#sentinel task force

[hoperiley]

[thedeadthree]

nia when she accidentally becomes a sentinel in her most least favorite gaggle of besties the b*os when she and yelena and kellan are honored for their work in stopping her father from using the purifier

[mossyscavern]

Not spies, just a bit incompetent

Part 2

_________________________

“… what?”

Bee squeaked, breaking the silence before tapping soundwave’s shoulder pad to whisper in his audible. “What is starscream talking about?” He asked, the blue bot turned and whispered back. “Conclusion: We believed you’ve possibly been captured.”

Soundwave answered, as starscream gave his speech to both the high guard and prisoners.

“… no, i wasn’t captured, they found me. I lived in sub-level 50 back at Iacon.” He told the mech, shrugging his shoulder pads before kicking his peds back and forth.

“Question: who had ‘found’ you?” Soundwave asked and bee pointed to both the blue helmed mech with the red chassis and the silver mech. “They did before we found the map and got our T-cog’s from alpha trion.”

… this concerned Soundwave to the point he scanned bee’s electrical impulses. Every word he said is true.. even the T-cog part is true. “Primus what had sentinel done to you?” Shockwave chimed in, just as concerned as Soundwave.

All before starscream had yelled. “Hey! What are you doing?!” Starscream yelled. ‘Aww, we missed the whole speech.’ Bee thought, pouting.

Then it changed to concern, seeing that D-16 is the one that stood up. “Doing what you’re not.” He first says, turning to the winged mech.

“I’m going out there to make an actual difference. I found out that Sentinel is rotten and I’m going to make him pay, today!” D-16 yelled, fury on his faceplate. “You think you can just insult me and walk away?”

Starscream questions, walking up close to the silver mech. “Nobody leaves unless I say so.” He threatens, invading his space. “Is that so?” D laughs mirthlessly, licking his denta.

“Well how can you say that? With my head in your teeth.”

He says, rearing back and knock his helm full force into Starscream’s. The winged mech stumbles, caught off guard as sparks fly. “Dee!” He hears Orion scream, but doesn’t pay much mind to it, he has optics on his opponent.

Starscream was about to fly kick right at D-16’s head, but the mech caught it, resulting a face full of plasma from the heel Strut.

It was all happening too fast for bee, that and the amount of times soundwave tries to shield bee from the violence, but bee has to see if D is alright. From the looks of it he was about to lose..

Everything became quiet when bee finally struggles out of soundwave’s arms, looks up and saw that D has the upper hand, and he looks… terrifying, scary even, with that huge canon pressed against starscream’s face on his forearm…

“Dee!” Bee shouts, desperate. D-16 stopped, his features softened and he looked up, blue meeting orange.. were they orange?

Immediately he let starscream go, went and knelt down, arms stretched out to bee. Shockwave stepped forward before being stopped by Soundwave, letting the young spark approach and the silver mech hug. “You ok bee?” He asks.

“Uh huh, but… that was really scary.” Bee mumbled, burying his helm in D’s chassis. “it’s okay.. it’s okay.” He says, hugging bee tight to ground both of them.. but mostly himself, he needed this.. both of them needed this.

Before anything, he asks bee to go back to Orion and elita and cover his audibles. Once he does the tasks he shouts to the high guard, loud and clear.

“Bear witness! This is the only time I show mercy to those who play king of thrones! Decide now: You can stay here in hiding, bowing before your pathetic leader, or follow me as we march to Iacon and take down sentinel! Once and for all!”

The high guard cheered, chanting his name loudly. Orion stares back at his friend, the voices and chanting fades in quiet as he stares more.

He turned back to bee audibles still covered like how d-16 instructed.

Orion felt like he was about to loose D… but bee had kept him grounded.. sparkling’s keep them grounded.. it’s a reason to fight for.

The distant chanting didn’t last very long as there was a sudden explosion and laserfire. “Bee hold on!” Orion yells, transforms into vehicle form to get bee to safety.

They can make it! They have to make it…

_________________________

Ok, part 2 is done. It’s a bit sloppy but, eh.. I just wanted it to be finished.

So yeah.. part 2 is done! Forever. And for those who hadn’t seen part 1 yet, don’t worry I’ll just direct you to it.

(Prev) <- it’s here, right there… I hope you all enjoy. If uh… you want to hear the aftermath? Go here -> (aftermath) @yuukirita drew/wrote it best… I’m sorry.

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt.1 (intro)

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, mention of law terms, Human rights violation (genocide), cursing

>> Part 2

The dim, sterile lights of the briefing room flickered overhead as the members of Task Force 141 gathered around the table along with Core, a fellow private military group that was hired along with 141 for a mission. Soap MacTavish leaned forward, eyes locked on the Price as he gave the mission report, his fingers drumming quietly on the polished surface. Price, ever the sentinel, stood at the center of the room along with Leopold; the captain of Core a fellow private military company. Ghost remained an imposing figure at the far end of the room leaning against the side wall. Gaz who was sitting in the seat next to Price listened in on the report on their course of action as well as all information gathered on their target. 

"Intel checks out," Soap muttered, his accent thick with the fatigue of too many nights spent in hostile territory. "I think we’ve got it locked down."

Price didn't respond immediately, waiting for the Core captain to add any information on their part. "Just keep sharp. We're not totally out of the blue just yet," Price said.

“Not much to worry about, luckily, but who knows, maybe if we find these bastards as fast as we can, we can have some fun with them,” Leopold snickers in a sadistic tone. 141 just staring at him with disdain in their eyes. Even though they are fellow operatives in this mission, 141 and Core did not see eye to eye on matters surrounding how they handled the enemy combatants. While 141 would be over and done with it. Core, they came to find out they were ruthless and would like to “play” with the enemy, much to the discomfort of others. 

“Prick,” Ghost rumbles under his breath, low enough that it couldn't be heard. 

Before anyone could reply, the door swung open, and all operatives in the room shot from their seats at the sudden interruption. Two armed guards came in and following after them a woman wearing a suit that screamed of legal authority rather than combat experience walked in. The woman’s eyes flicked across the room, taking in each of them, her gaze cold and unwavering.

"Hello Gentleman, I do hope I'm not interrupting at a bad time but I have a pressing issue at the moment" the lawyer’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. Not waiting for an invitation, stepping fully into the room, and looking directly at Price and Leopold.

"Excuse me?" Leapold barked, his brows furrowing as he straightened, clearly not amused. "And who exactly are you? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

The lawyer didn’t flinch at the sudden hostility. "I’m ___, a lawyer assigned by the United Nations to prosecute violations of international law," she said, her voice laced with authority. "I’m here on a matter of grave importance. It seems there have been violations in more ways than one."

Price exchanged glances with Ghost, each sensing the impending storm. "What’s this about?" Price asked, his tone sharp but controlled.

___ walking further into the long table in the middle and held up a folder, its contents heavy with the weight of documents, before dropping it onto the center table "Leopold O'Reilly you are being detained on violations of International Humanitarian laws along with all other soldiers under the command of the Private Military Company “Core”," she said, letting the words sink in. "Violated the Geneva Conventions, among other things. you’ll either face prosecution or give up your position and pay a hefty fine. The decision is yours, but I’m here to make sure that happens and you're brought in." She says as the 2 armed guards come around cuffing Leopold, 

“What the fuck do you mean violation I haven't done shit, and Im a private actor, not a state, so the Geneva Conventions don't apply to me,” Leopold screams at the lady as he struggles against the 2 guards. 

“Under certain circumstances, yes, but 3 years ago, you were hired by a state official in Nigeria to clear out a village to make way for oil drilling in the area where you were not, and while there, it was reported that your team violated multiple human rights law including the violation of the 1948 genocide convention, and since you where hired by a state official you are considered a state actor under contract,” ___ states with a cold glare towards Leopold. As she motions her head to the 2 guards to escort him out.

"You can't Fucking do this to me- fuck stop let me go!" Leopold yells as he's dragged out of the room by the guards.

“Hold, you can't just come barging in here like this,” Soap says as he stands up, half yelling at the lawyer.

___ not flinching turns to him saying. "This is a matter of international law, and as of now out of yalls hands. So unless you want to see the rest of your operation crumble under legal scrutiny, I suggest you start taking this seriously and just let me do my job,"

The room seemed to freeze, the air thick with the weight of her words. Ghost’s gloved hands tightened into fists, his gaze never leaving ___. The lawyer wasn’t backing down. She had a mission, and She would not be swayed.

Price stepped forward, his voice low but filled with command. "We have a mission that we are carrying out. We can't just up and stop this. You think you can just waltz in here and disrupt everything we’ve worked on?"

___ met his gaze head-on. "I don’t care about your mission. What I care about is justice. And that’s what you’re going to face, whether you like it or not," she says, ending the conversation as she turns around leaving the room. 

Price’s phone rings soon after. “Laswell, what the bloody hell is going on right now?” He half yells through the phone. 

“Sorry, John, I guess you just met the reason for my call,” Laswell says from the other side of the phone, sighing. “That was __ a UN litigator. It seems like they are starting to push harder to crack down on violations by sending out their dogs to bring them in. And Leopold was apparently on the top of their list. I tried to call you about the situation as soon as I caught word, but seems I was just a tad bit late,” 

Price grumbles “So what do we do now?”

“Nothing, the mission is being called off, think of it as an early break let off to go home,” Laswell says in a monotone voice before ending the call.

Soap leans over looking over to Ghost with one of his trademark grins. “Well that was something,” he says with a chuckle. “But I will have to say seeing a lassie like that being so commanding is kinda hot, ain't it LT,” he says.

Ghost looks at him with annoyance through his mask, saying, “Can it, Johnny” as he pushes off the wall, leaving the room annoyed with the whole situation. Thinking back to the lawyer. Hoping for his annoyance that he doesn't have to deal with that shit again.

Okay hey, y'all this is my first fic ever so not the best but will edit and add more here and there as I figure out what I'm meant to do and how this app works lol.

I'm always open to little imagine ideas or other stuff. but this fic will take some time also will make a masterlist for it as soon as I figure it all out.

but yeah hope you like this kinda a law nerd but to make it interesting it's not 100% accurate but if I can help it I will be in some.

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Hi! Can I request some headcannons for yandere Transformers One Starscream? With the reader who is also apart of the High Guard, the reader’s personality is sweet, kind, and bubbly. Thank you for reading this!

(づ￣ 3￣)づ Oh, that fine mech of a guard,,, Starscream,,,

(TFO) Yandere!Starscream w/ a High Guard!Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, marking. Reader is gender neutral and a cybertronian (alt mode not mentioned).

TFO!Starscream's path to become a yandere is a slow burn one.

You two met when you and him started to work as part of the High Guard and in the beginning Starscream would have highly doubted you because of your personality.

Sweet, kind, bubbly - a walking ray of sunshine. How the frag did you manage to become both a potential candidate to be part of the High Guard and actually part of it?

Starscream kept his doubts to himself - as much as he wanted to call out your personality, he decided to let time tell if you were actually worthy and capable to be part of the High Guard or not. After all, he had to focus on himself and his new job.

"I really hope we get to be part of the same squad, Starscream!" You said with your bright smile, optics holding sparkles as you looked at the seeker.

Staring at you for a moment, Starscream looked away to hide the light blue hue appearing on his cheekplates "... I hope so, too."

How funny destiny works - it was your sweet personality that made the seeker slooowly fall in love with you.

No matter how harsh the day was, how tiring the tasks were - you always kept your smile and supported the others. And by Primus, you knew how to fight when needed! It made Starscream's spark sigh.

With Soundwave's and Shockwave's support (and constant call out about his crush on you), Starscream would have been the one to start the relationship, courting you and proving himself to be the perfect potential conjux for you and only you.

He makes sure to let the others know you are his, you are taken, he has his optics on you and that he will not step back. He is going to become an unstoppable force.

His yandere traits would have started to come out to the light in that courting phase, even more if there was another bot that was also trying to court you - my TFO!Starscream would be a possessive, territorial yandere.

I don't think he would have played dirty to get to become your conjux, this mech would have proved himself to be better than any other bot that tried to court you. Strong, a mech that works hard, intelligent, but that's sweet and shows his love for you whenever he gets to hold your servo and whisper you how much he loves you.

When you accepted to take him as your conjux, with that precious laugh full of joy and tears of happiness in your precious optics, you both decided to finally complete the conjux ritus in the following cycles.

Alas, as destiny brought you together, it also decided to be cruel - because both of you didn't got to meet that dreamed day of celebrating becoming each others conjux endura, since the killing of the Primes happened that horrible day...

After you all, or the ones that got to escape and hide from the Quintessons and the corrupted guards that followed Sentinel, in the middle of the night, everyone mourned.

As you cried your optics out and hugged your legs against your chestplate, Starscream held you close, letting you hide your faceplate against his shoulder as his servos caressed the back of your helm.

Your dreams of a peaceful Cybertron free of the Quintesson's wrath, the fact that now your people was doomed with the loss of the 13 Primes and the Matrix, the loss of many of your guard friends and the even bigger loss of your home, of not being able to come back to Iacon - it broke you.

And it broke Starscream too.

To hear your cries it made his spark clench and a need to destroy everything make his whole frame shake.

He would kill Sentinel the moment he got to place his servos on that traitor - for having the Primes and many of his teammates get killed, for having team up with the Quintessons - and for having made you cry and mourn.

"Starscream - what- what we are we gonna do?" You cried softly. The seeker gently snuggled his helm against yours, managing to bring you comfort and make your sobs soften.

"We'll keep fighting. We'll remain in the shadows but keep fighting, do anything to make him fall in front of the Quintessons and then avenge our fallen Primes. And I promise, after that, we'll see our Cybertron bloom in pride and joy again, and become conjux endura of the other, as we wished to." He promised in whispers, kissing your forehelm and letting you recharge in his arms, safe and sound.

He never lets you out of his sight, letting the fear slowly eat him alive at the idea of losing you.

Holds you closely whenever you decide to take a break from smiling - you've tried to keep that bubbly, kind personality of yours even after the tragedy... and it makes Starscream want to end it all, his poor, precious sweetspark. You shouldn't be suffering like this.

He will make Sentinel suffer for having tainted your precious, gentle spark.

Starscream would start to develop a need to mark you - and you let him, it grounds you and it makes him feel his spark set on fire to keep going, to keep fighting in your name.

As he sits on his throne back in the hideout, you sit on his lap, and when your smile wavers and your optics fill with tears after coming back from patrolling and stealth missions, he kisses your tears away.

"Don't cry, my love. We'll get our revenge, and we'll be free."

Hope y'all liked it! (❁´◡`❁) Vhaos out!

[mysterywriter2187]

Transformers: One - What's In A Kneel?

!!!!!MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!

With the responsibility of leadership and the dangers of pedestals and hero worship being such major themes, it only makes sense that all three of the film's leaders would show their true characters, and in doing so seal their fates, in moments where they have to kneel/bow.

Sentinel Prime essentially sets the entire second half of the film in motion when both the heroes and we as the viewer see him kneel to the Quintessons. It confirms everything that Alpha Trion was just telling them/us about him, and it's also the very thing that ends up getting broadcast to Iacon in order to finally expose Sentinel and turn the public against their False Prime.

For all his superficial charisma and his talk of looking out for the little guys, Sentinel himself is truly nothing more than a self-centred, spineless coward, who couldn't care less for the needs of the many and gladly bends to the will of bigger bullies/oppressors in order to keep himself in power.

After learning of Sentinel's betrayal and being subsequently captured with the High Guard, D-16 makes a point to stand while in custody and adamantly refuses to kneel. Even when Sentinel begins beating and torturing him, D-16 makes it abundantly clear that he has no intention of bowing to him or anyone else ever again.

In better circumstances this could be a heroic trait, a courageous defiance and the willingness to stand up in the face of injustice. But it just as becomes a negative one, and it's one of the last warning signs to the kind of leader that Megatron is going to be.

He may have started out with good and heroic intentions, but because of this Megatron sees himself as superior, and whether by choice or by force, he expects his fellow Cybetronians to rally behind him just as they did with Sentinel. While he sees himself as a revolutionary, in the end he's just going to become another tyrant.

And then we have Orion Pax. For much of the film, he's a far cry from the noble, legendary leader that we know and love from other iterations, but he starts to grow into it as he devises the rescue mission, and is tasked with rallying his fellow miners to help.

Having gotten a major upgrade since the last time he saw them, Orion now towers over his former peers and they're utterly awed by the sight of him. Rather than trying to take advantage of their admiration or even intimidate them with his new size and strength, Orion almost seems frustrated by the new height difference, and before beginning his speech he kneels down to literally speak to them on their level.

Orion doesn't make a point to do this, no one has to ask or prompt him to, in fact he himself doesn't even give that much thought to it, it's just his first instinct for how to best communicate. He may look larger and stronger now, but he still values the miners as his friends and his equals, and nothing is ever going to change that.

Gaining the Matrix later on may have gotten him the name, but it's this moment when Orion truly begins to embody the true core and heart of Optimus Prime. Powerful and inspiring, yet humble and caring. Or perhaps, as the legendary Peter Cullen himself has always said:

"Strong enough to be gentle."

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Two

cw: dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, emotional distress Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi again! I'm back with the second part of this series and its another long one🤭 I really wanted this chapter to focus on Logan's emotions and inner turmoil. I'm working on the third part already and hoping to have it out soon...stay tuned! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪. Summary: Logan wakes up in the past, grappling with the contrast between the peaceful present and the grim future he left behind. He struggles to focus on his mission to prevent the Sentinel program while being haunted by memories of you and the dystopian world he must change.

(Part Three)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Logan’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him came rushing back in a disorienting blur. The sharp scent of fresh linens, the warm touch of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant hum of a city that was alive and thriving—all of it was jarringly foreign, and yet achingly familiar. For a moment, he simply lay there, his mind grappling with the surreal contrast between the present and the grim future he had just left behind.

He could still feel the phantom ache of the battle-scarred wasteland, the oppressive weight of despair that had become his constant companion in those final days. The memories of that desolate future clung to him like a second skin, refusing to be shaken off even as he tried to focus on the present. He blinked hard, trying to banish the images of burning cities and fallen comrades, forcing himself to breathe, to center himself in this time, this place.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing with the urgency of the mission that had brought him here. The room he found himself in was modest, cluttered with remnants of a simpler life—a life untouched by the horrors he had witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden furniture and worn, familiar objects. It was a world that should have felt safe, comforting even, but to Logan, it was nothing but a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm.

He rose from the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath him almost startling in its normalcy. As he moved, the sensation of the sheets, the cool air on his skin, the scent of life outside the window—it was all too vivid, too real, reminding him that this was not some fevered dream. He was truly in the past, in a world that still had a chance, and that realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

But with that realization came the crushing weight of what was at stake. The future he had left behind was teetering on the brink of extinction, a future where you were still fighting, still struggling to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. The thought of you, alone in that doomed timeline, fueled his resolve. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail. Every second here mattered, every decision could be the difference between salvation and destruction.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall, and the sight was almost jarring. Gone were the lines etched by years of battle and loss, the gray that had crept into his hair, the weariness that had settled into his bones. He was younger, stronger, unburdened by the physical scars that had marked his body in the future. But the weight of his mission was already visible in his eyes, a dark shadow that lingered, a reminder of the impossible task that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Logan began to dress, the familiar movements grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He slipped into his worn jeans and boots, each piece of clothing a small comfort, a tether to the man he had been before the world went to hell. But even as he moved through the motions, his thoughts were drawn back to you—your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him in those final moments before he left.

The memory of your kiss, fierce and desperate, lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow keep him from slipping away. It had been a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say, everything you feared you might never have the chance to say. The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice, was a cold, sharp pain that cut deeper than any wound.

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for distractions, no time to dwell on the past—or the future. He had a mission, and he had to stay focused. If he let his mind wander, if he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of what he had left behind, he would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when the stakes were this high.

The streets of the city were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolation he had grown accustomed to. People moved about their daily routines, unaware of the dark future that loomed on the horizon. It was both a comfort and a torment, this vibrant world that still held so much promise. Logan’s heightened senses picked up the sounds, the smells, the pulse of a city that was very much alive, and it almost overwhelmed him. The laughter of children playing, the scent of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby café, the distant honking of car horns—it was all so normal, so ordinary, and yet it felt like a world apart from the one he had left.

But beneath the surface, there was tension. Logan could sense it, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that ran through the city like a barely contained storm. The mutant crisis was already brewing, the seeds of hatred and fear being sown by those who sought to control, to dominate. And at the center of it all was Bolivar Trask, the man whose assassination would set off a chain of events leading to the creation of the Sentinels.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he thought of Trask, the man who would become the architect of so much death and destruction. He had to stop the assassination, prevent the creation of the Sentinels before it was too late. But how? Every step he took felt like walking on a razor’s edge, the consequences of even the smallest mistake echoing across time, threatening to unravel everything.

He made his way through the city, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan. He needed allies, people he could trust, but the X-Men he knew in the future were not the same people they were in this time. They were younger, unscarred by the battles to come, and convincing them to join him in this mission would be no easy task.

As he walked, Logan’s thoughts kept returning to you. He could still hear your voice in his mind, your whispered words of encouragement in the dark, the way you had held him close that final night. The memory of your touch, your warmth, was like a balm to his soul, giving him the strength to keep going, to push through the fear and doubt that threatened to overwhelm him. But it was also a torment, a constant reminder of what he had left behind, and the fear that you might not be there when he returned gnawed at him relentlessly.

Logan’s steps slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and determination. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if he failed, couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that you might be lost to him forever. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on the mission. But the weight of the future, of the memories that haunted him, pressed down on him like a crushing burden.

He found himself in a quiet park, the sounds of the city fading into the background as he took a seat on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The park was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned inside him. For a moment, Logan allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the scent of grass and earth, to let the sounds of birdsong wash over him. It was a small respite, a brief moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, the memories wouldn’t leave him. The faces of those he had lost, the screams of the dying, the endless battles that had worn him down to the bone—all of it played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. And at the center of it all was you, your face etched with determination and pain, your voice a constant whisper in his ear, urging him to keep going, to fight, to survive.

Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and loss, and yet the thought of losing you was the one thing he couldn’t bear. It was a fear that gnawed at him, a cold, relentless terror that gripped his heart and refused to let go.

But then, in the midst of that fear, he remembered your touch, the way your hand had rested on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken love that had given him the strength to keep going, to fight for a future that seemed all but lost.

“You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The memory of your words, spoken in the darkness of that final night, echoed in his mind, and Logan felt a surge of determination wash over him. He couldn’t afford to let fear control him, couldn’t let the weight of the future crush him beneath its burden. You were counting on him, trusting him to change the course of history, to save a world that had been doomed by the actions of a few. He couldn’t let you down.

With a deep breath, Logan opened his eyes, the peace of the park settling into him like a soothing balm. He had a mission, and he would see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, he would succeed. For you. For the future. For the world that had not yet been lost.

As he rose from the bench, the weight of the future still heavy on his shoulders, Logan set his jaw in a firm line. The fear of losing you would never leave him, but he would use that fear, channel it into the determination to succeed. He had to. 

 Logan walked through the bustling streets, he couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at him—casual glances, indifferent stares, eyes that held no recognition of the man he was or the battle he had fought. To them, he was just another face in the crowd, a man with no past, no future, only the present moment. It was a strange, almost liberating feeling, to be anonymous in a world that had once known him as a warrior, a survivor. But the weight of what he knew, of what he had seen, anchored him, kept him from fully embracing the illusion of normalcy.

The city around him thrummed with life, every corner turned revealing something new and unfamiliar. It was as if the world itself was trying to distract him, to pull him away from his mission, but Logan’s resolve was unshakable. Each step he took was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to do. The mission was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the ordinary, by the lives of people who had no idea what was coming.

Yet, despite his determination, there was a part of him that longed to stop, to sit down in one of the quaint cafés he passed, to sip a cup of coffee and lose himself in the mundane. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he was just a man living in a world at peace. But he knew better. The illusion of peace was just that—an illusion. Beneath the surface, danger lurked, and it was up to him to ensure that danger never became reality.

Logan’s thoughts drifted back to you, as they so often did. The memory of your voice, your laughter, your touch—they were the only things that kept him going, that gave him the strength to face the daunting task ahead. He could almost hear you now, teasing him about his gruff demeanor, laughing at his grumbles and sighs. 

But it was more than just your laughter that kept him grounded. It was the memory of your strength, the way you had faced the end with courage and determination, never wavering in your belief that there was still hope, still a chance to turn things around. You had been his rock, his anchor in a world gone mad, and now, more than ever, he needed to hold on to that memory. It was all he had left of you, all that kept him from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume him.

The sun was beginning to set as Logan made his way to the edge of the city, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink that seemed almost surreal in their beauty. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t been so focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when so much was at stake.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done, of the people he needed to find, the alliances he needed to forge. There was no room for error, no time for second-guessing. Every move he made, every decision, had to be precise, calculated. He had to be perfect, because the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But as much as he tried to focus on the mission, his thoughts kept returning to you. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you had looked at him with those eyes that had always seen right through his tough exterior. You had known him, truly known him, in a way no one else ever had. And now, with you gone, he felt a piece of himself missing, a void that nothing could fill.

He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of a small clearing, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to imagine that you were there with him, your hand in his, your presence a comforting warmth against the growing chill of the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered, and he was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the crushing weight of the mission that lay before him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, on what might have been. The future was all that mattered now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that future was one worth living in.

With a deep breath, Logan set off once more, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He had a world to save, a future to rewrite, and he would stop at nothing to see it done. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many battles he fought, you would always be there with him, a guiding light in the darkness, a reminder of why he couldn’t afford to fail.

And so, with the memory of you burning bright in his heart, Logan pressed on, determined to change the course of history, to save the world from the fate that awaited it, and to find his way back to you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Taglist: @angelofthorr @swthxrry @alex21705 @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @hughverine @ayamenimthiriel

(If you'd like to be tagged just let me know <3)

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival Part 5

Customer Service Prowl.

Credit to @keferon for creating the tf mecha AU!

———————————————————————

The door behind the tactician hissed shut, isolating him from the outside world.

Prowl had a short walk, 11.2 clicks, to the communications terminal. He took exactly as long as was necessary. Not a click sooner.

Injury warning messages were manually silenced. He’d neglected his own self repair for lower priority tasks before. This was no different.

Shutting Tacnet off from working on the Jazz Mystery was a greater struggle. It’d been so long since Prowl had gotten to work through a puzzle like this, it had him booting up long dormant scripts he hadn’t used since working as a detective. The mental stretching warmed him up. It felt good. But it wasn’t what was currently required of him. He shut off that branch of his processor too.

Tactical estimates only.

For now.

Like packing up his room, Prowl “got into uniform”.

Optic hue shifted to within the parameters of the socially accepted spectrum.

Doorwings lifted high and almost pressed together, neither spread out in intimidation nor lowered in submission.

Helm tiled forward 24 degrees to cast the maximum level of shadow over his features while not obscuring vision.

Prowl reached the terminal like a silent storm.

He nodded the minimum angle required to be interpreted as bowing for the manifestation of War resolving on the screen.

“Lord Megatron.”

He glared from beneath his chevron, pricks of light in a darkened room.

“What are your demands?”

———————————

The course of action Megatron required tactical support for was frankly amateur. The solution incredibly simple.

Sentinel Prime had once more prodded the leader of the revolution into a vengeful fury, so now Megatron wanted to, of course, retaliate violently.

The correct course of action was to not engage.

It was clearly a trap designed to whittle away their limited resources, which would have been idiotic even if the Quintessons were not a factor in the equation. Since they were however, it lowered Prowls opinion of both leaders even further that they’d even considered reigniting the civil war at a time like this.

No, what truly challenged Prowls strategic prowess wasn’t the request itself, but how to tell Megatron “That is an idiotic idea and how dare you expect me to entertain it.”

The trick, after much trial and error, was to not tell him at all.

“There are 24 optimal targets for a retaliatory attack Lord Megatron. 8 of which would yield material gain if taken and 3 of which would yield additional territory.”

All three of the territorial land grabs overlapped with the material gains category. However, when phrased correctly, it both implied even more options for Megatron to pick through and forced him to choose from plans Prowl had decided in advance.

Megatron gave the illusion of consideration.

He selected the land grab options, for the obvious purpose of irking the standing Prime. It took one to know one and megalomaniacs despised having their property made smaller. Stolen goods were numbers on a page. A map was a picture of what was lost.

“Very well. For the most expedient retaliatory strike, the mining depot on ES 9-B33 will be ideal for your conquering.”

Prowl had the mining depot mission lined up for close to a vorn. It was on the edge of Cybertronian territory, minimally guarded and would provide the Decepticons with a cache of ever needed raw materials. And while it was a great boon for their small faction, to the sprawling colonial power of Cybertron, it was hardly worth notice.

Which meant Sentinel and the Functionalist government shouldn’t waste resources on restarting the Civil war (66%).

Megatron, satisfied in his ignorance, ordered Prowl to draw up the assault plans immediately.

Prowl was sorely tempted to tell the deception to “do it himself” and not just to get him out of the picture for a time.

It was a very rare thing for Tacnet to come up with 100% certainty. However, Prowl could say, with terrible absolute certainty, that nothing short of a true Prime, or maybe an exploding star, could take Megatron in a fight.

The mech had forced Prowl to reset his parameters of what a cybertronian could physically survive no less than 13 times. At least 5 of those being assassination attempts from Starscream, whose preferred method of execution was “beyond all reasonable restraint.”

Until further notice, Megatron was an immovable piece of the board that required skillful circumvention.

“The plan will be drafted in 4 breems Lord Megatron.” Prowl dipped his helm and did not break eye contact until the screen went dark.

Prowl connected to the communications system, pinging Soundwave for the most recent updates on ES 9-B33, layering the new information over his original outline.

Once received, it required only a fractional amount of processing power to run through which decepticons were available for action, filter out those not suited for the job and sort the minutiae of coordinating supply ships to reroute to arrive at the depot as the assault team would be wrapping up.

Will softened by boredom, temptation won out and Prowl turned the bulk his processing power to Jazz.

Details laid out plainly, it painted a concerning picture.

Jazz was a highly skilled combatant, he solely exists to kill Quintessons by his own admission.

And he loves music.

Jazz speaks a language neither Prowl nor Bluestreak have ever encountered, Jazz himself having never interacted with Common, let alone standard Cybertronian.

Jazz was exceptionally sociable, even going as far as to try and play card games with hostile organics. Yet even pressed chassis to chassis, not once did Prowl detect an EM field.

And he’s a shameless flirt.

Jazz had many unusual physical attributes, such as abnormal ranges of motion, multi jointed legs, and in spite of all his injuries, Prowl hadn’t seen so much as a drop of energon.

Jazz possessed a disturbingly high pain tolerance, and was at best accustomed to substandard medical treatment, if not outright abuse.

And he’s never felt a kind touch before.

When Bluestreak had asked about him, Prowl had told his brother that Jazz was an alien mechanical lifeform and to not harass him unnecessarily. Between his physical bizarreness and lack of common knowledge among cybertronians, it was a natural conclusion.

But something hadn’t been quite right ever since Prowl had rescued the mech. There was this nagging inconsistency with Jazz’s behavior.

He was very curious about Prowl, yet seemed far more in awe of the other alien life forms and ships they’d been traveling with. There was also the immediate (and somewhat overwhelming) familiarity with which Jazz conducted himself around Prowl.

It was almost as if…

Jazz doesn’t consider Prowl to be alien (88%).

If he thinks Prowl is the same species as him, then would that mean Jazz doesn’t realize he’s the alien?

Unless.

An alternate, unpleasant theory began to weave.

Unless Jazz isn’t an alien at all.

Prowl finished the assault plan and sent it with a harsh hand. Re-opening his comms to the backlog of messages from Bluestreak, he scrolled back to something his brother had said when he’d been repairing Jazz’s visor.

BLUESTREAK: [WTF WTF WTF WTF WTF.]

Too far.

PROWL: [Please do not comment aloud.]

BLUESTREAK: [Is he really fully in recharge? Just like that?]

PROWL: [No. Jazz is still conscious. He’s not completely limp either just… very sedated.]

BLUESTREAK: [Just from holding his face? C’mon Prowl, that’s weird. This is weird. You found a weird, weird mech who definitely has a thing for you.]

PROWL: [He does not have a “thing” for me.]

BLUESTREAK: [Oh yeah? What are you getting from his EM field then?]

PROWL: [Nothing. He doesn’t have an EM field Bluestreak. Jazz is an alien and likely doesn’t have all the same traits as a cybertronian.]

BLUESTREAK: [Are you sure? I mean, the anesthetic worked fine. And he looks pretty cybertronian to me.]

BLUESTREAK: [Maybe he has field atrophy? You had that once. I couldn’t feel you even if I was touching you.]

That was when Prowl had been apart of the decepticon High Command. He’d spent multiple Vorn isolating himself, doing nothing but churning through battle plans and inventory logs and reconnaissance reports with little rest. Then there was the first time he crashed.

A minor setback at first. Almost immediately Prowl went back to work. Over and over again, he’d bypass previous limitations of the decepticon military. With each success, the bar was placed a little higher, with is successive crash, the recovery took a little longer.

There were always improvements to be made. He’d long moved on from the most needed structural changes to continuously finer tuned modifications to how the entire faction operated. He sharpened Megatrons rebellion scrap into keen edged blades.

Prowl did anything for the edge.

Even down to the smallest percent.

Even down to the smallest decimal point of a percent.

At Prowls worse, when he had just started to tip over to spending the majority (51%) of his waking time in recovery from continuous Crashes, he had come up with a strategy that would give the decepticons a 0.04% advantage in the long run against the Quintessons.

Repairing critically damaged ships was not cost effective. If a ship’s structural integrity fell beneath 14%, Prowl had instituted a script to cause the ship to self destruct. Therefore causing maximum damage to surrounding attackers in a final blow.

Prowl stared at his reflection in the black glass.

You couldn’t see the break in his nose anymore, Smokescreen had punched him in the medbay so it was fixed fairly quickly.

0.04%

Bluestreak was stuck in the medbay for a quarter of a Vorn.

Prowl straightened, optics returning to his default blue. The injury warning messages eeked back into his processor, causing his doorwings to shake briefly before Prowl allowed them to drop.

If the Functionalists had someone like him in their employ, then Jazz may not be an alien at all.

———————————————————————

To all the folks who picked up on the clues, good job! There’s no Optimus and there’s no Autobots. Yet.

There’s more to how Prowl got into his current situation later and I’m sure Jazz will be “totally cool” with Prowls past life choices. And current life choices. And general sense of ethics.

Bluestreak knows Prowl’s responsible for blowing him up and uses it to blackmail him constantly once their relationship got better again.

(Cybertronian timescales are weird, but a Vorn is basically a “year” for them, and fifty years for a human. A breem is pretty consistently 8 minutes.)

-SSTP

[waterfal-ling]

zenin’s shadow - chapter 2 (gojo satoru x reader)

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, CANON-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things and/or characters fate).

a/n: Took me way too long to post this and I had to do it from my phone...I still cannot figure out how people make their posts so pretty (and ngl I am a bit too lazy to figure it out). Enjoy the angst and let me know what you think :)

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

previous < Chapter Two: Breaking the Spirit > next

The Zenin estate felt colder than ever. Its imposing walls, stone cold and towering like silent sentinels, wrapped around her with an almost suffocating grip. The sense of isolation was a constant companion, the echo of her footsteps in the empty halls a painful reminder that she was locked in a cage of her own making. Despite the bruises and scars—both physical and mental—that she had accumulated over the months, the worst punishment had come in the form of silence.

She was not allowed to leave the estate. No missions. No contact with anyone. Only the endless rounds of psychological conditioning designed to break her down further. The Zenin Clan had stripped away her individuality, her autonomy. All she had left was the sharp, unyielding knowledge that she was nothing more than a tool for their use.

Months passed.

She felt like a shadow, moving through the estate with quiet precision, always under the watchful eye of those who had been tasked with ensuring she stayed compliant. There were no longer any training sessions—just endless hours spent in isolation, reflecting on her place in the world. Her cursed energy, once a seething, untamed force, now lay dormant within her, as if it, too, had given up on ever breaking free.

But even in her isolation, the mission call came. It was a brief moment of hope, though it quickly turned to dread when she realized what it meant.

The Zenin daughter was summoned before the Clan’s higher-ups, the familiar stone chamber cold and unwelcoming. The air was thick with incense and a strange tension. She stood rigid, awaiting her orders, the sting of previous failures still fresh in her mind.

"Zenin daughter," the Elder began, his voice as cold and calculating as ever. "You are to accompany Suguru Geto and Gojo Satoru on a mission."

A knot twisted in her stomach. After months of silence, months of training meant to break her, they were sending her out once more. This time, it wasn’t a simple assassination or a task for elimination.

"Your task is clear," the Elder continued, his eyes narrowing. "You will ensure that Riko Amanai is delivered safely to Master Tengen. You will follow Geto and Gojo’s orders. You are not to deviate from the plan. Do you understand?"

The words were laced with authority, but even as they echoed in the cold stone room, something inside her recoiled. She was a tool, a vessel for their power. She was not allowed to make decisions. She was not allowed to think for herself.

"Yes," she responded quietly, bowing her head in deference. She had no choice but to obey. It was always that way. Always.

The Elder dismissed her with a sharp gesture, and without another word, she turned and exited the room, the weight of her obedience heavy on her chest. She was merely an extension of the Zenin Clan’s will, nothing more.

The night before they left, she found herself standing beside Suguru Geto and Gojo Satoru at the designated meeting point. The sun had long since set, and the moon cast its pale light over the desolate landscape. Her heart thudded quietly in her chest, but she made no move to show it.

Geto stood with his arms folded, his usual calm demeanor in place. Beside him, Gojo was leaning lazily against a pillar, his ever-present grin plastered on his face as if nothing in the world could shake him.

"Zenin" Geto acknowledged her with a small nod, but his tone was clinical, almost detached. "You’re early”. He glanced at Gojo, who eyed her with curiosity - was this really the so called “Zenin Shadow”. Her cursed energy wavered slightly, but it was low. All he had heard in clan meetings -not that he paid much attention anyway, was that the Zenin’s had an ace under their sleeve. One that was supposed to tilt the scales on their side.

Gojo remembers a conversation he overheard during one of the clan meetings way before his time at jujitsu tech. One that maybe he was not supposed to overhear - not that he ever cared much for the rules anyways.

“I heard that they are not allowed outside the compound” one whispered to those around them, “that all they do is train and go on missions”

“Already?” A different member of the group asked “do we even know anything about this so called “shadow” or are these all rumors” they asked smartly in a low voice, “either way, that Gojo kid will be the strongest, so as long as we can keep him in check, I am sure that they will be able to deal with that so called asset”

Gojo rolled his eyes, quickly losing interest. They were right. Not only he could beat them quickly, but they would not move against him - he was a Gojo after all. The future clan head. Who cares who they were? They would never compare to him.

Now, she stands in-front of him. Her gaze low and her lands clenched beside her. Gojo quickly lost interest, seeing that those rumors about her being a “cold blooded” individual may be true; but her supposed strength is nowhere close to where either Geto or himself were. He loudly sighed, earning a quick glance from Geto.

Her eyes remained lowered, her posture stiff. "I am ready," she said softly.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I’m sure you are," he teased, clearly unimpressed. "But I still don’t get why you’re here. It’s not like you’re much of an asset, right? All the Zenin Clan sees is some weapon with a bit of power."

Her chest tightened, but she remained silent. Gojo’s words were sharp, but they weren’t wrong. Weapon was all she had ever been to the Zenin Clan. And it seemed that was all she would ever be.

Geto’s gaze shifted from Gojo to the Zenin girl his face unreadable. “That is not up to us, Satoru. Let’s just focus on the mission.”

Gojo chuckled lightly, but there was something dismissive in his voice. “Sure. Whatever. But this mission would be a lot smoother without the baggage.”

Geto didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened slightly, betraying his irritation. He didn’t want this anymore than Gojo did; but rules were meant to be followed.

As they walked away first, starting their normal bantering, the Zenin girl couldn’t help but bring her gaze up slightly. They were pushing each other, Gojo laughing loudly as Geto chuckled. They reminded them of those two sorcerers she had seen in her last mission prior to her punishment. She smiled slightly under her masks. Although she was a weapon meant to follow orders, she had for once done something that she was sure was good: protecting someone who was cared for.

As the trio made their way to the meeting place, a sudden chill filled the air. A low hum of cursed energy rippled through the area, signaling the approach of someone important. A figure appeared from the shadows—Yaga, the headmaster of Jujutsu High.

"Geto. Gojo. Zenin." Yaga’s voice was deep, a low rumble that carried weight.

The three turned to face him, but Yaga’s gaze shifted to the Zenin daughter, scrutinizing her for a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though sizing her up.

"You’re the Zenin Clan’s prized weapon, aren’t you?" he said, his tone neither kind nor harsh. "I’ve heard little about you, other than that you’re strong. No name, no cursed technique, nothing"

The Zenin girl kept her gaze down, her heart racing. She had heard of Yaga’s reputation—a skilled sorcerer, capable of commanding the greatest threats. The fact that he was even acknowledging her strength felt unsettling.

"Yaga," Geto greeted him with a nod, though his expression was neutral. “You know the situation. We’re just here to deliver Riko. What’s the deal with her tagging along?”

Yaga’s eyes lingered on the Zenin girl before meeting Geto’s gaze. "It’s not about you. It’s an order from the higher-ups. They've specifically instructed that she accompany you, no exceptions."

Gojo, leaning against the stone wall beside them, chuckled. "Yeah? But why? What’s the point of bringing along a deadweight like her? She can’t even use her cursed energy properly without them hovering over her every move."

Yaga’s eyes flashed with a warning, but he didn’t let the tension rise. “Don’t underestimate her, Satoru. The higher-ups seem to think she’ll be needed in some capacity. I’ve heard… things.”

“Things?” Gojo raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Like what?"

Yaga crossed his arms, his gaze turning more serious. "I don’t know the full details. But I’ve been told that she is stronger than she appears. The higher-ups trust her… and I trust that they have their reasons. Don’t make the mistake of assuming she’s nothing more than a tool."

Geto’s eyes flicked to the Zenin girl for a moment, his face impassive. He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he turned to Gojo. "We’re going to have to keep an eye on her, Satoru. Don’t take any unnecessary risks with her."

Gojo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Baby-sitting a supposed “super strong weapon”, keeping her out of trouble while we do all the heavy lifting.”

Yaga sighed one more time “Gojo, just do as told. Now, it’s late, go back to your dorms and show her an empty room near - the mission is scheduled to start at sunrise”

The Zenin girls chest tightened once again as she overheard their conversation. The same frases going through her head: “Stronger than she appeared.” “A tool.”

That was the only truth she knew. And yet, hearing them discuss her as a “liability”—a “weakness”—did something to her. It solidified the very thing she had been told her entire life: she was a tool, a weapon. Nothing more. Nothing more would ever be allowed. She wasn’t a person. She wasn’t anything other than a means to an end.

And now, even though her body was being forced back into the mission, she knew that her purpose was set in stone. She was to serve, to obey. Nothing would change that.

As the group continued on their walk towards the dorms, Geto and Gojo kept their distance from the girl with the the tension only growing among them. It was clear that they didn’t trust her.

The mission was important, and while the Zenin girl remained silent, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the judgment that followed her. To them, she was a burden—a liability.

“Here you go” Geto said with a tight smile “you can sleep here tonight, we will come collect you in the morning”

“And just be ready. I know how long you girls take to get ready” Gojo said, his voice slightly irritated as he typed away on his phone, clearly disinterested in the conversation already as he started walking away.

Geto quickly raised his hand, waving good bye as he caught up to Gojo, rapidly falling into a conversation. She took the chance to once again stqre at their relationship, he chest tight and heavy as she could almost feel the ache in her hands from how tightly she was closing her fists.

She knew that could not be her. But as she stared, she wondered what her life could have been had she not been cursed cursed energy.

Could she have a purpose?

As she entered the dorm room, she looked around. She felt on edge and uncertain of her new surroundings. But her eyes quickly caught onto the item in the left wall: a bed. She had never properly slept on one since being with the Zenin clan. They always believed that using a tatami that she would move out of the way would always be easier.

Her hands quickly caught onto the sheets, feeling the softness in them. She knew that even if it was for one night, this was probably about to be the best sleep she had in a while - and she would cherish it based on the fact that she did not know when that was to occur again.

As her body started to ask for rest, she moved towards the small bag she had - taking out a pair of pants and a shirt. She walked towards the sink and placed her items down. She took her hair out and removed her mask, forcing herself to not look at her face on the mirror. As she took off her clothing, her mind grew curious. Despite her heart begging her to not look, she glanced up towards the mirror. There, she saw a girl with scars littering across her body, some deeper, some larger, some tinier. As her eyes continued to wander, they landed on her face. The large scar that went horizontally across her face and the vertical one that went down her cheek were a reminder of the one time in her life where she felt alive: at the hands of a too strong of a curse for her inexperienced self - one that brought her to the closets she was felt to dying and to her freedom.

The first time the clan had realized the power of her reversed cursed technique, it was an accident. Her trainer had brought her to a curse as some clan elders stood at a distance; they wanted to see the supposed improvement she had with this new trainer - one known for their harsh but effective techniques. As she activated her cursed technique, she noticed that the fire touching her finger tips was burning her, causing her to instinctively stop her technique. The curse took her hesitation to their advantage, clawing themselves towards her, hashing her face and her body: Blood ran to her head as adrenaline cursed her body along her curser technique. Blood was covering her eyes, but her training forced her to use her senses to find a weakness. Her mind raced, how could she be so careless? Are they going to be mad? What will my punishment be? As her mind spiraled, her mind asked a last one, “wouldn’t death mean freedom?”.

She stuck in that last question - maybe in her next life she would be lucky? As tiredness hit her body, she allowed herself to open her eyes to look at the sky. She decided to give up, smiling. She could hear her trainer yelling at her in the distance, words muffled, the curse being gone, and the calmness of nothingness as she started closing her eyes. She felt herself smiling.

“Maybe in my next life” she thought, “I will learn to be happy”

Her body was taken to a medic in the main estate, hoping to not lose their asset so fast. However, the medic, perplexed, mentioned that her body was already healing. Slowly, but she could do it by herself.

When she finally woke, back in her closed quarters, she was confused. Was the afterlife going to look just like her previous life? Her head snapped when her door opened - her trainer storming up to her angrily as he pushed her off the bed and forced her head to the ground.

“You made me look like a fool” he sneered, pushing her head harder onto the floor, “you made my trainings look useless, when the only one that is useless here is you”

Her gaze stayed static - she had survived? Her eyes quickly watered, realizing she was in the same position in life as she was before - if not worst.

“How am I still here?” Her hoarse voice asked in no more than a whisper.

“That was the same thing I was wondering myself after that unsatisfactory performance you gave” he said, anger lacing his voice, “but your cursed technique saved you. I was hoping that was it for you so I would be freed, but I can never get what I want” he finished, grasping her hair as he pulled her to meet his face, her knees still on the ground.

“I will make you the perfect weapon” he whispered with a sly smile, “we will see if you can actually die - and then I’ll bring you back and do it again…you will never embarrass me again” he said one more time , his smile never leaving her face as she looked as forced on her feet, pushed towards the training grounds even as h was legs trembled from the lack of usage of them, her arms weak, and her head still disoriented.

As she finally laid in that bed at jujutsu tech, her mind continued to run. She felt jealousy towards what Gojo and Geto had - each other. Could she ever find someone that would stand by her side? Maybe she could try to befriend Geto? He did not seem very fond of her, and she did not have good interpersonal skills (if any)…but he seemed cordial. Maybe she could learn with him what a friendship is.

Her hands clenched as her body filled with anxiousness. The Zenin Clan had pushed her so roughly towards a life of isolation that she felt that she couldn’t possibly be unable to have normal relationships with someone. Never speaking out of turn, always keeping her gaze down, always alert.

Her mind reeled back to her encounter with the two young sorcerers, and then to the punishment that followed.

Her heart felt heavy, and for the first time in a long time, she felt her eyes welled with tears. Frustration and pain filling her body. She could never befriend anybody, she thought that with resolute. Nobody would ever know who she was, because she was nobody, all but a shadow who will continue to live behind the greatness of others.

The Zenin Clan had left their mark on her forever: she was nothing more than a weapon to be used. And, for the first time, she understood that more than ever.

[dinogoofymutated]

So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽

SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘

Read pt. 2 Here :)

-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.

    Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable. 

    He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.

    Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences. 

    A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.

    “Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.

    “What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty. 

    You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.

    You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.

    His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right. 

    You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.

    The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.

   “I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.

    “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.

   You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling. 

    Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached. 

   But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gentle touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway. 

    It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often. 

    Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.

    Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.

    But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.

    “Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment. 

    “... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back. 

    You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.

  The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.

[bibliophilesince2003]

Transformers One

I just thought of something sad. Now, my fellow fans, you will suffer with me. I apologize in advance. Also, if you haven't seen Transformers One yet... this is your warning. Spoilers are present!

Orion, D-16, Elita, and Bee were given t-cogs by Alpha Trion. D-16 became a tank, equipped with a massive gun. Orion received smaller guns, but they can only be used in his vehicle form. At least, that's the only time we see them in use before be became Optimus Prime.

That means Orion had the ability to defend himself when he was trying to stop D-16 from killing Sentinel. He took punches to the face. He fell to the ground. I think it's safe to say that Orion knew D-16 would resort to violence, and yet...

He never fired at D-16.

He could have seriously hurt his friend, or at least slowed him down. I think Orion hoped D-16 would stop, evaluate the situation, and consider how to best deal with Sentinel. Orion didn't think D-16 would fire on him... why else would he get in D-16's way? Or, maybe he wanted to keep D-16 from succeeding in his task, which would taint his reputation. Maybe Orion acted recklessly and wasn't really thinking, but I highly doubt that. There was purpose behind it.

Hurting or killing D-16 wasn't his priority, even if he had the ability to use force.

He still held out hope that his best friend would come back. He hoped hesitance and critical thinking would come to the forefront of D-16's mind.

Orion only fights when he has to, even in the bleakest of times. His words are powerful for a reason.

So yeah, now I'm sad. Orion cared more about his friend's condition than his own.

[hoperiley]

Amber "Felina" Jordan-Mitchell

[harlowbabe]

The Knight’s Vow

Knight!John Price x Princess!Reader

Chapter one: The Oath

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Sir John Price rode through the gates of Everdawn Castle. The first light of day bathed the stone walls in a soft golden glow, casting long shadows over the kingdom’s heart. His black steed’s hooves echoed in the silent morning air, the clatter of armor the only sound as he made his way toward the castle courtyard.

For years, John had sworn an oath to protect the kingdom of Everdawn, to fight its enemies, and to uphold its honor. But for the past few weeks, as whispers of war grew louder and the king’s health faltered, something else had quietly begun to stir in him—a deeper, more dangerous promise.

Princess Y/N

The princess had always seemed so far away—an unattainable figure who stood at the heart of the kingdom. She was beloved, beautiful, and pure. Her father’s illness had brought her to the forefront of the kingdom’s leadership, and John had been tasked with guarding her, his presence a silent assurance to the people that their crown would remain unbroken. Yet, the more time they spent together, the more John found himself torn between duty and something far more dangerous—something like love.

The courtyard was quiet this morning, save for a few scattered servants preparing for the day. The castle felt different now, less like a royal fortress and more like a cage, its towering walls holding more than just stone and mortar. Inside, behind the thick oak doors, Y/N would be waiting.

John’s hand gripped the reins tightly as he dismounted, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a steady thud. His armor clinked softly as he made his way inside the castle. It was still early, and the hallways were empty. The royal chambers were at the far end, past the flickering torchlight and the banners that hung like silent sentinels.

As he approached her door, his heart quickened. It wasn’t the fear of an enemy attack or an assassination plot that stirred his pulse—it was the thought of seeing her.

“Sir John,” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned to see Lady Eveline, the castle’s head maid, her delicate features framed by a dark braid that fell over her shoulder. She was kind and gentle, always trying to ease the burden of the royal family. “Princess Y/N has requested your presence, Sir. She’s waiting in the garden.”

John nodded, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Lady Eveline.”

As he made his way toward the garden, he could hear the soft rustle of leaves and the distant song of birds greeting the dawn. The garden was secluded, a quiet haven surrounded by ivy-covered walls. Princess Y/N stood at the edge of a small fountain, her back to him, her long hair catching the light of the rising sun. She was a vision—graceful, poised, yet there was something in the way she stood, something that betrayed the weight of the crown she had been forced to wear too soon.

“Sir John,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the faintest tremor. “I asked for you because I can no longer do this alone.”

He stepped forward, his boots silent on the stone path. “Your Highness, you are never alone.”

She smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wish that were true.” She took a step closer to him, the distance between them suddenly feeling like an impossible chasm. “I am afraid, John. Afraid of what is to come. The kingdom is on the brink of war, and I… I don’t know how to lead them. My father is too ill to make decisions, and I am not ready to take his place.”

John’s heart tightened at the vulnerability in her voice. She was stronger than she knew, but it was clear that the weight of responsibility was crushing her. It was a burden that no one—especially not a woman so young—should have to bear.

“You do not have to face this alone, Princess,” he said, his voice steady. “I will stand by you, as I always have. I have pledged my sword, my life, to you and your family. There is nothing I will not do to protect you.”

Before he could speak further , a sudden clatter echoed from the courtyard—the sound of a horse galloping, followed by shouts. Princess Y/N’s face tightened in worry, her eyes flicking to the castle gates.

“What is it?” John asked, his instincts immediately on high alert.

“There’s news,” she whispered. “The rival kingdom of Ashar has sent scouts. They’re getting closer.” She looked at him, her face pale. “They will come for us soon. I fear it is only a matter of time before they strike.”

John’s gaze hardened. The war was no longer a distant threat. It was upon them.

He moved to her side, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “I will protect you, Princess. Whatever it takes.”

But as he stood there, his heart heavy with the weight of his own secret, he knew the battle he would face wasn’t just for the kingdom. It was for something far more personal.

And it would change everything.

[rhiaghostriley]

Ghost x reader - impossible relationship

It was all consuming. The way you needed this man, looking for him everywhere you looked at, was eating at your brain, shredding little by little your last pieces of sanity, to leave only him in your mind, from his scent in your nostrils, to his picture engraved on your eyelids.

Thankfully, you were a kind person. Soft, precious, a little bratty on the edge, but that was part of your charm. Still, you knew your obsession was gnawing at your soul. Was it love, was it just an unhealthy fixation for your superior, or something even darker, you couldn’t say, but the result was the same. Day after day, he became the first thing you thought about when you woke up, the only thing you wanted to look at during the day, the last image in your head before you fell asleep. Everything he did, every word he said, everywhere his hand landed, you wanted it. Needed it. Like he was some sort of god you would dedicate your life to, if Ghost was involved, it was a good thing.

Of course, everyone admired him. After all, he was the mysterious, cold, untouchable Lieutenant of Task Force 141. The one people wanted to know more about without daring approach him. He was intimidating, keeping people at arm’s length. But that was part of his charm.

From day one, he intrigued you. The way silence was made when he entered the room where all the new recruits were gathered, his mere presence enforcing compliance, was intoxicating. You were the kind of people who struggled to be heard, so it was naturally overwhelming to see someone capable of indulging so much respect by a simple look. And when that look landed on you…

It was as if a jolt of electricity ran through you, from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toes. That man was not looking at you, he was looking right into your soul. Observance wasn’t strong enough to describe the way he was able to read people. Like a silent sentinel always ready to pounce at the slightest threat, he was seeing everything.

So obviously, he saw the way you were looking at him, the way you were following him, keeping your distance but still keeping him in your sight. Everywhere he was, you were too. To the point that everyone on base knew that you were into him. But he never told you a word about it. Never told you a word at all. And it was painful.

So you started to try things to catch his attention. Flirting with soldiers to see if he was jealous, insistent gaze to see if he came to you, short dresses to see if he looked at you. But nothing seemed to work, and you grew more frustrated, and more hurt. But in the end, it wasn’t surprising. No one was interested in you, and he was interested in no one, so why would it have been any different with you, right ? Little did you know…

The day started like any other day. You sat at your usual spot in the mess hall, alone, drinking your coffee, looking at his every move as he was drinking his tea a few tables away, while pretending to be lost in thought. It was useless, though, his eyes never met yours. Then you heard her.

“Look at her, staring at the love of her life, waiting desperately for him to notice her, so pathetic.” A bitchy giggle.

You sighed. You would have thought that the military life would have been so different than high school. No more bullying, no more making fun of people, no more Queen Bees. You were wrong.

The girl got up and walked toward you, standing in front of you, blocking you from Ghost’s sight. “When will you understand that he will never be interested in you ? You’re not pretty, not smart, you’re not even funny. If he has to hit on one of us, it would be me.”

You closed your eyes without lifting your head, your jaw clenching. It stung, how true she was. She has everything. The silky hair, the smooth skin, the bright eyes, the ass and tits. And you had… none of it.

She laughed. “See ? Not even able to talk back. How could he be interested in you when you are no more interesting than a spot on the wall ?”

Feeling your eyes fill with tears, you were about to get up and leave, but you didn’t have time. Two gloved hands landed on the back of your chair, a big shadow casting on both of you, as a deep voice growled. “You have two seconds to apologize or I can tell you that during the next training you will hope you were never born.”

The girl’s eyes widened. Yours too. Your heart was hammering in your chest, loud in your ears, as you were staring at the girl who stuttered “I-I am… I am sorry.”

He growled. “Good. Now leave.”

The girl was out before he had finished his sentence. And you were still frozen on your chair. Slowly, quietly, he rounded the table, and stopped in front of you, right where the girl was standing seconds ago. Your eyes still wide, your hands gripping your cup of coffee tight to hide their shaking, you started “thank you, I-“.

He cut you off. “My office. 9am. We need to talk.”

Your eyes widened even more if it was physically possible, but before you had time to answer he was gone. You didn’t have the right to say no, anyway.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and looked at your shaking hands as a sense of dread was slowly creeping in your mind. This was it. The moment your Lieutenant would tell you to stop being delusional and hoping anything from him was coming. And even if you already knew that, you also knew that hearing it from him would break you.

8:55am. You were in front of Ghost’s office. Your heart was in your throat, your chest tightening, your eyes bright with tears. You took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

God, the voice alone was sending chills down your spine. You opened the door, and took a few steps in, standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped in your back. “You wanted to see me, Lieutenant ?”

He answered without lifting his nose from his paperwork. “Close the door.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you complied. You closed the door and took your place back, fighting the urge of closing your eyes, of crying, of running away.

After a few seconds of silence, he got up, rounded the desk, and leaned back against it, right in front of you. His eyes locked to yours, making your heartbeat skyrocket.

“You know why I wanted to see you ?”

“No” you lied. Well, not really a lie. You thought you knew. And you hoped you were wrong.

The balaclava shifted slightly as he raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Yes, you know. You’re scared, but you know.”

Your heart stopped, more tears coming in your eyes as you looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Lieutenant, I can explain. It’s not what you think, I-“

Then the whole world stopped. You stopped in your tracks, feeling two gloved fingers pressing under your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet his again. “Shhh. It’s okay. I am not going to yell, I am not going to laugh. I am just going to tell you… that it can’t happen.”

You stared in his eyes, waiting for the moment he would scold you, looking for something, anything in his eyes that would tell you he was making fun of you. But all you saw was softness, and a hint of sadness. And you couldn’t process it. “I… I know, I am not your type. I am short, and I-“

Again, he cut you off. His gaze hardened, his grip on your chin tightened. “Don’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes darting from his to the side and back, as you said with a strangled voice “What ?”

His look softened again, and his fingers moved from your chin to your cheek. He took a deep breath and exhale sharply. “I see you, you know ? I really see you.”

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. His touch, his eyes, his cryptic words, his voice laced with kindness and understanding. It was all too much. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought he could hear it. Your stomach was churning. You were a mess. “I don’t understand.”

He bent forward, looking right into your soul. “You. Are. Good. Enough.” He paused, his eyes roaming your face, studying every inch of it like to commit it to memory. His thumb wiped away the tear you haven’t noticed on your cheek. “You think I don’t see but I do. The way you always treat other people with kindness. The way your face brights up when something makes you laugh. The way you always torture yourself trying to solve their problem for them. You are a good person. You are good enough. Maybe even too good.”

The way he was talking about you made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. You couldn’t believe it. You were probably dreaming. You frowned in confusion, trying to read between the lines, but afraid to make things up. “I-… You-… What are you saying ?”

With the balaclava you couldn’t see the expression on his face. Still, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled lightly – a rare thing coming from him. His other hand reached for your cheek as he grabbed your face gently, making your heart stop. “You really are going to make me spell it out, aren’t you ?”

He looked away for a few seconds, his eyes darting all around the room as if he was looking for something, for the right words. Then he looked back at you. “I am your superior. I can’t give special treatment to some recruits, I can’t get closer to one of them.” He paused, brushing his fingers on your cheek. Then he added “It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to.”

Your eyes widened, an overwhelming flow of emotion coursing through your brain and your heart as you started to process the underlying meaning of his words. Hope, confusion, joy, and sadness. He wanted you. But he couldn’t. “So what you’re saying is…”

He sighed, one of his hands moving from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer. “What I am saying is… if I wasn’t who I am, I would have made everything for you to be mine. But…”

You looked at him, and this one syllable word broke your heart. But. “But you are who you are, so it can’t happen.”

He nodded slowly, his grip on you tightening. “Trust me, I would love things to be different.”

You felt your heart beat faster and harder, as you were seeing all hope of being with him crumbling down in front of your eyes. In your obsession, you never thought for a single second that he could want you but couldn’t be with you. And it was even worse than thinking he just didn’t want you.

He saw in your eyes that you were starting to understand. He pulled you even closer to him, and pressed his face on the side of yours. Your eyes fluttered shut. You took a deep breath, taking in his scent as he was doing the same thing. It was a dream becoming true, but one which would soon enough turn into a nightmare, at the very second you would get out of his office.

His hand on your waist moved to the small of your back, his hand on your cheek stroking your hair gently as he whispered in your ears. “Give me just one minute. One minute when I am not your Lieutenant. One minute when nothing keeps us from being together. One minute when I can tell you… That I love you.”

You let out a small sob. Your eyes filled with tears again, and he hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. He kept whispering. “Every time. Every time you will feel like you’re not good enough. Every time you will feel lonely. Every time you will feel unworthy. Remember it. Remember that I am always somewhere, thinking of you.”

You shift your face to the side to face him, your lips parted as you gasped slightly from his closeness, his breath hitting your nose through the balaclava. His eyes locked to yours, his lips hovering over yours as he brushed his nose along yours, his hand gripping your shirt in your back tight with the effort of holding back. You swallowed hard, tears dangling from the corner of your eyes.

He chuckled, brushing his fingers on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful, even when you cry. So beautiful. But don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s hard, I know, but it’s for the best.”

You closed your eyes, freeing your tears and letting them roll down your cheeks. “How can it be for the best to love each other and not be able to be together ?” You managed to say, your voice choked with tears.

He sighed again, his hands moving to the back of your head, cradling it. “I know you don’t see it now. But I am not good enough for you. You deserve a happy life, with kids, a dog and a white fence. I can’t give you that.”

You shook your head aggressively. “I don’t want all of this. I want you.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re young. Naive. So, so precious. You will forget me.”

He pressed his lips against your forehead, his fingertips grazing your skin in the nape of your neck. After a deep, shaky breath, he added “And if you don’t… Then maybe one day, when things will be different… But until then, I want you to promise me something.”

You looked at him, your heart in your throat, ready to promise anything, in the name of the love you shared but couldn’t enjoy. So you nodded.

He brought your face closer to his, his lips brushing yours, enjoying the shape of your mouth fitting so well with his, even through the fabric of his mask, even if just for a few seconds. “Promise me that you will try. Even if it hurts, even if you don’t want to, try to be happy. Don’t shut yourself out. You shine too brightly to let me tarnish it.”

You frowned. It was the most heartbreaking things you had to promise. But for his sake you agreed. You would try. To forget him, to love someone else, even if you knew you would never feel for anyone else what you felt for him. It would be less powerful, less consuming, less devouring, but you would try. And you would pray it won’t work. Pray for fate to reunite you, one day, when things will be different.

[quirekey]

Could I request yandere TFO Sentinel x a techno organic astronaut reader who accidentally crash landed onto Cybertron. (they have a translator inplant)

They really want to go home, surely Sentinel will help them....right?

Ooo you silly goof anon, you like a possesive and protective sentinel dont you >:D ALSO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG!!

Disclaimer: Forced relationship, Kidnapping (?), Love against will

[ SENTINEL PRIME ] x [ GN!READER ]

[ sentinel prime x human!gn!astronaut!reader ]

SUMMARY

You are a wealthy astronaut that has a miserable mental state. You never had anybody on your side so you decided to sign up for a fatal task, travel to Cybertron. When you start to land, a train from Iacon suddenly rams into your rocket and it drags you down into the city. Sentinel catches your rocket before you faint in fear. Sentinel and you have a ‘talk’ and Sentinel decides to keep you as his… [ part one! ]

Sorry if this isn’t the best summary, this is a pretty long fic compared to others!

FANFIC

You have been sent to a planet that has been recently discovered. You had a strong gut feeling that you were probably gonna die, but you didn’t have much to go back to. Your life was pretty miserable. You never really had many friends and your family never believed in your dream of becoming an astronaut. Sure, you were born with lots of smarts and you became extremely rich for it, but love over cash as they say.

You made your way, progressively getting closer and closer to this planet that you humans named “TRON CY-637” or as you called it “Cybertron” for short. This planet was planted far from Earth, forcing you to stay in the ship for a long period.

After a while of you dazing up at the walls, you have realised that the planet was within your range of sight. It was very strange looking. The planet was constantly moving and shape-shifting, it seemed somewhat robotic.

You landed and WHAAMM!! Your rocket-ship was suddenly knocked over by some sort of cyber-train, you think..? The train dragged you down into some sort of underground city and your rocket started plummeting down after the train made a sharp turn. You instantly went into fight mode, pulling the emergency lever and grabbing the needed equipment to protect yourself.

SWOOSH!! You suddenly stopped falling…? The gravity finally stabilises and you fall onto your bottom on the ship ever-so-suddenly. You slowly got up, the sight in front of you blurring and smudging into a pure black.

—

You slowly woke up, shifting on the harsh metal below you. You barely open your eyes, seeing blurred colours. Gold and grey? This wasn’t the ship… You launched up onto your feet immediately into a fighting stance. You were standing on some sort of very-oversized table. The walls were drenched in a shimmery gold, patterns traced in many crevasses. Everything around you was a sort of metal. You relaxed your shoulders but still had your fists clenched.

The silence was suddenly broken by some strong steps heading your way. Before you could act, a sentient being appeared from the corner of your eye. This thing was gigantic. His outward look screamed perfection with his shiny chassis and his seemingly confident posture. His smirk only proved your point. Your thoughts suddenly end at ‘a robot?’ As the sentient being speaks up.

“Heyy.. You're awake, eugh...”

You fixed your translating-implant that was on the side of your helmet and looked up with mixed fear and shock. Seemingly it was a guy or something judging by their voice. The human predictions of an alien were way off the chart because this is not a green humanoid, this was a robot!

”What even are you? You look so fleshy… Saw your puny ride fail and I kinda had to save you, don’t want the city to have any dents, ey?”

He suddenly started laughing, leaning forward and giving a cocky smile. The laugh sounded like those ‘rich-men laughters’ from the TV shows. You backed off and snarled slightly, you did not trust this bot one bit. His laugh slowly stopped and he got up, scoffing silently.

”Voice-box broken or something? Speak up.”

”.. What are you? What’s your name!?”

He widened their optics and placed a hand on their hip, tilting their posture. He placed a hand on their chassis to seemingly show themselves off and spoke up with a rich and powerful tone.

”I am Sentinel Prime, the ruler of Iacon city. I am the hero that will save all of Cybertron. You will bow before me, flesh.”

”No, tell me where I am now!”

You launched forward slightly in place, seemingly willing to start conflict. The bot looked down at you with disgust at your sudden burst and you backed off again, fearing him. He chuckled and leaned down to you as you stepped away, his face close to yours. His voice then dropped into a deep and somewhat possessive tone.

”… You will know your place. You will not lash out at me, you will always be under me and you will be mine. Got it?”

His finger gently raised your chin up, showing you his face. You have to admit, he is kinda hot, but you are probably gonna die. Sentinel then swept you off your feet and held you in his servo, staring you up and down. Your silly and puffy astronaut suit covered most of your body and this disappointed him, so he tried to take it off.

”HEY!! I need this to survive! I don’t think you guys have oxygen on this planet…”

”Ox-uh-geen…? No, I don’t think so. Fine, I’ll spare you then.”

”Thank y-“

”If you go to any-bot for help, if you try to escape and if you try to even love somebody else that isn’t me, I will rip your oxygen supply away from you. Clear?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Feel free to ask me for part 2 if you want more! This was pretty fun to write :)

[cynicalrosebud]

Echoes of Duty (COD Sentinel AU) - Chp 1

Summary: In a world where Sentinels rely on their Guides to balance their heightened senses, it’s unheard of for one Guide to bond with more than one Sentinel. That is, until Y/n. Task Force 141’s bond with her isn’t just unusual—it’s unprecedented. But as their missions grow more dangerous, so does the bond they share.

Echoes of Duty Masterlist

Sentinel!Task Force 141 x fem!Guide!Reader

Warnings: Discrimination and canon-typical violence

The world of Sentinels and Guides had always operated within a strict system, especially in the military. A Guide’s primary role was to stabilize one Sentinel at a time, to bond with them in a way that allowed their heightened senses to function without breaking them. That was how it was supposed to work.

Y/n had been without a Sentinel for a long time. After leaving her former post, she had grown used to a life of solitude, working quietly behind the scenes for the military, offering her skills when needed but never getting close enough to bond again.

That changed the day she was called into an emergency meeting with Captain John Price.

The base was buzzing with quiet tension. Y/n could feel it the moment she stepped into the room, the weight of chaos pressing against her. Sentinels were trained to handle intense situations, but the four men standing in front of her were visibly strained, their senses threatening to spiral out of control. She had heard of Task Force 141—a covert team known for its dangerous missions—but seeing them like this was different.

“Thank you for coming, Guide Y/n.” Laswell greeted her with a nod, but her expression was tight, as if holding back worry.

Y/n’s gaze shifted to Price, who stood in the center, his face a mask of calm that barely concealed his discomfort. His senses were on high alert, but it was clear he was keeping himself together, likely for the sake of the others. Next to him was a tall, silent man in a skull mask—Ghost, she remembered from the brief files she had been given. He looked composed but rigid, as if any moment could push him over the edge.

Two others stood nearby—one with short, cropped hair and an expression that flickered between irritation and pain, and another with a ruffled mohawk who was pacing restlessly. Sergeants Garrick and MacTavish.

“Captain Price,” Y/n began cautiously, feeling the intense pressure of their combined senses even from across the room that had begun rolling into a headache at the base of her skull. “I was told you needed assistance.”

Price nodded, his voice gravelly. “We had a mission that went sideways. Our usual Guide didn’t make it, and we’ve been running ops without support since. But we’re starting to burn out.”

Y/n winced in sympathy. It was already rare enough for a squad to operate with more than one Sentinel, let alone four. Without a Guide to help manage the sensory overloads, it was a ticking time bomb.

“How have you been managing?” she asked, looking between them, though not really needing an answer. The air around them felt heavy, like too many frequencies clashing against each other. Soap was rubbing his temples, and Gaz seemed to be trying to tune out the world around him, though his twitching hands gave away how on edge he was.

“We haven’t,” Soap muttered.

Ghost’s voice was a low rumble as he crossed his arms. “We’re doin’ what we can. But it’s startin’ to show.”

Y/n could feel it. The sharp prickle of overstimulation, like static filling the air. They had been fighting it off, pushing themselves through missions without support, and it was wearing them down.

“I’ll need to assess each of you,” she said, her tone steady as she approached them.

Soap raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips despite the tension. “Assess, huh? This is gonna be fun.”

But the moment Y/n reached out, the shift in the air was palpable. She didn’t even need to make contact to sense the overwhelming bond already forming between them. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. A connection sparked not just with one of them, but all four. It was as if each of their senses reached out for her at the same time, an instinctive pull for stability.

“What the hell…” Y/n whispered under her breath, stumbling back slightly. She had dealt with powerful Sentinels before, but this was different. The bond—no, the bonds—between them were instantaneous, like four currents merging into one, seeking her as their anchor.

Price was the first to notice her reaction, his brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Y/n’s heart raced as she struggled to explain. “You—this isn’t possible.”

Guides were never meant to bond with more than one Sentinel at a time. The energy required to stabilize even one heightened set of senses was immense. To bond with all four? That had never happened before.

“You’re all connected to me,” she said, her voice low and uncertain, as she glanced at each of them. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Price’s eyes darkened, his mind already working through the implications. “And?”

“And... it means I might be able to help. But this bond—it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt before. I don’t know how stable it is.”

Soap smirked again, though it lacked his usual cockiness. “So, we’re your first, then? Lucky us.”

Gaz, finally speaking up, crossed his arms. “You’ve handled Sentinels before, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have,” Y/n replied, meeting his gaze. “But never like this. You’re all—”

“Linked to you,” Ghost finished, his voice a deep rumble. He was calm, but his focus was entirely on her, sensing the way her presence grounded him.

Price exchanged glances with the others before turning back to Y/n. “Can you help us or not?”

Y/n took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm her racing mind. “I can help. But we’re going to have to figure this out as we go. You’ll need to trust me.”

Soap chuckled softly. “We’ll manage. Seems like we’ve got no other choice, eh?”

Y/n smiled faintly, the weight of what was happening sinking in. “It’s not just you who needs to trust me. I’ll have to trust you too.”