#his olfactory sensors are sensitive

[your-local-tyrant]

Lord, I heard that you like to eat organics...

I unfortunately don't have a full human to offer you, but I can offer you one of my organs. My uterus. It even comes with extra blood during this time of month.

Thankfully, the tyrant did not know what a 'uterus' actually was. His knowledge of human anatomy was not good and perhaps that was for the best, but he did know that blood tasted good and the thought of extra blood was nice to him.

"You would willingly give me your organs?"

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader valveplug, minors don't interact!

based on this delicious ask about orion overloading from inhaling your pheromones and some tags provided by @tom-foolery-incorporated <3

word count: 800

Holding Orion’s helm on both sides, you pull him toward you, feeling no resistance from the startled mech. His faceplate lands against your chest, and you immediately envelop him in warmth, letting him sink into the softness of your human body. The familiar shape of your torso and the rhythmic symphony of your heartbeat give him a sense of comfort and belonging, as if, after a long, exhausting day, he has finally found his way home. Orion lifts his optics to you and smiles in gratitude, though you cannot see the expression.

“I missed you,” you murmur tenderly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helm.

“I am glad that our feelings…” he begins, but his words are abruptly cut off by the sudden, unfamiliar scent flooding his olfactory sensors.

It is sweet, unmistakably yours, yet tainted with something unknown — something he cannot name. Has no time to analyze it before the scent overwhelms him, urging to flee, to pull away before it does irreversible damage to his processor. Escaping should not be a challenge; after all, you are not restraining him, granting him full freedom to move. But the problem is that he hesitates to run.

One breath. Then another. And another. Each inhale draws the scent deeper, seeping into his very core, coating his spark, his tank, until it finally reaches the most sensitive parts of his frame, teasing them mercilessly. It creeps behind his interface panel, wrapping around his spike and valve, luring them into a dance with the desire that consumes him in an instant. Just moments ago, all he had wanted was to hold you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, but now — now, the image of sliding his spike into your tight, burning-hot folds is the only thought left in his processor. The only thing he wants to think about. The only thing he can.

Orion takes another involuntary breath, stress-induced from the sudden onslaught of overwhelming need, and it seals his fate.

“[Name]!” he cries out, voice breaking. His concealed spike spasms, and from its tip, thick strands of pink transfluid spill out, splattering against his panel before slowly dripping downward, seeping into the seams, finding their way out. Some rivulets trail down his thighs, while others pool onto the floor beneath him.

“Orion, did you just come?” you ask bluntly. Watching the way his back arches, his optics roll upward, and listening to the symphony of his stifled moans, you are certain of the answer. You should be surprised — after all, you had barely given him any real stimulation to get him to overload — but you know your partner well enough to have learned just how little he needs to unravel. Still, the meaner part of you, the one that always surfaces when Orion is deliciously pathetic, wants to see undeniable evidence of his overload.

“Move your head. I want to see.”

“Ah!” Orion whimpers. “N-No, do not look,” he pleads, suddenly ashamed of the intensity of his own desperation.

His embarrassment does not last long, though, because Orion does not want to pull away. He does not want to lose this intoxicating sense of helplessness, this loss of control that breathing in your scent grants him. He wants to stay right here, drunk on your sweetness.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now you’re getting shy? Please, I’ve seen you worse.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, barely processing your words. He inhales again, this time intentionally, and just like before, your scent floods his body. His still-hard, aching spike throbs, pleading for another overload, and his valve clenches around nothing, echoing the demand. He has no choice but to take in more of your scent, to drown himself in it. He presses himself against you harder, as if trying to meld into your body, rubbing his faceplate against your chest in a desperate chase for another untouched, hands-free climax.

Forgetting his own immense strength, he unwittingly forces you several steps backward, making you struggle to keep your balance.

“Hey!” you yelp, giving him a light, scolding pat on the helm. “I almost fell!”

That, finally, seems to snap him out of it — at least for a moment. Orion lifts his optics to meet yours, guilt flickering in his gaze. “A-apologies,” he murmurs, but his focus does not last long. He immediately buries his faceplate back against you, sensitive olfactory sensors dragging over your torso, trying to provoke another overload.

“Ah! [Name], please, help me!” he whines, his voice raw with need. He has to be inside you. Needs to ground himself, to find something solid to cling to, or else he fears he will completely lose his mind.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “As you wish, love.” and Orion hurriedly retracts his transfluid-slick interface panel.

[bnsni]

TO LIVE AND TO SERVE

part three

(sentinel.gn.miner.reader)warnings : mild nsfw!!

one, two, three

HE'S  a lot more quiet when he's alone.

You found him in the Thirteenth suite (where the Prime's statues were concocted in tribute to their deaths, as well as serving as the strategy room for military use).

He was by the round table, nursing a cup of energon while he stared blankly ahead, lost in the colorful blurs of the Iaconian lights that shone through the arched glass windows.Three bottles of engex littered the table. To your baffled confusion, you also counted around thirteen cups, possibly more, on the ground, scattered.

Ever since he gave you the proposition to serve him, you hadn't interacted with the Prime for a while, given he was busy with his 'responsibility' as Prime and the most you'd seen him was his figure pottering along the halls and in and out of rooms. At these times, you tucked yourself away into your room, reading a book or exploring the limited areas of the castle you were permitted to use. Any farther than that were gauranteed a violation. He'd take you back to the mines.

You didn't want that. 

But in regards to his behavior, this has gotten quite frequent, you notice. After every conference about his expeditions, or a trivial meeting for that matter, led him cooped up in the Thirteenth Suite.

He was different.

No grandiose gestures, no banter, no anything —none of that pretense you know holds up everytime a crowd cheers. Watching him change through the screen and in here,  disconcerting wasn't the word you'd exactly use to describe him. Unpredictable was better. There was nothing more dangerous than a mech with unpredictable motives. 

You didn't know which side you preferred.

" There you are." 

You blinked out of your stupor and found him swivelled towards you. He tipped his helm back with a smile, placing his cup down. "Where have you been?" 

You weren't sure whether to step into the room or not so you teetered by the doorway and tightened your servo into a fist. 

"Exploring, my liege." You say, cautious. 

"You're not hiding away from me, are you?" He mused. 

You glance to the exit. " No, sir. Not at all. Airachnid showed me around ...and lost my way.." 

" Happens all the time. You'll get used to it.." He chuckled and patted his thighs, which spreads out a little to expose his panel. You look away, digits digging deeper into your palm.

 He cocked a brow and leaned back with his elbows both on the handle. "Second thoughts?" 

You didn't meet his gaze as you neared, fixated on a particular spot on the statue of the Prime behind him. Megatronus's mask. The hollow optics peered down. As though watching.

"Not at all." You say.

He hunched forward and held your waist, servos engulfing the entirety of the width. His digits glides over the intricate lines on your stomach, pressing against sensitive regions before feeling up your shoulder with his palms.

With a push against your back, you fell deeper into his embrace, servos a tacl against his shouders. You thought back to the drone with the dent on his chassis, and the image of Sentinel plunging a servo through your abdomen, sparks igniting, energon spooling out, plagued your mind. 

A little, you shake. He was too busy pressing is face against the spot between your shoulder and neck to notice you froze. With every vent of his intake and every touch of his wet, sticky lips against your cheek, angex prickles your olfactory sensors. Down the shoulder, his servos glides over the curve of your aft then to your thighs and squeezes it.

"Get on my lap." He nudged your jaw with his nose, breathy and eager. 

You swallowed. "Yes, my liege." 

"Oh, call me sir." He scoffed and leaned back as you swung your legs over his thighs. "It's pretentious when you say that." 

You don't say ...

You kept quiet, opting to put your servos on his shoulder while he tucked you close against his chassis. The servo on your back cupped the nape of your neck before pulling you close and into a wet kiss. You tensed up. However, he wasn't detterd and eased your mouth open with his glossa, large and slick , prodding against your own. 

Megatronus was behind, peering down. Watching.

" Feels good, doesn't it?" He said between breaths, tilting forward to taste the back of your mouth, dentas grazing your lips and tongue. 

You didn't know what to say. There was nothing worth saying, only putting your focus to breathe and not wince at how deep his digits are digging into your sides at how forceful he was trying to pull your body close. You made a sound as he tipped you forward, knees pressing against his side as he chased your mouth. 

In the moment of reprieve when he let go of your lips, you said "It does, sir." 

And Sentinel was about to lean in when the words register. He paused, pulled away and stared at you for a moment before laughing incredulously and, unfortunately, very deeply. You've never seen him this amused by what you've said. You could only strain your jaw not to be bothered by his reaction and shook along the vibration of his chassis. 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and optics, as though wiping off a tear. 

"You know I hate liars." Eventually, he says. " Especially when they go into detailed, detailed stories about how they're not..."

He leaned forward until his helm, through your viewpoint, was under Megatronus's and vividly vividly you had the feeling the surrounding statues were staring, hollow optics turned to one mech. 

Sentinel.

"Insanely ridiculous, don't you think?"

[steamingstewchunks]

Something happened.

Not something bad, obviously, all hands on deck would be needed for it.

But it was enough for Prowl to ask him to stay,

"Just sit there, make sure she doesn't climb on or into anything." It was easy enough, the little femme couldn't even walk properly let alone climb!

"Do not take your optics off of her."

... They didn't like that tone all too much, if Jazz was being honest.

"Looks like it's just you and me now little lady, Sari baby, what do you like to do for fun around here?" Cautiously, he places a servo into the little playpen, holding it up so she couldn't climb his servo and possibly hurt herself, instead opting to hold it closer to her so she could grab it, or something.

"I've heard stories of your little run offs, givin' all these big guys a scare kid. It's not healthy for them." He chuckles, as the organic infant places both hands on his digit, circular toy held between her "gums"(such a weird name to call it. There's already candy of that, why a body part?) as she grunts, taking a stand.

"oh, are you gonna walk? Should I record this?" as a precaution, he proceeded with recording. " Are you gonna do a trick? Prowl says you like to dance, maybe some tunes would help get you movin'."

Jazz spoke softly, and calmly, playing a low energy, but still bumpy beat. Something easy to move too. He would have put on some of those baby songs from the human internet, but, well, he didn't really like em. Got stuck in the processor is all.

The speakers where kept at a low volume, something else he read in the books and files prowl provided. Organic infants had sensitive ears, and spooked easy.

He moved himself closer to Sari, smiling all the way. Organics weren't half as bad as sentinel made them out to be at all,

Infact, they where kinda cu-

"UH-CHOO!"

Jazz practically bent over backwards. He did it so fast it was a miracle he didn't move his servo, patiently, (impatiently, but he wasn't going to rush her, it would never be worth it.) he waiting for her hands to disappear from his sensory net.

"eeeuh...!"

She plopped herself down with a grunt and jazz decided to finally let his freakout, out. Groaning and convulsing, he wipes his visor repeatedly, then his olfactory sensors, and then his dermas.

It was beyond nasty.

Organics did spew slime! Sentinel was right! He grabbed one of the nearby blankets, sure that it wasn't going to be used later as it was thick and it wasn't really cold, he started to clean it all off hurriedly.

"not cool, Sari baby, not cool...!" He whined.

Something seemed off, just a little bit, but the slime was nearly off his visor, and scans where screaming about the bacteria and germs and micro organisms in the liquids and eugh!

"okay, maybe I'll keep my distance 'till tall dark and handsome comes back okay?" Focusing back into her little play pad, he ceased all functioning. Tac-net working either in overdrive or not at all, he didn't know, there was simply the matter that the little gate they used to keep her from wandering too far, was pushed open.

She's loose.

She's loose.

Gone, where's the baby? Not here. Nada, nuh-uh.

"Sari?" Foregoing Dignity, he crawls on his servos and knee-struts, over the play pen and following the area of interest in case there was any sort of clue to where she could have gone too so spark-damned quickly.

"come on, little lady, where'd you go huh? If I can't find you, your babysitter is gonna have my helm haha!"

Swiping at leaves and picking up sticks, he starts to grow frantic, scurrying faster and faster, picking up speed while scouring everywhere in the room. He checks under the berth, under the table even risking the tree roots listening and watching, poking in any little hole he could find with great precision and care, lest he crush the object of his panic.

"come on, please little lady, I know prowl doesn't let you have any before nap time but I promise you, I'll get you one of those little candy sticks you like so much, maybe even one of the big ones! Just please, please come on out," he sits on his heels, "or even just a sign!"

His movements cease when he turns, trying to retrace his steps, just to see black and gold striped pedes. Trailing up and up, his visual network shows him just what he didn't want to see.

"ahem. Have you, perhaps, checked behind the beanbag chair?" Prowl offers helpfully.

"how long have you uh... Been here?" He chuckles, rising, "and b-behind the what?"

"the beanbag chair." He turns to walk the three steps to the playpen area, and sits in his haunches.

Making the autobot servo sign for quiet, prowl beckons to Jazz, who followed that order.

"she usually puts herself to sleep in my room," prowl whispers, "the bean bag being her favorite bed." The yellow of the chair, had mixed with a curled up Sari. Teething toy still in her mouth, which was open and making little snoring sounds, Sari slept still in the play pen, not under the berth, or under the table. Or in the tree roots.

"... Oh..." Heat travelled up Jazz's faceplate, derma pointed down in embarrassment while he grasped the tip of his hat and brought it forward to hide it all, "she's quite a troublemaker huh?" He mumbles.

A fool is what he has been. His tac-net was searching simply just for the human infant, in his urgency and panic, he forgot to just... Look.

She was alright.

"I did see... A lot." Prowl chuckles.

His dignity however, was not.

"Don't worry. Everyone, Bot or not, has a spark attack, courtesy of her, one way or another." He sits, legs crossed, and simply watches her as she breathes.

Jazz realizes he's still recording. And stops it, while grabbing one of the thin blankets, looking to prowl for approval, and draping it gently over Sari, the infant.

"by the way, you still have some stuff in your face."

Jazz let out a whiny groan, as prowl made a move to wipe it off.

[leafdragon16]

I have arrived

HELLO!! GOOD TO SEE YOU! I RECOGNIZED YOU AS SOON AS I SAW YOU IN MY NOTIFS

Also my brain is refusing to come up with Wheeljack doodles to gift you so I will give you a WIP of the next chapter instead

“We’re not actually just going to stand here and take its charge head-on, right?” Wheeljack asked, steadying his blaster. “This thing survived being at ground zero of an energon mine explosion. It’ll take us out like… what’s that game Miko told us about, Bulk? With the pins?”

“Bowling?” Bulkhead asked, confused.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

Magnus sighed, motioning for them to get back on track. “Both of you find better vantage points. There are gaps in the walls that should hide you. Bulkhead, cover my left. Wheeljack, you’re on my right. I will draw its fire.”

Sighing, Wheeljack headed into a gap in the rock where he could crouch behind some boulders and primed his blaster again. He didn’t like this plan one bit. Still, they were caged in here, so it wasn’t like they had much of a choice unless they wanted to try climbing out and possibly get grabbed on the way up.

The isolation also gave him a moment to shift from pede to pede, lightly brushing his back plates against the wall. It didn’t help the stiffness in his spinal struts one bit, but it was better than standing there and taking it. He leaned back and closed his optics, taking in a slow breath through his olfactory sensors. Nope, bad idea. At least now he knew they were getting more sensitive… which was a bad sign. He took another breath and opened his optics, glancing across the cavern to unexpectedly make eye contact with Bulkhead. The green Autobot gave him a concerned, questioning thumbs up, and he swiftly returned it. No need to make him worry.

[thefuriousmagician]

In celebration of Huyang finally gaining lightsabers in the Ahsoka teasers, here's my comprehensive Huyang headcanon list (so far)

It became an essay sooo

Anatomy/Mechanics:

Huyang has 2 different power systems: One is the generic electric battery most older droids have, the other is kyber. Huyang is powered by a larger kyber crystal known colloquially as the Locus. Barely anyone knows about this and the only people that Huyang has told are the most senior Masters of the Jedi Order. Nobody knows in the era of the New Republic and Huyang prefers to keep it that way (this headcanon is based off the fic, The Jedi and Their Kyber)

Huyang's blinking mechanisms were put in during a time when humanoid droids were unusual versus as common as they are now. They were designed and placed in order to make him less unsettling and more impressionable. This didn't really work for his time and instead circled back to making him uncanny

His lower jaw is capable of movement with the inflection of his vocoder (imagine a muppet) for the same reason as above. The jaw had been stuck for centuries and Huyang never bothered to fix it until Ahsoka took him to get repaired/tuned up after the Imperial War. Nowadays, he doesn't really move it much purely because he's not used to having access to those pistons

Huyang's sensors are actually incredibly complex for a droid from constant upgrades over his time with the Order and applying his own upgrades over the War

Huyang has olfactory sensors to help detect noxious chemicals, unsafe atmospheres, airborne toxins, etc. This was put in place to keep his students safe

This also applies to his waste processor (the tube that lets him drink/eat things). He has a purifier that allows him to negate effects to himself BUT if he manually turns it down, he's capable of being effected. This is how he's capable of experiencing nicotine or dopamine jumps from deathstick/alcohol consumption

He also has gravity sensors to detect changes in gravity/air movement. Kinda a more complex version of a droid's orientation sensors. It helps him detect usage of the Force and lets him reorient himself pretty quickly if he gets flung around suddenly. Being around force sensitive younglings necessitated this upgrade. He got it pretty quickly after he actually started interacting with younglings

Most of his joints are universal, pivot, and saddle joints. He has most of his ball joints in his hands or his pack. His original hands weren't made of ball joints, but universal and pivot joints. The utilization of ball joints was considered incredibly advanced for his time

He's had a lot of updates to his personal drives, especially his archival memory storage and processors. His onboard storage has increased exponentially over the course of his functioning. Most of his archived memory is held on storage devices in the T-6, Crucible and the recaptured Archives on Coruscant. He's invested in a private cloud storage to be able to access his archives on the T-6 while Ahsoka and him are traveling and is working on trying to incorporate a connection between the rest of his archives on the Curcible and Archives so he can access information on the go if its not on the T-6. He also has physical storage because his ass does not trust the cloud storage that much

He still has a significant amount of onboard archives in his own helm though. If you open up his head, his memory board kinda looks like an enormous deck of black cards

He has 75% original parts! What are the 25% that aren't original? Mostly shit he lost over the Imperial War or had to replace

List of the 25%: His hands, his lower legs, his right eye and multifocal spec, his left shoulder joint, most of his smaller internals in his pack

He replaced his hands and lower legs himself by necessity over the Imperial War and needed repairs after for everything else

His ass put the waste processor and tub mod in himself because he wanted to be able to drink his teas instead of just holding them

History:

When Huyang was moved to the Temple on Coruscant, the ship used to drop him off was blue and looked similar to a cargo ship, thus the rumor that he came mysteriously in a big blue box (Hi Doctor Who). Huyang doesn’t correct the rumor because he thinks its fun and “whimsical” and isn’t really harming archives

His technical first workshop was on Coruscant, but his favorite workshops are his traveling ones: the one on the Crucible and the T-6, the Crucible being his most favored

He got the Crucible SUPER recently in comparison to the T-6. The T-6 was used before the Temple on Coruscant was established and was later reutilized by himself during the Imperial War after he got it back from Jocasta Nu and Gar

How his ass didn't get shot down, we'll never know

He originally worked with Jocasta Nu and Gar while they were trying to protect the archives. After Nu was killed and Gar started guarding the recovered archives himself, Huyang left

Mark IV architect droids were actually hunted down and dismantled during the early years of the Civil War, due to Darth Vader and Palpatine’s knowledge of where younglings and Jedi got arms from. Huyang was on the run for a very long time due to this

Palpatine was also lowkey hunting him because he's technically a glorified Jedi relic so that's another reason to be on the run

Huyang was barely legally functioning under the Republic due to the Order providing his licensing and excusing him from memory wipes for religious reasons. After the Order’s fall, Huyang’s licensing and ID was made inert; he could be wiped or dismantled like any other droid

He started working as a rebel agent during this time, in sort of the same vein as Ashoka in Rebels. He worked with a code name and pretended to be organic for ease of access to facilities and to avoid getting memory wiped or getting a cog placed on him

As a rebel agent, he mostly worked as recon in the Outer Rim. It was calm for the most part until Imperial invasions started happening, then he’d report and try to provide the T-6 as a getaway ship for survivors

On the side of being a rebel agent, he tried to teach forcesensitives he could find, but they were few and far between. The few he did find were either hunted down and killed or were afraid of taking on the mantle of Jedi and avoided him entirely/threatened to report him to the Empire

He found Ahsoka after the Imperial War and they've been living with each other on the T-6 ever since

He's met Luke and was very willing to share his archives with him. He stopped being so willing when Luke and him got into a disagreement over how to teach the New Order and when they're slightly differing ideals started clashing. He still shares archives but in very convoluted ways nowadays

Relationships:

Ahsoka Tano:

Finding Ashoka after the War was a relief to say the least. Ashoka grabbed him in the tightest hug of his life. It took a while for them to separate enough to walk. Tbf, he probably didn’t want to let her go either

Ashoka is to Huyang everything he lost before 66. She represents to him a time of stability and when he didn’t feel he was surviving by the skin of his teeth. She is a window into a time when Huyang was happy, to say the least

She's very dear to him. He loves her so much, and finds himself sometimes treating her like she's still a youngling under his tutelage

Luke Skywalker:

He doesn't dislike Luke but he's a little,,, idk miffed by him? In the same vein as he feels about Sabine

He doesn’t mind what he’s trying to do, he admires it in fact. They both have a similar idea of what the Order represents. But it’s not the way HE would do it. They butt heads a lot about how to run the Order and what rules are important vs what isn’t

Ashoka finds Huyang’s displeasure with Luke amusing. Luke finds it exasperating

Huyang does enjoy hanging out with him outside of a professional context thought. Luke asks a lot of questions that Huyang finds compelling and that's the main way to work your way into Huyang's heart really: ask him for a story and you've got his attention

He doesn't really want to work with his New Order, mostly because he thinks Ahsoka needs him far more and he's kinda having a midlife crisis right now

Sabine Wren:

He dislikes her HEAVILY and tends to butt heads with her INCREDIBLY often

He finds her hardheaded and a poor fit for a padawan or jedi

He also doesn't like how she rolls her eyes at him or underestimates his capabilities. He finds it incredibly disrespectful

Huyang does value her as someone that is important to Ahsoka though. He understands they have a relationship that only a padawan and master can have, so she is under his jurisdiction to protect (if need be) and teach

Misc:

Huyang recalls his creator fondly. Although he doesn't remember her face or name, he remembers her warmth and the way she treated him. He's sad about not being able to recall her fully, but he decides that his own hull is sign enough of her existence and how much she cared for him

Yes, Huyang has a doctorate. In what? He never says. (It’s in smithing and electrical engineering. Why? For fun and he was bored so he did classes on the side of teaching younglings. When the uni found out he was a droid, it was a huge hubbub that the Order had to deal with but he got to graduate despite it. He thought walking up for his diploma and watching the entire audience stand there shocked was amusing)

He lowkey started a droid revolution from that

Retro droid admirers go insane over him. He has to beat the admirers away whenever he goes into a repairshop for a touch up

Huyang likes tea/heated beverages, even before he could drink. He just likes how it feels on the sensors in his hands. He will hold a cup until it goes lukewarm. Occasionally, he will dump it and get a new one depending on how stressed he is

He has an anxious tic where he taps his fingers. It's gotten worse over time, to the point where it's developed into a bouncy leg or pacing

This bitch is so dramatic when he wants to be. He’ll bemoan his lack of younglings to teach, whine at Ashoka about “kids these days”, the works. It drives Sabine up a wall. This is why he keeps doing it

His dry sense of humor has always been there, it’s just gotten stronger since 66 and slightly more pessimistic/dark. He also doesn’t feel the need to pull punches since there’s no children around to censor himself around anymore

Huyang does enjoy traveling, as much as he would like to hole up in his workshop sometimes. That’s why he preferred his traveling workshops instead of the one on Coruscant. Traveling to new places puts a pep in his step a good charge wouldn’t

He makes lightsabers when stressed. He doesn’t have a hobby thanks (After 66 and during the Imperial War, he made at least 300. He didn’t have the heart to dismantle them. They’re kinda buried in the depths of the Crucible because he doesn’t want to think about how severely Order 66 or the War effected him)

[ravens-and-rust]

WASTE DISPOSAL || MAUL.EXE STARTING UP … PLEASE WAIT … RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS … … … TACTILE SENSORS ONLINE. OPTICS ONLINE. VOICEBOX ONLINE. MOTILITY ONLINE. AUDITORY SYSTEMS ONLINE. OLFACTORY SENSORS ONLINE. MAUL.EXE BOOT UP SUCCESSFUL.

  Maul's eyes blinked open as notifications and pop-up windows exploded across her HUD, notifying her of her prolonged inactivity and her need for sustenance. Her joints twitched uncomfortably as she unfolded herself from the position she'd fallen asleep in: knees to her chest, arms curled around her torso, all three toe claws tightly curled to avoid snagging anything...it was uncomfortable. She hissed as her tail unwound behind her and opened the curtain to her little nest, blinding her light-sensitive eyes with the disgusting glow of sunlight. The corner of her HUD told her it was 6:47 in the evening; just about time for the sun to go down. Her teeth clacked together as she opened and shut her jaw, grumbling lowly and slithering her way out of her small enclosure.

  The tall wall of windows illuminated her as she padded past, throwing her shadow across the floor like a thick, black carpet. Her casing glowed with an unnatural, oozing hue of sunset orange, so far off from her own colour scheme that she paused for a second to admire herself. She dragged a claw up her calf, crooning softly at the bold colours of the evening.   "You're an interesting DCA model," said a gruff voice from behind her. Her head whipped around so fast that her rays rattled in their housings. She felt every wire in her body pull taut as she examined the voice's owner. Another Eclipse, from the looks of it, but...with pants, flat feet, and a third arm. He had one arm held aloft, some kind of screen illuminating his face with blue-toned light; a hand hovered over it as if he was typing. His emotes also seemed to be on, and he was watching her warily. Her tail lashed as she slid into a defensive position, claws digging into the linoleum and mouth pulling back into a razor-bearing sneer. There was another machine in her territory, and he stank of rust, iron, and oil. He'd killed recently.   "You smell like death," she growled, her programming urging her to move forward, to attack, to pin him down and sink her teeth into his upper left arm and yank. She resisted, though, instincts telling her he could easily wipe the floor with her oil. She could feel the last remains of the day sliding down her body as the sun set, and she could finally see the bot in front of her properly. Scarlet and raven casings, sickly saffron-yellow teeth, three ebony and sunset eyes, and vibrant orange vanes that sine-waved slowly as he assessed the danger she displayed.   "So do you," the eclipse replied calmly, looking her up and down and fixing her with a pointed stare. "You also look like a walking, talking caution sign, though, so I'm going to assume you're a hostile machine."   Well, duh. She returned his stare with her own, raising and lowering her tail spines in thought. This model clearly wasn't from anywhere near, not with his strange choice of clothing and body type.   "I suppose you could say that," she rumbled, her mouth snapping shut a few times and filling the space with clicking noises. "You look like a Dorito."   The other didn't seem to like that; in fact, he winced at the comparison. "I am not," he paused, pointing at Maul with a clawed finger, "a Dorito."   She grinned. "You look like you're spicy nacho-flavoured."   "Well, I'm not, so don't get any ideas," the eclipse grumbled, lowering the arm with the screen. As if it detected that he was done with it, it shut off, leaving just red and black ombre in its place. Maul couldn't help but wonder how easily his arm would crunch in her jaws. "Considering my computer told me that you're a cannibal."   "What's...a can-ni-bal?" she asked, her posture tensing further. Was it something negative; was he insulting her?   The eclipse's expression soured further. "It's someone who eats their own kind."   Her own kind. Her own kind!? She was alone, actually, thank you very much, Mr. Mysterious! She was the only one like her; her cousins--Mouse and Mutt--were built differently and only fed on human flesh. They weren't as resilient as she, they weren't as bold as she, and they needed to be protected. She was fine all by herself, and she made that known.   Her claws clacked against the linoleum as she got into the male's personal space. Her size outmatched his at least two-to-one. "I am my own kind," she spat, narrowing her eyes and hissing steam from her vents in irritation. "I am the only one of me."   "No, you misunderstood." His demeanour stayed calm and collected despite the monstrous animatronic that stank of blood and oil hovering over him.   "How."   "I meant your kind as metal; machinery; needs electricity to work. Not you specifically. Like how I, Eclipse, am of the same metal as you."   Ah, so his name was Eclipse. How...original. She backed away, growling deep in her throat, and sat a few feet from him. "Then, yes, I suppose I am a cannibal. What of it?"

[dunebat]

Character Study: Vader

The sun burned furiously in the evening skies over PT-187, heat waves shimmering over the bright beachfront as frothy, wind-tossed waves crashed against the sand… but he could feel no sun warming him and no gentle sea wind caressing his pale flesh. The sea salted the air around him, but the artificial olfactory receptors built into his helmet filtered out most of the ocean air, and his nostrils registered only the merest hint of the sensation.

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and commander of the military might of the Galactic Empire, would never feel the sun or the wind again. He would never smell anything again, not the way most people detected scent, nor would he hear or see the way others heard and saw.

The armored life support suit he wore saw to that.

Instead, Vader felt only bunchy, padded fabric cushioning and sealing off his still-highly sensitive epidermis from the worlds around him, the suit’s climate control functions keeping him forever cool. Never cold like the blessed chilly nights of arid, dune-washed Tatooine after both the planet’s suns had set, never warm like the lakeside shores of placid, picturesque Naboo at summertime, merely cool enough for some meager measure of comfort amidst all the other lesser torments the suit inflicted upon him. He sometimes had to remind himself that these minor chivvies were a small sacrifice, as this suit saved his life.

He never heard the sounds of the worlds he visited — never heard the trill of the native birds, the rustling of dead leaves, the crackling of ice beneath his feet, or the bustle of each planet’s sentient inhabitants as they rushed about their business — with the full breadth and scope that each sound carried as they vibrated through the air on their way to his ear. Instead, tiny microphones captured each and every sound with the same stale mechanical efficiency that they picked up any other sound and transmitted these sounds to his scabbed and scarred eardrums via tinny, scratchy speakers based on technology now a decade old. Each sound trilled in his ears at either too high or too low a register, causing his ears no end of pain no matter how often he adjusted the pitch, bass, treble, or volume. He gave up trying to find a comfortable, almost natural volume years ago; he simply set his helmet’s speakers to a volume that caused his ears the least pain and left the settings there. His technicians assured him that upgrades would be coming as soon as the technology was ready and he had enough downtime for his technicians to install the new audio sensors.

Vader would not hold his breath waiting. The galaxy roiled and trembled in chaos, and he had been tasked with ordering it by force.

Not that he could hold his breath if he wanted to. If his hellish existence had any constant, it was the deep, rumbling sound of his own mechanically-aided respiration. An administrative underling had told him once, long ago, that the sound produced by his suit’s built-in respirators was terrifying, and though Vader would never admit it to anyone, he understood exactly what that underling meant.

When Vader first heard his own mechanical breathing — a thunderous, ever-constant sound in his own beleaguered ears — he was frightened by it. After being sealed up in his black life-support armor for the first time ten years ago, Vader remembered how the sound had chilled him to his core, not solely by the sound of it, but by its consistency. Most sentients take the way their speech or their physical activity distorts their breathing for granted. Vader could speak, he could whisper, he could scream, and his breathing remained at its constant, computer-controlled rate throughout. He could run five kilometers aided solely by his prosthetic legs or leap incredible lengths with the Force granting him wings, he could spar with his combat training droids for days on end or physically exert himself in the most exhausting ways imaginable, and his mechanical breathing would remain as constant as the motions of the stars.

It was maddening. He couldn’t sleep for almost a full week after he was first sealed in the suit. Over time, however, his mechanical respiration went from terrifying to irritating to infuriating, until it finally became just another part of his day-to-day existence. The breathing used to drown out all other sounds at times; now, it served as a constant reminder that he was alive — he was still alive no matter who or what had tried to kill him over the years, that he had lived through Hell itself and had come out the other side of the most transformative trials any Sith would ever face. He had conquered every foe set before him. Though he had sacrificed so much of who he once was, at each day’s end, his breathing reminded him that he had been molded into a new creature, an engine of fierce and terrible order to be imposed upon the wild and unruly Galaxy, and that breathing — once an irritant, now an almost meditative sound at times — and the life that it gave him was part of his reward, as was the power to impose the stability of order and the rule of law to everything he set his eyes upon…

…And all that he saw now was red. If he missed any of his senses, the sense he missed the most was his sight. Not that Vader was blind, of course. His eyesight had been fully restored years ago after his painful rebirth at fiery Mustafar, and Vader could see with crystal clarity, though he could only use his natural eyes in specially designed hyperbaric living chambers that allowed him to remove his life-support mask. Vader was forced to wear his life-support helmet whenever he left his habitations, and the helmet’s computerized lenses rendered the worlds he visited in harsh shades of crimson.

Vader had been informed by his technicians that this was a practical choice: red lenses were excellent for computer-enhanced vision in both day and night, and seeing via red light at night preserved his eyes’ night vision. Though he missed seeing the beauteous colors of life at times, Vader agreed with his technicians. As beautiful and splendid as the hues and shades of life could be, color and beauty were distractions. They bound the viewer to the forces of life around them, fooling them into accepting the meaningless nonsense of life as it was instead of seeing what life could be. Red lenses, Vader had discovered, were the purest way to view life.

All the passion inherent in existence, the roiling ambitions of the Imperial officers serving alongside him and the blood-bought devotion of stormtroopers serving under him in the 501st Legion, all the petty cruelties and impersonal horrors life had to offer, were revealed in their stark, cataclysmic glory by the color red. When Vader gazed upon the worlds he would visit, he saw through his mask’s crimson lenses the blood that united all lifeforms in the sanguine tableau of existence in all its shades, from bright and screaming pink to electric carmine and rusty, slaughterous crimson. He saw no inequity between individuals and the differences between sentient beings expressed in their skin tones no longer held any meaning for him. Everyone, everything, was all the same: the color of lust, rage, life, and death, all things deemed “precious” to the Sith.

When Vader scanned the breathtaking vista before him, he saw neither the glimmering turquoise sea, nor the setting sun’s red-orange final furies as it spread its dying light across the sky, nor the golden sands that inspired poets and artisans throughout PT-187’s storied history. All Vader saw was the blood-red madness that seeped from the darkest shadows of this world’s turbulent heart… and the apocalypse that he would visit upon this planet when his forces razed its capital city to the sands beneath it.

PT-187 — that was the alphanumeric designation assigned to the planet by Imperial administrators — was a virgin world boasting beautiful beaches and plentiful natural resources that had only been discovered two years ago by Corporate Sector scouts traversing yet another new trade route through hyperspace. Its native society was highly industrialized and had only recently colonized their planet’s two moons, but they had yet to develop technology more advanced than the basic chemical rocket or metal projectile weapons. Though PT-187 possessed its own planet-wide computer network, the planet’s inhabitants were largely ignorant busybodies toiling away at meaningless tasks to support their dreary lives. None of them had any knowledge of the Force, or of the wider Galaxy beyond their world’s atmosphere. No centralized government existed yet; a handful of larger political polities bullied smaller states into submission, and wars were frequent. Ambassadors from the nearest Imperial sector had made their overtures to the pitiful beings that the planet’s inhabitants deemed their “leaders” only to be rebuffed, then felled, by the unruly inhabitants.

No matter; there would always be uncivilized natives, rioting protestors, greedy backstabbing nobles, overzealous political dissidents, or thugs and gangsters whose criminal ambitions outgrew their social standings, Vader mused. This was simply the ebb and flow of life in the Galaxy. The unruly, undisciplined, and uncivilized refused all vestiges of order when it was presented to them, and they would always, always respond to that halcyon order with brutal, unthinking violence, no matter how much that order could benefit them. That was simply the reality of life in the Empire, just as it was in the days of the corrupt and inept Republic that preceded it. When they did, that was when Imperial naval forces would be dispatched to impose order, whether the barbarous fools wanted it or not.

The Imperial Navy had successfully blockaded PT-187 for six months, but the threat of starvation had only emboldened the more zealous of the planet’s savage inhabitants. Vader and the 501st Legion had been dispatched to bring an end to the pointless conflict three days ago, and his troopers had already made tremendous headway, especially after their major military command centers had been obliterated from orbit by his flagship’s laser cannons.

Vader and his troops landed during the cannonade and assaulted the planet’s major centers of government, and blood was all he had seen since. He and his forces waded through it as his lightsaber — a blade as bright as the life essence it spilled onto PT-187’s sands — and his trooper’s blasters carved swaths of carefully constructed order through the disarray of rebellion, bringing the glorious stability of victory forth from the chaos of armed conflict. Within hours, several of PT-187’s political entities had surrendered, and the rest had fallen into silence as their warriors fell on the battlefields.

Finally, step by bloody step, Vader stood on the beaches surrounding the largest metropolis of one of the planet’s three strongest nation-states. The first of the other strongest nation-states was cowed into submission after Vader had personally strangled their head of state as her citizens watched in horror, and the second surrendered hours later. This final nation-state, a haven of misguided idealists, zealous militants, greedy corporate moguls, and corrupt politicians, was the only bastion of what passed for organized resistance remaining on this world. It reminded Vader so much of the outdated Republic that he would have vomited in disgust, had his suit’s onboard medical computer allowed his stomach to do so.

Vader scanned the idyllic beaches through his helmet’s blood-red lenses, visualizing the crimson carnage he would wreak upon world after world to birth the Emperor’s New Order as his heavily armored mechanical feet crunched their way across the sands. Even through the cacophonous din of the orbital cannonade ravaging the city’s pitiful defenses and the sizzles of blaster fire that erupted from his troops’ weapons, Vader could hear the ever-constant sound of his own breathing — once a reminder of his imprisonment in his imposing black battle armor, now a symbol of every victory he had wrested from the cruel Force since Mustafar.

As the planet’s screaming inhabitants fled all around him, he focused on his breath and stretched out with the Force. He drew upon the fear and rage of the fools native to PT-187 as he drew upon their lusts, their ambitions, their hatreds, and all the other passions of this world’s inhabitants, and added it to his own as he carved a path further into the battlefield.

“Lord Vader,” his troop’s commander squawked over Vader’s communicator from further ahead, “we’ve mopped up resistance at the capitol building and are prepared to make our final assault into their senate chambers.”

“Wait for my signal,” Vader’s booming artificial voice barked, and he smiled as he cut down a few more of PT-187’s rebels. Soon, this world would be washed in the blood of renewal that Vader had been baptized with a decade ago, and when he and the 501st were finished, the Imperial administers would christen the world with a new name, as Vader had been so christened that fateful, fiery evening on Mustafar.

[stellarcuriosity]

For a moment, she lost herself. Surrounded by warmth, the overwhelming smoky scent of Predaking. It was dizzying, for someone with such a small frame and a sensitive olfactory sensor. She wanted to crawl up within his plating and be encompassed by that warmth, that heat, that smell. But that would be selfish! He clearly needed her help, as she caused this problem... She should be the one to fix it, right?

His deep, rumbling sounds roused her from the distraction that was his presence, and blue optics blinked open to settle upon his- though she couldn't help but let her gaze dart over his face, briefly. The tone he carried- it was one she had never heard anyone use around her before. An eager thrill seemed fizzle out of her plating and into her EM field, which she was trying desperately to keep in check. She couldn't ruin this with her loud emotions! Wait- he needed her confirmation.

"Yes." Her own desperation seemed to mimic his, and she drew her wings in lower to her sides. That's what he wanted to hear- right? She had to make sure he knew that this was what she wanted, too. "I would never hesitate for you- not for this. Um-- maybe this'll... help.... show that..."

Perhaps against her better judgement, (which frankly, she wasn't firing on all cylinders, with her instincts and damn brazen nature taking over) Starburst brushes her snout against Predaking's, letting her tiny open maw graze across his fangs, then towards one of his mandibles.... Was she going for the closest she could manage to a kiss...? Wait... no...

Bite.

Having Starburst physically block his path had not been on his list of things that could go wrong. He paused, weight shifting from left to right as his wings ruffled in a sign of discomfort. A low chirrup left him, optics narrowing at the fanned wings in front of him.

Predaking let out a heavy huff when Starburst spoke up. He was antsy from his too hot plating, and he wanted nothing more than to brush past her to find some privacy. But, then she was nuzzling into his chest, and he could feel his composure melting away. Talons dug into the ground as a rumbling purr left him involuntarily. She wanted to help? Did she know what she was saying?

"You do not-," a heavy huff of smokey air cut him off. The pressure in his pelvic region was becoming harder to ignore. "Are you certain you want to?" Primus knew he wanted nothing more than to pin her and claim her as a mate right then and there. He chittered, snout moving so that it was only inches from her's. "If there is any hesitation, then, please, step aside." There was a quiet, yet desperate, whine to his words

[nonbinary-beast]

Talking more about AMaton, since I got thinking about what exactly they are capable of thanks to stealing alien technology to create its body. In many ways, AM's body is a biotech sort of situation where technology has improved so far as to become parallel to bio engineering.

under a cut because it got long.

In terms of strength, AM is a powerhouse. It can lift several tons worth of weight, flipping over a dump truck is like knocking over a cardboard box. It figures, since AM would want to be as indomitable in its body as it had been while trapped down in substrata rock. Due to its strength, its pretty damn fast as well. If it did not nuke the entire planet, AM would be keeping pace with highway traffic if it went out for an intense jog.

Inherently, the metals that AM's body is made out of is highly durable, yet flexible. It moves like skin, feels smooth like polished metal, and interestingly it is warm to the touch. But, it absolutely can take a bullet, or an ice spear, or whatever else Ted might pick up and throw at it. Where AM had initially been sunk into the ground in the event that an enemy power would try to bomb it, AM's body probably could take a blast at ground zero no problem. It's frame is equally tough and can withstand an immense carrying load- to go with its supreme strength of course.

In terms of eyesight, AM can see in several wavelengths. While its main wavelength is set to RGB color vision, it also can see in ultraviolet. Of course, much like when bragging about its ability to detect moisture, it absolutely torments Ted at times by having him look at an ultraviolet image, which to him looks like a big splotch of magenta. His reward is eye strain and ridicule.

AM can also see in infrared and x-ray, the former giving it an impressive night vision capability. It can see in complete darkness conditions, which means Ted absolutely has nowhere he can hide. But AM sometimes will metaphorically tie one arm behind its back to keep things interesting- until it gets bored of doing that.

It's sense of smell can vary, as it actually can change how sensitive its olfactory sensors are at will. It's highest setting is akin to an elephant's sense of smell and includes a similar function of a Jacobson's organ for chemical detection and analysis, the lowest it can go without turning it off is a human level sense of smell.

AM can taste all of the same things a human can taste, and has an added bonus of being able to use it for chemical analysis. Which means absolutely AM could get a read on Ted's health by tasting a drop of blood if it wanted to.

As a final boon to its pilfered feat of engineering, AM's body is completely immune to the effects of nuclear radiation. It can function in highly contaminated areas without worrying about its circuitry degrading. That said, it still would have to be scrubbed of nuclear contaminants after it was done frolicking around in a bombed out wasteland, if it so chose.

[cyberrose2001]

OMG, you did an amazing job. Here is another one for you if you want: The matrix is pounding in Prime's chest constantly reminding him that he needed to mate and breed. When a certain scent reaches him, he realizes that his mate, a F!human reader, is also ready especially when she looks at him with a certain look. However, she has no idea that what he wants is for her to filled and sparked.

TFP Optimus x human!fem!reader

here are some short headcanons for you! thank you medli for your requests 💕

also apologies if the paragraphs are too close together, i cant seem to fix it heh

Warnings: Breeding kink

Word count: 647

When Prime was first introduced to you, he found you endearing and quickly took a liking to you, assigning himself as guardian to you. You would accompany him on small non-life-threatening missions and in turn you would guide him to your favourite places on Earth and show him the different wonders your planet had to offer. Over time, Optimus developed more feelings for you and you of course reciprocated his feelings for you, and you both have been inseparable since.

One day while at the base, Optimus Prime’s olfactory sensors picked up an unusual scent and he was having trouble deciphering where it was coming from. It smelt nothing like the other aromas of Earth he was familiar with. He turned his attention to you and that’s when the overwhelming scent of pheromones flooded his senses, making his Matrix hum and tug at his spark.

It was you. Your body’s scent was so strong he wondered why none of the other bots recognised the increasing amount of pheromones in the air. It was intoxicating, energon rushing to his interfacing array and he was sure that you could hear how loud his spark was humming. He was weak in the knees, he had to get you alone somehow.

He picks you up and transforms with you in his alt mode, driving to primus knows where. The feeling of you resting inside his alt mode flooding his cab with your wonderful scent was driving him up the wall and making his engines run hot. The Matrix constant pulsing and jerks makes him nearly swerve of the road as finds a secluded spot nestled in the cliffs of Jasper.

You were concerned with your lovers behaviour, asking if he was ok and if he needed to pull over. He couldn’t answer you without his vocaliser turning into static. So, you drummed your fingers on the console in this cab in thought, wondering what got the Prime so worked up.

He transforms back into his robot mode with you in his servo, wasting no time to rip the clothes of your body. You were shocked to say the least, who knew that Optimus Prime could detect when you were ovulating. You moan out when Optimus starts to lavish your body with kisses and licks with his glossa, crying out when he would lick and suck the sensitive mound of flesh between your thighs.

Optimus was trying not to be too rough, but his urges had increased ten-fold when his olfactory sensors are absolutely drowning in your sickeningly sweet scent. He licks his dermas clean when he finished ravishing your folds.

And with you lying down on your clothes to protect your back from the rough dirt, Optimus pushed his throbbing spike into your heat. He grips onto your hips to protect where you both connected as he thrusts into you, sighing in relief as the Matrix eases its torment. He will breed you until night broke into day, he will not stop until your womb is a mess and you’re filled to the brim. You beg for him to breed you as you stare into his optics with half-lidded and pleasure filled eyes, drool running down your chin as he fucks you into the next life. He takes in all your moans and cries for him, and he loves it.

He will manage to fill you with several loads of his hot transfluids. Your tight hole dripping and quivering at the full feeling. Optimus’s spark is filled with love for you, admiring your stretched out tummy and rubbing a servo across it. He gives you gentle kisses to your soft lips afterwards, telling you praises and telling you how excited he is to be a sire to your future sparkling’s. He would have to breed you multiple times to be sure though.

[seytazen]

“Is that blood?” tfp ratchet with any of the humans

Ratchet remembers the first time he ever had seen human blood. He had been a medic a long time and had seen many gruesome things. He had repaired those gruesome things and it had never bothered him in the slightest. For a very long time, he didn’t think there was anything that would ever really squick him out. That is, until he started learning of all things that made up humans.

He remembered physically recoiling when June had described to him what their internals were actually like. How a human was really just a complicated bag of various goo, fluids, and stuff that was squishy which was piloted by an even more complicated mound of squishy-ness that did all of these things by exerting various chemicals and electrical impulses.

And all of it was wet.

All the time.

He had turned his back for a mere moment. He swears it wasn’t even 60 seconds. He had turned his optics away from them to glance at some tests he had running a few meters away from him while he supervised the children playing around on the floor when he heard the sickening thud, followed by a wail of pain.

Every medical protocol he had yanked his attention a million different ways when he turned around to see Miko sitting on with her knees now exposed and bearing several red streaks. He had paused seeing the streaks noting that the fall had torn her clothes. He distinctly remembered thinking about how he didn’t know that humans could get paint transfers… and where had the red come from?

“Ow ow ow!!!” She whined loudly, sitting back on her hands, which also bore similar streaks. Ratchet frowned, kneeling down next to her with a soft sigh as Jack and Raf both went running for the first aid kit.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, frowning at the sharp smell that was suddenly permeating through the air. It tanged in his olfactory sensors in a way that was similar to iron. It was a sticky metallic scent that clung to him. That’s when he saw the small red droplets beading up from the streaks, how they fell against her form in a small flow.

His optics had widened when the pieces clicked together. The brilliant red substance dribbled from the cuts, seeping into the cloth. How it dribbled on the floor, leaving hot droplets of red.

He had soothed Miko over relatively easily by holding her in his hand while she looked at how many seams and different plates his servos were made up of. She and him had talked about how his servos were made differently, made to be more sensitive and with more refined motor skills. The treatment had been more painful than the initial injury is what he had gathered.

How he wished that were the case now.

He couldn’t even begin to piece together why and how he had gotten himself here. How the team was off somewhere else, he didn’t even know if they were together or not. Now, it was dark and humid with fog around him around him, and his vents came heavy and unevenly. He struggled to calm them and to make his frame be quiet when he ducked into the brush and slid down into the dried river bed hurriedly, Fowler remained somewhat limp in his cupped hands. He pressed him close against his chest, covering him as he shut his optics tightly to eliminate the light they emit and he held his breath.

The choppers thundered over head and engines roared around them. Bright search lights illuminated through the fog. Human voices drifting around them for a terrifying moment before they all moved on to search deeper in the wooded area they were in. Ratchet waited an agonizing moment, listening to them disappear over the horizon, listening to the deafening silence they left in their wake. He counted the hundreds of seconds between that time before he dared to open his optics again. He sagged against the wall of dried mud before he carefully unfolded his servos in the dark. The dim moonlight and the soft cyan glow from his optics illuminated them along with the human in them faintly.

“I think we lost them…” he told him in a soft hushed voice, his free servo traveling to his audial to comm base but unfortunately he was met with only static. He carefully set Fowler on his shoulder as he continued to try. “My comm must have been damaged in the initial skirmish. Do you still have your…” he trailed off when he heard just how labored Fowler’s breathing was. “Fowler…?” He asked softly, turning his helm and watching as his silhouette struggled with the jacket wrapped around him. That was when the smell hit him. It drifted up to meet him, coy and metallic, clinging to the inside of his vents. “Is… Is that blood?” He asked softly.

“Got a light, doc…?” He asked weakly, his voice was trembling in pain. Ratchet dug in his subspace grabbing the small flashlight typically used to check optic reaction. Mentally, he hoped that the smell was being worsened by something. That it was just a scrape or a cut. He flipped it on with a small click. His ground his denta together upon seeing the dark red stain spread across the white button up all up his right side.

Cold nausea gripped his internals and his spark seized in a long forgotten kind of panic. It was the kind of panic that experience had worn away for him. The panic that he chastised young medics for getting lost in. The kind of panic that made him scream at people to get out of his medbay and out of his way. It was a cold kind of terror that made it hard to remember how to move or think, and you could only stare helplessly as it engulfed you.

“Damn fuckers shot me,” he explained still rather shaky as he undid the button up with stiff, clammy hands and clumsily took it off of him. His audials were ringing a little bit from the dread coursing through him. He had never seen a human lose so much blood before. A snapping sound caught his attention again. He blinked looking down at Fowler. “Hey, I know it looks bad, but you gotta help me out doc. Do me a favor, tear this into strips, alright?”

Ratchet silently nodded, mentally chastising himself for losing his thoughts. The smell was getting worse. Much worse. He propped the small light up on a divot in the riverbed as he worked, tearing the small piece of fabric into strips like he was asked. He noticed the shiny red gleam that had seeped into the many seams and joints on his hands. He could feel the wetness now that it was cooling off in the cool damp night air. He carefully collected Fowler from his perch on his shoulder so the human could have more room. Fowler grimaced and grunted in pain as he worked to pack the wound down and wrap a strip around himself to apply pressure.

“Here, use help me put more pressure on this, it’s too painful for me to do it myself,” he grunted, gesturing towards Ratchet carefully pressed his thumb over the leaking wound. Fowler groaned in pain, tightening his grip on the plating on the medic’s servos.

Ratchet and him sat in the dimly lit silence for a long time. Ratchet focused on Fowler’s breathing, noting how it was still shaky and irregular. “Fowler?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Is this… fatal?” He asked.

“Maybe… if I don’t get some medical help soon,” he replied with a nervous pained chuckle.

“What do I do if…” Ratchet trailed off, not really being able to finish the sentence. He hated this feeling of helplessness.

Fowler hummed faintly letting his head roll back all the way. “If I pass out, keep pressure on the wound and take me to June if you can... If I stop breathing… well then I guess I’m shit outta luck and you did everything you could. Prime will find us, and you’ll take me back to base so I can be buried in a flag. But, hey, I’m not dead yet. I still got some fight in me and Prime is gonna find us. Got it?”

Ratchet met his eyes. He shifted slightly, giving him a small smile and a nod, merely hoping he was right. He cupped him close to keep him shielded from the chilly breeze as they made small talk while while the fog settled around them, hiding them from hostile eyes as they waited to be rescued or for dawn to break.

[zootycutieart]

It’s still Star Wars Day, and I’ve had quite the bug to make some Star Wars OCs of my own! Bios under the read more.

Keelani is a Jawa from a clan on Tattooine, as many Jawas are. The niece of the clan's shaman, she's primed to be the next shaman, thus helping her escape the "second class" living of being a female Jawa. She's lucky there, because she's only very much tolerated by most of her clan. Rather than tinkering and refurbishing items to trade, she prefers the creativity side, something that unfortunately most customers, along with the Jawas of the other clans during the swap meets, don't care for as much. Keelani recently had her "vision illness", with a vision that's hard to piece together. However, once her vision slowly starts to come true, she's going to have to prove herself and go offworld. Thankfully, she has a few new friends on her journey going on. Divot is a young Scurrier that follows Keelani's clan around a lot. Eventually relenting, Keelani made him her pet, giving him his name after his eye marking that resembled a die pip for the titular game. Tenacious and curious, Divot doesn't know the term "stay here", often following anyone wherever they're going. Annoying sure, but he's so cute that sometimes you can't be bothered with that!

K'Rik has had quite some tribulations with his tribe. They were entirely fine with his transition. They're a bit unsure, but accepting, of him deciding to go mostly pacifist. They're pretty weirded out that he chooses to be friends with that Jawa girl. But if they found out that he just learned he's force sensitive? He doesn't want to know what they'd think there! Thankfully, being friends with Keelani might have its benefits! She's going offworld to figure out her vision, so maybe he could follow her to figure out his new abilities? As long as he doesn't have to fight...at least, unless push comes to shove, or they insult his friends. Pallie is K'Rik's bantha, and she is a very very good girl! She's very sweet, if a bit slobbery with her licks, and sure, she stinks, but that's to be expected with a bantha! While others might think of her as a "roadblock" or "an obnoxious odor in a gigantic fuzzball", K'Rik is devoted to his companion. In fact, threatening her is the easiest way to make K'Rik forget all about that "being a pacifist" thing.

Dendara, as to be almost stereotypically expected of her Rodian culture, was raised in bounty hunter training. However, she decided to twist her ideas up. Also a talented tinkerer, she's done quite a few things: got a ship running, got a droid running, and most importantly, managed to supplement her bounty hunter career with remote controlled drones and bombs. Because of her hidden bounty skills compared to confronting her targets, she's surprisingly awkward and geeky, something that shocks her targets...along with Keelani and K'Rik, two unexpected passengers that she's made a deal with to bring to a specific location. Aside from her bounty hunter skills, she's a huge fangirl of the band Halyx and is very driven in creature rights, earning her a membership in the Galactic Society of Creature Enthusiasts. BD-3L, AKA Beetle, is a BD Unit explorer droid under the ownership of Dendara. Found abandoned on one of Dendara's missions, the Rodian fixed him up to her best ability, and he has proven a very useful ally on her bounties. Being able to handle multiple terrains, he can easily keep up with his owner and help her to access her targets easily. He's a bit shaken by her drones' abilities, but he's kept that to himself. His olfactory sensor is also broken, which is probably a blessing with the cocktail of scents coming from the ship passengers! Catter is a Kowakian Monkey-Lizard and Dendara's co-pilot. Don't let her toxic neon color schemes fool you: Catter is not harmful. But she's also not joyful like other monkey-lizards. She's surprisingly dour and quiet. Rescued during a raid of a testing lab by Dendara, her optimism has been sapped away. However, she's content to be left to pick at things, making her a convenient mechanic and secondary help for Dendara. Warm up enough to see her smile somewhat, and you're sure to be on her good side, though! Fili is Dendara's pet Tooka. Adopted from a shelter, Fili proves to be more of a nuisance than anything else to others. He sleeps where he wants to, he eats what he wants to, and he climbs where he wants to, anyone else around be darned. However, he's wonderful pest control for the ship, and if he's in the right mood, he's a great companion. He learned the hard way that Divot isn't a pest on his menu, a few hearty kicks managed to prove that to him.

[snarky-badger]

Okay. Part one of five of my General Grievous... short stories, I suppose. Featuring my OC Kyra.

This was supposed to be a multi-chapter story. Kyra was a child when she met Grievous pre-cyborg. She was on Tattooine, in the 'care' of someone who raised animals and such. ('animals' being a loose term in the star wars universe) Later Grievous goes back, she's around 30 now - finds her. realizes that she's good with animals and 'appropriates' her as a caretaker/trainer for his pet roggwart, Gor. Shit happens. she treats him like a person not a droid/cyborg. he's an asshole, she gets mad at him. they bitch at each other a lot.

There. you're caught up. lmao.

Anyway, enjoy the slight story and definite smut. (I still can’t believe I wrote this)

Please comment on whether you want the other 4 parts.

(Also, should I put this on AO3??)

ONWARDS!

Part The First.

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.

"Oh really? And how's that been working for you?"

A low rumbling snarl left Grievous as he spun to glare at Kyra, only mildly impressed when she didn't flinch away from him. "And what," he growled, voice harsh, "gives you the right to assume that you know anything about me?"

"I can sense you," she said softly, glancing away when his eyes narrowed at her from behind his mask. Sighing, Kyra rose a hand, one of the lightsabers that Grievous kept hidden in his cape flying into her grasp. He stiffened at the motion, clawed mechanical hands curling into fists, even as she held the saber out for him to retrieve. "I'm not a Jedi, Grievous, and I don't plan on becoming one. But, I don't want to be a Sith either...."

He snatched the lightsaber out of her open hand and activated it, growling as he angled the glowing blue blade close to her face. "I should cut you down where you stand!"

Kyra glared up at him, blue eyes boring into reptilian yellow for a long moment before she snarled at him. "Fine then," she snapped, ignoring how those golden yellow eyes widened in surprise at the ferocity in her voice. "Go ahead! All you've done since bringing me here is treat me like garbage! Worse than garbage! I thought living on Tattooine was bad, but this is worse! I thought, hoped, that some of Qymaen jai Sheelal still remained, despite what you've done to yourself, but you're not who I remember! The being who gave me that promise is dead and gone! So do us both a favor, General Grievous, and kill me already!"

He stared at her in shock, watching the tears that streamed down her face and idly wondering if she even knew she was crying. Something in him twisted at the sight of her pain, and a deep, rattling, sigh left Grievous as he deactivated the saber, his free hand rising to carefully brush the moisture from her left cheek. It surprised him to no end that Kyra shivered and turned her face into his taloned hand, trusting him not to hurt her, despite her outburst.

Slowly, fighting against everything that screamed at him to shove her away, Grievous hesitantly tugged her forward, crouching a little as he wrapped his arms around her. His cyborg form easily took her weight when she leaned into the embrace, her warm breath tickling across the sensors built into his chest armor. The warmth and pressure of her body sent a shiver through him, cybernetic sensors that were implanted in his armor activating at the stimulation. It had been so long since anyone had dared to touch him. And certainly longer since he had felt the urge to comfort anyone.

He felt her fingers curl around some of his back armor, returning the hug as best she could, fairly snuggling into his chest, her head coming to rest just above where the armor protected his gutsack, where the few remains of his flesh lay hidden. Moving carefully, Grievous used his greater height to his advantage, leaning over her a little, the movement bringing his masked head close to hers. A brief thought, and his arms split into four, servos giving a little whine as he curled three of the four appendages around her, the fourth sliding into her fire-red hair, bringing her head closer to his masked face so the olfactory sensors there could drink in her scent.

"Kyra, I.... I....." He growled, one hand clenching into a fist at her back, disgusted that he couldn't bring himself to apologize.

"It's alright," she told him softly, pressing her cheek to his armor as she sensed his roiled emotions.

Grievous sighed and leaned his head against hers, tucking her warm body closer to his, the cloak he wore about his shoulders sliding forward to curl around her as well, partially hiding her from view. "How can you sense me? Dooku constantly complains that not only do I have no Force-sensitivity, but that I'm invisible to his own senses."

"I don't know," Kyra admitted, leaning back a little to meet his bright gaze, blinking at the calm contentedness she saw there. "I've always been able to attune myself to those around me. Until you told me otherwise, I thought it was the same for everyone who could use the Force."

He shook his head slightly. "From what I've learned, you're the only one who can sense the Kaleesh in what I've become," he said, his synthetic voice losing the harsh edge it usually had, more of a whisper now. "Most think me a droid, even those with Force senses."

"I don't."

"I know. It's refreshing. And.... comforting." He gave her the slightest of squeezes, one hand settling on her right hip while two other arms kept her wrapped in a hug, his fourth hand still toying with her hair. "But how can you tap into the Force if Count Dooku didn't sense anything in you?"

A soft smile tugged at her lips. "It's one of the first things I taught myself, how to hide from others. I didn't want to be found by either the Jedi or the Sith...." She paused for a moment, dropping her gaze from his. "Are you going to tell Dooku about me?"

He jerked back, stunned at the question. "No! In fact, I don't want him anywhere near you! If he finds out that you can use the Force, he'll take you to Sidious. Worse yet, if either learns about---" His vocalizer momentarily froze as his mind caught up with what he was about to admit. He had spent so long, trying to lock his emotions away, centering himself on becoming a better warrior, a better strategist. And now, to find himself on the brink of actually admitting to having such powerful feelings towards her was.... disconcerting.

Part of him was disgusted that he was even suggesting the thought of weakening himself, of letting long ignored emotions return to the surface. But the other, the part that had been hidden away, the part that was still Kaleesh, still Qymaen, and flesh and blood, and singing at Kyra's closeness, realized that he had been a coward. Despite all his improvements, all the battles won and the trophies he collected, how could he call himself a warrior if he was afraid to accept the peace that Kyra's mere presence afforded him?

How could he ignore the part of himself that fairly screamed for some small bit of comfort, however fleeting?

Grievous knew that he had been losing himself to rages more and more often, something that he had hardly ever done before. Certainly, he had been, - and still was - an accomplished warrior. But he was also a strategist. He knew that letting anger overwhelm you during a battle was foolish. Anger clouded thoughts, made one sloppy. And a mistake during the high-stake fights he now found himself in would be very, very costly.

As he turned his attention outwards again, meeting Kyra's worried gaze, he suddenly realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt so relaxed. The anger and rage that usually boiled at the edge of his thoughts had eased, his legendary temper no longer tearing at his control. He felt.... well, not mellow, but certainly calmer than he had in a long, long time.

Giving in, Grievous hugged Kyra to himself, carefully angling his masked face close to hers. "No one can ever know of the fondness I hold for you," he told her, sensors thrumming at the shiver that went through her body. His fourth hand rose to her face, metal fingers playing across her cheek, touch receptors relaying the feeling of silk soft skin against his metallic palm. "Outside of secured locations.... I won't be able to acknowledge this, Kyra. It would put both our lives at risk, especially yours."

She frowned slightly. "They'd use me to get to you."

He nodded, relieved that she understood. "And vice versa, I imagine," he muttered, chuckling a little when she blushed. Growling lowly, Grievous pressed his masked face against the curve of her throat, sensors fairly singing as they took in the softness of her skin and the richness of her scent. "Ah, Kyra, whatever will I do with you? I find myself missing the time where I was more flesh than machine."

The admission tightened something in her abdomen, and she leaned away from his touch to meet his gaze again. "Can I try something? I promise, it won't hurt."

A grumble left him at that. "You want to use the Force on me."

She nodded, raising a hand to caress the side of his mask and smiling a little when he turned his face into her hand. "Will you trust me? It won't hurt, and if you feel the least bit uncomfortable, all you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will."

Her fingers stroked the side of his facemask, heightened sensors in the armor activating under her touch, and it was all he could do not to groan happily at the contact, very aware that her other hand was caressing the metal on his chest. At that moment, she could have asked him to defect to the Republic, and he might well have done it, just as long as she kept touching him. "Go ahead."

Kyra smothered a giggle at the contented growl in his voice, then pushed her amusement aside, focusing solely on what she was about to do. It was simple for her to tap into the Force. Instead of a mystical power, she had always thought of it as a different form of energy; an energy that only a scant few were sensitive to and which even less were able to wield.

Energy could be harnessed if done correctly, like the solar collectors on some other worlds. It could be molded to do many things, within limits. The nature of the Universe couldn't be changed. People lived and died, that was the way of things; but life could be extended to a certain degree, and disease and damage could be healed. Time was it's own master, even the Force was no match for it. Other limits were attached to the one opening themselves to the Force. It took concentration, practice and a fair amount of willpower to learn to harness such energy; and there were bound to be many failures before achieving a specific goal.

Kyra had learned things the hard way, without a guide or teacher. Trial and error had been harsh, but she liked to imagine that she was more flexible than others that used the Force. Some things that she had taught herself were simply not done by either the Sith or the Jedi, according to Grievous' information. Like what she was about to do.

It came to her so easily, like running water, invisible power flowing through her veins as she brushed her fingertips down one of Grievous' arms, triggering and enhancing every receptor and sensor that she knew was hidden in his armor.

The caress, powerful and so very warm, nearly sent him to his knees, little pulses of energy flitting across the circuits that crisscrossed his cybernetic frame. His cyber-organic brain translated the signals into throbs of pleasure, a strangled moan crackling out of his vocalizer as his eyes slid closed, hands clutching at Kyra as a shudder wracked his body. It took him almost a full minute to become coherent again, and even then, Grievous found himself struggling not to beg her to do whatever she had just done again. "W-What did you--?"

"I can manipulate energy to a certain degree," she told him, smiling as she lightly trailed her fingers up and down his upper left arm, causing him to shiver and tighten his hold on her. "I'm just.... sending little surges through your receptors."

Another small wave jolted up his arm, echoing through every circuit and wire in his entire body until he was fairly shaking, the wicked talons on his feet sinking into the dermaplated floor. Urges that he had thought lost rose to the surface, his two lower hands dropping to her waist to pull her pelvis against his as his hips arched towards hers uselessly.

While the action still pulled a rather delightfully breathless gasp from Kyra, he couldn't help but growl in annoyance at his metal body, his mind instantly running through the lewd thought of having some sort of attachment fashioned. The mental images did nothing to stop his newly awakened lust, his voice coming out in a near purr as he picked her up in his lower arms and carried her towards her quarters, upper hands already tugging at her clothes. "You realize that I intend to finish what you've started?"

Kyra met his smouldering gaze and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek, a little thrum of energy accompanying the gesture. "I wouldn't have started it otherwise."

Growling, he carried her through the automatic door to her room, stepping through and pausing only long enough to balance on one foot while using a metal toe to type in the lock command, insuring their privacy. "You're mine now," Grievous told her, partially burying his face in her hair as he stalked towards her bed.

His final upgrade into his cybernetic body had eliminated the need for sleep, and thus, the need for a bed. But now he found a small part of his Kaleesh mind wishing he could have brought her to his own quarters to claim her there, various memories of his past where he had taken his wives to bed for a night of rather impassioned sex.

The memories only fueled him, a low rumbling growl leaving him as he set her on her bed and crawled above her, eyes drinking in the sight of her before careful talons cut her clothes away. Every bare inch of flesh he uncovered looked like heaven, the hands of his upper arms caressing newly exposed skin while the lower continued to rip the material off of her body. Though it all, Kyra never stopped touching him, fingertips gliding across his arms, throat and chest, pulses and surges of pleasure only intensifying his need to have her laid bare before him.

"I haven't been with anyone since I began upgrading myself," he warned her as he threw the scraps of her clothes over his shoulder, sending his cloak after them seconds later before turning his burning gaze onto her once again, lower hands already mapping her body. "You must tell me if I hurt you. I can't claim you in the normal fashion, but I can still give you pleasure."

Kyra shook her head a little and rose herself on an elbow to bring their faces closer together, one hand stroking the side of his masked face and shivering in anticipation at the lust in his bright gaze. "You won't hurt me," she murmured, sliding her hand down his throat and across his chest until she took his right upper hand in hers, rising it to her lips and pressing a kiss to his metal palm. "I trust you."

That one small gesture sent a stab of arousal through him, his body wracked by a shudder when she playfully suckled on one taloned finger, touch receptors detailing how warm and soft and wet her mouth was. Groaning, he descended on her, all four hands caressing her body as he struggled to map out every inch of her, sensors drinking in every gasp and moan that escaped her, every arch of her back and roll of her hips. He explored every bit of her, easily bracing himself above her as he slid one hand into her hair, the second lightly tracing the curve of her throat while the third closed over one breast, his fourth hand dropping to her inner thighs, teasing her with gentle strokes.

And to his growing delight, Kyra was far from passive. She matched every touch, every stroke. Sometimes it would only be a warm throb that washed through him, leaving him craving more, while others were roiling waves of pleasure that threatened to completely overwhelm him, his breath leaving him in very audible moans and growls. She would drag her fingernails across his armor, the sensation making him arch his back and close his eyes, only to gasp seconds later when she dared to tickle at sensitive joints, the contrast both refreshing and oddly arousing.

Both of his upper hands shifted to knead and massage her breasts, talons ever so careful against the soft skin. His left lower hand settled on her hip, holding her still as his right cupped her, one finger sliding into her wetness. Her hips instantly rolled into his hand, a needy little mewl leaving Kyra as she clutched at him, her blue eyes darkening to a rich sapphire.

Growling, he shifted above her, dropping his face to the crook of her neck to drink in her scent, shivering when she rose a hand to stroke the back of his head, tiny little eddy's of Force energy dancing across his duradium skull. He wrapped his upper arms around her torso, tugging her slightly upright as he rubbed his face against her skin and purring when she placed a warm kiss to the side of his head.

"Touch me," Grievous whispered against her throat, mind whirling as she arched in his arms, her breasts rubbing against his armored chest. All the while, she constantly brushed her fingertips across any bit of him she could reach, the light caresses no where near what he really wanted. "Touch me. Really touch me. No one touches me.... I'm not a droid.... I still remember what it felt like...."

The pained tone of his voice brought tears to her eyes, and Kyra immediately wrapped her arms around him, pulling him as close to her as she could, even daring to rub her left leg against his metal calf. A sort of desperate keen left him, his body giving a shudder as he clung to her, his four hands rubbing over every single inch of her back and shoulders, the lower two dropping to her thighs to further lift her towards him.

Muttering Kaleesh endearments, Grievous rubbed the side of his head against hers, sensors along the front of his body singing happily at the sensation of her pressed tightly against him. The heat of her body warmed his armor, her hands clutching and stroking at every bit of him that she could reach, her caresses stronger now in response to his plea.

He returned the favor, leaning back to gaze down at her as he mapped out every inch of her face and throat with fingertips and palms, his two lower hands sliding down to her chest while his uppers trailed across her shoulders. A pleased growl left him as he cupped her breasts, teasing her by flicking her nipples for a second before kneading the silk soft flesh, watching as her eyes fluttered closed, a pink blush spreading across her face. The sight spurred him onwards, a frustrated curse leaving him as he nuzzled his mask against her left breast, wanting nothing more than to taste and suckle.

A particularly intense pulse of energy nearly sent him over the brink, his breath coming in rough pants as he shook his head and caught her wrists in his upper hands, pinning them above her head. "Not yet," he growled, drinking in the sight of her gasping under him in a mix of delight and lust as he rubbed his lower hands down her abdomen, purring in approval of the hungry look in her eyes.

Her hips arched towards him as he brushed the fingers of his right lower hand against her thigh, his gaze locking with hers as he slowly slid one finger into her, a low groan leaving him as receptors relayed how hot and wet she was. Hissing, Grievous transferred her hands into one of his, dropping his now free upper left hand to massage one of her breasts as he slid the second and then the third finger into her warmth, growling when she gasped and rolled her hips.

Shivering, he closed his eyes, centering his mind on how tight and wet and hot she felt, and lewdness be damned, he was definitely going to look into getting certain 'enhancements' for his cyborg form, because feeling her through his fingers just wasn't enough.

Bright yellow eyes snapped open to stare down at her, wanting to memorize the sight of her arching and trembling under him as he moved his fingers inside her, his lower left arm carefully repositioning one of her legs to give him better access to her. He brought her to the brink twice, stopping each time and waiting until her body had reluctantly calmed before stroking her again, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her. All the while, he reverently brushed his upper left hand across her skin, caressing every bit of her that he could easily reach.

Shivering, and greatly aroused, Grievous nuzzled his face against her chest, moaning when she gasped his name and arched towards him, one of her hands twisting in his grip so she could brush her fingertips against his wrist. Little shocks traveled along his upper right arm, leaving trails of warmth and pleasure in their wake. He growled at the sensation, repaying her by stroking her inner walls and delighting in the full body tremor the touch caused.

"Now," he growled to her, releasing her hands and closing his eyes when she immediately reached for him. A ragged purr left his vocalizer as he shifted his lower right hand, gently pressing his fingers deeper into her, quickening his movements, pushing her to climax. "Now. Want to feel...."

Gasping for breath, Kyra splayed one hand on his chest, the other grasping his shoulder as he stroked something deep within her that pushed her ever closer to the edge, her back arching as she cried out. Unlike the other times, he didn't let her pleasure wane, his hands continuing to caress her, even as he moved his fingers in and out of her, his lower left arm wrapping around her waist to keep her close.

Struggling to stay in control for just a moment longer, she moved her hand from his shoulder to stroke the side of his masked face, coaxing him to rise his head from her neck so she could meet his reptilian gaze. His golden eyes were filled with all the emotions and words that he couldn't give voice to, and she held his gaze for a heartbeat before leaning up to place a kiss just below his right eye.

The tender gesture pulled a full-body tremble and a desperate growl from him. "Kyra!"

Something inside her snapped, and she cried out as her climax ripped through her, her hands scrambling to hold onto Grievous as he jerked above her, a helpless howl of pleasure leaving him as the energy unleashed by her orgasm crashed into him. His arms locked around her, body trembling as every wave of her climax echoed into him, her awareness of him sharpening for one brief moment before all coherent thought left her, and all that was left was pleasure.

.

.

End Part 1

[thatesqcrush]

Neighbors, Pt. 3

Rafael Barba x Reader. CW: angst, pining, language. Episode references: Nationwide Manhunt (SVU) & The Song of Gregory William Yates (CPD). WC: 1892

AN: A non-smut chapter? Who am I? Forgive me for typos. 

--

The next morning you woke up startled. You rubbed your eyes and tried to make sense of your surroundings: you had fallen asleep on your couch, the TV screen black (with the flashing reminder to turn off your TV if not watching). Your alarm was screeching from the bedroom and there was pounding on your door. You reached for the remote and turned off the TV before going to answer the door. You stood and paused, groaning as your head began to throb.

You undid the deadbolt but left the security chain on and cracked the door open. “Oh, Raf – it’s you.” You replied with a sigh of relief. “Hold on.” You closed the door and undid the chain and then re-opened the door. You both stood there in the doorway, staring at each other, nothing being said. Finally, Rafael opened his mouth, taking the first step.

Can I come in?” Rafael looked fashionably sensitive, in his dark tapered jeans and oxford shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. You cocked your head and wondered if the Harvard lawyer truly knew how handsome he was.

“Sure.” You replied, opening the door wider to let him in. “I have to turn off my alarm, give me a second.” You walked down the hall to your room. “Look about last night…” You called out as you turned it off.

Rafael gave you a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, detective.”

You gave him a look that was half-bemused and half annoyance. “I have a name. What did I tell you about that?”

Rafael crossed his arms and grumbled an expletive in Spanish, which made the corner of your lips twitch slightly, knowing that you could get under his skin a little. “Y/N.” He replied, his voice clipped.

You let out a small laugh. “I am just teasing.” Your smile faded quickly. “Seriously, though, I’m really sorry.”

Rafael eyed your unkempt appearance and gave you a small smile before shaking his head. “You were hurting and drunk.” He pulled you into a tight hug, squeeze and you took a deep inhalation of his cologne which comforted you. Reluctantly, you broke the hug.

“I think we should keep things professional from now on.” Rafael announced quietly. He shifted his footing and shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across your face.

You straightened and took a deep breath. “Duly noted.” After a beat, you continued. “And I think that’s best.”

Rafael nodded slowly, taken a bit by your quick agreeance. “So…” Tension quickly filled the room and the pounding in your head intensified.

“Want to get some breakfast before work?” Rafael suggested. “Just as colleagues.” He added for good measure.

“If you don’t mind waiting…” You waved your arm over your haphazard appearance.

“Not at all.”

You started walking backwards towards your bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Under the hot steam of your shower, you wondered when everything got so fucked up and longed for the days when things were so simple. When you emerged back into the living room, you paused as you slipped on your watch. Rafael was sitting on the couch, watching CNN. There was something so domestic about it. Your heart skipped a beat.  

‘No. Focus.’ You thought to yourself. You plastered a smile on your face and put the kibosh on any feelings that were forming. “Ready?”

Rafael turned off your TV and stood, turning to face you. “Absolutely.”

As you walked by, Rafael grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey – are we okay?” He pointed his finger at you, then at himself. You winked.

“Of course. Now, lets get some food. I’m starved.” The waft of your lavender shampoo made its way to Rafael’s olfactory sensors and he felt his stomach twist painfully as he followed you out the door.

--

You both settled at a diner near One Hogan Place. You ordered an egg scramble and whole wheat toast and Rafael ordered an everything bagel with lox. Copious amounts of coffee were had. You were grateful for easy, though at times stilted, conversation. As Rafael settled the bill – which he insisted on doing – a breaking news alert on the overhead TV caught your eye.

You flagged down a waitress. “Excuse me, can you raise that?” The waitress nodded and raised the volume. The reporter’s words shook you to your core. Rafael watched as the color drained from your face.

Breaking news: two inmates from Green Haven Correctional have escaped. Both Yates and Rudnick were serving life sentences for multiple counts of rape and murder. They should be considered extremely dangerous. Officials are cautioning that anyone who sees them or has information on either of the two men should not attempt to interact with them. We will keep you updated as this story continues.

--

You stormed into the bullpen with Rafael following at your heels. “Liv! What the hell are we going to do?”

Olivia cocked her brow at your outburst. “Y/N, I take it that you heard the news.” She took off her glasses and sat on the corner of Amanda’s desk.

“We’re going to run this by the book. We’re headed up to Green Haven. Hank and I spoke, the 21st is going to meet us there. Y/N, you’re staying here.”

“Like hell I am!” You snarled.

“Y/N, it’s best if you stay here. We are keeping you safe.” Liv replied softly. “Yate’s baiting you.”

“After using me to talk to him, you decide now to bench me? If he wanted me, he would have had me already.” You replied angrily. You slammed your hand on your desk. Rafael put a hand on your shoulder and you shoved his hand off.

“If I'm bait, let me be bait. I can draw him in. Let me do my job.”

“You are too personally invested. You need to stand down.” Olivia replied sternly.

“No. I need to come up. Just… I can help from behind the scenes. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Famous last words.” You whipped around and stared at Amanda who gave you a knowing look. “Look Y/N, I know how Yates works too. I can put myself out there – use me.” Amanda replied.

“All due respect, but no.” You retorted. At that moment, your phone buzzed. You pulled out your phone and looked at the text. “It’s Erin; I have to take this.” Rafael didn’t miss how your face crumbled as you walked out to take the call.

--

State troopers, FBI, ATF, SVU and CPD all converged at a local church in Stormville, just 90 minutes outside of Manhattan to begin the search for Yates and Rudnick.

“NYPD's Special Victims Unit and Chicago Intelligence are here to give specifics about the fugitives.” Warden Lucille Fenton announced.

“These guys are intelligent. They're motivated. They're charming, and they are without conscience.” Olivia began. She listed their heinous acts on her fingers. “Their crimes include rape, kidnapping, torture, and murder.”

“Now, Yates is definitely capable of hot-wiring cars. He's adept at identity theft, and he is highly manipulative. Especially when preying on young women.” You continued.

“Rudnick can blend in easily. We know that he assumes disguises, usually of an older female.” Sonny finished.

“We've already begun house-to-house searches and roadblocks. Air support with heat sensors and infrared will be in the air within the half hour.” Major Bowman with the State Troopers announced.

“Search every inch of this county. My staff has pulled security cameras, visitors' logs, and personnel files.” Lucille turned to Olivia.

“Okay, my team can help with the interviews.” Olivia agreed, before going over to you.

Rafael watched as you and Olivia spoke from the other side of the room. “Hey, how bad are these guys?” Lucille asked Rafael quietly.

Rafael swallowed hard. “Think Robert Durst and Ted Bundy on the run together.”

After an exhaustive search that came up empty, Olivia advised that a local hotel was putting up everyone for the time being. “Those who can keep going, we appreciate it. Those who need to rest… rest and come back.”

“Y/N, why don’t you get some sleep.” Rafael suggested, taking in your worn appearance. “It’s been a long and hard day.”

“I’ll rest when we have Yates and Rudnick.” You replied, pouring another coffee. As you reached for the sugar, you knocked over your coffee, spilling it all over on a table that had been set up at the church. You swore and scrambled for napkins to clean up. As Rafael helped you, your ex-fiancé, Adam approached.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Adam questioned. “Need help?”

“I got it!” You snapped. You took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just on edge.”

Adam walked around and reached for your arm, stopping you. You looked at Adam and Rafael watched as Adam pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around you. Rafael could see the appeal of Adam with his rugged looks. You melded into Adam’s embrace. You opened your eyes and met Rafael’s. You tried to read his face, but he appeared stoic and impassive.

“I think I am going to head to the hotel a bit and get some rest.” You replied breaking the hug. You grabbed the soiled napkins and shoving them into the now empty coffee cup. Your hands were sticky and smelled like coffee, to which you crinkled your nose in disgust.

“I am too.” Rafael replied, shaking himself back to present. “Want to ride together?”

“I’ll drive.” Adam offered. “Come on.” Rafael followed behind slowly as Adam and you walked ahead, Adam’s arm wrapped around you.

Rafael felt something in his guts churn that felt an awful like jealousy. Rafael let out a huff and you turned your attention to Rafael. Rafael didn’t say anything and you felt more puzzled than before.

--

The next morning, Rafael knocked on your hotel door, hoping to check in on you. You opened the door, clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs. Rafael swallowed hard.

“Hey – “ Rafael began. His voice trailed as he looked past your shoulder, watching Adam walk in the background.

“What’s up? I told Liv I’d be down in 20. Has there been an update?”

“Um, yeah – overnight Carisi and Rollins apprehended Rudnick. He was discovered hiding in a docked boat by Caroga Lake. Rudnick suffered multiple injuries.” Rafael replied. Adam joined from behind, tugging on his shirt. Rafael ignored him, focusing on you.

“I'm not shedding any tears.” You replied, as you crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame.

“Yates hobbled him - broke both his knees, his ankles, pierced his eardrum. Just left him to die.” Rafael continued.

“Should have let him. Is he talking yet?”

“Only to Carisi, and he's in and out of consciousness. He did indicate the plan was to cross the border at the Saint Lawrence River.”

You turned, pushing past Adam and grabbed your jeans, which were laying on a heap on the floor. “Come on – lets go.”

“What are you going to do?” Rafael asked.

You holstered your gun into your waistband. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

“Olivia…”

“Olivia nothing. Now, Rafael – just get out of my way.”

Rafael looked at Adam. “You’re going to let her just go after a serial killer?” Adam scoffed. “No. I’ll go with her. We’ll see you at the church.”

TBC.

--

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[artemisegeria]

Hey do you take fanfic prompts/ requests?

I’ve been seeing videos of guys wrapping their arms around their pregnant partners from behind and gently lifting their belly while the woman leans back against them to take some of the weight/ strain off their back. It seems so sweet and I immediately thought of Wanda and Vision. I feel like Vision would totally do that for Wanda because he is a cinnamon roll and Wanda would just relax and lean back against him and be all calm.

Would you consider writing something like that of them doing that in their room or in the shower or something and just standing there contentedly? Idk I can’t get this idea unstuck!

Love your fanfic, have a good day!!

Thank you, Anon! Sure, I take prompts. This was very sweet, and I had fun writing it. I hope you like it.

This is definitely not canon compliant for WandaVision. Imagine it takes place at some nebulous point in the future in a world where most canon after AoU did not happen.

 Wanda groaned as she tried to achieve a comfortable position. A futile hope at this point in her pregnancy.

Vision immediately started running soothing hands over her stomach and shoulder. “Is something wrong, darling? Are you experiencing contractions?”

“No, Vizh, not yet.” She patted his cheek. He must have asked that ten times yesterday alone. The doctors were already surprised she’d lasted so long, considering that she was carrying twins. “These little guys just won’t let me sleep.” It was only 4:30 am at the moment. She had to admit that she resented being up this early when her insomnia had finally lessened in recent years.

“Well, now, that just will not do.” Vision put on his best stern expression and addressed her stomach. “William, Thomas, be good for your mother. She has been wonderfully strong for you these past nine months. She will have precious little time to rest when you arrive, so give her some peace now.”

His voice had no effect on the babies’ kicking, but it did distract her with a bit of giggling. “You tell ‘em, Vizh.”

“It is the least I could do.”

“Mmm, you can help me roll to my side.” He rushed to oblige her, gently placing his hands underneath her. She lay facing her husband now. He smiled at her, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. Closed her eyes blissfully at the gentle touch.

Until she caught a whiff of her hair. “Ugh!”

“What?” Vision looked at her with barely suppressed alarm.

“Why didn’t you tell me I smelled?”

Vision’s smile turned mischievous. She was glad he could get some enjoyment out of this. “I thought you had larger concerns at the moment, and I did not wish to embarrass you. I merely turned down my olfactory sensors.”

She gave him a mock glare and hit his shoulder weakly. “Very funny.” He turned tender once more, placing an apologetic kiss on her cheek. He cuddled as close as he could.

Wanda relaxed momentarily, but now that she noticed her smell, it was all she could think of. She did not relish the thought of taking a shower. Still, she needed to do it. She started to lever herself to a sitting position.

“May I help you, my love?”

“Sure, but you’re taking your life in your hands.”

Vision chuckled lightly. “I will bear the risk.” He phased through the bed around her and held out his hands to her. Wrapping an arm around her, he led her to the bathroom. “Would you like me to phase off your clothes?” He was ever mindful of her sensitive skin and the way everything ached right now.

“Please.”

He turned the water on, making sure the water was up to temperature before he removed both their clothing in an instant. Vision helped her over the lip of the tub. When they were both situated inside, he encouraged her to lean back against him.

Wanda relaxed into him completely. His hands held onto her stomach. With him supporting her weight, she was able to breathe properly for the first time in weeks. She barely felt anything besides the warm water falling over her.

Vision took on the work of washing her hair and body while she leaned on him literally and figuratively. He welcomed her into his mind, a calm oasis amid the last-minute preparations for the births.

After she was clean, she somehow felt even better. They swayed together under the spray. Wanda let herself melt into Vision as he murmured words of love to her. They refused to move until the water had gone ice cold.

Vision wrapped Wanda up in the covers once more, and she was finally able to drift off to sleep.