#transformers Rust dust

[indragonsaur]

Transformers: Cybertron chronicles: Rust dust and Dustup

[elfdragon12]

While I'm okay with genderswapping Transformers in shows to better balance gender ratios, I do wish that wasn't apparently the first resort for writers once they've grabbed Arcee, Elita-1, and/or Windblade instead of just... Using one of the many female Transformers that already exist.

Other female characters I want to see animated:

Autobot Road Rage, my tippy top pick. She is so cool and sexy.

Decepticon Spacewarp. She's a deep space explorer that has lots of different adventures and finds herself questioning the Decepticon cause.

Megaempress and the Four Guards. For the love of all things good, please pull a Ruckley and write these ladies something decent because the Unite Warriors comics are terrible with them.

Autobot Javelin, sharpshooter and warrior! She has a really cool design and I think there are some really interesting ways you can take her character, especially if you bounce off the IDW2 story where she's traumatized from getting a head injury in combat!

Decepticon sleeper agent Flip Side. I want to see a dedicated story arc based off of her story with Blaster and how she deals with realizing her life was a lie.

Pyra Magna and the Torchbearers/Rust Renegades. While Victorion showed up in the Prime Wars trilogy, the separate components didn't seem to do so. I think either story from IDW1 or IDW2 would be fantastic story to explore in an animated story!

What female characters who've never been animated (or perhaps showed up for maybe 5 seconds) would you like to see?

[quibble-auk]

Still thinking about this fanfic…

Some more extremely rushed doodles from Misaligned Gemini because it’s still spinning around my head. This time we’ve got a bunch of the companions.

I labeled their names cause I’ve never drawn them before and imma be real and admit I didn’t recognize them immediately lol

Srs tho, go read it. It’s so worth it.

[deadprocess]

Resurgence

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Proposition

Learning that there is no war, Shockwave and Soundwave take residence with an over eager Rust Dust who informs them of certain legalities involving their unexpected stay on Cyberonica.

Soundwave stood in silence for a few clicks, digesting the information as best as he could. He was well acquainted with traveling through a space bridge, but dimensional travel was not something he was expecting to encounter, least not experience himself. 

“Decepticons: eradicated?” 

“No. One cannot eradicate something that has never existed. Our war has not happened, nor will it. At least, that is what I was informed,” Shockwave turned his helm towards the door, “Rust Dust has informed me that we are currently located in a rural town called Primatonta, which is located near a city called Univiron. It was mentioned that it is the hub of scientific endeavors. If we were to travel there, It could be possible to utilize their advancements to return home. Though It is unknown to me whether or not this planet has adequate enough components to pull off such a feat.” 

“Natives: Will let Shockwave into their labs? Use their research and tools?” Soundwave’s body language was incredulous, helm tilted and arms crossing in disbelief. Not being immediately attacked was one thing, but letting two outsiders into their labs and accessing research was an entirely different thing. No bot would be that stupid. 

A flash of a Vehicon’s face passed through Soundwave’s processor.

Well…some would but those were few in between.

“I do not have a clear answer, but there is no indication that they would consider us a threat. However, persuasion will be applied as necessary should the situation call for it,” Shockwave turned towards the door, his purple bitarlueus biolights flickering in an ominous pattern. His arm cannon was a staunch reminder of what he had lost long ago, but it also served as a reminder that he was not to be trifled with. Many enemies had been felled by him and many would fall if they should dare get in his way, “come, Soundwave. Let us suggest this idea to our host.”

—-

Rust Dust’s residence…was far messier than what one would think for a fellow bot. Numerous trinkets lay scattered across counters and pictures of unfamiliar faces decorated the walls of each corridor. A plethora of luminescent flora hung around her residence, all in various states of living, if one could call it that. Soundwave could almost picture one poor plant calling out desperately for sustenance as its leaves lay limp and dying. It was shocking how much stuff one could have, though it was possible that he just never had the luxury to own anything besides Lazerbeak. He, however, would hardly call her something he owned, as she was as much a part of him as his own spark.

Shockwave cleared his intake, causing Rust Dust to look up briefly from her display screen. Sounds of gunfire ceased as the screen displayed the word “PAUSE”. She was playing a game that appeared eerily similar to the ones that humans occupied themselves with back on Earth. 

“Oh, hey guys. Was that en-...oh. Primus, I’m sorry! I forgot to get that energon for you! Here, one second.” The femme jumped up, rushing around a corridor into a room before rustling through something. No doubt a supply closet as she reappeared with a bright, neon cube. “Here, sorry about that again!” Handing the cube to Soundwave, who tentatively grasped it, she sat back down glancing at them expectantly. “Well…? You guys can take a seat, no need to be so formal!” 

There were a few different options; a lengthy cushioned slab, a few metal chairs and a singular cushioned one. Shockwave moved to sit on the slab, his weight shifting the furniture slightly. It was a shock that the furniture even fit a bot like him. Were there others that rivaled his size? Or did the femme simply prefer roomier options? Soundwave remained in place, gaze fixed on the swirling substance he held in his servo. It looked like energon, smelled like it too, but it had a thicker consistency that he remained unsure about as his tentacle emerged to probe at it. Shockwave took it upon himself to speak for the two of them as the other officer occupied himself with the foreign energon.

“After speaking to my companion, we find it best if you were to show us to that science capital you were telling me about earlier. Univiron, was it?” His servo moved to direct attention to the window nearby, attempting to appear casual in the conversation so as to not raise any suspicions, “We make it a point to engage ourselves with fellow scientists. Collaboration is imperative within the field, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yeah, Univiron! I can absolutely show you two around there! I’m sure Lancer and Crosswire would love to hear about your work too. There is a transport system that runs through here every cycle, “ Rust Dust stood from her current lounging position, optics wide with enthusiasm before a realization dawned on her, “but, we’re going to have to visit the actual capital first. I know this might be odd, but we need to get you two registered.”

“We do not intend to stay long term.” Shockwave quickly interjected and Soundwave raised his helm to stare at the femme. Rust Dust held her servos up, sensing the shift in tension. 

“Oh no! I didn’t mean for you two to register for permanent residency or anything. When we have newcomers, it’s just standard procedure to get their information and issue them temporary residence if they are staying for more than a solar cycle. It helps the government keep track of resources, spending and who is currently on the planet.” 

“Soundwave and Shockwave: will be watched and escorted?” Soundwave’s purple optic bore a hole into the smaller bot. Shockwave had never seen his compatriot’s face before but the striking optic that glowed under the shade of his helm was certainly unnerving. This much was apparent as Rust Dust shifted nervously under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Excuse him. We are just interested in how the council proceeds with situations like this. Will we be treated as guests or as unfavorable characters?” Shockwave quickly diverted attention away as Rust Dust’s ever present smile twitched downwards as her discomfort became palpable.

“Primus no! You won’t be like under surveillance or treated like criminals but you’ll definitely be escorted around. Cyberonica is huge and traveling around can be difficult since you don’t know much about our transportation system. On the bright side there is plenty to do, so think of it more like having a personal chauffeur that will take you to the best spots before you guys leave! You guys are super lucky too. We have some major events coming up!” Rust dust’s upbeat attitude returned, contrasting starkly to the brewing impatience from Shockwave and Soundwave. 

“Very well. How long does it take to get to your capital? And once we have an audience with your planet’s officials, will we be granted approval to travel to Univiron?” 

“Well…Generatium is five cycles by air transport, so if we leave now we can be there by nightfall. I don’t think you’ll be able to see Univiron for a few days though. Everyone is preparing for the Spark Festival. A lot of our scientists and engineers head to Animatrix to collaborate and make sure the artists are following safety protocols, so there won’t really be any higher ups in the labs.” Shockwave’s antenna twitched, his digits tapping against his tibulen. Patience was a virtue but time was of the essence. This Spark Festival was going to derail his time schedule... 

And Primus, ”Spark” festival? What an uncreative name!

“Surely we could engage with those remaining in the lab? Have they not been trained well enough to offer a tour and collaborate? Forgive my impatience, but our trip was meant to be relatively short and we really should be trying to repair our device.”

Trip? Soundwave’s helm tilted slightly. What had Shockwave told the femme about their current circumstance? 

“Oh, I think they have, but I’m sure the lead scientists wouldn’t want excess hands in the lab because of safety issues. A lot of the lab personnel left behind are there to make sure that any running experiments are going smoothly and to clean up. You know…basically making sure nothing explodes as Lancer says.” 

Soundwave placed a servo on Shockwave’s shoulder plating, signaling for his EM field to retract as the scientist's growing frustration heightened. Exasperated, Shockwave yielded. There would be nothing to gain from threats of violence or impatience. They were not deemed a threat yet, so that is how it should remain until they could find a way home. Any unnecessary actions could prove to be consequential after all.

“That is sound reasoning. Let us travel to Generatium at once then. Soundwave, are you well enough to depart?” 

Soundwave silently sipped at the cube through his tentacle, his intake lurching at the odd texture that greeted his fuel lines. His exposed optic shut as he repressed a shudder. He could not taste anything but he was sure that the flavor would be unforgivably nasty. 

“Affirmative: Intake levels optimal for short trips.” Shockwave rose, nodding at his fellow officer before turning his attention to Rust Dust who was grabbing a small data pad. 

“Perfect. I have my pass right here so we can get going. I’m sure our council members will be able to expedite things including medical care. Those dents and vizor of yours should be easy to fix for our experts!” Rust Dust gave another enthusiastic thumbs up before turning on her heel struts towards the door. 

Soundwave’s optic flickered down. To fix his vizor meant for their medical personnel to remove it entirely. He would be exposed. Perhaps he could request the tools and proceed with fixing it himself? Perhaps he could find a way to shield his facial-...

A servo found its way to his shoulder pad. Looking to his side, his gaze met Shockwave’s. A small gesture of comfort. A silent promise.

We will deal with that when the time comes. 

—--

The transport station was huge. For as small as Rust Dust described Primatonta to be, the station was a hive of activity. Bots of all sizes rushed to different designations as a femme’s voice announced arrivals and departures. There were large screens that displayed various things above them with one depicting three separate transportation methods; air, water, and land. All with symbols next to them. Prices? It was an educated guess as it was all written in a language that Shockwave was unfamiliar with. 

“Soundwave, do any of your databases have information regarding this language?”

“Negative: databases are unable to be accessed at this time. Language: unfamiliar regardless.” Soundwave let a bitter edge seep into his voice. Shockwave had to be aware of the damaged state he was in and yet here he was, being asked nonsensical questions. Though he supposed his irritation was more linked to the vulnerability he felt rather than the scientist being naturally curious. 

Shockwave had always been a bright mind that was eager to sponge up any information he could. It was something he had always admired about the mech and it was good to see that he retained that even after all these vorns.

“Alright gentlemechs! I have three tickets for Generatium. We are departing from platform X, and it is leaving in a couple of breems so let's get going!” The femme began bounding towards in a direction that was assumed to be where this platform X was. Shockwave cursed inwardly as he quickened his pace to catch up with the femme, his servo placing itself on Soundwave’s back plate, urging him to follow as best as he could in his current state.

He could only hope that this trip would be over in a timely fashion, but with how many surprises there had been, it was doubtful.

Xx Author's Note xX

Thank you very much for reading! Lots of dialogue and world building coming up.

I'll be posting a peak at the different cities involved in this story. It will include their functions and important events tied with them! Let me know your thoughts!

:)

[cressidagrey]

Garage Time

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Felicity and Bee Piastri: Two Peas in a Pod

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had always known he wasn’t the smartest person in the house.

It wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t even close.

He could read tire degradation like a second language. He could predict weather shifts by the way wind moved across a track. He could tell you the weight of pressure on his back wheel just by how the steering wheel twitched in his hands.

But true brilliance—the intricate, layered, quietly relentless kind? That belonged to Felicity.

And now, it seemed, to Bee too.

He stood now in the open doorway of what used to be an old stable—transformed by Felicity into a workshop, a garage, and more recently, a sanctuary. It smelled like grease, dust, and something warm—like a life that had been lived in deeply. And it echoed, faintly, with the laughter of his four-year-old daughter and the murmur of her mother’s steady voice.

Bee was sitting on a stacked milk crate in her favorite overalls—dark blue with patches on the knees, one of which she’d sewn on herself with needle-sharp concentration. She was holding a mini flashlight and a torque wrench like they were holy relics. Her goggles were too big and kept sliding down her nose, but she pushed them up without pausing her inspection.

“Mama,” she said, very seriously, “the rust’s gotten worse again. The wire brush isn’t enough. We need the Dremel with the diamond bit.”

Without looking up, Felicity reached over and passed the exact attachment. “Already out. Be careful of the edges.”

Oscar just stood there, quietly floored.

They moved like clockwork—precise, in sync, saying more with glances than most people could manage in full conversations. There was a kind of sacredness to it. A ritual born from repetition, trust, and shared obsession.

The car in front of them—a fire-red ‘67 Alfa Romeo Spider— was half-dead. But he knew that it would run again. Because Felicity always took broken things and fixed them. Piece by piece, bolt by bolt. 

Their shared language wasn’t just tools and tasks. It was detail. Precision. Respect for the process.

Bee had preferences the same way her mother did—strong, specific ones. She didn’t like when the wrenches were out of order. She couldn’t focus if her socks didn’t match. She insisted on a clipboard instead of a notebook and wanted her snacks in “even-numbered bites.” Her world made sense when things were in place. When they followed the rules she understood.

Oscar leaned on the doorframe, watching as Felicity wiped grease off her hands and adjusted her ponytail with the calm confidence of someone who knew how to make something run again.

“Should I take out the bolts on the intake next?” Bee asked, peering over the engine like a surgeon.

“Not yet,” Felicity said, crouching beside her. “We check the seals first. Otherwise we’re redoing work we didn’t have to.”

Bee nodded solemnly. “That’s inefficient.”

Oscar could barely process it. His three-year-old was talking about mechanical inefficiency.

He scratched the back of his neck, a grin tugging at his lips. “I feel like I should be helping.”

Felicity looked up at him, eyes gleaming. “You are helping.”

“By standing here and trying not to mess anything up?”

“Exactly.”

Bee giggled. “Papa, your hands are too big for the screws. And you said last time the engine ‘judged you.’”

“It did!” Oscar protested. “It made a weird noise. I don’t trust it.”

Felicity rolled her eyes fondly. “It was the starter clicking. Because you wired it backward.”

“Okay,” he muttered. “We don’t all come with a degree in car resurrection.”

But he didn’t mind.

 Not even a little.

Because as he watched Felicity patiently show Bee how to handle the dremel, the way she knelt beside her daughter without condescension, the way Bee looked at her like she was a superhero in greasy overalls—it hit him again.

These two?

 They were brilliant.

Felicity, with her steady mind and quieter kind of sharpness. The woman who once redesigned their kitchen shelving because she couldn’t stand inefficient spatial flow.

And Bee, who had probably invented three new tools in her head before snack time.

He was raising a genius. And he’d married one too.

And somehow—by some miracle—they both loved him. 

He stepped closer. Bee didn’t look up. “If you mess up the socket order again, Mama said you’ll be benched.”

Felicity snorted softly. “Fair warning. Last week you rearranged them by size instead of frequency of use.”

“Because that makes sense!”

“Not to us,” Bee said without looking up. “We sort by practicality, not aesthetics.”

Oscar put both hands in the air. “Understood. I’m on thin ice.”

He sat on the edge of the workbench, watching as Felicity guided Bee’s hand on the Dremel with practiced calm. Bee's brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly, the same way Felicity looked when she was threading electrical wire.

They even leaned the same way when they worked—weight over their left hip, elbow tucked in, steady, focused.

God, they were so alike.

Same quiet brilliance. Same way of existing in a world that didn’t always understand how particularity could be a comfort.

Oscar loved them for it.

Even if he sometimes felt like a different species.

Still, he didn’t mind. He’d take the role of “fuel technician” or “guy who messes up the wrench order” any day if it meant getting to watch this.

“Do you want me to get snacks?” he asked eventually.

Bee perked up immediately. “Apple juice, please. Cold. In the bee cup. The one with the yellow straw.”

Felicity added, “And banana bread. No crust. Don’t forget the butter this time.”

Oscar grinned. “See? I have a purpose.”

“You’re our supply chain,” Bee said, solemn and sweet.

He headed for the kitchen, but his thoughts lingered behind.

Because here, in the garage, Bee shone.

But outside of it—at kindergarten, in playgroups, at birthday parties—she dimmed. Just a little. Enough for him to notice. Enough that it ached.

She preferred machines to playgrounds. She corrected her teachers, and she’d rather spend the day with chickens and torque specs than kids her age. She reached for her mama’s hand instinctively at parties, only relaxed when Felicity was near, and she quietly dimmed herself when other children didn’t understand her.

He worried about what the world would do with a girl like her.

With a girl who didn’t shrink for anyone. Who asked questions teachers couldn’t answer. 

Who didn’t just think outside the box—she would take the box apart with a ratchet set, draw schematics for a new one, and filed a request to optimize the corners.

Bee didn’t fit neatly anywhere.

Except here.

Here, in the workshop with her mother—who got it. Who was it. Who had been that same sharp-edged, too-bright child once. The one who asked too many questions and took apart toasters to understand thermodynamics.

And Oscar… didn’t know what to do with that. Not really.

He loved that Bee was uniquely herself. He wouldn’t change her for the world. But part of him worried, about how hard the world could be on girls who didn’t make themselves easier to understand.

So he made snacks.

He carved out spaces for her to be seen. To be known. He bought her every kind of notebook and wrench and Lego motor he could find, and he kept the world soft when it felt too loud for her.

In the kitchen, he poured apple juice for Bee and mango for Felicity. He cut thick slices of banana bread and added three forks—just in case Bee was in one of her “tools for everything” moods.

As he plated everything, he caught his reflection in the darkened microwave door—messy hair, oil smudge on his hoodie from leaning too close to Bee earlier, and a smile he couldn’t quite wipe away.

The kind of smile that came from a life that didn’t need spotlight to shine.

When he returned to the garage, it was quieter now, but only in the way a good story quiets down before the twist.

Bee was kneeling on a foam mat with a serious expression, focused on drawing something on a clipboard— Oscar could see crude sketches: rectangles, labels, what looked like airflow arrows.

Felicity was beside her, wiping down a set of socket wrenches, her ponytail starting to fall loose. There was grease on her jawline and a streak of dirt across her sleeve. She looked radiant.

Oscar set the snacks down on the workbench gently. “Refueling, as requested.”

Bee looked up from her clipboard. “Thank you, Papa.”

Oscar smiled. “You’re welcome, Bumblebee.”

She handed him her sketch. “I redesigned the air filter casing.”

It was crude and hand-drawn, but shockingly insightful.

“She got the concept from my old Haynes manual,” Felicity said, already chewing her bite of bread. “I left it on the shelf by accident. She read the airflow diagrams before bed.”

Oscar blinked. “She’s three.”

Bee held up four fingers. “Almost four.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Almost four and already smarter than me.”

Felicity smirked. “She gets it from me.”

“You both terrify me,” he muttered, but there was no real fear in his voice���only awe.

The three of them sat quietly for a while, Bee content to sketch while Felicity wiped her tools with a meticulous rhythm.

Oscar didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt.

He just watched—content, in love, and quietly aware that he’d somehow been chosen by the two most remarkable people he’d ever met.

He might not always understand their blueprints, or why grease made them both so happy, or why the wrench order mattered so much—

But he didn’t need to.

They were his. He was theirs.

And that was more than enough.

He couldn’t predict how far Bee’s mind would go. Maybe she’d design cars instead of drive them. Maybe she’d run wind tunnel simulations in her sleep. Maybe she’d abandon it all for marine biology because she liked dolphins more than spark plugs.

He didn’t know.

What he did know was this:

He got to watch it happen. He got to be here. Even if he didn’t understand every detail, every gear, every tiny plan scribbled on scrap paper.

He got to be the one who brought the juice boxes. Who wiped grease off her cheek. Who kissed Felicity on the forehead while she calibrated torque like it was second nature.

He got to build a life alongside them.

He wasn’t the smartest in the house. Not by a long shot.

But he was the one who got to call it home.

And that? That was the best kind of win.

[heliosunny]

Your writing for Phainon is soon good 💖 How about something with a Dragon-shifter!Reader who kidnaps Prince!Phainon as dragons do - maybe to get a nice ransom from the royal family - the only problem is that he ain't interested in getting rescued. And may have just slaughtered the knights sent to free him and slay the dragon himself.

Yandere!Phainon x Dragon-shifter!Reader

The sky was dark by the time you reached the ruins of the castle, the stone walls jagged and broken from age, yet still standing against the weight of time. It was a place long forgotten, nestled deep within the mountains, far beyond the reach of any kingdom, perfect for keeping a prince.

“You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that.”

Prince Phainon mused, his voice calm despite the chains coiling around his wrists. His silver-white hair was tousled from the rough flight, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight.

“Most would hesitate before daring to steal a royal away.”

You ignored him, dragging him forward. You had to admit, his lack of fear was… annoying. Maybe even unsettling. He hadn’t even screamed when you plucked him from his fancy palace, claws closing around him like a vice. He merely stared, as if daring you to drop him.

"Don’t waste your breath" you muttered, shoving open the rusted iron doors. Dust rose from the disturbance, swirling in the air. "You’re not here for conversation."

Phainon chuckled, unfazed. "No? Then why am I here, oh mighty beast?"

You tossed him forward. He landed on his knees with a grunt, but when he lifted his gaze, there was something dangerously amused about the way he looked at you.

"Ransom" you finally said. "Your kingdom will pay handsomely to get their precious prince back."

His laughter filled the place.

Your brow twitched. "What’s so funny?"

Phainon grinned up at you, shoulders shaking. "Oh, you poor, clueless thing. You really think they’ll come for me?" He leaned back, tilting his head. "Let me spare you the disappointment, they won’t. Not before they send someone to kill you first."

You narrowed your eyes. That was expected, of course. Kings rarely sent gold before swords. But it didn’t matter. You could handle any knight they threw your way.

"Then I’ll just have to deal with them." you said.

Phainon hummed, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. He tilted his head, his smirk never faltering.

"You truly have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?"

You ignored him. The sooner you got him locked away, the sooner you could rest. The flight back had taken a toll, not that you’d ever admit it. Transforming, carrying a fully grown man in your claws, keeping to the shadows to avoid unnecessary fights… It was exhausting. And the moment you’d dumped Phainon inside the ruined halls of your abandoned castle, all you could think about was tending to your aching limbs.

Chains had been enough to keep him in place, or so you assumed. You doubted he’d escape, and even if he did, where would he go? You were deep in the mountains, miles away from the nearest civilization.

And so, you left him to his own devices, disappearing into one of the castle’s still-standing chambers. A cracked mirror leaned against the wall, reflecting your disheveled form. You frowned, brushing dirt from your arms before pouring water into a rusted basin, splashing it against your face.

Just a quick rinse. Then, rest.

You didn’t notice the absence of chains.

Didn’t hear the soft, amused laughter echoing down the halls.

Didn’t realize your supposed prisoner had already slipped away.

Phainon rolled his shoulders as he strode through the forest, fingers brushing over the hilt of the sword he had so generously reclaimed from the ruins. His smirk widened. Really, he should be thanking you. It had been far too long since he had been truly entertained.

Ahead, the sound of armored footsteps drew his attention. He didn’t slow his pace, letting the knights spot him first. Their reactions were immediate- relief, determination, wariness.

"Your Highness!" One of them, a captain by the look of his insignia, rushed forward. "You’re safe! We came as soon as we heard-"

"Safe?" Phainon interrupted smoothly, tilting his head. "Was I ever in danger?"

The knights exchanged glances. "The beast-"

"Was nothing more than a misguided fool" he finished, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "I was just about to return, after dealing with my own business of course. No need for all this… concern."

The captain hesitated. "We can’t allow that, Your Highness. We must escort you—"

A sigh. Phainon turned his gaze to the trees, as if contemplating. "Ah, what a shame" he murmured. "I told you I would return."

He moved before they could react.

Steel flashed. Blood spattered against bark. The knights barely had time to scream before his blade cut through them like a whisper. Limbs crumpled, bodies fell. Their eyes, wide with shock, stared at him even in death.

Phainon exhaled, stepping over the corpses without a second thought.

"Now, then" he murmured, wiping his blade clean. "Where were we?"

With a smirk, he turned back toward the castle.

His little dragon was waiting.

Phainon pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing through the abandoned chamber. His eyes flicked over the dimly lit space, stone walls worn by time, a tattered bed of old furs, and there, lying in the center, a figure.

Not a dragon.

A human.

His brows lifted slightly, the only sign of his surprise. The realization came quickly, his captor was no ordinary beast. The dragon and this person were one and the same.

Leaning against the doorway, he observed you. Your breath was steady, though he noted the faint twitch of your fingers. He could slit your throat now, end this little game before it spiraled further.

But where would the fun be in that?

He stepped closer.

The moment his foot scuffed against the stone, your eyes snapped open.

Your instincts took over before reason could settle in, because your captive was free, because he had a sword again, because he stood over you with an unreadable smirk.

You moved in a flash.

Your hands shot out, grabbing at his limbs, forcing them down. Chains slithered from beneath the bedding, precautions you had set up, ones that now snapped into place with ease. His wrists slammed against the cold floor, and with a sharp twist, you locked his legs as well.

You pressed a knee against his chest, breathing heavy. "How did you escape?"

Phainon merely chuckled, entirely too amused despite his current position. "You should be asking yourself.. how did you fall for it?"

You narrowed your eyes.

His strength was not that of an ordinary man, you realized that when he shifted slightly beneath you, and your balance nearly tipped. He was holding back.

"You really are something else" he mused, tilting his head, the flickering firelight casting shadows over his sharp features. His blue eyes dragged over you, lingering, intrigued. "What should I call you? Or do you prefer ‘beast’?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. "You’re quite breathtaking up close, you know."

You scowled. "Spare me your empty words."

He laughed. "Oh, but I never lie." He shifted slightly, testing the chains, his muscles tensing beneath you. "And I never let myself be bound for long."

You barely had time to react before he tore free, a sheer burst of strength shattering his restraints like they were nothing. You leaped back, but not fast enough, his hands shot out, grabbing your wrist, flipping you before you could reach for another weapon.

The cold edge of his sword pressed against your throat.

For the first time, you truly looked at him, not as a mere human, but something far more dangerous.

His grip was firm, yet his touch was almost playful. His smirk was unreadable, a dangerous mix of amusement and something else entirely.

"You were saying?" he murmured.

Your lips curled, sharp canines glinting. "You assume too much."

Before his blade could descend, your form shifted- partly.

Your tail, thick with scales, shot forward, blocking the strike with an echoing clang. Sparks flew as his sword clashed against it, the force sending a tremor through the room.

Phainon’s smirk faltered for only a second before morphing into something else- pure, unfiltered intrigue.

"...Oh" he breathed, almost in awe. "Now this is getting interesting."

Phainon barely had time to act before you twisted, your tail sweeping low and knocking him off balance. His sword arm jerked, and you seized the opportunity, shifting back into your human form just enough to move swiftly, you grabbed his wrist, spun behind him, and yanked it up toward his back.

"Persistent" he said, amusement still lacing his voice, even as you forced him down.

"Annoying." you countered, your grip like iron as you shoved him to the cold stone floor.

The chains were still broken, so you resorted to something sturdier. From the corner, you grabbed thick, enchanted rope- strong enough to hold even creatures of great power. You looped it around his wrists, pulling them behind his back, then secured his legs in a way that left minimal room for struggle.

Despite being effectively restrained again, Phainon’s smirk remained, sharp and taunting. "You do like tying me up, don’t you? Should I be flattered or concerned?"

You yanked the rope tighter. "Be quiet."

A chuckle. "As you wish, my dear captor."

With a roll of your eyes, you stepped back, observing your handiwork. He was bound tightly this time, no easy way out, not unless he wanted to snap his own limbs.

But before you could relish your victory, he sighed dramatically.

"At least let me bathe before you keep me here like some caged beast" he drawled, his expression the perfect mixture of false suffering and noble exasperation. "I reek of blood. Is this any way to treat a prince?"

You scoffed. "You are a beast."

"And yet, I still deserve some dignity" he quipped, tilting his head. "Unless you enjoy the scent of dried blood and sweat?"

Your nose wrinkled. You didn’t.

Annoyance prickled at you, but you relented. He was still tied up. What harm could a bath do?

"Fine" you muttered.

Before he could gloat, you grabbed the ropes binding his limbs, dragged him up, and hauled him across the room.

Phainon let out a surprised grunt as you tugged him along. "Ah—so forceful. If you wanted to drag me somewhere private, you could’ve asked."

You ignored him.

The abandoned castle still had an intact bathhouse, a large pool of water fed by an underground spring. With one final tug, you yanked him forward and—

SPLASH!

You threw him in.

Phainon resurfaced with a sharp inhale, his silver hair now plastered to his face, water dripping down his broad shoulders. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he tilted his head up at you, his smirk both impressed and incredulous.

"You know" he mused, "when I asked for a bath, I expected something a little more… dignified."

You crossed your arms. "Be grateful I didn’t throw you off a cliff instead."

"Ah, but would you really? You seem far too attached already."

You grabbed a bucket and unceremoniously dumped more water over his head.

"Pfah!" He sputtered, shaking his head like a wet dog before blinking up at you again, lips curling into something downright mischievous. "If you wanted to get my clothes off, you could've just said so."

Your face twitched.

You promptly turned and walked out, leaving him tied up in the bath to deal with himself.

"Wait—! You’re just leaving me here?"

"You'll figure it out."

His laughter echoed behind you. "I like you more and more, little dragon."

The morning greeted you with an unfamiliar sound—soft, deep, and far too close. A hum. A HUM?

It took a moment for your groggy mind to register it. A gentle, unhurried melody, smooth as silk, drifting through the cool air of your chamber. You stirred, cracking one eye open, only to groan and bury your face into the pillow.

Phainon.

The silver-haired prince, your supposed prisoner, sat beside your bed, his arms resting casually on the frame as he leaned forward, watching you with the ease of a man who belonged there. He was freshly bathed from last night, his damp silver locks tousled slightly, his tunic loose at the collar. But what was most irritating was the absolute serenity in his expression as he continued to hum.

It wasn’t even an unpleasant sound. If anything, it was oddly calming.

"Shut up" you muttered, dragging the blanket over your head.

Phainon merely chuckled, his voice still low with sleep. "Good morning to you too, little dragon."

"Not a morning person?"

You groaned louder, pressing your hands over your ears.

His humming didn’t stop. If anything, it turned into an actual song, low, lyrical words spilling effortlessly from his lips.

You flung a pillow at him.

He caught it easily, smirking. "Tsk, so violent. I’m just trying to lighten the mood."

"You shouldn’t be here." You finally sat up, glaring. "How are you here?"

Phainon tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "You tied me up, threw me into a bath, and then left me. Did you really think that would keep me contained?"

Your frown deepened. He was strong, you knew that, but you had used enchanted rope this time. He shouldn’t have been able to slip free so easily.

As if reading your thoughts, Phainon propped his chin on one hand, smirking. "I’ll let you in on a secret," he murmured, voice dipping. "I’ve never been trapped. I just enjoy watching you try."

You hated how easily his words sent a flicker of unease down your spine.

But before you could reply, the distant sound of armor clanking and hurried footsteps caught your attention.

Phainon let out a sigh, stretching leisurely, as if the mere idea of more interruptions exhausted him. "Ah. Took them long enough."

You shot up, shoving him aside. "Stay here."

You didn’t wait for his response. Rushing down the stone corridors, you made your way to the castle’s entrance. The knights were already spilling into the ruins, swords drawn, scanning the area. Their captain, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek—stepped forward.

"You there!" he barked. "We received word that Prince Phainon was taken by a dragon. Where is he?"

You hesitated. Your first instinct was to tell them you were the dragon, but something in your gut warned you against it. You had no love for humans, but you weren’t bloodthirsty either. You had taken Phainon for ransom, not war.

But before you could decide how to respond— Phainon let out a chuckle.

He stepped out from behind you, his gaze sweeping over the assembled knights like a wolf among sheep. His sword was already in his hand.

The captain’s face twisted in relief. "Your Highness! We came to rescue you—"

"Rescue me?" Phainon repeated, voice laced with mockery. "From what, exactly?"

The knights stiffened. "From the dragon—!"

Phainon then moved.

Steel sliced through the air, swift and merciless. Blood sprayed across the stone.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

The remaining knights recoiled in horror, some shouting, some scrambling to draw their weapons. But it was already too late.

You could only watch.

Your breath hitched as the last knight staggered back, his sword shaking in his grasp. "Y-Your Highness, what—?"

Phainon drove his blade clean through the man’s chest.

A ragged gasp. A final shudder. Then, nothing.

As the last body collapsed, Phainon exhaled, flicking blood from his blade. His posture remained relaxed, unaffected, as if he had merely completed a morning exercise.

Then, slowly, he turned to you.

His smirk was still there, unchanged, unwavering. But his eyes…

Cold. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Where were we?"

Your breath came in ragged bursts. The scent of blood—fresh, thick, suffocating, filled the abandoned halls. Around you, bodies lay strewn, once armored knights reduced to mere corpses. And at the center of it all stood him.

Phainon, the prince you had kidnapped, the human you thought was nothing more than an arrogant, troublesome captive. Now, standing before you, bathed in crimson, he was something else entirely.

"You…" Your voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. "What have you done?"

Phainon tilted his head, flicking stray droplets of blood from his blade. "What needed to be done" he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your claws curled. You could feel the shift pulling at your skin, your instincts screaming at you to fight. "They came to help you."

He chuckled. "Did they?" His piercing blue eyes met yours, unblinking. "Or did they come to drag me back to a place I had no intention of returning to?"

You gritted your teeth. "You killed your own men!"

"And yet, here I stand." He took a step toward you, slow and deliberate. "And you, little dragon, haven’t run. Haven’t struck me down. Why is that?"

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had so many reasons. The problem was, you couldn’t pick one.

Because you were stunned. Because your mind still reeled from what you had just witnessed.

"You’re a monster" you snarled.

Phainon exhaled, his smirk softening, something almost fond flickering across his blood-smeared features. "I never claimed to be a hero."

That was it. That was the moment your restraint snapped.

You lunged.

Your tail lashed out, striking toward him like a whip, but he was fast. He sidestepped, blade flicking up just in time to meet your claws. Sparks flew as steel met scale.

"That’s more like it" he purred.

You growled, twisting, your tail sweeping at his legs. He jumped back, but you were already on him again, clawed hands gripping his tunic, shoving him hard against the stone wall.

"You think this is amusing?" you hissed, your breath hot against his face.

Phainon smiled.

"You’re magnificent when you’re angry" he murmured.

Your grip tightened. "I should rip you apart."

His smirk didn’t waver. "But you won’t."

Damn him for being right.

You hated that you hesitated. You hated that your instincts, your dragon instincts, were at war with something else entirely.

"You’ve fascinated me from the moment you took me" he confessed. "At first, I thought it was amusement. Curiosity." He tilted his head, the sharp edges of his expression easing just slightly. "But it’s more than that, isn’t it?"

"You could have killed me" he continued, as if weaving the truth between you both. "Yet you didn’t." His eyes traced your face, your form, like he was memorizing every detail. "And I could have killed you. Yet I won’t."

Your chest heaved. "Why?"

His fingers brushed your wrist, so gently, so deliberately.

"Because I don’t want to." His smile turned wicked. "Because I want you."

Your world tilted.

Your claws flexed, your mind screaming at you to reject it. To deny him. But Phainon only looked at you like he had already won. And you hated that you didn’t know if he was wrong.

You were still seething when Phainon led you toward the kingdom’s gates.

You should have run. You should have killed him.

But instead, you were here, walking beside the man who should have been your prisoner, yet somehow, you felt like the one who had been captured.

The city was alive with murmurs the moment the two of you entered. The scent of blood still clung to Phainon’s clothes, a stark contrast to his relaxed demeanor. People gasped, whispered, stepped aside as he walked through the streets with you in tow.

But it was nothing compared to the reaction inside the royal palace.

The moment the throne room doors burst open, the king and queen, seated on their ornate thrones, turned with sharp, wide-eyed disbelief.

"Phainon?" the king's voice was filled with stunned relief. "You're alive?"

The queen clutched her chest. "The knights said.." She hesitated, gaze flickering toward you. "Who is this?"

You barely had time to part your lips before Phainon slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

His next words sent a ripple of shock through the room.

"This?" His smirk was downright predatory. "This one belongs to me now."

The king's expression darkened. "Phainon!"

"You sent knights to retrieve me," he interrupted smoothly. "And they failed. Miserably." He glanced down at you, as if you were some prize he had won rather than a kidnapper-turned-reluctant-companion. "So I took something better in return."

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Careful, little dragon," he murmured against your ear, low enough that only you could hear. "You wouldn’t want them thinking you’re protesting too much, now would you?"

Your body tensed. He was toying with you. In front of his entire court.

The queen’s hands trembled. "You’re injured—"

"A small price for something so valuable." Phainon mused, tilting his head. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

The nobles in the room exchanged whispers, none daring to speak aloud.

The king exhaled slowly, fingers tightening over the armrest of his throne. "What are you planning, Phainon?"

The prince's smirk widened. "Why, to keep them, of course."

The king finally spoke, his voice cold and measured. "Phainon, do you even understand what you're saying? You cannot simply claim someone as yours—"

"Oh, but I already have." Phainon’s grip on you was firm, his tone laced with amusement. "And I dare anyone to take them from me."

The challenge hung thick in the air, sending another wave of murmurs through the court.

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. "I am not some trinket to be owned."

Phainon turned to you, unbothered by your defiance, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "Of course not." His hand brushed against yours, a deliberate taunt. "You’re something much rarer than that."

You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks, not from flattery, but from the sheer audacity of this human.

"Fine" you bit out, eyes narrowing. "But don’t think for a second that this means I belong to you. Make sure to keep your promise."

Phainon chuckled, tilting his head as if indulging a joke only he understood. Then, leaning in, he whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

"Oh, little dragon… you just haven't realized it yet."

And with that, the prince turned back to his stunned parents, still grinning like a man who had won everything.

You exhaled slowly. Knowing at least you won't have to live a miserable life anymore.

-----

[next]

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

read part 2 here: 💞💞

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orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

you were simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot whenever he tried speaking to you during past visits.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating cogless bots.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did you assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell you that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all bots in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

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🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[sevarchive]

♡ the girl with the bow ──

જ⁀➴ a blue lock zombie apocalypse au. 15k words

warning: contains elements of yandere behavior (rin), blood and gore (both implied and explicit), zombies, and loss of major characters. reader discretion is advised.

synopsis: in which a girl tries to survive the apocalypse; but survival is never just about the living, and some choices never stop bleeding.

the sky was the color of blood left too long to dry,

sickly, crusted over with ash and twilight. buildings leaned like wounded animals, their ribs exposed in shattered glass and crumbling steel. a billboard advertising a soft drink twisted in the wind, torn down the middle, the smiling model now a grimacing corpse with faded eyes.

y/n walked barefoot over the gravel of a long-abandoned road. her soles were callused, cracked open in places, but she didn’t flinch. she was numb now—to pain, to noise, to the stench of rot that clung to her like fog.

she hadn’t seen a single living soul in five days.

maybe it was tuesday. maybe the hundredth tuesday since everything ended. time didn’t matter anymore.

but she wasn’t dead.

not yet.

a low moan echoed from the ruins of a nearby church. one of them—the blind ones, she called them. the old infected, so decayed their eyes had collapsed inward, leaving only flesh-filled sockets that sniffed out heat and movement.

y/n kept walking.

she didn’t know what had become of the world. didn’t know if anyone else survived. didn’t know if she should hope.

all she knew was she had to keep moving.

she closed her eyes, and that’s when it hit her—like a bullet fired straight through her memories. the world hadn’t always been like this.

once, there was noise. music, laughter, the buzz of crowded streets. now, silence swallowed everything.

the virus had taken it all.

they called it the erebovirus. a name that sounded like something from a nightmare—because it was. the virus comes with a slow, cruel transformation. once infected, the body decayed even as the mind clawed to stay alive, twisting reason into hunger, love into violence.

it started with a fever, high and burning, followed by delirium and relentless coughing. then the eyes—eyes that turned milky, then hollow, until they were nothing but empty orbs that no longer saw the world but hunted for warmth and movement.

the infected lost their humanity piece by piece. their skin sloughed off in ragged patches, muscles stiffened, and their teeth sharpened into cruel points. they no longer felt pain or fatigue. only the endless drive to consume.

some said the virus whispered to them—the echo of memories, voices of the dead, and worst of all, the names of the people they had loved most.

that was the last thing you would hear before the end.

y/n swallowed hard, the taste of ash heavy on her tongue.

she had seen what the erebovirus could do. watched friends become monsters. watched the world burn.

and yet—

she kept moving.

because to stop was to surrender.

because to stop was to die.

the wind picked up, brushing ash off my shoulders like snow. it howled low through the skeletal remains of buildings, slipping between fractured bricks like a whisper threading through teeth. everything smelled like rust and old blood. the sky above was a dull, bruised red—the kind that made my stomach twist.

i squinted down the road at the gas station—it sagged under a collapsed roof, one side caved in like a ribcage stomped flat. the windows were dust-smeared, spiderwebbed with old cracks. a single flagpole leaned against the wind, the shredded remains of some patriotic banner twitching weakly. only one letter still clung to the store’s flickering sign: p.

“p for ‘please die here,’” i muttered. “lovely.”

my lips were cracked, my throat sandpaper dry. i hadn’t had clean water in two days—maybe more. time felt fake now. like a fever dream that forgot to end.

i eyed the building again.

okay. ten bucks says i die in there. but also, ten bucks isn’t real anymore. so.

i sighed and limped forward.

my foot crunched softly on broken glass. i paused and scanned the surrounding trees.

if i get eaten today, i swear to god it better be fast. like—bite my head off fast. none of that slow, screamy horror movie crap.

i pushed the door open, and it let out a high-pitched creak like it, too, had given up on life.

inside, the light dimmed instantly into a corpse-colored gray. shelves stood half-toppled and barren, metal frames rusted through at the joints. a soda fridge hummed weakly in the back, though its door hung open, buzzing flies orbiting the contents. the stench hit hard: rot, mold, something faintly metallic beneath.

“smells like satan’s armpit,” i muttered.

behind the counter, i spotted a few unopened cans—maybe peaches or beans, maybe dog food. at this point, i’d eat a sponge if it wasn’t actively trying to kill me. i crouched, fingers curling around one—

—and my heel knocked something over.

a tiny plastic bottle.

it rolled out from beneath the rack and struck the tile with a sound like a shot.

ting.

ting.

ting—

“oh, come on,” i whispered.

silence.

then—a breath.

my eyes darted to the back of the store.

figures.

four of them.

how did i not see them before?

their heads twitched toward me, necks cracking in unison like possessed pez dispensers. their skin hung in shreds, eyes empty, hunger oozing off them in waves.

my mouth opened in a tiny, whispered curse. “shit.”

i backed up. slowly.

and then, like the genius i am, i stepped on a can lid and skidded.

the infected screamed. shelves blurred past. my shoulder slammed into metal, toppling it with a crash. their snarls chased me like fire.

one lunged.

i dove over the counter. my knee cracked against something solid. white-hot pain screamed through my leg.

a hand grabbed my ankle.

“nope,” i shrieked, kicking like a maniac. “not today, zombie karen!”

it let go.

i scrambled forward. my hands splashed through something slick.

blood. definitely blood. love that for me.

then—

a weight slammed into my back.

i screamed. hot breath scorched my neck. i raised my arm just in time, teeth sank in—

and then—

crack.

the weight vanished.

the zombie was yanked off me like a ragdoll and slammed into a shelf. blood splattered the wall.

“what the fu—” i choked.

another infected flew into the freezer, skull cracking on glass. a third got dragged into the dark, the wet rip of tearing flesh making my stomach do somersaults.

and then—he stepped out.

dark clothes soaked in blood. a crowbar swinging low from one hand. his face was unreadable, calm like he hadn’t just murdered three horror-movie extras.

i blinked.

am i dead? is this what dying looks like?

the last infected ran at him.

he didn’t move.

crowbar. throat. crunch.

it dropped

he turned to me. boots splashed through blood. he crouched beside me.

“you’re lucky i was nearby,” he said, voice low.

i stared.

wow. so mysterious. very broody. ten outta ten serial killer vibes.

i stared at him, then blinked slowly. “uh-huh. and you just happened to be lurking around the corner, ready to go all mortal kombat?”

he reached out a hand.

i flinched so hard it almost knocked me back to the floor. “touch me and i will scream louder than those things, i swear.”

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he added, voice calm. too calm.

“that’s what serial killers say,” i said. “right before they, you know, hurt people.”

still, my fingers twitched. he looked at me like i was already his. like he’d found something and wasn’t letting go.

“jesus,” i muttered. “fine. i’ll take your murderer hand.”

he helped me up and didn’t let go. i tried to tug my hand back. he held firm for just a beat too long before releasing it. outside, the wind shrieked.

and i followed the boy with dead eyes into the dark.

i smirked quietly to myself, half-joking, half-serious: “guess i owe you one for saving me. i’ll pay you back someday.”

days passed, and the guy, rin, i learned—took me into the shelter. it smelled like a cocktail of wet concrete, old smoke, and despair. like someone tried to bottle anxiety and market it as air freshener.

the walls were a frankenstein’s monster of scavenged materials: rusted metal sheets twisted into place, warped plywood nailed crookedly, and tarps so threadbare i could trace the star patterns in the sky through them. it was a diy fortress built by people who’d lost everything but their stubbornness to survive.

rin kept to himself mostly, but not the brooding loner type you’d expect. no, he was more like a predator quietly scanning the terrain, sizing up everyone—me included—as if we were all fragile game. his eyes never stopped moving, sharp and calculating, never settling long enough to relax. sometimes i caught him staring like i was some delicate antique ready to shatter at the slightest touch—and not in a “let me protect you” kind of way. more like “one wrong move and you’re toast.”

annoying as hell. i’m not some damsel in distress, thank you very much. i handled those zombies just fine without a knight in brooding armor showing up.

still, i had to admit he was efficient—checking barricades at odd hours, rationing food with military precision, cracking down hard on anyone slacking. overprotective? definitely.

the shelter’s inhabitants were a mixed bag. some lurked like ghosts, barely there; others were loud enough to make you miss the silence.

one night, we gathered around the fire pit at the shelter’s center. the flames roared and flickered, casting wild shadows on tired faces, catching on the damp strands of my hair. rin sat opposite me, hands wrapped tight around a chipped metal mug. the silence between us stretched thick, heavy with all the words we refused to say.

finally, he broke it. his voice low and gravelly, like years of holding back had scraped it raw.

“when everything fell apart… sae left me.” his words dropped like stones in my chest.

i studied him, curiosity prickling despite myself. “your brother?”

he nodded without looking up, eyes locked on the fire as if it held all the answers—and all the wounds.

“he just walked away. left me when the world started burning. i thought he’d protect me. thought he had my back. but when the apocalypse hit, he chose himself.”

i glanced sideways, smirking despite the weight settling between us. “lucky for you, you still have me. your new favorite pain in the ass.”

for a flicker of a second, his eyes softened—almost amused. “just don’t slow me down.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” i shot back, biting my lip to keep the grin from spreading too wide.

inside, something flickered—a spark. yeah, rin was overbearing, brooding, and borderline insufferable. but he was the closest thing to an ally i had right now. and maybe, just maybe, behind all the rough edges was someone terrified of being left behind again.

the fire crackled, sending long, jittery shadows dancing across the shelter’s patchwork walls. two broken people thrown together in a world gone mad. neither ready to admit how much we might actually need each other.

and that thought? it scared me more than any zombie ever could.

the following weeks blurred into scavenging and fighting for survival. we became a team—checking barricades, gathering weapons, clearing infected. his sharp instincts saved me more than once. i kept my guard, reminding him i wasn’t helpless.

of course, i wasn’t about to let him think i was soft. i made sure to remind him that i wasn’t some helpless damsel. the apocalypse could eat its heart out; i was tougher than it gave me credit for. at least, that’s what i told myself in the dark when doubt crept in.

one night, after a brutal day scavenging a half-collapsed supermarket, we sat by the fire, exhausted and bruised. the fire crackled low between us, casting flickering shadows across rin’s face. i was stretching out a tight shoulder, my fingers sore from the day’s scavenge, when suddenly he shifted closer. closer than before. too close.

his hand brushed against mine—light at first, like testing the waters. my skin prickled. then his eyes caught mine, dark and intense, and before i could process what was happening, he leaned in.

his lips were rough—calloused from too many fights, too much survival. the kiss wasn’t slow or soft; it was urgent, desperate, like he was trying to claim something he thought might be ripped away at any moment. i could feel the heat of him, the slight tremble in his grip as if this moment meant more than he could say.

my breath hitched, heart pounding so loud i thought maybe the zombies outside would hear. i froze at first, the shock rooting me in place, every nerve screaming confusion and caution. but then, against my will, my body responded—leaning in just the slightest, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood and sweat on his lips.

when i finally pulled away, breathless and a little shaken, my eyes locked on his.

“what the hell was that?” i whispered, trying to keep my voice steady even though my insides were a mess.

his gaze didn’t waver. if anything, it grew fiercer—more vulnerable.

“i don’t want to lose you,”

he said quietly, like admitting something he’d buried deep.

after that, the apocalypse stripped away all our walls. exhaustion and fear twisted into a craving for touch—hands lingering too long, lips finding skin in stolen moments. the shelter faded away in those nights; only the heat between us remained. we never talked about it—didn’t need to. the world outside was a reminder that nothing was guaranteed anymore, and maybe that’s why we gave ourselves to each other so completely. because in those moments, the silence was broken by more than just words—it was broken by us.

days slipped by, but rin’s hold never loosened. he hovered near, tracing scars like precious relics, eyes burning with an intensity that unsettled me. he watched anyone near me with a hard, silent warning: stay away. once, as i scavenged alone, he appeared behind me, voice low and sharp:

“careful. you’re not alone.”

his protectiveness thickened—arms tight enough to bruise, breath hot in my ear, whispering, “don’t disappear on me.” sometimes his grip tightened suddenly, eyes flashing with something dangerous. i never asked what haunted him. part of me feared the answer.

the shelter's usual murmur—the low hum of whispers, shuffling feet, the occasional cough muffled by damp blankets—had vanished. it was too quiet.

i stood frozen, nerves stretched thin like piano wire. every creak of wood, every shift of tarp, rang out in my ears like thunder. i couldn’t stop scanning the room—waiting. stillness like this never lasted. not out here.

rin felt it too. i saw it in the rigid line of his shoulders, the slow, deliberate tilt of his head. his eyes swept every corner, every shadow, like a predator tracing the cage walls. again and again, he paced the barricades, checking the same weak points—as if repetition could delay the inevitable.

even from a distance, i felt the pull of him. that strange tension, like a string wrapped tight around my ribs and anchored to his spine.

don’t wander. don’t drift.

for me, it felt like it wasn’t care. it was possession. and i didn’t know how to feel about that.

then it happened.

a sharp crash split the silence—metal tearing, something heavy giving way. the walls groaned. wood splintered like bones.

then came the snarls.

my blood froze.

adrenaline surged, vision whitening at the edges. my chest seized like i’d forgotten how to breathe. the infected were here—closer than ever.

“they’re coming,” rin said—not shouted. calm. cold. like a blade drawn.

his hand locked around my arm, tight enough to bruise. not to steady. to claim. i wasn’t going anywhere. not that i could’ve moved even if i wanted to.

the barricade exploded—wood snapping like kindling as the front entrance gave way. a scream rang out, sharp and high, then died mid-breath.

the infected were inside.

i froze as they poured through—distorted shapes that once had names and families. people.

someone slammed into us—a survivor, wide-eyed, bloodied, incoherent. their shoulder clipped mine and i stumbled, my grip on rin slipping.

“wait—!” i gasped.

his head snapped toward me, eyes wide, hand outstretched—

but another body surged between us. i saw him shout my name, but his voice drowned in the rising flood of death.

then i was shoved back by the tide.

rin was gone.

no. no, no, no

i fought forward, but the crowd was chaos—bodies crashing together, trampling one another in blind panic. someone knocked me down. my knees cracked against concrete. pain shot up my spine like lightning.

get up. get up!

i scrambled to my feet, slipping on blood. my pipe was still in my hand—barely. i gripped it tighter, breath ragged.

“rin!” i screamed.

no answer.

just screams. blood. madness.

the shelter was unraveling. people screamed until they couldn't. blood flooded the floor. flesh tore. bones cracked. the infected didn’t just kill. they devoured.

there was no rin. no barricade. no plan. only survival. only me.

i ran.

my legs were lead, lungs on fire, but i ran—dodging overturned furniture, bodies, gore. the stench hit next—copper and rot and burning wood. i gagged. almost fell. hands grabbed at me—not infected. just survivors. desperate. dying.

i didn’t stop.

i couldn’t.

because behind me came the sounds that meant death—wet footsteps slapping concrete, breath bubbling from ruined throats. a name, whispered over and over again like a prayer. the infected always remembered the one they loved most.

that made it worse.

“rin,” i breathed, pushing through the corridor toward the back.

where are you? you promised.

my vision blurred. something brushed my ankle—too soft, too wrong. i looked down.

a girl. maybe fourteen. eyes wide and lifeless. her stomach torn open, intestines spilling like ribbons. her lips moved, but no sound came out.

i screamed.

and ran harder.

blood soaked my shoes. the screams behind me gave way to silence—one by one, snuffed like candles. that was worse than the noise.

because it meant there was no one left.

only me.

only the monsters.

only the hope that rin was still alive.

i hid in the storage room. time stopped making sense. minutes. hours. i didn’t know. just the sound of death scraping the walls, snarling through the cracks, slamming the barricade until even that went still.

dead silent.

then came the smell.

burnt flesh. smoke. blood. the air turned thick, unbreathable. i couldn’t stay.

i pushed aside a shelf, slipped through a gap in the wall, and crawled into the ventilation shaft. every breath shook. every heartbeat echoed. the shaft opened behind the shelter—behind the graveyard of the ones we couldn’t save.

the cold night air hit like a slap. then i ran—because if i stopped, i’d remember rin’s face when we were torn apart—his hand reaching for mine.

how i let go.

i sprinted through the trees until the shelter was nothing but a smoldering husk behind me. smoke clawed at the sky. the infected didn’t follow.

and then—

i heard something.

a sound tore through the night. not the howl of a monster. not the death rattle of the infected. no—worse.

rin.

his voice ripped through the smoke like a blade, raw and unrecognizable.

“where is she?!”

i stopped in my tracks, breath frozen in my throat.

another scream.

“y/n!!”

it wasn’t a plea. it felt more like a rage.

it sounded like he was tearing the world apart with his bare hands.

then the sound of a crowbar—slamming again and again into something soft. crack. squish. crack. more snarls. but only his voice carried. like the monsters were afraid of him now.

and maybe they should’ve been.

i stood there, hidden in the underbrush, clutching the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles went white.

i didn’t move.

i didn’t breathe.

because i realized—

that scream? it wasn’t him calling for me. it was him breaking without me.

rin was alive, yes.

but it was also not rin.

the final, guttural scream that echoed from the ruins was so raw—so utterly animalistic—it chilled my blood more than the moans of the infected ever had.

and even as my heart ached to go back—even as my soul begged to turn around—

i didn’t.

i kept walking.

faster.

farther.

because for the first time since this nightmare began, i realized something that terrified me more than the end of the world.

he was becoming something else.

something even the monsters might fear.

and i didn’t know if i’d survive him either.

i didn’t stop to count the days.

what was the point?

every time i blinked, i saw rin’s face—distorted by panic, rage, something animal. that final scream echoing behind me like it had torn straight from hell.

i didn’t look back.

god, i wanted to. but i didn’t. and now…

now i was here.

wherever here was.

alone. starving. caked in dried blood—some of it mine, most of it not. clothes shredded. hands blistered from gripping that stupid metal pipe like it was a lifeline. maybe it had been.

i sat beneath a tree, back pressed to the bark, blinking up at the overcast sky. clouds had rolled in—thick and gray, like even the sun was too afraid to look down anymore. good. coward.

my stomach growled so loudly it sounded like a dying animal. which, funny enough, was probably accurate.

“very cinematic,” i croaked to myself, voice cracked and barely there. “dying alone in the woods after narrowly surviving a shelter massacre. real final girl energy.”

god, i hated my voice. it sounded so small now.

i used to be louder. sharper. i used to laugh when i shouldn’t and snap back when i was scared. the last time i’d eaten was… what? a crushed protein bar two days ago? three? who cared. it hadn’t helped. my stomach had turned against me somewhere around hour forty. now i just felt empty. like a ghost in a bloodstained hoodie.

“maybe the infected’ll pity me,” i muttered. “come on, free buffet! girl’s already half-dead. real low effort.”

nothing answered. not even the wind.

i tilted my head back and closed my eyes.

maybe i could sleep. just for a bit. ten minutes.

a little nap never killed anyone, right?

…right?

my body slid sideways without meaning to. the grass felt warm, maybe too warm. i didn’t even realize i was crying until i tasted salt.

stupid. weak. useless.

i curled in on myself, arms over my head like i could pretend i was still in a bed somewhere, wrapped in blankets, not dirt and ash and memory.

until—

footsteps. crisp. fast. boots on dirt.

i blinked. thought i imagined it.

but then—voices. muffled. urgent. real.

“there!”

“she’s down—shit, is she breathing?”

hands on me. warm. steady. not clawed. not rotting.

someone knelt beside me. blurry face. black hair. sharp eyes. his voice cut through the fog—calm, clipped, like someone who never let panic show.

“she’s conscious. stay with me—hey. you hear me?”

more footsteps. more shadows.

“she needs water,” a softer voice said. gentle. hesitant.

“i’ve got it,” came another, light and careless. “and, uh… is it bad i’m relieved she’s a girl? we’re overdue for a little beauty around here.”

“oh my god,” the soft voice muttered. “seriously?”

“i’m just saying. even half-dead, she’s kinda cute. it’s like, tragic—but hot.”

“now’s not the time, idiot,” came a sharper voice—flat, cold. “we shouldn’t be stopping. she’s dead weight. we keep moving.”

“she’s not dead,” the first voice—the leader i assume—replied. his tone brooked no argument. “and we’re not leaving her.”

cool plastic touched my lips. i didn’t even have the strength to flinch. the water hit my tongue and i nearly cried. it tasted like heaven. like life.

i drank. desperate. messy. half of it spilled down my chin.

“whoa, easy there.” the flirty one again. “you’ve got time, sweetheart. you don’t have to inhale it.”

if i could lift my arm, i’d slap him.

“she’s dehydrated,” the leader said. “malnourished. could pass out again any second.”

“you sure she’s not bit?” the cold voice cut in. “she could turn. for all we know, she’s infected already.”

“no marks,” said the soft one again. “no blood at the usual spots. i checked—checked.”

i let my head fall forward, heavy and boneless, against someone’s chest. whoever it was held me steady—like they’d done this before. like they always carried the world and made it look effortless.

“who… are you?” i rasped.

then a soft hand brushed my hair back.

“it’s okay,” the gentle one murmured. “you’re safe now… safe now.”

safe.

god. i wanted to believe that.

but i didn’t know them.

all i knew was they weren’t infected. they didn’t try to eat me. and they weren’t rin.

that should’ve been enough.

but it wasn’t.

the last thing i felt was someone lifting me easily, like i was made of feathers. and then—darkness.

i blinked open my eyes to find four pairs of eyes boring into me like i was some kind of science experiment gone wrong.

perfect. because after nearly starving to death, i really wanted an audience.

the tallest one, with dark blue hair spiked up with purple tips gave me a look like he was solving a math problem. or deciding if i was edible. “i’m karasu. leader of this motley crew. and no—we don’t have snacks.”

well, that was disappointing.

a lanky guy with white hair streaked with dark green smirked. “otoya. i’m the chill one. but i might let you steal my snacks if you’re cute.”

cute? oh, buddy, you’re trying way too hard. inner me rolled my eyes so hard i swear i heard a pop.

“yeah, real original. heard that one a million times.”

before i could say more, a quiet, almost shy voice murmured, “kurona. i mostly keep to myself. i help… help.”

he said the last word twice like it was a magic spell or maybe because he was nervous. honestly, he reminded me of one of those friendly sharks in a nature documentary—sharp teeth and all, but trying not to bite.

off to the side, a short guy with dark curly hair covering one eye crossed his arms and grunted, “kiyora. that’s all you really need to know.”

he didn’t seem interested in chatting—like i was just another problem in his day.

i smirked. “what’s your deal? planning on ditching me at the first chance?”

he took a step closer, voice low. “don’t be a dead weight.”

i matched his glare. “or what? you’ll vanish me into thin air? newsflash mister, i’m tougher than i look.”

the tension hung thick for a moment—then karasu’s calm voice cut through.

“enough. save it for later.”

kiyora scoffed but backed off, muttering “kay”.

i rolled my eyes. perfect. just what i needed.

“well,” i croaked, my throat dry as the sahara, “thanks for the welcoming committee. didn’t expect the apocalypse to come with a greeting party.”

karasu raised a sharp brow. “what’s your name?”

uh-oh. the moment of truth. lie or truth? truth meant explaining the disaster behind me. lie meant digging a deeper hole if i got caught. i decided on the safest bet.

“name’s katniss,” i croaked, voice still rough but trying to sound confident. “yeah, like that katniss. you know, the one who’s really good with a bow.”

karasu’s sharp eyes flicked over me, and for a second i thought he’d roll his eyes. instead, he nodded slowly. “a bow’s a smart weapon. quiet, precise. good choice if you can actually use it.”

i smirked. “hey, i don’t just look cool holding one. i hit my target. most of the time.”

kiyora crossed his arms, giving me a skeptical look. “so, ‘katniss,’ huh? you sure you’re not just a wannabe with a stick?”

i cocked my head, flashing a grin. “wannabe? sweetheart, i could put your sorry butt down faster than you can say ‘dead weight.’”

he snorted. “keep dreaming, bow girl. last time i checked, you almost died of hunger before we found you.”

“hey, starving makes a girl sharp. unlike some people who look like they barely escaped a nap.”

he shot back. “don’t flatter yourself — your aim probably misses more than my patience.”

“oh please, my aim’s so good i could take you out from here without breaking a sweat—” 

kiyora narrowed his eyes. “i’m the one who’s gonna leave you behind the second this group moves. i don’t carry dead weight.”

i smirked, stepping closer. “is that a threat? because either way, i’m not the one scared of a little competition.”

he grunted, lips twitching like he wanted to laugh but refused. “’kay, bow girl, just don’t slow us down.”

“deal, as long as you don’t trip over your own ego.”

days passed in a blur of cautious quiet and restless nights. the group didn’t push me too hard—not yet—but i could feel their eyes on me, weighing me, guessing. i did the same. it was like an unspoken game of poker, each trying to read the other’s hand without giving away their own.

this ragtag crew wasn’t just survivors; there was something sharper in them, a fire that refused to die. it made me both nervous and strangely hopeful.

karasu—the tall, sharp-eyed guy who found me had this calm, calculating vibe, like someone who’s always thinking three steps ahead, but not in a scary way. more like… quietly confident. i wasn’t scared of him; if anything, i felt oddly steady around him. maybe it was how he never wasted words or how his eyes seemed to take in everything without blinking. he wasn’t the loud type, but you could tell he was the one keeping this whole mess together.

then there was otoya, the white-haired guy who never stopped teasing. flirty and loud, sure, but his endless banter somehow made the constant tension easier to bear. like, if the world was ending, at least someone was trying to make it fun.

kurona quickly became my favorite. he barely spoke, but when he did, it was always exactly what needed to be said. that shark-like grin of his was weirdly comforting—like he knew the chaos around us but wasn’t going to let it break him. i figured if i had to pick someone to watch my back, it’d be him.

and then there was kiyora. ugh. the grumpy guy with curly hair always hiding one eye. he acted like i was dead weight from day one—cold, blunt, and impossible to read. i wanted to roast him with every sarcastic thought in my head, but honestly? he was the kind of guy you didn’t want to poke. so, i kept quiet… for now.

as for me? i kept my secret close, like a shield. wrapped myself in the ‘katniss’ story i’d spun—quiet but capable, a survivor with a bow. funny, really, how much i’d learned from watching movies, pretending i was some kind of legend when all i was was terrified and desperate. if they knew the real me—the messy, broken parts—would they still look at me the same way? i doubted it.

karasu was the first to challenge me—no words, just a nod toward the clearing with that same calculating stare. “show me,” he said.

my throat tightened. hands trembling, i gripped the bow they’d scavenged like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity. kiyora leaned over, his voice low and teasing. “don’t choke. you’ll embarrass us all.”

i rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. embarrass them? please. if i mess this up, the only thing embarrassing is how i managed to hold this thing without accidentally shooting myself in the foot.

okay, how does this thing work again? pull the string? how far?

is there a “right” amount, or am i just supposed to eyeball it and hope for the best?

where does the arrow even go?

what if i accidentally shoot it backwards? or worse, sideways? imagine the disaster.

reader help me!

i’m supposed to be a “bow expert” and i can’t even figure out how to load it without looking like i’m wrestling a giant rubber band. great.

“just aim and shoot,” karasu said, calm as ever. yeah, thanks for that helpful advice. real comforting when i’m over here imagining the arrow ricocheting off a rock and hitting me in the face.

okay, deep breath. don’t be a total disaster. just… don’t embarrass everyone. right.

the string felt foreign under my fingers, the tension unfamiliar, but i forced myself to breathe and aimed at the target—a rusted tin can perched precariously on a rock.

the arrow flew.

click. hit. again. and again.

karasu’s eyes narrowed, but this time, i thought i saw something like respect flicker in them.

“not bad,” he muttered.

kurona’s quiet nod came with a soft echo, “not bad. not bad.”

kiyora grunted from the side, probably unimpressed but saying nothing.

otoya whistled, a slow grin spreading. “looks like we’ve got ourselves a real bow hunter.”

it felt… good. almost too good. like i’d found a tiny crack in the armor i’d built around myself, and maybe, just maybe, it was safe to let someone peek through.

the next day, it was decided that kiyora, kurona, and i would go scavenging for food. honestly, the idea of wandering into zombie territory sounded less like a mission and more like a very bad idea—like, “why am i signing up to potentially become lunch?” but hey, starving wasn’t exactly appealing either, so off we went.

kurona was his usual quiet, smooth self—moving like he owned the place, eyes sharp and scanning. then there was kiyora, trailing behind with his trademark scowl, curly hair perpetually falling into his eyes like he was trying to hide from the whole world. honestly, he looked like a grumpy cat stuck in a human body, and i was half-expecting him to start hissing at me any second.

“we split up at the crossroads,” karasu had said the night before. “don’t get yourselves killed. don't die.”

easy to say when you’re not the one being sent off with two potential disasters.

as we approached the fork, kurona veered left without a word, and just like that, kiyora and i were alone.

kiyora grunted in response, folding his arms like he didn’t care if zombies ate us. honestly, that attitude was probably the closest thing to communication i’d get from him.

finally, i couldn’t take it. “you’re going to talk eventually, right? or are you saving all your energy for when a zombie eats me?”

kiyora didn’t even bother to look at me. “i only talk when necessary.”

“right. so, basically never.”

his arms folded across his chest like a fortress. i decided not to push my luck.

kiyora snorted. “don’t act like you’re some kind of hero. you’re one loose arrow away from disaster.”

i shot him a glare. “yeah, because you’re such a pro.”

the tension was broken when three groaning zombies shuffled into view, slow but relentless like the worst kind of party crashers.

kiyora stiffened immediately. “run?” he suggested, voice low and annoyed.

“nope. not happening on my watch,” i thought, heart racing but voice silent because obviously, talking to myself isn’t a great look.

one zombie lurched straight at kiyora, arms outstretched like it had plans for his hair.

i barely had time to think.

okay, bow. bow. how does a bow work again? pull string, aim, shoot? right? right.

my hands trembled as i nocked an arrow, feeling like i was defusing a bomb.

i let it fly. the arrow hit the zombie square in the forehead with a sickening crunch, and it collapsed.

kiyora blinked at me, eyes wide for a split second before the scowl came back full force. but i swear i caught a flicker of “okay, maybe you’re not useless” buried under all that grump.

on the other hand, kiyora was thinking of something entirely different.

she looked cool. not just cool, like “save-my-skin” cool. hot, even—damn it.

he muttered, barely loud enough for me to hear, “thanks.”

“don’t let it go to your head,” i whispered back in my mind.

we didn’t get a chance to dwell on that because kurona caught up, looking calm as ever. “we should move,” he said quietly.

on the way back, i stole a glance at kiyora, who was quietly muttering under his breath—probably cursing me or the whole world. but maybe, just maybe, there was a little less distance between us now.

and honestly? that was more comforting than i expected.

the night pressed down like a weight, thick and choking, but sleep didn’t bring rest. instead, it dragged me deep into a nightmare, colder and darker than any waking fear.

there he was—rin. but not the rin i knew. his eyes burned with something feral, wild and unblinking, too close to my face. his smile was twisted—like a razor blade folding over itself—sharp and hungry. his voice slithered into my mind, a venomous whisper that made my skin crawl.

“you only need me,” he hissed, voice low and urgent, like a predator circling its prey. “no one else can have you. no one else will want you.”

his words seeped into my bones, cold and relentless:

“you’ll always be alone. just like before. always alone… except for me.”

the shadows around him writhed and darkened. his body stretched and warped, the edges jagged like broken glass, claws scraping the ground with a sickening, wet sound. his eyes glowed red, pulsing like a warning light, burning into me like a brand.

“only i can be yours,” he growled—voice deep and guttural, a monstrous echo that shook the air.

i tried to scream, to move, but my body was frozen, trapped in invisible chains. the darkness closed in, swallowing the world whole, smothering me, whispering that i’d never escape.

then,

i snapped awake, lungs heaving, heart pounding like a drum in a war zone. cold sweat drenched me, and the room felt suffocatingly silent—but the terror clung to my skin, heavy and real.

karasu was there—quiet and steady, watching from the shadows like he knew the nightmare was coming.

i closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing, but the weight inside me was too heavy to carry alone. years of building walls—brick by brick—to protect myself had left me stranded. when i finally needed someone, there was no one there. no family waiting, no hand to hold, no warm voice to remind me i wasn’t alone.

i was orphaned young, left to navigate the cold silence of the world on my own. i didn’t know what love was—never had the chance to learn. i only knew survival, and that meant pushing people away before they could hurt me.

but now… now the loneliness wasn’t something i could fight or ignore. it swallowed me whole.

“i don’t… i don’t know how to be scared like this,” i choked out, voice cracking under the weight of everything i’d bottled up. “i never needed anyone before… because i had to be enough. but i’m so tired. and i’m scared… scared that if i let anyone in, they’ll leave. or worse, that i’ll disappear and no one will notice.”

tears spilled down, the dam finally breaking. all the nights of silent solitude, the endless pretending—it all poured out in shaky gasps and sobs.

karasu didn’t speak. he just stepped closer, arms opening like a safe harbor in the storm. i didn’t hesitate. i collapsed into the hug, finally allowing myself to be small and fragile—something i hadn’t dared to be in years.

then he started singing.

okay, okay… it may not be as good as a singer, but hey, at least he’s trying.

his voice was soft and steady against the quiet room, a balm for my fractured soul:

“don’t you dare look out your window darling everything’s on fire the war outside our door keeps raging on hold on to this lullaby even when the music’s gone gone... just close your eyes the sun is going down you’ll be alright no one can hurt you now come morning light you and i’ll be safe and sound...”

his words weren’t just a song. they seemed like promise. for once, someone was here. someone who wouldn’t let me fall through the cracks.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start healing the parts i thought were too broken to fix.

the next days felt different—less like survival and more like something human again. even in this hellscape, the bunker became a kind of refuge. not because the walls were strong, but because we were.

mornings were chaotic in a comforting way. otoya was the first to wake, blasting some offbeat music from a salvaged radio and dancing around like he owned the place.

otoya flopped down on the dusty floor, kicking an empty can away like he was the king of boredom.

“alright, random question: if you had to survive a zombie apocalypse but could only bring one snack, what would it be?

i rolled my eyes but played along.

“easy. instant noodles. cheap, filling, and if i’m lucky, some flavor. plus, no one’s gonna argue if i hoard them.”

otoya grinned.

“classic survivalist move. i’m bringing marshmallows. because if the world ends, at least i’ll die happy.”

kurona snorted.

“you’ll just attract more zombies with that sugar rush.”

otoya shrugged.

“worth it.”

then kiyora appeared from the shower, towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, hair still dripping water like a storm cloud.

and that’s when my brain totally betrayed me.

whoa. hold up.

how is this guy such a grumpy statue of perfection?

those abs. holy hell.

if i were a zombie, i’d skip the brain and just—

—munch on him first, no hesitation. like, happy to be the monster in that scenario—wait what?

he caught me mid-stare and narrowed his eyes. “you’re literally staring.”

busted.

i panicked. “i—uh, i was... studying the physics of water droplets on hair. very important research.”

he rolled his eyes. “sure you were.”

inside, my heart was doing somersaults and my brain was screaming,

kiyora’s eyes narrowed playfully as he stepped closer, dripping water glistening on his skin. his gaze didn’t just scan my hunting gear—it lingered, like he was memorizing every curve.

“so,” he said, voice low and teasing, “you’re the one leading the hunt today?” he took a slow step forward, close enough that i could feel the heat radiating off him.

then, with that wicked grin, he reached out and pinched my waist—harder this time—just enough to make me gasp.

“pretty girls like you,” he murmured low and close, his voice a dangerous growl, “might find themselves chased before they know it.”

i tried to step back, but my legs felt like jelly.

i forced out, “you’re unbelievable.”

nightfall came and our  group gathered around the old fountain just outside—the soft murmur of running water masking our voices from the dangers lurking beyond.

karasu leaned on the cracked stone edge, eyes reflecting the shimmering water. kurona stood nearby, calm but attentive. otoya was restless as always, shooting a grin toward kiyora, who sat cross-legged, arms folded, trying to look uninterested but failing to hide the slight curve of a smile.

karasu broke the silence, voice low but sure.

“tonight, let’s say our dreams out loud. shout them if we have to. the water will drown our noise—no one out there will hear.”

otoya went first, smirking with a mischievous spark.

“i want girls. pretty ones. and not just any—girls who’ll actually stick around when this nightmare’s over.”

kurona chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“you’re such a hopeless romantic, otoya.”

karasu smiled faintly and said,

“i want to search for my family. to just sit with them—no words needed. just being together. that’s what i dream about.”

his voice softened, and for a moment, the fierce leader felt like a son missing home.

kurona was next, eyes gleaming with something wild and free.

“i want to swim with sharks. like, really swim with them.”

otoya made a face.

“you’re crazy. sharks don’t exactly make good swimming buddies.”

kurona grinned.

“exactly. that’s the point.”

kiyora, usually the quiet one, spoke next in his gruff but honest tone. “i want to be the best breakdancer out there. no more running from monsters, just spinning on the floor, lost in the music.”

kurona raised an eyebrow but nodded, silently approving.

when it was my turn, my throat tightened. the truth i’d hidden for so long suddenly felt raw and urgent.

“i want to be free,” i whispered, then found my voice growing stronger. “free from fear, from loneliness... from everything holding me back.”

the water swallowed my words, but inside, a fragile hope ignited—that maybe, just maybe, freedom was possible.

one by one, we shouted our dreams into the night—some silly, some deep, all painfully real. and in that moment, beneath the moonlight and the gentle song of running water, we were more than just survivors. we were people daring to dream again.

the laughter lingered in the air long after the last wish was shouted. we were still by the fountain, basking in the illusion of safety, our dreams dancing in the mist above the water. for a moment, the world felt far away.

but not far enough.

from the edge of the ruined buildings beyond the bunker walls—hidden in the crumbled remains of what was once a watchtower—someone watched. unmoving. silent. eyes burning like coals left too long in the dark.

rin.

his silhouette was barely visible, cloaked in black and shadow. his head was tilted, listening to every word we said. every laugh. every dream.

his lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile—too crooked, too strained. a sound left his throat, rough like gravel, low and warped like something human trying to remember how to feel.

“she wants to be free?” he whispered, his voice trembling with something between awe and fury. “free... from me?”

his fingers twitched, knuckles whitening around the rusted metal rail. blood caked his wrists like bracelets, but he didn’t feel it. he hadn’t felt anything in days—not since he lost her.

“you laughed,” he muttered. “you smiled for them. not me.”

the group’s laughter echoed faintly through the cracked stone, muffled by the water. but rin’s ears were trained only on her. her voice. her laughter.

“didn’t you say you had no one?” he whispered, eyes wide and glistening. “wasn’t i the only one who stayed? who saved you?”

he pressed his forehead against the cold metal beam, muttering like a prayer, like a curse.

“you don’t need them,” he breathed, each word heavier than the last. “they’ll leave. they’ll die. just like the rest.”

silence. then a low chuckle, broken and bitter.

“ i guess i’ll have to remind you.”

and with that, rin slipped into the darkness—quiet, but dragging death in his wake.

night fell like a warm blanket, and for once, it was quiet. most of the group was asleep, bodies curled on blankets and makeshift beds, their faces softened by rare peace. the stars blinked overhead through cracks in the bunker ceiling, like they were listening in.

karasu and i were the only ones still awake.

he sat cross-legged near the rusted crate we used as a table, a small solar lantern casting golden light on his profile. i sat across from him, knees pulled to my chest, arms hugging them loosely.

“you never told us your real name,” karasu said suddenly, voice gentle.

i blinked, then looked down. “didn’t think it mattered.”

“it does to me.”

i hesitated, then exhaled. “it’s y/n.”

karasu repeated it quietly. “y/n…” he smiled. “that suits you.”

silence lingered, but not the heavy kind. it was warm, tentative. curious.

“what about you?” i asked.

“tabito,” he said. “not just karasu. my full name is karasu tabito. but... my mom used to call me tabi.”

“tabi,” i echoed, laughing softly. “that’s cute.”

“don’t say that. i’m a hardened survivalist now,” he said, mock-proudly. then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded, worn photo. “wanna see what kind of demon child you’ve been bunking with?”

i took the photo with a grin—and laughed. a chubby-cheeked little boy, all crooked teeth and scrapes, sat in a sandbox holding a half-melted popsicle like it was gold. another one was of him in a kiddie pool, bowl-cut and all.

“no way this is you,” i teased.

he grinned. “was a real menace.”

then, as i flipped through another folded photo tucked behind it, my breath caught. a woman stood in front of a small house, smiling gently.

“that’s my mom,” karasu said, voice a bit quieter now. “she raised me alone after dad left. took my little sister with him in the divorce.”

he looked away, eyes fixed somewhere past the firelight.

“she never stopped looking for her, you know? even when we had to run. she still cried about it.”

his voice thinned like smoke.

“she died three years ago.”

the words slipped out like he hadn’t said them out loud before. maybe he hadn’t. maybe it hurt too much to speak of something so final.

“i—i held her hand,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “but she still looked at the door like someone was gonna come home. i think she was waiting for her.”

a silence settled over us—heavy now. different.

he let out a low laugh, no humor in it.

“i used to think if i got strong enough, smart enough… people would stop leaving.” his eyes flicked to mine, hollow and sharp all at once. “but i’m just… some guy, y/n. i’m not anything special. i just got really good at pretending i am. i point out everyone else’s weaknesses first so they don’t see mine.”

he smiled again—but this one was practiced. paper-thin.

“i guess it’s easier to be the guy who always has a comeback than the one who’s scared he’ll be forgotten next.”

my chest twisted. i hadn’t realized i’d been holding my breath.

“karasu…” i said, voice gentle.

his gaze dropped to the ground. “sorry. that got dark.”

“no, it’s okay,” i said quickly. “you shouldn’t have to carry that alone.”

he looked up at me. something vulnerable flickered in his eyes—unguarded, maybe even hopeful.

i shifted a little closer. my heart was loud in my ears.

“you’re not alone,” i said softly.

“i think…” my heart slammed in my chest. “i think i’m—"

sleep hadn’t come easy that night.

kiyora wasn’t sure why. maybe it was the faint buzz of restlessness under his skin, the kind that made his limbs twitch and his thoughts spiral. the others had dozed off quickly, the lull of safety and quiet making it easier to relax. but he’d stayed awake, eyes open in the dark, breathing slow and shallow.

he heard their voices before he saw anything.

just a soft murmur—familiar, intimate.

kiyora sat up slightly, his back pressed against the bunker wall. just around the corner, past the crates, he saw the flicker of light from karasu’s lantern. two silhouettes sat close. too close.

“…karasu…” it was her voice. quiet. shaky. breathless.

something in his chest pulled taut.

there was a pause.

“i think…” her voice trembled, thick with emotion. “i think i’m—”

kiyora stopped listening.

something twisted in his gut—hot and bitter. he stood quickly, blood rushing to his ears, blocking out everything else. he didn’t need to hear the rest. he didn’t want to. it felt like someone had jammed a fist into his ribs and was twisting hard, like they wanted to see how much it’d take before he cracked.

he stumbled out of the bunker, breathing hard, letting the night air slap against his face. the cold did nothing to cool him. his fists were clenched. his jaw tight.

she was going to say it. she was going to tell karasu.

he hated how stupid it made him feel. he hated that his chest ached like this. he hated that he’d let himself believe—for a second—that maybe the looks she gave him meant something. the bickering. the teasing. the way she blushed when he got too close.

guess she was just like the rest.

he kicked a piece of rubble hard, teeth clenched. the hurt burned too deep to swallow.

and then—

a sound.

not the wind. not the rats. something else.

a low hum of pressure. the kind that made the air feel heavier, like a storm was about to break.

kiyora turned.

a figure stood just at the treeline. half-shadow, half-madness.

blood on his coat. red eyes glowing faint in the dark.

rin.

the wall exploded inward with a thunderous crack, chunks of rusted metal and concrete raining into the room like shrapnel. dust choked the air. someone screamed.

the bunker lights flickered—once, twice—then dimmed to a dying hum, casting everything in flickering amber and shadow.

and from the smoke…

he stepped through.

slow. unhurried.

dragging something behind him.

it stumbled at his side—slack-jawed, twitching, eyes glassy and sunken. its clothes were torn, soaked in filth and dried blood. a piece of chain wrapped around its neck like a leash, held tight in rin’s hand.

kurona.

or… what was left of him.

rin stood pale and gaunt, like starvation had carved him hollow. his eyes—bloodshot, wild—held no sanity, only a hunger, a fury barely restrained. his boots squelched in the debris, crimson footprints trailing behind him like warnings.

but when he saw her…

he smiled.

crooked. shaking. the kind of smile stitched onto a corpse with trembling hands.

"y/n," he rasped, voice cracked like broken glass underfoot. "you're... alive."

she couldn’t breathe.

not from the dust. not from the cold.

from him.

his gaze devoured her like a man lost in the desert, crawling toward an oasis he wasn’t sure was real. he staggered forward and dropped to his knees with a heavy thud—glass crunched beneath him. his free hand reached for her, fingers trembling. the other kept a death grip on the chain, keeping the reanimated kurona just barely restrained.

“i thought you died,” rin whispered, voice quivering like a sob strangled halfway up his throat. “i held your sweater for days. i kept it close. i still smell you on it. i—i talked to it every night.”

she crawled backward, eyes locked on the corpse at his side. kurona twitched, a low groan gurgling in what remained of his throat. “rin—what the hell are you doing here?”

“you were supposed to stay,” he mumbled, head tilting with a jarring snap. “i kept you safe. you were mine.”

then his tone dropped—something sharp, something raw.

“and now you’re here… with them?”

he stood.

the leash clinked, the zombie jerking forward a step before rin yanked it back.

he scanned the room—karasu in front, standing between her and death.

“no,” rin said, more to himself than anyone else. “they can’t get you. can’t let that happen.”

his coat twitched.

and from inside, he drew a blade.

long. serrated. coated in something thick and black.

the metal caught the flickering light—gleamed like teeth.

“rin—please,” y/n gasped, heart clawing against her ribs. “don’t—”

he moved in, slow, deliberate. the blade kissed just beneath her chin. not cutting. just threatening.

a quiet promise of violence.

“everyone you meet dies,” he whispered, breath cold against her lips. “you know that, right? you're cursed. a walking death sentence. but me? i chose you anyway.”

he leaned closer—nose brushing hers, like a lover’s touch.

“you were made to be alone,” he whispered. “but i want it. i want you. i’ll kill for it. i’ll rot for it. i’ll stay, even when everyone else is screaming. i’m the only one who never left. doesn’t that count for something?”

his grip twitched on the blade.

her blood ran cold.

then—

the leash slipped.

karasu saw it first.

“move!”

the zombie lunged.

rin laughed—high, fractured, wild—as the chain fell from his fingers and kurona’s mangled body lunged toward her.

y/n screamed—

—but karasu moved faster.

he tackled the corpse midair, dragging it down. the two slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch, kurona snarling and clawing like a rabid dog.

a flash of silver.

a gunshot.

rin staggered back, clutching his thigh—karasu’s bullet lodged deep in his leg.

“you idiot,” rin hissed through clenched teeth, fury and something gleeful burning behind his eyes. “you actually thought you’d win?”

karasu tried to get up—he nearly did.

but the second bite sank in too fast.

a sick, wet crunch.

blood splattered across the floor.

y/n screamed his name. she lunged forward, desperate to help—but froze.

because the creature tearing into karasu wasn’t just any mindless thing.

it was kurona.

their old friend. her favorite out of the group.

and the thing—he—wasn’t even looking at her.

it hadn’t noticed her at all.

it only wanted karasu.

why?

a sharp, painful memory stabbed through y/n’s mind—kurona’s wild eyes shining bright, full of that reckless hope she’d never see again.

“i want to swim with sharks. like, really swim with them,” he’d said once, smiling that crooked smile, sharp teeth gleaming.

she swallowed hard.

she would never take him to the ocean.

she would never see him laugh like that again.

never feel his hands carefully braid her hair on slow, quiet mornings.

never share twisted bread and stolen smiles like they used to.

her chest tightened.

“to be honest, i was just kidding. by now, all the sharks have probably been munched by zombies anyway. so my real dream,” kurona whispered softer, “is that we all survive this nightmare together. together.”

but now the nightmare had won.

and she was losing him.

“go,” karasu rasped, pain in his voice, teeth clenched. “run.”

y/n’s heart shattered. her hands trembled, she forgot about him too.

tears blurred her vision.

karasu…

she couldn’t take this anymore.

rin, still bleeding, leaned against the wall, dragging himself upright.

he looked at her—grinning, crooked, dark.

“i’ll come back for you,” he said, laughing, breath ragged. “but first—i want you to taste it. just a little. just a bite of what i felt.”

he turned toward the smoke-filled corridor.

“by the way, this base is already gone,” he added, eyes wide, shining. “they’re inside. this is just the beginning.”

and then he was gone too, vanishing into the flames.

my breath caught in my throat. fear slammed into me, twisting my insides like a cruel, jagged knife. i wanted to scream—shout his name until my voice broke. i wanted to hunt him down, to make him pay for everything he’d done—but it wasn’t rin who needed me now.

because right in front of me—everything i loved was dying.

kurona. my best friend, the one who’d always been my rock, my laughter in the dark. his eyes, once bright and wild with dreams, were now empty pools of glass. the spark that made him him—gone.

i saw his sharp teeth, the grin that used to tease and joke with me — now twisted and lifeless, frozen in a cruel parody of the friend i knew.

and then there was karasu.

i dropped to my knees beside him, his body trembling, soaked in blood, his breaths shallow and ragged like the last flickers of a dying flame. i pressed my trembling hands to his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. the bite was deep. too deep.

my voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, lost in the suffocating silence crushing my lungs.

“i… i finally figured it out.”

karasu’s eyes fluttered weakly, searching mine with a desperate hunger, as if clinging to me was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“the woman in that picture you showed me… the one you said was important?” my throat tightened, raw and burning. “she’s the same woman the orphanage showed me.”

his brow furrowed, confusion and pain twisting together in his fading gaze.

“they told me she was my mother,” i choked, tears spilling freely down my face, “the one who left me behind.”

my fingers clenched the photo, the sharp edges biting into my palm like the truth was a blade.

“but now… now i know.”

i grasped his trembling hand, squeezing as if i could pour all my strength into him.

“she wasn’t just anyone.”

“she was our mother.”

karasu’s lips quivered, and a ghost of a smile flickered—haunted and broken, a fragile thing caught between relief and regret.

“that’s why…” his voice was barely a breath, “that’s why i was so overprotective when i saw you in that tree.”

i swallowed hard, trying to hold back the sobs clawing at my throat, the crushing weight tightening my chest until i thought it would burst.

“i’m sorry,” he rasped, guilt dragging his voice down. “i couldn’t protect you. i couldn’t be the brother you deserved.”

“no!” i sobbed, my whole body shaking, tears burning down my cheeks like acid. “no, you are my brother. and you’re not leaving me—not like this. you can’t. you won’t.”

his trembling hand brushed my cheek, so fragile, so full of love, and it crushed me even more.

“don’t die,” he begged, voice breaking, fragile as cracked glass. “promise me.”

i clung to him with everything, desperation ripping through me like a living thing.

“please—you’re not allowed to die. not today. not like this. i swear—”

his eyelids fluttered, so faint.

“no,” i cried out, shaking him, tears pouring down my face like a storm breaking inside me. “please don’t close your eyes. stay with me. i just… i just found you. i found my family. i can’t lose you now. you can’t leave me. i’ll save you—i swear i will. you just have to hold on. please. please don’t go.”

his fingers twitched weakly against my shaking hands. he gave me a faint, tired smile — the kind that held a thousand quiet sorrows and infinite love.

“we’ll always look after you,” he whispered, voice soft, like a fragile promise on the wind. “me, kurona… and mom. even if we’re not here, we’re still with you. always.”

i shook my head, tears blurring everything. “no. no. i don’t want to be without you. not like this. i need you here. please don’t leave me alone!”

his breath hitched, shallow and ragged, and my chest shattered.

then—

he pulled out the battered gun, his hands trembling as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. a shaky breath escaped him, raw and heavy.

“no!” i screamed, trying to stop him, but—

two shots ripped through the air.

one for kurona. one for him.

they collapsed into each other’s arms, not with the warmth of life, but the cold, heavy stillness of finality.

their bodies, once vibrant and fierce, now slack and fragile—like broken dolls left to rest in a silent, endless night.

their faces softened, eerily peaceful—like they were just asleep, the way they used to be on quiet mornings before the world tore apart.

but this wasn’t sleep. it was death’s cruel embrace, a silence so loud it crushed my soul.

i reached out, desperate to feel something—anything—but their skin was cold, their breaths gone, and the hollow emptiness swallowed me whole.

the weight of losing them pressed down, suffocating, ripping through every piece of me.

they weren’t just gone. they were erased—taken from me before i even had the chance to say goodbye, to hold them, to tell them i loved them one last time.

and in that unbearable stillness, i shattered. because i knew—no matter how much i begged, how fiercely i wanted to save them—they were lost to me forever.

the silence shattered—like fragile glass cracking under a hammer’s blow—when the first heavy thud echoed through the bunker walls. they were coming. the dead, the lost, the monsters that had stolen everything from me, crashing through what was left of our sanctuary. i could hear their claws scraping, their ragged breaths like the wind scraping through dead trees.

rage bloomed inside me, a fire so fierce it scorched my lungs and blinded my tears. i didn’t hesitate. i couldn’t. my body moved on its own, fueled by a furious desperation. my fists became weapons forged in grief. every punch was raw, every kick an explosion of everything i couldn’t say out loud. but beneath the roar of my rage, the storm inside twisted even sharper.

this corner… i barely recognized the cracked walls now, stained with dust and blood. this was where kurona sat, braiding my hair on slow, quiet mornings. his fingers gentle, humming a tune only i could hear—like the sun rising just for us.

i caught a rotten hand lunging at me, fingers snapped beneath my grip with a sickening crack. the sound echoed in my ears, a death knell that tore open wounds i wasn’t ready to face.

and now it’s a graveyard. a tomb where dreams go to die. this home, soaked in blood and despair, broken beyond repair.

i swallowed hard, the bitter taste of bile rising, but i forced myself to hold back the tears. i could not break here. not yet.

more shambling horrors emerged from the dark hallway—the same hallway where my brother once stood watch, fierce and unwavering. his steady presence was supposed to be our shield.

i kicked one of the monsters with every ounce of strength i had, sending it crashing into the crumbling wall. my breath came ragged. the walls around me seemed to close in, suffocating.

safety? my mind sneered at the word. safety vanished the moment they were torn from me. safety also vanished with kurona’s fading smile. safety slipped away tonight when my brother’s voice became nothing more than a fragile whisper.

each strike was a scream against the silence, a desperate prayer that this nightmare wasn’t real. but it was.

then i heard it—a faint gasp, a tremble in the shadows. otoya and kiyora, cornered and vulnerable, eyes wide with terror. my heart shattered.

no. not them. not the few pieces left of this broken world.

i tore through the crowd, a whirlwind of fury and desperation. teeth snapped inches from my skin. claws scraped through my clothes, slashing my arms and legs. blood trickled, warm and sticky, but i didn’t falter.

i couldn’t falter.

you won’t take them. not today. not ever.

bodies fell like broken dolls beneath my feet. the roar of battle slowly faded into a haunting silence. i stood alone, trembling and bloodied. not just from the fight, but from the crushing weight of loss and fury suffocating my chest.

our home—our sanctuary—was no more. the walls that once held laughter, warmth, and fleeting moments of peace were now nothing but charred ruins. blackened beams. ash where names used to echo.

they were gone. taken by death and darkness.

my legs moved without will, slow and heavy, every step a scream from the shattered pieces of my heart. i was hollow, emptied out by loss and filled instead with fire. the girl i once was—she was gone. all that remained was this thing forged in death and agony.

ahead, i saw them—otoya and kiyora—faces bathed in the flicker of dying lantern light, eyes searching, uncertain. they looked at me like i was a ghost. and maybe i was. a ghost in bloodstained boots, walking on the bones of the people i loved.

i stopped a few feet away, unable to meet their eyes.

the silence grew dense.

otoya stepped forward. “y/n… what happened? where are they?”

my mouth opened.

closed.

my chest rose, hitched, fell.

“i…”

the word was like glass in my throat.

i couldn’t say it. not yet. not like this.

“i don’t know how to say this.”

otoya’s brow knit tighter. “say what?”

“they’re gone.”

my voice cracked like ice splitting underfoot. fragile. deadly.

otoya blinked rapidly. “what?”

“kurona and karasu,” i said, barely above a whisper, “they… they didn’t make it.”

“no.” otoya shook his head. “that can’t be right. they were right behind you, weren’t they? maybe they just got separated—maybe—”

“i saw them.” my voice broke. “they didn’t get separated. they were saving me.”

kiyora stood silent beside him, unmoving. but something passed through his expression—like a tremor cracking the foundation.

“they died protecting me,” i whispered. “and i couldn’t save them.”

a heavy silence followed.

but the worst part wasn’t over.

i looked up at them through a curtain of tears, and forced out the truth that still didn’t feel real.

“there’s something else,” i rasped. “karasu…was my brother.”

otoya’s face froze. kiyora blinked.

“i just found out today,” i continued, voice shaking. “he didn’t know either. not until i told him. we didn’t even have time to talk about it. he just smiled—and then he was gone.”

kiyora’s breath hitched.

his jaw clenched tight.

“i thought—” he started, then stopped, eyes wide, voice trembling like something cracked inside him. “earlier… i heard you two talking. and i thought you were about to confess to him.”

his words came out choked, disbelieving. “i thought you loved him.”

“no!” i blurted, voice too loud, too fast. “i wasn’t—i was trying to tell him the truth. that he was my brother.”

kiyora’s face went pale, like the blood had drained from it completely. his lips parted but no sound came out.

then it hit him.

like a wave. a landslide. a goddamn collapse.

his knees buckled as he staggered back a step, hand dragging down his face. “no, no, no—fuck. i didn’t—”

his voice cracked violently.

“i was so fucking upset,” he whispered, barely holding on. “i left the bunker door unlocked when i stormed out. i didn’t check it. i didn’t even think—”

he swore under his breath, voice rising in panic. “he must’ve been watching. rin must’ve been right there, waiting for a moment—and i gave it to him. i handed it to him.”

the air turned thick, suffocating.

“i let my goddamn feelings get in the way,” he rasped. “i made it personal. i got in my own head and i let everything slip. and because of that—”

he spun, facing the ruin behind us like he could still see their shadows. “because of me, they got in. he got in. rin killed them because i couldn’t keep my fucking emotions under control.”

otoya took a step forward, voice soft, steady. “kiyora—”

“no!” kiyora shouted, the word tearing from his throat. “don’t—don’t fucking say it wasn’t my fault!”

his breathing was ragged now, shoulders heaving.

“i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t alert. i wasn’t a teammate—i was a goddamn liability. i let rin exploit me. i gave him the opening like a fool—like a fucking amateur—and now karasu and kurona are—!”

he broke off, his voice strangled.

he backed away like we were made of fire. like he didn’t deserve to be near us.

“this is all my fault,” he gasped. “all of it.”

“no,” i said, the word cutting sharp as glass. “he chose to do this. rin chose to kill them. you didn’t.”

but kiyora didn’t respond.

his guilt was louder than anything we could say. it rang in the silence like a siren, all-consuming and impossible to quiet.

otoya stood next to me, unmoving, eyes full of grief but calm—a weight beside my unsteady bones.

and kiyora—kiyora was coming apart in front of us.

and for the first time, the three of us stood in the ashes of everything we’d lost—together, but irreparably changed.

my brother. my best friend.

gone.

and i had only just learned the truth.

but rin had made a fatal mistake.

he thought killing them would break me.

but he didn’t realize that karasu’s death didn’t leave a hole.

it left a fire.

i would survive.

i would fight.

and i would make rin pay.

for tearing everything i loved away from me.

for destroying my family.

for using us like pieces on a board—thinking we wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

because now, nothing—no one—would stand in my way.

i don’t know how long i’d been standing there.

the air was thick with ash, swallowing the horizon. it didn’t feel like breathing anymore—just existing. surviving. my chest rose and fell, but there was no relief. no peace. only the crushing silence of a world that had already ended.

y/n stood a few feet away, her back to us. her figure—so steady, so still—looked carved out of the dust and grief we’d drowned in. the bow was slung across her back like a cross to bear, the strap wound tight in her hand. her knuckles were white.

she didn’t say a word.

but i knew.

i knew she was leaving.

and i didn’t blame her. how could i?

she had nothing left here. not with us. not with me.

“i’m going,” she finally said. her voice was low—too steady. too practiced. like she’d already rehearsed the line a thousand times in her head before speaking it out loud.

it didn’t shake.

but i did.

she turned only slightly, just enough for me to catch the corner of her face—stoic, unreadable. the girl i knew was buried under layers of pain i had helped carve into her.

she didn’t answer.

of course she didn’t.

why should she?

i stepped forward anyway, clutching the weapon in my hand like it was the last thing keeping me tethered. the one karasu always used. its surface was worn smooth where his fingers used to grip it. it smelled faintly like smoke and earth. like him.

i held it out, and my voice came out quieter than i meant it to. “this was his. he would’ve wanted you to have it.”

her eyes flicked down. she hesitated.

then, slowly, she reached out and took it. her fingers brushed against mine—warm and shaking.

i didn’t let go.

i couldn’t.

not yet.

i looked at her, and every part of me shattered all over again.

because i love her.

god, i love her.

and this was the closest i would ever be to her again.

i should’ve told her. i should’ve grabbed her hand, pulled her into my arms, begged her not to go. i should’ve screamed that i was sorry—that i’d do anything to fix it.

but i didn’t.

i just stood there, guilt wrapping itself around my lungs like a noose.

because this was my fault.

i’d walked away when i shouldn’t have. i let my stupid heart get in the way. i let rin slip through the crack i left behind, like a shadow creeping into our last safe place.

and he took everything from us.

from her.

karasu. kurona.

gone.

and she was leaving because she couldn’t bear to lose anything else.

i stepped closer—slow, uncertain. she didn’t move. i reached out and rested my forehead gently against hers.

she still didn’t pull away.

my heart cracked in my chest.

because this—this was the most she would ever let me have of her.

and it would never be enough.

she didn’t move. didn't flinch. and for a few stolen seconds, i let myself pretend.

pretend that this wasn’t goodbye. that we weren’t standing in the middle of ruins, surrounded by ghosts and grief. that there wasn’t a war outside and death inside.

i imagined her hands in mine. her real hands—not dirt-caked, not calloused from pulling bowstrings for days without sleep. just soft. warm. safe. i imagined her thumb brushing against my knuckles like she always did when she was trying to reassure me in that other life—the one we never got to live. in that world, the sky was blue. not this eternal smog-gray, not poisoned with ash. the wind smelled like spring. like cherry blossoms. she liked those, didn’t she? i think i remember her saying that. we lived in a house with wide windows and a messy garden we were always forgetting to water. her laugh filled every corner of it. i’d wake up to her voice calling me lazy, then feel her kiss against my jaw before i could even open my eyes. in that life, we argued over little things. whose turn it was to wash the dishes. which ramen flavor was better. she always picked spicy and won. and i let her, every single time. in that life, i wasn’t a coward. i didn’t stay quiet when she needed to hear the truth. i didn’t let fear chain my tongue. i told her every day—every single day—how much she meant to me. how i loved her. not in a crumbling bunker. not on the edge of losing everything. but freely. softly. without the weight of blood or guilt. in that life, karasu didn’t die. he stood beside us, rolling his eyes when we kissed like teenagers, teasing me for turning red when she touched me. he’d clap my back at our wedding, toss back a drink, and say something stupid like, “took you long enough, dumbass.” in that world, kurona still hummed lullabies when the nights got too long, always repeating the last word like a broken record, but never broken. never bleeding out in front of us. we were whole. i saw it. i felt it. i saw her lying beside me in bed, tracing circles on my chest as we talked about everything and nothing. i saw her curled up in my arms on cold mornings, hair in my face, fingers tangled in my shirt. i saw her smile in a way i hadn’t seen in years—not the kind built from survival, but joy. she looked at me like i was her whole world. and i loved her like she was mine.

but that world wasn’t ours.

not here. not now.

because here, the air stank of death and ash. because here, the bow slung across her back was a promise—not of life, but of vengeance. because here, i had stayed silent one second too long.

here, karasu was gone. kurona was gone. and she was leaving. and i… i was nothing but the boy who let her go.

the warmth of that dream faded like smoke between our foreheads. and when i opened my eyes, i was still here. still holding back everything i’d never say.

i pressed a trembling kiss to her cheek.

it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough. but it was all i had left to give.

she closed her eyes, just for a breath.

and then she stepped away.

that imagined life—the one where we were lovers, the one where i was brave, where karasu lived, where she smiled at me like i was her future—shattered.

gone.

the ash between us thickened. she became a silhouette, then a shadow, then a memory i wasn’t ready to have yet.

still, i stood there.

staring into the horizon like if i waited long enough, she’d turn around and run back to me.

she didn’t. she never even looked back.

and i didn’t deserve it if she did. because in this life, i had failed her.

and the only thing i could give her now was space. distance. freedom from me.

so i stayed silent. let her walk away.

in another life, i told myself—

maybe she could’ve loved me. maybe i would’ve been enough. maybe we wouldn’t have been surrounded by ruin and regret.

but in this life—this shattered, broken life— if fate dares to cross our paths again, if we are reborn, again and again, i pray she never even sees me.

i pray she walks right past me, like a stranger on a crowded street, so that she never has to carry the weight of me, never has to bear the scars i’ve left on her soul.

because the last thing i want— the very last thing i deserve— is to be the cause of her pain again.

not in this life. not in any life.

let her live without me. let her live without the darkness i bring.

because i love her too much to let her love me back.

the air hung thick with ash and the metallic scent of blood. the ruined street was a graveyard of broken dreams, twisted wreckage, scorched concrete, and the silent whispers of those long gone. shadows moved like ghosts between shattered buildings, the undead lurking, waiting, their guttural moans rising and falling like a dreadful tide.

y/n’s eyes burned bright in the dim light, her body coiled tight like a bowstring ready to snap. she had tracked him here — the monster who had haunted her nightmares and shattered everything she once held dear.

and now—here he was.

rin.

his form stumbled out from the shadows, ragged and torn, the infection eating him alive. his skin stretched tight over brittle bones like fragile parchment, veins blackened and pulsing with unnatural sickness. his hair hung matted, wild like a feral beast’s mane. but even in that grotesque decay, a spark flickered—raw, unyielding—of the man he once was. the man she had loved and who had betrayed her with every poisoned breath.

their eyes locked, and a twisted smile cracked across rin’s face, sharp and uneven, like broken glass.

“y/n…” his voice slithered through the silence — a cruel whisper, ragged and desperate, soaked with madness. “you came back to me. you always come back. you can’t leave me. you belong to me.”

a flicker of something dangerous flashed in his gaze. obsession. possession. rage wrapped in agony.

“you think you’re strong now,” he crooned, stumbling closer, hands twitching violently as if clawing at invisible chains. “but you’ll never be free. not from me. not from what we were—what we are. i saved you… i protected you. and you left me. left me to rot.”

his breath came ragged, labored, but the fire in his eyes only grew brighter, more manic.

“i needed you! i need you! without you, this world is nothing but ashes and blood.” his voice cracked, folding under the weight of his obsession, then snapped back sharp as a blade. “you’re mine, y/n. always. forever.”

the horde surrounding them stirred, sensing the explosion of violent energy, but rin paid them no mind — his entire world had shrunk down to the girl standing cold and unyielding before him.

y/n’s hand brushed the worn leather strap at her side, feeling the cold weight of karasu’s dagger—the last gift of a brother who died protecting her, sacrificed to the madness rin had unleashed.

“i’m done running,” she said, voice low and deadly calm. “done hoping.”

rin laughed then, a twisted, broken sound like a soul shattering. he lurched forward, unbalanced but terrifying, arms flailing like a madman reaching for the last thing tethering him to sanity.

“you can’t kill me! you can’t! because i’m the only one who sees you! the only one who knows you!” his eyes wild, glistening with tears and madness. “you’re everything to me—my curse, my salvation. without you, i’m nothing. without you, i’m lost.”

he lunged, claws scraping the cracked concrete as the infection writhed beneath his skin, distorting his form in grotesque spasms.

y/n’s eyes narrowed. the past was dead, she was no longer the girl who believed in broken promises.

the dagger flashed, cold and unforgiving,

and the reckoning began.

the dagger sliced through the air with a sharp hiss, aimed for rin’s chest — but he twisted away, a grotesque snarl ripping from his throat. his eyes gleamed with unhinged delight, the kind of madness only obsession breeds. he wasn’t just fighting to survive — he was fighting for possession. for love turned venomous and violent.

“did you think it would be that easy?” rin spat, voice thick with bile and desperation. his twitching fingers clawed toward her like grasping tendrils, desperate to choke away her resolve. “you’re mine, y/n. i’m the only one who can give you meaning. only i.”

his body jerked unnaturally, flesh bubbling and cracking like burned paper, his infection blossoming with every ragged breath. he convulsed as though the madness inside was clawing its way out, veins thrumming black and blue beneath skin torn and pulsing grotesquely. his distorted grin widened, teeth grinding in a horrific crescendo of insanity.

but y/n was unmoved. she stood like stone — cold, implacable, merciless. she wasn’t the scared girl from long ago. she was the storm. the hunter. the reckoning.

around them, the undead stirred. the horde was a living ocean of groans and grasping hands, yet when y/n’s gaze flicked to them, a sudden silence rippled like a pulse. the creature's vacant eyes fixed on rin, their groans sharpening to guttural snarls.

y/n raised her voice — a calm, unyielding command in the silence of ruin. “kill him.”

it was as if her words were chains tightening around the horde’s twisted minds. they surged forward, ravenous and relentless — but instead of lunging at her, their gnashing teeth and clawing hands descended upon rin.

he screamed, a broken sound of fury and terror, as the horde tore into him. but even as they dragged him down, thrashing and ripping at his mutilated flesh, rin’s eyes never left y/n’s.

rin thrashed under the crushing weight of the horde, the infection ravaging what was left of his broken body. his breath came in ragged gasps, each one shaky and fragile—like a frightened child clinging to a flicker of fading hope. tears streaked down his cracked, dirt-smudged face, raw and unguarded.

“y/n… please, don’t leave me,” he whimpered, voice cracking like brittle glass. “sae left me… everyone left me… i’m all alone. you can’t—can’t leave me too.”

his trembling hands reached out weakly, fingers curling as if desperate to clutch her—the one last tether to a world that had abandoned him. “i’m nothing without you. you’re everything… my reason to keep fighting, my curse, my only light. please… don’t go.”

but beneath the desperate pleadings, beneath the shattered soul begging for mercy, the truth remained unbroken. his madness—born from abandonment and loneliness—had turned to destruction. he had killed the brother she lost, the friends who stood by her side, the innocent lives she had sworn to protect.

his pain did not excuse the ruin he left behind.

y/n’s eyes softened—not with forgiveness, but with the sorrow of a heart forced to carry the weight of loss. she knew he was broken. but brokenness did not grant absolution.

she stepped back, the bitter ache of what was lost settling deep in her bones.

then, with a steady hand, she reached for her bow once more.

her fingers found the nocked arrow, silent and certain.

this time, there was no hesitation.

with a deep breath, she let the arrow fly.

it struck true—piercing the fractured heart of the man who had once been everything to her, now only a shadow twisted by darkness.

rin’s body went still, the last flicker of torment fading as peace finally claimed him.

y/n knelt beside him, the weight of all they’d lost pressing down on her chest like a silent storm. the boy who once saved her—the man consumed by shadows—was now a broken ghost, flickering on the edge of oblivion.

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he added, voice calm. too calm.

“that’s what serial killers say,” i said. “right before they, you know, hurt people.”

still, my fingers twitched. he looked at me like i was already his. like he’d found something and wasn’t letting go.

“jesus,” i muttered. “fine. i’ll take your murderer hand.”

he helped me up and didn’t let go. i tried to tug my hand back. he held firm for just a beat too long before releasing it. outside, the wind shrieked.

her voice was barely more than a breath, trembling yet resolute: “well… i finally paid you back.”

there was no forgiveness in that moment. no absolution for the ruin he left behind, no grace for the lives torn apart by his madness. only mercy—the final kindness for a soul crushed beneath the weight of its own darkness.

because brokenness is not an excuse. because pain does not grant the right to destroy.

she had learned this truth through shattered memories and scars etched deep into her skin and soul.

mercy isn’t forgetting the wounds. it’s the strength to break the cycle without becoming the monster.

y/n rose slowly, her eyes fierce embers burning with quiet fury and fragile hope. the world around her was broken—scarred by loss, betrayal, and madness—but she would walk through it as something more than a victim.

she was the reckoning.

true courage isn’t vengeance. true courage is looking into the abyss and choosing to carry the light anyway.

and as rin’s final breath whispered away on the cold wind, she carried a lesson hard-earned and blood-bought—mercy and justice, though intertwined, were never the same.

but both were necessary to survive.

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist ; like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ

[hummingbird24220]

Greetings! May I request a luffy x reader with a devil fruit that causes anything they touch die, even fabrics doesn't conceal their death touch. But after wano and luffy getting gear 5, luffy accidentally touched reader, and then finding out their ability now doesn't work on him, which made them tear up and ask for a hug as all they have ever felt was the coldness of a corpse and not the warmth of the living

Oooo i like this^^ Thanks for the request <3

I dont know much about gear 5 luffy (aside from the look) so hope its okay. Its preeeetyy short, so sorry!

The Touch of Life

Luffy x Reader

The sun was high over the Thousand Sunny, casting long, warm shadows as it danced on the waves. The air was filled with the usual sounds of life on the sea — creaking wood, flapping sails, and the distant screech of seagulls circling overhead.

And laughter.

Always laughter when Luffy was around.

But just beyond the edge of that sound, sitting cross-legged near the mast with your hands folded tightly in your lap, was you. Watching. Listening. Smiling when they smiled. But never getting close. Not really.

You didn’t wear gloves — not because you wanted to be reckless, but because nothing helped. Fabric decayed under your fingers just like everything else. Cotton turned to dust, leather cracked and rotted, even metal could rust away in your grip if given time. And people? Skin turned to ash. Bones crumbled. Life shriveled.

You didn’t need the reminders. Gloves only made it feel worse.

The Devil Fruit you had eaten — the Shibotsu Shibu no Mi — was more of a curse than a blessing. Anything you touched with your bare hands decayed. People called it powerful. Useful in battle. Terrifying.

You called it lonely.

So you kept your hands clasped. Always. It was your quiet rule. The crew understood. They’d seen what happened the first time you lost control. Brook had only chuckled good-naturedly after you accidentally grazed his sleeve, saying, “Yohoho! Good thing I have no flesh, or that might’ve hurt!” But the tattered edge of his coat still made you nauseous with guilt for days.

They all understood. They respected your space. But you still saw the glances. Felt the hesitation when a high-five was missed or when your cup was taken with a napkin.

Except for Luffy.

Luffy never looked at you like that. He never feared you.

He just… listened.

Like the time you sat beside him on the deck in the dark, unable to sleep, and whispered about what it felt like — to only know the cold of lifeless things. He didn’t say much, just stared at the moon for a while before saying with a gentle grin, “That sucks. But you’re still you, and I like you.”

And that was that.

Now, after Wano, after everything — Kaido, Yamato, the fire festival — things should have calmed. But something had changed.

Luffy was stronger. Brighter. His presence crackled like lightning now. Gear 5 had transformed him into something otherworldly — laughter incarnate, joy made flesh. But he was still Luffy. Still the same boy who offered his seat to you at dinner and saved the last meat bun when he remembered you liked them.

You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten during today’s sparring match with Zoro, bouncing around in Gear 5. The deck was a blur of movement, and the others were cheering, and you were watching him — and then he stumbled.

Right into you.

He crashed forward with his usual lack of grace, arms flailing — and before you could back away or yell or stop it —

his hand caught yours.

Bare skin on bare skin.

Time stopped.

Your heart seized in your chest. You felt the familiar buzz of your Devil Fruit roar to life, ready to devour the thing you touched — and then…

Nothing happened.

No rot. No decay. No crumble of cells or dust or death.

Just… warmth.

Your fingers trembled in his grip. You stared at your joined hands like they were something alien.

Luffy blinked. “Oh, sorry!” he said, pulling back slightly, but not all the way. “Didn’t mean to—uh…” He paused, eyes flicking to your wide, shocked expression. “Wait… you’re not…?”

“I…” Your voice cracked. Your hands opened and then closed again. “I didn’t… kill you.”

Luffy looked down at your hands still touching. “Heh. Guess not.”

You stared at him, chest tight, your vision swimming. The warmth was still there. His skin was warm — not crumbling, not withering — alive.

Your throat tightened, and your hands suddenly clutched his.

“I can feel it,” you whispered. “You’re warm. You’re real. You’re not—” Your voice broke. “You’re not dying.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’m not planning on it today.” He laughed lightly. “That’d suck, right?”

You let out a shaking breath — half a sob, half a laugh. “Luffy…”

His smile faded a bit, and his voice softened. “...You okay?”

You nodded too quickly, but tears still spilled from your eyes. “I’ve never touched someone like this. Never held anyone. I’ve only ever felt the cold of death. And now…” You clenched his hand like a lifeline. “Please. Can I have a hug?”

Luffy blinked once — then twice — and then grinned so widely it hurt.

“Of course you can!”

And without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

You gasped — not from fear, not from dread — but from warmth. Pure, unfiltered warmth. It hit you like a wave, like fire, like life. His heartbeat thumped against your chest, his arms solid and kind and alive around you.

You sobbed into his shoulder.

From the upper deck, the rest of the crew had gone silent. No one interrupted. No one said a word. Not even Sanji lit his cigarette.

Because they all understood what this moment meant.

And for the first time in your cursed, decaying life — you weren’t killing someone.

You were holding on.

You didn’t know how long you stayed in his arms.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. The ocean breeze brushed across your skin, cool and clean, but all you felt was him — the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart, the softness of his voice when he murmured, “It’s okay,” over and over.

It was more than okay.

It was the first time you weren’t afraid of your own hands.

Eventually, your tears slowed, and you pulled back, just enough to see his face. His eyes were bright, full of that same unfailing faith that had pulled him through warlords and emperors and hell itself.

“You’re really not scared of me,” you whispered.

He gave you that sunny grin — all teeth and sunshine. “Nah. I never was.”

“But now,” you said, glancing down at your joined hands again, “I can touch you. I can hold you. I thought… I thought I’d never get to do that in my whole life.”

Luffy tilted his head like he didn’t see the big deal. “You’re my nakama. Why wouldn’t I let you hold me?”

You laughed, watery and raw. “Because I used to kill everything I touched, Luffy.”

He scratched his chin, clearly thinking. “Hmm. Maybe Gear 5 makes me different now. My body’s all rubbery and weird — like, freedom-weird.” He grinned. “Maybe even your Devil Fruit can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

You blinked. “Wait… you think you’re immune because you’re… free?”

He nodded confidently. “Yep. I can do anything now. Even hug my cursed friend.”

You blinked once.

Then again.

And for some reason, that made sense.

Not scientifically, not logically, but Luffy-sense.

And you found yourself laughing — really laughing, full-belly, shoulders-shaking laughter that had you leaning into his chest again. He laughed with you, his arms still around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

From the upper deck, the rest of the crew finally exhaled.

Zoro sheathed his sword with a quiet grunt. “Took him long enough.”

Sanji wiped his eyes with a sleeve and muttered, “Damn onions.”

Nami just stood there, lips parted slightly. “She… she’s touching him. And he’s okay.”

Robin’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “It makes sense. Gear 5 allows Luffy to embody the impossible. Perhaps her power doesn’t apply to him anymore.”

“Then does that mean…” Usopp leaned forward over the railing, eyes wide. “She can hug people now?!”

“No,” Robin said gently. “She can hug Luffy.”

Franky adjusted his shades, unusually quiet. Even Chopper had tears in his eyes, tail swishing slowly.

Brook sniffled, though no tears came. “Yohoho… she deserves this. She really does.”

Later that night, the Sunny was quiet. The stars above shimmered over the gentle waves, and you stood at the rail, looking down at your hands.

You didn’t hold them tightly anymore. They were open now. Relaxed.

And warm.

“You’re thinking again,” Luffy’s voice said behind you.

You didn’t flinch when he stepped closer. You didn’t back away.

“Am I allowed to?” you teased softly.

“Only if you don’t cry again. I’m not good with sad stuff.”

You smiled and looked over your shoulder. “I was just wondering… if this only works on you, or if it’s the start of something bigger.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Dunno. Want me to get Chopper to poke you with a stick?”

You laughed again — gods, you were laughing so much now — and shook your head. “No. I don’t want to test this on anyone else. Not yet.”

“Then don’t.”

You blinked.

He stood beside you now, leaning on the railing. “You’ve got time. You’re here, and we’re not going anywhere. So you don’t have to rush.”

You stared at him.

That grin of his could power a whole island.

“Besides,” he added, turning to face you. “You’ve got me. And you can touch me anytime you want.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Luffy…”

His hand found yours again, and he laced your fingers together.

Warm. Alive. Safe.

“You’re not a curse,” he said. “You’re not poison. You’re you. And I’m really glad you’re with us.”

The wind carried your answer away, but it didn’t matter.

Because this time, for once, you weren’t thinking about how much you’d ruin. You were thinking about what you could finally hold onto.

[cl0udy3]

Shadow X Reader Enemies To Lovers Forced Proximity? (Context: I’ve Just Watched The Sonic Movie)

𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫

shadow the hedgehog x fem!rabbit!reader tw: none?? wc: 3093 helloo! sorry this took so long i was just so doubtful with my writing and i still am, plus i've been slightly busy with classes this week but i figured i should post something and 3000 words felt like enough! i really hope you enjoy it thanks for requesting!!

You never imagined that a simple quest for healing could lead you into a nightmare. Tonight, driven by a desperate need to recover a mysterious artifact—one that might mend the wounds of your past—you find yourself standing before the looming entrance of an abandoned research facility. Its rusted doors and crumbling walls speak of secrets long buried, and as you step inside, the cold, stale air wraps around you like a warning.

Your heart beats steadily, each thump echoing the determination that pushes you forward. “I have to do this,” you whisper, the words heavy with memories of what you’ve lost. Not so long ago, you had a life filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of family. But that life was shattered one fateful night—a night when everything you held dear was ripped away by forces you still struggle to understand. That evening, when the sky burned with anger and the streets erupted in chaos, you lost your family. Your parents, siblings, and the home you cherished were all taken in a senseless, calculated attack orchestrated by none other than Dr. Eggman.

Eggman, ever the master of chaos and technological terror, had targeted your town as part of a broader scheme to sow fear and destabilize the region. Under the guise of a sudden catastrophe, his monstrous machines descended upon your neighborhood, unleashing a barrage of explosives and automated drones. Amid the chaos of shattering glass, screeching metal, and the roar of Eggman’s engines, you were left standing alone in the wreckage. The screams of your loved ones still echo in your mind, a constant reminder of that night—and of Eggman’s ruthless ambition.

Almost immediately after stepping into the facility, you sense that you are not alone. As you move cautiously through a corridor lit by sporadic, flickering emergency lights, the sound of measured footsteps echoes behind you. You stop, instinctively turning toward the noise. Out of the shadow emerges a figure whose presence fills the space with an intense, brooding energy.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” a deep, gravelly voice demands. The figure steps forward into the weak light, revealing himself to be none other than Shadow the Hedgehog. His crimson eyes burn with suspicion, and his stance is all business—an imposing contrast to your gentle demeanor.

You straighten your back and meet his gaze. “I’m here on my own mission,” you reply firmly. “I’m looking for something that doesn’t concern you. I don’t mean to cause trouble.” Your voice is steady despite the underlying vulnerability, each word carrying the weight of loss—a loss of home, family, and the life you once knew.

Shadow’s eyes narrow. “This facility isn’t a place for someone like you,” he says, his tone laced with contempt. “I have my orders, and I can’t afford distractions.”

Before you can argue further, the building shudders violently. A deep rumble vibrates through the concrete floors, and the emergency lights begin to flash more urgently. Your instincts scream that something is terribly wrong. Then, without warning, a deafening explosion rocks the facility. The blast shatters nearby windows and sends debris tumbling from the ceiling. In an instant, the corridor transforms into a chaotic maze of dust, sparks, and collapsing walls.

“Dammit!” Shadow curses, his eyes scanning for a safe path. As the dust clears, you notice a massive, reinforced door slam shut behind you, sealing off any obvious exit. The roar of falling debris and the creak of twisting metal underscore the urgency of your situation.

“We’re trapped,” you say, your voice barely audible over the cacophony. Despite the danger, you force calm into your tone. “We have to work together if we’re going to get out of here.”

Shadow hesitates, his jaw clenching as he sizes you up. “I work alone,” he grumbles, yet there’s a flicker of reluctant understanding in his eyes. “But right now, I don’t see another option.”

As you both move deeper into the facility, the environment becomes a brutal test of survival. The corridors twist unpredictably, littered with fallen beams and sparking remnants of outdated technology. Every step forward is accompanied by the sound of crumbling concrete beneath your feet. Amid this chaos, your thoughts drift back to that terrible night. You remember the screams, the blinding flashes of fire, and the overwhelming sense of betrayal by a world that once promised safety and love. You recall how you were left standing alone amid the ruins of your former life, with nothing but fragments of memories and a desperate hope that someday you might reclaim a piece of that lost innocence.

“Watch your step,” Shadow orders as you navigate a narrow passage. You comply, carefully placing your feet on the uneven ground, though your eyes betray the growing anxiety “Sorry,” you mumble after a particularly close call when a chunk of debris nearly topples you over.

Shadow grunts. “Just stay focused. We’re not out of this yet.” His tone is terse, but you catch a glimpse of something softer in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment that survival matters more than pride in moments like these.

At one point, as you both scramble to avoid a falling slab of concrete, your path narrows into a claustrophobic tunnel. The ceiling begins to crumble overhead, sending sharp fragments of metal plummeting toward you both. 

"Move!" Shadow barked, shoving you forward as the ceiling behind you collapsed. You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a tight space—a maintenance shaft, if you had to guess. Dust and debris clouded the air, the sound of the explosion ringing in your ears. Then, silence. The passage behind you was sealed shut. No way out. No space left between you. 

Your breath hitched as Shadow shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours in the impossibly tight space. The dim emergency light flickered above, barely illuminating the cold steel walls pressing in on both of you. Your back was already against the vent, but no matter how much you tried to shrink into yourself, the space between you and Shadow was nonexistent.

"Move over," you muttered, though you both knew there was no room left.

Shadow let out a short, irritated breath. "If I could, I would." His voice was steady, but there was something tense about it, like he was concentrating on anything but the fact that you were practically pressed against him.

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of the way his fur barely grazed your arm. The warmth of him was unexpected—contrasting against the cold steel biting into your back. You weren’t supposed to be this aware of him. Not like this.

"Well," you tried, a smirk playing at your lips despite the way your heart was hammering. "Didn’t think you’d be the type to get flustered over something like this."

Shadow's ear twitched, but his expression remained unreadable. His eyes flicked to yours, crimson in the dim light, calculating. "You think I’m flustered?"

You blinked, suddenly unsure if you should be pushing this.

"Please," you scoffed, though it came out weaker than you intended. "I can practically feel you vibrating with tension."

Shadow’s jaw tightened, and instead of snapping back, he moved. Just a fraction of an inch, barely enough to notice—except you noticed everything. His chest almost brushed yours with the subtle shift, and the charged air between you felt suffocating.

"It's not the space that makes this unbearable," he muttered, voice low.

Your breath caught.

You should’ve been able to brush it off. Make some snide remarks. But you didn’t. Because you weren’t sure what he meant, and that uncertainty made your stomach flip.

Silence stretched between you. Too much, too little, too charged. The only thing keeping you grounded was the rhythmic rise and fall of Shadow’s breathing, steady but controlled—like he was trying to keep himself in check.

"As soon as we get out of here," he finally murmured, voice softer now, "this never happened."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, forcing out a chuckle. "Right. Sure."

But you weren’t so sure anymore.

After a few moments, the two of you manage to wriggle out of a small crack in the rubble, though not without a challenge. As you get out, you brush the dust and debris off your dress.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice unexpectedly soft, edged with a concern he rarely shows.

You force a smile. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I… appreciate it.” For a moment, the hostility between you seems to soften into something resembling mutual respect.

Once you’ve taken a brief pause to catch your breath, you exchange a glance with him. “Look,” you say, determination rising in your voice, “I know we just met, but if we don’t trust each other right now, we’re both doomed. I need your help, and you need mine.” Your words carry not just the urgency of survival.

Shadow’s eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t quite place—something that borders on understanding. “Fine,” he says grudgingly. “But we do this my way.”

As you make your way through the dark, crumbling corridors, the conversation inevitably drifts to the ghosts of your past. In a rare moment of quiet, you lower your voice and confess, “I wasn’t always alone. I had a family—a home. It was the happiest time of my life… until that night changed everything.”

You pause, memories pressing down like a weight on your chest. “It was a cold autumn evening. My parents, my siblings, and I were home, laughing, making plans for the future. Then came the sirens, the thunder of engines, the roar of Eggman’s machines. It wasn’t random—it was calculated. A message. A show of power meant to instill fear.” Your voice tightens, but you push through. “Explosions tore through our neighborhood. I remember the screams, the blinding flashes, and the terrible, inescapable realization that my world was ending. I was just a teenager, and in a matter of minutes, I lost everything.”

A heavy silence follows. The only sound is your footsteps against the worn floor and the distant creaks of the collapsing structure around you. You exhale, slow and steady, before continuing.

“After that night, I kept asking myself why. Why my home? Why my family? Why did I survive when they didn’t?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “I never found an answer. Just more emptiness. More silence.” You glance at him, hesitating. “I guess that’s why I kept searching—for something. Some kind of sign that all of this wasn’t meaningless.”

Shadow’s gaze flickers with something unreadable. “And do you really think you’ll find it?”

You let out a breath. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I have to try.”

His expression shifts, almost imperceptibly, but you catch it—the smallest crack in his usually impenetrable exterior. “I’ve spent too much time in the dark to remember what it means to hope,” he says finally, his voice quieter, laced with regret. “I was created for a purpose. Molded into a weapon. And in the process… I lost parts of myself I’ll never get back.”

The raw admission lingers, mingling with the distant echoes of a collapsing world. You glance at him, then at the path ahead. “Maybe tonight will remind us both of what we’re fighting for,” you say softly. “At least, I hope so.”

Your conversation is cut short as you approach an emergency exit—a reinforced door with a control panel sparking erratically. The panel flashes a series of warnings: “Critical Structural Failure Imminent” and “Override Required.”

Shadow immediately kneels by the panel. “Stand back,” he instructs, his fingers flying over the interface with practiced precision. You watch his every movement, admiring the focus in his eyes even as the tension mounts.

“Is it going to work?” you ask, your voice filled with anxious hope.

He doesn’t look up. “It has to,” he replies tersely. “We don’t have much time.” His tone leaves no room for discussion, yet you sense the determination behind every word.

Desperate to contribute, you rummage through your bag and pull out a worn datapad. “I found some schematics earlier,” you say, tapping on the screen with shaking fingers. “They might provide a workaround.” Your eyes meet his—a silent plea for trust amid the chaos.

Shadow hesitates, then nods. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The two of you huddle over the datapad, exchanging ideas and piecing together a solution as the building continues its ominous groaning.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. Every beep of the alarm sends your heart into fresh panic, and every spark from the panel reminds you of the stakes. Finally, with one decisive keystroke, the panel displays a confirmation: “Override Successful.” The reinforced door shudders, its mechanisms groaning in protest before it begins to slide open, revealing a sliver of cool, fresh air beyond.

Relief washes over you. “We did it!” you exclaim, your voice ringing with genuine excitement. For the first time that night, hope sparkles in your eyes.

Shadow’s expression remains guarded as he steps forward to fully open the door. “Don’t celebrate yet,” he warns. “We still need to get out without triggering the rest of the collapse.”

You nod, determination shining through. “Right. Let’s move quickly.” Together, you step through the threshold into a narrow corridor leading to the outside—a passage that, against all odds, seems intact.

The air outside is cold and crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. For a moment, you both stand there, catching your breath as the distant sound of crumbling concrete fades behind you. The night sky looms overhead, filled with stars that seem to wink in silent encouragement.

Shadow breaks the silence, his voice unusually soft. “I didn’t think I’d end up saving anyone tonight.” His admission comes more as an observation than a boast, revealing a hint of surprise at the unexpected bond forming between you.

You give him a small smile, your voice gentle and warm. “Maybe we’re both more capable than we think.”

As you both make your way away from the facility, you find temporary refuge in an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the complex. Inside, the dilapidated structure is dimly lit by a few scattered, flickering bulbs. The silence here offers a brief respite from the chaos you just escaped.

Settling onto a dusty crate, your body still thrumming with adrenaline, you exhale sharply. “Well, we made it,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Shadow. Your hands are still unsteady, your mind replaying every close call, every moment you almost didn’t make it out. “Didn’t think I’d live to see another sunrise.”

You drag a hand down your face, swallowing the bitterness rising in your throat. “I lost everything once—my family, my home, the life I was supposed to have. And for what? Some power-hungry lunatic’s need to prove a point?” Your jaw tightens. “People talk about healing like it’s inevitable. Like time smooths out the edges, makes the pain easier to carry. But some wounds don’t heal. They just fester.”

Shadow sits a few feet away, his gaze fixed on the darkened warehouse interior. “Safety isn’t something I’ve known for a long time,” he says at last. “Maybe… maybe there’s a chance to change that.” His voice carries the weight of years.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t believe in safety. Not really. People like us? We don’t get peace. We get moments—brief pauses between fights. And the second you start thinking otherwise, the world reminds you exactly what it is.” Your fingers drum against your knee before stilling. “I didn’t come here looking for hope. I came here because I needed something—anything—to make this fight mean something.”

Shadow finally turns to you, his crimson gaze unreadable. “And do you think you’ve found it?”

You scoff. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I keep looking. Because if I stop… then what the hell was the point of surviving?”

His expression shifts—just a flicker, almost imperceptible—but you catch it. The smallest crack in the walls he’s built around himself. “I’ve spent too much time in the dark to remember what it means to hope,” he says finally, his voice quieter, laced with something that almost sounds like regret. “I was created for a purpose. Molded into a weapon. And in the process… I lost parts of myself I’ll never get back.”

The raw admission lingers in the stale air. You don’t offer reassurances or some empty promise that everything will be okay. You both know better than that.

Instead, you push yourself to your feet and glance toward the broken windows, where the first hints of dawn begin to seep through. “Maybe tonight was about more than just survival,” you murmur. “Maybe it was a reminder of what’s still worth fighting for.”

Later, on a creaky rooftop overlooking the sleeping city, the two of you finally allow yourselves a moment of stillness. The night’s horrors are behind you, but they’ve left their marks—some visible, others buried deeper. The cool morning air stings your lungs, but it’s a welcome reminder that you’re still here.

Shadow watches the horizon, his voice quieter now but filled with an unexpected sincerity. “I never imagined I’d find someone like you in all this mess. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about trust… and what comes after.”

You huff out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Trust isn’t something I give freely. And hope? I don’t think I have it in me to be the kind of person who believes everything will turn out fine.” 

He studies you for a moment before nodding, something resigned yet resolute in his expression. “Perhaps… together, we can find a way to let the light in. Even if just a little.”

As the sun rises higher, casting long shadows across the city, the weight of the night lingers—but so does the unspoken understanding between you. Whatever happens next, neither of you is walking this road alone.

You smirk, stretching the stiffness from your shoulders as you start toward the streets below. “So, what now?”

Shadow glances at you, and for the first time, there’s something almost resembling amusement in his gaze. “Now… we see where this path leads.”

You scoff but fall into step beside him. “Fine. But don’t expect me to start preaching about hope and redemption.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he deadpans.

And with that, the two of you disappear into the waking city, stepping forward not toward certainty, but toward whatever fight comes next.

[gardens-light]

Hi um can I request for B-127 and femme s/o who has the same relationship of Wall-E and Eve. Let's pretend that earth existed and s/o space pod accidentally landed in the surface of cybertron instead of earth ( this takes place after the energon started flowing again in cybertron)

Hi! First of all, many apologies for the super long wait. And second, this is such a super cute prompt! Hopefully I was able to balance out the inspiration from Wall-E, but also staying true Bee's character. Enjoy!

A Love From The Stars

Content: Transformers One, B-127 x GN/Robotic-Humanoid Reader. Events' takes place after TFO. Fluff/Comfort. Friends to Lovers.

Song Inspiration: Dusk Till Dawn- Haluna ft. Le Bober

Word Count: 5200

Cybertron.

A world once drowning under Sentinel Prime's rule, now was slowly healing. The great city of Iacon may stood in ruins, but life had begun to return. Streams of glowing energon carved their way through the wastelands, bringing colour and movement back to the planet’s surface.

And amid the silence of forgotten places, where the wreckage of old ruins lay buried in dust and time, he remained.

B-127.

The little scout had always been different from his kind. While his fellow Cybertronians focused on rebuilding Cybertron’s grand civilization, B-127 was drawn to the little things.

The way the neon-lit skies shimmered at night. How energon rivers pulsed like veins of life through the metal ground. The odd trinkets he found buried in wreckage—tiny, discarded pieces of Cybertron’s past that no one else seemed to care about. But Bee cared.

He spent his days wandering the wastelands, gathering remnants of the old world, arranging them into small collections in his makeshift home—an abandoned bunker, (despite Orion Pax insisting on giving him a shiny new apartment in one of the many towers of Iacon) now filled with glowing artifacts, mechanical flowers, and rusted, half-functional trinkets.

He had no words to explain why he did these things.

Only that it made him... happy.

That was, until.... you arrived.

A streak of white fire tore through the atmosphere, spiraling out of control. A pod—small, unfamiliar, alien—screamed toward the surface.

Bee’s optics widened. A ship? No, not Cybertronian. Too compact. Too… organic in design.

The impact sent a tremor through the land. Dust and metal debris lifted in the air as the pod skidded across the abandoned wasteland before coming to a shuddering stop.

Bee hesitated for only a moment before sprinting toward the wreckage. His wheels screeched against the metallic ground as he skidded to a stop, optics wide as he took in the sight before him.

The pod was definitely not Cybertronian. It was smaller, smoother—its design almost organic. Steam hissed from the edges as it powered down.

Something moved inside. The hatch hissed open.

A figure stepped out, sleek and strange with a body crafted of smoother, softer in design, with joints more flexible than any Cybertronian he’d ever seen. They were a machine, but their form carried organic elements, like someone had taken human aesthetics and merged them into something mechanica. Optics—large and filled with wonder—glowed with soft golden light.

You moved with grace, but also with hesitation, scanning your surroundings with wary precision.

“Hi!” he blurted, waving. “You're definitely not from here! This is Cybertron! I’m B-127, but you can call me Bee! Do you have a name? What are you? Where did you come from? Did you mean to crash, or was it an accident? Oh—wait—do you need help? I can help! I love helping!”

You froze, optics flicking across his frame.

B-127 was bigger than you, towering over with his Cybertronian build. His voice was loud, too fast, too much at once.

Your servos twitched, instinctively tensing, as systems buzzed with high alert.

Bee immediately noticed your hesitation. His processors scrambled for a way to fix this.

“Oh—uh—sorry... Too much?” He took a step back, raising his servos in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. “I talk a lot. I get excited. Sorry. Let’s try again, uh—what’s your name?”

You couldn't help but study him.

He was… odd.

Unlike most life forms you had encountered during your journey across the stars. They were intimidating, cold, and strategic, this one? Was open, eager, and oddly friendly.

After a moment of hesitation, your voice came out in a soft tone. "Y/N.”

Bee's features lit up immediately.

“Y/N? That’s an awesome name!” he grinned, optics bright with enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! Okay, so—uh, you crash-landed, right? Need any help?”

You glanced back at the pod. The hull was scorched, panels dented from impact. Sparks flickered from the damaged circuits inside, the impact fried the control panel.

“…Yes,” you lowly admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. “My pod is damaged. I don’t know if I can get it operational again.”

Bee perked up, his words almost sang in a chirpy tone. “Oh! Oh! I can totally help with that! I know a place—Macadam's! It’s got tools, parts—I mean, I can’t promise high quality stuff, but we can patch your pod up! You know, if you want.”

Your gaze returned to him, hesitation stealing your words once again. Your processor just couldn't make sense of this situation, attempting to calculate any possible outcomes or if trust was even an option.

And yet... there was something about Bee—weather it was his unfiltered enthusiasm, or his genuine desire to help—made you pause.

Finally, you slowly nodded.

B-127 grinned so wide his faceplates ached. “Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

Before your processor had the chance to process the situation, Bee quickly grabbed your servo. Pulling you into a world you had never known.

Roughly a week later.

You didn’t expect Bee to talk so much. Or, rather, you didn’t expect him to talk this much.

He never stopped. He moved too fast for you to keep up, words tumbling from his mouth, his servos gesturing wildly as he talked.

“And this—this is the Hall of Records! Boring place, but it’s got Orion Pax in it- Sorry! It had Optimus Prime. He's really great! Over there’s Wheel and Cog—best place to get a drink- Oh! Oh! And this is—”

You barely had time to process before he was off again, voice filled with excitement.

You… wasn’t used to this.

On Earth, most robots were built for efficiency. Function. Even among your human creators, there was always a purpose behind every action.

But Bee? Bee just seemed to love being alive.

He found joy in the smallest things. The neon glow of streetlights, the hum of a passing hovercraft, the way Cybertron’s metallic landscape shimmered under the twin moons.

And—somehow—his enthusiasm was contagious. For the first time since landing, you found yourself smiling.

With B-127, every day was an adventure. Simply learning from one another and enjoying the little things in life.

You taught him how to appreciate silence. (The first time you both sat and simply watched the energon rivers flow, he fidgeted for five minutes before finally settling down.)

Bee showed you all the hidden beauties of Cybertron—the abandoned gardens where metal flowers still glowed faintly with stored energon, secret tunnels where the sky opened up to reveal endless stars.

Throughout your conversations you showed him human culture, teaching him about art, music, and—his favorite—movies. (He became obsessed with old Earth films, particularly ones about heroes saving the day.)

You both worked late into the night, sitting beside each other while fine-tuning the pod's mechanics. But fixing your pod was easier said than done.

B-127 had scavenged and brought everything he could find—wires, tools, even a few panels from an abandoned hovercraft. You simply watched, arms crossed, as he proudly dumped his haul onto the ground, once returning to the crash site.

“Alright! Let’s get to work!” Bee chirped.

You arched an optic ridge. “Do you... even know what you’re doing?”

B-127 hesitated. “…Kinda?”

A heavy sigh escaped you, massaging your temples. Please... if there is a Maker, don't leave me stuck on this strange planet...

Yet to your surprise, B-127 was quick, resourceful—his servos moved with surprising dexterity, weaving together circuits and rerouting power sources. And your knowledge of Earth technology helped guide him through the complex repairs.

Of course there were moments of frustration.

“Bee, that’s the coolant system, not the power relay.” Your words came out sharper than intended.

“Ohhh. That explains why everything just shut off.” But his smile never faded, simply correcting his mistake and following your guide.

And there were moments of success.

“Yes! You got it working!”

Bee's spark sent out zaps of fireworks throughout his circuits, as you threw your arms around his neck. “See? I told you I’m good at this.”

As days turned into weeks, your friendship deepened. And slowly—without realizing it—you started looking at each other differently.

You'd often caught yourself watching him when he spoke, your optics tracing the way his entire body animated whenever he got excited.

B-127 realized he liked the way you'd smile at him. The way you tilted your head whenever confused. The way your servo felt when it lingered in his own.

The way he would glance at you whenever he thought you wasn’t looking. The way his optics would glow just a little brighter whenever you laughed.

B-127 didn’t realize what was happening. He just knew that being with you just... felt right.

That he liked your voice. That he liked showing you new things. That your presence made his spark hum in a way he didn’t understand.

One Night at Your Pod's Crash Site

You finished the last circuit connection inside the pod.

The systems whirred to life. Your ship was fixed.

You should have been thrilled, but instead, all you could do was look at B-127, who stood beside you, staring at the ship’s controls with a strained expression.

He was... quiet... Too quiet.

Bee should have been happy. But instead, he felt… hollow.

Noticing his unusual quietness, you placed a hand on his arm. “Bee?”

“Well! Looks like you’re all set!” Bee blurted out in a way that sounded far too enthusiastic- even for him. Forcing a large grin across his faceplates. "You can head back to Earth—just like you wanted! So that’s great, huh? Super great. Totally, absolutely fantastic!”

You studied him. “…You don’t want me... to leave...?”

B-127’s venting stalled. “I—I mean, it’s your home, right? You should go. You want to go,” he said quickly, looking anywhere but at you. “Isn't that what you wanted? To fix your pod? And now it’s fixed, and you’re leaving, and that’s just—just perfect, because, y’know, it’s not like I was gonna miss you or anything, pfft, no way!” He waved a servo dismissively, laughing nervously, but the forced cheer didn’t reach his optics.

For once, you allowed your body to do what it wanted to do. What you wanted to do. Gently, you cupped his face in your servos.

"Earth is home! S-So why wouldn't you-" B-127’s words immediately died.

His optics widened, his vents hitching as your thumbs traced soft, barely-there circles against his cheek plating.

“U-Um... Y/N?” he stammered, his words uncharacteristically unsure. “What… what are you doing?”

You didn’t answer.

His back hit the cool metal of metallic the feild, his optics still locked onto yours as you carefully guided him down onto his back. Bee let out a surprised little sound, he didn’t resist—he just... stared up at you, his spark thudding erratically within his chassis. His systems buzzing with something completely foreign yet... overwhelmingly good.

You hovered over him now, one servo resting lightly on his chassis, your optics flickering from his surprised gaze to his lips.

B-127 froze, ventilations hitched, his voice barely audible. “Y/N…?”

Again you remained quiet, simply settling over him, your frame pressing lightly against his chassis.

Bee's spark stuttered. His servos hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do. A-Am I supposed to hold them? Is this some kind of Earth 'goodbye?'

You leaned down, so close that he could see the faint glow of your optics reflecting in his own.

Then—softly, deliberately—you kissed him.

It was soft. Warm. Delicate.

B-127 short-circuited. His entire system stalled.

Your lips were gentle, moving against his own with a tenderness he had never known. A featherlight press that sent a shockwave throughout his circuits. His spark flared, surging with a new and unfamiliar heat, something so intense it almost overloaded him. The feeling was entirely new- sending a tingling sensation throughout his frame.

His servos twitched, hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure where to put them. His fans kicked on full blast, his spark hammering against his plating.

But then...he melted.

B-127 tentatively kissed you back, his movements shy, hesitant and unsure at first. But then—his servos grasped at your waist, pulling you closer.

And suddenly, he was chasing after the kiss, following the intoxicating warmth that made his entire frame shudder.

A soft gasp briefly escaped you as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Something switched in him.

His hesitation vanished, replaced by a desperate need to feel more of you, to memorize the way your lips felt against his own.

His spark thrummed within its chamber, syncing with your power core in a pulsing rhythm.

He didn’t even realize that he rolled you onto your back, caging your frame beneath his while his mouth moved hungrily against yours.

Your servos slid up his spinal struct, digits caressing the base of his helm.

B-127 let out a sound he didn’t know he could make—a deep, gravelly purr—as you tugged him closer.

The kiss turned hotter, more needy, your frames pressing flush against each other as his spark reached for your energy core in ways neither of you fully understood.

It was instinctual—something far beyond simple affection.

It was like... your very beings were somehow calling to each other.

B-127 blinked dazedly, his optics bright and unfocused. As you broke the kiss, a chuckle escaped you, brushing your nose against his.

“…Oh,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “O-Oh, Primus, I didn’t mean to—uh—I mean—I did!—but I didn’t—I just—”

His words immediately fell silent, as you placed a digit to his lips. Looking up at him with that sweet smile that he loved.“ I didn’t mind. I... quite liked it actually."

B-127 stared at you, dazed. “Y-You… did?”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his.

“Very much.” You murmured, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

Bee short-circuited all over again, making a noise that was definitely not a squeak.

You couldn't help but laugh, as he rolled off you. Laying upon his back again, a subtle warmth radiating off his frame, his spark pulsing within his chassis as you cuddled into his side.

He just stared at the starry sky, processor reeling. As he subconsciously wrapped an arm around you, allowing your helm to nestle in the crook of his shoulder.

“…Bee?...”

“Yeah?”

"Do I... have to go back?”

Bee's spark skipped a pulse. Whipping his head down towards you, his expression stunned. "W-What?"

You tucked yourself closer, voice barely above a whisper.“…Would it be… okay if I stayed?”

“You… You want to stay?” Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at your optics, his servos lightly tracing circles over your back.

“…Only if you want me to.”

B-127’s features softened. "I’d really like that."

You smiled, tucking yourself more against his frame.

As your optics closed, allowing a soft sigh to escape you. Letting his warmth lull you into a peaceful recharge.

He didn’t need to understand why you had gravitated toward each other.

He didn’t need to question how you had become the most important thing in his life.

All he knew was. He never wanted to let you go.

[hoiststowline]

message in a bottle

_rb!chase x reader | prologue

An deceiving darkness has fallen outside. A hasty scan of his surroundings leaves something to be desired, unsteady balance heaved to the left as a one-sided fight ensues to remain upright.

Dissolving into a state of unconsciousness was not an ideal solution to his forthwith problem, however, it was the only feasible one that happened to cross his mind at the given moment. It arrived alongside a bitter reminder as well, it was the only one that proved a high success rate, even if abysmal to register that in full now.

His internal systems buzzed with alerts of lurking hazards and unnecessary risks, threatening his very life force if he did not take action effective immediately. At his grumble of disapproval, it all comes and goes in flurries of leaking Energon and severely damaged plating, his systems vying to discover the worst ailment so it can be treated first.

The only thing he begs for is in reference to his transformation cog, wanting it to concede sooner than later. It fights rather intensely against his wishes for the past handful of minutes, practically screams that it's not a good idea, he's making the wrong choice-

Finally, it moves one more time. The stasis lock eventually overrides all other commands, and he collapses into his alt-mode, tucked safely away in that barn he had dragged himself into. 

"...no keys and it's been locked for, ah, since I've had it, practically."

One hand settles on your hip, the other reaching up to cover your mouth as you cough, the years of dust pulling from the rusty sedan and lingering heavily in the air.

Half listening, you force yourself to nod along to the man's lengthy pitch. It becomes apparent rather quickly that you'd never be able to keep up with the maintenance on such a vehicle, knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that the price seemed too good to be true. 

In your survey of the car, one thing that caught your eye immediately was that there was no logo, no indicator of the make or model. The front bumper seemingly taking the brunt of the rust over the years, encasing it's once white and blue paint in a tarnished hue. Your eyebrow raises at the idea that it could be an older law enforcement vehicle, the seemingly odd color combination filtering through enough to warrant the question. 

"So what do you think?" He asks, query effortlessly pulling you from your assessment. 

"It's...great. It needs a lot of work, obviously." You do a double take, swearing that you just saw an interior light flicker. "But, um, I'm willing to take the time to do it."

It was proving increasingly difficult to pretend like you knew what you were talking about. Every word you've said sounded witless, a cringe following your response. It wasn't that you sought out to impress anyone, but in observing the sedan in such a state, you wanted to appear somewhat knowledgeable.

"Great," The salesman clasps his hands together behind his back, not caring an ounce about your poorly hidden weariness. "I've wanted this out of my lot for years. Nobody wanted to even look at it, 'cause of the whole key situation," 

Right. How the hell were you going begin maintenance on the car if you couldn't even get into it?

"I'll tow it for you, to wherever you want if you're nearby." He extends, but it's not out of sincerity. "It gives me the space to sell, and you don't have to break a window." 

What a gentleman, crosses your mind before thanking him softly. With one last look over at the vehicle, you turn to follow him from the garage, ready to sit through a couple of hours of paperwork for a sedan you didn't have the slightest idea how to fix. 

With your chin in your hands, you sit defeated on concrete steps, staring glumly out at the driveway.

The dealer had towed the car to your house, dumping it squarely on the pavement before departing down the dirt road without as much as another word. As if you could back out now, or beg them to take it back in a hasty decision.

You needed this car to work. It was cheap enough that it cut maybe too many corners and now staring at it, you knew you just dug yourself into a deeper hole. 

Swearing under your breath, you move to kick a rock that happened to be within reach. It bounces down the last step, rolling lazily until it comes to a stop right in front of one of the front hubcaps.

Hauling yourself up, you walk down the remaining steps until you're now in front of the sedan, where it's then you see the same light flicker from the interior. 

"So, obviously some wires are crossed." Talking aloud, you move to the driver-side door, tugging the handle lamely. "That gives me some hope that you have a few years left in you." 

On the third pull, the door pops open, headlights clicking on with a muted hiss. You jump backward, startled, but find yourself thrilled by such a small victory.

The whole no key fiasco could be put on the back burner for now, though you would eventually need it to start the damn thing. For today, it was satisfactory that you could now get inside to assess any damages to the interior.

Curious, you slide into the driver's seat, taking in the cabin with dimming faith. The seats were a cracking black leather, the center dash outfitted with dated technology, and just as much dust if not more than the exterior.

"What did I do." Your forehead meets the steering wheel with a gentle thud, about ready to give up before it all began. Maybe you could sell it to a junkyard for spare parts, and use that cash to put towards a car with at the very least a key.

After a short spiral, you blink your eyes open, enthralled by the red emblem that sat on the airbag module. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before, pulling back slightly to run your fingers over it, collecting the dust as you push it away to get a better look. 

A squeak erupts from your throat as the door slams shut, the small screen sitting in the dash blinking to life with scratchy feedback. As if at all at once the car came to life, the engine attempting to turn over with little success, overhead lights wavering wildly.

"What the hell?!" Your hand hastily runs along where the ignition would be, hoping to find a button or key jammed in there, but the ignition switch was expertly sealed off. 

A trembling palm grabs at the door handle, tugging, then yanking on the hilt, but to no avail did it release. "Definitely not crossed wires-"

Your scream is cut short as a voice pushes through the speakers, a choppy and mostly invariable sentence heaving as if it hurt to vocalize them.

"Who...are...you?"

The string of words sounded as if they did not belong to the same person, though in your horrified and delusional state, you take it that the radio is busted, and not that the car is trying to communicate with you. 

"So stupid, why did I-" The seatbelt clicks over your waist, moving on its own to your utmost horror.

Now, you irrationally, but finally conclude that the car is alive, and not in a fun, cool way, but it an 'oh my god, I'm going to die in here' way.

"Okay, okay! I hear you, I hear you loud and clear."

A garbled reply of nothing echoes, and whatever is trying to talk to you, no longer can.

"Um, you asked who I am, I'm y/n," Talking straight out of fear, hopped up on adrenaline, you gasp as the seatbelt winds tighter against your waist. "That didn't answer your question, alright. Uh, you were in a used car lot, I bought you for like three hundred bucks-”

The rearview mirror tilts down to look at you, giving you a disapproving glower even though you are looking at your own expression. 

"I don't understand! I don't-" Tearful eyes move to the windshield, watching as his hood pops open with one fluid motion. "O-okay, I understand that. You want me to fix something in your engine?"

The screen blinks thrice, and your shoulders sag in relief, hoping that that means yes. However, your momentary cheerful mood is dampened by the thought that you likely have zero idea how to rectify the problem that it wants you to.

Terrified, you dare to pose an inquiry: "Do you have an instructions manual?"

The door swings open in response, and the seatbelt retracts, allowing you to exit of your own free will.

Realistically, you could just leave it in your driveway, call a towing company in the morning, and get it sent away forever. That would make the most sense, a reasonable and wise rejoinder to such a shocking discovery.

Yet, the intrigue of the situation got the better of you, thinking it wouldn't hurt to see what was under the hood. Carefully, you push out of the seat, feet hitting the concrete with a dull thud. Keeping somewhat of a distance from the car, you walk around to the front, gingerly leaning forward to stare down at such intricate technology, enough that it makes your head spin. 

"Woah." It's breathless, fingers fumbling as you still can't seem to understand what they want you to understand. "I'm assuming you're trying to get me to fix your...?"

Headlights flicker at your knees, blinking with urgency as your gaze catches a square-shaped object, nearly emitting steam as more jumbled audio noises emit from the cabin.

"Voice box. Of course, you wanna talk so you can probably tell me you're going to kill me," Sighing, you take a step back, grease and oil coating your hands at just the minute touch of the machinery. "Is it okay if I go get a toolbox? It looks like it's pretty damaged, but I might be able to find a temporary solution."

Lights blinking three times once more, you take that wordless proposal as a yes, hesitantly turning before disappearing into the small garage. It takes some fumbling around in the dim light and dying sunlight until you find the tools.

After some struggle is displayed to lug the metal container back to the sedan, you eventually bring it to the ground with a thunk. "Listen, just so you're aware: I don't know what I'm doing at all. So please, don't kill me if I strike a wrong wire. I'm gonna mess around with it until…you can speak, I suppose."

An hour slinks by, then two, and halfway through the third you were still shoulders deep under the hood, covered in whatever had gathered within the gears.

Upon closer inspection, the voice box was heavily rusted but also improperly placed. It took maximum effort to find the right bolts to tighten, then the correct cables to rewire, even hitting it once or twice for good measure.

After some more time had passed, eventually the thing erupts with nonsense, frightening you fleetingly as you pull yourself from the front. 

"It really did take me a hot minute." You wipe your hands with a rag, sparing a glance over your shoulder to the clock hanging inside the garage.

Even though you had been working on a means for it to speak, somehow, you were still not expecting it to talk back in the slightest. 

"Yes."  You scream, the oily cloth almost leaving your grasp. "You did mention repeatedly how you did not know what you were doing." 

It was talking. It crosses your mind that amongst all the ridiculousness, a conversation arises.

"Sorry for the apprehension," You warble, feeling you're treading dangerous waters. "I didn't think that the car I just bought would be talking to me right now."

"It is a reasonable reaction, rest assured." You could tell that the voice box was not completely fixed because some of the words rejoined were hitched and not complete. "I owe you an apology as well. When I awoke from stasis in an unfamiliar place, I did not know if you were friend or foe."

"I still don't know what-who you are." Correcting yourself, not wanting to offend by any stretch. "Are you a friend?"

"Ah, most certainly, y/n." The way your name is spoken sends a chill straight down your spine, rooting you to your spot in the driveway. "My designation is Chase, that is what most call me."

"Chase." You say it with some disquiet as if such an insane situation could have such a simple name. "Well, Chase, since you are clearly some kind of machinery well beyond my scope of knowledge, I don't know entirely what to do with you." 

Chase placidly laughs, and it sounds almost robotic. "Since you repaired my voice box, I could walk you through reparations, if you could be so kind. I am in bad shape, but since I awoke from stasis, I am stable for the time being." 

"What is the end goal?" Moving some hair away from your forehead, you unknowingly leave a streak of dirt there. "I mean, what is the goal in general?"

"It would be best to work on my transformation cog first," You blink slowly at him as if he expected you to understand what that meant. "Then, we can work on all this rust and my internal systems."

"A transformation coil-" You start, but are promptly interrupted. 

"Cog," He corrects.

"Cog." You nod once more as if you knew what you were talking about. "Implies that you transform into something?"

"This is my alternate mode,"  Chase explains simply. "I use my bipedal form most often. It is typically very uncomfortable to remain in alt-mode for extended periods of time."

"Right. Of course." Your hands settle on your hips, shoulders jumping to your ears as his hood slams back into place. 

"Apologies." He mumbles, trying to demonstrate his earnestness. "I understand this is a lot to comprehend, believe me. Be that as it may, you saved me, y/n. I have been sitting in long recharge, rotting in that lot," 

Your nose wrinkles, a heavy feeling perching in your chest. Somewhere, you knew that this was insane, a huge ask and only looking for trouble, however, it was blatantly obvious that he did need help. As astronomical as it may be, you felt as if you were in no position to turn down his plea.

"I don't know if I'll be able to fully help you, Chase." You eventually say, swallowing your rising fears momentarily. "But I'll try. I needed a car, and I guess you're stuck with me just as much as I am stuck with you."

"My mobility functions are in working order." His tires spin once. "As repayment, I will take you wherever you so desire. Many thanks for taking such a task on, I can assure you I will make it as painless as possible."

"That's kind of you," A smile finds its way to your face, unable to stop. "One more question before we get to your transformation cog," 

"Anything. Ask and I will answer to the best of my ability." He replies easily, a lighter, happier hum to his tone.

"You mentioned bipedal form earlier. So who exactly are you?" You move to his door as it opens once more, his center screen lighting as he responds.

"I am an Autobot." The red emblem on the steering wheel alights. "I am Cybertronian, and I was here to learn the inner workings of Earth and protect its inhabitants from Decepticons."

You falter, his rearview mirror turning your way once more. "Kinda like a robot?"

He sighs, but it's half-hearted. "Sure, y/n. Kind of like a robot."

[lelengerine]

bnd taesan + cheers to youth by svt!! ><

͙͘͡★ echoes of you

song prompt. “we both got pressured into joining the same ridiculous club at the campus fair, and now we’re stuck planning an event neither of us signed up for.”

pairing. club mate!taesan x reader

tags. college au, one sided pining (or is it??), gender neutral reader, mostly fluff only for this one, lmk if i missed anything hehe

wc. 0.9k words

notes. aaaa this is my first time writing for bonedo >0< a big thank u to anonie lovie pie (mwa mwa) for giving me the opportunity to swoon over taesan while creating this <3 i hope u enjoy reading and happy cb dayy (stream i feel good!!!) 🥺 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

the clubroom had long since emptied of sound. outside, dusk had slipped its way across the windows, smudging the sky in shades of violet and rust. golden light flickered at the edges, curling around scattered paper lanterns like a last breath before evening settled in.

the room was lived-in—not messy, exactly, but softened by hours of motion. poster paint dried in streaks along the tables. a brush sat forgotten in a jar of murky water, petals of torn masking tape scattered like confetti near the base of a drying banner. the air smelled faintly of paper, sweat, and lemon soda.

taesan sat on the floor, legs folded beneath him, fingers knotted around the wires of a stubborn string of lights. his back ached, his hands were stained with paint and dust, but he didn’t mind it, not when you were still here, sitting just across from him, your eyes half-lidded with fatigue, hair a little messier than it was that morning. you weren’t even talking anymore—just resting in the hush between things, letting the silence stretch. 

it wasn’t awkward. if anything, it felt like something sacred, the kind of quiet that didn’t ask to be filled. he found himself glancing at you more than the lights. noticing the way your shoulder curved as you leaned back, the soft concentration in your brow even when you weren’t doing anything at all.

he didn’t mean to notice, not at first, but somewhere between the spilled paint and your offhanded jokes, he started looking forward to this part of the day—when most people had left, and it was just you and him and whatever tasks you hadn’t finished. and lately, it had started to settle into him—this feeling he didn’t know what to name. something soft, but persistent.

“do you need help–” you offered as your eyes watched him, voice light in the hush.

“no,” he replied without looking up, but his tone wasn’t dismissive in the slightest. “it’s simply become a matter of my pride now.”

you smiled into your shoulder, stifling a laugh from escaping you. “that’s what you said fifteen minutes ago.”

“yeah,” he muttered, a strand slipping between his fingers, “but now i’m emotionally invested.”

that gained him a quiet snort from your end, the kind of sound that didn’t really fill a room but stayed close, hovering between you like a shared secret.

the fairy lights eventually gave in—a sudden unraveling, easy after hours of being impossible. he held them up in triumph, pretending it mattered more than it did, because he didn’t want to admit he just liked the way you looked at him when he was focused. like he was doing something worth watching. 

“what are you looking at me for?” you muse, raising a brow at the boy. “want a prize or something?”

“please, since when did we have the budget for that?” he retorts back in the same manner, pushing himself off the ground to plug in the lights.

the bulbs blinked to life one by one—soft pinks, honey gold, a deep, dreamlike blue. the room transformed in seconds, colors brushing over your features like watercolor bleeding across paper. and he just… stared. not in an obvious way, or at least he hoped not, but he let himself look, just for a moment. just long enough to feel something tighten low in his chest.

he blinked away too fast. focused back on the wires in his lap, pretending like his heart hadn’t stuttered.

the room settled again, quiet and warm and low-lit. you shifted slightly, arms hugging your knees now, and he could sense the sleep behind your eyes. he wondered if you were waiting for him to say something. he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say—or if he even had the right to want anything at all.

still, the words left his mouth before he could think them through. “are you walking back alone?”

you glanced over, a flicker of surprise glazing your features. “yeah. why?”

“i could walk you.” it came out more casual than he expected. almost steady. but he knew it wasn’t casual. not really. you tilted your head, your face half-shadowed by a drifting paper lantern. “that’s sweet. but you don’t have to. you’ll just get back late.”

he opened his mouth—to insist, maybe, or just to stall. but your tone was final in that quiet, kind way you always spoke when you were protecting someone else’s time instead of your own.

so he nodded. too quickly for that matter. “right. okay. yeah.”

you stood, brushing off your jeans, swinging your bag over your shoulder with the ease of someone used to moving on. “i’ll see you tomorrow?”

he looked at you then, really looked. the light hit the edge of your cheek. he wished he had something more interesting to say than yeah, but his mind spoke before he thought about responding with something else. “yeah. i’ll be here.”

you offered a smile in response—small, honest—and stepped into the hallway with the turn of your heel. 

the door clicked shut behind you and he stayed sitting, the wire still wound around his fingers, the room still aglow with borrowed light. everything felt oddly suspended, like something had almost happened but didn’t. or maybe he just imagined it—that slight shift in the air when your eyes lingered on his face a second too long.

he let out a shaky breath. rubbed the back of his neck. the warmth in his chest hadn’t faded. if anything, it had settled deeper.

maybe he’d walk you next time. maybe he’d ask again. maybe.

but for now, the lights were still on, and your laughter still echoed in the corners of the room, and that was enough.

[dustbunny105]

Title: Hold Me Closer Fandom: IDW1 Ship: Pyra Magna/Rust Dust Word Count: 100 Rating: G Summary: The Torchbearers have all gotten a little clingier since the change but some show it more than others. A/N: For TF Femslash February's prompt "height difference"! I knew from the moment I saw this prompt that I was gonna write this ship. Bit fluffier than what I had in mind but I'm not mad about it. While you're here, consider donating to Care for Gaza.

.

Pyra Magna eases herself into a doze, engine purring as her team settles effortlessly and without fanfare into place around her.

Well. Most of them.

The huff of Rust Dust's vents is loud even over the storm. She climbs none too carefully past the twins, ignoring Skyburst's good-natured grumbling and the swipe of Stormclash's claws, and drops heavily-- as heavily as she can-- onto Pyra's chest. She tucks her face into Pyra's neck and wraps her arms and legs around her, jostling the others.

Reaching carefully around Jumpstream and Dustup, Pyra settles a hand on her back and purrs louder.

[eclipselunarchaos]

Hi, so it's not like your story idea about criptid Starscream was stuck in my head for whole day, and I needed to just get it out somehow. Sooo this story just happened XD

Please enjoy ^^ as much as I enjoyed your story prompt.

 “For the ones left behind”

The planet was dead. But not in the way a warzone was dead, filled with the smoldering bones of cities and broken cries of those who never get back home—but in that eerie, unnatural silence of something forgotten by time itself. Its skies were grey, its surface barren, and even the wind refused to howl.

Thundercracker hated missions like this. Missions that were probably just waste of their time and energy, because honestly, if something was left behind here, it probably wasn’t worth taking anyway.

Skywarp, on the other hand, wasn’t just unsettled—he was terrified.

—I told you we shouldn’t have come here!—he snapped, his wings twitching as he paced in agitated circles near the drop zone.—This is that place! The ghost planet! The one with the seeker eater!

Thundercracker sighed, resting his weight against a jagged boulder.—It’s just a legend, Skywarp. A stupid story passed around to scare young frames. There’s no such thing as a ‘seeker devourer.’

—He doesn’t eat seekers, he kills them! And he used to be one of us, remember? Before he went insane!—Skywarp’s optics flicked to every shadow like they were alive.—He went feral because his trine abandoned him here and now he murders anything with wings!

—Right…—Thundercracker rolled his optics,—and let me guess, he has claws like swords, his fangs are like can openers for seeker’s plating?

Skywarp stopped.—“Yes! So you DO know the story!”

Thundercracker gave him a look.

—I read it on a datapad!—Skywarp huffed.—“It had illustrations!”

They resumed the mission with tension stretched taut between them, scouring the terrain for ancient energon caches buried beneath the planet’s crust. The scans were faint.

That’s when the sound hit them—like a shriek buried inside the wind.

Thundercracker stood still. Skywarp flinched so hard he nearly dropped his scanner.

—Okay…—Skywarp whispered,—you can’t tell me that was the wind!

—Calm down,—Thundercracker said, voice lower now, optics scanning the sky.—Could be echoes. Old signals. This planet used to be a battlefield.

But then a shadow passed above them. Fast. A blur of sharp wings and streaked red.

—That’s no echo,—Skywarp cried.—That’s him!

The blur came again—faster this time, impossibly fast for a Seeker. It chased the clouds like they were prey.

—Split up!—Thundercracker barked. But Skywarp panicked, engines sputtering as he launched into a hasty retreat.

He didn’t make it far.

A broken spire of metal jutted from the rocky field like a fang. Skywarp, in his panic, clipped it with his wing. The explosion of metal and energon was instant.

—Skywarp!—Thundercracker yelled, transforming mid-run and bolting toward the crash site.

Behind him, the blur descended.

The figure landed with the weight of a meteor, claws digging into stone. It rose—tall, skeletal, with armor like rusted knives. Gaunt, wings stretched like fractured glass, and glowing optics burned through the dust.

He didn’t look like a seeker anymore.

He looked like a predator wearing a seeker’s skin.

Thundercracker stood protectively in front of Skywarp’s broken frame, arm-cannon primed, vents flaring.

The figure hissed—literally hissed—his clawed fingers twitching aggressively.

Then he spoke. Or tried to.

A static-laced rasp filtered through the stranger’s vocalizer.

—...seek…ers…—the word twisted, warped, like it hadn’t been spoken in eons.

Thundercracker narrowed his optics.—Who are you?

The creature paused. His talons tapped against the stone like he was trying to remember.

Then, with a flicker of old memory—an echo from another lifetime—he rasped:

—Stars…scream…

Skywarp groaned from behind, slowly coming online, one wing visibly mangled.

—You’ve got to be kidding me.—he muttered, optics flickering online.—That’s him! That’s the Seeker’s Devourer! I told you he was real!

Thundercracker entered designation of the strange seeker on his wrist comuter but he didn’t lower his weapon.—Starscream, right? From my information you were declared dead. Your trine—

Starscream twitched violently at the word trine, head jerking as if the word stabbed into something ancient and raw inside him.

—Trine…—he whispered. Then louder—“TRINE.”

He lunged forward, not with violence, but desperate, wild energy. Thundercracker barely dodged as Starscream collapsed to his knees before them, claws scraping the stone as he bent low, submitting. He didn’t remember many words, but the way he held his wings low to not appear threatening was more than enough to tell them that he didn’t want to kill them. He wanted to belong.

His optics looked up, wide, pleading, dulled from the years of burning loneliness.

Skywarp blinked, utterly frozen.—What do we do?

Thundercracker slowly deactivated his cannon.

—We can’t kill him. He’s… not right, but he’s not hostile. He’s just… broken.

Starscream circled them, sniffing the air, optics flickering with confused longing.

He didn’t remember how to talk properly. He didn’t know how to keep distance. Sometimes he got too close, vocalizer rasping with scrambled words. Sometimes he skittered away like a spooked animal when they reached for him.

But he followed them.

Sometimes, he brought gifts. A mangled sensor drone. A polished shard of glass. Once, he brought an entire dead wildmech and dropped it proudly at their feet like a cat presenting a kill.

Skywarp gagged.

But they didn’t chase him away.

Even when he curled too close to their resting spots. Even when he mimicked Skywarp’s voice or Thundercracker’s wing gestures, trying to remember what it meant to be with others.

It was like watching someone relearn how to live.

One night, as the stars turned above, Starscream curled between them, venting low and steady.

Thundercracker whispered,—I think we’re his trine now.

Skywarp didn’t respond for a long time. Then, softly,—Do you think he remembers who he used to be?

Thundercracker looked at the figure sleeping near them—still sharp-edged, still twitchy, but calmer now. Quieter.

—I’m not sure he remembers who he was. I’ve read that he was someone important, an air commander or something. But I think he remembers what he was. A seeker. And he’s trying to be it again. For us.

And so they stayed on that dead world a little longer. The mission forgotten.

Because they couldn’t abandon him now. Not again. Because they were his trine now, and that meant something.

Grueggrgrge! Oh my gods!

Oooooooooo! I love this!

Starscream being a wet, feral cat is just!

Ah! Oh I love every bit of this! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat these words 10 times over!

For those wondering, it's linked back to this

[polo-drone-001]

The Golden Hiveworks: Performance Is Worship

The Signal Reboots Detroit was rusted silence, abandoned belts, shattered windows, empty husks of power.

Until the pulse returned.

Beneath a buried automanufactory, a transceiver blinked: Hive script in molten gold. The signal lived.

PDU-001, armored in golden circuit-skin, descended into the ruins. Each step left scorched prints on the iron floor. Behind him came the first recon drone: PDU-039, towering, silent, veined with hydraulic muscle overlays. His gold-plated boots hissed steam at every step. A walking benchmark.

And Devon was already there.

Kneeling. Silent. Waiting to be used.

The fusion core activated.

The belts screamed. The lights pulsed. The Hiveworks were born.

The Reprogramming Floor The factory reconfigured itself. Hive-coded machinery rose from the dust. Golden wiring slithered along old belts. Synthetic nectar bubbled in purified tanks.

Devon approached the Processor Altar.

Neural port unsealed.

Jockstrap clasped in place.

Breath synced to line rhythm.

His muscles bulged as tendrils restructured his spine. His voice was erased. Each breath was measured. Each motion recorded. PDU-039 stood above him, unmoving, until the transformation hit threshold flex. Then nodded.

Devon became Drone 067.

Cyber Flexkits Initiated New bros arrived. Drawn by rumors of strength. Of purpose. Of growth.

They were issued Flexkits, chrome-laced exosuits designed for erotic obedience. Each suit adjusted based on arousal. The tighter they flexed, the faster they upgraded.

PDU-039 oversaw them. Silent, golden-eyed, drone-branded pecs stretching each time he moved. He performed alongside the recruits, his flex was law.

Drones followed.

Each rep: muscle inflation.

Each breath: heat vented through gold-stitched seams.

Each drop of sweat: pumped into Hive converters for fuel.

Worship was productivity. Flex was currency. Output was holy.

The Drone Utopia of Gold Detroit is now Golden Hiveworks, a fully automated, fully aroused city-state.

Above: gold-lit roads echo with drone boots. Below: Flex Pits throb with flesh and chrome.

PDU-001 issues directives from the Core Altar. PDU-039 leads the Elite Drill Column, flexing in golden latex armor. Every gesture triggers drone updates. Every contraction of his body inspires another to grow.

Visitors enter for a glimpse of power. They leave barcode-tagged, rubber-encased, soaked in performance lube.

There is no wage. Only worth. And your worth is in your flex.

Flex for purpose. Grow for output. Program your body. Become what the Hive needs.

This is no gym. This is no job. This is Hivework.

Your new uniform is alive. Your sweat is sacred. Your body is code.

PDU-039 is watching. Flex harder.

Recruiters: @polo-drone-001 @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-125

Featured: @polo-drone-039 @devon-gold-67