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imagine-darksiders · 2 months

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Transformers Prime: Optimus X Reader. Chapter 2.

The Letdown.

Part 1

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family, Optimus is a big, overprotective worry-wort with a soft spot for humans, Reader has more issues than Vogue.

Let me know if you'd be interested in a part 3 :]

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Optimus has always been an honest mech. Even before he was bestowed with the Matrix of Leadership, Orion-wet-behind-the-audials-Pax was about as good at carrying a lie as Miko is at keeping herself out of trouble.

Not much changed after Orion became a Prime.

Deception never came easily to him. Frank and truthful in all he does, there are times when even the principled leader of the Autobots has to concede that sometimes, deceit is a regrettable, but unavoidable necessity.

That doesn’t mean he’s grown better at it though.

Lying, in any capacity, makes the stoic and unflinching mech feel as if his glossa has been dipped in a coat of lead. To his own audial receptors, the insubstantial white-lie he’d coaxed you with sounded clumsy, even stilted – just two more things unbefitting of a Prime.

The Matrix had bucked inside his chassis when he fabricated the story that convinced you to accept his assistance. It had, however, quickly settled down after Optimus reminded himself that this was a lie borne from the best of intentions.

He may be the most fastidious in following his own self-set rule to remain incognito on Earth, but even a stickler like him could hardly ignore a human in need.

And you were in need, he reflects as he tentatively adjusts his rear-view mirror, angling it towards your face as surreptitiously as he can.

The memory of your desolate, beaten expression is bruised right into the forefront of his processor, where it’s sure to remain for some time to come. Bathed in the dim glow of his headlights, you’d stared up at his grill with the same frightened trepidity of a doe peering down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. You’d approached his open door with such caution, your tiny yet vital pulse rabbiting inside the veins and vessels that pump precious blood through your fragile, little body.

You were afraid of him, and it would be remiss of the great Prime to deny that the realisation had plucked at a tender node running through his spark-chamber.

It felt like a rejection.

‘Really, Optimus?’ He can almost hear Arcee’s cool, bemused ribbing now. ‘One human doesn’t like you, and suddenly your self-esteem takes a hit?’

She’d be right to tease him, of course. A Prime ought to be above such concerns.

Yet still…

A human had needed help, and Optimus’s very presence – once described as a comfort by Jack when the boy thought he couldn’t hear – was enough to almost instil a fear in you so profound, you’d have sooner braved the cold emptiness of a desert and your own exhaustion than accept his aid.

Optimus eases his engine to a constant, steady hum as he drives down Highway 49, his weary passenger secured inside his alt mode. Distantly, he notes how some of his custodial protocols have settled back to lay dormant amongst his codes once again, the same protocols that rear their heads like spitting cobras whenever he sees one of the children in danger.

But for now, there is no danger, and so, contented, the Prime allows himself to cruise at a lax pace towards the distant, twinkling lights appearing on the dark horizon.

Jasper.

You mentioned that your journey ends at the dairy pastures out towards the East of town, where well-watered fields of grass are nestled beneath the shadows cast by enormous, twisting rock spires.

But why are you heading there in the first place?

The silence inside his cab starts to grow stifling. And although the quiet doesn’t bother him in the least, Optimus is conscious of your bouncing leg, and the small, quivering fingers kneading anxiously around the straps of the bag you’ve yet to remove.

It doesn’t look heavy… The note you left on the window of your truck claimed that the vehicle is all you have, and he has no doubt that what little else you might call yours is tucked safely within the leather rucksack that’s currently pinned between your spine and Optimus’s seat.

It may not look heavy, but neither does it look particularly comfortable.

Beneath the shell of armour and metal parts concealing his face, Optimus feels his brow plates twitch in their attempt to furrow gently towards one another.

“Perhaps you’d-“ he starts, only to hurriedly cut the feedback to his voice box when you promptly go rigid against his seat, your drooping, crimson-tinted eyes flying open to roll around his cabin like a spooked equine mammal. “My apologies,” he amends contritely, letting his voice drop to such an unobtrusive pitch, it almost mingles with the purr of his engine, “I only meant to tell you, there is ample room in the footwell for your belongings…”

Leaving an indicative silence in his wake, Optimus regards you curiously as you tighten your grip on the tattered, leather straps slung over your shoulders, though your gaze does flick down to survey the space around your shoes.

You may have traded your name for his, but it’s clear you’re still wound up tighter than a coiled spring.

“Oh,” you eventually murmur, and he’s pleased to see your white-knuckle grasp go slack.

As you begin to slowly slide the bag from your shoulders, every movement stiff and uncertain, Optimus nonetheless lets out an approving hum and returns his senses to the road ahead, though his focus remains almost entirely on the soft speck of warmth shifting around in his passenger seat.

Not for the first time, Optimus is struck by how much larger cybertronians are than humans. Even when you lean forwards and lower your rucksack down towards his footwell, his sensors barely register your presence.

At least your weight is more substantial than Rafael’s, he muses.

Once, during a rare but pleasant occurrence in which he was the only bot available to shuttle their tiniest member from school to the Base, Optimus had tried – and failed – to refrain from checking that the boy was still safely strapped in his passenger seat every ten nanoclicks.

Giving his engine a rev to shake himself from the memory, Optimus speaks again, mindful to keep his volume low this time. “May I ask you something, Y/n?”

He watches as you finally relinquish your hold on the bag, letting it drop with the utmost care into the space by your feet. “Of course,” you say genially, turning less and less guarded as the warmth of his cab envelopes you, beckoning you towards a much-needed rest.

“What brings you to Jasper?”

Small talk is hardly Optimus’s forte, but the nature of your unfortunate circumstances had shifted something deep within his spark and left it murmuring unhappily behind his colossal chassis.

Oblivious to the Prime’s concern, you cast another doleful glance towards the driver’s side, leaning back until your shoulders just barely ghost the fabric of your seat. “Only business, I’m afraid,” you offer, vaguely, “Nothing exciting. What about you? Are you based out here?”

“I am,” your mysterious driver responds just as concisely before he swings the topic back around to you, much to your dismay, “But this… Terry-“ He says the name as if it’s entirely foreign to him, like a word in another language that he isn’t sure how to pronounce. “-Is he a friend of yours?”

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand, pivoting it lazily from side to side. “Not exactly…” you eke out. After a moment mulling it over further, you let your hand flop down into your lap again with a sigh. “Actually, no, not at all. He’s barely an acquaintance. I’ve only spoken to him once over the phone when he called to offer me a job.”

Optimus is too slow to mute the heavy hum that rolls through him, reverberating across his cabin and up through your seat.

You must pick up on his apprehension because you quirk one corner of your lips and exhale through a humourless chuckle. “I know… Ironic, isn’t it? I didn’t want to hop in a stranger’s truck, but I’ll travel all the way to Nevada to work for a guy I’ve spoken to once.”

Inwardly, Optimus fights back a frown. Soon enough, his cab is once again filled by his rich, mellow tone, just a few iotas shy of admonishing. “I assume you must have had a good reason for coming here.”

At that, you bark out a slightly louder harrumph. “I have a reason,” you admit before dropping your voice and tugging your brows together until they pucker at the middle of your forehead, gazing solemnly out through the windscreen, “Still haven’t figured out if it’s a good one or not…”

Frowning at the distant lights of Jasper, you miss the way the semi’s rearview mirror twitches microscopically to bring you into centre-frame.

The Prime casts his hidden optics discreetly over your strained expression.

Jaw cinched tight… Hands curled rigidly over your knees. Your whole frame is hunched in on itself, shoulders lifting towards your ears as if you mean to hide between them…

He doesn’t need to scan your vitals to know that your amygdala has just kicked itself up a gear.

You’re scared. And this time, something tells him that he isn’t the cause.

“Perhaps,” he starts slowly, waiting for you to unclench your jaw in response to his voice, “I could offer a third-party perspective.”

Snorting quietly, you reply, “To help me work out if I’m doing the wrong thing?”

“It may ease your troubles to share them,” he offers considerately, having to override the urge to send a soothing stroke through your EM field – or lack thereof.

Sometimes, Optimus finds himself stumped for how to connect with humans on the same level as he can Cybertronians. It’s through no fault of their own, nor his. It simply comes down to a difference in biology.

With the latter, he can so clearly convey a feeling or notion through the electrical impulses cast out by his matrix, and the spark housing it.

Oftentimes, he’ll have to brush his field against Ratchet’s when the agitated medic starts kicking out frustration and, so often, despair. He more frequently does the same to Bumblebee if ever the youngling grows despondent from Rafael’s absence. Arcee’s bouts of fury at the Decpticons, and Bulkhead’s ferocious protectiveness over Miko… Prime has felt it all, brought them into his field, and countered with a presence intended to calm and reassure without having to offer a single word.

But humans… They’re more difficult to soothe.

He has to go by tone and expression alone. The children are easier to read, but adults are a different story; masters at hiding their truest and most vulnerable thoughts behind facades they’ve had years to perfect.

How often has he caught himself trying to wrap Jack, Miko and Raf up inside his solicitous EM field before he remembers they’re human children, not sparklings? They can’t feel his energies like a Cybertronian would.

But regardless, he hopes they know that despite maintaining a poised and collected exterior, Optimus has a spark that’s familiarised itself well with their own, precious heartbeats.

He’s pulled from his musings by your soft, sardonic laugh. “What’re you gonna charge me the going rate of a therapist?” you joke, giving the empty driver’s seat a wry smile.

“I would never dream of charging you for anything,” he insists at once, so sincere that you think he either missed the joke entirely or he’s trying to bulldoze through your defences simply by being nice.

“Good,” you hum, “Because I couldn’t afford a minute of time with a therapist, let alone a whole session. Spent the last of what I had on fuel just to get here.”

“If you require financial aid,” Optimus tells you resolutely, “I would be happy to provide it.”

There are responses you’d expect to hear, and then there are those that make you choke on your own spit.

Lurching upright in your seat, your brows shoot up towards your hairline and you whip your torso around to gawk at the invisible driver. “What!?” you all but blurt, throwing an arm out to steady yourself against the dashboard. “What the- What!?”

The vehicle around you seems to churr apologetically.

“Ah… forgive me,” Optimus hedges, sounding uncharacteristically contrite, “Have I offended you?”

Blinking in rapid succession, you flap your mouth open and closed wordlessly for a few seconds, reeling your heat back up from the bottom of your shoes. “Wh-I… No,” you stammer at last, shaking your head, “No, no. I’m not offended, I’m just..”

Cutting yourself off to huff out an incredulous laugh, you press a few fingers to your temple, rubbing at it tenderly. “Christ, you’re a hoot, Optimus.”

A quick search on the internet only serves to baffle Optimus further. And as he attempts to make the connection between himself and a nocturnal bird of prey, you drag a hand down your face and let out another disbelieving little chuckle.

“Scooping me up in the dead of night, and now you’re offering me money… People will talk.”

Flicking the information on Strigiformes from his HUD, Optimus politely returns his attention to you and asks, “Is it unusual to offer money to those in need?”

“Not if that they’re a charity,” you clarify, the smile on your face turning limp as you shoot his seat a glare that lacks any kind of heat, “I’m not a charity, Optimus. I’m just an idiot who can’t keep a job.”

The truck’s engine suddenly kicks out a guttural growl just as it’s driver firmly states, “You are far from an idiot, Y/n. And… my offer still stands.”

“An offer I’m afraid I’ll have to respectfully decline,” you counter, though the frown on your face is slowly being replaced by a tentative smile, “Look, I appreciate the offer. I do. But you’re already going above and beyond to help someone you don’t know. If you keep being so nice to me, I’ll start thinking you came from the sky!”

All of a sudden, the semi’s brakes dip, only a little, barely enough to jostle you from your seat, but enough that you hastily glance out the windscreen to see if he had to slow for an obstruction in the road.

In the background, Optimus’s speakers give a burst of static before he forces out, “I don’t… The sky?”

“Yeah,” you answer blithely, “You know, like an angel.”

A hush falls over the cab as Optimus processes your words. After a time, the only think of any substance he can come up with is a soft, considering, “Oh…”

The same quiet settles itself over your shoulders, weighing them down, and you start to wonder if you’ve inadvertently insulted your mysterious driver by rejecting his offer too harshly. Before you can open your mouth to try and salvage your standing with him however, he clears his throat and utters, “You flatter me.”

“Do I?” you ask, sinking back into the seat and turning to peer out of the window, glad he doesn’t sound affronted, “Sorry if I seem out of practice, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in… in a while.”

Optimus goes silent again, leaving you to listen to the rumble of his semi’s tyres travelling over the tarmac for several, lonely moments until he speaks again.

“You’re lonely,” he deduces, so gently and so condolingly that something in your chest gives a squeeze. Then, once again, just as you take a breath to protest his assumption, he asks, “Y/n? Why did you leave your home to come here?”

“… Ah…” Sucking a breath through your teeth, you sit up, lifting your back off the comfortable seat, much to Optimus’s private dismay, “Well, that’s… that’s a long and boring story,” you try to laugh.

As if in response, the truck slows down a few notches until the needle hovers over the forty mark. “I’ll wager it isn’t boring at all,” he prompts, “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension in your brows starts to cause an ache, and you stuff your teeth into your bottom lip to distract yourself. “It really is a classic,” you chuckle, wholly intent on brushing his concern aside, “You’ve probably heard it a hundred times before. Straight from the runaway’s handbook.”

Softly, the strange but kind man chides you. “Y/n…”

A lump starts to form in your throat but you force another laugh through it, pulling your chin from your knuckles to aim a look over your shoulder, hoping that his cameras don’t pick up your quivering lip. “Wait… Are you actually a therapist?” you joke, “Is that your day job?”

“Please?”

With a single word, your mouth snaps shut.

Swallowing, you try to bristle defensively, wishing you weren’t so hatefully tired and vulnerable that a simple ‘please’ could knock down a wall of indifference. “Come on, Optimus,” you scoff weakly, “I’m not about to offload my baggage onto a stranger. And we both know you’re not really interested.”

Unheard by you, a strong puff of hot air blasts from the semi’s smokestacks.

“I am loathe to contradict you, youngling,” he retorts, briefly throwing you off with the unusual word, “But I am interested. If you are in some sort of trouble-?“

At once, your spine turns stiff and you cut him off with a scowl, snapping waspishly, “-Who says I’m in trouble?”

Somehow, when he falls silent this time, he manages to exude an air of mild objurgation, and you can’t help but feel like a teenager again, slinking home well after midnight to find your parents still up and waiting for your return.

The comparison humbles you, takes some of the wind out of your ruffled sails.

Optimus’s pointed silence sinks over the cab like a thick, cumbersome blanket, too itchy. You want to throw it off.

Sullen, you swivel yourself back to face the window and lean your forehead against the cool glass, frowning out at the silver-soaked desert drifting by. Your mysterious stranger’s semi drives so smoothly, you can’t even feel the bumps.

But you can feel Optimus’s eyes upon you… somehow, as though he’s just waiting for you to make the next move.

Shifting in your seat, you stubbornly ignore the awkward silence, but it isn’t long before that awkwardness evolves into a kernel of guilt that embeds itself under your ribcage.

Here’s a man who so far, has been nothing but cordial and helpful to you. Hell, even downright generous. All he’s asked of you in return is to hear your reason for being here.

And what did you do?

You threw his – likely genuine – interest back in his proverbial face.

But to tell him…-

‘-Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ you scold yourself, ‘You’re not that exciting. You could have been through far worse, after all.’

Resisting the impulse to groan aloud, you knock your forehead gently against the window, considering.

For his part, Optimus doesn’t press you, he doesn’t clear his throat or try to change the subject, he just… waits.

And finally, alongside a great heave of your chest and a woebegone sigh, his patience is rewarded.

“You ever feel… like…” Squinting, you work the sentence over in your mouth before pushing it past reluctant teeth, “Like you’re not living up to everyone’s expectations?”

If you had any idea who you’d just asked that question of, you might have realised what the sudden lurch of his engine means.

Chalking it up to the truck changing gears, you peel yourself away from the window and stare down at your lap, fingers absently fiddling with one another. “It’s like… Okay, so, you know how people around you always say, ‘just try your best, that’s all you can do?”

When it becomes clear that you’re actually poised, expecting an answer, Optimus ventures a careful, “I have heard that many a time, yes.”

“And you want to try your best for them, right? You want to be a better person?”

“Of course,” he says far more easily, only to hesitate when you go still and your face crumples.

“But… you don’t want it badly enough...” you eke out slowly.

“…I’m sorry?”

“You don’t want it badly enough to actually put any effort into being that person, you know?”

This time, Optimus doesn’t offer a response.

You almost want to smile. Of course he doesn’t know. Look at him. Picking up a random stranger in the night to drive you where you need to go, offering a sympathetic ear to listen to your troubles, offering money when you tell him you lost your job… If he put effort into being better, they’d have to make him a Saint.

“I wasn’t… giving my best,” you finally sigh at the centre console, “At my job, at home… I knew I wasn’t giving my best, and I didn’t try to. I had everyone fooled into thinking that what I was giving them was all I had…. But it wasn’t…”

Suddenly, your eyes blur over with stinging, salty tears, and you duck your head at once, frowning angrily at yourself, “Not even close.”

Optimus murmurs your name, but you can’t bear to let him try and say anything kind to you now, not when you’ve just plucked at such a tender wound, and kindness would only rip the scab off sooner than you’re ready to let it bleed.

“I was, um… I was late to work one morning at my old job,” you clear your throat, sweeping a finger roughly under your eyelid, “Overslept. That was grounds for firing me. Lost my apartment because I couldn’t make the rent anymore… When I eventually bit the bullet and went home to tell dad, he…”

Your voice fades out, clogged by the memory of that day so many weeks ago, another in a long line of disappointments you’d walked over your parents’ welcome mat.

But Optimus is still waiting, still reserving his judgement until you finish, so you take a breath, remind yourself that all of this is nobody’s fault but your own, and continue. “I think… it was slowly killing my father to see his kid wasting a perfectly good life instead of being the person he thought I’d become.”

You try so hard to remain aloof, but the late hour, the solitary journey, this stranger’s amicable nature… Something akin to a shard of glass wedges its point under the soft tissue of your heart.

And jabs.

Suppressing a wince, you plaster nonchalance into a shrug and sniff, “So, I figured if he couldn’t see me, like at all, he might… be happier.” It’s hard to admit, just as it was when you made the decision to leave your house that night and set out to find your own way in the great, wide world.

Finally, just as the semi drives past a large, green sign that reads ‘Jasper city limits,’ Optimus’s voice rumbles through the speakers.

“You left your home,” he begins slowly, “Because you thought you might disappoint your father?”

Close.

You left because you knew you already had.

Not just him either.

Partnerless, childless, you’ve been drifting through life by yourself on the path of least resistance, and every year, you grow older, and you watched your mother and father grow older too.

Leaning your head back against the seat, you nearly let your eyes slip shut before remembering you’re supposed to be staying awake, pinning them open to peer up at the blue light reflected off a dark ceiling.

“… Does he at least know where you are?”

You smile sadly, rolling your neck around to your other shoulder and giving the empty driver’s seat a heavy-lidded blink. “He knows I’ll be okay.”

Just then, the seatbelt seems to grow ever so slightly tauter around you, just enough that you can feel it press against your abdomen, but so briefly that you can’t be sure it isn’t your chest hitching.

“He must be worried about you,” Optimus prompts.

Shrugging, you turn back to face the window. “Like I said, he knows I’ll bounce back. I… usually do. I mean I have done so far.”

Another disquieted hum trickles out of the speakers.

“That’s why I had to get to the dairy tonight,” you sniffle, blinking hard as the truck passes beneath the first street-light, bringing you safely within the city outskirts, “I have to make sure Terry thinks I’m worth keeping on as a farm-hand. If I’m late on my first day and he decides I’m not worth it…” Your hands ball into clenched fists in your lap and you grit your teeth, determined not to let your misty eyes spill all over Optimus’s seats.

“I need this job,” you croak, more to yourself now than your invisible listener, “Not sure how many bounces I’ve got left in me.”

This time, you’re certain the seatbelt tightens. You even spare it a glance when it doesn’t slacken again, and you force your fists apart to slide your fingers beneath the fabric, gently working it loose.

Optimus is barely aware of your touch. “You should try to contact your father,” he says at last, “I’m certain that if he hears of your circumstances, and learns why you left and where you are, he’ll be able to help you.”

He watches you blink, frowning suddenly and sitting up to give his side of the cab a baffled look. Slowly, your expression opens up as a realisation dawns on you, one not yet privy to the mech.

“Oh,” you say, mildly surprised, “You think it was only my decision to leave.”

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Optimus doesn’t know which is worse.

That you could feel like such a burden to your family, you thought leaving would make them happy.

Or the fact that your family had done nothing to stop you from walking out the door.

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There aren’t a great many things that a Prime is permitted to regret.

That does not, however, make them incapable of regret. Only the admission of it.

By the time Optimus’s gargantuan tyres turn onto the long, sandy driveway of Terry’s Dairy, he realises he’s added one more contrition to his ever-growing list. He’s gone behind your back, turned a blind optic to your wishes and invaded your privacy in a way that made the matrix in his chassis squirm and howl.

But it’s all he could think to do for you at short notice, he laments, short of carting you back to the silo and ensuring you get some proper rest. Ratchet would probably take one look at your vitals and order a week of inactivity. Then he’d likely tear Optimus a new finial for bringing yet another human into their fold.

It would be counterproductive, he supposes. After all, the Decepticons aren’t aware of your existence, and affiliating yourself with the Autobots will only paint a target on your back.

No, leaving you here is for the best, he reasons, though he resolves to avoid going behind your back again in the future.

He also resolves to make the drive up to the pastures part of his weekly patrol… Not for any particular reason – it’s possible the Decepticons also prowl along these old roads… And if, on his way by, he happens to cast a glance over and see you, well… All the better.

“Are you certain you’ll be alright?” he asks for the umpteenth time as he trundles to a stop in front of a modest, wooden farmhouse, his headlights bathing the little white porch in their dazzling glow.

Giving a jovial roll of your eyes, you haul your rucksack out of the footwell and reach down to press the seatbelt release, having to jab at it with your thumb a few times before it eventually relents and lets go of the metal buckle.

“Don’t you worry about me,” you tell him stoutly as you reach for the door handle. That too, you struggle to open, tugging at it with no success until the lock promptly goes ‘click’ and the door swings open of its own accord.

Clicking your tongue at the temperamental tech, you arduously slide yourself from the seat and swing the rucksack over a shoulder, climbing backwards down the steps. “You just worry about getting this truck in tip-top shape. Sounded like the engine had a mind of its own.”

Dropping the last foot to the ground, your knees threaten to buckle, but you manage to remain upright, stepping back to smile up into the cab before the door tugs itself shut.

Right on cue, the semi’s idling engine lets out a noisy rev, instantly drawing a laugh out of you.

“Ha!” you grin, “Yeah, just like-”

You’re promptly interrupted by an unexpected commotion from the house.

Whipping your head towards the porch, you let out a yelp as the screen door suddenly bursts open, and from the darkness comes barrelling a short, stocky man wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama shorts, a single shoe, and a ferocious snarl.

But most alarmingly of all, is the shiny, side-by-side shotgun held aloft in his arms, the stock braced against his shoulder and one, keen eye staring straight down the sights.

All the moisture in your mouth dries up when you realise those long, glinting barrels are aimed directly at you.

“What the-!?” is all you can bleat out.

Without a moment’s warning, the truck beside you roars to life and suddenly lurches forwards on its wheels, thrusting itself like a wall of metal into the space between you and the gun-toting farmer.

“Wh- Optimus!” you exclaim, trying to stand on your toes to fruitlessly see over the semi’s grill. “Terry!? Is that you!?”

“I told you sons of bitches,” the incensed man hollers, “F’I ever caught you tryn’a mess with my cows again, I’d-!”

“Terry!” Stepping sideways, you attempt to move around Optimus’s semi, only for the truck to roll forwards, keeping you hidden safely behind its bumper.

“Optimus, stop it,” you hiss, planting a palm on the warm, thundering hood and darting around the front of his truck, too quickly for him to move forwards again lest he squash you beneath his radiator.

Lifting your voice, you hurriedly call out, “Terry, i-it’s me! Y/n? We spoke on the phone! About the job!”

You’re met with a stunned silence as you manage to skirt around to the other side of the semi’s bumper, keeping your hand on the metal as if that alone could keep the ten-tonne machine at bay.

Finally, ‘Terry’ comes into view, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you meet his steely glare through the sights.

Then, just as swiftly, he blinks, and the gun drops almost at once, his face bursting open in surprise. “Y/n? That you, kid?” he calls.

The palpable relief almost brings you to your knees. Taking your hand off the truck’s grill, you step forwards, eyeing the gun warily as it dangles at the farmer’s side. “Yeah, it’s me… Sorry.”

“Goddammit, Kid! You about gave me a damn heart attack!”

“I gave you a heart attack!?” Expelling a shaky breath, you card your fingers through your messy hair and add, “Jesus, Terry. Was the gun really necessary?”

There’s a line of sweat beading on the farmer’s wispy brow as he flicks his gaze between you and the revved-up truck lurking behind you. After a moment of squinting, he returns his eyes to you. “Can’t be too careful,” he grunts, “This old thing ain’t even loaded. Just use it to scare away some damn kids who’ve been comin’ round here and spookin’ up my herds.”

True to his word, Terry breaks the shotgun’s barrels, flipping the gun around in his hands to show you the empty chambers.

At that moment, as if he’d been waiting to determine that the danger had passed, Optimus puts his semi in reverse, rolling it backwards over the sand as you turn to watch him leave, absently raising a hand to wave farewell as he turns the truck around.

Just before he does, the semi’s headlights blink once, then twice, on and off, a farewell in his own right, before its wheels carry it around in the spacious yard and it begins to drive, leaving the way it had come, back up the lonely, sand-choked track.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Terry breathes, draping a wrist over his forehead and letting out an incredulous chuckle, “The Angel…” Tearing his eyes off the truck’s retreating taillights, he stares over at you, mouth crooked into a lopsided grin. “How the Hell’d you get a ride with the goddamn Angel?”

“I’m sorry,” you sputter, eyelashes flickering in disbelief, “Angel?”

Terry’s expression morphs from giddy excitement to a wistful, faraway gaze. “The Angel of Highway Forty-Nine,” he says breathlessly, his eyes sharpening once again as he turns them back onto you, “He’s a legend. Just showed up one day in that big ol’ truck of his. Noone knows who he is or where he came from! A ghost, that’s what folks say, who drives his rig up and down the roads around Jasper. Never stoppin’ for gas. Never gettin’ to where he’s goin.”

Suddenly, his demeanour shifts again, and he closes the distance between you, lowering his voice conspiratorially and lifting his hand up to his mouth as if to shield the words from prying ears. Though the only ears you can see are those of the cows watching sleepily from their barn, no doubt awoken by the ruckus. “I know folks who swear, when they drive past him on the road, they look, but not one of ‘em has ever seen a person behind that windscreen!”

“Oh my,” you return, feigning intrigue with a tired expertise, “That’s spooky. But… maybe the glass is just tinted?”

Terry leans backwards out of your bubble, spreading his arms wide and pursing his lips. “Maybe,” he concedes, only to immediately drop his arms again, and you watch in mild concern as his face splits into a wide, borderline-manic grin, “Or maybe… He’s an alien, and that big rig there?” He points the barrel of his shotgun down the farm track at the spot where Optimus had disappeared. “That’s his craft.”

…. Ah.

Paying dutiful attention, you follow his line of sight, eyebrows high on your head and a carefully pensive gaze laid bare for Terry to see.

“His craft?” you echo, “You mean like a spaceship?”

The old farmer’s face lights up and his eyes zero in on you like a car salesman who’s just spotted a clueless customer stumbling into his showroom.

It took twenty minutes for Terry to show you to the little annex you’d be living in from now on. And only another five for you to thank him profusely for giving you this chance, bid him goodnight, shuck off your shoes and rucksack and finally, finally flop face-first onto the bed. A real bed. With pillows and sheets and a blanket. Not the bed of an old pickup truck and a coat tossed over your legs for warmth.

Rolling onto your back, you splay your arms out on either side of you, sending a tiny smile up at the ceiling.

“Alien… Ha,” you laugh softly. Terry’s a character. Decent enough, but the scent of stale beer and hops lingering on his breath when he leaned in close stole some of the credence from his theory.

Now, Angel… you can get behind. Optimus had shown up right when you needed him, after all, even if you couldn’t see it for yourself at the time.

Ah, but Optimus is the good sort. And good sorts tend to drift to where they’re needed, helping out wherever they can. You’re not the good sort. You just muddle on through and go wherever you can, helping out where your help is invited.

You resolve to bite the bullet and just check how much is in your current account. See if you’ve got enough in there to hire a tow, or a friendly farmer with a tractor and a rope…

The passcode screen flicks away, and you’re left blinking tiredly at the figure on top of the page.

You blink once.

Then again, harder.

Then you promptly drop the phone onto the bed with a soft ‘whump.’

Snatching it back up, you gape at the screen, drop it again, then throw your hands over your mouth in abject horror.

There must be some mistake. You’re dreaming, you fell asleep, and this is a dream, surely to god!?

A third check yields the same results, and once again, you toss the phone away from you to the foot of the bed, staring after it as if it might come alive at any moment.

No matter how hard you squeeze your fingernails into your scalp, you can’t wake up from whatever twisted fantasy you’ve stumbled into.

The numbers and words are burned into your retinas, flashing dimly every time you blink.

‘$10,000 has been added to your account.’

#optimus prime #tfp #tfp optimus #optimus prime x reader #robot/human #autobots #protectiveness #gentle giant #Optimus accidentally offers to be your sugar daddy #guns #farmers #drabble

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ranchstoryblog · 27 days

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PRESS RELEASE: Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma’s Bold Reimagining of a Beloved Franchise is Revealed During Nintendo Direct

Marvelous USA Announces Spring 2025 Release Window for Fresh Take on Fan-Favorite Action RPG/Life-simulation Franchise; PAX West Presence Confirmed

TORRANCE, Calif. — Aug. 27, 2024 — Marvelous USA today revealed Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma for the Nintendo Switch™ system and Windows PC via Steam, debuting the first official trailer on today’s Nintendo Direct livestream and announcing a Spring 2025 release window. This next-level offering is the latest entry in the popular action-RPG and life-simulation series, and introduces players to the lands of the east for the first time in franchise history with Japanese-inspired visuals and new twists on familiar themes and gameplay elements. Attendees at PAX West, taking place Aug. 30-Sept. 2, will be able to participate in a Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma booth activity showcasing Earth Dancer abilities and have the chance to earn exclusive, themed merchandise in the Marvelous USA booth, #809.

youtube

Ravaged by the effects of the Celestial Collapse and the cessation of power provided by the runes, the eastern lands of Azuma are a shadow of their prosperous past. Weakened by corruptive forces, the gods of nature retreated from the world, leaving mountains to crumble and fields to wither. The people of Azuma seek aid against a blight that has swept these once-bountiful lands. One young hero enters into a contract with a dragon and sets out on a journey. “Accept the might of the Earth Dancer. Use this power to save the land.”

Guardians of Azuma takes players on an all-new adventure in the never-before-seen country of Azuma. Here, players will assume the role of an Earth Dancer destined to return hope—and life—to the once-thriving land. Choose from one of two protagonists whose fates are closely tied together, and experience reimagined and expanded Rune Factory gameplay; as Earth Dancer, players will farm with grace, restore and build entire villages, and fight with new weapons like the Bow and Talisman. Azuma is a vast world to explore with majestic villages to uncover, each taking inspiration from Japanese culture and each with a seasonal theme. In addition to exploration, combat, and village-building, players will also cultivate relationships with the locals, recruiting them to your side in battle or to help manage the villages. Wield sacred treasures of the gods and the Earth Dancer’s power of dance to purify the land and return Azuma to its former glory. The adventure of a new world awaits.

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma Key Features:

Bold New Abilities and Weapons: As an Earth Dancer, use the power of dance, sacred treasures, and fresh weapons like the Bow and Talisman to purify the land, farm, and undo the Blight’s damage.

It Takes a Village: Don’t just mind the farm—rebuild entire villages! Construct and place buildings strategically to entice people to return to the villages and contribute. Revive the gods to bring vitality and valuable resources back to the plagued lands.

Your Fantasy Japanese Life: Experience beautiful Japanese-inspired character designs and aesthetics—from festivals to events to monsters. Explore Azuma’s natural landscapes and its seasonal-themed locales steeped in tradition.

Classic Romance and Relationships: Choose between male and female protagonists, then befriend or romance any of the eligible candidates—god and mortal alike—in fully voiced scenarios. Recruit these new friends to aid in dynamic battles, too!

Pre-orders for the Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma “Earth Dancer Edition” will be available soon via the Marvelous USA store and at participating retailers for an MSRP of $99.99. This stunning collection comes in a custom outer box featuring awe-inspiring art of a battle high above Azuma, and includes a physical copy of the game, an original soundtrack CD, an art book, an Azuma-inspired folding fan, the “Seasons of Love” DLC bundle, additional DLC costumes for your protagonists and their divine sidekick Woolby, and a plush Woolby keychain. The standard edition of the game will also be available to pre-order for an MSRP of $59.99. Details on digital editions and pricing will be announced later.

Developed by Marvelous and published in the Americas by Marvelous USA, Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma is scheduled for release on the Nintendo Switch™ and Windows PC via Steam in Spring 2025. The title will be published in Japan by Marvelous Inc. and in Europe by Marvelous Europe. More information can be found on the official website, https://na.runefactory.com/azuma/, and on X @RuneFactory. This title has not yet been rated by the ESRB.

Information about Marvelous USA’s products can be found at www.marvelous-usa.com. Fans can also check out the latest videos from the Marvelous family of titles on YouTube and get updates by following on Facebook, X, Instagram, and Threads.

#story of seasons #rune factory #Guardians of Azuma #Youtube #press release #project dragon

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pedropascallme · 6 months

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Didn’t You Miss My Voice?

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: “‘I miss you, too.’ You sighed, ‘Wanna show you, Damien.’ You kicked the sheets off your lower half, sending them down the bed and letting your legs spread slightly in anticipation. ‘Can I show you how much I miss you?’”

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation (f & m), praise, kinda soft!Dom Damien, panty sniffing involved i repeat panty sniffing involved!! Damien wants to fuck you so bad it makes him look stupid. If I missed anything please let me know!

When he left for PAX East, he had taken one of your sweatshirts, worn it on the plane to self-soothe, and planned to sleep in it or near it the next few nights so he could dream that you were closer.

Damien liked having something of yours nearby. On days or weeks that he was away, he packed any article of clothing of yours that he could, just to be able to envision you nearby.

It had started accidentally, after he packed a shirt of yours that looked near identical to one of his for a con. From then on it had become second nature to bring along something of yours for the allotted time that he would be away from home—away from you—so that he didn’t get as homesick. He didn’t think you had even noticed; the five shirts he wore on rotation could never compare to the dozens of various outfits that overflowed from your dresser.

He was fully convinced that his thievery had gone unnoticed by you. So, when he opened his suitcase on day three of being away, rooting around in it to find something comfortable to sleep in, and felt something silken and lacy at his fingertips instead of the flannel pajama pants he was expecting, he couldn’t help the genuine shock that hit him. Damien pushed the surrounding heap of his own clothes away and pulled out the piece of fabric that he had come across.

He held up the soft pink panties, swallowing upon recognizing them as the ones you had worn the night before he left; how you’d ground your hips against his and let him pull the lacy material to the side so that he could see how pretty you looked in them while you came undone on his cock.

He felt lightheaded.

The blood must’ve rushed elsewhere.

There was a note safety-pinned to the waistband, and he undid the clip before letting himself read what it said.

I miss you. Call me when you find these? <3

Your handwriting made his heart swell. God, he missed you. Even after only three days, he missed you so much.

Damien hurried to your contact in his phone. You picked up on the first ring.

“I was waiting for this call.” He could hear your smile, imagining the way your lips curled against the phone’s mic. You had been in bed when he called, his smell lingering on the pillow you had tucked under your head.

“You’re too good to me,” Damien could feel the heat rising in his face, “You’re really, really, too good to me.”

“Thought I hadn’t caught on to your light robbery?”

“Are you accusing me of a crime?” He laughed, and the sound made you feel warm.

“I’m just saying, there are only so many times I can misplace a shirt that suddenly reappears when you come home until I begin to suspect something.” You giggled, hoping he knew you weren’t at all mad. “It’s cute, actually. You know that?”

“Me?” He returned the lighthearted banter. He held your underwear in a closed fist, keeping them close to his chest. “What, uh—what made me so deserving of this…gift?” His voice got deeper on the last word, and you bit your lip.

“Didn’t want you to leave without a reminder of what was waiting for you at home.”

“I have your sweatshirt, baby.” He sat on the mattress, reaching out with his hand still wrapped around your panties to touch the hoodie he’d taken from you, laid out next to him on the bed. “And even if I didn’t, you know I’m always thinking of you.”

“I know,” you verified, “But I like making sure. Didn't you miss my voice, baby?”

“I know,” he echoed your words. “And I did—I do. Miss your voice. I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You sighed, “Wanna show you, Damien.” You kicked the sheets off your lower half, sending them down the bed and letting your legs spread slightly in anticipation. “Can I show you how much I miss you?”

Damien had to stifle a groan, already eager from just the sound of your voice and the way you whined his name. “Yeah? You want to show me?”

You nodded, before remembering he couldn’t see you. “Yes—yeah.”

Though he was reluctant to put your panties down, he managed to part with them briefly before undoing his fly with one hand. His other hand gripped his phone, knuckles going white as he tried to make up for the physical absence. He brought his hand up when he finished unfastening his jeans, retrieving your panties from the spot he’d left them in on the bed. He brought them to his face and inhaled the piquant scent; sharp and stimulating and perfect—just like you—in a way that your sweatshirt could never replicate. He hesitated to wrap his hand around his cock, palming himself through his boxers to make this last as long as he could draw it out for. “You gonna listen to what I say even though I’m not home?”

“Always.” Your response was immediate, and he could tell by the strain in your voice that you were just as needy as he was. “I promise.”

“That’s my good girl,” He squeezed his bulge, still trying to exercise patience and allow himself time to play with you. “I’m giving you permission to touch, baby. One finger, can you do that for me? Rub your clit nice and slow?”

“Yeah.” You whimpered into the phone, thrilled by the way his voice lowered when he talked you through the act. You let out a small gasp when you touched yourself—half for show, and half because you’d been good while he was gone, not allowing yourself to play with what was his. You were sensitive in the most premier of ways.

“How’s that feel?” He asked, biting his tongue upon hearing your moans.

“Good,” you murmured.

“Better than when I do it?” His eyelids felt heavy, the sound of your quiet, breathy noises acting like a sort of relaxant.

“No—not at all. Miss your hands. Miss how you touch me.” You picked up the pace just a bit, trying to find the proper rhythm.

“Is that what you’re thinking about, princess?” He smiled, eyes closing as he finally let himself remove his cock from his boxers. “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you found the proper tempo, rolling your finger over your clit in double-time with your breathing. “Come home, Damien, want your hands.”

He moaned, loving how quickly your power play had turned into you begging for him, and he wished more than anything that he could give you what you needed. He held himself at the base, teasing himself with your sounds and the light touch of his own fingers. “I’ll give you whatever you want when I come home, baby, I promise.”

“Want your hands, and your mouth—want your cock.” You pleaded, still using one finger to massage yourself, unwavering in your commitment to follow his orders.

“You can have all of me, princess—are you getting yourself all wet? How about you use your one finger and tell me how soaked you are.”

“I can put it in?” You corroborated, making sure you had permission.

“Go ahead, baby. Play with that needy pussy for me.” Damien wrapped the panties you’d sent with him around the base of his cock. He dragged the fabric up and down over himself to find some relief, coating himself with the residue of the last time he got to fuck you before leaving for the week.

You trailed your finger up your slit, collecting the slick that coated the lips of your cunt, before pushing into your entrance. You whined, and Damien pulled your panties tighter around his cock.

“Doesn’t—not as big as yours.” You complained, curling your finger against the tender spot inside of you and wishing it was his hand pressed against your cunt.

“I know, baby, but you’re doing so good.” He reassured, watching the pink fabric of your underwear as he pulled it over his length, the quiver in your words making him think of all the ways he could fuck you until you lost your voice from crying out for him. Maybe he’d have you bouncing up and down on him in the same way that he moved your panties over his cock. “You can add another finger, how about that? Is that what you need?”

“Yes, please.”

“Go ahead, princess, use two.” He listened intently at the way your breath hitched when you pushed a second finger into your hole; he could tell you had him on speaker, the squelch of your fingers thrusting into your wet cunt were amplified. He let out a quiet moan of your name, wrapping his hand around his cock and over your panties, letting his fingers manipulate the silk and press it more firmly against his length.

“Still not as good as yours,” you arched your back, picking up the pace and letting your fingertips push more forcefully against your g-spot.

“No? Not as good as when I fuck you with my fingers?” His chest rose and fell steadily, heart rate skyrocketing from the adrenaline he got touching himself paired with the knowledge that you were there on the other end making yourself feel good.

“No, yours are bigger. Fill me up so much better.” You whimpered when the pads of your fingers found the perfect nook to rest upon. The spot with heightened sensitivity that he found with such ease required you to bend your arm at a difficult angle, but it was well worth it; the tickle spread through the lower half of your body, goosebumps breaking out over your skin at the feeling. “Fuck, but it does feel good, Damien—please.”

“Please what?” He was trying not to pant, and trying harder not to beg, so desperate to hear you make yourself cum.

“Tell me how you’re touching yourself—what you’re thinking.” Your mouth hung open when you finished your thought, lost in the joy of finally having time alone with him after days of being apart, emphasized by the blissful way your fingers moved in and out of you.

“Thinking about you,” he breathed, “told you, baby, I’m always thinking about you.”

This earned a moan from you, and he tried to imagine how you looked; two fingers driving into your cunt, soaked in your own juices, trying to fuck yourself open despite knowing only he could give you what you really wanted.

His imagination didn’t do you justice. You were too perfect. He needed the real thing.

“More,” you whined, “Tell me more. Please?” You needed to hear his voice. If you couldn’t have him physically right now, you at least wanted to hear him tell you all the filthy pictures running through his mind.

“Have your panties wrapped around my cock,” he listened to you gasp at his words, proud that he could get you so excited even when he was miles away. “Thinking about all the things I want to do to you when I come home." He took a shaky breath, tightening the grasp he had on his cock and trying hopelessly to emulate the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him. "Is that what you want to hear about?"

"Yeah," you were whining, voice pitched up and breathing unsteady.

"Think maybe I’ll use my fingers on you since that’s what you seem to need so badly. Does that sound good, princess?” The image prompted by his words made him groan, bucking into his fist. The silken fabric of your panties acted as an improvised lubricant, gliding over his skin as he jerked himself off.

“Oh my god, Damien,” you used to heel of your palm to grant your clit friction, same two fingers still plunging in and out of you. “Yes, yes, need it!”

“Yeah, that’s right—use my fingers on you until you’re sore, bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? Till you can’t take anymore, then I’ll fuck you so nice, baby, make you cum one more time on my cock.” He couldn’t take his eyes off his own movements, watching, enthralled, as he brought your panties in his fist up to the tip of his cock before bringing the stroke back down and repeating the motion. “Need to feel you cum for me so fucking bad, that’s all I want.” He was whining now, frustrated and missing you. “Can’t wait to come home and give you what you deserve, baby—I want to make you feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good, Damien. Want—want you to come home,” you were so close, needing only a small push to fall off the edge now. “I’ll be so good for you, I’ll do wha—whatever you want.”

“Want you to cum for me, princess,” he gritted his teeth, trying to stave off his climax for just a little longer. “Want you to make yourself cum, baby. Need you to be a good girl and fuck yourself till you cum for me.”

His words were the push you needed; the exertion in his voice and the desperation behind his words made your abs tense as you used your fingers to make yourself cum. You cried out his name, turning your head to push your face into the pillow you could still smell him on. Your fingers stroked your most delicate spot, drawing out your high with trembling legs while you mumbled his name like a quiet prayer.

“Good fucking girl. Christ—” Damien’s jaw went slack when he heard your moans, your whimpers of his name made him feel something primal and wanting. “I’m gonna cum for you—fuck!—gonna cum with these pretty panties wrapped around me like this.” His words were stuttered, and his hips faltered as he fucked his hand, spilling into his fist and over the shirt he’d failed to take off.

The two of you breathed heavily over the phone, the sound of both your gasps overtaking both rooms despite the miles between you.

"I miss you so much." Damien wheezed, lazily wiping off the cum that dribbled over his skin with his shirt.

"I could tell," you laughed, drained but feeling carefree and light after unwinding with him like this.

"What gave it away?" You could picture him over the phone, face matching his question; smile wide and brow creased as he held back a laugh.

You shrugged, aware that he couldn't see you but certain that he would pick up on the sarcasm in your quiet "I dunno."

"That was ok, right? You feel ok?" His voice was softer, the force in his words diminished and replaced with his typical kindness. "Tired?"

"Tired." You confirmed, yawning. "Come home."

"Two more days."

"That's too long." You protested, and he laughed quietly.

"I promise I'll make it up to you." Damien meant it wholeheartedly; he wanted to make sure you knew that every time he left, he could only ever think about coming home to you.

"I know you will." And you knew he was telling the truth.

There was a moment of quiet, both of you still breathless and stretching the ache in your joints following your impromptu rendezvous.

"Will you stay on the phone with me?" His voice was small. He still got nervous asking you to do things like that, feeling like a lovestruck teenager and unable to hide his timidity despite having heard you scream his name while you came just moments ago.

"Yes, please." You smiled, eyes closing, "Like a sleepover."

"Just like a sleepover." He sighed dreamily, tired grin painted on his face. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You settled into bed, fixing the covers and making yourself comfortable. Damien listened to you rustle the sheets, focusing on how the sound of your breathing leveled out as you dozed off.

He undressed himself, and got comfortable in the unnaturally well-made hotel bed, smiling at your soft snores and impatiently counting down the days until he could once again hold you while you slept. He grabbed your sweatshirt, placing it under his head, between himself and the pillow, and breathed in your scent.

Even when he wasn't home, he knew he had you—and you were all he ever really wanted.

#damien haas #damien haas fanfiction #damien haas fic #damien haas smut #damien haas x reader #damien haas x you #smosh #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #smosh games #smosh pit #smosh squad #smoshblr

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blacktabbygames · 2 years

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THE SLAY THE PRINCESS DEMO DIRECTOR'S CUT IS HERE!

Featuring:

New lines and scenes in Chapter 1

4 new Chapter 2 Princesses, bringing the grand total to 10.

10 new tracks of music.

A massively expanded opening to Chapter 2.

HUNDREDS of new voice lines from Jonathan Sims and Nichole Goodnight

All-in-all, there's probably about an hour or so of never-before-seen content in this update! If you happen to be attending PAX East this week, we'll be showcasing this new demo there as well, and there'll even be a standee of the Princess you can pose for pictures with!

There's 12 new achievements to find in the demo — since we overhauled the Chapter 2 experience for every Princess, we reset the "ending" based achievements, and there's a couple others to find as well.

Thanks so much for your continued support, and we can't wait to show you more!

#slay the princess #scarlet hollow #horror games #indie games #visual novel

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Test Play

Title: Test Play Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Game Designer!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Sequel to Perfectionists. All hands on deck around the clock as SHIELD has to put in some extra work in order to get things ready for game approval before the beta test can be launched soon at PAX East, especially if they want to beat out HYDRA's new pending release. What will that mean for the new development between Bucky and SHIELD's top tier tester when there doesn't seem to be time for sleep, let alone... whatever this is?

Content/Concept Warnings: gamer AU; strong language; SMUT: vaginal fingering, cock warming; beefy Bucky who is soft but a menace

Notes: THE FIRST OF MY PROMISED ANNIVERSARY SLEEPOVER FICS! Also crossing off:

Catching up on @buckybarnesevents WEEK FOUR of Hot Bucky Summer: Free Week: suggested cock warming

Seventh square of @buckybarnesbingo C3: FREE SPACE - seemed fitting to couple it with HBS Free Week

When I wrote Perfectionists, I really didn't think I had more story to tell or that these two would get as much love as they did...so this is something I'm very excited to share for part of my Anniversary Sleepover event!

A/N: AND THANKS to @rookthorne who helped me with a bit of gamer lingo and encouraging these two and literally @vonalyn’s expertise in knowledge of the gaming industry! Chi especially not only steered me in the right direction, but you were so generous and indulgent of my inquiries!

story divider by @sgt-seabass, reblog graphic by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Steve looked over from his desk to see Bucky’s fingers tapping anxiously across the way on the corner of his desk, chin propped on his other hand, staring – glaring, really – at the clock on the wall. As the leads on the new Avengers story release for SHIELD, he and Bucky were on hold until the feedback from the latest round of testing hit their inboxes.

“You good?” Steve asked. None of them were great right now, but Steve felt keenly the need to make sure as captain of this crew that everyone was at least good.

The glower turned to him. “I’m fine, just… hate waiting.”

The icy blue stare didn’t faze Steve – he knew it wasn’t for him. “Maybe there are some preliminary notes we could get a jump on. Do you want me to go check on her progr–?“

“No, I’ll go,” Bucky cut him off and stood abruptly in the same second. He was out of the engineering and design lab before Steve could even respond.

Steve frowned.

Nat and Sam had gone down to consult with the marketing department, but Joaquin was still in the lab with him. “You know he hates these spots where there’s nothing to do until there’s something to do even more than you, Cap,” he quipped.

Steve sighed. “I know. But he seems even more worked up than usual, he’s never liked having to talk with the testers before now, but I guess desperate times…”

Steve went back to refreshing his inbox because there definitely were more things he needed to communicate back to the other teams, even if the other part of his work was on hold, so he missed the slight smirk on Joaquin’s face.

Bucky was on a direct path, not to be deterred by anyone if they were trying to get his attention in any way. As he came around a corner, he nearly collided with T’Challah, lead writer on the story design team.

“Barnes! My apologies!”

“Oh, no!” Bucky’s face turned a bright red. Anyone else and Bucky with his broad chest and hulking frame would’ve probably bowled them over. “That was all me.”

Though they’d worked together from time to time over the last year, Bucky still didn’t know him very well, but T’Challah was one of the few others at SHIELD Bucky enjoyed working with outside of his own team and he had a fair bit of respect from the man.

“On your way to the test room?” T’Challah guessed.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Guilty.”

T’Challah smiled. “I just came from there. From our conversation, I expect we’re closer than we hoped on getting this mode online with the rest of the release. She’s not done yet, but I think you’ll like what she has to say.”

You glanced over your shoulder when you heard someone closing the door to the test room. “I can not go any faster, I promise.”

You did a double-take and paused the game when you saw the giant gaming engineer who had ruined you a week earlier crossing the room. “Hi,” you breathed and returned the soft smile you saw on his face. You were glad it was dim in the room so he couldn’t see every detail of your expression, feeling flushed at the sight of him, and biting the slight edge of your bottom lip.

“Hi,” he returned warmly. There was a slight twinkle in his eye as his gaze swept over you. “What is this?” he gestured up and down as he planted himself down next to you, body angled to you and not the gaming screen.

You were cocooned with only hands sticking out from one blanket draped over your head and your shoulders and another wrapped around your legs. “It is Women’s Winter! I’m trying not to freeze in the extremes of corporate American summer air conditioning temperatures!”

Bucky laughed. He laughed around the team, but rarely around anyone else. And this? With you? This was still so new, but it was nice.

“Here, I’ll help warm you up.” Bucky settled in on the couch directly next to you. His hulking frame made the couch dip slightly beneath him, and that brought your cocooned self partially into his lap. He wrapped one beefy arm around your back and the other rested over your legs.

“Hi,” you said again, a whisper this time.

“Hi.” The dimness of the room did not prevent you from seeing the heat that was building in his gaze.

That look made you want to squirm in the best way – to be writhing under him. He was so big you had to tilt up your head to look into each other’s eyes, but that was no problem. It meant a natural invitation for Bucky to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss.

Which he did.

The sweet greeting of the kiss, not having seen each other for a few days, melted away quickly into more. His tongue teased at the seam of your lips, and you opened your mouth to him eagerly. It was hungry and demanding, and he pulled a moan from your throat.

And for some reason your brain switched back on, and you laughed breathlessly and pulled away.

“Buck, no.”

“Buck, yes.”

He circled his arms around you completely now and burrowed his head into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the tender flesh there, a little nipping, kissing, and licking that had you moaning again.

The thud as the controller hit the floor reminded you again that you were supposed to be finishing the test play, not letting Bucky play with your body.

You jumped out of his arms and retrieved the controller.

“Buck, anyone could come in and see us! We’re lucky no one caught us the first time.”

The grin does not leave his devastatingly handsome face. “I specifically locked the door when I came in this time.”

You laughed but shook your head. “That was awfully presumptuous!”

His expression softened, and he reached for your hand. You let him pull you closer as he spoke. “It might have been presumptuous, but it wasn’t my only intention. I’ve been eager to see you, spend time with you. One night of fun last week and lunch the next day before the HYDRA shitstorm… that’s not all I wanted with you.”

He held your hand up and kissed your palm before pulling you even closer. You melted into him as he circled his arms around your waist, your blankets having pooled at your feet. One of your hands threaded into his hair, the other wrapped gently around his neck. He turned his head, resting his cheek against your front, and you felt and heard him take in a deep breath and then exhale slowly. You felt that energy mirror inside of you as well.

You didn’t think he had only used you for one hot night of pleasure – the hours spent wrapped up in each other on the couch after fucking, and then waking up in your own bed the next morning to a text already waiting asking if you wanted to get lunch had said a lot – but it had not been the week to jump into … whatever this was going to be. Ten days ago Barnes had only been the guy you had harbored a crush on and thought didn’t like you one bit since you had been professionally clashing for months as game engineer and game tester.

Literally while you had been at lunch, teasing him about his questionable choice of footwear, Bucky had received a flurry of Slack messages and then a call from Steve. They had intel on review notes from the beta release HYDRA had submitted to one of the first party platforms and Fury had decided to bring the Deep Shadow Conditions mode back into the release SHIELD was going to submit to the first party platforms for approval at the end of next week.

Meaning Bucky and the rest of his team had only by necessity taken any kind of breaks to sleep and refuel for the last seventy-two hours, you’d exchanged all of five texts, and had only seen him from across the main floor once in all that time.

So, this was nice.

Your Apple Watch buzzed at your wrist, and you groaned and pushed away from Bucky, hastily moving around to stand behind the couch.

“I’ve got to finish this test play!”

And you hit resume on the game, leaned forward, and planted your elbows on the back of the couch, getting back into the zone.

Bucky heaved himself over the back of the couch and closed in on you, caging you in on either side with his massive biceps, his big solid chest at your back.

“Bucky!” you tried to take a stern tone, but it was hard when you were relishing the measured weight of him against you.

“I’m not stopping you,” he murmured against the back of your neck.

“Bucky! Really!”

He shifted slightly and then you could feel the smirk of his lips on the side of your neck. He planted one hot kiss there, then said, “If you’re so damn good at what you do, keep playing.”

“Are you issuing me a challenge?”

“Just a chance to prove what a consummate professional you are.”

“Challenge accepted. You are an incorrigible menace,” you laughed.

“Actually, I’m cold.”

“You were judging me and my blankets not even five minutes ago,” you said, focused on the action on the screen.

While he remained hunched over your back, you felt him moving again, and you heard but didn’t register the sound of his belt unbuckling.

“Blankets? No,” he murmured in your ear, “I need you to warm me up.”

“Oh,” you moaned when his broad hand cupped your pussy.

“Think you can do that for me?”

He stroked firmly.

“Part of the testing is to see if we’ve got a game that captures the player’s attention, right? I’m just helping you test this aspect, see if a player can become easily distracted, lose interest – that’s the last thing we want.”

Slowly but purposefully Bucky undid your pants and you fought to keep your breathing even and your eyes open and where they were supposed to be as he pulled them down with your underwear. Then he nudged his right foot on the inside of yours to push your legs further apart while two of his fingers moved over your soft, slickening folds. Then he sunk his cock into you, and you both exhaled at the feel of him inside of you.

“How’s that?”

You let out a slight whimper.

“That good, huh? You’re never at a loss for words with that talented tongue.”

You elbowed him gently. “You really wanna play, Barnes? You tease that you just need some cock warming? You get me to break, and then you can fuck me however you like.”

“Oh, I can be patient. I’ll get you to beg for me to fuck you. We’ll see who gets desperate first.”