#have you seen him without his helm? now you have

[tarnussy]

Moongrum, Carian Knight

[pawpiefawn]

𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x gn!reader 1.1k words alhaitham cooks you a dish from his childhood.

in the apartment you shared with alhaitham, there was no explosive rage or hurtful yelling – there were no plates thrown or doors slammed or chairs hurled against walls that had seen more than they should have.

no, home was quiet and healing. it was ivy-crawled bricks, breezy curtains and ambient lighting that was a testimony to the soft-lipped love he spoke to you, words he learnt passed down from his gentle grandmother.

alhaitham would keep you safe; he promised himself the moment his eyes met yours.

love was gently knocking on the door to tell you that dinner's ready. love did not rage or come home angry – it did not yell at you over something trivial. love was patient and whole and kind. home was love, love forgave and repented and knelt to ask for forgiveness; love forgave, without a second thought, because love was home.

home was love, alhaitham was home, alhaitham was love.

between you and love, you usually cooked – it wasn’t that alhaitham didn’t want to cook, or that he couldn’t; well . . you were just better. better in the sense that dinner’s vegetables just seemed to slice and arrange themselves neatly in obedience to the ruler of the kitchen. somehow, you measuring seasoning with your tender heart always made it taste better despite his countless accurate measurements.

cooking in the kitchen was also where love was found.

it was in the sweet, soft light that entered through your kitchen window, perfect rays broken up through the trees outside – and of course, it was found in alhaitham; his built frame leaning against the kitchen countertop, admiring you and feeling a slight twinge of envy at your proficiency in the kitchen. dishes were cooked with ease and you just had so much fun, twirling around with your wooden spatula. you gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before turning back to stir your pot of stew.

“ah, it’s going to burn–”

“don’t be silly, it’ll be fine!” the only thing he felt in the kitchen, with you at its helm, was happiness.

perhaps he could try once again? perhaps he could– no, he would. he would make some of that happiness with his own hands, laden into porcelain bowls to share with you.

the next time alhaitham walked into the kitchen, it was with aching arms heavy with brown bags chockfull of dinner ingredients. vibrant padisarah petals, marbled chunks of beef, plastic bags filled to the brim with rice grains and aromatic spices that left its mark on your kitchen. he knew exactly what he wanted to share with you tonight.

“you’re cooking?” he hears your footsteps as you bound into the kitchen, pattering against the cool marble excitedly.

“yes, i am. dinner should be ready in a few hours.” alhaitham lets a faint smile grace his features. you wrap your arms tenderly around his waist, burying your face into his back. he couldn’t see your sweet grin this way, but that was alright. your joy practically radiated off your warm frame.

“thanks for cooking tonight.”

he lets his hands work their magic – some sort of magic he still faintly believed in. it had been some time since he cooked something like this, after all; and much less a dish he last tasted in his last remnants of childhood.

in went the beautiful cuts of meat, sizzling over hot oil, browned then mixed with all the nostalgic spices his tastebuds yearned to remember. fresh limes, red tomatoes, sweet onions, everything tasty and good were then added to the mix. white pearly grains of rice were cooked and added to the pot.

almost done, now.

all that was left was to wait for everything to meld in perfect harmony. alhaitham found himself staring at his work. the rice was a blank canvas for the myriad of spices, with familiar love and nostalgia that this dish brought together in a pot. empty dishes and cutting boards stained with effort littered the kitchen counter, and he sighed in fervent exhaustion just at the thought of cleaning up.

“oh! don’t worry about the dishes tonight, i’ve got them~” you chirped eagerly, tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of whatever was making your kitchen smell absolutely heavenly.

“you’re sure?” alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “i can do it, it’s not a problem.”

“no, i’m sure – you put in so much work for tonight! think of it as a thank you!”

always so sweet, offering to lend a hand no matter how tiresome or bothersome it was. did you know how much of an angel you were? alhaitham lets another smile slip past his weary face. thank you.

he hears the timer ding! and immediately turns to the stove, his masterful work steaming and ready – it looked incredible. warm gravy coated every grain, beef chunks tender and pulling apart at the force of a dinner fork. it smelt incredible. it was warm, spicy, fragrant with every hint of nostalgia he added.

it smelt like home.

kind, inviting, warm, hopeful, home.

“it’s done!” alhaitham lets out a quiet laugh as you wrap your hands around his waist again, peeking at the food hungrily.

“it smells so good.”

“this one’s for you.” he nods, setting down your bowl after ladling steaming hot biryani into it. he finishes it off with a few padisarah petals, turning the bowl towards you.

“alright, chef. you wanna introduce your dish?” you tease, giggling softly and pushing some rice aside to reveal the chunks of spiced beef. you spoon a portion of the biryani into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully and savouring every bit of effort he put into tonight’s dinner.

“well, i wanted you to try something i grew up eating. my grandmother made this for me in my childhood years.”

you hear your spoon clink against your bowl as you set it down to rest, staring at him.

“you made me something your grandmother used to make for you?” there is a slight quiver in your voice as you comprehend his sweet words.

this wasn’t just any dinner, then. it was a part of himself that he wished to share with you. it was young alhaitham seated at the dinner table, waiting for the food every night made by his loving grandmother. it was when three wooden chairs were swapped for two new ones, when only a good plate of homemade food could make him push aside any grief. it was his grandmother’s love in a dish –constant, reliable, and never failing to bring a hint of a wistful smile to his face.

“i did. i thought you would enjoy it.” alhaitham smiles, looking up from his bowl to see you wear a sombre, yet grateful expression; but there was no denying that you were enjoying it.

you were loving every bite, immensely – it tasted just a touch heavier on your tongue after he shared – and it was beautiful. nostalgia was the most powerful ingredient one could add, and time only told the truth – everything tasted better, when made with all the love and care and conscience in the world.

“thank you, alhaitham.”

[smallestapplin]

hello I love your writing and I see asks are open so I had to jump in.

would it be okay to request Prowl realizing he's in love with the human that won't leave him alone? Thank you, and have a good day!

I need you to know I thrive and crave more transformers talk in my inbox so this is perfect. (Also I'm down for cybertronian readers too, or just hearing yalls rambles please

This got a little spicy! So mdni 18+ only ^^

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Prowl couldn't stand you at first, but it's like you latched onto him and made it your goal to get him to like you, but he hates to admit that he was easy falling for you. You sassed him, pushed passed his stern warnings just to end up in his office asking if he's eaten yet.

You care so much for him and it shows.

You listen to him rant about those bastard twins and their latest prank, you give him feedback on his plans for missions, you sit on his desk as he works and then his shoulder when he needs to be elsewhere.

He's never seen without you.

And he never wants to be.

He won't show it, he refuses too, but he can't imagine his days without hearing your voice. Anytime you are set to return home he will call you, just to make sure you got home safely, any unfamiliar noise will send him into worry.

He can't lose you too.

He lays on his berth groaning at himself. How could he have fallen in love with a human? How could he picture himself with you, going on late night drives together, or imagining you sitting on his hood.

"I can't believe this." Prowl grumbles, helm in his servos as his mind is filled with thoughts of you.

You're so much smaller than him, he could break you!

Why does that thought excite him?

His doorwings twitch with the thought of your smaller softer touching them, to imagine your lips kissing his sensitive wings, cooing at him.

Or would you want him to hold you, keeping your legs spread as he bullies his spike into your pretty hole? He wants to fill you, cover you with his scent so every bot knows he is your beloved.

Prowl wants to claim you, make you his and only his.

Can humans even sparkbond? Frag, now he has questions he can't ask.

His thoughts are racing, but each one makes his valve clench and spike throb.

It is late....maybe it wouldnt hurt to-

A knock on his door snaps him from it.

"Prowl, are you up?"

Your voice so soft he could barely hear you through the thick metal. The bot wants to punch the air for the interruption but it's you, he can never deny you. Prowl quickly gets up and opens his door, optics staring down right at you.

"What are you doing here, I thought you and Bee were having some sort of gaming night."

It's true, you were showing Bee all sorts of your favorite games you knew he'd love. But you just smile up at him.

"I was, but he went to sleep a little bit ago, so I came to ask if I could room with you?"

He could kill you for making his spark flutter like this. He sighs, only to bend over and reach his hand out for you to hop up on. Your smile widens, and you giggle stepping up into his massive hand.

"Thank you, Prowlie."

"Tck, just warn me next time."

He hates how your eyes sparkle at the mention of a next time.

He's not going to get any sleep with you here, not when your intoxicating scent floods his senses, not when you're so warm against his metal body, not when you look so cute compared to him.

It's going to be a long cycle.

[paperstarwriters]

To the Soft and the Cold

Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Despite being a giant metal robot, sometimes people call Optimus soft. Despite being a soft squishy human, sometimes people call you cold.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,397

───・❅・❄・❆・❄・❅・───

"It's funny."

"Hm?"

The wind blew past you, sweeping through your clothes and cooling you down as the setting sun kept you warm. It would not keep so kind a temperature for long—the cold seeped in more and more with every passing minute—but in the Jasper desert a little bit of cool air was a welcome gift. Which, perhaps only highlights the strange disparity between you even more.

"Despite being the soft squishy human from a hot little desert, I'm seen as cold. Despite being the giant transforming iron truck from a planet made of metal,  you're seen as...Soft."

Despite the beauty of the sunset and the growing hues of pink that burst across the horizon, Optimus never tore his optics from you—until now. Averted to the setting sun, he shifted so he was closer to you before he tucked his legs up to his chest, and leaned a little more against the rocks you stood on. His helm now within reach, you swept your hand across his audial fin ignoring the feeling of dust against metal.

Having spent so long in this little desert, the dust and debris has long since ceased to irritate you—even more once you met Optimus. It's far from the worst he's been anyways. Compared to some other times, this layer is at least very thin. It's a thing you've noted lately, how you would often find that Optimus only ever really had a thin sheen of dust overtop him, while some of the other bots like Bulkhead or Arcee, or even Ratchet seemed to have layers upon layers of sand and grime. At best, they only cleaned when it became awfully visible, at worst they'd clean only when the grime began to impede their functioning. You didn't blame or judge them of course. Cleanliness could take a bit of a back seat in the face of ensuring both your own and an entire easily squishable population's survival.

It made it easier to touch and feel him though. Sometimes you liked to think that it made it easier for him to feel you.

"Do you think so too?" Optimus asked, the fin you had been petting for a while now twitching slightly and encouraging you to reach for the bottom side of it.

Despite your temptations, you're cautious not to reach too far, knowing the twitch of his fins were hardly under his control. It's never really happened before, even as his fin twitched as your hand remained against it, but you still can't help the natural fear of a big metal object slashing through the air and slicing or crushing your arm.

"Think what?" you ask, sweeping your thumb across the metal you hold. It's hardly any movement at all, but you can see how Optimus relaxes at the feeling. It's a little hard to wrap your head around—how such a big bot can feel such a small thing—but you're grateful for the little kindness that you’re allowed to give.

"Do you think I'm soft?"

You answer immediately. You answer without thinking.

"Yeah."

His fins go still.

Could you really deny that Optimus was soft? When he leaned against the surface you stood on, placed his helm so close to you so that you could touch him. When he snuck the both of you away and carved time from his hectic and important schedule just to read poetry with you—Primus, not even just for you. When he'd offer to bring snow back for Raf to see, when Miko and Jack would struggle in their classes—a miniature, distracting problem in the face of planetary survival and war—but Optimus would still offer advice from his experience and knowledge as an archivist and help if he had an extra moment to spare. When he'd calmly console Bee or Ratchet or compliment any member of his team...

It was impossible to see him as anything but soft and tender and kind.

You knew, of course, that many criticized that. War was no place for a person to be soft. It lead to enemies being spared, left to kill another day, left to take another one of your own when you didn't take one of theirs. Optimus had been criticized many a time for that lingering trace of softness around Megatron, the sort that made him falter, and let Megatron get the upper hand.

Soft, perhaps, is an insult to someone like him.

"I mean when you're with us," you blurt trying to remedy Optimus' spiraling thoughts. "You're soft with the kids and your team, I don't think that it's a bad thing to be kind to at least—"

"I don't think you're cold,"

"…What?"

He lifts a servo and as gently as he can manage, he brushes it against your stomach and chest. It still manages to knock you back a step, but once you lean into his touch, you find comfort in the tender motions

"You're warm,” he muses, optics trained intently on the the contact between his digit and your torso. “You're soft as well."

The laughter that bubbles up in your chest isn't meant to sound mocking, but you can't help but worry if it does. You've received many cold criticisms for the cruelty of your delight, even when you never intended to mock or harm. It makes you guarded, weary.

When you look at Optimus, all you see is his soft blue eyes, bright against the darkening sky, and the softest little curve of a smile upon his lips.

Soft. Warm. Tender. When he looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky, how could you describe him as anything else?

"I didn't mean it like that," you grouch instead. Averting your eyes back to the horizon where the sun had already long slipped down. The hues of orange and gold are the only traces of it left, and the darkness approaches with astounding speed.

It's cool, and soft and, tender. A welcome relief against the desert heat.

The night is nice as well, but not nearly as kind to you as the cool metal of his digit.

"I know." Optimus chuckles a little, his smile growing wider.

In the face of it you can't help but run through anything and everything you could do to keep the broad grin on his face, knowing it was a fleeting rarity amidst all of his hardships. You wish you had met under better circumstances. Even if he was still an archivist rather than a powerful faction leader selected by an alien god, you'd still want to be with him. Perhaps then, without the weight of two worlds resting on his shoulders, you could wring a smile from his face and keep it there for longer than an hour.

Inevitably it falters, and eventually it falls away. You don't know what had caused it, but it strikes a pain in your chest all the same.

"I meant... In the way you refer to me as soft as well," Optimus clarifies, once again shifting his digit to rub patterns against what little of you he could touch. "You're warm. You're kind and sweet and tender. You say I'm soft as if you aren't warm."

Your body decides to take his words as advice, as your cheeks and chest grow warm under Optimus' scrutiny. Once more delight burst across his face, and his digits curl around you, to allow his thumb to press a little firmer against your warm chest.

"So warm..." he hums, delighting in your embarrassment.

You try, and fail to tuck yourself away from his scrutiny. You could have done a better job at it, you know, but the chance to watch the liquid delight wash over his features is a moment you would never squander. So you let him grin and ridicule you in silence, the delight in his eyes, combining with a pillow-soft look, as you settle down in your half-hiding position leaning against his thumb.

"So... Soft," you reply.

Despite your whisper, you know Optimus can still pick up the soft sound of your voice, so keenly attuned to listening for you. Even then, you continue to hide halfheartedly, still taking the chance to watch Optimus laugh and still trying to hide the warm look that was surely growing on your face.

You didn't want it to be too easy for him to prove himself right, after all.

[revelboo]

I love your writing, do you think youll ever want to write for ratchet or bee again?

They’re both on my list to update along with TFP Soundwave!

The Weakends Pt 7

TFP Ratchet x Reader

• Sterilizing tools and putting them away, it’s the silence that snares him. Glancing over, he vents as he realizes you’re slumped over in an exhausted sleep against a container, arms and cheek still wet with energon. And he wonders if he’s asking too much of you, more than you can give. Not Cybertronian, but still willing to help without being asked. You hadn’t uttered a single complaint during the chaos, moving almost like you could read his mind, scrambling where he needs your little hands before he can give the order. Now in the lull after, his servos are trembling again and he hates it. He’s only one mech and there’s so many lives counting on him. If it hadn’t just been Bumblebee critically injured, he wouldn’t have been enough. He’s lost companions before, but there’s so few of them now and he can’t fail any of them. Dropping a tool when the shaking gets worse and swearing in Cybertronian, he hates this weakness. “When’s the last time you took a break, doc?” Glancing over at the husky question and that stupid nickname Wheeljack had bestowed upon him, he realizes the noise woke you and you’re staring at him. “And I mean longer than an hour or so.”

• Fully expecting him to get angry or indignant again at your question, you lay your cheek on an outstretched arm and just wait for the outburst. For him to go right back to the gruff medic act and insist he’s fine. Instead he runs a big hand over his helm, head tipping back. When he finally looks back over at you, that expression on his face isn’t one you’ve seen before. It’s real and vulnerable, locking the breath in your lungs as he reaches for you almost hesitantly. And you push to your tired feet to let him curl his servos around you, lift you to his frame. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbles, running a servo against your cheek that comes away smudged with energon. He’s just staring at the smudge like he’s frozen. Like it scares him.

• “Bedtime, doc,” you say, patting your hand on his servos curled around you. That little touch breaking him from the worry by giving him something else to focus on. You. Grabbing a cleaning cloth, he carefully wipes your arms down, aware of the almost smile on your lips as you let him. Because you know him well enough to know he needs to take care of everyone else. “Alright, hands are clean,” you finally protest with a yawn, laying your cheek on his servos as his spark thrums. He just means to carry you to the makeshift bed on a corner of his desk, but you curl an arm about one servo, sleepy eyes watching him. Like you know he’ll keep working as exhausted as he is. “Stay.” It’s a quiet request, an olive branch extended to him. And venting tiredly, he climbs on his berth with you. There’s still so much to do, but as he settles you on top of his chassis, a hand draped over you, those things can wait. Because he does need this. So much it hurts.

Previous

[my-writings-and-musings]

Oh, I have an idea for a Mermay! If you would like to write it: merformers Megatron being tangled in a net or something and the waves threw him on the beach and he can't go back to water. When the (gn) reader finds him he's scared that they will use his vulnerable moment to hurt him but they go like: "Wow! You're gorgeous! Oh! And you need my help!" And they help untangle him and roll him back to the sea. What do you think?

Absolutely! Mermay may have passed but I'll still be answering these asks because I'm slow, so don't worry if you left any but I haven't answered yet! Also feel free to leave more as it turns out I really like writing merbots!

Apologies for the low writing volume as of late, the hits just keep on coming, and with my area of the country taking wildfire smoke I swear thinking has never felt more difficult...

Megatron was certain he was done for.

He should have known his fate was sealed the moment the harpoon had pierced his side, especially with the weight of a powerful net dragging on his every move and tangling his limbs the more he struggled, but he'd dared to hope he had a chance after managing to swim away. It was only when exhaustion had allowed the waves to force him to shore, his colossal frame crashing against the rocks in a heap so tangled he was effectively immobilized, that he had accepted the inevitable. All the weary old mech could hope for now was to be finished off by the harpoon before he was discovered by those who'd wounded him.

Memories of a long, violent life played before his optics as the waters receded and the stars began to fade with the arrival of the day, the cries of seagulls growing louder as they woke to feed and curiously circled overhead. It wasn't the end he'd wanted, but it also didn't surprise him in the slightest. He'd never been able to find peace, as the scars across his frame could attest, so he could have predicted his spark extinguishing under such painful circumstances. Perhaps the Allspark would finally allow him to rest...

He was so exhausted he barely heard the soft patter of bare feet approaching over stone and sand. 

You had been hoping to find treasures from the sea along the rocky shore when you'd woken up well before the crack of dawn, but as you approached the massive unknown thing that had washed up overnight, you couldn't have prepared for what greeted the beam from your flashlight. Silver armor tangled within the heaviest netting you'd ever seen was all you could make out at first, but more careful observations revealed a fluke the size of a large tree trunk, atop which you found a massive metal torso with its limbs bound at the front. Your heart hammered as you approached despite your better judgment, some unspeakable instinct telling you that the being before you was in a great deal of pain. You realized you were beholding a real live Thalassicon the moment your light found his face and he opened a pair of brilliant red optics, their pale iris constricting then dilating as they focused on your eyes. Fear reflected between the both of you in equal measure.

When he returned to his prone position as if to surrender without a fight, you caught a wince of pain and a pink glow along his side, which brought your eyes and the flashlight beam to a massive harpoon jutting from behind his arm. Instinctive concern welled up within you, and the haggard breaths from his vents made you certain he was enduring a great deal of agony despite his calm appearance. No amount of common sense could compel you to leave anyone to so much suffering. Coming round to his head, you aimed the flashlight to the ground so as not to strain his optics. 

"Do you... need help?" you asked uncertainly, not sure how to better phrase the question. 

He looked back at you, making a sound like a strained scoff of disbelief. His voice rumbled like a heavy wave rolling over a rocky shore as he rested his helm against the stone. "Would it matter if I did?"

"I... think so? Because I can probably help you out a bit." you said, getting a bit more of a hold over yourself. It seemed likely that you could help him escape the net, but you were going to need him to work with you, and even if he'd given up you weren't about to just let him die. Loving the ocean extended to everything living within, and that included Thalassicons, as alien to the planet as they may have been. Reaching for the tiny toolkit you kept in your bag, you were surprised when the production of a small knife made the mech tense in alarm.

"Why are you here? Are more of you coming?" he asked with his full attention on the little blade. It wasn't enough to do more than cause him a minor bit of harm, but as he'd already endured plenty of that, he had no interest in letting blind trust cost him an optic. You seemed surprised and confused by the question, which ironically made him trust that you weren't planning any harm. Humans had never bothered to feign kindness for him anyway.

"There might be more people coming once the sun actually comes up, but I tend to be the only one up this early." you explained, trying to answer the question as best you could. The answer made him tilt his helm and raise a brow, compelling you to elaborate further. "Now's the best time to collect shells. The tide is going out, but no one else is up yet. Anyway, I just got this knife, let me see if it's sharp enough to cut you free."

"You're very trusting. Are you not afraid of my kind?" he asked before you could begin, giving you a bit of pause. The whole situation was odd, but you were quite perplexed as to why this very obviously struggling bot would try so hard to convince you not to help him. It only made you all the more determined to help, but it seemed you would need to convince him not only of your intentions, but to work with you to save himself. 

"I've never actually met a Thalassicon before, but you all don't seem to start fights with humans most of the time." you said as you put the flashlight down and aimed it over where you'd be working. Dropping to your knees but keeping a final foot of space between you both, you held up your tiny knife and gestured to his tangled limbs, certain you could work at least one free with enough cutting. "If I help you get your arms free, can you pull yourself out of this net?"

Still burnt out on hope, Megatron didn't dare to believe he was really getting out of this situation, but decided he had nothing better to do than play along. Even if you were some kind of government agent playing a long game, it was more interesting to see what your plan was than to wait to bleed to death. Flexing his arms to test the net's resistance, he found them folded against his front but otherwise unharmed, and while he was incapable of reaching the harpoon he had no doubt he could untangle himself if even one limb was freed. "Possibly." he conceded, remaining limp so that you could work.

"Worth a try, then." you said with a bit of inflated confidence, still unable to believe what you had gotten yourself into. Biting your lip and committing to your desire to help, you grabbed a random section of net and began to cut. Straight away you found progress to be definite but slow, the sharp blade taking its sweet time to carve through the reinforced material even as you pushed the sharpened edge down with all of your strength. "Ugh, this might take a second, these are some seriously thick ropes."

"Take all the time you need, I'm certainly not going anywhere." he replied with a sarcastic flop of his fluke against the stones, emphasizing his lack of options. You'd have possibly found it funny were you not carving through the stubborn netting with all of your strength, jaw set tight and brows furrowed in deep concentration as you looked for possible shortcuts. It wasn't like you had all the time in the world to cut him loose. The sun would soon be peeking over the horizon, and when it did you had no doubt that other humans would be coming to the beach, some of whom you couldn't trust not to sound the alarm. Many members of your species looked on his with open fear and boundless hostility.

"Hold on, if I'm able to tear this one... ouch!" you hissed as the knife nicked your palm, compelling on you to suck at the little cut before getting back to work. Your lack of hesitation to push on surprised him even more than your initial offer of aid, and for the first time he dared to believe you might be genuine in your desire to help. He could already feel his arm gaining wiggle room with every sliced rope, the heavy weight around his limbs needing only a little bit more of a reduction before he was confident his strength would prove sufficient to break free. Sweat had begun to bead on your forehead when you gave a growl of frustration and sliced through two more holes to free his arm. "Just one second, I've almost got it... there! Can you help me work your arm out?"

"Yes, one moment." he said, barely hiding the anticipation he couldn't suppress. Still mostly immobilized, he tried to work his arm free with a shift of his shoulders, only to receive a lightning bolt of pain as the harpoon was jostled by the movement. Roaring in agony, he went limp save for a full body shudder of pain, fresh energon flowing down his side. 

You jumped to help but pulled back when he hissed in instinctive fear, vents coming in hard and fast before the initial burst of pain began to fade and he calmed down. Looking around for potential witnesses with growing concern for the lack of time, you finally settled on the only thing you had resembling a plan, ignoring every bit of common sense you had saying it was a bad idea. "Would it help if that thing came out first?"

"It... it might. But I cannot reach it." he said weakly, once more feeling the urge to lie limp and allow fate to claim him. You'd proven an interesting diversion from his demise, but it was physically impossible for him to free himself. Between the restraint and the agony he felt when trying to move, there was nothing his great strength could do for him, and the steady flow of energon from his wound was taking even that away. Self repair couldn't initiate with the offending projectile still lodged under his armor.

"How deep is it? If it doesn't need too much of a pull, I can probably take it out." you offered, self preservation briefly taking a backseat to concern. It wasn't fair for anyone to suffer like this, and despite the danger you felt compelled to do whatever a squishy human body could to help. The Thalassicon stiffened at the suggestion, compelling you to drop to your knees and talk face to face to convince him you meant no harm. This wasn't something you could attempt without his full cooperation. "Do you trust me to do that?"

Megatron was silent as he eyed you up and down, looking for signs of the betrayal he'd been certain was coming but finding only earnest desperation in your face. It would be foolish to take you up on your offer considering his history with your kind, but with the harpoon scraping his insides during every ventilation, he was compelled once more to accept out of a lack of alternate options. All you could really do was help him, or end him that much quicker. 

"I cannot leave while it's there, I suppose I have little choice." he muttered bitterly, distrust coloring every word to make it apparent this wasn't a choice he enjoyed. It wasn't an enthusiastic assent, but you took it regardless, stepping back to try and figure out how to best approach the problem when the mech spoke up with far more force. A piercing look from his bright red optics made you flinch with each harsh syllable. "Just be quick about it, and know I will take you with me if you get any ideas."

"Okay. Fair enough. I'll climb on up, just hang tight." you conceded quickly, hands up in a brief gesture of surrender to show you understood. One thrash of his massive tail could easily turn you to paste, so you were equally serious in your promise not to try anything unexpected. Fully aware of his optics watching your every move, you climbed up his shoulder by using the net as a makeshift climbing aid and his armor as handholds, following the trail of bleeding energon until you arrived at his back.

When you stood up to face the harpoon for inspection, you were shocked to find it jutting out as far as you were tall, the heavy metal gleaming even in the darkness as if it was smelted from something unnatural. Ignoring the chill the weapon created in your gut, you angled your phone light to try and get a better idea of how to proceed. The sight of the ragged wound torn into his armor made you flinch in sympathy, and even without medical experience you could tell it had been yanked about as the mech had struggled against his attempted captors. The painful site left you stumped until you realized the roughness of the wound would actually work in your favor. Struggling hadn't just moved the harpoon, it had pulled it most of the way out, far enough that you were confident in your ability to pull it the rest of the way.

"I'll try to remove it as fast as I can, I'm sorry if this hurts." you said as you grabbed the frigid piece of metal, hoping you sounded confident just for his sake. All of him stiffened beneath you, but he made no further movements, remaining silent as you secured your grip and set your feet. 

"Okay. Here I go!" you announced as you sucked in a breath, clenching your shoulders before you pulled with all of your might. At first you felt nothing but his tremble of pain, which compelled you to square your jaw and lean backwards so your weight could assist, every ounce of your willpower pouring itself into the task at hand. After a few unproductive moments the harpoon slid an inch upwards, compelling you to double down until your knuckles paled and veins throbbed along your skin. The Thalassicon hissed when you felt something under the surface give way, and the weapon popped free of the wound in a single motion that sent you toppling backwards just as the mech arched his frame and roared in pain.

Soft sand met your back as you were thrown clear, the harpoon clattering over the stones as you sat up in a daze to find the mech tearing from the net and standing upright on his tail as he shredded the restraints with a growl and tossed the remains aside. The sudden show of motion was reassuring, but the sight of fresh energon running down his side made you fear you'd only made the situation much worse. "It's bleeding, did I make it worse?!"

Your words seemed to surprise him, almost as if he'd forgotten you were there in the rush, but he turned and gingerly probed the wound with much more freedom of movement than he'd had before. "No... It will clear itself and then my self repair will begin..." he explained, relaxing his mighty shoulders as the fact he'd be okay settled over you both. Now able to see the full extent of his size and strength, you felt even smaller as he dropped back down onto his front to speak to you, expression softening in relief and gratitude as he met your gaze. "Thank you. I would not have survived if that remained in my hide."

"Don't mention it." you replied breathlessly, surprising him once more as you made no attempt to request a reward for your services. Rather, you looked at him with concern, your eyes lingering on his injuries as you picked yourself up off the sand. "Are you... good to go? The beach will probably start to see its first visitors before long."

"I can see myself off. For your own sake, it is best you pretend we didn't meet." he answered quickly, pushing himself along the rocks until he came to the edge. For all of his desire to know more about the most peculiar human he'd ever met, it was better for both of you if he cleared out quickly. There was no telling what his attempted captors would do to those who aided him, and you didn't seem like the type to leave well enough alone even if your life was on the line. Knowing that didn't stop him from hesitating as he planned the best way to drop into the dark water below.

"Oh... okay." you said, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. You'd come to the beach with the intention of finding some beautiful sea life, and while you'd succeeded, it was still hard to accept this one wouldn't be coming home with you. Unwilling to let him go straight away, you stalled with another glance at his injuries, hoping that even if you didn't see him again you would know he was safe out there. "Are you sure you're okay? That looks really bad."

"I have endured far worse, it will heal." he promised, already planning to seek out the deep sea supplies he knew would help him heal. Compared to what he'd suffered before at the hands of humans and bots alike, this was nothing now that he had the freedom to move and swim. The news made you smile, and his spark was so softened by your continued compassion he couldn't bear to leave without some show of gratitude. "Before I leave, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Megatron."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." you replied eagerly, wishing the first tendrils of the sunrise shining over the ocean would give you just a few more minutes. Unable to think of all you wanted to say, you ignored the hurt in your heart to bid him farewell, putting your wishes into words so they might come true. "I hope I can see you again sometime, under better circumstances."

"Perhaps, if fate allows. It would not be in your best interest, however." he replied much more sagely, swinging his tail over the edge but holding on with his upper arms. In the moments before he descended further, the position allowed the two of you to come face to face once more, and it was his turn to smile fondly as you bid him farewell.

"I don't really mind. Safe travels, Megatron."

[haztory]

[fairytales: fathoms below]

⤷ john price x f!reader; fairytales!au, mermaid!reader, no warnings!

⤷ summary: a series imagining each of the cod men in fantasy/fairytale settings.

(w.c: 3.2k)

captain john price - the little mermaid 

Deep brown oak lays a steady foundation for the billowing ivory cotton. It is a formidable beast, splitting the current with a wicked ferocity that only further emboldens everything your sisters have said in the privacy of hidden corners and muttered breaths. This monster is a fearsome one, its force unparalleled. Something entirely different than what you have seen before.

Mind your distance, your eldest sister had spoken in between the echoing bellows of your father’s rampage as he raged and roared about the increased presence of the fiend in the seas. It is a frightening being. 

Yet, as you peek above the waves to peer at its high fixtures and its grand weight gliding across the water, you’re less inclined to be scared of the vessel and more curious about who could have made such a thing. Your sister’s words and your father’s fear are quickly things of the past, rendered outdated almost instantaneously beneath its shadow.

What could they know about the intent of such a thing with certainty when they themselves have never been as close as this before? If they had, surely they’d feel the same as you do now.

The ship rocks with a force equal to the volume of the men steering it. They are of varying shapes and sizes, loud as they shout at one another along the choppy water. Words you can only catch on whispering winds, syllables and sounds that are completely foreign as you try to repeat them to yourself. A pulse echoes within you, a ferocious beating of your heart that begs you to get closer, to let the curiosity that surges within you seize its grand moment. If only just to see, just to hear. 

It is one thing to see the ancestors of this magnificent watercraft on the seafloor—to play in its cracked beams and chase your sisters through the wreckage, imagining in secret what an image it would be were it fixed and afloat—but it is something entirely different to see the beast alive. 

To see it be tamed, made nothing more than a tool to be beckoned— by him.

He stands commanding on the helm, the gruffness of his voice carrying on the winds, crossing the distances to you. The men follow his calls, responding in time to his orders and moving with preciseness on the vessel, not entirely unlike your father’s guards. They are seasoned, well learned, and they follow him without question. It is truly a sight to behold, but him, he trumps it all. 

His figure is distinguishable even from afar. You’ve been able to make him out even as you trailed a couple hundred kilometers behind, curiosity consuming all reason as you followed the ship past neighboring reefs and exiting well beyond the boundaries of your father’s kingdom. He’s well cut and corded, muscle visible even if the white of his shirt didn’t stick to his skin—wet from the seawater. 

He’s wide in the shoulders, tall and lean, before it tapers down to a narrow waist; His bottom half is obscured by a dark fabric, which must be the object of your father’s frequent cursing. Legs. You’ve never seen them before, much less two of them. 

Still, his… abnormality hardly detracts from the verboten truth—your eye is caught. It hardly deviates from his powerful stance; Your gaze can wander across the bridge of the ship to the working crew, but it ends up inevitably circling back to him. Drawn into the vortex of him, water rushing, pulling and pushing, and the pang of longing that you have long held quiet finds its strength.

It tastes of wonder and the desperation to escape; To leave behind the home that you know, all that has created you, for the realization that there’s more.

You leave behind the ship before you risk the chance of it seeing you, but the appetite of fascination is hardly appeased. It becomes the bad habit. The ships are wondrous things, but you find out rather quickly that when he is at the helm, that is truly when your heart leaps and you trail even closer to its hull, eager for a sight. 

It goes this way for forty rises and sets, your eyes held on the horizon for the familiar sight of the wooden ship’s sigil and its master. 

Today, he is seen on the day of the great storm. 

The sky sits in a violent gray, lightning spreading its branches as they flare across the clouds. The air smells of the impending storm as the seas grow rougher and with it the ship rocks unsteadily—the waves beating against wood, climbing up its ridges higher each time it strikes against its side, as if it were begging to climb aboard. Despite the mayhem, he stays sharp, pointing direction from the helm and eventually leaving it to the charge of someone else when he decides to help directly. Grabbing rope and throwing it around the masts, clapping others on the back, Keep going, boys! shouting from his mouth.

You see it before they do. A crack that widens in the undercarriage of the ship, beaten open as the waves ram against it, water rushing in. You want to shout, tell them to look, but they realize it soon enough. One of the shipmates peers over the edge of the ship before turning back and shouting,

“She’s goin’ to sink, Captain!”

The Captain—finally a name to the face, one that you roll around in your mind as your eyes track his every movement; Captain, captain, captain.— moves quickly, foregoing the lugging of a rope and saying something that forces all men to divert attention elsewhere. It’s a flurry of movement from there, the men gathering supplies, hauling smaller wooden vessels by rope and filling them in a quick frenzy. Abandoning the ship. 

It’s difficult as wind and rain pellet them, obscuring vision and keeping them unsteady as they attempt to save themselves. The first lifeboat hits the sea viciously, the waves almost capsizing the vessel as they meet its surface. You don’t mean to interfere—you know you shouldn’t— but they’re terrified, and risk drowning, and you’re much more worried about them dying than you are yourself, so you swim to them; Grab the bottom of the boat and pull with as much strength as your arms and tail can muster and haul them away from the immediate danger of the turbulent waves split by the sinking ship. 

The pulley breaks when the next boat tries to descend, hitting the surface unceremoniously, but the men make it to the water.  Two wooden boats buoy a safe distance away from the main ship and the crew sits, thankfully, unharmed as they look towards their Captain, beckoning him to jump. He stands at the edge of the great being, a monolith of a man overseeing the wreckage of his great accomplishment. He must be bidding it goodbye, because he then turns, ready to jump, fortified in that decision as he realizes that all of his men are safe and it is now his turn. 

Wind turns threatening and the air ignites with a charge that speaks of impending doom. It is then that lightning strikes the mast, sparking a loud blast. It singes the wooden pillar, immediately exploding it into a shattering of pieces. The detonation’s impact pushes him off the edge, the Captain’s body hurdling over one-hundred feet. 

Your scream is hidden by the shouts of his own men. His body hits the surface of the water, plunging into the depths as the violent waves hurtle him below. 

There is no hesitation, a choice made without conscious thought. You curl beneath the cresting of a wave and immediately sink into the depth in search for him. It is significantly easier to swim beneath the hurtling waves than atop of them, pressure equalizing against your body. You glide within the water, pushing straightforwardly to the spot where his body met water. 

Your heart pounds in fear. Even if you reach him—no, when you reach him— there is no guarantee of his survival. There must be some kind of injury from falling that kind of distance, or so you would imagine. Being sucked into vortexes does all kinds of damage to merfolk, it must be of equal balance for humans. And even if by some miracle he does survive impact, humans cannot breathe under the water like you can. He must have swallowed some water, is that dangerous for him? How much can he swallow? What do you do if he has swallowed too much?

Thoughts hurtle and tumble in fast succession, but your body moves faster. Crossing the distance between your position next to the lifeboats to the spot of impact at a speed that has never before been demanded of you. Your lungs burning, your mind aching, your heart hurting with worry for a man that you do not yet know. A man that, for all you have been told, could kill you. A man whose kind has hunted yours down for sport, strung your people up for decoration. 

You should not care for this man, have been warned not to, and yet the relief you feel when you find him are the blessings from the forces of the heavens and earth. 

He’s sinking, unconsciously. His eyes closed, body suspended to the whims of the tides as they pull him down. Nearing him reveals that he is much larger than you had anticipated but it means nothing in the rapid pump of adrenaline. Hooking your arms underneath his, his back to your chest, you haul with great might. Lugging his weight with a grunt to the surface, just to get him to breathe again. 

Breaching the surface exposes you to the pellets of the ferocious rain, but it matters not. Your eyes set for direction, your head turning frantically in search of a marker, a sight, something to reveal where you are— where you can take him for safety. The lifeboats have been taken far away by the tumbling tides and the ship that was once so marvelous now roars with a fire aboard its surface. 

You have no idea where to go. You have no idea what to do. 

But the Captain is held tightly in your arms, his head rolling lifelessly on your shoulder. A quick placement of your fingers on his neck reveals a pulsing heart and while it hardly solves any of your problems, it’s all you need to do as you have always done and swim. Somewhere, anywhere. 

So, you do. 

South, in search of sanctuary.

It comes faster than you had thought it would. The shallowing of waters after an hour long haul of both he and you bleeds a hope in your soul that pushed you forward until it came into sight. A cove. Away from the large strip of land that surrounds it, remote enough to deposit him without being seen, but close enough to civilization for him to find a way home. Wherever home may be for him.

Your body is exhausted, the muscles in your tail cramping and spasming from the sheer burden of his weight on yours but you don’t stop. Even as you can touch sand with your hands, even as the movement of waves can carry you the distance to the shore— you don’t stop until he is safe. On land. 

Hauling him out of the water and onto the flattening surface of the beach is surely the worst part. Dragging him a safe distance from the water that was able to ease the pressure of his full weight on you to now being on the surface where his body seems to weigh even more, your arms trembling from trying to pull him further up on the coast, is misery. But you do it, with some herculean effort that has never been introduced to you before. 

He lays on land, supine on his back, finally safe. The rain has stopped, the sky turning from the harsh gray of before to a smattering of thickened clouds that finally allow the sun to bleed through. 

You fall beside him in exhaustion. Ragged breaths heaving your chest, your tail grateful for the much needed rest. The swim home will be significantly easier (and faster) without the man in your arms, but such a trek is daunting when physical debility renders you useless. 

But you must go, before he sees you. You have done what you needed to, you have brought him to land, and while you don’t know how to save him, or if you need to, you know his heart still beats. And that is enough to make a job well done. Rather, it should be enough to grant you dismissal.

And yet, you linger. Unable to part, waiting. Watching. You shouldn’t, and still you cannot help yourself. 

You sit up and lean over him, curious to spare him another look. 

Laid beneath you, the truth repeats like a broken mantra in your head. It is a sin of the highest offense to touch him. Being near him like this is a crime itself. But, there is an ache in your fingers that urges you forward and the desire to know eats away at you, until you blink and suddenly, your fingers are tracing the length of his strong nose.

A straight bridge, freckled with color. Your fingers move in a fixed trance, trailing across the soft of his cheek until it reaches the jagged meeting line where skin becomes obscured with hair. You feel the coarseness of his beard, trace the pads of your fingertips down the thick and long hairs. The men at home have hair on their faces, your own father does, but it doesn’t feel like this. So coarse, so rough, prickling against the tips of your fingers. Not made silk by the submergence in water, but thick and apparent. 

You don’t dislike it. At least, you don’t think you do, your fingers smoothing down the expanse of his cheek. Up and down, over and over. Feeling the vitality of this human life.  

You don’t feel the same repulsion that your father does whenever mention of the humans is made near him, nor do you feel the same fear that your sisters have at the mere thought of them. You’re drawn closer, if anything. Curious to know more. 

Wondering what would happen if he opened his eyes.

He has a nose, two ears, and a gentle prodding of his lips reveals a full set of teeth. They’re not sharpened in fangs ready to rip your throat (a rumor circulating through the schools of children) nor are they laid in multiple jagged rows (a preach hailed truth by your father). Instead, just a set of hard bones, the same as yours. He has two eyes that you don’t dare try and see the color of, and a full head of thick brown hair.

For all intents and purposes, he looks like you. The same features, the same design.

Your fingers trail downward, below the thick of his beard and down the column of his strong neck. His shirt is soaked and stuck to his skin, stretched to reveal even more tufts of thick hair on his chest. That is new to you. The men at home don’t have hair on their chest much less a kind so thick. They’re smooth, and if you thread your fingers through it in wonder, it will be a secret you take back to the sea with you.

Maybe the gods made you more similar than different. From where you sit beside him, the only obvious difference lies below. Two long limbs that hold flat appendages at the end. Feet, separated with what you can only imagine are toes. Ten of them on each one. 

Maybe in his creation there was an image of you. A curiosity that was sated by the division of a tail into legs, but otherwise remains the same. Two beings sent to their respective homes and yet destined to intertwine. It must be, otherwise these unexplainable feelings that brew within you have no source other than sheer madness. 

A kind of madness that finds you sitting beside him, staring in lingering awe at the marvels of danger.

You don’t know how long you stay there for, trailing your fingers over him. Finding them studying the feel of his skin and somehow always returning back to his neck, feeling the pulsing of his heart as reassurance. But, a long look to the horizon reveals that the sun is beginning to set and you know then that much time has passed. The sky turns to a burnt orange and the warning to return home beats within your mind. It is unwanted, but you know that you can no longer stay here with the man. Soon your father will suspect something amiss and send guards to find you. While you don’t doubt the capabilities of the human, there’s no guarantee he will be able to defend himself against the royal guards of the palace, especially in his weakened state. (There is no telling what he could do to you if he awakens in this state.)  

So you will leave him with the hope that he will wake soon, that he will recuperate enough to pull himself from the sand and walk the short distance back to the mainland. That your efforts were timely and he is able to make his way home. 

You will leave him and hope that maybe, he will come back to the cove in search of you. You will leave him and hope that maybe he will see you waiting for him in the water.

With a sigh, you turn your head back to his face. To look at him once more before you go.

Eyes as blue as the sea you pulled him from, meet yours. You gasp, jolting backwards in shock and he—the Captain, alive and awake— blinks slowly.

“You’re real.” He croaks, his voice hoarse. It still holds the same gruffness that you heard on the ship, the commandeering tone and hefty weight, but in the closeness it is twinged with gentleness. No longer addressing men at his command, but you. A softness mirrored in tone and gaze as he, for the first time, sees you. 

His hand reaches up and you hold still in fear. The conditioning of your father’s paranoia rears its head; Is this where his strength is exhibited? In the calloused palm of his that is larger

than your own? Is this where he decides to lay waste to you in a manner your father is so convinced that humans possess? 

Instead, his hand raises to your face, fingertips slowly brushing a fallen strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is light on your skin, brushing against the curve of your ear before trailing downward and across your cheek. Warm and soft, he stares a seriousness into you as though the only thing he intends to do in that moment is commit you to memory. 

You fall into his touch with little convincing. His skin melding to your own, as though it were meant to be there. 

“I thought you a dream.” 

You shake your head slightly. His eyes dart across your face before moving downward. Surveying you before spotting the obvious truth.

“Mermaid.” He chokes out, in reverence. His stare does not falter and his face does not scrunch upward in disgust. He looks at you much like you have always looked at him. 

Adoration disguised in the innocence of curiosity. 

“You saved me,” He says. “Thank you.”

a.n: i blame my visit to disney world for this idea. the thoughts of john price soaking wet is irresistible, and i aint sorry for it!!

simon is next :)

[crying-fantasies]

First time

Masterlist

Featuring G1 Springer, smut/fluff, CW: virginity take, penetrative sex, fingering (attempted), handjob, experienced partner (not really), sassy friend (in this house we stand a sassy Arcee).

He shouldn't even think about it.

Really shouldn't, couldn't, but here he is, trying as hard as possible to not blow a gasket by your moans, your little cries of ecstasy, pain long gone.

You told him that after everything was said and done, you would never have eyes for your kind but he would like to say the same thing back at you if only his box wasn't already a glitching mess, pedes almost kicking fruitlessly to give more strength to his rocking pace.

He shouldn't have even thought of you in that way, but it was so intoxicating, making him remember the time when he couldn't look at you directly before acting like nothing happened.

If anyone knew, the embarrassment could never leave him, everyone he knew would nudge him, make fun of him, vowing to never let him live it down.

As he feared, they didn't leave him alone once the longing peeks at you were too many to don't notice, his destiny was sealed when, after seeing you for a second, he returned his sight to his team, they all had a slag-eating grin on their faceplates.

It was over before he could escape them, Roadbuster was the first to capture him and let the others have fun at his expense.

“Springer is finally living a little”

“Told you he wasn't into mechs or femmes”

“At least it is a living thing”

None of them showed real interest in the fact you were organic or the fact you were looking at them like some circus show because you've seen The Wreckers being highly valuable soldiers, consider them in high esteem, Springer did everything in his power to make sure of it, but now they were playing like human children while goading one of their youngest, pointing at you without an ounce of real care to the mortification Springer was going into when you connected the dots just then and there.

Talk about messed up.

The only way to enlighten his sour mood that day was when you mentioned something about a gasoline station near the base, where a soda bar was also running a business, Springer had to close his intake, opened by the surprise, and take his opportunity before Hot Rod tried to take it away from him.

Organics, he got to learn, loved too fast, something that could make any mech uncomfortable to some degree, it made him feel uneasy too, at first, it was to be expected, sure, too fast for him was too slow for you, it took him a very hot cycle to notice you wanted to put your little mouth over his derma, telling him that it has already been a year and all you two did was hold hands, talk, but no “kiz”, whatever that was, you said it was fine by you, but you still wanted to share something called “kiz” with him; humans loved too fast, Springer realized once again when he got near your level by almost sprawling himself on the floor of his habsuit, letting your hands drag over his helm and audio receptors to let you go at it, once you got near enough, once you did what you wanted to him, he found hard to stop his revving engines or his wandering servos.

Humans love too fast, but he soon realized that just as you loved too fast you also loved too intensely.

Springer realized, too late to his horror, that it wasn't that you loved too fast, it was that you didn't have the same time as him, and he noticed it once he witnessed your cells perish to give place to new ones, you looked different, your eyes still held that pretty shine in them that seemed to reflect what he felt for you right back at him.

It got him, and an endless wave of desperation started to burn inside his spark.

Springer was no organic specialist and he didn't have to be the brightest mind, it was draining to some degree, to ask him to rescue a bot from a whole base of deceptions and he'd do so without a leak, but trying to choose the correct words for trying to cover more space, regain time wasted on his own mistakes, he wanted to experience all he could, was it something wrong? or he should just live in the moment and go at your pace?

Is there- is there a possibility of never having that lost time back?

The idea shouldn't even pass over his processor but here he is, hearing your ragged breathing, looking straight into those eyes that reflect him like any other body of water, he can see the reflection of his optics in your eyes, how bright they are, how candid his spark sings and exudes energy when your hands guide his digits under the fabric of your clothes, the sound you made make him groan in your mouth.

Still, not even before the idea of touching under your fabric coverings was valid, and it keeps dragging on him like a sentence soon to be punished.

Frag, Kup taught him better than this, Springer could almost hear him: “Ya goin’ straight to the last race? Think about the poor, young lad and behave like a gentlemech! What's that helm of yours good for if you're only thinkin’ with your array?!”

But kissing, not “kiz”, is good, it feels great, and he can feel his valve coil at the way your lips move over his upper derma, your little tongue poking here and there, your hair flies around with the hot air coming from his chassis inner fans and it has you laughing in bliss, Springer tries to kiss you again, derma touching just right and he can feel your blood flowing under the skin of your neck, body almost going limp if not for his servo holding you against his affection, something seems to ignite on your mind, “okay, that's it”.

Springer needs a moment to lick the saltiness away, shuddering while doing so, opening his optics to a decent level once your words finally settle in and he looks back at you, “What’s what?”

He has very little time to be confused when he notices the lack of your upper covers.

Feels like his fuel pump falls and then goes up to his intake before he has words to say, “Woah! Woah!” his digits stop you from getting rid of your lower ones, “What is- what are you doing?”

Did he say the wrong thing? You look hurt, “oh, oh right, maybe you guys don't- I get it, sorry if I got strange” You started to go on and on, and took him a moment to put a digit over your little, delightful mouth, “Springer?”

“Aw love, it's not that, not at all”

Was it atypical to teach you about a mech’s array? Of course, it was, especially still feeling the gush of fluid on his valve and the strain over his spike, good thing you were too engrossed in his explanation to hear it painfully grind under his modesty panel, your eyes showed your emotions bare, your reactions showing sincerity.

Didn't take much to figure out that you already knew a little bit of what he was trying to explain, and that gave way to who had the bearings to tell you about it without fearing Ultra Magnus and a very possible retake on the Autobot code.

“Oh, so that's what the guys meant about breaking seals”

“What?”

“Well, I guess you too have a slang similar to “popping the cherry” or-”

“No, no, who told you about that?”, your eyes go to the corner of the room, “Roadbuster? Sandstorm?Whirl?” your head perked up, “it was Whirl, ain't it? Your eyes got back to him, ugh, when he gets out of here, he swears.

“Just to let you know”, your hand is holding his digits again, placing them over your beat in heart, “I'm fully aware of what is to come, and I do want you to break my seal”, you show yourself, confident and proud, enough to make him weak, “and I know you have a mass displacement mode”.

Springer wanted to scream, “Did Whirl tell you that too? That fragger” but chose to go for another thing, “Not that I don't want to but-” It’s not a great deal for his race, but it sure is for yours, he has seen the TV and every time it has been mentioned all bets are placed on it being lost or preserved, “are you sure, like, totally?”

You laughed again, very low, to preserve his dignity, “Who are you, and what you did do to my confident soldier?”

Your laugh gives him all confidence back, “I'm the same bot as always, Sweetspark, just wanted to be certain”.

It was slow, trying to figure out where things went once he was at a decent size, Springer noticed your interest in the transformation seams of his array once he let you go wild around it, “Have you done it before?” your fingers were warping around the base of his spike, bumping his anterior node, gaining a static laced “not in a while” with confidence, you hummed, pumping your hand, enough to have transfluid running down, “okay” he tried to catch his bearings for a moment, Primus, you were soft, there was nothing comparable, the base of your hand touched the red button and his valve covering gave up, your eyes went to see, your finger tried to enter but he stopped you, “Woah, hold it, Hot stuff, not sure if my valve won't break your little fingers”

“Oh, but you can put yours in mine, really fair”

Springer felt giddy, pushing his forehelm against your little head, sure grinning like he got a few lose circuits, “If anything, I think yours will break my sanity first”

He was trying to joke, turns out, it was plain reality.

Does it still count as much when there is only such a short time to bask in the passion of your life, in the warmth of your embrace as he stills and feels your hands, your nails, trying to get him as close as possible, it’s intimate, it's suffocating, but in a good way, your valve moves, not like the calipers, it's the muscles, moving like waves, compressing him, pushing all his sensor nods precisely, dragging him in for all his worth till his base pushes to the limit, you have no gestational chamber (or you do?) but something is pushing just right at the tip, makes his optics power out and on repeatedly, you fare no better, there is no longer pain but hunger, hips shifting to create more friction, chanting his designation like a prayer.

Primus, you know how to make a mech feel important, you sure did, as your legs pressed him with all your force, metal digging into your flesh, a sight to behold, engraved to his very core memory.

Later on, when he got up to get you some water, he found Arcee on the way to fetch it, she smiled and he returned the gesture, she almost sang, “Lucky you”, Springer stopped at the second, looking back at her, who had a knowing smile, “told you the mass displacement mode was going to be useful in more than one way, just a bit of information and you both were ready to go, am I right?”

She chuckled like it was nothing, walking away gracefully, leaving him speechless in the hallway.

.

Ah, Arcee being the best femme friend of Springer since the G1 days, always helping him out (she was sick of the two dancing around each other and only holding hands for a whole year).

@tf-kinktober2024

[7-wonders]

what if jessamy lived and matthew was brought in by lucienne as extra help and matthew gets a little crush on jessamy and you notice how matthew seems to be strutting around a lot, his feathers are shiny and he always puffs out his little birdy chest when ever jessamy calls him handsome and theres something that seems familiar but you can't quite place it

until you call morpheus gorgeous when you see him in a new outfit and he somehow seems a little taller, his hair is extra fluffy and he has whatever the dream lords equivalent of a spring in his step is

When Morpheus finally freed himself from his captivity, Lucienne had been faced with a decision to make. Her Lord was determined to find his missing tools immediately, never mind the fact that he was still weak and without any sort of help. While she couldn't do anything about the first part, she could certainly assist with the second. Though Morpheus didn't approve (he was still traumatized by the death of Jessamy, but he would never admit it to anybody, least of all himself), he begrudgingly allowed this new raven, Matthew, to travel with him to Hell.

Imagine their surprise when Lucifer revealed they had taken Jessamy's soul for their own in the hopes that they could use it as a bargaining chip with the Lord of Dreams. This was unacceptable, and so a wager had been made. If Morpheus won The Oldest Game, he got his helm...and Jessamy. If Morpheus lost, then the demon Choronzon got...him.

Thankfully, the former had been the outcome, and Morpheus left Hell with his helm and one more raven than he entered with. But to say there had been some growing pains as the two Ravens of the Dreaming adjusted to both being the Ravens of the Dreaming would be a gross understatement.

That was then though, and this is now. By the time you came into the picture, there were hardly any signs at all that there had been animosity between Matthew and Jessamy. They worked together in harmony now, the perfect team. One could even call them friends...even if Matthew maybe had feelings that were a little more than friendly.

You're in the library with your two feathered friends when Jessamy's head perks up, an obvious sign that Morpheus is summoning her via the mental link he has with his ravens.

"That's me, then." She sighs as though it's a chore to have to go attend to Morpheus, but you know how much she enjoys it. How much she enjoys every moment of her second (third, really) chance at life.

"Official raven business?" you ask.

"The most official." She stands and shakes her feathers out, but stops before taking flight. "Matthew?"

He looks at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Your feathers look nice today."

"Oh! I—uh, I flew through a waterfall this morning because I wanted to try something new. Wasn't sure if it would work out."

"It certainly did."

Matthew tries to stutter out an answer. You can hear Jessamy laugh as she swoops off to catch up to Morpheus. If Matthew could blush, you're sure he would be.

He's still staring after her minutes after she's gone, and you can't help your amused smile. "You okay?"

"Absolutely." He nods, his chest puffed out in pride. You stifle a laugh and replace it with a hum, pulling your book up past your face so he can't see just how well you believe him.

These instances, of Jessamy playfully flirting with a head over heels Matthew, are not rare. She enjoys doing it, and who knows? Maybe she feels the same. Their routine is rather sweet, actually, but you can't help the weird sense of deja vu you get when you watch those two dance around each other. You've seen this act before, but where?

The next time you and Jessamy are together, you're both in a position that you did not ever think you'd find yourself in: watching Dream of the Endless play fashion show.

Normally, Morpheus just conjures up whatever look that he wants without a second thought. He can change his appearance at a whim, even though he prefers sticking to his familiar, all-black wardrobe. But this week, he's hosting his siblings. All of them, save his wayward brother, are to be in the Dreaming at the same time for the first time in centuries (Morpheus can't say for certain how long it's been, which is how you know it's been a long time). A "conclave of the Endless," he called it.

Weird way to say you're having a family dinner, but whatever.

Though he'll never admit it, he's nervous. Nervous about his siblings being in his realm, nervous about how the Dreaming looks after having spent so long returning it to its former glory prior to his imprisonment, nervous about proving himself and his power once more. This dinner matters to him, and since you can't be there to support him—he refuses to possibly put you in harm's way and/or at the mercy of cunning and powerful beings who enjoy making mortals their playthings, which you appreciate immensely—he's trying desperately to control the few things that he can, including his outfit choice for the evening.

And there have been a lot of potential choices. Seriously, he's tried on so many outfits that you're starting to lose count. Coats and cloaks, robes and rubies, boots and blacks. It's a dizzying blur by now, and Morpheus looks as done as you feel. He's nothing if not relentless though, so the rigamarole shall continue.

He turns to face you when he's settled on a new choice, and you both look at his outfit with the discerning eye of a critic appraising a work of art. After a few moments, Jessamy, sitting on the back of your chair, is the one to speak up first.

"The collar does not suit you, my Lord."

His gaze goes to you, and the helplessness in his eyes almost makes you say that Jessamy's wrong and you like the look. You'd be lying, though, and you like to think that a core tenet of your relationship is honesty. With that in mind, you grimace and shake your head.

"She's right," you begrudgingly agree.

Huffing is an action that's below Morpheus. It's a very mortal thing to do, so naturally the Ruler of the Nightmare Realms does not huff. If he were to pretend to huff, though, the way that he abruptly turns back around and sighs heavily through his nose would be a very good impression. Your lips twitch when you glance at Jessamy out of the corner of your eye only to see her pulling the exact same move towards you, but you stay silent and go back to the watching and waiting game.

About three outfit changes later, something clicks, and you sit up in your chair in excitement. "Ooh, that's it!"

"You're right," Jessamy echoes your earlier words, only this time in a far more positive connotation.

Morpheus raises an elegant brow. "Elaborate, please."

"That's your outfit for tomorrow," you insist. "You're gorgeous, my love."

He stops fussing with his outfit and looks at you through the mirror. "You truly think so?"

"You look so handsome in that outfit. I mean, you're handsome all the time, but c'mon!" You grin, because how can you not? He's one of the most attractive men (-shaped beings, if one were to be picky) you've ever met in your life, and he's yours.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, as though attempting to detect any deceit from you, before inspecting his appearance one final time. With a nod and a very small, very self-satisfied smile, he says, "Then I shall wear this tomorrow."

"Perfect." Next to you, Jessamy sighs in relief, and you shoot her a furtive thumbs-up for a job well done.

Since your part in ensuring Morpheus has a successful dinner is complete, you leave the Dreaming hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. What this means is that you're expecting to fall asleep the day after the dinner is scheduled and walk into the worst hurricane that would ever be recorded were it in the Waking. Morpheus likes to act like he has no emotions, but the reality is quite the opposite. In fact, he has so many emotions, and they're all so strong. He just doesn't know how to deal with them, and chooses instead to hide them away until they burst.

Instead of the anticipated disaster zone, everything is...calm. Actually, it's a beautiful day. Think of the nicest spring day, and multiply it by at least 10 (maybe more). That's what this weather is. The sun is out and shining, the temperature is warm but not hot, and everything is in full bloom. Hell, there are actual flower petals dancing through the air right now. Flower petals!

You snag one of the petals and hold it gently between your thumb and forefinger, feeling the silkiness against your skin. "What kind of Disney movie am I in?" you mutter.

You feel Morpheus's presence behind you a mere moment before he asks, "What was that?"

Even with the environmental warning, he still makes you jump, and you turn around to face him. "Hi! How did it go?"

"Far better than I could have expected."

There's something...different about him. His hair looks especially messy and windswept (not that you're complaining, you love that), he's still wearing his special dinner outfit, and did he get taller? You feel like you have to look up just a little bit more to truly look at him so yeah, he definitely got taller.

"Good. I knew it would, though."

"You did?" he asks curiously.

"Of course. I had complete faith in you."

Those starry eyes of his twinkle brightly as he smirks at you, and the realization hits you like a truck. Now you know why Matthew's mannerisms have been so familiar! Because you've seen them before, and you're seeing them now. Morpheus thrives off of your compliments. How...interesting, and a theory that you need to test out immediately.

"I'm really proud of you, y'know." His lips turn upwards into something that's almost a smile, so you continue. "I know how hard this was for you, how much you worried, and you handled it beautifully."

The beautiful flowers surrounding you burst into the air, their petals falling down around you in the multitudes. You start to laugh, but Morpheus doesn't let you make another sound, instead ducking down (from his markedly taller height, mind you) to kiss you. Though you're caught off-guard, you quickly get with the program and return his affections.

"I would like to celebrate with you." He says before moving his lips to your ear, even though nobody around can hear him whisper, "In my chambers."

You pretend to think for a moment, because a moment's all you can spare. "I'm certainly not opposed to such plans."

He pulls you to him in a way that suggests you didn't really get a choice otherwise and grabs his sand from his robes. You press your lips together to hide your smile and happily hold onto him. Oh, you are so using this to your advantage from now on.

[explodo-smash]

Tenko and Kacchan - Shigaraki and Bakugou as two misunderstood children

Now that we’re in the vestige/memory mindscape for MHA's ending, and Izuku and Shigaraki are sharing memories, this is an analysis I wrote about the connections between Shigaraki and Bakugou, and how I believe Katsuki’s role in this finale will be as another vital mirror for Shigaraki to look at.

[Can also be found on twitter]

Shigaraki and Bakugou have both been denoted uniquely with some similar words/traits:

Overt Childishness/Childlike behavior

Short fuses/tempers

Arrogance

An abundance of power/strength - In general having gross/unappealing personalities etc.

This makes sense.

Because in the original ending where Dk/Bk come together to defeat Shigaraki (as laid out by Heroes Rising) - it’s fair to say the original plan was an story where Izuku and Katsuki alone embodied what society needed as the new foundation for change.

This obviously isn’t the case now, but theoretically it seems like the plan was to make Shigaraki too far gone. His ideals mixed with an enjoyment of destruction.

However, in an ending where he is not, and we’re not getting out of this situation without him being saved, the goals for a new foundation are the same with a different outlook - just the same players.

Shigaraki is seeking to be understood, first and foremost. And he is at the point where he genuinely believes no one can, even if they seek to - however it’s funny because equivalently he severely misunderstands Izuku and Kacchan in his pursuits to be seen.

It’s worth noting that timeline wise - immediately following Deku/Kacchan vs All Might, we transition into the formation of the League of Villains, where Shigaraki is contemplating his interest in Izuku.

He leaves to then go experiment with this interest with the mall, where Izuku disappoints but also inspires him to keep going.

Prior to this, he had left the Toga and Dabi hanging with an answer about whether or not he would accept them, and upon being told again the reason he is not being seen he is not understood, upon being told he has no ideals, his next plan of action was to get Bakugou.

To me, it means something that Shigaraki sought Bakugou out where the other characters had to come to him. Back when these chapters were released, there was a genuine belief amongst readers that Katsuki would fold and join the villains.

This assumption was being made by both Shigaraki, the reporters in the story, and the readers at large despite nothing about Katsuki indicating this but his personality - Shigaraki just happened to make the same mistake readers were making.

When Shigaraki looked at Izuku, he just saw another hero with lofty ideals who was not interested in putting that action to practice with things he did not understand.

However when Shigaraki looked at Bakugou, he saw someone he resonated with being suppressed, forced to change who he is, and unprotected by society at large. Remember, prior to the sports festival the only other thing Katsuki was known for was the sludge villain incident.

And even now, he looks to Bakugou as a mirror of himself, even when AFO was trying to suppress him, the things that started to wake Tenko up were things people said/did on behalf of Katsuki, seeing all the pro heroes work so hard to protect someone already gone.

If I were to give a tentative soft take on the early read, Shigaraki’s failure at being understood by Izuku and Katsuki despite seeking them out (and with the original ending put into context) it seems like the original idea was perhaps that sometimes death is another way of saving, and that Katsuki and Izuku were the main symbolic proof that society can be better when you understand one another.

Now that is clearly being challenged and slightly inverted.

Katsuki/Izuku are still serving the purpose of being the proof and evidence of what change and understanding can do, but now it’s just not as insular.

To me, it’s not a coincidence OFA was borne in the helm of a misunderstanding. Yoichi, the one outcast, suppressed, and unprotected, is still reached out to by Kudou - because he looks like someone who needed saving.

Furthermore, Kudou is the first person to sacrifice himself in the bid to save Shigaraki, betting everything on Izuku who he only grew to understand more after seeing his relationship to himself and Katsuki. Kudou and Shigaraki had similar ideas about him.

Katsuki is consistently the thread that leads to understanding Izuku.

And so while in a lot of ways I do think Shigaraki is going to be able to see Izuku’s childhood and empathize with his own treatment in society, I do think it’d be easy to write it off as Izuku just being a better person than he is, causing him to doubling down anyways.

However, Katsuki is evidence that your origins can be treacherous. You can be a horrible, simple, and destructive child, and still come out of it loved. Katsuki is the strongest evidence everyone has that Izuku isn’t bluffing, both Izuku's persistent and Katsuki's growth.

The biggest difference between Katsuki and Shigaraki is that Katsuki was blessed to have kept love in his life despite everything, and his ideals are predicated on this.

Tenko got to experience this only for a blip in time before being left behind and groomed. Izuku in all his craziness is presenting the opportunity for Tenko to remember it’s possible for him to have love in his life as well without taking the world down with him.

He just can’t do that without seeing the clearest example of that dedication in action with one of the first characters he'd managed to resonate with.

[thewulf]

For That Long? || Aragorn

Summary: Request -Hello! 👋 Your work is absolutely amazing! Especially your Aragorn fics (My King! 🗡️👑❤️) In fact, whenever works best for you, here’s an idea: During the victory celebration at Helm’s Deep, the reader (also a Dunedain Ranger) offers a quick dance lesson for Aragorn to a) enjoy the celebration with him and.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the sweetest little request anon! I had too much fun writing this one. I love trying to get into his head. Keep sending amazing requests my way! And thank you for you kind comments!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k +

TW: fluff?

“Not like that, Strider.” You giggled something fierce as he tripped over his own feet for the umpteenth time that night. Somehow you had convinced him to dance with you after quite literally decades of trying to get him as your partner.

“Have I not already told you how hopeless this is, Callia?” He asked you by your chosen Ranger name. You had to abandon Y/N when you left home all those years ago. If you were captured you must never give up your true name for your family could bear danger to your chosen work.

“You just need to relax yourself. Your mind.” You poked his forehead while grinning from ear to ear.

He sighed, “I cannot keep making a fool of myself in front of…”

You stopped him by placing his hand on your hip catching him most off guard, “My King overthinks.” You whispered as you took a soft step towards him. He smelled good. Like of the woody scent he naturally had but even better.

“I am no King.”

You smiled more to yourself than him, “Not yet. But the people have decided. It be but a mere month and you shall be.”

“It does not feel right hearing you call me that, my lady.” He countered while raising his eyebrows right up waiting for your retaliation.

Trying your best, but failing, you made a face in reaction, “You know I am hardly a lady.”

He hummed. Not even realizing you had begun to lead him you kept talking trying to rid his mind of the thoughts that plagued him. For if there was anybody who knew Strider better than himself it was you. Time had a way of making your heart the softest for him and truly only him. Countless sleepless nights of diving into your worst nightmares and trauma would find a way to bond the two seemingly hopeless souls.

“The opposite is true.” He smiled down at you with a look you had rarely seen from the hardened leader. You had been away from him longer than you wished. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith after getting orders from Gandalf to help the Hobbits of the Shire. You had heard the story of the great Bilbo Baggins and now apparently Strider had to accompany his nephew, Frodo. He had told you to go to Minas Tirith and wait for his word.

That had been six months ago. You had gotten used to life without him how odd it may seem. You had made a few friends that you probably never would have had Strider joined you. It was terribly uncomfortable. Your simple life changed when you had gotten word from him asking you to join him in Rohan. He knew something was coming and needed all the help he could get.

“A lady does not count her kills.” You spoke breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. A shift occurred as he had taken control of the dancing now. Your easy banter all but freeing his mind from his thoughts. Dancing wasn’t so bad. Especially if he got to hold you like this.

“By your definition.” He smirked down but dared not look into your eyes for he knew he would cave to any of your demands, “Not by mine. And did you not say I was to be King?”

You fought every urge in you not to pinch his side, “You are impossible.”

“Do you not refute, my lady?” His smirk only grew as he noticed your face fighting the urge to react. It was amusing watching you try and stay neutral. For he had missed this. Sure, it was not only the two of you dancing but it had felt like it. You had a way of taking his mind off of whatever he needed. You had always seemed to have known what he may have needed.

“It is no use in arguing with you, Aragorn.” You gave him the eye letting him know you were not over the little secret he had kept from you for so long. You had only found out of the name when Legolas shouted it on the battlefield almost costing you your life. It had left you stunned. Who was Aragorn and why had Strider reacted as if it was his name.

Because it was. He had apologized profusely before you finally gave in. Leading you to this moment with him. You had finally convinced him he needed to learn how to properly dance since he was to be the king. And lucky for him you so happened to know many dances as your mother had insisted a girl your age to learn them all those years ago in Dúnedain.

An amused smile crossed his features as he led you across the dance floor. Maybe he was not so pathetic after all, “It is not like you, Callia, to bite your tongue.”

“Hush you.” A laugh escaped you. It was no use trying to hide your own amusement. Yes, he pushed you, but it had also shown you how much he too cared for you.

He slowly stopped the two of you from your dance before replying, “You are most fortunate the music has ended."

A quick nod left you head as it spun out of control by his soft touch and daring words, “Most fortunate indeed.” Begrudgingly you took a step back knowing the moment between the two of you had ended.

But his words had stopped you from turning all the way around, “I will stop teasing you if you lead me in another dance. For I must learn. I do not wish to embarrass you.”

You only grinned before stepping back into his hands, “You could never embarrass me Strider.”

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you took in the breathtaking room before you. Stifling a laugh, you couldn’t truly believe you had made it here with him, alive and in one piece. Your truest and oldest friend crowned the King of Gondor. How you would never have believed this only three years prior. You watched as royalty and common people alike danced with joy and glee for their newfound leader. Aragorn. It felt the most surreal as you watched him mingle with people that mattered. A King. Who would’ve thought. Glancing down at your nearly empty glass you sighed knowing you had to make the walk back to get another drink.

But you never made it as you were intercepted by nonother the man you were watching far too often that night, “Strider!” You smiled trying to play it off as nothing as his broad hands covered the length of your forearm with ease, “You best get dancing. You have many eyes on you, my King.” You grinned with ease knowing calling him such made him uncomfortable. You truly had known him as Strider for as long as you could remember. You’d met as teenagers in your youth, kids from Dúnedain.

Your fathers were friends keeping you close together often until he went off on his own. When it came time to leave you had heard Strider was a Ranger. Having a feeling you’d run into him again you weren’t surprised you were assigned to his company not long after you left home to find a purpose. Just like him. In a lot of ways, you were the same. But in so many different.

For the last sixty or so years the two of you became something of a menace in the North. Something to be feared. Always working as a team, the two of you always seemed to come out of battles unscathed.

He grumbled in response to the title name you had used on him, “I have told you not to call me that. It does not feel right hearing those words from you. Strider will do.”

You smiled seeing how you managed to get under his skin with such ease, “Strider is too informal. May I call you Aragorn at least?”

“I think Strider is perfectly formal. But you may call me as you see fit. So long as it is not, my King.” He smiled right back at you. Even he had to admit how nice it was seeing you so at ease. He had roamed the North for nearly sixty years with you. He had never seen you so relaxed. He was sure he had seen you smiling more tonight than he had in the past sixty combined. You smiled like that bright eyed teenager who had an obvious crush on the older teen. It was times like these that made him wish he had told you how he had felt the same. He had longed for you for so long in silence. He had a duty to uphold. But now? Time was different. He needed somebody on his side. He had always known that somebody was you.

You bowed just knowing it would push his nerves further, “As my King wishes, I shall only refer to him as Aragorn.”

His mouth dropped at your brazenness, but he should have known better. He was convinced you were placed with him was to keep hm grounded. You had a certain way about you that had him acting his very best, “Y/N.” He let out an audible sigh letting you know he was annoyed.

“Strider.” You raised an eyebrow as if to challenge him knowing that name was now obsolete in your vocabulary. He was Aragorn now. You could get used to it.

He looked to the dance floor before turning back to you, “Would you join me in a dance?” He held his hand out for you to take giving you your favorite impatient face. It was your favorite thing to do after all, push his buttons.

Your smirk turned up into a genuine smile, “This is a pleasant change. I would be honored to join you in a dance, Aragorn.”

“Are you going to choose a name Callia?” He grumbled as you placed your hand in his. His smile never faltered even though he pretended to be most annoyed by you. It wasn’t lost on your how gently he wrapped his hand around yours before nodding his head to the nearly empty ballroom floor.

You giggled more to yourself knowing how annoyed he was with you. Maybe you should stop winding him up. It was almost too much fun to stop though, “Am I not allowed to interchange two of your many names?” You followed along his lead down to the center of the empty floor.

He stopped once he had found a place good enough. Placed one hand over your hip and one behind your back, “Hands on my shoulders.” His voice dropped nearly an octave as he gave you a simple order. A shiver ran down your side at his touch. This was new for you as well. Sure, you had found him ever so attractive, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in you. Everything was platonic as could be between the two of you. So, you had backed off and kept it cool knowing nothing was ever going to happen.

You did as he wished and wrapped your hands around his neck, far more intimate than you had intended but you were committed now. It would be almost more embarrassing to unwrap yourself from him, “You did not answer my question.” You spoke trying to rid your mind of overthinking this situation you had seemed to find yourself in.

He gave you a grin as his eyes trailed all over your face, “I was only playing with you. You may call me as you please.”

Before you could answer the music started forcing your concentration of following his lead. It was impressive how quickly he had picked up on the steps of the dances you had only taught him only a few times a month ago. It had been a little over a month after the Celebration of Helm’s Deep after the hell that was the battle.

You were almost upset when the music had stopped knowing his hands would soon leave you. It was not right to have these feelings for such a longtime friend. Let alone the King of Gondor. But how could you not? He was Strider the great Ranger of the North. He was Aragorn the leader of the Fellowship. He was the King of Gondor. He was everything.

Fortunate for you he hadn’t move his hands from your waist even as the music stopped, “I do think I should call you Aragorn. It suits your stature. You have outgrown Strider.”

He bowed his head before slowly bringing his eyes up to yours, “Then Aragorn I shall be, my lady.” He was smirking now knowing how much you too loathed the high title he had seemed to start calling you.

With a frustrated breath your eyes narrowed at his, “If you shall call me my lady, then I will call you my King.” You too didn’t enjoy how the high title rolled off his lips. You were anything but a lady even in the dress you protested but had been convinced of.

He let out a breathy chuckle as he finally came back to his senses and let his hands go of your waist. You feared to admit how much you had enjoyed his touch and closeness, “I suppose that is fair, Callia.”

Stepping forward to straighten his collar you could only smile up at him in adoration, “You look very handsome tonight. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

He took your hand in his once more, “It took a fair bit of work. But I must say, it is you who shines the brightest tonight.”

He had never complimented you so forthright before it drew a small gasp out of your very own mouth, “You are most kind to me. Thank you Aragorn.” You were suddenly thankful you had put some makeup on. You were praying it was covering up the sure-fire pink tint that was bound to be covering your cheeks.

He watched as you turned away from him, “You must get back to your advisor. He looks very weary over in the corner.” You tried a good excuse to walk away from him. He was suddenly becoming too much even for you.

“Wait,” You stopped and turned back to him with that subtle blush coating your face. When you stopped he continued, “Come take a walk with me. I wish to talk with just you.” His darting eyes let you know people were listening, always listening in now that he had such a high title.

“As you wish.” You followed him as he left the hall as discretely as he could.

The two of you had made it all the way to the gardens before he had spoken once more, “I want to thank you, Y/N.” By speaking your true born name, you knew this was serious. There was no playfulness of my lady or the knowing name of Callie. Y/N.

You had no clue where this was coming from. Truly, you rattled your mind for further thoughts before you gave in, “Whatever for?”

He smiled as he led you down the path of roses he had grown fond of in his short time here, “For always being there for me. You have shown up for me time and time yet again.” He paused taking your hand in his before placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. Had he no idea what he was doing to you?

“You are my truest friend.” You answered honestly after a few long moments of trying your hardest not to cave into whatever was taking over your mind. He was your friend! Only a friend. That is all he had ever wanted. He was simply thanking you for the journey. That was all. One chapter of your lives had closed and the next was to begin. You had to wonder where you would end up. In the capital being a guard? Roaming the woodland realms for danger? Head home and care for your aging parents? The choices were endless for your new life.

He let out a short laugh, “For that you are. May I tell you something?”

“Anything.” The response was so automatic it almost took you by surprise.

“If not for you, I would not be here.” He spoke quickly.

It took you much longer to process those words, “What do you mean?”

“If I had not known you would always be there I would not be king.” He smiled as his eyes traced your nervous face. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever known. How had he gotten so lucky with you? And by any other stroke of luck, you would accept his next question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

“I am not sure what you mean Aragorn.” Your heart rate sped up just a tad as he stepped back from you. He fished something out of his robe pocked. Your eyes went wide as he held an old relic. A beautiful ring covered in gemstones.

“You have always been there for me Y/N. I fear nobody could ever take that place. I wish nobody to take that place. For I am the happiest when I am with you. Those last six months have not been good for me. But now that I am back with you I feel whole once again. There is no lady that could take your place Y/N. For your place is next to me.” The last words to come out of his mouth almost came out as a whisper for even he was nervous. The mighty King of Gondor afraid of some feelings he had almost his entire life. Oh, how his father would be laughing now.

Your heart rate kicked it up another notch. It felt like you had been training it was racing so fast, “Forgive me, I fear I am not enough…”

He stopped you this time though by placing a gentle finger on your lips, “I wish to not hear you speak poorly of yourself. For I do not respect those words. I will never believe them. I do know your entirely Y/N. Please, do me the honor of letting me court you.”

Your breath had been taken from you now, “You like me?” You had managed to get out feeling oddly faint.

“I love you.” He said so effortlessly you weren’t sure you had him quite right.

Your eyes turned up to his as he stepped closer to you, “You love me?”

A quick nod came from his head as his eyes bore right into yours, “I do.”

“I love you, too.” You spoke back before you could let your thoughts get the better of you.

His hands moved to your cheeks as he held you in his own, “For nearly seventy years I have yearned to hear those words from your lips.”

“For that long?” You asked in bewilderment to his statement. How had he kept it from you with such ease? It amazed you he had managed to be so stoic when you had been so obvious. Why had he fought it for so long?

He did what you least expected and bowed down to you, slowly. He had made sure you knew his intention, “I may not have always been wise to it but indeed. I have always loved you.”

You nodded quickly, your smile beaming brighter than ever before. He was sure that was his new favorite look on you, “Yea.”

“Yea?” He asked you as confirmation.

“I accept. I would be honored to stand by your side Aragorn.” Before you could bow to him he caught your chin in his hand shaking his hand to let you know that would be most unnecessary.

“You are doing me the honor.” He fastened the necklace with the ring on your neck tucking it underneath the top of your dress. His hands trailed down your sides resting on your hip for longer than he should have. He needed to take a step back or he would kiss you. Not that you wouldn’t let him, no. He was sure you would be more than happy about it. He simply wanted to charm you before he kissed you. He would not rush into this with you. For he had taken nearly seventy years to admit how he had felt. What was a little longer?

“You made it, Strider. You did it.” You brushed his wavy hair away from his face knowing that would be the last time you referred to him as such. From here forth he would be Aragorn. And you would wed him. How a life you dreamed of had come to fruition was beyond you.

He shook his head grabbing at your hands once more, “We made it. We did it.” He spoke of all the wishes the two of you spoke about in your many long nights. The dreams had seemed to come truer than either of you could have imagined. It almost didn’t feel real.

You nodded with nothing but love in your eyes, “Indeed, we did it.”

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

[mychlapci]

Hopping on the mommy TFA Ratchet train. (I do hate brat behavior, they deserve punishment. And Optimus deserves to get some of Ratchet's milk too.)

Optimus, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee are the youngest of the team. Sure OP acts older, but he's still much closer to Bulk and Bee's age range than Prowl. Prowl doesn't need the milk like they do, Bulkhead is getting his milk through bottles, but Bee is so damn greedy that Optimus can't get a single drop!

Optimus tries to rationalize it, "I'm a full grown bot, I don't need it", "bee and bulk need it more than me", "we have plenty of other fuel, I'm fine." But he's decidedly not fine. He gets more and more cranky, fuel tastes weird now, like something is off, he watches as Bee nurses with jealousy in his optics.

Bee is throwing a full blown temper tantrum about Ratchet preping bottles for the others when Optimus walks in. He then goes off on him instead, goading and rubbing in his face that Ratchet's milk is his and his alone. He only stops once Ratchet orders him to. That snaps Bee out of it real quick. He turns back to Optimus expecting to be scolded for talking to his leader like that only for him to feel even worse by seeing that Optimus is at the brink of tears. It wasn't just Bee's tantrum or words that caused it, his behavior triggered the reminder of how Sentinel would treat Optimus. Being selfish, arrogant, gloating about things he has and Optimus doesn't. He never expected his own teammates to act like that, especially since they know how Sentinel affects him. He walks away without a word and Bee meekly turns back around to look at Ratchet. He sits serenely on the table patting his lap, his chest plates are closed, and his field betrays the fury that his face does not.

Bee gets the punishment of a lifetime, only a little lessened if only because of the genuine regret he felt and his compliance.

Bee limps to Optimus' room an hour or so later. He's just about to knock when he hears a very harsh rumble of a powerful engine and the whine of vents from strain. He peeks inside only to see Optimus laying on his side, nearly motionless save for the tremors his engine causes, and his finials clicked back to the farthest setting. Bee realizes the strain in his vents is from him staying quiet. Their fearless leader... is crying! Bee feels guilt hit him harder than any of Ratchet's spanks, he really did screw up huh? Was he really that selfish? Taking a few minutes to steel himself, he opens the door and knocks quietly. The engine stalls quickly.

"Yes?" Primus, even Optimus' voice sounds bad.

"Ratchet wants to see you in the med-bay, Bossbot." Bee says, clearly and enunciated, but still meek and quiet.

A loud angry growl came from Optimus, and the distinct click of his battle mask engaging. He turns his helm to look at Bee, but a moment later the growl shifts to a slightly softer, more agitated than angry, pitch. "Very well, I'll be there in a few minutes. You are dismissed."

Bee only nods and absconds quickly, running off to find Bulkhead and Sari. He knows Optimus doesn't want to hear an apology right now, but they deserve one.

Optimus arrives at the med-bay 20 minutes later, after having cleaned himself up first. Ratchet has finished preping the bottles and turns to greet him.

"There you are, come here."

Optimus approaches slowly, "I'm sorry about earlier, I should have just-"

"No, don't apologize. I already handled it. I told Bee to go get you and send you to me, if anything he should be apologizing to you."

"I'm fine, Ratchet, it's really not a big deal-"

"Oh really?" He puts his hands on his hips, "not a big deal, ey? Not a big deal that you were driven to the point of tears by a toddler of a mech? Not a big deal that I've seen that look on your face when a certain Chin-the-size-of-his-ego Prime belittles you? I made sure to point that particular comparison out to Bee during his punishment, especially considering his own hatred of the mech. Really took him down a couple pegs."

"Ratchet, I'm a grown mech and there's plenty of fuel around, I can deal without-"

"What? My milk? The milk that you are so painfully craving and jealous of Bumblebee and Bulkhead over? They are grown mechs too, but the three of you are still young and growing. You're also far closer in age to each other than you are to me or Prowl. Hell, Prowl doesn't even need my milk and he's gotten more of it than you! You! Someone who actually needs it!"

Ratchet turned around and sat on the berth, "now come here, Prime," he opens his chest plates and lets his still leaky titties out. Optimus practically starts drooling. "You need this as much as the others do."

Optimus hesitantly crawls into Ratchets lap, "are you sure? I- I can have-?"

"Oh shuddup and suck."

Optimus is forcefully fed Ratchet's nossle, plush lips wrapped around it carefully as he sucked. But soon he began to relax, until his whole frame sagged against Ratchet's, greedily sucking down the milk he craved for weeks now. His engine idled at a soft and smooth purr.

"That's it, bittie, take as much as you need, you've been so sorely neglected recently, after all. Momma's gonna take good care of you."

my wet nurse propaganda is only furthered by this. young bots need their milk, there’s no helping it, it’s why Ratchet was sent with the repair crew in the first place. Optimus pretending he doesn’t need the milk is just foolish… He might be older than Bumblebee or Bulkhead, but he’s still well within the breastfeeding range… 

This is the only time Bumblebee can use his young age to his advantage, insisting that as the youngest he can drink as much milk as he wants to, and he absolutely abuses the hell out of this fact. Ratchet doesn’t actually care at first, he’s just doing his job and if Bee wants to be pushy, he can ignore it... but then... Poor Optimus… it’s all a little too much. Stuck on a foreign planet, saddled with responsibility, and not getting any milk at all? He’s really putting himself through it. He needs some care from momma...

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 12

“Ah,” Barricade moaned in his recharge. Prowl squeezed his servo. It had been an orn since Ricochet had flown him to Iacon and Prowl had not left his cousin’s side, apart from joors long surgeries.

Ratchet had not been able to make any repairs yet, beyond patching leaks. Until Barricade had beaten the infection, repairs were impossible. The surgeries so far had been to control leaks and to remove or to debride wounds. Though Ratchet had been cautious to avoid giving Prowl too much hope for Barricade’s recovering, he had seemed more hopeful during his last exams. The fever had finally started dropping late the last dark-cycle. This light-cycle, it had finally broken. So long as Barricade’s spark remained strong, the first repairs were set for the next mega-cycle. Time would only tell if his frame would accept the repairs. If the infections were not completely resolved, the repairs might reject and the infections might spread frame wide.

“Mm,” Barricade’s optics flickered and Prowl covered his cousins servo with both of his.

“I am here,” Prowl told him. “You are safe.”

“Prowl,” Barricade groaned. “Lockdown...”

“Jazz will attend to Lockdown,” Prowl assured him.

“He wants you,” Barricade moaned. “He wanted to make you watch.”

“I am safe, Barricade,” Prowl said. “We are in the medbay on the Autobot base. Lockdown is no match for Ratchet, Ironhide or Prime.”

“Nightstalker...” Barricade hissed.

“Is dead,” Prowl said. “They were saying it was you.”

“It was,” Barricade replied. “He ambushed me with Lockdown. I think he was the one that paid Lockdown to botnap you.”

“That... fits,” Prowl blanched, remembering Nightstalker covering him when that heat had crept up on him. Thank Primus he had not kindled in that heat.

“Lockdown...” Barricade groaned.

“Ricochet put a tracker on the Death’s Head before he got you to safety,” Prowl assured him. “He and Jazz are hunting him now. He will not escape. There is nowhere in the universe he can hide.”

“Won’t hide,” Barricade said. “He wants you. He’ll kill your bitties.”

“He will not get the opportunity.”

Prowl never left the medbay. Like Ricochet had given him a holster to magnetize to his leg. He did not need to reach into his subspace for a weapon, it was always at servo. If Lockdown got this far, Prowl was Barricade’s last line of defence, and he would not let his cousin down. Ricochet had told him what Barricade had said before he had lost consciousness and Prowl knew without a doubt Barricade had goaded Lockdown, encouraging the torture in order to distract Lockdown from search of him. Barricade had sacrificed so much for Prowl’s sake and Prowl wished he had not. He wished Barricade had stayed in Iacon, out of Nightstalker’s and Lockdown’s reach. He even wished he had begged, if that might have convinced Lockdown to leave him alone. It might not have but could it have been worse than it had been?

“How is he?” Punch joined him.

“Resting,” Prowl replied. “Ratchet performed the first grafts. It will be quartexes before we know if Barricade will have any kind of normal function.”

“He’ll be fine,” Punch told him. “He’s a strong mech. He’ll adapt how he gotta, if he gotta. Ratchet’s the best, o’ the best ‘n he’s got more experience fixing Omega ‘n Beta victims o’ Alpha abuse. I hate to think it, but he’s seen scrap, maybe not quite like this, but close enough ‘n horrible all the same.”

“I have not heard anything for Jazz,” Prowl worried out loud.

“He’s fine,” Punch assured him. “Both o’em are. They’ll be in touch when they’ve taken his helm.”

“I am glad to have you here,” Prowl told him. “I wish I just... knew. I cannot stand I have that mech’s mark on me.”

“Even if ya don’t got Jazz’s bite on ya, yer mated in the only way that counts,” Punch told him. “Yer mates o’ the spark.”

***

Lockdown did not take kindly to Ricochet stealing his prize. Rage made him more reckless than normal and they took advantage. While Lockdown was distracted in the drug den, Jazz sabotaged the Death’s Head fuel tanks. If the bounty hunter escaped them on the ground, when he turned on the engines, the fuel tanks would blow. It would have been easy enough to leave it at that, and left the explosion do him in but Lockdown did not deserve an easy death. He might have left it to his twin, he had a good claim for Lockdown’s helm but Ricochet could not just stand back and watch. What he had seen, what he had felt when he had explored Barricade’s mutilated array to try and find the source of the major leak that had been threatening to cause him to bleed out, Ricochet needed to make Lockdown hurt. He needed to make him feel humiliation and shame.

The bounty hunter had raped the Beta so violently that he had effectively destroyed both his valve casing and aft tubing and further ruptured his waste and fuel systems. Ricochet did not know if he had caused him some permanent loss of function by cauterizing the leaks he had found but if he had not cauterized them, Barricade would have bled out. If he Beta needed to vent on him for his choices later, Ricochet could accept that. The mech had the right to be angry about what had been done to him. There was no question in Ricochet’s processor that he would survive, though he had never seen Ratchet go paler when he saw a patient, Barricade had been strong enough to challenge Lockdown and to keep challenging him to protect his gravid cousin. He would be strong enough to survive to be gifted with a trophy.

“Did he always hit Syk this hard?” Ricochet asked.

“He was a casual user,” Jazz replied. “Probably got hooked on scrap in Garrus-9. Even thought they’re in solitary, they weld Alpha’s panels shut so they can’t even jack-off.”

“Shoulda gelded’m for what he did to Prowl,” Ricochet said.

“Agreed,” Jazz said. “Didn’t even charge’m for it. Too afraid to let it get out it could happen to one o’ theirs? Don’t make sense to me. I wouldn’t let it slide if it happened to one o’ my ops.”

“Even the Cons don’t do it,” Ricochet said.

“Right?” Jazz replied. “Probably afraid we’d do it back.”

“He’s comin’ out,” Ricochet said.

“Go Hound, lure’m o’er,” Jazz ordered.

They watched a hologram materialize. It was identical to Barricade. Hidden by the hologram, Hound moved towards the alley, mimicking a heavy limp. Lockdown made a guttural sound that echoed down the empty street. Both Ricochet and Jazz were ready. Hound was just a few steps ahead of the hologram he had deployed. If Lockdown got within a breath of reaching him, he would be shot where he stood. Jazz was constantly doing the math in his helm. Vengeance, for anyone, was not enough for him to risk his friend and subordinate. What was important, to all of them, was that Lockdown died this dark-cycle. There would be no trial, Spec Ops did not work that way, not for a monster like Lockdown. If they ever got their servos on Vortex, there would be no trial, no prisoner exchange, for him either. Lockdown followed the hologram into the alley. He screeched as the snare, triggered by his heavy ped, swallowed him up. The hologram vanished and Hound, a Beta, gave him a smirk. Ricochet and Jazz walked over and shared a look. They had caught him with his spike hanging out, his knot already about to pop. Jazz gave Ricochet a knife.

“Barricade said he’d cut yer spike of,” Ricochet told him as he knelt next to the bounty hunter. He wrench Lockdown’s spike out of the netting and held the borrowed blade to it. “Ya weren’t mech enough to face ‘m fair.”

Lockdown screamed as Ricochet severed his spike at the base. Hound stood in the entrance of alley, hologram deployed, showing just an empty, dirty alley. It was a rough part of town, no one came to the wretched scream, no one wanted to be the next victim. Lockdown shrieked curses. Jazz seized his jaw and cut out his glossa. The glyphs he had used against Prowl had wounded him. He would not speak again. They did not have time to clinger on vengeance, unfortunately. Jazz carved a knife through his abdominal plating and ripped out his internals, showing them to Lockdown. Ricochet watched his twin lean in close, glaring into the dying Alpha’s optics.

“I always knew ya was gutless.”

[indigoflorals]

captain (18+)

JJ Maybank x Reader

Sum: boat sex.

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, oral sex, established relationship, use of pet names, hair pulling, spanking

“JJ when are you gonna tell me how and where you got this thing?”

A laugh came from the bridge and you turned to see his smiling face looking down at you. “You know I don’t reveal my secrets.”

“That’s fine,” You stood, adjusting yourself quickly as not to lose your balance to the waves below, “I’m just starting to worry you stole it.”

The boat you were on was like nothing you ever saw on the cut. It reminded you of something you’d only seen in movies and when visiting friends in figure eight.

You slowly paced to JJ’s side, leaning into him and placing your head on his shoulder as his steered. The water was mostly calm and it was almost sunset.

He only laughed again at your comment, faking a hand away from steering and placing it around your hip. “Had a friend who owned me a favor. He likes coke a whole lot more than this boat so it’s ours for the night babe.”

You only hummed in response, leaning your weight more into him and sliding a hand onto his lower stomach. He sucked into a breath as you rolled it lower and back up.

“What?” You teased, “Something wrong, captain?”

His eyes snapped to your in a fraction of a second at your words. You felt the boat slow to a stop with a slight jolt and you stumbled a bit.

The hand around your waist tightened to stabilize you, and then proceeded to slide down further to grope at your ass. “You’re really a tease.”

You giggled, leaning your face into his neck to kiss at the skin there. You sucked a love bite into the soft flesh as your hand trailed beneath your waist band and boxers. You felt his stomach tense as your hand wrapped around him.

Slowly, you stroked him as you sucked on his neck. His moans where breathy and quiet, but you lavished in them. “Fuck,”

His hips bucked into your hand and you pulled back from his neck. Locking eyes with him, you removed your hand from his pants and he groaned with frustration.

You lowered to your knees on the cool metal of the floor, your face level with his dick that was now straining in his shorts. “I think you’re gonna like this a lot better, Captain.”

He blushed at your use of the pet name, and you pulled him free from his pants. His cock was level with your face and mouth, and you planted a small kitten lick to the tip.

A strong hand came to fist your hair, and you looked up to meet dark lustful eyes. “Be a good girl and suck it now.”

You only nodded, taking the tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. As you slid your mouth down you felt the vein run against the flat of your tongue, and JJ moaned at your actions.

“Good fucking girl,” He bobbed your head with the hand in your hair, “Such a good girl for me.”

You gagged on him, and he pulled you all the way off with a pop. Your lips were swollen and mascara ran down your face.

The blond pulled you to your feet and flipped your backwards to bend you over the helm. “Need that pussy now.”

He pulled your soft shorts down, and your panties to the side, exposing your already wet pussy.

“So wet just from blowing me? You really do love me don’t you?” He smiled, landing a hard smack to your ass.

Before you could reply, he thrust into you without warning. The stretch was just as good as the first time you had felt it. It burned in all the right places and filled you to the brim.

“Oh what baby?” He cooed sarcastically, leaning down to nip at your neck as he rocked his hips into you, “Too big? Should I have fingered you first?”

“S’perfect J!” You cried, covering your face as tears now ran freely.

“Fuck,” He moaned as your clenched around him, feeling your orgasm nearing, “You gonna cum for me baby? Need you to. Need you to cum for me.”

His hand slipped underneath you and between your thighs to thumb at your clit, and you felt the coil inside you snap.

You shuddered as you came, opening your mouth to whine and closing it again almost immediately. “That’s it baby. That’s my pretty girl.”

JJ’s pace continued to be unrelenting despite your overstimulated state. He grabbed your arms and pulled them behind you to hold you up.

He pounded into you and you felt his tip brush your g-spot. “Think you can do one more for me baby? Just one more?”

You cried loudly as you felt yourself come undone for the second time around him, and he moaned loudly as you squeezing himself.

“Oh baby that’s it. So good for me. You did so good. Oh my fuck.”

You felt his hot cum empty inside you. He dropped one arm to snake around your waist to help you get your balance, and pulled out to find a towel.

“Lemme clean you up baby,” He smiled, “I brought snacks! Plus it’s almost sunset.”

You smiled at the man before you standing over the helm. The sunset was beginning to creep into the background.

[whatwooshkai]

Gimme a number 5! :D

Chase's face is contorted in badly disguised panic as he stands there, finials practically brushing the lights on his back, waiting for instruction.

Charlie tries desperately not to laugh, coughing into his fist. "I am so sorry," he says, voice strained, as Mayor Luskey forces his way out of the car, fuming.

"BURNS!" he snarls, his toupee slightly askew, and he nearly trips over the grappler as he storms up to him. "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

"So sorry," Charlie repeats, noticing that Chase has started nervously wringing his hands. "The police bot noticed your car was going above the speed limit and wasn't responding to the flashing lights, so he- uh, the AI, I mean- took the next logical step." He gestures at the scene. "Hence the grappler."

Chase had deployed it without asking, and Charlie hadn't even known what happened until the mayor's car had suddenly stopped and started swerving in front of them, caught in a trap of yellow nylon webbing.

"Well- well- fix it!" Mayor Luskey turns on his poor chauffeur and starts shouting again, and Charlie notices the slight sigh of relief from Chase as the attention is taken off them.

"Police bot," Charlie orders, biting back his smile, "fix this please."

"Yes sir," Chase says, sounding much less confident than usual.

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

"I didn't even know you had a grappler," Charlie pipes up as they roll into the firehouse's driveway. "My last patrol car sure didn't."

"It was equipment I had back on Cybertron," Chase explains as the garage door closes behind them, then transforms when Charlie steps out. "I just haven't had a reason to use it until now."

"Well, uh, good to know," Charlie says, patting his hands on his hips. "Just maybe ask first next time?"

"Of course," Chase hums, and his finials flatten against his helm.

"So, do you have any other equipment you're holding out on me?" Charlie continues teasingly, and Chase's finials cant back.

"No," he answers, sounding almost disappointed. "A question better suited for Heatwave. I have not seen him use any of his arsenal."

"Really?" They step on the lift together. Normally Charlie would go back upstairs, but now he's curious. "What kinds of equipment?"

"I'd imagine it's similar." Chase taps his foot against the ground as the lift starts down. "He's got a kit hand."

"What's that?"

"Heatwave!" Chase addresses the fire bot instead, who's up on one of the pillars with the training dummy.

"What?" he calls back, leaning against it.

Chase gestures to Charlie. "He's curious about your equipment."

Heatwave frowns. "...What equipment?"

"Your firefighting equipment. You hand." Chase gestures abstractly.

"Oh." Heatwave jumps down and Chase offers his hand to Charlie, who climbs into it, and he's deposited onto Chase's shoulder for a better view. "Most of it's only accessible in my alt mode, but I got a few things."

He sticks his forearm out and a panel retracts. "Winch," he says, gesturing at it. "Got them on both sides. And my hand's kit." His left hand retracts back into his forearm, and he transforms tools out in rapid succession, including but not limited to a sledgehammer, an axe, a halligan, and a chainsaw. His hand's back in a few moments, and he offers Charlie a shrug. "I don't really have a need for them. I can usually brute force my way through any of the emergencies you guys have."

"True," Charlie hums, "but it's good to know. Thank you."

Heatwave blinks, then nods, turning away and going back to his dummy. Charlie looks to Chase. "Do the others have equipment like that, or, uh, 'kit' hands?"

Chase's finial flicks. "Why don't we go ask?" he says, voice colored with an excited lilt.

Charlie gets the distinct impression he's being included on something important, but he can't even begin to be sure of what. So he just smiles, pats Chase on the cheek, and lets him take him to the others.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Interesting Megs practicaly dealing with his relatives and Death itself ouch. magine when Op brings the allspark back Unicron senses it and brings Meg back to life to drop at their feet for them to deal with

Starscream: Master! You're alive!

Megatron:*free of his roommates now, looks very haunted,* I'm neither that nor dead.

Starscream:.. Uh what?

Megatron: I will never be fully alive nor leave this mortal coil. I will never be able to repent fully for my actions. I am leaving now so don't look for me. Do not fight in my name because decepticons are dead just like i am

Megatron: But if i hear about you lot or anyone else making a council i will come back to personally hit whoever over the helm. Understood?

Op: I missed you

Megatron: I am trying not to have a breakdown here

Poor Megatron. He will have no peace after being released from the Unmaker's grasp. In all seriousness, I do imagine his time floating around in Unicron's mindscape where all the Titans chatter would do him some good. Being able to hear them speak in their strange tones would have to adjust his view of reality.

So many giants staring down at him like he's little more than an ant, their thoughts booming and powerful, beating down on him like a relentless force. Entities far older than him, all wiser and ancient enough to have seen the birth of galaxies. He, I imagine, reeled in their presence, unable to handle their oppressive wills. Just a few weeks under them being more than enough to force him to think, especially as each tried to speak to him.

Moon attempted to call out to him, but so many millennia dealing with entities such as Unicron dampened his ability to recognize his limits and the weakness of others. Megatron, unable to handle the great Titan's calls, screamed into the void. Moon did not try and contact him after and instead merely observed the spark of the one the Autobots feared so greatly. Megatron could always feel Moon watching and listening. There was no respite from his gaze.

Mars did not speak often, but when he did, Megatron felt the earth shattering might of a being who held no love for him. Mars knew who it was that led their world to fall into its bitter state. He knew that Optimus and Megatron were the source, and while not angry at either, his bitterness did not lend Megatron any favor in the mindscape of the Unmaker. The few times he spoke up, his words were heard by all and embedded into Megatron's very spark.

"You who tore our world apart, do you not lament the loss? Was the devastation worthwhile? Did the sacrifices of beings far greater than you mean nothing?"

"I meant to give our people freedom."

"And yet you gave them war."

"It was the only way. Nothing would have changed without conflict."

"Perhaps. But the destruction had no reason to echo this long. Tell me, how many sparklings have been wrapped into your war?"

"..."

"I see you as a mere sparkling. Small, frail, foolish, easily demolished beneath my pedes. And yet I value each child of Primus equally. Do you understand? It matters not who you are or what power you hold. Under Primus, All Are One."

Pluto spoke only in visions of violence. Megatron saw destruction far greater than anything he had wrought. He watched planets burn in the wrath of a Titan angry at the loss of so many. He saw civilizations turned to mere ash. He saw a Titan hardly bigger than Omega Supreme throwing everything into a desperate battle against Predacons in order to defend another Titan and their charges. He saw energon split and scars gained.

Pluto did not speak, but his visions told Megatron more than enough. Violence had its reason, but in the end, it was dooming. To a being who watched stars burn out, Megatron's war, while brutal, meant very little. Pluto knew his anger, and in Pluto's sight, it meant nothing. Megatron never felt so small as when Pluto looked down upon him in distaste.

Unicron never needed to speak. The fact that Megatron resided within his mind was more than enough for the warlord to see visions of entropy that left him pondering the meaning of his existence. None of the Titans regarded him with warmth, that was save for Earth.

She was used to reaching out to her fragile offspring, and so her words were soft. She called out across the void, wrapping her attention around Megatron like a cloak. He never saw her, nor did he know who exactly she was. Unlike the Titans, she had no form that he could sense aside from a vague sense that she was below the ground of the terran world he once threatened to cyberform. Surprisingly, she held no anger toward him. Instead, he felt her pity and her sorrow on his behalf. She saw his mind and his memory and she whispered of how sorry she was that he'd been burdened so long. She swept him away into dreams of places he had never seen, some on Earth, and others somewhere amongst the stars.

She was a comfort, and through her murmurs, Megatron found a degree of peace and contemplation.

"You were held in bondage. I can see the echoes of your shackles. You hold them close to yourself even now."

"I serve no master, not anymore."

"You are a slave to your past and the pain it brought."

"I am not! I am Megatron of Kaon, Champion of the Pits! I have freed myself and my people!"

"That may be so. But the things you sought to escape from live on in your actions. The scars that dug so deep into your frame have now been mirrored on those around you."

"What?"

"Your anger has infected your fellows. Your once righteous rage has turned into something dark. Sweet child, you must let it go. It is not too late to end this madness which has possessed you."

Megatron listened to Earth and shook under the gazes of the rest. He was not sure how long he spent with them, but when Unicron forced him to return to the living realm, he was changed. Seeing everything from the perspectives of such mighty beings... everything felt so much more wasteful. He had not needed to destroy as much as he had, nor had Optimus needed to drag their war on in response to his madness. The pushed each other ever onward, but free of Unicron, Megatron decided to be the first to put an end to the cycle of madness.

When he turned and faced the Autobots, he knew that one day he would have to suffer for his crimes. But for now, he needed time to think and Cybertron needed time to heal.

And so he took to the stars, guided by whispers of the Titans that guarded Unicron so diligently. His thoughts drifted to Halley's Comet, and he found a destination. Perhaps there would be merit to traveling alongside the living memorial that was the youngest of the Titans.