I'm Rust (previously Danny). I usually write/ talk about my interests. MINORS AND AGELESS PROFILES DNI. I will block you. Requests/asks currently open. Currently fixated on Transformers. All fics I write will have gender-neutral, non-descript reader inserts, unless specified to be amab or afab in tags. Dark/dead dove and nsfw requests welcome ‼️
Notes: Part two of my coylemolova rant from a few days ago. It's entirely my look/thoughts on Coyle's background! Beware some speculation and unused content from the games. This is mostly copied from an analysis I already did with my trials discord group but revised, I'll show the original + some silly fanart i did at the end.
Content/Warnings: CSA, Misogyny, racism, abuse, sexual violence, murder, and all other warnings you would associate with The Outlast Trials. Read with caution and mindfulness of yourself if need be.
Outlast as a whole has always really been to me about how one's early environment reflects in who they are as a person later on in life. Not one villain in these games is evil Just Because, and the characters with some of the worst actions/crimes committed are they way they are due to their upbringing, and Coyle is a fantastic representation of someone abused turning into an abuser, I think.
This comic is fairly vague? With whether or not Leland was the one being sexually abused or the one doing it, which makes me think it was actually both. First as a victim, and then as he grew older, again as a perpetrator in retaliation or, as a theme with Coyle, trying to regain control and autonomy in a sense for himself- as cycles of abuse tend to go.
I personally believe it was his mother who abused him in this way, on top of her likely having hit and berated him growing up. He mentions her a lot more frequently than his father- Comparing Gooseberry (Someone he, in Prime Time dialogues, both sexualizes and degrades, which I think is, again, part of his power fantasy and desire for control/revenge) to her; something, something, "Like a corpse playing dress up, reminds me of my own sweet mother". In an unused line, he recalls his mother, 'twisting my fiddles/vittles (slang for male genitalia), forcing me into the water'.
I think this in part plays into how he treated his wives- which is very safely assumedly horribly, based on the whole murdering thing and his second wife trying to run away- as well as just his general attitude towards women. His wives were really just accessories he liked because they were pretty, his attraction was purely physical, of course he killed each of his wives. Not only would he be paranoid about the whole sort of vulnerability thing, where you are tired to someone who'll know all your weaknesses and your flaws and corruption, he largely also did not see them as people*, and no one was seemingly alarmed or questioning too deeply when a woman under his roof would die, because at the end of the day he wasn't finding much trouble in marrying at all.
*A lot of men with absent, violent, etc. Mothers tend to see women less like people and are more aggressive/hold resenting views toward their mothers that never really go away, largely because it doesn't get addressed and God knows Coyle wouldn't get therapy. Men were and still aren't allowed by society to be vulnerable in a meaningful sense, really, ESPECIALLY during this period. The Great Depression and back to back war really spurred that 'us against them'/'pull yourself by your bootstraps' mentality into a lot of people.
Some of you mother fuckers will hate the kress twins only because they are deformed and the incest you do not look deeper into them as characters because you would rather just make fun of them
Sergeant Leland Coyle and Liliya Bogomolova // Rant
Notes: I do not care if I start a war, I am tired of this weird wave of Coylemolova hate and the way this Fandom- and others- seem to treat people with ships or interpretations of characters that don't coincide with every opinion of theirs.
Content/Warnings: I am at the point in my life I am ranting about a ship I don't even personally like oh my god.. there will be another part to this for just my thoughts on Coyle. Edit because I forgot to add the comic panel I mentioned whoops
I'm going to preface this by saying I, personally, Do Not at all ship Coyle and Liliya. I see her as a lesbian, and I imagine he would only like her based off a physical aspect and not of any emotional or ideological connection. But I'm genuinely so confused.
So what if it's fucking toxic? The same people denouncing Coylemolova are shipping Waylon and Eddie in the same breath. Coyle and Liliya are consenting adults and from what I can tell far less harmful than a good chunk of the other ships I see on this app. If you are a lesbian, gay man, etc. who headcanons them as the same, then fine, but again those are fucking headcanons, you have a block button, and not everyone is going to think or imagine them the same. It is insufferable to have to share a Fandom with people who take their personal interpretations as Canon when they are not. Respect your peers, and yourself, by moving on.
Yes, Liliya is a sexual assault victim. But as this Fandom seems to confidently forget, Coyle is a CSA victim. It is the first goddamn thing we see in his background comic (At the bottom of rant), and influences his prejudices, his actions and personality, etc. Outlast is about how what happens in your environment changes you as a person. None of these characters are evil just because, and yet Coyle is constantly chalked down to "racist hillbilly cop" while other characters are seen a lot more favorably and even pardoned for their abuses. Considering the gray areas of the characters you like but boiling the ones you don't to static, one sided cardboard cutouts does not make you nuanced.
It's 'incest twins' this, and 'racist cop' that, until the same happens to your favorite and suddenly the characters ARE deep, actually. You're not better than a Coyle, or Franco, or Liliya, or Gooseberry, or Twins fan. They are all murderers, abusers, etc. Their actions aren't excused by their histories, none of their crimes should be swept under the rug, but they ALL deserve introspection. Not just the handful you like.
So I uhhh. Very definitely have the outlast trials brain worms and in the trialscord been doing nothing but 200+ word character analysis on the Primes 😭😭 Would that be smth people on bigger tumblr find interesting at all??
Notes : Grace has seemingly won !!! We'll see if the poll changes last minute but for now she's very definitely due for a fic. Enjoy my malewife to sate you.
Content / Warnings: Wesker is a warning of itself, toxic and weird behaviors in the DBD section particularly; manhandling mention, death, injuries, general cruelty/sadism, and power imbalances. Light smut.
•Constantly staring at you. It's lovingly, don't get me wrong- His glowing eyes say murder, but he just likes looking, usually at midnight either standing in a dark corner or in the doorway at midnight. Stare back at him.
•Jots down little habits or quirks you have like a character study; not really to change or fix them or anything, but out of curiosity. He'll never directly ask you anything about yourself, but he genuinely wants to know more about you (while, simultaneously, giving absolutely nothing about himself away. You don't know what his favorite color even is,) and remembers every little throwaway comment/remark you make about yourself.
•DBD Wesker is (slightly) different than his normal re5 iteration in that he is rougher and more cruel because of the assurance you'll come back if you're killed or injured badly. If you met him through trials/the Entity, this is particular evident- His first impression of you is that you're another person to hunt/target, with the added benefit of someone to sleep with, and less of a partner to him. You WILL be targeted during trials, because he's a bastard. Manhandlings via Uroboros tendril are frequent, you are only useful to your team as a distraction, and expect him to drag your pretty, injured ass as far away from hatch/the exit as possible.
°However. If you were in a relationship w/ Wesker before his demise and reunited thanks to the Entity, he's far more lenient. He's going to mostly ignore you- or just hook you and go his separate way, not bothering to give chase. Probably won't help/rescue you, but it's to keep his fondness under wraps and keeps killers from targeting you to get to him.
•I'm honestly stuck between Wesker being overly cold due to being technically dead, and the viruses in his body making his body work overtime and therefore radiating heat, but I think it's a lot funnier if he's extremely cold. You desperately want physical contact, but you have to bundle up every time beforehand. He uses his cold hands for evil- Trailing his fingers along your spine and neck to make you shiver, or cradling your head as he fucks your face and quietly whispers a mix of praise and degradation your way.
•Wesker is in a long standing, emotional and physical relationship with you out of mutual respect. He expects you not to cheat, and so he does not, and wouldn't. Jealousy isn't something you'll see often with Wesker, and he's more quiet and lingering than outright protective. He stands close enough that there is no mistaking your relationship when someone is pushy, and has no fear someone will manage to coax you out of his arms and into theirs. After all, loyalty is a quality he values in his partnerships, and he intends to keep yours.
Do you write for the humans in the transformers movies or just the bots? Thanks!
Okay so, while I don't write transformers anymore (for now, until I get invested again) I would've only ever written bots. Mikaela Banes was written to be a 17 year old and despite that, was sexualized by Michael Bay which I do not fuck with at all. Shia LaBeouf has several abuse allegations and has said racist shit. Anthony Ramos, the actor for Noah, cheated on his wife.
The human characters of Transformers also generally just aren't particularly interesting to me regardless of controversies, and the bot designs of the live action films aren't my thing either.
Notes: I had to post this twice because my FORMAT BROKE IM CRYING. Victor fans scare me but I love yall. I had to remove the original pictures because they were fucking up the post 😭
Content/warnings: Non serious, no Leon for now because I'm bad at writing him. Size difference, men with no shame, and risk of being caught.
Characters: Victor Gideon, Zeno, and Grace Ashcroft.
Victor Gideon
• Yes. Victor's dick WILL kill you. Yes, your jaw IS going to lock. No, you cannot deep throat the entire thing at once, you're going to suffocate- and Jesus fucking Christ you're actually doing it. It's long, and thick, and you need significant prep to take it and get pleasure at the same time, which makes quickies either a hassle or outright impossible.
•All the snake imagery/referencing (he literally has a forked tongue in the Leon interrogation???) makes me think whatever he was injected with gave him weird mutations. Like two dicks or some sort of heat vision. Take this as you will.
Zeno
•Terribly impulsive, considering he would be alive if he listened to Grace instead of being a big dumb dumb and injecting himself with Elpis. He'd totally fuck you in his office- Or Victor's, if he's really feeling petty- and sometimes gets touchy mid meeting. Zeno cares about his image, sure, but he's also starved of affection and, again, likes having a hand on or around you at all times.
Grace Ashcroft
•Beloved wife <3 Grace isn't a particularly serious person during sex. She tries to keep the mood as light and sweet (and kind of cheesy) as possible with little jokes sprinkled throughout. Expect a lot of checks in, reassurance, and hand holding during.
•Things always devolve into a nap post cleaning up a little bit. It's not like she can help it- nine times out of ten, she'd barely just come home from work before, the heat of your skin isn't helping, and the two of you are already cuddling in bed.
This or That // Wesker and Zeno HCs (RE4R, Requiem)
Notes: I attempted learning how to use gradients in tumblr posts, and gave up after 10 minutes of agony while editing this.
Content/warnings: Not proofread and mostly the rambles of a sleep deprived man at 12 in the morning. Wesker is an asshole. Emotional unavailability and probably not very healthy relationships. Smut ahead.
•Albert Wesker is emotionally unavailable, no matter how long or closely you know him. What little he's told you about his history isn't satisfying or soothing enough to any interest you might have, and typically, you have to go digging yourself- Be it ravaging his office for answers while he's away, or accidentally passively finding mentions of him scattered around the web. His love is infuriatingly subtle and never explicitly stated; Almost to a “blink and you'll miss it,” degree. Most of his care happens while you're sleeping.
•Zeno is apprehensive about his own history, being a clone, but after a point, he'll (slowly, with some encouragement,) start talking more in depth about himself. He'll stay in the mornings until you wake up, and lacks the hindering craving for privacy that his genetic predecessor seems to be unable to shake- PDA in a hand on your hip/waist; Regular dates or going out, a lot more kisses, etc.
•Arguments can be made for both of them in terms of their experience, and you could really go either way. I personally believe Zeno has had more prior sexual experience than Wesker for a few reasons: Zeno gets out a lot more with The Connections, and is afforded more breaks, meaning before he met you, he'd probably had a few partners. That's not to say Wesker is a virgin, though, and he makes up for a lot with how fast he learns/adapts to your likes.
•Wesker doesn't have a particularly high libido. He requires less attention than most would, and when he is in the mood, you're usually there to help. On the off chance you're not, however, he doesn't jerk off; instead burying or willing a hard on away with work until he can ignore it and waiting until he gets home to fuck you. Zeno is a little more open to risks and struggles with a wait- Palming himself through his pants or fucking his fist under the desk when he's sure he's in the clear.
•Zeno's favorite thing is being ridden; Chest to chest, hand lazy on your hip- Wesker wants to be face to face, your legs hanging off the sides of his waist and your nails clawing into his back and shoulders.
Hallo, I hope ur doing well! And if not i hope things get better, but uhh, I wanted to request more Tarn x reader, THANKS SO MUCH FOR MAKING ACROSS THE DIVIDE BTW I LOVED IT SO SO MUCH!!! ⁽⁽٩(๑˃̶͈̀ ᗨ ˂̶͈́)۶⁾⁾
༉‧₊˚. tarn x human fem reader 18+
-> warnings/tags: minors dni. aphrodisiacs, rough sex, degradation, choking, dirty talk. 3.5k words
hehehe thank you!! idk what i'm gonna do with myself now that across the divide is over :')
i will take ANY excuse to write more tarn ouuughhhh that’s my WIFE!! as always with the tarn fics, this exists in the tarn x reader universe i have going on!!
anyway, i haven't written for two weeks so sorry if this is a lil rusty LOL
It's been two days. Two days since Kaon accidentally gave you organic-grade food that was actually laced with aphrodisiacs. It was an accident, of course. It didn't have this effect on the organics that he obtained it from, but the impact on you was almost immediate.
Two days you've spent under your covers, desperately hammering away at your clit and grinding on your fingers as you try to lessen the effect. The rest of the crew has locked you in here, saying they won't let you out until it's worn off.
Tarn has been away for just about four days, off doing something important. Securing a deal with Deathsaurus, you think. But you could be mistaken or confused, the aphrodisiacs have fogged your mind immensely.
You need him. You've never needed anything so badly in your life, you're practically gagging for him as you fecklessly attempt to draw orgasms from your own fingers. He's ruined you, he's shown you how good it is to have him, and now you can never be satisfied by anything else.
Not enough. Not enough. Hot tears stream down your cheeks, a mix of fatigue and frustration. No orgasm is good enough, it doesn't sate you. Your skin is dewy as you hump your palm against your clit, trying to reach that spot inside with your fingers that Tarn never fails to.
It's so hot, you feel like you're melting. You can barely even take a moment to douse yourself in cold water to help cool off or wash away any of the sweat glistening over your skin, as any moment you aren't recklessly trying to get yourself off is a moment too long. You keep going until exhaustion, until your body has no choice but to relent and drop to sleep. It's only a few short hours later that you wake back up, only to repeat the process.
— ʚ♡ɞ —
Tarn tuts, his vocaliser clicking in annoyance as his comms link rings again. How many times do the crew need to be told that this is important and that he isn't to be disturbed? This is the third time they've rang, and Tarn's patience is wearing thin.
"I apologise, Deathsaurus," Tarn voices, "My crew are relentlessly trying to contact me. Please excuse me for a moment."
The purple mech stands, pushing the chair back with a metallic rasp. He side steps out of the space between the table and chair before hastily turning on his pedes, borderline stomping over to the exit.
He yanks the door open, stepping out before slamming it shut behind him. To say he's infuriated right now would be an understatement.
"Whatever this is had better be important," Tarn practically hisses down his comms line, flickering rage present behind his dentae.
"Boss," Nickel sighs on the other end of the line. Hearing Nickel soothes Tarn's anger by just a fraction.
"I'll cut a long story short. Kaon gave your pet something that's made their libido skyrocket, and the EM field it's emanating is starting to affect the crew," Nickel explains boredly. "Not me though, by the way," she clarifies.
"Okay?" Tarn replies, "They have toys, and they're good at pleasuring themselves."
He's been witness to it enough times to know.
Nickel sighs again, her servo cupping her face, "No, they've been going at it for two days, and it hasn't let up. If their pheromones don't cease soon, I don't think any of us will be able to stop Helex from breaking down their door and rutting them like an animal."
"They've been like this for two days and nobody thought to tell me before now?!" Tarn's voice lashes violently.
"Well," Nickel retorts, "You said to only contact you if it was an emergency."
Tarn growls behind his mask as he brings up two sharp digits to scratch at the metal of it.
"I'll be back as soon as I can. Tell Helex to take a cold wash, he will not be touching them. Is that understood?" The threat lingers in his voice, the unspoken promise of the consequences that he'll unleash if anyone dares to get close to you.
— ʚ♡ɞ —
The habsuite doors hiss open, the first time they've done so in two days. Your heartbeat fills your ears, leaving little room for the sound of the door to be heard.
Tarn casts his gaze upon your pitiful form, watching you as you desperately grind against your hand in a nest of blankets and pillows. Your skin is flushed, and he can see the subtle gleam of your sweat glisten under the light.
"Oh, Little Songbird," Tarn coos, "Look at what a mess you are."
"Tarn," you cry pathetically, freshly dried tear marks carved down your hot cheeks, "Oh, Tarn! Please— please fuck me. Please, pleasepleaseplease. I need it, I need it so bad."
"What happened, hm?" He says with a sympathetic tone, which you can't tell is feigned or not. "What's got you rubbing at your little clit like that?"
He slowly walks over to you, at a pace that's so torturous you're on the verge of leaping off this bed and fucking him on the floor.
"Please, Tarn," you worble again. You don't have the mental capacity to explain what happened to get you to this point. All you know is that there is a rising volcano threatening to erupt at any moment within you.
'Make sure you take good care of them,' Megatron's stern words echo in Tarn's processor as he watches your weak, quivering form in front of him.
Oh, he's going to take good care of you. You're going to be very well taken care of when you're screaming his name on the end of his spike, experiencing otherworldly pleasure. When you're shaking, your tight cunt milking his spike for every ounce of transfluid he has in his tanks.
"I'll suck you," you desperately promise, crawling to the end of the bed. "Please, I'll suck you until you short-circuit. Just give me what I need."
"Oh? Is that a promise?" Tarn hums, his grin widening under the mask.
"Tarn!" You cry as your head drops in defeat, the desperation clouding your judgement. You're on the verge of tears, and you need the kind of stimulation that only he can give you.
"My poor little Songbird," Tarn replies, sliding his servo to the side of your head to angle your face back up towards him. Tears are running rapidly down your cheeks, and he's getting more turned on from the sight alone.
"You don't even need prep, do you?" He taunts as his optics look to your fingers, sprawled out over the bed, and wrinkled from how much time they've spent in your cunt.
"No," you mewl back feebly. "No, I just need your spike. I need you to fuck me. I need you, Tarn, I need you more than anything."
"Primus," Tarn curses as he feels his spike whir behind his panels, "You get me so turned on when you're like this."
"Let me have you," you pant like a dog, pawing at his interface panels as if you're no better than a mindless, sexed up doll.
"I won't deny you, darling," he responds, disengaging his interface panels to finally reveal the hidden treasure he stores there. Thick, black, bowing downwards from the weight of him, beautiful pink biolights that pulse in time with the current of his circuits.
You breathe a moan as you feel a hot pulse slip through your lower half, and you practically lunge for him to take his leaking tip into your mouth. You just couldn't resist, your judgment is beyond skewed.
Tarn growls as he locks his digits through the length of your hair, yanking you off his spike, much to your dismay.
"Na-uh, Songbird," he hums, the light in his optics raging with a fiery red. "Lay back, and let me fuck you."
"Yes, Master," the title slips from you as you shift on your knees, falling back to lie flat on your back. You look at him as your legs fall apart to give him a front row view of your messy pussy, already coated with wetness. Something flashes in his optics, and he brings up one servo to take off his mask.
Dropping it, he lets it clatter to the floor before he mounts the bed with one knee, leaning forward to start crawling towards you. A predator locked and loaded on its prey, ready for the strike. You're watching as his instincts sharpen their teeth, the beast within him awakening.
He is going to take very good care of you indeed.
You're swallowed up in his shadow as he levels above you, looking down at you with that piercing gaze that looks so picturesque on his beautiful features. He is one of the most attractive mechs you've ever seen, even if you are a little biased.
Like the saviour he is, he slides into you with embarrassing ease, a testament to how much you've worked yourself up. Your eyes nearly cross as soon as you feel that stretch, your head tipping back against the pillow to force your moan towards the headboard.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Tarn muses with a smirk, his sharpened dentae on partial show.
"So good," you babble in return, the tears already returning to your waterline. He teases you with that first slide in, but he doesn't leave you hanging for long.
With little restraint, he starts to hammer his hips, driving his heavy spike in and out at a maddening pace. You yelp, before you start screaming. Getting used to the sensation of hard metal slaming against you, despite how much pleasure you're getting from it, is a startling experience.
He grabs onto the top of the headboard with one servo, his claws piercing into the wood almost immediately. Your ears are muffled with the sound of your own heartbeat, so you're hardly able to notice the damage taking place just above your head.
Despite the ferocity, you've never known internal peace like this. The edge of the lustrous chemicals pumping through your veins is already starting to wear, your body growing more and more content with each second.
You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to keep him close. He fucks sweet, hot sounds straight from your lips. You're hardly able to tell up from down right now, and the blissed out look on your features makes Tarn grin with a deep satisfaction. He loves to fuck you senseless.
His fat, chubby spike decimates your walls. You're screaming, gripping onto the bedsheets until they tear. Thankfully, the others don't care if they hear you. They kind of appreciate it, in a way. Every time their boss gets cracked, it means the treatment he gives them is a little less punishing. All of his pent-up energy is used on you.
"This is how you wanted it, right? Hard and fast?" Tarn asks condescendingly, bullying his way in and out of you.
Tears escape the corner of your eyes as your body courses with a heat you've not experienced before. It feels like cotton wool is shoved into your ears, the outside world completely muffled as you focus on every sensation striking through you.
"Isn't it?!" Tarn barks, clamping his free servo around your neck. He squeezes the sides, and your back arches in reaction. Your ardour and desire feels centuries old, a God's appetite after waking from a long slumber.
"Yes!" You wheeze pathetically, "Harder! Ha-ahr—fah."
You can barely make sense of anything leaving your mouth. Everything just feels too fucking good to process anything he's saying.
"Harder?" Tarn spits, "You've been causing all this dissonance amongst my crew for the past two days, and the only thing you have to say for yourself is 'harder'?"
"P-uh-ease," you warble, your eyes rolling back. Your hips jerk beneath him, recklessly chasing the pleasure. He's fucking right up against your womb. That, combined with the restriction of your blood flow, signals your release.
Sticky, spurting squirt sprays from your cunt, decorating his panels. You cry weakly, tears flowing from your eyes like a string of pearls. Tarn moans, deep and growling, as he starts to drown in you. Something pulls him towards you again and again, a motivator that seems more ancient than reason itself.
"You're insatiable," Tarn hisses, keeping his grip on your throat tight and his pace unrelenting. "Did you know that you had Helex practically crawling up the walls? How it took the combined efforts of all the others to stop him from breaking in here?"
You squirm beneath your lover. You can hear him, but you're hardly comprehending him. You just want to cum again, you'll do anything for it.
"Answer me!" He bellows, pinning you firmer to the bed.
"Ou-oh—only you, only you," you gasp, "Fuck me, fu—uck me!"
"I really am fucking you stupid," Tarn sneers proudly, a wide grin on his gorgeous face. "Look at you. Crying, drooling, eyes in the back of your head. The perfect image of someone fucked within an inch of consciousness."
You're twitching through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, your moans feeble and meek. The inside of your thighs and hip joints are starting to hurt from having them spread so wide for so long.
Tarn grunts as he slams his hips twice more to knock him over the edge. His tanks whir before another round of transfluid spills into your pussy.
He doesn't let the air of orgasm linger for long, slipping out of you almost immediately before sitting back on his haunches. His spike bobs with further need, so he drags you up onto his lap. You muster what little strength you can to mount him, straddling him before guiding his long spike back into your cunt.
"You know where you belong," Tarn praises with a smirk, grabbing onto the backside of your thighs to help support you. "Always finding your way back onto my spike, isn't that right?"
"Yes," you almost sob, moving your hips in a wave-like motion. "I'm your spike pet. All yours."
And who could blame you? To say you have it good with the leader of the DJD would be the understatement of the century. Despite his somewhat grating tendencies, he makes up for it in abundance through the care and dedication he shows you.
It also helps that he draws more orgasms from your body than you care to admit.
"Spike pet," Tarn hums contentedly into your ear, speaking the words as if he's assessing the flavour of them over his glossa. "I like that. Yes, you're my spike pet. My little slutty spike pet."
You bounce on him, eager and desperate for another climax, fuelled by the rumble of his engines and airy moans. There's nothing sexier than making a fearsome, hulking mech crumble into wispy moans.
Tucking his faceplate into the crook of your neck, he starts to kiss and suckle on the sensitive flesh. Your cunt flutters around him as whimpers bubble in your throat, your brows drop to thread into a frown whilst your hips stutter.
"Tarn!" You rasp weakly. Your cunt is leaking all over him, making a mess of his spike and interface panels. It's a slippery ride, but you'll be damned if you let up the tempo you've set. He's so deep inside of you, any deeper and it might feel like he's in your stomach.
You're writhing on his lap from the assault on every sense you have. The pleasure is building fiercely inside of you once again, an insatiable hunger that seems it may never be vanquished. Destined to spend the rest of your days being split over Tarn's heavenly spike, truly earning the title spike pet.
"Use your power," you request, too high on pleasure to heed the consequences, "Tell me what to do."
Tarn's subsequent moan vibrates against the column of your neck, making your eyes roll back. His energy tugs on you without mercy, and you feel his need settle deep into your bones. He unlatches himself, bringing his intake to your ear before engaging his vocaliser.
"Fuck yourself on my spike until you collapse."
It's as if some invisible entity seizes your system, your body becoming possessed by the spirit of his words. The sound that leaves you is pathetic and involuntary as the ache in your thighs dissipates to give you all the strength to keep riding.
"N'thing com—pares to you," you whimper.
"Yeah?" Tarn chuckles, "None of your toys could get you off like I can, huh? Your own fingers weren't enough?"
You shake your head with a pout, pouring your focus and attention into your movements.
"Poor Songbird, left here desperately trying to get off. Did you think about me?"
"All— All I did was think about you. Played memories of us in my mind over and overandoveroandover." You feel your clit throb just remembering it.
"Is that right?" Tarn hums as he nips at your neck. "Like the time I fucked you over my desk? Bent you over my reports and made you lose your mind? Or maybe that time I took you on the Captain's chair, and had you ride me with your back to me? And I reached around to strum at your pretty little clit whilst you screamed my name for all to hear?"
"Fuck!" You cry, "Yes! Yes! I thought about all of it!"
Your back arches, pressing your tits against his chassis as his low, baritone voice paired with the haughty words pushes you over yet another edge. A whine stretches in your throat as your cunt flutters around him, your mind bending as a wave of relief courses through you. Each time, the effects of the aphrodisiac get slightly easier to bear.
"Yeah," he huffs as his composure starts to thin, "Keep grinding that tight pussy on me."
"Overload in me, please, please overload," you beg desperately.
"You deserve it," he coos, slipping his servos down to take generous handfuls of your ass. He grunts heavily, letting another load spill inside of you. Every thrust gets immediately wetter, some of his fluid already spilling down around his length as his spike pushes in and out.
The two of you are so overstimulated that you're grinding against each other like mindless beasts in a rut. He's moaning and whining as your pussy slides up and down his spike. His limbs are trembling as he helps you bounce.
But you can't stop. You won't stop. Not until you collapse, just like he commanded. Your actions are not wholly your own at this point.
It was you who was desperate and preening at the beginning of this, but now it's seeping into Tarn, too. He loves your body and every sin it carries, he could stay thrusting into you until his frame falls apart from exhaustion.
"Cum all over my spike."
The command embeds itself into the folds of your mind, decreeing your spirit to do as he instructs. His words have a gravity of their own, and its pull is stronger than any other force you've encountered.
The following orgasm you experience is weaker, it jolts through you tiredly and sluggishly. Your hips roll slowly, a sharp whine stretches in your throat as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. Your fingers ball into fists as you try to persevere through the motions, but you're finding it difficult to. The pleasure is starting to ebb and flow into something less enjoyable, the overstimulation rife through your system. Each pass of your hips is weaker than the last, and your vision starts to blur as you feel your resolve drain.
Until you collapse.
Until you collapse.
Keep going until you collapse.
The physical exhaustion floods through you, and your body grows weak against him. He keeps you supported, but he knows you're coming to the end of the road with this.
The fact that you're still mindlessly humping against him riles him more than you could ever imagine. You're so well-behaved, you always do right by him, and he adores you for it.
Another overload pushes through him, spurts of hot fluid dressing your walls in pink. He grunts lowly in your ear, and although it's a gratifying sound, you're not sure how much more you can take.
As though the higher powers listened to your internal thoughts, Tarn's clawed servos grip your hips tighter, urging you to stop. You do so with ease, not about to complain over some respite.
"I'm all out," Tarn vents against your shoulder. His engines are causing his frame to thrum, which you're finding quite enjoyable against your sore and tender muscles. You slide your lips against the jagged, broken parts of his faceplate to find his derma, kissing him softly as your dewy skin clings onto the warm metal of his armour.
"I can't keep going, either," you mumble, your body struck with fatigue.
You roll your head, looking back at your cracked and ruined headboard. You huff quietly, dropping your head to rest your cheek against the tyre tracks on his chassis area.
"That's the second headboard you've broken," you mumble faintly, but not to complain.
"Hmm," Tarn burrs as he starts to stroke soft caresses up your back. "It's a good thing I run the expense reports for the ship."
