#so gn everyone

[anmiruzu]

Procrastinating with Senjuro

a/n just a small drabble while i procrastinate on my hw assignment i hate my honors teacher anyways i have no idea if i did his character justice bvfhdj this is why i hate writing dialogue :”D

-218 words-

you sigh as you rest your head on your unfinished papers.

“...y/n”

“hm?” you curiously look up at senjuro. “yeah?”

“you have to at least do something”

“i know, i know, but it’s so boring — y’know, actually, how much have you done, sen?”

“i’m almost done”

you bolt up with surprise evident in your eyes. “you are?!”

“yes, do you want help?”

“please”

senjuro soon finishes his own assignment and switches his attention to you and your work. you continue to quietly grumble not wanting to work on your uninteresting assignment. 

he starts to help you with your assignment pointing out areas you can improve on and giving you general tips. as you reach the half-way point, he gently pats your head as a reward. 

“you’ve made progress”

“yup, just another half to go” you stretch your arms and yawn as you start to work again.

senjuro smiles as he gently runs his hand through your hair. “do you want to take a break? we’ve been working for quite a while”

“yeah, that sounds nice”

“mhm” senjuro gets up from the tatami mat to head towards the kitchen. “i’ll make you some of your favorite so relax”

“thank you, senjuro”

“of course” he leans down and gives you a small kiss on the nose. “anything for you”  

{kimetsu no yaiba masterlist here}

[numbuh424]

made me think of him

[lights-at-night-art]

this is a fanwork for @thesiltverses and my first big animatic! some frames below!

[buttdumplin]

finishing up my surgery prep and can't help but think the boys, gorgeous fools that they are, build in an "orgasm schedule" into the weeks of prep because they know the 6-8 weeks of no-touch recovery is gonna leave you all starving, so they better get as many as they can in

A/N: Inspired by, and thus for, @mikichko

cw: poly 141, gn!reader, established relationship, oral (reader receiving), p in v sex, ass play, reader's genitals referred to as "clit" "pussy" "cunt"

simon's got the mornings, when you're most pliable, body still warm from sleep, drifting in and out of focus. he'll pull your back to his chest and wind his arms around to pluck and pinch at your nipples until you're squirming in his arms and whining as you try to move his hands lower. such a pretty pet, the rumbling of his voice deeper from sleep, always so good for us, deserve a little treat, hm? big hands of his sneaking under your shirt to roll your nipples between his finger and shoving into your undies, cupping your pussy innocently as you try to grind against him, only lightly tracing your pussy lips with the tip of his middle finger, pressing his straining cock against your ass, hips rolling just enough to slide his cock between your cheeks for some friction. only gives in and sinking a finger into you when your breathy whimpering sounds threaten to wake the others. brings his mouth to your ear to softly coo at you as his fingers move, pussy so wet you can take a second finger and then a third in no time, doing so well, dove, take what you need, moving his palm to grind against your clit. you cum so hard you practically lock his fingers into place, rendering you both immobile as licks the sweat off your neck and you finally open your eyes, but he won't complain. with that sweet dazed smile on your face? there's nowhere else he'd rather be. plus, if he waits for you to get up first, he can steal those soaked panties for later

kyle gets all of midday, up until dinner, and he milks every minute for all its worth. he'll lure you into the kitchen only to bend you over the counter so he can rip your bottoms down so he can dive face first into your pussy, his hands spreading your cheeks so he can coat his face in your juices, absolutely fucking divine, love spoken against your skin, tongue moving through your folds and only stopping to harshly suck at your clit, his stubble brushing lightly over your lips in a way that has you clenching down around his tongue. he'll find you in the living room and gently ease you onto the big ottoman in the center of the room, parting your legs wide, making a display out of you for the rest of the boys so fucking gorgeous and all ours too, fucking you with his fingers and sucking on your clit until you're squirting and drenching his shirt, the boys' groans growing as he impales you on his thick cock, your own cries breathless from the force of his thrusts, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock that has him delirious. in a spark of impulse, you push him off, scrambling to your hands and knees, chanting pleasepleaseplease as you arch your back and present to him, lovely cunt glistening, men swearing all around you, and kyle knows what you want, what you need, reaching for the packet of lube in the pocket of his discarded jeans i've got you love, i got you. takes his time easing you back onto his cock, holding your hip with one hand to keep you from rocking back against him, fingers digging into the fat, exactly where they belong, his other hand coating your asshole with the lube, thumb gently working in, matching the slow rhythm of his thrusts, until his hips are flush to your ass and you've taken his entire thumb. you keen from the stimulation and attention, not lasting very long after that, the sound and feel of him spitting on your asshole and fucking it into you with his thumb, his harsh thrusts making you squirt again, the sight so stunning he can't help cumming deep inside you

the hours leading up to dinner are johnny's, he keeps you busy while the food is getting cooked, making a full meal out of you in the meantime. has you climbing into bed and sitting on his face, arms locked around your thighs so he can stay drowning in your juices, groaning and bucking his hips helplessly the moment he gets his mouth on you fuck, you're so perfect, unable to keep up the gentle kisses he starts with and opening his mouth to receive as much of you as he can, biting softly to make you gasp and soothing the spot with the warmth of his tongue. loves eating kyle's cum from you, even pushing a hand against your belly to ease out what he can't reach give it to me, darling, moaning long and low at the taste of you two. uses the bump of his nose to grind against your clit, his hands forcing you to rock back and forth against him and ride him for what he's worth, smearing your cunt all over his mouth and chin, tilting you just enough to get his tongue in your ass, enjoying how your body jerks when he hums against you. waits until he feels your thighs trembling around him to wrap his mouth around your clit, tongue flicking and chin crushed against your pussy lips, sharp eyes open to watch as you fall apart above him. won't let you move until he's licked you clean

bedtime belongs to price. he gets you when you're worn out from the day, body tired and malleable under him, soft sounds slipping from your lips as he thrusts steady and slow into your cunt, his arms caging you in, creating a world of just you two. buries his face into your neck to cover you in kisses, his beard leaving your skin tender to the touch and much more receptive to the feeling of his mouth on you, teeth nipping raised little marks along the way so perfect, sweetheart, always treating us so well. crushes you with his body, easing his weight onto you to make you feel just what you're welcoming into your arms, wanting to pressed together at every point of contact possible, slow hard thrusts rocking you both as he bullies his fact cock into your cunt. his chest hair brushes against your nipples, making your nails dig into those wide shoulders, flesh giving way as he growls with approval that's right, mark your territory, take what's yours, his hips jerking harder into you. leans back just enough to get your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard and biting, his hand making its way down your body to pinch your clit between two fingers and rub tight circles with his thumb, chuckling at the way your body arches into his touch, voice rough when he lifts his head best give me what's mine. worried for a minute that you might not be able to after such a full day, you freeze for a moment, but the burning warmth spreading through you from this slow rich orgasm soothes you, melting you back into his arms, cunt pulsing heavy around him, milking him through his last stuttering thrusts, his moans filling your ears

[38riku]

𝐁𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐓.𝟐 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎂 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

includes ace and deuce (i was gonna add more but i hate it when i have a lot of drafts) this is part two. you can read part one here

warnings // none.

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀

Hey, Prefect, guess what day it is. I'll have you know it isn't an unbirthday—it's MY birthday! Which means I'm the star of the day. Wonder what kinda fun things are in store.

to his surprise the two of you had a similar idea of fun. in hindsight it isn't that much of a shock. you guys are together 24/7! as a group, not one on one like now.

there's really nothing different about it.

sure, it's nice having your undivided attention without a pesky feline hogging it. plus he can actually hear your laugh when he jokes. was it always like that? a funky yet endearing sound? probably.

he's starting to notice things that he should've a long time ago and it makes him feel weird.

you're thoughtful, to the point it makes him wanna gag.

"this place better be good. it's my birthday after all so i'm head honcho!" he exclaimed, taking a seat on the opposite side of the booth you shared.

"cater recommended it. i asked him what place in town had the best burgers and viola." you were too busy looking over the menu to see his face, and thank the seven you were, otherwise, you would've notice him gaping like a fish.

"oh! and they serve cherry pie! you think it's as good as — what's wrong with your face?"

jaw on the floor.

he was positive he only mentioned his favorite foods once or twice, yet, you remembered it.

and for a second time, he brushed off the odd feeling bubbling in his chest.

the last time was hard to ignore. you sprung a gift on him last minute before entering campus. it was, ironically, a deck of cards.

"learn a new trick other than a basic sleight." you joked, nudging him slightly. "oh! and don't let riddle see these. all the aces are an ace of hearts." winking, you bid him one more 'happy birthday' before leaving.

they were just a deck of trick cards. it wasn't anything special.

so why was his heart racing?

𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐄

Do you have plans later? Actually, no, I should get straight to the point. We're celebrating my birthday at Heartslabyul today. Would you come to the party?

he did it! he asked you, personally.

it may not seem like a big deal but riddle threatened to off his head if he didn't stop pacing. apparently it's against the rules to have inner turmoil on your birthday.

ace asked him why he was nervous. 'it's the prefect, we hang out all the time!' and yes, why that might be true, deuce had never invited done something like that.

delinquents don't have many friends. let alone birthday parties.

"happy birthday deuce-y!" the nickname ricocheted off the walls as you successfully stole the spotlight. "sorry i'm late but riddle said i had to be properly dressed or whatever."

your rant went in one ear and out the other.

he's never seen you dressed up and wow, you cleaned up nicely.

was it shock? freezing up, cheeks flush, trouble speaking, sweaty palms — his symptoms all align with shock. that has to be it.

"thanks for still showing up." he spoke after regaining basic functions. it didn't last long because you hugged him. arms around torso, face to face, lasting more than three seconds hug.

friends hug all the time. he's shared a similar embrace with ace, albeit riddle forced them to, but this is was not like that.

"course I showed up! fancy clothes wasn't gonna stop me from celebrating one of my best friends." your smile reach ear to ear and he struggled to remember if it was always that bright and pretty.

"we both know you're more tenacious than that."

deuce now understands why he was nervous.

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[lovesickeros]

☆ glimpse of divinity

{☆} characters lyney, neuvillette [ separate ] {☆} notes cult au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 0.8k

× neuvillette

The first time he sees you strolling the streets of Fontaine with a glint of wonder in your eyes, he thinks he must have finally lost it. He has to rub his eyes and check a few dozen times before he's certain that you are, in fact, real and not some figment of his imagination conjured by a lack of sleep and overdose on caffeine.

..Though now that he gets a better look, it's not quite the same. Like a smudged painting, he thinks. Still, the uncanny resemblance to the visage of the Divine One has him lingering around the area just to stare a little longer, a deep, devoted sense of affection bristling beneath his skin.

And then you turn sharply on your heel, staring directly back at him, and he feels a sudden wave of embarrassment and something akin to shame.

Archons, he'd just made a fool of himself, hadn't he?

He quickly turns away, clearing his throat and hiding his embarrassment behind his hand. Though it does not seem to deter you, the soft tap of your shoes growing closer until you were peering up at him with wide eyes.

"..Hello." He offers awkwardly, a little too stiff and a little too formal, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest. He knows that your appearance, your vague similarities to the Divine One are mere coincidence, but it does not stop his heart from skipping a beat when you smile up at him. "I– apologize for being so uncouth and staring, it's just.."

His voice trails off into a breathy exhale, his hand twitching on his cane as if he wanted to reach out and touch you..but he restrains himself in time. He could not make a bigger fool of himself – he would never hear the end of it from lady Furina.

"You remind me of someone."

He decides, readjusting his hands on his cane as he bows his head for a moment is a show of genuineness, though it must look awkward with how stiff his body feels.

Yet he cannot help but want to get closer anyway, to hear the silky lilt of your voice grace his pointed ears. This is as close as he will ever get to the Divine..he is a weak man, he finds, as he offers a hand to you.

"I understand if this is a bit..forward, but would you mind joining me for tea?"

× lyney

He is a master magician – his entire work is built on keen misdirection and sleight of hand, but even he stumbles for a minute thinking he'd seen an illusion in your warm smile and striking features. Almost an exact copy of the Divine One, yet not quite..

Still, it's enough to pique his interest – enough, too, to give him the confidence to slip into your conversation with ease, all smiles and the slip of a card between his fingers.

"Hello, stranger – I don't think I've seen you in Fontaine before," He laughs, his hand reaching around to rest gently on your opposite shoulder, his voice a ghost of a whisper in your ear. "Say, could I interest you in a bit of magic?"

He perks up at the way you seem to light up like fireworks at his offer, a spark almost like recognition in your eyes he brushes aside – he's quite well known, after all.

"Good! Now, if I may just borrow your attention for a minute.." He grins, stepping around you and turning sharply to face you, his hand outstretched with a deck of cards in his hands, face down. "Let's start simple, shall we? I shan't overwhelm my audience – pick a card."

He holds the cards out again, his features twisted in something like awe, though he hides it well.

His heart flutters at the briefest of glances of your hand against his as you pluck a card from his hand, and he quickly retracts it, reshuffling the deck with a broad grin and a wink.

"Do your best to remember it! If you could return it to the deck.." The card is placed back in it's place amongst the rest, and the magic begins!

"Now then, let's see..hm," He hums for a long moment, the silence filled by the constant shuffle of cards until he suddenly plucks one from the deck, flipping it around for you to see. "Is this your card?"

He frowns when you shake your head, almost pouting, before he lights up again and steps forward.

"Ah! How foolish of me, I missed it..it's riiight here, see." He winks, reaching behind your ear..and pulls free a card from seemingly thin air. He flips it around for you to see again, and when you tell him it is, in fact, your card, he flips it around again.

And before you can see it, he's holding a rainbow rose between his fingers, his hand outstretched as he bows.

His eyes glint with a sort of wonder as he looks at your features, his smile widening a fraction.

"Well, dear stranger? Did you enjoy the show?"

[boom33713]

im abt to pass the fuck out and this is all that is running through my mind right now

[nuclearbattery]

"And I trynot in-ta-rupt anymore. Tells me something new now! firsttime!”

(vv w/out text vv)

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part eight: in which you're forcibly removed from your comfort zone by none other than the resident ginger, and you meet a certain someone's alter ego(s)

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: surprise surprise, the burn is still slow!! mentions of blood, gn reader with a dosage of snark that probably exceeds the recommended value

series masterlist

author's notes: *daddy's home plays faintly in the background, slowly but surely increasing in volume as i approach you on a hoverboard with a comically large witch's hat on my head and a ridiculous pair of sunglasses on*

word count: 4725

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

It was, by all accounts, supposed to have been a completely normal lab session. You were planning the reaction route you’d take to test the enzyme you’d synthesised and the various ways to ensure its effectivity other than the rate of the reaction and the yield as you waltzed through the door (the inscriptions were glowing a pretty purple-pink hue reminiscent of sakura blooms that day). The redox apparatus from two days prior was sitting exactly where you’d left it, nothing out of the ordinary there. The abnormality came in the form of a segment currently in the process of detaching the round-bottomed flask where your product had accumulated from the condenser; the first thought to register was the sheer audacity for anyone to even contemplate touching your experiments, while the second, this is my chance to study the constitution of these ‘segments’ up close, wasn’t far behind. Glancing up sharply, your flask still clutched in his un-gloved hand, (a voice in your head shrilly protested his lack of adherence to safety procedures) the segment began moving away, no doubt to disappear to wherever him and the rest usually stayed. With more agility than you thought you possessed, you rounded the workbench and grabbed him by his sleeve.

“You. What are you doing with my condensate?” You demanded, grabbing the flask from between his fingers and setting it down on a stand. Now that the imminent danger of your work going to waste was neutralised, you took the time to analyse this segment of your supervisor’s while you had him cornered. This version of Dottore was at least five years younger than the one you were familiar with, probably from his late Akademiya years. And he wore no mask, leaving two brilliant scarlet eyes on full display, rimmed with pale blue lashes and dark shadows beneath them. The segment coughed and fidgeted, trying to find a way to escape your clutches.

“Hold still,” you ordered, reaching up to touch his face. You were startled by the smoothness of the skin, having expected something cold and metallic. How in Teyvat did he pull this off? You tilted the segment’s face this way and that, looking for hidden wiring or steel plating or anything else that would belie machinery, yet you found nothing. You gave his cheeks an experimental squeeze, and were further surprised when your fingers dug into what seemed to be soft skin, then dropped your hands, stumped.

“Huh. You look very human.”

“Prime did tell me that was the intention,” the segment agreed, flushed in the face and still trying to discreetly push past you.

Even his voice didn’t sound robotic in the slightest, riddled with natural dips of tone and perfect inflection for the context. Your eyes took in every detail, every movement, still failing to spot anything that would’ve given him away as a machine.

“Incredible. Did he give you a name?”

“No. Prime wouldn’t waste a second thinking about something so inconsequential.”

If you weren’t mistaken, the segment sounded almost bitter, staring blankly down at the wall with those striking eyes. You felt a twinge of pity; being a clone for Dottore was probably a thankless task. “Would you like one?” You offered, not unkindly. “If your system permits that sort of input, of course.”

“I- I have no use for such things.” It was strange to think that your Doctor, impenetrable and unmoving as he was, had been capable of stuttering to the point where he himself recalled and implemented the trait.

“How about Theta? I’ll need to distinguish between you lot somehow.”

 “It’s of no difference to me,” the segment- Theta- mumbled, before shooting you one last look, then disappearing in the split second it took to turn your head in his direction. You wondered where he’d gone, and why he was so wary of you.

Oddly enough, you didn’t see the Doctor for the entire morning and well into the afternoon. It was far from ordinary for him not to be in the lab the moment you arrived, (you suspected he slept there, if he even slept at all) muttering under his breath as he worked and occasionally ordering you to hand him the wrench or scalpel or graduated pipette in a tone so entitled it tempted you to bash him in the head with the very equipment you handed him. Still, you couldn’t deny his usefulness. Having two pairs of hands was always easier than one, especially when the other pair was as experienced as they came; you could bounce any question off him and receive a convincing answer, even if he could never resist throwing in a mocking remark about ‘how shameful it must feel to have such a rudimentary fact slip your mind.’

However, you had much better uses of your time than fretting over the location of your boss, such as extracting a sample of noradrenaline from the brain of a body so fresh you half expected the eyes to open in the midst of your operation. Even after such a time-consuming procedure, the Doctor had yet to make an appearance. You wrote it off, assuming he wouldn’t be present that day, and ate all the fruit tarts you’d brought while boring holes into your notebook with your eyes and trying to determine what exactly had gone so wrong amidst your calculations that the percentage error was at an unforgivable fifty seven percent.

“One hundred cubic centimetres of sulphuric acid sounds unreasonable,” a voice from over your shoulder remarked. You blinked, refocusing on the sheet of paper. A whispered curse slipped past your lips as you registered where you’d went wrong; the decimal point of the volume of acid was indeed one too many zeroes to the right. You twisted to see who’d given you the hint.

It would’ve been incredibly easy to mistaken this segment for Dottore himself,  but he lacked the jagged scar spanning from above the mask to his chin and cutting right through the corner of his lip. This segment’s face also wasn’t as harrowed, unlike Dottore’s hollowed cheeks and deathly pale complexion. You probably would’ve missed the difference yourself, if you weren’t so accustomed to the tiny details of the Doctor’s countenance. The segment grinned lazily.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

Oh, for the love of-

You shoved him away with a roll of your eyes. Not quite as Dottore-like as his appearance suggested, then.

“You segments are rather friendly today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Since Prime isn’t here to hassle us about disturbing you, we thought we might as well make use of the main lab.”

A frown formed between your brows as you mulled over his response, absent-mindedly scratching out the mistakes in your calculations.

 “Main lab? There’s others? And why would the Doctor forbid you from utilising it on my account?”

The segment leaned over, resting his elbow on the workbench and his cheek in his hand as he watched you. “What do you mean why”- a delighted expression crossed his face, and his resounding cackle made you look up apprehensively from your notes. “Oh, what a scream. You mean you don’t know?”

The notion of ‘not knowing’ made the scholar in you bristle. “Don’t know what?” You snapped, crossing your arms and turning to subject him to the full force of your glare.

“You’ll find out soon enough, lovey,” he replied with another laugh. You scowled.

Patronising piece of-

“I heard you even gave one of us a name,” he said, interrupting your furious train of thought. “I didn’t think you were so besotted.”

You clicked your tongue dismissively, waving him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s counterproductive not to know the names of one’s assistants.”

It was the segment’s turn to bluster. “I am no one’s assistant!”

“Mhm. Be a dear, Gamma, and pass me the dichloromethane so I can make some aspirin for the inevitable headache you lot are going to give me.”

Muttering and grumbling and secretly preening over his namesake being a highly dangerous electromagnetic wave, he slid you the bottle and even a measuring cylinder and pipette to boot. You rewarded his extra efforts with a small smile, and Gamma suddenly understood every nonsensical thought that Prime had experienced since you arrived in Snezhnaya.

Throughout the day, more and more of the segments appeared from Archons-know-where and took to hovering around you while you go about your business, or chattering and doing a fine job of distracting you from whatever you were reading, or even rushing to assist you. You didn’t complain; it was fascinating seeing these different facets of the Doctor. Most of the older segments are rather similar to him, although Gamma had a rather prominent flirtatious streak, while another you’d named Omega was more snappish and impulsive. The younger ones were unfailingly comical; Theta was so easily flustered and a little more apprehensive about explosive compounds than the rest, and Pi, whose name referenced the pastry that was such a direct contradiction to his character, was rude, arrogant and reckless.

(“Since you’re such a bitter pill to swallow, I’ll call you Pi.” You grinned at your own joke. “No other aspect of you is remotely close to sweet, after all.”

Pi scowled animatedly, shattering the beaker in his hands from how hard he’d gripped it. “I won’t answer to a name given by a simpleton.”)

“Pi, clean the mess you made in the fume cupboard! Some of us have organic lungs that can’t handle toxic fumes, you know!”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” he snapped back, then slunk off to do as you’d told him when you weren’t looking.

The youngest of the segments, who barely reached your waist and had yet to even speak in your presence, had taken to trotting after you wherever in the lab you went, weaving between your legs and staring up at you with wide eyes half-hidden by a mop of messy blue hair. You’d come immensely close to tripping more than once, but you couldn’t bring yourself to scold him at all, instead nudging him out of the way like a cat sitting in the middle of the hallway. The segments were helpful enough, even if you’d been talked back at more times that day than your entire career as a lab technician in the Akademiya supervising young recruits, and by the time you were contemplating the prospect of heading to the dining hall for a bite to eat everything was in order; reagents alphabetically stored in their cabinets, counters wiped and glassware washed, even the enormous, curved windows were polished to a high shine. You spared them an approving look as you walked past, arms laden with bottles of (carefully separated) acidic and basic waste, admiring the aerial view of the snowy forest below, draped over the mountainside like a shaken-out blanket. The young segment was still tailing you, a lollipop you’d fished out from one of your pockets in his mouth; his utter disregard for where he was stepping had put you on your last nerve, but every time you sat him down in a safe corner he’d stare dolefully up at you before reappearing in your peripheral vision a few moments later. It was a wonder you hadn’t lost your temper, really.

“Epsilon, I can see your reflection in the window,” you pointed out in an unimpressed tone to the segment who’d been on the verge of grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to startle you. He huffed and grumbled, shaking the hair out of his eyes and cheekily tipping the neck of one of the bottles you were carrying as though to let the acid milkshake within, so to speak, spill, then pranced away from your scathing glare with a merry tune on his lips. You didn’t know how the segments seemed so familiar with you, as though they’d known you all their lives; Pi somehow knew how much value you placed on your leather gloves, as he’d threatened to use them for chromium extraction when you didn’t let him take one of your fungi petri dishes, Gamma had off-handedly mentioned how it was a shame your ear piercings had closed up years ago because you couldn’t match with their fluorescent blue test tube earrings, and Theta wordlessly handed you a pile of the expensive cider wood parchment you preferred to use and hurried away before you could say anything. It was baffling, to say the least, but you appreciated the extra help. It meant you could skip off to have a rather overdue lunch without fretting over something or other you might have mistakenly left over a Bunsen burner, even if it was strange leaving the lab without the Doctor’s voice criticising your lack of commitment to your education as the door swung shut behind you.

You weren’t even surprised to find Childe outside, leaning against the doorframe and tossing a dagger through the air, letting it flip over itself before catching it once more. When you opened the door, he stumbled into you and the dagger slipped from his hands as he nearly knocked you backward; but in a rare moment of swift reflexes you jumped to the side to snatch it from mid-air before it could stab either of you in the leg, only for Childe to latch onto your cloak as he fell and subsequently landing you on top of him. For a long, drawn-out moment, you just stared at each other; one of your hands pressed to the floor near his head while the other gripped the knife a safe distance above you. You quickly noted two things. One: Childe was bony and being draped over him was overall an uncomfortable experience; the apex of each of his ribs dug sharply into your chest, and two: his eyes were a peculiar, beautiful shade, less like the sea and more like heavy velvet thrown over something that glowed bright and blue, dimmed by the weight of the fabric.

Childe was finding it difficult to process anything other than your closeness. Yes, you were even more breath-taking up close and yes he would’ve given anything to place his hands on your waist and pull you closer still, but he was even more enamoured by the dips and points of your knuckles where your hand gripped the dagger, the creases in your leather gloves around each finger and the oddly calculating look in your eyes as you appraised him. You could stab him, he realised with a rush, staring up at you. You could drive the blade down and lodge it between his ribs and he probably wouldn’t be able to react fast enough because it was you, and his blood would stain your cloak and blouse and a coppery taste would fill your mouth. He wondered if Signora was right, and whether you really would look better in red.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell, and Childe suddenly noticed all the other tiny little things he probably wouldn’t get close enough to see again. The notion that such things would remain secret almost made him panic, and it took considerable effort not to clutch at you as you rose to your feet and dusted yourself off. You extended your hand to him, and he allowed himself a split second of self-indulgence, the liberty of seeing your outstretched hand reaching towards his collapsed body as something more than it was; he let himself believe that you, so bright and resplendent in your every trait you might as well have been the moon, were offering him, a creature writhing in the darkness, salvation or even just a moment’s respite.

You hauled him up from the floor with a grunt of effort (he couldn’t possibly be as bony as he felt. All that weight had to come from somewhere), then took off your glasses and held them to one of the wavering white lamps, handing him the dagger.

“Hello, Eleven.” You frowned at the new scratches on the lenses and started rubbing them with the hem of your blouse, even if you knew it was a fruitless endeavour. “How long were you waiting out here?”

“Long enough,” he all but whined in response, slinging an arm around your shoulder and ruffling your hair. Your only protest was a half-hearted grumble as you shoved your glasses back on, and his chest warmed with the thought that you no longer instinctively rebuked his touch. “C’mon, Trixy. I didn’t think you were the type to ghost someone after a date.”

“What are you talking ab- oh, for heaven’s sake,” you said exasperatedly, shooting him a look as he walked towards the stairs with you in tow. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

He beamed so widely you nearly stumbled on the steps, blinded by the intensity of his glee.

“So you’re not denying it was a date?”

You sighed out an incredibly inappropriate curse, drowned out by Childe’s hearty laughter.

“You are an incorrigible man.”

“Well you went on a date with this incorrigible man,” he countered cheerfully and not without a healthy dose of smugness. That earned him a withering look, and you detangled yourself from his side as you walked down the corridor.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” you said with a shrug, laughing slightly when he let out an indignant splutter. Childe bristled, trailing after you with an exaggerated pout.

“You should apologise for hurting my feelings, Trixy.” “If I were to apologise every time I bruised your fragile ego I’d never have time to say anything else,” you teased, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. “Now come on, they serve an exquisite pumpkin soup on Wednesdays.”

You wondered at what point you’d become so friendly with the Harbinger, to feel relaxed enough to so casually poke fun at him. Maybe your self-preservation instincts were decaying. Maybe it was worth it.

“I don’t want to see that… Arlie again,” Childe protested. You looked at him sidelong.

“Oh?” You asked, feigning surprise. “Why not?”

Because she outranks me and I don’t like having to share your attention, he thought. “She beat me in a fight once,” he admitted grudgingly. It wasn’t even a lie; that bitter defeat was indeed part of the reason he felt less than ecstatic around her, though the atrocities she’d carried out to become the fourth Harbinger were impactful too.

 “Infighting between members of the same organisation should not be the norm,” you stated, shaking your head. “You Fatui are ridiculous.”

Childe laughed, tugging you closer by your linked arms to elbow you in the ribs. “You’re one of us ridiculous Fatui now, remember?”

“I am not!” You protested, affronted, before sighing at the self-satisfied expression on his face and changing the subject. “Tsk. So you refuse to speak to her just because you lost to her once? That’s immature, even for you.”

“No, no, defeat is all part of the battle. I don’t like that she refused a rematch.”

You hummed thoughtfully, chewing over his response.

“So you believe you’d win this time?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug, steering you past the dining hall’s entrance. “It doesn’t matter though, does it?” He continued, as though the idea of combat for the sake of combat was the most normal thing he could possibly conjure. “Sparring with a strong opponent is the real goal. Say, Trixy. Are you any good in a fight?”

You snorted. “I’m a scholar, Eleven, not a warrior. And even if I was, I wouldn’t spar with you.”

His face took on an almost comically wounded expression. “What? Why not?”

“Because I know when I’m outmatched,” you replied dryly, letting him drag you along. A dejected expression you felt compelled to ease fell over his face. “Although I do have passable aim with a bow and arrow,” you reluctantly offered, and the change in his demeanour to unadulterated ecstasy was laughable.

“Really?! You’ve got to show me.”

“What? No, absolutely not.” Your reply was swift and decisive, but Childe was nothing if not meddlesome and persistent.

“No, no, no, you’re not getting out of this,” he jubilantly exclaimed, tightening his hold on your arm as if to prevent you from running off. “We’re going to one of the training grounds right now, and you’re going to do some target practice.”

“I’ll use your bloody head as a target if you don’t drop it, Eleven,” you threatened.

“Great idea, let’s try that too!”

Even as you lamented his utter insanity, Childe steered you to the west wing of the palace where you’d never been before. Upon looking around, you concluded that all forms of combat training happened there; the sound of crashing steel and muffled gunshots, interspersed with the occasional crackling, sloshing or rumbling from what was probably from Vision holders practicing how to utilise their elements in battle. The silver in the walls was twisted into different patterns from what you’d become familiar with, abstract depictions of battles long-past and a whole wall of solemn, important-looking text gleamed almost menacingly, commanding the attention of any who walked past it. From your passable fluency in the Snezhnayan tongue, you deciphered it to be an oath of sorts where the reader swore to carry out a myriad of jovial things such as turning the snowy landscape into a ruby’s facet with the enemies innards or their own, and wreaking havoc within the heavens until it rained scarlet. All in the name of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

Wow. Bloodthirsty much?

You eyed the oath distastefully, missing how reverently Childe mouthed it as he led you into an empty archery range. Rows of targets stood on the other side, pockmarked and their paint scratched, with a few of them sporting an unfortunate red-brown stain. You were grateful that there was no one there, at least; if you were a little rustier than you remembered then there was no one to witness your mediocrity other than Childe, who was presently looking through the extensive selection of bows and chattering about the various advantages and disadvantages of different models. You riffled through one of the many quivers of arrows scattered haphazardly about, admiring the high-quality steel of the heads. Some of them even had meticulous patterns along their shafts, no doubt hand-painted, and you appreciatively traced a particularly striking golden dragon with tiny, methodical scales spanning the entirety of the arrow, ending at the head where the dragons jaws were open in a roar.

“Well, Trixy? What bow are you going to use?”

You glanced up from the quiver, twirling the dragon arrow between your fingers, eyes skipping over the countless bows laid across the stands. You noted the ones tossed carelessly across them with a disapproving glance, and eventually picked the one that was the most similar to what you remembered using, long-limbed with a straighter taper and made from wood you recognised as Yumemiru from the distinctive diamond-shaped whorls.

“Why that one?” Childe asked, mesmerised by the sight of you in his element with a weapon at your fingertips. What were you thinking about when your hands reached for that particular bow? Did you have any specifications, preferences in regards to size or even the type of wood it was made from? Were your eyes drawn by the faded blue leather wrapped around the handle? Would you prove to be better, smarter, quicker than he was? The thought sent his heart racing and his brain spiralling with the prospect of having you as a competitor, an opponent.

“Does it matter?” You replied with a shrug, testing its weight in your hands. “I’m no expert when it comes to the craftsmanship of weapons. The bow I learned to shoot was probably older than me with a string practically on its last life.” You frowned slightly, looking up at him. “Why do you ask? Is there some sort of technique or guideline I should follow?”

“No, no, don’t worry about doing something wrong,” he reassured, his back to you as he assembled a quiver of arrows. You lowered the bow to stare at him, flabbergasted that he’d so quickly and accurately read the involuntary hesitation in your answer.

“Usually we have beginners start with a compound bow, but you probably have your own inclination by now,” Childe continued, oblivious to your astonishment. “What you’ve got there is a longbow,” he added, tossing you an archery glove. “They’re generally more difficult to master and harder to use.”

You pulled off your glove after making sure his back was still turned before replacing it with the one he gave you, and then picked up the bow again with new interest.

“I see. And yours?” You asked, nodding towards the one he had picked, white wood gracefully curved and narrowed at the tips.

“This one’s a recurve bow. They’re better at close range and generally need more strength to draw.”

Childe couldn’t help but be entranced by your contemplative expression, all furrowed brows and a distant gaze as you took in the new information. He had to agree that you really were a scholar before all else; the pensive look you so often sported might as well have been made to be worn by your features. In your eyes, even an archery range became an experiment, a mystery to untangle. You sighed and turned to face the targets, nocking the arrow and drawing the bowstring back to touch your chin. Childe watched as you adjusted your aim, mentally evaluating your form, then let the arrow fly. He let out a low whistle of appreciation when it hit the centre with a satisfying thunk.

“Clearly your aim is more than just passable,” he remarked with an excited glint in his eye that you didn’t quite like.

“Accuracy is all I have,” you replied with a shrug, lowering the bow and gently pressing your fingers into the indent the bowstring left in your chin, perfectly aligned with the barely-visible scar there. You’d forgotten how tender the skin could get. “I doubt I can still hit a moving target, for one.”

“But you can get the bullseye every time?”

“Not every time,” you corrected, making your way to the target to pull the bow out of the wood. The painted dragon really was a masterpiece, and you took a moment to admire it before heading back to the archers’ stand. Childe grinned and followed after you, bow temporarily forgotten.

“So most times then?” He pressed, trailing closely behind you.

“Where are you going with this, Eleven?”

 “I still think we should spar,” he replied brightly, so close he was practically breathing down your neck. “We’ll make it so that if you manage to shoot me even once, I go down, or we could”-

You twisted around to poke his chest with the fletching of the arrow, cutting him off. “No.”

“Please?” He implored, rounding on you whatever direction you turned to avoid him. “Please, please, please?”

“No!” You repeat, louder and with the full force of your irritation. “I’m not dying before I get this damned certificate!”

There was a beat of silence as he stared at you, slightly aghast. “You think I’d kill you?”

“…I don’t think you’d do so on purpose, no,” you conceded, taking out your pocket watch. “But your strength exceeds mine to the point where fearing for my life in a duel wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

“It is unreasonable to assume I’d ever hurt you,” Childe groused, continuing to block your path every time you tried to move past him. “Stop trying to get away,” he added, bending over to pinch your cheek. You stared at him, utterly at a loss for words, then quickly smacked his hand away with an irate grumble.

“I need to get away, I still have lab work to do.”

Childe flapped his hand as if physically shooing away the idea. “You work too hard, Trixy. Take a break.”

“And what do you think this little exercise was?”

“A chance to impress me with your archery skills, of course,” he replied without missing a beat, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. You rolled your eyes with a quiet huff of laughter, pushing past him, and he dutifully followed after you.

“You’re not very difficult to impress, are you?” You teased back.

Only when it comes to you, he thought wistfully.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist:

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45

if i missed you somehow please message me directly, bold means i’m having trouble tagging you! to be added or removed please comment on the masterlist post of this series <3

[fuzybby]

My Raven

Astarion x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Nothing wrong with some good ol' love making with Astarion, now is there?

CW: LOVEY LOVE LOVE ITS SO LOVEY IT'S GROSS, cumming inside, reader has a hole and it's being used but not specified which hole.

And while the night seemed quiet and slow, the leaves on the nearby trees swaying in the short wind, the cries from two lovers demanded the moon's and stars' attention. All eyes were on them as the love they shared was on display.

You and Astarion, Astarion and you. Two perfect lovers, fitting together like a puzzle piece, sitting atop his waist, moving your hips in time with his pleas. He gripped your hips like a vice, his fingernails making half-moon crescents develop into your skin.

You call his name, he calls yours. How quaint.

The dark light from the full moon shines on your back, and the scene unfolding in Astarion’s eyes is like watching a god conquer a city, or create life in a meadow.

You huff, moan, and whine as his cock hits the deepest parts of you. It’s like he wants to bury himself in your guts and never leave.

And maybe, that’s exactly what Astarion wants. He wants to own you, but not in a possessive way like he’s so used to thinking. He wants to own your heart and your body only a sweet lover would want.

For the first time in a long time, he’s not climbing out of his mind to have sex. He’s staying in the moment, committing your scent to memory, how your hands feel as they skim his nipples and down to his stomach. He commits the memory of you bouncing on his cock like such a sweet little thing. His thoughts race as he imagines you in other positions he could put you in. Bending you over a bed in a small home, presumably yours, on your back where he can touch and bite wherever he wants, holding you close in a chair as you stuff yourself full of him.

Your body races, and tingles. You can feel your toes curling as Astarion continues to hit that sweet spot inside of you. You can feel everything around you. The sweat from your skin falls from the tip of your nose onto Astarions stomach, and the short wind blows your hair into your face, causing you to have to pull it out of your vision with a giggle.

You’re aware of the way Astarion is looking at you. His pupils are wide and his teeth are clenched, he looks in pain. You go to ask him what’s wrong before he quickly shifts positions. He grips your waist and flips you onto your back in the cold dirt, settling in between your thighs and sinking into you once more. Being filled again and again relentlessly.

Your hand fumbles around his body, looking for his own. He leans down over your own beautiful body to grab your hand. Pushing it into the dirt as his eyes lock onto yours. Never has the color red looked so mesmerizing to you as it does now.

He calls your name again, softer. Like a real lover would do when they ask for a favor.

You can tell Astarion is close by the way his mouth hangs open and no noises come from him, and you feel as if you are going to cum too. Your whole body is alight, everywhere he touches prickles against your skin.

You hold one another close as you both climax. Screaming for one another into the air above, praying that your companions haven’t heard your extravagant cries for one another.

Astarion looks exhausted above you, and you pull him closer to your chest to lie on.

“Lay with me for a bit, please,” You whisper.

“Of course, my raven.” He murmured.

And in that moment, the world had stopped. There were no mind flayers, and no bloody messes with strangers, It was you and Astarion, Astarion and you. Forever as one.

[togament]

ok ok ok so i feel like suo would be the type to tease you and make you cum multiple times without even penetrating you??? he'll have you posed in the most embarrassing positions possible and that just goes on for weeks. you've yet to see what he looks like underneath. he wants to see how far he can get you to beg. it's like youre some kind of toy at suo's mercy.

one day, he just has you on the bed-- face down, ass up, hands tied behind your back. he's eyeing down your panting body after your third orgasm. he smacks your ass. "you're so naughty, sweetheart" he says as he spreads your ass cheeks, watching both your folds and tight hole pulsing, clenching around nothing. "suo.... you're soooo mean..." you whine from the sheets.

this man plays so coy!! i just KNOW hes freaky in sheets!!! ngaanahahdnnshs

ANON. Anon, anon, anon.

Your mind’s so beautiful oh my god I see the vision. He’d be such a little shit when it comes to sex too—so willing to forego his own pleasure with his extremely pretty, fat cock painfully straining against his dress pants, just to see you squirm and beg. “‘Nother one, dove. F’me.” He purrs. Tortures himself that way too. Edging until he’s certain you’re absolutely spent. (With your express consent, of course!!)

And when he finally fucks you? It feels like you’re with a different man. Gone is the gentle Suo, gone is the polite and teasing Suo. You notice he’s not wearing his eyepatch when he’s got your ankles dangling by your ears, folded so obediently in a mating press, growling as he fucks himself into you with your bed creaking in protest.

You can’t walk straight for a few days, mind you. But that’s okay. Your Suo’s at your beck and call whenever you need him.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Heyo! ( not me having to look up eastern time cause I'm not in that ) (((if I sent this at the wrong time just ignore I'm so sorry)))

Okie (also sorry if I don't format this completely correctly) May I request Sebek with the prompt rainy night? (Romantic please, and for emojis maybe 🍁✨️, and if possible fluff) and for backup characters ummm Vil with prompt 1 and Epel with prompt 7.

Gosh I hope I did that right. Anyways thank you Dove! I hope that you have a great rest of your day. Also, make sure to be taking breaks and time for yourself! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 Thank you! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Rainy Night; Sebek Zigvolt

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established relationship

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; No need to worry, everything looks great, Faye! I completely forgot about the emojis, but I tried my best to fit them in. Enjoy some Becky content! WOE, CROCODILE BE UPON THEE!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

So much for a perfect seaside getaway, but Sebek could not account for a freak storm, so the two of you were stuck inside for the night, and reservations at the restaurant were cancelled due to the downpour. So, he was in a bit of a sour mood, hanging above him much like the dark storm clouds in the sky. Yet you weren’t in such a dire mood, and that helped take his mind off of things… somewhat.

“Aren’t you upset that our reservation was cancelled,” he huffed, turning his glare to the storm outside which seemed to mock him, slapping large leaves against the glass, which was like the storm slapping him in the face. “You were looking forward to it more than me.”

You looked over your shoulder, taking in the rare sight of Sebek in comfy clothes. To be fair the only reason he was wearing the fluffy pyjama pants and a white tank top was because you had gifted them to him. Even though it was something as simple as sleep clothes, Sebek treasured them.

“We can always go another night, sweetie,” you hummed, “besides, I would rather eat your cooking any night.” 

Sebek grumbled but didn’t argue with you, knowing full well that you would just shower him with sweet yet incredibly embarrassing praise for what he deemed as mediocre cooking at best. To be fair, you did call him your ‘pookie-bear’ in front of Malleus and Lilia — yeah, he nearly died that day, and Silver brings it up every now and then. 

“Besides,” you blew off the dust from a book, “I would rather read with you!” 

So that’s what you were searching for? A book? Sebek raised an eyebrow. You would rather read a book with him? And Sebek felt his face heating up. The two of you had been together for quite some time now, but Sebek always went warm when you did something simple, small, yet sweet. Those would leave him more pink and more warm than any grand gesture, because they weren’t planned. They were just something you naturally did, and that flustered him like nothing else.

Sebek cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “And what has caught your attention, love?” Even with his terms of endearment, he was formal, respectful.

You waddled over, and showed him the cover. “Crocodile Knight!” 

“A children’s picture book?” Sebek hadn’t seen that book since he was a kid, and it did bring back some fond memories for him, but he still wondered why you looked so excited.

“Mhm!” You plopped next to Sebek on the couch, worming yourself next to his side until you were practically trying to merge with him. “Plus you’re my knight, and a crocodile, seems fitting! So, can you read it to me? Pretty pleaseeeeeee? My big, strong, scaly, knight?”

Sebek felt himself grow warm in the face and knew his ears must have been glowing from your giggling. He knew that he should have saved showing you the itty bitty scales that he had until later, but you had insisted on seeing them. “I-I guess I can read you a bit,” he surrendered, knowing that you would win this one.

He started reading, his voice steady and strong, only wavering when he felt you shift beside him. But he stopped reading when he felt your head rest against his shoulder. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he made direct eye contact with you; you were looking at him and not the book.

“I thought you wanted me to read this to you,” Sebek restrained himself from letting his loud nature win, making his voice crack a bit. “But you’re looking at me instead of the book?!”

You sighed, and placed a kiss to his jaw, which made him get quiet real fast. “Because you’re my crocodile knight, my beautiful crocodile knight,” you murmured.

Sebek closed the book, putting a bookmark in place so the two of you could revisit it at a later time. There was no chance that he could focus on reading when you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes.

So, instead, the two of you got into a comfortable cuddling position, got cozy under some blankets, and fell asleep in each other’s arms with the sound of rain and thunder aiding you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~

Tags; @xxoomiii @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @ryker-writes [come get ur mans]

[i-like-omori]

kel used charm i love kel sm bro- also i havent done full render in a bit

[transmascaraa]

Okay hear me out on this one. Imagine gaming with like a really shy s/o? Like gaming always does the talking and everything and they are just standing behind him AHH. I think it would be cute. If you can write please do<3 if you don't want to feel free to ignore it💜🫶🏻

Have a lovely day🫶🏻🫶🏻

bf!gaming headcannons!

don't worry, he'll take care of everything...

bf!gaming x shy!gn!reader

author's note: 10/10, love the request. HOW DO YOU GUYS GET SUCH GOOD IDEAS??? I LITERALLY HAVE NONE😭 anyways i'm glad that people actually like my work<3 btw i just looked at my followers and i'm at 94 help i'm freaking out is this a dream idk anymore i think i'm dreaming help

"don't worry, my dear. i'll take care of everything...."

-you're shy.

-like REALLY shy.

-but you had gaming, your bf.

-he did all the talking for you, not wanting you to worry a tiny bit.

-he wasn't the most extroverted extrovert, but he was extroverted enough to talk for the both of you.

-so, let's say, as for example, you have yo introduce yourselves.

-you'd be too shy, but he'd do it for you.

-"i'm gaming, and this is my dearest, [name]. nice to meet you." while you nodded, giving a look of approval to gaming.

-it was easy for him, wasn't it?

-not scared, not ashamed, just himself.

-you were the complete opposite...

-but it didn't matter anymore ever since you met him.

-well, he made you forget about it.

-he never wanted you to be sad.

-he never wanted you to worry.

-so he got rid of at least 5 worries of yours by helping you socialize.

-at some restaurants, he ordered for you.

-"i'll have sesame chicken, and they'll have [insert food here]." no need for you to do anything, but you just nodded.

-it felt unreal, really.

-he was there for you.

-he kept you safe.

-he helped you throughout life itself.

-and being shy was a little bit of a problem for you.

-well, it used to be.

-now he's there to fill that gap.

-you're glad to have him, aren't you?

~~~~~

atp idc if they're short i'm crying this is so cute to me

i hope this is about what you wanted @mariaace <3

thanks for the request!

[barghest-land]

i tried to convince the sun that i was doomed, that there was nothing more that could be fixed, but it still stayed with me. and then, when my time came, all i could feel was its warm and tender kiss on my cheek

[tripleglitchwriting]

I saw that the request is open, so I thought. How about a first contact au with rotb optimus? I've always liked that old bot haha

Hell yeah I rewatched the movie for this. Sorry it took longer for me to actually write this than I anticipated 😅

Some Things Are More Important

CW: Unintentional fearplay, calling a person “it” (also unintentionally)

Ah, the junkyard. A beautiful array of scrap metal glinting under the sun day after day, perfect for welding and crafting. For the longest time the atmosphere of the place put you off, but your drive to create overtook your fear and replaced it with passion.

The day your life changed was no different than any other. You took your time packing your things, preparing to scavenge once again, though the evening sun was already threatening to advance further down the sky. You didn’t need much, it wasn’t a far trip and certainly not a difficult one. You left in good time, pushing down the uneasy feeling you got when you stepped outside the house.

There was a specific piece of metal you were looking for, one you saw a couple days ago but wouldn’t fit in your cart due to how full it had been. It was the perfect size and shape for what you needed, of course you had to leave behind the one thing you needed now, though it couldn’t hurt to pick up some other materials while you were at it. Masterfully navigating your way through the junk was a special talent of yours, one you were quite proud of, so it struck you as odd when a random truck showed up in the middle of the yard.

It was red and blue, one of those trucks that carried huge cargo boxes and were scary to drive next to. It was pretty beat up, though you can’t imagine why someone would leave it here of all places rather than a used car lot or something. Well, you thought, it wasn’t your problem, so you didn’t treat it as such. You simply continued your search. There were so many great pieces of metal, you ended up staying there until dusk, yet you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for.

Now that you think about it, it must’ve been where that truck was now. Maybe somebody moved it, or worse, took it. It would be a huge bummer to lose such a perfect piece to your puzzle, so you figured staying out to look near the truck wouldn’t hurt anybody.

After around ten minutes of picking through trash, you heard a sound. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was unnerving to say the least. It sounded like metal scraping together so you brushed it off as the wind blowing on some light metal or something. Five minutes later it happened again, this time louder. Not long after it happened again, and by now you were getting pretty freaked out.

Taking metal from the scrapyard wasn’t particularly illegal, after all you’d learned how to do it properly from your law-abiding friends, however it came with a certain set of risks. Getting cut by rusty metal, stepping on a stray nail, or even getting robbed by someone who preys on scrap pickers like yourself. You didn’t want to know what the sound was and you weren’t about to find out, perfect piece be dammed. It was time to cut your losses.

You didn’t take two steps before it happened.

A strange, mechanical, alien sound rattled from behind you. You whipped your head around despite your survival instincts telling you to run immediately. Before your very eyes the red and blue truck started pulling itself part, little pieces forming a much, much larger figure. It looked nearly human really, if not for being impossibly large and also a robot truck.

A gobsmacked look etched itself on your face, not that you noticed it. You were a little preoccupied at the time, with the giant robot reaching a giant robot hand at you. Just then you realized there was a giant robot hand reaching at you, and you screamed louder than any horror movie victim ever could. The hand froze for a second, taken aback by your sudden noise, but when you remained frozen it continued its pursuit.

It was already too late by the time your body agreed to let you move. Incomprehensibly large fingers wrapped around your comparatively small form, gripping you tight enough to stop any struggles you tried to make. The thing held you up to its face, bright blue eyes shining like headlights in your vision. There were plenty of words that came from your mouth at the time, none of which were at any point comprehendible. To your utter shock, the robot seemed to notice this.

“Perhaps I have downloaded the wrong language pack… or I have found the wrong species…” It said to itself in a distinctly human voice.

“Wh- what the- what are- what are you?” Hooray! You got a sentence out. Your heart was not as excited though, as it felt more like it was going to pound out of your chest.

“So you can speak.” The voice boomed, knocking any hope you had of replying out of your throat.

“What?? What???” You rasped out, two words was better than none, you supposed.

“Did I… break you?”

“Did you- no, no you… didn’t. Please don’t.”

“I do not intend to bring you any harm, little one.“

“Then… stop squeezing… me” The grip immediately loosened. You took in a deep breath of air. “Thank you…”

“My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to hurt you.”

“That’s good to know… but, um, what exactly are you? I asked it before but… you know.” The robot nodded with you, a thoughtful motion but a generally unwelcome one because even the smallest moments it made caused you a bout nausea.

“Yes, introductions. My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” Optimus Prime… a strange name. Though it’s not like your current situation was any more normal.

“…I’m Whyen, nice to meet you. Could you… put me down, by any chance?” Optimus nodded, gently setting you down. He stood up again, but realized how much you had to crane your neck up to see him, so he resolved to a kneel.

“What are you.” However tough he looked on the outside, you would feel the sheer curiosity oozing off his voice.

“Uh, I’m a human.”

“Human… and you’re the dominant species on this planet?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I see. I was lucky to find a vehicle mode with your language on it.”

“I… don’t really know what that means but ok. So, what are you?”

“I am Cybertronian, from the planet Cybertron.”

“Huh. Another planet.” You kicked by the oncoming existential crisis in hopes of more answers. “Right… so, if you’re from space, why are you here?” His face suddenly shifted from curiosity to a grim look of remembrance.

“There is a war on my planet. Me and my team have ended up here on accident, I’m afraid.”

“Oh… well, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I have no intention of staying here longer than we have to, doing so could endanger this entire planet.”

“Wait, what? The- all- the whole planet?”

“Yes,” He responded in a low, distant voice. “Our enemies, unlike us, would not hesitate to destroy any planet if it meant winning the war.” You started at him in shock. In an attempt to avoid further panic, you decided to take a different route on questioning.

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“The Autobots, my friends.”

“So you’re saying… you’re leading your side of the war? Like a general?”

“Yes, to put it simply.”

“Wow… this is… a lot. How are you going to find your friends?”

“I… do not know. I was attempting to contact them before I noticed you.“

“Oh…”

“Do not worry. If the Deceptions attack this planet, we will protect it with our very sparks. A young species such as yourselves do not deserve to be punished for our mistakes.” Your expression softened. As this metal titan spoke to you, in gentle, deep tones, you felt strangely at peace. You felt silly for ever being afraid of him, like you’d known this alien for ages. He didn’t even know you, yet he was willing to risk his life for your home.

“…Thank you.”

“Do not thank me now, young human, I have yet to get your people out of harms way.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” Optimus’s eyes widened for just a second before his face broke into a warm smile.

“…I will be just fine.”

“Well, if it’s my planet at stake… I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah. I know more about this planet than you do, so I can show you how things work around here. It’s the least I can do.”

“That is very kind of you, you have my thanks.”

“Well, first I have to get home and sleep- my house isn’t too far from here, and I live alone so you don’t have to worry about anyone else freaking out. Not many people live around here.”

“That is good. I… apologies if I am too bold, is it okay if I carry you back to your home? It would be in our best interest to get to your home as fast as possible.”

“Ah, true. Well, I guess so.” He laid out his hand. It took you a second to climb on a stabilize yourself, nodding when you were ready for him to move. And he did, and you guided him all the way home. You hardly even noticed the junkyard and forgotten scrap metal you’d spent the night collecting.

Some things are more important.