#instead of doing on/off duty cycle

[ailurinae]

Does the eink refresh issue only happen when you change pages then? My understanding was on a given page there is no refresh, thus why they can display an image even when off. But I could be wrong

The Evil has been removed from my office. (The monitor that was giving me debilitating daily migraines)

I haven’t bought a new one, yet. I’m waiting to see what Black Friday sales look like this year, as well as giving my brain more time to recover, but I figure there’s no harm in clearing the space out so I can sit in there and not have a giant black ominous screen looming over me.

Also, thank you again to everyone who very generously donated to my ko-fi over the last few months. I’ve got a few OLED monitors picked out that look like they might work. Fingers crossed they work as well for me as my phone does🤞

[luminnara]

Protector | Feyd-Rautha x reader

ANON REQUEST: your marriage to Feyd-Rautha is an arranged one, and your only task is to provide an heir. When you finally become pregnant, your new husband suddenly grows obsessed with you—but does he care about you, or is he simply protective of his progeny?

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, and related talk; canon typical violence

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Your marriage was one born out of duty, not love. You couldn’t even call it a marriage of convenience; there was nothing convenient about leaving your homeworld and traveling across an entire galaxy to marry someone you had never even met before. Yes, the Houses had agreed beforehand that you were to marry Feyd-Rautha, the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and immediately after the deal had been struck you had seen his face and read his writing, but you hadn’t met him until your wedding day.

You had chastised yourself for thinking it could be like the fairytales of Ancient Earth. You, a princess, your betrothed a handsome prince…in the stories of your childhood, he would have whisked you away, off to a great, shining palace full of magical wonders, and you would have lived happily ever after. Instead, your prince had proved to be disinterested in you, busying himself with his arena and his concubines, ignoring you most of the day. The Harkonnen fortress did not shine, nor did it hold any great wonders, and Giedi Prime felt far from magical, with its harsh black sun and polluted landscape.

After your vows, you had naively thought your wedding night would be full of romance. Perhaps you had been holding onto hope as a means to protect yourself, clinging to optimism to distract yourself from your harsh, sad reality. You had been all too eager to shed your dress and veil in Feyd-Rautha’s living quarters, though had not expected them to be ruined by his blade, and you had not expected him to greedily conquer you as if it were yet another battle in the arena. He had slept next to you that night, but had made it painfully obvious that he had no interest in holding you or even touching you, keeping far to his side of the bed while you remained far to yours. In the morning, you had awoken alone, and had realized that it was the beginning of a long and lonely road on your new planet.

Everyone expected an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage, a legitimate heir for the Harkonnen line. Anyone else could have done it—you were of fine breeding, yes, but any of the other Houses could have offered up a daughter to suffer at Feyd-Rautha’s side. Why it had to be you surely came down to the only things powerful men seemed to care about—money and spice. An allegiance with House Harkonnen protected your family, and your small share of spice harvesters on Arrakis added yet another drop into their vast bucket and one less smuggling operation to worry about. Your parents were happy. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was happy.

And you were miserable.

Two months after your wedding, your monthly cycle continued as normal, and you were forced to shamefully inform the na-Baron. After an annoyed sound and a grimace, he bent you over the nearest table and took you for a second time, leaving you to clean yourself up and cry at your husband’s callousness. You didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to care. You supposed he already had everything he could possibly want; wealth, concubines, a throne to inherit…you brought nothing of real value to him, save for the ability to produce an heir.

Time passed, and it became clear that Feyd-Rautha would have to touch you more than once a month if he was to have any hope of fathering a child. You cursed yourself for your apparent inability to conceive—fertility had been one of your parents’ selling points when negotiating with the Baron, and now, you couldn’t even do the one thing that was expected of you. It brought you to tears every night, the stress of being reduced to this and yet still being unable to perform your task. It was maddening, though you knew you were hardly the first woman to find yourself in such a situation. You did worry, however, that you may have been the weakest.

One evening, as Feyd performed his husbandly duties, he noticed a tear slipping down your cheek and paused. You felt a rough hand cup the side of your face and opened your eyes to find your husband staring at you with dark eyes, his head tilted to suggest he was curious.

“Tears?” He asked in his raspy voice that was still so alien to you.

“My apologies, na-Baron,” you looked away from him.

“You are crying.”

You stifled an annoyed sigh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do not worry yourself with me, husband.” You said.

“Tell me.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation you had had since marrying him, and part of you didn’t want it to end. You looked at him once more, finding him still watching you with that unwavering, predatory gaze, and another tear rolled down your cheek and onto his hand.

“I am sorry I have not given you a child.” You whispered.

“Then let me put one into you.”

His tone sent a chill down your spine, frightening and exciting you all at once. That night, Feyd-Rautha did not let you sleep, shocking you with his determination. It was simply because the sooner you conceived, the sooner he could return to his own concerns, you reasoned.

Sure enough, your period did not arrive when expected, nor did the next. A medical test confirmed what you already knew—you were pregnant, with Feyd-Rautha’s child. A Harkonnen child, who would grow up to be just as ruthless and savage as its father, you thought.

Upon receiving the positive result, you immediately set off to tell the na-Baron. He should not be made to wait; you wanted him to know that the entire point of your union was finally achieved, and that you could both go back to ignoring each other as usual. As you walked, you had the worrying thought that he may not even keep you alive after the delivery.

“Na-Baron,” you addressed him upon finding him in his armory.

He looked up from the blade he was sharpening. “Wife.”

“I bring news,” you said, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“Then tell me, before I grow bored of waiting.” He returned to the hunting knife, looking away from you once more.

“I am with child.”

You watched as Feyd-Rautha paused, tilting his head to look at you. “My child?”

“Yes. Who else could it possibly belong to?” You asked, exasperated. “The physicians confirmed it just now. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, looking back at the knife in his hand as he thought. “I see.”

Whatever hopes you had once had for him to suddenly flip his entire personality at the news were quickly dashed by his lack of emotion. You left him there, a hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry, returning to your bed to be alone once more.

-0-

In those earlier days of pregnancy, you were often ill, sprinting from bed to the wash basin nearly every day to be sick. Usually, you were alone; Feyd-Rautha rose early, spending his mornings training and sometimes killing his instructors. Whenever that happened, he would come back, wearing blood and a grin on his face as if he had just won some great contest.

Today, however, he was enjoying a rare occasion of sleeping in. He had begun spending his nights in the center of the bed, crowding you as you attempted to stay away from him. One morning you had even woken up to find his arm throne over you, his body closer than ever. Now, he was sleeping, and you would have been content to let him remain there were you not busy launching yourself over him as you ran to the adjoining wash room.

You missed the way your husband sat up, eyes wide and frenzied as he pulled a dagger from beneath the pillows. When he found the room to be empty and free of danger, he grew confused…until he heard your retching in the next room, and slipped out of bed.

“Wife?” He asked from the doorway.

“What?” You groaned, leaning your cheek on the cool basin.

“…are you alright?”

You sighed. “No, na-Baron, I am not. I mean…I am, I just…”

“You are sick,” he pointed out.

It took every bit of willpower you possessed to swallow down the part of you that desperately wanted to throttle him. “Yes. I am. It’s the pregnancy, the pills from the doctors haven’t been working—“

“This has happened before?” He interrupted.

“Most days, yes,” you felt another wave of nausea coming over you and hunched your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

You never expected to feel a cool hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, nor the feeling of your husband’s chest against your back as he held you.

“Harkonnen women don’t have this problem,” he commented as he held your hair.

It was the least helpful statement he possibly could have made as you vomited once more, and yet it was also quite possibly the best.

“If Harkonnen women have no hair, then what do you pull?” You asked wryly, too ill and too exhausted to hold yourself back.

Feyd-Rautha stared you, unblinking, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “If you are feeling brave, perhaps I will show you one day.”

You let out a laugh as the nausea ebbed, leaning back against him. “Perhaps one day I will finally stop seeing my lunch so many times, and then you can regale me.”

-0-

Your sickness faded as your pregnancy progressed, thankfully, but Feyd-Rautha’s company did not. By the time you were beginning to truly show, he was refusing to leave you alone, demanding your presence wherever he went. As a result, you sat in on many a sparring session, and he made up his mind to abandon the arena until after the baby was born. His sudden change in attitude was shocking; he had never paid so much attention to anything before, and now, his hands were constantly on you.

“I must keep you safe,” he had said when you first asked about it, and had acted as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

You assumed he was protective due to the baby, the precious new heir to the Harkonnen throne. As its vessel, you were afforded some luxuries, but you fully expected that to change after the birth. For now, though, you were content to receive any and all attention your husband saw fit to pay you.

“That went well,” you said one day after the doctor examined you.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Feyd-Rautha growled.

“What do you mean? He’s a doctor,” you laughed, somewhat nervously.

“I did not like it.” His voice was tense.

“I could tell.” You grumbled, dropping your happy façade. He had nearly chased the doctor out of the room, hunting knife in hand. “Examinations are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“No more.”

“But—“

“No more strangers touching you.”

"Doctors help," you protested. "Don't you want your child to be healthy?"

At that, Feyd paused in thought. "...You may have a Harkonnen midwife."

"Because a Harkonnen doctor is too much?" You asked dryly.

He glared at you briefly before looking away towards the door. "Come."

You audibly groaned, one hand on your lower back. "Na-Baron, I am tired. I wish to retire to bed."

He looked back at you, and you caught an expression of distress on his face. "I need to train."

"You train every day."

"Yes." he said it as if it were obvious, but something in his tone suggested more; he made it sound urgent, as if it were something he had to do daily, and missing a single session would be disastrous. "Come."

You heaved a sigh and followed him.

-0-

In the months that followed, your unborn child grew, as did your body. You found yourself becoming large and bloated, your gait slowing as your flexibility waned. New maternity gowns were brought to you, an interesting mix of styles--the flowing, heavy garments of your homeworld meeting the simple, stark aesthetics of Giedi Prime. You found them strange, but at that point, you really didn't care; you would have walked around naked if no one would have stopped you. You spent your days feeling uncomfortable and awkward, with swollen feet and a sore lumbar region. Harkonnen servants brought whatever you needed, and your husband ensured--no, demanded--that all of your food be tasted by someone else while you watched so that there could be no chance of poison passing between your lips.

You wondered if this was simply some aspect of Harkonnen culture that the other Houses weren't aware of or never cared to talk about. Perhaps on a planet as harsh and toxic as Giedi Prime, infertility and infant mortality were more commonplace than the rest of the known universe. Perhaps this possessiveness was common among Harkonnen men, if conception was more difficult for their people.

Whether your theory was correct or not, Feyd-Rautha had certainly become even more attached to you. Not a morning went by when he wasn’t there next to you in bed, and as of late, he had begun waking you up by reminding you exactly how you had ended up like this in the first place. Before your pregnancy, he had acted as though bedding you were a boorish duty he had no choice but to perform; now that you were heavy with child, however, he was more than interested in you physically, constantly touching you with those rough, murderous hands.

You enjoyed the attention, and you enjoyed the way he squeezed and massaged you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t want to break you, you supposed, not right now; after the child arrived, perhaps, but not now. That was a grim thought, and one you had often—what was to come of your after the birth? Would Feyd-Rautha want more children, in case this one died some horrible, brutal, Harkonnen death? Or would you be disposed of, no longer needed after his legacy was secured?

You tried not to dwell on it.

One morning, you roused on your own, without Feyd’s interference. Wondering if he was even still there, you reached out to the side, feeling for him—and you nearly jumped when you felt bare flesh beneath your hand. When you rolled onto your back with considerable effort and turned your head to the side, you saw that your husband was there, still sleeping, and that what you had felt was his exposed chest.

You took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He seemed so peaceful like this, when he wasn’t fighting and killing. You had seen him take lives so quickly that his victims hadn’t even known they had died, and you had wondered how someone could be so dismissive of those around them. The first time you had watched your husband slit a throat, you had nearly vomited, and he had found your revulsion amusing; the most recent, however, you had simply sighed and looked away. You were desensitized, it seemed, just like he was, and now, you slept just as easily after watching him commit horrendous acts of violence as he did now.

Feyd-Rautha was handsome as far as Harkonnens went. His skin was smooth like marble, free of the scars and bruises one might expect to see on a warrior. His face, usually so harsh during the waking hours, was relaxed now, and you realized he was beautiful. You couldn’t keep yourself from brushing your fingers over his lips and feeling how surprisingly soft they were, though in a way, this felt wrong. Feyd-Rautha didn’t strike you as the kind of person who would allow this sort of touch, but when would you have this opportunity again? He always rose first in the morning and slept last at night. You never caught him with his guard down, and you kept your hands to yourself during the day. This was the only time you could marvel at him like this.

As your fingers ghosted across his cheek, he twitched, and you froze. Then, to your horror, an eye cracked open, and you knew that he had been awake all along.

When you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist, then covered your hand in his. He held your gaze for several long, strange moments, and you realized that he hadn’t simply been awake—he had been allowing you to touch his face, to explore him in a way you had never been brave enough to before. It felt like a gift, in a way. In his way.

“I apologize,” you breathed, unable to look away from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep.

“I should not have touched you without permission.”

“I am your husband,” he said. “And you are carrying my child. You do not need permission to touch me.”

Somehow, you knew his words carried a deeper meaning. You knew you were one of, if not the only, one on all of Giedi Prime whom he had said those words to. And for the first time since marrying him, you felt that Feyd-Rautha was truly your husband.

-0-

He was with you when the labor began.

You had been lounging in your shared chambers, enduring the final week of your pregnancy. It felt bittersweet, in a way; you had no way of knowing then if you would ever be experiencing this again, and a part of you desperately wanted to hold onto it while the rest was fed up with feeling massive and uncomfortable every day.

Feyd-Rautha had been agitated all morning. It was as if he had known something was about to happen, and he had spent his time barely containing himself as he paced and sharpened knives, attempting to keep to himself and leave you alone and doing a piss poor job of it. You had been ready to chase him out of the room—or at least attempt to—when you felt your waters go and the panic set in.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, you were in your bed, and a shockingly-diligent Harkonnen na-Baron had yet to leave your side. He had briefly stepped into the corridor to bellow at the nearest passerby and your midwife had arrived very quickly as a result, but after that, he had sat down next to you and refused to go anywhere else.

“Is it agony?” He asked as you stood.

You shot him a glare. “I would not wish this sensation on even you.”

He was taken aback by your tone, impressed, even, by the venom in it.

“A short walk about the room may help,” the midwife suggested. “I will assist—“

“No.” Feyd-Rautha was up and at your side in an instant, taking your elbow. “I will.”

You didn’t care who did what, you just wanted it to be over and done with. The labor was progressing quickly, the midwife assured after another check once you were back in bed, and soon, you were wailing and grunting, your face was sweaty, and the na-Baron was staring in awe. You were focused on the task set before you, one hand on Feyd’s arm as you pushed with all your might, and so you could not see the way your husband was looking at you.

When your son was born and crying at the top of his tiny lungs, Feyd-Rautha cut the umbilical cord with a hunting knife and then he stared. It seemed that the entire time, he was incapable of looking away, his eyes glued to either you or the new Harkonnen heir. You supposed he had been too enthralled to order the midwife out of the room, and the woman was smart enough not to push her luck—she did the necessary examinations as quickly as she could, then handed the baby off to you, busying herself with cleaning what looked like a murder scene and gathering the afterbirth when it came. Then, satisfied with her work and the health of the child, she left, and you were alone with your husband and son.

You cradled the infant, tucking him against your breast and pulling the edge of your robe over him in an attempt to keep him warm. He was born pale, like his father, but with a soft layer of hair that made you wonder how much he might grow to look like you. The midwife had said it before she slipped out, and you had to agree—he was beautiful, and you smiled down at him.

A thud startled you and you turned to see that Feyd-Rautha had fallen to his knees at your bedside, looking at you with a reverence you had never seen in anyone before.

“Feyd?” You asked.

He looked between you and your son, and you saw then that something had changed within him over those many months. Gone was the dismissive, uncaring husband you had wed; this Feyd-Rautha had grown to become a protector, one who would fight until his muscles tore from his bones, who would bleed himself dry for you.

“You are stronger than I knew,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek much the way you had with him all those nights ago.

You felt a lump in your throat. “Come here. Join us.”

He did.

Feyd-Rautha sat with you there, in your bed, the very bed your first child was born in. He watched as your son woke from his peaceful, short nap, and he was privy to the private, intimate moment of his first feeding. He held the baby, staring at him in wonder and what may have been a touch of fear, supporting the both of you as he helped you to the bathing room when you were well enough to stand.

“A son,” he said, watching the baby sleep that night.

“Yes.” You mumbled, exhausted and nearly asleep as well. “Are you pleased, husband?”

“I would have been just as pleased with a daughter.”

That surprised you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him propped up on an elbow, watching your son as he slept in his simple Harkonnen manger. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the child. “I can teach a daughter to fight just as well.” Finally, he looked down at you. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected.” You sighed.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am,” you answered him, sleep already dragging you down.

You barely felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you barely heard his voice as he said,

“I am as well.”

-0-

You had expected Feyd-Rautha to grow cold in the weeks following your son’s birth, but he never had. He was attentive, caring for you in a way that suggested he felt some primal urge to drag back great beasts for dinner every night but modern living prohibited that.

Now, you watched as he stood before one of the massive windows within the Harkonnen palace. It was evening on Giedi Prime, but the black sun casted no shadows over the landscape. Feyd-Rautha held your son, whispering to him, and as you watched, you wished the moment could stretch on forever.

“Husband,” you said, approaching him.

“Wife,” he greeted you, turning.

“On your evening walk together, I see.”

He chuckled. “I am showing him everything he will one day rule over.”

“I am surprised you haven’t taken him into battle with you yet,” you said sarcastically.

“I will strap him to my chest so that he might taste the blood of House Atreides,” he said with a grin.

“The youngest Harkonnen warrior the world has ever seen.” You smiled, leaning in to check on what appeared to be a perfectly happy, albeit possibile bloodthirsty, baby.

“What are you doing walking alone?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“Looking for you.”

“And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?”

You leaned into your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. “Drop the baby off with the wet nurse, seduce you, take you to bed and then have my way with you.”

“You have my attention.”

“I thought you might be interested in trying for a girl this time…”

In a blink, he had spun you around and was dragging you down the corridor, and once the baby was safely tucked in with a nursemaid watching over him, you did indeed have your way with your husband. And again. And again. And you realized, as you retired to bed that night, that you were truly glad to have been arranged to marry Feyd-Rautha, heir to the Harkonnen throne and father of your children.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Red Alert

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: period pain, comfort/fluff, established relationship, softness, mentions of undressing/bathing (non-sexual), light language

Author's Note: This is for anyone who needs some love and comfort when their uterus decides to go rogue. (Periods suck :) )

Summary: Reader is down bad with period cramps, but her boys have a care routine ready to go.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The cramps hit like a sucker punch to the gut.

You’d barely opened your eyes when that familiar twisting ache curled low in your stomach. Not the gentle warning kind—no, this was the full-on, ‘you’re not moving today, sweetheart’ kind of agony. You exhaled a pained breath and rolled over to press a hand to your abdomen, praying for some kind of divine intervention or immediate death.

Neither arrived.

Instead, the door creaked open.

Soap peeked his head in first, wild hair tousled, one brow raised, a sleepy smile playing on his face. “You awake?”

Your only response was a groan and a feeble middle finger from under the blanket. Soap’s smile widened.

“Cramps?”

You nodded slowly, miserably. He disappeared from the doorway with a soft, “Hang tight, bonnie.”

Moments later, the cavalry arrived.

Ghost was the first to reappear, silently setting a hot water bottle against your belly with the kind of gentle touch he reserved for loading delicate gear or handling you when you were half-asleep. His mask was still on—he was always the last to take it off—but his eyes crinkled slightly when you let out a soft sigh of relief.

Behind him came Gaz, already pulling your favorite hoodie over his head—it was technically his, but he always gave it to you when you needed comfort. He tossed it at you and you caught it weakly before pulling it on. It smelled like clean laundry and the cologne he wore when he wanted to impress you, even at home.

And then came Price, sleeves rolled up, tea mug in hand, looking like he’d been waiting for this moment. “I’ve got peppermint, raspberry leaf, and chamomile. Pick your poison, love.”

“Chamomile,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

He handed it over without a word, brushing his fingers over your forehead in a way that made you feel like you were porcelain.

The team knew your cycle like a tactical op. There was a routine. Ghost would get the hot water bottle and load the couch with extra pillows. Gaz took snack duty and found the heating pad. Soap made you laugh and watched whatever awful romcoms you picked. And Price—John—was the glue. The steady heartbeat who brewed tea and cooked you soup from scratch like he didn’t also know fifty ways to kill a man.

You were half-curled on the couch, layered in blankets, hoodie bunched around your wrists, when Gaz settled beside you, carefully lifting your feet onto his lap.

“I can’t believe evolution hasn’t figured this out,” you murmured, blinking at him. “Why do I still have to bleed like a horror movie extra every month?”

He smirked. “Right? If men bled like this, they’d invent a cure in five minutes.”

Soap popped his head around the corner from the kitchen, cheeks flushed from boiling water. “Speak for yourself—I’d pass out from a paper cut.”

“You have,” Ghost muttered, moving past with another armful of blankets. He didn’t sit yet—he was pacing the living room like he couldn’t settle unless everything was perfect. Your comfort mattered to all of them, but to Simon? It was sacred. He’d never say it aloud, but you saw it in the way he laid out every pillow like a puzzle piece.

You were drifting off when the pain came again. This time, sharper. You whimpered softly, curling tighter.

John was beside you in an instant. “Where?”

You pressed your hand to your lower stomach. “It’s bad. The meds haven’t kicked in yet.”

He reached for you carefully, one arm going under your knees, the other behind your back.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you in the bath.”

The bathroom had already been prepared—because of course it had. Soft towels warmed on the rack. Scented candles flickered. The tub was full of steaming water, faintly pink with bath salts.

He helped you undress with quiet tenderness, never lingering, always making sure you felt safe, loved.

When you sank into the bath, a moan escaped your lips. Not one of pain, but relief. The heat cradled you, eased your muscles. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered.

“I know,” John chuckled, kneeling beside the tub. He gently poured warm water over your shoulders, fingers brushing through your damp hair. “But don’t tell the others. Soap already thinks I’m soft.”

You fell asleep after the bath.

When you woke, you were back on the couch, now surrounded on all sides.

Gaz was at your back, spooning you gently, his breath warm against your shoulder.

Soap sat at your feet, massaging your calves, whispering jokes he thought would make you smile.

Ghost was leaning over the back of the couch, fingers combing through your hair, expression unmasked and unguarded. Just Simon, watching over you.

And John sat nearby with a book, tea forgotten, eyes tracking your every twitch.

You blinked up at them, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t have to—”

“You’re ours,” Simon said simply, voice low.

Kyle nodded. “We take care of our girl.”

“Even if she’s leaky and grumpy?” you joked.

Soap grinned. “Especially then.”

“Always,” John added, voice like honey and gravel.

They leaned in together, surrounding you like a human blanket of warmth and affection.

And as your eyes fluttered closed once more, wrapped in their arms, pain finally dulled by the comfort only they could provide, you thought—

This was love.

Messy. Mundane. Real.

And absolutely worth bleeding for.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[jbbuckybarnes]

2am in Europe [OP81]

— Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader —

Author's note: I felt bad doing one for Lan but not one for the Aussie idiot that I'm rooting for the most, so here ya go. Cutie patootie Osc reporting for duty (look at that gif, charged for stealing hearts, effective immediately!)

Warnings: Lots of little time jumps because I'm rusty with writing fiction. No proofreading. Unfortunately shitty formatting because I'm posting from my phone. There are two allusions made to naughty vibes but nothing is named specifically.

Prompt Used: "You woke me up at 2am to cuddle?"

You didn't really expect to end up dating the rich kid you were tutoring in German, but here you were. In the middle of the night, middle of the summer, middle of Monaco. Your sleep cycle was thoroughly fucked from keeping up with his racing schedule during early summer. Two hours past midnight you were usually fast asleep next to your personal white boy of the month, or decade. Not today.

You tossed around for a while, considered just getting your Switch out and play games until you got tired but that didn't really make sense either. Instead you tried to peel Osc's hand from under his head. His face moved to pout. You had to hold back a laugh.

"What..." one of his eyes opened the tiniest bit and you gave him the most helpless look you could.

"Can we cuddle?" He looked at his smartwatch, "You woke me up at 2am to cuddle?"

You shifted your weight, "I can't fall asleep."

He shuffled his body around a bit, "Well, fuck me, I guess you made it a shared problem now."

He held his arms open for you to curl up into.

"That sounds like an accusation." You peeked up at him.

"Well, it was. You can be glad you're cute." He brushed your hair aside.

"I have no idea how you can just sleep on demand no matter the time zone." You whispered.

"It's called working out over an hour every day." He grumbled semi-upset.

"Another accusation covered up as a fact." You pouted at him and got a soft smile back.

"Well, you never work out with me." "I don't like your narrow definition of that." You narrowed your eyes.

"My bad, you're a support role about 10 minutes of every other day." "I'll throw you out of your own bed." "With what strength?"

There was some commotion and then a thud.

"I guess I kinda deserved that one." He blinked still half asleep but also a bit shocked now sitting up on the floor next to the bed.

"Support role, pff." You turned around, arms crossed, lying down, pouting.

"Yeah nah, I'm not taking that back." You grabbed a throw pillow and aced the throw.

"My god, do I live with an assassin?" He got back into bed next to you.

"Say one more rude thing and you'll find out." Your eyebrow rose up. He knew this face, if he didn't chill out with the light bullying now, other things would be thrown, including your entire body and he wasn't in the mood to be bodyslammed at 2am before a work weekend.

"Truce?" "For what? I couldn't sleep and you're bullying me instead of being a good partner."

He blinked at you to scan how serious you meant it before grabbing you and locking you into a tight big spoon hug, "My bad."

His hands softly wandered around your body, no further comment added until he could hear your breathing slow a bit, "You're gonna be the death of me."

—

You wake up with his hands between your back and the mattress and with your hand in his hair. His sleeping face was perfectly positioned on your chest, facing you. You drew circles in his hair with your thumb, watching him sigh with a little smile. This cutie patootie had crashed into a wall at 220kph just two months prior and walked it off. His first reaction after watching you freak out about it to get it out of your system was a casual, "I mean someone has to take care of you until you get old, therefore I can't die."

It was almost infuriating how adorable this idiot was. It was also the only thing keeping you from crashing out at his stupidity some days. The sacrifices you made...

His body shifted a bit, eyes still closed, but his face moved up and got burried in your neck with another sigh of relaxation. His breathing picked up a bit before you felt a soft kiss on your neck.

"Mornin', sleep stealer." He traced his lips across your neck. "You stole your own sleep, bully."

His face came up above you, "I'll just assume I'm gonna have to profusely apologize for that for the next few days."

"Profusely..." You rolled your eyes, that man didn't know how to profusely apologize unless he genuinely fucked up badly, which had happened maybe three times in the years you've known him.

He gave you a grin, "You're cute when you have a bit of an additute."

"You're cute when you're asleep. Y'know, quiet and all that." He chuckled at that, "Do nothing, win."

"That only works when it comes to speaking, if you don't do the dishes today I'll call your mom." He sighed fake annoyed. "Yes, my majesty." Your face lit up at that.

Today was a prep day for the Monaco GP. In other words, you both were preparing to be both bored and surrounded by a lot of fake people. Not that this wasn't already a feature of his job in general.

"You look too fancy in that." "...it's the Monaco Gran Prix, how the fuck is there a too fancy?" He looked at you with an unreadable expression trying to figure out how to answer that in a diplomatic way.

"I don't like when you look that good without me next to you the entire time." He bit the inside of his cheek. You couldn't quite place if he meant that in a protective or possessive way.

"Oh...Well, I mean I'm only gonna hang out on Bre's balcony for most of the weekend anyway." You shrugged.

"And on Sunday?" He got closer, picking a hair off your dress.

"Depends on how bad you make Charles crashout on Saturday." You both smirked at that.

"If get pole and win you'll have to be my +1 for that ball they always invite the winner to." "Anything to see you in a proper suit again." He did that signature laugh that almost sounded like a scoff.

"Wear something less...that, when you're at Bre's and save this one for Sunday, yeah?" He eyed your body. Well, apparently possessive would've been the right guess earlier.

"Damn, a man trying to tell me what I can wear. How about you actually buy me something nicer for Sunday instead?"

"Ok, so, um, I fear the only thing that could top this would be a wedding dress." Your mouth was agape.

"Message received, damn!" You walked over to your closet and looked for a less intense dress for Friday and Saturday.

—

You spent your Friday a bit bored. Free Practice in Monaco was exceptionally boring unless it's your first few times seeing a race. Your man came home when you were already asleep and left before you woke up on Saturday.

On the way to Bre's you always walked past a private entrance to the paddock. This year on Saturday an "I'm watching you gesture" was interchanged with Charles as he entered there with his entourage. The man half laughing at it and half terrified of you. You had only spoken briefly twice before and you tend to come across quite confident apparently.

FP3 from the balcony was uneventful that day, but Qualifying was your little highlight. You watched Leclerc get better and better times each try, the man was keeping you on your toes because Osc was never far behind in his improvements. The last 30 seconds of Q3 felt like an eternity.

Oscar outdoes Charles by a hundredth of a second, confirming a McLaren Monaco curse for Leclerc. You were celebrating with the rest of the people in the apartment for the next hour. If he didn't win tomorrow you were personally gonna blame a race engineer for it or throw something at Charles.

—

You were once again cuddled up in bed together that evening. The fluffy throw blanket was cocooned around you and the TV playing a fireplace was on mute.

"So, I was thinking, maybe you join me tomorrow?" He broke the silence.

"I mean I planned on watching from–" "No, I mean like, actually joining me. Walking in together, watching me from the garage, all that jazz." He looked down at where you were positioned.

"Like...as someone you know or–" "As my partner."

You blinked a couple times at him, long enough for him to add, "You don't have to, I know it's a lot of...everything."

"No, no, I'd love to." You saw him exhale in relief.

"You only win Monaco for the first time once." "If you fuck it up I'll have a bigger crashout than Charles today." He laughed at that.

Before you fell asleep you mumbled, "You better put effort into your outfit for tomorrow morning." "Yes, my feisty majesty." A small kiss landed on your temple.

—

"You good?" He looked at you trying to read your face, you nodded. You had his entourage around you as you entered the paddock hand-in-hand, you in your fancy dress and him in his linen button-up looking like a proper rich kid that went to boarding school. The social media team stayed at a distance today, but taking videos and pictures nonetheless.

"I'll never get why the others never hold hands." You mumbled and heard him chuckle.

"You underestimate how many people in these circles date as business people instead of actual lovers." He squeezed your hand and you smiled at him.

"Well, hello loverboy." That got him blushing a bit.

"I see you're giving the people what they want already." You laughed at that and nodded.

Most of the VIP experience you were already used to since he'd gotten you passes on several occasions, but this time you were dragged into the garage before the race and he handed you his pair of headphones and left you around a ant colony of papaya.

You stood there watching him the way you always did whenever it was race day. Tense. Also rooting for Kimi, who you jokingly referred to as your child whenever you were talking about him to Oscar. Monaco did one thing to these men, made them go insane if they weren't first, especially Charles. You could see the red menace try to battle your man several times, to no avail. You were already ready to hear another crashout media day of everyone asking if they can't just make it a Mariokart race.

The cameras of the F1TV broadcast landed on you, hard to miss among the screens around you that weren't focused on cockpit cameras and metrics. You stayed focused on the screen with your idiot on it, only giving the broadcast screen a short glimpse to see the little "Oscar Piastri's partner" description pop up. That made your heart jump, you couldn't lie.

Of course he won, it's not like it was hard to control possible overtakes. Not too long after you were standing close to the dad of P3, Lando. A visor lifted up while heading your way, smile transfering to the eyes, cheeks squished, gloves thrown to the wayside.

You grabbed the helmet past the two stewards who you knew weren't allowed to move, "Monaco winner, you better enjoy the energy up there."

"Didn't want you to have a crashout of Charles proportions." He opened the connecting pieces under his helmet and pushed it up, almost throwing it on the floor, the balaclava following it, before grabbing your face back with both of his hands and giving you a kiss.

"Unexpected." You laughed a little perplexed. "Well, now that I can." He shrugged with his boyish signature smile before walking off to the typical next proceedings.

*1st Monaco win for my Y/N. Deserved for putting up with my work schedule.* Was written on the champagne bottle, the picture sent to you not too long after. Perhaps there was a tear in your eye about it, but who's to tell? You watched him soak in the energy of winning this fabled race on the top step of the podium. After that, all the media and the team losing their shit right after you finally had him with you again. Absolutely drenched in champagne for you don't know if it was the 2nd or 3rd time that day, looking at you with a golden retriever energy of a thousand suns.

"Go shower, we have a ball to be at later." You winked at him before he grabbed your face with both hands for a quick kiss. Your face changed at the taste of champagne, not your favorite for sure, making you both laugh.

"I already know those comments will be WILD today." You shook your head smiling at how willingly he was showing his love for you.

"They're still on the I don't have emotions narrative as if every F2 video of me doesn't exist." He shrugged before grabbing your hand, walking with you towards the building to take probably his second shower post-race.

—

"Oh boy." You muttered seeing him in his entirely new suit and he looked up at you with a slightly raised brow.

"I see what you meant about my dress." Now he had a smirk on his face while fixing his suit jacket in front of you.

"Too bad we actually have places to be." He said walking past you to grab his perfume. You giggled at that. He had a little self-satisfied smile on his face reflecting in the mirror. He held his hand out back towards you and you grabbed it before he led you to the elevator and then the car picking you up.

The entrance you two made was definitely not comfortable for either of you, too many people taking pictures, but he was used to it and you were just trusting the process. The night was spent chatting up rich people and royalty. Which, to be fair, was also not comfortable for you, but some of them were quite pleasant to talk to and you knew being polite to powerful people could always be helpful in the future. You were still looking forward to your couch nonetheless.

—

After the most people-filled day of the year so far you were both half-dead in bed at 2am, still buzzing from the day. You in one of his oversized shirts, him in the button-up shirt he had on under his suit, combined with sweatpants, high fashion. He cackled staring at his phone screen and you looked up and over at him. The phone screen he was holding towards you showed a news page Instagram post titled "Fans obsessed with double hard launch of Oscar Piastri" with images of you two from post-race and from the black tie event.

You spent the next hour scrolling social media, looking at the little compilations and reactions of his fans. They loved his little blush as you two entered the paddock, the way he almost threw his helmet on the ground before he grabbed you for the post-race kiss, the champagne dedicated to you and your shy smiles when entering the royal event.

Osc's face changed to a wide smile next to you at some point, "Huh?"

He typed something on his screen before you got a push notification for a post you were tagged in.

You opened it to a full photo series of him soaked by champagne after taking the team picture, smiling at you widely, kissing you, your reaction to the taste and your laughs right after. He captioned it "try not to smile challenges hate to see her approaching." The comments were frankly exploding at seeing Oscar proudly in love.

You smiled over at him already looking at you with a soft expression, "I love you" – "I love you too"

Masterlist is linked in my profile <3

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

♡ STARCREAM [TFP] HCS ver: A.1.

scenario A: a Megatron loyalist being pursued (and falling for) Megatron's most vehement opposition, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish)

setting: prologue to S1, starting events on Cybertron and eventually into S1

warnings: mentions of physical abuse (Megatron to Starscream), threats, violence

next: part 2

THIS IS A PART ONE‼️‼️‼️ 4000+ words

— You're Lord Megatron's personal enforcer. Your duties are rather simple; if Lord Megatron can't trust someone to do something important, you're supposed to watch over and step in when slag hits the fan. You're one of his most trustworthy and capable soldiers (koichi to his jotaro). It makes you question why he doesn't just... let you go instead, it would make things so much easier but you wouldn't dare to question your Lord.

— So it's no surprise that you're often paired up with that insufferable seeker, the Decepticon Air Commander, Starscream. Your missions are usually just the two of you insulting each other back and forth over the intercom (Soundwave has a non-existent smile while monitoring the comms when you two bicker, its entertaining) but it's not banter; Starscream genuinely loathes you for obvious reasons given your own standing in the Decepticon Army. The feeling however, is NOT mutual from your end. To you, he is a bug, an itch in a spot you can't reach. That one mosquito that flies around you when you're trying to sleep. Of course you dislike him for obvious reasons given you're a Megatron loyalist but what you feel for him is not on the same level when compared to the abyssmal hate he has for you. You tolerate him, he wants you OUT.

— However, your involvement with Starscream gets deeper after a royal mess he created with one of the largest Decepticon energon refineries they had on Cybertron, now blown sky high due to his lack of dereliction mixed with his 3671647th attempt at usurping Megatron. The end result was Starscream on spark support from the resulting explosion, only to recover and be put in spark support again by Megatron. Your benevolent leader needed to get that rage out somehow.

— So Megatron, being Megatron, decides to make a you-shaped roadblock for his ‘oh, so loyal’ Second-in-Command. You're going to be assigned to him as an ‘assistant’. It's very vague. Somewhere between assistant, advisor and supervisor given this is Starscream you're dealing with. You're not happy in the slightest to be shifted under Screamer.

"I normally wouldn't question you, my Lord," Megatron cocks an optical ridge, looking down at you with piqued interest— holding off his temper for he has a simmer of respect towards you. Besides, you have provided valuable insight to him before. He wouldn't shoot you down so quickly.

"But are you sure this is a good idea? He isn't exactly some newly-built that needs to be taken care of. I agree that he is whiny like one but he's clearly intelligent enough to know the consequences of his actions. Even if he does lack foresight." You convey your concerns as politely as you could, a small frown on your faceplates as you stand before Lord Megatron who frankly, looked like he's done with everyone at this point but that whiny jab made his derma curve up into a small, amused smile, taking amusement in any insult that gets thrown the Air Commander's way.

"While it is true my Second-in-Commmand is a treacherous snake; he is also a capable mech, it is exactly those qualities that make him dangerous. His childishness, intelligence and ambition. It's a recipe for disaster and to be frank, I can't afford another disaster." Megatron sighs out, frustration sweeping in even at the mere need of having to speak out about that insolent Seeker.

"And I believe you understand that perfectly." He replies, gaze hardening at you as his tone turns more serious. It used to scare you early on but now, you're used to it. Your Lord is merely an intense mech.

You can barely hold back a sigh. It's going to be a long, long cycle. Megatron chuckles. You look like he's punished you and he's more than well aware that having to look after Starscream may as well be considered a cruel punishment.

"I know he's a handful but I believe you of all Decepticons can put him in his place." He says with an almost sadistic smile. Megatron silently wishes he could frame the despondency on your faceplates so he could get a laugh every now and then when looking at it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Every word coming out from his vocalizer was scrap. If Lord Megatron himself couldn't deal with the pesky Air Commander, how in the name of Primus were YOU supposed to? Whip him to shape? Megatron couldn't do that with a fusion cannon! It was ridiculous to expect that from you. You're not half as menacing or authoritative as Megatron. He’s just dumping his problems on you and expecting you to work a miracle, like always. Perhaps if he didn't have a fusion cannon and he wasn't Lord Megatron, you might have slapped him if you let your frustration get the best of you.

Megatron's smile drops back down as he contemplates for a moment, tone turning serious again. Essentially telling you your objective with this reassignment.

"I do not want that mech unsupervised. Especially not after his little stunt and what he cost us. You'll be under the guise of an assistant." He sneers, still brimming with frustration. He could've killed Starscream for what he'd cost them. Supplies are low enough as it is and he unwittingly gambles away their largest energon refinery because he wanted to play Lord of the Decepticons.

“I understand, my liege.” You really don't and you can't exactly walk away until he dismisses you but.. there is a question gnawing at your processor. Megatron can sense it too. You clear your vocalizer to catch his attention.

"I don't want to overstep my boundaries but why not just offline him at this point?" You ask flatly, blunt. Megatron wonders why he hasn't as well, he knows it's what he should do but... Starscream had his uses. How Megatron wishes it were that easy. If anything, the question does catch him off-guard but he's in a much better mood after sending Starscream to the medbay.

There was a politics at play justifying Starscream's position and power— whilst he certainly wasn't the most trustworthy, he was capable and intelligent under the right circumstances. His schemes for usurping leadership were subpar in comparison to his strategic abilities on the battlefield; such a shrewd mind that it made Megatron look honest, it impressed him sometimes. Not to mention how the other seekers held immense respect for the Air Commander, he was their commander before the war as well; removing Starscream wouldn't be easy. Where he lacks wisdom and loyalty, he makes up with experience and cunning.

He just stares at you for a moment, refusing you an apt explanation.

"You're dismissed." He replies instead of answering and you prod no further, immediately taking your leave to let your leader be with his thoughts and duties.

— Starscream has never had a good impression about you. Truthfully, he hates you. He thinks you're a lapdog but more importantly, you've spoiled his plots knowingly and unwittingly way too many times for him to count. Not to mention your performance record might cost him to lose his rank of Second-in-Command; you're a threat to his schemes, standing, service and his existence, or so he thinks. So it's not surprising that he has a very vocal grudge about having you play nanny to watch over him in the place of Megatron. He hates this as much as you do. Soundwave was bad enough but this was just ridiculous. He knows this ‘reassignment’ is Megatron's ploy to keep him on a leash, he isn't stupid.

"Starscream." When you enter the medbay, Flatline is almost done with Starscream's injured wings. The medic diligently works on them while Starscream flinches and yelps. His helm immediately snapped to your direction. Megatron left a number on him this time and he's definitely upset.

You stand before him and he sneers, not happy in the slightest to see you. You loom over him for a moment.

"Spill it!" He barks. Yelping once more as Flatline accidentally scrapes against his more sensitive, inner pair of wings. Shooting Flatline a nasty look as the medic works, his bedside manners were… Not the best.

You adhere to Starscream's demands and spill it.

He listens to every single word with his full attention, so much so that he stops flinching and yelping as Flatline repairs his wing; his wings slowly droop lower and lower as you keep explaining that Megatron has asked of you be his ‘assistant’ but Starscream is no fool, he knows well what Megatron intends by giving the Air Commander his own lackey. The horror settling on his faceplates was gradual and even comedic. A plethora of emotions running through him.

"He wants you to... what?" The seeker's genuine expression of baffled disbelief would've been funny to you had you not been involved in the subject at hand.

"Yes. I'm not happy with this either so please, co-operate." There's a hint of pleading in your tone. You really don't want this.

“Co-operate?” He speaks as in he's never heard of that word in his life.

Primus has no mercy on your spark.

— He tries to talk Megatron out of it but immediately regrets it when Megatron gives him the meanest look he has given Starscream in a while. It's the height of the war. Megatron is not in a good mood, he's constantly stressed. The main reason he handed Starscream to you was so he would be free of one helm ache at least.

— Starscream thinks you're annoying because you're making sure he doesn't mess up. He isn't some sparkling that needs the constant watchful optic of someone! You creep him out sometimes too. You're so close, sometimes he can almost feel your EM Field graze against him.

You were driving him insane. He has not hated an individual so intensely that it rivals his disdain for his leader. Here he is, trying to map out where to deploy the Seeker regiments to take out a fortified Autobot outpost far too close for comfort to the outskirts of Decepticon-occupied Nyon. You're standing right behind him as he sits by a holographic visual of the terrain they're dealing with, making him grumble— your EM field tucked to yourself but ever so often grazing against his slightly, so slightly but enough for it to irk him and distract him from his duties.

And this isn't the first time either. He can see your ever so stoic face from where he sits, your near seemingly lifeless optics looking down at what he's doing. It intimidates him; that gaze. It's the sole reason why he's not really said anything about it. But this was going on for far too long in his opinion. Did you always have to be this menacing looking? Why did you have to look so lifeless? Was being a boring pain to Starscream’s afterburner your only mission? What do you gain from this? He had many questions about you.

You just stand next to him all day. Watching. It's driving him insane, Megatron must've ordered you to make sure that Starscream was to never know what peace feels like because its what it felt like. Perhaps you were just another one of Megatron’s brain-dead followers that would probably know what his drive-shaft tastes like, Starscream figures. Not like he'd say the thought to your face though. Didn't you have anything better to do with your miserable existence?

“You don't need to stand so close!” He hisses out, it was getting under his plating and he's finally mustered the courage to say it to you. His wings slowly drooped down as his beady optics narrowed at your figure. The way you loom behind him as if you were his shadow; stuck with him and unshakeable— Even when he was doing something as mundane as writing out reports!

Starscream suspects Megatron might have ordered you to ‘keep an optic on him’ with the way you've taken it so seriously.

To his surprise, you oblige and take one small step away from him. It is a small action but you do so without any quarrels or complaints. His wings perk up slightly, pleased with you. You take note of it.

“Better?” You ask, not out of concern but for the sake of wanting to know. He quickly shakes it off.

“No. We might ration energon but we don't ration space aboard The Nemesis. It wouldn't snuff out your spark to move more.” Starscream shoots out a quick witted response, testing the waters. Just how.. mean can he be with you until you become aggressive? Until he has to fall to your pedes, beg for his life like the pathetic coward he is? Maybe you could be an… asset despite your loyalty. If he were to find a way to utilize your abilities. Again, this war has shown that even something as repulsively useless as scraplets can be weaponized so why can't he weaponize a ‘Con of your stature?

Your own optics narrow at him, lip components pursing into a thin line but again, there's no real hate. It… confuses him. He hates you, he still does. Yet you don't seem to hate him half as much. More or so just… unhappy to be here, he shares the sentiment. You look at him like he's a chore. You cross your servos over your chassis as you look down at the Air Commander, he catches your drifts and replies.

“Better.”

— To be honest, he's also sort of grateful in a way. Not like he'd ever admit it. You help fix the scrap he makes before Megatron decides it's time to practice his right hooks. In a way, Megatron being done with Starscream's slag and giving him a glorified caretaker saves him from the physical abuse he takes from the servos of Megatron. You have the foresight he lacks when it comes to making certain decisions. But he won't ever admit it. Just sitting there with a semblance of a pout as he agrees to do it your way, it's... oddly cute now that you think about it.

— Soon enough, you start regretting thinking that way about Starscream as he eventually tries to rope you into his ploys against Lord Megatron which you eventually have to spoil for the better interests of the Decepticons… as well as for Starscream's own sake.

— It doesn't take long for him to start endangering your own life as well with his little schemes. It's like the most disastrously frustrating babysitting job and you can't even terminate the guy. But what you can be is the most annoying type of bot a mech like Starscream can deal with, an extremely indifferent pain in the aft.

“Starscream, I don't think-” And like always, he cuts you off.

“I don't care what you think!” He hisses out, a digit pointing towards you in an accusatory manner as his temper flares, the iresome Air Commander was throwing a hissy fit and over what? You couldn’t really find the energy to care.

He rambles off again about how he doesn't need you, how he can do fine without you, how you're just a pain and blah, blah, blah, blah. It's all going in one audio receptor and thrown out the other. Does he ever shut up?

After his barrage of words you honestly just zoned out from listening, he pants. Huffing and puffing, still looking as irritated as ever. You lean a little lower to look at him in the optics, on purpose to short his fuse.

“Cool. Are you done now?”

There was a frustrated, near murderous glare from Starscream. His servos covering his face as he suppresses the urge to smack you, knowing you'd flatten him. Rubbing the side of his helm for a moment as he calms himself down.

And you can't help but relish his pain. There was something satisfying about it. Extremely satisfying. How pathetic he was. You're not sure why but you've come to enjoy babysitting duty a lot more by toying with the insolent Second In Command.

— Scratch endangering your life, he wants to full on terminate you but it is NOT easy. You're smarter than he estimates and he's aware of that. After all, Megatron didn't give you a fancy title of enforcer for nothing. You're basically Decepticon police. Starscream knows the only way to deal with you is some sort of diplomacy and of course, with his charm.

— It starts off small, he's talking too nicely. Being too pleasant around you. It makes you raise an optical ridge. You welcome the change and use it to your maximum but your guard is never let down for a moment in Starscream’s presence.

— But once Starscream realizes that you're the immovable object and he's the unstoppable force, the unstoppable force wavers. Nothing he says seems to get to you! You won't even get angry at him!

— He'll be spouting out sweet words and pointing out Megatron's incapabilities while you brandish your signature blaster and reply dismissively with “mhm”, “yeah” or Primus forbid, “cool.”. You won't even spare him a glance as you're polishing your damn blaster! Or even stand up in a show of respect to the Air Commander! It infuriates him. Your nonchalant, cold and duty bound personality is making him short a fuse.

— However, when he angrily yells at you and asks if you were even listening, you surprise him by saying every single word he was throwing at you. You're a better listener than he thought.

He's definitely shocked. Starscream's wings droop a bit as you look at him dead in the optics, repeating every single point. So you were paying attention… Quickly, he snaps out of his temporary shock, wings raising up slightly with fake confidence.

“Ahem. Y-Yes. So you were listening.” He replies, clearing his vocalizer. Starscream is trying to fill up the silence and somehow convince you to see that him being the leader is somehow beneficial for the Decepticon Cause. But you're done tweaking your weapons in the weaponry so you don't have to stay here any longer.

You're not sure who gave him the idea of ruining your peaceful quiet time with your favourite blaster but curse them to the Pit and beyond. Your once beloved time in the Nemesis’ weaponry storage had turned into his forced yap sessions upon a poor bot such as yourself trying to work on your weapons.

You hope he's done and the worst part is that your memory banks work too well, every word is etched in your processor. Either way, what if his habit of talking his thoughts aloud leads to him accidentally spilling another grand scheme? It's the only reason you carefully listen to his incessant ramblings and they seem to amuse Megatron when you give your weekly 'Starscream Report'.

“Now as I was saying-”

You interrupt him with a loud sigh. Shoulder plating drooping. Primus, you can't do this.

“Listen, Starscream,” You rise up with your blaster in servo, now shiny and tuned. “I don't know who or what gave you the impression that I care but I truly do not.” You look down at the Seeker with an ambiguous expression, a flash of pity for how pathetic you find him in your optics. Starscream is… Not sure how to feel about that. His wings droop as he takes a step away, making his frame look smaller, not worth hurting and the sight just serves to repulse you even more. But the stance you were taking reminded him too much of… Megatron. Were you about to snap? Was this your limit? He honestly thought you were going to strike him with the way you took in a deep in-vent. He's quiet, ready to beg for his life any moment now.

“I don't want to be here and I know you don't want me to be here. But we can make this more bearable for each other.” You lean down a bit to be optic-level with him, knowing it would annoy him. Your faceplates are close to his and it makes Starscream all the more nervous for a reason he can't really explain. The closer you got to him, the more he could see it in your optics, you truly didn't hate him. You were getting tired of monitoring an overgrown sparkling, besides, if you manage to get him to actually behave, Megatron might reward you.

“And it starts with you not annoying me. Deal?”

No strike, no yelling, nothing. Just harsh words. It makes his stiff frame relax a little. Optics looking into your intense ones. He gives a nod, for once he's shut up. It was a pleasant surprise. Certainly not unwelcome. He gives a little nod as he's lost in your optics momentarily. He isn't used to such... calm talks. Your words register in Starscream's processor slowly, the fact that you think of him as a mere annoyance dawning in on him slowly.

“...deal.”

You feel triumphant for once, smiling a bit. You haven't smiled in a long time but the idea of finally being free of this, this annoying mech brought you nothing more than joy. Starscream on the other hand definitely feels somewhat insulted that you think of him as nothing more than an annoyance. Not even worthy of your eternal hate, no, just an annoyance as if he were a common Earth mosquito. It makes him grimace.

“Just don't ever expect me to stand with your schemes. I think that much should be obvious by now.” You add on, leaning away from him as the Seeker goes back to his normal self; wings rising up again as his ego flares in response to your words.

“You're almost as stubborn as Megatron.” He scoffs, trying to shake away the strange feeling he had there for a moment. An inexplicable act of what felt like mercy even if it was such a simple, simple action. You're walking away but stop for a moment when he says that.

“Perhaps, but if you rope me into your schemes, I might as well become Megatron in every single way.” You slightly turn your helm to him and with the way your optics shone, he could tell the threat was real. It makes him make a gulping sound, nervous and making himself look small yet again.

“I suggest you take it as the promise it is.” You sigh out as your helm turns back to the path ahead of you, walking away. Starscream's optics remain glued onto your retreating figure, watching your frame get smaller and smaller from the distance as he stands there.

There was truly no way to talk and get to you. You were too blunt, far too straightforward. No wonder why Megatron thought so high of you— when surrounded by sycophants, of course he would value a genuine opinion.

Starscream will have to rethink his approach with you.

— You notice the little things about him as you continue being his ‘assistant’. The way his wings droop or rise, the way they flutter when he's trying to act small and helpless. The way his smaller, inner pair of wings seems to convey more of what he feels, as if they couldn't exactly be moved forcefully.

— He does honor a deal for once in his functioning. He's no longer trying to convince you to join his plots but he still continues to annoy you when you're trying to get alone time in the weaponry.

— At some point, you snap. But instead of just hitting him or beating him up, you just get incredibly… snarky which definitely threw him off. But he welcomes it. He won't admit it but your creative insults do have him genuinely impressed often. It only annoys him when the others around laughs at what you say. You leave him speechless. A lot. He doesn't like that.

— He compliments you when he wants something from you. Starscream messed something up so he goes up to you and strikes you with the "heyyyyyy".

"You look rather dashing today, [name]." You're once again confronted by the Seeker as you are busy selecting a new sword in the weaponry storage. You sigh quietly and put down the sword in your servos to where it was held. You turn around to face Starscream, servos on your hipstruts.

"What do you want?" You ask with a frown, Starscream stiffens. His wings going up for a moment as he nervously laughs.

"Want something? No, no. Can't a commander compliment a soldier?" He smiles, it's lopsided and shaky almost. How did he survive the war for this long? You have no idea. You've never met someone so pathetic that you.. feel bad for them.

"You never compliment me unless you want something so I suggest you spill it out before I go take a stasis nap." You say, looking down at him disinterested as ever. You lean a little towards him, faceplates close and he looks almost flustered. "You're getting predictable."

He goes silent for a moment as he thinks of how to explain his latest mess to you, beady red optics wide and focused on to yours. And purge the strange thoughts running through his processor as he's lost in your optics again, the proximity makes him feel strange.

— Starscream is unaware you're basically reporting his behaviour to Megatron almost weekly. He knows you're spying on him so he's careful with his words, most of the time. His bad habit of rambling dooms him. A self fulfilling prophecy. You're sitting next to Megatron as he's doing official paperwork and he's chuckling as you explain the hundredth time Starscream has done something stupid thing this week. Also Megatron can see your seething frustration with Starscream and gets a lot of amusement from just watching you rant, he's never seen you so expressive. So passionate about despising a mech that he too hates, he relates so much... Megatron doesn't really ask you to shut up like he normally would if someone was rambling to him. At least it's reassurance that you would never fall for Starscream’s ploys.

— But one fateful day, the fragile truce you have with Starscream crumbles when Megatron declares that he's going in search of more dark energon. You have a bitter frown upon your faceplates the whole day the moment you realize this means you're going to be stuck on The Nemesis with Starscream and will probably have to steer him away from completely disintegrating the Decepticon ranks. At least it's you and Soundwave. The Decepticons never had the best company in the world.

this is slow, slow burn. maybe like three parts cause this will follow the plot of TFP. this was ridiculously fun to write. i hope my TFP starscream characterization is okayish.

[16wolke11]

Notice Me - Lando Norris

A/N I just wanted to write something short and fluffy...Maybe one part of this was unsuccesful :D

WORDS: 2578

_____

Working with the Formula 1 team of McLaren wasn't my dream, but somehow, I still ended up working in their team after graduation. Slowly making my way up from simple duties, nothing with much responsibility, until I reached one of the upper levels of the PR team. Starting to work around the drivers, brainstorm for videos and content with the rest of the team and it feels like I am finally settled into the group.

Even though McLaren is paying me generously, I still like to take my bike to the headquarters. Only needing a fifteen-minute ride through some fields is as quick as driving a car. And usually that it is no problem, but right now it is pouring outside. I sigh at the thought of being drenched after seconds and that my clothes are probably going to be muddy after driving over the dirt road. Just when I want to step outside, someone calls my name.

When I turn around, I see Lando approaching. He and Oscar were at the headquarters today to film some stuff, spend time in the simulator and I am sure the bosses even squeezed a meeting into their time schedule. I like Lando, he is always friendly to the team, even though he does express when he isn't really interested in filming videos. But he knows we just do our job and in the end, he and Oscar usually still have fun in the end.

"Let me drive you home, it's on my route home anyways," Lando speaks up, gesturing outside and I look at him confused. My apartment being on his way home isn't exactly true, at least that's what I thought.

"I thought your house is on the other side of the city. Like...the opposite direction." I ask Lando with a hesitating voice, thinking I might have got something wrong in my memory, but he just laughs softly.

"Got me there." He admits, before adding, "Still, I don't want you to cycle through the rain." I bite on the inside of my cheek. This is a nice offer, but I can't take it. There is no way I am going to allow Lando to drive me home, taking a longer route to finally get home as well. He is spending so much time away from home and I don't want to stop him from doing it as soon as possible.

"But I need my bike to get here tomorrow." I quickly say, which is the truth, because currently I don't have a car and even though I could be walking or take the bus, I don't want to get up earlier, just because the bus leaves at such an impractical time. "And I need to shower anyway." I then add with a shrug of my shoulders. There is nothing better than taking a warm shower after being drenched in the rain. Lando looks at me for a moment, testing like he is trying to figure out if I just lied to him, before he shakes his head.

"Get in my car. I am going to pick you up tomorrow." Lando tells me and I can't let him do that.

"Lan..." I try to speak up, but he just cuts me off.

"Not discussing that." I look at him, debating with myself, but decide that I am not in the mood to discuss this with him.

"Fine." I huff and let Lando lead me to his car, which is luckily parked on the covered part of the parking lot. He puts on the heater during the drive, and I sigh to myself, maybe it isn't too bad being driven home instead of cycling through the rain, being miserable.

"Thank you." I mutter to Lando, who just smiles proudly of himself for getting what he wants.

The weeks go by, and the season starts again, but I stay working at the headquarters. Not long enough in the team to be in for a race weekend yet, or more, not on the rotation list yet. McLaren tries to give the team a balance between being away from home and being able to stay with their families and as much as I appreciate it, I still would like to experience a weekend at the track, preferable sooner rather than later. Being occupied by racing again, Lando and Oscar aren't as often at the headquarters as before, but still come by from time to time.

"You are in early." I notice when I step into the room where we film the teammate videos and Lando is already spread out on the couch. Usually, he stumbles into the room last second, looking like he would fall right back asleep if we let him.

"I can be on time." Lando huffs, sitting up, before he stretches his arms and adds, "If I want to."

I laugh at his words and start to prepare the room for filming. Open the windows for some fresh air, get the scripts for the video. All that was followed by Lando's eyes. At one point, I frown and look at him, no longer accepting being stared at.

"Everything okay?" I ask him and Lando flinches like he is deep down in his mind. Then he reaches for his backpack, pulling out a bag from a bakery. I lean my head to the side when Lando holds out the bag to me and I hesitantly grab it.

"I got you these." Lando mutters, eyes now looking everywhere but at me and I open the bag to look inside. There it is, my favourite pastry in all its glory. The cinnamon smell immediately flooded around me and I looked at Lando in awe.

"You got me franzbrötchen?" I ask him, eyes wandering back to the pastry which I love so dearly, but just don't manage to get in England. Craving them from time to time, but not talented enough to bake them myself.

"You said you liked these, so I brought them for you." Lando shrugs his shoulders like it is no big deal, but I know how difficult it is to get these. And yes, I tried so many bakeries that I lost count of them.

"Where did you get those? I am searching for a bakery selling them forever." My voice is excited like a child on its birthday, and I really hope it is not one of those high-end bakeries that are way too expensive. Well, I might even pay the price if that means I get to eat my favourite pastries again from time to time.

"That's my secret." Lando grins mischievously and adds, "But if you are nice to me, I will bring them more often."

There is a soft smile on my lips, and I can't do anything to be happy about this gift. "Thank you, Lan."

Finally, my first race weekend has come and even though it might be stressful, I still can't get the smile off my lips anymore. Right now, I am on my way to get Oscar and Lando for a bit of filming, but stop in my tracks when I hear them talking. Knowing it is not nice to overhear them, but can't stop myself from doing so.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Oscar. It is like she doesn't even notice me." Lando groans and I tilt my head to the side. I have never heard him be so desperate and I wonder who the girl he is talking about is. Ignoring the soft ache inside of me, I keep listening to them talking.

"Maybe you just need to tell her and not only show her." Oscar suggests and I think that's good advice. Sometimes words are better than actions, even though sweet actions are still a great way of showing feelings. It sometimes just needs a little bit more. "And embarrass myself because she doesn't like me, no thanks." Lando huffs and my heart clenches at his tone. Looks like he is really in love with someone.

"Did you ever think about the possibility that she might also be like you, but isn't sure if you are just nice to her." My heart beats quicker, part of being scared of getting seen listening to the boys and part because it gets me thinking. Lando does do some nice things for me, but that could mean nothing. Or?

"I am not letting a baker specifically make someone's favourite snack or drive them home in the rain, so they don't get sick." Lando's voice is so low now that I need a minute to realise what he said. Getting the favourite snack, especially made for someone...that sounds like the time he got me my favourite pastries and the thing with the rain? Slowly, more pieces click into place, and I step around the corner, deciding I've listened to enough of their conversation.

Oscar spots me first, eyes widening just slightly, but Lando has his face buried in his hands and doesn't notice. I take a deep breath, trying to act like nothing happened, but every time I look at Lando, my heart stumbles again.

"Boys, are you ready for the filming?" I speak up, startling Lando to look upwards. His eyes glimmer with frustration, but I feel like I have to act like I don't notice anything is wrong. Like, I just stepped around the corner and didn't hear him confessing his crush on me.

"Sure." Oscar is the one to answer and then we just go on with our day.

It only takes for Sunday to come until Lando snaps. I wanted to give him time, give myself time to think about everything and doubt all of it. Did he really mean me? Of course he did. Do I want to make the first step? Hard pass. Would it be better to give him signs that I like him as well? Totally. Still, I don't dare to say something, not before the race anyway.

Right now, I am chatting with one of Lando's mechanics. I am amazed by what they are doing every weekend. How they manage to tweak the car exactly like the boys like it and it kind of makes my work feel small. Like it isn't important. He tries to explain me stuff, but when I look at him, more than confused, we both just burst into laughter.

Just then, fingers curl around my wrist and with a harsh pull, I am forced to walk. "Lando, what?" I ask him, almost stumbling behind him while he pulls me away under the confused looks of the mechanics. Lando doesn't look at me, just keeps pulling me behind him until he reaches an empty door, slamming the door close behind us.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask him, trying to lower my voice, but the anger and confusion are bubbling inside of me. Rubbing my fingers over my wrist, trying to ease the soft ache, while Lando just paces up and down.

"What is wrong with me?" He asks like I am imagining things, before huffing, "What is wrong with you!?" I blink at him once, twice, not even knowing what I did wrong from his point of view.

"I just chatted with one of your mechanics, you were the one pulling me away like a madman." I explain my side of the situation and finally, Lando stops the pacing, but he doesn't look at me, eyes planted firmly on the ground.

"You were laughing with him." He mutters and I need a second to understand what he just said, before arching an eyebrow.

"And I am no longer allowed to have fun?" I ask him, leading to him ruffling his curls.

"Fuck, you are...I am just." He tries to explain, stumbling over his own words, before he starts pacing up and down again.

"Lan, what is wrong." I ask him, trying to keep my voice soft. When he doesn't react, I am the one grabbing him by the wrist and finally, he stops in his tracks, before whispering.

"I just want you to see me."

"I don't understand." I manage to choke out, not able to connect the dots, but then Lanno starts to ramble.

"And I just try to figure you out." He just starts and before he even really starts, the fog in my head is clearing up.

"You always have different songs stuck in your head and hum them without even noticing." Lando tells me and I blush a little, hating that I forget the people around me when I have a specific song stuck in my head and just hum a mixture of melody and lyrics.

"You make everyone around you feel wanted." He continues and I know Lando likes to observe his surroundings, but didn't know he thinks that about me.

"You scrunch your nose a little when you think about something." There is a soft smile on his lips, and I can't stop myself from offering him one back.

"And your favourite colour is blue! Not a bright one, but one like the ocean on a stormy day." Lando lets his voice trail off and my heart flutters. This isn't something everyone knows about me, but Lando listens, no matter how dumb or unnecessary the fact might be.

"Lan..." I whisper, trying to tell him about my feelings, but the words get stuck in my throat.

"Fuck, I fell in love with you months ago and tried to show you because I am not good with words, but if I have to stay away from you for any longer, I am going to explode." Before Lando starts his pacing again, I grab his second wrist, holding him in front of me.

"Can I kiss you?" I blurt out with a shaking voice, not knowing how to form the right words to confess my feelings for him. So why not show?

"What?" Lando asks back, eyes wide, flicking between my lips and eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask him, slowly, while looking at his face.

Lando doesn't even answer, doesn't nod his head, instead just leans down and lets his lips crash down on mine. Like he is afraid the moment is going to vanish if he hesitates.

It might not be perfect, a little too desperate, a little too messy, but kind of perfect for us. His hand holding up my chin, my fingers getting tangled in his hair, while my other hand rests right over Lando's heart. I try to stand on my tiptoes to get more out of his touch and he sighs softly against my lips. When we finally break apart, it is just for gasping for air. Mind not ready to be parted, but our lungs are craving for air.

"You have no idea how long I wanted to do that." Lando sighs, forehead resting against mine and his arms wrap around my waist to keep me close to his chest.

"I can imagine when I think of the time when all of your attention started." I smile at him and a laugh rumbles in his chest. Thinking back, I can figure out when his liking for me started and I don't know how I didn't notice earlier.

"I am sorry for not noticing earlier." I apologise to Lando, who just tightens his grip around me, whispering an "No need for apologising" and then presses his lips on mine to kiss me over and over again.

[novemberheart]

{overview} John and you take another leap in your relationship, Kyle makes an unsettling discovery

{warnings} Fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, P in V sex, heat cycles, oral & fingering (fem receiving), loss of virginity, cursing, mirror sex, MDNI

Chapter 21 <- Chapter 22 -> Chapter 23

The next few days had gone by without a hitch. It was nice, being domestic with your pack. You spend most of your days going to museums, restaurants, and outdoor activities that are way above your athletic ability. Still, you would be lying if you said you weren't happier than you have ever been- well at least happier than you've been in a while. You and Simon have gotten much closer. He had been making a real effort with you, not that he hadn't before but there was something different about him. His gestures felt more affectionate than out of duty.

That was until you came down with a fever.

“It’s not saying she has a fever, yet she's burning up,” Kyle huffed, pulling a thermometer out of your mouth. You and John eyed each other.

“This a symptom of your heat?” He questioned. Everyone stiffened.

“Yes. But I usually get them after my heat, not before. Before my heat, I’ll get extra sensitive, and my body will start to feel….less stiff. I'll also get this sort of buzz in my stomach,” you explained.

“And I take it you haven't been feeling any of that?” Simon added. You shook your head.

“You don't smell any different,” Johnny added too.

“Well, this may be the start of it, pretty girl. Let's just keep an eye on it, yeah?” John spoke. Everyone nodded.

“I don't want this to happen on vacation,” you started to whine, you quickly caught yourself, your eyes going wide.

“Sensitive, eh?” John chuckled, placing a kiss against your heated head.

“This is the best place for it to happen,” Kyle assured. “Where you're safe with all of us,” Kyle reminded. You breathed out slowly, nodding your head in agreement.

“You're right,” you affirmed.

“The plan is,” John began and you immediately felt a sudden shift in the air. You wondered how many times they have heard John say that. It had an immediate impact on them, their shoulders straightening, eyes narrowing in focus. How many times had their lives depended on those words? Johnny's crow's feet appeared and you ran your thumb over them breaking him out of his trance. He grinned at you, pressing a kiss against your hand before turning back to John. “Me and her will stay in our room,” he spoke looking at Simon. You held your breath, waiting for him to be mad at you. Instead, he nodded his head seemingly unaffected by the words, besides a light blush across his cheeks. “You’re in charge of food and drinks,” he commanded, looking at Johnny who quickly nodded. You winced. Looks like you'll be eating cereal and granola bars for a week. “You’ll be on puppy duty,” he spoke to Kyle, nodding to the lazy ball of fur at your feet.

“How long do your heats last, Bon?”

“Usually a week,” you responded, causing Simon to chuckle.

“Old mans gonna disloca”-

“Fuck off,” John interjected, his own smirk across his face. “I’m two years older than you you twat,”

“I'll sleep on the pull-out in the living room,” Simon spoke. Being in the betas room felt too close to you. “Don't worry about me barging in or anything, yeah?” he soothed.

You felt horrendous for believing he would be upset at you. You offered him a small smile, nodding your head graciously.

“Alright, that's it,” John finished.

Simon grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water and plopping it on your forehead.

“Remember when you were doing this to me?” he mused, a small smile on his face. That seemed so long ago. That was your first interaction with him. You remember how scared and unsure of yourself you were. Hell, most of that hadn't changed.

“Simon,” you sobbed, your arms wrapping around his waist, making him chuckle.

“Sensitive, pup,” he teased, patting you on the back. “Should get you to bed. A nap might help,” he spoke, mostly to himself. He hoisted you up carrying you to the bedroom, Johnny following close behind. He tossed you on the bed, Johnny quickly hopping in and getting comfortable with you. You watched with tired eyes as Simon began moving his clothes into the beta’s room. He didn't have too many.

“Simon?” you asked softly.

“Pup?”

“Could I have one of your sweatshirts?” you nearly pleaded. He grabbed one off the hanger, rubbing it against the scent glands on his neck before tossing it to you. You bunched it up, using it as a pillow. Leather with an undertone of black licorice making the back of your neck tingle. “Thank you,” you purred lowly.

Your symptoms had progressed. A familiar lax in your body making it a bit hard to move. You had started nesting, stealing things from every member of your pack to make the bed as comfortable as you could. There were slight changes in your scent making their mouths water. John stayed close, wanting you to ease him into a rut instead of it just hitting him.

“How do you feel, lovie?” Kyle hummed.

“My face is hot but my body is cold,” you whined. “And I'm tired,” you huffed.

“Sleep, princess. You'll be needing it,” John chuckled from next to you. Your head peaked up from the pillows.

“You’re the one who’ll need it,” you shot back, a playful glint in your hazy eyes. John’s brows raised, sitting up on one of his elbows.

“You flirtin’ with me now? I'm the one that's supposed to be courting you,” he reminded, tucking you in.

“I’m waiting,” you smirked, causing Kyle to laugh.

“I'll be back,” John insisted, dodging back down the hall.

“I like this feisty you,” Kyle murmured. You chuckled, inching closer to him. When John returned he had a bowl of cut-up fruit and a few snack packs of your favorite snacks.

“Thank you alpha,” you purred, popping a strawberry in your mouth. John purred back, tucking you back in.

“Let me,” he urged, opening a pack of cookies and hand-feeding you.

“I could get used to this,” you smiled between bites.

He woke up before you with a sharp exhale. Your scent hitting him like a bolt of lightning. You were tucked in his side, your hands gripping onto his damp shirt like it would keep you from floating away. You were whimpering quietly, his body reacting to you before he had even opened both his eyes. You needed him.

“I know, pretty,” he soothed quietly, biting back a snarl. He pressed his lips against your shoulder, slowly detaching himself from you. Your nail caught the fabric of his shirt, the sound of the fabric tearing finally waking you up. You watched with bleary eyes as John made his way to the bathroom, tossing his half ripped shirt on the floor. He splashed cold water on his face, even through your tears you could his body shaking.

He was holding himself back.

You could smell it in the air. His blazing scent overshadowing your melted vanilla. Your scent alone would be too much for him, him projecting being his only defense to keep from sinking his teeth into your neck.

You were uncomfortable. Your body too hot and sweaty to even focus on the ache between your thighs. You sat up sluggishly, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. You pulled yourself to stand, making your way to the bathroom. John quickly turned on the shower meeting you halfway. You rested more than half your weight against him, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ as he guided you along.

“May I?” He checked, his fingers curled in the hem of your shirt. You nodded trying your best to hold your arms up to make it easy for him. You already felt a bit cooler as the fabric hit the floor. A pleased rumble echoed in his chest.

“Such a pretty girl I have,” he mumbled more to himself than you. He pulled your sleep shorts and panties down in one motion, his arm resting around your waist to keep you steady. He checked the water temperature, making sure it was cool enough to chill your heated skin but not enough to shock you. “Want me in with you?” he asked softly.

“Please,” you mumbled against his bare chest. He erupted in goosebumps as your hands traveled around his abdomen. He pulled his sweats down, along with his boxers. You swallowed thickly. The sight of him making the sheen of sweat return to your skin. Partly from want- no need, and partly from nerves. He was about half the size of your forearm in length, but the width was really what made you whimper.

“Don’t worry about that right now, pretty,” he soothed, turning you away from him. He apologized as the action caused him to run across your lower back. You shivered, your bottom instinctually arching in the air to meet him. “Good girl,” he praised softly. You were running on instinct, you couldn't help it. Besides, you presented too perfectly for him to not compliment you. He guided you into the shower by your hips.

You purred as the cool water hit your heated skin. He kept his distance, despite the sight before him, his hands keeping a firm grasp on you to keep you steady. You turned under the waterfall, your hands pulling him closer by his arm.

“I want to feel you,” you mumbled. The little self-control he had snapping. He gripped the back of your thighs, hoisting you up, pressing you against the tile of the shower. Your arms quickly found his neck, your mouths desperately connecting.

“You don't know how long I've wanted you,” he growled back. He was all-consuming. You're hardly able to keep up with his words. His lips leave yours for just a moment to bite at whatever skin he can before returning to them. You could feel the tip of his cock brush against your bottom, the little action having your eyes rolling back.

“Then take me,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His groan was toe curling, his hand reaching below you to switch the water off. He kept you close, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back to bed. He tossed you down, his hands finding your ankles. You watched, waiting for what his next move would be. You expected him to spread your legs apart, and begin to work himself inside of you, yet all he did was stare. He raised your legs up, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of each foot. He worked his way to your core slowly. A kiss against your ankle, then up your calves, then up your thighs, stopping just before your dripping entrance. His beard felt just how you had imagined it, your hand grabbing his hair and pulling him towards you.

“What, pretty girl? Tell me what you need,” he said softly, his breath against you causing you to jolt.

“You,” you sniffed softly, hoping a small buck of your hips would drive the point home. He rubbed his cheek against the inside of your thigh, pressing a teasing kiss against your heat. He wanted more. You could tell by the way his dark eyes stared at you expectantly.

“I want your mouth, Alpha. Please,” you pleaded. His eyes grew heavy at the request. Your body nearly lifted off the mattress as he licked across your aching heat.

“Thank you,” you hissed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned against you, making you jolt.

“The boys weren't lying when they said you asked nicely,” he smiled against you, not giving you any time to relax before his mouth enveloped your cunt. It was a completely new feeling, one that had you choking on a moan. You didn't bother to hide it, not that you could with his hand wrapped around your wrist. It was hardly a minute before a (now) familiar tightness filled your abdomen, your hands fighting to break free just so you could grab onto something to steady yourself. You were chanting his name, which only seemed to spur him on. You came with a moan that made even him flush. Your legs pressed against his head but he didn't care.

The hardest part was pulling his mouth away from you. Your sweetness already becoming another vice to him. Your teary eyes stared down at him like he had done something wrong- made you cum too hard for your own good. He tried to take it slow, ease you off the cliff gently, but once he got you in his jaws he couldn't let go. He’ll make it up to you.

He kissed up past your belly button, trying not to smirk at the way your chest heaved up and down. His tongue darted out, dragging through the valley of your breasts and up to your collarbone. He shushed you gently, his thumbs wiping the fat crocodile tears that rolled down your cheek. You were so sensitive, both physically and emotionally. Your shaky legs found his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. You weren't too deep into your heat, the attention he was giving you making you more aware.

“You okay for more, sweetheart?” he questioned softly, his thumbs still brushing against your heated cheeks. You nodded instantly, your hand cupping his face pulling him down. You could taste yourself against him. Johnny was right, you were sweet. He held himself above you, one of his hands traveling down the curves of your body- slowly like he was trying to memorize each dip. The back of his hand brushed against your thigh- red from the friction of his beard- his fingertips running over your slick gently. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, your eyes trained on the ceiling. He hummed softly, grabbing your attention, his forehead resting against yours.

His normal blue eyes were dark like a shark's, but he still held enough softness in them to ease your worries. You doubted your eyes looked any different. His fingers brushed up and down you for a moment before leaving to wrap around his cock. Your eyes naturally followed his movement. He was flushed and angry-looking, his hand providing little relief. His lips connected with yours unexpectedly, your nails finding their way to his back. His chest rumbled at the sensation.

You broke the kiss when he ran his tip across your folds. You gasped against him, your eyes immediately traveling down his strong torso to between your thighs. “John,” you gasped softly, your legs spreading a little wider for him. He was teasing you. Applying just enough pressure to make you whine but not enough to really cause any pleasure. He shushed you, his lips dancing across your cheek like he was apologizing for not giving you what you needed.

He sat up suddenly, grabbing you by your thighs so you were sitting with your back against his chest, his cock heavy against your bottom. His hands held your thighs apart, rubbing up and down them soothingly. His thumb skimmed against your clit, before pressing down, giving you the sensation you were so desperately chasing. You pressed your hand against your lips, but it was quickly pulled away.

“Don’t shy away now,” he hummed, as your hips began to move away from his hand. “Need you to relax for this part, pretty girl,” he directed. The feeling of his thumb against you was enough to distract you from the finger prodding at your entrance. He sunk in slowly, your copious amount of slick making it less of a challenge. He cursed under his breath at the tightness around his finger. “Gotta work you open, pretty,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

You removed your head from under his chin, your eyes slowly opening, connecting with his through the mirror on the closet door. You moaned at the contact, your eyes scanning lower to his hand between your thighs.

“Like watching yourself?” he chuckled, keeping his gaze steady. He began working another finger in creating a slight burning sensation. He went slow feeling the way your walls adjusted to him. He growled against your neck, practically able to feel you wrapped around his cock. The burn faded as he curled his fingers, brushing against a spot that made your head fall back against his shoulder. “That's it hmmm?” he smiled against your shoulder. The tightness in your stomach was returning. Your hand gripped his wrist between your thighs, your hips grinding against him. “Look at yourself, pretty,” he commanded, his hazy eyes watching your reaction as he pumped his fingers. You complied, watching yourself unravel. “Little more, princess. Can feel you shaking around me.”

A tidal wave crashed over you, your hand nearly ripping him away. He was stronger than you, keeping his thumb against you as you shook in his arms. He growled praises against your ear, watching carefully as you worked through your high.

He was a lucky man.

You rolled over, and he accommodated by laying on his back. You panted against his stomach, the fire in your belly still hardly fading. You were getting thrown more and more into your heat. John could smell it on you. Your teeth scraped against his chest, pressing a few ‘thank you’ kisses against him. You sat up, your thighs on either side of him. He guided you so you were propped up and you watched with murky eyes as his cock immediately sprung to rest against his stomach. You suddenly felt guilty. He had given you two earth-shattering orgasms and you had hardly given him any attention.

He guided your hips back down so he was nestled perfectly between your folds. You got the hint and began rocking your hips back and forth, earning a groan from both of you.

“That's it, pretty girl, just like that,” he groaned. You were so warm, your drooling cunt making it so easy for him to slide back and forth. He cursed, his hands running up your sides. His thumbs brushed over your nipples making you lose your rhythm. He growled, flipping the two of you over so he was on top resting between your thighs. “Can’t take much more, love,” he breathed.

“I’m ready,” you panted, your hands pressed against his abdomen.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he requested, causing you to nod your head. He paused for a moment, shifting you so you could watch yourself in the mirror. Just the sight of him on top of you, your legs spread wide for him made you pulse. “Not fair I get this beautiful sight to myself,” he whispered against your cheek. You whined, your back arching off the bed. He angled himself against you, the tip of his cock already spreading you as much as his fingers had.

“John,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept you close, his hold on you assuring and unwavering, despite the way his body trembled. You groaned, the stretch seemingly never-ending. You could feel every twitch as he rolled his way in.

“So bloody tight,” he cursed, his mouth hanging open in bliss. “Doing so good for me,” he praised. It wasn't a sharp pain like you were expecting, but it burned. Your face pressed against his shoulder, his back marked with crimson ropes. He had finally worked his way inside you, your walls desperately trying to adjust. He imagined it would hurt more if he stayed stationary inside you. He moved his hips back slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you. He moved his shoulder away, pressing his forehead against yours. You were uncomfortable, the sight making his alpha restless.

He pushed back in, the friction making you squirm.

“John,” you whined. He rolled his hips back and forth slowly, adding more distance with each thrust. He was halfway buried inside you, rolling his hips forward in one swift motion. Your eyes fell shut, your mouth parting with a moan of his name.

“That's it, pretty,” he groaned, repeating the action. The stretch that had made it almost unbearable was causing pleasure to scorch through your veins with every thrust. “Fuckin’ made for me weren’t ya,’” he groaned. It wasn't even a question at this point, it was a fact. Your cunt molding to fit him. Your heels pressed against his back, hoping to lessen the time he wasn't buried inside you.

You opened your mouth, the words you were wanting to say being ruined by a sloppy moan.

“What, pretty,” he pressed. “Talk to me.”

“Feels so good,” you whined pitifully.

“Yeah?” he growled, his strong hips snapping against you. His pace had picked up, his thrusts becoming more and more purposeful. His thumb skimmed across the corner of your lip, swiping away your drool. “What feels good?” he questioned. You could hardly think, let alone voice those thoughts.

“Your cock,” you managed, your whole body flushed from pleasure and embarrassment. He held your chin gently, moving your head so you had the perfect view of him rolling in and out of you in the mirror. His pace had slowed down again, not wanting to rush this moment in the slightest. “Alpha,” you whined, your hands gripping the wrist that was still holding your chin.

“Look so good with my cock in you, don't you?” his voice was tender, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear.

His hand left your face, his thumb finding a familiar rhythm between your legs.

“Too much,” you gasped, but made no move to stop him, your body becoming more and more addicted to this new euphoric high. “Cum in me,” you pleaded, causing his hips to stutter against you. “Please,” you begged, looking up at him through wet lashes. He wasn't deep enough in a rut to give you a knot, but that doesn't mean he couldn't fill you to the hilt.

“Whatever you need, love,” he soothed. You were shaking. Your claws had already shredded the sheets. “Gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?” he asked. The only thing you could do was nod. You were focusing on it too much, your brows furrowed waiting for the tension in your stomach to release. He smacked your bottom, catching you off guard for the wave of your orgasm to finally wash over you. You gushed around him, a shriek leaving you as your walls spasmed around him eliciting his own release. He came with a booming groan, his vision spotting from the intensity.

His arms giving out from under him sinking both of you into the mattress.

It took ten minutes for both of you to calm down.

“You alright?” he checked, his fingers running over your heated cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his still-twitching form. “You?”

“Gonna be honest, sweetheart. Never had anything like that,” he panted, placing kisses against any skin he could reach. You believed him. While this was your first time, you knew this wasn't the standard. He had softened out of you, his cum leaving you in a puddle. “Let's get you cleaned up,” he soothed, hoisting you up.

He decided on a bath this time. His hands working against your skin to clean away the mess he had made. You had fallen asleep against him in the tub, happy omega filtering through the air, making him purr. He stayed there till your skin began to prune. It has been a long time since he's been this content. Not that his boys didn't make him happy. You were different, you were his omega. The missing piece of the puzzle. The piece that held peace, safety, and comfort. Kate was right when she said she could smell it on them- their need for an omega. He had been a fool for going this long without one. But if he had done it too soon he wouldn't have ended up with you.

He tucked the two of you in, curling himself around you hoping to get some purrs out of you. Even in your sleep, you could recognize the safety of his arms, a purr of appreciation rumbling through your lax body.

“I love you,” he murmured against the crown of your head, slowly slipping off into his own hibernation.

“Something I need to talk to the two of you about,” Kyle sighed. The three of them had moved outside just after the first few muffled moans vibrated against the door.

Johnny opened his eyes, looking up at Kyle whilst his head was resting in his lap. Simon grunted in acknowledgment.

“You looked at her tracking app lately?” Kyle questioned, causing both of them to shake their heads. Of course not, you had been with them for the past two weeks. “I thought it was a glitch at first, or maybe the app had accidentally connected to someone else's chip, but it was labeled under her name,” Kyle explained. Johnny sat up.

“What was labeled?” he urged, his heart falling into his stomach. He and Simon shared a look.

“Another chip,” Kyle clarified. Simon's jaw clenched.

“What does that mean?” he snipped. “She has another chip?”

“She said she never had one,” Johnny reminded, his stomach growing uneasy. He had always been the quickest to jump to emotions.

“Or she has one she doesn't know about.”

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you in two days for chapter 23!!!! 🧡

[clare-875]

More Than Enough (Law x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Law x Female Reader Summary: Law hates it when you overwork yourself, but you don't think you're doing enough. Warnings: Angst/Fluff, Comfort, Soft Law [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You are on the brink of sleep.

It tempts you as you feel yourself lulled between reality and your dreams, but you can't stop. Just one more report. That was what you had told yourself hours ago. It led to one more task, one more bit of paperwork, one more duty; one more. You didn't know why you felt the need to force yourself into this vicious cycle but you also couldn't get yourself to end it. It builds within you: the hope to be useful, to serve as a member of the Heart Pirates, to earn your place beside your crew. You were strong, but not the strongest; you were talented but not the most gifted; you were smart but never the smartest. You felt as though you stood by pillars of strength and such capable companions. You felt like you owed something in return. So, even when members of the crew murmured good night to you, concern lingering in their eyes as they walked by, you stayed as you always did. Only this time you knew you were pushing your limits with sleep. You knew you were desperately in need of rest, especially after a hectic day of fighting and treating injuries, but you kept at it. Just one more.

Law entered his sleeping chambers exhausted as he always was. He was craving sleep but he was also craving you. Your gentle hands that pushed past his dark hair, easing the constant pounding of tension. Your warm embrace that lulled away lingering thoughts that kept him from rest. Your soft kisses that made the brutal day worth it. You were the only thing that could get Law to relax enough to find some peace, so his heart, which he thought would never brim with the love that it did now, thrums in anticipation. The anticipation of you. But when Law opens the door to the room you both shared, instead of the relief that comes with finally finding solace, he is met with utter dissatisfaction. Law's sharp eyes travel the length of the room, but he finds the bed as untouched as it was in the morning. Most importantly, he saw the blatant lack of the figure he had hoped to see.

You weren't there.

Law feels sharp irritation ring through his head as he groans in frustration before turning away from his room, knowing you were probably overworking yourself; Knowing you wouldn't come to bed unless he came to get you; Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep unless you were by his side. Law travelled the cool hallways of the Polar Tang, each step bridled with his exhaustion. Normally you would be the one chiding his lack of sleep but it wasn't uncommon for him to do the same. "[y/n]" He murmurs when he finally opens the door to the room where you had been working away. You turn, your weary eyes wide at the sight of Law before shaking off your surprise and turning to meet your partner. "Law, is everything alright?" No, Law wants to reply, no everything is not alright, why weren't you in bed? He can't sleep without you. But Law forces his childish words to the back of his mind and approaches you to where you sat.

He sees your writing on countless pieces of paperwork; those on supplies for the ship, maintenance, an odd medical report here and there. He sees the multitude of sticky notes around you filled with suggestions that could help the crew and advance the Polar Tang. He sees notebooks filled with your handwriting on an abundance of ways you could advance your strength in battle. But most importantly, he sees you. Not just the dark imprints under your eyes and every yawn you stifle. Not just the way you fight sleep's echoes or force a hand through your hair to ease your headache. Law sees you trying. He sees your devotion to the crew, he sees your efforts literally piled around him, he sees your inner turmoil that you try to desperately hide from him; from the crew. He knows of your insecurity, he has known since you graced him with your presence and joined him on his journey across the seas. You think you're not enough, but what you didn't know was that you were enough.

You didn't need to lose sleep just to prove that to him.

You didn't notice how much you helped the crew by your mere presence. In ways that Law could not comfort, you thrived. Each day that the crew faced major loss or grief, you were there pushing away your feelings for the sake of them; you were the light. Every time a tired member of the crew sluggishly complained about the tasks they had to complete, you would jump for the opportunity to help. Every small bit of work you did for the crew, helped in such enormous ways, each supporting act of you on the battlefield saved more lives than Law could count. Most of all, you were Law's literal lifeline. He doesn't think that his life would be as vibrant as it was until you showed him colours, devotion; love. It was cheesy and he knew it, he also knew he would never say it straight-forward as he wanted to with you. He also knew he was a hypocrite; a routine overworker himself. But he also knew you.

You needed rest.

Law grabs your hand gently but firmly on the page you wrote on and doesn't listen to your confused and murmured words before pulling you to your feet. "Wait Law, I just need to-" But he cuts you off before you can continue. "It's late, and you've done enough already." He turns to you and you are met with his sharp gaze. "How many times have I told you, you don't need to do everything yourself." You roll your eyes despite the seriousness in his gaze. "Like you can talk, I'm surprised you actually want to go to bed before dawn." Law sighs deeply as he pulls you through the hallways before reaching your shared chambers. "That's different, I'm the Captain." You keep up your facade, but you feel the sinking weight of his words within you. That's right. You think. But what am I? Suddenly, your sleep-deprived state makes you lose the control you usually have over your emotions as you let out a quiet but snarky comment; one that Law hears muttered under your breath; one that betrays you of your thoughts. "I know that. I just wanted to be useful, to be enough for the crew, is that so bad?"

Law turns to you and instead of frustration you are met with a more gentle gaze; one you would only see pointed at you. "[y/n], you are more than enough." You look up to him then, eyes wide at his delicate words, those of sentiment you would never hear him say, but he has turned away as though those words were obvious; like it was a fact. "It's the damn crew that needs to pick up their slack. If I hear that you did their jobs for them again, I swear to god-" You feel it then, the rush of relief and hope that comes with your boyfriend's passive but blunt words. You go to him before he can continue, feeling the beginning of tears in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Instead, Law is startled by your swift embrace but returns it after several moments and caresses the depths of your hair. He feels you slack against him then, as he pulls you to his bed, cradled in his arms. That is, until you look up to him, tired but glossy gaze all for him to see. "Thank you Law," you mutter against him, but Law says nothing but gives a roll of his eyes.

In the next moments that pass you both do not even realise when sleep takes your exhausted states. The crew do not dare wake you when the two of you sleep in until late the next day, held in the assurance of the other's embrace.

[callie-the-creator]

ayato aishi being in love with an idol!reader would include...

sfw. warnings: yandere and obsessive behavior but that’s about it.

author’s note: this was also posted on my wattpad account, just wanted to share it here!

• the only reason ayato knew of your existence was because he heard your name a few times brought up at school. at first, he thought you were a student at akademi but something in the back of his mind told him that he had the wrong idea. he ended up shrugging it off. that is, until he saw a 3d billboard of you in tokyo, telling the watchers below to buy tickets for your upcoming concert.

• this whole time, y/n was an idol? ayato felt like a complete idiot when he realized this and spent the next few minutes, just standing there on the sidewalk, watching the same billboard cycle through other things until you popped up again. when you did, ayato took his time admiring your features. it's no wonder you were so popular at school...you're gorgeous.

• with that, ayato hurried to his house whilst he looked up everything about you and once he was in his house, he listened to every single song that you have ever sung. unreleased, popular, underrated, instrumental, acapella, you name it. you just so happened to have over 45 songs! for someone who was in the music scene for such a short amount of time, you did have a lot of albums...but that's alright!

— while it wasn't ayato's usual taste in music, he was willing to make an exception for you and only you.

• ayato is the type of guy to see someone wearing a piece of your merchandise, walk up to them, and say, "oh, you like y/n l/n? name 5 songs."

— insufferable, yes, but he had to assert dominance and show every single follower that he was your number #1 fan! if someone claims to be it, they're dead wrong. literally.

• he hates how some of the guys at his school also knew who you were and thought you were attractive. ayato knows that realistically, it was bound to happen but he still hates having to deal with it and it's not like he could do anything about it too, just suck it up.

• if you're the type of idol to dye your hair differently with every single album debut, ayato carefully tracks for any leaks on what color it would be because he's been debating on matching with you. he's lucky that akademi high school isn't strict when it comes to uniquely colored hair (as some schools force students to dye their hair black, even if a person's natural hair color is brown). of course, he would stick out more but he didn't care. it's a way he can show his support for you and there's nothing wrong with that. 

• has only been to one of your concerts since, he won't lie, the tickets are a bit pricey and his part-time job could hardly cover it. the concert was really cool to experience— especially since ayato doesn't get out much— and he loved seeing you in person, but some annoying fans in front of him wouldn't stop holding their signs up in the air blocking his view but still tried to have a good thing by waving his light-stick and chanting in perfect harmony with the other fans.

— he would've gone a vip pass instead, but if he did that, ayato would have become flat-broke and that would in turn make him receive an angry lecture from his parents about finances.

• ayato has sent you loads of fan mail, some by name, others anonymously. he's sure that you get thousands by the hour but if there is even the slightest chance that you might read at least one of his, he'll take that opportunity

• whenever you describe your ideal type in a man in interviews, ayato makes it his duty to meet the criteria. you want someone with a little bit of muscle? he can work out more. you want a man who can cook? looks like ayato will be joining the cooking club at school. trust me, he will do anything to be viewed perfect in your eyes

• although his first-ever time seeing you in person was pretty much a bust, ayato made up for it by teaming up with info-kun to see where you would be in japan and finding your location by fan sightings. it was from there that ayato was able to find you in shibuya but it wasn't good news, actually. you were mad at the paparazzi trying to take scandalous photos of you and when ayato realized this, his head began to spin and he, too, started shouting at them to give you some space and to back off.

— when you realized this, you turned over to see just who was coming to help you since you weren't expecting it and mouthed a small 'thank you' which sent ayato's heart soaring.

• ayato has purchased an ungodly amount of merch from you, whether that be shirts, water bottles, limited-time ramen, or soda cans, he's even ripped off pages in magazines solely because your face was on it.

• alas, he still needs to find a way to worm into your personal life. it's a little hard to do that with just how many bodyguards you have and have lots of cameras in your house, too many for him to be able to capture you without any issues...

[miyaagis]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐ birth is the death of us. iwaizumi hajime

not feeling like yourself can ruin so many beautiful things like watching your baby grow and sharing such joy with your husband. even your intimate life with him... if there's any left.

explicit content - mdni. ₊˚⊹ ⚝ marriage + parenthood au. cuckquean reader, fem oc, reader is in her 20s, iwaizumi and fem oc in their 30s. angst, lowkey emotional cheating, unprotected sex, humiliation, body comparison. mentions of giving birth, implied postpartum depression and low self-esteem related to physical appearance.

word c. a little over 1,900

the last time i had the pleasure of including iwaizumi hajime (27) in a fic was prob two years ago (maybe more). so thank u so much @mycolorhologram for commissioning me and trusting me with ur idea ♡

“Do you think we should switch to an SUV?” He asks with his finger hovering over the screen of his phone, the crease above his left brow stands out as he frowns down at it—a feature you've learned to become familiar with. “For safety purposes, I mean.”

The laundry machine hums in the background, disturbing the atmosphere of your home while simultaneously joining the white noise machine in your baby’s room. You dismiss his question, which seemingly came out of the blue.

“It’s a big spend.” You shrug it off, not realizing that, in reality, it’s not a random thought. “Maybe in the future.”

A sigh from him is all you get, which prompts you to leave the laundry basket on the floor and step closer. He still hasn’t scrolled past whatever he’s looking at on his phone, so your curiosity wins.

You suddenly wish you hadn’t peeked. 

“Is that Minako?”

Noticing you standing close enough to see his screen, he locks it at the same time he clears his throat. “Uh– Yeah.”

It’s only an Instagram post, that’s the first thing your brain tells you. But your gut knows that him mentioning getting a new car when his ex shows off her brand-new Lexus is not a coincidence.

“I’ll go check on the baby.” He knows your silence is dangerous territory, so he’s quick to flee the scene.

He hasn’t even reached the hall when you speak again, calm as ever, but he can see the cogs turning in your brain.

“She still works at your old job?”

He hesitates for a second, debating between sharing what he really knows and what he’s supposed to know.

“I think so?” His tone is light and dismissive, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “Last I heard, she was after a promotion. Why?”

The laundry machine stops, its alarm letting you know the cycle is done. You try to ignore it, just like how you’ve been ignoring how boring your marriage has become and how exhausted you always are. It’s only been two months since your baby was born, but it feels like it’s been two years instead. Lately, time moves slow for you, but not fast enough for your husband.

You decide it’s best to drop the subject. 

“No reason.”

—

The clock reads 23:15 when his hand snakes around your waist.

You don’t say anything at first, merely enjoying his embrace as he spoons you close to him. It’s a gesture you’ll always welcome, especially after a long day of mom duty.

A tender kiss is placed at the crown of your head, and you smile, sinking further in his arms. It doesn’t take long for his lips to travel all over the side of your face, his warm breath and presence comforting your tired spirit. But when his hand moves under your shirt, gliding up to the underside of your breast, the comfort switches to uneasiness.

“Haji…” A weak murmur from you is quickly lost in the dark.

His kisses persist, his hand swiftly reaching up to cup the soft flesh and give a squeeze. All you can hear from him are his heavy breaths while he presses you close, his front making contact with your backside at the same time his rough fingers pinch a sensitive nipple. You try to turn around so his hand would lose contact with your breast, but his hold is too firm, and you’re left squirming against what seems to be a wall of concrete.

You think it’s over when he lets go and his hand moves down to your hip bone, staying there idly.

“Finally got you all to myself, mama.” Lust drips over the huskiness in his voice, the sound of clearly being desired making your heart beat faster.

However, as much as you long to hear his words of worship, you just… don’t really feel that excitement anymore. Especially since it’d involve him seeing your postpartum body in too much detail—which also makes it harder to believe his praise.

You swat his hand away—gently, of course. “Not yet.”

He’s not new to this apparent rejection from your part, he has heard it all: ‘I’m tired’, ‘It hurts’, ‘I don’t feel comfortable’. And he’s getting tired of fighting you, his disappointment steadily turning into annoyance as he rolls over with a sigh. 

—

The following night, he doesn't even try.

From your side of the bed, you watch as he goes straight to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him and a minute later the water from the shower starts to run along with echoes of his deep grunts.

Once he gets in bed, your hand settles over his bare chest, a little uncertain. 

“I could’ve helped.” You offer him a soft smile, but he seems genuinely confused. “I mean– giving you a hand?”

It’s awkward and cringe enough to make you wince at your own words. He’s your husband, sex shouldn’t be this awkward when he has seen you birth your child.

His amusement lasts a few seconds before he’s clearing his throat and leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”

That’s when you make your decision.

—

“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

You should’ve seen it coming. 

Hajime is clearly upset, sporting his characteristic scowl and directing it at you once he made sure the door of your bedroom was closed.

What you fail to see is how, in reality, he’s upset at himself. He refuses to admit how much he likes the idea. It’s so, so wrong of him to immediately picture himself with another woman, the ‘what if’s’ playing in his mind effortlessly—he’s disgusted.

“Hear me out, please.” You rush to explain yourself, his troubled gaze making contact with yours.

He nods once. It’s all he can give you right now to acknowledge he’s willing to listen. Doesn’t mean he’s happy about it, though.

“I still don’t feel comfortable after the baby… with my body, I mean.” He’s aware of it, he has seen you drown yourself in his shirts and sweatpants, rejecting every chance to go out, even for a coffee, because you don’t feel your best. “It’s weird to explain, but I think it’s an opportunity for us to bond, to– I don’t know, deepen our trust?”

And you mean it. Giving him the chance to explore his pent-up sexual energy in a controlled and safe environment is something you look forward to. 

He loves you, he truly does. You have not only given him unconditional love for the past few years, but also a child, pouring your heart, body, and soul into nurturing your little one. But he can see what you mean, he’s noticed your skin looking dull, your lack of excitement when it comes to the sexual side of your marriage. Of course he never says anything, it’s not your fault.

And then there’s your libido. Non-existent.

“It sounds insane.” 

You see a bit of the initial resistance fade, and you internally celebrate it.

“You can decide who.” Your tone turns bashful, a little ashamed of what you’re about to admit. “I’ve seen sites, we can browse those together?” 

He hesitates again, looking away before staring back at your hopeful expression. He hates that he’s even entertaining the idea, but he hates it even more that he already knows who he wants.

“I guess...”

—

Seeing your husband kiss his college girlfriend with a passion that should be reserved for you, feels like a punch to the gut—especially when said ex-girlfriend is closer in age to him than you are.

She came in carrying her successful self with confidence, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect your own self-esteem. But this isn’t about you or her, this is about him. You can only hope she’s also aware of it.

He parts from her mouth with a soft bite to her bottom lip, your core reacting to the sight of it even as your heart squeezes painfully. His head turns your way and his darkened eyes land on you, it only takes him a few steps to reach you, your back rigid as you stay seated by the couch next to the bed.

“Sit pretty for me, yeah?” His lips meet your temple in a tender and loving kiss, one you’ve gotten countless times as reassurance. “I love you, baby.”

And then he’s back with her.

It all goes too quickly, and you don't know if you should be grateful that he’s just… getting it over with. The sooner it ends, the better. Right? You truly want to enjoy this experience, but she’s not making it easy.

He easily gets her legs up on his shoulders, their eyes on each other as he thrusts in short yet harsh strokes. You can’t hear clearly what they’re saying, relying mostly on where his eyes or hands land on her body.

“Fuck–” curses slip from his mouth effortlessly, and he feels himself throb when his hands circle Minako’s waist perfectly. There’s a look of utter bliss on her, one he’s very familiar with, and takes him back to the intense nights they used to share.

“Mhm… harder, Haji.” His ex drags her nails from his shoulders down to his biceps, the nickname slipping easily and with a familiarity that makes you feel uneasy. “Need it deeper.” 

His heart feels weak the more he watches her take every inch without complaining. For once, after God-knows-how-long, he’s able to suck and bite on a pair of nipples to his heart’s content without worrying about being pushed away. He can move hard and deep, pressing his sensitive tip against the cervix without expecting the woman underneath him to scoot away in discomfort.

It’s a never-ending bliss of having passionate, dirty sex with someone that won’t shy away from his touch. 

Which means, in his lust-clouded mind, that it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you when he pumps her full of his cum, jerking his hips rapidly and causing the excess to seep from around the edges of her slit and down her ass.

“Hajime.” You panic but don’t get up from your seat, “We said–”

“I know, I know.” He grunts, aware of your concern but dismissing it at the same time. In all honesty, he thought he could resist the temptation, but he didn’t. So, what? You didn’t say a thing when he slipped inside without a condom–even after you asked him to. “I couldn’t, okay?”

You immediately fall silent, not knowing what else to say. What do you even say in a moment like this?

Her laughter makes your body go cold. She’s not even looking at you, her eyes set on your husband’s features. 

“Relax, girl. I’m on the pill.” She’s interrupted by his kiss, way too tender for your liking, as he moves her legs down his shoulders, causing his length to slip out of her with a wet pop. His hands swiftly move her so she’s lying on her side, facing you, while he’s behind her. Her eyes finally look at you right as he lifts her leg and guides himself back inside her with a raspy groan, her smirk faltering and eyes rolling back once he sets a languid pace, his mouth latching onto her shoulder. “So we’re gonna do it again, and again, and again.”

And your husband smiles because he knows this is far from done. He hasn’t even made you lick his cum off of her yet.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Fifty Four - Radio Static

Part Fifty Three

Warning: Brief Internalized Homophobia Tones

———

Log open, loading. 

Mission Report, Cybertronian timescale, cycle 247, rotation 7, Decepticon High Command, The Nemesis, space above New Kaon.

Order given by Lord Megatron of Tarn, Champion of Kaon, Ruler of New Kaon, and scourge of Cybertron.

Mission, to find and utterly destroy those who presently stand between the everlasting war and the potential for peace. Mission assigned to multiple entities, REDACTED. Unknown status on multiple entities, mission silence requested.

If the mission failed, exile was recommended and enforced by third-in-command. Whether on New Kaon or in outer-spaces. 

Those participating in missions are scheduled for multiple check-ins through cycle 240, every six rotations. 

An estimated seventy check-ins expected, actual check-ins logged at fourteen.

All stemming from REDACTED aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, full mission guidelines not given to REDACTED, remain the tertiary option. On standby.  

Primary operator, marked MIA.

Mission logged, unsuccessful and unnecessary, Treaty of Unity, signed on cycle 0, rotation 9 by the United Cybertron Government. Certified by the Intergalactic Council. 

Mission log closed, scheduled to be deleted on Cycle 1359, rotation 2. 

Log closed.

—

Guard duty was boring, worse than boring in moments like these when there was so much going on. The shockwave had knocked out most team comms, so he could only talk to those close at hand for the moment. Which normally wouldn’t be so bad, but one of them with the literal leader of the free world. 

And that was stressful enough, without the watchful eye of his commander at his back. No, instead he kept scanning the street for invisible threats.

He and Chromia stood quietly while Elita and Optimus talked, both scanning the town and streets like they were the enemy. Watching and waiting for the boogeyman to pop out and try to murder them.

Of course, he hadn’t even gotten to see the mysterious boogeyman yet, he’d hardly seen Hot Rod before moving back toward the city limits. Now he was stuck on the steps of their main building, listening to Elita and Optimus drone on. Shooting a glance towards Chromia, she looked almost as bored.

If his damn comm worked, they could be talking, but no, now they just had to stand in an awkward silence while Elita and Optimus conversed. 

“No one has seen the mech since before the race treaty, it has been a thousand years that he’s been MIA. Do you honestly believe it is a coincidence that he has shown up with more pilots from Earth?” Elita’s voice was stressed and his heart twisted in his chest and he took a slow breath.

Glancing over and almost flinching as Optimus’s gaze was already on him, this leader of their planet, who he hardly knew was staring at him very intently, “Sideswipe, how well do you know these new pilots?”

Oh god, how did he describe this safely? Glancing toward Elita briefly, he tried quint his comms again before sighing.

Unable to do anything else, he nodded, trying not to scratch at his implants. It had become a habit, as the skin around them was always dry and flakey now with the prolonged overuse. Irritated.

”Well, that is a bit complicated now, isn’t it?” His voice was slightly high from stress, Elita frowned, “How complicated?” Biting at his lip, he did scratch around his implants then, “Uh, well, none of us were stationed exactly near each other on Earth. So, it’s complicated.” He finished lamely.

The look on Eilta’s face was one he hated to see, sighing he nodded again, “Alright, so these guys are nuts.” Both commanders were staring at him and he groaned, “These are the bots who would do things that needed to be done, but would never ask to be, what was right but not. You know?” Elita swears and Optimus hummed.

Nodding again, Sideswipen shifted his weight a bit, “They would do anything to stop anything from going wrong, and I mean anything. Sure, we’ll all run off to handle Quintessons but these guys are bottom of the barrel crazy. Arcee was one of the youngest female pilots in a generation, same with Hot Rod and that guy will literally set himself on fire, Perceptor wasn’t a pilot until he made himself one and you have to be crazy to put yourself through compatibility." He shuddered.

”And Ratchet isn’t even a pilot, he’s a medic, was my medic and he’s a civilian.” Optimus helped up a hand and he quickly shut up. 

The look on his face, what little of it was visible, was heartbreaking and far from good, “I am afraid to ask, but how young?” Nodding, he sighed, “Well, Roddy is only a year older than me and Sunny and Arcee is a year younger. He became a pilot at sixteen and Arcee became one at eighteen, barely eighteen.” Optimus put his face in his hands for a long time.

He couldn’t help but shift again, “Sir,” He held up a hand and Sideswipe chose to stay quiet, now picking at his gloves instead, Optimus sighed and looked up, “And the civilian, his name?” Nodding a bit, Sides sighed, “Ratchet, sir.” Pain flashed across Elita’s face and Optimus’s eyes seemed distant and older.

Optimus cleared his throat, “Why,” His voice broke and the tone made Sides heart turn from twisted up to just aching, “Why would your planet send someone so small?” He blinked and nodded, sighing.

Here was the bitter truth but it tore at his throat, white lies, skating around the issue.

”You wouldn’t know, would you?” Optimus’s stare didn’t wavier, “I’ve said he was a civilian, that’s what we look like, as civilians. Pilots were designed to defeat the enemy so much larger than ourselves. We were designed to bring the enemy to its knees, but we couldn’t do that while standing at only a few feet tall.” 

It was hard to describe a mech turning green, it wasn’t like people who’d go pale or actually look green, but Optimus’s eyes crinkled in that same way. The way someone would when they were so repulsed they were about to get sick.

They really needed to get their story straight and soon, Prowl would hate this new addition. 

Elita’s eyes though, they were staring straight through him, he never really knew how she managed to do that, “Sideswipe, were you that small? Megatron said that this, Ratchet,” The pain in her voice was brutal, “Could fit on one of our shoulders.” 

Shrugging a bit, he cracks a smile, “Before I was a pilot, I was taller than Ratchet, only by a couple of inches but still taller. He is what we’d call, vertically challenged even among civilians. So is Hound to be fair.” He shrugged a bit, chuckling. Though the looks he was getting weren’t great.

Clearing his throat slightly, he shifts, “Um, I think it would be best to talk this over at a different time, probably when Hound is here? He, Percy, and Ratch know the most about the uh, pilot program.” The look on their faces was evident of their unwillingness to wait but it wasn’t really his place.

Not really waiting for their actual response, he turned back to watch the town, “It’s not my place to talk about it, I’m sorry.” Elita grasped his shoulder and turned him back around, “Sideswipe, you can’t just ignore us. This is serious.” Sighing, he stared at the sky.

”It’s not something I can speak well on, I was a civilian, I became a pilot to defend my planet. That hasn’t changed. We all became pilots to save our planet, wouldn’t you do the same? Didn’t you do the same? Civilians to an army?” He stared before nodding a bit, “Just wait for Hound to get back, once we’re back on Cybertron you can have yet another closed door meeting. Just leave me out of it.” 

He turned away again, sighing shakily while he scanned the streets, “God, I never thought I’d see anyone from home again and the day I do, it's all thrown in our faces how we continue to be different. Maybe I like being different.” Chromia patted his shoulder as Elita and Optimus fell quiet. 

His heart ached, still staring out at the empty streets. 

More of them, sent to die, only to find the exact reasons to live. 

—

His stomach was churning and his heart was racing as he ran, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to outrun the honest to god truth he’d spilled across the sand to someone he hardly knew or if he was just desperate to know what the explosion had been.

Maybe an unhealthy mix of both.

God, the military just bore into his soul with this one though. He was not ashamed of his relationship with Mirage, far from it, but standing there in front of Cecilia Arnold and telling her had been one of the stupidest things he could have done. Jazz had kept his relationship with Prowl lowkey for weeks after they got there, it had been obvious but this was pathetic. 

He hadn’t even bothered to say hello properly, just hey, you okay, by the way I’m bisexual and ran away. Like a coward.

What he needed to do right now, was focus and push that aside. He would not be ashamed of who he was, especially not who he’d grown to be in his years away from Earth. It had to have been years now, if it was Arcturus two, three, or beyond that. It had to have been years. That first year had felt like forever and the last who knows how long had felt like a breeze.

Taking slow and deep breaths, he slowed to a stop to breath. Glancing back, he couldn’t see the Iliad or the town in the distance, but his plating was buzzing. Rolling his shoulders a bit, he turned and kept walking, stretching out his arms a bit before demagnetizing his gun to check over it.

The green was scratched and worn over the few years he’d had it now, but it was his, and Megatron had been right about it being reliable. Compared to the gun he’s brought from Earth which had simply fallen apart and the emergency replacement that had been shattered, this was indestructible.

Wiping the sand off of it, he sighed and shifted his grip on it lightly, still walking. Waiting.

When the buzzing feeling returned, he walked a few more steps before turning and firing, watching the impact in the sand for a long moment before Mirage visualized and held up his hands, “I come in peace.” Sighing slowly, Hound moved over and offered a hand, “What happened to staying in position?” Mirage cracked a smile and took his hand, “I lost sight of you. Your miles from where you said you were going.” 

Pulling Mirage to his feet, he couldn’t help but smile, “Someone has to find the thing that knocked out our comms.” He paused and squeezed Mirage’s hand, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mirage’s grin was beautiful, turning, Hound started walking again and shifted his gun, “Just cause I can tell it’s you some of the time, doesn’t mean my vision while your invisible if flawless.” Chuckling, Mirage walked with him, “You shot near me, not at me. It’s different.” Scoffing, Hound shook his head and chuckled a bit.

“I swear, if you were like this during your civil war, I don’t know how you survived it.” Mirage howled with laughter and Hound smiled.

They walked together through the desert, "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why do Cybertronian’s settle in deserts?” Mirage’s laughter didn’t die down, “Because organics like your sorry self can’t live on these worlds as easily, and the dense under-layers can cause energon to grow. Like here and New Kaon.” Humming, he nodded a bit, “Plus the other half a dozen desert worlds I’ve seen.” They both chuckled then.

Then came the glass.

His foot hit it first before he actually noticed it, almost tripping on it as it cracked and broke under his foot, “What the fuck?” And the ship slowly came into view.

It was on fire and Quintessons were crawling out from it, on fire, full of bullet holes, and spilling green across the glass. 

The indent in the ground was deep and the heat from its impact had turned chunks of sand into glass. 

“Holy Primus.” Mirage watched and Hound brought his gun up, placing the last bullets into the dying Quintessons with a scowl. After a few seconds, Mirage helped, dispatching the remaining few but they couldn’t get terribly close to the ship. The sheer heat from it was enough to melt plating but he could see it.

His chest tightened as he moved closer to the disintegrating ship, Mirage took his arm quickly, “What are you doing?” Sighing, he taps his visor, “Getting some footage, I just want to check something.” Mirage stared before nodding and letting go. Sighing slowly, he moved into the wave of heat, staring and capturing the scene for the others.

It was unmistakable to him, it would be unmistakable to them too, “Fuck me.” He murmured, kicking away some of the glass to start throwing sand on the fire.

“Where did this ship even come from?” Mirage moved around it at a safe distance, frowning at the puncture holes in it. It was a small scouting ship, similar to those he saw, “From Earth.” Hound couldn’t help but brush his hands over the bullet holes, the metal rapidly cooling. He was staring, “It was attacking Earth and tried to flee. The same wayward space bridge that brought the other pilots here, brought this here instead of to Quintessa.” Slowly, he watched the areas he’d tried to extinguish reignite and he moved back slowly. 

Turning off the cameras, he sighed, “We have to let it burn down.” Glancing towards Mirage, he saw his dumbfounded face, “What?” Sighing, he climbed slowly from the crater, “We have to let this thing burn down. It’s got too many signs of coming from Earth, from an organic planet Raj’.” Blinking, Mirage looked back at the burning ship and sighed slowly, “I hate to ask, but who won this fight?”

Hound stared, “We just did. They're dead, aren’t they?” Turning away, he closes his eyes for a long moment. Picking up his water pouch, he drank deeply from it. Mirage moved over and rested a hand on his back, “That’s not what I meant.” Sighing, he sets the water pouch back down, “The Quintessons did. They got away, meaning they destroyed whatever they were looking for.” Mirage’s hold on him tightened, then he was pulled close and into a hug.

Keeping his eyes closed, he hugged Mirage tightly.

“How many times did you see something like this? Full of holes and still, struggling?” Sighing, Hound holds onto Mirage, “All the time Raj’, all the time and their losing.” Mirage’s hands brushed up his back and, sighing, he relaxed a fraction, even as the ship popped and bowed from the heat. 

They stood there for a while, listening to the fire. It was an odd comfort, for both of them, to let it burn and take its horrors with it. 

It almost felt like winning, if not the battle then the war.

—

He was sure they had all thought it at different points in the day, at different times and different instances but this really was not how he thought today would go. 

Maybe spend a few hours awake aboard the shuttle and try to recoup sleep he’d missed over the last thirty some odd years of this damn war, but instead he was now on an alien planet with a bunch of aliens.

What was worse was the fact they were treating Deadlock like a criminal, mouth muzzled and hands behind his back. The poor mech wasn’t even armed. 

Now he was on some sort of table being watched over like a child, sitting and frowning at Deadlock. His translator and comms were out for the moment from the shockwave of god only knew what, so he was at least able to ignore some of the squabbling of the mechs around. Keeping an eye on Deadlock was the most important thing.

The murmuring though, that was starting to grate on his nerves a bit. Deadlock glanced up than at something over his shoulder, eyes widening slightly before dropping to the floor.

Whatever it was, wasn’t good. Sighing, Ratchet stood and turned, putting his hands on his hips. Even if these things didn’t understand him now, he’d still scream at them.

Four figures were moving their way, with the large grey one that had so carefully set him on the table moving over to speak with them. Only one of them was recognizable, but barely. 

Sideswipe’s suit looked different, the visor was a new color and glass type all together, while the paint looked so different in the light. Along with his bracers which appeared to be new. Lighter maybe while certainly being longer. His suits cameras landed on him and he straightened slightly, saying something to the large pick bot before being waved over. 

He moved differently too, “You know Ratch,” finally, something he could understand, “If you wanted to check in, you could have called. You didn’t have to come thirty light years just to see us.” His hand hit the table, palm up and careful.

Deadlock growled behind him, but he waved him off before climbing into Sideswipe’s hand, “It wasn’t exactly the plan to crash on this desert of a world. Where the hell are we?” Sideswipe chuckled, “Nowhere. Literally, the name of the system translates roughly to Nowhere. This is NW-Four. A mining planet and refueling station for organic beings.” Being lifted up, this was far more familiar of a feeling. Less weightless than when Deadlock did it.

“So, did Roddy say this was Arcturus Three’s crew?” Nodding, he sighed, “Yeah kid. We left Earth about two weeks ago.” Sideswipe whistled and tapped his helmet lightly with his free hand, “This is fancy, new face for the trip?” He frowned, muttering, ‘new face’ before turning to look at Deadlock.

Organics were hated and feared among a number of their kind, among the Cybertronian’s. Sighing slowly, he nodded, “Uh, yeah. Got the visor installed to… to match everyone else.” Sideswipe nodded and his visor shifted color, trying to somehow show emotion, at least that’s what Ratchet could tell.

“It looks good, suits you.” Sighing, Sideswipe turned carefully, though didn’t step away, only straightening, “Commanders,” then his voice shifted the the unfamiliar binary he’d come to know as ‘Cybertronian’, of course their translators would work great. Sideswipe nodded and gestured lightly and pointed to the small red-cross on his assistant suit before motioning towards his own chest.

Whatever this conversation was, probably had to do with being a medic.

Instead of trying to process whatever the hell they were saying, he looked to the mechs instead. 

There were two blue ones, a pink one, and the familiar grey one who he'd argued with up until his translator cut out. Two looked much like the female designed suits on Earth, the ones made to sell toys and god only knew what else. The other two however, kept inching closer together, hands barely brushing. Having that same glow about them that Deadlock would get when close to Roddy, it had been described as their electromagnetic fields, but ones that showed their emotions rather than wavelengths. 

It was almost interesting. Glancing up towards the large blue and red one’s face however stopped all those thoughts.

He was staring at him, almost through him, to the point he worried his visor wasn’t frosted enough, but it wasn’t that. It was something more.

Sideswipe nodded slightly and glanced at Ratchet, “Optimus Prime.” He gestured to the large mech, “Leader of Cybertron, uh, Prime is a title. That is Lord High Protector Megatron, head of the United Cybertronian army. This is commander Elita-One and her second in command, Chromia.” Nodding slowly, his mouth was very dry, “Nice to meet you.” He could tell Sideswipe was smirking as he translated, half of them cracked smiles.

The Lord Protector and Prime kept staring at him like he was a ghost.

Glancing back toward Deadlock, he looks to Sideswipe, “Why is Deadlock being detained like an animal?” Sideswipe winced and translated before turning to him, “He was hired to kill my commander before the end of their last war, he’s a credible threat.” He blinked, “He’s unarmed.” Sideswipe shoot his head, “So long as his t-cog functions, that mech is not unarmed.”

Deadlock growled again.

Sighing, Ratchet rested his hands on his head, wanting to drag them down his face but not really able to, “God. Do you even know how long you’ve been lost in space for Simon?” Sideswipe jolted back, like getting slapped and Ratchet teetered in his hand, grasping at his fingers quickly, “Damnit, careful!” Everyone moved in then, he was quickly returned to the table to watch the show.

Elita was on Simon like a shot, holding him up and speaking quickly, shooting a brief glare at Ratchet before continuing to talk. Chromia took point, keeping an eye on Deadlock like he were an actual threat, then the two commanders were holding hands as if it were the only thing that could bring them comfort. Talking quietly to each other.

Throwing his hands up, he turns and returns to the edge of the table closest to Deadlock, shaking his head, “I’m sorry kid, my translators shot till Percy gets back. Damnit, what the hell caused that shockwave?” Deadlock purred, bowing his head slightly and Ratchet couldn’t help but smile.

The kid might have gotten them partially into this crazy mess, but at least it was interesting. 

—

The walk back to town was long and hot, but they went together. Checking in on the Iliad where the recovery team had already towed it and the ring sections away.

He was forever grateful for how fast they seemed to handle things. 

Comms were still down, so him and Mirage just spoke quietly to each other, clearing up some things that they wouldn’t be able to talk about among the others. At least till they got back to Iacon.

Which in itself would be a nightmare now, another three pilots plus Ratchet and this crazed assassin potentially in their small apartment. More space would be needed. A bigger garden would need to happen and probably quickly, who knows how much supplies they actually had and his stomach growled. The alarm to eat had probably gone off a while ago, but today took a little bit more priority than that.

It took a while but the edge of town finally came into sight and so did the chaos with it. 

Prowl had somehow wrangled the new pilots, minus Ratchet, together and was talking with them. Jazz at his elbow like always and he knew that they probably thought they were looking at a ghost.

The usual heaters were starting to be set up as was command of the new scanning gear on top of one of the short buildings was any sign of anything, patting Mirage’s arm he pointed and they kept going, “Hey, Hound!” Roddy poked his head around Prowl, just as Jazz stepped in front of the kid, “Let Hound handle the reports Roddy, you’ll be able to talk to him later.”

Smiling a bit, he kept going, glancing down an alley way he could see the tarps covering the remains of the Iliad and her rings. Sighing slowly, he looked away.

Grounded, much like the Odyssey. Likely to never leave the surface again. At least once it was transported to Cybertron.

Sighing, he leaned lightly into Mirage, their EM’s blending comfortably. Companionably.

He was sure… There would be chaos in a moment. There always were moments like this, whether it was New Kaon or Iacon, or a million other missions they’d run since. It was calm before the next bout of chaos.

———

A/N

I honestly did not think I was going to get this part done for tonight, hence why I did not reblog part 53 till just a few minutes before posting this. But, now I know, when I am struggling with writing, write on my phone and it comes back together again.

I like this part significantly better than the last one, which is one that when Arcturus is done I’ll have to overhaul a LOT. But here is the new chapter “early” technically back on schedule.

So, I hope you all enjoy, the next chapter is going to be very reminiscent of some of the early chapters of Arcturus, so I am looking forward to that and soon our pilots both new and old will be on their way to Cybertron.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty As Sin? — Chapter One

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, not a lot here beyond some world building, the party starts next chapter :)

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist

Though it was the first day of the fall semester and your first day as an official law student, you felt exactly the way you had the year before when you were a struggling undergrad. Same town, same friends, even the same apartment in the student housing complex right next to campus that you shared with three of your closest friends, Nina, Derrick, and Alondra, who just so happened to be law students as well. 

It seemed every aspect of your life had remained stagnant for the last four years, except for one critical thing—you were now a single woman. Four years of the most confusing, toxic, passionate relationship of your life now dead and buried thanks to your ex-boyfriend’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. You’d have to see him too this semester, though you tried to keep the prospect of an awkward run-in out of your head as you got ready for the day to the sound of a busy apartment. Nina and Derrick had breakfast duty this morning, the two of them shuffling around the kitchen as loudly as they could, it seemed. Alondra, like you, was sitting across the hall in her bedroom blasting Kali Uchis out of her speaker, though after two years of living together the noise didn’t really affect you at all anymore. 

“Food’s ready,” Derrick said, popping his head in the crack of your open door. 

Standing at six-foot-two with brown skin, hazel eyes, plump lips, and the sharpest bone structure you’d ever seen, Derrick was beautiful. The two of you had done an awkward dance ever since you’d known him, with Derrick silently crushing and you silently rejecting him. You didn’t know what it was about him that didn’t appeal to you; he was kind, handsome, and funny, all the things a normal girl could want. 

But you never really felt like a normal girl. 

You liked the men that didn’t like you back, the men who desperately needed someone to fix them, always convinced that you had what it took to do just that. Of course, you knew better than that by now, but there was a part of you that worried you. A part you always had to keep an eye on, too afraid of your naive, trusting heart taking the reins. 

“I’ll be out in a sec,” you said, coating your eyelashes in a decent amount of mascara. Derrick leaned against the doorframe, watching you with something too close to adoration for your comfort. You laughed it off, waving your hand at him. “Go away.” 

“Am I making you nervous,” he teased. Truthfully, he was. Just not in the way he probably hoped. 

“I’m trying not to stab myself in the eye,” you said instead. 

“Mmhm,” he chuckled, patting the doorframe. “Hurry up, your plate’s at the table.”

“If you’d let me concentrate.” 

Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the table with Derrick on your right—his plate conveniently set beside yours—and Nina and Alondra across from you.

“I’m swearing off of hookups this semester,” Alondra announced, earning skeptical glances from the three of you. “I am!”

“Until Sabina calls you up late at night claiming she’s lonely and sad,” Derrick teased. You kicked him under the table only to find out that Nina had done the exact same thing. “I’m just speaking the truth.”

“You’re a man, you don’t get to speak your truth here,” Nina said. “And as for you—“ She turned to Alondra beside her. “The minute you run into that bitch, you’re done for. Best to accept it now.”

“No, I’m done with her,” Alondra insisted, though you’d all seen this before. Every fall, without fail, Alondra and her toxic cheater of an ex-girlfriend, Sabina, get back together, and every summer they find a reason to break up, only to repeat the cycle the next year. “I might try dudes for a while.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snorted, carrying your plate to the sink. “Since when are you into dudes?”

“Since Sabina ruined all women for me,” she sassed. “Besides, sexuality’s a spectrum.” 

“What about you?” Nina asked, turning in her chair to watch you wash your dish. “Any plans this semester? Hopefully ones that don’t include a toxic relationship?”

“Certainly not,” you replied with a laugh. “I’m gonna be the most boring fucking person at this school this year. No shitty men, no partying, just school.”

“Twenty bucks I get her to black out this weekend,” Nina challenged, turning to Derrick and Alondra. 

“I’ll take that bet,” Derrick said, shooting you a wink. 

“Alright, while you guys are betting, I’m gonna head out to class. You know, like a serious law student,” you teased, drying your hands off before making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you guys in class.”

The first class of the day was Dr. Brown’s Contracts lecture. You’d had him during undergrad for your Criminal Psych class and specifically sought him out while registering because of his laid-back approach to teaching. Though he appeared to be yet another stuffy old man at face value, his personality was much more in line with that of The Dude from The Big Lebowski. He reeked of weed, loved to curse, and didn’t give a shit about all the formalities the rest of your professors insisted upon. 

Dr. Brown’s class passed by with ease, his lecture on the contract breach between Apple and Samsung paired with a meme-filled PowerPoint amusing you enough that you forgot you’d been sitting there for two hours. 

The next class of the day—Dr. Arman’s Legal Research and Writing course—was far less amusing, but at least Dr. Arman didn’t ask much from her students besides following along with slideshows and turning in the occasional paper. Still, the next hour and a half drudged on like feet on sand, Alondra nodding off beside you in the back of the lecture hall. 

“Shit,” she whispered, snapping awake after a nudge from your elbow to her side. “Is it almost over?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, backing up your bag. “I have to hustle to Criminal Law, you good?”

“Yeah, just gonna rest my eyes for a second,” she mumbled, already falling back to sleep. With a fond smile, you rolled your eyes at her and left the hall. 

The last class of the day was Criminal Law I, taught by Dr. Peña, a professor you’d never had in any of your undergrad classes. It was always a toss up every time you entered a new lecture hall whether or not a professor would end up on your shit list, and a sinking suspicion told you Dr. Peña would not be as casual as Dr. Brown nor as lenient as Dr. Arman. No, there was always one overly demanding, arrogant old prick of a professor each semester without fail. 

Though you’d arrived fifteen minutes before class, all the good seats were taken by the time you walked into the hall, leaving only a few seats at the very front. Sighing, you looked longingly at Nina as she sat in one of the back rows, surrounded by a flock of hopeful men desperate to make her laugh. She caught eyes with you and gasped when she realized where you were headed. 

“No, girl, not the front,” she called, earning a dejected nod from you as you reached the mostly deserted front row. 

As you unpacked your bag and notebook—you hated using your laptop in class—Derrick quickly slid into the seat beside you with a huff, as if he’d just finished a marathon. 

“Had to climb over a row of people to get down here,” he said, smiling at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours. 

“Wasn’t gonna let you slum it down here alone.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “You know anything about this guy?”

“Yeah, my brother had him when he went here a few years back,” he said, opening his laptop. “Apparently he’s a dick.”

“Of course he is,” you sighed. 

“You have class after this?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “You?”

“Nah, just the gym with Nina,” he said, stretching out his legs and relaxing into his chair. “You could come, if you wanted.”

“I hate the gym,” you said, scrunching up your nose. “Besides, I need to go get groceries and stuff. Maybe get a head start on Brown’s project.”

“Responsible,” he nodded in approval. “Boring but responsible.”

“All these boring years are gonna pay off when I graduate top of the class,” you quipped, earning a scoff. 

“That’s what you said in undergrad and who ended up graduating at the top?” he asked with a smirk, sticking his chin up with pride. 

“I was one percent away from kicking your ass,” you rolled your eyes and chuckled. 

“Maybe you’ll find another shitty boyfriend to distract you—“

Though you would have liked to hit him for his comment, you were stopped dead in your tracks as the most handsome, brown haired, broad shouldered, puppy-eyed looking man walked out of his adjoining office and up to the desk at the front of the class. He carried an air of authority with his furrowed brows and disapproving frown as he waited for the class to quiet down. 

“If you’re all finished,” he said, unpacking his book bag while scoping out the faces he’d be spending the semester looking at, starting with the back. You watched him with interest, hating that kick of adrenaline the moment his eyes met yours. He seemed to linger for a half a second longer than he had with everyone else before looking away, furthering your delusional thoughts. “Welcome to Criminal Law I. My name is Dr. Peña, you’ll refer to me as such. I except professionalism, conciseness, and competency from the lot of you. You’re graduates now. Time to act like it.”

“Jesus,” Derrick muttered beside you, shaking his head. 

“There will be no whispering, no texting, and for God’s sake, no music in my class. You’re here to learn and I’m here to teach.”

You listened as a few students gathered their things and silently made their exit from the hall. Dr. Peña watched them with a smug look that did little to shoo away your interest. Fantasies of receiving that same look in a far more inappropriate context flooded your mind, visions of you on your knees in his office. 

“Good, now let’s begin. We’ll be covering the penal code today, along with territorial jurisdiction. Can anyone give me a definition of the latter?” 

Never one to volunteer an answer without being called on, you waited for someone else to take the fall. Dr. Peña seemed just as patient, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that pulled at the fabric covering his arms. You quickly turned your eyes down to your notebook when he caught you staring, busying yourself with jotting down the date. 

“In the front,” he said, earning your attention. When you found him still watching you, you let out a small sigh. “Would you care to give us a definition, Miss…”

Giving him your last name, you searched your mind for the definition that you remembered learning at some point during your four years of undergrad. 

“Territorial jurisdiction refers to a court’s power in a certain territory,” you said, swallowing down your nerves as you began to feel your ears heat. 

“And in regards to Texas? Can you give me the section of the Penal Code that covers territorial jurisdiction?” he asked, his voice a deep, whiskey warm timbre that hit you like an aphrodisiac, your mind running rampant with all sorts of inappropriate scenarios of hearing that sinful voice up close and personal.

“I…don’t know,” you said, lowering your eyes down to your desk just to get a break from his steady eye contact. 

“Section 1.04,” he said, a hint of arrogance in his tone. “Now that you have the section, would you mind reading the text for us?”

Taking a deep breath, you flipped to the section in your textbook, hoping that your nervous stutter didn’t make an appearance today. 

“I can do it,” Derrick volunteered, mildly irking you. Did he think he was saving you? Or was this his attempt at competition? 

Dr. Peña waited until he was finished to admonish his interruption. 

“Thank you, Mr…,”

“Crawley,” he said, offering him a charming smile. 

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Crawley, but in the future, I ask that you refrain from interjecting. I’m sure your friend was perfectly capable of reading aloud,” Dr. Peña said, causing Derrick to scoff under his breath. “Alright, I need a volunteer from the second row to read the next section.” 

Derrick seemed to take it to heart, his ever-present smile long gone as he typed his notes on his laptop. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, tapping his shoe with yours. 

“S’whatever,” he shrugged, but you knew him well enough by now that it was far from whatever to him. Derrick was always the best in every class, always adored by professors. You weren’t sure he’d ever been scolded by a teacher in his life, let alone in front of the entire class. “He’s a prick.”

“He’s—“

“Are we interrupting?” Dr. Peña sighed, leveling a look at the two of you as if to say, really? You shrank in your seat, avoiding his stern eyes. “Anyways, you were saying, Miss Martinez?” 

After a tense hour spent listening to Dr. Peña pick on the class, it was time to pack up. You could practically hear your bed calling as you packed your things into your bag, except…

“Would you mind staying behind for a moment,” Dr. Peña asked, calling your name. You gave Derrick a wide eyed look, earning a raise of his brow. 

“Sure, um—“

“I’ll wait up for you,” Derrick offered, slinging his bag over his shoulders before filing out of the lecture hall with the rest of the class. 

Once alone with Dr. Peña, you began to feel sick with anticipation, especially as he sat quiet at his desk shuffling through papers. 

“I’d like to apologize for today. I’m afraid we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you said, carefully approaching his desk. “I assure you, this is nothing I take more seriously than this. I—“

“I asked you to stay behind because I’m in need of an assistant for my undergrad Intro to Forensics class and your name was given to me by the Dean,” he said, looking up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and boredom in his eyes.  

“Wait—what?” you gave him a puzzled look. 

“Your name is listed in the TA program, is it not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to ogle him, but the way his white button down stretched across his broad chest made it damn near impossible.

“It is, but—“

“You’re one of the only law students available who’s taken the class before,” he said, clicking his pen as he began to mark the syllabus sheets he’d passed out towards the end of class. “So, what do you say? Three labs a week. Paid, of course.”

“I’m not sure I can handle the extra load, honestly,” you said. Though you were sure the extra work would certainly up the pressure, it wasn’t the real reason you were so quick to decline. Truthfully, it was him. How were you supposed to be around him an extra three days a week when you were already worried about the three you’d be spending with him in this class? “But if you’re in need of a recommendation, Mr. Crawley took Intro to Forensics with me and—“

“Take a day, think about it. First lab is Wednesday,” he interjected, glancing up at you with those brown eyes that looked both innocent and dangerous at the same time, a confusing balance your overly romantic heart longed to study in depth. You chuckled, a sound of disbelief over his disregard for your rejection, as you watched him turn back to his work. “I’ll have the Dean send over a formal offer this afternoon.”

“What time are the labs?” you asked, slowly accepting your fate—or, more accurately, accepting his stubbornness on the matter. 

“Eight to ten in the evening,” he replied, sounding as though he might yawn at the prospect. “Not ideal.”

“No,” you agreed, offering him a small smile. “I, uh, I’ll think about it.”

Not wanting to embarrass yourself—or endure more of this delusional torture—you made your exit as quickly and gracefully as you could manage, waiting until you were out in the main hall to freak out. 

“What did his fine ass want?” Nina asked, approaching you with Derrick in tow. You snorted at her brashness and rolled your eyes. 

“His fine ass wanted me to TA for his Intro to Forensics lab,” you replied, shaking your head as you looked through your tote for some gum, hoping to distract your rampant fantasies about said fine ass. 

“What the fuck?” Derrick griped, shaking his head. “I’ve been begging the dean to get me a TA position this semester but he said all the positions had been filled.”

“I tried to recommend you,” you offered, giving him a sympathetic frown. “I don’t even know if I’ll take it—”

“Then let me,” he said, hope lighting up his eyes. Even though you still had yet to make up your mind on the matter, his assumption that you’d just give urubbed you the wrong way. 

“I’m gonna think about it first,” you said, sharing a knowing look with Nina. 

If there was one thing to fault Derrick for, it would be his tendency to step on people—even his closest friends—to secure an opportunity. Even when he didn’t need to, even when he’d already won over most professors on campus, even when he knew his female friends struggled to reach even half of the respect given to him strictly because he was a man. 

“You coming with us to the gym?” Nina asked, changing the subject as she watched you bite back the urge to tell Derrick that maybe, just this once, it would be you stepping over him to secure a good opportunity. 

“No thanks,” you chuckled. 

“Lame,” she said, glancing over at Derrick who seemed to be lost in thought. “Well I’m gonna go change.” 

“See you later on,” you said, watching as she made her way down the hall. 

“So you think you might take the job?” Derrick asked, sticking his hands in his pocket. 

“I might,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Just…be careful,” he cautioned, causing your brows to furrow. “Male professors can be creepy as fuck.”

“Men in general can be, yeah,” you laughed. “But I’m sure I can take care of myself.” 

He nodded, ticking his jaw. 

“Well, I gotta go get groceries,” you lied, desperate to get back home, crawl into bed, and maybe do something about those fantasies from earlier. “I’ll see you back—“

“Come to dinner with me,” he blurted, biting his lip as he watched you go through a rollercoaster of emotions. Shock, amusement, confusion, before landing on something akin to empathy. 

“What? Derrick—“

“Just one date,” he promised. “One date and if it doesn’t work out, you know…we can just stay friends.” 

“I don’t know that it’s that simple,” you said, looking anywhere but at him. 

Why was he so dead set on going down this road; of making this mistake that you knew would end terribly? 

“Just a date,” he coaxed. “And I promise no weirdness afterwards if it doesn’t work out.”

“You can’t promise that,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And even if you can, I don’t know that I can.” 

“That’s assuming it goes bad,” he said, nudging your shoulder with a smile. “Friday night, you and me, some fancy restaurant I can barely afford. What do you say?”

Perhaps it was the new year, or maybe just the endorphins brought on by the sight of Dr. Peña in his tight slacks, but what did you have to lose? A good friend that you weren’t even sure would be your friend if he didn’t believe it was his only way in? 

“Fine,” you said, sighing. “One date. No weirdness. No expectations.”

Derrick grinned, nodding as he pulled you in for a hug. “Won’t regret it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chuckled. 

“Excuse me,” Dr. Peña appeared, in the doorway the two of you were blocking, causing Derrick to pull you out of the way and into his side. You watched Dr. Peña’s eyes scan the proximity between the two of you, a hint of disapproval on his face that you were sure you were imagining. “Have a good afternoon, you two.”

“You too,” you managed, sliding Derrick’s arm off your shoulder. “Also—“

Dr. Peña stopped, turning back towards you. “I, uh, I’ll take the job.”

“What?” Derrick scoffed, earning a curious look from Dr. Peña. 

“Very well,” he nodded. “You’ll find the contract in your email tonight.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Professor,” you said, trying your hardest not to purr the last word out the way your filthy mind yearned to. 

Thank you for the opportunity, Professor. Such a fucking cliche that you had no intentions on perpetuating. 

Except for the fantasies. After all, what harm could come from a silly little fantasy?  

[raven-cincaide]

A Little More Than Twenty Minutes 

Summary: Woken up by your commotion in the bathroom, Megumi assumed you had just gotten your period and was prepared to act like a grown man by starting laundry and getting breakfast up. What he didn’t expect was to find something that would shake his entire world upside down while making him act like a literal man-child. In his defence, he just needed a little more than twenty minutes to make a life-altering decision..

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Megumi Fushiguro (aged up) Prompt: Back to the basics → 6. Rash decisions  Warnings: Cursing, established relationship, Themes concerning female reproduction (period etc). 

You were not as discreet as you thought you were. Like a baby elephant, you stirred Megumi awake with the commotion you caused in the bathroom: a curse, a smash, something clattered against the floor, followed by another curse and a low ‘duns’ of skin against the tiles. As you dropped something again and prayed you hadn’t disturbed his sleep, Megumi’s annoyance shifted towards adoration. 

No, stealth was never really your forte. But he would be lying if he said he hated it. It made his apartment feel alive, chased away the darkness of solitude and transformed the four walls into a home.

Groaning under his breath, Megumi turned onto his side, eyes sliding shut. It was some godforsaken hour- the sun barely rolled over the horizon, and he deemed it too early to roll out of bed. Too early even for him. Just as he was about to doze off again, he heard the click of the bathroom lock, followed by the hinges’ loud groan. Fuck, he had forgotten to oil them yesterday. Again. He heard you push the door open as wide as it would go, the handle hiding the wall behind in obvious frustration, and he breathed out a little deeper. That one was on him. 

He promised himself he would oil it the first thing after getting up. 

Megumi expected to feel the bed dip and have you back securely in his arms for another hour; two, could you persuade him to skip breakfast with his team and just meet them directly on the training grounds? 

Instead, he heard the ruffling of clothes. Instantly, Megumi frowned. You were off duty today; yesterday’s late-night mission filled your quota for the week. You had no plans to be social, let alone get out of bed before noon. 

Then, a lightbulb moment struck him; was it your time of the month again? 

Hearing you grab your keys before quietly slipping out of the front door, Megumi let out an audible groan. He counted to ten in his head, then sat up. His body ached in protest, and his eyes blinked lazily, trying to chase away the reminisce of sleep. Running a hand through his messy hair, he willed his body to move out of bed. If it was your period, the least he could do was throw the sheets in the washer and start on breakfast—small things to make your shitty day a little easier.

Boxers on bedding off, he headed to the bathroom with a loud yawn. Two steps to the right, he shoved the well-used sheets into the washer. Detergent in; then softener. Goddamn it, he always had to spill some on his hands. Pinkie out, he twisted the knob awkwardly, pressed a button, another button, ‘confirm’, and the sound of water filled the bathroom. Smirking in triumph over the minor victory of not making a complete mess everywhere, Megumi turned towards the sink and began washing his hands. His thought was already on the next thing; a much-needed piss, then tackling the ever-daunting question; what to cook for breakfast?

Undoubtedly,–Bacon and eggs were easy, but they’d likely get cold by the time you got back and settled to eat; full Japanese took too long. Maybe pancakes to satisfy your sweet– “What the?” During the first spin cycle, Megumi’s eyes landed on an unfamiliar, long white object shaken out from underneath the washer. Undoubtedly, it was one of the things you had dropped and forgotten all about. 

“Clumsy”, he sighed, leaned down to grab the back of the white and blue plastic stick, and pulled it out and up towards the sink. Then he froze, his sleepy mind catching up and realising what he was actually holding. A plastic stick, white on one end, blue on the other, and a tiny screen in the middle. Minus for not pregnant, plus for pregnant. Two lines, although faint, were still two lines. 

Positive. Pregnant. 

Megumi’s body froze; his mind raced. Undoubtedly, you left for another pregnancy test, not tampon. Shit. The closest 7/Eleven was ten minutes away. But he doubted you’d go there in case one of your classmates was working the graveyard shift. The last thing you needed was for rumours to spread before you both had come to terms with the news. It wasn’t like Yuji could keep his trap shut, and Nobara would be on you both like a hawk. No, knowing you, you’d head down to the more anonymous one by the train station. So about fifteen minutes until you got back, twenty if there was a queue or you took the test in their bathroom. 

Twenty minutes to decide how to act. Within twenty minutes, he would either shower you with affection or take you to the abortion clinic. Twenty fucking minutes to choose between becoming a dad or becoming the same deadbeat his father was. But he wasn’t the kind, nurturing type, and how was Megumi even supposed to know, learn and become all that a kid needed amidst his busy schedule? In between protecting people, becoming a great sorcerer, classes and all that? Did he even have the time and money for that? But this could be yours- and his- only chance, a little voice spoke up in his mind. There was no knowing which mission would finally take his life- or yours for that matter- would either of you be okay with missing your possibly-only chance at a family?

A feeling of dread pooled in his stomach; what if he warmed up to one option, got his hopes up, and then you’d be dead set on the opposite? What if he had misread you, and you had already gone to the clinic alone? What if you had already aborted the child, taking the matter- and the choice- right out of his hands? What if—

Megum’s fist made contact with the bathroom tiles. The pain shooting through his arm did little to calm his racing mind, but at least he wasn’t spiralling completely anymore. Grasping on the edges of reality and the situation in front of him, his tactical mind came to the bitter realization that he didn’t have enough time. No, twenty minutes was far too little for him to make a life-altering decision. And he hated that the answer wasn’t obvious to him, that it wasn’t like in the movies where it was an obvious ‘yes’ keep or ‘no’ abort. Instead, it was much more complicated and required him to consider and reconsider every single aspect of himself, his priorities and ultimately you: what he wanted out of a relationship with you, a not-so-serious couple that would surely break up in a few years for greener pastures, or a wife- a lifetime partner?

Megumi hated himself as he spun on his heel out of the bathroom, forgetting all about needing a piss, the earlier thoughts of laundry or even the screeching bathroom door. Haphazardly, he threw on his uniform, stuffing the test into his pocket like a guilty thief. Mismatched socks, then shoes. He grabbed his keys, forgetting to lock the door, and rushed down the stairs, two at a time. Desperate to leave before you caught him in his messy glory and read right through him. He couldn’t afford that, not when his thoughts were this dishevelled. 

Megumi knew it was cowardly to run away from his problems. He promised up and down that he would come back and deal with it all like an adult, like a man. He just needed a little more than twenty minutes to come to a decision..

Author note:For someone who always acts cold, calculating, aloof and a little angry but also extremely mature and independent,  and who I expected doesn’t give a rats ass about periods by treating them as something ‘natural’ I wanted to try and write something that showed a more.. childish side of Megumi. A side where he gets so wrapped up in his mind to the point he stops thinking altogether. And what better way to show that than with a pregnancy scare? A cheap trick, I know. But still, I hope it was worth the read.

And for those of you who recognize this, yes, it’s a repost from months ago. But I still like this fic and I am sure most of my new followers haven’t seen it. So with that, I hope you enjoyed. 

~ Raven 

Main |Raven | Rules and Requests | Masterlist | Other

All fics are unique works by ©raven-cincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reworked/reposted/copied anywhere, please inform me!

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 8}

MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Word Count 2.3k ao3

You exhale. Then again, slower.

It was nothing. Just a pleasant exchange. Nothing more.

Except, the satisfaction of knowing you entertained him, pleased him, earned that rare reaction—should have ended at that. A small, private victory. 

But it doesn’t. It lingers in the way your skin feels too warm, the way your mind replays that half-smile, the way he said goodnight.

Like a glass of water and oil that had been shaken violently, the satisfaction curdled like tiny bubbles of oil reconstituting themselves. 

“I can’t believe I was able to pay attention to the whole movie!” Tailgate interjected, reminding you that you weren’t alone. 

On a night like this back home you would be driving home purely alone, with nothing but the open road and mixtape in the CD player. A blink of silence with Tailgate was enough to make you forget that the vehicle you were currently a passenger of was a whole other person. Secretly you mourned the peace of driving alone.

“I’m glad you stuck around,” you murmured quietly “next time I’ll pick something animated. Promise.”

Tailgate dropped you off at your door, dithered about wanting to see Cyclonus, and sped off.

You would end the day in satisfying solitude. 

---

The bridge was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional murmur of a passing officer. You had decided to head there early to do some writing. You sat tucked away at one of the terminals, fingers poised over the keys, your “report” already well underway. It was, at this point, a self-indulgent habit rather than a duty. Two weeks had passed since the last movie night, in that time there was absolutely zero correspondence from Earth Command. 

You had debated rescinding your resignation. Even if something was done about it, it's not like you could even go back to Earth. The Lost Light wasn’t scheduled to return to your solar system for another year, not even your human handlers could force them to drain the quantum engines to turn back. 

And if Earth didn’t know that you had become compromised, then there really wasn't any reason to let the command of the Lost Light know either. You’d keep your secrets in the pages of your own digital diary.

Typing away at a surprising pace, your thoughts flowed effortlessly onto the document. Unburdened by the need to uphold professionalism.

Cycle 631, 04: Megatron called me to the docks. I went, no hesitation. I’m beginning to think that’s a problem. He took me beyond the ship. Just a short flight, for the first time I saw the Lost Light from the outside. I don’t know if he meant to give me that sight, or if he simply wanted to see what I would say if we were alone. He spoke of history like it was a wound still splitting open. And then he listened, I believe he listened—as I told him I believed he was trying to mend it. The way he looked at me then… No, I won’t write that down. Cycle 631, 06: I invited him to movie night. I don’t know what I expected, but then he showed up anyway. Honestly I don’t think I really payed the movie much attention. And when it was over, he said— He liked it. That alone would have been enough to send my heart skittering, but then, as he looked at me he smiled. Not a smug asshole smirk, an honest-to-god, genuine attempt at a smile. It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t perfect. It was just real. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I don’t think I want to.

You paused before diving into the entry for the present day

Cycle 631, 30: No messages from Earth. No word, no acknowledgment. I should feel lost, unmoored, but instead I feel like my mind has been refocused on being part of the Lost Light. I write these records like they matter, like they’re for someone. But they’re not. They’re just for me.  Megatron has sought me out on occasion lately, for instance the other day. Not on the bridge, not under the guise of duty, but me. He said he was checking on my “health and wellbeing”. And the way he spoke—made me feel like the tepid water between us was finally starting to feel warm. Or at least that's what I think.  I caught myself smiling when he left. Ridiculous. This is getting out of hand. I can’t write his name without my fingers hesitating over the keys. I can’t replay conversations in my head without feeling light. This is nothing. It has to be. At least I can believe my feelings are completely one-sided and at least that feels safe. 

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. 

You hit send abruptly.

---

The early hours passed you by as you kept busy. You hoped that you appeared studious while bouncing around the web. Your search queries included academic topics like: Poetry Analysis Techniques, Literature To Impress Your Crush, and Top Rated Alien Romance Novels. Very critical and work-related research. 

Bots filtered in and out, submitting reports, and conducting their work. Their mechanical workings created a unique atmosphere of busyness. Until, the typical ambience was interrupted by heavy pedes pounding into the room.

From your place near the secondary console, you could see the tension unfolding—a verbal storm brewing between mechs, their voices rising and falling in clipped, controlled bursts. It wasn’t your business.

Rodimus stood his ground against a senior officer, an Autobot lieutenant. His name didn’t matter—his presence did. He was stationed on the Lost Light from launch, before Megatron’s co-captaincy, and he wore that history like armor.

“You’ve been operating this ship like an experiment,” the mech’s voice edged with frustration. “This was meant to be an expedition, not a political stage. The crew grows restless. And you—” he jabbed a finger in Rodimus’s direction, “—allow too much slack. What is this ship if not a rogue element at this point?”

Rodimus, to his credit, looked exasperated rather than riled. “Sounds like you’re saying I’m the problem,” he quipped, arms crossed. “Which, hey, fair. But unless you’re gunning for my job, I suggest you get to your actual point.”

“My point,” the commander snapped, “is that too many compromises have been made. Too many allowances for distractions, for—” his helm wrenched sideways—directly at you.

You stiffened.

“—for irrelevant personnel.”

The words landed firmly. A clean dismissal.

You weren’t the focus of this discussion, yet suddenly, you were.

Another mech, emboldened by the sentiment, cut in.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

It was said so simply, so carelessly, like you were just another logistical issue to be sorted out.

“Ambassadors don’t have clearance to oversee command-level disputes, like schedules,” the officer continued. “She is not a ranking crew member, nor does she hold authority in any sector of ship operations. At best, she’s a guest. And at worst—” the implication hung there.

Your fingers curled against the edge of the console. Rodimus straightened, clearly about to step in, but he wasn’t fast enough.

The temperature in the room dropped.

“She remains exactly where she is.”

The conversation stopped. The tension in the room froze. Pin drop silence.

Every optic turned toward him.

He was still seated, still composed, but something in his expression was razor-sharp. Megatron’s optics burned like embers beneath the focus of his glare, locking onto the mech who had dared to speak out.

“She is not here by your permission,” Megatron continued, voice dangerously close to a snarl. “And she will not be removed at your whim.”

A beat of silence.

Then, the bot ex-vented sharply, clearly not one to back down. “Megatron, this is a command space. If nothing else, protocol dictates—”

He moved.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t violent. But in a single, fluid motion, Megatron stood.

Pedes scraped against the metal floor as he rose to his full height, shoulders squared, every inch of his frame settling into an overwhelming posture.

It was rare for Megatron to throw the weight of his presence into a room like this. He didn’t need to. His authority was written into every part of this ship’s hierarchy. But this—this—was different. He wasn’t asserting command.

He was asserting something else entirely.

Most of the uninvolved mechs resumed their duties, the air of efficiency resumed. The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably but was not ready to back down yet..

“You would bend rules for an organic?” the second mech scoffed. “I thought you, of all people, understood the cost of—”

Megatron moved again.

Faster than you could process, he turned—and in a single, controlled motion, he reached for you.

You barely had a moment to realize he closed the distance towards you.  Before his massive hand closed around you, lifting you with frightening ease. His servos pressed around you with a restraint so deliberate, you could almost mistake it for gentleness.

His claim over you unmistakable as he placed you at his side near the central command console.

Standing beside him, disoriented and heart hammering, you barely registered the way his fingers briefly curled against your frame before pulling away. You swiftly tidied your clothing and appearance before quickly standing at attention with your hands behind your back. It took everything to peel your eyes away from your feet. 

Then, his voice—steadier now, but no less sharp:

“You seem confused.”

He turned his optics onto the mechs.

“She is not optional.”

The lieutenant  looked as if he wanted to argue. But there was no space left for it. He exited the bridge. 

Megatron had spoken.

And the matter was closed.

The murmurs resumed gradually, like the tide rolling back after a storm. No one addressed what had just happened. Optics darted toward you before quickly returning to their stations. No one wanted to be the one to dwell on it. 

You waited. Not immediately, not foolishly, but long enough for their attention to fully drift elsewhere. Then you turned your gaze upward.

Megatron was already watching.

It wasn’t a piercing stare, nor was it the unreadable scrutiny he so often wielded. It was something settled. A silent knowing passed between you, neither of you smiling, it was unmistakable. A look exchanged between allies. Between friends.

You inhaled softly before speaking. “Thank you, Captain.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Am I dismissed?” you asked, voice measured, professional.

A pause. Then, with the same gesture as before, Megatron lifted you once more, lowering you carefully back to the ground. As soon as your feet touched the floor, his hand withdrew, as if the act had never happened at all.

You nodded once, adjusting your stance, ignoring the way your knees wobbled. Then, without another word, you turned and left.

—-

You weren’t sure how you ended up here, tucked away in one of the ship’s quieter observation decks with Megatron standing just a few feet away. Maybe you had wandered. Maybe he had led you here. Either way, the bridge was long behind you, and the lingering weight of all those staring optics had finally peeled off your shoulders.

The silence between you wasn’t strained. Your hands felt a bit too clammy, your body still buzzing with the leftover adrenaline of being claimed so publicly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you finally said, keeping your voice steady.

Megatron didn’t turn right away. He stood near the massive viewport, arms crossed, watching the endless stretch of space. “Would you rather I had let them dismiss you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “No, but... Megatron, that wasn’t just asserting authority. That was…” You gestured vaguely, because how the hell were you supposed to put that into words? That was something I don’t know how to name.

He finally looked at you, unreadable as ever, but his optics weren’t hard—not like they had been on the bridge. Whatever fire had been in them earlier had cooled.

“If you do not yet understand,” he said slowly, voice firm, “then let me make it clear.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“You are not insignificant to me.”

The way he said it—so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

You swallowed, blinking up at him.  Your fingers curled at your sides before you hesitated and—

“…Can you pick me up?”

Megatron blinked. Then, after a moment he ex-vented, bent down on one knee and lowered his hand.

You stepped into his palm, feeling the way his servos adjusted around you as he lifted you effortlessly. His other hand came up, shielding you from the open space, like he was instinctively keeping you protected. It made your stomach do something weird, but you ignored it.

“Closer,” you beckoned.

If he was surprised by the request, he didn’t show it. He brought you to his chest, and you shifted forward, pressing against the broad, solid plating of his frame. Your arms didn’t reach far—couldn’t, really—but you still held him, as much as you were able.

He went very still.

His plating felt warmer here than his servos. Embracing it felt like leaning against a steel door that had been facing the sun– or, well, like a hot car. Soft clicks and hissing tubes could be heard beneath his armor, undercut by a very low thrum.

For a second, you thought maybe you’d overstepped, maybe this was too much, but then his fingers curled ever so slightly around you, holding you in place.

You shut your eyes, exhaling softly. “Thank you.”

Megatron didn’t respond right away. But eventually, you felt something—a shift in the way he held you, the weight of his presence easing just a fraction.

“…You are welcome,” he murmured.

You stayed like that for a little while longer. Just long enough to let it mean something.

---

[bulbabutt]

okay. lets bite the bullet and talk about 2012. lets talk about child abuse, familial abuse, generational abuse, toxic family units, whatever you wanna call it. lets talk about it and whether it exists in this show. i actually encourage you to read this no matter what your take is, just to hear it out. let me be FUCKING clear: i love this show, but i get scared to talk about it seriously. everyone on every side is defensive all the time but i love every turtles show to no end.

this post is going to go over so well and not controversially at all.

precursor: every splinter is some level of shitty dad. he always has been. the fucking bare bones of the character is that he raised his children to kill the man who killed his own father. thats inherently fucked up. every splinter has some level of fucked up about him. maybe hes inattentive, or neglectful, or strict, or secretive, maybe hes just not very good at dealing with his kids. splinter is supposed to be far from perfect. thats what makes him splinter. maybe he grows over the course of a series, maybe he doesnt. maybe hes supposed to be shitty his whole life, maybe hes not. thats just splinter. each is adapted differently depending on the story being told.

and 2012 has a very interesting tone to its story.

lets start at the beginning, back in japan. this is season 3, was this story what they intended when they started writing the show back in season 1? probably not, theres probably things they would have written differently had they known this was where splinter's story started. thats kind of the way tv works, you add the details later. but for our sake of analyzing the character of splinter as a whole, it seems best to start here as if its all intentional.

hamato yoshi is a member of the hamato clan. theyre a very traditional old ninja clan in the modern world, they have old feuds and theyre trying to keep their culture alive. they're literally the last of a clan of ninjas like this, having (supposedly) defeated the foot clan (their generational enemies) back when yoshi was a baby. hes set out to lead next, and its very important to him. and yet hes married to a woman who works in the city, a modern woman who doesnt live the life he does. she even moved to be with him. i feel the need to compare this to how men in the real world who want traditional wives never go for women who are willing to be their housewives, always try to break down the independent ones. splinter seems unconcerned with how his wife wants to live. with how she wants their daughter to be raised.

im not necessarily saying this is how this comes off in the show, but i find it interesting to think about. this is absolutely the most rounded version of tang shen as a character (thus far) it stops her being just a name on a page "hamato yoshi's love and the object of his enemies affections who died" and turns her into a woman who has a stake in the story. gives her more agency.

its very interesting that this show implies an actual relationship between tang shen and oroku saki, albeit a one-sided one that didnt work out, but they do seem to have parted on equal ground. the pair of them discuss yoshi's inattentive duties as a husband and father, that he's too obsessed with the tradition and lineage of his clan. honestly, if this woman just took her baby and left no one would blame her! he has his priorities set, and it leaves no room for her and their newborn baby. if she ran away with saki at this point, the story would make just as much sense.

but then disaster strikes, saki learns the truth about his family, that he was actually a child of the foot clan (honestly i wish we saw this play out instead of jumping ahead in the story but thats not what this post is about) and he kills he and yoshi's father. revenge for him having killed his. cycles of abuse and revenge that never end. the pair of them were raised in this society that values lineage like this, that would kill for it. its no wonder they both grew up this way.

anyway, tang shen is killed by a blow meant for yoshi, and saki takes their child and raises her. based on splinter's lack of desire to be a father so far in the story, its honestly not one you can blame him for. its fucked up, but it makes sense. saki does to miwa exactly what his father did to him. cycles of abuse and revenge.

yoshi loses everything, and moves to america. he's turned into splinter the mutant rat, and gains four turtle sons.

so as established, he's not exactly grown up with a stable family life. he obviously, while human, wasnt acting as a stable father for the child he intended to have. so how good is he at this?

ive talked before about how the 2003 show treats the turtles as kind of one whole unit. they don't have individual relationship arcs, they dont have overarching storylines where they grow apart or closer, they're always in each other's corner.

2012 makes this more dynamic. here we see that 15 years seeing no one but each other, growing under this splinter has come with its own quirks. these brothers dont understand each other that well. they get jealous of each others treatment, some are left out, some are misunderstood. raph resents leo, none of them appreciate what donnie does, mikey bothers everyone else for attention, etc. it creates a really good starting place for this show.

(the issue i have with this show is more that they never really open or close any of these beats, at least not in ways that last. but boy does it make for some good dramatic scenes)

we see over the course of this first season that splinter treats his children just as he was, as little ninjas more so than sons. he raises them to follow his traditions, the ones tang shen never cared for. but this is all he knows how to be! you cant really blame him.

most people bring up mikey as the quintessential example when they talk about this, i dont want to do that cuz i know you've all heard it. while i think his father does disrespect him and i think it is paid forward and his brothers do too, i'd rather talk about raph for a change.

in one episode, raph loses his temper. to teach him a lesson, splinter makes his brothers pelt him in training while insulting him any way they can, and tells him to just... not lose his temper. this is a terrible lesson in general. instead of trying to coax out why he might be angry, it just plays up that if he loses his temper bad things happen.

splinter in this episode basically encourages bullying. this comes up a lot when it comes to raph. to compare, in 2003 when raph loses his temper, hes told to blow off steam which he does. his brothers don't blame him for having emotional outbursts, they know thats just how he is so they know how he needs to cope with it. he's given the physical space to let it out.

im not saying this show needs to be like that show, im just saying thats a version of this story where the outcome is better for raph as a whole. since this outcome is not as good for him emotionally, you can tell why he's still got these emotional issues. splinter never helps him more than that. thats more why this raph differs from that one, if that makes sense. one has his family in his corner more than the other.

speaking of. raph has a pet turtle. this turtle is the only one he can talk to about how he feels. why might that be? it's the only thing hes kind and gentle to, and he refuses to let his brothers make him feel weak for being kind to it. where did he learn to be ashamed of being kind and gentle? thats a learned behaviour. in a house full of other men... yeah, that would happen. but whos values start that?

when this turtle gets some mutagen spilled on it, it tries to get revenge on his family. there is such a resentment going on here, its extremely juicy. the show chalks this up to "post mutation insanity", but its just as easy to think that everything raph has experienced has made him seem angry and resentful and perhaps scared to his pet, and that former pet wants raph to himself so they can be free. the frustrated venting of a child complaining about how no one understands him in such a big way turns slash into a vengeful monster, cuz thats all he's ever heard. it makes sense, he went from a little turtle to a fully cognizant adult aged being in an instant. emotionally no one would handle that well, and definitely not someone whos only ever heard the worst about people.

he comes around later. notably by being on his own, away from the hamatos.

again, im not saying the show is writing this intentionally, but i think tonally its in the zone where you could see this analysis as being canon. that these little pieces of narrative fit the worldview of a toxic family unit that isnt dealing with its problems in a healthy way.

there's other small aspects. leo slaps mikey early on, having seen it on his favourite show be used as a way of getting someone to calm down. mikey questions this behaviour, leo seems to feel bad about it when questioned. if we know that that behaviour was bad, what other things might he emulate in a similar way?

there's things like donnie's predatory behaviour towards april. in a world where all they ever knew was splinter's stories of the outside world (and perhaps television from decades earlier), hearing splinter's story of his love for tang shen, his rivalry with his own brother over her, you could actually see why he would behave the way he does, why he claims her the way he does. not as an excuse, but as a reason he learned the behaviour. and there's multiple opportunities for his father to tell him off. he never does. why would he? he knows no better.

this splinter, unlike every other, is not old or disabled. he doesnt require a cane (at the start, but also was never a good cane) and its interesting that despite being like... a 40 year old man in the peak of his life he does not accompany his sons on missions. he sits around doing nothing and disproves of his sons heroic actions. april literally calls him out for this at one point. the show is actually telling us some of this man's behaviour is wrong.

one of the more upsetting things that happens in this household is a lot of physical hitting. "theyre training" you might say. understandable. but when you see a lot of hitting come from the father in this show, played for a laugh, when you see splinter play the "drunk master" bit it makes you think. is that okay? isnt that a bit much?

the end of the muckman episode is a freeze frame of splinter (after having knocked out all of his sons to punish them for leaving while grounded) turning his anger on april and her running away. idk thats just not funny to me. this is a bit of the dating of the show, 2012 was a time where character's in shows were meaner, less affectionate, more bullying in nature. that was the sense of humour at the time. that isnt me making a judgment, it's just kind of the era. a pre steven universe world, if that makes sense. so many of the jokes that end in a hit aren't funny in 2024. especially not when they come from a parent.

when this splinter speaks about his kids to their brothers he often ends up insulting them. "you should be like mikey, he never overthinks because he doesn't think", this would be a big reason the boys speak about each other the way they do to their faces. puts forward a bit more of that bullying thing i mentioned earlier. if their own father talks about them like this, of course their brothers do too. so of course they join in and give payback.

again. splinter wasnt raised in a normal family. he was raised in a ninja commune with a bunch of murderers. he wasn't great with his wife and baby daughter. its not surprising that he's bad at this.

so, ive just said a bunch of things about what's wrong with this household as a whole. i think ive explained why the family unit behaves the way it does: generational teachings of feuds and traditional values. i dont think this makes the show bad! i, in fact, wish there was more of it. i think theres so much low hanging fruit that the show kind of wants to play with, but cant fully bring itself to.

specific example: during the space arc on a planet thats driving all the characters emotions against each other we get this amazing scene where raph screams at leo for being splinter's favourite. leo responds by hugging him. its really well done!

however its never brought up again, never actually getting into the nitty gritty of why raph feels like that is exactly what i think makes this show resonate with so many people

its dark! it pulls at your heart strings! it makes people feel seen! we go in mikey's head at one point and see such splintered (lol) personalities in his head. he has a huge anger problem (much like raph) in there. he retreats into imagination land when stressed. the show kind of toys with "these kids are fucked up!" but never lets those character moments go anywhere. i love how fucked up this family is. its so complex, it feels real. at least real to me. i wish it went that little step further and let the characters talk about these things a little more.

maybe you have a different experience, and thats fine! but i wouldnt brush off people like me who look at 2012 and say "these dynamics make me uncomfortable". to excuse it by saying "my family is like that and we're fine" sometimes i just wanna say... <:/ are you? have you talked about that? and if that's your read on it is that its fine, thats great. but some people notice patterns and those patterns can make them uncomfortable. i hope ive explained the patterns here.

i think thats why the fandom is as big as it is. this show would lead to the most amazing deep introspective fan-works youve ever seen, it lays the pieces out so perfectly for you to draw your own conclusions about why they are this way. you cant really blame people for talking about it as if its got a way higher rating than it does. it feels like it does.

i should say, i dont even know if i blame the show on its own for leaving those pieces laying there, it was on nickelodeon. i sense studio meddling in the tone. i mean, given that the show wanted to end with the big mutant apocalypse storyline, and yet the network wanted to end it with the big 87 crossover..... yeah i think its safe to say nick would rather they keep it light.

which is funny, because i think the most controversial thing i can say is i personally love the finale arc as the mutant apocalypse. it so encapsulates my favorite part of this show. to end this show in the darkest timeline and say "even though these characters are so far removed from who they used to be and even though the entire world is over they still have each other in the end" and i find that so perfect.

so. i understand that this is always a touchy topic. i know people want to brush it off as "people say the 12 brothers are abusive to mikey but mikey is fine", and i think thats a really skewed version of it from both sides. first of all. mikey is not fine, look in that boys head. look how he copes. he's not. but also, mikey is not the only victim. they all are. these turtles are victims of their upbringing, victims of generational war. of men who didnt know how to be good fathers in the first place. and thats good writing! it feels deep! it connects!

for more context: any fucked up way you can think of karai being raised by shredder? its probably the same way here. splinter and shredder were raised the same way.

i guess i think about this a lot, cuz i always see things like "oh, rise fans write crossovers where the rise boys love each other and have to teach the 12 boys how to be nice cuz they dont like 2012!" and i just think to myself:

guys. do you understand why a person might do that? why would someone (likely a teenager) want 2012 mikey to be treated nicely by a kinder more openly affectionate version of his own family? do i need to spell that out for you? why do we connect with media at all, why do we write our own stories about it?

if you genuinely dont. i mean, im glad for you. but sometimes you wanna imagine a world in which your own family is more openly affectionate with you. where they hug and tell you theyre proud and love you and you never have to question it, never have to look elsewhere for that kind of approval. its less that they're idolizing rise, and more that they're looking at the two families and saying "this one is emotionally mature and in touch with their feelings more than that one. how would that play out?"

doctor feelings ass response.

look, im not saying everyone understands 2012, that everyone likes or needs to like it. im just trying to say that i think these fucked up parts of 2012 are all around my favourite parts of the show. its an inspiring story about this fucked up little family that has no one but each other, and they're not great about it. they try, but they don't always get it right. i just wish the show would have talked about that part more. but i think that since it doesnt people get to fill in those blanks themselves, and they do it so beautifully. and i really wish people on the internet would be more kind to one another when they wanted to discuss these darker themes they find in it.

these are the reasons i love this show. i think its so very interesting that splinter dies this fucked up father figure who never really apologized for his behaviour. i like that raph needs to be held to stop punching his brothers. that leo doesnt have a good grip on what it is to be a leader, that he tries bad ways of doing it. i like that no one copes well! i like that their relationships are so complex! this show is messy! its good! i wish it was more messy!

and id love if we could be more honest about these things and how they make us feel instead of just brushing each other off as "likes the show" or "doesnt like the show". the things that make me uncomfortable are why i love this show and i'm pretty sure i'm not alone there.

[supernova2205]

Duties Weight

John price x reader

Summary: After returning home from deployment, John Price unintentionally distances himself by prioritizing work over his wife, leaving her feeling neglected and lonely. Tensions rise when she confronts him about his absence, prompting John to realize the toll his behavior has taken on their relationship.

Warnings: slight angst to fluff happy ending

The house was too quiet again. It had been months now since you last heard his boots on the floor, his laughter in the kitchen, or the low murmur of his voice from the other room. You thought you’d get used to it by now—the endless cycle of deployments, followed by brief returns that always felt too short. But you never did.

The fridge calendar caught your eye as you passed by it, the bold red circle around today’s date standing out like a flare. He was finally coming home. You’d been counting down for weeks, the excitement and anticipation building like a tightly wound spring. You imagined the moment over and over in your head: the door opening, his arms around you, and the relief of knowing he was safe and with you again.

When the sound of the key turning in the lock finally came, you were already halfway to the door.

“John?” you called, your voice catching in your throat.

The door swung open, and there he was. For a moment, your breath caught. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and he looked just as you remembered, though exhaustion etched deep lines into his face. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes you’d missed so much, softened when they landed on you.

“Hey, love,” he said quietly, setting his duffel bag down by the door.

Before you could stop yourself, you launched forward, wrapping your arms around him. His arms came around you a moment later, strong and warm, pulling you close. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him—faint cologne, a hint of sweat, and something uniquely John.

“You’re back,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I’m back,” he replied, his voice rumbling in his chest.

For a while, you stayed like that, clinging to each other as if letting go might make him disappear. But when you finally pulled back to look at him, something about his expression made your heart ache. There was a distance in his eyes, a heaviness that hadn’t been there before.

The first few days after his return passed in a blur. You’d filled your head with plans for his homecoming—movie nights, home-cooked meals, lazy mornings spent in bed together. But those plans quickly fell to the wayside. John, it seemed, had other priorities.

He spent most of his time at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers and his laptop. You’d catch glimpses of mission reports, diagrams, and pages upon pages of notes. When you tried to sit with him, he’d barely glance up, his focus unshakable.

“Can’t this wait?” you asked one evening, setting a cup of tea beside him. “You’re home now. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t,” he said, not looking up. “I’ve got deadlines.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to argue, to tell him that this wasn’t what you’d been waiting for, but you didn’t. Instead, you nodded silently and walked away, biting back the sting of disappointment.

As the days stretched into weeks, the pattern continued. John woke up early to work and stayed up late to finish whatever he was doing. Even when he was physically present, it felt like his mind was somewhere else.

One evening, you sat alone on the couch, a bowl of popcorn growing cold in your lap as a movie played on the TV. You’d asked John to join you, hoping for even a sliver of time together, but he’d waved you off, muttering something about needing to finish a report.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away angrily. You weren’t mad at him—not really. But the loneliness was suffocating. You’d waited so long for him to come home, only to feel like he wasn’t truly here.

The breaking point came on a rainy afternoon. You were in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, when John walked in, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll have the report sent over by tonight,” he said, his voice clipped.

You froze, the knife hovering mid-air. When he didn’t even look at you, something inside you snapped. You slammed the knife down on the cutting board with a sharp crack, the sound startling even you.

John glanced up, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you echoed, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “You’ve been home for weeks, John, and it feels like you’re still a thousand miles away.”

His expression shifted, confusion giving way to something harder to place. “I’ve been busy, love. You know that.”

“Busy,” you said bitterly, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “You’re always busy. Do you even realize how lonely it’s been? How lonely it still is, even with you here?”

John opened his mouth as if to respond but closed it again, his jaw tightening.

You set the knife down, your hands trembling. “I just… I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

For a moment, he looked like he’d been struck. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

That night, John sat alone in his study, staring at the papers in front of him. He didn’t read a single word. Your voice echoed in his head, each sentence hitting harder than the last.

How had it come to this? He’d always believed he was doing the right thing, that his work was for the greater good—for your future together. But now, sitting in the silence of the house, he realized how much he’d taken for granted. He’d been so focused on his duty that he’d forgotten the one person he was doing it all for.

The next evening, you came home from work to the smell of something delicious wafting through the house. Confused, you called out, “John?”

“In here!”

Following his voice, you stepped into the dining room and stopped in your tracks. The table was set with your favorite dishes, candles flickering in the center. John stood by the stove, wearing an apron and looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“What’s all this?” you asked, your heart pounding.

He wiped his hands on a towel and stepped closer, taking your hands in his. “It’s an apology,” he said simply.

“John…”

“Please, let me say this,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been a terrible husband. I thought I was doing the right thing by focusing on work, but I’ve been blind to what you really need—what we need.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you bit your lip to keep them from spilling over.

“I’m so sorry,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t promise I’ll always get it right, but I want to try. I want to be better—for you, for us.”

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. You threw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could.

That night, you shared a meal filled with laughter and conversation, the warmth between you slowly melting away the frost that had built up over the weeks. John told you stories from his deployment, and you shared what you’d been up to while he was gone. For the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like you were truly together.

Over the following weeks, John made good on his promise. He set boundaries with his work, carving out time for you no matter how busy things got. There were still moments of frustration, old habits that were hard to break, but the effort he put in made all the difference.

The house felt alive again, filled with love, laughter, and the man you’d fallen for all those years ago. As you curled up together on the couch one evening, his arm around you and your head resting on his chest, you let yourself savor the moment.

Loving John Price might never be easy, but as you listened to the steady beat of his heart, you knew one thing for certain: it was always worth it.

Authors note: sorry I’ve been inactive guys I’ve been trying to figure out how to write part 2 for unexpected company but it still feels like it’s missing something so I decided to post this in the meantime hope you enjoy 🫶🏼