#and a few grounder ones to do

[the100isracist]

Idk if yall are still active but I just eagerly quit this show around early season two. I was kinda hate watching the whole way, but I started googling spoilers when I saw how fucked they were being to Lincoln and Raven (and more, but they’re my faves). Do you have any show recs that are similar with the shows “building a new civilization after tragedy” (minus the colonization and racism etc)

hey!

i actually binged the entire show recently and i can confidently say it was not as groundbreaking or cool as the showrunner believed. the first 2 seasons were incredible but it just devolved into a mess and the ending was so dark and horrifying. also the fandom was completely unhinged and did not need to act the way they did 😭

onto your question: yes!!!! battlestar galactica is what inspired me to watch the 100 in the first place. it very much shares the themes of mass tragedy, civilizational warfare, living in space, seeking a new home, and humanity fighting for survival without losing its soul. start with the 2003 miniseries (a three hour pilot) tho or it might be confusing. it also has diversity without the weird racist tones of the 100's diversity, although the cast is a lot whiter. the 100 has also obviously borrowed a lot of concepts and terms from it but i don't want to spoil you. all in all, it is one of the best shows i have ever watched and it delivers until its very last second.

lost in space is also quite cool. and i have heard good things about the expanse! another show that shares some themes (without the space element) is the society - very fascinating

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ Bellamy calls a group meeting to decide certain defense plans and catch up with everyone, but his jealousy gets the best of him. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: smut, p in v, jealousy, nsfw, degrading, praise

Walking into the main room where we kept the rovers I saw chairs near an open rover, my friends sitting in all of them.

Everyone had a smile on their face. Everyone being, Clarke, Bellamy, Monty, Jasper, Harper, and Miller. It was nice when we got to just sit and catch up with each other, not worry about grounders and Polis, even If it was for a mere hour.

Walking up to the group I was met with greetings and questions. I took a seat in the back of the open rover, my legs sticking out as my hands found their place on the edge of the floor.

"You missed Bellamys 'defense' plans," Miller spoke to me with a laugh, doing air quotes. earning a scoff from Bellamy.

"What am I ever gonna do now?" I reply, joining Miller's laughter.

"You should've heard it! Stupidest thing-" Jasper soon got cut off by Bellamy's stern voice.

"Where were you," Bellamy asked, eyeing me up and down, not that I noticed.

My laughter died down, same with Millers at Bellamy's tone. A thick silence now surrounded the group.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "I was just hanging with Kyle and lost track of time." I finished with a shrug.

I didn't understand why discussing defense plans we never would use was so important to him, Monty could've just relayed the plan to me afterward. Me and Bellay had been friends for a while, even on the Ark, he would come and visit me on visitation days while I was in the cell.

Bellamy scoffed and placed his hands on his hips- something he often did when he was frustrated. "These are important meetings, don't miss them for some guy." Bellamy's eyes were still focused on my outfit. I was wearing a pair of short shorts and a T-shirt that hugged me in all the right places.

Everyone started to shift uncomfortably in their seats, their smiles now long gone.

"It's okay Bellamy, well just tell her the plan after, for what it's worth I thought it was a good idea." Clarke chirped up from next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder which he quickly shrugged off.

Here comes Clarke, sucking up for Bellamy. It was something she had always done. Wherever Bellamy was, she was right there next to him, it got on my nerves most of the time, how close they would always be.

I rolled my eyes at Clarke's sentence, crossing my arms on my chest; only helping to push my tits up more. Which Bellamy took full note of.

"Hey, Monty we have that, uh, thing remember?" Jasper spoke to Monty.

"Oh, yeah, right, we should get going."

"Me too." Harper butted in

The three quickly stood up and exited the room, clearly trying to get away from the awkward, thick tension.

"I should get going too, the wall isn't gonna watch itself." Miller joked, chuckling awkwardly.

"Let me go with-" Bellamy cut me off.

"I need to talk with you," He started, "Alone," he finished, looking at Miller and Clarke. A sign they should leave.

Clarke pursed her lips before nodding and joining Miller before leaving, closing the airlock door.

I felt my heartbeat quicken, it was just me and Bellamy now. Alone.

A few moments had passed of him just staring me down, studying my every move as I shifted in my position, my legs now crossed along with my arms.

I cleared my throat, "What did you need?" I asked with a stutter, my nerves were through the roof.

They always were when I was alone with him. He always had such a strong effect on me, his good looks, his strong body. Bellamy was the one I thought of late at night.

"What were you doing with Kyle?" Bellamy asked, walking closer to me, making me look up at him from where I was sitting.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, was he really jealous?

"He was showing me a blueprint for a new scope he was making. Why? You jealous?" I teasingly spoke.

My teasing seemed to fuel his anger more.

"In that outfit? Yeah, right." Bellamy laughed, crossing his arms

My brows creased, "What's wrong with my outfit?" I looked down at it, examining it myself. The shorts were a bit short, but it's not like anyone would be looking.

"You're always walking around in those skimpy outfits, Kyle was probably eye fucking you." Bellamy was so close I could smell him, a smell I've come to love, a smell I've dreamed of for years.

"I don't say anything when Clarke is practically on top of you," I admitted, who was he to tell me I wear skimpy outfits, I didn't even know he looked at me like that, though his words were harsh it sent a wave of warmth down my body.

Bellamy smiled, this was amusing to him. "You think I want Clarke?"

I rolled my eyes, making him grab my face, bringing me closer to his. "Don't roll your eyes at me, princess." Bellamy let me go harshly, if I was wet before I'm pooling now. I simply nodded my head, too starstruck to form a sentence, he chuckled in reply.

"Undress. Now." Bellamy demanded. I didn't even need to think about it, the moment he said those words it was done, my clothes found their way onto the floor, I had picked the wrong day to go without wearing panties.

Being the only one undressed I felt vulnerable, I looked back up at him and he knew what I wanted to say before I even had to say it.

"You wanna dress like a slut, you're gonna act like one too. Get in the fucking rover."

His words had me soaked, I was sure it was leaking down my leg.

I crawled into the back of the vehicle, laying down and using my arms to lift myself up a bit. The air was hot and full of lust, practically choking me. Bellamy crawled in right after me, he moved my legs and placed them on the sides of his hips.

Were we really gonna go through with this?

He was quick to unbuckle his belt and reveal his cock, I wasn't sure I could take all of him.

"Gonna show you who you belong to, you didn't even wear panties, you're such a slut." Bellamy breathed out, grabbing onto my hips and pulling me closer, I felt his tip rub up and down my pussy, earning a moan from me when it rubbed against my clit.

Bellamy smirked and thrusted into me. I moaned at the sudden feeling of being full, I felt my walls stretch around his cock. The pain was soon replaced with pleasure as his thumb traced circles around my clit.

"Gonna make you feel so good, slut, only I'm gonna make you feel this good."

His thrusts started off slow, a torturing pace. But it was enough to get my legs shaking, combined with his words and his thumb on my clit I was already cumming with a loud moan.

"Fuuuck, you sound so pretty cumming on my dick, princess, just like that."

Bellamy began thrusting harder, continuously hitting my sweet spot over and over again, forcing my back to arch. It all just felt too good.

His free hand came up and shoved my bra down, he made quick work of toying with my breasts. His groans became breathier, his grunts of pleasure enhancing my experience.

"Who do you belong to? Say it." With every word he spoke, he pulled out and slammed right back into me, forcing a pleasure-filled scream out of me, one part of me hoped nobody heard, and the other hoped everyone knew who was fucking me.

I already felt like I was gonna cum again, both his hands found their way to my hips, holding me down roughly.

When I couldn't reply he stopped all movements, leaving me whining and whimpering, I needed his cock, I craved it.

"Say it, or I swear to god I will drag you out of this rover and fuck you in front of everybody." I had no choice but to speak, not because I was scared of people seeing but because I needed him to keep fucking me, I needed to be used by him.

"I belong to you Bell, now please keep fucking me, please," I pleaded, my eyes fogging over with lust, all I could think about was him and his cock.

Bellamy smirked, satisfied with my answer, he began fucking me harder and faster than before. Chasing his own high. I was sure his grip on my hips would leave bruises, but I was glad, I wanted to remember this moment forever.

Wet loud sounds filled the vehicle, our moans intertwining as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled my ears. His cock filled my pussy so well, I knew nobody would ever fuck me this good again, I was all his.

My pussy clenched around his cock and I felt him twitch inside of me, he liked that.

"Keep doing that, be good for me princess."

I obeyed him and kept clenching, my legs now wrapped around his hips, needing him deeper inside me.

"So close, so close," He let out between moans, his thrusts now becoming sloppier. "Fuuck,"

I felt his warm cum fill my pussy, his thrust came to a slow gentle pace, still fucking his cum into me.

After catching his breath he pulled out, now leaving me feeling empty without him.

Just as he was about to say something the door behind him opened, revealing Kyle. A shocked, jaw-dropped Kyle. Bellamy quickly moved in front of me as Kyle took in the sight. Once he realized the situation he slammed the door.

My face was flushed red but Bellamy found the situation hilarious.

"I never want this to end," I admit, looking into his eyes.

"Then it won't, princess."

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[maysileeewrites]

a helping hand - John Murphy x reader

Summary: „Why are you helping me? I’m the bad guy, in case you forgot.“ Set during 1 x 10 (I am become Death), based on this teaser.

warnings: mentions of blood + injuries, angst, Murphy being Murphy (yes, he does have a soft side in this, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not still a dick); please lmk if I forgot something! 

AN: I’m not quite sure whether anyone will still care for Murphy x reader in 2023, but I love my trash son so much, I just had to write something about him. Please let me know if you liked it! 

You dip the bloodied cloth into the bucket filled with water, watching as the water slowly turns red. Your hands are bloody as well and there’s dried blood crested under your fingernails, but with all the sick teens around you needing medical attendance, you don’t have time to try to thoroughly wash your hands, so you just dip them into the water, grabbing a bar of soap, watching as the water turns an even deeper red. 

Blood. 

There’s just so much of it. 

You sigh, standing up again. There’s no time for dwelling on your thoughts, not when the whole first floor of the Dropship is full of sick, coughing teenagers that need your help. 

You go to Fox and Connor next, checking up on them. But apart from trying to clean them up - they’ve started coughing up blood as well - and getting them to drink some water, there isn’t much you can do to actually help them. You have no medicine, no painkillers - apart from Monty’s moonshine and considering that a painkiller really is a stretch in your opinion -, nothing. Only a few spare blankets you and Clarke gave out earlier, in order to help keep everyone warm. 

A sudden wave of anger and irritation at your helplessness when faced with this unknown, dangerous virus overcomes you and you clench your fists in frustration. You allow yourself a moment to try and bury that emotion deep inside - because being this emotionally overwhelmed, you won’t be any help to the others -, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. 

When you open your eyes again, they land on Murphy - who’s looking right back at you with his good eye, the other one is still swollen shut. 

You gulp, trying to swallow down the nervousness that is suddenly clawing its way up your throat. Murphy’s the one who brought the disease into the Camp. 

After being tortured by the grounders for days, you try to remind yourself. After being unceremoniously tossed out of Camp for a murder he didn’t commit. And while he’s definitely a rude asshole that can be a bit unpredictable at times - though you think more often than not he’s just lashing out when provoked, attacked, or in case of the whole Charlotte incident, wrongfully accused - you don’t think that he’s as bad as everyone makes him out to be. 

But maybe that’s just you being naive, always wanting to see the good in people. He did try to go after Charlotte, after all. Though, you think, that probably had more to do with him seeking justice - a twisted, self-righteous kind of justice, but still justice - than vengeance. 

You sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Whatever the deal with Murphy is - and whatever the reason for you to suddenly spend so much of your thoughts on him is - right now, it doesn’t matter. 

Right now the only thing that matters is that he’s sick and hurt and he needs someone to help him clean up his wounds and that’s exactly what you’re here for. 

So, you take a deep breath and square your shoulders, before walking over to him and dropping down in front of him. His blue-green eyes - the good one at least- meet yours for just a split second, but then he’s looking away again. You dip the cloth into the bucket of water - after helping Fox and Connor you’d gone out to get some fresh water - and reach out for him, but just when you’re about to touch him, he twists away from you. 

„What’re you doing?“, he says, his voice low, distrust and irritation evident in his expression. 

„Helping you“, you answer, gesturing to the wet cloth in your hands. „Someone needs to clean up your wounds, Murphy.“ 

He scoffs. „Yeah, right.“ 

You frown. „Look Murphy, just let me help you, please.“ 

He doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t acknowledge your words with anything other than a raise of his eyebrows, but you decide to just take his lack of a verbal response as a good sign - or at least as a sign that he hopefully won’t refuse your help any further. 

You wet the cloth cloth again, before carefully reaching your hand out to him again. This time, he doesn’t twist away from you, so you gingerly touch his bloodied and scarred cheek with your fingertips, before carefully applying pressure with the cloth. 

All the while, Murphy looks at you, an undecipherable emotion in his blue-green eyes. The intensity of his gaze is distracting, and you swallow, trying to concentrate on cleaning up his wounds, trying to ignore the burning heat of his gaze. Though it’s impossible to really ignore it, with you two being so close that you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver. 

Something shifts in Murphy’s expression then - if you weren’t paying so much attention, you might’ve missed it, but as it is, you can see the bitter smirk that crosses his lips for an instant, before he bites down hard on his lips. 

Your eyes meet then. You swallow - you feel caught in his stare, unable to look at anything but him. 

„Why are you helping me?“, he asks you, his voice low and raspy and laced with something that almost sounds like desperation. „I’m the bad guy, in case you forgot.“ 

„Because you need help“, you say, underlining your words by lightly trailing your fingertips over the deep cut on his left cheek. „And because I want to understand you.“ It’s true - you do want to understand him. You want to know how he came to be who he is today, why on earth he set fire to a room on the Ark. 

And fuck. This - this is dangerous. 

That bitter smirk crosses his face again. „Oh, so you want to know why I’m such a jerk, why I told the Camp’s location to the grounders, is that it?“ 

„You were tortured“, you say softly, but Murphy only scoffs. 

„Yeah, I’m afraid that doesn’t count as an excuse“, he says, voice full of bitterness. 

„Wha-“, you start to say, but then you remember that you saw Bellamy talking to Murphy earlier. And yes, that would certainly explain Murphy’s comments about his being tortured not being an excuse for giving up your location. 

You sigh frustratedly. Of course you know that Bellamy only wants to protect everyone at Camp, but you also know him well enough to imagine him making some kind of petty remark how he wouldn’t have caved under torture, wouldn’t have given up the Camp’s location. 

Which - fuck that. Anyone would eventually cave under torture, even someone as strong-willed and fierce as Bellamy. 

Murphy’s hiss of pain when you accidentally linger too long on one of his cuts with your fingertips draws you out of your thoughts. „Sorry“ you say, biting your lip. 

Murphy just shrugs and suddenly you’re hit with the desperate urge to help him, even though you’re not quite sure if there even is anything you can do that could make his situation better - apart from cleaning up his wounds, which you already are doing. 

„I’m sorry for what happened to you“, you say then, looking at him. „That’s not - I can only imagine what you went through and I really am sorry that that happened to you.“ 

Murphy looks at you, confusion and irritation evident in his expression. 

„And I know that won’t change anything-“

„No it won’t“, Murphy interrupts you, but this time, there’s no venom in his voice - just pain and resignation. „But it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.“ 

Now it’s your turn to be confused. As you continue cleaning up his wounds, you mull over his words in your mind, trying to understand what he’s implying with his words. Does he mean that he was tortured on the Ark? But that can’t be right, can it? Yes, the Ark’s council is strict and unforgiving, but you haven’t heard about them torturing somebody. 

„Can you even see anything like that?“, Murphy says, interrupting your thought process, and suddenly he’s reaching out with one hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

You swallow, trying desperately not to show how much that one little touch affected you. But your heart is thundering so loudly in your chest that you’re convinced that he’s able to hear it. 

Especially once you can no longer pretend to re-inspect the cuts on his face yet again - you really need to take a look at the wounds on his chest. 

You clear your throat, trying to sound more confident than you feel. „I - uh - I need to take a look at the wounds on your chest, judging by all that blood I’ll probably need to do some stitches … uhm could you - uh - maybe take off your shirt?“ 

Kill me, you think, wanting to die from embarrassment. Of course, the first time you’ll see a boy without his shirt on - apart from some of the boys that walk around Camp shirtless in the morning and you don’t think that they actually count - has to be in this weird situation. 

As if reading your thoughts, Murphy just smirks, before taking off his shirt. But just when’s almost free of his shirt, he hisses, his face screwing up in pain. 

„Let me“, you say, helping him. 

For a moment, you just stare at each other breathlessly. 

Then, so quietly that you’re not quite sure whether you’ve imagined it, he says: „Thank you.“ 

You nod, clearing your throat. Not knowing what else to say, you start inspecting his chest, lightly trailing your fingertips over the various scratches and other wounds - trying not to be distracted by his muscles you can feel under your fingertips and his burning gaze. 

Murphy hisses again when your fingers brush over a particularly deep wound. „Sorry“, you murmur, leaning in even closer to get a better look at his wound. „This wound needs some stitches, I’m, uh, going to get a needle and some thread.“ 

You get up and walk over to where all the medical supplies are stored, thankful for this short moment away from Murphy, his intense stare and your confusing thoughts about him. 

„Here“, you say, after sitting down in front of Murphy again and hand him the bottle of moonshine you’ve grabbed as well, „you might want to drink this before I get started on those stitches.“

Murphy just nods, taking the bottle of moonshine from you and taking a long, big sip. „Do your worst“, he says, prompting you to roll your eyes. 

„Thanks for the vote of confidence“, you murmur, though you can understand why he’d be apprehensive about this. If it were you being in his situation, you’d rather be stitched up by a trained doctor as well, but since you teens are all on your own and Clarke, the only one of you with actual medical training is currently getting some well-deserved sleep, you’re his only option. Unlike Clarke, you haven’t received any actual medical training but you do know how to give stitches - in theory at least - so you hopefully won’t screw this up. 

Here goes nothing, you think, getting started on the stitches. 

Murphy bites down hard on his lips, though a slight hiss still escapes him. 

You cringe, shooting him an apologetic smile before concentrating on his wound again. „Sorry.“ 

Murphy doesn’t say anything in response, just nods. 

You’re both quiet as you continue with the stitches. Then, when you’re almost done, Murphy suddenly says: „I got real sick when I was thirteen … only made it because my dad stole some medicine for me ... course, he got floated for it …“ 

You swallow, meeting his gaze. You don’t know why he’s suddenly telling you this - you just know that the story he’s about to tell you most likely won’t have a happy ending. 

Murphy looks away from you then, laughing bitterly. „My mother … she was never the same after his death … She started drinking. Blamed me for his death. Told me everyday that I’m a worthless good-for-nothing that’s responsible for his father’s death. She died three years after him … and I just-“

He stops talking then, shaking his head. 

„Murphy, I-“, you start to say, though you stop as well, not quite knowing what it is that you actually want to say. Murphy suddenly opening up to you is so confusing and his story so heartbreaking, you’re not quite sure what the appropriate words for this situation are, let alone if there even are any. 

„Anyway“, Murphy now says, voice tinged with bitterness, „I just - I had all this pai- anger in me and I didn’t know how to handle it, how to let it out. So I set fire to those rooms, got arrested.“ 

„Murphy …“, you say, your voice hollow, your heart breaking for the broken, angry boy in front of. 

He laughs dryly, though the sound has a wheezing quality to it that instantly worries you. „You wanted to know, didn’t you? Wanted to understand why I became such a jerk. Well, there you have it.“

„I do“, you say, putting away the needle and thread and looking at Murphy, meeting his gaze. „I do understand you, Murphy. I still think you’re an opportunistic jerk, but I understand, I really do. I - I know that it’s not worth much, but I am sorry that this happened to you, it’s awful.“ 

Murphy just shrugs, not saying anything. 

But he’s still looking at you and now that you know what to look for, now that you finally understand him better, you see the pain in his expression.

Not just due to the torture. There’s so much more, pain that’s probably been building in him for years and that he turned into sharp, pointed hate and anger, because he didn’t know how to deal with all of his pain. 

You want to help him, though you don’t really know how and why. Yes, he is a rude jerk and at Camp he was also somewhat of a bully, but you think that that’s most likely due to him not knowing how to communicate in something that’s not just anger and aggression. But you also believe that there’s more to him - that he’s not just this lonely, broken, rude jerk that that’s probably just a facade he’s hiding behind. 

„I understand, Murphy“, you say again, still looking at the storm of emotions in his green-blue eyes. Something shifts in Murphy’s expression then - he’s listening to you and something in his gaze tells you that he believes your words, believes you. „I truly do. But there’s more to life than just pain, anger and aggression.“ 

With that, you reach out a hand, softly grasping one of his hands with yours. You’re not quite sure why you’re doing it, you just know that you want to be there for Murphy, that you want to help him - and that you want him to understand that you truly mean your words. 

Murphy’s arm jerks, as if he wants to rip his hand out of your grasp, but then he grasps your hand, squeezing it lightly. He reaches up with his other hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Just like before, your breath hitches. But this - this is different than before. This time, there’s no venom in Murphy’s gaze, no quiet challenge, no pent-up anger. Just curiosity and something softer that you can’t quite describe. 

„I still don’t really get why you’re helping me“, Murphy says, leaning even closer to you. You’re so close that you could count the lashes on his good eye. You feel his breath ghosting over your skin and you shiver in anticipation. 

„But I’m glad that I let you.“ With that, he leans in even closer, searching your eyes and whatever he sees in them, must convince him. He presses his lips to yours and you’re so overwhelmed that you don’t know how to react. But just when you feel Murphy starting to pull away, you kiss him back, bringing your free hand up to his neck. 

You feel him smirk into the kiss and if you weren’t currently kissing him, you’d definitely roll your eyes at him. As it is, you continue kissing him, though you give his hand a squeeze that’s probably a bit too harsh. 

Murphy just smirks again, deepening the kiss and tangling his hand in your hair. You can feel your heart start to beat faster and there’s a curious sensation in your stomach that feels like those butterflies that you’ve read about in books. 

You lose yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of Murphy.

Kissing Murphy feels good, though his lips are chapped and dry and he hisses in pain when you overeagerly lean a little too much against him. But still - kissing Murphy feels good. 

And even though you’re still confused and you know that one conversation won’t suddenly make him sunshine personified - you like his dry sarcasm way too much for that - you also know that you want more. You want to get to know Murphy, really get to know him, you want to be there for him. And if there are more occasions to kiss him along the way of getting to know him and helping him, then you certainly won’t complain about that. 

Murphy gives you one last, bruising kiss, before breaking the kiss, breathlessly leaning his forehead against yours. 

„I - Murphy - what …“, you stammer, still too wound up from the kiss. 

Murphy smirks. „That was thank you.“ 

You can’t help but roll your eyes. „I see“, you say dryly. 

„For stitching me up … and for not giving up on me“, Murphy adds, his voice serious again. 

You smile softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his eye. „I’ll be sure to stick around then.“ 

Murphy grins, though there’s a vulnerability to it now that wasn’t there before. „Doesn’t sound too bad …“ 

„Yeah, it doesn’t“, you agree, before leaning up to kiss him again. 

You feel him smiling into the kiss, causing you to smile as well. 

Yes, the road ahead is not going to be easy - this is John Murphy, resident sarcastic, rude asshole, after all - but you’re not afraid to walk it with Murphy. 

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

[mystra-midnight]

Counting Stars

summary: he was staring at you with those warm brown eyes that made your heart do somersaults in your chest—the same expression that made butterflies wing through your veins and heat pool in the pit of your stomach.

warnings: 18+ only. public setting? idk everything here is public. slight praise kink. pet name; (pretty girl). fingering. masturbation. edging. reader is down bad for bellamy, and we can't blame her.

words: 847.

notes: honestly it feels good to be getting back into my 100 boys. i might not have liked the ending but the show was phenomenal and i love the emotional algebra they all went through. the angst and character development was just *chefs kiss*

This wasn't the time or the place; part of you knew that, but you were too far gone to care. With the threat of grounders, acid fog, and god knows what else lurking in the forest, you should have been terrified. Maybe you would have been had Bellamy not been kneeling between your spread legs.

You felt safest with him, entirely confident that he would move mountains to protect you. And he would—Bellamy would give his life to protect any of the hundred. There was a certain kinship he felt with them, a bond of loyalty, and a certain camaraderie that blossomed from all of them having been sent to a post-apocalyptic earth with no idea what to expect.

That was why, despite being almost naked and lying on the forest floor, you felt perfectly safe. Your legs were spread, the backs of your thighs resting over the front of his, giving him the perfect few of your pussy as he rubbed the knuckles of two fingers along your slit. He was staring at you with those warm brown eyes that made your heart do somersaults in your chest—the same expression that made butterflies wing through your veins and heat pool in the pit of your stomach.

He was staring at you as though you were the most beautiful thing on earth.

"Bell," you breathed his name in a sigh. His touch was soft and gentle, working you over slowly as he pushed the tips of his fingers between your fold. Bellamy watched the way your chest rose when you sucked in a sharp breath, his pointer finger circling your entrance once, twice, and a third time before pushing in. You gasped, your hips canting upwards to welcome him.

"What is it, pretty girl?" He hummed, smiling down at you with a sweet expression, one that contradicted the scandalous movement of his fingers in and out of your tight warmth. He brought his thumb to your clit, your slickness made it easy for him to rub quick shapes around your sensitive nub. His opposite hand held your thigh, fingers spread wide and possessively, his grip enough to entice an ache in the form of bruises.

"Don't tease me," you answered with a whimper, your head falling back against the foliage until you were staring at the stars above. They looked beautiful, like far-off galaxies twinkling in the distance. It would take a dozen lifetimes to count them all, but you would gladly do it if it meant an eternity with him between your legs. "Please, Bell, not tonight. I've been good. Just wanna cum for you. Please let me cum."

You knew that he adored you—that had never been a doubt in your mind. But his love didn't mean he was kind all the time. Sometimes he was mean, like this morning and right now. Bellamy enjoyed building you up and up, only to leave you balanced on the edge of oblivion. He liked to watch the frustration on your face when he denied you an orgasm; he liked to watch the ecstasy that overcame you when he finally gave it to you. That was what he'd done this morning.

In between kisses, he had split you open with his cock, wrapped your legs around his waist, and touched you all over the place with his hands. You'd left scratches down his back when he'd tried to pull away, your thighs shaking with the force of your impending orgasm as it slowly waned. He'd kissed you again before heading out for his patrol, leaving you frustrated and almost crying on his makeshift bed. It was why it took an embarrassingly short time for him to work you to the edge of your control, forcing you onto the precipice of oblivion once again.

"You're such a good girl for me." He said softly, leaning forward to cast a shadow over you, blocking out the view of the stars and making you lose count. You dug your nails into the dirt when he added a third finger between your thighs. It was a blissful stretch that had you keening loudly. Bellamy pressed his lips against your throat, the new position making your thighs fall open wider. "And you beg so prettily."

A familiar warmth simmered between your hips, spreading down your legs and up your chest.

"Please," you gasped.

You wouldn't be able to hold it this time—not that you were ever able to hold it back. Whenever the feeling came upon you, it did so without remorse. It built like a storm in your veins, slowly at first, and would release all at once. Bellamy knew this, so when he felt your walls starting to grip his fingers tighter, when he felt them flutter, and when he saw the tell-tale signs etched upon your face, he stopped.

He kept his fingers buried in your pussy, right down to the knuckle, and lifted his thumb from your throbbing clit. He kissed you softly and, oh, so sweetly, swallowing the sob that bubbled past your lips.

"Not yet, pretty girl."

[lets-try-some-writing]

Emergency Protocols: To Preserve A Legacy

Optimus Prime has fallen, and now everyone must deal with the after effects of his sudden and horrific death. Knockout, unlike the rest of the Decepticons, has taken grim inspiration from the loss.

Part 1 here.

(Warning for robogore)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is an order! Every mech will travel in a group until further notice!” Megatron’s order rang out on the bridge, earning frantic nods of understanding from every single Vehicon present. Starscream in particular seemed keen to obey an order for once and almost instantly grabbed a few Vehicons to stay by his side.

Knockout watched quietly, his optics never once leaving the screen above Megatron’s helm.

“I don’t care what you are doing or what your orders are. If I catch anyone alone, there will be consequences.” Megatron all but growled as he glared down at every one of his soldiers. Knockout’s optics cycled in quiet interest at the sight, but he refused to look away from the screen and the beginnings of grotesque suffering playing on it.

“The Autobots have begun to fall. We cannot risk such a fate ourselves.” The warlord’s words were frighteningly shaky as a video played on screen. It was a recording obviously taken by Soundwave, or perhaps Laserbeak. Whatever the case, it projected a scene of true horror.

Optimus Prime wailed in agony, his frame tearing itself apart as buds began to form all over him. One on each limb, and two great ones on his chassis and jetpack. He tore himself to pieces, ripping off armor and frantically screeching as his frame cannibilized itself to produce six new lives. That was a new record, at least in modern documentation. The largest recorded budding only produced five newbuilds. How very Optimus of him.

“Prime succumbed, and if a mech as mighty as him fell, any one of us is just as likely to suffer a similar end.” The recording zoomed in on Optimus’s expression of sheer agony as he tried to crawl on mutilated limbs. If things were different, Knockout might have gagged as he watched the Prime convulse, wheeze, and then fall still while whatever remained of him was consumed by his unwanted offspring.

As it was, Knockout found himself more intrigued than afraid, especially as the recording showed the six that came from the fallen Prime. Five of them were flight frames, an incredible oddity considering Optimus was, up until his reforging, a grounder. The sixth was the one that really caught his attention. The newbuild had Optimus’s structure, tapered waist, and overall build. But they had an interesting series of differences, a few of which felt vaguely familiar.

“Be wary! And never find yourselves alone! Until we can confirm that none of our number are liable to succumb to this brutality, this ship is on lockdown.” With a final wave of his servo, Megatron marched off, likely to hound Soundwave about something or other. The Vehicons filed off eventually, most huddled in groups of five or more to limit their fear. A few attempted to gather around Knockout, but he waved them off.

He didn’t want companionship. He had other plans.

Making his way back to the medical bay, Knockout quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. He settled at his console, tapping the device thoughtfully as he pulled up the recording of Optimus Prime’s final moments all over again. He really should have been disgusted or upset with what he was going to be seeing, but after so much loss, it was more interesting than anything else. Eventually, the Decepticons would have someone end up budding. After all, one budding meant that the situation was dire. Dire circumstances induced panic, and panic tended to make budding happen in other subjects even if their numbers were acceptable.

Stress was bound to get to them. After all, activation of the protocols needed for budding only required a deep sense of loneliness and isolation. If the crew felt that they were alone, those who were capable of budding were likely going to begin expiring one after another. The Vehicons would be fine, largely since they were the result of budding and cold forging. Empurata victims were incapable of budding since the entire section of their processor devoted to registering emotional distress was deactivated, so Shockwave would be fine. Beastformers tended to take longer to start budding, meaning that Arachnid would be alright on her own for a while. The same went for the Insecticons and the Predacons.

That left high command of both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Optimus had already keeled over, and considering how traumatic and sudden it was, Knockout didn’t doubt that someone else would follow after him. Probably Ratchet or the Prime’s unofficial ward. 

One by one, the shock and horror would get to all of them, regardless of faction.

They were well and truly slagged. Sooner or later, all the big players in the war would combust into several smaller and inexperienced idiots who would, inevitably, end the war at some point. Be it through extinction or peace, it wasn’t really important. Knockout personally had no desire to live in a world or on a restored Cybertron with a bunch of framewalkers who looked far too similar to old friends and foes for his liking. It all seemed so pointless. 

He was tired. That was the only way he had to describe the sheer apathy burning in his spark. Breakdown, his other half, was gone, taken by enemies who were now long dead and dispersed. There were no more victors to join, not when everyone would quickly be put on even ground once old grudges joined their holders in the grave. There was no point to all of it anymore. What did he have to gain from trudging ever onward? A restored homeworld? Sure, that might be nice for a grand total of five kliks, but it wouldn’t be the same without proper closure or Breakdown.

“If we’re all doomed anyway, we might as well make the most of it.” He grumbled, taking great care to not rub his face and ruin the polish, even though exhaustion weighed on him. They were all going down, so why not try and make it somewhat meaningful? Budding was a process that had not been properly studied since the Quintessons ruled. It either happened in private or it was so sudden that no real documentation could be made. Case point: Optimus’s spontaneous and gruesome death.

If he was going to die, he wanted to leave something behind and perhaps even secure his legacy with something important.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweet rims.” He pressed play on the video, leaning back in his chair as he sighed and observed Optimus’s final moments. He had to watch it three or four times before he became desensitized enough to actually start making note of things of interest, but he got there after a few sessions of wretching into his disposal unit.

Optimus’s early symptoms began with itching and, from the looks of it, twitchyness and emotional turmoil. That seemed about right overall. Then it seemed that as the budding began, tearing off armor was an instinctual response meant to allow the buds to grow without hindrance. The spine tearing out of the back appeared to just be a side effect of one of the buds developing in that location, as bones and other skeletal structures also tore free where buds developed on the Prime’s body. 

The malformation didn’t appear to be a necessary part of the process, but one that Optimus unfortunately endured due to the sheer number of buds on him. The buds themselves sucked protomatter right out of their host by liquidizing the host’s internals. A lot was lost, as evidenced by Optimus quite literally being dismeboweled via his innards turning to goo and oozing out of him. Frankly, it seemed that the process was largely streamlined. Optimus was just an unfortunate victim of Primely fertility.

If he were back on Cybertron, he might have broken the record again by producing more due to his increased mass prior to their arrival on the mudball they currently called their battlefield.

“Noted. More buds equals more pain.” He tapped the console methodically, watching again and again as Optimus wailed and endured a fate far worse than most other forms of death. Knockout took notes meticulously, observing with silent interest as he watched the buds develop over and over again. The biggest of the lot caught his attention more than the others. That one was obviously a powerhouse in the making, having Optimus’s overall frame structure. But there was something about the new build—something unique.

Once he recorded everything he could from the video, Knockout turned to the database. His digits flew across the keys until he pulled up Optimus’s record. A few passwords later, and he was looking at sensitive data that was only tenuiously confirmed. The Prime’s history in the archives, embarrassing and noteworthy developmental milestones, but most importantly, his relationships.

Optimus only had one confirmed romantic partner. The depth of their relationship was not recorded, but there were enough indicators of a spark merge having been involved for Knockout to feel fairly confident calling them Conjunxes. With that in mind, he pulled up the video again on his second screen, zooming in on the largest of the newbuilds hovering around Optimus’s battered corpse. 

He looked at Elita-One’s picture and then at the newbuild. The similarities were obvious. The frame shape, the kibble placement, even the newbuild’s optics. All of them were similar to Elita. Had the spark merged influenced the budding to produce a newbuild that possessed Optimus and Elita’s traits?

“A spark merge affecting a newbuild... it’s certainly not impossible.” He tapped the console with more frequency as he considered the possibilities. If all of high command was going to keel over, Knockout most likely included, why shouldn’t he research the process? Why shouldn’t he make the most of it? For Optimus and Elita to have produced a bud that carried both their traits after what might have only been a single spark merge...

He stood up sharply, his optics widened as he glanced over at the single piece of Breakdown’s armor he’d taken from the corpse as a keepsake. It sat innocently on his shelf, a reminder of the loss and now a symbol of possible hope.

“One merge. It only took them one merge.” He reached out to collect the piece of armor, a dark plan forming in the back of his processor. He didn’t necessarily want to die, but it was going to happen anyway. Sooner or later, he’d drop dead and spawn something that was but an echo of himself. Why not die on his own terms? He could study the process of budding and, if things worked out, preserve Breakdown’s legacy as well.

He’d keep his reputation as Cybertron’s finest medic through his research, and he’d be able to honor his fallen partner before joining him. It saved him from having to go on endlessly without the mech he loved most, and it meant that all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He wouldn’t have to live in a world not his own with mecha mimicking the dead.

It would be painful, but he could limit that to a certain extent. 

"Well, Breakdown, it seems I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” A grin wormed its way onto Knockout’s features as he laughed and carried the piece of plating over to his workbench. There was much to do, and considering the panic amongst the crew, very little time.

“Lord Megatron, I’ll be performing a little analysis on some sensitive material over the course of the next deca-cycle or so. Don’t worry if I’m unavailable; my research will prove quite useful, I’m certain.” He sent his message to Megatron with quiet glee as he settled at his workbench. He had preparations to see to and he couldn’t afford an interruption. Not now.

“All alone now. It’s just us, Breakie.” Tapping the piece of plating, Knockout laughed again before gathering his determination to drop the piece into a vat. He placed the vat into one of his extractors and stepped back, looking over himself and his medical bay. While CNA was being extracted from Breakdown’s plating, Knockout could begin his real work.

He spent a whole cycle thinking through Optimus’s fate and preparing for every eventuality. He methodically, albeit with much chagrin, removed his outer armor. He would rather not endure the pain of ripping it all off in a frenzied madness and so opted to skip that step altogether. Once that was all removed, he began preparing various painkillers of different doses. Too much at one time might have a negative effect on himself or his spawn, so a gentle ramping up of the solution would be necessary. The finished solutions were left near the medical berth, ready to be used.

For good measure, he adjusted the straps on the medical berth to activate the moment he laid down and to deactivate once his vitals dropped beyond a certain threshold. He couldn’t risk the buds, not when they were going to be so vital to his goals.

“As much as I pride myself on my finish, I do think you’ll forgive me this once for not sporting the red you adored so much.” Knockout found himself laughing more and more in the quiet of his medical bay by just the second cycle of work. He had gone to great pains to continually keep himself from heading out for any reason, and so far it seemed to be working. He could feel a faint tingle underneath his plating.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves getting to him or not, but as he handled a full vial of Breakdown’s CNA, he reassured himself of his goal. He was going to do this and document the whole affair.

This was fine. He was going to be fine. He wanted this. He’d get to see Breakdown again.

Right?

“Breakdown, I hope you aren’t going to be too upset. I’m doing this for both of us.” He spoke into the open air, quietly and with more than a little hesitance. It took all of his mental fortitude to keep it together when Megatron called him.

“Knockout, what in the Unmaker’s name are you doing?” The warlord’s glyphs were harsh and layered with over a dozen vaguely fearful undertones. Knockout would have grinned, but he couldn’t blame Megatron for being afraid. Optimus was dead. The Prime of Cybertron was not only gone, but the first to have perished. In a way, Knockout envied him. To be the first meant Optimus didn’t have to watch everyone crumble around him.

“Lord Megatron, as I stated in my previous message, I am working on something of incredible importance. Don’t worry your pretty little helm about it. The experiment shall conclude in a few cycles, just as planned.” He kept up his usual attitude of cockiness as he stared at scans he’d taken of his frame. According to what his machinery was gathering, his frame was starting to swell in places, small pockets of protomatter less than an inch in side, all forming one by one all over him like organic skin pores.

It was rather disgusting to think about it in that light.

“Do you have assistants with you? I will not risk this vessel’s only medical expert offlining.” Knockout fought back a scoff as he held the vial of Breakdown’s extracted CNA. He fiddled with the container, smiling as he replied.

“Of course. I have my most trusted assistant right by my side.” Megatron made a noise of agreement before shutting down the comm link. Knockout leaned against his console, fondling the vial a while longer as he looked up at his scans. 

Soon. Very soon.

The cycles wore on, and as they did, Knockout dutifully documented the changes. His need for fuel had drastically decreased, a sign of his frame preparing for something or other. Additionally, he was recharging more and more often and for longer periods of time. A certain level of lethargy hung in his limbs, making it difficult for him to continually make note of his circumstances and not leave his medical bay despite how much base instinct tried to get him to move and go toward where he knew there were others.

Megatron bothered him every now and then, but Knockout was quite skilled at keeping his tone even. The warlord suspected nothing, just like Knockout wanted. This was meant to be special—just him and Breakdown. He didn’t want his boss to come kicking the door down in an attempt to stop what had already begun and ruin the significance of it all.

“Till all are one... you know, Breakdown, I never really believed in that lovely quote from the Primacy. But I think it makes more sense now that we’re going to make something beautiful together.” He was tired, so very tired. But looking into the faint blue glow of the vial containing all that was left of his other half, Knockout found something akin to peace settling in his spark. His frame ached, but soon everything would be better.

“I miss when you held me in your arms and complimented my features. I don’t think I ever told you that the reason I kept up the red was because you liked it so much.” Leaning back in his chair, Knockout held the vial to his chassis, closing his optics in order to pretend that somehow, through some miracle, Breakdown was with him. He imagined firm servos on his shoulders, massaging tense cables and helping him unwind after a long cycle. 

Fond memories supplied him with a cheerful laugh filled with nothing but adoration as he and Breakdown playfully bantered, exchanging gossip like there wouldn’t be consequences if they were caught distracted. He recalled all their frantic couplings, never daring to risk taking too long to be one in mind and spark for fear of punishment. He wished he’d taken more time back then. He wished he’d savored the protective warmth of his companion’s spark brushing up against his own in the most intimate of kisses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.” Coolant gathered in his optics as his frame began to heat up in response to his unsettling emotional state. He felt the drops roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He merely held the chilled vial close, desperately longing for a spark signature that was long gone. It was clinical, so very clinical... and there was no warmth to be found.

“I’m sorry, I’m too weak to go on without you. I know… I know you’d want me to live life to the fullest in your absence, but I can’t.” His composure cracked as he looked up at the ceiling, trying not to gaze around his medical bay in the vain hope that his beloved might still be there, gathering supplies or sorting through datapads on his behalf. 

He could hardly vent; it hurt so much.

“Not without you.” Primus was cruel to take a mech as good as Breakdown so soon.

The itching started around the fifth cycle of his isolation. It was faint at first, but then it grew more and more difficult to ignore. It felt like he was bloated, almost as if he had a series of microscopic tears in every single one of his fuel lines. He scratched without meaning to more often than not, and more than once he had to set his door to lock automatically to keep himself from running out.

Itching, itching, itching.

He wished Breakdown were there to caress his frame, chasing away the discomfort with loving touches and soothing words. For such a big mech, he was so very kind. 

But Breakdown was gone. He’d been gone for months now. All Knockout had left was a vial of his CNA. His forever’s final gift and remnant.

By the sixth cycle, taking decent notes was all but impossible. He settled on setting up a camera just above the medical berth for when he inevitably met his end. He was fidgety, itching, and nervous in a way he’d never been before. Sometimes he found himself pacing, muttering nonsense that he only managed to stop through sheer force of will.

The itch never stopped. 

Emotional codes became tangled and out of place. Priority calculations shifted and left him paranoid, leading Knockout to try and perform manual labor more than once before realizing he was out of his designated role. His protocols were blaring all the time, drowning out his vision with demands for him to find a group and to get to safety. He screamed at some point, clutching his helm and whimpering at how overwhelming it all was.

How had Prime dealt with it all before death all but snuck up on him?

On what he assumed was the seventh cycle, the itch turned to an infuriating burn. Clawing at his protoform and base armor wasn’t enough. It hurt, so much so that he could hardly see straight, much less make any logical decisions. All he had the strength to do was jab and IV with his painkillers into his arm and inject himself with Breakdown’s precious CNA before he collapsed onto his medical berth, the straps clamping down on his limbs.

The vial was discarded on the ground, empty, and used. Despite the fact that it no longer had anything of Breakdown left in it, Knockout wished he could hold it, if only to comfort himself as the pain increased.

Panic set in not long after the straps finished tightening. His venting hitched as the burn worsened. For a moment, he regretted every life decision he’d ever made, including his idiotic choice to go down in flames like he was taking one for the team. When had he ever been a team player? What the frag was wrong with him?

“Slag. This is going to hurt.” He winced, biting back a cry as he felt the first tears begin to form along his protoform. Optimus had skipped this part entirely, going straight for bone obliteration and internal shredding. Knockout almost wished he could do the same as cracks began running along his limbs, the angle of the medical berth letting him see how energon and protomatter started to swell in the wounds.

The painkillers were his salvation as he watched in grim fascination, observing as his very protoform bubbled as if an inflamed fuel line was growing and threatening to burst right beneath the surface layer of his very being. He bit his lower derma as his protoform continued to bulge, finally bursting in his legs and in his right arm. He didn’t dare cry out, instead forcefully silencing himself for as long as possible.

Screams would draw attention. Sound would ruin this precious moment between himself and what he was going to make. This was a family matter, his and Breakdown’s last gift to the world. It couldn’t be interrupted.

Cables burst, spurting energon that trickled down the medical berth and pooled on the ground beneath him. Wires and various connectivity tissues pulsed and all but slithered as the buds started to take shape. It hurt like slag, but it wasn’t as bad as it likely would have been without painkillers. The scene itself was still a work of horror, especially as the small mounds began to grow, their mass pushing aside everything else.

“Looks like at least one of these buds is going to turn out just like you, Breakdown! They’ve got your size already!” Knockout laughed, lost in medically induced mania as the bud on his left leg swelled and caused the entire limb to bloat. His pede shifted, deforming before snapping off entirely to allow the bud to consume the stump. Knockout did end up screaming as his bones snapped under the weight of the thing, every pain receptor in the limb activating in hot waves of agony.

The bone stuck out from his leg, jutting at an odd angle and glittering blue as if Primus himself had thrown some sort of polish on it. Knockout could see every single micro-connector within the broken skeletal structure, still pulsing with charge. The medic in him screamed, demanding he heal the wound. But he was well aware of his doom. The metal around his abdomen was already graying, a sign of severe energon loss.

There was no stopping it now.

The chorus of suffering was only added to as the two other buds performed similarly. The smaller one on his right leg bulged and crawled up his limb like mold, eating away at his plating with acidic effects that revealed delicate circitry that sizzled and popped as they were corroded. Knockout couldn’t have possibly predicted that outcome with how the bud on his left leg was acting. The one on his arm hurt the most, surprisingly. Knockout could hardly see through the coolant, causing his vision to become hazy, but he did note his digits doing the same thing that Optimus’s had before his death. They increased in size, the plating oozing with protomatter before cracking and all but exploding to make way for the bud.

The remnants of his digits were nothing more than thin skeletal bones connected only by tender ligaments, which had quickly begun to lose their strength. 

He shrieked as the painkillers were overridden by the sheer amount of torment assaulting him. There was no comfort to be found as he started to flail, composure fleeing him as he cried out for anyone to help him. He was sure he screamed for Breakdown most, but at some point he must have cried for someone else as well, because he started to hear murmurs outside his medical bay. A Vehicon must have noted his wails.

“Breakdown-!” He sobbed against his restraints, hardly able to watch as more and more parts of his very frame tore themselves apart. The buds did not climb higher than their sectioned limbs, but they consumed, ripped, and tore. There was so much blue. So much blue...

Crack after crack, cry after cry. It blended into a meaningless babble. 

At some point, the agony almost entirely ceased as weight dropped off Knockout like a heavy burden long forgotten. The straps holding him came undone, leaving him to lay there, bleeding out and struggling to keep his fans running. The relief he felt was palpable as he reveled in the lack of pain. Although the chill that crept into what remained of his frame did little to comfort him.

Once he’d cleared the coolant from his optics, he mustered the will to look toward the ground where the three buds floundered. The sticky mounds convulsed, thin stick-like limbs jutting out in almost spider-like fashion before more living metal could wreath the limb in musculature and mass. The things looked horrifying as faces tore themselves from the masses, gaping intakes and lightless optics appearing half melted before they convulsed a few more times and finally booted online.

Knockout’s venting slowed as energon loss began to set in. The painkillers were finally doing their slagging job, giving him a half-decent look at his spawn as they stood up one by one, looking over their frames with the innocence of the newly forged. The newbuilds were so very fascinating, so very... Breakdown, each in their own way.

“You are not supposed to be alive.” The biggest of the bunch, a heavy-set newbuild with a rounded helm structure and bright headlights already in formation, addressed Knockout quietly. There was no mockery, no insults, merely an observation. This was like him. Knockout could see it in the red optics that met his own. They were modeled just like Breakdown’s.

“Just had to make sure... that you lot carried Breakdown... in your CNA as well.” His voice came out as little more than a pitiful wheeze, but Knockout didn’t have the presence of mind of care as the other two stared at him. The smallest of the ground was also quite a bulky thing, another of Breakdown’s traits. They shone with gold optics, so reminiscent of his beloved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, originator.” The smallest one looked him up and down, likely assessing the horror that was Knockout’s devastated frame. He managed a grim laugh at that, even as his senses started to dull.

“You look just like him.” Knockout coughed up energon, his spark flaring painfully in remembrance as the last of the newbuilds waved to him shyly. The newbuild was blue and orange, looking almost exactly like his other creator in all but accenting paint and digits. He had Knockout’s claws, a fact that brought him no small amount of pride.

“You’ve done well, originator. Return to your Conjunx. We will take over from here.” The biggest of the newbuilds touched Knockout’s helm, caressing his helm crest and audials in a fond manner. His venting hitched again, this time in loss as he looked over all three of his spawn.

Breakdown would have been thrilled to meet them.

“Your… designations?” His vision started to fail him as he stared at the three. They shared a look, and then all of them smiled.

“Flatline of Knockout and Breakdown.” The largest answered first, bringing more tears to Knockout’s optics as he heard both his and his beloved’s designation. They were both honored here.

“Quickmix.” The smallest replied curtly, but they were kind enough to touch Knockout’s shoulder in their form of a silent goodbye. They reminded Knockout of himself when he was young. At least this one would have siblings to help them along.

“Wildbreak... of Knockout and Breakdown.” The last of the bunch uttered their name quietly, but with a hint of awe. Knockout couldn’t help but smile as his vision failed him and the touches of his three creations lingered on his frame.

This... this had been worth it.

“We did it… Breakdown.” His voice was lost as his hearing started to putter out. The last thing he heard was his door crashing down and the booming voice of Megatron echoing in his medical bay.

“KNOCKOUT-!”

[locker42]

Bounty Hunter - I Love You

Warnings: swearing, smut (can be skipped, won’t contain something relevant to the storyline), mentions of injuries, blood, stitches.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Grounder!reader.

Word count: 2780.

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist.

You opened your eyes to see a metal ceiling above you, the light shining down at you make you squint your eyes. As you slipped back to consciousness, you became more aware of the room you were in. You were laying on one of the beds in medbay, a tube connected to your cubital fossa. Your headache was much better, allowing you to sit up slowly.

“You should be resting.” You heard a voice say from your right. You turned and saw Nyilah approaching you.

“I just woke up.” You said, your voice cracking due to the smoke the invaded your lungs.

“How is your head?” She asked, stepping closer to you and gently touching your head, only now you were aware of the wound right by your hairline. You raised your own hand, touching the stitches that were made.

“It’s good, thank you.” You replied, dropping your hand.

“You’re welcome. There is someone who wants to see you, but I told him that you needed to rest a little before anyone could visit. You hit your head very hard and you need to let it time to heal.” She explained, however after she told you someone wanted to see you your focused left her almost immediately. Bellamy, he was the one who wanted to see you. And, god, you wanted to see him so bad. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly, you wanted to kiss him and just feel him.

Before you could reply to her, your attention was drawn to Clarke who entered the room, heading straight to you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” She asked you, coming to stand by your bed.

“I’m feeling good, and I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life. I’m pretty sure I would have died if you didn’t help me.” You said, giving her a thankful smile.

“That one wasn’t just me, actually.” She admitted, making you frown in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“After you passed out Roan came to your side and made sure that you got to medbay. No one was willing to come that close because the Ark was crushing down.”

You couldn’t help but feel surprised at her words. It didn’t make sense why Roan would help you, especially after what he’s done.

“Where is he?” You asked, letting your curiosity win this time.

“He’s in Arkadia.” She informed. “We’re supposed to have a meeting later about leaving for the island.”

“The island?”

“Yes, that’s where Becca’s lab is. My mom and a few more are already there, working on the Nightblood solution.”

“Nightblood? You want to make everyone immune to the radiation?” You asked, the idea not quite settling in your head.

“Exactly. But the Nightblood can only be made in space. There’s a rocket there so we need to bring them the fuel.” Clarke explained to you.

“When are you leaving?” You asked, twisting your body so that your legs were hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’m coming.”

“Wait, that’s not a good idea.” Niylah objected and took a step closer to you, making you turn to her.

“Why? I have all day to rest and then I’ll go. It’s not like I’m going to war.”

She sighed before nodding her head, however her face still showed disapproval.

“Where is Bellamy?” You hesitantly asked Clarke.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go get him.” She said and quickly turned around and left the room.

You fiddled with the tube connected uncomfortably to your forearm, then you noticed the now stitched cut. You took a deep breath before pulling the tube out of your skin, hissing as the action stung. After a minute or so Bellamy came rushing into the room, walking towards you.

“Y/N.” He said before wrapping him arms around you. You returned the hug, relieved to finally be in his arms. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” He asked as he pulled away, examining your head.

“I’m good, Bell.” You said and grabbed both of his hands. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, clearly not the one you should be worried about.” He said, making you roll your eyes. “How did you even get here? I though Roan left you at Polis.”

“He did, but I escaped. I came straight here to warn someone but before I could the ship exploded.” You paused for a second before you realized. “This was your solution, wasn’t it?”

He looked down before nodding his head. “And now it’s ruined, and so is our chance of survival.”

“Clarke told me about the Nightblood. She told me you were leaving tomorrow to bring them the fuel. There is hope, if Abby can turn us all into Nightbloods than we have a chance to live.” You said and gently cupped his cheeks. He offered you a small smile before drawing away.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room. You can rest there.” He said and helped you off the bed. After saying a last ‘thank you’ to Niylah, you followed him out of the room. He led you through the halls, insisting you lean on him as you walked. As you got to the room you noticed that on the door was a note that said, ‘Bellamy Blake.’

“This is your room?” You asked as he unlocked it with his keys.

“Yep.”

He opened the door, allowing you to step in first. You took a look around noticing some discarded clothes in one corner of the room, the bed was unmade, and there was a book on the bedside table. “Nice room.” You commented.

“Thanks.” He said and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. You took a seat on the bed, keeping your gaze on the wall in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You said, making him look at you with surprise.

“What do you mean?” He asked, coming to stand in front of you.

“For not coming back.”

He opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off. “I know you’re mad, or at least were mad at me. And it’s okay, I get it, I do.”

“Hey, look at me.” He said softly and cupped your cheek, gently lifting your head to look at him. “You’re right, I was mad at you for not coming back but it wasn’t because of you, I just missed you. Things happened here and I just wished I could have talked to you about them.”

His words didn’t make you feel better, only more guilty as you looked away from him.

“There was just so much to deal with and I- I think I was scared to come back here.” You said quietly, still not looking up. “I mean, after what happened with Pike I didn’t think I would be welcomed here.”

“I understand your worries. But I promise you that no one is going to try and kill you or hurt you. I would never allow that to happen.” You finally looked up and met his eyes, a small smile rising on your face as you took in his features.

“I missed you, you know.” You said, bringing your hand up to run down his chest.

“I missed you, too.” He said and leaned down, locking your lips with his. The kiss started slowly, as if recognizing the other’s lips for the first time. You felt his tongue run over your lips and you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss. You placed your hands on his chest, then moving up to his shoulders and pulling him with you as you laid back. He followed your lead, climbing on top of you without breaking the kiss.

You felt at ease, you felt exited and relieved to be with Bellamy again. You pulled his body closer to yours, hearing his soft groan made shivers run down to your core. You slowly began to push his jacket off with your hands, but he pulled away before you could take it off.

“Y/N, we shouldn’t. You need to rest.” He said, his voice sounding deeper than usual, which only made you want to continue.

“I’m fine, Bellamy. I promise.” You said and pulled him back to you, placing a light kiss on his jaw. “I want you.” You said, then continued trailing kisses down his throat. “I need you.”

His jaw clenched before he slightly drew away to take off his jacket, then he moved back to you, kissing down your neck. Your hand moved to his hair, gripping it tightly as he found your sweet spot, making you moan quietly. You free hand moved to the bottom of his shirt, slipping your hand up and tugging it. He got your hint and took off his shirt. You all but drooled over him, running your hands down his torso, feeling the hard muscles beneath them. You moved your hands up, pulling him down to kiss you. He kissed faster and deeper this time, his hand coming to hike your leg up his hip. You moaned when you felt his hardness press against your core, your hips grinding up uncontrollably. He moved his hips against yours, gifting you the fraction you needed.

You’ve had sex before, but it never felt like that, not so soon. You’ve never wanted someone so bad, needed someone so bad. You sat up and pulled your shirt off, your bra coming in second. His eyes widened as he stared at your naked skin, before he leaned down and pressing his lips against the soft skin of your chest. As he sucked gently on the skin of your breasts you closed your eyes and gripped his hair, the other hand fisting the sheets. He flickered his tongue over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, drawing a whine from you. He gave the same attention to your other breast before moving his head up to look at you.

“Are you-“ he cleared his throat, “is this your first time?” He asked almost shyly.

You shook your head as your cheeks turned red. “No. Are you?”

“No.”

You stared at each other before you decided to take initiative. You moved your hand down to palm him through his pants, drawing a low groan from him. He dropped his head down to your neck and by the way you felt his hips grinding against your hand, you’d say he was enjoying himself. You wanted to have him, to touch him and to make him feel good, but you wanted to do it slowly - to tease him. You flipped, now laying on top of him. He looked at you, confused, but that expression didn’t last as you leaned down and started kissing his neck down to his collarbone and chest. You pressed your tongue flat over his nipple, feeling his hands coming to rest on your thighs. You grabbed them and moved them up to your ass before continuing your work. As you kissed down his torso you felt his hands shamelessly groping your ass, a smirk coming up to your lips. You licked just above where his pants started, his hips jolting up.

“Fuck..” he muttered, eyes closing. You slowly dragged his waistband down and let your tongue follow.

“Can I?” You asked, tugging further on the waistband.

“Yes, fuck.” He cursed, hands coming to fist the sheets.

You then opened the belt and pulled down his pants and underwear, just enough to take his cock out. Your mouth gaped open as you took him in, thick and tall with a purple tip and a little bit of precum adoring it. You gently licked over the tip, tasting him in your mouth. You opened your mouth for him but he suddenly pulled you back.

“As much as I’m enjoying this.” He said and sat up, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He flipped you again, returning to his spot on top of you before ridding himself of his pants. His hand reached to your pants undoing the belt but not before receiving a nod of consent from you. He started tugging on your pants, a hiss from him catching your attention. You sat up and saw him suck his finger into his mouth, blood staining it.

“What happened?” You asked and grabbed his hand to assess the damage.

“Your many, many knives happened.” Bellamy explained with a chuckle.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” You apologized but he quickly shut you up with a kiss.

“It’s okay, but I am going to need help in taking these off.” He said and pointed to your pants. You chuckled before carefully pulling them down and throwing them to the side. He gave your lips a peck before kissing down your body, leaving hickeys behind him all the way to your panties. He spread your legs and placed them over his shoulders, giving him access to your cunt. He placed a gentle kiss on top of your core through your panties, making your breath hitch. He began pulling your underwear off, discarding them behind him, before returning to his latest position.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he ran his finger through your folds, making you gasp. Without any warning he licked a stripe of your pussy before moving to your clit, flickering his tongue. You moaned, hips jolting up but he held them down. Your hand moved to his hair — gripping tightly as he began sucking on your clit, his own hand coming up to grip your breast. You felt heavenly, what he was doing to you was heavenly.

He pushed his finger inside of you, your moans getting louder. “Bellamy, fuck, please.” You whined as he added another finger, feeling yourself getting closer. He moved his fingers faster and softly bit on your clit, the action made you go over the edge, gripping his hair even tighter as you yelled out his name loudly. You panted, trying to calm down as he made his was back up to you. His eyes met yours and you couldn’t help the smile the rose on your lips. He returned your smile before leaning down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the thought itself made you needy all over again.

You opened your legs and felt the tip of his cock tracing between your folds.

“You ready?” He asked, positioning himself at your entrance. You nodded your head with a whine of ‘please’, wrapping your arms around his back. Your nails dug into his skin as he pushed inside you, drawing moans from both of you.

“Can I-“ he groaned, “can I move?”

“Yes, fuck, Bellamy.”

With your permission, he started thrusting in and out of you in a slow and steady pace. As you got used to the feeling of him inside you, you pulled him close to you. “Faster, go faster.”

He obeyed, quickening his pace. Your moans were loud enough for anyone who walked by to hear but you didn’t care, your only focus was on Bellamy. His lip was locked between his teeth as he kept thrusting inside of you, grunts and moans escaping him. You ran your fingernails down his back as you almost screamed, getting closer. Bellamy felt you clench around him and he moved his hand down to draw circles over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Bellamy, shit, I’m so close...” You moaned loudly, throwing your head back in bliss and closing your eyes. “I’m cumming.”

“Look at me.” He demanded as his thrusts were getting sloppier. Your eyes met his and by the dark look on his face only, you came. Your vision became foggy and your breathing was heavy as you. He pulled out of you, jerking himself off and cumming on your stomach with a loud groan of your name.

He dropped on top of you, panting. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close as you came down from your high. “I love you.” You said to him.

“I love you, too. So much.” He said and placed a kiss on your neck before leaning his head on your chat, breath still uneven.

You placed a general kiss on his head and started playing with his curly hair. He hummed in approval, pushing his head up. You chuckled, smiling wide as he lifted his head up to look a you.

“That was amazing, you are amazing.” He said before kissing you. You slipped your tongue in his mouth as you began to move on top on him, his hands coming to study you.

“How about round two, baby?”

[cozzzynook]

I’ve been thinking of triple changer bee, hear me out now pls. I don’t have his origins nailed down yet but so far I got: he was originally forged as a seeker, but minibot style since the war was beginning and most of the resources were being taken up leaving only scraps. later, for some reason, he got a T-cog for a grounder alt mode and he refrained himself from using his flyer alt mode after. occasionally he does fly but rarely and on his own. he doesn’t have wings like other seekers do, instead his wings are extra durable armor on his frame (ex. his arms). but when he gets to earth and gains both alt modes he gets door wings because cybertronian cars don’t have doors.

why am I telling you this? because I think you’ll like it and if you have anything else to add onto this! like ships or anything, like what how do you think the bots bee’s close with would react to this small bug being a triple changer. love your writing!!

Thank you so much! Send as many asks or ramble/ideas as you like 🩷

I like this idea and him not using his seeker frame much despite being one before becoming a grounder is so cool and opens the door for me to say he was raised by the elite trine during the war and at that time sparklings were huge targets and weakness and seekers were being hunted since almost all of them joined the decepticon cause.

So Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp would teach Bee to only use his wings when with them in private so he wouldn’t be an even bigger target.

I’m putting my own spin on this saying Bee had what was considered a dysfunctional t-cog since he didn’t have typical seeker wings. Instead he had wings that resembled an actual bumblebee. His door wings would transform and fan out allowing him to take flight. His wings gave off the hum of an actual bee and he was quite fast in the air but he couldn’t reach the same feats regular seekers could but his small stature worked in his favor when it came to speed and agility.

He wasn’t used in the war since the trine didn’t want their sparkling in danger but he still wanted to prove himself and so he would sneak off to Megatron when he was old enough and the mech would give him the job of spying on the autobots.

At first Megatron only sent him to places that weren’t dangerous so he could keep the mini from actual harm since he would not have Starscream or the other two actually trying and succeeding in offlining him for endangering their sparkling.

It wasn’t until Bee had to hide in the lower bowels of autobot territory did he gather important information that later helped him become an actual spy and find a grounder t-cog that was added to his frame later on so he could blend in better.

The trine hated it but Bee was so happy he could do something and prove himself since he was so the smallest, youngest and weakest among their group.

No one really minded since he was the bitty of their ranks along with a few others but Bee did.

Bee had the typical seeker frame that was slender and no bulk with a blade in one arm and a small energy canon in the other. His carriers Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp hated the way his frame ended up looking like a femme when he fully became an adult mecha. Bee loved it but they hated it because they didn’t think any bot was worthy to look at their baby while Bee had to suffer getting spike blocked by his carriers and all the older bots who would shove the mechs his age away from him.

Bee loved his carriers but he needed a moment, just a moment, away from them.

That moment turned into him being kidnapped and taken as a “survivor” in autobot clutches.

Bee immediately commed his carriers and Megatron only to see Longarm who he knew was actually Shockwave in disguise. He managed to find a moment alone with the shape changer and reveal a hidden servo code in case the mech didn’t know who he was.

“I know exactly who you are little bee. I’ve already alerted your carriers and Lord Megatron of your location just as you have. You were smart to do so but not smart to go off on your own like that.”

“Im a grown mecha I can have a moment alone!”

He had little flicks of electricity dancing between his horns at his frustration and Shockwave didn’t make it any better when he laughed calling him a sparkling.

“That may be, but you are still a youngling at spark.”

“Ugh!”

The plan was to get Bee to a certain location so the cons could grab him but the autobots snatched Bee when Shockwave was busy at a council meeting and took him onto the command ship lead by Sentinel Prime and Jazz who has held Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Bulkhead and Prowl along with Jetfire and Jetstorm.

Bee wakes up to his carriers frantic comms and Shockwaves massages along with Megatron demanding his status.

He immediately shares optic feed with his carriers out of fear because he’s never been away from them, not like this. Not since they found him at the hot spot waiting for their cna to make complete him.

He sheds a few static fluids trying to put on a brave face plate only to be completely terrified by the two mechs Jazz and Prowl sneaking up on him and asking if he was alright.

He’s not proud to admit he shrieked and swiped his claws at them before high tailing. He’s happy he at least did one thing in defense besides run but he was not proud to hide as he tried finding a data room to get coordinates to leave.

Thankfully his carriers and Megatron knew the system he was traveling and his carriers were on their way. But it would take years to get there without a transwarp, he told them as much and all three of his carriers were foaming at the mouth at the realization they had to leave him to get back home himself.

“I’ll come back to you…I promise..I’ll gather any intel that could be useful while playing my role. Any luck and I can make my way back to him on Cybertron.”

They knew who bee meant and they still didn’t like it but Bee tried to put on the front of a brave soldier and Megatron respected him enough to humor it even if he was shaking at the vocalizer.

“Please don’t forget me,” he whispered before he cut transmission off and stood.

Luck was on his side because autobots never knew his existence thanks to careful crafting and his amazing gift of espionage despite his loud mouth and colorful frame. He really was one of the best spies the cons had to offer and he trained under the best with watchful optics from his carriers.

But now he was a grown mech on his own and it was time he grew up.

“Kid, I know you’re scared but we won’t hurt ya. We just wanted ta check on ya,” Bee jumped in surprise at the sound of the older mech so close to him.

He looked behind himself to see all the mechs on board giving him a sympathetic gaze and he hated it.

He had knowledge on who each bot was in the room and the one he truly disliked was the aft head making his way towards him with a frown on his face and a pipe up his exhaust port.

“Don’t go causing any more trouble just because you’re scared civi. Got it!”

He wanted to upper cut the spikeless mech but the one named Optimus stepped forward quite literally pushing Sentinel out of the way and bending a little to speak to Bee politely.

“We should’ve had a better plan and someone friendly like Bulkhead here to greet you when you woke but we were preoccupied. I apologize for the panic we’ve caused you. Please, ask any questions you’d like and I’ll do my best to answer.”

“Please don’t bend down to talk to me I’m not a new spark I’m almost a two million years old.”

“Not a new spark my aft,” Ratchet grouched smirking.

If he didn’t remind Bee of a grandsire he’d be fuming right about now.

“I’m sorry for that,” Optimus’s helm fins moved back in embarrassment and the one named Jazz slung an arm around Prowls waist, probably conjunx judging from the familiarity, as they came a little closer.

“Names Jazz, this here’s my spark Prowler,” “—Just Prowl,” the black and gold mech cut in, “that there’s Bulkhead best space bridge tech in all cybertron, Ratchet the best medic in Cybertron, thee Optimus Prime, the twins Jetfire and Jetstorm and the loveable aft Sentinel.”

“Thats Sentinel Prime, captain of this pitiful crew and ship to you lieutenant Jazz.”

Bee could think of plenty of ways to make Sentinels offlining look like an accident but he couldn’t chance it with Ratchet here. That mech would find it and he’d be screwed.

“Where am I and why am I here?”

“We’re heading to a comrade planet and we were told to bring you along because high command couldn’t chance the cons coming after you.”

“What? Coming after me?”

What they took as fear was really Bee hurt that he couldn’t have left sooner.

“Seems some dangerous cons were skulking around to bring you back kid,” Ratchet answered for the group.

“Yeah, a real dangerous group lead by a femme named Strika,” Bulkhead spoke nervously.

“We agreed it best to bring you for your safety and we’re glad we did. An extremely dangerous mech managed to get through some of our best elite guards. He was almost…point is..young one, we’re glad we got to you and left on time.”

Optimus spoke to him in a tone that would be comforting if thats what his situation required. But as it stands he didn’t need their comfort, he needed freedom to return home and the knowledge he was so close yet ripped from it while recharging left him feeling a piece of his spark tear.

“What..what was their designation?”

They looked nervous to say but one spoke up.

“A triple changer by the name Blitzwing tore his way through. He was adamant about getting to you. He wouldn’t stop following us until we jumped through the space bridge. After that received word he was erratic before leaving.”

Bee couldn’t stop himself from dropping to the floor boards staring at nothing.

Blitzwing…

Blitzwing came for him..

He ignored his carriers embarrassing rejections of never being allowed near their sparkling.

He went out on his own to find him.

Blitzwing.

The one mech who always made him laugh and left his favorite flowers on his berth cushion every week.

The same mech who made him helm crystals by servo.

The same crystals he’d kept tucked away in his locked subspace for fear of them being taken or broken.

Blitzwing..Blitzwing came looking for him and only left because he had to.

He still felt for Bee.

And now he may never get to see the mech again.

“Blitz…”

The other’s took his response as fear but his spark cried out for the only one he wanted.

As they tried to get through him, his resolve solidified further.

He would get home.

-

[notelcol]

In which John Murphy steps out of his comfort zone.

Trigger warning : blood, reference to violence.

No one asked for this one but it’s here anyway and vaguely edited 😈

(It came out a little longer than intended, I got ever so slightly carried away…)

When Murphy came back from the grounder prison camp, despite him being the bully of all the delinquents, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. What did Bellamy expect after exiling his once second in command? We should have seen this coming. The grounders would have been fools not to take Murphy for all the information he had. Blood was smeared all over him. You couldn’t tell where it was originating he had that many wounds. The image of his torture made you shudder. Even his fingernails had been ripped from his fingers. You looked away. Forgetting all the times you had needed to confront him to protect others, you made a choice.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked Clarke, the only person with medical experience.

“You can find someone to go with you to the path that leads to Mount Weather.” She said with a sigh. “The poison sumac there would be really helpful.” The tired blonde uttered her thanks, while you left to find Octavia. She would most certainly accompany you.

Murphy watched through one eye, since his other was tightly inflamed. He could not fathom why you would be willing to risk your life leaving camp, simply to acquire a calming herb to ease his plight. Especially because the last time you saw each other, you were fighting him to save a child. A child who murdered the chancellors son, and got him hung to within an inch of his own life. Murphy hated you for that, so why didn’t you? The child you were trying to save did die because of him after all. He was a black and white sort of man. One who never understood forgiveness. A person would come to blows once and that’s it, they are dead to him. He always stood by those very rules. Until you, who only fought him in the name of peace. Which is why risking yourself to help someone who truly needs it, came natural to you. Even if it meant giving a second chance to someone like Murphy.

Unfortunately none of the hundred felt the same way as you. After failing to find Octavia, you begun asking around camp for someone to go with you. When that also failed miserably, you decided to grab a gun and head out alone.

The expedition went as well as you could have hoped. You did not feel the many eyes of the forest on you for once. In fact, it was so calm outside of camp that it almost spooked you. You decided to grab extra of the plant while you were there, to save Clark and Fin a job. Finally, your bag was full and it was time to turn back. You realised that you were a little bit out of breath after a few steps. You must have been picking the flowers for longer than you thought.

The walk back to camp felt much more tiring, so your feet began to drag. You could feel the sweat dripping all over your body, particularly annoying you around your top lip. Huffing, you removed your coat and wiped away the sweat from your face with it. You moved to tie it around your waist, only to be hit by a wavering buzz. It sent your whole body spinning. You watched your coat drop to the floor and finally noticed the blood. All that blood, covering most of the garment. You were so dazed that you didn’t even notice you had fallen.

“Get. Up.” You growled to yourself. Sputtering thick crimson, you clawed at the mud. This must be biological warfare. Your symptoms too similar to Murphy’s to be a coincidence. This revelation only cemented your determination to get this poison sumac back to camp. If you had caught it, then others must have too. Your mind went round in loops while your arms refused to rest. Until you inevitably exhausted yourself and dropped your head to the forest floor.

Murphy was finally starting to feel better. The countless patients in the drop ship could not say the same. As he gave water to a quiet girl named Fox, the fabric around the drop ship door ruffled loudly. Miller came rushing in with you slumped in his arms, blood and dirt covered you to the point where you were almost unrecognisable. He watched as you were dropped into a hammock. A strange feeling, one he could not identify, filled his chest as your bag spilled open revealing the many poison sumac flowers you had brought back.

You awoke to the feeling of something cold and wet on your forehead. You groaned at the heaviness in your lungs, which only caused the blood to gurgle and spurt from your mouth. As you choked, your eyes shot open to be faced by Murphy. His eyes almost went as wide as your own as he quickly removed the cold cloth from your head and pushed you onto your side. Your breath shook in relief. Instantly oxygen came easier, and the blood drained away.

“Rest.” He spoke in a softer tone than you thought was even possible from Murphy. Of their own accord, your eyes fell closed once more. The blood was wiped from your face in a manner that felt more like caress, helping you drift away peacefully to your dreams.

For the first time in his life, Murphy had entered his personal grey area. Your undeserved kindness showed him the world through a lens other than his own rage and paranoia. He decided then and there that he would take care of you until you recovered. Allowing himself to believe it was getting even, when really it was something else entirely. It was simply another thing he had yet to understand.

[transingthoseformers]

Tarn geting on his infrequently used personal account on The Great Conversation and lurking in Relationship Advice before coming to the conclusion he actually needs to post because there's no previous question that addresses his problem.

Megatron gets a high priority notification that DamasceneSteel is posting. Tarn is using his old personal username! Megatron keeps tabs on his most volitle high comand member's activity infrequent as it is. "Help! I accidentally seduced a jet," is the last thing Megatron expected from the DJD leader so he lurks on his personal acccount(identity known only to Soundwave) and watches the trainwreck unfold in real time.

Tarn's geting notifications of Lucky slagger! Or, Share your Wisdom I beg you! Not to mention, Hoax! Everybody knows jets dont frag grounders ever!

Then User ShootyShoot McBangBang weighs in to dispense his wisdom. No hoax mech. I once when I was a newbuild, I slaged off my CO so bad i got temporary assigned to a grounder unit and let me say you losers on the ground are fragging weird about fragging. All weird and soft and slag when you flirt. I though my temp CO was flirting with me but when I kissed him he punched me for being a weirdo. The loser had no clue even when I explained how to him exactly how he was coming on to me!"

Tarn meanwhile is cross-referencing the database. Misfire might be an incompetent Deceptacon but he's a seeker and he's actually giving an explanation that's sheding light on of what the frag just happened with Pharma.

What would Jet courting look like to the uninitiated? Tarn typed tentitavely and waited for a response.

Hmmmm. It's really hard to describe the subtitles between flirt-threat and threat-threat to grounders but basicaly if it looks like a seeker's trying to kill you and you're still alive or they could kill you at any moment and they chose not to it's pretty likely they're trying to spike you.

Tarn blinked in shock and typed an incomplete response as he processed. Wait would that mean

KaoniteMiner2793 responded at the same time, But Starscream

Misfire cut them both off with STOP! ✋️ 🛑 Speculating on the Air Comander's love life WILL get you slagged! He'll make sure. You could be a Phase Sixer or the slagging DJD and he would find a way! Anyhow onto a shiny new and much safer topic! DamasceneSteel, you said you seduced a jet and I hadn't heard through the gosip network about anyone in the airforce geting it on with a grounder. You bringing the good news of The Cause to the Lost Colonies, or trying to pull a DocKnock?

Pull a DocKnock? Tarn typed brow furrowed under his mask

ShootyShoot McBangBang blythly typed away unaware who he had warned off. You know Knockout the medic and interogator from Velocitron? Pulled a slagging Wrecker over to our side early in the war with his impeccable valve Dom game? Break-something or other? The two of them single-handedly launched the Converted to the Cause porn genre. Its rumored some of the hottest smut in the genra were written by one of the elite trine.

It's been so long I forgot about that recruitment campaign. KaoniteMiner2793 added. It got unpopular when mechs realized they had to kill their lovers if they didn’t join the Cause and didn’t have live capture bounties.

Tarn considered his response. Misfire didn't. Live capture bounties! we had those! When?! 🤯

We still do. Tarn educated absenly before he logged off. Mostly medics and a few others who if they can be made to serve The Cause are more useful alive than dead. Thank you for your help clarifying the situation.

Tarn leaned back in his chair to best consider how to use the situation.

Megatron blinked at his screen stuned. Starscream's ridiculous stunts were courting attempts?!?! It was ridiculous! Preposterous! It made... entirely too much sense actualy. Had he accidentally been engaging in an amorous game of one-upmanship with his subordinate??? What in the Pit?!

Misfire sipped someone else's energy drink and scrolled to a new thread.

This is just great amazing great amazing great

Win Misfire for being our Ultimate The Great Conversation problem solver today

Megatron is Learning Today and he's not quite sure he's ready to think out the consequences

Tarn got what he was looking for, and shall utilize that information accordingly (oh the humanity, that relationship is going to be so fun given the conditions of this au)

Win Knockout and Breakdown for kick-starting a porn genre

The little lore drops make it extra interesting too like the part about live bounties and how for a short period of time porn was 100% used as positive propaganda

[moonlight-tmd]

Hi there! Hope you are having a great day!

Do you have any shattered glasses blitzbee ideas or headcanons?

Oh, shattered glass huh? Let's see, hmmm.

SG!Blitzwing's personalities are inverted (obviously); Icy=Happy, Hotheat=Scaredycat, Random=Deadpan. It would be quite a disaster if the two variants met.

SG!Bumblebee is silent, scared and obedient in contrast to his talkative, cocky and rebellious self. He's been thru so much abuse; mental and physical, all thanks to his teammates.

When the two began meeting, Bee was super skittish. Even going as far as faking fights when they were all alone in fear someone might actually be there. It was a while before Bee got enough courage to stop acting and start enjoying his time with the new friend.

Blitzwing, having no impulse control, probably spilled the beans to his bestie Lugnut about the little autobot boyfriend he got. These two are just fangirling in Blitz's room much to everyone's confusion.

(Side note; Lugnut does not like Megatron much. He does what's told but other that that he only tolerated him.)

Bee and Blitz did not start dating after a heartfelt confession, Blitz literally just picked Bee up after x amount of meetings and declared they are dating now. Bee just rolled with it, he didn't really know how to say "no".

Bee may be scared and silent but he's an effective and quick killer. He was used to being send on quick in-and-out missions to eliminate targets he even if he's small and cowardly, he's dangerous and not to be trifled with. Blitzwing doesn't care, he just loves this tiny adorable grounder to bits.

Blitzwing made it his mission to be Bee's emotional support pet- eh, mech? Same thing. The point is he will not leave Bee alone for more than few minutes, Bee has anxiety and will hide if it gets too bad.

When Bee wants to speak he will only do so in sign language. Very rarely does he speak with his voice to others, only doing that when Blitzwing is near. He speaks the most when he and Blitz and all alone, only Blitzwing is allowed to hear his voice like that.

SG!Bee's paintjob is white with black accents, SG!Blitz's paintjob is gray with teal and black. Color of the faces is following; blue=yellow, red=green, black=white.

Somewhere in the time of Bee being with the cons, Blitz brought back a cat for them to take care of. It grew to be a big maine coon and Blitz calls it their baby.

Bee finds it calming to water and take care of plants. It's not a big obsession, he just has a little corner with potted plants to sit and relax in. He likes the ones that flower most.

Usually Bee wouldn't join Blitz in his spontaneous dances out in the open, Blitzwing doesn't make him dance with him either. But when they're all alone Blitzwing puts on slow and sensual music for them to hold each other and sway back and forth in a gentle waltz.

That's all i can think of for now, have a nice day!

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ you're a coder, but what's a coder without something to code? bellamy had instructed you to keep watch of the guns and ammo instead of going out with the guard on a hunt. you feel useless to the people of arkadia, maybe bellamy could help with that. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: cursing, small kiss scene, sfw

"I shouldn't be watching the guns, Bellamy!"

I shout from inside the main room where we kept the rovers. Bellamy had ordered me to stay in Arkadia while the rest of them went on a hunt, rations had grown scarce since Kane ordered the guard to go out less with the threat of grounders. This was a rare time when people got to go beyond the gate.

"We don't need a lot of people for this, okay? So just stay here." Bellamy argued back, it made sense, only a few people were going with him. Clarke, Murphy, Miller, Harper, and another from the guard. I never got around to knowing everyone's names.

I just knew I felt trapped being behind these walls, I was starting to feel useless to the people around me as well, it's not like I could code anything to help us with the grounder attacks, all I could do was sit with Monty and try to contact other stations with radios. Which always ended up in radio silence.

I could feel my blood boiling, "Well why Harper? It's not like I can't handle a gun, swap her out with me." I hadn't known Harper was leaning on a rover near Bellamy and me.

"Gee, thanks." I heard Harper chirp up in a sarcasm-filled tone. I'd have to apologize later, she knows I didn't mean it.

Bellamy sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking at me sternly. It was only then I got a good look at him. His curls were more defined today, for once not littered with blood and dirt, you could see his freckles more clearly as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt of him once or twice.

"We need Harper, she's been training with Miller and has become a good shot," Bellamy turned towards the first rover, setting his gun down in the back as Miller climbed in, Harper following after. "This isn't up for discussion." He finishes off with his back turned to me.

Clarke had come up from behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me. "It'll be fi-"

I had cut her sentence short by jerking my shoulder away, I wasn't just mad at her, I was mad at the world. I hadn't said anything further and took one last look at Bellamy before storming off to the armory.

It had been a few days since that last encounter. The group had come back with plenty of food, a successful mission with only a few scrapes and cuts. They didn't even encounter any grounders.

Since they had come back I made no move to talk to any of them- or anyone for that matter. Only speaking to Monty when I had to, which was only once.

Bellamy had tried to speak to me, he tried to sit with me during dinner, tried to speak to me at the bar, and even tried talking to me on the radio stations. Which made a part of my heart flutter at his attempts. It almost made me forget why I was even mad at him to begin with.

I was at the computer, sitting and waiting for anything to pop up about the radios when Monty said he had plans with Jasper to help cheer him up, I made no move to stop him. What's more time alone with my thoughts? They were all of Bellamy. Replaying the few moments he'd try and talk to me in my head.

Me and Bellamy weren't as close as the rest of the group was. It isn't that he didn't try and talk to me, it's just ever since we landed I've viewed him as a player who only had one goal in life; to get into girls' pants.

It's safe to say he's been growing on me- well he was. I had been starting to miss his shitty jokes, how the light from the fire would illuminate his face in the best way, how his smile looked, how it was like he got stars in his eyes every time he laughed. I always tried to impress him, so why wouldn't he let me go?

My thoughts were cut short when I heard a pair of footsteps, which I just assumed were Montys.

"Hey, Monty." I greeted in a monotone voice, not caring to check.

"It's not Monty." I heard the other voice say, a voice I knew too well. What did he want now? I spun around in my chair, seeing how Bellamy toward over me. I simply tolled my eyes at him.

"What do you need," I said flatly

"Why're you ignoring me? Avoiding me?" He asks, care lacing his voice.

I took a moment to think about my reply, why exactly was I? He made me feel useless, I can't do anything to help Arkadia besides sit her in this fucking chair.

"Why didn't you let me go?" I countered his question with a question.

I was met with a scoff, "You're still on this? I told you it wasn't up for discussion."

"Yes, I'm still on this! I do nothing for Arkadia besides sit here and listen to a radio nobody talks into!" I shout, standing up abruptly, and walking closer to him.

Bellamy crossed his arms, unmoving. "What if something had happened to you?" He spoke, trying to remain calm.

"Then so be it! I feel useless Bellamy." My voice wavered, tears threatening to spill.

"You're everything but. At least here, you'd be safe." We were now inches apart.

"Why do you even care." Tears began crawling down my cheek, I couldn't believe I let myself get so vulnerable with him.

"Because I just do," He paused, debating if he should say what he was thinking. "And I'd never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you."

His arms were now uncrossed and resting on my forearms, a touch that practically melted me. His words brought a deeper blush on my cheeks, my tears slowing their roll. I felt myself moving closer every second until finally, his lips were on mine.

It wasn't a kiss of lust or craving, it was a kiss of passion, a kiss that made me feel warm all over, it was a feeling I wanted to last forever. Bellamy was kissing me like I could break at any minute. His hands went up to cup my cheeks and wipe away my tears.

He had pulled away with a smile, leaving my lips feeling lost.

"I've wanted to do that since the day we landed," Bellamy admitted, a faint pink tint lining his face. Bellamy, blushing, something I never thought I'd see. A goofy smile made its way onto my face at the sight.

"Being useless doesn't seem so bad now."

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[witchofthesouls]

Does Ratchet preen the winged members of the trio?

Or even in the birb Jack and Optimus. Does dadimus do wing care.

Ratchet needs specialized tools, but he knows and enjoys it, even if Miko and Raf squirm and flop in his lap. Jack is calmer and willing to sit still for long periods of time.

Miko and Jack attempt to do the same social activity on others. Jack has a far better grasp since he accounts for the sensitivity. Miko, on the other hand, digs in unnecessarily hard by mashing in her talons to scrape out. The little pink bird is only allowed to 'preen' the seams of Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Optimus now.

Funnily enough, Optimus knows how to properly preen. Not from his team or Megatronus' compatriots, but from a time before he was even Orion Pax. Life outside the city-states is brutal, but not a desolate one.

As a sparkling and mechling, he drifted into camps and resting sites. He learned how to preen a variety of wing spans, sensory panels, and extrasensory crests. There were a few mecha that expressed interest in taking him back because their tribes and clans would have welcomed new blood with clever little digits and swift pedes, but he always managed to get away.

As Orion Pax under Alpha Trion, he utilized his preening skills to barter with other sympathetic winged-colleagues in the Archives because it's a necessary maintenance that's needs another pair of hands to be properly done. Secretly, of course.

They wouldn't outright help Orion Pax as he's essentially blacklisted and socially shunned and ostracized by others -carefully done away from Alpha Trion's purview -as he's an outsider to their way of life with the caste system. But they could carefully give him certain information (i.e., where security is nonexistent, schedules for incoming data, supplies, or fundraisers, and places to get untampered goods) that can't be traced back to them. After all, Orion Pax is a clever mech, isn't he? There's a reason why he caught Alpha Trion's patronage. And besides, it's not too hard to string together those plans as information is either public knowledge or can be reasonably deduced, right?

It's funny because in the "magic and dimensional hopping au" where he and cyber!babybirb!Jack get thrown into the G1 verse TFP!Dadimus gets his own gaggle of wings as the Aerialbots begin to gravitate to the mech because he's a grounder that knows aspects of Seekerkin and flight-frame behavioral cues. Yes, you have talons. Yes, you use them to clean the finer seams of your flight systems.

Poor Dadimus is wondering if he should raise concerns over the newest batch of adults being very lost at their own personal care and how much he should interfere...

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

[okmcintyre]

Masterlist #2 Bellarke Fanfiction Recs

It's been a couple more years & I'm very happy to report there's been ✨lots✨ more amazing fics shared in our corner of fandom. Y'all know the drill: linking older modern!au recs, the dropship/delinquent-only stories list, a few canonverse recs and of course the OG Masterlist from 2020.

Feel free to add your faves! 💛

Canonverse unless noted otherwise, + fics of of all ratings, so keep your eyes peeled!

Good Days and Bad Days by tiredwetdog 

where have you wandered, my only child? by carrieevew

Little steps by bellofthetolppl

With you in my arms (everything feels alright) by orphan_account 

so this is how rumors get started by ChronicTonsillitis

Bellamy Blake needs to touch some grass by b00mgh

Weathering the Storm by PenguinofProse

Hold on to me (I'm a little unsteady) by TheWordsInMyHead

take a running start by glowinghorizons

the whole world stops by whatspastisprologue

so this is how rumors get started by ChronicTonsillitis

Show Me What I'm Looking For by bitscrawford

What We Built by elle_stone

Can't Find Paradise On The Ground by icantloseyoutoo

It Doesn't End Here by immortalpramheda

You Make it Real by PnclSktch

i'm on my knees, your faith in shreds by stoneage_woman

the radio is playing your favourite song (open the door) by theinvisibledisaster

Hold me still by bellofthetolppl

a kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear by troubledpancakes

one less day to be alone by glowinghorizons 

A Short Story About Love by twosuns

must've been some kind of kiss (grounder!au) by carrieevew

Don't Look Back, You're Not Going That Way (viking!au) by andsowemeetagain

And Now You're Home (praimfaya!au) by asroarke

When the Sky Meets the Ground (grounder!au) by Peggysousfan

No Man is an Island, Entire of Itself (hanahaki!au) by MyHeartOfHearts

Walk the Line (doctor/criminal!au) by TheWordsInMyHead

The Other Half of my Soul (soulmate!au) by ZouWrites 

Lone Wolf (nightblood!au) by Peggysousfan

May the Waves Bring You Home (modern!au) by RogueTwelve

The Best Man (bellmillerbffs!au) by PenguinofProse

Mirror Mirror On the Wall (soulmates!au) by SPNOUAT

If My Wishes Came True (modern!au) by bookwormforalways

so I stayed in the darkness with you (soulmates!au) by burninghoneyatdusk

Pieces of Us (modern!au) by daenoora

i think i should go (you said maybe don't) (modern!au) by blaketrash

Only Fools Rush In (modern!au with a twist) by onlyherefor1

Black Out Days (apocalypsey!au) by TotalBellarkeTrash

(do you remember?) dancing in stilettoes in the snow (modern!au) by carrieevew

Share Your Address (modern!au) by useyourtelescope

Better Than Revenge (B/C/L!au) by Excuseyouclarke 

Your words on my skin (soulmate!au) by not_a_total_basket_case

Better with you. (artclass!au) by Luminouswriter 

I Thought The Worst Was Behind Us (modern!au) by onlyherefor1

proposal interruptus (modern!au) by carrieevew

One Way to Find Out (clurphybffs!au) by Silverloc

bet on it (bet on me) (modern!au) by griffenly

The House Guest (modern!au) by Shippershape

After Me Comes The Flood (modern!au) by theinvisibledisaster

I Found Peace in Your Violence (modern!dystopiaish!au) by eyessharpweaponshot

Take Care of Me (And My Heart) (modern!au) by QueenoftheWallflowers 

And in Other News... (news!au) by Jeanie205

love enough to fill me up (domestic!au) by jackiefreckles

Fading Out (soulmates!au) by PenguinofProse

[fated] happenstance (soulmates!au) by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold

The Dying of the Light (wartime!au) by starsonfire

Bellarke The 100 Instagram AU (socialmedia!au) by OhLenaLena

I Don't Want to Dream About You (modern!au) by Dayo488

Too Aware of Where Your Lips Have Been (modern!au) by MissMR

When Bellamy Met Clarke (whenharrymetsally!au) by onlyherefor1

Submarine Man (modern!au) by twosuns

[starryaugust]

100 au!Jason Todd - Backstory

Jason was orphaned at a young age, his dad died when he was just a baby and his mother died a few years later. He can barely remember her.

Like Dick, he was raised in the orphanage.

He fought to survive, for every bit of food. No matter how little it was.

When Dick arrived, he was suspicious. Why would someone want to help without gaining anything from it?

It took some time, but eventually he started to trust Dick. And in the end, he started seeing him as a brother. And he started to come back to who he was before the orphanage, before learning the hardships of life, before the corruption.

When Dick was arrested, Jason decided to replace him. But security was more careful, he was caught and put in the sky box quickly.

When the guards came to get him, he fought. He punched a guard and they had to tranquilize him, when he woke up the 100 were already on their way to the ground. And Dick was next to him.

Jason was the first person to step on the ground for 100 years,

or at least that's what they thought.

Unlike in the series, in this au no one from the 100 doesn't go straight to mount weather. They decide to assemble a camp before and scavenge and hunt for food.

A few days after they landed, Jason was exploring the woods and was taken by the grounders. They almost killed him, only to heal him.

The 100 threw a search party, and a few days later they found Jason as a trap for a tiger. He was dying.

At the end, with the help of Bernard and Steph, he survived. But he wasn't the same, the hopeful ball of sunshine he used to be was gone, for good this time. He returned to the shield he put back in the orphanage, but it was rotted deeper this time.

So when the 100 tried to decide what to do about the grounders, he said peace wasn't an option.

He wanted revenge, he wanted a war, and he got one.

After everything happened, he thought he was finally safe.

But then mount weather took the 100.

He didn't trust Lex Luther, he thought the peace he was offering was a facade, nothing was that simple in the world they were living in.

So he investigated, and when he found the grounders, he wanted to come back to Dick to warn him. But he was caught by Luther's guards.

He ended up managing to escape with the help of a grounder, an archer.

Roy Harper.

Roy helped Jason realize that peace with grounders could be an option.

So Jason found the survivors of the arc, while Roy went to Polis. Together they worked for a truce. And they succeeded.

Jason still didn't fully trust the grounders, but he was ready to do whatever it takes to save his brother and friends.

Together with Tim, Bruce, Roy and the grounders Heda he managed to come up with a plan to save the 100 and the grounders trapped in mount weather.

This plan obviously went to shit.

And Jason and Tim needed to make a choice, their people or the people of mount weather.

They choose their people.