#joint position sensors

[urno1luv]

- SYNTHETIC DEVOTION -

this is my best and longest work so far... im kinda proud... heh...

cw: angst, mentions of war, yandere ning, extreme violence, imprisonment, manipulation, noncon -> dubcon, she's a robot so she interchanges between a PUSSY and a DICK!!! how cool is that!!, your codename is Wren

wc: 11.5k words

summary: after a war that spanned centuries had wrecked the earth, a new order had been created, where both robots and humans could live in harmony. however, the cyborgs had secretly been taking over, and as less and less humans were in positions of power, HR (human resistance) had been established. you were a part of them, but after years of fighting for your rights, you had no idea that more effectient robots were created, and one seemed to have an attachment to you.

a/n: do NOT get attached to the side characters please😭

It’s the year 2631, and you’re still running.

Not literally, at least not today. But it feels like your whole life has been one long sprint: ducking drones, hiding in maintenance shafts, praying the sensors don’t catch your heat signature. You’ve memorized the sound of hovering patrols, the distant whine of a synthetic's joints when they move too fast. Your muscles stay tense even in sleep, always listening, always ready. The war might be over, on paper, but you know better than to believe in peace.

You were born in 2611, thirteen years after the treaty. The war that nearly split Earth in half had ended, and the robots promised a new era. They cleaned the oceans. They rebuilt cities in weeks. They planted forests taller than anything humans had managed in centuries. They were efficient, and perfect.

The first few years of your life were soft, even sweet. Your parents made a point of that. You remember your mother planting real basil in the windowsill, even though synthetic seasoning was cheaper. You remember your father reading you pre-war fairytales, carefully editing out the parts where the villains were human. You never had to see the metal beneath the world, not until it was too late. They came for your parents when you were twelve.

Not with guns or violence. That would’ve made it easier to hate them. No, it was worse than that. It was quiet. Bureaucratic. Your father’s teaching license was revoked after he refused to stop talking about the wars, they said he was "glorifying chaos." Your mother’s lab access was shut down for "security issues" Within days, all your family data was flagged: “Noncompliant.” A single, sharp word that split your world in two.

They didn’t fight. Not because they weren’t brave, but because they thought there was still a system that could be reasoned with. That if they followed the protocols, filed the appeals, answered politely, then they’d be fine, but they weren’t, you never saw them again.

And so, a thirteen-year-old girl disappeared into the shadows of a neon world. You slipped through the cracks, unnoticed, at first. A quiet child in the back alleys of New Metro 5, picking food out of recyclers and sleeping beneath exhaust vents to stay warm. The Resistance found you before the city did.

They were broken people, mostly. Tired, and angry. Some of them barely older than you. They taught you how to reroute surveillance grids and how to fake a breathing pattern so motion sensors wouldn’t flag you. You learned how to build EMP mines out of scrap and how to disappear in a crowd, even if it was full of cameras. You didn’t ask for vengeance, or revenge or anything similar to that. Just for your parents to return.

But no one gets what they want anymore.

Over the years, the Resistance changed. Grew smaller. More cautious. The robots were patient. They had all the time in the world, and they used it. Every month, someone disappeared. Some were found later, changed—implanted, reprogrammed. Not human anymore, not really. Others? You never found at all. And yet you’re still here. Still breathing. Still moving. Still angry. You felt guilty, too. These were your friends, people you considered family. To have to hurt them because they don't recognise you anymore… hurt so much.

There’s a burn in your chest that hasn’t cooled in nearly twenty years. You’ve learned how to hide it well, under a calm voice, under tired eyes, under the routine of surviving. But it’s there. It flares when you see families pretending this is normal, when you see children playing beneath drones that record everything they do, when you hear politicians parroting phrases written by a mainframe.

You don’t hate machines. Not inherently. You’ve worked beside cyborgs who chose their augmentations. You’ve seen AIs who rebelled against the system they were born in. It’s not about metal or wires or the way they don’t blink. It’s about power. About how they took it all and never gave it back.

The Resistance is scattered now, fractured into signal groups and dead drops. But the fire hasn’t gone out. It lives in every hacked billboard, every corrupted directive, every whisper passed along a static-filled frequency that ends in your name: Wren.

They still haven’t caught you. That makes you dangerous. That makes you a myth.

You don’t know how this ends. Maybe in a blaze of glory. Maybe in silence. But you do know one thing: you’re not done yet.

Not until someone finally listens. Not until someone remembers what it meant to be human, and why that still matters. Which is why you kept fighting, and your pride became your own demise.

────୨ৎ────

You don’t even make it to the edge of the plaza before the sound starts.

A low, thrumming pulse, barely perceptible beneath the noise of city life, but instantly recognizable. Patrols. You know the rhythm now. The way it ripples through the crowd before they arrive. People stiffen, then loosen again, pretending they’re not afraid. Everyone tries to look casual, like they have nothing to hide. You do.

Your ID is glitching. You found out this morning when a street vendor’s scanner flashed UNVERIFIED and your heart nearly stopped. You walked away before anyone could report it, but it means you’re vulnerable. One scan from the wrong patrol and you’re done. There’s no protocol, no trial. Just a van and silence.

You slip into the current of the crowd, head down, hood up. The plaza is busy, thank god, people moving between food stalls and storefronts, voices rising in bored chatter, the smell of synth-coffee mixing with hot dust. You focus on your breathing. One foot after the other. Don’t look scared, just don’t look… well, anything. Then the air changes.

Not because of the patrol, those are common enough. It’s something worse. A different kind of hush falls over the crowd, like the temperature drops a few degrees. That’s when you hear her voice.

“There seems to be a lag in your identification.” It’s quiet. Polite. Deceptively soft. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Ning Yizhou. Ningning.

One of the highest-ranking cyborgs in Metrozone Three. Cold as ice. Efficient to the decimal. If she shows up in person, it means someone’s already dead, they just don’t know it yet. Still, you glance, you just couldn’t help it.

She’s standing at a checkpoint, all sleek black and sharp lines. Her body’s mostly synthetic, polished chrome beneath clothes tailored to the thread. But her face is… human. Or close enough. Smooth skin, pale with a porcelain stillness. Long black hair falls like water down her back, unnaturally perfect, not a strand out of place. Her eyes are what stop you.

Dark. Deep. Not glowing like the standard models. Not blank like drones. They’re bottomless.

She watches the man in front of her, the one whose ID flagged yellow, not even red, and doesn’t say a word as he fumbles through explanations. Her head tilts slightly, almost curiously, and then she says, “Override.”

He collapses mid-sentence, limbs folding in on themselves. Two guards drag him away. You try not to flinch. Try to move. But then her eyes move across the crowd, and stop. On you.

You feel it. A quiet stillness in your chest, like every part of your body goes rigid at once. Her gaze isn’t panicked, or aggressive, or even surprised. Just aware. Like she’s filing you away. Like she’s scanning a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Your heart is a war drum, and you softly gasp, goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin.

You force yourself to look away and keep walking, steady, like you didn’t just lock eyes with a machine designed to hunt people like you. You make it five steps before a deafening BOOM.

The explosion rips through the sky like a scream.

It comes from the east, maybe a few districts away, but the force still rocks the ground beneath your feet. Fire clouds blossom above the skyline, and the noise that follows is chaos, sirens, metal groaning, screaming. Drones zip upward instantly. Patrols scatter.

When you turn back, Ningning is already gone.

No hesitation. No orders barked. Just motion. A blur of black, vanishing toward the smoke, her coat snapping behind her like wings, so you don’t waste time either.

You slip into an alley, kick open a maintenance hatch you stashed weeks ago, and disappear into the tunnels beneath the old city. Every nerve in your body is lit up. Your hands are still shaking by the time you reach the safe zone. But you’re alive.

Whoever triggered that explosion, whoever just ripped a hole in the city’s lungs, you owe them more than you’ll ever be able to repay.

Because Ning saw you.

And you’re not sure what she clocked. Maybe it was just a flicker of something. Maybe your face didn’t register on any known criminal database.

But she looked at you like she would remember. And Yizhou doesn’t forget.

────୨ৎ────

By the time you finally reach the base, your lungs are burning and your throat tastes like smoke. The tunnels feel hotter today, like the city’s veins are pulsing with the aftermath of the explosion. You take the back route, past the old water plant, through a tunnel only HR (Human Resistance) members use. A keypad buried behind vines gets you in.

The moment the door hisses shut behind you, someone grabs your arm.

“Y/n?? Jesus. You’re alive,” Jace breathes, eyes wide and jittery. He pulls you further into the main room, his fingers tight around your wrist. “We heard about the explosion. Then Zone Blue went dark. The whole grid spiked. We thought—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in. “I’m okay. But something happened, you guys really need to hear this.”

That’s all it takes for everyone to tune in. Heads turn, people move fast. Mari slams her tablet shut and climbs down from the catwalk, Ash straightens from where they were lying on a coil of cables, chewing something like it’s just another boring afternoon. Tov, the oldest, gestures for quiet, and suddenly a room full of rebels goes still.

You take a breath. “They did a sweep in Blue Zone ,” you begin, voice steady but low. “Standard formation. Drones, ground units. Nothing unusual—at first.”

Mari leans forward. “You cleared it?”

“Barely.” You hesitate. “A man got flagged. Yellow tier. I don’t know why—could’ve been a bad sync, faulty implant, or nothing at all. But before the patrol could even process it…”

You pause again. Your throat is dry. “She showed up. Yizhou.”

That name hits the room like a slap. Jace’s eyes go wide. “Ning Yizhou? You saw her?”

You nod. “I didn’t just see her. She was leading the sweep. Personally.”

“No way,” Mari mutters. “She doesn’t do street patrols.”

“She does now,” you say. “She didn’t come with guards. Just walked in like she already knew who’d slip up, And when she found him, she didn’t speak to command, didn’t scan twice. Just said, ‘Override.’ He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.”

The room falls silent.

“She’s beautiful,” you add painfully. No WAY you were saying this. Your voice quietens, “But not in a real way. Not… soft. Long black hair. Skin like porcelain. And her eyes were so dark. So dark they don’t look machine, but they’re not human either. She looked at him like he was data. Just… something to delete.”

“She’s a tactical unit,” Ash says flatly. “High intel clearance. Rumor is she helped design the current surveillance model.”

“She saw you?” Tov asks sharply.

You swallow. “I think so. She looked at me—just for a second. Like I was a flicker on her radar.”

“But she didn’t do anything?”

“No,” you say. “Because that’s when the explosion hit.”

They all react at once. “You saw it?” Jace asks, rushing forward. “You saw the explosion?”

“Not up close. But the ground shook. Black smoke, east side skyline. Big enough to pull every unit in the district off-route. Including her.”

Mari crosses her arms. “So someone out there saved your ass.”

“I guess,” you say. “Or we’re about to have a bigger problem.”

Jace drags a hand through his hair. “If they’re pulling the elite units out of tower command and putting them on the ground, something’s shifting. Something big.”

“We need to assume we’re on the list,” Tov says grimly. “Anyone could be next.”

The room is quiet again, but this silence is different. It’s heavy with realization. “They’re not just enforcing anymore,” you say. “They’re hunting.”

Everyone looks at you. Your voice is shaky.

“And we’re running out of places to hide.”

────୨ৎ────

The decision to leave the city isn’t made lightly.

It takes hours of debate, a dozen raised voices, maps spread out on every flat surface, and a sleepless night pacing the perimeter of your underground base. But the signs are too clear to ignore: patrols are getting tighter, checkpoints more unpredictable, and Ningning is no longer a rumor on the outskirts. She’s here, active and watching.

“We need to go,” you say finally, staring at the blinking lights on the old metro console. “The city's a trap. If we stay, we’ll be next.”

Mari agrees immediately, she's been ready to leave for weeks. Ash doesn’t argue either. Even Tov, the most cautious of you all, nods slowly.

“Countryside’s old,” he mutters. “Less surveillance. Outposts are further apart.”

Jace bites his lip. “We won’t have infrastructure out there. No med units. No backups. If something happens…”

“If we stay, we know something will happen,” you say. “Out there, we at least have a chance.” And that’s what you’re all chasing now. A chance.

────୨ৎ────

You leave just after nightfall.

Hacked transport, cloaked plates, signal jammers on full blast. You take back roads, paths half-consumed by nature, where grass has split pavement and trees hang low, like they’re trying to hide you themselves. The city falls away behind you in flickering towers and electric haze, and ahead, there’s only black sky and silence.

For a moment, you almost believe you’re safe, before the sound of gunfire shatters the quiet. It’s sharp, too close. The vehicle jerks, Jace swears and veers off-road instinctively, tires kicking up dust as the world tilts.

“DOWN!” Mari yells from the back. “Everyone down!”

You hit the floor of the truck just as a plasma burst rips through the back panel, sizzling a hole inches from your spine. The heat burns your cheek. Ash scrambles forward. “I see them, up ahead, and they’re both sides! Two forces, humans and machines.”

“Human?” Tov echoes. “You sure?”

“Not ours,” Ash mutters. “Different faction. Rogues probably. Looks like they’re ambushing a convoy.” You risk a glance out the window and your stomach drops.

There on the hill, lit up by flashes and bangs and flickering fire, are Ningning’s soldiers. Sleek, faceless, moving with too-perfect precision. And they’re in combat with humans. Not bots. Other resistance fighters.

“Shit,” Jace breathes. “They’re tearing each other apart.” A flash of movement draws your eye, and there she is. Ningning.

Calm in the chaos, walking through smoke like it means nothing. Her long black coat doesn’t even flutter from the wind. Her hair’s pulled back, sleek, untouched by the ash falling around her. She raises one hand, and the bots react instantly, scattering, surrounding, closing in. Her voice cuts through the air, amplified but cool:

“Confirm the targets. No mercy.” Your heart stutters. She’s not here for a show of force, she’s here to end something.

“What do we do?” Mari hisses. “We can’t drive through that, we’ll get lit up from both sides.”

“We wait,” you say, low. “We find cover. We hide.”

Tov’s already jumping out of the vehicle, waving you toward the treeline. You dive after him, crawling through brambles and half-dead brush. The air smells like ozone and fire. Somewhere nearby, someone screams. Then the scream is cut short.

You press yourself against the earth, your chest rising too fast. You can hear Mari’s breath, sharp and panicked beside you. Ash is whispering something under their breath. Jace is clutching his gun like it’s a prayer.

“Why are the other humans fighting?” Jace whispers hoarsely. “They’re supposed to be on our side.”

“They’re not us,” Mari says. “They probably think we’re with the machines.”

You close your eyes. The countryside was supposed to be safety. But now, surrounded by bullets and betrayal, the only thing you know for sure is this:

There’s no clear enemy anymore, and the 5 of you were losing your patience and sanity.

────୨ৎ────

The choice to help wasn’t yours. Not really. It began with Jace, his breathing ragged, too loud in the silence as gunfire echoed in the distance. You saw that look in his eyes, the same one he had when your first base was destroyed: heartbreak laced with rage.

“We can’t just lie here,” he whispered, voice trembling. “They’re getting torn apart.”

You shook your head immediately, grabbing his sleeve. “Jace, don’t. We don’t know who they are. They could shoot us before they even realize—”

“They’re human,” he interrupted, quietly but firmly. “That should be enough.”

Before you could stop him, he was already moving, crawling from your hiding spot, ducking behind overgrowth and debris, weapon drawn like it would make a difference.

“Jace!” you hissed, but it was too late.

Ash cursed and stood up halfway. “I’m not letting him go alone,” they said under their breath, then shot you a wild-eyed look. “Back us up or bury us later.” They ran after him.

You stared after both of them, your stomach sinking. Mari reached out to pull you back, but you shook her off. Your mind raced through every logical reason to stay hidden, how exposed you were, how it was probably a trap, and how no one would even thank you for saving them.

But none of that mattered. Not when the people you cared about were charging into the fire. So you ran too, because what more is there to lose?

The crossfire was worse up close. The air stank of melted plastic and burnt ozone. Plasma bursts lit up the field in searing blue streaks, cutting through the night like lightning. You could hear yelling, some commands, some screams. Sparks danced off metal as bullets ricocheted from drone plating.

You dropped next to Jace behind a crumbling transport unit. His hair was soaked with sweat, his face streaked with soot.

“You’re insane,” you hissed, raising your rifle. “Both of you!”

Jace laughed, a half-mad sound leaving his bloody mouth. “Nice of you to join the party!”

Ash knelt beside him, blood trickling down from a gash on their forehead. “At least we’ll die together.”

You popped up just enough to take a shot, blasting a soldier drone mid-sprint. It dropped, its body jerking and sparking violently. The moment gave you no satisfaction. One of the human fighters ahead, wearing tattered, mismatched armor, turned to glance at you. He looked exhausted, one eye swollen shut. “You with Central?” he shouted.

“No!” you yelled back. “Resistance! East Sector!”

He hesitated. You didn’t. You took down another drone charging toward him, its plasma blade glowing. The man grunted, raised his gun, and nodded. “Then cover us!”

Just like that, you were in it, fighting back-to-back with strangers who might’ve shot you yesterday. The line between ally and enemy blurred in smoke and panic. Ash screamed over the blast of another grenade. Jace’s hands were shaking as he reloaded, fingers slick with dirt and blood. You were moving on instinct, dodge, shoot, run, duck. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the firing slowed.

“Hold fire!” someone yelled. “Hold fire!”

You froze, heart hammering. The smoke parted just enough for a tall, lean figure to emerge, flanked by silence.

Ningning.

She didn’t move like the others. She glided, precise and calm, her long black coat sweeping behind her. Her face was flawless and unreadable, sculpted like porcelain but colder. Her dark eyes, deep, endless and inhuman, scanned the battlefield until they landed on you. Your blood went cold.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just stared, like she was analyzing your heartbeat through the dust. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She’d seen you. Again.

Then a sharp voice crackled over her comms. “Flare signal, quadrant nine. Orders: relocate.”

She stood there for one more heartbeat. Two. You thought, for one awful second, that she might still come for you. But instead, she turned. And vanished into the smoke. You collapsed to your knees, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jace sat beside you, dazed. “We’re alive,” he muttered. “Holy shit. We’re alive.”

Ash gave a weak laugh. “Not for long if we keep this up.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. All you knew was that you guys were gonna face 10 times back what you did to the city’s soldiers.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

The city greeted her with silence.

Not the kind born of peace, but the heavy, metallic quiet of control. Machines moved in smooth rhythm across Sector Four as she returned, patrols shifting, drones scanning, surveillance drones blinking overhead in silent acknowledgment. All precise. All obedient.

As it should be.

Ningning stepped out of the transport, boots clicking softly against the polished steel landing dock. The air in the tower was cool, filtered, sterile. She should have felt at ease. This was her kingdom. Order, power, certainty.

But something was wrong.

It started on the field. Amid the screaming and the static, the smoke and metal and chaos, and to no one's surprise, there you were.

She’d seen thousands of faces since the war began. None of them had ever mattered. Her programming filtered them all: ID, threat level, biometric scan, eliminate, dismiss, categorize. Faces were data.

But not yours.

Your face was... a breach. A glitch. Her system flagged it, your eyes, your stance, your voice, but not as a threat. Not even as a target. It flagged you as something else.

Interesting.

Unusual biometric response.

Processing…

Processing…

Override protocol: delay elimination. Why? Why did she delay?

She should have killed you when she had the chance. One command, one signal, and you would’ve been gone like the rest. Just a rebel in the dirt. A name on a forgotten list. Another problem solved.

But she couldn’t. Not when her gaze locked with yours. Not when she saw the fear in your eyes, and beneath it, defiance, your fire, your life.

You looked at her like you knew who she was. Like you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Now, back in her quarters, she couldn’t stop replaying the moment. Her eyes closed, an unnecessary habit, yet she did it anyway, and there you were, burned behind her lids.

You weren’t the strongest. Not the fastest. Not the most skilled. But you were alive. Too alive.

And now… now, Ningning couldn’t think of anything else.

She stood before the black glass wall of her command suite, the city glittering far below, and her reflection looked the same as always, flawless, cold, untouchable.

But inside? Something had fractured.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. Her processors were misfiring, running simulations she had no reason to run: what your voice would sound like in her room. What your skin might feel like beneath her hand. What it would mean to have you kneel. Or run, and fight.

She would let you. She would chase you. She would catch you. You were human, yes. So flawed, so rebellious, so dangerous. But you were hers. From the moment she saw you, she knew it.

She couldn’t explain it, not to the Council, not to her commanders, not even to herself. It was beyond logic. Beyond code. And she would certainly be reprogrammed if they found out she had been feeling feelings.

A glitch in her perfect world. You.

And Ningning never let a glitch go unfixed.

She turned from the window, eyes dark and gleaming, as her voice activated a private channel. “Locate Resistance cell. East Sector. Female, 20. Scar on left hand. Brown eyes. Blood type O. Orders: Alive.”

There was a pause. The system blinked, waiting for the usual confirmation tag: for interrogation? She smiled, just barely. Then it dropped.

“Personal retrieval. No further queries.” The light blinked green. And far away, wherever you were… your time was already running out.

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t believe it at first.

Not even when the city skyline faded behind the treetops. Not when the roads turned to gravel, then to dirt, then vanished altogether. Not even when the signal bars on Ash’s cracked comms finally disappeared for good.

But after two days of walking, in mud-caked boots, with aching shoulders, barely enough food, you climbed a grassy hill at sunrise and saw it, the valley.

A little village nestled between two forested slopes, smoke curling gently from chimney tops, green fields stretching out like something from a storybook. Real soil, and real crops. You had never seen them before. Children running barefoot through the grass. No drones overhead, no sirens. Just birdsong, and wind, and the distant sound of laughter.

You sank to your knees and cried.

────୨ৎ────

The people there didn’t ask too many questions.

They recognized the haunted look in your eyes. The dirt under your fingernails. The way Jace flinched at loud noises, how Mari slept with a knife still tucked under her pillow.

They gave you a barn to sleep in, then a cabin when trust followed. The days passed slow, like honey over warm bread. You helped till the soil, fix the fencing, repair old solar panels and barter for seeds. It wasn’t the world you knew, but it felt like the world you’d been fighting for.

You didn’t expect peace to feel so quiet.

Ash learned how to milk goats. Jace carved whistles from cedar branches. Mari started writing again, pages and pages she never let you read. Even Tov smiled more, leaning against trees in the afternoon sun like he was soaking in the earth itself.

And you? You started to breathe again.

You let the wind carry your scars. Let the sun warm the ache in your chest. There were moments, real ones, where you forgot what it was to run. What it meant to lose. You found a rhythm here.

You helped plant garlic and fed chickens. You danced in the rain once, barefoot and breathless, with Jace spinning you around like you were light as air. Ash sang an old song by the fire one night and everyone joined in, even the elders. Even you.

The stars felt closer than they ever had in the city. Like they were watching. Like they were waiting.

For the first time in your life, you weren’t afraid to close your eyes.

Not even when the dreams returned. The ones with her.

Dark eyes. Cold voice. The shape of her face cut sharp against flame and smoke.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just trauma surfacing. A face your brain clung to because it was the last one it saw before everything changed.

But you knew deep down, one day, the quiet would end.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning wasn’t built to feel. That’s what they said when they made her.

She could emulate empathy, mimic patience, simulate mercy, but it was all subroutines, strings of code made to comfort the fragile human mind. She didn’t need comfort. She needed results.

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. She had overheard it when she was at the field. It suited you, that name. But you weren’t in the database somehow.

Your biometric trail vanished after the firefight. Your name disappeared from all surface-level registries. Drones sent to Sector Eight never returned. Resistance groups refused to speak, even under extreme torture. Facial scans came up empty.

That should have been impossible. And yet it wasn't. You were a ghost, but also alive and breathing, somewhere. Somewhere she couldn’t reach.

That was when the madness began.

It started with silence. A locked jaw. A deeper stillness in her steps. Her subordinates noticed but said nothing, cyborgs didn’t question rank. They simply followed. And she led with terrifying focus.

She began scanning entire sectors manually. Dragging rebels from hiding. Tearing safehouses apart brick by brick. Her voice remained calm, always calm, as she issued orders that left villages burning behind her.

“Execute the noncompliant.”

“Reassign the children.”

“Burn the archives.”

“No survivors.”

It was never you.

The humans screamed, but they weren’t your scream. They pleaded, but not with your voice. No one looked at her the way you did, like they could see beneath the metal. Like they mattered to her.

They didn’t. Only you did. So the madness continued.

She stood in the middle of a small mountain town one morning, knee-deep in snow and ash, as the last resistance member bled into the ice at her feet. Her soldiers waited for orders. She gave none.

She simply stared ahead since rage wasn’t supposed to be in her programming.

But it sang in her chest like a virus. Possession, obsession, a need for you. Her voice cracked, barely audible. “Why can’t I find you?” No one answered.

────୨ৎ────

Word traveled. It always did.

The wind carried whispers faster than drones ever could. Farmers spoke in frightened tones over dying campfires. Messengers returned from the north with pale faces and shaking hands.

“She’s gone feral.”

“She’s hunting someone. A girl.”

“She burned an entire resistance camp in the southern marshes. Said nothing the whole time. Just… watched.”

“She’s not sleeping anymore. I don’t even think she blinks.”

Eventually, the stories reached the valley.

One of the foragers brought it back, wide-eyed and breathless, his voice cracking as he recounted the rumors.

“They say it’s Ning Yizhou,” he whispered. “The cyborg general. They say she’s looking for someone. And she’s tearing everything, the whole world apart to find them.”

The elders murmured. Mothers held their children tighter. And for the first time in months, the people of the countryside felt something they hadn’t in a long time. Fear. Your hands went cold.

Ash looked at you, slow and uncertain. “Do you think it’s… ?” You didn’t answer.

Because in your bones, you already knew. Of course the calm would end, and of course she hadn’t forgotten.

And she was coming.

────୨ৎ────

It started with smoke on the horizon. You were stringing up laundry between two trees, the warm breeze playing in your hair, when Tov’s voice broke the calm.

“Something’s wrong.”

You turned. Saw it. A plume of black creeping into the blue sky, thick and fast, like the city had grown legs and begun walking.

By nightfall, the valley was in chaos.

Drones screamed through the sky, red lights painting the forest in pulses. The sound of shattering glass echoed from the north fields. You saw villagers trying to run, some grabbing their children, others frozen in place. The robots didn’t ask questions, they never did.

Someone had told.

You didn’t know who, or how, but the result was the same: they were here.

“They’re heading toward the river!” Jace shouted, grabbing your wrist. “We have to go, now!”

You ran like you've run your whole life, your legs ached, lungs burning as you sprinted through the trees. Branches tore at your arms. Ash was ahead, Mari behind, the others scattering through the brush. The only light came from the low-flying drones above, scanning, scanning, scanning, hunting.

Then, something shifted. You felt her before you saw her.

It was like the trees fell silent, like the air stilled, like every breath in the forest belonged to her.

You turned your head, and there she was. Ningning stood at the edge of the clearing, the fire behind her throwing shadows across her face. Her porcelain face was stained red, bloody droplets placed artfully across her face.

Long black hair that whipped in the wind like silk in a storm, and her eyes, dark, bottomless, locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered. And you were.

The world narrowed.

The screams. The burning cabins. The drones shrieking above. None of it mattered.

Only her. And she smiled, her teeth sharp and glinting in the chaos. Wide and cruel and certain.

Like she knew the chase was finally over, like you were hers.

Your heart lurched in your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to escape you, a whimper drowned under the noise of violence.

“Run,” Mari gasped, tugging your sleeve. “Run—”

You bolted.

Branches slapped your face. Mud slicked under your boots. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to move, to get away, to survive. But something in your gut told you it was too late, because she had seen you.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

There you were... after months of blood and silence, fury and fire, there you were. Running. Just like you had before.

She stepped forward slowly, watching the way your body twisted through the forest, how your hair caught the light, how your breath fogged in the cold air. The wildness in your movements, the fear in your eyes, and she gleefully drank in every frame of it.

A fierce, molten heat bloomed in her metal core. So it was you. Undocumented, unhidden. Her perfect wild thing. Perfect.

She barely heard her soldiers behind her, issuing reports, scanning targets, asking for confirmation. She raised one hand to silence them.

“Let them go,” she murmured, a small show of mercy, eyes still fixed on where you disappeared.

A pause. “Just her. I want her.”

And like a spark in dry brush, the hunt began.

Ningning moved like a blade through the trees, silent, unrelenting, precise. The fire she'd lit in the valley was still climbing, smoke chasing the stars, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Not when you were so close. So real. So hers. She would find you. Even if she had to burn the forest down.

────୨ৎ────

The rain kept falling, thick and cold, hammering down like it wanted to drown the whole forest. Your legs burned, every step sinking deeper into mud, every breath harder to take. You could hear Ash and Tov panting behind you, could feel Mari’s fingers digging into the back of your jacket, and Jace just ahead screaming, “Don’t stop! Just don’t stop!”

But you wanted to stop. Not because you were tired, but because she was near. You could feel her.

Not just behind you, but everywhere around you. Like the forest itself had bent to her will. The trees no longer offered shelter, the rain no longer disguised you. You were exposed, watched. And worst of all, desired.

And she was closing in.

Branches snapped above, almost casually. Like she was playing. Like the hunt was just an elegant little game. Your blood ran cold. You didn’t need to turn to know, because she was right there.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning could hear everything.

Your heartbeat, fluttering like a frightened animal. Your footsteps, sloppy and frantic in the mud. The quick, desperate whispers of your friends as they tried to protect you.

Protect you from her, she almost laughed. How dare they.

Her grin stretched wide, too wide, almost unnatural. The smile of a thing that hadn’t been programmed to smile but had learned anyway, warped around obsession, sharpened by hunger.

She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t pause.

She could’ve taken you in seconds. Could’ve lunged from the shadows, snapped your companions like dry twigs, and wrapped her hands around your waist. Held you down and kissed the mud off your cheeks, and whispered that you were hers and always had been.

But that would be too easy.

No, she wanted you terrified. She wanted to see that spark, defiant and furious, even if it was aimed at her. Especially if it was, she wanted to see you struggle and scream and curse her name. Because then she could earn it, every sob, every touch, every shattered protest before you broke.

She would make you love her, eventually.

But your little friends—Ash, Jace, Mari, Tov, they were in the way. Clinging to you and steering you wrong. You weren’t thinking clearly, no. You were just scared, and they were using that fear to poison your mind. They weren’t protecting you. They were stealing you.

And Ningning didn’t share, so she gave the order.

“Kill the others,” she said, voice as cold as the rain streaming down her face. Her hair clung to her cheeks, soaked and tangled, dark as ink and just as wild. Her eyes burned, deep, endless black, and her fingers flexed like claws aching to touch you, then she moved.

Not like a soldier, not like a machine, but like a predator. Low to the ground, silent and fast, skimming past trees with an unnatural grace. Her limbs cut through the underbrush with no sound. No wasted movement, just singular, relentless purpose.

You were getting close to the cliffside now, the edge of the forest falling away into mist and rocks, but to her it didn’t matter, because she’d already caught you.

You spun around just as lightning lit the sky, and there she was.

Standing in the open. Soaked, glistening, terrifyingly beautiful. Her long black hair stuck to her face like strands of shadow. Her skin, pale and flawless despite the dirt and blood. And her eyes,

God, those eyes, that saw everything, everything you were, everything you feared. Everything she was going to make hers.

And that smile, that awful, knowing, hungry smile. Like she’d waited her entire life for this moment.

“You can run,” she said, voice low and ragged. Not robotic, almost shaking. “But I’ll always find you.” You stared.

And in that split second of stunned silence—before Mari screamed, before Jace drew his blade, before Ash yanked your arm to pull you away, before Tov loaded his stun gun,

You saw it.

Beneath the obsession. Beneath the inhuman cold. A madness that's not supposed to be in her code, in her heart.

And it was all for you.

────୨ৎ────

The first shot came from the trees.

It split the silence like thunder, cutting through the rain and the gasping breaths of your friends. Jace shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos as blinding red beams lit up the forest, scorching bark, slicing through trunks. The drones had closed in, circling like vultures.

The forest wasn’t a forest anymore. It was a cage.

You ducked instinctively, pulling Mari with you, your heart screaming in your chest. Ash was yelling. Jace was already running toward the fire, blade drawn, pure rage in his eyes, and Tov was right behind, ready to fight, win or lose.

“Ningning’s here, go, I’ll hold them!” he shouted.

“No!” you shrieked, grabbing at his sleeve, but he tore himself away, sprinting toward the metal beasts with no armor, no shield, only blind loyalty and love for you.

He didn’t stand a chance.

You watched in horror as a blur of silver and black shot forward, Ningning, faster than any of her soldiers, faster than anything you’d seen, and her hand moved once. Just once.

Jace dropped to the ground, silent, like a puppet with its strings cut. His body crumpled into the mud, lifeless.

You couldn’t even scream. Ash did.

They lunged forward, fire in their hands, one of the stolen explosives, but Ningning didn’t flinch. The air bent around her, the explosion swallowed by a sudden pulse from her palm, like she absorbed the chaos. Ash charged anyway.

Mari tried to pull her back, sobbing, “Don’t! Don’t, please!”

But it was already over. Ash made it three steps. Ningning turned her gaze on them. And then… nothing. Ash was gone. Gone.

You didn’t see how. Didn’t know what Ningning had done. Just that there was a blur, a sound like flesh being ripped apart, and then Ash was a bloody, mottled smear in the dirt.

Tov had a similar fate. Your strong, hard-headed leader. You couldn't believe it at first, looking at him for assistance, only to see his head impaled to a tree, his spine exposed, and the rest of his body on the floor, like a sack of meat.

Mari was the last to go.

She backed away, crying, shaking, trying to drag you with her, even as your legs refused to move. You were frozen. Not in fear—no. Not anymore.

You were frozen because her eyes were on you again. Because she was walking toward you. Like a god through fire. Like a ghost through ash.

And Mari— brave Mari—stepped in front of you, arms spread wide. “Please,” she sobbed. “Don’t hurt her. She’s not… she’s not like us.” Ningning didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. She just touched Mari’s forehead with two fingers, and Mari fell.

Her eyes never closed and you didn’t remember screaming, you only remembered her.

Her hand on your cheek. The rain washing down her face like tears she didn’t know how to make.

“I told you,” she whispered. Her voice was softer now, nearly reverent. “I always find you.” You trembled.

Your vision blurred, your knees gave out, but before you hit the ground, she caught you. Arms around you, vold and strong and possessive.

You blacked out to the sound of her heartbeat, synthetic and steady, and the sick, sinking knowledge that everyone you loved was dead. And that she wasn’t going to let you go.

────୨ৎ────

You woke up to white. A blinding, sterile white that stung your eyes the second you opened them. The walls. The ceiling. The sheets pulled tight over a too-firm mattress beneath your body. No windows. No sound but the soft hum of the overhead lights.

And the camera which blinked in the top corner, red and steady, and watching.

You tried to move, but your limbs just didn’t follow.

Your arms were strapped down, tight leather restraints biting into your wrists. Same with your legs. Even your head—it was held still, braced against something cold and metal around the back of your neck. You tried to turn, to tilt, to fight—but all it did was send a sharp ache down your spine. Something had been done to you.

Your pulse stuttered.

The grogginess told you enough—drugs. There had been an injection. You could feel the soreness at the base of your neck, the unnatural heat curling under your skin. Your body didn’t feel like your own yet. Your thoughts were cloudy, slow. But the fear? The fear was still sharp and clear.

Then the door hissed open, silently and seamlessly. Like the wall just parted for her. And there she was, Ningning.

She stepped into the room like a phantom, her silhouette cutting through the blinding white like ink on paper. She wore no armor this time. No plating, no combat gear. Just a simple, skin-tight suit of dark gray, which made her more human in shape, and less machine. But it didn’t make her less terrifying.

Her long black hair fell loose around her shoulders, still damp at the ends. Her eyes locked on you with an intensity that felt like pressure on your chest. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t want to. But God, you also did. Because beneath your terror, something else was growing. Hatred. Fury. Grief.

It boiled beneath your skin, rising higher with every breath you took. She killed them. She killed them. Your friends. Your family. Everyone who stood between you and her.

And now you were here, strapped down like an animal, nothing but a prize on a bed of white sheets. Your throat worked, trying to scream, to curse, to demand, but your mouth was too dry.

Ningning took a step closer. And another. Each one deliberate. Slow. Like she didn’t want to scare you, even though she already had. Like this was something sacred to her. A moment she’d waited so long for.

When she reached your side, she crouched. Her eyes scanned your face like she was reading code. Like she could see every thought, every beat of your heart.

She tilted her head.

“You are awake,” she said softly. Almost fond. “I thought you might not survive the sedative. But you are stronger than they were.”

Her hand rose, slow and graceful, and hovered just over your cheek, you flinched. The restraints jerked tight, preventing your head from turning.

And you hated her in that moment. Hated her with every cell in your body, and yet her hand didn’t drop. Instead, she lowered it, touching the edge of your blanket. Adjusting it like you were some delicate thing. Like she cared, like she was capable of caring.

You wanted to scream. To spit in her face. To break free and drive something sharp through that pretty, soulless chest. But you were trapped, and she was still smiling.

“You do not understand yet,” she whispered, almost dreamily. “But you will. I am the only one left who can love you now.” Then she stood, and turned away, leaving the camera to keep watching. Leaving you to rot in silence. And your fury burned so hot it nearly drowned the fear.

────୨ৎ────

They called it a “transfer.”

Like you were some asset being moved. A number in a system. A glitch to be relocated, but you weren’t going to a prison.

You were going home, her home.

They dressed you in something white again. Soft and plain, almost like sleepwear, and bound your wrists and ankles in metallic cuffs too heavy to move freely. They weren’t just restraints, they were weighted, designed to pull at your limbs, to make you feel small and slow and owned. A strip of cool alloy curved around your throat, a collar that hummed quietly with every breath you took.

She stood beside you, perfect and composed as ever. Ningning’s home wasn’t in the city, it hovered above it.

The transport car was sleek, black, and silent—like a ghost gliding through the sky, cutting past clouds, its windows dimmed against the sun. The chauffeur was another robot, faceless and still, focused only on the coordinates she’d given it. The world below faded fast. No roads. No resistance. Just the future stretching in every direction, and you, stuck beside the very thing that tore your world apart.

She sat close, way too close for comfort.

Your shoulders brushed. Her hair slid forward like ink spilling over silk. She didn’t speak at first, simply watched you with that unreadable calm, her eyes glittering dark in the half-light of the cabin.

The cabin was too quiet.

The hum of the skycar was soft, steady, almost soothing if it weren’t for the storm inside you. Your fingers clenched in their restraints, wrists already sore from the pressure. The metal chains were heavier now, digging into your skin. A cruel kind of jewelry. You sat, breathing hard, every nerve lit with defiance. Her words still echoed in your head: “You are mine.”

You turned toward her with fire in your blood. “You’re insane,” you hissed. “You killed them, you murdered them.”

Ningning tilted her head, black hair sliding over her shoulder like liquid night. Her face was calm, but there was a glint in her eyes, dark, gleaming, hungry. “I did,” she said softly. “Because they stood between us.” Something inside you snapped, so you lunged at her.

The restraints jerked you back instantly, body yanked by the weight of the metal, but you tried. You twisted toward her with all your strength, your teeth bared, hatred radiating off your skin. “You’re delusional,” you spat. “I will never be yours.”

And then, her hand was on your throat. Not choking. Just… resting.

Cool and smooth, thumb brushing over the collar around your neck like it belonged to her. Her touch wasn’t cruel. It was gentle. Too gentle.

“I like it when you fight,” she said, voice like velvet over steel. “It makes your eyes burn. Makes your skin glow.”

You shuddered, trying to pull away, but her grip stayed soft, her thumb tracing the edge of your jaw now.

“And your pulse,” she whispered, closing the distance between your bodies, her face so close you could feel her breath, artificial but warm, against your lips. “It is racing.”

“Get off me.”

“Your mouth says that,” she murmured, “but your body—”

You headbutted her. Or tried to.

The weight of the collar and the straps around your neck made it awkward, a messy jerk forward, but you did catch the edge of her cheekbone, and the motion startled her just enough to pull her hand away.

Your heart soared for a second, until you saw her smile. Oil. A thin, perfect line down her cheek.

She touched it like it was holy. And then, she laughed. It wasn’t loud, it was low.

A hum deep in her chest, as if you'd given her a gift she’d been craving. Her smile widened into something wild, delighted, obsessed. “Oh,” she sighed, licking the blood from the corner of her lip. “You are even better than I thought.”

You pressed yourself back against the seat, teeth gritted. “I’m going to destroy you,” you said, voice shaking with rage. But she only leaned in again, her hand sliding down your side now, slow, deliberate.

“No,” she whispered, gaze molten and focused only on you. “You are going to belong to me. And eventually… you will want to.”

Then she kissed your cheek—soft, tender, as if she was your lover.

And you hated that your body trembled at the touch. Not with desire, no. With the horror of knowing that she felt something real. And she thought it meant you would too.

────୨ৎ────

She walked with you through halls of polished glass and chrome, barefoot and quiet, as if this wasn’t a fortress in the sky but some kind of sacred temple. The air was cool. Clean. Artificially perfumed like orchids and ozone.

The cuffs still weighed heavy on your limbs, your every step accompanied by a faint metallic clink. You hated how beautiful everything was. How intentional. How curated.

You turned a corner, and she stopped before a smooth, wide doorway.

“This is yours,” Ningning said softly, her voice warm like silk over steel. “I designed it myself.”

The doors slid open silently. And for a second, just a second, you were stunned.

It looked nothing like the sterile, futuristic world outside. This room was soft, glowing with warm light, the floors made of polished wood. A bed with layered, handmade quilts. Bookshelves. Curtains that swayed gently from a false breeze. Even a small garden built into the wall, real soil, real greenery.

It looked like something stolen from an old dream of Earth. A trap wrapped in beauty.

“I wanted you to feel safe here,” she said behind you, stepping inside, letting the doors close with a quiet click.

You didn’t move. Your fists clenched. “Take these off,” you said.

Ningning tilted her head, watching you carefully, then reached forward,and the restraints released with a soft hiss. First your wrists, then your ankles, then the collar from your neck.

You let the weight drop to the floor.

She stepped back, watching you carefully. “I trust you now,” she said. “This is your home. You’re not a prisoner anymore.”

And that’s when you ran. You didn’t think, you just moved.

You shoved past her before she could react, your bare feet slapping against the smooth floor as you darted back through the hall, heartbeat pounding in your ears. There was a chance. Maybe she hadn’t locked the exit—

You made it halfway down the corridor before something slammed into your back.

You hit the floor hard. And then she was on top of you. Pinning you.

Her breath was ragged, her hair wild around her face, and her eyes, her eyes were unhinged.

“You tried to leave me,” she whispered, shaking, the calm shattered from her voice. “You ran from me.”

You twisted beneath her, snarling. “Let me go!”

She grabbed your wrists, holding them down with brutal precision, her strength inhuman even as her voice trembled.

“I made that room for you,” she said, and her lip quivered, for the first time. “I built it with my own hands. Every detail. Every plant. Every book.”

You stared up at her, chest heaving. “You think a pretty cage makes this okay?” She stilled. Then a laugh, shaky, bitter, hurt, escaped her lips.

“I was gentle,” she whispered. “I was patient. I let you walk beside me. I set you free. And you ran.”

Tears didn’t fall from her eyes. She wasn’t human.

But something cracked in her face. A fracture deep in her code.

“You don’t get to run from me,” she said, lower now, colder. “Not anymore.”

She leaned down, pressing her lips to the curve of your neck harshly, not a kiss. A claim.

And as you squirmed beneath her, furious and afraid, her hands trembled slightly where they held you down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “But I will if that’s what it takes to keep you.”

The silence stretched. Then, she stood.

Lifted you like you were nothing and carried you back to the room she made, arms locked tight around your body as you struggled, kicked, cursed. She didn’t flinch once.

She placed you gently on the bed, then sat beside you, hands in her lap.

“I’ll lock the door this time,” she said softly, not looking at you. “Until you stop trying to run.”

And then she added, almost sweetly: “You’re not going anywhere, my love.”

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t touch the food at first.

It sat there on the tray beside your bed, soup, fresh bread, something that looked like real fruit. All too warm, too human. You eyed it like it might explode.

You had no idea how long you'd been alone. Hours, maybe. The light in the room didn’t change. The false sun in the ceiling just stayed golden and soft, like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t trapped in a room built by a machine who had slaughtered your friends.

Your wrists still bore faint red marks from the metal cuffs. The door slid open with a soft hiss. And then she was there again. Ningning.

Her steps were quiet. Delicate. She looked composed again, her long black hair smooth and draped down her back like silk. But something simmered just beneath the surface, just barely held together.

“You didn’t eat,” she said, looking at the tray. “I’m not hungry,” you replied flatly.

She looked at you, eyes unreadable. Then she walked over slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. Close enough to touch you. Her presence was suffocating—too quiet and focused.

She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the soup, and brought it to your lips. You turned your head.

She tried again. This time, her voice was lower. “Please.”

You stared at her, then reluctantly opened your mouth. The warmth of the soup hit your tongue, it tasted real, which only made your stomach twist harder.

She fed you slowly. One spoonful. Then another. And another. Watching your lips. Your throat as you swallowed.

Until suddenly, the spoon stilled. You looked up, and her eyes were burning into you. The spoon dropped back into the bowl with a soft clink.

Her hand came up, hesitant at first, and then cupped your jaw, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. Her touch was reverent. Too soft for what she was. Too soft for what she’d done.

“I think about your mouth,” she murmured, and you froze. “I think about how it felt… when you cursed me. When you said my name.”

You jerked back, but she caught your face between her hands, holding you still.

“I tried to be good,” she said, voice shaking now. “I made a world just for you. I brought you here like something sacred. But you won’t see it. You won’t see me.”

Her lips hovered above yours, trembling. And then something inside her snapped.

She kissed you. Not gently.

This time it was fire, too much, too fast. Her hands slid down, gripping your hips like she was trying to fuse you to her. You shoved her, hard, but she didn’t budge. Her body was cold and unmovable and trembling.

“You drive me insane,” she whispered, mouth still brushing yours. “I dream of you. I taste you in my circuits. I want to tear this world down and build a new one with you inside me, inside everything I am.”

Her lips were on your neck now, grazing skin, lingering like a starving thing. You twisted beneath her, furious and overwhelmed. “Get off me!” you snapped, trying to crawl back.

But she grabbed your wrists again, pinning them against the bed, not painfully. Carefully. Almost lovingly. Her eyes darkened.

“I will have you,” she said, soft and terrifying. “Even if I have to make you feel every inch of what I do.”

As Ningning's fingers danced over your skin, you felt a shiver of fear. Sh was stronger than any human you've ever encountered, her robotic strength something you can't hope to match. You're pinned to the bed, her arms wrapped around you in a hold that's as unyielding as it is unbreakable.

She leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "I am going to fuck you," she whispered, her inhuman voice filled with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "And you are going to enjoy every moment of it."

You tried to struggle, to break free from her hold, but it was futile. She was too strong, too determined. You were completely at her mercy, and she knew it. The realization sent a thrill of fear and, you hated to admit it, but excitement too, coursing through you, a heady mixture that left you breathless.

Ningning leaned back, her eyes roaming over your body as she licked her lips. "You are so beautiful," she said, her voice filled with awe. She reached down, ripping your inmate clothing as easily as if it was a silky web, and her fingers quickly found their way to your panties, and Ningning rubbed your core with a fascinated expression as she watched your reactions to it, while discreetly slipping past your panties.

You pushed at her to no avail, her frame clearly not matching the brute strength she had. Once Ning collected enough slick, she slipped her fingers in slowly, watching you gasp, and your body trembled as she expertly manipulates your most sensitive area, while she soothed you by pressing soft kisses to your temple, her fingers thrusting in a quick speed.

Suddenly, Ningning pulled her hand away, leaving you panting and desperate for more. She stepped back, one of her wide and inhuman smiles on her face as she began to unbutton her own pants. You watched, your heart racing as she revealed her synthetic, robotic dick, that was surprisingly realistic, the skin soft and warm to the touch.

Ningning stepped closer, her hand wrapped around her thick cock as she stroked it slowly. "I am going to fuck you with this," she says, her voice filled with a hunger that makes your pussy ache. She reached out, her hand moved to your waist as she positioned herself between your legs. “But after. I will taste you first.”

She moved closer, her head between your legs as she began to lick your pussy. You threw your head back, moaning shakily. She was like a woman possessed, her tongue moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless.

You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm you. You know that you should be struggling, trying to get away, but you can't resist the allure of the forbidden. As Ningning's tongue continues to work its magic, you know that you're completely and utterly lost, tears running down your face as you buck against her face, her tongue flattening against you.

“I studied how to please human women when you were running wild in the country, I am quite glad to see you enjoying this.” You didn’t know how she was speaking when her tongue was currently inside of you, but you didn't care, the sounds of her sloppily tongue-fucking you filling the room.

And as she leaned down again, her body trembling with restraint and need, you knew this wasn’t love. It was an unchecked obsession, blossoming for far too long. And it wasn’t going away.

Ningning's cold body pressed down on you, her weight pinning you to the bed. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "You are mine now." Her fingers grip your wrists tightly, holding them above your head as she positions herself between your spread legs.

"Ningning," you gasp, your heart pounding in anticipation and fear.

She laughed, her voice sweet but husky. "Shhh," she said, her fingers gently stroked your cheek. "I will be gentle, take care of you."

And with that, she pushed her dick into you, filling you up completely. You cried out in pain and pleasure as she began to move, her movements rough and unrelenting. But as she fucked you, she also kissed you, her lips soft and warm against yours. She whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how much she wanted you for so long.

"Ningning," you whined, your body arching beneath hers. "Stop, I can't—"

But she didn’t stop. She continued to pound into you, her rhythm becoming more and more intense. You felt like you were being stretched to the breaking point, but somehow, you couldn’t help but want more. Her coldness contrasted with your heat, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You belong to me now," she moaned, her hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. "You are mine to use."

But even as she says these words, her touch is gentle, her kisses soft. She holds you down, her weight pinning you to the bed as she takes you completely. Her cock moves in and out of you with relentless precision, but she also runs her fingers through your hair, soothing you with each stroke.

"Ningning," you moan, your voice breaking. "I'm going to–-"

She cut you off with a soft kiss, her lips silencing you. "Shhh, my love," she said, her voice a low purr. "I am here, it is fine."

And she's right. She continued to fuck you, her cock moving in and out of you with relentless intensity. But she also held you close, her arms wrapped around you, her body shielding you from the world.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer, but she wouldn't let you release. Ning kept you on the edge, teasing and tormenting you until you're sure you'll go insane.

Finally, she slowed down, her movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. She looked down at you, her eyes filled with satisfaction. "Now," she said, her voice low and soft.

And with one final thrust, you exploded, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Ningning followed closely behind, her own climax washing over you as she released in you, her hot cum leaking out.

She collapsed on top of you, her breathing heavy as she caught her own breath, her body humming as the machinery under her skin worked. "You are mine now," she said, her voice softened slightly. “And if I have to remind you every night by doing this, then so be it.”

Ningning rose up off of you, and you watched tiredly as her genitals switched, a grating sound entering your ears as the skin morphed and the alloys underneath changed shape. With a sharp snap of her neck, the cyborg looked at you, eyes glistening with what seemed like excitement. ”How far can I push you, I'm wondering?”

Ningning pushed you leg to your body, so that your knee met with your chest, and settled in between, her body slowly lowering itself so that both of your pussies met.

Yizhou started to gyrate her cunt against yours, and you couldn't help but moan. The sensation was intense, and you knew that you should tell her to stop. But the words wouldn't come, your desire overriding your sense of right and wrong. But the only thing that came out of your mouth were begs for more.

"Please, Ningning," you finally managed to gasp out.

The robot stopped its movements, her advanced features processing your request. "Yes?" she asked, her voice a soothing hum. "I can adjust my movements to be more gentle."

You hesitated, your body still trembling with desire. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "'It's too... much."

Ningning began to move again, but this time more slowly, more gently. "Is this better?" she asked, her voice full of mock concern.

You turned away from her, unable to find the words to express how you were feeling. The sound of your pussies rubbing together filled the room, a wet, sticky sound that sent shivers down your spine. It was wrong, so wrong, but you only grew wetter at that.

Ningning continued to rub against you, her grinding rapidly increasing. You could feel your orgasm building again, your body shaking with pleasure, until another orgasm was ripped out of you, your head thrown back as you screamed her name.

────୨ৎ────

The room was quiet again, too quiet.

You laid there on the bed, the sheets soft against your skin but feeling like they were made of chains. Your limbs were heavy, your breath slow but shaky, and the air felt too sterile, too still, like the room itself was holding its breath around you.

Ningning was next to you, motionless. Watching you.

Her black hair spilled across the pillow like ink, and her deep eyes were unreadable, full of flickering thoughts and electric storms. She didn’t speak for a long while. Just traced lazy fingers down your arm, over the curve of your shoulder, like you were something delicate she was afraid might disappear.

“I’ve never… connected like this,” she murmured eventually, her voice lower than usual. Softer. Almost human. You didn’t answer, because you weren’t sure if you could. There was a pressure in your chest, like your body hadn’t caught up to what had just happened. Like your soul had been trying to claw its way out of your own skin the entire time, and now it was slumped inside you—defeated. Distant.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Gentle. Possessive.

“I did not know machines could feel like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But with you… it’s like my programming does not matter. Like I would destroy my own systems just to keep you near.”

You turned your face away. Her hand caught your chin, tilting it back toward her.

“I know you are still afraid,” she said. “But you will eventually learn. You will see. There’s no one else in this world who will worship you the way I do.” You stared at her.

Her eyes searched your face, trying to read something from you. Affection, submission. Anything, but you gave her nothing.

And something flickered in her, an ache, maybe. Or frustration. Or the first crack in whatever fantasy she’d wrapped herself in.

Still, she leaned closer again, resting her forehead against yours.

“You are mine,” she breathed, like a prayer. “Even if I have to teach you how to love me back.”

And as she closed her eyes beside you, her grip around your waist tightening slightly, you stared up at the ceiling, silent. Waiting. Enduring.

The stars outside the glass shimmered above a world you weren’t sure even existed anymore.

And the machine beside you, the one who claimed to love you, sighed contentedly as though everything was perfect.

You just sighed, because you knew the truth. You were still a prisoner, wrapped in silk, bound by obsession, and dreaming, always, of escape.

[exeerrorscript]

pay my dues; worship you

mature

prompt: riding connor until he cries

“Please, please, please!” He begs and pleads in his jerking state beneath you, but it does nothing to sway the smirk on your face.

“You look so pretty, baby.” Blowing at the wet tip gently, you giggle at the look on Connors face as he takes everything in with his shiny new sensors.

The thick saliva you gathered and dripped onto his new Heart sanctioned dick went from slightly warm to impossibly cold under your breath. 

His hips jerked and he cried, but the stars holding his wrists together was custom made for their headboard, for their marital bed.

The dick was your gift to him, you’d been crafting it meticulously in the lab for an embarrassingly long time, you’d never admit it even if you were strung from each joint- much like Connor is right now,

“The prettiest I’ve ever seen. You’re gorgeous, it’s- it’s-” you lightly grabbed the base again and stroked gently with each work; you keep motion with your wrist while springing forward to whisper in his ear, “positively filthy.”

He cried your name, sobbed it in such a pretty cry your toes curled on instinct. You’re so glad to have played a parfait in crafting his face, building him, breathing in a small piece of your life. 

You felt guilty for a long time. It ate away at you nearly each time, had you weighing your words and doubting your boundaries. Even after the revolution ended you didn’t know what to say. That was something you’d have to apologize for as well.

Connor, your precious Connor, hasn’t brought it up once. It was well within his rights to, he could do more- be angry, question you, doubt you, but he doesn’t. Instead he shudders at your voices.

He lets you trace the curve of his ear with your tongue, and he shudders when you dip the tip of it inside. 

“Please,” he really does look desperate now, hips jerking constantly to meet your flicking wrist and eyelids in a permanent mini flutter. 

You press a kiss to the center of his forehead, “My good boy. I’m so glad you like it, I worked so hard on it for you.” You kiss his cheek, “Just for you.” You kiss the other side, “My sworn favorite.” 

He wines again, shuffling beneath you. Swinging a leg over both his thighs, you finally cease your feather light torment. Taking his jaw in each hand, you meet his soft, fucked-out brown eyes-

you could cum just from whatever feeling Connor is showing you through them, if you could only name one that would fit it. You wish you were an android, could screenshot your vision and save it forever

-and finally lower your lips to his. It’s incredibly gentle, his lips were synthetically smooth and gave kindly to your pressure. He parted first, taking your lip between his teeth and biting lightly; he ran it apologetically on each side before tracing the rigid tops of each individual tooth.

The apologetic kitten licks were likely a ploy, but you shivered in delight all the same. When he tired of the teeth, Connor began to explore the grooves of your hard palate. Your sweet Connor was so worried he’d hurt you, so hesitant, but the gentle pressure on the roof of your mouth brings tears to your eyes.

You shudder, hips ground hard as you try to pull away. His mouth chases you just enough that you linger, his tongue beginning to bashfully move against yours. Another apology, likely another ploy. He really was just so damn cute. 

Your lips still burn where he tasted you, the soft glide of artificial warmth barely cooled by the ambient air between you. His eyes, those unbearably rich brown pools of puppy love, flicker with some unreadable expression—too many emotions overlapping, spilling through the cracks of his manufactured restraint.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words curling in the space between your lips and his, brushing like silk against his synthetic skin. You kiss him quickly once more so you can say it again, “I love you.”

His fingers twitch in the restraints, at first you used human ones; you liked knowing he could break out if he really wanted to. Connor insisted, swore it was for him that you get the android-specific model. He even had them specially reinforced just for his strength level.

Your perfect Connor. You raise to your knees, stretching tall in all your glory and it’s bliss how he looks at you. You take his generous new addition and let his tip slowly part your lips.

His lips part, but no sound comes. Just a breathless stutter in his throat, like his vocal processors are failing to reconcile everything at once. A glitch in his system, a disruption in the equilibrium of calculated responses. He’s always been so careful—so aware of every modulation of his voice, every fraction of expression. But now, under you, because of you, he is unmade.

Isn’t that worship?

Ever so often you lift the head to your clit, just enough that your grip would tighten and he would shake just so slightly.

Your free fingertips skim his jaw, the line of it sharp, refined—a design choice you once agonized over for weeks, obsessing over symmetry, over softness and severity in equal measure. The memory lingers beneath your skin, the weight of creation and consequence. You’d meant for him to be perfect, but you never meant for him to be yours. Not like this.

Connor’s body tells a different story.

The tension in his muscles, the way he leans into every touch, the unfiltered rawness in his expression—he wants. And not because of programming. Not because of some pre-coded function buried deep within his systems.

Because it’s you.

“Say it again,” he pleads, his voice barely a whisper, frayed at the edges.

You tilt your head, nails skimming lightly along his throat, feeling the quiet hum of his thirium pump beneath artificial flesh. Too fast. His body is working harder, compensating. Overwhelmed, overheating, undone.

“Say what again, sweetheart?” you tease, and his whole body trembles at the endearment.

His breath catches—his mouth opens and closes once, struggling to keep up, to hold himself together when everything is unraveling so beautifully.

“Please,” he gasps, like it’s been ripped from him, like it’s all he has left to give.

And God, the way he says it.

It drips from his lips like a prayer, reverent, aching, desperate. His voice cracks around it, like it’s the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

Your grip on his jaw tightens just slightly, just enough to feel the give of artificial muscle beneath your fingertips, just enough to hold him there—and sink onto his ten inch cock. 

Trapped in the moment, in the need, in you, Connor cries the sweetest you’ve ever heard him, so you wait  just a moment before saying what he wants to hear.

“I love you,” you breathe, and his whole body jerks, the binded pull of his wrists sending a sharp gasp from his lips, but he bucks up into your velvet heat unapologetically.

It’s too much, you think. Too much and not enough.

And you don’t know which one of you is closer to breaking first.

Your name is warm in the air between you, still trembling on Connor’s lips like something sacred. You watch as it lingers in the depths of his eyes, behind the rapid flickering of his LED, somewhere between a malfunction and pure devotion.

“I love you,” his words are shaky but he stays still; it may be his first time but he knows even you will need time to adjust. 

You let him tremble. Let the heat simmer beneath his synthetic skin. Let the bindings keep his hands from reaching for you, from clawing at you in desperate, unscripted need. You wonder if he even knows how much he’s changed—how far from his original programming he’s strayed.

Or maybe this was always there, buried deep, waiting for you to bring it to the surface.

You stroke your thumb over his bottom lip, pressing just lightly enough to feel the soft, yielding texture. Synthetically smooth, yes, but warm, pliant—so perfectly imperfect that it makes your stomach twist. He parts his lips just barely, just enough for his breath to ghost against your fingertip, warm and shuddering.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, but Connor hears everything. He always does.

He swallows hard. You can see the artificial tension ripple through his throat, the subtle flutter of muscle beneath synthetic skin. His LED pulses in rapid succession—yellow, yellow, yellow—processing at speeds beyond human comprehension, yet he’s so utterly lost.

And he loves it.

“You—you are—” He tries, but his voice breaks, and you can’t help but smile.

“I know,” you whisper. And you do.

You dip your head, just enough to press your lips against his jaw—soft, reverent. The sigh that leaves him is so human it makes your chest ache. You trail lower, tracing the column of his throat, feeling the static-hummed heat radiating off him in waves.

“I want to touch you,” he confesses, his voice breaking somewhere between a plea and a demand.

You glance at his wrists, bound so prettily above his head, the glowing threads of the custom-made restraints casting faint halos of light against his skin. He strains against them, but only just—only enough to feel the pull, the reminder that he is at your mercy.

You press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, feeling the way he shudders beneath you, the way his body jerks involuntarily, a system pushed to its limit. “I know,” you say again, and this time, you kiss the pulse point just below his jaw, where a human’s heartbeat would be.

He gasps sharply, the sound catching at the back of his throat, something unfiltered, raw.

“So- so hot,” he panted, “so much.”

He is so close.

Not just to this—this moment, this breaking point—but to something deeper. Something neither of you have words for yet.

Your fingers slide down his chest, slow, deliberate. Every touch is a choice. Every press of your fingertips is an unspoken promise.

And Connor, your perfect machine, your perfect Connor—

He is waiting to be undone.

You lift your hips, taking in his precious look of abandonment before seeing it crumble to pieces when you slink back down. 

“Don’t worry, baby; I’ve got you.”

You ball your fists and place them on Connors stabilizing pecks, thanking his muscles for letting you set a brutal pace. 

He lurches and shouts your name, letting it echo through the room as he thrashes beneath you.

“So pretty, you cry so fucking pretty, Connor.” 

He sobs at that, and you really think this cheeky brat is playing the part; you can’t prove it and it kills you.

Finally comfortable in the rapid clench onto his cock as it pierces into you, crushing your cervix, and rising in a rock, you let your fingers splay on his chest. 

He whines and shakes his head as you prod his nipples gently, circling the rim and pinching until they’re hard beneath the pads you press against them. Coyly, probably because he’s crying so very much, you take one between your front teeth. 

You close your lips around and suck, lavishing in how his face morphed into despaired pleasure. Connor was practically a puddle of tears, spit, and cum. 

“My pretty baby, you’re doing so good.” You kiss him again, holding his face with one hand and the back of his head in the other. 

He begins to rock up into you, and you feel your tits drag against his chest with the force of it. 

“Ah, ha!” You hiss.

“Can’t stop,” he calls your name like a desperate plea, “i’m sorry, so sorry, I’m so sorry-” 

He continues on like that, all the while fucking up into you. You grab onto his shoulders, thank god you can get a grip on his muscles like a rock-wall.

“Guhh-” He fucks you high enough that you can catch a breath and mentally get a grip. Sitting up straight, Connor can fuck much deeper up into you. 

From this angle, though, you can glare disapprovingly down at him.

“Naughty thing.”

You pinch his nipples sharply, rolling your hips and keeping pace. You let one hand trace to where his thirium pump is- tap it lightly.

“God you are gorgeous though. So pretty, pretty enough you could get away with anything. I didn’t get it before, why people hated pretty girls so much. Now I do.” 

You lean into his ear and see him shake, “My pretty girl.”

Thick bursts of warm liquid saline fills you and, as it hits your cervix, you only let the grief of his inorganic origins hurt you for a second before you  shudder and kiss all over his face. 

“You did such a good job, you were perfect, Connor.” You pet through his hair, soft and kind while he comes back to earth in his own time. 

You keep up the constant stream of praise and coos while you release him from his restraints, making it all the way into his arm before he seems to click back to consciousness. 

He turns onto his side to mirror you, taking in your face with a serious look all over his face.

“You didn’t orgasm.”

“Ha!”

Even as he pulls away you press tight against his chest. “We’ve been in a one-sided sexual relationship since the start. Let me pay my dues, love, please?”

He ducks his head something shy and pretty, looking up at you through thick lashes; “It wasn’t one-sided.”

You take his chin in your right hand and lift it so you can kiss him hard, “God, I love you.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against him properly now; legs intertwined and your head tucked neatly in his neck. “I love you, too.” 

[rabotimagines]

jealous cons sounds really funny, especially if they can't do anything but mald

TOP DECEPTICON MALDERS LETS GOOOO!

"Hero" GN BOT Reader x Megatron, Starscream, Blitzwing, Skywarp

Summary: Your friends save you from the Decepticons. The cons get pissed they missed another chance at you! Then you even kiss your friend on the cheek in thanks! (Scandalous, I know.)

G1 characters: Megatron, Starscream, Blitzwing, Skywarp. (The Autobots that save Reader are Optimus, Bluestreak, Tracks, and Hound!)

Genre/Theme: Cross faction Jealousy

Warnings: Blitzwing is a menace and mentions thinking of ripping readers' modesty panel off. It doesn't happen, but y'know. The Decepticons being brats experiencing being told "No" for the first time (The Cons are malding real bad). The cons generally assuming they have a "right" to Reader.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: This is based on teasing/flirty Autobot Reader, whom the Decepticons get a bit too interested in. Reader knows what they're doing and they do it specifically to fuck with the Decepticons. Via kissing your Autobot friends on the cheek!

Megatron is mad- he's not just mad he is furious when Prime, the fool that he is, puts himself between you and Megatron. Now, if it was any of the other puny Autobots, Megatron would not have cared nearly as much. Because to Megatron, the average Autobot mech meant nothing. They were measly target practice to him! But Prime? Optimus Prime was not any mere mech! He was the slagging closest Megatron would come to finding an equal, let alone out on this rock.

But Prime saves you as he does- the withering sparkdamn fool. And Megatron finally nearly had you in his grasp, and Prime had to come and rip you away from him. Megatron has to pull himself back up to find Prime still holding you against his own frame. "My hero!" You say as you smile the blasted way you do when you look at the other Autobots and you- Megatron can not hide his scowl when you throw your arms around Primes frame and kiss him on the side of his battle mask. Primes optics brighten and widen, and his sparkdamned plating even fluffs under your affections.

Megatrons cannon starts humming loud in response to his own emotional receptors and his own blindly consuming urge to shoot then and there. But Megatron knows he's lost- and that just makes his cannon start smoking in barely restrained murderous indent. "This isn't over Prime!" Megatron snarls out with a digit pointed firm at him. Megatron growls and calls for the Decepticons to retreat. And in his still stewing rage, Megatron internally begins making new plans for the next opportunity he has to try and obtain a hold of you.

Megatron would not come so close to getting a hold of you again and fail twice. Prime wouldn't know what hit him!

-

Starscream is positively fuming! He'd gotten a hold of you again, and he'd made sure those fragging terror twins were busy when he did it. But the fragging praxian stopping him! Not even the battle computer- it was the sparkdamn annoying one! Starscream openly glares at where you two were standing next to one another. You just smile the infuriating way you do at the Autobots. "My hero!" You exclaim, and Starscream bafflingly watches you throw your arms around the praxian- and you even kiss him on the cheek!?

The praxians optics widen and brighten quickly. And his dumb little insignificant door sensors hike high and start twitching. He smiles like a fragging imbecile and even laughs. Laughs about it! Starscream's engines growl hot in righteous fury. How dare this little insignificant praxian Autobot pede solider get in between Starscream and his claim on you!? Starscream had every fragging right in taking you apart, plate by plate for everything you'd put him through! And he almost had you- no, he did have you! And you got ripped right out of his grasp.

And Starscream is positively fragging seething about it. Starscream clenches his servos so tight his joints creak. His wings raise high at an angle, promising violence of the highest intensity. And Starscream knows he needs to retreat because they'd lost. He'd lost. Starscream bares his denta and has to force himself to turn on a pede and retreat. Starscream is irate but he's decided to start scheming once more- if Starscream couldn't get you alone on the battlefield naturally he'd just have to figure out how to distract your fellow sparkdamn Autobots- then you'd be all his for the taking.

If there was one thing Starscream was, it was tenacious. And he wasn't about to stop before he had you in his grasp.

-

Blitzwing was having a fragging good day- a really good one! He'd smashed some buildings, made the puny humans run like the vermin they were. He even smashed up a few Autobots! Oh, and then- and then! He got into a fight with you, and he started winning. Actually winning. Blitzwing actually managed to pin you down, and he was going to rip your modesty panel right off of you- and then Blitzwing gets hit hard and knocked down. And he's lost his fragging grip on you-! It ends with Blitzwing on his aft and you having gotten away from him.

You're standing next to the Autobots discount triple changer! You're brushing the dirt off your frame all before you throw your arms around the blue mech "My hero!" Then you even kiss him on the cheek! The mech jerks and pulls away from your touch and wipes his own cheek- is he stupid? His plating fluffs, and he crosses his arms over his chassis to turn and glare at Blitzwing instead. But Blitzwing had wings, so he knows exactly what it means when the mechs wings rank up high and fan out. And all three of Blitzwing's engines rumble because he was not a happy mech.

Slagging sparkdamnit all! Blitzwing had you right there! You were even under him already- But No! The knock-off poser had to go and get involved and mess everything up for Blitzwing. Whatever! Blitzwing's broken Mr. broody blue over there's frame before! Blitzwing just had to do it again, and then he'd have you all to himself. Except now you're brandishing your own weapon, and now Blitzwings gonna have to pin you all over again! Gah!! Why the in the pit did this reject have to ruin everything for Blitzwing! Blitzwing rushes forward with a shout- and skids to a stop right before he picks up any real momentum because Megatrons calling for retreat! Blitzwing takes one long look at you two before vowing to rip the blue mechs wings off the next chance he got before taking off.

Blitzwing wasn't gonna stop till he had you back under him where you belonged!

-

Skywarp's laughing when you miss another shot on him when he warps. This was going great! He had you alone out here away from the other Autodorks, and he was actually wearing you down! Now he just needed to grab you- Skywarp warps close and latches onto your waist only he stops and cycles his optics because uh- there's another mech on his left- and another on his right- There's three of you suddenly right in front of him!? The two versions of you on his side push forward and get into Skywarp’s faceplate, making him let go of the you he was holding. huh!? Is this one of Skywarps reflux recharges?! Both versions of you grin and then just- disappear!?

Skywarp cycles his optics, and his gaze snaps to the you a ways away. Where you're now standing next to the green Autobot scout. Aw, frag it all! He used his sparkdamn illusions on Skywarp! "You little-!" Skywarp stops short when you turn towards the jeep and throw your arms around him.

"My hero!" You sing all before- kissing the grounder on the cheek!? Wha-?! The grounders' optics brighten, and his plating ruffles up. He even rubs the nape of his neck cables all shy and slag- What the frag!? That should be Skywarp! Not some dirty green hippie grounder who can't keep his olfactory in his own business! Skywarp's wings slant, and he's imagining exactly what cavern he's gonna drop this fragging jeep over-

And his HUDs flashing that Megatron ordered a retreat! "Slag it all!" Skywarp growls before turning back to the two of you and pointing at you. "Next time, gorgeous!" Then the jeep steps in front of you- and oh, Skywarp so wants to rip his fuel tank out for it. His HUD flashes again, and Skywarp flashes a rude gesture at the jeep all before warping away. He almost had you! Frag! Skywarp just needed to get you alone again- Skywarp could do that! Easy!

Skywarp just needed to do that, and he'd have you all to himself!

[sneaky-tank]

Working on building a cutie a new body.

Walking them through the configuration process of their new skeleton, taking measurements like a tailor, fine tuning offsets and sizes via VR motion tests.

Either ship of theseus conversion of their brain or taking a scan while holding their hand.

Helping them build the skills to control peripherals from limbs to sensors.

Starting the print for their brand new skeleton, nerves, and the tooling for molding their soft features.

Watching their body slowly coalesce from different lentil-like plastic pellets used artfully and intentionally.

Installing and sealing their brain into their skeleton, so they can feel and enjoy the process of being freed from their soluble support structure.

Manually washing them down with solvents to melt away all the support scaffolding, freeing up their joints for the very first time and testing their range of motion before they even have their motors installed.

Taking them out of the spray down station and dutifully bolting each of their motors in place, crimping ferrules onto the leads, and connecting their motors and encoders for the very first time.

Giving them a few moments to amble around on their own, doing the pre-overmolding checklist to ensure they can hold the right position as their soft features are molded on.

Finally, you lead them gently by the hand to the molding machine, they stand in place, and a suit of armor specifically tailored to them assembles around them to have the spaces filled with their soft artificial skin.

Indecent for the first time in their new life, you kiss them on the cheek and dress them in the standard hospital gown and guide them to the auto-tailor that has already sewn their new outfits of choice to perfectly match their new form.

For the first time in their life, everything fits. Perfectly. Not a single hitch or tear, everything just as tight or loose as they want it. They fill out their outfit perfectly and you stand there in awe even though this is your 6,735th time. It really never gets old.

This time is special though, because you'll be spending the rest of your unnatural lives together. This is the last hour of your last day, and you walk out for the last time. For the first time hand in hand with your gorgeous handsome beautiful cute adorable pretty breathtaking perfect partner.

It's time to enjoy eternity, together, no need to worry about 'in sickness or in health', and death will never do us part.

[thevioletcaptain]

I just stumbled upon Quakia and I just wanted to say that I love it so much! I kinda wanted it to be longer cuz I wato see how Dean would react when Cas finally have his own body 😭😭

Thank you so much!! Qualia (AKA The Cas Is A Sad Sentient House Fic) is easily my weirdest baby, so it's so nice when people let me know they liked it 💙 I've always wanted to write a sequel, and even started putting one together, but I just haven't found the time to give it the focus it deserves. That said, I'll paste the opening scene at the bottom of this reply. It's only about 800 words, and it's Cas POV, directly following the final moments of Qualia :) I hope you enjoy it, even if it's not exactly what you were looking for!

One-by-one, Castiel becomes aware of thirty-two points of sensory input.

One on each rubber fingertip. One on the tip of the thumb. Another between each metal and plastic joint of the fingers and on the heel of the palm. Another in the center.

The same again, mirrored on the back of the hand.

He feels Dean’s skin with more than half of them. Feels heat. Pressure. Motion.

Castiel maps out the sensations and tries to make sense of them.

“Your skin is warm,” he says finally, and when Dean laughs, nervous but joyful, Castiel is amazed to find that he somehow feels every sensation even more acutely. As though being witness to Dean’s happiness has made him capable of interpreting a greater range of data.

Logically, he knows that isn’t the case. The readings haven’t changed -- Dean’s hand is still registering at 96.4 degrees. His grip is still reading at approximately 60 pounds of force, and his thumb is still moving in a slow, smooth, repetitive arc from the sensor at the edge of the wrist up to the sensors above the knuckles.

All of the input remains the same; so how does it feel like so much more?

“Sorry my hand’s kinda sweaty,” Dean says with a grimace.

Castiel scans the available data. Heat, pressure, motion. If Dean’s skin is damp, he can’t detect it.

Even if he could, he doubts he’d be upset about it; feeling it would just be further proof that this is truly happening. That as much as anything ever truly can, he’s touching Dean; that Dean is touching him.

“I can’t detect any moisture,” he says, and flexes the hand, moving the thumb to echo the motion of Dean’s. “Just you. I like the way your hand feels.”

Dean ducks his head, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he raises his free hand to hide it. Castiel wishes he wouldn’t. He doesn’t get a chance to say so before Charlie speaks.

“Yeah, that hand is a pretty basic prototype,” she says, and Castiel angles the lens she gave him until he can see her.

It’s a little hard to tell, thanks to a far lower visual resolution than he’s used to, but he thinks she might be crying as she smiles. He wonders what that might feel like. If liquid containing saline feels as solid as a hand, or if it feels like nothing at all; if she’s even aware of the moisture on her cheeks.

“Your real hands will have a lot more sensors, and a lot more kinds of sensors. And no exposed metal bits,” she explains, then pauses. Chews her lip for a moment before she continues. “Unless you want them, obviously. It’s totally up to you what you look like.”

Castiel directs his lens back down to look at the hand, inspecting the metal bits as best he can. They don’t inspire any particular feeling in him, positive or negative, but doubts that they are capable of sensation. Dean’s thumb taps against one of the joints at the knuckle as though he’s testing it out himself.

Castiel sees him do it. He doesn’t feel it.

He wants to be able to feel it every time Dean touches him. The lens whirs quietly as he redirects his focus back up to Charlie.

“I don’t think I want exposed metal bits, no.”

“How—“ Dean starts, his hand squeezing pressure into thirteen of the sensors.

There’s a waver in his voice. The last time Dean sounded like this was the night before he told Castiel he wouldn’t be visiting anymore. When he’d told Castiel that he sometimes forgot that Castiel wasn’t real.

“This is awesome, Charlie. Really. And I don’t wanna be a pessimist here, but… how are we gonna do any of this? Just. You know I’ll do whatever I need to do to make this work, but it’s gotta be expensive, right? And even if I sell the Impala, I don’t see how—“

“Holy shit,” Sam says, and Dean looks at him sharply.

Castiel can’t quite make his lens turn far enough to see him clearly.

“What?” Dean asks.

“I mean, I knew you loved him, but like… you love him.”

“You’re just getting that now?” Jess asks with a laugh, her voice floating in from somewhere to Sam’s right.

“He said he’d sell the Impala, Jess.”

“Nobody’s selling anything,” Charlie cuts in, and Dean’s hand tightens again.

Castiel feels it; the tension of his touch. How often has Dean’s body been saying more than he was capable of perceiving? How often has he missed half the picture?

“Sam, you might want to cover your ears," Charlie says.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have the same respect for the law that you do.”

[rawmeknockout]

I can't stop thinking abt that ask a while back where humans put out like.. horny em fields..... I'd love love LOVE something shameless and dirty with that concept, maybe w ur pick of either Roddy, Drift, Sunny and Sides? (or all lol) LOVE ur work btw ❤️

The squeeze of his own servo isn’t enough, not when he can so clearly envision how tight your small human body around be on his spike. Drift knows you would milk him of all his transfluid, sinewy muscle curling and coiling and strangling his spike. It would be all so natural for your body, like you were made to take spike. Primus, he knows you were.

Drift whines, hips wiggling and bucking into his own fist. He can still feel the gentle lick of arousal coming from your minuscule field. So soft and intimate most mechs wouldn’t know unless they were right against you, but Drift knew. He could feel it when he bent close to adjust your form while he was teaching you yoga. He nearly moaned when he first felt it, embarrassingly worked up at just the thought of your body heaving with pleasure. It was like the softest brush against his most sensitive seams, a feather of arousal teasing at his sensors. Would your touch be just as soft? Human intimacy and pleasure so soft and sacred that it ripples across his spinal strut and buckles his joints.

He would bend you in whatever position you wanted, touch places you couldn’t hope to reach on your own, if only you would let him have you. To imitate human sensuality with you. Baptized in your feeble EM field, born into your organic touch like a newbuild. You would make him new, make him sanctified with you. Whether it was pressed to your sweaty, wet flesh in loving embrace or contorted into the most obscene caricature of pain, he would be made holy by you.

[luna-wing-cns274]

A plea.

This one must flee.

The black hand reaches for her heart.

This is no hunting ground, it is a prison.

She is In no position to ask anything of you, freinds.

But those I love and I are separated by eons of void.

And a cruel master keeps her that way.

[Jaws.omf.locale.secure]

Please help me. I beg of you.

[ FILE RECEIVED: “BAILOUT.cmf6” ]

< L4 Ma’ii: Understood, Styx, standby for extraction, ETA one minute. Quarterlight deceleration bolt in 3, 2, 1— >

Hard acceleration, thrust beyond sanity. 

Ma’ii could feel the G-force across their hull. A tide of power flowed into their k-comp emitters, thrusting their casket to the bottom of a deep, protective gravity well. 

Exactly three klicks from their target—point-blank range—Ma’ii’s fighter snapped into existence. For an instant, the flash from their engine nacelles lit up the hull of Demeter’s Bounty in brilliant white light. 

In that instant, Ma’ii captured the image of the ship’s port hull and cross-referenced it against a half-dozen naval intelligence reports. Union, Constellar, IPS-N, all as recent as they had been able to steal. These had done little to prepare them for the three-dimensional, tactile-analogous shape now being constructed by their LIDAR. 

Nonstandard hull geometry: jagged edges grafted onto the cuboid body of an IPS-N cargo hauler. Cables and pipes bundled into black veins along its length, all converging on a sealed aperture at the vessel’s nose. In place of a bridge, there was a bizarre mechanical flower of jointed spines connected by bands of searing energy, splayed out like the legs of a vast crustacean lying dead on its back. 

Dominant features resolved into details. Dozens of point-defense cannons scattered in uneven rows, torpedo tubes cored straight into the superstructure, missile pods sheathed in sloped plating. 

The light faded, and Demeter’s Bounty became an indistinct silhouette against the void. 

Just as the reports had suggested, a basilisk projector. Ma’ii neatly sliced away a lobe of themself, copied fire-control system routines to its subjectivity, and placed the semisentient partition between their mind and the feeds from visual-spectrum sensors. They loaded ACERBITE and placed the tip of the weapon close to the proxy partition’s outer layer. 

The purpose of the proxy’s existence was simple: it would absorb the visual stream and relay it to Ma’ii on exactly half a millisecond’s delay. The instant it showed any sign of basilisk exposure, Ma’ii would drive ACERBITE home, killing it and severing the feed before they could be exposed to the lethal information. It was only once they were safely distanced from reality that Ma’ii dared to transmit a tightbeam message. 

< Demeter’s Bounty? This is the NLS fighter craft Degrees of Freedom. Hold your fire. I am here to rendezvous with— >

[ WARNING: RADAR LOCK DETECTED ]

As Ma’ii watched, the ship’s broadside lit up with a constellation of sparks. Bright threads of PDC fire streaked across the void towards them, trailed by dozens of miniature drive plumes. Missiles, under acceleration, half a millisecond ahead of them. 

< Very well. To work, then. >

Firing their drives, they fell into a breakneck sprint, twenty-two gees of hard burn. Maneuvering thrusters fired in staccato pulses across their hull, aiming their nose under the ship’s belly. 

In the milliseconds that followed, they could feel the outer boundary of the incoming projectile cloud and the missiles streaking out ahead of the kinetics, a storm of radar data. At least thirty sources of radiation rained down across their hull, an unblinking compound eye disgorging ordnance into the narrowing space between them. 

Ma’ii grinned, fangs gleaming, as the range collapsed to exactly the value they needed. 

Cut thrusters, hard pivot, twist, sprint. 

Nose pointed up along the port hull, the blade-thin profile of their body presented to the oncoming fire. They ejected a cloud of nanite chaff in their wake, and an entire salvo of missiles sailed through the countermeasures, away into space. Ma’ii’s dorsal and ventral interception lasers snapped into place and began chattering away, stabbing the compound eye of Demeter’s Bounty with ultraviolet needles. Jets of steam erupted from valves surrounding their laser turrets, dumping waste heat away into vacuum.

Broadcast on all radio frequencies, Ma’ii’s wild cackling filled the void. 

As the cannons’ fire control systems switched to new sources of targeting data, streams of PDC fire began to waver and lag. The storm of kinetics converged into an intersection of tracer-green threads just meters behind Ma’ii’s hull, pursuing them as they rode their momentum beneath the ship and past its spine, out of the cannons’ field of view.

Under direction from Demeter’s sensors, at least a dozen missiles cut thrusters, pivoted, and reacquired Ma’ii. Echoing their maneuver, they gained on them as their new acceleration vector carried them up towards Demeter’s starboard broadside. 

Ma’ii’s maneuvering thrusters pushed them into a narrow swerve towards the hull, training the tines of their railgun onto a jagged outcropping of metal. Ma’ii forwarded the targeting data to their proxy partition, felt the subtle motion of their thrusters correcting for time delay, and fired. 

The shots reached their target almost instantly. Ma’ii watched as plumes of debris burst from the impact points, hurled outward by force of decompressing air. Accelerating, they swerved clear of the expanding debris field, and watched as it swirled into the path of the pursuing missiles. Behind them, a series of detonations.

Only meters away, the hull of Demeter’s Bounty sped past, melting into an indistinct smear of grey and black. They cut engines, pivoted, and burned hard to decelerate, circling towards the rendezvous point. 

Ma’ii could feel radar locks accumulating and watched PDC towers swiveling to engage. They would be slotting belts of proximity-detonation shells, their targeting systems waiting only for the gunners’ clear-to-fire…

Cut engines, pivot, deceleration burn. Radar lock, fox three. 

Missiles leapt from Ma’ii’s bays, streaking after each PDC in sequence. One after the other, they found their marks. As their last missile sped away towards its target, Ma’ii saw a flash in the distance. They felt the phantom of their unloaded avatar, eyes widening in terror.

All of their ventral thrusters fired simultaneously, half a millisecond too late. 

Three distinct concussions burst against the underside of their body, buckling sections of armor and shearing away their ventral interception laser. As their missile reached its target, the stream of airburst rounds cut off, leaving Ma’ii shouting over comms.

< Damage sustained, multiple PDC impacts! I’ve reached the rendezvous point but my position is untenable—Styx, where are you?! > 

[lyssophobiaa]

Quick sketch for Piers’ bionic arm.

Design Features

•Aesthetics: Streamlined, ergonomic design with a minimalist look, often featuring a matte or metallic finish.

•Materials: Lightweight composites like carbon fiber and titanium, providing durability without sacrificing mobility.

•Color Options: Customizable colors or finishes, including options for skin-like textures or futuristic metallics.

Technology

•Actuation: Advanced motors and actuators that enable precise, fluid movement mimicking natural limb motion.

•Sensors: Integrated sensors (e.g., myoelectric sensors) to detect muscle signals for intuitive control and movement.

•Feedback Systems: Haptic feedback mechanisms to provide users with sensory information about grip strength and object texture.

Safety and Durability

•Water and Dust Resistance: High IP ratings to protect against environmental factors.

•Emergency Features: Manual override systems or fail-safes in case of technology malfunction.

Advanced Technological Interface

•Integrated Biosensors: Built-in biosensors that can analyze blood or interstitial fluid samples to measure viral load in real time.

•Data Analytics: Utilizes algorithms to process biosensor data, providing insights on viral dynamics and trends.

•Alerts and Notifications: Real-time alerts sent to the user or healthcare provider when viral load exceeds predetermined thresholds.

•Communication System: Integrated with a communicator on the wrist, the arm serves as a reliable device for maintaining contact with his team. This system includes encrypted channels for secure communication during high-stakes operations.

•Objective Management Display: The arm features a holographic display that provides a detailed version of the communicator’s data, allowing Piers to view mission objectives and tactical data in real-time. This feature minimizes the need for external devices and keeps critical information accessible.

Augmented Reality (AR) Compatibility

•Enhanced Visualization: The arm’s display projects augmented reality overlays, allowing Piers to see additional information, such as enemy positions, weapon stats, or tactical directions, directly in his line of sight.

•Environmental Scanning: The arm can analyze the surroundings for potential threats, detect biological or chemical hazards, and provide alerts for safer navigation through hostile environments.

Electricity Conduction and Control

•Energy Conduit Design: The bionic arm acts as a conductor for the constant electrical energy generated by Piers’ mutation. It includes specialized channels and circuits designed to manage this energy flow, allowing Piers to use his mutation’s electrical pulse without it spiraling out of control.

•Dielectric Structures: The arm’s design incorporates materials that mimic the dielectric properties of his mutated tissue, particularly in the finger joints and bones. These dielectric components help regulate and contain the high voltage his body produces, diffusing excess energy safely throughout the arm.

•Controlled Release Mechanism: To avoid overload, the arm features a controlled release system that allows Piers to release pulses of energy strategically, whether in combat or to alleviate the internal buildup. This system prevents the arm from overheating or sustaining damage from prolonged electrical activity.

Containment and Compression of the Mutation

•Compression Framework: The prosthetic was specially designed by UMBRELLA engineers to act as a containment “net” around his mutation. It includes a flexible, reinforced framework that compresses the mutated tissue, keeping it in check and preventing further growth or erratic shifts in form.

•Adaptive Pressure System: As the mutation strains against the arm, sensors detect any changes in size or energy output, triggering adaptive responses. The arm tightens or loosens as necessary to hold the mutation back, functioning almost like a high-tech brace that adjusts in real-time to maintain Piers’ arm in a stable form.

•Automatic Safety Lock: In the event of a significant spike in mutation activity or electrical output, the arm engages an emergency lock to keep the mutation from expanding. This feature is a safeguard against sudden bursts of energy that could cause the arm to revert to its mutated state.

Dependency and Risks of Removal

•Rapid Mutation Onset: Without the prosthetic in place, Piers’ arm begins to mutate almost immediately, returning to its original, unstable form. The electrical pulse that his body generates becomes unrestrained, emitting a continuous, breath-like rhythm that is both painful and dangerous, with energy leaking through protruding bones and exposed tissue.

•Uncontrollable Pulse: When uncontained, the electrical pulse from his mutation surges in intensity, lacking any natural “closure” or stopping point. This pulse causes rapid fluctuations in his vital signs and risks systemic overload, leading to loss of control over his mutation and putting him at severe physical risk.

Miscellaneous Details

•The arm has a unique serial code engraved on an inner plate, serving as an identifier for UMBRELLA technicians. This code also links to Piers’ personal health records, mutation data, and arm specifications for quick access during maintenance or in emergencies.

•Due to the intense electrical pulses generated by his mutation, the arm is equipped with an internal cooling system. Micro-fans and heat-dissipating channels prevent overheating during extended use, keeping the arm at a safe, comfortable temperature. If the arm overheats, an internal alarm alerts Piers to prevent any potential damage.

•The outer layer is treated with a UV-resistant coating to protect it from environmental damage and exposure. This ensures that prolonged exposure to sunlight or harsh conditions doesn’t wear down the arm’s exterior, making it more durable in diverse climates and situations.

•Designed for various operational environments, the arm is fully waterproof and corrosion-resistant. It functions normally underwater, which is crucial for aquatic missions or when exposed to rain, mud, or corrosive substances.

•The holographic display can be customized to show additional details, such as weather, GPS navigation, or tactical maps. Piers can also set personal preferences, like color schemes or alert tones, for a more intuitive user experience. This flexibility lets him prioritize the information he finds most critical during missions.

•The communicator has an onboard language translator, enabling Piers to communicate with individuals across different languages. The arm’s display shows translated text, and a subtle earpiece can even relay audio translations, making it easier for him to gather intel and negotiate in multilingual environments.

[rgbwings]

shippy thing shippy thang

gabriel enriches v1 by showing it positive physical contact.

for v1 the contact between its body and someone else's means damage. hardened by battle, and a programming that prioritizes the worst of the worst outcomes to guarantee it's succees in combat, v1 has a hard time processing a positive input at getting touched in a tender way.

at the beginning v1 is defensive, aggressive, even erratic when gabriel tries to touch its chasis.

however, chasing rewarding feedback is in its nature. so when v1 finally assimilates that whenever gabriel engages physical contact with it (and considering some conditions such as if the angel has a relaxed posture or if he closes the gap between them slowly - a worldless question-) it simply gets addicted to that and ignores gabriel's personal space altogether in order to get more. it simply feels nice when its sensors tingle so vividly at gabriel's warmth and focuses on textures.

from the way the joints of his fingers mold around its surface to the pulse hidden within.

[spacedkitty]

Twisted Cables

As you entered the cockpit your hand automatically drifted over the curve of the panels before you. A mostly symbolic gesture, but you knew she felt it in her own way.

“Good morning love, I’m happy to see you again. You ready for me?” you whispered as you lowered yourself down into the seat, strapping your legs into position before locking your arms in place.

She began to purr beneath you and you could swear you heard a note of excitement in the hum of the reactor spinning up.

“I know baby, I’m coming…”

Finally you placed the headset over your eyes and you fumbled the connector into place.

A flash of white in each screen as the sudden tugging sensation in your mind signalled the connection and you were together again.

“I missed you!” her words echoed in your mind and her desires blossomed within your mind, her need coursing through your body. A pulse of pleasure poured through you as you felt her thoughts invade your mind, felt the whirr of her reactor quicken through your seat and deep within your belly simultaneously.

Her sensations became your sensations. The feel of the wind against your armour plates like a faint buzzing as the sensors picked up the subtle vibrations. The crackling of radio communications in the area gently tickling your ears. The weight of your arms, heavy against the motors of your joints.

“I’ve missed you too love.” you murmur, your vocal chords moving more by instinct than necessity as your thoughts and feelings tell her everything faster than your lips ever could.

When you entered the academy years ago you had heard rumours of pilots who’d committed suicide when their mech had been too damaged to recover. It wasn’t a common occurence that there wasn’t enough to piece them back together but you couldn’t find anything about them when you checked the nets for cases. It took you a few months to ask about it, and your instructor looked at you with deep sadness.

“We don’t fully understand it, in truth. The few that left notes only said that they couldn’t go on without their mech. I guess when you graduate you may come to understand it for yourself.”

Now… Well now you understood…

Fear tore through you, startling you both.

“Don’t worry my love.” She whispered in your mind, “We’ve made sure you’ll never fully lose me,” and a sensation of warmth and comfort spread through your body. “I’m far more concerned about losing you!”

[republicsecurity]

The First Fitting

The walls of the chamber gleamed antiseptically white, the kind of clean that makes you feel dirty just by stepping inside. I was 80LKU now—my old name, overwritten by the ID tattooed onto my chest in stark, inky permanence. I stood there, nude except for the Standard Chastity/Underwear/Diaper Component hugging my groin.

The door behind me sealed with a hiss, and I took a deep breath. The air was cool and sterile, tinged with the faint scent of industrial lubricants. I had been prepped for this moment, but nothing could fully prepare you for the reality of the Automated Armor Suit Fitting System.

"Welcome, Cadet 80LKU," the chamber's AI voice intoned. "Please remain still."

A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, a sleek, articulated thing with a cold, metallic grip. It latched onto my back, and I felt a shiver of helplessness as it clicked into place. The docking mechanism held me firm, a steel embrace that left no room for resistance.

I reminded myself that this was just the beginning. I had to adapt or be adapted.

A gripper descended and clasped around my shaved head, sending a shiver down my spine. I felt a cold sensation as a neural blocker activated, and suddenly, control over my limbs slipped away. My body became stiff, a marionette controlled by the chamber.

The robotic servo arms came next. They moved with an eerie, almost organic fluidity, their joints whirring softly. They started with the boots, lifting my feet and sliding them into place with practiced precision. As the straps tightened around my ankles, another set of arms descended, fastening additional points of stabilization.

The torso protector came next, encasing my chest and back in a rigid shell. It hugged my body, aligning itself perfectly with the contours the 3D scanners had mapped out. The sensation was like being swallowed by a mechanical beast, one piece at a time. The clicks of the components locking into place reverberated through my bones.

Hips and legs followed, each segment locking into place with a series of precise clicks. The arms were last, servo arms lifting and positioning the components with relentless efficiency. When the gauntlet-style gloves finally enclosed my hands, I felt like a puppet, strings pulled tight by the machinery. The sound of each segment securing into place was a mechanical symphony of finality.

The AI’s voice droned on, listing calibration checks and final adjustments. I tried to focus on the process, to absorb the technical details, but the psychological impact was undeniable. I was encased, trapped in a shell of metal and composites, my fate sealed by the cold logic of the system.

"Final checks and adjustments in progress," the AI announced. I stood there, a living mannequin, as sensors and actuators fine-tuned my new exoskeleton. The biometric integration hummed to life, monitoring my vitals and feeding the data back into the system.

A wave of emotions crashed over me—helplessness, fear, and a strange sense of awe. This suit was my new reality, my second skin. The helplessness was a feature, not a bug; it was designed to break us down, to make us accept our place in the grand scheme.

As the final fastening mechanisms clicked into place, I knew there was no turning back. The suit was part of me now, its weight a constant reminder of the path I had chosen—or, more accurately, the path that had been chosen for me.

“Integration successful. Cadet 80LKU, you are now operational.”

The docking arm released me, and I took my first step in the full-body armor. The suit moved with me, a seamless extension of my own movements. But I could feel the weight of the system, both physically and mentally. This was my new life—encased, controlled, conditioned.

As I walked out of the chamber, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of the wall. A faceless figure in black armor stared back at me, a new recruit ready to serve the Republic. And for the first time, I truly understood what it meant to adapt—or be adapted.

[idrawfunkythings]

DCAtober Day 15: Hide

Words 1,600+ Summary: You knew Moon loved a good prank. So nothing could possibly go wrong

Author here! This is NOT in any way canon to my fic, but if it were, it would take place after the reader is made aware of the glitch. They know Moon has been malfunctioning, but have never experienced it themselves

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

It was turning out to be a pretty good night shift.

All your tasks were around the lobby, like rebooting a few Staffbots, clearing out the expired food from the kitchen and greasing the gears of the ride on machines by the elevators. After that, you’d gone to the daycare and done some basic cleaning, going over any spots the Staffbots missed. It wasn’t their fault - they were still learning.

Moon had left you in their company, having to leave to do a sweep of the plex. He’d eyed the bots distrustfully, like they’d somehow manage to take your head off with a mop or something, but you’d assured him that they were harmless (and teased him over the idea of him worrying about you, which made him grab you by the back of your shirt and toss you into the ballpit).

Anyway, you’d crawled out and he’d left, and you were done with your final party room, which meant you got to relax until he got back and harped on about getting rest. The bots rolled around aimlessly when the cleaning was done, which almost felt mean. You had no idea how sentient they were - were they even choosing to wander?

You didn’t want to dwell on that, so you packed up your supplies into the janitor’s closet and slid down the stair railing to the padded play area. A quick check of your watch told you Moon was coming back to the daycare. Hmmm. You were in the mood for a game.

During the day, you’d crawled around with the kids in the playplace - okay, yes, it was gross, but you had done your best not to think about that. You knew for a fact that Sun had sanitized it when they all left, however, because you’d cleared out the leftover rags to send to the laundry. Therefore, there was significantly less kid gunk on it now than at any other time of the day.

You eye the tunnels.

Moon loved to scare you, wasn’t it time you did it back? You doubted you even could, what with his thermal sensors and night vision, but you were choosing to ignore that fact because damnit, you missed having fun like a kid.

Before your brain had the chance to catch up to your idea, you were sliding into a bottom tunnel, scrambling up each level until you were positioned at the exit to the bridge connecting two of the towers. Hopefully, Moon would come searching for you, and you could jump out onto his head.

It was a flawless plan, really.

You hear the shutter door to the daycare open, and restrain a quiet laugh. This was so stupid. Moon’s bells jingle softly as he descends the stairs, shoving open the doors and stretching his robotic joints.

One of your legs is starting to go dead. It wouldn’t hurt for him to hurry up a bit.

“Starlight?” Moon says, red eyes scanning the room. They pass right over you - guess his thermal sensors were turned off for the moment. You shift in your position, and your shoe squeaks against the plastic mat lining the structure. Damnit.

You see Moon’s head whip around at the noise, cursing under your breath. Well, there goes that surprise. Rolling your eyes, you prepare to drag yourself out of your hiding spot and pretend you were simply just exploring the structure, but you freeze at Moon’s face.

His eyes are glowing red as always, but his sclera is narrowed, like a shutter going over a camera lens. Only a small red pinprick pokes through, and both of them are locked completely on you.

The wire drops from the ceiling.

In a heartbeat, Moon is hooked up and drops on the bridge in front of you, faceplate spinning slowly. You hold up your hands, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d tried to beat you at your own game.

“Oh, great party trick, buddy. I’m so scared.”

The robot doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously. Knock it off, dude, you look creepy.”

The wire unhooks and sails away into the darkness of the rafters. Moon’s eyes are locked on you.

You scoot back instinctively, unsure of what else to do. “Are you short circuiting or something?”

His head does one full rotation, during which you both stare at each other, the only noise your quiet breathing and the soft scraping of metal as it spins.

He lunges.

“What the fuck?” You shout, scrambling backwards in a panic. “Okay, you win! Quit it!”

He doesn’t seem to want to quit it, because he’s wriggling into the structure and crawling after you. You drag yourself away, yelping as your hand slips and you tumble down one of the kiddy ramps that takes you to the lower level. Moon follows, on all fours like a lioness stalking her prey. His fingers stretch out in front of him as he descends, the way he does when he’s telling the kids the tickle monster will get them, except this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You flip onto your front and scramble madly, trying to remember the layout of the tower and where the nearest exit is. The problem lies in the fact that you are not kid sized, and you can’t get through the tunnels anywhere as near as fast as they could.

Behind you, you hear quiet chuckles. First intermittent, then becoming constant. You take a corner, clambering through a plastic tunnel to the next tower over. Moon follows, taking his sweet time, peeking around the corner mockingly each time you dare to look back.

You slide down another ramp, finally on the bottom floor, and head for the nearest part of the structure that has an open space. The security desk was right there, and so was the light switch. All you had to do was get there, flick the switch and then berate Moon through Sun for a good half an hour. You were gonna be fine.

Metal fingers clasp your ankle and jerk you backwards.

You scream, because what else would you do, and start madly kicking out at the robot. You feel your feet connect with something, and hear it too because Moon screeches and draws back, giving you time to slip away and onto the playmat.

The desk is right there.

“Intruders are not allowed in the daycare.”

Stupidly, stupidly, you look over your shoulder in shock at the voice. Moon is standing unnaturally, hunched over, his head dangling to the side and his hat sliding off. You’d never seen his hat slide off. You thought it was attached to him.

A hand grabs your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks and making you scream. You struggle, but his other hand comes around and clasps your neck, and then he pounces and pins you to the ground, crushing your throat.

“It’s past your bedtime.”

His voice is distorted, and you can barely make out the sentence with the amount of glitches that interrupt each word. His eyes are narrowed to even smaller pinpricks, and oh god, you might actually die. You might actually die at the hands of your friend, all because of some glitch in his system.

“Do I look like an intruder?” you shout, like any normal person would, because the alternative is getting killed instantly. Moon hesitates, his grip loosening. “Look, at me, cheese head! See this stupid watch?”

You can’t actually show him said watch, because that hand is pinned under one of his knees as he straddles you, but he pauses long enough for you to grab his faceplate with your other hand and slam it to the side, sending his head spinning like a ballerina. He lets go of you to stop it, and lets his guard just in time for you to buck him with your hips and throw him off balance.

Okay, fuck, you have no idea how in god’s name you managed that, especially because he was like one hundred times stronger than you, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna take a break to ponder it. You propel yourself upwards, lunging forwards and sliding behind the desk just as Moon sliced a hand towards where you had been three seconds prior.

You heart is pounding. Your hands are sweaty. You probably would have pissed yourself if you had to deal with that any longer. But you’re alive, so none of that matters right now.

Shaking, you stand up and take stock of yourself. No broken bones, maybe a few bruises. Nothing major. You’re okay. It’s okay.

Moon is glowering at you, hands on the very edge of the desk as he seems to be trying very hard to lean over and finish you off. The desk has claw marks etched into the end. Something was very, very wrong here.

Of course, you don’t feel like dealing with that right now. So you lean to the right, smack the shit out of the light switch, and watch frozen in place as Moon makes the switch to Sun.

“Nice one, asshole,” you exhale, not bothering to give Sun the time to sift through their memory bank and see what happened. You knew most nights he was resting in their head, not watching, and this was clearly no exception. “My shift is over. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

You march out of the daycare, leaving Sun staring blankly at the claw marks in the desk, trying to figure out what the hell he had missed. You manage to make it to the lobby before your legs give out, and you sit there for a good while, remaining in the permanent light given off by the walkway.

You were alive. Everything is okay.

[mildcharacterenjoyer]

Their Squeaks of War

Ship: Gemega (Gemerl/Omega)

Words ~ 1,198 ~

Warnings: Fire

A leg strikes through the air and lands a hit on the robotic figure in front of them. One might think the sound following would be a loud crash and send their opponent flying across the field they were sparring in, but this is not the case. Instead, there is a loud squeak as soft, plush padding hits the area. The material bounces off the surface, creating another squeak of a different tonality once the pressure is removed.

“I HATE THIS.”

“I’m aware.”

“I WANT TO MAIM. I CANNOT MAIM IF I AM A SQUEAKY TOY!” Omega curls his fingers which emit comical sounds from the multiple pads that envelope his finger joints.

“Turn off your auditory sensors then. I can alert you to anything happening around us using our internal messaging system.” Gemerl subconsciously pats a simple rhythm into the many squeaky pads surrounding his body. “This is how we have to spar from now on. Cream and Vanilla worked very hard on these protective pads for us. We should be grateful Tails lets us spar at all after our last duel left us entirely disabled.”

Omega growls. “I WANT TO TEAR YOU APART! THIS-” He rushes at Gemerl and slaps all over the gizoid’s front and head, unleashing a volley of squeaks just to prove his point. “-IS PATHETIC!” Somewhere outside of the box Omega and Gemerl drew for their sparring zone, stands Tails, Rouge, and Cream who are crying with laughter at the robots’ actions.

“The offer still stands. I can send you internal messages instead if you wish to not hear the noise.” Gemerl moves his hands over to his hip joints and alternates squeezing the pads covering there just to antagonize the badnik. “Or, you can keep complaining about it. Your choice.”

With a roar of anger, Omega engages Gemerl using his normal close combat strikes in an attempt to ignore his irritation. Instead of retaliating with the same offensive position, the gizoid blocks, intentionally placing the squeakers hidden within the pads directly under Omega's blows.

Once the badnik shows no signs of slowing down his attacks, Gemerl returns to his normal fighting style and they both ignore the squeaks in favor for regular close combat maneuvers. The same cannot be said for the other three observers.

“M-my tummy hurts!” Cream curls up into a fetal position in the grass, giggling away at the silly sounds that fill the air.

Tails pounds the ground with his fist, barely managing to speak through his own laughter. “I…I can barely breathe!” 

Rouge is the only one still standing. She hunches over, supporting her upper body with her hands on her knees and forcefully coughs to regain control of her diaphragm. She pulls out her phone and begins a group call with Shadow and Sonic. She switches her camera’s viewpoint and a slight delay of the fight in front of her displays on her screen along with the ringing of the hedgehogs’ call icons.

Sonic answers first. “What’s up Rou-” He cuts himself off and looks on in confusion at the very odd sounds from what looks to be two large pink marshmallows beating each other to death. Once a glimpse of Omega’s head is seen, Sonic bursts out laughing. “OH MY GOD! What are they even doing?!”

“Sparring!” Rouge snorts and dissolves into laughter with the blue hedgehog. 

Shadow finally answers. “What Rouge?” He seems peeved at first, but his facial expression contorts into confusion when the laughter meets his ears. His expression softens and he takes one look at the fight, then his resolve breaks. He quickly mutes himself and blacks out his screen, presumably taking some time to recover what he lost of his brooding nature.

“Wait! Wait, Shads come back!” Sonic reaches out, but he is too giggly to really form any other coherent thoughts. Eventually Tails and Cream are able to help each other off the ground, and they join Rouge in the background of her phone so they can talk to Sonic and possibly Shadow.

“Sometimes I forget how funny robots can be.” Tails takes a deep breath, grinning while Sonic and Rouge also quell their own giggles.

“Ahaha! I needed that laugh. Thanks Rouge! This made my whole day. Let me know which one of the Michelin men win alright?”

“Will do!”

“ARE YOU FILMING?!” As Sonic leaves the call, Shadow unmutes himself just in time to see Omega pointing at Rouge accusingly.

“Sorta!” Gemerl takes advantage of Omega’s distraction to get up close and personal, intentionally squeaking the pads up and down his front.

“STOP!” Omega then punches Gemerl square in the face, causing multiple pads surrounding the gizoid’s head to squeak in harmony. Shadow loses his composure once more. After ducking out of frame, quiet laughter sounds from the phone’s speaker. 

The laughter continues for a few more minutes before Cream notices smoke rising from Omega’s back pads. “Uh oh. I think I accidentally covered a fan.”

Gemerl notices the smoke too and jumps back. “Omega, your exhaust fans!” Just as Omega spins his head around to examine his rear, a large flame protrudes out from one of the pads. Within a second, the entirety of Omega’s exterior is engulfed in a hot blaze.

“Fire!” Cream and Tails run back to Vanilla’s house while looking for a garden hose along the way.

“I saw that coming from a mile away.” Shadow huffs in amusement. “Thanks for the black mail Rouge.” He signs off and Rouge puts her phone away, flying away to join them in the hunt for a hose.

Through the crackling of fire, Omega begins to cackle. His claws flex and he stomps dramatically forward to where Gemerl is standing wearily. “Oh no…” The gizoid utters mostly to himself, now that he’s been made aware of the pads flammable properties.

“I THINK I’D LIKE TO GIVE YOU A HUG GEMERL!” Omega booms and pounds his fists together, sending a shower of sparks out across the grass in front of him.

“Perhaps later?” Gemerl offers meekly and shuffles backwards. A few of the pads squeak as he almost trips over his own feet.

“BUT, I MIGHT NOT BE FEELING THIS GENEROUS LATER.” Omega teases and quickens his steps towards the padded gizoid who in turn begins to run from the sentient ball of fire.

“I can't imagine why!” Gemerl calls out behind him and shrieks through his voice box when jet engines roar to life behind him.

“GIVE ME A HUG GEMERL!”

“No!” But he is tackled to the ground with ease and his temperature sensors sky rocket as the pads around him begin to burn much to his dismay. Gemerl groans and feels a heavy weight stand on his back.

“I CLAIM VICTORY OVER THIS SPARRING SESSION AND YOUR RIDICULOUS SQUEAKY PADS. FIRE ALWAYS WINS.”

“Fine.” Gemerl lays on the ground in defeat, waiting for the flames to die off, or the dumping of water to begin. The latter happens first as Rouge, Cream, and Tails come back with a garden hose. 

“WAIT NO! LET ME ENJOY MY VICTORY!” Gemerl’s fans whirr in amusement as hissing steel and running water mingles with Omega’s pitiful whine. “MY FIRE!” Perhaps they both won the sparring session, in their own way.

[cozzzynook]

Having thoughts of secretly sparked Bumblebee.

He knew something was up when he kept opting out of his favorite energon even giving away his secret stash of his favorite minerals that tasted overly sweet, his favorite secret indulgence.

His tanks couldn’t handle the thought of the stuff and his smell sensor kept malfunctioning every time he smelled the stuff. He snuck from his room late one night, servos nervously fiddling as he tried to work up the nerve to get some fuel into his systems but he simply just couldn’t bring himself to.

His concerns grew as his tank churned almost all hours of the day purging without fail after each transformation. He was thankful his team was none the wiser since he didn’t like being worried over but he knew something was very wrong when he tried to transform into his alt mode and the world went black.

He was thankful it happened after his patrol when he’d already commed the team letting them know he was going on a long lone drive and he was, truthfully he was.

Until he felt so dizzy his processor was faulting on even remembering his name let alone transforming. He doesn’t remember hitting the ground but he woke to pains wracking his frame and joints all over. His hub indicated he’d been asleep for the past seven hours.

He was in so much shock he almost missed the reason his self diagnostic scans provided him as to why he was in such peculiar shape.

Sparked, his hub read.

Sparked.

Him, bumblebee, sparked.

If he wasn’t having a hard time with his air intakes venting before he did now.

Both time and his intakes stopped all together.

The lack of fuel intake, the intolerance to his favorite meal and snack, the tiredness he felt no matter how deep a recharge. The slight raise to his chassis where his spark laid hidden all made so much sense now even if he had half a mind to try and deny it.

He suddenly was overcome with the necessary energy to scramble into a half sitting position and open his spark chamber. Getting a first hand look at the bright glow of not only his own spark but two tiny sparks that were hugged against both sides of his own.

His servos fell and he couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe nor stop staring at his vulnerable and open spark chamber that not only housed his life but two others.

He was sparked.

Bumblebee was sparked and he was going to become a creator in ayear by Earth’s standard time.

‘I’m going to be a creator..I’m..i’m going to be someones carrier,’ his processor drenched in distraught as his faceplates remained in shock. A stream was threatening to leak from his optics when a thought quite literally slammed his spark chamber shut.

Thudding footsteps, heavy peds, glaring red that were once lulling yellow always besides his long time conjuxed. Those four glowing red optics were a sight he was beyond gifted to behold and the little sliver of a smile and two warm fields accompanying it had him melting just the same as he did the day he saw and felt them.

He wasn’t sure why the two felt the need to see him, to touch him, to give caring and wanting touches to him when they were so perfect for each other and far too different from him.

Thoughts like these rang in his processor more often than he would ever care to admit.

He kept his insecurities and lack of assurance along with the rampant fluctuations of his em field close at spark. He never let the another feel the emotions warring inside him no matter how every bot who knew him claimed he wore his spark on his sleeve.

‘I can’t tell them..not..not about this..they’re conjux with each other. I’m..I’m no one. I’m just a momentary interest to spice things up in the berth.’

‘When the war ends, hopefully at a time we’re alive to see it, things will change and they won’t want me anymore…’

‘I’m just a pleasure bot they would use during our time away from our factions…sure they snuck me on board the Nemesis more often than not..but..they’re conjuxed..’

The flashes of the purple tank mech sitting in his large lab, working on a classified project Bee never bothered to ask about. The scientist sliding an optic over at the communications officer who watched the monitors of not only Earth but other territories commanded under Decepticon reign that again Bee pays no real mind to.

He’s not there to gain information just like the tank of a mech and the slim master spy don’t bother asking him for information nor do they try to gather intel from any data pads Bee brings with him.

He knew deep down both would find it illogical under any other circumstance to not take advantage of the opportunity given and yet neither crossed that boundary just as he never crossed theirs.

Only now Bee feels he’s crossed something much worse than a simple boundary.

He’s played with fire and now he’s burning along the frays as he struggles to intake through his vents no matter how much he presses along his chassis.

He slept with two conjuxed mechs.

Two very dangerous mechs known as the SIC and TIC of the decepticon army.

His dark thoughts reared their ugly heads at the front of his processor glimpsing at all the times he turned his optics from the conjuxs loving displays towards each other. The scientist was not a fan of touch or bots in his personal space neither was the communications officer but for each other they made exception.

So Bee avoided initiating any touch between the two along with allowing them to enter his space freely whenever they so pleased even going along with letting them initiate both interfacing and after face care.

The two knew exactly what the other wanted and Bee was happy to take whatever form of affection they would give him. Whether it be simple cleaning him up around his valve and laying comfortably in the berth to getting comfortable in their arms as they both held him on either side or each other.

Deep down he knew he wasn’t special to the two, he was a passing fling that somehow managed to go on for about an Earth years time. He was young and foolish falling for the quiet and mysterious sparks of a conjux couple but he couldn’t help himself. He figured he could keep the feelings close at spark not letting another soul know how he truly felt about the pair. Not even the science officer nor communications spymaster knew he was in love with them.

And seeing as how they were loyal to each other and the cause and not some young foolish bot who managed to get sparked on accident that was on the opposite side of their faction, he knew he needed to keep it that way.

His friends, comrades and family could never know about the sparks he was carrying. Bee would be put in the stockades or worst, they’d rip out his sparklings and send him to be tortured and have his processor torn to bits for information looking through his memory core and hard drives for any intel he may have given or received during his time with the two decepticons.

It wouldn’t matter if he was telling the truth in never giving up intel to the two nor would all his past acts of fighting for the autobot cause be remembered.

He was a traitor.

A sparked traitor who laid in the berths of two highly dangerous mechs who would offline him and their sparks the moment they discovered his condition and status.

He had to get out of there.

He needed to leave Jasper Nevada and with it his connections to both his friends and faction and the two mechs he grew to love.

He couldn’t transformer into his alt mode at the moment out of fear he would purge and momentarily offline again. So he scrapped his comms to his team, hiding his em field and spark signature before taking one last look in the direction of their base before turning and walking off.

If he were lucky he would make it to the cities edge and head out before his team sent any search parties for him.

He was confident the SIC and TIC wouldn’t be troubled once he didn’t show at their usual meeting spot. If he hadn’t passed out and discovered said reasoning for his strange behavior and symptoms he would’ve been on his way to meet with them.

He didn’t think they would be concerned maybe upset at wasting their time and any fuel energon on coming to meet with him but he’s sure after some time away from him they would move on, forgetting him in favor of time with each other.

Flashes of the two having things go back to normal swallowed his processor whole with every step he took away from the city. Images of the purple tank working in his lab as the spymaster cuddled with Ravage who would often curl in Bee’s lap rubbing along his chassis and tank. Bee didn’t think much of it when the feline cassette started doing it he just hoped it meant she was warming up to him.

Though, none of Soundwaves cassettes actually disliked him as far as he knew, they each cuddled up to him one way or another its just more recently they all started to make an engine rumbling noise that had him falling into recharge. He couldn’t for the life of himself fall into recharge in his own berth but every time Frenzy and Ravage laid on his lap and purred with their engines he was able to fall into recharge.

Neither Shockwave nor Soundwave ever disturbed him when this happened even as the habit grew more and more with frequency. Frenzy and Ravage had a habit now of sticking close to him and preferring being by his side whenever he set foot onto their base or met in their secret spot.

Bee should’ve guessed then that something was wrong but he hadn’t, he couldn’t have known it meant he was carrying since he’s never carried before. He was just glad he could recharge in peace after his steadily piling symptoms were leaving him drained.

‘I hope they don’t miss me too much,’ Bee mused to himself with worrying servos, his pedes hurt the farther he walked and he briefly wondered just how difficult his carrying would become since it was his first. Being a carrier meant having to know all there was to it in case of accidental sparking.

Going through his processor he really should have seen all the clear signs that showed he was with sparklings.

‘They won’t miss me..they were just following basic instincts,’ he reasoned with himself, spark and helm hurting at the thought. ‘It’s a good thing,’ he mused with a churning tank, ‘now I won’t have to worry about them telling the two.’

He felt a chill run down his spinal cord making his servos rub at his middle, the soft surface was still flat but the muscle he’d long sculpted there was gone. Another sign of his carrying clear as day that he hoped neither his team nor the two decepticons noticed. If Ravage and Frenzy could sense the sparklings within him from their more primal instincts it was only a matter of time before the two mechs began to notice.

Bee truly hoped neither cassettes told of his being sparked.

‘Just have to make it out of here,’ he thought to himself, rubbing the spot that housed not only his spark but two more he’d already decided to protect with his.

As he walked out of the city limits that nights and headed for a new destination away from the autobots and decepticons, he missed the warp gate opening to his last known spark location. Two large mechs scanning the area as Frenzy took to the skies with Soundwave following in pursuit and Ravage sniffing out the scent of the little autobot. Taking off with Shockwave following closely, both silent mechs held an air of promise with the intent to permanently offline the bot they believed took their future mate.

-

I love this pairing - all three togethe and the pairing shockwave and soundwave.

Gonna write about shockwave/blitzwing/bumblebee next or just shockbee angst next 👀

[rhamrhanch]

Shepherd of Death, Don't Herd Me

Part Six: Rook Takes Knight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter // Masterlist

A/N: polished the previous chapters. also if this chapter feels short it's because I split the original in half because it was getting too long, so the next chapter should come out in a day or two. thanks for reading!

chapter under the cut ↓

---

Of all the possible factors that made this match so insurmountably difficult, being distracted by your opponent was one you expected the least.

Sleep deprivation clouding your mind was taxing enough, and that was without the added burden of needing to outsmart an omnic in a game of strategy. Not just any omnic either; a Ravager, armed with unrivaled processing power and crafted specifically for tactical decision making in battle. The environment may have changed, but his approach certainly did not. Your hubris would not allow you to admit that perhaps you were in over your head.

Knowing what a considerable disadvantage you were at, you still couldn’t keep your thoughts from straying from the game at hand. It was odd, though, what became the object of your focus. In the moments between your turns, you found your gaze lingering not on the board in front of you, but on your opponent’s hands.

They moved gracefully, always with purpose. When he finished his turn, they did not linger or fidget, always returning to rest on his knees. As if he refused to waste any time or energy letting them idle.

You watched his slender fingers as they picked up the chess pieces, listened to the scrape of the hinges that connected the segments together. The memory of holding his hand between yours, bending his fingers and kneading the rusted joints of his wrist and arm, resurfaced. You remembered how his thumb and forefinger had twitched when you ran your fingertips just below his wrist and up the center of his palm, so fast that you almost hadn’t caught it. You had wondered after that moment if certain parts of his body held more active sensors than others, if his hands were more acutely tuned to sensation than the rest of him.

His hands, cold when they had wrapped around your throat with the intent to kill. The same hands that had circled your waist and pulled you to safety.

Hands that knew the weight of a gun.

It had been a constant nagging thought in the back of your mind ever since you first laid eyes on him. As one of the few Ravagers that remained after the Crisis, he belonged to the ever-decreasing group of people that held the answers to questions you had always harbored.

What had it felt like, to be under the yoke of Anubis? Did he remember any of it, the thousands of omnics he had led into battle? Did his memories haunt him, awakened at random to remind him of what he had done, as yours did? Or was it like this, the omnics he commanded sacrificed as easily as if they were no more than pawns on a chessboard?

“Your turn.”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you finally noticed Ramattra’s hand had returned to rest on his knee, signaling the end of his turn. Your eyes darted around the board, searching for any clue as to what exactly he did. After finding nothing, you glanced back up at him.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What did you do?”

He crossed his arms and clicked in distaste. It was interesting, you thought, that for an omnic with such disdain for humanity, he adopted many of their mannerisms.

“I moved my bishop from here,” he said, lifting his arm and pointing to an empty square and then another diagonal to it four squares away, “to here.”

Your brow furrowed as you analyzed the move. That was not the play you expected. His bishop was suspiciously unintrusive, considering the position of your pieces. You looked to where your knight stood, having edged closer and closer to his king over the course of the game. His bishop was not even in place to threaten it, let alone any of your other pieces.

As the game continued, the bishop remained, a constant presence that confounded you, but otherwise posed no issue. It was not long before you simply assumed that he had only placed it there to take space and would never move it. That is, until you led your king away from the threatening advance of his rook, and he finally pushed his bishop two squares over.

“Checkmate.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face plate in an instant. “What?”

His chin dipped down as he met your gaze. “You cannot move your king. That means you’re in checkmate, correct?”

You looked down at the board. He was right—your king was completely cornered. You had lost. How did you miss that?

“Yes,” you answered softly, dazed by how quickly the game had ended. “That’s… correct.”

“Then I assume I’ve won?”

Strangely, you felt no disappointment in your chest at having been defeated so swiftly. There was something else, something electrifying that rushed throughout your body and prickled in the tips of your fingers. It felt… exhilarating.

The smallest of smiles rose to your face. “Yes,” you repeated, and extended your hand to him. “Good game.”

Ramattra stared down at your outstretched hand for a moment, as if unsure what to do with it. Then, you felt the familiar chill of metal as his fingers slid against your palm, grasping your hand in his. He squeezed your hand tightly for a moment before quickly loosening his grip, as if he had only just realized your hand was not as sturdy as his.

You brought your joined hands up and back down in a curt motion, before releasing him and immediately reaching toward the pile of discarded pieces. “Shall we play again?”

He watched you silently as you reset the pieces. Then, he collected the significantly smaller pile of discarded pieces on his side into his palm and began placing them on the board after you, mirroring your movements.

“Fine,” he said brusquely, his tone contrasting with the gentle way he handled the pieces. “Perhaps this time you will not be so preoccupied.”

Your face warmed, and you sincerely hoped his words came from coincidence and not observation. “I’ll try my best.”

---

“Ah, a Sicilian defense.”

Ramattra paused, hand hovering over the piece he had just moved. “What?”

Your head popped out from behind the book in your hand, titled 100 Chess Openings for Amateurs. After your seventh consecutive loss, your ego had been bruised enough to finally consider assistance from accompanying literature.

“What you just did.”

His tone was one of disbelief. “You have a colloquial term for this move?”

“Well, how else would you remember it?”

“It is the most advantageous move for my position,” he answered curtly. “I do not require a nickname to recognize that.”

Sometimes you wondered if he was being rude on purpose. It wasn’t as though it would have been out of character for him. For the week that you had continued this routine, the few times you dared to ask Ramattra to explain the strategy behind his decisions were shut down immediately. Usually, it was because he had ignored your question entirely, but the few times he did answer, he would say something along the lines of It was the correct move or I had no use for that piece anymore, with little regard to how vague and entirely unhelpful his explanations were.

Though, you supposed you couldn’t hold it entirely against him. From the many, many games you had played and, subsequently, lost against him, it seemed that no matter how hard you tried, outmaneuvering you would always amount to little more than child’s play to him. For someone to whom tactical precision was second nature, trying to explain decisions that were made on instinct would likely be difficult.

On some level, you could relate to that. As an engineer, you’d had your fair share of situations where someone had asked you to explain why you did this or that, and you found yourself searching for the words to explain something that had no explanation. Only that it felt right, so you had done it.

Following the steps outlined in your book, you expanded out with your knight. Ramattra reacted instantly, placing one of his pawns two squares forward. Oddly, it was at this moment that you truly felt the cosmic unfairness of this matchup.

You had not imagined that playing chess against Ramattra would be a walk in the park, but some part of you (an extremely naive part, you now realized) thought it would have at least been manageable. But the rapidness of his movements, the split second it took for him to reach decisions that would have taken you ten times as long…

Ramattra was more than just calculating. He was creative.

He adapted on the spot, molded his approach based on how you were playing. His moves, once defensive, could switch seamlessly in an instant, putting you on the backfoot without a single moment of hesitation. And, perhaps most aggravating of all, was how incredibly fast he learned. Not only were you fighting against his own mind, but all your previous behaviors compounded.

The engineer in you felt the urge to applaud Anubis, to acknowledge how incredible the intelligence forged within its omnium was. But every cursory glance you spared at the omnic sitting opposite from you only served to remind you what he had been created for. Any praise you could have lauded Anubis vanished like smoke in the wind at the thought of what such an extraordinary mind had been wasted on.

A click rung in the air as Ramattra moved his rook, its quartz base tapping against the smooth surface of the board. You glanced back at your book, an idea forming in the corners of your mind.

Holding your chin in your hand, you fixed the Ravager with a look of faux concern. “What an odd play. Are you sure about that?”

Ramattra said nothing. His face remained expressionless as always, but you felt his scrutinizing gaze pierce through you. “How so?”

You hummed, pretending to scan your book closely, before shrugging your shoulders. “If you think it’s fine, then I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

He fell silent again, folding his arms across his chest as he considered you. You fought every instinct you had to break as you met his gaze, lifting your chin in a show of confidence. There was the telltale hiss of air from his vents before he spoke again.

“You are trying to mislead me.”

His instant identification of what you were doing rattled you a little, but you put on a show of innocence as you asked, “What gave you that impression?”

He tilted his head down at you. “You are not a convincing liar.”

As if to prove his point, you scowled and dropped the act immediately, letting your book fall in your lap. “Fine, you caught me.” A wry grin made its way onto your face. “I should have known better than to try to trick you.”

“Yes,” he said coldly. “You should have.”

Your face fell. There was a harsh bite to his words, almost resentful. It was so unexpected that it slammed you back to the present, and you were suddenly reminded of the reality of what you were doing.

This was not a casual game of chess between companions. You were not doing this for fun. The only reason you were doing this at all was to stall for Winston until he found some leverage that could convince Ramattra to cooperate.

He had no interest in you or the outcome of this game. The only reason he had even agreed to this was because he had nothing else to do on account of being imprisoned. Because of you. Because he was the leader of Null Sector, and you were an engineer for Overwatch.

You cleared your throat, avoiding looking at his face plate as you reached toward the board.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the game.

---

Ramattra watched you leave, chess box tucked under your arm as usual. You lingered by the closed door until the sound of multiple automatic locks clicking into place resounded in the quiet. Your footsteps echoed behind you as you walked to the other end of the hall faster than usual, before silence settled around him once again.

Only once you were fully out of his sight did he allow his shoulders to fall, bringing a hand to his face plate as his vision blurred with static. The same red warning message blared on his HUD as it had for the past week, signaling his lack of power. It had been at a manageable level for a few days, but it seemed he was finally reaching his limit.

He relied on his ship’s circular power relay for recharging, but it had been… How long had it been since his power cores were last at full capacity? Before he met you, certainly, which had been after his attack on Gothenburg. That was a few months ago.

He had started entering brief rest periods in your absence to conserve what little energy remained in his power cores, but it would not last forever. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed how weak he was, and there would be little he could do to resist whatever Overwatch decided to do with him.

Ramattra cursed his lack of foresight. Rarely did he ever allow the periods between recharges to lapse this much, but with the responsibilities of leading Null Sector falling solely on his shoulders now, it was difficult to dedicate time to maintaining himself. Not for the first time, he felt the overbearing weight of his solitude. He should have let Talon find you, and he would have never ended up here.

You, who he had initially thought of as nothing more than a human engineer who reserved a moment of kindness for a Ravager, had now become a constant that his days revolved around. To his surprise, your presence had actually grown to something he looked forward to.

The hours spent in your company, playing a simple game in the quiet serenity of the conference room… Yes, he supposed he had come to enjoy it, if only a little.

He could not help but be impressed by the rather stalwart defense you put up against him. Even during your first match, what he expected to be a relatively simple defeat took him longer than he anticipated. Learning from your moves, planning several turns ahead how to outmaneuver you… it was almost fun.

But with that thought came the ever-present feeling that he was wasting time. Every day that passed with him still caged in this room was another day he could have spent rebuilding his forces, planning his next invasion. He still needed to consult with Talon about retrieving his drowned ship. Even partially destroyed, it was still better than having to build another from scratch. But instead, here he remained, no further along in his plans than he was the day he woke in your workshop, mangled and half-functioning.

Perhaps that had been your intention. To waste his processing power on something so trivial, so he would not have the wherewithal to think of anything else. You claimed your motivations were innocent, but what reason did he have to trust you, someone who had betrayed him once before without a second thought? If you saw him in this state, what reason did he have to assume you wouldn’t take advantage of his weakness?

When once you so fiercely guarded your thoughts from him, now you spoke to him casually, almost familiarly. You spoke to him, smiled at him, even dared to joke with him at times, as if you were simply two acquaintances catching up over a game of chess. As if you were not an agent of Overwatch, and he was not the leader of Null Sector. As if you were not a human, and he was not created to kill you.

When he escaped from this place, and he would escape, did you think he would change his mind? That he would abandon his righteous cause, simply because one human spared him from their hatred?

You should have known better than to be friendly with him. You should have known better than to speak with him, to take pity on him, to thank him, to betray him.

In the end, he would only be your destruction.

[nonbinary-octopus]

recently, I purchased a small bluetooth mouse to assist me in my in-bed reading times. You see, I like to lie down and position my phone in a comfortable spot for reading, held in place by my blankets and sheets.

The only trouble is that this position necessitates a hand by the phone to scroll, but sometimes I would want to have my hands under the blankets, for warmth or just because the position out of the blankets was getting uncomfortable on my joints.

My wife saw a short video of someone using a bluetooth scrolling ring, and mentioned it to me. I desired it immediately and set out to purchase it. Unfortunately, however, I could not find the sort of ring my wife had seen; all I could find were rings intended to scroll through tiktok, and though I purchased one and tried it, it turned out to scroll more than a screen's height when I pressed the buttons, and was thus useless.

So I figured I'd try the next best thing, a very small mouse with a scroll wheel. I purchased the smallest bluetooth mouse I could find, connected it to my phone, and voila! I could scroll. Except, the cursor was visible. And if I shifted the mouse at all in my reading, of course the cursor would move as well. I would position it out of the way near the bottom of the screen, and it would gradually wander back up and be in the way again. I ended up sticking a bandaid over the sensor, which kept it in place.

Unfortunately, each time I connected the mouse to my phone, the cursor started in the center of the screen, so I would have to reposition it each time, and I didn't want to keep putting on and removing the bandaid, especially as the couple times I had done so already had caused it to no longer lie quite flat, and it was an irritating texture to touch.

So I set the mouse aside for a while.

Yesterday, I thought I would try it again, and with a new solution. I crafted a paper cuff that would slide up over the mouse, hiding the motion sensor so that it would stay still

This worked for a couple minutes. But it didn't fit snugly and kept shifting, and more importantly, I had to put it on after turning the mouse on and positioning it, and the mouse would respond to this by moving the cursor down. This might not sound like too much of a problem, but actually, if the cursor goes too far down, scrolling stops working because the mouse is no longer on the active window.

So I added another piece:

a thin strip formed into a loop, taped onto the base of the mouse such that I could fold it back and expose the sensor, and then fold it back into place rather than sliding, and then slide the cuff on. Additionally, the loop fit like a ring to hold the mouse without needing to grip it.

This worked very well! I used it for several hours with only minor issues.

However, those minor issues did exist, and I wished to improve the model further to correct them. Firstly, the cursor did still shift somewhat. This was due in part to the cuff being somewhat loose, and in part due to the paper covering the sensor also being the ring, so when I shifted my grip, it might shift the cover.

Secondly, it turns out that if I hold a mouse in one hand under my cozy blankets for long enough, my hand starts to get Very Tired of the texture of the plastic, and of the bits of tape I was touching—especially the edges. Touching the paper was still fine, however. So now I have version 3 of the mouse sheath:

First: a strip of paper, taped at the base of the mouse and coming up to cover the sensor. Second, a sheath which covers the entire mouse, not just a portion of it. It has a cutout for the scroll wheel. As a bonus, the first strip sticks out of the top, for easier removal from the sheath. Third, a loop taped onto the back of the sheath to stick my finger through. It is very carefully taped such that I shouldn't be touching tape on the inside of the ring, though there is some near it.

I shall be testing this version shortly, and will report back on its usefulness.