#Frankly the only reason vent is still running despite being in the red for so long is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

Supposedly

A/N: this was a request sent in that inspired me a lot for some reason and i figured i’d do it cause i haven’t done any demon!h and demon!reader in a while so i gave it a go and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out :D enjoy!

Anonymous: This may be too cutesy for them, but do demon!harry and demon!reader ever cuddle after they fuck? Or they fall asleep separately but wake up in each other’s arms and just try to play it off awkwardly

word count: 4.5k

content: some angst but nothing major, fluff, mentions of nudity, and some cocky asshole demon!h because that’s his Brand laidese and germs!!

///

Despite the emotionless, unattached agenda demons tend to uphold, let it be known that Harry didn’t really mind what was happening at the moment.

On the surface level, from an outside perspective, this definitely doesn’t fit the bill for what is expected from his kind. Cuddling is an action reserved usually for real couples that have a sentimental bond, which he and Y/N are very much not. He’s not even quite sure what they are, really. Their relationship— if he can even call it that— was born out of three very important, adequately limiting notions: a mutual understanding, the desire for a convenient warm body, and sheer boredom.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The mutual understanding was that neither of them wanted a genuine significant other, given what they are, so it was established that feelings were to be kept out of this arrangement completely. Emotions lead to complications, complications lead to a falling out, and a falling out would be inexplicably messy considering that they’ve shared the same friend group for well over a decade now and neither are willing to let a booty call mishap ruin that. Feelings stay dormant, end of discussion.

The desire for a convenient warm body is pretty self-explanatory— Harry and Y/N had known each other for a while now so there was no annoying getting to know you phase, they both agreed that they found the other attractive, and they both live relatively close to one another so it was a pleasant set-up with minimal issues. Harry could shoot her a text at three in the morning and she’d be at his place in less than five minutes, or vice versa. There was no spending hours at a bar trying to pick someone up, no time wasted learning what the other person likes and dislikes, and certainly no fretting over birth control tactics to keep up appearances— they were both dead, which is a morbid advantage but an advantage nonetheless. It was easy access, easy fun, and easy clean-up.

The sheer boredom aspect was just that. It had started on a drunken night out with friends, where— by a series of fortunate events— Harry and Y/N had ended up together post-bender, sitting in his car in the parking lot of a club. They had been waiting for him to sober up to drive them home and she had made a passing comment about not wanting to turn in for the night quite yet. He’d blinked at her sluggishly, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a rouge strand of hair behind her ear because he was getting secondhand irritation from it tickling her nose. He’d spoken up, voice numb and thick from the alcohol. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Y/N had glanced over at him, eyes half-lidded as they had raked down his lean tattooed chest, his unbuttoned silk sheer shirt leaving very little to the imagination. When she’d pinned her gaze back up to his, her eyes had inked black as they’d flitted to the palm of his hand for a second, a suggestive glint washing across their reflective surface as the corner of her pretty mouth had quirked. “I have a decent idea of exactly what I wanna do.”

And now here they were, with many restless, heated nights, ruined bed frames, and rumpled sheets littering their past, as well as their immediate future.

And here Harry was, slowly blinking awake after one of those said nights, cruel scratches itching across his back as they finish up healing, an empty content still bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

His lashes flutter open as he inhales a large sigh, flinching at the bright sunlight filtering its way through the lightly swaying curtains. The only sound in the room is the soft thrum of the air vent at the far corner of the ceiling, alongside Y/N’s soft, rhythmic breathing.

In his barely conscious state, Harry goes to do what he always does the morning after he’s spent a night doing Y/N’s back in: he goes to stretch. He does most of the work more times than not— courtesy of his dominant tendencies— but she always gives him a run for his soul. Anything he dishes out, she usually returns with the same amount of energy and will. Last night hadn’t been any different and the ache at the bottom of his spine and along his inner thighs proves it.

Harry instinctively goes to lift his arms above his head, reaching for the top of the headboard to use it as support. He is stopped cold when he realizes a foreign weight is keeping one of his arms pinned to the bed.

He knuckles at his eyes with his free hand, ridding them of the last residues of sleep, and then drags his palm up his face and through his mussed curls to comb away his disorientation. He cranes his sore neck to the side and downwards, eyebrows jolting up in surprise when he’s met with a wall of fluffy, tangled, mandarin-scented hair.

Harry lifts his head up slightly, neck straining to see over the back of Y/N’s wild halo to make sure that the image before him isn’t some type of exhaustion-induced mirage.

It’s odd for her to be so near him— she usually likes her space; says that being too close in proximity for too long is irritating. It’s why she usually sleeps with her back to him at the other end of the bed, and why he’s gotten accustomed to giving her the majority of the mattress space. Despite the fact that it’s his flat, she’s stubborn, hard-headed, argumentative and frankly, he’d rather just forfeit the extra leg room instead of bickering for thirty minutes just to end up losing anyways. It’s gentlemanly, in a sense. Minimal, but it’s something.

Given Y/N’s general disgust for excess contact, it’s no shock as to why Harry is utterly baffled right now. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure she’d fallen asleep all the way across the expanse of his sheets so how did they willingly end up here? How did they end up with her bare back pressed to his chest, her legs intertwined between his, and his arm wrapped almost protectively around her waist, wedged between her hips and the bed.

Harry would never outright admit it but...he’s not necessarily mad about it.

As he lays there for a few more seconds, absorbing the situation with an expression of pensive dismay pinching his face, he slowly comes to terms that he’s actually starting to enjoy this.

The warmth of her smooth skin gradually undoes the knot of confusion between his brows. The sensation of her back flushing against his chest as it rises and falls with her breathing erases the unease dipping the corners of his stinging mouth. The way she’s started to unconsciously rub her calves gently up and down his own makes the last traces of unsettlement melt off his face, replaced by an appearance of subtle affection, lips parting in blank wonder.

Harry relaxes back into the plushness of the mattress, eyes remaining glued to a blissfully ignorant Y/N. His thoughts are scurrying around the inside of his skull, attempting to get accustomed with this new experience, having a difficult time arranging into place. He’s aware that he seems to be taking easily to what’s unfolding, but there’s an unsteady bubble inflating in his chest. He knows that if he lets himself dwell in this too much, it’ll end up biting him in the ass later, most likely as a wave of undealt emotions and crippling loneliness; that’s baggage he’s spent too many years compartmentalizing for it to all just come bursting out.

All those decades of locking away his issues are in danger of resurfacing, and all for some harmless hugging? Doesn’t seem like a fair negotiation, and he knows plenty about negotiations.

However, he can’t seem to make himself pull away.

Especially not when Y/N suddenly shifts in her sleep, turning onto her other side so that she's now facing him, snuggling deeper into his body and tucking her head into the junction between his neck and collarbones. Her annoyingly soft, hot lips smear against his throat, settling into the dip at the center where a pulse would normally be present. The feeling of her exhales washing across his cold skin sends a wringing down his spine, a hushed “fuck…” escaping his dry mouth as the warmth behind the gesture spreads upwards, spilling redness into his cheeks and along the shells of his ears. Her hands come up as loose fists, pressing between his pectorals lightly, her own naked chest flushing against her forearms.

Surprisingly enough, her supple chest isn’t at the forefront of his mind at this instant. Instead, he’s focused on the intimacy they’re sharing in this moment, unbeknownst to her and stressfully beknownst to him.

Harry’s free hand acts of its own accord, coasting upwards towards her face and moving her chin over a bit until his palm can comfortably nurse her jaw. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip slowly, every ridge and bump sending miniature shots of electricity surging through his veins, his eyes falling shut at this strange form of pleasure he hasn’t felt in ages.

Y/N just looks so beautiful like that, in such a vulnerable state that he knows for sure no one else has ever gotten to witness— at least not in a very long time.

No one else has gotten to see the way her lashes sit atop her cheekbones so delicately, her face soothed by sleep, not a wrinkle or grimace in sight. She looks as if she were made of porcelain, her features nothing short of perfect. No one has gotten to witness the way she mumbles a handful of incoherent, groggy words, her mind lost in a meaningless dream, or the way her nose twitches in the cutest manner as a draft from the air conditioning runs across it, causing her to sniffle. No one has seen the way she gives into his touch, her face cradling deeper into his hand, chasing the uncommon gentleness behind his demeanor and it hadn’t occurred to Harry that maybe— just maybe— she’s craving this type of innocent bliss, too, though he’s certain she would never confess to it if she were awake.

Harry runs his hand down the slope of her bruised neck and across the curve of her shoulder, tracing the teeth marks he had left the night before. The tip of his fingers follow down the incline of her torso, wriggling around her side, his wrist resting upon the faint dip of her waist. He cups her lower back with his large hand, borrowing a moment to appreciate the way it fits flawlessly. He then leans forward some to give his reach more length, his digits carefully trailing up the middle of her spine, the action timid and tranquil.

He looks down at her from over the tops of his colored cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he continues to lull his fingers up and down her back. Y/N releases a shy whimper of gratitude, her whole body bathing in a light shiver. She does like it.

Harry swallows thickly, moving away a few locks of hair off her shoulder with the tip of his nose, glassy jade irises studying her facial expressions to make sure she’s still asleep. He puckers his tingling lips, pressing a bundle of chaste kisses to the fading bite marks on her staticy skin. If his heart still beat, he feels like it would be glowing right now.

He tilts his chin up, settling it on top of her head and sighing in satisfaction as he feels her steady breathing wash across his Adam’s Apple, her flyaway hairs tickling his nostrils.

He decides to stay like that for a while, just basking in her company within this tender setting that he knows he probably won’t receive again anytime soon. Harry lays there, limbs woven between Y/N’s as his black-polished nails scratch gently at her back, swimming in his numb thoughts.

After what feels like hours— but is realistically just ten minutes— he goes to gingerly shift the arm stuck beneath her body, trying to regain some circulation. Y/N stirs, resulting in him freezing in place to prevent a mishap, his mouth finding her warm forehead and placing a lingering kiss between her brows. It eases her.

Harry waits five minutes before trying again.

He manages to escape this time around, lifting his arm above his head and twisting out the cramp in his wrist, then folding it behind his head. He allows his eyes to shut once again, intent on spending a bit longer milling in this bubble of domestic peace.

His plan is shattered to pieces by an alarmed, angry sentence.

“What the fuck?”

His eyelids fly open, ice materializing across his entire nervous system.

Shit.

Y/N launches upwards, sitting up rigidly with her face contorted in startled repulsion, clutching his blood red sheets to her chest as her hair stands up in tousled tuffs. “What in Lucifer’s red, barren hell are you doing?”

Harry now has two distinctive routes to pick from: confess to partaking in the unorthodox cuddling, or fake it and say he was asleep as well and that it had all been an unintentional mistake.

It’s hardly a choice.

He flings his arms away from the other demon’s body as if sickened, shooting up into a seated position and slouching back onto his palms, a look of agitated horror plastered across his sleepy, handsome features. “What do you mean what am I doing? What the fuck were you doing?”

Y/N blinks at him as if he’d just stabbed her between the eyes with a demon blade, irises momentarily flitting black with nerves, the area under her waterline webbing with dark veins. “What do you mean what was I doing? You were the one with your arms around me!”

Harry narrows his sight at her pointedly, thick brows furrowing with faux resentment. “You were the one with your head snuggled into my neck and your hands on my chest!”

“You were the one kissing my forehead!”

“You were the one rubbing up on my legs!”

“Because you were close to me!”

“Because you rolled over here!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what?” Harry snaps sarcastically, drawing forward and crossing his arms over his chest adamantly. “Did an angel sneak in and place you there? Because as I recall, you always sleep on the left side of the bed, so what were you doing on the right?”

Harry’s accurate counter renders Y/N speechless, her mouth parting quizzically as if waiting for a response to magically appear. Her eyebrows cinch down begrudgingly, the gears in her head spinning on overdrive, trying to piece together an appropriate rebuttal. Her grasp tightens on the blanket covering her bare body. “Well, I...I don’t know—I don’t think I—”

Harry cocks his head to the side expectantly, loose curls falling across his forehead as he shrugs his brows with a condescending air. He mimics her with a high-pitched voice. “Well, I— I don’t know— I—I don’t think I—I—I—”

Y/N’s face goes sour as heat floods her cheeks, fire threatening to spark across the tips of her sizzling ears. She yanks the sheets off of him, holding them with one hand as she uses the other to begin crawling across the bed towards the edge, a haphazard defense thrown over her shoulder. “Shut up! It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry scoffs in dark amusement, not even bothering to cover himself up. He bites into his cheek to keep from exploding into a round of triumphant laughter; he can’t believe he managed to turn the tides so quickly. “Oh, so you admit it was you, then?”

Y/N dismounts the atrociously tall bed, stumbling over the long linens as she desperately searches for her clothes. “No! I’m just saying that whatever happened, it didn’t happen intentionally!”

“Obviously.” The brunette demon snorts, shaking his head for subtle emphasis, crossing his ankles offhandedly and returning both arms to the place where one had been prior— tucked behind his head casually. “What do you think we are, mortal?”

“Of course not.” Y/N agrees quickly— a little too quickly, which hints to Harry that she might be trying to cover something up. Perhaps she wasn’t as disgusted by this as she had led on…

He watches as his friend— he uses the term lightly— shuffles around his room, peering at the floor in an determined quest to find her jeans, underwear, and black lace blouse. Or maybe she’s just hellbent on avoiding eye contact with him.

“Y/N…” His tone has lost its arrogantly mocking edge, softened by what she can only decode as...guilt?

She ignores it and doesn’t answer, nearly passing out in relief when she spots her panties and bra hanging off the doorknob to his closet. She snatches them swiftly, panning her gaze around the rest of the room for her leftover clothes, spotting them in a pile sticking out from underneath the opposite corner of the bed. They’d probably gotten kicked there in the heat of the moment.

Harry repeats himself a little louder, adding onto his comment to try and stifle some of the embarrassment radiating from her. “Y/N, you don’t have to leave. You usually stay for breakfast.”

Y/N scoops up her outfit, settling it into the crook of her right elbow and squaring her shoulders as if ready to brace a hellhound. Their gazes lock and he feels his stomach flop when he sees the vulnerability she’s obviously trying to hide. She’s good at it, he’ll give her that, but if he stares intently enough, he can just make out the traces of conflicted longing leaking into the disinterested facade around her pupils.

“It’s fine, Harry.” She sighs heavily, her tone drastically different from the unkempt girl that had been floundering about just seconds ago. She’s now calm, cool, collected, and scaringly so. “I have somewhere to be later. Meeting someone to close a deal.”

She shrugs one shoulder indifferently, grabbing a handful of the sheets arranged around her figure and pulling away, dropping the bedspread at his feet and leaving herself completely nude.

And there she is, the Y/N he so well knows. The same one that uses sex appeal as a shield.

She’s managed to spackle the cracks that had appeared in her typical barrier of heartlessness, her confidence and ease leveling off once again. She places her clothes on top of the crumpled sheets, picking out her cheeky bright red panties from the heap and working them up her tempting legs. Harry can’t help but notice the hickies covering her inner thighs, as well as the finger prints staining her hips.

Y/N catches him ogling, smirking to herself now that she has her composure back in order. She hooks her index finger around one of the straps in her bra, lifting it up and bouncing the lace lingerie in front of him teasingly. She raises her eyebrows at her lover provokingly, a sultry air pouting her lips. “Think you can help a girl out?”

Harry licks at his slightly chapped lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the article hanging off her hand to the sly grin decorating the edges of her pretty mouth. When he speaks, it’s low and thicker than usual, accent heavy. “Of course, pet.”

His legs thunk emptily off the bed and onto the floor, a small grunt catching the back of his throat as he pushes himself up onto his feet. He is most definitely sore.

His footsteps are soft against the carpeted ground, faltering as he rounds the corner of the mattress.

Y/N eyes his every move, suckling her bottom lip at the way his muscles flex and contract under his sun-kissed skin. She doesn’t let herself wander below his waist though; she’s never one to pass up flaunting her power of will.

Harry stops about a foot away, taking the bra from she is offering and holding it out for her to slip into. She does so at a mind-numbing pace, her toes curling as she feels his warm fingertips running the material up her arms and onto their designated spot on her shoulders. He tugs at the hooks gently, pinning them into place and tucking the tag in, exactly how he’s seen her do countless of times before.

He then runs the palms of his hands up her arms, sighing softly at the silky sensation of her skin and giving her shoulders a dismissive squeeze. “All done.”

Y/N turns on her heels to face him, looking up innocently through her lashes, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

Her playfully seductive personality is unbearably contagious, seen in how Harry returns her action with a coy scoff and a simper of his own. “For you, always.”

“Well…” Y/N turns her lower half to the side, showing him her ass for significance, which is covered in the unmistakable print of his hand and rings. “I wouldn’t say always.”

Harry’s pursed lips break into an even wider shit-eating grin, his cheeky laughter echoing across the walls of the apartment, his arms absentmindedly folding across his broad chest. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s one-sided, can you?”

He points towards his neck, stretching his chin upwards so that she gets a good view of all the fading love bites she’d left there the night before.

Y/N’s giggles match his. “Touché.”

Harry rummages through his drawers as she finishes getting dressed, shimmying into her tight jeans and throwing her shirt on, finger-combing her hair into a decent state. He comes up with a pair of maroon briefs, slipping them on as he walks back towards her, letting the elastic band snap into place against his lower abdomen.

The two demons with benefits stand before each other, Y/N with her braided black sandals swung over her shoulders and Harry with his hands fixed on his hips nonchalantly.

“You really can’t stay for breakfast?” Harry inquiries one last time, lifting his eyebrows curiously. “I’m making those cinnamon bun waffles you like so much.”

Y/N sighs grandly, clutching her chest dramatically as if it physically hurts her to decline his offer. “I’d love to, but work is work. Don’t really have a say.”

Her friend nods in understanding, well aware of the truth behind her words. “It is what it is, then.”

“However...” Her sudden continuation makes his head perk. She reaches up, carding her fingers into his messy curls and combing them back from his face, tucking a handful of rebellious ringlets behind his small ears and giving him one final self-assured smile. “Do y’think you could maybe save me two and I can come pick them up tonight?”

Harry cranes his head to the side, placing a slow peck to the palm of her hand and then biting into her skin jokingly, a certain lewdness painted all over the deed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great.” Y/N quips happily, wrapping his curls around her knuckles roughly and hauling him in for a sloppy, dirty kiss that leaves his teeth numb and his face buzzing.

Once she breaks their mouths, lightly panting with her skin a darker shade than before, he has to blink three times in order to reign himself back in. His ability to form coherent sentences right now is about as useful as alphabet soup; he just gives her a jerky nod instead.

Y/N wipes at his swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, giving his cheek a playful pat. “I’ll see you then, H.”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away as she leaves, his bedroom door clicking shut behind her, the soft, distant thunk of his front door accompanying the sound a bit later.

Fuck, that was something is the first comprehensible thought that registers in his mind.

It was absolutely something and who knows how differently it would have gone if he had admitted giving into the weakness they had both sworn off of.

That notion haunts him for a while— the idea that he could have driven her away for good if he had confessed that his emotions had bleed through their arrangement. Sure, it had only been this once, but Harry has a horrible gut-wrenching feeling that he’s unlocked a box deep in the back of his skull that won’t easily be chained down again.

He thinks this over again and again as he prepares his morning meal, the looming uncertainties of it all causing him to check out of reality here and there, resulting in a few burn marks across his hands and two charred waffles in the bin.

As Harry finally sits down to enjoy the food that had nearly not made it to his plate, he finds himself mentally running through the awkward encounter he and Y/N had faced this morning. He can’t stop himself from dwelling on the expression he had seen crack through her eyes earlier— one that showed she seemed to be feeling the same kind of emotional turmoil he was. It opens too many unanswered questions for their future and he hates himself for being so worried when nothing had truly happened. For all he knows, it could have just been a trick of the sunlight that had been streaming into the room. He’s getting himself out of sorts for nothing.

However, as he goes in on a forkful of his cinnamon-glazed pastry, one pesky detail suddenly launches him into a coughing fit.

It was so minuscule he had missed it the first fifty times he had run through the events, but it had decided to prick him in the brain now, the weak dam of reassurance he had built crumbling to ashes.

After Y/N had woken up, saw what was happening, and their fight had ensued, she had made a comment about how Harry had kissed her forehead.

On the surface, it had seemed unimportant because yes, that is exactly what he had done. The problem arose when he remembered that she had been dead asleep when he had done that.

Supposedly.

He had gone to remove his arm from below her body, she had fussed a bit, he had pressed his lips to her forehead to ease her, and she had remained asleep for a while longer until he decided to finish removing his arm. That final motion was what had awoken her.

Supposedly.

If she had been unconscious the whole time they were cuddling, then how did she know he’d kissed her?

#demon!reader #demon!y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty fic #harry styles #harry styles au #writing au #demon au #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #1d one shot #1d fanfiction

662 notes · View notes

megatronswaifu · 4 years

Note

Nightlight defected from the Bots?! I must know MORE! :0

yes she did!!! it’s a long story BUT I’M SO HAPPY U WANNA KNOW MORE so i will try to do my best to relay it briefly…my writing is very abridged but it still does the job. this is the TFP version of her defection.

basically, nightlight came to earth on a stolen ship with her friends (other ocs who i haven’t really finalized – here are some doodles i did around a year ago), seiner, wheelhop (used to be named “popcorn” as a placeholder), and phase (used to be named rook before somebody pointed out that there’s already somebody named that). a gang of girls!

they are all a very silly and flawed bunch but they get along.

nightlight does not often go on missions because she is a scaredy cat and honestly isn’t very skilled at fighting, and she kind of just stays back. if she does go on missions, she usually ends up getting protected or rescued, so she tries to help in other ways.

one day, the gang of girls decides to go out on a stroll in an uninhabited (by humans) place on earth since they felt cooped up in the autobot base. there is literally no reason for cons to be around so they just decide to have fun.

sadly and very annoyingly, decepticons DO appear and they have to sprint their fucking afts off running and shooting back and hiding, until they can finally sit still enough for the biggest bot, seiner, to comm ratchet,

“ratchet!! ratchet we need a ground bridge! the decepticons found us!”

(rest of story and another doodle under cut)

ratchet pulls up a groundbridge and informs them that the bridge is on the right, on the other side of the mountain they’re currently hiding behind. they make a break for it, and sprint to the bridge. they hop right through, and to their horror and surprise, the room they hop into is purple. it’s dark. it’s got decepticons.

the ground bridge behind them closes, and the girls scatter around and run out the door. they get chased and are forced to run about what is presumably The Nemesis. they finally find a room in which nobody has followed them into or figured out they’re hiding in.

the girls begin to talk.

wheelhop: “WHAT THE SHIT WAS THAT I THOUGHT RATCHET GOT US A GROUND BRIDGE????”

seiner: “well uhh fuck obviously we didn’t go through it, what went wrong?”

phase (in cybertronian sign language, she is mute): “maybe we went through the wrong one.”

wheelhop: “you mean there was a decepticon bridge open at the same time?”

phase nods.

seiner (looking over at phase, with a considering expression): “seems like it.”

nightlight: “but, but ratchet said it was on the right…right?”

…on the “other right” of the mountain, a completely separate ground bridge sits. on that bridge’s other side, ratchet attempts to comm them, to no avail. the girls have accidentally run through another ground bridge that the decepticons were using to mobilize their own forces into the area, and had completely missed their own ground bridge because they went to the wrong “right”. they must come up with a plan to escape. seiner, being a leader-type, looks around the room. it looks like they found themselves in an unused monitor room.

seiner eyes one wall of monitors and says, “we might be able to access some sort of map from this computer. we can find our way out that way.”

nightlight: “we can’t call someone for help?”

phase: “decepticon technology blocks our signals.” she has stood up and is at the monitor, but she hesitates. phase turns to the group.

“if we access this computer, we will most likely notify the cons that we are in this room,” she signs. “as soon as i turn this monitor on, we are on a timetable. the nanosecond i get the map, we must go.”

all of them, very tense, sit in anticipation as phase accesses the monitor. lo and behold, the decepticons are notified, and a team of vehicons rushes towards the abandoned section of the ship. however, when they arrive, the door is open, and the girls have escaped the room.

meanwhile, in the airducts of the nemesis, the four of them crawl, squished, with a map of the ducts on phase’s arm-minimonitor. they traverse the map, having found a suitable way out, for several hours, trying not to get spotted, waiting for the longest periods of time for vehicons to leave areas so they can pass, and being incredibly stressed.

at one point, they must cross from a room and into a hallway to get to their last path. the hallway isn’t very populated, and only at the far end are some vehicons stationed, where nobody will see them, so although obviously very tense, they are not as afraid as they have been a few other times on this “adventure”.

first, phase, the navigator, and an expert at agility, jumps quietly out of the duct, into the room, and opens the door to the hallway. she peeks out. there is no-one. she swiftly emerges from the door and sprints to the other side, opening the other door on the opposite side they must enter.

second, wheelhop follows, a terrified but determined look on her face.

third, seiner, the big bot she is, tries her best to run across quietly.

fourth, nightlight crouches down outside the threshold of the door, propping her foot in a “ready, set, go” position, getting up the courage to run to the other side. her expression is nervous and she is shaking.

just as she is about to hop up, the voices of the vehicons down the hall they had previously not given a care to suddenly stop dead. nightlight’s helm shoots towards their position, to see soundwave, the decepticon third in command, walking down the hallway.

her helm whips again back to her friends, on the other side of the hallway, who all have their mouths open and optics wide as dinner plates. after taking a few seconds to be terrified, they all motion frantically for their friend to run to the other side as quickly as possible. but nightlight hesitates, and shakes her head frantically back. soundwave is too close! she’ll be seen! she doesn’t want to go. nightlight, with fluid pricking her optics, attempts to re-open the door they came from, but it seems it locked when she exited. she takes another look at her friends, and scared out of her spark, she curls into a ball, her helm between her legs, her arms around her kneejoints. if she stays small, he won’t see. if she stays in the crook between the door and the wall, she’ll be okay. he won’t see.

nightlight watches from between her legs as her friends sink into the room, and the third in command approaches from down the hallway, his shadow dangerously puddling closer. it passes over the floor and between her legs, and so do his pedesteps. nightlight, assuming her hiding technique has worked, lifts her helm. she is greeted with soundwave’s expressionless, petrifying helm, and one of the spymaster’s tentacles grappling her arm and yanking her harshly into the air. she shrieks, and is wordlessly taken off to some random place in the nemesis. as she is dragged off, she yelps and cries the names of her teammates in fear, but she cannot see them any longer.

wheelhop, seiner, and phase sit deathly silent in the vent they were forced to escape into. they eventually discuss; they are almost out. finding nightlight would take hours, possibly days if they were going to check literally the entire ship, because they had no clue where the interrogation rooms were (nothing much was labelled on the map). and they weren’t even sure she would be there. they could be killed, or worse, interrogated for information and then killed. it would be better to return to base and come back with a bigger rescue team. they were exhausted. after much deliberation, and despite it basically emotionally killing them do make this decision, they decide to continue on their path and escape the ship, without nightlight.

meanwhile, nightlight shivers in an interrogation room with knock out overlooking her, doing something on the monitor next to the table. she is not strapped to the table, as she is too small to reach the straps, so she is simply cuffed to one of said straps, with additional cuffs on her ankles and wrists. nightlight holds back desperately on tears. surely she will be tortured.

the little moped waits for something to happen. she expects to be killed or interrogated. there’s a bunch of surgical instruments (or, other things, nightlight can’t really tell what they are if she’s honest) on a table a few meters away and she’s about to cry. knock out is scary as the pits. she is helpless. suddenly, the cherry-red doctor is talking to someone on his comm.

and the door fucking opens. and megatron walks in.

and all her sense of decorum and self-regulation and “i should be a good bot and stay still” is thrown out the window in an instant, and she tries to jump up from the table, wailing and sure of her demise. she is going to die or be tortured and THEN die, and now, by the hands of megatron at that? she is faced with an autobot’s worst and scariest nightmare. why her?!

knock out has to yoink her back and hold one of her legs to the table, and really she’s not strong compared to him so it doesn’t take much effort. she is very small on main so you can understandably imagine how scary this looks like to the poor thing: a gigantic shadowy figure that frankly just looks like a dark tower, with searing red eyes, radiating with millennia of hatred for her kind, moving towards her. this is made even worse when she realizes the tower has walked very close, closer when she had last peeked through her servos, and is now reaching for her. she hyperventilates and cries out and kicks (or really, attempts to) when two humongous servos grab her legs, and all the minicon can do is babble pleas.

to her surprise she feels the stasis cuffs unlock on her ankles and wrists, and she is slowly let go of to scramble away and curl up on the table, taking a second to sooth herself. nightlight eventually sneaks a look from behind her fingers to see megatron just standing there with a patient expression.

weirdly, knock out next to him with a “?????????what” look, completely baffled as to why megatron just uncuffed a prisoner. it seems he did not expect this either.

and megatron puts on his best Do Not Worry I Am Very Friendly face and says, “hello nightlight”. nightlight doesn’t respond, but still glances at him with a look of profound confusion.

and megatron sweet talks her for a while. asking her questions, talking as nicely as he can. and even though, to any sane bot viewing the scene, one would see megatron’s clear intentions of evil, our poor nightlight is immune to social cues. so, she’s thinking, “what’s happening?“ and all of this is…a lot.

eventually, megatron says, “nightlight, i’d like you to join our side.” the periwinkle bot thinks, “well this isn’t torture or death, but….” and megatron can tell she’s baffled, so he keeps talking.

“your friends left you,” he says firmly. nightlight’s face sours pitifully, and megatron continues, “they’ve already left the ship. i’m sure you heard the overhead comm announce we were no longer on lockdown.”

nightlight looks away, feelings clearly hurt, and he continues still, “they didn’t stay to rescue you. they escaped without even an attempt to come for you. they don’t see you as a valuable part of their team.”

and this very much hurts nightlight. this is exactly what she worries about, in her endeavors as a friend and as an autobot; that she is not a good and contributing team member. is she really that small, that bad at fighting, that dumb? megatron continues by saying, “but the decepticon army has a place for you.” she looks up for a second in hope, but not any longer, and megatron can tell she is very conflicted, so he changes the subject.

(and ok side note i have this idea that before tfp megatron went gladiator he was a miner. and he was marx on main in the mines and had already developed kind of a following, and the governmence was like

“oh god oh fuck we can’t kill him he’s got too big of a following he might be seen as a martyr if WE kill him”

“well alright then government man #1 how about we put him in the gladiatorial pits. then we won’t be the ones to kill him. he’ll be taken care of and we won’t be blamed for it”

“very sexy idea government man #2!”

and they did it but megatron was tough as shit in the end and y’all all know what happened)

but anyways,megatron leans in closer as if sharing some sort of nice, secret moment with her, “i know you used to work in the mines, nightlight.” and this is true. nightlight used to work as an autonomous flashlight to give easier lighting to miners and contractors and such, in her life back on cybertron. “o-oh yeah i did that…” she replies sheepishly.

megatron: “did you know i used to work in the mines too?”

and nightlight immediately forgets she’s sitting in front of the warlord who obliterated most of their race, who destroyed their planet, and is responsible for the death of many of her friends and comrades, “you did?!” she perks up and moves slightly closer, naturally friendly. the fact that megatron was a miner is kind of common knowledge, but nightlight doesn’t know shit fuck about cybertron’s history or important figures and she just thought megatron was a gladiator before this and that’s it.

nightlight hasn’t met another ex-miner for a while and she’s visibly excited. most of the other autobots, including her teammates, had other occupations on cybertron, and sometimes she found it hard to relate in certain situations. megatron and nightlight chat nicely for a while, but eventually megatron says something maybe a little too violent that reminds her “ah…i am talking to THE megatron”.

the moped looks down. the warlord questions her expression. “um. well. y'know,” she fidgets, “you guys…i can’t join the decepticons. you guys kinda…you guys do…bad things. sometimes. a lot of bad things.” she is not unsure of this fact, but she does not want the confrontation, so she lightens her choice of words as best she can. megatron leans down again, soft-yelling at her in his typical overly-intense way, “you don’t think the autobots have committed JUST as many grievances as us?”

and the answer is obviously NO, they have NOT committed as many war crimes as you, but nightlight falls for his manipulation and backs off, looking guilty. she’s so awfully gullible. and megatron happily grabs onto this fact and runs with it, naming off bad shit that the autobots have (allegedly) done, and nightlight is successfully freaked out.

the gigantic mech sees he’s scared her and can tell he’s convinced her, so he leans back and ends the interaction, “i’ll give you some time to think, nightlight. we will talk later. tell me your decision then.” and with that, placing his servo once on the table as if to say goodbye like a friend but not quite touch her personal bubble, he walks out. and poor nightlight is left to think, alone, about what she is supposed to do.

megatron exits out of the doors and starscream is there, and they walk off all evil-like and start talking.

starscream begins their conversation,“well how did it go?”

megatron: “swimmingly.”

starscream: “is she convinced?”

megatron, especially evilly, grinning that nasty shark-smile: “i have left her no other option.”

and DUN DUN DUNNNN it’s somehow revealed that starscream and megatron decided to form a plan to lower autobot morale by stealing away nightlight to become a decepticon. they didn’t come up with it before this, it was impromptu when they got the alert that the girls had entered the ship. not many people defect over, and nightlight, from what they have seen, is a dumbass and is very convincible, so she was the perfect target. her friends, who were admirable fighters and were admittedly putting a dent in their forces, would be especially broken by their friend leaving them for the decepticons, moreso than if they had just killed her. so, they decided to convince her to defect so their morale goes to shit. how satisfying would it be for nightlight not to look at her friends in longing and love, but disdain and hatred when they next meet? she is weak, so if the plan doesn’t work out like they’d hoped, they can just kill her.

eventually, of course, whether she is fully aware she had no other choice or not, she says yes, and she gets her new paint job, her new symbol, her new optic color, and is successfully brainwashed. megatron and co continue their skilled manipulation, and nightlight is forced to make a new life as a decepticon, without her friends. yippee!!

anyways, if you made it here, here’s a little doodle. it’s the differences between her autobot and decepticon look! sorry it’s messy.

thank you for viewing.

EDIT: popcorn is now named “wheelhop”! so i changed all instances of her name.

EDIT2: same with rook phase!

#tf oc #tfp #nightlight #tfp nightlight #seiner #phase #wheelhop #tfp seiner #tfp phase #tfp wheelhop #maccadam #sunnyd #megatron #tfp megatron #this includes some other characters too but i feel like i'm spamming if i tag all of them...#they aren't that prevalent in the story so i'll leave it be.#frenchhouseaddict

71 notes · View notes

radiohosted · 4 years

Text

@hellbeloved 🎙️ ❛ responded ❜ ˖⁺

How the demon loved the uncertainty in her tone, the sound of her words getting caught in the back of her throat. She was like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle -- wide eyed and realising just a little too slowly that running away from the rapidly nearing metal death trap was not an option. Each waver, each hum, each sigh made him feel slightly more powerful. More dominant.

He knew Charlie’s motives, to give the residents of Hell a second chance; redemption. Perhaps she would be so kind as to extend the same expectations to the one and only Radio Demon - hence him putting forth the previous question of her trust in him. Now, they had worked together for about a month, and yet it seemed as though she were avoiding him. Each time his crimson red orbs would twitch to take in her image, if she caught him doing so, would turn her entire body to face the opposite direction.

He frightened her, he could sense it. He loved it, the thrill of being feared.

❛ Oh? ❜

Another question spilled from his lips, allowing the demoness to tug his pale hand away from her jawline with her own. As much as she put up a tough front, it didn’t convince him. Alastor still felt as though he had some kind of power over her, some influence. Without him, where would this hotel be? In just a short time he had actually got it up and running -- successfully, might I add. And it was already oh-so entertaining.

❛ My dear, what reason do you have to not trust me? ❜

His smooth voice, lowered to the volume of a whisper rang again. They were nowhere near a private area. A corridor of doors lined their way, all it would take was some demon to leave the comfort of their mediocre hotel room for the pair to be spotted. With their bodies so close, one may mistake the tense situation for a rather intimate one.

Curiosity fronted in his mind, elongated neck tilted. To reiterate, kindness was what Charlie was aiming for - Princess of Hell or not, she had goals and she was standing by them. Chasing them despite her father’s disapproval, so he assumed from the sounds of her talking to her partner, Vaggie. Spying on the Princess wasn’t too hard, since she didn’t seem to understand the importance of closing the small heating vents. Oh, if you thought Alastor was above sneaking around… you would be very wrong.

See, think of the crimson male as a magpie - information is just as valuable as money, gold and jewels. The right information can get you just about anything if you know how to work your way around the right people. However, it wasn’t money that the Radio Demon craved -- it was unbridled entertainment. This joke of a hotel was the perfect opportunity to get a few laughs in. Why not break a few spirits in the process?

❛ I’ve been nothing but good to you - haven’t I? Frankly, I’m a little shocked that after our little… deal, you are NOW deciding that trusting me is a bad idea. What is partnership without TRUST, Charlie? ❜

#【】❛ 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝕊ℙ𝔼𝔸𝕂 𝐍𝐎𝐖? ˙· ⋆ ❜ ╱╱ In character.#【】❛ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 ˙· ⋆ ❜ ╱╱ Charlie.#aaa #i love this #rat man thinks he can overpower her??#honestly i love the tension here #i love exploring this #how hes trying to get under her skin #hellbeloved

2 notes · View notes

pink-jindallae · 5 years

Text

At the hospital / Part 1

[Nathaniel/Candy] full angst / heavy mention of panic attack Hospital scene from episode 16 completely rewritten. I'm so slooow to write ;-;

Words: 3464 Author note: Before starting this reading, I would like to highlight Candy's mental state of this episode. I personally felt a lack of investment as Nath's girlfriend. If he wasn't her LI, okay, sure. But as her boyfriend I don't agree. She saw him bleeding to death a few hours ago and she just leaves? Amber asking Candy to stay alone with Nath? Um, no? I'm not sorry to say that I have the fucking right to be with my boyfriend, as much as her. As a writer and as Nath stan, I couldn't let it pass. I got so much frustrated that I had to rewrite the entire hospital scene because first; I can. Second; Beemov cannot get me away from my man like that. LET ME STAY. And third: I LOVE the angst. Anyway, I hope you will enjoy the angst nonetheless ;)

Candy P.O.V.

Nathaniel has been awake for over an hour now. A little while ago, Kim and I were interrogated separately by the police about Nath's assault before they got to question him. Kim assured me soon after that she had repeated word for word Nath's version. As for me, I did the same with a robotic voice, too tired mentally and physically to pretend to be fine in front of the policemen. They didn't ask me too much questions, perhaps discerning my torment. Just after the police left, a nurse came to report on Nathaniel's state. We were relieved to hear his wound wasn't too deep and his organs were untouched. However, she also informed us that Nath had a head injury, so they had to keep him under observation until tomorrow to see how his condition is evolving. My face had blanched during her whole speech, but I didn't interrupt, unlike Amber who peppered her with so many queries. She acted like a lion mama, nearly throwing a tantrum in the hallway, thankfully Kim was there to calm her down. The nurse only concluded by saying we could now visit Nathaniel, although not for too long since he was still recovering and probably exhausted by his prior interrogation. To my surprise, Amber requested to stay alone with him for an unknown reason. I initially didn't agree, because even if she is his sister, I'm his freaking girlfriend and there was no fucking way I would leave like that! Not without seeing him safe and sound. Besides, how she asked rubs me the wrong way, like I wasn't that much important. I acknowledge she has a special bond with her brother, still, it wasn't a good reason enough to push me aside. I know she has changed and I don't rightfully hate her anymore, but God, I just wanted to punch her face at that moment. Hopefully she agreed to let me stay in the end, thanks to Kim who interjected in my favor. However, Amber still demanded to see him by herself first and to avoid another outburst in the hospital, I let her do as she pleased despite my own wish to come along. Only because I would be alone with Nath after as she promised not to be too long. When Amber left, Kim kindly offered to stick around with me a little longer, to which I refused. While I'm grateful for her concern, I needed to be by myself for a moment. Moreover, I would have felt bad to monopolize her presence just for my sake, because she too, was tired after such a night. She despised the hospital anyway, so, she went home to rest without insisting. And now I'm on my own in the waiting room for what felt like eternity. I can't remember how long I've been counting the minutes. The hand of the clock is turning, and yet, time seems to have frozen. It ticks with an annoying sound as if to emphasize the surrounding silence of death, reminding me again and again this disastrous evening. That deafening noise is taunting me, resounding a little louder as soon as I lose the thread, just to have the pleasure to grab all my attention while I'm waiting to see Nathaniel. I watch it with a rather confusing obsession despite my annoyance. I hate myself for that, I can't help but check the seconds spinning through the clock face. Because that noisy thing represents the heartbreaking absence of Nath by my side. Even if I know that on the other side of the wall, he's alive... Slumped on my chair, I bring my legs against my chest, my forehead glued to my knees. I need to see him so much ... "Are you all right, Miss?" I raise my head sharply. Another worried middle-aged nurse is looking at me and I can see pity through her clear eyes. What a sorry sight am I. "Y-yes." Great, my voice is shaking. "I ... I'm just waiting to see my boyfriend ..." "Oh ... is it the boy who arrived at the emergency room earlier?" I only nod, unable to speak at the recall of the events. The nurse sits next to me, her clipboard pad resting on her lap. "Your boyfriend is safe now, don't worry." she begins in a benevolent tone that irks me. "His relative is by his side right now, but you can rest for a while." The nurse's compassion touches me deeply, or maybe it's tiredness that speaks for me, because I feel my eyes sting a little bit as I'm about to cry any time soon. "I have to see him first." "This evening must have been very hard for you too, you have the right to rest. I'm sure he won't be angry if you come back later." She still insists. "I can't!" I nearly scream. "I need to see him!" Unable to contain myself anymore, I hunker down, squeezing my arms so hard that a red mark is blemishing my skin. I can't go home. Not now, not like that! Not seeing him drives me crazy! I'm exhausted ... my whole body is sore. "Would you like to call someone? Family, friends?" I shake my head, eyes closed. Her insistence begins to pester me. Why is everyone is completely disregarding my feelings? Amber, the nurse, even Nath. I'm that much insignificant not to have anything to say. My voice, no matter how I yell, is unheard and my opinion not even an option. Amber had already asked me if she could see him first, alone, and I meekly agreed to make her happy. And yet, I had to fight so I wouldn't be sent away, still muffled and saved by someone else. The nurse now pushes me to go home for the sake of resting regardless my desire to stay. And Nath… Damn, he didn't even wanted to see me at the gym. Kim said she called me because he agreed to, but with the way he acted, I doubt that. He was so stubborn, not listening to anything and facing my lack of power, Kim decided to call the ambulance against his will. During the ride to the hospital I have wondered; if she hadn't phoned me, I would have been unaware of Nathaniel's state since brother and sister like to keep secrets as if I wasn't part of their life. As if … I was nothing. "Just leave me. Go away." I coldly mumble, chasing those memories away. The nurse doesn't insist anymore and walk away after reminding me to contact the medical staff if I needed anything. Like hell I would. I feel many eyes on me nonetheless, kept under surveillance from afar. My mental state seems to worry them, but I don't care. All my thoughts are turned to one person. I decided to get up after her departure though, to freshen up a bit, the need to walk and think about something else motivating me to move. Specially to avoid their insistent stares, almost too heavy with judgment. When I see myself in the mirror, I quickly comprehend their dismay. It is anything but glorious ... My hair is disheveled, my eyes are swollen from crying and consequently, my mascara has heavily dripped on my cheeks. My white-like face doesn't really help to improve my condition. I look a fright ... The most impressive thing is my clothes stained with blood – his blood –. No wonder the nurses were concerned. I hurry to make a coarse bun in order to hold my hair in place, then rinse my face, erasing below the neon light all traces of this morbid night. I still look exhausted but at least I'm more presentable. Once I'm satisfied with my reflection, I go back to my seat. Meanwhile Amber has appeared in my line of sight, coming out of the elevator with a sullen expression. My heart skips a beat and I run to join her. "Amber!" She glances up at my panicked face and smiles weakly to reassure me as best she could, although it looks more like a grimace. "I was looking for you. You can go see him." "How is he?" I ask, worried about her peaky look. "The doctors told me he could go home soon. Luckily, he can talk and move despite his head trauma." Upon hearing the news, all the pressure on my shoulders evaporates bit by bit. I'm so relieved he is fine… "Did he ..." The blonde cuts me off, shaking her head in negative. He didn't reveal anything to her either. I sigh, depressed. Of course, he's not the type to vent so easily. Even her twin sister doesn't know everything about him. The few times we spoke indicates that Nathaniel didn't confide to her as much as she believes to. "I'm sorry for earlier…" she suddenly resumes, changing the subject. "… for insisting to see my brother alone. But please understand that I needed to talk to him. Nothing against you." I'm taken off guard by her sudden apologies. I really didn't expect it at all to be honest… "I… It's fine. I guess." I articulate, dumbfounded. She averts her eyes, probably feeling too guilty to look at me directly. "I may have overreacted." "You did. And to tell you the truth, it hurt me." I frankly blurt out. "So honest, as always. I like that about you." She lets out a small laugh and I smile in return. I'm glad she noticed her wrongdoing and asked for my forgiveness. She was as anxious as I was, so, I can understand in a sense. And to be fair, I'd probably request the same in her shoes if she wasn't her relative… "Thank you again for being there for him ... Thank you for everything. You saved his life." She sobs in a weak voice, taking my hands in hers. I lower my eyes at her statement, not sure to deserve gratitude. I didn't do anything. Kim saved Nathaniel while I was watching him, helpless. My conscience planting arrows in my heart keeps me quiet, not knowing what to answer. Amber's hand pulls me out of my thoughts by squeezing mine. She stares without saying anything, her message mute. I only notice now that her green eyes have lost their sparkle, filled with remorse too. "I'm going to his flat to bring some clothes and feed Blanche. I'll be back soon." she informs, gently releasing my hand. "Watch over him, please. He's waiting for you." I just agree in silence, the knot around my neck tightening slightly. I don't waste more time to watch her go and fly to the elevator. And damn the seconds feel like hours in the lift. I've waited so long to see Nath that I tremble like a leaf out of stress. My anxiety is only amplifying, trapped in this metallic box. The walls come off as an oppressive cage, shrinking around me. I feel like I'm suffocating ... It makes my mind runs wild, what I've striven to push back in my mind suddenly arises with brutality. My boyfriend is laying in a hospital bed after an attempted murder. The bloodcurdling realization I could have lost him forever tears me from inside. I remember too well watching him bleed to death. I can still smell the blood, see the light in his eyes weakening and his life being taken away slowly… I struggle in vain to hold back my suffering, but it's far beyond my strength. I can't help but dwell on the events, unable to think of anything but his twisted face of pain, the gaping wound and the pool of blood. It wasn't an accident. Someone tried to end his life. Stop! I must not panic. Do not panic! Nathaniel is fine, Nathaniel is fine ... I repeat these words like a mantra. Focusing on dominating my terror, I close my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply. My breath is shaking, but I keep taking deep breath to calm the frantic beat in my chest. My body is agitated with nervous spasms, I squeeze my hands hard to stop my tremors. Carefully ... slowly ... I'm breathing. At long last the elevator stops and after a soft "ding", slides open. The overwhelming gasp of air at the opening wakes me up from my horrifying trance, my lungs finally accepting some oxygen. After a gulp, I'm resolved to get out and stand right in front his room. I enter with a gentle push on the door which creaks faintly under the pressure of my fingers. What I see behind crushes my heart. Nathaniel seems to have fallen asleep, but his features are drawn, denoting extreme fatigue. His face is still a little pale, but slowly picks some colors up again. His left eye is slightly swollen, as are his knuckles. There was no doubt he tried to defend himself against his aggressors as much as he could. I pinched my lips so as not to break down again, shaken beyond word by his atypical vulnerability. I must be strong. I shed enough tears. At some point, I finally allow myself to approach with catlike stealth to avoid waking him up. My hand smooths his golden hair, brushing aside wet strands on his forehead. Softly … fearing of hurting him more. With the same care, I stroke his damaged hands in hope it would erase the marks of his fight. I wish I could take all of his pain… "You're here…" I jump, startled. Nathaniel is awake. He painfully opens his eyelids to gaze at me. I'd like to answer something, but on the verge of tears, words are strangled in my throat. "I'd have preferred to welcome you in some other way." he continues with a sheepish smile in an effort to relax the atmosphere. Except it provokes the opposite of the desired effect. He looks at me, his eyes filled with grief. His hand frees itself from mine to caress my cheek and I close my eyes to enjoy his touch full of tenderness. I barely notice him wiping a tear that has escaped against my will. And here I promised myself not to cry anymore. Damn it… "I ruined our date again." He feebly murmurs. "Forgive me." I shake my head, eyelids firmly closed. Other tears flood with me powerless to stop it. Nath remains silent, busy to dry all the sad pearls rolling on my skin. "Don't be ridiculous, you idiot ..." I end to whisper with a trembling voice. "We'll have other dates. I just want you to heal quickly." I swallow my tears somehow and finally open my eyes to offer him the best smile I could do. Nevertheless, he only observes me without saying anything, his look indecipherable. His eyes glint with a dark and melancholy glow, almost seeking to penetrate my thoughts. His face seems tortured, preoccupied, a frown on his forehead. A voice in my head hisses that pain is not the main cause. Anxiety, anger, guilt, maybe something else. I'm not sure what I can read. He carries my hand to his lips and kisses it with infinite love, contrasting with his painful expression. Nath, is there something you're not telling me? The rustling sound of sheets catches my attention all of sudden. My veiled eyes immediately fall on Nathaniel who's trying to get up, his face disfigured in pain. "Nath!" With an unsteady step, I try to lie him down but this obstinate man resists. "I just want to sit down, I'm tired of laying." He insists. "Don't be foolish, you have to rest! Imagine if your wound opens again!" I'm unsuccessfully trying to convince him, but he is too adamant and completely deaf to my protests. I shortly give up, helpless in front of his stubbornness, and put his cushion in a way he can lean on it without hurt. It takes him a few minutes to find the right position. "It doesn't hurt too much?" I ask as I sit on the mattress to get closer. "I'm fine ... I've experienced worse." Worse? What can be worse than being stabbed in the abdomen? Could it be related to the scar on his lips? To his father? My face runs out of blood just imagining it. Facing my frightened look, Nath takes my hand again squeezes it more firmly. "No wait! I mean ..." he resumes with difficulty. "... I'll be okay, you don't have to worry about that." "How could you ..." His thumb lays on my lower lip to keep me quiet, fondly brushing it. "I'm fine, okay? That's all you need to think about now." "But you nearly killed yourself, how could you expect me to stay calm after that? Nath, you could have died!" "What happened, happened. And I'm still alive." What the hell! I know he wants to be reassuring but he can't tell me that like that, as if it was something trivial! "Listen to me," He begins but I refuse to hear his nonsense. I drop and shake my head. The situation is so absurd, it makes me crazy! It's a nightmare. Breathing becomes difficult again, I feel like choking once more. Sensing my distress, Nath cups my face and forces me to look at him. "Listen to me!" He gives me time to calm myself before carrying on. I stare back with a look in which an unreasonable dread is reflected. I know I'm overreacting but … "You're afraid." I'm not. I'm terrified. "I understand, I really do. But look, I'm fine." He caresses my cheeks with lots affection and so much care to put me at peace, but I'm still shivering so much. However, my body is less stiff now, soothed by his voice. "I'm fine…" He calmly repeats again, insisting on this point until I stop shuddering. "All I need is my girlfriend by my side. This night has been painful enough for you and for me… We both need to rest. Just let me enjoy your company. Is it too much to ask?" I have to admit he's right. He is indeed fine. He survived and is certainly exhausted by his injury. I was so preoccupied by my own fear I forgot the most important; taking care of him. Ashamed, I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry…" "No don’t be, love." He murmurs, putting his forehead against mine. "I'm the one who should be. You deserve so much better than that." "Shut up." I sob. Our faces are so close, caressed by our breath, yet I feel so far away from him, an unbreakable wall between us. And I know… he is the one building it, pushing me away. Again. "Come." He simply finishes by opening his arms. He wants us to cuddle. "Your wound, it could open ..." I weakly protest, fighting against my own desire to snuggle against him. "My right side is fine." Nath persists. I don't want him to suffer ... My hesitation crumbles a little more when he softly pleads: "I need you in my arms ..." I don't want to start a quarrel, especially in these conditions. I'm too tired anyway. Besides, I'd lie if I said I don't want to be in his arms too ... Short of argument, I breathe: "Promise me to tell me if you're in pain." He simply nods, and I give up. With caution, I go around the right side of the bed where he's not injured. I'm careful not to lean too much upon him, my side propped against his cushion, but my head finds its way to the crook his neck. His right arm slides around my waist and presses me a little more against him despite my reluctance, yet I oppose no resistance. His soothing heartbeat under my palm relaxes me. He is still alive… Being in his arms drains all energies I had left, in other word, almost none. My eyes close when he brushes a warmth kiss full of comfort on the top of my head. I'm just so weak even though I should be the one who supports him. I can't help myself thinking I must do more than complaining and crying. He silences me when I word my thoughts and confesses that being here is more than enough. Actually, it is what he needs the most according to him so, I'm not arguing. After all, a nurse is coming soon to kick me out and I don't want to leave him with a pointless fight. Silence now surrounds us. Not a single word is shared anymore. We are just enjoying each other presence… … as if it would be the last time.

#mcl nathaniel #my candy love #amour sucre #mcl candy #mclul #my candy love university life #amour sucre campus life #Corazon de Melon #nathaniel x candy #nathaniel x lynn #angst #mention of panic attack

84 notes · View notes

tiaragqueen · 5 years

Text

Bound By Pledge

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Seokjin x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,3k

✂ Trigger Warning: Hints of domestic abuse, obsessive and possessive behaviors, slight angst, yandere theme.

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Look into my eyes, you know I care. My heart is set. You are the one for me, but I need your loyalty." - Faithful [Ibeyi]

To fall in love is easy.

To stay in love is a challenge.

To let go is the hardest part.

Jin was a perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for. A whole package, you'd say. He was funny, kind, handsome, a pro in the kitchen, romantic, mature, and supportive.

Never once did he try to downgrade your worth, or raise a hand during your increasingly frequent arguments. He was very patient and understanding; listening to everything you wanted to say without any interruption or dismissing them as unimportant. He cheered you up with his corny jokes and bad puns and supported you in every endeavor.

In short, he was the kind of man that accepted his partner as a whole and brought them up. And if it wasn't a dream guy, then you didn't know what to call him.

You wondered if there was ever a time where his patience would reach its end because surely nobody could be that tolerant, right? Everyone had a breaking point, you were sure of it. And with how you usually react, he was bound to reach his very soon.

Well, you were wrong, but you weren’t correct either.

You were the polar opposite of him in terms of personalities. You possessed dry humor, lacked in the cooking department, sometimes childish, stubborn, moody, and plain.

There was absolutely nothing attractive to you. At least that’s what you always told yourself to the point of believing it.

And yet, with a stroke of luck - or was it misfortune? Then again, who cares? - he fell in love with your ordinariness. The freckles that littered your face, the extra fat that you so desperately hid from seeing eyes, the grin that you often concealed because you weren't confident with your teeth. He adored it all.

Every time you stood in front of a mirror, examining every flaw in your body because there was always something that you disliked, Jin would suddenly hug you from behind and proclaim strings of compliments. The way he did them, with that proud yet love-struck smile, as if you were the prettiest being he ever laid his eyes on. Although it boosted your confidence for only a few percents before it would drop again, you still appreciated the efforts.

Not to mention, you'd never dreamed that you would hear such praise from such a handsome man.

Aside from that, he also liked to bring home some gifts that reminded him of you despite your begging to stop. The presents weren’t cheap either, and usually contained things that you could only wish in a passing or sent a longing look towards. Nobody knew how he bought them when some of the items were clearly limited editions, or how he managed to know by any means when you never told him before, but it was the least of your worries.

Stupid you. Always ignoring the red flags.

The only thing you feared was the fact that he could go into a premature bankruptcy with the number of gifts he'd presented to you. He always laughed – that windshield laughter that you used to love yet irked you at the same time because how could he laugh so carelessly when the threat was looming over his head?! – and assured you that he had enough money for his future.

“Our future,” he'd corrected himself.

You remembered the way his eyes lit up like a pair of dazzling jewels; the way his lips stretched wider than you've ever seen before as he began to imagine the actuality of those words.

The words that held the utmost sincerity.

The words that contained hope of a happy ending.

The words that should have brought you joy and relief.

And most of all, the words that established everything.

You should've known that happy endings only exist in fairy tales because not all people would stay with the same person until their deaths. The reasons varied; from cheating, boredom, forced to be separated, etc. And in your case, it would be fall out of love.

Sometimes you questioned yourself how many people have felt the same way as you. How high was the percentage or maybe you were the only who experienced this? But it was impossible, right? Humans are different yet similar to each other. Just like basic feelings such as sadness, happiness, and the like, this sentiment wasn't alien too. You just hadn't found the same victim yet.

However, if there was one thing you didn't know about Jin, it was that he was a true believer of a happy ending.

If love at first sight existed, then surely happy ending exist too, right? At least, he could try to create it. Little by little.

With a bit of hard work, nothing can't be achieved.

Jin was so confident that you would marry him and have a couple of children. That you would get old together and watch your grandchildren running around. That you both would dance around under the moonlight until the chilly breeze was the only thing that remained in your place. That you would die together and end up in the same graves adjacent to each other.

You supposed that you should be flattered that he already thought forward, even though it sounded a bit of a stretch. Unlike some of your exes who were still wishy-washy with their lives. After all, anyone would kill to have such an attractive boyfriend like him, as seen from the countless glances you often caught whenever you two go out on a date.

But you didn’t. Instead, you felt as if you were leading him on.

It wasn’t like you didn’t love him – you did. The love had burned bright like a blaze before it eventually grew dimmer into charcoal and embers.

And just like how the curtains were lifted, the closing was a gradual process too; the once long texts began to shorten and scarce, the calls went missing, the frequent kisses became dull pecks, and the hugs lacked their warmth. You couldn't even remember the last time you've shared an intimate moment together.

You didn't know if he noticed these signs, and frankly it hurt to envision his reaction. Imagine spending years with a lover - laughing and crying and venting as if it was their last day on earth - only to part ways just because one of them has fallen out of love.

But it wasn't your fault, right? Life just didn't want you to be together, is all. Sure, it would leave a scar in your already fragile heart, but you would manage. You would move on like a strong, independent woman you were.

If only it was that easy.

Despite your impatient nature, you couldn’t find it in yourself to break up with him. The opportunity was there - it was always there, tempting you to take it like the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden - yet your fear of disappointing him hindered you to do so.

But you needed to do it; for the sake of him and your conscience. You couldn't live with the regret of stringing him along when he could have someone better at his side. Someone that would give him the love and affection he deserved. Someone that he could marry and grow old later. Someone that would bear his children and, eventually, grandchildren.

You might not love him anymore, but you weren’t cruel enough to keep him when you didn’t have the right to.

“Jin,” you whispered once you broke the threshold of the living room. You had rushed home from work after hours of pondering, frustrations, and annoying colleagues that repeatedly asked your condition. You knew they were merely being nice, as you looked like you'd gone through a storm, but you weren't in the mood to speak. Unfortunately, some of them just couldn't take a fucking hint.

Not to mention, there was always an obstacle during your supposedly short trip somehow.

From bumping against a man and being scolded by him, the train took longer than usual, a crowd blocking your way to watch the police apprehended a thief, and nearly crashed into a car. It was as though the world had taken pity on Jin and conspired to prevent you from dropping the bombshell.

Yet, you were determined. More than ever. You just hoped it would be a quick breakup.

Of course, reality rarely aligns with expectations.

Jin snapped his head up and beamed.

“[Name]!” He dropped the magazine on his hands and bounced up to you like an excited puppy. You clenched your hands, forcing a smile. Why did he have to look so happy? It was as if seeing you bring all the joy into his gloomy world.

You clearly didn’t deserve him, did you? Not when he greeted you so cheerfully, unaware of the bad news that you’d brought for him.

Was this the right choice? Was it too late to back out now? Maybe this feeling was temporary. Maybe you still loved him.

... Did you?

When he opened his arms to scoop you into a bear hug like he usually did, tears stung your eyes. He felt... warm. You exhaled shakily, cherishing the heat that radiated from his big body whilst controlling your breath. It was crushing to think that this would be the last embrace you received from him.

The last time that he’d get to hold you like this.

God, why did everything have to feel depressing once you finally reached the end? Why couldn’t you just break things off without these... these unnecessary affections? Why couldn’t you just say goodbye and be done with it?

You reluctantly withdrew, discerning his frown from your peripheral vision.

“Jin, I...” You gaped, struggling to get the words out without stuttering. Blinking the tears away, you cleared your clogged throat. “I don’t think we can continue with this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” The response was spontaneous, and you noted – with a heavy chest – the slight panic on his voice. You silently ground your teeth, prepping yourself up, to tell the truth.

“You know what I mean.”

“Stop beating around the bush, jagi.”

He was right; you should be straightforward if you wanted to end this quickly. What was wrong with you? Since when you've been this cowardly? You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’ve fallen out of love.”

The world froze for a moment. Soft, almost inaudible, breaths cracked the thick silence. Jin opened before closing his mouth again like a fish out of the water. It continued for a minute until he whispered a question.

A question that you wished he hadn't uttered. But who were you to control what he said?

Oh, that's right. An ex.

“You’re lying, right...?”

You shook your head, a few tears flying around. If there was one thing that you hated, it’d be crying in front of him. You wanted him to know that you were strong, but you couldn’t. Your feelings have betrayed you long ago, and now you had to suffer the consequences.

“N-no,” you croaked out. “I really, really have fallen out of love with you.”

“But we can still be together, right?” Jin stepped forward and took your hands gently, eyes glistened with tears.

God, you hated that look. The look that told you that he was hopeful. The look that told you that he wanted to change things to the way they used to. But bringing back a perished feeling was no easy task.

Then again, what he wouldn't do for you?

“I swear, I’ll do anything," he begged, already on the verge of breaking down. His knees trembled underneath his blue jeans, and Jin wasn't sure if he could stand any longer. "I’ll even kill for you.”

You gasped, completely thrown off guard with his statement. How could he say that so readily? So... willing to go through that process for the sake of you. Didn't he know the consequences of killing?

No, he knew. Of course, he knew. Jin wasn't stupid. Yet, it still didn't make it any easier for you to digest.

Breaking up with him was one thing, but to see him behind the bars was another thing. You couldn't, and totally refused, to imagine that. What would you explain to his family should something like that ever happened? It would ruin your relationship with them and your image as well.

“God, no! You can’t. It’s illegal, Jin! You can go to prison!”

“Who cares?!” he exclaimed. This was the first time he ever came close to yelling, and the context wasn't something you had initially planned.

“No, Jin. You can’t just-” you flailed your hands around, unable to put the frustration into words. “You know what? I think it’s best if I go now. You obviously need to calm down and stop talking about killing because it's starting to freak me out.”

You moved to leave, but Jin was quick to seize your wrist.

“Don't go, please.” he pleaded, voice cracking along with your heart. “I swear, I’ll stop talking about killing if you just... stay. With me. I need you so much. I can't live without you.”

It was poetic and had it occur some other time, you'd roll your eyes for its cheesiness.

But now?

Now, you just wanted to curl up and cried until there were no more tears left.

“We’re over now, Jin. I can’t just hang around like we used to. It’ll be awkward for the both of us, knowing that we’re no longer a couple. And yes, you absolutely can live without me. I'm not your lifeline, Jin. You're an adult, so start acting like one.”

It was harsh, and you admitted it wasn't really necessary. But you needed an outlet to release all this stress that built up inside of you because you didn't want to end up yelling at him. You already broke up with him, his girlfriend of five years. He didn't need another scar to decorate his delicate heart.

You snatched your hand from his hold and opened the front door. “Thank you for all the memories we’ve shared together. I hope you find a better girlfriend than me.”

“... What if I say that I only want you?”

Jin was bowing his head when he whispered that, and you - stupid you - chose to stop and strain your ears to hear him a little clearer. “What...?”

Bad mistake.

Without further ado, a metal abruptly struck the back of your head. You collapsed on to the floor, discerning Jin's tall stature looming over you through the blurred gaze. It was a few moments of consciousness that you appreciated because you could see his expression before you fully passed out.

He bore no emotions whatsoever, not even when he approached your limp body and started dragging you to God knows where.

You fluttered your eyes open, staring at the familiar plain ceiling. How could you not recognize it right away, when you've stayed in this room for years? It was arguably one of the most memorable places in Jin's apartment aside from the kitchen.

With a tired yet pained groan, you slowly sat up and froze when you heard something tinkling. Peering down, you noticed a pair of chains bounded your legs around the feet of the bed.

“Those are the only thing I got from him.” A manly voice alerted you with another presence in the room. Your captor.

You never thought you'd live up to the day where you would call him that.

“Jin, you bastard!” you growled, forgetting all about his sensitivity because who the fuck cares? Not you anymore, definitely. “Let me go!”

“Hoseok told me that if your partner refuses to be with you, then the only way is to tie them up.” Jin rambled, straight up ignoring your demand.

Not that you expected him to. No kidnappers would release their victims without any reward or ulterior motives. Yet, it was nice to hope.

“He did that too, you know. With his girlfriend and her older brother. Apparently, he was planning to get her out of the house because he felt that Hoseok was ‘too possessive for her own good’.”

Jin huffed out an incredulous chuckle, combing back the brown bangs with his hand. “I mean, how silly is that? She’s his girlfriend, and yet that jerk had the audacity to separate them. He’s really blind to true love, don’t you think?”

Silly for him, creepy for you. However, stubborn people rarely change their minds. This trait - which had eventually become his downfall - was what connected you two in the first place.

“I don’t give a shit about your crazy friend’s story, Jin. Now let me go!”

Sighing, he got up from the creaky chair that was a bit too small for his broad physique and approached you. You flinched when you saw his hand reach out to stroke your face.

You might have held that hand before, but you'd be damned if you let it touch even a strand of your hair. Everything about him was pure toxic now.

“Jagi, don’t be like that. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because we fucking broke up, Jin! Get it through that thick skull of yours that we’re over. Over!”

“Just because we're over, doesn't mean I can't touch you." he retorted, tugging a lock of your messy hair. You cried out in pain as you clawed at his hand to ease the grip. "And you’re always like this. Swearing. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t fucking care!” You gritted your teeth, trying to lessen the pain somehow. Although your attempt was futile, just as you predicted. You always knew that Jin had a bigger advantage than you, and yet you never expected him to resort to violence. Did the breakup mess him up that badly?

“Seems that I need to give you a lesson, then.”

Jin opened the drawer in one of the nightstands and pulled out a dark whip. Your eyes immediately widened as you backed away, already dreading the 'lesson' despite not having experienced it yet. Alas, the chains prevented you from avoiding the inevitable.

Well, shit.

“You know, jagi,” he said softly and had it occur on other times, you would’ve mistaken him for comforting you. You couldn't believe this was the same voice that you used to love to listen, especially in the early mornings. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to use this so soon. I didn’t want to accept this at first, but Hoseok insisted. Saying that you’d surely struggle and I have to be able to discipline you like a good boyfriend I am. So, I hope you forgive me for my cruel method. I hate to do this, but you need to learn your lesson.”

You shook your head frantically when he advanced towards you, caressing the whip. “No, no, no. Please don’t do this, Jin. You’re better than this, I swear.”

“I know.”

“Just let me go and I promise you that I won’t tell anyone. Just- please...”

Lie.

Of course, you'd tell the police. There was no way you'd let this crazy man roam free and take you back to this familiar prison. But telling the truth seemed less than ideal, especially in this kind of predicament. When Jin set his eyes for something, he wouldn't stop going no matter what hardships that were thrown. You hated and admired this side of him.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, jagi.” Jin unceremoniously cracked the whip against your leg, relishing in the agonized cry from your trembling lips. The skin reddened, yet he was far more distracted with the tears that trickled down your face. “I don’t want you to leave. You’re stuck here, with me, just like we always do. Just like what we've promised beforehand.”

He lifted your chin and slowly licked the tears. They tasted salty, but everything from you was sweet anyway.

Even your pain.

“I love you, [Name].”

#yandere bts #yandere bangtan seonyeondan #yandere bts au #yandere au #yandere kpop #yandere jin x reader #yandere kim seokjin x reader #yandere jin #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #bts yandere au #bts yandere #kpop yandere #kpop yandere au #yandere kpop au #yandere kpop story #Yandere kpop one-shot #Yandere kpop imagine

320 notes · View notes

ampharos-writes · 4 years

Text

Red Eye

Statement #0050204 Author’s Name: Hector Calderon Nature of Incident: Anomalous occurrences during an overnight flight Date and Location: February 4th, 2005, between Seattle, Washington, USA and Phoenix, Arizona, USA

Statement

I’ve never understood people who dislike traveling.

Well, no, I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I can understand disliking public transportation, perhaps. Trains and buses inevitably become messy despite the best efforts of poor overworked city employees, and societal convention seems to break down when you try to pack that many people in that tight a space. I can understand that.

What I [i]don’t[/i] understand is people who claim to dislike driving or flying. There’s something peaceful shared by the both of them, a quiet atmosphere, an isolation that, whether it be simulated on an airplane or very real in your car, can create a sort of inner peace. I’ve never done quite as much good thinking and introspection as I have on long flights, and there’s perhaps nothing quite as relaxing as a drive to nowhere in particular.

Of course, it’s always better to go at night. Daytime in a car runs into traffic, heat from the sunlight constantly bearing its gaze through the not-quite-tinted-enough windows, the smog of the city and the exhaust fumes from your roadmates slowly leaking in through the AC vents and making you gag. Daytime on an airplane is never as cool as you want it to be and ALWAYs more crowded. The false sense of privacy is shattered. There is always a crying baby, and it is always no more than two rows behind you.

It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that I always schedule red eyes when I travel for business. I find they make the actual traveling process much more bearable, and the necessary shifting of my daily schedule to accommodate them is a small price that I’m more than willing to pay (and it’s offset by the even smaller price of the tickets themselves). I’m able to fall asleep fairly easily on airplanes, so if the fatigue overweighs the relaxation, it’s just a short hop on over to dreamland with fairly few lasting effects the following morning.

My wife, of course, both disagrees with and is concerned by my traveling habits. She’s the type of person who can hardly keep her eyes open after 11 PM, and she has a tendency to assume this same quality in those she doesn’t know - this extending, of course, to any other late-night drivers I may encounter, or the pilot of an overnight flight I’m taking. While this does grow occasionally annoying, it’s hard to stay mad, given that I know she only protests out of love and concern. Of course, it doesn’t stop me from moving long distances after the sun goes down.

So really, then, there was nothing particularly unusual about this particular flight. Seattle to LAX, departing at 1 AM. I was off work the following day, being at the tail end of a business trip, so it would be no problem for me to catch up on any lost rest once I got back. I don’t recall there being anything particularly odd about the booking process, or the wait to board, or the plane itself, and for the first 30 minutes or so, things were… normal, I suppose. Quiet, but that was to be expected. A fairly standard late-night/early-morning flight. Having no reason to suspect that otherwise would be the case, I allowed myself to slip from relaxation to dozing, falling into what I assume was a brief nap. If I dreamed, I don’t remember it.

I didn’t notice anything unusual when I first woke up, either. I had never been slow to rise, exactly, but neither was I a particularly light sleeper, and the fact that I had the row to myself delayed the realization of what was happening. It was when I noticed how dehydrated I was and pressed the service button, in hopes of calling an attendant over for some water, that I made my… well, actually, I guess it wasn’t really a mistake, was it? I mean, I was gonna find out what was happening sooner or later. The attendant’s failure to show up after 10 more minutes of pseudo-dozing is what truly roused me from my slumber, and after checking that the seatbelt sign was still disengaged, I rose from my seat, intending to track down my forgotten beverage and perhaps report a broken service light.

What I discovered instead was that the cabin of the plane was completely empty. No attendants. No passengers. Just me. It took a second for the realization to sink in, but once it did it was just so hopelessly, obviously, disturbingly wrong.

Of course there had been people on board before I had fallen asleep.

...hadn’t there?

For a minute, I simply… stood there, looking around blankly, as if expecting someone to pop out from behind a seat at any moment. This had to be a prank, a practical joke, or maybe… a drill of some sort? One I had slept through the announcement for? They certainly hadn’t exited the plane in midair; I wasn’t sure how many parachutes were present on the plane, but I assumed it wasn’t enough for the entire flight, and furthermore I surely would have noticed if someone had opened the door in midair while I was asleep.

Perhaps they were simply… in the cockpit. It was the one place I didn’t have a direct sight line on. It was possible. The “why” wasn’t important to me in that moment, not as much as the “where”. Furthermore, we were still airborne, I could feel that much, so surely there was at least a pilot still on board. If nothing else, I should be able to march in there and get some answers, even if I wasn’t 100% sure of the questions.

Each step I took towards the front of the plane emitted a muffled “thump” that, while quiet, nevertheless reverberated through my skull in the deafening silence of the empty cabin. Everything seemed muted somehow - the AC vents pumping in pressurized air, the distant whine of the engines, the underlying white noise of the outside air whipping past at 500 miles per hour - as if I was listening to it from the other side of a plexiglass barrier. Every action I took felt magnified in its volume and intensity, and I was struck with the immensely powerful feeling that simply my being here was disturbing something, that breaking the perfect stillness of this barren and abandoned place was a crime of immense magnitude. I don’t know how long it took me to make it to the cockpit, but it undoubtedly felt much longer.

With a trembling hand, I opened the door.

Behind it was nothing. The cockpit was empty. No pilot, no copilot. Just the dim glow of the controls and the oppressive matte black of the night.

Numbly, I made my way over to the controls. I’m certainly not an expert on aviation, but the joystick was moving of its own accord, and the altimeter was holding steady, so I assumed some sort of autopilot was engaged, but there was definitely nobody manually running the show. Not knowing what else to do, I slumped into the pilot’s seat. I was alone.

...or was I? I pulled out my mobile phone. No signal. Makes sense. Plan B was still in play, though, as I frantically cast my gaze about the cockpit. After a moment, I spotted it: a small back radio transceiver, sitting calmly on its hook. I was sure that this was against air protocol or whatever, but I was EQUALLY sure that this was an emergency situation, and I wasn’t exactly super interested in the trappings of procedure. I grabbed the transmitter and called out into the night.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

A burst of static. Then silence.

“Does anyone copy? Hello?”

Nothing.

I wasn’t just the only person on the plane. I was the only person, period. There was no one else.

The transmitter fell from my hand, and for a long time I just… sat there. The plane continued to fly itself in the meantime, its destination at this point no longer important to me, as I was growing increasingly certain that it had no real intention of ever reaching one. The joystick gently drifted through the still air. The altimeter held steady. And I just… sat there.

My thoughts drifted to my wife, and I had the curious thought that perhaps this wouldn’t have happened if I had just listened to her. If I hadn’t been so keen on flying at night, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen asleep, or maybe I would have been able to see outside the plane. Maybe none of this would have happened. It was nonsense, of course, but the thought of her face comforted me. If I was never going to see her again in person, I might as well at least hold her in my mind. The resignation to my fate, to starving to death aboard this gently soaring metal tube, had my stomach dropping.

...or maybe it didn’t. Because as I continued to stare blankly at various different instruments throughout the cockpit, my eyes alighted once more upon the altimeter, and I noticed that ever so slowly, the plane was dropping, and furthermore I became aware for the first time of a slight canting forwards of the floor. It was the first time something had changed since this whole thing started, and I frankly wasn’t sure if I should be ecstatic or terrified.

The decision became much easier when the cant became more pronounced, and the speed with which the altimeter dropped began to increase, and the rushing of the outside air grew from a gentle hum to a deafening roar. Panic began to set in as I rushed to the control panel, looking for anything that might disengage the autopilot and allow me to TRY to slow my descent. It was hopeless, of course - all the controls were unmarked and unlabeled, and as terrified as I was, the thought of making my predicament WORSE tempered any rash action on my part.

Desperate then, I attempted to simply grab the joystick and pull. It didn’t budge - the autopilot, it seemed, was significantly stronger than I was, and our forward descent was locked in place.

I looked at the altimeter.10,000 feet and falling quickly.

NOW I allowed myself to be rash, flicking every switch, hitting every button, kicking the joystick in a frantic attempt to dislodge it. Nothing worked, nothing changed. The plane screamed downward into the night, quite set on its destination and quite unwilling to listen to its lone passenger’s arguments to the contrary. I was going to die, and I was going to do it alone.

5,000 feet now.

I remembered those old duck-and-cover videos from grade school. It seemed like lunacy, but lunacy was all I had left. I retreated to the back of the plane, furthest from the place of impact, and I ducked, and I covered, and I waited.

I thought of my wife again. If things went as poorly as I expected they would, I wanted her to be the last image in my mind.

I don’t remember hitting the ground.

I DO remember waking up in a hospital bed, apparently two days later. The doctors said I had collapsed on the flight and, while I was apparently physically fine, had been completely comatose. There were no injuries, and there was no mention of a plane crash or of any mysterious disappearances. They held me overnight for observation, and I was discharged the next day.

I have another business trip next month. I’ll be taking a 9 AM flight.

Supplementary Comments

Any statement in which the anomalous occurrences begin only after the author has fallen asleep should set off immediate red flags in the mind of any properly skeptical reader. You would be surprised at how many people struggle to distinguish from the waking world and the world of dreams. I note that at no point in his statement did Mr. Calderon ever make an attempt to verify whether or not what he was experiencing was in fact real, and the details would fit with him having been comatose.

Mr. Calderon did provide us with hospital records and a flight stub as corroboration, which is quite refreshing - usually we have to rely on Ara for those sorts of things, and she staunchly refuses to divulge her methods of acquiring them, which is always somewhat concerning. Regardless, Mr. Calderon’s documents both seem to corroborate the more verifiable details of his tale - he was in fact admitted to the hospital after falling comatose on Spirit Airlines flight 271. The cause of this is, according to the records, unknown.

Lissa did manage to spot something I missed that I suppose qualifies as unusual. The flight log for Flight 271 lists the pilot as being one Captain Lucas Janssen - a name that meant nothing to me until some cursory Googling revealed that a pilot by the same name disappeared along with his whole plane somewhere over the pacific in 1998.

-Amy A. Ampharos, Head Archivist April 17th, 2011

#the magnus archives #tma #fanfic #fiction #short story

2 notes · View notes

one-of-us-must-be-crazy · 6 years

Text

Fire Hazzard - Ripuels Fireman AU

Ripley/Samuels Fireman Rescue AU for @rosy-station

By, @ripuels

Word Count: 1505

Ruthless. In a word. Was the most humble way he could describe this woman tearing literal shreds off the garage employee, from the “superintendent” badge right off his chest to a hole in his pride. Absolute demolition mode.

Despite the countering weight of authority, he’s allowing himself, as if he had a choice, to be chastised by the younger woman.

“You’ve been here for two fucking days! Two days and you nearly burn my workshop to the ground?”

Two days. Samuels hears. Rough deal.

One of his sooty comrades, perhaps a littler cleaner than himself, begins his approach to quell the woman. Being human and vastly superior, he withholds his advice and continues rolling up the fire hose. But frankly, this woman is a few nosey human fire-fighters- who’s job description begins and ends in watching synthetics do all the work- away from being hostile and/or a threat. Axel’s pride and confidence is, if not immediately, but almost pre-emptively smothered in the same blanket of expletives spewing from the woman. It doesn’t take five seconds for his surrender against the slew of ‘and what did you even do’, ‘you just stood there’, ‘what do you even get paid for’, and the attending officer, hastily unattends.

Christopher scrubs the goggle-mark of soot from his forehead.

“Did you take any damage?” A voice behind is registered.

Samuel shakes his head ever so slightly. He is good at his job, and being a newer model than his approaching 'friend’, has far more stamina and strength. That and the fact he doesn’t get out much. Isn’t allowed out much.

He looks up and considers the woman again, alone now, and still obviously fuming, as Bishop comes to his side. “You are not going to talk to her are you?“

“Someone has to, she is a sliver away from being a threat.”

Bishop nods.

“I feel a little pity for the man. He never stood a chance.”

“Be careful.”

Samuels nods once. He knows the caution in his friend’s voice is not towards him approaching the mechanic, knuckles barely an inch from a wrench with high probability of brandishing it, but instead it is in conceiving emotion. They have this job, of which they received because of their inability to do so. Their unattachment. Lack of sentiment. Inability to feel. To dare and do so was a very dangerous, and very confusing thing.

Emotions, lack thereof or not, he still feels, even as a machine, it is better by millions facing this absolutely ropeable woman than a charred cadaver, which the superintended is still possibly clueless about their very narrow escape from becoming.

The woman however, is not. And is, in Samuels non-existent and impossible opinion, acting accordingly with all things considered.

“Pardon me. Ripley?” Samuels gets her attention immediately, a glance of recognition, of calm. Of course she would see no point in abusing him- she is pissed, not irrational. “My name is Samuels, I work for the Company.”

“You, again? You know you don’t have to do that every single time, I know who you are.” She almost looks to regret her tone, but carries on. “What took you so damn long?”

The fire department had acted immediately upon receiving the distress alarm, what took them 'so long’ was the distance between the hangar bay workshop and the other side of the station. Which is one of the worst, most ill-considered places to be enjoying a cigar on duty, second only to sitting in, or on the actual vats… Yet again, Samuels is morbidly impressed by human ingenuity and tendency towards destruction.

Grace in their failures, he reminds himself.

“Apologies for the delay, we acted as fast as we could. Though, you seemed to have everything under control when we got here. As per usual.”

“Oh no, not this time. Not by a long-fucking-shot. And hangar one would agree. I vented it, shot a weeks worth of irresponsibly sealed fuel out and smothered the rest in pure unadultered space where it has now possibly floated out of its containers and is coating every godless surface in that entire workshop.” Ripley puffs and rubs her shoulder blade where a singed flap of denim is falling away from her white tee. “Lost a cargo loader too- thing was worth more than my life a thousand times. If the company-” she considers Samuels for a moment, remembering, knowing his abilities and inabilities, “when the company find out, I’m gonna wish it was me floating out there.”

Samuels doesn’t reply, but takes a peek at Amanda’s shoulder. The skin is hot and red, not blistering but very obviously burned. “You’re burned, Ripley. You must to run that under cold water immediately, as your tending physician-”

“I’m fine.”

“Humour me.”

“Never thought I’d hear something like that out of you. But I am fine, really.” Ripley watches her feet begin to trail after the synthetic anyway, a little defused. He turns from the tanker with a cold pack in hand and offers her a place on its tow bar to sit and they both fall silent.

Amanda knows she’s being monitored, for shock or trauma, knows its nothing more than a scan, but the silence and the stare being the longest personal contact she has had in years is making her fidget.

“So, I’ve always meant to ask, why are you in the fire and emergency services department?” She holds the cold pack to her shoulder with a cough to mask her wince. “Thought you were an executive first time I saw you.”

Samuels has been in this exact position at least once annually, no situation as dramatic as this scene though, having to pull people from a burning room. Sometimes it was soldering fires, untrained apprentices, lazy supervisors, things Occupational Health and Safety would consider a field day. But never before has he come to think that maybe this time was it, that he would be recovering bodies. Amanda’s being a very near miss.

Arm slung over his shoulder, he was only able to dump her by a table at a safe distance and leave again for one last sweep. Everyone accounted for, this time. But imagining coming upon the alternative scene made him experience discomfort, and anxiety. The error within him still alive and well.

He shrugs. Shrugs. Never having done that before. “I was- there were faults.”

“Fuck, hey?”

“Pardon?”

Amanda laughs, it’s short, sarcastic, and disbelieving, but genuine and musical to Samuels. “I just mean fuck, they put a faulty synthetic in fire and evac? They really don’t care about us down the food chain.” She seems intrigued.

“I don’t believe the state of myself is proven unfit for work entirely.” Is he actually offended?

Amanda waves him off and nudges his arm. “I am kidding. Its almost like giving a mechanic with overwhelming mental issues unlimited access to fuel and explosives.”

Samuels pauses, “Ripley-”

“Kidding, again.” She pats down the alarm in his voice, “it’s just these far off stations, y'know? So what is it anyway, hardware? Software? Structural?”

“No, I’m fine, structurally. I once behaved sentimentally with no reason to do so, and no explanation or evidence even from myself. It was not my job nor my place to act as such, so I was reordered to serve in the fire department. Which, in a sense keeps me inactive for roughly three-fifty days of the year. It’s convenient.”

“Ah, it keeps you in a cage.”

Samuels doesn’t respond, feeling no need to verbally agree at least. Keeping him in stasis until his services are required keeps him package new and up to date, it’s only practical. But she is not entirely wrong.

“So I take it you don’t get out much? Not within the five years I’ve known you?”

“No need, Ms Ripley. I am happy to be of service and ready to be called upon, which is far more important.”

She frowns deeply, “you used to get out when you were in legal though, right?”

He nods assuredly, what looks to be nostalgia, whimsy, crosses his face.

“So hypothetically, would you… enjoy,” she fishes through her words, “a day off? To monitor a burn victim.”

Samuels watches as Amanda squeezes the cold pack to rearrange the heat it’s absorbed. Her stare cuts through him like she sees every thought he’s ever had, every inkling of free will, every dream. And finally smiles.

“It would be… refreshing.” He nods. “Very.”

“Well, Samuels of the company, considering this is the longest conversation I’ve had with another person in fuck knows how long, I must be in a good mood against all odds, and am in need of someone to make sure I don’t pass out and drown in my well deserved beer this afternoon.” She smiles and offers him back the coldpack which he replaces with another one against her protesting brow. “How about it?”

Samuels nods and let’s himself smile ever so slightly. This time, he truly does feel happy to be of service.

(Big thank you to annabellioncourt for doing this, the real MVP of the Alien fandom! Thank you for keeping this little tug boat alive~)

#isolation summer gift exchange #submission

15 notes · View notes

black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 85

I got way too much joy out of writing this chapter let me tell ya.

A trifling look of bewilderment lit up Nighthawk’s optics as he murmured, “You yelled at her?”

“Megatron was right there, what was I supposed to do?” Blackout growled in response.

“Did you at least apologize to her after?” the medic asked, his optics narrowing.

“Of course I did,” the ebony mech snarled.

Humming in response, the seeker medic turned his helm away. He raised his chin up as his optic shutters dropped, only allowing a sliver of red to peek out.

“You don’t believe me?” grunted the larger bot with annoyance.

“It’s hard to when your optics still look guilty.”

“You don’t look any more righteous, mech.”

Turning his helm back swiftly, Nighthawk let out an irritated his snarl. The wings on his backside raised up while he leaned in. From the light of the moonlight above bringing contoured lines on his features, he almost looked like the mech Blackout had met many years ago. The very same one who would prowl in shadows and strike Autobots down before they knew what hit them.

“If I only look ashamed, it’s only because I allowed that femme to get damaged in a battle. I got distracted and she got hurt because of it. And she recovered from those injuries just fine. The physical is always so much easier to heal than the mental and emotional, you arrogant fragger.”

Rumbling thunder moved through the air despite clear skies. Blackout leaned in closer to the medic, his own optics growing blackened like his armor with fury. Unlike Nighthawk, who stood straight and tall, Blackout allowed his hulking frame to lean over the mech. The blades on his backside fanned out with a soft shifting of metal as he growled.

“You don’t know anything about how I feel, and don’t pretend to.”

“I thought you said you wanted to leave the Nemesis?” Nighthawk sniffed. “You’re acting pretty chummy around your old sadistic friends to me.”

“I do want to leave- Primus mech must I wring your neck?” fumed the larger bot. “I’m not the only one who has to put up a face to get by day by day.”

“Sorry, it’s a bit hard to read the monster from the mech.”

“Shut the Pit up Nighthawk; she knows I don’t mean any of that slag.”

Raising an optic ridge, the medic retorted cruelly, “Are you so sure about that?”

In a flash, Blackout servos came out to knock the seeker back. Nighthawk staggered, managing to catch himself before he could fall. Throwing a furious gaze up at the tank ofa mech, he reached over to touch his newly replaced armor plating on his side.

“Frag off,” Blackout cursed.

��She’s a decent femme Blackout; don’t let your ego get in the way of a proper apology.”

“I have apologized! She knows what she did was reckless.”

“Fine. Sure. If you say so,” the medic scoffed with a shrug.

“Novastrike’s stubborn when she wants to be,” Blackout argued.

“What a surprise, look who she spends time with.”

“You know, if you think you can do any better, be my guest,” fumed the Hound. “She’s upset, I know. But she’s so bent on destroying that Hive for her former comrade Silvercore...”

“Maybe you’re right about that part,” Nighthawk coolly responded as his wings began to flower against his backside. “She could probably use a voice of reason that isn’t openly known for living a life full of revenge tactics.”

“Good cover, but we both know you have your fair share of dirty backstory to laundry out,” Blackout goaded.

“She doesn’t know all that,” the seeker stated, shifting from pede to pede as he looked to the sky.

“Still want to play the high and mighty card?”

“I never said I was better than you, Blackout. I just suggested you be the better version of yourself, and not drag Novastrike like a ragdoll.”

Seething, the colossal mech crossed his arms in front of his chassis as he mumbled, “I would do anything for Novastrike; she’s not just some plaything. I’d lay down my life for her, if it came to it.”

“No need to be dramatic,” the seeker answered quietly, the hostilities evaporating from his voice.

A breeze whisked by; stirring leaves and foliage from the nearby forestry. Blackout released a heavy vent from his frame that caused armor to shift and resettle. He looked up at the cascading light that reflected off the space rock from above and down upon this planet. His gaze gradually went back to Nighthawk, cloaked in shadows. He was still staring at him, although his expression had grown somber once again as his fueled anger diminished with the wind.

“I never thought I’d see you capable of loving someone,” he admitted quietly. “Let alone caring about them as much as you do her.”

Vaguely, Blackout let out a shrug as his optics glanced away with embarrassment. The light red of his optics was almost hue of neon dark fuchsia for a moment.

“She’s special,” he said bluntly.

“I won’t disagree with you,” Nighthawk stated with a nod. “Although you’re damn lucky she picked your ugly aft over other mechs who would be more deserving of her.”

“What, like you?”

“Ugh- please, what do you take me for? She’s more like a child to me not- that.”

A spooky deep laughter escaped Blackout as he taunted, “I should have noticed you were trying to take her under her wing.”

Waving his arm lightly, the seeker shook his helm. “She doesn’t require me, or my protection. Nor does she require you, quite frankly.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just being honest. She’s not well- a brutal war machine like you, like I used to be, but she has a talent for what she does. I do believe she would make a fine medic if she gave a chance, but she’s holding herself back from that possibility. Whether she’s afraid of it or just disinterested though, I can’t tell.”

“Maybe both,” Blackout offered quietly, some concern coloring his voice.

“Maybe,” agreed the smaller mech as he turned his optics to the sky.

Blackout grew silent as well, watching as Nighthawk’s helm horns moved slightly. Data began to flicker, disappear, and reappear across the lilac hues of his HUD.

“Is he coming?”

“It would seem that way, yes. Let’s get into place.”

Stalking into the woods, Nighthawk disappeared through the treeline. Blackout caught the sight of his limp before he was completely out of range of his visor. He grimaced slightly for the mech. Every time he saw him moving around like that, it reminded him more and more of Guard. Although they were only alike in the smallest attributes, it brought back that ghostly ache in his chassis he didn’t care for.

He couldn’t let any of his allies down again. Not again, not like that.

Moving into the shadows himself, the giant fragger dimmed his optics and remained patient. He was too tall to properly try shrouding himself in the area, and with his frame he was more likely to get stuck in a trees limbs anyway. So as planned, he remained standing just within the swallowing darkness that he blended into. His silhouette wasn’t easy to pick up without a thermal scanner, but it wasn’t hard either if you looked real hard.

And their guest, well, he wouldn’t have a problem seeing him anyway.

The piercing cry of the beast filled the nighttime air as it circled overhead. The steady sound of its wings flapping loudly in the air approached steadily as the beetle shaped Insecticon lowered itself to the ground, transforming into bipedal not far from Blackout.

“What are you doing here?” the bug chattered furiously. “My readings indicate an Autobot presence was in this location a few nanokliks ago.”

“Sounds like your scanner is running faulty Kickback,” Blackout rumbled, his deadly voice calm and quiet.

Hissing, the bug spun around the look around. It dragged air into its open mouth in great big huffs as it turned around in circles.

A nearly silent ping resounded in the air, followed by another.

Startled, the Insecticon let out a harsh high-pitched scream. It reached up, slapping a servo against its neck cables and yanking out a pair of darts. With a swing of its arm, it knocked the third fired at him aside midair.

“What is this?” the mutant pest threatened, turning towards Blackout as it dropped the darts from its servo.

With a smug face, Blackout opened his mouth to reply but the bug was already charging him.

Snapping out his rotor blades, Blackout stepped aside and swung his arm. The spinning blades snagged against the Insecticon’s armor and ripped off one of his secondary appendages.

Roaring, the beast turned and lunged for him. Nearly identical in height, the dark-armored warrior stumbled back as the heavy creature slammed into him. Its clawed servos raked against his frame, pulling at metal as slivers peeled away with a harsh squeal.

Bringing his arm around, the stupid bug went to grab at his arm and missed; catching its servo upon his blades. Digits flung up in the air and energon splattered on the bot’s chassis.

Driving his blades further against the mech’s arm, the Insecticon grabbed Blackout by the arm to force him from drilling his weapon into its chassis. Drool dripped from its maw as it let out an infuriated bellow, shoving its weight forward.

The sudden kickback of Blackout’s arm had the blades whispering just short of his own chassis now. He grimaced, digging in his pedes. Curling up his free servo, he pounded Kickback in the side of his exposed wound, ripping out circuitry.

Shrieking, the bug reared back, slamming its forehead against Blackout’s.

His blades slowly stalled as he stepped back, his sight cutting in and out. The Insecticon released an animalistic hiss as he released him and brought up its fist in an uppercut, slamming into his chin.

Before Kickback could strike again, stealthy pedes silently came up from behind. Nighthawk struck the bot’s spinalstrut with his wrist blades. The thick, impenetrable armor didn’t allow him to pierce through, but the mech gave a groggy cry of pain and alarm.

Stumbling, the beast spun around to face the medic as he jumped back in retreat. The medic grimaced as his bad leg unhinged and he blundered, tripping awkwardly.

Taking a step forward, the Insecticon went to take a swing. It gave a hefty grunt as arms wrapped around the largest width of its chassis from behind. Blackout bodily lifted the mech bodily about a foot, letting out a strained grunt as he did so.

Thrashing wildly, the chunky Insecitcon dropped from the ebony giant’s arms and he wheezed, taking a step back.

Kickback lurched around on his pedes unevenly. He rammed a fist into Blackout’s side and yelped as Nighthawk fired off a few shots from his hand gun into his back.

“Bastards! Traitors, the both of you!” Kickback shouted.

He turned and attempted to transform, but Nighthawk dove forward ramming himself into the Insecticon. It stumbled, turning towards him with a howl of anger as it swatted him aside.

Transforming his arm into a cannon, Blackout fired upon the serrated section of metal on the bug’s back that tapered off above his shoulder. Energon splattered on the ground and speckles hit his armor as the beast growled with pain.

Before it could throw another punch, the medic ghosted past the bot, rapidly firing off shots against its side and peppering it in smoldering specks.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

Roaring, it charged after the seeker. Using the trees to his advantage, Nighthawk disappeared in the thick undergrowth. The Insecticon didn’t even hesitate, slamming into the first tree and knocking it over. It went to plow through the second and found its massive stature and well-rooted system unwilling to yield.

Slashing its claws with frustration against the wood, it screamed, shrill and blood curdling. Whipping its helm around as branches snapped Blackout grabbed the mech by his helm and forced him to bow as he pulled him downward. Derma gnashed and the beast’s mandibles flicked back and forth as its glossia flopped part of the way out of its mouth as it snarled and grunted, reaching up and trying to claw at Blackout’s arm.

Bringing up his other servo, Blackout moved his digits just in time and slammed his fist into Kickback’s helm. The mech fell to his knees as a section of his helm split open, revealing exposed areas of his processor through the webbing it created.

Energon dripping from the bot’s helm, it tried to stand on its legs as the Decepticon Hound took a step back. It revealed its derma in a snarl while faltering. Its mouth opened as though to speak and Nighthawk’s red armor glowed softly with moonlight as he crept up from behind.

He grabbed the larger bot by the helm, hoisted his helm back, and dragged his wrist blades against the wires of the Insecticon’s throat. Metal scrapped painfully in audios as he tore into Kickback’s neck cables; energon pouring out.

The mech’s helm lolled to the side and snapped the rest of the way off, falling to the ground.

Grunting, Blackout reached up to flick pieces of shredded metal off his arm as he grumbled, “Couldn’t spare more than two tranquilizer darts on the mech?”

“I could have, but there would have been a chance hitting you as he started attacking,” Nighthawk commented, pulling out a cloth from his subspace to wipe the energon off his wrist blade.

“Did you bring the explosives to torch this place? We can’t exactly have our scent lingering around. The other Insecticons will recognize it.”

“I got it, I’m not a fool, Blackout,” Nighthawk snapped, glowering. “Much as I’d hate to destroy this planet unnecessary.”

“Very necessary if we want to keep our helms,” the big mech reminded him.

“Certainly one less threat,” the seeker agreed as he tossed the filthy rag to the side. It would be in flames just like the rest of this place before long; no evidence left behind.

Chuckling quietly, Blackout offered out a fist to the medic with a grin. “For Novastrike.”

Glancing at the larger mech’s scarred knuckles, Nighthawk grinned as he tapped his fist against Blackout’s.

“For Novastrike,” he agreed.

Opening the door the shower racks, Blackout looked down at the small figure standing on the floor as steam escaped the bath room. He blinked his optics slowly.

“You’ve been in there forever,” the little femme commented, crossing her arms in front of her chassis as she tapped her pede to the floor. “Are you ever going to let me have a chance in there?”

“You can always join me?” Blackout offered, water droplets falling from his frame and on her.

A radiant light illuminated Novastrike’s audios as she narrowed her optics up at his playfully sensual expression. She dragged in a sharp breath and exhaled a little slower, seeming confused as to what stirred faintly in the air with that stream. It smelled closely to freshly spilled energon.

“You never did tell me where you went off to earlier,” she muttered.

“Better left unsaid,” he said slowly, cautiously. “At least, for the time being.”

Blackout looked at her soft, curious multi-hued blue optics. She cocked her helm a little at an angle, audios standing straight up.

Giving a quirky half-smile, he beckoned with a jerk of his helm as he whispered, “You can always join me, dear.”

“Mmmmhm,” she slowly hummed in the back of her throat, looking him up and down.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” Blackout questioned quietly, his voice holding a nervous edge.

“What? Yes, of course I know that, Blackout,” she said with confusion knitting her optic ridges as she added on somewhat suspiciously, “I love you too, handsome devil. With my whole spark. Even if you might have done something stupid you’re not telling me right now.”

Grunting quietly, the mech’s expression grew sly as he offered once more, “It might help loosen me up a bit though to have a gorgeous femme join me. How’s that saying go; whispering secrets into skin or something like that? I have plenty of ideas where to leave plenty of secrets.”

“Oh, you lewd flirt,” Novastrike hissed, flattening her audio receptors. “You’re lucky Scorponok’s not here or he’d probably run out of the room screaming, hearing you talk like that.”

“Is that a ‘no’?”

Hmphing softly, the small femme looked him up and down before making a motion for him to step aside with her servo. Blackout revealed a boisterous grin, doing as so indicated. The door to the shower room clicked shut softly just as Blackout’s holoform flickered into appearance to pick Novastrike’s frame from the floor with a laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #OTP Friends #Badass OTP #Cute OTP #Suggestive OTP

2 notes · View notes