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areyoufuckingcrazy · 3 months ago

Text

Tech x Mechanic Reader

Summary: After the war, you reprogrammed a troop of abandoned B1 battle droids to serve with kindness—not violence. When Clone Force 99 shows up for a supply run, Tech questions your methods, and you challenge his logic.

You found them half-dead in the sand. Twenty B1 battle droids, dumped in a sun-scorched wreck outside the outpost, like bones picked clean by time and war. Most folks would've scavenged the parts, maybe sold off a few limbs if the servos were still functional.

But you? You were a little lonely, a little dangerous, and very, *very* good with code.

Rewiring them took weeks. You erased what the Separatists left behind, built your own parameters from scratch, and gave them something they'd never had before: choice.

You taught them to wave. To carry groceries. To call you "Friend" instead of "Master."

And when people flinched at the sight of battle droids strolling through town, you dipped your brush in paint. Mint green, lavender, sunflower yellow. You gave them smiley faces, heart decals, flower crowns made from leftover wire. You made them soft. Funny. Endearing.

They were still capable of violence—so were you—but they only used it when you gave the order.

Which wasn't often.

---

Clone Force 99 didn't arrive with blasters drawn, but the tension clung to them like dust. The mission was simple: a supply pickup for Cid. In and out. But this planet made Wrecker's nose wrinkle, and Echo kept his blaster low and ready.

Hunter spotted the droid first—lavender chassis, daisies painted across its plating, an old satchel slung over one shoulder as it meandered through the marketplace humming something vaguely cheerful.

"Is that... a B1?" Echo asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It appears to be carrying coolant," Tech said, scanning with his datapad. "And whistling."

Wrecker let out a low chuckle. "Guess the war *really* is over."

"Something's off," Hunter murmured. "Let's follow it."

They kept their distance as the droid turned off the main strip and waddled down a side alley, past a half-crumbling sign that read *THE FIXER'S NEST* in flickering neon.

The shop was a bunker of welded panels and salvaged Separatist tech. Outside, another B1—bright pink with a lopsided sun painted on its chest—was sweeping the doorstep and chatting to a GNK droid.

"Friend says no sand in the workshop," it explained, very seriously. "Sand gets in the gears. Sand *hurts feelings*."

The Bad Batch exchanged a look.

Hunter stepped forward and tapped twice on the doorframe.

You didn't even look up from where you were elbow-deep in a deconstructed astromech.

"You're late," you said, voice calm. "Tell Cid her coolant's in the crate by the wall. So's the power cells, bolts, and the weird candy she likes."

There was a pause.

"We didn't say we were here for Cid," Echo said slowly.

Now you looked up—smirk sharp, eyes sharper.

"Didn't have to. You've got that *'we work for someone mean, grumpy and morally grey'* vibe. Plus, you match the order details she sent me yesterday."

Wrecker moved to the crate and peeked inside. "Yep. All here."

"Of course it is," you muttered. "I run a business, not a guessing game."

Tech, meanwhile, was still staring at the droids—two were dusting the shelves with actual feather dusters, and another had just handed you a datapad while humming.

"These are B1 units," he said, voice laced with something between awe and concern. "Fully functional. Active. Painted."

You stood, wiping your hands on a rag. "I call that one Sprinkles."

"They're dangerous," he said immediately. "You realize they could revert to their original programming at any time—"

"Not mine," you cut in. "I rewrote them myself. Erased every combat subroutine. They're coded to help, protect, and be as non-threatening as a bowl of soup."

Tech stepped forward, clearly bristling. "Their hardware alone makes them capable of violence. You cannot override thousands of lines of military protocol with flower decals and whimsy."

"No," you said coolly, "but I can override them with skill, precision, and an understanding of droid psychology that clearly surpasses yours."

Hunter winced. Echo muttered something under his breath. Wrecker made the universal *oooooh, burn* face.

Tech, however, pushed up his goggles like you'd challenged him to a duel. "I would very much like to inspect your code."

You arched a brow. "What, no dinner first?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

You grinned. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll even let you use the comfy chair."

Sprinkles chirped and handed Tech a cup of caf with perfect comedic timing.

"Welcome, new Friend!" it said cheerfully.

Tech took the cup automatically, staring down at it like it might explode.

You leaned on the counter and gave him a slow once-over. "You gonna tell me how unsafe I am again, or are you here to learn something?"

He met your gaze, thoughtful now. Curious. "...Both."

You smiled, victorious.

---

Tech hadn't stopped talking for fifteen minutes straight.

Not that you minded. His cadence was quick, his mind quicker, and his goggles fogged slightly whenever he got excited. Which, it turned out, was often—especially when discussing battle droid memory cores, sub-routine overrides, and how you managed to build a loyalty system based on *empathy* instead of authority.

"You replaced their original fail-safe with a social dependency loop," he said, practically glowing. "That's... innovative. Risky. But brilliant."

"I try," you said, leaning against your workbench. "It helps that they trust me. Most people don't trust anything unless they can control it. Droids aren't any different."

Tech nodded slowly, examining the code you'd opened for him on your terminal. "You used a behavioral reinforcement system. Repetition and reward. This is similar to clone trooper training methodology—except applied to machines."

You gave him a sly look. "Are you comparing yourself to a B1?"

"I am acknowledging structural parallels in behavioral learning patterns," he replied, completely straight-faced.

You grinned. "That's what I said."

Tech paused, frowning slightly. "You are... amused by me."

"Observant, aren't you?" You stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his as you leaned in to point at a line of code. "This part here—subtle failsafe. If they ever encounter an override attempt from an external signal, it loops them back to me."

He blinked, eyes darting from the screen to your face. "That is... impressively cautious."

"I've been told I'm full of surprises."

He didn't respond—just squinted closer at the screen.

You sighed, lips twitching. "Nothing? Not even a blush? Stars, you *are* all business."

Before he could answer (or continue missing your very obvious flirting), a loud crash echoed from the street outside, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a thermal disruptor and the annoyed squawk of one of your droids.

You were already moving.

Outside, a low-rent bounty hunter—tatty armor, one glowing eye, and an attitude that outpaced his ability—was holding one of your B1s at blaster point.

"Move, scrapheap, or I'll scrap you myself," he snarled.

The droid blinked. "Friend said no yelling. Friend also said no blasters unless you bring candy."

"*Candy?*"

You stepped into the street like a storm cloud in boots.

"Is there a reason you're threatening my droid, or are you just bored and stupid?"

The bounty hunter turned to you, smug. "This thing walked in front of my speeder. I don't care how shiny you paint 'em—B1s are still clanker trash. I'm just doing the galaxy a favor."

You gave a slow whistle.

Three more droids stepped out from alleyways and rooftops, all armed with repurposed but deactivated blasters—they didn't need live ammo to intimidate. One even had a frying pan.

The bounty hunter backed up a step.

You raised a hand.

"Engage," you said simply.

They moved like a synchronized swarm. Two pinned his arms while the others knocked the blaster from his hands and dismantled his boots with surgical precision. The frying pan droid stood back and provided color commentary.

"Friend says don't be mean! Friend says fix your attitude!"

The bounty hunter was on the ground and begging within seconds.

You stepped forward, crouched down, and grabbed him by the collar.

"You threaten one of mine again, and I'll let them finish what they started. You hear me?"

He nodded frantically.

"Good." You turned to your droids. "Escort him to the edge of town. Gently."

They saluted with cartoonish enthusiasm and dragged him off, half-hopping as they went.

You stood, dusted your hands, and turned back to find Tech watching with an unreadable expression.

"Well?" you said, folding your arms.

"That was... efficient," he admitted. "But highly aggressive."

You raised a brow. "They followed my orders exactly. Didn't fire a shot. Didn't kill. Didn't even insult his boots. I programmed them to protect what's mine, not wage war."

"But the capability—"

"*Exists.*" You cut in. "Just like yours does. Just like mine. The question isn't what they *can* do. It's what they *choose* to do. And what I program them to choose."

Tech looked at you then—really looked at you. A flicker of something passed behind his eyes. Understanding. Respect.

Maybe even admiration.

"They're not like the others," he said, finally.

You smirked. "Neither am I."

He hesitated, adjusting his goggles. "Would you... allow me to assist you in refining their motor skills protocols? I have a few ideas."

You leaned on the workbench again, grinning. "You wanna help me teach battle droids ballet?"

Tech blinked. "Not... precisely."

"Come on, Tech," you said, voice low and teasing. "Live a little."

He didn't answer, but he did roll up his sleeves and pull out a datapad, already scribbling new subroutine formulas with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You might not have cracked the flirtation firewall yet—but the code was definitely compiling.

_-~-_

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aventurineswife · 6 months ago

Note

Heey :3

I'm a bit new to HSR but I would love to make a request regardless. A platonic request with a reader that lost their parents at a very young age and somehow ended up with the listed characters With Boothill, Aventurine, Gallagher, Gepard (if I requested over the character limit just chip some off <33)

Reader is like in their teen years

Fragments of Fate

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Gepard x Reader, Teen!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff with Angst, Protective Characters, Emotional Bonding, Slow Burn Friendship.

Warnings: Mentions of Parental Loss, Themes of Grief and Trauma, Violence (Mild/Implied), Angst with a Happy/Bittersweet Ending, Possible Depictions of Flashbacks (Trauma-Related), Protective Behavior.

A/N: WELCOME TO THE FANDOM!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY AND DON'T LET THE WEIRD PEOPLE GET TO YOU!! 🤗💕💖

[Part 2]

The galaxy was vast, unkind, and unrelenting—traits Boothill understood better than most. When he found you wandering the outskirts of a ruined settlement, it felt like staring into a mirror of his past. A teen, lost and alone, with nothing but the smoldering remains of a life stolen too soon. You reminded him of himself, crying in the snow all those years ago.

The first thing Boothill taught you was how to defend yourself.

"Out here," he said, crouched by the fire with his mechanical hand resting on his holstered revolver, "you either draw fast, or you're done for." His eyes locked onto you, and for the first time since meeting him, you saw something other than sharp wit and vengeance in his expression—concern.

But Boothill wasn’t a teacher in the traditional sense. His lessons came wrapped in stories of survival, laughter, and his signature dramatic flair. He showed you how to handle a blaster, track footprints across barren wastelands, and recognize when to stand your ground—or when to run.

One evening, as the two of you watched stars streak across the dark sky, Boothill broke his usual bravado. "The world’s gonna throw you into the dirt," he said softly, his shark-like teeth catching the firelight. "But you? You’re gonna get back up every time. You hear me, kid?"

In Boothill, you found a guardian who didn’t pity you but saw your strength—even when you didn’t see it yourself.

Meeting Aventurine wasn’t a chance encounter; it was destiny orchestrated by a gambler who always bet on himself. You stumbled into his orbit during a skirmish between the IPC and local rebels, a frightened teen who had lost everything. He could have walked away—after all, you were just another face in a galaxy filled with suffering. But something about the fire in your eyes stopped him.

"You’ve got guts, kid," he remarked, adjusting his glasses as he ushered you into the safety of his suite. "Stick with me, and you might just learn how to play this game called life."

Life with Aventurine was a whirlwind of unpredictability. He taught you how to navigate high-stakes situations, whether it was bluffing your way out of trouble or making calculated risks that turned the odds in your favor.

One day, he handed you a deck of cards, each one worn and bearing faint marks from years of use. "Lesson one," he said with a smirk. "The game’s rigged, but that doesn’t mean you can’t win."

Aventurine’s mentorship wasn’t about coddling. He challenged you, pushed you to think ahead, and celebrated your victories with genuine pride. Yet, there were moments of vulnerability—late-night conversations where he’d share fragments of his own tragic past. "We’re not so different, you and I," he admitted one night, his voice quieter than usual. "We both know what it’s like to lose everything. But here’s the trick, kid: we don’t let it break us."

With Aventurine, you learned that survival wasn’t just about strength—it was about strategy, resilience, and knowing when to bet it all.

When Gepard found you, it was during one of the harshest Fragmentum attacks Belobog had ever faced. You were huddled in the ruins of a home, clutching a makeshift weapon and trembling with fear. The sight of you—so young, so lost—stirred something deep within him.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice steady and reassuring as he extended a gloved hand. "I’ll protect you. That’s a promise."

Life under Gepard’s care was structured and disciplined, but never harsh. He treated you with kindness and respect, understanding the pain of loss in a way only someone who had carried the weight of duty could.

He taught you how to wield a weapon—not for revenge, but for defense. "Strength isn’t about defeating your enemies," he said during a training session. "It’s about protecting what matters most."

Gepard’s lessons extended beyond combat. He instilled in you a sense of responsibility and compassion, encouraging you to help others even when the world seemed bleak. Under his guidance, you began to rebuild your confidence, finding purpose in small acts of courage and kindness.

One night, as snow fell softly outside the city walls, Gepard joined you by the fire. "I know it’s hard," he said, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "But you’re not alone anymore. You have a family here—with me, with the Silvermane Guards. And together, we’ll face whatever comes."

With Gepard, you found more than a protector—you found a father figure who believed in you, even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

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jedi-luca · 7 days ago

Text

Head Over Feet: Chapter Three Fade Into You

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show

Previous Chapter

The trail winds narrow through thick trees, the sun filtering through in slanted beams. The late afternoon heat clings to your shirt, and the quiet between you and Dina isn’t awkward it’s just easy.

Or it was.

“You always this quiet on patrol?” Dina asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the hush like she’s been stewing on the question for miles.

You shrug. “Just enjoying the weather.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying sweating through your shirt?”

You smirk. “It’s better than freezing my ass off.”

She laughs softly and slows her horse so you’re side by side. “Alright, mystery person. What’s your favorite movie?”

You blink. “That came out of nowhere.”

“I’m trying to get to know you,” she says, mock-offended. “You’ve been in Jackson for how long? And I still don’t know your answer to the most basic question.”

You glance at her. “Attack of the Clones.”

She physically recoils. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious. I used to rewind the arena scene over and over.”

“Oh my god.”

“Lightsabers. John Williams. Anakin’s stupid little rat-tail braid. Come on.”

“You know he says the word ‘sand’ like five times in one scene, right?”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s rough. It’s coarse. It gets everywhere.”

Dina groans. “You’re the worst.”

You flash her a grin. “What’s yours again?”

“The Mummy. Which is objectively perfect. Brendan Fraser? Rachel Weisz? The tension? The eyeliner?”

You hum. “Rachel Weisz was so hot.”

“Exactly.”

She’s smiling when she looks at you again. “Okay, lightning round. Favorite color?”

“Dark green. Or navy blue.”

She nods approvingly. “Favorite snack?”

“Popcorn. But like movie theater popcorn. Extra butter. Probably a dangerous amount.”

“First concert?”

You think. “My brother took me to a Metallica concert right before the outbreak.”

Dina whistles. “Solid choice. Favorite band now?”

You nod. “Pretty much everything. Depends on the day.”

“Favorites?”

“Death Cab, The Smiths, Fleetwood Mac, Zeppelin, Mariah Carey-

She laughs. “Mariah Carey, seriously?”

“She’s a legend,” you say, completely sincere. “Always Be My Baby still hits.”

Dina watches you for a beat. “I think I just learned more about you in thirty seconds than I have in the past three months.”

“I’m very mysterious.”

She mutters, “Yeah. That’s kind of the problem.”

You look over, confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says too quickly, then nudges her horse forward again. “Favorite breakfast?”

“Veggie scramble but it has to have serranos. I do miss those McGriddles from McDonald’s though.”

“Okay, okay, first celebrity crush?”

You pause. “Natalie Portman.”

Dina raises an eyebrow. “Queen Amidala?”

“She had a blaster and perfect hair. How could I not?”

She laughs, and it bubbles out easy loud enough to startle a bird out of a nearby branch. She watches you out of the corner of her eye, still smiling. “You’re kind of a dork.”

You shrug. “You asked.”

“Yeah. And I’m learning so much. I bet your childhood room was full of action figures, lego, and gaming consoles.” She shifts in her saddle, tone light but searching.

“You’re not wrong just missing the poster of Queen Amidala herself.”

Dina snorted before asking the next question rolling around in her mind.

“What about… first kiss?”

You blink. “Like, ever?”

“Yes, ever.”

You furrow your brow. “Her name was Lili Cooper… She kissed me on my birthday. She was one of my bestfriends…Never did get to say goodbye to her.”

“You sound like you still think of her.” Dina huffed.

You chuckle and wonder if it’s weird that you still think of her.

She tries again. “Alright, serious question.”

“Finally.”

“If we weren’t out here patrolling and you could be anywhere… anywhere at all. Where would you be?”

You think. “I dunno. Maybe a beach. Somewhere quiet. Bonfire. Music. Friends.”

She nods. “Would I be there?”

You don’t even hesitate. “Course you would. You’d make fun of my playlist.”

She smiles, but it fades just slightly around the edges. “You’d let me make fun of it because you don’t actually care what I think.”

You glance at her, confused. “No. I’d let you make fun of it because you do care.”

That throws her off for a second.

The two of you dismount at the creek not long after. You kneel to refill your canteen. Dina crouches beside you, knees brushing yours.

She doesn’t move away.

“Y’know,” she says, almost too casual, “if this were a movie, this’d be the part where we almost kiss.”

You snort. “God, you really do think life is The Mummy.”

She blinks. “What?”

“You’ve got, like, genre goggles on.”

She stares at you for a second. “I was—okay, never mind.”

You grin, oblivious. “Who’s supposed to be Brendan Fraser in this scenario?”

“I- no one, Jesus.” She stands up suddenly, brushing her hands off. “Forget I said anything.”

You watch her, confused. “What?”

She just shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You call after her, playful. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of Attack of the Clones first.”

She flips you off without looking back.

On the ride home, the quiet feels different. Not awkward, not tense, just full of the things she didn’t say. And the ones you didn’t notice.

And later, brushing down your mare in the barn as the sky fades to gold and the sweat cools on your skin, you think about the day. The laughter. The questions.

You think: that was nice.

You don’t realize she was maybe trying to hand you something more.

Not yet.

After patrol both you and Dina stayed in the stables taking care of your horses.

You’re brushing down your mare in one of the open stalls, the sky outside still glowing from the last of the sunset. It’s hot not scorching, but warm enough that the back of your shirt sticks to you in places and your forearms glisten with sweat. You work slowly, rhythmically, dragging the brush down her side in long strokes. She huffs softly under your hand.

Dina’s a few feet away in the next stall, quiet, but you can feel her watching you.

It’s been like that since patrol ended. Glances that linger too long. Jokes that died on her lips. The kind of tension that hums under everything not quite friendly, not quite flirting, but sharp enough to notice.

You don’t say anything. Just keep brushing, letting the silence settle.

She leans on the wooden divider between you, elbow bent, head tilted slightly. She’s been standing like that for a while now not brushing her horse, not even pretending to.

You glance up. “You planning to help or just stare at me all night?”

Her lips quirk into something that looks like a smirk but doesn’t quite land. “You complaining?”

You give her a look. “Wouldn’t dare.”

She smiles, but it’s tight, like she’s holding something back. Her fingers trail absently along the wooden edge, like she needs something to do. Something to stop herself from reaching for you.

“You really weren’t kidding about the Star Wars thing?” she mutters.

You grin. “Not even a little.”

“You know I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, right? Just… you, sitting in a dark room, taking Attack of the Clones seriously.”

“It’s a masterpiece,” you say earnestly, running the brush down your mare’s flank. “Lightsabers. Politics. Space opera romance. Natalie Portman in ten different dresses plus her white little number in the arena.”

Dina rolls her eyes. “You really had a crush on her?”

“Still do, technically.”

She laughs under her breath. “You’re such a nerd.”

You shrug, smiling. “You love it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Her voice dips. You don’t catch the shift. You’re still caught up in the rhythm of the brush, the smell of dust and hay. The feeling of the day stretching behind you like a golden ribbon. It was a good patrol. You liked it. You like being around her.

“You ever think about how weird it is?” she asks suddenly. “That we spend all day dealing with real shit and then come back and pretend like brushing horses and small talk is normal?”

You glance at her. “Feels normal to me.”

Dina nods slowly. “Yeah… that’s the problem.”

You let her words hang there, unsure what she’s trying to say. She’s been off since that last break you took by the creek quiet, thoughtful. Frustrated, maybe? You rack your brain trying to figure out what you did.

“Hey,” she says after a moment. “What’s your type?”

You blink. “Like… romantically?”

“No, medically. Yes, romantically.”

You think for a second, completely serious. “Uh… funny. Smart. Likes music. Can survive an apocalypse.”

Dina stares at you. “So… Natalie Portman again.”

You smile, missing the exasperation behind her eyes. “You said she was too perfect.”

“You said she was perfect. I just said she has range.”

You laugh, soft and genuine. “So what’s your type, then?”

She hesitates. Then she glances at you, and for a second, you see it — the flicker of vulnerability, the want, raw and too-close-to-the-surface.

But she just shrugs. “I don’t know. People who notice things.”

You don’t clock the double meaning.

Instead, you give her a small smile. “I notice stuff.”

“Yeah?” she says, but it comes out flat. “You notice I’ve been staring at you for the last twenty minutes like I’m about to explode?”

You blink. “What?”

She shakes her head quickly. “Nothing.”

You finish brushing down your mare, give her a pat, and start gathering the supplies. The tension hasn’t broken it’s just folded itself into the quiet. Dina’s still hovering, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Then she clears her throat. “Hey… I was thinking maybe we could set something up this weekend. For Charlie and JJ. Like we talked about the other day?”

You pause. “Yeah? That’d be great.”

She nods once, not looking at you. “Cool. Just figured, y’know… they’re kind of friends now.”

You smile. “Hey, kind of like us.”

That earns you a soft laugh, but her gaze drops again, unreadable.

You don’t notice how long she looks at you.

You don’t notice the way she’s holding her breath when your arm brushes hers as you walk out of the stables.

But you do notice the quiet between you feels heavy in a way you can’t name.

You think maybe she’s tired.

You think maybe she’s still just cooling off from the heat.

You don’t think not yet that you might be the thing she’s burning up over.

And for a second as her shoulder brushes yours in the dark you let yourself believe it’s just nice.

That is just what friendship feels like.

Even if it isn’t.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

The house is quiet. JJ’s down the hall, sound asleep, his soft, rhythmic breathing a comfort through the baby monitor.

Dina lies in bed on her side, one arm curled beneath the pillow, the other pulled tightly to her chest. The window’s cracked just enough to let in the late-August breeze. It should be enough to cool her down.

But it isn’t.

She shifts again, tangled in her own sheets. Her skin feels too hot. Her brain won’t settle.

Every time she closes her eyes, you’re there.

It starts simple. She’s back in the stables. You’re brushing down your horse again, sleeves rolled up, soft hum in your throat. She’s standing behind you, watching the muscles shift under your shirt as you work.

Then you turn. Smile at her. Say her name low, warm, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be. Not like that.

And then she’s closer. Too close. Her breath catches in the dream and in real life, chest rising too fast as the image sharpens: your hand at her waist, your eyes dark with something she hasn’t let herself imagine before. Not really. Not honestly.

You kiss her.

It’s desperate, hungry like you’ve wanted her for ages and she’s finally letting you have her. You press her back into the stall wall and she pulls you in harder, gripping your shirt, arching into you like her body’s been waiting for this. For you.

You whisper her name.

Her heart races.

Your mouth moves along her jaw, her throat. Your hands slide under her shirt and she gasps. The dream shifts, becomes hazier, more abstract warmth and motion and skin on skin, all of it too much and not enough.

She wakes with a sharp breath, her body pulsing, lips parted, sweat clinging to her chest.

The room is quiet again, but nothing feels still.

She stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched, heart pounding.

Fuck.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. She was the one who said she wasn’t ready. The one who drew the line. And now she’s dreaming about pulling you into her bed and begging you not to stop?

She groans softly and turns on her side, burying her face into the pillow.

The worst part? It wasn’t just sex. Not in the dream. It was closeness. Softness. That look in your eyes. That touch she’s imagined but never let herself admit she wanted.

She closes her eyes again, but it’s useless. Your face is burned there now the warmth of your hand, the sound of your laugh, the way you look at her like she’s something worth reaching for.

She rolls onto her back and stares up into the dark, one hand over her chest, steadying herself.

Tomorrow’s the playdate. She should be focused on JJ and Charlie, on keeping it light. Friendly. Controlled.

But all she can think about is you.

And how bad she’s starting to want the one thing she swore she wasn’t ready for.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

The sun was high and warm, casting gold across the yard behind Dina’s house that rare kind of August afternoon where everything in Jackson felt calm for once. No patrols. No infected. Just a patch of soft grass, laughter, and two toddlers chasing each other in chaotic circles.

Charlie shrieked with delight, knees grass-stained, as she pounced after JJ, who ran in zigzags with a stick held triumphantly in the air like a sword. Dina stood nearby, cheering them on like it was a championship game.

You watched her for a beat her laugh loud, her smile easy, and her eyes… just a little too bright. Like she was trying too hard to fill the space between you with light.

She waved you over to the porch. “Come on, I made lemonade.”

“Lemonade?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the hosting type.”

Dina handed you a glass with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What can I say? I woke up in a mood.”

You sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder on the porch steps. The kids squealed in the yard, rolling in the grass. Charlie handed JJ a flower like it was a treasure, and he bowed with the seriousness of a tiny king.

“They act like they’ve known each other forever,” you said, sipping your drink.

Dina nodded quickly. “Yeah. They just… get each other. No weirdness. No history.”

You glanced at her. “That sound a little loaded?”

She shook her head fast, brushing you off. “Nah, just making an observation. Kids are smarter than us. They don’t overthink everything.”

That part sat a little too heavy in her mouth. You didn’t push.

You reached for the same cookie on the small table between you. Your fingers brushed. She didn’t move hers.

Just smiled.

Like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

The house had gone quiet except for the soft hums of the Mazzy Star in the background. JJ and Charlie were both finally out cold. JJ tangled in blankets on their bed, Charlie on the guest bed curled against a stuffed fox like her life depended on it.

In the kitchen, the warm flicker of the oil lamp cast long shadows across the counters. You and Dina stood side by side at the sink, passing dishes back and forth in a rhythm that didn’t need words. Every so often, your hands brushed. Every so often, she looked at you just a second too long.

“You’re good at this,” she said finally, not looking up. “This whole… domestic thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Washing dishes?”

She smiled faintly. “No. Being around. Being steady.”

You dried your hands and turned to her, leaning your hip against the counter. “You say that like it’s a rare thing.”

“It is,” she murmured, finally meeting your eyes. “For me, anyway.”

The silence stretched not uncomfortable, but charged. Like the air had gone heavier between you.

Then she stepped closer.

“Dance with me.” She said softly as the song changed.

You blinked, not sure you heard her right. But she was already reaching for you, gently tugging you away from the sink.

You set the rag down and let your hands find her waist. Carefully at first, like she might spook.

But Dina didn’t flinch.

Her hands slid slowly up your arms, the warmth of her touch leaving a trail in its wake, before settling behind your neck. Fingertips brushing the edge of your hair.

She was close now. Too close. Not close enough.

The music filled the space between your bodies low, a little scratchy from the old speaker, something familiar with a slow beat.

You swayed together, her forehead nearly brushing yours. Her breath smelled faintly of tea and cinnamon, and you didn’t dare breathe too hard, didn’t want to break the fragile thing blooming between you.

Her thumbs pressed into your sides like she was memorizing the shape of you.

“You’re good at this.” she whispered.

“At dancing?” you teased, voice just above a breath.

“Always being there.”

You didn’t say anything. Just tightened your hold on her slightly. Just enough for her to feel it.

The music went on. She tucked her head against your shoulder, just for a second. You thought she might stay like that. But then she leaned back. Looked up at you with that storm in her eyes restless, full of things she hadn’t said yet.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a beat.

You didn’t breathe the moment her hand grazed your chest. “You ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“This,” she whispered, and kissed you.

It hit like a match striking too close to dry kindling fast, hot, and impossible to ignore.

Her hands slid from your jaw massaging your arms before traveling into your hair. Dina’s body flush against yours, mouth parting against yours passionately.

Your hands finding her waist, then her hips, then lower. She gasped against your mouth, and you caught her thighs, lifted her in one smooth motion, setting her on the counter.

Her legs wrapped around you instantly.

The kiss deepened, all breath and desperation. The toes of your shoes banged against the lower cabinets as your bodies flush together.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, her mouth open against yours like she needed this, needed you. Your hands slid beneath her shirt, not rushed, but certain. She tilted her head back, exposing the soft curve of her throat, and you didn’t think, just leaned in, teeth grazing the skin beneath her ear. She whimpered your name.

You rocked into her and felt her hips respond letting out a low, aching sigh. Her hands began fumbling at your belt.

That’s when you froze.

“Wait.” You pushed her hair back.

Her breath catching chest rising and falling fast.. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, heart pounding. “I’ve never…” you clear your throat. “I haven’t done this before.”

Everything slowed.

Dina’s eyes searched yours. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Oh.”

You nodded once, lips still parted from the kiss. “Is that okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hands slipped from your belt. Her expression shifted, not rejection exactly, but something more complicated. Caught. Torn. Frustrated.

“It’s okay,” she said finally, gently. “Of course it is. I just… I didn’t think it would go that far. I thought we were just blowing off steam you know? Stress relief.”

You stepped back, heat draining from your face. “Right.”

“No, Y/N, wait!” She slid down from the counter, adjusting her shirt, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I��m not in the right place. For anything real, and your first time should be- it should mean something more. Something real.”

“You kissed me like it was real. Like it was something more.”

She didn’t argue that.

Your stomach turned. You stepped back, gently. “Right. Sure.”

“Y/N, I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got caught up. I just… I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“What do we have, Dina?” you asked, quietly jaw flexing.

She didn’t answer.

Just stood there — arms crossed now, trying to put space back between you the same way she’d closed it.

You nodded. “Okay.”

You crossed the house, scooped up a half-asleep Charlie from the spare bed, and walked to the front door.

Dina followed a few steps behind but didn’t say your name.

Didn’t stop you.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” she said as you opened the door.

“I know.”

The air outside was cool and sharp. You didn’t look back.

And inside, Dina stood frozen by the door, lips still tingling, heart twisted in a way she didn’t have a name for.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, like she could hold the memory there. Like it wouldn’t already haunt her in the morning.

Dina moved slowly to the kitchen sink, pouring herself a glass of water just to keep from shaking.

The song from earlier was still playing faintly in the background soft, unfinished.

She turned it off.

The silence after felt too loud.

Next Chapter

#dina woodward #dina tlou #dina woodward x reader #Dina Woodward x gn! reader #dina the last of us #isabela merced

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brittle-doughie · 7 months ago

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Slight Detour (Grand Cookie Games)

———————————————————————

[Phone Booth, Parfaedia]

“Yeah, I might come back to the kingdom a little later then expected, Dumpling Cookie.”

“What? Are the cookies at the Flower City becoming an issue?”

“What? No! No no, I parted from there on good terms, it’s just…the airship had to take a quick stop at Parfaedia, one thing led to another and I got to meet some old pals.”

“Old pals? Old pals…Parfaedia…oh, you mean those three cookies you met during the Triple Cone Cup tournament…”

“Yeah. Prune Juice Cookie, Capsaicin Cookie, and Kouign-Amann Cookie. We were catching up when they brought to my attention another tournament, the Grand Cookie Games.”

“And you’re intent on going there?”

“Well…”

You looked back to see the three cookies standing a little bit away from the phone booth, looking on at you from anticipation. They backed off a bit and looked in random directions innocently when you catch them.

“I don’t think I could miss an opportunity to relive some fun with them, just like old times. Besides, erm, it would help in framing my mind off…matters.”

“I will make a note of that…I’ll have to bring this up with Salsa too. You’re lucky Crowned is visiting family, she’d hunt you down if she heard you were there…”

“Hehe, yeah. Thank you, Dumpling…”

“Just…be careful, ‘kay?”

“I will, don’t worry…”

You hang up the phone and stepped out.

“Hey, uh. Did it all go out well, buddy?”

“If there are problems, that’s ok. We can understand if you’re a little too busy for the games.”

“Though, it would be great if you were able to go with us! We can be on the same team again!”

Well, they were in luck, because you cleared up enough time in your schedule to go with them!

“Ha ha! I knew it! This is going to be awesome!”

“Not like I predicted you’d say yes, but really, how can you when you’re looking at moi.”

“Then why wait! Let’s go!”

———————————————————————

Ok, there was a lot more familiar faces at this tournament than you expected!

“Oooh! Is that Y/N Cookie over there? That’s, like, totes amazing!”

“Ha! I expected them to have the strength to come here! I’m counting on a match with them!”

“I wasn’t! Goodness, I knew I should’ve done up my hair more today!”

“Is that Y/N Cookie I’m seeing over there! Woo, I’m feeling all kinds of amped today, baby!”

“Oh, they’re here. That’s…that’s fine.”

“Black Lemonade Cookie, I know you’re as excited to see them here as much as we do!”

“I’m..not denying that.”

“Y/N Cookie? I wasn’t expecting ya to be around these parts. If so, I won’t be goin’ easy on ya, so give it your shot!”

“Ah, Y/N Cookie. You’ve showed up just in time for me to brainstorm up a new novel. The romance between the protagonist and their love is just getting started!”

“Have you come for the coins too, Y/N Cookie? I won’t be giving up on them so easily, I must make sure that no Cookie in the world goes hungry!”

“Y/N Cookie is hereeee. Maybe they’d like a shroomie!”

“AHAHAHA! Did they come to see us squash these bugs!”

“Maybe by winning these games, we can finally convert them over to our side! All without Pomegranate Cookie around to ruin it!”

The CoD were here? Again? Man, you were getting tired of handling these guys-on second thought, you prefer them over those horrid Beast Cookies at this rate.

“So you’re Y/N Cookie?”

Huh? You turned around to see..

This..Cookie that you’ve never met before.

“Yeah..that’s me.”

“Oooh! I detect something FASCINATING about you! Care to share?”

“I…don’t know you?”

“Not sharing? I’ll just have to MAKE YOU!”

Without warning, this cookie fired her blaster hands at you, to which you quickly dodged and leaped out of their way!

“Hey! What’s your problem?!”

“I have collected data on you from other cookies. It is incomplete, so I want EVERYTHING on you to complete my data!”

“That’s not a thing that’s happening.”

“Then we’ll make this quick.”

“Aha!”

You turned around just in time to block a hit with your sword, your opponent was another unfamiliar cookie that wielded a large knife.

“As long as I carry this blade, I must win, but handling you is my second top priority. I want to see if you’re capable of looking into the darkness.”

“I’ve looked into it and it was the one that blinked!”

You pushed her off and steadied your blade. These games just got a little bit interesting for you now!

#cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom #kouign amann cookie #capsaicin cookie #prune juice cookie

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padmesweetheart · 3 months ago

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The Real Bombshell PT 6

Pairings: Hidden Wife! Reader x Anakin Skywalker (featuring Padmé Amidala)

Summary: Padmé speaks up again

6/7 of the hidden wife series

The Council chamber was already thick with tension—Anakin had just exposed his secret marriage, and the Jedi Council was barely keeping their cool as they tried to process everything. But just when it seemed like the situation couldn’t get any worse… it did.

From the corner of the room, where she had been standing silently the entire time, Padmé spoke up.

“That’s enough.”

Everyone froze.

Anakin blinked, looking over to where his wife’s older sister, Senator Padmé Amidala, had been standing just out of sight until now. She had been silent during the entire exchange, but now, her voice was cold and sharp, cutting through the room like a blaster shot.

You immediately tensed, your stomach flipping. Padmé, the woman you’d always looked up to, was about to speak—and you knew her protective instincts would come out full force.

“Padmé, you—” Anakin started, but she raised her hand, silencing him.

“You’ve been caught, Anakin, but you’re not the only one who’s in this mess,” she said, her voice laced with a calm fury. She turned her gaze toward the Council, locking eyes with each Jedi in the room. “I’m here to speak for my sister, who doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this fiasco.”

You cringed, heart pounding as she continued.

“She has been living under the radar for a reason, keeping her life private.. and you, Anakin, exposed that.” Padmé’s eyes flared with protective anger. “And for what? Because you couldn’t resist a public display?”

Anakin stammered. “I didn’t mean—”

“That’s not the point, Skywalker,” she snapped, her voice gaining strength. “You never considered the consequences, not just for yourself, but for my sister. She trusted you to keep this relationship safe. To keep her safe.”

Mace Windu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Padmé’s fiery stance. “Senator Amidala,” he said with measured patience, “this is not a matter for personal feelings. We are concerned with the Code—”

Padmé cut him off. “This is personal, Master Windu. It’s my sister’s life we’re talking about. I am not going to stand by and watch her become another pawn in this political game you all love to play.”

The tension in the room escalated. You felt yourself shrinking in your place beside Anakin, wishing you could disappear. You never imagined Padmé would come in so strong, but a part of you was deeply grateful. No one had ever been so protective of you.

“I knew about their relationship,” Padmé said, turning back to Anakin, her gaze softer but still intense. “I’ve known since the beginning, and I’ve kept that secret, too. But I did so because I believed you could keep it under control. You could protect her.” She turned her eyes toward the Council again, this time softer, but no less firm. “I don’t care about the Jedi Code. I care about my sister, and I care about Anakin’s integrity.”

Anakin winced under her words, feeling the weight of his failure.

Padmé sighed deeply, her expression softening just a little as she glanced back at you. “I knew the whole time, and I didn’t say a word. Because it wasn’t my secret to share. But now? Now this affects more than just the two of you.” She gave a sharp look at Mace Windu and the others. “And I’m not going to sit by and watch this turn into some public spectacle just to prove a point about the Jedi Code.”

There was a long pause as the Council processed her words.

Finally, Yoda spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. “Troubling, this situation is. Not just the relationship, but the consequences. Handled, it must be.”

Mace Windu rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to take this into account, of course. Anakin, you will face consequences for your actions.”

Anakin lowered his head. “I understand, Master Windu.”

Padmé took a step forward, her stance firm. “And as for you,” she said, addressing Anakin, her voice softer now, though still tinged with irritation, “you’ve broken my trust too. I told you I would protect my sister. I just didn’t think you’d expose her like this.”

Anakin swallowed hard, guilt and regret flooding his face. “I’m sorry, Padmé. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Padmé let out a breath, shaking her head, but her eyes softened as she looked at you. “You’re both lucky to have each other. But right now? You both need to take a long, hard look at how you handle things moving forward.”

You nodded quietly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. Padmé had every right to be angry, and you couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t just mad at Anakin for breaking the rules, but for threatening your privacy—and she wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Now,” Padmé said, turning back to the Council. “If we’re done here, I would like to take my sister somewhere where she can catch her breath and maybe Anakin can find a way to redeem himself before we all lose our minds.”

You half-smiled at that, your heart swelling with affection for Padmé’s unwavering protection of you. She may have been angry, but deep down, she was always on your side.

As the Council murmured in agreement, you found yourself in an unexpected moment of peace, grateful for your sister’s loveand for the reminder that even in the most chaotic of situations, family always came first.

———————————————————————————————

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @skyguytoast @dessxoxsworld

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagines #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker x reader #Hidden Wife Series 👰🏻‍♀️

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nerfgunattachments · 2 years ago

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Buying a Game Face Trion? Here’s 10 Things You Need To Know Now

1. The Game Face Trion Has Issues2. The Trion is Made by an Airsoft Company3. This is What’s in the Box4. The Trion is Just Another Pump-Action Springer5. The Game Face Trion is VERY Tacti-cool6. The Trion Has Slam-Fire!7. Game Face Trion Has Options8. The Trion Can Be Fully Kitted Out9. The Action Access Window10. The Trion is Compatible With ALL Your Mags!11. It Has a Good Trigger Pull12. The…

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#competition blaster #crossman #game face #game face trion #new nerf guns #trion

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megamuscle885-blog · 2 months ago

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Worm as a MMORPG

Twelve classes split into three categories;

Defensive: Brute, Breaker, Mover, Stranger

Offensive: Striker, Shaker, Blaster, Changer

Support: Tinker, Thinker, Trump, Master

Forgive me if I misuse some terms it's like 2am and going to bed early wasn't helpful.

Brute is pretty obvious, it's a Tank who tanks with their face. Facetank. They get a high health pool or damage reduction or a natural regeneration. They most overtly take damage and make it smaller damage somehow. The same is true for how they do damage, they get ways to take small damage and make it big.

Breakers with their forms let them have at least two health pools and they usually switch between them to allow the other pool to heal, and gain abilities to mitigate damage and control the pace of the fights. I think the term is off-tank?

Movers are like a dodge tank, like matadors. They bait out the enemy's attack and then get out of the way somehow. They can semi-DPS but it means they have to stop getting out of the way of attacks to deal real damage rather than chip damage, so they can't afford to pull too much aggro.

Strangers are aggro masters, doing sabotage to draw heat away from the frontline, joining the frontline to pile on flanking damage, roaming the backline to counter-Stranger and protect the supports. Roaming tanks that need to know pretty much all the other classes to be effective. TF2's spy and scout rolled into one.

Strikers are straightforward damage dealers. They get in close and get to slap you with something useful. A lot of their gameplay is getting close and staying close. In PvP it's the world's most interesting game of tag, with strikers able to move people out of position just by approaching, but runs the risks of being focused down, same reason people don't focus Tanks in PvP unless forced to. Strikers usually take advantage of the Trigger system - which I'll explain later - to give them the edge needed to get in close.

Shakers are more like facilitators of damage rather than outright damage dealers themselves, but rarely you get someone who's got the right power to do something destructive. It's more about removing cover and opening up firing lines, flushing out the supports, cutting the tanks off from their teammates, and preventing the same from happening to your own team. Pure Shakers have an incredibly high skill ceiling and exceptional game knowledge and might drop damage altogether, becoming a semi-Support. They can tell when pushes are coming, when the supports have a Stranger causing sabotage or a Striker diving into the backline. If a Brute hasn't taken charge of a party, or a Master isn't co-ordinating the team, Shakers step up to control the flow of the battlefield by controlling the battlefield itself.

Blasters are the same as Strikers, but focus on range and keeping themselves at range. Think a critical hit/damage build. They're the reason the Shakers control the battlefield, the reason Brutes can limit the amount of damage they take in a single attack to a certain level, the reason Strangers have to leave the frontline. They're also the ones most responsible for laying on damage in the PvE. You can't just set them up in a sniper's nest and leave them to pick off mobs, cuz of aggro, but so long as they do move between shots they usually get to set up, take a shot, and leave while the tanks wrangle the mobs back into place. You can usually tell if a boss fight is going well or not based on how much DPS the Blaster is putting out. If everyone else does their job, the Blaster will be able to put out the damage. If the Blaster is constantly having to move or blast mobs, someone isn't doing their 'job', and Blasters can be toxic and get an ego as a result.

Changers adapt to both the battlefield and their opponents as rapidly as possible. They're a wildcard dps, a duelist DPS, in PvP they need to be as unpredictable as possible, in PvE they need to know who and what they're going up against. They play very similar to Strikers and Breakers too, only they don't get a second (or more) health pool and they don't get the more potent I Win buttons that a Striker can get to crowd control a fight. They jump in, switch up their damage types or movesets, down their target and jump back out. They're a multitool and have toolsets to help them dismantle just about any of the other classes in a 1v1, but like the Stranger they need to know the capabilities and powers of who they're fighting to cinch the win. Hotly debated in the community because there's so many opinions about builds that Changers often feel like they've built wrong, leading to a lot of hate from their team and a lot of enemies feeling they have cheat builds

The supports are all playing a resource minigame built into their classes.

Tinkers probably have the highest build variety in the game. Even including some of the limitations their specializations put on them, they can still pretty much do any of the other classes. Exceptionally high skill ceiling and floor as a result; if they want to pretend to be a Brute, Thinker or Blaster, they have to know the role. Half of the main gameplay loop for a Tinker is spent out of combat, in the PvE and resource gathering mechanics. The more time you spend grinding materials, the more materials you have to build tech. Eventually though, you hit a cap on how much innovation you can do and you have to take that tech into fights to both test the new tech and also gain new data to turn into new tech. You get materials and data from both PvE and PvP, but PvE turns out more reliable common materials and PvP turns out more reliable common data, with the rarer stuff flipped. Rare materials as a result of battlefield damage or pieces of costume blasted off in PvP, rare data as a result of exploration and boss battles. The class is a bit harsh to new players who don't have the same time and effort the older Tinkers have to put into their equipment and do experimentation, which is a valid critique of the system and Tinkers are probably the most patched, nerfed and buffed class of them all, something that probably won't change until the main mechanic of the class is reworked.

Thinkers are very similar to Tinkers, except that they don't need to deal with materials and solely focus on data gained in PvE/PvP. Over the course of the fight and using as many points of data gathering as they can, they build up something like inspiration points, which they can throw out to teammates for damage boosts or damage reduction. At the start of PvP battles, nobody knows anything about the enemy team, and the Thinkers have to model the enemy in real time, revealing the fog of war and shutting down strategies while trying to advance their own. Tattletale figuring out Clockblocker and Aegis switched costumes is a pretty good example of denying the enemy strategy. Thinkers do get a lot of abilities to protect themselves, and sometimes you'll get frontline combat thinkers who can fight and communicate the capabilities of the enemy team more directly, by getting into fights with them and figuring out a way to survive long enough or disengage to pass the info along. But at the end of the day, they're usually not dangerous or tough enough to stand up to most other classes. The purest thinkers are truly game changing though, capable of ruining the enemy team's strategy long before they get to employ it. Of course, just because you've revealed the enemy team's plans and capabilities doesn't mean they're not still on the battlefield, so they still need to be fought. Thinkers are directly tied into battlefield objectives. Gain access to the security room to give your thinker eyes and ears on the foyer the enemy team is busting into. Move to capture the high ground so your Thinker has a vantage point. Capture an enemy team member so your Thinker has someone to interrogate.

Trumps are all about powers. They boost powers, they sap powers, they develop new powers. A good trump is always looking for anyone flagging in a fight and anywhere they can plug up gaps. They're almost always the main healer too, jumping in and using their power over powers to switch things up so their team is taking less damage, or recovering from it, and forcing the enemy team to back off or chase them down to stop the effects. There's good interplay with the other classes too, like getting the Thinker to tell them info on the enemy's powers to make a nullifying dive worth it. Bad trumps can seriously fuck up their own team's powers if they don't know what they're doing, which means that every time a Trump is on the team they are heavily interrogated as to their abilities and how they alter powers. If you've ever been screamed at for playing Mercy or Medic 'wrong' you're dipping your toe into a Trump's daily routine. Their powers come with resources and charges attached. Drain or nullify a power and you increase your own. Or three wishes and you can spend them on any power you want. Touch and imbue someone with damage negation, or superspeed, or regeneration, but you can't do too many charges at once.

Masters are the most flexible supports depending on what they master. They're split between three main roles based on the source of their minions, which is their resource minigame. Summoners pull minions from the battlefield, which makes them great in both PvE and PvP, because they can hardly be disarmed, but their minions are usually otherwise mundane and don't usually have high damage or health numbers. Bugs, for example. Which means they have to get pretty creative, huh? Controllers directly attack the enemy team, or sometimes puppet their own team members to grant them effects. A controller might take a bunch of Brutes as minions and become a Brute tank themselves, splitting the damage between them instead of getting damaged himself. Similarly, Controllers can just snatch an enemy teammate to turn against their own team, usually functioning like a Stranger, with the enemy team not knowing until it's too late, or until a Thinker spots the sabotage. Creators generate minions from themselves or sometimes the environment. Where Summoners get lots of mundane minions, Creators usually get a potent single or handful of minions with high stats or abilities of their own. An indestructible minion that lays waste to the enemy team until a Thinker can figure out where the Master is. A wave of custom minions built out of a biomatter resource the Master needs to manage.

Next up is the Trigger system.

When you create your character and their power, you can choose to mix up two or three power categories, with a thinning of points if you decide to go diverse, or you can keep the points in a single category and go for a pure class role. You can single trigger or double trigger, the latter makes your power more potent, even if you spread across two classes, but locks you into that class. Single triggers can later go for the second trigger and get a whole new tint on their original power, often choosing to add on the capabilities of another class, but they don't get outright buffs the way a double trigger usually does.

I don't know how to do grab bags as a fun mechanic. I think I'll stop here, it's been an hour. A few more things? I've never played City of Heroes but I heard it was fun.

The game is called Parahumans Online. Might be a fun no powers AU where Taylor is an up and coming Master Summoner and falls in with the Undersiders, a new villain guild.

#wormblr #parahumans #worm #worm spoilers #wildbow #worm web serial #worm fanfiction

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revelboo · 8 months ago

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Jazz has always been a favorite of mine and the way you write him and the reader is *chefs kiss* I've been inspired to draw art of my tf human character and him . Tysm for giving us sustenance!

Nice! 😁 I love writing and I’m just happy other people like my silly TF stuff.

Over It Now Pt 8

Jazz x Reader

• You can’t breathe. It’s not that he’s gripping you too tightly, it’s the way he’s holding you. A big hand cupping the back of your head, servos tangled in your hair to press your face against his throat. The other arm curled around you, those servos pressing into your hip hard enough that there will likely be a bruise. He’s holding onto you like you’re his lifeline in a dangerous sea, like you’re the only thing holding him together. Almost without thinking, you curl your arms around his neck. And wonder what it’s like to lie all the time, to joke and play everything off. Even when it’s not okay.

• When those little arms wrap around his neck, it’s like he can feel the chinks forming in his carefully constructed armor. The temptation to drop the act after so long, except he’s not sure who would be left under that smiling veneer everyone loves. If that’s not him, would anyone want to stay? He’s the one that can shrug off anything, never serious. Fun. But under that carefree smile? The real Jazz he tries so hard to keep buried? He’s afraid and so tired. He can feel your warm breath on him, little fingers clinging. But it’s your soft whisper that rattles him. “It’s okay.” Like you understand that it’s not. Blaster was right, he’s selfish and you’re going to wind up suffering for it eventually. He knows it.

• The servos in your hair thread more firmly through the strands as he presses his face against your neck, those little door wings of his trembling. And he’s curling his big frame around you as that trembling spreads through him. The feel of his lips, scandalously warm against your neck when he speaks steals the air from your lungs. “Oh, kitten, it’s really not.” He’s laughing then, venting warm air against you, the sound tinged with an almost desperate air. Whatever this had been, it had been something real. He’d let you get the tiniest glimpse and now he’s back to this act. The liar, the flirt, the smiling, confidence man. Anger, sudden and sharp warms you as you plant your palms on his shoulders and push. Getting as much space as he allows between you, because you don’t want to play this game.

• You’re frowning up at him, eyes angry as you try to get loose. And it’s tempting to refuse to let you, but it’s guilt that makes him catch you by the hips and carefully settle you on your feet, reaching to hand you your crutches before you can try to hop over to them. Forcing that smile, he leans an elbow on his knee and props his chin on it, all lazy amusement. “You shouldn’t be out in the cold,” he says, curling his servos under to keep from reaching for you. Because you think he was laughing at you, not himself. It wasn’t amusement, but scorn.

• Why had you thought for one minute he could be real? You’re not even sure now if whatever that had been had been genuine or an act. It had felt almost desperate, too much so to be clever acting, but that’s what he does. Lie and smile. And you shouldn’t be getting so attached to him, because if this is just a game to him, he’ll get bored eventually. Better to keep your distance than risk letting him hurt you when he does. Even if you’re certain that you already like him too much to survive unscathed.

#transformers x reader #jazz x reader #idw jazz

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yuriosakawa · 3 months ago

Text

The mansion was eerily quiet. Jazz had expected guards, traps, alarms—something. But as she stepped past the threshold of Vlad Masters’ lair, she found only silence.

She tightened her grip on the ecto-blaster holstered at her hip. This was it. The moment she had spent the last ten years preparing for.

Danny had been sixteen when Vlad ripped him from the world. It should have been a normal battle, another of their usual clashes. But this time, Vlad didn’t hold back. This time, he wasn’t playing games.

And Danny… Danny was gone.

Jazz had held their parents as they sobbed. She had stood over an empty grave, knowing no body remained to bury. She had watched Amity Park slowly forget its hero, even as ghosts ran rampant with no Phantom to stop them.

And she had sworn that she wouldn’t let Vlad win.

She had spent years tracking him, learning everything she could about ghost hunting, about combat, about infiltration. And now, at twenty-seven years old, she was finally here. Finally ready.

A slow clap echoed through the dimly lit hall. Jazz’s heart pounded, and she jerked her weapon up, only to see the man she hated most step into view.

Vlad Masters hadn’t aged a day.

“Jasmine,” he drawled, as if greeting an old friend. “How delightful. I was wondering when you’d come knocking.”

Jazz didn’t hesitate. She raised the blaster and fired.

The ectoplasmic shot was dead-on, but Vlad flickered intangible, letting the energy pass harmlessly through him. He tsked. “Come now, is that any way to say hello? I was hoping for a real conversation.”

“Spare me the theatrics, Masters.” Jazz’s voice was ice. “You know why I’m here.”

Vlad smiled, slow and knowing. “Oh, I do. And I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite some time. But before you decide to pull that trigger again, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He stepped aside, revealing a shadowed doorway.

Jazz barely had time to process the movement before a child stepped forward.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The boy was Danny.

Not just similar—not like Dani, the imperfect clone Vlad had once created. No, this was Danny in every way. Same dark hair, same build, same face. But then he looked up at her, and she felt the world tilt on its axis.

His eyes weren’t blue.

They were green.

A ghost’s glow flickered within them, and Jazz’s stomach churned with nausea and disbelief.

“This,” Vlad said, stepping behind the boy and placing a hand on his shoulder, “is Damian. My son.”

Jazz felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

“What—” Her voice cracked. “What did you do?”

Vlad smirked. “Did you really think I’d let Daniel’s legacy die so easily? No, Jasmine. I made sure he lived on… in a way.”

The boy—Damian—tilted his head, watching her with curiosity, but there was something detached about his expression.

Like he didn’t know her.

Like he didn’t remember.

A fresh wave of horror crashed over Jazz.

“You cloned him.” Her voice shook. “Again.”

“Perfected him,” Vlad corrected. “No instability, no imperfections. My dear Damian is everything Daniel could have been and more.”

Jazz could barely breathe.

This wasn’t just another attempt at recreating Danny.

This was Vlad replacing him.

She forced herself to move, stepping forward, looking Damian in the eyes, searching for something—anything—of her brother inside them.

“Damian,” she said carefully, “do you know who I am?”

The boy blinked.

Then, after a moment, he shook his head.

Jazz felt her heart shatter all over again.

Vlad chuckled. “He’s never met you, I’m afraid. But that can change. You see, Jasmine, you’ve always been intelligent. Practical. You must know by now that revenge is… pointless.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“Join us,” Vlad continued, voice silk-smooth. “Be part of Damian’s life. Help me raise him. He’s still young—impressionable. Wouldn’t you rather have a hand in shaping the man he’ll become?”

Jazz stared at him, mind whirling. She had spent ten years hunting Vlad, planning for this moment. She had been prepared for every possible scenario.

Except this.

Except Danny’s face staring back at her with no recognition.

Except the possibility that, maybe, she hadn’t lost her brother forever.

And maybe, just maybe, she could save what was left.

Her grip on the blaster loosened.

For the first time in years, she hesitated.

And Vlad smiled.

#danny phantom #jazz fenton #vlad plasmius #damian wayne #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc

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transformers-spike · 1 month ago

Note

Aaa I love your take on SG Optimus. Perhaps I could ask, what would your take be on an equivalent of the Orion pax episodes (first 3 eps of s2)? I Imagine SG megatron taking Optimus’s place in that chunk of episodes. And perhaps the reader (unwittingly) gets some more insight into what happened between the two.

goshhh thank you! I'm so happy you like my SG stuff! I try to stir away from most SG interpretations of the characters (I try to keep their core intact while turning this into a "What if the choices they made turned them into horribly broken people?" situation, with the opposite for the Decepticons)

Anyway, this may get a sequel:

“What are you doing here, little one?” Megatron asks, voice rumbling with gentleness you could have never expected from the vicious leader of the Decepticons. “I…” you begin, frozen in the doorway, permafrost spreading up your legs as you struggle to keep your composure in front of the tyrant.

What comes out is an accusation. “You’re here to kill Optimus,” you say with finality.

The monster’s eyes grow wide; blue pits like glistening ocean water hiding the jaws of a bloodthirsty shark.

“What? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” he demands, hideously scarred face twisting to reveal rows of razor sharp fangs. “Orion-” he cuts himself off, gritting his teeth. “I would rather lay my life down for Optimus than watch any harm come to him!”

Your eyes fall onto the Autobot insignia on his chest. “So what? You think you can paint their symbol on your chassis and act like you’re part of them after all the crimes you’ve committed?”

“Crimes?” he snarls, footsteps ringing in your ears like an earthquake, heart jumping out of your chest, yet unable to run from your incoming murderer.

You do not struggle or call for help when he grabs you.

Eyes squeezed shut, you hear nothing but your heartbeat as you prepare for the worst.

Yet, your bones and organs remain uncrushed.

“I’ve fought for the freedom of enslaved Cybertronians for eight-fragging-vorns before being captured and tortured by my very own supporters! Only to wake up millennia later to discover those very same traitors had decimated our planet!” He huffs, volcanic air blowing in your face. He pauses as though concentrating to regain his composure. “Now prey tell, human,” he continues, slightly less murderous, “what gives you the right to insult me for simply existing in your perimeters?”

That’s not… that’s not right. He’s lying to you, loud and clear. Pretending to be something he’s not in order to lull you into a false sense of security just as he’s done with everyone else. What Optimus is, Megatron is thousands of times worse; a vile dictator hellbent on bleeding each and every planet dry of its resources in a bid to exterminate all Autobots.

Optimus isn’t stupid, he must know what Megatron is trying to do. Or… or maybe he’s seeing through rose-tinted glasses? Maybe he wants to believe it’s Megatronus. But you know it’s not. It can’t be him. It’s a lie. It has to be.

“Go ahead, crush me!” you shout in a sudden burst of confidence. “Crush me and they’ll know all about your lies, Megatron! Your little charade doesn’t work on me! Especially after you’ve slaughtered us like cattle for your twisted little game!”

You expect aggression, you expect him to swelter with rage. Instead, confusion twists his face.

“I did no such thing. Who… who is this Megatron you speak of?

Your throat closes up in shock. “Is… is this part of your sick game?”

Frustration draws a snarl, which quickly recedes as he seems to realize you are just as confused as he is.

“What… what do you remember before ending up here?”

He contemplates your question carefully, debating whether or not to answer you. He makes a gambit.

“Standing before the Council of Elders,” he says in a strangely wistful tone. “Then Orion with his blasters drawn. I could hardly recognize him… he’s changed… so much since his cycles as an archivist. He explained what happened… the war… the lives lost… everything.” Whatever relief the confession brings quickly dissipates, replaced with anger and pain. “Explain yourself, human – or whatever creature you may be. Why did you call me Megatron? And why do you speak as though I am your enemy?”

You brace yourself against his hand, throat dry with dread as you struggle to form an answer.

Eventually, something slips out. Something you wish had never left your mouth. “Optimus lied to you.”

#transformers sg #maccadam #transformers prime #sg tfp #transformers x human #transformers x reader #valveplug #tfp megatron #tfp optimus

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 10 days ago

Text

♤|♡ "BARGAIN" — Overlord [IDW]

Post Overlord’s Defection, Pre-G-9! based off of my HCs you can find right here.

summary: Overlord left the Decepticons and word spreads fast in the Decepticon ranks. You could've cared less. And you realize that mistake a little too late when someone crashes in your ship on a fine day.

warning: robo-gore

cross posted on ao3!

Overlord was in here just to find a functioning ship and Decepticon ships were ones he was well-versed with, just about every model so it’s no surprise he chose the nearest one he could find at the moment. Overlord was an educated mech, many may have the notion he's merely a mindless brute with nothing in his helm other than destruction and while that is true, the mech is keen on educating himself. With adequate knowledge on Decepticon engineering; he knew what circuit was beneath which panel on the hull’s exterior so it was relatively easy for the behemoth of a mech to break a few panels using his abnormal brute strength, rip out the ship's shielding circuitry as well as weaponry, rendering the crew defenceless. Not like the ship’s weapons were doing much against his standard Warrior’s Elite ununtrium frame to start with but he did find being fired at slightly annoying at the moment. His own little ship was running out of energon which was the only reason he was honestly here for… and maybe a good old chaos session. The mad warrior was insane enough to jump from his own ship to the hull of this one, holding onto it for dear life as the rather skilled pilot of this ship tried to shake him off to no avail.

His pedes make a loud metallic thump as he lands onto the floor, stretching his servos a bit as he looks around. The ejection bridge, just where he wanted to be. This was probably the type of ship to have a little more skilled Decepticon personnel given the size and model but he's more than prepared for a fight, he's craving one if anything. But firstly, Overlord thinks about what he should do for his ‘fun’. He takes his blasters and aims at the escape pods, damaging them enough so that they wouldn't be able to eject; chances of escape left in flames as he walks away. The silence within the ship confuses him; there's none of those usual pleasant sounds that come along with his grand entry— no screams, no begging, no panicking, no blaster shots. Just utter silence.

No matter, he'd have his fun somehow.

Now, he could just go directly towards the storage and take all their energon but where’s the fun in that? The doors were wide open; as in whoever ran this ship had a feeling he was here for fuel and thought he’d be sane enough to just take what he wants and frag off. But Overlord’s been itching for his daily dose of violence, the one good thing about being a Decepticon was that it meant he had a daily quota of violence ensured for him always. Generally, he’d get a kick from the mortified faces of the crew members as they try to shoot him down trying to defend their ship. All in vain of course, no standard Decepticon blaster was powerful enough to pierce through ununtrium but it seems the crew of this ship was much smarter, not even a shadow of their presence in his line of sight. Or maybe they were cowards, cowering and hiding like the rest would.

At least Overlord loved a good game of hide & seek.

He roams the desolate hallways of an eerily familiar ship as he hums a tune, only alarms blaring and the echoes of his pede-steps could be heard. There is nothing but malevolent intent radiating from his frame. He can’t find the crew so far, they must be huddled up somewhere. Overlord found that slightly strange given most Decepticon commanders would’ve probably fled to a safe room, or the crew would fight over escape pods and leave the weak to fend for themselves… But this was a ghost ship. Perhaps they’ve all used the escape pods, Overlord muses. However, he knows that's not the case. He made sure to break in the exact area where the ship’s escape pods would be and he made sure to note the exact number of escape pods. Not a single one had left the ship. Decepticon engineering had gotten far too predictable for the Phase Sixer.

All in the meanwhile, you and the rest of your crew huddle in the common room, the make-shift break room. You’ve managed to calm down all of your crew, hushed whispers between them as they discuss the situation at hand— there’s all sorts of bots with you; combatants, engineers, pilots, medics, M.T.O.s and even a few of the ship’s drones for the sole purpose of keeping track of the ship’s systems. It was a tactical decision on your part; the security drones allow you to access the cameras of the ship, at least the ones that weren’t broken by his entry. There's an overwhelming sense of responsibility surging through you when you look at the twenty or so fellow ‘Cons under your charge as you struggle to compute, struggle to think of an idea to make this better somehow while you watch Overlord humming a tune as he walks through empty halls.

Why was he here? What was he here for? You have so many questions but all you know is that Overlord isn’t a Decepticon anymore and that means you have absolutely no assurance for whatever he’s planning. You know what he's capable of very, very well and it does nothing to ease your anxieties.

But you don’t have the right to panic. You can’t. You have to put up a strong face for your crew. They all rely on you. You tear your helm off the monitor to just make sure everybot was here for a moment. A little relieved you made it this far. You SIC, Faust pats the armour plating on your shoulder for a moment to calm you down— Decepticons generally don’t comfort or accept it when offered but you can't help but appreciate the action, evident from the soft smile he draws from you. You turn your helm back to the monitor of the drone, watching the hulking blue and pink mech intently with an understandably worried expression on your faceplates.

Now, usually, Overlord would’ve gotten bored by now but the mystery of where the crew went is rather intriguing to him. The captain of this vessel was intelligent; he’d give the mech that much, you had managed to sound the emergency alarms as well as override the lock systems. That meant each and every door was locked and Overlord would have to waste his time punching through doors to find the bots of this ship and this ship wasn’t exactly small, large if anything.

What a pain. But it would make his victory all the more sweeter.

He’d made his way to the safe room, he knew where those were on almost every Decepticon engineered ship at this point and he’s a little surprised to see no one inside after he rips through the door effortlessly. Overlord’s patience is wearing thin now, a small frown over his face as he storms back out onto the hall. He turns his helm to a rather… familiar door. He brute forces his way through it— it’s a CO’s workstation and he can’t help but sneer at the realization as he stands by the metallic doorway. He hated them. Having to report to those clearly less than him… but something’s familiar about the metal desk in front of him. He inspects it, long strides helping him get close quickly around the dull room.

Those datapads. Those desk stands. The hyper-specific method of file arrangement. A datapad with roll call list with ticks next to names.. Dates penned down next to it…

The realization of who’s ship he’s in sinks in and an absolutely dastardly smile spreads across his face, crimson optics gleaming with dangerous intent. He walks out of the room with a wide smile— he’s going to be dealing with you. Of course he couldn’t expect his usual routines or methods to work on you. You were far above those regular brutes that call themselves Decepticons and that meant a new experience for him, maybe even a challenge and Overlord wouldn’t refuse that. Overlord was going to enjoy this, throughly.

And the best part? He didn’t come here initially for you. This is a bonus.

He hums in thought, knowing you… you probably told all your crew to hide in their respective quarters. Of course, that would be something you would do. Not only did living space rooms (as well as weapons storage & ammunition) have doors thicker than the rest but also could only be opened by the ones who live in said respective habisuites of living space wing. He could punch the doors out too but it would take slightly more effort. He guns straight for the captain’s quarters, hoping to find you there. Overlord’s always wanted to be in your quarters before, he’d got a rather giddy look on his face only to be replaced by a scowl the moment he smashes the door open along with the HUD to see an empty room. But despite his annoyance, he lingers there for a moment longer than he should just to admire what you’ve done with the place; it literally screams out your designation to him with how boring it looks to him. He walks away, not willing to lose this game yet.

Your crew seems to go increasingly restless but you’ve managed to calm them down with Faust’s help. A quick flash of fear passes through your faceplates as you continue monitoring his actions, he is getting closer to the common room, entering the living pace sector only to tear through various habisuites for his amusement. His strength scares you, how he effortlessly rips through standard reinforced titanium doors like it's a datapad. It just makes your growing dread at what's impending worse as you continue to try and figure out what his intentions are.

Because Overlord is not a mech you can fight off; it's not even an opinion, it's a fact. But, you could mislead him. At least that you could do. Make him think and search while you keep scheming for a contingency plan. You know he gets bored easily and that’s just about the only thing you can rely on. You’ve made sure to leave the doors of the fuel storage and weapons storage open, hoping Overlord would take what he wants and leave but clearly, the mech can’t do fuel without entertainment. Besides, you were able to send Axel and Argon to grab whatever heavy artillery there was to keep with all of you as you hid in here, you knew Overlord would break through eventually and you weren't going to take any risks. It paid off.

“You know, I find myself enjoying this little game of ours, deary~” Overlord says out loud in his usual smug tone, frustration from before skimming down to none. He honestly impressed you’ve lasted this long, the other ships he’s taken down lasted about... what? Ten minutes?

You feel a primaeval fear grip your spark. He knows you’re listening. Somehow, he knows you're listening. You try to make it seem as if you weren't scared. Faust, Axel, Argon and the rest were busy whispering as quietly as they could amongst themselves.

You listen to what he’s saying, focused, on the lowest volume setting possible as your highly tuned in audio receptors take in his words. You make sure the rest of the crew can’t hear, solely in order to avoid making them panicked because the moment they are, they’d make enough noise for the Phase Sixer to figure out you’re hiding in the common area. You can’t speak back to him currently given your… compromised position so you listen to every word intently, studying his figure keenly.

“I must admit, most don’t last this long, dearest Commander…” He sighs out, making sure to stay loud. You can see he suspects that you can hear him. You can’t help but furrow your optical ridges, optics never leaving his figure as you observe him. Not daring to look away as you lean in towards the monitor on the drone. From what you can tell, he suspects you’re in the main console room because that's where he’s strutting towards, carrying an air of idyllic malice you knew him well for.

“Making me think. But that’s what I like about you. You make sure I’m never bored~” His digits scrape against the metallic walls as he walks along the lonely corridors. Now, that wasn’t good. You have a visible frown on your face. Your entire plan was to: A. let him take the weapons, ammunition and energon he needs without resistance so he would go quickly or B. make him bored out of his mind if he was looking for a fight so that he’d take whatever it was that he needed and leave.

But you made two fatal flaws: you underestimated his tenacity; you left out his inability to accept defeat and his unshakable want for something more than what he came for.

He enters the main console room and you can’t help the hitch in your vents as an idea of what he might be doing crosses in your processor, he seems rather unfazed when he doesn’t see you there; as if he wasn’t expecting it and it unnerves you, because until now, he seemed to get frustrated with all of your disappearances. The others hiding behind you seem to take notice of your subtle shift in demeanor, exchanging panicked glances amongst themselves but not daring to make a noise. You gave them a strict order to ‘keep quiet until you can hear your own internal systems’.

Overlord is the most dangerous when he thinks outside of brutality— you knew that well. You refuse to take your optics off of the screen, the reactions of your cowering crew going unnoticed.

He’s at the surveillance console. You can’t help the shallow vents that leave you but you try to keep your composure, you can't afford to panic, you keep telling yourself. Was he trying to access the ship’s camera feed? You’re certain he can’t… Only the Surveillance Officer and CO could; and your Surveillance Officer, Eris, was cowering under a desk with some of the other crew like you asked them too. But the disappointed huff you hear from the monitor's speakers as Overlord bends over to access the surveillance console has you letting out a relieved sigh. He can't access it.

Overlord walks over and sees red flashes over at the communication panel, a small beeping noise from it and walks up to it, crimson optics widening. “Oh, you are vile...” Overlord laughs as he sees the communication log. You sent a distress signal to the DJD.

::Ambushed by armed assailant in a M-18 model— Decepticon manufactured, recognized as a Decepticon, identity unclear. Thrusters damaged, ship immobilized. 12:87:09, Kimera Sector.::

::status: sent, unread.::

Unread. Narrow luck was on his side and it made him smile. Tarn and his bootlickers must've been too busy with a hunt. Even if the DJD does see the distress call, it would take them time to get to these coordinates and Overlord knows full well that The Peaceful Tyranny does not have a Transwarp Engine because of their ‘encounters’, perhaps you weren’t aware of such a thing. A miscalculation on your side. But you still had him on a timer and Overlord wasn't even aware of it.

He would’ve busted a fuse from sheer rage if he weren’t actually impressed with all that you’ve done within the time he managed to break through into your ship. Not only that but you’d manage to send a description of the ship he had arrived in. That would mean he was going to be tailgated for an annoying span of time… But unidentified? Every damn bot on this ship knew who he was the moment he recklessly made a landing on the weak point on your ship's hull. Why didn't you mention his designation? Surely, the DJD would be coming faster in that case. Unless you want to buy time… But for what?

You're a puzzle to him, a complex one. One he intends to solve. He admires your thinking. Maybe this was a slip up from your side? Not enough time to type out his designation? He sincerely doubts it. Meanwhile, you continue to watch with growing trepidation. Optics never once tearing themselves away from the monitor screen.

He takes a seat by the captain’s chair although it's a little small for him, his servos lay on the armrest of your chair, it irks you but you let it be. You had more pressing matters. His helm leans down on his servo, helm supported by his servo as he seems to be… thinking?

“If I were my dearest Commander, where would I go with my crew?”

Overlord always believed that a good tactician is half psychologist and half sadist, which is why he made sure to try and understand the way you think… but you were truly something else in his optics. He remembers seeing you read a datapad on ship mechanics during breaks and he remembers your answer to his snarky inquiry on your choice of reading: “I believe it's important to be educated on a topic before you make a decision.”. Wisdom, he might’ve said if he weren’t so prideful. It was why you were the only other mecha in this entire faction to have at least a shred of his respect. He was getting frustrated as he tries to think but masks it with a chuckle.

“Hm… I’d be with my crew… Not because I’m one of those bot that babble about ‘honor’ but because I know that they would give out positions of every bot on-board if I’m not there to keep them in line.” He muses and you scowl from where you sit and watch because he was right. If you let one of them out on their own, out of their sight and Overlord found them, they would sell all of you out immediately… and you wouldn’t blame them. Overlord was beyond sadistic.

“But… where could my dearest Commander hide with the whole crew? Judging by the number of habs in the living space, I’d say there’s maybe… eighteen? Twenty if I’m pushing it…”

Overlord says out loud, you know what he’s doing. He wants you to listen. Overlord rises up from the chair, heading out of the main console room, strutting down the corridors with an unreadable expression. He’s saying his thoughts out loud, he’s not talking to himself but to you, to make you panic, you know that. Fear is a powerful tool and Overlord is counting on getting you on edge; you can tell it's not only for baiting you to do something brash but for his own enjoyment as well.

“Now, the only rooms in the ship's layout that could fit that many would be…” He takes a turn and you continue watching as that nagging trepidation continues to build up in your frame. Your circuits feel unnaturally cold.

“One, the engine room, but you’d rather face me directly than let me near volatile engine parts with your whole crew around.” Overlord chuckles as he continues, his stride unnervingly calm and patient. He’s near where he breached through the hull and you can’t get a live security feed, earning a curse from under your ex-vent.

“Two is definitely not the main hall, I quite literally walked past it…” You can hear his voice with slight static over it but you’re able to make out what he says. The security feed returns and an immediate look of temporary relief floods your face as you continue keenly observing; however, you remain acutely aware that you cannot feel relieved yet as this threat to civilizations itself continues roaming your ship. He walks and he is getting closer to the living sector again.

You prepare yourself for the worst.

“Three, the mess hall. Plenty of space to run around in but in most Decepticon warships? Mess halls don’t exactly have doors…”

You can hear his pede-steps now. Heavy. Measured. You can’t help the fear that engulfs your whole frame as you watch in horror, glancing across to your crew. An expression that clearly conveyed the situation at hand and they all understand that look. Some whimper and some pray like they never have before to deities they relinquished when they became Decepticons as silently as they could while they remain huddled behind you. Some cling onto each other. Eris and Faust are, in hopes of some sort of comfort. Anxiety and dread continue to bubble up from deep within your frame at the sight— you don’t blame them for hiding behind you as you stand near the door. Pedes quietly shuffling away from the large metallic door as you hear Overlord’s loud, measured pede-steps right outside.

He’s here.

“Lastly, that would leave us with four, the common room.”

All of you remain prepared, your crew huddling behind you as you face the door. They really did believe you could save them from this and it just makes your tanks churn with a sense of… melancholy because of this situation… Overlord, he was far out of your control and you always had everything under control. You see a balled up servo punch at the door, about to break through. The door can only last for so long, some of your crew have hidden behind furniture in the common room and many remain huddled around you as you back away from the door. Putting the cannons and whatever artillery they had in their servos in place, knowing it would be futile.

But what choice do they have against Warriors Elite? Going down with a fight is better than mindlessly being slaughtered like cattle.

Overlord can hear the audible flinches and it just fuels him even more to take this slow and build this up so he could see the faces of mortification. But a part of him is excited at the prospect of seeing you again. There’s a wicked grin on his face as he finally bursts through the metal door and the sight makes him laugh— you at the forefront as the rest of the crew remains huddled behind you, pointing cannons and cheap Null Rays as if they could do anything against his superior frame.

And he knows they won't shoot, he can see it. Servos shaking like cowards, even if they did shoot, they'd miss and end up hurting one of their own. A pathetic attempt at a display of hostility against a force of nature like him.

Soon enough, his hulking figure looms over you, malicious intent practically radiating off of his frame.

“Got you.” He can’t help but feel smug as he purrs it out, that was absolutely fun and the result was a hundred percent worth it because he can see the absolute terror that grips all of your sparks. It took a while and that's what made the end result all the more sweeter.

His optics lock on to you as you stand on the forefront, it was humorous to see you like this now given you used to shoot daggers at him. You were supposed to look at him like this back then. Even if your optics only subtly betray your emotions, Overlord can tell you’re scared despite the stern glare you give him, he can see that you’re trying to stop your lower derma from trembling slightly.

“Aww. What’s with this face, Commander? Aren’t you happy to see an old soldier? A good old comrade?” Overlord gives a deceptively cheery smile as he leans down to you, keeping an uncomfortable closeness. You say nothing but your crew seems to take that as a signal to further huddle behind you and move back, away from him. A good call. Your crimson optics narrow at him and he can’t help but laugh at your display, he can see the swirling defiance and fear behind your optics all too well; he’s seen this look before. Many times. Though, he liked the look more on you.

“You should be proud, dearest. Not many have succeeded in making me resort to actually thinking for once… Or lasting this long, really.” He pats your back with little force but you continue to stand tense, refusing to fall into his ploy of false security. Overlord was treating this as if it were a game and he’d won in good sport. Mocking you. You uncomfortably purse your derma into a thin line, trying not to recoil from his touch; even if it was light for the metaphorical weight behind it was heavy.

“...What do you want?” You manage to speak, you try to make sure your tone isn’t shaky.

Overlord comes to appreciate your cunning even more after making him run around circles in your ship to try and find everyone as if it were some hide & seek royale. As frustrating as it was, he will admit one thing; no mech other than Megatron himself has managed to get him to resort to using his intellect as much as he did in this situation because if he were any other somewhat sane Decepticon, he would’ve given up and just taken what he came for initially. But now you and your whole crew are basically his prisoner now.

“Why I want to have fun, catch up with an old friend maybe.” He says in a mockingly non-threatening manner with his eerie yet cheery smile but you can feel malevolence basically enveloping your frame as his intimidating stature stands upright, looming over you. Overlord chuckles as he sees you’re not buying it, a hard glare from your crimson optics. He can see the distrust and defiance. You don’t even have to use your words to tell him what you feel.

“You think I would crash a party without having some fun of my own?” He leans close towards you, his helm moving towards your crew and looking back at you with a wide wicked grin and that gleam in his crimson optics. You knew damn well what he was planning.

And you were afraid that it would indeed work.

“Don’t you dare.” Your words fall onto deaf audials as you catch on to what he’s saying

“Firstly, I want to know a few things.” He quickly snatches up one of the bots that cowered behind you, a small green bot that maybe reached up to your chassis at best and you recognize him, it was Axel. You prepare yourself for the worst. This was going to be one hell of an interrogation.

“You send a distress signal to the DJD saying that your ship was under attack, why?” Overlord asks as he holds a shaking Axel in one of his large servos, wanting to know if he was right about his previous assumption. Was it because of orders? What went through your helm? The questioning clearly caught you off-guard and he could see that in your crimson optics despite your stoic demeanour, he assumes you thought he would ask something classified which he would but… not yet.

“They aren’t too far from this star system and they could deal with you for treachery.” You reply rather blankly but he can sense your disdain, Overlord hums. He can easily feel the venomous edge in your tone. You were making it seem like you were following protocol.

“Partly true. But the real reason, not the painfully obvious.” You did not mention Overlord even once in the signal. Why give a description of his ship but not say that it was Overlord’s?

Without a second thought, Overlord’s free servo clutches on Axel’s servo, almost half his whole limb in his large servo as he begins slowly crushing his servos in front of you, his arm components giving a grinding crunching noise. Your optics widen, a scream that could freeze the energon in any mecha’s lines rips through his vocalizer. The metal of his arm slowly gets compressed, flattening in Overlord’s grip as the rest of your crew stands stupefied, far too fear-stricken to do anything as sheer horror flashes onto all of your faces. You’re no exception.

“Fine, fine, fine! I-I’ll tell you! Just… Just don’t-”

You fumble around, clearly distressed. It was a rare sight from the oh, so stoic Commander and Overlord, that sadistic streak of him, relished it. But, it was too late. You hear a horrifyingly loud crunch noise. To every bot’s sheer mortification, Axel’s entire servo gets flattened and ripped off of his frame as he writhes helplessly in Overlord’s gasp, screaming so deafeningly loud that his vocalizer cackles static and energon splurts out from where once his shoulder was. His faceplates contorted into one of utter agony and for a moment, you feel… frozen. His energon slashed a little on your faceplates and you just kept that look of horror.

You have never felt this helpless your entire functioning.

“For every lie you tell, I rip off a limb, fair?” Overlord keeps his menacing cheery smile on, as if he didn’t just mutilate a live bot in front of them.

You usually don’t feel bad when you witness Decepticons commit atrocities. Far too desensitized. Besides, you can't be a Decepticon without being either apathetic or sadistic. But the fact that this happened to a bot under your command, under your watch… it makes your tanks churn as you let out a shaky ex-vent. As if you've failed your duty as a commander. Failed to keep your crew safe as their captain. You honestly expected Overlord to kill him but of course, the sadist would only make someone suffer as much as he could before finishing them off.

“I signalled the DJD and gave a description of your ship. The model, the colours and the fact that it’s Decepticon manufactured. That way, you won’t be able to just… slaughter us all and run off. And all Decepticon communication lines contain the ID of the ship the message is sent from. So even if you wanted to use our ship instead, they would track you down.”

His smile falters, his dermas now pursed as he listens on keenly. That meant he could just kill all of you without an issue, he just had to make a rather daring escape and he could do so with an escape pod from your ship after he blows up the main console, not really convenient considering he was rather low on energon however it still works in his favor... nonetheless he listens on. Since you mentioned his ship was stolen Decepticon manufacture, it was without a doubt that wet blanket Tarn would assume Overlord’s ship had some second-rate opportunistic traitor… but why not mention Overlord? Tarn was practically aching to get his servos on him, that fanatic would come a lot faster if you did though it would take time regardless.

“But, the signal can be… shut down. You can cut off a distress signal. The receiver will only be able to save the ship’s location from where the signal was sent, not the ship’s identification. They can note it down, sure but they won’t be able to track or tell who the ship belongs to. The DJD will come here but they won’t be able to find our ship, they’ll assume some other ship already assisted us but they’d still keep a look out for the ship we described.” You speak, studying his face as carefully as you can. Optics narrowed at him. Trying to figure out anything that he’s feeling. Anything at all. But he just… stands in front of you, a shaking Axel clutched in his servo like some sort of doll missing a limb.

“Location is not an issue because you didn’t damage our transwrap-drive when you entered. We have enough energon in our ship to make one warp.”

You add on, trying to make sure your voice doesn’t shake and somewhat succeeding. You were going to break many, many, many lines of protocol for this but… it's either Overlord or Tarn. And that is basically the same thing but one of them comes with four others to deal with. Sure, Tarn would not be very happy with you and he was honestly just as scary as Overlord but you’d rather deal with a harsh lecture from the DJD leader about how important his time is (if he doesn’t find out you covered up Overlord, you’re sure that would get all of you on The List) than watch your entire crew get mutilated by Overlord. Overlord’s optics wide slightly as you’ve outwitted him yet again. You’ve managed to get quite a sweet deal and the better of him in a situation where you’re supposed to be compromised because you knew damn well he can't pilot an entire Decepticon battle cruiser without a crew.

“However, I can’t do that alone, I’ll need my Communication’s Officer and technicians to help me because I don’t have Decepticon communications protocols in my memory banks… and you don’t know which bot does what duty either. You can't pilot this ship entirely by yourself. Plus, this sector of the galaxy is practically abandoned. You won't be able to find another ship here for vorns.”

Overlord can’t help but smirk at that, you really were something else. His optics subtly lights up when your quick wit finally registers in his processor. If you had mentioned Overlord, Tarn would certainly come quicker but it would take time regardless, space travel was not as quick as all those engineers boast about… and he would have more than enough of a reason to leave behind a mess for Tarn. Not only that, but then Tarn would have a description of his ship and know that it was his as well. What's the point of leaving Overlord over to the DJD for their 'justice' if it meant all of you would die?

You left out his designation so you could buy time. Not only to put Overlord on a time constraint.

“That means, you can’t cripple or terminate any of my crew if you want to hitch a ride. Otherwise, you can take what you want, kill us all, leave and have the DJD tailgate you for vorns.” You finish off, looking at an impressed and near awestruck Overlord with a convincing but fake blank look. You don't want him to know just how scared you are, though you know he probably does. From one tactician to another, he had to applaud your thinking, he wouldn’t have seen that coming. Ever. He drops Axel haphazardly as the ‘Con continues groaning in pain. But you don’t dare to help him as you continue looking at Overlord, you can’t afford to show weakness in front of him.

Meanwhile, the crew behind you mutters amongst themselves with understandable skepticism. Some try to protest, intakes agape to say something. Overlord as a houseguest? Insanity! That would never work out! Not to mention, harbouring a high-profile traitor was practically treason. You’d get them all on The List. But, they’ve come to trust you. You wouldn’t go this route unless there was no other alternative. You know what you’re doing.

Right?

“Well played, Commander.” He claps, you’re not sure if he’s mocking you or if he’s being genuine but you’re honestly… surprised. Surprised that he even considered; Overlord was not a mech of reason. The energon from Axel splattered across his servos dripping as tiny droplets onto Axel’s frame as the ‘Con weakly groans, crawling away as quickly as he can away from Overlord. The sight is… unsettling, straight out of those circuits and wires gore montages, you keep your focus onto Overlord as much as you can. He is actually genuinely impressed.

You’ve managed to secure your own safety and your crew’s in a matter of moments as well as manage to evade confrontation with him for this long. He can see how startled you look, as if you didn’t expect him to ever agree. However, you're well aware that this will only be forever the time being and that any promises with Overlord wouldn't last unless you had leverage or an offer. But he wasn’t going to let you win so easily.

By agreeing to do this for him, you were going to keep him under the radar, Overlord wouldn’t have thought his old stick-up-the-aft commander would ever even fathom about harboring a fugitive… but if it came at the assurance of your life… Overlord can see what you’re offering. You’re basically giving him a choice to remain hidden; to return to his ship, take the energon he needs and frag off to the farthest corner of the galaxy as if this never happened. Or even stay for an indefinite period. You’re giving him a major advantage in exchange for the mere promise he won’t kill you.

And lately, Tarn’s been getting a little too close to him. Regardless, Overlord has his own plans.

“Fine. But I’ll leave, only after you and your mystery Communications bot distorts that signal.” Overlord completely accepts this, folding his servos over his chassis as his figure looms over you and it… somehow feels more strange to you. You were honestly prepared for him to just shoot you on the spot. Overlord can see your crew more at ease as well. But it’s a mystery.

He has something he wants from you, you feel it.

But you can’t tell what it is.

A silence fills the room, almost as if all of them can’t believe that you managed to actually talk your way out of this with Overlord of all mechs. All of them honestly can’t believe that they have a chance of walking out of this functioning. Your processor races, millions of possible reasons flashing through. The silence is deafening as you continue to stare up at him, surprised and studying.

“Well? If you wait around, the DJD is going to show up and your sweet deal will mean nothing, commander.” Overlord unceremoniously breaks the silence with a frown as he stands with his servos on his hip struts.

“...Right.”

You can’t believe that worked but you and a group of technicians and your crew’s Communications Officer hurry to the main console, working on it near immediately as Overlord walks around the room. He moves around, seeming… bored. His optics are fixed on you, its unnerving. But almost nostalgic. It used to be one his many, many ways of annoying you.

You're mostly silent as he looms above you.

"...how do I know that you won't kill us off after we disable the signal?" You muster up the courage to ask, looking at him. Overlord would definitely do something like that. But he just smiles, again, a deceptively cheery one.

"You'll just have to see." Vague answer. This isn't a solid contract. You're gambling away lives on the basis of a chance. You know that. You're safe as long as he's not having his itch to do something heinous. He looks as bored as ever.

But his boredom is short-lived when his optics befall the navigation panel behind you. You move away as he's bending over slightly to get a better look. A flash of worry on your faceplates but its quickly replaced with the strong cold stoicism.

“Garrus-9?” Overlord mumbles, reading the location this ship was supposed to be heading to rather curiously. Why the prison planet? You freeze. You’re not supposed to say a word but.. There is a chance he might go back on his word if you don’t let him have what he wants and you still don’t know how you managed to bargain for all of your lives.

“Lord Megatron wants us on stand-by.” You say, not revealing too many details of your benefactor’s orders as Eris and the others work on the console. Too risky. Too sensitive. Your faceplates do not betray a hint of what you feel.

How Overlord wished to change that. But he pushes such thoughts away for now. Seems like the two of you had a common destination.

“Interesting.” He says, sounding disinterested. He doesn't feel like murdering all of you anymore. Even if seeing how downright devstated you would be in such a situation would be a sight for his sore optics but…

Now, at least he will know where to find you later.

this is one of my stuff back on ao3, i'll post each of them onto here one by one.

#transformers x reader #transformers #cybertronian reader #reader insert #transformers overlord x reader #overlord transformers #idw overlord #idw transformers #tf idw #transformers idw #idw mtmte #idw overlord x reader #i wanted a horror vibe for this #the follow ups will get gorey but rn this is all i got

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brookediamonds · 2 months ago

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Could you write an Axel x reader fic. Reader is competing with Miyagi Do in the sekai taikai tournament and is a really smart and good fighter. She is kind of confused why Axel keeps checking her out though because she was a total nerd ( maybe an honorary binary brother? ) and has no game / never gets attention like that.

you're the glitter in the darkness of my world | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: Back home, you were far from the dating pool. Boys never looked at you, nonetheless flirted with you. Axel is about to change that.

Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: None, sm fluff

gif is not mine

You're not used to this.

Boys don't look at you like that, not the way Axel just did.

You're used to being the third wheel to Eli and Demetri's binary banter, the nerdy girl with killer reflexes and a stash of Star Wars facts no one asked for.

You're the one who corrects Demetri’s math mid-spar and shouts "plot armor!" when Eli pulls off a move he absolutely should not have landed.

That's your role: funny, sharp, underestimated.

So when you're in Barcelona, running through another Miyagi-Do warm-up before the competition, and you catch Axel watching you.

Not just watching, lingering, making you almost trip over your own foot.

You try to ignore it. Tell yourself he's probably just sizing up the competition. The Iron Dragons are intense like that. But then it happens again.

His eyes flick to you during drills. He pauses when you laugh too hard at something Hawk says. And when you land a clean hit in a spar, you swear you hear him mutter something under his breath—low and admiring.

You're dumbfounded. No way.

You? The girl who wore a Legolas tee to team dinner and argued passionately about Batman's fighting stance over paella?

There has to be some mistake.

You're huddled on the hotel lobby couch with Eli and Demetri, a half-eaten bag of chips between you and a vintage-looking board game splayed out across the coffee table.

It's something Demetri brought from home, complete with confusing instructions, dice that have too many sides, and pieces shaped like tiny laser blasters.

"I swear to God, if you sabotage my alliance one more time—" Eli mutters, narrowing his eyes at you.

You just grin and casually slide another power token into your inventory. "Strategic decisions must be made, Eli. You knew the risks when you trusted a Level 6 Rogue Commander with a history of betrayal."

"Why are we friends with her again?" he groans turning to Demetri.

"Because I bring snacks," you grin, popping a chip into your mouth.

Your scrawny friend nods solemnly in agreement. "That’s fair."

You're trying to enjoy it, one last relaxing night before everything gets serious tomorrow, but your knee keeps bouncing and you’ve checked your tournament gear three times already.

The nerves are hitting harder than you expected.

"So," you spoke suddenly, your voice a little too quiet. "You guys wanna maybe stay up a little longer with me? Just like… hang? I'm kinda freaking out about tomorrow."

They both look at you, soft, sympathetic, but Hawk stretches with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

"Dude, I'd love to, but I'm dead from that plane ride," he says. "Sensei said we're running drills at sunrise."

Demetri winces in agreement. "If I don’t get at least six hours, my kata turns into interpretive dance. You've seen it. It's not good."

You smile, but it’s a little forced. "No worries. Totally get it. Go recharge your anime protagonist energy."

They stand, giving you quick fist bumps and sleepy "goodnights," and head toward the elevators.

And you're left there, suddenly feeling like the last nerd standing at the end of game night.

You sigh and start packing up the game pieces when a shadow moves near the edge of your vision.

You glance up, and there he is.

Axel Kovačević. The male captain from the Iron Dragons, 3x world champion.

Hands in his hoodie pocket, his hair still damp from a shower, that unreadable look on his face as he steps closer.

"You're nervous," he says simply, not as a question.

Your mouth opens slightly. "Were you just—standing there?"

"I was walking through. I heard you." He pauses. "I can stay."

You blink, completely taken back by his offer. "What?"

His eyes soften, just a little. "If you want company. I'll stay.”

Your heart does that stupid skip thing. You were prepared to spend the night stress-babbling about tactics to your plush Porg in your room, not this.

You clear your throat. "I mean, unless you’ve got broody karate stuff to do…"

"I can be broody here," he says with a hint of a smirk. "Besides… I want to."

Your voice catches. You weren’t expecting that. You never expect this kind of thing.

"…Okay," you nod, slowly smiling. "But only if you promise not to judge my dice-rolling form."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Depends. Is it as sharp as your roundhouse?"

You laugh, for real this time, and scoot over to make room on the couch.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You end up ditching the dice game in favor of scrolling through streaming services together, your legs tucked beneath you on the couch while Axel lounges beside you, one arm stretched along the backrest.

Somehow, you both end up deep in a passionate debate over The Lord of the Rings—specifically, the extended editions.

"I'm just saying," you argue, gesturing with the remote like it's a sword, "if you skip the scene where Boromir tries to teach the Hobbits sword-fighting, you have no heart."

"I didn't skip it," Axel says, completely serious. "I just said the Helm's Deep battle is better."

You gasp sitting up straight. "That’s blasphemy!"

"I stand by it."

"You would," you mutter, crossing your arms. "Tall. Mysterious. Favors epic destruction. You're basically the Croatian Aragorn."

He snorts at that, a rare laugh escaping him. "He's not mysterious."

"He is to me," you state.

The smile on his face fades slowly, but not in a bad way. More like something's shifted.

You turn back to the screen, but his silence lingers. After a few seconds, you glance sideways, and freeze when you catch him staring.

It's not casual. It's not accidental. His eyes are fixed on you, soft and unreadable, like he’s seeing something that’s unraveling him in real time.

"…What?" you ask, blinking. "Do I have something on my face or something?"

He doesn't laugh. Doesn't look away.

"No," he says, voice quiet. "You're just… really beautiful."

You stare at him, brain stalling like an overloaded game console.

"Shut up," you respond, reflexively, trying to hide the way your heart just jumped into another dimension. "You're messing with me."

"I'm not."

His hand lifts slowly, hesitating for just a second before he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The touch is soft. Careful. Like he’s scared you'll pull away.

"You think I'd stay down here past midnight just to talk about hobbits if I didn't want to be near you?" he adds, tone lower now, almost like a confession.

You feel your breath catch in your throat. For once, your brain, usually full of stats and trivia and sarcasm, comes up completely blank.

Just you, Axel, and the warm hum of hotel lights.

"…I, um," you manage, eloquently.

He leans in slightly, not enough to crowd you, but enough to make the air between you shift.

"You don't have to say anything," he says. "I just wanted you to know."

And he means it. You can tell. No teasing, no smirk, just honesty.

The kind that makes your stomach flip in a really inconvenient but also kind of amazing way.

Your cheeks are burning, your brain is jelly, and your heart is definitely betraying you with how loud it's pounding in your chest.

Axel's fingers still hover just slightly from your face, like he doesn't want to break the moment too fast.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your throat.

"…No one's ever told me that before," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "Outside the dojo, I'm the weird girl. The one who'd rather stay in playing video games or ranting about Tolkien lore than go out and flirt with boys."

You let out a small laugh, kind of nervous. "I have zero game. Like negative game."

He tilts his head, the smallest crease forming between his brows as he studies you.

"That's because the other guys are idiots."

You feel the heat creep up your neck as you catch sight of his soft blue eyes boring into your own.

"I'm not like them," Axel says, his voice quiet but firm. "I don't care if you're a nerd. I like that you're different. You're not trying to be like anyone else. You're just you."

You glance at him, unsure, still half expecting a punchline or some kind of tease, but it never comes.

His expression is completely serious. Earnest.

You exhale slowly, still kind of stunned. "…Are you sure? Like, you know I own three different replica swords, right? And I named my car after a Star Wars character?"

"I like that, too."

"…The swords or the car?"

"Both," he responds without hesitation. "Especially if one of the swords is Andúril."

You let out an actual laugh, a real one this time, and shake your head in disbelief. "You're either lying or you're some kind of perfect, broody glitch in the Matrix."

He leans a little closer, lips twitching into a rare smirk.

"Maybe I'm just into you," he says softly.

Your heart flips, and you're about to make some kind of awkward joke just to keep from combusting when he adds, almost offhandedly—

"You know… earlier you said I was like Aragorn."

You nod, caught off guard. "I mean… yeah. You kind of have Aragorn energy. Quiet. Intense. Sword skills. Very'‘if by my life or death I can protect you' vibes."

Axel's smile grows a little, barely there, but real.

"Then I guess that makes you Arwen."

Your brain stutters, completely still in shock this boy was giving you any kind of compliment.

"What?"

He shrugs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "She was powerful. Kind. Smart. Everyone underestimated her. But she was strong. Unshakable. Beautiful."

Your breath catches in your throat again, and you're sure your entire body temperature just spiked by ten degrees.

He looks down, just briefly, before adding, quieter, "And Aragorn loved her the second he saw her."

Silence.

It stretches between you, soft and warm and full of everything you didn't think someone would ever say to you.

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again.

"Okay," you finally manage, eyes wide. "That was… objectively the smoothest thing anyone has ever said to me."

He tilts his head slightly, playful. "Even with your zero game?"

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. "Okay, rude."

But he just smiles at you again. Open, gentle, and you realize something that hits you like a surprise boss level:

This boy means it.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The lobby's mostly empty now, just the soft hum of vending machines and the distant sound of elevator dings echoing through the quiet.

You and Axel walk slowly toward the elevators, shoulders bumping every so often, your fingers brushing once or twice in a way that makes your stomach flutter each time.

He doesn't rush the silence. Doesn't try to fill it with anything unnecessary.

Just… walks with you. Like it's enough.

When you reach your floor, you both step out, and suddenly it hits you. You don't want the night to end.

Even though your tournament is tomorrow. Even though your brain should be spiraling into strategy mode. All you can think about is the way Axel's still looking at you.

When you reach your room, you pause in front of the door, turning to face him. He stops just a step closer than before, and your breath hitches.

"This is me," you say quietly, hating how cliché it sounds but not knowing what else to say.

Axel nods, hands in his hoodie pocket. "I know."

You don't open the door yet. Neither does he move away.

And then, gently, he asks, "Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widen, and your whole body seems to freeze in place.

"I—" You blink, mouth suddenly dry. "I've never, um… I mean. I haven't—"

You don’t have to finish. His expression softens instantly.

"It's okay," he says, stepping just a little closer, lowering his voice like it’s something sacred. "It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want it to be special for you."

You feel your heartbeat everywhere, in your chest, in your fingertips, behind your eyes.

"I do too," you say, almost whispering. "Especially with you. I just… might be really bad at it."

He smiles, the kind of smile that makes everything feel a little slower, a little steadier.

"I'll help," he murmurs. "And you're not bad at anything."

Your breath catches again as he reaches up, his hand cupping your cheek so gently it nearly makes you cry.

"You're beautiful, Y/n," he says, his thumb brushing your skin. "And I see you. Every part of you."

And then, slowly, giving you every second to pull away if you want to, he leans in and kisses you.

Soft.

Careful.

So full of unspoken words that you forget to be nervous halfway through and just feel.

When he finally pulls back, your eyes flutter open and you're sure your face is on fire.

He smirks slightly, but his eyes are still soft. "Still think I'm messing with you?"

You cover your face with your hands. "A little less now."

He chuckles under his breath, then reaches out to gently tug one of your hands away, wanting to see the adorable blush he created.

"I will see you tomorrow,” he says, brushing a kiss to your forehead this time. "Goodnight, my Arwen."

And just like that, he turns and walks down the hall, leaving you standing outside your door, heart pounding, lips tingling, and head completely, blissfully spinning.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: that was cute as hell 🥹 btw, i've updated my rules for requesting incase y'all wanna go check that post out it's linked on my masterlist. I think I have 4 more requests to get through before I open my submission box again. thank you to those who have been so patient with me with getting your requests out, this past month has been crazy and i'm up for a promotion at work so i've been doing a lot of interview prep. anyways, don't forget to like, comment, reblog, love y'all!!! 🤍)

#axel kovacevic x reader #axel kovacevic imagines #axel kovacevic imagine #axel kovacevic #axel cobra kai #axel x reader #cobra kai #sam larusso #miguel diaz #eli moskowitz #tory nichols #demetri alexopoulos #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai imagines #cobra kai fanfiction #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x fem!reader #cobra kai x you

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