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imagine-darksiders · 2 months

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Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

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It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

#Optimus Prime #TFP #optimus x reader #Reader #Fluff #protective optimus #Nevada

337 notes · View notes

tinydefector · 2 months

Note

TURN BACK ANON MY ANONYMITY NOAAAAUUU /J

ive been thinking about this idea the whole day but imagine in human effects, a group of humans shamelessly talk about who they would bang bang in ll and them being superised that; minibots (cough swerve) are oddly popular because in the humans words 'thats probably the only size they can bear without being impaled to death', rung and ratchet is somehow in there because some have a preference for the old ladies (dilfs) etc etc

theyre talking thinking no ones listening since its a bar full of drunken bots but the fact is half of the bar is eavesdropping, esp after the events of the first human effect. some waiting for their names to be mentioned, some absolutely puzzled by their preferences, some fistpumping thinking they might have a chance (brainstorm HAHA)

u dont have to write anything if u dont want to!! love ur writting!! running away now!! have a good day slash night!!

Effects of Drinking

Word count:2.1k

Warnings: talking about sex, hookups, speculated workplace relationships.

Human effects masterlist

I absolutely loved this idea and got to work on it the moment I read this. So enjoy another part of human effects.

___________________

The sound of Swerve is always loud with the mingling of bots and humans alike, the sound of laughter, crying and venting was a causal occurrence for the many drunk patrons that frequent the bar. But tonight It was bustling even more than it normally is. Swerve shakes his head in amusement as me brings a plate of drinks over for the human crew. Swerve whistled cheerily as he whisked through the busy bar, expertly weaving between crowds with overloaded trays of alcohol and snacks balanced expertly on his servos. The atmosphere pulsed with raucous revelry.

Setting down his latest platter of Human-sized drinks, he flashed the smaller patrons a dazzling smile. "Hope y'all're enjoyin' the party! What's the special occasion tonight, if I may ask?" His optics twinkled mischief. Leaning casually on the bar, taking care not to endanger any of the humans. Swerve propped his chin in his hands attentively. "Seems like a lively bunch are in to spill all the juicy deets. Come on, I'm all audials. what's worth celebrating tonight.

Millian shoots Swerve a smile. "Oh it's gonna get messy tonight Swerve Taylor just had a break up" states which earns raised glasses from the other human crew mates. "To the shit show of a long distance relationship" Nadia calls out and she downs her first shot. "Fucking hell your an alcoholic" the Liason states to the rest of their the crew as they shoot Swerve another smile. "Thank you for the drinks, Swerve I'll try to keep this unruly lot under control, and hopefully Taylor and Nadia dont get to shit faced" they state to him.

Swerve's optics gleamed with intrigue as the Crew shouted their toasts and explanations. "Oooooh, messy breakups and long-distance woes, huh? Been there, done that," he chuckled knowingly, a cheeky gleam in his optics. "Well hey, if Taylor needs a shoulder vents or an audial, you know where to find me," he offered with a friendly wink. "And as for the rest of you rowdy lot..." His vocalizer took on a playfully stern tone. "I expect nothin' but the finest conduct from representatives of our new friends on Cybertron. No pukin' in the vents, no startin' bar fights - at least, no winnin' any," he jested.

Laughter fills the area as the two waves Swerve off back towards the bar. Nadia whistles softly as she watches Swerve walk off. "Careful now, don't let Taylor catch you drooling, she'll make you drink tequila with her" Millian teased softly, jostling Nadia's elbow with a grin. Her friend simply chuckled and took another sip of her drink, eyes still following Swerve's retreat fondly.

"Can you blame me? Those Mech's are something else," Nadia sighed, resting her chin on one hand dreamily. "Tall, strong... kind soul. If he was human, I'd be all over that bartender like rust on spoiled bolts." Millian shuddered as they pulled a face at Nadia. "Ugh, don't put images in my brain, thanks. I swear if I have to watch you flirt with another thousand-pound machine..."

Nadia swatted at him playfully. "Oh hush, like you wouldn't ride Optimus Prime like a mechanical stallion given half the chance." It makes Kyle spit his own drink out as he laughs and chokes at the same time. “Shut the fuck up Kyle!” Millian hisses. The group's Ambassador rolls Their eyes. “Behave you two, God forbid I have to get Garry to drag you both back to your rooms later” they state with a smoke of Their head.

Taylor begins pouring herself tequila shot after tequila which gets her a look from the others realising just how hard she was taking the breakup. As Taylor's shots began piling up at an alarming rate, concerned murmurs arose among the human crew. Millian shot Nadia a look across the table. "Woah there Tex, maybe ease up on the hard stuff for a bit, yeah?" They suggested gently, resting a hand on Taylor's wrist to still the next pour.

"Breakups suck shit, believe me - but that's what friends are for. No need giving yourself An alcohol coma!" Nadia nodded supportively. "Mil's right, T. We're here to help you forget that piece of shit, not drown yourself." She flashed Taylor a cajoling smirk. "And who knows, might find someone else worth your time out there. Wouldn't want to miss your chance at a rebound, all because you're too fucked to function!"

The team's Ambassador shoots Taylor a look too Check on her. "We are here to try and make your night better without you drowning yourself Tay, plus I'm pretty sure Nadia is more interested in the 'eye candy' as she likes to put it" they tease back Which earns a snort from Kyle. “Yea seems ready to jump anything that looks her way” he states partly amused as he goes back to sipping his beer. Nervous laughter arose from the humans at their ambassador's gentle teasing of Nadia. She accepted it gracefully, raising her glass in cheerful concession.

"You got me there, boss. What can I say - alien ships, alien bars, alien hotties. A girl's gotta have her fun!" Taylor managed a half-smile at her friend's antics, tension easing slightly as others diverted focus her way. "Thanks, everyone. I know you're just looking out for me. It's been a rough week… plus this on top of it" Her gaze softened gratefully.

Nadia leans in to Taylor with a smile that could only spell touch. And both Kyle and the Ambassador know what's about to come out of her mouth. "Sooo.. who wants to play smash or pass?" Kyle and another one of the mechanics shoot her a look as if to go ‘really?’.

In the background curious optics watch the rowdy group of humans, some ears dropping in on the conversation others only shooting looks over when one of them gets over vocal.

"Ooh, I love this game!" Millian crowed, bouncing mischievously in his seat. "Lay it on us, Nads - who's first on the bot buffet?"

Skids’ optics go wide from his own seat as he turns around to watch the commotion over at the other table, partially intrigued after the last late night bar conversation with some of the other mechs, he gives Hound a slight nudge as if to get him to look over at the other Table.

Their ambassador sighed fondly. "As your head officer, I should discourage such fraternisation... but as your friend, please try not to get yourselves into trouble God forbid I have to do the sign off overbone of you trying to get cosy with the crew." Nadia cackled, unrepentantly salacious. "Hey, no kink shame in my smash or pass!”

They go around the table multiple times asking each person a bot to smash or pass little to their knowledge or drunken state had they realised quite a few of the bots listening in on their conversation. "You lot are a bunch of menaces, I swear if I have to drag you out of the bed of one of these good mechs because you got to grabby I'm not going to be happy" they state in a playful tease as they begin drinking their own drink.

The humans cackled irreverently at their ambassador's mock threats. "Aw, don't be like that boss!" crowded Millian. "We're just havin' a little fun gettin' to know the local talent. No harm in window shoppin', right?"

"Speak for yourself," Nadia shot back with a wink. "Some of us plan to do more than just look. A girl's on a schedule, after all - and these mechs are some mighty fine cuts of steel!"

Ratchet shoots the group A rather disapproving look knowing if anything happened he'd have to deal with the fallout. The ambassador shoots him a look with a shake of their head while sipping their drink. They knew their group weren't exactly being subtle about it.

Kyle groaned and hid his face, though the tips of his ears still burned hot. Even Taylor was gradually relaxing into laughter again. Catching their ambassador's imploring gaze, Taylor smiled ruefully. "Don't worry boss - I'll make sure this lot don't embarrass us too badly, we don't want a redo of what happened with Kyle and David. And if anyone does end up, er, occupied for the night... Well, I'm sure security footage could be omitted from our reports. For diplomatic purposes."

“Oh my God, one time, I go to see Kyle one fuckin time” David huffs in embrassment while pressing his face into his hands. It's Millian who realises who the ambassador's eyes are lingering On before they make a sly comment about it. “Ohhh got eyes on the old medic?” They tease before Nadia speaks up. “Mmmm bet he'd have a lot of experience, bet he'd be real nice in bed” she purrs while her eyes dance across his plating.

One of the Bluestreak begins choking on his drink of high grade earning him a laugh from a smokescreen who slaps him on the back. He curses as he tries to make it seem that he wasn't ears dropping on the conversation. Nadia's keen eyes noticed the bot choking on high grade at the adjacent table.

She grinned, nudging her friends eagerly. "Hey, I think we've got an audience! That mech over there started glitching when talk turned to after-hours bump and grind."

Heads swivelled covertly, giggling and pointing out the bot now sporting a rather flustered frame as his companion gleefully slapped his plating while laughing at him.

"My, seems our alien friends find human proclivities just as intriguing as we do theirs," Kyle noted dryly.

Millian snickered into their drink. "Bet they've never met a crew so eager to sample the merchandise firsthand."

Nadia stretched lavishly. "What can I say - we aim to broaden cultural exchange through... hands-on cooperation." Her grin turned downright feline.

“Not that type of hands on cooperation Nadia, but I do appreciate the enthusiasm of building decent relations with our crew” The Ambassador states as their comm link goes off with an incoming call, they sigh when they read the message that pings through. ‘Needed on command deck due to an incident involving Rodimus and Daniel’. The Ambassador sighs before getting up. "I've got head, got another Accident report I've got to go process due to our captain's Asteroid surfing again" they state while moving from the table, their attentions were diverted as their ambassador rose from the table with a resigned sigh.

"Duty calls, it seems. You lot try and stay out of trouble while I'm gone, please? I'd hate to have to bail any of you out of the brig for 'cultural exchange' gone too far." They fixed Nadia with an arched brow ridge before departing with a chuckle.

"Tch, spoilsport," Nadia huffed affectionately. "Care to place bets on how long it takes our ambassador to get sick of Roddy's scrap and maroon him for good?" Kyle scoffs as he takes a drink. "With the amount of times the Ambassador gets called away you'd think it's a cover up story" he states as the alcohol begins going to his head. David Shakes his head as leans against Kyle.

Nadia's eyes gleamed deviously at Kyle's insinuation, while Millian and Taylor look at him with a shocked look. “No… you don't think..?” Taylor starts

"Oooh, sneaky! You may be onto something there, flyboy." Nadia tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Let's think - who've they been spending an awful lot of 'alone time' with lately..."

"Rodimus is always dragging them to the bridge for 'meetings'," offered Millian with wiggle-voiced air quotes.

Taylor giggled behind her hand. "I've seen Drift approach them in the halls an unusual number of times..."

"Megatron's been having private strategy sessions, he says," mused Kyle slyly.

Their giggling swelled into raucous laughter and speculation at the myriad possibilities. It's only when Swerve makes his way back over to ask if anyone else wants new drinks that the drunken lot of humans continue to giggle, laugh and speculate.

Swerve's audials perked as he drew near the boisterous human table, curiosity piqued by their spirited discussion, he leaned in eagerly.

"Oho, sounds like you cheeky fleshies are having all the fun over here! Care to let ol' Swerve in on the gossip?" He flashed a playfully pleading grin. "A bot's gotta live vicariously through someone, after all."

"Trust us, handsome, you don't wanna know," Nadia snickered salaciously, tossing back her last shot. David smiles, swirling his drink. "We were just speculating on who might be keeping our dear ambassador... occupied during their frequent 'calls'." He made air quotes with his free hand.

"Oooh!" Swerve's optics flashed with glee as implications dawned. He lowered his vocalizer conspiratorially. "Do tell! I love a good intra-ship romance." Quite a few bots seem to lean in and listen in hope that it might be their name that people speculated.

___________

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cybertronian-reader-imagines · 10 months

Note

How about someone who was recently turned into a Cybertronian and Team Prime tended to and comforted them? They have a lot of adjusting to do! 👀

TW: A bit of implied disassociation because, holy shit, suddenly you're a giant metal robot and that's kinda hard to wrap your newly non-organic brain around.

((Knock Out is here because there is not enough Autobot!Knock Out and I love him.))

Team Prime comforting Reader, who just got turned into a Cybertronian, would include...

Optimus reassures you from the first moment that you have a safe home with Team Prime, should you choose to stay with them. Of course, you do. He makes sure you have the time and space to adjust and be comfortable with your new body before jumping into anything. He's just there if you need him, which some days is more helpful than everyone's else's efforts to offer unsolicited advice right off the bat.

Bumblebee helps you adjust to having wheels by challenging you to races that double as training whenever possible. He is almost certainly going easy on you, but nobody ever tells you as much.

Bulkhead is the first to realize that maybe you just really need a damn hug right now, if only because he's not very good with words. He hugs you and reassured you that it will be okay, and you're amazed how warm and fuzzy you feel afterwards, even though you're fairly sure your new body doesn't actually feel such minute temperature changes.

Ratchet tries to be "comforting" by explaining how your new body works... in detail that goes way, WAY over your head. But eventually, you get him talking about Cybertron's history and culture, and realize that your two species aren't all that different after all, which helps more than an anatomy lesson ever could.

Smokescreen is quick to remind you that you don't have to go back to your boring human school/job/house/whatever. Depending on how much you liked/disliked your old life, this is either incredibly helpful or incredibly irritating. If you get upset with him though, he's quick to apologize, and it's hard not to be comforted by that well-meaning smile and a servo patting your shoulder.

Arcee might somehow be even more protective of you than she is of the humans - she knows what happens when bots overestimate how much they can handle, and she figures that's really easy to do when you go from being a tiny, fragile human to a giant robot. Sometimes it's hard to hear her remind you that you're still mortal, but she means well. "Okay Mom, I get it."

Wheeljack, like Bulkhead, isn't very good with words, but he's also not very good with affection. What he can do, however, is listen. He's there the first time you get frustrated with the rest of the Team - not because they truly did anything wrong, but because being cramped into a tiny base with people you've just met will irritate anyone - and he never breathes a word of what you vented to the others. The Wreckers had their spats too - he knows you'll all be cool at the end of the day.

Oh Primus help Ultra Magnus he doesn't have a comforting servo in his body, but at least he's honest about that. In fact, he's the best bot to go to when you're ready to have things less sugarcoated.

Knock Out doesn't understand what the fuss is about - why would anyone ever want to be a squishy, gross organic when they could be Cybertronian? Humans couldn't turn into cars, for one, and couldn't be polished. He gives you a fresh coat of paint and polish and tells you how much better you look now - it does help, in a way. Being able to pick out new paint makes you feel a little more like your new body is really your body.

But honestly? Your biggest comfort might just be Jack, Miko, and Raf, if only because they will remind you any time you so much as frown just how cool being a giant robot is. And then you remember, yeah, it is pretty cool, actually.

#EVERYONE is here!#platonic #x reader #tfp x reader #transformers x reader #maccadam #optimus #bumblebee #bulkhead #ratchet #smokescreen #arcee #wheeljack #ultra magnus #knock out #jack #miko #raf #cybertronian reader

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maisanshine · 10 months

Text

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙇𝙀 𝙒𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 |𝙅𝙅𝙆

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨, 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙨𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨?

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜🝮 𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙟𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠/ 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨🝮 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩, 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜?!????, 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 (𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 171 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪) 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙥𝙞𝙚, 𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩, 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙤𝙜𝙜𝙮, 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙟𝙠 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚...𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙥 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙥 𝙡𝙢𝙠 𝙞𝙛 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜¯\_(ツ)_/¯

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩; 5.6𝙠

(𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙧𝙧𝙮)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Seated on the edge of your bed, you are gazing at your reflection in the mirror located across the room. You are naked, your body is aching, your arms are looking for warmth, and your thoughts are having a field day in your mind.

You have dried-up cum on the side of your face from an hour ago. You stare at yourself, questioning what is going on. Why did you land yourself here? As you continue to gaze at your reflection, a mix of confusion and regret washes over you. Thoughts race through your mind, trying to piece together the events that led to this moment. You wonder if there was a deeper reason behind your choices or if it was simply a series of impulsive actions.

On the other hand, Jungkook is in the shower, and you sit there crying. Silently, because you don't let him hear or see. You can't let him see you like this. You feel a sense of vulnerability, realizing that you've been hiding your emotions from Jungkook. The weight of your tears becomes heavier as you question whether you should open up to him and share the turmoil within your heart.

But then it will lead to a hell of a lot of questions that you won't answer truthfully.

"Why are you crying?"

You will probably lie. You don't want to burden him with your problems or make him worry. The fear of judgment and rejection keeps you from being honest about your feelings, even though, deep down, you long for his understanding and support.

"Nothing, just an aftershock, I guess."

He'll laugh and get back to what he always does. You'll continue to hide your emotions, putting on a brave face and pretending that everything is okay. He takes his shower, puts on his clothes, and walks out without even a side-eye.

The cycle of bottling up your feelings and avoiding vulnerability will persist, leaving you feeling isolated and misunderstood.

But that's what you two created—a no I talk, and you listen to relationships. It's cold and distant; the only heat you two create is in bed. Or whatever ratchet hookup you are in at the moment.

Like a married couple on the brink of divorce, they are only together for their kids.

But you and Jungkook aren't married. Probably won't get married. Most definitely, at this point, you will not become his girlfriend either. It's been two years since this started.

You, Jungkook, aren't even friends. Your guys are just benefits. It was rather simple, really. How this all started

2 years ago…

You sit at the bar and have your second drink, which you've never had in your life. You unwillingly took a shot at your birthday party that was two days ago.

You still have the yellow Martini flicking at the bottom of the glass. You don't drink it; you just look at it. Playing with a toothpick and mixing a drink around as if it were going to change color

"Drink it; it's not going to change colors." You turn to your left and see a man sitting two seats down from you. Smiling, you answer, "I know, it just looks weird." He turns to you, and dark, rich brown eyes stare into yours.

"What does it look like?" He asks, and you're too quick to answer.

"A shot of piss." He laughs from his seat. You push the drink away, and 27 dollars go down the drain.

"Well, let me buy you a real drink, not a shot of piss," he says again. You look at him, admiring his presence.

A tall, full sleeve of tattoos. Two lips ring. You're just begging to see how they feel about you. On your lips, your thighs, and your core

You smile after scanning every part of him with pleasure. "Sure, you probably know more about drinks than me." He smiles. You stand up, pulling your skirt down, and his gaze falls to your legs.

You sit in the chair next to him, and he leans his head on his knuckles as his eyes travel up your body.

"What are you staring at so hard? You never talked to a girl before." He smiles again, and this time you see the tiny amount of his teeth he flashes straight and white.

"I've talked to girls, but not a woman." Your face heats up.

"Women?" You play with his words, and he leans in closer.

"Girls are lovely, but women are amazing." You sit in the chair. You later lay your feet on the footrest of his chair, tapping against it.

"Do you see me as a woman?" He lifts his hand, calling the bartender.

"We'll see after this drink; I'll make up my mind after," he says, ordering you two Amarettos. You don't know what the fuck that is, but it was pretty.

The bartender puts the orange drink in front of you guys. The orange tones get lighter as they meet the top. You take the toothpick with the three grapes, bite one, and dip the toothpick into the drink.

"To women," the man picks on his glass for a cheer.

"To women," you say before him. He drinks about half of the drink, not breaking eye contact as you do it as well.

Present time…

You smile at the flashback, remembering how much you wanted him at that moment. Now you just want to end this. Or move forward. But you are stuck in the middle.

You think about how you read him like a book, and he wanted to see if you knew what he was thinking about at that moment.

But it was far too easy since Jungkook was undressing you with his eyes.

2 years ago…

"What am I thinking about right now?"

"I think you want to kiss me," you answer, and he smiles brightly.

"Yeah, I'm dying to...do you want me to kiss you?"

"What you do think": You play with fire, and you want it to burn you so badly.

He leans in closer and says, "By the way you're clenching your legs together and this tiny fucking skirt, I think you want what I want." His lips are closer than ever, your mutual breaths hitting the surface of each other's lips.

"What if I told you you were correct?" He places his warm hand on your shoulder.

"Then I think we shouldn't waste any time; the world is here for a reason." You smile as his lips touch yours with the softest peck.

You stand up and grab your sweater and your bag, holding his hand.

He moves swiftly, cashing out a $100 bill and placing it on the bar table.

You walk out of the bar, leading to the parking lot.

Present time…

Jungkook walks out of your bathroom. He still sees that you are naked. Sitting there, staring in the mirror.

Jungkook isn't dying to stay; he knows you want to hold him. And talk about the most random shit. But he can't; he doesn't want to hurt you.

It's been two years; why would he start hanging around after sex now? It will look like he's in love.

Unfortunately, he isn't

That's his truth; he's infatuated with you. Jungkook thinks about your guy's relationship a lot.

You guys aren't friends.

You guys are not dating.

You practically only get each other off.

And he doesn't like to hold any conversations; he barely knows your full name.

He is sleeping with a stranger, and he's been sleeping with a stranger for the last two years.

When he thinks about it, he feels shitty at the fact that he can't even hold a simple conversation with you, and it's not like you've tried either. You guys only hold a conversation in the middle of sex.

But after that, there's nothing besides the hi's at either door.

Jungkook was a fuckboy.

He would sleep with multiple women at the same time—two or three—never over, but when he slept with you, he found himself only sleeping with you. It wasn't like him; he found it weird and scary.

He would try to engage in conversation with other women, but it never turned him on because he would only think about you and your face and how much he loved having you under him, breathing and panting on him.

He loves feeling the hot breath of you begging for him to cum on his shoulders or his chest on the side of his face when he has your knees pressing against your shoulders, looking for air to breathe.

Or he loved it when he had you with your face buried in the pillows and your muffled moans coming out from under the blocks of sheets under your face.

Or how you want to drag your nails down his bag and leave four or five scratches on him that he will realize when his friends point them out in the gym.

When he started realizing all the shit he loved about being with you, he started to distance himself. He tried to detox away from you, but when he saw you tonight at that party with those pants that molded to your lower body like a second skin, he couldn't hold himself. He texted you, and now he ended up here, watching you, staring at yourself in the mirror with dry cum on the side of your face, naked, lost in your mind, and standing on the other side of the room. Also lost in his mind.

This is the first time you and Jungkook have slept together in the last three weeks. What happened in those three weeks, you might ask? Jungkook was having a shitfest when it came to hooking up with other girls.

Either he couldn't get it up or he would have a conversation with a girl and immediately get turned off, and he would open his phone, looking at your name as the first message on his message board, and his fingers would itch so bad to send a simple text for you to come over or for him to come to you? But he pushed for three weeks, and today it broke.

Jungkook finally gets all of his clothes on, and he walks past you, walking out of your door without a word, just like all the other times, even though he always comes intending to stay but loses it after he cums it out of his system. As he steps outside, a wave of regret washes over him, knowing that he's once again let his fear and insecurities get the best of him. He wonders if this cycle will ever end and if he'll ever find the courage to truly open up and let you in.

2 weeks later

You sit in the library, digging your nails into your books for your exam this Friday. Jungkook texted you about four times today, but you haven't responded. You don't need any distractions this week. You respond to him after your exam is over, but when you see Jungkook walking into the library, heading straight forward, you panic.

"Hey, I've been texting you," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," you say dryly.

"I want you," he smirks, and you roll your eyes.

Him and his dumb fucking smirk.

"Jungkook..." you cut off as he brushed his hand across your face. "You don't want me anymore?"

"I can't" You stand and look at him, but then you shut yourself down.

You pick up your things, telling him you are going home.

"I'll give you a ride," he says, holding your shoulders and walking you to his car.

He sits in the car and drives off. It's a long drive—about 20 to 30 minutes. You guys sitting in an empty parking garage.

"This isn't my house." Jungkook sits, gripping his steering wheel, and you play with the tips of your fingers.

You don't look at him; he just looks at you and sits there, picking off your nail polish. You can feel his stare or burn it to the side of your face.

"Tell me something," he starts, and you already want the conversation to be over.

"Do you want this?"

"Do I want what?" You know exactly what he's talking about. Do you still want this bullshit-ass relationship? A huge part of you says no, but then the other part of you says yes.

You're so conflicted because you both are at fault. You both never resolved this dilemma. You guys never strived to make this relationship better than it was, and now it's going downhill from what this conversation looks like.

"I don't know JungKook."

You sit there in silence. The silence is so deafening, and you can hear the cars under you driving past you and the monochromatic noise of everything else around you. The weight of the unspoken words hangs heavily in the air, intensifying the tension between you. It's as if the silence is a reflection of the deep-seated issues that have been left unaddressed for far too long.

"Can you say something?" You say, but Jungkook just breathes.

"You said you couldn't do this anymore, so I guess it's over." That's all he says. You nod, looking out the window, and your heart hurts a little bit. The familiar scenery outside seems to blur as tears well up in your eyes. It's a painful realization that this chapter of your life has come to an end, leaving you with a bittersweet mix of emotions.

"Well, then, I guess this is goodbye," you say. You try to get out of the car. You suffocate, and you need to breathe so that you don't feel like your heart is going to explode any second now. As you struggle to open the car door, your mind races with memories of happier times shared together. The weight of the goodbye hangs heavy in the air, and you can't help but wonder if there's a chance for reconciliation in the future.

"Don't do that," he says, grabbing your hand. He touches your face, swiping hair out of the way.

He brings you in, and the next thing you know, you kiss him, and your hands are in his hair. Your body is grinding into his dick. In that moment, the intensity of your emotions takes over, momentarily erasing the pain and uncertainty. The connection between you feels electric, as if time stands still, and for a brief moment, you find solace in each other's arms.

Jungkook breaks the kiss. But you don't want him to speak. You kiss him hard and deep. You do not want this to end. You grind into him, and he pulls your shirt up.

Sucking on your nipples, he plays and fondles with your breast. He grips them, squeezes them hard, and pinches your nipples. His touch sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the connection between you. As you moan in delight, he continues to explore every inch of your body, leaving you craving more. You let out a whimper, and he sees your hands working towards his belt.

Fighting to get it off, when you finally don't stop looking at his hard cock, he smirks and guides your hand towards it, allowing you to feel its throbbing heat. It sits against his stomach. Jungkook pushes your underwear to the side, running his long, trusted fingers along your soaked folds. Your body trembles with anticipation as Jungkook's skilled touch ignites a fiery desire within you. Each stroke of his fingers sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, intensifying the hunger that consumes you. As he expertly explores your most sensitive spots, you can't help but arch your back and gasp for more, surrendering completely to the electrifying connection between you both.

You moan at the sensation grinding onto his fingers as he slips one inside of you, thrusting in and out. He slows up, but you grab his wrist, guiding him to go faster. He wants this to last as long as possible because this is probably the last time you'll ever touch him. He continues to please you as you look at his shaft leaning against his stomach, the smooth, long vein bulging. You look at it hard because this is the last time you are going to see it. You touch his tip, running your finger over his slightly red tip.

But then you feel the waterworks; tiny teardrops fall from your eyes onto his abdomen. Jungkook stops his movement, but before he can open his mouth and speak, You take his hand out of your swollen cunt and replace it with his cock. Jungkook groans as you wrap yourself around him so wet and perfectly, and he starts to grind on him back and forth, shifting to the point of your knees and thrusting up and down on him. You grasp onto his shoulder so hard that you are probably cutting skin, but you don't stop. You're not doing it to come faster. You just want to forget about the situation, so you rock yourself on him harder and harder, taking complete control of the situation.

Jungkook is under you, groaning harshly as he grabs your hips, smacking your ass, and playing with the plush skin. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, swelling his tongue around the pebbled nub. As you ride him to his finish, Jungkook finds your actions a little bit weird because you usually always want him to go slowly. The car is moving as you ride him faster, but he grips your hips so hard so you can stop, and you cry frustration as he pushes you down on his dick so you can stop your sudden rough movements, but you punch his shoulders, your tears spilling from your face, and Jungkook realizes that you're crying.

"What's wrong? Why are you being so rough?" He says it in confusion, and you stop and open your eyes to look at him. You look at him deadpan in his dark chocolate eyes and the way his lip rings shine at you.

"Don't act like you don't like it, Jungkook." You try to grind on him, but he stops you, and you've grown frustrated. "I don't like this," he says, and you take your hands off his shoulders, wiping your face.

"Jungkook, you're turning me the fuck off, and this is the end, so just fuck me so you can take me home, and I don't ever have to see you again." The words sting, but you both know that it's the truth; he said that it's the end, so why is he being so fucking weird about it?

"But I feel like you're..."

"You don't know what I feel." You say in a hushed whisper as your head falls on his shoulders and you're breathing so hard because you're about to come into contact with him. "Can you just cum already?" You say this, and you lift your head off his shoulders to look at him in the face. Jungkook's face is stoned, and he looks angry.

"Fine" Jungkook swipes his hand over the lever on the side of his seat to push his seat all the way down until it's touching his backseat. He adjusts himself, laying back, and starts pounding into you rough and fast, your gas at the sensation gripping onto his shoulders and dancing your fingers into his skin.

Jungkook thrusts hard as hell into your fast-paced body as you grind on top of him and have You lose your breath. He reaches up, wrapping his hands around your neck, choking you hard, and you gasp, feeling barely any air circulation into your throat. "You want me to fuck you? Fine." Jungkook later grabs your hips and throws you onto the back of the seat. He picks up your legs, pushing your knees to touch your shoulder and your ass lips a little bit as he thrusts his on top of you, the car shaking with his setting, pounding into you hard, fast, and slightly painful.

"I should fuck your ass so you can lose your fucking attitude." Jungkook groans, and he rims his finger against your other hole, and you shake at the sensation. As the intensity of the moment grows, your mind becomes a whirlwind of conflicting desires. The mix of pleasure and pain sends shivers down your spine, leaving you craving more. Jungkook's dominance over you is both exhilarating and overwhelming, pushing you to the edge of ecstasy. Your mind is losing all sense of reality. He takes his finger and pushes it into your ass, slowing and just touching the tip, but you move slightly, causing his finger to slip out.

You're on the seat moaning at his harsh movement, but this is what you asked for. You asked for this to be done, and even though it's ugly, it's not going to happen ever again, so you let it happen. Jungkook's hand is still around your throat; his other hand is holding up your legs as he thrusts faster into you, clenching around his cock. You brush your hand against his abs, but Jungkook lets go of your throat, grasping your hands and putting them above your head so you don't touch him.

He continues his thrust on your sensational building; you're about to come, but then Jungkook stops flipping you over and hikes your ass up to his waist as he slams into you again, taking you from the back. He pushes your head into the car seat, and you're moaning. You're so close, but your body is pulsing in your clit. You've never felt this way before. Your heart is pumping, your cunt is clenching, and Jungkook's harsh threats are bumping into your body, pushing forward every single time he pushes forward and back.

You gasp as you come. The wet liquid flies out of you as you shake and your legs give out as you drop onto the car seat in an uncomfortable position if you could continue fucking you, and you let him until he comes. Jungkook's stomach burns as he lets out his long, treacherous ropes of cum. Paint your walls inside of you; he's never come inside of you. You guys usually use condoms, or he comes on to another part of your body.

He slows down his movement, thrusting two or three more times before he pulls out. He realizes that you squirted all over his car seat, and you lay on the driver's seat, your head tucked into your arms, and you sniffle. You're crying under him, and he doesn't know what to do.

Jungkook goes to comfort you, but he pulls his hand back, fixing himself as he picks you up, turns you over, and adjusts your clothes.

There's no speaking. There's no aftercare; there's nothing.

You realize that it's over, and you move to the passenger seat, putting on your seatbelt, as Jungkook takes a shirt from the back of his car, wiping the fluid off his seat.

You sit in the passenger seat with your tiered stand cheeks facing the window as Jungkook pulls out of the parking lot, taking you home. You're at the front of your apartment complex, and you get your things by walking out of Jungkook's car.

Turn around, shutting his car door before it completely shuts. You lean out, giving him a shy smile.

"Jeon Jungkook, I love you." Jungkook's head whips towards you, but before he can get a word out, you shut his car door and walk into your dorm building.

4 months later.

"Y/N" Your friend Lena causes you over at the section that she sits in at the house party. Exam week is finally over, and you've passed all your tests. Your roommate Lena pushed you out of the house, and you decided to go since you didn't have anything better to do.

You walk in hand with Jimin, and you introduce him to your friends. After a few cups of beer and some talking, you decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

You walk upstairs looking for the bathroom, and you stand at the door, and surprisingly, there's no line.

When the door opens, you see the one and only Jungkook walking out of the bathroom with another girl. You're shocked, and Jungkook is more shocked than you because the last time you saw him, you told him that you loved him, and you didn't let him get a word out before you rushed into your dorm and cried for three weeks straight.

The girl is holding his hand, and she looks fucked out, and you already know what he was doing in there. He does what he always does. Sorry, you say in a hushed whisper, and Jungkook just stands in the frame of the door, looking at you. Do you feel his stairs burn into your body? You haven't seen Jungkook in about four months; it kind of felt like he walked off the side of the planet.

But now he stands in front of you; his hair is a lot longer, but you know he's the same boy that you loved and that you still love.

You try and walk into the bathroom, but Jungkook lets go of the girl's hand grasping onto your shoulders. "Aren't we going?" the girl says behind him, and Jungkook looks behind her, shifting his head to the side as the girl moves out of the bathroom. She scuffs, running down the stairs, calling him an asshole, and you stare at him calmly and collectedly.

"How are you?" he says, and you shrug, not wanting to engage in a conversation with him.

"I'm doing good, you."

"I've been better," he says, and he smiles a little bit.

"You look good. You're glowing." He laughs, and you smile, nodding your head. "Maybe it's the sensation of having to pee right now."

"Yeah." That's all he says.

Then he looks at you with an apologetic look on his face and says, "You know Y/N." But then he's cut off by Jimin coming in next to you. You smile at Jimin as he takes your hand in his

"I was looking for you, babe." Jimin kisses the side of your head, and Jungkook looks distraught.

"Yeah, I came to use the bathroom, but I ran into an old friend here." You say you are leaning your head on Jimin's shoulder, but the tension between you and Jungkook is so active in general that you don't know how to feel in the moment.

"Jimin, this is Jungkook Jungkook. This is Jimin, my boyfriend." It's kind of a little bit asshole of you to introduce your ex-fuck buddy to your boyfriend, but if Jungkook walked out of the bathroom and mined his business walking right past you with his fuck at the moment, this wouldn't have been his situation.

You and Jimin have been official for two days. Do you like him? No, he's nice to you, he treats you right, and you're hoping that you can forget about Jungkook and move forward with him.

"Nice to meet you, man," Jimin And Jungkook shakes hands, and Jungkook is still in the distraught sequence.

"Well, I'll leave you two talking here because I have to pee." You move Jungkook out of the way, setting the door behind them as you trap yourself in the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes wide in shock, and you laugh a little bit to calm your anxiety.

When you walk out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Jimin stands outside alone.

"Where did Jungkook go?" you ask. Jimin shrugs his shoulders. He left, saying he had to go fix something at his apartment or whatever.

You smile, take Jimin's hand, and walk out of the party to get food.

You make it to your house with Jimin, and he decides to stay over. You guys eat your takeout, take a shower, and head to bed. As Jimin is still in the bathroom, you see your phone light up with a text message with a name that you haven't seen in months.

JK: Can I talk to you tomorrow?

You pick up your phone and decide whether you should ignore it, block him, or do both. But you give yourself the closure that you've been wanting for the last four months, so you can close that chapter of your life and continue to do something better.

Y/N: Yeah, sure",

You sent a text message, going to bed with Jimin.

You walk to the coffee shop the next day, sitting Jungkook is sitting in the far back corner, dressed in all black and with a Calvin Klein hat on his head. You smile, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Hello, you say, and you sit down, removing your bag and putting it on the seat next to you.

"Hey, I'll just get straight to the point." You're nodding, and he continues to speak.

"I didn't like how we ended a few months ago. I felt very guilty, and I would lie to myself and say that I didn't miss you because I do, and I'm not telling you this just because you're with your boyfriend now, but I'm happy for you. I know I was an asshole to you, and it's probably very mean of me to sit here and tell you all of this today, but I feel like we both deserve closure."

You nod agreeing. "Yeah, sorry, I left you on that cliffhanger there. I was just going through a lot, and I didn't know if I wanted to end it or try and salvage what we had, but it was just so cold, so I just decided to end it without consulting you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. I hope you're happy, and maybe we can be cool." You nod, smiling, and Jungkook reaches for your hand and brushes his warm fingers above yours. You give in, holding onto his hand, and this is the conversation that you would want to have months ago, but instead of giving each other closure at the end of the day, you wanted to be with him, and in the back of your brain, you still do. You love Jungkook, and you have love for him. You will miss his body, all the warmth he provided to you, and your cold relationship.

But this is a growing path for you, so you accept the faith you decided to walk through, letting your life go on. Jungkook could deal with his life by himself, but now that the tension is released, you let go of his hand, and you both stand up, but you look at each other in the eyes, seeing the admiration. You smile and hold out your hand, seeing if he would accept a hug—a friendship hug—because you guys were never friends, just a benefit.

"Thank you for this. I hope you find somebody, Jungkook." It's a bittersweet moment, and Jungkook takes his last cent of you because it's the first and last time that he will ever hold you like this.

"I love you too, Y/N." Then he lets go of the hug, and now you're the one in shock. He walks out the door, and once he's out of the building, he gives you a solemn wave and enters his car. Your heart is pumping in your chest, and it feels like you're right back to the moment you walked out of his car, and all of this happened with no fucking closure at all because you know that he loves you.

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

𝙎𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 2?!?!????

#@ᴍᴀɪsᴀɴsʜɪɴᴇ #bts #bts jungkook #bts smut #bts x reader #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook seven #jungkook smut #dom jungkook #bts jeon jungkook

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my-writings-and-musings · 8 months

Text

Continuing to break through my slump with more indulgent fics! Here's some Starscream x Reader in response to some earlier polls, where our beloved Seeker has just become a sire to three precious bitlets. As reader gets some much needed sleep, Starscream admires the triplets.

He'd been terrified of the diagnosis at first, for both your sakes, but had recovered quickly and even made a point to brag when telling others the news. There were few who could recall the last time a Cybertronian managed to kindle with an organic, but none would forget his success after spending a mere minute in his company. It was about what one might expect from Starscream, especially with how he went on and on about how your progeny would be the start of a glorious Cybertronian legacy without equal. You'd actually found his enthusiasm both sweet and comforting.

Then came the scan that revealed you were expecting triplets.

He'd fainted upon the medic's pronouncement, though claimed upon waking he'd merely lost his balance. Seeing three separate sparks nourished by your own heartbeat had been quite shocking for you as well, and you'd needed his support once he came to. Thankfully, it had been provided then and every moment after, which had made those long months that followed a great deal easier to endure. Cravings were much easier to handle when you had someone capable of traversing the continent in mere hours to fetch them.

Now that the longest day of your lives so far was done, all the work had been rewarded with three perfect little bundles, and the Seeker had yet to take his optics off you or them. Such constant supervision had allowed you to drift off into a much needed slumber in the company of your equally sleepy bitlets.

Watching your sleeping form like a father hawk, Starscream slowly moved his gaze over the sparklings snoozing between the two of you, his much larger frame across from yours and leaning forward like a protective wall. He didn't dare sleep while you finally rested, despite being thoroughly exhausted himself. It had taken hours for the triplets to arrive, and while they'd come as smoothly as one could hope, the toll on your body had been considerable. Primus only knew how you hadn't fallen asleep as soon as the bundled newborns were lain in your arms.

One of the seekerlets trilled softly, and he reflexively dipped his helm to check on them, unable to help being paranoid. The newborn only made another quiet coo before nuzzling their rounded helm back into the nest, fluttering the stubs of their wings as they drifted back to sleep. His spark warmed at the sight as he welcomed a fresh burst of pride. All three were incredibly tiny for now, but with time and care, they would grow to be his equal in size and strength. Your genetic influence would also show itself in equal time, influencing their abilities in ways Ratchet had explained could not be predicted. Primus, he just couldn't wait to see...

Another tiny sound startled him back into active alert, and he leaned down once more to check on the group, optics scanning for any sign of distress. The bitlet that had made the noise only cracked open a sleepy optic and yawned, stubby servos smushing against their ample cheeks as they adjusted themselves in the nest with a tired squirm. As he watched them settle back to sleep, Starscream had to bite his lip to avoid making a sound at the painfully adorable antics. He'd known that they would be cute, but Primus, these little ones were precious beyond reason.

Spotting a microscopic flaw in the blankets, he adjusted it with the precision of a surgeon, wanting to be absolutely sure that you and the sparklings were covered. Once you all were secure and cozy, he allowed himself a moment to drink it all in: you, your sparklings; a little unexpected family he'd made by accident. It was more than he deserved, but he'd never let anyone lay a hand on you or your precious bundles. Every ounce of his strength would forevermore be dedicated to your safety.

Laying himself on his side, he stretched out an arm to encircle the lot of you with his bulk, the gentle sound of your breathing tempting him to sleep. He resisted, and used the closeness to tenderly brush his digits over a sleeping sparklings chubby cheeks. The warm softness of their mesh was enough to crack his spark, but the little one's reflexive cuddle into his touch absolutely shattered it. A single, joyful tear fell to the berth as his sparkling snuggled into his palm and pulled him closer.

When you woke, you wouldn't have to ask for anything ever again. It was the least he could do for three of the most precious gifts he'd ever known.

#transformers #maccadam #earthspark #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #transformers: earthspark #tf #starscream #starscream x reader #x reader #tf x reader #sparklings #bot/human babies

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legobiwan · 4 months

Note

For the drabble prompt list

"none of this is your fault" mario and luigi

Drabbles, they said, Ha! I answered. Anyway, I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy this barely-edited not-drabble. I am apparently incapable of concise writing right now :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“None of this is your fault, Lou.”

Luigi scoffed, pushing dampened sleeves up both arms, smearing dark, sweaty grease across his skin in wide, impressionistic lines.

“You tell that to Toadsworth in three days. I’m sure he’ll be happy to believe you,” Luigi groused, tightening a stubborn, thick bolt with a violent twist. That should keep the engine boosters from flying off at speeds exceeding thirty miles an hour. (Or as they were counted in the Mushroom Kingdom, five hundred and two mycelia per second, a measuring system so opaque - and infuriating - that Luigi had sat through an entire five-hour Toad Council meeting just so he could petition the government to introduce a bill to launch a public vote on switching to any other quantifier that made a modicum of sense. The notion, of course, was voted down in a manner of seconds. Tradition, Mister Luigi, Toadsworth had sniffed, rapping his long-handled gavel with an imperious gesture, closing off all debate on the matter).

Snobby old toad could stuff it up his spore holes.

“He’ll get over it,” Mario said. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Make us sit through another boring state dinner?”

Luigi poked at a serpentine belt that resembled some slices of old cheese he once found in the back of their fridge in Brooklyn. How these guys managed to stay competitive with equipment in this condition was a complete slap in the face to basic physics.

“You like those dinners.” Luigi crawled out from under the dented chassis, sitting back on his haunches as he gestured at his brother with a ratchet-wrench, making curly patterns in the air as if he were a Magikoopa casting a spell.

“I hate those dinners as much as you. They’re hot, stuffy, and the food is an insult to the entirety of Brooklyn. It’s not my fault I get to sit next to Peach and you’re always stuck with Lady Maitake and her hundreds of onion bulb-pup photos for two hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Did you know she’s trying to train them to do circus acts and take them on the road?” Luigi ran a finger down one of the dusty schematics strewn about the stone floor. “Hand me that spanner, will you?”

Mario shook his head, chuckling, handing off the hooked tool to Luigi, who shimmied once more underneath the maroon-and-black kart. “Look, you got hoodwinked into a bad contract. I should have looked over the fine print before you signed.”

“You’re not my keeper, Mario,” Luigi grumbled, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And it’s not even the contract that I care about. Frankly, I’m impressed Bowser’s been able to get these things to do anything beyond cough up smoke and crash into the nearest palm tree. It’s a good challenge to get them running again.”

“So what’s the issue, then?”

Luigi stilled, his hands guts-deep in a mess of wiring and cables that looked like an earthworm graveyard. After a moment, he sighed, letting the spanner tool clatter to the floor with a bright, metallic jangle.

“The issue,” he began, staring up at the internal electronic system of one of Bowser’s so-called best racing karts. “Is that he’s probably going to win. Bowser, that is. And everyone will make nice about it at the awards ceremony and Bowser will get too drunk on elderflower wine and get kicked out of the post-race party.”

“That happens every race, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you know Bowser. He’ll let it slip that I was the one doing repairs on his karts. And then in the morning, there will be a meeting. And Toadsworth will go on about the standing of the Kingdom being compromised and it being a diplomatic catastrophe that we allowed Bowser to win and that,” Luigi adopted a whiny, pompous voice. “Mr. Luigi has once again strained his credibility within the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“Look, that stodgy old Toad has no chance of making those charges stick. You were exonerated, Weeg. Nothing that happened with Bleck - “ Mario clenched his fists, hissing through his teeth. “Nothing that happened in that place was you. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.”

Luigi reached towards one of the dangling battery coils, playing with the violet and yellow wires between his fingers. “Sure,” he breathed. “Not me.”

“Not you,” Mario insisted, his voice steely. “And besides,” he continued, a hint of humor creeping into his words. If you’re so concerned about Toadsworth, why don’t you sabotage Bowser’s fleet?”

Luigi pushed himself out from under the kart, snapping up to a seat in wide-eyed horror.

“And ruin my reputation as an engineer? No way, bro. I’ll risk the treason charges, thank you very much.”

Mario guffawed, ambling over to take a seat next to his brother, the two coming shoulder-to-shoulder, backs set against the passenger door of the Koopa Coupe. “I think your reputation is beyond reproach, Lou.” Mario gave a small, uncertain smile. “After all, you did build two killer robots in the span of two weeks.”

It was a huge step forward, just being able to talk about the whole incident in Flipside, no less joke about it - the ordeal with Bleck and the jester and Luigi’s brainwashing. Mario had stayed tight-lipped about the entire debacle for weeks after they had gotten back, much to Luigi’s aggravation, until things came to a head one night due to a series of ill-conceived plans on the part of the Toad Council, the most brazen of which featured a misserved cup of tea laced with a dubiously legal truth potion.

Luigi sniffed out half a chuckle, nudging his brother in the shoulder. “Well, I can’t let Bowser think I’m slipping, right?”

Mario eyed his brother carefully, his features brightening as he caught the note of mischief in Luigi’s voice. Grinning, he clapped his brother on the knee. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you? The Old Koopa King doesn’t know what he’s got coming.”

Luigi straightened, composing himself into the picture of innocence. “Dear brother, I am a man of my word. Bowser will win the race, just like the contract stipulates.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” Luigi drew out the word, schematics and thermodynamic equations taking shape in his mind. “Let’s say the engine modifications I’m making happen to engage a set of rocket boosters at a certain speed threshold. Bowser’ll like that. But then maybe the activation of those boosters, given a certain location and time input, temporarily cede control of the brakes and steering to a pre-programmed route of the engineer’s choosing.” Luigi paused for dramatic effect. “All after the race is finished, of course. No injuries. No harm. Just a little post-race joyride through the forest.”

Mario gave a joyous whoop, bringing his brother into a tight, side-hug. “They’ll hear him screaming all the way in Rogueport! Ha! You know he’ll threaten to invade during the after-party! No one will care if you worked on his kart once he shows back up breathing smoke!”

“He’ll do that regardless,” Luigi laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “But you know how these modifications are. Always a chance of overburdening your circuits.”

“And at least it’ll be a while before he tries to trick you into doing his dirty work again,” Mario added.

“I hope so.” Luigi placed a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Mario.”

Mario beamed back at his brother, playfully flicking the brim of Luigi’s hat. “Come on, Lou. Show me how to build a sentient robot race kart.”

~~~~~

Drabble writing challenge: Make me sweat!

#hello there #writing #the eternal struggle #luigi #mario #writing prompts #ask meme #no i will not tell you how the contract came about i have no idea #yes i *do* actually have a story in the works about the tea incident #LET'S FUCKING WRITE YEAH #for once only minimal angst!#still rusty still getting back in writing shape #and speaking of in shape: time to try to run again after a few day layoff

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winged-self-indulgence · 4 months

Text

🔞 I could fix him 🔞

It was one of those days.

Ray was getting better at predicting them; the mornings when he’d wake up truly feeling the weight of the world resting on his shoulders, threatening to flatten him beneath the smothering mantle of responsibility that had been dumped – knowingly or unknowingly – upon his shoulders. Usually those were the days he’d call in sick if he was feeling charitable, or simply not show up to the NAHA office if not and just spend the entire day with you.

Although the two of you lived separately, it had quickly become clear that the arrangement was mostly nominal in nature. When Ray wasn’t out patrolling and saving the world from monstrous threats, he was at your apartment listening to your voice. And when you weren’t at work, you were at his apartment filling the once impersonal corners with the sound of music, the scent of home-cooked meals, and little knick-knacks you thought he’d like.

Most nights you fell asleep in each other’s arms, and every morning you never let him go to work without two kisses goodbye – one for ‘be safe’, the other for ‘I love you’. Ray swore they gave him energy to get through the day, just knowing you were home waiting for him, that you still loved and accepted him – flaws, monstrous desires and all. When the abyss in his chest threatened to spiral out of control, remembering that grounded him back to reality. Made him want to stay here, stay present, stay with you.

Unfortunately, it was one of those days where the NAHA were being even more annoying than usual. Half of the heroes who were supposed to be patrolling didn’t show up, and most of the ones who did bother to turn up seemed content to kick back the moment they spotted Ray’s name on the roster. The NAHA had scheduled him for three TV interviews before lunch, and during the second one a villain had attempted to blow up the studio building. While saving civilians and crew members from the inferno, one of the presenters – a popular social media celebrity if he recalled correctly – had tried to kiss him in front of the cameras. It was only decades of ingrained self-control that prevented Ray from ripping their head clean off their neck and tossing it and their body into the sky to join the rest of the trash circling the earth’s atmosphere, though he did take a great deal of spite in dropping them from just a little too high off the ground. If something happened to their anklebones, that was hardly his fault.

All in all, by the time Binary Star Hero pushed open the door to his apartment, he was ready to drop. If he could have curled up in bed and put himself into a coma for the next few business days, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

However, he paused at the entryway, surprised by the scent pervading his condo. The sweetness of coconut milk melded silkily with the warm, earthy scent of chili and cumin, which combined with the floral aroma of rosemary, thyme, and a dozen other herbs he couldn’t quite parse. Ray followed his nose to the kitchen, expecting to find you there, but only spotting a large pot bubbling on the stove – the flames turned down low to keep the soup simmering low and slow.

That meant you still had to be in the condo, but it was strange that you hadn’t called out to him. “Star?” Heartbeat ratcheting up, Ray turned to search the rest of the rooms, and just as quickly as the flare of panic had overtaken him it vanished as soon as he spotted you.

The original couch in the condo hadn’t been comfortable, the whole space having been designed more for aesthetics than coziness. Prior to meeting you, Ray had barely spent any time in his own home. After meeting you, bringing you home, and then listening to you whine about how his couch cushions felt more like glittery rocks, he’d immediately purchased a new couch. One with thicker padding, ergonomic armrests, and a built-in sofa-bed.

Cute. You were so fucking cute.

There you were, curled up on the couch with one of his jackets pulled over your torso for warmth, leaving your legs exposed to the cool evening air. Chuckling airily to himself, Ray leaned over to brush a strand of hair from your cheek, allowing the safe warmth of your presence to settle him. Just as he was about to fetch a proper blanket for you, his eyes caught on something strange.

Ray blinked, then froze entirely when he spotted a familiar shade of fabric. It barely took any of his strength to tug the jacket collar down, enough to reveal a maroon-red neckline. His sweater. You were wearing his sweater.

And not much else else, if your bare legs were anything to go by.

“Mmph. Ray?” The man watched you stir to life, yawning and blinking back the lingering remnants of sleep. “You’re home. Ugh, what time is it?”

His gaze sharpened when you sat up and stretched, inadvertently knocking the jacket off completely. The jumper, already meant to be oversized on his 6ft-something frame, was practically drowning you. The collar splayed wide, exposing the bruised slope of your shoulder and neck – still marked up from last night. The sleeves had been rolled up, presumably so they wouldn’t get in the way while you cooked, but one had come loose during your nap and now only the tips of your fingers were visible as you lifted a hand to rub the corner of your eye.

Concerned by the extended silence, you craned your neck up to look at your boyfriend. “Ray?” You called, and then let out a strangled yelp when he immediately flopped on top of you. On instinct your arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Bad day?” You guessed.

“Mm. Just let me stay like this for a while, Star,” he murmured, inhaling the heady scent of your skin, and exhaling the words into the curve of your throat.

“Food’s gonna be ready soon,” you told him, dropping a fluttering kiss against his forehead. Ray closed his eyes, blissfully receiving the gesture as a benediction. “We can watch something stupid later and eat all the ice cream I bought. I will even allow you to have some of my cookies and cream bars.”

Ray listened to you ramble with one ear, paying half of his attention to the gentle cadence of your voice while the rest focused on the steady thump-thump-thump of your heart between your ribs. The reminder that you were still here, that he was still here, that you were his.

Soon listening wasn’t enough. The rhythm in your chest stuttered and sped up, responding to the hands dragging over your body with absentminded possessiveness. Warm fingers, rough with scars and calluses, squeezed the inside of your thighs before sliding under the hem of your – or more specifically, his – shirt. They moved higher, groping the dip of your hips, the small of your waist, the softness of your ass. By the time those fingers reached your nipples you were a sensitive wreck, barely touched and yet your body was aflame with directionless heat.

“R-Ray…” You squirmed in place, one hand raised to your lips to stifle the keening noise escaping from the back of your throat, knees turning inward as you tried to squeeze your thighs shut. With careless ease, Ray elbowed your legs apart. He sat up, smiling idly at the cute picture you made. Flat on your back and sprawled beneath him, sweater shoved all the way up to your collar, exposing your gorgeous body to his intense gaze. The low lamplight cast shadows over you, exposing parts of your flushed skin and hiding others tantalizingly from view. “Ray, w-what about dinner…?”

“Mm. It’ll be fine,” he murmured lazily, unbuckling his jeans and never taking his dark eyes off you for a single moment. Ray’s movements were slow, lethargic, and full of methodical intent as his cock flopped out – swollen thick, heavy, and dripping with precum. “Just let me have this, Star.”

You’d always known that Ray was strong. Superstrength was one of the most basic hero abilities, one that often came as a passive perk with other powers. However you had underestimated how much he’d been holding back, because it barely took more than the flick of a finger for him to rip your underwear completely off.

“You’re soaked, Star,” he chuckled, knuckles running idly over your sex and causing more juices to leak out. You gasped when he leaned over you, letting the tip of his cock press against your hole. Not in, simply tapping against your wet entrance, drawing circles, or pressing just enough for the fat head to almost pop in.

He pulled away briefly, admiring the sticky strings of both of your juices connecting his cockhead to your puffy sex. His attitude was a direct contrast with yours, almost sleepily calm while you were whining and thrashing underneath his bulk, unable to do anything other than endure the burning torture.

The orgasm crept up on you. Not stalking you through the shadows, but like a monster you could see coming and would never be able to fight off no matter how hard you tried. It hit you like a tsunami, an arching wave of pleasure so good it hurt. You sobbed and thrashed, pinned beneath Ray while he watched you with that same, sleepy smile, as if you were an adorable toy being played with.

“Pretty little thing,” the man cooed as he rocked his hips in a slow, painfully pleasurable grind, forcing you through another choking orgasm on the cusp of the last one. “So good for me, aren’t you, my Star? Mm. I think I need a little more.”

#binary star hero #bshvn #my fic

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in1-nutshell · 10 months

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Concept, mtmte Megatron accidentally adopts young human buddy.

Like there's basically just a teenager on the lost light, and because teenagers have no fear of death, they go out of their way to interact with the ex-warlord.

Time goes on, and eventually, when Megatron realizes the dynamic he has, he goes into a typical angsty brooding session. Bonus points if it has Brooklyn 99 energy of Peralta accidently calling holt 'dad' energy.

I really do enjoy your blog because a lot of the stuff is either platonic or familial, and that's my favorite shit. Hope you have a good day and drink water.

Thank you for the compliment! I have been drinking water and been having a pretty decent day. Now, Human Buddy who knows no fear is about to strike the fear of their well being upon others! Megatron is their prime target...

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron 'accidentally' adopting human Buddy who fears nothing

SFW, familial, platonic, mentions of injuries but nothing graphic or in details, Human reader

MTMTE/LL

Oh, Buddy starts off as the bane of his existence.

Buddy joins the lost light before the events of Delphi happen. Meaning they have been dealing with everyone’s problems since a little over day one.

Let’s give Buddy some context.

By sheer luck, Buddy managed to enter the Cybertronain/ Human Liaison program and was now the proud representative in the Lost Light.

Many bots on the Lost Light thought that this would be a little liaison and would be a bit fearful of the hulking giants around them or some sleazy politician. Some were just curious as they had never seen a human until that moment.

Rodimus is preparing for a Prowl like or Magnus like person to board the bridge. That’s usually who they send when it comes to relations, except Marrisa Fairborn, she was an exception.

At first Buddy did come off as someone overly polite… that was soon going to change.

“Welcome Buddy aboard the Lost Light.”—Ultra Magnus

“Thank you, Ultra Magnus sir.”--Buddy

“And I will be your Captain! The names Rodimus Prime.”--Rodimus

“Well, I’m just Buddy. Sorry but I should be entering my room now before take-off. Thank you again for the introduction sirs. I hope to find you soon?”--Buddy

“Absolutely, we will start the meeting in an hour in the meeting room down your hall.”—Ultra Magnus

“Thank you.”--Buddy

“…Great another stick in the mud…”--Rodimus

“Oh, hush they seem like a nice human.”—Ultra Magnus

A week later

“Hey Rodimus, I bet you can throw me into that mattress over there.”--Buddy

“Oh? You’re on!”--Buddy

“I have the reports ready—OH SWEET PRIMUS! BUDDY!”—Ultra Magnus

Timeskip

“So let me get this straight… You bet Rodimus, one of the most impulsive and childish bots on bourd—”--Ratchet

“Hey!”--Rodimus

“To THROW you across the room to a small mattress and it didn’t occur to you that you could bounce off the mattress!?”--Ratchet

“Well at least all the blood is internal right? That’s were the blood is supposed to be?”--Buddy

“…”--Ratchet

“Oh Primus…”—Ultra Magnus

“Oh, Primus indeed.”--Rodimus

Buddy does not know what ‘self-preservation’ is. Its not in their vocabulary. Ratchet has lost count of the amount of times that Buddy has come in the med bay with an injury that was caused by some atrociously dumb plan.

“Alright… what’s the damage today? Whirl brought you in this time so it must be bad.”—Ratchet

“Rude.”—Buddy and Whirl

“Well, I’m waiting. What happened?”--Ratchet

“Well… I was trying to follow Skids trails through the vents, which is so cool to visit—”--Buddy

“Kid.”--Ratchet

“Right. Well, I thought I could jump across the vent opening and kind a didn’t…”--buddy

“What?”--Ratchet

“Good thing Whirl was there to break my fall! Sorry again Whirl for the glass.”--Buddy

“Next time you bust my glass at least do a flip next time you fall on your back.”--Whirl

“What you fell on your back?! You have glass imbedded in it!”--Ratchet

“Huh? That explains why my back hurts so much.”--Buddy

“…”--Ratchet

Rodimus takes it back he loves this little human. Buddy is his best human friend. Whirl wins this though, he already asked Buddy to be his Amica Endura, and they accepted!

“Hey Ratchet—”--Drift

“Shh!”--Ratchet

“Rude—”--Drift

“No. It’s quiet… to quiet…”--Ratchet

“What do you think we are going to get attack?”--Drift

“…No, it’s something much worse.”--Ratchet

“What could be worse—”--Drift

“Its Whirl and Buddy! They haven’t made noise in about 10 minutes!”--Ratchet

“Ratchet I think that them not making noise—”--Drift

BAM!

“Eat floor Cyclonus!”--Whirl

“Whirl! Run! He’s gaining on us!”--Buddy

“I stand corrected.”--Drift

They make friends with a lot of bots on board. Many are happy to meet an individual such as Buddy. But this also comes at a cost. Many bots have to watch for Buddy in case something bad happens to them. They are so small and they keep getting into dangerous situations!

Rung has a line of bots that express the same worry for Buddy one day doing something dumb and not being able to come back from it.

Buddy knows no fear.

How does the crew know this?

Buddy made it their life job to make Megatron uncomfortable when they found out he was going to be the Co-Captain.

“Hey! MegaDork!”--Buddy

“Hmm?”--Megatron

Bucket of oil falls from door.

“Theres more were that came from Bucket Head! That’s for Earth!”--Buddy

Megatron can’t do anything about it. He hates organics and he can’t kill this one, not without causing another war. When Ravage shows up, he thinks that Buddy might back down a bit. I mean what human in their right of mind would try and continue to prank him when ravage is around? Buddy takes this as a challenge that needs to be beaten. If anything, Ravage helps a bit.

“He slipped on the paint! Go! Go! Go!”--Buddy

“Ravage!?”--Megatron

“All is fair in music tapes and war Megatron.”—Ravage

Buddy has the ring tone of Megs comm to “Be Prepared” from the Lion King. Swerve helped them put in the music. He laughed nonstop when it first worked.

They are petty.

Everyone is on edge whenever those two are in the same room.

Half ready to shoot Megatron down the other half to get Buddy to safety once they manage to trigger Megatron.

Is there any chance that Megatron will get a break?

Yes, yes, he does.

He managed to finally get a place holder for a poetry night in one of the classrooms. Not to his surprise no bot shows up. He is about to leave when he hears the quick little sets of footsteps coming in.

“Wait! Wait! Hold the door! I’m here! I’m here!”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Megatron

“I’m not late, am I? I just saw the flyer from Swerve. And—hold on—sprinted from my room back here.”--Buddy

“Oh, umm, no one came…”--Megatron

“Oh, okay then its just us two them Big Guy?”--Buddy

“Wait—”--Megatron

“Call dibs on the chair on the left.”--Buddy

Megatron never pegged Buddy to be into poetry. He is also floored with Buddy actually talking to him and giving pointers on how to improve his own pieces of work. Even referring to other poets’ works so he could get some inspiration!

He nearly misses the shy look Buddy gives when he compliments their work.

He thinks that this is a onetime thing.

He is deeply mistaken.

“Hey Megs! You ready for today’s meeting?”--Buddy

“Oh, yes I am.”--Megatron

“Good! I have a bunch of works that need to be peer reviewed and I can’t trust Rodimus to look over these; and Whirl sadly isn’t an option for these either.”--Buddy

“Why don’t you ask Magnus? Surely, he could also help?”--Megatron

“And have him explain to me the importance of an Oxford comma when I forgot to put one in my writing? Yeah no, I need your optics for this.”--Buddy

“…Me?”--Megatron

Buddy no longer causes too much trouble for the Ex-warlord. Still trouble but not as much as last time. They always come to the poetry club and even managed to snag a couple of their friends to come with.

He is not going to admit to anyone, well maybe Ravage, that he started growing a soft spot for them.

“Ravage… I think I might be growing fond of Buddy…”--Megatron

“Congratulations! You’re officially the last one to know.”--Ravage

These little interactions begin happening more and more, Megatron is just happy that things are finally going well.

Then it happened.

It was at Swerve’s.

He was sitting at the bar looking over Buddy’s latest writing with Buddy, themselves sitting patiently. He gives a compliment and gives them back the writing.

“You’ve improved Buddy. These are getting better with more time.”--Megatron

“Thanks Dad.”--Buddy

“…”--Everyone

“Why is everyone so quiet?”--Buddy

“You just called Megatron here, ‘Dad’.”--Whirl

“What’s a ‘Dad’?”--Tailgate

“No! I didn’t say ‘Dad’! I just said, ‘Thanks Man!’”--Buddy

“I don’t know Buddy. It sounded a lot like ‘Dad’ to me.”--Whirl

“Seriously, what’s a ‘Dad’?”--Tailgate

“Well, you heard wrong Whirl!”--Buddy

“Do you see me as a father figure Buddy?”--Megatron

“No! I see you as a bother figure if anything.”--Buddy

“Hey respect your Dad!”--Ratchet

“Is no one going to tell me what a ‘Dad’ is?”--Tailgate

After that interaction, Buddy begins to avoid Megatron after the confrontation and nearly shuts down when someone brings up the event. Megatron really wants to talk to buddy about the incident but decides not to. Maybe it was a mistake.

He broods over it for a while.

He finds Buddy again at Swerve’s where a rather drunk bot was making fun of Buddy for their little ‘slip up’.

“Wow Fleshy. You messed be so messed up in the processor to call Megatron your Dad.”—Drunk Bot

“Hey drop it.”--Buddy

“Oh, look at me! I’m so scared of a human how I could flick across the room if I wanted to.”—Drunk Bot

“Oh, please I know that barely existing processor of yours isn’t that dumb. But even then, I hope Natural selection takes you if you follow through that threat.”—Buddy

It was getting to the point where it was becoming insensitive.

Bots around were getting uneasy at the conversation and some looked like they were going to come over and do something.

Megatron is quicker.

As he strides over, he is met with the infamous brick of parenthood. Should he really take up such a mantle?

He takes that mantle by the horns and makes it his.

“My child, is something wrong?”--Megatron

Voice crack “Nope. Just Peachy.”--Buddy

Everyone looks over.

Buddy is just beaming.

Megatron has no regrets saying what he said, he lets Buddy know this.

No, Buddy isn’t crying. You’re the one crying.

#transformers #transformers x reader #more than meets the eye #mtmte x reader #mtmte rodimus #mtmte megatron #mtmte ultra magnus #mtmte ratchet #mtmte whirl #mtmte drift #maccadam #human buddy

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