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uncouth-the-fifth · 4 months

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i'd like to report a crime - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: anxious work stress + leon comfort!!, leon being a fucking goober Notes: when i'm at work I'm always picturing him swooping in to save me...... leon kennedy if you can hear me please protect me from 9-5 hell... and like I said before, I would LOVE requests or prompts for this fic, I have so many ideas but I can't commit to any of them lol.

Standing in the bullpen at work today, you had a thought. Maybe they called it “medieval torture” because that was a whole lot catchier than “a shitty day at the busiest police precinct in Washington DC.”

It certainly felt like medieval torture to you. Before you’d even stepped into your big girl pants this morning, you knew that today was going to suck. Plain and simple. Suck. Yet another presidential event was bringing the Secret Service’s jurisdiction into your already hectic station, meaning that big square dudes in suits were going to be breathing down your neck until quitting time. You had three huge active cases that needed your attention. One of those cases came pre-packaged with a deeply annoying lawyer, who, in your professional opinion, has his head shoved a foot up his ass. He will absolutely be showing up to bother you today.

And worst of all: in your haste to get to work (Leon had put some serious effort into making you late), you’d accidentally worn a pair of super uncomfortable shoes! So now every waking moment of your existence was bonafide torture.

Clamping your jaw, you glance up from the paperwork in front of you and check your watch. Three o’clock. Right, okay, you can work with that.

You slap your hands down on your desk as you push out of your seat, and it gets a satisfying yelp out of the man sitting cross-legged beside it. He bristles up like a porcupine and nasally complains, “Where are you going, Detective Kennedy? You said we could—”

“Coffee, Douglas,” you bite back to said lawyer.

The last thing you want right now is some of the lousy, watered-down coffee from the station’s breakroom, but taking mini-breaks at your desk is just not an option anymore. Douglas has been camped out there from the moment you clocked in, and since you both refuse to budge, he’s going to stay there. Breakroom it is. You wince the whole way there, cursing your shoes from hell.

Someone forgot to start another pot of joe, so you have the absolute pleasure of doing it yourself. A small blessing in disguise, really. You give the glass pot your best thousand-yard-stare the whole time it heats the water, and just when the outline of it is starting to burn behind your eyelids, you’re jolted out of your glazed reverie by a cheerful, “Detective Kennedy!”

The officer appears at your side like she was there the entire time, and you wouldn’t put it past her—Giana is the latest in a long line of rookies who have imprinted on you over the years. Good kid, but a little on the overeager side.

She gives you a sympathetic frown and launches into way too much bubbly talking for your aching head to handle. “Heyo! Man, it’s crazy today, huh? You look beat, detective. Hey, think of it this way—just a few more hours and we’ll be home free! Any fun plans tonight?”

The question triggers a movie-style flashback sequence in your mind, complete with black-and-white visuals and some tasteful dream fog. Leon, your husband, boredly poking around the aisles of a new Target by your place. Leon discovering the boys' toy section. Leon, your beautiful, amazing husband, going starry-eyed at the massive NERF Elite Titan CS-50 Toy Blaster, which you’re pretty sure you need a license to operate.

He’d tapped the Nerf box like a boy on Christmas morning. “150 foam bullets, baby.”

But it would take a lot of energy to relay all of that to Giana. So instead of explaining that you’re having an epic Nerf duel with Leon when you get home (no headshots, loser makes dinner), you cooly answer: “...Spending time with my husband.”

Giana hums. “It’s so weird to me that you’re married…” (Thanks.) “I can’t even picture you not grinding away at some case.”

The coffee machine burbles out its last sad spit of coffee. You pour a good amount into your mug, smiling, “Oh, Leon’s just as bad. We’re both married to our work. He’s just my favorite mistress, s’all.”

Giana opens her mouth to launch into another cheery tirade you can’t catch up with. You like the girl, but on top of being way too eager, she’s also painfully see-through. For example, you don’t even have to turn around to know that a gloriously hot guy has just walked into the bullpen behind you. It’s written all over Giana’s owlish look over your shoulder. Hell, you can even clock that he’s heading straight this way—not only does Giana cross herself to bid away impure thoughts of the stranger, but she evaporates into smoke out of pure shyness.

“Look out!” She stage-whispers.

Aw. Poor girl, you think as she waddles away. Considering who’s going to be unloading a clip of foam bullets into you later this evening, (what a strange double entendre), you’re basically immune to hot guys. You can handle this.

“Excuse me, detective, I’d like to report a crime?”

All sense of professionalism poofs off your face at that familiar voice. You whirl to face your husband, and in one swift slash, the ten ton weight of your stress is slapped clean off your back.

Leon’s resting stare has slowly been absorbed by his Serious Agent Face. But today, he’s smoldering less in the business way and more in the off-duty model way. In a white tee, jeans, and racing-striped leather jacket, he certainly looks the part, clean-shaven and dewy-skinned. Fuck him and his unblemished skin. What Umbrella moisturizer was he using back in the day, dammit?

You’re capable of joking again and fall flawlessly into the bit. “Of course. What kind of crime, beautiful?”

He isn’t really able to look flustered, but you think you get close to the impossible with the way his head tilts at that line. You notice that he’s hiding something behind his back.

“A theft,” he answers. The tiniest smirk twitches on his mouth. “My heart’s been stolen.”

…What a fucking cornball. The tragic part is that you find the joke pretty funny, and not completely in the ironic way. He waits for you to giggle and twirl your hair or what-the-fuck-ever, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction, ducking into his quick hug to grin into his shoulder.

You groan at his awful joke. “Jesus. You need a fork for all that corn, Leon?”

“I take mine off the cob,” he drawls in your ear. With that voice, he could make anything sound suggestive.

You’re about to pout at him for failing to return your hug, when you draw back and see that his hands are full. It’s then that Leon presents his bounty to you, bowing his head and holding his trophies aloft like a knight giving respect to his princess: in one hand, one of the stupid expensive coffees you like, and in the other… your comfiest work flats.

“How?” is the first thing your fish brain manages to say. Because, truly, how does he always know? The coffee, the shoes— “Did you put a tracker in me? One that tells you everything I’ve been complaining about all day?”

You go slumping down into the nearest seat, mystified by him. Leon sets the still-steaming coffee down in front of you and kneels, stooping to help you out of your shoes-from-hell. The strap around your ankle has rubbed the bone raw even through your tights. He gets the clasp loose on the first shoe with little fussing, then soothes the skin with tender brushes of his thumb.

“Mhm,” he hums. All you can see of him from this angle is the layers of color in his hair, deep browns and ash blondes blending into one another. The smug pride in his voice is obvious—he loves knowing he’s read you well. “Tells me when you’re hungry, too. Have lunch with me?”

Please god, your body begs. Just picturing it loosens some of the tension in your neck. Like last time, the two of you would play-fight over where to eat, and your cute little delivery boy would go pick up the winner. That way, you wouldn’t have to waste a single moment of your allotted thirty-minute lunch. Leon would pull up a seat at your desk (maybe scare Douglas off with a flash of his badge), and you’d get a blissful, uninterrupted dose of him. Enough to get you through the rest of your shift.

He’d be too deep in Professional Agent Mode to babble like he does at home, but Leon’s raspy chuckles and his hand on your knee would tide you over til’ five.

…But no, the universe is never that kind to you. You wince at Leon’s offer and drop an apologetic hand to his shoulder, still knelt at your feet and working on your other shoe. He’s too good to you. “M’ sorry, baby, but I think I’m gonna have to work through lunch if I wanna get home on time. Rain check?”

He doesn’t mind. He throws a squinty warning stare your way, not happy that you’re getting dangerously close to overworking yourself, but he understands.

A sly smile creeps onto Leon’s face as he helps you slip on a flat. “I could talk to your Captain. What if you were pulled away for a ‘federal emergency?’”

“Then I think me and my Captain would implode from stress,” you laugh. “He’d think I’d been drawn into some national crisis or something.”

Leon scoffs. “That’s only happened, like, once.”

The other flat welcomes your poor, aching foot like a jacuzzi hot tub, and you take a deep magical sip of the overpriced coffee he got special for you. It trumps the watery breakroom joe any day.

For a minute you’re so stupidly happy that you could easily punch a boulder clean off a cliff. Hell, you might even twirl your hair.

“One too many times!” You groan. Since he’s being all cute and kneeling at your feet, you can’t resist poking him a couple of times to be silly. In the chest. In the cheek. In the heart. Stage-whispering, you accuse, “I think you just like having excuses to work with me.”

Leon finishes helping you into your shoes, but he’s in no hurry to leave his spot. One of his rough hands finds yours in your lap and toys with your wedding band, twisting it, testing the groove where it’s been sitting for a few years now. Those big blue eyes fix on your face. You’re married to the guy, but something about being the subject of all his naked attention makes you feel like shrieking into a damn pillow. He’s the best. Judging by that mean little smile on his face, he knows it’s true.

He gives your hand a little squeeze and points out, “I was your partner before anyone else. We never got our buddy cop beat—so yes, I will shove myself into your world since I can’t pull you into mine.”

You’re grateful he still thinks that way. Getting him to talk about Raccoon is harder than pulling teeth, but this—your partnership, whether that be as cops in an imaginary second life, or as husband and wife—never fails to pry him right open.

You’d been asked before if it was frustrating, how your paths had split after the city had blown. The two of you had come from the same spot and endured the same things, but where Leon had soared up, you’d kept to what you knew. No part of you envied him for it. In his mind, the two of you were still the same unit you’d been then, endlessly loyal to one another. You watched Leon’s back and—clearly, he watched yours.

“You’re my favorite,” you tell him, sweetly petting his chin. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you at our Nerf duel when I get home.”

All the buttery tenderness wipes from his face, and in an instant he’s on his feet, clapping a scarred hand down onto your shoulder and bending to whisper fiercely in your ear. “I’d like to see you try.”

He smushes a kiss to your cheek, waves a friendly, “See ya,” and melts back into the current of the rowdy bullpen. You hate to see him leave, but by god, you love to watch him go.

A few seconds after Leon says his goodbye, Giana, your rookie, peers around the open door of the break room. Her patchy blush goes all the way down to her uniform collar. “...Nevermind. I can definitely picture you married, Detective Kennedy…”

Ask to be added to my Leon taglist!

#leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy/reader #leon kennedy x reader #uncouthre #leon kennedy #resident evil #user uncouth

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scriveyner · 3 months

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shoot out

There were several styrofoam darts scattered just outside the genkan as Akutagawa took his shoes off and shook his head, Rashomon juggling the multiple grocery bags. There was laughter and the rapid thud of retreating footsteps, as well as the very solid sound of a small weretiger bouncing off a hard surface.

The weather had been poor lately, and the rain kept everyone inside. Based on the expended ammunition, it looked like someone finally dug the toy blasters out of the closet while he was out.

He really thought he’d hidden them better.

“Weretiger?” Akutagawa called, and got no immediate response, although there was more faint laughter. He walked into the main room.

Atsushi was lying in the middle of the floor, a couch cushion held to his chest and his eyes closed. The low table had been pushed out of the way, and there was a multicolored array of styrofoam darts littering the floor around his head. “Are you dead?” Akutagawa asked.

“Very dead,” Atsushi confirmed, without opening his eyes. “It was a very dramatic death, you missed it. Award-winning.”

Akutagawa looked around the room; aside from the furniture being pushed against the walls nothing appeared to be broken. “The rain should stop soon, I hope,” he said. Atsushi snorted.

Rashomon formed a small shield over his head and three foam darts pinged off his ability. The shots came from above, Akutagawa placed the grocery bags on the counter and without even looking plucked Ryuu-chan from atop the fridge and flung him out of the kitchen. “Your father is playing dead, go shoot him a few dozen more times.”

He heard Atsushi laugh, then go, “no, Ryuu-chan, enough—” and yelp. There was more laughter from the main room, and Akutagawa smiled as he put the vegetables out for washing

#sskk² #sskk #bungou stray dogs #bsd #this is an older one that I guess I never cross-posted from typetrigger #bc it was posted in the middle of chase forever down smarch lmao #it is in the ao3 collection tho

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tinydefector · 5 months

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Hello! How are you? This is my first time requesting so I hope this is okay, but can I request a shorter scenario g1 Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz and Ironhide with a human s/o lives for chaos? They would point at Megatron and say ‘bitch’ just for the reaction. 🩵

Cursing Megatron out

Ps I'm sleep deprived af it's 12am right now and just finished this so enjoy.

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: description of fighting, swearing

Ratchet masterlist

Ironhide masterlist

Jazz masterlist

Optimus prime Masterlist

________________

Optimus Prime

They yell loudly as Megatron goes to grab them, they smash him in the face with a tire iron as he is then tackled by Optimus. The Decepticon leader had ruined their date night. They flip him off as Optimus throws Megatron across the ground, his servo wraps around them quickly pulling them closer as they scramble up onto his shoulder. "Eat shit and die Fuck face!" They yell at Megatron.

Optimus clutched their small form protectively against his plating, battling protocols roaring. Had circumstances been different, the Prime would have roared in fury at your fierce defence against the tyrant but he was dealing with trying to keep them safe.

Megatron howled, clutching a fist to his dented face as energon streamed between digits. His optics blazed murder, craving nothing more than to snuff the fluttering spark of Optimus' and the human he held so closely.

"You've made a grave error this day, little beast. No corpse shall hide you from my wrath!" Megatron bellowed, brandishing his fusion cannon as if to raze the very earth. His field screamed promised agony that sent lesser mechs scampering for shelter.

Optimus vented his battle mask into place, tucking them securely against the safety of his backstrut. weapons primed and wrathful fields promising eons of hurt against any who dared to touch his Human.

"You shall not harm them, Megatron. Leave. now. while your spark yet functions," Optimus warned in a voice low and in a heavy growl that sounded feral and unlike the Prime.

"Maybe you should get Shockwave to give you a facial reconciliation!, oh wait I did it already!" They sneer back from Optimus' shoulder at Megatron. Their teeth are bared at him as they snarl. If anyone else had seen the human they would have thought they were an animal.

Optimus suppressed an amused sigh at their show of fangs, so small yet fearless against the monster terrorising his people for millennia. Megatron bellowed in foaming rage, lunging toward where they perched upon Optimus's armoured pauldron. "Insolent pest! I shall grind your bones to powder and force-feed them to - aggh!"

A well-placed shot from Optimus's ion blaster struck the warlord, toppling the tyrant shrieking to the dirt. "Last warning, Megatron. Leave. or face me," Optimus rumbled, field pulsing protectiveness intertwined with fierce Protection.

With a snarl Megatron takes off. Once both Optimus and his human lover settle from the adrenaline and battle protocols. Optimus cradled their small form within his battle-worn servo, venting slow ex-vapor to purge lingering fumes. His optics dimly regarded their fragile body.

"That was a foolish act of bravery, little one," Optimus rumbled gently, digit carefully brushing across their forehead and down their cheek admiring their eyes alight with fire. His spark swelled at the determination.

"Sorry, I.. I got caught up in the moment, he missed me off ruining date night" they huff out while pressing their face into his neck cabling. Their body shakes from the adrenaline. "I hit Megatron with a tire iron" they whisper as it slowly registers in their own brain.

Optimus vented a soft huff of static, equal parts worry and weary amusement filling his field at their admission. "A valiant act indeed, though foolhardy against one as powerful as he," rumbled Optimus, vocals warm with approval despite the danger of the situation. His optics flicker in fondness. “Please do not do that again”

Ratchet

Megatron let's out a horrific scream as he gets electrocuted. He hadn't noticed the humans who had shoved the taser between the plates of his armour. "Get Tazered Bitch, not so fucking tough now huh?" They shout at the downed Decepticon only to be scooped up by Ratchet. Ratchet swept them into his servo with a staticky huff, deftly dodging the warlord's flailing blows as voltage shocks wracked Megatron's colossal frame. His field buzzed approval at their fearless defence of him.

"Reckless sparkling! You'll deactivate my rusting struts with stunts like that," Ratchet grumbled, though optics shone bright relief beneath grizzled plating. Megatron howled upon the earth, shaking off aftershocks that would crush the stoutest Autobot, madness glinting a terrifying helm snapped halfway 'twixt beast and machine.

Ratchet backed swiftly from flailing reach, hoisting their small form beyond harm's sight. Ratchet takes off transforming around them before he begins scolding the for how stupid they were, how dangerous it was. And the fact Megatron would personally hunt them now.

"Have you any idea how foolish that stunt was?!" Ratchet's engine revved indignantly even as he sped across the scarred earth, his cabin vibrating with barely-suppressed wrath and equal measure relief.

His sensors remained fixed upon the precious organic cargo nestled within his altforms cab, monitoring vital readings "Do you want a personal vendetta from Megatron? Because that's how you get a personal vendetta, you glitched little slagger!" Medical scans analysed each minute shift of breath.

"Reckless, Just...do not scare me so, small one," Ratchet rumbled quietly, worried and care etched in every bolt and wire.

"He had it coming Ratchet, plus that Amazon taser is getting a 10/10. 'WORKS GREAT, I Tazed a large alien warlord and he screamed like a bitch, will in fact work on creeps on the street' " they laugh while they look in the revision mirror to make sure they aren't being followed by said Decepticon.

Despite himself, Ratchet's engine sputtered an amused huff at their tone - so fearless in the face of giants who had destroyed armies. "Oh I've no doubt - the reviews certainly won't lack colour!" Ratchet agreed wryly, subtly activating scanners to sweep their escape route while watchful optics remained pinned to their reflection.

His vents sighed relief upon confirming no stalking signatures upon their trail, enemy or otherwise. Swinging wide the Ark's bunker doors, Ratchet transformed with care not to jostle his delicate cargo. Blue optics peered down aglow with a glare "Come now, troublemaker. No more outings for the next month for you while the oaf licks his wounds." His states while guiding them to the medbay.

“no fair Ratchet!”

Jazz

They cling onto Jazz as the bot hides behind a boulder, multiple autobots had been out when the Decepticons had attacked. They are held tightly by Jazz as he debates the best possible to get them out of there unscaved.

Jazz vented softly, hugging their form protectively against his plating as pedefalls rumbled outside their scant cover.

"Ain't nothin' t'fear, li'l light. Ol' Jazz'll getcha outta here one piece, ya feel me?" he murmured soothing static against their ear, subtly scanning surroundings through plating. An opening presented itself, if he could provide distraction just long enough...

Pressing a swift kiss to their forehead, Jazz.” Go, sweetspark! Ain't got but a klik - I'm right behind ya!" Jazz called desperately over the roar of weapons, swerving and banking with abandon to keep pursuers engaged but alive.

"Hey ol' buckets 'a bolts! Over here!" With that, he peeled from cover in a burst of speed, transforming mid-leap to present the biggest possible target, tailfins flared wide. Weapon systems engaged, greeting the three pursuing seekers with enthusiastically snarky exclamations as he led them on a merry chase. His sole purpose in those seconds - buy precious time, before sharply veering back toward cover with afterburners blazing.

They do take off running but stop as they see Megatron advancing towards Jazz. They aren't far from either bot and in a split moment of bravery or stupidity their shoe is off and being flung right at Megatron's helm. "Your shit ass piece of Junk you lay a fucking hand on my boyfriend and I'll rip you apart with a fucking Magnet and plyers, don't you fucking test me you dipper wearing, goofy as looking supervillan wannabe!" They shout. It make the whole battlefield go almost dead silent. " Yea you fucking hear my bucket head, ill make you wish you were rusting!" They shout again.

Jazz's optics widened in horror behind his visor, witnessing your defiant act through static-laced vision. Fear gripped his struts like freezing polyhexian tundra.

Megatron's helm barely shifted from the impact, regarding their small form with optics glinting cruel amusement. His cannon charged with purpose to squash resistance as pointless and fleeting as an organic.

"Foolish creature. Your lives mean less than insects" Megatron sneered, taking ponderous steps their way that may as well have been a funeral march. The field around him broadcast murderous intentions that sent even the seasoned warriors around bolting for cover.

Jazz would not be denied. With a grief-stricken keen that curdled energon in lines, he flung himself between you and that doom-wielding arm aiming to end what meaning he had left. His field pulsed frenzied protectiveness tangled with pleas no words could voice.

"Ya want 'em, Megs, you'll hafta go through me first! An' I been dancin' this dance a long time..." Jazz spat static. Jazz was quick to get them out of there grabbing them and taking off. It isn't until they were back at the Ark did he finally transform, arms wrapped around them as he gives the a peace of his mind.

Jazz clutched their body against his chest plates long after abandoning the battle site, fleeing farther than ever felt safe from those sworn to end all he had left. His engine roared wildly, fuel pump pounding faster than any sabotage mission's duration against the relief of delivering them from harm.

Only within the Ark's fortified bunker did his struts unlock enough to collapse wearily to the floor, holding them close as grateful cries and static escaped in equal measure. "Don't you ever fraggin' do that ta me again, ya hear?" Jazz gasped brokenly at last, cupping their face desperately within his quaking palm. His visor glimmered tears unshed, relief and terror warning in equal measure.

"Can't lose ya...yer all Ah got left in this mess. Please, li'l light...don' scare me like that." Raw emotion clogged his vocalizer to near uselessness, pressing reverent kisses between choked intakes.

"He was going right for you baby!, I'm not letting the 3 tonne prick hurt you, so what I lost a shoe next time it will be a hydro flask of salt water and I hope it dents his helm" they state as they grab his face plate returning his kisses with fevor.

Jazz huffed a static-tinged laugh at their fierce declaration, so brave yet trembling in his gentle grasp. His cooling fans cycled accelerated drafts, systems still buzzing from terrors faced alone to shield them from doom's sightless gaze.

"Frag if ya ain't the bravest thing this side'a Cybertron," Jazz rumbled. He pressed his faceplate into their shoulder holding them tightly, not willing to let go yet. Curling them protectively against the humming mass of his spark, Jazz vented shaky ex-vents. "Mah brave, beautiful li'l light...keep shinin' that fire, sweetspark." Jazz whispered raggedly into their shoulder.

Ironhide

Ironhide shoots at Megatron. His human companion latched to his back as he uses his body as a shield so the war lord couldn't get them. But they were making it rather hard as they tried antagonising Megatron.

"Damn did they build you like a shit box on Cybertron or did you pick this form yourself!" They shout out.

Ironhide careened across the scarred terrain, engine roaring as his heavy cannons unloaded volley after volley into the Con warlord's encroaching chassis. Megatron's howls shook the earth, armour blistering under Ironhide's righteous fury for daring to threaten his human lashed securely to broad backstruts.

"That's it, slaggertits, dance for me!" Ironhide bellowed back at Megatron.

Megatron lunged forward through a hailstorm of plasma, cannons charging in a frenzy to end lives denying his rule. But Ironhide spun on a dime, releasing another blast to cave in an optical relay before transforming ram-tight around you both.

His engine pounded like the Pit below, field alive with devotion harsh as his bearing yet gentle as newborn sparks flickering against red-and-blue armorweave. When Megatron gets too close they lob a can of WD-40 At him which Ironhide shoots cause it to explode in his face. "Get sunbeam shitlips!" They yell in delight as Ironhide takes off with them trying to get to safety.

"That's enough outta you, squishy," Ironhide rumbled, yet his cannons sang in harmony with your unbound spirit. His mission remained unchanged - shield the light of life, defying all forces that sought to smother its radiance. Ironhide's cannon fire consumed the volatile projectile in a brilliant fireball, engulfing Megatron in inferno. As they take off leaving Megatron in a fireball of energon and wounds.

"Right in the visual output, squishy!. Primus, I think I'm in love," Ironhide roared instatically, tires biting earth as he tore across the ravaged wastes well beyond enemy sensors. His spark soared like the smelting winds of Vos. Ironhide's engine purred a low rumble as his struts unwound, tension leaching from armour plating now safe. His field pulsed weariness, yet underlying it swirled pride and fierce gratitude for your indomitable spirit so small, yet burned brighter than any star.

"Can't say I approve of y'all's antics out there, squishy. But Primus if you didn't frag up that rustbucket good," Ironhide chuckled, copper-sheened plating creaking in amusement. Never had he witnessed such fearless bravery, nor met a soul so worthy of the praise.

"He had it coming, Ironhide!You're not going to tell prime are you?" They had just faced down Megatron and cursed him out yet they were worried over being ratted out. Ironhide's engine grumbled a tired huff, his massive frame unwinding into a sprawl across the barren earth. He transforms lifting them up into his arms

"I'd be a fool to deny you put the fear of Primus in that rustbucket," Ironhide chuckled. "But Prime's got enough weighin' his wires. Don't need him fryin' more circuits over our antics." A digit gently booped their nose, gaze softening. "Your spark burns brighter than all the Well's glory. Ain't no mech takin' that from you - least of all one as glitching as Megs."

"Our secret?" They asked looking up at him.

"Our secret, squishy.” Ironhide replied, massive frame creaking gently as massive fingers curled to cradle them against his chassis.

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

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zumicho · 2 months

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SEASON ONE: EP4 — SUNRAY STIMULANT

three hours ago,

she held a blue handkerchief in her hands, almost identical to everyone else’s — if not for their target embroidered in ivory.

skeptical looks are being exchanged as tanaka makes his rounds with a storage box of foam water blasters. there’s a pull on the air that wasn’t there before. no one is talking. they all want to win.

her victim read between her palms:

kenma kozume.

three hours later

the speedboat cockpit is clearly designed for one. that seems irrelevant to him: nishinoya is settled beside her, the narrow space forcing them close, their legs pressed together. over the years of friendship, a tolerance was built to touch. yet in this confined space, the warmth is almost palpable. he thumbs at the small of her back. despite the flush creeping up their necks, not a word is spoken. sure, it’s hot out.

blame it on the heat.

hinata, gripping a sleek graphite fishing rod, feels the first tug. the rod bends sharply as a trout is hauled onboard. noya jumps up, holding it down. they agreed to a 3-man team awhile ago, but who would say no to fishing with these two?

there must be some kind of stimulant in the air, she thinks, watching them both.

sweat trickles down shoyo’s well-defined muscles, glistening under the post merridiem sun. he wipes his forehead with the hem of his tank top, the ripped sleeves bunching at the action. her eyes trail down to his exposed stomach, taking in the sight of his bronze-kissed abs. is this what brazil does to a person?

catching her gaze, he smiles knowingly. if he wants to, he doesn’t say anything about it. “it’s getting dark. we should find light before someone sneaks up on us.”

“they won’t,” nishinoya’s focused on unhooking the fish from the bait. “assassin doesn’t start officially ‘till tomorrow.”

she steps between them. “how do I know you two won’t betray me?”

sho holds his victim’s name up scrunched in his left hand — now grinning. “we’ll tell you ours if you tell us yours?”

suddenly, the boat lurches. it hit something. there, bobbing in the wake, was a bright red sand bucket filled with water balloons. a large smiley-face sticker is wrapped around the handle.

author’s note: sorry this took so long lol iwaizumi racer au draft has taken up 90% of my life — go think about this .

GUESTLIST @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @cloudybillows @s1ckntw1st3d @suna-rins-sunshine @hyenagoated @hibernatinghamster @yogurtkags @acowboykisser @yukatoraa @fishrene @iwaizluv @iluvmang @neoclb @kr1nqu @lvtilzs @wave2mia @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @bubooo @bectoshi @gra-eae @cr4yolaas @cloooudddy1 @jaynawayna @ryuverse @miliondollagirl @soulfullystarry @fiannee @yumiecheesecrackers @ast4rg1rl @eujoana89 @whenanafallsinlove @arraxthatsonjah @spencerpng @staileykout @kaiiibxby @miiyas @serossidechick @chososcamgirl @yuminako @diorzs @muyyie @krissiekris @from-mae @p1nkdiary @justanotherbimboslxt @mfcherry @solaqes

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pinkanonwrites · 7 months

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Just another mini random obsession of mine. Mixing together the post about fabrics being a luxury good to cybertronians and humans being very interesting to bots..

The idea that humans need soft cushiony surfaces to recharge and be comfy, as well as piles of fabrics over them to stay warm, and plush squares under their heads to insure maximum recharge capabilities are met. The idea that humans need that makes bots go wow so soft. But then for humans they're like "you just lay on hard metal surfaces?? Isn't that uncomfortable?" And the bot is like "no? Why would it be?" And they worry when they're sleeping with a human in their berth and have nothing plush to offer them to sleep with whehwh just the metal birth and their metal frame ehbehe the differences must be confusing for both groups and the urge to want the other to be comfortable is probably stressful (moreso a concern for the bot rather than the human))

(((And Ofc if ur sleeping on a hard surface ur neck and back will be stiff too which just perpetuates the guilt in the bot ehehehebbw)))

Rant over thank u for ur time 💖

This actually goes pretty well with my other headcanon, which is that Cybertronians almost NEVER move around in their sleep. Humans do so we don't get sore or keep pressure on certain muscles for too long, but Cybertronians tend to lay stock-still, arms at their sides, unmoving the entirety of their recharge cycle. So it isn't unfeasible for a human to bring just some extra padding up on top of their robot partner for late night cuddles.

Picture clambering up on Rodimus's chassis or into Optimus's servo and unfurling your foam mattress topper and blankets, or curling up inside a bot's cassette bay or cockpit with your pillows and stuffed animals. <3 I feel like some bots might forget you're in there in the morning though. (Skywarp and Blaster)

#transformers #transformers x reader #x reader #rodimus #optimus prime #blaster #skywarp #pink chat #tf fluff #transformers headcanons #anon

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what-even-is-thiss · 6 months

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You can’t just manufacture an antacid tablet you’ve gotta make chewy foam acid blaster burn your tongue off ultra mint or something

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from-a-legends-pov · 5 months

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Star Wars Legends: Poll of the Week - Out-Of-Context Pictures

Which of these out-of-context pictures from a Star Wars Legends property is your favorite? (Context provided below)

1: “Heat stick”: Oh, no, that certainly doesn’t look like anything else, no….

2. Laser-eyes Leia: Is it possible to learn this power?

3. Hit where it hurts: He had it coming.

4. “Turn off the foam, Threepio!” I don’t know, that looks kind of fun, Luke.

5. Han punches an otter? An otter wearing fancy jewelry, no less.

6. Playing ships with a Sith: Vader plus younglings doesn’t usually go well….

And now, for some context:

1: “Heat stick” - Wedge Antilles and Wes Janson spend a cold night together on a mission, and yes, that is supposed to be a heat stick used to warm them and not a glowing something else (Star Wars - original Marvel Comics)

2: Laser-eyes Leia: Meet Leia Organa II, a replica droid of the Princess, designed to speak, move, and act like the real Leia, and equipped with blasters in her eyes. The real Leia Organa is captured and nearly forced to marry Trioculus, a three-eyed warlord claiming to be Palpatine’s son (he wasn’t – that was a different three-eyed guy), but right before the wedding Leia’s friends switch her with Leia Organa II. At the altar, the replica droid blasts Trioculus with a little pew pew straight from her eyes, killing him, and the real Leia is able to escape (Queen of the Empire)

3: Hit where it hurts: When Black Sun boss Prince Xizor’s attempted assault of Leia Organa (by drugging her with his powerful Falleen pheromones) is interrupted by Chewbacca coming to the rescue, Leia gives Xizor a well-deserved knee to the groin before escaping (Shadows of the Empire)

4: “Turn off the foam, Threepio!” On a mission with Leia and the droids, Luke Skywalker uses extinguisher foam to subdue some Blackhole troopers aboard a Hrakian ship (“Gambler’s World,” Early Star Wars Adventures)

5: Han punches an otter? Han Solo’s evil cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo has imprisoned Dracmus, a female Selonian who has been trained as a diplomatic envoy to humans. He forces Dracmus to fight Han, whom he has also imprisoned, but Han is familiar enough with Mandaba, the Selonian language, to convince Dracmus to go easy on him during the fight without Thrackan catching on. Han still loses the fight, but gains Dracmus’s trust, and when Dracmus is later rescued, Han is allowed to come along (Assault at Selonia)

6: Playing ships with a Sith: Plourr Ilo recalls her brother Harran (Harrandatha Estillo), who from childhood was an evil, vicious person who wanted her dead so that he could become ruler. Harran idolized Darth Vader, and when Harran met the Sith as a child, Vader made Harran his protégé, taking advantage of his sadistic personality and apparently also playing ships with him for hours (Star Wars comics, X-Wing: Rogue Squadron - The Warrior Princess)

Hungry for more Legends content? Follow @from-a-legends-pov and consider signing up for our upcoming fanfiction event, From a Legends Point of View! Signups open April 28!

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