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hisredhysteria · 2 years

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"You pull me by my hair, so I don't go nowhere."

Note: I said I wanted to write something yandere... Just for fun again while I write a story for Cutthroat. Depending on how I'm feeling, requests might be written slower because I want to write two longer stories for Cutthroat (one hopefully involving Doctor) and then one for each Courier and Hacker.

TW: toxic relationships, possessive, yandere's...murder, manipulation?

Summary: hcs for a famous (?) reader with yandere Hacker, Courier, and Cutthroat ...I don't really specify what kind of famous the reader is so these are in a way general I suppose...the idea somewhat came from the meaning behind the song

Hacker

It's not that he isn't happy for your success because....well, he's not.

Every last moment with Hacker will bleed nothing but underlying hostility until his end goal is reached.

Hacker deals a great hand in not only his possessive feelings towards you, but also the jealousy he feels for you being the one to attract the most admiration of the two of you.

Nothing makes Hacker want to knock someone else down a level quite like when they needlessly fawn over you. He'll keep his tongue tied as long as possible, but the look on his face might just say the words he's wishing to speak.

He knows well that if he were to in some way damage your reputation, he'd be to blame though. Which in hindsight would burden the relationship and possibly cause you to leave him. His goal is to win. Not lose.

Hacker makes it very well known to you that he thinks you interacting with your fans is for the most part meaningless...

He doesn't like it when others acknowledge that your existence is in some way a shared experience. Your fans could never know you the same way he does, so what's the point in wasting time on an empty conversation followed by a picture together?

A picture that he's more often than not being left out of.....

He's not usually one to cause a commotion either, however the moment he sees a fan wrap their arm around your waist for a photo without so much as asking is when he's decided enough is enough. That's something only he can have the luxury of doing, and even he's more careful about doing it than them.

There's no longer any need to remind others that you're his when he inevitably begins to wipe out any competition.

Interviews? Delayed by the onset of technical difficulties. Fan meet ups? Same thing and they're lucky he didn't short circuit anything and cause a fire to erupt.

Comments on your social media...? You don't need validation from anyone other than him. Deleted. In fact, as the days pass you find every single one of your accounts has been "accidentally" deleted in one way or another.

He's good at making your team and manager look bad as well because of all the mishaps going on that they can never seem to find permanent solutions to. When you get into a falling out with them, Hacker enjoys every minute of it....knowing that the stress of it all is causing you to slowly break.

He's the one that suggests you take some sort of hiatus from your fame as well....you know, so that you think he cares most about your well-being and career...

But instead, he's just succeeded in finally isolating you from the rest of the world.

Courier

Cool, calm, and collected, Courier goes about his jealousy in a way that many can write off as him just being tired or weary of the constant barrage of attention you draw in. In which case, they wouldn't be wrong...

Courier can tolerate most things, watching you have small talk with your fans just barely being one. You'll always catch him giving them a following glance as they walk off from you though...a gentle, but negative comment under his breath to suit the situation couldn't hurt occasionally either...

If the conversation seems to go too into depth with a fan or it lasts longer than Courier expects, he wastes no time intervening with a simple, "I've had enough." ..Even an "I don't got all day" if he's hoping you'll wrap it up sooner rather than later. He knows it makes him look bad, but at some point he really can't stop the jealousy from seeping through.

He's also one to guide you in other directions if he sees someone eyeing you with the intention of getting a greeting, signature, or picture. He'll purposely shoot the person a fatal eye if it will ward them off too. Perhaps Courier even bluntly shuts them down by saying you don't have time. All before you even get to say so much as a single word.

He's definitely forced you to leave fans in the dust by riding off on his motorcycle, of course with you on the back. Then later he'll end up making an excuse about how they weren't necessarily worth your time anyways. In fact, who said it was someone that wanted to see you? It's not rare that strangers beckon others over for help with directions. Maybe that was the case instead.

Courier questions you more often than not about attending any business and events, big or small. As you're about to leave he'll ask you where you think you're going. When you tell him where....he gives you a look that says, you're really going to that..?

He's also taking you to said destination, whether he planned for it or not. He won't let anyone else do it. Even if it means he'll be on a time crunch later. He doesn't like it when you try to protest either.

Courier is also eerily waiting for you outside when anything ends. It doesn't matter if you already had a ride planned, he's the better option.

When he accompanies you on any business trips, he's very attentive to what people are approaching you and he's good at asking around to find something out if he feels he needs to. When you're not looking, he's most certainly gauging the motives of those around you. No one is allowed to get too close.

He's also not leaving your side on any trips. Even if he's in the background of a set and you don't necessarily notice him... he's watching. He always is..

He despises interviews. Why does anyone other than him need insight to your personal life?

Courier's end goal was never to take you from the lavish life you have under the attention of many, although as his attachment to you strengthens...he becomes more domineering in the ways he goes about things. The start was just him biting it all back and letting things slowly slip.

His suggestions to avoid certain situations or people start to sound more like requests and demands. If he doesn't want you talking to a specific person you work with, you won't.

Eventually you'll start to feel suffocated by Courier's looming presence one way or another, but by then.. who knows how far he'll take it?

Cutthroat

The fact that others fawn over you really doesn't seem to worry him all too much to begin with. It's when your attention starts to stray from him that things can get a little tricky.

Everything will seem fine at first....all except for the fact that he absolutely refuses to leave your side no matter what. You have to be on his arm at any and every event. If you mention going somewhere without him, you'll be given one or all of a few things—

Emotional outbursts, half-hearted and selfish argumentive points coming from only his perspective. Even going as far as to tie your wrist to the furniture if it means you're not leaving without him. Most times he'll cheerfully let you go as long as you agree to find a way that allows him to accompany you. It's just the initial hurt of being told he can't get what he wants from you that occasionally makes him lash out.

If you stick with your no, then he'll have no choice but to entertain you himself instead. He really doesn't want to keep you tied since it makes it harder to do fun things....but he'll find a way to make it work since he knows for sure now that you won't be leaving.

He might be the reason why you begin to miss out on so many business opportunities or chances to further in your career.

Cutthroat is however, your biggest supporter if you do go out together. The fans don't bother him~! The closer they get, the easier they are to kill—!

Well, some fans will be spared....those entertaining enough to distract him. If there was one in particular that he feels took up more of your attention or physical affection than he's willing to share, he'll give that fan a following glance when they finally walk off. Their time is up with you and he'll make it clear if he sees them come near again.

Cutthroat hates watching you hug fans specifically. Hugs are supposed to be for him only. He may whine about it first and you should take that as a warning. They'll be dead whether others are watching or not if something doesn't change about how close that other person is to you.

It's safe to probably say that you wouldn't really need body guards with Cutthroat around...but in the case you do have them, it's best to never acknowledge they're even there. They follow you around as much as he does, so one word to them will give him the wrong idea. Don't wonder if they all go missing.

Now that you think of it, people around you always seem to go missing sooner or later...

Quickly, Cutthroat tires from always having to share you with others and that's when his violent side becomes rather obvious.

He's likely to snap in a crowd of people following you. Once he's killed the first person that comes too close to you though...it's too good not to kill the others as they run and scream for their lives...this is what they deserve, isn't it..? For bothering his angel..?

If that doesn't happen first, there will come a day where he isn't able to pout enough for you to cancel an interview on your calendar. As such, he subsequently follows you to the interview, kicking his feet back and forth in a chair off camera. Soon enough he gets bored of hearing them ask you personal questions only he should know the answers to.

Cutthroat decides it'd be more fun to throw a knife in the interviews neck~ ....Don't look all sad....he was trying to show you a knife trick...did it work...are you impressed..?

Now, everyone on live television knows you're dating a murderer~! Not a problem though...as the security guards go to detain him....he kills them next.

Your only real option is to run away with Cutthroat and hide your identity. Breaking up with him is only an option if you don't mind being caged for the rest of your life. He's killing anyone that comes in attempts at taking you from him too..!

#OKAY I KEEP GETTING ENCOURAGED BY DANNY TO TAG THEM #akudama drive #akudama drive headcanons #akudama drive x reader #now you're all subjected to my self indulgent fantasies

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tomatograter · 3 years

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What are your thoughts on JuneVris?

I like the ship, but sometimes I wonder if the romance is really There or if I just want to complete the Junevrisrezi Triad or w/e. I loved how their friendship developed over the course of homestuck, I just keep getting stuck on the pesterlog where June tells Vriska that she "kind of hates her". Ultimately they're still friendly after that, with June joking with Vriska by saying "if you ever need someone to punch you in the face again, I'll be there" and all that, but I wonder if June would ever really want a commited relationship with Vriska after that

June says a lot of negative things she doesn't fully mean or, if she means it, she has not taken into account how it will affect others; if jake is on the high end of the constantly-performing-for-acceptance spectrum, june is somewhere at the bottom.

The ease with which she can detach herself from her entire friendgroup and go into extended periods of complete isolation— marked by her friends worrying about her but that worry not being reciprocated, since she's mostly stewing on her own fog of bitter NEET malaise— is something that marks june's biggest flaw but also cements her story-role; she's the Protagonist. Things are secondary to her, not the other way around. She can tune the whole world out of her sight and focus only on whatever she deems worthy.

When she seeks affirmation and justification or even comfort, its not from her Fellow Friends, it's from the general cosmic ideal of... her doing something. The importance/meaning of her existence. The fact that She Needs To Do Something to fulfill her own abstract expectations, and keep busy. Of course our biggest point of comparison for this is when she's still not out to anyone, not even herself, so I'm partial to saying the self-actualization she desperately craves but can't even name has something to do with how she's transgender, and realizing that can be a great step 1 to getting out of that headspace, and moving on.

But related to the above statements and more closely tied with the purpose of your ask: June can and does designate certain people as stand-ins for why "things are going wrong" - and with nobody else to turn to safe for a big boss, these people are mostly her friends. This doesn't mean june is justified or right, and this also doesn't mean she doesn't truly love her friends, just that her feelings are easily overtaken by frustration, and from that frustration surges anger and spitefulness, a trait she closely shares with Jane.

They toe the flimsy line of meanness and arrogance, and sometimes blow up spectacularly. Their sense of inflated self-importance makes them transform everyone else in a liability, under the absolute lens of "I am justified, you are not."

June will holler to the skies that davesprite has somehow driven her out of her mind with his idiosyncrasies, and that her once favorite movies are truly fucking stupid shit for stupid fucking babies, and that roxy is a subhuman robot entirely out of her goddamn mind, and that vriska is a freak phony psycho she wants nothing to do with and is embarrassed to ever have liked; and she feels righteous in her fury. The excuses work, it doesn't matter if they're real. Make up a guy and get fucking mad at him! He's ruining your life! Doesn't that make you feel better? Doesn't that instantly give your life a clearer objective, and the assurance you are better than them? It's so easy. Here's a big red game target; catch it. kill it. scream at it.

It doesn't last, though. And in the aftermath the only thing it reveals is more of that same familiar emptiness.

The frustrations she has personified in her friends are still there, and they remain unaddressed, because the root often laid in june herself. She's mad her friends aren't exactly as she pictured them to be, or else she's mad at herself for ever making something out to be what it wasn't— or she's mad because she believed they could hold all the answers to make life better for her, but they don't.

The june-vriska example is particularly relevant because 'vriska' is part of june's dream of utter escapism; from seemingly nowhere, here comes a cool girl that knows exactly what june has to do always, and shes quirky, snippy, not like the other girls, and she has aaaaaaaall the answers. Except that personality shield has a complex and bloody backstory to all its 'epic' antics, and just as soon as vriska reveals her fragility the dream breaks a little. June has to cope with the fact vriska has flaws she cannot understand or justify, and after having looked up to her for so long she defaults to the emotion "maybe you always sucked after all." - it simplifies the situation. It makes her feel better about projection. That's where "I kind of hate you." comes from. She could have said 'i envy you/want to be you/am frustrated by you/disappointed in you' but the former is quicker.

The words 'June' and 'committed relationship' aren't really some i'd easily associate (She has a bit of a permanence=stagnation problem), but I do think her Protagonitis can only be put in check by the story's own favorite. Vriska can dish it out, and she has a backlog to argue she's important - if not MORE important than june, providing some perspective. Similarly, they can just sort of hang out sometimes and not feel utterly bored by each others presence, as they're picky in similar ways.

When I picture junevrisrezi, it is with june coming and going after vrisrezi have figured it out. They will always be a bit more partial to each other than they are to june, and june's drive to be constantly moving isn't exactly the same as two women who basically spent their childhoods in a murder-happy hellscape and could use a little slowing down, actually. It's not bad, they just have different priorities.

#homestuck #june egbert #vriska serket #junevris #junevrisrezi #meta #jane crocker

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fairestwriting · 4 years

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Since I'm a sucker for angst, may I request hcs for Riddle, Malleus, Azul, and Vil who are trying to help the reader ask their vice dorm leader out on a date (since the reader has a crush on the vice dorm leader), but while they're trying to set them up together they accidentally fall in love with the reader? sorry if this request is a bit confusing, I'm not too good with words

first angst request.... i owe you my life anon i love writing pain. i totally went crazy on this i hope you like it

+ ko-fi link, if anyone feels like financially supporting my writing

Riddle Rosehearts

The three of you are friends, and had been for a while. You met Trey first and he introduced you to Riddle, all way before NRC. Even as you entered this latter part of your school years, your relationship never really changed, you were still eating baked goods together and chatting afternoons away, everytime Riddle could sneak out of his home.

He’s rather reserved when it comes to showing platonic affection, but you could tell that Riddle appreciated having you around as much as he did with Trey, you saw it on how happy he was to know the three of you became NRC students. Even as he turned into Heartslabyul’s tyrannical ruler, he was still a good friend to you both.

So you’re not afraid to come up to him and ask for help on asking Trey out, after mulling over your feelings for months.

Riddle is, before anything, embarrassed to do something like this. He mutters about how it isn’t his responsibility, that this was a private matter between you two, but he’s always had a soft spot for you, he couldn’t say no.

You two end up in his room trying to think of how to go about this. You’ve known Riddle never confessed to anyone, really, so you didn’t expect him to give you much of a hand on that topic, just on how you should approach Trey specifically, since they’ve known each other for longer.

Riddle averts his eyes as he tells you some earlier childhood stories about Trey. You watch him with attentive, curious eyes as you find out about how he’s always been this caring, with this older sibling-like personality, and you can’t help but smile. Riddle’s speaking falters at that, but he goes on.

You decide on writing Trey a letter, so you could express your feelings in a more cohesive way. Riddle helps you make sure the text is written correctly and flows well, it’s a couple hours of hard work before you have everything on paper. The nervousness you were showing seems to fade once you write the last word, and you smile in a way that Riddle had never seen before, and didn’t want to look away from.

You chime about being excited to deliver it, even if the thought made you anxious. Riddle assures you that even if Trey didn’t return your feelings, things wouldn’t change, since the three of you were mature enough to not throw a fit over something like this. You thank him for the help and encouragement, giving him a big hug that has him yelping before you’re out of the room.

Then the door closes, and his eyes fill with tears -- It contradicts what he’d said before, but he doesn‘t have it in him to care. Had he loved you for all this time you’ve known each other? He can’t tell, but now that he’s realized it, he can’t do anything about it.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus knew you as Lilia’s friend, plain and simple. You two weren’t close at all, he’d only barely seen you hanging around Diasomnia to talk to the vice dorm leader -- So you can imagine how surprised he was when you came up to him and asked for him to help you ask Lilia out.

It’s hard to get Malleus dumbfounded, and you actually managed to do it just through your conviction when you asked him, somebody people were so terrified of, for help on such a matter. He never thought anything like it would happen. He’s so surprised, he can’t do anything but say yes.

Since then, you two begin spending time together. You’re constantly surprising Malleus with your determination on winning Lilia’s heart -- You’re constantly asking him questions, about fae traditions, about Lilia, about him, too, sometimes. It’s not a friendship, he knows, and yet he just can’t help but feel captivated by your energy. No one had ever approached him like that.

It’s a long time until you can feel secure on how to talk to Lilia about your feelings, and you end up becoming quite close to Malleus. Conversations that were initially just plotting turn into normal chatting, you begin to truly value him as a person, and not just somebody you found admirable but didn’t know, but that was it. You knew who you wanted, and you couldn’t help but let that show -- And as time passes, what once impressed Malleus begins to feel so sour to him. He’s actually happy to have grown close to you, and yet, he feels like he’s constantly haunted by a sense of unsatisfaction...

But everything comes to an end, of course, and when the end of the school year is growing near, you decide it’s time. You’d been working hard to understand Lilia, someone so enigmatic, better, and now you’d tell him you loved him like you always dreamed about. Hopeful, you invite him to meet you at Ramshackle after twilight.

Malleus is naturally the first person you tell about this, right as you give him your most sincere thanks. He hears the news, and it’s like something inside him shatters.

It’s you showing him feelings he’d never felt before again -- But he just smiles through it, saying he’s glad he could assist you, and giving you and Lilia wishes of happiness. And he means them, no matter how much they hurt, because he’s grateful you’re here either way, even if it isn’t how he wants.

Azul Ashengrotto

Getting him to set you up with Jade probably wasn’t cheap, so he is, before anything, surprised at your determination to be with him.

Before coming into his office to make the deal, Azul just knew you as “the twins’ friend”. You two spent time together as well, but he didn’t think you were especially close or anything... still, he’s surprised to learn about your feelings for Jade, and like this too, he doesn’t know why it’s so uncomfortable.

He pushes that aside in favor of his work, of course. Once he has his payment -- Whatever that was -- your feelings for the eel really are even less of his business than before. He tells you to show up at his office again at a given time, so you two could go over what you knew about Jade, and he’d give you some possibilities of how to go about the situation, so you could pick one and sign the contract later. You agree to his terms almost without a second thought.

A couple plotting sessions happen. Azul had done something like this before, so he expected it to be easy -- He introduces you to a couple magical methods that could just get Jade in love with you instantly, but you refuse these. In the end, it’s just Azul asking you questions about you and Jade so he could plan a perfect date.

The contract has low stakes like these, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a strange couple of meetings, he’s just taking notes as you talk, and while you do, eyes sparkling everytime you mentioned Jade, Azul gets all that discomfort from the beginning but worse. It hurts now. But spending time with you, and learning things about you, even if it was for business, felt strangely healing.

He doesn’t get it. Is he jealous that Jade has someone who loves him? He should be happy, they’re friends, and he’s cutting a deal with someone. Is he that starved for affection? The thoughts just keep swirling in his head.

The last session is when you two have finished putting together the date plan, considering every little detail so everything would go perfectly. A big, confident smile appears in your face as you thank him.

Azul blinks. So it was over -- That ache returns now. He glances at the contract you’ve signed, then you, acting in a way that makes you look like you’re ready to take on the whole world.

You’re out of the door in a minute. Azul never put a name to any of his feelings, but he feels... so empty. The contract is torn up later, he’s lost interest in whatever you were to give him. He can’t really meet Jade’s eyes for a while.

Vil Schoenheit

Knowing Vil as the most beautiful person in school, you spend some time building up courage and then ask him about how you should become a beauty worthy of Rook’s attention.

The question surprises him. Isn’t Rook the one that finds beauty in everything? You’re already worthy of his attention. No matter who you are, the hunter could find something about you that he finds oh so captivating, and sing praises to that trait for hours. That’s just the sort of person Rook is, no?

You explain to him that he’s misunderstood you request, and that it wasn’t about beauty exactly, rather... you’d fallen in love with Rook, and you wanted to get his attention, but in a way no one else had gotten his attention -- You wanted to ask him out, basically, but you didn’t feel like you could just yet, so you asked Vil for his help.

It isn’t a request he’d gotten before, so Vil is on the fence about it for a moment. Does he have time for something like this? He barely knows you, too, and it was just... an odd request, in general. Not the sort of thing you’d ask of anyone.

He doesn’t know why he felt compelled to accept, really, but he does, but he quickly explains to you that you shouldn’t try to change yourself in any way to be with Rook, that was just a recipe for disaster. You’re eager to listen to his advice in a way that no one else had ever been, and on the inside, he’s pretty happy at that. Everyone else seems so unwilling to just make an effort.

Vil ends up becoming determined on getting you two together, since you were too. He tells you he’ll teach you how to really bring out your own personal beauty, and you two can plan how your confession is going to work, too. Being in Vil’s care, you feel confident that you might actually be able to get what you want, after all. You promise to do your best.

You end up coming to Pomefiore’s dorm quite often. Before anything else, Vil helps you care for your own appearence better, regarding things like clothes, skincare, and makeup. Not just so you could look better, but so you could feel better too -- And since this obviously isn’t just about outer beauty, he’ll have a word with you on things like how you interact with other people, what sort of talents and skills you have, so he can advise you on how to keep improving these as most as possible.

It isn’t much of a matchmaking scheme or anything, because Vil doesn’t believe in that, and something so standard wouldn’t apply to somebody like Rook. He’s actually just helping you with your confidence, and he sees the effects of your combined efforts everyday, in how your nervousness turns into excitement as you talk about the confession.

And he’s proud of you, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes, when he’s alone, he thinks about how you being around him so often is temporary, and it just hurts. He hates to acknowledge it, but he’s grown attached to you, captivated by your energy and willingness to learn.

One day, it’s just over. You’ve become a much more confident person, confident enough you can just decide to walk up to Rook and tell him your true feelings -- And that’s it. You tell Vil about how you’d do it today, ambushing the hunter after class, giving him countless thanks.

Again, he’s proud. But it’s bitter. He wishes you good luck as you slip away, just like he’s thought you would. Forced to acknowledge that he hated to see this happen, he just tells himself that it’s just how things were, even as the jealousy corrodes him inside.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit #riddle rosehearts x reader #malleus draconia x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lis writing

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beetlebumxo · 3 years

Text

I Kind of Like Crazy (smut)

Pairing: Early 00s Damon x Reader

Word count: 3,916

Warnings: SMUT, language, the usual smut warnings...

A/N: Based on "psycho" Damon from the Gorillaz Charts of darkness/Bananaz, also slightly inspired by the show "Ratched". Thank you to my friend Laura for this prompt/working out some of the ideas with me. As a backstory, (well, canon from CoD) Damon went "insane" as he claims he was "beaten up by cartoon characters" and ended up in a mental institution. This is the setting for the story.

It was his first day here, he had gotten into a fight before coming in. His face was scratched up, and a long white bandage was wrapped around his (presumably) aching head.

"My name is Y/N, if you need anything just ask for me." I chirped while looking down at him. He was slumped in a chair, holding his head up with this hand, resting his elbow on the armrest. He was so intense, jaw clenched, staring down at the floor.

"Yea.." he said, barely raising his head to look at me.

"Mr. Albarn.." I began as he lifted his head, barely moving his lips.

"Damon.." he mumbled in a soft, quiet voice.

"Damon… do you understand why you're here?" I questioned, trying to get a better look at him, but he only moved his head slightly towards me.

"Look, I've told you a thousand times…" His deep, tired voice was laced with frustration, I didn't want to push him anymore on the subject.

"Listen, they're going to keep you here while the investigation is ongoing. There's a growing concern for your well-being, and I---"

"And you what?" He shot back, now looking directly at me through the long lashes that lined his blueish-green eyes. I straightened myself up as best as I could -- trying to brush off his somewhat rude response. "And.. I believe you saw something. But right now I'm here to make sure you're ok, are you ok?" He just nodded. “Ok, Damon, ok, just let me know if you need anything.” I said as I made my way out of the room.

------

(A week later)

Standing outside the building, leaning against the cool brick, I took a moment to take in the events that occurred over the last week. Damon had finally taken a liking to me, or so I thought. He had this intensity about him and yet, he could be so silly and child-like. I had to admit I was very attracted to these qualities. He was so incredibly handsome, right down to the little cut on his perfect nose. The more I thought about him, the more I knew how wrong this was.

"Fuck, this is not good, Y/N, not good," I muttered as I reached for a cigarette.

I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes, the warm smoke filled my lungs -- I slowly exhaled trying to let my troubled thoughts go.

"You know, smoking is bad for you." There he was again, batting his box of cigarettes in his hand. Damon removed one long white stick from the box, brought it up to his lips, and began to light it.

“Wait, how did y---” I began, but Damon interrupted.

"I like to live a little dangerously, love." He smiled, holding the cigarette between his imperfectly perfect teeth. His grin suddenly grew a little wider. “And well, maybe a little bribery goes a long way?”

He winked and grabbed the cigarette from between his soft pink lips, to now rest between his slightly bruised fingers. I loved his hands, they were truly just as gorgeous as his face-- a little dirty, ragged, with perfectly placed veins.

He paused, shifting his gaze from his cigarette over to me again. "Tell me, why do you always do that?" He said, cocking his head to the side.

"Do what?" I smiled softly.

"Well, the way you.. kind of, sort of -- wrap your hair around your finger when you're nervous, the way you, uh, bite your lip when you're unsure. The way you always have to make sure your skirt is pulled down low enough, because sometimes you're just a little insecure about that scar on your leg, yeah?"

He smiled slyly at me. I squinted my eyes at him, somewhat flattered he had been paying such close attention to me.

"I see you've been studying me, hm?" I curled my lips into a small smile, taking another long drag of my cigarette.

"Y/N.." he exhaled as smoke covered his slightly crooked bottom row of teeth. "You're very pretty to look at, you know?" His eyes were focused on me. I felt heat rising to my cheeks, which were probably flushed by now.

I cleared my throat -- "Oh.. thank you. You’re pretty easy on the eyes too." was the best I could come up with. I wanted to tell him how he'd been on my mind, how I couldn't stop thinking about him--, but I couldn't bring myself to do it-- that would have been completely inappropriate.

"Who wouldn't fancy this?" He laughed while batting his long lashes. I could tell he was only half-joking -- he knew he was absolutely gorgeous.

“You are something, Damon.” I shook my head and laughed. “I have to head back now, ok?” I really didn’t want to break up the conversation.

“Yeah, ok.” He said.

I turned to leave when he unexpectedly grabbed my hand. My hands began to sweat, my heart began to beat fast. I looked down -- his hands were big, his fingers were so long and beautiful, I loved how his hand felt gripping mine, even for that short moment.

"I'll be seeing you, Y/N" he said with a smile. I smiled back -- this was trouble.

---

(The next day)

I tried not to let on how much Damon had an affect on me. I had to push the feelings down and keep this professional. Damon was sitting on his bed as I approached. I took a long, deep breath--

"Ok, I need to be a real nurse today and check how you're healing." I chuckled, bringing my hand to his chin to examine him. I tried to choke down all of my feelings and simply do my job.

"So, what were you on the other days, then?" He smiled a small devious grin.

My hand just barely touched his skin, but I could start to feel a slight tightness and warmth in my stomach again. He was even more beautiful up close - those blue eyes, that perfect nose -- and a smile that just melted my heart. I must have been studying him a little too long, I could feel his eyes on me.

Just then, Damon lifted his hand to my wrist, moving it in such a way that we were now face to face. Everything was happening in slow motion, as I stared into his eyes. He reached out pulling me closer, leaning into me, his lips inches from mine-- his warm breath on my face

*click* -- it was the door handle. I jumped back, breaking the tension--it was only my colleague doing rounds.

"I, I, I should go.." I stuttered as my heart and mind were racing. Damon just smirked at me, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Aww..." he teased. He looked me up and down again, I shifted my eyes quickly around the room. I didn't know what to say, the whole incident had taken me by surprise. I walked back into the hall and tried to pull myself together again.

(The following day)

I had success with avoiding him for most of the day -- this gave me more time to think about how to handle whatever this was. Oh, but he was so perfect. I let out a heavy sigh -- I needed to take a break to just clear my head. I made my way to the small back stairway. The door slammed shut behind me, echoing through the empty space. As I reached the platform, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Ahhhh what the fuck??” I yelled.

"Shh, shh, love it's only me." It was Damon reassuring me. His hair was slightly messy, poking out from the white bandage that was still wrapped tightly around his forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Ugh, Damon!” I looked at him angrily, but after a few moments my face softened “Oh....... fine. I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Few people can.” he winked.

“So let me guess how you got out..hmm..let’s see...” I placed my hand on my chin -- "You know, I’m going to just take a guess that you're not used to hearing the word 'No' very often are you?" I said with a small smile, assuming that he had charmed his way out again.

"You certainly wouldn't tell me 'No' now would you?" He now made direct eye contact with me, turning more serious and intense.

"That depends on what you're asking --- Damon." I gave in and reached out, playfully running my finger up his arm. There I was touching him again, I couldn’t help myself. I noticed his little slightly indented tooth as he smiled at me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me close, my breath hitched.

"What am I asking? Oh, Y/N.." his voice cracked a little bit-- his tone was so dark, deep and sexy. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of his body as he leaned in close to my ear.

"I've seen the way you look at me, and how you shift your body.." his lips brushed my ear "..when I do this" he began to run his calloused fingers over my hand. I felt a jolt of electricity run down my spine, these feelings were too much-- "I mean, do you really think you could tell me, 'No' now?" He smiled a smug, overconfident smile. I felt pressure building in my stomach. I pulled away and looked into his eyes again.

"Mhm, you know, this is not very….professional. “ I teased.

Damon now had a devilish smirk across his handsome face. He backed me against the railing and ran his large hand against my cheek. He slowly leaned in and kissed me. Pressing his lips to mine I opened my mouth as he pushed his tongue in. I felt a rush, and a throbbing in my core. He held his hand against my jaw and continued to explore my mouth. I brought my hands up to his jaw pulling him into me, tasting his mouth on mine. The pressure was building up inside of me but at the same time, it was a release, as if this most basic craving for him was finally being satisfied--even if only briefly.

"Too much?" He smiled. I stood there watching him, I wanted so much more. He smirked then clicked his tongue as he walked back up the stairs. What a tease he was. I braced myself against the railing, breathing hard. "No…. no, it wasn't too much. Oh….. shit." I muttered, unsure if he could hear me.

I lingered against the railing for a few minutes, taking in what had just happened. I took a moment to catch my breath before making my way back upstairs. My entire body was aching for him. My breaths began to quicken, as I thought about his lips, his hands, his body pressing into me.

I made my way back to the office, it was very late now, almost everyone had gone home. I went to tidy a few papers before leaving, when suddenly, as if on cue, he was at the door--

“I couldn’t stay away, and I know you didn’t want me to.” He began.

"Oh, I don't know.." I smiled. "But, what are you bribing those nurses with, again?" I teased.

"Well, wouldn't you like to know?" He flirted back, leaning his tall frame against the door.

"And just maybe I would....could it be you're just one of those… naughty boys?". I didn’t care to keep this professional any longer -- he had pushed me over the edge --

He chuckled, closing the door behind him. He walked up to me pushing my back against the desk. As I gripped the side, he began to run his fingers along my hand and slowly up my arm. I could feel my body temperature begin to rise from his movements.

"Maybe I'll just show you what a naughty boy I really am." Oh, the way those words rolled off of his tongue -- "Y/N…. I'm not actually crazy, but you are driving me completely insane." He said.

“I kind of like crazy, Damon. I need more." I purred. My next breath was caught somewhere in my chest, I could barely breathe feeling his body pressed tightly against mine. Pressing his long fingers to the side of my neck behind my ear, he stretched his hand out just enough to run his thumb very lightly over my bottom lip. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing.

“Are you sure?” He tilted my head up and began to leave a trail of small fiery wet kisses on my neck. "Like that?" My body was completely on fire now. All I could mutter was a breathy "Like that....."

He shifted just attention back to my mouth, pushing his large tongue in so deeply. My hands slowly began to roam his sturdy, strong body. I managed to squeak out a few words as he pulled away for a moment.

"Wait--” I had a moment of clarity, before I was swallowed again by his charm. “Do you know how much trouble we would be in if we were caught right here?" I asked.

“I told you, I like to live dangerously.” he replied, grabbing my face with his hand pulling me closer to him while running his thumb over my lips again, this time smearing my lipstick all over my mouth and chin. I grabbed his hand and began to kiss and suck on his beautiful, long fingers, leaving small traces of whatever lipstick was left. He began to push his fingers in and out of my mouth, slowly at first, but then a little faster. I could tell that he liked what I was doing to him as the bulge in his pants grew.

I grabbed his face, kissing him again, pushing my tongue back in his mouth, running it over his crooked bottom row of teeth -- I sucked at his bottom lip gently taking it between my teeth.

He grabbed my hips with his large hands and sat me on the side of the cherry wood desk, the pressure from his fingers on my hips was almost too much for me. He brought his hand back up to my face and began to kiss me harder, slowly moving his lips to my neck as I carefully ran my hands through his hair.

My body tingled with nervous excitement as he began to unbutton my uniform, starting at the top, working his way down. His lips were back on me, slowly kissing my collar bone. I threw my head back, letting out a soft moan. I wanted him to devour me whole.

He moved down to my chest barely grazing my skin with his teeth. He made quick work of freeing my breasts from my tight bra. Cupping my left breast he began to suck and lick at my soft sensitive skin. Running his thumb over my nipple, he brought his tongue to my right breast, slowly licking while squeezing my left. It felt so good the way he was paying attention to exactly what my body needed. I could only reply with another moan as I felt a wetness pool beneath my panties.

He sat down in the chair and pulled me to the edge of the desk. He slowly pushed my legs apart revealing my completely soaked panties, and began to slowly rub his finger up and down over and over again.

"Why don't you let me take care of you for a change, darling?" he said.

“Yes.. please.. please...” I panted.

I felt him press his warm tongue against the wet fabric of my panties. Feeling his warm breath on my thigh, he began to slowly lick long wet stripes up and down my underwear. With the pressure of his tongue and the tip of his nose against the thin material that was so close to my heat, I only wanted him to remove the barrier between us and push his tongue in, but he only kept teasing me.

"Oh, Fuuckkk ...." I whispered, as I watched him continue to tease me.

He stood up and finally removed his shirt and unzipped his pants. Oh, he was so big I almost gasped at finally being able to see what he had been hiding from me. He stood against the desk and ran his long index finger along my panties but this time looping them around his finger and pulling them off. I could feel the cool air hit my wet core.

"Oh, just look at you." He hissed as he licked his left index finger and pushed it deep inside of me. His words alone were enough to push me over, but I held back. My body jerked back as he began to finger me.

"So good.." He whispered in a low voice, as he pushed a second finger in and began to pump them in and out. He muffled my moans by placing the fingers from his right hand in my mouth, while the fingers from his left hand were inside of me. I began to ride his hand hard while clutching onto the side of the desk. He rubbed my clit more and more with his thumb, pushing me closer to the edge.

His hard cock was now directly against my wet folds as he stood between my legs, I wanted him to just finish the job so badly. He looked at me in awe, watching the pleasure across my face. I leaned forward pulling his face down to me, licking his wet lips. I lightly kissed and licked the little cuts and bruises across his beautiful face. I slowly moved my hips against his hard cock. "Mmhm," he moaned, trying to control himself as he began to buck his hips against my core.

"Fuuck, I want to be inside your tight wet cunt" he moaned.

“Please..." I begged as I thought about how incredible he would feel inside of me.

"Please what, love? Tell me what you need.". He moved his ear up to my lips. Fucking tease.

"Take Me. Fuck me….. Ruin me." I said as I grazed his ear with my teeth, lightly pulling at his little hoop earring.

“Ruin you?” he chuckled, pretending as if I had offended him. “I don’t know if I---.”

Before he even finished his sentence - with one quick motion, he was deep inside of my wet, aching core. I let out a gasp as he began to thrust hard and fast, hitting my spot almost every time.

"Damooonnnn.. " I moaned. He pulled me up into a sitting position on the desk, pushing harder into me. I leaned into him, wrapping my legs tightly around him-- he began to pant and breathe heavy in my ear, while every now and then, kissing and licking at my shoulder. His eyes were dark and filled with lust, his breaths were quick and ragged. I loved the sounds he made - small little groans of pleasure. I gripped him, digging my nails into his burning skin, hoping to leave my mark. He looked so delicious, screwing his face up whenever I would clench myself around him as he buried his face into my neck.

"You feel..so.. incredible.." he said in between heavy breaths. I bit my lip hard as I felt my stomach tighten again.

I felt him pull away, removing himself, causing me to let out a small whimper. His strong arms flipped me over, pushing me down, bending me over the desk. My breasts were now pressed tightly against the wooden surface.

He teased me again with his tip, running it up and down my wet folds, as he leaned forward, pressing me down, his large hands directly on top of mine, I felt a slight pressure from the weight of his body -- but I wanted to feel him so badly. I wanted to feel that force on me. He slowly began to kiss and lick my ear.

"Fuuckkk ---" was all I could get out before he slammed back into me again. I could feel his hands now gripping my shoulders, I felt him push his thumbs into my back-- hoping he would leave a mark on me, too -- I wanted to be his. Reaching his left hand over, he began to rub my clit harder and faster as he thrust into me. He was so big, and I was so wet. I could feel the edge of the desk rubbing against me, which made it harder for me to maintain control, it wasn’t going to be long.

Damon let out a few low, sexy growls as he pushed into me -- it became too much. My orgasm hit hard. I threw my head back as my whole body clenched and tightened. My legs went weak as I finally released all tension -- I could hardly hold myself up. Damon removed his grip and I pushed myself up from the desk. He was so gorgeous, his beautiful face was just staring right at me.

“Oh, sweetheart, that felt good, didn’t it?” He smirked, while rubbing himself. I still wanted him, even after those intense waves of pleasure washed over me, I still really wanted him. He had such an affect on me.

“You really know what you’re doing, huh?” I managed to reply.

“I’ve had some practice.” he smirked again. “Mmm..now.. how about you help me feel good?”

I nodded. I would have done anything he asked me to. I laid back down on the desk, as he stood between my legs. I let out a few moans to try and entice him. “You are so fucking beautiful, tell me, where do you want it?”

I moved my hand to my stomach, I watched it rise and fall quickly with each breath. I was still trying to recover. Damon began to rub himself harder. I watched as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Mpphh”. He moaned. It was so hot just watching him, knowing I was the one he wanted. His breaths became ragged as he reached the edge - suddenly his whole body jerked, as he released his warm, hot liquid on my stomach. He was breathing so hard. I was sitting up on my hands, leaning towards him. He reached out and pulled me close to his face, gently kissing my salty lips.

"That was.. everything I hoped it would be, love.” He paused. “I just can't wait until I'm out of here."

I pulled back, looking him in the eye. "Oh..?" I said, not sure what he meant by that response. Damon could tell that I was a little concerned.

"Oh..” he chuckled. “Sweetheart, so we can do this all of the time, you know..?” His face was flushed and still slightly sweaty. He was so fucking gorgeous, I still could not believe what just happened. "I really, really want to take care of you. I want to do this properly, love. You deserve that. I want to make you feel so good. You're incredible in so many ways" he continued. “I want to be with you, if you'll have me.”

I grabbed his face, slowly running my thumb over his pink-tinged lips. His eyes were soft, he looked even more handsome, if that was even possible.

"I would love nothing more...." I closed the space between us and brought my lips back up to his; I felt him smile.

#Damon Albarn #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #blurfanfic #blurband #damonalbarnfanfic #britpopfanfic #oneshot #imagines #imagine #damon albarn x reader #blur imagines #gorillaz imagines #britpopimagines #fluff #damon albarn smut #damon albarn fluff #y/n

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approximately20blorbos · 2 years

Note

Hey, Eggy, Happy WBW! ❤️ I'll go for the ask game with 1, 7, 8, 9, 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 27, 28, 35, 38. Hehe, go off.

hello hello!! sorry for being late, but ty for the ask!! putting this under a cut bc it's gonna be long lol

Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I suppose just a nice general high fantasy wip! one with characters that have had rough lives for sure, but still have a lot to live for and therefore a lot to lose. hurt/comfort probably makes a strong appearance because it's a trope I like a lot and lets me both explore layers of a character you can't really see without lots of pain and conflict but ALSO by nature you get to deepen and explore their bonds with other characters

Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

answered here!

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

ah man. I haven't written dialogue I'm proud of in a long time, because all I've written for a few years is like, dnd backstories and exactly two chapters of my wip that need a lot of work each, and I've been working on outlining more than anything lately. sorry lol, I got nothin for this one.

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

seeing as I only have the one wip, I think I'm gonna have to answer with SATT, lol

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

break every rule, but only after you know why it exists. applies to art too

If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

answered here!

Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

sort of both! I typically go in general chronological order, but I might shift scenes around to be sure, especially since my wip is from multiple perspectives

Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

uuuuh. I do not think so. I am really just writing whatever I think is cool lol

Describe your perfect writing conditions.

sitting on a balcony over the ocean, with a gentle breeze carrying with it the smell of salt, on vacation so that I am free from responsibilities. I have a cup of black coffee next to me and there's a whole pot I can take from when its empty. finally free of expectations and decent internet, and inspired by fresh, unusual surroundings, the words flow freely and uninterrupted from my fingertips. I write for hours, periodically refilling my coffee, until I am satisfied for a time and go pick up a book instead, or perhaps pokemon

but alas, I am in a shitty college apartment, with many many distractions to my name </3

How do you feel about collaborations?

answered here!

Would you ever kill off a canon character?

I'm gonna alter this one to mean kill off a character at all, seeing as I'm using this as a wip ask game instead of a fic ask game, and say yeah, I would, but only if I truly thought it was best for their arc, the arcs of the characters surrounding them, and the plot as a whole, because once you kill off a character, that's it. you can't take that back, and they're not in your toolbox anymore

Talk about a review that made your day.

hmmmm. I can't think of anything specific but I also don't have a lot of finished stuff to draw upon. but people often tell me that my characters feel like real people, and that makes me feel real good inside :)

thank you for the ask my friend!

#moot timi #ask game

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silkling · 3 years

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Thank you that's so sweet??? Aaa that means a lot-

I have thought of a few prompts actually,,

One being, TFA Prowl and Jazz where Prowl was some sort of fae creature that could disguise himself as a normal bot, and he got dragged to Yoketron. Either Yoketron knew what he was or he entered a deal with him by accident, but Prowl was like...honor bound to stay and learn from him after making that agreement. Maybe Jazz is there visiting as a previous student, and weird things about Prowl keep catching his attention.

The other was far more angsty- what if Sigma 17 were woken up earlier, like halfway through the war when their pod is discovered by an Autobot ship.. mby Blades' brothers are still aware and he can feel them, but otherwise they're just dumped straight into war. Poor bbys.

Oh my god. You. You just. You don’t know what you did. Cause I like, really like fae lore. So as soon as I saw that prompt my brain demanded it be written. But I also really like your other prompt. So I’m going to do them both! This one is the fae Prowl one. I’ll post the second prompt in another post. But seriously I’m going to have so much fun with this. You have no idea what you have unleashed in my brain.

———————————————————————————————————

Yoketron watched as the lithe, elegant youngling was hauled into his Dojo by Warpath. He arched a brow when he noticed the muzzle clamped on his face, and then was even more surprised when he realized just how much the mechling was capable of thrashing in the larger Autobot’s hold, despite the stasis cuffs clamped around his wrists. The youngling, a two-wheeler now that Yoketron was able to see him more clearly, was dumped on the floor and pinned under a heavy red pede.

“You sure you want to take this one, Master Yoketron? I really think he’s more deserving of the stockades, filthy little deserter.” Warpath snarled.

“Indeed, Warpath. I am quite certain.” Yoketron hummed. “I assure you, if he truly does not wish what I have to offer than I am quite capable of bringing him to the stockades myself.”

Warpath only grumbled, growling one more time at the small youngling, and then he bowed and left.

As soon as the weight on him was gone, the mechling’s thrashing kicked up a notch and he tried to sit himself up. It seemed though, that despite his surprising amount of maneuverability he didn’t have enough control of his limbs to actually do so. Yoketron knelt down, reaching out and pressing the release mechanism of the muzzle. It dropped to his waiting palm and he subspaced it, retracting his hand just in time to avoid razor sharp fangs snapping shut on his fingers. As it was, those deadly dentae clacked together harshly as the mechling’s jaw closed on empty air. Yoketron arched a brow, frowning. Odd. Usually it was only warframes who had such sharp fangs, and this little one was most definitely not a warframe.

Yoketron ignored the furious glare, casting a critical gaze over the mech laying prone on his dojo floor. At least he had stopped thrashing, though now his frame was so tense the armor plating was clamped shut too tight to get even a metal wire in between the individual armor pieces. Yoketron returned his gaze to meet the glowing visor, bright with the fury and rage that was strong enough for him to practically taste in the youngling’s field.

He hummed as if to himself, reaching behind him to undo the stasis cuffs, only to stop when fangs pierced and dug into the armor of his forearm. He shot the mechling an unimpressed look, his free hand reaching and digging fingers into the soft protoform of his face behind his jaw. His body almost spasmed, his mouth forced open, his fangs and lips stained with Yoketron’s energon. The ninja master ignored the fear that started to sour his field, as well as the way his ventilations increased until he was panting harshly, mouth forced open and glaring helplessly at the older bot. Instead, he reached out again, removing the stasis cuffs, then releasing his jaw and straightening as he stepped back.

He watched the young mech get to his pedes, his movements graceful and elegant even as his field radiated rage and fear. Yoketron found his optics narrowing faintly at the way his every movement was soundless. There was no shifting metal as he rose, to whirring systems as his frame shifted and settled, so sound of pedes against wood as he got up and stood straight. It was…off. Not enough to make a normal mech think anything was wrong, but just enough to get Yoketron’s attention. Combined with his fangs, it was starting to paint a picture. Not to mentioned the slightly tapered finger tips he had noticed as he’d removed the stasis cuffs. Fingers that flexed and clenched, and Yoketron noticed a half-second flash of sharpened claws before those hands relaxed and returned to normal. Yes, he was most definitely starting to get an idea of what this mechling was.

“Hello, young one.” he rumbled. “May I ask what you were doing hiding on Dojo property?”

The youngling growled, shifting towards the door. Yoketron let him. “What do you think? Trying to stay out of the war.” he barked. “It’s not my fight, after all.”

Yoketron hummed. “Perhaps not.” he agreed. “But those in charge will not see it that way, and will see you as little more than a traitor for not answering the call to fight. I am taking a risk in doing so, but if you wish to avoid the fight them I can offer you another option.” he stepped towards the youngling, optics narrowing. “So long as you are willing to learn, I would take you on as my student.”

The youngling snarled. “Fat chance! I’m leaving.”

“Certainly.” Yoketron agreed. “If you can make it to the door before I stop you, then you will be free to do exactly that, and I will ensure any and all charges against you are dropped.”

The youngling eyed him dubiously, but seemed to decide the risk was worth it because he was transforming and taking off in the next second. It had been a silent transformation too, which had raised only further alarm bells. Yoketron waited until he was close to the door, and then he moved. In a flash, he appeared in front of the mech, and a hard kick sent him tumbling out of his alt mode. Another kick, and he was flying back into the cabinet, which fell on top of him. Yoketron walked over and heaved it off, crouching to pin the mechling by pressing a hand between his shoulderblades.

“You have potential, little one. But if you are discovered and caught by the authorities then that shall all go to waste.”

Abruptly, the struggling form under his palm stilled and tensed, all anger leaving his field to be replaced by fear. “…what do you want?” he whispered.

“Your name, youngling. I believe Cybertron has lost enough of your kin. I have no desire to see another perish unnecessarily. The rest of the planet may be blind to it, but I am well aware of how necessary you are to the functioning of our world.” Yoketron said calmly. The yougling’s actions had confirmed his suspicions. He truly was one of the fae, a breed of Cybertronian long believed to be only myth.

The youngling was shaking faintly now, obviously frightened. Yoketron couldn’t blame him. While most civilians thought the fae to be the subjects of story and myth, any mech involved in government or military knew they were real, albeit very, very rare. There was a reason for that, a very unpleasant one, and it certainly didn’t help that any fae were were discovered were often captured and simply…never seen again.

“You know what that would mean.” There was an agonized note to the youngling’s voice.

Yoketron felt a twinge of regret. He did know, and it wasn’t something he was eager to do. But given the circumstances, it would be the best way to ensure this one’s safety. “I do.” he confirmed. “I promise you I will not abuse it, youngling. I seek only to ensure your safety and to see you grow. I cannot simply allow you to go so easily, for if I did then I would be questioned as to why I did not bring you to the stockades and it would bring more attention to you. This way, you will remain safe.”

“Then why offer to let me go in the first place?” he demanded.

“I believed it would make you feel better to know you had at least made an attempt.”

The youngling abruptly went limp, his field still fearful, but now also tinged with a dull resignation that made Yoketron feel a little sick to his tanks. He did not want to do it like this, but for the mechling’s safety was truly the only option, with the way Cybertron currently functioned. “Give me your name, youngling.” he encouraged, voice gentling.

The young bot reset his vocalizer, and looked up to lock his visor with Yoketron’s optics. “My name is Prowl.” he answered, and he could hear the reluctance as the young bot spoke.

As Prowl gave his name to Yoketron, his optics glowed a bright white for a brief moment behind his visor before fading back to normal. Yoketron himself felt a small pull at his spark, recognizing it as the tether that now bound Prowl to him. He lifted his hand from the fae’s back, watching him slowly rose to sit up. “I take your name to be returned to you when your tutelage is done, Prowl.” he said, and the bond that was latched against his spark strengthened and solidified. “Go. Past the door on your right is a hall. Turn left at the end, past the door there, and you will find the berthrooms. The one with the black door is the student’s room. You may call it yours while you remain under my care.” he said, voice gentle. “Rest. I will clean up here. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

There was a tug on his spark, ans he realized quickly that he had worded that too close to an order when Prowl winced, cringing back from him but obeying nonetheless. Yoketron frowned, distaste curling in his tanks. He would have to learn how to word what he said very, very carefully so it could not be viewed as an order. He knew the bond he had established by taking the fae’s name meant that Prowl would be compelled to obey what he was told, but he had no intentions of abusing that. It would be wrong to do so.

The youngling stood, then turned and left through the door. Yoketron listened to his pedes fade away, and then he himself was standing. He hadn’t expected his day to go like this, and he disliked how he had had to take on his newest student, but he couldn’t regret having done so. He did not want to see another fae fall just because Cybertron’s elite refused to understand them. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the broom from the corner and began cleaning. Tomorrow would be a long day.

——————————

Prowl found himself curled up in the berth after he had cleaned himself up in the washracks attached to the room. His spark felt heavy with the new bond tied around him, and he further tugged the mesh blanket wound himself as he thought about it. He hadn’t ever intended to get caught. He had snuck into the Dojo grounds because they looked mostly empty and he’d thought it’d be a good place to lay low while army “recruiters” were sweeping through the streets. The last thing he wanted was to be forcefully drafted. Being around so many mechs who he knew knew about the fae…well, he was good, but he also knew he’d probably have gotten caught eventually.

He had hidden himself well, even using magae to keep himself as undetectable as possible. But then that red mech, Warpath, had seen him as he’d been attempting to sneak into another area of the Dojo, and….that was that. He’d been swiftly pinned and cuffed, and when he’d kept trying to bite, the muzzle had been locked around his face as well. He hadn’t expected to be brought to the Dojo Master, and he had even less expected that the mech, Warpath had called him Yoketron, would know what he was. He was even more embarrassed about being caught because when Warpath left, he realized the large bot just visiting. But he had been caught, and Yoketron had trapped and bound him with his own magae, and now he was here. At least the older bot had promised that his name–and freedom–would be returned after he was finished being trained, but Primus only knew how long that would take.

It was days like this when Prowl loathed his heritage, loathed the fact he was a fae. He had been proud of it, once. Fae were beings of legend, after all. Stories said that in Cybertron’s early days, even before the great cities were built, fae and normal Cybertronians lived alongside each other. It was said that fae were gifted the abilities beyond that of a normal bot, including tapping into the world’s natural energies. They were able to feel this energy and occasionally draw on it to perform feats of great power. Fae also wielded their own unique form of energy, called magae, that allowed them to perform what most bots would call “magic”. Magae was what made up the entirety of a fae’s abilities, it was what made them fae. Magae came from a fae’s spark, was comprised of the energies and power of their own life force, and they could use it to connect to the sparks of other bots. Usually, that would entail taking a mech’s name and binding them to yourself. Though if one knew how, the process could be reversed, and a mech could take a fae’s name and bind them to themself, as Yoketron had done to Prowl.

He couldn’t blame the older mech. The part of his processor that was more logical could even be grateful. His reasoning had been sound, after all. There wasn’t really a way for Prowl to walk away from this without unwanted attention, without risking discovery. He knew what would have happened if he was discovered. The rest of Cybertron may have forgotten why the fae disappeared, but his people remembered. Fae had been powerful. Chosen by Primus to maintain the planet’s natural order and help ensure prosperity for His children, which included themselves. For a time, it had been fine.

But then mechs had begun to fear to extent of what fae could do, disliking that they were capable of tapping into the sparks of others. And so the fae had been hunted. To avoid extinction, his people had fled and disappeared, going to the shadows and staying there until they were eventually forgotten. They built up their own society, separate from the rest of Cybertron. Prowl remembered it, a little bit. He had been sparked there, but…somehow, he had gotten separated from his people and place of origin, and he’d never found his way back. It was hidden from the people of Cybertron, and any fae who got lost from it and didn’t know the way back would remain stranded outside forever.

That was what had happened to him. He didn’t remembered how, but…he did know his creators had been taken, or perhaps offlined, and they’d hidden him just before being caught. They’d never come back, and he had remained stranded from the place he’d been sparked in. After that, he was told he was found by a civilian family from Praxus, who brought him to a Youth Center there. Once he was big enough to take care of himself, he’d fled the Center, wanting to try and find his way home, but…he’d never been able to. He’d been in his own ever since.

Now, he was stuck, bound to a mech who claimed to want to see him safe and strong but he didn’t know if Yoketron was telling the truth. He could only hope he was. The alternative was that the old mech intended to use the bond for his own gain, or to turn him in, and Prowl…Prowl didn’t want either option. He sighed heavily, swiping a hand across his face, his visor set on the nightstand by the berth. His optics were a normal blue, though what made them stand out was the markings around his optics. It was why he wore the visor. The most distinctive features of what he was were his fangs and claws, but those were easy to hide, and the markings around his optics. Every fae had markings somewhere, he knew. He had just been unlucky enough to have them on his face.

The youngling sighed, forcing himself out of the increasingly depressing spiral. It couldn’t be changed. He just had to adapt and learn. He was good at that. He tucked himself into a tighter ball, knees pulled to his chest and mesh clutched tightly around his form. He closed his optics, trying to calm down enough to recharge. Today had been a very bad day. He just hoped the days to come wouldn’t follow in the pattern.

——————————

Prowl woke the next day to a quiet knocking on the door. He startled awake, feeling out of sorts and groggy as he pushed the blanket off him and sat up. That was when he remembered the events of the previous day, and he flinched away from the door and looked down. So, it was time to get up, he supposed. He sighed, then swung his pedes out of the berth and padded to the door. Upon opening it, he found the hallway to be empty, but he picked up the sounds of…something at the end of the hall, in the opposite direction of what he was thinking was the main room of the Dojo. He stepped out, closing the door behind him, and walked towards the noise. He came to a sliding door, and when he opened it he found what appeared to be some sort of dining room.

Yoketron was already there, setting two places at the table with fuel. When the door opened, the old mech looked up. “Ah, Prowl.” he greeted. “You look well, today. I am glad.”

Prowl squirmed uncomfortably, nodding. “I….yes.” he said lamely.

“If you wish, you may come and sit. I typically share morning fuel with my student before I begin lessons, when I have one under my care.”

Prowl blinked, realizing there was no order in that phrasing. Maybe Yoketron really wouldn’t take advantage? He nodded, sliding forward, closing the door behind him as he went, and sitting on the cushion provided. Yoketron hummed, satisfied, and went to the opposite end of the small table to take his own place.

“I wish to apologize, Prowl” he said. “Binding you to myself was not how I wished to take you on as my student, but from what I have learned of fae culture over my life I believed it to be the best way to ensure you remain safe and undetected.” he explained.

The two-wheeler looked uncomfortable, but he nodded regardless. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” he sounded resigned. “I get it, I suppose. I know how dangerous discovery is for one of my kind. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy.”

“And I would not ask you to be.” Yoketron said patiently. He swallowed down some of his fuel, his gaze locked on the lithe youngling nibbling at his own meal. “I only wish so see you survive and grow strong enough that you can defend yourself.”

He took no offense when Prowl didn’t answer, and they consumed the rest of their meal in silence. When they finished, Yoketron stood. “If you would, I would appreciate if you cleaned your dishes and followed me. I will show you were you can put them, and then we can move on to your morning lessons.”

Prowl nodded, gathering his now empty dishes and following the old mech. He noticed once more that Yoketron had not phrased his request in a way that it might be interpreted as an order, and he felt grateful. While he still wasn’t happy about how things had turned out, he was starting to believe that just maybe the bond wouldn’t be abused after all. And if Yoketron was really telling the truth, then Prowl would someday be able to keep himself safe. He still wasn’t sure of this situation, and he didn’t trust Yoketron, but if things continued to be like this then maybe his time here wouldn’t be so bad.

——————————

Prowl was meditating. He did so fairly often these days, as it made his natural energies settle in a way they usually didn’t. Fae were constantly connected to the energy of Cybertron, and sometimes it was nice to let own own spark settle in a more peaceful rhythm as he let the energy of his world wash over him and surround him. It had taken him a while to learn the patience to do this, but he was glad that he had eventually managed. His processor settled, ventilations deep and even as he blocked himself out from the outside world. Why should he not? He knew he was safe here. He had nothing to fear.

A hand pressed to his spinal strut, between his winglets.

He jerked, his processor snapping back to itself as his optics abruptly snapped open. He let out a loud, startled yelp, helm shooting around, and his gaze locking on mech who was smiling faintly, expression wry and amused.

“Master Yoketron.” he did not wheeze, thank you very much.

“Prowl.” His master greeted, tone warm. “I apologize for startling you. I thought you would wish to know that it is time for afternoon fuel. It would be best to take it, I believe. The lessons I have planned for the rest of this orn are rather difficult.”

Prowl released a heavy, relaxed vent. He nodded, the harsh light of his optics dimming behind his visor as his systems realized he wasn’t under attack. “Of course, Master. Thank you for coming to get me. I apologize for not keeping better track of the time.”

Master Yoketron only shook his head. “Of course, young one. I understand the importance of meditation. I would not think to force you to stop early when I can prepare the fuel myself.” he hummed. “Though,” he cast his student a look. “I would appreciate if you did continue to prepare the fuel with me, in most cases.”

Prowl nodded, standing up and following his Master out the door of the small meditation room and down to the dining hall. “I would not think to abandon one of my tasks, Master Yoketron.”

“No, I do not think you would.” The old mech agreed. They stopped in the dining room, taking their respective seats. After a moment of silent eating, Prowl’s mentor spoke. “You have come very far since you first came to this Dojo, Prowl.”

Prowl paused, drawing back a little under the intensity of the gaze pinned on him. Yes, he supposed he had. He still wasn’t pleased that his teacher had had to take his name and bind him to himself to get him to stay, but he understood. Besides, he had come to like it, here. The old cyber-ninja was kind and fair, and he had never once forced Prowl out of his comfort zone or tried to abuse the bond, not a single time in the vorns since the fae had been dumped at his pedes. He stayed now because he wished to, not because he was forced to. The bond was still active, and Yoketron still held his name, but he had come to see this place as home and no longer tried to trick the cyber-ninja into breaking the bond. His Master still held his name, but Prowl would stay even if he did not.

“I suppose.” the fae said after a moment. “I am grateful to you, Master Yoketron. Even if I am not pleased as to how it happened, I am glad you took me as your student.”

The older mech relaxed, expression softening. “Indeed, young one. I feel much the same.” he murmured. “Now, I believe it is time we finish fueling. It will be a long orn yet.”

Prowl nodded, then picked up his cube of energon and took a sip. He didn’t know what his future would hold, but he, for once in his life, looked forward to what the coming stellar cycles would bring.

——————————

The coming stellar cycles, it turned out, would bring one of Master Yoketron’s former students. A mech named Jazz, who according to his mentor was visiting the Dojo for the Festival of Adaptus, and he intended to stay for the full deca-cycle the Festival took place on, as he was granted leave by the Elite Guard to do so. Yoketron had told him that Jazz had been his most recent student before he had taken in Prowl, and that the young cyber-ninja was apparently quite eager to meet their shared mentor’s newest disciple. Prowl wasn’t opposed to the visit, not at all. But in the vorns since he’d come to the dojo, he had relaxed and become more at ease, and so his magae itself had also become less tense and volatile. All that really meant, though, was that, now that he knew he was safe and at home, his instincts would let him behave in the way he wanted to about the Dojo’s guest.

Jazz didn’t know Prowl was a fae. He didn’t even know that a fae was in the Dojo. Which meant Prowl would be able to really mess with the mech and confuse him while he was here. He didn’t let his more mischievous tendencies be known often, but Prowl was a fae, and his people reveled in tricks and mischief. And now that someone new was coming, someone who wouldn’t know to anticipate it like Yoketron knew to, after living with Prowl’s rare pranks?

Well, Prowl was going to have some fun with Jazz.

——————————

Jazz didn’t know what he was expecting when he met his old Master’s newest student, but it most certainly wasn’t for the lithe mech to thrust out a hand, palm up, and say:

“Hello. Master Yoketron has told me about you. Would you like to give me your name?”

Now, the phrasing of the had been real funky, but Jazz hadn’t had time to think on it or even to tell the mech his name before Master Yoketron was putting a hand over his mouth and shooting the black and gold mech a very unimpressed look. The two-wheeler had huffed, arms crossing.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Master.”

And Primus, but he’d sounded petulant. Jazz still didn’t understand that whole interaction, but then Yoketron was stepping away and the bot offered his hand out again. “My name is Prowl, and you may use it as a friend.” he’d said.

Upon getting no reaction from the Dojo Master, Jazz had stepped forward and taken his hand. Again, very funky phrasing, but Jazz was starting to think maybe the mech himself was just from a different walk of life than he was. “Name’s Jazz.” he’d introduced himself, and thinking that the second part of Prowl’s introduction must be important to the mech, he’d found himself copying it. “Feel free to use my name as a friend.”

The words had tasted oddly stiff in his mouth, but before he could say anything more Master Yoketron was shooing his student off to do some chores, and then he’d led Jazz to the berthroom reserved for Dojo guests.

Which, was where the Polyhexian now found himself.

Except…the berth was stood vertical against the wall. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was how Master Yoketron was storing them when they weren’t in use? But then, why hadn’t it been put back horizontal before he had arrived? Jazz was very confused. He shrugged, moving to pull the berth back down. Maybe his old teacher had simply forgotten, though Yoketron had never forgotten anything before. Old age, then? Yeah, Jazz would sooner believe that Ultra Magnus enjoyed bar fights.

He still had no idea how the berth had gotten like that, but maybe things would make sense after recharge. So, he slipped under the mesh blankets and let himself slip into unconsciousness. He was sure things would be less confusing when he was operating at his full abilities.

The next morning did dawn, and Jazz had woken up making the choice to just forget about the berth incident. He might ask his mentor at a later date, but for now he’d focus on just enjoying his time at th old Dojo. He slipped out of his berthroom, remembering from his own training that right about now was when the morning fuel was prepared. Sure enough, he slipped into the kitchen to find both Dojo residents preparing their shares. Jazz went to do the same, and after a a breem all three of them were seated at the table.

Jazz turned to Prowl, smiling. “So, mech, how’re you liking it at the Dojo? I heard through the grapevine your arrival here wasn’t exactly ideal.” he offered, remembering what Warpath had told the rest of the cyber-ninjas.

Prowl paused. “…it was not ideal, you are right.” he confirmed. “I am grateful for Master Yoketron taking me under his care, however. I find the Dojo pleasant.”

Jazz chuckled. “You’re a pretty well-mannered mech, aintcha?” he teased playfully. “I’d almost think you came from nobility.”

Prowl, amusingly, looked very offended. “It does not do to be impolite.” he sniffed.

Jazz smiled. “I ain’t disagreeing with you. But you can relax, you get me?”

Prowl simply stared at him, then scoffed and returned to his meal. Jazz didn’t take it personally. Dai Atlas was pretty stiff too. Some mechs just preferred structure and formality. Yoketron, as he often was during mealtimes, was silent. The rest of their fuel was consumed in that silence, and then Prowl and the Dojo Master were cleaning up and going off to the morning lessons. Jazz remembered those. They had been very….straining. He stood, cleaning his own dishes and then going to mediate until the other two were done for the morning. Plus, he hadn’t been able to mediate properly for a while.

A couple joors later, Jazz was done and got to his feet. Yoketron ans Prowl should be finished by now too, he knew, and he decided to walk though the garden to get to the main hall. Except…there were some odd metalli-plants in the garden, arranged in a perfect circle. Jazz didn’t recognize them, and he found it odd that they were planted that way. He could also detect a very, very faint energy coming from the circle. Curious, he walked over, intending to get close and touch the plants to examine them, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked back, seeing Yoketron, and his old teacher looked exasperated. “Prowl, I would appreciate if you would not attempt to trap Jazz in your circles.” he called out.

Prowl stepped out from the Dojo, almost looking like he was pouting, and the odd energy around the flowers disappeared. “You’re no fun, Master. I wouldn’t have done anything.” he grumbled.

Yoketron only shook his head, and invited Jazz to join them for some basic katas now that morning lessons were done. He agreed, but tacked that onto his mental list of weird things going on at the Dojo. He thought that would be the last time. It wasn’t.

That night, when he went to the washracks, the solvent came out mixed with glitter. Jazz barely avoided getting a very sparkly makeover. Then, the next orn, he kept getting lost. Master Yoketron had to rescue him from the meditation chambers after the 12th time he ended up there trying to get to the dining hall. After that, his Master having to stop Jazz from accepting fuel that Prowl had offered. Then, he’d woken the next orn to find his berth was gone. Just….gone. Even though he’d been in it. The odd things kept stacking up and up, until finally, half-way into his stay, he learned what it all was.

It was when Yoketron, Prowl, and he were fueling after the morning lessons. Prowl and Jazz were talking, and then Prowl had said the words that made Jazz feel very, very stupid:

“Words have power, Jazz, so of course phrasing is important in proper social interaction!”

He forgot what they were even bickering about, staring at the rotten little trickster in front of him with a gaping mouth. “You’re a fae.” he realized. How had he not figured it out sooner? Master Yoketron had taught him about the fae. All cyber-ninja knew about the fae! Then a new thought struck him. “You stole my berth!”

Prowl blinked, and he seemed to relax when Jazz’s reaction to the revelation wasn’t fear or an attempt to turn him in. Only indignation. “I will not apologize.” he deadpanned.

Jazz stared, and then a grin stretched his lips. “You clever, tricky little glitch.” he said playfully, enunciating each word. There was no genuine malice in his tone. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

——————————

Prowl snorted as Jazz regaled him with yet another story about his new superior officer, a mech called Sentinel Prime, and his immense stupidity. They were in Iacon, and it had been a long time since Prowl had been so far from the Dojo, which was in the outer edges on Praxus, on its own land. But he’d come to a pause in his training, as Master Yoketron had sent him on an optics quest. It was, apparently, a major test in the life of a cyber-ninja. It would allow him to discover what he wished to do with his life, as he was meant to travel and experience new things and explore, and when he had the answer he would return to the Dojo. And then he would begin a new level of his training, according to his teacher.

So he was in Iacon currently, enjoying an afternoon with Jazz. It had been many vorns since that fateful Festival of Adaptus, and the two young mechs had forged a strong bond. So when Prowl’s optics quest had brought him in the direction of Iacon, he’d commed the older mech and asked to be shown around. The fae was nervous about being so close to the headquarters of Autobot High Command, because he knew what they did to any of his kind they discovered, but he was confident in his abilities to remain hidden. Plus, he had Jazz, and he knew the white bot wouldn’t let him be put in danger.

They were sitting at Jazz’s favorite cafe, enjoying a selection of energon treats, when Prowl felt it. A tug at his spark. The bond he shared with Yoketron went two ways. The older mech held most of the control, but Prowl could still sense his mentor through it. It was one of the reasons he had come to accept it. And now…now, Yoketron’s spark felt like it was sputtering, like the mech it belonged to was in pain and his life was in danger. Prowl didn’t stop to think. He threw down a fistful on shanix, and then grabbed Jazz’s wrist and dragged him away.

His processor was racing desperately, and he couldn’t even manage to answer his friend’s questions. He dragged them to an empty alley, and then closed his eyes, focused on his magae, and dug deep.

Every fae had a pocket plane of their own. It was like a bot’s subspace, but it wasn’t a subspace and it was large enough for a mech to go in to. It was like…a small sub-world of sorts, and only a fae could access it, and each fae had their own. The sub-world could be used as a quick method of transport. As long as the location one was trying to get to was on the same planet as they one they had left from, then a fae could use to to travel large distances in almost an instant.

Prowl had never accessed his, before. Oh, he’d tried. Countless times. But he’d never been able to. But now…now he had to. It was the only way they could get to Praxus, to Master Yoketron. So he dug inwards, pushing far, far deeper into his magae than he’d ever done before…and he stepped forward. He came into his sub-world, bringing Jazz with him, and the other mech was silent now, gaping im shock. He kept going though, and focused on Praxus, on the Dojo, and stepped again. Then, they were there. Prowl stumbled as he came to a stop in the Dojo, releasing Jazz and tripping onto his face. He didn’t notice when his visor was knocked loose as he shifted his gaze to try and find his Master.

Prowl and Jazz were frozen for a single sparkbeat at the scene they’d come into. A large mech with a hook in place of one hand and markings on his face was standing over their mentor. For a moment, Prowl thought the mech was fae. But he detected no magae from him, and the moment passed.

That was when the rage came. He snarled, his engine roaring his anger, and his claws lengthened to their sharpest, his fangs sharpening to their longest, and the golden markings around his optics glowed a brilliant, pale silver while his optics themselves glowed white. He surged up, and in the next sparkbeat he was between the mech and his master. He extended a hand, deadly claws resting on the mech’s chest plate, and before that hook could swipe at him he peeled back his lips, put his magae into his voice, and hissed a command.

“Stop.”

It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew. Without the mech’s name, the order wouldn’t hold much power. So, Prowl used the physical connection, and pushed with his magae, digging with his very spark into the core of the mech’s being. He had to be careful, he knew. Like this, it would be so easy to destroy, to rip the mech’s very soul apart and kill his being without even extinguishing his spark. But Master Yoketron had always warned him against using his powers to hurt others, telling him he was meant for greater than causing pain and suffering. Even if Prowl didn’t believe that, he still wanted to honor his Master’s wishes and his lessons. So he didn’t rip and tear and rend, like the more feral of his fae instincts demanded. Instead, he dug in, until he had what he wanted, and wove a strand of magae into the mech’s spark energy to ensure the bond would take.

Then he pulled himself back, and as the mech regained mobility he met those red optics and bared his fangs. “I know your name, bounty hunter.” he spat. “I know who you are, and your name is mine until such time I decide it is mine no longer. I have your name , Lockdown, and with it I have you.” Claws dug into metal armor as the mech froze, optics blown wide with shock.

“You will stop this, and you will leave, Lockdown. Now.” Prowl ordered in a snarling hiss.

Lockdown was tense, but the bond that Prowl had tied around his spark and the hold of his name over him forced him to obey. He stopped, and he left. It was only when the Dojo was silent that Prowl began to calm. He sagged, slowly releasing a heavy vent, and turned to the other two mechs. Jazz had helped Yoketron sit up, his helmet already returned to him, and both were staring.

“Uh, mech? What’s with the light show?” Jazz asked softly.

“Light show?” And then Prowl noticed the lights.

Small, glowing spheres of light and energy filled the room. Dozens of them. He gasped, reaching out to the nearest one and tapping it. It burst into flame, and Prowl jerked back. The flame burned out, and a new light replaced the old. Prowl hesitantly tapped another of the spheres, and this one burst into mist. It was then he understood what this was.

Every fae had a unique magae ability. It seemed these spheres were his, and each of them did something different. But what was the use, if he didn’t know which did what? Except….he did know. Or at least, his spark did. This was an ability born from his magae, from his spark. So….if he let that guide him..he would know.

He took a deep vent, focusing, and his gaze locked on one sphere floating to his right. He cupped his hands around it, bringing it to his mentor, and crouched by the older mech. He held his hands out, the sphere glowing above his clawstips.

“This one should help you, Master.” he said softly.

Yoketron hummed, then reached out and pushed his fingers into the light. It flared, dancing up along his frame, and small cracks and wounds in his armor sealed up while the heavier injuries lessened slightly in severity. He perked up too, as if he was given a boost of energy, and was able to stand up on his own after a moment. Prowl and Jazz followed suit, but before either could say anything another form burst into the Dojo.

“Master Yoketron, are you-“ the mech cut himself off, staring at the scene. “….I saw smoke coming from the Dojo?” he said, uncertain.

Prowl tensed, optics narrowing, but Jazz slid in to calm the situation. “It’s alright. We managed to deal with it.”

The mech’s uncertain gaze looked around the Dojo, clearly confused at the lights, until his optics found Prowl. Then they lit up with understanding, and recognition. He obviously realized what the fae was. But…he stepped forward anyway, holding out a hand. “You’re Master Yoketron’s student, right? My name is Springer, and I give it to you freely to use as you wish, though I hope you would use it as a friend.”

Prowl startled, not expecting a mech to give his name so easily. He had to cut the tie to his magae so it wouldn’t try to latch on and bind the mech. He took the offered hand, careful of his claws. “You are well met, Springer, and I would be pleased to call you my friend. My name is Prowl, and I offer it to you to use as a friend in turn.” he said smoothly, then stepped back.

Jazz grinned, throwing an arm around Prowl’s shoulders. “Nice, Prowler! But are you ever gonna explain what in the Pit you did? Cause I’m still trippin’ over tryin’ to figure it out.”

Springer cut in. “As much as I’d like to know too, maybe now isn’t the best time. We should clean up before the Elite Guard figures out something went down here. Prowl, that means you might want to cut your magae off, we don’t want you getting found out.”

Prowl tensed, but nodded stiffly. He could do that. He took a vent, closing his optics and relaxing. After a moment, the spheres started winking out, and his fangs and claws returned to their hidden states. His optics and markings stopped glowing, and he opened his optics to look for his visor. He quickly noticed it was broken on the floor, and he was about to panic when Jazz caught his attention and held out his own visor. His optics were bare for once, and Prowl found himself staring in quiet awe for a moment before a resetting of a vocalizer from Springer snapped his focus back. He snagged up the visor, slipping it on and shooting Jazz a grateful look.

“Great!” the green mech was smiling. “Now, let’s figure out this mess!”

Prowl hummed. “I believe I have an idea. Springer, if you will, I believe you and I would be best suited for cleaning up here. Jazz, would you mind helping Master Yoketron?” A glance back showed their mentor leaning against the far wall, seemingly in a meditative state. “And call in a medic, his wounds still need to be treated.”

The other two glanced at each other, and for a moment Prowl thought they wouldn’t take orders from an ungraduated student, but to his surprise they nodded and got to work. Prowl felt himself smile, and fell into place with Springer to clean up the mess Lockdown had made of the Dojo’s main hall. He had been worried that he wouldn’t find his place once he graduated the Dojo and left his Master’s care, but he was starting to realize he would have a place after all. He would find his acceptance and his purpose in the Cyber-Ninja Corps and the mechs who he would one day call his brothers-in-arms. He was sure of that now. He looked forward to it. For once, Prowl knew that his future was bright, and he was eager to meet it head on.

(Yoketron watched his youngest student interact with two of his others, and felt pride swell in his spark. Prowl had come so very far from that first orn, when he’d been a half-feral youngling trying to flee the world itself. He’d known he had made the right decision in choosing his successor when he’d seen how Prowl handled Lockdown, and when he’d seen how easily and freely he had accepted Springer as a comrade. Prowl was going to far surpass him one orn, was going to be a far better Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps than he ever was. Yoketron couldn’t wait to see it.)

———————————————————————————————————

And there it is! What did you think? I hoped you liked it. I had fun. I like it. Fae Prowl is a little troll and you can’t convince me otherwise. Anyway, that story is finished! Yoketron lives, because I said so. Also, Prowl and Jazz totally become a thing later. Absolutely no one is surprised.

Aaaaannd…I think thats it! Yep, I’ve said the important stuff.

Until next time, folks!

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a-womans-rhetoric · 3 years

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Natalie Wynn's "J.K. Rowling" and Disruptive use of Women's Rhetorical Tropes: A Defiant Reply to Transmisogyny

ContraPoints, surrounded by an opulent, candle-lit set and adorned in witch's garb, leisurely pours champagne into her glass — she's ready to breach the internet's hottest topic of January, 2021: her childhood idol being outed as a transphobe (link here). The video itself being over an hour and a half long, I would be hard-pressed to claim that I could ever hope to cover its entirety, comprehensively, in a single post. So to save-face, I'll be dedicating this space only to breaking down her most frequently used rhetorical tropes, one by one.

Irreverence

"Joanne, I wanna talk to you, Joanne! [Fans herself with a rainbow paper fan with the word "BIOLOGICAL" written across it] What is it about Joannes? I can't catch a break from these people" (00:23-00:29, emphasis added).

Wynn's introductory lines immediately open a dialogue with J.K. Rowling — however, this invitation of discourse is defiantly "irreverent" (reminiscent of Nomy Lamm's punk-feminist style in "It’s a Big Fat Revolution” (1995)). Contrapoints, herself a transgender woman, is aware that her very existence is considered in opposition to the TERF-ideology that Rowling subscribes to. Thus, she's rather playful — even openly disrespectful — with her diction: calling the British author by her first name in a mocking-tone and flaunting her own trans identity to the camera (in a way that would likely offend the fragile sensibilities of a transphobe). Her personal tone (with ample use of the pronoun "I") servers a duplicitous purpose: a simultaneous message of "sit down and listen" and a fair degree of "I don't care if you can't accept me."

"So, now that 2020 is finally over, I think we can let the record conclusively show that it was a year whomst is bad. And on top of everything else going on, truly the last thing we needed was the author of Harry Potter coming forward to announce there's two things she can't stand: bigotry, and the transgenders. (00:31 - 00:50, emphasis added).

Finally broaching the subject at hand directly, Wynn employs kairos alongside her irreverence. Kairos, or the rhetorical use of an "opportune moment," holds incredible weight in the first month after 2020: the year in which the whole world fell into a stasis. Characterizing Rowling's transphobia as a collective "the last thing we needed," is also rather dismissive — she unites herself with her audience with the pronoun "we" and invites us all to groan at the exasperating nature of Rowling's bigotry.

Claiming the Right to Speak / Personal Experience

"This is a painful topic for me all around because, as a transgender woman, I am honestly really hurt by a lot of the things Joanne has said in the last year. But I also know what it's like to be the target of a Twitter mob" (01:36-01:47).

As she begins to touch on the topic, Natalie Wynn claims the right to speak on the issue of Rowling's transphobia — a type of bigotry that directly effects her. However, Wynn also situates herself partially with Rowling in her acknowledgement that receiving Twitter backlash is a terrifying experience (an experience, she argues, that the human brain is not prepared to handle the scale of, 01:49-02:39). In treating her subject with such dignity — and adding her own deeply personal account— ContraPoints creates a credible ethos in the beginning of her video essay. The audience is inclined to listen to someone who has been directly effected by the subject of Rowling's controversy (transphobia) and someone who is, rather compassionately, willing to empathize with those who would wish her harm. Although the generally sassy, glamorous, and irreverent tone of the video still appears soon after (see: the above image), her opening up for this somber moment garners a fair degree pathos in the viewer — we, as human beings, are inclined to sympathize with people who are open about being hurt.

Metis (Embodied Rhetoric)

[The following ContraPoints quote is addressing the above J.K. Rowling tweet, content warning for transmisogyny] "Transphobes love to play this game where they pretend that trans people just don't understand basic biology, that's our problem! As if I didn't start taking female hormones because I'm acutely aware that my body is not the same as a cis woman's body, that sex is real. "[Fictional TERF character] You will never be a woman, Nathan. Every cell in your body is male and has a Y chromosome." Really? That's crazy. How you'd you learn so much about science? You know I don't really feel the need to have a second X chromosome, I get by with only one, I make it work. I actually like the Y chromosome, I think it's a little more dainty, you know, it's little softer, a little more petite. The X chromosome has a lot of extra appendages, and don't you think? I don't need anymore of those, thanks. No trans person thinks it's possible to change chromosomal sex and to pretend otherwise is to argue in bad faith" (08:47-09:34).

If you can excuse my gargantuan quote, I hope you'll agree that the dialogue ContraPoints builds here was just too good to cut short. Within this excerpt, we see Wynn's use of irreverance and personal experience blended seamlessly together. For this YouTuber, the personal is perpetually political — especially when her own identity is constantly taken as an ideological stance. She uses her own expertise in trans issues to pick apart just how disingenuous Rowling's assertions are — even accusing her of "argue[ing] in bad faith" with her reductive claims (later, taking specific issue with how Rowling treats trans-ness as a costume). But, here, she also directly invokes another rhetorical trope: that of metis, or embodied rhetoric. Natalie Wynn specifically references her transgender body as a sort of counterpoint to the condescending "sex is real" claims by TERFs. She cites her intrinsic desire to pursue hormonal therapy as evidence that she — and other trans people like her — are all "acutely aware" that there are chromosomal differences between themselves and cis women. With this salient statement, she then follows with some humor: which, again, utilizes her trans body in her rhetoric. Her characterization of the Y chromosome as "more petite" and playful declaration of not needing "extra appendages" lightens up the often dark tone that arguing for trans rights and liberation can take. The clever points she makes are by no means weakened by her humor — if anything, the audience is more willing to listen to someone who can "joke about themselves" (so to speak) while still arguing an incredibly important message.

Naming and Defining Issues

"When I see Joanne tweeting about how trans people think sex isn't real and they're erasing same-sex attraction and they're silencing women, alarm bells are ringing because I recognize these as familiar transphobic talking points, specifically TERF talking points. "TERF" means trans exclusionary radical feminism. God are we still talking about this? I promise this is the last time. So TERFism is a hate movement that disguises transphobia as feminism. ... The fundamental problem with TERFs is not that they're mean. It's that they're politically reactionary, they want to reverse the progress of trans liberation." (14:05-16:02)

In her definition of TERF rhetoric, Natalie Wynn outlines some dog-whistles that are obvious to her, as a trans woman. She calmly explains to the viewer that, oftentimes in the present-day, rhetorics of exclusion are thoroughly disguised; TERFs, specifically, hide their rampant transphobia as a form of feminism. However, she further clarifies that the specific "danger" that TERFs pose is not from their cruelty — it's from their fervent dedication to strip away trans rights through political means. By specifying this danger, Natalie Wynn shifts the conversation away from empty discussion of offensiveness/terminology, to issues which directly affect the lives of trans people every day.

[This portion addresses the picture above] Also an act of naming and defining, ContraPoints makes a distinction between "Direct" and "Indirect Bigotry." She argues that many people envision bigotry as a festering, public, frothing-at-the-mouth hatred — a phenomenon she dubs "the Westboro Baptist Church theory of bigotry" (20:06). In bringing attention to the human tendency to think of people as exclusively practicing "direct bigotry" — envisioning them as a sort of delusional "other" — she then forces the audience to contemplate the relative omni-presence of the more covert (and possibly alluring) "indirect bigotry." This definition, crucially, requires introspection. By allowing ourselves to think of bigots not exclusively as "Westboros," we're made to adopt a much more nuanced view of subjects (most) generally prefer to keep black-and-white. Natalie Wynn uses her J.K. Rowling case study to complicate this 2D view of "The Bigot," inviting others to more carefully examine how politically reactionary views develop.

Phew, this was probably the longest post I've ever typed up on tumblr! Hopefully, I succeeded in demystifying (or at least adding clarity to) some of the specific tropes ContraPoints uses (that are common to women's rhetorics as a whole). Thanks for reading if you stuck around this long, and my ask box is always open!

#contrapoints #tw transphobia #tw transmysoginy

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the-mad-starker · 4 years

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Starkercest: The Stuff of Dreams

This smutty piece was inspired by @toybandaids and the use of sleeping pills in Only Me (Link here! 😏) and encouraged by my friend Keyz 😊 Tried to get this in for Father's Day but it ended up longer than expected (what else is new 😅😅) then of course, procrastinated some more by making a moodboard!

One more fic until I start on my Starker Festival bingo!

Summary: Omega Peter watches over his father's dreams and makes sure they're sweet, pleasant dreams.

Notes: Incest, A/B/O, Intersex omegas, noncon/dubcon, drug induced somnophilia, tiny bit of bulge kink, size kink, breeding, vaginal sex

WC: 3617

(AO3 Link)

💗💗💗

Peter worries about his dad constantly.

People like to brush it off by saying it's an omega thing which– ugh, he doesn't even want to get into that. It's not an omega thing, it's a Peter thing because… because his dad is Tony Stark, okay?

His dad is amazing, a perfect alpha. He's a literal genius, a trait Peter inherits from his father. But more than that, his dad has such a big heart. For others, it's difficult to see under all that sass and sharp tongue of his but when he's with Peter, it's all warmth and smiles. Peter gets the sass too, but he gets everything else that his dad is too guarded to show anyone else.

He loves that about his father.

Tony's also the perfect alpha, even without his gig as Iron man or a billionaire.

And Peter worries, okay? Because all this superhero stuff takes such a heavy toll on his alpha, especially since Peter somehow gets roped into it too. But they both know that Peter wouldn't give up being Spider-man for anything. Not when it means he can be by his dad's side. Protect him. Keep him safe.

An omega protecting an alpha? Not as uncommon as people like to think. Especially when it comes to Peter. His dad is the most important person to him, of course, he'd protect him.

It's another hard night when they return home.

His dad has Friday scan him from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Any minor bruising or injuries Peter sustains during battles are wiped clean by the time they get home though. Even with Friday confirming that, Tony still looks him over.

"You sure you didn't get hurt?"

"I'm sure, dad."

"How about your shoulder? I saw you take that hit–"

"Dad– I said I'm okay…!"

The alpha breathes out a sigh that sounds like it comes from his very core. His hands on Peter's shoulders loosen as the tension eases out of him.

"Okay. Okay," he says, shoulders slumping, "Sorry, kiddo. I know– I know you can take care of yourself. I just worry, okay?"

If Peter was like any other teen, Tony's constant concern could possibly rub him the wrong way. Instead, the young omega soaks it all up, just melting in his dad's arms. His own come up to hug his alpha father and he's just tall enough now that he can bury his nose against his father's scent gland.

He breathes in the familiar scent of home and a soft, quiet sort of purr rumbles in his chest. His father answers it with one of his own, deep and reassuring. The sound is a private little thing between them, an intimate affair for just them alone.

"I worry, too, dad," Peter admits. Then, because he knows his dad is feeling a bit vulnerable, he asks, "Is it… Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight? Please, dad?"

He can feel his dad's huff of laughter and the warm puff of breath against his ear. He has to force his body to keep from trembling.

"Was there really any point in giving you your own floor if you're just gonna sleep with your old man all the time?" Tony's words are a soft tease but he doesn't say no. Peter knows he won't, either. He never does.

"It keeps me from cluttering the penthouse?" Peter says innocently, a light quip to his dad's rhetorical question.

"Yeah," Tony steps back and shakes his head with a fond smile. "Okay, kiddo, guess we're having a sleepover, just you and me."

It's always just them. And that's how Peter wants it to remain.

They do their routines, brush their teeth side by side. Tony strips down to just his boxers and Peter wears short shorts and an undershirt.

His dad's body is littered with faded scars, marks from their work as superheroes. Sturdy strong shoulders and a trim waist, thanks to Peter's insistence that they try to be healthy. His dad has enough health problems as it is.

In contrast, Peter is all lithe muscles and slender lines thanks to omegan biology and then the bite.

Nothing unusual happens. It never does during this part…

But then they settle down and Peter curls up against his father's side, cuddling close and throwing a leg over his dad's.

"Little octopus," his daddy teases, "Thought you were bit by a spider."

Peter only clings even tighter when his father reaches for the bedside drawer. Even with his face half buried against his dad's shoulder, his ears pick up the soft rattle of pills.

"Dr. Banner still okaying those?" Peter asks curiously.

"Yeah, insomnia's a bitch and these have worked real good so–" Tony pops two pills and swallows it dry. "I just want a good night's sleep with my favorite son."

"I'm your only son," Peter points out, right on cue.

"Mhmm…" Tony settles down, pulling the sheets up and making sure they're both covered. "Favorite son…"

Peter pretends to drift off, eyes closed, but his mind is far too active to fall asleep. He feels the way Tony's breathing deepens; the pill taking effect fast.

While his dad is lulled into sleep, his heart thumping away at a steady, reassuring pace, Peter's is quickening.

He's about to do something unforgivable, but it wouldn't be the first time.

Fifteen minutes go by.

"Dad…?" Peter murmurs softly.

"Mm…?" Tony barely responds. It's more instinct, his father recognizing Peter's voice calling for him.

"Love you," he answers quietly and gets no response besides a soft hum.

Peter waits some more, though his little cocklet is starting to get hard. He doesn't dare rub against his dad–yet.

Another half an hour passes.

"Daddy…?" Peter murmurs.

This time, there's no response. He lightly taps his finger against the arc reactor and still, there's no response.

His dad is deep asleep, helped along by those innocent little pills that'll keep him under while Peter has his fun.

With his heart thumping, Peter carefully sits up. The sheet slips from his shoulder with a soft hiss, but he barely notices. He's gotten so excited, so wet, just laying there, thinking about what's to come. His tiny little shorts are soaked in no time.

He gently tugs the sheet away from his father's sleeping body and he does it so slowly, breath held, as though revealing a grand prize. He's seen his dad's body so often, naked or clothed, but each time he sees it like this, it's like the first time all over.

The thrill of excitement floods his system, and he takes a moment to drink it all in.

His alpha… Tony…

When Peter can't contain himself, he crawls between his father's legs and gently palms Tony's soft cock. He starts off with gentle, curious strokes and feels it respond by lengthening right under his hand.

He settles on his stomach, presses his face between the alpha's inner thigh and the now noticeable erection his dad is sporting. He breathes in the scent, mouthing at the fabric and hands greedy as he tugs Tony's boxers down.

"Ah…" Peter can't help but moan when Tony's cock is revealed.

His father isn't even fully erect but already, the size and girth of his cock makes Peter's mouth water. His eyes dart up to Tony's sleeping face as he nuzzles his cheek against his dad's alpha cock.

"Missed this…" the omega murmurs as he leads the tip to his mouth. "I know you missed it too, dad… Haven't been able to help you this week and you got so grumpy in the last meeting…"

He starts to lightly suck on the tip, thin, pink lips covering the fat mushroom shaped head. He licks away the precum right from the slit before it even manages to drip.

"I'll make it better, daddy…" he promises.

Above him, Tony's lips part open and a soft sigh can be heard. His cock twitches in Peter's hand, responding eagerly to the familiar touch. He's having a good dream, pleasure and warmth wrapped in one, as he's being serviced.

Peter takes in more. He loves sucking Tony's cock and loves it best like this. Loves feeling his father's soft cock grow in his mouth. It fits nicely in his mouth like this but not for long. He sucks and licks hungrily and Tony's cock thickens and swells right in his mouth.

It's an experience unlike any other… Feeling his efforts being rewarded in the form of a thick, rock hard alpha cock.

He's managed to get his father to come down his throat multiple times. He's only been able to take his knot once. It's tempting to try it again tonight but his pussy feels so empty… His back hole too…

Once his mind considers going all the way, he has a hard time deciding which hole he wants to use to get his father off.

His dad seems to like his pussy the best. He's not sure if Tony realizes just what hole he's fucking, but it's like the alpha's instincts kick in and the need to breed takes over.

Peter likes it best there, too, but he's still stuck in indecision. So he decides he'll figure it out in the moment. He just knows that tonight, he's getting a creampie, either way.

He continues sucking Tony off, licking and slurping to his heart's content. The alpha's cock stretches his lips wide, fills his mouth past the point of comfort.

Peter has learned how to breathe with such a sizable obstruction in the way. His eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head when the length tickles the back of his throat.

He pulls off with a wet gasp, saliva leaving the length all wet and gleaming. Thin strands of spit connect the tip to his mouth and he leans back down to lavish even more attention on it.

"Mm… There you go, dad," Peter moans softly, "Got you all nice and ready. Aren't I such a good son…?"

He gives the alpha cock one last stroke, squeezing just how he knows his father likes. Once that nice warm hole is gone from his cock, his dad's expression becomes troubled. Brows twitch and scrunch up, a line forming between them.

Peter gets up on his knees and presses his father's cock against his own smaller stiff length.

"Ah… daddy…" Peter sighs with a roll of his hips. His eyes fixate on Tony's face and the upset turn of his mouth.

He leans down, purposely rubbing the alpha's cock even more.

"I'll make it better," he promises with a kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth. "Make it better for both of us…"

He lifts up just enough to position his father's cock against his pussy. Just that might touch is enough to make him tremble as the tip slips through his plump lips.

He's leaking so much slick already… The wet sounds are more than enough to turn the tips of his ears red. It sounds so dirty and the act itself is even more so.

"I need it…" Peter admits, eyes slipping shut as he savors the anticipation. "Need this so bad, dad…"

This entire time he's been telling himself how much he helps his father by doing this. He says he takes all of his alpha's frustration, leaves him feeling spent and relaxed and how it's good for Tony… A little stress relief.

But the truth is… Peter is a selfish brat. His daddy is his and the only omega in Tony's life is Peter.

The tip is drenched in his slick and the alpha's own precum. And even though his pussy aches at the thought, he pulls back and drags his father's cockhead to the tight little back hole that's just as hungry to be filled.

When he presses the tip there, Peter's just so tempted to sink down… He wants to feel his daddy's cock breach him there and he wants to groan around the stretch, feeling so full that he can barely breathe.

He considers it, God, he considers it… But with an impatient hiss, his hips angle back so that Tony's cock presses against his pussy again.

He sinks down without another thought or at least he tries.

"Ah…" Peter moans as he's being stretched apart.

He can feel everything… The wide glans pushing its way inside him… the prominent veins all along the length of his daddy's cock… Warm, rock hard flesh… Bare inside him. No condom, because fuck, they're family… Father and son. This is all he ever wants… Just his daddy filling him up so good…

His thighs tremble as he tries to control just how much he takes. There's a dark thought in the back of his head to just slam down and feel the way his daddy stretches him so obscenely.

The omega whimpers and looks down at his father through the slits of his eyelids.

"Daddy…" Peter moans shamelessly as he rocks up and down, trying to inch more and more inside him "Daddy… Ah… Daddy…"

Just halfway and he can't take any more. No, he has to work himself open on his daddy's cock just to be able to take him fully. He leans forward and groans when a few inches slip out. He feels it so keenly, the way his walls cling to his father's cock.

He sinks back down with labored panting, eyes threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tony's cock takes up every space inside him, every crevice…

The angle is perfect, Peter makes sure it is. He's done this often enough that he knows just how to ride his daddy and get his cock to brush against that sweet spot inside him.

"Dad…" His voice wobbled and he swallows the lump in his throat. "It feels so good… so good, daddy…"

Peter reaches for his father's limp hands and intertwines their fingers. Their bodies are joined, connected, but holding Tony's hands, palm to palm, brings a whole other element of intimacy to the act.

His hips roll fluidly as he falls into a familiar rhythm, inching more and more of his father's cock inside his sopping wet pussy. He feels it the moment Tony's cockhead bumps against the entrance to his womb. He sucks in a sharp breath, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

He glances down the flat planes of his body and his breath hitches. He leads one hand to his belly where a subtle but noticeable bulge interrupts the natural shape of his body. He presses his father's hand against it, knowing his daddy's cock is right there.

"Daddy's cock…" Peter moans softly, "Feel you so deep inside me, daddy… and it's still– still, mm, not enough…"

It only makes him even more desperate to get it all inside. The bed starts to squeak, the headboard tapping against the wall as Peter's pleasured moans fill the air.

He drags his father's hands, so warm and broad, to his hips. Presses Tony's fingers down and imagines his father guiding him as he fucks into his own son.

Pleasure grows inside him, warmth coiling tight in his belly.

"Dad…"

Peter's moans are unrestrained and louder now that he's caught up in the pleasure.

His eyes slip shut. He doesn't notice how his father's hands tighten around his waist nor does he notice Tony's eyes struggle to open.

He only notices when his father's hips push up violently, sinking that last stubborn inch inside of him.

"Ah!" Shock colors the yelp along with delight. His eyes fly open, terrified that somehow he's woken his father up.

Heat blooms from his cheeks and spreads all the way down. It leaves his chest flushed with mortification, his pink nipples peaked with excitement.

His father is staring right at him.

"Dad!"

Peter cries out when Tony's hands turn harsh and drag him down so they're pressed chest to chest. His cock rubs against his father's belly and he's helpless– He can't help squirming and moaning even though he's been caught. Can't help rubbing his hard omega cock against his father's abs.

"Pete–!" His dad groans, arms snaking around his back. "Fuck! Fuck…!"

His daddy is… His daddy is fucking him! Instead of throwing Peter off, his father's strong arms hold him in place as he fucks in deep, hips thrusting up almost desperately.

"Dadd…!" Peter gasps. He turns his head, nuzzling against Tony's beard and searching for his lips. He feels like he'd die if he didn't kiss him right that second.

"Oh, fuck, baby…" his dad groans breathlessly. "Fuck… Don't wanna wake up… God, your pussy… My baby's pussy feels so good…"

"Oh…!" Peter desperately pushes against his dad's arms so he can look into his eyes. What he sees is both terrible and great.

His father is looking back at him, wonder and lust– Lust!– so clear in his eyes. The expression, one Peter has never imagined being directed at him, sends a thrill down his spine.

The terrible truth is that his dad thinks he's dreaming. But he thinks he's dreaming of fucking his own son…

"Don't wake up, dad," Peter breathes and Tony groans. He buys into it as Peter lets him fuck his pussy, encourages him with seductive rolls of his hips. "Want your cum… Want it so bad… Will you give it to me, daddy? Are you gonna blow inside my pussy…?"

His father moans, eyes refusing to close. He keeps looking straight at Peter with bleary, hazy eyes.

"Gonna– Mm, gonna fill my baby up…" Tony mumbles almost incoherently but Peter's so close that he catches every word. Excitement spikes inside him and he meets his father's thrusts with his own, desperate to feel him come.

"Do it, dad… Come inside," Peter says, eyes wide and pleading. "Do it, do it… Fill me up, daddy… Want… want your pups inside me…!"

A part of him thinks he's gone too far. A part of him thinks those words will shock his father into truly waking.

But perhaps he doesn't know his father as well as he thinks. Those forbidden words only spurn Tony into fucking him harder.

The alpha growls at the encouragement, hips slapping against his ass.

"Oh…! Oh!" Peter squeals when he feels it.

His daddy's knot…

It's not the first time he's gotten Tony to knot him but this will be the first that he's being knotted instead of just taking it.

It's different, vastly different with his father actually doing the deed. It adds a whole other element that was previously missing… His father's desperate groans and the way he clutches Peter tight as he ruts and ruts… Trying to get his knot to pop so that he can lock himself in.

The knot slips in and out, still too small but not for long. Peter clenches down on it, crying out with every failed attempt to keep it inside. It leaves him feeling too wide open, bereft, even though his father's cock is still stuffing him full.

Tony, too, is growling in his ear, puffs of warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin as he works desperately to tie them together. His cock touches every part of Peter deep inside… So deep…

All the while, his father's calling out his name.

"Peter… Mm, Peter, baby..."

It leaves no illusion as to who he's imagining and Peter moans in bliss, pliant and willing to be bred right then and there. With the relentless fucking, the desperate need to fill him up, it was inevitable that Peter couldn't hold on.

His entire body locks down as he finally gives him. Warmth blossoms between them, his aching cock spilling generously between their bellies. A rush of slick gushes around his father's cock, drenching his groin but that doesn't stop him.

All that slick only makes it easier to fuck into Peter's clenching pussy. Makes it easier to knot.

When the knot finally locks into place, Peter almost sobs in relief, spent as he is. The last harsh tug has tears prickle in his eyes but the sensation passes when a flood of heat surges into him.

Peter cries out, body shaking, as his father groans in completion. Load after load is released inside, his dad shamelessly filling up his little pussy… Cockhead pressed right where he wants it, soaking his insides and pushing through as much seed as possible into his womb...

The omega's nails drag down Tony's chest, leaving streaks of red lines in his wake. He feels every pulse, ever twitch… His daddy coming so deep inside him that he feels him in his stomach.

Cum drunk, Peter realizes with a soft moan. That's what he is… His daddy's filling him up so much that he's getting high off the feeling.

He kisses his dad with clumsy sloppy kisses and Tony returns them. His actions are more sluggish now that he's accomplished his goal.

"Sweet dreams…" Peter murmurs when he places another pill between Tony's lips. Another kiss and this time, Peter's tongue eases between his father's lips… His dad swallows it easily.

Tony drifts back into pleasurable dreams and Peter gingerly sits. He groans softly when his daddy's cock continues to pulse inside him. With his internal muscles squeezing down, milking the knot, he knows it'll be a long night.

Unlike all the other previous nights, Peter is now inspired. With the memory of his daddy reverently whispering his name, Peter starts to gently rock back and forth, stimulating the knot and getting ready for another round.

He'll be sure to give his daddy more sweet dreams to comfort him.

#starker #starkercest #madstarker writes #moody mads #nff #somnophilia #intersex omegas #omegaverse

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imekitty · 4 years

Note

If you're interested, I'd have a suggestion for a DP oneshot: it takes place in a classroom, with only Danny and Paulina in it since they're retaking a test they failed. Unfortunately for Paulina, she still doesn't have a clue about the right answers; Danny, on the other hand, having spent a lot of time studying, knows exactly what to do and is almost done. But just as he's about to put his signature, Paulina walks up to him and sweetly asks him what he would like to do since there's still ...

So I know you sent more asks basically giving an entire outline from start to end. However, because I like more freedom when writing, I’ve decided to go with the premise of Danny and Paulina in detention together to get help for a failed test and create my own story. I encourage you to write your full idea yourself if you would like to see it! :)

----------

“Danny, why are you still here?” asked Sam as she shut her locker. “Lancer’s gonna be mad if you’re late for detention.”

Danny groaned. “You’re right. I’m going.”

“Good luck, dude,” said Tucker. “Text us when you’re done and we’ll meet you at Nasty Burger or something.”

Danny grumbled agreement and headed to Lancer’s classroom. Lancer gave him a dull stare from behind his desk as Danny reached the doorway.

But there was another student sitting at one of the front desks, a student who escalated Danny’s heartbeat.

“Paulina?” Danny stammered. “Am I interrupting something? Should I wait outside?”

“No, Mr. Fenton,” said Lancer. “Miss Sanchez also failed our most recent test, so I’m giving both of you some extra help.”

“Hi, Danny,” greeted Paulina, her voice sweet and sultry.

“Hi.” Danny felt stuck in the doorway but forced himself to walk into the room. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

Paulina laughed. “Well, I can’t say the same about you. This is exactly where I’d expect to see you.”

Danny took a seat next to Paulina. “I don’t actually get detention that often, you know.”

“Yes, you do, Mr. Fenton,” said Lancer, turning to face the whiteboard and write notes with a fresh blue marker. “You currently hold the record for most detentions received in a semester.”

Danny blushed. Paulina giggled softly.

Lancer began drawling on about some poet who died but Danny could barely pay attention. Oh, he certainly tried, but being so close to the most beautiful girl in school was really hurting his concentration.

He stole glances at her out of the corner of his eye. And one time, he swore he could see her looking at him as well.

After lecturing for some time, Lancer assigned a few independent practice exercises from their textbook and disappeared out into the hall. Danny could hear the voice of another English teacher in the school and knew Lancer would likely be talking to her for a while.

Danny looked down at his textbook. He was supposed to answer questions about poetry devices or some other thing he still didn’t really get. He had no idea why English was such a pain in the ass. He definitely didn’t know why he had to learn all this crap about poetry, like when was that ever going to help him fight ghosts or do anything actually important?

His gaze travelled down the textbook page to his blank sheet of paper and then across and off his desk to Paulina, who was busy writing. She stopped when she caught him staring at her.

“Can I help you with something, Danny?” she asked, her tone snide but kind.

“Sorry.” Danny sucked his teeth. “So, um… You failed the test too, huh?”

Paulina breathed hard out her nose and sat back in her seat. “Yeah. I didn’t really have the time to study, you know? And I guess I didn’t realize it would be as hard as it was.”

“Didn’t have time to study?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I’m not, like, stupid.” Paulina chuckled. “I could’ve passed if I just wasn’t so busy.”

“Busy with what?” asked Danny. “Do you and the A-List hang out a lot?”

“Sure, but that’s not what keeps me busy. Cheerleading, for one. We have to practice all the time, sometimes even in the morning. And the mornings we don’t practice, I’m still getting up early to get in a run and some exercise. I’m the cheerleading captain, you know. I have to keep everyone at their best and motivated. Every day, I’m working out choreography for new routines and figuring out new fundraising ideas.”

“Don’t you have a coach for that?”

“Yeah, of course, but I still do a lot. Cheerleading isn’t just some silly girls’ activity, you know.”

“I—I didn’t say it was—”

“I have to make sure everything and everyone is ready for practice.” Paulina pulled back a finger on one hand as she listed off responsibilities. “I have to text all the girls and let them know about changes in our practice schedule or upcoming events. If any of the girls aren’t getting along, I have to try to keep the peace as much as possible so that we’re still a team. I’m also the one greeting visiting cheer squads during games, making them feel welcome at our school.”

“I didn’t know you did all that,” said Danny.

“The coach manages our time and schedule and makes sure none of the girls are failing in their classes, things like that, but I’m the one really communicating with the girls, you know?” Paulina sighed. “But I wish that was all I had going on.”

“You’re busy with other things?”

“Yeah, being as popular as I am, I’m often being asked by teachers and student clubs to do things. Advertising stuff, endorsing student council candidates, making appearances, giving fashion advice for uniforms. And I never turn anyone down, I always say yes.” Paulina leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Sometimes I wish I could just say no.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Danny.

“Because it’s expected of me. Being popular means doing things to maintain that popularity. If I start turning people down, they’re gonna think I’m a bitch, you know?”

“But you turn guys down for dates all the time.” Danny smiled and propped his elbow on his desk. “Me being one of them.”

Paulina also smiled. “Personal things like that are okay to turn down. I mean like anything to do with the school and clubs. Of course I can’t just date every guy who asks me out. Can’t give the impression I’m easy either.”

She looked ahead at the whiteboard, her smile vanishing.

“I do get a lot of guys asking me out,” said Paulina. “I know it’s just because I’m pretty. But looking this pretty all the time is work too. I have to eat right and watch my weight and exercise and spend half an hour each night on my skin care routine and an hour each morning on my hair and makeup and then touchups throughout the day. I never know when someone might take a picture of me and send it around. I can’t risk ever looking bad.”

“You have never looked bad,” said Danny. “Like ever.”

Paulina’s smile returned. “Thank you. That’s sweet.” She groaned and stretched out her arms. “But I tell you, Danny. I probably only get three to four hours of sleep a night. I’m running on coffee and energy drinks all day long. This detention is really cutting into my time, too. I’m probably gonna be up late finishing all my other homework.”

She continued to stretch. Danny normally might’ve enjoyed watching her but he was too struck by her words.

She only got three to four hours of sleep a night?

But… That was how much sleep he usually got a night.

And yet she looked amazing every day and he knew he was just a pale haunted mess with dark eyes.

“So what about you, Danny?”

Danny blinked. “Hmm?”

“Why did you fail this test?” asked Paulina.

“Oh. Um.” Danny looked up and to the right. “I was also too busy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Paulina tossed a piece of hair over her shoulder. “You do come to class late a lot. Do you have like some sort of astronomy club meeting in the morning?”

“Astronomy club?”

“Yeah, don’t you like space and stuff?”

“Oh. Yeah! I do. But I’m not in the astronomy club.”

“Really? I would think you’d be their president.” Paulina chuckled. “Well, are you in any school clubs, then?”

Danny thought about the meetings he had with Sam, Tucker, and sometimes Jazz about their ghost-fighting strategies. “Not school clubs, no.”

“Any extracurricular activities at all? I know you don’t play any sports.”

“No…”

Paulina pursed her lips. “Well, then what is it that keeps you too busy to study?”

Danny looked off to the side, humming softly to himself.

“I often see you with Sam and Tucker after school at the Nasty Burger. Or on Saturdays at the mall.”

Danny turned back to her. “Well, yeah, we like to hang out after school to wind down. Don’t you hang out with your friends? You don’t do all that work all the time, do you?”

“Yeah, of course! I’m actually scheduled to hang out with them right after detention.”

“Scheduled?”

“Yeah. It’s important to me to make time for my friends, so I often schedule it to make sure it happens.” She tapped open her calendar on her phone and showed it to him. “I even keep Saturday nights free for possible dates, see?”

Danny stared at the empty slot under Saturday and wondered if this was a hint and if she wanted him to ask her to go out on Saturday.

But no way was he about to risk embarrassing himself by asking.

“So do the three of you do something that keeps you too busy to study?” Paulina put her phone back in her lap. “You, Sam, and Tucker, I mean.”

Danny scratched through his mind, raking for something, anything that wasn’t the truth but also maybe not a complete lie. He couldn’t let Paulina think he was just lazy and hung out with his friends eating burgers or walking around the mall all day.

“We, uh… Yeah.” Danny pretended to cough. “We help my parents out with their research.”

“Research?” Paulina scrunched her mouth. “You mean, like, ghost stuff?”

Danny nodded. “We sometimes test out their inventions.”

“That sounds kind of dangerous. Is it?” Paulina narrowed her eyes, appearing to scrutinize him. “Is that why you so often have injuries? Like that bruise by your collarbone there?”

Danny hastily tugged at his shirt collar. “Oh. You noticed that?”

“Yeah. Of course. A lot of people notice you’re often sporting some new cut or bruise.”

“Oh. Well, that’s, uh—”

“I’ve even heard some teachers say they might need to call CPS.”

Danny’s stomach flopped. “What?”

“Yeah, I hear lots of things teachers say since I’m around the whole school a lot.” Paulina shrugged. “But I’ve noticed Sam and Tucker sometimes have injuries as well. So is it from helping your parents out with their ghost research?”

“No, it’s not like that!” said Danny quickly, almost panting with the effort. “We just sometimes test out their inventions, give feedback, strategize on how to catch certain ghosts. Just stuff like that, nothing huge.”

“Ooh, catch ghosts like the ghost boy?” Paulina’s tone changed to almost a squeal. She held her hands near her chest.

“Uh.” Danny swallowed. “Well—”

“If your parents do ever catch him, you must let me know, okay?”

“I—”

“Because then I can get the A-List together so we can find a way to rescue him!”

Danny stared at her. “You’d really do that?”

“Well, of course! The ghost boy has done so much for all of us. He even saved my life once, you know! I could never just let him be captured.” Paulina lowered her voice. “Oh, but please don’t tell your parents that.”

Danny slowly nodded, holding back a smile. “Oh, sure, I would never tell them that. You have my word.”

“Here. You should have my number.” Paulina ripped off a corner of her notebook paper and scribbled some numbers on it before handing it to him. “Call or text me if they ever catch him, okay? Please?”

Danny took the piece of paper from her, feeling like he was in some sort of trance. Did this just happen? Did Paulina Sanchez, the most gorgeous girl in all of Casper High, just give him her number? To her cell phone? Like her personal cell phone?

He very carefully folded and placed the paper in his pocket. “Sure, absolutely. I’ll definitely call you if they catch him.”

She smiled and hummed, such a cute sound that made his heart flitter. But then her smile faded when her gaze travelled to his collarbone. Danny casually raised his shoulder and pulled his arm across his body to cover the bruise.

“So.” Paulina’s pretty full lips smacked. “If those injuries you keep getting aren’t from helping your parents with their inventions, then where are they from?”

Danny could feel sweat forming behind his ears.

“I mean, you’re not really that clumsy, are you?” Paulina chuckled.

Danny also chuckled, not really sure why except that she was doing it and he had no idea what else to do because he couldn’t tell her the truth and yes he was clumsy but no not that clumsy but what else could he tell her?

What would protect his parents? What would protect him?

Her expression grew warier the longer he stayed quiet.

The classroom door opened. Danny and Paulina promptly faced forward and hunched over their desks.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” said Lancer as he reclaimed his spot at the head of the room. “How are you two understanding everything?”

Paulina looked up and smiled, a secret smile Danny could tell was meant for him even though she never once glanced in his direction. “I think we’re understanding just fine, Mr. Lancer.”

Lancer looked over her notebook page and nodded his approval. Danny had no idea why he even bothered to try covering his completely blank page when Lancer came to look over his work.

“Why am I not surprised,” muttered Lancer. He knelt beside Danny’s desk with a sigh. “All right, Mr. Fenton. Let’s do this first one together to get you started.”

Behind Lancer, Danny could see Paulina flash him a smirk before returning to her own work.

He had always thought he was just busier than other students, had more responsibilities and expectations than everyone else. But he didn’t even have extracurricular activities like most students. Ghost fighting was his extracurricular activity. And somehow Paulina and everyone else still managed to do okay so why couldn’t he?

Maybe he really wasn’t that different from other kids his age after all.

Lancer was trying to talk him through something. Paulina was still wearing a small smile as she did her own work.

Danny nodded to himself and focused. He could do this. He could be like everyone else.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #paulina sanchez #pink astronaut #imekitty writes #imekitty ask #prompt writing #helled-blog

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validity-is-powerful · 3 years

Text

The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known - chap. 2

[Masterlist]

Based on this post.

——

Summary: A case comes in for a series of decapitations in Iowa.

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, including strangulation, decapitation, and getting shot

Pairing: Hotch/Rossi

Word Count: 12.2k

Read an excerpt below the cut, or read the full chapter on ao3.

Two weeks earlier…

The moon was away. The world was silent. He stood quietly in the alley, gun in hand. He had gone driving around that night looking for his target, and now, finally, he had found him. The man had entered a corner store, but it would only be a matter of time.

He waited, biding his time by watching the corner store intently, watching every movement.

And sure enough, his target emerged. He kept himself together long enough to grab his target’s jacket as he walked by. There was hardly time for a startled cry before his gun struck the back of his target's head, and he collapsed. He hauled the body to his car, which was parked outside the alley. His left leg protested horribly, bone creaking and groaning under him.

He drove. He drove quickly, and he drove quietly. No one could bear witness to this fact. Not now, when he finally had him, there, tied up in his trunk because to leave him in the back seat would mean witnesses, and to leave him unbound would be foolish.

He turned into the grass, ignoring the sign at the gate. He drove. The moon was shrouded tonight, its light thin and pitiful through the crowds. He didn't pity it. The darkness covered him like a friend. He didn't fear it, either. He was the thing that hunted in the dark.

He turned off the engine and climbed out, cursing and gripping the roof of the car when his leg did not want to hold his weight.

He took the shovel from under the backseat and walked a little ways away. The ground was soft enough he could dig easily, so he did. The earth piled up beside the shallow grave he dug. The moon wouldn't tell a soul of his deeds, he knew, the clouds blocked her view. And there was no one else around. Not at this time of night.

The grave dug, he set the shovel down beside it and limped to the trunk of the car, which he unlocked. His target was still unconscious. That wouldn't do. He'd be waking soon enough, though, and that would. He needed to see the terror in his eyes as he died.

He hauled the body out of the car, and dragged it across damp grass to the shallow grave. He laid the body crudely down to rest on its back.

The man did not stir. That wouldn't do.

He waited, slapped his face, even, but he did not move. Only his breathing assured that he was still alive.

He wrapped his hands around the throat of his target, and squeezed. It would have to do, even if it was less than what he had hoped for.

The man under him now began to stir, thrashing and wheezing. But he could move little. There was another man on his chest, and his hands and feet were bound.

He looked down into his target's teary eyes.

"Why are you afraid?" He sneered. Shuddering sobs and futile pleas followed his words. "You think he wasn’t, when you killed him? You think my son wasn't?"

"I didn't…" was the faint gasp beneath him. His target's eyes rolled up into his head as he struggled to breathe. "I don't…"

The man below him went still. And somehow, the hunter knew that his prey, this victim whose chest he sat on, was not who he had been hunting. He should have seen it before. The face was all wrong.

Anger overtook him, and he raced back to the car as fast as his leg would allow. He fetched the saw from the glove box and returned to the body waiting for him in a shallow grave.

If the moon saw, she didn't say.

Present day / Day One

"Guys, we've got a case," Garcia said on her way past the bullpen. The four agents seated there perked up, taking in her demeanor.

"This a bad one?" Morgan asked, already halfway out of his seat. Garcia paused, considering.

"Aren't they all? Rhetorical question, Reid, I know. This one's certainly a weird one, and likely going to get worse. Technically not a serial yet, but we've been personally invited by the police force there so you guys are flying out anyway."

"Right, so," Garcia began, pulling various images of two men up on the board. "Two men have been decapitated in Gordon, Iowa. Earlier this morning, Seld Collins was found dead in a local park, with his head chopped clean off and thrown nearby. Eight days ago, the first victim, Kegan Woods, was found in a different park, and he was killed the same way."

"They certainly look alike," Rossi commented. Both images were of caucasian men with short, dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended.

"Well, he's willing to cross age lines: they're over twenty years apart," JJ put in. "Woods was twenty and Collins was in his mid-forties."

"Not to mention the difference in socioeconomic status," Reid agreed. "Woods was a sophomore in college working part-time as a farmhand, while Collins was a middle-class business man for a local company."

"They were found in two different parks?" Prentiss asked. The question was directed to Hotch and Garcia.

"Yes," Hotch confirmed. "Mongolia Park and Birch Grounds, respectively. Aside from the exact disposal site, the murders are identical. That's why we were called out."

"That's a pretty distinct signature," Morgan said, examining the photos before him. "And not the sort of thing you see with an amateur."

"Garcia, run the signature through VICAP. He most likely has a record or has done this before," Rossi suggested. She nodded.

"We need to get out there before there's another body," was all Hotch said. "Wheels up in thirty."

“Garcia, what have we got?” Hotch asked, looking up from the file he was examining digitally.

“I’ve been digging, but as of yet I’m afraid there are no promising connections between our victims.” The answer came over the videocall back to Quantico.

“But there are connections?” Morgan asked. Garcia nodded.

“It’s a small town, lover boy. Well, small-ish. There’s plenty smaller, this one’s just not big, is my point. There’s overlap between everyone. Two local grocery stores, one of which is really small and seedy-looking, one gym, a library, a school, there’s a handful of cafes and like, the two parks where our victims were found. Everyone has crossed paths with everyone, at some point.”

"Are there any places both men visited often?" Morgan pushed. Garcia nodded.

"Kind of. Both usually visited the same grocery store, the more reputable one. But, when they weren't at work or school, Kegan Woods hung out a lot at the gym and Seld Collins has an impressive list of checked out books from the library, mostly sci-fi and physics with a few self-help books."

"So Woods was physically fit," Rossi mused. "Our unsub has to be as well. Even if he used a blitz attack, and going by the similar blows to the back of head on both victims, I’d say he did, he'd still have to transport Woods' body."

"But Collins is smaller," JJ said, frowning at the images before her. "It doesn't make sense. It's like he can't decide on some of the traits he needs these men to share. If these are surrogates, and it looks like they might be, wouldn't he know who they were surrogates for?"

“We need to know how and why he chooses his victims, then we can find him," Hotch said. "Garcia, keep digging. We need any names that show up repeatedly for both men."

“Garcia out!” Was the reply.

“There doesn’t seem to be any excess injuries to the bodies,” Morgan added, turning one of the photos to look at it from a different angle. “Aside from the removal of the head, they’re practically unharmed. This guy’s not a sadist.”

"They were strangled, that's personal," Prentiss said. "JJ's right, they’ve got to be surrogates."

"He seems to care about his victims, at least once they're dead," Rossi said. "The way they're posed with their arms crossed on their chests indicates remorse."

"So maybe he knew them?" JJ asked. "It's not that large a town."

“The M.E. report for the first victim says that there was no sexual component, though both bodies were found naked," Prentiss chimed in.

“What about the second?” Rossi asked. She shook her head.

“They only found the body a few hours ago, this morning. There hasn’t been time for a full report yet.”

"And why naked? Humiliation?"

"This feels mission-oriented," Reid said, frowning at the photos before them, two dead men with empty eyes staring at the sky.

"And if these men are surrogates, he won't stop killing until he's gotten to his target," Hotch finished. "When we land, Prentiss, Morgan, I want you two to go to the morgue."

"If I may," Reid cut in. Hotch looked at him expectantly. “I’d like to go with them and see what state their necks are in. It’s actually incredibly difficult to decapitate someone, so how he did it could tell us a lot.” He got a nod.

"In that case," Hotch said, revising, "Reid, go with Prentiss to the morgue. Morgan, I want you and Dave to go to the latest crime scene. JJ and I will set up at the station and coordinate with the local police."

Continued on ao3

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #elliott writes #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jj #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #tw murder #tw death #tw strangling #tw decapitation #hossi #standalone #chaptered #chapter 2 #TMOBK

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