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[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[meredithmcclaren]

...that's just part of the process sometimes.

...

Description: A four panel comic. Each panel is roughly the same.

Panel 1: I am leaning into my monitor screen, scribbling the final touches of a drawing. Text above reads '(A multi hour illustration.)'

Panel 2: I lean back. Text above reads '* Save *'

Panel 3: I pause, not moving at all.

Panel 4: Finally in the last panel I speak, declaring 'I hate it.'

[stellamarielu]

stay

jack abbot x female reader

summary: jack comes home from a long shift to find you fast asleep in his bed

content: fluff!!!, established relationship, reader and jack are learning how to align their differing schedules, jack cooking dinner and being a domestic little boyfriend, mentions of the trauma he experiences at work, alludes to sex but nothing explicit, basically just the reader being jack’s safe space, cute n cozy!

word count: 2k

author’s note: oh look it’s stella the oneshot wonder coming through with another jack abbot oneshot and refusing to challenge herself by writing a complex multi part fic like she said she was gonna do. whatever just let me domesticate that man in peace…

Exhausted and drained of every ounce of his energy, Jack had just finished what felt like the longest shift of his career. Twelve hours of chaos that had him longing for the silence of his home and a long stretch of sleep to clear the casual scream of trauma that lingered in his mind.

While he usually offered every little corner of himself to his job, letting it consume his life in ways most people didn’t, today tested him.

It didn’t help that he held himself together for the sake of everyone around him. In true attending physician fashion, he pushed through each intervention with tactful hands and confident energy. His collected demeanor cracked with each combative family member and patient that slipped away underneath his hands, but he never let it show. Instead, he lead every room with calm assurance and a steadfast plan. And when all was said and done, when he was finally free from the confining walls of the Emergency Department, he just wanted to go home— to let go.

Functioning on muscle memory, his feet carried him to his front door, key coming into contact with the lock and stepping out of his shoes in the entryway. He walked past the living room, following his morning routine of getting ready for bed, and tossing his backpack on the barstool at the kitchen island.

Passing through his quiet kitchen, he noticed the dishes set out on the drying rack, all clean and waiting to be put away, remnants of the night before that reminded him you were there. The cluttered mess of his day almost causing him to forget the night before. 

You came over to his place after work last night.

The narrow alignment of your weekday schedules always found you in the in-between moments. With Jack working night shifts and you having a typical nine to five schedule, the fleeting evening hours were now yours to share. Dinner in Jack's kitchen quickly became a routine delicacy in your calendars. Scraping together what little time you had, and sharing a meal before your days set sail on two opposite courses. 

You were still in the early months of your relationship, hungry to spend every waking minute together.

You’d both forgotten what it felt like to be contingent on another person’s presence. The fullness of companionship. Small smiles at learning something new about the other, and the constant urge to take mental notes of every word leaving their lips, but not letting yourself veer from their train of thought for too long in fear that you might miss something. Everything felt vibrant and exciting. Your connection blooming in the gold hues of evening sun, and tender conversation at his dinner table.

A memory of your conversation from last night played in his mind; you reaching past him to grab a cutting board standing at the kitchen counter and helping with the meal's final touches. Busy stirring something on the stovetop with a dish towel resting over his shoulder, Jack listened as you told him about your day.

Continuing to monitor the pots and pans in front of him, he asked about your plans for the evening, curious to know how your day would end as his began. You worked to chop a handful of vegetables while telling him what was on your itinerary for the night: going home to finish laundry and turning in early. 

His response to your lackluster agenda was immediate, soft and genuine as it left his lips without permission.

“You could just stay here.” 

You’d stayed over at his place before. Multiple times. Always on the weekend when neither of you had work.

It gave you the opportunity to spend unrestricted time together without a single worry of differing schedules. Each time you’d stay up as late as your body would let you, not quite used to Jack’s nocturnal way of life. Your voice would dissipate into quiet hums as your eyelids grew heavy, until you eventually fell asleep with your body pressed against his. The dim lamp on his bedside table would stay on a little while longer as he read, his back resting against the headboard, but his body would sink deep into the comforter, his mind losing focus at the feeling of you alongside him. He'd let himself peer down at your sleeping figure, facial features relaxed and soft in the faint light of his bedroom. A true depiction of the endless beauty found in stillness. Finding solace in the comfort of your skin, warm and real and touching his, he would always fall asleep much faster than usual. 

Given the ease of your previous sleepovers, it wasn’t odd for him to mention you staying over at his place, but it felt different this time.

The intention was distinctive— a deepening of dependence. It wouldn’t be the normal arrangement of talking, and laughing, and fucking well into the early morning hours until you fell asleep in his arms. This time you would be there, alone, in his space. It felt like an extension of trust. An extension of newfound domesticity in your relationship. A taste of reliance.

“Like just stay here while you’re at work?” A hint of a smile danced on your lips as your words came out in wishful anticipation.

He caught it. The excitement in your voice, and the careful raise of your eyebrows as you kept your grin from stretching across your face.

“If you want to.” Setting down the sauce-stained utensil in his hand, he took a single step toward you, body angled slightly behind yours as his arms wrapped instinctively around your waist, his chin coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t mind coming home to you in the morning.” His words sunk into the crook of your neck before his lips found your jaw in a careful kiss.  

Under the spell of his touch you agreed to his invitation, finishing dinner, and receiving an all too-natural kiss goodbye from Jack before he lingered at the front door on his way out. 

After an evening spent in his home, you fell asleep in his room, on his bed. And that's where you remained, still dreaming under the gentle weight of his comforter when he got home from work. 

Careful not to wake you, his steps softened as he came to the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the frame to find your body snuggled in his sheets.

You were sprawled out on your belly with one leg bent and your hands underneath the pillow. His pillow. You must’ve ventured over to his side of the bed in your sleep, your back rising and falling with gentle breaths as your face smushed further into the cotton pillowcase. 

Fragments of your body peeked out from underneath his bedspread, the heather grey t-shirt on your back immediately catching his eye. Only a sliver of the ambiguous material was visible on your shoulders, but Jack new the shirt adorning your sleeping figure belonged to him. The sight of you wearing his clothes, nestled deep in his sheets, made the rhythmic beating in his chest stutter.

He let himself watch for a minute, standing in silence with a subtle grin on his lips.

The trials of his day dispersed right there in the threshold of his bedroom. Every high stress situation and crucial decision fading in the background as you laid on his bed, captivated by a peaceful slumber.

He knew it wouldn’t last long, knew your schedule like the back of his hand, and it was only a matter of time before you would be waking up to start your day. Half an hour maybe. 

His time with you, snuggled and serene in his bed, was limited. All he wanted to do was join you. To give himself over to the soothing consolation of your figure weighed down into his, and drown in the comfort of your soft breath. 

He had to force his way to the bathroom. Stripping himself of the clothes littered with the impurities of his job. Turning the shower faucet, and fighting his desire to lay next to you with his clothes still stained from work.

He couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do it.

There was nothing worth bringing you into his world. The grime of trauma and death had no place next to you. You were separate from all of that. Pure from the suffering he had to witness on a daily basis. Any anguish abiding in his thoughts, on his clothes, rooted in the ache of his body, all of it vanished the second he saw the soft curve of your lips after a long day.

Less than three minutes of scrubbing and rinsing his body under the shower head and he was out, working himself into a pair of shorts before silently stepping back into his bedroom. Relief flooding through his body at finding you still fast asleep on his side of the bed.

He almost doesn’t want to join you, to ruin the perfect scene set in front of him; your sleeping figure draped over his sheets, but then you stir. Your legs move slightly, and your head buries deeper into his pillow and he’s crawling onto the mattress in seconds. It dips under his weight, and one of your eyes squints open at the interruption. A sleepy smile melting onto your expression as contentment engulfs you both. He squishes next to you, eliciting a gentle hum from your chest as his body comes into contact with yours.

“Hi.” Your voice is sleepy- barely audible. Music to his ears.

“Hi.” Far less drowsy but still holding a tired rasp, his greeting fills the thin space between you, both heads sharing a pillow as your bodies face one another. 

“You’re in my spot.” His whisper hides in a smile as his hand finds the curve of your waist underneath his t-shirt.

You try to mumble out an apology, shifting your body back to the other side of the bed, but his arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you flush against his bare chest. The muscles in his body constricting as he hugs you tight against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The familiar teasing of his voice sends a wave of comfort rippling through your body. You let his arms envelop you. Melting into his touch, surrounded and satisfied by his company.

“Want you right here.” His words are muffled in your hair as he places a kiss to the top of your head. 

You don’t fall back asleep, but Jack does. His eyes closing and breath evening the second he has you in his arms. The rigid facade he holds in place vanishing under a soft veil of sleep.

You lay with him for a few more minutes, drenched in his affection, until you're practically prying his hands from your waist and rolling out of his bed. You’re hesitant to leave, your body trying to lull you back into his sheets, the calm of his embrace calling to you as you slip quietly from his bedroom.

Already counting down the minutes until you’re back at his place for dinner, you pad into the kitchen, carefully putting away the dishes laying out on the drying rack before gathering your belongings and starting your day. 

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

♡ [MULTI] DRUNK DATES WITH MEGATRON(s)!

scenario: what it's like to get a drink with the warlord himself. enjoyed only by his beloved , i.e., you. usually one of you (its you) gets knocked out.

including: TFA, TFP, Armada, ES, WFC, BW.

warning: slightly suggestive, getting drunk

TFA Megs:

There are certain rare occasions when Megatron feels like spending some time with the finest luxuries— company and heavy refuelling. And what better company can he ask for in his habsuite than that of his most competent soldier and lover?

Megatron just flat out invites you for a ‘chat’ and it turns out to be a date.

He usually thinks that heavy refuelling is very crude and that it's just vulgar but sometimes, he really really needs a strong and heavy drink. Especially since he’s stuck on a warship with Starscream, Lugnut and Blitzwing.

TFA Megatron is a connoisseur when it comes to drinks. Every solar-cycle, he has at least one glass of high grade energon or refined oil in a wine glass as he monitors the Warship activities on his throne.

Megatron isn’t a simpleton. He has all the regal and luxurious types of drinks. If it isn’t high grade energon, refined oil, highly distilled petroleum or finely aged engex, Megatron won’t even touch the drink. It's not that his tanks can't handle cheap fuel, it can but he'd rather not.

This version of Megatron literally has a personal collection of the finest oil and energon, his intoxication tolerance definitely exceeds yours by a longshot and he is probably the Megatron with the highest tolerance out of them all. He will not lose himself. That means, by the time you get completely drunk, Megatron is only slightly intoxicated.

Also, this Megatron is probably the most romantic out of all of them. He’s old but he’s still a really smooth talker and as he gets more drunk, his occasional words of affectionate teasing and taunting throughout your conversation will just begin to get even more suggestive and seductive.

The two of you often dwell into more philosophical subjects, Megatron likes these conversations. He finds them quite meaningful and it gives him a wider view about your perception of things. Megatron often enlightens you with wisdom, he may be a warlord but he still has millions of years worth of life experience on his processor.

Sometimes, you share the more casual happenings on the ship and in your life. Things like Blitzwing’s antics, receiving a second opinion from Megatron about Blackarachnia’s face-plate care advice (TFA Megs would def be a expert on stuff like beauty care), Lugnut’s embarrassing speeches about Megatron’s glory (Megatron finds them downright embarrassing) and of course, Starscream’s devious plots you overhear when the mech is busy rambling to himself, thinking that nobody can hear him. Everyone can.

It's just you talking as the warlord listens. You don't even realise that you’re snitching on Random’s numerous pranks on Lugnut to Megatron.

As much as Megatron doesn't approve of tomfoolery amongst his underlings, he does find these things amusing. He even chuckles at them. Sometimes, the way you describe things pulls out a genuine laugh out of him. Megatron’s rarely ever even smiled since the defeat of the Decepticons.

He’s glad that he’s got someone like you to crack him up. Megatron would not vocalise much about it but he absolutely adores your company. The words that roll off his glossa may be only teasing, taunting and sexual innuendos but behind his optics is just pure adoration for you.

These wonderful times usually end with you getting blackout drunk and Megatron generously letting you recharge on his berth, he will literally tuck you in his bed and give you a soft kiss on your helm if he’s in a rally good mood. You’ll have to sneak out without the other ‘Cons noticing the next morning though. There are some occasions where things do take a more romantic turn though but it never exceeds you sloppily kissing his helm and smothering his face in kisses as he tries to get you to bed (he will not return the favour even if he does find your affections utmost pleasurable).

If you’re lucky, things can get a bit more sexual. You have to initiate though, as in, straight out say it. Megatron loves being aware of the fact that he can get you off.

None of the other Decepticons are aware of your late drinking sessions with the leader himself so they’re just confused as to how Megatron is so up to date about the latest mischiefs and mishaps.

He definitely wants to do this more often with you.

TFP Megs:

Only behind closed doors is this version of Megatron affectionate albeit in a very tame way and when he’s drunk, Megatron is almost the same except it’s in a more impulsive way also he does get slightly more aggressive. Megatron definitely does lose himself completely in his drink, he loses all sense of rational thought and is up to do anything he and you want to.

This Megatron rarely gets the chance to indulge himself in the pleasures of high grade energon so his tolerance pales in comparison to TFA Megatron and a few of his other counterparts but still is far more impressive than most.

He probably would just blare the ship’s speakers and order you to come to the control bridge which is near to his quarters. Asks you to follow him. He just flat out leads you to his habisuite. Not a lot of explanations are given but once you see the drinks, its clear what he’s called upon you for. Megatron flat out expects you to just obey cause he’s too embarrassed to ask.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to get drunk, he does but he’s just too busy like most Megatrons. He just doesn’t have the time and Piranha faced Megs ain’t like TFA Megs who sips out high-grade out of a wine glass whenever he feels like it.

Also, Megatron really doesn’t care what kind of drinks there are. He’s fine with anything that can make him reach a high. Megatron is not picky.

The two of your drinking activities usually include whatever goofy shit you and him want to do. Megatron loses himself and he just follows your orders, he does often retort with formal snarky remarks but he’ll still be down for it. He’s extremely complicit.

With TFP Megs, drunk antics take place. It's not just drunk conversation or affections, there’s more action. It’s more activity oriented. Like singing stupid songs. It’s embarrassing but Megatron secretly likes the more upbeat pop songs and two of you just sing your sparks out to said songs. One time, the two of you dueted Aqua’s “Barbie Girl”.

The two of you duet songs while drunk or hold silly poetry competitions. Yes, writing while drunk, you can imagine how disastrous the results were.

Sometimes, the two of you watch some human movies together (Only when he’s drunk, Megatron will only touch human media if he is drunk. Try this with him when he’s not and he will laugh at your face for even suggesting the idea) and Megatron is the type to ruin the whole thing by babbling about inaccuracies and how stupid the plot is.

He will end up in a fight so you better prepare yourself. This is one of the reasons why the two of you only drink in his quarters, the door is locked to make sure nobody walks in on Megatron and you, sitting on the floor as you paint each other’s servos. He gave you a Decepticon themed servo-paint with the insignia tattered across your servos. It sort of looks like those wallpapers that you’ve seen in human phones but very very messy. Starscream walked in on you two singing ‘Barbie Girl’ and proceeded to record the whole thing, ever since then, Megatron has been more discreet.

Megatron chugs down like a pirate so he’s usually the first one to get blacked out even though he has high tolerance. Like, he can down a whole barrel in one go. You end up having to haul his giant frame onto his berth.

Once Megatron wakes up, he has a painful hangover. It’s all worth it though. He got to make some real memories that he can smile back onto. But that thought runs away as cringe overwhelms his frame the second he sees his drunk poetry.

He’s ashamed of himself for ever agreeing to do even half of the embarrassing stuff the two of you did. Then again, the two of you were totally wasted. None of you had any idea what you were doing. Just purely acting on impulsive thought.

He isn't that angry or embarrassed about it as you would expect him to be though. Megatron is always busy, it's always nice to finally get some time to spend with his beloved. Even if the things you did together were cringey.

He’s a total dork when he’s drunk. A massive shift of demeanor.

Armada Megs:

I’ll be real with you, not happening. Never happening. If it did, it would be because he’s finally had enough of everything and genuinely doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

Cause, this Megatron is probably the most smug, snarky and prideful out of the bunch and that’s something cause he’s against TFP and TFA here. The chance that he would even let you s t a n d right next to him is a big question. He’s gotta be really really into you for that or he’s just flat out desperate for someone to talk to. The relationship between the two of you isn’t the healthiest. This mech has no soft spots.

This Megatron needs the best— no questions asked. If there’s no refined high grade, he doesn’t want it. He’s picky and he’s a big baby about it. Say that to his face though and it would be a full-on ride to blaster-ville.

Since y'all are on the moon, there’s not a lot of places to have drinks privately. So, Megatron usually plans this beforehand and selects whatever location he wants. He also informs you about such. He’s ridiculously formal about it too. He tells you which time, which spot and all in his usual commanding voice. It’s his weird version of a date.

Megatron says that he wants to have a private chat with you in front of you and the others. They buy it all the time. Nobody knows what the two of you are up to. Cyclonus and Starscream are very curious and Demolisher is theorizing what's happening. A relationship is the last thing they could thing of— But Starscream (intially) will be sort of jealous that you seem to have Megatron's recognition more than he does.

At the start, drinking with him is just the two of you sitting down as you listen to Megatron blabber about whatever he wants to talk about. Usually, it’s about his day and how incompetent his lackeys Cyclonus and Demolisher are or he’s gonna rant about how he’s going to destroy Optimus Prime as if he hasn’t said the exact same things a bajillion times. But if the beetle-head is feeling a little better, he might praise you for being a really reliable soldier.

Megatron here is embarrassingly a lightweight drinker. His tolerance is below average. Tell anyone and you will be demoted. Three small cubes are enough to get this ‘Con tipsy.

His gait gets all messed up when he’s drunk and he gets wildly unpredictable so you just appease your lord with what he wants to hear. Megatron is a real douche and if you piss him off, he will verbally destroy you. He’s like Eminem if he was a poet. He might feel slightly bad afterwards but will not apologise. He’s a jerk.

Things do take a turn and the leader of the Decepticons himself might end up being just spontaneously affectionate out of nowhere when he’s fully intoxicated. Full on love bombing you and kissing you. Telling you how much he loves you, praising you and such. You can’t tell if he’s being flat out manipulative or if this is genuine.

In contrast to his loud and commanding way of speech, Megatron mumbles a lot when he’s drunk.

He also gets extra handsy when he’s drunk. Megatron needs to have his hands occupied for some weird reason. Sometimes his arms would be wrapped around your shoulders or maybe even your waist. He won’t think much of it though.

Show him any signs of affection and he will be caught off guard. First time you did it, he was genuinely flustered on the inside even though he repeatedly denied your allegations. The next time, Megatron will be ridiculously smug about it after the slight shock.

He’s the first to pass out. You have to put him on his throne, his berth or the berths on the med-bay; if you leave him on the floor, he will be pissed. You have to haul him back. You usually cook up a story like the Autobots attacked the two of you or something by those lines. He has mixed feelings about it... considering how it seems as if he lost against the Autobots in your cooked up story but it did cover him well so he didn’t mind it entirely.

It's not really fun hanging out with him but he’s your pathetic yet lovable... warlord and loser.

Earthspark Megs:

This Megatron is kind of like a dad except he doesn’t make dad jokes like Optimus would try to. You can rely on him, he’ll take care of you, he would be really respectful and overall just a gentle-bot. He’s far more sentimental and romantic than the other Megatrons.

Megatron would love to have a drink with you because he thinks it would be nice. No ulterior motives, nothing to vent out and not out of frustration and desperation for relaxation.

He’s really casual about this and will ask you face-to-face. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”— simple yet formal. A yes or no question, something which the other Megatrons would try to avoid.

Megatron is really fine with drinking any type of intoxicating forms of energon as long as it doesn’t come with major health risks. He isn’t picky at all.

He was a heavy drinker back in the day and still is, he can last for ridiculously long. Longer than even TFA Megatron. He is supposed to be a cannon deviant timeline of the OG show, that means he’s technically good guy G1 Megs (i think, im not sure) and that mech chugged down those energon in glass cubes like it was his last day alive. You can’t tell me that he doesn’t have the highest tolerance out there.

A conversation with him while being intoxicated is actually really fun unlike with Beetle-Bot or Piranha Face. The two of you talk and listen to each other. There’s more mutual conversation and laughter. He doesn’t really have a good sense of humour but you make him laugh uncontrollably. Both of you usually discuss your day, your hobbies, your interests and just the randomest topics possible. He’s incredibly sweet.

Megs is a sweetheart. He would treat this more like a date than any of the other Megatrons. He would make beforehand preparations, picking out locations and even picking your favorite kind of drink.

The two of you usually do this in the woods, away from all the noise of the city and away from all prying human eyes as well as optics.

He would include human drinks as well if you like them— wine, vodka, beer, whiskey, brandy; you name it. This Megatron is much more open to trying new stuff. He likes wine and beer a lot. Even if both of your frames struggle to combust it.

Megatron might share old war stories of his. He doesn’t share them with a happy face though, Megatron here is ashamed of who he once was and truly resents the things he’s done. He wants to change for the better. It’s best if you don’t mention his past during these wholesome times with him.

Affectionate. Behind his gaze is just pure love-struckness when his optics land on you, this only gets amplified when he’s drunk.

He verbally shows this love through mild teasing.

He’s really old and he’s ridiculously mature now. Megatron wouldn’t get into any drunk antics unfortunately and he will drink only to a certain limit. He is not getting blacked out.

Will definitely accompany you back home. Megatron will make sure that you’re safe and sound before he returns to the GHOST headquarters

He’s so babygirl.

WFC Megatron:

This mech is probably the most unstable Cybertronian out there.

All the other Megatrons have at least some sort of time for you but this guy? He’s planning, surveying and assessing the Decepticon army and assets. Making battle plans, coming up with formations, interrogating Autobot POWs, reading reports sent from the scouts and spies. In other words, this Megatron is a pure workaholic and he barely gets any time with you.

Which is why he so happily (even if he doesn't look like it on the outside) acceots your offer to drink with you.

Megatron in this universe, while drunk, just begins venting and ranting. He’ll even maybe shed tears, if he was capable. The only time he’ll ever openly discuss how he feels about things entirely is when he’s drunk. Intoxication with him is purely emotional.

Megatron has done a lot of downright devious and heinous scrap which he justifies by convincing himself that it was for the ‘greater good’. He does feel bad for doing so, he even envies Shockwave to an extent as he doesn’t feel any emotion. Megs knows he’s doing it wrong but he just can’t see another way for it to work.

Energon shortages make it difficult for drinking sessions but he does have a small stash of engex he’d kept safe long before the war. Megatron isn’t picky at all here. If it works, he’ll have it. He had stolen some from a random upper class bot back during his gladiatorial times. You also have your own private stash.

Megatron will drink until he feels entirely numb, devoid of all emotion. He had insanely high tolerance and doesn’t black out. If he wasn’t the leader of the Decepticons, he would’ve been the Cybertronian equivalent of an alcoholic.

Him getting drunk with you is just him pouring out all of his emotions to you. Megatron is not alright in the processor and he desperately needs a hug. Whenever he needs a drink, he just needs comfort.

And he does find comfort. Not just in the drink but with your company as well. You’re the one ‘Con he knows that will never betray him and he loves you, you’re the only one he trusts. Megatron really does. He even smiles at you often when its just you two. You’re the Elita to his Prime. Cybertron is in ruins, it's uninhabitable, it can’t even be called his home. A home is somewhere where you can live respectably, Cybertron was anything but that. The only real home to Megatron is your embrace.

He’s sacrificed nearly everything for Cybertron. For his quest to fulfil the Decepticon cause and bring forth a just Cybertron. Megatron absolutely dreads the day where he will have to sacrifice you as well for the cause and for Cybertron and he will have to do it, he knows. He knows that he won’t have a choice.

So he tries his very best to spend the limited quality time he gets with you to the fullest. He desperately wants to detach from his reality but he doesn’t have a choice— he has to stay strong for all the other Decepticons. He wants this war over as much as any other Cybertronian does but only until Optimus admits defeat.

You do try to make the situation less dark by trying to squeeze in a light hearted joke or two. They do make him smile, rarely.

Do not ever bring up Optimus Prime in any given situation. Megatron gets drunk to detach himself from reality. Bringing up the bot that ruined his life from Megatron’s perspective will just make him sour.

He loves you, he really does. Megatron would mourn you in silence for the rest of his lifetime if you were to be terminated, it would damn near break him. He’s surprisingly the most sentimental and emotional out of all the Megatrons. He never hides his intentions, he’s honest about that at least when compared to most of the other Megatrons. He is blunt and will just say things to your face. He might toy with you if he finds doing so in the current conversation amusing.

Just give him some hope that things will get better, that you believe he’s doing the ‘right thing’. Hope is what Megatron needs the most in such dark times. You give him hope.

Megatron hopes everyday that he never has to lose you. He gets uncharacteristically soft and slightly needy when drunk. He just needs someone there.

BW Megatron:

Megatron, unlike all the other Megatrons, genuinely doesn’t like getting drunk at all. He believes that it’s just a cheap petty distraction from reality for the weak minded, an escape if anything and if Megatron wants to take out the Maximals and bring forth a Predacon-ruled Cybertron, he can’t afford to have distractions.

Especially in his current state, stranded on a primitive planet with troops that are small in number and ridiculously incompetent, trapped in a compromised situation against a Maximal troop with dwindling resources on both sides, Megatron has to scheme if he and his dream are to survive.

But there was an occasion where he did indulge in some high grade, only the fancy ones though. It's bad enough that he stoops as low as to chase a high but as long as it’s something expensive and exquisite, he doesn’t mind as much as he normally would.

A very small part of the energon that the Predacons mine are in fact distilled and refined and turned into quality high grade energon. Quickstrike is usually in charge of that, Megatron takes as much as he pleases from those reserves.

These high grade reserves are mainly there just to sedate the rowdy and incompetent following that Megatron was unfortunate enough to recruit, he needs something to motivate them.

When Optimus Primal is really starting to get on his nerves, Megatron takes a good strong drink. Especially when Primal returned with a transmetal form. That ticked him off.

Megatron has a rather average tolerance. He’s in between Armada and TFP Megs. He generally doesn’t like to have company, even if it's you but there is an undeniable loneliness within him— but that's mostly because it sucks to be the only smart one in a group.

You just so happened to be walking by to catch him and he made you swear to never tell anyone else. But since you were there anyway, he might as well let you enjoy it with him.

Don’t be fooled, Megaton has absolutely no emotional attachment to you what so ever. To him, you’re an actually usable asset so he only value you in that sense so he’s almost always professional on duty. To him, a bot is just a means to an end. But at least the means to an end in this case was somewhat more refined and amusing than the other classless brutes he had on-board.

He’s a smooth talker, he knows just what to say to get your circuits in a knot. He’s either very formal, very suggestive or flat out snarky— no in-betweens.

The interactions would be rather short as compared to the other Megatrons. He doesn’t appreciate company a lot and he has actually for once has no ulterior motive other than to just get wasted.

He would never drink till he’s blackout drunk, he’s got way more self control than any of the other Megatrons. BW Megs is way more responsible.

I WROTE FOR LIKE SIX MEGATRONS and there's still IDW, Cybertron, TFO, Cyberverse like bruh. im probably not gonna write for those for though bc this is one of my older works on ao3 i wrote on a whim. I've barely watched half of ES btw, that's why it's not in my request list.

guess who's my favorite transformer? also, the ES Megs might not be that nice cause my lame ass only watched a quarter of ES S1. i didn't finish it lmao. still havent.

[awakittie]

Get Jinxed!

warnings. maybe ooc, slight angst (mainly fluff), modern au, reader is shorter than jinx (yuurp), mention of blood

pairing. neighbour!jinx / reader

wc. 736

gif boarder from @/cafekitsune

( see to end for notes! )

jinx, who opts to sitting on the dirty stairs of the apartment complex amongst the musk just to catch you whenever you arrive home around 8pm. you never question it, not when you secretly revel in it.

you, who bakes pastries with the sole intent of passing them on to jinx. you claim as you hand them to her, grin wavering on the brink of cracking, that they were leftovers for your family.

jinx knows they’re not, yet she nods along to your fabrication with full attentiveness. you melt under her gaze, lidded knowingly from where she looks down at you.

jinx, who admires your baking skills and wants to try making something herself. she invites you to her apartment, presenting the pasta bake with a proud gest, fists situated on her hips.

it’s not bad, not by a long stretch. you try to ignore the set up; sat across from one another over a pot of pasta bake, candle directly in the middle of the table. it’s not a date, it’snotadate.

jinx, who despite lacking the ability to be anything but playful, is suddenly the thorn in your side when you’re sick. or lack-thereof. she’s actually a really good help; making varying soups that you’d shown her the recipes to, running you a nice warm bath with the added touch of candles placed neatly across the edges of the tub, etc etc.

you, who wakes up groggy with fatigue to the sounds of jinx in the other room, yelling profanities and hissing between her teeth. reluctantly you get up, finding her hunched over her desk with controller in hand playing some first person shooter (lets be real, she’d play Call of Duty).

the grin that sparkles under the dim pink of her monitor, thrown over her shoulder tells you she’s at least happy to see you awake at this ungodly hour. that was the first night you spent at her house.

jinx, who tells you she can’t paint her nails herself due to her being right handed. truthfully, she can as she’s ambidextrous — only uses that as an excuse to come over and see you. not that she’d tell you that, though.

jinx, who sends you varying photos throughout the day; her face bunched under multi-coloured scarves with her bottom lip stuck out in a pout from her walk, or her middle finger pointed at the red flash of the game over screen, or her failed baking attempts.

small things like that.

jinx, who struggles with letting you see her cry. the first time she did in front of you, she’d sat with her bottom lip wobbling with the weight of containing her tears. her whole body trembled, tears brimming her waterline as she picked at her fingers. you’d taken her hands in your own, the red liquids pooling over splashes of pink and blue.

you, who thinks you’ve finally gotten some time to yourself since she’d moved in, but that thought is instantly lost. your body, heavy with sleep carries you to the open window, hand dragging down the pane right as your eyes catch on the blue blob in the distance to your left.

jinx waves, head poking from out the window with her mouth gaping in a cheery smile. you sigh, offering a lifeless wave back.

jinx, who reluctantly after months and months of cringing away when you’d touched her hair finally gives in, tilting her head back into your touch as you situate yourself behind her.

“you’re never doing this again after today, you hear?” she quips. you nod, humming contentedly as your fingers thread her loose blue strands, rendered wavy from wearing them in braids.

she secretly enjoys it.

jinx, who shows up to your door with the same pastries you’d baked her the first time you met. that was the day she’d confessed her feelings for you, expressed how much you mean to her, how she’d do anything to live alongside you for the rest of her life.

the sentiment shocked you, and you stood gaping, eyes flitting between the sweet treats and her bashful smile. you’d never seen her this nervous before.

you and jinx, who then spend the night snacking on the pastries, lounging on the couch while some show played incoherently in the background.

all you could focus on was her.

A/N. yaaayy! jinx headcanons! honestly this is a mix of a bunch of different aus and headcanons ive seen over the past however long. im super tired this was written on and off for about a day, sorry its nothing too special >_<

[in-our-veins]

Poppy Playtime Fanfic:

*short fics, random, some are in a series cause they don't fit a multi-chapter story.

get out of the room — (307) Marcas Brickley, Eddie, Leith Pierre.

monitor — (274) Riley & Harley Sawyer.

stay here, don't die — (432) Marcas Brickley, Eddie, Harley Sawyer

i promise i won't say anything — (ch 5. ~ 5.448) • Completed | Marcas Brickley & Eddie.

don't be afraid — (166) Riley & Harley Sawyer.

you will never leave this place — (ch 1 ~ 1.224) Riley, Harley Sawyer, Leith Pierre.

why would they keep you alive? — (846) Marcas & Harley Sawyer. (before reading, look at the tags.)

i'm not on my knees — (497) Leith/Harley (smut)

replaced — (142) CatNap.

i should fire you — (304) Leith Pierre/Reader.

is it enough for you? — (472) The Player/Harley Sawyer (smut.)

this is too much — (769) Marcas/Eddie.

don't touch him — (100) Ex.1006 & The Doctor.

is this going to be fun? — (565) The Player & The Doctor.

why do i know you? — (572) Marcas/Eddie

it was an accident! — (885) Marcas/Eddie.

i haven't seen you all day — (275) Marcas/Eddie

where were you? — (440) Reader & Harley Sawyer.

you reap what you sow — (2.596 / ch.2) The Player & Harley Sawyer

leave them be — (188) Harley Sawyer & Yarnaby.

we're on a date? — (291) Marcas/Eddie.

for your own sake — (482) Marcas/Eddie.

the subject did well — (428) Marcas/Eddie)

allow me to help — (209) The Player & The Doctor.

is there nothing there? — (1.429) Marcas x Eddie

they won't feel a thing — (154) Stella, Leith, Eddie.

are you hungry? — (234) Harley Sawyer & Quinn Navidson.

i'll take care of you — (1.323) Marcas/Eddie (smut)

they deserve to see it — (878) Marcas/Harley Sawyer (smut)

let's go home — (7.415) Ch 2, 3, 4, 5, 6~ OC & CatNap Doll.

it's time to go home — (286) Marcas/Eddie.

waste — (171) Harley Sawyer & Quinn Navidson.

i just don't believe you — (353) Eddie M. N. Ritterman & Harley Sawyer.

make you mine — (349) Marcas/Eddie.

find the truth — (339) The Player & Huggy Wuggy.

exhausting — (298) Scientist #4 & Eddie M. N. Ritterman.

busy, busy, busy — (422) Scientist #4 & Dr. White & Harley Sawyer.

you don't need to think — (414) The Player/Harley Sawyer.

i'd rather send her back — (406) Harley Sawyer & Scientist #4

daydream — (223) Marcas/Eddie. (Mildly graphic smut.)

sign your name — (2.531) Marcas/Eddie.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi Whimsy🖤

I'm new here and this is my first ask so I'm sorry if I haven't done this right. If you're comfortable with it and are able to can I get a Prince Nuada x chubby f!reader enemies to lovers anything (with nsfw if you're fine with that).

You have full reign over the direction and themes of this, anything is appreciated!

Thank you for your time🌻

Hello! Now this is something that actually deserves a full multi-part fic, so I thought of coming up with a detailed outline for the moment. I hope you like it!

“A prince’s regard”

Pairing: Prince Nuada x chubby F! reader (Human | Second person POV)

Themes: Enemies to lovers | Soft | NSFW

Warnings : Angst-ish | Mentions of wounds | Mention of character death (Nuada’s mother) | Nuada being a bit of a jerk in the beginning | Insecurities | Nuada gets a little handsy at the end, but in a cute way.

Wordcount: 2.2k words

Summary: As part of a greater plan to encourage peace and understanding between humans and elves, a lottery is held for elves and humans to live amongst each other. You’re one of them, and the elf you are paired off with during the lotter is none other than Nuada himself.

A/n: If anyone wants to make use of these I say go for it, but please tag me if you do.

Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

🍃As part of a peace treaty with mortals, King Balor proposed an exchange of culture and knowledge between the two former warring races. Selected humans would live amongst the elves as attendants, handmaidens, stewards, and students, and elves would do the same with humans.

🍃A lottery is organized and monitored by the BPRD to stop parties with vested interests from meddling and upsetting the delicate balance of such a hard-won peace. Offices spread all over the world turn into lottery centers, and any elf or mortal wishing to add their name to the list is encouraged to do so.

🍃The numbers may not have been record-breaking, but enough elves and humans registered all the same. Your name was one of them. You did it on a dare, and with your friends, thinking nothing would ever come out of it.

🍃When the announcements start, you join the others in front of the TV, listening to names being called out, along with the names of families and individuals they would be paired with. Your name was not called on the first day. It was not called on the second or third day either. It was disappointing, to be sure, but you made peace with it. The days passed, with more and more names being announced. Then, after a fortnight had passed, you listened, dumbfounded, while your own name was announced to the world in crisp words. You were even more astounded when you found that you were being paired off with none other than the crown prince of Bethmoora himself.

🍃Your friends take you shopping as you would be moving into a series of abandoned railway tunnels he had converted into a luxurious palace. No one has seen the inside of it except for his father and sister, and the handful of attendants that served him.

🍃You’re nervous. Not just because you would be living with elven royalty, but also because Nuada is well known for hating humans.

🍃The prince was cold and aloof when you walked in through thick wooden doors full of strange symbols carved into them. “For protection,” Princess Nuala said, “against any evil that tries to make its way inside.”

🍃She was exceedingly warm where her twin is not, asking dozens of questions about your life, your friends, your family, everything. Nuala helped you settle into your new rooms and then showed you around the vast network of tunnels and chambers her brother called home. Everything was dimly lit, because that was how he liked it. There were sculptures and priceless works of art everywhere, hundreds upon hundreds of candles, thick, plush carpets, and the library was unlike anything you had ever seen.

“Do not touch anything.” He hissed, startling you. Nuada had walked up to you without making a sound. It was more than a little unnerving that he could do such a thing. “These treasures are priceless, and I will not see them sullied by mortal hands such as yours.”

Nuala apologized profusely. “Some of the sculptures you see here belonged to our mother,” she went on to explain after he disappeared down another corridor. “And my brother is quite attached to them.”

She did not say more on the matter, and she took you to her own rooms and hosted you to a light supper. At least, that was what she called it. An elaborate meal had been laid out in the dining room of her apartment. During dinner, Nuala informed she had to return to the BPRD, as her true home was there, with Abe. She would visit from time to time, but her place was elsewhere. Your heart sank, for it meant you would have to be alone with Nuada.

“Do not fret,” she urged. “My brother has a good heart; it is just that he guards it so fiercely. Give him time, y/n. He will come around. Mr. Wink will be here as well, so you will not want for company.”

“That’s comforting,” you tell yourself. Mr. Wink was large and imposing and spoke in a language you did not understand, and his loyalty would always belong to Nuada. Still, you made peace with Nuala’s leaving, and enjoyed the rest of your dinner.

🍃During the course of the subsequent days and weeks, Nuada would go out of his way to avoid you. He dined by himself, trained by himself, and kept to his own chambers when he was not needed elsewhere. If, by chance, you did run into him, he would respond with a curt grunt before walking away. If you came upon him training, he would order you to leave him in peace. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, he would walk out of a room if you walked into it. It stung. What made it worse was knowing your stay had to last a full year before a change in placement could be requested. And that made you wretched, because the end of that year was still a long way off. Resentment took root, and you slowly began to loathe the prince for making living with him so hard.

🍃Mr. Wink, on the other hand, was surprisingly nicer, allowing you to join him while he used the mechanical toys that kept him entertained, watching TV with you, and even letting you read to him once in a while. He went so far as to ask through Nuala for you to help him learn your language.

It was a trial. Truly, it was a trial. Mr. Wink was a creature of fixed habits, and modern languages were strange to his ears. Once, he nearly flipped over a table in frustration. You had to keep to your sofa and hide your giggles while he ranted and raved and declared, through Nuala during her next visit, that human languages were languages born from the pits of hell.

“They may be languages from the pits of hell,” you tell him, “but you still need to learn. Come on. You can do this.”

The lessons continued. And Nuada’s avoidance of you continued as well. 

🍃“Why do you always avoid me?” You finally mustered your courage and confronted him after breakfast. “I know you are not all that happy about it, but do you have to go out of your way to make me feel unwelcome?”

“Because you are mortal,” he rasped sharply. “That alone is enough. Now leave me. I have better things to do with my time.”

🍃And so it continued, until one dark November night, when an injured Mr. Wink brought him home, covered in wounds. A raid had gone wrong, you were told. Hellboy had taken it into his head to charge straight into a hive of tooth fairies, the largest that had been found in North America. Many in the team were injured, and Nuada was one of those who were worse off. Doctors from the Bureau came over and did the best they could. You had to see to his care after they left, as Nuala could not leave the BPRD. She too had suffered the same harm, even though she never left the facility.

For several days, Nuada slipped in and out of consciousness. You wanted to let him struggle out of spite, but seeing him helpless and weak convinced you to do otherwise. You changed his dressing, gave him bed baths to clean him up, and even changed his clothes. You avoided looking at the scars that marred an otherwise near-perfect body. It would be rude to do so, you tell yourself. He would not like being gawked at.

You brushed his hair and then read to him before making yourself comfortable on a nearby pillowed bench that served as your bed. Sometimes, you would find him looking at you with a strange expression in his eyes while you went about looking after him. You didn’t know what to make of it.

🍃“You must eat something, my prince,” you insisted one evening, holding a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Just a spoonful. Please.”

Nuada’s appetite had deserted him, and you had to feed him his meals. He fussed and grumbled and muttered choice words in the language of his people, but he would yield to your entreaties in the end and make himself eat. It started with a spoonful, and then another, and another. Finally, when he was strong enough, he could eat properly.

🍃Then he started to talk. It’s about the little things at first: the meal before him, his sister’s wellbeing, and your lessons with Mr. Wink.

“He speaks very highly of you,” he confessed, much to your surprise. “He says you treat him with respect.”

“Do other elves treat him with respect?”

“No,” he replied. "Trolls are seen as, how do you mortals put it?" Nuada searched for the right word. "Oh yes. As the knuckledraggers of my world. Mr. Wink is a remnant of a more primitive age and, therefore, unworthy of true respect in the eyes of many. Besides my sister and myself, you are the only one who is openly kind to him."

"You are kind to him, and yet you treat me with scorn," you sighed. 

The prince said nothing. He grew quiet and thoughtful. You take it as a sign to clear his tray and leave.

🍃Life with him became easier after that. While he rested, Nuada spoke of all the things he had seen and all the wondrous creatures he had met. You listened to his tales with rapt attention, for few mortals knew of such things. Finally, he opened up about his hatred for humans and why he allowed it to fester in his heart for so long.

“They killed my mother,” he spat. “When father left for war, mother traveled with him. She would stay at camp while he took off for the battlefield. He thought he had no cause for worry, for it was an unwritten rule, you see, for a military camp to be left untouched even during the height of fighting. There could be women and children present. Humans did not care for that. As soon as father’s warriors were out of sight, they attacked the camp. My mother… let us just say she did not survive.”

You did not know what to say, except for "I'm sorry.” Nuada smiled sadly and patted your hand.

“Tis not your fault,” he countered. “And it is I who should be apologizing." Nuada paused, and hesitated. "You have been nothing but considerate of my wishes the entire time, and you went out of your way to take care of me even after how I behaved in the beginning. I am ashamed of myself and must beg for your forgiveness.”

🍃Forgiveness would take a while, but Nuada did all that he could to make amends. He even invited you to accompany him to a great feast as his honored guest. That gave you pause, for while Nuada was lithe and graceful and everything a mighty warrior ought to be, you thought yourself to be the opposite of it all and told him so.

“Everyone would compare me to the other ladies,” you agonized after changing into yet another gown, one that was so soft it felt like you were clothed in nothing but air. “I cannot go looking like this.”

“No one will compare you to others,” he insisted. Nuada came into your rooms after wondering what was taking you so long. “They would not dare do so. Besides, there is nothing to give you cause for concern. Like your hair, for example. It looks beautiful the way you have arranged it.”

A flash of heat crept up your throat. No one had complimented you like this before. “It is?”

“Indeed.” Nuada came closer. “And that dress. How artfully it clings to your body. You have made a wise choice with your garments, y/n.”

“Oh.” Now your cheeks were aflame. “You’re not lying? You really like how I look?

“As my sister would tell you, lying is not something I excel at.” He grew bolder, and brushed his hand over your hip, your waist. “Soft,” he murmured. “Even softer than your dress.”

His touch was electrifying. And he was right. Lying was not something he was skilled at. You saw it with your own eyes—how he could not even pretend to be gracious in the beginning. You flushed and looked away, unsure of what to do or say. Nuada reached over and lifted your chin, making you meet his gaze.

“Did I go too far?” He murmured softly.

“No,” you mumbled. “I… I just didn’t expect such attention from someone like you. You are the crown prince. You’re dashing and skilled, and you're the greatest warrior among your people. And I… I am me.”

He went quiet for a while, as if he were thinking. “Then give me the chance to show you how you are so much more than what you believe yourself to be,” he proposed. “Can you do that, y/n? Give me such a chance?”

He was holding out his hand, his eyes bright and determined. But there was something else in those vivid golden-yellow eyes of his. Something more than determination. It tugged at you and drew you in.

He is trying, you think to yourself. He is really trying. And would it be awful to be at the receiving end of his affections?

You decided it would not be so awful after all and placed your hand in his.

tags: @nupppuff @thepjofanqueen

[mrchiipchrome]

Blessing In Disguise

W.C. - 1.8 k

This was originally a song request, if you want to request then there's a prompt list linked in my masterlist.

prompt 30. -Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.

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

Signing for a new club is supposed to be fun, exciting and sometimes even scary. For you, all those emotions were robbed from you by a girl who’d decided to break your heart. 

The relationship hadn’t been going on for long, only a couple of months, but in that short period of time you had managed to fall for the girl completely. The girl who’d only gotten with you for shits and giggles.

So there you stood, taking pictures in the red Arsenal kit, all while trying not to cry. ‘Stupid, stupid people. Stupid, stupid me.’ You think, biting your cheek lightly as the photographer calls for you to do another pose.

‘Olaf and puppies, just keep thinking about Olaf and puppies.’ You have to keep from snorting at your own thoughts, the children’s character always turning your frown upside down.

“YES! That’s it, there’s that smile!” The shouted words startle you slightly, but what startles you even more is the Irish accent that accompanies them. You hadn’t even noticed anyone else sneaking into the room.

“Katie! How’d you get in?” The American accent of the photographer contrasts the harsh Dublin of one Katie McCabe.

“Through the door” She pauses in the middle of her sentence to roll her eyes overenthusiastically. “I wanted to meet the newbie before anyone else” She nearly shouts, sticking her hand out for you to shake.

As soon as you grasp it, she pulls your much taller frame into her own. Her strong arms wrap around your waist, your left arm wrapping around her shoulders reluctantly.

She pulls away from the embrace nearly as quickly as she started it, leaving you to strangely enough, miss her touch.

“You are much taller than you look in the pictures!” The signature smile she flashes you has your knees weakening slightly, butterflies fluttering their wings inside you in a completely different way than it had for that girl. 

This time it was more than just attraction, you could sense that she was a genuine person.

“What d’ya mean?” Katie feels her heart flutter at the furrow in your brow, heart eyes forming despite having met officially only moments before.

“I’ve seen pictures of ya, you look short” You send the multi positional player a playful glare, the woman herself having to tilt her head up to look you in the eye.

“Sure I do Mickey, sure I do.” Now it’s her turn to look confused, the nickname something entirely new to her.

“Mickey? Where’d you get that from?” Her accent continues to play with your heart, if a heart monitor had been connected to you then it would show a clear spike in heart rate. 

“I guess you’ll just have to figure it out because I won’t tell you Mickey.” Out of your peripherals you can see the photographer giving up.

“Girls, if you could both face me for a second so that we can get a decent photo” Mr. Photographer calls out sassily, tapping his foot against the floor in wait. When Katie looks you in the eye, you both have to keep from laughter.

Turning towards the man, Katie slips her arm back around your waist while you place your arm around her shoulders. Your other hand makes the motion of pointing at her, the Irish woman smiling brightly.

After a few clicks of the camera, Mr. Photographer lets you start to pack up, ready to go back to your hotel.

“You want a ride home?” With your back to her, you don’t notice Katie’s intense gaze settled on your back. Her eyes scan the entirety of your backside, getting stuck on your ass for a few seconds too long.

“See anything you like Mickey?” The teasing tone tells her that you’re joking, still she can’t help but let the blush take over her face. 

“Sooo, do you need a ride home?” She questions once again, looking on as you ponder for a second.

“Yeah sure, if it’s not too much trouble.” Humming, the Irish woman lets you lead the way out of the room before walking shoulder to shoulder with you.

The drive back to your temporary home was uneventful, the two of you talking about the club and your expectations. The way she waves at you when you step out of the car makes you all giddy.

Surprisingly, the only thing you can think about when you settle into your bed later that night is the Ireland captain. It’s like she turned your world upside down with one simple look into your eyes. 

Your phone buzzes beside you on the bedside table, Mr. Photographer having sent a text with all the photos from the day for you to post.

Thankfully, the announcement of your arrival to the club had been made earlier, so you didn’t have to worry about that.

Still, you pick your phone up and scroll through the photographs he sent you, finding the best one of you and Katie together.

You can’t help but giggle as you type out the caption to the instagram story, the picture of Katie barely reaching your shoulder is hilarious in its simplicity.

‘Taller than I look, right Mickey?’ You typed before tagging her and posting it. Oh how you already love the team dynamics.

——-

“You dick!” The soft smile on your face turned into a full fledged smirk, Katie’s loud voice booming all throughout the hallway.

Before you can comprehend what’s happening, Katie jumps on your back, her momentum bringing you both down to the floor.

You can’t help but groan at the impact, your ribs feeling slightly bruised. On top of that, you still have Katie sitting on your back, laughing like a madman.

Turning around with her still on top of you, you’re able to relish in the way Katie’s eyes widen slightly before going back to normal. 

Soon enough, Katie herself starts to smirk at the suggestive position you’ve found yourselves in. Her hands creep up to settle on your stomach, muscles contracting under her. 

The clearing of someone’s throat interrupts you two, you trying to scramble up from the ground with a weight pinning you to the floor.

When you realize that Katie isn’t getting off of you, you decide to take drastic measures. 

Placing your hands on her waist, you lift her off your body without much struggle. After that you pull yourself up from the floor, offering the Irish woman a hand to pull herself up with.

“I thought you needed to hit the weights.” Katie’s hand comes up to squeeze your bicep, you flexing it for her.

“I do Mickey, maybe we can go together sometime?” Now your hand is up at your neck, rubbing it nervously.

“RIGHT move it along people, we’ve got training in 5 minutes. You two can flirt later.” Lotte calls out playfully, one of her hands on either of your backs pushing you forward.

Your face is overtaken by a dark blush, Lotte exposing you. 

“Yeah, yeah Lots, you’re just mad that your boyfriend’s away” Katie responds rather snarkily, shooting you an over the top wink.

———-

Week by week passes at the club. The happiness that you once missed out on was now present every second of every day. 

There was one thing that laid at the back of your mind though, nagging and eating away at your conscience. 

You’re in love with Katie, your absolute best friend. 

She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a girl. She’s funny and kind, she’s great with your parents and your siblings. Not to mention that she’s incredibly attractive.

It’s impossible not to fall for her.

Funnily enough, it was just as hard for her not to fall for you. You two were supposed to be friends, not lovers, and yet that’s exactly what you were becoming.

Less than friendly kisses shared behind closed doors, cuddling on the bus and at home, texting whenever you’re apart. She would even steal your clothes, taking your trousers after spending the night together and leaving her own. Yeah, going into training that day wasn’t fun.

It wasn’t official or anything, you were both just enjoying each other’s company.

Well that is until your ex decides to contact you again, despite being blocked.

——

“Micks, could you bring me a glass of water?” Katie moves around your kitchen with ease, already splitting her time between her own flat and yours.

You hear her hum and then the splashing of the water meeting your sink. The movie you’re watching is paused, the two of you cuddling whilst watching it.

Just as you can hear Katie’s sock clad feet moving back towards the living room, your phone buzzes on the table. Picking it up absentmindedly, an unknown number flashes across your screen. 

Pressing accept on the call, you can soon hear the obnoxious voice of your ex-girlfriend screaming. 

Pulling the phone away from your ear, Katie looks at you curiously. 

“Y/n I wanna get back together!” The slightly intoxicated girl screams at you.

“No. Emilia, I told you never to contact me again so don’t.” Speaking firmly into the phone, you can see Katie’s eyes harden in recognition. She did know of your ex after all.

“I was wrong. Take me back.” She drags out every syllable, slurring her words simultaneously.

“I’d rather let a tractor drive over my foot.” 

“But I’m perfect for you” Katie’s hand comes down to take the phone from your grasp, prying it out of your fingers.

“Are ya now?” Her usual playfulness is gone, voice stone cold.

“Who are you?” Emilia’s shrill voice cuts into both of your eardrums, Katie looking at you in confusion. 

How could you date that? She whispers to you, laughing a little when you shrug. 

“Her girlfriend, you intolerable shit. If you contact her again I won’t hesitate to knock your teeth out.” Her low, threatening tone did something to you. She raised a single eyebrow at your Arsenal red face, making you blush that much harder.

Just as Katie’s about to hang up, you take it from her hand. 

“Emilia, you breaking up with me was truly a blessing in disguise, it brought me the love of my life. Have a great life.” After that, you hang up and throw the phone to the edge of the couch. 

Settling on top of the Irish captain again, she starts to run her hand through your hair. The action makes you melt into her body, a content smile forming on your face.

“So I’m the love of your life?” The sharp Irish accent cuts through the air, teasing zing to her words.

“So I’m your girlfriend?” You counter back, feeling her hand still from their movements. “Ask me.”

“What?” You pinch her sides lightly, the hand she was using to play with your hair slapping the back of your head.

“Ask me to be your girlfriend Mick.” 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Despite her trying not to sound nervous, you can hear the slightest tremble in her voice.

“Of course Mickey.” Moving up, you lean in to kiss her softly, lips moving against the other’s.

“So will you finally tell me where you got Mickey from?” 

“Nope”

[veal-exe]

I trust your taste in media, and am willing to ask off anon. (Your takes on Berserk are PHENOMENAL, and I heartily agree.)

I love a good tragedy. Some of my favorite pieces of literature and media in general have been tragedies. (Unfortunately, since they tend to get review bombed for not having "happy" plotlines, or happy endings, its hard to find recs for them specifically.)

Do you have a set of I dunno... 3-5 tragedies to recommend? (I am trying to expand my read/watch list a bit, since I am running out of things to keep on my second monitor while I work on other things.)

(I am not easily triggered by self-harm, sexual assault, or gore, luckily, and those tend to go hand-in-hand with tragedies quite frequently.)

So here's a secret about me, when I was young I had a 'rebellious' phase where I decided that instead of just dedicating myself to the family business (Dog training, multi generation) I was going to expand my horizons and go into film and media critique, so I went and I got all the education you need for that, and then I decided, no, I actually like training dogs more. You would think this means I flushed all that right down the toilet but actually now I just hobby analyze media.

All of this to say, I have many things to recommend! In various mediums!

I will place a Star next to my personal favorites. ☆

This is not a comprehensive list! I have known memory issues, so these are just off the cuff, if anyone wants more or wants specific themes let me know, some of these may be more, or less, tragic than others, or have better, or worse, endings.

Tragedy is personal and human.

I have given special TWs for things outside the usual scope or that I find worth mentioning!

Manga & Anime

Fire Punch. ☆☆☆

Fire Punch takes place on an Earth that has become frozen over and barren. The series follows Agni, a young man who is able to regenerate his body. After his village succumbs to inextinguishable flames he is left constantly on fire, leaving him in anguish and vowing to get revenge.

[Special TWs: Cannibalism, Incest themes are touched on, and a very poignant moment of discussion of transgender suffering in regards to a main character, tons of sexual assault including animals being used to sexually assault children, there is a TW for everything in here]

Goodbye, Eri!

A manga about Yuta, a young filmmaker, struggling with grief after his mother's death. He copes by making movies, and meets Eri, a mysterious girl who becomes his muse and helps him create a new film.

Wolf's Rain

The journey of four lone wolves who cross paths while following the scent of the Lunar Flower, and their search for Paradise.

Maquia: when the promised flower blooms ☆☆☆

This one is complex, I don't know if I'd call it a full on tragedy to everyone, but it is worth watching, and it's worth watching twice.

The people of Iolph are known for two things: their youthful longevity and peaceful lives weaving tapestry. When that is disturbed and their home thrown into chaos by those believing that their blood gifts longer life, Maquia loses not only her friends, but a place to return to.

[Special TWs: Coerced Pregnancy]

Clannad: After Story ☆

No summary, watch it blind.

[Special TWs: Terminal Illness, Child Death]

Texhnolyze

Texhnolyze follows Ichise, an underground fighter whose arm and leg were severed after he displeased an unnamed, presumably influential, man. He is brought back from the brink of death by Eriko "Doc" Kaneda, who replaces his lost limbs with prosthetics through a process known as "texhnolyzation"

Angel’s Egg ☆☆☆

An atmospheric, dialogue-light, OVA about a girl protecting a mysterious egg in a ruined world.

Monster

A slow-burning, dialogue-heavy series about a surgeon who saves a boy who grows up to be a serial killer.

Devilman Crybaby ☆☆☆

The classic, you've probably heard of it, it is worth it.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou

The definitely 100% for sure uplifting tale of two girls and their quest to find hope in a bleak and dying world. I'll give that this one is a semi tragedy, the ending makes it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Films and Similar

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ☆ ☆ ☆

After a painful breakup, Clementine (Kate Winslet) undergoes a procedure to erase memories of her former boyfriend Joel (Jim Carrey) from her mind. When Joel discovers that Clementine is going to extremes to forget their relationship, he undergoes the same procedure and slowly begins to forget the woman that he loved.

Manchester by the Sea

After the death of his older brother Joe, Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is shocked that Joe has made him sole guardian of his teenage nephew Patrick. Taking leave of his job as a janitor in Boston, Lee reluctantly returns to Manchester-by-the-Sea, the fishing village where his working-class family has lived for generations.

The Road ☆

I would really prefer people read the book, but the movie is also pretty great. A father and son travel through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Bleak, cold, and emotionally raw. Not a lot of dialogue, so the atmosphere does the talking.

[Special TWs: Like, everything on earth, Cannibalism, human livestock, infant death, etc]

The Turin Horse

An apocalyptic parable set in an isolated farmhouse...

[Special TWs: Animal abuse, animal death, racism against Romani people, but the people involved get what they deserve in the end]

[Special Warning: Most people consider this a tragedy but it fills my heart with joy, I have a special place in my heart for any film that shows people I personally consider to suck, especially animal or child abusers, suffering and dying slowly and horrifically and that is all this film is, just an animal abusing man and his daughter dying slowly and painfully during the implied apocolypse, it cures my depression <3]

[vodika-vibes]

Wait holy shit, anon from 2 seconds ago, hi!, I suddenly had another alpha-17 thought, imagine comforting him after his capture by Ventress and again a few weeks later after being wounded by Grievous. He puts up an impenetrable front but behind it he’s in pain and filled with self doubt and you remind him that it’s all worth it, he’s worth it in the end.

As You Are

Summary: After being tortured by Ventress, and then badly wounded by Grievous, Alpha-17 is confined to a bed under your care. Badly injured and convinced that he’s about to be Decommissioned for being unable to continue his duties, he’s lashing out at everyone trying to help him. Luckily, you’ve never been a shrinking violet.

Pairing: Pre Alpha-17 x F!Reader

Word Count: 775

Warnings: Medical stuff, but not detailed

A/N: I'm still not sure if this was a request, but I turned it into one because it's Alpha, lol.

Click HERE to be added to my Taglist

“Doctor,” You pause, your hand hovering over the door panel to Alpha-17’s hospital room when you’re stopped by one of your nurses. She’s an older woman, much older than you, and she seems to be fretting over something.

“Something wrong?” You ask.

“It’s…well,” She motions to the door you’re about to pass through, “He’s in a foul mood.”

You arch a single brow, “Well, yes. I would be too if I had been tortured, and then badly wounded. How are his cybernetics?”

“I…well, I’m not sure. He wouldn’t let me check.”

Your other brow raises to join the first, “He wouldn’t let you.”

“No, Doctor. When I tried he snapped at me.”

“So he’s probably in pain then.”

She shrugs, “Perhaps we should leave him to the Kaminoans?”

You shoot her a look dirty enough that she flinches away from you, “Thank you, Nurse. I can take it from here.”

“Uh…Yes, doctor.” You wait until she hurries away before you type in the door code and enter the room. 

“I hear you’re terrorizing my nurses.” You announce as the door slides shut behind you, “Knock it off.”

“I don’t want your medical care.” Alpha bites out, pinning you with a fierce glare.

“Tough shit, you’re getting it anyway.” You walk over to him, and glance at the monitors to check his vitals, “How’s your pain?”

“Awful.”

“I need a number, Alpha.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Thanks, it was covered in medical school between cardiology and pulmonology.”

He shifts in the bed and winces, and you frown at him, “I’m fine.”

“Alpha, you currently have cybernetics running the length of your spine that will allow you to walk. You’re not fine.” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s going to hate it, but also knowing that he won’t lash out at you. “Let me take care of you.”

“Why bother?” He grouses, “They’re just going to decommission me.”

You sigh heavily. “They are not.”

He scowls at you, “I’ve known the longnecks my whole life—”

You hold up three fingers, “Point 1, Shaak Ti has forbidden decommissions. Point 2, even if she didn’t, the Kaminoans don’t decommission Alpha class clones. Point 3, even if you ignore those two points, they never would have allowed me to put a multi-million credit cybernetic system in you if they were going to decommission you.”

“...how many credits?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not paying for it.” You lightly tap his shoulder, “Anyway, will you let me take a look now?”

“I’m fine.” He repeats.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

A muscle in his jaw clenches, “What if I can’t do my job properly even with the cybernetics?”

“You will. As I understand it, Shaak Ti wants you training ARC Troopers.”

He scoffs, “So I can’t fight anymore.”

“Training the ARCs is an important job, Alpha.” You remind him, “They are the best, after all.” You step around the bed so you’re able to get a look at the cybernetics implanted in his spine.

“It’s not the same.”

“It is important though.” You lightly touch his skin and frown when you see the skin is inflamed. Quickly you put in an order for more antibiotics, and then you scan the cybernetics themselves, “Do you think lesser of Commander Colt for being an ARC trainer?”

He scoffs but doesn’t answer.

You walk back around him so that he’s facing you, “You just have to remember, this is all worth it in the end. It has to be.”

Alpha scans your face for a moment, “No one is going to thank you for this, you know that right?”

“I don’t do this for the accolades, Alpha. I do it because it’s the right thing to do.” You flash a wry smile, “Before all else, do no harm.”

Alpha sighs and sinks his head into his pillow, “I’m not worth all this.”

“You are to me.” You reach out and take his fingers in your hand and you squeeze them gently, “Will you let me help you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he squeezes your hand, “Yeah, I guess. Just you, though.”

“Spoiled.” You chide, “But fine, I’ll make a note that you refuse all medical care unless I’m the one giving it.” You untangle your hand from his and make a note in his chart, “Now. Are you in any pain?”

“Yeah, and my back feels hot.” He admits.

“Thank you, Alpha.” You turn your back to grab some pain medicine.

“I love you.” He mumbles.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re annoying.”

You laugh softly, and favor him with a warm smile, “So are you.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly @n0vqni @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars

@tiredbi-peach @dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97

@falconfeather23435 @etod @bb8-99 @kiss-anon @continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay @liz-stat @cc--2224

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 7

Warnings: severely injured villain, blood loss & infection, high fever, rough recovery

He pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist to check her pulse once the IV line was securely taped to her arm, and his gut twisted in knots when he could barely feel it fluttering beneath his fingertips, struggling weakly to keep pumping what little blood volume was left in Villain. But it was still something, and Hero could work with that.

Villain's body had shut down to conserve energy, and so Hero knew the task of feeding her would fall entirely on him and his skills as an multi-qualified hero Agency medic. He used to be a medic alone, until he got tired of being on the sidelines patching up wounded heroes and decided to become one to fight alongside them and get in on the action himself.

Villain had always hated that decision. It worried her constantly that he would be in the heat of the battle instead of in the safety of Agency's medical wing, tasked only to repair wounded warriors and send them out to fight again. But for Hero, fighting on the frontlines had been a calling. He wanted to do more than just heal people, he wanted to fight for them too.

Hero shook himself back to the present, chest aching at the memory. He intentionally kept himself distracted with his hands to keep his mind from wandering again as he prepared a slurry mix to give to Villain in a feeding tube, and it was easy to guide it into her stomach to give her all the nutrients and vitamins she needed to speed up the healing process.

Once he'd fed her, he gave her an injection of heavy painkillers, just in case her consciousness slipped back at a weird time and surprised him. He didn't want her waking up in agony.

"I'm sorry," he whispered once he was done. He knew he'd already said it before, but there was really nothing more to say than that -- I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he climbed back into the bed to warm Villain up again.

"I'm sorry," he cried as he broke down in tears at the sight of her deathly pale face.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed when he woke up from a vivid nightmare about her suffering later that night.

"I'm sorry," he croaked in the morning when he woke up and remembered what happened.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. More than you'll ever know... and ever believe...

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

The next day was another battle for survival. Villain's infection had rapidly worsened at an alarming rate of speed, a high fever soon setting in that Hero fought to control. It was an aggressive type of infection that ravaged Villain's already-weak body, and Hero monitored her closely day and night for the next two days straight with almost no sleep just to make sure she'd survive to the next morning.

Villain's body had gone from cold as death to a fiery furnace far too fast, and Hero knew it was probably taking a lot out of her body to fight the infection.

This night Villain had been too warm for Hero to handle sleeping next to, so he'd taken off his shirt to cool down, stubbornly not wanting to leave Villain's side but also extremely uncomfortable by the sheer amount of heat her feverish skin was generating.

Despite her body being alarmingly hot to the touch, her fingers were still always cold, strangely enough. Hero had done everything he could to bring down the fever with every medication he had in the house and hundreds of ice packs every day, but nothing seemed to work.

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

It was four days after he'd found her in the street now and her condition had both improved and declined drastically. The fever only ever seemed to climb, but at least her physical body was still slowly healing with the daily wound dressing changes and sterile flushings. Hero's hard work was incrementally paying off. But slowly. Too slow for comfort.

Hero had run himself ragged with stress and guilt, working tirelessly to keep up to Villain's tube-feeding schedule and regularly drugging her with more painkillers and sedatives. But it never felt like he was doing enough for her. Not enough to make up for the harm he'd caused her in the past. He had gotten virtually no decent sleep since he'd found Villain, and it was steadily taking a toll on his mind. But he refused to rest while she was still at risk of dying at any moment.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @and-we-shake-the-iron-hand

[sorentymn]

The Istanbul incident.

A highly volatile piece of technology had been stolen from an MI6 courier. Suspected involvement with highly trained counterintelligence warrants the presence of 007 and the recently appointed Quartermaster himself.

───────────────────────────────

Content: Multi-chapters, 18+, mentions of violence and probably smut down the line. :p

A/N: I recently rewatched James Bond again, and the love I have for this ship is beyond unhealthy so here's a treat for fellow 00Q fanatics. 

This is set sometime after Skyfall.  

In which Bond has the fattest crush ever, honestly.

───────────────────────────────

←

CHAPTER II.

This was the handiwork of FSB agent Zhenya K., the very same operative responsible for a seismic leak at Interpol some years back, whose monitoring since has been a colossal effort.

Put up against the natural course of time, this leak's harrowing consequences faded in the minds of ever-changing MI6 staff. New terrors manifest every other day, and eventually, the big bad wolf of now fades into the topic of casual chit-chat at the coolers until it resurfaces to give everyone a great big headache. 

"CCTV surveillance last recorded her around here." Q looked up briefly to point out a lavish townhouse, then returned to his laptop, his fingers working the keyboard like a manic pianist. When he was certain the earbuds were in working order, he passed them to Bond like spare change, his mind already migrated to something else in his mental checklist. 

As Bond watched the young Quartermaster, a piece of information returned to him. Moneypenny had mentioned in passing that this was Q's first time operating in the field. If Q hadn’t been less verbal than usual, Bond would've never guessed. He'd followed the ritual without a hitch since they left the hotel.

It is one thing to remain tethered in an office miles away from danger, and then there is the real threat of physically being in it. To someone without years of exposure to direct violence, even the potential alone could be a heavy load. Bond couldn’t sympathise fully anymore, but he can remember the first kills. 

As Bond was putting in his earbud, he rested his other hand gently on the younger man's shoulder, which caused him to stiffen more than he already was. Q looked up for the first time since they entered the car with a puzzled look and was met with something tender.

That ice-capped gaze that made most people scurry and hide was saying something gentle without a sound, and briefly, the men exchanged the faintest of smiles before they returned to reality. 

Back to business.

As smoothly as breathing, Bond checked the cartridge, then smoothed the fabric of his dark long sleeves; a brief run of his fingers through his hair as the final count before he opened the door.

"Good luck, 007" 

Bond paused for a beat, then nodded at the young man. He always found Q's finishing touch comforting.

Bond enters the house through the back door with a deceptively small and efficient decryption device courtesy of the Q branch. The lights were off, the only sign of life being a faint tune humming from upstairs as if it was luring him in. He couldn't detect a voice amongst the sombre jazz, no footsteps either, only running water and his sturdy heartbeat.

So he followed the melody up to the third floor, positioned, poised to shoot all the while thanking the homeowner's aesthetic choice of carpeted floors for his muffled steps.

When he was finally pressed up behind a wall separating the corridor and the only room with lights switched on, he heard a window being pulled open harshly. Shit.  

Bond rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a bullet, during the brief seconds Bond took to recenter, she slipped through the opening with the case in hand. It seemed something tipped her off, but he didn't have time to analyse his mistake. The hunt was on, and he leapt out of the window onto a neighbouring ledge, an uneven terracotta roof that shook with every rushed step.

The target is remarkably fast considering the weight she's carrying. He is now running at top speed, the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, silencing everything else around him as he steps out of her bullet path one after the other. Bond is now 007; all that he is condensed into one objective, and he’s willing to bet his mortality to win. 

After some daring stunts and high-speed home invasions, his lungs were beginning to seriously burn, a harsh reminder of his limits. His bad knee started to creak, pressuring him to end the pursuit.

He managed to close in on her, but just as he reached out, one of the tiles slipped from its place, sending Bond careening off the roof. He clung onto the rain grate seconds before falling off the edge. With that same momentum, he directed the swing up to fire his Walther and luckily managed to put a hole right in the middle of her right leg, subduing her.  

He found her clinging to the edge with one hand, the other gripping the handle of the case so tightly he could tell by the look in her eyes she was fighting whether to protect the case or her own life. At her creative string of profanities, Bond only looked on completely vacant, with a hand outstretched, beckoning for the case. 

He continued to watch her inner turmoil play out on her features, making no move to ease her situation.

"The case." He waited and waited; he had no reason to press her as it seemed like she was edging towards an answer, but as she lifted the case to him, the sound of a gunshot broke the air, iron and wetness everywhere as Bond fell back against the roof. He could feel the wetness sprayed across his face.

Someone shot her off the edge, and along with her body, the case fell to the ground with a gnarly sound upon impact. 

"Fuck!" 

Q, who'd remained silent over the comms since Bond entered the house, finally spoke. 

"007, it seems we've got company-" 

"Yes, I noticed Q." Bond bit back harshly as he picked himself up, eyes locked on the motorbike that appeared from nowhere to retrieve the case from the former target's lifeless clutch before speeding off. 

"Are you seeing this?" 

"Yes, I'm tracking him now, he's headed towards a highway leading out of the city he must be headed towards the airstrip." 

Q's voice remained still despite Bond's gnashing. With new intel, Bond rushed down the narrow alley and not so politely annexed a retro-looking bike from a teenage boy preoccupied with a group of girls who only gaped wordlessly in Bond’s direction as he sped off. 

For the next tense minutes, Q expertly relayed shortcuts after another, which required sheer luck and being James Bond himself to execute. (This man's pension for borderline suicidal athleticism will never cease to amaze.) Finally, he managed to deliver Bond right behind the shooter, and now it's the battle of motor strength. 

"007, get him, if you miss him at the next turn we might lose him." 

"Very helpful, Q. Don't suppose you've got magic words to make this bloody thing go faster than a geriatric donkey." Bond caught a sigh from Q. 

"That's not very nice" 

"Well, do you?" 

Bond somehow jokes in his bout of adrenaline madness, as he does, Bond dodges a collision that sends a car flying in a pirouette mid-air as they speed closer and closer towards a line of cement barricade that would effectively cut him and the target into separate tunnels. 

"007, you grab that case and I'll do more than recite magic spells." Q barks in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in his chest, which means that, unlike his usually filtered self, the mildly suggestive nature of his outburst was lost on him until it was too late. 

Bond despite being under the kind of pressure that would send any normal man into shock honest to god smirked and not that Q could see his face but somehow he was more than sure the agent was absolutely mocking him in that silence. 

"Is that a promise?" Bond said this as he sped the poor bike to its maximum, then leapt off onto an adjacent car that was steadily speeding to make the tunnel just behind the target. 

He put a bullet into the shooter's hind wheel, sending the bike sliding off the side of the road mere seconds before the shooter made the tunnel. Bond then jumped off, landing quite roughly on his bad shoulder, but was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice. 

He found the target in a gruesome position, confirming he did not survive the crash. 

"007 status report" 

"Target eliminated, I've got the case" 

"Is it damaged?" 

"No" 

"Good, excellent, well done, 007. We are on our way to you now." 

════════════════════════════════════════════

They were driven outside of the city to a barren valley with no sign of civilisation. It was all rocky mounds with patches of green here and there, it looked apocalyptic and perhaps that's fitting for what they’re about to do.  

The two men hurried to flat ground, Bond and Q dropped their respective rucksacks to the dirt and then swiftly began unpacking the items into separate groups.

Q made as many deductions as he could manage about the contents of the case and brought several sets of bomb diffusing kits tailored to various types of explosives. A separate set should it be a biological component and several decryption tools of his own making.

Beside Q is a vigilant James Bond. As the quartermaster got busy organising tools for the operation, he remained on his feet with a rifle sturdy in his hands. The clearing leaves them vulnerable, but it was the closest location to extract the contents without compromising on time.

Bond finally crouched when he could sense no threat but his eyes continued to sweep along the mounds. The extraction process frankly makes him nervous; the not being able to dictate the process is something he'll always have a hard time trusting. Q had never failed him throughout the few times they'd worked together, and he is undoubtedly one of the brightest minds currently living, but the threat of what's inside chafed at him regardless.

When Bond peered behind him, Q was finally starting the process. In the same way, he easily became the young man behind the moniker, Q switched on his genius to tackle the threat. His focus is singular, effectively erasing just about everything around him save for the screen embedded in the case.

Q reached for a box containing a cubic machine with several wires attached and began to plug it into the exposed sockets on the case. The screen in the case blinks to life displaying complex web pixels to which Q starts typing long numeral sequences attempting to untangle the abstract lock. 

"Pandora, do be careful with that." Bond eager to assess the threat tried to draw out something from Q but his effort when wholly ignored. 

Q’s rapid punching of numbers continued until eventually the screen lifted from its mechanism exposing a screwed lid, what Bond assumed is housing the chip powering the case’s elaborate lock mechanism. Q started to unscrew the impossibly tiny screws but as he did a beeping sound announced itself, this made the two men pale. 

"Should I be saying my final words?" Bond joked again, but his face did not match the tone.

“If my little one here serves its purpose you might not have to" Bond frowned at this, noting the use of ‘might’

"Q, Is that you saying you're not sure?" 

"Not unsure, just calibrating, the lock mechanism on this case is not something I’m familiar with" Too candid. Q delivered this in a cold, analytical, and uncaring tone, Bond’s inquiry more a nuisance than anything he could be bothered to explain in the face of this deadly puzzle. 

"That's unsure" Q was determined to ignore this, but when Bond attempted to reach for his hand, Q swatted him away. 

"Oh, for Christ's sake! No, Bond, calibrating means I'm still figuring the bloody thing out. Would you like to die arguing semantics, or would you like to not be vaporised? Let me do my fucking job!”

Loud and clear. Bond squinted at him, and it's remarkably communicative, not to casual acquaintances but to those who've been around him enough to see more than a smirk or his resting poker face. Experts would conclude: "You little shit"

"Yes, I much prefer the silent brooding." Despite the alarming beeps, the cubic toy, Q’s trump card, seemed to have finished its battle with the ominous pixels. It announced its task done with a beep and Q with clinical precision, unscrewed the lid to reveal sets upon sets of tiny wires connected to the central chip. 

“Bond, I need your help” Bond assumed that the lack of beeping meant they were in the clear, but that was just the first layer because a countdown had started on the screen once again. 

“Bond”, Q repeated. The agent quickly moved to the opposite end of the case, grabbing the equipment laid out and quickly familiarising them with his grip.

His heart rate felt prominent before, but now it’s hurling itself against his ribcage, fighting its way out of his chest. He could feel the wetness at the back of his shirt, and Q looked no less dishevelled. 

"Alright, hold onto this wire", Bond complies, willing himself to do some meditative breathing only to make sure he is still in fact breathing. It won't do if his hands begin to shake. 

"And?" 

"Shut up, I'm thinking" Q was angling his wrist in different directions like he was choreographing the approach. 

"This one here, Bond", Q points at one of the blue wires, and Bond cuts it swiftly, only for it to backfire. The two cocked their heads to the timer only to see it cut by half. They now have exactly 10 seconds to disable the bomb. 

"Why is the timer down by half!" Bond roared. 

"Fuck.." Q genuinely seemed stressed, and that was one of the most terrifying things to witness. His life is put completely at the Quartermaster’s will, and he’s being all too revealing.

"Which one do I cut!" 

"...." 

"Q!" 

"Here the red one on three" The men's focus now clung to one another, They breathed in sequence 1...2...3...both wires were snipped, disabling the counter, and the screen that displayed their impending doom dimmed into nothing. 

There were successions of clacking sounds, and then the contents were revealed to them. Three vials sit neatly in their casing, inside which is a clear liquid that seems harmless if not for the several layers of clear casing and a series of interlocking lids. Identification will have to be done at the headquarters' secure labs.

Q hurried to the task, reassembling the case back to its initial state, effectively lifting the thick sense of doom permeating between them both.

A gust of wind exited Q as he put his tongs down into the kit box, and Bond threw them away as if they were burning his hands. They were both so taken by the sheer relief of not being exploded to pieces that the contents of that case no longer mattered.

They were both panting, staring at one another wildly as their chemicals hijacked their central control. Nothing was processing, no signals were going in or out, only sensations. 

If you asked Q, he would not be able to describe what happened in the seconds leading up to this. Bond seemed to lunge at him in slow motion with a look on his face like he was going to rip him in half, but it wasn't pain Q felt, no, he didn't get punched across the face for his life-threatening error.

He's now at this moment being kissed by James fucking Bond. 

His eyes fluttered shut out of instinct and shock. He was stone still, and only after long seconds later did he notice Bond’s lips gliding against his own, and he was kissing him back without realising it.

It was a tangled mess, like all the stress translated into a heated momentum. Finally, shaking hands pushed at James’s chest, and Q stared at him wide-eyed, lips beet red, and his glasses lopsided. 

"Bond wh-" 

"Sorry- I" He looked no less puzzled, which is bizarre on Bond's usually unreadable face. Q could see Bond bare for a brief second before they went cold again. The agent turned away, suddenly packing up the tools scattered around them with a very telling efficiency.

As Bond ferociously packed, Q lagged slightly behind, starting on the kit closest to him, unable to process the situation. All things considered, Bond's intentions were not concealed despite the surprise; what bothered Q was that he wanted more. So far, he'd been denying any attraction to the man, deciding it's a surface-level appreciation considering the agent's appeal and, well, his own lack of sex life.

Do I want him?

Before Q could reach out to him, the agent got up from his spot on the ground, along with two rucksacks slung on one shoulder to avoid the one he landed on. He staggered a little as he rose and began to limp in the direction of the van without a single word.

The ride back to the hotel was in uncomfortable silence. Neither one of the men looked at the other as they quietly processed the events. This silence extended to their return flight that same evening, without so much as a look shared between the two men as they parted ways after a dispatch team retrieved the case from them at the airport. 

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Circe? That better not be you in the office!” Hearing no yowls in response to his call, Q sagged with the kind of exhaustion often seen on new mothers. The little witch in question had recently blossomed into an even more rambunctious teen, worse than she was as a kitten. Q is normally understanding to a fault, often spoiling Circe and Sybill the elder, but not today.

He’d had a particularly bad sleep, the source being the INCIDENT gnawing at him since it happened until now. So, there will be retribution for mugs knocked off tables this fine Saturday evening. And by retribution, he just means a particularly dirty stare at best. 

He stared emptily at a piping hot tea in his hand and decided against thwarting Circe’s onslaught in his home office and made for the sofa where Sybilla, his eldest feline daughter, was curled up with a look of pure hatred at her father. “Your sister, your turn today, Sibi, now scoot.” That she did, but more so to get away from him rather than tend to her sisterly duties. 

Q immediately fished for the remote somehow crammed beneath the slit in the sofa and flicked through the selections determined to settle on something as quickly as possible so he could ignore the gnawing bitterness in his chest.

Just when he was narrowing down on a sappy period drama, the doorbell sounded. Great. He reached for his phone and tapped on the surveillance app that connects all the cameras in and around his flat, ready to yell at a delivery man who did not deserve his temperament, but- 

“Q, my darling!” Eve. Of course, it's Eve. He hesitated, wondering if he’d rather pretend to be asleep. In some way, he did expect this visit. The woman seems to have some mystical abilities, he’s concluded, despite being a firm man of science. The way she always seems to know exactly what to say or when to manifest cannot be explained by excellent spy craft and audacity alone. 

This was his own doing, despite protocol which demands his presence at MI6 the minute he lands, he decided to take one out of Bond’s books and ignored his debrief meeting. He was too tired and too confused to pretend otherwise. So, seeing as the case got delivered safely, he dragged what was left of himself back into his flat and crashed face-first into deep sleep. 

This, of course, tipped off his best friend, who no doubt waited very patiently for the past week to hear how it all went.

“Q I know you’re awake, If you pretend to be asleep and ignore me I will tell Mrs Copeland you’re feeling under the weather” This part she whispered into the microphone (hidden behind a wooden panel she should have no idea is there), Despite the volume, the effect is instantaneous Q is more than anything terrified to catch the lovely Mrs Copeland’s attention again.

There were several incidents he would very much not like repeated; his elderly neighbour simply would not leave him alone, and the minute Eve learned of this ammunition, she’d been exercising it too often for his liking. 

Q groaned up at the ceiling and stomped his way to the door, and when he swung it open, there she was, dressed head to toe like she’d just walked off a runway. Q, however, is frowning at her behind his glasses that haven’t been wiped; he’s drowning in a large T-shirt that’s not his own, no doubt left by one of his one-night stands some century ago; oh, and his hair could rival Medusa’s.

“You look-” Eve did her best to look encouraging but that was the thing with Eve, despite her recent history as a field agent she would only pull up that mask when it was strictly business. Sometimes Q wished she’d extend the courtesy to their relationship, the woman is unrelentingly honest even if she pads them up nicely a lot of the time. 

“Like I’ve been run over, yes, I know, are you coming in or not?” 

“Alright, settle down this is supposed to be a lovely house call” She adjusts the shopping bags in her arms and makes her way inside sparing sickeningly sweet hellos to Q’s littlings that’ve come to the door. 

“I heard the case made it back to the labs safe, no one got hurt, why are you…this-” She waved her hand at Q’s entirety as she settled the bag down on the table, and he had to stifle a bitter laugh. 

“Did you come bearing gifts?” 

Of course, she did bring something; she always did. Eve peeled away the shopping bags to reveal two bottles of his favourite Merlot, and that managed to brighten him up a bit. So they settled into his sofa, the TV show softly murmuring away as the two started with something rudimentary at first, office happenings he missed that week and eventually after the fourth glass they revisited the topic. 

“You know, half the women on the top floor wanted to swap bodies with you” 

“Why on earth would they want to be an ache-riddled scarecrow?” Q mused as he let himself sink further into the back cushion enough to almost fold his chin back into his chest, the wine glass atop the flat expanse of his chest.

“I imagine the idea of getting to be in the same room as Bond for a week sounds like heaven to them” Eve turned to him with a knowing look that said: Bliss to those who've never had the pleasure, the man is actually a menace even if he is undeniably sexy.

“It’s hardly h- wait, how did they know we shared a room?!” Q's voice spiked, animated by the alcohol.

“One of your minions got cornered”, she smirked.

“Fucking Brian” 

“Yeah- fucking Brian” Eve grinned in a suspiciously fond way, he’ll have to pry that out of her later. 

“Exactly how much did ‘fucking Brian’ let slip” Q downed the remaining wine in his glass then pushed himself upright aiming for the opened bottle his eyes still glued on her determined to get to the bottom of this.

“He might’ve gotten threatened into snooping on you on the first night” Q crinkled his nose initially unfazed, but then it dawned on him.

“Oh-” 

“So what was that late-night riverside stroll about, Q?” 

“It’s not what you think it is” That sounded more believable in his head.

“Says every single person who’s about to lie” Eve is suddenly closer now, like she wasn't going to let the truth escape. Later, he will blame the wine, but Q relented.

“Listen, alright, yes, we did go for a walk. They were pulling the records, and we couldn’t work till then, and you know Bond being well, Bond” 

“He wanted a drink” 

“Yes, he wanted a drink"

“So you two went for a ‘walk’ and drinks," she squints.

“....” Oh, Eve, you bloody witch.

“It’s sounding a little like a date, sweetheart” 

“I could go for a walk and drinks with you, I don’t know why you’re making this a thing”, he waved dismissively, suddenly interested in his very mundane glass.

“Yeah- well, I don’t happen to be someone you eat up with your eyes every time he appears” At this, Q frowned, defensive.

“That's silly, I don’t do that” 

“You absolutely do” 

“You’re impossible, you know that?” 

“Think you’d be bored of me otherwise” They stared at one another challengingly but then they broke into a short fit of laughter at that sweet admission but no this did not erase the secret he's hiding. This is only an intermission.

After a knowing silence, Q cleared his throat.

“Oh fuck it-” He took a large gulp of the wine.

“....” 

“Bond kissed me” 

“WHAT!” He only nodded quietly at her explosive reaction.

“Are you joking?” He shook his head.

“Ok, so you’re not joking, how?” 

“I don’t know, adrenaline?"

“I did not expect a nuke when I came through the door, this is too good” 

“I’m glad this is amusing to you?"

"What is this reaction? This is exciting and sexy. Why do you look disturbed?" Eve is so close to him that their laps are almost stacked.

"I don't know, he looked disturbed by it. I know he kissed me, but why was that his reaction?"

Eve's head tilted, not following.

"He looked shocked and didn't speak to me the rest of the way back. I know rejection when I see it, but this is something else?"

"Alright, we're going on a mission"

"What- to unravel what that was?"

"Yes, I refuse to let this gnaw at you until you get over it"

"Oh—I mean," Q's glassy gaze trailed off into the distance. Eve is exactly right. He's not insecure about most things, but he is very much human, and rejection of him rather than his work often lingers way longer than it should.

He felt the warmth of Eve's hand atop his own, and when he turned to her, she already had an air about her like she was ready to hunt, and that was disturbingly comforting.

"Shall we open that third bottle?" Q asked, despite himself.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

[thehypnone]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 9

WC: 630

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Pregnancy, Ultrasound, Fluff

Swiss' bump—now impossible to miss—rests against Mountain’s hip where he softly runs his fingers over it as they cuddle purring.

Notes: Short and shitty because I am not thriving rn

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 9 under the cut or on AO3.

Omega has said that if Swiss would carry to the fourth month with no issues, the danger of the kits not surviving would lessen considerably.

He and Mountain couldn’t wait for that milestone—despite knowing it would still not be a guarantee—and another check up with the quintessence ghoul to confirm it really is going well.

After some kisses and soft words exchanged in the morning, their day begins with visiting Omega for an ultrasound. Swiss has gotten more comfortable with them, considering how often he’s getting them now; not minding the cold goo or the weird noise the machine makes anymore. 

Omega greets them with a smile and goes to prepare the machine as Swiss gets comfortable. “Alright, let’s take another look at your little demons.”

Mountain is, as always, sitting on his mate’s other side and holding his hand as the quintessence ghoul puts the gel on the wand and brings it to Swiss’ stomach. It’s hard for the earth ghoul to hold back the possessive growl that’s threatening to break free, but logically he knows Omega is there to help.

“They’re looking good,” he says first, making both Mountain and Swiss grin with pride, “just the size I’d expect at fourteen weeks.”

“The thing you said back when we found out,” Mountain mentions, “about four months ending the dangerous stage, is that—can we stop worrying as much now?”

“Yes, absolutely!” the other confirms. “They look strong and healthy, I have no concerns, except…”

“Except what,?” Swiss perks up, his heart rate spiking immediately.

“Everything’s okay, they’re all okay,” Omega reassures, “but one of them is a little smaller than the other two.”

“Is that normal?” the earth ghoul asks, calming his mate with a gentle touch.

“It is, especially with a triple pregnancy. It’s hard for the body to…let’s say distribute the resources equally. The little one is going to be okay, just–well, little.”

“Okay,” Swiss sighs, “that’s good. How much smaller are they?”

“Hm,” Omega hums in thought, “they are the size of a plum, when the other two are more like lemons. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does,” the multi ghoul says, sagging back against the bed and Mountain in relief as Omega hands him some paper towels, “and it doesn’t sound too bad, I think. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replies, “we will still continue to monitor them carefully, but in my professional opinion, you two can be confident now. In just a little over three months you will be parents.”

Bright smiles return to Swiss and Mountain’s faces as they thank Omega and leave the infirmary to go back to their room. They are so incredibly happy and proud.

They jump back into bed to cuddle and neither of them can stop smiling and purring as they talk; finally feeling safe enough to fantasize about what happens when the kits are born.

Swiss is curled into Mountain’s side with his head in the crook of the earth ghoul’s neck. His bump—now impossible to miss with the kits apparently being lemon and plum sized—rests against his mate’s hip where he softly runs his fingers over it.

“We should probably come up with some names,” Mountain mutters into Swiss’ hair at some point.

“Oh…” Swiss sighs, “yeah, we probably should. I haven’t thought about that at all.”

“It’s hard to grasp that–that they’ll be just–ghouls,” the earth ghoul chuckles, “Real ghouls that we created from scratch.”

“Woah…” his mate giggles.

“Yeah. Woah. And we will have to name them. Probably according to their elements, too.”

“That’s crazy,” Swiss mumbles. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Maybe…”

“You do!” he gasps. “Tell me!”

“Fine, fine,” Mountain giggles and sighs, “well, my favorites would be…”

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus @jimothybarnes

[nate-gold-66]

This is the First of a Nine Chapter Series of Nate Gold's Golden Transformation

Chapter 1

🛠️ "The First Glimpse of Precision: Encounter with PDU-001" 🛠️

It was just after sundown when Golden Bro Nate 66 was summoned.

He had just completed waterboy drills—his mirror-gold uniform slick with sweat, towel draped across his broad shoulders, body humming from service. The others had filtered into the locker room, laughter and chatter echoing through concrete and tile. But not him.

The message had been direct. “Report to the maintenance corridor. Alone.” Signed: PDU-001.

He had heard the stories. The first. The prototype. The one they all spoke of with respect—and fear. A Polo Drone so perfect, so disciplined, even the Captains deferred. Nate’s pulse thudded as he made his way down the dimly lit back hall beneath the stadium. The air cooled. The lights flickered.

Then he saw it.

Standing perfectly still, arms clasped behind its back, was PDU-001. Black rubber uniform polished to a mirror. Gold-trimmed. Boots planted. Mask sealed. The code 001 glowed from its chest like a brand.

“Golden Bro Nate 66,” it said, voice level, mechanized. “You are early. Efficient. Acceptable.”

Nate swallowed. He couldn’t read a face beneath the mask—only the cold gleam of obedience. “Yes, sir,” he replied instinctively, back straightening.

“Sir is incorrect. Drones are not officers. Drones are functions.” The correction came without malice—just certainty.

Nate nodded slowly. “Then… thank you. For seeing me.”

The drone tilted its head. “You were observed. Service optimal. Heart rate steady. Discipline developing.”

Something about its presence made Nate’s knees want to buckle—not out of fear, but readiness. Like his body was remembering something it hadn’t yet learned.

“Do you… feel anything?” he asked, his voice softer.

“No.”

A beat passed.

“And yet,” PDU-001 continued, “this drone recognizes that your form responds to proximity. You seek contact. Structure. Reinforcement.”

The drone stepped forward. Close now. Nate could see his own reflection warped in the rubber—his eyes, wide, uncertain. A gloved hand lifted, touched the pride patch on his golden jersey.

“Emotion is irrelevant. But your integration is essential.” Another step. The gloved hand rested on Nate’s shoulder.

“You will not become a drone,” it intoned. “But you will become better. Sharper. Leaner. Golden.”

PDU-001 leaned close, mask inches from Nate’s lips.

“This drone will monitor you. Guide you. You are not alone, Golden Bro 66. You are seen.”

And then—just like that—it turned, vanished down the corridor in perfect silence.

Nate stood frozen, breath short. He had not been scolded. Not praised. But he had been scanned. Noted. Marked.

He would remember the sound of that voice. The stillness of that presence.

From that moment, he knew:

PDU-001 had seen potential. And Golden Bro Nate 66 would not fail it.

“Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001 or @polo-drone-125”

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapters 4+5+6 (Multi-chapter Long Story Part I)

Chapters 7+8+Epilouge (Multi-chapter Long Story Part II)

[gra93fruit-blog]

Fluffurary Attempt 1- Settling in

Instead of doing something useful today I wrote this, I think I'm going to try for one a week for February.

Let me know what you think! If you have any prompts for Fulffurary let me know. Its a longer one.

Clingy Marine Update: Settling in

Hey! It's been a bit, and I figured you all would appreciate an update. I also have a weird question for people who have had marines.

Update

I think that Domtrect has stolen one of my cats. It's just as adorable as it is vexing. Pierogi is an orange cat with rocks for brains, but he makes up for it in love. He loves to be held, picked up, and snuggled. Domtrect likes to pick things up and snuggle them, so it's a perfect relationship. It also keeps Domtrect from picking me up when he's anxious, so I don't mind it, but I'm slightly jealous that Pierogi adores him so much after three weeks. Domtrect is delighted, I think. He's a very stoic person and hard to read, but he carries Pierogi with him everywhere he can.

My other cat, Nugget, remains solidly by my side. She doesn't like people very much and takes a while to warm up to them. Domtrect is on a campaign of catnip, treats, toys, and physically moving me to his nest so Nugget will come into the nest after me. This has been fairly successful; Domtrect has gotten to touch her once. He almost smiled when Nugget let him give her a head pat. His campaign has resulted in my cats gaining about ⅓ of a pound each, which for Nugget at least, is a lot.

I should probably update you all on the nest: it's expansive, beautifully constructed, and has given me no end of frustration recently. It takes up my entire living room. On @yurihasurunbara's suggestion and a membership to HomePro, he has decided to use it to his advantage completely. The whole thing is covered in soft pillows and rugs. He has built up a multi-tiered setup with ceiling hangings and soft yellow light. He somehow found enough fabric to make it almost a uniform grey, with blue and red highlights.

Domtrect has settled in enough that he has stopped wearing armour around the house. Instead, he puts it all on a rack that the base sent up. Now that he is not always in armour I can report that  Domtrect has light blonde hair and blue eyes, he has a scar that runs over his brow, down his nose, and onto his cheek and lips, causing him to look like he's constantly smirking. He also has three silver studs in his forehead that he's quite proud of. He mainly lounges around the house in a tight body glove now; it has strange little ports all over it. When he's not following me around, checking my windows or doors, and playing with Pierogi, he has taken to lounging in his nest, carving soapstone, listening to history podcasts, and creating an insane amount of origami swans.

We've also found a job for him to do at the school, so he's not just lurking at the back of the shop class. He works as our outdoor hall monitor, which has significantly cut the number of students trying to smoke weed behind the school. Domtrect seems to enjoy it, though he's genuinely befuddled that the students need encouragement to go to class. This job also lets him circle the school like a shark and grumble about bad construction, which he was doing anyway. The students seem to have gotten used to him remarkably quickly; they're trying to make him into a TikTok sensation, but it's not going well. He's planning to spend all of his first paycheck on blankets and tapestries; apparently, he found a Blood Angel online that he gave a commission to.

Domtrect generally spends half his day in the house, and then half of it at work, looking for stragglers outside, glaring at dogs, or staring creepily through my classroom window. After the buses leave, he hangs around the shop until it's time to walk home. There, he seems content pottering away on small projects and learning, through much trial and error, how to make bread.

Issues

Now, on to the issues. I want to stress that I'm enjoying having Domtrect around, but I was wondering if anyone had any insights into these problems. I want to know if this is a Domtrect problem or just a regular marine problem.

The Funk: For people who know, or live with Astartes: do they have a funk? Because Domtrect does; it's a hellish combo of old unaired hockey pads and chemicals, and it clings to him all the time. I think it's the body glove that he basically lives in, but I'm not quite sure. I know he knows how to do laundry; he's very dedicated to doing mine, so I assume he would wash it if it were the source of the stink. Does anyone have any advice for this? I work with mainly 12-17 year olds, so my stink threshold is pretty high, but Domtrects is particularly pungent. I think I'm slowly growing nose-blind to it as well, and I don't feel like I can just ask him to bathe more. My shower and most of my house are not quite up to Imperial Fist standard, though Domtrect is slowly bringing it up to snuff, but I don't think he can currently squeeze himself into my shower or the guest shower. I'm kinda at a loss; he's a very neat person and seems to enjoy being super clean, so the stink kinda throws me for a loop. I tried to bring it up once, and he looked hurt that I didn't like the way he smelled. I changed the conversation topic pretty quick.

The Nest: The second issue is The Nest. It's honestly quite nice looking and incredibly comfortable. I've even made my peace with the fact that he's taken over most of my living room for it. I kinda think of the living room as essentially his bedroom and treat it like that, except he very clearly wants me in the nest. I don't mind hanging out in it; it's a nice space, and I enjoy hanging out with him. The issue here is that he wants me to sleep in it. Secondary to this is that most of my blankets, pillows, and once before I put my foot down, my mattress, ended up in the nest. I've set some boundaries and am no longer in danger of having my mattress moved while I'm at work, but that's honestly secondary now. The main issue is that he's taken to moving me into the nest while I'm sleeping, which is strange by itself. I'm not a heavy sleeper; I normally wake up to my cats pushing the door open, let alone being picked up and moved to a different part of the house. Yet, somehow after going to bed in my own bed upstairs, I always wake up after a deep and dreamless sleep in the nest. It started around the same time that Domtrect started hanging out without his armour on, so I think I'm only seeing this now because he's getting more comfortable.

Our bedtime routine looks like this: when I head to bed, I have perhaps 15-20 minutes to myself, and then inevitably Domtrect, Pierogi in hand, will appear in my doorway. He'll loom in the doorway until he's invited in. If I don't invite him in, he just lingers by the door and whines faintly. I don't think he knows he does it; he'll stay there until I go to sleep if I don't let him in.

If I invite him in, he'll carry Pierogi inside and settle in my room. He likes to sit by my dresser or sit cross-legged on the floor beside my bed. I'll read aloud for a bit. He seems to enjoy history the most, and we'll sometimes chat if he has questions about what we're reading. Then it lights out, and I go to sleep.

In both cases, I wake up in the nest, which is creepy to the extreme. I've confronted Domtrect on this, and he's stubbornly insistent, that He moves me because I should just sleep in the nest. His arguments are as follows:

Pierogi likes it better when we're all together. (Which, yeah he does, but I don't find this particularly persuasive; Pierogi also likes to eat garbage.)

It's safer. (I'm not exactly sure what he could be protecting me from, and Domtrect won't say.)

It's warmer. (It is, but I always end up throwing off half of the blankets he piles on me anyway.)

He doesn't need to sleep, and I keep him company. (I told him maybe he should reach out to the base if he's that lonely.)

He likes it better if he knows where I am. (He knows I sleep in my bedroom, it’s not like I’d climb out the window.)

If I'm sleeping in the nest, Nugget lets him get close to her. (Which is true)

Obviously, some arguments are better than others, but Domtrect won't budge on this. Do any other Astartes do this? I've heard that Salamanders sometimes hoard people like this, and Imperial Fists are known to fortify people into their houses and refuse to let them leave, but this doesn't quite fit either of those behaviours.

Has anyone else experienced something like this?