#I really hesitated to make a happy ending

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗞 - part eight max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ( fluff ) series summary . . . when the lives of an f1 and wec prodigies collide, they find out they find out that they’re not that different and carve out a place for their selves in each others hearts. the commentators from sky sports call this puppy love

( fic master list | general master list ) ( tag list ) ( previous | next )

Max was sitting cross-legged at the end of you’s bed, tugging on one end of a rope while Marshmallow, you spotted Dalmatian, gave it all he had on the other. Marshmallow growled playfully, his teeth gripping the rope as he crouched low, eyes shining with determination. Max was grinning, leaning back slightly to tease the dog by letting the rope slacken, only to give it another quick tug just as Marshmallow tried to make his move.

The game paused when you reappeared from the room service table, balancing two plates. She handed one over to Max, who glanced down to find a plate of kebabs, still steaming and smelling like a mouthwatering mix of spices. He blinked, caught off guard. He’d mentioned in a TikTok interview once that he loved kebabs, but he couldn’t remember telling you about it. She couldn’t have known . . . right?

You sat on the bed beside him, nibbling on your own food and looking entirely unbothered by the thought that you might’ve just exposed yourself. Marshmallow, on the other hand, was absolutely determined to ruin the peace, inching up next to you and giving you the most heart-melting stare as he eyed your kebab. She chuckled, shooing him off with your fork. “You already ate, mister.”

Meanwhile, Max was twirling his fork, glancing between the plate and you, and mustering up the courage to ask something that had been weighing on him. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. “So . . . what’s your mom like?”

You paused mid-bite, looking at him with a mix of surprise and confusion. She’d never really been asked that before. It was then, as you were processing the question, that Marshmallow seized his chance. With a swift, triumphant chomp, he snagged a piece of kebab off your fork and trotted proudly over to Max’s side, plopping down as if Max had been his partner in crime.

You huffed, laughing softly as you watched your dog munch away before turning your gaze back to Max. “Well . . . I wouldn’t really know,” you started, your voice carrying an edge of practised nonchalance. “My mom was young, barely eighteen when I was born. I guess you just weren’t ready to handle it, so . . . you didn’t.” you tried to brush it off with a shrug, focusing on the flickering TV screen instead. “It didn’t really matter, though. My dad was always there, and I had Fernando, Carlos, Jenson . . . I grew up surrounded by people who cared. I was happy.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, each taking bites from their plates, and for once, Marshmallow seemed satisfied as he sat curled up by Max’s feet, licking his chops. you glanced back at Max, curiosity pricking at her. “Why’d you ask?”

Max hesitated. He didn’t want to admit he’d overheard Carlos mention it to Lando; he didn’t want to make you feel awkward. So he simply shrugged, offering you a gentle smile. “I know your dad pretty well, but your mom? Not so much. I get it, though,” he added softly, his gaze dropping to his plate. “In a way . . . I think we’re kind of similar. We both had parents who—weren’t really there in the way we needed.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt a surprising warmth bloom in your chest. She gave him a small, appreciative smile, inching a little closer until you could lean your head against his shoulder. You watched TV in silence, the show barely registering as you both sat in a quiet, shared understanding.

You ate in easy companionship until you suddenly remembered your conversation with Lando from earlier. You sat up, your eyes bright, catching Max mid-bite.

Max blinked, pausing as he chewed, his fork halfway to his mouth. “What’s up?”

She bit your lip, and without thinking twice, you asked, “Can I kiss you again?”

Max nearly choked on his kebab, swallowing quickly. “Uh, my mouth’s full of kebab, but . . .” He grinned, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “Sure. Please.”

He leaned in, giving you a quick, playful peck as you giggled, and for the first time, Max felt like he could happily sit here, lost in your laughter, for as long as you’d let him.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Is that guy serious?” you groaned, easing off the throttle as the black Alpine in front of you sluggishly took the corner, red lights flashing, his car creeping around the track like it had all the time in the world. You abandoned your fast lap, grip tightening around the wheel as frustration boiled over. “Is he fucking—who is it? Who’s number 31?”

“That was Ocon—”

“Ocon?” you cut off your engineer, voice sharp and incredulous. “Really? Is he serious with me right now? Again?” You sped past the Alpine, flipping the driver off as you zoomed down the straight, jaw clenched so hard you swore you could feel it in your temples.

Your radio crackled back. “That’s P15 for tomorrow, Yn. P15.”

“Great,” you shouted, sarcasm seething through your voice as you pushed the car into the pits. Every turn, every acceleration suddenly felt meaningless. You were stuck now. “That’s it? I’m done?”

“Yes, confirm. That is P16 for tomorrow.”

“Fucking hell.” The words hissed out before you could stop them, anger rushing like adrenaline in your veins. The second you pulled into the pits, you pulled your helmet off, ripping it free of the wires, and hopped out. As you strode over to your team, you could feel the weight of that disappointment pressing down, hard and relentless. Ocon’s little maneuver had cost you everything you’d worked for in qualifying, and now you were looking at a dismal starting position because he decided to mess around.

As you hit the weigh station, getting through the post-session formalities, you felt the simmering anger twist into something even sharper. And what made it worse was everyone around you treating you like a ticking time bomb that they needed to defuse. “Just calm down, Yn, it’s all right,” someone coaxed, a hand patting your shoulder gently. “Deep breath, all right?”

It took every ounce of self-control not to scream. You didn’t need their calm words, didn’t need to be handled like you were on the verge of a meltdown. They didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t okay, that losing your lap to an unnecessary block wasn’t something you could just brush off.

In the end, Ocon had done exactly what he wanted, securing his teammate’s spot in Q3 while shoving you down the grid. You could feel your fists clenching, the need to release all this pent-up frustration itching under your skin. Your PC stayed glued to your side as you made your way toward the briefing room, but your mind was still racing, stuck on that Alpine. If you saw Esteban after the debrief, he’d better have his helmet on—because right now, every thought you had involved giving him a piece of your mind and then some.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

direct messenges: Max + YN

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘Finally’, Charles thought as he leaned his folded arms on the back of your sim chair, watching you do a few laps on the circuit. You smiled a little when he unconsciously commented on what you should do differently, glancing up at him. “I think I know what I’m doing, Leclerc.” You joke, turning off the sim and scribbling your quiet time somewhere.

“But this is the first time you’ve driven here since 2017.” He reminds you, smiling down at you as you stand up. “I’ve also won here a few years ago.” If it was up to Charles, he’d let himself get lost in your eyes and melt at the sound of your sarcastic laugh, or the way you patted his chest before walking out. His eyes followed you as you regrouped with Carlos’ PR to prepare for the media pen, overhearing how your goal for tomorrow would be gaining points for the team, the same words you’ve said last weekend.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The start of the race had been a chaotic mess, with red flags and yellow flags throwing half the field off their game. But for you? It was a godsend. Each restart and caution felt like another opening, and you seized every one with a focus sharper than any you’d felt in weeks. Bit by bit, you clawed your way through the pack, pushing the limits of your car, finding every possible inch of track space until you found yourself in P2, just one position away from Max. And from there, the real chase began.

For the next grueling stretch, you stayed glued to his tail, pushing him to his absolute limit. You could almost imagine him there, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, knowing that one slight slip would cost him the lead. You were pushing him so hard, it felt like a game of chess at breakneck speeds—one where every maneuver, every millisecond counted.

Your engineer buzzed into your ear. “You’re gaining, Yn. Keep the pressure.”

“Copy,” you muttered, eyes locked on Max’s car just meters ahead. He was fast, but you had DRS in your back pocket, an advantage you let linger, savoring the chase. You didn’t need to pass him yet; you just needed to keep him pushing harder, faster, to build that gap. And it was working. The two of you were so far ahead of the rest of the field now that it felt like your own private battle.

Each time the DRS opened, you felt the adrenaline kick harder. You could pass him whenever you wanted, but where was the fun in that? You’d wait until the moment was perfect. Finally, with Logan Sargeant’s car ahead, you knew it was time. You opened DRS, overtaking Max with precision, your car slicing past his like it was second nature. Your heart surged as you glanced at him in the mirror, the split-second look of determination in his eyes making you grin.

Now in the lead, you latched onto Logan, using his DRS to bolt ahead and create an impossible distance for Max to overcome. Each corner, each stretch, you could feel the power surging through you, knowing you’d not only taken the lead but had crafted a strategy that made it near impossible for him to catch you. Logan played his part well, too; after you overtook him, he got DRS off you, towing along behind you as you both surged forward. Watching Logan gain positions behind you almost felt like poetic justice.

It wasn’t until you reached the back markers that you glanced in your rearview mirror, expecting Max’s car to be right there, as relentless as he always was. But he wasn’t there.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The crowd was roaring, a deafening symphony of cheers and applause, but you were hardly aware of anything except the pounding of your own heart. You stood on top of your car in Parc Fermé, fists raised to the sky, just like your dad used to after each of his wins. The moment felt surreal, as if it wasn’t just yours but his too, echoing through time. Closing your eyes, you could almost hear his voice, proud and booming, “You did it, kiddo.”

When you finally hopped down, the first person you spotted was Fernando. Without thinking, you sprinted toward him, leaping into his arms, your heart bursting with the joy of the moment. His hands pressed into your back, holding you close as his voice broke, thick with emotion. “I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you!” The warmth of his embrace wrapped around you like a protective shield.

Pulling back, you caught the glisten of unshed tears in his eyes. His expression said everything his words couldn’t—this victory was more than a trophy; it was a piece of the past you’d resurrected. You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of joy and bittersweet nostalgia bubbling up inside you. “I felt him with me out there, you know?” you confessed, your voice soft.

As you reveled in the moment, somewhere in the crowd, Max was trying to make his way to you. His eyes darted through the throng, heart racing at the thought of celebrating your win together. He clutched a hair tie in his hand, a little memento from last night—a way to keep your hair back amid the whirlwind of the podium. But before he could reach you, a firm grip yanked him back by his shirt. Carlos stood there, his expression a silent warning that conveyed, Not now. Max froze, understanding the message, but the urge to congratulate you burned stronger than ever.

You were blissfully unaware of the tension, moving on to greet Susie Wolff, who pulled you in for a warm embrace. “Thank you, Yn,” she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve shown that it’s possible. We always knew it was, but now everyone else knows it too.” Her words settled deep within you, pride blooming like a flower in spring, the weight of her admiration lifting your spirits even higher.

Next came the Sainzes—Carlos Sr. wrapped you in a bear hug, his smile radiant, soon joined by Carlos Jr. and Fernando, pulling you into a warm, all-Spaniard embrace. Their laughter mingled with your own, a shared joy that felt like family. “You’re a legend now, Yn!” Carlos Jr. declared, beaming. “Next, we’ll need to build a statue!”

When it was time for your post-race interview, you spotted Jenson waiting with a grin, microphone in hand. But before he could say a word, you charged forward and threw your arms around him. He laughed in surprise, the warmth of your embrace catching him off guard. “Didn’t… didn’t expect that!” he exclaimed, patting your back awkwardly. Pulling back, you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes, and for a moment, the nerves and adrenaline of the race melted into pure joy. “You really stole the show today, didn’t you?”

Finally, you climbed onto the podium, greeted by the deafening cheers of the crowd below. Mark Webber handed you the trophy, his eyes twinkling with pride. You hugged him tightly in thanks, feeling the warmth of his support. Taking a deep breath, you held the trophy close, leaning in to spit on it before kissing it, a ritual honoring your dad. As you lifted it high, tears pricked your eyes, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. This victory was yours, but it was his too, and you wished he were here to see it.

Before you could gather your thoughts, a jet of icy champagne hit your shoulder, and you yelped, spinning around to see Lando grinning mischievously, the bottle in hand. Laughter bubbled out of you as you grabbed a nearby bottle, spraying him back with equal enthusiasm. “You’re going to pay for that!” you shouted, both of you drenched in the celebratory chaos.

Once the festivities quieted, you sat down on the edge of the podium, the trophy still cradled in your arms, letting the crowd’s cheers fade to a distant hum. The reality of it all was slowly settling in, the magnitude of what you’d achieved filling every corner of your mind like a warm glow.

Then you felt a presence beside you. Charles plopped down on one side, ruffling your hair with a proud grin. “Look at you, superstar,” he said, unable to hide his admiration. On your other side, Lando joined you, patting your back. “I knew you could do it! The legend of Yn Ln begins now!” The three of you sat there in comfortable silence, gazing out at the sea of fans, feeling the victory settle into your bones, the warmth of friendship and accomplishment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

“Have you guys heard from Max?”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the superyacht as the drivers celebrated the Australian Grand Prix victory. Laughter and music floated across the water, mingling with the soft sounds of waves lapping against the hull. You arrived fashionably late, the buzz of excitement already palpable in the air. As you stepped aboard, the chatter momentarily faded, and all eyes turned to you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Australian GP winner!” Lando’s voice rang out, booming over the crowd like a proud announcement. Cheers erupted, a chorus of claps and whoops filling the air, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you raised your trophy high above your head, the gleam of victory shining in your eyes.

“Thank you, thank you!” you called out playfully, the thrill of the moment making your heart race. The warmth of the celebration enveloped you, and as you mingled with your friends, you noticed Lando leaning against the railing, a playful scowl on his face. He shot you a stink eye, as if to say How dare you win before me?

With a grin, you sauntered over, wrapping your arms around him. “What’s wrong, Lando? Jealous?” you teased, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, your lips brushing against his skin. He feigned annoyance, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.

“Just surprised you didn’t trip over your own trophy on the way here,” he shot back, but the light in his eyes betrayed him. You giggled and hugged him tighter, savouring the moment before excusing yourself. “I need to find Max,” you said, waving as you slipped away from the group.

Navigating through the crowd, you spotted Max in a quiet corner, leaning against the wall with that familiar, soft smile. As you approached, his eyes lit up, warmth radiating from him like a cozy fire. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Hey, you,” you greeted, your voice a whisper amidst the sounds of the party.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, his eyes glinting with admiration. He reached up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You were amazing out there today.”

“Congratulations, Yn,” he murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His honey-brown eyes softened as he looked at you, and you felt a flutter in your chest at the intensity of his gaze. It was as if the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “It means a lot coming from you.” You could see the pride written all over his face, and it filled you with a sense of warmth.

He reached up, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and your breath caught for a moment. “You look amazing up there. Like a true champion,” he said softly. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he added, “Not that I’m surprised or anything.”

“Did you have fun out there?” he asked after a moment, his voice low and soft, filled with genuine interest. You could feel his warmth radiating through you, those honey feeling blue eyes melting any lingering stress.

“More than I ever expected,” you replied, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. You couldn’t help but admire how the moonlight caught his features, making his smile even more captivating.

In a moment of tenderness, he gently lifted a stray lock of hair from your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Then, with the hair tie he had saved from earlier—more like stole from your room from when you two had dinner together—he deftly gathered your hair into a loose ponytail. “There,” he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. “Now you’re ready to celebrate.”

You chuckled, warmth flooding your cheeks. “You’re the best, Max.” Your eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you in your own little universe. The noise of the party felt like a distant echo, the laughter and music muted by the magic of the moment.

“You know where the Red Bull fridge is?” You ask, taking his hand and pulling him to the rest of the party.

“You are an addict.” Max laughed as he followed along.

As the celebration continued, the music pulsed in the background, but you found a cozy corner on the yacht, curling up on a plush couch with your trophy nestled against your chest. You were half-awake, a blissful haze of exhilaration and a few too many drinks swirling in your mind. The trophy felt heavy yet comforting, a tangible reminder of your victory and the legacy behind it.

Max wandered through the yacht, searching for you among the revelers. Spotting your familiar figure sprawled out on the couch, a gentle smile spread across his face. He quietly made his way over, sitting beside you, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. His fingers instinctively reached out, brushing through your hair with a tender, soothing motion.

You stirred slightly at his touch, eyes fluttering open to find him gazing down at you with a soft, affectionate expression. “Hey,” he said quietly, as if afraid to break the tranquility of the moment. “What are you doing down here all alone?”

“Mmm . . . just reminiscing,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleepiness. “It’s just . . everything feels so unreal.” You shifted slightly, hugging the trophy tighter as a sleepy smile spread across your face. “I was thinking about my dad.”

Max’s heart softened at the mention of your father. “What about him?”

You took a deep breath, the memories flooding back, sparkling with nostalgia. “You know how the Australian GP was always our favorite? We used to come here every year.” A giggle escaped your lips, your mind drifting back to sun-soaked days. “He would always say, ‘This is where legends are made, Yn!’ and I would dream about being on that podium one day.”

Max listened intently, his fingers still weaving through your hair, his gaze locked onto your face as you spoke. “We’d spend the whole week surfing, chasing the waves. He’d push me to go bigger, to not be afraid. I can still hear him cheering for me, ‘Go on, my little champion!’” Your eyes sparkled with fondness, but there was a hint of sadness that Max caught.

“Did you surf today?” he asked gently, wanting to keep the conversation flowing, to draw you deeper into those cherished memories.

You shook your head slowly. “Nah, I didn’t. Too busy racing, I guess.” A small laugh escaped you. “But it doesn’t matter. I feel like I brought a piece of him with me today. Winning here... it’s like I finally made it happen. I know he’s proud.”

Max’s heart swelled as he absorbed your words. “He is, Yn. You did something incredible today. I could see it in your eyes out there.” He brushed a thumb against your cheek, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve honored his legacy.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “Thanks, Max. I really needed this. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

In that quiet moment, as you shared your memories, a profound connection blossomed between you two, weaving your past into the present. Max leaned a little closer, whispering softly, “I’ll always be here to remind you of how amazing you are. You’re more than just a champion—you’re a force.”

With a sleepy smile, you closed your eyes again, allowing yourself to drift off once more, comforted by his presence. The gentle rhythm of his fingers in your hair lulled you into a peaceful state, the chaos of the party fading into the background as you felt safe, cherished, and deeply understood.

[lunaa-runee]

Stolen Moments

CW: oral (f receive), creampie, porn with a little plot, afab reader, mentions of murder, Gojo in love, secret romance, kinda getting caught

wc: 1.7k

Minors DNI.

“Hey there, love,” Satoru Gojo’s smooth voice greeted you as he crouched outside your second-floor window. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the lanky, white-haired man with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

To set aside the book you were reading, you asked him. He quickly pulled you into his embrace, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear. The familiar scent of his cologne filled your senses as he whispered, “Did my girl miss me?”

Satoru Gojo was a man of many facets. He was destined to lead the powerful Gojo clan, held the title of the strongest sorcerer in modern times, and was the man you loved with all your heart. However, fate had different plans for both of you, placing you in families on the verge of war.

Your forbidden romance had begun three years earlier when your eyes first met at a sister school event. It was love at first sight for both of you, and since then, your passion for each other has only grown stronger. You couldn’t imagine life without him as you looked into those captivating blue eyes.

Initially, you were hesitant about Satoru’s advances. The thought of a relationship with a Gojo, especially the future clan head, felt daunting and fraught with potential challenges. You worried about the potentially deadly consequences. Yet, Satoru’s unwavering determination shone through. He genuinely believed that you were worth any risk.

And eventually, you gave in.

“Satoru, what are you doing here? You promised me you wouldn’t come here anymore,” you whispered as Satoru’s lips trailed delicate kisses along your neck.

His lips grazed your neck, sending a shiver through you. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

You tried to push him away, knowing all too well the consequences of succumbing to your desires. “You’re going to leave a mark,” you moaned.

“Good,” Satoru growled, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Satoru,” you warned. “You know we can’t.”

But he ignored your protests, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he held you tightly. “Let me put an end to this them,” he pleaded. “I’m tired of hiding. Let me take out those old bastards so we can be together.”

“Satoru,” you whispered, feeling torn. “We can’t just-”

“Why not?” He stepped back, frustration etched onto his features as he gazed intently at you. “Why do we have to suffer because of some bullshit that happened hundreds of years ago?”

You sneered, lowering your voice as you spoke. “Are you trying to let everyone know you’re here?”

“I don’t care at this point,” he huffed, his shoulders slumping as he averted his gaze. “I’m tired of sneaking around to see you,” he confessed. “We deserve to be happy, to be together. I’m sick of these old bastards dictating our lives and trying to make us hate each other because of something that has nothing to do with us.”

Guilt washed over you, knowing deep down that he was right. But could you really ask the man you loved to commit murder? Satoru was feared and revered in Jujutsu Society for his immense power, but to use it for your benefit?

“I love you, Satoru. With all my heart,” you declared, nervously rubbing your arm. “But I can’t ask you to do something like that.”

He met your gaze, searching your eyes with intensity. Stepping closer, he cupped your face gently in his hands and whispered without breaking eye contact, “You don’t have to ask.”

And with that, Satoru pressed his lips fervently against yours, igniting a flame of desire between you. In a frenzy, your hands roamed wildly over each other’s bodies, and every touch set your skin ablaze.

Satoru guided you backward until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. With a gentle push, he lowered you onto the plush mattress beneath you.

His crystal-clear eyes glimmered with desire as he took in your disheveled and naked form. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, gazing at you possessively. “And you’re all mine.”

He drops to his knees, gently guiding your legs apart and resting them over his broad shoulders. Your body trembles in anticipation as he brushes his calloused fingers against your sensitive folds, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he growls.

Leaning forward, his skilled tongue teases and explores every inch of your heat, building intense pressure in your abdomen. Your hands instinctively grip Satoru’s hair, urging him on with desperate moans. He watches you with dark eyes filled with desire and hunger.

He inserts two fingers in your core, and he begins to pump them at a steady pace. At the same time, his mouth attaches itself to your now swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. “Fuck,” you moan out breathlessly. Satoru shows no mercy as he works harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers expertly curl and twist inside of you while his tongue flicks and swirls against your most sensitive bud.

Your entire body tenses as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax. The sensations are almost overwhelming, and your moans become louder. “Shit, Satoru.”

He removes his lips from your throbbing heat, revealing a mischievous smile. “You better not be too loud. We wouldn’t want one of your father’s men to hear us now, would we?”

Despite his warning, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to contain your sounds of pleasure. And Satoru’s relentless pace only adds fuel to the fire. As you’re about to lose all control, he suddenly retracts his fingers. “No,” you whimper. “Please, I was so close.”

“I can’t let you finish yet,” he says, climbing on top of you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand. “But don’t worry, you’ll cum before I’m done with you.”

You’re not sure when it happened, but at some point, Satoru has entirely stripped down. You feel his tip teasing against your slick folds as he uses his hands to glide it up and down, enjoying the power he holds over you. But you were desperate at this point. “Stop teasing,” you whine.

“Oh? What does my girl want?” he teases.

You want nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off his face. “Please don’t make me beg,” you plead.

“Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it,” Satoru taunts, pulling away from your eager body.

You bite your lip in frustration as he takes the pressure of his girth away from your heat. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s worse: the loss of stimulation or his teasing touch. You try to bring your knees together, seeking some sort of friction, but Satoru doesn’t allow it. “Satoru,” you beg breathlessly. “Please…”

His eyebrow raises in fake curiosity as he continues to torture you with his words and actions. He brings a hand up to your chest, then gently glides it towards your core. “What is it? What does my baby want?”

Your mind is consumed with desire and need for this man who is determined to drive you to madness. With closed eyes, struggling to maintain control, you whisper desperately, “I want you.”

A smug smile spreads across Satoru’s lips as he hears your confession.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he remarks playfully. “Maybe you should say it a little louder…”

“Satoru,” your voice exploded with desire. “I need you. I need to feel you inside me.”

A sly grin spread across Satoru’s face, pleased with your desperate plea. He wasted no time in realigning himself and filling you with his cock.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your walls eagerly welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his size. The sensation warmed your body, making every nerve tingle with pleasure. Your mind went blank as he began to move, each thrust igniting a fire within you that grew more intense with each passing moment.

Satoru lowered himself to meet your lips in a passionate kiss, the sound of his moans mixing with yours. The feeling of his body against yours was electric, every touch sending you closer to your peak.

He breaks away from your embrace with unexpected force to flip you onto all fours. He enters you once more; the intensity is almost overwhelming, but you can’t help but desire even more.

One hand gripped your hip tightly while the other snaked up to cup your breast, causing a surge of desire to course through you. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as Satoru’s rhythm became almost unbelievable.

With a guttural cry, you called out his name, begging for him to take you harder. Satoru chuckled lowly, his hand covering your mouth to stifle further outbursts. “Careful now,” he teased, “we don’t want to wake up the whole place.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position. A mischievous glint appeared in Satoru’s eyes as he felt your cunt tighten from his words. This will be something he will have to remember for later.

Satoru let go of your hip, instead wrapping his hand in your throat, pulling your back into his chest. His ragged breaths brushed against your neck as he continued to push inside you with solid and deep thrusts. The intensity of his touch and the overwhelming pleasure bring you closer to the edge. You clung onto his arm, your nails digging into his skin as he kept moving within you.

You bit into your lip, trying to muffle your cries as tears began to stream down your face. Your body trembled, and your mind felt foggy as you desperately begged Satoru to continue.

Satoru released his hold, causing you to fall into the pillow. Not even bothering to try and catch yourself. He moved his hand to your swollen clit, sending you over the edge.

You clutched your pillow, burying your face to muffle your cries. “Oh fuck, I’m coming.”

You were overwhelmed by an intense feeling that made you tremble and writhe uncontrollably. Satoru kept up his relentless pace as your pussy squeezed his cock. “Shit,” he gasped as he came, filling your sticky walls with white hot cum. He collapsed on top of you but quickly caught himself before crushing you under his weight.

The room was filled with your heavy breathing, Satoru’s lips grazing your shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Your stomach dropped as someone knocked on your door and called out your name. It was one of the butlers. “Is everything okay? We heard a scream from downstairs.”

Shit.

[simplygojo]

The Devi He Made Me - Ch. 11

Authors Note: HAPPY END OF KINKTOBER!!! I am so happy to be back to my regular schedule, when i say that it drained me...omg...anywayysss, new chapter of TDHMM-yippie-Shit is starting to get serioussss. I hope you love it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After another excruciatingly painful nightmare, Gojo takes y/n to go see if Shoko might be able to identify just who she keeps seeing in her teams, and finally put an end to this all. However, after an unexpected surprise, things go downhill, as they all realize how serious y/n's situation really is...

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst, mention of death, minor creepy vibes

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi ; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Morning light seeped into your room, pale and muted, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to every surface. 

You hadn’t slept much; fragments of last night’s conversation between Gojo and Nanami still rang in your ears. 

One thing he said really stuck in your mind; ‘no matter how much I try to shove my feelings aside; they keep finding their way back to her. She’s in my head—she’s everywhere I look…’ 

It had been raw, so unlike his typical unbreakable confidence, and it twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

A knock interrupted your thoughts, soft but steady, and you knew right away it was him. Gojo’s hand had a careful rhythm, one that was somehow both reassuring and nerve-wracking.

“Y/n?” His voice was gentle, a murmur through the door. “Can I come in?”

You swallowed, straightening a little as you called out, “Yeah, sure.”

He stepped in, the door creaking softly behind him. Gojo’s usual easygoing expression was gone, replaced with a serious, almost guarded look. 

He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning your face as if searching for signs of the sleepless night you’d had. 

His shoulders were more tense than usual, his mouth pressed into a thin line. You could feel the energy in the room change, thick and palpable, a strange tension hanging between you.

After a moment’s hesitation, he moved to sit at the edge of your bed, close enough that you could feel his warmth but just far enough to keep the distance between you painfully obvious. 

His hand rested on his knee, fingers flexing, then curling tightly as if to keep himself from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but his eyes held a flicker of caution.

“I talked to Shoko,” he said, each word careful, his gaze not quite meeting yours at first. 

“About your nightmares and the memories you’ve been seeing. She thinks we might be able to take a look.” 

His eyes finally lifted, holding yours, an unreadable intensity making your pulse skip. 

“She set up some tests using cursed energy to amplify the memories stored in your brain. It’ll be… intense, but it could help us understand what’s going on with you.”

Your breath caught, hope and uncertainty tangling inside you. “You think it’ll work?”

Gojo nodded slowly, his face softening with a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

“If anyone can pull it off, it’s Shoko. But—” he hesitated, then leaned in just a fraction, his gaze narrowing slightly as he searched your eyes. 

“It won’t be easy. These memories… they’re tied to something powerful, something you might not fully understand yet. And depending on what we find…” 

He trailed off, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his knee, as though weighing something heavy. 

“Depending on what we see, things might change. You have to be sure you’re ready for this.”

The air between you seemed to thicken, his words sinking in. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his face, an unspoken warning. 

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by ‘things might change,’ but the intensity of his gaze left no room for doubt about the seriousness of this choice.

After a beat, you took a steadying breath, a resolve building inside you. 

The nightmares had been clawing at you for weeks, pulling you into glimpses of darkness and confusion. If this was a way to finally understand it, even if it meant facing something dangerous, you knew you had to try.

“I’m ready,” you said softly, your voice steady.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though a shadow of that worry lingered in his eyes. 

“Didn’t think you’d say anything else,” he replied, a faint, bittersweet smirk tugging at his lips. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before finally coming to rest on your shoulder. 

His touch was warm and grounding, his thumb barely brushing the fabric of your shirt as if he were testing the weight of the contact.

“Let’s figure this out,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something he couldn’t quite keep hidden. 

His fingers lingered on your shoulder a beat too long, his eyes still locked with yours. 

Then, reluctantly, he let his hand slip away, his fingers brushing against your arm as he withdrew. 

You could still feel the warmth of his hand, a lingering reminder of his presence, leaving your skin buzzing.

Whatever was hidden in those memories, whatever awaited you in Shoko’s tests—you were about to find out. And with Gojo by your side, even the fear seemed a little more bearable.

—

As you and Gojo make your way through the quiet hallways toward Shoko’s clinic, an uneasy silence stretches between you. 

He walks just a half-step ahead, his usual swagger subdued. Every now and then, he glances your way, his hand moving as if he might reach out, only to let it fall back to his side. 

Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what you’re about to face pressing down on both of you.

Finally, you break the silence, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I am a little scared, you know?”

Gojo stops for a second, turning to look at you with an expression caught between surprise and something deeper, almost pained. 

His usual mask of confidence falters, and for a moment, his eyes soften. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. 

It’s like he’s struggling with some inner battle, something that holds him back.

“I get it,” he says quietly, looking away. 

“This isn’t… easy.” He laughs softly, almost to himself, but it lacks his usual ease. 

“I mean, facing this stuff—anyone would feel the same.” He pauses, his eyes flickering back to you, as if he’s waiting for you to believe him. 

You can tell he wants to say more, something that seems to gnaw at him, but he just runs a hand through his hair, glancing away.

Nanami’s words echo in his mind: Sometimes, she just needs to know she’s not alone. You need to decide if you’re going to tell her how you feel, or risk losing her in the silence.

Gojo clears his throat, as if pushing the thought aside, and starts walking again, slower this time as you matched his pace. 

He can feel your gaze on him, and it makes his heart race with something he’s not used to. 

When he risks another glance, you’ve got that look in your eyes—the same one that’s haunted him for days, making him wonder if this silence between you was worth the risk.

—

When the two of you finally reach Shoko’s clinic, she’s already setting up the equipment. 

The faint hum of machines fills the room, a steady reminder of the unknown you’re about to face. Shoko greets you with a reassuring smile as she adjusts the settings on a peculiar-looking machine connected to a nearby screen.

“Y/n,” she says, giving your arm a gentle squeeze, “this machine will help focus my cursed energy into the memories stored in your brain. Hopefully, it’ll amplify the images enough for us to see what you’ve been experiencing in those nightmares. But I have to warn you—this might be intense.”

You nod, trying to appear braver than you feel, but Gojo notices the slight tremor in your hand as you settle into the chair. 

He watches as Shoko starts to attach small sensors to your temples and wrists, her movements calm and practiced.

To distract yourself, you make a little small talk. “So… this isn’t a normal part of your daily routine, huh?”

Shoko chuckles softly. “Nope. But I’ll admit, it’s a little exciting,” she says, glancing at Gojo with a smirk. 

“He’s been pushing for us to try something like this for a while now. Always so determined.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, his usual cocky grin making a brief appearance. 

“Can’t blame me for being proactive,” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual bite, and his gaze remains fixed on you, the hint of worry still there.

With the machine finally set up, Shoko gives you a final reassuring nod. 

“Okay, y/n. Just relax and try to let the memories flow. Focus on whatever images you remember seeing in your dreams, even if they’re fragmented. Let’s see what comes through.”

You take a deep breath, heart pounding, and close your eyes, reaching into the swirling depths of your mind. 

Shoko’s cursed energy pulses gently, a warm yet unfamiliar presence threading into your consciousness, guiding you back to the shadows of your nightmares.

The screen behind you flickers to life, a hazy swirl of shapes and colours forming, but nothing solid enough to grasp. 

Blurred images flash—dark forests, twisted silhouettes, flashes of light and shadow—like fleeting glimpses of something lurking in the back of your mind.

“Come on, y/n,” Shoko encourages gently, her voice grounding you. “Try to focus on the details. Anything you can remember.”

You try harder, diving deeper into the fragmented memories. Each attempt only brings flashes—a featureless face you can’t quite place, a feeling of searing pain, as though something is clawing its way out of you. 

But just as you think you’re close, it slips away, the images blurring and scattering into darkness.

The struggle shows on your face, and Gojo can’t stand the look of frustration and pain that crosses your features. 

He shifts closer, his hand reaching out instinctively before he stops himself, hesitating. His jaw tightens, torn between his instinct to protect you and the words he can’t seem to bring himself to say.

He clears his throat, voice soft but steady.

“Take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.” His words are gentle, a quiet contrast to his usual conduct, and you can feel the sincerity behind them.

But even his voice couldn’t cut through the storm in your mind. 

The memories remain distant, elusive, slipping through your grasp like smoke. 

The frustration is overwhelming, each attempt to hold onto the fragments feeling like trying to capture water with bare hands. 

You’re ready to give up, to surrender to the aching fog that clouds every detail—but then, something shifts.

A sharp, searing pain strikes deep in your mind, like a knife twisting through the haze. Your breath catches, and suddenly, everything clears for a brief, terrible moment.

An image crystallizes on the screen behind you, vivid and horrifying.

A man—tall, with long jet-black hair cascading over his shoulders, dressed in dark purple robes that seem to shift in the shadows. 

His face is twisted into a sinister smile that chills you to your core. 

But it’s his eyes that hold you captive, cold and calculating, as though he’s staring straight through you, mocking you. 

And there’s something else—a line of stitches that runs across his forehead, as though he’s been sewn together, piece by piece, into something monstrous.

It’s a face you know you’ve seen before, lurking at the edges of your mind, hidden in the shadows of your nightmares.

The name slashes through your thoughts, clear and undeniable.

You gasp, your whole body tensing with the shock of recognition, and the image on the screen flickers, distorting with static. 

But it lingers, hanging in the air like a ghostly imprint before it vanishes completely, leaving only a dark emptiness on the screen.

Shoko’s eyes widened, and a sharp gasp slipped past her lips, her usually calm demeanour cracking as she processed what she had just seen. 

“That… that was Geto, wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Gojo’s reaction is immediate. His face drained of colour, and for a second, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. 

His usual confidence is nowhere to be found, replaced with a raw, unguarded shock that he quickly tries to suppress. 

But his hand still hovers near you, clenched into a fist, as if he’s struggling to contain a surge of emotion.

“Suguru..” He murmured, almost to himself as his eyes remained locked on the blank screen. 

“How is this even possible?” His voice tinged with disbelief and dread.

For a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the memory, by the terror that pulses through you. 

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, feeling as though you’re back in that nightmare, as if you’re staring into those cold, unfeeling eyes all over again. 

“That’s him though, the man in my nightmares….… I think he did something to me. That night in the forest—there was… there was a feeling, like something was breaking inside me.”

Gojo’s hand finally closes around your shoulder, grounding you. His grip is firm but gentle, his fingers just slightly digging into your skin, steadying you as he pulls you back from the edge of the memory.

You searched his face, his expression so intense it was almost unreadable—anger, yes, but there was something else there, something raw and unspoken.

“That man…” You took a shaky breath, piecing the fragments together. “Do… do you know him?”

The question seemed to pierce right through him. 

For a moment, Gojo’s usual composure faltered, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he took a step back. 

His face tightened, his mouth pressed into a grim line, and his gaze fell, no longer meeting yours.

“Yes,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. There was a pause, weighted and painful, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, haunted. “He was my best friend.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless. 

Gojo’s best friend. It was hard to imagine him with that kind of connection to someone so terrifying, someone who left such a dark mark on your mind. 

The man from your nightmares, the man who had been torturing your dreams, was once someone Gojo trusted, someone he cared about.

“But…” You struggled to find the words, feeling a strange, twisting ache as you watched the turmoil flicker in Gojo’s eyes. 

“If he was your best friend… then what happened?”

Gojo’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a mix of sorrow and something harder, colder, that you had never seen from him before. 

“I killed him.” The confession dropped heavily between you, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. “It was… the only choice I had.”

For a second, the room felt colder, the weight of his words sinking in. You could barely process it. 

The ache in your chest deepened as you took in his pain. The way his hand had lingered on your shoulder, the protectiveness in his gaze, even the anger—it all made sense now. 

“Gojo…” you started, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with a fierce resolve.

“Whatever Suguru did to you, whatever he left behind, I’ll find a way to remove it,” he vowed, his tone thick with emotion. 

“I won’t let his darkness touch you any more than it already has.”

The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. 

You could feel the weight of his promise, a fierce protectiveness that was nearly overwhelming. 

There was so much he wasn’t saying, so much he was holding back, but you could see it in his gaze—the regret, the guilt, the memories of a friend turned enemy.

You swallowed, nodding as you tried to process it all. 

“Thank you… I don’t even know how to start making sense of this, but…” Your voice trembled. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Gojo’s eyes softened, and he offered a faint, bittersweet smile. 

“I won’t let you go through this alone,” he said gently, and this time, his hand rested on your shoulder a little longer, grounding you, promising you that he’d stand by your side, no matter what.

The weight of his words settles over you, a strange comfort in the midst of fear. 

The memory has left a scar on your mind, but Gojo’s presence beside you feels like an anchor, grounding you in the present, keeping you from sinking back into the darkness.

He released your shoulder slowly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of regret and resolve. Nanami’s words still echo in his mind, a reminder that he can’t ignore any longer. 

But for now, he buries it, focusing on what matters most. Finding out what Geto had done to you.

“I think that’s enough for now, Shoko.” Gojo said curtly as his hand found the spot between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you forward to get off of the chair. 

—

Gojo’s hand rested firmly against the small of your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet hallway. 

Yet something about his touch felt different—less his usual casual, steady presence and more like an unspoken promise, as though he was trying to keep you tethered to something he could barely name. 

The late morning light spilled in through the windows, but it felt muted, its warmth blunted by the tension of this new discovery that seemed to hover between you.

The silence was thick, stretching out in the spaces between your steps, until you could no longer bear the weight of it. 

You glanced up at him, catching the crease in his brow, the intensity in his gaze as he looked ahead. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and for once, his usual mask of playfulness was gone, replaced by something darker, more conflicted.

“Gojo… are you okay?” you asked quietly, hesitantly, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed ahead, but you could feel his fingers press just a fraction more firmly against your back. 

It was as if he needed that point of contact–a reminder of your presence to keep himself grounded. 

You stopped, turning to face him fully, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat. “I didn’t mean to put all this on you… to cause you so much stress.”

At that, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as though your words had struck a nerve he hadn’t expected. 

The surprise softened into something deeper as he looked down at you, his expression raw and unguarded. 

Without a word, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin with a touch so gentle it left a shiver in its wake. 

There was a fierce, unyielding resolve in his gaze, but there was something else too—something vulnerable, something he had yet to say.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “you have nothing to apologize for.” 

He held your gaze, his blue eyes steady, resolute hidden behind his usual frames. “I’m going to–we’re going to find out what Geto did to you. I swear it.”

The intensity of his words struck you, the weight behind them settling into your chest. 

He was close now, closer than he’d been since your heated moment he chose to forget, his face mere inches from yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. 

You could feel the quiet ache in his touch, the unspoken emotion simmering between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. 

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fleeting second, and his breath hitched, as though he were teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back.

But then, his expression shifted. 

The softness faded, replaced by a hard, unyielding line as his jaw tightened, his body going rigid. 

His hand slipped from your cheek, and his eyes narrowed, his attention snapping toward your room down just the hallway, his gaze dark and clouded with a new intensity.

“Gojo…?” You asked, feeling a sudden chill creep up your spine.

He barely heard you, his focus now locked on the closed door of your room, his entire body tense, as if preparing for battle. 

His eyes flashed with something fierce, a simmering rage that was barely visible.

Without another word, he took a step forward, his hand dropping to his side as he gathered his cursed energy, the very air around him thickening with a quiet, lethal power.

His gaze flicked back to you, filled with something fierce and protective—a look that made your heart beat faster, though not from fear.

“Suguru,” he uttered, the name slipping from his lips like a curse, his voice cold and sharp.

A surge of dread washed over you as he spoke, and you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of something sinister lingering in the hallway. 

You saw his fingers curl, his hand lifting ever so slightly, his cursed energy humming just beneath the surface, ready to strike.

Instinctively, you took a step forward, reaching out to follow him, but his hand shot out, pressing you back gently but firmly. 

“Stay here,” he said, his voice laced with a deadly calm. The authority in his tone was undeniable, and there was a hard edge in his gaze, one that told you he wouldn’t let you argue this time. “I would never mistake it…he was here.”

You swallowed, wanting to be by his side, to help in any way you could, but the look in his eyes stopped you. 

It was the look of a man who would protect you at any cost, who would let nothing and no one harm you again. 

There was a storm brewing in him, a silent fury that seemed to burn away any remnants of his usual carefree demeanour.

For a moment, all you could do was watch, feeling a mix of fear and something deeper, something that tugged at your chest. 

The door creaked open under his hand, and he slipped inside, leaving you standing alone in the hall, acutely aware of the silence that followed. 

Inside, Gojo's eyes swept the room. 

It looked untouched—your bed was neatly made, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cast soft patterns across the floor, and nothing seemed out of place. 

But beneath the ordinary, he could feel it, like a faint pulse in the air. 

Geto’s cursed energy lingered, barely perceptible but unmistakable, weaving through the room like the ghost of a dark promise.

The subtle residue prickled against his senses as he remembered what happened last time he felt Geto’s cursed energy around one of his students…His jaw clenched, and he forced his breathing to remain steady as he let his gaze drift over every inch of the room, his attention as sharp as a blade. 

The thought of Geto being here, in your private space, sent a surge of anger through him, burning away the last remnants of calm he had managed to hold onto.

He moved further in, his footsteps barely making a sound as he scanned the shadows, his cursed energy flickering out like invisible tendrils, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. 

Every instinct in him screamed to root out every last trace, to eliminate even the faintest whisper of Geto’s presence from this room, this place that should have been safe for you.

But even as he combed through the empty spaces, there was nothing solid—no sign of a physical intrusion, no ransacked belongings or broken barriers. 

Just that faint, dark thread of energy, faded but lingering, as if Geto had been here recently, watching, perhaps even waiting.

The thought twisted in Gojo’s mind like a knife. 

He tightened his fist, his knuckles pale against the light. 

The implications of Geto’s presence—the questions of what he wanted, what he had planned, why you—gnawed at him, a reminder of just how much he had failed to keep Geto away from you. 

He was supposed to be the strongest—a weapon of jujutsu society…

And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt a sting of helplessness that cut through his determination, a flicker of vulnerability that he despised.

With a final sweep of the room, Gojo made his way back to the door, his expression grim. 

—

When he stepped back into the hallway, his gaze softened only slightly as he met yours, his earlier storm barely concealed beneath a thin veneer of calm.

When Gojo’s gaze finally met yours, he felt his chest tighten, an unfamiliar ache that unsettled him more than he’d ever admit. 

The whirlwind of anger and worry roiling beneath his calm exterior nearly broke free, but he held it in check, unwilling to let you see the full force of his turmoil. 

He had always been careful with you, keeping the weight of his emotions hidden behind easy smiles and lighthearted words. But right now, with the events of the morning and Geto’s presence still haunting the air around him, he felt his resolve slip.

In the silence, he searched your face, seeing the fear, the confusion—and that undeniable spark of trust shining in your eyes. 

It made his heart clench, that unguarded look you gave him, as if he were your anchor in a world turned upside down. His usual self-assurance faltered as he took in the vulnerability you didn’t try to hide, and for a split second, he wondered if you saw past his composed facade, if you knew just how far he’d go to keep you safe.

You looked up at him, your gaze unwavering despite the uncertainty hanging between you. 

There was something raw in your eyes that left him feeling both exposed and deeply, irrevocably drawn to you. 

He didn’t know how to protect you from what Geto had left behind or how to untangle the curse that seemed to reach through your memories like twisted roots—but he knew he wouldn’t stop trying.

“Satoru…?” You murmured, voice gentle but questioning, as if sensing the weight he carried, the silent storm he hid just beneath the surface. 

The way you said his name—it was both grounding and terrifying. He was so used to people looking to him for protection, for answers. 

But you looked at him like you saw more, like you saw him—the man beneath the power.

He swallowed, feeling a sudden need to say something that would make this easier for you, that would lighten the weight in your eyes. But nothing came, no easy jokes or clever words. 

“Y/n,” he said quietly, the words thick with an emotion he hadn’t dared put a name to. 

“I don’t why Suguru here, and I don’t know why he is in your dreams—or memories—whatever it is.” He began, pulling himself out of his thoughts. 

You nodded, “I don’t expect you to,” you said but looked just beyond Gojo’s shoulder back at your bedroom door unsure of what had happened. 

“Does this mean he had been in my room…” You said, your voice sounding unsure of your words as you said them. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it.

Gojo’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he turned to glance back at your room. There was a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he considered what Geto’s presence might mean. 

The thought of Geto lingering in your space, leaving traces of his cursed energy for you to stumble upon, was enough to set a low, simmering fury in his veins. His shoulders tensed, the very air around him thickening with a restrained power he fought to keep in check.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, barely hiding the rage that simmered beneath. “He was here, and not too long ago. This energy—it’s fresh.” 

His hand hovered at his side, clenched tightly as if resisting the urge to break something. 

His mind raced with the possibilities, the motives behind Geto’s actions. Geto wasn’t one for careless plans. 

Every move he made was precise, calculated, with a reason lurking in the shadows.

You swallowed hard, feeling a chill seep into your bones. The thought of Geto standing in your room, of his twisted, mocking presence lingering in the air you breathed, made your skin crawl. 

Gojo’s gaze softened as he looked at you, noticing the way your hands trembled slightly as you processed his words. 

His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you, reminding you that he was here. 

His touch was warm and reassuring, and yet beneath it, you sensed a deeper tension, a protectiveness that bordered on desperation.

After a moment of silence, Gojo took a steadying breath, his hand releasing yours and being shoved into his front pockets before speaking.

“Jujutsu High isn’t safe for you anymore,” he said, his voice resolute.

The words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t soften them. 

“Not while he’s still out there, slipping past our defences like it’s nothing.” His eyes met yours, unwavering, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, regret, a hint of the burden he carried. 

“I can’t watch him take anything else from me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of fear and emotion swirling within you. The thought of leaving Jujutsu High, of being uprooted from the only place you had found to be safe since losing your memory. But as you looked at Gojo, at the determination set in his features, you realized that this was more than just a decision for him. 

It was a promise, a duty he’d taken upon himself to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

“What… what do you mean?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper, searching his eyes for answers, for reassurance.

“I’m going to take you somewhere he can’t reach,” he said, his tone softened but unwavering. “Somewhere I know you’ll be safe. But we can’t waste any time.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you, the gravity of what lay ahead. There was an ache in your chest, a strange sense of finality, but beneath it all, you felt a glimmer of hope—a hope rooted in him, in his strength, his resolve.

“Pack a few things,” he murmured, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer, before finding his phone screen as he pulled it out of his pocket and began texting someone. “We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”

[redyarns]

caught in the undertow

Chapter: 5/?

Rated: E

Relationship(s): Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

Act I, Scene X: Float Like a Butterfly…

Bee purposefully turned off all of the live feed cameras the two times that they wound up doing this, even though it was a pain to set up a feedback loop and maintain a steady visual of footage that he used from previous recordings. A lot of work was required, but it minimized the risk of anything new accidentally getting recorded, which would definitely result in being demoted even more (something which Bee wasn't even sure was possible), or worse. 

Though Bee knew the worst punishment was reserved only for criminals like the rebels, it still made his spark stutter in anxiety over the thought that there was a high chance that he and Orion could end up in one of the smaller prisons scattered throughout Iacon. 

“What’re you thinking about, Bee?” 

Bee blinked as he looked over to find Sentinel sitting on the floor, a position definitely not dignified for someone of his station. Looking at him now, even with his legs crossed and his back curled forward as he laid his chin on his servo, it was easy to glean that he was an aristocrat. 

Sometimes, Bee didn’t understand how they became friends. It was honestly a bit of a blur, but, he thought with a fond ex-vent, it had definitely been Orion’s fault. 

“Nothing,” Bee said after realizing he had been silent for too long. He glanced over his shoulder plate again, gnawing on his bottom derma as he stared at the frozen frame of Megatron still in his cell. It was just a single picture Bee had taken to act as a cover for any trails they might leave behind, but just that motionless image was enough to make him shudder. 

It was made even worse by the idea that Orion was in there, with Megatron, the city's most wanted criminal. 

“Uh, what do you think they're talking about?” Bee asked, shuffling closer to Sentinel, as if being in proximity with his friend would take away the heat of the monitor, the reminder that Orion was possibly getting beaten up or stomped on or whatever else it was that rebels liked to do. 

Sentinel’s wings twitched. They stiffened slightly and then forcefully soothed themselves, which meant Sentinel had unintentionally moved them and was trying to cover up the fact, but Bee knew better. That particular flinch meant that Sentinel was anxious; it wasn’t uncommon to see him as such, but still. 

Bee worried. 

“Who cares,” Sentinel muttered petulantly. His voice was gruff and he seemed to be more concerned with sounding annoyed than being honest, but when Bee wandered closer and his finials waved hopefully, Sentinel sighed like he was doing a huge labor and begrudgingly crossed his legs, letting Bee climb into his lap with a happy chirp. “It doesn’t matter what they’re talking about. All Orion has to do is stuff the energon down his throat and he’ll be out, easy.” 

“Right. Easy.” Bee echoed, and they exchanged hesitant glances, an undercurrent of doubt rising. 

It wasn’t like Bee was stupid, or blind. He knew that Orion was being weird about Megatron, and Sentinel, who was probably the most observant out of all of them, definitely saw it too. There was always a distracted look on Orion's face whenever the subject of the rebel came up, and it wasn’t an expression of disgust or anger. 

It was just… contemplation. Curiosity. And Bee knew personally just how dangerous Orion was whenever he became curious about something, and he also knew how dangerous Megatron was, period. So when those two things combined together, he couldn’t even begin to predict what would happen. 

“He’s been acting weird,” Bee whispered, his legs hanging over the side of one of Sentinel’s thighs while his back rested against his arm. Like this, Bee could press his audial gently to a side of Sentinel’s chassis, and if he listened carefully, he could pick up the steady beats of his spark. “I’m not imagining it, right?” 

For a moment, Sentinel didn’t speak. He was so still that if Bee didn’t hear the soft way he was venting, he would have believed he was a statue. Finally, Sentinel huffed out a slow breath, and his servo on his patella tightened its grip as he said, “no, you’re not. But don’t worry about it, okay? You know him. He’s always a little strange.” 

“Not like this,” Bee muttered. “He���s not - it’s - Sentinel, what is this?” 

He was immediately distracted by the sight of a bruise. A fresh one, judging by how it was a dark blue color, and Bee’s processor flicked up the memory of when they had met only a sol ago, when Sentinel definitely did not have a fist-shaped injury right on the top of his chassis plate. 

“It’s nothing,” Sentinel said quickly. His servo reached up and firmly covered it, and he smiled at Bee, a charming half-grin that showed his dimple, and he said, “don’t worry. I’m fine.” 

“You are not fine,” Bee cried out, leaning back so he had a wider view of his friend. A new bruise on his arm; a scratch on his neck cables; the chipping of paint on his shoulder that revealed soft silver underneath. Holy slag. These weren’t just injuries from scuffles or tripping, they were - “who’s been hurting you? Sentinel!”  

“No one is hurting me!” Sentinel said in exasperation, looking away and deliberately not making optic contact. His wings were twitching again, frigid and jerking as they fought against their master’s attempts to control them. He ex-vented slowly and muttered, “just leave it, Bee. Don’t be dramatic.” 

Bee made a wounded noise at that, and he knew Sentinel felt guilty as soon as the aristocrat flinched and tried to reach for him when Bee stood up from his lap and immediately crowded himself closer to the console, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care about the way Sentinel was looking at him, all soft and achy and hurt, and Bee wanted to cry. 

“You and Orion always try to keep things from me.” Bee sobbed, and he felt his finials droop immensely as he sniffled like a sparkling and looked to the side. He couldn't stand knowing that Sentinel felt guilty, because Bee was well aware of how much his friends hated seeing him so upset. 

But why did it matter? If they hated making him so sad, why did they keep doing it? 

Bee just wanted things to be back to where it was. Before Orion was more occupied with a criminal than the bots who had stood by his side for vorns, and before Sentinel kept coming back to them sporting new injuries and insisting that they were nothing. 

“Bee,” Sentinel croaked. The sound of him standing up and coming closer just made Bee look to the side even more, stubbornly refusing to turn his helm as Sentinel ex-vented heavily and ran a giant servo gently across Bee's side. “Come on, don't be like this. I didn't mean to say it like that, it came out wrong. I just…” 

Bee sniffed. It was a pitiful sound, and Sentinel made another soft, wounded click of static from his voicebox. 

“You have to understand. I don't deliberately keep things from you,” Sentinel murmured, his digits stroking across Bee's hip, like he always did back when they were stupid teenagers and Orion did something that got them in trouble and Bee sought comfort in Sentinel. Fragger. He knows my weak spots, some bitter part of Bee muttered. “But some stuff has to remain confidential.” 

“Go away,” Bee said miserably. 

“Bee.” Sentinel sighed. 

“Go,” Bee repeated. 

“How exactly are you two going to get home if I'm not here?” Sentinel asked in disbelief. 

That finally made Bee whirl around, and he threw his servos up as he exclaimed, “I don't know! We'll walk! We'll plummet to our deaths, and that'll be the end of that! It's not like you can even attend our crappy cremation ceremonies, not when you're too ashamed to show anyone that we're friends!” 

Sentinel looked like Bee had struck him. 

Bee immediately clasped his shaky digits to his intake, his optics wide and filled with tears as they slowly spilled over, warm and pooling into the seams of his servos as he whispered, “oh, Primus, I-I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. Oh, Sentinel, I…” 

“It's fine,” Sentinel said gruffly. 

“Sen,” Bee said weakly. 

They stood there, cooling fans whirring and the air distinctly thick with tension. Bee felt awful, like a grounder had run him over under their wheels, and the worst part was knowing that Sentinel and Orion never did any of this on purpose. They loved him, he knew they did; they loved him so much that they always kept coming to help him or rescue him from situations he caused from his own clumsiness, and Bee was so sad. 

He slowly let his optics drift down again, lingering on the bruise that stained Sentinel's chassis. Hesitantly, Bee took a step forward, and when Sentinel didn't back away, Bee sighed and traced the fist-shape of the injury as he muttered, “it kind of looks like a heart.” 

Sentinel vented harshly. For a klik, he didn't speak, and Bee thought that he was truly well and pissed off. But then Sentinel breathed in, and when he grabbed Bee's wrist, it was gentle, and his thumb slowly rubbed circles into the thin and vulnerable protoform there as he said, “yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Bee said. He tentatively climbed into Sentinel's lap again, leaning the side of his helm on his chassis and staring at the bruise. It was such an ugly color on the otherwise brilliant polish and paint of Sentinel's frame. Bee hated looking at it. “You seem different.” 

Sentinel didn't move from his perfectly still position sitting down, but there was a small twitch of gold out the corner of Bee's vision as his wings flinched. Sentinel cleared his throat. “Do I?” 

“Mhm,” Bee mumbled. 

Sentinel's gaze never wavered as he stared blankly at the monitors. There was something about his voice, something both flat and hard that Bee had never heard before, and he said, “maybe bots change.” 

Bee clung to him tighter after that. 

About fifteen kliks later, when Orion crawled out of the vent with a disturbed expression on his face and without any regard for the way both Bee and Sentinel sat together in stony silence, that was when Bee truly knew that things had changed. 

He wished it never did. 

Act I, Scene XI: You’re a Hot Shot, Baby

Sneaking back into the reception was honestly a pain in the aft, and Sentinel was already aggravated by Orion’s strange behavior as it was. His paint prickled with the uncomfortable realization that something had definitely happened in that cell, but even worse, Orion hadn’t talked about it. 

Despite Orion’s blatant disregard for rules or protocol, he always conformed to the unspoken laws of their friendship with each other as well as Bee. Always be honest with each other. It was a testament to their loyalty to each other, their unwavering faith… Nevermind the fact that Sentinel was deliberately keeping from them his near deathly training schedule. 

He reasoned with himself that it was necessary to keep them from finding out about it, even if Bee had come way too close to finding out after carefully observing his injuries up close and asking too many questions for Sentinel to dodge completely. In his defense, Bee was very hard to lie to; he did that weird, big-optic thing and his finials drooped and his purring was just so sad - 

Regardless, the point remained. Sentinel knew he couldn’t tell his friends the reality of his daily life, how hard training was, how often he got tossed around like a mere used doll. Before, he had spent most of his physical spars with Councilman Sunstreaker, as he was the most proficient at combat aside from Ultra. 

But after Sentinel’s little… scene… at Ultra’s morning banquet, his mentor had decided that Sentinel’s preliminary training with Sunstreaker was over, and instead went straight into what he liked to call “lessons of the real world”. 

They were brutal lessons. Harsh ones. Sentinel spent more time in Dr. Ratchet’s office than he did in his own berthroom. In particular, his left wrist still twinged if he twisted it a little too far, which had been a result of Ultra witnessing the way Sentinel tried to help a miner when they tripped in front of him and scuffed their patella caps to the point they started to slowly bleed energon. 

“You are the future Prime, Sentinel,” Ultra had said, glaring down at Sentinel as he vented shallowly on the ground in front of him. His wrist had snapped in a decidedly disgusting manner, and his armor had dented horribly around his arm. Ultra was simply too strong, and Sentinel too weak. “Do not ever lower yourself like that again. You’re supposed to set an example. 

“You disappoint me.”  

Just thinking about it honestly had Sentinel wilting. If he couldn’t even uphold the expectations of his mentor who had guided him and supported him all this time, what would his friends think? At least Ultra still gave him chance after chance even with all his failures, but his friends didn’t know how hard he struggled, nor how completely useless he felt. 

He was meant to be the next Prime, but he couldn’t even handle a little training with Ultra. How was he going to defend Iacon and uphold the Prime legacy if he couldn’t do at least that much? It haunted him how Ultra had looked down on him, as if Sentinel had been nothing more than dust at his pedes, and he knew that if Orion or Bee ever glanced at him like that, he would truly break. 

He sniffled a little, blinking back tears as he leaned against a wall and slumped pathetically while sipping slowly at a cube of high grade energon he had managed to grab from the tray of a passing waiter. 

The reception was in full swing, and the doors to Ultra’s mansion were propped wide open as some of the party goers spilled out from his home and out into his yard. Various mechs and femmes were sitting on the ground or steps, chatting with each other cheerfully as they clinked energon cubes and reminisced how good it felt to be part of yet another Ceremony. 

Sentinel had tried to plaster on a smile as he made his way back inside, waving to those who greeted him and offering short nods to the ones he knew a little better, but he couldn’t hide the dread inside his spark as he had slipped back inside and ignored the voice inside of him that said that he certainly hadn’t enjoyed another Ceremony. 

Inside, it was easier to blend in, and he tried not to let it bother him that no one had seemed to notice that he had left and come back. He had timed it right and slipped out just as Hot Rod had been swarmed with congratulatory messages and servo shakes, his own brief congratulations and well wishes already given, so Sentinel should have viewed it as a blessing that he had snuck away and crawled back in with no one the wiser. 

It shook him, though. He was easily one of the tallest mechs there but he felt small. Invisible. It had been different when he'd been with his friends. His armor still ached where Bee had touched him, and it was easy to recall the soft, almost wispy way the miner’s small digits brushed against the numerous bruises and dents on his plating. 

It was just as easy to remember the way Bee had smelled, like sweet nectar and that same scent of ash all miners seemed to have. But with him, it had been a rather saccharine mix, and Sentinel stared down at the energon in his servo, wondering if Bee had really noticed him. 

Had he seen him? Taken him in for who he was? How? Sentinel didn’t even know what the frag was going on with himself, so could Bee even possibly fathom any of it? 

Primus, Sentinel felt like a real piece of fragging work seeing Bee cry like that. The smallest mech was easily the most emotional out of their group of three, but that didn't necessarily mean he cried the most (that was Sentinel, unfortunately). 

Sentinel honestly hadn't meant to upset him like that, and he hated himself deeply, immensely, for doing so. Even now, his spark felt like it was eating itself alive, and he didn't know how to fix it, how to fix himself so he stopped messing up and so he could say sorry to Bee like he deserved and stop lying to his friends, his friends who loved him more than anything and the friends who he would die for - 

Slag. Sentinel dragged a servo down his face and pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge, a migraine already forming behind his optics as he did. He couldn’t handle this; the bright lights of the mansion were blinding and hazy, and the loud chatter did nothing to alleviate his stress. 

Tomorrow, he decided. He would reach out to Bee after the miner had a chance to recuperate and recharge, and Sentinel would offer him an apology, as well as a tentative plan for the both of them to hang out together, alone, so they could get back to where they were before. 

Sentinel's processor felt like it was going to explode with all his whirling emotions. Even worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about Megatron. 

Just the name was enough to have his paint crawl. 

Sentinel had heard, even witnessed, the atrocities that slageater had committed along with the rest of his blasphemous rebels. Those files were within his level of clearance, and he recalled the numerous sleepless nights he had spent perusing them, drinking in the sight of mutilated bodies, atrocious crime scenes, all while holding down his energon and trying desperately not to throw it all back up. 

It made him uncomfortable, more than he could put into words, knowing that Orion was well aware of all that and yet still chose to feed Megatron. On some level, maybe Sentinel could understand; even if he despised Megatron and his rebellion, the idea of letting anyone just starve like that in a cold cell was… disconcerting. 

Maybe even disturbing. But at the same time, why, Primus, why did it have to be Orion who had to do it? 

I didn't even know they used starvation as an interrogation tactic, some part of Sentinel's processor mumbled in uncertainty. He winced into his cube of energon and hoped no one caught it as he glanced around himself frantically and felt his wings droop in relief, as if anyone had the ability to read his mind. 

The small part of his processor, the one that always sounded like Orion and made Sentinel feel horrible any time he had to return to his Prime training, whispered about how it was cruel that Megatron was being starved. How even if he was a prisoner at Titan's Hold, didn't he deserve dignity? Compassion? 

Megatron has never wielded compassion in the entirety of his siege to raze down our city, a fiercer, louder voice reprimanded him harshly. It was reminiscent of Ultra's sharp inflection, and Sentinel set down the half-empty cube on a nearby table, feeling slightly nauseous as he did. Do not fall for his lies. 

Right, Sentinel thought, shaking his helm. Right. If Ultra and Prowl decided to starve Megatron, that was their prerogative, and definitely justified. They had their reasons, reasons that they didn't tell him because he still wasn't worthy enough to know them, a thought that made him deflate slightly. 

Regardless, he couldn't afford to sympathize with the enemy. That was crazy, and blasphemous, and - Primus, he was a terrible mech. He was going to become Prime and he couldn't even properly condemn a bot for the crimes he definitely committed. 

It was times like these that Sentinel realized how utterly miserable he was. 

“Sentinel.”

Sentinel jerked, his wings automatically stiffening and trying to tuck as close to his dorsal plates as they could in a natural reaction to the low, commanding voice that always made his servos shake and his glossa dry. 

He bowed, sweeping his arm across his abdomen like he’d been taught to do in etiquette class, and he desperately hoped that his voice wasn’t trembling as he said, “good evening, my lord.” 

Ultra Magnus slowly swept his optics down Sentinel’s frame, and it didn’t escape him that he wasn’t smiling. Before, with the other nobles, Ultra had been dazzling and charming, smirking as he told witty jokes or purring flirtations as he recounted the past Ceremonies and held beside him a flustered Hot Rod the entire time. 

Now, he was anything but. His face was distinctly neutral, and with Ultra, that meant he was displeased. He didn’t look away even as Sentinel slowly drew his arms behind himself and clenched his servos tightly, his palms dripping with coolant as he realized that that gleam in Ultra’s glare meant many things. 

He saw me leave, Sentinel’s processor whispered frantically. He felt dizzy. He was going to throw up. He saw me leave, and he’s pissed. Slag. He’s going to beat the actual frag out of me in our next - 

“Oh, my. Lord Ultra, are you planning on hogging the young Prime all to yourself, or is it okay for someone else to take a bite as well?” 

Sentinel looked up again (when did his optics slide to the floor? He was always doing that, always staring down at his pedes when Ultra was around, and he knew Ultra hated it, and yet he still did it anyway - and Primus, Sentinel was an awful student, and awful mech - ) and blinked slowly as he recognized the gleaming pink paint job and sinful curves that often kept him awake at night. 

“Miss Elita,” Sentinel said in a stilted voice, feeling decidedly off kilter and confused as Elita smiled slightly at him, sidling up close to Ultra’s side and hooking her servos around his arm. 

She was tiny compared to him, and though most bots were, the size difference between his mentor and her was rather ridiculous as she lightly leaned her helm against Ultra’s forearm, glanced up at him, and said with a slight pout on her glossy dermas: “my lord, must you hide him away in such a drab corner such as this? With a paint job as good as his, he’s good enough to eat.”  

She purred her last word, her engine revving with a quiet hum as she eyed Sentinel like he was the most enticing cube of energon in the room. 

This time, when his glossa licked at the back of his dentae, his intake wasn’t dry because of Ultra. 

“Elita,” Ultra said. His voice was lighter, a tone of slight surprise coloring his words, and he gave Sentinel one last sharp stare before he softened and smiled at the femme. Sentinel tried to ignore the sharp sting of fear that pricked his spark as he recognized the hidden message of his mentor’s look. We will discuss this later. “Have you ever been formally introduced to my pupil?” 

“We’ve only met the one time,” Elita said elegantly, waving her servo and somehow making it look both relaxed and coy as she stared up at Sentinel with glimmering optics. When she leaned in slightly, her scent of foreign jubiline berries surrounded him. He didn’t want to admit just how much that smell continued to haze in and out of his dreams (whenever he managed to recharge, anyway). “But it certainly left a lasting impression.” 

“I see.” Ultra arched an optic ridge and this time, when he looked down at Sentinel, it was not one of anger; it looked like he was almost impressed, and his touch was shockingly gentle, warm, as he raised a servo and rested it briefly on Sentinel’s shoulder plate. “Well, that’s to be expected. My Sentinel is a good conversationalist.” 

“An invaluable asset as our future Prime.” Elita agreed. 

“Indeed,” Ultra said, now looking pleased. It was honestly a miracle. These sols, Sentinel often felt like Ultra hated him rather than loved him, and it was the first time in cycles that Sentinel beamed up at his mentor in genuine happiness as Ultra chuckled. It was a buttery and deep sound, so reminiscent of the times when Sentinel was younger and more naive, and Ultra had been more forgiving. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two young bots to it. I believe Councilman Chromedome is about to overindulge, and I don’t think anyone wants to see him when he inevitably throws it all up.” 

He ended his sentence with a wink to show it was all in good humor, and Sentinel felt like he was floating on a cloud as his mentor left, for once not scowling or frowning or acting like Sentinel was the worst thing to ever happen to him - 

“You seem happy. Something you would like to share with me, my Prime?” 

Sentinel nearly jumped out of his paint job as a servo, slim and clever, curled around his elbow joint and his entire frame rose at least several degrees (his temperature gauge was screaming) as Elita pushed her chassis lightly against his arm and nearly caused him to fall over with how her sweet scent filled his olfactory sensors. 

Charge increased by 16%, his interface subsystem tried to ping his processor, which absolutely mortified him because what the frag did his system mean, charge increased by 16%? He frantically attempted to kick away the notification, plastering a smile onto his face and praying that Elita wouldn’t notice the strain in the corners as his subsystem continued to insist on its charge monitoring. 

Frag, he was pathetic. The first femme he was interested in and he was about to make a complete tool of himself in front of her. If Orion were here, he would have laughed his aft off and called Sentinel all shades of stupid. It wasn’t like Sentinel was exactly blind, Elita was definitely putting off more than a few flirty signals, but Sentinel had never - he hadn’t - 

Oh, I’m fragged, Sentinel whined in his helm as he said, “uh, just - happy to be here, Miss Elita. And, please, there’s no need to call me Prime. I haven’t even come close to finishing all my training.” 

Elita hummed, and when her optics roamed across his frame slowly, he flushed as he realized it felt like she was stripping him bare and laying him out in front of her for the taking. Throughout his adolescent and adult years, he hadn’t exactly been oblivious to the attention he got, especially after Ultra and the council deemed him as the next Prime in training, but he hadn’t really given it much thought. 

He always didn’t have enough time, was always more interested in focusing on his duties or sneaking out to meet with his friends, but - something was different this time. Maybe it was the overwhelming need he felt any time he was around Elita, who smelled so good and looked at him like he was the only thing worth paying attention to. Maybe it was his new schedule, chock full of brutal sparring and etiquette lessons, often leaving him with such little time that he didn’t even recharge most nights. 

Or maybe it was the stress in knowing that he had, once again, deliberately disobeyed Ultra, the mech who had chosen him out of everyone else, the mech who had raised and cherished him, and snuck Orion into Titan’s Hold just so he could feed the one criminal who probably deserved to be starved. 

Whatever it was, it had Sentinel’s walls crumbling like aluminum, and he was weak.  

“I already see you as a Prime, so I don’t see any problem in addressing you as such,” Elita said carefully, quietly, her digit slowly tracing a shape into his arm and causing his spark to beat so wildly in his chassis that he felt like it was going to leap out of his throat. “Won’t you indulge me?” 

“Oh,” he croaked. He cleared his voicebox, but when he spoke again, his words were husky, hoarse with his lust, and he was sure he wasn’t imaging the way her smile widened ever so slightly as he stuttered, “if that’s the way you feel, I - well, I don’t want to impose anything upon you - “ 

“Lord Sentinel!” 

Sentinel didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the joyous call of his name, and he leaned back from Elita, feeling his wings twitch with embarrassment as he realized he’d been so close to her helm that if he had drawn any closer, he would have kissed her. 

Just the thought alone was enough to have coolant dripping down the back of his neck cables as he smiled politely and said, “Hot Rod. Enjoying your victory?” 

It was a genuine question, tinted slightly with warmth as Hot Rod approached both of them with a grin on his face and a light fluster to accommodate it. Though Sentinel didn’t know the mech personally, the stuff he did know about him, he liked. 

Hot Rod was a refreshing change of pace from the nobles. It most likely had something to do with the fact that he was only tier 12, an archivist who never really had a life outside of shelves and datapads and occasionally dust. But Sentinel liked to think it was because of how vibrant Hot Rod was - all the way from his outrageous paint job to his boisterous attitude, Hot Rod certainly didn’t look or act like someone of his caste level, and Sentinel felt a strange level of fondness for him. 

He kind of reminded Sentinel of Orion, actually. 

“Totally!” Hot Rod said enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his pedes as he beamed up at Sentinel so widely that his face plate had to be aching from it. “Can you believe it? I won! I mean, Primus knows I deserve it, but still! I thought Chromia would have me beat, you know? She’s awesome, I’m glad she isn’t pissed at me for scratching the slag out of her paint job. Oh, hello, ma’am! I’m Hot Rod.” 

Elita smiled as she shook Hot Rod’s servo, which had been stuck out eagerly. “Hello, Hot Rod. I'm Elita-1. Your race was definitely the most exciting one I’ve seen yet.” 

Hot Rod crowed in delight and immediately began to babble, both him and Elita unaware of Sentinel’s rising turmoil as he struggled to keep his smile on his face while guilt bubbled deeply within his spark. He couldn’t help but think back on his conversation with Orion during the race, when Orion had gotten upset over Hot Rod winning, and - 

He was right, of course he was right. The whole thing sucked and it hurt and Sentinel felt so bad for this young, vital and bright young mech who was about to be shot into space and never return home. No one else seemed to share that same grievance, as no bot seemed even an iota less than thrilled that the Ceremony was approaching soon, but Sentinel… 

Well. 

That wasn’t his place to think about. (Even if he hated it. There, he said it, he hated it, Orion was right, this all fragging hurt and it was stupid and cruel and Hot Rod and Tracks and all the other trailblazers deserved better but what could Sentinel do, he wasn’t even Prime, and he probably never would be with how inadequate he’d been lately - ) 

“I wanted to thank you,” Hot Rod said sincerely, interrupting Sentinel’s quickly spiraling thoughts. The younger bot seemed sheepish, maybe even a little shy as he fidgeted lightly with his digits before he straightened up and gave Sentinel a bright, crooked grin that revealed a single dimple on his right cheek plate. “For earlier! You and your friend - whoever they are - definitely made this night a little more bearable. I was kind of nervous, but…” 

He laughed. It was a quiet sound, surprisingly soft for a mech like Hot Rod, who had such a bright personality that it was hard to look away. Like this, it was a cold reminder of just how young he was, only a few vorns younger than Orion, and a couple more than Sentinel himself. 

It took a moment of struggling for Sentinel's processor to wade through his memories of that sol to figure out what exactly Hot Rod was talking about. After a micro-klik, a belated memory of him hastily telling the young mech that a nameless friend of his wanted to wish him luck on his endeavors was drawn up, and Sentinel smiled again, this time slightly helplessly as he reached out and squeezed Hot Rod's shoulder. 

Orion, Sentinel thought to himself, brushing his digits against Hot Rod's paint, almost trying to memorize the feel of his warm metal, and the softness of his protoform. You somehow reach mechs without even talking to them. I wish I was more like you. 

“Hot Rod,” Sentinel said earnestly. “Good luck.” 

Hot Rod beamed, and he was bouncing away, immediately inserting himself into a conversation with Chromia and Councilman Blurr, both of whom looked delighted by his presence, though Chromia did punch him in the arm with a smirk and said something that looked like that's for beating me, slagger. 

“You must really like him,” Elita said, nuzzling even closer to Sentinel, who looked down at her and smiled as best as he could while trying to ignore his processor pinging him about yet another charge increase. 

“He's very admirable,” Sentinel said, watching the way more and more nobles surrounded Hot Rod, who looked both flushed and proud as he raised a fist with his medal and there were various cheers and whistles throughout the area. “He deserved to win. I think he'll be missed, though.” 

Elita tilted her helm. Her optics were sharper, less hazy, and she quietly asked, “by you?” 

Sentinel blinked at the question. For a moment, he didn't know how to answer, and then he released a small vent as he realized that… “Yes. I think so. I don't know him that well, and we haven't met before this, but…” 

He trailed off. 

He sighed. It was a wistful sort of sound. “He reminds me a lot of my friend.” 

“Your friend?” 

“My dearest friend,” he said quietly. 

The only one who's always had my back.

“Well,” Elita said slowly, and she was grabbing his servo and walking backwards. Somehow, she seemed to know where she was going, even without having to look over her shoulder. Her optics were shining with something, both hungry and full of a warmth he had never seen before, and she said, “do you know what I think, my Prime?” 

“What?” He asked, a little breathless and a lot clumsy, as she pushed her pede back and it propped open a door out into the hallway. Just before they stepped through it, he looked back once, in time to see Ultra clasp a heavy servo to Hot Rod's shoulder, lean down, whisper something to him, and begin to lead him away. 

The door swung closed, cutting off Sentinel's view of them, and he had an armful of femme as Elita suddenly reached up, wrapped her surprisingly strong arms around his neck, and tugged him down fiercely so she could kiss him. 

He instantly felt dizzy, and just like that, all his worries, all his anxieties flew out of his helm and all he could think of was the way her chassis pressed against his, the feeling of her soft and yielding protoform under his digits as his servos scrambled to wrap around her waist, and the unbelievable sensation of her dermas against his. 

She giggled, the sound light and airy as she continued to kiss him, leaving him cross-opticed and unaware of their surroundings as he was the one to go backwards this time, simply following her lead as she gently pushed him to go somewhere. 

His wings hit what felt like a door, and he grunted lightly when she kicked it open, shoved at his chassis, and he fell down against the soft sheets of a berth - were they in one of the numerous guest berthrooms at Ultra's mansion? Oh, slag, he was going to be pissed if he found out that - 

Sentinel's processor short circuited as Elita climbed on top of him, sat directly on top of his interface panel, and leaned down to kiss him again. 

“Let me tell you what I think, my Prime, so listen carefully,” Elita whispered as her dermas, slick with their lubricant, slid off of his and trailed down to his audial, leaving kisses as she did, which made him shiver uselessly under her as his servos helplessly clutched at her hips. “Rod might be the victor, and your friend might be someone worth missing, but you - “ 

She moaned, low and barely audible and so sensual that he immediately bucked in response, his voice box crackling with static and garbling its words as she laughed quietly. 

“You're the hot shot around here, my Prime,” she mumbled. She pressed a hot, flashing kiss to audial, and Primus, he was drunk on her. “Don't you ever forget it.” 

Then she smiled, beautiful and succinct and all shades of lustful, as she slowly slid off of him and kneeled down just between his legs, which dangled down and had his pedes resting on the floor. 

“Now,” she hummed, looking entirely pleased with herself as her small servos began to stroke his twitching thighs. She leaned forward and nuzzled his patella, and he gasped at the sensation. 

“Open,” she said gently. 

He shuddered and obeyed. 

Act I, Scene XIII: Ya Like Jazz? 

Orion knew immediately that something was up the moment he and Bee were gently dropped off of the rooftop of their stacks building and Sentinel didn't give them his usual hug before he took off again, flying through the air and his wings twitching minutely as he refused to look back. 

Orion's optics narrowed as he watched him leave in the direction towards the center part of the city where the reception was being held at Ultra's mansion. 

Bee, who had been strangely quiet the entire flight back, was staring at the ground, and his finials were drooping in that way that told Orion he was upset. No, not just upset, but about to cry, or - he looked closer, alarmed to see the faintest tear marks down the dullness of Bee's scuffed faceplates - already cried. 

“Bee,” Orion said urgently, reaching out and grabbing his friend's wrist before he began to make his way to the door. Bee sniffled lightly, and Orion made a quiet, worried click at the back of his throat as he gathered him close and said, “what's wrong? Did something happen?” 

“No,” Bee mumbled into his chassis. Despite his petulant response, he was clinging tightly to Orion, and he let out a small hiccup before he suddenly tugged himself away and scrubbed his arm across his optics. “‘M tired. I just wanna recharge.” 

“Okay,” Orion said helplessly, watching as Bee trudged his way to the door and held it open. He refused to meet Orion's optics again, but it was clear that he was waiting for him, and so Orion heaved an ex-vent, realized that he wasn't going to get any answers from Bee, and carefully slipped past him, leading the way down the stairs and to the fiftieth floor, where their recharge bays were. 

Luckily, Bee didn’t actually let any tears spill, since Orion often felt like his processor went to mush in his panic whenever Bee got upset to the point he bawled. Regardless, Orion made and filed away a note to demand Sentinel as to what happened between them while Orion had been with Megatron to leave behind streaks on Bee’s solemn face. 

It was still early in the day, maybe only a few joors after highsol, so the floor was bustling with miners, all of whom were there at the same time since work had been canceled for the race. It was a bit of a mess, actually, and the air smelled musty, like energon dust and flakes of earth. 

It was also loud, what with all the overlapping conversations going around, as well as the sounds of several mechs and femmes practicing their sparring by jabbing at bags full of iron shavings or each other. There was a particularly harsh sound of metal meeting metal when an infuriated Arcee tackled Cliffjumper to the ground, and Orion carefully stepped around them as their scuffle continued on the dirty floor. 

They’re going to get dust in their optics, Orion thought wearily. And possibly rust-tetanus. 

“Where the Pits have you two been?” Jazz asked from a bench near their recharge bays as Bee tiredly climbed into his own and immediately curled up. Within micro-kliks, he was snoring softly, his optics offline and his servo clenching tightly at his raggedy doll that Sentinel had stolen for him some vorns ago when they were still sparklings. 

“Around,” Orion said vaguely. He regarded Bee carefully, his optic ridges furrowed into a frown as he reached out and gently brushed his digit tips against Bee’s forehelm, trying to rub out the upset wrinkle that had formed there. It worked, but Bee mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like a sniffle as he turned away and his venting deepened even more. 

“Right, around,” Jazz said with a fair amount of amusement. He seemed at ease, with a towel around his neck cables and a cube of low refined energon in his servo. Orion tried not to stare at it, aware that his compartments were filled with a much higher quality kind; though he wanted to share it with him, there was no way he could explain how he got them without giving away his relationship with Sentinel. 

“What’s with him?” Jazz continued, jerking his chin plate slightly towards Bee. He tilted his helm and said, “he looks like he just watched someone get unscrewed in front of him. Whoa, geeze, bud, are you okay?” 

Jazz grunted a small noise of both surprise and effort as Orion collapsed onto the bench next to him, almost immediately drooping onto the other mech and groaning lightly as Jazz began to automatically massage at his shoulder plates. 

Jazz swore softly and said, “what the frag is going on with you two? And Primus, Orion, you’re tenser than a damn coil! Haven’t you been going to the medbay? You know it’s protocol to go every few orns. If you’re too sick or injured and you get hurt on the job then it’s all our afts that have to look after you and make sure you don’t get yourself offlined.” 

“As if Ricks would ever give me enough time off to get to the medbay, much less rest,” Orion retorted with a small laugh, though that quickly turned into a wince when Jazz mercilessly dug a thumb into a particularly hard knot and didn’t let up even when Orion punched him in the arm. “Ow! Primus, Jazz, you’re supposed to be massaging me, not torture me!” 

“No, you’re supposed to be getting massaged by a professional, but you haven’t even gone to see a medic like you’re required to in at least half a vorn,” Jazz deadpanned in a way that suggested his optics were rolling behind his visor. At least he let his servos drop, a miracle considering Orion was about to develop a crick in his neck from how he kept flinching with each unrelenting dig at his plates. “You sure everything’s okay?” 

Orion let his gaze drift back to Bee, who, like Orion, had been born and grown up in the slums and then eventually the stacks, so the constant noise around him didn’t even remotely rouse him in his recharge. It was better seeing him like this, resting and not keeping damn secrets from Orion. 

But Orion knew he was being a hypocrite, and he was about to be a hypocrite again as he kept his intake shut and didn’t answer Jazz’s subtle but prodding question. 

No, Orion’s processor wanted to scream. Everything is definitely not okay. 

Bee and Sentinel were becoming more and more closed off around him, and he hated it. But he couldn’t even point it out, not without making it obvious that he was just as guilty when it came to keeping secrets from his friends. 

It wasn’t like Orion wanted to lie to them, and well, it technically wasn’t lying, since it was really just… concealing the truth (a lie of omission, something in his helm hissed. It sounded too much like Sentinel again, and Orion felt a little sick) and trying to protect them. 

And, really, what else could Orion do? It felt like the weight of the world was suddenly being pressed onto his shoulder plates, like he was the only one lifting up the sky and shaking underneath it as he did. He had never expected anything to come forth from his conversations with Megatron, since as much as Sentinel liked to tease and Ricks liked to accuse, Orion wasn’t stupid. 

There was a chance, a very high chance, that everything Megatron had told him was a lie. A manipulation tactic to squirm under his paint job and make his veins race, to force his adrenaline to blow up and get him into trouble. And as much as Orion wasn’t stupid, Megatron wasn’t exactly unintelligent, either. 

How could he be? No one stupid could just start a rebellion and then lead it so carefully that up until now, no bot had ever been caught. So if Megatron saw Orion, a foolish mech who was curious about him, who was sympathetic of him, then the smartest choice would be to try and sway him in his favor so that Orion would eventually do something idiotic, like break him out of prison. 

Not that that would ever happen. Of course not. Orion knew well enough that Megatron was playing him, and that everything he said, his blatant seductions and his honeyed words, were being used to caress his audials and weaken his already admittedly soft resolve when it came to a mech he found so attractive. 

Frag, Orion thought a little hysterically. He knew all of this, and his spark still yearned for answers. He had to see it for himself, figure out if Megatron really was lying to him or not, even though his processor screamed at him that the rebel was an inherent manipulator and would do anything to get Orion to believe him. 

He let out a soft ex-vent, ignored the way Jazz looked at him with a small noise of skepticism, and tried to think about what Megatron had told him. 

There was something about the Ceremony that Megatron wanted him to look into, and he had said that the archives might have the answer, an idea that almost had Orion groaning as he dropped his helm and ran a servo over the back of it in frustration. 

The Golden Archives was considerably hard to get into. Not because it had guards or anything - the entire building of records was open to the public, so it was trivially easy to waltz inside, grab any kind of datapad, and spend the sol reading as much as your spark desired. 

It was open to the public, yes, but only to bots who were caste level 10 or higher. None of the low caste bots were allowed in, since the middle and high level Cybertronians didn’t like to see the dirt and grime that most miners trailed in. There was also no need for it, since none of the low castes were given an education. 

The only reason Orion and Bee even knew how to read, much less write, was because Sentinel made an effort to continuously sneak them tomes and educational texts as much as he could, either from the archives or from his own personal stash. 

The archives were also in the most well-lit and populated part of the city, near the council hall and the highly monitored, luxurious neighborhoods of the noble caste bots. With his size, poor paint job, and constant scent of energon dust, it would be a miracle if he could even get to two streets over near the archives before getting caught and thrown into the civil prison for a sol or two. 

Again. 

Frag, this was impossible, some part of him screamed. He felt accusatory, angry, as an image of Megatron’s handsome facial plates wavered through his processor. The bucket of bolts was probably trying to teach him a stupid lesson or something, to show him that he shouldn’t stick his nasal ridge where it didn’t belong. 

After all, Orion didn’t know how to get near the archives, much less inside. In fact, the only miner that Orion knew had ever managed to break in was - 

Was… 

Orion’s helm shot up and he stared at Jazz with wide, unblinking optics. 

“Jazz,” Orion blurted out, reaching over and grasping Jazz’s elbow joint with an urgency that had his digits digging just a little too sharply into the soft protoform there. He leaned in close, their forehelms almost touching, and he said, “you - you’ve been there!”

“The frag?” Jazz’s visor scrunched as his optic ridges lowered. He frowned lightly and jostled his arm a little, but it only served to make Orion grip on tighter, and Jazz’s dermas pursed as he scowled and said, “dude, let up, you’re going to bruise me and I don’t need my team leader yelling at me again - “ 

“You’ve been to the archives.” Orion cut him off, smiling sheepishly in apology when Jazz huffed at the interruption and swatted harshly at his shoulder plate. Orion ignored the stinging pain of the hit and instead said, excitedly, “you know how to get in!”

“Yeah,” Jazz said slowly, clearly thinking that Orion had lost his mind as he leaned back slightly so there was more air in between them. By this point, he had given up on trying to get Orion to loosen his grip, and simply let his arm dangle uselessly over Orion’s lap as he said, “is there a reason why you’re looking at me like I’m highly refined energon?” 

“Oh, right, good point. You should have some,” Orion said in an absentminded voice as he flipped open his compartment, tossed a glowing cube at Jazz, and ignored the mech’s yelp as he fumbled to catch it and immediately yelled how the frag had Orion gotten such an expensive portion. 

The part of him that had been worried about Jazz asking too many questions about the energon (and therefore eventually about Sentinel) was impatiently waved off as Jazz immediately began to sip, a look of bliss sweeping across his face as he cooed something about how good it tasted and how it was loads better than their usual rations. 

Orion’s processor was whirling rapidly as he thought quickly. He couldn’t believe how he forgot that Jazz was the only one out of the miners to not only have the balls to break into the archives, but do it so constantly that he was always sneakily trying to read a glowing datapad during the lune cycle and successfully pissing off all the mechs around him. 

And, judging by how Jazz was literally licking the seams of the cube and bemoaning about how he drank it too fast, it seemed like he owed Orion a favor. 

“Jazz,” Orion said again, his voice saccharine and coated in honey. 

It immediately put Jazz on edge, who paused his glossa from swiping over the same face of the cube for the third time as he slowly lowered his servo, scrunched his visor, and said, “... uh huh?” 

“You liked that energon, right?” Orion purred. 

“Sure,” Jazz said cautiously. “It was good. Real good. Why're you acting so - “ 

“I can give you more,” Orion said, beaming as he leaned in and nearly smashed their nasal ridges together in his excitement. Oops. He fluttered his servo in some generous gesture, and he said, “tons more! Trust me, I have more than I need for myself. Listen. I'll give you two - three! Three cubes if you tell me how to get into the archives.” 

Jazz didn’t respond. He clutched the empty cube to his chassis, and for a moment, Orion thought he would say no, and he felt his spark drop to his aft. But then Jazz glanced down again at the glass, made a soft, whining buzz at the back of his throat, and the hope was obvious in his voice as he hesitantly mumbled, “really?” 

“Really.” Orion nodded firmly. 

Another beat of silence. 

“Four cubes,” Jazz said.

“Three.” 

“Five.” 

“That's not how this works.” Orion laughed. 

“Five cubes,” Jazz said insistently, now seeming rather enthused himself as he leaned forward and gently knocked their helms together. There was a grin on his face, and it was in that moment that Orion remembered just how much of a slageating smile he had, all mischievous and laughing and smug. “And I not only tell you how to get into the archives, but I also keep my intake shut.” 

Orion arched an optic ridge, but his dermas were twitching with his own smirk as he scoffed and said, “as if you wouldn't keep your intake shut anyway. Your aft's on the line if it’s let out that you break into the archives, you know.” 

Jazz wiggled his digits. “Five.” 

Orion huffed out a small laugh. 

He reached forward and firmly shook Jazz's servo once. “Yeah. Five.” 

Jazz laughed, and Orion threw a pillow at his face. 

Act I, Scene XIV: Archive of Our Own

“The archives were rebuilt a couple dozen vorns ago, but they kind of just put the new one on top of the old one, so there’s a few passages left behind that the wreckers used when they were still constructing. You can squirm into one of those to get inside,” Jazz had said to Orion as soon as he had handed over the promised cubes and the both of them had wandered up to the rooftop of the stack building to avoid any nosy Nosedives. 

“Isn't that a safety concern?” Orion had wondered. “I'm surprised that you even found that out. Wouldn’t there be locks to make sure something like that can't be used by someone they don't want to let in?” 

Jazz had snorted and sipped at a cube. “I don't know about safety concerns, especially since you're about to do exactly that and break in like the little criminal you are. And yeah, there are usually locks, but…” 

He had trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable, and Orion hadn’t wanted to prod, but eventually Jazz sighed, slumped slightly, and grumbled, “I, uh. I kind of have a friend who helps me out. Either way, the area should be unlocked. I'll contact my friend and tell him you want to get in, so it should be fine. Just don't run into him if you can help it, he's a total afthole.” 

Orion's dermas had twitched in his amusement. “Sure. And who exactly is your friend that's willing to let you break into our city's sacred archives, huh?”

Jazz had given him a dry look and said, “why do you wanna break into said sacred archives?” 

Orion had sheepishly relented and accepted the coordinates that Jazz forwarded to him without any more questions. The message had been clear: you keep your secrets, I keep mine. 

With Jazz's instructions and coordinates now safely downloaded into his processor, Orion simply waited (a little impatiently, if he was being honest) as Helios lowered completely and Selene appeared. The lune cycle of Iacon was always quieter, darker, and only lit up by the colorful lights of skyscrapers.

It meant cover for his otherwise suspicious movements, so after pressing a small kiss to Bee's helm and watching him fondly as he mumbled in his recharge, Orion had slipped away and out of the stack building, aiming for nonchalance as he passed various miners who only gave him curious glances when he left. 

Getting to the richer part of Iacon wasn't that hard, though the bullet train only went so far. Bots higher than level 10 were born with cogs, so they had no need for the train, which meant that as soon as Orion hopped off at the last stop, he was not only walking the rest of the way, but he had to be cautious about it. 

Sticking to the alleys seemed like his best bet, since there weren't any lights there and he could press himself against walls and simply stay still as nobles or guards walked past him. He could have done without the grime that started to cover his frame or the debris that tried to get stuck under his pedes, but he had experienced way worse in the slums, so he only silently sighed and sucked it up. 

Luckily, getting to the building itself was easy enough. The Golden Archives was a structure almost as big as the High Covenant Chamber, what with its golden topped dome as well as its pristine walls and columns made of white marble. 

Orion, who was carefully flattened against the wall of a spa resort across the street, was filled with awe at the sight of the archives. It wasn’t like he had ever seen it in frame before, and it was just as magnificent as Sentinel described on the rare occasion he indulged Orion and Bee and liked to tell them a bit more about his world and personal life. 

Sentinel would kill me if he saw me doing this, Orion thought with a small, weary chuckle as he glanced around him, made sure it was all clear, and silently slipped out of the shadows and briskly jogged to the hall. 

Then again, so would Bee, probably. Orion had made the conscious decision to leave them behind not out of any malice or ill will, but simply because he knew they wouldn’t understand. He knew his friends more than he knew himself, and it hadn’t escaped him that they were starting to get worried about him. 

In quieter moments, when he had more thoughts gathered to himself, maybe Orion could admit that he was also worried about him. This, breaking into the archives, deliberately carrying out Megatron’s orders - it was nothing like he’d ever done before. Sure, he got into trouble more times than he liked to admit, and maybe he had the lowest joors since last accident tallies out of any of the other miners, but this was more than some petty prank or playful rule-breaking. 

This was real. Unnervingly so. 

Focus, Orion scolded himself, forcing away any thoughts of lingering guilt or regret as he shuffled past the broken fence that blocked off one of the alleys beside the archives that Jazz had told him about. 

“There’s no direct way inside except for the front doors. You’ll have to kind of get on the ground - yes, servos and patellas, don’t give me that look, you wanted to do this - and feel for something that has a little give,” Jazz had said to him on the rooftop. “Once you find it, just dig your digits around until you find a hook. Pull it up and go down the stairs. It’s not exactly easy to find, so be patient about it.”  

Orion grumbled lightly to himself as he hesitantly got down to the dirty floor and sank to his patellas. He had to hold back a shriek when he felt something scuttle past him, and his optics adjusted rapidly as he tried to glimpse at what had just touched him, only to bite back another scream as he recognized the shape of a mech mouse. 

The lighting here was non-existent and Orion shuddered as he realized that not only was he about to spend the next Primus knew how long kliks trying to find the stupid hatch door that Jazz mentioned, but also, his only company would be - his spark skipped in fear - mice.  

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Orion muttered to himself as he dropped his servos to the ground as well and grimaced when dirt immediately got into the seams of his digits and dug under his plating uncomfortably. It was somehow considerably worse doing this compared to how filthy he got during his shifts, and he got disgusting a lot of the time then. 

It was made worse by the scuttling noises his audials picked up, extra sensitive as he tried to stretch his hearing as far as he could and nearly offlined when he felt something brush against his pede, again.  

“Fragging finally,” Orion whispered as at last, his pointer digit poked something that was a different texture than the rest of the hard, dirty concrete. It wasn’t soft exactly, but when he pushed, it flexed just the slightest bit underneath his paint. He dragged his digit down, carefully tracing the shape, and he made a small noise of triumph when he felt something that was shaped like a flat handle. 

He grunted as he sat up and crouched, letting his legs do the hard work as he shoved his servo underneath the hook and tugged as best as he could. For a moment, he was scared that it wouldn’t work, that Jazz’s friend had bailed and Orion would get caught buck-aft naked and vulnerable for the guards to find him, but to his utter relief, it gave away to his strength, and opened without a sound. 

He must have oiled the hinges, Orion thought with some amusement as he carefully lowered himself into the darkness and closed the door above him. 

The stairs themselves were crudely built, and Orion recalled how Jazz had said they were just makeshift scaffolding for the wrecker bots as they built the new archives on top. 

“Why did they rebuild you?” Orion said out loud, slowing down slightly to let his servo drag alongside the wall beside him. 

The area was damp and dark, and only barely lit by weak little bulbs stuffed into the mortar lines of the wall. When he tilted his helm and observed more closely, he made a noise of curiosity as he realized that his digits were touching what looked like crack marks. He rubbed his thumb over one particularly large web-like spindle of damage, and he frowned when some of the material crumbled off. 

He rubbed it between his pointer digit and thumb, slowly feeling the granules under his sensitive painting and holding it closer to his optic. Though the lights of the bulbs were weak and orange, he could still figure out that the material was a soft, silver color. When he looked at it some more, taking into account the size of the granules - not granules, he realized, but crystals - and the durability, as well as the luster… 

Oh, his processor said lamely. It’s granite. 

But why? Granite was strong, but it wasn’t as structurally sound as steel or reinforced concrete. Even the stacks weren’t built out of granite, and Orion had spent enough time underground to understand that the stuff was pretty and optic-catching, but relatively easy to drill through if necessary. 

Jazz had said that the original archives were built over some dozen vorns ago. That didn’t make even a lick of sense. Orion spent less time reading Sentinel’s (stolen) datapads than Bee did, but he had still used quite a bit of his sols looking through various geology and architectural tomes to better understand the best way to do his work (and not to find the easy way out, no matter what Sentinel liked to say). 

According to the texts, steel and concrete became the required norm by law around two hundred vorns ago. So were the original archives even older than that? What the frag? 

He glanced around himself. There was no one but him, but he felt a chill, and he shivered slightly before he tucked away the little bits of granite into his subspace. He didn’t really have the time to think too hard about it, so he carefully put away that train of thought deeper into his processor and then jobbed the rest of the way down. 

The deeper he went, the more evident it became to him that this was definitely Jazz’s space. There were little marks of him left behind - pedesteps that matched the underside of his pedes in both pattern and size, as well as various little trinkets that Orion recognized as his. He huffed a little in amusement when he came upon a small scratching on the wall that read JAZZ ROCKS. 

“Slagger,” Orion said to himself in a fond voice as he jumped off the last step and came upon another staircase. This time, it went up, and he was silent as he climbed, allowing himself to think as he did. 

“There’s another door at the top of the second staircase,” Jazz had said, his words slightly muffled as he rattled around an entire cube in his intake to try and suck as much energon out of it as he could. “It leads into an old storage closet. No one ever goes there except for my friend, and he should have unlocked the vent grate for you to go through. Yes, Orion, a vent, don’t look at me like that. Just crawl through it, follow the path, and it’ll spit you out into the middle of the mythology section, which is always empty because no one cares about that slag.” 

He had swallowed heavily, wiped his intake with the back of his servo, and had regarded Orion carefully. Though his optics were always covered by his visor, his facial plates gave the distinction that he had looked at Orion with some type of reluctant sorrow. 

“Be careful,” Jazz had muttered. “Keep your helm low. Don’t let anyone see you, especially not my friend - he’s already pissed I’m asking such a huge favor from him. Go in, get out, and let’s never speak of this again. 

“Good luck.”  

Orion sighed as he opened the door at the top, closed it carefully behind him, and looked around. True to Jazz’s word, he had ended up in some kind of storage closet, though everything was covered in dust and definitely looked more than a little outdated. There was a second door right across the tiny room, and out of curiosity, Orion jiggled the handle, but predictably, it didn’t budge. 

“Alright,” Orion said, looking up and eyeing the already open vent grate above him. He shook his helm, cursed under his breath, and said, “I can’t believe I have to do this kind of slag again. Okay… Here we go…” 

Hauling himself up into the vent wasn’t any harder than it had been when doing the same in Megatron’s cell, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed crawling through a tight, dark space and getting dust and dirt and whatever else was in there all into his seams. He seriously needed a shower after all of this, and he grimaced when his patella touched something that was either a dead mech mouse (holy frag) or a giant dust bunny. 

Thankfully, he saw the faint rays of light that indicated the end of his journey, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly shimmied over and slid a few digits through the slides to first take a peek below him. 

The shelves were way larger and taller than he had anticipated, and he said a soft, “whoa,” in pure awe at the pristine, shining metal of the rows of datapads. It was honestly kind of incredible, and for a moment, he lied there, drinking it all in and once again wondering to himself if this was really the kind of life and privilege that Sentinel enjoyed everyday. 

He shook his helm lightly, dispelled his growing thoughts, and carefully observed the area. Like Jazz said, there was no one around, and when he turned up his audial sensitivity, he also couldn’t hear anything nearby. It seemed like the entire section was abandoned, and so he quickly swung up the grate, slid downwards, hung himself from the square rim by the tips of his digits, and then jumped off. 

It wasn’t too much of a fall, and after vorns of getting into trouble (and escaping Darkwing’s wrath), Orion knew very well how to roll into a ball and muffle most of his impact so that he only made a light thud. He came to a stop when his dorsal plates mashed into the lowest shelf, and he blinked as some of the datapads around him rustled, and then settled with the vibrations. 

He stood up, dusted himself off, and looked around a little helplessly. 

Uh. 

So… now what was he supposed to do?

The answer came in the form of him figuring out that the entire place was arranged by genre, then alphabetical order, and then content order. It was a bit convoluted, honestly, and it took quite a bit of cursing and muttering from him before he finally found the history section. 

This area was a bit more populated than the others, and Orion had to play his cards right so he wouldn't get caught. Luckily, these bots seemed more interested in burying their noses into datapads than looking up whenever someone happened to move past them, so Orion took advantage and slipped past a pair of femmes as well as a lone mech to stand in front of the section he needed. 

“Revitalization Ceremony, Ceremony, Ceremony…” Orion mumbled to himself, repeating the words as his servo drew up and carefully ran along the various spines of the datapads. 

Restoring Chrome Candles… Receiving Countless Colored Cups… Revitalizing Ceres. 

He blinked. 

“Huh?” He muttered. 

Revitalizing Ceres. Revitalizing Control In Your Unruly Sparkling: A Guide. 

“What the frag,” he whispered, both servos now reaching up and frantically sorting through the datapads, his optics trying to fruitlessly search for a spine right in between the last two titles he skimmed. It should have been there, it should have been right there, there was simply no other place it could be, and yet - 

“It's gone,” he croaked. 

It was gone. There was no trace of it. 

He crouched low to the ground and rubbed at his forehelm, trying to dispel the ache forming behind his optics as he tried not to yell in frustration. This didn't make any sense. How the frag could the datapad not be here? The Revitalization Ceremony was a crucial part of their culture, and going by how the history section was one of the largest wings of the archives, clearly every part of Iacon was considered important!

Oh! Wait, wait! Maybe something with Iacon 5000, instead? Or even anything to do with the word ceremony! Oh, dammit, duh! 

Trailblazer! 

Orion eagerly stood up again and began his search. 

Two joors, three dozen datapads, and very tired optics later, Orion slumped his dorsal plate against the nearest shelf behind him and groaned weakly as he let the last text slip from his servo and clatter innocently to the floor with a soft sound. 

Nothing. 

Not a single fragging thing on the Revitalization Ceremony, the trailblazers, not even the Iacon 5000! Large informative texts were maybe a bit too much to hope for, but what about records? Weren’t the archivists in charge of that sort of thing, to make sure every piece of Iacon history was written down and tucked somewhere so that everything was kept transparent and real? 

He blinked slowly, his optics focusing on the spines in front of him as he frowned deeply. So was all of this effort for nothing, then? Had Megatron sent him on an actual fruitless chase just to see him act like an idiot? Was he sitting in his cell, laughing his helm off, thinking about poor Orion, who had spent the last few joors frantically reading datapad after datapad? 

Maybe Sentinel was right, Orion thought to himself tiredly as he ran a servo down his face and then back up to pinch at the bridge of his nasal ridge. He was so exhausted that he could fall into recharge right then and there. Megatron's an obvious liar. I wouldn't put it past him to manipulate me. This is stupid, I should go home and just… 

He paused. His digits twitched lightly against one of the datapads that were stacked around him in his franticness to figure out the answer to what Megatron had dropped a hint of, and Orion stared blankly at the shelf across from him. 

No, he thought slowly. That didn't make sense. Though he didn't think that Megatron was above petty lies or cruel tactics to sway him, why would Megatron insist on Orion coming back afterwards if he knew that the archives wouldn't actually have anything? He already knew that Orion was going back regardless to feed him, so a steady supply of energon couldn't be it. 

He was trying to prove something, Orion’s processor murmured. There's no such thing as the Ceremony, according to the archives. Did someone check out all the datapads that have to do with it? Or did the archivists forget to restock these?

He chewed on his lower derma. Frag. He wished he could talk to Hot Rod; he had been an archivist before he won the recent race, so surely he would have had some answers. But Orion didn't have his comm link, and he wouldn't be able to even get near him enough to ask for it. 

But… maybe someone else could. 

Private Comm Link (ID: #628317): Sentinel Prime? No, Sentinel Prick

Outgoing message… 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Sentinel! :: 

Orion waited five kliks. He tapped his pede anxiously when there was no indication that Sentinel was typing, much less had seen his message. What the frag was he doing? Sentinel never left texts alone for too long, especially not when Orion was calling for him so urgently. 

Slag. Was the thing that happened between Sentinel and Bee worse than Orion initially thought? He should have pushed more for answers, then maybe he could have pushed past whatever tiff the two of them were going through and so Sentinel would stop freaking ignoring him. 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Look, Sen, I really need your help. I'm assuming you're still at the party, so could you get me Hot Rod's private comm line if you can? ::

:: I know it's a lot to ask but I seriously need to talk to him. :: 

:: … Sentinel? :: 

:: Sen, come on. Whatever happened between you and Bee, we can fix it. Don't be too upset. I seriously need you right now, buddy. :: 

:: Sen. :: 

:: Sentinel!!! ::

Orion let out a garbled noise of static as he received no reply within the half-joor he waited impatiently. He wasn't usually rude enough to spam Sentinel, who he knew was the busiest out of all three of them, but this was important. 

What the hell was Sentinel doing that had him so distracted? He had never ignored Orion like this before. Especially not when he was asking him for a favor that he had stressed was imperative to him. 

He sighed and begrudgingly pulled another datapad towards him. Well, the good thing was that it was still early in the lune cycle, so he still had enough time to peruse some of these other texts and try to find some clue he might have missed. He doubted it, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for Sentinel to - 

“Councilman Sunstreaker, it is such an honor to have you here, you won't even believe how excited we all are!” 

Slag. Slag, slag, frag, bolt-eating bucket of - !  

Orion scrambled to hide himself as he quickly scooted back and pressed his dorsal plate flush against the flat end of the shelf he had been leaning on. His spark pounded dangerously fast in his chassis, and he swore lowly under his breath as he carefully peeked out and watched a femme archivist lead a mech painted black who was rapidly tapping away on a datapad, and behind him - 

Orion's vents hitched. 

Councilman Sunstreaker was worthy of his name; he was larger than both bots in front of him, and seemed to have no shame in letting his heavy steps echo throughout the otherwise silent hall. He was painted a near blinding shade of yellow, and he seemed more interested in picking at his audial and flicking away pieces of dust than paying attention to whatever the archivist was saying. 

Orion had never seen him before, mostly because he tended to only watch the live projections that featured Ultra or Sentinel. His processor dug through his files and brought up everything Sentinel had ever mentioned about Sunstreaker, which wasn't a whole lot. 

All Orion knew was that the councilman was apparently the head of the Elite Guard, which was much larger than Ultra’s personal high squadron. Judging by the bulging cable muscles as well as the sheer size of Sunstreaker's shoulder plates, Orion could warily conclude that the title wasn't unwarranted. 

Of all the nights for him to be here - ! 

Getting caught by a noble? Bad. By a guard? Worse. By a councilman? 

If Orion wasn't careful, he was as good as dead. Coolant began to drip down his nose and he again swore quietly when he felt his cooling fans kick on with a soft click. Hastily, he overrode his temperature gauge and sat there completely still, his frame heating up from his nerves. 

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Sunstreaker said, his tone bored and slimy with arrogance as he waved off the next of the archivist's spewing. She had been talking about their newest wing of datapads or something or other, and Orion cringed in sympathy when she deflated and shut her intake. “Longarm, what exactly did I need to come find?” 

The black mech that had been texting furiously on his datapad looked up and blinked. He didn't seem at all affected by the councilman's rudeness, and instead politely said, “the text on the best brewing methods for high grade energon, my lord. Remember how you said you wanted to drink the ale that the Primes used to?” 

“Oh, yes,” Sunstreaker said, now looking thoughtful as he nodded his helm eagerly. “That sounds awesome. Imagine getting drunk off that and fragging the night off to do whatever you want!” 

He laughed, a bellowing sound, and Orion was honestly just shocked that a senator was so crude. Ultra always had the appearance and attitude of regality and power, and though Orion had always heard Sentinel whine than not, he always caught a glimpse of that noble and aristocratic nature of his time to time. 

Sunstreaker was none of those things. Powerful, yes, and certainly imposing enough. But he was… rude. 

Luckily, it seemed that attitude didn’t extend to Longarm, who Orion assumed was Sunstreaker’s assistant, or at least something close to it. The smaller mech simply nodded along, his facial plates impassive, and it was clear that he was simply doing whatever he needed to do to appease the boisterous councilman. 

“I just don’t see why we had to come tonight,” Sunstreaker complained loudly, causing a couple of heads with peeved expressions to poke out between shelves, only to shrink back as they realized who it was and quickly schooled their appearances to appear demure. “Ultra’s party is off the hook, Longarm! Look, look - see? Blurr just commed me that Chromedome’s vomiting up all his energon! Argh, I should have been there!” 

“I understand, my lord,” Longarm said soothingly. He sent an apologetic, handsome smile to the architect who had been guiding them, who immediately blushed a pale blue and ducked her helm in bashfulness. “But the brewing section is usually closed off during the lune cycle, and you know I can’t have access without your key code.” 

Sunstreaker grumbled something under his breath, too low for Orion’s audials to pick up on, but whatever he said seemed to have amused Longarm, who chuckled quietly. 

“If you want to go so badly, just hand me the key code for now and I’ll meet you back at the mansion,” Longarm said, raising his servo in a give it here gesture. 

“My key code?” Sunstreaker hesitated. He didn’t fidget or anything like that, something Orion legitimately could not even imagine a mech of his standing would do, but the way his optics darted from Longarm’s wiggling digits to his face was similar enough. “You know that’s confidential, Longarm. Ultra will have my aft if I - “ 

“That’s fine,” Longarm said gently, resting his servo gently on Sunstreaker’s much larger one. The councilman swallowed and glanced down again, this time looking entranced as Longarm murmured, “I understand. You can just stay with me and we can look through the shelves together, it’ll be fun. I mean, you’ll have to send your regards to Lord Ultra, because there’s no chance we’ll be done before morning - “ 

“What?” Sunstreaker blurted out. His face was suddenly set in a scowl as he jerked his helm down to stare at the archivist, who nearly jumped out of her plating as he did. “Is this true?” 

“Y-Yes,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and bowed, but even from here, Orion could see the way her servos shook as she folded them politely in front of them. “The brewery wing is large and old, my lord, and a good number of the datapads are unfortunately uncharged due to lack of interest from our patrons - “ 

“So we’ll have to wait for some of them to turn on while we look through them,” Longarm muttered thoughtfully. He was stroking Sunstreaker’s digits by this point, and Orion was mortified by how intimate the gesture was. He had originally thought that Longarm was Sunstreaker’s assistant; was he his lover instead? Were councilmen even allowed to have… romantic entanglements? “Well, then, show us the way, archivist. We’ll just - “ 

“Here.” Sunstreaker’s dentae were gritted as he shoved something towards Longarm. Despite the harsh way he did it, Longarm took what looked like a small, thin card with grace, and simply stared up at the councilman as he grumbled. “Spending all my lune here, are you crazy? Do I look like a nerd who wants to waste my time here when Ultra’s busting out the good stuff from his cellar?” 

“Thank you, Sunstreaker,” Longarm said, just as softly as before. 

Sunstreaker blushed. It was a bewildering look on a mech who Orion had clocked as annoyingly arrogant, and he stared, tilting his helm slightly as Longarm smiled at Sunstreaker in a decidedly both pleased and coy manner. 

Well, whatever. This was his chance. With all three of them so distracted, Orion could start sneaking back towards the vent he had used. He raised a pede, intent on shuffling just the tiniest bit to stick closer to the wall, only to freeze when he nudged a datapad. 

It was one of the thinner ones, so it slid easily at least a couple of inches, before it innocently stopped. It didn't move much, but half of its edge was in the light, and Orion froze, his spark in his throat as there was a small noise of surprise, and Sunstreaker said with a suspicious tone, “what was that? I saw something move.” 

Holy frag, I'm so fucking dead, Orion thought hysterically to himself. 

He risked another peek, using the angle to his advantage so they wouldn't see the shape or color of his helm, and he felt like he was being pierced in the optics as he realized that it wasn't Sunstreaker who was looking directly at him, but Longarm. 

The black mech had a scowl on his face and glared so fiercely that Orion winced on principle. There was no way he hadn't been spotted, and he almost sighed as he realized that he would have to message both Sentinel and Bee that he would be out of commission for the next few sols. 

Dammit. Ricks was not going to be happy. He already had a pole up his aft if Orion was late by a micro-klik, imagine the look on his face if he knew that Orion wouldn't be showing up at all for the foreseeable future? 

That might make all of this worth it, Orion thought to himself, almost snickering as his processor helpfully generated an image of Ricks looking gobsmacked. 

“I don't think I saw anything,” Longarm said sweetly, and Orion whipped his helm to gape at him as the smaller mech smiled up at Sunstreaker again, palming his wrist. The councilman, who had been squinting in an accusing manner at the stupid datapad that had given Orion away, flushed once again as he stared in awe at Longarm. “Why don't you start heading back, my lord? I'll catch up.”

????? Orion's processor nearly short circuited as it tried to make sense of what was happening. 

Hadn't Longarm seen him? There was no way he didn't, they literally made optic contact, and Orion had already gleaned that the mech was far sharper than his boss/lover was. So what was it then? 

“And I'll find you…?” Sunstreaker trailed off, his voice overly eager and obviously expecting a specific answer as he leaned down slightly. 

Longarm smiled. It was a slight thing, nothing more than a little quirk of his dermas, but his optics lidded half-closed, he leaned up on the tips of his pedes, and he whispered into Sunstreaker's audial, just loud enough that Orion could pick up on the edges of his words: “In your berth, with my legs apart.” 

Orion blushed and clapped a servo to his intake in horror mixed with embarrassment. 

The archivist, who had been hovering nearby, went so blue with energon rushing to her face that she looked like she was going to faint. 

Sunstreaker grinned, wide and way too lustful for a public setting as he eyed Longarm with such a seedy look that Orion felt slightly violated. 

With a nod of satisfaction, Sunstreaker turned on his pede and began to march back where he went, in a disturbingly good mood as he bellowed out greetings to the startled mechs he passed by. 

“Thank you for indulging him,” Longarm said to the archivist. He was acting like nothing had happened. He didn't even look flustered! He simply palmed the key code that Sunstreaker had given him and tucked it away into his subspace, smiling crookedly in a way that was a touch too charming as he said, “I know how to get to the brewery section from here. Your guidance so far has been appreciated.” 

The archivist blushed again. It was honestly a bit fascinating to see her so blue; surely she would fall over soon from how practically all her energon was in her helm, now. If Orion wasn’t so busy trying not to get arrested, he would have asked her if she was alright. 

“Oh, no worries, Mr. Longarm!” She said, frantically waving her servos about and giggling a little helplessly when his smile widened just that much more. “I'm so happy to help. I have to return to my desk now, but if you need anything else, here's my comm link ID.” 

I guess all that energon in her helm gave her some courage, Orion thought in amusement as he watched the way she leaned down and scribbled something hastily on Longarm's palm, blinking coyly up at him as she did so.  

He didn't seem offended by the offer, and simply said, “thank you, miss,” and dipped his head lightly as she tittered and then scampered off. 

Orion let out a vent as he and Longarm stood there in silence, with nothing but the shadows and light to separate them. He did contemplate leaving, perhaps try to slip away and hope that Longarm wouldn't follow, but he had a feeling that would work as well as that one time he tried to convince Sentinel that drinking cycles-old energon was fine (read: it wasn't). 

“Are you going to continue standing there, or are you going to come and arrest me?” Orion finally sighed, leaning against the dark, flat portion of the shelf as his helm tilted back and laid on it gently. He was busy trying to figure out how to beg (or bribe, sometimes it worked) the enforcer that would have to oversee his cell as he was detained for however many sols they deemed he needed. 

“Don't speak so loudly. Or are you not nearly as intelligent as Jazz says you supposedly are?” 

Orion jolted, and the noise that left his throat was mostly static as he realized that in the micro-klik he had spent staring up at the ceiling, Longarm had not only strode right past the shelves, but was standing so close to him that Orion had to jerk his chin up to even look him in the optics. 

It was then that what Longarm said hit his helm like a damn brick, and he knew he was gaping rather unattractively going by the unimpressed look on Longarm's face as Orion sputtered, gestured at him incredulously, and then finally gasped out, “you're the friend Jazz was talking about?”

Longarm didn't answer. His previous light charm and wit seemed to have melted away completely the moment he stepped into the shadows, and his bright optics were dimmed so that they were barely visible. His expression was tight with irritation, and his arms were drawn across his chassis in his displeasure, but finally, after standing there for at least two kliks, he dipped his chin plate slightly in a yes. 

“What the frag,” Orion deadpanned. When Jazz had said that he had a friend who helped him out, Orion had expected an archivist or some noble that had formed a relationship with him, similarly how Orion did with Sentinel. 

But Longarm wasn't either of those things. He was not only Sunstreaker's assistant, but he was also his lover, or at least something of the sort. He was as close to the council as anyone who wasn't an actual senate member could get, and it made Orion blink several times as he realized that somehow, some way, Jazz had befriended this - this - 

“You should have listened to Jazz.” Longarm's frown deepened into a scowl. Geeze, talk about a total 180. Gone was the soft-spoken, agreeable mech who had coaxed Sunstreaker into leaving and also appeasing the archivist to go away. He had been so faintly seductive that even Orion had felt a little flustered, but the bot stood in front of him now was cold. Annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. “You weren't supposed to draw attention to yourself.” 

Orion looked at him in disbelief. “I didn't, at least until you came along! If you knew I was going to be here, why the hell did you lead Sunstreaker right towards me?”

Longarm pursed his dermas and looked to the side. When he spoke, it sounded like his dentae were gritted, and he ground out, “that fool? Please. As if he would ever leave me alone enough for me to venture out on my own. It just so happens that we both lucked out and Ultra is throwing a party. If he wasn't, we would both be in trouble.” 

Orion stared at him. 

Okay, now he was really confused. 

“Uh.” He started tentatively. He didn't want to upset Longarm; if he really was Jazz's friend, then that meant by extension, he was Orion's ally. But curiosity beat out his struggle for propriety, and he cleared his throat, rocked slightly on his heels, and awkwardly said, “sorry, I don't… understand. I thought you and Sunstreaker were - ?” 

Longarm shot him a vicious glare, and Orion quickly shut his intake.

“You need to get out,” Longarm growled, now sounding impatient as he glanced past Orion's helm, clicking his glossa in irritation as he saw something. “The archivists continuously sweep the floors every five joors to clean up any messes. Did you find what you were looking for, or is your helm too thick for that?” 

Orion's optic twitched at the insult, but he brushed it off and said, “no. I've been trying to find out about the Revitalization Ceremony and also the records of all past winners and trailblazers, but I couldn't find anything. It's like they all disappeared or something.” 

He let out a frustrated vent. He just couldn't figure it out. How could there be nothing about the Ceremony? That was impossible. Ever since the Primes disappeared and Ultra took the lead of their congress, he had implemented a system to soothe the restlessness of Iacon citizens. Part of that system had been to record everything that ever happened in their city, so that bots could come and read about their history whenever they wanted. 

It was about transparency, integrity, and generosity. So why…? 

Orion realized that Longarm hadn't said anything in the kliks that passed, and he glanced up at him, wondering if something was wrong, only to nearly flinch when he saw that Longarm was not only staring at him, but he was staring at him so intensely that it was a wonder Orion's helm didn’t have a hole burnt through it. 

He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he was understanding more and more that the Longarm that he had seen with Sunstreaker and that archivist had been a facade. A mask that he put on for some reason, and had dropped around Orion because he wasn't worth it. 

“The Ceremony,” Longarm rasped. He glanced down to Orion's chassis, where his cog well was empty. Orion didn't even have time to feel offended by the blatant staring before Longarm reached out and gently pressed his digit tips against the edge of the empty socket. “Why do you care? You can't compete.” 

“Hey!” Orion snapped, the first dredges of real anger sparking at the edge of his processor as he harshly slapped away the servo. Surprisingly, Longarm let him, and the larger mech simply leaned back and continued to stare as Orion snarled and said, “listen, I know that to you I'm just a miner, but that doesn't mean you can just go around touching me like that! What gives you the damn right, huh? Just because you're a higher caste - !” 

Longarm laughed. 

Orion froze. 

It wasn't a mocking laugh, and it wasn't one full of anger or irritation. It was short and more breathy than voice, but it was real, and when Longarm smiled, it wasn't like the slight one he gave Sunstreaker, who easily fell for his seductions. It wasn't even like the one he showed to the archivist, full of polite charm and wit. 

It was rough, more of a smirk than an actual smile, but his voice had softened around its rough edges as he said, “you're right.” 

Orion was taken back, and he was sure his confusion of what was going on was clear as he said, “er, I am?” 

Longarm nodded. He straightened and said, “at least about that, yes. But the  records of the Revitalization Ceremony… they won't be found here. You're on an endless hunt for it if that's really what you're searching for.” 

“But - “ Orion said helplessly. “I need it.” 

Longarm's dermas twitched. “Earlier, you said it's like they disappeared.” 

Orion nodded, his skepticism making his face scrunch into a frown as Longarm hummed in contemplation. 

“Perhaps you aren't entirely off the mark with that observation,” Longarm said, and he gave Orion a pointed, knowing look. 

Do you understand? Longarm's optics stared. 

Oh, Orion stared back. I do. 

Oh. 

Orion understood. Megatron hadn't lied to him or manipulated him or done anything like Sentinel and Orion had expected him to; he hadn't sent Orion on some stupid, helmless and scatterbrained quest. This was what Megatron wanted him to see. There weren't any records of the Ceremony, not because someone had checked them out or they were replaced. 

Someone had taken them. Deliberately. 

They were hiding something about the Ceremony, Orion thought rapidly. There had always been something strange about the whole thing, and Megatron's knee-jerk reaction to Hot Rod winning hadn't been a coincidence, either. Whatever Megatron knew, the bot who stole all these datapads didn't want it getting out. 

That meant the secret was dangerous. This was bigger than what Orion had originally thought it was; this was more than him and Megatron playing a game and seeing who would bend the knee and call for mercy first. 

“Longarm - “ Orion started, his voice hard and insistent, but the larger mech breathed out a soft curse as he grasped Orion's arm and started to weave through the shelves, ignoring the way the miner stumbled behind him and hissed at him to slow down. 

“You're out of time,” Longarm said, not looking over his shoulder as he breezed past a few femmes, both of whom were luckily too engrossed in their respective data pads to glance up. “The archivists will be here soon to check the area, and I'm limited on time, myself. We part here.” 

Orion nearly slammed into the back of Longarm’s legs as the mech suddenly let go of him and the speed they'd been walking carried too much momentum. He felt slightly dizzy as he peeled off his servos from Longarm's legs where they'd clutched at the metal in an effort to catch him, and he made a noise of recognition as he recognized the vent grates up above them. 

“Wait,” Orion said desperately, trying to jump down when Longarm unceremoniously scooped him up by the waist and lifted him. Instinctively, Orion clung to the rim of the opening and then lifted himself the rest of the way, but he quickly turned to try to plead at Longarm, who was already reaching up and locking the grates with something Orion couldn't see. “Longarm - “ 

“The answers you seek are not easy to understand,” Longarm warned as he finished locking the grate and then carefully observed the area. Luckily, no one was near, and he gave Orion one last, examining look. “You have to figure it out yourself. Goodbye.” 

“Oh, you slagger,” Orion muttered darkly as Longarm turned around and disappeared beyond the corner of a shelf, moving so swiftly that it was like he'd never been there in the first place. 

Still, Orion thought, shimmying forward in the vent tunnel and his processor clicking as he filed away everything he had learned that night into his hard drive. 

He had definitely found some invaluable intel. 

When was the next time he could see Megatron? 

[honeyhotteoks]

guys i've been hesitating making this post b/c I don't want people to get excited too early (b/c truly nothing is happening for a while) but i've been returning to aurora a lot recently and I think i'm finally feeling excited and fresh about that piece again.

i've been editing it slowly over the past year or so, and i'm planning on updating all of those chapters very soon (nothing major, mostly clean up and threading things together better) but yesterday I read the whole thing start to finish again and just had like a million good ideas for book two and started to get happy about it.

it's been a long time since aurora brought me that level of creative excitement because it was such a huge project but i'm getting that itch to return to our MC in that fic again. like I know how it ends more clearly, I know where I want the hurt/comfort arcs, I know so many of the good smut scenes etc. etc. and that's just really exciting as a writer to feel again.

i'm def going to finish tnt before then, and probably post this yunho soulmate fic b/c that story is just flying out of me onto the keys but..... after that I think I want to come home to aurora finally 🥹

[gojoonsaturn]

pairing: singer!Suguru Geto x fem reader

wc: 8158 (i'm sick)

summary: Suguru Geto returns to university after spending a year in treatment for his drug and alcohol addiction. At his friend's party, Shoko Ieiri, he meets you and helps you when you get into trouble. What happens next?

a/n: I would like to explain why Y/n and Mahito are a couple at the beginning of the story. As I love all of the male characters in JJK (except Mahito), so I wanted none of them to have a negative role in this story. Therefore, I decided that Y/n should be dating Mahito at the beginning. Oh, and if you want, you can imagine Suguru sings "Call out my name" by The Weeknd.

warnings: song inspired fic, university au, Shoko and Suguru are singers (actually, everyone is singer here except y/n), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, drug intoxication, swearing, fluff, a little angst, mention of the death of minor characters (y/n's mother), sex. In short, read!

english is not my first language, nor even second, so there may be mistakes, but i really spent a lot of time proofreading and improving my works.

Suguru left the principal's office and felt a sense of familiarity with the university atmosphere, which seemed to have flown out of his mind during his year-long break from Tokyo University of Arts. He was glad to be back on campus.

He called Shoko, his new classmate, to ask about the class schedule. A cheerful voice came from the other end of the line.

"I'm so happy to hear from you!" Geto said, with a smile that Ieiri could hear in his voice. "I just left Yaga's office, and he said he'll put me in your study group, so, I need some information about assignments and the schedule."

They agreed that Shoko would email him all the information about her classes.

"By the way," she added in a tempting voice. "I'm throwing a party tonight! You should come!"

Geto hesitated, as parties hadn’t ended well for him in the past, but Ieiri reassured him that there would be nothing to worry about – there will be just food and low-alcohol drinks.

"I can't make any promises, but I'll keep it in mind." He said, hanging up the phone.

He then went to the parking lot and from there, to the apartment he had rented the day before.

Suguru was a student at the Faculty of Arts, studying music. He often received offers from producers who came to the university to arrange auditions. His voice was exceptionally beautiful, and his lyrics were so soulful that his works were sold for good sums. With the money he earned, Geto was able to purchase a good car and rent a comfortable apartment near the university. Even though the treatment at the clinic was not cheap, he had enough money to maintain his previous standard of living.

The musician entered the apartment and looked around at the empty studio, feeling a sense of loneliness gnaw at him. He thought about how he would spend the evening alone and felt a bitter realization that all his friends had moved on without him. Memories of past parties sent shivers down his spine, but he made a decision not to go back to those types of gatherings.

But he didn't want to disappoint his friend. Suguru changed into a black polo shirt and jeans, checked himself in the mirror, and left the apartment.

Shoko's house was located right on the shore of Tokyo Bay. As Geto drove there, he felt a sense of determination to meet new people and understand what university life was all about.

On his way to the house, he heard muffled music and joyful screams from people. He called Shoko and asked her to meet him. She came out, happy, and rushed over to give him a hug.

"Oh, Geto, I've missed you so much!" Ieiri exclaimed, pulling away and smiling at him. "Let me introduce you to my friends!"

Suguru's expression softened, and he agreed. After a few minutes, they were standing in front of a group of people, and Shoko introduced him as her friend and new classmate.

One of the guys, Mahito, greeted Geto and complimented his music. "I've heard some of your songs. You make great music."

Mahito was standing with a girl who was holding a drink. She seemed bored at first, but when she saw Suguru, she smiled and greeted him as well.

"This is Y/n," Mahito introduced his girlfriend. "She's from Sophia University and studying English literature."

Y/n smiled at Geto, but then seemed to lose interest in the party and disengage from everything around her.

After some time, Shoko approached Suguru and invited him to join her to perform a song they had written together before his departure. Suguru accepted the invitation and joined Shoko on the makeshift stage.

"Friends, I am delighted to introduce you my friend Suguru! This song is the work of both of us, and it was written even before..." Shoko paused, as she was the only one aware of the reason for Suguru's absence the previous year. "A year ago! You will be the first to hear this track, which in a few months will surely be on all of the world's best charts!"

Shoko began playing the song and clapped her hands to get the audience excited. As she sang, Suguru felt goosebumps on his skin. He noted that Shoko had significantly improved her vocals and was now singing as if she was breathing. Suddenly, a wave of anxiety washed over him, as he had not practiced for a long time. His eyes excitedly scanned the crowd and settled on Mahito's girlfriend. She smiled at Shoko and, surprisingly, started singing along with her. Then, she looked at Geto and winked.

And as soon as the first line was sung, the crowd cheered on him even more and started to whistle with encouragement. The singer listened to the music and recognized that he felt it no worse than he had been a year ago. Overwhelmed by the experience, he closed his eyes in pleasure, only opening them when Shoko joined him in singing. After the song, they bowed to the audience and clapped for each other.

"I have heard this song performed by Sho many times and thought it was perfect, but when I heard it with your part, it's simply heavenly!" Y/n ran up to the performers and hugged Ieiri, then turned to Suguru.

Geto smiled at her and thanked her for the compliment. That's how she knew the words!

Mahito stood next to Y/n, but Suguru didn't notice any encouragement on his face. He tugged at her arm, and she almost looked at him in fright, immediately falling silent. Geto looked at Shoko, who had clearly seen similar behavior from her classmate before. She rolled her eyes and gave Y/n a sympathetic look. The couple moved away into the crowd, and Suguru continued gathering applause with Shoko.

A few hours later, Suguru realized that he was better off without alcohol and drugs. He met some of his classmates and other students from different departments. It was nice to chat with people who shared his interests and discuss music. While chatting with a girl who flirted with him, he saw Mahito leading his girlfriend upstairs. For some reason, Y/n seemed about to faint. Suguru had a bad feeling and left the girl to follow Mahito and Y/n.

On the second floor, Suguru saw Y/n trying weakly to wave Mahito away. However, he continued to approach her.

"Damn, I told you..." She tried to swing him, but he caught her hand and pushed her back against the wall.

"I think she made herself clear," Suguru said, covering the distance between them and pushing Mahito away from her.

Geto didn't know how Y/n had become so drunk in such a short time. Mahito, on the other hand, seemed very sober, even though a glass of something other than soda was constantly in his hand.

"Mind your own business! Go sing with this bitch!" Mahito snapped, pushing Suguru's arm away and moving towards the girl again.

Suguru didn't want to start a fight on his first day back, but he hated when his friends were insulted. So, he calmly pushed Mahito back again, this time with more force, sending the guy flying towards the stairs.

"Leave him alone, please! He's not worth it..." Suddenly, Y/n grabbed Suguru's arm. Through her glassy and intoxicated eyes, he saw her serious expression. "Just help me, please..."

Geto noticed that Y/n was struggling to stand up, and there was a trickle of blood flowing from her hand. Mahito must have hurt her in some way.

He picked up Y/n and carried her into the bedroom, laying her down on the bed.

"I feel like there's something wrong with my mind... I understand things, but I can't seem to control myself..."

Something clicked in Geto's mind. It wasn't just alcohol. "Tell me, have you taken any drugs or pills?"

Y/n shook her head vehemently. "No, I don't do drugs! I wouldn't take anything like that!" But then, a look of realization crossed her face, and she added, "Not intentionally, anyway."

Geto opened her eyes and saw enlarged pupils. The girl began to tremble. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead, and he realized what was causing her condition.

"Listen, you don't need to move too much right now. Just lie down and rest. I'll bring you some water. We need to wait for this to pass and give you plenty of fluids." He helped Y/n lay down and covered her with a blanket.

Downstairs, Suguru explained the situation to Shoko. She promised to deal with Mahito and started winding down the party. Guests started saying goodbye and leaving the house. Shoko got a bottle and filled it with warm water, then they headed upstairs to see Y/n.

"I'm so mad at that bastard!" Shoko said, pouring some water into a glass for her friend. "I've told you time and time again that he’s not good for you."

"You're making things worse!" Even in this state, Y/n managed to smile.

Suguru looked at her and remembered how many girls he had seen in this condition. And the worst thing was that he was the one who had brought most of them there. The guilt he felt before his treatment at the center came back to him, and Geto hated himself again. But then, the next moment, Y/n turned to him.

"If it wasn't for you…" She said, struggling to speak. Shoko handed her a glass of water, and Suguru felt all the symptoms that Y/n was experiencing at that moment. Dry mouth, thirst, nausea, chills that were replaced by fever. "In general, thank you..." She smiled weakly and closed her eyes, trying to control her shaking.

"You can go home." Ieiri whispered. "I'll stay with her. I have experience with these things."

She looked at Y/n with sympathy and at Geto with a sense of guilt. She had been there most of the time when he had brought himself to this state. There were countless apologies in her eyes for not being able to protect her friend at that moment.

"Don't worry." He said. "You've done your best and you're doing great." He hugged Shoko and crouched down next to Y/n, stroking her cold cheek with his finger. "She's strong." He continued. "She'll be okay."

For the next week, Suguru joined the learning process. Some teachers were pleased to see him, while others were skeptical, knowing the reason for his absence. The groupmates assisted Suguru with his learning, and he in turn provided them with tips that helped them improve their musical skills.

At the end of the month, each student had to create their own project and present it to a professional music producer. The producers selected the best performers, recorded their tracks in their studio, and promoted them. Naturally, each producer had different criteria and ideas about what music would appeal to their audience. The teachers explained that not being chosen by a specific producer simply meant that the student's music was not in line with that producer's taste.

Geto recalled with a smile his audition experiences, which in 95% of cases ended in success. The secret to his success was that he looked through the producer's repertoire beforehand and created a song that he would perform. His versatility as a musician allowed him to pull off this strategy.

"Yoshiki Yamada!" A joyful Shoko announced to her group a week before the audition.

"His label is the best in Japan for today." Nanami said with excitement.

"Yes, it will be success if we manage to work with him." Geto replied.

Geto turned his attention to Mahito, who turned even darker when he heard the name of the producer. He thought about the incident with Y/n and how Shoko had said she was okay, but he wanted to check on her anyway. Looking at Mahito, Geto decided he would go see Y/n after the audition to see how she was doing.

Geto flipped through the list of artists from the "TOUCH" label and listened to their latest tracks. Love ballads seemed to be the focus of the most recently released tracks.

The young man sighed and leaned back on the couch, feeling like it was time to finish the song he'd started writing before his drug problems started. All he needed to do was improve a few details and it would be finished.

On Friday evening, his band gathered in the auditorium, anxiously waiting for the producer. Shimizu-sensei, the professor who was responsible for organizing auditions, assured his students and prepared them for success.

The door opened, and a man in his middle age wearing a long black coat walked in, taking it off as he came. Shimizu greeted him and guided him to a seat in the center of the front row. Yamada appeared to be a friendly person, smiling warmly at the students and wishing them luck. His eyes fixed on Mahito, who seemed to be pale.

The group sat behind Yamada, preparing to support each other. Utahime was the first to perform, looking very excited. She began with some slightly wrong chords, but then everything went well for her.

Yoshiki took notes in his notebook, writing down various things beside the students' names. After her performance, Shoko nudged Suguru, pointing to Yamada's notebook. Suguru tried to look, but the producer blocked his view with his hand.

Suguru was the last to sing. When he stepped onto the stage, he saw Y/n at the back of the room. He smiled and winked at her.

"Good evening. My name is Suguru Geto. Here's my song, please, Haibara." He turned to the DJ and made a nod, indicating that he was ready to start.

As Suguru began singing, Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine. His voice was so beautiful and enchanting that it made her forget everything else around her. But at the same time, his words made her heart hurt in a way that was familiar. Y/n glanced around to make sure no one else had noticed her own tears, and discreetly wiped them away.

Suguru noticed Y/n looking at him with a new sparkle in her eyes, and he gave her a small smile. He then bowed to the audience and looked over at Yoshiki, who was applauding along with the rest of the group.

A few minutes later, Shimizu invited Yamada up onto the stage to announce the results.

"Dear students! Thank you for such wonderful performances. You have shown that you deserve to be in this university. For now, I won't be announcing the results. Instead, you will all receive an email with an invitation for a follow-up audition. Please don't be discouraged if I don't invite you. This is not a personal decision, but one based on my professional interest in your potential as performers. Remember that not you are looking for a producer - the producer is looking for you. Once again, thank you for coming tonight!"

The students applauded Yamada's performance. They were disappointed that they would not find out the results immediately, but the words the producer used to end the evening inspired them.

Suguru wanted to talk to Y/n, but she had already left.

Everyone in the group was in a state of anxious anticipation for the weekend. They were eagerly waiting for the much-anticipated letter from the "TOUCH" producer and were already imagining recording a solo album with him.

"Guys, check your emails!!!" Shoko sent in the group chat.

Suguru grabbed his laptop and opened his inbox, which contained an email with the TOUCH logo. He caught himself thinking that he was feeling very anxious. With a heavy heart, he clicked on the email, and a short message appeared in front of him.

"Thursday, 7 p.m., Yashio 1-chome"

Only Suguru and Shoko had received the invitation, while Yamada had sent recommendations to the other students for their tracks and overall creativity. Ieiri decided Geto to join her, but as it turned out, Yamada had scheduled different times for Suguru and Shoko - Suguru's meeting was on Thursday, while Shoko's was on Friday.

"That's great! So, you're going to tell me what's going to happen at the meeting?" Shoko sat across from Suguru, contentedly drinking coffee.

"I wish I were the first to know..." The guy smiled and took a sip from his mug of tea.

"Come on, you've met with producers millions of times, but it will be my first time!"

The time until Thursday seemed to drag on, and suddenly, Geto realized that he was even more nervous than he had been before. It had been a long time since he had attended these meetings. When he arrived at the designated location, he took a deep breath and made his way towards the building.

As he rang the doorbell, the wait seemed like an eternity. The door eventually opened, and Y/n stood in front of him. Geto checked the house number and confirmed that it was the right address.

"That’s not a mistake. Come in. Dad is already waiting for you."

"Dad?" Suguru asked in surprise.

"Yamada-san." Y/n smiled and handed him the guest slippers. "Dad! Geto-san has arrived."

He smiled at her formal address. Yoshiki Yamada greeted Geto in a casual outfit, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. After shaking hands, he escorted Geto to his office

"Nice to see you again, Geto-san."

"You can just call me Suguru."

"Well, Suguru, I think your song has a great chance of becoming a big hit. If we work together, it will definitely be number one on all the charts in the country. I want to help you achieve success. The rights to your lyrics and music belong to you, and I will only be promoting your work. Additionally, you will be recording a duet with one of our artists. I’ll send you a list of some of my singers who would match your style. Make an appointment with them, discuss the format of the song, write it, show it to me and we'll make any necessary adjustments before recording at my studio."

Suguru was excited about the idea of recording a track with one of TOUCH's artists and imagined how Shoko would be thrilled.

"In principle, everything sounds great. When can we start recording my song?"

"This weekend, I have already scheduled a recording session for Saturday. Tonight, I will send you a list of potential duet partners via email. Please take some time to review the options and let me know your decision by Friday evening. Based on your response, I will invite one of the artists to our recording session so you can meet them and chat."

Yamada seemed like a man who didn't like wasting time.

Suguru was confused by all the information. "There's a lot of information…" He said, scratching his head.

"Don't worry, everything will be in your email. Now, I suggest we start dinner. Y/n!"

A few seconds later, Y/n appeared in the room's doorway.

"Honey, is dinner ready?"

"Yes, you can come to the table."

Yoshiki stood up and gestured for Suguru to follow her. The young man was still a bit confused, as he had not expected Y/n to be the daughter of Yoshiki Yamada.

At the table, there was a boy of about eight sitting patiently. He looked at the different types of sushi on the plate.

"This is Reiji, my youngest." The man said, sitting down next to his son and patting him on the head. "Reiji, this is Suguru. He'll be recording at my studio."

"Nice to meet you, Suguru-san!" Reiji said seriously.

Suguru responded with a smile, saying, "It's nice to meet you too, Reiji-san." He heard Y/n chuckle at his response.

At dinner, the conversation was relaxed. Yoshiki spoke about the tours his team had been on, and the music his label produced. Suguru felt so comfortable that he began to reminisce about his childhood, when his entire family would gather for dinner in the evenings and share what had happened during the day. Realizing that he was only a guest, after a while, he apologized and said he had to leave.

"Dad, I'll walk Suguru." Y/n said, standing up and nodding to her father.

"Yamada-san, thank you for the meeting and dinner. I appreciate our collaboration. Hopefully, everything will go smoothly between us." Geto shook hands with the producer and headed for the exit.

"That's why Mahito looked so pale when he saw your father." Y/n and Geto went outside.

The sun had already set, and a gentle breeze was playing with Y/n's hair, which fell in disarray around her shoulders.

"I didn't introduce them, but they already knew about each other. Shoko told me that Mahito just needed a contract from my father, not me." Yamada smiled and looked out at the horizon. "Are you in a hurry?" Suguru shook his head.

He had no one waiting for him at home, and spending time with someone was a way for him to escape from loneliness. Y/n came around the corner of the house and they walked down the path leading to the embankment.

"So, you are the daughter of Yoshiki Yamada?" The guy asked. "And Shoko knew. And she didn't even mention it to me..."

"I asked her not to tell anyone."

"Is it a coincidence that your father invited just us?"

"I told my father about Shoko." She said. "She often came to see us, and Dad would hear her. I didn't have much to tell about you, as I only knew you from a party at Shoko's... Though we have a good relationship, and my father listens to me carefully, I try not to mix our personal lives with his work. I understand that Shoko may not be on his radar, but he could give her a chance and introduce her to some people who could help her."

"So, what do you think about me?"

"My father has a good instinct for performers with great potential. You may know some of his artists. I only heard one of your songs, and it was impressive. But to work with "TOUCH", you need to be flexible and able to adapt to the ever-changing trends in the music industry. Today, your song may be popular, but a month from now, people may be listening to Mahito's nonsense."

Suguru listened to the girl seriously, and then he laughed at the last sentence.

"Thank God you said that!" He said. "I don't understand how he manages to study at the university."

"His father finances the university." The girl replied.

"I'm sorry to ask, but how did you meet?" Suguru asked.

The girl explained that they had known each other for a long time, as they had attended the same school. When her mother died, the boy was there for her, and although he had not been perfect, things had changed recently. She explained that Mahito had gotten involved with a questionable company, and she felt like he had been replaced. After recent events, communication was simply not possible.

"And what about the girl you sang about?"

Suguru smiled, and they walked along the shore, enjoying each other's company.

"Well, she had the love of her life, and it wasn't me. When she needed support, I was there for her, which is familiar, isn't it? I honestly thought I was helping her deal with her feelings and move on, but she just suppressed her longing, while I fell in love with her. At some point, he called, and she rushed to him. In the morning, her things were gone from the apartment. I found out he had left her after all, and you have no idea how painful it was for me to refuse to renew our relationship. I realized that in our relationship, I was like a vessel from which water was constantly being drawn, but never returned. It was excruciating."

They walked in silence, each digesting the other's story. The sun had almost set, leaving a thin purple streak in the sky.

"Yes, we both need to see a therapist…" Y/n concluded with a joking tone. "What did help you cope with this?"

Suguru didn't want to admit it, but he knew that sooner or later, Y/n would hear the rumors.

"I thought it would help. Drugs, alcohol. I spent the last year in a clinic."

Yamada didn't seem surprised. She looked down at her feet and kicked a pebble.

"I've been thinking about it too…" She said. "But after mother’s death, Reiji became ill. My father and I went to Europe and spent a lot of time in different clinics. Reiji is better now, and I realized that I needed to be a mother for him at that time. If I started using drugs or drinking alcohol, I can't even imagine what would have happened to my family."

"Are you judging me?"

"No, I'm not. I condemn the girl who brought you to that state. Self-destruction is a way to numb emotional pain, but now you're here with me, walking along the river, recording your song on Saturday and doing a duet with another artist. All of our past actions have led us to this point. Look at it as an experience, even if it takes a year out of your life."

"Wow. You should write motivational books!" Geto laughed and gave the girl a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"You know, it would be great if I followed my own advice."

"Do you still love Mahito?"

"It's a difficult question. Maybe it wasn't love, but affection. He was there for me at the right time. But his recent attitude negates all his good actions. Especially that damn party..."

They walked along the embankment and turned towards Yamada's house.

"I'm glad my father chose you. If everything goes well, then you could become a world-famous artist." Y/n said, her voice sounding slightly distant.

Suguru saw from her face that she was lost in memories of her past and didn't interrupt her. He just nodded at her and walked towards the car. The weather was getting cold, so Y/n pulled her cardigan closer around herself. She smiled at Geto warmly and reached for his embrace.

"Thanks for tonight..." Suguru was a little surprised by the closeness of the girl, but he still put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Don't worry, everything will be alright."

Upon arriving home, Suguru checked his email and saw a message from the producer. He glanced over the list of artists and smiled with contentment, choosing Yuki Tsukumo immediately. Her name was well-known, and she was famous for her collaborations with foreign artists. Suguru was even pleased that Yoshiki had offered him work with her.

On Saturday morning, Suguru drove to Yamada's studio, listening to Shoko's account of her meeting with the producer. When she found out that Geto will be recording a duet with Yuki, she was elated. However, Yamada had suggested her other artists, and Shoko had yet to make a decision.

Upon arriving at the studio, Suguru saw Y/n and Mahito. He hurried out of the car and headed towards them. Already from far, he could hear blond guy hysterically shouting and waving his arms. Y/n tried to turn away from him, but Mahito grabbed her arm and refused to let her go.

Suguru looked at Y/n with concern, noticing relief in her eyes at his arrival.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

Mahito noticed Suguru's arrival and noticed his former girlfriend's gaze directed at the dark-haired man. His voice dripped with hatred as he said, "So you did fuck her that night! That's why Yoshiki invited you."

Y/n did not let Suguru answer and abruptly pulled away from Mahito's grip, surprising him with her confidence. She looked at Suguru apologizingly and said, "Mahito, please leave me alone."

Suguru was surprised by her confidence and looked at her with admiration. He then looked at the retreating Y/n and the angry Mahito.

"Just because your father finances the university doesn't mean that I can't punch you in the face." Geto's voice was calm, but his jaw muscles betrayed his anger.

Mahito grunted in displeasure, spat on the floor near Suguru's feet, and walked away from the studio.

At the studio, Suguru was given a pass and escorted to the recording area, where Yuki Tsukumo was already seated and chatting with Yoshiki. The singer seemed relaxed, and when she noticed Geto, she smiled and nodded in greeting. Yamada introduced them, and it was clear that he was excited about the upcoming collaboration.

"Suguru, the studio is all yours today, so make the most of our facilities." The producer playfully winked at Yuki, who watched her future collaborator with interest.

As Suguru sang in the recording booth, he observed Y/n conversing with Yuki through the window. The two seemed to have known each other for some time. At one point, Y/n covered her face with her hands, and Yuki comfortingly patted her shoulder. Y/n then shifted her gaze to Suguru, quickly averting her eyes when she noticed him watching.

Suguru gave the sound engineer a thumbs up as a sign of his readiness. He put on headphones and began recording his vocals. Thanks to his experience, the recording went quite quickly. Sometimes, Yoshiki himself made minor adjustments to the process, but Suguru appreciated these tips.

When the vocals were recorded, Suguru left the room for the producer. Yoshiki looked pleased and said, "You've done a great job! Your vocals are amazing!" He shook Suguru's hand.

"Yamada doesn't praise young performers often. You should appreciate these words!" Yuki approached Suguru with a smile and said, "Well, let's discuss our duet."

Y/n got up from the couch and headed towards the exit, awkwardly waving at Suguru while still avoiding eye contact.

Tsukumo and Geto began discussing the upcoming track. Inside, Suguru was happy about how similar they thought with Yuki. Their phrases complemented each other, which Yamada appreciated. He didn't interfere in their conversation, because he saw Suguru as an accomplished artist despite his young age. Yamada had never seen such seriousness in his adult performers.

"I like your ideas! Where did you find this guy, Yamada?" Yuki asked, leaning back on the sofa and tilting her head in interest.

As a result, Yuki and Suguru agreed to meet at the end of the week. Yuki offered to video call each other during the week to discuss lyrics and music.

Two days after the meeting, Yuki called Suguru unexpectedly and invited him over to her place to write music. An hour later, he was standing outside Tsukumo's small mansion. The singer came out to greet him in casual jeans and a black top, being in a good mood. It was difficult for Suguru to imagine that Yuki had ever been in a bad mood.

She invited Suguru inside. When he entered the living room, he noticed a girl sitting on the couch who immediately turned towards him. Suguru's breath caught slightly at the sight of Y/n, who was wearing a knit sweater with one bare shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she looked very comfortable. He also noticed a glass of wine in her hand that she tried to hide, but the bottle on the table revealed the truth about their pastime.

"Are you sure you need me this evening?" Geto asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

Y/n got up from the couch and wanted to leave when Yuki stopped her with her hand.

"Stay with us, please." Suddenly, Suguru said.

Tsukumo smiled to herself. She immediately noticed that there seemed to be something between Y/n and Suguru, though it was still in its early stages. Without hesitating, she decided to try to bring the two of them together.

Yuki invited them both into a room with music recording equipment. The room looked like the small studio that Suguru had seen in Yamada's office. Tsukumo gestured for Geto to sit in a chair next to her, and Y/n took a seat on the sofa, holding a glass of wine. As Yuki and Suguru began discussing music with technical terms, Yamada grew bored. She continued drinking the wine until she felt warmth on her cheeks and lightheadedness.

"I think I should go..." She stood up from the sofa and swayed slightly, but Suguru managed gently held her elbow.

"Woah, woah! Girl, I can't let you go alone like this! Suguru, could you take her home?" Tsukumo bit her lip, hoping for Suguru's agreement.

"Of course, no problem." Geto said, taking Y/n's arm and slowly leading her out of the room and then out of the house.

In the car, Y/n sat next to Suguru, not knowing where to look. She glanced in the rearview mirror halfway through the ride. Then, she opened the window and tried to catch the wind.

"Am I pretty?" She suddenly asked.

Geto paused for a moment. "It's subjective," he said.

"Subjectively, am I pretty?"

"Yes. You're pretty." Suguru replied.

Y/n smiled slightly.

"Yuki says I'm pretty too. Even beautiful. But I don't understand why I can't find someone to love me."

Suguru saw her serious expression.

"You're young. You'll find what you're looking for."

"But it feels like I'll always be alone."

"No, I don't believe that. A soulmate is out there for each of us. You just need to wait."

Y/n sighed. "Maybe you're right."

They drove up to Yamada's house, and Suguru looked at the upset Y/n with affection. The girl closed the window and leaned her forehead against the glass.

"Thank you for the ride." She said and hurried out the door.

A month and a half later, the long-awaited release of the duet between Yuki and Suguru took place. Yamada had decided to release the duo first, with the intention of releasing Geto's solo track later. Suguru had no objections to this plan, as he understood that the audience would not be as interested in an unknown artist's song if it were released before the duet with super-star Tsukumo.

Following the release of Geto's solo song, Yoshiki hosted a gala event to celebrate his new artist's success. However, Suguru was unaware of what Yamada had planned for him, so he approached the event in a relaxed state.

Upon arriving at the venue, Suguru was greeted by Y/n, who seemed to have recovered from her difficult breakup with Mahito. The two exchanged pleasantries, and Geto noticed how beautiful Y/n looked in her sea-green dress that reached the floor. Her curled hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, and her natural makeup only enhanced her natural beauty. She was not only pretty, but also stunning.

Yuki was already sitting at the table, talking with Yamada and another man with dark hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. Suguru immediately recognized Choso Kamo, the artist for the "TOUCH" label. As their eyes met, Kamo winked at him.

Next to Y/n, on one side, was Reiji. On the other side, there was a blue-eyed man with snow-colored hair. As Y/n sat down, he whispered something to her, and the girl laughed. However, when she noticed Geto's frown, she looked guilty and bit her lower lip.

"I am very pleased to see you all here today! Unfortunately, most of my artists are currently on tour, but I believe a great opportunity has arisen today." Yamada seemed to be in a good mood, which positively affected the mood of his children, Y/n and Reiji. They looked at each other and smiled. "Today, I would like to announce that "TOUCH" is pleased to welcome two talented young artists, Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto!"

Yoshiki gestured towards Suguru and the blond man sitting next to Y/n. Gojo seemed unsurprised, but Geto's reaction was more subdued. Yuki gave him a nod of approval and a thumbs up, while Kamo appeared calm but also expressed his approval.

"Yamada-san, I would like to thank you for this opportunity. It is an honor to work with you." Satoru said, standing up from the table to shake Yamada's hand.

"Geto, did you swallow your tongue?" Tsukumo gently kicked the man under the table, motioning towards Yoshiki.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't expect it..." Geto reached out to Yamada and shook his hand.

"Your track with Tsukumo has been a huge success! Well deserved!" Gojo said, smiling encouragingly at his new colleague.

"Thank you, Satoru." Geto looked at Y/n, who seemed happy.

He didn't know why she was so happy. Was Satoru her new love interest? He tried to stop his train of thought, which had taken on a tinge of jealousy. While the company had dinner, Geto tried to sort out his feelings about Y/n. After their encounter at Tsukumo's, they had seen each other a few times at the studio, exchanged messages, but nothing more. Why was he so concerned about Y/n's interaction with Satoru now?

When dinner was over, Y/n collected the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Suguru excused himself from the table and followed her. She was putting the dishes in the dishwasher and singing softly to herself. As Geto approached her, he heard her singing a song by him and Tsukumo. He smiled at himself and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Oh, my goodness! You scared me!" Y/n turned to him and leaned against the counter.

"What? Am I that scary?" Geto asked.

Y/n seemed flustered by his question. "No, you're not scary at all. You look great." She said, covering her mouth with her hand.

Geto tried not to show how much her compliment meant to him, but he could feel his heart racing.

"You look beautiful too."

"Yes, Yuki helped me with my makeup and hair. And the dress… it belonged to my mother." Y/n's tone took on a sadness as she remembered her mother.

Suguru and Y/n's eyes locked. Geto approached the girl and took the plate from her hand, placing it in the dishwasher. When he stood up and was at the same height as her, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He quickly cut the distance between them and gently kissed her. To his surprise, Y/n did not push him away but instead, with a sigh of relief, returned the kiss.

Suddenly, Reiji's voice echoed in the distance, making Y/n pull away from Geto. Reiji entered the kitchen, holding Satoru's hand. The boy saw his sister and happily ran up to hug her around the waist. Suguru stepped away from the girl and leaned against the table.

Y/n asked gently, "What happened, Reiji? " She stroked the top of her brother's head, her eyes fixed on Geto. "Satoru-san told me he has a collection of toy cars! Can I come with you next time you visit Satoru?" Reiji said excitedly about the upcoming trip.

"Reiji, there's no need for you to wait for Y/n to visit me. We can simply talk to your father and, if he allows you to come with me..."

Reiji happily clapped his hands and turned his attention to Gojo. "Come on, buddy!" Satoru picked him up and carried him out of the kitchen, winking at Y/n.

"I'm sorry…" Suguru said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Don’t. That's what both of us wanted, right?" Yamada turned on the dishwasher and looked at a bit confused Geto. "And Satoru is just a friend from school." She said.

Suguru sighed with relief and approached Y/n, kissing her temple. She smiled and snuggled deeper into his arms, breathing in his scent.

Without hesitation, Suguru invited Y/n to spend the next weekend with him, on a date. This news delighted Shoko, who had no idea what was going on between Suguru and Y/n but was still happy to hear that their two friends were now a couple.

Friday evening, Suguru visited Yamada's studio to finalize the details of their collaboration with the record label. While there, he saw Gojo flirting with a receptionist. When Suguru approached him, Satoru happily slapped his shoulder in greeting.

"Y/n has told me so much about you! I hear you make great music. Maybe we can work together on a duet sometime!" The blond man seemed friendly and welcoming towards Suguru.

Suguru smiled and agreed. He then went to meet with the lawyer, but after a brief thought, returned to Gojo.

"What does Y/n enjoy doing?" Suguru asked.

Satoru smiled mischievously, placed his hand on the shoulder of his friend, and began to talk about Y/n.

That evening, Suguru picked Y/n up from the university and took her to his place. She looked a little tired, but when she saw his car, she smiled and gave him a tight hug. There were some boxes and bags of groceries in the backseat of the car.

"What's in the boxes?" Y/n asked, leaning closer to Suguru and putting her hand on his shoulder. From this gesture, his body was covered in goosebumps, and he tried to restrain himself from purring.

"You'll see." he smiled, starting the car and driving to his house.

Once they arrived at his apartment, Suguru allowed Y/n to unpack the boxes. Inside, she found a portable stove and a large soup pot. She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Suguru just smiled mysteriously. They went to the kitchen and started unpacking the grocery bags. When she saw the groceries, she covered her mouth in shock.

"How did you know?"

"My sources of information are confidential." He replied with a smile.

While Suguru figured out how to turn on the stove, Y/n smiled to herself as she washed the groceries. Shabu-shabu was her mother's favorite dish, and they cooked it together as a family on holidays.

He watched as Y/n sliced the food with care and sent it to the boiling water. He mentally thanked Satoru for his advice, as seeing Y/n happy warmed his own heart.

"Wow, this is so delicious! I didn't know you could cook." Yamada said as she shoveled a piece of shiitake mushroom into her mouth, closing her eyes in pleasure.

Suguru picked up a piece of meat and handed it on a fork to Y/n, saying, "We have our whole lives ahead of us to learn more about each other."

After dinner, they moved to the living room where Geto had a synthesizer. He invited Y/n to sit down on the sofa across from him, then he kissed her hand like a true gentleman. The girl smiled at his gesture and settled comfortably on the couch.

Suguru began playing a melody that was unfamiliar to Y/n, warming up for his performance. After a few chords, he started singing one of his own songs. Yamada had grown up in a family with a music producer. When her father started his career, there were young performers gathering at their house to compose music. From childhood, Y/n was fascinated by live singing, and it brought her great joy. She remembered how she had thrown a tantrum because she couldn’t sing. Her mother replied that it was not necessary for Y/n to become a singer to find happiness.

"Suguru, you..."

After a few songs, Y/n jumped off the couch and approached Suguru. Geto moved away from the keyboard and let the girl sit on his lap. She placed her hands on Suguru's cheeks and leaned in closer to his face. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. The sound of their lips meeting could be heard throughout the room, occasionally mixed with soft moans. After a long time, their pent-up feelings of physical attraction finally burst out, and they were both on the verge just because of kissing and hugging each other.

Suguru felt the need for air and pulled away from Y/n. His chest was rising and falling heavily from her embrace.

"Wow…" He said as Y/n drew him in for another kiss.

Geto ran his hands under the girl's blouse, causing her to shudder slightly at his touch. His hands traveled down her back and then to her chest, as Suguru moved one hand to lift the edge of her shirt. He pulled it off, causing Y/n to laugh as the shirt ruffled her hair.

Yamada's skin was velvety, driving Suguru wild. His touch was gentle and careful, like he was touching something precious. Geto managed to pull away from Y/n's lips and move to her neck, trailing down to her collarbones. As he lightly bit her collarbone, she let out a soft moan. Y/n's one hand buried in Suguru's hair, pulling back slightly and revealing his neck. It was now her turn to mark him.

When Y/n moved away slightly, her back touched the cold keys of the synthesizer. Her skin covered in goosebumps made Suguru chuckle. He was impatient to be inside Y/n and, holding her back with one hand, tried to pull off his jeans with the other. However, he couldn't succeed, so Yamada helped him. Finally, his cock was free.

Suguru lifted Y/n's skirt and guided her onto his dick. Two moans of pleasure filled the room as they adjusted to each other. Geto began to stroke her back to help her feel more comfortable. When she was ready, Y/n started moving up and down, gradually increasing her pace.

Suguru had slept with many girls, but this time, his feelings for Yamada were stronger than physical attraction. He felt like there were only the two of them in the world. He pressed his face against her chest, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

When Suguru's cock kissed Y/n's cervix, she dug her nails into his back but immediately moved her hands to his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She said guiltily.

"It's okay, baby. You're beautiful and I would only be glad if you left your marks on me." Suguru smiled, noticing that Y/n had regained some confidence.

When he felt his cock begin to pulse inside her, Y/n's movements slowed down. The sound of their skin slapping filled the room and drove them both crazy.

"May I?" Suguru asked, feeling his release close.

"Yes, don't worry."

He allowed himself to finish inside her and felt his warm cum flowing down his cock. Y/n clung to Suguru's chest, trying to catch her breath. Suguru gently wiped away the sweat from her forehead.

"Let's take a shower together, I'll take care of you." Suguru said, getting up from his chair with Y/n in his hands.

Y/n screamed and wrapped her legs around him.

"Don't worry, I've got you!" Geto laughed, hugging her tightly.

The next morning, Suguru woke up to the sound of music in the kitchen. He smiled and stretched under the covers, but then decided to get up. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Y/n standing at the stove, looking at the frying pan thoughtfully. Suguru approached her and wrapped his arms around her, causing her to flinch in surprise.

"Am I that scary?" Suguru asked, smiling.

"I’ve already told you. My answer remains the same." She replied, kissing him on the cheek.

At breakfast, they looked at each other in silence, smiling at the memory of the previous night. Y/n felt great, knowing that Suguru made her feel comfortable.

"What?" Geto asked, when Yamada smiled and tried to avoid looking at him. "Why do you keep hiding your eyes from me? They’re so beautiful…"

"Because you make me feel embarrassed!"

"I’m just sitting here, drinking tea. How can I make you feel embarrassed?" Suguru laughed, taking another sip from his cup.

"It’s not now, it’s in general…" Y/n drew a circle in the air, referring to their night together.

Geto reached out to the girl’s face, removing the sandwich sauce from her lips and licking his finger. Yamada covered her face in embarrassment, shaking her head. Suguru stood up, walked over to her, and easily picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom.

"I'll kiss you every time you feel embarrassed."

"Then you'll have calluses all over your lips! And I still need them!"

"Wow, Yamada, that's so filthy! "Suguru sat Y/n on the bed and looked at her. Her eyes were shining with joy.

"But I have a good example!" Y/n said, pulling Suguru in for a passionate kiss.

After a difficult year and dealing with drug issues, Geto found himself feeling great around Y/n. He recalled how they first met, remembering her indifference towards him and the way she looked at him while he sang with Shoko. Perhaps already then something had already sparked between them, but neither could have known what kind of spark it was. However, now, as he held her hips in his hands, Suguru felt his feelings for the girl growing by the second. Looking into her eyes, he realized that those feelings were mutual.

[somerandomcockroach]

Okay I really felt like exploding mentally not in a good way so putted it out in random little written scenes (bullshitting with canon and fanon because canon is fanon). Prowl and Jazz as main acting characters yesss because apparently I love these boys

_________Intercity training competition_________

The whole audition was so loud with noises despite everyone trying to whisper as quiet as possible. First time in all intercity training competition history, where chosen young mechs from everywhere in Cybertron gather together to find better rising generation of sparks, the bot won all his sparring partners in a row without losing once. Gunrunner with satisfied smile wrote down statistics about this battle. “Mistakes took place, but you give big perspectives with your agility and unpredictability.” Gunrunner already had plans on this rookie once ops group starts running.

Jazz, visibly grasping at air with ventilation at full speed, was smiling in such bright manner, showing his sparking optics behind protective glass. His smile, his reflections from black coating, his figure, still going up and down after all the battles he had – everything in him was so irresistibly refreshing and attractive. This young bot made the audience start whispering again, but on absolutely different topic this time. He still was standing over his opponent, other one was looking at him from bottom to top breathing as deep as other one, leaning on the elbow folds. Young mechs had no hard feelings against each other, everything around them was steaming with happiness over a good battle. Jazz offered his hand and helped him stand up.  

“Ya’r very brave to challenge me last but ya fought good, brotha’. Your name?” They shacked hands as a sigh of a friendly and fair battle. “Guzzle. Better to fight and lose than to never fight at all” “Oh, we’r so gonna have a drink at the end of the event!” Jazz squeezed his hand so tightly and laughed so sincerely happy. They walked out of ring shoulder to shoulder. The white and black mech with pointy red chevron, the only thing showing him off the crowd so vividly, was observing all the battles from the balcony. He still couldn’t calm down his spark after what he saw, it was such an incredible and new way of martial arts for him: wild, unpredictable, dexterous, fast and oppressive. Absolute opposite of the clear and refined, gentle manner of his hometown. He couldn't hold back his smile throughout all 10 sparring sessions, periodically jerking his shoulders in surprise, sometimes looking as if into space, trying to calculate something in his head. His brother, clearly shorter than him, tapped at his hand. Only this was able to get older brother out of entrancement he was in. “Brother, calculation simulations will begin soon” ‘Right,’ he answered with only kind look of his eyes. ‘Now my turn.’

______My priority of orders starts from J_______

“Prowl, you are not allowed to go out! You stay here! It’s an order!” Prowl’s door wings rose up in in a threatening and irritated manner. He quickly turned his head, narrowing his optics. Sharp, cold blue, freezing. Yet his lips were treacherously clanging. “You are not my commander to give me commands” “Oh, no! I have an order to keep you safe! Order from Optimus Prime itself! Do you not understand how worthy your skills are? You are not allowed to get out of here until it becomes safe, why do you even try to get out of here?” The blue light was getting darker and closer to the security bot who happened to be so unlucky to be the closest to Prowl to get this order. Red chevron towered over this hesitant mech, his knees bent under the pressure of this unbending figure. It was the first time in all his time working here, when he was truly afraid of the tactician. “I was working hand to hand with “Optimus itself” when he was just an officer,” Prowl pressed his finger into the center of the bumper with enough strength to make bot step back. “and I dare you have no right to stand on my way nor Optimus’ orders. Contact him and say that I’ve lost touch with ops, you won’t be dismissed with this explan-“ The loud crash of a broken door was heard behind interrupting him mid-sentence, Prowl stood up and lowered his wings to cover trembling mech in front of him. “Prowl, jump on, I caught signal of Jazz’s location”, there was Silverbolt straight to the help and old Orion’s group protecting main operating station alongside with other autobots. Prowl gave him a pleased smirk, his optics immediately softened (to the relief of security bot), not even thinking much he ran and jumped on top of the aerial, “long time no see, old timer. All unnecessary chatting on our way.”

[myown-worstenemy-2003]

Play It Again, Play It Again, Play It Again

A/N: Part two of the mini-series! As always I hope you enjoy it as much I did writing it! I love seeing feedback! And feel free to request something! Let me know any feedback that you have! If you feel up to it send me a request and I will do my best to give it justice!

Summary: You're invited to a party by one of your new friends. Let's see how the night ends.

Word Count: 1963

It had been a couple of months since you had broke things off with Billy. Since that you've kind of tried to keep to yourself but everyone needs someone to talk to, especially to make it around here.

What made it better was that you met a couple of mothers when you would pick up Rhiannon from daycare, and started your own friend group. All of them were around your age and their kids were already playing with Rhiannon during daycare anyway. Nancy had a brown-eyed shaggy-haired boy named Theodore. Piper had a little curly-head girl named Rosemary. And then there is Robin, she doesn't have any children but she comes and picks up Theo or Rosie every now and then, even both sometimes.

It was nice that you and Rhiannon had some friends in town finally. Especially Rhiannon, you didn't want her to be lonely.

But at this particular moment you weren't sure if you were happy that you had friends anymore.

"Come on (Y/N)! You never leave the house unless it's work or taking Rhiannon somewhere! You need to have fun sometimes!" Robin tried to convince you.

"Yeah, I'm sure I can tell you what you do everyday. Get up, get Rhi and you ready, take her to daycare, go to work, pick up Rhi, have dinner and then go to bed," Nancy said watching the kids play on the playground.

You sigh, because she was right. You don't do anything fun that doesn't surround Rhiannon.

"Who's gonna watch Rhi though? I can't really afford a babysitter right now. I can barely afford daycare as it is."

"Piper's mom is going to watch the kids, I'm sure she won't mind watching Rhiannon," Nancy suggested and Piper nodded.

"I don't know guys," you hesitated, parties have never been your thing. The last time you were at a party that's when Rhiannon was conceived and here you are.

"(Y/N), you are 24. We are never gonna be this young ever again. Just this once and if you don't like it, you can leave and we'll never ask again," Piper chimes in, sitting on the bench next to you with a book on her lap that she hasn't touch since she got here, "We all need to let loose every once and a while."

The girls nodded, you groaned, "Fine. I'll go but only for two hours. That's it."

"That'll work! You'll have fun, I promise!" Robin said excitedly.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were on your way to the party. Riding with a friend from work. Dressed in something more warm and comfortable than it was cute since #1 it was October and it was cold during the nights; #2 you weren't really looking for anything right now since your thing since Billy. You were just there to hang out with friends and maybe meet some new people.

As you approached you noticed that there were a lot of trucks and some haybales, and everyone else was parked on the other side of the road. You didn't even think about bringing your own chair. You figured that there was going to be enough going on that you might not need it. But past you was too ambitions compared to present you so was full of nervous at the moment.

How the hell did you do this when you were in college?

Jessica put the car into park and got out and you followed suit.

"Hey I'll see you around? Around 1?" Jessica said with a smile. You nodded and smiled back.

You stood outside of the car for a second to catch your breath.

"It's all good. Everything will be okay. Just three hours. Yeah, only three hours and then you can go home," you hyped yourself up. You brushed yourself off (like you had dirt on you) and headed toward the crowd of people gathering around the bonfire.

"There she is! I wasn't sure you were going to show!" Robin said as she walked up to you and hugged you, "Here's the rest of the gang for you to meet!"

"Everyone this is (Y/N)! Be on your best behavior!" she said, jokingly, you heard some laughing and a, 'Booooo'.

"This here is Vickie, she's my girl," Robin introduced you to a ginger with freckles. You shook her hand, "Nice to meet ya."

"You know Nancy," Robin said and you hugged her as she came up. There was a nervous looking man behind her with brown hair, Robin said, "This is her husband, Jonathan. Theo looks like him."

"I can see it," you smiled and shook his hand too. Piper came up next, "I'm so glad that you made it! We want you to have fun too."

"Thanks, it's good so far," you smiled.

"Oh yeah!" she said, she turned to look behind her, "This is my husband, Eddie. It's where Rosie gets the curly hair from."

"Hey there, I'm Eddie, like she said, nice to meet you," Eddie said, he had long wild curly hair with a denim vest over his leather jacket.

"I like your pins. Iron Maiden is the best," you said as you looked at his pins.

Eddie literally beamed, "Thank you! I collect them from music stores. These are my favorites."

"Really cool!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Dude, have you met (Y/N)? She's awesome!" Eddie said to Steve.

"Is this another fantasy person that I'm supposed to learn?" Steve asked. Eddie looked at him with a weird face, "No, she's real man. She's friends with Piper and the others. She over there."

Eddie pointed to where a girl was sitting by herself on the tailgate of Piper's truck. Her legs swinging as she watched the fire crackle.

"She's got to have a boyfriend here. No way that she doesn't," Steve said, looking around for someone that was looking for her, "Is she Joe's girlfriend?"

"No man, Piper said that she's single. Not really looking for anything at the moment, just new friends," Eddie explained, "Buuuuut...you should try and make more than friends."

"I can make friends with her," Steve nodded and walked toward you.

"Good job babe," Piper said as she came up next to Eddie and fist bumped him and watched what was about to happen.

Steve walked up, "Hey, this seat taken?"

You looked over to the new voice.

Not going to lie, he's pretty cute.

You smiled, "Not at all," you slid over to make sure that he has enough room to sit.

"My name's Steve," he said as he sat down, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N)," you said smiling.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

God how am I already falling in love with this woman already?

"Honestly, I love new wave music! The Cure is probably my favorite from the bunch as of right now, but that changes from month to month," you said, talking to Steve.

You've been talking to Steve for what felt ten minutes but it's actually been hour. You could do this all night.

"You know, I think that-" Steve started but then a familiar song came on the speakers and you're eyes lit up, and you jumped off the tailgate, cutting him off.

"This is my song! I've been listenin' to the radio all night long, hopin' that it would come on and here it is!"

You hold out your hand, "C'mon, come dance with me."

Before Steve could say anything, you grabbed his hand and dragged him up. He tried keeping up with you but he was too distracted by you to keep up. You had a carefree smile on your face and your body was moving in ways that was very bad for his groin area in public.

As the song came to an end, you kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you for dancin' with me."

"Play it again!" Steve yelled to see if someone could rewind the tape and start it over again so he could gain the courage to ask you out.

You smiled and yelled, "Play it again! Play it again!"

You both laughed and then heard the next song play, looking at each other almost in a trance.

"I-" Steve started to say but you looked down at your watch, "I had a lot of fun tonight Steve but I'm afraid that I have to go."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, not really wanting you to leave just yet but understanding.

"Yeah, I gotta check on my-" you hesitated, "my pet. She's not used to being alone this late."

"I understand. Let me walk you to your car?" Steve offered.

"I actually rode here with one of my coworkers. So I guess I need to find her."

"I'll help you, who is it?"

"Jessica Cooley," you answered starting to look around for her.

"Jessica? She left already. Left with Matt Hargrave about an hour ago."

"What? You're kiddin'. I guess I'll ask someone else for a ride," you said a little upset.

"I can take you home," Steve offered, really hoping that you would take him up on the offer.

"Are you sure? I don't want to burden you. I can just have Piper or someone take me home," you said hesitant because you didn't know him, but you had a feeling that you could trust him.

"I'm sure. Come on, let's get you home."

You smiled, "Okay thank you."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were looking out the window, thinking about something to start a conversation but you couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be considered small talk or just bad in general.

That was when Steve turned on the radio and you started singing along to (I've Had) The Time Of My Life.

It didn't take too long to get to your house, maybe three songs if you remember correctly, but for some reason it felt like it was taking a little longer than usual. And you weren't upset by it at all. It had been five songs already and you sang along to every song that had came on the radio.

But it was only when you getting ready to pull on your street was when Steve started to scan the radio, almost frantically.

"This is me," you said and Steve pulled into the driveway and put the car in park.

"Thank you for the ride home, I really appreciate it. I don't have cash on me right now, but I can run in and get some for gas?"

"It's no trouble at all. I don't want money. But if you really want to pay me back, let me take you out on a date?" Steve asked wearing a charming but hopeful smile on his face.

You smiled, "I would like that."

He smiled, "Sounds great, how Friday? Dinner and a movie?"

You nodded your head, "I would love that."

"Cool, let me walk you to the do-," Steve said and just as he said that, your song came on the radio.

"No way! There is no way that this song would play twice in one night!" you exclaimed excitedly.

"Come dance with," you said as you got out of the car. He followed you and started dancing in the headlights.

It was like straight out of a movie. Everything was perfect, the lights, the song, the weather, and you.

As the song started to fade out, you got caught up in the passion of dancing and the feeling of it, you kissed Steve.

It was just like everything else, the kiss was perfect.

When you broke the kiss he looked at you and said, "I'm gonna call the DJ right now and get that song played again right now."

You threw your head back laughing, "Goodnight Steve, thank you for the perfect night."

He smiled, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

[charlotte-liddel]

"Well firstly, I don't make empty compliments. So I do mean what I said before: You are dapper." Charlotte switched to a certain seriousness in her expression and tone for that brief moment; her tail even going still. She really wanted to affirm it with him before anything else.

Watching him as he showed off some of his skills, she visibly weighed his offer with a few fidgets and tilting of her head in thought. She wasn't entirely dressed to keep up with him if he kept dancing like that. She almost felt intimidated by it, but still ended up making a small nod and happy twitching of her tail after her own internal deliberation.

"...Now, I also know how to figure skate too. Not on any grand professional level but enough to enjoy myself. Dabbling in ballet led to that." Charlotte bent over slightly as she shared that tidbit, lifting one foot up as she reached for the high heel, "So yes, I'll dance with you. Just, if I have any hope of keeping up, I'll need to take these off."

There was some hesitation before she took off the first high heel, and the other, with the soft click of her cloven hoof toes tapping the pavement shortly after. She was quick to tuck the shoes out of sight and through a brief, small, portal obscured by her hair and tuft at the end of her tail. Beyond that she couldn't do much else with her magic until she could rest, but she was feeling a bit of a second wind with the energy he was giving off.

It was really infectious. He was like a bundle of sunshine.

Clicking those little cloven hooves against the pavement a few more times, she eased into some warm up movements. Nothing complicated neither; just some basics before she showed off her own flexibility and balance. Flexibility that allowed her to stretch her leg up in a hold of one foot behind her head rather effortlessly. A pose more often seen in figure skating, and sometime gymnastics, more than ballet.

When she felt warmed up enough, Charlotte took measured steps towards Danny with a more confident look in her eyes and a wry smile creeping across lips, "Let's dance now, shall we? I'll try to keep up with you while I tell you more, and hopefully we don't end up walking on air."

Really she was truly hoping she didn't get too excited that the walking on air was a risk. At this low of energy she was worried she could hurt him if her strength to do such abilities ran out for the night.

"Gosh, do you really think so?"

Color him red. He really did take pride in his appearance, not in a vain way, but in a healthy way. He didn't take so much pride in his appearance that he judged others, or considered himself above them. But he liked nice cologne, he liked nice body washes, and he enjoyed picking out clothes for the day. Anything to look his best, not because he was a star, but because that was part of who he was.

His mother always told him, appearances were important. But not to let that cloud your feelings.

His face brightened up at the mention of music. But it wasn't just that. One specific word caught his attention. A form of dance he was very good at, but rarely had the chance to show off. Ballet. Ballet and Tap were specialties of his, but all anyone ever wanted of the two was his tapping skills.

Not that he let that stop him from dancing ballet. Just in his free time, usually. Often, down the sidewalks, and to prove this point, he did just that. Gracefully, the feline leaped into the air, a perfect pirouette in front of her, before he flawlessly held a stance, on his toes, no less!

"Why don't you dance with me? We can dance our way back home!"

Breaking out of the ballet, he did a perfect frontal flip forward, landing on his hands, and tossing himself high into the air for more flipping opportunities. Landing perfectly on his feet, he turns back to Lottie, both arms up in the air.

"While you tell me more about your dancing, of course."

[canisalbus]

sorry im emotonal and going off of the other asks sent about machete and just i need to stress how beautiful it is to me that machete sees himself so undeserving of love and affection and feeling as if vasco's too good for him but despite all that he is so incredibly devoted to vasco and loving towards him (in his own way) but is so incredibly clear to anyone with eyes that just how in love he is with vasco. like it's not done out of a "oh god please never realize that you're too good for me here here let me overdo it with the affection" its done with the "i love you, and will always love you, no matter what happens to us or separates us, and i will give it to you as long as i am able, and if you ever leave, i won't be okay, but will still love you, and want you happy". like he doesn't use his own feelings of being undeserving taint his love or the way he loves for vasco, and it's so, so beautiful

.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Saint of Bright Doors

a surreal Sri Lankan fantasy about colonialism, revolution, mixing fantasy with the modern world

follows a man raised by his mother to kill his father, a god-like cult leader

but as an adult he puts aside his life of violence and moves to the city for a quiet life

he becomes fascinated with ‘bright doors’ around the city that never open and have no other side, and joins a group studying them to find out more

and a support group for those with divine heritage that becomes increasingly revolutionary, until the task he was made for reemerges and his life upends

[zappedbyzabka]

Kreerence <3 (gnaws on ceiling fan)

[l0se]

vent/rant in the tags🤪

[vanillabat99]

Finally caved and admitted to myself that I don't like being gendered as masculine. I will be updating my pronouns sometime tonight!! I'm still not sure if I want to use neopronouns, but I am increasingly fond of it/its and pupself pronouns, so I might try those out for awhile :3 I've been settling for masculine terms since that's all I could get for so long, but I'm in a much better position now!! They/Them is still at the top of the list :3

[noxtivagus]

guys i've been improving a lot lately i'm happy w myself

[hedgehog-moss]

I went to the small pizzeria in a nearby village last month and asked for a calzone, and when she brought it to me the owner had a look on her face I can only describe as bitter.

Naturally my first assumption was that she was judging me for my food order (maybe calzones are too easy compared to other pizzas and she felt under-challenged as a pizza chef?), but then I looked at my calzone and the more I looked at it, the more I felt like it might have been a failed attempt at a cat calzone.

(I didn't ask for a cat calzone, just a calzone.)

If I had immediately identified it as a cat calzone I would have of course said something about it, such as "Aww that's so cute! You made it in the shape of a cat!! Thank you!" — but it was too late. I hesitated too long, and it was just failed enough that I wasn't sure it was meant to be a cat.

I think this poor woman knew her cat calzone was a failure and I wouldn't be able to recognise her effort for what it was, hence the bitterness in her eyes when she brought it to me.

I asked my friend if my pizza looked like a cat to her, and she said "Are you saying this because of the olives? I think they were just placed randomly."

no, I think they were meant to be eyes, and a cat nose. And those are the ears. Wait, I'll turn it in your direction so you can see

Friend: "It's just a pointy calzone... Maybe you should ask the chef if she meant to make it a cat?"

If I tried to make a cat calzone and the recipient of this gift went like 'hey, sorry, is this weird-looking thing meant to be cat?' I would sell my pizza restaurant and drown myself in the river.

After considering this, my friend said we could brainstorm a better phrasing—but then we ended up agreeing that since the chef didn't go 'haha sorry I tried to make a cat and failed!!' when she brought my pizza, the options were a) she didn't try to make a cat; b) she feels humiliated by her failure, and either way it's better to say nothing.

But I felt deeply curious about this unresolved mystery, so this week when I went back to the pizzeria I asked for a calzone again.

The options were now: a) the chef brings me a better, recognisable cat calzone and I immediately remark upon it and she's happy and we erase the failed cat calzone from the historical record and never mention it ever;

or b) the chef brings me a normal calzone, which suggests that the vague cat shape from last time was accidental and just another instance of chronic cat pareidolia.

(I refused to consider option c) The chef brings me another failed, hardly-recognisable cat. She just doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let that happen to her twice.)

Here's the photo of the failed cat calzone from last time, which, according to my friend, just looks like a pointy calzone with randomly-placed olives and not a deliberate attempt to make a cat:

And here's what the chef brought me this time:

THAT'S A CAT.

I knew it!!!!

And it looks so sad!! This cat calzone looks like it will burst into olive oil tears if you once again fail to identify it as the cat that it is

But I didn't; I was so ready this time. I went "A cat!!!!! It's so cute!" and the chef went like yes!!! I tried to make one last time but it looked weird :(

I said I was pretty sure it was a cat last time and apologised for not bringing it up and she said no, it's my responsibility to make it a decent cat. She also said she was glad I'd come back and ordered another calzone because she was really bothered ("vraiment embêtée") by that first failed attempt, and wondering if I'd noticed an attempt was made (and failed)

That's so relatable. It's like when you make a really embarrassing spelling mistake in a text and you're not sure if the other person has seen it and is judging you for it. Should you bring it up? Can it go unnoticed if you don't? It's the cat calzone equivalent of that. I'm so glad we were able to clear the air.