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theredofoctober · 10 months

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SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

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"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind.

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind.

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing.

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage.

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling.

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee.

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts.

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness.

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

#ao3 writer #the boys #the boys fic #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #dark!billybutcher #dark!fic #tw noncon

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ohdearlingwhathappened · 8 days

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Tugging on Sparkstrings

TfP! Starscream x Male!human!reader Oneshot

Summary: The 3 times you said thank you to Starscream and the first time he did the same. WC: 3909

A/N: A gift for @sunlightera and beta'd by @staijey-the-creator Hope you all enjoy!!

Starscream missed the time before Megatron returned; three solar cycles surely wasn’t a long time for any Cybertronian, but the comeback of his “Master” made that time feel all that much shorter. A few months ago, he thought he had finally been rid of the merciless warlord after ripping that slagging shard of dark energon out of his chassis, but after the Autobot scum had tampered with his master’s frame, Megatron had come back to, and Starscream had payed for it dearly. And of course there’s the… newest addition of the Nemesis. A human who Knockout had picked up on one of his racing jaunts- only allowed to stay because Knockout was having a difficult time after the loss of his partner and he was apparently useful in the laboratory.

Starscream would never admit to it outloud, but he rather enjoyed your company.

You never failed to make the mech’s derma quirk upwards whenever he had to visit Knockout for a repair; something he’s fallen into the habit of doing far more often since he had gotten to know you.

“Well where is he?” Starscream scoffed, rolling his eyes when the resident doctor told him you were off ship for the day, his talons tapped at the medical slab beneath him while his legs were examined. He had reported to Knockout that he felt something jostling in his lower right leg, near his pede.

“I sent him to get more supplies, my inventory is running low.” Knockout raised an optical ridge and gave the lieutenant a once over. Slowly, a smirk formed on his face as he dropped Starscream’s leg, “Y’know… if I didn’t know any better, I’d start believing you missed the fleshy.”

“What preposterous- how could you- Why would you-” Starscream sputtered, not knowing how to cover his aft.

“You want to know how I know?” Knockout stood to his full height, servos on hips.

“...” Starscream didn’t acknowledge Knockout further, other than glancing at him.

“Because you only ever come in here for superficial things, like buffable dents or small pebbles somewhere in your frame. If you cared for your frame like I do,” Knockout gestured to his, probably freshly, buffed frame as he spoke, “then I might be willing to believe your supposed reasons for coming into my lab near daily, but considering you’re the same mech who left this same lab looking an absolute mess a few months ago, I’ve come to the conclusion that a sudden interest in cosmetics is not what ails you.”

Starscream sat absolutely shell shocked at the medic’s word, not sure how to proceed. The doctor had called his proverbial bluff, and he was undeniably embarrassed to have feelings for a squishy, but he wasn’t expecting what came from Knockout next,

“I’d tell him.”

“What?!”

“Oh please. You’re his favorite patient to help with. Why delay the inevitable? Now get out of my lab with your nonexistent rattling pebble, I’ve got actual things to do.” And just like that, Starscream was practically pushed out of the lab, the whooshing of the door behind him solidifying that their conversation was over.

After another moment of just standing in front of the door like a scraplet had just eaten half his processor. He started moving down the halls aimlessly, an occasional grumble escaped him about Knockout having his helm hit too many times on the battlefield. It was a quiet day on The Nemesis, Megatron was out checking on the energon mines- a job he no longer trusted to Starscream considering the last time he had hidden some away in an abandoned mine.

“Oh! Starscream!”

Scrap.

“Good afternoon! I hate to bother you, are you busy?” Screamer looked down to see you looking back up at him with a smile, a rare sight coming from anyone else on the ship. Normally, if anyone had asked him his business, Starscream would snap at them to mind their own, but he found himself weak to their gentle nature around the ship. It was nice… especially after a meeting with Megatron. “You don’t have to help, if you’re busy. This stuff is just a bit heavy.”

He snapped out of the thoughts going on in his processor and focused back on the human. The man held about five, large bags of different auto supplies, though it’s likely all high-grade polish for that pompous medic. Starscream leans down to take something from you.

“I can spare some time, just this once… human.”

You handed the giant mech three of the bags, bags that look so small and insignificant once they were put in his servos. You both noticed the difference, a small chuckle was drawn from you, the ridiculousness of the situation being anything but subtle. The absence of weight from the bags Starscream took allowed a spring to be put back into your step.

Once you both reach Knockout’s lab, Starscream put down the bags, not wanting Knockout to make another comment about Starscream craving your attention. He glanced back down at you, his arms crossing over his chassis, “Next time let me know if you need help once you get back on the ship. I shouldn’t have to find you struggling in the hallways.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile still on your face, “Good to know you’re so flexible with your schedule.”

Starscream found himself sputtering for the second time that day. It felt like everyone was determined to sass him one way or the other. He huffed and started his way down the hall, before hearing you call out to him again. His wings flicked, his anxiousness to get away before his vents turned on increasing by the nanoklik.

“What is it?”

“Thank you for helping me.” Your smile is the last thing Starscream saw before you lugged all of the bags through the doorway, all while fussing at Knockout to carry his own polish from now on.

Whirrrrrrr.

The sound of Starscream’s fans filled the hall, which pushed him to get to his habsuite to cool off his warmed frame as soon as possible. His derma formed a smile, his spark undeniably loved the way you said a simple ‘thank you’ by the way it tugged.

* * * * * *

“This is the second time in the past two decacycles that he has been missing from your lab, doctor. I suggest that you get your assistant in check before Lord Megatron deems him an unnecessary entity on this ship!” Starscream slammed a fist down on one of Knockout’s tables, an act that drew an unimpressed look to the medic’s face. Breakdown spared a glance from his place cleaning and organizing Knockout’s surgical and torture instruments, but he was decidedly too interested to participate in Starscream’s temper tantrum.

“Unstick your wings, Starscream, Y/n wasn’t feeling great today, so he is resting in his room, something that was already reported to our master, not that he paid the notice much care.” Knockout’s rolled optics return to their previous task at making sure the surgical-saw he was cleaning before he spoke again, “Feel free to visit him if you finally plan on doing something about your two’s mutual tension. At this point, I’ll be happy with whatever will light a fire under your aft and get you moving.”

“You’re out of line, Knockout! That human is nothing but a pest that doesn’t belong here in the first place. I would be more than happy to cease hearing him regard me so informally and treat me as if I am some friend.” The doctor moved his eyes from his superior and towards the ground behind him, not that Starscream noticed as he continued to rant, “I care about that irritating human as much as I do about whatever brand of polish you’ve deigned good enough from this disgusting planet- and to squish any unsightly, absurd theories you have come up with- is very little!” Starscream came within inches of Knockout’s frame and brought a talon to his chassis, the scowl on his face very much so prominent. “And I-”

“Well then…”

The energon coursing through Starscream went cold at the sound of your voice reaching his audials. Starscream whipped around, coming eye to optic with your scathing glare. You didn’t appear to be in the best of conditions- donning an oversized hoodie and sweats, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and a thin sheen of sweat marked your brow. Knockout “cleared” his throat to garner your attention, the sound forced you to finally break eye contact with the Second-in-command of the Decepticons, who also turned, hoping the doctor might help him out of the problem of his own creation. “I’m surprised to see you out of your room, Y/n. You looked downright debilitated a couple of cycles ago. Still do, really.”

“Yeah, well, I was finally able to choke down some saltines, and I was hoping I could borrow some of Breakdown’s time to get me some soup?” You looked up to the orange-faced mech who, upon seeing your weary form, gave you a grin and a nod.

“Sure thing, little man, we can go now, if you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

Breakdown made his way to you, scooped you up into a servo, and lifted you to his shoulder, like he normally does when you both would go out for supplies or recon. The door to the lab opened and Breakdown nearly began to speed down the halls before you tapped his shoulder with your knuckles to get him to pause. You turned around to face Starscream with one last smile, “And thank you for finally voicing your feelings, Sta- sir. I’ll be sure to address you appropriately from now on. We’ll see you in a little bit, Knockout.”

And without further ado, Breakdown and you passed through the doorway, your large friend having already sent Soundwave a message about needing a groundbridge. Knockout’s expression had shifted throughout the interaction, moving from unimpressed to disdain.

“If you’re done insulting my assistant, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t further sully my lab with your presence… Fragging idiot.”

Shoved out of the medical bay for the second time in two decacycles, and it was the second time that it tugged against his protoform- only this time it was undeniably painful.

* * * * * *

A week or so later, you finally felt better, though you could admit to wanting to stay in your makeshift home on The Nemesis in order to avoid the lanky lieutenant who often stalked the halls, seemingly to avoid his own work. However, you couldn’t leave Knockout and Breakdown hanging, especially when they both have put their necks on the line for you to be allowed to live in this place- no matter how embarrassed you may be if forced to face the mech you’ve been fawning over for the past couple of months, only to be harshly pulled back to reality by said mech’s vehement speech on how your company is undesirable, to say the least.

You felt a little ridiculous peeking around corners before fully committing to the turn, but once you made it to the lab without incident, other than greeting Steve with a good morning, the ridiculous feeling melted away into feeling vindicated instead. “Good morning to my favorite Decepticons.”

“Welcome back, for a moment I thought we were going to have to ask Megatron for a splinter of his “good stuff” if you weren’t back for another solar cycle or so.” Knockout smirked and Breakdown chuckled, working on something with his frame.

“Eugh, I’d rather you let me stay dead.” The idea of Big M’s equivalent to a purple crystal meth being anywhere near your skin, let alone inside of you sent shivers down your spine. Having given the room a look, you noticed nothing looked different, not surprising since it hadn’t been too long. You sat in a little chair Breakdown had created for you and gave yourself a little spin, “So what have you got for me to do today? I’m sure there are some things that smaller hands are needed for.”

Knockout and Breakdown looked at each other before they gave you their attention again and then went back to looking at each other with their expressions flickering here and there. The two of them were obviously using their telepathic thing, trying to figure out what exactly to say to you.

“Guys, just give it to me straight, what’s going on?”

“Well, S-”

“Starscream has been coming by everyday looking for you, and Megatron has taken notice. The Lieutenant has been instructed to meet Lord Megatron on the landing strip, and we have been warned there may be… upkeep following their meeting.” Breakdown started off fast, as if trying to rip the bandage off, only slowing when he basically admitted Megatron was blatantly admitting he was giving Starscream another round of punishments for insubordination.

You may not be happy with Starscream and his lack of tact, but your care for him didn’t evaporate over the course of a few days, so the news of him receiving a beating once again only filled you with dread.

“Well, we’ll care for him no differently than usual. His medical needs will be met by all of us… if he deems it alright.”

“He’s not the chief medical officer of this vessel last I checked, so whether he likes it or not, I will be using both of my assistants if it so pleases me.” He crossed his arms over his chassis and his smirk began to lean towards the mad scientist look, “And if he raises a fuss, I have more than enough anesthesia to keep him down during any procedures.”

“Cool it, doc. I doubt he’ll have too much to say after his ‘meeting’.” You used air quotes, not having wanted to fully believe that Starscream would once again be beaten within an inch of his life, but knew it was inevitable if he had been neglecting his job like Breakdown said. As if on cue, the lab doors opened and Starscream’s body was tossed in, like he was some after thought. His frame was dented, scratched, and marred dramatically- it resembled what Knockout told you of the punishment Starscream received when Megatron had finally been revived from his stasis.

“I trust you all will get our Second-in-Command back in working order quickly.” His hulking figure showed no signs of having just brutally harmed and dragged Starscream through the halls, “And doctor, I would recommend ensuring your pet’s knowledge on the need for productivity on my ship, and that it understands consequences.”

And with that, the leader of the Decepticons was gone.

“Alright, Screamer, let’s get you back up and running. Y/n, get your gloves- I can see small bits further in his frame than I can reach.” Knockout lifted Starscream’s limp frame, with Breakdown’s help, and put him on one of the medical berths. He turned around and can tell you haven’t moved an inch, your eyes glued to the unconscious mech. “Y/n, move. This isn’t the worst state you’ve seen a con in.”

“...Right.” You moved quickly to get your supplies, purely through muscle memory.. Ladders that were installed throughout the ship, but primarily the lab, helped you climb your way up to Starscream’s side. His visage was hard to take in, to say the least. Logically, you knew with Knockout’s expertise and perfectionism when it comes to his work, Starscream would be fine, but seeing the mech that you have fallen for, no matter how unrequited, unconscious and possibly struggling to keep his spark brought tears to your eyes. You kept your head down, no desire to look at your friends, and lower yourself into his chassis after Knockout removes the plating in your way, “Let’s get this over with.”

You hadn’t been in Starscream’s chassis like this before; his spark chamber glowed bright and strong, bringing an ease to your own heart. A shake of your head took your attention from the beautiful gleam of Starscream’s spark and back to the task at hand. Pieces of small metal littered the inside of his frame, so you got to work- each piece picked up carefully, not wanting to nick any circuits or vital points. You took one last look at the entrancing light before telling Knockout to help you up and out of the Starscream’s chassis.

“Knockout, let me know when you’re done with everything and are willing to go over his aftercare procedures when we’re on rotation.” Without waiting for a response, you left the lab, too caught up in your own thoughts to stay. The halls were quiet.

_____________________________

Knockout had messaged you a few hours ago that Starscream was in a stable condition and he and Breakdown had to go for energon scouting. You responded back, acknowledging that you would look over the lieutenant in the meantime. And so, you had been looking over the mech who has yet to wake up for an hour or so.

You settled next to his frame, knowing if something went awry with his status, being anywhere else may make the difference between him staying as healthy as possible and a sudden decline. With a book opened on the datapad Soundwave had generously crafted especially for you, you try to focus on the words on the screen, but keeping your eyes from flicking to Starscream was near impossible.

“You’re a fragging idiot, y’know…” You snapped at the non-responsive frame, the datapad abandoned on the medical berth before you stood and began pacing, “A primus-damned idiot! Inconsiderate! Self-involved! A downright misleading, conniving aft!”

In the midst of your yelling, tears started forming in the corners of your eyes and in a moment of rage, you harshly kicked the servo you stood by. You plopped back down with a groan and reclined your back so it met the berth, legs swung over the side, moving back and forth, “We sound like a bad joke- a robot-lover and a robot who hates him walk into a bar.”

Your laugh was dry.

“I lied.”

“Ah!” You sat up quickly and would have fallen right off the edge of the berth had Starscream not grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. Being lifted onto his chassis, his optics haven’t met yours, but he did grant you a couple of glances before he put his helm back and returned his optics to the ceiling. “What the hell, Starscream?! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Well, excuse me for attempting to clear the air- something I have in fact been trying to do for the past several solar cycles, for your information.” He didn’t move. In fact, he was oddly still in comparison to his normal gesticulations.

“The air wouldn’t have needed clearing if you had just told me you didn’t want me around to begin with.”

“I wasn’t aware that you went deaf in your time avoiding me- I lied, Y/n. Your company is- well, I mean you’re-... it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I lied about not enjoying your presence.” His optics flicked back and forth and to anywhere else that would keep you out of his vision.

“If this is your idea of an apology, you can-” You stopped and quickly crawled up the remainder of his chest plating and pulled on his chin, so he would finally face you, “You used my name.”

“What’s your point?” His eyes still occasionally flit away, easily giving away his embarrassment.

“You’ve never called me by my name. It’s always just been human or fleshy.” A smile, though small, graced your features, and Starscream felt that tug on his spark that he had been missing for weeks. After what he said in front of you, he supposed he had the subconscious fear he would never see that smile again. It was nice to see, comforting even. “Thank you.”

That stole Starscream’s attention, his optics looking into your big eyes, “Why in Primus’ name are you thanking me?”

“Well, I’ll admit your apology sucks, but the effort was there… besides, if I held on to every bad thing said to me on this ship, I’d lose my mind. Knockout isn’t exactly the easiest mech to get along with, and he and Breakdown are good friends now.” You gave him an awkward smile and shrug.

“...What now?” Starscream quirked an optical ridge. While you were forgiving, he couldn’t believe you would just let everything go.

“For now, recharge. We can talk more about this when you’ve just woken up from a royal beating from your megalomaniac boss.” You lied down, emotionally exhausted from the past few days. The relief Starscream’s words granted you also apparently left you ready to sleep. Your comment on the leader of the Decepticons drew a tired chuckle from the mech beneath you as you both finally fell asleep in each other’s comfort.

* * * * * *

“Wake up, Starscream.” You smile, pulling on one of his digits. He cracks an optic open, looking down to your form, hair still mussed from sleep. Seeing him awake, you climb up his frame and sit yourself on his Decepticon brand.

“That’s not my designation to you.” Starscream sneers, closing his optic and feigning going back into a recharge. “Try again, human.”

“Lieutenant?” You hum, bringing a finger up to tap your chin in mocking thought.

“Wrong.”

“Screamer?”

That got his attention, his optics opening and narrowing down at your smaller form, “You spend too much time with that imbecile doctor.”

“An imbecile doctor who had to kick us out of his lab at one point because someone couldn’t stop exaggerating his symptoms to get attention from his nurse, Starlight.” You lean down to press a kiss against his chin, finally using your name for him, smile widening to a grin when you see his own spreading across his derma.

“I have no idea what you could be talking about. The rocks on this planet easily stick in my frame, so I require additional attention.” Starscream brings a servo to your back, rubbing a digit up and down.

“Oh, is that so? Is that why you’ve stolen me away from the lab, so I can be your personal nurse?” Your laugh rings through the habsuite and Starscream’s chuckle reverberates beneath his chassis where you sit.

“Perhaps.”

Reflecting on the relationship between you and your seeker, you can’t believe where you both were a couple of months ago in comparison to now- the spat between you both long settled after a lengthy conversation. After a day or so of caring for Starscream in the lab, Knockout had discharged him for monitoring in his habsuite, tired of having to hear the two of you going coyly back and forth. Megatron didn’t seem to care, just as long as Starscream doesn’t stand in the way of his plans. You’re snapped out of your reminiscing after a moment,

“Thank you.” His optics, no longer feigning sleep, look down to you with such warmth, a look you return but with furrowed brows and a slightly dampened smile. Your hands cup Starscream’s face to bring it into better view.

“Now, what are you thanking me for?”

“For forgiving me… for loving me.”

“Thank you for letting me.” With a kiss on his derma, you get comfortable on his chest and close your eyes, “I changed my mind, maybe we should stay in, at least for a bit.”

“Sounds good to me, spark tugger.”

#transformers #fanfic writing #maccadam #x reader #tfp #tfp starscream #tfp starscream x reader #hurt/comfort #primarily fluff #Starscream says something stupid

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trudemaethien · 7 months

Note

Glitch/Corr and hear <3

This got a bit graphic and gory😅, so…

HC: Corr sustained some hearing damage from the same event that took his arms, I don’t explicitly mention it here, but

The Force resonates with awe-inspiring vastness, full of sound and wonder, and most of the time Glitch loves to listen to it.

Sometimes it’s like that pesky brother who’s trying to get your attention to discuss his hairbrained theories and antics, for the fourty-third time, after curfew.

Glitch has a headache.

Before he knew what it was he was hearing, he got headaches a lot. He’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he likes it any better now than then.

He’s following, shut UP already!

A hand lands in the middle of his chest, halting him. “No civilians past the cordon,” a clone’s vocoder-leveled but still appreciably bored voice orders.

“I’m not, and I need to go there,” Glitch says, leaning into his words and the restraining hand. “You can let me in, I’m cleared.”

“You can go in…after you suit up. Since you’re cleared.”

The clone gestures to a heavy blast-suit, bulky and cumbersome. Glitch can’t function in that. He shifts his weight in preparation to move.

“He’s not cleared, Jack, what’s wrong with you?” another clone snaps, approaching. “Help me get this on; and you, scram.”

“Yes, Corporal,” Jack says, chastened. Sorry, he mouths at Glitch as the corporal straps on the extra armor.

The urgency is higher now, the Force like a klaxon in his head. Maybe there’s a klaxon out loud too, Glitch realizes, as the corporal hurries up, glancing toward the cordoned-off area.

“Corporal,” Glitch tries, “I need to—”

“To get the kriff out of my AoE and quit distracting me and my team,” the corporal says sharply. “We’re on the clock.”

Jack snaps the last clasp into place and taps twice next to the reinforced face shield like he’s patting the guy’s cheek. “Good to go!” he signs with his other hand in front of his face.

And go he does. Glitch can only watch as the demolitions corporal tramps across the ground to the device, not gracefully in that get-up, but with the ease of familiarity. Jack, he realizes, has a timer he’s gleefully counting off out loud.

“Corr’s a machine; fucker beat my time! I’m going to do him one better nex—”

…

So that’s what a bomb sounds like, is Glitch’s first dazed thought.

HOT, is his next. Something is crackling in his ears, and he looks around for Jack, for any of the others, and finds the world on fire with no one in sight. That adds up, he thinks nonsensically, and then looks at himself.

Shrapnel and slag are scattered all around him but not on or through his body, like the discolored dry shadow behind a retaining bulkhead hit by a wave. He—the Force—probably did that. He didn’t know he could do that.

Where’s Jack. The Force had probably wanted him to prevent this. The klaxon is still shrieking, or no—that’s too irregular.

Glitch follows the sound. The Corporal is struggling in his heavy suit of armor, trying to escape the burning crater. He can’t climb out for some reason, even though it’s only thigh-deep. Glitch grabs at him and then thinks better of touching the hot surface. He grabs him with the Force instead, and yanks him up and out.

He doesn’t see anyone else as he drags the Corporal to safety. Past the blast radius, he peels away the suit, slicing it with Rennax’s saber when it hardens too much.

He pulls the man free with difficulty. He’s slick with sweat and tears and blood, and not all of him comes free. Glitch almost hurls when he realizes the flexible gloves that allowed dexterity physically couldn’t shield as well as the rest of the get-up, and the meat of his arms up to the elbow is shredded off the equally shattered bones.

Tourniquets from his belt, not thinking about it, just applying them, then he hoists the trooper up, the whole time yelling, “Medic!”

The sole survivor of the blast clings to him with the stumps of his ruined arms and shakes with uncontrollable sobs. Relief and grief entwine with one another. “You. You got me. You heard me, you came,” he slurs. Accusation and gratitude are also inextricably bound in his tone.

Glitch wishes he could have done better, listened more carefully to the Force, actually prevented this from happening at all, but all he says is, “Yeah, I got you.” His own voice is hoarse and thick.

Neither of them let go until a medic takes the injured trooper to evac. Glitch watches him get loaded up, then regretfully turns away to follow the call of the Force once again.

Reverberating 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51595036

#writing prompt #fanfiction #ask answered #cloneshipping #repcomm #clone trooper glitch #clone trooper corr #glitch/corr #EOD: explosive ordnance disposal #cw: gore #graphic injury #pre triple zero #post draay 2 #timeline what timeline

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iblameashley · 8 months

Text

Whispered Promises (Pt 2)

Male | Gay

2,895 words Content: Confessions (Cont.), Anxiety, Kissing

Follow up to: Whispered Secrets

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish | Ghoap

!!!SFW!!!

Thirteen hours. It had been thirteen hours since exfil and since Soap had made his confession to Ghost. Not much else had come from that confession since, though. There was no privacy to talk on the plane back to base with Price, Gaz and the whole flight crew within earshot.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment @imcoughing

Then there was the debriefing immediately when everyone had disembarked. The men were shuffled off to a conference room where Laswell waited for them. Ghost felt the weight of Soaps confession through the whole debriefing; though hardly anyone would have noticed considering his curt replies were standard fare.

Ghost did spend a majority of the meeting flashing glances as Soap, who sat across the table from him returning the stares with his usual smile; that somehow felt warmer now, causing a knot to form in Ghosts stomach.

“Soap, are you listening?” Laswell barked, sparking Ghost to turn his attention to Laswell.

“Aye, Ma'am.” Soap nodded. “Jus' a wee bit shaken up still. Apologies.” Soap replied respectfully with a soft nod.

Laswell let out a gentle sigh and her eyes softened as she looked at Soap.

“I suppose I can't blame you for that, it was a close call, after all.” Laswell nodded. “I'll make this quick so you and the team can go relax.” She added with a kinder tone. She knew it was rare to see Soap shaken up.

Her eyes turned to Ghost, noticing his usual stare boring into her skull, but she said nothing.

“Alright, lets get this meeting over with, then.” She commanded, getting the briefing back on track.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Neither Ghost or Soap had an opportunity to talk after the meeting either. Price and Gaz insisted on having dinner as a group in the mess, so off the four of them went.

Ghost was relieved to see that the mess hall was mostly empty when they arrived. He was exhausted, hungry, and his mind was spiralling from the mission. He had never felt so off-kilter and it was testing his limits.

Ghost grabbed a tray and made his way into the buffet-style offerings of the mess. Tea, a couple sandwiches, some fruit and some biscuits. It wasn't long before Soap pulled up next time him as they moved along.

Soap is and was the only person Ghost allowed to be so close to him, so no one was surprised to see Soap violating Ghosts personal space; and thought nothing more of it as the Scot pressed his shoulder against Ghosts and was chattering away.

“How ye doin', LT?” Soap grinned as he bumped into Ghost.

Ghost grumbled as he looked over the selection of sandwiches. He ignored Soaps question, fighting the knot in his stomach and the demons in his brain telling him to drop everything and leave. This was wrong. This was a mistake. This would end badly.

'No one could love you.' The voices said in cruel whispers, 'You'll fuck him up just like you are,' and 'He only said it because he thought he was about to die.' They continued.

Soaps grin dropped to a smile.

Ghost reached for chicken-avocado sandwich and placed it on his tray.

“Ghost...” Soap fretted. He reached out and placed his hand over Ghosts, thumbing the back of his hand cautiously. “How are ye' doin?” He asked again.

Ghosts hand tensed, and he clenched his jaw, but made no effort to move. Despite the whirlwind of feelings inside him, the sensation of Soaps thumb though his gloves was comforting.

After a moment, Ghost reached for another sandwich before moving on to his next selection.

“Fine.” Ghost finally replied, clearly lying.

“No ye aren't. Stop being a slag anne just tell me.” Soap remarked with a raised brow.

“Why...” Ghost began, his voice dropping as low as his gaze.

“I meant it.” Soap reassured him in an equally low tone. He bit his lower lip and gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I love you.” He whispered again.

“Johnny...” Ghost grunted back.

“Simon...?” Soap questioned with a cheeky tone.

Ghosts head spun so fast, Soap thought it was about to twist off his neck. 'Simon'?

“I'm...”

“Lovable.” Soap nodded, not letting Ghost finish his self-deprecating comment. “...and smart, dedicated, loyal... kind.” Soap ensured to emphasize the last word.

Ghost actually let out a guttural laugh. 'Kind.' His brain tossed around.

“Always knew you were a fucking idiot.” Ghost said, still laughing a bit.

“Aye, but I want to be your idiot.” Soap jested, pushing Ghost down the line so he could grab some more food.

All Ghost could do was sigh.

“You already are my idiot.” Ghost finally said as he grabbed some biscuits.

“I wannae be the idiot ye love. I want... more.” Soap mumbled.

“This isn't the time or place for this conversation, Johnny.” Ghost huffed.

He stared Soap down, and Soap understood the conversation was over. For now.

Soap gave a nod and watched as Ghost walked away to join Price and Gaz at their table.

A long hot shower definitely helped Ghost relax, as much as he ever allowed himself to relax, that is. Letting his mind just wander while his body was drenched in steaming hot water always felt nice.

It was a way to remove the grime, both physical and emotional and allow him to process the relentless stream of events from the most recent mission. The water pounded on his marred skin, each drop helping to wash away the sweat, dirt, and gunpowder from the field. His mind, on the other hand, was not so easily cleansed. It never was.

Soap's confession echoed in his mind like a haunting song, It stirred emotions Ghost had kept locked away for far too long. A tiny box in his heart, chained and caged to protect himself from the world. The stoic and distant facade he had constructed to survive life was cracking, all because of one annoying, chatty, Scot.

How could he have ever expected to maintain that facade after Soap's declaration? His heart, which he felt had turned to stone long ago, now pulsed with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. It was nearly enough to bring him to tears.

“I love you too, Johnny...” He choked out under the shower head. “Why the fuck can't I just tell you I love you, too?” He hissed as he rested against the tiles of the shower.

He couldn't give Soap the normalcy, the love, he deserved. That was truly the problem. Soap deserved someone who could be there, someone who could share their life without the constant threat of death lurking over their shoulder. “I can't give you that.” Ghost mumbled to himself. “...so why the fuck do you love me?”

He had no solutions, no answers, only a overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Ghost knew that he would need every ounce of his strength to push Soap away, to protect him from the storm that raged within Ghost's heart. But could he really do that to the man he loved as well? No... probably not. Either way, this was eating him alive.

With his mask pushed up to the bridge of his nose, Ghost sat on the cold stone half-wall outside the base. He sucked on a cigarette mindlessly as he looked out over the airfield as the golden rays of sunlight began to disappear behind the hills to the west.

“Fuckin' hell.” He groan in a raspy voice.

He inhaled sharply and held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before slowly breathing out and watching the smoke curl in the cooler air.

“I can't do that to him.” Ghost grunted.

He took another puff from his cigarette and leaned back. The sounds of the base; men and machines still working tirelessly away somehow managed to sooth him. Not that his life had been normal, so why wouldn't the only life he had known bring him a bit of piece while it also tore him apart at the seams?

“Evenin', LT.” Called a familiar, chipper Scottish voice.

Ghost leaned his head back to see Soap steadily approaching him.

Soap was by no means an lean man; but his tactical gear tended to hide just how defined Soap's body was. Ghosts chestnut eyes scanned Soap with a new perspective. The tight tee and fitted jeans looked different on him now. It made Ghost nearly choke at the sight.

“Johnny.” He managed to fumble out after a moment.

Soap took a seat beside him, leaving no room for interpretation. Soap was being intimate as he leaned his thigh against Ghosts. Their shoulders touched, and Soaps hand quickly moved to cover Ghosts hand.

“Now seems like the right time and place to talk.” Soap asserted, looking over to Ghost with tender eyes. “...and we're going to.” He added bluntly.

Soap squeezed Ghosts hand.

“I love you, Simon.” He sighed. “And I am committed to making this work with you somehow.”

Ghost tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

He sat there for a moment in thought, his mask still propped up and his eyes fixed on a point in the distance that seemed to only exist for him.

“You deserve...” Ghost began.

“Fuck off.” Soap hissed, cutting Ghost off. “Ye don't get to decide for mae what I deserve, Simon. I've had months tae think this over, months tae understand what I felt deep down. Aye, I confessed in the heat of the moment, when I thought I was gonnae die... but I meant every word of it. I'm dedicated tae ye, I love ye. I can do the heavy lifting until ye feel comfortable expressin' your feelings if need be...” Soap nodded with confidence and determination laced in his words.

Ghost swallowed hard.

“I'll even transfer if ye need.” Soap added. “If worrying about mae safety on a mission is too much for ye tae handle... I'll ask to move tae 'nother team.” Soaps heart sank even as he said the words. “I promise I'll do anything tae make this work.” He whispered.

Ghost head turned to face Soap and his usually flat expression fell. A scowl framed his scarred face as he took in the words Soap was saying. His eyes softened, bringing him near tears, knowing Soap was serious. This wasn't something he could push down, Soap wasn't a man he could just push away.

“No.” Ghost whispered back.

He reached over to Soap and grabbed the man by the jaw, twisting his head so they were looking longingly at each other. “You will not transfer. That would not make it easier and it wouldn't... it wouldn't make me happy.” Ghost confessed. “I feel...” The words caught in Ghosts throat. A hard lump. Another defence mechanism to keep him safe for the world.

Ghost pulled Soaps face in and planted a rough kiss on his lips. His grip on Soaps jaw tightened, his fingers trembling as they dug into Soaps skin.

The kiss slowly softened, their lips moving like waves on a beach. Soap tasted good, the gentle cucumber flavour of his lip balm and the subtle hint of scotch teased Ghosts tongue as he slowly push inside Soaps mouth.

Every chain, every lock and nail that held Ghosts heart safe broke as it was conquered by an army of warm – no, searing – feelings. He felt like he was burning alive, and simply craved more as Soaps tongue invited him in with playful flicks.

Ghost reluctantly pulled away from the kiss after realizing he needed to breathe. He let out a long, smokey breath over Soaps mouth as he lingered close to his Sargent.

“I feel the same way about you.” Ghost mumbled, still not able to say the actual words.

“Aye.” Soap smirked. “Gathered that from the kiss.” He teased.

He grabbed Ghosts hand and pulled it from his jaw and brought it up to his lips to kiss the gloved fingers.

“Take yer time, Simon.” He continues, reassuringly. “I'll bae here.”

Ghost took a long moment to think, pulling slightly away, the frown now replaced by the beginnings of a smile. 'I'm so fucked.' He thought to himself.

“We still haven't really talked about this, Johnny.” Ghost finally pointed out. “My quarters in twenty minutes.” He ordered. “...and I do mean a talk.” He noted.

Soap beamed with happiness as Ghost withdrew and stood up.

“Aye, sir. Yer quarters in twenty minutes tae talk.” Soap affirmed.

Ghost lowered his mask over his face and gave Soap one last look. Fuck if Soap wasn't a beautiful man. Ghost gave him a nod and walked away.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Ghost thought with every hesitant step. 'This is stupid. So stupid...'

Nineteen minutes later, there was a knock at Ghosts door. He stared at it for a moment as his heart rate spiked. He licked his lips under his mask, he could still taste Soap on him and it made everything so much worse.

“Come.” Ghost commanded in gravelly voice.

The door clicked and swung open, and there was Soap. He stood there with that stupid fucking smile on his face like usual. “Evenin', LT. Ye wanted tae speak with mae?” He teased as he entered the room.

Soap closed the door behind him and locked it. “Privacy.” He muttered unconvincingly.

Ghost gestured to the empty seat at his desk, and Soap wasted no time in marching over and making himself comfortable.

“Soap.” Ghost began. His eyes flickered to the desk and then back to Soap. “Johnny.” He corrected.

“Yer scared.” Soap stated bluntly. “I get that, LT. I'm willin' tae still take the plunge with you.” Soap replied reassuringly. His eyes narrowed and he smiled with that familiar warmth Ghost was used to; at least from him.

Ghost nodded.

“I'm a fucked up man, Johnny.” Ghost responded. “I don't want to promise something I can't deliver on.” He explained with a healthy dose of vulnerability.

“I'm not asking ye tae make promises ye can't keep.” Soap explained. He slid his hand across the table, intertwining his fingers with Ghosts. “I'm asking ye tae either give this a shot, or tae shoot mae down now.”

How could Ghost shoot Soap down now? He had kissed the man. Soap had confessed his love. In his own way, so had he. They had already bombed every logical, rule-abiding alternative. Ghosts armour was gone; at least with Soap. He was in his rawest state, his most vulnerable and scared and yet, looking into Soaps eyes, he felt like there was one man in the world who wouldn't let him down.

Ghost shook his head. “I can't shoot you down, Johnny.” He mumbled as his fingers played at Soaps. “But... are you sure I'm worth the effort? The work?” He inquired with sad eyes.

“Absolutely.” Soap stated as if it was an obvious, undeniable fact. “If you aren't going to shoot me down, then all I am asking if that you will try. Promise me you will give this,” Soap used he free hand to gesture between them, “...a chance. A proper chance.”

“It will take a lot of work, Johnny.” Ghost mumbled.

“I know. I've been working on ye for a while now, ye fucking potato.” Soap laughed.

Even Ghost had to chuckle softly at that.

“Is that so, Johnny...” He remarked with a smile. “How's that gone for you.”

“I got the man I love tae kiss mae. So good. Aye.” Soap nodded, his smile widening.

“I'm not good at this...” Ghost continued.

“Ye sell yerself short. I know it won't bae a typical relationship, Ghost. I know we'll have tae be private, discreet and it'll bae slow... but I'm committed.

“...and if I decide to break it off?” Ghost inquires sadly. Already dreading that inevitable moment.

“Then mae heart will bae crushed.” Soap admits. “But I'll move on. I'll let ye go if its what ye really want.” He says unconvinced.

Ghost takes some time to think about it. Its trouble from every possible perspective. Its a mistake. Its wrong. If foolish.

“I promise.” Ghost mutters before his brain can catch up to the words that fall from his lips.

His eyes widen with shock. Too late to take it back now.

“I promise I will give this my all, if you promise to accept that I am going to fuck this up badly.” Ghost offers. His chest rises and falls with anxious breath.

“I promise.” Soap agrees as he scoots closer to Ghost. “I promise tae accept you and give you my all as well.” He whispers as his fingers find the hem of Ghosts mask.

He pushes the fabric up to expose Ghosts lips once more.

Ghosts hands tremble and Soap give him a comforting squeeze.

“I promise you'll be fine.” Soap said soothingly.

He presses his lips to Ghosts once more and melts into to the warmth of the man he loved. Soaps mind was made up, this would either work, or they would both destroy each other in the process.

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moonlight-tmd · 5 months

Text

Thinking about Prowl being all sad and with attachment issues after Bee got revived.

For the first week of Bee's return Bee kept by Prowl's side when the two-wheeler fell into recharge and was always the first to greet him when he woke up: The first night Bee basically forced Prowl to go to bed very early cuz he has not recharged at all the night prior. He stayed and talked to Prowl while laying next to him until they were both fast in recharge, Prowl cuddled up to Bee and Bee holding him close. The next morning Prowl woke up alone in berth and had a little panic attack before Bee came in with a tray of 2 fuel cubes and some snacks. "I thought you were gone again..." Prowl confessed while Bee held his faceplace and comforted him. They spand some tima alone in Prowl's room before both came out to socialize with the others.

The second night was different cuz Bee convinced Optimus to stay up late to play the game he didn't get to finish before his death. Prowl obviously stayed with him cuz ✨separation anxiety✨. It was nearing midnight and Bee was talking about some plan he had to defeat the next boss, Prowl has subconsciously laid his helm on Bee's shoulder for some sort of physical comfort. Few moments later bee noticed that the weight on his shoulder and side has gotten heavier, he glanced at Prowl and saw the ninjabot recharging soundly. He saved and exited the game and took Prowl to his berth and tucked him in. he had a little bit of a conflict whether he should take off his visor for recharge but in the end he did- he stared at the peaceful expression Prowl had and he just couldn't help but to lean down and place a gentle goodnight kiss on his forehelm. Bee could have sworn he saw the edges of his derma twich up a bit to form a tiny smile- A smile is all it took to make someone look better, Bee still wished Prowl would smile more often... and now that he's back he'll make sure he does. He stayed for few more minutes before going back to turn off the console and head to his own berth.

The other nights were not different; Bee only stayed with Prowl until he was in recharge before he headed to his own berth. Then the second week rolled around and Prowl insisted on going to berth by himself cuz he couldn't keep "forcing" Bee to stay with him all the time... Yeah that didn't last long cuz on the 2nd night of week 2 he had a nightmare about losing Bee again and ended up cuddling to recharge with him in Bee's room. So naturally, Bee didn't give a slag about the next time Prowl asked to be left alone to fall to recharge and kept by his side to be safe. He wasn't about to risk Prowl having another trauma-nightmare, no! Usually Bee would stay with Prowl when he fell into recharge, but somtimes they would cuddle and recharge together in either one of their rooms. Whenever they recharged together Bee would sometimes hum a lullaby instead of talking, Prowl was the only one allowed to listen to the golden notes of Bee's vox.

Next up- after Bee got revived, Prowl surely would not be okay if he left from his sight for more than 3 minutes. He'll get anxious and flashbacks would slowly come and tickle the back of his mind the longer Bee took. Bee brought him everywhere he went even if it was something boring and he would be back in few minutes, or even a patrol; if one of them went on patrol Bee would start a voice call with Prowl so he wouldn't feel bad. (i imagine in the time Bee was dead the elite guard somehow managed to capture Megs and the 'cons so there's only Blackarachnia and somehow-bribed-to-be-friendly Constructicons left on earth aside from the human villains. so ye, domestic fluff time :3 )

One time bee said he'll be gone for an hour max and he didn't tell where he was going... Prowl nearly left a trail in the floor from his anxious pacing because Bee was gone for nearly 3h. He was literally leaving to find him when he bumped into no one else but Bee who had just come back with a surprise for him... that didn't help much with Prowl scolding him to not do this again, he didn't even pick up his comm for Primus' sake! Bee is now emotionally forced to stick to the time he says he'll be back.

I feel like Bee would goof around with Sari and one time they were making weird faces at each other and Bee pulled such a silly one Prowl started snickering next to Sari on the couch. So of course Bee took the opportunity to sneak up on him and do even more funny things and made Prowl full-on laugh. Everyone in the main room was laughting while Optimus and Ratchet watched with warm smiles. They could feel the joy in the air ever since Bee's return.

Speaking of joy- somewhere around the 2nd month of being revived Bee decided it's about time he'll pull some pranks. First one being on Prowl obviously. The classis bucket of harmless liquid (in Earth's case water). He set up the trap right above the storage until and waited for Prowl to open it to refuel. Both Bulkhead and Optimus saw a huge chunk of water fall right on the ninjabot while Bee tried so hard not to giggle. "Well, that checks out today's shower on my to-do list." is all he said and Bee literally wheezed from laughter. Yes, he did take an actual shower later, don't worry Optimus...

Bee also went with Prowl for his daily check-ups in medbay when he was recovering. Ratchet was glad that it didn't take too long for the "daily" part to become "weekly". He never questioned why Bee came along wherever Prowl was or vice versa, clearly it was doing good for Prowl.

Ok that's it. See you next post-

#maccadam #tfa #prowlbee #revival!prowlbee #long post #tfa au

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datauthorress · 9 months

Text

;my eyes (open up); [chapter 2]

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Original Female Character x Ratchet

Summary: In which, a relationship occurs between two alien robots and a human.

Rating: Explicit

Notes: AU ending to the Transformers: Prime universe. When Prime sacrifices himself for Cybertron, he is revived by the Thirteen Primes six months after to guard Earth along with the rest of the Autobots.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, Oral Sex (female receiving), double penetration.

“Optimus?”

Her voice was the barest of whispers, shock evident in her voice when it had cracked upon saying his name. The Autobot leader gazed down at her with a somber expression, his bright blue optics glowing in the room, despite it being lit up.

“I have returned.” Optimus spoke softly.

It was then, the shock turned to denial, and then the denial turned to anger. Without warning, she picked up the nearest thing to her (which was a tool of some sort) and threw it at Optimus with all the strength she could muster. The 'Bot glanced down as the tool collided with his chassis with a clang, and he glanced back down at her.

“You ASSHOLE!” Shelby shouted, and picked up a wrench, tossing it right at him and hearing it clang and bounce off his mid-section. “You're gone! For six slagging months! And you come back and say 'I have returned'? FUCK YOU!”

Shelby couldn't help the hot tears that were already beginning to roll down her cheeks. She was so angry, so fucking angry. She climbed onto one of the platforms that held more of Ratchet's tools and she began to chuck them at the Autobot leader as she ranted and vented.

“We mourned you! We grieved for you! And you come back after six months like NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED!” she shouted. “You LEFT US! You left the Autobots, you left your team, your home, your FAMILY AND FRIENDS! You left ME and RATCHET!”

She turned back to the toolbox when she ran out of things to throw and was even more angry when she realized she had ran out of things to throw. Rage boiled up inside her, and she threw her hands up in the air, and let out an angry scream that cracked her voice. Arcee and Bulkhead, even Ultra Magnus, was surprised by the sheer rage she emitted.

“Fuck you, Optimus Prime!”

With that, she hopped off the platform and ran off deeper into the Autobot base.

The Autobots were quiet once Shelby had left the hanger, and Ratchet glanced over to Optimus, who's expression was nothing but guilt.

“Do you want me to get her?” Ratchet asked.

“No...I'll retrieve her.” Optimus said quietly, and went off to search for the young woman.

Optimus walked in the direction Shelby had gone, and he glanced around the area, trying to decide which way to go. He heard sniffles very close to him, and glanced down at a vent that was open. He remembered that she would often go into the vent to hide when she was outright down or having a bad emotional episode, or when she wanted to be left alone. He knelt down, and supported his weight on the ground as he moved down far enough to see the young woman sitting in the vent, sniffling.

“Shelby, can you come out?” he asked gently.

“No. Go away.” Shelby snapped, but there was no venom in her voice.

“I have missed you terribly, Shelby. I would like to see you, up close.” Optimus spoke, and despite her angry venting at him, he held no malice or scolding for her words. In fact, he sounded guilty than anything else. “Please.”

Shelby glanced up as the Prime held out his free hand close to the vent, to allow her to climb into his servo like he would do for her all the time when she wanted to be close to him. She sniffled, turning her head away for a moment. She was still angry, but....she really wanted to hug him.

After a moment, she climbed out of the vent and into the 'Bot's hand, to which he carefully stood up and lifted her to chassis level. His optics lowered in guilt.

“I....I am so sorry, Shelby. I knew you would be upset, but...I didn't think of how badly my actions would affect you.” Optimus began, gazing down at her. “But you must understand. I did what I believed what was the right thing to do.”

“How...how did you come back?” she asked softly.

“I was revived, by the Thirteen original Primes.” he replied. “My destiny was not to end that fateful day, even though I believed it was to be. I was given another chance, to live a life that would end peaceful.”

“I understand....” she nodded. “But...”

She reached up and placed a hand on her chest, clutching at the tank top she was wearing. “My heart hurts, Optimus. It hurts so fucking bad. I missed you so much.”

“And, I, you.” he spoke softly, reaching up to gently brush a stray tear away from her cheek.

He brought her closer up to him, and it was, without warning, the young woman was wrapping her arms around his neck as best as she could (with him being a thirty foot tall robot), tightening her grip on him. Optimus was clearly surprised by the affectionate gesture, but then he relaxed and wrapped his free servo around her fragile body, his thumb rubbing her back.

“Please, don't leave us again.” she whispered, shoulders trembling against him.

“I won't, my dear.” he murmured.

“Did you recharge well?”

“I did, yes. After what seems like several solar cycles, I recharged decently.” Ratchet replied. “And you?”

“The same, I would say.” Optimus replied, and glanced down at the fragile human form nestled against his chassis.

Shelby was wrapped up in a blanket, her body resting against his chassis as she slept. Ratchet glanced at her, before looking up back to Optimus.

“She hasn't wanted to part from me since she fell into recharge.” the older 'Bot said softly.

“She'll be waking up soon to go do her work. I'll have to ground-bridge her back to her hotel room.” Ratchet replied. “Optimus, we...need to talk about this.”

“About the three, of us?”

“Yes.” Ratchet nodded. “I've been trying to do my calculations and....concluded that something like this is possible between the three of us. She's human, and we're not, but she's accepted the fact that we're two completely different species, and add that with a size difference, it's quite 'out of this world'.”

“I see.” Optimus said, and looked down at the human against his chassis. She was stirring, beginning to wake up.

After a moment, Shelby's hazel-colored eyes opened and she blinked groggily, gazing up at him with a sleepy expression in her eyes. “You're here.” she murmured. “I thought it was all a dream...”

“I am here.” he assured her, shifting her around so she could sit up in his palm.

Shelby rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and she glanced over at the sun that was rising in the east. It was beautiful, given where they were. “I have to go back to the hotel. I have to start my work soon.”

“We will send you through the ground-bridge to get back.” Optimus said.

They went back inside the base, and Shelby wrapped her arms around the Prime's neck in a short hug before she was handed off to Ratchet.

“We will see you later today. Don't work too hard.” Ratchet told her, setting her on the ground.

Ratchet activated the ground-bridge and Shelby's hair whipped in her face before it settled. She glanced back at the two Autobots, and gave a soft smile.

“I love you, both of you.”

And she rushed through the ground-bridge back to her hotel room, not turning back to see the surprised expression on both of their faces.

Later that day, Shelby finished her work around six in the evening and had just stepped out of the shower when she got a text from Optimus, who's com link she never deleted.

[ text to shelby ]: are you done with your work for the day?

[ text to optimus ]: I am. I just stepped out of the shower.

[ text to shelby]: ratchet and I would like to see you, if possible.

[ text to optimus ]: of course. :) Let me get dressed, and I'll let you know when I'm ready.

Shelby dressed in a pair of baggy, dark gray sweatpants and a tank top with an off the shoulder shirt over that. She didn't bother wearing a bra, since her breasts were sore from being in a bra all day long. She brushed through her short locks, and then texted Optimus to let him know she was ready.

A moment later, a ground-bridge appeared in her hotel room and she gathered up what she needed, and slipped on her slip-on shoes before walking through the portal. When she walked into the hanger, the ground-bridge vanished behind her and she glanced up as Optimus and Ratchet stood there.

“Will you go on a ride with us?” Optimus asked.

Shelby nodded and they transformed, the driver side door of Optimus' truck form opening. She climbed into the semi and as soon as it closed, they were driving out of the base.

Shelby had forgotten how nice and quiet the desert was at this time of night. They drove for a while, heading out to somewhere more secluded and private. It was about a half hour later when they drove up to a wooded area, but it had enough room for the 'Bots to walk through at full size. Shelby hopped out, and they transformed.

“Wow...how did you find this place?” Shelby asked, following close to them as they began walking through the trees.

“Optimus and I took a drive earlier in the day to try and find somewhere where we could talk.” Ratchet replied.

They walked through the trees until they came to a clearing that had trees surrounding them in a circle, and the moonlight was shining down on the cleared out area. Shelby heard a soft whooshing noise, and she glanced over to suddenly see both Autobots had downsized from twenty plus feet, to a little less than ten feet.

“Matter displacement.” Ratchet said with a soft smile. “Makes it easier for us.”

Shelby felt her heart clench in her chest, but in a good way. They wanted to find a place for them to talk and by the way Ratchet was hinting at, much more than talking. Much more than an emotional conversation. Much more than just a kiss.

“Well...why don't we start?” she asked softly.

Ratchet reached into the subspace within his armor and pulled out a folded up blanket. He unfolded it and placed it on the grass, before sitting down on it, and Optimus sat next to him. Shelby was next to sit, sitting down in front of them both. She blushed softly when both of them smiled at her.

“So....” she cleared her throat.

“We've had a long discussion.” Optimus said softly. “And....we've decided that the connection between us, between all three of us, is not something to take lightly. We are not human, and even though we have human holoforms, doing this....feels much more real. It is us, just downsized.”

“But there is a chance we could hurt you.” Ratchet said, being honest.

They were both right. She was a fragile human, and they were beings made of metal that could potentially hurt her if they weren't careful. She had to think that this was really happening, that they had discussed this beforehand to see if they wanted to go further with this.

“It is up to you,” Optimus said.

Shelby couldn't deny the connection between the three of them. She felt so safe, and strong and connected to both of them that she felt that the idea of soulmates was an actual thing. If it were true, who knew that her soulmates would be from beyond her very solar system?

“I....I want to try this. I've never been...serious, per say. I've never even had sex, and despite Ratchet touching me those times, it's not actual sex.” Shelby said, blushing softly when she saw Ratchet grin lightly. “But I....I...”

She paused for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing.

“I love you. Both of you, unconditionally and wholly.” she confessed.

The 'Bots' optics glowed at the confession of her love for them, and she turned her attention to Optimus when he raised a servo, and beckoned her to him.

Shelby scooted closer to the older 'Bot, and she felt her heart rate spike up a bit when his servo cupped her cheek and she shuddered at the feel of his cool palm on her flushed cheek. His optics lowered slightly, and at that moment, he leaned down and as soon as metal lips melded with her flesh ones, she felt her heart soar. She never thought until Ratchet had kissed her in his real form, that metal lips would be so dexterous. They were nothing like human lips, they were smooth and cool, though they warmed up to the touch the longer she was kissed. And the way Optimus kissed her, it made her heart swoon. He clearly had expertise in this area.

He deepened the kiss, and she let out a soft mewl, her lips parting more. She felt a large servo cup the side of her neck, thumb stroking the length of her jawline as she felt his tongue – glossa – (thank Primus Ratchet had taught her Cybertronian terms of body and language), swipe across her bottom lip before slipping inside. She's made out with Ratchet plenty of times. Her hands shook a little as she placed them on the Prime's shoulder pads, gripping at them as his glossa gently swirled around her own tongue.

Shelby inhaled deeply and released a heavy pant as Optimus broke the kiss to let her breathe. He tilted his helm down and began to trail his metal lips down along her neck, his free servo on the small of her back and pressing her even closer to him. She shuddered, gasping softly as he found that sweet spot along her pulse line.

She felt a servo cup her chin and she didn't even have to open her eyes to let herself know that Ratchet was the one kissing her next. He didn't wait, taking over the kiss firmly, but gently, and Shelby felt a powerful sense of dominance coming from the medic. It made her ache for more.

After a moment of kissing her, Ratchet broke it and moved behind her, his legs on either side of her, thighs lightly pressing against her sides. Despite the matter displacer, they were still both so much larger than her. Optimus pulled away from her neck, after nipping at her soft flesh. His servos lightly bunched her sweater at the bottom.

“May I?” he asked, his deep voice even gruffer than normal.

Shelby took a moment before she exhaled deeply and nodded, giving him her consent. The Prime pulled her sweater up, guided by his servos until it was off of her torso and set down on the blanket not too far from them. The Prime's optics honed over the colorful ink on her flesh, and he was gently as he ran a thumb over her left wrist.

“You're beautiful.” he murmured, his optics lowering slightly.

Shelby felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment, and she shook her head.

“Now now, we talked about this.” Ratchet said softly. “You are very beautiful.”

“You two should look in a mirror sometime.” Shelby said. “I'm nothing compared to both of you. You're living metal that is gorgeous, and I'm....just a fleshy organic.”

Optimus exchanged a glance with Ratchet, who sighed softly. She was too hard on herself sometimes.

“None of that, little one.” the Prime murmured, and leaned down to kiss her once more.

Shelby gave into the kiss, and her skin rippled with goosebumps as a cool breeze came through the trees. Ratchet's servos gently gripped her arms, and tugged on her. She allowed herself to fall back, still not breaking the kiss with the other 'Bot as she rested against Ratchet's front, her head against his chassis. She felt a servo guiding up her torso, and then a soft squeak left her as she felt the Prime's servo cup her breast through her tank top.

Optimus pulled away from her mouth once more, carefully observing her reactions as he felt her through her shirt.

“Is this alright?” he breathed.

“Y-yes.” she nodded.

The Prime lifted her tank top up next, and she lifted her body up enough to allow Optimus to remove it and set it with her other shirt. His optics gazed over her beautiful form, and he moved in, his metal lips kissing the middle of her chest before making their way down. Her cheeks flushed more, and then she let out a startled gasp when his glossa made contact with her flesh, and then swirled around her nipple. After a moment, he brought the hardened bud into his mouth and sucked lightly on flesh and metal, his tongue pulling at the piercing gently.

“F-fuck...” she moaned softly, her hand on his shoulder pad.

Optimus pulled away from her chest, and began to spread his kisses down, his teeth – dentas – lightly nipping at her flesh. He left small, light red marks but not anything that would last past the night. He ventured down further, and Shelby felt his large servos on her thighs, lightly rubbing at her covered flesh.

“Is this still alright?” Ratchet asked her.

Shelby almost wanted to tell them that they didn't have to ask her every time if it was alright for them to touch her, but she understood because this had never happened between a Cybertronian and a human before. “Yes.” she breathed, nodding.

Ratchet pressed his metal lips to her temple as servos curled into the waistband of her sweatpants, and began to slowly pull them down. Shelby shuddered as goosebumps formed on her flesh, and she felt her sweats being taken off completely and set with the rest of her clothes. Optimus' optics wandered over the large dreamcatcher tattoo on the outside of her right thigh, and the heart on her hip. The colorful ink was beautiful on her pale flesh. He moved further down, until he was situated between her legs.

Ratchet found it incredibly hot, to see the Prime between Shelby's legs, just barely ghosting his servos and lips across her flesh. Ratchet's servos reached up, and grasped her breasts in his large hands, hearing that soft mewl she let out. After a moment of teasing, the Prime pulled down her underwear and Shelby shivered at the cool air that met her exposed core. She almost wanted to hide, because she felt embarrassed by herself. Although she kept herself smooth, and clean, she almost didn't believe this was really happening.

Shelby felt her thighs being parted, and then the feeling of hot breath on her core and-

“Aahh! O-oh my....f-fuck!” she cried out, her eyes squeezing shut tightly.

Never would she had imagined the Prime's faceplate between her legs, his glossa parting her slick, lower lips. Her thighs tensed, and she moved them in an attempt to hug his helm, but his strong servos kept her parted for him. Despite his gentle nature, she felt a sense of dominance coming from him as she felt his tongue circle her clit, the small bud swollen with need.

Shelby moaned in ecstasy, and her hands clutched at his helm, her fingers curling and dipping back into his helm a bit. Optimus inhaled sharply, and then groaned deeply against her, his powerful voice sending ripples of pleasurable sensations through her body.

After a moment, she felt a thick, metal digit at the entrance of her core and she felt it circle around, gathering up her slick before it began to push inside her. She hissed, her eyes squeezing shut once more as cool metal pressed inside her hot, twitching walls. Her chest heaved as she panted harshly. It was such a tight stretch, but Optimus was being gentle with her, letting her get used to the feeling of his metal digit inside her. It pulled out until the tip remained inside, and then pushed back inside, a moan punched from her legs.

“I-it's....s-so good....” she panted out, feeling pleasure swimming through her body.

She felt one of Ratchet's hands leave her chest, and make it's way down to her ass, where he grasped a cheek and squeezed firmly, causing her to whimper and arch against the other 'Bot. She felt Ratchet used a finger to gather slick that had escaped down from her twitching core, before he circled the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks.

She gasped and dug her fingers into the back of Optimus' helm, causing the older 'Bot to growl against her. She bit down on her lip, and happened to glance up at Ratchet, her cheeks flushing at the way his optics were hooded, and how heated they were.

After a nod from her, Ratchet began to push the metal digit inside her ass, causing her to groan in slight discomfort. But with the digit inside her core stroking so close to something inside her that made lightning bolts of pleasure shoot up her spine, there was barely any discomfort as Ratchet pressed the digit deeper into her. With the double penetration, and the attention to her clit, Shelby's walls were beginning to contract and twitch, a high feeling inside her that was getting stronger and stronger with each thrust of their fingers.

“G-guys, I'm....it's....” she stammered, her hips bucking up.

The digits inside her body increased their pace and Ratchet hummed against her, before leaning down to nip her earlobe.

“Go on. Overload for us, little one.”

With a brush to that bundle of sensitive nerves inside her, Shelby bucked and released a loud cry of both of their names, coming around their fingers hard. Her body thrashed and bucked, the intense orgasm coursing through her until she felt it begin to die down and she slumped back against Ratchet, panting harshly.

She was left empty by both of them and the Prime sat up, his optics hooded with arousal. He wiped at his faceplate, before smiling down at her. “Was that to your liking?”

“T-to my liking? Jesus Christ, I felt like I died there for a moment.” Shelby breathed, leaning back against Ratchet as the medic chuckled.

“We're happy you enjoyed your first overload.” Ratchet purred into her ear.

After calming down for a few moments, Shelby shifted a bit against Ratchet and breathed, feeling arousal hit her once again at the sensation of them against her.

“Are you sure you want this?” Prime asked softly, cupping her cheek with a servo.

Shelby tilted her face into his touch, nuzzling into it a bit. “Yes. I want both of you. Please....show me.” she begged.

The two 'Bots exchanged a glance, before nodding. Optimus reached a servo down past his mid-section, between his thighs and pressed down on a panel that Shelby realized was radiating heat. It slid out of the way, and her eyes widened as something came out from the space behind.

To put it lightly, it was a dick. And a rather large one at that. While she was a virgin, she had seen porn on the Internet and had to determine that the Prime's dick – spike (thank you Ratchet for a lesson in Cybertronian sex ed) – was at least nine inches and decently thick. There were small ribs on the top that went from head to base, and it glowed with a blue, bioluminescence that seemed to pulse in time with his Spark.

It was surely going to be a bit of a tight fit.

She heard a click behind her and flushed as something just as equally as large curved under her, rubbing through the slick that had seeped down from her core.

“Are you ready, little one?” Ratchet asked softly, giving her a chance to back out if she needed to.

Shelby bit down on her bottom lip and she nodded. “Y-yes, I'm ready.”

Ratchet's servos cupped underneath both of her knees and lifted her up just a few inches above his spike and gave her a moment to take a deep breath before he began to lower her onto him. Ratchet had to hold himself back from bucking up into her, as he felt the sheer warmth of her soft body surrounding him. He grunted, and paused when he heard Shelby whimper. It did hurt. It hurt a bit more than she thought it would, but she wanted this. She wanted both of them, and she could handle herself through some pain to have both of them.

After a moment, Ratchet lowered her all the way down and groaned at the tightness of her body. Primus, she felt so good...

Optimus moved in closer, and his hand cupped her thigh, his thumb pressing against her clit to give her some pleasure while he buried himself next inside her body. He had to pause when she whimpered once more, almost unable to help himself. She was so warm and tight, and he never thought the sensation of a human would feel absolutely wonderful. He pulled back a couple of inches, before thrusting in again. It only took him twice more before he was buried to the hilt inside her, savoring her wet, twitching walls around him.

Shelby took deep breaths, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears had stung the corners of her eyes due to the pain and discomfort she felt, but now that her body was adjusting to both of them, there was barely any pain now.

“Are you alright?” Ratchet breathed, his voice wrecked.

“Y-yes, it's just....s-so much.” she panted.

Optimus ran his digits through her hair, cupping the side of her face before he leaned down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his bulky shoulders, and winced softly when he pulled out to the tip, and then pushed back in, a groan punched from both of their throats. Ratchet was next to move, breathing hard. It was a slow process for a bit, Prime and Ratchet both creating a rhythm. When one moved in, the other moved out, and so forth. After a handful of thrusts, her body gushed more fluids, making it easier for the 'Bots to thrust in and out of her body.

After a particularly thrust that drove straight into her sweet spot, Shelby let out a cry of desperation and pulled out of the kiss to gasp and moan, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks from the immense pleasure she was feeling.

“S-so...g-good!” she babbled, her voice absolutely wrecked and hoarse from abuse. “M-more, please, please!”

Both Autobots grunted and began to fuck her harder, and faster, intense sensations shocking her body into overdrive. The ribs on Prime's spike served to bring her closer to orgasm, sliding against her g-spot with each thrust that dove deep into her body. Ratchet didn't have the ribs on his spike, but the curved angle it went at was pleasurable and for a moment, Shelby thought she could feel both spikes inside her meeting in the middle of her body. It should be impossible, for her to do this, have sex with two alien beings that were made of living metal.

And yet, it was.

And she was so fucking close.

“F-frag,” Optimus gritted, his cooling fans kicking on to the strongest dose. “I'm....I'm going to...”

Ratchet hissed, tightening his grip on Shelby's thighs.

“G-gonna...gonna....c-come!” she cried out, clutching onto both of them with a hand dug into their chassises.

As Shelby drew closer and closer to her orgasm, the spark chamber on both Autobots began to hiss, and they opened on both Ratchet and Optimus. Shelby's eyes widened when she saw bright lights coming from both of them, and small, glowing tendrils that shot out and connected to her bare chest. She felt them going right through her, through her chest and out her back and then through her back and out her chest, connecting all three of them into a single being, synced together for an overload that was sure to blind all three of them in the immense pleasure.

Shelby heard the most erotic noises coming from her lovers', and it brought her closer and closer-

Prime drove into her sweet spot one last time and right as she let out the loudest scream of her life, light erupted between all three of them as she met an orgasm so intense, that she swore supernovas were exploding in her vision. It was blinding, and strong and all at once, Shelby heard them groaning out her name, and then she was being filled with feverishly hot fluid in both holes, her body swallowing up every single fucking spurt.

It was then, as she knew it would be, her body trembled and shook and then promptly went limp back on Ratchet.

And as soon as her eyes closed, she slipped into a welcoming darkness.

Shelby groaned softly as she came to, feeling her body humming softly with an energy that she was unfamiliar with. But with that energy, came the presences of both Optimus and Ratchet, who she could feel both of them near her. She groaned once again and lifted her head, almost able to see her lovers even through her eyes were closed.

“Ratchet? Optimus?” she mumbled.

“We're here.” Ratchet spoke softly, and she felt a servo touching her face.

Shelby forced her eyes to open and she was glad to see that it wasn't morning. The stars were still out, and the moon was shining brightly down on them. She blinked sleepily, and glanced up, seeing the two pairs of glowing optics gazing down at her.

“Are you alright?” Optimus asked, concern etched in his voice.

“I....I think so.” Shelby said softly, and slowly sat up with Ratchet's help. She realized she had been cleaned up and re-dressed, but she felt every ache of her body protesting for her to move. “What happened? That...that was so intense...”

“That, was a Spark-bond.” Optimus replied. “Our spark chambers opened, and connected the three of us in a powerful Spark-Merge. This means...that we are now Sparkmates.”

“Is that way I can feel you guys through my chest? Like....both of you are in there?” she asked, putting a hand on her chest.

“Precisely.” Ratchet nodded. “I've never seen an interface that calculated in a spark-bonding that intense. It's as if...”

“We were meant to be with each other.” Shelby said, finishing Ratchet's sentence.

Shelby exchanged glances with both of them and then kissed them both softly, before yawning. She was so tired, and exhausted and more than ready to fall asleep. She was guaranteed to feel the soreness in the morning.

“I love you, both of you.” Shelby murmured, as sleep took her once more.

Both 'Bots smiled down at her.

“And we, you.”

#fic: my eyes (open up)#fanfiction #transformers: prime #ratchet [transformers prime]#optimus prime [transformers prime]#;relationships [ratchet/optimus prime]#;relationships [ratchet/shelby o'viere]#;relationships [optimus prime/shelby o'viere]#shelby o'viere [oc]#18+

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nostalgia-tblr · 1 year

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But why is there Saintly Mother Frigga? Why is TVA!Loki speaking so glowingly of her on a train? A thing that causes all these MCU fandom fights is that Loki goes evil because he feels betrayed by his parents but then he takes it out on everyone else (Thor might be part of the system but he's also not actually done anything to Loki? Who himself is also part of that system? "Oh Thor maybe picked on him for some reason I made up"? Okay maybe but does that justify trying to kill him? Your otherwise friendly sibling who has also been lied to all his life and yous could be busy trying to process that while slagging off your parents to each other.) and so almost all the people he's horrible to have done nothing wrong to him in his life. (They've never even met him before, what could they possibly have against him other than the things he did to them?)

At the very least Frigga was lying to Loki (and to Thor!) by omission his entire life, right? And who do we think read the kids their scary stories about the evils of Frost Giants? But somehow we arrive at "Dad Evil, Mum Perfect" so what's that about? Doylistically I suspect it's that nobody making Them Thor Films thought to give Frigga enough agency to even be considered responsible for her choices and actions while doing the one thing she's allowed to do, which is raising her kids. Frigga was, apparently, just sort of... there? Passively going along with whatever Odin decided to do? And yet she's not even responsible for that apparently. And because she's not allowed to have done anything that means she's innocent and therefore Good and so now when she did do things they were all good things and she's perfect.

#and that's why i have to finish the mindwiping fic #mcu tag i guess #we ignore the biases of the source who tells us she's the most bestest perfect mum ever #so once again the problem is fandom taking loki at his word #which given the contexts is a HILARIOUS mistake to have made #but also sometimes an annoying one because Discourse Happens #his entire thing is “do NOT trust this character or anything they say!!” so what does fandom do? well exactly.#“i love blorbo so much that i reject the validity of the entire concept of blorbo as a character”#thor movies

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minniethemoocherda · 11 months

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Iridescent: Chapter 2

Summary: When Jazz is promoted to Head of Special Operations, the last thing he expected was to have to work with a face from his past.

Ao3

FF.net

As expected Ratchet had been pissed when he'd learnt that Jazz had been running around on a broken leg. After an hour's lecture, he finally put the struts back together and ordered him to rest the weight off his leg for the next few hours. Not wanting to cause the Hatchet anymore ire, Jazz followed his orders, making his way back to his habsuite.

It was late by this point so most of the troupes were already in their quarters.

Jazz hadn't encountered anyone until he once again heard the sound of shuffling footsteps following him. He glanced up at the ceiling but there were no vents along this corridor. He turned to his side but despite the noise, he couldn't see anyone behind him.

Once he reached his room, Jazz took his time pressing in his key code, and paused once the door opened, checking the time on his arm schematics before following the sound of footsteps inside.

Jazz shut the door, reaching into the draw next to his berth. He pushed aside the blaster and instead grabbed a bottle of his strongest high-grade and two cubes. By the time he turned around, Mirage had made himself visible, the polished white and blue of his armour gleaming under the harsh glow of the habsuite lights.

Jazz held out one of the now full cubes.

Mirage took it as the pair sat down on the berth.

Jazz downed his, relishing the burn that scorched through his throat.

He watched as Mirage, who despite everything they'd been through was still a Tower's mech at heart, swirled his cube around before taking a more delicate sip.

"Does Optimus’ story check out?" Jazz asked once Mirage had finished taking his sip.

Mirage shrugged.

"So far. But I only got back a day before you. I haven't had time to dig any deeper yet."

Jazz poured himself another drink.

It had been a long time since they had lost one of their own. You didn't last long in spec opps if you weren't good at what you do.

They all knew the risks and infiltrating the Decepticons head warship was as dangerous as their jobs come.

Still Blackout had been the best of the best. And the fact that she had been found out either meant that they'd had some really bad luck. Or something else that Jazz didn't want to think about.

To be honest Jazz didn't want to think at all.

He had been way past the age to need a mentor by the time he had joined spec opps. But Blackout had been the closest thing he had ever had to one. Showing him all the tricks she'd ever learnt and comforting him whenever things had inevitably gone to slag.

He glanced back at Mirage who has now made it halfway through his cube. 'Raj hadn't been as close to Blackout as Jazz had been. However he had still looked up to her and trusted her with his life. And by the desperate look in his wide eyes, he didn't want to think for the rest of the night either.

But somebody had to, for as much as Jazz wanted to give in to losing himself in another mech, he had to remind himself that he was Mirage's superior now. And any previous arrangements they had once had would now be inappropriate.

Mirage must've come to the same conclusion as he suddenly stood up and shoved his cube back at Jazz.

"I think I should go... sir." Mirage stated, the tagged on honorific sounding wrong coming from his best friend's mouth.

Jazz nodded, swaying slightly as he got up to open the door.

He poked his head out, looking up and down the corridor as though checking for an imaginary knock, as Mirage disappeared.

He waited a few more seconds before closing it again and crashing onto his berth.

Although not at the top of his worries right now, it did suck that all his regular hook-ups were now off-limits.

There were loopholes of course. If you were in a committed pre-existing relationship before a promotion then you were allowed to keep seeing each other. But his and Mirage’s relationship had never been romantic. It would be more hassle than it was worth go through all those official documents for a fake relationship just as an excuse to keep fucking each other.

Even if there wasn't exactly a big pool of people to choose from his new range of commanders.

Any ship to have happened between him and Optimus had sailed long ago. Elita and Magnus were both off base. Trying to entice Ratchet into his berth was about as dangerous as trying to entice Megatron. He didn't know Ironhide that well but Jazz did know that Chromia would shoot his bearing off for taking a pass at her conjunx. He didn't know Red Alert too well either but from what he'd heard the mech was probably too paranoid to let anyone into their berth. There was also that new head tactician that they'd got whilst he'd been away but Jazz didn't even know the guy's name.

Ah well, maybe it was for the best.

Jazz already lied for a living so he made a point of not lying to himself. He knew that he didn't have the best relationship with sex.

Perhaps going cold cyber-turkey for a while would do him some good.

He downed the remainder of Mirage's drink.

For now the high-grade would have to do.

—-

Jazz woke early the next morning, his processor still on mission time.

He did his assigned leg stretches (he swore Ratchet had an outlier ability to know when mechs hadn't) before heading to the central meeting room.

Jazz waved at the few people he saw milling around that early, trying to shake some of the nervous energy from his body.

For some reason he felt the same kid of jittery that he did with pre-mission shivers which was ridiculous since all he was doing was meeting his new co-workers. Who had all previously been his seniors. Not that that was anything to get worked up over.

Outside the meeting room stood a waiting Optimus Prime, his eyes crinkled in an empathetic smile.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

Jazz put on his most charming grin.

"You know me mech, I'm always ready!"

And without further fanfare, Optimus opened the door.

Instincts kicked in as Jazz surveyed the room inside.

Elita-One, Ultra Magnus and Chromia were busy running their hidden base under the remains of MacCadams so they were absent, leaving the rest of the command team here, standing around an oval table.

On the right sat the family face of Ratchet who was giving his leg a suspicious glare. To his right was Ironhide, a burly red mech who crossed his arms with a grunt of a hello. On the left stood Red Alert who ignored Jazz's presence and continued talking to themselves as they poured through a pile of datapads in front of them.

That should have been all the mechs that Jazz would recognise having interacted or at least heard of then before.

He wasn't expecting to recognise the wide blue optics of a face that he hadn't seen since before the war.

He trailed his optics over the stark white mech who's similar shock was now morphing into contempt,

“You.” Their voice was as cold as ice.

Jazz learnt his hip against the table and switched his grin from charming to cheeky.

"Hey officer!"

#jazzprowl #transformers #jazz #prowl #mirage #prowljazz #optimus prime #ironhide #ratchet #red alert #chromia #elita one #ultra magnus #blackout #jazz x prowl #tf jazz #autobot jazz

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katnissmellarkkk · 2 years

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Part Two of my bookcomb for every time Katniss and/or Peeta smiled in relation to the other. This post is all of Catching Fire. They never once smiled at each other in Mockingjay, ever. And yes, I’m bitter.

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months.

“Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine ... but I don't know what your favorite color is?” he says.

A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What's yours?”

“Orange,” he says.

“Orange? Like Effie's hair?” I say.

“A bit more muted,” he says. “More like ... sunset.”

“Want to see my talent? Cinna did a great job on it.”

Peeta laughs. “Later.” The train lurches forward, and I can see the land moving past us through the window. “Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it.”

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.

Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn't need to check my face to see if I'm serious. “Depends on why you're asking.”

“President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say.

“By 'we' do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks.

“My family. Yours, if they want to come. Haymitch, maybe,” I say.

“What about Gale?” he says.

“I don't know. He might have other plans,” I say.

Peeta shakes his head and gives me a rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I'll go.”

I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?”

“Yeah. But I don't think for a minute you will,” he says.

When we're outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I'll go with you,” he says.

“No. I've dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob ... that's going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building. They haven't even bothered to leave Peacekeepers around it. They know no one would try to save it.

“The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently.

“No. When did you say that?” I demand.

“Last night,” Haymitch chimes in.

“It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I'm sorry, but it's what I've been saying. You don't listen when people talk to you.”

“Bet people told you he didn't live there today and you didn't listen again,” says Haymitch.

“Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he's right.

Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile.

“Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they've made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them.

Finally Peeta says, “That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon.”

“Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too,” I say. “You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!”

I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind—and maybe I have, a little.

“Almost, but not quite,” says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling.

I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation of Finnick. “He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets,” I say in my best seductive voice.

Peeta laughs. “Ugh. Not really.”

“Really,” I say. “I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling.”

“Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?” he asks, glancing around at the other victors. “Just another part of the freak show?”

“Sure. Especially you,” I say.

“Oh. And why especially me?” he says with a smile.

“Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't,” I say with an air of superiority. “They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely.”

“Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.”

We end up on the same elevator with her, and she spends the whole ride to the seventh floor chatting to Peeta about his paintings while the light of his still-glowing costume reflects off her bare breasts. When she leaves, I ignore him, but I just know he's grinning. I toss aside his hand as the doors close behind Chaff and Seeder, leaving us alone, and he breaks out laughing.

“What?” I say, turning on him as we step out on our floor.

“It's you, Katniss. Can't you see?” he says.

“What's me?” I say.

[..]

“Yeah, but ... I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure,” he says, clearly trying to mollify me. “For me, you're perfect. They're just teasing you.”

“No, they're laughing at me, and so are you!” I say.

“No.” Peeta shakes his head, but he's still suppressing a smile. I'm seriously rethinking the question of who should get out of these Games alive when the other elevator opens.

After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. “So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality.”

“They saw her shoot,” says Peeta with a smile. “Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself.”

“You'd have thought we planned it,” says Peeta, giving me just the hint of a smile.

“Didn't you?” asks Portia. Her fingers press her eyelids closed as if she's warding off a very bright light.

“No,” I say, looking at Peeta with a new sense of appreciation. “Neither of us even knew what we were going to do before we went in.”

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I'm sorry if I made things worse,” I say.

“No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says.

“I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?” I say.

He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn't understood what he meant. Now I do.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta's lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he's practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I'll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you'll allow it?”

“I'll allow it,” I say.

I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck.

His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There's a force field up ahead.”

I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks.

[…]

I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta's chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask.

“Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says.

“No, of course I don't mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it's hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Finnick slowly begins to revive. His eyes open, focus on us, and register awareness that he's being helped. I rest his head on my lap and we let him soak about ten minutes with everything immersed from the neck down. Peeta and I exchange a smile as Finnick lifts his arms above the seawater.

Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again.

Beetee is still messing around the tree, doing I don't know what, taking measurements and such. At one point he snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It bounces back and lands on the ground, glowing. In a few moments it returns to its original color. “Well, that explains a lot,” says Beetee. I look at Peeta and can't help biting my lip to keep from laughing since it explains absolutely nothing to anyone but Beetee.

Johanna keeps watch while Finnick, Peeta, and I clean and lay out the seafood. Peeta's just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. “Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick.

“No, it doesn't,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that's how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain.

#everlark #thg #hunger games #katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #catching fire #bookcomb ♥️🔎

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sir-achimus-prime · 1 year

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A Streak of Sun :

A Moment in the Moon

Warnings :Cheating/Divorce and anything else i missed

:Readmore:

Summary : We explore 3 vorns before the war .

Note : These aren't in order . If i finish this and do it the way i want to , it'll be fixed to the right order . For now enjoy the drabble-ish order

Y/n sighed as she listened to the hydrolics of the transport go off . Her spark ached as she felt her doorwings flare as she read the line of text from her communicator . She vented deeply as her Sire sent a message regarding her absence

:Sorry , took a last minute shift. Be home soon:

Y/n checked her chrono that read out 3 joor left on her journey to Kaon's deepest pits .

~~~~~Earlier ~~~~~

Y/n's fingers deftly toyed with a sparklings toy as the sparkling chirped . She'd built a decent reputation as a medic that a handful of towerbrats decided to employ her .

She was happier that a pair of petro-rabbits , she left for lunch earlier than planned and ... unfortunately...fortunately regardless of the situation .

She'd found her 'Conjunx Endura' berthing one of said Tower-brats . She possibly didn't react the best , having initially opened the door. That had always served to slag her off , especially because both her and Spin-Sunstreaker replaced for a sparkling proofed door. She'd only come back for a spare set of armor .

She rinsed it off simply as Sunstreaker attempted to explain and ... among other things, ask for a reaction . She glanced up briefly and stared directly into his optics "What do you want ? You've got all you need. I'd be busy at work , while you slag my boss atleast you're not funding your escapades with my credits." She said somewhat horsley .

Sunstreaker gulped before looking from her to his current berthmate "That"s not what happened !?" She shrugged "And i can't do this ! I won't do it , the same way you fraggin' refuse to let me touch your fraggin' valve or carry ! I recieved treatment and among other things! But enjoy !" She said promptly

turning on her heel .

~~~~Present ~~~~~

Y/n scoffed as she stared at the intricately detailed painting that resided on the streets of Kaon . Her home , the place she'd been sparked and the same place she'd emerged . The same place she'd recieved her first and last upgrades , she walked sliently through an alley . She enjoyed her ration silently infront of the beautiful mural that her Sire had helped paint.

~~~~~~~ 20 vorns before ~~~~~

Y/N sighed as she adjusted the hold on her current toy. It was well-used as the small prehistoric cybertronian beast sagged in her arms as her parents conversed during their lunch . She understood a select few words as she choose to ignore them as she spoke in small hushed tone to her companion .

She stared sadly at the empty space in front of her , wishing primus would bless her parents with another sparkling . A sparkling to keep her company through times like this and a playmate . Her parents' tones turned into growls and her Sire's doorwings flared as he walked over to her area . He asked her if she wanted to go her grandsire's ... home was a small little hut a walk away from her grandsire's . She giggled holding her arms out as her much larger father carried her home and allowed her to cuddle up to him .

~~~~~~14 vorns before ~~~~

Y/n sighed as she watched her youngling sister as she played with her own toys.

Her doorwings flared briefly as her Creators continued to argue . Her carrier had dragged her into the issue and her sire had taken issue with it . Her Carrier had cheated on her Sire ... she remembered catching it . She'd walked into the room . The door had been opened and she'd walked in , traumatized to walk into a bedroom without her mind drifting to that day.

She listened intently as her doorwings drooped as her Sire walked over . Embracing her and staring her in the optics "We have this ! We'll learn to live without her and we'll be better off !" She said as her mother cursed her when she embraced her and took her sister and coddled her .

~~~~~Present ~~~

She shook her emotions off , upset that her optics watered . She paused breifly as a large gladiator walked beside her , instantly dwarfing her as the ground shook with each step .She only stared up with an annoyed look before the mech paused. "You look familiar, femme !" He grumbled as he squatted down.``

That's fascinating, " she said as the mech through her a drool look"Ain't you .... Swiftstriker's kid ?" She paused breifly in question of the larger mech , his silver paint job caused her to question him before deciding to trust the mech "Who's asking !?" The mech paused before laughing "Y/n , right ?! Megatron !" She blinked breifly before smirking ."Meg's ? Slag ! Do you know where ...uhh.. " she paused briefly as the mech stared before reading her orders."Do you know where Octa is ?" The mech was polite and guided her to the makeshift medbay and left her there to meet with a Pax .Gladiator's were a difficult breed for many to deal with , but for Y/n it was as natural as dealing with sparklings .

They were just as cautious , so color her suprised when her gaze landed on a familiar frame . She glanced up at the owner as he babbled on and on about the care and work needed as she sighed inspecting the mech . The mech was unresponsive as she plucked a few pieces of plating before deducing that Sideswipe was slagged and would require extensive work to be healed and wouldn't recieve it at the scum-filled levels of Kaon he was probably trapped in .

Feeling bad and knowing that it wasn't his fault, his brother had upset her. She sighed deeply. "I would recommend heavy care in an Intensive Care Unit . His spark is beating irregularly . I can't fix much more than what i have, " the mech hummed."You're sure ?" She hummed.

"Put'em out then.' Blinked before sighing "How much did ya get him for ?" The mech glared "100 million credits" she felt her optics bulge "I'll give you 100,000 credits for'em" the mech glared "For ?" She shrugged before the mech seemed suspicious "Why!? I thought he was dead?" She yawned tiredly "Why not ? " the mech huffed before relenting.

Later

Y/n grumbled as she glared at the large wounded bot that towered over her in the seat. He stared silently at her. "How's treatment goin' ? I thought Sunny wanted you to stop this ," she glared silently "You're brother's hardly the mech to be making judgment calls at the moment. And i saved you're skidplates !" She grumbled as he vented. "Ok, so Sunny didn't go to another treatment ?" She hummed."Where we going ?" She yawned tiredly as her doorwings flared " Iacon because i have an appartment there at the moment .." sideswipe hummed .

~~~~~~Later ~~~~~

Message : Sire

:Where are you ? Sunstreaker said Sideswipe's gone, and you caught him in a curious situation . I beat his aft , come home please ! I know you went to the medical center , if you're carrying finally . Please come home and don't stress yourself .:

Before she turned to Sideswipe, "Your brother cheated , regardless of the situation. And i refuse to hear him out yet because it appeared ... A romantic atmosphere... I'm gonna try and get you back on your feet . But i can call your brother if you prefer him. "

Sideswipe was silent and thoughtful ``I'm sorry. You're a faithful and stable Conjunx" she hummed "Unfortunately, i am carrying according to the Medic. I go on leave in a month. But I might work through it" Sideswipe frowned "Why ? Sunny should be able to cover it." She stared silently before pursing her lips "I'm leaving Sunstreaker. I have enough to be fine for a while . I can assure you i wanted a sparkling more than him . " Sideswipe snorted "Your not telling him ?"

She sighed "No." Sideswipe was silent before he relented "If you don't mind me sticking around . I can help you out . " she hummed .

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