This Was Such A Good Read - Tumblr Posts

Hi there, hope you're doing well! Let me start by saying I love your art, your style is super cute! Your writing is also amazing, it's so well written and always a joy to read! The art and fic you made of Optimus in a polyship with Megatron, Strika and Lugnut is something I never would've thought about but it's super cute and sexy and you've got me hooked. I'd love to see more, fics or art is totally up to you!

💕Zombie LISTEN, I didn’t know which ship you like the most, so I threw my two main ships at you at once 😭😭

This is Blitzbee/Megop with the ‘Cons being accidentally very soft and making the ‘Bot boys emotional for it. I would sum this up as, ‘crack treated seriously’.

You made me so emotional with your message zombie 🥺 like what a compliment?!! Thank you, you’re so dang sweet😞

This is the longest thing I’ve made on here, so everyone *please* be prepared when you click that ‘read more’ down there. It’s 33,200+ words, so I broke it into ✨2 parts✨

💕Warnings are in the tags💕

(Canon is skewed all to slag, and is set during ??????? in the timeline.)

——- ————- ——

Terrorizing the locals was just a bonus and not necessarily Blitzwing’s end goal. The organics were easy to ignore -would be easy enough to squish, if they ever got under pede one day. Quite beneath his notice.

True, he did delight in the distant screams below, as the humans ran for cover, scattering like ants. There was a certain appeal to being the most powerful, impenetrable force around. Particularly when there was a mech like Megatron to come ‘home’ to an the end of each cycle, and be forced to remember where exactly you were on the food chain.

Thrill or not, it was all very unremarkable when there were greater things at stake than scaring a handful of blithering gnats. It wasn’t like it was some kind of chore to put the fear of Primus in the little things and anything but a challenge.

He’d hardly noticed all the times he’d flattened a car -or 12- while walking through the city at rush hour.

He hadn’t noticed when a wing tip had sliced through an office building on a fourth floor once, either.

All very commonplace for a mecha of his size and stature. All very easy to overlook.

But this time was.... different....

Leaking Energon from a lateral line in his thigh, Blitzwing was searching every dark alleyway for the little bug bot that’d gone and stung him good enough to sever it. He’d been caught off guard long enough for the minibot to bolt for cover. Of course, he wasn’t fairing much better either after a blast of ice to his center chassis.

Guerrilla tactics were somewhat of a welcome change to Bumblebee’s usual ‘strategy’ of standing around, spouting off rude nonsense, and trying to land a blow. Tamer, less destructive blows than anything Blitzwing could do to the minibot under his massive strength, of course.

Having him get a solid hit in for once and then running off to cower someplace, forcing Blitzwing to make himself a target for more competent Autobrats while he staggered about wounded, still had its own appeal -such as hunting down the dirty bug for sport and shelling him of his metal casing right then and there.

What a thing to look forward to. Perhaps he’d have the scalp of his helm mounted in his quarters.

Blitzwing pulled up the unsuspecting cars that’d been abandoned in the middle of the street, looking for an insignia. Bumblebee had at least proved smart enough not to hide in plain sight.

With no sign of the charming, little idiot Blitzwing was becoming more erratic- it would only be a matter of time before Bee emerged from the shadows to attempt another attack while Blitzwing had his back turned.

“Come out from hiding, jou little scrap!”

So he could push that flimsy frame into all sorts of interesting shapes. ‘Origami’, he’d heard it called.

An answering shriek came from somewhere below.

Far, far below.

So far below, that Blitzwing had to stop, face spinning back to blue as his processor tried to collect itself beyond mindless rage, and stooped down to one knee to better study the source of said shriek. And it definitely wasn’t Bumblebee.

An organic about the size of Sumdac’s offspring was stood there with a wet face, mouth agape, and struggling to vent inward.

A crying child. Blitzwing became immediately uninterested.

He stood again and made to continue his search when the tiny thing cried out.

“I-I-I lost my m-mom!” It wailed. Dripping all sorts of lubricant from various holes.

Blitzwing surveyed the path he’d left behind him for a glimpse of yellow lurking and waiting to make a move. There was nothing. No slimy, stupid minibots.

It wasn’t often Blitzwing scared this bot badly enough to stay hidden.

Or perhaps that blast to the chest had simply proven more fatal... He’d hate to be robbed of draining the little one’s life force himself, if he came across a corpse.

“I want my mom!” The child, who didn’t seem bothered by the tonnes of lunatic in his audience, outright sobbed, catching Blitzwing’s attention again. His voice caught and choked on the words.

“I can’t- I can’t- I can’t *f-find her*!”

His sobs distorted the words, but they were clear enough to pick out. The child’s voice high and whimpering.

The boy stood there, twisting his shirt up in his fists- a failed gestured to self-soothe.

Blitzwing then noted the creature was very pointedly looking up at *him*. Perhaps hoping to make his case that he was very much a helpless thing, and that that may somehow appeal to a sort of humanity in the alien, metal monster before him.

Illogical.

“Mom...” the child whined, hanging his head and leaking fresh globs from his opticals. He looked very close to entering some sort of tantrum. A loud one.

Blitzwing scowled at the pathetic display.

“Vell, vhere did jou last put her?” His voice, too sharp, caused the boy to flinch.

“Me?” He asked. His confusion enough to deter his panic for the moment.

“I... I’m not... I don’t ‘put’ her, um...”

It sounded like a question. Mostly because he was questioning the absurdity of an adult -what looked like an adult- asking him nonsense.

~WHIRR~

“She does not have handles for easier carrying?”

“W-What? No!” The kid said in absolute bewilderment. But the ridiculousness of the question was enough to soften the edge in his tone. And that crimson smile the giant terror wore was a surprisingly small comfort.

Tantrum avoided, Blitzwing allowed himself some crassness, as it’d seemed to have prompted the child’s natural playfulness, and stabilized his mood a bit.

“Jou don’t just tote her around from place to place, zen?”

“No!”

“Take her vith jou on field trips?”

“No!”

“Not even to ze zoo?”

“No!” The tiny organic was laughing now.

“I can see how jou lost her!”

Blitzwing trained his features back to blue and reconsidered himself. Then made his decision.

“Oh. Vell zen... Zat iz an oversight, don’t jou think?” He then bent to scoop the child up and bring him to chest level.

There was plenty of terrified shrieking yo accompany the move, but it didn’t last. Soon the boy was looking up at him with absolute awe. Marveling at the sudden position he’d found himself in- being held in the gargantuan hand of an unusually hospitable beast. One he clearly hadn’t understood the danger of, despite seeing him plenty on the emergency news stations.

“Can jou see her from up here?” Blitzwing asked, ignoring the strange gushing from his thigh wound, as well as inside his chest at the boy’s amazed, “Coooool!” upon looking out at the view.

The child looked out over the streets below, several blocks now visible, and a tiny frown began to slowly stretch his lips. Suddenly remembering why he’d been so fretful a moment ago.

“No... I don’t think... I don’t think I see her.” He sniffled and wiped at his nose with a sleeve.

He stood on his tiptoes in Blitzwing’s substantial palm, searching for a sign of his mother, but nothing came to view.

Worry was creeping over him again.

“I can’t find her.” He sniffled, whimpered. Looking close to fresh tears.

“I-I can’t find my mom!”

“Zen ve march onward.” Blitzwing quickly amended.

He held the child closer so he could move deftly through narrow, scraping buildings.

“Vhat does she look like?”

“Well, her hair is brown and curly.” The child began to recall.

“And, um, I think... she had a bright pink sweater thing on. Um...”

Blitzwing scanned the streets.

“Sveater thing?”

“It doesn’t, like, zip up?” The boy tried to explain.

“Oh, and her name is Rebecca!”

As if that could help in anyway. Blitzwing didn’t just keep the names of every organic on this pathetic dirtball planet on file.

“And I’m Jamal!” The boy shouted up at him, despite being well within audial range now.

Blitzwing’s normally good sense didn’t stop him before replying.

“Hello, Jamal.”

He had to slow his pace down to better study the crowd of confused, panicking people below for any pink sweater things attached to any women with curly brown hair.

How exhilarating his day was proving.

With no sign of this mystery woman, the child -Jamal- began to shiver. Seemingly affected by the difference in wind currents at this height all the sudden.

“Is my mom...” He trailed off out of fear of finishing the thought. But with the general chaos of the city, the distant and random screams and clanging from the two alien factions engaged in battle in the distance, he really didn’t have to.

Blitzwing’s wing struts tensed at the insinuation, and he surprised himself with how immediately he felt the need to correct that sentiment.

“Not hardly. I hear earth carriers are invincible.” Which he had, honestly. They were rumored to have eyes on the back of their heads, and a supernatural sense of knowing when their young was in danger.

The child’s mother was likely in a far more frantic state than he at the moment, searching for her little sparkling.

That gave Blitzwing an idea.

“Rebecca!” He suddenly shouted, his empty hand cupping close to his lipplates. “Rebecca!”

Getting the idea, Jamal chimed in shouting, “Mom- Mama! Mama!”

The two surely looked an outlandish pair, as they pattered between busy streets and circled around blocks, shouting at the top of their vocalizers. Blitzwing caught an optic full of Lugnut at one point in a chokehold with Bulkhead in the distance, laughing all maniacally and stupid.

The sun was reaching farther in the sky, prompting Blitzwing to hike a wing out towards his side to hold Jamal beneath it, under its shade.

They were walking closer towards the center of the battle Bumblebee had led him away from.

“Rebecca! Rebecca!”

~WHIRR~

“Rebecca, please come to ze front of ze store! Jou have a Jamal here vaiting for jouuu~”

No sooner did he make his little quip did the booming voice of his *leader* -fragging Primus- rise above the clash of metal and somebot’s glitching, robotic shriek.

Megatron of all mechs wouldn’t be particularly pleased to find him aiding a human, especially in the midst of a battle. And Blitzwing, in a moment of self reflection, wasn’t too happy to find himself aiding a human under *any* circumstance either.

He wavered, about to fit himself between two buildings and make his self-preserving escape when another voice was quickly accompanied by his commander’s.

“Watch where you step! My baby could be down there!”

“We will find your blasted mechling-“ Megatron grit out, discreetly taking better care of where he was now stepping.

“Not if you keep stomping around like that!”

“He will readily make himself known before that! You’re far too loud for him not to hear!”

As prophesied, Jamal jumped upright, twittering and bouncing precariously close to the edge of Blitzwing’s fingertips. “Mama?! That’s my mama!”

Blitzwing followed the voices -escalating in both threat and volume- to Megatron toting a woman in a closed fist -a silent promise to crush her- and seemingly searching the streets for something.

Jamal.

“My Lord?” Blitzwing yelled less than a block away. Somehow finding the courage to make his traitorous predicament known now seeing Megatron in a similarly mortifying state.

Megatron whipped his helm his way, bristling the slightest bit at having been caught, before he saw the tiny thing skipping about his palm like a flea.

“Mama!” It shouted.

“Jamal!” The woman cried.

Blitzwing felt relief wash over him at the sight of the boy’s mother. This problem *finally* out of his servos.

“Take me to him!” ‘Rebecca’ barked at her captor/rescuer, and Blitzwing answered her command on his lord’s behalf. Rushing over and bending to place Jamal back to his pedes next to where Megatron had lowered his mother.

They embraced one another in an instant, drawn together like magnets. Never having been meant to be separated in the first place.

And Blitzwing stared in abject horror at the thing he’d just done.

....A good deed...

“Vell... zis is terrible....” He mumbled at the sight of the unbridled affection below.

Megatron watched with him, humming in agreement. A painful clicking in his vocalizer when he tried to reset it.

This didn’t look good for either of their reputations as sinister, sparkless terrorizers.

Unbeknownst to them, completely beyond their normally keen eyes, two curious little bots had seen the near whole display in absolute shock.

———- ———-

It’d kept Optimus and Bumblebee up for cycles afterward.

“He was so... *nice*.” Bumblebee whispered into the quiet of another restless night. Optimus resting his chin in his palm, leaning over his berth, nodded absently. Inviting Bee to his room to practically obsess -not that they’d ever admit their secret fascinations of two war criminals was such a thing- had made Optimus considerably more lax and informal as time passed. Though, just barely.

“You should have seen his faceplates- he was even joking with the kid at one point. I *think* to make him *feel better*.” Bee sounded a little too much like he was awestruck.

Optimus gave a noncommittal noise, thinking distantly instead of his own bizarre memory of a certain, doting warlord.

“Should we like... tell the others?” Bumblebee posed then.

Besides Prowl and Ratchet being unlikely to believe them, there was really no reason to tell anyone anything.

They couldn’t suddenly go easy on the Decepticons in battle- the war builds could easily deliver swift punishment over them, if they were close enough, as it was, but then with the Autobot’s favor? Their hesitation? They’d play them all for suckers and steamroll them. It wasn’t like taking advantage of others wasn’t a delirious percentage of the Decepticon’s day to day operations.

The only motivation behind spreading the marginally good news that they possessed a spark under layers of all that tyrannical vengeance was if they were going to use it for *their own* advantage. Most likely a ceasefire of sorts. And that was-

Optimus stilled.

Well... Maybe that *could* work, actually...

Maybe.

Not usually one to take slim chances, unless the situation was dire, Optimus was up calculating the effectiveness of such a thing when he didn’t much of an incentive to offer the opposing faction to do so in the first place.

Much of his potential success depended on tapping into that bizarre, unlikely kindness in their sparks a second time. Somehow. Still unlikely. Still doomed to fail, if the teachings in the academy were accurate about war type psychology.

But as the cycle turned into dawn, and Bumblebee’s rambles began to muddle his processor with fantastical ideas of a peaceful Cybertron, Optimus found the thought more and more appealing.

The proposition was made in the morning, hoping to catch the others in a good mood and hear some more sensible opinions that weren’t sleep addled.

“Is it *worth* the effort?” Prowl instantly challenged. Bulkhead behind him stood there uselessly, looking plain shook to the core after hearing the whole story.

Prowl had a point, of course, and Optimus didn’t honestly know how to answer.

Was it? *Was it* worth it?

He supposed if it....

“Well...” Optimus sighed, processor beginning to overheat with exasperation and all the ‘what if’s he’d been cycling back and forth through all night.

“If it saves lives then... yes? I think it’s worth *trying*. I don’t expect a miracle. I just, maybe... expect... *something*?”

Something as surreal as a moment of compassion from the ‘Cons that’d risked their time and effort to satisfy the needs of two *human beings* again. A very tall order that was.

But as he considered Prowl’s words, a rare moment of optimism possessed him, and Optimus unwisely allowed himself to rely on the memory of the impossible sight he’d bore witness to that day to justify his decision.

That woman, ‘Rebecca’, had been very forthright and demanding of Megatron. Optimus had seen most of the display between keenly aimed swings of a sword, before Lugnut had come rushing him to the ground and separating him from Megatron.

When he’d next seen him, there was Rebecca. Helpless and in a dire state.

Optimus could only *imagine* what a woman scrutinizing the authority of a power junky like Megatron -who hated a pushy subordinate, much less a menial, disposable human- had done to appeal to the ruthless brute.

She’d stood there, eyes welling with tears, screaming bloody murder for ‘her baby’. Begging for help from terrified people trying to make themselves scarce.

“Please! My baby is missing! He’s just a child!” She’d screamed at Megatron, rightfully assuming another misstep of his in the direction she’d lost her child would mean ‘her baby’s’ immediate death.

Megatron ignored her easily for a time, stopping to aim his cannon at a hyper vigilant Prowl’s helm from a distance. But as her screaming turned into the wails of a wounded animal and she was near clawing at the ground, trying to shuffle through a crowd of chaos to find her helpless, innocent thing, *something* had apparently shifted within the mech.

Something...

However in the infinite universe that *that* ‘pathetic’, ‘weak’, groveling’ display had attracted the sympathy of *Megatron*, Optimus couldn’t fathom. He really couldn’t.

He didn’t even believe his own optics when he’d seen it at the time- Megatron stooping and trying to reason with the woman to recall the child’s recent permanence. What the child looked like.

Offering the oddest sort of ‘comfort’ by ensuring a child with similarly strong vocals would be capable enough of signaling his mother amongst the masses.

‘They aren’t Cybertronian’, Optimus had wanted to remind him. They couldn’t send out matching frequencies for their missing parent.

He’d wanted to take that woman and scour the city with her himself- make sure both of the helpless things remained unharmed.

Instead, he fluttered behind them some distance away in an absolute daze. Resetting his optics, trying to make sense of things. Trying to pinch himself awake from the inconceivable dream he seemed to be stuck in. Surely wasting away in a trauma induced hallucination after Lugnut’s assault.

What he was seeing just couldn’t be *real*. Especially not when the woman trying desperately to keep up with Megatron on foot had ended up in his servo, as he began to carry her to hurry things along. A rather unfriendly gesture- curling his fist around her and handling her with far less care than an Autobot would have.... Save for Ratchet...

But he’d done it all the same- Had left the frontlines of *battle* to search for a human sparkling and hadn’t wavered from his mission once in the several hours it’d taken them to find ‘Jamal’.

He kept Rebecca shaded beneath the curve of his sturdy chest plates, offered small assurances that the child had survived the city’s onslaught when the sudden, pesky tears began to flow, and became a beacon of patience when those tears never stopped.

She grew restless and angry when she seemed to remember the misery said giant warlord had caused her by endangering them all in the first place. And Megatron snarked back with harmless threats and a sharp tongue, all while searching for her child.

Shocking as it was, nothing had prepared Optimus for Blitzwing’s emergence. Carefully chauffeuring Jamal with a hint of softness in his face plates at the boy’s sudden outburst when the organics were reunited.

Two ‘Cons. Standing there in mutual silence as they observed the flittering of limbs, wrapping around one another and rocking together in an embrace.

Mother and child. Creator and sparkling.

That surely must have awakened *something* in them.

A sparkling was a millennia rare thing. A treasure, no matter what faction you came from.

Optimus felt that, coupled with the lingering image of the ‘Cons watching over the little pair, was enough to push things forward. To indeed agree that this idea of his was ‘worth the effort’, as Prowl had questioned.

What kind of Autobot could just ignore such a thing?

——- —— ————-

Megatron didn’t know what to make of the absurd spectacle, other than it was possibly the greatest assault on him and his forces he’d ever been met with. Greater than the Magnus rounding them up during the DRA in an attempt to exterminate their masses.

“I think you can see reason here, Megatron.” Optimus spoke with all the confidence of someone thinking rationally, and not insane enough to call a criminal warlord to trial.

“All I’m asking for is your cooperation.”

Which was as insulting as asking him to do tricks for him.

“*You*,” a lowly, little Prime- “Are asking *me*,” the leader of an entire faction- “To give up my cause.”

That was the fist of it anyway. No matter how he spun it....

This much too young, much too.... optimistic.... *fool*.

Incapable of understanding the physical impossibility of agreeing to *anything* even slightly ‘reasonable of their factions’, if it meant conceding to the will of an Autobot. Who cared who benefited? It only equated to a war frame being asked to go belly up and ‘behave themselves’ for their ‘tiny masters’.

And even if he was exaggerating or being a bit preemptive, he most definitely actually was not.

No. Megatron didn’t think so.

“You are in no position to ask a thing of me, Autobot. You are in no *position* at all.”

Optimus relatively agreed with this. He wasn’t important enough to be speaking to a faction leader about a truce of any sort. He wasn’t even a figure head- he was a captain of a maintenance crew, and one that could often hardly be bothered to heed his orders, despite their great respect for him.

Optimus swallowed, Megatron tracking the movement even from this distance. He was making the fool nervous- Good.

How dare he make such a pompous, arrogant, egotistical-

“I- I believe you’re capable of compassion.”

Weeeeiird the Autobot had taken *that* stance, but Megatron was too gobsmacked to beat him into making sense at the moment. So, he just stood there with audials at full volume to be sure he next heard him right, with patience fluctuating.

At least the Prime’s fellow Autobots looked of mind enough to seem concerned with his word choice, too. Optimus couldn’t turn back now, only press on.

And press on he did with a horrible, even worse accusation.

“You showed a certain amount of... ah, care when you... assisted those humans.”

Oh, so that’s what this was about. He’d seen that unfortunate error in judgement, had he? No matter. This puny bot hardly amounted to more than a stubborn thorn in his side. Megatron would undo any further misconceptions he might have about his cold, blistering spark by alighting the nearest medical center in a tower of flames. Really set the record straight.

“I believe moments of kindness should always be acknowledged.” The Prime continued to run his mouth.

“And rewarded?” Megatron snarled, unable to help himself. Tone clearly unbelieving. This *was* insane, after all.

So much so, that he felt the compelling urge to turn his wide optics towards a very pale, obviously flustered Blitzwing to try and share in the burden of his pure disbelief.

Optimus could recognize the disgust the Decepticon felt having interpreted his words as patronizing and condescending. To a ‘Con, kindness surely would seem as such. What a pity.

Even so, Optimus began to think of how he could make amends. He could admit now that he’d been maybe hoping too much for something magical to happen in all his excitement- which was the first time he’d done anything so whimsical in eons, daydreaming included, and he quickly chastised himself for it. He’d lost his optimism long ago from the many hard lessons life had routinely taught him.

Megatron turned his piercing gaze on him then, all fire and vitriol.

“If I wish to cease the hysterical, endless bellowing of one creature too incompetent to watch their young, so that I might aim my canon unhindered at your witless underlings, that is my Prerogative, *little Autobot*! And *you* will do well not to turn attention to anything less insignificant than the extinguishing of your loved ones’ sparks!”

Wow, ok. Optimus had struck a nerve and delivered them all a death wish.

Some self sacrificing might be his only saving grace here- Actually, leaving right now and calling this a very badly failed experiment was probably the best thing to do-

“It was sweet.” Bumblebee, who’d been under strict orders *not* to speak, then said. Much too firmly, much too loudly, much too certainly. Much too unbothered by how inappropriate it was.

All optics locked like heat seekers on the minibot, but he only had his sights set on Blitzwing. Blitzwing who flicked his wings, his face spinning several times over before finally settling on blue again. A look of plain horror in his features. Then his optics averted as the ground became all too interesting -though not interesting enough to keep him from questioning his entire existence, or why it’d been the focus of the minibot’s just now.

It was a pitiful display of ‘Con-ness, and Megatron was about ready to pull off a wing and beat him back into a figure of dominance in front of their enemy forces with it.

Lugnut, who went from terribly confused to mortified at the news, stood there open servoed and gawking between the Lieutenant and his High Commander. Megatron pressed finger pads to his temples.

Wonderful.

This whole thing had surely become the greatest, most embarrassing blunder in the entirety of Autobot and Decepticon history.

To whatever was left of the neutrals in the galaxy, this whole thing would read like something out of organic adolescent literature -Where the lead girl going through an emotional crisis would call out the moody, bad boy for having a soft streak. And his moment of self reflection and kindness would come off as charming and redeeming. Not to Decepticons, it wouldn’t -In this book, such a thing ended with the ‘bad boy’ snatching away the spinal strut of the accusing Autobot and disposing of it.

Optimus, correctly, knew an embarrassed ‘Con was a self conscious one, and one likely to cover their insecurity up by crushing down the source of it.

Blitzwing seemed to choose that moment to come back to himself and refute Bumblebee’s claims of their misperceived altruism, and that it was ‘sweet’.

~WHIRR~

“Ze only thing sveeter vould be ze taste of jour Energon, spilling from jour throat! I vill twist jour head right off jour shoulders, Bug Bot!”

Bumblebee didn’t even flinch. If anything, he looked more determined.

“You can decapitate me, but the memory file will always right here!” Bee promised, poking a finger against his helm at his brain module- making a far greater affront to Blitzwing’s person than the threat of being beheaded ever was.

It earned shocked, awkward silence from everyone -everyone except an increasingly steadfast Optimus. But especially the flushing triple changer whose face had finally settled back to blue. His least erratic headspace, though undoubtedly his most conniving.

Truly, Optimus hated how intimate this had weirdly become, if only because the Decepticons were the ones who had taken it in this direction. They did a good thing, it deserved acknowledging- at least because it bred the potential for peace. Even the temporary kind.

But then that had to be twisted into some outrageous personal offense on their characters. As if slogging through the wreckage they regularly left of the city wasn’t a far worse offense to Optimus and his kin for the blatant and intentional disrespect. They’d earned their titles as bombarding thugs, and somehow proving themselves of having healthy morals made for a worse reputation in their book.

Bumblebee stood with fists clenched, completely determined to see this through. If he had to say the hard things for everyone’s sake, which would likely result in the humiliation of a bunch of destructive war frames 4 to 6 times their sizes, then he would. Whether it ended with his untimely deaths via crushing and dismemberment or not.

He was going to tell it like it was, slaggit!

Blitzwing hadn’t had to shelter Jamal in the shade of his wing. He hadn’t had to search the city for one useless organic. He hadn’t had to waste all that time while he was leaking from his wounds and making himself a greater target for a successful ambush. He hadn’t had to be gentle. He hadn’t had to comfort the child or try to make him laugh. He hadn’t had to raise him above his helm when he fitted between tight spaces with his massive frame to avoid the child becoming claustrophobic.

Blitzwing hadn’t had to do anything, but be his natural, chaotic self and revel in a forlorn little boy’s terror and misery. And he hadn’t done that, either.

Bumblebee felt his purpose anew. A wave of courage reached him then- the smallest amongst his peers and enemies, yet with possibly the loudest voice.

“You were really fragging nice for, like, *no reason*! You’re telling me we can’t *try* to work something out?! You’re all clearly capable of listening!”

Bumblebee was trying to capitalize off of what Optimus had opened with. ‘You and your kin are sensible bots, Megatron.’ 

Which that was actually a little questionable, but if it wasn’t actually *true*, Megatron wouldn’t have known when to accept good advice and come to this sudden arrangement to meet in person without his guns blazing and swords swinging in the first place.

So there was that at least...

And there’d been no counter attacks thus far into this painful blight, or any secret ambushes waiting. He hoped... which made Bee wonder what Optimus had said exactly to get the leader of deceptive, deceiving, untrustworthy ruffians to come peacefully into this rendezvous in the first place. He’d have to ask him when they inevitably vented about this later in the privacy of his room.

Optimus had always been suspiciously quiet about his thoughts on Megatron as a mech and his peculiar kindness during their little midnight get togethers....

But enough of that. Blitzwing was three shades darker than Bumblebee had ever seen him, and even less, had thought him capable of.

“I mean, *I* want to work this out!” He continued on boldly, as no one of sound mind thought to stop him.

“I’m ready to make a change!”

“Obviously, little fool. It is for *your* benefit!” Megatron barked, finally finding his voice.

Bumblebee didn’t take the bait.

“No, screw that! I’d just like to actually see you guys being cool for once!” Which was as close as he could get to saying, ‘I’d like to be friends’, since Bee wasn’t the ‘friendship is magic and beautiful’ type, and he wasn’t particularly starved for friendships.

It was just that the actual idea that they could potentially coexist on this terrible planet without running at each other with stingers and cannons raised at every encounter was more appealing to him than anything right now.

And maybe.... Yes. Yes, having a ‘Con for a friend did sound appealing, too. The first instance of such a thing in the records of their heavily doctored history books? Frag yeah!

And friends with Blitzwing? It was surreal, impossible sounding. Bee would never dispute that.

He could only attest to how much it’d burn him if the obvious potential for something good to finally happen since his wayward academy days -after an entire lifecycle of enduring problem authority figures who’d easily dismissed his own potential- just standing right here in front of him, both in person and in perfect memory banks, went to waste.

For it to all slip away from them just like that, regardless of how close they were or weren’t to making a real step towards change... The first possible ceasefire in their history- the first possible recording of Decepticon hospitality maybe! He certainly hadn’t heard anything of it before.

He couldn’t let it go.

And all Bumblebee could do was thank Optimus, despite his flaws and insecurities and endless worries, for thinking it worthwhile to extend a kindness of his own to the admittedly most undeserving of mechs.

Now this Optimus was the one he could follow. Bumblebee made a mental note to be more responsive to his comms when Optimus called, and be attentive to his leader’s requests of him. No matter how boring they’d undoubtedly be -like monitor duty. Optimus clearly meant well.

Bumblebee looked from Optimus, unaware he’d been staring at the blue mech, to Megatron. Hoping to find some kind of positive feedback.

What he got was beyond surprising.

A destroyer of worlds looking suspiciously calm all at once.

“If you truly expect us to end hostilities between our factions for the remainder of our time on this putrid planet, you are asking for the truly impossible. We have an agenda and a schedule to keep.” Megatron looked like he was making to reach for his sword before his servos then settled on his hips. Chin jutting up in defiance. And then-

“Regardless, I will consider it.... It’s unlikely to be considered seriously, however.”

“Fine.” Optimus said before Bee could embarrass them all anymore and undo this tremendous, *tremendous* -and vague- progress.

“Take all the time you need- so long as you don’t forfeit this agreement by endangering us or the locals in anyway.”

Megatron had already turned his back to them, ready to take flight. He stopped to throw a deeply insulted look over his shoulder.

“It isn’t an ‘agreement’, Autobot. You haven’t promised us anything in return.”

“We promise not to intervene in your world domination, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone.” Optimus smiled the slightest bit. Clearly being a cheeky afthole on purpose.

Bumblebee wanted to ask how that was somehow better than any annoying thing he’d just had the gull to say, but the ‘Cons were gone with the concept of a possible truce in the making, and Optimus so rarely smiled like *that* that Bee couldn’t think to badger him.

In the pleasant silence that followed -a silence born of pride and relief that’d they’d managed their first ever negotiation and survived- Ratchet was the first to speak.

“What the entire hell, you two?”

And Prowl agreed.

———- ———— —————

“Zey vant us to avoid ze humans.” Blitzwing stood there in confused shock, stating the obvious because of it.

Back in the safety of their lair, Megatron felt more freedom to cycle between mustering up his absolute outrage and allowing it to dwindle into careful consideration. He didn’t stay either angry or placative for long, twisting between the two so furiously, he was soon at the point that the feelings were indistinguishable, and he was closely approaching a sort of agreeableness born purely from stubbornness.

Stubbornness, of all things, that he might prove himself as capable as ever of standing tall and unmovable against the most impossible, unlikely insanity Primus might throw his way. 

This...whatever this was..... was a different sort of challenge, though- not one he felt compelled to bend to. He had plans to conquer the universe after all, and with ambitions like that, it left little room if any to entertain the idea of peace for the sake of peace for even a short amount of time.

Why should he bother? The Autobots weren’t worth a truce- this starry eyed Prime wasn’t worth one. Never mind that he had been the first Autobot in Megatron’s long lifecycle to offer his respect enough to negotiate this -as impossibly unrealistic as it was, or as ridiculous as he’d been to do so.

Never mind, either, that a Prime at least had much greater authority to consult the Magnus about the real possibility of an official truce, should things go accordingly.

...Or that this particular Prime had attempted to make peace with him rather than incite more mindless violence without a thought to Megatron’s conscious capabilities -Think him little more than a primitive killing machine.

Still, Megatron didn’t want peace this way- he didn’t want peace at all.

He wanted victory. He wanted to *win* the war, not talk his way out of it. Not bow to his audacious oppressors. Especially one barely onlined a thousand stellar cycles ago.

He turned towards a blushing Blitzwing, no doubt recalling the events of that living nightmare and the utter embarrassment he’d suffered just hours ago. Stood there drowning in his own creeping horror.

Strika could never hear about this. Not that any of them would be eager to tell another Decepticon soul, of course.

“Fine.” Optimus said before Bee could embarrass them all anymore and undo this tremendous, *tremendous* -and vague- progress.

“Take all the time you need- so long as you don’t forfeit this agreement by endangering us or the locals in anyway.”

Megatron had already turned his back to them, ready to take flight. He stopped to throw a deeply insulted look over his shoulder.

“It isn’t an ‘agreement’, Autobot. You haven’t promised us anything in return.”

“We promise not to intervene in your world domination, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone.” Optimus smiled the slightest bit. Clearly being a cheeky afthole on purpose.

Bumblebee wanted to ask how that was somehow better than any annoying thing he’d just had the gull to say, but the ‘Cons were gone with the concept of a possible truce in the making, and Optimus so rarely smiled like *that* that Bee couldn’t think to badger him.

In the pleasant silence that followed -a silence born of pride and relief that’d they’d managed their first ever negotiation and survived- Ratchet was the first to speak.

“What the entire hell, you two?”

And Prowl agreed.

———- ———— —————

“Zey vant us to avoid ze humans.” Blitzwing stood there in confused shock, stating the obvious because of it.

Back in the safety of their lair, Megatron felt more freedom to cycle between mustering up his absolute outrage and allowing it to dwindle into careful consideration. He didn’t stay either angry or placative for long, twisting between the two so furiously, he was soon at the point that the feelings were indistinguishable, and he was closely approaching a sort of agreeableness born purely from stubbornness.

Stubbornness, of all things, that he might prove himself as capable as ever of standing tall and unmovable against the most impossible, unlikely insanity Primus might throw his way. 

This...whatever this was..... was a different sort of challenge, though- not one he felt compelled to bend to. He had plans to conquer the universe after all, and with ambitions like that, it left little room if any to entertain the idea of peace for the sake of peace for even a short amount of time.

Why should he bother? The Autobots weren’t worth a truce- this starry eyed Prime wasn’t worth one. Never mind that he had been the first Autobot in Megatron’s long lifecycle to offer his respect enough to negotiate this -as impossibly unrealistic as it was, or as ridiculous as he’d been to do so.

Never mind, either, that a Prime at least had much greater authority to consult the Magnus about the real possibility of an official truce, should things go accordingly.

...Or that this particular Prime had attempted to make peace with him rather than incite more mindless violence without a thought to Megatron’s conscious capabilities -Think him little more than a primitive killing machine.

Still, Megatron didn’t want peace this way- he didn’t want peace at all.

He wanted victory. He wanted to *win* the war, not talk his way out of it. Not bow to his audacious oppressors. Especially one barely onlined a thousand stellar cycles ago.

He turned towards a blushing Blitzwing, no doubt recalling the events of that living nightmare and the utter embarrassment he’d suffered just hours ago. Stood there drowning in his own creeping horror.

Strika could never hear about this. Not that any of them would be eager to tell another Decepticon soul, of course.

“We will play along.” He said at last.

“We will convince these self-important zealots that we are willing to pursue peace within our factions, only to strike when the time is right.”

Blitzwing seemed to be lost to himself- unnervingly set on a single blue face. Lugnut at his side raised his servos in an ‘All hail our glorious leader!’. Not assuming to question his greatness, even when it was well within questioning.

Where was Starscream when you needed her?

——- ———— ——- -

Evidently, Starscream was around just inconveniently enough to ruin much of Megatron’s plan.

Starscream was anything but a team player, and when she’d caught wind of a truce, of Megatron’s presumed compliance, Megatron was suddenly pressed with the issue of whether or not to let her in on his little conniving plan, in fear she may undo all his potential work in an effort to expose and eliminate him, or if he should allow her to believe a bit of it and go on a rampage telling every possible Decepticon comm frequency within range about their exuberant leader’s sudden bout of madness.

“I told you all he was going senile, but you didn’t listen to meee~ Did youuu?” She’d mock. She’d flutter her wings and puff out her chest plates, striking a pose similar to the one she’d assume during her imaginary inauguration as the new Decepticon leader.

Thinking about it was boiling the Energon in Megatron’s fuel lines.

No matter how he played this, he was losing his respect somewhere. He supposed upon further contemplation that it’d be easier to win his legion’s faith in him far easier than it’d be to come across this sort of precious opportunity again. There wouldn’t be another extension of kindness on an Autobot’s end for the rest of history after this, and it was a wonderful thing to take advantage of.

“So it’s *true* then?!” Starscream screeched, voice ringing through every twisting tunnel inside the cavern. Megatron felt his optic twitch.

“You’ve gone and made *friends* with the cushy little Autobots?!”

Starscream then tucked a claw under her chin and seemed to reconsider this. As Megatron had initially -and unsurprisingly- imagined, a wicked grin began to stretch her sneering lips.

“Why Megatron~ Won’t your loyal followers be *thrilled* to hear the good news... A new golden age on the horizon for Cybertronians everywhere. Even the ones who’ve been *banished* from their home world.”

Lugnut made to defend Megatron’s honor and correct the punishable offense that was assuming their grand leader’s compromise to the Autobot cause when the ex-gladiator promptly silenced him.

“Am I to assume that you will be the one to deliver this good news?” It couldn’t hurt to look vulnerable in front of Starscream when it was to lower the air headed seeker’s guard. It’d worked every other time.

“Why *yes*, it’d be my honor in fact! My ‘Dear Leader’~”

Not that Megatron had actually needed that confirmation. It was good to get a general sense of the basis of what false accusations would come against him though -and quite soon, he imagined.

He supposed damage control wouldn’t be too impossible a thing to maneuver if the transgressions his lot would perceive were as unlikely -and possibly even dismissible, coming from Starscream- as his defection to the Autobots.

Those who’d even believe it to be true would be doubly ingratiated to him when his plans inevitably succeeded. Renewing their faith and encouraging them to grovel for forgiveness- remembering then who they owed trust and loyalty to.

Starscream cackled like a hag and fluttered off, taking her sweet time on the way out. Certain Megatron was beyond all his cognitive functions at this point and wouldn’t chase after her.

Megatron watched her go, distantly hoping something as preposterous as her catching her broad shoulders between the rock clusters in her leisurely escape would happen to entertain his processor from the mounting stress of having his hard earned reputation soon sullied. No matter how temporary that relief would be.

——- ———— ———

He was forced to put everything into motion immediately after that. Luckily, the Autobot Prime didn’t have any reservations with this- nor any added stipulations. Just ‘keep the human populace out of harm’s way’.

Of course, that being exactly what Optimus had asked for was in itself the most audacious request anyone had ever made of him. And Starscream had once asked to have his throne for the duration of her report upon returning from the outer sector because ‘her thrusters hurt’.

This unlawfully sassy firetruck was essentially asking that he give up all his rampages and aerial strikes -and the fated Cybertronian battle as a whole- as there was practically nowhere they could go and nothing they could do about their efforts to undo the Autobot forces that didn’t directly disturb the lives of the humans infesting this gritty globe.

When he’d used the term ‘audacious’ every time before, he’d really meant ‘boundless, unlimited, unequivocal entitlement’. Even worse than Straxxus and Starscream.

The Prime thought he was being smart by working around that one ‘simple’ demand -leave the fauna and humans alone. As if it was a small request and entirely reasonable. It left Megatron powerless to do *anything* and rendered his efforts in every personal goal of his useless.

Which led him to wonder if Optimus was *actually* seriously expecting him to agree to that. Really, honestly, truly.

How stupid could he be? How blindingly hopeful?

“This is, er, surprising, I’ll admit...” The Prime murmured, having the unfortunate lack of awareness that Megatron wasn’t being any bit genuine enough to be flustered by this, too.

So young...

It’d be endearingly naive, if Megatron wasn’t easily reminded of the absolute absurdity of the whole thing -including his own contribution of such with this little plan of his that’d better prove beneficial- weighing at the forefront of his processor.

Really, even after his success, this would haunt him for vorns to come. He’d never been so foolish to waste time on such a speck of a sparkbeat before.

“I suppose, um, we should get started.” Optimus murmured

That perked Megatron’s attention, wondering what was more was to come now that’d he’d falsely agreed to this.

“And you are referring to...?”

“Hm?” Optimus blinked up at him then.

“Oh. Further negotiations.” He explained.

Megatron had to tamp down his honest confusion at that. Firstly, how important did this self-righteous Prime think he was? ‘Further negotiations’? Did Ultra Magnus -the old, fragger- even know about this? He couldn’t have, or else the matter of this entire operation would be thrust over to the appropriate authorities and squashed within moments. Did Optimus think himself a revolutionary?

Secondly-

“You said there would be no further stipulations.”

“There’s not.” Optimus affirmed. “But this is a historical moment for our people.” Optimus sounded like he actually believed that. Like he actually believed any of this...

“And this will require a delicate approach. I need to be certain you are being genuine, and that you intend to take this seriously.”

Well, Optimus was smarter than Megatron was giving him credit for, he guessed. He supposed he should know somewhat better by now. The Prime had proved a worthy adversary a couple times now, if he was being... never mind. He’d rather ignore any credibility this little mech might have.

Optimus continued obliviously.

“In order to ensure that, we need to discuss the needs of you and your comrades for the short term, and what you’ll need going forward to transition into peace time. Your people obviously have different needs than our own, how can we make them comfortable amongst civilian frames?”

Oh. Oh, he *was* serious.

Legitimately serious.

Oh, how utterly adorable~

Megatron could hardly contain a grin.

It was interesting the Autobot had chosen to address the needs of the imposing faction before the doubtlessly disrespectful conditions of his own people first. Conditions like ‘flight frame restrictions’ and ‘requirements for tank types to keep their hefty frames off the main roads’. 

And there was such a sincerity in those bright blue optics that Megatron thought he might laugh right in the young mech’s face and ruin this moment of welcome insanity. He somehow refrained. Somehow.

“Please proceed, Autobot~” Megatron purred, like an incorrigible bastard. Optimus didn’t seemed too disturbed by this, and certainly not enough to dissuade him from lifting his chin and looking him dead in the optics.

“I’m aware that agenda you spoke of before includes heavily conflicting ideas with our own.” Which was an unusually nice way to put it- unusual for the rather blunt Prime. He normally had no qualms being upfront with others. He did say this was all very delicate, so blissfully ignorant to the reality. How disappointed he’d be.

Megatron truly struggled to believe him so naive. Maybe he truly *did* know better and simply hoped to change Megatron’s mind with his authenticity. He could certainly try.

“I ask that you try to push those ill intentions aside for now.”

“You want me to stop planning to overtake our rightful place on the very planet we were given life and then pushed away from, along with any thread of worth we were left to claim for ourselves when your leaders assured you all we were undeserving of it. You want me to pretend to forget all of that for the time being and demonstrate some level of generosity for *your* benefit? You, who serves these leaders. Maybe pretend  I’m not attempting the overthrow of an entire government and its people, too? Is that right?”

To his credit, the smaller mech didn’t budge. 

“Your crimes will have consequences one way or another. That’s unfortunately what’s right for everyone.”

“Oh?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to be written out of a future on Cybertron- or your kin. I wouldn’t allow that.”

Well, this was reaching a god complex of some kind, surely. Megatron smiled down with wide optics, embracing the madness of it all. It was for the cause, he reminded himself. If nothing else, it was slagging entertaining.

Though maybe Starscream was right to call him mad.

Megatron pressed him.

“*You* wouldn’t allow it, hm?”

“No, I would not.” Optimus said seriously. Radiant, standing proud, optics turning bright and irritated. Good. What fun for Megatron.

Just to twist a bit, Megatron decided to prick a claw into the little bot’s processor.

“Oh, the Magnus must be *so* pleased with your work here, little one~ He must think you a hero.”

At that, Optimus went eerily quiet.

Ha! Just as Megatron had thought.

“Whatever Ultra Magnus’ feelings may be, you are Cybertronian, and you deserve your citizenship, should you accept a ceasefire.”

Megatron stopped smiling.

“And I’m sure you would agree,” Optimus’ finials twitched with the effort not to droop.

“That Ultra Magnus can be inflexible at times, and often unreachable.” Especially when it was Optimus who was doing the reaching.

The little mech was struggling all at once to meet the other’s gaze.

Megatron subconsciously leaned into him. Surely making a terrifying spectacle of them both to their ever watchful followers gathered at a distance in the event of an altercation. But his razor sharp claws remained carefully at his sides and easy to spot.

“That’s why I’m trying to ensure that this arrangement won’t be immediately turned away when I inform him. I’m taking quite a risk involving my team as it is.”

“So, perhaps, this isn’t worth the risk.” Megatron said, echoing Prowl’s consistent advice on the matter.

Optimus took it in stride, choosing not to let fear, and doubt, and inexperience decide for him how brave he could be when it was clearly needed of him. Or keep Megatron from taking the easy way out of this. Change would require constant effort on both their parts.

This was a once in a lifecycle opportunity.

And while really anyone else would be better suited for this position -Prowl with his unbothered confidence, Bumblebee with his strong sense of spark to lead him, Bulkhead with his compassion and understanding, Racthet with his logic and practicality, and even Sari with her determination- Optimus was going to try to make this work. Because he’d gotten them all into this and he was going to at least put himself at blame when it all went up in fire. The fire of their sparkless shells, most likely.

He looked to Megatron, optics speaking of anything but certainty or that idea the warlord had had of self righteousness, and said simply,

“It’s worth it.”

——- ——- ———-

Megatron hadn’t said when exactly they were going to ‘strike’ the Autobots down, but upon the third ‘negotiation’, Blitzwing was starting to wonder if they were in this for the long haul. What a heist this would be when it was all over.

Megatron’s earlier display of his outstanding patience being held captive on a foreign planet without use of his own body was proof of his ability to endure and resist- it certainly nothing to scoff at. He could wait as long as necessary for the perfect moment to strike.

He hadn’t led an army with such masterful precision and skill for millennia by fluke.

Truly, his confidence in himself was a live and dangerous thing, and it spawned many acts of the greatness you’d find in the honorable Decepticon literature of their leader. But upon their return to base from the fourth negotiation, there was a stifling, unsettled air about the mech. Primus only knew what abhorrent things the Autobot Prime was attempting to demand of them.

Under Lugnut’s curious prodding, Megatron shut him down with a very strict, “Confidential”.

Which that made zero sense at all.

They were plotting to overthrow them eventually, weren’t they? The details certainly didn’t matter -So why protect them?

What Megatron chose to keep private was his business, and the rest of them would do well not to disrupt his thin tolerance for the questioning of his authority. But Megatron also had never had a reason to lie to any of them about their plans to dominate and destroy- Starscream was the only bot that deserved and regularly earned his deception. Something he didn’t turn on his own people much if ever these days. Not with the stagnant state of things after the war.

Blitzwing tried not to dwell on it, which was easy enough when he was forced every few days to come and stand on guard with a bunch of Autobot lackeys, soaking up any free processor power he might have to feel conspiratorial. One such Autobot consisting of that dreadful bug bot...

He always stood much too close. Always talked for damn near the entire affair.

An abysmal affair at that- the lot of them wasting away in either wind or rain or the blistering sun. Forced to get along for the time being.

Unlikely, so long as Bumblebee and Prowl existed within the same space as each other, arguing about nature and technology -*of all things*- while their very reality was crumbling around them. And clearly this was a frequent discussion of their’s.

Blitzwing hadn’t met a mech such as Prowl so infatuated with the organic matter in the universe. Even Blackarchnia, half organic, was looking to rid herself of the affliction.

“You would be happier if this planet was completely technological in makeup- if nature had never existed here.” Prowl ‘observed’.

Bumblebee scoffed- as if having come loaded on a camping trip with computerized junk in his chassis once didn’t prove just how deeply his disrespect for nature ran.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Hmph. What a boring existence that would be-“

“*We* are made of technology, you half processored-“

“If the universe was devoid of this organic phenomenon on every planet, in every star system-“

“Do you believe in the Big Bang theory, Prowl?” Bee side blinded-on purpose- using a term he’d heard Sari only ever use once for study purposes and with only half the context for what it actually was.

Prowl knew a Bumblebee-setup when he heard one, and he wasn’t about to do battle with Bee’s straw man.

“I’m not familiar with it -Or how it *correlates*.”

“Basically these giant rocks crashed together 13 billion something years ago, and it sparked the entire universe into being!” Bumblebee looked ready to pull him into some kind of nonsensical ‘gotcha moment’.

“I don’t think that’s right, firstly. And I don’t understand how that correlates, still.”

“Just answer the question, Prowl! Do you believe in it?” Bumblebee rambled, refusing to make sense of things first. A mech of immediate satisfaction, and wishing mostly to hear that he was right about Primus knew what.

“I mean Cybertron is supposedly 10 billion years old, so that lines up with the timeline.”

“It does not.” Blitzwing huffed, unable to stay uninvolved in their madness. The Radom slice of himself, buried in the back of his subconscious, was itching to scream into the insanity presenting itself. He just couldn’t waste an opportunity...

Miraculously, Blitzwing didn’t give in to that side of his processor, only endeavoring to scratch that itch well enough to silence the urges.

“Zere is debate about the planet’z existence before zis, but ve know for certain zhat ze Allspark was a permanent fixture before time even began”

“Y’all are giving me a crisis.” Bulkhead mumbled mostly to himself, having sat through plenty of Prowl and Bee’s bickering to his breaking point before. But there was a genuine tremor of something like fear in his voice.

Blitzwing thought it was certainly odd to meet a bot who was squeamish about an existential subject. They were a practical people about such matters like life and death- for the most part. Even Starscream had seemed relatively unbothered by living on without a spark to bring into the afterlife. If perhaps she would simply cease to exist without one at some point.

Bulkhead, apparently, was less content with this topic.

Lugnut, who was watching Prime outright bark at Megatron like a yappy, little lap dog, his master answering with a laugh of shocked amusement, tuned into their squabbling just in time to hear of Bulkhead’s peculiar discomfort.

“I understand your despair, Large One.” He  turned to him and placed a servo to his chest. 

“I cannot imagine my life without Lord Megatron in it again! An uncertain existence is a terrifying thing!” And everything without Megatron’s guidance meant uncertainty to him. Blitzwing had seen how he’d faired the single time he thought his master actually dead.

“You’re one to be throwing ‘Large One’ around like that.” Bumblebee grumbled.

Bulkhead seemed rather thankful for the massive menace throwing his two cents in all the same.

In a strange sort of camaraderie, Bulkhead felt compelled to expand upon that.

“How did you meet Megatron?”

He wasn’t sure they’d had enough neutral interaction to actually receive a civil response from the bomber plane, but Lugnut was clearly thrilled to have the chance to enlighten them all about Megatron in any capacity. There certainly wasn’t anything about this in the Autobot’s military profile of him.

“Over 6 million years ago, I had the grand and marvelous pleasure of first meeting Lord Megatron in the gladiatorial arena, and I was promptly acquainted with the depths of my ineptitude! He ‘wiped the floor with me’, as the organics say!”

Bumblebee -leaning against Prowl, who was sitting against a tree- bolted upright.

“Whoa, whoa- wait! How *old* is Megatron?!” He squeaked when he’d put it all together. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had lessons on this in the academy. Megatron was a popular subject. The most popular subject probably.

Prowl waited patiently for Lugnut to rock his educationally delinquent world.

“It does not matter! Lord Megatron believes his life only truly began when he found his cause, leading the Decepticons! 14 million years ago!” Lugnut bellowed, eager to sing praises of his master and doing so entirely too loudly. It earned the attention of their respective leaders from afar- finials pricked high on the Prime’s helm. 

Optimus didn’t know what that was about, but the outburst served as some kind of reminder, as those finials then dipped low, as he regarded the towering figure before him once more. A mech roaming the plane of existence for far longer than he maybe ever would, if these negotiations ended violently.

Megatron, however, just looked perfectly annoyed.

“You seem to be in love with the guy.” Bulkhead said then, and it was so far removed from him to make a joke in a time as tense as a faction wide peace treaty, one ready to end in bloodshed the second one of them got too friendly and crossed a line. A peace treaty that was teetering on the edge of a total collapse, as the other Autobots were half convinced the ‘Cons were taking Optimus for a joy ride.

All of them except Bumblebee.

“Jesus!” He squealed, when he successfully reset his vocalizer. “Frag! You bots are *ancient*!”

“And you thought I was old.” Ratchet grumbled. Servos crossed, as far removed from their chaos as possible, as they stood there waiting.

If they could only do this somewhere more comfortable with someplace to sit....

“You *are* old.” Bumblebee assured him. “Why aren’t *they* falling apart like you are?”

“I *am* in love with him!” Lugnut then shouted in response to Bulkhead, choosing to say so much too loudly once more. This time Megatron hid his face in his hands.

Blitzwing excused himself from whatever *this* conversation was to stalk about the edge of the invisible line the two faction leaders had drawn, in an attempt to keep some privacy to these negotiations. Optimus surely assuming Megatron would be more open to talking that way.

This Prime hadn’t accounted for Megatron’s magnificent crassness when it came to speaking his truth, then. After the words ‘brainless floozy’ had once left his vocalizer without even the excuse of being overcharged, Blitzwing knew he wasn’t worried about his brash etiquette in public, and that he himself would never have to censor his tongue around the mech.

Regardless, Blitzwing kept his appropriate distance and remained quiet. He only needed a moment away from all the noise, finding himself frequently overwhelmed by such. The struggle to remain cordial in a time where it was necessary a constant battle.

When the voices in his head became too loud, it was easy to direct his frustration on another equally frustrated being- like any other Decepticon at arms length. This pretend peace treaty left him grasping at straws as it was -despite the art of deception frequently requiring the uncouth and undesirable in any strategy his sort devised- and it was becoming a challenge to keep a grip on his sanity in order to appear collected and patient.

An effort at the best of times.

Naturally, Bumblebee chose that moment to come over and make it worse- had the audacity to roll up on the heel of his wheels and look bored with everything.

“Dude, I get it. Those guys are so annoying.” The minibot said, waving a servo back at the others in the purest lack of self awareness to ever exist.

“*Oh, do jou*?” Blitzwing ground out, honestly baffled. He should just turn away right now before he reached the point of no return and flattened the little scrap.

He had enough reason to as it was for outing him before. In front of *everybody*... Like he wasn’t haunted with the inescapable reality of his actions in the dead of the night cycle.

Lugnut naturally overlooked their glorious leader’s involvement in the whole debacle, but *Blitzwing*? Oh, no. He had to suffer some serious mockery over his comm link for his pathetic display. As if he wasn’t disappointed with himself enough already.

Bumblebee either didn’t care about how totally pissed off he was making the giant, or his obliviousness was astonishing.

“Yeah, I totally do! Here,” He said, reaching into his sub space which jingled ominously with the sound of far too much junk for one little chassis to hold safely. If Blitzwing stepped on him, would he pierce his stabilizer on something sharp that shouldn’t be in anyone’s sub space, let alone a compact model? Did he have woofers in there?

Bumblebee pulled out a handheld device and turned it on one servoed, his other kept digging. Blitzwing was equal parts impressed and disgusted.

“This is what I do when the chaos gets to be too much.” The bug said, handing him the device -a game console. Likely the one Blitzwing had caught him playing around on many times before when he was supposed to be patrolling the streets.

“Iz zere ever zuch a time for jou, jou little pot stirrer?” Blitzwing snapped, unable to keep up the pleasantries with his broken peace of mind. If he had to stand here and play buddy-buddy with the source of his greatest humiliation yet -worse than sleeping through a mandatory aerial strike before he’d even earned a designation for himself- he might break his beloved game device over the point of those horns.

“Slag, yeah, definitely- Bossbot is the greatest mech I know, and I’m not just sayin’ that. But he is the tensest, most boring, most painfully stoic fragger in the universe. Getting him to smile is a chore, and I’m the funny guy around here.”

Bumblebee reached over and did something with the device, and the screen flickered on, making sure to mute the volume. This was supposed to be a serious occasion and all.

“Zen leave him in peace and don’t bother him.”

“Nah, I can’t do that.” Bee said seriously.

“I care about him way too much to see him waste away into whatever’s wrong with Ratchet.”

Blitzwing snorted, unfortunately very amused by all this. He allowed the minibot to fiddle with the thing in his hands and stand much too close to him. Like he always did.

“The goal is to collect spraycans and deface the city with ‘em.” Bumblebee instructed when an avatar appeared on screen. Blitzwing was quietly delighted by that objective and decided he could indulge the little fool this. It wasn’t a terrible way to whittle the time.

Until the bot started talking again -just as Blitzwing mastered the controls, of course.

“You missed a whole row of them!” He whined.

Blitzwing was infinitely less invested in doing well at this than him, but his already flaring temper made it hard not to take offense.

“Zis is just a game, jou know.”

“That you bite at.”

“I’m sure jou can do better, and zat iz good enough reason for me not to take zis seriously. Anyzing jou might have accomplished can’t pozzibly be vorth celebrating.”

“You would do so well in Fortnight.” Bumblebee said with a distant look in his optic.

“I’ll have you verbally destroy all the raging neckbeards on there. It’s mostly a children’s game, though, so spare the kiddos.”

“What are jou even saying?”

“Hit X! Brake this window for 15 points!” Bee shouted, by some divine intervention not attracting Megatron’s wrath to them with it.

Blitzwing did as told, maneuvering the joycons as best as he could with the immense difference in the size of their servos.

“Vhat do ze points do, exactly?”

“Oh! I’m saving them up for the ninja costume. Uh.... Don’t tell Prowl. Don’t want him thinking he’s cool, ya know?”

Blitzwing wondered for just a moment if he was actually having fun doing this. In the comfortable small talk that followed, he was able to forget this little creature beside him was his enemy and that he was stuck in the hot sun pretending to be a peaceful ‘Bot lover for an undefined amount of time. No doubt a laughing stock with a pretty, red target on his helm from whatever ‘Cons out roaming the wild had gotten an audial full from Starscream. It was admittedly hard to recharge with the thought of thousands of other Decepticons thinking he’d defected, even though it was perfectly likely, too, no one would even believe what Starscream had to say. Whoever she’d reached in her travels.

“Are you gonna start playing this when we come out here?” Bumblebee asked, possibly sounding a smidge too hopeful the other might say yes.

At Blitzwing’s curious look, Bee corrected himself.

“Tryin’ to figure out if I can just keep your points or if I have to make you an account, too.”

“I don’t vant ze points- or an account.”

“Ok, good-“

~WHIRR~

“Unlez zere iz a bird costume!”

Bumblebee made a strangled noise.

“A what?!”

He nearly swatted the things out of Blitzwing’s grip with how quickly he turned on him.

~WHIRR~

“Like a bird.” Blitzwing continued, unfazed.

“Wh-why...? That? I don’t...”

Blitzwing shrugged.

“I vant ze vings.” He said simply.

“Like mine.” And flicked his wing struts out to illustrate.

Bee looked him over. Probably thinking much too hard about the significance of this strange moment.

He failed to keep the mocking from his voice when he said, “Well, I mean. Hm. There is an *angel* costume you could wear.”

Blitzwing considered. This little avatar Bumblebee had made, scooting around on speed skates and stealing spray cans, breaking public property, then wearing an angel costume. And the wings...

Good enough.

“Ja, ja, I’ll take it.” Blitzwing nodded enthusiastically.

Bee, despite the loss of his months worth of accumulated points, smiled. Happier than he thought he’d be to forfeit them in order for Blitzwing to get those stupid wings.

“Ok, dude. They’re gold and stuff, too, so they’re actually pretty cool.”

——— ————- ———-

Megatron knew he’d receive word one way or another -whether via assassination attempt or comm link- when the others had heard about this giant misunderstanding. This excruciating, preposterous misunderstanding that Megatron was *truly* slated to change his ways for the Autobot cause, only made worse by the Prime’s genuine concern for their future coupling as a people, all with movements for equal rights pushed more aggressively upon each ‘negotiation’.

Megatron had decided after that tremor in Optimus’ vocalizer when he’d tried to assure Megatron, as much as himself, that they could teach the civilian builds to trust in their core that they were all sentient beings with sparks deserving of nurture and acceptance that it was time to strike. It was time to end this.

This was becoming painful, and it shouldn’t be.

It should only be a fun little game for him of how far he could push this stuck up stick in the mud before the Prime either denied his autonomy out of frustration, as most were keen to do, or labeled him a classless brute beyond reasoning and earned himself a severed limb.

It never came to that, though, no matter how much Megatron pushed, and no matter how much Optimus pushed back. The disrespect or even the fundamental mistreatment associated with the Cybertron elite never came. He never thought to back out of this attempt at a ‘future together’. 

Optimus never even felt those unfavorable ways about him in secret, probably...

Maybe.

That was hard to consider- it felt foolish to, almost like Megatron was hoping it true. But it seemed eerily likely. 

Megatron had had enough- this game had lost its appeal.

Eager to end it, he prepared to deliver some amazing plan to his underlings that didn’t give away how much of a waste of their time this had all been, now that he was unwilling to go through with it. And then, like Primus was real and spiteful as the day Megatron had first onlined his optics, waiting for this exact moment to deliver swift justice upon him, Megatron finally received word of the deeply terrifying consequence from his people for his actions.

Without a sub space communicator to reach anywhere far enough to contact his forces, it was all very horrifying that it was Cyclonus who was the first to contact him *in person*. Having apparently traveled at break neck speed all the way from the Magnokor Asteroids through mysterious means to reach him. Unlikely, and exaggerated, but he was here wasn’t he?

He was here...

Oh, Spark....

Megatron almost faltered right there at the sight of him slicing through wind currents, his metal frame still scorching upon his impact with the Earth’s mesosphere. He stopped just shy of the ground, projecting the sort of deranged panic with his abrupt landing and transformation into bipedal mode that only he could.

Megatron steeled himself for a madness rivaling Blitzwing’s.

“Lord Megatron! Lord Megatron! I came as quickly as I could!”

“Are there others close by?” Megatron asked. He would like to know how many times over he’d have to explain himself if there were. And how many mechs might be aiming something at his spark chamber right now.

“I operate alone!”

Typical. That was one less thing, though, he suppo-

“Team Athena.” Megatron whispered hoarsely. If Cyclonus had heard the horrible news, Strika had, too.

*Strika*. *Not*... *Strika*...

She wouldn’t let him hear the end of this extravagant screw up. Also typical that Cyclonus had left her and the rest to come bother Megatron while he could have him all to himself. If only Cyclonus’ interest in him was something as definable as blind loyalty like Lugnut’s.

“Commander Strika is making the appropriate accommodations.” Cyclonus said then, as Megatron must have said something of her out loud. He could hardly be bothered by looking out of sorts in front of his soldiers, though, when the words at once began to form a truer and darker meaning.

‘Accommodations’?

*Strika* of all his faithful kin was about to revolt against him? And she’d believed so *easily* what only Starscream could have shown her of their ‘conversation’.

So Cyclonus had come here to side with his leader and forewarn of her treachery?

Megatron had heard of greater betrayals in his time as a leader. He’d only served lifetimes of it through Starscream. Who else, but Starscream....

Cyclonus was still rambling about something he realized.

“All rebel forces that would act independently are being closely monitored and are under strict orders. Though I can assure you myself, my Lord, they shall *not* challenge your great vision! Commander Strika will see to it herself if she must!”

Megatron then shut his hanging jaw hinge and stared.

“I wouldn’t speak for the blithering masses- ‘Commander’ Starscream, for example. But I have complete confidence that they are as grateful to follow you as I! Your loyal Cyclonus!” Who was suddenly proving his loyalty far more blind than Megatron’d imagined.

Inevitably, Lugnut would have some mild questions about this, and Blitzwing would begin to have his doubts in him. But Megatron could handle two Decepticons versus an entire army who were- *apparently*- ready to accept whatever insanity he’d created for them all.

That was what Cyclonus was telling him in this instant, yes? That the idea of a truce was somehow believable and even worth attempting?

That’s what Optimus had been trying to tell him. 

“....What sort of accommodations is Strika making?”

——— ————-

Optimus felt lighter. Another negotiation under way and Megatron had approached it with far more sincerity then all the ones previous. Meaning they were making progress.

Was it possible Megatron was playing them all for senseless little fools? Optimus would have needed extensive convincing from Primus himself to believe otherwise.

He hoped beyond all his years, full of doubt and little faith in even the most tangible ambitions he’d once had, that he could reach a mech of such horrors as Megatron somehow- if only because he’d witnessed for himself that the mech was capable of some level of benevolence. But this hope he held a bit too closely to his spark -the first hope he’d had for anything since the loss of Elita- was bordering something like delusion.

He knew this. The realist in him knew this.

But that hadn’t squashed the stupid nagging optimism he’d been named after from blossoming in his chest. This optimism, the curse that it was, he’d long since abandoned. Or maybe it had abandoned him.

As they came to meet at an odd hour much later than their usual meetings, beside a riverbank miles outside the city, Optimus was just lucid enough coming out of another sleepless stasis to push his random giddiness at having been contacted aside.

This could be an attack- it was the first time Megatron had ever reached out to *him* for anything since they’d started all this.

He kept that thought in mind when he found the other waiting for him in an almost serene state, stood by the river’s edge, servos crossed. Watching the flow of water, basking in the moonlight. His back fully turned to a very obvious threat. Optimus liked to think himself one, at least...

They’d brought their respective colleagues. If only because Megatron couldn’t shake Lugnut for anything now that he had him, and Blitzwing was oddly competent in handling Optimus’ crew. Ratchet didn’t waste anytime complaining about the hour all the same.

Optimus thought it another small victory that Blitzwing readily agreed with him and assumed their places at a distance, rather than feeding in to any snide comments they’d send each other in the beginning.

Optimus approached the foreboding figure by the bank- reminded vaguely of a jungle cat from one of Prowl’s documentaries when his hips shifted their weight, moving fluidly like the swish of a large tail.

Optimus hadn’t thought about the fullness in his frame before beyond his larger mass. About the additional plates and cords it took to move a mech of such bulk. What kind of power the seams interlocking those weighty plates were capable of to function as effortlessly as those of a gentler frame.

And he continued not to think about that, as he came to a stop behind him.

When Megatron didn’t answer, he bristled at the thought that this might be one of his little power trips by ignoring the Prime. Then he spoke to him with an edge in his voice that Optimus had never had the privilege of hearing before.

It sounded distant and casual- like he was musing with an old friend.

“Much has changed since we began these senseless negotiations.”

Optimus did bristle then, finials sharp.

“They *aren’t* senseless.”

They’d already proven in about 6 of these meetings, depending on if you counted the first proposition, that they were absolutely capable of behaving themselves -cultural and ideological differences, and all.

Megatron sighed, but his tone hadn’t changed.

“You can promise me nothing. For all your efforts, this amounts to little more than a lot of cheap talk.”

Optimus felt vulnerable in that way he’d found that only Megatron could make him feel. When Sentinel reminded him of his value to Autobot society as a defunct and irrelevant piece of it, it was easy enough to ignore. Sentinel was just as incompetent. What good was a Prime that rolled happily in corruption?

When Megatron did it, Optimus could only accept that a capable, experienced general of an entire people knew what he was talking about- Had had to root out the frayed ends of their chain of command and done away with the useless, straggling bits of it himself. Regardless of how violent their actions could be.

Optimus was there, at that straggly bottom.

He’d be the one Megatron would toss away into repair crew duties -if he didn’t kill him. The major flaw of their people, acting frequently in absolutes.

Only.... Ultra Magnus did a lot of that, too.

It was the other way around, he supposed. Meant to be for the good of all, and what was best for Cybertron. It still left many bots damaged and forgotten.

Optimus wouldn’t say he was one of them.... Exactly.

Then Megatron turned, and when he spoke, that edge to his voice that never quite reached whatever emotion it faintly projected struck Optimus deeply, and reminded him painfully without even intending to of his place.

“I will not settle these matters with anyone who can not promise me change. If that person is not you, I am not interested.”

Which sounded also *vaguely* like a compliment. Maybe. Or maybe Optimus was reading to far into it. When Megatron was actually offering those, they usually doubled as insult.

“You just said much has changed.” Optimus tried. That had been his exact phrasing.

Megatron looked to be considering his words extremely carefully then. Likely filtering much of what he wanted Optimus to hear.

“My people have taken some surprising liberties.” He agreed.

Optimus perked. Fear and excitement mingling together.

Megatron continued.

“However, with nothing to ensure these great ideas you have for their future,” the mention of Optimus personally constructing the futures of a people did sound like he was taking liberties.

He flushed.

“Then I must put a stop to it. I cannot allow this to go any further.”

“W-What kind of changes?” Optimus pressed. His spark was beating so hard that his throat felt tight from the Energon pumping through the lines.

‘Change’ could mean anything- but Megatron putting an end to changes that endangered the lives of Autobots everywhere was unlikely.

So, ‘good’ changes then. He wanted to stop something good -for the *Autobots*- from happening, and Optimus couldn’t even process fully that anything positive was actually coming from these negotiations well enough to imagine what kinds of changes those could be. Only that he had to stop Megatron from stopping their progress. No matter how small.

“It is irrelevant.” Megatron said firmly.

“Because you want everything to stop now- Tell me what your kin are doing. We can talk about this-“

Megatron rolled his optics. The most patience he’d ever had for Optimus after he’d clearly struck a nerve. In this case, it was likely him demanding answers of him that would ultimately sacrifice his authority and admit that Optimus was in any way important enough to weigh his opinion on it.

Which they both knew wasn’t true.

“Autobot-“

“My *name* is Optimus Prime.”

“There is nothing more you can do for me. You made an admirable effort for a cause you believe in- I commend you for this. But it’s time we move on. These means are ineffective, and I won’t waste my time further.”

“So, this is over?” Optimus *tried* not to immediately encrypt this into another section of failures he kept on file by instinct.

He gestured towards their respective cohorts having a not so respective conversation about Blitzwing’s vastly developing video game skills, as Bee defended being bested on his high score. It involved the use of many inappropriate hand gestures.

“What will we tell them?” He asked bravely. Or stupidly. They both knew Megatron hadn’t a concern in the entire universe for their thoughts on the matter.

Optimus tried, though.

“The truth.” The bigger mech shrugged.

“The reality is quite simple.”

Optimus didn’t comment on how nice it was seeing everyone in one place, free of violence. Of course that’d appeal to a cushy, little civil frame.

“So now we go back to fighting and just forget everything we’ve accomplished here?” Optimus knew he was dangerously close to sounding plain petulant, and less suited for strategic truce talks.

“What have we accomplished Autobot?”

“Whatever your people are doing, it’s something good! It’s something we can stand behind and build upon, I’m sure of it!” Optimus tried not to sound desperate.

Megatron didn’t look nearly as heated by all this.

“You’ve no idea what they have planned.”

And Optimus wasn’t dumb enough to ask twice. Instead, he took a moment to calm himself and level his straining vents to work at an appropriate speed. It wouldn’t do to hyperventilate because of a shouting match, and come away from this looking like an upset sparkling. Especially because that would mean admitting he’d allowed his hope to consume him and all his rational thought.

This was indeed over, and he would be feeding into that childish optimism again, if he tried to negotiate any further.

He took one last look at Lugnut nodding enthusiastically to whatever Bulkhead was saying and said goodbye to the image of their factions dallying quietly away together until their leaders had finished. This would be the last time, and he’d been ridiculous to think a future like this was achievable with people like Megatron and Ultra Magnus in power of saying otherwise.

“Alright.” Optimus swallowed. It was an effort to.

“Is it too much to ask that we walk away in one piece now?”

Megatron thought killing them all right here and now would make this final exchange and the disappointment he’d be leaving behind in them all much easier. But that would be a great disrespect to Optimus’ work here, and he’d been the only Autobot Megatron could admit he’d had the pleasure of taking seriously.

The only one possibly... definitely worthy of his respect.

“It is not.” He agreed, and he watched Optimus leave with a stiffness in his backstrut that looked nearly painful.

———- ——————

He didn’t think it’d come to this. For Strika to act so absurdly, one of his most sensible commanders and perhaps, honestly, his most trusted. For his ridiculous little plan to spiral so madly out of control. For the Autobots’ and that audacious little Prime to turn something sickening in his chassis when they left that night.

He didn’t expect for it bother him...

Optimus had been an enormous fool, but, unfortunately, a virtuous one. A visionary, even if he didn’t know it, and a fine diplomat.

Ultra Magnus had better be proud of him and more protective of him in the future. Though Megatron knew all too well that was unlikely the case.

He sent Cyclonus away to send word to Strika, whenever it’d reach her, to lift the bans on taking Autobot captives and every other horrible thing she’d done to lessen the destruction of Autobot forces, and to stand by for further instruction.

He didn’t expect to see Cyclonus again after that, but when he did, he was carrying an urgent message from Strika with him, looking beyond exhausted from everything he’d just put his frame through for the last couple weeks, flying until his engines rattled even when he was stationary.

Megatron took it and clicked it on to read ‘Play stupid games, win stupid prizes’ written boldly enough for his pitiful vision to see from space. All in all, Strika seemed rather unbothered by everything that’d transpired this past month.

It was then Megatron realized those orders she’d issued to evacuate Autobot territory, and release captives mostly unharmed, and abstain from pillaging their much need resources, *weren’t* because freedom for all and a world where their people thrived in togetherness had appealed to her. Had moved her to the core or even licked the smallest flame within her spark to seek peace. Of course, not.

Strika’s job wasn’t to fall over herself doting on her master, or turning a blind optic to his shortcomings to save face. Or remaining silent in fear she might say enough blasphemy in one breath offering him council to get herself shunned to the ‘Megazarak table’.

It was to highlight his stupidity when he was exercising it.

She’d done so excruciatingly... and yes, this was definitely her most blasphemous, disrespectful display of doing so, yet.

Megatron felt thoroughly reprimanded. He’d give her a raise for being the first mecha alive to humble him.

Feeling petty, he sent Cyclonus away for good this time with a message of his own.

‘Wasting resources and presuming to undermine me publicly was a greater mistake than the one I made. Starscream is to be brought to me alive for her torture and execution.’

“That is not for your optics.” He warned Cyclonus, and sent him on his weary way. Worried he might fall right out of the sky seconds after lift off.

It was time to get his hands on that subspace communicator and resume those tenacious plans of world domination. He was suddenly reminded of those weird, disproportionate cartoon mice Blitzwing watched sometimes at the thought.

Unfortunately, setting those plans into motion meant dismissing every rule Optimus had tried to set into motion for him since their negotiations had begun. It’d mean running into him and his odd little crew, coming face to face with the Prime and brazenly announcing he was back to pursuing grinding them all into iron filings.

He reminded himself that that was only the logical conclusion to the unfortunate end of things, and that this would not affect him.

Only inconvenience him.

——— —————

Optimus knew with the nonexistent truce off, the people of Earth would be a target again. How would Megatron get anything done without enacting a hefty does of chaos and genocide? And how would he do either without risking the lives of innocent, easily squashed organics?

Optimus thought bitterly of Rebecca and Jamal.

Remembering the past was a waste of his energy. What had happened must have been some random blip in their coding. That marginally explained why both Blitzwing and Megatron were affected at once.

Except, it actually didn’t explain anything.

They’d had enough time to fall back into a somewhat normal routine since their parting on such abhorrent terms. Failure still a bitter taste on the tip of his glossa.

Optimus couldn’t help but actually admit to Bumblebee that he felt stupid for thinking things could be different for so long. Rather that he’d *hoped*, and that was a more punishable offense than going behind the Magnus himself to arrange all these peace talks ever could be.

Bumblebee had taken to moping around his room with him when the others were asleep. A mutual disappointment of the events that’d turned the tides in their favor for such a short time being lost to the winds now. A little taste of victory- hardly even that- but the memory of the lot of them coexisting in quiet and having legitimate conversations with each other was still fresh in their processors. Bumblebee unwilling to let it go, and Optimus unable to forgive himself he’d lost them such a irreplaceable gift.

“It would have been so fraggin’ nice not to have to fight each other all the time.” Bee sighed.

“Well, that goal was unrealistic anyway. There will always be those that oppose change like that.” Optimus stared miserably at his hands in his lap.

“We can’t make everybody happy all of the time.”

Bee scowled at him from across his berth, his chin propped up on one servo.

“That’s some advice you should live by.”

Optimus’ finials twitched. That wouldn’t particularly sound like an accusation, if not for the face the minibot was making at him.

“Care to expand on that?” Optimus asked slowly. A few octaves too low for friendly.

That was one hell of an invitation for a boisterous, unrepentant Bumblebee when he felt he had something he needed to say.

He did seem to stop a moment and consider his words before Primus possessed him with the same foolish courage he’d needed to out a couple of ‘Cons for their soft-sparked squishy moment all those cycles ago.

“I mean.... All due respect, Boss, you aren’t known for your strong backstrut.”

Actually, that was the opposite of ‘all due respect’, and Optimus wasn’t dumb enough to roll over and take it for maturity’s sake and prove him right.

“You’re out of line, Bumblebee.”

The minibot gestured helplessly around him.

“Were you in line when you tried to negotiate peace talks with the fraggin’ Pit Spawn himself?!”

Which was hypocritical when he’d *obviously* encouraged it -had even suggested it. And he’d completely supported Optimus’ choice to do so, too.

But he had a point to make here.

They were both rule breakers, and Prime wasn’t as straight laced as he tried to make himself out to be.

Trying to fit himself into the mold of a good, little, mindless cog in that ever churning machine -Bless him.

Optimus stood and rounded the berth on him. His size admittedly terrifying when his engine was rumbling like that.

“What *exactly* do you want to say to me?”

Bumblebee was only just brave enough to pretend he was more angry than disappointed by everything they- he- had just lost and was misdirecting it on the only other mech who’d been just as hopeful.

“You should stick up for yourself more.” He said plainly. But it was the challenging glint in his brazen stare that spoke of the true viscousness in his words. The kind of look Sentinel often turned his way.

Optimus used all of his patience as a leader, and the nagging responsibility he had to look out for his crew, to train his features into something reprimanding rather than the uncomfortable dread pricking beneath his plating. 

“You think that would have won the Decepticons over? You think I wasn’t confident enough in my convictions?”

Bee knew he should have stopped there, even as he was opening his mouth.

“I definitely don’t think you should have *walked away*.”

Which how could he make that call? He knew he was speaking mostly senselessly with the sole goal of landing a driving punch somewhere on the other. But he’d wanted it so bad at the time, much more than he’d realized he had, that he likely would have stayed and pushed the futile issue if it had been him in Optimus’ place. Which was why he *wasn’t* in his place.

“Out.” Optimus said coldly. The bill of his helmet was tipped down so he couldn’t meet the other’s optics.

Bumblebee was just upset enough to let anger keep him from apologizing and assuring Optimus he was everything he could hope for in a leader and more.

‘More’ definitely including the safe place he’d made just for Bumblebee to come vent about a nefarious war frame without repercussion. Now he’d just have to pretend like none of that mattered to him anymore, as well as Optimus’ peace of mind....

————————-

Sari was plenty ruffled to learn much, much too late that her friends had purposely not included her in this whirlwind slag storm. Surprisingly, she was  more forgiving about what exactly that whirlwind slag storm had actually consisted of.

Trying to level with Megatron and his crew sounded like a genuine enough endeavor, and she couldn’t fault them too much for reaching towards a future without having to kick ‘Con butt every time they wanted to catch a drive-in movie.

“I could have told you that making friends with ‘Cons would end terribly.”

“Youuu aren’t old enough to have an opinion on anything.” Ratchet insisted.

Sari sat on a spare tire in the medbay, kicking her feet and trying her hardest to blend in with the background while Bumblebee got his tune up and Ratchet fussed at him. She was picking up bits and pieces of this incredible slag show, and Sari had finally gotten enough to, indeed, form that opinion of her’s. At least on the matter of Blitzwing- since he’d only come up about 12 times.

“Jeez, Bumblebee.” Sari said thoughtfully.

“You sound like you’ve got a crush on the guy.” Then proceeded to snicker at her friends immediate outrage.

“I- I- W-WHAT?!”

“Ha!” Ratchet snorted. Probably thinking much the same, now that she’d said it.

Bumblebee pushed off the slab, shoulder joint still loose, and looked ready to run out of there at any moment in both fear and betrayal. Clearly Sari had hit a little too close to home there.

Of course, he’d never admit something like that -if her half hearted jest was any bit true. Surprising as that’d be.

So, Sari spent that afternoon poking Prowl and Bulkhead for answers. Neither seemed entirely convinced a mech like Bumblebee could fall for a ‘Con in any capacity. Platonic or other.

Bumblebee was a easy to offend and anything but patient. Both attributes would be tested heavily in a cross class relationship. More importantly, they were enemies, and Bumblebee couldn’t be sparked into rolling over for any mecha standing against the Autobot way.

Unless that ‘Con could prove reasonable and daringly handsome, Sari was willing to bet. Not that she knew much about Bee’s romantic interests beyond her own assumption.

Sari didn’t think Blitzwing proved to be either- but he did have those strong servos Bee always yapped about when he ogled the fighters ‘in secret’ on her Mortal Conquest game. She’d bet Blitzwing would absently rip the spines clean out of his victims the way Bee liked those fighters to do, too...

“They did play on the Game Box together for a while. Whenever there was time. But I think that’s as close as they actually got to being friendly.” Bulkhead mused to himself.

“He hasn’t explicitly expressed an interest in Blitzwing to me.” Prowl agreed. As if he was the authority figure on all of Bumblebee’s controversial and embarrassing secrets. Which, fair....

Why *would* Bumblebee tell him, though? Wanting to be best buds, and a little extra, with a ‘Con wasn’t something an Autobot would advertise.

When Optimus eventually slunk through the base at an unusually late hour with audial fins low, Sari thought she might as well question their fearless, somewhat all knowing leader about Bee’s latest erratic behavior.

It was not a pleasant talk and only left her with new questions about the insane, sane-less, insanity she’d missed out on more than anything.

“Bumblebee was hoping for a miracle, I suppose. We should all have aspirations-“ Optimus sounded quite pragmatic about the whole thing. But then-

“Unless they cloud your processor to the point of poor judgement.”

Sari felt awkward- smart enough to know she was getting herself involved in something personal by the prickly edge in his tone. Not smart enough that her love for her two dear friends going through a rough patch would keep her at arms length of it, though.

Only just smart enough not to tell Optimus Prime that her best friend might have a crush on a ‘Con. Or remind him of that fact, if he was already aware.

“I can’t blame him.” Sari shrugged.

“I’d like for all of us to be friends, too. Imagine if there were even more giant friendly robots around here! That’d be awesome!”

Optimus looked surprisingly upset all at once by that, but he didn’t let it show in his voice. Sari was an innocent in all this.

“Yeah, it would be. But to tell the truth, I don’t see much point in entertaining that kind of thinking anymore.”

“Well, aspirations and all. You can’t set goals for yourself without envisioning it first.” Sari used his words against him in a fairly good point.

At least good enough to make Optimus look guilty about his harshness.

Not good enough to pass an opportunity to lecture his young companion.

“If your vision is only ever an optimistic one, you’re just preparing yourself to be disappointed when reality settles. It’s called overindulging.”

“Someone just told you that so you wouldn’t chase your dreams.” Sari countered, ‘cause that was *exactly* what that sounded like.

Optimus grimaced, remembering that he had been the one to tell himself that. Still...

“Why aren’t you this articulate when you’re explaining ‘me me’ culture to me?” Optimus diverted.

Sari mirrored his frown.

“I think you’re probably too young to be saying that wrong...”

“Oh. Well, just try to believe me when I say that we- that *I* overshot my expectations for Megatron having some sensibility in his one track processor.”

“I would have, too, I bet. I get my hopes up all the time.” Sari agreed. Hoping right then that she could put a smile on her most stress laden friend’s face.

This, again, seemed to be one of the worst things he could hear at the moment.

Optimus gave a nod, optics averted, and excused himself back the way he came- towards his room. Not a good sign.

————- ——————-

Blitzwing was a ball of nerves.

“Professor Sumdac is the expert in this field and, luckily, in relatively large supply of the resources we’ll need. The less attainable ones will be dealt with as the issue arises- For now, we collect our new compatriot and set to work. It’s time I paid my dear friend and the hellish prison he’d held me captive in a visit.”

Blitzwing knew retrieving an organic, even one the Autobots prized, would only be as difficult as a physical fight, some bloodshed, and the Decepticon’s most likely victory. That happened to be the case a good chunk of the time- he definitely owed credit where credit was due, though, concerning these wily, steadfast little bots. They could hold their own plenty well enough.

What bothered him about this simple task of ‘collecting’ their human hostage wasn’t anything to do with the genuine lack of effort he was willing to put into a fight like this after feeling dreadfully unlike him self these past cycles.

It was, of course, about *who* he would be fighting. It was just a niggle at the back of his processor, just a pinch of nerves. It wasn’t overwhelming his logical outlook of things in that they had no choice *but* to return to fighting.

Of course, they did. He welcomed it even. Anything to rid himself of his nauseating unease.

The fact that Megatron had made it clear he would be leading this mission was another trouble, though. His leader’s intent likely to make a point for when they came face to face with Optimus Prime once more.

That point being, ‘We are enemies from here on’.

And Blitzwing was stumped as to why that left such a terrible taste in his intake.

Like all things that threatened to twist the logic in his good sense, Blitzwing pushed at the thoughts to keep them as far from his processor for as long as he could until they could be overwhelmed by the more important matters he had to attend to.

That only lasted until they reached Sumdac’s tower, as a zap fluttered up his spinalstrut at the sight of a familiar yellow figure below.

They landed and, being met with a surprising lack of a response, made themselves known. Landing within perfect firing distance.

Blitzwing felt numb. His optics trained on a point in the distance and stared- anywhere else, but on....

He only caught a glimpse out of his optic of Bumblebee in a similarly uncomfortable state.

Megatron was naturally the first to speak. The same old haughty tone, as if they’d never wasted cycles away together in mutual ceasefire.

“Stand aside Autobot, and we will have no reason to fight you.”

But they definitely would.

Indeed, that had certainly made good on that imperative message if their presence here hadn’t- They weren’t ‘neutral’ anymore. Never had been.

Blitzwing looked then to asses the battle field. Optimus was of course there, a leader who played as frequent a part in his subordinates’ endeavors as Megatron. Prowl was beside him, looking unusually put upon by something. Probably the ‘Cons becoming a factor of their immediate survival. Bulkhead stood between him and Bumblebee.

The smallest bot stood there, grinding his denta hard enough to hear from where Blitzwing was.

His fists were clenched hard, vents hitching.

When Blitzwing turned to look him over once more, Optimus proved to be in much of a similar condition. Though he seemed reasonably more in control of his obvious outrage, as any leader should. Finials lowered dangerously, eyes narrow, and suspiciously quiet.

Ratchet was nowhere to be found, and as there was clearly some kind of drama unfolding painfully before his very optics, Blitzwing noted that it would be true to form that Ratchet would try and avoid it.

Whatever they were doing outside the tower looking ready to eviscerate each other, who could possibly say. The ‘Cons dropping by to no doubt inflict widespread terror had been unaccounted for, and left them in an even more compromised state.

They were wildly unprepared for a fight and this move Megatron had made to announce his intentions plainly and truthfully going forward had proved to be the most effective -and unintentional- stealth attack they’d actually imposed upon them. Nothing short of cloaking their signatures could be as powerful.

Emotionally tangled civilian types proved especially easy to eliminate.

But these bots had never been the ordinary sort, he’d found.

Optimus hadn’t torn his optics away from Bumblebee and vice versa, leaving Prowl and Bulkhead to do an evaluation on what they were in danger of themselves. It was the most careless display Optimus Prime had ever made, as their primary protector.

Megatron wasn’t ridiculous enough to think Optimus so incompetent he likely made a habit of such behavior. Immediately, Blitzwing was sharing the same strange concern as his commander was in the twinge of his field- that something was off about this.

The little organic, Sari, chose that moment to make herself known from behind Bumblebee then- completely obscured by his frame previously.

“Uh, guys can this maybe *wait*?!” She said, flapping her arms and making the most honest show of a creature fully aware of the magnitude of being on the receiving end of Megatron’s wrath.

Her panic wasn’t quite enough to break whatever spell had possessed the two glaring mechs, however. Bulkhead attempted to break optic contact again, looking between his friends and their impending doom a few yards away, but Bee was happy to move whichever way around him and assert himself in this peculiar standoff, while Optimus might as well have been baring a pair of fangs at the other, and likely was just barely repressing such an urge.

If this had been a ‘Con issue, they would already be rolling through the refuse, punching each other.

Blitzwing looked to his fearless leader for answers then and found a mech with a rapidly decreasing mood over whatever they’d just walked in on.

“Autobot,” He was addressing Optimus again.

“I’m taking Professor Sumdac to use as I see fit. Do not stand against me, and I will return your mercy.”

“Guys! They’re trying to take my dad!” Sari squeaked. Fearful of how helpless her position was in all this. They weren’t listening, and the promise of human extinction was likely on the rise, if they didn’t act soon.

As Sari had correctly feared, having watched the brutal escalation of this argument unfold, this did nothing to dissolve the suffocating tension surrounding them. The promise of Megatron moving into attack, however, seemed to shock their systems into action.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of action any of them needed right now.

More arguing.

“Megatron wouldn’t be alive to take the Professor, if he hadn’t helped him back to function in the first place.”

The other ‘Bots visibly flinched.

“Optimus! How can you say that?!” Sari cried hysterically. She looked between the four of them -her four supposed ‘friends’- then up at the three ‘Cons, no doubt leaving her a grand impression of what she’d be seeing in her nightmares for years to come.

Megatron stared back, soaking in the bewildering sight, at a loss for words. Likely a first for him.

“Way to lay blame, Prime.” Bumblebee *hissed*, and Blitzwing had never heard him speak like that to anyone before. With them recently becoming more acquainted with each other in an effort to form their future bonds, it felt distinctly personal, and he was surprised to find himself feeling uncomfortable. Even if it wasn’t directed at him.

Bumblebee wasn’t finished, though.

“That was a mistake, and we all know it! But since we’re pointing fingers,” The minibot then pointed at the petulant little pout Optimus was sporting from around Bulkhead’s side.

“Megatron wouldn’t even be here to take him for pit-knows-what, if *you* had been more assertive about the truce!”

“Untrue.” Megatron found himself speaking on the other’s behalf. Mostly spurned to take a side by his inherent desire to see order amongst rank. Perhaps impulse more than anything.

“The success of a peaceful truce between our factions was out of your leader’s hands from the start. He could no more promise the glimmer of hope in your spark such a thing than his own.”

Optimus finally looked away. An unbearable vulnerableness overtaking him.

Megatron spared him a single glance, speaking with conviction. Unused to such a show of submission from the Prime.

“He had far too great ambitions -Though you cannot fault him this. I think them quite admirable.”

Bumblebee looked a little hopeless then.

“I... It’s just...”

“You must possess the same ridiculous ambitions yourself, for what good you think you’ll do questioning your leader in this manner.”

It wasn’t a fair fight with Optimus in Megatron’s favor, but Blitzwing wasn’t dumb enough to inject himself into all this. Yet.

He may have never questioned his own leader, but he would have gladly done so, if he’d had had the privilege Bee did of surviving it.

Absolutely nothing had come of Megatron’s ‘plans’ to gain their trust and then turn it against them. Absolutely nothing had come of wasting away in the abhorrent weather on this planet, playing goodie goodie with a bunch of outspoken, annoying, overly friendly Autobots. Desecrating his name for it.

And worse than all of that still -worse than worrying over the incredible waste this had all been, and *still* was, throwing himself into an overly complicated Autobot ‘travesty’ of the mollycoddling kind, that he was *unfortunately* finding himself *invested* in- was that Bumblebee looked dangerously close to crying....

Blitzwing would question Megatron for letting it go on for so long and getting the little one’s hopes up so high.

All of the little ones.

These civilians were far more sensitive about these things- obviously. A ‘Con wouldn’t have wasted time smashing each other through the dirt the moment someone challenged their person. They wouldn’t have bothered with anything short of their offender surviving the brink of death to agree to have a chat after about their disrespectfulness.

He should have passively reminded Megatron a delicate touch would do the most good for this lot. The difference between their class types was often extreme.

And, no, he wasn’t being overly protective of a largely independent, very capable class of Cybertronians just because one of them, the only one that mattered so much to him apparently, proved to be quite sensitive to insults and tethered to his insecurities at times. That was definitely unrelated.

Megatron had been too harsh, was all.

Bumblebee might have been just bold enough -and emotionally compromised enough- to turn his anger on Megatron then, and then Blitzwing thought he really would have to intervene to keep him in one piece. But then the little bot gestured uselessly at what an utter mess this all was, his chest puffed up, holding in a whimper, and set his teary optics on Optimus again.

“It could have been different.”  His vocalizer abruptly cut off at the end, but the message was clear. He was upset to the point of tears.

In front of a bunch of *Decepticons*. In front of the *Leader* of the Decepticons. In front of *Blitzwing*.

All horrified sets of optics looked on- even Optimus, whose outrage had melted away with the last vestiges of his energy, maybe even his will to exist at the moment, and looking to be a shell of himself. Totally hollowed out inside. Distantly aware this all needed to come to the surface one way or another, and Bumblebee was going to be a tiny little wreck for it afterwards.

Optimus decided in that moment that his own despair could take a back seat.

“You always back out when it matters.” Bee murmured, lacking the powerful heat that’d been in his glare.

“That’s not true, Bumblebee.” Bulkhead said with a soothing edge to his voice. Of course, he understood what he was going through. He’d been on the receiving end of Optimus’ wrath plenty before, and knew he’d see more of it in the future. Their leader prone to snapping before bending when things became heated. And still-

“Optimus was brave enough to give this whole thing a try. Remember?”

“There was no way to guarantee it would work.” Prowl agreed.

Their teammates keeping calm enough to remind them of the facts should have been enough to bring them back to themselves. But Optimus was as easily turned a martyr as ever, even when it was the least sensible time to allow guilt to fog his processor.

“I think the reality is that I was ‘stupid’ enough to give this a try.” He supplemented. A distant ache in his chest- and processor. Both for two entirely different reasons.

Megatron might have felt a fuse blow in irritation.

Lugnut, who’d been forgotten to even have existed at the moment, stepped forward at Megatron’s side. His servo raised, retracting inward to be replaced with the dreaded, horrific POKE. Blitzwing’s wings flexed with the effort not to retreat to the skies.

“Gah! Since you blithering fools will not cease your *bickering* and *move*, I will do it for you!”

Blitzwing’s body didn’t even have a chance to subconsciously move towards Bee to shield him before Megatron was holding up a hand to stop the big brute.

“Silence, Lugnut. This isn’t a matter of strength of arm.”

Obviously -and the romantic in him just barely avoided calling it ‘a matter of spark’, and thank frag.

Prowl watched the trio curiously, hyper aware of their every little twitch. Condensation heavy on his frame from trying to keep a calm visage, while his team was in disarray.

Megatron took another step closer, successfully avoiding looking like a threat under the ninja bot’s intensive gaze, and offered himself to Bumblebee’s full attention.

“Minibot, you should direct your grievances unto me. I am the one who denied your leader’s proposition. Now, what are your qualms?”

Bumblebee just sniffed at him, realizing that would be entirely useless. He couldn’t hope to win a dispute with Megatron for anything. More importantly, Megatron wouldn’t care to give him either truthful answers or serious ones.

He was a *Decepticon* after all. *The* Decepticon.

Instead, he gave a vague, “He just gives in....” as his defeated answer. The only information he was willing to share, and completely indecipherable in meaning for Megatron, who’d only ever known a mech willing to bite his head off over imaginary equal rights.

Bumblebee vividly recalled the choice words Optimus had had for them all after Megatron’s uprising from Sumdac Tower -crushed under the immeasurable stress of leading a repair team, an insubordinate one, he’d explicitly reminded them, against the current greatest threat to their species and the universe. And the way he’d spoken to them when he’d finally succumbed to that pressure- a way Bumblebee would have never turned against his teammates. His friends. People who hadn’t signed up to be stuck on an unmarked planet, expected to protect life as they knew it from extinction.

Remembering, too, the conversations with Sentinel on the vidcoms. The way Optimus almost predictably caved when the bigger bot became aggressive. Which was practically immediately. The way he’d allow Sentinel to get away with talking to *them* next.

But he didn’t say any of that, of course. It sounded childish to have bothered him so terribly when he knew well and good he was in no shortage of faults himself. Like pinning too much expectation on Optimus to succeed in a multi-faction campaign had been -all while he was supposed to wait quietly on the sidelines and rejoice in the easy victory he’d been secured.

He couldn’t help feeling that unsavory way about his minimal efforts when it was so easy to get confused about the horrible way this wonderful prospect of change had ended. But channeling it into the bruising of Optimus’ dwindling ego wasn’t the way.

Megatron couldn’t hope to know anything about Optimus Prime’s private life with his comrades. He could only bare witness to the deeply stricken, spark guilty mech he was seeing before him now and decide solely upon that alone that he would like to put an end to this pointless blaming *immediately*.

Frailty did not suit this mech.

“I have determined peace between our factions to be insufficient in fueling our objectives as a people- and not you, or your leaders, or anyone else, could have changed my mind.” Megatron grit out through clenched denta. Shockingly affected by the little bot’s blatant disrespect.

“With this in mind, I will say that if anyone *could have* succeeded in turning my opinion, it would absolutely have been your steadfast Prime.”

Steadfast. The very opposite of what Bee had been saying about him being so easily broken.

“But he couldn’t, could he?” Bumblebee snarked, reaching into the shallowest part of his spark to deliver the hateful comment unto his utterly stricken leader, standing there with finials low and optics unseeing. Accepting it.

Blitzwing stepped forward when Megatron did then. Hoping his instinctive urge to protect the tiny bot from another ‘Con’s attentions would be overlooked at the moment by Megatron’s own peculiarly strong urge to do so for Optimus.

Not entirely so, to Blitzwing’s pure mortification, as Megatron turned a snarling show of teeth upon him for assuming to assist his chosen object’s assailant.

Blitzwing wondered if the other civilian frames all caught up in this were aware of the Con’s unfortunate coding making choices beyond their processors for them. Acting entirely on a deep rooted instinct that went beyond even simple programming. Humiliating, if so.

Lugnut obviously did, and he could only watch on *helplessly confused*, seeing his master acting in such a state. Perhaps even coming to terms at last that his blind loyalty might need its first reevaluation.

“You have become entirely too invested in this fantasy of your own making.” Megatron said to Bumblebee, a warning clear in his tone. His optics flittered over to Blitzwing then -the assailant’s impromptu guardian- causing the other’s vents to stall out.

To his own amazement, he found himself standing unflinching beneath that molten hot glare, appearing as a beckon for the defenseless minibot. Megatron could applaud him that at least.

The little yellow hellion sniffled, fresh tears of frustration prickling his optics, but refusing to let them fall.

“Th-That’s not true! He wanted it as bad as I did!”

Optimus miraculously found his voice at that.

“*Bumblebee*!” He hissed, but a warm blush on his cheekplates dampened the effect.

Bumblebee ignored him.

“He won’t admit it, but he did! I’m not the only crazy one here!”

And this was all very much crazy.

Blitzwing acknowledged that applied to him just as well, and Megatron, for being equally as disconnected from reality in defending a pretty, blue and red doormat more or less. The two of them attempting to secure these distressed little mechs from their fussing and rebuild the crucial bond civilian types kept preserved.

It was the oddest, most demoralizing urge to see that through, but neither seemed in a state to rectify their primitive coding.

Or admit this had stopped being an issue of mindless coding the moment they had begun to respect their counterparts and find them worthy of protecting in the first place.

At some point during those silly ‘negotiations’ that’d left much to be desired, these lively, colorful little idiots had started to look more and more like a welcome addition to suffer the tyranny of a war build’s naturally possessive behavior -Their only defense against such being their unlikelihood to become attached to most things that didn’t extensively benefit them to do so.... Which especially included fragile little Autobots.

Of course, they hadn’t known the little fools had managed to sink their claws into them *somehow*, until they were being forced to acknowledge it. Forced to consider their very existence, as they stood there defending them and their bickering.

There was a moment of awkward tension where the little bots stared at one another with nothing but hurt and fury in their optics. Bumblebee just at the cusp of shaking apart under all his pent up stress. But then Optimus caved, as hard as Bumblebee claimed he would, seemingly coming to terms with his own reality of the events that’d transpired over the last few weeks and how right Bumblebee was- at least, how Optimus thought he might be in a moment of his nonexistent self-esteem managing to plummet further.

“I know this all blew up in our faceplates... I know this opportunity was wasted because of me...” He murmured.

Megatron was deeply disgusted by this proclamation, but he didn’t get a chance to say how that was precisely the stupidest thing he’d ever heard- even knowing several Decepticons who’d willingly chosen to remain illiterate to this day, Optimus’ ‘confession’ had easily exceeded in stupidity.

Before he could snap an iota of sense in the otherwise sensible mech, the ridiculous little firetruck went on confirming his subordinate’s ill regards.

“I wish that I’d done this right when I’d had the chance to.... But I can’t change the past.”

“How could you have done this any differently?” Megatron didn’t even hide the bewilderment in his vocalizer -wondering what portal he’d stepped through when they’d landed where his words as the crowning war lord with the upmost priority in the ranks of Decepticons and Autobots alike were excused and ignored within seconds of uttering them.

He’d very clearly stated that this was out of the Autobot’s servos. Everyone had heard him -unless he’d been speaking Vosian without his knowing.

Optimus rubbed at his tired optics.

“If I’d had never gotten expelled in the first place, I’d be making a difference right now... I’d be more important to the cause, and Ultra Magnus might listen to me if I told him about my ideas for a truce.”

Optimus tried to shy away when Prowl made to reach for him, but the truth was that his palm on his shoulder plate was the tiniest bit grounding, and Optimus needed whatever help he could get in keeping his optics dry.

“I had to solidify my efforts somehow.... He wouldn’t have listened to me otherwise.”

Not for the first time, Optimus was reminded that he wasn’t helping his people here- essentially exiled on earth and running his mouth at Decepticon warlords like it was a sport. Why else had he thought he could take this monumental task on himself? He hadn’t really believed he could make a difference with a track record like his, had he?

For the bots he could make a difference for -his team- he was doing nothing more than endangering them all with this arrogant pursuit. It didn’t matter what Bee had encouraged, or even Sari, now that she knew. They were under his lead, following his orders. He had authority over them... They had to do what he said, as much as Jazz had to listen Sentinel.

“What would you have me do?” Megatron asked then, feeling like his processor had been bled dry of logic altogether.

“Abandon the people who expect me to bring them justice? Abandon our cause? I couldn’t do that- no matter what you hoped to accomplish, it would never come to be, little Autobot.”

Megatron stilled, considering very carefully the wisdom he wished to bestow upon the mech stood anxious and uncertain behind him. His own struts stiff and uncomfortable -unsure if he was willing to accept how fantastically things had derailed under his own supervision.

And then he turned to face Optimus, stooping the tiniest bit to be more at his level, and said firmly.

“You can’t hold yourself accountable for the misgivings of others.”

And if Optimus was as willing as he’d seen thus far to do ‘right’ by other bots, he really shouldn’t.

“You deserve the utmost respect for your efforts, especially from yourself.”

Megatron had a fleeting moment of unadulterated horror to think how compromised his logic had become to offer *comfort* of all things to his little nemesis. But then the smaller mech turned another shade darker, and he couldn’t remember why he actually hadn’t done so *sooner*.

Optimus bit into his bottom lip, looking up at the taller mech. Starkly aware he shouldn’t be looking at him in anyway that didn’t draw him as a giant target to slice his axe through. Optimus tried for all of a klik to muster his once boundless hatred for this mech before the true meaning of his words touched him deep in the most neglected part of Optimus’ conscious. The part of it he tried to convince himself didn’t desperately need approval and validation.

Meanwhile, Blitzwing took the blessed lull in their energy fields to look over at Bumblebee and find him finally seeming to soften with the want to apologize. To reach out with kindness to his leader and make right what they’d said to each other.

“You can’t let other’s affect you so when you’re a leader...” Megatron continued, utterly compelled to.

“They will have their doubts in you, but you will show them through action of your own that you deserve their trust and their respect. If they do not offer you either, it isn’t your responsibility to be burdened by their ideas of you.” Because they were all fools if they didn’t, and Megatron couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

He looked at those hopeful, blue eyes searching into him.

Those eyes so blue in more than me way.

Megatron sighed.

“But, you’re so young...”

It was unlikely Optimus could ignore the cutting words of anyone who might seek to knock him off his pedes.

Something plagued this mech. Something troubled him too terribly to instill much faith within himself, and that was about the biggest blight on all of Cybertron and the Allspark Megatron had ever known.

Optimus, genuine, selfless, thoughtful, uncertain, absurdly hopeful Optimus should never had been abandoned to feel so unsure of himself or his incredible talent. His compassion, his gentle nature, his ability to spread good will- or at least his desire to try.

Nobody had ever told him otherwise, had they? Not the right people- not the people who could have made the biggest impact on him. Shaped him as a soldier, given him time and care to grow. Those people had most likely even done the opposite.

Buried him further where the light of his own hope could no longer reach him. Promise him his worth was destitute.

Megatron felt incredibly troubled to know this mech all at once.

“Uh... Um, hey....” Sari began, coming out from around Bumblebee to stare wide eyed at the telenovela worthy chaos before her.

“Uh. What do you guys want with my dad?”

“Ve need him to make us a subspace communicator to contact Lord Megatron’s forces.”

Blitzwing answered truthfully. Either way, they’d all be coming away from this deeply scarred and with a magnitude of trust issues. Where was the harm in admitting to attempted kidnapping?

Bulkhead perked then, seizing the opportunity to continue this without violence.

“Well... Maybe we can work something out?”

Megatron felt himself age a few thousand years.

———— ————

Of course, the little scraps had lost contact with the Steelhaven since crashing on this insipid planet, and there was nothing they could ‘work out’ regarding Megatron’s need for a communication source. Nothing they could do more than the lot of them walking  quietly away from this, so everyone could cool down and come back to their senses. All expecting Megatron to simply leave empty handed of one organic, reverse engineer.

What part of ‘No Truce, Only Enemies’ did they not understand? Now Bulkhead was trying to make empty compromises?

What hope had he that Optimus, Megatron’s only fond acquaintance of this incorrigible lot, narrowly didn’t?

Exactly none, that’s what.

“I have asked generously that you stand down.” Megatron snarled.

“I will not repeat myself.”

And then, when they inevitably refused now that he’d talked them out of their senselessness, there’d be nothing left to do but fight.

And that was all there was to it, it seemed.

Optimus nodded, resigned to the inevitable, and began reaching for his axe- battle mask forgotten in his half sparked desire to lead a defense. Maybe he was actually expecting to be bested quickly in his subpar state, so they might return to their base, and Optimus could retreat into himself for a few moments just to process this ungodly embarrassment before constructing an outline of Sumdac’s rescue. Essentially expecting defeat.

It was, without a doubt, the most pitiful display Megatron had ever seen, and so unlike the Prime he’d come to know in every conceivable way.

Distantly, so very distantly and obscurely and almost impossibly, Megatron couldn’t help but wonder if a loss like this having such an impact on his seemingly unshakable rival might be because there was more at stake than the loss of one unlikely truce. Something beyond his struggle to outlive the failures of his past and his abysmal sense of self.

Perhaps perceiving some great loss in the ‘loss’ of Megatron.

Like, perhaps, he’d wanted his camaraderie? Like he’d wanted more time to speak candidly with another mech, when the option was so rare. Like he’d wanted his company in some familiar capacity. That he’d wanted something.... else...?

Megatron shunned the thought. Thinking like that was gravely beneath Optimus’ deserving. He was to be respected- especially since he wouldn’t respect himself...

But a fight was the only logical course of action here on, as neither faction could simply surrender.

Bumblebee followed Optimus’ lead and readied his stingers while Sari took cover. The other Autobots preparing themselves, coming out the other end of the emotional minefield they’d marginally survived to embrace battle. However successful they imagined they’d be in such a debauched state. Brave little bots, as they ever were.

Megatron looked at an exhausted Optimus and knew he’d have to fight this mech then. There truly was nothing left for them beyond a mutual agreement to disagree. Bizarre as it was that Megatron was having trouble justifying beating a mech in such a shaken state, despite him being a thorn in his eye since his reawakening on this planet, Megatron knew it was the only path for them.

Perhaps their destiny, even. Megatron was just romantic enough to believe so.

Across from him, Blitzwing looked woefully unwilling to do fighting of any sort. Fanning his wing the tiniest bit to shield the minibot. Megatron could deal with such insubordination later.

This moment right now was his calling- his time to take up arms once more for his people. The past was the past, the ‘peace’, real or not, was over.

Lugnut took all of one step forward with servo raised and POKE ready before Megatron was quickly throwing out a hand to catch him by the forearm and promptly put a stop to that.

“Hold all fire!”

Bumblebee pointedly did not lower his stingers. But as they were raised towards Megatron’s helm and Megatron’s alone, he didn’t imagine Blitzwing would be too upset about his eagerenss to take a shot at one of them.

Megatron found the threat seriously lacking.

“Prime,” He snapped, quickly turning his attention on the Autobot who’s finials twitched. Sensing... something.

A strong intuition, this one.

“There is no need for us to spill each other’s Energon.” Megatron tried one final time. Terrified that he was about to do something awful. Something even worse than slaughtering this tiny mech. Something like letting him *live*.

“You can prove yourself a competent leader now, and stand down!”

“I can’t let you take professor Sumdac, Megatron.” Optimus said in what was left of his authoritative tone since having a crisis in front of everyone and Primus. He looked in no such state to back that claim, but-

“I *won’t* let him go without a fight.”

Optimus could realistically accept what that meant for them then, and raised his axe to his chest. Prepared.

It was only a blip in the next nanosecond that Megatron perfectly recalled Strika’s message to him about ‘playing stupid games’ and the consequence of such, to remembering pivotal moments in the millennia he’d spent leading an army through war. Remembering what he’d had to sacrifice to earn his stature and rank.

It took marginally less time than that even to ruin everything he’d ever worked for.

“We shall attempt this truce of yours once more!”

Not that it was ‘Optimus’ truce’, and not that it didn’t cater heavily towards the justice of war frames. But Megatron wasn’t willing at the moment to take responsibility for that, too, on top of his single handed destruction of the Decepticon empire just now.

Optimus blinked like he hadn’t heard him. Maybe he hadn’t.

“We’ll try one final time.” Megatron reaffirmed. His vocalizer feeling stretched thin.

“Ultra Magnus must have a hand in securing our progress, however.”

Optimus, like everyone else within audial range, needed several kliks to process that. He spluttered and clenched his axe towards his chest, like he was desperate for something to hold on to. Something to put between himself and Megatron’s impossible promise. One he surely couldn’t mean.

Bumblebee flapped uselessly behind the triple changer.

Blitzwing was forced to recalibrate his gyroscope. Feeling as though gravity had just dissipated from the atmosphere and the earth was shifting beneath him, because this was definitely not part of some plan anymore....

Bee’s strangled squeal from his side grounded him immediately.

This.... this *was* real, Megatron had definitely just said that. Possibly without an ounce of the appropriate consideration it honestly demanded. 

Starscream was right that their leader was no longer fit to be such, and Blitzwing was hard pressed to find a fault in that.

Megatron, to his credit, gave a valiant effort to seem indifferent to the little Prime’s equally ill suppressed glee and barreled on before he could drown in the severity of his tremendous regret.

“Though the fact pains me greatly, Ultra Magnus is the only mech that can incorporate these changes you’re pushing for. He must have a hand in these negotiations.”

Optimus tried to argue that those changes ‘he was pushing for’ were all strictly in Megatron’s interest in that he receive equality and the rights of all Cybertronians who were willing to do good. Not that Megatron was of course. Yet... If ever...

But neutrality and peace was an indirect, indisputable good. Wasn’t it?

Optimus, processor spinning a mile a minute, could hardly think otherwise.

He was shaking, cycling through unspoken emotions, some entirely new to him. Excitement muddling the words he longed to say. Megatron watched with a carefully blank face, hoping his spark doing strange leaps in his battle warn chassis weren’t detectable through that immaculate intuition alone, and, finally, the dearly important words stuck in Optimus’ throat stumbled out.

“Wh-what if... I don’t think Ultra Magnus will take a liking to this suggestion, I.... Wh-What happens then?”

Megatron very sensibly did not admit that he was well aware that Magnus’ involvement was a great unlikelihood when he’d agreed to a second truce in the first place. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he was mysteriously invested in seeing Optimus at ease for once- eager and motivated, like he’d been during negotiations -when he thought he was being helpful.

Megatron did not pity his efforts, nor belittle them. But he did, in truth, find them endearing- in a soft sparked, blue eyed -literally, too- bot trying to find some good in the world sort of way. This young, sweet thing.

Megatron scowled.

As far as Ultra Magnus went, while preserving some of his reputation as a sparkless, conniving war lord, well...

“He may very well not come around, but I offer you this opportunity all the same. It’s your choice whether you take it-“

Then he stopped, acknowledging the unholy level of responsibility even that would place onto Optimus, *again*, and quickly back-peddled.

“And we will consider other alternatives from there. I strongly advise his involvement and hopefully some degree of compliance.”

Optimus was beyond thrilled, but all he could muster to show for it was a ridiculous -adorable- gaping mouth that opened and shut several times over in his loss for both words and processing power.

Megatron couldn’t remain prideful in his half baked, overly confident decision for long. Optimus’ finials subconsciously lowering as he bit at his lip and studied the ground in a fierce battle to fight the smile from his face knocked the hot air right out of Megatron’s vents. He covered it up well enough by looking daringly at the other Autobots to challenge him.

No one did of course. The shocked silence spoke of no such protests, and the faces full of awe -some being his own soldiers’- stared back in wonder. ‘Wonder’, or utter disbelief.

So it was to be, apparently, that Megatron would be making a fool of himself once more. For a depressed, foolish Autobot’s benefit of all things. 

Only....there was one enormous issue lying plainly before them that they hadn’t thoroughly considered....

The watery smile slipped from Optimus’ faceplates as he looked up at him in dawning horror. 

“Well, I... I *would* tell Ultra Magnus, if I... if I could reach him. I-I *will* tell him, just... as soon as I’m able. Ah... I...”

Megatron turned his paling face away from the gathering mecha.

That meant he’d have to play nice in the meantime. For however long that would be -Because he’d already sold himself to this preposterous, humiliating arrangement, and it was definitely only because of that, and not because of Optimus lighting up like starlight.

“We’ll have Professor Sumdac start to work on that communicator then...” He said at last. Realizing that was about the only thing they could do.

“And until then?” Prowl was smart enough to ask- While Optimus was unfortunately succumbing to that hopefulness he fought so hard against from consuming him and dared not voice such concerns.

His optimism did seem to have a way of defining much of his processing. Megatron was distraught to find that little bit endearing, too.

“Until then... we will... enact a ceasefire between our.... factions.” That was almost painful to say.

He could push it aside well enough to admire the way Optimus seemed dumbstruck, torn between awe and graciousness and worry -and that darling, blossoming hope.

He was already rushing to continue where they’d left off.

“Those changes you talked about that your people have been-“ But Megatron would rather not speak of that in front of the others.

“We will discuss those matters in our next negotiation.” He said plainly, with a palm held out to quiet him. The promise of negotiations resuming was enough to quiet him. But not pacify him.

Optimus looked like someone’d set off a fire works show in his chassis. He turned soft blue optics away to rejoice quietly with himself, smile wide and vibrant, while the others voiced their opinions at one another.

“Sweet!” Bumblebee was the first to speak, pumping his fist in the air and coming forward to backslap an unmoving Blitzwing.

“We can play more Jet Grinder now! I can get my high score back!”

Blitzwing scoffed with all the superiority a mech that’d delivered the smack down upon a noob-ish fool like Bumblebee could.

“Don’t bet on it, Bug- unless jou are betting jour points.”

Bumblebee made a rude gesture he’d picked up from the locals.

“No way! You’re gonna cry so hard when I get my initials in gold letters back at the top of the score board! Sucks for you~”

Blitzwing flicked his wings in irritation, so as not to express the fact that he could hardly contain himself at the moment.

Sari, who’d been too overwhelmed by whatever she was witnessing in both the mech of horrible legend and the normally stoic, unexcitable Optimus, looking a little too invested in one another, excused herself from the whole mess entirely to go inform her father inside the tower that they would not be coming in to check out that super-amazing-latest invention they’d came here for anymore.

Also that’d he’d almost been captured and exhausted of all his resources by the Decepticons before Megatron surprisingly wussed out for some reason. Well, not for some reason... But she wasn’t willing to give life to the fact that it’d been because she’d seen similar behavior in those lovey-dovey romance movies.

For the sake of everyone, nobody needed to openly acknowledge what was happening between them there. She was fully convinced Optimus was oblivious to that poorly disguised soft look in Megatron’s optic, anyway, so he wasn’t to blame.

Prowl took the next opportunity to remind Optimus that they were treading very deadly waters now. As if he needed the reminder.

Maybe a little bit....

He wasn’t looking as cowed and serious as he should be at the moment, staring up at Megatron in wide eyed wonder.

————- ———————

“I *was* out of line. You were right.” Bumblebee mumbled against Optimus’ side sometime later that night.

However short lived this giant victory and the impossible high it’d given them was, they intended to savor it. Make even poorer decisions than spilling their sparks in front of a bunch of war mechs they’d hardly gotten to know in any civilized way in the quiet of their rooms. Together, preferably.

That meant apologizing.

Bee stared at the wall, finding it easier to speak his truth without having to look at the other.

“You shouldn’t have said that slag about Professor Sumdac, though.”

Optimus tensed against him.

“Yeah... that was awful. I shouldn’t of... I need to apologize to Sari.”

“Later.” Bee hummed, too tired to leave Optimus’ room to seek out his own berth. He nestled closer to his side instead.

This moment wasn’t terribly common, but was frequent enough to be labeled as one of those soft civilian luxuries that Bumblebee found deeply depressing Blitzwing said war types abstained from. He’d die without Prowl to cuddle and pester at awful hours of the night cycle after playing a really scary level on Cutter.

“I’m not done talking about how awesome what happened was....” Then added thoughtfully.

“...Or apologizing.”

“No more.” Optimus assured him, nudging against him, attempting to reserve himself from pushing too strongly.

Bumblebee didn’t let him retreat into himself, though, in his latest bout of guilt.

“Ok, ok. But you do know that I care about you, right?”

“I care about you, too. You gave me the courage to give the truce a try, despite all the odds against us. You just seemed so sure.”

‘And you listened?’ Bee wanted to laugh, but when hadn’t Optimus listened to his teammates making a serious suggestion? He couldn’t always put them into action, but he did do his best to listen.

So instead, Bumblebee teased him.

“Oh? I did? Am I your muse, Bossbot?” Bee batted his lids, and Optimus snorted. Feeling emboldened by the other’s goofiness to nuzzle his little helm under his chin with a blue servo.

“When you’re happy, it’s hard not to find inspiration.” He murmured, clearly struggling with such openness.

Bee felt uncomfortably warm, but allowed himself to bask in the wonderful intimacy  this simple bonding with his cohort instilled. Feeling a familiar security in his spark under his leader’s protection.

“That’s an oof for me.” He muttered anyway.

Optimus perked.

“Is that...? That’s me-me culture stuff, right?”

“Oh, God, no. Prime, please don’t grow up to be like Ratchet.”

Optimus scowled over the top of Bee’s helm.

“Ratchet doesn’t tease me during bonding.”

“He doesn’t gush with you over tall, dark, and terrifying war machines, either.”

Optimus jolted, optics going wide. Too scared to pull away and broadcast his horror at having been caught. It was a little too true, regardless of how blatant a jab and lacking in substance it was *meant* to be.

Instead, they sat their silently, leaning against eachother and into the berth slab behind them. Pretending that neither one of them actually felt that way.

———————————-

End Part 1

I just want a computer, so I can make italics easier. These * hurt my eyes

---

the bedroom hymns ● chapter iv

⟶ Chapter summary | The time has finally come for you to finally depart from home. You have no idea what to expect from the upcoming journey, but knowing how peculiar the circumstances have been, you probably should have predicted that this trip would not be an average one after all.

⟶Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling au ⟶ Word count | 5,8k words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature in the future scenes; still nothing much on this chapter, but the story may contain classism, threats of abductions, curses, dark magic, fantasy typical violence ⟶ Story Masterlist | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter iv. in bloom

It is finally time. 

It still feels quite surreal to think that you are going to leave the palace, to finally escape this heavenly-like prison where you grew up in. It still seems unfathomable to think that you are going to be in another place before the next morning arrives. 

But here you are now, standing at the courtyard where the royal carriage is going through its final preparations, with the King standing close by as he is giving his final instructions and commands to the driver of the carriage and the guards who are going to travel alongside you. On the corner of your eyes, you can see Marc and a few guards loading up all the luggage into the carriage, with a couple of other guards making sure that the carriage is safe and secure by checking every detail closely. Meanwhile, you can see Nanny Abigail and Miss Pippa getting busy setting up the seats to make sure that it would be comfortable for your journey, all while fretting about the lack of pillows and blankets to keep you warm inside. 

Aside from Miss Pippa and a small group of guards, you see no sight of any other palace staff around. Not even the advisors or the men who would often work closely with the King. Knowing that your father had intended to keep your departure as a confidential matter, you can only assume that he may have relieved everyone in the palace out of their duties. Except for the people who matters.

As much as you are anxious about leaving, you are also excited for it. To be able to feel a bit of freedom regardless of why you are being sent out of this place, and when it feels like your prayers had been heard—to be given the chance to venture deep into the Elcester Forest and see for yourself the secrets hidden in its gloom. The only apprehension that you have about this trip is the fact that tonight would be the eve of Lemmus Rising—the sacred night that should give more reasons to stay away from the deep forest, where it was said that the souls of the dead would appear once the night has fallen. 

You did wonder the reason why the King would choose this specific evening for your departure. Until you realise that there would not be another night like this one. 

During the evening, everyone in the capital city and the surrounding districts would be paying more attention to their rituals and staying clear from the dark places around the woods, opening up the chance for the royal carriage to make its trip across the Coyne River and into the forest without drawing too much attention. There would also be the thick mist, the fog which would be able to conceal the royal carriage’s movements across the borders until it descends into the deep woods. 

You look up to the sky, watching as the signs of the Lemmus Rising begin to unfold. The bright daylight has been rapidly fading, melting into the warm shade of burnt orange that is dancing across the horizon as the sun continues to descend. Right down below, a thin presence of mist has begun to rise, crawling slowly across the cobblestone-covered ground. You watch it swirling around the wheels of the carriage and passing between the horses’s restless legs as if it has come alive.

While you are closely observing all the movements around you and the changes that are happening as the day turns to dusk, His Majesty finishes his instructions to the driver and the captain of the guards. It draws your attention away from the sunset when you hear the King’s deep voice saying, “I entrust you to do your best to make sure my daughter’s safety.” 

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” you hear the driver speaks. “I will make sure that Her Highness will arrive safely at the home castle by sunrise without any harm.” 

Something that he says draws your curiosity that you quickly turn to look at the driver, just in time to see him bending his waist down to bow at the King. You never paid much attention to the driver when he first arrived with the royal carriage, so you didn’t quite get a good look at the man until now. The driver looks tall, and there is something in the way he presents himself which reminds you of the pub-keeper, Sir Elias. But while he has similar broad shoulders and a pair of arms that look almost as strong, his body is leaner. It makes him look a bit taller than he probably should have once he straightens back up to his height. You cannot tell wether he is old or young, with half of his face covered in a layer of dark, thick moustache and beard, but there is quite a sharpness in his gaze and soft lines appearing around his eyes when he smiles that are showing you that he may not have been that much younger compared to your father. 

You barely have a thing to say when the driver is dismissed, and King Aneas comes to pull you away briefly before letting you go. Once you are in a safe distance away from the other people around you, he surprises you by asking, “Are you armed?” 

“Yes, Father,” you answer him with a low voice. You signal to him the presence of the dagger that is hidden under your dress, tied up to your thigh with the leather-made garter belt that you created with your own hands during one of your crafting lessons. “I carry with me the golden dagger you gave me, and prepared a bow and a substantial amount of arrows. I have them all set up together with my short sword under the seats earlier with Marc’s help.” 

King Aneas, who is known to always hide his expression in front of others, smiles proudly after hearing your answers. “Well done, Princess. I hope that you won’t have to use them during the journey as you will have the guards coming with you to keep you safe, but it’s always good to be prepared,” he says. There is something in his eyes that makes you wonder if there is something else that he may want to say to you, but the look disappears completely as he straightens himself up. “The driver to the carriage is someone who is familiar with the territory and he will take you safely to the home castle. He is also trained to defend himself so you will be safe in his hands. But always stay alert, no matter what.” 

“Father, what—” 

Before you can have a chance to speak, your father immediately adds, “And don’t forget. Never take off your necklace. Make sure that you keep it on you the whole time you are away and never to lose it.” 

Despite the voices nagging in the back of your mind, you choose to keep your questions to yourself. “I promise,” you murmur softly while absentmindedly reaching up to grab your necklace. Pleased with your answer, the King regards you with a nod and begins to usher you towards the awaiting royal carriage. 

“It’s time to go, Your Highness,” the driver calls to you, and with Marc’s assistance, you step into the carriage carefully and settle down in your seat. While the driver and the guards prepare themselves for the departure, you continue to look out the window, unable to look away from your father.  

As the carriage begins to depart through the gate on the south side of the palace, the part of The Citadel which is cleverly hidden from the common folks’ eyes, your eyes remain on the King. His Majesty remains to stand there on the side threshold of the palace, watching you closely with his unwavering gaze. As the carriage continues to drive further away from him, you almost believe that the mist which has been swirling on the ground begin to rise, growing thicker and denser until it almost makes it hard for you to see him, just as much as you are sure that the royal carriage is being concealed. Your gaze remain on your father’s shadow as you look through the back window, until the moment his sight disappears completely with the distance and the obscuring mist, and that is the last you see of him until the palace’s gate is closed behind the departing carriage.  

You finally draw your eyes away from the palace once you notice the carriage slowing down on the bridge passing over the Coyne River. Beyond you appears the short drive towards the woods from the bridge, with the road disappearing between the thickets. Before the driver sets his horses off towards the forest’s borders, he opens the small window separating the front box-seat to the passenger car so he could speak with you and Nanny Abigail. 

“It is the peak of the summer still, so the night will be short. We will still have some sun as we enter the forest, so you’ll get to enjoy the view for a short while before the sky gets dark. Please be aware that it will be mostly pitch-black once we are deep in the forest, but there will be no need for you to be worried. I’ve put up some lamps inside the carriage as you can see, and they will light up once the sunlight is gone so you and the governess can see just as well on the inside,” he nods his chin pointing to the side of your seats, where a couple of lamps—much similar to the regular oil lamps that you have seen uses back at the palace—are hung right by the windows. 

Just as you begin to wonder how to light up the lamps when there are no sight of the oil canisters around you, the driver speaks again. “We do have some fog around us aside from the dense trees, but we should have enough moonlight, so it should be enough to help see around us better,” the driver reassuringly says, as if he can sense how anxious you feel about being in the dark.  

“I can assure you that the sky will be bright once again when we are out of these woods, as I predict that we will be able to reach the home castle at the break of dawn,” he continues, before lowering his voice a little when he adds, “As long as there is no trouble coming in our way, of course.” 

Not knowing what to say, you simply grow silent. Thankfully, Nanny Abigail—who is sitting right across from you and much closer to the driver’s window—takes over by saying to the driver, “Thank you kindly for the assurance, Sir. We are trusting our safety in your hands.” 

The driver nods at her with a grin on his face, and then does the same to you, before closing the window shut and facing forward again to lead his horses, and the carriage steadily moves faster towards the forest’s edge. 

It takes a while, but as soon as the steady sounds of the horses’s foot galloping on top of the cobblestone road fill the air, you begin to grow calmer. Before long the line of trees appear ahead of you, and your agitation soon turns into excitement. 

Once the carriage drives past the borders and into the thicket, your heartbeat picks up rapidly, still in disbelief even as you are surrounded by nothing but trees. The cobblestone road that continues from the palace carries on for a while longer once you are in the woods, with lines of trees standing on either side of the road which seem like they are passing by quickly as the carriage drives past them. It doesn’t take long before the road breaks out into a path covered with gravel, and the forest begins to open up for you to see a lot more from what lies within the grove. 

As you look out the window, beyond you lay endless rows of trees, with a dense layer of foliage formed by the high grass and wild bushes. Through the small openings that you can find between the trees, you get to see the sight of the green sloping land which is adorned with steep hills appearing here and there, all covered in a spread of green grass. There are small hills in the distance which are adorned with clumps of trees crowning each of their tops, and since you are still close to the edge of the forest, you can see the rare sightings of orchards and farmhouses peeking not too far away. 

Everywhere you look, spread a variety of bright and soft colours that are easily drawing your attention. The beauty that comes from the colourful fresh fruits growing from the top of the evergreen and the blooming petals materialising from the shrubberies, all seem to glow under the warmth coming from the setting sun. 

Soon, the darkness will fall, and these colours would no longer be available to your eyes. So you allow yourself to relish on the view and in the moment, until the carriage gets deeper into the woods, just in time for the sun to disappear completely in the horizon. As the sky finally gets darker, the mist around you seems to grow thicker and reaching higher above ground, and the bright colours which you have been admiring is slowly being replaced with dark shadows. The gloom doesn’t have a chance to enter the carriage, however, as the lamps on your side walls suddenly light up out of nowhere, and a gentle glow fills the car immediately as soon as the world outside is covered by the gloom. 

Surrounded by the darkness, the silence within grows almost as thick as the dense trees outside, and that is when your mind becomes louder. Loud enough for the questions that you were forced to silence earlier to come to surface, leaving you wondering to yourself—

If The Citadel was supposed to be your home, then why do people keep referring this new place of solitude that you are heading to as the ‘home castle’?

“What is happening?” 

The journey has been going on without any disturbance for a while, until you finally notice how restless the driver seems to be. With the curtains on the driver’s window left open, you can see it when his demeanour begins to change—he seems distracted by something and starts glancing and turning to his right, looking out into the distance beyond the trees, and his commands sounds more like a mixture of firm shouts and soothing words, as if he is trying to calm his horses while making them march with more haste. Then you look out through the window as two of the guards on horses separate themselves from the group, and another guard leads his horse to ride closely to the carriage so he could talk to the driver. 

Moving on instinct, you jump across your seat and slide open the window just in time to hear the guard’s voice speaking through the loud noises of the horses’ rapid steps and the carriage wheels, “It’s those nosy boys from the Brotherhood of Jorn. They noticed the carriage entering into the forest and are following us close.” 

You hear the driver cursing loudly before asking, “Can you do something about it?” 

“We’ll drive them away from the carriage and apprehend them to find out what they’re up to. In the meantime, focus on getting Her Highness out of here. Fast!” the guard quickly says, before leading his horse towards the trees, as he joins the other guards to chase away the rebel army with a couple of more guards following him. 

Once they departed, the driver looks over his shoulder, looking straight at you with a grin. “Hang on tight, Your Highness. We’re going to have to have a sharp detour right ahead if we want to stay away from the melee,” he yells out, and both you and Nanny Abigail quickly take hold onto the seats to avoid falling as the carriage swerves to the left, just as the gravel-covered road branches out into three different lanes. 

The driver leads the carriage to continue a bit further before he slows down a little, taking his time to make sure that he has taken you away from where the brawl may occur. He looks back through the window, apologising for the crisis at hand before explaining, “Our journey right ahead is going to be a long and exhausting one with us using a different path to be safe. But rest assured, that even in the absence of royal guards, Her Highness’ safety is accounted for. Regardless, we may still have at least two guards with us following in the shadows.” 

You take a quick glance out the window after hearing this, just in time for you to see the shadows of the guards following you from beyond the trees, their horses barely make a sound as they try to match the carriage’s speed. “I shall see it for myself to send Her Highness and the governess to the home castle safely.” 

As you turn back to look and keep your eyes on the driver the whole time he is talking to you, something odd seems to be happening. For a moment, you almost believe that you are seeing his beard glowing faintly with a shade that looks almost blue, and his eyes glimmer in the shade of silver. But they all vanish as quickly as they appear, and the man appears to you as normal as he was before when he smiles at you. Since it is dark around the road, with limited moonlight falling on his face and only the small lamps illuminating inside the carriage, you chalk it all of as nothing more but a trick of the moonlight. 

You don’t have any more chances to make clear what you are seeing, as once the drive is done talking to you, he pulls down the curtains and closes the glass window separating the driver’s seat to the passenger car, covering the whole front of the box-seat as if to make sure that you would no longer be disturbed by his presence or any other incident that might happen. 

The next thing you hear is the sound of his whip cracking in the air, right over his horses, which soon start their steady run once again and the carriage sets off to move along the gravel road. With it, you soon lose sight of your worries and what was possibly a part of your vivid imagination as you continue to take in the scene that you are seeing through the windows as the carriage carries on its journey across the Elcester Forest. 

Never before you truly realised just how far and wide the Elcester Forest was until you are deep within its territory. The journey feels endless, and even if you have let yourself be distracted by the glorious sights around you until the moment darkness fell around you, it feels even more abundantly clear how deep the territory is now once the moonlight is hidden by the tree branches reaching over the road like dark, extended canopy. You see nothing but the eerie shadows crawling between the trees and the gliding mist. Not a sign of this journey ending anytime soon. 

As the evening falls deeper, the air grows colder. Very cold, as a matter of fact, that you feel it piercing through your thick coat even the windows are closed shut. 

“See here, Your Highness, cover yourself with this blanket,” Nanny Abigail says as she hands you a blanket which she pulled out from the storage box beneath the seats. “Best to keep yourself warm until we arrive and catch some sleep, so when you are to see His Royal Majesty, the King father, again, you will be all healthy and well rested. Let us draw the curtains to give you some peace of mind.” 

Taking the blanket in your hands, you simply spread them over your lap while you glance back out into the darkness just as Nanny Abigail starts pulling the curtains to cover most of the windows. “How much longer will this journey take us?” you wonder out loud. “I never knew just how far this forest is spread. Are we even still in Smotia?”

Nanny Abigail gives you a small smile. “My best guest is that we won’t be able to tell until we arrive at dawn, or at least once we’re out of the woods. We might get there a bit later than what the driver promised us if this road leads us through a longer path. Which is why it would be best if we rest through our trip. Have some shut eyes while we can so we can face whatever it is waiting for us on the other end with fresh minds, don’t you agree?” she continues to convince you, though you can still sense the uncertainty in her words. She might still be rattled after the previous crisis, no doubt, so you choose not to say a thing to deny her.

Nanny Abigail soon falls asleep, curling on her side with her head resting against the cushioned armrest under her side of the window. Meanwhile, sleep eludes you, leaving you wide awake even when your body is filled with exhaustion. Still, your mind is loud, still too restless to allow sleep to come and your senses are too high alert for you to relax. In the quietness that falls in the carriage, you can hear nothing but the sound of the soft breathing from Nanny Abigail, the steady pace from the racing horses and the occasional sharp commands coming from the driver. The sounds should have been enough to distract you from your anxiousness, to help your mind to feel at ease, and when they fail to calm you down, you choose to distract yourself with your other surroundings instead. 

After dimming the lamps a little, you pull open the curtain to your side just a little bit to allow you to have a peek of the forest and the one at the front window to be able to see what the driver is seeing. You notice that there are some changes happening with the trees outside, just as there are more bumps on the road and some odd stillness in the air. You may have gotten even deeper into the forest, yet the trees no longer seem as dense as they were, even though they look even more eerie and intimidating with their presence in the gloom. With no more branches reaching over the road, you now had enough opening above to allow you to look up at the sky, and for the moonlight to illuminate through.

You marvel at how the twilight seems to merge into the dark void formed between the gloom of trees and thickets, which would oftentimes swallow the carriage as it drives through the valleys running deep between the spurs of the hills. The mist have grown high enough that you can see it from the window, and it seems as if the fog keeps coming apart around the wheels and crawling closer to engulf the carriage as it drives past. 

Captivated by the sights you are seeing, your hand instinctively reach up to take hold of your necklace, seeking comfort from its presence.

With the tip of your fingers, you trace along the sides of the pendant—a ruby stone shaped as a heart, with a golden frame holding it together, and gold embellishments made in the shape of a smaller heart placed right at the center of the ruby and little curls that almost appear like ancient scriptures circling around the stone and its surrounding frame. You had questioned the meaning of the prettily made twirls to your father once, yet he simply told you that they were nothing but a simple artwork that your mother had designed herself, and she had been wearing the necklace ever since the night of her debutante ball where they first met.

But just like your father, King Aneas, you have been keeping secrets of your own, and one of them has everything to do with the necklace that he had made you swore to never take off wherever you would go. 

For a long time, since the day you received the necklace, you had always admired and loved the beautiful craftwork even as a child. One day, not too long after your twelfth birthday, you had accidentally dropped the necklace while you were playing alone in your bedchamber, accidentally breaking the golden frame holding the stone at its center. 

You remember being so hurt by it, knowing how important the necklace was for both your father and your late mother. But most of all, you were terrified of your father’s wrath if he should find out what had happened. So you locked yourself in your room that night, and tried your best to fix it before you would have to wear it again in the morning, only to find that the necklace held a secret of its own.

The framed ruby stone was a disguised locket, with pictures of your mother hidden inside. On one side, was the image of the young Queen, your mother as a Princess who was no older than you are now today, posing in a lovely dress with a small tiara placed over her head. Just like the one you wore during your debutante ball. On the other side was the image of the Queen once she was just a bit older. In her arms was a small baby who you recognised as yourself from the pictures that you found in your bedchamber. 

You had never told anyone about what you found that night, afraid that your father would take it away if he should find out, just like how he had taken down all the pictures and paintings of your mother from the palace—except for the one he kept in his chamber. You have never truly known the reason why he would do this, so you had kept this necklace close, cherishing it privately as it becomes the only thing that you have left that carries the memory of your mother. That was the true reason why you had been so willing to follow His Majesty’s command to wear it at all times, because it has made you feel closer to your mother while wearing it around your neck, and its presence gives you warmth and comfort whenever you would need it. 

Just like always, you feel a deep longing of your mother’s presence each time you think about her, so you shake away your thoughts before you start getting too emotional and distract yourself by looking out the window again.

Outside, the night continues to grow deeper, while the carriage travels far deeper into the Elcester Forest where the trees are shaped oddly and menacingly than they normally would, and you start noticing how the driver has been making haste. You cannot understand the reason for the sudden urgency as you are unable to see things too clearly in the dark aside from the stars above. And so, at first, you simply reckon that the darkness itself is the reason for the rising speed, assuming that the driver simply wants to get out of the forest quickly as you are lacking guards keeping you secure. 

That is, until the moment you begin to see it. 

For a while longer, you see nothing but the deep dark forest, with the shadows of the trees flashing by at the windows. All the wonderful colours which you had seen by dusk have long disappeared along with the sun, which perhaps becomes the reason why your eyes are quick to find the new colours coming out of the darkness. 

It begins with a faint flickering blue flame emerging through the thicket, a distance away from the road and out of reach from the advancing carriage. At first, you take it in assumption that your eyes are deceiving you. That after straining your eyes to look out into the dark forest, you are beginning to imagine seeing lights and colours appearing against the gloom. You also wonder if you might be dreaming. That sleep has finally come and you have lost the ability to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. 

But soon you can tell that the driver is seeing this at the same time when you can hear the excitement showing in his command as he controls the horses, swerving to start heading towards the source of light. And only then do you finally realise that this is not simply a figment of your imagination, knowing it would be impossible for the driver to know what might be inside your mind. 

From one small flame, another appears on the other side of the road, both flickering from a fair distance from one to the other, then more of it begins to emerge, alternating between the left and right side of the road. You have no idea what to do, or think, as the carriage carries on driving between them while the flames continue to emerge here and there. You wonder if this has anything to do with the Lemmus Rising, and if these blue flames are what the townsfolk has believed to be the souls of the elders, especially when you can see the mist moving as if they are avoiding the flames, crawling away from where they seem to be emerging from.

Surprisingly so, instead of driving out of the road and away from the shady phenomenon, the driver continues leading the carriage to continue the journey by following and turning rapidly towards where the blue flames are rising as if he is using them as a guide to know just where to go. 

The flames continue to emerge more frequently from then on, slowly forming two lines of blue flames on either side of the road and appearing as if they are getting closer and closer while the carriage continues to pick up its speed. Their presence make it seem like the path is growing a bit brighter, yet despite the close proximity, you feel no warmth nor heat inside the carriage. The cold remains strong, and so is the fog that has somehow risen around you, the thick fog dispersing around you as the carriage drives past before gathering back together over the tracks. 

This pattern continues for a moment longer, then what happens next seems to you like a strange optical effect taunting your exhausted mind. The flames suddenly seem to be dancing as the carriage drives past them, while the air ripples around you in a steady current that you almost think of it as being in water instead of a rapidly pacing carriage going through the woods. 

A shout comes from the driver while you are wondering about what might be happening. His unsteady voice startles you, but it does little to worry you when the excitement seems to remain in his voice. You look to the front to see what the driver is seeing, and your jaw nearly drops when something seems to emerge right beyond your eyes. 

Right in the middle of the road ahead, the pair of lines of blue flames unite and form a tall pillar. A massive, roaring blue inferno rises from the ground, as if cutting the end of your journey with its threatening blaze. Once again, the driver’s actions startles you. When seeing this, instead of avoiding it and coming to a halt, the carriage speeds up, as if the driver has every intention of driving the whole carriage and its passengers right into the heart of the burning inferno. 

And that is exactly what he does. 

Before you can react, the driver sends the horses diving straight forward, carrying everything and everyone along with them into the roaring blue pillar of flame. 

On the other side of the forest, Yoongi is awakened by a ripple of strong aura that seems to be passing through the air. He wakes up completely alert but cautious, as he tries to identify the source of this queer force and find out where it is coming from. Just as he pulls out his amulet necklace to help him as a guide, Ansen barges into his tent, his unkempt hair showing that the poor man has rushed his way here after the magic force had awakened him at the same time it did with Yoongi. 

“Your Highness!” Ansen nearly shouts at his Prince with a strained voice. “Did you feel it too?” 

“Yes, I did,” Yoongi says, still feeling obviously astounded as he raises his amulet to see that the black crystal is glowing as it also senses the powerful force reverberating through the air. Yoongi’s brows are furrowed when he realises that the glow appears to be in a shade of iridescent blue, something that seems impossible to happen, not in this realm, but it does help him recognise what kind of magic this one would be. “It’s an ancient magic, an old spell. Seems like someone has gone across the realm.”

“But—how? How was it possible?” 

Before Yoongi can answer him, Yijeong slips into the tent just then and answers for him. “It feels like a portal to me. Whoever it was, they made it across by going through it.” He falls silent, while Ansen seems to be lost in deep thought, until Yijeong openly questions his Prince, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Your Highness?”   

Wearing the amulet around his neck, Yoongi slowly nods. “Yes, there’s only one person who can use such a powerful mana to create a portal and send someone away even without him having to be present.” He looks up to his companions with a grim look on his face. “This is his magic. It’s been his magic that we’ve felt all along.” 

There is no need for Yoongi to explain further, as he and his men had been dealing with these old spells for some time now without understanding how it would be possible for such magic to exist in the territory of Smotia. Now that the source of magic has finally shown its true self, they finally have the answers that they needed.

“He really was here the whole time,” Yoongi says, voicing out exactly what the others are thinking. “And I think he knows that we were on to him.” 

Once again, the blue glow shimmers brightly from his black crystal, as if agreeing with him as Yoongi mentions the one name that he hasn’t been able to say out loud for a long time.

“It’s Bluebeard.”

— © 2023 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

---

love this mc

like yeah, they might be fucking stupid

but theyre my stupid :(

also this was such a good first chapter, im so excited for whats to come next :3 liiike i wonder what happened to that one girl that was arguing with jungkook. will she warn mc about jungkook at some point?? maybe? will mc seek out jungkook again after that? oh god what if jungkook uses weed as a way to get mc to give him attention? AAAA

i guess well find out throughout this journey that is this story. also darker?? not much happened but its not too hard to tell that smthings not right. not to mention the themes of (potential) addiction/substance abuse. like how dark is it gonna get is what im asking😨😭😭😭 not only am i curious but im hyped for the next chap >:3c

also love the fact that mc is queer and the story isnt shy to show how casually prejudice ppl around mc are :( ESP JUNGKOOK HONESTLY FUCK THAT GUY😭😭😡 literally taking advantage of mcs clearly emotional and unstable state. not to mention under the influence 😔😔😔 this bitch,,

hmmm i did notice that rosè didnt seem to care about the predicament that she nd hoseok found mc nd jungkook in. "she says as she side eyed hoseok with distaste" LIKE ROSÈ WAS JUST WORRIED ABOUT MC

i wonder if it has anything to do with thr fact that mc walked in on rosè nd that other guy

once again- super excited about whats to come next!!! thank you gor posting and sharing your story with us author♡ have a nice day and stay safe💖

BAD, SAD, and MAD — jjk.

[ sypnosis ] ; jeon jungkook’s existence never ceases to pain you with how much of a asshole and arrogant he is. you’re left confused when he suddenly becomes fixated on you, unleashing his darker desires. you realize it goes further than just a conquest lay, deeper—something to satisfy his sudden infatuation.

tags ; high school setting, all characters mentioned will be 18+, dub-con, reader is drunk and high when the incident occurs (potentially non-con? she consents afterwards but still), dark!jk, reader loves pot, slightly based off of euphoria (character’s only), jk’s based off of nate and reader’s rue, bisexual!reader, jk is toxic, has anger issues, tags will be updated according to chapter, drinking and smoking, drug usage (mentioned), manipulation, jk is not a good person, degradation, some touches here and there, jk uses the fact that you’re sad to get what he wants

fic playlist ; “bad, sad, and mad” -bibi, “toxic” - britney spears, “mount everest” - labrinth, “lost in the fire” - the weeknd, “shinigami eyes” - grimes

“you red my mind, you red my mind,”

Jeon Jungkook, the bane of everyone's existence, the guy who people either loved or hated. He was the kind of guy you wanted on your side, your typical little egotistical asshole who thrived off the attention of others and being the best at almost everything he came across.

I knew the little shit since grade school, quiet and reserved but oftentimes more snotty whenever he didn't like the way things were going. He got worse with the sudden growth spurt he fucking went through, it was like he had gotten slapped with a shit ton of steroids and suddenly his emo phase had been traded for a fucking Migos fanboy clubcard.

At least from what I've seen.

Jungkook wasn't this lanky ass teenager with side bangs who looked like he wanted to hex everyone in the room. He went from a My Chemical Romance reject to something straight out of a magazine or something. He learned to style his hair, courtesy of his older brother who had stuck a piece of gum in his hair on purpose one summer before high school started.

He kinda realized he looked better with a haircut and decided to do his research.

He took note of what the girls liked and what they didn't. Messy hair was hot however overgrowing it made you look like a bum. Girls also liked it if you worked out, the stronger you were the better. He ditched his old wardrobe and thanks to his Daddy's credit card he improved his shitty wardrobe.

By the time we were all seniors he had completely changed his entire fucking attitude and I couldn't be more happy to see his stupid fucking face all around school until the end of the year.

I seriously hate this guy.

The sound of the bell ringing snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked hazily and looked around as most of the student body began walking in different directions to reach their destinations, You however remained still against the tree you sat up against, sketchbook lain across your lap and pencil long forgotten somewhere the grass.

You had no intentions of going to class, you figured you could just wander around until you weren't bored anymore or something like that. You wondered if.. no, you had already ran out the day prior already, you were going to have to bum some weed off of Jaebum or Mark. You suppose you weren't going to sit under the tree after all..

With a quiet huff you gather your supplies and lazily toss your backpack over your shoulder as you walk in the direction towards the theater where you knew those weirdos were always at. "Hi y/n." A few people say as you pass by, you don't really know them like that in fact you think they only know you because you're at every damn party that somebody throws.

You round the corner to pass by to enter the side entrance of the theater when you hear it. A locker slams shut, the is noise deafening as you flinch from how awful it sounds. You hear some girl's hushed voice, almost angry, and then someone else. You're not one to care but it's not a crime to be a little bit curious.

"Seriously Jungkook I told you we were over, you're a fucking pyscho and you're hurting me! Let go, you're causing a scene!" The girl hisses angrily as she jabs her finger in Jungkook's chest.

Jungkook is propped up against the locker, looking down at the girl just as angry but he's more relaxed about it, if anything he looks like this is a major inconvenience. He's got his large hand wrapped around her tiny frail wrist, gripping it tightly and you swear you can hear the little popping noise it makes as she struggles even more. He leans down to whisper angrily in her ear.

The girl doesn't notice you at first but as you grow nearer she turns to look at you, "Jungkook," she hisses, face full of embarrassment.

Jungkook pauses and side eyes you as you pass by. You look at the girl and then at him. You hate the way he stares at you, like you're the one trespassing or ruining their little moment. He runs his tongue over his lower lip slowly, eyes never leaving you until you fully pass by them and head into the theater. You can still feel his eyes on you even as you disappear into the theater.

He's a asshole.

+

After successfully obtaining the weed, with Mark of course immediately jumping on your case with a: "And you better pay me back l/n! You already bummed some off of me the last time when you only said you wanted a hit."

You tucked the small clear bag in your cardigan and made your way through the parking lot. Not far off you see the entire football team gathered around the field, listening to their screaming coach and then heading off to do laps around the track. A certain player catches your eye, you see Jungkook not far off leading the players as he runs ahead with Kim Namjoon running by his side.

With every intention to not be noticed you walk faster in order to avoid the players. At first you think you're gonna make it but you start panicking internally when Jungkook draws nearer and nearer. Just your luck you end up dropping your fucking sketchbook and pencil, "Fuck, fuck." You whisper crouching down to pick your stuff up.

It's too late, you hear his heavy footsteps closer and as you look up you swear the world feels like it's moving in slow motion. You stare up at Jungkook who turns to look at you, his eyes drop down to your scattered papers and then back at you. He looks at you like he did back at the hallway and this time it sends a shiver up your spine.

"Try not to get too high l/n," Namjoon calls out, "this rate you might as well be a walking advertisement for dispensaries." He smirks.

A few other guys snicker as they pass by you making little comments. You just want to get the fuck out of there, so you do.

You end up smoking most of the weed, stumbling a little because you inhale a little too much and you choke on your coughs. It's still midday so you can't exactly go home just yet, plus you reek of weed. You settle for wandering around the neighborhood near this local convenience store everyone seems to go to.

"Shit," you lose your footing and manage to catch yourself last second from eating shit on the pavement.

"Yo, l/n!" Your head whips up and you see Kim Jennie with two other girls in her car staring at you, "Want a ride?" She smirks knowingly.

You smack your lips together and nod, "Thanks.." You murmur as you slide into the backseat, waving at Irene and then Rosé, "Hi." You quietly say, voice so soft you doubt anyone in the car even heard you.

"Hi girilie." Rosé, ever so sweet, smiles as she greets you like she usually does whenever you two run into each other around school or at a party of some sort.

Jennie ends up driving you guys to her house under the pretense of her parents being out of town until later on in the day. Jennie being the nice girl that she is offers to let you have whatever snacks you're craving from her very well stocked up pantry. The others lounge in her room and when you finally present yourself you shyly sit close to Rosé and eat some chips you had grabbed from the pantry.

"Dude I literally hate my thigh gap," Jennie complains as she as she stands in front of the mirror, turning and looking at her body all around, "I wish I could like do something to make them chunkier."

Irene hums and peers up from the magazine she's reading, "Your thighs are fine, you are fine, is this about Jongin? Girl I promise you he loves you exactly the way you are right now." She rolls her eyes with a soft scoff.

"No! That's not what I'm talking about!" Jennie whines as she turns in the mirror once again.

You sit there in wonder if this is really all they talk about when they hang out? Rosé seems to be lost in her own conversations with Jennie and Irene is off in her own world. You can't help but stare at Rosé, your own heart picking up a beat as your cheeks grow a little hot. Is it you? Is it the room?

A million thoughts run through your head as you zone out and don't even realize Rosé is talking to you. "y/n?" She softly says, "Did you hear me?"

"No, repeat that again?" You cough awkwardly and avoid her eyes, ignoring the giggles in the background coming from the other two girls you forgot were in the room.

"I asked if you were going to the house party later on? You know the one Hoseok's throwing?" She offers you a tiny smile as she gently pats your shoulder, the touch burning, "Are you sure you don't wanna take a nap or something? You look like you're about to pass out." She giggles.

You gulp and shake your head, "I'm fine.." You reply, "I don't know, maybe? Where is it at again?"

Jennie hops on the bed and wraps her arms around you knocking you right out of your little daydream as she jostles you, "You can ride with us! I got you girl don't worry, you wanna borrow something of mine? I bet you're my size."

"Uhhh,"

"Yeah we can even do your makeup." Rosé offers as she grabs your hand, "What do you say y/n?"

For Rosé? Anything. Even if you didn't like makeup.

"S-Sure." You whisper.

+

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive with the others. Rosé offers to stick with you as she links arms with you and happily makes her way to the kitchen for some shots. "C'mon, let's see what kind of stuff they brought for the drinks." She excitedly smiles as she leads the way.

You feel a little naked, out of your comfort zone with all this makeup they put on you. Jennie lent you a little black top, it could pass off as a bra or something with the way your boobs were pushed up and exposed. She topped it off with a oversized jean jacket and a pair of low hanging jeans and a little belly chain she lent you. They even straightened your hair and did some light but bold makeup.

"You look hot." Irene had said to you once they were done. She didn't lie because you had more eyes on you than you can count. You watch awkwardly from the side as Rosé pours two shot glasses. She turns to you and holds one out with a smile, "The night's just getting started." She winks.

You accept the shot and raise it, "To.. us..?" You cringe at the way you sound so stupid.

Rosé smiles, "To us!" She raises your glasses together and then downs it in one go, making this cute little face as she shakes her head with a muffled whine. "Bleh." You smile in return, this could be the night.

You stick with her throughout the night and go wherever she wants to go. You end up dancing a little and then heading outside to meet some of her own friends. Occasionally Jennie appears with her boyfriend but you don't expect much cause she looks lost in her own world with him. You're lost too, lost in Rosé.

She looks so pretty under the neon purple lights, you think she looks best when she's happy and you want to keep it that way. You work up the courage to lay your head on her shoulder during one of her little run-ins with friends. Rosé doesn't seem to mind, she welcomes you and gently wraps a arm around you. Oh you like that a lot.

"Be right back," your dreamy state snaps, "I need to use the restroom real quick and get us more drinks. Sooyoung will take care of you." Rosé pats you so you could lift your head.

You nod slowly and eye her for a few more seconds, "See ya then." You offer a tiny smile to which she returns. You watch her go and then turn back around to slump in your seat, Sooyoung picks up on this and leans over to whisper in your ear.

"So how long you know her?" She says softly.

"Since grade school." You reply.

Sooyoung nods, "I barely met her this year, sucks cause she's a really sweet girl. Hey aren't you the girl that like once blacked out from smoking too much weed and drinking?"

You groan internally, this was gonna be your one-hundredth time explaining to people you didn't black out because of weed, you don't even think that's fucking possible to begin with. "No, actually uh well I kinda mixed some drugs with alcohol, as you heard it didn't end well for me."

"Drugs?" She whispers in awe like you just told her some life threatening secret, "No way, take it easy okay? We only have one life." She pouts shaking her head, "I only heard because my boyfriend said the guys from the football team were all talking about it after it happened." She says sympathetically, "That's pretty hardcore."

"Yepp.." You awkwardly reply and give her a thumbs up, "I'm good though, weed only for me now." You chuckle softly to lessen the tension.

Sooyoung smiles warmly but then her attention is elsewhere, you curiously turn around to look and just see some guy. "Who's that?" You ask and turn to look back at Sooyoung.

"I think that's Seungjoo, he might be looking for Rosé who knows," She shrugs picking at her nails, "they got a thing going on you know? She acts like they don't like each other but I can totally see it in their eyes. They're totally gonna bone." She grins.

Your heart stops and you try to hide your shock, "What..?" You whisper.

"Yeah you didn't know? They've been like a thing since last summer, I mean the whole school found out about it and," she goes on and on about this whole "drama". You don't care though, you end up zoning out.

Your throat feels dry and the room stops moving all of a sudden, you're in disbelief, and you kinda wish you hadn't heard that. "I gotta go," you whisper and get up hurriedly, "sorry talk to you later?"

"Oh sure." You don't stick around and book it out of there. You pass by the many people in the hallways and some who are exiting a random ass room. You don't care, all you can feel is the heavy pounding of your little heart and the ringing in your ears as Sooyoung's words echo in your head.

Rosé and him? A thing? Fuck it hurt way more than you thought it would, you already knew this was coming anyways. What did you expect from crushing on a straight girl? You were bound to find out so why were you crying about it now? You set your own damn self up.

"Yo watch it." Some guy says after you brush shoulders with him.

"Fuck off." You spit back and run upstairs to hide somewhere. "Please don't be fucking, please don't be fucking." You whisper and turn the knob as you open a door.

Fuck.

You come across the very fucking sight you wanted to avoid, Rosé and this Seungjoo guy, making out on the bed with hands all over each other. Their lips move together and Rosé's halfway on this dude's lap, hands tangled in his hair as she lets out the most prettiest fucking moan you've ever heard. Fuck this Seungjoo, and fuck the universe for making you witness this shit.

Rosé notices you and she pulls away, "Crap, I didn't know you were up here." She buttons her top back up.

You want to punch the stupid Seungjoo in the damn face but you force yourself to shake your head and smile, "No my bad, I didn't know if you were okay or not so I came looking for you." You awkwardly step around, "I'll just leave you two then." You whisper and head out, tears stinging your eyes.

'Fuck man.' You think and slowly make your way back downstairs. This totally blows, your heart is broken and you're not drunk enough to make it go away. That's life you guess. You grab a bottle from the counter and head out to the patio to drink it, alone like always.

The patio is dimly lit and no one is really around. You find a spot on the patio furniture and sit there drinking little sips at first before gulping down the alcohol. It burns and stings but you don't care, you're too fucking sad to care.

You sit in silence for what seems like eternity, just watching the water from the pool ripple and glisten under the lights. You're mostly checked out right now, gaze empty and heart aching. Why Rosé of all people? What the hell was with you liking people you could never have? You couldn't even gaslight yourself into thinking that she would ever give you a chance because that was bullshit.

Major bullshit.

You grumble softly and take another swig of the bottle, gulping down the bitter tasting drink. As you wallow in self pity you hear some new voices around the corner. It's Jungkook and Hoseok, the dude who threw the damn party and was the one you made out with you before you blacked out. They're smoking a blunt together as they talk about something you can't bring yourself to care about.

You don't care about them right now though, you simply slump even further and sip from the bottle. Hoseok is the first to see you, "Hey y/n," he calls out, raising the blunt in his hand as he smirks, "you want some?"

"Bring it over here." You reply and sit up as you blink slowly at them, "Here," you shove the half empty bottle in Hoseok's lap as you take the blunt from his hand and take a long drag from it.

Hoseok whistles as he raises the bottle to examine it, "Shit this was fucking full before, fucks got you so strung up y/n?" He shakes his head and takes a sip from it.

You ignore him and hand the blunt over to Jungkook, "Nothing," you glare at the water, "absolutely fucking nothing."

Jungkook makes a face but quickly masks it by taking a hit from the blunt, he sits back with a dark look in his eye as he clearly takes you in, you are showing way more skin than usual after all. Hoseok talks about some random shit you don't care about and you sit there silently listening and smoking. Jungkook's eyes are trained on you the entire time, occasionally you catch them drifting down to your exposed tits.

"Hol' on I'm gonna go bring another one of these," Hoseok says as he gets up, "don't do anything I wouldn't do." He calls out with a cackle as he disappears back into the house.

You're left alone with Jungkook and silence envelops you both, the only sound that could be heard is the pool water and distant cheers from the party goers inside. You're so fucked at this point, you can't even form a actual thought in your head because too many run through your mind. Jungkook smokes the rest of the blunt as he flicks the ashes, some falling on Jennie's jeans.

"So," Jungkook rasps out as he releases the smoke he was holding in, "fucks got your pretty little head in the clouds?" You don't like how fucking smug he looks and sounds right now, you're not in the damn mood to deal with his shit. Jungkook however thinks this is the funniest shit ever because he keeps going, "Oh wait I know, I mean it could be either two of these things," he smirks, "one," he coos, "Your little druggie friend Jooheon didn't give your druggie ass your daily fix."

Your nostrils flare in anger as you clench your fists tightly, "Or two," he leans forward to stare you dead in the eye, "your little girlfriend Rosé out here warming some fellas dick as we speak upstairs." He whispers.

"Fuck. You." You say through gritted teeth, "That's none of your fucking business."

"So it is true." Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back as his Adam's apple contracts, "Oh man I didn't think this shit was true. When Hoseok told me you were into girls I thought to myself, no way, that fucking pothead drug addict loves someone more than pot and molly?" He looks back down at you with an amused smirk, "How fucking cute. Does she know this? Prolly not if she's bouncing on some other dude's dick." He shrugs.

You suddenly stand up, legs shaky and balance unsteady as the effects of the weed and alcohol start to kick in. "I'm not fucking listening to you, you're a dick and I don't know how anyone can fucking stand you." You glare and start marching back to the house angrily as you flip him off as you go.

Right as you reach the patio door a pair of hands grab you and slam you right up against the wall, you stare back in shock and confusion, "What is wrong with you?"

"I could take your mind off of her if that's what's really bothering you." Jungkook says as he stares down at you, "I don't mind you using me if that's what you really want." He leans down to whisper in your ear, "Use me, forget about her." His lips lightly touch your ear, goosebumps rising all over your body.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" You groan and begin to struggle against him, "I'm not fucking interested-"

"And she is?" Jungkook cuts you off, "You think she's gonna ever want someone like you? A fucking addict? You can't give her what she needs y/n, you're just not for her. She'll never look at you the way you want her to," he presses you harder into the wall.

You whimper quietly and turn away, he really hit you where it hurts and tears begin to blur your vision. All of tonight's events come crashing down on you all at once and you're left feeling pathetic. It's true, you'll never be Seungjoo or what she wants. You're just you.. sad pathetic you.

"I can treat you nicely," he whispers against your cheek, "so sweet and soft," he grabs at your thigh and hoists it up around his hips, "I can fuck you any way you want, just say the word..."

You whimper softly, turning your face away but he gently brings you back to him. "What do you say?" He whispers.

His lips slowly draw nearer, breath ghosting over your lips. You shakily breathe into him, eyes fluttering as he presses into you, sealing the deal. You kiss back slowly, tilting your head a little as you place your hands on his shoulders timidly.

He softly sighs against you and tightens his hold on your thigh, so tight it has you whining in pain. He growls quietly and all but smashes his lips back on to yours, slamming you into the wall as he hoists you up against him. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold on tightly.

Jungkook's hands drop down below to your ass, squeezing you tightly and pressing your hips against him. You feel the bulge below in his own pants, and you start feeling hotter and hotter. Your panties grow damp and your clit tingles in anticipation. You want to grind on him, or have his fingers, anything you just need something.

His lips smack against yours as he pulls away to pant hotly into your mouth. He stares at your lips and then looks up at you, "Gonna fuck you so hard you forget about her," he mumbles.

You bite your lip, "Stop talking." You bring him back in, this time taking charge of the kiss and biting down on his lower lip, causing him to hiss a little.

You roll your hips eagerly against his and he slips a free hand between you two, sticking his hand down your jeans and cupping you through your panties. A moan bubbles out of your throat and you reach down to unbuckle his jeans. Jungkook dips his fingers past your damp panties when suddenly you hear someone call you.

"y/n?" Rosé worriedly says as she and Hoseok stand there together, "You okay?"

"Holy shit." Hoseok laughs when he sees the predicament you're both in.

You pull away from the kiss and shove at Jungkook's chest as you shamefully stand there, "Y-Yeah?" You croak out, clearing your throat as you bite you lip and stare up at Jungkook, who has a unreadable expression on his face.

"Jennie is ready to go, we're leaving in a few and I came to get you." She says as she side eyes Hoseok with distaste.

"Oh uh, I'm going!" You fix your pants and side step, ignoring the way Jungkook's nostrils flare in anger as he eyes Rosé and then you. You don't look back as you and Rosé link arms, you choose not to look because you already know he is. Just remembering how angry he looked had you shivering, and to think you'd were going to fuck him.

What a night.

end.

THIS WILL GET DARK PEOPLE, you have been warned. This is prolly gonna be like five chapters long, not too long cause I got other writings I need to get out first!

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Syndicate of Fallen Angels | TAEYONG

Genre: spy/mafia!au | fluff | angst

Member: Taeyong / Reader

Word Count: 12,600+

Warnings: language, graphic violence, imprisonment, mild(?) torture

NOTE: The incredible art accompanying this piece was created by the absolutely wonderful, talented @4chengs, thank you from the bottom of my heart for collaborating with me on this! 

Also, the premise for this fic was heavily inspired by a manga I read years ago, but I can’t for the life of me find it and link it. 

Keep reading

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— angel eyes | l.sm

⋆ summary; though seokmin and you are focused on building a good relationship, you both forget an integral part of it. sex. or, in which you both have sex after being together for one year.

⋆ pairings; seokmin x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut, angst (a teeny bit), fluff, established relationship ⋆ w.c; 3.7k+ ⋆ warnings; soonyoung slander, they're both horny and didn't have sex for no reason, seokmin is a loveable idiot, insecurities, oral (m. & f. receiving), unprotected sex (she's on pills), creampie, he's shy and adorable, mentions of food. ⋆ a/n; ty to the anon that came up with this idea. man, i love writing this guy.

Seokmin takes a deep breath for the nth time and rolls down the windows. He sighs, unbuttoning his shirt a bit to rid the hotness in the car. His hand moves to turn up the air cooler, but he stops halfway, eyes falling on your figure. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, pulling his coat tighter around you. 

A soft smile graces his features as he shifts focus to the road again. The events of the night slip away from his mind easily as you replace them. Seokmin has never felt happier than with you. It’s easier to breathe around you, easy to be himself around you, easy to feel loved and love you back. Everything has been so easy, and he feels content with the relationship. 

In fact, Seokmin even planned on going on one knee just 3 months into the relationship. He couldn’t help it. Everything flew naturally with you. And just like that, certain things didn’t even occur to him. Too focused on being in love, you both completely forgot about an integral part of a relationship. Sex.

The hard thing (no pun intended) is this had only been brought out to the limelight when one of his friends, Soonyoung, joked about it, unknowingly after your first anniversary. “Oh? Have you both even done it?” 

Soonyoung did not expect the absolute silence that followed, which affirmed his statement. The air felt too thick for him, and he could hear his heart thrumming in his ear. The awkwardness quickly dissolved when Mingyu made a mess, and everyone jumped to bully him. Since then, it lingered in his mind like a ghost, and his cheeks burnt up coyly.

He wasn’t embarrassed, per se, but shy. He was never embarrassed about the relationship at any point. Always proud that you both were taking things slow and smooth, earning comments of marriage from others frequently. 

And it's not like Seokmin shied away from the topic of sex either. He is a gentleman, not an idiot. And a bit shy. 

Hence, exactly why he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes the rest of the night. Soonyoungs joke shed a different light on you, and he found himself catching the details he usually missed.  Your cleavage that was slightly exposed when you bent forward, the curve of your ass when he placed his hand on your waist, the softness of your hips, and your soft, pretty lips, he found himself thinking about for the rest of the night. 

But you were seemingly unaffected by any of it. You were your usual self, and when he shied away from your eyes, you simply pinched his cheeks and kissed the corner of his lips to silently say, “it’s ok.” 

The kiss lingers on his skin warmly. He lifts his hand to caress your cheeks and smiles when you lean into his touch. But that smile drops when the strap of your dress falls, exposing your cleavage. With your curled-up position facing him, he can see it clearly.

Seokmin shifts his gaze back to the road, sporting a blush and a raging boner.

From then on, he had tried to initiate sex more often. Keyword; tried. 

He stopped by a convenience store to buy some condoms but ended up completely off the track and bought some of his childhood snacks.

“Honey, I’m home!” He announces, making his way to you with a big smile. You greet him back, “Hi baby,”

“You won’t believe what I found!” He exclaims, showing off the goods he bought, and you tilt your head, squinting at the plastic bags of snacks. “My childhood snacks! I actually went to buy-” Oh, right. He went to buy condoms. 

“Mhm, what did you want to buy?” you ask, fully focusing on him with a small smile. 

“I—well, uh.. I forgot.” He stutters under your gaze, and you chuckle, finding him adorable. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you take some of the snacks from his. “Come on, let’s store them.” 

“Huh? Ye—yeah.” 

...

At least he’s trying. 

He even googles up stuff! Countless articles pop up, and Seokmin is surprised to find that multiple people actually resonated with his problem. But it also worries him, and his heart sinks reading said articles — In a sexless relationship? Instant red flag! — Sexual incompatibility and its effects on long-term relationships — 6 ways to find out that your partner hates yo-

He slams the laptop shut and buried his face in his hands. Trying to ignore the lump in his throat, he rubs his face over and over again. Tears prick his waterline, and he can’t bite back the sob that rakes from his chest. What if you do hate him? 

The insecurity gnaws at his heart, and he feels disgusted with himself. Seokmin hugs the pillow for some comfort and falls asleep within minutes. 

God damn Soonyoung.

You groan out loudly, removing your hands from between your thighs and catching your breath. Ever since he brought it up, you found yourself like this often. Naked, horny, and sopping wet. You sigh heavily and turn around your bed, caressing his side of the bed. 

Your boyfriend is fucking hot. He’s the most gorgeous man you know. Call it an exaggeration, but it is true. He’s a piece of art. And you? Well, you’re a woman. 

A woman who has fallen head over heels for him. 

Getting to know him through the first months of your relationship, you came to know about his gentle nature, and as others say, he’s god-sent, something you can’t deny. He’s got it all. Personality, looks, a rare kind of optimism, and certainly a good dick. (yes. You were going through an album he shared with you, consisting of old pictures from college and school, and interestingly enough, there was a mirror selfie of his naked self, sporting a boner.) 

And being honest, Seokmin is quite naïve at times, and any horny feelings were unintentionally locked up in favor of taking things slow. You didn’t want to mess up things, and you see a future with him, leading to subconsciously pushing away intimate moments. 

That is until Soonyoung opened the floodgates.

You groan again. Just because Soonyoungs words elicited a positive response from you doesn’t mean the same for Seokmin. He couldn’t even look at you after that, and with much of your efforts, you brought the relationship back to normal. But things are going south again, with him seemingly avoiding you. It is hard to do so when you are actively living with someone, but he is pent-up at work lately. 

With another curse, you sit up, determined to set things straight, Not by talking, but by some other means. 

He’s always stressed and tense from work, and what better stress-buster there is than sex? Checking the time, you smirk. There’s more than enough time to make extra preparations as well.

...

You’re lying on the bed again with a giddy feeling as you anxiously wait for your boyfriend to return him. You bite your lip, resisting the urge to check yourself in the mirror again. You bathed, sprayed his favorite perfume, and applied a bit of gloss, wanting to keep it natural. You’re wearing sexy white lingerie, not too provocative and not too boring, it was perfect. And since you didn’t want to give your boyfriend a heart attack, you wore one of his t-shirts, covering the lingerie. 

The sound of the front door opening has you sitting up in a frantic and your heart races when you hear his usual “Honey, I’m home!” you take deep breaths to ease your nerves and go outside to greet him. His back is turned to you as he removes his shoes and places them on the rack at the entrance. You hug his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his upper back. 

“Missed you,” you pout. You missed him so fucking much. Seokmin was taking mental escapes, and it really hurt to not see his usual happy-go-lucky self. 

He freezes under your touch, and you sigh. He turns in your embrace and smiles sweetly at you, murmuring a soft, “missed you too.” Before slotting his lips on yours. Your hands come up to hold his face and deepen the kiss. He hums against your lips, one of his hands move to your waist and the other to your face. 

He breaks the kiss, but not before another sweet peck. But you pull him in for another by grabbing his tie. He gasps when you bite his lip, giving you the perfect chance to slip in your tongue. He pulls you flush against him, fingers digging into your waist. You caress his hair and wrap your arms around his shoulder. The feeling of his tongue on yours is ecstatic, and you drown yourself in his scent.

You walk backward, slowly leading him to the bedroom. You gasp when he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist, holding onto him. He gasps for breath and walks into the bedroom. Seokmin knows where this is leading, but he hasn’t processed any of what is happening now. 

He’s drunk on your scent, and the way you look at him makes him oblige to you, like a man lured by a siren. You don’t cease your kisses but reduce them to pecks and slowly move from his lips to his neck. He grunts lowly, feeling you sucking and nibbling on his sensitive skin. 

He sets you down on the bed, quickly moving to undo his tie, but you pull him down to the bed and straddle his hips. You bite back a moan, feeling his hard cock graze your thigh and continue your attack on his neck. He tilts his neck, giving you space, and rests his hands on your bare thighs, slowly moving them under the tee to your—oh.

The reality of what is happening dawns upon him as his fingers graze the lazy material of your panties. Seokmin gently pulls you away, gripping your shoulders as he looks at you with a bewildered look. 

“Shit. Do—do you not want this?” he watches your face morph through multiple emotions, and he notices the tears forming. 

“Wait, no. No! that’s not—wait. Please?” You nod, waiting for him. 

But Seokmin cannot form a word for the life of him, and he panics, uttering continuous ‘I’s and ‘uhm’s. He gives up, sighing and catching your eyes on him. Fuck. His cock twitches in his pants, and he can’t help the nasty thoughts that form in his mind. 

“Just,” he breathes in, closing his eyes before finding yours again. “Fuck me, please.”

You close the gap between you two, kissing his lips tenderly. Gently pushing him back, you make him lay on the mattress without breaking the kiss. You sigh against his lips, resting your forehead on his and silently searching for reassurance in his eyes. That reassurance comes with him pushing your hips down to his. 

You sit up, smiling prettily at him before removing his t-shirt. His eyes widen, and his mouth falls agape as he sits up to have a better look. You wore this for him? He rests his hand on your thighs, fixating his eyes on your breasts. You giggle, “you like it?” he nods wordlessly before switching positions. 

Seokmin looks down at your figure, “So pretty.” He whispers before kissing your neck, licking the skin, and nibbling on it. He kisses further and further down till he reaches the valley of your breasts. He looks up at you, catching your eager eyes and shit. The newfound confidence fades away, and his cheeks burn up. 

To add to his shyness, you lift yourself up, undoing the bra and flinging it into some corner. You guide his hands to your breasts, and your nipples harden immediately under his touch. You moan, pushing your chest out, encouraging him to do whatever he fucking wants. 

But you did not expect him to right away wrap his lips on your pebbled nipples as his hand toys with the other. You whimper and moan, turning putty in his hands. His tongue circles around your nipple before he sucks on it. Your panty sticks to your core like a second skin, and you feel more arousal drip through the material. 

He switches to the other one, sucking so diligently on it. Before he could go further below, you stop him. “Wait. I want to see you too.” You whisper breathlessly. 

You help him undress and bite your lips, soaking in his figure. Watching as he slips off his pants, you feel yourself grow hotter. Seokmin looks like what you could only describe as a walking wet dream. Your eyes dart all over his figure. Wide shoulders and strong biceps complemented by a firm chest and a toned abdomen. And, thick thighs complementing his—oh, god. 

Your eyes widen, and your mouth waters as you see the outline of his cock. He’s thick and big. Enough to pleasure you and not enough to hurt. So, in total, it’s perfect. You just want him to bruise your insides and-

Seokmin holds your chin, gently tilting your head up to make you look at him. You look at him through your eyelashes and pout lightly at him while arching your back and closing your arms to push your breasts together.

His cock twitches, leaking pearls of precum that stained his boxers. His chest fills with confidence at the way you are reacting to him. Even he cannot comprehend what he's doing. Your effect on him is that powerful. 

He takes you by surprise and kneels on the floor. It's his turn to look at you through his lashes, big brown eyes staring at you with need. You lick your lips, watching him as he pulls you to the edge and spreads your legs. He kisses your heat through the lacy material and licks at the patch formed by your arousal. His nose presses against your clit, and you gasp, feeling all the bones in your body weaken as he has his way with you. 

Pulling away, he slides his fingers under the hem of your panties and peels it off you, leaving you bare. It joins the pile of clothes, and he dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. “Fuck!” you arch your back and push your cunt onto his face. His nose directly presses against your clit, and you moan as he basically fucking makes out with your cunt. 

You close your legs around his head and tangle your fingers with his locks, pushing him further. He sucks on the little bundle of nerves, then circles his tongue around it with occasional kitten licks. You tug at his hair harshly, and your moans fill the room along with wet sounds as he eats you out. Feeling the orgasm inching closer, you force his mouth off you. 

“Need you,” you whimper, grabbing his face and kissing him. He moans into your mouth as you roughly push your tongue past his lips, tasting yourself on him. His cock twitches with need when you rake your nails down his nape and shoulders. Seokmin grows hotter, thinking about your hands pumping his cock as you suck on his tip. 

You pull away to get down on your knees and hook your finger under the hem of his boxers as he stands up. You pull it down, gawking at his hard, twitching cock, and take him in your hands. His cock rests heavy in your hands, and you couldn’t care less about the cold floor biting your knees. You give the tip an experimental lick, tasting his precum while batting your eyelashes up at him. 

You grin, satisfied when he throws his head back, groaning at a small lick. Without warning, you take half of his length in your mouth, eyes rolling back at the feeling of it resting heavily on your tongue. He tangles his fingers in your hair, looking down at you while he moans a string of curses. Wrapping your fingers around his base, you pump his length and swirl your tongue around his tip. 

You bounce your head up and down his cock, getting used to his girth. You pull away momentarily, and a string of saliva connects your lips to his tip. Licking your lips, you maintain eye contact with him and wrap your lips around his length once again. But this time, you take his full length in your mouth, gagging and enjoying how he fills you up. You hold his thighs for support, sliding his cock out fully before taking him again. 

You do this a couple of times and feel him twitching in your mouth. Seokmin pulls your mouth off his cock, biting his lips in vain to prevent moaning at the erotic sight before him. You know how to put that mouth to use. A few more seconds and he would’ve cummed down your throat. 

With a huff, he pulls you up and backs you to the bed. You lay on the soft sheet, letting him take control. You gasp when he teases his tip on your folds, coating it in your arousal, and he moans, feeling your warmth and wetness. His tip nears your entrance, stretching past your folds, and then—

“Shit. Condoms,” he curses, eyes snapping towards yours in worry. You chuckle, finding your dumbfounded boyfriend adorable. “I’m on pills. Don’t worry.”  

His eyebrows crease, “Since when?”

“Since that dinner. Couldn’t stop thinking about you and your cock.” 

A light blush settles on his cheek, and he smiles at you, shaking his head. He pushes his hair back to calm himself down, and you sigh, finding him hot. There he sits on his knees, between your legs, and a coat of sweat glistens on his skin. He looks ethereal and hot. Yeah, you’d let him rearrange your insides. 

He chuckles, finding your lusty eyes ogling him. “You’re making me shy!” 

And you hook your arms under your knees, pulling your legs to your chest. You bite your lips with a sultry look on your face, and he groans, watching your pussy glisten under the light. He readjusts himself, feeling your folds with his tip again. 

You gasp and moan as his length fills you up, stretching your walls. You haven’t had sex in over a year, and you’re feeling the effects now. Tears well up, and you close your eyes, attempting to adjust to his length. Seokmin leans down, kissing your tears away, and you open your eyes, finding his chocolate eyes staring at you with love and lust.

“Shit. Is it too much? I can pull out, baby.” He softly says, voice laced with concern. You shake your head, whispering a ‘no.’ You lift your head up, slotting your lips against his.

You hook your hands around his nape, deepening the kiss. He holds your waist as you wrap your legs around his hips, holding still till you adjust. Your gummy walls grip his length tightly, making his head spin. After a few moments, you pull away from the kiss, taking a deep breath and nodding at him. 

Seokmin pulls out slowly, leaving only his tip in before slowly sinking back. You both moan in unison when he fills up again. He does this a few times before settling into a comfortable and pleasurable pace. You moan with each snap of his hips towards yours, eyes rolling back in pleasure. His cock kisses your walls in all the right places.

His moans mix with yours in the bedroom, along with the sounds of your hips meeting. Your cunt squeezes his cock, and the wetness allows him to easily slide his cock in and out of you. The feeling of your arousal coating his cock is sinful, and your naked skin on his makes warmth pool in his chest. 

He catches your lips in a sensual kiss, slowing down his pace. His tongue slides against yours easily, wandering your mouth. Your arousal drips down, sticking to his balls with each thrust. You bite his lower lip, making him whine into your mouth, and fasten his pace a bit. You slide your hand between your bodies to stimulate your clit, but he beats you to it.

Long, slender fingers rub at your clit, drawing in your orgasm. You buck your hips up, desperately meeting his cock and fingers. Seokmin moans when you clench his cock, speeding up his climax. You whine, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach, and he feels his cock twitch as well. His pace stutters, turning erratic as he kisses you messily. 

With a moan of his name, you cum on his cock and hold onto him for dear life. He follows suit, hips stuttering to a halt as ribbons of cum paint your walls. He rests his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath. You sigh in bliss, his warm cum filling you up to the brim. 

He pulls out, falling to your side and instantly pulling you into a cuddle. His cum oozes out, and it should feel dirty, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels like home, warm and cozy, with his cum filling up your cunt. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear, and you giggle, feeling his breath tickle you. You can’t see him, but you feel his smile. “I love you too, baby.” And you giggle again when he kisses your neck, accidentally tickling you again.

His strong hands wrap around you comfortingly. And a serene silence envelops you both. Only for a while, though, “should I order pizzas?” 

You heartily laugh, slapping his chest lightly, and peck his cheeks. He adorably grins at you, pulling you closer. You rest your head on his chest, hugging him with a lazy smile. 

“Was that ok?” he voices out.

“Hmm, the pizza?” 

His chest reverberates as he chuckles, “No—I mean yes. That’s also there but…” 

“Was the … sex good?” he finishes, and you look up, meeting his curious eyes tinged with insecurity. But you smile brightly at him, nodding, “The best I’ve ever had.” His eyes widen before he squints at you playfully. 

“Don’t lie, it was that good?”

“Yep. 10/10. Best cock in the world.”

You both laugh, and he adds, “your...” He coughs, “uhhh...” He gives up, gesturing towards your heat and nodding in acknowledgment. Your body shakes with laughter, and he hides his face shyly. You remove his hands and kiss his face, hugging him closer. Silence settles again, and you feel content in his arms before he speaks again. 

“Also, pizza ok?” 

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy @jespecially

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @pan-de-seungcheol

(send an ask to be added on the taglist!)

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Part of the Yandere Halloween Collab hosted by me. 

Summary: Every year, El Charro Negro comes to claim the debts that are due to him. You’re due to be wed to someone who you don’t love. In the days leading up to your fate, you start having strange dreams.

Word Count: 2,719

Warnings: Yandere, Dream manipulation, talk of the devil and what not, stealing(?), noncon kissing, lmk if I missed anything

A/N: This is very rushed. I’m sorry.

Keep reading

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PLANET GIRL | part 1

SUMMARY. When Jaehyun turned twenty-one, he started to hear his soulmate’s voice singing an unfamiliar song in his head. He should be happy, right? Wrong. There are two things wrong with this:

He’s taken. He’s off the market. He’s in a 3-year relationship and,

The voice singing in his head is not his girlfriend’s voice.

Now what?

GENRE. soulmate!au | cinderella!au | cupid!reader | college!au | fluff | angst

WORD COUNT. 6k+ words

author’s note. after much consideration, i decided to post this fic in three parts so that it’s not as hectic! you know me, i love adding ✨drama ✨ now, before you come at me for posting this and not a made to fall in love update, this first part of this fic has been done since mid-september. i’d rather release it than let it collect dust in my drafts. so yes, here she is. happy reading!

taglist: @billiondollarworth @cafemochi @stae-yong @chanyeolscoon @ggaayyyong @soothingjae @taestannie @plump-peach @oshmendes @lanadreamie​ @justineasian​ @jjpmoans​ @beryllium-io​ @jaeismytamtation​ @noonapabo127 @hanniesbubble​ 

PART ONE. cupid | PART TWO. jupiter | 2.5 intermission | PART THREE. PLANET GIRL

“Mark, get your ass over here before I do it myself!”

“Holy shit, what’s the rush?”

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”

“And what about it?”

It’s that time of the year again; Valentine’s Day. It’s the day where people fall in love or get their hearts broken. But to you, it’s the day where you’re designated to a new target. To put it simply, you’re Cupid. You are part of a family of Cupid’s. However, you hate being called Cupid, you moreso see yourself as a matchmaker. 

Every Valentine’s Day, you’re designated to a new target. As a matchmaker, it is your responsibility to make your target fall in love within one year. If you fail to complete your mission, you will be stripped of your abilities of matchmaking. 

Keep reading

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If Stuntmen from the old movies don’t have your full respect then I just don’t know what to say to you

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Kinnporsche: “Because I’m hungry...” transition from violence to BDSM in Vegas/Pete

Okay this is the updated version that’s close to 5K cuz I left out some details the first time. But I *think* it’s all here now.

So.

*pulls hair*

We need to talk about Pete and Vegas and how this show highlights power and hunger and love as the key elements in their relationship. In particular we need to talk about a moment by the pool, that happens in the context of the entire rest of the fucking show, to crystallize how they shift from something completely toxic to a true BDSM relationship.

This whole show has been about power and hunger and love over all.

Now, I am not going spend this post running down how Kinn and Porsche’s relationship has been about power and hunger and love - go watch the show again - pay attention to them “my life is yours” conversation, the playing sides crap, the arguments over who feeds who, and the negotiation of who is in charge. You’ll see how the the three are connected. But it’s not explicit. It is, as the they say in 11th grade lit class, subtext.

With Pete and Vegas? The interplay and negotiation of power and hunger and love is not subtext. It’s right there, on the page, in black and white. Their first interaction with each other is a power play from Vegas to destabilize Pete with what? Snacks while he spies on him. Pete has no choice but to accept. Pete has no choice but to listen to and follow Pete when he and the other bodyguards are loaned out to Vegas and the minor family temporarily. Pete has no choice but to accept his guidance through the minor family estate when he gets busted sneaking around. He has no choice but to accept his touch at the temple. Pete is in a power-down position to Vegas for the whole fucking show while he’s working because those in a power-up position to him give him orders and without any will of his own, he enters into Vegas’s sphere of influence. He’s not choosing that though. He hasn’t given Vegas that power himself. Someone else has given Pete to him by proxy. Right up to his capture.  

Which is when things get incredibly interesting because that is the point in the narrative when Pete takes his agency in relationship to Vegas specifically. That mission is one that he with full knowledge of the potential consequences with relationship to Vegas asks for and pursues. The power, through his decision to ask Kinn for the assignment of engaging with the minor family estate where he knows he may be caught captured tortured and killed by Vegas, now belongs to Pete where Vegas’s sphere of influence is concerned for the first time. So compared to where we’ve been the whole rest of the show?

We start on a, comparatively, equal playing field. Everyone in that torture chamber knows the stakes. Vegas knows he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Pete can take it. He’s decided. He has a choice.

Element 1 of 3 in this undertaking identified: Power. Check.

The dynamic in that room is important because once Pete is there? It’s chess. He moves, Vegas moves. Pete laughs in his face, Vegas threatens his family. But the power element still belongs to to Pete in that he could, if he wanted to, decide “fuck grandma.” It’s a horrible consequence. But. But. It’s his choice. That’s the thing about choice - just because you don’t like the outcome of a choice, does not mean the choice doesn’t exist. And Pete is not dealing with Vegas indirectly here, through Kinn’s or Takuhn will that he be there. The choices, as bad as they are, are his. He maintains agency as ugly as it is. He isn’t acting on anyone else’s behalf any more. He isn’t a representative. He’s only Pete. All the power he keeps or loses is just Pete’s.

So. He loses more and more power until he has nothing. That comes up a lot. Pete hits rock bottom. He has the need of physical hunger, which having nothing - no power - Vegas has to provide for. So we’ve engaged physical hunger again, which is how we started when they first met.

Element 2 of 3 of this undertaking identified: Hunger. Check.

But the thing is that there’s more than one kind of hunger. And Pete has a lot of fucking time to just…sit. Be sick. And do fuck all. Read. Watch Vegas. Be alone with Vegas. IDK who’s reading this, but if you follow me, you know I’m a therapist and a social worker, and professionally? The bodyguard lifestyle bothers the SHIT out of me. Every single aspect of how they make those men live is BITE Model of Authoritarian Control 101. It’s cult shit. It’s domestic abuse stuff. It is isolation and paranoia inducing on purpose. It keeps people insulated and alone and I know we see Takuhn’s bodyguards bonding physically and emotionally but but if you can’t use anything but a communal landline phone and you don’t have access to computers and you aren’t really allowed to leave the property to see your family? How are you supposed to get emotional and social support? This fandom focuses a lot on how Vegas is a poor little meow meow meow but it’s not a coincidence that Pete’s father beat the hell out of him and the only person we ever see or hear him talk about is a grandmother in a village we don’t ever see. He melts under Vegas’s soft touch insanely fast.

He goes warm when Vegas listens to him incredibly easily. Remember how fast he bonded to Porsche? Loneliness is a hunger too. Vegas is not the only person in that safe house who wants someone to listen to him when he talks, who craves it, is hungry for it. Because what was the thing he did, mostly? He talked to Vegas, he sat with him.  Vegas fed him by taking in what he had to say. When Vegas was hurt, he let Pete help him. It feeds something, something primal and fundamentally human, to care for someone else. And only Vegas could give it too him. If you recall, he tried to help Porsche and Kinn and Takuhn and other members of the idiot trio. He gave advice and tried to comfort. But they didn’t take it the way Vegas did. And they never gave back the way Vegas did, never as carefully or as attentively. They were too busy or distracted or turned inward. It’s okay. Not everyone is meant for everyone else. But what it means is that when it comes to that interpersonal hunger that all people have, the kind that drove Vegas to try to please his father and Gun to his death? Only Vegas really fed Pete the way he needed. It requires a lot of surrender and submission and every time he does it, he gets less and less hungry. And when we get what we want, and are reinforced? We tend to keep doing that thing. It’s behaviorism 101.

And Pete did the same for Vegas. And really what is that if not love?

So element 3 of 3 in this undertaking identified: Love. Check.

When someone wants to be better for you? When someone won’t just hurt with you but will try and heal with you? When someone sees what a freak you are and is like “Yes. That. That’s good for me.” That’s love. That’s what Pete does with Vegas. And Vegas does it back.

The thing is. The issue is. *sighs* From the opposite direction? You have Vegas who has been using his power actively to try and fulfill tasks with a goal that if he just does enough tasks? He has been acting on the assumption that if he just does enough he will earn the love of someone who is, in fact, incapable of loving him the way he needs. So he remains hungry, interpersonally. This finale was SO important because it showed WHY he kept doing everything he does the entire series - every sneaky treacherous supervillain thing he did the whole damn show. All of it was for that moment in the siege, when Gun handed Vegas the semi-automatic and said “It’s your time”. The thing is that kind of moment has probably happened more than a few times throughout Vegas’s life and what it does is create hope that if he can just do enough, he will be enough. It is scientific fact that intermittent reinforcement is more effective that consistent reinforcement. That means that you’re more likely to keep doing a thing you get occasional reinforcement on than the thing you get reinforced on ALL the time. Sorry, therapist hat on. But its important because that tactic on Gun’s part is Abuser 101 and everything Vegas does is a response to it, including the way he spends so much of his effort to keep Macau the fuck away from Gun.

Because Vegas, when we see him with Pete, is fighting the pattern of intermittent reinforcement - chasing love he can’t get to feed a hunger he can’t fill using what power he has under someone who has power over him and trying with only so much success to create no places to get reinforcement from because he knows, consciously, that he can’t get it from Gun. And he’s repeating behaviors he sees and hating himself. Tawan is actually kind of important here. Because he did repeat Gun’s behavior. He had someone in a power-down position from him, just like Gun did, and he ruined him. And now he has Pete in a power-down position and he’s ready to do it again. That’s the “we’re don’t suck” conversation, the book reading, the hedgehog dying, all of those conversations, and the physical care-taking are all key to pulling Vegas into awareness of what he’s doing. Being in the safehouse, Pete’s presents Vegas with an opportunity to stop the cycle of being in a power-up position as abusive and go one more step further and turn it into the radical opposite - make being in a power-up position into something that makes him feel fulfilled by literally and metaphorically feeding someone else - the act of caring for the needs of someone else - and loving them instead of using that power to hurt. That’s basically the summary of the safehouse romance as it happens and then they fuck which satisfies sexual and emotional intimacy hunger for them both, check.

The problem is there’s all the plotty mafia bullshit that makes it complicated for Pete because the person he his power vis-a-vis agency to and emotionally and physically compromised himself for is the literally the enemy who is still figuring out how to not be abusive and for Vegas because he has realized he needs to do a 180 on the way he interacts with the world in the way that made you strongest because it is actually the most detrimental to your wellbeing over a boy but can’t because, uh, mafia shit? Still an issue. So is codependent daddy shit re:intermittent reinforcement from his abuser. That response is literally what drives him to lose his shit at Pete after his interaction with Gun when it all falls apart, he doubts his change because hey, Dad is back and showing him that this is how it is, and he falls back in the pattern of behavior but Pete is not having it because Pete remember, Pete came into this with a specific kind of power and that is? He knows how this could end - which is in death and he’s willing to go there if he’s not happy with this. He decided that when he left the Main family. And so, he does.

Pete decides where his line is. And so does Vegas. Pete’s line is Vegas hurting him emotionally more than he can bear and Vegas being with him and using him but refusing to accept Pete’s support. Vegas realizes his line is being the source of unbearable pain for Pete(the kind that makes Pete beg for death as opposed to the wanted kind from ropes and chains) and any physical harm that could literally kill Pete or otherwise keep him away from Pete forever. Hey. Boundaries. We finally fucking hit these idiots setting them for themselves. THANK FUCK. These assholes really needed them because growing up how they did, with invalidating environments and persistent abusers who no doubt violated their boundaries constantly before moving into work environments where they had no social boundaries besides locked rooms and utter secrecy, they never fucking learned what their most basic boundaries are let alone healthy ones. Now they know, at least with regards to each other. The standards are at the rock-est of bottoms but this is a mafia b-plot romance so hey. But now we have established literally where everything starts when Pete fucks off out of the safehouse and what everything builds on from him leaving to to the end of episode 13.

Fundamentally? That’s what the foundation of the relationship where we land at the finale is. So that’s 1.5k of shit to get to what I actually what to talk about.

The scene by the pool. *exhales* Ok.

This scene is about the part of the pool scene that kicks off with “I’m hungry.” and this meta is about why it’s so important in how we got to the genuinely happy ending in a way that made sense and… argh  *claws face* Y’all context is fucking important here. God. This meta is such a Take Your Fandom To Work mess. *deep breath* Okay.

First, Vegas is, and has been, as least passively suicidal for awhile. Not for nothing, but starting from the conversation with Porsche by the pool? He has been giving little at-least-pink flags for suicidal ideation in the “I’d like to live but if I die that’d sure solve a lot.” Passive SI is…*exhales* look, when you deal with the level of physical and psychological abusive that Vegas has been dealing with for the length of time he’s been dealing with it? It’d been more surprising if he wasn’t. I don’t like to throw diagnostics on fictional characters or anything(this is a lie I love fictional characters but I am not legally allowed to diagnose anyone who I dont see as a patient)? But like, it is highly likely that clinically some situational depression has developed for him as, at the very least, a response to all the abuse.   Just based on some of the way he reacts in earlier episodes.

Next, before running to the pool, Vegas goes through a vicious gun battle - which all on its own is enough to pump the body through some of the wildest nature can produce and leave a person changed neurochemically for life - and proceeds to walk in on his father having been shot in the head. Um. Yeah. That is, as we say in the biz, a Big T trauma, the kind that leads to PTSD. Which isn’t to say that moment would cause PTSD or that every fucking character in this show doesn’t already have PTSD. What I mean is that when people experience a Big T trauma, which is clinically what they’re called - I really do wish we had a different term for them but we do not that I know of  - after a Big T Trauma is the acute aftermath. And I found a digital link to the book I was trained on like….7ish years ago in Trauma Informed Care and cuz I am a big fucking nerd I linked to the chapter about immediate and delayed responses to trauma - its genuinely like….an entire chapter in a text book for clinicians that I had to read when I was working in community mental health and it stuck with me for years. Anyway,  immediately following a Big T Trauma - in particular an acute trauma like the one Vegas has from ya know, being in active combat like the literal soldier every single person but Porchay is and finding his dad brutally murdered by his uncle and his entire professional world collapsing under him in literally one instant and realizing that he has no sense of identity beside being Korn’s handout but more importantly - there are a series of possible *immediate* trauma responses he could be going through that are just a misery. But the ones that are relevant to this scene that are C&P quotes from the TIC book from the US gov I linked you to that I saw in the scene were “Argumentative behavior, immediate disruption of life assumptions (e.g., fairness, safety, goodness, predictability of life), Sadness, Feeling out of control, Denial. Elevated cortisol levels.” They pulled from a bunch of the delayed reactions too, which, let’s be honest, fit prolonged trauma - which ngl? I could write a “Vegas has acute trauma response to Pete’s self-harm incident” meta but lets not - like hopelessness, depression, suicidal thinking, shame, instability, and lowered feelings of self-worth which are all BIG delayed reactions to trauma that aren’t super likely in the moments immediately following an acute trauma but rather weeks months and years after but hey this is a tv show, it’s artistic license here, so I’ll allow it. I mention all this because this information is relevant for where we start with Vegas for that poolside moment, which is immediately after a thwarted suicide attempt.

Knowing all that? We are now aware that Vegas enters the moment in question with his self-worth on the floor, his belief in himself at an all time low, and his sense of agency and his power at rock bottom and that he is in a chemically altered state from what he’s just gone through. He doesn’t have control over his future, he doesn’t have the power to take car.  of what’s left of his family because they’re either dead or Korn is going to handle it. They don’t love him and they don’t give him any support. He doesn’t know it but even his brain isn’t really working with him right now. To his knowledge, Pete is loyal to the major family which is fine because Vegas can’t be trusted not to ruin that anyway because(AND THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT SO PAY ATTENTION) after all - he tells Pete at the safehouse - his personal narrative is that everyone he loves leaves him and that he kills the living things that trust him to feed them.

That is where Vegas STARTS the pool scene. To quote my favorite Whitest Kids U Know skit:

Pete, on other hand, has a full deck. He knows now that if it came down to the wire, Vegas would hand over life or death power to him. He has proven multiple times since he let Pete leave that he is physically safe with Vegas. In the parking deck? Vegas gives Pete emotional safety too.

This is important because he took away Pete’s safety first. Giving Pete  this along with the conversation about killing him says “Here. You’re in charge now. You get to decide what you want to do with this. You have my literal and figurative heart. Decide what you want to do.” He hands the power back. The exchange has been made.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of conversations on this site about how the submissive are in charge in a formal Dominant/submissive BDSM scene and yeah, in a scene they are. But y’all, I need you to listen to me VERY carefully: prior to this, Vegas and Pete were not in a formal scene. No. Not even in the sex scene where Pete asked him to tie him up.

Pete and Vegas were never scening.  I really need everyone to get that. At their softest they were fucking with ropes and chains (*sings* handcuffs smack a little booty up with my belt). But seriously they were not scening. They were never scening because scening is a part of BDSM play. They were in a battle for their lives via violence and dominance. They were at war. They were engaged in 4D chess. A scene is called a scene because the people who do it are performing pain(sadomasochism) and bondage and dominance and submission as play. That is what the letters in BDSM stand for. And it is called BDSM play because the people engaged in it, while they are aware that what they are doing something that can be dangerous and maybe even life-threatening depending on the act? Are doing this activity because they like it, for fun and enjoyment and fulfillment and some kind of out, not to hurt each other more than the other person specifically asks for. If you do BDSM CORRECTLY - ethically, respectfully, consensually - then are no fucking stakes. I really want everyone reading this to understand that. We all on the same page? Like, there are safety concerns and there are emotional concerns, of course, but BDSM is supposed to be something you add to sex and/or relationships and/or platonic interactions, not a way you navigate whether or not you are or are not truly hurt.

But that moment on the floor of the parking deck is the moment when the last of the power transfers back to Pete from Vegas - physical and emotional. Only after that can Pete start heading towards a place where he can make a decision on whether he wants to explore what loving Vegas can be like when huge chunks of their energy is not spent on a fight for survival.

So he has his power over Vegas. And in the study? He takes his power from the Theerapanyakun family back into himself. The power dynamics of this show coming into play for Pete specifically. His journey at the safehouse with Vegas was different, he realized that he can make choices to give things up not be punished for doing so, and to do so with the Theerapanyakun tells him that he has more safety to move and that he can go after what he wants. He’s also not emotionally invested in this family bullshit. 

So when he goes out after Vegas, he’s unencumbered, secure in being wanted, feeling physically safe, professional safe(in that he won’t be murdered for going after Vegas and Vegas won’t be either), and he’s got clarity of purpose which, going back to hunger, is a need. He wants Vegas and he needs Vegas. He has decided what he wants and now he wants to have it fulfilled. Like I said, full deck.

And then Pete gets out there and finds that the thing he wants, the person he is invested in, the love he is ready to hand himself into wants to destroy itself instead. Everything that Vegas says, everything that Vegas does - from putting the gun under his chin to pushing him away, to refusing to look at him, saying he has nothing? It devalues what Pete has given up and who Vegas says Pete is to him and what Vegas has said to him so far. Also? Vegas won’t listen to him when he tries to be there for him. Vegas physically won’t let him touch him. Vegas actively won’t let Pete hold him. Vegas is refusing peer-level contact and he is refusing to be controlled.

But Pete has, to quote all those biblethumpers, come into the fullness of his power now, and he will not be fucking denied because he is in love with this man. And finally, after a million goddamn years, we get to the moment I wanted to talk about. Sorry it took so long, but we’re here.

And as they’re kneeling on the ground, Pete has what alcoholics call a moment of clarity. He’s off screen for a second before it happens - the moment of clarity - when he demands furiously that Vegas stop saying that he has nothing - and the dialogue juxtaposed over Vegas’s abject fucking despair. Like, truly, this man really believes he is worthless and has possession of nothing on this planet of earth and Pete is furious, and it transitions to his face and he says, broken, crying, “I’m right here.” because goddamnit Vegas you asshole, do you not remember that you have me? And then, right there, on screen, you can see it happen. You can see the moment he realizes. It’s beautiful. It’s one of the best moments of acting in the whole show. You can see it happen on his face. It’s fucking AMAZING.

It’s the fucking My Fair Lady Moment. By jove I think he’s fucking got it. In that gif it’s fast? But if you recall in the show? It’s slow. It’s almost hesitant. “(Pause)Because(pause) (slowly)I’m hungry.” 

This moment I let out a bonafide gay gasp y’all. So, in terms of the staging of this shot? Pete is on his literal knees and Vegas is standing.  Pete has his hands on his knees in a classic position of performative submission.  His head is bowed when he finally gets it out and Vegas’s is looking straight ahead. It is so damn artistically stunning

But more than this is narrative import of this moment. Because Pete has realized, he can’t get through to Vegas as an equal and he can’t take him from a power-up position, taking control. But from experience he knows he’s been successful when he’s handed himself over to Vegas before. He knows what it feels like and in that moment by the pool, you watch his face as Pete wrestles with himself for his inner truth for an incredibly long second because, after all, like Pete’s tattoo says, “No legacy is so rich as honesty.” And when he is honest with himself in that moment about Vegas and how he loves him, remembering the moment where he sat, missing hands around his neck, and the truth is that he likes how it feels to be owned by him, he wants more of it. He gave up everything for it. He’s hungry for it. And he says it because it’s true but also because he is an incredibly smart man who knows that Vegas things he’s a degenerate who believes there’s something fundamentally wrong with him, that he breaks everything he touches, and that he has irreparably damaged Pete. By reaching out in this way specifically, he says “No, I like it and I want more. This doesn’t hurt me. Come back and play with me.” It’s a desperate gambit but it’s real.

That’s why it fucking works.

I said Vegas and Pete were not scening earlier in this meta because prior to this moment? They absolutely were not. They had not be scening but the moment that Vegas starts using the same language Pete, the submissive, has set forth? They enter a scene. Because Pete has set the parameters. He’s in charge now. He’s saying what is and is not okay and now? Now it’s play. Now it’s safe.

Vegas doesn’t know that. Vegas doesn’t know that the rules have changed.He has been both abused and an active abuser for a VERY long time. He is in an acute stress state.  He doesn’t believe that he can be trusted.  So he asks if someone else can take Pete which is an expression of that lack of trust. But. But. He’s still in the scene. Because Vegas, as much as he doesn’t trust himself, and he really doesn’t, is hungry too.

And then, in possibly my favorite moment of depictions of fury being unleashed by a person at something they want since Molly Grue let loose at the last unicorn, Pete hauls off on Vegas.

I love this moment so much. I just….this whole moment of Pete turns me into a goddamn into a honey badger gnawing on the walls of my enclosure. It’s a submissive perspective of a total power exchange through the language of their brand new scene about the thing that ties them together. It is a coded demand for commitment without any clunky formal BDSM language and yet at no point does it do anything but keep their roles in a dominant and submissive perspective.  It’s Pete saying you made me need you so now you don’t get to stop taking care of me. It’s Pete saying you are the one who chose to tame me so how fucking dare you make me chase you. It is Pete saying you put this leash on me so you don’t get to walk without me now. It’s Pete saying you how dare you take my whole life and not fucking live with me. You own me, you son of a bitch. Did no one teach you how to care for your things?

He comes at that from strength, from force but he is submissive while he does it.

And then? Pete fucking BEGS.

I love that he begs.

Because the thing is? Vegas really does fucking wants to dominate the shit out of people. He fucking told Pete that after they fuck. He wants to be in power. He likes it. It feels good. It’s a fundamental part of his personality. It is, genuinely, who he is.

What he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to do is hurt anyone he cares about anymore. That, I believe, is a result of Gun’s abuse. Because the outcomes we se are very different between Pete and Tawan and and different between what happened from what Vegas was doing to Pete before he starts to consciously and intentionally change his behavior patterns and what he did to Pete after to Pete started to bring his attention to what the abuse had done to him and what choices he was making because of it. After Vegas started changing himself and Pete engaged consensually, when Pete wasn’t hurt, but Vegas was still in power, able to care for him, control him, be gentle with him, suddenly everything shifted for Vegas. But back then they were still at war and everything about his life was violent, so they couldn’t truly make things work and Vegas couldnt make the changes he wanted, not really.  He kept falling back into that destructive behavior because of the intermittent reinforcement pattern with he was receiving from everyone but Macau.

Now everything has changed. However, during the first real torture session, Vegas learned that there is only one thing that Pete begs for. Just one. Pete begs for people he loves to be safe. That’s it. There’s nothing else. He would rather die. Even when he was at his lowest in that safehouse Pete wasn’t the one begging, nah that was Vegas. The only time we have ever seen Pete beg was when grandma was on the line.

If they were fighting each other? Pete would never beg for himself. Because there was no himself to beg for. Begging for himself to have Vegas is begging for Vegas’s well-being. And the moment when Vegas realizes that Pete is begging? Vegas realizes that he matters. That he’s hurting Pete again here by trying to protect him and that is the one thing he doesn’t want to do(he does it with Macau too if you pay attention - by distancing himself and keeping Macau out of most of the family business) that when the penny drops, he realizes that the thing he’s trying to do to protect Pete is the very thing hurting him. And that’s why when Pete begs? Vegas turns.

And the relief. The relief on his face, in his whole body. Because it’s not just Pete who is safe. He is too. They’re creating new behaviors together. They’re changing patterns together. The power is imbalanced but they’ve chosen this, there is communication being attempted and full consent. And it’s working. He’s been doing kept trying to be something else, and it worked.

After this moment? What they’re doing is becoming able to be play. In the sex scene you see that he has the right instincts, When a submissive is good and asks for something, you give it to him and you don’t hurt them for no reason if that’s not what they want. He doesn’t know it yet, but Vegas does know to do that. You see it in the rope scene. When Pete begs, something clicks in Vegas, that he’s taking responsibility here and so he has to take care of Pete, emotionally and physically. Before that moment, he was trying to pass the buck. After that? He can’t any more.  No one else is going to feed him, and so Vegas has to step up. But he does want that power. Taking care of someone like that feeds his soul. It’s how he loves. It’s why he smiles in the few seconds before he gets fucking shot, which was bullshit.

And you could argue that the after credits scene undoes all that?

But it doesn’t.

Because what they’re doing is untangling all the baggage of the period of them when what they were doing was using power play to hurt each other. Vegas is still assigning roles to Pete(from pet to most important person - a role is a role). Vegas is still deciding where the bodies should go and the physical positioning that Pete lands in is still incredibly submissive. Vegas is still doling out caretaking behaviors(and they include Macau now).

The difference is that now? Anything they do is likely to be actual BDSM and that moment beside the pool, in a very deliberate and complicated combination of power, hunger, and love that only lived between them, is where their new reality started. They came out of the life or death of are now just…a pair of queers who like to tell each other/get told what to do and it happened in that moment.This is the culmination of one of the most well executed dismounts of “Love Redeems” I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

And I just really want to give a standing ovation the writers and actors - and Build in particular - for pulling off one of the most impressive moments in a show full of incredibly impressive moments. Just…wow.

(thank you so much to @liyazaki​ for the gifs!)

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Let’s throw out all our previous assumptions and look again at what happened 200 years ago.

Things we know:

Jin Seolran and Master Seo subdued the firebird to stop the drought and created the Jin vault as its prison

Jin Seolran did the tansu dance to refill the big lake and rivers and also created powerful ice stones (yes, plural)

Ice stones were used to create many magical relics, including soul ejectors which came to used to perform the alchemy of souls

The Great War broke out as the Choi family vied for power

Many people willingly and unwillingly switched bodies due to the alchemy of souls

Master Seo destroyed all but one (known) ice stone 

All other magical relics were collected and imprisoned in the Jin vault

Mage Choi was permanently locked in a prison created by Jin Seolran

Jin Seolran was dying

Master Seo loved Jin Seolran but did not send his hidden ‘love letter’

Hypothesis:

JIN SEOLRAN WAS IN LOVE WITH ‘MONSTER’ MAGE CHOI AND LOCKED HIM AWAY FROM THE WORLD TO SAVE HIM & MASTER SEO DID NOT CONFESS HIS LOVE FOR JIN SEOLRAN BECAUSE HE KNEW IT WAS UNREQUITED.

Like innovative technology today, sorcery can be used for good or it can be used for evil. The philosophy of Songrim that any use of sorcery is bad comes from its founder, Master Seo. He created a whole school to train mages with his values to try to keep the peace. He also allowed himself to be banished by the King. Master Seo is a rule follower. Like present day Seo family member, Yul, was Master Seo only willing to bend the rules and not break them? Would Master Seo really be willing to break the rules to save the woman he unrequitedly loves, Jin Seolran?

However, Jang Uk thinks there is nothing wrong with using sorcery to save a loved one. His philosophy is use whatever means necessary, as long it doesn’t hurt others in the process. Jang Uk also doesn’t believe everyone labeled a ‘monster’ truly is one. Instead of killing them, he will fight to keep them apart from the world if they can’t live in it. Which brings us to the odd choice of Jin Seolran locking a single Choi mage in a prison that Naksu immediately notes does not seem like a prison instead of killing him. The Choi family is blamed for starting the Great War in their pursuit of power. Their family was demoted and exiled. What if Mage Choi was Jin Seolran’s lover and in trying to find a way to save her created the alchemy of souls? What if his family got ahold of this spell and used it for their own means to gain power? What if he did succeed at saving her but both of them became ‘monsters’ in the process? What if, to keep the peace, they locked themselves together in the expansive alternate dimension ‘prison’ with the official story being that he was being punished and she ‘died’? 

While the story has alluded that Naksu/Cho Yeong and Jang Uk are the next incarnation of Jin Seolran and Master Seo, there doesn’t seem to be a one-to-one correlation between the people 200 years ago and the people in the present. First off, Cho Yeong is not from the Jin family and Jang Uk is not from the Seo family. However, there are many descendants of the Jin, Choi and Seo families in this story. To even get these two in position to be the next incarnations, the alchemy of souls spell had to be done successfully twice (Bueyon was brought back from the dead in utero and Jang Uk was conceived via a soul shifter) and unsuccessfully once (Buyeon trapping Naksu’s soul). Naksu only gained access to divine priestess powers by being in Jin Buyeon’s body. While Master Seo and Jang Uk both have King’s Star power, they are complete opposites. Jang Uk saves monsters, ardently confesses his love, and breaks rules like its his job. The Choi family and Naksu ended up in exile after the alchemy of souls was used in their family. Seo Yul has unrequited love for Naksu the way Master Seo had unrequited love for Jin Seolran. The same elements are there but they are mixed-and-matched differently. So the ending should be different too.

Predictions:

Seo Yul will be the leader of Songrim. 

Even though Master Seo was effectively banished from the capital, it’s interesting that the whole Seo family resides far away as well. Honestly, smart, wise, rule following Seo Yul seems like a much better match to lead the school his ancestor started. In the beginning, I mistook him for Park Jin’s nephew due to their interactions. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Songrim is a school without students with Danggu in charge. 

The Jin vault and its relics will be destroyed.

This vault is a Pandora’s box waiting to spring open. Master Lee has been going around the kingdom destroying all the relics he can find that are outside of this vault. Jang Uk has also destroyed quite a few of the relics that have been removed from the vault. I find it odd that Master Seo with his extraordinary powers didn’t destroy more of these relics and instead helped horde them together giving the Jin family alot of power. It’s why they always need someone powerful to defend it. Tying the women down to only marry men with no assets of their own. But if the vault and its relics were destroyed, it would keep Daeho safe with no chance for power hungry mages to use the relics to take over the kingdom. So if Choyeon didn’t need to defend the vault anymore and Danggu stepped down from leading Songrim, they could put down the things that have burdened them most of their lives and happily get married. Also, it would free up Danggu to become the businessman he is meant to be. 

Jang Uk and Cho Yeong will be free to live in the world together.

If fate went to this much trouble to make them the next incarnations of Master Seo and Jin Seolran, I think it’s to fulfill what their predecessors could not. It’s the universe’s second chance to get it right. Before there was unrequited love, death, and exile. Now there should be reciprocated love, life, and acceptance in society. The two biggest differences between then and now is Uk and Yeong love each other and the crown prince is on their side. These two factors could turn the tide. I’ve seen the theory that they could be appointed Gwanju which makes sense because they are the most powerful protectors the kingdom could have and they now have the trust of the crown prince (aka future king). These two have led traumatic lives cut off from their place in society. They deserve to heal and finally become a part of it.

I am an eternal optimist but I am bracing myself for a tragedy. As long as the Hong Sisters make it make sense, I will respect the ending. 

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Behind the Wall

Who was this stressed, suited man...and how could you love him so easily?

A Nanami Kento glory hole story.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Corporate!Nanami (before return to sorcery), falling in love with a stranger, hand jobs, blowjobs, fingering, excessive cum, creampie, anonymous PiV sex, tiny bit angsty if you squint

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"How much do they pay you here?" A deep voice, smooth, but rusted with whiskey and smoke.

Your eyebrows raised spontaneously; kneeling down behind your black screen and hole, you didn't necessarily expect the small-talk with your clients to be romantic, but such business-like enquiries did not suit the tone, either.

Regardless, you would accept almost any pay, to find somewhere clear of the monsters that plagued you; the monsters that had chased you from job after job after job. None had followed you here tonight, it seemed, so you answered, trying to sound light-hearted.

"About industry average, I think."

A huff, the man's voice now bitter; "After they skim the majority off for themselves after your hard work, though."

You shrugged, as if he could see. He hadn't even begun to hook his cock out yet, so all you could see was a pair of lean, long legs in a black pinstripe suit. You found yourself tickled by your interaction beginning with anti-Capitalist outrage, and you quipped.

"Great pension plan, though."

"I somehow doubt that."

You laughed, musical and sweet, and were satisfied to hear another huff, the barest hint of laughter from your stranger, before his voice toned lower, his words for your ears and yours alone.

"Well...though I'm sure you deserve better than this place, I'll make it worth your while. I have to get back to work, and I'm sure you have bills to pay."

Beautifully veined, thick, long hands had begun to undo his belt, and you felt a strange thrill of excitement that you didn't feel with the other men. He sighed, unzipping, hooking out a long, thick, pretty cock that looked painfully hard and weeping pre-cum.

"I can't concentrate like this, I'll just...get this poison out and then I can focus."

He sounded almost apologetic, his words dripping with loathing in a way that made you frown. You reached one finger out through your hole, beckoning, tender as you whispered.

"Well, I can help with that."

Your stranger had grasped his cock to direct it through your glory hole, but hesitated at your tone, as if the tenderness you gave him was an odd specimen, requiring examination before he could accept it.

The tip of his cock, pink and full, nudged against your cheek and nose as it pressed through the hole. You heard your suited stranger hiss and shudder. You couldn't help but be impressed by your stranger's size, spitting onto the tip before beginning to stroke him in long, languid, practiced strokes.

"How do you hide this beast when you get a boner at work--"

A huff again, almost amused, drawing out into a ragged, needy groan. His fingertips pressed on the board on the other side, white-knuckled, his voice straining as he tried to speak past the pleasure of your pumping hand.

"--sit-- sit at my desk...hoping it'll go away-- fuck, you're good...just help me, please...pay you well, just-- just get it out and I'll head back--"

Your suited man groaned again, deep and fractured as your hand picked up its pace. When you spat on his tip again, your lips ghosting against him, he bucked involuntarily, cursing and apologising under his breath. When you drew the flat of your tongue across his slit to taste the salty pre-cum there, he almost whimpered with divine agony.

You felt a squirm of pleasure in your belly, sure that his beautiful voice alone could form the soundtrack you could orgasm to, night after night.

"You sound like you should have a girlfriend to help you with this." You bit your lip, satisfied to hear how his cool, bored tone had broken into something altogether more desperate.

"--sh-shit, u-ungh...any woman deserves better...better than anything I can offer-- f-fuck, I'm close already--"

You felt it; his balls were too big to fit through the hole alongside his cock, and they looked heavy, aching, his body struggling to draw them up as your suited man threatened to spill in your hand after a single flat minute. You whispered to him, soft in a way that offered him an intimacy he was clearly desperately lacking.

"Stop hating yourself when you should be coming in my hand, big guy."

When his knees buckled against your wall at you cuffing the base of his cock with your other hand, making the veins stand proud, you knew he was crumbling.

"--a-agghh fuck-- come too hard if you-- if you keep that up...shit, like a cock ring, I..."

You hoped that when he came, some of his abject self-loathing would pour away, too. His groans were rapidly turning into short little growls, the screen shaking as he bucked into your fist with such desperate force.

"--f-fuck, good girl, perfect...unnnhhh, perfect...shit, I'm...I'm..."

"God, you really do need thi--"

Your voice broke off with a squeak to feel a veritable fountain of cum spurt over your face, stripe after stripe of thick white release spattering over your cheeks, flooding down your hand and chest.

"O-oh-- wow--"

Your mouth dropped open in shock as your suited man grunted and cursed through his orgasm, his balls heavy and twitching, and you tasted a drip of his seed trickle down your nose and onto your tongue. Musty, sweet; nothing like its thickness would suggest.

His cock twitched for what seemed like an eternity in your hand, as you stroked him down from his peak, so covered in cum that you considered you may have to call it a night to go home and shower. As his groans faded, his voice ragged, you felt the guilt and shame radiate off him in waves.

"Shit, that was...ugh, I'm sorry. It's disgusting, I'm sure."

"It's absolutely not. I'm just...wow. Do you always come that much?"

A pause, guilty again as his voice rumbled; "...yes."

You laughed, and his cock twitched in your hand. He chuckled, warm and gravelly, when you pressed a cleaning wipe out through the hole.

"See you soon?" You asked, strangely hopeful.

"Not soon enough." He answered, soft in a way that surprised himself. His voice dropped an octave as a roll of bills pressed through the hole to you. "Here...keep it quiet. They're taking advantage of you."

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You were prepared, the second time your suited stranger visited; having required an early finish and a shower two nights before, covered with an obscene amount of cum, you blushed to recall that you brought your vibrator to the shower with you, climaxing against the wall to the memory of his velvety voice.

You hoped he couldn't hear the faint buzzing between your legs on your side of the wall. You squirmed, muffling a moan around his cock head as you prepped him, your lips stretched and glossy with pre-cum.

"-h-haaaah, god, you...you're wasted here-- feel so pathetic-- no stamina with...with a mouth like that around me-- o-oohhh...fuck..."

You released him with a wet little pop, feeling your own pleasure building with the insistent buzz against your aching clit. He seemed just as happy to have your hand, and you admired the little neat trail of honey-blond pubes at the base of your fist as he fucked into it.

"Yeah, well...you're wasted too, at that company, by the sounds of it."

"Mmm...feels like what I deserve--"

You cut him off with a tongue to the underside of his cock, his voice fracturing into growled curses and hungry moans again.

"I already told you, if you talk about yourself like that again, I'll make you come faster--"

A breathless, rumbling laugh; "You're a monster."

You whispered, your breath ghosting against his cock head just enough to make him shudder; "Plenty of monsters in this world, beautiful man...but not me."

Your suited man stopped arguing with you, losing himself instead in the way your mouth, hot and suckling and eager, drew him in deeper with every bob of your head. The gasping, husky cry he made when his tip curved round the back of your throat, sent a burst of pleasure through you that had you humping your vibrator involuntarily.

Between his gasps, his vision fizzling with pleasure, you heard him hesitate, his voice barely above a whisper; "What's...that buzzing noise, I-- do you have...back there, are you--"

Barely pulling back, approaching the climax you tried to muffle as you pumped his base with your hand, you moaned, sweet and sinful around his cock head; "B-brought my vibrator...hope you don't mind--"

"Oh-- fuck-- FUCK--"

You squeaked, your orgasm muffled by the cum that flooded your mouth and tongue. As your pleasure threatened to make you convulse, you pushed forwards instead to take the rest of what he offered down your throat, and you lost sight and sound for an indeterminate amount of time, blinded and deafened by thigh-trembling ecstasy.

Swallowing, gasping, and fumbling a hand in your underwear to pull the vibrator off your overstimulated clit, you babbled at him, apologetic.

"S-sorry, hard to--to get guys off sometimes-- without a bit of a hit myself--"

"Fuck, don't talk about other guys when you just came with my cock down your throat."

You giggled, breathless, hearing your suited man pant as he came down from his high. When he removed his cock from the hole, a long, beautifully crafted thumb and forefinger reached hesitantly through instead, and gently pinched your chin.

You pressed a lingering, affectionate kiss to the pad of his thumb as it swiped over your lower lip, and you felt your heart thud to hear such a delighted, satisfied hum from him. He opened the palm of his hand, surreptitious, and your stomach twisted to see an even thicker roll of bills than before.

"...you don't...don't have to--"

"I want to, I...I meant it when I said you're wasted here. They're monsters. Animals."

You took the money with a heavy heart, pressing another kiss to his palm, and leaving your whispers there with it;

"Scarier monsters than them in the world."

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A black dog hunted your suited man, the next time he came to you. You felt it snapping at his heels, and when your stranger approached, it was to sit with his back against your wall, instead. You saw the briefest flash of a thick, corded neck, broad shoulders, a neat blond undercut. He was quiet for a few minutes, before you spoke, soft.

"...hey, you. I missed you last night."

He scoffed as if he didn't believe you, and you reached a hand through, poking him briskly on the shoulder.

"I mean it." Another pause, and you swallowed. "Do you...did you want to...?"

"I...I just want to talk. I'll still pay."

"I'd talk to you for free."

A further silence from him, your warmth a balm for his fractious self-loathing. His next words hung heavy with the weight of the world.

"When will we rest, do you think? When will it end?"

Your eyelids fluttered, looking down in thought. Your fingers stroked over the pad of his suited shoulder. You thought of how you'd been late to your gloryhole, that evening, your usual path blocked by some stop-motion atrocity, an eldritch horror only you could see, and you swallowed hard.

"...I don't know. It doesn't feel like it ever will."

A soft sigh, his voice rich and smoky; "I hesitate to ask what your particular burdens are, to have led you to a pit like this."

You felt tears prickle on your lashes. Taking a deep breath, and tippy-tapping your fingers on his shoulder, you tried to remain upbeat against the rising tide of misery.

"H-hey, it's not all bad. I got to meet you, after all."

"If that's your greatest joy, I pity you."

You winced. Your suited man jumped, when your hand gripped his shoulder with beseeching fervour, his own hand slowly coming up to overlay yours, dwarfing it in his palm. He tensed, unsure. When you spoke it was with the certainty that he needed to understand you.

"Get your tie off, and tie it around your eyes."

He was silent, stunned, his voice brittle as he replied; "...excuse me?"

"Just do it. Blindfold yourself. Then come here."

A moment of hesitation again...then a groan, surely older than he was, as he moved. You heard the silken friction of his tie being undone. You felt the anxious tension radiating off him, and you closed your eyes, eager not to ruin this mystery for yourself.

"Alright...if you insist."

When his voice sounded again, you felt his breath across your lips, inches from each other at the hole in the wall. You raised your hand up, feeling his shudder as your fingertips examined his face as though you were examining a sculpture; and, a sculpture he could have been, with high cheekbones, a thick squared jaw, narrow soft lips. You smiled, your eyes still closed.

"You're too handsome to leave here without a kiss."

Your suited man was silent, but you felt his breath hitch and his heart stutter.

When you finally pressed your lips to his, he moaned with ecstasy, just as he did when you pressed your lips to his erection. Though you took the lead initially, with your lips softly parting his until you could taste him, your permission imbued him with a bravery and confidence he hadn't revealed to you before.

He took charge, and kissed you like a man starved, his evening stubble rasping across your chin, nose against nose. His tongue trailed with a rusty shiver over your lips.

"F-fuck...you taste good...I-- ungh..."

He broke off to you biting his lower lip softly between your teeth, drawing him back in until your lips melded closely enough for you to suckle on the tip of his tongue. He moaned again, desperate and stuttering in his chest. You heard the brush of his palms pressing against the other side of the wall, desperate to cup your face and tilt his kisses down your throat.

Your mingling breaths tasted sweet, so indescribably erotic in its simple intimacy as you pulled away. You fought against the desire to open your eyes, instead biting your own lip, your brow furrowed against your own stupid decision. You whispered, to a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, from your suited man.

"And I'd do that for free, too."

It was the most he had ever paid you, that night, for the simple intimacy of a conversation and a kiss.

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Not a single solitary man visited your gloryhole the next night. You fizzled with worry, as man after man appeared to loiter near you, before choosing someone else; anyone else. It didn't make sense-- even your regulars would be heard mumbling near by before walking away from you.

You felt a clench of worry; the managers would still pay you, you were sure...but not if it continued.

You felt almost lightheaded with relief and something deeper, when a familiar voice graced your wall near the end of your shift.

"Are you lonely, in there?"

You felt a frisson of joy, and you knelt upright, grinning, your heart fluttering.

"Not anymore."

There was a momentary pause, and you felt the words that your suited stranger wanted to say, stuck, gated by his teeth. Eventually, when he spoke, it was strained, as if fearful of damaging the sprouting intimacy between you both.

"I've...been thinking a lot, recently. About what's fair."

You blinked, unsure, but answered anyway. "Oh?"

"It's not fair that I have to do a worthless job for people I hate, just to earn enough money to retire young. It's not fair that you're here, selling your body to make a living. It's...its not fair that it's only me being pleasured."

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks, feeling him err against what he wanted to say, and he continued.

"I...would like to do something for you. For...for both of us. At the next window."

Oh. The next window. The curtained table, upon which you could lie your lower half, for a man to use the deepest parts of you for his own pleasure. If any other man-- any other man, had asked this if you, you were sure you'd have hated yourself for it. And yet...

"I...I've never done...that."

"I'm...I'm glad, I...I hate myself. For using you, and how other men would use you, and I'd like...to give you better. To treat you as you deserve. God knows, I'd like to tell you to walk away from this shit hole altogether but that's ignorant of me, so I...just for tonight, I--"

"Okay."

You almost clapped your hands over your mouth, your acquiescence so natural that it shocked you. Your suited man seemed surprised, too, and you could almost smell the thudding scent of testosterone from his body as it readied itself for the primal promise of spilling inside your core.

"Yes? You...are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life, actually. I...I'll come round."

"Fuck, I...I'll be waiting. Nobody else can-- fuck."

You stood on shaky legs, suddenly self-conscious. Arriving at the table, you took a deep, trembling breath, before starting to strip. You heard heavy, pacing footsteps; more mumbling; a snapped, deep, possessive response.

"This one is mine."

You bit your lip, muffling a laugh at your suited man's immediate dismissal. By the skittish footsteps of the rebuffed other man, your suited stranger was not one that other men would choose to fight. You spoke up, your voice smaller than usual.

"Alright, here...here I come."

Reverent silence hung in the air, as fine as spun gold, when you finished moving your bare lower half down the table. Self-conscious, with your hands pressed over your face in blushing mortification, your thighs and knees remained clamped together.

You heard slow, deliberate footsteps towards your body, as if your suited man had forgotten how to walk. His voice spilled forth, full of sighs.

"Exquisite, I...god, I don't deserve this."

You could have cried for him. Sick of his apparent self loathing, you stretched one foot out until your toes pressed against rock solid abs beneath a pressed, twill shirt. You felt another blush rock your system, not expecting your suited man to be quite so buff.

A large, warm hand grasped your foot, stroking up your arch, your ankle, your calf, and settling with a squeeze behind your knee. When his other hand began to mirror the first, both of your knees now bent and pressed together in his grasp, you heard him whisper as he held you.

"I'll cover you," he promised, ragged with need, "with my body, I...I'll keep you hidden. Keep you safe."

"Thank you."

"Do you trust me?"

"One hundred percent."

A pleased rumble. "Good girl."

Softly, tenderly, two great hands stroked up the sides of your thighs, gliding around your hips with his shuddering groan. Your suited man's hands felt like liquid sex, turning every patch of skin he touched into an erogenous zone.

By the time his thumbs had begun to trace up and down, up and down the V shaped creases of your mound, you squirmed in his grasp, heat pooling in your belly. He chuckled, his thumbs stretching up to massage circles on your lower belly, warming you before he filled you.

"Does that feel good?"

"So good," you whispered, struggling to remain bashful with his obvious adoration.

This warm-palmed massage, from belly, to V, to thighs, to hips, and back again, melted you. Your thighs began to part, your code cracked, without you even noticing. When he settled his hips between your thighs, you moaned involuntarily, and felt his mouth, familiar only to your lips, begin to trail kisses along your ribs, your breasts hidden by a thin black curtain.

He appeared to resist temptation, nipping along the marks left by your bra beneath your breasts. Though outwardly calm, his hands grew ever tighter, shockingly strong and needy on your hips, and you could feel how ragged his breaths were against the soft wet suckling marks left by his mouth.

You had never felt so worshipped, and your suited man seemed determined to know you before he buried himself inside you. The only natural response to those strong hands beginning to creep up the inside of your thighs, was to offer him the treasure he sought, by opening your thighs completely to him.

"Please, can I...make you come on my fingers?"

At this point, you'd have to beg him not to stop if you opened your mouth, and instead locked your thighs around his hips so he couldn't escape. That deep chuckle again, this time against your sternum, and he kissed you in reward.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I won't, I-- o-oooh...my...haaaah..."

His fingers, wet with his spit, had slid between your folds, two of them teasing around your entrance while his thumb circled with blissful ease around your clit.

Utterly unafraid of playing you like an instrument, he massaged your little bud until the noises you made were to his liking. You whimpered to feel the insistent press of his two thick fingers, and his murmured growls, add to the fold.

"Fuck, you're...perfect. Get you ready...or I won't fit...fuck..."

Within seconds, he had found your spongy soft spot, turning your moans guttural, making love to you with his fingers before he took you. Your suited man was certainly no boy, responding to every moan, and every whimper, with the surety needed to take you to orgasm.

Only the tenting press of his cock, harder than ever against your inner thigh, gave away how well he was controlling himself for your sake. Already at the edge, you tumbled into completion when one beautiful, fine boned hand slipped under the curtain to cup your breast, to the tune of his hushed curses.

"Come for me, my love."

As if he hadn't noticed you were already arching, mewling, and fucking yourself down on his fingers, halfway through your peak. He stroked your inner walls as if to comfort you, shushing you, soothing, until your quivering pussy stilled around him. You heard the clink of his belt, your head spinning to remember that the best was still yet to come.

"Beautiful girl...sound so pretty when you come. I...I'll pull out--"

"--don't you dare."

The strangled noise that left him, and the way you felt a spurt of pre-cum spill onto your belly, signalled a farewell to his restraint. You squeaked to feel him bracket two thick, strong arms beneath your thighs, bracing you for the way he was about to take you.

Jolting into place, his cockhead nuzzled between your folds. He appeared to be needing nothing but ragged, shallow thrusts to pleasure himself against your oversensitive clit, his lovely voice speaking as if to himself before notching at your entrance.

"--s-so long, it's been...been so long...worth the wait, for you, though, sh-shit...augh..."

He entered you with one deep, smooth press, shushing you again with a tender grasp, and little shallow rocks to kiss his tip against your cervix. He felt absolutely enormous, squeezing himself into you until every little ridge within you shaped to him, hot and wet. You babbled, your words shooting through him like knives.

"--oh m-my god you feel so good so so good so big-- barely fits, o-ooohh--"

When you gasped with the sudden fullness, one of your hands flew down past the curtain to hold your lower belly, and something in your suited man snapped. He laid one hand over yours, pressing it down hard on your belly, before cursing a half-hearted apology, and taking you with the desperation of a man possessed.

Three strokes, deeper, and deeper, and deeper, sent him roaring into a frenetic pace. Your hand clasping your lower belly had sent him spiralling. If his other hand hadn't held your hip so tightly, you'd have been fucked up the table.

And despite the mind-numbing force of his thrusts, you still, with every scrap of you, knew that he was making love to you, and not just fucking you. It made no difference, in the end, your voice growing in volume until it was nothing more than whimpered, mewling cries, only wishing you could have a name upon your tongue instead.

Stilted with the force of his thrusts, he blessed you with it.

"Say...say my name..."

"I will I will just give it to me gimme your name--"

"Kento--"

"--o-ooohh, f-fuck, Kento, harder--"

The cry that left his chest was visceral, animalistic, wrenched out of him with the same sudden finality as his orgasm. You felt him fold over you, his hands gripping your ribcage, his cock jolting and twitching within you as the heavy, obscenely long ejaculation that you knew so well, filled your pussy instead of your mouth.

"--unh...unh...haah...aaa-aahhh never...never gonna come like that-- e-ever again...that was it, that was the...the one that'll end me-- fuck...darling..."

Your suited man's bucks grew lazy, his torso almost completely blanketing yours, humping away the last vestiges of his orgasm. He stayed nestled within you, unwilling to let you go yet. You reached through the curtain, stroking a hand through his hair, and hearing him purr.

"...Kento, huh?"

He huffed a laugh. "Sorry, I...was that too intimate?"

"That? You're worried that was the intimate part?"

He laughed, rich and deep and genuine, kissing your ribs once more. You heard him reach into his pocket, and you spoke up, immediate.

"I won't let you pay me for that--"

"--I absolutely fucking am--"

"--no you are not--"

After he won the argument, and left with heavy reluctance, your manager pulled you aside with a dirty grin.

"You were popular tonight. How many men? Ten? Twelve?"

You blinked, confused.

"Just...just the one. Right at the end."

Your manager shook his head, turning back to the TV in his grubby little office, his fingers orange with Cheeto dust. Your brain ticked, and whirred...all the mumbling outside your gloryhole. All the murmurs, men almost visiting before moving on...and it clicked with absolute certainty.

Your suited man had guarded your gloryhole all night, paying other men to choose another woman. To choose anyone but you.

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"I worried you wouldn't be here."

You swallowed, sniffling, and settling behind your wall. More terrible monsters had settled around the building, blocking almost every pathway in, and you knew that you'd have abandoned your shift and run home to hide, if not for the hope of hearing your suited man again.

"You're...crying, my love, why are you crying?"

You felt him stiffen against the other side of the wall, at the sound of your sniffle, and his hand automatically reached through to cup your face, his thumb swiping away your tears. You turned your cheek into his palm, holding his hand against you.

Your gaze turned to the doorway...and to the bug-eyed, many-armed, puce coloured spindly monster leaning around it to stare at you.

You shrieked, crashing against your wall in terror. Your suited man took in a sharp breath, and the normal chatter and movement of the room quieted at your cry. Your suited stranger grasped your hand hard to hold you still, and his voice dropped to a horrified whisper.

"Stop-- oh, fuck, I understand-- your monsters-- can you see that? That thing in the doorway?"

Time slowed. Your jaw dropped. Your voice was thick, quiet, your insanity validated for the first time in your life.

"Kento, you...see it too?"

"Oh fuck. This...this is why you're in this place? Never been able to hold down a job, no? You've never felt safe anywhere?"

You could do nothing but weep into his palm, nodding, and nodding, and nodding. His voice rang, deep and commanding and final.

"I've got you. I...I've got you. You're safe. Just come with me."

"Kento, I can't just walk out--"

"You can. You don't need money. I've got enough. You just need...you just need me. I'll...I'll tell you everything. I'll explain everything."

When your face, tearstained and sniffling, leaned around the edge of your wall, you froze. Kento froze.

The silence was thick with wonderment, already in love before you had even seen each others' faces. But now that you saw him (obscenely handsome, tall, kind-eyed and exhausted), already overwhelmed, a sob bubbled over--

"Oh, god, you're so out of my league--"

A scoff, and adoration burning in his tired, under-shadowed eyes. He held out one hand, rescuing you as you'd rescued him.

"Come. I have some calls to make. You can tell me your name over dinner."

Your feet were numb as Kento walked you past the monster, shielding your fearful gaze with his hand. You ignored the shouts of your managers, half-deaf and stunned. In the chill evening air, his arm that was not around you, reached into his pocket, tapping, before holding a phone to his ear.

"Gojo, it's Nanami...why are you laughing?"

---

I’ve always been a big Poe fan and a big T. Kingfisher fan, so I was thrilled to find out she’s written her own take on The Fall of the House of Usher.

This spooky little book has all the gothic Victorian vibes of the original along with some new sci-fi concepts and a non-binary protagonist. While I loved seeing things from Alex’s viewpoint, Maddy was the character who I really wanted to paint. She’s a little bit crazy, a little bit dead, and absolutely fantastic.

---