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medicdoodles · 2 years ago

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A mashup of IDW and Seige canon of Ratchet and Deadlock, meet and run his underground asylum.

Based on Dialogue trees you get from Futomimi and Sakagahi, when you do the Aferlife Bell quest in SMT Nocturne.

For Ratchlock day.

(Next Chapter) || (Last Chapter)

There's a stain shaped like a human.

Work hard, do your best, and eventually you'll get somewhere.

When Ratchet transferred from the highest ranked schooling from Vaporex to the political charged state of Iacon, he expected pointed comments. He expected turned up faces. What he didn't know was how much he would be pushed into being an engineer.

Sure he has some skill in the field, many of his professors have left comments on it but never has he imagined being one. However, Ratchet found that his study to become a medic was going nowhere. Everywhere he went all of the classes would refuse his application, but he didn't give up.

If he wasn't going to be an official student he could still go to classes. When other mechs would sneak out or skip lectures he would slip in. Medic trainees would pay him to do their homework and he took it. All this hard work pays off, he gets the top scores, his engineering career is going well too. When his colleagues get hurt he can repair them better than the campus doctors. Then he graduated...

He gets hired to work on ground bridge operations. It doesn't excite him but it was honest work, and he could save enough money to carry equipment for a first aid kit. Once he was shipped off to the outskirts of the Dead End, that's where he finds his calling.

Since all fast travel in the area was decommissioned, Ratchet was forced to drive out to all locations. It wasn't too bad, but since he was the only one willing to do this job he was on his own. That's when he sees in person just how much Cybertron has abandon.

Streets filled with broken mechs and ruined buildings. There's no hope here, and his white paint lights up against the ash filled air, stains the vision of the city. It was silent until a siren went off in the distance. Despite him knowing the police's pensions for brutality, seeing it with his own eyes still frighten him.

"You're going to be okay." He hears a bot the panic in his voice. "Just hang in there, I'm going to get you help. Just hold on." Ratchet makes it to the voice. It was two bots in the middle of the road, both covered in blood. However, one person is down, closer to death.

"I don't think I can...", said bot also coughs up more blood. "Just wait for me to pass on. Then you can scavenge my parts."

"It's not fair." The mech brakes eye contact, looking to the sky. Then he looks towards the siren lights driving away. "They killed the wrong bot..."

"Let me try to help." Ratchet walks up to two mechs. The back mind is yelling at him, he's a ground bridge operator, an engineer, never even picked ot study medic. He can't do this, but he also can't stand here doing nothing. "I can't promise anything, but please I want to help."

They both look at him with a befuddled faces. He knows they shouldn't trust him but something must have broken because they allow him to help. They let him operate, and by the end of it all they thanked him, and for the first time since he left his home village, he felt proud of himself.

That's when Ratchet knew the direction of where is life is going. He would make money fixing and maintaining public works, taking other jobs, and making as much money as he could to build a clinc. He set it up in the center of Dead End, chosen it to give it resistance the fastest access to him. He worked himself tirelessly between these jobs and for the first time in his life. He managed to find success and happiness.

Do you think my life was a success?

Yes

>No

I see... yeah you might be right.

Just when I thought I achieved happiness, my fortune collapsed like a house of cards.

Then the outside world gotten word about it. The Senate at first only saw the healing of Dead End's bots. That they would start to walk around and they would fix the left over peices of the city. Had enough energy to walk around and wanted to start working.

However, Ratchet soon discovered that this was unwanted. That if Dead End successfully pulled itself together and made it possible to be something, then the fundamental ideology of Functionism would be thrown into question. If that where to happen, what other mechs would go against the class systems set forward by them.

It couldn't stand, so they made sure it didn't, and so they set off a bomb. Framed as an accident during transit from the military bases, they had approved of it being set off. Then they approved of some police officers to do a quick sweep of firing rounds to hit what remained. They're mission wasn't to kill anyone but if the managed too, it wasn't seen as a bad thing.

At the time Ratchet was sent off planet to see if he could assist in fixing a space bridge from Lunar-2 to Tyger Pax. Of course when it played on the news he tried to ground bridge there, but couldn't. His first transporters where destroyed, when he did get back, his clinc as well. Then when he made it home, his house was raided too.

Nothing made him feel so powerless than when he was stopped at the front door. A mech had pinned him against the wall of his assigned room and warned him away from returning to Dead End. That if they found out he went back he wouldn't be able to keep his face.

Worse was when the said mech had his hands wonder all over his body, and said next time he gets sent out he has permission to do as he pleases with him. Ratchet also finds all of his funds were frozen out, and when he does get access to them all of the money had disappeared.

You should be careful. You never know what tomorrow may bring...

After all of that, Ratchet still tries to help. He still returns to assist all the mechs of the city. They still look at him with hopefully eyes, but understanding that they could never crawl out by their own strength. Many where mad at him for even letting them entertain the idea. Others where mad for him, after all it was one thing to steal from bots with nothing on them. It was another to kick the bot who tries to give a hand to someone who needs it.

Most bots however, joined the Decepticons. They believed that if the government had been threatened by their peaceful solution then they would coware at their revolution. All of this would lead to their planet dying, not that the blame could be one sided. The Senate and later the Autobots would fight them to standstill.

Ratchet would find himself in the middle of it. At first he tried to stay neutral but the bots of Dead End where quick to bring up the attack. Then it was shaking down his person and finally braking into his home and ransacking his equipment.

Traitor was branded on his door, then on his frame. When Ratchet returned to work with a still orange smelter on his left hip, his friend Wheeljack, help him join the Autobots. For a time he was safe, the squad he joined even allowed him to repair any bot whom he wanted, even Decepticons were allowed to be fixed.

Do you think my life was a success?

>Yes

That's what everybody else thought, too.

...until that one day.

That was until a superior officer had came down for a vist. When they saw Ratchet repair two mechs with purple badges, they made it clear to him this would stop. If he gets caught again they would charge him with treason and he would be place on the enemy list. That's when he knew he had to go.

Being a deserter was a lighter charge than being a traitor. With his life on the line again, Ratchet has to go, because he could never leave a bot to die. In his spark he could never leave a mech to die without trying. He gives Wheeljack his coordinates, he trust that mech to only uses it when absolutely necessary.

Or at least he did.

The next time he sees his former colleague the bot had brought in toe a former bailiff turned Assassin. They force Ratchet to hand over everything on his person. The bots he was traveling with where tied down and put into custody of the Prime.

For the first time in my life, I had the urge to kill.

He was left on the ground, one push away from the cliffside. Wheeljack had saved his life but at the freedom of others. That's when he tells him to never find him again. That if he truly is sorry, he would only give that location to mechs who need it. They both promised something that day and that would be the last time he would speak to him, or it seemed.

So much anger,

As the war went on, Ratchet would travel. He would make a portable ground bridge went to the next battlefields and collect both parts and bots left behind to die. Like a Grim Reaper, he walks the path of death. However, he wouldn't take life he would do his best to keep it.

Rumor about his presence as a super natural entity made it easier to avoid authority. Many bots who believed in apparitions would come with him quietly. When he repaired them all of them would stay by him. When two bots of different factions would meet, it was almost always up to him to keep them civil.

Then he ran into Deadlock. The bot he gained feelings for. At first he didn't recognize him, but in private the mech tells him about the time they first met. That he was standing in the middle of the road in his friend's arm about to die. Then he adimts about the time he almost turned him to Megatron.

But the only way he could place Deadlock to the incidents is when he spoke those words to him. "Come on Doc, don't think like that. Everyone has kindness in their hearts."

That's when Ratchet's spark drops. This was the mech who was sent to capture him. Who knew of his habit of helping injured bots and almost trapped him into the Decepticons. Whenever he looks at Deadlock now, all he sees is a bot who has changed course, and doesn't he deserve a chance at it.

Ratchet of course also has a bad habit of letting mechs who hurt him do it again. So they both come to an agreement, he repairs Deadlock and takes him to back. The mech agrees to help him out with his operations.

So that's what they did. Ratchet would travel around and Deadlock would follow in tow. Keeping him safe and holding down bots when their reflexes kicked in. Later when their party had gotten too big to travel around and the building became to full. Deadlock drove off without a word.

Weeks became months and when two years passed by the mech came back. He tells Ratchet that he managed to find a bombed down theater that still had functional power. It was large enough for housing and medical care. When he shows him Ratchet is so relieved that he kisses him on the spot.

Deadlock field goes haywire but he doesn't reject it. Instead he grabs Ratchet's frame and frags him hard and wild, places him on the stage. With his groveling voice yells into Ratchet's microphone pick ups that he can't wait when the crew comes in. That after a long shift of picking up bots and patching up frames they would do this again, and next time they will have an audience to perform for.

That was the only time they had. As most of it was being too exhausted with fixing the building. Making sure that it look destroyed from the outside, having to only fix the bottom floors without collapsing the building from the top proved to be difficult. Even with the mechs he saved helping out, many issuses of resources and planning was still too much to worry about.

So Deadlock planned to search again. He spends his last night just sitting next to Ratchet. Telling him not worry, and he will comm every day just to reassure him of his safety. Ratchet gives him his ground bridge. Tells him to come back immediately after he finds something he thinks will help and that he will pick up his calls even if he can't talk back.

That was the last time they speak together, because once Ratchet was properly situated he update Wheeljack of his location.

There's a stain shaped like a human.

That's when he finds Impactor and things spirals out of control. Between Wheeljack taking Optimus Prime here, their entourage raising tempers and talks about Megatron abuse of the Matrix. Ratchet has to leave.

Many of his mechs encourage him to stay. Prime has no power here and if they want his help he should force the Autobots to promise to leave them alone. He doesn't answer them, he knows Wheeljack has betrayed him before. That the army has force his hands, but something tells him complying is the best option.

He turns to Impactor, tells him to tell the bigger bots to take care of the sick. Ratchet knows that mech has turned himself around and regained his spark. So it comes to a surprise that the mech follows behind him. Defending him from Elita-One and even sacrificing his own frame by pulling his comm out.

They violated him and still Impactor smiles at him, stays with him and gives his life for him. He sees his spark give out, but never sees his new found love of life leave his body.

That mankin died. He died the instant he became human. You see humans cannot exist in the vortex world...

As he boards the Arc, Ratchet gets a call from Deadlock. When he reached to answer the distance is to far.

#transformers #transformers siege #transformers war for cybertron #maccadam #ratchet #Seige Ratchet #Deadlock #Siege Deadlock #ratchlock #Ratchlock Day #DRAtchet #dritchet #fanfic #valveplug

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parvulous-writings · 4 years ago

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Not on My Watch // Jesse McCree x F!Reader

Request: Howdy! Perhaps another Mccree fic? 👀 Mccree and fem S/o decides to have a chill leisure and some dude catcalled s/o and Mccree witnessed it? what do he do? 😳🤠 (loved the previous fic you did for me im still reading it til this day!!)

Requested by: @fragolaaaaaaa

Summary: McCree takes you out, and you get cat-called.

Warnings: catcalling, alcohol, explicit language.

Words: 1.2K

Notes: Howdy! I had quite a bit of fun with this one! I’m happy to hear you’re still reading my other fic for you! Makes me smile! My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

It was one of McCree’s rare days off, and he had insisted on taking you out for the evening to one of his old local haunts, an old bar in the middle of Deadlock Grange. The entire town may have had some less than savoury memories, but he was hoping that spending some time there with you would clear those away or at least push them to the side. All he wanted was to share a drink with you on a day off, hear you laugh and see you smile at something stupid he’s said. That was his plan- share drinks with you (preferably something involving whisky for himself), maybe get a little less sober and have some real quality time together, away from the buzz of the Overwatch complex.

That was his plan. Initially, things had gone really well- you were now a couple of drinks in, and absolutely loving your time together. You personally couldn’t see why Deadlock Grange was so bad, even after all the tales you had been told. Jesse had gone to get the third round for the pair of you, more than happy to be paying for all of these drinks. Whilst he was gone, someone else saddled up on the stool behind you. You didn’t think anything of it at first, anyone in the facility had right to sit at the bar, rather than at at table. It was when he started speaking to you that the problems started to arise.

“Well, hey there, doll,” He greeted, leaning closer to you- so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath; practically taste it as you turned to give him a distasteful look, to try and show him you were not in any way interested. However, he seemed to take this as the exact opposite of what you had intended. He shuffled so that he sat on the edge of his seat, his face mere inches from your own. “Haven’t seen you round here before... You new?” “Not exactly, could you please-” “Show you around? Sure thing... I’d love to...” He gave you a lopsided grin, brushing some of his greasy, auburn locks from his forehead, clearly trying to make himself appear more attractive. It didn’t work very well at all. “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” You reply, giving him another disgusted look. He seemed to pout a little bit at your words, but you did not cave in to those green faux puppy eyes. “Shame...” He half laments. “I could’ve shown you my place.. Real special, I think you’d like it. ‘Specially the bedroom.” He gave you a sly wink that made your skin crawl.

You move to turn away from him again, but he puts his hand on your shoulder and pulls you back. “Oh come on, now, doll.” He coos. “Don’t be that way, I was being so nice to you, weren’t I?” He pauses, quirking his brow. “Or did you want something more?” He started to grin- but not the kind of grin you would have wanted to see on someone’s face. This one was sick, and twisted, and outright vile. He used his hand on your shoulder to slowly but surely pull you closer to him, till you were practically sitting on his lap. His arms were like the coils of a constrictor as they slowly wrapped themselves around you, holding you in place and preventing your plan of escape.

You heard someone clearing their throat near McCree’s seat- sure enough, it was the gunslinger himself. “’Scuse me, sir.” The needless honourific was drenched in Southern venom, a poison you hadn’t heard him use often at all. This kind of tone was used for people like Reyes or O’Deorain- people who had wronged him substantially, and caused his blood to boil even to this day. The man turned his eyes to Jesse, giving an unsavoury look in his direction. “Can I help you?” He quipped back, and though your eyes were fixed on McCree, you could hear the snarl on your aggressor’s face. “Yeah, actually.” Jesse put the tray of drinks- two pints and some shots- on the surface of the bar. They landed with a clank, and it was surprising that they didn’t topple over or break with the force of the landing. “That’s my girl,” He gestured to you as he spoke. The man just scoffed. “Yeah I don’t think that she is.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. This just infuriated Jesse; you didn’t think you’d ever seen such fire flash behind those earthy irises of his.

His hands started to ball into fists by his sides as he tried desperately to keep his nerve. “I suggest that you step away from ‘er, right now.” He warned, his tone dark and dangerous. You could just tell he was seconds from snapping, and you’d never even seen him this angry before. “And what if I don’t, huh? What’re you gonna do?” The man challenged, “I could give you a new one of those, real easy.” He gestured to McCree’s metal arm. “You can’t do shit, cowboy.” The man slowly got to his feet, flicking the brim of Jesse’s hat as he finished his sentence.

It was then that McCree snapped. He grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt and yanked him away from you- with such a force that it caused Jesse’s victim to yelp, and not quietly either. It caused close tables to stop their conversation, as McCree started to drag the man who tried to woo his girl, his sugarcube outside. It was something he simply could not accept, something that could not go unpunished. Once he had gotten the man onto the dusty road outside the bar, he tossed him to the ground face first. “You stay the fuck away from her!” He growled, kicking the man back down when he tried to get up. The man’s auburn hair stuck to his face and got in his eyes as he groaned. “I didn’t even do anything!” He protested weakly. “You tried, and that’s what I’m angry about. You leave her the fuck alone, or you’ll be gettin’ more than some bruises, I promise ya that!” He vowed, and even this stranger seemed to get the memo. Finally.

With that final threat, Jesse returned to you- taking off his hat and placing it on the bar as he sat beside you. “Sorry about that, sugarcube....” He apologised, seeming genuinely remorseful that he had left you alone, even for a moment. “And for losin’ my cool...” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. You placed a hand on his, showing him some affection to comfort him. “It’s fine Jesse... I liked it, really.” You chuckled, brushing some of his deep brown locks from his brow. “It shows you care... And it was pretty damn sexy.” McCree looked at you for a moment, slightly baffled, before he began to smile, reaching for one of the drinks still on the tray. “Well, if that’s the case... I’m mighty relieved I could be of assistance to ya...” He took a small sip of his drink, before he felt your warm lips against the stubble on his cheek. “You know, cowboy, I meant it when I said that was sexy...” You whisper to him. He seems to get your hint, and starts to chuckle. “Finish your drink off, pumpkin.” He tells you, “Then maybe I’ll give you a lil’ something’.” He winked at you- and his wink was one you genuinely adored; it sent shivers down your spine and made butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Alright, cowboy...” You smirk, picking up your drink, starting to sip at it. It will be a fun night indeed..

#jesse mccree #jesse mccree x reader #mccree x reader #overwatch x reader #mccree overwatch #ourcree

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boizandgurlzinthehouse · 4 years ago

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Hi there! I hope you’re having a great day 🤍🤍🤍 Could you please do a fluff/comfort imagine where Doc Roe falls in love with a female soldier from another nation/agency? Like maybe he’s fixing her up after she’s been injured in battle? Thank you so much 💞

a/n: i changed the plot a little bit, it's after the patching up, there are the echoes about it so i hope you don't mind <3

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐞𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬

—♡

"are you sleeping?"

silence.

"psst, 'gene, are you sleeping?"

still the same, cold quietude.

"i know youre awake."

a little snore broke through the peace. she smiled.

"see, you snored, and your nose is jerking, you do it a lot when you're smoking."

"how could you notice that?"

"i knew you're awake!"

y/n clapped as eugene wiped his eyes to shake the tiredness out of them, leaning his head back to the cold, frozen dirt that surrounded them –hpw dare she come to bastogne, the worst frontline, in entire europe? sure, the secret society's people were even ahrder than the easy company, but everybody else in her squad decided to go to either to france, denmark or hell, back to america. eugene wanted to ask her, between two frore breeze, he would offer her a cigarette so readily –if he had a piece, and if he knew that y/n used to cig. he wanted to ask her favourite color and food, just the causal things, eugene tought about it when he bandaged the girl's hand, the back of her hand and some fingers burned when she tried to pick up and overheated gun.

"you never stay still?"

"i'm beyond my deadlock, now i'm gonna be annoyingly officous and overwhelming. how does that sound, 'gene?"

"do you want a kind or honest answer?"

y/n giggled a little, the circles under her eyes seemed to be rather holes, but the gleaming in the y/e/c ones was ethereal and unique. or it was just deadly exhaustion, who knows –eugene just tried to enjoy the sight.

"is your hand alright?"

"yeah, a little bit burns but it's alright. it's quite interesting that how many things have i done with my hands, my fingers... and now they're just like gross burnt potatoes like in the cantine."

eugene smiled, with his whole heart –his lips were too tired, his hand wanted to touch her face. he wanted to do so many to her with his hands, eugene felt almost uncomfortably unexploited.

"should i fasciate it again?"

"jesus please no, it's so... ugly."

for a second, eugene felt the hesitance and pain in her voice –she flinched back her shoulders, just like an injured bunny. she reminded him of the small and resourceless pets, he wanted to brush her face and hair, brush away the sprink of snowflakes that fell on the crown of her head. she was so beautiful, even when the flaming, homicidal rage in her soul mirrored into her eyes, or when this afternoon she clenched her teeths to soothe the pain in her fingers. her teeths were so white, perconte murmured something about it when y/n threw away her toothbrush, sayin that this was just 'extra weight'. she was ironic, tired from the war, but she felt what they felt –what he felt. and it was a sweet burden to wake up to her voice, even is the night hovered above them.

"it's alright, i've seen much more uglier things than some petite roasted fingers."

eugene didn't even looked up on her face, he didn't realized what he said –only when y/n nudged him with her shoulder, smiling sweetly, a little bit teased.

"did you really said that i have pretty fingers or did i just hallucinate because of the fucking lack of sleep?"

"is that the agency's thing that they always notice even the little things?"

"it's my profession, medic-boy. but at least i'm not going insane, and..."

y/n slowly reached out for his right hand, leaned closer to his face. the locks beside her temple stroked his lips –warm, pleasant chill ran down on his back as the soft skin of her healthy hand, and the scraggy fabric of the bandage touched each other. "thank you, 'gene. you're the best here, the coolest guy. and you can do everything to them legally, so savage."

eugene smiled as she laughed teasingly,

"you're reclaimless, y/n."

"yeah?"

"yeah. that's why i like you."

y/n stroked his hand with both of her hands, the injured one shook slightly. eugene took care of it, giving a few strokes with his free left hand.

"don't push it, it'll hurt more."

"it's worth it."

his blue eyes met her y/e/c ones –it was warm, with endearment, delicacy. eugene hoped he looks at least the same, and that she count his rosy cheeks as the sharp cold.

the moment broke off as y/n got tired. her fingers slipped away from his, but eugene still felt something small between his palms –looking at it, he realized that she sneaked a piece of chocolate into his hands without his hands.

"what is this, y/n?"

"a piece if nurture, you don't mind, i hope?"

"i didn't even notice you smuggled this to me."

"i don't mention, but your concentration is a bit shitty..."

"y/n!"

"it's just the deadlock, don't blame me!"

i hope you liked it, it's almost 1am here, i gotta go tomorrow –well, today– to the library jdksmd

sleep well babes!! >3<

#eugene roe x you #eugene roe headcanons #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe #band of brothers hbo #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers headcanon #band of brothers headcanons #request #send me stuff #send me requests

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lilyrachelcassidy · 4 years ago

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Summer Nights (2)

A/N: Is that... is that...? The unbridled enthusiasm I’m hearing? Or are you trying to reach me with torches and pitchforks for being so untrustworthy? Assuming the first option.

Anyway -- Yes, as I promised, this is the second part of the Summer Nights which you would hopefully enjoy. Waiting for your feedback. It’s the INDEX if you need a refresher.

ALSO, I give a lot of credit to @drawlfoy and @bored-and-botheredwho helped me with editing this chapter and steamed off my emotional breakdown related to my writing (lmao). I love you so much gals and a big THANK U once more!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: coarse language; alcohol; Narcissa turning into a shitty-mother (lol)

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee@bforbroadway @okaydraco

The next thing Draco knew, he was being woken up with a massive hangover in the snuggly, way-too-comfortable bed by the high-pitched squeal of his mother.

"You, darling, made a lot of trouble for yourself yesterday," Narcissa admonished her son, a glacial cool look on her face. Entering Draco's hotel apartment, she walked over to the window and opened the drapes with one swift movement, splashing an annoyed Draco with light. He groaned, not yet daring to complain due to his mother's livid mood, to say the least.

"You have no idea of what happened yesterday, do you?"

"Yyy-" was the only sound he could make. God, where to the fuck was he? He hadn't been this plastered in forever.

"Of course you don't." Narcissa shook her head and laughed nervously, although she made it plainly obvious there was nothing humorous about the situation. "You blacked out so hard in that sleazy bar there is no way you can recall anything from yesterday. Look at you -- you are squinting at me like I'm the sun!"

Draco nervously ran his finders through his disheveled hair. He was definitely not in the right mind to provoke the conflict. "I left you the note at the reception," he informed her, trying to slickly get out of the unenviable conversation. "Told the receptionist to hand it over."

Contrary to his mother's accusatory ascertainment, he actually had some glimpses of the previous night (or should he say an all-night rave?). There were for sure drinks -- a lot of drinks; a variety of kinds he didn't recognize from the magical world but still guzzled delightfully. The second recollection was dancing --which wasn't his intention, but with some luck of his -- got invited by some hot-looking chicks from across the table. And yes, he definitely remembers the swaying and the rhythmical moving of the hips along with some cheesy muggle vibes mixed with the smell of booze and weed. Maybe he even hooked up with one of the girls? The last thing he recollects before passing out, almost like through a haze, was seeing Narcissa's furious face screaming something incoherent at him. Overall, that's his all night wrapped in one.

"Do you think the mere note 'I will be fine' was going to calm down my shattered nerves? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear to our dear ancestors, I did not raise you to act so irresponsibly." She waved the finger at him warningly. “We come from rich history. You are the descendant from a line of successful forefathers who put their effort into building up our reputation. Do you think Lucius would approve of such unrestrained behavior? I’ve been already hearing of letting you be too careless. Is tha-"

"Mother, could we skip the lecture?" Draco snapped angrily, try as he might to suppress it. "I've heard it too many times. All I’m trying to have is a peaceful life. Without the prying eyes of the media and the meddling of my family..."

"And all I’m trying to have is an integrated, happy family to offer you support and love.” Draco opened his mouth to cut her in, but she shushed him with a wave, clearly suggesting 'Don’t even get me started’ meaning. “I’ve been- been trying to get a job, going through the infelicitous job interviews and looking for a solution to help our household through the post-war crisis. Have you shown any interest in that? Any?"

"But mo-"

"The last thing I want to have on my mind is dealing with your ignorant, boyish transitional stages, and let me tell you -- you do not make it any easier for me," she said without taking a breath. She exhaled slowly and continued, this time forcing a softer tone. "I ask you one thing for this summer. Let it be an enjoyable time without unnecessary conflicts. We have come to the beautiful country as France. Let's make a good thing out of it."

Draco, who was already wide awake by the buzz of adrenaline, looked at her with a serious expression. Scanning her face made him suddenly realize how hard must it have been for her to bear everything, and seeing the bags of tiredness under her beautiful, hazel eyes stopped him from retorting. "Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always support you. Remember that."

Narcissa smiled. “Oh. I know, honey, I know.” This time she lowered her voice by two octaves, slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… people have been gossiping behind our backs lately, partly throwing the blame at us. All I’m trying to do is protect us from those tormentors. But your binge drinking is not making the deadlock any better, and it drives me mad.” She chortled a little bit and patted Draco’s palm. “So, until the rumors die down, all we can do is raise our chins high.” Narcissa ended, her voice encouraging yet plaintive.

The last thing Draco liked is seeing his mother on the verge of emotional exhaustion, like in this moment. He felt an instant surge of sympathy, so he quickly found himself locking Narcissa in the supportive embrace. She responded to the gesture by wrapping her arms around her son’s neck and stroking his cheek delicately with the back of her hand, just like in the old times. Both of them yearningly wished to come back to those years of frivolity.

"I promise I'll try to be better," Draco said with certainty. Seeing Narcissa’s eyes light up in gratefulness and the smiley dimples form on her features, he assured himself it was the right thing to say at that mother-son moment.

“How could I be so lucky to have such a wise boy,” she muttered proudly, kissing Draco at the top of his head. “But perhaps you should not restrain yourself too much during the holiday. I give you the partial alibi per se. Just keep it under control.”

Smiling, Narcissa got up, straightening up her impeccable posture as in the habit of the high-status woman. For the first time in that day, Draco noticed how elegantly she was dressed up: the black, partly lacy dress stopping at the level of her knees; the shiny-white pearl jewelry perfectly matching her entire outfit; dark yet not defiant high-heels; andhair fixed up in the tight bun. In Draco’s opinion, she looked too prim...even for herself.

"Mother, are you heading somewhere?" he asked curiously.

“Well…” she started, blushing. “I’m going to see my old friend in the coffee shop. I haven’t been there for ages, so it’s one of the chances to meet up with them. Hopefully, you are going to take care of yourself for a few days.”

"Days?" he asked, shocked.

“You didn’t expect me to travel from town to town, did you?” she laughed lightly. “Bordeaux is quite a route to overcome. So I might be settling there for a few nights. Do you mind it, darling?”

Was he positive about the information? Did he mind? Partly yes. He didn’t imagine the prospect of wandering around the alleys of France on his own, especially on the first day of being there. But from the other side, seeing the joy painted on his mother’s face as she told him about the planned get-together made him feel less skeptical. Plus, getting rid of the extreme supervision for a few days wouldn’t be such a disaster as well.

As he calculated now, the ratio about the idea was 90% pro and 10% against.

"Of course not," he said simply, smiling at his mother.

"I knew you would understand." The crease of uncertainty on her forehead disappeared, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Meanwhile... I have already booked you the brunch downstairs but seeing as you are not in the wholesome state, I might order a delive-"

"Don't..." Draco opposed, rising from the bed and throwing the nearest shirt he could find over his head. "I'll come down. Some fresh air may be a cure for a hangover. Oh, and speaking of hangovers -- do you happen to have an anti-hangover potion?"

Narcissa let out a quiet chuckle and clapped her hands, seemingly satisfied with herself. Her tranquil gaze landed on the cupboard. "As a matter of self-preservation, yes, I do. Try searching inside the bedside cabinet."

He thanked her and then they talked with each other a little bit longer until Narcissa took the pocket watch out of her handy purse, noted the time ("Merlin's Beard, I am so tardy! I'm going to be alone on the platform if I stay here a minute longer!), and –a little startled with her inadvertency – hurriedly declared she should get going ("I really should get going Draco!”). Pecking her son twice on the cheeks as a farewell, she rushed towards the door and, for the last time, turned around to blow a brief motherly goodbye kiss. She left in such a hurry that the only sign indicating her presence in the room a few seconds ago was her familiar perfume lingering about in the air.

Draco gathered his clothes, and after half an hour of very difficult preparations while dealing with the consequences of yesterday's actions -- because the potion finally hits after two to three hours -- he found himself in front of the hotel's restaurant. As he walked in, he had to admit the room enchanted him with its lovely atmosphere, which brought back the memories of his first Hogwart's magical feast as an eleven-year-old boy.

With the large windows allowing plenty of light in, the entire space was in the classical style. The whole floor was clad with marble tiles in the white-like color; the walls were purely white and, apparently, someone must have put a lot of effort not to let a single dust spot appear in there; the ceiling was created in the concept of the sky resemblance making an impression of the real clouds hovering over heads. Three enormous chandeliers made a very good fit with carved wooden tables and similarly-looking chairs.

"Sir, would you like to make an order?" The decently looking waitress walked over to his table, with a white apron around her waist and green, deep eyes staring at him. "I'm Laura, by the way. I'll be serving you today."

He nodded, not really paying much attention to her primitive attempts of having a chit-chat. Cursorily glancing at the menu, he decided on having a french bagel with melted cheese and a coffee which was a specialty of the house as was written in the recommendations. The waitress scribbled something sloppily in her notes, smiled briefly, and then strode away.

The restaurant was almost fully emptied, and the only things heard in the background were a heated discussion of the couple beside the table and a composition of french, old songs prepared specifically for the guests.

Draco let out a small sigh of boredom, thinking yet again about the scenery of today. The only ideas that crossed his mind were either lounging in his stuffy hotel room or finding another hang-out spot to drown his sorrows.

After the War, he had found out it was pretty easier not to give in to any of the memories, blurring them out with the support of Scotch as a coping mechanism. Pansy and Daphne, his childhood friends, had tried to talk him out of it, kindly offering some tenderness and a chance for a conversation. But he had eventually stopped caring about any of that bullshit anymore.

That's why perhaps he'd just--

"Hi!" said a cheerful voice behind him, making him jump slightly at his seat with surprise. At first, he thought it was a mistake; that he must have been deemed as someone else considering he didn't know anyone around, so was in the opposite way. Turning around, however, made him realize it wasn't entirely the truth. "Do you remember me?"

"Hello." Of course, he remembered her. It was the receptionist from the previous day, whose name he didn't bother to memorize. Although he planned on avoiding potential candidates for a talk today, he said truthfully, "Yes, I do. You work here, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, smiling. "Can I join?"

For a moment, his sluggish brain did not process what she was asking about, and that made him frown. The girl probably comprehended what it was about because she explained, reading his confused expression. "...the table".

"Oh," he said, feeling more than embarrassed for his dumb reaction. "Yeah, help yourself."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling out the chair to make some room for herself. "Tough night, huh?"

The inquiry made him suddenly realize she must have witnessed the whole scene yesterday -- him asking her for a favor, Narcissa drilling her out for any clues about his disappearance, his arrogant attitude, and scurrility as he spoke to her. For sure, if she were smart enough, she would deduce what the situation was about.

He couldn't help it, but a wave of shame pierced through his body, and his stomach rolled slightly.

"A little," he answered minimizing a dimension of the spree, almost like a lie, and then he shook his head. "Listen, sorry about yesterday. I might have been...rude."

A small smile of courtesy formed on her lips. "I presumed you were a little off. Happens..." she said tentatively, gripping both of her hands together. "Oh, and about yesterday -- you lost this at the lobby." She took his wand out, and Draco's stomach made a second roll, the heartbeat hastening like a speed of light. He quickly tried to bring his face to the natural expression, but the girl had noticed that, and curiosity filled her eyes. "I thought I should give that back. In case it was valuable or something."

Fucking great... How was he supposed to elucidate that?

His throat felt so dry he couldn't let out a word of excuse. The moment was so mortifying to him he just reached for the familiar wand and nodded politely in gratefulness.

"Mhm..." Draco hummed, barely audible and momentarily deflated. "It's just... Something I've been training with..."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dolt?!

"Oh," the girl unconsciously flipped her hair off the shoulders, probably trying to make sense of the information. Furrowing her brows, she put her hand under the chin. "Are you a magician?"

"Kind of..." he agreed, not happy about the reputation he had just created for himself, but at the same time satisfied he didn't have to make up more explanations.

Luckily for Draco, the uncomfortable pause was rescued by the arrival of the food -- thank Merlin -- and even though he hadn't been hungry at all, now he felt an unexpected appetite to eat up the awkwardness. The girl probably caught a hint it was about time to end an encounter because she grunted.

"Listen," the girl started, clearing her throat yet again. "I better get going. But..."

The next thing Draco knew was that she was reaching to her pocket again, this time taking out something similar to a quill, only without ink. He assumed it must some kind of muggle invention, only a mechanical-like version. The girl uncorked it and suggestively drew out her hand, clearly signifying he should bring his hand closer as well. He obediently did.

"France is a big city," she said, glancing at him and sounding serious. "If you ever needed someone to show you around, let me know."

Without any preamble, her soft, delicate fingers grasped his forearm (he made sure to give her the right one), and with a few scrawls on his skin, she looked at him merrily, blushing slightly, and then left a table.

He stared after her for a while, looking at her curls bouncing behind her back as she walked away at a slow, monotonic pace. After a few seconds, she disappeared out of his sight, letting him finally peek at the note she had left:

'Call me, Y/N,' and a nine-digit number attached.

XOXOXO

A/N: I know this part might have contained too little Draco x Reader momento, but I promise it’ll get better as a plot develops. Also -- is it only my impression, or is Narcissa as changeable as the weather in Germany lol.

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teawaffles · 4 years ago

Text

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 6

Note: Some language.

“——The ‘riddle’ has been solved.”

The moment they returned to the inn, Gregson issued that loud proclamation.

Just like before, the suspects and police officers merely wore unresisting expressions, with no one saying a word. But he’d already taken that bewilderment and silence into account; disregarding them, Gregson began to speak.

“You’re probably wondering what’s this all of a sudden, especially since I was fretting away up until a while ago. But after gathering my thoughts outside, the answer came to me in a flash. So, for a moment, please remain quiet and listen.”

Gregson said so in a stern tone, and began to prowl around the room.

“This case went as follows: the Yard arrested one of the fugitives in that inn, but during the interrogation, he was murdered. Moreover, the building was caught in a fire and burnt to the ground.”

“How pitiful.”

The proprietress sneered. But Gregson did not rise to the bait, instead continuing in a calm voice.

“……Then it was up to us to identify the fugitive’s killer, but as the investigation proceeded, we came to realise that the situation the victim had been placed in was unusually baffling. Firstly, from what I witnessed of the body first-hand, I ruled out the explanations of both suicide and an accident. Next, I concluded that the victim did not use the fire to escape, hence leaving the theory that he was killed by another person. But judging from the testimonies of those involved, it would’ve been difficult for the murderer to head to the victim’s room and kill him directly. Moreover, we had to dismiss the idea that he’d been shot from the window. In other words, every solution that followed from common sense had been rejected. As such, I found myself in a deadlock.”

Gregson had laid bare his state of mind; nervously, Bruno spoke up.

“……Then, does that mean we’ve reached a dead end?”

“Nope. On the contrary — as I mentioned earlier, I’ve found the answer.”

Then, he declared in a loud voice.

“This was—— an escape plan all along.”

“……Huh?”

Everyone — except Sherlock — was thrown into confusion.

After that moment of utter amazement, Bruno asked a question on behalf of everyone present.

“No, no, didn’t you say it yourself earlier? There’s no way he could’ve escaped.”

“Don’t be hasty. What I wanted to say, was that to the victim, this had been an escape plan.”

“……That doesn’t make any sense, you know.”

Hillary hadn’t quite grasped his meaning. Breaking his gaze away from her, Gregson continued pacing around the room.

“Perhaps he’d thought of this plan when he was hiding in the inn, or maybe it struck him when he realised the police were arriving and panicked — we can’t be sure which one it is, but what’s certain is that before we arrested the fugitive, his accomplice told him that the room had a hidden escape route.”

Not unexpectedly, the proprietress cut in.

“What are you talking about — an escape route? There was nothing of the sort: as the owner of the place, I can tell you that much.”

“Precisely. I checked that too: there was no such thing. But as criminals lurk in the slums, there are many who conspire to abet them; underground passageways and the like criss-cross the area to help them to escape the Yard in an emergency. Hence, it’s likely the victim believed him.”

“…………”

Even Hillary, who’d mercilessly filed her complaints earlier, had nothing to say to that. Both her lack of enquiry into her prospective guests’ history, as well as the reinforced room doors, had instead served to aid the murderer: that much was undeniable, and her guests had caught on as well.

“We can only speculate as to the details of his plan; but suffice to say, the arrested man had believed him. Then his accomplice started the fire at a prearranged time, and the man locked the room from the inside — this was so that no one could enter the room as he fled. In addition, as he was convinced he had a chance of escaping, he refused to cooperate during the interrogation.”

“There were various holes in their plan: for one, what if the officers didn’t take a break and stayed in the room? But in reality, things had gone just as they had expected……. Though, if the residents here weren’t so hostile to the police, the officers might not have acted so carelessly.”

Sherlock chimed in with his own defence of the Yard. After a beat of silence, Gregson continued.

“As such, the man had been left alone in the room, and the fire began right after. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. He quickly broke the chair’s armrests and got free of his bonds; he then locked the room door, and headed to the ‘escape route’ he’d been told of earlier.”

“H-Hold on just a moment.”

Confused, Bruno cut in.

“Earlier, you kept going on about an escape route and the like…… What does that have to do with the murder? If it was just that he couldn’t escape, then he would’ve still been alive in the room. On the off chance that he did manage to break out, then he would’ve been long gone in the first——”

Questions poured forth from the young man, and Gregson promptly raised a hand to stop him.

“You’ve been interrupting a lot since the start. I’m trying to explain everything carefully and in order here. Please listen properly till the end.”

“H-Huh……”

Reluctantly, Bruno fell silent, and Gregson resumed his explanation.

“Where was I…… Ah yes, the man was headed to the escape route. So he went to the indicated location — most likely the spot where he’d collapsed, one step away from the door. At first glance, the worn-out floor was unremarkable, but his fate awaited him right there. There had to be something: naturally, he got down on all fours to search for it. It’s likely he broke free of his bonds so he could use his hands at this point.”

Saying that, Gregson stopped before the three suspects. He formed the shape of a gun with his hand, and pointed it at Bruno.

“Right then, his accomplice shot him.”

“……Eh?”

Astonished, Bruno frowned.

“I-I don’t understand. In any case, I get that you’re trying to say he died of a gunshot; but at what point did the murderer show up?”

“Don’t get me wrong: the killer didn’t enter from the door or the window……”

Gregson’s finger had been pointed at the young man—— and now he turned it upward.

“——He shot him from below.”

“Huh? ......Ah!”

The other officers, the proprietress, and the young man were all stunned speechless. This idea had not two, but three dimensions. Three rooms lined up in a row, and three floors with the same layout.

From the room at the end of the second floor, a single line extended downward. As they listened to the inspector’s walkthrough of the crime, that was the image that formed in everyone’s minds.

As if enjoying their reactions, a smile rose to Gregson’s lips.

“The victim had been shot from underneath, while he was in a position as if he were crawling on the floor. That’s why his corpse had been prone, and that’s also why there hadn’t been much blood in the room. Based on the position of the victim’s body, there is only one person who could’ve used such a trick.”

Now, Gregson’s gun turned into an accusatory finger, pointed at the true culprit.

“It’s you, in room 203. Mike Myers.”

“Wha-……!”

The burly man, who'd been silent all this while, winced and took a step back.

“Wait — such a ridiculous method’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“It’s not impossible. The floor was decaying in places, so much so there were even holes. A bullet would’ve easily passed through it.”

“……I’ve been meaning to get it fixed sometime,” Hillary muttered. “Certainly, a gun with a bit of power would be able to punch through it.”

“If he’d been shot from below, how did you know where the dead man was?!”

Gregson shot back. “I explained it earlier, didn’t I? When the fire began, I saw the victim lying on the floor, one step away from the door.”

Mike looked desperate. “Even so, this is preposterous! If you think about it normally, since he’d died in a locked room, doesn’t that mean he simply couldn’t withstand the police interrogation and killed himself?!”

“I’ve also covered that already. Judging from the scene back then, it was neither a suicide, an accident, nor an escape attempt — it’s clearly a murder. Furthermore, it was after considering each and every method that I arrived at this trick. When you’ve eliminated the impossible——”

Gregson stopped.

That was the line Sherlock had used. If he’d borrowed not just his powers of deduction, but even his very words, he would have ruined the way things were between them.

“N-No, I refuse to accept this! Besides, it’s only a possibility that this trick worked! Without any evidence, it’s all just speculation!”

“……Hm.”

Up to this point, Gregson had presented his deductions without hesitation; but now a trace of bitterness crept into his expression.

To begin with, apart from Gregson’s own meagre eyewitness account, as well as hearsay from people who’d been in the vicinity, this case presented nothing for them to work with. When one got right down to it, the possibilities they’d been discussing were nothing more than conjecture. They had no unshakeable, physical evidence to base their accusation on — the suspect had hit a sore spot, and the inspector had no words with which to rebut him.

Even so, Gregson refused to show any sign of weakness, forcing his expression into a smile.

“Hmmm.”

Then Sherlock, who’d been standing near the entrance, began to do some stretches.

“……Well, Mike has a point, doesn’t he? We can’t just accuse someone based on hypotheticals.”

“Right, right? As I was saying, I didn’t kill him.”

“——However.”

Sherlock raised both arms toward the ceiling.

“If Gregson is right, then you must’ve raised your arms like this when holding the gun. Then you fired a shot. After that, what remained on the ceiling?”

His interest piqued, Gregson also looked at the ceiling.

“What’s left — the hole from the gunshot……”

Once again, he felt as if an electric bolt had coursed through his body. It was the same feeling he had gotten when he’d spoken to Sherlock about the crime scene earlier.

Gregson continued. “There hadn’t been any sizeable pool of blood around the body……. That’s because most of the blood that spilled out of the bullet wound, had flowed through the hole left by the gunshot. And if it had trickled down to the floor below……”

“!”

Instantly, Mike hid his arms behind his back. But it was futile: Gregson pounced on him, grabbing his arms and pushing his rolled-up sleeves even higher.

Everyone stared.

On the underside of each of his upper arms, was a streak of dried, dark red blood.

“I see. The blood dripped from the hole in the ceiling onto your arms, then trickled all the way there and dried up.”

“……Shit. I wiped it off up to my elbows, but there was still some higher up.”

His arms still restrained, Mike’s shoulders slumped. That had been as good as a confession. Somehow, it seemed the bloodstains were in his blind spot, and that was why he’d missed them.

“……A-Alright! That confession and these bloodstains ended up deciding it all! My deductions were right, of course! Ha, hahaha……”

Wrapping up his explanation, Gregson broke into peals of awkward laughter. At that, his audience looked puzzled, but gave him a small round of applause nevertheless.

“……I can’t stand that personality of his — but those were excellent deductions, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah. I’ve managed to see his professionalism today.”

Even as a wry smile escaped her lips, Hillary grudgingly offered words of praise; and Sherlock agreed with her on that.

Footnotes:

This is a great time to add that Mike Myers is a reference to the killer in the Halloween movie franchise (warning for horror — Wikipedia), similar to Jake Voorhees in the first story. Thank you @oaroftheocean for pointing this out!

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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pastelpaperplanes · 5 years ago

Note

Besides Yoketron, did Lockdown have any mentor figures in his life? What was his early life like? Does he see alot of himself in Cozen or mostly Prowl?

Lockdown was the first student Yoketron took under his personal care at the dojo. Yoketron was always a mentor figure to Lockdown and nothing more, the two butted heads quite a lot and Lockdown never really learned the whole ‘respect your Master’ bit of his training

Yoketron didn’t blame Lockdown for his abrasive and rude behavior though. He was an orphaned ‘halfbreed’ and was sent to be under the care of the Dojo as the Elite Guard’s last ditch effort to set him on a straight and narrow path. While Lockdown never spoke about how others (including his superiors) treated him for simply just being him, Yoketron can take a pretty good guess from the way he flinched whenever someone raised their hands too quickly, or the nasty, mangled protoform scarring, and what it looked like to be a thrice broken, improperly healed right hand he’d been hiding.

Essentially High Command wanted the Dojo to whip him into shape as a good and obiedient soldier with their ‘freaky voodoo ninja magic’ it was either you fix him, or he goes. Whatever that meant. Lockdown wasnt a pure blooded Bot, so it’s not like he’d pose for anything good in their perfect Autobot society if he couldn’t follow even the simplest of commands.

(YALL. this is horrible and heartbreaking and I know it. I do not portray Autobot society, ESPECIALLY right after the Great War, to be kind or accepting towards mecha who did not come straight off of their Forge assembly line as perfect soldiers)

Lockdown was part of the last group mecha born under the rare but still present generation of sparklings. All Decepticons were banished from the major cities and into deep space, while Decepticon fraternizers or sympathizers either went missing, or simply got lucky if they managed to escape the Roundups.

Lockdown doesn’t remember his Creators at all and doesn’t know if he was traded, abandoned, or seized. All he’s ever know is that he is alone, and as far as the Elite Guard is concerned, he will either be a cog in their machine or he will be nothing but fuel for The Forge.

Yoketron volunteered for the job of watching over this battered but still very much a helluva spitfire angsty teen. Lockdown refused to meditate because it was just a ‘glorified time out’ and it was ‘stupid’. Lockdown was a night owl while Yoketron was an early riser, they had a lot of arguments about what proper training times should be.

Yoketron of course did get to see small moments of clarity and joy on Lockdown’s face in all their years or training, like when Lockdown managed to sweep his pedes from under him, or the first time he was able to sneak up on his Master. Smiles on Lockdown’s face left as quick as they came.

Lockdown would never admit out loud that he truly felt safe when he was with Yoketron, he would probably try to hug him again and Lockdown was NOT about to let his Master get soft with him

As time went on, his training progressed and he just about grasped everything Yoketron had to offer. All except for processor over matter, which left Lockdown spitting curses every time Yoketron had him attempt to open the Dojo’s Protoform Chambers. He could never quite get that final part of his training and it tore him to pieces.

In an attempt to ease Lockdown’s frustration, Yoketron sent him on his own optics quest. That would be the last time Yoketron saw his pupil before the the infamous Dojo Raid.

Unfortunately Lockdown got caught up with the wrong bots while on his quest. Decepticons were far more accepting than he could’ve hoped for, they offered shelter, free space travel, energon, and comraderie in exchange for his help in some ‘harmless’ mercenary work. Taking out bots along the way we’re just little prices that had paid in order to make a statement back at the Elite Guard High Command.

During this time Lockdown met a young, but extremely talented Decepticon mercenary named Deadlock, who recommended he try and secure a place at the table of factionless and most notorious bounty hunters in the galaxy,,,a small gang of sorts, one of which he wanted to truly be including in their ring he’d have to lead a hunt worth some BIG CREDITS to keep his place.

Lockdown knew of only one chamber that could hold something so priceless,,,,so priceless that it could put him in the top dog spot if he led this hunt.

The night of his costly, but successful Raid, Lockdown decided two things: he never again wanted to see the look on a mecha’s face as he pulled the trigger, and he will from now on always work alone.

It turns out that mercenaries have only their eyes on the prize, friends and family who stand in the way are only easy, pleading targets. No amount of begging or bribery could convince the crew to let his Master go, it was either you do the job now, or we’ll have some fun and string it out a bit. The Golden Rule of Hunting: No loose ends.

When it was all over land said and done, Lockdown’s crew dragged their broken leader back onboard with all of the Chamber Protoforms secure. No one thought it would be any good to let him know that in fact his Master’s suffering spark was still flickering within the rubble of the Dojo. Not until one of them while during their drunken celebration let that little piece of information slip.

With his mind made up, Lockdown disposed of his inebriated crew out the airlock, and had them pray some ship out somewhere out in deep space picked them up before their fuel tanks ran dry.

Not knowing who or where to turn to with his expensive cargo in bay, Lockdown ditched his buyer and sold them off to the Decepticons in hopes that if he could get in anyone’s good graces, it would be the next most powerful organization in the galaxy.

With his riches under belt, Lockdown bought himself a nice secluded ship, nearly drank himself to death multiple times, then later got caught up in his obsessive addiction to mods in hopes to tear up the pieces of himself that reminded him of his worst crime.

As the years passed and his jobs became more damanding, Lockdown easily took the throne as the most ruthless and efficient bounty hunter to have ever lived. He may claim to have found his calling, but Lockdown knows that now matter how many fancy new mods he buys, he’ll never be able to replace the mech he called Master.

As for who he sees more in Cozen, it’s Prowl, and he couldn’t be more proud. Cozen may have his attitude, but deep down he knows his kid has a kind spark and is selfless above all.

#—inhale #A N G S T #so lockdown murdered his totally not dad for a spot with this cool kids then tore aprt his frame for the following millennia of his life #as penance #BUT!!#the best thing hes ever done and ever will do is giving his sparklings a much better life than what he started out with #hes beyond relieved that on the inside Cozen is so much more like prowl than him #sure they share a lot of the same looks but his kid reminds him of prowl everyday in the little things he does #like trying to bring plants onboard after lockdown’s on planet supply runs #or giving bunco his extra thermal blanket in their pillow forts even when he doesnt ask for it #or when hes mad he’ll stick his sharp little face in a pout just like prowl did #ld just hopes he did right by prowl in raising their kid to be better than him in every way he can manage :’)#also YES #Teen Lockdown was a TWIG. STING BEAN. now you know where sparkling cozen gets it from dhdbsjbdd #transformers #asks #my art #abuse tw #cybertron’s future au #lockdown #cozen #yoketron #tfa lockdown #master yoketron #transformers animated

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a-heart-inscribed · 4 years ago

Text

It Evaded Me

Here is a prompt I started awhile back and just found the motivation to start writing again.

I had an idea about possibly turning this into a multi chapter but let me know if you’d like to see that.

Shameless. He was absolutely shameless as he stood there and let a ruthless smile spread across his face, looking down at the team. Your team. His eyes sparkled with a madness you hadn’t seen in years as he look over all of you assembled standing before him.

Your heart was racing and eyes burning with unshed tears and the sting from the smoke in the air around you. There was ash and shoot in the air and you knew it smudged your face.

Madness crackled in his words “Is this all you’ve got? ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’?”

“Loki! Enough!” Thor bellowed from beside you. “What are you doing, brother?”

“Ah, just what I do best. Betrayal is my calling card, is it not?” His eyes flashed over Tony at your side for a moment as he spoke before snapping back to his brother.

Swallowing and fighting back the ache in your chest you called out. “Loki, stop this. Please…”

If you didn’t know him so well you wouldn’t have seen the flash over his face at your words, though it was so fast even you couldn’t read it. “It’s too late for that, darling. Nothing personal.”

Thor sighed and cringed next to you but it barely registered as you shouted back. “Nothing personal? Nothing fucking PERSONAL?!” Magic snaped around your fingers as your hands balled into fists, one instinctively closing over the hilt of your sword.

Rolling his neck and one shoulder he shrugged. “It’s just business, Pet.”

The blood rushing in your ears drown out the shouts of you name mixed with a chorus of ‘no’s, ‘stop’s and ‘wait’s from the team around you. A shout ripped from your lips and you lunged forward, unsheathing the weapon at your side. Though they may have been trying to protest, you could make out your team leaping forward to follow your lead. Steve and Bucky soon made it level to your head start in the charge, you could feel Thor just behind you and hear as Tony took to the air on your other side. You couldn’t get a gage on the others but knew they would fall in line with the team.

Loki snickered and with a flick of his wrist called forward more enemy soldiers before fluidly moving down the steps himself. His movements where almost rhythmic as he moved directly at all of you, a staff materializing in one hand, short sword in the other, and his horned helmet upon his head.

You could hear the line of your team collide headfirst with enemies, battle sounds flaring up around you. In a move Loki himself had taught you, your forward attack turned into the momentum to slide under your opponent followed by a back stroke to the back of the soldier’s head with the hilt in you hand hard enough to knock them out. Turning quickly back to your now clear path to Loki, you could almost see pride shining under the crazed façade as he watched you, moving steadily in your direction.

He stopped a short distance from you, planting his feet in a wide stance to brace for your incoming assault. “Shall we dance, sweetheart?”

Your sword clashed into his as he blocked your swing. “Fuck you, Loki. I-”

His chuckle and counterattack threw you off, but you blocked in the nick of time and he nearly purred at you, “I believe you did just that. darling.”

The growl that ripped from your throat was almost feral and the hurt that flooded through you fueled your movements. You had trained with Loki frequently, you two often sparing with weapons and, as your magic developed, he had trained you to use your magic. The two of you were normally evenly matched and you knew the other’s style like the back of your hand, but you were gaining the upper hand in this moment.

“Y/n!” you heard Tony’s voice before the incoming blast from his suit. The blast hit between you and Loki and it sent you both reeling apart. Tony rarely missed when he was this close. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said the blast was targeted to break the two of you apart.

Using your legs to swing for momentum you flip yourself back to standing, facing Loki as he regains his bearings as well. You move fast, trying to get to him before he is totally oriented, but your attack is met with an easy parry.

Swinging again you end up in another deadlock, Loki’s face inches from yours, his blue eyes burning into yours. “After everything Loki, after you promised… You couldn’t give me any hint that this was where your mind was venturing? You promised you’d let me know so I could help before it got to this…”

His eyes flash and face fell a bit before he responds through clenched teeth, “Sorry, Love. It evaded me…”

Pushing him back a step to unlock your weapons you let your arms fall to your sides. “Please, Loki, stop this. If you stop this now maybe…” You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping from your eyes, slowly down your cheeks, “We can fix it. I’ll help you, just please stop this.”

His staff vanished from his hand and he lowered the sword in the other one as he stepped closer. “I-” his eyes roamed your face for a moment before he sighed. “I can’t, love.”

You had let him get too close and as his hand came shooting up you braced for an attack, trying to move to block it. His hand grasping the collar of your uniform surprised you and you looked up into his eyes again. “I can’t.” He breathed before he tugged you forward, and his lips crashed into yours.

It was familiar but so different. Over the course of your relationship with the God of Mischief you had shared many different types of kisses with him from heated and fast to slow and comforting. But this was desperate and pleading, as if he were trying to make you understand.

Then you felt it, the familiar brush of Loki’s mind and consciousness against yours. Both he and Wanda had worked with all of the team to learn to guard your minds against intruders. None of you had been practicing long and the training had proven futile less than an hour previously, so you were surprised. You knew Loki could force his way in like the others had, but this brush was tentative, asking permission for access. Instinctively you let down your wall to him but slammed the wall back up to prevent full access. He could speak to you, hear you respond, but his access to more than that was restricted unless he forced it.

He was in your mind as his lips moved urgently against yours. Talk to Stark. Force him to explain if you must. He has answers.

Loki? You responded back softly, another tear slipping out and down into your kiss.

Please, talk to Stark. His lips broke from yours and he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you with your eyes closed still. I love you, Y/n.

Loki… Your thoughts were laced with heartbreak as you spoke directly to his mind but before you could go on, he softly pulled his mind from yours. You could feel his hesitation before he blocked you from chasing him into his own mind, his walls more solid and unyielding than yours had ever been.

“Get ready to block, darling.” He whispered softly as your eyes opened back up to look into his.

Looking up this closely at him his eyes were clear, and you were looking into the eyes of the man you loved. It made your chest ache more. He gave you a sad smile before you watched the madness seep back in and cover him like a mask, his smile growing more sinister.

The normal volume to his voice almost made you jump compared to the intimacy previously. “For old times sake, sweetheart. But you will fail.” Suddenly he used the hand still clutching your collar to push you back before slowly raising his sword to point it at your chest and taking a fighting stance. “You will all fail.”

His slow movements had allowed you, though confused and conflicted, to ready yourself for his incoming assault. Again, your blades met, and it was back to the familiar dance of advance and retreat.

You found yourself in another stalemate, blades locked and face to face. At some point he had resummoned his staff, which he currently held behind him for balance. Mind racing you reached out with your magic, triggering his reflex to bring the staff forward in a way that let you slam your free hand down on his wrist before moving around to catch the staff as he released it.

Shock shown on his face as you swiped one of his legs out from under him with his staff, sending his staggering backwards and the onto his ass.

Looking up at you he cackled, “Impressive, but not enough.” His magic sparked through the air around you and suddenly he was on his feet again.

You raise the staff to throw, aiming for his legs so as not to harm him but bring him down. As you let it go, flying true, you are surprised when metal clangs and Steve’s shield crashes into the staff, knocking them both away from Loki.

Your eyes snap to Steve as he lands next to you, having jumped from somewhere nearby. “Damn, sorry Y/n. Bad timing with that throw.” He darts forward to grab his shield before you can respond, and you see something slip from his hand before ducking. He follows the movement by picking up his shield and the staff before dodging another swing from Loki.

Shaking your head, you cannot believe what you are seeing. Laying at Loki’s feet is the orb you know is one of the exact items you are trying to keep out of the hands of these enemies. Steve lands a punch to Loki’s face before Loki knocks him back, Steve falling at your feet.

You know you should go to the orb, but you instinctively crouch next to Steve. Loki is already scooping up the orb as you hold out your hand to Steve, pulling him until he is sitting up.

“Thank you for this, Captain. Now we can be done here.” Loki winks at the two of you before waving a hand and vanishing, followed shortly by the surrounding enemy soldiers.

You sigh and survey the damage around you, surprised at how minimal it is, all the focus must have been on your team. Still crouched next to Steve you look up and watch Tony descend and land in front of you as the rest of the team make their way to you.

“You alright, Cap?” Tony asks as his helmet pulls back.

Steve stood slowly, taking you by the hand so you stood with him. “Yeah. I’m fine. What about the others?”

“All good, Captain.” Peter replies as he lands beside you.

Looking around you took stalk. Nat is limping but standing, Scott and Thor look a little roughed up but alright, and Bucky was running a hand through his hair but fine. Your team looked fine and you wondered how the others were doing uptown.

“Did he get it?” Tony asks, looking directly at Steve.

“Yeah, he did.” Steve doesn’t sound like you’d expect, there is no disappointment in his tone.

“Good.” You whirl on Tony as the word comes out of his mouth.

“What?!” It sounds like a hiss through your teeth.

Peter bounces from foot to foot before speaking up. “Uh, Mr. Stark, but I thought the whole point was to keep the death orb away from you know… dangerous… um…” He glances at you before going on, “the bad guys?”

“Never mind kid. We should get back to the compound and discuss-”

“No!” You shout at him, tears in your eyes again. “Tony Stark you tell me what is going on NOW!”

Tony sighs and glances around. “This isn’t the time, Y/n.”

Your hands crackle with magic as you stalk forward and push him squarely on the chest. “He said… you’d have answers?! What the fuck is going on?!”

You felt a hand on your arm and looked up into Steve’s face, his helmet now removed too. “Not here, Y/n.”

Begrudgingly, you nod to Steve but turn back to Tony. “This isn’t over.”

The ride back with Steve on his motorcycle is quite as you think, confused and hurt. Steve has always been one of your closest friends on the team so, though you are mad at him for having some part in this, you spend the ride back with your cheek pressed against his back for comfort. When he pulls up to the compound and parks the bike, you don’t get off at first and leave your arms around Steve’s middle.

“Hey, Doll. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to.” You say, muffled into his back, as you tighten your hug. “It hurts.”

Sighing he puts a hand on yours on his chest. “We need to go talk to Tony. This… we new this was gonna hurt. Know I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“Steve, tell me what’s happening…”

He breaks your hold to get off the bike before helping you up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We need to brief the team.”

“I’m not just the team to him, Steve. At least I didn’t think…”

“You’re not, Y/n. You know that. This plan… It was Tony and Loki’s idea. Tony needs to explain.” He starts guiding you inside.

You are the last to get there, making you think Steve may have taken a bit of a longer route home to give you time to process. You hadn’t even noticed to be honest. Hugging him once more you separate yourself from Steve and he lets you move further into the room.

“Tony?” Your voice is softer than you meant, and he looks up to meet your eyes.

“Y/n. I’m sorry.” Tony was moving towards you as he spoke and stopped in front of you. “This was sort of a need-to-know plan and yo-”

The sound of your hand meeting his cheek echoes through the room that has gone totally silent. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, but you stand tall. “And I didn’t need to know? Like hell I didn’t! Loki is-” Your voice cracks and you go to swing at Tony again, but he catches your wrist.

“I know. Trust me, I know. It wasn’t that you didn’t need to know. You couldn’t know.” Tony lowered your hand but still held it in his. “That was actually Loki’s stipulation. He knew they would try to go straight for you, into your mind, to check his loyalty to them. If you knew, it could have given him away. And he was right.”

You shudder, remembering the intrusion into your mind as you first stood against the alien army. It had taken longer than they thought thanks to Loki and Wanda’s training, but they had got in none the less. They hadn’t even tried to touch the others minds.

Shaking your head, you take it in. “He doubted me?”

“No.” Tony takes a few steps back to lean against the couch in the common room as he speaks. “But he knew they would throw everything they had at you because of how close to him you were. He blamed himself for not preparing you enough.”

“So he-” You shake your head yet again to keep your voice from breaking, “He’s what then? Undercover or something?”

With a sad smile Tony nods. “We needed an inside man. Desperately. Loki volunteered when I suggested we get one.” He ran his hand through his hair before going on. “We had to give them a reason to trust him. That was what today was about. Minimal destruction but make it look like we failed and Loki could deliver.”

“For how long?” You ask gently.

Tony seems confused, as if that wasn’t the question he was expecting. “What?”

“How long will he be… undercover?”

Steve is behind you and pulls you back to rest against his chest. “We don’t know, Y/n. However long it takes.”

You can’t stop the tears as your heart breaks all over again.

#loki #loki x you #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #marvel #fanfic #the avengers #Avengers fanfiction

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bopbopstyles · 5 years ago

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4. Goodbye and Facetime Calls

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.3k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: thank you for all the love on pt. 3! here’s pt. 4, sexy times included :) xoxo

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Seeing Harry up on the big screen had her gasping—the sight of his beautiful faced stretched onto the screen, him clad in his army attire. When he almost drowned she reached over and gripped his arm and he just squeezed her knee with a knowing smile. He was brilliant and Y/N couldn’t believe how truly talented he was.

For Harry, watching the film next to her just gave him more time to reflect on what an idiot he was. Being with the cast again, being back in London, it had pulled him out of their relationship and into his life before her. He forgot to call, to reply to her texts, and to be honest he didn’t remember what time her flight was until after she’d already taken off. He knew that he had been an asshole and had made it worse in their fight, throwing her biggest fears back into her face. But Harry was determined to make it right—he didn’t want to lose her. He had tried so hard to break down her walls and now that he was finally on the inside, he couldn’t let her rebuild them.

At the after party, she lingered at his side, awe struck when he introduced her to Tom Hardy and Cillian Murphy. She gushed to both of them about how much she loved Peaky Blinders and they chuckled, asking her questions about her life and their life together. When she grazed over the topic of their relationship, Harry tightened, wishing it was a normal night when she would gush about how they met, about how Harry pursued her and proved her wrong.

When she went to find a bathroom, Fionn turned to him with a hard look. “What’s up with you two?”

He hadn’t been around Y/N and Harry together, but he knew Harry well enough to tell when something was wrong. They’d spent too long overheating in costumes on a beach together to not know each other’s emotions from the look on their faces. “Had a fight earlier.”

“What’d you do?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

Fionn chuckled lowly. “Harry, she can barely look at you.”

Harry watched her recede into the crowd, Gemma at her side. He had fucked up—royally, and he had to make it up to her. The longer they stayed at this party, the worse it would get, the more silence between them. They needed to talk and they needed to talk now. “I think we should go,” he told Fionn. “That’s not rude, is it?”

Fionn shook his head. “It’s your premiere, you can do whatever you want. Cillian looks about ready to head out too.”

Harry nodded and down the rest of his beer. “I’m going to call a car.” He gave Fionn a hug and promised to let him know how it went before heading off to find Jeff and get him to call a car for him and Y/N. When she reappeared, he wove through the crowd towards her.

“Everything alright?”

He nodded, placing a hand at her back. “I’m ready to go. Is that okay?”

The relief in her eyes was visible and Harry immediately regretted not doing this earlier. “Yes.” She followed him out, saying goodbye to his cast mates on the way and giving a tight hug to Gemma and Anne. Anne looked at Harry with a pointed glare as he led Y/N out, as if to say Fix this, and Harry was going to try his hardest. He couldn’t lose her.

Harry dropped his keys into the dish in the hallway and Y/N toed off her heels, sighing at the feeling of her toes released. He smiled, unlacing his boots—ones he adored—and set them next to hers.

��Can we talk?” Her eyes drifted to his, nodding and following him into his living room. He dropped onto his couch and Y/N curled into the opposite side, but he reached out and tugged her feet onto his lap, fingertips rubbing circles on her tight muscles. A sigh left her lips and Harry cheered for himself—a step in the right direction. “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

Y/N leaned her head against the back cushion of the couch and looked at him. “I know you are.”

“I fucked up. Took advantage of thinking you would always be there and didn’t put in the effort to show you how much I care. It’s not okay, and you have every right to be upset with me.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied, brushing a loose hair back from her face. “But I want to talk about what you said earlier…Do you feel like I’m stifling you?”

Harry’s heart shattered. Those words that felt wrong the second he said them but he was too proud to admit he had mis spoke. That he didn’t mean a word of them. “No,” he reassured her, “Not at all. I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to get over your fears, and from how I acted this week they obviously aren’t misplaced.” He scooted closer and reached out, brushing a knuckled down her cheek. “You deserve me telling you every minute of the day how much I care about you. And I love telling you.”

Y/N’s eyes welled and she reached up, holding his hand in hers. “Are you sure? I know it’s a lot—I have a lot of expectations—“

“None of them are bad,” he told her.

“But still,” she said, “if it ever becomes too much, you have to tell me. We promise each other we’d be honest, remember?”

He nodded, thumb tucking into hers. “I know. And Y/N, you’re more important than my career, I need you to know that. I—“ He choked on the words, them drying up in his throat. He didn’t want her to think he was saying them just to make her let him back in, but he meant them. God, he felt them in every bone in his body. “I love you,” he whispered, eyes deadlocked on hers. “I love you so much, Y/N, you’re everything to me.”

Y/N moved in an instant, her arms around him, forehead pressed to his own and he sagged from the smell of her perfume that he’d missed desperately. “I love you too, you idiot,” she said, giggling in a way that had him desperate to kiss her. “Don’t make me doubt it again.”

He chased her lips, tucking them between his sweetly. Harry loved kissing her like this, soft and sweet, just a constant reminder of how she they get for each other passing between them. Fingers gripped his neck and she pressed her face into his shoulder, Harry’s arms holding her close. Being this close to her made him sigh, the feeling of home.

“Can we go upstairs and cuddle in our PJs?” Y/N asked softly, and Harry murmured a yes. There was nothing he’d rather do than end the day with her in his arms.

When her makeup was off and Harry had braided her hair loosely behind her back, he finally asked her the question he had been throwing around since their fight. “Would you go on vacation with me?”

She lifted her head from where it rested on his chest, his fingers falling from her scalp. “When?”

“After the New York premiere,” he answered. “Know it’s soon, I just…I need time with just you. I was thinking Mallorca.”

She beamed. Months ago she mentioned that she had always wanted to Mallorca and Harry could tell that he had done well. He texted his travel agent earlier to look into flights and homes to Air BnBs for them, and with the look on Y/N’s face he had a feeling it would be the best vacation he had been on in a while.

A cool breeze blew in the windows she and Harry had left open overnight, the island air leaving a salty tinge to the beachfront condo Harry’s travel agent had found them. Y/N rolled over, peeking a look at Harry who was lying next to her naked except for the very small pair of white boxers he had pulled on before bed. He was still asleep and Y/N took advantage of the opportunity to study him.

Harry was beautiful—this she had established the moment she met him. But to behold him when he was literally the farthest thing from trying, just sleeping next to her, it demonstrated how truly gorgeous he was. The soft curve of his nose, the dusting of light freckles on his cheeks, so faint most people wouldn’t be able to see them, the mussed curls from his pillow. His lips and the hard line of his jaw that Y/N wanted to dust kisses across.

So she decided to do so. Leaning over, she nibbled soft kisses to his jaw, letting her hair fall across his exposed chest.

“Whatcha doin’?” Harry asked, voice gravely from sleep. He blinked, eyelids heavy and tilted his chin so he could peek a look at her. “Love?”

“Kissing on you,” she answered, licking delicately at the juncture of his jaw and neck and Harry hummed, hands drifting from the sheets to her body.

Running his knuckles up her bare back, he said, “Quite like wakin’ up like this.”

She loved his accent in the morning, his words clipped and rough in his throat. At the thought, she decided to give him a love bite on his throat so she could see it all day and night, claim him as hers. She licked over the spot she selected and then started to suck, grazing her teeth over the sensitive spot as Harry keened under her. Hands thumbing at her shoulders, nails sinking into her skin when she sucked particularly hard.

“You’re a menace,” Harry told her when she had finished her work, a thumb under her chin so she looked up at him. Resting her hands on his chest she placed her head on them, staring up at his eyes. “Sleep okay?”

“You kicked off the blankets again. Woke up completely bare.”

He grabbed at her, hauling her body over his. “I don’t see the issue.” Her breasts pressed against his chest, smushed between their bodies. She had slept nude, the warm temperature and lack of air conditioning leaving her sweating overnight if she didn’t. Also, they had had sex before they’d fallen asleep and Y/N didn’t have the energy to put her underwear on.

Tucking her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, she pressed open mouthed kisses to his shoulders. “How about you?”

“Better now,” he said, tucking her legs on either side of his waist.

“Hmm?”

“Now that I’m awake with you.”

Her head lifted at his sweet words and she smiled at him. The trip had brought out the sap in him and Y/N wasn’t complaining. After their fight she needed all the sappy Harry she could get to heal her heart. “What do you want to do today?” She twirled a strand of his hair around her fingers, delighting in how it fell back against his forehead coiled.

“M’only plan is fuckin’ you,” he said.

Y/N tried not to moan at the thought of his dick inside her. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, flipping her over so she was on her back, Harry hovering above her. “Wanna love on you, baby.”

She squirmed in his touch as his lips connected with her nipple, licking around the areola before sucking on the peak. With a pop he pulled off, switching the other one without giving Y/N even a moment to take a breath. In their position Harry had trapped her body, his knees on either side of her hips, arms by her head to hold up his body. She wanted to move, to grind against him, relieve even an ounce of the pressure building inside of her. “Har—“ His name broke off in her mouth when his fingers swiveled her clit, a sharp cry the drew her eyes shut.

“Sensitive this morning, hm?” Dipping his head he sucked a mark between her breasts, before blowing on the sensitive skin that had her keening underneath him. He was torturous and she didn’t want it to end.

“Please, Har,” she choked out as he nibbled on her tummy, “need you.”

“‘M comin,’” he chuckled, pulling back so he could wrestle his underwear off, “Promise. Don’t know why I even put these bloody things on.”

“Me either,” she replied, giggling at the sight of him so bothered by the underwear stuck at his ankles.

But then he was back and spreading her thighs apart and brushing his dick up and down her slit and murmuring about how wet she was for him and he’d barely done anything. Y/N bucked her hips up needing just a bit more and his tip dipped into her slightly and she gasped at the feeling. Harry pulled back, though, dropping from her slit. “Someone’s eager.” He reached down and tapped his tip against her, loving making her squeal and squirm under him.

It wasn’t just Y/N that got off on the foreplay, it was Harry too—it was one of their favorite parts of sex together, the build up, the teasing, the kisses and touches. Even just her kissing him sometimes made him hard, which had a tendency to cause problems when they were in public. Gazing down at Y/N below him, he paused, studying her beauty. Her hair tossed across the pillows, brown eyes staring up at him and lips wet from her tongue licking out.

When she bucked her hips, desperate for more, he pushed at them, trying to anchor her to the bed so he could continue to wind her up.

“No,” she whimpered, “no more teasing.” She grabbed at his ass, trying to get him inside of her. “Need you.”

And Harry couldn’t resist his girl. So he drove deep inside her, basking in the moment when he breached her hole. “Fuckkk,” he hissed, never adjusted to how tight she was in the morning, no matter how much he built her up. She always woke up needy and grabby, desperate for his skin on hers. “Tight, baby,” he mumbled, pulling out and back in, her moans a symphony to his ears.

“More,” she said, feet scrabbling on the sheets.

He gave it to her, hiking her ankle around his waist to hit the spot inside of her that she loved, and bent down to suck a love bite under her earlobe. Blowing on the spot had her hissing his name. This trip was partly so important to Harry because it was uninterrupted time with Y/N, something that with tour coming he wasn’t going to have for a long while. The thought of recording them together had crossed his mind, but he didn’t think Y/N would agree to it, so he didn’t bring it up. But the thought had him slamming into her hips, the pressure making them both groan.

“Fucked you last night,” he said, words punctured with a quick thrust, “and still want you so much, Y/N.” He drove into her with speed and depth that drew mewls from her, him loving the sound.

“Ow,” Y/N hissed, wrenching her head to the side.

“You okay?” His hips stuttered, wanting to make sure he hadn’t hurt her.

“Your arm’s on my hair,” she said, trying to pull her hair free.

He repositioned his forearms so her hair was free and swept it up onto the pillow above her, out of the way. “Better?”

“Perfect,” she murmured, capturing his lips. He took it as a sign to continue, resuming the same mind-numbing pace as before, her arms wrapping around his torso to hold him tightly to her. When she whimpered, Harry knew she was close and he was right behind her, the feeling of her clenching down on him leaving him hissing into her skin. He wanted them to come together—he loved when they did it and he knew she did too. He loved to watch his come dribble out of her and lick it while she was still sensitive, which he had every intention of doing.

Reaching down he circled her clit with his thumb, dragging his forefinger down to her weepy hole, right above where his cock pushed in an out of her. She squealed at the sensation, fingernails digging into his skin. “Like that?” He asked, rubbing at the thin bit of her skin that stretched around him. “Hmm, baby?”

“More,” she begged him, “I’m so close.”

He decided to test it, eyes on her face to see what she did, and gently pushed his forefinger in next to his cock, adding slightly more inside of her. “Fuck,” he exhaled at the sensation, adding more sensitivity to his cock and the way she bore down on him. “That okay?”

“Yes,” she mewled, bucking into him. “Close.”

He twirled his hand so his finger could brush against her front wall and the way that she clenched around him and threw her head back had him slamming his hips into her, chasing his finish. He wanted to come with her so badly it hurt, he needed to feel her finishing like he needed to breathe. “Come for me, baby,” he said, watching her face. “Want it around me.”

Her eyes flew closed as she bucked once and then came, her fingernails dragging down his back so that they would leave furious red lines, but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved her marks on him. And the feeling brought him tumbling over the edge, body falling into hers with a grunt. He pulled his forefinger from her hole and the sigh that left her mouth made him hope that it wasn’t too much, that she was telling the truth when she said it was okay.

Slowly, he pulled out of her, a whimper leaving her mouth as he left her empty, and he clamored down her body to do exactly what he had come to love: lick his come out of her hole. Fingers on her shaking thighs, he flicked his tongue inside of her, pants falling from her chest as he did it, his name a gasp as he dug out their come from inside of her. Together they were the perfect combination of sweet and salty.

“Too much,” she groaned, pulling at his head. “H—“

He pulled away, brushing up her frame so that he could make sure she was okay. “You okay?”

“Hmm,” she whispered, hands brushing up his arms.

“Words, Y/N, need words.”

“I’m good,” she replied with a smile. “Just sensitive.”

Harry exhaled, dropping his forehead to hers. “Scared me, baby. Thought I hurt you.”

She pecked his lips. “No, you couldn’t.”

He hoped that was true. “Love you,” he murmured into her skin, hoping the words would tattoo themselves on her.

“Love you too, sweaty boy,” she replied, tugging her legs up around his waist. “Can we go for a swim and have some food?”

He kissed her eyebrow and nodded. “I’ll get the food, you get dressed.”

She pulled herself out from under him, leaving him there to lie on the bed, breathless and naked to look at her. He leaned over and slapped a light hand to her butt, a squeak leaving her as she squirmed away from him with a laugh. “And you call me a menace!”

“I couldn’t resist,” he chuckled, following her to the dresser so he could grab his swim trunks. “Too gorgeous.”

“Shut it, you just want more kisses.”

“Lies,” he said, but he got kisses anyways. Y/N could resist kissing him and Harry loved every second of it. He loved every moment with her, even the hard ones.

The water was a crystal clear blue-green and Y/N had never seen anything like it. She’d never been to a place this beautiful, she decided. Her global travel had not been widespread—it’s not like she could go on tour with her dad as a kid, since school always conflicted and her mom never would’ve left her. And her family had preferred to travel to cities, not beaches. But Y/N was different, she craved the feeling on sun on her skin and water lapping at her toes.

And from the look of Harry, he was the same way.

She sat on the beach reading a true crime novel she had picked up at the airport in London on her way home, while Harry frolicked in the water on his own. He was currently attempting to do a handstand, but kept getting knocked over by the waves. They were happy to have their own personal sliver of the beach because it allowed them to enjoy the day without fear of who else was around, something she craved constantly with Harry. Of having him all to herself.

“Come in with me!” Harry called to her, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head. His bright yellow trunks stuck to his thighs, which had been getting stronger since she had met him and she couldn’t deny she loved it. The feeling of them squeezing her, the strength in them. Harry looked absolutely magnificent in the water, tanning so easily under the sun, having gained a darker shade to his skin in the few days since they’d arrived.

Y/N pulled off her hat and shoved a bookmark at her place in the book, stretching up from her spot. She couldn’t deny him, not looking like a Greek god with his arms outstretched to her. Running towards him, a giggle escaped her mouth and she felt like a little kid again, especially when Harry picked her up and carried her, bridal style, into the water, the cold temperature shocking her skin.

He twirled in a circle, still holding her, jostling her from side to side. “Love this bikini,” he said, plucking at the strap that rested at her neck. “What is the likelihood it could come off, though?”

She whacked his hands away. “Harry, we had sex like two hours ago!”

“And your point is?”

Rolling her eyes, she tweaked his nipple playfully. At the yelp he let out, Y/N knew she had succeeded in distracting him. “I’d like to spend some of our vacation not in bed, if that’s okay with you.”

He hoisted her up and she threw her legs around his waist, him now holding her with both hands on her ass. “Who said anything about bed?”

She scoffed at him. Seriously, where had he gotten these ideas in his head? “Harry, I am not having sex with you in the middle of the sea!”

“We have the beach all to ourselves, Y/N,” he said, nosing at her ear. “And you look delectable.”

Against her better ideas, Y/N decided to indulge him, but only for a bit. She let him kiss her, spread kisses down her neck and suckle at her collarbone. She even allowed him to grind into her bikini bottoms, palming her ass in his gorgeous hands. But when he went for her nipples, she unwound her legs and dropped to the sea bottom, going under the water immediately.

When she rose to the surface, he was pouting at her and she just gave him a sweet kiss on his lips before swimming away from him. Just like she knew he would, he swam after her, calling her name. “That was mean!”

She darted around to look back at him. “Who said anything about playing nice?” She kicked her legs so she could bob up and down, waiting for him to arrive at her position. “Now, Styles, what do you think about making pizza for dinner?”

Harry’s face lit up and she swore, sometimes he was such a child and she downright adored it. Food was the quickest way to make him happy and she used it to her full advantage. “As long as I get to put lots and lots of cheese on it.”

“I promise I won’t tell your trainer.” Reaching out her legs, she pulled him against her, arms finding their way around his neck. “Sorry I won’t fuck you in the sea,” she said, tugging the water from his hair.

“S’okay,” he replied. “You’re the smart one in this relationship. Should trust you, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I know.”

She kissed the tip of his cute button nose. “That’s more like it. Now carry me to the towel, lover. I need more sunscreen. Might even let you put it on.”

He perked up at the idea, fingers sliding under the string of her bikini. “Quite like that idea.” Without a beat, he was running to the beach as best he could, a laughing Y/N held tight in his embrace like a koala. And he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

The open suitcases had sat in the corner of Harry’s room for four days, him progressively filling them as he found the time. But now it was the night before he left and the suitcases were full except for his toothbrush and phone charger.

Y/N had been staying at his house for the past week, trying to bottle up as much time with him as possible before tour started. Harry loved that she was in his home, her clothes mixed in with his in the dirty clothes hamper, her moisturizer and face wash next to his in his bathroom sink. When they made dinner together, a fresh pesto from some basil she picked up at the farmer’s market on her way home from work, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to actually live with him full time. Although maybe that was too much to ask her, to give up her space and join him in his, especially when he wasn’t there all the time.

But she had agreed to check in on his house while he was gone, Harry not able to bear the idea of his plants dying while he was gone. She promised to water them as often as he did and start his car that was safely tucked in the garage to make sure it stayed running well, and collect his mail. The idea of her in his house while he was gone brought a smile to his face as he checked the pasta that was boiling on the stove.

“Whatcha smiling about?” Y/N asked, hopping up on the counter, a glass of red wine in her hand.

He made his way over to her, tucking his hips between her knees. “You. In my house while I’m gone.”

“Oh?” She draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand brushing through his curls which had grown out since they’d met, the other holding her wine. “That get you turned on, baby?”

The kiss he brushed to her nose sent a shiver down her spine and Harry grinned at how sensitive she was for him. “Little bit. Also just makes me happy.”

Her expression softened, and she gave him a peck on his lips. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cuter.”

“Impossible.”

With another kiss, he turned away to finish making their dinner. It would be a while before he had the ability to cook again and he had been getting his fill before he left, cooking every meal for him and Y/N. They ate on the couch while watching re-runs of Criminal Minds, which Y/N had gotten him hooked on when they were in Mallorca. She had promised not to watch anymore without him, but he was doubtful that she would be able to keep her promise. After they’d washed up, drying and putting away the dishes so she wouldn’t have to deal with it in the morning, Harry boxed her into the corner of the kitchen and captured her lips with his.

“You should shower,” she whimpered against his lips as he pulled away from a deeply passionate kiss.

He nuzzled against her cheek. “Only if you join.”

“Fine.”

The prospect of her wet, naked body had him flying up the stairs, her chuckling behind him. He undressed her in the ensuite, taking his time as he peeled her work clothes off of her body, kissing her shoulders as he unclipped her bra. The look of desire she shot him when he tugged off his clothes had him desperate for her, but he reminded himself that they’d tried shower sex—and it had resulted with a bumped head and a bruised knee.

So instead, he washed her hair, fingers massaging into her scalp as she hummed a Top 40 single under her breath. With a peck to her back, he turned her around. Her fingers crawled up his chest, eyes following in their path, and Harry sucked in a breath.

“Don’t want you to go,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

“S’been so nice, bein’ here with you,” he replied, brushing water from her eyes. “You know I’d stay if I could.” She tucked her body into his, arms around his waist and Harry sighed. He hated leaving her.

“What if I just tucked myself in your carry on?” She joked, drawing a laugh from his chest.

“Best surprise ever, I’d say.”

Suddenly, Y/N was dropping to her knees and Harry groaned at the sight of her in front of him. Her fingers wrapped around his length, pumping it in her hand. His head dropped back in a moan when her tongue licked across his tip, taunting him.

“Baby…” He begged, fingers crawling into her hair.

She took him into her mouth and Harry’s jaw went slack. Her mouth was warm and wet, the feeling of her hands cupping his balls throwing him into another dimension of pleasure. Before she’d dropped to her knees he had been sensitive—he was always like this before he left, craving touch and love. Y/N was more than happy to provide, carding her fingers through his hair and returning his embraces in the middle of the kitchen. So the feeling of being so deep inside her mouth, the brushes of his tip against the back of her throat, it had him sputtering groans.

“Not gonna last,” he choked out, trying to tug her back, “and I really wanna fuck you tonight.”

That had Y/N popping off of him and her eyes meeting his. “But I wanna feel you come in my mouth,” she said and Harry shut his eyes, trying to hold it together.

When she said things like that, Harry wondered how he didn’t keep her in bed all day.

“Think you could go again?” She asked, peppering kisses to his cock softly in a way that had him panting above her, staring down at her in disbelief. She was magical. “Think you can come for me now and again later?”

“Yes,” he told her because he would do anything for her.

She gave him a seductive smile, batting her eyelashes at him. “That’s my baby.”

Then she tucked him back in her mouth, bobbing up and down at a faster pace. Harry tried to hold back from bucking into her mouth but it was hard—the combination of the water hitting his skin and the way she ran her hands up and down his thighs, brushing against his balls every once and a while had his finish rising steadily inside of him. When she sucked his balls into his mouth, rubbing her hand up and down his length at the same time, Harry thought he saw stars. “Gonna come,” he told her, resting one hand against the wall of the shower, the other at the back of her head gently.

“Come for me,” she said, moaning around his cock, the vibrations of her throat sending tingles up Harry’s spine.

With one, two, three bobs of her head, Harry was coming, ropes of come falling on her tongue and guttural moans filling his shower. He tried to catch his breath as Y/N pulled off of him, licking her lips so she didn’t lose any come, a successful smile on her face. “You,” he said, “are somethin’ else.”

She giggled and Harry pulled her to her feet, taking her lips in his. Reaching behind her, he turned off the shower, deciding that was enough of that. He wanted her in his bed and to see her come multiple times. Maybe then he’d be able to leave in the morning. But even still, he knew it would be torture shutting the door behind him.

With her legs around his waist, he carried her to his bed, a towel tucked around her frame. She dropped to the bed, bouncing on his duvet cover, a giggle escaping her lips. Harry decided he was going to make her come with his mouth and his fingers, and then he would give her his dick.

He dropped to his knees, pulling her to the edge of the bed so her legs dangled over his shoulders, and licked a long stripe up her slit, a gasp filling his ears. And then he set to work, working her to the brink over and over again before pushing two fingers inside of her, her hissing from the feeling of his cold rings on her hot skin. He had forgotten to take them off before the shower, but he wasn’t going to take them off now—he knew how much she loved the feeling of their weight on her skin and he wanted to give her every possible pleasure tonight.

When she came, his name a prayer and her hands pulling at his hair, Harry was so hard he was rutting into the carpet under his knees. She lifted to her head to look at him and at seeing the desire written on his face, she instantly moved backwards on the bed. He crawled after her, flopping down on the bed next to her.

“Want you on top,” he said, brushing his rings across her tummy.

She swung a knee over his waist. “Yeah? Wanna watch me fuck you?”

“Where did you get this filthy mouth?” He asked her, chuckling.

Y/N blushed, the color to her cheeks warming Harry’s heart. “Like it?”

“Bloody love it,” he replied, tugging her hips forwards over his dick, them both groaning at the feeling. “Bloody love you.”

Her fingers entertwined with his at her hips. “Love you too, baby.” Then, she tucked her knees under for more leverage and lifted up. She withdrew one of her hands from Harry’s and he gripped the flesh at her hip as she rubbed his tip against her slit, hissing at the feeling. But when she dropped down, slowly, savoring every second of it, Harry couldn’t imagine a better sensation than entering her. Watching her features contort with pleasure and relief as she sat down, him fully inside of her and exhaled, adjusting to him.

Then she started to move on him, swiveling her hips in a slow circle that had Harry digging into her skin, his rings leaving marks. When she pulled up and dropped down, Harry couldn’t help but toss his head back at the feeling, her breathy moans filling his ears. She found a brutal pace, slow and steady on him. This was why Harry wanted her on top, so she could set the pace she wanted, Harry merely trying to hold himself together. It was always so good with her on top, more intense, more torturous. She leaned over, hands on his chest and sped up, Harry choking with the feeling of her squeezing him.

“Y/N,” he exhaled, “Love you.” It was the only phrase he could think of, but it was the only one that mattered.

“Love you more,” she replied softly, swiveling over him.

It was impossible and she knew it, for her to love him more than he loved her. But Harry didn’t have the air in his lungs to reply when she slammed down into his hips. “Doin’ so good,” he praised, hands squeezing her breasts, her keening from his touch.

“Help me,” she whispered, head bobbing down.

“Tired?”

She nodded and Harry tucked his heels against the duvet, gaining leverage so he could push into her. And when he did, her upper body tumbled onto his chest, gripping his shoulders as he drove deep inside of her. She tried to keep up, swiveling her hips so he brushed that delicate spot inside of her, but they were both getting desperate. Moans mixed with moans as they kissed, teeth knocking. He held her close, wanting to never let her go.

“Close,” she whimpered against his lips. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he hissed when she clamped down on him, her own orgasm threatening to tumble over them. “Want to come with you.”

“Me too.” She lifted up onto her elbows so she could watch him as they found their release, and Harry took the opportunity to stare directly into her beautiful eyes. “Love you,” she uttered with a gasp. They’d told each other so many times today and Harry loved heard it every time.

“Love you, baby,” he said, brushing her still drying hair behind her ear. “Gonna come?”

She nodded her head and Harry pulled her lips to his. Suddenly she was bearing down on him, back arching and gasping into his mouth. The feeling of her walls constricting had Harry bucking into her, chasing his own release. Ropes of come stuttered into her walls and he groaned when her lips kissed across his sweaty skin. He held her body close as they sighed, but didn’t let her move.

“Don’t want to move,” he said into her hair.

“Then don’t.”

“But—“ His dick was still inside her he went to finish, but Y/N shook her head.

“Like it,” she said, flushed cheeks and blown out pupils finding his.

“And you’re only telling me this now why?” He muttered and Y/N laughed, the sound filling the quiet room. “Would’ve been doing this ages earlier.”

“Well, now you know,” she murmured, a kiss to his neck.

So they laid there, hands on each other’s skin, just basking in the feeling of being the closest they could. Harry tried to hold onto the feeling, memorize the way her body felt against his, how her shallow breaths sounded in his ears, how her skin tasted under his lips. It would be a long few months until he saw her again, and he didn’t want to forget this.

Y/N woke up to kisses to her hairline, it still dark out.

“I’m leavin’, baby,” he whispered. “Wanted to say bye.”

Y/N forced her eyes open and found Harry’s in the dark of their room. He’d gotten ready in the dark, she realized, not wanting to wake her up. “I love you,” she said, tugging his head down for a kiss. “Text me when you land, okay?”

He pressed another kiss to her lips and pulled away. “Promise. I love you more.”

Y/N watched as he picked up his suitcases and wheeled them out the door, shutting it behind him with a lingering glance to her. She wondered if he could see the tears on her cheeks and if he had the same on his.

The days passed slowly at first. Y/N threw herself into her work, into her friends. She went to visit her dad, making him dinner and checking in on how his work was going. It made it easier, having people to fill the parts of her day that Harry usually occupied. And he called her every night like clockwork, before or after the show depending no the time zone he was in, listening intently to her describe her day and excitedly telling her about his. They texted constantly, photos of their days and commentary of their thoughts running easily between them.

She adjusted, as hard as it was, to his absence. It became almost nice to have the time to herself. She watched shows she’d been meaning to see that Harry would’ve fallen asleep during—not that she minded, it just wasn’t as fun—and caught up on her reading. Hanna and Jamie took her out on the town and she left Harry drunk voicemails that had him laughing in the morning when he called her to make sure she was okay.

She even made the drive up to her mom’s in San Francisco, finally not having something to keep her from going. It was the first time in months and she loved having her mom flit about making sure she was allright. They went out on the water on a boat, visited art museums, went shopping. Y/N let her mom spend too much money on her since it made her happy, made her feel like she was taking care of her little girl. When her mom asked about Harry, Y/N gushed without meaning to, pulling up photos of their time together, and her mom beamed. She asked when she was going to meet him, and Y/N promised her soon. The holidays, she told her. Harry was planning to split them between LA and England, and they’d make the drive up to San Francisco so her two favorite people could finally meet in person.

But as much as it was nice having the time to herself, Y/N missed him like crazy. It was the small things that reminded her of him, like when she found a shirt of his mixed in with hers in the wash, or a bottle of his favorite beer tucked in the back of her fridge. It was when she went to check up on his house and ended up sleeping over, wrapped up in his clothes that still smelled like him. She even stole his extra bottle of cologne that sat on his dresser and took it home, spraying it sometimes when she missed the way he smelled. Sometimes when she saw couples together, it made her ache for him, for just the feeling of his hand in hers, leaning down to whisper something in her ear, like how he really wanted a smoothie, or had she seen this meme on Instagram?

She had to admit, she was nervous at first, about him being away. After the Dunkirk press tour they had had a long conversation, though, and made plans. When they spoke this time around, they were honest with how they felt. Harry told her in advance if he wouldn’t be able to call and it didn’t bother her. It was better than before, and it made her proud to have a relationship that was staying strong, despite the distance and the time.

On a Saturday night in mid October, she unlocked the door to Harry’s house, toeing off her shoes and pressing the code into the security system. The air was dry, having no one been there since she was last in the house, but it still felt like Harry. Photos of the two of them on the hall table, his extra set of keys to the car in the ceramic dish she had made when he took her to a pottery class back in April.

She hooked her phone up to Harry’s speaker system and turned on their playlist, the one they’d curated over the ten months of their relationship, and went about watering his plants. Usually she was a shit plant mom, but since it was an excuse to go to Harry’s, she was actually doing really well. Then she went outside and cleaned the leaves from his pool and tidied up the yard, before heading back inside.

Her phone buzzed, Harry’s personal vibration setting making her smile. Can I call you after the show? Want to have a long chat tonight. Miss you.

Of course, she replied. Miss you more!

He sent her a cute selfie of his suit for the night and she sent him a selfie of her, cuddled up on his couch with a big smile and a glass of wine she stole from his cabinets.

That my couch?

It is!

Give it a hug for me.

She giggled to herself at his silliness, before replying, Done.

After Harry went on stage, she scrolled through her Twitter, something she loved to do when she stayed up to talk to him after the show. She’d made a Twitter that was essentially a fan account using none of her personal information, and so far she was flying under the radar. She had followed all of these Harry fan accounts and she used it only to scroll through and see photos of him from tour nights. Tonight, he was beaming on stage and running around, dancing his little butt off and being an overall menace. Secretly, she hoped it was because of the prospect of talking to her after.

Her clock rolled over to 11, and she untangled herself from the blanket and padded up the stairs to Harry’s room. She was probably going to end up staying the night, so she might as well get comfortable, she told herself. After taking out her contacts, she washed off her makeup with his extra face wash and used his moisturizer, studying his five-step skin care routine as she always did, wondering how she had found a man who loved his skin so much. She was lucky—it meant it was always soft under her touch. Opening his drawers, she pulled out a white t-shirt of his and a pair of his boxers that would fit her hips, and pulled on his clothes. Unable to stop herself, her nose darted into the collar of the shirt, inhaling the scent of him on his clothes. His cologne and his laundry soap, the smell that made up Harry to her.

She crawled into his bed, letting his high thread count sheets engulf her body. They were cold from not having anyone in them recently, and she suddenly desperately missed the feeling of his body next to hers when she slept. Tears pricked her eyes and she shoved her head into his pillow, inhaling him. She missed him with every bone in her body and without anyone there to hear, she let the sobs overtake her, tears painting the sheets wet.

Suddenly, her phone rang, and she realized it was him, calling her to check-in. He was probably back at the hotel for the night, freshly showered and also tucked up in bed with a snack from room service. Her favorite Harry to talk to.

“Hiya,” she said, trying to disguise the rough sound of her throat.

“You cryin’?” He asked, not missing a beat. She choked on a sob, and Harry’s sigh filled her ear. “Oh sweet girl,” he murmured, “what is it?”

“Miss you.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to stop the tears. “In your bed and I just really, really miss you.”

Then she heard the tell-tale sound of his choke and she knew he was crying too. Somehow, his crying only made her cry harder, and they were suddenly both sobbing on the phone to each other, miles and miles away. They stayed like that until their breathing evened and the tears slowed, Y/N rolling over so she could dry her eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“It’s okay,” he told her, and she knew he meant it. “Glad you did. Made you feel closer, somehow.”

She understood. Sharing such a raw emotion did make him feel closer to her. She tugged his extra pillow—why did he have so many pillows?—into her chest. “How was the show?”

“Good,” he replied. “The crowd was amazing.”

“You say that every night,” she said, and he chuckled because she was right. “You looked amazing up there.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I, uh, saw some pictures on Twitter,” she explained carefully. Y/N hadn’t told him about the fan account yet and she just realized that she had exposed herself. He was going to tease her for it, she just knew it, but it made her happy to see him up there, the fans who adored him.

“Oh?”

“You’re going to laugh at me,” she warned.

“Am not.”

She sighed. “I made a fan account a month ago,” she explained, “and I check it every once and a while to see videos and pictures of you up on stage.”

He was quiet and Y/N had no idea what that meant. “You serious?” He finally asked her, voice soft in her ear.

“Yeah.”

“Baby,” he mumbled, “that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“No,” he told her, “it’s only weirder that I’m not sending you enough photos of myself to keep you entertained. Gonna fix that.”

She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of photos he meant by that. “Your suit looked pretty tonight,” she told him tentatively. “Liked the pattern.”

“That all you liked?”

They were crossing into dangerous territory. Territory that had her getting wetter by the second. “H…”

“Want to hear you say it,” he murmured.

She exhaled. “Liked how your ass looked in those pants,” she finally said, tripping over her words.

Harry chuckled and Y/N rolled her eyes, his desire for praise taking over. “What are you wearin’, baby?”

“Your clothes.”

He let out a sharp exhale and Y/N just giggled. She knew what it did to him when she wore his clothes from afar. “Which ones?”

“Want a picture?”

“Fuck yes,” he responded, voice heavy with desire.

She crawled out of his bed and switched on his bedside light, walking over to the floor length mirror at the corner of the room. Pulling her hair over one of her shoulders, she took a quick photo, trying not to overanalyze it before she sent it to Harry.

“Baby,” he mumbled, and she knew he had received it. “My clothes look better on you.”

“I know,” she said, and he chuckled. “What are you wearing?”

“Nothing.”

Y/N choked. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious.”

“I hate you.”

“Wet, are ya?”

She groaned. Of course she was. The concept of Harry lying naked in bed, talking to her on the phone? It had the ability to get her wet in seconds. “Yes.”

“Can I make you come, baby?”

His question lit fires in Y/N’s belly, the prospect of him bringing her to her release over the phone a tantalizing idea. “Please.”

Suddenly, a FaceTime request lit up her screen. Harry. She answered and his face filled her screen, a light scruff on his jaw and his hair messy. He was in fact shirtless, and the sight of his bare skin made her desperate for him. “Hi you,” he said with a smile.

“Hi.”

“Go lie down for me,” he said softly, and Y/N followed his directions, keeping her phone facing her face as she walked.

She laid down on his bedspread, head resting on his pillow, and lifted the phone above her.

“Now take off my clothes.”

He meant the clothes of his that she was wearing, the clothes that made her skin smell like him. Placing the phone on the duvet, Y/N lifted his shirt over her head, smiling when Harry inhaled at the sight of her bare breasts. They hadn’t done this yet—phone sex over FaceTime. It was an exciting new development, one Y/N had thought of but hadn’t had the courage to request. When she slid off his boxers, she dangled them in front of the camera and his reaction, a guttural moan, had her grinning.

“Tease,” he said. “Now can you prop me up so I can watch you?”

She turned, trying to find a place to lean him up against. She settled on nestling the phone in a combination of blankets and pillows keeping the phone facing her. “That good?”

“Perfect,” he replied. He was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, leaving Y/N with a view of his chest and face—the perfect view. “Now I want you to wet your fingers,” he said, hissing as she followed his instructions, rolling her tongue around her index and forefingers to taunt him, “and play with yourself with them.”

Y/N did as he asked, but decided to mess with him. On her way to her center, she grabbed at her breasts, nipples peaking and Harry muttering Fuck me under his breath. Her fingers danced across her belly, and then when she finally touched her clit she moaned. Building up a rhythm, she imagined it was Harry’s fingers, although hers didn’t quite do him justice.

“Thinking of me, baby?” He asked, voice echoing in his room. “Thinking of my fingers, holding your thighs down, pressing you into the mattress? Nipping at your skin, making you mine?”

She keened at the thought. “Yes,” she whimpered, eyes trained on him, his wet lips on her phone screen.

“Are you wet?” She nodded and he smiled at her. “Then I want you to dip one finger inside,” he said slowly, “and curl it.”

Following his directions, she slid one finger inside, a breathless moan escaping her chest at the feeling. She nudged at the front of her walls, the spongy spot making her legs shake.

“Add the other.” She did as he said, adding the other, walls stretching to accommodate them. It wasn’t anything like Harry but it was something, and she needed it like she needed him—with everything in her. “Now thrust them in and out, hmm? Imagine it’s me,” he said, voice rough and low. “Imagine it’s me, fucking you.”

She tipped her head back, eyes shutting at the prospect, and thrust her fingers in and out, trying to find a momentum that gave her what she needed. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t Harry. “More,” she whimpered.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, breathless and in awe of her. “What do you need? Need me to tell you that I’m touching myself to you? Fucking my hand and wishing it was you?” That had her moaning his name, back arching up off the bed. “That’s it,” he murmured. “I’m close, what about you?”

She nodded, and then realizing he might not be able to see in the low light, confirmed his request.

“Faster,” he told her, voice firm. “Faster for me. Want to see you come in my bed.”

That’s all it took for her. Her back arched again, legs taut, toes curling into the duvet cover, his name a chorus in her throat. He sputtered, exhaling her name, and she knew he had come all over his chest, a sight she adored. “Show me,” she whispered.

“F—fuck,” he stuttered, before panning down the phone to show her the ropes of come on his chest. “All yours, baby.”

She smiled and then reached over to grab the phone. She lifted her fingers, wet with her juices, and did what she knew would make him groan—she twirled her tongue around them, sucking her come from her fingers.

He let out a guttural groan. “Torturin’ me,” he told her.

“Wish you were here,” she said, sending him a mischievous smile.

“Me too, baby.” He leaned back against the headboard and smile at her. “Now, tell me about your day.”

She returned his smile and tugged the covers over her naked body, curling up with Harry on her phone screen. They talked for two hours, until both of their eyes were drooping and it was time for sleep. Hanging up was difficult, but when she closed her eyes, she dreamed of him. Only a few more weeks, she reminded herself, until he was back home to her.

TAGLIST:

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo @detroitkiwis @meetmeinfleetwood

Would you like to know when I update The Only Exception? Let me know here!

NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 15TH @ NOON CST

#Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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auredosa · 4 years ago

Note

i NEED a one shot of malistaire having a ptsd nightmare about their escape from dragonspyre then sylvia is there to comfort him when he wakes up

thank you for the prompt again, anon! i hope this meets your expectations! enjoy!

wet hands

tw; destruction, war collateral, trauma

Malistaire was tailing his father home from the Command Academy the hour it began.

Whispers of a riot, a coup, an attack had been floating around the mage division as of late. No, not floating, more like crawling up the grape vine and becoming the subject of many late night meetings between the senior members of their branch.

High General Vladan Drake, naturally, was required to be in attendance. At first, Malistaire was worried that the other correspondents wouldn't let him attend-he had a fraction of his father's experience in service, but to his surprise, he was given a seat at the table and even asked for his opinion on occasion.

"Just in case one of us drops dead before this all blows over. You have a youth to tell our story," one of them, a blunt Diviner, had stated.

"We have the crystals for that, Agatha," his father snapped back. "Why shouldn't we use them to keep record of our rendezvous?"

"You saw what happened when those little gems get into the wrong hands." She took a long whiff of her cigar and leaned back into her chair. The smoke smelled to Malistaire of burnt parchment and sandalwood; not something that he'd remotely want wafting in his lungs. "Can't trust anybody these days. One leaked jewel and the upper echelons of society go to-"

"Enough," commanded a third voice. He was seated at the head of the round table, rings of every cut and metal adorning each of his thumbs. "We will not be holding any proof of our meetings on this topic. My superiors are suspicious of us as it is-"

He was about to elaborate further when the crystal goblet before him began to tremble. The drink within started to ripple, then splash onto the table. Malistaire gripped the edge of his chair and looked towards his father.

"What is this, now?" Vladan hissed, looking to the door of the room. "Another experiment of the lower division?"

Suddenly, a frantic knocking sounded at the double doors to the conference room, accompanied by a voice too young to be a late attendee, too old to be one of the servants.

A white haired woman who had yet to speak raised her hand to the deadlock, and the chains fell apart at her will. The doors flew open to reveal a gentleman in harlequin robes, red as a child in the snow. His breaths came out in wild pants, and his fingers gripped his wand as if he were still in battle.

"Mikaeil," the woman greeted stoically. "What is going on?"

"The Titan!” he gasped, struggling to stand up straight. "The Titan is-is here."

"I beg your pardon?" Vladan probed, brows knitting in disbelief. "Tell the full truth, boy!"

"It is the truth!" insisted Mikaeil, rising to full height in the presence of the General. "And you must evacuate at once! The insurgency-"

Another tremor rocked the underground chamber. This time, dust cascaded above their heads. A hairline crack appeared in the stone, before splintering across the ceiling.

“The insurgency has begun,” the woman finished. She finally opened her eyes, revealing glowing ivory pupils which had scried their doom.

"But-" Vladan began, just as a stone column shattered the stone ceiling and appeared like a giant rusty nail in the center of the room.

"I said we leave! Now!" The mage repeated.

They were running. It was difficult to keep pace when the ground wasn't meeting his feet. The thunder and rumble were deafening to his young ears. When they were outside, the sky was blanketed in thick fog. Not fog, Malistaire realized. Smoke and debris from the destruction that had only begun.

"To our airships, general?" The cigar-wielding woman shouted.

"If we can!" Vladan called back. "There's a cargo ship near the commerce district. Meet there!"

As was taught in all schools of battle, it was too dangerous to travel together. While they couldn't quite see their enemy, it was better to assume they had the entire command academy surrounded.

"If this is an attack, then where is-"

A hellish roar tore through the quarter. They all gazed up to the sky, where the crimson, leathery wings beat mercilessly through the smog.

"The Titan . . ." Malistaire muttered in awe. The stench of burnt flesh and ash wafted from above. From the cloud cover, he felt a drop of rain hit his cheek. Placing a finger to his face, he found that it was warm. Blood.

"General!"

Behind them, an ornate pillar gave way. But not just the shattered stone beam. Shards of crumbling white stone, all fashioned into jagged points, were hovering in the air, like knives pointed at a target. Pointed at them.

An unseen puppeteer gave the command, and the pillar came down in unforgiving gravity.

“Father!”

“Malistaire?” came a soft voice beside him.

He gripped the cotton bedsheets in clenched fists. There remained an unyielding tightness in his chest, and sweat gathered on his brow. But the air was different: tinged with morning dew and waxy smoke wafting from the nightside table. The warm glow of an oil lamp filled the room, illuminating their shared bedroom.

No fire. No chaos. No blood raining from the carnage-stained clouds.

Just his wife, staring at him with a familiar concern.

Ah.

It happened again, hadn’t it?

Another nightmare to inconvenience those around him. Some sorry part of him wished he could carve his memories out of his head. The aftermath of this was never pretty. He didn’t need comforting. He didn’t need to recount the days of horror and warfare. It wasn’t as if that would change anything. Those events were singed into his brain like a brand on skin. No theurgist could fix that.

“Apologies,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “I . . . I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No need to say sorry, silly,” assured Sylvia. “It’s really nobody’s fault, you know. The mind can be a horrible foe sometimes.” As if she hadn’t parroted that to his brother too.

She slid off her side of the bed and stretched her arms. Her hair was twisted into unruly tangles, brushed aside to show tired green eyes. Despite her best intentions, he could tell she was tired, too. Now she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until she had to get up for the day’s work.

“I’m going to make tea,” she yawned. “Raspberry leaf or the stuff from Marleybone?”

“Your call,” Malistaire replied. He was still unnerved by what he’d seen in his subconscious, and anxious about the trouble he was causing her. His throat was too dry to let him offer another apology.

There was nothing to do but stare blankly at the other end of the wall with his racing thoughts. Before he knew it, Sylvia had returned with two teacups of floral refreshment. He made a mental note to thank Arthur for introducing them to this custom.

“Here. Be careful.”

He took his own cup and wrapped his palms around the base, smiling at its fleeting but welcome warmth. Sylvia took her place next to him and they both said nothing for but a moment, quietly partaking in their drinks.

“Same sequence?” She asked once they’d both had a sip.

“Not quite. It . . . this took place earlier, minutes before we arrived in Wizard City.” It was easier to talk about if he treated it like a historical text from a book, not the horrors of his own mind. “It’s as if I’m going through all the motions in reverse, back to the start of it all. The problem is that I don’t think there’s any further to go back to.”

“Well,” Sylvia began, “that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You’ve completely exhausted the entire story, so it can’t get any worse from here.”

“Not necessarily . . .” Malistaire grumbled.

“I know.” She sighed and took another sip of her tea. The conversation always progressed this way. There was little she could do to quell his self-destructive subconscious. As far as either of them knew, there were no spells that took away bad dreams, at least not ones that didn’t require the favor of a fairy or a monetary fee of some sort. Those were simply fiction[SH1] .

“. . . I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do, my heart,” she said sadly, setting her cup on the nightstand. “And I understand that I don’t really understand the things you see in your dreams.”

“Sylvia, don’t bother.” Malistaire grumbled, putting his down as well. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Exactly,” his wife affirmed. “I’m not going to stop searching for something to make this easier. Dahlia might know something, or maybe a seraph on the Way could-“

“That isn’t what I meant.” He interrupted, more roughly than intended. “We would both know about that, wouldn’t we?”

He scowled at the floor, finally feeling better now that his anxiety was turning into frustration.

“My father and mother have been lost. My brother and I can’t return home because there isn’t one to return to, not even if we wanted. And for all we can do, between the both of us, we can’t bring them back.”

Cracks, shouts, fire, stone, shards.

"General!"

“Ever since then, every night, I am reminded of that, and I despise it.”

“Ah.”

Sylvia’s face was unreadable. It took her a moment to rationalize the horribly charged vent that’d spilled from his mouth. before her face gave way to kind understanding. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile, and he could only wish he could have her saintly patience.

“You are correct, love. Nothing you said was wrong,” she soothed. “However-“

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her graceful hand clasped over his. The messy locks of her hair brushed against his face, daisies and rain under his nose.

“Your wounds are fresh, and they can still heal. Your parents may have passed, but their legacy is not entirely forgotten-thanks to you and your brother,” she added, smiling. “I promised you that I would save as many people as I could, and I know there are so many more, and that there is still so much work to do. So, so much work.”

Three tiny squeezes in the heart of his palm.

“I know it hurts, love. I know you’re tired. But I’m almost certain that one way or another . . .”

A tender kissed pressed to the stubble on his cheek.

“You can always find your way back home.”

#thank you for being so patient anon!#malistiare drake #sylvia drake #wizard101

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

MTMTE #21: The Sound of Breaking Glass, a prose story- James Did, in Fact, Put That Baby in That Robot

It’s after the fight with Tyrest and his goons, but before Cyclonus stabs Tailgate with a sword for medical purposes. The portal has stopped working, Skids isn’t making any sense, and Rodimus is about to do one of the scariest things you can do as an adult person.

He’s going to make several business-related phone calls.

Perceptor trying to be funny is the oddest take I’ve seen in a bit. I was completely unaware that he had a sense of humor.

Rodimus is looking pretty rough from that nonsense he pulled in the space-crucifix, but he doesn’t want to bother Ratchet, since Tailgate’s still looking like he’s gonna bite it at this point. Besides he’s still got work to do- he fully intends on getting the space bridge back in working order.

The bridge, unfortunately, isn’t making it easy for him; thing’s falling apart and bursting into flames at random intervals.

Rodimus wants to make the last few days at least somewhat worthwhile, a sentiment that Minimus catches onto, and doesn’t seem to agree with. What would it mean, if they were able to say “well, Tailgate, half a religious order, and the concept of trust in the law are dead, but at least we got to finish off our road trip in record time!”? Food for thought, Minimus, I’ll give you that.

Brainstorm runs through the room like a maniac, over the metaphorical moon about something, as he interrupts the conversation. Once he’s gone, Minimus asks about his outer shell, I guess because he feels naked without it. As he collects his belongings, Rodimus brings up their earlier conversation, and reaffirms that he wants to make up for what’s happened. Minimus acknowledges his words, but doesn’t really offer anything in return.

Back over on the Lost Light, we get subjected to a title drop.

Rung is meeting Fort Max in the hollowed-out remains of Swerve’s, because his office is full of corpses. This is a sort-of continuation of their conversation in the brig, where Rung forgave Fort Max for being a big part of why he got shot. They have a brief discussion about where Max’s head is at, and whether or not he’s ready to get back into the workforce after the nightmare hellscape that was Garrus-9. Rung seems to think that the fact that Fort Max is considering his mental health in the first place is a good sign, and offers his services should he be needed.

Too bad they’re going to have to tele-con, since Fort Max is being sent off the ship for his new job.

Over at Rodimus’ office, Rodimus considers hiring Atomizer to redecorate his pad- even though they seem to have very similar tastes when it comes to paintjobs- because he just isn’t feeling the sick flames and hot pink interior anymore.

I see Rodimus is taking the “no fun allowed” route to personal growth. Wonder how long that’ll last.

He has a think about the last conversation he had with Drift before he threw him off the ship, the memory laced with “Overlord murdered a lot of people because of me” guilt. Drift hadn’t been thrilled about the prospect of Rodimus’ inquiry, and made that much known, then volunteered to be the scapegoat. Rodimus hated this idea, horrified by the idea of letting Drift take the fall for him, after all the work he’d put in to try and be liked by people after the whole “Deadlock” thing.

Then Drift revealed that he’s got another reason for not letting Rodimus get kicked off the ship.

Back at Swerve’s, the man himself has made an appearance, interrupting the meeting between Rung and Fort Max, and proceeding to make a fool of himself by way of slapstick. It’s okay though, because he’s too high on actually feeling good about himself for once in his miserable life to feel physical pain.

Rodimus more or less insinuated this exact idea back in issue #17, and it made him so upset he was about to close his bar completely down over it. Good to see our robot Pagliacci bouncing back so nicely.

Brainstorm enters the scene like a vengeful spirit, and I guess Rung and Fort Max just disappear into the aether as he has a little chat with Swerve. Turns out that someone went and took a peek inside the super-secret, possibly-sun-destroying briefcase Brainstorm keeps on his person at all times, and he wants to know who. It was probably a little easier to swing than usual, given that Brainstorm had given up the springs on the clasps of the thing to help break everyone out of moon jail, and he probably had to take at least a little time to recover from his soul halfway evaporating out of his eyes.

Swerve makes a joke, because he has a lot of trouble handling serious situations, then we get confirmation that Brainstorm kidnapped a fucking zygote from the moon.

Brainstorm has a baby inside him.

James, I’m begging you, we can’t keep doing this.

Later, Ratchet’s checking on Tailgate after his stabbing/stabbing repair/cybercrosis cure injection.

Swerve what the FUCK do you think you’re doing with that medical biowaste?

Minimus comes in, looking very silly, as he’s having a heck of a time putting the Magnus Armor back on.

Minimus would like some help getting dressed, and, because clothes for space robots seem to skew more towards body parts than anything else, he’s come to the best doctor on the Lost Light.

(Nobody tell First Aid I said that. I fear his wrath.)

Ratchet is surprisingly handy with the Armor, and it’s revealed that he’s known about Ultra Magnus actually being a completely different, much smaller guy, since the very start.

As in, when Tyrest first started pulling this nonsense.

He didn’t say anything to anyone because he didn’t see the point, then lets Minimus know that he’s his favorite, which gives him a much-needed ego-boost. Minimus wanders off to go put the rest of his clothes on, leaving Ratchet to pull a body out of the morgue that isn’t dead.

Later, on Luna 1, we get to see Rodimus get bummed out about the baby moon not flaring back up. It’s not for lack of trying- he’s crawling around on the ground, rubbing his face in the dirt, all while Getaway watches- but it doesn’t seem like the babies are coming back. Getaway thinks it’s weird that it just kinda turned off, but then again this wasn’t exactly a typical situation, now was it? He tries igniting the Hot Spot himself, planting the first seed of his primus apotheosis diagnosis years from now, then asks our dear captain what’s next on the agenda.

Rodimus, saddened by the loss of literally a billion lives, shakes out his pocket onto the ground.

Don’t worry, the Matrix was in there, so it was totally respectful of the dead. Fort Max rides up, playfully threatening to arrest Rodimus for littering, and we finally get to know what his new career path is.

Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord.

Also, he brought a friend.

Red Alert, jumping right back into his work, has decided to stay with Fort Max on Luna 1, to chase bad guys and help the Circle of Light recover/prepare for attack. Then he tells Rodimus to turn his phone back on, because Perceptor’s been trying to call him for a while now.

Back at Tyrest’s sweet digs, Perceptor’s gotten the communications system working, and is ready to call Cybertron. Cybertron, who probably thinks they all died back in issue #1, despite Blaster’s best efforts in issue #13 and #15. Blaster did not help with this project, probably because he was busy getting his tiddy compartment fixed.

Perceptor dials, everyone wonders what Bumblebee’s been up to, they get their hopes up, and we get one hell of a reveal for anyone who hasn’t been following along with the sister series up to this point.

Ah, that’s right, I’ve got to do a lightning round for RID, don’t I?

In the Postscript of this prose story, we meet Outrigger, a member of the Circle of Light who will be established as a big honkin’ dork the more we learn about him. He’s just run into Red Alert’s office to tell him about Tyrest having moved. This is a very odd occurrence indeed, as Tyrest was shot in the spine, and should not be able to move.

The two of them head over to where Tyrest is being held, only to find he’s disappeared from a locked room.

Well, shit.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #mtmte #remain in light #issue 21 #the sound of breaking glass #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

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medicdoodles · 1 year ago

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DRAtchet Week 2022 Day 4: Great Things do Happen.

(First Day)||(Day 3)||(Day 5)||(Last Day)

Deadlock knows that the war will shift soon. So he goes and looks for work with no strings attached.

The war is going to escalate soon. Deadlock had no real prove of this, but last time he ignored this feeling he ended up left behind. High command is going to have him sign a contract to only do work for them. While a long time ago he would have liked that. To have one guarantee.

The truth is he has Ratchet to think about, not that the mech has said anything about wanting to bond or anything. Deadlock still has to take care of his lover. He knows that Ratchet would not want to join any side of this conflict. Having other bots dictate who he is and isn't allowed to fix is against his coding.

That means that if he wants to keep Ratchet, he will have to find honest work. Easier said than done, honestly he's tried that before. However, this time he won't take no for an answer. If he has to he will threaten bots to give him the work.

Damn, if he hadn't bought Ratchet that nice house he would have a good amount left over, but it's not a regret he has. Ratchet likes it, likes it enough to stay there even if Deadlock has offered his nicer appartment.

There's still time for him to take up more contracts. At this point he will even agree to the Senate's dirty work that pays less than a cube of energon just to save more. Doing all of the bounties also gets him in the spotlight of other assassins, who normally took the scraps he leaves behind. Now he has to time the last job he'll take and when he will excuse himself from the Decepticon army.

"17000 is starting pay. All you have to do is stay in alt mode and follow the directions of the stunt director." The recruiter he ran into while staying at the motel parking lot in between jobs says to him.

"17000, no insurance?" Deadlock should be angry about risking his life for less than two meals, but it sounds like steady work and anonymity. Really the only downside so far is that they expect him to tour with the group.

"No we have one mechanic on site but the talent is top priority, get it." An opening.

"So what if I wave my right to go to him for repairs, could you up my pay?" The mech isn't surprised. He supposes that the other bots who are dumb enough to take this job are also desperate.

"It goes to 30000." The bot sighs as he scratches the build up in his microphones.

"Deal." Deadlock holds his hand out to shake on it.

"Deal. Your first day is in a week. If you're late on showing up your fired." Should he be intimidated, his Ratchet has a remote ground bridge he sure he can ask to borrow it.

----

Fuck, they didn't tell him that the mech they hired to preform the stunts had never done any before. No it was only after he crashed into him and five other cars in the fire pit that they tell him. Most of the performers were a bunch of pretty looking younglings, who were easily preyed upon or hatchlings that had just grew up around the stunts.

Really only the bot from Nyon with a fire outlier ability has any control over his performance. Which Deadlock has a lot of issues with, and now has to make sure all these kids don't get hurt. He also takes up teaching the sharp shooters how to properly fire their own blasters.

All that work and he gets to go home with three new scorch marks, a broken fender, and a twisted back tire. At least they are off for the next two days due to bad weather. So he's going to get home rest on the couch and call Ratchet tomorrow.

That was until he gets into his appartment. Opening the door with a physical lock is a pain in the ass but it was safer to have two locks instead of the standard code lock. Walking into the room Ratchet is asleep on his couch. One arm wrapped around the blanket that he uses. Another one is holding the wax, theres now a new dent in the center.

His spark is about to give out. Ratchet has chosen to be here, in his hovel because he missed him. That he is the one that comforts him and trust him. How couldn't he, when Ratchet has had just as much hardships as he, how couldn't he. It's almost a shame to wake him, but the faster it's done. The faster he can sweep him off his feet and carry him to the bed.

"Hey." He shakes Ratchet's leg, gently nudging him to wake up. "I just got home.", he watches as Ratchet's eyes blink back on and synergize to his processor.

"Huh, Deadlock." Ratchet doesn't move but he does follow his movements aroubd with his eyes.

"Yeah I got off of work. So I'm going to go to bed." He can feel the smile burn onto his face. Primus imagine getting to spend the rest of his life waking up to this kind of Ratchet. He truly would be blessed. "I was hoping to get you to join me."

"Oh." He lets go of the blanket to wrap his arms around him. "Fine, but you have to pick me up."

"Of course." Like that was some kind of punishment. He scoops up both leg in one arm, the other grabs his shoulders. Or he would have, if it wasn't for the shots that got his left side.

His leg gives out and make sure Ratchet is okay he drops him back on the couch. He falls to the floor and sees the legs of the seat snap. It hits the floor hard, kicking up all the dust coating both their frames. Now his wonds are stinging.

"What happened?" Ratchet is now climbing off the couch and examining the damage. He's on his frame, legs lock around his and it's starting to get hard to think.

"It's nothing to serious I just got a bit ding up at work." That has the opposite effect as Ratchet is now digging deeper into his frame, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. "I was going to tell you tomorrow over diner but I got a job at the circus."

"The Circus?" Ratchet then runs his hands on the bent fender and twist it back into place. "What about the Decepticons? Are you not getting paid enough?" He looks back at him. "Do you need help?" They've been this close before, but never did Deadlock take the time to notice how sullen his eyes are.

"I'm planning to leave the Cons." That now gives him a bewildered look. That's a new one and damn if it doesn't look cute. "I just have to submit my two weeks."

Ratchet is shocked, so much so that he stops his examination. One hand steadies them, the other is hovering right above the bullet wound. "Really?" He doesn't move, so expressionless that Deadlock is starting to worry.

"Yes. In the next two weeks I will officially be apart of the stunt act and out of the Decepticon army." Ratchet still stays silent, and he moves to comfort him. Or he would have if Ratchet didn't suddenly push him to the ground again and kisses his face. He would like to return it but fingers dig deep into his wound and it hurt like hell again.

He wouldn't trade it for the world, he even starts to see his vision pixelate. Great things do happen, and for a while Deadlock was sure that he found happiness. It would be the law of the universe that he will drive into the worse sadness of his life.

#transformers #fanfic #maccadam #deadlock #au #transformers siege #transformers wfc seige #ratchlock #DRAtchet #dritchet #DRAtchet week #DRAtchet 2022 #Ratchet

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hollandgarden · 4 years ago

Text

Gangsta? (TH and HO short)

Description: Tom has to pee and Harrison has a deal to make. What happens when the two mix? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Warnings: stupidity, slight violence, this is not meant to be taken seriously

Word count: 2,400

Harrison was more cunning than Tom knew him to be. Harrison was able to afford luxuries that he shouldn’t be able to. Harrison could handle himself in a fight, even with someone double his size. Harrison was out at late hours that weren’t considered normal. There were so many signs, yet Tom never asked.

He should have. He really should have.

***

“Harrison, mate, you ready to go?” Tom chugged the rest of his pint and gently slammed it onto the bar countertop. He pulled out a fiver for tip and placed it beside the empty glass.

Harrison bro nodded. “Yeah.” He pulled on his brown leather jacket as Tom pulled on his black one. They could be brothers if it weren’t for the different last names, and color of hues.

As Harrison opened the driver side door, he remembered the small thing that he needed to do before they went home. “Aye, mate, I need to do a small errand.”

“Ace,” Tom replied. “But I’m gonna need to take a piss soon.”

“Ight, it’ll only be a tad of time,” Harrison chuckled.

The drive to the warehouse was fairly short from the local bar they’d chosen to go to that night. This warehouse during the day was for a fish market and at night, well, that was only for Harrison and his group to know. Not even Tom knew of what went on behind these doors.

Harrison pulled up into a spot a few feet away from the front and reached out to stop Tom from getting out. “Stay in the car, Thomas.”

“What? Why? I told you I was gonna have to take a piss.” Tom furrowed his brows.

“I’ll be out soon. You can go when we get to the house.”

Tom eyed his best friend for a moment before sighing heavily. “Alright, mate.” Little did Harrison know, he needed to go so bad that if it was more than five minutes, he was going to pop inside to go wee.

After Harrison slipped out and through the two deadlock doors, Tom reached out to turn up the volume. He switched the tunes to his workout playlist. Tom rested his hands on his knees and tapped his foot along to the beat. He casually observed the outside of the fish market building; the stench had already seeped into the car and it was hard not to gag. Though the pier nearby definitely didn’t help. The interior probably matched the exterior; he’d never been inside it before.

The more he thought about it, it was probably worth the wait. But then again, his bladder wasn’t being cooperative. Tom licked his lips before made the split second decision that he couldn’t wait. It had been longer than five minutes. He turned the car off, pocketed the keys, and jogged inside. He didn’t announce himself to not be a bother. He only tried to slip through the small hallways to find the loo; it proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Finally, he was able to relieve himself. It was so satisfying; he felt like a new man. He decided to search for Harrison and came into the open part of the building and there stood a group of men with piles of cash and duffels that were full of something.

What the… bloody fuck?

Tom’s face fell and his heart began to speed up at the unsettling atmosphere. It caused his skin to crawl. Normally this wasn’t a big deal since it was usually when they watched a scary movie, but this was real. This was a real danger. Seriously, he had no idea what the hell was going on, and he wanted to make his case. But by the look Harrison shot him from below, he kept his mouth shut.

“I thought you said you were alone, mate?” one of the burly men questioned, taking a step toward Harrison.

Harrison didn’t falter his stance though, and only pocketed his hands into his trousers. “He’s not a snitch. He won’t cock this up for us. I got your coke and you’ve got my pounds. We’re done and will be on our merry way.”

He reached out to start stuffing the stacks into the duffels, but the man stopped him with a hand on his chest. “No, we ain’t. We don’t trust him.”

Tom swallowed hard, and took a step back, which then he ran into something hard. He hadn’t remembered being this close to a wall. He turned around and his eyes went wide at the man who blocked his only way out.

“Listen, I won’t tell. I didn’t even know what’s happening,” Tom shouted. I mean, he could put two and two together, but he wasn’t going to admit that logic. It was clearly not the best time. If they survived, he was going to need a serious discussion with his so-called best friend.

The man picked him up out of his own free will and carried him down the stairs.

“Come on, man! Put me down!” Tom squirmed to get out of his grip, yet couldn’t do a single thing. He was twice his size; it wasn’t like he was the tallest guy to begin with, though he never used that as an excuse. Well, that was embarrassing.

“Thomas, quiet,” Harrison ordered and returned to his previous act. “Really, Gerard. It’s me. I’m professional when it comes to this. We’ll get this sorted, as usual.”

Gerard crossed his arms with a cocked brow. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

Tom’s burly man smirked grimmly and reached out to rest a hand on his chin. “Think you’d get any more roles without that pretty face?”

Tom brushed his hand away and straightened out his navy tee. “Yeah, man. But please don’t hit me.”

Harrison huffed. “Would you stop the American accent?”

“I’m sorry,” Tom retorted. “I slip into it when I’m nervous.”

Gerared chuckled, it was low and definitely evil. “Take em, boys.”

It was five against the two of them; which wouldn’t normally be the worst odds in a movie setting, but this wasn’t a movie. Tom did the only thing he could think of and held his hands up in fists. He and Harrison stood back to back.

“I told you to stay in the cab,” Harrison whispered. “You’d be safe if you did.”

Tom couldn’t stop his eye roll. “Well, I had to pee… You never mentioned you were involved in this… work.”

Harrison actually chuckled. “You never asked, mate… Trust me, I got this.”

The two of them prepared for the worst in a fight. Tom had to search deep down for all the training he’d done for Marvel. There was a little bit of Karate. It was mostly harnesses and cardio. This was life or death, so he’d do what he could with his adrenaline.

The men dealt knives as they surrounded them and Gerard had seemingly disappeared with his coke and part of the cash. Well, that was fucking rude.

“Are you losers gonna make your move or are you too scared to take old H on?” Harrison mocked.

Tom seriously would need to have a conversation with Harrison after this. That was if they weren’t having to rush to the hospital on a bus.

Finally, a man with a goatee made a jump at Harrison. He ducked the throw and sucker punched his kidney, then kicked out the back of his leg. He made a quick decision to grab a net nearby to choke him out.

Tom’s eyes went wide. “You’re gonna kill him, H?”

Harrison grimaced between clenched teeth, “It’s us or them, Thomas… There’s no inbetween play… I won’t let you die.”

The man’s face turned a deathly mixture of red and purple as he clawed at Harrison’s hands. Tom couldn’t watch the final moments of it as the guy from earlier made his move. Tom ducked the punch in half circle step, swiftly he had to add, and he dodged around to behind to jump onto his back. He tried the technique he’d seen on screen and tucked his arm under the chin and used his other hand to lock it. He used his own body momentum in an attempt to bring him backwards and off-set his balance.

The guy who was definitely more experienced than Tom didn’t falter at all, and he reached back to grab Tom by his shoulders and threw him over the table.

Tom coughed at the loss of air and gripped his ribs area. This was way different than being on set. He knew there was no luxury of time and rolled over to get up as fast as possible. And luckily he had as the man tried to smash his face in with a wooden board he’d grabbed. He did one of the karate kicks he remembered from training, which was a low kick aimed at the ankle and he spun around to stand up. Before he could attack again, another rammed into him.

“For being Spider-Man, you suck at brawls.” Harrison came in to help and double-spun kick the guy in the face. “I’m not sorry, Lou.” He knuckle punched him into the throat he’d exposed by pulling his hair back.

“I wasn’t training for real combat,” Tom scoffed. “What can I do?”

Harrison shook his head. “Keep your distance.”

Tom nodded shortly and hurried to the side. Then after a few seconds, he found a metal bar to use as a weapon. He didn’t want Harrison to take all the heat for the situation he created. If he would’ve just fucking held his bladder, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Granted, if Harrison wasn’t involved in whatever this was, they wouldn’t be here in the first place. There was no reason to get angry, it wouldn’t fix anything.

When he was able to gather his bearings and register the surroundings, he realized Harrison had taken out two already and was battling the last three on his own. The other two hadn’t waited until he finished with Tom’s man. Harrison was able to so meticulously counter their attacks with blocks, kicks, and punches. The muscles were not for show; most of the time anyway. He seemed to be taking care of himself pretty well, yet Tom couldn’t stand by. That was who he was as a person.

Tom battle cried and sprinted at one of the open men. He swung the cool pole straight into his face; the remorse that pooled a weight into his chest wasn’t missable. These men were humans, mixed up in the wrong work. That was the same case for Harrison. Yet, Harrison’s words wrang in his head and he knew that this was a special case scenario. He’d let the guilt eat at him later.

Harrison and Tom found their sync to battle the final three, which quickly became one who held his hands up in the air.

“You know what? I don’t like Gerard. He’s a bit wonky.”

Harrison smirked. “He is a plonker, but so are you.” He ripped the bar out of Tom’s hands, leaving a weird sensation on his hands, and it only took two swift blows for the man to be knocked out on the ground.

Harrison dropped the metal before he straightened out his shirt and grabbed his gold Rolex from the ground, which must’ve fallen off in the midst of the violence, and clicked it back on.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Tom questioned as he stayed a foot away from Harrison who took what money was left.

He thought about it, cocking his head slightly to the side, then shook it. “Nope. You’ve got your work, which has its secrets, and I’ve got mine, which is all secret.”

Harrison knew he’d have track Gerard down for the rest of his payment, which would involve more bodies he’d need to kill. Gerard was known to be melodramatic about all of this; it wasn’t that serious.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Tom sputtered out a couple laughs, turning hysterical. “You’re fucking joking? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me all about this work! Tell me everything, H!”

Harrison looked his best friend in the eyes; one of them practically swollen shut. Tom had taken quite the beating, yet stayed in it. He was practically pleading. “I… can’t. Just know I’m okay, yeah?”

“I want to say no…” Tom observed all the unconscious, bloody men and laughed his breath. “But clearly you do. I’ll leave it alone for now, gangsta Harrison.”

Normally, it was mobster Harrison and the gang leader of a high drug dealership. Of course, it was all underwraps. He’d take this new one as a complement.

Harrison smiled cheekily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Gangsta Harrison, I like the sound of it. Never considered myself one before.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t believe you do this on the side.”

The two of them each carried a duffel and headed out of the warehouse.

“Where did you think I went at the odd hours of the nights and mornings?”

“I don’t know. To go to the clubs… to workout...”

Harrison snickered. “Sometimes I was.”

Suddenly, a dread hit Tom. “They’re not gonna find and torture me for payback, are they?”

His friend thought for a second, then let out a puff of air. “Maybe, but I’ve got you, mate. They won’t if they know what’s good for them.”

What was good for them. This wasn’t good for H. Tom was worried, yet they were both alike when it came to being stubborn. They didn’t back down from a daring role.

“I’m glad I’m on your side,” Tom remarked, giving Harrison one last squeeze before he got into the car.

“I am the good guy in this case.” Harrison cheesed. It was so handsome, Tom couldn’t stay mad.

He shook his head. “That you are.” Then he opened the passenger side door to get in. After Harrison had got in, he couldn’t resist saying, “The wee was a good one I have to admit.”

“Thomas, never go wee in this building again.” Harrison started the car.

“Yes, darling H,” Tom retorted with a laugh.

Harrison reached over to whack the back of his head. “Don’t call me that. It’s Gangsta H from now on.”

Tom held back a laugh. “Okay, darling Gangsta H.”

“Thomas!”

[Masterlist]

#Tom Holland #Harrison Osterfield #Tom holland short #Harrison Osterfield short #fanfiction #Tom holland fanfiction #Harrision Osterfield #mobster #gangsta #Harrison Osterfield mobster #comedy #drama

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desdemonafictional · 5 years ago

Text

The morning after the wedding party

Banners from the Turrets au

Despite all muddled hopes to the contrary, Deadlock woke up with a very solid, very real hangover. It was his own fault, he couldn’t argue; he’d drunk enough engex to corrode a steel beam. When he came stumbling out of his room and into the only other room in this cramped little flat, hand clutched against helm, he’d nearly tripped on the body laying across his floor.

“Oh slag,” he said, optics fritzing in and out, “did I kill somebody?”

Blue light blinked on at his feet. “I’m alive,” the body said, “thanks so much for the concern.”

Deadlock relaxed marginally. “Thank Primus,” he said, “I didn’t want to go back to jail.”

The body levered itself upright, with a wheeze and a grind of straining mechanisms, just about the same time it dawned on Deadlock what had happened.

“You stayed,” he said, with an involuntary smile that made his left optic start to ache.

“Said I was gonna,” Ratchet said, brushing dust off himself, now fully upright. “Anyway, I was just answering memos most of the night. No recharge hookup.”

“…You didn’t have to sleep on the floor,” Deadlock said. He frowned. This hurt less. “My berth could fit two.”

“I specifically said,” Ratchet told him, “we were not going to frag, make out, or touch each other. How do you think sharing a berth would have ended?”

Deadlock gave him a long, serious once-over. “So you are interested,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”

Ratchet snorted. “Seemed pretty sure last night. I think I’ve still got drool in my gears.”

Deadlock flashed his fangs, to make up for the fact that he could feel his biolights flushing with a hellish combination of arousal and embarrassment. “I meant, I thought maybe you weren’t into fragging around. You don’t seem like the type. Everyone knows you and Pharma were practically conjunxed for like, a million years. And you don’t hook up with anybody at the hospital.”

That was actually the first thing Deadlock learned about Ratchet, after coming to the hospital for his work-sponsor parole. It was weird, kind of a shock to the system—he couldn’t help wondering if they’d still been together that one time, when Deadlock-then-Drift had ended up on Ratchet’s table in the Dead End. This much he’d actually picked up from Pharma, who was comfortable enough in his bitterness to remark on that shared history in front of apparently anyone, including the mech he’d called Rung’s little pet sparkeater.

Didn’t bother Deadlock. He liked it when autobots wrote him off as a rabid berserker. Usually.

The point was, Deadlock had pretty quickly taken apart the facts as he knew them and come to the conclusion that Ratchet was probably a serious commitment type, a wine-and-dine type, not the kind who’d be interested in the patented Deadlock brand of “get over here and sit on my spike, and I’ll eat your valve after”. If that wasn’t the problem, then Deadlock couldn’t make heads or tails of why Ratchet hadn’t wanted to frag him last night.

“I don’t hook up with anyone because I’m at my job,” Ratchet said, “am I the only one at this institution who knows the meaning of inappropriate workplace relations?”

Deadlock’s plating flattened. “Is that why you don’t wanna ‘face me? Because we’re coworkers now?”

Ratchet blinked at him a couple times. “Now hey,” he said, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to—I wasn’t trying to—” He dug two fingers into his chevron and then said, “I’m gonna go get out breakfast for us.”

Several kliks later, with two cubes of basic mid-grade set out between them on the top of the cold-box, which was the only flat surface in Deadlock’s flat, Ratchet said, “I’m not against us interfacing. I just want to know what you’re getting out of it, before I agree to anything.”

Immediately, Deadlock relaxed. “Oh,” he said, “yeah, sure. Okay so what I’m offering to do is spike-and-valve, in a berth,” he started ticking off fingers, “maximum foreplay, aftercare, I’d rather top but if you wanna spike me I’m willing to ride. I don’t do insults, blow jobs, or bondage.”

Ratchet blinked again. He took a sip of his cube, holding it between the two of them like a barricade.

“Wow,” he said, at last. “I heard ‘cons were cold, but—”

“Cold!” Deadlock sputtered. “I just offered to let you spike!”

“Uhuh,” Ratchet said, and took another sip of his drink. “What it sounds like you’re offering me is a side hustle that’s gonna cost me a couple thousand shanix at the end of the night.”

“I’m not—I don’t do that kind of thing!”

Ratchet just looked at him, over the edge of the cube.

Deadlock set his jaw and then amended. “Anymore. I don’t do that anymore.” He knocked back half his cube in one go, and then said, “If I was trying to sell you something, you’d know it.”

What he didn’t say—what he wouldn’t say—was that if the version of him who had peddled spike services in the backstreets hadn’t been anything close to this kind of picky about boundaries. And he certainly wouldn’t have bothered to list his own preferences to a prospective buyer. Despite the mileage he’d gotten back before the war, Deadlock hadn’t actually learned how to frag and like it until after becoming a ‘con.

Before the war, he’d been a drifter himself—an addict, a leaker, a sciv. He took odd jobs. He did dirty work for cheap. Never had the focus to build himself a clientele base and stick with it, not the way Gasket had. Robbery, smuggling, day labor, sex. He’d sucked spike occasionally in gutters without art, mind already on the next fix, just trying to get it over and done. Courtesan he had not been. It hadn’t seemed possible to him then that fragging could be anything but a chore. Why bother trying to please a partner when you could get yourself off faster and for free? He’d preferred the comfortable warmth of laying curled against the side of a friend, teeth embedded in an exposed wrist-line.

His gaze lingered over Ratchet’s thick wrist, the clean white paint gapping to reveal hints of black cable underneath. What he wouldn’t trade to get his teeth in that.

Oblivious to the scrutiny, Ratchet sighed and set down his cube. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not being fair to you. I’m just trying to figure out the… the angle. What it is you want from me.”

Deadlock eased up, but less than before, wary now. “Well it’s—if that’s how autobots do it, I can list what I want from you, and you can list what you want from me? Is that how you do it?”

“What.”

Deadlock flexed a set of claws, frustrated. “I don’t know, I’ve never fragged an autobot before! Primus, I’m gonna have to call Aglet. He’ll know how this works.”

“Do not call Aglet,” Ratchet ordered, “nobody else needs to know about my sex life.”

Deadlock made a frustrated noise and then clicked his claw tips on the top of the cold box. “Okay, he said, “okay. Then—how do you normally do this? When you wanna frag somebody, what do you tell them?”

Ratchet pursed his lips. He gave the corner of the ceiling a complicated look. “Actually, I’m having trouble remembering. It’s been a few thousand years.”

Deadlock frowned. “You mean, since Pharma.”

“…Yeah,” Ratchet said. “Since Pharma. Five times burned, twice shy, as they say.”

“Well if you were a ‘con,” Deadlock said, and then abruptly found that he liked this idea. He brightened. “—If you were a con medic, on a ship with me, and I wanted to hook up… First I’d get you alone somewhere. Then I’d tell you how sexy I think you are, and I’d offer you some of the things I’m good at. Then if you were interested, you’d tell me what kinds of things you’d do for me, in exchange.”

“What is this, a barter system?”

Now it was Deadlock’s turn to blink. “I mean yeah, technically,” he said. “You get something you want, I get something I want. Equality.”

“But,” Ratchet said, looking lost. “How do… but don’t you…”

Deadlock waited, finishing off his drink, while Ratchet shifted helplessly from one abandoned sentence to another.

Come to think of it, he’d heard autobots call ‘con culture cutthroat, cold, and calculated. Everything had a cost, they said; nothing came free with ‘cons. It was all about the exchange rate.

Well (and he wouldn’t admit this to just anybody) maybe it could be. When you had that many drifters and lowlifes and scoundrels all piled in the same place and equally armed to the teeth, you worked with what you had. And Deadlock had liked it. Right up until Turmoil.

But the less said about Turmoil, the better.

Deadlock considered Ratchet for a moment, feeling the last of his headache recede into a manageable buzz. Sweet Primus he really was to die for, with that jaw and those shoulders.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell you what. You get on the berth back there, warm your pussy up for me, and I’ll give you the routine they liked in the Darkmount medical bay.”

Ratchet’s brows went way up. For a second Drift was sure he’d made the wrong call, steeling himself to be graceful about it when Ratchet started shouting, but after a second, the doctor turned his gaze with some interest on the open bedroom door.

“I’ll stop at any point you want me to,” Deadlock added in a rush, vaguely remembering some chatter he’d heard from autobots before. “Cons aren’t all like that, with the no-means-yes rustwash. I like you, Ratchet. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Ratchet gave him a considering look. Deadlock tried to shift himself into an appealing pose, without making it obvious he was doing so.

“Alright…” Ratchet said. He held up one stern finger. “But only because I deserve it, after a night like that.”

Afterward, a little sticky and hot under the engine cover, Ratchet touched two fingers to his mouth, where Deadlock had kissed him in the moment of overload. Deadlock lay beside him, foggy with afterglow, cheek pillowed in the crook of his elbow.

“This is only until you find somebody you really wanna be with,” Ratchet said. He looked at his fingers, not at Deadlock. “Find yourself something steady, and we’ll go back to being coworkers.”

Deadlock frowned, a pang in the otherwise blissful glow, but didn’t argue. If that’s what Ratchet wanted, then that’s what Ratchet could have. Five times bitten, twice shy, after all. It wasn’t as if Deadlock didn’t know how to make the best of whatever scraps he was given in life.

#banners from the turrets #deadlock/ratchet

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