you much more often, now. Little ones at first, though, that don't involve your soul. If he gets you this, you have to get him that. If he does this, you need to do that. Small things, to slowly build you up to the big deal he plans to have you agree to. Like a frog in boiling water. You throw it into hot water it'll jump out, but if you slowly turn up the heat, it'll stay put until the end. You probably don't even notice the deals increasing in intensity.
• And so, when he approaches you with a deal one day, you aren't surprised. However, he knows this one is too good to pass up! Or, at least, it sounds too good until you agree. "Dear, I've figured out who your killer is! Though, I want to make a deal. I'll tell you who it is and make sure you're safe, and in return, you give me your soul. Now, before you disagree, think about it. If I have your soul, I can protect you much easier, as I'll be more connected to you. That, and they can't steal it from you and hurt you more than if they did have it. So, is it a deal?" He's made his points... and you're now so used to intense deals, that you agree to it, despite your unease. Giving up your soul is a big thing, but he's your friend, hasn't hurt you, and from what it sounds like... he wouldn't hurt you once he has your soul. It's to protect you, yeah?
• Once you do, shaking his hand to seal the deal, he immediately lets you in on his secret. His grip moves from your hand to your wrist, his grin wide as he speaks calmly. "Do not panic, dear. I did it. I killed you, because you saw something you shouldn't have." And with that, all his true colors are revealed. He admits to everything, from the stalking, to the obsessions, and to his true reason for wanting your soul: to keep you close.
• You, for one, are terrified. Your worst fear is realized. Your killer is stronger than you - a literal overlord- and now owns your soul. Your leash is much tighter and shorter than Husk's, too. You're constantly being dragged around by him. He shows you off, as if you are some sort of trophy. He probably brings you everywhere he goes, even to Cannibal Town and meetings, so you aren't out of his sight.
• If you try to get away from him, he will literally drag you back. Then, he's going to be holding onto your shoulder tightly for the next few hours. It's his passive aggressive way of saying "I'm not afraid to hurt you", without actually saying anything... As if you getting dragged by a chain wrapped around your throat wasn't enough to prove it.
• You are, in your own way, treated a bit better than Husk. That is, as long as you actually go along with his insanity. If you act good, he'll treat you to food- no, not the raw meat and demon flesh he eats. Foods that you actually like. He'll make sure you have the best room in the hotel. He'll even, begrudgingly, let you have a television. If you aren't so nice, though, he'll basically take away everything. The food you eat will be what he eats, you're probably going to be in his room so he can keep an eye on you, and there will be no technology allowed other than radio and things that came before it. The most you'll get is to be allowed to sleep in his bed, while he sleeps on one of the chairs in his room (that is, if he doesn't stay up all night to watch you).
• Charlie probably isn't aware of any of this. The most she might notice is that you two are hanging out more often, and that Alastor was your killer. However, she truly believes he can be redeemed, especially since your murder wasn't something he wanted. So, she won't question it, and believes a lot of the things Alastor says to explain your odd behavior. "They're a bit nervous, still, but we're working it all out." "They've been staying in my room because the prefer it there." "They got rid of their phone because they realized they were getting a bit addicted to social media." Whenever you try to say anything, though, you feel a slight tug on your chain, which keeps you quiet about it. Stupid deal...
• You aren't going anywhere. He's doing all of this with the goal of making it all up for you, in his own twisted way. Especially since he's now learned that you are the exact opposite of the type of person he would kill. If you act good, you'll see! He'll give you mostly everything you want. He'll shower you in apologies for your death, give you gifts, and maybe let you have some alone time... He just gets a little more than frustrated when you try to leave... Please, he's been waiting for this opportunity for years, so just let him apologize for killing you... Even if his apology lasts for all of eternity.
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salvatwh0re · 8 months
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I have officially mastered the void
So this morning (afternoon actually) i decided to tap into the void so I did the 61 points yoga nidra meditation with a subliminal. I didn’t really need the subliminal I was just using it cause my headphones are somewhat noise cancelling and my family was awake so I didn’t want to get distracted. But the meditation was really relaxing. At first I had some trouble staying focused but then I reminded myself why I was doing this and what I was doing it for. So it kept me motivated. After that i affirmed a little bit then I counted down from 100 and then I affirmed some more then I got bored of affirming so i started visualizing and then I got bored of that so I just decided to focus on the darkness behind my eyelids.
I never really took that advice from people when they said it helped cause I didn’t believe them but it actually worked. Out of everything else I did that was the one thing that sent me straight to the void. I think for the most part it was just letting go of that desperate feeling i always have when I try to enter. I always feel like I’m forcing myself to do it so I just let go and kind of forgot about what I was doing while still keeping that intention.
I was getting pretty anxious tho because of the time so I just got out but i did it again and it sent me straight to the void again. So now I know the secret to getting into the void is to just let go of that desperation and to stop forcing yourself, just let it happen. If you feel you’ve affirmed enough stop affirming, if you feel you’ve focused on your breathing enough, go back to your automatic breathing pattern STOP FORCING YOURSELF IT WILL GET YOU NOWHERE!!
and I know a lot of people stress about not being aware in the void and not affirming for your desires but stressing over that is exactly what’s going to make you forget tbh. When you let go of that desperation you let go of those other doubts too, those things that were stopping you from getting there in the first place. I feel like removing yourself from those thoughts is really effective in getting you what you want.
I will say it might help to have a list of things you want either written down or set in your mind because it will be a lot easier to remember what you’re going to affirm. When you’re in the void or even before you tap in completely you’re supposed to be super relaxed so it might be a little difficult to bring up those thoughts but because of how different the void is from the 3D it’s kind of hard to forget. Especially if you’ve been trying for a long time.
The void isn’t really something you question, you know for sure you’re in cause you can’t hear feel see taste or smell anything so it’s pretty identifiable. And because you’ve reminded yourself over and over that that’s what the void feels like, once you feel it you’re going to be like OHHH ok now i know to affirm for my desires. You’ve been training your brain to associate the void with your desires so of course once you recognize that you’re in you’re going to remember to affirm for your desires.
Also I don’t really like using the term void personally, but it’s what I learned it as. I feel like calling it the void just makes it sound so otherworldly and extraterrestrial and scary tbh. I think that’s what was holding me back as well, fear. I know that Neville Goddard refers to it as the I AM state which is a perfect name for it because it really is a state of just BEING like you’re not worried about anything else other than yourself and that’s the beauty of it. I would go on more cause there’s so much I can say but overall i hope you just let you go of that desperation so that you can finally push through and get everything you’ve been wanting because you deserve it.
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Little Hare
Requests:
Request: Dark Feyd writes his name on the reader’s back with his dagger.
Wordcount: 3.1K+
Masterlist
Description: A party where you didn't know anyone would be awful. But it is to honor your husband and his success on the planet and there is nothing you wouldn't do for him. Until Feyd believes you have disgraced him and he'll have to punish you.
A/N: First fic for Feyd it isn't as dark as I wanted it to be but I hope you all enjoy it. I had fun writing this and will definitely love to write more of him either with this reader or not. This is the same reader from my Feyd HC.
Warning: Dark Feyd. Blood lots of blood, crying, pain, dacryphilia, possessive/ jealous Feyd, murder, violence, death, dagger kink. Smut, breeding kink, dubcon,
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“Na-Baroness, would you care for some wine?” The male servant asks for a second time. This time, Irulan nudges your shoulder. Reminding you that is who you are now. You are no longer a Princess, but the wife of Feyd-Rautha.
“Oh, forgive me,” you apologize, curtsying lowly to the servant. Irulan scoffed by your side, but you paid her no attention. “I am still unused to the title.”
The servant, like most people that were graced with a smile from you, flushed and shook his head. “You never need to apologize, Na-Baroness. Would you prefer to be addressed as princess?”
You wanted to. You liked being a princess. You liked the kind smiles you realized when you were just the emperor’s daughter. Now you get looks of caution, worry, and pity when someone addresses you. All in fear of your blood-thirsty husband.
Your marriage was still in its early days with the wedding taking place only 2 months prior. You were often fell somewhere in the middle of terrified and fascinated by your husband. You were told almost nothing about him until the day of your wedding and then it was only his awful points.
And you didn’t blame them. He was an awful man, but he was also ambitious and strong and there were moments when you saw an actual man within him. One that made sure your favorite foods were stalked on the planet Arrakis or took walks with you late at night. Claiming the warriors were not equipped enough to guard you.
“That is very kind of you, to think of my comfort, but I will have to get used to it,” you said, kindly touching the servant's hand gently for only a moment. “And I also am not drinking wine tonight. If there is any Rossie's cider, I would love a glass.”
The servant flushed more and bowed to you. “Right away, princess,” he said before walking away.
You smiled despite yourself at the term turning to face Irulan’s scowl. “You must stop being so nice to everyone. And you shouldn’t allow him to tell you, Princess. You are not a princess once more.” Her tone was harsh and her glare cold, but you knew it was all for concern for you.
“Irulan, we don’t see each other often”—you said, watching her face soften at your soft words—“Let’s not fight, dear sister.”
Sighing she took your hands in hers. “I am not meaning to pick a fight. You just need to be smarter. I doubt your husband would be pleased to know that you are allowing people to call you anything that isn’t tied to him.”
You nodded, squeezing her hands before letting go. “I am thankful for your concern, Irulan,” you said.
A Bene Gesserit hovered in the shadows and called your sister to her. Irulan hesitated for only a moment before disappearing leaving you to stand alone. Baron Harkonnen was throwing a party for the success your husband’s been having on the planet and members of all the great houses were in attendance.
People that you never had to interact with as your father and the Bene Gesserit kept you isolated from everyone. When you married Feyd most people were shocked to even know you existed. Most avoid you, believing there was some horrible reason you were kept a secret and in fear of your husband.
Sighing softly, you made your way to the corner of the room so you could see everything without having to engage. The servant from before ran over to you. Out of breath, he bowed deeply and presented you with the drink you requested.
“For you, my princess,” he said.
Touched, you placed your hand over your heart and took the glass of cider from his tray. “Thank you so much. I hope it didn’t cause you a lot of trouble getting this.”
“No, princess it cost nothing to serve you.”
You smiled in appreciation when a chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced over the servant’s head to see the dark eyes of your husband. You opened your mouth in shock and your hands shook slightly causing the drink to splash into your dress.
“My Na-Baron. How are you”—Reyd glare cuts through you and stalls your words. He pulled his dagger from his side and stalked closer to you and the servant, who was staring at the ground and shaking.
“Now, what are you two talking about? Do not let me stop you,” he spoke with a growl in his voice that had the servant and your breath catching. When neither of you spoke up, his patience left him, and he grabbed the servant by the neck and drove his dagger into his neck.
You gasped and closed your eyes as the blood poured from the wounded. Feyd grabbed the back of your neck. “Fucking look at what you caused,” he ordered.
Listening to him, your eyes opened, and you watched as he pulled the dagger across the servant’s throat and pulled out harshly. The blood sprayed all over you and tears burned your eyes. The room had gone silent, and everyone watched the two of you.
“Turns out it does cost something to serve you,” Feyd laughed tightening his grip on your neck as he forced you out of the hall and towards your shared bedroom. You didn’t struggle and tried to stop your tears from falling, though you knew he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved making you cry and licking the tears from your face.
Feyd kicked the door open and tossed you inside as he slammed the door behind you both and locked it. You stumble but quickly regain your footing to turn around and face your husband. Well, you face his feet as you know he does not want to see your eyes.
“My sweet hare. Who would have thought you would also be a harlot,” he said amused, but the anger was barely restrained in his tone.
Your tears flowed heavily down your cheeks. “Never, my lord,” you whispered.
He hummed. “Speak up if you have something to say to me.”
Your hands shook but you interlocked your fingers and squeezed them together. You slowly lift your head to stare at Feyd. He stood against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and the bloody dagger still in his head. He wore an expression of amusement, lust, and violence.
“I said never, my lord. I am not a harlot. I am your wife, your servant, your hare,” your tone turned to a whine of desperation at the end. You were made for him. To be his and you would never do anything to displease him. In the months since your wedding, you have grown more loyal to him, not because you had to be but because you wanted to be.
“Are you sure about that, princess,” he mocked crossing the space between you in quick strides. He took in your bloody face and dress. The tear marks down your face and your expression. So soft, innocent, and loyal to him.
How you could still be so sweet and pure after the things he’s done to you is a mystery, but he thanks the stars each night for it. Roughly grabbing your cheeks, he dug his nails into them. “You belong to me. I could have had you as a slave or a concubine, but I was generous. I made you, my wife. My Na-baroness.” His nails dug further into your face until he tore the skin and now your own blood mixed with the servant.
“Please, My lord. I am yours. I live to please you,” you were sobbing now, and the sound was music to his ears. He couldn’t help but lean closer and lick from your jaw to the crown of your head. He moaned at the mixture of salt and iron on his tongue, but it wasn’t enough to sate the beast that was woken when he saw your sweet smile aimed at another. At your hand on someone’s arm even if only for a moment.
“Do I seem pleased, little harlot?”
You cried harder. You wanted to be his hare again. He good little wife. You cursed yourself for not listening to your sister. You should have stayed by his side all night. You should have taken the wine and not spoken to anyone. “My lord, my husband, my Na-Baron, please forgive me. What can I do to please you? To gain your good grace again?”
He chuckled at your desperation Your hands were tightly gripping the side of his shirt without you even noticing. You were just too perfect. Your tears were almost as good as blood. A light went off in his mind and smirked darkly.
Shoving you away from him, Feyd licked his fingers before aiming his dagger at you. You stared between the two in confusion, but eagerness and hope shined through your eyes. He rolled his eyes but laughed slightly.
“On your knees and clean it off. That should be something familiar to you.” He spoke.
His words stung. You had only been on your knees for him. “Yes, my lord,” you said anyway. Dropping to your knees you placed your hand behind your back and slowly stuck out your tongue and licked the sharp tip.
You winced as the tip pierced your tongue, but you took a shaky breath and dragged your tongue along the dagger until there was no more blood and it was dripping in your spit. You looked up at Feyd, hoping that he was happy, but his expression was void of any emotions. You deflated slightly.
“Open your mouth.”
You did without question, and he spat into your mouth. You shivered and you felt your face heat as the area between your thighs dampened. You were ashamed to admit that your fascination with your husband also came with a deep desire for him. He was so dangerous and beautiful and the things he did to you were shameful, but you enjoyed them as well.
Feyd could see the desire in your eyes and couldn’t wait to watch it turn to horror. He dropped to his knees in front of you and roughly turned you around until your hands were gripping the edge of your bed. His dagger makes quick work to cut off the back of your dress and you are quick to help him remove it from your body.
“Eager little thing you are,” he chuckled. “Do you think I am going to fuck you?”
You froze, glancing over your shoulder at him. You wanted him to. You wanted to beg him to but that is not what good wives do. “Whatever you wish to do, I am eager for, husband.”
“I will assess that,” he smirked. The fear flicked in the outer rings of your eyes, and he groaned. Leaning closer he licked your face once more. “I will make sure you and everyone know who you belong to.”
You were afraid, the sadistic look in his eyes you’d seen before when he was fighting. You swallowed shakingly but didn’t hide your fear from him. Feyd grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively. As if he hated you and you were both locked in a fight to the death. It was animalistic, frightening, and addictive.
All too soon he broke the kiss and forced you to face forward. Not being able to see what he was going to do only increased your fear and desire. He was breathing heavily, panting like a wild animal. And you were glad. He was a beast, and you were his hare that needed to be claimed. This was familiar, and you can deal with that.
And then his dagger was pressing into your back, breaking the first layer of skin, and going deeper. You screamed out and thrashed against him. Feyd gripped the back of your neck and pinned you down on the bed.
“Be still and prove to me you are my little hare.”
“Okay, my lord,” you weep. His hand did not leave your throat and his dagger dug deeper. You screamed, closing your eyes, and begging for the pain to stop. The pain was unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and your body shook as it tried to process what was going on. Your mind grew fussy, and you felt as if you were going to pass out and you couldn’t wait.
“No, stay with me. Endure it for me. For your husband,” He growled, shaking your neck. You whined and begged for his forgiveness. His dagger dug in and out of your skin, curving and carving out your skin.
Your screams quieted to pained moans and whimpers. You could feel the blood dripping down your back. Some already drying as it went on forever. Finally, he stopped, and his hand left your neck. Where you were sure his handprints would bruise.
You sniffled lying your head on the bed exhausted. Feyd moved his lie his head next to yours taking in your swollen and wet face. Your eyes were far away and bloodshot and you tried to focus on him.
“My little hare, you did such an excellent job. I’m proud of you,” he said. His hand pushed your sweaty heart out of your face in something close to affection. His thumb ran along your cheeks, wiping under your eyes. He forced his thumb into your mouth, and you obeyed his unspoken command and sucked.
Feyd's free hand moved along your back. Ghosting between the letters that he carved there. His eyes locked on yours as he mouthed each letter to you as he traced them. F.E.Y.D R.A.U.T.H.A
“Feyd Rautha,” you said quietly when his thumb left your mouth.
He smirked and grabbed your jaw. “And who is that?”
“You. My lord, my Na-Baron, and my husband.”
“And now everyone will know it.” He said getting up from the bed. “I will have all new dresses made for you. In black with the back open. Everyone from every corner of the universe will know that you belong to me.”
His voice sounded far away or as if you were underwater. Your eyes followed him until he was no longer in sight. “I suppose, I should reward you for being good to me,” he hummed getting on his knees behind you.
You wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but your mouth felt dry, and you had no energy to do anything. Or you didn’t until he started pushing your thighs apart and you tried to crawl up the bed and away from his fingers that started to probe your hole. You whined but three quick and harsh swats to your ass had you stop trying to get away.
Feyd cared little for your comfort as he watched the blood from your back pool down your back and slide between your legs. You were already so wet for him and if not, the blood was lubrication enough. He groaned as he forces two of his thick fingers inside of you and your cunt hungrily sucked them in.
“Hunger little cunt. Do you want my cock?’ He asked, pulling his pants off and stroking his thick cock a slowly teasing himself. He coated his cock in your blood before thrusting all eight inches into you in one go.
You choked and your body froze and tightened up. Feyd groaned and kissed the bottom of your spine, lapping up the blood. “You will be in more pain if you don’t relax. I will fuck you open either way,” he reminded you. Your blood was his favorite drink in the world, and it drove him mad.
You nodded taking deep breaths and trying to focus on the pleasure and not the pain still shooting through your body. “Please,” you said, unsure if you were asking for him to stop or make you forget the pain.
Either way, Feyd only had his own interest at heart. Grabbing your waist, he pulled you back on his cock as he pounded into you repeatedly growly lowly as you cried and begged him over and over. His cock reached so deep inside of you with each thrust. Feyd grabbed your ass squeezing harshly as he chased his release.
Your back ached and your cunt was growing sore from his relentless thrust. You tightened around him, and your knuckles turned white with how hard you were holding onto the sheets on the bed. Feyd couldn’t help himself and ran his fingers along your back. Pressing into the letters he carved. More blood oozed from your back, and you couldn’t stop the fight to get away from him.
He chuckled and dug his nails into his name. “Where are you going?” He pulled you back harshly and picked up speed as despite yourself you came around his cock, squirting all over you both. He laughed louder pressing his chest against your back. Fedy grabbed the side of your head and forced you to look into his dark eyes. “Tell me, who do you belong to?”
“You, Feyd. I belong to you,” you cried.
“And how were you made for? Who is going to breed you and keep you all to himself?”
“You. Only you Feyd-Rautha,” your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and you came again, your body moving against him. You cried at the pain it caused you and you screamed at the pleasure he was giving you.
Feyd slapped your face, forcing you to look at him once more. “Let me see those little eyes,” he grinned. He smeared your own blood all over your face before his tongue licked it all away. He repeated this twice more before his hips drove hard into you one last time as he filled you with his seed.
“Take my seed, little hare. This is why you were made for me. To be bred, broken, and used by me,” he said, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. You could do nothing but lie there gasping and taking what he was giving you. He stayed pressed against you both of you covered in sweat, blood, and cum.
Pealing his body off of your broken one, he stood up and looked down at his work. Your body shook and blood still ran down your back. He smirked satisfied with himself and slapped your ass. “Good girl. You have earned my forgiveness and favor once more.” He leaned closer whispering in your ear. “Be wise to keep it. Unless you want more reminders.”
You shivered at the threat but nodded softly, your eyes closing. You were in so much pain and you were unsure if you were hallucinating or not when a hand ran through your hair and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.
“Rest, little hare. I will have a bath drawn and some salve to make sure your mark heals property.”
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Taglist.
I didn't add my normal taglist so let me know if you would like to be added to Feyd's taglist as well to my normal taglist people and of course to anyone else who wants to be tagged in his fics or any of my other fics.
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ellecdc · 1 month
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A Man With A Plan.3
prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6
Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU
CW: Remus being a d-bag, I'm sorry. Drinking and drunkenness. Mention of smoking. Mention of sexual encounters/hooking up.
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Remus was good at quite a few things. Two of those things happened to be thinking and planning. So, he could think this through, and make a plan.
First, here was what he knows:
He was a werewolf 
As a werewolf, he turned into The Wolf once a month
As a werewolf, he had a particularly strong magical ability
Apparently, The Wolf had a soulmate 
It sounded kind of grim, he couldn’t lie. So where did he go from here? 
He really didn’t think pursuing anything with you was a good idea. What if it was only the Moony part of him who liked you? He felt like the choice of any future partner (which he never planned to have thank you very much) had been taken from him; this fate and destiny bullshit was taking away his free will. 
He hated that.
And how selfish would it be to allow himself this because... what? Because it would comfort The Wolf? Because there’s a small chance you could bring comfort to him? Because Moony wanted you?
He felt disgustingly primitive: a wolf picking a mate - this was the closest Remus ever truly felt to a beast. 
And how could he do that to you? How could he look you in the eye and ask you to put aside any potential fear and prejudice to allow him to keep you to himself? How could he damn you to a life of full-moons and prejudice and hard times? What kind of man would that make him?
A selfish one. A cruel one.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. 
Unfortunately for him, this also meant he couldn’t tell his friends. Namely, he couldn’t tell James.
James was a hopeless romantic – obviously, who else would hopelessly pine over the same bird for seven years if they weren’t? Not only that, but he also had this unrelenting need to make sure everyone was as happy as humanly possible at any given moment. James sometimes looked at Remus like he hung the moon – pun intended – and felt Remus was harder on himself than he ought to be. But James didn’t understand; it was dangerous to be close to Remus. Remus was dangerous.
And he wouldn’t understand Remus’ decision in not pursuing anything with you.
He couldn’t keep something like this from only one of his friends, which meant he wouldn’t be able to tell Sirius or Peter either. Which was probably just as well, seeing as Sirius would relentlessly torment him for it and Peter worried enough about the lot of them.
So, his new plan was: keep this from his friends, and get the hell over you. Simple, right?
Wrong. 
Remus had already tried avoidance (as seen last week) which was obviously a complete bust. So, he planned to try exposure therapy – he would spend time around you hoping to desensitize himself (or Moony) to your proximity. 
Exposure therapy was bliss and torture. 
It was as if Remus’ senses were hyper focused on you. When you were around, he couldn’t pay attention to anything other than you. When Sirius was telling a grandiose story about the last quidditch game, he couldn’t help but notice you shift in your seat. Why did you shift? Were you uncomfortable? Were you cold? Was your leg falling asleep? Were you – god forbid – moving closer to Sirius?
Sod off, you git. 
If you so much as interjected in a conversation, Remus wanted to chase your words and beg you for more. Did your father really own a quidditch ball set from the 1600’s? Where did he get the set? Were you with him when he bought it? Is your father kind to you?
He also spent each conversation you were part of hyper focused on the people around you as well. Were they paying attention to you when you spoke? Were they being kind to you? Were they standing too close?
Fuckin’ hell.
So, Remus needed to make a new plan.
Find a distraction.
Said distraction came in the form of one Amelia Bones. She was a nice enough girl and not a bad lay – she and Remus had fooled around in the past before, but he ended their arrangement when she started to get a little too interested in Remus for his liking. He had a plan, dammit - rules: sex was fine, feelings were not!
But Remus Lupin was a desperate man, and desperate times called for desperate measures. 
Desperation, it appeared, was not a good look for Remus. 
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Sirius Black was a bastard. He knew this, his friends knew this, everyone in Hogwarts knew this. He wasn’t necessarily proud of the title, but everyone needed to be known for something, right?
And it’s not like he wasn’t honest about his bastardness and debauchery – he never pretended to be anything but himself.
What he couldn’t understand was where Remus was pulling his bastardly behaviour from, because Remus certainly wasn’t a bastard himself.
And Sirius would know...because of previously mentioned bastardness. 
Takes one to know one. 
Sirius knew who the other bastards at Hogwarts were – McLaggen was a bastard, Lockhart was a bastard, Prewett was a bastard (Fabian, not Gideon), and Marlene was a bastard before Meadows set her straight (well, not straight but...you get the point).
The point is that Remus is not a bastard.
So, what the fuck was his problem!?
Sirius, who (very selflessly, if you asked him) agreed to be the sober marauder for the night, was sat in an armchair watching a very drunk James challenge an adequately tipsy Peter to a game of muggle poker. Sirius didn’t know all of the rules, but he could tell by James’ over-the-top confidence that he was going to lose.
What was guaranteed to be a good show at James’ inevitable loss was interrupted when Sirius couldn't help but notice Remus leaning against the wall with one Amelia Bones caged between his arms.
Remus didn’t usually get drunk enough to make bad choices – but he had clearly been out of sorts for the past week or two, so Sirius supposed stranger things have happened.
Sirius may be a bastard, but he was a good friend.
“Hiya Moony, Amelia, pleasant evening?” He drawled as he swaggered his way over to save his friend from himself.
Amelia smiled shyly at him, but Remus shot him a glare.
“Don’t call me that.” He muttered.
Sirius fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Sorry Rem. Have you had any water yet tonight?”
“I’m fine, Sirius.”
Sirius smiled awkwardly as he looked between his ‘fine’ friend and the bad choice he was making. “You look it mate, just wanted to remind you to stay hydrated.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Remus responded shortly. 
“I’ll look after him, Sirius.” Amelia cooed as she ran a finger up the length of Remus’ forearm. Sirius watched Remus’ face, and it looked to him as if Remus was having to focus a little too hard on enjoying his present company.
“Rem, can I borrow you for a second?” Sirius asked as he took the lycanthrope’s arm and dragged him to the stairwell of the boy’s dormitories without waiting for a response. 
“Pads, sod off.” Remus slurred slightly as he tried to pull his arm away from Sirius. Sirius was well aware that Remus was more than strong enough to pull out of Sirius’ grasp, so he wasn’t completely unwilling to listen to his mate.
“What are you doing?” Sirius asked quietly.
“Trying to get laid, obviously?” Remus muttered as he looked anywhere other than at Sirius.
“With Bones? Really? Took you months to shake her off, you swore you were done with her. What’s this really about?” 
“Sirius, it’s really none of your business.” Remus spoke sharply.
Sirius felt his eyebrows furrow as he took in his friend. “What has gotten into you lately?”
“Just back off, okay?” Remus said with finality as he stalked back off the way they came. Sirius blew a frustrated breath and checked on Peter and James before heading to the astronomy tower for a smoke. 
Most of the party goers had left and Sirius had the unenviable task of trying to usher James Potter and Peter Pettigrew up to bed.
“She’s just so pretty, Pads.” James sighed as he leaned heavily against the railing so Sirius could pull Peter up the couple of steps he had managed to get James up so far.
“Sure is, Prongs.” He groaned as he sat Peter down and helped James up a few more steps before washing, rinsing, and repeating his actions.
“And have you smelt her?” He continued.
“I actually have, she smells quite – quite nice.” Peter commented with a hiccup.
“Oi, don’t go around smelling my missus there, Worms.” James slurred from his spot on the banister.
“It was on-on accident Prongs. She was teaching me and Dorcas how to play hangman.” He emphasized.
“Hangman?” James guffawed. 
“Right? It’s like, it’s like supposed to be a ki-kid’s game. But you slowly watch a man ha-hang himself if the other person can’t – if they can’t read your mind!” Peter screeched.
“Pipe down, Wormy.” Sirius grumbled. “You’re gonna wake the whole tower.”
“Well, that is not a game suitable for children.” James said solemnly. Peter agreed with emphatic head nods which threw him completely off balance and onto his ass. 
“Salazar’s saggy balls, Wormy.” Sirius groaned as he hoisted the boy and all but threw him into their dorm room.
Sirius wasn’t surprised but extremely perturbed to find Remus’ bed curtain already pulled shut. He put (wrestled) James into bed and had to threaten casting an incarcerous jinx at him if he didn’t stay tucked in before he could help Peter into his own bed. 
As Sirius got ready for bed, he leaned over to press his ear against Remus’ curtains – nothing – the bastard had cast a silencing charm. Sirius groaned as he pulled on his pyjamas and crawled into bed.
“Prongs, for fucks sake, what are you doing?” He said when his head hit the pillow which brought him face-to-face with James Potter.
“I missed you.” James said.
“If you were asleep in your bed, you wouldn’t have time to miss me.” Sirius grumbled.
James seemed to consider that for a moment. “I just think I’ll fall asleep easier here.” 
Sirius found he was far too exhausted for this.
“Fine, but if you throw up in my bed, I’m telling Evans about the time you shit yourself during a half marathon.”
Sirius nearly put his hand over James’ mouth to muffle his gasp/screech.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“I told you that in confidence.”
“And I’m confident it’ll be good blackmail should I need it.”
The two stared each other down before James relented and muttered a petulant ‘fine’.
“Did you really shit yourself?” Peter whispered from across the room.
“Go to sleep, Wormy.” 
“Okay.”
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Remus was in denial. He was sure of it. Though, was it really denial if he was aware he was denying the truth?
It was too early for this.
Amelia (finally) seemed to stir, and Remus tried not to grimace at the feeling of her naked skin pulling away from his own.
“Mm, good morning handsome.” She moaned in what Remus was sure she thought was alluring but all it did was make him eager to get to breakfast.
“Thanks for last night.” Remus said as he moved to sit up.
“Maybe we can catch up later?” Amelia asked as she stretched.
Remus winced at her hopeful tone. “Yeah, maybe.”
She seemed satisfied with his non-answer and kissed his cheek before she dressed and exited the dorm. Remus dressed as well before stepping out of his bed curtains.
“What in the buggering fuck was that?” James demanded.
“Jesus Christ. Didn’t you drink enough to take out a hippogriff last night? You should be comatose.” Remus muttered as he squinted at his friend. 
“What was Amelia Bones doing leaving our dorm room, Moony?” James demanded again.
“Prongs, don’t.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you won’t talk to any of us about it, but you’re clearly crying out for help, so spill.” 
“I am not crying out for help, James. But I have been asking you to mind your fucking business!” Remus bellowed.
Peter was sat in his bed with his blankets pulled up looking like a child watching his parents’ fight.
“Fine.” James said quietly and he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Remus closed his eyes and brought his hand to his hair before pulling roughly. 
“Pete why don’t you-” Sirius started, but he didn’t need to finish before Peter was agreeing with a quick ‘yup, I’ll go see where he went!’ and vacating the dorm room. 
The silence was near deafening when Sirius finally turned his fiery gaze to Remus. 
“Remus.”
“Sirius, please don’t st-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Sirius shouted. His rumpled hair and the fact that he was still sitting under his covers did nothing to take away from the anger that permeated his being. “You’ve done enough talking, you listen now.”
Sirius moved to stand in the middle of the dorm room facing Remus like they were in a bad western stand-off.
“You have friends here who love you, regardless of whether you think you deserve it or not. Now, if you ask me, you’re not acting like someone who deserves it, but here we are.
“Now, I’m an arsehole, so if you wanna take out whatever prepubescent hormonal bullshit you’re going through right now on someone, I can take it. But you will not speak to James like that; got it?” 
Remus’ head was beyond throbbing at this point. He huffed a sigh and returned his gaze to Sirius. 
“I’m sorry.” He admitted quietly.
“I’m not the one you owe an apology.”
Remus nodded his head and pulled the book out from his trunk at the end of his bed before handing it to Sirius. 
“Page thirty-seven.” He said simply.
Sirius spared Remus a confused glance before taking the book and flipping it open to the dog-eared page.
Remus sat on his trunk with his head in his hands while Sirius read.
“Soulmate.” Sirius breathed out disbelievingly. 
Remus groaned in response.
“But... you have - who? Amelia!?” 
“No, not Amelia.” Remus groaned. “Sirius, I’m not joking, you cannot tell Prongs.”
Sirius’ face paled as his mouth dropped open. “Evans!?” He whispered in shock.
“What? No, for fucking, fuck, no!” He wanted to be swallowed up at this point. “It’s L/N.”
“L/N? The Ravenclaw? James’ new best friend? The odd little bird? Y/N?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Her. You can stop saying her name now.”
“Why? Does it hurt?”
“Sirius!”
Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”
Sirius continued to flip through the pages as Remus' blood pressure returned to normal.
“What are you going to do?” 
Remus cut his friend a glare. “I’ve tried avoidance, I’ve tried exposure therapy, and now I’m trying distraction.”
Sirius’ eyebrows met in a grimace. “You’re using Bones to bone in an attempt to distract yourself from your soulmate?” 
Remus roughly scrubbed his hands across his face.
“I know, I know. But it’s the lesser of two evils.”
Sirius scoffed. “Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“Pads...”
“No! I don’t understand how ignoring the fact that you have a magical connection to someone and using someone else who we know would love to call you hers to do so can be considered a lesser evil; it's gross, Remus. Even I’m not that slimy, and I’m a Black.”
“It’s not a magical connection, Pads.” Remus muttered. “It’s Moony’s obsession.”
Sirius shook his head. “No. It’s long thought extinct magic at play. Did you ever think about the fact that while you’re denying this of yourself, you’re also denying this of her?” 
Remus shook his head sadly as he hung it low. “She doesn’t deserve this, Sirius.”
“Oh, come on,” Sirius groaned dramatically. “Not this martyr shit again.”
“Sirius, look,” Remus started as he stood from his place. “I come from nothing, we’re poor; and the opportunities for me after I leave this castle are slim to none in both the magical and muggle world. She comes from a pureblood family, and while they may not share all of the same values, you know how wizarding-kind view werewolves. Okay? I can’t offer her anything that she can’t find somewhere else. In fact, she’d probably be way better off with anyone other than me.” 
Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to decide against it.
“It’s for the best.” Remus stressed. 
Sirius didn’t seem to agree; neither did Moony.
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Continue to chapter four here.
Taglist: @hanniejji, @y0urm0m12, @c0nsc10usworld, @aphrcdites, @starsval, @thepunisherfrankcastle, @anuncalledbridge, @unstablereader, @rai-strangebr,  @klazina-couch-potato, @cancelledkaley, @fandom-crashlanding, @ttulipwritezz, @boo8008, @daisiesformylove, @frostooo, @myriadmoons, @aremuslupinsimp, @simars3, @stargurl99, @dreamingofts18, @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface, @agent-tempest, @xxrougefangxx, @serenadingtigers, @spidergirlmcu, @adhxmoony, @spokenfolks-blog, @hufflepufffangirlqueen
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doqt33th · 9 months
Text
SINGULARITY
MIRAGE/READER
SUMMARY: You and Mirage have been pining for each other for a while now. A nasty summer storm drives you straight into his arms. Shenanigans ensue.
WORD COUNT: 18k. Sorry I’m insane
WARNINGS: 18+ and I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! Explicit PWP, fingering + oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, mild spit kink. Reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns but is written fairly androgynous. No descriptors of appearance beyond the basics and no (y/n) used.
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Familiar streets flashed by at increasing speeds, traffic and pedestrians flickering by and blurring together into a smorgasbord of color, all gilded by the setting sun. Unconsciously, you dug your fingers into the seams of the leather seat beneath you, worrying the stitches. Out of the corner of your eye, the radio blazed to life with color and that oh-so-familiar symbol.
“Hey, hey, easy on the merchandise, hot stuff,” Mirage crackled out of the speakers lightheartedly, and you immediately yanked your hands into yourself like they’d been burned. In your worrying, you’d seemingly forgotten about what — or rather, who — exactly was your ride.
“Oh— my bad, I wasn’t thinking,” you said, sinking your weight back and down, instead picking at your nails to give your hands something to do. God, you were so nervous, and for what? Mirage knew all these people— these bots, and knew them well. They were all friends! Or amiable towards each other, at the very least. And they were the good guys. Saved the world and all that.
So why were you so anxious?
“You’re good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. Your leg started to bounce. “Sooo… you wanna tell me what’s on your mind? Save me a trip to Noah’s repair shop? I’d hate for you to start taking your emotions out on me, y’know.”
You scoffed, eyes sliding to the radio. The grin that pulled at the corners of your mouth was one you were helpless to stop. He just had that effect on you, where around him you became a slave to your laughter and, additionally, also became one half of a terrible joke machine that Mirage happily completed.
Leather creaked as you nudged the inside of the door with your boot to chastise him. “You love when I take my emotions out on you, dick. Don’t lie.”
“Only the good ones,” he shot back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “You nervous about meeting the others?”
His probe was successful; you fought the urge to shrink at your feelings being read so accurately and so immediately. “I— yeah. I am, and I don’t even know why. I’m sure they’re all great, I’m just working myself up over nothing.”
Red faded to green. Carried on the tide of forward-moving traffic, Mirage rolled ahead, eventually slipping over to make a turn. You watched him twist his mirrors to check his blind spot.
“Ah, c’mon. Nobody could blame you, you’re meeting a bunch of aliens for the first time. Pretty trippy for anyone. ‘specially if those aliens are, like, double your size. And robots.” A short chuckle topped off his words.
“Right. I just don’t wanna fuck it up or embarrass myself, you know how it is. I don’t wanna embarrass you, either.”
“Oh, Primus, trust me. You’re not gonna embarrass me. I don’t even think that’s possible. Prime’s seen me in a lot worse shape than bringing you in to meet him.” The world continued to roll by. Brick buildings blotted out the sunshine in intermittent flashes. “You got good marks from your favorite bot, you’ll be fine.” The dismissive tone of his voice was working, in a weird way, to assuage your fears.
“Excuse me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest pointedly. “My favorite bot?”
“What, am I not?” A downright theatrical gasp hissed out of the speaker. “Have you been cheating on me?”
Cheeks hot with a flush at even the joking insinuation of being together, you glanced away from the impassive Autobot symbol on the radio and out the window. Still, the laugh barked out of you was sudden and sharp, and quickly dissolved into giggles. “Yes. Mirage. I’m sorry. There’s another ten foot tall alien robot in Brooklyn that’s been vying for my attention. We’re done.”
“I should throw you out on the street right now,” Mirage fussed playfully, his evident pout tinging his voice. “For breakin’ my spark. Also I’m taller than that.”
“You wouldn’t dare. I’m fragile.”
“I dunno. Noah gets his ass kicked around pretty good and he’s still kickin’ it.”
“I am not Noah,” came your tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. “And Noah just refuses to give up even when it’s good for him.”
“Thought qualities like determination were supposed to be big things with you guys.”
“In moderation.”
Mirage barked a laugh. “Ha! Should tell that to Prime. He’ll blow a gasket.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be cut off. “No, seriously, tell it to Prime, we’re here.”
The easy confidence that your playful back-and-forth had teased out instantly chilled into a dense mass in your stomach; Mirage was rolling slowly up to a nondescript warehouse buried deep within the old industrial part of Brooklyn, and the way the worn brick loomed over you even in the car made your heart rate pick up.
Now or never.
Familiar alien whirs and clicks of shifting and setting metal filled your ears as Mirage rose into his bipedal mode, the driver’s seat gently ejecting you onto your own two legs on the pavement. Following the motion, you took a few steps forward, but still balked a little at the half open door. Inside, you heard voices of varying timbre, and you fought the urge to turn tail.
Now. Or. Never. Gritted teeth accompanied the repetition of your thought.
The displacement of air behind you — and the soft, constant mechanical noises emanating from his body — signaled Mirage’s presence before his voice.
He said your name with surprising care, using a tone that only came out when he was really being sincere. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed at it as you turned, craning your neck up to meet his gaze. “Hey, you, uh, you want me to go in ahead of ya? Normally I’d be like ‘ladies first’ and all that, but you said you weren’t feeling too jazzed about going in—“
“Yeah, actually, if you could, that would be… great. That would be great.”
“Gotcha. Let you psych yourself up a little more before you go in, I see how it is. Let me do the talking,” he affirmed with an easy grin and a nod, bouncing on the balls of his pedes a few times before striding forward. His long legs folded easily under him as he ducked under the lowered garage door, and you traipsed after, smoothing your thumb over your knuckles repeatedly.
The warehouse yawned beyond you, orange shafts of light cutting gashes into otherwise brownish darkness. Old graffiti sprayed across the walls told you that Ramona had been there once, then Nick, then Darnell, and a million others. And you were there now, feeling impossibly small, yes, but a little more resilient with the fading sunlight at your back and Mirage, like always, at your side.
He’d become a permanent fixture in your life from the day you’d met him — when you’d strong-armed Noah into giving up his secret about his Porsche, and the mysterious car had ended up being a twelve-foot-tall robot with a literal motormouth that made a playful pass at you within the first hour of your first conversation. You’d been flustered out of your mind, but had just kept coming back out of unfettered curiosity and outright fascination. Aliens were real, and Noah was friends with one, and it— he could turn into a Porsche.
Mind-shattering observations on the surface, yes. Mirage tended to deflate the grandeur, though, because he never acted like aliens did in the movies or in books. There was no ‘We come in peace!’ bullshit. He was so easy. Everything with him was so easy. He was loudmouthed and extroverted and genuinely hilarious; you spent hours in Noah’s garage trading terrible jokes — mostly bad sexual innuendos — or buckled to Mirage’s driver’s seat as he flew down Central Avenue on the wrong side of the limit and blasted Haddaway so loud it nearly busted your eardrums.
Weird to say an alien robot was your friend, but he was. He gave you rides to work, to your lectures, to your labs, wherever; in fact, he got petulant when you dared to take the bus one day to give him a break, and made it a point to pry your routine out of you so that he could take you wherever you wanted, no fares needed. 
So infuriating. You loved it.
You loved… maybe more than just the back-and-forth. Maybe more than the bad jokes. Maybe more than the late-night drives. You were starting to think— starting to realize you loved big blue optics, and the rumble of a 260 horsepower engine when you made just the right innuendo, and broad, incredibly intricate servos that dwarfed yours in size but were so, so careful…
Man. You tried not to think about it too much. It as a concept made you laugh with its own absurdity. Poor human chick fell in love with the giant alien robot that made her laugh. It wasn’t… debilitating. You still functioned like a normal adult. Mostly. Except for that one night like two weeks ago where you’d been arguing with him about some stupid shit and he’d scooped you up, right off the ground, in both servos and held you there, digits interlaced against your back and thumbs on your front.
It wasn’t the first time he’d ever held you like that — he’d done it a few times — but something was different that night… even if he’d only done it to gain an upper hand in your bickering. The air crackled with latent electricity, made your skin buzz in all the right places, especially when Mirage had gone quiet for once in his life as he stared at you in his grasp. When you’d prompted him with his name, he’d only responded by gently stroking a thumb over the swell of your chest, which had made you gasp air in so sharply that it burned in your throat. The metal left a tingling path on your skin under your shirt in its wake and immediately sent your heart rate skyrocketing past whatever the fuck was a normal BPM.
He’d snapped back to reality at the sudden expansion of your lungs and had attempted to play it all off as a joke. You remembered how you’d still stumbled when your shoes touched the ground, an absolutely insane feeling of genuine heat rocking you as your brain seized the feeling of his touch while it still sparked against your nerve endings and helpfully replayed it over and over and over again. Sure, the rhythm of banter came back after a stuttering beat, but you never really cooled the warmth on your face for the rest of that night — and when Mirage had dropped you off at your apartment, your door was shut and locked for about five minutes before your shaking hand was frantically worked beneath the waistband of your pants.
…Whew. Definitely something a little more than friendly there. Maybe even more than pure love, something a little slicker and deeper that buzzed against your bones and coiled low in your stomach. It made you feel a little weird — just objectively, because of what Mirage was — but damn if it didn’t feel good to indulge.
God, fuck, why were you thinking about that now, of all times? Escapist fantasies be damned, you were going to meet Mirage’s comrades-friends-coworkers and leave a good impression. Not drool over the worn-out memory replaying in your head for the thousandth time this week.
Out of the darkness and around corners, they emerged. The stealth wasn’t on purpose; you didn’t even think they could be stealthy. Oh, one was coming right for you now — tall was the only word your brain could muster. Tall and red and square were added to the list of adjectives as the stately bot approached, servos collected into fists at his sides and shoulders thrown back.
“Priiiime,” Mirage greeted warmly, throwing his arms out at his sides in his favorite pose. “Look, hey, I know what you said about bringing more people around, but I swear— Hey!”
Completely ignoring your friend’s (status pending) greeting, the bot— Prime, holy shit, this is THE Prime, was kneeling down, leaning forward, and he was right in your face. You fought the very biological urge to flinch. Blue optics considered you for a moment before narrowing and flicking to your right from his lowered position.
“Mirage,” Optimus started with a gravelly tone  from behind his faceguard that communicated exasperation above all else. “I explicitly stated that for our safety — and yours — that we were to come in contact with no more humans.”
“Sir, I gotta be honest with you. Kinda hard on a planet that’s got, what, five billion of ‘em? Six?” Mirage glanced at you for backup. You stared back flatly, refusing to say anything that might put you on the business end of a laser cannon.
“You were told to remain incognito so you could recover.” Optimus continued, his gaze returning to you. With a shunk of shifting metal, his faceplate slid away. His faceplates were weathered; the chipped metal around his optics gave the illusion of wrinkles and eyebags. Tired. He seemed tired. “This is not incognito. What is your name?”
You gave it after taking a beat to steady yourself. He repeated it back to you. “How did you come in contact with Mirage?”
“I, uh— Noah, Noah Diaz, he’s my friend. I basically pried it out of him,” you said with a nervous laugh. “So it’s not Mirage’s fault. I’m just nosy.”
At the mention of Noah, Optimus seemed to visibly relax; he moved back slightly, though he remained kneeling, and the narrowed, suspicious squint of his optics rounded out into something much softer.
“…I see. Then I assume you understand the… precarious nature of our existence on your planet.” he said, his tone grave and his optics searching your face.
You nodded, pressing the flesh of the inside of your cheek between your teeth for a moment as you came up with a suitably diplomatic response that still conveyed your friendliness. “I do, yeah. Noah told me most of it. What he could, anyway. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not— I’m not a threat here. Like I don’t work with the, uh, the government or anything. Whatever you guys need help with, I’m available, even if that just means keeping my mouth shut.”
Christ, you were glad this wasn’t your day job. You’d be such a shit ambassador. I’m available. What the hell did that even mean? Fuck yes, you were available, your brain guffawed, thinking of broad metal thumbs brushing over your chest.
You blinked hard, squeezing your eyelids together until the world came back in a photo negative, to scold yourself.
Although you’d stumbled through your reply, Optimus seemed to approve. He rose with a great creak of metal off of his knee and backed up to give you space, though he still regarded you with those sharp blue optics that felt as though they pinned you to the concrete below. “I see Noah chooses his company well. I should have assumed his sentiments would extend to his companions.” He shut his optics for a moment and dipped his head, as if considering deeply what to say next. “I am not sure how much Mirage — or Noah — divulged to you.”
“A fair amount— well. Any amount that won’t get them in trouble,” you called up, taking in deeper breaths to project your voice up the two stories of height to his head. To your side, Mirage snorted. “I know your name— Optimus, I know that, and I know about the Autobots. A little bit about the— fuck, what were they called—“
“Terrorcons?” Mirage supplied, and you were impressed at how quiet he’d been otherwise.
“Terrorcons, thank you. Other than that, not much. How much should I know?”
“Your knowledge is sufficient. All we fear — and all we risk—“ Optimus added with a pointed look at Mirage, who looked incredibly sheepish. “—at the moment is discovery. So long as you maintain secrecy, no harm shall come to us… or you, for that matter.”
It almost sounded like a threat, but Prime worded it very much like a warning. You decided it was best to heed his word — not that you really had another option.
“Right. Okay. Well— I mean, it was nice to meet you. People — humanity, I guess — aren’t bad. Most of us aren’t, anyway. Just, uh, let me know if there’s something Noah and I can get or do for you.”
Prime’s gaze shifted away from you. In fact, it seemed to shift away from the warehouse in general, looking somewhere far beyond the now-shut garage door. “Your generosity is admirable, but it is not humans primarily that we are concerned with.”
Brows furrowed at his vague answer, you thought it over for a second — and then decided not to push it. He probably knew best when it came to whatever foreboding nebulous space threat loomed over your collective heads; you would leave it up to the experts.
“Oh, well, golden rule and all that,” you still offered in terms of a response. That got his attention. His massive head tilted downwards to look at you once more with curiosity. “If I crash landed on someone else’s planet, I’d want them to be hospitable, y’know? Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”
Like he couldn’t handle the terrible punishment of silence anymore, Mirage butted in. “See, Prime? I told you she was cool.”
A short jolt shook the broad, boxy line of his shoulders, and at first you had thought he’d coughed, and then you realized he laughed. It was barely anything, a huff of a chuckle, but you glowed with the indirect affirmation. Just made Optimus Prime laugh. Maybe you weren’t such a terrible diplomat.
He wasn’t looking at you, though, rather at Mirage, and you swore from your low vantage point you could see a barely-there smile on Prime’s faceplates communicating…was that smug amusement? As the tall bot carefully made his way past you, he stopped in front of your companion, and let a heavy servo land on the headlight adorning his shoulder.
“No matter what you may feel, you chose well, Mirage.” Optimus rumbled out, before removing his servo and traipsing off into a darker section of the sprawling warehouse, ducking through a much-too-small cutout and speaking to Arcee about something indistinguishable. However, you couldn’t care less about whatever her and Prime were discussing — what the hell did he mean by Mirage choosing well?
You turned your head towards said bot, mouth open for inquiry and one brow raised. Mirage looked mortified, in every sense of the word; he stood shell-shocked, lips slightly parted and servos up and open as if to defend himself. His head was whipped around to follow Prime’s departure from the room. A whir started, bouncing off the walls — Mirage’s fans came on and off intermittently to keep his ambient internal temperature at safe levels, but the steady hum of this fan let you infer that he was flushing something fierce.
“Mirage? What—“
Interrupting you by breaking, nearly jumping, out of his trance, he clapped his servos together and started talking at a million miles a minute. “Well, damn, look at that, haha, it’s late, ain’t it? You got work in the morning, right? C’mon, hop in, I’ll drive you home—“
“No, Mirage, hold on, what was he talking about—“
“Seriously, c’mon, he was just messing around—“
“You’re telling me Optimus Prime was joking? Is he even capable of that?”
He said your name with a finality that nearly made you flinch. “Look, I can’t really— Just drop it, please?” It wasn’t angry, nor was it even commanding; in fact, his eyes were wide and pleading with you out of embarrassment. You knew the feeling all too well, and in the interest of sparing his feelings, decided to let it go, despite your intense curiosity.
You put your hands up in surrender. “Okay. Dropped.” A few beats of silence passed while Mirage was still tamping down his fluster. “You wanna take me home now or are we waiting for Prime to come embarrass you more?”
“Please, let’s get outta here,” he affirmed, dropping into his alt-mode and popping the driver door for you. As you slid in, you couldn’t help the little mischievous smile that grew on your face as your brain cooked up some other joke to take the edge off.
The garage door opened on its own. Mirage rolled into the noticeably darker alleyway. The burnt umber glow of the sunset-stained sky was only visible overhead; otherwise you were boxed in on the sides by blacked-out buildings.
Stifling silence was broken by a joke. Your joke, actually. “…Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me.”
The noise Mirage made was only comparable to a squawk. But obviously much more masculine, clearly. Still, his tires jerked on the road, betraying his surprise. “Hey— Prime is not my sire— or dad, or whatever you wanna call ‘em. He wishes.”
“I dunno,” you mused, arms crossed over your chest and back sunk deep into the seat. Brooklyn in transition blurred by in messy constellations of lit windows. “He got you pretty good there. Pretty standard dad behavior.”
“Hey, I don’t know what suddenly inspired him to go for comedy, but I do not appreciate it. That’s my thing. He’s stealin’ my thunder!”
“Maybe you’re just rubbing off on him.”
Silence.
The radio crackled. “Ew.”
Accompanied by the loudest eyeroll you could muster, you whacked the dashboard with an open palm, though you couldn’t stop your bubbling laughter. “Oh my god, you are so gross, Mirage! I hate you!”
“Ahh, don’t say that, c’mon! You love it here!”
“You wish.”
The rest of the ride home was spent that way, bickering like normal, and although you couldn’t let go of what Prime had said, nor his knowing look while he said it, you appreciated the return to baseline. When you got home, Mirage parked directly in front of your apartment building, and you lingered on the sidewalk for several minutes after you got out of the car. With the passenger door opened so it looked like you were talking to the ‘driver’ and not completely insane, you leaned on the doorframe and traded jabs with your ride until the humidity of the night air got a little too persistent to ignore. Damn you, Brooklyn. 
“See you tomorrow?” Mirage never said goodnight. He only ever asked when he could see you again, corny bastard.
“Tomorrow. My roommate’ll take me to work, don’t worry about it. I’ll just stick my head in the garage when I get home.”
“I thought we had a thing goin’, man!” His faux petulance returned. “You movin’ on already? You just met my folks!”
Your jaw dropped for a second at the fact he’d turned the damn bit around on you. “I met one folk, and you literally said he wasn’t your dad.”
“Maybe I was warmin’ up to the idea!”
Another lethal eyeroll. Your smile still remained locked on your face. “Whatever. Get the hell out of here, asshole,” you said, playfully shutting the door just a little harder than you needed to and slapping the roof like a horse you were trying to send off into the desert.
Even as you turned to walk into your building, you could hear the way his window shot down, far faster than a normal roll. “Ay! Merchandise!”
You stuck a middle finger over your shoulder, thumb out and all, to give him an idea of what he could do with his merchandise. Tires peeled against pavement as he screeched out of his spot and down the otherwise quiet street, letting you know in return how he felt about that.
Smiling like an idiot as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, you felt… airy. You were always smiling after hanging around Mirage, you couldn’t help it — especially as of late. But still, you were dying to know what Prime was talking about when he was messing with Mirage earlier. You chose well. Chose what? Your brain briefly entertained the thought of Mirage returning what you felt, and it made blood rush to your face.
It couldn’t really… work. You had made peace with your physical differences weeks ago. The both of you got along just fine despite the size difference, and it never impeded your normal interactions. But you doubted Mirage felt the same; no matter how familiar, how friendly you were with him, you could never shake the feeling of being just a little too alien. Your greatest similarities were in personality. The closest resemblance you held physically was the fact you were both humanoid in shape.
That didn’t stop you. No, not at all. It didn’t stop you from dropping into bed after a quick shower with a heavy sigh, your hand inevitably sinking beneath the covers as you thought of digits — Mirage’s digits, so well articulated for their size and so careful — playing with the hem of your underwear instead of your own fingers, pushing the fabric aside just a little roughly to explore your alien anatomy. It took very little time for you to grind yourself to climax; in fact, it was embarrassingly quick, and it left your face hot with some special kind of shame as you slunk out of bed to wash your hands. The entire time, you avoided your reflection in the mirror.
Even with the ancient AC cranked on and chugging away, it took you a long while to fall asleep.
Off in the industrial district of Brooklyn, meanwhile, Mirage was burning rubber as he took ninety-degree turns at sixty miles per hour. His processor was thrumming at max capacity, and his engine felt like it was about to either stall or explode.
Primus, it was all too much. Your teasing always got him some kind of hot and bothered, tight under his interface paneling, but the acidic rush of embarrassment still prickled at his cabling. Prime, come on, man. Mirage was still floored at the fact that Prime of all bots had embarrassed him like that, in front of you, no less!
He had it bad for you, and he knew it, but apparently every other bot in that warehouse knew it too. Ever since he’d met you, you’d stuck in his processor, the way the light glinted off your eyes and your all-teeth smile and the way he could get you to laugh. Sure, his flirts were only playful at first — and he only did them to mess with Noah, who’d harbored an on-and-off crush on you for a while — but the more he did them and the more you returned them, the more he started really… considering it.
It was so shameful. Primus, it was shameful. He’d barely ever interfaced in his life — there was just no time, especially not on Cybertron — and never with organics. After that one night where he’d hefted you up with ease in both servos and completely blanked when confronted with your soft, warm weight in his hold, he’d been on a spiral. It wasn’t just enough to be friendly with you; he was plenty friendly with Noah (though with the amount of stupid passes Mirage made at him, Noah would probably say too friendly) and he wanted something more with you.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled into some long-abandoned warehouse or pitch-black deserted alley and scrabbled at his interface panel to pressurize his spike before he feverishly, frantically humped his fisted servo for relief, mental processors supplying increasingly filthy fantasies of your soft skin against his chassis and your mouth, Primus, your mouth on his own, on his spike, wherever, he didn’t care. Every single time, though, after coming down from his high with steam pouring off his lax frame, he felt just a little more discouraged than the last — because he knew that his fantasies would have to stay that way. Fantasies. Your friendship was enough, had to be, no matter how bad he wanted you, because he’d be damned to the Pit before he scared you off by being stupid and admitting his feelings.
Ugh. Ugh. He took another corner too hard and felt his tires shriek, let the burn travel upward and reverberate in his frame. The chaos in his mental processors quieted as he neared HQ. All he knew was that it was late, and he couldn’t be too loud or Prime would get on his ass for interrupting his stasis.
Can’t believe your dad made fun of you in front of me. Your voice played, unbidden, from some file that popped open in his memory bank. He willed it away with a vengeance as he rolled into the warehouse-turned-headquarters as quietly as he could, transforming as soon as the door was shut and stretching out his back. Clicking echoed off the walls as his spinal struts reset, and the residual burn in his scraped tires tingled.
Mirage turned, and—
Yelped. Bumblebee was standing right there, shoulder against the wall and fiddling with some holographic projection from his forearm. Mirage coughed into his clenched servo to preserve what was left of his dignity.
“‘Sup,” he greeted through gritted denta. “I, uh, didn’t see you there, man. How’s it hangin’?”
Bee gave him a flatly unamused look that communicated ‘No shit, you didn’t see me.’ very well. The projection phased out of existence and left the two of them in the dimmed space in some kind of standoff.
“Well, y’know, beauty stasis and everything, I’m just gonna—“
“I wanna know, what you’re feeling! Tell me what’s your mind!” burbled Bee’s radio in place of his voice. Mirage jerked back for a second, not expecting Information Society at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.
“Look, man, I don’t really wanna talk about—“
“There are some things you can’t hide!” insisted the same song. Bee gestured for Mirage to talk. Clearly he wanted to know.
This was as good a time as ever to spill, he guessed.
Mirage groaned and clasped both of his servos over his face after explaining the bones of it, his head tilted upwards, optics fruitlessly searching the water-stained warehouse ceiling for a solution to his problem. His… very human, very embarrassing problem.
Not that he thought you were embarrassing— not at all, never. But Prime would have his head over falling for a human. Okay, well, maybe not his head; it was more like Mirage would be in for a lengthy disapproving speech about responsibilities and goals and distractions, and Primus, just thinking about it made the former option of decapitation the preferable one. Even though he seemed to approve of his choice, considering what he’d said earlier, the ‘Bots were still at war, and there wasn’t time for human distractions. Literal human distractions.
It wasn’t like he could help it. You were funny, okay? And smart. And you teased him in just the right way that made his cooling fans sputter, and you were so curious about… everything about him, he thought, remembering your impromptu Cybertronian anatomy lesson with a hot flash in his processor. He couldn’t help but be flattered by your attention.
“Ugh, Bee, I don’t know what to do, man,” he said despairingly after a moment, pacing in circles in front of said squat yellow bot leaned against the nearby concrete wall. “I mean, look at this, she’d be missin’ out if she said no,” he added, arrogance staining his words in an attempt to console himself. It didn’t work; insecurity eviscerated his bravado moments after he said it. “Or… I guess we’d both be, huh.” A short, self-deprecating laugh left him.
Mirage wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to Bee of all bots for advice, but he was sure as shit not going to Optimus after today, and Arcee would have just told him anyway. Plus, considering that Wheeljack wasn’t even in the country at the moment, his options were slim. Besides, Bee had… experience with this sort of thing. Dealing with humans and all. Just… not in this way. But it was close enough, and Mirage was totally lost; if he thought about it by himself for any longer, his processors were going to fry.
Speaking of, Bee tittered through his gutted voice synthesizer to get Mirage’s attention. Expression drawn into a very human grimace, Mirage turned to face his friend, servos planted firmly on his hips.
“Well, you gotta tell her— wanna know what love is— want you to show me,” Bee’s radio clipped, first from a talk show, then from a nearby station, and Mirage felt energon surge to his face in a hot rush at a very personal song being blared back at him.
He had the words memorized at this point. The shape of them was practically burned into his memory files, considering how much he played it for you. It was reserved for days on both ends of the spectrum, bad and good; Mirage would pick you up in his alt-mode and take you for joyrides across the city, flying over the Brooklyn Bridge at daredevil speeds, all the while blaring music loud enough to make your head pound.
The two of you had discovered a few favorites, but the Foreigner song was at the top of the list, right next to Careless Whisper, of course. The sound of your voice belting at the top of your lungs, softened with that specific human accent, thrumming and reverberating through your chest— you sounded so alive, but so different from what he was accustomed to.
“Dude—” Mirage nearly barked, voice up a full octave before clearing his synthesizer into his fist and repeating himself. “Dude. I can’t just do that. Aliens— we’re aliens. Well. She’s an alien, too, I guess, but we,” he paused to gesture frantically between himself and Bee, “are the aliens here. I don’t really think humans are into the whole giant robot thing.”
“Noah?” Bee played a clip of Mirage’s own voice back at him questioningly.
“Yeah, well, Noah’s a different story.”
With a whir of his actuators, Bee shook his head and looked away for a moment, big blue optics considering the floor. With a soft clunk, he crossed his arms over his chassis.
“Come on, man, you gotta give me something,” Mirage urged, tilting his head to follow the other bot’s motions. “Should I just leave it? I mean, I don’t want it to be weird, I just—“
Bee straightened up off the wall, clearly done thinking. His arms opened out in a shrug and his optics squinted, communicating I don’t know what you want me to say, dude, far better than his vocal synthesizer ever could have.
His radio clipped again, this time a few seconds of a Beatles song and then Noah’s voice. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah— right?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” Mirage groaned, rolling his head back with a pained expression and letting his body follow the motion as he paced another tight circle. His faceplates felt hot at the insinuation. “And if I ask, it’s gonna be weird. And if I make it weird, I’m never gonna—“
He stopped rambling when a four-digit servo thumped on the headlight atop his shoulder, rooting him to the spot. Bee’s optics stared him down, wide and bright blue, and it made Mirage press his lips together firmly as he awaited whatever sage advice he was about to impart.
ABBA filtered through the radio first. “Should walk right up to her and say—“ What came next made Mirage’s brow ridges shoot up so high he thought they were going to fly off his helmet. “—when I get that feeling, I want sexual healin’!”
Mirage’s jaw dropped. Immensely flustered and ten times more frustrated at his friend’s useless advice, he shoved the other bot off. “Are you serious, dude? Primus, I never shoulda asked you. Thanks, I’ll go walk right up to her and ask to interface on the warehouse floor, that’ll go super well.”
Bee nodded quickly and gave him a double thumbs up with a series of approving beeps and chirps, the bottoms of his optics flattening into an amused look. Mirage dragged his servo down his faceplates in mortification, although his cooling fans kicked on a click higher than normal.
Sometimes he wished he’d been left on Cybertron with Soundwave and all his other goons. This was one of those times. As he dropped back into his alt-mode with an embarrassed mumble about ‘going on patrol,’ Bee whooped behind him, and the last thing Mirage heard before peeling out of the warehouse was “There’s nothin’ wrong with me lovin’ you, baby, no, no!”
Whoever gave Bee access to Marvin Gaye needed to be whacked upside the helm.
Knowing Mirage’s luck, it was probably you.
He stayed out for the rest of the night in his alt-mode, wandering the streets and staying away from your apartment, no matter how bad he wanted to go. The pool of people with any useful advice to offer for his predicament was steadily shrinking; after the disaster with Bee, Mirage just needed to stay away from that warehouse and let his processors cool.
Sometime in the morning he returned, though not to the warehouse. He almost immediately crashed into stasis as soon as he rolled into Noah’s garage, his simultaneously pent-up and exhausted processors eager for a chance to refresh themselves and defrag.
Ha, he thought blearily as he sank into stasis. Defrag.
You were waking as he was crashing, though you weren’t happy about it. The eight hour shift that loomed ahead of you on top of the bullshit from last night was a pretty potent combination for a headache of a day, especially when you couldn’t have your morning jam sesh with Mirage on your way to work. Thankfully, though, your roommate was a kind soul, and there was an extra cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter when you stumbled out of your bedroom.
As you sipped it, you wondered just how long you could keep the front up. By some small grace of God, your roommate’s schedule didn’t align very well with yours; you barely saw them in your daily life even before you met Mirage. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. It just happened that way. But on a few occasions, they’d been home when Mirage had dropped you off, and you’d been just calling him a ‘friend with places to be’ to excuse the fact that he never walked you to your door. Being somewhat prescient, they’d nudged you a couple times about this ‘friend’ turning into a boyfriend, but had never pushed it.
You just hoped it stayed that way.
Breakfast was a quick and quiet affair, though you traded a few jokes back and forth that had the both of you giggling into your food. The ride to your job was similar, and your roommate wished you a good shift before driving off leisurely — such a stark difference compared to Mirage’s affinity for peeling off into the street at Mach-fucking-10. Thinking of him made your face burn and your mind race. You tried not to.
Time was an especially cruel mistress today, though. You swore that people were actively winding the clocks back every time you looked up at them, and your shift felt like a thick slog, knee-deep, that you had no choice but to wade through. The worst part about slow shifts was that your mind wandered with nothing else to do, and like a moth to a flame— or rather, like metal to a magnet, your brain circled around to Mirage again and again and again.
Damn that bot. Damn it all. Every time you thought of him, it was some stupid joke he’d cracked or silly offhand comment he’d made or ridiculous flirt he’d lobbed your way — always accompanied by memories of his body, surprisingly lithe considering what he was made of, all legs and a dramatic waist topped with wide shoulders that made your own engine purr.
“Mirage, did you go upstate or something? You’re disgusting,” you’d laughed as you raked your gaze over his pecs, pretending to eye the dirt smeared there and not something else.
“Disgusting?! You gotta be kidding me, I’m not half as bad as the rest of ‘em. You should see Bee, dude!” He’d gestured out the door of the warehouse, where you assumed the other bot was lurking in dirt-covered shame.
“What the hell were you two even doing?”
“Pfft. Practicin’.”
“Practicing body-slamming each other?”
“Yeah, want me to show you?”
“Mirage,” you’d groaned, laughing despite yourself.
“C’mon, I know a few good ways to pin a bot down,” he grinned, winking at you. You fixed him with the most dead stare you could muster before breaking into a half-smile of your own.
“I’ll pass on the whole getting crushed thing, but I could be persuaded to spray you down by hand,” you flirted back, just for fun. 
No, not for fun. Real flirt. It was real, all of it was, and you couldn’t shake the memory of his optics widening, brightening, with eagerness and the way he’d pleaded. Playfully. Playfully?
“Please,” he begged dramatically, clasping his servos together, optics enormous. “I’ll be good! Maybe even stay still!”
You pinched your nose bridge between your fingers and tried to think about something else, because you were starting to press your thighs together a little and you were still at work, damn it. Professionalism was something you were aiming to maintain.
Hot. It was hot. That’s what you were thinking about. You’d glanced at the weather report earlier in the morning, and seeing a row of little sun icons clued you in on an insufferable heatwave that didn’t have any intention of breaking any time soon. Even now you felt sweat collect under your shirt and dot your hairline; all you could do was wipe your face with the back of your hand and keep working.
And working.
And working.
And. Working.
And then, eventually, you watched the clock tick over the last minute of your shift, and you heard angels sing a holy choir as you all but slammed your things down and sprinted to clock out. Well. You didn’t sprint, but you did speed walk, which counted for something.
Such was your haste to leave your workplace and talk to Mirage that you speed-walked headfirst into the lashing rain outside without a second thought. Genuinely caught by surprise, you stumbled back into the safety of the entryway, eyes wide as you watched the storm front swallow the last dregs of the golden evening sky and pour rain on the streets outside. Ink blots bleeding across paper. Rorschach tests. Some other poetic fluff came to mind over the supremely annoying realization that you were going to have to walk to the garage in wet clothes.
At least it was a quick walk.
Patience waning, you nearly considered calling Mirage — or even Noah — to come get you, but at the last second your roommate swooped in, pulling up outside and honking the horn a few times to let you know your knight in shining Prius was here to rescue you.
They cracked a few jokes at your expense when they saw your wet clothes, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not after the trials and tribulations of Mirage. With a few clicks, the rest of your ride home was filled with Boyz II Men and intermittent conversation as you watched raindrops race each other down the window and considered what the hell you were going to say to Mirage tonight. 
Mostly, you were dying of curiosity to know what Prime had meant to get him so flustered. Thinking about that, though, just made you go down a spiral of what-ifs… especially considering that one of them was ‘What if he feels the same way?’
You could handle rejection. You were an adult who paid taxes. But just this one time, you weren’t sure if you could handle reciprocation. Especially full reciprocation.
Mirage’s friendship was something you felt privileged to have. You were just quite scared to fuck it all up and lose out on all the things that made being his friend worth it — including him. Jaw tightening, you blinked and looked away from the window. No use stewing in it.
At home, your dinner was quick and light — something in a Tupperware that you didn’t look at too hard after microwaving. When your roommate asked about your rush, you came up with some lame excuse about hanging out with Noah, waving your hand dismissively.
Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go break Hynek’s scale of close encounters. Don’t worry about it though.
“In this weather? You’ll be soaked thirty seconds out the door. You were soaked thirty seconds out the door.”
“I’ll bring an umbrella,” you said, barely listening to them over the cacophony of your own thoughts. Mirage. Mirage. Mirage. I’m seeing him tonight. I’m talking to him tonight. I’m not going to pussy out of anything tonight. Now or never. “The place is like two blocks up the street, I’ll live.”
“If you’re so inclined to catch a cold, I’m not gonna stop you. Not making you chicken soup, though.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you snarked affectionately, and the last thing you heard before exiting your apartment was their familiar laughter. That bolstered you somewhat.
Even if the rain whipping at your face made you reconsider your stupid horny stubbornness.
Only two blocks felt more like two dozen as you tucked your chin to your chest and gripped your hood to keep the wind from snatching it off your head; in your other hand you white-knuckled your umbrella to keep it from tilting the wrong angle and washing water down your back. Thunder rattled your bones more than once and made you think offhandedly of Kris, the poor kid. He hated storms but refused to admit it out of pride; he was probably curled up in a ball under his covers right now trying to block out the worst of the noise. And you thought of Noah alongside him just out of pure association, and you weren’t sure what made your stomach turn, but it did.
God, you hoped Noah wasn’t with Mirage right now. You didn’t want to slam the door open to the garage soaking wet and wrestle Mirage’s true feelings out of him while Noah spectated. Wrestle. Soaking wet.
Fuck my life.
The side door to the garage was jammed like it always was, even after you unlocked it, and you huddled against it to stay under the mediocre cover of the awning as you shoved your shoulder into it to force it open. Old metal hinges wailed as you ground them open, and the blessed dry warmth of the garage — the temperature always heightened with Mirage’s presence — sighed against your freezing skin as you wormed your way inside. 
“Mirage?” you called tentatively as you leaned back against the door to get it to shut and latch. A beat passed before your senses came to you and your hand fumbled behind you to lock it. Not for sordid reasons, honestly. You just didn’t want anyone to even have the chance of walking in on Mirage when he wasn’t folded into a Porsche.
Speaking of, you saw him then, pacing around the garage and seemingly very involved in a conversation with himself. Although the rain outside provided a dull roar of background noise, the whirs and clicks of his actuators and soft whooms of his pedes against the concrete filled your ears with their familiarity. It was Mirage, and you knew Mirage, and it helped dull the edge of abject nervousness in your gut.
He cut a sharp figure under the hanging ceiling lights, making sure to duck and avoid smacking his helm on them. When those bright blue optics registered your existence, you swore they flared with delight; he said your name with such enthusiasm it almost made you excited. For what, exactly, you didn’t know. “Hey, sugar, what’s k— Primus, you, uh, swim on your way here? Or do I just make you that wet? Cuz I appreciate the compliment.” He grinned wolfishly at you. Sparks flew off your rubbed-raw nerves.
The unimpressed stare you gave him was lethal. “That is not how that works,” you said, shaking your umbrella off on the floor and setting it against the wall to drip dry. “All the wetness is— would be in one place, dumbass.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention during my anatomy lessons. Wanna reteach ‘em to me? I’ll behave, swear on my spark.”
A scoff. “When have you ever behaved in your life?”
“When it counts! C’mon, you know you like it,” he said, gesturing down the length of his body with a flourish of his servo. “I mean, what isn’t there to like?”
“If I answer that question, I’ll hurt your feelings.” Excess rainwater dripped off your jacket as you peeled it off. Mirage’s optics followed the motion intently.
Amber lighting nearly glowed against the sleek metal of his torso. So what if your own eyes had wandered down it at his emphasis? He’d invited it. Expressly. He loved your attention, loved flaunting everything about himself just for a glance his way from you, for anything you’d give him.
It took him a second to register your words. He gasped and clasped a servo over his chassis— his spark, you remembered that from your own anatomy lesson a few weeks ago. “Gonna break my spark talkin’ like that. I hurt your feelings or something, sugar? What’s got you so bent?” With his question, he sank into a deep squat, draping his forearm over his thigh and leaning close to you.
A deep exhale left you. Your shoulders deflated. “It’s not you. Just the weather.” A short huff of a laugh, barely humorous, left you. “I mean, look at me.” You held your arms out and spun in a slow circle, errant droplets flying in every direction. “I look like a drowned rat.”
The lightbulb over his head was nearly visible. “You, uh, want a hand drying off?”
You stopped dead in your tracks. Your hands fell to your sides. Something akin to lightning danced up your spine.
“What?”
“Hold on, hold on, I got an idea,” he said,  holding his hand out at you to tell you to wait, excitement ramping up in his voice. What the hell was he planning? Nothing good, you figured. Or hoped.
Otherwise harsh sounds of metal against metal were softened by the alien chirrs and trills of the mechanical viscera working in his chassis as he settled on the ground in a sitting position. His back was leaned against the wall, carefully adjusted so his darling paint job was away from the rough concrete. To keep his balance, he rested against his tires and scooched his hips away from the wall, kicking his long legs out with a flourish and gesturing at his lap.
Although he was shorter this way, it was still a climb you didn't want to make while you were damp and the general slip hazard was high. “Can you give me a lift so I can see whatever shit you’re planning?”
“I got you, sugar, don’t even worry about it. Just hang on,” came the reply, and your brain blanked just a little at the feeling of his servos on you again, picking you up just like they had done on that night two weeks ago. With zero effort — seriously, you didn’t even hear any mechanical creaking — you were scooped upwards.
Your damp clothes clung to your body, a fact both you and Mirage were painfully aware of; the chill of the soaked fabric contrasted against that fascinating living heat of your skin nearly made the sensors in his servos short-circuit. He’d thought about this, exactly this, so much that it had probably worn a path into his neural processors. So soft. You were so soft.
A shudder ran up his spinal strut and he prayed you didn’t notice.
You were set down with your feet firmly on the flat tops of his thighs, ignoring the slight wobble in your knees. Arms raised a bit for balance, you looked down at the living machinery beneath you. The flight paths of the butterflies in your stomach grew more frantic. Broad servos released you from their hold, but they didn’t leave; no, they skated down, down, down until they settled on the flare of your hips and stayed. They were so heavy.
A breath caught in your throat like a wild animal in a trap. “If I fall, I’m gonna be so pissed off. You know that, right?” Anything to make this more normal. You had no idea how you kept the shake out of your voice.
“Relaaax, hot stuff, I’m on it. I got it, I got it,” he replied, his voice a full octave lower than what you were used to. “‘sides, I’m Mirage, remember? Protecting humans is kinda my thing.”
You scoffed. “Not with the way you drive.”
“Hey, I drive perfectly fine! You’re the one who’s scared of fun.” His servos left your hips to brace themselves on the floor. “Mirage, don’t drive so fast! Mirage, that’s a red light! Mirage, there are cops behind us!” His voice pitched up into something high and nasally to poorly, poorly mimic yours.
It was your turn to be affronted, though your mouth was open in a disbelieving sort of smile. “I don’t even sound like that, you fucker! And sorry for trying to keep us from getting arrested!”
“I dunno, you all sorta sound the same to our audio processors.” He was lying, and blatantly so. He had the distinct tone and pitch of your voice memorized down to the wavelength. “And besides, we wouldn’t get arrested.” His own voice took on a smug, self-satisfied edge, accompanied by the raise of his brow ridges.
“Oh, really? Why’s that? Please, enlighten me,” you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down. In response, he leaned his head in, closer to you, closer than you expected, and an insufferable smirk crawled across his faceplates.
“Cuz cop cars can’t drive that fast,” he whispered conspiratorially, like it was a clever response.
What should have been a minute movement — just a shift of the head — actually became very noticeable on a twelve-foot-frame; his hips repositioned of their own accord to account for the redistribution of weight, and the change was enough to trip you up. Especially when you had been leaning in already to match his movement.
The world tilted as you started to fall forward; fearing injury or worse by tumbling off your semi-precarious perch, you jammed your hands out in front of you—
And slammed your palms directly on his chassis. It was all very fast after that. Mortified, you stared down at the planes of metal beneath you, feeling heat creep up, up, up your neck and seep into your face. Mirage had cursed above you out of surprise, and you felt the displacement of air as his servo shot up behind your back and hovered. Right there. He was right there, and he always would be.
You raised your head and made eye contact, and you knew it was over. His optics were wide with surprise, and they searched your face for any expression of pain or discontent. They cycled once, seeing none, and then flickered down to your lips.
He was so done for. Something in his expression sagged at your proximity; in his field of view, he saw an alert stating that his internal temperature was rising beyond ideal levels, and he would have laughed if not for you. Finally. Finally. Finally. He was half-expecting this to be a dream, something cooked up by his fried processors that he would wake up from any minute now. 
His servo was still hovering over your back.
“Can I—“
“Yes,” you said immediately in a sharp exhale — before he could even get the question out — and there it all went.
He surged forward like a flood from a dam, closing the distance between the both of you with a hungry rev of his engine. Explaining the logistics of it would sound silly; all you could do was go with the flow, just like every other time you’d ever kissed someone. All you knew was that it was satisfying, supremely so, and completely encompassing. Every sense was filled by him, and you realized with a kick of your heart that you never wanted it any other way.
Though your hand shook, you shoved past the fear and indulged in everything you had wanted for weeks, let yourself sink deep into that pit of want and refused to come up for air. Your fingers skated his curves and edges; you brought your palm up to the sharp angles of his jaw and smoothed it upward until it ran over the curve of his cheek.
He reacted to your touch like it was a live wire. Minute jerks of excitement ran through his frame, and when your hand rested on the side of his face, he tilted his helm into the kiss with barely restrained excitement. He was so careful, it made something inside you purr. That kind of caution was only reserved for something precious. You were precious. He couldn’t ever risk hurting you. Especially not by his own hand.
First impression was that his lips were far softer than you’d ever assumed. Pliable, hot metal pressed greedily against your mouth — more, more, more was a mantra echoed wordlessly between the both of you. The hovering servo came to rest on your back, pushing your front against his chassis as you shifted up on your toes to keep the angle of the kiss correct. Digits splayed against the planes of skin they found there, pressing down to feel your warmth — your heart slammed against your ribs so hard that Mirage could probably feel it against his palm.
With a hot flash, you wondered if the metal of his lips would bear the dent of your teeth from a bite. So you bit. It was more of a playful nip than anything, but the reaction you got was so instantaneous it was like Mirage had been waiting for it. Again, his engine throttled, the powerful rumble surging through you as his servo pinned you to his chassis. Against your mouth, his lips ticked up into a smile.
Air. You needed air. He let you pull away with no resistance, though his head did trail after your mouth for a moment.
You let your forehead sink down and rest against the top of his chassis for a moment; the condensation from your breath fogged the metal. Out of nowhere, manic giggles erupted from you. They shook your body incessantly as you rose and fell in time with Mirage’s heavy vents, your knees feeling weak and mind frazzled. From one kiss. One.
Laughter rocked his frame too, short chuckles of disbelief as his thumb rubbed circles into your back.
“Oh my god,” you murmured into the warm metal beneath you through shocks of giggles.
“Not exactly, but, eh, I’ll take it,” Mirage replied above you, and while he laughed at his own joke, you groaned and whacked him lightly with a palm. It wasn’t like he was unaffected though — far from it, in fact, judging from the steadily heating chassis beneath you and the tinge of static fringing his words.
“Bring me up,” you said hoarsely, twisting an arm behind you to paw at the servo on your back.
Without question, his other servo came up and curled under your thighs, hoisting you up so that his face was easier to reach. With most of your body now resting on his chassis and very much secured in his grip, you grasped his face in both your palms; he leaned so far into your touch with a shaky ex-vent that your noses almost brushed.
“Again?”
“Yeah, again,” he agreed, and this time you pulled him in, fingers hooking in some unseen seam behind his jaw as you crushed your mouth against his. Hunger, latent and now finally triggered, drove you closer, as close as you physically could, until your skin was starting to hurt from the random edges being pressed into it.
Curious above all else, you licked your tongue into the front of his mouth. The searing heat inside surprised you; it teetered on the edge of uncomfortable and reminded you very much of your computer at home when it ran for too long, with that special kind of mechanical stress and burning warmth that only came with overworked processors.
“‘S like that, is it?” he murmured into your mouth with a grin, his engine kicking up a notch and the vibration of his chassis hitting you very nicely right where you needed it most. You made some soft noise, half-gasp, half-groan, and hiked one of your legs up so it was bent at the knee, flattening your hips against his chest and fuck, there it was. The consistent rumble of his motor pressed a steady vibration right into your cunt over the seam of your jeans; a particular grind made you gasp and falter as you rolled your clit against the line of denim and held it there.
“Whoa-ho-ho! Heyyy, hot stuff, something feel good down there?” His voice was bursting at the seams with some rich kind of excitement; you breathed into his neck cabling as your hips jerked a little against his chassis. One servo pawed at your ass, clumsy with its eagerness, gripping and massaging the soft flesh it found there with intent.
Experimentally, his servo pressed down, pushing your pelvis down with it, and the pressure on your clit pulled a groan of satisfaction out of you that had his cooling fans sputter.
“Fuck,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and before he could say something stupid, you leaned your head down and pressed kisses to the delicate cabling of his neck.
A delighted noise rattled out of him, and his helm rolled back against the wall to allow you more access. Impatient, your kisses soon turned to bites, playful nips that tugged at the sensitive wiring and made his body jolt beneath yours like he’d been shocked. To your utter delight, you found that Mirage’s proclivity for talking extended to situations like these, too — noises streamed from his mouth as your curious teeth and hands worked over such a fragile part of his anatomy in ways that only a human could.
“Oh, Primus, babe, babe—“ he stammered out, and you lifted your head for just long enough of a window to allow him to swoop down and kiss you again, feverishly now.
Something thick and wet prodded past your teeth experimentally. For just a second you balked— and then remembered it was his glossa. His tongue. Yeah, you remembered that from your anatomy lesson; he’d stuck it out and pointed at it in a dumb way then, but fuck if it didn’t have your thighs tightening now. The hot biomesh probed your mouth, and it was so big you inadvertently drooled around it — but Mirage didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you were pretty sure the spit dripping from your mouth around him was getting him even more worked up, judged by the way his digits tightened their grip on your ass.
You had been cold when you’d walked in that garage. Keyword there was had. Now your skin seared with a deep flush and steadily increasing heat; mindlessly, your hips started a slow, staccato rhythm that kept your breathing heavy. The servo on your back slid upwards to the point where it encompassed the back of both your neck and head. He could not get enough of your taste. He wanted it burned into the sensors on his glossa, for all he cared. Spit and lubricant swapped between the both of your mouths — you found that the metallic taste that seeped into your tongue did nothing but turn you on further.
Pulling away again for a deep inhale of air, you propped yourself semi-awkwardly on an elbow to look at him. Open adoration was written across his faceplates, along with blatant want that made his optics cycle frantically.
“I thought you were— fuck, I thought you were supposed to be drying me off,” you said, breaking in the middle of your sentence as his servo carefully started to move you. Just barely — just enough pressure to keep your hips working against him and chasing your pleasure.
“You really wanna?” He grinned at you, spit shiny on his chin. “I dunno about you, but I think I’m likin’ you being wet more.”
“You’re awful. That was terrible,” you laughed, brain foggy with arousal and general swelling affection for the bot underneath you.
“How many more of those you got left in you before you start admitting the truth that I’m the funniest bot you’ll ever meet?”
“I mean, you don’t exactly have stiff competition.”
“Aaand the best-looking.”
“I dunno… Optimus is kind of—“
“Hey!” he interrupted, bringing you up for another kiss to silence your thought before you could finish it. You happily complied, laughing into the heat of his mouth and then moaning in the same breath as his servo ground you down against his rumbling chassis again.
Hot. You were getting really hot. The damp clothes sticking to your skin were not helping; in fact, they felt as though they were going to start steaming being pressed against your skin like this. Against your wishes, you pulled backwards again, bracing yourself against the warm vents that substituted for his collarbones. They cycled hot, dry air against your fingertips, though it didn’t burn. Not yet, at least.
“Mirage,” you breathed, and that got his attention immediately. “…Are we fucking?”
“Please,” he instantly replied, so eager that it made your cunt throb. His enormous blue optics watched you with such intent that it almost made you want to shrink away from the scrutiny — but you steeled your resolve. You had him, and you had him right where you wanted. Opportunity of a fucking lifetime. You were not about to waste it.
You glanced down for a reprieve from the eye contact. “Fuck,” you swore softly, staring at the metalwork beneath you for a few heartbeats before shaking your head and glancing back upwards at him. “Okay, well— I— Okay. Let me just— do this—“
Hands shaking slightly, you balled your fists in the hem of your work shirt and wrestled it up and off you; the damp fabric lingered and peeled off of you, which made Mirage’s motor throttle powerfully underneath you. Other than that, though, you got no reaction, which made all that heat in your abdomen cool rapidly into a dense ball of abject horror.
Oh, you made a mistake. This was too much, you were too alien, too different—
The servo not supporting you against his chassis slid around from the planes of your back to your front, and you gasped sharply as he did the same fucking thing that drove you insane the first time, however many days ago. His thumb, warm on the palm-side, gently passed over the peak of your chest. His optics narrowed in on the indent in your soft flesh his digit created. Nerve endings in the trail it left behind sparked.
“Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he said reverently, voice steeped in a combination of awe and victory.
Oh-kay! You sucked a deep breath in, a litany of responses running through your head. The boost to your ego was very much appreciated, and it helped lighten the sinking mass of worry that had formed in the pit of your stomach.
Mirage nearly groaned when you placed your soft palm atop the junction of his digit and the heel of his servo. “Do it again,” you decided on, and that worked damn well.
As his servo groped at your chest, he leaned in, tucking his face under your jaw. To accommodate, you tilted your head up and away—
Only to swear into negative space as he very much returned the favor from earlier and began carefully sucking the world’s biggest hickeys into the skin of your neck. Breaths came harsh and choppy as the expanse of his glossa, hot and spit-slick, laved over the gentle bites he worried into your skin with his denta. 
“Ah, Mirage, Mirage,” you breathed; every mention of his name spilling from your bruised lips made his circuitry heat just a little more. It was so much all at once — his servos were so broad that their expanse covered huge swaths of skin at once, and his mouth on such a sensitive part of your anatomy wasn’t helping either. Your hands clawed for purchase against his helm and the back of his neck. One palm flattened as much as it could on the back of his head, trying with all of your laughable human strength to bring him as close as possible. The other ended up cradling the side of his head, your thumb brushing over the audial disk there. With no small amount of wonder, you watched the plates of his back ruffle at your touch.
Mirage wasn’t trying to be weird, but he could die happy so long as he had the taste of your skin still registering on his glossa. It was more addictive than any high-grade he’d had back home by leagues. That human flavor of salt and skin and some kind of sweetness had his processors thrumming at maximum capacity; you made his mouth flood with lubricant, a fact you could corroborate by the amount that spilled over your bare sternum. The feeling of his own spit sliding down your front between your bruised breasts made the muscles of your abdomen twitch. Fingers shaped like claws now, you pressed weak kisses against the smooth curves of his helm wherever you could reach.
Your jeans were just getting in the way at this point. The minute shocks of pleasure you derived from grinding your clit against the inseam were just that — minute. You needed something more now or you were going to get frustrated, and you’d dealt with enough sexual frustration over the past weeks to be very sick of that feeling.
“Oh, fuck, okay— Mirage,” you said breathlessly, giving him a light tap on the side of his helm to get his attention. Reluctantly, he pulled away from your chest, optics dimmed with pleasure. They cycled once and returned to their full brightness as he cleared the fog of arousal — barely — away from his processors.
“All systems go, sugar?” Static hissed underneath his words.
You tried and failed to stifle a snort of a laugh. “Corny ass,” you mumbled, although you were absolutely close enough for his audial sensors to pick up on it. He made a sound of indignation, but you pushed forward regardless. “I, um, I need to get these off.” Hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your jeans to emphasize your point, you glanced up at his optics again.
Blankness for a second. Then it registered. “Oh, right, right, of course, haha! You, uh, want help? Or you got it?”
“I think I can manage taking my pants off,” you laughed. “Just— let me sit on like— the top of your chest, there we go,” you instructed, and the hand under your ass pushed you up until you were turned around and seated on the lip of the top of his chassis. For a second, you wrestled with the denim — still not fully dried — but you managed to kick both your jeans and your shoes off. They were thrown somewhere in the direction of the door. God, you were so glad you locked it.
Underwear went next. There was a beat of hesitation — for what, you weren’t sure — but like you’d done so often as of late, you just ignored your trepidation and worked the elastic down your legs. A laugh barked out of you when you lifted the fabric up and saw the downright ridiculous wet spot that stained the gusset.
“Jesus Christ, look what you did to me,” you said with a faux accusatory tone, holding your panties out for Mirage to inspect. Two digits delicately took them from you; he held them up to his face, so close that it made you blush from sheer embarrassment.
“Wow. You weren’t kiddin’ ‘bout all the wet being in one spot, huh?” He examined them with no small amount of fascination, much to your mortification.
“Mirage! Put those down, oh my god,” you said, covering your mouth with a choked noise.
“What, I can’t admire my work?”
“No you can not.”
Mirage pouted at your denial, and mumbled something about you being no fun, but he still lifted you off his chassis regardless. Like he was helpless to your draw, he pulled you in for another kiss, though he couldn’t stop his mouth from wandering. Down, down, down, until his nose was nestled in your chest and he spoke into the soft flesh of your stomach. Shaky ex-vents tickled the damp skin there.
“Shit, baby, tastes so good,” he mumbled, and you were impressed by his ability to sound completely sex-drunk without even having done anything yet.
Your hips rolled against nothing; they bumped into his neck cabling and the top of his chassis fruitlessly, and a noise of frustration eked out of you. Mirage seemed to get the memo and pulled you away. Your body was brought down until your ass was sat firmly on his hips — his interface panel nestled right in front of your dripping cunt — and your back was leaned up against the flat support of his thighs; his knees were tucked up and his pedes placed firm and flat on the floor to give you the most stability. Fumbling for a second before you found somewhere to place your own feet, the enormity and absurdity of the situation brought more of those breathless giggles to your mouth that seized your chest and shook your shoulders.
Toootally breaking Hynek’s scale here. So beyond abduction. Way beyond abduction.
A few careful digits slipped around your knee, wormed their way between your legs. “Can I—“ 
Your thighs fell open without a word.
What had made you fall for Mirage the hardest was his motormouth. He never stopped talking; he always had something stupid to add, something to pitch in with, some silly joke to crack. There was a lightness he teased out of you that even you didn’t expect. But now? Now, for once, he was speechless. It made uncharacteristic shyness flare in your gut and heat your face as he studied your very bare, very human form with slightly parted lips and enormous optics.
His body caught up before his mouth did. The servo on your knee slid over it until it gripped your bare thigh; he watched the flesh shift back and forth under his touch with no small amount of fascination.
“Is it— it’s okay?” Your voice sounded very small. It was a special kind of insecurity to be faced with.
“Oh, yeah, it’s okay. It’s cool, you’re just— just different. A lot different.” He jiggled your thigh again playfully.
“Good kind of different though, right?”
“Very good.” To punctuate it, his engine snarled again, seemingly in response to the drool of your cunt on the hot metal of his interface panel. “Primus, you look good, babe. Shit.”
Ego boost! You smiled. Any other partner — any person — and this would be too much, this position too unflattering, your everything too open… With Mirage, though, it just felt like it always did. Easy.
One of your hands rested atop the servo still holding onto the meat of your thigh. The other slid down over your shining chest, passed over your stomach and pubic mound, and brushed past wiry hair, shiny with slick, in order to slide a finger up your folds. A whine ripped its way out of you at direct contact with your clit after mere heavy petting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing tight circles with your fingers and twitching your hips forward to eke out more of that delicious pressure.
The servo on your thigh dug into your skin. Mirage’s vents became far heavier at the open display of your arousal; it has always been him vying for your attention. Now that it was the other way around, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Transfluid was seeping between the seams of his interface panel, joining your own fluids in a shiny pool that sent sparks up his struts. He made you like this, made you so wet you dripped, made your clit swollen enough to be visible, made your cunt tight with heat and Primus, he needed you on his spike so bad, he thought he might die without it.
He verbalized these thoughts with an unintelligible noise of adoration.
It was enough encouragement for you to slide down from your clit and venture two fingers into yourself. Zero friction. They glided. Christ, when was the last time you were this wet? You’d slept with a handful of people, especially in your first couple years of college, but you’d never been soaked like this. Mirage’s cooling fans choked at the sight of your fingers vanishing into you. His thumb dug into the crease of your thigh and hip as he leaned just a little closer to watch.
Very little time passed before it devolved into your fingers working inside your walls, crooking against that one spot that made your breath hitch and hips jump. Mindlessly, you ground against your palm, catching your clit on the heel of your hand with a sweet moan that nearly shorted out his processors. He had to hear that again. Without thinking, he moved his servo over, resting the digits on your lower stomach and gently, gently nudging the heel of your hand out of the way to replace it with his thumb.
“Ah!” spilled from your lips at the insistent, broad pressure of his thumb, and your hips jerked against it, working your fingers that much deeper. Tears pricked at your eyes from pure sensation. “Mirage, mmm, just— just rub, up and down— or circles, just move, I don’t ca—are,” you floundered, the last word breaking as he did as he was told, carefully sliding his thumb up and down on the bead of your clit and sending twinges of searing pleasure up your spine.
You found quickly that just your fingers weren’t enough. Not when the reminder of his servo lay heavily on your lower stomach, tips of his digits digging into the soft fat there insistently. Although you were loath to part with your hand, you pulled your fingers out with a sigh. Mirage froze, optics flicking to your shiny hand as you spread your fingers, examining the strings of fluid that connected them with a far-off feeling of pride.
“Sugar, you’re killin’ me here,” he groaned, and you saw, for one endearing second, a puff of actual steam rise from the vents near his shoulders as he ex-vented harshly.
“Okay, well, here,” you said, unable to come up with anything clever with the purr of arousal in your cunt fanned by the heat of his interface plate and consistent, maddening rumble of his engine. Your hand, still shiny and wet with your fluids, grasped the top of his servo and gently pushed it downwards, until the tips of his digits rested against your drooling entrance. To fight the whimper that threatened to claw its way out of your throat, you nearly chewed a gash into the inside of your cheek. A gasp of an in-vent jolted his frame in awe.
“You sure? I mean— it’s cool?” His flustered stammering was so damn endearing; supreme affection for him swelled in your chest. 
“I’m sure. Just— just go slow.” His adoration was fueling your bravery. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you; if he did, it would never be intentional, and it would never be something he couldn’t fix.
He paused for a second before remembering the position of your own hand and flipping his servo so it was palm side up; you dragged a large enough breath in to balloon your lungs fully at the sight. Anticipation danced in the burn of your spread thighs. For a few seconds, it was just exploration; his digits slid over your silky folds, collecting the gathered slick with minute trembles. One delicious slide all the way up from entrance to clit had you gasping. Mirage silently thanked Primus above that your whole set-up was similar enough to his valve to know at least some of his way around it. It was just hotter. Wetter. Softer. So much softer.
“‘Raj, just— fuuuck,” you groaned out, your head rolling back as the tip of one digit sank into you, soon followed by the rest as it slid all the way to the base. Stars flickered behind your eyelids. The width matched the two fingers put together you’d just pulled out of yourself, though the texture was so wildly different to anything you’d ever put up there that it made your brain stutter for several moments as your nerve endings processed the feeling. The individual ridges and articulations of his knuckles dragged against the silk of your walls in a way that pulled the breath right out of you; your chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths as your thighs twitched.
You were a mess. Mirage was in love. “Holy shit, baby, I get you this bad?” It was only partly teasing. “l— fuck, a second one good?”
“Good, yes, please.”
All thoughts were wiped clean from the forefront of your brain with the addition of a second digit. Slick noises and the sound of dripping fluids landing on metal and concrete filled your ears over the steadily climbing racket that Mirage’s entire body was making — his cooling fans competed with his engine to make the most noise, over top of the typical whirs and clicks that came with his motion. You couldn’t look, could only feel with your eyes squeezed shut as Mirage pumped both digits in and out, in and out, in and out. One arm was thrown up behind you, hooking loosely around his knee to ground you somewhere. The other was occupied: your hand clutched his wrist like a lifeline, white-knuckling it even as your sweaty palm slipped over the metal cuff. When his thumb returned to your clit, swirling clumsy but eager circles on top of it, that only contributed to the tight, hot coil building in your gut.
Mirage had half a mind to pop his interface panel right then and service himself, because the sight of you, shining with sweat and slick with his spit as you rode his digits, was almost too much to bear. The plush folds of your cunt, tight with arousal, were so soft against the hard planes of metal that comprised his servos; the contrast was short-circuiting him. Under his paneling, his spike was already pressurized. Had been for what felt like hours. Your ass was beginning to slide back and forth just a little due to the transfluid collecting underneath you; the rippling motion of your flesh was driving him insane. As were your walls, Primus, your walls that sucked greedily around his digits as they glided in and out of the tight ring of muscle that made up your entrance.
Your name left his lips in a groan that was an octave too high to be suave. The thought of your cunt clamping down on his spike — so soft, so hot, so wet — like it was doing on his digit had his hips rolling against nothing, working fruitlessly for friction they weren’t getting.
Sweat collected wherever skin touched skin. Condensation fogged wherever skin touched metal. The combination of his digits stretching you, curling in you when he realized what a dramatic reaction it incurred, and his thumb working your clit was getting to be too much. Heartbeat roaring in your ears like the rain outside, you clawed a grip into a seam in his leg and jerked your hips against his servo with breathy noises and gasps that you certainly wouldn’t be proud of later. For now, though, all it did was fuel Mirage’s ego and go straight to his spike.
Almost there. You were almost there, grinding your way towards it, sweat beading on your hot skin—
He pulled out. He pulled his digits out. A keen tore out of you at the loss of feeling, tears springing to your eyes as the hot edge you were so fucking close to fell away, your hips working unconsciously against a servo no longer there. With a gasp of a breath, you wrenched your eyes open, blinking away the collected tears and nearly baring your teeth at the bot beneath you — until you saw what he was doing.
In utter astonishment, you watched as the digits that were just inside you slid into his mouth, peeks of his glossa flashing as it worked them clean.
“Oh fuck,” you said before you could stop yourself. One of your hands slapped over your mouth; you tasted sweat and metal. His optics slid to you, lidded and cycling frantically as he processed your taste. A harsh ex-vent slumped his shoulders — the servo not preoccupied with his mouth clutched your hip like you were something precious.
“Sugar,” he breathed, static grating on the word. “Fuck, c’mere.”
Servos hefted you up, and you clutched onto them out of instinct as he helped you up to his face. Without thinking, you lunged forward to kiss, your tongue seeking out his glossa and tasting yourself with a resurging thrum of arousal. He cut it short, though, ignoring your protests as he cupped your ass in one servo and held you aloft. 
For a second, you stared at him in confusion. “What are you—“ Then it hit you. “Oh.” Your heart rate skyrocketed.
The grin stretching his faceplates was downright devious. “Hang onto something, wouldja? Not that you’re gonna fall. Just want you to enjoy the ride.” A short, heady chuckle rounded out his words.
“You’re insane— oh!” Your lighthearted scold was immediately interrupted by the press of your hips against his face and the slide of his slick glossa over the entirety of your sex. “Oh my fuck!” sobbed out of you as your upper body jackknifed over his helm. One arm curled around it with clawing fingers; the other slammed, palm flat, against the concrete wall.
A groan of satisfaction rumbled into your cunt as the taste of salt and sweat and girl bloomed on his glossa — just like earlier but so much stronger now. The proud line of his nose bumped your clit for a second before his glossa followed, narrowing so he could flick at it experimentally. Lubricant spilling from his mouth mixed with your own slick and ran down his chin; his cooling fans sputtered and spun weakly for a second as he pushed up further against your hips, malleable mesh drawing shapes between your clit and your hole.
Your fingernails scraped against the wall as your hips jerked of their own accord; the edge stolen from you earlier had very much returned, and the feeling of his faceplates sliding over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs was doing something terrible to you.
“Mirage, ah, ah— I’m— fuck, fuck!” Broken syllables and curses streamed from your lips as a substitute for real words. When he closed his lips around your clit and sucked, it was over. It was so quick, embarrassingly quick. The orgasm that had been building suddenly snapped free and tore through you like a fucking hurricane, leaving spasming muscles and a wonderful endorphin afterglow in its wake. As you sobbed out his name, he slid two digits of his free servo back into you just to give you something to clamp down on, and it made tears spill down your burning cheeks from pure stimulus. Mirage drank you; he wanted nothing more than this, to swallow you down and leave your taste buzzing on his glossa like high-grade. Several thundering heartbeats later found you hunched over his helm as his glossa continued to work lazily against you, forcing twitches out of your thighs from pure overstimulation.
“Okay, okay,” you managed to croak, voice hoarse from weeping moans and boneless from what was probably one of the most insane finishes of your life. You tapped out weakly on the side of his helmet. Reluctantly, he pulled your pussy away from his face and cradled you in both servos, one noticeably damper than the other, in front of him.
His chin was shiny with you, his grin wide and completely self satisfied, and his optics dimmed with pleasure. If you were being honest, he’d never looked better, but in your frazzled state you weren’t sure if you had the capacity to string together enough words to form a compliment.
“I gotta say, compliments to the chef,” he hummed, and you stared at him, words not processing.
“Did you seriously— you just gave me head and that’s what you’re gonna say?”
“Uhh, yeah, babe. And I meant it.”
A genuine laugh shook you. “Oh my god. Ohhh my god. Okay. Well, put me back down there, you corny fuck,” you said with a gesture back at his hips.
“Oooh, keep sayin’ that. I’ll start thinkin’ you mean it.” Your body, errant trembles still running through it, was set carefully down back near its original position. This time, you sat in something closer to a straddle, back straight instead of leaning.
The garage air had gone from temperate and warm to fucking scorching. Outside, the rain droned on, occasional rumbles of thunder sounding so far away that they may as well have not been real. Your entire world had been compressed down to one point — a gravitational singularity in this garage, crushing space and time down until only bricks and concrete stood between you and the oblivion outside. All you knew was living metal and Mirage’s voice, trembling with excitement and fuzzy with static, and that was all you wanted to know. His chassis was making so much noise that you probably, under any other circumstance, would have been concerned; if he blew a gasket fucking you, though, you would wear that with pride.
Pure adoration reflected right back at you from his optics as his servos settled on your hips, his thumbs stroking your slick skin. Any concerns he had about Prime’s reaction to you, or to this — well, maybe not to this specifically, but to the both of you being together — were completely null and void in your presence; the reality of your soft weight in his lap was enough to short out his circuits.
Your hands slid down from the cooling fan in his abdomen spinning at maximum speed towards his soaked interface panel; glancing up at him demurely through your lashes, you spoke.
“You gonna let me return the favor?”
“Huh?” He broke out of his reverie. “Oh, right, um— yeah. Yeah, please.”
A smile crawled over your face at the reminder that despite all the poetic words you could come up with in your head, Mirage was still, and always would be, Mirage. Dazed already, he ran the subroutines to open his interface panel. Machinery shifted with a few clicks, and there was a hiss and an outpour of steam as his spike swung up before you, clearly aching for some kind of touch.
You heard more plates shifting lower, too, and out of curiosity peeked downward; something slick glowed lower down, but the nervous shifting of Mirage’s hips and his closed thighs obscured it from view.
Probably better to just focus on what’s in front of you. Your eyes roamed the length of his array first, your mouth going dry just at the size of it. It was bigger than any toy you owned, anyone you’d slept with, and bigger than his digits, too. Still, though… what were humans if not persevering?
And flexible?
You wrapped a hand around it right below the tip, and a full shudder lanced up Mirage’s frame; it was so thick that there was still space between your fingers and thumb left over. Transfluid, milky in consistency but pearlescent pink in color, spilled from the flared head. Curiosity overtook you, and you swiped a thumb up to catch an errant bead of it as it trailed down the side. The fluid was semi-oily, and smelled… fairly innocuous. Metallic, sure, but that came with the territory.
The array itself was as impressive as it was pretty. Like everything else about Mirage, it was fancy, mostly chrome with blue striping up the sides that led to a fully blue head. The biomesh it was made of — similar to his glossa — gently throbbed with alien pulses as you stared at it. Oh, that was hot. Why was that so hot?
Exploration in full was rewarded with soft noises spilling unbidden from Mirage’s lips, his hips twitching uncontrollably as you carefully slid your hand down from the tip to the base in one fluid motion, feeling the transfluid slick under your fingers. “Mmph, I— ah,” he choked out through gritted denta as you observed him.
Oh. Oh. The realization of the power you held over the big mech made a special kind of arousal thrum through you. Another slow pump had his hips jerk up once and a servo clamp over his mouth.
“This was not included in your anatomy lesson,” you said pointedly, a cheshire grin on your face as you hovered dangerously close to his spike. It throbbed in your grip, working another bead of transfluid out of the tip.
“Oh shit, babe,” he groaned, rolling his helm back against the wall. “Uh— hands— hands-on learning?” he offered weakly, unable to focus on anything other than the soft, damp skin of your palm around his spike.
He made the mistake of looking down as you let spit drool out of your bruised lips and spill over his spike for additional lube, and he snapped his optics shut to avoid from a spontaneous overload right there. The noises he made as you slid your tongue over the head were pitiful.
“Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, spinal struts clicking as they arched. Primus, was he seriously about to overload in your mouth? Your lips closed around the head and sucked lightly, and he yelped. A servo shot out and carefully grabbed your shoulder, though the tremors running through his digits told you of the restraint he was barely employing. A string of spit and transfluid connected your mouth to his spike as you lifted your head, and he had to force himself to look away for a second with that same servo clutched over his mouth to keep steady. “‘m not gonna last like that, you— can we just—“
“Fuck?”
“Primus, yes.”
“Yeah, we can. I guess.” Despite the leap of excitement in your stomach, you rolled your eyes.
“Don’t even start with that, c’mon,” he said fondly, one servo supporting you as you lifted yourself above his spike and stared down at it with no small amount of trepidation.
It looked a little more manageable from above, but working with something the size of your forearm would cool anyone’s heels, even if there was slick drooling down your inner thighs. Mirage’s servos settled heavy on your hips and you braced yourself on first his knees behind you, then his wrists as you tilted your pelvis to align your entrance as best you could. You sank. The head pressed insistently against your hole. Relax. Relax. Relax.
A deep breath filled your lungs, then whooshed out, deflating your shoulders. Unable to help himself, Mirage inched one of his servos over and ran his thumb through your folds, rolling over your clit and jolting your hips enough to slip the head inside. A long sigh of  “Fuuuuck.” was all that managed to come out of your mouth, your toes curling at the stretch and then the pop of the flared head sliding past your entrance.
Mirage’s entire frame trembled. His vents became shallow and sharp, and the tips of his digits clamped onto the soft meat of your hips desperately as the sensors on his spike reckoned with the realization of just how wet and warm humans really were. “Babe, babe, babe, shit,” he stammered out. “That’s— um, fuck, that’s good!” A weak laugh escaped him as his chin sank down to his chassis, cooling fans hiccuping from stress.
“Hold on, just hold on, I can… shit.” Sweat-dampened palms slid off his wrists for a second before you resituated yourself and leaned back a little, letting your upper back rest against his tucked up thighs. Whatever you were doing worked, because you sank further, and you thanked whatever god was listening that you’d already finished once, making your body quite boneless and that much easier to maneuver.
Mirage, on the other hand, was as taut as a fucking bowstring, made helpless to his own pleasure and completely powerless to you. His optics first scrunched shut, unable to look at you for fear of overloading at the sight of you finally on his spike; then they flew open at the realization that he wanted this burned into his visual processors forever.
Your skin shone with sweat and lubricant; rivulets trailed down your body like a visual pointer to your slick sex, nestled within wiry hair and stretching so beautifully around his spike that it tore an honest-to-Primus whimper out of his vocal synthesizer.
“Mirage, I need you to— mmnh, fuck, I need you to just touch— please,” you gasped, his spike punching the air right out of your lungs. Although your words were broken, he seemed to get the memo, and despite his minute tremors, brought his thumb back to your clit and pressed down. Just the surface area alone made you sigh and roll your head back in pleasure, and it loosened you enough to take him right up until the head nestled against your cervix and your ass brushed his hip plating. There was maybe an inch or two left, but you felt immense pride at managing to work most of his spike in — and immense pleasure, too. If he moved his thumb at all, you were done; you were so fucking full you could barely breathe, and you felt the slow, rhythmic pulses of his biomesh throb through you.
Mirage had never been one for restraint. He did things all-in, one-hundred-and-ten percent, all with a flourish to top it off; the feeling of the hot silk of your walls flexing around his spike just sitting there was enough to quite literally kill his cooling fans via a micro-short in an attempt to divert more power towards keeping his hips still. Senseless praises streamed from his lips, voice whining and roughened by static fuzz. “Yes, yes, yes, sugar, Primus, that’s good— feels so good, please, can I move, please,” he fumbled, jaw slack and optics flickering with the power surges cascading throughout his frame.
“Just— let me start,” was your response, tears pricking at your eyes, and although Mirage groaned pitifully underneath you, he listened.
You had a fair amount of experience with riding toys, and you knew what felt good; the lightbulb above your head became apparent. A shift in your position pushed further weight to the back so that the ridges and nodes of his spike pressed insistently toward the front — though, to be fair, it pressed everywhere — and oh, fuck, right there. Now shoved against that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure teetered on the edge of pain, and you dragged yourself up with a vicious grip on the seams of his thighs behind you. Mirage whined and shifted his hips just slightly; it was enough to pull a moan from your lips as you slid upward. Thick, sluggish droplets of slick swirled with transfluid oozed down his spike. He watched — it was all he could do — with an open mouth and rapidly cycling optics.
The flared head caught against your entrance; a spike (ha!) of pleasure lanced through you. “Okay, now, you can— help me, please,” you stammered out, dizzy with pleasure already and feeling a loopy kind of open-mouthed grin situate itself on your face. 
Your words were all he needed. Although he desperately, desperately wanted to snap his hips up and chase the vice-grip of your slick walls, he’d rather take on Megatron alone with his servos tied behind his back than risk hurting you. Especially while interfacing. He did not want to have to explain that to anyone.
Thumb slowly working your clit, his servos gripped your hips just a little too tight and assisted; you could feel the tremors lancing up and down his arms as he helped you establish a rhythm. At a word, the dam would break, but for now, you maintained tenuous control over the mech and over yourself as you rode him with his help.
Well. Rode was a strong word for it; he all but dragged you up and down the length of his spike, earning each of you luxurious groans from the other, but your quivering thigh muscles assisted as best they could. Heat surged through your body at the drag of his nodes against your walls, and you realized with a hot flash that Mirage was going to fucking ruin you for anybody else, and you liked that. Which was good, because he could have stayed buried in your cunt for the rest of his life and offlined happily just like that.
It was good. It was really good. But even the overwhelming stretch wasn’t enough. Just like earlier — it seemed like light years away now — when you’d still had pants on and hadn’t been completely lost to metal-on-skin debauchery, the grind of your clit on the seam of your jeans had been good, but not enough. Your fingers clawed at his wrists. The burn of your thighs from exertion seared through you, mixing with the jolts of pleasure from your clit to create some new, terrible monster that had you twitching with shameless ecstasy.
“Mirage, Mirage,” you croaked, as he slid you down his spike again and pushed it into your lungs, “I’m— fuck, please, faster, please, please.” In any other scenario, your begging would have immensely embarrassed you; now, though, it seemed like the only viable option to get him to fuck you like you needed him to.
“Shit, baby,” he hissed, and you gasped as he kept moving you, legs jerking uselessly. “You— fuck, you sure?”
“Yes, please, just— oh, fuck!” The cry — and the air in your lungs — was knocked right out of you by a single desperate snap of his hips upward, his spike driven straight home. Your entire upper body crumpled forward, kept upright only by a tenuous grip on his wrists, and then he really started fucking you, and you were gone.
His cooling fans surged back to life as he slammed into you, power no longer diverted towards holding the actuators of his hips back. No, now he was fucking jackhammering into you, and you were barely moving as his spike pistoned in and out of you, slick drooling from your cunt. Like he remembered himself, his thumb began to work furiously against your clit, and you rewarded him with a gasp and more than a few uncontrollable moans of his name, which only served to fuel him more.
Not like he was being quiet, either. You were glad that the building was solid brick and the rain continued to pour outside, because the amount of noise coming from his chassis and spilling from his lips was worrying. Praises and broken mentions of your name streamed from him; he tossed his helm back against the wall with his optics squeezed shut to keep from overloading prematurely. It was too much— it was way too fucking much. Your poor overworked cunt was nearly bruised with sensitivity, barely able to keep up with the stretch of his spike as the nodes pulsing along it raked that sweet spot inside of you mercilessly. Neither of you were going to last long; not your fragile human body nor his torqued-up frame could handle much more of this.
Every sharp thrust paired with the frantic, messy circles he pressed into your clit brought you viciously closer and spilled tears from your eyes. All you could really do was hold on as Mirage wrung pleasure from both your body and his. Impossibly, his thumb worked faster, his pace got even more brutal, and you were almost seizing from pleasure as your nerve endings were frayed raw. That peak was building in your gut, that familiar tight coil of heat, for the second time that night, and you knew it was going to completely destroy you, and you wanted it to.
Without warning, Mirage spread his knees apart, slammed his pedes flat on the floor, and thrusted up. His spinal struts arched again to get his spike that much further inside of your yielding body, his overload imminent and warning signs flashing in his optics’ periphery. “Fuck, yes— yes, baby, yes, yes, ah, shit!” His frenzied whine rang in your ears as steam from his vents heated the air around you; the only thing that rang in your ears besides your thunderous heartbeat was the heady slap of skin against metal, everything slick with your combined fluids.
You responded in kind at the new angle with a cry of his name and some noises that resembled words, but the way he sheathed his spike inside you — fuck, was it all the way in? — and ground his thumb against your clit was too much— too much— you couldn’t—
You shattered. Doubling over from pleasure, you sobbed incoherently as your climax slammed into you. Pleasure crackled through your veins like lightning; a fog of pleasure dulled your senses until the only thing you could focus on was his spike pulsing in your cunt and his thumb still grinding against your clit. Tears pricked at your eyes, joining the ones already wetting your cheeks, as jolts of pleasure lanced up your spine. Maybe you moaned his name, maybe you didn’t. You couldn’t tell.
Mirage went soon after you, because the feeling of your walls clamping around his spike as if trying to suck him in impossibly further did him in instantly. His optics snapped open wide before slamming shut and he cried your name as the best overload of his life wracked his frame; the actuators of his hips trembled violently, along with his servos, as transfluid gushed into you and was immediately forced out by the pure lack of room inside your cunt. Engine snarling, cooling fans nearly spinning off their axles, he held your hips as flush to his as possible while the both of you rode out your respective climaxes, twitching around each other violently. Minute jerks of his hips attempted to work more transfluid inside of you. Brain still wiped blank with pleasure, all you could do was make soft noises and let the aftershocks spasm through you.
Consciousness eventually came back to you in gritty waves. Mirage had set your body down, leaned back against his thighs, his spike still seated within you but depressurizing slowly. Transfluid seeped out of your puffy folds, and you lifted a shaking hand to collect some of it and taste it. Metallic. Like you’d expected.
Enormous vents whooshed through his frame as he attempted to cool his chassis; coolant dripped from him, some of it turned to steam by the pure heat of his internal mechanisms. Body shaking and feeling very small and human, you stroked a thumb over his wrist where you held it, feeling both its ambient warmth and a surge of affection. And satisfaction.
You were absolutely going to feel this in the morning, holy shit. Thank God you didn’t have work tomorrow.
Mirage eventually came back down to earth, his optics cracking open and cycling a few times before they flared to their usual brightness. Lids heavy and a dopey grin on his face, he carefully lifted you off his spike — it slid out of you with a slick noise that made you flush — and brought you up to face-level. With one servo, he held you tight against his torso; he planted the other flat on the floor and resituated his hips so he could slump down further against the wall, his entire frame lax.
Self-satisfaction beamed at you from his faceplates. “Oh, that was good, huh?”
You scoffed, too tired to get riled up at his teasing; you knew he was feeling the same as you. “Yeah, pretty good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, to be totally honest.” An exhausted laugh left you.
“Gonna count that as a win.”
“You… do whatever you want.” You waved a limp hand at him dismissively, letting the rise and fall of his chassis with his vents rock you.
“Well, then, I wanna do this,” he purred, and brought you in for a kiss that communicated all his smug affection without any of his stupid jokes. You returned it gratefully, a smile on each of your mouths as you basked in that pleasant post-sex glow.
The rain still droned outside. A boom of thunder rolled through the building; the lights flickered. Both you and Mirage glanced upward. His optics slid back down to you first.
“You thinkin’ about going anywhere in this weather?” he asked, raising a brow ridge.
“I dunno, do I have a ride?”
“Nah,” he replied playfully, kissing you again, and you found that it could storm for the rest of your life, and you wouldn’t really care. So long as you had your favorite — yes, your favorite, not that you could ever admit around him — to keep you company.
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thugpugs4lrh · 16 days
Note
Heeeyyyyy🎀
I have an idea👀
Matt x reader where she’s really scared of dogs and they go over to a mutual friends house and they have a dog (That reader somehow didn’t know about🤷🏽‍♀️😭) and Matt eases her into not being afraid anymore.
Puppy Love
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Summary: Above!!
Pairing: Matt x feminine reader (with surprise guests Jake and Johnnie :3)
Warnings: Fear of dogs, Jake being an oblivious little shit
Word Count: 872
A/N: Thank you for the request! Let me know if you guys would ever want more crossover type fics like this! Especially after this past weekend (if you know, you know) :)
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If there was one thing that you feared more than anything else, it was dogs. You knew it was irrational, but you’d had the fear since you were a small child, having been pushed over by a large dog at the park. For this reason, you and Matt had a little gray tabby kitten that you both considered your “child”. 
That didn’t mean other people didn’t have dogs, though. You usually tried to nonchalantly ask about people’s pets, terrified of either a) being judged or b) being shocked by a large animal you were unaware of. Matt knew about your fear, and thus, usually made sure the friends you hung out with were dog free or the pets were out of the house before you went over. 
Everyone was bound to make mistakes, though, and this was what happened on this particular day. You and Matt had agreed to go over to Jake and Johnnie’s house to film a teams video, in which you and your boyfriend would go against Jake and Johnnie in a gingerbread house building contest. You were quite excited for the day as Matt turned the car into the driveway of their LA house, humming along softly to a Dominic Fike song on the radio. 
“I’m excited,” You giggled as you both exited the car, walking towards the front door. The excitement didn’t last long, however, because you soon heard a bark from inside the house that caused you to stop in your tracks. You dropped Matt’s hand, looking up at him as your face paled. “Do they…have a dog?”
Matt’s face dropped as he looked at you, worry creasing his eyes. “Shit, baby. I forgot. I’m so sorry, honey. Let me text Jake and ask him if he can maybe put him in the backyard.”
But before Matt could send the message, Jake opened the door, smiling widely. “Hey guys!”
Behind him, was a large, white and black pitbull. The dog didn’t move, opting to sit by Jake’s feet, but he continued to bark like there was no tomorrow. You practically clung to Matt’s side, fear coursing through your body. He didn’t look aggressive, but his bark sure sounded like it. Johnnie appeared seemingly out of nowhere next to Jake and the dog, surveying the situation. 
“Is something wrong?” he asked. 
Jake had been oblivious to your and Matt’s silence, but Johnnie was much more observant. He took one look at your fearful face and the way your nails were digging into Matt’s bicep while he gently rubbed your back. You looked up as Matt shifted, an anxious look on his face. 
“Y/N isn’t…crazy about dogs.” he mumbled quietly, not wanting to embarrass you. 
“Shredder’s chill, dude.” Jake chuckled, opening the door wider so you two could step in. 
“The dog’s name is Shredder?” 
If you weren’t anxious before, you definitely were now. The dog was huge and muscular, with a name that made him sound even more malicious. Even though he hadn’t moved, simply wagging his tail against the floor as Johnnie pet him, you were still frozen with fear. Matt gently rubbed your side, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, before holding his hand out for the dog to sniff. 
“Hey, sweet boy.” Matt smiled, ever the animal lover. 
The dog whined happily, straining against Johnnie’s hold on his spiked collar. 
“He’s not aggressive,” Johnnie smiled at you kindly. “He doesn’t jump either. He mostly just likes to be pet.”
“Dude’s a lazy ass bitch.” Jake snorted as you and Matt finally stepped inside the house, closing the door behind you. 
Johnnie rolled his eyes, but allowed Matt to continue petting the dog. “Says you.”
Matt ignored the boy’s banter, keeping a watchful eye on you. He didn’t want you to be scared, so he was hoping maybe him showing you how sweet the pup was would ease your fear. “Do you wanna pet him?” he asked you softly. 
You nodded timidly, eyes wide with fear. “I’ll, um, try…I guess.” You whispered. 
You softly put your hand out, allowing Shredder to sniff you and all your scents. To your surprise, he didn’t try to lunge for you the way he had Matt. He just butted his head against your hand, a happy grunt escaping his mouth as his tongue flopped out to the other side. You smiled, looking to Matt for confirmation. 
Your boyfriend smiled, happy to see you conquering fears. “I think he likes you.”
Johnnie eased his hold on the dog’s collar, nodding to Jake as Shredder trotted over to your side. rather than be overly wild, the pup simply rubbed against your legs, panting happily. Matt smiled, holding your hand, just to make sure you weren’t any more anxious than you had to be. 
“I love him.” You giggled after a moment. 
Sure, you had been scared at first, but Matt never failed to calm your fears. You knew he would never allow you to get hurt and that he would always protect you, and for that, you were forever grateful. 
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tags ♡: @aemrsy @jake-and-johnnies-slut @mattsfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mimi-luvzyu @mayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @idek3000hi @runasvengence @sunsetsturniolos @strnlvr @stingerayyy2
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