#I had no sense of robot when I was a kid

[theartlockerlocked]

Me:

[rustedleopard]

Still thinking about how Clover on the No Mercy Route likely would've given up their quest for vengeance and lived with Martlet had Axis not told them that he killed Integrity. The only real difference between Aborted No Mercy Run Clover and No Mercy Run Clover are a few more destroyed robots and the knowledge of what Axis did, which sent their LOVE skyrocketing to LV 19.

Look at them. They can't even look Ceroba in the eye after they inflict the final blow.

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

Non FNAF old Scott Cawthon art style appreciation post

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝘑𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: They are technically yours. But he owns them.

Warnings: Tiddie obsessed Jeongin. No plot, just Smut🔞. Sucking, fingering, pet names, touchy and kinda whiney Innie. Hand kink(???)

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I'm on a writing rampage right now, did I just post like 4 one shots in a row?!

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.5k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

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Jeongin is the sweetest gentleman, the walking green forest, the best boyfriend when he’s with you.

Surprises you with the cutest dates, refuses to let go of your hand when walking through the aisles in the grocery store, snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, literally wanting to merge you into his soul. He’s just that devastatingly in love with you.

And this is the same gentleman, lover boy Jeongin who is obsessed with your boobs. And not just obsessed. He possesses your tits. 

The way his face brightens like a thousand suns when he catches you not wearing a bra, has him giggling, if he could deadass replace that piece of clothing with his hands, he would do it without hesitation.

But during some mornings—like today—you have to physically push him away from your chest so that you can get ready for work which only has him sulking the entire day.

He'll act like it's the end of the world, as if the universe is being cruel to no one but him, refusing to do anything, be an emotionless robot at the studio that half pisses Chan off. 

And once you come back, does he greet you with a hello? Hey baby, how was your day? No.

“Get here before I rip that top off.” His eyes burned, hungrily. Arms were crossed as he sat on the couch, waiting for you to get back home. 

“Well hello to you too,” You said, kicking your shoes off and hanging your jacket. Sometimes you wondered if he dated you for you or your boobs but deep down you could feel a blooming sense of pride how Jeongin basically survives just because of your pretty mounds.

"Don't start," he warned, his foot tapping against the floor like he was holding himself back from pouncing on you.

"Innie, you behave like you haven't seen them in years," you teased, crossing your arms under your chest just to test him. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dropped straight to where you wanted them.

A low growl rumbled in his throat before he was up on his feet, closing the space between you in two quick strides. His hands found your waist, firm but gentle, tugging you closer until you had no choice but to tip your head back to meet his gaze.

He scoffed, shaking his head before he pulled the neckline of your top enough to get a peek. His eyes darkened as he hummed in approval.

You smacked his hands away. "At least let me change first!"

He arched a brow. "Change into what?" He looked like you had just insulted him in the face.

His pout was almost convincing, but you knew better. He was the same guy who’d whined dramatically when you wore a turtleneck last week, claiming it was "the worst betrayal known to mankind" because he "couldn’t even get a glimpse" the whole day.

A strong hand cupped your right breast over your top, a dimpled grin deepening on his cheek. ��I'm reclaiming what’s mine."

“Huh, excuse you!” You swatted his hand away again playfully and he lost it. 

Jeongin let out a frustrated groan, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you again. His jaw clenched, and that all-too-familiar spark of mischief flickered in his dark eyes.

"Come on, baby," he whined, begging you, dragging his hands down his face. "I've been deprived. Starved. Look at me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest just to taunt him. "Oh, please. You're acting like you haven't had your hands on me all week."

Jeongin tilted his head back, literally one second away from throwing a tantrum. "Yeah, but that was all in moderation. I need full access, no limitations."

You narrowed your eyes at him and he whined again shamelessly. “Please pleaseeee baby,” he cupped your breast again and you didn’t swat him away this time. “I need it…please...” 

Dear god how can you say no to that voice and those eyes? Big, pleading, glimmering with just enough desperation to make your stomach twist in the most delicious way. That whine in his voice, the way he squeezed your breast in his palm like he’d die without it, had you sighing in mock defeat.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your fingers threaded into his hair, nails grazing his scalp.

Jeongin grinned, a triumphant smug, before his lips brushed your jawline, pressing slow, teasing kisses down your neck. His hand flexed over your breast, massaging, thumb flicking lazily over the clothed peak.

Then he was suddenly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, walking into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the mattress. A surprised squeal left your lips as you landed, but he was already hovering over you, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.

“Mmm, I missed these,” he murmured, nosing along your collarbone before nipping at your skin. “Missed you.”

Your breath hitched, heat curling low in your stomach. “Jeongin—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with that lazy sympathy as he sucked a mark right where your shoulder met your neck. His free hand slid down, touching the hem of your top and pushed it up, before you knew he had removed it and your pink bra had found a new home on the floor. 

His brain short circuited when his eyes landed on your pretty tits, his huge hands, long fingers closed over the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over the now hard, sensitive peaks, before the tip of his tongue painted ghost circles over your areola making your thighs clench instinctively.

His lips brushed over the swell of your breast, latching his mouth onto your exposed skin, leaving another mark on you. His tongue flicked, teeth grazing your nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your back arch into him.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, making him groan against you. His hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, like he had to feel every inch of you at once.

You gasped as he continued sucking greedily with just enough pressure to have your stomach flipping. Jeongin hummed, laving his tongue over the sensitive bud, before moving to the other one, giving it just as much attention.

He couldn't get enough. If he could have his mouth where it "deserved" to belong, he'd stay where he is right now forever. His breathing was erratic but he didn’t care. His slurps and wet groans rumbled through his chest, sending pleasuring shockwaves through you. 

"You're so soft," he murmured, voice husky, lips pressing teasing kisses over the marks he’d already left, his hands kneading, squeezing and playing with your tits. 

Sure, his slender hands, warm mouth gave you ounces of pleasure but touching and tasting you just gets him off and so down bad.

His lips were swollen from the continuous sucking and your nipples were slick with his saliva and still he dragged his mouth across your chest, leaving behind a wet trail of warm, open mouthed kisses.

“Innie,” you gasped when he rolled and lightly pinched the bud. 

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin, a smirk evident in his tone. “I’m listening, baby.”

He wasn’t. Not really. He was too caught up in you, too obsessed with the way your body reacted under his touch. His long fingers slid down the valley of your stomach before it slipped in your skirt, tracing his fingertips over your soaking panties. 

You couldn't make out words. A long moan slipped past you when he pushed the drenched fabric to the side and thrusted two of his digits inside your cunt while his mouth was reattached on your breast.

It felt like heaven. To you and him.

His fingers curled just right and his mouth worked just right that had you squirming beneath him, your hands tangling the strands of his hair. 

“More…Innie,” your voice was breathless, pleading, and it sent a rush of satisfaction through him.

Jeongin’s smirk deepened at the way you gasped his name, his hands never stopping their slow, torturous exploration. 

His thumb pressed on your clit right as he hit the sweet spot, your release gushed down your thighs and his fingers, the purring hum of him vibrating over your skin as he released your now swollen nub with a pop!

You looked up at Jeongin who's now half groggy gaze never left yours, lips glistening with a lazy smile tugging the corners.

He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean and rested his head back again on your chest, his other hand closing possessively over the flesh. 

“Mine.” He commanded, a feather light kiss brushing past your skin, his eyes closing as he laid his head on you, falling asleep under the sound of your heartbeat.

You had held him gently, threading your fingers through his hair, soothing him into his slumber as he slept on his favourite pillow but you couldn't help but wonder if what he meant was you or your boobs. 

But again, you couldn't have it any other way. 

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Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @greyyeti

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Imagine this ✋😌🤚 (Transformers Prime Wise) everyone is in the base chilling and the kids randomly start talking about who’s the most attractive of the bots (based on whatever random criteria list Miko made). while they are all going on about why their personal bot would definitely be popular they start arguing and suddenly call out to reader (who has been minding their business on the couch distracted reading a book or something) and asks them which autobot is most attractive, reader instinctively and with absolutely no hesitation blurts out the bot thats been on their mind for a while nonchalantly acting as if they didn’t pretty much confess their attraction and said bot definitely heard them. (I would love Ratchet or bulkhead, or bumblebee whichever one is easier to write for)(loved your Rodimus fic btw it was so cute 10/10) sorry this request was so long, it’s completely fine if you don’t wanna write this 😭

No need to apologize!! I'm so glad you liked the Rodimus one, it got rewritten like four times XP I still need to catch up on TFP, but I'm a little more familiar with Ratchet from it. I hope you enjoy!

Ratchet was too busy working to pay attention to what the humans were up to. This part had been busted for a week and he needed it for his next project. The talk was nothing but an annoying buzz in the background, occasionally becoming loud enough for him to huff or grunt to try and get them to quiet down.

Something about who the most attractive bot was. How childish! the criteria listed by Miko wasn't anywhere near Cybertronian beauty standards. What did a human know about biolights and kibble? The angular chassis of a tank compared to the smooth curves of a racer frame? This kids would make their observations and laugh, especially when Decepticons were the topic. Prime was called a "daddy" and Bee had "Puppy energy".

"What about you, Y/N?"

Ratchet listens a little closer, but still keeps his focus on his work. You weren't a child, and had a decent processor in that head of yours. You might have some sense not to play this stupid game.

"Ratchet."

Hwat?

Ratchet almost drops his tools in surprise. You, the only human he thought had some sense think he's attractive. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees that you had been just as busy as him when the questioning started. Sat on the couch with your book, looking around, stumbling over yourself to explain. He caught some of it: intelligent, skilled. Handsome for a robot.

Miko seemed to spearhead the grilling despite being the one to start the whole thing.

When you glance in Ratchet's direction, he sees your eyes widen and how quickly you look down when they meet his optics. Shame? Embarrassment? It doesn't sit right to see you teased. Just because you can appreciate an older bot.

"What's so funny?" Ratchet scoffs, "at least one of your kind has some taste." He turns away from the console and over to the platform. Bee chirps and nudges him before getting shoved away by the doctor. "Isn't it time you all leave?"

He leans close, glaring at the kids. Miko tries snarking back about the weekend but Raf mentions a movie playing. Bee volunteers to take them home, perfect excuse for him to go to the drive in.

Wheeljack heads out with them, raising an optic ridge at the medic as he passes by. It's just the two of you left. Ratchet shift, glancing back at you. You don't look at him, sitting back on the couch with your book. Body tense and heated. Trying to look casual and relaxed and clearly anything but.

He vents out and looks back at his project, then at you again. "So... got a thing for old bots huh?"

You hunch down, gripping your book tighter. "Ratchet, I-"

"You uh… sticking around?" He interrupts, "I could use some help."

You peek up over your book. Ratchet had you help a couple times, small hands being able to reach places. And again, being the only human in this base that he thinks has a lick of sense.

"Sure... Yeah..." You put the book down and smile.

Ratchet smiles back, offering his servo for you to climb on.

[brucewaynehater101]

Android Tim Drake AU:

Drake Industries announced they had successfully created realistic-looking androids that passed the Turing Test (and harder versions of it). They were planning to release commercial models to the public within twenty years.

To go a step farther, the Drakes wanted to ensure no one was skeptical of the androids' abilities to pass as human. Thus, Janet and Jack Drake had a healthy "human" baby by the name of Timothy Jackson Drake. The only individuals aware of this are Tim, Janet, Jack, and a small handful of engineers bound with a fuck ton of NDAs. They planned to tell the public when Tim was eighteen.

While Janet and Jack Drake are aware of Tim's ability to mimic emotions, they do not believe him to be capable of actually feeling them. This leads to Tim's childhood being lonely and neglectful. He is a robot.

At first, Tim is incapable of consuming human foods or using his touch sense. They fix his touch sense by the time he is four (and thus Dick is his first hug), and the food by the time he is six. He is constantly undergoing repairs to allow him to mimic the growth pattern of a child. It's when he is nine that he finally gets pain sensors to discourage and alert him to damage.

Tim is, for all intents and purposes, legally a human. When Janet dies and Jack gets into a coma, Tim stops receiving "growth spurts." He remains the same size even after Jack wakes up from his coma.

When Tim becomes Robin, he does not disclose his status with Bruce, Dick, or anyone else. Given that his parents treat him like an object, a machine, and incapable of feelings, Tim doesn't want to be subjected to that by his heroes either.

Instead, he gaslights the hell out of the Bats, villains, and other heroes whenever he gets hit.

["Tim! You got flung into a building. You are getting a medical exam."

Tim narrows his eyes as his eyebrows raise in surprise. "Bruce.... what are you talking about?"

"I saw you get thrown into a building. You're not getting out of this."

Tim glances to the side and then back to his mentor. He carefully places a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "B... Maybe we should have Alfred check you over."

Bruce blinks in shock as his brows furrow. "What?"

Tim purses his lips and shakes his head in pity. "It's okay, B. We'll figure it out. Whatever is going on, we'll fix it."

Bruce is so confused and concerned he doesn't ask Tim to get a medical check and agrees to be checked over instead.]

Tim becomes an expert at repairing himself because he can't explain to the engineers (most of who were let go after Janet died) how he got damaged. He spends a lot of nights alone in his room turning off his pain sensors (which isn't an automatic process and is difficult to reach)in order to fix the mangled hand, the gaping gash, the crooked foot, etc.

Kon, and conversely YJ, are the first to find out about his status (darn x-ray vision and super hearing). This encourages Tim to create artificial sounds within himself to fool Superman when they first meet. This also forces Tim to wear a long-sleeved uniform and a hood to hide from x-ray vision.

Tim finds comradery with Red Tornado.

When Jack wakes up from his coma, he originally treats Tim as he did before: an object. Dana, though, changes this. Jack can't explain why he treats his "son" that way and slowly morphs into becoming a good father.

It starts as only occurring when Dana is in the room and ends with a very bitter and antagonistic Jack when she leaves. He is initially disturbed by how much Tim is "faking" emotions, particularly because Tim learned to conceal his emotions from his parents as a coping mechanism (not that Jack knows this).

As they start spending more and more time together, Jack begins accepting the idea that Tim is capable of emotions. He starts caring and loving the kid as his own.

Because of this, Jack becomes fearful for Tim. When he learns that Tim is Robin, he is both jealous of Bruce's relationship with Tim and absolutely terrified for his son (what happens if people find out that Tim is an android? How would they treat him? Tim told Jack the Waynes don't know about his status. What if Tim gets injured too badly during a mission and they find out?)

This is why Jack initially forbids Tim from being Robin. There is way too much at stake for Tim if he continues (even though, theoretically, Tim can't die. Jack can keep saves of Tim and import him into a new body if necessary. They both don't want to do this, however, because Tim's body is his. It would feel weird and wrong to put him in another one).

While Tim is prohibited from being Robin, Jack bankrupts his company in the process of getting Tim rights. He bribes the hell out of judges, law makers, etc. to subtly put I'm rights for androids. He wants Tim to have full access to his inheritance, to freedom, and to everything humans can do. He doesn't want Tim to be without it.

Tim doesn't understand why Drake Industries is going under and is pissed at Jack for preventing him from being Robin. Robin is everything to Tim. It allows him to be treated as human. It connects him to so many people.

It's only afterwards, when Tim is finally allowed to be Robin again (and Jack has ensured he did everything he could for now for Tim's rights), that Tim fully understands how much Jack loves and cares for him.

Then Jack dies.

Tim is able to hide the fact that he's an android up until a Red Helmet asshole breaks into the Tower. While YJ whisk him away before the Bats can find out, Jason knows. Jason found out.

[revelboo]

Oh my god, I physically NEED a B-127 fated mates fics. He’s so much of a lovable dork, my heart can’t!

I caved… y’all can have the excited, yappy puppy. 18+ 🌶️

The Coma Kid

TFO B-127 x Reader

• Tires humming on asphalt, there’s a faint anxiety humming in the back of his processor that’s there wherever he’s under the open sky. A lingering unease that he can’t shake no matter how long it’s been since he left sublevel fifty. Since he left Cybertron. And like he always does when he’s nervous, he talks. Even if it’s just to himself, because he can’t admit to Optimus or anyone else that he’s afraid, can’t even put it into words just to himself. That wide open spaces make him feel so small. So lonely. “This is fine. Totally fine. Absolutely okay,” he says, the sound of his own voice a comfort as it shatters the silence. Because if he says it enough, it must be true. Convincing himself. “I’m okay.” Even if he’s not, he can still smile and keep saying it until he believes it.

• Hair sticking to your nape with sweat, you lean against the rake and work the knots out of your back. Listening to a squirrel fussing from one of the nearby trees, and the peace and quiet is a nice change from the city. Everything feels slower here, more laid back. No stress. No traffic. There’s a faint prickling through you as you stand there that’s almost like that electric taste of lightning on the horizon, a breathless anticipation that whispers a storm is coming even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. That draws your attention to the road.

• Speeding along empty roads, patrolling for Decepticons, he realizes he’s slowing even though he hadn’t meant to. There’s a spark deep ache inside him, pulling at him and he follows it without thinking. Because it echoes through him like a memory. Something familiar. Like the first time he’d met Orion and D-16. Before everything has gone so wrong, when for a short time he’d not been alone. He’d had friends and everything had been perfect for the first time ever. “Where are you?” He mutters and then he spots one of the little organic natives to this world. Little, fragile things. He’s seen them before, but Optimus has forbidden all of them from interacting with them. “I can feel you. Are you calling me?” And he’s transforming without meaning to, seeing you turn toward him, your wide eyes meeting his optics. “Can you feel that? You can, right?”

• Rake falling from your shocked fingers as the car passing by comes apart. Becomes a giant, yellow robot and strides towards you across the lawn, hands outstretched. Hear it talking as it comes at you, reaching for you. A strange feeling of familiarity running through you as you stare at it, that sense snaring you. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Those big hands are almost on you when you snap out of that warm haze paralyzing you, because that lulling sense that this is okay is a trap. As soon as you break free of it, you scream and run.

• “Wait-wait.” Lunging, suddenly desperate to catch you, to not lose that sense of belonging, he swipes at your much smaller form. “I said I won’t hurt you! I promise!” You’re fast and he dives, a servo snagging your leg and you go sprawling. Allowing him to drag you back to him by a leg even as you start kicking at his hands with the other. “Stop, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” Looming over you, he picks you up and nearly drops you when you try to throw yourself out of his hands. Curling forward around you, feeling the frantic beat of your heart and that sense of home and belonging singing through him as he cages you in his servos. Doesn’t understand what this is, only that he’s never going to be alone again. Never letting go, no matter what. “We’re okay now.” Servos pressing you close to him even as you struggle.

Next

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hi! Could I request a platonic ignihyde fic with a child reader who is surprisingly good at coding?

Ignihyde with a Child!reader who is good at coding

Idia Shroud

To say Idia was surprised when Crowley dropped a literal child into his dorm would be an understatement.

He had stared, wide-eyed and frozen, the corners of his mouth twitching with something between panic and suspicion.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. The headmage finally snapped. I’m hallucinating a child. A child with a backpack. And stickers on their tablet.”

You, meanwhile, were silent. You stared up at the tall, nervous man in the oversized hoodie and fire-blue hair and tilted your head slightly.

“…You’re Idia Shroud,” you said flatly, stepping into his room uninvited and peering at his screens. “Your garbage collector keeps triggering on a five-second cycle. That’s inefficient.”

Idia made a strangled noise. “Wha—?!”

“I can fix it,” you added.

You sat down beside him like you’d done it a hundred times, pulling your tablet out and typing with quiet precision.

And somehow, Idia let you.

It was weird, having someone near him who didn’t need constant social buffering. You weren’t loud. You didn’t force him to talk when he didn’t want to. You liked silence, blinking cursors, logic loops, and cat-themed IDE skins.

Idia thought he might actually be dreaming.

Still, he kept his distance for a while. You were a kid. What if you cried when he got snappy? What if you tripped and broke a server blade? What if Ortho accidentally sent you to the Shadow Realm during VR testing?

But you didn’t cry. You didn’t break anything. You added new firewall protocols to his gaming network and reorganized his project folders in a way that actually made sense.

“…Okay,” he mumbled one night, awkwardly scooting over to make room at his desk. “You can help. But only a little. Like. One file.”

You fixed six and added a debugging tool of your own design.

“…I’m not crying,” he muttered later, face hidden behind a chip bag. “There’s just… too much screen brightness.”

You didn’t say much, and neither did he. But he got used to your presence,the soft tap of your fingers on a keyboard, the way you leaned against the side of his chair when you got sleepy. The way you hummed random game soundtracks while coding, and quietly slid snack packets toward him when his stomach growled.

And you got used to his muttering. His panic,rambling. His snarky comments. You even got used to how he covered his mouth when he was embarrassed.

“You don’t talk like other people,” you said once, blinking up at him.

Idia flinched. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, I guess? I can turn it down.”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

His hair turned a little pink at the ends after that.

He didn’t call you his sibling. Not out loud. Not even in his head, really.

But sometimes he’d look over and see you curled up with your tablet beside him, lines of elegant, efficient code dancing across the screen and he’d feel something settle quietly in his chest. Something warm. Safe.

“…Player Two,” he muttered once, brushing your hair out of your face while you napped.

No response, of course. But your fingers twitched in your sleep, like you were still typing.

He smiled.

Ortho Shroud

The first time Ortho met you, his eyes lit up,literally.

He zipped down from the sky like a comet, bright and excitable. “HI! Are you the new guest staying in Ignihyde?! Crowley told us someone really cool was coming but didn’t give details so I ran ten background checks just in case and—”

You blinked up at him, holding your tablet close to your chest.

“…You’re a robot,” you said simply.

“I’m a technomantic humanoid !” Ortho corrected, glowing a bit brighter. “But yeah! Basically a robot!”

You nodded once. “Cool.”

And then you offered him your tablet.

“Want to see my code?"

To Ortho, that was like being handed a treasure map.

He zipped in close, blue eyes scanning rapidly over your custom interface. “You coded all this yourself?! Wait—these are recursive functions written in HexaScript??”

You nodded. “I optimized the loops. The compiler doesn’t like it sometimes, but it’s fast.”

Ortho hovered in stunned silence.

From that day on, Ortho was stuck to you like a magnet. If you were in the room, he was hovering nearby,spouting programming facts, asking questions, or quietly watching you work while glowing with barely contained energy.

And in return, you liked having him around.

He was loud, sure, and sometimes he got too excited. But he treated you like an equal. He never talked down to you. He never made you feel small, even when you had to stand on tiptoe to reach the desk.

Plus, he let you “borrow” high-grade Ignihyde tech when Idia wasn’t looking.

Ortho often dragged you around the dorm to show you off.

“Look! They built a proxy network to bypass dorm firewalls!”

“They made me a new mini-game and I got the high score!”

“They reprogrammed the toaster so it says ‘good morning’ in binary!”

You didn’t mind. You liked seeing him that happy,how he buzzed with pride and sparkled like stardust.

He even started adapting some of his flight stabilizers to help you reach high shelves. And every time you successfully debugged something difficult, he did a victory spin in the air and called it a “micro hero moment.”

You never had a big family. Never had people who got your weird little projects or your late-night tinkering.

But now you had Ortho.

And he understood your code like it was a language only the two of you spoke.

English is not my first language !

[locomoqo]

Heyyy i was wondering if you could write some Gun and Goo x reader fluff together? Your writing is absolutely amazing! 😁

Also, I was wondering if, in the future, you would ever consider writing for olly wang?

sharking

— gun park & goo kim x reader

details: fluff, the relationship between you and them is all up to you!

A/N: billiards is so cool, I applaud ppl who can play it😋 ..me personally i suck ass at billiards and yes! i'll consider writing for olly wang :DD

Gun and Goo were already mid-argument when you joined them at the pool table, both of them dramatically chalking up their cues. You couldn’t help but laugh as Goo pointed his cue at Gun with a grin that was equal parts competitive and smug.

“Just because you look serious doesn’t mean you’re actually good,” Goo taunted, lining up his shot.

Gun raised an eyebrow, giving him that trademark glare. “And you think you’ll hit anything?” His voice was cold but had that familiar dry humor you’d come to expect from him.

Goo gasped in mock offense. Spotting you, he turned to you, “Bet you’d want to be on my team, huh?” a grin on his face.

“Maybe I’ll just stay neutral and watch you two bicker like an old married couple.” You chuckled, eyeing the table.

Gun actually cracked a small, amused smirk. “See? Even they don’t trust you.”

With a wink, Goo pouted, feigning hurt. “Fine, watch and be amazed!” He dramatically aimed his cue, only to completely miss the shot. You burst into laughter as he froze, trying to save face. “That was…intentional. Strategy, see?”

Gun rolled his eyes, then effortlessly sank a ball in the corner pocket with his usual precision. He didn’t gloat, but the smug glance he shot Goo said it all. “That’s how it’s done,” he remarked dryly.

You clapped, teasing, “Looks like you’re on your own, Goo.”

Goo shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, waving his cue. “One day, you’ll see my true talent,” he grumbled. 

As the game went on, you watched the back-and-forth intensify. Goo kept trying to redeem himself, taking increasingly wild shots—some going in and some not, while Gun played with infuriating precision, each shot calculated and clean. You could feel Goo’s frustration building every time Gun effortlessly sank another ball.

Goo nudged you, whispering, “You’re my lucky charm, right? Just… distract him or something.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you rolled your eyes.

“Distract Gun? Are you kidding? He’s like a robot,” you whispered back, shooting a glance at Gun, who caught your look and raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing something.

“I can hear you, you know,” Gun said dryly, leaning down to line up his next shot. He didn’t even need to look up to know Goo was scheming.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so uptight,” Goo groaned, crossing his arms. “Let me have just one lucky shot. I’m doing this for us!” He winked at you, clearly pushing you to be his path to winning.

“You’d need more than luck to beat me, Goo,” Gun shot back, actually cracking a small smirk, which was almost as rare as a total eclipse.

Feeling playful, you moved closer to Gun just as he was lining up a shot. “What if I do distract you, though?” you teased softly.

Gun paused, eyes narrowing when he momentarily glanced at you. “You think you could?” his voice steady, but the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

You leaned back, grinning, and just as Gun missed his shot, Goo seized the opportunity, taking a shamelessly quick shot. The ball actually went in, and Goo threw his hands up in exaggerated victory. “See! That’s skill!” he declared, beaming at you as if he’d just won a championship.

Gun straightened, giving him a blank stare. “Lucky,” he muttered, but there was an undeniable trace of amusement in his eyes.

You found yourself caught in the middle of their banter, realizing just how much you loved these moments with the two of them, where even Gun’s serious edges softened.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ you were always in his heart

unsorted | park sunghoon x male!reader

pairing: sunghoon x male!reader genre: fluff !! words: 3.1k notes: have you ever had that one person in your past that you just never forgot? what if they went out and looked for you??? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA just knew this trope for almost all the fandoms i've been but not here?? atleast for male readers?? so i had to do it to em!! LOL

"Want this pack of chips I've got?" You offered the silent boy a small pack of cheese-flavored chips, looking at him with a bright smile on your face. The playful glint in your eyes seemed to lighten the mood of the cramped elevator.

"Uhm..." He muttered, clearly unsure what to do with it, his gaze darting back and forth as if searching for an escape route from the awkwardness.

"Don't worry!" You shook the pack in front of him, the crinkling sound breaking the silence. "It's not that cheesy! But it is tasty, hehe." Your enthusiasm was infectious.

The boy examined you with a long gaze, taking in the way the cheese dust coated your fingertips. It was messy, but somehow charming. You were obviously bigger than him, and that felt... strange. Yet, there was something comforting about it. Knowing he had someone to share this moment with in a hellish, broken elevator made him smile, even if it was just a little.

"Oh! You smile!" You cheered, noticing the small smirk forming on his lips. His laughter echoed softly as you both shared a moment of joy, the tension lifting slightly.

"Of course I do." He fiddled with his hands, the skating gloves protecting his fragile fingers. "I'm not a robot."

"Hmm." You put your hand on your chin, trying to think deeply, which made you look even more playful. "Well, my friend has this big robot at his house."

The boy's eyes widened with curiosity. "Really?"

"Yeah! It will definitely blow your mind." You twirled your fingers in the air, mimicking an explosion. "Even dances like a real person!"

"Whoa..." The boy was fascinated by the topic. A robot that dances seemed to spark an interest in him, lighting up his expression. It may sound childish, but he was definitely hooked on the idea of it.

Even though it was 2016, technology still held a certain magic for him. He had never been spoiled with so much toys or even a nice phone, but the thought of a dancing robot captivated him. It was a world he could only dream of, and he liked the idea of entertaining people too.

"Yeah!" You spoke as you continued to munch on your chips, the cheesy flavor making your eyes sparkle. "I'm sure you have one! You look rich."

The boy tilted his head, confused by the compliment. He looked... rich? His family can barely afford their lifestyle, opting to travel overseas just to find cheaper skating lessons. Was it the way he dressed? Or the way he spoke? He felt uncomfortable at that observation but couldn’t blame you for it.

Looking back at you, he wondered about your own life. How did you experience the world? You seemed so carefree, so mature, yet so childlike. Where did you get all this energy? He could only wish to play with someone like you, a normal boy.

"Wait..." You asked, sensing his silence. "You must be a prince or something!"

The boy could only look down at the ground, his thoughts drowning out your words.

Realizing the shift in his demeanor, you quickly stood up and walked to his side. You playfully slid your back against the metallic wall of the elevator, settling down next to him.

"You good?" You spoke softly, trying to catch his attention.

"Y-yeah..." He mumbled, still avoiding your gaze.

Curious, you held the bag of chips in front of his face, and he flinched at the sudden movement.

"You sure you're not hungry?" You asked, still offering the bag, your voice full of warmth and kindness.

"I'm not a kid..." The boy thought for a moment, when his stomach growled deep in response. The two boys looked at each other.

Sunghoon sighed. "You really are persistent, huh?"

You laughed, surprised by his response. "Not hungry?"

He took the pack of chips from your hands, quickly grabbing whatever he could.

"Wait a minute..." He looked at you, his expression turning from excitement to confusion.

"Hmmm?" You tilted your head, not yet realizing the issue.

"It’s just dust!" He whined, clearly disappointed as he peered into the bag.

"Wah?" You looked inside the bag, brow furrowed. "No, it's not! There's still more stuff. Look harder."

The boy, still wanting to complain, peered back down into the bag. Indeed, there were still bits of chips at the bottom, the smell of cheese and salt wafting up and making his stomach grumble again.

Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted the moment. "Is..."

"What?" You asked, confusion etched on your face.

"That was you, wasn't it?" He asked, realizing how loud his stomach had been.

"No way." The boy answered, bringing the bag up to his face and taking a handful of chips.

"Wah, hey!" You exclaimed, half-laughing, half-worried as you watched him devour the remnants. You wanted to either save some for yourself or scold him for eating so quickly.

After he wiped his lips clean, satisfaction washed over his face. "That was good." He tried to flick the dust off his gloves, but it was futile; they were already stained.

"Thank you," he added, unsure if he should be embarrassed or grateful.

You assumed a reply was coming, and took a deep breath, but what came next was entirely unexpected.

"Wah! Your face!" You chuckled, unable to contain yourself as you noticed the remnants of cheese dust on his cheeks. It was too funny not to laugh at.

"What?" The boy asked, genuinely confused, his brows furrowing.

"Haha, look!" You raised a finger and tried to wipe the dust off his face, unintentionally smearing it across his cheeks. "Cheese!"

His eyes went wide as he realized how messy he looked, and he quickly tried to wipe his face with his gloves. In the process, he only managed to dirty them further.

"Oh no," he muttered, anxiety creeping in. His mother would definitely get angry.

"Huh?" You looked at him, before spotting the dirtied gloves.

"Take those gloves off then," you suggested. "Let's take it off so it doesn't bother you."

He hesitated, thinking about the consequences of his actions, but ultimately decided to let his hands free from the tight grip of his gloves. As he tried to salvage them, you continued to brush his face clean, your touch gentle and caring.

Noticing how close you were, the boy felt a warmth spread across his cheeks, turning bright red. He was mesmerized by the way your hands moved on his face.

Embarrassed, he instinctively moved away, refusing to let you touch him anymore.

"Oh?" You spoke, a playful tone in your voice. "I... I'm just cleaning it."

"I- I can do it," he stammered, trembling at the situation. Why on earth was he blushing about a boy in front of him? He didn't want to like that, but the touch of your hand on his cheek felt... nice.

Alarming both of them, the elevator suddenly jolted, and the doors opened revealing the bright lights of the mall.

"Ah! We're safe!!" You jumped up high, cheering at the top of your lungs. The boy, still dazed, could only think about the warmth of your touch when suddenly, you wrapped your hands around his and clasped them tightly.

You were holding his hand... you were holding his hand.

Even as you jumped for joy, and as the guards entered the elevator to safely assess the two of you, he couldn't get that moment out of his mind.

He liked the warmth he felt from you. It was like a fire he wanted to bathe in. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you occupied his thoughts for a while.

After getting rescued by the mall security, your mother came to talk to you, but you noticed that Sunghoon looked a bit... melancholic. It didn't sit well with you, and as you approached, you could hear how his mom and dad talked down to him. Your heart ached for him.

Running carefree, you walked towards him, determined to cheer him up.

"Hey!" You shouted when you saw him again, and he felt a rush of warmth as his face flushed.

"You good?"

Was he good? He couldn't even think straight...

"Hey..." You tried to communicate, catching his attention one last time.

"Yes?"

"You alright?" You asked, genuinely concerned but trying not to pry. You were just a kid after all.

"Y-yeah." The boy noticed how you had gone silent, while his parents looked at you with uncertainty before walking a bit farther away.

"You know, my mom told me you were a skater!" You exclaimed, your eyes lighting up as if a huge star had twinkled right beside him.

That's why you were dressed so elegantly. It was a beautiful costume that made him stand out.

"Y-yeah." He replied shyly, feeling the warmth of your compliment.

"You wear those blade things, right?" You asked, your curiosity spilling over as you admired him.

"Right??" You repeated, as if needing confirmation.

"Yes. And they're called roller blades."

"How do you not cut yourself?" You asked, your eyes wide with intrigue.

"You uhh..." The boy thought for a moment, trying to give a proper answer. "You really have to be careful."

"Woah..." You smiled, leaning closer as if he had just revealed a great secret. That was definitely something fascinating for you.

"Yeah." He nodded, seeing how your face lit up with admiration. "Why?"

"Why? Can't your new best friend ask you?"

"New best friend?" That was sudden. But not that he minded.

"Yeah!" You declared with confidence, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Who decided that?" The boy asked, amused.

"Me!" You chirped, causing him to giggle softly at your boldness.

"Of course it's you." He smiled, feeling a bit closer to you than he had earlier.

"Yeah!" You beamed back, your joy infectious and making his cheeks heat up a little. He was becoming fond of you already.

"We shared food together and I like you!" You announced proudly. "So now, we're best friends!"

"L-like?" The boy stuttered, clearly surprised by your declaration.

"Yeah!" You replied without a second thought. You both were definitely on different pages.

"Ahh..." The boy smiled, the word 'like' resonating with him in a pleasant way. To him, it beautifully described this interaction.

He liked you.

"Can I just say? You're definitely cuter than any other girl classmate I have." You smiled brightly. "Really!"

Okay, maybe you were on the same page together.

But for the boy? That heated his face even further, turning it bright red.

"And you have the cutest moles too..." You pointed out as you looked at his small face. "Look!"

He instinctively covered his face in embarrassment, wishing he could disappear into the ground. Even at the young age of 14, this was not how he pictured his simple day going.

Suddenly, he heard his parents call out to him. With your ears perking up, you held his arm, trying to talk to him one last time.

"Wait!"

The boy looked back at you, confusion evident on his face.

"Hmm?" He glanced at you, still holding onto his arm.

"What's your name?" You asked, your tone playful yet sincere.

It felt ridiculous not to know, but it was fair; he didn’t want too much attention anyway. Relaxing, he smiled softly.

"Park Sunghoon." He beamed, showing off his shy smile. "I... I skate professionally."

"Ahh..."

"And you?"

You gave your name, and Sunghoon made sure to remember it, etching that smile into his memory.

"It's ... a beautiful name." Sunghoon looked at you with fascination written all over his face.

"So is yours!" You cheered, making him giggle at that.

As he ran to catch up with his parents, you bid farewell to the skater, your heart a bit heavy at the parting.

As for Sunghoon, he couldn't care less about his performance for the day. Instead, he was only thinking of your name, itching to write it down in his notebook back at the hotel.

"I'll have to remember it," he thought to himself, gazing out the car window as the city lights glimmered against the darkening sky.

Unbeknownst to him, his future self would retire gracefully from skating. But being scouted as an idol wasn’t so bad, as he would later join a company focused on training the next big stars.

Yet, with everything that happened, nothing changed whenever he thought of you. There wasn't a single day that he didn't wonder what you were currently doing.

Did you pursue something amazing, like medicine or law? Did you commit to a good job that paid well?

Had you moved on from the memory of him? Had you dated anyone in your school or neighborhood?

And what about him? He definitely failed to forget you.

In the end, your memory lingered in his mind, like a song on repeat. Sunghoon had your name written in his heart with permanent ink, occupying a specific part of his brain that continued to wander.

Then, when he finally debuted, he could finally come to your country.

Finally, he had a way to see you again. To find you at least. To see you one last time before he let's go of that precious memory.

As he was on tour inside a shopping mall, Sunghoon browsed through a selection of fragrances. He couldn't wait to try some, fascinated by the exclusive items only sold at this location.

As if by random chance, he looked out the window and saw the bright sun shining outside the hall. Children played, adults walked by, and the scene was warm and cozy.

In a split second, he caught sight of the most unexpected thing he had ever seen through the thin glass.

You, standing there, exchanging a call with someone on your phone.

Sunghoon couldn't believe it. It was you. Really you. After all those years of not seeing your face, he was shocked to recognize that familiar sliver of hair. Maybe it was the way you stood? The way you carried yourself? Or just your eyes?

He couldn't even fathom it. Even after examining every angle, only he could recognize you from afar.

As you began to walk away, Sunghoon let go of his bags and handed them to his manager, rushing after you in a split second.

The wind whipped around him as he pushed through time and distance. He needed to see if it was really you. If it was your eyes he recognized, your stature, or just the very essence of you.

In his mind, he was set on one thing: finding you.

With what seemed like a goose chase, Sunghoon finally caught up to you.

Thinking of a way to get your attention, he recalled all the things he had practiced saying if you ever met again.

"Hey! It's Sunghoon. The skater guy? ... No."

"Hi! I'm Sunghoon's Enhype... shit."

"Hello? I... I think I know you?" Coming up with a quick line, he tapped your shoulder and waited for a response, his heart racing.

As he waited for you to turn, he steeled himself. Until he saw your face.

Or not.

"Sunghoon!!" It was a fan who just happened to be there. Thinking he was so utterly screwed; he stood frozen as he watched people flood around him. Smiling sheepishly, he scanned the crowd, searching for you again.

Suddenly, a tug pulled him out like a fish from the wild crowd.

"Get your head down, you're too tall." A whispering tone spoke to him, as if only he could understand. He nodded, prioritizing his safety as he ducked down.

Slowly, the stranger led him to a nearby exit door. It was a closed space, away from prying eyes, secluded from the bustling crowd.

"What were you trying to do over there? Public execution?" Sunghoon turned his head upwards, finally catching his breath. In that moment, he stood stiff, planted like a log on the ground.

The familiar eyes, the stature, the confident aura... it was you.

You found him first.

"Remember m-"

Before he could finish, a tight hug enveloped your body as you spoke. It wasn't just any hug; it was a warm embrace that expressed how much he longed to see you again. Even for just a second, he would sacrifice it all to be with you.

He never knew he missed you this much. Way too much.

"I remember you." As cheesy as it sounded, he gripped onto you tightly, cherishing the moment he had yearned for so long.

He met that boy again.

He was here with you, again.

You could only smile back, hugging him just as tightly. There were no words needed; only the warmth you two shared at that moment.

He was happy. And so were you.

After that, you talked and talked for moments, forgetting everything else around you.

Sunghoon was definitely smiling as he learned about your life and your dreams.

And you? You were happy to see how well he was taking care of himself. He was definitely taller than last time, and—

"You became even more handsome. Or pretty?" You smiled, taking in his physicality. Sunghoon couldn’t help but brush his hand through his hair, flustered and shy.

"Even better than the girls in your school?" Sunghoon quoted, still having that engraved in his mind.

It took you a second to understand, before bursting out in laughter.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"You remember that?"

"Of course." He chuckled softly. He remembered every little detail, replaying it like a favorite movie in his head.

You looked at him, seeing his genuine affection take center stage.

"Even better than anyone else." The way you said it made Sunghoon’s heart race.

Caught off guard with your boldness, he had no hesitations. With a rush of sweet adrenaline, he grabbed your face and kissed you with all the warmth and affection he had kept inside.

It was a kiss he had reserved just for you, his first.

As he pulled away, a bright smile adorned his features, his laughter bubbling up in childish joy.

"That... that was definitely a first." You stammered, feeling a bit taken back to be kissed like that.

"Yeah, I... I have no idea what a kiss with a guy should be."

"Oh, so you’ve kissed girls before?"

"No." That was quite a response.

"No?" You thought. You seemed ... relieved at that too?

"Never kissed a girl." Sunghoon replied straightforwardly. "My mind was filled with thoughts of only you."

You laughed again, finding it absurd that he had such thoughts of you.

"Seriously?!"

"Really." Sunghoon smiled. "You were very persistent in my head, even after everything. Even when you weren't there."

You looked at him, seeing his genuine affection take center stage.

"Same." You hugged him again, resting your head on his broad shoulder. Sunghoon liked that, caressing your back as you enjoyed having your weight upon his frame.

You stayed like that for a while, reminiscing and rekindling the bond you both had formed.

One thing was clear: Sunghoon wasn’t going to forget you anytime soon.

And neither would you.

WASNT THAT JUST THE SWEETESTTTTT i wish i could do moreeeeee but alas my head couldn't pump out enough ... i will do more if i could later onnn.... pls enjoy tho!!!

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Pt.3: Nemesis Prime

TFP Optimus (Nemesis) x Female Reader

Summary: After revealing to Optimus that you are carrying his sparkling, he convinces you to stay under the Autobot care. However, after the sudden appearance of an old lover of yours, Optimus faces difficult challenges as he tries to win you back and learn how to prepare to be a father at the same time.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

3K

Counting Stars

Pt.3: Nemesis Prime

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories? Holding into the hope of meeting what they desire ...

At the start of the beginning we walked in different paths,

At the end of the ending, we find each other in the same world ....

Who is it? Who is walking among the river of memories?

Your eyes adjust to the light as the cold makes your body shiver.

Not remembering much, you rub your arms to try and create heat with the friction. Your head hurts but you rub your belly, more concerned with the sparkling inside of you.

A bright light shines right in front of you. Putting a hand in front of your face to protect yourself from pain in your eyes from the blinding lights, you blink multiple times.

"Is that ... A human?"

"There's no way ... I thought they had become extinct after the end of the Great War."

    Suddenly, you are hit with memories. Megatron. The kids, in danger. Groundbridge explosion. You, in the middle of it. Optimus servo trying to reach you only for you to disappear from his grasp.

And you ended up here. An unknown, cold place.

"Should we bring it to Prime?"

    Hearing the title, you immediately stand up. You see Autobot emblems and feel relief to see that they were on the good side. You didn't know them but they couldn't be bad if they were Autobots ... right?

"No, we shouldn't bother him with such ... nuisance."

    His optics look up and down on you, a judging and disgusting look on his faceplate.

"I am sorry?" You ask, offended. "I am actually Prime's Sparkm–"

"But, Prowl, look, this one has a big belly and it's round!" he points at your stomach and you take a few steps back. "So squishable! Can we keep it?"

"Well," the Autobot with red spiky things in his helm, puts his faceplate close to you. You assumed his name is Prowl by what the other Autobot called him. "Its size could be helpful with cleaning out small organic materials stuck in our gears."

"Yeah, those tree-things give out a lot of leaves. I don't like the feeling of it," the other Autobot took a step further and picked you up on his servo. You feel colder, you could feel the cold emitting from his metal through the fabric of your clothes. "I don't know why Prime keeps insisting on keeping them, we should just cut them off and get rid of the problem."

"Jazz, you know how he gets when organic things get destroyed, let's not get there."

    From Jazz servo's you had a better view of the things around you.There are many buildings, so tall that you are unable to see the sky. A sense of megalophobia over-took you for a moment but quickly got over it after your mind made a few questions.

"I didn't know you had trees on Cybertron?"

    Where else could you be? Tall buildings, long roads that move among structures. Things that looked alien-like that your mind couldn't have words for. Especially, robots you had never seen before. But this doesn't tie down with Optimus' stories. Cybertron was supposed to be desolate, inhabitable. This place doesn't look completely dead, but it's as if a grey atmosphere had overtaken the entire planet but at least its people looked to be thriving.

"On Cybertron we didn't. But here, in the New Cybertron, well ... they are rare," Jazz says, he had a blue visor that protected his optics, or so you thought. "We almost ran out of trees during the Great War so after that Prime made a strict rule of not destroying organic materials."

"And that includes you," Prowl steps in, his mannerism a bit more aggressive.  "We'll follow protocol and keep you alive in the meanwhile but you'll have to prove your worth."

"But–"

You wanted to say something. It's not like you didn't want to work but you were pretty much pregnant and unable to move much or fast if required.

"Great!" Jazz interrupts.  "Don't worry, Prowl, I'll take care of it!"

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"I've been doing this for hours!" you say as you end up drenched in Energon and carrying leaves and bugs, pulled out of some Autobot's gears. "Can I at least talk to Ratchet? Or Arcee?"

    You ended up in a hangar. What kind? You weren't sure enough. A medical one probably. At least that's what you assumed by seeing so many Autobots with scratches and missing parts. It was quite gruesome. You had many questions. Was the war against the Decepticons still going on?

"How do you know those names? Are you friends with them?"

    Jazz asks and his very evident obliviousness angers you. You didn't expect him to know but that's what you've been trying to tell and explain but he or anyone just wouldn't listen.

    You wanted to scream, to tell him that he is an idiot and demand that you see Optimus right this moment.

But instead, you just sighed and sat down on the enormous berth under you.

"I want to rest," you say. "I am hungry."

"No resting, you still have many bots in line waiting to get their gears clean."

    Prowl looks at you. He didn't scare you but you know that he will make you do your job no matter the circumstances ... unless ...

"I am carrying a Sparkling," you tell them, rubbing your belly. "I am feeling really weak ... I think I need Energon."

    Prowl and Jazz look at you then at each other. The Autobot with a blue visor starts laughing like crazy while the more serious Autobot just looks away, hiding his evident smirk on his faceplate. Feeling more frustrated, embarrassed and tired, you cross your arms in front of your chest and avoid eye contact.

"You are such a funny human!" Jazz puts his face closer to yours, your entire being seemed to be a joke to him.  "A Sparkling? Cybertron hasn't had a single Sparkling, even way before  Prime lost the Matrix of Leadership."

    Your heart stops. For a brief moment just to beat faster than usual.

"... What?" you shake your head, not believing completely what Jazz had said. It must all be a product of your imagination.  "What do you mean he lost the Matrix of Leadership?"

"Well, it was to be expected since he annihilated all the Deceptions during the Great War," he continues, as he considers this information to be common history. "I wasn't there for most part but I heard Prime offline and punished anyone who dared speak against him."

"Optimus ... Killed Decepticons?"

    Suddenly, you feel a pain in your stomach, making your legs weak. You lose balance and fall on the large bert underneath you.

"Jazz–" Prowl notices your sudden change and tries to interrupt the talking bot. But not only that, you had called Nemesis by his old name.

    Prowl had heard the stories from others. From Ratchet mostly who only spoke of the matter once. The day he had arrived on Earth, Optimus was no longer a Prime. Having lost composure and killed mercilessly, Primus no longer considered him worthy. Prowl didn't remember Optimus being like that. He had wondered what had occurred for the Prime to lose all honor.    

And after insisting and insisting, Ratchet only said one thing to him.

"The things they did to them ... I can't blame Nemesis for doing what he did but ..."

"He is so scary but kinda weird too," Jazz didn't seem to be hearing Prowl nor seemed to care about your well-being.  "He demanded that every building in Iacon be so tall that the sky will be impossible to see at night because apparently he hates looking at the stars."

    Prowl just stays quiet, watching your reaction to his words. Looking for any hints that would tell him that he is going crazy. That his intuition is playing a joke on him. Because it can't be. Not. It can't.

"Without mentioning he didn't care that the war would make Earth inhabitable for humans."

"Earth?" you look up as breathing becomes difficult, your stomach pulsating as the pain increases. "But this is Cybertron, isn't it?"

"It's the New Cybertron, it used to be called Earth."

"No, no, he wouldn't–" your hands shake. You look around, trying to look for another human being. For any single indication that you are not alone. But there's nothing. The last trail of organic forms are not even human but trees. "What did you do to my home?"

"Your home?" Jazz's faceplate is still close, there is a cocky smile. Even devilish, as if he enjoyed watching you in distress.  "It's ours now."

"Jazz!" Prowl finally pushes him away. He gets closer to you, looking more gentle, and more curious about your being. "What is your name, little one?"

"My name is," you struggle to keep your eyes closed. The pain was too much and your body was beginning to give up. Tired, hungry, just trying to survive."My name is (Y/N)"

    And you slowly close your eyes and drift into slumber. Or that's what Prowl thought as he studies your body, it doesn't look like you were sustaining any injuries However, it seems you were low on energy. Maybe you were right, you did need Energon.

"Contact Nemesis Prime. Immediately."     Prowl says, without looking at Jazz who stood behind him.

"I don't think we should bother him–"

"Now."

    Prowl voice becomes heavy and louder. That's when Jazz knew it was his time to stop playing around.

"As you command."

    Prowl hears Jazz walk away. Meanwhile, his optics are still on you, his processor, playing memories of a conversation he shouldn't have heard of Ratchet talking to himself.

"If you saw Optimus right now, (Y/N), ... Would you still love him?"

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    A beeping sound wakes you up and you wish for everything that's sacred that you have returned to your dimension. That everything was a nightmare. That you are back in the loving servos of Optimus. Your Optimus. Not the one Jazz and  Prowl told you about. You can't fathom it. An Optimus that was capable of doing such things–

"Nemesis Prime will be coming soon."

    You hear a familiar voice and quickly turn your head. There you notice a big figure, white and red. Typing on a data screen, keeping his optics on your vital signs.

"If I were you, I would be ready to answer any questions he might have."

    You let out a heavy sigh, relieved to see a familiar face. But Ratchet looks tired. As if the years have already weighed on him. As he walks towards you, his gears can be heard. His joints do not move as smoothly as he used to. His pace is slower and you get the need to stand up and help him sit down.

"Ratchet–"

    He raises a servo, making a sign to you to stop talking.

Closing his eyes, he doesn't dare to look at you as if your mere presence was painful to him.

"Just ... Where," his voice glitches . "... Where were you?"

    You wanted to say something. Everything that you've been holding these past hours and yet nothing would come out of your lips.

"I ... I am not ... from here," you managed to murmur words that may not be loud enough for him to hear. "It was a mistake–"

"You died!" Ratchet screams and it's the only time you have ever heard him do so. "And you say it's a mistake?"

    Your heart beats faster than your mind can formulate questions, especially about what he just said. His optics show a kind of anger, the kind you never thought would come out of him. Ones that used to be so gentle, kind and now there is nothing but pain.

    The doors of the hangar open.

Revealing bots in arms, stepping aside to leave enough space for him to walk through.

    It looked like Optimus to you.

Yet there was something different about him that made you feel eerie. A tall and strong figure. His known blue and red colors were no longer present. Instead it was just grey and black metal. Yellow, empty, eyes and a battle mask. One that he would not put away.

"Status?"

    He simply asks and Ratchet doesn't look him in the eyes.

"She's organic," Ratchet says, his voice softer, delicate. "At first, I thought she might be a creation of the opposite faction ... But she's carrying a Sparkling."

    You didn't know if anyone else noticed but Optimus servo twitched just a little.

"Does ..." Nemesis struggles and this was the first time in a very long time Ratchet sees Nemesis hesitate. "Does the electromagnetic frequencies match my own?"

"... Affirmative."

    He doesn't move, yet his optics are on you. Studying you, watching your movements. And for a small second. Just for a very, very small moment ... you see his gaze soften.

"Leave us, at once."

    The bots by the door follow orders immediately while Ratchet takes a few more seconds to look at Nemesis. Only to leave, the door automatically closes behind him. Leaving you and a bot that looks like Optimus, alone.

    There is an indescribable silence. As he stands tall and intimidating. He waits for a few seconds before bending half of his body and his faceplate, once again close to you. His optics do not blink as if he was afraid you would disappear if he takes his optics away from you for a second.

    You know he won't harm you, if he wanted to he would have done so a very long time ago. Instead it's as if he is waiting for you to do something.

    But as you move closer, he flinches away.

That doesn't stop you. Reaching out a hand, you slowly make your way to him. This time, more brave, more courageous.

    You touch his battle mask and only after feeling your warmth, he allows himself to close his optics. Baskin and indulging himself in the feeling. And although you couldn't see his entire face, his yellow optics were expressive enough to let you know it's been a while.

A very, very, long time since he felt some sort of kindness.

    Under his bright yellow optics, you feel a cold emitting from him. Running down your spine, your body immediately shivers. The entire room is cold but he is more so.

    He notices this and he immediately puts a digit over his comm-link.

"Jetfire, collect human objects and build a small resting place. Round and soft items take priority."

A few seconds passed until a response was heard from the other side.

"Understood."

    The Prime stopped his previous actions only for his optics to find you once again. He puts a servo next to you and waits. You aren't sure what he wants you to do but you assumed he wanted some sort of interaction.

But you are uncertain.

You were about to reach out a hand. But he moves away. Walking backwards as if he was afraid.

Would he ever say something? Or was he waiting for you to start the conversation?

    But before you could say a word, Nemesis walks out of the medic room, leaving you with more questions than answers.

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A robot named Jetfire escorted you to Prime's private quarters. A building with a strange shape that humanity could have never thought of. Yet beautiful in its own uniqueness.

But the inside was cold and uncomfortable. Sharp edges and things spread out, monochrome colors. When you talked to Optimus about having a home, he often would say he would enjoy soft things. Round things. Small and cozy. Not ... whatever this was.

"Prime will be arriving soon. I suggest you," Jetfire puts you down on a table and looks at you. His optics looks up and down. "Become big."

"...Big?" you asked him, confusion clear in your voice.

"Our size?"

"This is as big as I get."

"Then how did that happen?" Jetfire points at your belly as your put your hands on top of it in an overprotective manner.

" Well um, he Mass-shifted," you simply say, not wanting to go into details. "Do I need to be more specific?"

"He ... Mass-shifted?"

"Isn't that something Cybertronians can do?"

"Yes but doing so is a sign of weakness. Vulnerability ... To think Prime would ever do that," he makes a pause. "And for a human ... It's strange."

    You don't think he has ever seen a human before. But you don't like the judging look on his optics. It's as if he was curious, however, wanting to know more of you but didn't know how to properly ask or if he could.

"... How was he?"

    The question took you by surprise.

"What?"

"How was he ... before all of this?"

    He was asking about Optimus and although the question surprised you, you didn't mind answering.

"Kind,"

    You responded.

His optics became wider and he tilted his head in confusion. He looked as if the words 'kind' and 'optimus' didn't go together. Yet, there was some bewilderment.

"And what else–"

"Jetfire,"

    The doors of the corridor open, announcing a new presence in the room. He is intimidating and Jetfire quickly adverts his optics, not wanting to see his faceplate.

    Everytime Prime speaks he doesn't direct a word to you. This made you impatient as you wanted to say more. You didn't like this place. You wanted to go home and back to Optimus. He must be worried. And Nemesis was your only chance but he didn't seem the type to want to listen to anyone.

"You are dismissed."

    Nemesis walks past him and walks towards you. His servos at the back, making you unable to see them.

"I'll wait for your next command," with that, Jetfire simply makes his way to the metallic sliding doors but as he turns around to leave, he catches a glimpse of Nemesis' back. Leaving him more concerned and surprised than ever.

The doors close.

Leaving you alone with Nemesis and you didn't know what to say. How to start? Should you say that you are not from this dimension? That you want to go home? There's people waiting for you, worried about your well being.

    Yet nothing would come out. Maybe because deep down ... You are scared of him.

And the feeling is so surreal. Nemesis looks exactly like Optimus. But he is not. No matter how much you wished for it to be so.

"Umm, hello?" your mouth quickly goes dry as you notice his optics' expression quickly change as you speak. "My name is (y/n)."

    What a stupid way to start a conversation, you thought. Your mind couldn't understand that the giant robot in front of you was still too stunned by your presence to say a word. The fact that he never took off his battle-mask wasn't helping either.

"I am not from here. It was an accident, a groundbridge explosion and–"

    But before you could explain further, a closed servo reaches out to you. So quickly, so fast that it startled you, making you move back a few steps.

Nemesis moves his other servo behind you, to prevent you from falling and as he feels you once again, he quickly removes that servo back.

    You could hear his vents. Louder and louder as you just look at him. His every action, a mystery to you.

He opens the other servo, and on it, lying on the middle of his palm, is a sunflower.

    It is dying, the petals slowly falling.

"For me?" you ask and he moves his helm up and down in a nodding gesture. You walk towards his servo, make your way up and pick up the flower. But you feel something else. Underneath your feet, Nemesis' servo trembles.

    And you don't need to see his entire faceplate to know what he feels. His optics told you everything.

There's pain. So much of it.

    You wonder of the things he had gone through to have changed this much. You wanted to know it all. Of everything. To listen to him and know his sorrows, to share the burden of his sins.

You make your way down his servo and you are tempted to ask him to mass-shift. So you could hold him properly. Listen to him, give him the care he needs.

But ... It doesn't feel right.

"Thank you, I–"

    But he turns and walks away. Leaving you once again alone and baffled.

Without you noticing, he extended his servo and clutched it one again into a fist, trembling and so strong he thought he might break it. Trying to suppress all his feelings he couldn't tell you just yet.

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Previous>

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/773493337592332288/counting-stars?source=share

Next (Special Chapter) :

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/776307984290725888/counting-stars?source=share

[starsfic]

Friendship Bracelets

This is based off a fun idea by @ldhedgehog, where Sonic and Shadow end up with a quill from each other and can use that to sense each other's emotions.

Fine. He was hedgehog to admit it.

Sonic had a bit of separation anxiety.

He and his parents chalked it up to the sudden loss of Longclaw and the ten years spent alone. Sonic had been so excited for his first day of school, with actual kids his age, but had spent most of the day deep in anxiety. What if being away from him was enough to convince Tom and Maddie that he didn't deserve to live with them? What if something happened to them? What if something happened to them and Sonic was all by himself again-

Sonic spent most of the day clinging to Tom when he got home.

It had gotten better. He had learned that Tom and Maddie were solid in their love for him. They texted each other during points in the day. Tails and Knuckles, once they were enveloped into the Wachowski fold, were also there, steadying him.

And then Shadow had come along and then was suddenly gone. There was still anger at him for hurting Tom, an anger that was only mollified by a bit when Tom admitted that he had spooked Shadow, but there was also grief.

Shadow had complemented him. It was like there was a piece of him missing that Sonic had never realized until he and Shadow were dancing in the stars, miniature shooting stars, and whispering of grief and loss on the moon. He loved Knuckles and Tails, of course, but neither could truly challenge him in speed, not until he met furious red eyes.

He had spent months convinced Shadow was dead.

And then Shadow was back, dragging Rouge the Bat with him and bursting into the scene like something out of an action movie, kicking a Metal Sonic away from Amy.

They hadn't had much time to talk, but Shadow's eyes lit up when they met, and he admitted that he had been grieving Sonic too, his hand tight around his. They weren't miniature shooting stars at the end, but they still could give one hell of an encore to their dance.

Then they had to separate again.

Shadow wasn't safe on Earth, not when GUN was around. Sonic understood, especially when Director Rockwell marched in and started screaming questions a few seconds after they shoved Shadow, Rouge, Amy, and that one robot they apparently stole from GUN through the ring portal. However, the minute they sat down in the truck, ready to head back to Green Hills where Shadow and the others would meet them, Sonic felt tears pricking at his eyes- not the normal tears he usually shed after a battle, but real, frantic tears.

What if he had just been a hallucination? What if something happened to him in the five minutes it took to set up a ring portal? What if something happened to him and Sonic was by himself again-

Panic attacks sucked. That was a fun fact that he learned. Maddie had decided, once he was back to himself, that they were all getting therapy. Nobody protested this.

Especially not Shadow, who spent the rest of the night- because his parents refused to let anyone go hungry, especially after a battle like that- hovering by his side. It took a lot of effort to convince him to let go of Sonic's hand at the end of dinner. Then Sonic had a nightmare in the middle of the night and had summoned a ring portal to Rouge's house, right as Shadow was crawling through his window to apparently check if Sonic was still breathing.

This started a pattern that was rapidly becoming an issue.

So when Maddie said she had a way to possibly help with their separation anxiety, Sonic honestly doubted her.

"It's a thing I noticed," she explained as she worked at the table, the two of them sitting across from her. "Shadow, you had one of Sonic's quills at one point, and you could tell Sonic was alive."

"Yes," Shadow said with a nod. "I think our mutual bond with the Chaos Emeralds may have infused our quills." Nobody mentioned that chaos energy was how Gerald Robotnik had lived way past his prime. The thought of Eggman possibly licking his quill made Sonic want to shiver out of his skin, he did not want to imagine what Shadow thought of his sort-of father figure licking his quill.

"Yeah!" his mom said brightly. "So, I did some research and poked at some of your quills, Sonic." She finished whatever she was doing, revealing two bracelets.

They looked like friendship bracelets, done with red and blue strings. However, when Sonic squinted, he realized that one had a lot more blue. The other had a familiar red tint to it.

"Hedgehog quills are actually hollow, making them flexible," Maddie explained as she held them out to them. "But your two's quills are way more flexible than I expected, more like human hair. I'm guessing that's because you guys aren't actually hedgehogs, but something resembling hedgehogs..." Sonic took the bracelet with more red and slid it on as Shadow slid the blue one on.

He twisted his wrist back and forth, studying the bracelet. It was close-fitting, meaning it wouldn't snag on anything, which was good. Sonic felt a burst of interest in his chest as Shadow's quills caught the light, turning a lighter shade of red.

Then he looked at Shadow, who was studying his own bracelet. The blue looked good on him. He looked nice with blue. He looked nice in general, but right now he looked cutely nice, kinda like a cat with how his ears flicked-

Shadow's ears flicked and Sonic had to resist the urge to squeal.

Shadow's head turned then.

"Did...did you just squeal in your head?" he said, sounding baffled. "I could feel that enough that I could hear it."

...oh. Maybe separation anxiety was better.

[normalaboutmediaa]

I am very satisfied that Miss Huang is literally just A Normal Child who's being exploited. The theories about her being Mark's daughter never made sense to me, I wasn't a big fan of robot or clone for varying reasons. I have been banking all season that she's literally just doing an internship, and would you look at that?? Lumon employs children all the time, they have no qualms sticking 8 year olds in front of chemical vats for ten hours. Of course they'll put a kid on the severed floor, it'll probably deter attacks anyway. Probably.

And what if I told you this happens all the time IRL? When I was a freshman in highschool we had local companies offering various unpaid 'internship' and 'apprenticeship' programs that usually boiled down to being coffee runners or cleaning their offices. The local middle school had a summer job fair where the majority of the 'positions' being offered were volunteer work (therefore unpaid), but the adults would coo and crow about how it was 'giving us work experience' and would look good on college applications or could help us get recommendations for certain jobs or schools in the future. And a lot of kids jumped at these opportunities because they sounded like great ways to get ahead, but they usually ended up just doing unpaid labor with very little appreciation.

I do truly love when the simplest explanation turns out to be the correct one. She's just a kid, kids work all the time even in corporate settings, they just usually don't get paid for it with anything besides 'experience'. Because a kid on the payroll looks bad, but a kid 'doing an apprenticeship' looks like a great way to help them learn responsibility. When it's really just a way to broaden the scope of who you can exploit.

[childrenofcain-if]

Did your school also have that awful baby project where you have to partner up with another student and be “parents” for like a fake robot baby? The one that has sensors in it and it cries in the middle of the night and you have to feed it and carry it around for like two weeks.

I'm imagining if MC and C had to pair up for that project in school. It's a funny mental image of two kids arguing over a fake baby like they're 40 year old divorcees.

Obviously they both want a good grade but they literally won't stop arguing over every stupid thing about the fake baby.

A whole lot of: “You're holding it the wrong way.” “No, YOU'RE holding it the wrong way.” “Why did you have to dress it up in THAT outfit. It looks hideous.” “I thought it was cute! What, are you not happy unless it's wearing formal three piece suit, get over yourself.” “You're supposed to look after it tonight.” “I told you that I'm too busy with practice after school.” “Well that's too bad, we both agreed that Friday is YOUR night to look after the baby. I'll get it back on the weekend.” “But I can't take the baby with me to football practice! Why are you so inconsiderate?" "Great, look it's crying now. That's gotta be your fault.”

Teacher would immediately be so done with them and ready to take off points for “inflicting psychic damage on the baby by means of hostile environment” or some bs 💀

it was supposed to be a simple project—a rite of passage, really. every student had to go through it: the dreaded baby project. the one where you and a partner were tasked with taking care of a robot baby for two weeks, complete with cries in the middle of the night, diapers that needed changing, and a never-ending checklist of parental responsibilities. it was meant to teach you about responsibility, commitment, and empathy, or whatever nonsense the school administration tried to sell it as.

you, on the other hand, had different thoughts. especially when you found out that your partner for this cursed experiment was none other than C Lacroix.

the moment the teacher had paired you two together, you both shot each other the same look of mutual horror. of all the people in your class, of all the potential partners, you were stuck with each other. it was like fate had a sick sense of humor. C, the person who couldn’t go a day without making some snide remark about you, was now supposed to co-parent a fake baby with you? for two whole weeks? this was going to be a nightmare.

“why do we even have to do this?” C muttered under their breath, running a hand through their hair as they eyed the little plastic baby lying in the crib in front of you. “making this project mandatory is ridiculous.”

“you think i’m happy about this?” you shot back, already feeling the tension between you two rising. “you’re not exactly my dream partner either.”

the teacher, mrs. wentworth, stood at the front of the class, giving out instructions as though this were the most serious, real-world task you’d ever face in high school. you had to pick up the baby, name it, dress it, and take care of it as if it were real. the sensors inside the baby would track how well you handled it, including how quickly you responded to its cries, how gently you held it, and whether or not you remembered to change its clothes and diapers.

C crossed their arms, glancing at the little bundle of plastic with thinly veiled disgust. “how are we supposed to pass this if it’s literally rigged to cry at random hours?”

you didn’t bother hiding your frustration as you leaned in closer, keeping your voice low. “well, maybe if you actually try instead of complaining all the time, we could figure it out. just a thought.”

they shot you a glare. “oh, so now you’re an expert on fake babies?”

“better than you, at least,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest.

the two of you stood there in a silent, seething stalemate for a moment, both unwilling to be the first to back down. then mrs. wentworth walked over with an expectant smile, handing you the baby and the care guide that went with it.

“don’t forget,” she said, her voice overly chipper, “this baby is your responsibility. think of it like it’s a real, living child.”

C muttered something under their breath that sounded a lot like kill me now but managed a tight-lipped smile as mrs. wentworth walked away.

and so the nightmare began.

***

the first night was a disaster. the baby—whom you both begrudgingly decided to name “charlie,” after a half-hour debate that nearly escalated into a full-on shouting match—began crying at exactly 2:14 a.m. you were supposed to take care of it that night, but when the piercing wails filled the room, you groaned and instinctively checked your phone. two missed calls from C. the stupid app linked to the baby must’ve been ringing off for them.

“are you kidding me?” you muttered, rolling out of bed and grabbing your phone.

when you called them back, their voice was groggy and clearly annoyed. “why is the baby crying?”

“gee, i don’t know, lacroix, maybe because it’s a robot baby that cries for no reason? it’s literally designed to do this.”

“i thought you were supposed to be taking care of it tonight,” they shot back.

“i am, but it’s just— can’t you hear it over the phone?” you snapped. “it’s like it’s possessed. i’ve tried everything, but it’s not stopping.”

you heard a sigh on the other end, and then a rustling noise. “fine. i’ll come over.”

within fifteen minutes, C was standing in your doorway, wearing a dark green hoodie and gray sweatpants, looking very much like they regretted every life decision that had led them to this moment. they made a beeline for the fake baby, picking it up awkwardly, their movements stiff and unsure.

“you’re holding it the wrong way,” you said immediately, wincing as the baby wailed louder.

they glared at you. “no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are. you have to support its head.”

“i am supporting its head,” they growled through gritted teeth. “this thing’s just broken or something.”

you crossed your arms, trying not to lose your patience entirely. “great, so we’re already terrible parents and it’s only day one.”

C shot you a look of half-exasperation and half-amusement. “well, it’s not like we’re competing for ‘parents of the year,’ are we?”

“oh, trust me, we’re not even good enough to be in the running.”

***

by the end of week one, things had escalated.

“i can’t believe you dressed it in that,” you said, eyeing the baby’s outfit with utter disdain. it was a simple onesie, with little ducks printed all over it, but to you, it was the equivalent of committing some kind of fashion crime.

“what’s wrong with it?” C snapped, not in the mood for another one of your critiques.

“it looks ridiculous. you couldn’t have picked something more… i don’t know, neutral?”

“neutral?” C scoffed, narrowing their eyes at you. “what, were you expecting it to wear a three-piece suit? maybe a little tie and cufflinks? it’ll end up looking like a mini version of your dad.”

“at least it wouldn’t look like a clown.”

C threw their hands up in frustration. “oh my god, it’s a baby. it’s supposed to look cute.”

“that isn’t cute.”

“i thought it was cute!”

“well, it’s not. and now we look like idiots.”

“we?” C let out a sarcastic laugh. “last time i checked, i dressed it while you were too busy pretending to care.”

“i care!” you protested, your voice rising.

“really? because you didn’t seem to care last night when i was the one who had to stay up until 4 a.m.”

you crossed your arms, glaring at C. “i told you i had practice. we agreed that i’d take care of it over the weekend.”

“yeah, well, the baby didn’t get the memo.” C turned to grab the diaper bag, slinging it over their shoulder. “it’s your turn tonight, by the way. don’t be a deadbeat this time.”

“i can’t take it with me to hockey,” you said, your voice flat.

“then figure something out,” C snapped. “i have chess club to attend as well.”

you groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration. “this is impossible.”

“you’re telling me.”

***

come tuesday morning, you were a zombie. dark circles under your eyes, your body aching from both the lack of sleep and the lingering soreness from practice. when you met up with C in the hallway before class, you didn’t bother hiding your exhaustion.

“rough night?” they asked, though there was a smirk playing at the corners of their mouth.

“i hope you choke on your chess pieces,” you muttered, glaring at them.

they raised an eyebrow. “such hostility. it’s not good for our charlie, you know.”

“charlie’s fine. i’m the one who’s falling apart.”

“well, you’re supposed to be a co-parent,” they said, their tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness. “maybe if you actually tried…”

“oh, don’t you dare lecture me about trying,” you snapped. “you’re the one who left me with the baby for three whole days.”

“you’re the one who wanted the weekend slot.”

“it was monday yesterday!”

C opened their mouth to argue, but mrs. wentworth appeared before either of you could get another word in.

“how’s it going with little charlie?” she asked with a smile that was far too cheery for how sleep-deprived you felt.

“great,” C said immediately, flashing a charming smile that was only reserved for faculty members.

you shot them a look that could kill. “‘great?’ really?”

mrs. wentworth raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tension. “is there something you want to add?”

you crossed your arms, biting your tongue. the last thing you needed was a lecture on communication from your teacher. “no, it’s fine. we’re doing… great, yes.”

“fantastic,” she said with a smile. “just remember, it’s important to create a healthy, loving environment for your child.”

as soon as she walked away, you turned to C. “loving environment? you couldn’t even be bothered to show up last night.”

they shrugged, unbothered. “i had chess club after school.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, shaking your head. “i can’t wait for this project to be over.”

***

the arguing reached a fever pitch by the middle of the second week. it seemed like every little thing about the baby was grounds for debate.

“you’re not holding it right,” C said, standing over you as you tried to rock the baby to sleep.

you sighed out in irritation. “oh my god, can you just back off for once?”

“i’m serious, you’re supposed to hold it like this,” they insisted, demonstrating with an exaggerated motion, as if they were some kind of baby-holding expert now.

“you do realize it’s not even real, right? the sensors won’t know the difference.”

“that’s not the point.”

you clenched your jaw, doing your best to ignore them as you continued rocking the baby. it was past midnight, and you were exhausted—more exhausted than you’d ever been in your life. who knew a robot baby could be this draining? C, on the other hand, seemed to be operating on a combination of stubbornness and sheer arrogance, unwilling to back down from any argument.

“why are you so obsessed with doing everything your way?” you muttered under your breath.

“i’m not obsessed, i just don’t want us to fail.”

“oh, please, we’re not going to fail because of how i hold the stupid thing.”

“well, it’s crying now, isn’t it?” they shot back, crossing their arms.

you glared at them. “it’s crying because you won’t shut up.”

C huffed in frustration, running a hand through their hair. “fine. you know what? fine. you handle it. i’m done.”

“who’s the deadbeat now?” you snarked as they started storming off to the corner. they stopped in their tracks when they heard you and, with a barely suppressed groan, stomped back to you.

“back so soon?” you asked in faux surprise before thrusting the baby toward them. “your turn.”

C rolled their eyes, grumbling under their breath as they resigned themself to doing the baby-holding now.

***

by the time the project finally came to an end, you and C were barely on speaking terms. the constant bickering, the sleepless nights, and the stress of trying to keep a fake baby “alive” had taken its toll. you were both exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

when you handed charlie back to mrs. wentworth, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. it was finally over.

“well,” mrs. wentworth said, eyeing the two of you with a bemused expression, “i hope this has been a… productive learning experience.”

“yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “something like that.”

she gave you both a tight smile. “i’ll be docking points for the… tension between you two. i did remind you that it’s important to maintain a healthy environment for your child.”

you and C both opened your mouths to protest, but she held up a hand. “no need to argue. you’ve both done enough of that already.”

as you walked out of the classroom, the weight of the past two weeks hung between you. it wasn’t until you were halfway down the hallway that C turned to you, not meeting your eyes.

“all things considered…” they started, their voice low and reluctant, like they were pulling teeth just to get the words out, “you weren’t that bad of a partner.”

you blinked, turning your head sharply to look at them, unsure if you had heard them correctly. the very same person who had spent the last two weeks criticizing every little thing you did, was actually complimenting you?

“wait, what?” you said, your voice dripping with incredulity. “did you just say something nice to me? are you feeling okay?”

C rolled their eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of their lips. “don’t get too excited. i’m just saying… you didn’t completely screw it up.”

you couldn’t help but let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “wow, high praise coming from you. if this was a real baby, it would probably be dead by now with the way we handled things.”

C chuckled softly, the sound catching you off guard. it wasn’t their usual arrogant laugh, the one that always made you want to punch them. this was different—quieter, more genuine. they shrugged, their shoulders relaxed as they glanced at you.

“yeah, maybe. but…” they hesitated for a second, their pale green eyes flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “i wouldn’t have asked for another partner.”

the words hit you like a slow-motion realization, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite process what they had just said. you stared at them, mouth slightly open, completely taken aback.

before you could ask what them meant, they were already walking off, their long strides taking them down the hallway.

“good luck for your practice,” they tossed over their shoulder, their voice casual, as if they hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

you stood there, frozen in place, your mind racing to make sense of it. what did they mean by that? were they actually being sincere? and why did they say it like it wasn’t a big deal?

the hallway felt suddenly quieter, the distant chatter of other students fading into the background as you tried to wrap your head around what just happened. your heart was pounding a little faster, and you felt an unfamiliar warmth creeping up your neck.

why the hell am i getting flustered over this? you thought, shaking your head as if that would clear the confusion.

you let out a slow breath, your mind replaying C’s words: i wouldn’t have asked for another partner.

why did that make your heart skip a beat? this was C—the same person who had criticized every little thing you did, the one who would normally rather die than give you a compliment. and yet, here you were, feeling oddly flattered and confused.

you were about to turn and head toward the gym lockers to get your hockey gears for practice when you realized your hands were still clenching the care guide from the project. you looked down at it, then back at the direction C had walked off in, their figure now disappearing around a corner.

a small, involuntarily giddy smile crept onto your face.

maybe they weren’t that bad of a partner either.

[revelboo]

Your skyfire story has me in suspense! Ah! I love how gentle he's trying to be with the reader. In my mind all I can think of when reader gains their senses

"How am I alive???"

Anyways have a great day! Also. Please let me know when you update skyfire because he's too kind for this world

He definitely is the gentlest

Floating Down The River Pt 4

Skyfire x Reader

• Servos sliding against you, he feels you snuggle even closer, face pressing against him. And you’re still shivering so hard. “You can’t start a f-fire can you?” You ask him. “Otherwise, I’m going to get hypothermia.” Freezing, he vents softly. Has no idea what that is, but your tone suggests it’s bad. You’re so delicate, can the cold kill you? Can’t risk it when it’s his fault you’re in danger. Cupping his hand against you, he stands. Moving slowly, he gathers branches and dry brush and retreats under the bridge with them. Sitting he focuses and mass displaces. And realizes he should have warned you when you scream.

• Cringing into a ball as everything falls away under you, but you never hit the ground, you almost bite your tongue. Shuddering, you open your eyes to find Skyfire leaning over you, expression concerned. And he’s… smaller. Ish. Still much bigger than any human, but not massive anymore. And your sprawled in his lap. “Sorry about that,” he says, deep voice rumbling through you as he leans forward arms stretched out over you to start arranging the branches he’d picked up into a tidy little pile. “I should have warned you.” Considering the drop has left you nauseated, he really should have. Optics flicking to you and then back to his project, you’re distracted by his face. Only looking away when you realize he did somehow light a fire for you. Thank goodness.

• Helping you up when you flounder to right yourself, he’s unsettled by how his servos can wrap all the way around your upper arm and overlap. While he’s used to being bigger than everyone else, you’re so fragile as to be almost ethereal. Settling yourself in his lap, he awkwardly rests his hands on the ground until you just keep shivering and venting softly, he wraps his arms around you, half afraid of somehow breaking you by accident.

• “Is this okay?” His hand is bigger than both of yours, a fact you confirm by laying both of yours on the back of his and he flips his hand over, catching both of your hands in that one of his. “Are you warm enough you won’t die now?” He asks, sounding so genuinely concerned you smile despite yourself. If it means losing your alien space heater when you’re still soaking wet and chilled? You’re not about to admit you might have been exaggerating. Besides, the part of you that had loved robots and sci-fi as a kid doesn’t want to let the big guy go. It’s only a tiny, white lie.

• “Still too cold,” you say, as he rubs his free hand against your spine. And you do still feel chilled as he tries to curl himself around you. “Can you tell me about your world?” Hesitating because he doesn’t want to describe the dead husk he’d left behind, he instead tells you about a living Cybertron. Of his people before the war had broke out. Of flying in those skies, feeling that ache of loss deep in his spark. Because that life? Flying with his friend in those beautiful skies? He’s afraid that’s gone forever. Isn’t even sure if Starscream survived the war, too afraid to ask the Autobots. Or to try and reach out, to reconnect to Star. Afraid he won’t be the same mech he remembers after so long fighting an unending war even if he is still alive.

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