#and only Ratchet actually calls him out on it

[keferon]

Don’t mind me I just like to see him go bananas about cartoonish Autobot rules

Maaan…..if Prowl was in tfp he would spontaneously combust at least once a day

[lokisgoodgirl]

In Your Hands [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: That irritating, smug, asshole Loki has taken your final fuck to give. Or so you think... Warnings: 18+ minors DNI. Smut. Avenger! Loki x female reader. Mild BDSM (ball related), hostility, enemies to lovers. Language. (w/c 2.4k)

Loki’s curses beat the air behind you, and the door from the training room slammed; smothering them.

I fucking hate him, I fucking hate him.

In your experience, dramatic exits should be reserved for special occasions. And striking an ego-killer blow to Loki ‘Godsplainer’ Laufeyson was a special-fucking-occasion. It’d been a long time coming. Although you hadn’t meant to punch him quite so sharply in the balls.

I’m sure he’s had worse, you thought as the stale sweat of the changing room hit.

The last thing you’d seen was Steve’s wide, earnest eyes as Loki had doubled over in a slap of dark hair with a muted oomph—the final syllables of his snarky ‘advice’ fading along with his sperm count. You did warn Loki if he told you the correct way to deliver a blow to the transversus one more time that you’d start intentionally missing.

Not my fault he never fucking listens.

It’d been building for months: every ‘actually-I-think-you’ll-find’; ‘bad-form-even-for-a-mortal’ and ‘are-you-sure-you’re-meant-to-be-here…did-you-sneak-in-with-the-domestic-staff?’.

But under it all, the worst thought of all was your own: you still want his praise.

You picked up someone’s shoe from the floor and lobbed it at the lockers – pure, impotent rage ratcheting back with the clang. If Steve kicked you off the A-Team then so be it, worth it to see that moment of pure, wretched shock in his eyes every time you closed your own.

Breaths scraped from your throat, trying to stop the tremble in your hands. You’d spent months trying to catch his eye like a desperate pick-me teenager, spent months wishing his approval into existence: the aloof, pretentious god. Begging any higher power who’d listen for the chance to kneel at his feet and choke on his cock while he called you a good-fucking-girl. You’d bought an emerald green lingerie set for Christ’s sake. It was still in the box—the returns window a dot on the horizon.

Embarrassing. If he knew, you think you’d die of shame. Months running yourself into the ground trying to fit what he’d want and for what? Fuck. “Do you feel better, now?” The ripple of Loki’s smarm filled the air like steam, but it’s edge could cut stone.

Your lips pinched, biting back a slew of curses. You’d expected Steve, but not him.

The idea of turning made your feet root even firmer to the floor. But with every strained second that shifted past, thickening the air, he was winning—staring at the back of your head with that imperious look that only said one thing: I’m better than you, and you know it.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t hold your breath.” Loki released a low chuckle. “Be assured, I can wait much longer than you. How much of your meagre lifespan would you squander staring at those dismal tiles in order to preserve the façade of your superiority, I wonder?”

You spun with a force that twinged a nerve in your neck. “My…?” It came out in a pathetic gasp. “My…superiority?!”

Loki’s face was the picture of serenity: posture impeccable, lips straight. His eyes slid between yours, brows peaked in sanctimonious expectation.

Borderline indecent gym-wear clung to the sinews of his muscular body. The material was like elasticated silk, and every time you’d made contact in training it made it impossible not to imagine frotting against him: bitch in heat.

The lines of the sweatpants draped like a sheet of liquid tar to the bulge of his thighs as he shifted his weight and said, simply, “Yes.”

Heat flared up your neck.  “You’ve got some fucking balls, Laufeyson, I’ll give you that,” you hissed, regretting it immediately. “I’m not sure your knuckles experienced my anatomy’s full glory to report on such an accolade,” Loki replied without a beat. “Their contact was a little brief…”

He tilted his head, an infuriating dimple crushing into one cheek as the heat scorched up your cheeks and made your eyes itch. “A little…weak.”

“Maybe I should twist them again,” you said, folding your arms. You hoped he couldn’t see the fingers trembling. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he crossed the changing room in three, elegant strides and loomed so close that your bellies touched. “Go on then,” he goaded. “You seem under the impression I don’t like it.”

You searched his face, noting the tremor of something deeper than the familiar irritation. Was that…but, it couldn’t be. “What are you doing?” you whispered, stumbling slightly against the lockers. The heat from his abdomen radiated through your gym top. Christ, his stomach was so hard.

“What are you doing, Agent?”

A few black strands had come loose from his ponytail, sticking to the sweat pearling on his jaw. “All bark, no bite,” he murmured, squinting lightly.

His scent crept up your nostrils like smoke under a door: fresh musk, the linger of the cologne he wore at last night’s party, and above it all a scent that was inextricably him. You could never put your finger on it. It drove you mad: just like the rest of him.

Loki released a short puff of irritation, eyes rolling to the side. “I knew you didn’t have it in you.” As he took a step back, your mind skidded to a stop as a hand flew to his chest, gathering a clutch of the slutty gym top, making no effort to cushion the scrape of your nails against his skin, and pulled.

Loki’s mouth crushed to yours with a gasp, his hands flying to the lockers on either side of your head with an ominous crunch of metal. His breath groaned into your throat, the softness of his lips jerking your senses.

Had you expected them to be cold, hard, unwelcoming: just like the rest of him? Yes. But there was time to mull over that later.

Loki’s tongue nudged against your lips, and you relented. The tension in your body seemed to melt as he draped over you like liquid; the cage of his frame and the rub of a thumb down the valley of your cheekbone making you forget just for a second how much you really fucking hated him.

“Show me,” he murmured against your neck. You hadn’t even realised the kiss had slid apart and your head was tilted back against the lockers, the god’s mouth raging a ravenous path down the valley of your throat.

“Show you what?” you panted, bringing your head forward so quickly your vision swam. A lopsided grin spread across his mouth. “How much you hate me,” he said. “You have a problem.” The barb was unnecessary, but Loki’s grin widened all the same. “Discipline me, then.”

His sapphire eyes blazed as your hand flew to his shorts, grabbing his crotch. Fingers curled around the soft, tight sac nestled below the huge erection snaking up the hip joint. Loki hissed, stomach clenching, more clutches of hair falling free. His forehead pressed to yours as your grip tightened.

“Fuck,” he grunted, voice tapering to a whine. You squeezed tighter, and the lockers behind you crumpled under the strength of his fists bearing down.

“Harder,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His legendary cock twitched above your white knuckles, straining against the running shorts and Loki’s narrowed eyes glistened, the muscles in his jaw and the veins in his neck hard enough to pop.

“Apologise,” you spat, and Loki’s breath hitched as you gave him a brief moment of relief before clenching an even tighter fist than before.

His trainers slipped against the floor, thighs shaking with the effort not to fall to his knees. Even gods, it appeared, shared some of the weaknesses of men. Loki flipped his hair back.

“Why should I? You’re the c-combative v-viper.” A deep set of lines furrowed his forehead, rippling with each flex of your fingers. “You’re nothing but a shit-talking, spoiled prince with a big cock and nice hair,” you said, every muscle tingling with the desire raging through your veins. “You noticed,” Loki said with the twitch of an eyebrow: incorrigible, even in this position. “The hair, I mean,” he added. He didn’t mean the hair.

The god swept your forearm to the side, and your fingers ached immediately. How tight was I holding him? But there wasn’t time to wonder. His kiss slammed into you with the force of a storm, teeth clashing and his fingertips digging in to your scalp and the wet slide of lips across your own. “Loki,” you breathed, and he moaned into your mouth in response. You found yourself bucking against his hard body, grasping at everything and anything you could to be closer to him; to wind yourself so tightly to him that you though you might snap.

And then, your fingers were playing at his waistband. Loki drew back: eyes wild. “Really?” he asked, flushed and breathless. You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of ulterior motive, any sign he was about to pull the rug from under you. You gave a curt nod, and Loki’s expression rippled with surprise.

Your hands slid up the sides of his face, tangling in his hair. “You better make it good, considering you have a lot to make up for.” Loki snorted, “Please,” and then several things happened at once. Out of the corner of your eye, the door to the changing room glowed green around the crack. Loki shoved the waistband of his shorts down, scooping his cock in one hand while you fumbled with your leggings and send them skittering across the gleaming floor. “Norns,” Loki groaned as he cupped your breasts under the flimsy sports top, palming upwards. Beneath the bra, your nipples were hard as pebbles.

His brows peaked as his gaze rose from your chest to your face: a realisation that there wasn’t time for all that— all the filthy things you were beginning to realise he’d fantasised about. All the filthy thing you were beginning to accept that you’d fantasised about. “Maybe next time,” you muttered, pulling his hair-tie free in one sharp movement. A wicked smile unfurled on Loki’s lips.

He dipped, burying his face in your chest as he cupped the back of your thighs and you let out a gasp as he hoisted you upwards. Your legs folded around his hips, slick pussy flush to his stomach, sliding down the taut skin until you met the solid bar of flesh beneath.

“Oh, Agent,” he said in your ear, low and smooth, “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You shoved his shoulder, but Loki’s fingertips sank into the soft curve of your ass, pushing you up so your slit hovered above the crown of his cock.

His eyebrow rose. “Last chance,” he said with a ladle of sarcasm.

Steadying one hand on his shoulder, you scraped the other through his hair, winding in a fist. You tugged, slowly…slowly, and Loki groaned, letting you sink onto his cock with every sharp ache pinching at his scalp. His thrusts weren’t like you imagined: selfish, primal, uncontrolled. If anyone was a Jackhammer —you’d always imagined it would be Loki. But his hips rolled like dough, undulating against you until your eyes rolled back and the rear of your skull cracked against the lockers. “Harder,” you sobbed quietly, nails digging into his back muscle. “Harder,” Loki groaned, his breath hot in the hollow of your neck. “Ruin me, Agent—I’m in your hands.” You dragged the nails deep against his skin: not enough to break blood, but close. Loki’s ragged breaths of pleasure made a new thrill swell between your legs, meeting his sloppy fucks like you were trying to beat him.

The fist wound in his hair yanked again, and again, and each time…the gods hips jolted. His thrusts were faster now— your moans higher— the rattle of the metal lockers and the squeak of rubber soles on tile making your mind swim. “Can I come?” he gurgled between rough exhales, and you pulled his face to yours. There was something in his eyes you’d never seen before—swimming in the whirlpool of blue. “No,” you said, and his head fell back to the ceiling. Loki’s veined cock tugged every inch of your walls as he pulled out, and buried in, stars bursting in your vision as climax began to shift and slide in the depths like a riptide.

Your legs spasmed against his hips, crossed ankles digging into the base of his spine, the grip on the god’s hair unbreakable. Biting back the urge to sob his name, you slammed your hips down to the root of his length, pulling Loki’s mouth to yours. His tongue massaged the syllables of his own name forming on your tongue, the rumble in your throat matching the one you could feel in the depths of his chest.

“Gods,” he choked when you broke, panting, riding your cunt in sloppy thrusts.

You could feel the slip of your cum between your thighs, and coating the length of his cock: and Loki could too. He looked at you with something a little like fear, one hand flying from your ass and steadying against the lockers.

“Can I—” he started, but before you could respond his knees buckled, wobbling as orgasm hit him like a train. Loki’s cry echoed around the changing room, the pained pleasure of his release making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Fuck: he was beautiful. And now...it was over. A sharp stab of sadness slipped between your ribs. The doorhandle shoogled violently. “Everything okay in there? Loki?” You and Loki’s eyes met. Steve was outside. And he wasn't alone. “What if he’s fallen? Jeepers, the floors are freshly waxed for crivven’s sakes—” “—will you calm down. I think Loki can handle himself on some polished floors,” Sam said dryly through the door. “—Bet that’s not the only thing that’s been polished,” Bucky replied, and even at a distance you could feel the heat building in Steve’s cheeks. “You’re disgusting—our comrade could be in peril. I don’t know what got into her.” There were a series of snorts, and several brisk knocks. “Yo, Laufeyson. You in peril in there?” Sam asked, and Bucky’s laugh followed. “Yes,” Loki whispered; brushing a sex-damp strand of hair from your cheek. His eyes searched yours, pinning you to the lockers as he lowered you to the floor. “I think I might be.”

Tags in comments: ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜❤️

[lets-try-some-writing]

A rather goofy idea, but what if Cybertronians who end up sharing the same name just like, duke it out for who gets to keep it? Like, two guys called Ratchet? Well suck it up because now it's a matter of pride to see who gets to be THE Ratchet. The loser has to go get another name and pray that they don't end up sharing it with a living mech because if they do, that mech will hunt them down for honor's sake.

Bonus: Ratchet has a confirmed name keeping count of four hundred and seven. Not a single soul has even TRIED to steal Megatron's name (although he secretly really really wishes someone would make the attempt). Optimus had his name "stolen" by a sparkling at one point and promptly did a mock battle with the little thing, winning by knocking the sparkling over and giving them a new name derived from his own as a gift. Only one mech has ever attempted to steal Soundwave's name. The results were inconclusive, but considering the other mech ended up naming himself Soundblaster, most think the two came to some sort of agreement rather than actually fighting over it.

Starscream reportedly changed his name eighty seven times when he was young until he finally chose a name that was entirely unique and so him that no one wanted it anyway.

[haihoneys]

Good Vibes Only

Summary: The one where Yoongi finds his girlfriend’s stash of special toys and wants to play. 

Word Count: 6,917

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut - absolute filth. y’all this is raunchy hahaha::: FaceTime sex/masturbation, overstim, cum play, a lot bit of pleasure-dom!Yoongi, degradation, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mentions of a sub drop

——

Most people’s nightmares are filled with monsters or tragic events; ghosts and goblins or getting abducted by aliens or being trapped in horrible storms. But not for Y/N. No, her nightmares were filled with gawking crowds and hecklers as she stood on a stage in only her underwear. Sometimes it even involved her puking her guts up as the crowd roared with laughter. The horrid dream had plagued her since high school and no matter what she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Even now, years later, the mere thought of giving a presentation at work had nerves bubbling in her belly. 

Giving actual presentations had her a nervous wreck for weeks in advance. The pure dread she felt as she stood in front of her colleagues, people who were technically her friends (except Bethany from accounting - Bethany could choke on a dick as far as Y/N was concerned), was insurmountable. Her hands would get clammy and her knees would be knocking against each other, a steady mantra of ‘I love my job’ looping through her head as everyone patiently sat and waited for her to begin. 

Anxiety was gnawing at Y/N’s stomach as she sat at the desk in the corner of her living room, pouring over the notes for the presentation she had at work the following morning. It was a big one and if she nailed this pitch it meant she landed the new account. And that, in turn, could mean big things for her career-wise. Really big things. Like that corner office and pay raise she’d had her eye on for the past year. Honestly, those stakes made it all the more nerve-wracking. 

With a frustrated groan she leaned back in her chair and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed to talk to Yoongi. He always knew exactly what to say to get her out of her own head.

Unfortunately, he was in the middle of promotions in Japan. In the ten days he’d been gone, they had barely gotten a chance to speak to one another. Either she had a meeting or he was at an interview. Or she had an important business lunch or he was about to walk on stage. Their precious few spare moments just weren’t lining up in their favor. 

It seemed that even their texting had been slow all day seeing as though she’d been pouring over her notes and he in a fanmeet with the other members.

When everyone finally called it a day and headed back to the hotel, Yoongi decided to take the opportunity to call Y/N. As disgustingly sappy as it was, he really missed the sound of her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Just…her. She just had this way of soothing his nerves. Putting him completely at ease. 

Being gone this long without having a chance to talk to her always caused his anxiety to ratchet up a couple of notches. It was starting to cause an actual physical tightness in his chest and he knew his friends were getting tired of his snappiness. He even swore he heard Jin grumble something about ‘a dose of bitch-be-gone’ under his breath the day before. Whatever that was. 

Several hundred miles away, Y/N was pulled from her studying when her phone vibrated on the desk beside her. She snatched up the buzzing device, grateful for any excuse to take a break, and smiled at her boyfriend’s contact that appeared on the screen.

🥰yooyoo🥰

Are you free to FaceTime? We just got back to the hotel and I want to see you xx

sunshine☀️❤️

Yes! Give me just a sec get my laptop ready!

Absolute glee radiated through her at the thought of not only getting to speak to him but to be able to see his face. In her excitement, she swung around in her chair so quickly she nearly toppled out of it as she reached for the laptop tucked away in her work tote. Quickly regaining her balance, Y/N opened up her computer and just as it connected to the wifi, Yoongi’s FaceTime request came through. She couldn’t help the cheerful giggle that bubbled up in her throat at the sight of him.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted her. It was more of a yawn really, and she frowned at the deep purple smudges beneath his eyes. Before she could even open her mouth, he was laughing. “I know, I know. ‘I’ve got to get some rest.’ You don’t have to tell me.”

“Well, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” She was pouting as she said it, concern dripping from her words. 

Yoongi snorted. He hadn’t been sleeping. He felt like he was running off cigarettes and anxiety at this point. Even when he was able to catch even a few minutes of sleep here or there, they were fitful and often left him feeling more exhausted than before. “I sleep better when I’m with you.” He gave her a sleepy smile, his whole face going soft and warm as he looked her over. “How’s the presentation prep going?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose before launching into all her worries of how it could go wrong. His intention was to make her feel better, even offer to listen to her rehearse if she wanted. But as she continued to talk, his eyes started to lazily wander over her. She was wearing a t-shirt and one of his baggier cardigans. And the with way she had her leg propped up in the desk chair allowed for her skimpy choice of panties to be on full display. 

It was wrong, not to mention rude, to be getting so turned on while his girlfriend was clearly upset but damn she just looked so pretty and he hadn’t seen her in so long.He knew he’d never hear the end of it but he just couldn’t help himself as his hand drifted down out of view of the camera. And as discretely as he could, he began to slowly palm himself over his sweats, his teeth biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out at the friction. 

But then she had to go and lean back to stretch over the back of her chair. Pebbled nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt and Yoongi didn’t even realize he had moaned out a soft ‘fuck’ until she abruptly stopped talking. A hot blush crept up Yoongi’s neck and onto his cheeks once he saw that he’d been caught. 

Busted.

Her eyebrows shot up damn near to her hairline, eyes wide as she realized what exactly her boyfriend was doing on the other end of the call. “Min Yoongi, are you jerking off while I’m talking to you about work?” she laughed as she questioned him, not daring to admit that just maybe the thought had turned her on a little bit. 

‘Well, we might as well fully commit now’ he thought to himself as he sat up a little straighter against the headboard and smirked. “Not yet. Maybe you could help me out, hm?”

Always so straightforward, her boyfriend.

Blinking at his bluntness, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as his hand slipped out of view again. It always surprised her just how quickly his temperament could change when it came to bedroom matters. 

To the outside world he was quiet and reserved, even somewhat standoffish. But behind closed doors, Min Yoongi was as freaky as they came. A little FaceTime sex was mild in comparison to some of their other escapades. 

“Take your shirt off for me?” Yoongi asked her, the flush on his cheeks darkening and his voice growing even huskier than usual. “But leave my cardigan on.”

Always one to please, a sly grin pulled at the corner of her lips as she sat up straighter and did as she was asked. She leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through her hair. Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her bare chest, her nipples taunt from the air conditioning he knew she had blasting in her apartment. Goddamn he loved her tits. 

He told her as much and she offered only a small smirk in reply as she slowly brought her hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing and pushing them together to emphasize her cleavage for his viewing pleasure. With her left hand she slowly began to pinch her nipple between her thumb and forefinger as her right slid down her stomach towards the waistband of her panties.

“You gonna touch yourself for me baby?” Yoongi said, an arrogant smirk plastered onto his flushed face. Cocky bastard.

The filthy words spurring her on, Y/N let her fingers drift over the silk crotch of her underwear, pausing to press against her clit. Her head lolled to the side as she dipped her hand into her panties, a breathy moan of Yoongi’s name spilling past her lips. A dark, damp spot was forming against the pink fabric, turning it almost translucent as her fingers worked slow circles against her clit. Yoongi’s pupils blew wide as he watched her, fumbling to shove his sweats down just enough. Once his cock was free he wrapped his hand around himself, his hips jerking upward into his fist.

“T-Take your panties off and show me that pretty pussy, baby,” he grunted as he tightened the grip he had on his cock.

Just as she stood from the chair to wiggle out of her underwear, there was a series of short, sharp knocks at Yoongi’s hotel room door. Eyes wide at the sudden disturbance, he cursed and fumbled with his phone as he tried to get his pants pulled back up. “Be right back,” he huffed as he hopped off the bed and went to answer the door. 

All hope of continuing with their sexcapades vanished as Hobi’s muffled voice floated through the room.

Something about how they were about to have an impromptu team meeting about tomorrow’s schedules. Seconds later, Yoongi’s flushed face popped back up on screen.

“I have to go but I’ll call you back as soon as I get a chance.” 

Annoyance was pulling his features tight, even as his bottom lip jutted out in a petulant pout. Even though the mood had effectively been ruined, she smiled and blew him a kiss. Cheesy as ever, Yoongi reached up to catch it and smacked his palm to his cheek.

She laughed again, the sound warm and breathy and sounding like home. “I love you! Talk to you later.”

A goofy grin broke out across his face as she said it. The words filling him with a soothing warmth from his toes all the way to the tips of his ears. “I love you too. And good luck with your pitch in the morning. You’re going to kill it, baby.”

Before she could reply there was more knocking at Yoongi’s door, his head snapping up towards it as it creaked open. She was quick to wrap the cardigan around herself as Jungkook stepped into view over Yoongi’s shoulder, telling him that he was going to be waiting for him in one of the manager’s rooms down the fall. “Shit, I have to go. Love you.”

The call disconnected and Y/N was left alone again. Her mind was too far away from her notes now to even consider going back to studying. She huffed out a breath, blowing the hair out of her face as she pushed back from her desk, the chair swiveling around in a lazy circle. Still in just her boyfriend’s cardigan and her underwear, she kept spinning around in the chair until a rather brilliant idea popped into her head. 

She hopped up from her seat and made a mad dash for her bedroom, dropping to her knees on her preferred side of the bed to flip up the bed skirt. Hunched down on the ground, she blindly started patting around for the black photo box she kept tucked just past the edge of the bed frame. 

——

sunshine☀️❤️

Yooyoo!!

sunshine☀️❤️

Oh my god I NAILED my presentation!! 

sunshine☀️❤️

My manager even said the raise looked really promising!

🥰yooyoo🥰

I knew you could do it, baby. I’m so, so proud of you. We’re going out to celebrate as soon as I get home  xx

——

Two torturously long weeks later, Yoongi was finally on his way home to her. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he boarded the private jet with the rest of his members and staff. He was used to being gone for long stretches of time but there was something about this particular trip that was making him extra antsy.

Yoongi just wanted to be home. In his own bed. With his girl in his arms. And maybe his cock buried in her warm, wet, goddamn perfect cunt - 

Jungkook plopping down in the seat next to him startled Yoongi out of his thoughts, the former sighing loudly as he settled into the plush seat. He lulled his head to the side, throwing Yoongi a bright grin. “You and Y/N got plans when we get home? I know you’ve been dying to get back to her.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “I can survive a couple weeks without seeing my girlfriend.”

There was a bright peel of laughter from the seat behind them, Hoseok’s voice

causing them to turn back to look at him. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You’ve been extra mopey ever since we left Seoul.”

He let out a little hmph and reached for his headphones. “You guys are just jealous you aren’t getting laid regularly.”

——

When they touched down on the tarmac later that day, the first thing he did was call her. Hearing her delighted squeal had him practically sprinting through the airport to the waiting SUV that would take him to Y/N’s apartment, completely ignoring the waiting fans and paparazzi that crowded the space. 

The drive to her place was relatively short but Yoongi felt like he was about to come out of his skin. Every nerve felt like a fucking live wire. When the car finally pulled up to her building, his door was open, and he was stepping out before the vehicle had even come to a full stop. 

Yoongi jogged up to the front door of her building and threw it open, beelining towards the bank of elevators at the rear of the lobby. He jabbed at the buttons, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the lift to take him up to her floor. It was so fucking slow. The damn thing always was but he swore today it was taking even longer just to piss him off.

The stainless steel doors finally slid open and he felt like he could breathe easier now. He was so close to her. He was almost - 

Just as he reached her door, it flung open revealing her beaming face. “Yoongi!!”

Y/n threw her arms around his neck, crushing him to her so tight he thought she might strangle him. But honestly… what a way to go.

She pulled back just enough to start smothering his face in kisses, not stopping until he was giggling and swatting her away.

“Cmon,” he took her hands and drug her back inside her apartment, “let’s get inside before that mean old lady down the hall calls the front desk on us again.”

They spent the next several hours wrapped up in each other. Arms and legs tangled together as they sprawled across her sofa, as they poured over every detail the other had missed in the weeks he’d been gone.

Eventually, they found their way to her bedroom, moving through their nighttime routines with effortless ease as he told her about the sights they were able to visit on the last couple of days in Japan. 

“We had a few extra minutes the other day so we decided to walk through this park next to the venue, right? And I saw the cutest dog, Y/N; seriously, I was trying to think of a way to bring him home. Hold on, I made Hoseok take a picture of me petting it so I could show you.” In his excitement to show her the photo, he fumbled his phone, and the device was suddenly flying through the air.

She couldn’t even begin to describe how it happened. One second his phone was firmly in his hand and the next it was being tossed around like a damn hacky sack, bouncing between his hands before finally clattering to the floor. The distinct ‘swoosh’ of it sliding under the bed and ‘thunk’ as it hit the wall had Y/N snorting out a bellyaching laugh. 

Yoongi looked nothing short of flustered, his cheeks and ears going bright red, as he mumbled a soft ‘fuck’ and crouched down to look for his phone. The slippery little fucker had made its way all the way to Y/N’s side of the bed. She was still giggling as he came around the bed and he shot her a playful sneer as he bent down again.

Flipping up the white cotton bed skirt, Yoongi started aimlessly patting around for his phone. But instead of the small metal and glass device, he found what felt like… a box, perhaps? Brows crinkled, he reached for it and sat back on his heels with his new discovery tucked in his grasp. 

He looked up at her to find her nose stuck back in the book she had been reading earlier, a grin still on her face from all that laughter minutes before. “What’s this?”

Not looking up from her book, she waited on him to elaborate, “What’s what?”

Yoongi held the box up for her to see, eyes widening when its contents started to rattle around with the slight movement. He had an inkling what it was but he wanted to hear what she had to say about it. The look of pure horror she was wearing when she looked up was met with Yoongi’s shit-eating grin. Well that told him exactly what he wanted to know. With a swift, graceful movement, he jumped up and took a big step backward as she shot out of bed, making grabby hands in his direction. 

“Min Yoongi, give that back. Now,” she said, her eyes wide and hands shaking as she reached out for it again, fully expecting him to be his gentlemanly self and just hand it over.

But she was wrong. Very wrong. 

Absolutely delighted by his little game, Yoongi smirked down at her as he pulled the box to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, effectively locking it in place. “What’s in the box, Y/N?”

“Nothinggg.” The word was a drawn-out whine as she tried to lunge for it, only for him to dance away from her hands just as they brushed the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Yoongi was giggling at her like a little boy and held the box above his head as she pathetically attempted to get it back. “Oh, judging by this reaction, I think it is most definitely something.”

A wave of absolute mortification washed over her as she accepted her defeat. Groaning, she turned back toward the bed and flopped down face first to bury her head in the pillows. This must be how she died, she decided. From complete and total embarrassment. 

Though she expected his pity, all she got was a sinful smirk as he dropped his arm back down to open the mystery box. 

Bingo.

He riffled through the various toys and lubes, his smirk widening to a full-on grin as he pulled out a purple rabbit vibrator. He turned it on, testing out the different speeds and pulsing patterns. 

The familiar buzzing sound had Y/N groaning again. In a desperate attempt to disappear completely, she pulled a pillow over her head praying the mattress would suddenly open up and swallow her whole. “Dear god, Yoongi, please put it back in the box. I’m literally begging you.”

A sardonic chuckle replaced the humming of the vibrator as he switched it off. The torturous embarrassment was finally coming to an end. Or so she thought. 

“When was the last time you used that one, baby?”

She peeked out from under the pillow, biting down hard on her bottom lip as heat rushed up her neck and cheeks. There was no way in hell she was playing into this. 

At her silence, he looked up at her and gave her little smirk.  “Awe, sweet girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with condescending mirth, “no need to be shy.” 

“A few days ago. When you had to get off the FaceTime,” her admission was muffled by the pillow she had returned to her face to. But Yoongi heard it clear as day. 

He was quiet long enough that she started to wonder if he was angry. Jealous even of the rather impressive collection she had amassed over her adult years. She knew from first-hand experience that most men would be.

But then she felt the bed dip and she shyly peeked over her shoulder to find Yoongi sitting at the foot of the bed. That damned vibrator back in his hands. 

He was cooking something up in that beautiful head of his. And Y/N didn’t know if she should be excited or scared. 

Rolling onto her back, she leaned forward on her elbows and watched with wide eyes as he turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. The look on his face was positively feral as he inched up the bed a bit, pushing her legs further apart to accommodate him. He put a hand on her chest and pushed her back down before he took the very tip of the vibrator and ran it up over the crotch of her panties, pressing it lightly right above her clit. She gasped, her hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist.

“What were you thinking about when you were fucking yourself?” The gravely tone of his voice had her moaning out and canting her hips upward, desperate for him to move the vibrator downward just a little.

“Your hands. And mouth. And cock.” Her admission was nothing more than breathless pants he rewarded her honesty by rotating his wrist, pressing the buzzing tip of the toy directly against her clit. 

“Did you cum, baby?” The only response she could manage was a mumbled “mhm” as a delicious pressure started to build low in her belly. “How many times?” 

Yoongi turned the speed of the vibrator up to the next setting, earning him a mewling moan but not an answer to his question. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

He pulled the vibrator away and before she could register the loss of stimulation, he brought his opposite hand down hard against her still clothed pussy. A shocked yelp tore from her throat as he growled, “I asked you a question, Y/N.”

“O-Once! I could only do it once,” her voice was shaky, practically a sob as he brought the vibrator back to the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” his deep chuckle had a shiver running down her spine. It carried a dark promise that the night was going to be filled with absolute torment at his hands. But it was a torment that she would gladly accept. “We can do better than that. Don’t you think?” 

Applying just the slightest bit more pressure to her clit had Y/N writhing on the bed. Head tossed back into the pillows as her vision started to go fuzzy at the edges, the building pressure in her belly finally bubbled over into her release. A wanton moan ripped from her as she came, her back arching and eyes screwing shut as the pleasure washed over her. 

He removed the vibrator from her just long enough to maneuver her panties down her legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and reached for the still buzzing toy beside him. Turning the speed up a few more notches, fully planning on using it for its intended purpose this time. He ran the toy up her slit, tapping it on her clit and grinning as she whined and tried to move away from his touch.

A firm grip on her hip forced her to still again, the warm weight of his hand pressing her harshly down into the mattress. Positioning the larger head at her entrance and the smaller coming to rest directly on her clit, Y/N forgot how to breathe as he slowly pushed it into her. Her hips bucking upward when he angled it just right to press against that perfect spot that instantly had her seeing stars. 

He gave her no time to adjust to the new intrusion and started fucking the toy in and out of her in quick, shallow movements, always careful to make sure the bulbous tip brushed against her front wall. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he fucked her stupid, her chest heaving with ragged, shallow breaths. It took hardly any time at all for that warmth to come back to her, pooling in her lower belly again like it had never even left in the first place. 

This climax took her by surprise. It snuck up on her and ripped through her body in wave after wave of toe-curling euphoria. Her entire body was trembling with the force of it. And Yoongi only kept fucking her through it all. 

Her knuckles were turning white as she fisted the sheets so tightly in her hands she had a vague thought that she might rip them. She couldn’t bring herself to care in the slightest though. Not when she felt like her world was rocking underneath her. Not when she felt like she was being devoured whole by the pure, undiluted ecstasy coursing through her veins. 

Y/N crashed back down to earth just as quickly as she ascended to the heavens, her very soul seeming to slam back down into her body with enough force that she couldn’t tell up from down anymore. She was nothing more than mewling whimpers and twitching limbs as the pleasure quickly started becoming too much. And at the same time, not enough. 

Yoongi was quick to lie down on his belly between her thighs, throwing an arm across her middle in an effort to keep her still. All the thoughts drained from her head as he pressed the button on the vibrator one more time, taking it to the highest possible speed, and tilting it upwards to rest right against her sweet spot. 

A scream of his name tore from her throat, the shrill sound echoing off the walls as she arched so far off the mattress she might as well have been sitting up. With the intense vibrations sending her body into overdrive, it felt like it took mere seconds to have her cumming for the third time. 

She started to cry as he finally withdrew the vibrator from her aching core, tears streaking down her cheeks as she babbled incoherent nonsense. The tears and slurred words only served to amuse him though. He sneered at her as he crawled up her body. He loved it when she cried. 

“Awe my poor little crybaby,” he cooed as he brought a hand up to squeeze her cheeks together, fingers settling on her cheeks between her teeth and smirking down at the forced pout she now wore. He could tell she was having a hard time focusing on his face, her eyes were glassy and fat tears still rolling from the corners. “Your little pussy can’t handle it? I thought you were a big girl, hm?”

Grip tightening on her face, he snapped her head to the side so he could lick up the column of her neck before whispering in her ear. “If you can’t handle a little toy, how the fuck do you expect to take my cock?”

She could only whimper in reply as he angled his head to lick her tears away. Just as her labored breaths started to even out again, Yoongi reached for the box on her nightstand and pulled out a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. 

Y/N was still dazed, her body still felt like it was floating. So she took no notice of what he was doing until the soft click of one of the cuffs around her wrist rang throughout the room. She could only blink up at him as he hauled her hand up to the headboard and looped the handcuffs around a piece of framework before reaching for her other hand.

A broken sob of his name only brought another sadistic smile to his face as he reached for the box again and pulled out a small bullet vibrator. Yoongi twisted the base of the toy, turning it on to one of the higher settings it offered. Her legs snapped shut at the sound and he glared down at her, his eyes hard and sinfully dark. Strong hands were on her thighs instantly, squeezing so tight she knew there would be finger-shaped bruises left in their wake, prying them apart before he settled on his belly between them again.  

She trembled as he brought the bullet to her clit and pressed down lightly. Fresh tears started to pool at the corners of her eyes as her hips jerked away from the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t. I can’t!”

Eye level with her weeping cunt, Yoongi only ‘tutted’ at her cries and slowly started to swirl the small toy on her clit, her highs tensing on either side of his head as she barreled towards another orgasm. 

“C’mon, pretty girl. You know what I want.” His words fell on deaf ears, though, her blood pounded so fiercely in her ears that she couldn’t hear anything else. Hungry eyes stayed glued to her pussy as her hole continued to clench around nothing.

Yoongi couldn’t help but groan at the sight. She was leaking all over the bed, her slick puddling right under her ass as he continued his assault.

“Yoo-yoongi,” she moaned, voice broken and stuttering. “G-onna… gonna make a m-mess.”

Fuck yes.

He lowered his mouth to her entrance, tongue licking into her. He wanted to drink her down, swallow every drop she could give him. 

And make a mess she did. Her orgasm washed over her in a tidal wave, crashing into her with enough force to have her vision whiting out completely. 

Everything was soft and fuzzy around the edges when she came back to herself. Yoongi was mumbling soft praises and words of affirmation to her as he went about unlocking the handcuffs. He brought her wrists up to his mouth and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the skin where the cuffs had started to dig in despite their padding.

“You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you. You took it all so well.” His words were soft and gentle; his demeanor completely changed now as he doted on her. 

He settled down next to her, one hand rubbing slow circles on her belly and the other sliding under her shoulders as she worked to catch her breath. With a groan she rolled over to face him and started pressing lazy kisses to his jaw, her hands sliding up his arms to wrap around his neck. 

Yoongi turned his head and caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to earn a small whimper from her. “What do you want, baby? Use your words for me.”

He threaded his hand in her hair and gripped it tightly at the roots, pulling her back so she could look him in the eye as she whined, “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. Please. Need it so bad.”

“Yeah? Need my cock, angel? Want me to fill you up?” He was already sliding out of her arms, not waiting for her to reply before he stripped off his sweats and t-shirt. He had been ready to just hold her for the rest of the night, satisfied enough knowing that he had taken such good care of her. He could have found his own release in his hand after Y/N had fallen asleep.

But if she wanted his cock he’d fucking give it to her. 

Yoongi settled into the cradle of her thighs, rutting against her and hissing as his aching cock slid through the slickness there. All of his toughness dissipated as he finally sunk into her, biting down on his tongue to hold back the whimper at the feeling of her clamping down on him. 

“Fuckkk.” One hand had a white knuckle grip on the headboard, the cool metal biting into his palm helping to somewhat ground him to reality. Yoongi was panting, eyes squeezed tightly shut. If he opened his eyes and looked down at her like this, he knew he’d blow his load. 

Y/N was mewling under him, whining his name in the sweetest song he’d ever heard, begging him to move. It took every shred of willpower he possessed to open his eyes, looking down and burning the image of her fucked out face into the backs of his eyelids. “Yeah. Yeah, gonna give you what you need, baby. You’ve been so good for me.”

The slow, heavy drag of his cock as he pulled out of her just to slam right back in had her head spinning, breath hitching in her throat with every brutal thrust of his hips into hers. Yoongi leaned back, releasing his death grip on the headboard to grab her thighs instead, calloused fingers pressing bruises into the plush flesh.

He positioned her the way he wanted her, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips and damn near combusting when he was able to push just a little deeper, the tip of his cock nudging against her cervix. “Goddamn, this pussy. So fucking perfect. It was made for me, huh?”

“Y-yes! God, yes, Yoongi, please.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she started blubbering and begging, her words starting to run together in a mess of incoherence. Nails clawed at his biceps and shoulders, leaving angry red welts in their wake. 

A particularly deep thrust had her screaming for him, arching into him and clamping down on his cock in a vice grip. His eyes screwed shut, jaw straining under the force of his grinding teeth. “Get your toy. The little one.”

She flailed and fumbled for it, blindly swatting around the mattress until her hand found the small toy and clicked it on. Her opposite hand slid between them, mimicking his earlier movements and letting her fingers slide on either side of her clit as she brought the buzzing toy down to it.

It sent shock waves through her, and Yoongi pushed in so deep she swore she could taste him.

The moan that clawed its way from his chest was deep and primal, the vibrations against the base of his cock nearly doing him in.

Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream and she arched up against him as she came, the vibrator falling from her slack hand. The fluttering of her wet heat around him sent him tumbling after her. He pulled out of her, hand flying to his cock to give himself a few furious tugs before spilling all over her pussy and lower belly in thick white ropes.  

Watery eyes fluttered open to look at him, his flushed face cast up to the ceiling, jaw slack and chest heaving. He was always beautiful but like this… god he was a work of art.

Slowly, he eased himself down on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. Yoongi peppered kisses along her face, both cheeks and forehead and chin, not stopping until he was rewarded with a weak little giggle. 

He hummed and moved to nuzzle his face into her neck, mumbling sweet praises into her skin. They’re still for a heartbeat, two, three, until their breathing has started to even out. Y/N vaguely registered him untangling himself from her and slip from the bed entirely.

Sleep claimed her quickly, and by the time Yoongi came back into the room with a warm washcloth, Y/N was softly snoring. Starting with the mess on her stomach, he gently set to work cleaning her up and made sure to save her surely sensitive core for last. 

She whined when he tried to part her legs, and he decided that letting her soak in a warm bath might ease some of her soreness. He padded back into the bathroom and set the tap running, the steam billowing off the water and filling the small space.

While the tub slowly filled, Yoongi rummaged around under the sink for the homemade milk bath mix he knew she kept on hand. He pulled out the container and poured a hearty scoop into the tub, using his hand to gently mix it all together.

When the water had taken on a milky white hue, he rose to his feet and went to rouse Y/N. 

She had curled onto her side, clutching the pillow he had lain on to her chest. Yoongi leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek in a soft kiss.

“C’mon baby. I ran you a bath and you need to go pee.”

Y/N groaned and tried to roll away from him, but he slipped an arm under her and hoisted her up into a sitting position. “‘M fine, Yooyoo,” she mumbled, her head lolling onto his shoulder as he scooped her up and set her on her feet.

“I know you don’t want to get up but we both know that a UTI isn’t worth it,” he murmured into her ear as he helped her walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. “I’ll step out and give you a little privacy, okay?.”

She didn’t reply as she practically collapsed on the toilet. The door clicked shut behind him, and she absently wondered why he was suddenly concerned with her privacy. He had just fucked her five ways from Sunday, but he thought she cared if he saw her pee. He was too sweet sometimes. 

It took her longer than she cared to admit to get off the toilet and ease herself down into the warm, cloudy water. She moaned as the warmth seeped through her skin and into her bones.

“Yoongi,” she called out softly. He poked his head back in almost instantly, prepared to get her whatever she asked for.

“You can go to bed. I’m just going to soak for a while.”

He came fully into the room then and perched on the lip of the tub. She leaned her head against his hip and he turned just enough to be able to gently comb his fingers through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. “You did so good for me tonight, sweet girl.”

She hummed at his praise, her eyes slipping shut as she brought her knees to her chest and rested her head against them. Yoongi stood and pushed his sweats down his hips before stepping in behind her. It only took them a moment to get settled, her back to his chest as he rested against the back of the tub. 

They were quiet for several minutes and he thought she might have dozed off against him as he started to bathe her. With her favorite soap lathered on her loofa, he ran it up and down her arms, over her chest and neck, between her breasts. He set it on the edge of the tub before cupping some water in his hands to pour over her shoulders and neck to rinse away the suds. He took the clean washcloth on the corner of the tub next. She flinched when he brought it up between her legs, running it gently up her slit.

Soft words of praise were mumbled into her hair as he continued to bathe her. “I know you’re sore baby. But you did wonderfully. I’m so proud of you.”

It was so intimate, so tender, that it made her heart ache in her chest, and she teared up as he started to wash her hair, gently massaging the shampoo into her scalp. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she choked on her words as the tears started to freely fall down her cheeks.

He stilled instantly and reached out to cup her face in his palm, turning her face towards his in fear she might be mid sub-drop.

“I’m not dropping,” she assured him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth as she choked on a weak laugh. “I’m alright, I promise. I just love you, s’all.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tighter into his chest. She nuzzled her head into his neck as he dropped scattered kisses to the crown of her head. “I will always take care of you, Y/N.”

[luvbinnies]

i made a promise, to distance myself

A boy who kept his feelings locked away and someone who wore their heart on their sleeve. When he walked away, it was without warning, without reason. And they refused to wait for an explanation. Now few months later, forced to work together on a project neither can escape, old wounds resurface. Silence turns into stolen glances, resentments bleeds into something dangerously familiar, and the past refuses to stay buried.

Genre: fluff, angst, exs to lovers, el oh el.

warnings: swearing, isaac newton mentioned, could be sad ig (?), i can't think of anything else

a/n: im back from the dead, recently fell under a moving car and got dumped el oh el, some parts in here are inspo by like my actual life, i have a list of all the similarities if anyone is curiosu at the end of the story. basically wake up from a dream where me and my ex got back together and wrote this.

wc: 9.6k (longest fic ever el oh el)

Jumping off a flight of stairs was probably not the best idea, but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment.

Reluctantly moving down the stairs and following the loud clunk sounds of your stupid bright neon green water bottle. Books and papers of drawings and blueprints that won't fit into your messenger bag without getting damaged. Maybe you should’ve listened to when people said getting a regular backpack was much more convenient than the bag you had now, but it was much more fashionable. 

Landing at the bottom of the staircase, take a moment to breathe and prepare yourself for having to go back up five flights of stairs to get to class. Because even though the school is one of the prestigious in the country, they refuse to have any sort of elevators to ruin their “dark academic” aesthetic of the building. 

Eyes traveling on the old cobbled stoned flooring, trying to locate a neo-coded water bottle, your mother insisted on getting since she read somewhere green is this year's lucky colour. Probably found in some ridiculous article, really got to get her off social media. 

Bright neon green slipped through your peripheral vision, turning to face the still rolling bottle and walking towards it before it makes you late for your next class. It stops in front of a pair of solid black shoes, one that looks all too familiar. The figure stops at the feeling of the ratchet bottle that wants to ruin your day even more than it already has. 

A recognizable pale hand, with a silver ring on the index,  hesitantly drops down to pick up the bottle that led you down a path to the literal pits of hell for you. Eyes not dare looking up from the ground, taking your somewhat free hand and extending out your pinky to the now stranger you have a bitter taste in your mouth everytime you come near. Once the feeling of your pinky is weighted down by the feeling of the water bottle’s hook, you take off up the stairs with energy that you didn’t think you had anymore left of, as it’s your third time climbing these stairs in the past ten minutes. 

Not a care in the world if a stranger walks by and deem you as a rude bastard who can’t even say thank you, because you can;t even say a word to the “nice stranger” who handed you your water bottle. All you can do around him now is just run and avoid. That’s what you continue to do until you reach your class, probably looking a little weird as you were also cursing at your bottle and gravity, mainly isaac newton, he’s usually the bane of all your problems lately, besides the man you used to call yours. 

—

His friends would sometimes joke to him that the world is too fast for him at times, usually when he doesn’t get a joke right away or for him zoning out, especially as it has been worse in these past few months. 

But that happened so fast, he has no idea what to do, or how to react but just to stare at your figure rushing up the stairs. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens as you fade away up the many flights of stairs. Acting like he is some contagious virus, even afraid to touch him, much less look at him. 

He would remember when their friend group was still intact and when they would all hang out, how sometimes the gang would get too overwhelming, even from the other side of the room you would catch his eye and always give him a comforting smile. And the simple eye contact with one another, while the world moves along around them. 

But he had lost that with you and it’s all his fault. 

—

Taking a little break from the assignment in front of you to angrily tap on your phone so the ads on your music app stop, knowing you aren’t really actually doing anything to get rid of them unless you become one of the apps victims and pay for music. But your stubbornness and being broke, so aggressively hitting your phone is your next best solution. 

The little silence after the ad is finally done and the next song is about to start, you can hear a mechanical pencil roll off of a desk. A quiet clatter could barely be noticed in the slight hum of the library. You didn’t hear it at first, the angry high you had because of the ad made you lock out of concentrating from your work— until you noticed the hand reaching for it making you pause.

Long pale fingers. A silver ring on the index.

You know those hands, it's your second time seeing them in… you weren’t too sure the last time you saw those hands when they were wrapped around your water bottle. All you knew was that you were seeing those hands much sooner than you needed to. 

Those hands, you remember the weight of those hands in yours, the way they used to hold your face and caress your cheek, the way they tug at your sleeves on your sweater absentmindedly. 

And you recognize the pencil.

It’s yours.

Not exactly, but you did buy that pencil. 

Something in you starts feeling nauseous, or light-headed, you couldn’t really figure out in the moment because without thinking, you reach out and yank that pencil right out of his grip. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, because now that gross boy opened his mouth, but you didn’t care. 

Sunghoon blinks. “Hey did you just—”

Whenever you were bored in class you would always do fun pencil tricks and even taught him how to do some with this said pencil in your hands. 

Spinning the pencil around, inspecting it with feigned interest, not caring about the boy next to you with his mouth open like a fish staring at you. “Huh. I forgot how nice this pencil was.”

Now his mouth is close as he clenches his jaw, his  stare sharpening. “You can’t be serious.”

Finally turning your head to look at him, trying to maintain the emotions on your face. Instead of saying something you might end up regretting, in the fear of sounding cringe, you just shrug. 

“Give it back.”

“Why?” Resting your chin on your hand. “It’s mine.”

He exhales sharply, the kind of exasperated breath he used to let out when you teased for taking things too seriously. Except now there’s a little bit of an edge to everything. 

“You gave it to me.”

You tilt your head “Did I?”

You weren’t sure if he could clench his jaw any harder, but somehow he does. “Yeah. You did.”

Your grip on the pencil tightens. You can’t say you remember everything that was said the night of the break up, but you remember the way you felt, the way he left without explanation— like he couldn’t bear to stay with you any second longer. As if he couldn’t stand to hold on to something that was already slipping away. 

He didn’t even let you have a say, you didn’t get the chance to do anything, not even fight for what was yours then. 

So now you hold on to that damn pencil. 

“Well,” you say, voice light, “technically, it was mine first.”

Sunghoon lets out a humorless laugh, one you don’t recognize in this fever dream daze of nostalgia. Leaning against the table, he’s close now, closer than you could've prepared for. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself at the lack of distance, at the way he still smells the same— like something clean and sharp, a little cologne you had bought him about a year ago for his birthday. 

His voice drops an octave. “You’re seriously pulling this shit?”

Shrugging again, simply just pulling a stare you hope doesn’t reveal how fast your heart is beating stupidly like it used to. 

He watches you for a long second, his brown eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what type of game you were playing. But then, not arguing, instead of pushing back, he just exhales softly. 

“Fine,” he mutters, “Keep it.”

And then, right before he turns away— so quiet you almost think you had imagined it—

“It suits you better anyways.”

You blink.

Before you could say anything, maybe asking what the fuck he meant by what he said, he’s already walking off. Leaving you with a mechanical pencil in your hands and this time you watching him as he walks away, with a taste of words you don’t quite understand.

—

Two year ago

Rain pitter patters against the windows, a dull hum in the background in the near-empty classroom. It’s late— too late for anyone to be here— you didn’t care, you were too stubborn. Chewing on your nail, brows furrowed in concentration as you glare at your notebook, completely oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon hasn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. 

He should be focusing. He should be running through formulas in his head, thinking about the test tomorrow, or at the very least be pretending to be studying. Instead, he’s watching you— watching the way you puff out your cheeks when you stop understanding what you were just doing, the way you spin the pencil in your hand absentmindedly, the way you whisper to yourself while doing each exercise when you think no one’s listening.

You’re always like this– loud without meaning to be, pulling attention without even trying. 

He should’ve known sooner. That you were dangerous in the kind of way that crept up on him, slipping past his defenses before he had the chance to stop it. 

“Sunghoon.”

Your voice snaps him back to reality, he straightens, forcing his face into something neutral. “What?”

Pushing your notebook towards him, sighing dramatically. “Did you do this one yet? I don’t know if I did it correctly.”

He glances at your notebook, eyes widening a little, as to the most he could see on the page was a bunch of scribbles and some incoherent formulas and calculation. Having a hard time reading it , before shifting his chair closer. You don’t think twice about it when your shoulders brush. You never do. 

But he does.

He always does. 

“Is this your answer, at the corner?” he asks, taking your pencil without thinking, to circle the little number at the bottom of the page. Your fingers graze for a second, and he wonders if you feel the static the way he does. Probably not. You’d pull away if you did.

He attempted to go over your work, commenting on what you have written in a voice that’s much steadier than he feels. You nod along, resting your chin on your hand, eye flickering between his face and page. 

“I hate Isaac Newton and that stupid apple.” you grumble.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet laugh shaking his head. “You just overthink everything.”

You groan. “I wish that apple killed that stupid white man.” 

He watches as you bury your head in your arms on the table, tapping your forehead lightly with the end of the pencil before setting it back down. “Just stop overthinking and wishing death upon an already dead man.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him, lips parting like you want to argue, but for a brief moment, something passes between the two of you— something neither of you have a name for yet.

And then you roll your eyes, reaching for your notebook. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idiot.”

Sunghoon watches as you turn your pages to start a new question, completely unaware of the way his fingers twitch against his knee, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

Yeah.

He’s in trouble. 

—

A few months ago

The night air is cold, but not as cold as the space between you.

Your arms are crossed. His hands are shoved into his pockets.

A street light flickers overhead. A car passes in the distance. 

Sunghoon exhales, steadying himself.

Then. before he can stop it— before he can think too hard about what he’s about to lose—

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows everything whole.

Your lips part, but no words come out. 

Your lips part, but no words come out.

The look in your eyes— confusion, disbelief, then something else, something that burns— 

“What-Why?”

He doesn’t answer. Or maybe he does, but it’s not the right thing.

It’s never the right thing.

The air is heavy, thick with things neither of you are saying.

Then, finally— your voice, quieter this time.

“Okay.”

A single step back. Then another.

And then—

Nothing. 

—

The classroom hums with chatter, students moving around and the teacher speaking about some project, but you were barely listening. Your attention is elsewhere— on your notebook, on the scratches of pen against paper, literally anything but him.

He was two rows ahead, resting his chin on his hand, half-focused on his laptop. Almost similar to you right now. Too similar. 

You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself.

But then—

“For the project, you’ll be working in pairs.”

There is a ripple of movement through the room, students glancing around already choosing their partners. 

“I’ve assigned them to you.”

Your stomach twists. 

You sit a little straighter. Your fingers tighten around your pen. 

 The professor starts listing off names. One by one, students find their partner. You’re holding your breath, waiting for—

And then—

Your name.

And then, immediately after—

His. 

You freeze.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. 

Someone nudges your arm, murmuring something about how lucky you are since you get to work with the “hottest guy on campus”, but their voice is distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze. 

Sunghoon had turned in his seat. 

For the first time in months, you’re looking at each other. 

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look surprised. 

—

Sunghoon doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day. 

Not a text, not a call— nothing.

And the, at exactly 11:51 pm., an email lands in his inbox.

Subject: Project Task

From: yn@beliftuniversity.com

To: parksunghoon@beliftuniversity.com 

Attached is the project outline. I’ve divided the tasks. I’ll handle the structural analysis and concept sketches. You can do the mechanical components. Tell me when you are done. 

Sent from my phone

That’s it. No greeting. No unnecessary words. Not  even your name.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose, clicking open the file. You’ve already set up everything— titles, labels, even deadlines. You’ve practically built a wall of professionalism between you, as if you were never anything but classmates. 

And it pisses him off.

Fine. two can play this game. 

He types a reply, short and to the point.

Subject: Re: Project Tasks

Got it. 

He doesn’t hit send. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard. His jaw clenches.

Then, in a moment of stubborn impulse, he types—

You can’t avoid me forever.

And hits send before he can take it back.

—

“You know, he’s right.”

You shoot a glare over at Sunoo. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, kicking his feet up on the bench. “You can’t ignore him forever.”

“I can, actually.” you sip your matcha pointedly. “It’s called email.”

He snorts. “You sound like a middle-aged professor.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone then.”

Sunoo raises an eyebrow. “He literally told you, ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, and? I don’t care.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when Sunoo suddenly stiffens, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

“Uh—”

You don’t even have to ask. You just know.

There’s a familiar shift to the air, an awareness pressing down on your skin. 

And then, just to confirm it—

“Shit,” Sunoo mutters. “He’s down the hall.”

You don’t think. You just move.

Your hands shoot out, gripping his sleeve as you drag them down the corridor. 

“Are you serious?!” he hiss between stumbling steps.

“Shut up, shut up , shut up—”

“Please can we stop running, I don’t think he would be chasing us down for sport.”

You don’t care. You don’t turn around because you know if you do, you’ll see Sunghoon standing there, staring after you, that unreadable look on his face. 

And you are not giving him that satisfaction.

Not today. 

—

Staring at your laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the flashing cursor blinking back at you in defiance. You’ve been avoiding this email for days— every time you think about it your stomach churns, and you mind races with excuses. 

You don’t want to deal with him. Not now. Not ever again.

The project, the meeting, the unavoidable tension. You had hoped, foolishly, that you could really just avoid Sunghoon completely— keep everything strictly professional, send email, handle the assignment without having to face him in person. But that plan was crushed the moment the email landed in your inbox, his name in bold. 

“Let’s meet in person tomorrow to go over the project. I’ll bring the drafts.”

Of course, Sunghoon had to take the initiative. You had a suspicion he’d never let you hide behind your screen forever. He was stubborn, too, in a way that always seemed to get under your skin. 

You arrived at the library, dragging your feet, already feeling the weight of the situation settle in your chest. The project was an assignment, but the real challenge was having to sit across from him, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that the last year— no, the last months— hadn’t been a whirlwind of frustration and heartache.

But here you were, faced with reality. You walked into the library, hoping to avoid eye contact, but you couldn’t escape the familiar sight of him sitting at a table with all his papers neatly organized, a slight form on his face as he scanned the documents. 

His eyes flicked up when he saw you enter, and for a second, your heart skipped a beat. But you force yourself to remain calm. He was just a classmate now, just another part of your academic routine. Nothing more. 

You set your things down at the table across from him, pulling your laptop out with the practiced motions of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You weren;t going to make this more personal than it had to be. No small talk. No catching up. Just the project. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice neutral but carrying the weight of something unsaid. He glanced at the papers in front of you and then back to you. “Are you okay with everything so far? I made some revisions to the outline.”

You didn;t look at him. Instead, you glanced at the project papers and began sorting through them, avoiding his gaze entirely. “I’ll read them over later. Just… let’s focus on getting it done.”

You felt his eyes on you, the tension palpable in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. You had your own part to do, your own work to focus on. Nothing else mattered right now. The project was the only thing that mattered. 

—

Sunghoon sighed, and you could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Look, I know this isn;t easy for either of us, but we’re stuck with each other for this project. We might as well get it done right.”

“I’m not here to talk,” you snapped back, the words sharp and defensive. “Just focus on your part. I’ll handle mine.”

His expression hardened , but he didn’t push it any further. He opened up his own laptop and began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping filling the silence between the both of you. 

For a while, it was quiet— just the sound of typing, rustling of papers. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn;’t shake the nagging feeling that he was watching you. His presence was like a shadow that followed your every move you made, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. You shouldn’t feel like this. You had no reason to. This wasn’t supposed to be personal. It was just a project. 

But then, suddenly, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice quieter, almost reluctant.

“You know,” he said, voice low but insistent, “we used to work well together. Back in high school. Why are you making this harder than it has to be?”

You froze, your fingers still on the keyboard. You could feel the old pain creep up your throat, but you swallowed it down, shoving it away. No. Don’t go there.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice steady but with a hint of something you don’t want to put a name to. And then, with a sigh, he turned his attention back to his laptop, typing in silence for a long time. 

—

Two year ago

 It had been a late night at the library, the kind where the air felt thick with concentration and the promise of deadlines hanging over every student in the building. You were sitting at the same table as Sunghoon, both of you buried in textbooks, trying to get ahead before the weekend.

It was supposed to be just another study session, but something felt different. Maybe it was the way the soft overhead lights cast shadows over his features or how the silence between you two wasn’t awkward but comfortable. You couldn’t help it— his face was so focused, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, and for some reason, the sight of him studying like that made your heart skip. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.

You blinked and quickly looked away, flustered. “No �� it’s just, you look… nice when you study.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower than usual. “Nice, huh? That’s a first.”

You wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, but instead you found yourself smiling despite the heat in your cheeks. Something about being with him felt so easy, so natural.

And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “You look… pretty. When you study.”

There was a long pause, and then Sunghoon chuckled, his smile widening. “Pretty, huh? Well, that’s new.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed too, the awkwardness melting away in the warmth of his gaze. That moment— when you both realized that maybe there was something more there— was when it all started. 

—

The silence in the library stretches again. You go back to your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. But the memory of that moment, of those words you’d said so long ago, hangs in the air like a ghost.

Sunghoon’s presence is undeniable now. Every time his shoulder brushes against yours as he reaches for his drink, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to keep working, to ignore the way his proximity makes your heart race. 

“You know, if we just worked together instead of pretending we’re strangers, this would be a lot easier,” Sunghoon says again, his voice a little more insistent now, but still carrying that gentle tone. 

You refuse to look up, clenching your jaw. “Just finish your part. I’ll finish mine.”

“I’ve always liked how stubborn you are,” he mutters, but there’s a soft fondness behind the words. “But you’re going to make this harder than it has to be, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But the reality is that he’s right. You are making this harder. You’re making everything harder by refusing to acknowledge how much you still feel for him.

But you can’t admit that, not now, not when the walls between you two are so high, so insurmountable. 

—

It’s late—too late for anyone to be at the library anymore. The harsh overhead lights flicker in the empty room, casting long shadows on the tables where students usually sat, buried in their books. But not you. You’re still here, alone, a stack of textbooks and papers spread out before you. The hum of the fluorescent lights fills the air, broken only by the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

You’ve been here for hours, the deadline looming closer with every passing second. Your mind is tired, but you won’t leave until you finish. It’s like a race against time. A way to distract yourself from everything else.

But then, you feel it. A presence.

You look up, and there’s Sunghoon, standing by the entrance, his gaze scanning the room. You immediately look away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Why is he here? You weren’t supposed to see him, not tonight.

He walks toward you slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You keep your eyes down, focused on the papers in front of you, but you can feel him getting closer.

“You’re still here?” Sunghoon says, his voice low, like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

You sigh, unwilling to make this a conversation. “I’m working. Is that a problem?”

“No,” he answers quickly, but there’s a softness to his tone now. Something gentler. “Just... thought you’d left by now.”

You don’t look up, but you hear him pull out the chair opposite you. He sits down, but doesn’t speak immediately. You don’t say anything either. It’s awkward. You try to focus on the work in front of you, trying to ignore the feeling of his presence, so close but still so far away.

You keep your head down, but the longer you stay in the silence, the more you feel the walls you’ve built start to crumble, piece by piece. He doesn’t push you. Doesn’t force a conversation. He just... stays.

You try not to think too much about it. It’s just Sunghoon. Just a classmate.

But then, hours later, you’re blinking, your head feeling heavy as you try to focus on the screen in front of you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until your eyelids started to flutter. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion catches up with you.

You don’t even realize you’ve nodded off until you’re suddenly jerked awake, your head jerking up from the desk. The library is quiet, almost too quiet, and the light from the desk lamp casts a soft glow around the room. That’s when you notice it.

A jacket—dark, heavy, and familiar—draped over your shoulders.

You blink, still groggy from sleep, and turn to see that Sunghoon is gone, his chair empty. You try to shake the fogginess from your mind, but there’s no denying it: He left his jacket with you.

You didn’t hear him come back. Didn’t feel him approaching. But somehow, he’d slipped it onto you while you were asleep, without a sound.

You sit there for a moment, the jacket still warm against your skin. His scent clings to it, and you find yourself unable to take it off. It feels wrong to just leave it behind, but you’re not sure why it feels so important to keep it on.

You look down at your own hands, your fingers grazing the sleeve, feeling the weight of the jacket, both literally and emotionally. You’re not sure if it’s the jacket that’s weighing on you or the memories that come with it. But it’s there. And so is he.

You stay there for a few more minutes, just sitting in the quiet, knowing that it would be impossible to get anything more done tonight. You pack up your things, but you don’t take off the jacket. Instead, you walk out of the library with it on, your heart a little heavier than when you came in.

—

It was dark outside, and the bus was filled with the soft chatter of your classmates. You and Sunghoon were sitting in the same seat, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned against the window, tired from the day’s activities.

You’d always been close, never quite aware of how it felt to have someone just be there with you. But that day, there was something different about it. It was like you both had settled into this quiet rhythm—comfortable, easy.

You leaned your head against the window, gazing out at the passing lights. The bus was warm, and your eyes were starting to grow heavy from the day’s exhaustion. Without realizing it, you drifted off, your head slipping onto Sunghoon’s shoulder.

He didn’t immediately pull away, didn’t complain. He just let you sleep, his body slightly tensing at the sudden closeness, but not enough to push you away.

And when you woke up, it wasn’t awkward. You just rubbed your eyes, looked up at him, and smiled.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured.

Sunghoon chuckled softly. “You really just fell asleep on me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t even realize.”

And even though it had only been a few seconds, you both lingered in that moment, your eyes meeting briefly before he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter.

You’d brushed it off as nothing—just a friendly gesture.

—

You’re still sitting in your room, the jacket still on your shoulders. It feels like a weight, not because it’s heavy, but because of the memories it brings. The warmth lingers on your skin, but so does the uncertainty. You can’t figure out why this is bothering you so much.

Your phone buzzes on the table, pulling you from your thoughts. A new email. You don’t need to look at it to know it’s from him. Sunghoon.

The message is simple: “Still need help with the project. Let me know if you want to meet up.”

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath. You want to ignore it. Pretend you didn’t see it. But you can’t. Because part of you wants him to be there. Part of you wants him to still be the one to help you, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You stand up, pacing around the room, the jacket slipping slightly off your shoulders as you move. You pull it tighter around you, almost subconsciously.

You know you’ll have to face him again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe sooner. Hopefully later. But right now, with his jacket still draped over you, you’re not sure if you're ready.

But for some reason, you know you’re going to have to take it off.

—

You walk into the classroom, clutching the jacket in your hands. It’s been a couple of days since you woke up to find it draped over your shoulders, Sunghoon’s jacket—a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. He hadn’t said anything when you first found it. It had simply been there. At first, you thought it was an accident, but the longer you held onto it, the more it felt like something else. You hadn’t returned it immediately, unsure why you kept it. But now, with the fact the two of you share a class together, it felt like the right time.

You spot him sitting by the window, alone, lost in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. He doesn’t notice you as you approach, and the moment feels strangely... intimate, even though you're still far from the comfort you once shared.

You stand in front of him, holding out the jacket, but he doesn’t immediately take it. His eyes flicker up, and for a split second, something unreadable passes between you. He reaches for the jacket, but as his fingers brush yours, it’s more of a reflex than any real desire to touch.

Before you can pull away, a voice from behind you cuts through the moment.

"Are you two... together or just friends?"

You glance over to find a couple of classmates watching you both curiously. It’s a casual question, but the curiosity in their eyes is unmistakable. Sunghoon’s hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers still hovering over the jacket. He looks back at them briefly, his gaze faltering, not quite meeting yours.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. You notice how Sunghoon looks at the ground, avoiding any real response. His lips press together, his hand still unsure of whether to take the jacket back or not. He’s hesitant, as always.

You, on the other hand, feel the weight of the question, but you don’t shy away from it. Not this time. You stand tall, glancing over at your classmates and meeting their gaze.

“We’re just friends,” you say, your voice steady and clear. “Nothing more.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He just takes the jacket from your hand, his fingers brushing yours again, but this time it’s almost mechanical. You turn away quickly, the moment lingering behind you like an unspoken tension.

Your classmates exchange glances, their curiosity piqued, but they don’t push further. They turn their attention to the front of the room as class starts, but the question still lingers in the air.

You sit down at your desk, feeling the eyes of your classmates on you for a moment longer than usual. You force yourself to focus, pretending it doesn’t matter, but the thought of that brief interaction, the way Sunghoon avoided the question, settles heavily in your chest.

The class continues, but your mind drifts, back to that jacket and the weight of unspoken words. You can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said if you hadn’t answered for both of you.

No, that’s what he should’ve said because you guys were not dating, he broke up with you, and now the two of you were simply forced to work together. That’s it. 

—

The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. The school festival had just ended, and the distant hum of laughter and music still echoed behind you. Groups of students were lingering back at the event, but somehow, the two of you ended up here, together, away from it all. 

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It was just how things always seemed to happen.

You hugged your arms around yourself because of the cold, cursing at yourself for not bringing a bigger jacket knowing the weather but wanting to look good for the event. He walked a little ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jackets, his head tilted slightly towards you as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

You had always been the talker between the both of you. The one who made friends easily, the one who never hesitated. But right now, the words sat heavy on your tongue, unspoken. 

He let out a small sigh, looking up at the sky. “It’s late.”

“You should’ve left earlier then.”

He huffed, a tiny, almost-smile tugging at his lips before he looked back ahead. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like staying.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The festival had been fine, fun even. But then you’d seen him standing by himself, lingering near the edges of the crowd, not quite a part of it. And suddenly, the excitement of it all had dimmed. 

He kicked a small rock with the tip of his shoe, watching it tumble along the pavement. “Didn’t think you were the type to leave a party early.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

A breeze picked up, and instinctively, you crossed your arms tighter over yourself. Without a word, Sunghoon shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

You scoffed. “I’m not cold.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept holding the jacket out with that blank expression of his— the one that meant he wasn;t going to argue. You hesitated for a second too long, and then, as if deciding for you, he draped it over your shoulders himself. 

You looked up at him, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but then you caught the way his fingers lingered just a second longer against your shoulder, the way he swallowed, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

It was nothing.

It was everything.

Your heart did something stranger in your chest, a quiet stutter. But then he pulled away, shoving his hands back into his pockets, eyes flickering elsewhere like it was no big deal.

Like he didn’t just leave you standing there in the middle of the empty street, drowning in the scent of his cologne, trying not to overthink what had just happened. 

“Let’s go.” he said, his voice calm, steady. Like always. 

You didn’t move right away. You just watched him, this boy who always seemed out of reach.

Then you exhaled and started walking again, side by side, your steps falling in sync.

And if your hands brushed once— just once— neither of you said a word about it. 

—

After class, you head out of the room, your mind still lingering on the awkward exchange. As you walk down the hallway, you notice Sunghoon a few paces behind you, his expression neutral. You don’t turn around, but you can feel his presence. It;s the same as always, but somehow it’s different.

The hallway stretches ahead of you both, and you find yourself wondering if it’s the same for him, if he’s feeling the same weight of the unsaid words hanging in the air between you. But then you push the thought away. You can’t keep thinking about it. Not now. Not like this.

The day continues, but it doesn’t feel the same. Something has shifted again. Not a big thing, just the subtle change in the air whenever Sunghoon is around. But for now, you focus on the present. The project. The work. There’s no room for anything else. At least not yet. 

—

Sunghoon hated studying in public places. He hated the noise, the crowded spaces, the way it was impossible to concentrate. But for some reason, he was here.

With you.

The library was dimly lit, the only sounds coming from the occasional turning of pages and the soft clicking of keyboards. It was nearly empty at this hour, just the two of you tucked away in a corner, buried under textbooks and notes.

You sighed dramatically, stretching your arms over your head before slumping onto the desk. “I’m going to die here.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his notes. “You say that every time we study.”

“Yeah, and one day it’ll be true. And when that day comes, I hope you feel bad about it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic.”

You turned your head to look at him, resting your cheek against your arm. The lamplight softened his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his skin. 

He was so pretty.

Unfairly so.

You frowned, furrowing your brows. “Do you know you’re pretty?”

That finally made him look up. He blinked at you, pen pausing mid-air. “What?”

“What?”

There was a flicker of something in his expression— surprise, amusement, something unreadable. He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

You scoff. “Oh shut up.”

Sunghoon shook his head, turning back to his notes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not weird.” You sighed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “I just think it’s unfair that some people get to be smart and pretty.”

His lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “You’re calling me smart too?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You hadn’t meant anything by it. It was just a passing thought, casual observation. But for some reason. Sunghoon kept stealing glances at you for the rest of the night, his fingers tapping idly against his notebook, like he was trying to figure something out. 

—

The library is quieter than usual tonight. The steady hum of air conditioning fills the space, and the dim, golden glow of the desk lamps casts long shadows on the wooden tables. It’s late— too late to still be working— but neither of you have left.

At first, you barely acknowledged each other. The project was the only thing keeping you here and even then, you refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. You typed your sections. He worked on his. Simple.

But at some point, between the furious clicking of keys and the scratching of his pen against paper, something shifted. 

The silence wasn’t as sharpe anymore. The air between you wasn’t quite so cold.

You were still stubborn, still keeping your distance, but Sunghoon had started to slip through the cracks. 

It was in the way he quietly slid your match closer when he noticed you reaching for it absentmindedly. In the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary whenever you furrowed your brows at the screen, lost in thought. In the way he wordlessly handed you a new pen when yours ran out of ink, his fingers brushing yours just for a second.

Little things.

Things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Things that made it harder to pretend that you hadn’t missed this— missed him.

You force yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. On him. On the past. 

—

It had been a long night.

You weren’t supposed to stay out this late, but somehow, time slipped away. It was just the two of you, walking home after an evening study session, the sky stretched out in a blanket of deep navy blue. The air was crisp, autumn settling in with a quiet chill, and your footsteps echoed against the empty sidewalk.

“I can’t feel my fingers,” you muttered, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets.

Sunghoon glanced at you, amused. “Then why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Because I didn’t know it’d be this cold.”

“You say that every year.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And every year, I am caught off guard.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for your sleeve, tugging your arm towards him. Before you could react, he took one of your hands in his, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine— not from the cold, but from something else. 

Something you hadn’t quite named yet.

Neither of you said anything about it. You just kept walkin, the streelights casting soft golden halos around you.

You reached your doorstep too soon. 

Sunghoon stood there, shifting on his feet, his fingers still loosely curled around yours.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve said goodnight. But instead, you just stood there staring at him.

The light from the porch illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes softened when they met yours. His gaze flickered down— just for a second— before he quickly looked away.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. “Are you gonna keep standing there, or—”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

And then—-

He kissed you. 

It was hesitant, barely a whisper of contact. But it sent your heart into a frenzy, your breath hitching, fingers tightening around him without thinking. 

When he pulled away, his ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I— I wasn’t planning to do that.”

You blinked at him, mind still catching up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, this time smiling.

Sunghoon exhaled, sometimes easing his shoulders.

“You;re still holding my hand.” you pointed out. 

He let go immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Shut up.”

But you could see the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

—

You stare at the screen in front of you, but the words are a blur. The memory lingers, making your chest feel tight.

Sunghoon shifts besides you stretching out his arms. His sleeves push up slightly, revealing the faint outline of veins along his forearms. You look away quickly, annoyed with yourself. 

This is ridiculous.

You don’t care. You don’t.

“Take a break,” he says, voice low.

You exhale, rubbing at your temples. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You shoot him a glare, but he’s already looking back at his screen, unaffected. Typical. 

Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now. He’s too close, the air between you too charged. 

And then—

“Do you still hate me?”

Your breath catches. The question is quiet, but it feels deafening.

You turn to him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what feels like hours. His eyes are steady, but there’s something else there— something raw, something careful. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

He swallows. “ you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to scoff, to roll your eyes. “I look at you all the time.”

“Not like before.”

That makes you freeze.

Because he’s right. 

Before— before everything— you had looked at him like he held the universe in his hands. And maybe, in some ways, he had.

But that was then.

And now—

Now you don’t know what to do with this version of him, this version of you.

The air is thick with something you don’t want to name. 

And before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself—

You kiss him. 

It's reckless, desperate, a collision of past and present, of things left unsaid and things you don’t want to admit.

His lips part slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in, his fingers grazing your jaw, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And maybe you are too. 

But then—

Reality crashed back in.

Your eyes widen, and you pull away abruptly, breathless, heart hammering.

Sunghoon blinks, still processing, “Wait—”

But you’re already pushing away from the table, standing up too quickly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I have to go,” you say, voice unsteady.

And before he can stop you, before he can say anything else—

You turn and walk away.

Leaving him sitting there, watching you go.

Again. 

—

Avoidance has always been your best defense.

You mastered it after the breakup, convincing yourself that if you could just stay out of Sunghoon’s orbit, then none of it— none of the pain, none of the unanswered questions, none of him— could touch you.

But ever since that kiss, it’s been impossible to keep up the act.

You stop sitting in your usual spots in the library. You change your walking routes between classes. You leave early to avoid any chance of running into him. Your emails about the project become even shorter, even more detached.

And still— it doesn’t feel like enough

Because the problem isn’t just him.

It’s you.

It’s the way your mind keeps replaying that night in the library, the way your lips still burn with the memory of his, the way your chest aches everytime you think about how you didn’t pull away immediately.

You shouldn’t have let it happen.

You shouldn’t have wanted it to.

But worst of all— you shouldn’t still want it now.

You tell yourself this over and over again. But nine of it matters when you turn the corner one evening, only to find yourself face-to-face with the one person you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. 

Sunghoon.

Waiting for you.

Like he knew.

“You’re avoiding me again,” he says, his voice eerily calm.

You grip your bag tighter and look away. “I’m busy.”

“Liar.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

You take a step back, but he matches it, blocking your way. His eyes search yours, and you can feel how tired he is— tired of the silence, of the pretending, of whatever this is. 

“Do you hate me that much?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and desperate. 

You exhale hardly. “Sunghoon—”

“Just answer me,” he pressed, jaw clenched. “Do you hate me?”

The words catch in your throat. 

You should say yes. You should give him the finality he seems to be looking for. 

But you can’t. 

And maybe he sees it— maybe he sees the way you falter, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag— because his expression shifts.

And then—

The door beside you suddenly swings open. A group of students spills out, laughing and chatting, shoving past both of you. 

You barely register it before someone crashes into you from behind, sending you stumbling backwards—

Right into the supply closet.

And of course— because the universe must hate you— the force of it slams Sunghoon into the tiny space as well. 

And before either of you can react— click.

The door locks

Silence.

Then—

“You have got to be kidding me,” you hiss. 

Sunghoon tries the handle, but it doesn’t budge. He exhales sharply, resting his forehead against the door for a second before turning back to you. 

“Great.”

You let out a bitter laugh, crossing your arms. “What, you think I planned this?”

“No, but it’s convenient, isn’t it?” He glares at you, frustration bleeding into every word. “You’re always running away, and now you can’t.”

Your pulse spikes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he mutters. “You left the night. You’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t even talk to me—”

“Because there’s nothing to say!” you snap.

“Bullshit!” His voice rises, his patience unraveling. “Don’t act like you don’t care. You kissed me, and then you ran away like it meant nothing.”

You freeze.

Because he’s right.

It wasn’t nothing.

But admitting that? Giving him that satisfaction? You can’t.

So you do what you do best. 

You push back

“You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Sunghoon,” you say, voice colder now. “Not when you broke up with me.”

Something flickers across his face.

“And not just that,” you continue, the weight of everything you’ve bottled up finally breaking through. “You left me without any warning. You didn’t talk to me about what was wrong. You didn’t even try. You just decided one day that it was over and that was it.”

—

It had been an ordinary afternoon. You remember it oo well— how he wouldn’t look at you, how his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets.

And then—

“I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a slap.

You laughed at first, thinking it was some sort of joke. But then you saw the way he avoided your gaze. The way his fingers curled into fists.

“Why?” Your voice had cracked. “What happened? Did I do something?”

He had only shaken his head. “It’s just…. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“What—”

“I am not sure I am what you really need.”

It was the last thing you expected to hear.

But it was the only explanation he ever gave you.

That's what started it, why you just started running away from him. 

—

“You thought it wouldn’t work?” you glare at him now, eye burning. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sunghoon pressed his lips together, like he regretted saying it. But it’s too late.

“You didn’t even give us a chance,” you continue, voice rising. “You just decided that it wasn’t going to work out for the both of us.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I was what you really needed.”

Your breath catches. “Sunghoon—”

“You’re always surrounded by people. You make friends so easily. I wasn’t like that, I am not like that.” His voice is quiet now. “I feel like I was always holding you back.”

You shake your head, feeling something sharp and painful twist in your chest. “That’s what you thought?” You let out another bitter laugh. “You know, I thought that’s what brought us together. That we were so different. That worked because of that.”

Sunghoon looks at you then, something unreadable in his expression. 

“There were two people in our relationship, you and me. You made that decision that we don’t work well, for the both of us.” you say, voice shaking. “And now you think it’s going to work now just because you want it to?”

He doesn’t answer. 

And you hate how much that silence still hurts.

You exhale shakily, turning away. “I don’t trust you., Sunghoon.”

His jaw clenches. “I know.”

“And I don’t trust myself to let this happen again. Because if you could leave that easily once, what makes you think I believe you won’t do it again?”

This time, he doesn’t try to deny it. 

Because he knows.

Because he did leave. 

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that. You hated yourself for never being able to hate him at all. 

The only sound in the tiny space is the faint buzz of the overhead light—

And the deafening weight of everything left unsaid. 

The supply closet is cold, but the tension in the air is suffocating. When the door finally swings open, neither of you move right away. Sunghoon steps back first, his jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something he’ll never say. You follow a second later, not looking at him as you walk away.

After that, things are different.

You don’t avoid him anymore. Not really. You still exchange emails about the project, still sit across from each other in the library, still in the same space without outright hostility. But the sharpness between you dulls— replaced by something softer, something sadder. 

One night, long after the library should’ve closed, you look up from your notes to see Sunghoon staring at you. He doesn’t look away this time. Neither do you. For a moment, the world stills. 

Then you blink, and the moment is gone.

—

The project ends.

So does your reason to stay in each other’s orbits.

You expect things to go back to normal, whether normal is supposed to be. You expect distance to creep back in, the silence to settle. 

But somehow, Sunghoon lingers. 

He doesn’t force conversation, doesn’t push. But you catch him in the corners of your vision— watching, waiting, hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next.

—

Then one evening, you run into him.

It’s late. The air is cold, thick with the scent of winter. Sunghoon is standing outside the campus gates, hands shoved into his pockets, the street lights casting long shadows around him. He notices you before you can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You hesitate. Then, “Hey.”

There’s so much unsaid between you, so much left unfinished. 

A part of you wonders— is this it? The last conversation before you both fade from each other’s lives completely?

Sunghoon opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but you shake your head, stopping him. 

“It’s okay.” you say. “You don’t have to.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He nods.

The streetlamps flicker above you. A car passes, its headlights flashing between you like a border, a final dividing line. 

You should say something else. You should tell him you’ll see him around, that you’ll stay in touch, that you’ll find your way back to him someday.

But you don’t.

Instead you step back, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Take care, okay?”

For a second, you think he won’t respond. But then, finally— softly— he nods.

“You too.”

You turn around first. You don’t look back.

Sunghoon watches you walk away, his hands still in his pockets, his lips parts like he wants to stop you— but he never does.

The night swallows the both of you whole.

And just like that, it’s over. 

—

The city hums in silence in the distance, but here, on the rooftop, it’s quiet/ the two of you sit side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the skyline stretching endlessly before you. The night is warm, the stars barely visible through the glow of streetlights. 

“You’re gonna fall,” Sunghoon murmurs, eyeing the way you lean forwards slightly, hands bracing against the ledge. 

You grin, tilting your head towards him. “You’d catch me.”

He doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but won’t let himself.

A soft breeze ruffles his hair. You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing through the strand, smoothing them down. Sunghoon stills at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“You do that a lot,” he says after a moment.

“What?” 

“Touch my hair.”

You blink, your hand dropping back to your lap. “Does it bother you?”

He exhales, looking away, down at the glittering streets below. “No.”

That’s all he says. But in the way his fingers clench slightly against his knee, in the way his shoulders stay tense even as the night air cools his skin— you realize something.

Sunghoon likes it.

He likes being close to you.

The thought makes your chest feel warm, something soft and fluttering settling behind your ribs. You don’t say anything about it, don’t tease or push. Instead, you lean back on your palms staring up at the sky. 

“Feels like we could stay here forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon glances at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it—

“Yeah.” 

-

author's note: basically everything in here thats inpso from irl with my actaully ex. the water bottle incident but it was in a classroom. us actually having fucking class with each other the next semester. me running away constantly every time i see him now. me buying him a pencil as a present and him still using it (i really want to steal it back). him asking me if i hate him cuz i keep running away and even dragged a friend as i run away from him. him saying "i dont think it's going to work out" and thinking becuase im very outgoing and him being a big introvert was something that would lead to us breaking up, haha but it was just him and him not communicating with me about his feelings. el oh el.

[enigmatist17]

This AU by @keferon has been burrowing in my brain

A03 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60738373

---

In hindsight, Jazz realized he was stupid.

Unabashedly, completely stupid.

No one back home would have called a mecha pilot stupid, not with all the pain and training it took to even have a chance to look at a suit, but he was! He shouldn't have stayed out too long on the mission that had changed his fate, shouldn't have waved at that stupid satellite, but he did, and was taken far from home and brought to a place that was slowly becoming his second.

Cybertron.

Jazz was stupid when he decided to keep the fact that he wasn't truly one of them to himself, realizing eventually he was as alien as they were. He was stupid when he began to work with the Cybertronians rather than find a way back home, fighting the things that had brought him out deep into space in an effort to stave off homesickness. Oh, Jazz was so fucking stupid when he began to make friends with these Cybertronians, laughing at jokes he didn't quite understand and listening to their woes as he settled into their strange but oddly Earthen-like way of life.

What made him the most idiotic lifeform this side of the galaxy, however, was falling for one bot in particular.

Prowl had been the very first alien he'd met, speaking to him in that beautiful Cybertronian melody (language but whatever) that cut right through the pain he'd been in. Call it an inevitability, call it destiny, Prowl was the first one he'd met, and Jazz made damn sure he'd make a friend out of him. Sure, it was hard at first as Jazz had to not only decode an entire alien language but learn how to mimic it through his mecha, but once he got the ball rolling, it was a breeze. Prowl had been uncomfortable with him at first, which, all things aside, he didn't quite blame the mech for being suspicious of a strange mech, but over time he'd won him over. Of course, his stupidity would eventually catch up mere days after he had finally worked up the courage to actually tell Prowl how he felt, because the universe knew how stupid he was.

It came in the form of a Quintesson blade catching him in the wrong area, slicing right through his mecha's chest armor and right into his piloting seat. It took a second to register that something was wrong, the connection with his suit fizzling out when Jazz felt the pain from his actual body slamming into him like a truck. He knew pulling the blade out was stupid, but Jazz needed it out right now ohfuckithurtsstopthepain -

He's not sure how long he was out, but he knew the jig was up the moment he started coming to.

Muted voices sounded out from around him, some laced with anger, others with curiosity, and only one with concern. Jazz knew it was Prowl's, and judging from the finger (it's a digit come on now idiot) that gently poked his side, he was most likely unsure of what to think at the moment. With a sigh, Jazz slowly cracked open his eyes, finally taking in the mech he'd come to love with his own eyes for the first time.

"Hiya Prowler." His voice is scratchy with dehydration, the tactician and everyone else in the room going silent at his voice. "What's shakin'?"

"Jazz?" The wings (doorwings man come on) he spent hours watching twitched in discomfort, helm tilted as Jazz tried to sit up, only to hiss and slump back with a groan. "It is not wise to move right now, your...you are heavily damaged."

"Gettin' stabbed does that to ya." The attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, but no one is really sure how to react, so they don't call him out on it. He can see Ironhide and Optimus staring at him from behind Prowl, the Prime looking mystified, while Ironhide seemed to be going back and forth from awe to suspicion to uncertainty.

"Pulling the blade out instead of waiting for help was extremely poor judgment," Ratchet grumbled from the other side of Jazz, the medic giving him a grumpy look. "However, if you hadn't, I would not have found...you."

"Where's my mecha?" Jazz slowly moved to pull the scrap of cloth he'd been covered in back, honestly surprised with how neatly his midsection had been bandaged, or whatever the strange gel substitute was. "Oh...huh."

"Your frame's in a private med bay, I've been able ta repair some of it so far." Wheeljack moved into view with a cheerful wave, having picked up the motion from Jazz. "I've got ta tell ya, I'm impressed with all the work that's gone into it!"

"Thanks." Jazz gently poked at the gel after smiling at the scientist, eyeing the wound underneath with a sick sort of fascination. "I was expectin' this to be worse."

"Some of our organic allies were able to help to an extent, but your biology was only so similar." Ratchet shook his head, clearly displeased. "You're not going anywhere anytime soon, so I would get comfortable. In fact, I want everyone out so Jazz can get some rest, everyone but Prowl." Despite all the questions most of the high command had, Ratchet's word was law, so the medbay emptied until it was just Jazz and Prowl.

"Do you require anything?" Prowl's voice was the same as it always was, but Jazz had come to know him enough that he was tense and sorely out of his element.

"I could use some water, but I can go without." Those wings raise a fraction of an inch (or he's guessing, it's hard to tell without his enhanced sight sigh), and he winces. "Y-You're fine Prowler, I'm fine."

"You are not fine." Prowl grabbed a nearby stool and dragged it over, sitting at the head of the bed that seemed too large for the tiny organic. "I do not understand how you can say that."

"Pain is an old friend, I just...normally have access ta the proper help, ya know?" Jazz adjusted himself to have a better view of his mech, heart skipping a beat when Prowl reached over to gently help, the metal cool against his back. "Thanks."

"Jazz? May I ask you something?" His servo remained where it was, moving to brush against the side of Jazz's face with the greatest care he could manage. "Why did you not tell us?"

"Well...I'm stupid." Jazz leaned into the touch with a soft hum, Prowl's head tilting at the noise. "I figured you were all piloted mecha like myself, just with more money poured inta ya, but by the time I figured out you weren't...it was too late?" Prowl didn't need to know the reason he'd vanished for two days was to deal with the mental breakdown he had at the news, not his proudest moment.

"Why have you not sought to return home?" Prowl watched as several microexpressions crossed the org- Jazz's face, brown optics flickering between his face and the berth as he struggled with the answer.

"Honestly? Besides fightin' these bastards who attack my home on their turf? You."

Oh

Wings taut with tension relaxed as the information was processed, a soft click escaping his vocalizer as Prowl looked down at the person who had turned his life around.

"What I said to you a few days ago? It's true, every damn word of it." Jazz leaned his head to press his dermas to Prowl's digit, and idly, he wondered what it must taste like to an organic. "I fell for ya, heart an' soul."

"...what is a heart?" The laugh that burst from Jazz's dermas nearly made Prowl jump, the sound familiar as it was strange without the vocalizer in Jazz's frame. He's not sure why the question is so amusing, but then again, Jazz had always had a peculiar sense of humor, so all he could do was give a rare smile to his organic as the tension in the room slowly faded away.

"Ah Prowler, always known how ta make me feel better." The ache from the laugh aside, Jazz smiled at seeing Prowl's doorwings completely relaxed, the good deed of the day accomplished.

"I do try." The Praxian leaned forward to gently press helm against Jazz's, giving a soft purr as he cycled his optics off. "I am relieved you are safe, when I saw your energon staining Ratchet's servos..."

"I'm a stubborn guy, one blade isn't takin' me out." Jazz reached over with his better arm to touch Prowl's cheek, the metal warm against his hand. "Got too much ta live for."

"Indeed."

Ratchet returned a breem later to find the organic deep in recharge, Prowl cradling Jazz in his servos. Some unfamiliar thick fabric was resting between Jazz and the limb, cushioning the injured man far better than the fabric someone had found in a storage crate, judging by the lack of stuttered venting they had heard earlier. Prowl said nothing to the medic as he continued to murmur to Jazz as he read through a data pad, looking down occasionally to watch the subtle rise and fall of Jazz's chassis. Prowl still surprised the older bot with his dedication to work despite holding his injured partner, only shaking his helm as he dropped off some energon before disappearing into his office for his own work. There was going to be a lot of chaos when Jazz would have the chance to talk to everyone else, the news already spreading like a virus throughout the army, but that was a problem for another cycle.

For now, Jazz was resting with the mech he'd fallen for, and as far as Prowl was concerned, nothing would interrupt his partner's rest.

[hoiststowline]

radio silence [w/ ultra magnus, ratchet, & sunstreaker]

ultra magnus isn't the fondest of communication via technology, but respects its resourcefulness in moments when he cannot speak with you physically. there are often times when he's knee deep in paperwork or too far distance-wise, and opts to check in with you at intervals when he knows school or work would not be an obstacle. he has your schedule committed to memory, and expects and even anticipates changes or unplanned events so when you do go radio silent, so he can justify it. you don't need to tell him where you are at all times, he isn't in charge of you, but appreciates your messages to say you'll have your phone off for an hour to study, or are heading to work.

however, most messages he sends are typically answered immediately by you, because of how few and far between they are. just checking up on you if he's been away from you for a prolonged stretch of time, when he has a moment to himself. now, he's decided to send you a text that he has returned to base and his mission has concluded, updating you accordingly. but you don't reply, leaving him to question if perhaps you've been caught up at class, or decided to pick up an extra shift at work.

he allows a two hour-grace period. magnus doesn't worry within these cycles, because things happen and he could never fault you for circumstances beyond your control. however, he'd had a long talk with you about the dangers of what lurks and associating with him, romantic or not, and if he doesn't know you're okay after those two hours, he's searching for you. about halfway to your house, you call him, some drowsy slurring to your tone. "you're not almost here, are you? I fell asleep, and I just woke up-" as long as he knows you're okay, but now he must account for unprecedented so-called 'naps', as it is finals week, so you kindly told him. "not a problem," he rumbles, relief flooding his words. "I'd still like to see you, if that is alright."

ratchet is less forgiving to radio silence, as most of his time is spent in front of a computer and is often flooded with your messages. you sometimes send him things that make no sense, swept up by exhaustion as you text him well into the night and into the early morning, until he threatens to block you so you can get some rest. he loves this way of communicating with you throughout the day, it's easiest to check up on you whilst at work or class, and you can respond whenever you have the chance to. he likes this form of communication, though nothing actually tops getting to speak to you in person.

he vaguely has an idea of your work/school schedule, though he trusts you are doing something productive when you aren't spamming his inbox. it's not out of disinterest, he understands better than anybody the importance of not hovering over his s/o, though with what he's kindred with, it leaves room for worry. some unwarranted radio silence is enough to escalate his concern regarding your health, and when your replies are either negligible or sparse, sorry not sorry, he's on his way to your place. ratchet will try calling you once, and that's your only chance to fess up and tell him just what is going on and why you were suddenly not answering his messages.

there is a short, but impatient grace period with ratchet. he knows you like the back of his hand and realizes when you aren't quite acting like yourself, whether that be lively, withdrawn, or somewhere in the middle. he convinces himself that something must be amiss or you are in some sort of trouble, and leaves no room for disagreement or input from others. he's taking matters into his own hands and coming to look for you, come hell or high water. though he doesn't vocally portray it in most cases, he is very protective over you and couldn't live with himself if something happened to you and he neglected the signs. he respects your boundaries but knows your character, and can gather context clues when something isn't quite right.

you sent sunstreaker your work/class schedule once, and he scoffed at it. he couldn't understand why you would assume he would ever need such thing, displaying disinterest by your offering. after you'd left that day, he saved the timetable to a data-pad and stored it in his subspace, never telling anybody about it because it was simply none of their business. especially you, you don't need to know that he secretly worries about your well-being now that you're tangled up with the autobots.

messaging with him isn't as frequent as it is with ratchet, but it's not as sparse as with magnus. you often have to initiate the conversation, [he has, but his typical messages are usually to ask what you're doing and if you wanted to go for a drive] but he will carry a rapport with you, never wanting you to feel as if he wasn't there for you. sunstreaker won't say it out loud, of course, so it must be conveyed through message in a cryptic method and just prays that you sympathize with his emotional constipation. in full agreement, he prefers to speak with you face-to-face, but he will take what he can get and he's totally fine with that. not really. if it was up to him, he'd be hanging around you all day long, but his schedule and yours prohibits that.

there is no grace period with sunstreaker. don't bother, if you've gone radio silence on him after a pretty steady conversation, he's already on the highway, headed straight for your house. he'll grumble about it and complain if nothing really is wrong, but he's the one who couldn't stop thinking about the fact that you must be injured or unwell to have stopped so suddenly. he understands that you get caught up in things, as he does frequently, but he'd promised to be transparent as long as you would be in return. messages like 'i'll be away for a bit' or 'talk to you asap' are very common between you two.

if the silence has gone on for a prolonged time, perchance he didn't get to check his inbox right away due to responsibilities and was replying to you late. but it isn't at an odd hour so, to him, there is no grounds for you to not answer within a reasonable time frame, a million to one scenarios are running through his processor. "why didn't you answer my message?" when you finally get the chance to call him, after getting hung up at work, he picks up on the first ring. following explaining why, he ex-vents but stifles his exasperation to ask about your day. as long as you were safe and sound, that's all that mattered.

[robolvrr]

I loved your swerve x gn human bartender headcanons. Do you have any more headcanons for swerve x gn human if you do please share them ❤️

two bolts in a pod! ᴗ｡✷

swerve x gn! human reader headcanons.

thank you anon! enjoy.☆

"i.. you actually like listening to me talk?"

"... hey ratchet, check this one's processor! think they mighta hit it or somethin'..."

on the note of a human crew member it's common consensus that swerve is part of the many that have an intense interest in you as a species.

however, if you do happen to enjoy his company and questions and puns -- consider him your personal jester.

he gets so, so dramatic whenever you aren't fused at the hip joint. suddenly his shifts feel long and he's lamenting to his other cybertronian crew members which while is endearing to some in the way any lovesick trainwreck is, is incredibly annoying for others.

has helped make a stool at his bar for you, sized to scale.

there's this funky little staircase at the end of the table to help you up (since he doesn't want you squished in between mechs) that doesn't match at ALL.

spends an embarrassing time cycling stories ready to tell when asked. he frequently bites his fist because he thinks it's going to be boring, but you're in awe because hello, this is space and there are giant metal hot aliens.

you try to teach him to dance once. minibots are stockier, so seeing you bend and twist is as enchanting as it is perplexing.

it ends with him almost slipping and crushing half the bar but hey! your little laughs and snorts are more than enough to stroke a bruised ego.

brags. so much. when you develop nicknames and inside jokes.

"did you know that they call me and only me hotshot? huh? did ya?"

it's easy to just. lie to him regarding questions on humans. he's no means gullible but imagine he asks a normal question like "why is it called a tailbone" when you have an anatomy rundown and you confidently say you actually have a long, fluffy tail that only comes out every blue moon.

cue him researching through his limited sources (cough cough movies) to see where he missed THAT detail.

speaking of movies: will make you watch his collection before asking for yours.

enjoys lots of 80s sci-fi and cheesy b-thrillers.

expect him to whisper in your ear as you sit on his knees like a cute, nervous directors reel.

tries to get you to match those colorful clothes with his plating paint.

wh - romantic? him? nooo, it's just a friendly thing? a total cybertronian thing. uh huh. yeah. unless you'll know - wait no, don't clarify with brainstorm-

falls helm over pedes when you start giving him stuff. old, vintage bobbleheads. records and sports vanity jerseys and engraved shot glasses.

the courting gestures between your kinds are so different and alike it makes his coolant heat. you could be just beaming because you've alphabetically and flavor organized his stock records and he's here wondering how to sparkbond with a human without killing 'em.

my personal headcanon - he sits you on his shoulder when he's going around passing drinks. think of those bodybuilders and pretty models on the beach photoshoots. primus, he's down bad!

i see you getting spoiled rotten in all aspects, platonic and otherwise. he loves, loves all your reactions and expressions. has to sit in his habsuite and think about some venting exercises so he isn't buzzing in your presence all the time.

[fandom-lover2]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Miko has a bad day, and Optimus learns what body language is.

Word Count - 3040

-image not mine-

Today was… normal.

As normal as one could get when their guardian is a 20 foot tall metal warrior from another planet, but today hadn’t been any different than the others.

Woke up, got ready for Saturday (Ratchet’s favourite day because we were at the base all day) and hitched a ride with Bee and Raf to base.

We were the first humans here. Ratchet and Optimus were already hard at work at the monitors, scanning for energon and logging reports and doing whatever it was that they continuously did at those computers.

After exchanging greetings and brief conversation, Raf and I settled down while Bee waited for Bulk so patrol routes could be run.

It didn’t take long for the roar of a motorbike’s engine to fill the tunnel and Jack was rolling in on Arcee, Miko and Bulk close behind.

“Thought you had work today?” I called down to Jack, not moving from my spot at the desk with the human monitors where I was preparing to start my history essay on the similarities between Ancient Greek mythology and Shakespear (don’t judge, I find it interesting).

“Schedules got moved around. Apparently I’m ‘Working too much’ and they don’t want to pay me.” Jack replied, beginning up the stairs.

What followed was the sound of two Autobots transforming, and then silence.

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure Bulkhead had actually brought Miko. There she was, walking up the stairs behind Jack. I frowned, but turned back to my papers.

“Where to today, boss?” Bulkhead questioned.

“Once you have restocked your energon, we are going to northern Alaska. Our scanners have sensed an energon signal.”

“If it’s black, fight back.  If it’s brown, lie down. If it’s white, goodnight.” I warned jokingly to Jack and Miko, not looking up from my textbook.

For mid-April, Alaska would be warm enough now that they could go along and maybe not freeze. That also meant the bears would be out and about.

Me personally, as much as I wanted to tag along, this essay would take a while and with spring break around the corner, I didn’t have time to go off on excursions.

That’s why I came here to work on it, Ratchet would keep me from getting too distracted. I’d texted last night asking as much.

“Eh, I have some homework to catch up on.” Jack answered, and I heard him pull out the chair at the desk near the couch and get settled. Beside me, Raf was already lost to the world of coding and typing away on his laptop with ferocity.

I waited for three breaths, and then frowned when there wasn’t a reply. I spun in my wheelie chair, and watched as Miko sat down on the couch.

Ok, what was up?

Firstly, she didn’t sit anywhere, she flopped. And secondly, she never took up only one end of the couch. Usually, she dramatically lounged across it while whining that it was taking forever for Bulkhead to get ready so they could head out. And also, what was with the silence. Not even a sarcastic greeting to Ratchet.

Something was up with her. It wasn’t her birthday, wasn’t a Japanese traditional holiday she was missing, wasn’t school related cause yesterday she had a good day.

I glanced over at Jack and he was turned in his seat too, looking just as confused.

He caught my gaze and gave the ‘you see it too?’ look.

‘Yeah. What’s up with her?’ I shrugged subtly.

Jack raised his brows slightly, ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say anything to me.’

 I rubbed my lips together, my go to for thinking.

‘You should talk to her.’ Jack prompted, jerking his chin just a bit.

‘Me? Why me?’ I frowned.

‘Well I can’t. I’m a guy.’ Jack answered, looking down at his chest and then back up to me.

‘Fine.’ I agreed, rolling my eyes. Men are such weirdos.

With a sigh that didn’t need to be that dramatic, I got off my chair and made my way to Miko. On my journey, I happened to glance over and found Optimus watching me with an intense stare.

It was almost enough to make me stumble over my own feet.

I had long since given up trying to understand Optimus, mostly because there wasn’t much to understand. He was a simple guy, someone who carried a lot of weight on his shoulders and had only made it so far in life by concealing his emotions.

If he was pissed, you’d know it in the way he spoke. If he was at ease, he’d hang around a little longer in the common area before heading off to wherever it was he went. If he was stressed, he’d assign himself the longest patrol route so he’d have more time to get away. Easy as that.

This, open and intense studying, was a new one. A part of me wanted to ask, but I was on a mission already. Sky and ocean blue would have to wait.

As I got closer, it was obvious something was wrong. She sat hunched, eyes glued to the floor and hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were puffy and a little red, and she sniffed when I got close.

Crying, hunched over, hands in good posture… oh god. She was going back to Japan.

“Hey Meeks.” I greeted, sitting on the sofa beside her.

There was the long approach, of asking how she was, and then going through all the small talk. Or, I could ask it upfront and get this going. Knowing her, the only way to get it out was to hit her hard.

“What’s wrong?” She looked up at me, and as it always happens when someone asked ‘Are you ok?’ when you already aren’t, the water works started.

“They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Between the beginning to cry breaking her voice and the fact that she lunged at me, I only got some of the words before she was burying herself into my chest and sobbing. My arms wrapped around her, shuffling forward so I could pull her into my chest and cradle her closer.

“What?” I asked, needing to hear that again.

“My host parents.” I could faintly make out. “They won’t let me dye my hair.”

Her outburst had caused everyone to look at us, and Bulkhead was rushing over from the supply station, an adorably confused face that suited a toddler better than all 18 feet of him looking to me for the answers.

Either he didn’t know how to start this conversation, or he’d not seen something was wrong on the ride over. Either way, I was now being watched like the one with the answers.

Miko sobbed into my shirt again and I realized I was supposed to be doing something.

Ok, let’s back up to what she said. Her host parents wouldn’t let her dye her hair. Well, the pink was starting to wash out a little, leaving only the bleach behind. And, her hair had grown out a bit since our first meeting. And, based on what she’d told me about her host family, they did seem very ‘stick up the ass’ about this kinda thing.

Still, not letting her dye her hair. Come on, assholes. It’s part of who she was, her personality. It was just hair dye.

Miko sobbed again, and I continued to hold her close.

It was just hair dye, and yes it made her seem like a delinquent, but in the land of Freedom, let her live. No one was getting hurt.

“So fuck them.” I spoke, plain and simple.

“Kristin!” Jack chastised.

“What?” I demanded.

Miko had released me in her shock and was now sitting upright, wiping her tears.

I turned to Optimus. “Mind if I pull Bulk for a couple hours?”

He didn’t take long to consider it. “You may.”

I smiled back at him in thanks, standing and heading for my bag, which was left by my books. I paused just briefly, but then slammed my textbook closed and slung my bag onto my shoulder. I could do it later.

“Coming?” I asked Miko, making my way to the stairs and skipping down them.

“Where?” Miko asked, hesitant to follow.

“To buy hair dye.” I called over my shoulder.

I heard her gasp, then scramble to rush down behind me. Bulkhead transformed, opening his front doors for us.

Miko reached me as we got to the bottom of the stairs, slamming into me from behind and encasing me in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she repeated over and over.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in.” I redirected, shrugging her off.

“Bulk, play something awesome!” Miko instructed, rushing to get into his passenger seat. A moment later, something metal and ear assaulting blasted from his speakers.

I regretted this already.

---

I, thankfully, got to choose the music on the ride back, so Elle King announced our arrival back to the base.

Bulk pulled to a stop and we jumped out his cab, me pulling the two plastic bags with us.

Miko took off into the base, not a glance back as she shouted “Come on!”

I had one pit stop to make before we commandeered the bathrooms.

“Jack!” I called, jerking my head for him to meet me halfway as I started up the stairs.

He did, and I handed over the second bag.

“What’s this?” he asked, glancing inside to find soda, candy and some bags of chips.

“Do not disturb tax. We’re having a girl’s day.”

Spinning on my heels, I marched back down the stairs and made my way into the base.

---

I flopped onto the old chair with a groan, my back protesting. Three hours of standing was not easy.

But hey, Miko has bright pink ends and was currently kicking Raf’s ass at Mario Cart, so it was worth it. Kinda.

This shirt had been one of my favorites and now it was bleached to all hell.  And my ears were still ringing from the speaker we’d used.

But hey, karaoke was the bomb. Totally worth it.

I moved my hands to rest on my back, using them to lean backwards and stretch my spine.

Primus, what time was it anyway?

Jack had left a couple hours ago for his shift and said his mom had made us stuff for dinner that’d he bring back. Miko and Raf would be getting ready to head home soon.

Jack and I would probably spend the night. June had nightshift and my parents were out of town again so there wasn’t a reason for either of us to make the trip back.

Spinning the chair around, I opened my textbook again. Interlacing my fingers and giving them a crack, I started up my laptop and got busy.

At first I struggled to find a point to start on, but once finding a cool quote online, the words started flowing and flowing.

I apparently missed Raf and Miko’s goodbye and Jack’s arrival because the next thing I knew, Ratchet was using a digit to cover my screen.

“Oi!’ I turned to glare up at him.

“I understand all the well putting your health aside for a project, but you need food and sleep.”

I glanced down at my phone and tapped the screen, 11:34pm shining back at me.

Oh scrap, I had been here for almost 4 hours. How was that even possible?

I looked around the base. Optimus was watching with just as much concern as the medic, Jack asleep on the couch already. Well that explained why my eyes were burning and why my stomach ached so fiercely.

“Yeah, ok.” I conceded, rubbing my eyes. “Lemme just save this quick.”

Ratchet relented, moving his digit so I could quickly save the document before gently closing my laptop.

Standing, almost every bone and joint in my body cracked. Ratchet cringed, having verbally stated his hate when I did that many times before.

Barely having enough energy to shuffle, I made my way to where ‘dinner’ sat cold. Eh, lasagna was better cold anyway.

Grabbing a plastic fork, I ate straight from the glass dish, barely able to keep my eyes open. Ratchet wished me a goodnight and I returned the sentiment between yawns.

I had just finished all I was going to eat and was preparing to get settled on the smaller sofa when Optimus walked over and held out his servo for me. No need to tell me twice.

I climbed abord and let him carry me to his room. When we got there, he sat on his berth, and then swung his legs over and got settled on his back while I situated myself on his chestplates.

The pillow and blanket that were left in his room for occasions like this were brought up for me and I thanked him, curling in onto him.

Yeah, I slept on his chest when I slept over. And yes, it was extremely dangerous but he was yet to roll over in his sleep and kill me so we’d keep doing it.

“Y/n,” he started.

I hummed in the form of a reply for him to continue, fluffing my pillow.

“You planned to do your school work earlier, but then when Miko confessed her distress, you abandoned your work to help her. Why?”

What kinda question was that?

“She needed me.” I answered simply, shifting slightly so I could look him in the optics. “I could always do the work later. She needed me then.”

Optimus seemed to accept that answer. “How did you know she was in trouble?” I went to answer, but he continued. “And those actions you and Jack exchanged, almost as if you were having a conversation, but without words. How was that possible?”

I huffed a laugh, getting settled once again and closing my eyes. “Body language. We could read each other through our actions, and those translated into words. Same thing with how Miko was acting. She wasn’t talking, sitting by herself, hunched into herself. She was sad. Jack shrugged, meaning he didn’t know why.”

I paused, thinking of how I could possibly explain it any further and found there really wasn’t much more I could say. Body language just was.

Thinking back on it, the bots never really did speak through body language. All conversations were verbal, and I’d never seen them silently gesture to one another before.

There wasn’t really a way to explain it to someone. You could explain some of the actions, but it was so ingrained in human culture, it was never a need explain. It was the universal language, though now I guess it was only the human language.

“I’ll teach you sometime.” I said through a yawn, settling down further into his warm metal.

“Rest well, My Spark.” Optimus agreed, bringing up his servo to settle over me.

I drifted off to sleep moments later, the sound of his spark beating steadily in my ear.  

----

“You are… cold.” Optimus finally settled on his answer, which was so far from the correct answer Miko and Raf dissolved into giggles.

Jack looked wounded. “Am I that bad at acting?” he lamented, giving up and walking away.

The intended action was bored, or uninterested, but to the Cybertronian warrior, somehow sitting with a sigh and resting your head on your fist meant being cold.

These lessons were taking a lot longer than I thought they would, and apparently more coaching than I’d imagined.

Body language was seriously something none of the bots knew. In fact, Ratchet had laughed at the concept until I’d explained to him some of the common actions we did.

He then grumbled about how these pointers would have been helpful when dealing with Agent Fowler, like it was our fault no one debriefed him on human mannerisms.

“Bored. He was bored.” I answered, standing too. This was not going well.

“He is not the only one.” Arcee mumbled.

I turned to glare over at her. “No one asked you to join in.” I muttered even softer than her quip.

“You don’t like Arcee.” Optimus blurted out.

Jack barked out a laugh so hard he missed the chair he was aiming for and hit the floor. Miko and Raf dissolved into more giggles.

“Well that only took 6 months.” I sighed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea anymore.

The blue and pink stabby stabby femme turned to look at me, her optics narrowed. I looked away to avoid her gaze.

No doubt this would come back to bite me in the ass later on.

“You are embarrassed.” Optimus helpfully decided to test his knowledge.

He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t too embarrassed. I wasn’t trying to hide my dislike for her. But being called out in front of her by him was a little harsh.

“Good work, Optimus.” I rewarded his observation. The proud little smile he awarded himself was too adorable.

All jokes aside, we were making some progress. And once I’d see the bots use some of our gestures when they’d been sneaking up on ‘Cons and couldn’t talk.

In some ways, us humans were actually helping out there. And teaching these ancient bots something new.

And Optimus was like a little puppy, so excited to learn more and prove his skills, which were still in development but he was getting there.

We still had to work on his ability to read the room, and when to keep his observations to himself.

But we’d get there.

To save everyone from the embarrassment, the tones sounded for energon signals being picked up.

“Time to roll!” Miko cheered, like she going to go anywhere.

“Sit down.”

“You are authoritative.”

“Optimus, just go out… there, somewhere!” I snapped, gesturing to the opening portal.

This was seriously turning into something I regretted.

The Prime walked over to his screen, and made a plan with his team, and then just before slipping through the groundbridge, he turned to me and said, “You are annoyed.”

“Optimus!” I picked up an empty soda can and yeeted it towards him.

I seriously needed to rethink this decision.

[guardianofnightmares]

Forbidden

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot.

... or, rather, for any sensible Prime.

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

"... is it wrong that I feel... bad for the prisoners? That I... periodically... h-help them?"

----------

Hello everyone, long time no see). Can hardly believe it's been a whole year since the last @blitzbee-week event and man, was I glad to participate in it once more. All of works were submitted on time to an event chat, but, unfortunately, I am uploading them here only now (full-time job drains me up).

Anyways, here is my first drawing from BlitzBeeWeek event Promts List. I think it will be fair to mention that this and next couple of my works will be dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". I will leave a link [here] for anyone interested to give it (and an existing teaser) a try. And yes, I am, in fact, going to finally upload first chapters pretty soon, it's happening, guys))). Thanks a ton for everyone who left their kudos there throughout a year, you have given me courage to put this behemoth of a story on paper and actually work it through.

As for the current entry for an event, I will provide part of a draft to one of chapters which is related to a depicted scene. It'll be "hidden" under a cut line for anyone wishing to get a more... fleshed out picture of what's going on here. Hope you'll enjoy reading it)

----------

“Bumblebee… are you listening to me?”

It was beyond confusing for Ratchet to see a younger Bot acting so out of touch with reality. He’s hunched over a console, helm resting in one servo while a wielding tool was twirled slowly in digits of another. Bumblebee looked so tired, clearly not caring about a task at servo, nor about an advice coming from his elder friend.

White and red Autobot knew how cheerful Bumblebee got each time they met via video calls, clearly waiting for a chance to talk to old teammates, even if these calls didn’t last long. That’s why him being so silent and lost in own thoughts was that much more worrying to witness. 

Upon being prompted again, the young bot finally raised his optics, the weight of his gaze almost making Ratchet flinch in surprise - to think that a recently promoted Prime was capable of behaving so out of character was indeed an alarming sign of change. 

The truth was, the minibot couldn’t help but to act all secretive, as if he’s done something wrong. 

Because, all things considered, he has. 

Minibot was well aware of what his actions could lead up to. All those rendezvous and revelations were such a dangerous subject to talk about, something that surely could lead him to being court marshaled if he’s caught by anybot. And what’s even worse - Bumblebee wasn’t certain whether telling friends what’s been troubling him was a good idea. 

Surely they’d not rat him out… but would they continue interacting with a yellow Autobot if he shared said secret with them? Wouldn't it be more mature of him to leave mechs oblivious (in order to protect them) and let his fears to silently fester in his processor?

... yet, to his shame, a minibot felt his resolve to keep his intake shut breaking upon seeing a haunted expression on Ratchet’s faceplates. Bumblebee wished he hadn’t looked up into the wise optics of his, those that seemed to read him as an unlocked datapad. How could he play it cool when a medic was looking at him in such a manner?

“…kid?” Now Ratchet was truly worried for his companion. He wasn’t even certain he’s ready to hear an explanation, but knew in his spark that he had to get to the bottom of a problem for minibot's sake.

At that moment Bumblebee finally realized that he couldn’t keep the paranoid thoughts locked inside his processor anymore.

He desperately needed to speak to his friends, consequences be damned. He had to make sure that he’s not glitched in a processor. That what he got himself into was a right course of action for any good-natured Bot. 

… or, rather, for any sensible Prime. 

Hence why, after making a deep inhale, a minibot finally forced the dreaded words out of his intake:

“… is it wrong that I feel… bad for the prisoners? That I… periodically… h-help them?” 

… a fleeting moment or relief at voicing his concerns instantly evaporated, changed to regret once he saw Racthet’s optics widening beyond usual capacity and heard Optimus sputtering and coughing on his energon ration off the camera. 

Such reaction made Bumblebee hide his helm between shoulder pauldrons in a clear sign of dread - so much for the support coming from teammates it seemed. 

“What?” Optimus asked after standing up from a table he’s sitting next to, the stool screeching audibly after a mech span in it. “Help them? What do you mean by that, Bumblebee? Are you alright? Do they… force you to do something for them or..?”

Minibot didn’t answer any of those questions. Wasn’t able to do it under the searching gaze of an elder mech’s optics which seemed to pin him to his own stool. Bumblebee felt like energon was going to freeze in his lines and tubes from a rising horror. Time seemed to stop for him, not unlike inner mechanisms in a frame of his. He couldn't utter a single sound, words swimming in a jumbled mess that was his processor.

What could he possibly say in his defense, now that his teammates knew of his secret? That there was a proper reason for him to feel pity for the inmates? That he was the only one to keep those mechs alive because nobody else did? That perhaps, Primus help him, all this time they were held in prison, somebot tried to take them out of game by starving them to their deaths?

A yellow Bot clearly hasn’t thought the conversation through, just as he always did, hasn't prepared himself for such a reaction even, and now that mistake was biting his aft. 

But then… then minibot heard something that immediately tore him from a panicking state he got stuck in. 

“I’ll take care of it, Prime.” Ratchet announced in a calm tone, breaking the tense silence which settled over the video call. Bumblebee was so stunned that he didn’t register those words right away, looking dumbly at warm optics of a mech on the other side of a call line. 

“But-“ 

“Optimus.” Medic cut off his commanding officer in a stern but good-natured manner, showing that he knew what he’s doing. Trusting the judgement of an older Bot, red and blue mech nodded to him and stepped away from a console, giving both of his friends some room to talk to each other. 

Young Prime could hardly believe what he’s been witnessing in front of him. Afraid to hope that his situation might’ve not been so dire after all. Baiting his breath, he watched red and white Bot turning to him again and leaning closer to a screen.

“Bumblebee, tell me, what’s happening back on Cybertron.” Ratchet asked his young friend, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, ready to tentatively listen to everything minibot’s about to say. 

And that’s when Bumblebee understood, felt it in his spark which gleefully thrummed in his chest that his old teammates were not mad at him - only worried for his well-being. Said realization made the built up over orbital cycles tension leave his frame and gave him courage to answer as honestly as he could.  

“You don’t know even half of what's going on, guys,” He stated after a breath moment of silence, then scooted on his chair closer to a screen as well and continued speaking in a hushed tone as to not to be heard by anyone else on his side of a video call. 

While retelling the recent events, which took place in Tripticon Prison, young Prime couldn’t help but periodically glance at a screen to his right side, a list of main convicts taking up most of its surface. 

Their stern gazes seemed to burn a viewer with hostility. Evil, cold, sparkless optics on unsightly faceplates. That’s what fellow guards always tended to whisper to each other either in fear or in bold mockery while walking down the hallways.

But to Bumblebee the very same pairs of optics, those he'd looked into more times then any of the local mechs, more then his friends even, told another story. Each time he saw Decepticons, bound and stripped of their weapons, there was no rage in their expressions, nor malice or contempt - only an eternal tiredness, hopelessness... and resignation with Fate.

Warframes. Mighty mechs being brought to their knees and stripped of their pride. Truly a sight which made minibot feel more miserable then three inmates he tried to take care of.

“Bossbot… Ratchet… please, come back here as soon as you can," Recently promoted Prime finally said as a conclusion to his speech. "I… I am afraid I won’t be able to handle this situation on my own anymore.”

[penny-anna]

IMO the ideal lost light polycule situation is as follows:

Drift is dating Ratchet and also Rodimus. Ratchet is his primary partner and Rodimus is his secondary. Rodimus is constantly angling to move up the boyfriend ladder and be Drift's no 1. He doesn't even want to be in a committed relationship it just pisses him off that Drift prefers Ratchet. Ratchet isn't threatened by this bcos he's very secure in his relationship but he does find it extremely irritating

Rodimus is also dating Megatron and keeps hinting that he'd like Drift to join them for a threesome. Drift kind of does want to fuck Megatron but he's in a stable enough place mentally to know what a terrible idea it would be so he's pretending not to notice. He is avoiding even being in the same room as Megatron

Megatron is trying really hard to be a good friend & metamour to Drift bcos Drift is one of the literally billions of things he carries a huge amount of guilt over but Drift is actively avoiding him. Megatron thinks Drift must be terrified of him which makes him feel even more guilty but in actuality Drift just feels kind of awkward about the situation

One time they did manage to have a pleasant conversation and Megatron was like wow this is going so well I'm finally in but then he got a little too relaxed and accidentally called Drift Deadlock and destroyed all the progress he'd made

Megatron kind of wants to date Ultra Magnus but the only way to date Magnus is to formally court him so Megatron is researching etiquette to try and figure out how to do that

Cyclonus, Tailgate and Whirl are in a well negotiated poly triad. Ratchet hates this bcos it infuriates him that Whirl of all people is doing polyamory better than him and as a result Tailgate and Cyclonus think he deeply disapproves of their relationship. Whirl knows what his problem is but isn't talking bcos he thinks it's funny.

[keferon]

Mecha headquarters is attacked. The building collapses. Blurr goes in and doesn't come back out. And Swindle's the one that's got to deal with the fallout. As far as nightmare scenarios go, this is pretty high up on Swindle's list.

----------------------------------

Swindle only pulls his phone out of his pocket when he reaches the shadows off to the side of where rescue crews are digging through the rubble of mecha headquarters.  Digging they only started because Blurr, the face of mecha, went into that building and didn't come out.  Digging they are only continuing because they believe they've found signs of life buried in the rock.  Which is why Swindle's phone has been buzzing nonstop for the past several minutes.

He looks at the names next to the missed calls.  Shockwave.  Shockwave again.  Pharma.  Unknown number. (Shockwave?)….  The list goes on.

Swindle doesn't know how Shockwave or Pharma knows already, but they must.  Swindle's first call since Blurr disappeared under that ton of rubble had been to emergency services.  Every call since has been to call in favors, pull strings – exert as much influence as he can to keep the details of what's going on out of the news.  To keep the potential damage this could do to a minimum.

Somehow, it hasn't been enough.  Which means this situation is fast heading towards something more than what Swindle can handle on his own.

Swindle pulls a second phone from his pocket and hits the number on speed dial.

"Hello?" A voice answers within one ring of Swindle dialing.  Onslaught.  He relaxes slightly.

"You watching the news?"  Swindle skips over customary greetings, security measures – there's no time for them now.  He knows it is Onslaught on the other end of the line.  Onslaught will recognize it is him by his voice.  That much, they still have to be able to trust.

What exactly will be on the news, Swindle doesn't know.  But, it's a safe bet that at least some of the basics of the mecha attack will be broadcast.  Beyond that, it all depends on how much Swindle's contacts came through.

"Yeah.  Mecha was attacked.  They're saying no casualties, so why are you calling me?"  Onslaught asks.

"That's all they're saying?" Swindle asks in return. "No casualties?"

"That's all.  No casualties," Onslaught confirms.  "Showed some footage of the fighting.  Pretty standard stuff.  Cut in some impressive footage of Blurr's mech.  What's going on? Not that I'm not glad to hear personal confirmation you're not dead, but this line is for emergencies."

"There is one.  Shockwave."  Swindle says the name as though there's no further justification needed for why he's calling on this line.  And really, there isn't.  They had agreed to that from the start of this venture.  "He's been calling me.  Non-stop."

Swindle thinks he hears a soft curse on the other end of the line then, "Why would he care?  What's his interest?"

"Blurr," Swindle says.  "That footage, of his mech – was the actual fight.  A fight he never should have been in.  But he did it anyways because there was no other option.  He went into the building and he never came out.  He's the reason they're still here digging – the reason I'm still here."

"And the reason Shockwave's calling," Onslaught fills in.

"Yes.  Him.  And Pharma." Swindle adds.

"Pharma is a medic, you know.  With ratchet going more or less of the grid and First Aid and Ambulon tied up with Vortex he's the highest ranked medic in mecha.  It would be his job to supervise pilot injuries."  Swindle can tell even over the line that Onslaught doesn't really believe his own words.  But they need to make sure they've covered everything if they're going to stay ahead of this.

"He shouldn't know though.  I called in favors to delay the news of Blurr's status until after excavation is complete and you said yourself the news only confirmed no casualties yet," Swindle points out. "I've sent no internal communications.  Pharma shouldn't know yet.  He's too close to Shockwave.  Neither of them should know.  But they've both been calling since the collapse – within minutes of each other."

Swindle definitely hears Onslaught swear at that.  "I don't know exactly what the connection is between Shockwave and Pharma – but I don't want Pharma – or Shockwave – anywhere near this, anywhere near Blurr," he finishes.

"Blurr's alive?"  The question is stated matter-of-factly, though Swindle wouldn't have blamed Onslaught for expressing a note of skepticism.  If the man is still alive, there's no way he's walking away from this without serious injuries.  Swindle would bet every dollar in his accounts on it.

"Possibly.  There are signs of life under the rubble.  We paid Blurr to be the part of a hero for the media.  Turns out when it mattered it wasn't entirely an act.  He saved a lot of lives today – including mine."  If Blurr is pulled from that rubble alive, Swindle will give every dollar it takes from his bank account to ensure it stays that way.  They need Blurr.  More than he knows.

"I never told Blurr the truth behind why it was so important that mecha hire him," Swindle's voice drops as he says the words.

"I am not repaying what he did today by letting him find out firsthand whatever it is Shockwave does in those labs of his.  We're not going to sit back and watch the creation of another Vortex.  It was bad enough when we didn't know.  Now…. Right now, I need you to distract Shockwave and Pharma."

"How long do you need?" As Swindle had at the beginning of their call, Onslaught skips the unnecessary validation and asks the question that gets at the point.  It has Swindle breathing a sigh of relief.

"A few hours, minimum.  But I'll take anything you can give me, just stall them as long as you can.  I've got to go."  Swindle hangs up without waiting for Onslaught's reply.  A stretcher is being carried out of the ruins towards a waiting helicopter.

Swindle manages to make it onboard just before take-off.  He rides all the way to the hospital with Blurr.  Handles all the forms.  Tells the receptionists to put the bills on his card.  He knows (hopes) Blurr could do it when the time came (the man certain has the money; Swindle's been writing his checks) – but he shouldn't have to.  All Blurr should have to focus on is his recovery, and what comes next.  Blurr should have friends, family, a partner – someone to support him in this. 

Swindle knows – has known since early on in working with Blurr – that that is not the case.  He's observed enough to see that Blurr asks for help if he truly needs it, but no one just offers it to him.  Because no one knows to.  In this case, Blurr cannot ask, so Swindle manages instead.

In an ideal world, someone would stay by Blurr's hospital bed, simply so the man didn't have to wake up alone in unfamiliar surroundings with no explanations.  But this is not an ideal world.  And Swindle is not that person.  His time runs out long before then. 

Fresh blood has been spilled.  The predators are circling.  Swindle has a show to put on.  The best he can do is leave his card on the bedside table as a reminder and hope Blurr actually calls if he needs anything. 

I. LOVE THIS. SO FUCKING MUCH YOU CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE

Absolutely in love with this conspiracy thing Onslaught and Swindle have going on. Because YES. OF COURSE. Gosh this is why I love Combaticons. They’re on their own side. Whatever system they are forced to be part of - it doesn’t have full control on them. They’re doing their own thing ehehehehhehe

[transformers-spike]

hey! been reading all your stuff and absolutely love what you do. i got an idea regarding team prime having their first christmas party at the base (june insisted), and they’re each introduced to the concept of kissing under mistletoe

I'm going for something where the reader is already in a relationship with the bot of choice. It's mostly just cute interactions with a hint of spice mid post.

Optimus takes it rather well considering… everything. He’s got a team to lead, a dead planet on his conscience and a homoerotic rivalry with his ex-best friend/murderous dictator who’s obsessed with him. Life could be a lot better right now. But it also could be a lot worse. He’s content watching from the sidelines as his fellow Autobots enjoy a new part of Earth culture. Don’t mind him, he’ll join in once his work is done. For now the best he can do is flash you an encouraging smile as you fail to string out the Christmas lights for the fifth time in a row – you can do it, he believes in you. He tries his best to seem oblivious when you climb the ladder June is holding still (the ultimate wingwoman), keeping a close optic behind the terminal just in case things go south and he has to catch you. When you call his name with the goofiest smile on your face, he beams at you, equal parts pride and cute aggression. “Hey,” you drawl, doing your best to seem as charming as possible while holding on for dear life on the only thing stopping you from plummeting to the ground. “So there’s this Christmas tradition you may not have heard about…” He attentively listens to the explanation, nodding his helm and faking surprise when he hears what mistletoes entail. His spark stutters in his chassis when you ask him, sheepishly averting your gaze, if he’d like to partake in this human tradition. He graciously accepts, hovering a servo over your frame (in case you stumble back in shock) and leans in for you to initiate the kiss. Yes, Miko told him. Yes, she ruined the surprise. No, he won’t tell you because he’s never seen you happier getting to kiss him.

Ratchet is unimpressed. At least that’s what he wants you to believe. He’s so invested in decorating he spends every minute off work painstakingly stringing obnoxiously bright garlands around the railings and holding the kids in his servos to reach the highest branches of the gigantic and possibly illegally uprooted Christmas tree. He’s complaining about the time he will waste taking down the decorations, but everyone in the base knows damn well he’s going to keep them on as long as he can. You don’t even have to bring up the mistletoe, he’s overheard enough from the crappy Holiday-themed movies the kids have been watching to secretly crank up the charm while scoffing on the outside. You’re watching the kids place the final touches on the tree, a mug of eggnog in one hand while helping yourself to some Santa-shaped sugar cookies. You barely notice Ratchet leaning in with a minuscule strand of mistletoe between his massive digits. It takes a moment for you to understand, what with the plant being nigh invisible in his servo. Finally, you swallow thickly and stand on your tippy toes (on the couch no less) to reach his intake. The kiss is the longest he’s ever experienced up until now, and while he has the kissing abilities of a dying fish, he melts into it while you forget how to breathe.

Bulkhead is clearly enjoying himself, watching bad Christmas dramas with the kids, trying to figure out how to remix old carols with Miko adding a rock (and occasionally death metal) twist. It’s simultaneously the funniest and most mind-boggling Holiday celebration anyone has ever experienced, add Wheeljack into the mix and now Ratchet is watching these two like a hawk in case they roughhouse too much and crush the Christmas tree. Miko would actually love to see that, and you and Bulkhead both have to be the responsible adults of the situation and try to keep the damage at a minimum while Wheeljack acts like the world’s worst influence on a teenager. By Primus, Bulkhead is actually tempted to join it, and now you have to reel in two grown adult mechs eons your senior and one 15 year old girl. Primus save you. And yet, beyond all expectations, said 15 year old girl is your wingwoman for the evening, which is simultaneously humiliating and a godsend. When she pulls out the plastic mistletoe from her pocket and holds it over you and Bulkhead’s heads from her vantage point on his neck, a move she’s been planning months in advance, your soul exits your body. The staring contest between you and her robot dad breaks only when Miko urges you to do something at least. The kiss is short and sweet, Bulkhead is screaming inside during the whole ordeal no matter how brief, hoping to Primus he didn’t somehow kiss you so badly during a five second interval you’re willing to break up with him. Nah, you’re blushing so intensely June thinks you’re about to have an aneurysm.

Wheeljack is a menace, and it’s entirely your fault. Mentioning the tradition wasn’t supposed to end up like this, but alas, horny dumbassery always leads to worst case scenarios. Bulkhead told you to go for it, meaning well with his encouragement but sealing your fate for the next 24 hours. Ratchet asked you if you were out of your mind, the voice of reason and simultaneously the bitchiest best friend you could ask for, telling you loud and clear if anything happened it would be on your conscience alone. June put a hand on your shoulder and (half) jokingly said she would ask to be assigned to your hospital room. Truly, you have the will to live of a hamster doing its hardest to die a horribly gruesome death and reach hamsterhallah. What a genius you are. Wheeljack wasted no time getting you under the mistletoe Bulkhead helped string up, and maybe you envisioned it differently when he narrowly bruised your lips going in for the kiss. You tried to keep the sloppy makeout session brief, but from the way Bulkhead was shielding the kids behind not one but two giant servos, you might have overdone it. What you especially did not expect, however, was waking up in the Jackhammer’s passenger seat with the worst migraine of your life and dry transfluid slathered all over your crotch. Now, trying to recall the events of last night with the worst eggnog hangover you’ve ever experienced, you can only wait for Wheeljack to awaken from recharge in the pilot’s seat. You note the traces of transfluid on his lips, and your eyes trail down to your suspiciously bluish hand. Did you fist Wheeljack on Christmas Eve?

Bumblebee is having the time of his life. You got Raf (and his Autobot guardian) some discount Christmas-themed games from the only offbrand Gamestop in all of Jasper as an early present. You watch with rapt amusement as they laugh at the frankly abysmal coding and game design, enjoying themselves to the fullest despite the sub-optimal gameplay, but you almost choke on your spit when Raf actually starts analyzing the code for the game and applying level-breaking cheats in a matter of minutes. Cheesus Christ, that kid can hack into the Pentagon at this point. You move in front of Agent Fowler’s line of sight to stop him from seeing just what kind of threat to national security Raf can become. As the day nearly comes to an end and you’re half sure Jack is scrutinizing Ratchet who’s flirting with his mom who’s tucking her hair behind her ear in the single mom sign for “I will fuck this alien robot”; you beckon Bumblebee closer and hold out the mistletoe over your head and his uh… forehead. You kiss him slowly, holding onto the railing as he leans his face into your lips, beeping happily. Little do you know, Miko saw it and now she’s going to hold out a mistletoe over your heads for the next 5 hours until your mouth grows numb from kissing him. He looks so damn happy whenever he notices the mistletoe, you can’t say no to him, not when Dadimus Prime is watching from the other corner of the room.

Arcee is ahead of schedule. She knows what you’re going to do, and she’s already planning to one up you. Yes, she’s been especially busy giving the kids a lift to put up the final ornaments on the tree in spite of her initial protests, but now you’re fiddling with your fingers stealing occasional glances like you’re desperately hyping yourself up for what’s to come. You have no idea what you’re doing to her looking so shy and cute. She could just eat you up. You’re unsure when you go up to her, Christmas fun fact on your lips and sweating bullets just thinking about what you’re going to do - and your jaw drops down to the Earth’s core when she gingerly holds a strand of mistletoe over your heads. She wishes she could capture your expression and lock it inside her spark. When you kiss, it’s deep and longing, filled with a need to give yourself up completely in spite of being so finite next to her. And she welcomes it, all of it, taking your eagerness and savoring every minute with you. When you pull away heaving for breath, your hair’s a mess and you’re redder than Cliffjumper’s plating. Your eyes twinkle when you look at her, equal parts love and desperation to surrender yourself to her with all the trust in the world. She will protect you until the day she offlines.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Since you said Jack sometimes does a whistle to purposely get Arcee’s attention and Miko would try to, would these two take advantage of other human things bots don’t yet understand how it works? Like Jack telling Arcee that if Arcee don’t take him on a drive he might start aging much faster from being upset, and Miko telling Bulkhead that her brain will downgrade and go numb if she don’t get enough stimulation.

Oh heck yeah. The kids would absolutely abuse the bots relative lack of education and make the best of it.

Jack is by far one of the nicest in his manipulations and generally keeps it to things such as having Arcee take him to see cool new places with the groundbridge because, quote: "A human adolescent who doesn't travel and experience new things will have their brains begin to rot and turn into creatures we call ghouls."

Arcee has no clue what a human ghoul is, but she knows the stories of ghouls back on Cybertron. Flesh eating creatures that devour not only energon, but also organs and pieces of the frame. The idea that a young human may turn into something like that absolutely terrifies her, at least if that human were to be Jack. She makes it a point to take Jack out once a week with her on patrols around the globe in order to protect him from that fate. Ratchet and Optimus are fully aware of the fact that Jack is full of slag when it comes to that particular tidbit, but they let it be since it gets Arcee out of the base.

Miko abuses the ever loving crap out of the bots ignorance. She has firmly made Bulkhead believe that if she isn't allowed to fight, her instincts will deteriorate and she will become braindead. Bulkhead, terrified of that outcome, has now been forced to set up sparring sessions for Miko to compensate for lack of actual combat. Wheeljack for his part has been roped into believing that if Miko isn't allowed to use weaponry and train with it, she will quite literally become thin as a reed since humans need tools to grow (her words, not the wreckers). Smokescreen has also reached a point of fanaticism when it comes to one of Miko's ploys. She told him one time that if she doesn't get at least one lollipop a day, her blood sugar will drop and she will fall into a coma. Smokescreen carries around a bag of candy just to be safe.

Rafael is a little nicer, but he will fight for more screen time by making it clear to Bumblebee that computer lights actually help improve his vision. The more computer light he gets, the better his vision will be temporarily. Bumblebee doesn't know how that is supposed to work, but humans are weird. So he just kinda... lets Rafael abuse his computer rights in base since it supposedly does good things for his eyes. Ratchet hasn't caught on yet. Ratchet also hasn't figured out that Rafael is totally playing him when he asks Ratchet for stories in order to help him retain his memory. Rafael has woven quite that tale that essentially boils down to him needing stories in order to keep his memory top notch. Ratchet hasn't figured out its a bunch of slag yet.

Optimus is one of the few bots no one can pull any fast ones on...

Except Fowler

Fowler has convinced Optimus that he should be allowed to drive Optimus's alt-mode at least once a month in order to keep his joints from withering away. Optimus has wondered why Fowler can't use another vehicle to work his joints, but Fowler always says its easier with Optimus just because if his joints give out, Optimus will be there to help him out.

Optimus questions this logic more and more when Fowler urges him to drive FAR over the speed limit on back roads.

[autonomousroboticorganism]

Stuck Together (TF Prime Knock Out)

pairing - Knock Out x F!Reader

summary - just a few short scenarios between you and the mad doctor if the Autobots got stuck on the Nemesis with the Decepticons

warnings - none

a/n - just some thoughts i had, not enough works for this bot, who happens to be my favourite after Bumblebee

The situation between Autobots and Decepticons had never been more awkward or uncomfortable. Stuck in the same location, forced to get along to avoid complete destruction of the Decepticon ship. Tensions were at an all-time high with both sides being in such close proximity but unable to do anything.

You couldn't bring yourself to care much, not when you were occupying the same space as a certain Decepticon doctor.

"Again, Starscream? What is it this time?" The mad doctor spoke without looking up or turning around, too engrossed in buffing his own arm to notice it was actually you.

"I always wondered if his footsteps sounded the same as a femme's, with those heels he calls peds," you mused.

This made Knock Out turn, "Oh, it's you." He sounded rather excited, his disinterest from just now being replaced. "Don't tell me you got into another fight."

"Okay, I won't," you shrugged and sat on his operating table.

The red mech sighed, "May I ask why is it that you came to me? Your medic is also on board."

"Ratchet doesn't like to be bothered while he's working," you told him. "And he's already on edge just being here. But I suppose you wouldn't want to attend to an Autobot, right? I'll just leave."

"No, wait!" He quickly stopped you, "I mean, usually no. But I can make an exception for you."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow. "That's flattering."

"So what was it this time?" He asked you as he tended to your very small (he noticed) dent.

You groaned, "I swear, your fellow cons act like they've never seen a femme before. I know you guys have only Airachnid, but that's no excuse to try and get touchy with me."

"I see."

The doctor hid it well, but he was burning with both anger and jealousy. How dare the vehicons attempt to put their servos on you in any way, even if you were an Autobot?

"It wouldn't be such a problem if it was you, however."

The Deception froze at those words, then looked at you, "You want me to harass you?"

"Don't say it like that!" Your faceplates burned. "I just meant...I wouldn't mind if you were the one taking an interest in me." You looked away. "I should go."

"Do I get to say what I think about that?" He drawled, his usual smirk plastered to his face.

"Uh-"

He suddenly came in very close, his face mere inches from yours. His blood-red optics flickered from your bright blue ones to your lips, and the desire in them was unmistakeable.

"I think you underestimate just how interested I am in you."

And then he was kissing you.

Because Cybertronians don't need to breathe, this continued for a while. You ended up kissing for what felt like hours, until someone else walked into the cons' medbay needing assistance.

"Knock Out, I-"

You both jumped apart, turning to see an astonished Starscream standing there staring at you with wide optics.

Before any of you could say anything, you tripped Knock Out, shoved Starscream aside and ran off. That seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time, to eliminate suspicion.

"What was that?"

"What is it you want now, Starscream?" The doctor asked, returning to being disinterested.

"Did you just-"

"I'm quite busy you know, get on with it."

"I-"

And the red Decepticon continued to gaslight the second-in-command into believing that nothing had happened.

-

"What is this?"

Knock Out looked up as you examined one of his tools, a small smirk forming on his lips as he watched you. Though he would never admit it out loud, he found your intrigue...adorable.

"That would be an isoprobe."

"I...don't know what that is," you laughed and set it back down, with surprising gentleness. "I assume it's important."

"Mhm," his optics continued to watch as you navigated his lab, pride swelling in his chassis as he observed your fascination with everything in it.

He initially thought he could overcome his little crush on you. Never had he been so wrong, because despite being an Autobot he was starting to feel like you were the other half of his spark. His sparkmate.

You noticed his gaze, and quickly stopped touching things, "I'm sorry, just curious. Ratchet doesn't allow us near any of his things."

"No, by all means continue," the mad doctor encouraged you, "I quite like seeing an inquisitive mind wandering around my lab. Especially one so pretty. Makes working here easier."

Your faceplates burned, "Oh...Well in that case..." You walked over to him, "Mind telling me what you're doing, doctor?"

He shivered. Having you this close to him with you calling him that was really not helping his attraction to you. It was, in fact, inspiring him to think other, less appropriate thoughts, as well as imagine you pressed against him, holding him as he worked.

"I...seem to have forgotten."

You laughed a little bit, "May I suggest something else then?"

He nodded, and you closed the distance. Once again, you were kissing the Decepticon medic, hands on his shoulders while his found your waist.

You were starting to like this forced closeness.

-

"Why, you-!"

"What's going on here?"

You walked into the Decepticon med bay slash lab to see Knock Out and Smokescreen right up in each other's faces, each yelling insults or mocking the other.

"How dare you?!"

They did, however, stop and turn their helms when you walked into the room, Knock Out's optics going wide.

Then, like sparklings, they pointed at each other.

"He started it!"

You groaned and face-palmed, "I don't care who started it, just stop it. We don't need any unnecessary fights you two. Now step away from each other."

To your satisfaction, they obeyed.

"Smokescreen, I think Optimus wanted to speak to you anyway," you told the Autobot mech, who was gone in a flash after that.

"He scratched my paint!" Knock Out protested.

"I don't want to hear it," you sighed and grabbed his buffer, moving over to helo him with his grievance. This wasn't anything new with him, so you got used to doing it for him in the short time that you had been here. "What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything," the con medic lied.

You rolled your optics, "Knock Out."

"Fine! I told him his vehicular form is uglier than mine."

"...Mechs," you sighed.

Knock Out calmed down a little after that, watching you tend to his scratch. He had no idea, but the adoration held in them was so obvious it made you flustered.

"Stop staring at me with those creepy optics."

"Hey! You said they were pretty!"

"You're right. They ARE pretty. Your face is the problem."

He knew you were teasing him, and he quite liked the fact that you were making an effort to make him smile or laugh. No one else had ever done that for him, much less be nice to him. He didn't ever receive a thank you or a compliment, but while you'd been here you'd given him all of that and more.

"You like my face, admit it."

"I do, I really do."

-

"(Name)? What are you doing still awake?"

Knock Out couldn't keep the concern out of his voice, his optics scanning your clearly exhausted form. It looked like you hadn't powered down in days.

"I couldn't sleep," you admitted. "Too jumpy."

"Even with Optimus Prime by your side?" He asked, surprised.

"Yeah. They put us in another room to power down. Still, I can't help but worry about them. I have to stay awake."

Knock Out frowned deeply. It troubled you to be on this ship so much that you couldn't even power down peacefully? Megatron himself had ensured no conflict, due to the threat of the Nemesis being destroyed, but you still worried.

"Why don't you power down with me, then?" He suggested. "I was just about to finish for the night. And your friends will be okay."

"Are you sure?" You mumbled, tired beyond measure. "I don't want to bother you."

"Come here, sweetspark," he cooed, pulling you against him. "I've told you before, you're never a bother to me. So stop worrying and power down with me."

"Okay," you smiled tiredly. "I love you."

The Decepticon medic froze in his movements, his arms around you tightening. He couldn't believe the words that had left your mouth, and tried to convince himself you were too tired to know what you were saying. It wasn't real. You didn't mean it.

"Knock Out?* You frowned. "You don't feel the same way?"

"N-no! I mean yes!" He panicked. "Yes I do, sweetspark. I always have. But you're exhausted, let's get you some rest and we can talk in the morning okay?"

"Okay."

The two of you lay down on his berth and you cuddled up to him, burying your face in his neck cables. You powered down before he did, finally at ease and comfortable in his arms, while he stayed awake to ponder your words.

Did you really mean it?

[someonehugratchet]

Breakdown has been gone for no less than a week when Ratchet receives a heavily encrypted message.

At first he thinks it’s nothing and it’s only years of combat through his technology and being a medic that he even spots that something is different about it.

The one difference in the file is a punctuation at the end, a single full stop that is something humans do instead of the cybertronian symbol.

He opens the file, works his way through it for over two earth hours, and when he’s finally done everyone has gone to have their shutdown and the humans are at home safe and sound.

Part of him thinks it could be a trap sent my Soundwave but there’s something in his spark that’s telling him to trust it. He’s been a doctor for years, he’s learnt that trusting your instinct is the most important part of the job. It’s a combination of prior knowledge, subconscious awareness and thinking and the thing humans call a ‘gut feeling’.

Ratchet opens the last link and finds a message that reads,

“Hello Doctor.

I am aware that we are not friends and work for opposing forces, but I am desperate. I am not sending this because I have had a change of spark or something dramatic like that, though I can’t say I have never thought of that.

No, this is far more important than any sides of a war or Megatrons foolish little game.

I am with sparkling.”

Ratchet stalls for a moment at that sentence before stealing his nerves and continuing.

“I found out around two deca-cycles ago and was afraid to tell the Sire, and now he is gone.

If Megatron finds out about this, both that I am with sparkling and that I can conceive, I will never be safe. He hasn’t been too focused on it, but we all know he has put plans in place should he have the chance to have an heir.

I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t find out, and I’m not too prideful to put my ego and desire to been correct over the life of my sparkling.

So I am asking you as both a medical professional and a close friend of Optimus for help.

I don’t need you to let me join you or live among you, but please help me get out.

I am begging you to help me make sure my sparkling doesn’t end up like Shockwave or Megatron or, Primus forbid, Starscream. I want my to have the chance to choice who it wants to be, and I know that it’s Sire would have wanted for us all to be with you Autobots.

But I have accepted this too late.

Turn me away if you wish, but please help my sparkling.

I don’t have much time and I do not want to terminate it, it’s all I have left of Breakdown.

Yours truely,

Knock-Out.”

Ratchet actually had to sit down once he’s finished reading, serve pressed to his chaises in both shock and heavy understanding. He helped many with their sparklings during the war and knew well the grief of it, even if it was never something he went through.

He sits there for a long time, considering every thing he knows, before he stands again and sends a message back with identical encryption.

“Knock-Out.

I am sorry for what you are going through, both your loss and your situation.

Whether my team wants you here or not I will find a safe place for you, this I promise you on the All Spark. I am sure Optimus will understand but we must act quickly, so listen to my instructions and I will be able to keep your family safe.”

Ratchet lays out the plan quickly and with no room for miscommunication, even going so far as to send a ground bridge for the Mech at a certain point during the next cycle.

He can deal with the teams reactions once’s he’s got Knock-Out safely out of his enemies hands.