#prowl is the second in command

[monochromeia]

prowlerr

[goosegooserevolution]

List of words banned on The Ark, starting with number one: Alarm. I really missed making silly stuff like this. I have more comic ideas lined up for autobot and decepticon shenanigans, but it'll be slow going because i foolishly dedicated so much time to coloring and backgrounds so now i must continue that trend for future comics. also this is the first full background ive ever made and im super proud of it!! it still doesnt look quite the way i want it to but im just glad i finished it <3

[wortsandall]

i do got to say i prefer megop where they are legit enemies on the battlefield who begin to understand each other and the love comes later

bc when they were close first and then went to war...its a break up that cost the lives of millions. a lovers spat that got out of control and got millions killed for basically nothing. which id be fine with if it was addressed at any point, and guilt felt (especially for optimus) but a lot of fics just gloss right over that perspective.

everyones like "yay wars over lets go be a family now" meanwhile im thinking about all the carnage and broken people left behind bc two idiots couldnt compromise on their vision for cybertron or what they wanted out of their relationship

[ghostingcrows]

I used to talk about this a lot but 

IDW Prowl is probably one of the most complex characters in the comics and I absolutely hate it when hes reduced down to “the asshole character”

Cause like

Yeah sure hes got a bit of a stick up his ass

But I feel like people just end there analysis of him there

Has he committed a lot of war crimes and done unethical stuff

Yes

But so has literally EVERYONE else in this universe

Starscream is literally the pinnacle of war crimes

The comics make a point calling out even Optimus for his questionable actions and orders during the war with the Dinobots saying he makes them do the dirty work for him

Megatron literally commits genocide and yet his story ends with an alternate version of him going free and exploring the universe with the LL

The literal war lord was treated better and is looked upon more positively than Prowl and I think it just came down to how fucked Prowl got by the writers

Because while Megatrons redemption was all in your face and you got a shit ton of flashbacks that try to justify the eventual atrocities he would commit you don’t get that with Prowl

Even when Prowl is absolutely in the right you constantly have it disregarded by characters making jokes about him overreacting (being mad OP is sending the space tyrant away with free reign of his own ship isn’t overreacting btw-) and as such you start to think of him as a genuinely irrational character when hes not

Prowl is bad at keeping the relationships he forms yes 

But he is not always at fault for that

While his relationship with CD ended poorly Chromedome is also shown to be kinda of a dick sometimes and commits his fair share of fucked up things such as when he literally ATTACKS PROWL AND FORCES HIS WAY INTO HIS MIND TO PROTECT HIMSELF FROM THE CONSEQUENCE OF HIS ACTIONS WHEN PROWL THREATENS TO TELL REWIND ABOUT THE SHITTY STUFF HE DID IN HIS PAST

This leads to Prowls inevitable snowball out of control when this attack leads to an opening for Bombshell (I think its been a while since I read the comics) to use his tech to mind control him forcing him into combining with the contructicons

Something we learn is an immensely intimate thing with their minds being kinda melded 

This was something Prowl did not want 

And when all was said and done and he was calmed down he still had to live with that gesalt he was forced into with them following him around like fanboys

Nobody ever even really stopped to check in on him 

And as such he understandable went a little bit insane

He had just faced an immensely traumatic invasion of his body and mind and on top of stress form feeling like everything was out of his control and like he couldn’t stop the bad things from happening alongside bitter emotions being brought back up with a return visit to Earth and reunion with spike AND the fact that he feels like Optimus doesn’t trust him and like hes just letting Starscream do whatever he want (something that understandably freaks him out seeing as how he spent 4 million years fighting Starscream) he just kinda snaps

He trys to destroy the space bridge so that no one else can leave or get through and so he can regain some semblance of control

Is it wrong

Yes

But he was not in a good state of mind and no one was helping him at all 

And immediately following his arrest afterward Prowl is confronted by OP who is supposed to be his friend and when Prowl doesn’t say the right things to him to placate him Optimus’ response is to punch him out a window and beat the shit out of him

And not being given any room to breath this is immediately follow up my him getting kidnapped by Tarantulas who is very obviously an impactful and negative part of his past

Prowl just has bad event, one after the other, happen to him over and over again and not only does no one check up on him afterwards to see if hes okay but everyone actively makes fun of him for being understandable unstable

Prowl is a fucking tragedy and not many people seem to be able to see beyond what characters in the comics think of him

[misqnon]

transformuary day 2: second in command

the autobot SIC varies pretty wildly as opposed to the decepticons’, but…prowl has grown on me. a lot. and I had to draw him with pretty white lashes for um. reasons

PLEASE full view/zoom in 🙏

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[grimxark]

You know I’d respect/like j/zzpr/wl a lot more if it wasn’t mostly a sick twisted view of jazz that literally does not consider or understand his character or his relationship to people at all, is racist and also completely and utterly made up

Their canon dynamic is 100x more interesting and if that was explored then maybe I’d be in on the hype but other than that lol. Stop making jazz a double agent for the evil guys. Stop making Prowl the cop his savior. Do you people even care

[mintyys-blog]

Hiiiiii do you remember viltrumite mark watching reader breast feed their child so of course he gets curious and wants a taste can you Please dew part 2 or can you Please do the same thing but with omni mark and mohawk mark plss 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

CURIOUS OF MILK | omni mark x wife! reader x mohawk mark (separate)

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: breastfeeding, lactation kink

this contains subjects of lactation that may be uncomfortable for some readers, please read the warnings before continuing.

OMNI MARK

Mark wasn’t often curious. Most things he saw were instantly analyzed and categorized, filed away in that sharp mind of his like a weapon being sheathed. But this? Watching you nurse his child?

It cracked something inside him. A tension he hadn’t known was coiled there.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed — at first just observing you with that stoic, impassive look he always wore. Like he was studying you for weaknesses, or simply making sure you were efficient in your task. His cape brushed the doorframe as he leaned a little closer. “You’re feeding her?”

The question was so coldly stated it almost sounded accusatory, but when you met his eyes, you saw the heat behind them. Confused. Fascinated.

“Yes,” you said gently, adjusting your daughter against your chest.

Mark moved closer, a slow heavy-footed prowl. He crouched beside you, staring at the small mouth latched onto your breast, the tiny greedy swallows, the peaceful noise your daughter made.

His voice dropped lower. “Your body produces nourishment this way… for her.”

You nodded. A breath hitched in your throat because you could feel the shift in him — how tightly he was holding himself back.

There was a silence, heavy and thick, before he spoke again:

“Show me.”

You blinked. “Mark…”

“Show me.” He was calm. Commanding. And there was something deeper in his tone — something raw. Not just curiosity. Possession.

You hesitated, heat crawling up your neck, but Omni Mark didn’t look away. His hand, large and sure, cupped the side of your breast almost reverently, guiding you.

He watched, unblinking, as a drop of milk beaded at your nipple. Without hesitating, he leaned in.

He latched onto you with an ease that was terrifying and intimate all at once, his mouth hot against your skin. He drank with slow, deliberate pulls, eyes fluttering half-shut, like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

When he pulled back, there was a glint in his eye — something victorious. His thumb brushed possessively over the wetness he’d left behind.

“You will nourish all of my children,” he said quietly, almost reverently. “You were made to.” The way he looked at you after that… Like you were the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark was always cocky. Always grinning like he knew every dirty thought you could ever have. But when he saw you breastfeeding? That smile dropped.

He leaned against the wall, watching you, silent for once. You tried to ignore the way his eyes — usually playful — had gone dark. Hungry. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. You looked up at him, self-conscious. “Mark?” He sauntered over. Dropped to his knees right in front of you. “That’s… that’s mine, too, y’know,” he said, voice rough, pointing lazily at your breast. “You think just ‘cause she gets first dibs, I don’t want some?”

You flushed, feeling a sudden rush of heat pool between your legs. “You’re not serious—” He tilted his head, smirking. “Bet it’s sweet, too. C’mon, mama. Let me.”

You blinked at him, heart hammering in your chest. Mark — always bold, always reckless — had never looked at you quite like this before. Like you were something sacred. And he was two seconds away from sinning.

He stayed there, kneeling between your legs, his palms splayed lazily on your thighs — but you could feel the tension in him, buzzing under his skin like a live wire. “Mark…” you whispered, breathless. His fingers squeezed your thighs gently, grounding you.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, almost coaxing. “You’re sittin’ there all pretty, feedin’ our kid, lookin’ like that— you think I wouldn’t want a taste?” You bit your lip, shivering under the weight of his gaze.

Still, you hesitated — and Mark saw it immediately. His grin softened, just a little. Less cocky now. More intimate. He dragged one hand slowly up your side, careful not to jostle the baby sleeping against your chest, until his thumb brushed the exposed curve of your breast.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, rough, low. “Even better than I imagined.” You gasped softly at the honesty threading his voice.

Mark leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, his chain brushing your chest. “Lemme show you how good you are, mama,” he said, voice damn near a whisper now. “Let me have you. Just for a second.”

Your whole body felt molten — nervous, exhilarated — and without fully thinking, you tilted toward him just a little. That was all he needed.

Mark’s mouth latched onto your nipple with a low groan, his hands tightening on your thighs as he drank. Slow, deliberate pulls — not rough, but needy. Hungry in a way you hadn’t seen from him before. You gasped, hand threading into his messy hair, clutching at him as he suckled greedily, almost reverently.

It wasn’t about sex — not exactly. It was about claiming. About marking this moment, about staking a deeper kind of ownership. Mark pulled back after a long moment, his lips slick and glistening, eyes glazed over with something dark and feral.

“Fuck,” he breathed, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, grinning at you again — but it was a different grin now. Wicked. Territorial. “Told you it’d be sweet.”

He rested his forehead against your bare chest, breathing you in, like he needed you just to stay steady. After a beat, his voice dropped even lower, almost a growl: “You’re mine, mama. Always fuckin’ mine.”

[keferon]

Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

[glitchgh0sty]

🎵 if you’re ready for some lore and ya know it, clap your hands 🎶👏👏

Essentially, Decepticon!Prowlers got some, *cough* upgrades that I should probably mention,,

[Lots of exposition beneath cut 🫶TuŤ]

During Prowls earlier days as tactician for the Decepticons,, his superiors found that his tactical strategies tended to increase in accuracy when surveying the ongoing battles from a 1st person perspective,,

Close field monitoring made it easier for him to guesstimate percentages [and become desensitized to immediate battle brutality], The troops he was in charge of began to survive more and more frequently due to his input,, and because of this he was put in charge of more and more squadrons.

However, this comes as no surprise to us, Prowl is a powerful tactician after all. ✨

But Shockwaves understanding of his talent might be a little more, how to put it,, twisty?? Essentially, Shockwave noticed that Prowl’s accuracy increased the more integrated he was into the physical senses of the soldiers in the squandrant he was surveying. Up until that point Prowl had been receiving his data through the lens of a faulty camera located somewhere on a select infantry soldiers frame, and had become too valuable to send to the frontlines where all the most important data was being received,,

So?

Shockwave had a little idea ✨

Dedicate that infantry soldier to be Prowls eyes, modify that soldier so Prowl may see what they see, hear what they hear, feel what they feel. One frame practically living in another,, integrate it so that both Prowl and the soldier take on modifications, such as,,

Prowl: Split doorwings for more data collection / sensitivity, hooks pried between wrist plates for more immediate machine response, and plz just take your worst nightmare and put it right where the processor goes

Infantry / Soldier: Forced installation of heavy weaponry, optic replacement, and a series of wires installed throughout the frame to connect to every sensitivity nerve imaginable, like someone’s put a second layer over all of your 5 senses, but like, inside your body

Prowl would be able to access everything the soldier senses without the ability to physically interfere with whatever the soldier is doing.

Think of it this way. He is able to fully experience whatever that soldier is going through,, [though he often disables the inconvenience of pain], but he isn’t able to move the soldiers blaster or make that soldier walk. He is simply a spectator who analyzes the given data to be sent to the leaders of the troops as tactical command

Prowl is also highly adverse to the idea of being in direct contact with the foot soldiers over the course of the battle as it seems to negatively effect group cooperation when one dude is acting like their lowkey - high key possessed [because having Prowl communicate with them is less like a signal interception and more like someone is moving your mouth to make you hear things you don’t know yet]. Because of this Prowl is only able to [and only has the desire to] contact the Generals directly.

Even if that soldier is in danger, ESPECIALLY if that soldier is in danger,, Prowl would not interfere audibly with them due to the fact that the Autobots have been redoubling their efforts in discovering the significance of these [Ghost] soldiers as every time they get rid of one, another simply comes to take their place with eerily similar tactical style

If you’ve made it this far?? Please take this spoof as compensation cause ohmigosh that was a lot of words 🫶TuŤ:

[r3starttt]

DRAIN ME

PAIRING: stalker! caitlyn x vampire! reader

CW: blood play. oral. fingering. finger sucking.

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @femininologies | CAITLYN TAGLIST: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @mirconreadzztuff22 @crispers @moonlyblue @bruhhtsukjf

Caitlyn had always prided herself on control, every mission executed with precision, every target locked with unwavering focus. But you—something about you unraveled her carefully crafted sense of order. It started innocently, a curiosity, a passing glance too long. But it bloomed into obsession. She found herself tracking your every move, studying the way you slipped through the shadows, always just out of reach.

It wasn't the bloodlust that drew her in, though, it was you—the way you carried yourself, the way your eyes lingered on her longer than they should have. It wasn’t fear she felt when she caught those fleeting glances from you, it was hunger. A hunger she could no longer distinguish from her own.

Caitlyn had always been the hunter, but with you, it was different. Her obsession had her following you, unseen, slipping through the city's dark corners as you prowled the night. Watching how you moved, who you spoke to, and how easily you evaded capture. Her nights were no longer filled with patrols but with watching you—every moment, every breath consumed by the thought of you.

She knew it wasn’t just her duty that made her chase you. It was the thrill, the electric pull she felt in your presence, as if every step closer to you was a step away from her own control. Her obsession deepened with every encounter, with every near-miss where your eyes met and lingered just a second too long. The more she watched, the more she wanted, and the more she wanted, the more she realized that it wasn’t enough. Watching you wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed you.

Caitlyn wasn’t afraid of you and what you could physically do to her, but she feared what you’d already done to her mind—how you had twisted her sense of purpose, how you had made her feel alive. And though she knew she should stop, her grip on sanity fraying with each passing night, she was relentless, her thoughts consumed by the need to know everything about you. To own you.

The cold air of the night flowing through her open window, clinging to her as she sat perched on the edge of her desk. One leg straight as the other bent over. Her rifle rifle resting in her lap. It felt odd. a predator, yet being haunted—by a desire, an obsession.

Ther had been many thoughts. Cornering you, forcing you to face her. Not as prey, but as something more. What would it feel like, to have those sharp fangs graze her skin? To have you pinned beneath her, or to be at your mercy?

But no matter how close she got, you were always one step ahead, always slipping away before she could get too close. It only fueled her obsession. Caitlyn would find a way to catch you, to have you.

A soft creak from the far side of the room snapped her attention back to the open window. Her eyes narrowed, body tensing as she scanned the darkened office. The shadows danced across the walls, and for a brief moment, she thought she was imagining it. But then she saw it—a glimmer, the faintest hint of movement in the darkness. You were here.

The rifle and the wooden floor creaked ominously as Caitlyn stood tall, striding toward you with a firm grip on her weapon. “Did you really think you were the only one hunting?” She took a step back, tightening her grip. “Move.” Her voice was a command, authoritative. It made you smile. “I can smell it on you, you know. You’re not just trying to catch me—you need me.”

Caitlyn’s knuckles whitened around the rifle, her chest heaving ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between the shadows that danced across your face, trying to read your next move.

But you stayed perfectly still, waiting, your smile never wavering.

She took a deliberate step forward, the weight of her boots heavy against the creaking floor. “I don’t need you,” Caitlyn growled, her voice laced with frustration, but the tension in her posture betrayed her.

She was hesitating, her mind betraying her hardened resolve.

"Then why haven’t you pulled the trigger?

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Caitlyn's face, and she took a half-step back, “I can’t just… hurt you. Not like that.” her grip on the rifle relaxed just a fraction, the weapon lowering slightly. Only there you took a step closer, still covered by the shadow.

“Why not?” you asked softly, your voice almost a whisper. “You’ve stalked me, hunted me. Now you have me cornered..."

“You think I’m weak because I can’t pull the trigger?” the vulnerability beneath her bravado was unmistakable.

“I think you’re stronger than you know,” you shocked your head, a soft smile playing on your lips as you finally showed yourself to her. “And that strength is what draws me to you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flickered to the rifle, still hanging loosely in her hand, then back to you. "I’ve spent too long chasing you. I’m not letting you go."

You tilted your head slightly, exposing your neck in a mocking, languid gesture, daring her. "Then take what you want," you whispered, voice dripping with seductive malice. The corset hugging your body concealed the blood that dripped from your lips, sliding down your neck, a crimson trail that glistened in the dim light. Caitlyn’s eyes flickered to your hands, but before she could act, you moved like a shadow, effortless and swift, and the rifle she clutched was sent crashing to the floor along with the frames that once hung proudly on her walls. The sound was deafening, a cacophony that seemed to echo her own faltering resolve.

Her quiet whimpers filled the space between you, exactly how you had imagined they would. Her hands, once so sure, now trembled as they gripped your arms, a futile attempt to push you away as your fangs sank deep into the soft skin of her neck. You savored the moment, the rush of power, the warmth of her blood on your tongue. She tasted sweet—sweeter than anyone else you had ever feasted upon. You drank her in, relishing every second.

"You come into my world, my home..." you murmured against her throat, your breath sending shivers down her spine. "You threaten anyone who gets close to me." Her whimper cut through your words, and with it, you bit down harder, drawing another gasp from her, this one filled with desperation and surrender.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice the way you followed me, everywhere?" you purred, mocking her now, the sound of your voice weaving through the tension like silk. Her eyes, wide with shock, lost their vibrant glow, her skin paling as the life slowly drained from her. "You want me, don’t you, Kiramman?" you whispered against her ear, feeling her nails dig into your skin in response, a weak attempt at resistance that only fueled your desire further.

Her brow furrowed at your mocking tone, but her strength was leaving her, betraying her. "I know you like this... not having control for once," you teased, your voice low and taunting. "Just breathe." You felt her chest heave against yours, a quiet gasp that reverberated against your skin, the sound intoxicating. Her blood, so sweet and pure, made your head swim with pleasure, unlike anything you had tasted before.

Your nails now pierced her delicate cheeks, sharp enough to leave marks, pulling her closer, forcing her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, were now fading, losing their color, their life. It suited her, this strange, drained look—a pale echo of her former self. Horrifying, yet oddly beautiful.

You licked the blood from your lips, savoring the last taste of her, while your eyes—dark, red, and predatory—fixed on her with a hunger that would not be satisfied. Her body trembled, her lips parting as though to speak, but only incoherent sounds escaped, her strength fading fast. You looked down at her, a predator gazing at its prey, the white of your skin stark in contrast to the deep red of her blood.

Caitlyn’s hands clung to you now, her body weakening, her will crumbling under your touch. For once, she was no longer the hunter, no longer the perfect, controlled sharpshooter. She was at your mercy, and she *loved* it. Her mouth moved, barely able to form the words as her body slumped against yours, heavy with surrender. "Take me," she breathed, her voice fragile and broken, the last spark of life in her reaching for you, begging for release.

Her hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if the only thing keeping her alive was the feel of you, your presence. If it weren’t for your hold on her, she would have collapsed entirely, limp in your arms, almost lifeless. You could end it now—just one more taste, one more bite, and she would be yours forever. Her body, her soul, everything would belong to you. Exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it?

You smiled, your fangs glinting in the dim light, the expression wicked and predatory. Your eyebrows arched in amusement as you studied her fragile, broken form. "Yeah?" you whispered, the temptation curling in your voice. You wanted her—oh, you wanted her more than anything. But there was something so sweet about this moment, about watching her, feeling her completely under your control. She had given you so many chances to escape her grasp, to run, but now she was here, weakened, broken, and utterly yours.

Caitlyn Kiramman, the perfect shot, the disciplined enforcer, the best at what she did—now reduced to this. A trembling figure, desperate for you, craving the loss of control she had so carefully maintained her entire life. You held her there, savoring the power, the sweetness of her submission. She would be yours entirely.

Your breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck once more, your hold tightening as if you could devour her whole. Caitlyn whimpered, the sound trembling from her lips, her blood still seeping from the bite marks you left, trailing down her neck and pooling at her clavicle. Her once immaculate uniform, now torn and disheveled, mirrored the chaos you’d created in her—a reflection of how far she'd fallen under your spell.

Your long, red tongue dragged slowly over her skin, tasting the mix of salt and copper, savoring the richness of her blood. You could feel the pulse beneath her flesh, each beat of her heart fueling your hunger. As you tore her uniform apart with a casual flick of your nails, her body shuddered, her breath catching as she mumbled soft, incoherent pleas—pleas that only spurred you on.

Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, pressing your head harder against her body, though whether in an attempt to push you away or pull you deeper into her, even she couldn’t say. You could feel the desperation in her touch, the way she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Your eyes drifted upward, meeting her gaze with a predatory gleam, taking in the way her brows curved beautifully in agony, the slight part of her lips exposing the little gap between her teeth.

“Breathe… like that. Good girl,” you mocked softly, your voice dripping with cruel amusement as you coaxed her to endure the pain just a little longer. You could feel her body obeying, her breath shuddering as she fought to remain composed, even as she crumbled in your hands.

Slowly, you sank to your knees before her, your nails dragging down her thighs, the fabric of her uniform bunching and tearing under your touch. Caitlyn’s body jerked when your fangs pierced the soft, tender flesh of her thigh, her quiet, guttural moan reverberating through the air. She pressed herself harder against the wall, head thrown back as the pain mingled with something far deeper, more primal.

You held her there, gripping her hips with possessive force, tasting her, taking her. Her blood was intoxicating, and her helpless surrender only made it sweeter. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the tremble in her legs, as she struggled to stay upright under your assault. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the control she was losing.

“Just like that,” you whispered against her skin, voice thick with hunger as your fangs grazed her again. You weren’t just feeding on her blood, you were consuming every part of her, body and soul.

You made your way under her blue skirt, kissing at the fabric covering her obscene wet hole. Your tongue licking at it with little shame. The tip of your nails dragged the black piece of clothing down her thighs, enough for your hungry mouth to have access on her body.

She was as sweet as her blood, as her voice. Her skin tender.

You felt a gentle grasp on the back of your head, a sloppy tangling along quiet hisses and hufs. She seemed quite desperate, but how could she not when your tongue felt so good up and down her slit, with your pretty lips kissing and sucking on her clit.

Caitlyn mumbled through her teeth, jaw clenched and eyebrows scrunching down her nose. Your tongue made its way from her slit to the tip of her clit, licking and kissing between her folds, feasting on her wet.

Your fingers slid in with ease, eliciting a weak yet grumpy gasp out of her mouth. Her thighs trapped you with the little strength she had on her. It felt heavy and alive on her way.

She hugged your fingers so tightly, clenching deliciously good. And the wet coming out of it was so pretty, so delicate yet messy. Withing each suck of her clit and thusting of your fingers there was a quiet gasp, a groan of pain and pleasure. You could sense her heart as if yours- it almost was. She was close.

Your lips pressed a gentle kiss around her clit, licking on it just after. Your fingers pounding onto her cunt until a warmth enveloped them down your wrist- gentle. Your eyes softened at the sensation, at the look of her tender body so weak yet so euphoric just for you- because of you.

The floor creaked as you stood, slipping free from her feeble grip. Her breathing was erratic, she would soon be an empty shell on the floor if you didn’t hurry. But this was your favorite part—watching them unravel before the final moment. Not her, though. She was different. She'd live. She'd belong to you.

"Open... just like that, love." A smile curved on your lips, now salty with blood, the taste more intoxicating than anything you'd ever known. She sucked on your fingers, humming, savoring the same flavor you were enjoying. Tilting her chin to the side, you attacked the other side of her neck. The pleasure coursing through her, mixed with the euphoria, made her blood even more exquisite. You drank deeply until her skin began to pale, becoming something like yours—white and no longer human.

Her fingers gripped yours tenderly, fangs sharpening naturally. Your breath brushed her skin one last time before she seized your wrist with newfound strength, the authority she once held returning to her body.

“No manners, Kiramman?"

[illyrianbitch]

Handsome as Life and Poison

For @erisweekofficial Day 6: Retellings

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Warnings: sexual content/smut, nsfw! religious & biblical undertones & allusions, reader is overly innocent/naive, implied loss of virginity, sinner eris

Word Count: 3.5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You shouldn't be here.

You can feel it in your bones.

You've never traveled this far, never managed to make it to the border. Your father warned you about this area, where the bloom of spring meets the decay of autumn.

He says that there is evil that lurks under the canopy of fire trees, that the blood of Autumn is so cruel it's cursed their very ground. Father has warned you that if you were to come across a fall beast, you would never return. At least, not the way you once were.

You understand his concerns—to a certain extent. He's protective. He has a certain plan for your life. Safety, purity, security above all. And father has been stressed recently, twitching hands and sharp reprimands.

Your High Lord has descended into madness, moving on all fours, his paws sinking into the mud, more beast than man. He prowls in the darkness now, no better than the creatures he once cared for, and your father believes there’s safety in the small village you call home.

It’s far enough from the heart of Spring to grant a quiet, predictable life. The faces around you never change, familiar and worn like the stones that line the village paths. It's peaceful, quaint—a life promised to you forever once you marry Adramis, the neighbor’s son.

Until then, your father urges you to stay safe, to temper the curiosity he knows stirs within you, the kind that might lead you too far, too soon.

Yet, despite his warnings, you find yourself here, day after day, drawn to the very place you’ve been commanded to avoid.

It's prettier, somehow, at this time of day— in the dim dusk, when the birds are beginning to tire. The air is tinged with an unfamiliar chill, a whisper of the season’s change that beckons you closer. You can see the colors of the autumn leaves clearly, watch as they sway in an intricate dance of red, orange and gold.

The movements stir something within you—a call like the ancient siren songs your father once spoke of, drawing you into the twilight's fire embrace. You take another step further into the shifting hues of the forest.

The rustling of leaves comes to your ears—soft, hesitant, as though a beast moves swiftly through the underbrush. The sounds intensify, multiplying by the second.

Beasts, you think, multiple.

You catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair through the tangled foliage, a figure half-hidden by the encroaching shadows.

You stop, and a sickening thrill rolls through you. You should turn back. But a phantom hand seems to beckon to you, an invisible thread leading you deeper.

Then you see him.

His clothes, finer than any you’ve seen even at your High Lord’s court, cling to his tall, lean frame, the dark green fabric glinting with gold thread that catches the last remnants of the fading sun. Each detail—his long, tailored coat, the sharp lines of his collar—speaks of wealth, power, and a meticulous cruelty you’ve only heard whispers about.

Your breath hitches. You know, deep down, who he is.

He’s surrounded by beasts, ferocious creatures with eyes gleaming in the half-light, their snarls low and guttural. Their presence should terrify you, yet you can barely hear them over the thundering in your chest. You count more of them than you have fingers, but with a subtle motion of the prince's hand, they fall still. Regal, patient, they sit at his side, watching you with the same unnerving calm as their master.

He studies you.

You want to take a step forward, to speak to him, but a rustling sound breaks through the stillness behind you. You turn sharply, scanning the underbrush.

From your side, a firm hand clasps around your arm, jerking you back with startling urgency. Almost immediately, once your body has been moved, the touch leaves you.

You meet the frantic gaze of your fiancé. His eyes are wide and his chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths. He ran here, you conclude. Past the border of Spring.

He's scared. Not just for you—but of something else entirely. Adramis is afraid of your father more than he is of what lurks in these forests.

"What are you doing here?"

“I saw—” You turn quickly, pointing toward where the figure stood moments before, but the woods are empty. The fire hue of his hair, the regal presence, the hounds—all gone, swallowed by the shifting shadows of the trees.

You glance back at Adramis. He's staring at you with furrowed brows, lips pressing together as if he's unsure whether to scold or comfort, wary as if you were troubled in the mind. His eyes scan your face, searching for something. You're not sure what.

“It’s almost dark,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “We should get back.”

There’s no question in his tone. It’s not a suggestion, not really. He’s telling you—gently, but still telling you. He'd never force you, no, Adramis is sweet. Simple. But he’s a male and you are his promised bride. What good would you be if you were to get lost in the autumn woods?

Nothing at all, you suppose.

You don’t answer him. Your mind wanders to the fire-haired prince, to his amber eyes and the strange pull that brought you here.

Your silence seems to worry Adramis more. He steps closer, his hand hovering near your skin but never making contact, as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Are you feeling alright?”

His voice is soft. Too soft, almost, to where it makes you shiver uncomfortably, like the touch of something too light, too ghostly.

You momentarily expect him to reach out, to place his delicate hand on your forehead or gently touch the flushed skin of your neck. But Adramis only hesitates, his hand hovering in the air for a moment longer before pulling back.

Too good for his nature, too holy to even touch you with a bare hand.

With a slight shake of your head, you dispel the strange sensation that lingers.

“No, I’m alright." You blink and muster a smile. "Thank you.”

He nods, though his eyes remain troubled. You follow him back toward the familiar warmth of home, casting one final, reluctant glance at the encroaching shadows of where autumn's decay kisses the air.

The leaves are aflame with fading light, but beyond them, the darkness waits—quiet, watchful, tempting.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You're grateful for the familiar routine of your father’s sleeping hours, for the certainty that he wouldn't wake for another few hours.

The sun is still waking now, too, its low, gentle light spilling into the navy sky. It is as slow and tentative as you, quiet in its bearings.

The air is cool and biting, the kind of chill that lingers in the space between night and day.

You wrap your cloak tighter against yourself. It's a thin fabric, white with green thread. It does little to ward off the morning’s bite, but you don’t mind. You welcome the cool breaths that manage to slither past the soft cloth.

The scent of the autumn forest is sharper, more vivid than the soft blooms of home, where everything is neat and ordered. It smells richer, more alive. As traitorous as it feels, you almost prefer it.

It’s only a short walk before you find yourself in the familiar patch of trees. The autumn leaves sing their song, that same siren call that led you here again.

And he’s there—alone this time. Waiting.

His amber eyes gleam and shine with a glow that you’re certain is sinful. You know, deep down, that you should leave, that holding even his gaze, with that burning stare, is treacherous. But you do not.

You're unsure of what to say, unsure if you should wait for him to speak. He pushes himself off the tree he'd rested against.

"Hello again, little lamb."

His voice drips with a smooth, hypnotic cadence. It wraps around you like an incantation, compelling and unholy.

It's strange to see him before you, to have him acknowledge you, to hear his voice directly. You glance around him almost instinctively, as if expecting his hounds to materialize from the shadows, to form a regal, beastly, floor-lain crown once more.

As if he senses your question by look alone, he lets out a small laugh.

"It's early," he says. "Even beasts must sleep at times, too."

Against your better judgment, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. He scans your face, taking another step towards you. You stand still, remain in the spot you had froze in. He begins to study you, walks around you like a shrine.

"A bit far from your home. Curiosity must be a powerful force."

He stops before you. You can smell him now. It envelops you—rich and intoxicating, a blend of autumn leaves and something darker, more primal. You clench at the sensation, a sweet tingle spreading through your body. It courses from your head to your fingertips, settling deep in your now aching core.

"My father says it's my nature."

Eris hums. The answer seems to please him. "And what else does your father say?"

You admire him for a fleeting moment. When the gentle breeze rakes its fingers through his hair, it glows like a live fire. Freckles dot his skin, spread across the pale coloring like the stars you adore in the sky. His eyes are a molten gold that match the detailing on his fine coat.

"That I shouldn't be here," you finally respond.

A serpent-like smile curls at his lips. It spreads slowly.

"And yet here you are."

You nod. The faintest shiver of fear lingers in your veins, but you're unable to tear your eyes from him. You feel an inexplicable pull, wishing for him to come closer, to feel the brush of his presence against you. 

Eris takes a step forward, his hand extending to graze the edge of your cloak. The touch is feather-light, a barely-there whisper of contact that sends a jolt through you. But it's firmer than Adramis's touch. It leaves you wanting more.

"Do you know who I am?"

You nod again. "Prince," you say, almost timidly. Quiet like a prey. "Son of the High Lord."

"Eris," he corrects. "My name is Eris."

"Eris," you repeat, his name falling from your lips like a comfortable prayer. You want to say it again, to taste the sweetness it offers your senses.

"And you are?"

You pause, brows furrowing slightly as you hold his gaze. His eyes still gleam, still glow with something so deliciously sinful, but something in them coaxes an answer from you.

"Y/n."

A moment passes. Eris takes a breath.

"Why did you return, Y/n?"

The way he says your name—a silky caress, a whispered secret—makes you yearn for him to repeat it, to let it roll off his tongue again and again. You have never heard anything so beautiful, so mouth-watering. You've never felt a desire this strong.

You struggle to find words, your head shaking slightly. “I-I don’t know.”

Eris’s gaze drifts to your lips, eyes darkening with a predatory curiosity. You're acutely aware of your lip trapped between your teeth and self-consciously release it, swallowing hard.

His eyes are intense as he meets yours again, almost devouring. But not scary. Not terrifying like you'd once believed.

"Does your village bore you?"

He knows where you live. That buried sense of fear begins to flare and you blink, swallowing hard as you take his presence in once more. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Slowly, the fear dissipates.

"Yes," you admit. There is a stillness in your home that bores you. It makes your bones ache with craving. "But it is all I know."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze intense and all-consuming. His hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against the fabric of your cloak once more.

"You should return home, little lamb. Your father is going to worry."

Eris turns and leaves before you have a chance to respond.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The secret should make you feel dirty, feel guilty like a reckless child, but it does not.

You wake before dawn and, like clockwork, you're traveling before the first ray of morning.

It's become routine now.

You approach the familiar area, where the border of Autumn seems to hold its breath, waiting for you. And there, amid the crimson and gold of fallen leaves, lies Eris.

He’s sprawled on a blanket laid out on the ground, a feast spread before him. The array of foods is a vision plucked from your most indulgent dreams, an array of rich, and tempting dishes. Your mouth waters at the sight—at the lavish feast and the male who has provided it.

"Come," he beckons and pats the blanket beside him. "Sit."

You lower yourself, the fabric soft beneath you. The scents of the feast rise to meet you, mingling in the crisp autumn air. You turn to him, your large eyes drinking in the sight before you, the face of celestial allure: hair like a smoldering fire, eyes glowing with the golden light of autumnal sunsets. Eris’s features are etched with an ethereal grace that seems both ancient and timeless.  With each passing day, you find yourself yearning to worship at his feet, to forge a devotion just for him. 

“Eris?”

A melodic hum leaves his throat. “Yes, little lamb?”

“Why do you call me that? ‘Little lamb.’”

Eris's fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I believe you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing caress.

"Why did you seek me out again?” You ask him, “Why do you wait here?"

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. He lets his fingers trace the line of your lips, his touch light as a sigh. “I believe you know that, too.”

Eris's eyes glint with something that seems almost divine. It is unlike anything that you’ve ever known, nothing like the stories your father has told you. Your gaze drifts to the feast laid out before you. You reach for a small, perfectly ripe apple, its glossy skin catching the muted light. The fruit feels cool and smooth against your fingers. 

Somehow, autumn's bounty surpasses even the lush abundance of spring. 

A sense of longing stirs within you.

How naïve you had been to think that your village, your court, held all the wonders the world had to offer. You had planned to stay, to settle into a life of security and predictability, never daring to venture beyond what was known.

You turn to Eris once more. His eyes flicker, amber catching the light as he reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm. His touch is featherlight, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. 

Your voice is barely a whisper as you confess, "I want to know a life bigger than my village."

“You wish to be free, little lamb?” He trails his hand down to where the apple rests in your grip, and with a slow motion, he gently takes it from you. "I can show you," he murmurs, turning the fruit over in his palm. His voice is like honey, rich and smooth. "You’ll know life—pleasure, want. All of it."

A tingle spreads through your body at his words, your breath shallow as you nod, leaning unconsciously into the heat of his presence. 

“Yes," you breathe, the word barely a whisper. "I want to be free.”

Eris’s lips curl into a grin, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gaze. He looks pleased, eager, as if he’s waited for this moment since time itself began. He draws closer and you can feel his presence everywhere, consuming, enveloping.

His lips brush against your ear. “Then let me show you.”

The apple falls from his hand, forgotten. He inches closer, the space between you dissolving as his warmth spills over you. A hand finds the delicate line of your throat, fingers grazing against your pulse.  With the lightest pressure, he lifts your chin, tilting your face toward his. His touch feels like a benediction.

He’s so close now that his breath melds with yours, the air around you thick with the scent of earth and fire. The world shrinks and the only thing that exists is him—his heat, his gaze, the slow, measured closeness that steals away your reason. His lips hover just above yours, and the ache of not touching nearly brings you to begging.

The first brush of his mouth against yours is light, a whisper, a tease, and you tremble beneath it. And then he claims you, his lips pressing against yours with a slow, haunting fervor. Your body goes slack as his movements seem to weave a spell, binding you to him with every caress of his tongue, every sigh he draws from your lips. 

You feel him guiding you, lowering you gently onto the blanket beneath, the world beneath you falling away. Eris hovers above you and dips his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck. His mouth sears your senses as he works his way down, the press of his touch growing heavier, more possessive with every inch.

“Such beauty,” he murmurs, “Unfolding before me like the dawn. You were meant to be here.” 

His words fall like a decree, a promise, and his lips continue their journey down, parting from your skin only to explore further. His fingers find the fabric of your dress. 

The air shifts around you, something soft brushing against your skin, falling away with the gentleness of leaves in autumn, leaving you bare to the elements—and to Eris. The cool air grazes your skin in places untouched by even the sun.

His calloused hands explore your bare form, one cupping your breast, fingers pressing and kneading with a practiced touch. His lips follow, settling on the other, and your hands grip the blanket beneath you— knuckles white as he demands your gaze to remain on him. His tongue circles your nipple, amber eyes locked with yours, burning, all consuming. 

Eris continues his careful exploration, moving downward as his lips follow the path of his hands. 

Fingers spread you apart with a confident touch. 

The sensation is profound and awakening, a mingling of sacred heat and cool anticipation. The essence of your very being is laid bare before him. You feel the brush of his fingertips against the tender places, feel as his lips follow with a similar reverence, their touch becoming a worship of its own.

And then he devours you with his mouth and hands. 

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing core, flicking and teasing your sensitive nub. Your entire body quivers beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensations you’ve never known before—an innocent purity being slowly unraveled and transformed by his touch alone. You tangle a hand in his auburn hair as his fingers plunge deep inside you, scissoring and pumping, working you over until you’re a quivering mess of desire.

Your body responds instinctively. You’re writhing and squirming, small sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He bathes in the moans, groans in response as you repeat his name like a prayer. 

Eris sits up and soon you’re staring at his sculpted form, bare before you, ready to be worshiped, touched as he had explored you. His hardened length rests against you, blunt tip against your aching core, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer. The crown of him splits you open with a steady pressure and he fills you completely, a divine intrusion that makes you gasp with the pleasure of being so thoroughly claimed. 

Eris stills, his body pressed flush against yours, your walls clenching around him as you adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing your nipple in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Let me show you how pleasurable life can be.” Eris leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. “Just tell me you’re mine.”

You arch into him. “I’m yours,” you whisper, voice trembling with surrender. “Free me.”

And as he begins to move, begins to roll his hips against yours, you turn your head, gaze falling to the apple lying beside you, untouched yet no longer gleaming—its perfect surface now bruised, smeared with the dirt of the earth.

Father was right about one thing.

You'd come across a beast, indeed, and you could never return.

Not fully.

Not the way you once were.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: happy retelling day from ur local exmormon!! im an eve defender till i die. biblical lore goes crazyyyy

as always, thank you for reading <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

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@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[missaengg]

An Illicit Masquerade Encounter

Day 1 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation 2024 hosted by @xxsycamore Featuring: Love and Deepspace | Sylus x f!reader Tags: mdni, nsfw, smut, anonymous sex, vaginal sex, creampie, pwp, light aftercare

Prompts: Anonymous Sex | “We can go, or we can stay here and fuck.”

ao3 link here.

You noticed him the moment you walked in. It was hard not to, he was tall, muscular, and while his face was hidden, you could tell underneath the mask he was wearing that he had striking features. He commanded attention, evident by every gaze, both male and female, following him as he moved throughout the room. 

You took a sip of your drink, a tonic water with lime, from a corner of the lavishly decorated ballroom observing the crowd of party attendees all wearing masks of their own. The Hunter’s Association had received a tip earlier that week that the leader of Onychinus would be in attendance at a masquerade ball, and you had been tasked with running reconnaissance in order to identify the potential leader. Other than the lead, the leader would be in attendance, The Hunter’s Association knew nothing about the crime boss of the N109 Zone, not their gender, their age, nor their appearance. You knew absolutely nothing.

Your eyes flickered from person to person, scrutinizing their mannerisms and associates for any clues as to their identity, but you found your eyes glancing back at the tall silver-haired stranger every so often only to forcibly tear them away to focus on your mission before they drifted back again. It was just so damn hard to keep your eyes off of him. He looked absolutely delicious in his black suit with red lightning bolt accents, his eyes flashing with an irresistible charisma that drew you in wanting to know more.

He moved through the room gracefully, stopping to converse with various groups of party goers as if he’d know them for years, though it was hard to tell if he did truly know them or not. While the masks didn’t completely cover one’s face, they covered a good portion making it difficult to identify the person in question though the mouth was left visible to make it convenient for attendees to eat and drink in merriment.

You prowled the perimeter of the room, preferring to observe the crowd in solitude without any — or mostly any — distractions. A breeze ran through your legs causing you to involuntarily press your thighs together. A long slit ran up the side of your dress practically exposing you to your panty line. Another couple inches higher, and the world would be able to see the black, lacy thong you were wearing as part of your undercover attire.

You snuck another glance, but frowned when you realized the man in question was nowhere to be seen where he had just been a moment ago. You swept your eyes left and right searching for a sign of this mysterious man without any success. The man in question stood at over six feet tall with broad shoulders, there was no possible way you would miss him in a crowd of any size.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped at the deep, silky drawl in your ear, their breath tickling your neck. You spun around only to find yourself face to face with the very same man you were looking for. 

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement, his face uncomfortably close to yours. “Sorry, sweetie, did I startle you?”

“N-no.” Your voice cracked, entranced by his hypnotizing crimson eyes. “Not at all.”

He arched an eyebrow, indicating he didn’t believe you, but he pulled back. You exhaled in relief. Somewhere in between his captivating gaze and his face being so close to yours you could practically kiss him, you had forgotten to breathe. Your face felt hot, though that wasn’t the only place where you felt the heat. A sweet flush spread throughout your core, the building of your arousal causing you to involuntarily clamp your thighs together for the second time that evening.

The man hummed. His eyes bore into yours with such a knowing gleam you wondered if he knew just how turned on you were by his mere presence. You took a sip of your drink to wet your parched mouth, the cool liquid running down your throat doing nothing to quench the lust burning inside you.

“So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to this evening?” 

“Alice.” You offered your alias for the evening, a small arms dealer new to the N109 Zone. “You?”

“Sylus.”

Something about his name stirred a faint memory, but you couldn’t recall what it might be with how muddled your head had become. You couldn’t even recall why you were originally here in this plush ballroom wearing a sleek dress and a mask that covered most of your face.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you breathed out.

Sylus leaned in again, his cologne bathing you in a cloud of some sort of spice you couldn’t identify, the scent of which mixing with his own natural scent was sending you into a state of dizzy heat. He brought his mouth right by your ear, so close his lips brushed against you in an electrifying jolt, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips.

“Am I wrong to assume that you’re incredibly taken by my presence?” He all but purred into your ear. He placed his hand onto the small of your back pulling you in closer. “Because if I’m being honest, I must admit I’m quite taken with you.”

You gulped. Audibly. You suddenly wished you weren’t wearing a thong at how wet you felt yourself growing in response to the pheromones permeating off of this man. 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean,” you stammered, doing a poor job of hiding how turned on you were.

“Kitten, I think we both know what I mean.” Sylus ran his hand up your thigh slipping under the skirt and lightly brushing along the soaked crotch of your underwear. 

You quivered at his touch, all pretense of composure thrown out the window, a tiny mewl escaping you. Your mind clouded over in a lustful haze. All you could think about was how hungry you were for this man, how desperate you were for his lips to be on yours, his hands to tease you relentlessly, and for him to fill you to your absolute core, your mission be damned.

“I— Nngh!” Your body jerked when Sylus pressed his finger firmly against your clit. 

“Kitten, we can go, or we can stay here and fuck. Which would you prefer?” His finger firmly stroked you over your thong. 

You licked your lips, now bone dry, knowing that you were only growing slicker from his caress. “Stay here and fuck,” you whispered, your body involuntarily bucking against him.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck— Fuck me, please,” you pleaded, tears beginning to form in your eyes at how much you wanted him to take you. “Please.”

“As you wish,” Sylus murmured.

He whisked you away to a bathroom in a quiet hallway just as lavish as the venue, dimly lit with plush, red velvet seats and gold accents. As soon as the door locked behind you, he brought his lips to yours in a searing, bruising kiss, hungry and demanding. The intensity of his kiss caused your knees to buckle, but Sylus caught you before you dropped to the ground, picking you up easily and seating you on the cold marble of the vanity. He spread your legs open at your knees with his broad hands until they straddled his waist, the slit of your dress exposing your lacy, black thong for him to view.

“Hm?” Sylus quirked an eyebrow at the sight. “Didn’t see you as the lacy thong type.” His hands slid up your thighs, his firm grip giving away just how affected he was by the fabric barely containing your desire. He took in how your sweet nectar leaked out the sides glistening on your upper thighs, his eyes darkening at the sight.

“I’m full of surprises,” you breathed out, shivering at the primal need overtaking him.

His lips crashed onto yours again, in a series of mind-numbing, toe-curling kisses, each kiss pushing you further into a disoriented haze of pleasure. You softly moaned into his mouth feeling him tense with each erotic moan you let out.

“Fuck, I want to taste you.” 

Sylus roughly yanked you off the vanity, spinning you around until you were bent over at the waist with both palms flat on the marble surface. He roughly pushed the crotch of your thong to the side with one hand running his finger in your arousal while his other hand undid his belt and pulled his slacks down just enough to free himself. Sylus trailed kisses along your neck while he slid his length along your sex coating himself in your sweet honey. The tip brushed against your throbbing clit, each brush releasing a guttural groan from deep within your belly.

You could feel Sylus’s breath quicken on your skin, his fingernails digging into the sides of your hips to the point of leaving crescent shaped bruises. He slipped in the tip, the sudden stretching of your opening snapping your head back against his chest along with a sharp exhale, walls clenching around him.

“Hah.. you’re taking me so well,” Sylus growled, sinking in further, stretching you with his dick.

You closed your eyes, arching your back into him. Sylus buried his head into the crook of your neck, wrapping a firm arm around your chest to hold you flush against him, fully burying himself in your warmth. His mask felt cold on your skin, the chill in contrast to the fever overtaking you adding to the pleasure you felt.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunted, rubbing his nose into your neck, thrusting into you with an animalistic fervor.

He pushed into you deeply, hitting your cervix with each thrust, each deep thrust sending a wave of pleasure throughout your core, moans tumbling from you so quickly he could barely keep up. 

“Harder,” you panted, bucking your hips back to take him in deeper. “Take me harder.”

“Heh…” Sylus smirked, snapping his hips into you so sharply, you saw stars when he drove into your cervix. 

“Oh, fuck.” You clenched around him, eliciting a hiss from Sylus behind you. 

“Kitten, if you— clench like that— I can’t— I can’t hold on.”

You felt your consciousness slipping from his deep assault, the ecstasy building deep within your core ready to explode, but you still felt a spark of glee at knowing that this mysterious man you knew nothing about was also barely holding on to his sanity. The glee lasted only for a minute because you finally exploded, a strangled, mewling cry erupting from you in a passionate release. “Sylus!” On impulse you added, begging, “Cum— cum inside— Nngh, inside me.”

Sylus responded with deep, guttural grunts in sync with his feverish rutting, pounding your hips into his. “God, kitten, you feel— you feel amazing.” He allowed himself to let go, slamming himself into you down to the hilt, erupting in spurts, which you could feel shooting inside you and dribbling down the inside of your thighs.

He didn’t pull out immediately, keeping you plugged while he softened from the expenditure, panting into your hair. You allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, his arms wrapped around you in a cozy cuddle, your eyes closed, basking in his arms. You felt him press his lips to your temple.

“Well, that was lovely,” you heard him murmur.

You laughed, a twinkle of a smile. “Yes, it was.” You suddenly felt self-conscious of your current state, with your skirt bunched around your waist, a thin layer of sweat on your brow, eyeliner and mascara smudged into panda eyes, and this man’s seed and your juices running down your thighs. “I look like a mess.” You lowered your head, not wanting him to see you clearly in this state.

Sylus stirred behind you, his hand raising your head to the side so that you could see him from the corner of your eye. “No, kitten. You look beautiful,” he rumbled. “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can rejoin the party, hm?”

He extricated himself from you, all of you, and you felt the loss of his body heat, shivering from the sudden loneliness enveloping you. Sylus gently turned you around, using the hand towels — actual towels because this venue was fancy — to wipe the big mess he made, so big the flimsy scrap of fabric you called underwear was unable to contain it all. He straightened your skirt, ensuring his hands grazed your skin as he did so, and then with a new dampened towel, tenderly wiped away where your makeup had smudged around your eyes and lips.

“There, like nothing happened.” Sylus placed his hand against your cheek, using his thumb to stroke you. “You still look lovely.”

“Thank you?” You replied in a quiet voice, not quite sure how to respond to fucking an absolute stranger — a gorgeous stranger, but a stranger nonetheless — whose face you hadn’t properly seen in the bathroom of a ballroom venue, especially one who was not only sexy, but also tenderly sweet. 

Sylus kissed you, chaste enough that it was clearly a good-bye, but just racy enough that you felt another stir deep within your belly. “It was a pleasure…” he paused, an amused smirk gracing his lips, “Alice. Do tell The Hunter’s Association I say hello.” Sylus winked at you and strolled out of the bathroom.

Your eyes widened in surprise . How was it that he knew about your association with The Hunter’s Association? Or that your name wasn’t Alice?

Then it hit you like a ton of bricks crashing onto you from a great height above. The man you had just fucked… the man who oozed charisma and sex appeal… the man who turned you into a gooey mess of ecstasy… Sylus was the leader of Onychinus.

You buried your face into your hands, groaning miserably into the empty room.

You had just fucked the leader of Onychinus.

And you wanted nothing more than for the infamous crime boss of the N109 Zone to fuck you again.

[uchu-no-bashira]

Night Time Relief - Demon!Gyomei x Fem!Reader

TW: Minors do not interact. Husband Gyomei, Demon Gyomei, Dubious Consent, Incubus, Non-con Touching, Non-con elements, Breeding, Power play, Power Imbalance, Blood, Restraining, Biting, Licking, Scratching, Slight Vore(?), Predator/Prey.

A Kasugai crow delivered you orders to destroy maybe one of the most skilled killers in the forest, West of the village it preys on. Without a second thought, you make your way through the woods that night, failing to note that the area around was incomprehensibly still. The smell of petrichor fills the air as freezing raindrops fall to the Earth, shrouding the forest with the soft sound of clattering leaves. You couldn’t ignore the feeling of foreboding in your mind as your footsteps grew lighter and swifter. You could feel it burning the back of your neck, a relentless gaze waiting for you in the abyss of total darkness among the tree line behind you. With hasty eyes, you glance back and forth along the moonlit path ahead and behind you.

Being this uneasy was nothing new to you seeing as you killed demons nightly, so being unsettled from time to time was a given, but tonight? Tonight was different. What was it about this area that forced goosebumps to traverse your body as well as make your stomach turn with venomous butterflies that corrupted your nervous system? It plagued your mind so heavily that you decided to go through the checklist of red flags you’d created in your time as a slayer, counting the top three off the list.

"Darkness, check. Ominous feeling of dread, check... What was that third thing?... Fuck, I'm too scared to remember.”

Hearing you admit to fear so blatantly brought a smile to your pursuer's face, he decided to enjoy the thrill of the chase until the very last moment, so he continued to prowl around in the shadows, waiting for his opportunity to pounce. "How would she taste?" He wondered, keeping his distance while remaining as low as he could, blades of grass gently sliding across his arms, legs and stomach, boosting his sensory skills as he 'sees' the world around him essentially. He listens to your footsteps, allowing the pursuer to constantly keep track of your precise location. It didn’t make it any better that he knows his prey well, he also knows that you’re onto him. All he has to do is stay out of sight. Gyomei had to admit he was a bit disappointed in his meek beloved for not realizing how grave the danger you were in, but he also knew that when you are petrified, you don't use your mind properly.

If You'd been a bit more composed, you would have realized that his commanding aura of dominance quieted all the other creatures in the forest, leaving an eerie, deathly silence that would make even the most expert of hikers turn around and head home. With a deep breath your eyes close slowly, trying desperately to remember what it was that was throwing you off-kilter. You rely on your ears and sense of smell. There was nothing that stood out immediately except the sound of the light rain coming to a stop, so with a low grumble, you whispered to yourself. "Listen to the forest… Listen to the creek around you and the creatures-” You pause momentarily as it finally dawns on you, “There are no other sounds but the creek!… It shouldn't be this qui-”

Before you finish the sentence, a deep snarl comes from your left just as your head turns in it’s direction. Faster than you could open your eyes, a branch snapped, then Gyomei’s body crashed into you. You tumble a few times against the ground, ultimately being pinned to your back. The sound of thumping in your ears increases as you stare into a set of luminous red eyes and gaze upon ashen brown skin that was cold to the touch. Gyomei lets out a deep chuckle while pinning your small hands above your head.

"You remember too late, my love. I thought you would have realized that over an hour ago when I first entered the area." He states in a menacing baritone voice. The force of his tackle left your weapons too far away for you to reach. Regardless, you fight with the strength you have by kicking the demon's rock hard abdominals. Desperate and breathing unsteadily, you do everything imaginable to break free of Gyomei's imperishable death grip on your wrists. The force he applied made it feel like they were going to snap as you grimaced. You continued to think of a way to at least propel him up and over your head, if only you could steady your feet. He was as heavy as a fully loaded train and the sight of his bloodied canines shining in the moonlight made your breathing even more sporadic with the thought that you’d be your husband’s next meal.

Your focus was drawn to his face and how terrifying it was. It harbored black cracks all over that spread along his neck and shoulders, with four extra arms protruding from his side while two continue to pin you. The sounds of your own breaths were drowned out and dominated by his hungry growls. What could have happened to him? Why did this happen to him? He would never agree to becoming a demon… or so you thought. Is this where he’s been for the last two years since his last mission? Through the midst of your confusion, you let out an exasperated grunt, finally finding the words you want to say to him.

"Gy-Gyomei, please! It’s me, your wife, don't-'' You're interrupted as one of Gyomei's free hands comes up to your mouth, covering it in a surprisingly gentle fashion. He makes sure to not scratch your mouth or face with his blackened, serrated claws. Tears of blood flow from his eyes, down his ashen cheeks and onto yours. The cries you expelled were muffled as your own tears involuntarily slip from your eyes and mix with the blood on your face. You begin shaking your head back and forth rapidly, your breaths continuing to stagger as you adamantly try to break free, twisting your wrists until you both hear a loud pop.

The feeling of sharpened nails press into the flesh of your cheek, any more and he’d puncture it. "Shh... My love, don't make this any harder than it needs to be." He tones deeply into your ear as he leans down, the heat from his words making you release a scream into his palm in frustration. Gyomei hums before moving his frosted fingers away from your mouth, slowly tracing along the thickness of your lips before he pinches your chin in the cusp of his index finger. A sharp pain radiates the underside of your chin as his thumb nail penetrates the skin and he draws blood. The stream of red fluid tickles your trachea as you close your eyes from the burning sensation. "You act as if you don't want this… Have you not missed me in my absence?” He asks honestly.

Your breath stifles, your eyes fly open, blistered with tears of grief you’d thought long passed as you lock eyes with your hunter... With your husband. “He remembers me…” You think to yourself while continuing to wiggle your wrist. Finding a little bit of room within his large hands, you were able to break one of your hands free, although you assumed he allowed you to. You slap his hand away from your chin, then shove your palm into his face. "Get.. off... Me!..." You grunt, feet still kicking at his hardened stomach that he, of course, cannot feel. This coerces a demented chuckle from the giant as jagged teeth sink into your palm, burning instantly. Suddenly, the space around your waist is tugged as his nails cut into your sides easily like a knife gliding through butter. He digs his nails in deep, stopping just before any major arteries as he holds you steady.

More of your blood trickles over his fingertips and a feral growl escapes his chest. A loud scream begins to escape your own mouth, the same burning in your chin earlier now ravaging the entirety of your body, the nerves screaming in pain across the synapses in your brain… But then… The area grows warm and sensitive, changing the feral screams of your voice into pleasured moans. Gyomei's top left arm continues to hold one of your wrists, while the top right that you’d smacked away, grabs your offending bloody hand and he drags his tongue over the wound he'd made.

He laps at your palm sensually, slurping on your red nectar while he chuckles. "You know there is no point in this." He tones before licking his lips. "You're too sweet to let go and far too valuable to me to share with anyone else."

You scoff at his words in disgust. "Listen... To yourself!! You- Anh~!" A moan quivers in your voice as his nails squeeze deeper into your sides. "You sound... Like a... Monster! This isn't you! You're not like this!..." You whimper, eyes closing as you turn your head away from what used to be your loving husband. Gyomei continues to lick your wound, becoming even more roused by the position he's in. He kisses his way down your wrist, then smiles playfully.

“But you're enjoying yourself and don't want me to stop... Isn't that right?" He asks in a smooth tone of voice. You hated yourself for agreeing with the demon, a faint heat creeping along your cheeks as you refused to answer, your body now basking in the warmth surging through your body. His carnivorous licks grow more pleasant with each passing second. You look up at the demon with curiosity plaguing your mind.

"Exactly... What kind of demon are you? Why did you become a demon? How could you.. Leave me for so long?" You ask in a medium pitched, breathy voice. Your arousal was obvious to the demon towering above you. He gently responds back while placing your hand back in its original place in his large palm, pinning it above your head again.

"My only reason for becoming a demon was to meet you again. I was dying a painful death on my final mission as a Slayer and could not bear the thought of never saying goodbye… So, I did what I must to meet you once more. I try not to dwell on my blunder, as what I wished for finally came to pass.” He tones while dragging his nail along the supple flesh of your skin. “As far as what kind of demon, it should be obvious by now, my love. Tell me, what do you think I am?" He asks while taking the finger on his bottom right hand to the top of your slayer uniform, then drags it down to the waistline of your pants. The sound of fabric tearing and buttons popping could be heard as your breasts burst out of the torn clothing.

The sound of the demon purring signals that he likes what he sensed, your overwhelming aroma of lust teasing his nose and tongue as he palms your chest. The cold wet air grazing your bare flesh and nipples pulls a stifled moan from your lips before you answer. "An... Incubus?..." Gyomei nods his head slowly, then places his forehead to yours.

“Will you allow me to indulge in your warmth once more, y/n? I may be a demon… But I still care deeply about you, that much I have not forgotten.” He asks while looping his finger on the inside of your pants. You couldn’t help but relent and nod your head. You’d missed his touch so much for the past two years that he was away. He grins at you lovingly, then begins to drag his finger from the base of your collarbone to your navel tearing the flesh of your torso as he goes. The sound of your moans flooding his ear brought bliss throughout his body.

He uses his last two arms to spread your legs, exposing a precious pussy that was oozing cum prematurely as he rubs his clothed dick against your sensitive bulb. His venom had worked just as he wanted it to. He feels along your tiny frame as you fully submit to your lust. With your head tilted back, eyes half lidded and your body flushed beyond all reason, you position your hips against the underside of his dick. The massive output of steam from your body signals to him that you’re all his and your resistance has dissipated. Gyomei giggles at you before dragging his tongue along your bloody torso. "You taste amazing, my love…" He whispers as removes his claws from your waist and free’s his large dick from his pants, then lines it up at your opening. “This will hurt a bit.”

As he pushes his hips forward, his dick seemingly splits you up the middle and presses into your cervix as you let out a feral moan. How thrilling it felt to be under your husband once again albeit under less than ideal circumstances. Here you were, bare as a newborn child on the forest floor, mating with a demon of astronomical size and strength. Each thrust into your tight hole had you seeing stars and squeezing your nails into your palms. “T-to much!... H-hurts!” You cry as tears of pleasure start to careen down your cheeks. Gyomei snarls as he leans in to bite your neck, injecting more venom into you, soothing your pain while feeding himself in the process as your scream takes on a more pleasured tone.

Gyomei drags his tongue along your neck slowly and with the tantalizing taste of iron on his tongue accompanied by the feeling of his dick being squeezed and sucked into your greedy pussy has soft, pleased growls leaving his chest with each snap of his hips. He could lose himself in this sensation and he does. You’re intoxicating to this man and he can’t stop himself as he goes in a second time, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. Your heavy breathing and moaning has your heart pumping his venom through your veins at an exponential rate, causing you to cum all over his pelvis as you take him in his entirety.

“F-fuck!... S-so big!… S-so good!~” You whimper, your pussy spasms as you feel a dagger like sensation piercing into your collar bone, the sound of squelching filling the air as your eyes drift to the back of your head. The feeling of his cold skin against your own causes temporary relief as you continue to release guttural moans into Gyomei’s ear. The large demon continues to drive into you harder, deeper, faster until he feels you nearing your breaking point. He squeezes your wrists tighter, pumping into you sloppily as creamy white slick spreads to his abdomen.

“Almost...” He pleads in a deep and needy tone as he angles himself to fuck into your sweet spot. The sheer feeling of him pushing into your tightening hole was too much to bear, what tips him over the edge was the sound of your voice breaking as you orgasm loudly, the sound reverberating in his ears causing him to let out a deep groan that vibrates your chest as he shoots thick, hot ropes of his seed into you.

Both of you were breathing heavily and you’d looked like you’d been mauled by a demon. Bite marks everywhere and close to severe blood loss. You look up at him with tired eyes, the adrenaline from his venom wearing off as you ask breathily,

“Are you going to devour me now?”

Gyomei chuckles and lets go of your bruised wrists.

“Oh, my love… this is just the first of our encounters. I’ve decided this will not be the last of us meeting. As I said: You're too sweet to let go and far too valuable to me to share with anyone else... ”

… And you didn’t mind that. Not. One Bit.

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(419) G1 canon divergence: when he leaves the Decepticons and becomes an Autobot, Skyfire keeps in contact with Starscream.

He feels like they're trying to tell him, "Skyfire. You must now stop caring about your friends. The ambient morality has moved on without you." And he isn't totally naïve, he knows he should absolutely not have the comm line for the Decepticon 2IC on speed dial.

But Skyfire is desperately unused to the war and he can't fix this about himself — everyone else has had millions of years to adjust and he's had a week. He is lonely, cybertronian culture has changed, and he doesn't know the Autobots very well... And, well, he likes Starscream. He doesn't like what he's been doing, obviously, but they were friends, once. Anyway, it's not like he tells him anything important when he calls him — well, okay, a couple of times, perhaps... but only because it was genuinely important to save Starscream's life!

Except... Now Skyfire's been hearing multiple, contradictory versions of battle plans floating around among the Autobots, and strategies are communicated at the last second. Skyfire's not naïve, and he's definitely not stupid: high command is feeling out the Autobot rank and file for a Decepticon spy. The versions of plans upon which the Decepticons act will slowly narrow down the possibilities until it can be revealed precisely who leaked them. This medium-term, methodical strategy has Prowl written all over it.

Part of Skyfire is affronted — he's not actually a Decepticon spy, you know. He's just worried about Starscream specifically.

(What are you talking about? Starscream asks, half-distracted, over the encrypted comm line. Of course you're a Decepticon spy. Starscream, Skyfire thinks, doesn't really get it. (Skyfire, perhaps, doesn't really get it.))

Eventually, Skyfire gives in to temptation, takes the bait, and warns Starscream about a particularly horrible threat. The Decepticons act on his intel and the leak is revealed, resulting in a dangerous and emotionally fraught flight from the Autobot base and Skyfire's shameful re-defection to the Decepticons. Starscream, of course, welcomes him with open arms and a smug little smile...

[vivace-formulala]

𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭: 𝑨 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 (𝑱𝑫𝟕 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

🫵: “AFAB; same-aged ; youngest Schumacher ; nc-17 for suggestive themes ; you are apparently the darling angel of F1 due to your father’s legacy ; romeo and juliet trope ”

⌛️: late 2025

masterlist

a/n: heavily inspired by that scene from RWRB! I kept Zahra in just because 🫶

Jack Doohan was usually fast—just not this morning.

The knock on the door hit like the five lights going out.

“Jack Doohan, it's almost seven!” Zahra’s voice was sharp, clipped—the kind that meant she was three seconds from storming in. “You have interviews. Let’s get going.”

Zahra. His PR manager, the best his dad could recommend in the autosport industry.

Jack shot upright in bed, hair sticking out in confused angles, heartbeat slamming into his ribcage.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He turned to you, tangled beside him in the hotel bed, golden light creeping through the blinds and painting your bare shoulders like a scandal. He gave you a frantic shake.

You stirred, blinking slowly in the haze of early sunlight. The duvet slipped just low enough for the situation to become critical.

“What’s going on?” you asked groggily, clutching the covers to your chest.

Another knock—this time louder, less patient.

“Jack, come on,” Zahra again. “Press conference at nine, photos at ten, you’re already running late.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

Panic ensued. Muted cursing. The soft thud of limbs scrambling for clothes. Jack tripped over his pants. You tripped over Jack. Neither of you ever thought this day would come.

"What if we just tell her, come on she'll love me." You reason as you rapidly shuffled through your clothes to cover yourself up, before settling on your lover's hoodie.

Jack jumps to get his pants on, struggling with the button. "Yes, she would love you, she's a fan— but then she'd also kill me."

"Okay, fair."

Slotting your head into Alpine merchandise, you scanned the room for anything resembling a decent hiding spot.

“Under the bed?” he whispered.

“There’s nowhere to breathe under there.”

“Bathroom?”

“There’s literally one door and it's facing her!”

“Closet?”

You locked eyes. Silence passed between you like a loaded gun.

Knock. Turn of the door handle.

“I’m coming in,” Zahra declared, voice full of fire.

Jack, eyes wide, shoved you toward the closet. “Go!”

“Hey!” you hissed as he fumbled to get the door closed, your bare legs vanishing just as the hotel room door swung open.

Zahra stormed in like a commander in battle, eyes immediately locking on Jack, who stood there shirtless, the bed tousled behind him like a scene from a very unwise movie— something she had warned him numerous times about.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then narrowed them even more at a pair of women’s shoes peeking out from beneath the chair.

“Where is she.”

"Who?” Jack asked, faux-bewildered.

Zahra scoffed and started prowling the room. “Don’t even try, Jack.”

He followed her like a man trying to keep a wild animal from finding his lunch. “Zahra, seriously. No one is here.”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, then held up a familiar object. “Then who left this?”

Your phone. Bright pink case. Stupid charm a fan gave you, still attached.

Jack blanched. “Okay, so she left her phone.”

Zahra’s eyes lit with the glee of a woman unraveling a mystery. “Where is she? Hmm? Hello, hello?”

Jack tried to pull her away from the room gently. “Zahra, please. I'll meet you downstairs—It’s all chill.”

“Chill?” She rounded on him. “You hook up with some rando the days before the biggest race of your life—with your entire family in attendance, might I add—and you let her keep her phone in here? You don’t have an NDA for sure! What if she was filming? What if she posts? Jack Doohan, Alpine's comeback kid, in bed with God knows who!”

“She’s not gonna do any of that,” he muttered.

“Oh really? And how would you know that?”

Thump.

All three of you froze.

In the closet, you decided that hiding a relationship was much easier in the movies... and that these hotels needed sturdier closet fixtures.

Zahra’s eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. She lunged before Jack could stop her and flung open the closet.

You tumbled out with all the grace of a baby deer on ice, clutching your dignity and Jack’s Alpine hoodie like a shield.

“Ow. Shit.”

Silence. Then:

“Good morning,” you offered, sheepishly.

Zahra stared at you. The darling of Formula One media. The epitome of grace. The world’s most cherished legacy child. The youngest Schumacher, goddammit. And covered—covered—in Jack Doohan’s teeth marks.

Her breath hitched.

Jack winced. “Zahra, breathe.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” she snapped, taking several quick steps backward as if proximity to the scandal might physically infect her. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“You wanna sit?” Jack tried.

Zahra sat.

He fanned her gently. “Here okay?”

“Stop it,” she snapped, swatting him away. “God. You make me feel a hundred.”

Jack straightened, awkwardly. “Okay.”

“How long?” Zahra finally asked.

He mumbled, “Since Australia.”

She looked like she’d just done math in her head and hated the result. “Race one? Who knows?”

“Literally no one but you,” Jack said, and the tension disappeared from Zahra's shoulders.

“And Ronald,” he added. Jack’s security detail. Okay, the shoulder tension was back.

Your voice perked up from the floor. “And Johnny, my bodyguard. And Nora, my best friend…”

“Oh,” Jack added. “I told my sister.” He looked at you with a big grin.

You cooed. “Aw, really? She’s so sweet.”

"Yeah, she was really happy for us," Jack said, beaming.

“I can’t wait to see her again. She’s really—”

“Alright, shut up,” Zahra barked. “Both of you. I need to think.”

Jack lowered his voice, almost boyish. “Please don’t tell my dad.”

Her eye twitched. “We’re in a hotel crawling with journalists, a day away from the deciding race of the season, in the city with the highest paparazzi-per-capita, all eyes on Formula 1, and you’re asking me not to tell your daddy?”

Jack blinked. “Well… I haven’t told him yet.”

She snapped. “Sorry to burst your coming of age, but you decided to put your dick in the darling daughter of Michael Schumacher? The walking halo of the F1 world? Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You raised a hand. “Well, technically, my brother’s more famous now... with the ROC with Sebastian and...”

Zahra whirled. “Not talking to you, Missy.”

You raised both your hands in surrender.

She stopped. Closed her eyes. Exhaled. Slowly.

“Would it make any difference,” she asked tiredly, “if I told you not to see her again?”

Jack’s voice was calm now. Firm. “No.”

You smiled at him, heart swelling despite the chaos.

Zahra rubbed her temples like she was thirty years older than she was. “Every time I see you, I lose a year of my life.”

She stood.

“I’m going downstairs. You better be dressed and in the lobby in five minutes. You better pray you make that press conference.”

Jack nodded solemnly.

Zahra turned to you. “And you, little Miss Angel Eyes, get your ass back to Monaco right now. I want you chewing on a croissant on your private boat by sunset. If anyone sees you leave this hotel, I will bitch-slap you into next year. Got it?”

You nodded quickly. “Loud and clear.”

Then she paused, softened. Hand on your shoulder.

“I’m a big fan of your dad. I really hope he gets better.”

Your expression melted. You nodded, gently patting her hand.

Zahra took a deep breath, stepped back, and slammed the door behind her.

Through it, you heard her mutter, “Unbelievable. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”

When the tension also made its exit, you laughed in relief. “Zahra’s even cooler in person, Jackie.”

Jack looked at you like you’d hung the stars in his sky.

You grinned. “Now go get dressed. I’ll get changed too.”

You peeled off his hoodie, lifting it over your head with a slow smirk. Jack let out a low whistle. You tossed the hoodie at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Eyes on the prize, Jack.”

©ｖｉｖａｃｅ－ｆｏｒｍｕｌａｌａ

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