OKAY, I HAVE A HOT TAKE:

Can you do a rung x femme reader where the reader is one of rungs patients. Preferably nsfw but fluff is cool too.

Rung X Reader - Immoral

A/N – I played about with this so much I my head, and I can finally say that I’m happy with the end result.

Warnings – NSFW / SMUT

Rating – M

How did life come to be this way? For Rung things had never been simple, but he couldn’t ever remember life being so hard either. As you laid back on the small sofa that he’d gotten for you, telling him about any problems you were having on the ship, he could barely concentrate. Instead, he was staring at your face, your eyes, your soft skin, all of your human imperfections that to him made you perfect.

‘I love you,’ he thought, and it was that single thought that caused him so much pain.

Rung had always had trouble defining the line between patient and friend, but this was far worse. He wanted to be your everything. He wanted to be your friend, confidante, only love, but all he would ever be was your therapist.

“Are you okay?” You asked and it took Rung a minute to realise that you were talking to him.

His cooling fans clicked on in embarrassment and he blushed somewhat guiltily. “Ah, yes, yes, I’m perfectly alright. I was merely reflecting on your current predicament.”

You had a feeling that wasn’t true and that Rung was distracted, though seeing as this was a first, you didn’t press the matter. “Great, then if you don’t mind, I’ll give you time to further reflect on that and maybe we can talk later… Say over drinks at ‘Visages’?”

Your invitation did nothing to sooth Rung’s tumultuous thoughts and he had to force his mind away from the possibility of a stronger relationship with you. “I’m sorry (Y/N), I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

You smiled sympathetically jumping down from his desk, “You know Rung, life will only be lonely if you treat everyone as patients instead of friends outside of work. Whether you decide to come or not, I’ll be waiting. Think on it.”

With that, you left, and Rung was sure he would be able to do nothing but ‘think on it.’ How could he not, when the possibility to be something more to you than just a therapist loomed over him.

———————————————————————————————————–

Rung stood outside “Visages” for an uncomfortably long time, wondering what he was even doing there. On one servo, he shouldn’t indulge himself by spending time outside office hours with one of his patients, but on the other servo, you were right; his life was very lonely. He paused to clean his glasses, using the time to think further on the matter.

To be fair, he could just walk in and give a cursory visit; it wasn’t as if it was forbidden to speak to you, especially after he had been invited. He did wonder however, if you would even still be there; you hadn’t specified a time, but this was extremely late organic standards.

Rung put his glasses back on with a sense of finality. He would go in, go to the bar and order a cocktail as a special treat for himself, then he would survey the area to see if you were there. If you were, he would accompany you for a short while, because it would be rude to do otherwise, and if you had already left, then Rung would be left in his own company as usual.

Rung entered the club, trying not to appear too nervous as he scanned the dim room for you. He was about to go to the bar when he spotted you in one of the corner booths. You were dancing on the table, surrounded by laughing mechs, while Getaway pushed an alcoholic drink towards you, saying you had to strip for it.

Rung flushed with fury, deducing that the crew had probably lulled you into a false sense of security, giving you drinks until you were too overcharged to say ‘no.’ It wasn’t surprising that a group of overcharged mechs would take advantage of you in such a way. Many had little experience with organics and would do just about anything to toy with the fragile beings, but this was too much. One look at your mussed-up hair, unfocused eyes, and definitive wobble and you danced was enough to tell anyone that you weren’t doing anything of your own volition anymore.

Before you could reveal any more of your stomach, Rung marched over to the table, shielding you with his servos as best he could.

“Gentlemen,” He said in his sternest tone, though it would be considered rather soft by anyone else’s standards, “I think it’s clear that (Y/N) is in need of some rest now.”

“Oooh, big talk from such a wimpy mech,” One of the voices chimed in, though the mech in question was clearly too drunk to pick a fight past rude insults.

“Yeah, come on Reng,” Getaway slurred, “She was just giving us a little show.”

“Well, the show’s over now,” Rung huffed.

“(Y/N), come on, tell glasses here that you don’t want to stop. We were having fun, weren’t we?”

You groaned, the alcohol finally hitting your system now you had stopped moving. “I don’t feel so good.”

Rung wanted to say that he was going to send a strongly worded message to their communicators and to Ultra Magnus the next cycle to punish the five mechs for their brutish behaviour, but that would have to wait because you were his first priority.

He took you from the club, carrying you carefully to your room, flinching whenever he moved to sharply causing you to groan sickly. Once in the safety of your hab-suite, he laid you down on your plush blue bed, moving your hair from your face and grabbing a glass of water for you. He was thankful for the years spent making model ships, for they gave him the grace required to use your considerably smaller items; he was also glad he had taken the time to study up on human behaviour and needs from the few mechs that had encountered organics in the past.

“(Y/N),” Rung said gently, offering the glass of water to you. “Please can you drink some of this? I think it will make you feel better.”

You murmured something that Rung couldn’t make out, reaching out for the glass of water and taking a few small sips, bringing some of the colour back to your cheeks.

“That’s a good girl, keep that up.”

You snickered, placing the glass on the bedside table, and pushing your hair out of your eyes. “Am I your good girl, daddy?”

Rung frowned, missing the organic humour, “Excuse me?”

“Rung… Why didn’t you come earlier?” You whined, momentarily forgetting your previously playful mood.

“I’m sorry I was late (Y/N). If I’d have been there- Well, I’m here now and I won’t leave till you’re well.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Overcharged is a type of sick, though I’ve heard it is easily fixed with some rest for humans.”

“We could fix it faster,” You grinned.

“Oh yes? And how do we do that?” Rung asked sweetly, all ears for anything that might make you better.

“You could fuck me.”

Rung looked at you solemnly, not getting flustered like you had expected. As a psychiatrist, he was used to the effects high-grade energon had on some Cybertronians, and he knew from Ratchet that humans weren’t much different. It was no surprise your libido was up, considering how much you had drank. He tried not to take it personally, though it hurt him to think you would have probably offered yourself to any mech that had taken you home from that god-awful abuse.

“I would say it’s better that you rest now (Y/N). Some sleep would benefit you wonderfully.”

“Aww, don’t be shy. It’s okay to have sex with someone you love, silly.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rung blushed, his cooling fans clicking on.

You flopped down on your bed exasperatedly. “Tailgate told me. He said, ‘Rung and (Y/N) riding in the ship, if he proposed it would be hip.’ And he’s right, that rhyme was dope.”

Rung sighed, wondering how many other mechs knew of his feelings towards you, other than Tailgate.

“Buuuuuuuuut,” You drawled, “When you are right, which is always, then you are right. And that means that consent is important. Whatever you wear an wherever you go, YES MEANS YES AND NO MEANS NO! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

Rung grabbed a Cybertronian sized chair, sitting down whilst sighing deeply, his processor whirring through methods that might help the situation, though he came up empty. “(Y/N), please…” He begged brokenly.

As if his sheer tone soothed you, you gave him a thumbs up, “Okay, got it. Sleeping the night away. You don’t like the nightlife, or to boogie. I get it, and I will sleep with or without you, beautiful.”

Rung said nothing and simply waited until you did as you promised and went to sleep. He remained there all night to keep an eye on you in case your intoxication caused you any further problems, and all the while he feared what your relationship would become in the morning. It was bad enough you pitied him enough to offer yourself for a night, but what would you say when you were sober? One thing was for sure; he couldn’t go back to calling you his patient ever again. Rung took off his glasses, and with one cursory check to make sure you weren’t going to wake up, he turned off his vocaliser and began to cry.

———————————————————————————————————–

When you awoke, you were glad not to have a hangover, remembering the copious amount of alcohol you had consumed the previous night. Although your head was alright, you still had to wrinkle your nose in disgust at the awful taste lingering in your mouth; there could be no doubt that your breath was strong enough to kill a horse.

You didn’t dare get up just yet, remembering with great regret the way you had acted the previous night. It was horrifying that you had let Getaway and his gang take advantage of you in such a manner, but what was worse was the things you had said to Rung. How would he react, you wondered, when you were to next speak to him? You tried not to cry, thinking that you had probably ruined your relationship with him forever. You obviously knew he had feelings for you and naturally, you had feelings for him, but after acting in such a crass manner you were sure Rung wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with you; he was so genteel and chivalrous.

The gentle hum of a fan slowly caught your attention and you turned your head to find an exhausted looking Rung sat watching you from his chair next to the door.

“Oh God,” You cringed, pinching the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. Of course he was there. He was a gentleman, and he would never leave you in a moment of need. Well, at least you didn’t taste vomit which meant that you only had to deal with your drunk horny vulgarity without adding gross organic matter to the list as well.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Rung asked quietly, putting your needs before his own as he did with anyone.

“Physically, I’m peachy. Emotionally… Rung, I am so sorry for last night. I would never have said those things like that if I hadn’t been-”

Rung held up his servo, acting as maturely as ever, “It is quite alright (Y/N). I am sure there will be some repercussions about last night that we can discuss later, but for now… Well, we don’t need to discuss the matter any further.”

He got up to leave, only stopping at the door when you called for him to wait. He faced you, waiting for whatever was to come, however unpleasant it might be. You had already broken his spark upon telling him you never would have said such things sober, what more damage could you possibly do?

“I cannot let you put this conversation off Rung. I think we need to talk about this right now… Actually, in five minutes when I’ve brushed my teeth, but I can put that off if you’re going to leave.”

Holding back a sigh, Rung sat back down in the chair, allowing you time to freshen up first. Once you were reasonably clean and dressed, you sat back down on the edge of your bed, respecting the boundaries he had laid out, though you longed to be closer to him.

“Okay, so…” You swallowed somewhat anxiously. “I um- Well, I already told you what Tailgate said, but I never asked you how you feel. I’m going to ask now, and please answer truthfully, Rung, are you really in love with me?”

After everything that had happened since Rung set foot in that awful club last night, he found no point in lying and further making the situation worse. He took his glasses off to look you directly in the eyes, answering solemnly, “Yes.”

“For how long?”

That was a more difficult question for Rung to answer. How did one truly tell when fondness became affection, and affection became love? He supposed it must have been during your sessions together, when you would often speak not as a patient, but as a friend. All the same, Rung found an answer forming on his lips, “Since you started staying over in my sessions, even though I didn’t ask you to.”

“Right… Then can I say just one more thing to clear things up?”

Rung gazed at you with optics filled with melancholy, wondering just how long you could prolong his suffering.

“Here, now, sober, I want you to know that my heart belongs to you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rung’s mouth hung open.

“I don’t know if you believe in soulmates, but I do, and I can tell you, even before we met, I was yours.”

Rung shook his head, repeatedly whispering “no,” whilst trying not to cry again. It couldn’t be true. It had to be some residual effects of the alcohol, and yet there you were, telling him that you loved him back. “(Y/N), this is wrong, we can’t- I’myour psychiatrist- I-”

Rung wasn’t sure when you had approached him, but he was silenced when you climbed onto his lap. Reverently, you pressed your lips to his, not lingering too long.

“Did that really feel wrong to you, Rung?” You asked.

He shook his head, yet still finding an argument in him, he pleaded with you, “But, my ethical code…”

“Go against your ethics. Let me love you.”

———————————————————————————————————–

Rung moaned as you rested on his chassis, sucking his lower lip in your much smaller mouth. He hadn’t meant for things to go so far so quickly, but after you reciprocated his feelings for him, he couldn’t bear to part with you. He had only meant to kiss you once, but after countless time yearning for one-another, neither of you could stop.

He shuddered as you stroked the sensitive casing of his spark. Did you know how crazy you were driving him?

“I love you,” You breathed between kisses, moving to the left so you could tug at his neck cables; you had heard somewhere or other that this was hot for Cybertronians and you hoped it was true.

Rung gasped, throwing his head back.

“Sorry,” You cringed. “Did that hurt?”

Usually, Rung would correct your behaviour and tell you that tugging neck cables was only for couples who trusted each other wholeheartedly after years of experience. Yet, feeling your small hands reach places he’d never considered being touched was unbelievably erotic and he found himself placing all his trust in you when he shook his head and spoke raggedly, “Please, do it again.”

You smirked, glad that the seedy talk of other mechs had paid off as you tugged at Rung’s neck cables again, running your tongue and teeth over them afterwards.

Wanting to repay the pleasure you were giving him in full, Rung dared to ask, “What feels good to humans (Y/N)? I want to please you.”

You tugged off your shirt and bra, leading Rung’s servos to your breasts, “You could never fail to please me, my darling, but here is a good place to start.”

Rung kneaded your soft flesh tenderly, delighting in the sounds you made when his thumb glided over your sensitive nipples.

“Fuck. That’s so good~” You whispered.

Despite your praise, Rung paused to frown.

“Rung, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just- I’m- Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to rush you.”

You crossed your arms over your bare chest somewhat self-consciously, a light blush creeping over your cheeks, “Do you not want to do this with me?”

Rung cursed himself for hurting your feelings. There was nothing he wanted more, but the fear of complicating your relationship scared him. Instead, he took hold of your hands, removing them from your chest so he could admire you. “My spark, I want nothing more than to devour you here and now, but I need to know that you are ready for this.”

“Rung, I have a wetness between my legs right now that says I am absolutely ready for this.”

“Then please, allow me to tend to that, my spark,” Rung purred, switching positions so you were on the floor and he was looming over you. When you stripped the rest of your clothes off, Rung made sure you knew exactly how beautiful he found you, especially your beautiful organic valve, which he lapped at with the tip of his tongue. He was careful not to delve too deeply in case you couldn’t take his size, though he longed for a day in the future when he had prepared you enough to take not only his tongue, but his spike as well.

“Fuck,” You groaned as your hips bucked against his tongue, dripping your own arousal down your thighs. He was making such a mess of you already and you couldn’t even repay him in the state you were in. You managed to look up, finding that Rung had one of his servos on his spike, rubbing beads of trans-fluid from the tip while he serviced you.

“Please, keep talking like that,” Rung begged raggedly. “I need to know I’m doing a good job.”

“I want more of you, big boy. You better lap up all that cum if you truly want to devour me.”

Rung wasted no time, moaning as he lapped up your sweet juices. Tonight would be all about you; you had given him your love, so the least he could do was give you a good orgasm.

“Ahh, shit~” You bit your knuckles as Rung hit what he figured to be your anterior node. He grew ever more confident with his mouth as your legs started quivering around his mouth. “Fuck, Rung! You’re- Fuck- You’re finishing me off too soon.”

Granted, the two of you hadn’t been at it long, but Rung wanted desperately to see your face when you climaxed; he would be sure to hold that memory forever.

“Let go (Y/N). I want to taste your overload. Let me drink in your lust,” He smiled, going straight back to work on your clitoris until you were reduced to a squeaking mess, unable to say anything but his name.

You felt your body practically melt and you screamed in the throes of pleasure as you orgasmed against Rung’s mouth.

He dragged his tongue from your vagina to your thighs, drinking in the reward he had earned.

“Beautiful,” He purred, “As I suspected.”

You wanted to say something witty or charming in return, but you only managed to gasp as Rung went right back to work, playing with your breasts. He had only just got you, and he would be sure to show his love and appreciation for you all night long.

———————————————————————————————————–

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Jfc doc, put on a shirt or something 😔😔

how would the mtmte bots of ur choosing react to being called dad/mom?

Human Liaison!Verse because the concept has suddenly stolen my heart. ❤ I did a whole bunch of these (the officers, plus some more i thought would be brilliant) bc I got very big Brooklyn 99 Vibes(tm) from this one and that also gave me some Big Feelings.

Human!Liaison, distractedly: Oh, thanks Dad. Wait no-

-

Rodimus: You got it, kid! [cheesy thumbs-up]

-

Drift: No problem. Remember, dinner’s at seven. Mom (Ratchet) made lasagna.

-

Magnus: [definitely not about to cry] I... you’re welcome, child... 

-

Megatron: No.

-

Swerve: Hey, no prob, squirt! Just, uhh, don’t tell uncle Magnus 'bout this, okay?

-

Rung: Do you really think of me as a father figure, [Y/N]?

-

Whirl: Got your back, punk. HEY EVERYBODY!! SEE THIS KID?! MY KID NOW. MESS WITH [Y/N], YOU ANSWER TO ME.

-

Rewind: ...that is it, I’m adopting you. Have you seen your other dad? We need to have a chat. Domey? Hey, c'mere! You have to meet our new-

-

Ratchet: I’m not your dad, kid.

First Aid, from the hallway: [Maury voice] YOU are NOT the father!

-

Tailgate: [head pats] Of course, sweetie. Anytime.

Tailgate, running away: CYCLONUS!!! CYCLONUS WE’RE DADS NOW-

Tumblr: *rolls out “best stuff first”*

My blog:

Preview to a ficlet I’m writing for Transformers

This is in response to a Mafia AU with Humanformers roleplay my friend is in. I was submitting this in response to a prompt given for the RP for the part of roleplaying as Ratchet.  The Prompt was: “ Optimus and Ratchet fighting because OP ignored a warning from him not to send out certain members and it ended up with some of them nearly dying and one currently in critical condition. “ It was pretty vague to give the writer the freedom to explore the possibilities of the scene.

I took my 3 paragraphs I wrote to get the part of Ratchet and made it my own starter for a ficlet I’m dubbing...

Whiskey Instead of Rubbing Alcohol

It had been ten hours since he left the medbay, ten hours of his hands deep in the gut of someone else, voice hoarse from barking order after order. It had been easy for him to fall into the adrenalin rush of having more patients than on-call nursing staff. The room where he had worked was freezing at one point but had since heated with the bodies that swarmed inside it like maggots to a corpse. In the chaos, he hadn’t realized how much blood had actually got on him and his once light blue scrubs were an ombre of reds. His arms still had specks of blood on them and he could feel the sweat still sliding down his face as he tried to calm his pounding heart. His eyes were thin slits as he squinted to deny the migraine that was begging to form behind his eyes. His shoulders were tense, boxed and seemed like a warrior getting ready to face off against an army he was outnumbered for. His breath shutters for what seems like the millionth time since he left the ward with all its patients in stable condition, and he bowed his head to rub at the bridge of his nose. Outnumbered like the men Optimus had sent into the fray with nothing more than a pep talk and some rushed instructions. 

His teeth grind so hard together he could feel the sandiness of his teeth slowly being whittled away. His hand slammed onto his desk from his nose, reaching again for the large jack-daniels and pouring the open bottle into his glass. He threw his head back as he took the entire glass like a shot, the burn spreading like a poison across his tongue and burning away his anxieties as it scorched down his throat before sending one last devil’s cry up his nose. As it settled to melt his stomach, he sputtered a cough, moisture pricking his eyes as he rapidly blinked to clear his vision, sure of when his vision cleared the body of one of his patients would be lying dead before him. He ran a trembling hand through his now spiked hair, trying to smooth it down as if it would soothe him, but his anger caused his hand to clench around the ends and pull with a force that ripped a few strains from his head. The burn of vinegar was pungent when mixed with the copper scent coming from the ward down the hall. 

His office was dimmed and the only light was that on his desk, the yellowed glow reflecting off his face and making him seem gaunt and sickly discolored. Heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes, staring blankly at the paperwork that would need to be filled out and filed later. He couldn’t bring himself to even recount in writing what he had to do to save those poor men- boys, they were so young- lives. His breath wavers as his shoulders shake with the manifestation of his frustrations and he shakily poured himself another glass. Occasional beeps drifted into his office from behind his closed door and it seemed to him as if the reaper was ringing his bell and trying to lure those boys to eternal sleep after all he tried to do to save them. He wouldn’t be surprised if at least three didn’t survive the night- but he hoped to any god above, if one existed, that they would all pull through. He didn’t think he could handle having to call their mothers with the news of their children’s youthful demise.

When I was in that situation I kept my journals that had story ideas/fanfic starters I would hide them between my bed and wall, under my pillow, behind my dresser and between my mattress/boxspring or mattress/floor. It was cheap, did the job and kept my journals in good condition when I was not using them.

Sorry your going through that tho, that really sucks and I wish you luck on it getting better.

I live with people who refuse to respect my privacy. Fellow writers who are like me and enjoy writing on paper more than typing on a computer, how do you keep all your notes and notebooks private? Any ideas?

*hugs* I’m sorry that you need this kind of advice, anon. That’s a terrible situation to be in. 

My first thought is to buy a hardcover journal and get the same size hardcover book at a thrift shop. Redonate the book but keep the book jacket and put it over the journal. Then it will blend in with the other books on your shelf - as long as you don’t use bookmarks/stickers etc. or paste in photos or other items. That would make it obvious that it isn’t just another book. It would also help if the paper in the journal was cream coloured rather than white. 

Anyone else have ideas?

First attempt at animating, rn just focusing on lip-syncing lol https://www.instagram.com/p/B4GZ4YFDsUr/?igshid=p7695rzshu53

The Chase

@twobucksworld I hope this is more of what you wanted! I made sure to write more since I misinterpreted what you had originally wanted. This ~ means a POV switch, as I couldn't help but want to write in both the perspectives. The human male is a soldier stationed on a planet similar to earth and he wanders into a females territory. I hope you enjoy! CW: Fear, Blood, Percieved death, being chased, the wrestling move ‘Stinkface’.

The Yautja, though bipedal, was an expert on all fours. Should it need to run it just lowered its forepaws to the dirt and sprang away as fast as any wolf in the darkness. This was one of those times, accelerating on all fours toward a human foolish enough to be wandering by moonlight in her territory. She stops abruptly, her clawed foot scrapes over the jagged edge of a small cliff. With lungs full of this humid air her salty breath creates clouds of vortexes; while her head moves side to side to assess her territory. One would think she hasn't the brain for reason, but instead, simply a primal sense of rage twined with an indomitable will to survive. They wouldn’t be all wrong at least. Then she spots him, the rigged stature of the human male, a soldier of the Earth’s military with no weapon in sight- far to easy to be a real threat but an annoyance nonetheless. 

~

Through the darkness came the glow of two yellow eyes, like sallow lamplight eight feet off the boulder it stood on. They moved with a slight sway as if the unseen body prowled like a big cat. The soldier stopped. The eyes did not, with rapid acceleration and a more bounding motion they came right for him. A string of curses unraveled from his tongue, like yarn unfurling, as the creature advanced. Every step it took rattled his bones and struck his heart. He tried to dodge a swing from its massive claws, but it struck his side and he tumbled into the dirt. All he could do was feel. Feel the cold ground pressed against his form, the heat from the pain, and the rhythm of his heart like a drum crescendoing down to a languid thump. The things nascent roar fills the space between my ears and speaks straight to my own primal center. Despite the ambient temperature, my skin is icy, all blood diverted to core organs.

That's when the adrenaline hits such a fever pitch that “freeze” isn't going to cut it anymore. Apparently “flight” is the new order of the day, but not slowly like a conscious choice. My legs explode into violent motion. The kick against the dirt and my fingers with dull claws scrabbling for purchase into the soil before I swivel onto my stomach and launch myself forward. My brain, barely registering what just attacked us, belatedly relays all information on the beast that attacked and I stumble on the words echoing through my mind. A Yautja. ~ She relished in the way the male scampered, ever amused by the show of dominance humans tried to give off while they were nothing more then sucklings just learning to crawl. This human, however, seemed inexperienced in even that and she could feel the amused chuckle leave her mandibles as she watched him disappear. She had laid her first strike, like feline playing with her prey she stood straight, keen eyes watching in the darkness as he disappears with a limp. The prey would be allowed to run if only to give him that hope of safety- this was just a game to her. She was no hunter by want or need, females of her kind never needed to prove themselves like the males. She would then descend to all fours, before bounding off after him, her own pounding heart echoing the thrill of the chase. She wondered for a moment what it felt like to be hunted by something like herself but made a click deep in her throat- she realized she didn’t care how he felt. He was in her territory, she would teach him a lesson all Yautja learn at a young age- do not enter a female’s territory unless you wish death. ‘The chase is only sport for me but means everything to you. For me, taking your life is just a small part of a wider game. I know you have been told that victory is assured for your side, it is, of course, a lie to bring hope where there should be none. You are in a dark cave being granted the illusion of light, no more. There is no spark of hope, there is no rescue coming, it's just me and you little rabbit. So run, let your whitetail bob high as you scurry to save your own skin. You aren't a hero, you are nothing, less than a cold raindrop on a scorching desert. What you bring will evaporate into the sky leaving the landscape unchanged, barren and desolate, a playground for my delight alone.’

~

He hides, quaking and sweating with fear as the footfalls tapper off into soft little pats on the ground. In the tall grass, pressed against the base of a tree with nothing but his weeping side; he wished to be anywhere else. In boot camp, demoted from his rank, which was clearly wrongfully given, and yelled at for his incompetence. He had seen the signs, the skulls, he should have known- but he half expected the tells of Yautja to be just that, tells. To be fiction spread around like campfire horror stories to new recruits to scare them into not sneaking off. But the shifting of branches above him with the accents of clicking had his heart stuttering in his chest. 

He would not suffer himself to look up, perhaps if he denied the thing any acknowledgment it would kill him quickly. It doesn’t. It drops before him, all rippling muscle and extended claws. It wore no armor, simple furs and beads- this one wore added fur on its chest and he realized it must be a female. A scientist once said they were more aggressive but rarely hunted- he must be lucky. She crouched down, far taller than any human he had ever seen, far taller than the pathetic 8 feet he thought her to be. Her head tilts and he swears she is speaking- he can’t clearly hear what language she speaks in over the sound of his own heartbeat and ragged breaths mixing into a funeral march in his mind. His eyes follow as she straightens, clenching her clawed hands to fists and he thinks she is readying a punch. ~ She watches him as he regards her with the horror all whelps experience when they first meet an angered female. She finds it amusing, humans truly are whelps compared to her species- it would be dishonorable to kill him while he did not even try to defend himself. But she never allowed anything to get away without punishment, without showing her complete dominance over others. She had claimed this forested part as her own and she knew how to disgrace any who she deemed unworthy of honorable death. She stalks forward, grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling a knife from her thigh. She gave an amused chuckle as he scrambled to push her away, now he fought. How pathetic. She slams the knife into the tree, catching his clothes and pinning him to the spot. She stepped back, releasing him and watching his declawed hands paw at the knife, knees slightly bent and he stared with wide-eyed horror up at her. She throws her head up, eyes still locked on his form before moving closer again. She then turns herself, pressing her ass to his face. For Yautja, to be shown this treatment was disgraceful and by the way, the male gave an anguished cry for mercy and he tried to claw at her hips, she knew her punishment was received. She stayed like that a moment longer before moving away, clicking as she turned back to him. Tears glistened his face as he gasped, body trembling like the whelp he was. She ripped her knife from the tree and he fell to the ground with a thud, slinking down back into the roots and earth to try and appear submissive. An annoyed click left her as she slides her knife back in its place, her back turned to him again. His cry as she did so had her chuckling, her hand moving in a flick motion to tell him to leave, he is of little importance to her. She then descended back to all fours, bounding forward through the tall grass soundlessly. She could feel herself purring, the omega having ignited something more carnal in her and she knew she would be visiting him again, if only to humiliate him further. ~

As he watched her disappear without a sound he realized she had been toying with him, allowing him to hear her to heighten his fear. He sobs, collapsing down into the soil and trying to regain himself as he fumbled for anything to defend himself. He had left camp for a smoke and piss, his pants soiled with his fear and his face burning in shame. He was close to camp again, he could hear the yells of his teammates and called back, using the tree to help him stand as he waved to their flashlights.

My original ask was actually suggesting when she sits on his face it'd be with her butt. With more of a humiliation/claiming him as her's intent, rather than oral. Regardless, I still appreciate that you took the time to write this!

Ah! Well, expect a re-write then to be published soon! It may be published later on, as its past 2am for me but I will make another one :)

what if empyrean suite was just caramelldansen