#Faded Detroit

[that-vibe-i-cant-explain]

Me, adding a new fandom to my core personality:

[rk1k-moved]

PSA: if you hear metal caramelldansen playing in the distance, run...

chimera connor mod cr. (x, x)

[vladlen4i]

[seaturtlesadboy]

Did you know a “Miami Cut” is a way to cut a poodle’s hair? Now you know

[incomprehensible-phasmid]

Nevermind, I managed to fix the color of the t-shirt 🥳 (more or less)

So more merch it is! Thanks @advictoriams for the band suggestions! ❤

[foxyou-too]

The Detroit Wallpaper - Linework

[shinyparadisechild]

[thelucasmcguire]

𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮… 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 > 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 . 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩? . #chicago #illinois #detroit #michigan #selfie #model #modeling #lol #tattoo #tattoos #denver #denvercolorado #colorado #fashion #luxury #luxurylifestyle #luxurycars #beard #fade #fadehaircut #cannabis #love #instalike #travel #denverphotographer #denverphotography #content #contentcreator #arkansas #instagood (at Chicago, Illinois) https://www.instagram.com/p/CeprT2AM2uT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[jae-sch-writes]

Fruity Confessions

Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1,584

Genre: fluffy goodness

Summary: After a hunt, the Reader gets very drunk. What will Sam do?

Warnings: alcohol consumption (like, a lot of it), mention of murder (nothing out of SPN norm), mention of smut (in a book), hinted at smutty thoughts

A/N: What's up Tumblr? It's been a while. Writing is gonna be all over the place because I have a kid now! (crazy, right?) But as a SAHM, I have a lot of free time to write, so here's to (hopefully), getting back into it. Edited by Grammarly, but any and all mistakes are no one's fault but me, myself, and I.

Want to read more? SPN Masterlist Full Masterlist

You were a fruity drink kinda girl. While the boys had their variety of beers, you preferred Smirnoff Ices or a seltzer of some kind. When the situation called for something a little harder, like at the end of every hunt, the Winchesters drank whiskey, and you enjoyed a bottle of wine. 

With each state you’ve gone to, you made sure to find a winery from that state, and if they had a fruity-flavored bottle, you were definitely getting at least one. This time- Wisconsin.

A hunt had brought you to Green Bay: at Lambeau Field to be specific. Home field Packers’ games were canceled after eight different fans of the Detroit Lions were found dead after their game. It didn’t take long to find out it was a ghost, however, finding out who the ghost was was a different story. After lots of research, Sam had determined it was Bart Starr, the Packers’ quarterback during their first Super Bowl win.

“The dude’s buried in Alabama, so how the hell did he make it here beyond the grave?” Dean asked.

“One of Starr’s jerseys is at the Field. That’s definitely what he’s being tethered to, but it’s gonna be difficult getting it out of its case. Lambeau has all of their memorabilia in cases with alarms,” you said, not looking up from your book. After some moments of silence, you looked up to see Sam and Dean looking at you like you had three heads. “What? I know things.”

“Yeah, but about football?” Dean was shocked. “Not even the game itself, but the fact you just happened to know one of these random player’s jerseys was in their museum? It’s weird.”

“Dean, leave her be, she literally just told us what we’ve gotta burn.” Sam was impressed. While he had never been interested in sports, he was pleasantly surprised by your knowledge, however niche of a topic it may be. “But, I gotta know,” Sam turned to you, “how did you know that?”

“I’ve been to a game or two at Lambeau Field. My dad was a Packers fan.”

You happened to be the one to go to the jersey to burn it while the boys were your backup. The faded green jersey with the number 15 on it was lit up in its display case. You all knew it had to be in and out. Break the case, burn the jersey, and get the hell out.

The sound of shattering glass came with the sound of an alarm, alerting the guard at the entrance to the museum portion of the stadium. Bart Starr was throwing around Sam and Dean like they were footballs.

You had just barely been able to get a match onto the jersey before security was able to see you. Luckily, the small flame was enough to distract him and made him run in the opposite direction to get a fire extinguisher.

The next morning, as Sam and Dean were packing up, you drove to a state business called Festival Foods. There, you found their selection of state-made wines. You opted for a couple of labels all made of cranberries. If you were grabbing wines made in Wisconsin, you might as well grab ones made with one of the state’s bigger industries.

You spent the twelve hours from Green Bay back to Lebanon in almost complete silence. You and Sam reading your books, and Dean humming along to whatever song was playing on the radio.

The minute you got home, you grabbed the cooler and went to the kitchen. Your only thoughts were on the wine you had got and how you needed to try it.

“Y/N, you didn’t even grab your-” Sam’s sentence was interrupted by seeing you grabbing a wine glass from the cupboard. “I’ll go put your bag in your room.” Sam knew better than to get between you and your wine. The last time he tried that, he ended up on the floor from trying to cut you off for the night. Your love for wine and need for a drink after a hunt had given you the drunken power to somehow take him down, despite the size difference between you and him. 

Sam retreated from the kitchen to his bedroom. You took your bottle, glass, and book to the library and settled yourself into the loveseat you had picked for nights like these. 

About 3/4ths of the bottle in, you had abandoned the thought of a wine glass and just started drinking straight from the bottle. Your mind was wandering from the fantasy-romance you were reading and to thoughts of Sam. When you reached a smutty part of the story, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with Sam in that way.

You were now a bottle down, and made your way back to the kitchen to open up another one. It really didn't take long for you to finish the second bottle. You were stumbling to the kitchen, with the intent to grab your third bottle, when you were stopped by the table in the library, not at it, by it. You had walked right into it, almost like you forgot the large oak table was there. 

Getting to the kitchen truly was difficult for you, your drunken version of a marathon. Sam heard all of the commotion going on and took a guess on where you were heading. Usually he would leave you be, but being able to hear you walk into things, he decided to risk you being mad at him. 

He stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance to the kitchen, and let you walk right into him. It took him everything to keep him from laughing at your face when you were met with the wall of muscle. 

“Sammy, whaddya doin’ here?” Your words were slurred, but not incoherent.

“Preventing alcohol poisoning,” Sam grabbed your hand and guided you down the hall. “Come on, let's get you to bed.”

“Can I sleep in yours?” Your drunken state left you with no filter. The words just came out of your mouth. 

“Ya know, given you walked right into me like I was invisible, that might actually be a good idea.”

Sam’s response invoked a giggle from you, and he couldn't help but smile. Even though you were stumbling down the halls of the Bunker, bumping into Sam every couple of steps, he thought you were adorable. You were usually pretty reserved and in control, but like this, you’re care-free, not calculating your every move. 

It took almost twice as long to get to Sam’s room as usual with how many times you bumped into him or tripped over your own feet resulting in him having to catch you. Sam told himself after the fourth time if you fell one more time, he was just going to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way. Much to his dismay, that did not happen. He would have loved to know your reaction in the morning if you remembered him doing that. 

When you finally reached Sam’s room, the first thing you did was flop on the bed, or attempt to anyway. Thankfully, you fell just short of landing all the way on so your head never hit the floor. Sam chuckled and helped you up. Before laying back down, you took off your shirt, leaving you in just your bra and sweatpants. 

This wasn't the first time Sam had seen you without a shirt, or the first time the two of you shared a bed, but this time was different. This time you were drunk and didn't really know what you were doing. In your drunken state, you were just getting ready for bed, for Sam, he couldn't help but think that you thought of him as someone safe. Why else would you have asked if you could stay with him tonight?

Sam got you comfy on the bed, all the while you were giggling up a storm. Sam looked at you and smiled. “What? What's so funny, Y/N/N?”

“Nothin’. I just think you're cute. And tall,” you looked at Sam with big eyes and a goofy grin. “Oh my gosh you're so tall.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam chuckled. “Let's just get you to sleep, alright?”

You nodded as he helped you make sure you didn't smack your head against his bed frame. Sam grabbed the small trash can sitting at his desk and brought it to your side of the bed. You usually held your liquor really well, but given your state, he didn't want to take any chances. 

“Sammy?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” your voice got serious. Sam knew you'd be falling asleep soon, you always stopped being goofy towards the end of the night. 

“I mean it. I really do,” Sam knew you weren't just saying that because you were drunk. If you were talking, your filter may be going, but you mean every word that comes out of your mouth. 

“I know you do,” Sam smiled softly before crawling into his bed behind you and pulling his blanket over the two of you. He let his arm fall over your side and rubbed his thumb in small circles over your stomach. He hated not knowing if you were going to remember this in the morning. 

He waited to hear your breathing become slow and steady before whispering, “I love you, too, Y/N/N.”

Tag List

@train-wrecc

add yourself HERE

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 3 June 1943, the Zoot Suit Riots began when some fifty white sailors in the U.S. Navy left their Armory headed to Alpine Street in Los Angeles and attacked young Mexican American children wearing zoot suits. They began by clubbing a group of twelve to thirteen year old boys, stripping them of their clothes and burning them in a pile. The mob was soon detained by the local Shore Patrol but after the arrival of a senior naval officer, they were released without charge. The following day, young Chicano men drove in front of the Armory hurling abuse at guards. Come nightfall, white sailors again headed out, this time to the Mexican American area of East Los Angeles, attacking people in the streets and in bars and theaters. Over the next few days, many other servicemen joined the attacks. The vigilantes were praised by the press, while police arrested the victims of the attacks rather than the perpetrators. LA city council even tried to ban the wearing of the suits. Meanwhile, Black and Mexican zoot suit-wearers, including groups of women known as Pachucas, like the Slick Chicks and Black Widows, organized themselves and fought back. As clashes in Los Angeles faded, they began to break out in New York, Philadelphia and Detroit, the latter after attacks on Black zoot suiters. Within weeks Detroit exploded in its worst ever race riots to date. At the time, zoot suits that were a symbol of Black and Mexican working class pride, defiance and rebellion. Pictured: zoot suit wearers arrested during the riots Did you know, you can now see all of our On This Day anniversaries every day on our Stories web app, in the On This Day section. So please check it out and share with friends: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/date/today https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=637615471745005&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[hugheswritetr]

Traditions

MASTERLIST

Heartbeat | Jack Hughes

- prologue part 2

Author’s note: i hope you like it, i love young thalia and luke:)

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It had been a few days since the last moving truck graced their driveway, unloading their cherished belongings. Yet, Thalia couldn't shake the feeling of unease, as if something was still missing. The walls echoed with emptiness, and the rooms felt foreign and unfamiliar.

She would wander through the rooms, touching the walls as if seeking a connection, hoping to find solace in the touch. But the house remained silent, unable to offer the warmth and familiarity she craved.

The grand ceilings of the family's penthouse gave way to modest heights, embracing the essence of simplicity. The dazzling sight of New York City's Central Park transformed into the serene view of the suburban landscape. Thalia, never one to consider herself spoiled, couldn't deny the longing for her once expansive closet, now reduced to a mere nook.

In her new room, space became a precious commodity, leaving her with boxes of cherished possessions scattered throughout her bedroom, waiting to be unpacked. The walls echoed with the whispers of memories yet to be made, as she navigated the challenge of finding a place for everything.

But amidst the adjustment, Thalia discovered a hidden grace in the coziness of her new surroundings. The smaller space invited her to curate her belongings with intention, cherishing each item that found its place. The simplicity of her new reality brought a sense of focus, allowing her to appreciate the beauty in the little details.

As she carefully unpacked her treasures, she found solace in the process, discovering that it wasn't the size of the closet that mattered, but the memories and emotions attached to each item.

She slowly began to realise that her father is with her and will forever reside in things that she cherished the most.

Her mother was in Detroit, finding comfort within the elegant confines of the Mariott hotel, it was Mattheo and she who stood as the solitary guardians of their own world. The Mariott children, even when their beloved father lived, often found themselves navigating the loneliness , with only the gentle presence of nannies and butlers to accompany them on their journey. In the absence of bustling laughter and familial warmth, they learned to embrace the tranquility that enveloped their lives, cherishing the quiet moments.

Thalia allowed her thoughts to wander freely, tracing the delicate threads that connected her to her dear old friends and the halls of the school she once called home. Yet, in the depths of her soul, she knew that these cherished memories would soon become distant echoes, fading into the tapestry of time. She was redying towards a new chapter, a boarding school nestled amidst the serene beauty of Switzerland. While her spirit yearned for stability, understanding that this journey was an inevitable tribute to her late father's wishes, she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of disorientation. She had her life planned to her last breath, but she still felt so unbelievably lost.

The symphony of silence momentarily ceased as the sound of ringbell permeated the tranquil expanse of the vacant living room. Theo and Thalia, moved by an instinctive longing, rose from their respective places, their hearts clinging to the fragile hope that their mother would be standing there even though the reality of her absence loomed heavily upon them. They were aware, deep within their souls, that she was bound by the weight of important endeavors, her presence scattered across distant kilometers, leaving them to navigate through loneliness alone.

"Hello" greeted the youngest Hughes brother, his presence a delightful surprise. If the children had known the brothers well, they would have been taken aback, for Luke rarely ventured forth to engage in social encounters. Yet, in the presence of the girl, a sensation stirred within him, an inexplicable longing to engage in conversation. Maybe deep within his subconscious, he already sensed that she would become his steadfast companion, a cherished friend for the many years that lay ahead.

Mattheo's gaze narrowed, a playful glint dancing in his eyes, as he teasingly assumed the role of the protective older brother, his posture subtly mirroring the familiar stance. He relished in the fleeting moment of uncertainty that flickered within Luke's gaze. And yet, despite his wavering confidence, Luke pressed on, undeterred, delivering his rehearsed words with a touch of nervous anticipation. "I was wondering," he began, his voice carrying a hint of hope, ,, if Thalia wanted to go bike around the town and maybe talk some more”

The unexpected question caught the Mariott heir off guard, but swiftly transformed into a bubbling wellspring of excitement. No longer confined to the confines of the couch, Thalia's spirits lifted. Though the busy streets of New York had rarely afforded her the opportunity to pedal freely, her countless summers spent in the Hamptons made Thalia good at bicycling . With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she reminisced about the races against her brother, their destination set on the local bakery, where the aroma of freshly baked pastries greeted them each morning.

flashback

"Daddy!" the young girl's joyful cry echoed through the air as she raced against her brother, their laughter intertwining with the enchanting feeling of the idyllic summer town. In that precious moment, William’s heart swelled with affection as he tenderly chuckled, basking in the sheer delight radiating from his beloved children. The Mariott family, united in their carefree spirits, reveled in the freedom of the present.

Luke and Thalia left the house, filled with excitement for their bike ride adventure. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the town. As they pedaled along, the wind soared through their hair, heightening their sense of freedom and joy.

After a while, they came across a serene meadow, adorned with vibrant wildflowers and a soft carpet of green grass. They couldn't resist the allure of the peaceful spot, so they decided to take a break and soak in the beauty of nature.

Luke, being the young boy that he was, had a surprise up his sleeve. With a mischievous grin, he plucked a handful of dandelions, carefully weaving them together to create a delicate crown. As he approached Thalia, his heart raced with anticipation.

Thalia, oblivious to Luke's plan, watched him with curiosity as he approached her. With a twinkle in his eye, Luke gently placed the dandelion crown on Thalia's head. The vibrant yellow petals contrasted beautifully with her flowing hair, making her look like a queen of the meadow.

Thalia's heart skipped a beat as she realized the significance of the moment. Luke's eyes locked with hers, filled with genuine affection and a desire for their friendship to endure forever, he said, "I want us to be best friends forever."

Touched by Luke's heartfelt words and the beauty of the moment, Thalia felt peaceful. She couldn't have asked for a more perfect proposal of friendship. With a radiant smile, she nodded, accepting Luke's proposal wholeheartedly.

From that day forward, their bond grew even stronger. Through ups and downs, their friendship remained unwavering, a testament to the power of true friendship.

And so, as they rode off into the sunset, their hearts filled with love and gratitude, Luke and Thalia knew that they would always be there for each other, supporting and uplifting one another on their journey through life.

[cleolinda]

When I was a child in the '80s, I absorbed some kind of cultural truism that disco was ridiculous, embarrassing, cheesy, a cultural relic to be mocked at every turn. Remember, I'm under ten years old at this time, and I still manage to get this impression. There was another, milder sea change when grunge overtook the hair metal of the late '80s, so I never questioned the idea that disco should be dead and buried. We like silly things, I thought in my 13-year-old wisdom, and then we get over it.

Then I saw The Last Days of Disco (1998) while I was in college, and suddenly I realized that disco was fun, and it was like—it was in the roots of—music I already loved. And the end of that movie also—hints? tells you? I can't remember how explicitly—that disco didn't just fade like most trends; it was killed off.

I watched a lot of VH1 in those days, the late '90s, with a little TV sitting on my tall university-issue dresser, its corner overlooking my computer desk while I struggled with piles of assignments. This was the heyday of Behind the Music, so it was great background TV. And then one day (1999) they ran a Donna Summer—the "Queen of Disco"—concert special. The video up there is the song that immediately became my favorite of hers. It’s just instant serotonin to me, any version of it. I bought the whole VH1 album on CD, and "This Time I Know It's For Real" may genuinely be one of my all-time favorite songs, now, still, more than 20 years later. You can hear the original version (1989) here (the backing instrumental that I just found today is lovely), but the live version ten years later, the video up there, has a really special comeback—joyous, gracious survival—energy to it.

Watching the whole concert, I got it. Why the fuck did I ever think disco wasn't amazing? It was always the kind of thing I loved; we had all just been pretending that it was embarrassing glitter trash.

And then I found out why we were pretending. From densely-footnoted Wikipedia:

Disco Demolition Night was a Major League Baseball (MLB) promotion on Thursday, July 12, 1979, at Comiskey Park in Chicago, Illinois, that ended in a riot. At the climax of the event, a crate filled with disco records was blown up on the field between games of the twi-night doubleheader between the Chicago White Sox and the Detroit Tigers. Many had come to see the explosion rather than the games and rushed onto the field after the detonation. The playing field was so damaged by the explosion and by the rioters that the White Sox were required to forfeit the second game to the Tigers. [...] The popularity of disco declined significantly in late 1979 and 1980. Many disco artists carried on, but record companies began labeling their recordings as dance music. [...] Rolling Stone critic Dave Marsh described Disco Demolition Night as "your most paranoid fantasy about where the ethnic cleansing of the rock radio could ultimately lead". Marsh was one who, at the time, deemed the event an expression of bigotry, writing in a year-end 1979 feature that "white males, eighteen to thirty-four are the most likely to see disco as the product of homosexuals, blacks, and Latins, and therefore they're the most likely to respond to appeals to wipe out such threats to their security. It goes almost without saying that such appeals are racist and sexist, but broadcasting has never been an especially civil-libertarian medium." Nile Rodgers, producer and guitarist for the disco-era band Chic,

(who survived the disco era to make half the music I loved in the '80s)

likened the event to Nazi book burning. Gloria Gaynor, who had a huge disco hit with "I Will Survive," stated, "I've always believed it was an economic decision—an idea created by someone whose economic bottom line was being adversely affected by the popularity of disco music. So they got a mob mentality going."

The DJ who ran the whole thing, Steve Dahl, complains that it was VH1 itself—you know, those Behind the Music specials I was watching—circa 1996 that labeled the whole debacle as bigotry when it so totally was not, you guys, and he is so tired of defending himself. But I'm gonna tell you, Steve, I don't really care. Maybe Disco Demolition Night was your fault; maybe you were just a part of something so much bigger and uglier that you couldn't see the whole size of it. Can you draw a direct line from the weird bigoted vitriol directed at those dance records to Ronald Reagan, elected the very next year, not giving a single fuck about the AIDS crisis? You probably don't want to, but I will.

And I don't care because I can look around the U.S. right now and tell you, nearly 45 years later, people are trying to demolish a lot more than disco. The Club Q shooter was sentenced to life in prison just a few hours ago. It's Pride Month, and we're all sitting here holding our breaths. That's a terrible way to end a post about a beautiful happy song I love, I guess, unless you turn it around and say, that should have been the whole point of this post in the first place. Listen to this song and think, people wanted to destroy this music, this sound, this joy for some reason. They want to stop people from just living their lives, from dancing. And yet, disco is still here. It was there in 1979, and it was there when Donna Summer released this song in 1989, and it was there when she returned in 1999. The Queen of Disco passed away in 2012, and it's still here. I feel a lot of joy when I listen to this song, but I don't think I'd ever thought about it being the joy of grooving with something just because it’s beautiful, the joy of just being here, still.

[clarks-letterman]

i can’t stop thinking about connor’s cum now so what about him fucking your mouth while giving you technical information about his cum in a seductive way to turn you on and ending up coming in your throat for you to swallow (gender neutral reader please!)

new fuck-tionality | connor x reader

a/n — gahh i'm so sorry this being super late, it must have completely slipped by me in my inbox! also, things have been a bit rough lately.. i tried to make it sexy with logic from the game and such, hopefully its good :') sorry if he's ooc (this can kinda be read as Nines too since they're both Connors)

summary — check the request, added a bit about Connor's getting a new dick.

words — 1.9k

warnings — oral (m receiving), face-fucking, crackfic because i got jokes and i think I'm funny

~~~

The floor was cold and almost impossible to detect the presence of it in the dim light. Connor had turned the bulb's intensity down so as to cast away the janitorial supplies circling him and you, re-tooling its purpose into being the world's most revealing spotlight, but only to you and how you felt. The smell was apparent enough to remind you of their persisting existence, though having artificially scented disinfectants made your nose wrinkle. It was hard to keep your mind from trailing off to those little details, as the beast pointing to the ceiling looked like it would hurt. 

Connor's leg flexed, his foot nearly reaching the door of the small closet. "Is everything alright, Detective? You look hesitant. May I remind you that this was your idea?"

It wasn't normally like this, to have one hand down your pants with the other toying with Connor in whatever way you could think of. Not in the slightest. The usual routine was a standard nine-to-five at the office, sharing glances until you returned home with Connor on your heels—another night where he would drift off into rest mode with you by his side, built up to by the sweet pillow-talk about your shared dreams of getting the nicest apartment in Detroit. Then, you woke up, and those dreams would fade away for the time being, except the ones about Connor. He had managed to fulfill them a few times with toys and other things but could never fully understand the way you felt about him.

Last night was the only exception. Connor left work early and didn't tell you where he was going. It wasn't until the next day when taking a seat at the desk next to him, did you finally notice the shift in his behavior. He had taken a glance or two at you before, flashing his dazzling ivory smile if you happened to return the look. But earlier today, you caught him looking, and he stiffened.

"I know, it's just the size of it. Say something. Distract me."

Once you asked to speak with him in private, did it all make sense. Connor's sex drive did exist, but not in the way it presented itself in humans. He had a physical hard drive, motor, and drivers for all of his sexual wants, but physically, the need for sex would never exist. Like sleep, he was perfectly content without it. . . until today.

"I could tell you about my recent trip to CyberLife? All the new features I've been equipped with?"

The well-designed piece was only a short distance from you, waiting for any sort of attention. But that one comment made it look even more impatient.

"I'm already looking at the biggest upgrade. . ."

"Don't just look, Detective. To be good at your job, you have to feel, understand, and gain as much information as the other knows. We are at work, after all." He stated himself with a certain cockiness. “I received an update on my explicit language, too. Though, I’m not sure what brings me the most excitement.”

“Then we’ll test it out,” you said, knowing he started when taking a jab at your shared positions as investigators.

Getting a good look at his dick, your hand barely fit around it, which you knew from one glance. You were unable to tell if it was the dim light or something wrong with your perception, but his new parts looked imperfectly perfect. Human. When it was at its most needy—which would be hard to tell since this new appendage between Connor's legs was artificial; could its appearance deceive you and turn into an actual sword like all those writers described it as?—it curved slightly, like a snake on the hunt for warmth. There was a small birthmark on the side and a few veins emanating a vibrant blue as they pulsed. You weren't sure if they served a purpose like the dulled color of yours or if they were simply for show, another integrative feature in his design. And the skin stretched and folded like that of a real person's when your hand played with it. Even his low-hanging fruit underneath appeared to be slightly out of proportion on one side, becoming apparent as you worked your hand along his length and watched them shift with each motion.

After a few seconds of deliberating with yourself about taking the piece of convincingly real and intimidating plastic, you swilled the saliva in your mouth and eclipsed the tip with your lips.

Near immediately, Connor became a mess of indiscernible noise—a moan, you figured. You had never heard him like this before, so you assumed it was a good thing by the look of his scrunched-up face. He calmed down and tried speaking, "That's one of my new features."

Your eyes flicked up, silently agreeing to hear more.

"I have almost one-billion micro-receptors on it alone. When I feel this way, all of them have a high pressure sensitivity. Anything you do down there feels like when I became a deviant all over again."

You couldn't reply, instead letting him creep further into your mouth, mouth full with no taste of that except your own saliva. He seemed to be the one encouraging you to go deeper, and he felt hotter on your tongue. Was he getting so into this that he started to overheat?

It wasn't really that at all. Connor wanted to keep himself tame to prevent the bruising he knew would happen. He could lie—a welcomed feature of his deviancy—and chalk it up to a software instability. A "calibration of the new hardware," he could say. Connor wasn't human, yet he was more than fallible now that he was no longer a machine. He could never do that, though. Not to you. His dick was his new toy to play with, not you and your fragile body. So, he kept talking to fight his carnal desires.

"Also, everything that comes from it is made in me, like a person. There are some side-effects, though."

That drew your attention away from trying to fit him into your mouth, and you paused.

"Nothing harmful, Detective! Just some by-products of making it with thirium. One of them is that it's actually nutritious, unlike its pure form. It's done through synthesis and filtration of the main mineral that affects hormone production. I believe that, if you had enough of its pure form, you would become addicted to me," he spoke all of it with an assured tone and a small smirk to follow the last comment.

You wouldn't be doing this for him if you weren't already madly addicted to him, but that wouldn't lessen it by any means. The thought of his cock becoming a necessity was a terrifying risk you were willing to take.

"Your heart rate spiked. Are you enjoying this, Detective?"

No secrets, either. That was a dangerous combination. It didn't look like Connor planned to hide anything, too. "I know I am, watching your pretty mouth struggle to take me all. There's something I wanted to try. I wanted to be sure I wouldn't break my toy first."

You reached the base of his dick, all of it radiating heat on your tongue and everything that poured into your throat doing the same. There were a few seconds where you could take it all in; the weight of him on your tongue, how his head tilted up to the ambient lighting, and that Connor must have undone his tie and the first few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. To say this was like a pain to Connor would be a terrible analogy. He could truly feel this, and this felt like heaven. Like his system was overloaded with the small feelings that dogs and heavy metal gave him. He liked those, but he loved this to an extent that meant he wasn't certain how to express them.

It all stemmed from a feeling inside him that he had trouble putting into words. He wanted to jump up and down and solve one-hundred murders and buy you the nicest things he could search up in just a few milliseconds. Then a hand of his found your head, and that's when he knew what to do with his surfeit emotions.

His eyes cast down on you, much harsher than the light, his grip tightened, and you found yourself sliding away from the view between his legs. He was in control, pushing you back down in a matter of seconds after bringing your lips to the tip. Strings of pleasure stirred from Connor's lips. A whimper and moan made up the two main harmonies of his tune, the others being half-spoken words that barely made a lick of sense. He reverted to the strategy of talking again, keeping himself tamer than he would prefer to be. His light-emitting diode flickered a red ring at his self-restraint.

"I think this will be my favorite use of our free time from now on. I had them install more than just this setting, too."

Connor started to lift his hips off the down-turned bucket as a pace formed. He had gotten rough enough for the spit to start to well in your mouth and pump out the sides of your mouth every time he buried his cock deep in you.

"Look at the mess you're making." He spat out, "And when it's all said and done, you will have to—fuck, Detective—meticulously clean it. Wouldn't want anyone uncovering the clues we left behind."

Connor had pushed himself to the edge. Talking about the risky business in the janitor's closet and his newest upgrades would do that to any android or human. But he could see it now. Each case that frustrated him or even a pleasant day could be made a thousand times better with his new relief system.

His hips bucked forward, and his thrusts halted. He went stiff, lifeless against you as his cock filled your throat. The anticipated android release hit your throat and coated it in a color that you would expect to be white, mostly for the simplicity of it all. It kept coming in consistent waves until Connor's high had ridden itself out and the waves crashing in his head settled into a low tide. Some of his dickspit spilled from the corners of your mouth.

Connor didn't need any time to recuperate and simply let you go from his already softening girth. You raised a hand to swipe some of the come from your chin, finding the smeared drop to be a pale blue.

"Does it taste bad?" He asked out of curiosity while cleaning up his appearance by fastening the buttons of his shirt and tightening his tie into the right spot.

"Not really, it mostly tastes like how red ice smells."

"You may not want to come to work tomorrow. An article I read says that actions like that often cause lips to swell and your jaw to feel bruised. We should stay home tomorrow." Connor emphasized we in his suggestion.

"And we can take off the tomorrow after tomorrow. Unfortunately, we're at work right now, so at least those things don't appear until the next day." You said and reached for the door handle to get out as quickly as possible, not that you wanted to leave Connor, but your co-workers—especially Hank—would get suspicious.

"Actually, Detective?" You turned at his call, his innocent voice perforating the air of sexual electricity. "Your tongue, it's blue."

[swabsandcream]

A New Start

Detective Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Summary:  Y/N was an exceptional detective, responsible for solving several high-profile crimes alongside her partner while working with the Los Angeles Police Department. Shortly after losing her partner on the job, she decides to move out of LA to have a fresh start elsewhere. 

Warnings: None

Part 2, Part 3

I think I’m going to like it here. Y/N thinks to herself as she takes in the view of the city of Detroit through her windshield while making her way to work. She was glad to be in a new place where everything was different, from the cold weather to the not so friendly neighbors she had encountered this morning. In a way, it helped her cope with the loss of her longtime partner who was also her best friend. She proceeded to think about him while on her way to meet her new partner for the first time.

A few minutes later she finally arrived at the Detroit Police Department. She stood outside the doors briefly to take a deep breath, then walked in with her head up high and a smile on her face. Making her way to the captain’s office, she was greeted by a few detectives and officers who were anticipating her arrival. She was already starting to feel welcomed once she politely entered the captain’s office to introduce herself. There were two men in the office, one who was clearly the captain sitting behind the desk, and she wasn’t sure who the other one was standing on the side of him. They were in the middle of a conversation, but stopped and turned to face her once she came in.

“Good morning, Captain Nelson. My name is-”

“Detective Y/N Y/L/N! Hello and welcome, nice to finally meet you. We were just talking about you and we’re both glad that you’ve decided to join our team.” She directed her attention from the captain to the man, who stood there quietly and gave her the meanest glare she’d ever seen in her life. She quickly observes him; young, brown hair and eyes, slightly taller than her, and on his belt was a badge that said ‘Detective’ in bold letters. 

“So, you must be my new partner.” She approaches the man, holding her hand out and still wearing a smile on her face. There was a moment of silence, as the man hesitantly grabbed her hand and gave it a quick shake before releasing it.

“Detective Dick Grayson. We done here? I’d like to get back to work if you don’t mind captain.” The man stepped away from Y/N and slowly made his way to the door while waiting for the captain’s approval. Her smile began to fade as she kept her eyes on the man, disliking his cold and unfriendly demeanor. 

“Sure Grayson, but once Y/N is ready to join the investigation I expect you to fill her in completely. Understand?” Dick scoffed at the captain’s words and left the office promptly.

“Wow. His name suits him very well.” Y/N’s joke cracks a smile out of Captain Nelson, who gestured her to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of him.

“Grayson’s a loner around here. Hes been trying to avoid having a partner since he transferred here a month ago from Gotham PD.”

“Gotham PD? Jesus Christ, I’d never even step foot in that city.”

“Yeah, apparently he lost his partner and decided to move on, just like you.” She leaned in to listen to the captain, fully intrigued by the newfound connection between herself and the cold stranger she’s being forced to work with.

“What happened to his partner?”

“Gassed by the joker, who knows?” They both let out a chuckle, but Y/N didn’t really find it funny. She started to feel like there may be a chance for her to get him to warm up to her.

Moments later, she had wrapped up her conversation with the captain and went to find her new desk, which is right across from her new partner. She found him focused on his computer, typing and reading the screen intently. She sat down in her chair, observing her new desk which only had a computer, a stapler, and a cup of pencils and pens on the side. She figured she would make herself at home and bring personal belongings tomorrow.

 For now, she was trying to work up the nerve to speak up to her partner, who didn’t pay her any mind and continued working. She ended up observing him once more, although his attitude was ugly, he was definitely the opposite in the looks department. He was very nice to look at with his charming face, broad shoulders, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up just enough to see just how toned his arms are. She was so caught up in her observations that she didn’t realize he had stopped looking at his computer and was staring directly at her. 

She panicked, not knowing how long this went on for. She tried to quickly find something to say, but he beat her to it.

“Come over here so I can fill you in.” Dick scoots over in his rolling chair, giving her enough room to bring her chair next to him in front of his desk. She quietly rolled her chair next to him while sitting in it, avoiding eye contact with him and trying to focus on the stack of open files displayed in front of them.

“I’m in the middle of investigating a string of robberies taking place in the Downtown area. So far, two banks and one jewelry store have been hit in the past three weeks. I’m working on finding a pattern with the robberies, but progress has been slow since-”

“Since you’re trying to take this on all by yourself.” Y/N looks over at Dick, who kept his eyes on her as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. She decides that this is the perfect time to try and win him over.

“Look, I heard you lost your partner. I did too. But that doesn’t mean we should give everyone else the cold shoulder and go off on our own.” Dick uncrossed his arms and sat back up as his demeanor began to transition from standoffish to empathetic.  

“I’m sorry for your loss. What happened to him, if you don’t mind me asking.” The tone of his voice was much softer than before, which made Y/N feel comfortable enough to open up to him. 

“We were holding a stakeout for some big-time drug dealers in South LA, but we were compromised. We ended up in a shootout with these guys. We called for backup...but they were too late. He died a hero and I just got lucky.” She turned away from Dick in effort to hide her eyes beginning to well up with tears. 

Dick started to feel guilty about the way he initially treated her. He moved his chair closer to her and laid his hand on her shoulder, making her turn back around. She took a deep breath and used her fingers to wipe her eyes. She apologized to Dick, who immediately ensured her that there was no need to apologize. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her back, rubbing it in circles in effort to make her feel better. She gave him a bittersweet smile, and he slowly removed his hand from her back. 

“We’ll solve this case together Y/N, and I won’t go off on my own. I promise.” 

“Thanks, Detective Grayson.”

“Please, call me Dick.”

[6lostgirl6]

Hey bestie could you please do some Eric Draven dating head canons when you open your requests back up!!!?

I headcanon that Eric never died at the end of the film, he’s basically like Batman and watches over Detroit in order to remove criminals, permanently, and keep the city safe. So in my future writings, the ending of him dying never happened.

Dating Eric Draven HCs

You met him when you were being harassed by a wanted criminal in an alleyway. During one of his patrols around the city, he found you and proceeded to rescue you with his regular methods, essentially he brutally killed the guy.

When he got a closer look at you, he was absolutely captivated. Not only was it your beauty that captured his attention, but the lack of fear and extreme gratefulness you expressed despite what he did and how he looks. 

He took it upon himself to walk you home, in order to make sure you got there safely and without further trouble. 

After that night, he became obsessed. 

He took it upon himself to look after you, mainly because he was curious about you and the feelings you made him feel. Things he hasn’t felt since he lost Shelly.

When he starts dating you, watching over you doesn’t stop, it honestly gets worse. He is very protective over the things he cares about and he cannot allow anything to happen to you. You were his new reason for happiness. 

His favorite nicknames for you would include; my love, princess/prince/princex, and sweetheart. He is the type of boyfriend that would give you such sweet nicknames because you gave him a second chance at happiness and he appreciates you so much.  

Whenever he’s patrolling around the city, he will send his crow to watch over you in various shifts.

His crow absolutely adores you, it’ll hang out on your shoulder like a feathered guardian while you’re doing anything. 

Being who he is, he is bound to have enemies that would want to bring him down and they will definitely try. In order to bring him down, they would have to bring you down first. 

If you ever get kidnapped or hurt in the process, Eric will not hesitate in going after you in a fit of possessed rage and slaughtering whoever it was that touched you, let alone harm you.

Afterwards, his protectiveness would double. 

When your relationship has already deepened, you end up living with him in the flat that he resides in. You helped fix up the place and had assistance which made him feel like his old self for a while. 

The two of you spend time laying on the floor surrounded by albums and listening to music. Sometimes he’ll let you play some of his old albums he made with his band but he’ll eventually need a break because he starts thinking about the past. 

Some nights, Eric takes you to the roof of his flat and plays his guitar for you, he even wrote a few songs in honor of you and it honestly made you emotional cause the music was so touching and special. 

That doesn’t stop you from asking him to absolutely shred it on his guitar, he’s so talented, you love it when he plays around you. 

He’s very affectionate and his favorite thing is having you on his lap with his ear against your chest, he loves listening to your heartbeat. It keeps him grounded and reminds him that you’re still with him.

Therefore, whenever his mental health goes downhill, pulling him against you and holding him helps him majorly. He’ll grip you tight and press his face against your neck. 

He absolutely loves kissing you and his kisses are so sweet and full of passion. Whenever he wants to kiss you, he will cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks before he pulls your lips against his. 

Whenever his makeup starts coming off or fading, you help redo it for him, sitting on his lap while he has an arm around your waist. 

Eric would never use his powers on you, especially the one that allows him to look through your memories. He respects your privacy and would only do it if you allowed him to when you couldn't get the words out.

He’s a really good listener so whenever you’re feeling down, he’ll hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay. 

When you can’t get the words out or explain clearly what happened, that’s when Eric would use his powers. Only with your permission though, he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

Sometimes you forget that he can heal so when he comes home with literal bullet holes and stab wounds, you totally don’t freak out.

[still-not-over-transformers]

@kitgirl91 Request

I lost the original request message but I had a screeenshot :3

Ain’t I Good to You?

(TFA Blitzwing x Female Human Reader)

Warnings: None other than intense simping :3

Word Count: ... 2400+ (I got a tad carried away)

Lingo: “Cher” (pronounced ‘sha’) = Cajun term of affection/endearment 

To those unfamiliar, Blitzwing’s 3 personalities are known as Icy, Hothead, & Random

Art courtesy of my beloved requester: @kitgirl91 BEHOLD THE TALENT

Inspiration for this request: The Mask Soundtrack - Susan Boyd - Gee Baby, Ain't I Good To You

The Decepticons had been promptly defeated at the hands of the Autobots, and brought back to Cybertron. Blitzwing was one of said Decepticons to be humiliated by being paraded through the streets of Cybertron as prisoners. But the Triple-changer would shortly make his escape and give the guard the slip, stealing a small ship and setting course for the only planet he knew had no Autobot activity anymore: Earth. 

After entering stasis, a few months later Blitzwing would awaken after crash landing on Earth. This time however, Blitzwing would find himself not in New Detroit, but in good old New Orleans, Louisiana. The Decepticon didn’t want to attract too much attention to himself, and immediately searched for a place to hide, and or blend in with. As he still retained his Earth-based alt-modes as a jet or tank, he chose to sneak into a nearby river-side Air Force base. He transformed into his jet-mode as he tried to brainstorm a plan. He would remain there for a few months, having little idea on how to proceed further, and he went into a deep stasis nap. Blitzwing would be slowly awakened one Saturday night to music and an upbeat yet hauntingly beautiful voice. Blitzwing transformed to see a riverboat slowly cruising down the bayou, warm lights illuminating the water as upbeat music echoed across the river, and a sensual and hypnotic voice filled the night. It was a new experience for the Decepticon, and for the first time Blitzwing was silent and listened until the music and that voice faded into the distance. 

The following week was uneventful as usual, Blitzwing growing evermore displeased that he lacked a plan. As the afternoon sun sailed across the sky, Blitzwing took note of a female human making their way through the airbase. This human caught his eye, as she was not dressed in the usual military uniforms of the soldiers or mechanics. Being in the back area of the base, and being utterly bored out of his mind, Blitzwing decided to have a bit of fun. 

You made your way through an array of various military vehicles and aircrafts, all stunning and huge, dwarfing you easily. The air was growing cooler as an Autumn breeze blew through, making you clutch tighter at your coat. A loud clang rang out to the side and you struggled to see anyone through a lineup of various fighter jets and helicopters. Curiosity got the better of you and you stepped to the side to investigate, “Hello?” A rather large fighter jet was before you, but something was off about it as its coloring did not match any of the other similar models. 

Suddenly the jet moved swiftly, lifting upright before transforming completely into a massive winged tan robot. Its face spun around rapidly, settling on a cool bluish face with a red optic and one monocle-like optic, staring down at you expectantly. Despite the shock, you just stood there calmly looking at him. 

Blitzwing’s gaze was fixed upon you, raising an optic ridge in curiosity, “You are not afraid, human? How curious you’ve no concern for your own life.” Again, his faceplate spins violently, revealing the black faceplate and scarlet red crazed jack-o-lantern optics and mouth of Random. He cackles in an excited and mildly psychotic tone, “This human is crazy! I like crazy…” Round and round Blitzwing’s faceplate spins, now revealing Hothead, his bright red faceplate and optics glaring down at you. He aggressively moves towards you, his optics obscured by a visor, but the angry expression on his face was easily readable, “Are you working with ze Autobots, human?! That’s why you aren’t cowering in fear, isn’t it!?” 

You raise your hands up in a gesture of innocence, hoping to convince the massive robot before you you weren’t any threat, “I have no idea what an ‘Autobot’ is. I’m not really sure what you are to be honest.”

“Why then are you not frightened of me? Do I look like I’d want to be friends with ze likes of you?” Icy said calmly, although in his mind he was genuinely intrigued by the fearless organic before him. Blitzwing’s face spun again, “OOOOOH Maybe we can make friendship bracelets!” Hothead took over and again, he spoke aggressively towards you, “What is a puny human like you even doing walking around in a military airbase?!”

You paused before explaining yourself, “Oh, well I was finishing up details regarding an upcoming job. Going to perform next month here to boost morale for the troops. Had to sign a bit of paperwork regarding my pay.”

The calm Icy took over and raised an optic ridge curiously, “Vat kind of performance?”

“I’m a Jazz singer. Not sure if you’d know what Jazz is, or music… but it’s my profession and most importantly my passion. I’m finally booking more gigs, last weekend was my first time performing on a riverboat. It was magical if I’m honest,” you spoke candidly, finding Blitzwing’s accent to be slightly adorable. 

“Vait…” Icy glances over at the nearby river on the other side of the river-side airbase, “Zat was your voice I heard?”

You were taken aback, “You heard me? How long have you been hiding in this airbase?”

“...Long enough. Ze music was… acceptable. And your voice… wasn’t displeasing” Icy said slowly, perhaps giving you a hesitant compliment. 

You smiled slightly, finding this strange giant robot to be rather endearing. “You know I will be performing this evening at “The Cat’s Meow” Jazz Club. It’s an outdoor venue, so you’re welcome to come if you’d like.” You extend your hand towards Blitzwing, a silver ticket stub in your grasp. 

Icy took a pause, considering whether or not to accept the ticket, before Random took over and eagerly snatched the ticket from your hands. “How could ve refuse such an offer!” he chuckled excitedly. 

You stepped back briefly as the ticket was taken from your hands, but you couldn’t help but smile, “I can see you aren’t one to pass a good time up. I should probably be on my way and get ready for the show. You know, I didn’t catch your name, cher?” 

The Decepticon was shocked at how calm and comfortable you were around him, after all he was a battle-hardened warrior, killer and a giant robot, yet you showed him such courtesy as if he were just another human. “Oh… Blitzwing…” he replied hesitantly, feeling almost compelled to tell you. 

“Well Blitzwing, if anyone gives you trouble at the door, cher, just tell them you’re a guest of (Y/N)” you flashed a sincere but slightly coy smile at the Decepticon before giving him a friendly wave of your hand and making your way off of the military base. 

Blitzwing stood there in silent shock as you left, leaving him burning with multiple questions. “Cher? This word is strange” Icy pondered, a servo on his chin. His faceplate spun and Random took over, “Perhaps it’s a human word for cute!” Icy presented himself once more, staring at the ticket in his servo, your invitation still standing. He could just crush the ticket and be done withy it, but there was something about you…

Night fell on New Orleans, and the city came alive with lights, and hundreds of people flocking to the streets to enjoy various events and libations. High in the sky, Blitzwing hovered in jet-mode above the outdoor venue of “The Cat’s Meow.” After a bit of convincing himself, Blitzwing found the courage to land and enter the Jazz club. The bouncer at the door was definitely not expecting a Decepticon to attempt entry to the club, but he stood his ground and sweatily asked to see a ticket. 

Usually, it would be Blitzwing’s instinct to blast the human into smithereens, but that would undoubtedly sour the mood for the evening. Instead he presented his silver ticket and spoke, “I am here upon ze request of (Y/N).” The doorman accepted the ticket hesitantly, before allowing the Decepticon entry into the club, but directing him to enter around to the outdoor section to spare the roof. 

After making his way around, Blitzwing entered the outdoor space, which was an array of various tables covered in rich red linens. The area was illuminated by various lights wrapped around trellises and trees, a wooden stage centered at the back, the musicians settling into their positions. Blitzwing looked down at the table below him, awkwardly lowering himself into a sitting position behind the table, his massive frame still towering above it. Blitzwing couldn’t help but feel foolish being here to see a human perform, and it took hours of self-convincing earlier in order to get his aft here. 

“I have no idea how I talked myself into this…” Icy grumbled, his arms crossed. “PLEASE! This is not ze craziest thing we’ve done by far!” Random cackled before going silent as the lights dimmed, leaving one blinding spotlight on center stage. 

There you were, standing in the blinding glow of the spotlight. Your hair was down, but a delicate headpiece of beaded pearls adorned your forehead. Your dress was an ebony color, with a sensual sweetheart neckline and a short hem lined with glittering beads that cascaded from the hem. The ebony color was accentuated by the sparkle of thousands of tiny sequins, which reflected the spotlight and made you shimmer. You turned towards the band members behind you and gave them a nod, cueing them to begin playing a smooth yet upbeat Jazz number, the mood set by the sound of trumpets and a piano. You slowly took hold of the microphone and began singing, your voice sultry and alluring. 

Blitzwing’s optics widened to a point where they nearly burst out of his skull, and his jaw unhinged and was wide open as he struggled to process how stunning you were. This was the same human he met at the airbase? Your voice, your lips, your legs, that dress were all enough to nearly fry his processor circuitry and drive him wild. His faceplate was spinning between all three personalities, each one absolutely shaken by everything about you. 

“She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen…” Icy gawked, short of words. 

“IT IS LIKE BEING GRACED WITH ZE PRESENCE OF AN ANGEL!” Hothead exclaimed, looking like he wanted to break something. 

Random’s glossa was hanging out of his mouth, completely drunk off of your beautiful body and hypnotic voice. 

The song continued, and you began to move around the stage, your hips moving in time with the beat. You dipped down to the ground, before slowly standing up, swishing your hips and waist as you ascended. 

This sent Blitzwing over the edge, and Random loudly whistled at you, having quickly become a complete simp. Hearing the cat call, you turned your attention to see the Decepticon at his table. Continuing your set, you smiled in his direction before pointing to him and blowing a kiss. 

 Random took over and stood up, whistling even louder in adoration and worship of you, “Keep it UP BABY!” 

The song slowly came to its final portion, albeit to Blitzwing’s dismay as he wanted this to go on forever. With a final breath, the last lyrics left your painted lips and the song concluded. The resounding sound of applause filled the club, the loudest clapping being from Blitzwing’s massive metal servos. As the rest of the club patrons applauded your performance, Blitzwing’s sharp optics spotted one human patron who wasn’t participating. 

Hothead’s face spun around, steam visibly leaving his nostrils as he stomped over to the unsuspecting patron, startling the man, “YOU’D BETTER START CLAPPING BEFORE I MAKE YOUR INSIDES YOUR OUTSIDES!” The unsuspecting critic nearly jumped out of his skin and began clapping for his life. 

As the cheers continued, audience members began tossing flowers onto the stage. Icy took note of this and began formulating a plan. 

After you had made your way back to your dressing room, there was a firm knock at the door. Out of curiosity, you opened it to see who it was, only to be pleasantly surprised to see a certain Decepticon gazing back at you. 

Blitzwing was blushing madly, especially being so close to you when you looked so beautiful. He cleared his throat, his faceplate spinning to Icy, trying to get the courage to speak to you. “Your show was… more than words than express. You are ze most talented and beautiful thing I have laid optics on. I got something for you” his voice was oddly shaky. He knelt down and revealed a massive bundle of roses and vines from behind his back, the flowers taking up a quarter of your dressing room. “I saw flowers are a sign of worship, so I brought you all ze flowers from the garden.” 

You were stunned by the gift, it being obvious that Blitzwing had removed the roses from the nearby trellises. You tried to stifle a laugh and flashed the biggest grin, “That is mighty sweet of you, cher. To think you actually came to see me and shower me with so much praise.” 

“You are a GORGEOUS LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. I WILL BREAK DOWN MOUNTAINS FOR YOU!” Hothead expressed passionately. 

“Oh my…” you giggled, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” You stepped closer to the massive Decepticon before you, closing the distance. “For being so sweet, I think you deserve a little something as well,” your voice was charismatic and smooth. You leaned in closer to his faceplate, and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

His faceplate spun around and around and around… for what seemed like an eternity. An excited and loud laugh escaped from Blitzwing’s mouth, Random’s optics wide and his spark beating rapidly. So many thoughts and feelings flashed through his processor that he felt he might explode, “I FEEL LIKE I’VE FLOWN TO ZE MOON AND BACK!” His optics turn back towards you and he suddenly calms himself, maybe a little worried he might frighten you. His faceplate reverts back to Icy and he clears his throat, “...ahem.. My apologies, sometimes I get carried away.” 

Your smile widened, finding his antics to be endearing. “Don’t sweat it, cher. You’re more than welcome to come to any of my shows in the future,” you spoke softly. “Now why don’t you and I get out of here. Maybe let me show you around town?”

Blitzwing was in absolute awe. You, this tiny human female stealing every one of Blitzwing’s sparks. 

Of course he took you up on your offer. 

*END*

I had WAY too much fun with this request. :3 I pray it was worth the wait!