#without overheating and crashing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yammpi3 · 5 months ago

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𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. // 𝑾𝑪: 2.2𝑲

— feat. disassembly drone N x worker drone reader

synopsis. Since disassembly drones need oil to keep from overheating they kill other drones to consume it. But.. ever since the alliance between Disassembly and Worker Drones its been a bit difficult to acquire..It’s not a problem for V to randomly kill someone off but it’s a different situation for N now that his views have changed. AKA…reader supplies him with oil :DD

— content warning. Nothing 18+ just a few kisses, neck biting and N being in pain.. gulp?

— authors note. I fear this x reader is a bit..cringe then again that might just be me overthinking it..ANYWAYS tried my best for this, and still have no idea how to write for a robot. (N might be a little mischaracterized I’m not ENTIRELY sure)

At the end of science class, just when everyone was packing up to leave, you noticed N fidgeting more than normal at his desk.

"Is everything okay, N?" you asked.

He laughed nervously. "Who, me? Pshaw, never better!" But when he spoke, he looked anywhere but at you and the others.

Thad snickered. "Maybe his circuits are loose again." Lizzy giggled. "Lmao, he probably fried something.” Just as V was about to comment on his behavior..

N got up from his chair abruptly; he swayed unsteadily before catching himself upon another classroom desk.

By the time you registered what was going on, N had already ducked out of the classroom door, stumbling down the hall. "N, wait!" you called after him, hurrying to catch up. N was unsteady on his feet, swerving from side to side as he tried to put distance between the both of you.

His limbs shook with every step he took.

"G-Gotta...g-get a-away..." he muttered, though you weren't sure if he was even aware you could hear him. His eyes flickered erratically, barely being able to focus straight ahead as he tried to get away.

You picked up your pace, power walking down the corridor after him. "Slow down!!" you yelled out, but N was quicker, and before you knew it, when you reached the next corner, you lost him completely.

Your concern for N grew by the minute, so you started tracking him down since something was clearly wrong, beyond a normal glitch.

An hour had already passed since you last saw N, yet here he was in the maintenance unit stumbling blindly, crashing into something every few steps.

"S-sorry!" he slurred after bumping into a support beam for the third time. An unnatural static fuzzed the edges of his voice. Stubbornly, he scrambled back on his feet and lurched forward without seeing where he went.

Was he malfunctioning? But his murder drone programming should have kept him sharp, no?? Seeing him this disoriented was alarming.

You trailed him at a distance, hiding behind a variety of things as he walked on ahead. Where was he heading in such a panic? His vents were roaring torrents by now, and visible condensation soaked his frame.

Finally, he collapsed behind a supply crate, crawling the last few feet. Had he sensed you following? No, his optics were unfocused, so he couldn't have had.

Gingerly, you peeked around the crate to see N weakly clawing at his chest clearly in pain.

If you didn't act fast, he would shut down permanently. Steeling your nerves, you crawled to his side.

"N? Hey..hey! It's me, Y/N. Are you okay??”

When you gently called his name, N got startled so badly that his claws scraped sparks from the metal flooring he sat upon. His optics flashed wildly before settling on your face with a look of panic. "Y-Y-Y/N! S-sorry, but I don’t think you should be near me right now…”

N let out an alarmed wheeze that trailed off into a pained whine. It took visible effort for his optics to focus on you. You could tell he was losing some sort of control over his strength, but why??

"You don’t look so good..”

N broke into a hacking series of rushed laughter that ended in a groan. "Me? Pssh, n-no way! I'm t-totally fine, like I said earlier. Now please just leave me, yeah?” He waved dismissively, or at least tried to, but his attempt ended up flailing limply.

He knew he wasn't doing a great job at reassuring you when you glared at him.

"N-nothing to worry that pretty l-little processor of yours over, really.”

N's dismissive act was crumbling faster than his resolve. Another hacking laugh turned into a groan as his eyes started to flicker erratically once again.

"N, please. You're clearly not alright." You took his flailing claw gently in your hands. His plating was so hot it almost burned to the touch.

A whine slipped, “Crap..crap. It h-hurts,

Y/N. M-My core, it h-hurts so F̵̬̏́̏͆̀͝ų̸͙͋̿̃̌͋́̈́̆͑̕͠c̶̜̜̼̥͓̚k̷̫̺̝̈́̀̿̇͐̐͑ḭ̸̧̻̞̻͚̳̘̩̣͋̀̃́̔̊̋̚ň̵̞̪̯̼̟̗̩͈̖́g̸̩̤̩̼̘̪̀́͊͗̋͐́̇ much."

You've never seen N this vulnerable before…

"What can I do to help? There must be something." N trembled, fighting some inner battle. Finally, he met your gaze, his optics showing an agony of want behind the discomfort.

"T-there is s-something, b-but I shouldn't..." Strangely, another sound intermingled with the strain in his voice now.

Was that...hunger?

Stroking his plating gently, hoping to soothe, you pressed, "Please, tell me what you need." His vents hitched wildly. Then, in a strained whisper, he cracked.

"Y-your oil...I ne-need…it."

A shiver visibly ran through his frame. His optics darkened as they focused intently on your physic, more so your neck and wrist.

"I..." he began weakly, then stopped to swallow. His claws clenched tightly as if fighting the urge. You waited patiently for him to continue, showing concern but no sense of alarm.

After a long pause, N dragged his gaze with an effort to meet your face once more.

“T-tell me to stop," he whispered, his fangs peeking out as he talked.

"I so badly n-need it, but I don't w-want to hurt you.” His claws lifted toward your face but stopped only by his wavering will. You knew this would be the only way for him to cool down.

You looked deeply into N's eyes, past the haze of glitches that overtook his screen.

"I trust you," you said calmly without fear. His breathing became more ragged at your words.

In a flash, his restraint broke—but instead of lunging at your throat as you'd expected, his claws tangled in the fabric of your shirt, yanking you flush against his overheated frame. You gasped at the contact, feeling the waves of heat pouring off of him.

N buried his face in the crook of your neck, fangs tantalizingly. "P-please..." he stammered once more, sounding close to genuine tears. Raising a hand, you gently clasped the back of his head, threading your fingers through his silver hair.

"Take what you need," you told him firmly yet tenderly..After yet another hesitant pause, his screen displayed an X. Then, with a grunt of gratification, his fangs smoothly penetrated the sensitive wiring of your neck.

Your breath became unsteady as N's fangs pierced you. It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—just a little bit of a pinch. His hands gripped your shoulders for support as he drank deeply, allowing the oily fluid to course through his system.

For several moments the only sounds were his gulping intakes and your own measured breaths; you kept still so as not to disturb him. You watched as the pained lines on his face slowly eased, his eyes returning to normal. His plating, which was boiling hot only moments ago, cooled down to a much safer temperature against you.

N withdrew his fangs from your neck, making a small trickle of oil leak from your wound.

He leaned back in hastily, swiping his tongue along the twin marks. You shuddered at the foreign yet not unpleasant sensation. But N paused, a flushed look appearing on his screen. “Ah g-geez, is this w-weird?”

He glanced away, clearly embarrassed "What I mean to say is, um, my saliva can help the wounds close up faster? If, uh, you're okay with my germy mouth touching the injury I c-caused? No funny business, I swear! J-just bros being bros, p-patching each other…um up.”

N winced, realizing how that sounded. "N-not that we're actually b-bros, unless you want to be? Biscuits. Just—just let me do this, kay?”

With your consenting nod, N gave a short awkward chuckle and leaned back in. His tongue swiping over the wound. It began to tingle as the mark he had left slowly began to close up.

"It's strange to think your spit has healing properties," you remarked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment. N hummed in agreement, laving one last swipe across the bite mark before drawing back to assess his handiwork. His optics flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.

"How does it feel? Are you in any pain?" he asked, his tone laced with concern despite his own drained state. You shifted experimentally. "Stop worrying. Just a slight tingling.“

N searched your face anxiously. "Are you sure? Nothing else? No dizziness or discomfort?" His optics roved your features, taking in every subtle reaction. When you reassured him again that all was well, the tension melted from his shoulders—only to be replaced with guilt.

"Y/N, I could have seriously hurt you," he said quietly, horror creeping into his tone. "My systems went haywire; I had no control. If I had bitten down any harder..." He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

"But you didn't," you said firmly. "You fought off the urge just enough to get the help you needed. I trusted you, N." He shook his head sadly. "Your trust may be misplaced in me. The overheating....what if next time I can't—can’t stop.”

N shuddered again at the dark thought. Seeking to ease his distress, you shot him a playful smile. "Well, if it happens again, we're in this together. At least now I have a cool vampire drone friend!! The whole sucking my oil thing was pretty vampirish.”

He cracked a hesitant chuckle. "Yeah, maybe I'll sparkle in the sun too." Feeling bold, you leaned in with a faux-dramatic voice, "I vant to suck your coolant..."

N actually snickered at that. You beamed, glad to lift his spirit, even if it was only for a brief moment. His smile faded as reality set back in.

"But seriously, what if next time I really hurt someone?” On impulse, you threw your arms around him in a hug.

N's eyes widened as you suddenly hugged him close. For a moment he sat stiffly, caught off guard. Then slowly, oh so carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.

"Y/N...if anything happened to you because of me, I don't know what I'd do," he said quietly against your shoulder. You squeezed him tighter for reassurance. "Hey, it'll take a lot more than some murder instinct to take me out. Have a little more faith in me, will you? Stop being so edgy.”

“Edgy?" N scoffed, "Sorry, nearly ripping your throat out put me in a gloomy mood."

"Ripping my throat out?” You echoed with a wry grin. "Well, luckily that didn’t happen, did it?”

N huffed, “Maybe. But what if next time I lose it?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he quickly shushed you.

“You just leaped right in like it was nothing. Do you have any idea how badly this could've ended?" He gestured vaguely to the drying wound on your neck.

"You drones are so..so fragile. One wrong move and I could've—" He cut off, unable to say the word. His arms flexed unconsciously, as if longing to wrap around something and squeeze. To protect, or destroy? Even he wasn't sure.

"You'd never hurt me, N. I believe in-"

Your words halted as he glanced up, his eyes searching yours with raw, wavering emotion. An urge welled within you, sprung from compassion more than reason. You leaned in to press your lips to his in a soft kiss.

"Mmmph?!" N made a muffled sound of surprise, his body locking up stiffly. Your tongue briefly caught the tang of the lingering oil before you pulled back with a slight grimace.

His faceplate shone a distressed yellow blush. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have wiped my mouth better!“ he stammered.

But you simply smiled and leaned in again, pressing your lips gently to his once more. Then, slowly, he began to relax into the kiss.

His screen switched to a loading screen. In that moment, all his train of thought derailed off a cliff. N's screen flickered back online, and one of his hands floated up to gently touch his mouth, eyes wide and staring blankly.

"Bwuh-wha...you...kissem—I mean, I kissem-no, we...kissed?" he sputtered

"We k-kissed. You k-kissed me," he whispered, his optics shrinking to pinpoints before dilating wide again. A nervous giggling burst out of him.

"Oh biscuits, what d-does this mean? Are we like..” his tone lowered to a soft whisper.

“Dating n-now?”

"Well, uh, I guess you could say we're kind of sort of datingish now," you replied bashfully. "If-if you want to be my boyfriend, that is."

N's entire face lit up. "Boyfriend..Awhh Y/N!! Id love that." He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in excitement.

"N set you down gently, his optics still shining with unbridled joy. However, a hint of seriousness crept into his expression as he looked at you intently.

"This doesn't mean I'm not mad at you for what you did," he said, his voice low and eyes narrowed slightly. "You could have been seriously hurt, or worse. You really scared me back there."

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time, I'll call V or someone else—I won't try to handle things on my own and potentially get myself killed." You paused, then added with a wry smile, "I promise."

N's stern look softened, and he hummed contentedly. "Good!" Reaching out, he took your hand in his larger one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 2 months ago

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Without limits, without pauses, without mercy. From dusk till dawn, from dawn till dusk. From the kitchen counter, where dishes tremble at every movement, to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, where every trembling breath echoes against the walls. From the walls that fail to contain the moans, to the cabinets that shake in rhythm with moving hips. From the bedroom mirror that mercilessly reflects every taut muscle and every trace of nails down your back, to the shower where water mixes with sweat and saliva, soaking everything: bodies, walls, and souls alike.

On the table, on the chair, on the floor, on the couch, on every piece of furniture that stands in your way. Missionary, with nails digging into your back. On top, with hands wrapped tightly around a throat. Reverse cowgirl, where the view alone drives you insane. From behind, with raised hips begging for more. Sideways, backwards, upside down, in every position that shifts with the rhythm of desire. On the dining table that groans under the weight. On the washing machine, vibrating in perfect sync with your movements. On the stairs, where every thrust reverberates like an echo through the house.

In the kitchen, where steam rises above pots, and the smell of spices mingles with the scent of overheated skin. On the windowsill, where moonlight illuminates every motion, every drop of sweat, every bite mark left on shoulders and necks. Against the fridge, its cold surface a stark contrast to the fire in your body. On the kitchen island, where hands grip the countertop and legs wrap around hips in a desperate plea for more.

In the living room, where the couch becomes a battlefield. Pillows thrown to the floor, the rug crumpled, furniture shifted, and the air thick with moans. On the coffee table, barely sturdy enough to handle the force. By the window, where curtains sway in time with your movements, the city lights outside flickering in rhythm. On the armchair, balancing on the edge, every tilt and angle pushing your pulse faster and faster.

Outside, where the cold air bites at your skin, but the heat of your bodies makes it irrelevant. On the terrace, where the night sky becomes your only witness. On the car hood, still warm from the day’s sun. In the trunk, where every movement feels like breaking the rules. On the motorcycle, where balance is a challenge, and every moment feels like defying gravity.

In the car, where fogged-up windows shield what’s happening inside. On the back seat, where hands pull bodies closer. In the front seat, where the steering wheel barely stays in place. In a parking lot, where the risk of being caught makes your heart race even faster. By the side of the road, where the sound of passing cars merges with ragged breaths and muffled moans.

In the forest, where the scent of earth and dampness blends with the scent of skin. In a tent, where the thin fabric barely conceals the movements, and every sound carries through the trees. On the beach, where sand sticks to sweaty skin, and the crashing waves match the rhythm of your hips. In the water, where the waves cradle your bodies, every surge amplifying the pleasure.

In a hotel, where the bed never stays in one place. Where the mirrors on the ceiling reflect every moment. In the elevator, where time seems to freeze, and the space between floors becomes your entire world. In the restaurant’s backroom, where kitchen tools tremble on the shelves, and your bodies pulse with unrelenting desire.

In the bathroom, where the mirror fogs up, and the floor is slick with water. In the shower, where hands glide over wet skin, mouths never ceasing their search for each other. In the bathtub, where warm water envelops you, and the foam becomes the only veil between you and the heat.

Every inch of skin, every hidden curve, every nerve pushed to its breaking point. Fingers sliding across sweaty flesh, teeth sinking into lips, bite marks left on necks, shoulders, hips. Backs arching into impossible shapes, legs trembling with tension, toes curling with every wave of pleasure. Breaths quickened, shallow, broken by endless screams and moans.

From the first touch to the final shudder, when your body quakes and your mind dissolves into pure bliss. From the first look that sparks the fire, to the final embrace that leaves you both spent. Without limits, without pauses, without mercy.

And then, there’s him—in uniform, the sight enough to ignite every nerve in your body. The crisp lines of his police uniform, the badge glinting under dim light, the holster at his side holding his weapon, a reminder of the authority he wields. The weight of his presence pins you in place, his voice low and commanding, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands, firm and unyielding, trace your body as if asserting control, the leather of his belt brushing against your skin, the cold metal of his cuffs a silent threat and promise all at once. Against the wall, with his body pressed tightly to yours, his breath hot against your neck, the uniform and everything it represents only heightening the tension, the power dynamic pulling you deeper into unrelenting desire.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #police #police uniform #smut #all day #stephen strange x reader #t'challa x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #monster lust #hobie brown x reader #ninjago x reader #miles morales x reader #marcus acacius x reader #cregan stark x reader

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heejake-hoon · 8 months ago

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Desperate and needy JakeWon x reader(+18) Warning: a lot of teasing,slight slight bondage (if u squint), dom!reader,oral(m), cum eating(f)

JUNGWON:

"Please, Y/N," Jungwon whimpers, straining against the silken ties binding his wrists to the headboard. "Please, I need- I need you to-"

"Shh, baby," you soothe, trailing a teasing finger down his chest, his stomach, skimming maddeningly close to where he's aching for you. "I'll touch you when I'm good and ready. You just lie there and look pretty for me, okay?"

Jungwon makes a frustrated noise, hips canting up in search of friction. You smile wickedly, keeping your touch light and fleeting, tracing idle patterns on his overheated skin.

"Y/N," he tries again, voice breaking on a desperate keen. "Please, I can't- I need more, need you, fuck-"

"Oh, I know exactly what you need," you purr, finally wrapping your fingers around his straining cock and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. Jungwon bucks into your touch with a choked moan, head tipping back against the pillows. "Need me to take care of this pretty cock, don't you baby? Need me to make you feel good?"

"Yes," Jungwon sobs, trembling as you start to pump him faster, thumbing over his weeping slit on every upstroke. "Yes, fuck- just like that, please don't stop-"

You hum, leaning down to swirl your tongue around his tip before sucking him into your mouth without warning. Jungwon cries out sharply, back arching off the bed as his cock hits the back of your throat.

"Shit, Y/N, omg, your mouth," he babbles, abs flexing as he fights the urge to fuck up into the tight, wet heat of you. "Feels so fucking good, baby. Love how you- ah, fuck, right there-"

You pull off with a filthy pop, grinning up at him wickedly. "You gonna come for me, Jungwonie?" you ask sweetly, squeezing the base of his cock to stave off his impending orgasm. "Gonna make a mess all over yourself like a good boy?"

Jungwon whines high in his throat, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Please," he begs, hips jerking in aborted little thrusts as he chases his release. "Please, I need it, I'll be so good for you, Y/N. I'll do anything, just let me come, please-"

"Anything, huh?" you muse, stroking him slowly from root to tip. "Well, in that case... beg for it, baby. Want to hear how desperate you are, how badly you need to come for me. Go on, Jungwon. Be a good boy and beg."

Jungwon doesn't hesitate, too far gone to care about his pride. "Please, Y/N," he whimpers, straining against his bonds, eyes glassy and drool coming out of his mouth "Please let me come, I need it so bad. Been hard for you all day, been thinking about your pretty mouth, your perfect cunt. Fuck, I just- I need you, need to feel you, please-"

"Shh, I've got you," you soothe satisfied, silencing him with your fingers as he starts to suck on them for you. You reach down to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you take him back into your mouth. You bob your head quickly, cheeks hollowing as you suck hard, tongue fluttering along the underside of his shaft.

Jungwon keens, a constant stream of garbled pleas and praises falling from his lips coming muffled as you work him over, pulling away the fingers that were on his mouth to tease his nipples instead, making him truly lose it. "Fuck, 'm so close," he slurs, hips stuttering uncontrollably. "Y/N, 'm gonna- fuckkkk, gonna fucking come-"

You double your efforts, taking him as deep as you can and swallowing around him rhythmically. Jungwon sobs brokenly, back bowing as his orgasm crashes over him, spilling hot and hard down your throat.

You swallow it all greedily, milking him through the aftershocks until he's shaking beneath you. Carefully, you release him, giving his softening cock a few gentle licks while keeping eye contact before crawling up his body and licking into his mouth.

Jungwon whimpers into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue as you lick past his teeth possessively. "Fuck, baby," he pants when you pull back, gazing up at you with glassy, awestruck eyes. "That was... perfect."

You grin, reaching up to undo his restraints and rubbing his reddened wrists soothingly. "Mm, I know. But you were such a good boy for me, Jungwonie. Begged so pretty and took everything I gave you..."

He shivers at the praise, leaning into your touch like a flower seeking the sun. "Anything for you," Jungwon murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. "Want to be good for you, always."

JAKE:

You push Jake down onto the bed, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head. He stares up at you with dark, hungry eyes, lips parted on a soft exhale as you grind down against his already hardening length.

"Keep these here," you murmur, squeezing his wrists for emphasis. "Don't move them, okay? Or I'll stop."

Jake swallows hard, nodding jerkily. "Yes, ma'am," he rasps, fingers flexing against the sheets.

You grin, leaning down to nip at his jaw. "Good boy," you praise, relishing the way his breath hitches at the words. "Just lie back and let me take care of you, Jakey. Gonna make you feel so good..."

Slowly, teasingly, you start to kiss your way down his body, tongue tracing over the defined ridges of his abs. Jake trembles beneath you, muscles jumping under his skin as you map out every dip and plane with your tongue.

When you reach his waistband, you pause, glancing up at him through your lashes. Jake is watching you with rapt attention, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and you can see how hard he is trying to contain himself and that made you smile in satisfaction.

Holding his gaze, you slowly undo his fly, tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his aching cock. It springs up against his stomach, flushed and leaking at the tip, and your mouth waters at the sight.

"Fuck, look at you," you breathe, wrapping a hand around his thick length and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. "So hard for me already, baby. So desperate for my touch..."

"Y/N," Jake whines, hips bucking up into your fist. "Please, f-fuckkkk pleas-"

"Shh, baby. Patience" you soothe, thumb swiping through the bead of precum at his slit and making him gasp. "Gonna give it to you, Jakey. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, you won't even know your own name by the time I'm done with you"

And with that, you lean down and take him into your mouth, enveloping him in tight, wet heat. Jake makes an erotic and pornographic sound, halfway between a moan and a whimper, hands scrabbling at the sheets as he fights the urge to bury his fingers in your hair and thrust up into your willing throat.

You bob your head slowly, taking him deeper with every pass until your nose is brushing his pelvis, his cockhead nudging the back of your throat. Jake is panting now, abs flexing as he tries to keep still, tries to be good for you.

"Fuckkkk, Y/N, your mouth," he babbles, voice wrecked. "Feels so fucking good, baby. Please Omg-"

You hum around him, the vibrations making his hips stutter. Pulling off, you swirl your tongue around his sensitive crown before dipping into his slit, lapping up the steady stream of precum leaking from his tip.

"Taste so good, Jakey," you murmur, lips brushing his slick flesh with every word. "Love how desperate you get for me, love feeling you throb on my tongue. You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna let me swallow it all down like a good boy?"

"Yes," Jake sobs, head thrashing against the pillow as you take him back into your mouth and suck hard. "Fuck, Y/N, 'm so close, I can't- shit, gonna come, gonna fucking come down your throat-"

You pick up your pace, taking him as deep as you can and hollowing your cheeks, working your tongue along his shaft as you bob your head faster. Jake's thighs start to tremble, telltale sign that he's right on the edge, and you reach down to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm before squeezing.

That's all it takes. With a desperate, broken moan of your name, Jake comes, spilling over your tongue. You swallow it all greedly, milking him through it until he was wrecked under you.

You crawl up his body after releasing him, peppering his sweaty face with soft kisses until you reach his mouth, capturing his lips in a deep, filthy kiss.

Jake groans at the taste of himself on your tongue, hands finally leaving the sheets to grip your hips, pulling you down against where he's already starting to stir again. "Fuck, baby," he pants when you break apart for air. "You're..... incredible. I think you broke me."

You giggle, nipping playfully at his bottom lip. "Mm, well, I did promise to make you forget your own name, didn't I? Guess I succeeded."

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scoops-aboy86 · 14 days ago

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wc: 4849 | Rating: T | CW: greening out, recreational drug use | Additional Tags: new years fic, pining, Steve Harrington’s bisexual awakening/crisis, love confessions, getting together

note: the apple cider mentioned is not hard cider, just the stuff that’s like apple juice but better

(also on ao3)

Drink A Cup of Kindness Yet

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Steve Harrington is greening out.

Which, really, isn’t his fault. He’s smoked before, had pot brownies that had tasted even worse than these ones, it’s just been a while. Who knew that your tolerance could completely reset itself after only… six months.

And, okay, maybe that happens to coincide exactly with the length of time Eddie’s been away on Corroded Coffin’s first tour. Whatever Robin says, it’s not because he’s been pining. Who’s ever heard of missing something you never even had?

(Steve’s heard. Steve’s done it. Sometimes he still misses being with Nancy even though he knows, knows he never really had her heart, not fully. Or his parents’ warmth and affection, projected onto his childhood memories mostly from heartwarming movies because they’re just not that kind of people in real life. But… shut up.)

So now he’s here, balled up on the Buckley family’s sofa like one wrong move will send him toppling to the floor and too warm, so overheated that his body doesn’t feel like it’s fitted on its bones right. With Eddie holding his hand—stupid, after all the time they’ve spent smoking together before Eddie’s music career started taking off. The guy was always up for a toke, and Steve had taken advantage of that to spend more and more time with him until real life cut Steve off cold turkey.

From the weed, obviously. That… That’s the real problem here.

“Sorry,” Steve forces out. His head lolls back against the couch; talking takes a lot of effort and concentration. “That I’m… blrrrmph.”

That last bit is a stand in for whatever word he means that he totally can’t think of right now. It’s sarcastic and frustrated and a little bit whiny, and he’s so disappointed in himself for it.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Stevie. It’s my fault anyway, I shouldn’t have made the brownies so strong. Just… New Year’s, you know? I went a little overboard.”

At a loss, Steve squeezes back. On one hand, he'd be much more comfortable if Eddie were annoyed with him, because Steve is used to that response from people. On the other, he’d had a half-baked plan to maybe get up the nerve to kiss Eddie at midnight because, like, that’s what people do when the clock strikes midnight to ring in the new year. It’s just the three of them, and it’s not like he can kiss Robin, she’s basically his sister.

But now he’s over baked. He’s wrong footed without being on his feet, pulse racing and dizzy without moving, stomach uneasy because of how out of whack his internal thermostat seems to be right now, and Eddie…

Eddie is smoothing a cool wet washcloth over his forehead, courtesy of Robin—who only had one bite of brownie to start with as a precaution, and ended up a perfectly manageable amount of high. On one hand, Steve hates that about her not while he himself is so incapacitated. On the other, he loves her for being able to bring him stuff.

Wait. How many hands is that by now? What kind of many-handed creature is he building with his internal ramblings?

Eddie holds a mug to his mouth. The ceramic is cool against his bottom lip, so he allows it; stares straight into Eddie’s big, worried brown eyes while being fed sips of apple cider, sweet and cool over his tongue, down his throat.

“Gotta stay hydrated,” Eddie is saying, a soothing murmur. “It’ll help bring you down, sweetheart. Like a parachute.”

Steve wants to shake his head, but the message to move keeps getting lost somewhere between his brain and his neck. Which is stupid, they’re right next to each other! He waits until the mug goes away, then mumbles, “Nnn. Crash.” Puffing out his cheeks, he imitates what he thinks sounds like an explosion.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie retorts. A crinkle appears between his eyebrows and Steve wants to smooth it out, but he can’t. He can’t. “I’d never let you crash.”

And then. Oh no. It occurs to Steve that that’s not strictly true, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault because he didn’t know. About the… the… Well, Steve doesn’t even really know, he’s spent so long carefully tiptoeing around the shape of it—can’t miss what you never had—but. Eddie left. His departure carved out a hole, a crater that marked the way they’d emergency-landed into each other's lives one terrible Spring Break and never parted until… until.

Steve’s eyes are swimming, leaking, possibly melting out of his skull and none of it is Eddie’s fault. It’s not Eddie’s fault that he fell into the crater in his own chest and can’t climb out, can’t even move.

Eddie’s eyes, in contrast, go wide. “Oh, Stevie, you’re okay—”

“I d-d-d,” Steve tries, stuttering and locked up and too hot and too queasy and too much.

Another weight settles on his other side: Robin, sitting on the arm of the couch and wriggling her cold feet under him. It is, she told him once, the closest she will ever get to willingly touching his ass, and that memory wrings an incongruous, wet little laugh out of Steve even now.

“Ride it out, dingus,” she tells him, combing fingers through his sweaty hair and, he can tell, trying to fix it for him. Not that she’s ever very good at doing so, but he appreciates the attempt. “I brought you some leftovers if you’re hungry.”

Robin’s mom loves turkey, so it’s always on the Buckley family menu for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. It’s what they all had before the older adults went off to some party they’d been invited to and the ‘kids’ stayed behind. Now Robin’s brought him a small plate with the perfect ratio of turkey, stuffing, and jellied cranberry sauce, the kind that comes in the shape of a can. Not really finger food, but that’s how she feeds it to him whenever he flops his head from facing Eddie to facing her.

His eyes well up again because he’s got the best people in the world here with him, and because he’s being a total loser right now but it doesn’t matter because he’s got the best people in the world here with him, and…

Woah. Déjà vu.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again with a sniffle. “Shitty New Year’s.”

Eddie’s still holding his hand, squeezing it again reassuringly. “Trust me, big boy, this is nothing. I tried something on the road that, like, I don’t even know what that was. And I’m supposed to know my shit right? Ended up trashing a hotel room, which was�� a classic rockstar move, actually, but it felt terrible. Especially after. You can’t help a bad trip while it’s happening, just gotta take steps once it’s over to make sure it never happens again.” He pauses. “And that’s why me and all the guys have made a blood pact not to accept anything from groupies, roadies, or music execs anymore.”

Robin, from where Steve isn’t looking, hums. “Naming that many sources doesn’t sound like it was just a one time mistake.”

Eddie shrugs, a motion that flows all the way up Steve’s arm from their clasped hands. “Well, there are four of us, so.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about what Eddie is or isn’t doing, what he is or isn’t accepting, from groupies. Distantly, he can feel his face doing something—pouting, maybe—as he whines and tips closer into Eddie’s space. Ends up with his face smooshed against the other man’s collarbone and throat, touching both threadbare band t-shirt and bare, stubbled skin. Now that he’s out of Robin’s reach, Eddie takes over stroking his hair after only a brief hesitation.

And, like. Not to downplay how much Steve appreciates Robin, but this is better. He’s not sure why, it just is. If Eddie keeps going, he could probably stay here forever, just like this.

Which is how he dozes off, all sense of time melting away until he merely exists, a seamless transition from being cradled by Eddie in real life to surrounded by him in a dream.

Steve wakes with a snort to find himself almost right where he’d started, except instead of tucked into the corner of the couch he’s tucked into Eddie’s lap, probably squashing the other man’s legs numb. Instead of holding his hand, Eddie’s other arm is wrapped firmly around his back, holding him securely in place; the hand that had been in Steve��s is now holding several playing cards. Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve plays on low in the background, light shifting through the otherwise dim room.

“Go fish,” Eddie crows softly, then turns to Steve as Robin huffs and takes a card from the draw pile. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. You feeling better?”

Feeling humiliated is more like it. Can’t even handle his—But at the same time, something in Steve has settled. A crater filled in. He doesn’t pick his head up, but he does bring a hand to his mouth to wipe away an embarrassing amount of drool, and tries clumsily to wipe it with the edge of his sleeve from where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder, too.

“M’fine,” he mutters, not totally convinced this is true. He feels clearer, sure, but definitely still high. He’s still sleepy, muscles lax, comfortable where he is. Embarrassment isn’t quite enough to make him move yet, drool or not.

To hell with new year traditions though, because he can’t try for a midnight kiss now; his luck tonight has been way too bad already. And besides, he hasn’t even admitted to Robin he’s having these thoughts first, which is probably a soulmate faux pas. Kissing Eddie without consulting her first seems borderline rude. Or something.

(More like he’s being a coward, but he’s pretty sure his reasons are, you know. Reasonable.)

He squints at the cards in Eddie’s hand. “Ask for sevens.”

“Okay. Got any sevens, Birdie?” There’s something warm and affectionate in Eddie’s tone. A smile, maybe—something Steve had missed while he was conked out.

“Two against one, no fair,” Robin grumbles, but hands over a card.

They play for a little while longer like that, until Robin is eventually placated by winning despite the allegedly unfair player imbalance. When she bounces up to get them all refills of cider in time for the midnight countdown, Eddie gets Steve’s attention by leaning back just enough to make eye contact.

“Hey Stevie. I’m really sorry I didn’t warn you about the brownies… I should probably take a tolerance break, I barely even felt it and that clashes with my personal values.” The smile Eddie shoots at him is lopsided, dimple popping on one side in a way that makes Steve want to cup his cheek in one hand and pull him close until their mouths touch. Fuck. “Gotta be easier on the wallet and get back to those days of being a cheap date, otherwise I lose some of my already questionable appeal.”

“‘S not questionable,” Steve protests through a yawn. “You’re nice.”

“To you,” Eddie retorts. “To everyone else, I’m mean as a snake.”

His voice is gone quiet again. If Steve didn’t know any better he’d think it was shy—but Eddie Munson doesn’t do shy, there’s no way. Eddie Munson… is a goddamn rockstar trying not to stay stuck in this podunk town, and Steve finds himself smiling stupidly at him with reddened eyes that are still slightly unfocused.

“You’re a big metal softie,” Steve says, because the record’s gotta be set straight. He taps Eddie’s nose for emphasis and chuckles when Eddie scrunches it and goes cross eyed trying to follow the motion with his eyes.

There’s a moment where they just sort of look at each other. Steve feels so content, just looking at him. Knowing that Eddie isn’t expecting anything of him beyond being himself, which is… well, it doesn’t come easy a lot of the time, but for now he feels loose and warm.

“Steve, can I tell you something?” Eddie whispers.

He wants to hear what Eddie has to say. He always wants to hear everything on Eddie’s mind. So he nods.

Gently, Eddie brushes Steve’s hair out of his eyes. (When had that gotten there?) “For a while now, I’ve—”

“Here we go!” Robin interrupts, setting their three glasses of fancy apple juice on the coffee table and flopping down behind Steve. “Do you think we have time to play another round? I bet I could kick your ass at War before the ball drops.”

“Robin,” Eddie says without breaking eye contact with Steve, “I think you forgot something in the kitchen.”

There’s a pause, presumably while Robin reads the room, and then Steve feels the couch shift as she stands again. “Oh! You know what, you’re right! I’ll just… go figure out what that was while you two keep talking, carry on.”

Even though that’s his platonic soulmate, there was never a question of turning to look at her. Steve is breathless, floating, and Eddie is all around him, just like in his dream. It’s doing something inscrutable and fantastic to his insides. (I am still really high, he thinks, and then promptly loses the thought.)

When she’s gone again, Eddie simply says, “I missed you, Steve.”

“You did?” Steve whispers.

“Yeah. And it made me realize something.”

He’s still busy welling up just from Eddie thinking of him while out in the big wide world at all. “What?”

Eddie smiles, a complicated emotion sculpting his expressive face that Steve wants to map with his fingertips until he knows it like the back of his own hand. “That life’s too short not to tell someone you love them.”

What?

“And it’s funny,” Eddie continues, “because you’d think I would’ve figured that out after nearly dying, but nope. That little epiphany waited until I left Hawkins and realized how… just how perfectly you’d folded yourself into my life. I missed seeing you, talking to you every day. And I didn’t say anything about it any of the times I called because I didn’t want to fuck up at least being friends—”

Steve gets that. It’s been the loudest of his not-quite-thoughts for months now.

“—But fuck it, alright? I love you. So I had to come back and, well… I chickened out on saying it earlier tonight, and then you got way too high and this probably isn’t the best time to dump this on you, but…” He smiles nervously. “The way you’ve been looking at me since you woke up, it’s like there’s stars in your eyes, Stevie. I don’t know if it’s for me or if it’s the weed or what, but it keeps making my heart do cartwheels. You don’t have to… I’m not asking for anything, and if you don’t feel the same way—like, romantically, I don’t mean platonic right now, just to be very, very clear—that’s okay, but I just needed you to know. That I love you.”

I love you. Just like that, unprompted. Twice. Kinda three times, even, if you count life’s too short not to tell someone you love them.

In all of Steve’s relationships, he’s been the first to say it, always. He hasn’t said it in a long time, so it’s been a while since he’s heard it from anyone other than Robin—until this shooting star left where it had risen to in the sky to spend an honestly tame night with two best friends, one of whom can’t handle his special brownies for shit, saying that Steve fit in his life as though he’d had a crater carved in him too. Gazing at him now with a heartbreakingly open look, like he wouldn’t even hold it against him if Steve shrugged off Eddie’s arm and climbed out of his lap for this.

And Steve, with all his walls around his heart to keep it from breaking, walls in his head around the start of thoughts about Eddie best left untouched for danger of getting in over his head… He hasn’t given himself the time or space to come to terms with any of it, but he can feel all that time spent not thinking about it welling up behind his eyes, the byproduct of pressing it all down oozing back up, and fuck. The last thing he wants is to fuck this up and lose Eddie, but that doesn’t mean he wants to cry about it.

It happens anyway, too stoned to be any good at holding it in.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, that same crinkle between his eyebrows again as he cradles Steve closer. Closer, not away, so that’s something. That’s… Steve doesn’t know if it’s what he wants right now, body responding so equally with urges to flee and relax that he ends up feeling too leaden to move. Again. “Shit, sorry, I—Do you want me to get Robin?”

Steve shakes his head violently, the inside of it as blank as an Etch-A-Sketch, and what’s wrong with him? He can’t—he would kill to talk to Robin, but he hasn’t, not about this, not for months. What the fuck is wrong with him?

She could’ve helped him sort this out, and then he might know what to say about Eddie loving him. Instead, he's sitting here in Eddie’s lap feeling like he could just as easily run a marathon or simply fall over dead.

“I didn’t, I don’t know,” Steve says, panicking. His hands fumble, he’s not even sure what they’re trying to do until they’re clutching at Eddie, fingers twisted into the band shirt that’s so soft and faded he can’t even tell what’s on it, had been trying to puzzle it out right up until he’d gotten too high to function. “Eddie, I haven’t…”

“I know,” Eddie replies quickly, even though he doesn’t. “I’m not asking you for anything here. I wouldn’t put you on the spot like that, Steve.”

But you did, Steve thinks hysterically, because he had just by bringing it up, just by…

Eddie is pulling Steve to rest his forehead on his shoulder, something they’ve done for each other in panic attacks and after nightmares ever since surviving the end of the world together. They’ve both done it for Robin, and she’s done it for them. This is barely different, the same gesture even if what Steve is freaking out about this time is wholly new-but-not-new, and being high through it makes things easier and harder.

His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest like it might burst. Maybe he wants it to.

Maybe Eddie needs to see the messy contents of his heart and help sort through the gore and the junk to find what’s real in it, if anything. Steve doesn’t trust himself to know; he’s had trouble trusting himself with love, anyone’s love but Robin’s really, for a long time.

“You just,” he whines into Eddie’s shoulder. “You don’t know, Eds, you—I don’t even fucking know!”

There’s a hand rubbing soothing patterns over his back, a little uncertain. “Okay, I don’t know. I’m not sure what you’re talking about, obviously, but it’s okay not to know.”

No it’s not, because Eddie deserves an answer. Eddie was brave, is brave, and Steve is… whatever this is. A mess. Maybe confused, maybe just trying to be more like Robin and mistaking his friendship with Eddie for attraction. How is he supposed to be sure?

Steve’s fingers twist harder into the soft t-shirt material as he blurts out, “You left.” He doesn’t like how accusing it sounds, how whiney still, but now that he’s started he can’t stop. “I missed you too, you asshole, I… It’s been killing me, Eds, and I didn’t, I don’t know!”

“It’s okay not to know,” Eddie repeats, sounding dazed and maybe a little desperate, probably because Steve isn’t making any sense.

“But I need to,” Steve argues frantically. “I can’t, I can’t fuck this up, or I’m just fucking bullshit again and I can’t—”

“No.” It’s the first firm thing Eddie has said in a while, the first thing he’s sounded sure about since I just needed you to know. He pulls back, but only enough to lift Steve’s chin to look at him, big brown eyes locking in like a tractor beam to rival the Death Star’s. “You are not bullshit.”

It’s just as devastating as hearing the opposite, like a forest fire clearing out old deadfall to make way for new things to grow.

And that’s all it takes apparently. Steve yanks Eddie forward by the shirt because he has to know.

In the kitchen, Robin dawdles with getting more snacks to go with more apple cider—because, as Eddie had pointed out once Steve was down for the count, getting crossfaded on champagne would not end well.

And then Eddie had whisper-asked, while carefully supporting a lapful of her unconscious platonic soulmate, “What do I do, Robin?” and then “He’s so…!” and eventually even “I’m too gay to survive this, Buckley.”

Which is nothing he hadn’t said to her before, so she’d just rolled her eyes and retorted, “So tell him already, dummy.”

Because she knows Steve. He doesn’t listen to his heart nearly as much as he should, too convinced that it’ll get him into trouble, but that’s because he’s a dingus.

Now, hearing Steve start to freak out in the other room, Robin grips hard at her own hands and wavers. Should she not have encouraged Eddie? Crap. Should she go back out there? Crap, she’d been so sure that Steve felt the same way that she’d forgotten it was technically possible that he might have a bad reaction. Because, like, being cool about two girls liking each other was different from another guy liking him. She doesn’t think he’d freak out about it or anything, but she also hadn’t expected Eddie to take her advice so immediately, so clearly she’s not infallible.

Crap, she should go back out there. Panicking, Robin grabs the dish of cranberry sauce because Steve loves that wiggly, can-shaped abomination and rushes back to the living room to—

Catch an eyeful of Steve now full-on straddling Eddie, face damp with one hand tangled with his shirt and the other in his curly hair. Steve’s eyes are closed, and so are Eddie’s as they kiss so desperately they’re almost rocking back and forth.

She’s happy for them, but… ew.

“Missed you,” Steve gasps between kisses. “Eds—missed you—so much—”

Eddie moans into his mouth, which frankly is more than Robin needed to hear. Thankfully, though, his own hands are at a respectable middle ground between looped around Steve’s waist and reaching for his ass. “Sweetheart—‘

They seem to be working it out. Robin’s going to retreat to the kitchen and give them a minute.

Their first kiss is kind of like a traffic collision, which Steve regrets immediately. (He used to be good at this, dammit.) But Eddie—I’d never let you crash—kisses readily back, slows him with a touch to his jaw and eases the pace into something less frantic, but still eager. Easing him down like the parachute he’d promised until they’re fitted together like there’s no place they’d rather be.

Steve has never been on someone’s lap for a kiss before. Eddie is warm beneath him, against him, arms securely around him. If he’d had any doubts, they’re melting in the warmth of how safe this feels. Like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.

And it doesn’t hurt that Eddie is a good kisser. Or that Steve on his knees over him trying to press closer and closer, which… yep, they are definitely both starting to get hard from this. Steve can feel Eddie against him, an electric point of contact that’s unfamiliar, but feels more good than scary.

Mostly. Because he wants—god, he wants, suddenly, so much more than he had let himself even think about before—but not right now, while he’s still stoned in Robin’s living room. It’s not like Eddie expects that, right? He said he loves him.

“M’not a groupie,” Steve reminds Eddie, whining a little into his mouth with a sudden stab of jealousy and dread. This has to be real or he’s not going to survive it.

“Never,” Eddie pants. “Stevie, sweetheart—” he steals another kiss “—none of them are you, none of them could ever.”

“So you don’t…?”

“Have a few times,” he admits, pained but earnest. “Not in weeks. Kept thinking about you.” His hold tightens possessively, another thing Steve has never been on the receiving end before but it sends a thrill up his spine. “I kept forgetting their names and saying yours. They’re not who I want.”

Steve flushes, pleased by the thought of Eddie thinking about him while getting off but limited in imagining it because… well, he’s not totally sure how it works with two guys, beyond hand stuff. How to decide who puts what where. How does it… fit? Does Eddie like to be the, uh, the one putting it in? Oh god. God, what if Eddie does want that, but his dick is huge?! Because, like, Steve is on board with the idea of a dick in his hand, he knows what that feels like inside and out, but the rest—

He takes a shaky breath and tries to stop spiraling, but. It’s a lot. “Um, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here, Eds. Are you sure I’ll live up to… whatever you’ve been thinking about?”

“Baby,” Eddie purrs, and there’s the rockstar shining through, soothing in its confidence when Steve feels so unsure. (Even though Corroded Coffin has achieved only moderate Midwest fame so far, Steve’s always thought he has the charisma for more.) “First of all, it would be my pleasure to show you the ropes, one thing at a time. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with until you tell me it’s okay. And the good thing about having an overactive imagination is that, whatever you feel good about, anything we do will be straight out of my dreams.”

He winks, and Steve ducks his head with a grin, reassured by the answer even though there’s a lot he needs to wrap his head around still.

“And second, Big Boy, I can already tell that measuring up will not be a problem.” Punctuated by a rock of his hips that, though subtle, rubs them together just right that Steve has to bite his bottom lip to stifle a moan.

Eddie makes a little growling sound in his throat and dips in to take that lip for himself, worrying it gently before soothing it with a kiss. A surprisingly chaste one, which Steve finds as soothing as the pleasure a moment before was electrifying.

“And third,” Eddie continues, “me and the guys have been talking about setting up home base in Indy now that we’ve gotten started. That’s close enough to visit, at least. See where this goes. Go on—” and now his face is so endearingly hopeful it makes Steve’s heart feel too big for his chest “—dates? I don’t know where you are yet, and like I said, it’s okay if you’re not either, but that’s what I want: a relationship, in as many ways as I can get.”

“Yeah,” Steve says immediately. He’d started nodding before Eddie had even finished speaking. “Yeah, I think I want that too.”

Maybe it is okay that he doesn’t have everything quite figured out yet. And Robin had to have known, somehow, what Eddie was going to bring up when he’d shooed her out of the room; she wouldn’t have left so easily if she had any objections. She probably won’t be as mad as he’d feared about being left out of the loop.

As if summoned by the thought, they both hear Robin call loudly from the kitchen, “Are you two done getting your gay and presumably-bisexual longing out in the open out there, or should I make popcorn while your gross boy cooties are barring me from my own couch?”

Eddie snorts, and Steve starts shaking with repressed laughter—one part snickering at his best friend’s predicament and three parts relief that she doesn’t sound mad. He’s never been more grateful that they seem to share a brain, even when he doesn’t know how to unpack his own shit sometimes.

Though, now that he’s started, there’s a lot he wants to talk with her about. Starting with, what does it mean that he’s presumably some sort of bicycle?

“Make the popcorn anyway, we’re busy,” Eddie calls, and kisses Steve again.

Not chaste this time. Still sweet, but with a richness and depth that Steve parts his lips for eagerly. He may not know the guy part of this but he knows kissing, knows how to adjust without pulling too hard on the reins—and that’s not so different from not really having the reins at all, really.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Steve Harrington is on top of the fucking world.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@hotluncheddie @hiei-harringtonmunson @sofadofax @hickeysgodcomplex @oatmilk-vampire

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#scoops words #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin

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lets-try-some-writing · 6 months ago

Text

A Brother In Need

A gift for @nova--spark and a partial continuation of this post by her (ft. my fic blurb for it).

Sometimes, when things are dire, the Matrix can tear through the very walls between worlds. It can call out to others, summoning Primes to aid a brother in need.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Optimus grunted as another shot scorched his armor. The upgrades he’d received were doing nothing against the raging force of nature that was Megatron. A jetpack was useless against a forged flyer. The Magnus hammer, which he’d not so quietly borrowed, was doing slag all do deter his foe.

Being taken prisoner had done nothing to calm Megatron or make him less of a deadly opponent. With Ultra Magnus out of commission, all Optimus could do was try to buy time while the Autobots got themselves organized. The battle had already raged for almost five minutes, a near eternity for Optimus, who, as much as he hated to admit it, was certainly not built for war. He could only hold off for so long, and with no allies en route, he was essentially a sitting duck.

Every dodged attack slowed him down. Each hit he managed to land seemed to bounce right off of the warlord. Even with the Allspark resting within its casing around his neck, providing him with energy he sorely needed, he was still losing. Bit by bit, he was pushed back closer toward civilian regions. It had never gotten this bad, not even on Earth.

“Foolish Prime. You will learn the meaning of suffering for daring to put me in chains.” Megatron flew at him yet again, and all Optimus could do was struggle to keep his frame from overheating as he forced himself to dodge. Unfortunately, Megatron was faster, hitting his jetpack with a well timed strike and finally sending him careening toward the ground. Optimus adjusted mid-fall, slowing his descent and landing on his pedes. However, as he attempted to get back into the skies in the hopes that it would limit civilian casualties, his jetpack failed to function. It puttered uselessly against his back, reminding Optimus again of just how dire things really were.

“I’m not going down without taking you with me!” He taunted his foe, running as far away from housing districts as possible. The Allspark weighed heavily around his neck, thrumming with strange energy he did not understand. It did little to aid him, but its glow reminded Optimus of what he was fighting for.

Megatron could not win. Not while Optimus still functioned.

“I will strip you of your armor, one plate at a time!” Megatron roared in outrage, landing with a thunderous crash that left Optimus reeling. He clutched the Magnus hammer, not letting himself focus on the faint tremor of his digits as he raised the weapon high. He checked his comms, frantically letting his optics flicker around the area in hopes that someone, anyone, would come to his aid.

He saw and heard nothing. No one was coming. He was alone.

“I’d like to see you try.” He could sense the stress warnings for his servos running across his vision, but Optimus dismissed them. He needed to keep fighting, to buy more time for Sentinel to get things in order as acting Magnus. He doubted his former friend would actually aid him, but if Optimus could do something to give the Autobots a chance, then he would gladly put his life on the line yet again.

He took a deep vent, the world slowing around him as Megatron unsheathed his blade and leapt forward. Optimus distinctly recalled wondering if there would be anything left of his frame once the battle was done as the warlord’s blade met his hammer.

The shock rattled his entire frame, knocking his shoulder from its socket. He didn’t have time to cry out in pain before he was forced to try and block another hit, then another, and another. He tried to fight back, but every time he tried to land an attack, Megatron’s blade cut through his armor like it was made of tinfoil. He was covered in gashes, each burning as they bled. He stumbled, trying to keep his balance as Megatron smiled, stalking forward and pushing Optimus up against a wall.

“This is what happens when you play soldier, Optimus Prime. Now, you will die like the disposable pawn you are.” Optimus spit up energon, coughing as he clutched a particularly deep wound with one servo. The Magnus hammer was held weakly up in front of him, his entire arm shaking from the effort as he prepared to block. Part of him hoped that his team would arrive and save his sorry aft. The rest of him was praying for a decently quick and honorable end, perhaps a blaster shot to the spark.

Unfortunately for him, Megatron had other plans.

The warlord swung his blade, sending the Magnus hammer flying away from Optimus’s grasp. He cursed, getting into a combat position despite how battered and tired he was. His vents were flared wide, his fans running on their highest setting as he panted and tried to play hero. Everything ached and burned, his vision flickering from energon loss. But he was not given a chance to even try to preserve his honor as the hilt of Megatron’s blade collided with his helm, knocking him to the ground.

He cried out in pain, no longer able to stifle the agony of his failing frame. He heard Megatron laugh as a kick landed on his abdomen, sending Optimus flying against the wall behind him and leaving him to purge what little he had in his tanks before coughing up energon that had to have come from something internal being ruptured.

He shook in terror that he could no longer mask as the warlord loomed above him, his towering frame now no longer anything close to the storybook villain Optimus had come to know. He prayed for salvation as Megatron took his time, hitting him again and again and kicking him around like some sort of training dummy. Every hit broke something else, shattering plating or snapping components that were likely vital.

Optimus tried to be brave. He tried to keep being snarky, if only to buy time. But as he lay utterly beaten amidst the rubble of their battleground, he could only cry while pulling himself into a sitting position. There was nothing he could do now except try to die with a small iota of dignity.

“Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Sari… I’m sorry I won’t be coming back to all of you.” A choked sob broke through his tortured venting. As Megatron cackled, Optimus touched the container the Allspark still sat within. He prayed in silence, hoping that the phenomenon that gave him life would heed his quiet plea.

He wasn’t religious. He had no god to worship as the humans did. But he still hoped… that maybe, somehow, the thing that made him would have mercy on his spark.

“Goodbye, Prime.” Megatron’s blaster powered on, sickening purple and flooding Optimus’s vision as he raised his helm in one final act of defiance. If he were to fall, he was going to do so, looking death in the optic. He would not cower, not even in his final moments.

He stared down the blaster barrel, uncaring of how it made his optics flicker due to the brightness. But as he watched his death come closer, he felt warmth emanate from the container around his neck. He dared not look away from Megatron, but as blue light began to drown out the purple, Optimus could only gasp in awe at what occurred mere nano-kliks later.

A shot fired, but it was not Megatron’s blaster putting Optimus six feet under. Instead, bright blue energy impacted Megatron’s armor, scorching his seemingly untouchable plating and earning a cry from the warlord. Optimus gawked, his agony momentarily forgotten as he followed the source of the shot, his optics setting on a figure that towered over even Megatron.

A faint blue figure flickered in and out of existence, becoming more solid with every passing moment. Optimus’s optics widened as the mech stepped forward, his frame setting into reality as he held his arm up, the limb having transformed into a blaster without so much as a klik of hesitation. He stood proudly, his armor battered and scarred but still strong. His shoulders were sharp, and an autobot badge stood out clearly amidst the scratches and dents. His legs were long and built for combat; his waist was thin but his torso was heavily armored. A crack ran along his windshields, but it seemed to mean nothing for the mech who stood so powerfully on the battlefield.

Optimus watched in complete awe as the mech stalked forward, a battlemask firmly in place on his face as he fired shot after shot at Megatron. With grace that Optimus had never seen in anyone before, the mech strode forward, breaking into a steady run as his arms turned from guns to blades. In an instant, the mech, who looked so much like Optimus in color and overall design, met Megatron in combat. Their blades sparked, their grunts of exertion echoed across the battlefield.

Megatron tried to push back, but the mech was swift with his blades, cutting through Megatron’s defenses and slashing his armor clean open with rapid movements. Megatron stumbled back, screaming a curse in a language Optimus did not know. The mech, his counterpart, responded in kind with a quick kick to the chassis, sending the warlord sprawling after a pitifully short fight. It seemed that despite his failure to bring down his foe, Optimus had indeed tired him enough so that his counterpart had little issue bringing him to his knees.

A smug part of his spark flared in glee at the revelation.

“Serves you right, you glitch.” He raised a middle finger in Megatron’s direction as Autobots finally appeared in the distance. His counterpart knocked Megatron upside the helm, forcing the Decepticon leader into temporary recharge. Then, without a second thought, he came to kneel before Optimus, his battlemask slipping away.

“I apologize for failing to assist you sooner, little brother. The call of the Matrix can be slow at times.” Optimus carefully reset his optics, but the scene did not change as his counterpart tenderly picked him up as if he were but a newbuild. The Allspark pulsed against his chassis in response.

“It seems your reality has different rules than mine, but you need not fear. We are one and the same, merely separated by time and a barrier between worlds.” The other mech, the other Optimus, smiled in a soft manner before holding Optimus close. He coughed weakly, the pain slowly overwhelming his senses as his counterpart held him close. He wanted to speak, to ask who this mech really was.

But he found his questions answered as the other Optimus carried him to his team, passing him off to a very worried Ratchet. He stared, still in shock, as the other Prime began to flicker and fade, his existence starting to vanish like smoke.

“Rest well, young Prime. May Primus light your path.” With those final words, the other Prime disappeared as if he’d never been there in the first place. Megatron was bound and carted off, Ratchet strapped him to a gurney and rushed to get him hooked up to an IV. All the while, Optimus stared up at the sky uselessly.

He didn’t know how or why, but through the thing that hung around his neck, Optimus had been saved by another version of himself. A mech who carried his name, his burden, and his rank.

He’d had his life preserved by a brother.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers animated #tfa optimus prime #tfp optimus prime #tfa megatron #tf animated #alternate universe #the matrix of leadership #gift fic #transformers fanfiction #enjoy nova :))

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ghostsirensworld · 4 days ago

Text

Giving gojo a dickey

Characters: gojo

Warnings: use of y/n, sub gojo,overstimulation,idk

Gojo the whinny dramatic crybaby

When you first asked, Gojo had said yes without a second thought. Who could say no to free, long head from his gorgeous girlfriend?

Oh, but he regretted it.

“Y-Y/n…!” he whined, his voice breaking into a desperate plea. “P-please, it’s too much—I can’t take it anymore!”

His breath hitched as his body trembled beneath your touch, his fingers gripping your shoulders with what little strength he had left. He was trying to push you away, but it was futile—his usual cocky confidence had long since crumbled into nothing but ragged gasps and shuddering moans.

You hummed softly in response, the vibrations sending a sharp jolt through him. A broken cry tore from his lips, his hips jerking involuntarily as waves of pleasure crashed over him. His body, normally so fluid and composed, was betraying him, twisting and writhing beneath you.

“Y-Y/n i can-cant—!” He tried again, but his words dissolved into a choked moan as you kept going, refusing to let up.

The room was filled with his whimpers—high, needy, desperate. He sounded nothing like the smug, untouchable man everyone knew him to be. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, was now completely at your mercy, falling apart beneath your touch, unraveling with every passing second.

Time seemed to blur. His body jerked with overstimulation, every little movement making him more sensitive, more desperate. The way he trembled, the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he was holding on for dear life—it was intoxicating. His moans became breathless and broken, his resistance fading into surrender, until finally—

With a wet pop, you pulled away.

Gojo let out a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as he lay there, utterly wrecked. His platinum hair stuck to his damp forehead, and his flushed skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes—normally so sharp and playful—were blown wide, glassy with overstimulation and unshed tears.

You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, heart racing as you met his half-lidded, dazed gaze. A triumphant, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “I did it… finally.”

He stared at you, still panting, his entire body twitching with aftershocks. His breath was uneven, his limbs weak, his mind hazy.

“Y/n…” he croaked, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I-I thought I was gonna die.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a soft laugh and climbed into bed beside him. Without hesitation, you pulled him into your arms, pressing yourself against his overheated body. “You’re so dramatic,” you teased, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

He exhaled shakily, his arms instinctively wrapping around you despite his exhaustion. His grip was weak but firm enough to keep you close. You could feel the rapid thudding of his heart, his body still recovering from the overwhelming sensations.

“…Never again,” he muttered against your hair, but the way his fingers curled around your waist told a different story.

You smirked, pressing a gentle kiss against his pulse. “Liar.”

He huffed a breathless chuckle, tightening his hold on you. “Shut up…”

And just like that, he let himself melt into your embrace, letting you soothe him, knowing full well that he’d let you do it all over again.

Because no matter how much he pretended otherwise—he loved every second of it.

Request are open!!

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo #gojo x female reader #sub gojo #blowjov #fem top #hes so dramatic #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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sillysillygoofygoose · 1 year ago

Text

"Speak Up" ♡

You dont get anything unless you tell Toji exactly what you want.

*daddy/little one usage, ddlg-ish, safeword used, implied subspace... don't like, don't read <333 MDNI, READER IS 18+

LMAAOO GUYS literally ignore everything I said in my last miguel post (though I stand by it 😩) because reader is the polar opposite in this one 💀 I'm such a clown y'all, I switch up sooo fast

"Please?" Your hoarse voice barley leaves your throat as your mouth hangs open in exhaustion.

"Aw, c'mon, little one... you can do much better than that, don't cha think?" His sly delivery makes the heat in your lower stomach spread like a forest fire.

Flushed features scrunching up at his teasing, you grow more and more frustrated at his antagonizing and sadistic games. Toji's thick, calloused fingers ghost over your embarrassingly soaked pussy, treating you as if you were a burning hot stove top. Every slip of his fingers down your slit has your back arching from his chest, legs threatening to unlatch from his built thighs. His legs keep yours spread as you sit on his clothed lap, feeling his twitching boner against your pudgy ass.

You never realized how quiet you get in bed... almost as if someone switches on your mute button the second your clothes hit the ground. Toji hates it. Of course, he thinks you're cute - the way you clasp your hand over your mouth every time a noise threatens to leak out - but he wants to hear you. He needs to hear you. Especially when you get all mushy and pathetic, just for him.

Your hushed whines are almost overpowered by the lewd wet sounds Toji pulls from your pussy as he sinks his middle and ring fingers in, knuckle deep. He's guided you to your edge four times already. And everytime he's pulled you back from stumbling over.

"Pleeaasee, I want it. Fuck, really want it daddy." Griping onto his bicep, you feel tears begin to build alongside your orgasm. Your bare toes curl in on themselves as tingling sensations blur in your feet and travel up your sensitive, desperate little body.

"What do ya want? Huh, baby? C'mon, tell Daddy, use your big girl words." Toji smiles when he sees the delicate muscles in your stomach clench as your body stutters.

"I want to. Please. 's so embarrassing. " More mumbles. He really thought he was getting somewhere. You feel the coil in your stomach unsatisfyingly unravel, fall apart more like, as Toji removes his fingers from your body without warning.

"No! Why-why did you stop? I was so close." The tears splashing at your waterline race down your overheated cheeks as you completely remove your body from your cruel boyfriend's touch.

"You gotta speak up, baby, or I won't know what you want." His sadistic smile only makes you cry harder as he gathers you up in his arms once again, spreading your weak, trembling legs. Turning you to face him, he positions your crying cunnie over his brawny leg, clit immediately rubbing against his sweatpants. The pain overrides the pleasure as he rocks you back and forth against him, forcing stimulation on your puffed parts.

"No more, n'more. 'M all done." You beg, pushing his broad shoulders as you shiver and shake, tears gathering at the tip of your nose while you look down in shame.

"You can take one more, hm baby? All you have to do is ask nicely, and I'll give you anything you want, sweets." His pushes you down harder, forcing a sob out of your lips, splotched face buried in his neck.

"Nnmmh. No. No, thank you. Red." Your last word is hardly a whisper, but Toji hears you loud and clear.

"Oh, hey, hey, shit baby, I'm sorry." Toji hands fly from your hips as he lets you crawl from his thigh, disoriented and shy. Your cries increase into the palm of your shaky hands as embarrassment crashes over your overexerted body.

"Fuck, 'm so sorry little one. Didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry." The pit in his stomach only grew deeper and more dreadful as you refused to look at him, balled up into your own frenzy. You heave out tired breaths as you grab onto his hand, moving to rest on his shoulder, signaling that he can touch you.

"Was too much. Just need to cum, daddy. 'M so overwhelmed." You wipe your tears away as you tiredly peck Toji's cheek, melting the worry off his face.

"Daddy will make you feel good, sweets. I'm so sorry, baby." Toji slowly moves his hand from yours to cup your soaked pussy, but feeling you tense, he decides to help his pretty girl more delicately.

"Here, sweet girl, lay down f'me." Toji grunts as he maneuvers satin draped pillows under your hips. "Daddy's gonna take such good care of you, okay?"

Immediately, you feel his tongue flat against your core and you moan out, dejected pussy embracing the strong hits of pleasure.

You buck your hips into Toji's welcoming mouth as he nuzzles his lower face into you. Exhausted but invigorated, your hips find their own rhythm against Toji's mouth and nose. You don't hold back, whines, moans, and whimpers alike rushing from your mouth like a waterfall of praise.

"Mhm mhm, cum f'me pretty baby. You deserve it, such a good girl" Toji doesn't even break from you as he encourages you through your sudden but long anticipated orgasm, mumbling and groaning into your pussy. Your legs force him further down against you as your back hovers off the bed, panting filling the room as you ride your release.

Closing your eyes, your legs drop to either side of Toji's head. Your plump lips are spread, taking in as much air as your lungs will allow as dried tear tracks fade against your pink cheeks. Baby hairs stick to your sticky, sweaty forehead. He chuckles, looking up at your spaced state.

"You alright, doll?" He huffs out, rubbing up and down your outer thigh. You don't respond, simply letting your hand flop on top of his as you nestle yourself into the inviting mattress under you.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Credit to @pommecita for the divider <3333

#size difference #fem reader #jjk x reader #age difference #jjk #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji headcanons #toji zenin #toji x you

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typewritingyip · 2 months ago

Text

The Arcturus Missions

Part Sixteen - Explosive Consequences

Part Fifteen

———

Humans can withstand so much force, whether its g-force in which trained pilots can withstand 9g’s for a handful of seconds without passing out, or the potential six thousand pounds of compressive force that parts of the body can withstand.

Yet, they are organic in nature. They don’t particularly crush or break in the same manner as mechanicals.

There are dozens of ways to kill an organics, lack of force or excessive force. One in which can freeze the body, turning things that are liquid into solid, and other turning solid into liquid or hardly anything at all. It’s gruesome but true. Organics pop under excessive force and freeze under too little. Being in a properly pressurized space is hardly convenient but necessary. Such as a space shuttle, airplane, or mech suit.

—

All the gunfire was concussive, Breakdown’s shoulder cannon was super heated and made his cockpit unbearably hot, but they almost had the ship disabled. If Prowl’s predictions were correct, it would crash on the far side of base camp. Hound was to his right, kneeling now with the end of his converted long gun propped up and blasting off shots with ease, his gun fire joining two others in the field. With a bit of struggle, Breakdown grabs hold of a water pouch and drinks it down to the best of his ability, trying to keep the cannon from being disabled. The ship was on fire and descending fast.

Hound was still kneeling when it happened, at first, he thought that the ship had exploded or crashed but it was still taking fire from the others. He was disorientated and his ears were ringing, his gun crushed under the weight of the suit. For the moment his comms were out and static was filling his already ringing ears, so he turned on his external speakers, “Breakdown, you alright?” Hound turned and almost froze but instead got to his feet. Breakdown’s arm was a few yards away, along with what remained of the cannon and his shoulder components, it was leaking oil and coolant. It took Hound several long seconds and a strangled yell to remember that the suit wasn’t Breakdown’s actual body, that the suit was equipped with a equipment rejection feature, and that the suit wasn’t Breakdown’s body.

The inside of his cockpit was hot and his visual feed was exploding with error codes, Breakdown was hanging from his piloting apparatus and struggled to remove his helmet, “Damnit.” His head was pounding but he quickly got the front of the suit to open and let in cool air, it was a bit of a miracle that this would happen on a planet where they could breath the atmosphere. Hound was there, leaning over him, “Breakdown, you alive?” Very typical pilot, he struggled but flipped his external speakers back on, which screamed lightly for a second before turning on, “Yeah, mostly.” Hound sighed with relief and was quick to start spraying down the heated metal, bringing down the temperature of the suit so it would function again, “What happened?” “Cannon overheated, the repairs we did did not last. Melted in my last shot and my suit rejected the arm, very abruptly.” Struggling some, he pulled his helmet back on and went about the basic reboots for his suit, recalibrating it to register the lost appendiage.

Hound was shaking as he was able to bring the temperature of Breakdown’s suit back down, watching uneasily as Breakdown sealed himself back up in the cockpit, just as several others came running over. The chaos of the enemy ship now in the distance and the snipers nearby could no longer assist, “What happened?” Bluestreak was there first, staring with wide eyes as Hound helped Breakdown up, pulling his only arm across his shoulder, Mirage was right behind him though and stared, “How is he not unconscious?” Bluestreak almost opened his mouth but spared a look to Hound first before moving over to grab the lost arm, “We need to get him to Knockout.” Breakdown shook his head, “No, this will just worry the medic.” Both cybertronians stopped and stared like the mech had grown another head or sprouted winds, “Breakdown, I mean this with the utmost sincerity, but you are missing an arm. This is no longer a repair your team can handle.” Hound stopped and nodded, “Mirage is right, we have to ask Knockout for help.” Then he switched to comms, “At least to get the suit to stop leaking, once that’s handled we can get the arm properly reattached back in Iacon when you’ll have space to work, but I also can see it in your face Oleksknder, that concussion is going to have you on base duty.” Breakdown swore.

The ship crashed in the distance, shaking the ground and almost making all four of them lose balance.

—

It took them a while to get back to camp, Bluestreak was uncharacteristically quiet while carrying Breakdown’s severed arm and Mirage was speaking over comms to Prowl. Hound was walking with Breakdown and trying to keep the suit upright, they were talking quietly over a private comm channel, Hound mostly trying to keep Breakdown awake, “Once we get to camp and into the medical tent, I’ll say that I’m going to put you under for the maintenance and request Knockout leave for privacy. We’ll load you into my control bay, you can rest up on the cot.” He wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to remove Breakdown from his suit but it was better than him falling asleep without someone watching him, “I think it would still be the better move for me to just engage all my internal camera so that you and Jazz can monitor me from there,” Hound swears, “Damnit Breakdown, if you pass out or anything goes wrong,” he squeezed Hound’s shoulder, “Even if I was in your bay, there wouldn’t be anything you or the others could do. If my tech fails or my body does, then that’s it. We knew this when we signed up for this mission and I’m comfortable with my choice.” Hound fell silent, still holding Breakdown up as they limped into camp.

With the ship crashed, most of the others had moved in to attempt to handle the situation, only a few mechs were around and they all seemed to have minor injuries. Knockout was working on one with a nasty cut down part of his chest, “If you just came to the medical tent, it would go by a lot faster.” The mech shrugged a bit, “It’s fine.” He was clearly bored and glanced over, his jaw falling open, “Uh, I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than my nanites doc.” Knockout, still grumbling, looks up then makes a strangled noise.

Bluestreak almost dropped Breakdown’s arm as the medic ran at them, “What happened?” Knockout gestured towards the medical tent, so Hound followed, “His cannon overheated, by design it’s supposed to disconnect but uh, it didn’t.” Breakdown chuckled slightly, leaning against Hound heavily, “It exploded and my programs thought my arm was the problem.” The look almost made both grown, military men, freeze, “Your programming? What kind of backward planet did you come from?” He was shrieking, then pulled out a medical bed and paused, “If I activate the field on this will that disturb your systems?” Hound glanced at it and nodded, “Yes.” He had to bite his tongue to not go into detail how it would crash the systems and potentially the reactor’s cooling system which would just be all bad. Bluestreak sets the arm down then glances over his shoulder, “I’m going to go help the others with Mirage, um, I’ll be back later to check on you Breakdown, okay?” Nodding a bit, Breakdown is eased into the deactivated slab, “Thanks.” Blue ran out of there as fast as he could, he looked ready to throw up. Hound shifted to stand slightly in front of the door as Knockout picked up the detached arm, “Are you in pain?” His voice was far softer than either of them expected from a medic. When compared to the medical team back on Earth who carried around very heavy tools for when they were annoyed.

Breakdown cleared his throat a bit and shook his head again, “Uh, no, sir. My head hurts but that’s all.” As if saying it reminded him, he activated his internal camera for Hound. He looked like shit, and Hound’s stomach turned over. Knockout stares, then looks down at the arm before looking to Breakdown again, “You’re bleeding and in shock.” He moved up to Breakdown and started to seal the few leaking lines at his shoulder, looking more and more horrified, even whispering, “What do you all run on?” Glancing up, Knockout glared at Hound, “If you’re just going to stand there, leave. If you want to be useful, get him a cover for the shock.” Hound blinked once then twice before he went over to a cabinet and pulled out what looked like an oversized tarp, there were several of these around Jazz’s apartment in Iacon. Supposedly Prowl’s door-wings got cold easily.

Snatching it from Hound, Knockout covered the parts of Breakdown he wasn’t working on, “Now get out.” Opening his mouth, Hound had every intention to protest before a chunk of Sharpel was thrown for his visor. Ducking quickly, he left, switching to the private comm, “Breakdown, keep me updated on this and keep your damn camera on.” In the corner of his visual feed, Breakdown chuckled and nodded some, switching to the private comm, “I have had my fair share of concussions, it will be alright.” Hound grit his teeth, “Once we ship back to Cybertron you’re going on rest. Our mission is too far from being over for you to be out for the rest of it.” Then he cut the line, it was reckless and stupid. Now a medic was working on their technology as if he were treating a patient and not fixing a suit. Sitting down heavily near the familiar heater, Hound put his head in his hands. Taking several deep breaths before the sounds of gunfire drew closer again. Sighing slowly, he looked up and walked over to one of the injured mechs, “Mind if I borrow your gun?” Since his was laying destroyed in the battle field of twenty minutes ago, the mech nodded and offered it, “It’s got a pit of a kick.” Hound took it and turned it on, it hummed deeply, “That’s fine. Better ours than theirs.” Before he ran towards where he could see familiar red and yellow cutting through a group of Quintessons, the gun coming up and firing as he ran.

—

Splattered with energon, Quintesson guts, and what he could only describe as muck, Hound’s suit was slow. Maybe it was more so he was exhausted and slow, but the layer of grime on the suit was not helping. Though to be fair all the frontliners looked like that right now, the ship was half sunk in the marsh behind them and far enough away from the energy farms they won't disturb the planet's production.

This feeling honestly reminded him of the last time he’d fought in the ocean, the sand clutching at the feet of his suit, slow and drained. Clearly the others felt very similarly as even Sunstreaker couldn’t be bothered with dragging himself to the wash racks, instead sitting down heavily in their usual spot. Sideswipe sat next to him, as close as he possibly could get before resting his elbows on his knees and face in his hands, “Ugh, if this was bad how are we going to take on their whole planet?” Hound bit his lip before sitting down, stretching his back the best he could, “Hopefully not on our own, maybe with help.” It wasn’t something to think about now.

Jazz sank to the ground, missing the seat entirely and leaning his head back against it, “Breakdown’s vitals seem to be normal, he’s resting now, took some Tylenol from his med-kit so it’ll probably need restock eventually.” Sideswipe looks up, “What happened with the old man?” Hound and Jazz shared a brief look before Hound signed, “His cannon overheated, his suit thought it was the arm malfunctioning,” “His arm came off?” Sunstreaker no longer seemed so tired, sitting up quickly, yelling through the comm causing the other three to wince, “Yes, but Knockout has it reattached, he’s just in medical getting some rest. Turned off most of his systems so he can rest in the dark.” Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker shoved off the ground, “Alright, well I’m going to rinse this crap off then check on him.” Everyone waved slightly and settled down, too tired to join him. Jazz and Hound kept an eye on Breakdown in the corner of their visual feeds, his cockpit dark and he was just visible on his makeshift cot.

All the others wanted to do was eat and try to get some sleep, Prowl had already agreed to monitor Breakdown through the night.

—

This time around, it was Hound who woke up in the middle of the night, jolting upright and coughing violently. He felt sick, hitting the lights for the cockpit. He tried to catch his breath, of course after what happened to Breakdown today he’d dream about that. Swearing, he got out of bed and started to pull on the assistance suit, there was no point in trying to go back to bed. Grabbing his water pouch, Hound poured some onto his hand and dragged it down his face before pulling on his helmet. Adjusting the visor just a bit. Taking several more breaths, it took all the power he had to climb into his piloting chair and turn his systems back on.

It was dark and it was cold, but the heater was turned on and softly glowing in front of him.

Turning up the brightness of his visor some, Hound took a second to take in the surroundings he was starting to familiarize himself with. Most of the mechs were hanging around their own heaters, talking and laughing together, most probably would need to sleep for another few hours. It took him a second to push off the ground and start towards command, not wanting to disturb the others' sleep. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet in the late hour, stepping over one of the benches before going towards command. Waving to those who waved and nodding at those who shouted, Cybertronian’s were fairly friendly and seemed to just get friendlier. There were only a few mechs in command, talking casually, one laughed.

Knocking lightly on the makeshift frame, Hound leaned around into the space, “I’m sorry to disturb,” “Hound, you’re not disturbing us. Come on in.” Mirage smiles, holding a cube that was much more vibrant than typical energon, something called high grade. Nodding a bit, Hound moves into the room and takes up the empty chair, “Thank you.” Megatron hums, sipping his own cube, “We’d off you a drink, but your systems don’t take energon?” It was phrased more as a question and Hound cleared his throat a bit, “Uh, yes, sir. It’s toxic according to our systems, uh, sorry. Thank you for the offer though.” He nodded a bit and sat back, Megatron returned the nod and went back to sipping his drink. Red Alert shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “Hound, I’m afraid I have a question for you that you might not like.” Hound waved a hand, “No Red, it’s fine. Go ahead.” The mech nodded for a second before shifting in his seat, “What happened between Sideswipe and Bluestreak? They don’t appear to be speaking to one another and several mecha stated seeing a fight last night.” Hound sighed, “They got into an altercation about Sunstreaker.” Mirage laughed, “See, I told you! You owe me ten shanix.” Hound opened his mouth when Red Alert nodded and handed over the credits, “A deal is a deal, I had just assumed it was for more than flirting.” Hound shut his mouth.

Megatron chuckled slightly, finishing off his drink, then pouring another cube for himself, “I doubt Hound wants to hear about your bets, besides, the mech is normally in recharge at this hour. What brought you to us?” Hound swore sometimes it was like the mech knew what he was thinking, clearing his throat again Hound shifted slightly, “The lighting to be perfectly honest. The heaters only provide so much light and it’s significantly easier to stay awake in a bright space.” It also kept the memories at bay, even if just for a little while, Megatron hummed deeply, “Then what awoke you?” Hound’s mouth went dry and he wished he hadn’t left the water pouch on his bed, worrying his lip for a moment he sighed, “Old memories from home.” He didn’t expect the response though.

Mirage nodded heavily, staring at the floor, Red Alert glanced up at the makeshift roof, smiling sadly, and Megatron downed the second drink, “Good memories or the bad?” “Can’t it be both?” Hound smiled painfully even though they could see it, somehow they all always knew, Mirage reached over and brushed a hand over his shoulder, “It can, it truly can.” Looking at him, Hound tilted his head though not in question, simply in response before looking down, “The bad is what woke me up, the good is why I needed to get away.” They were all understanding, humming softly and letting him sit in silence for a moment more, “Your people, they are very different from us.” Megatron’s voice was almost casual, but the typical edge was still there, “But you are also different from them, the so-called compatibility testing I hear so much about.” Hound chuckled lightly, nodding, “Yes, the test to see if you’re capable of fighting Quintessons.” That was certainly one way of phrasing it.

“Why did you get tested, if you don’t mind me asking? I understand you and Breakdown were military, the twins were facing the stockade and Jazz was, well he was Jazz.” Red Alert effectively snorted, covering his face, Hound glanced over but shrugged lightly, “The pay was good. I told you about the whole cost of living thing on Earth.” Megatron nodded, but shifted, his fingers flexing angrily, “Yes, I recall that conversation but was there a more specific reason?” Hound took a moment to think, sighing, “I was military and they needed us, it was my duty.” Megatron scowled, “I hate that word.” Chuckling lightly, Hound shook his head, “Why?” “Because in all of your cases, it was less of a moral obligation than a mandated one.” All Hound could do was shrug a bit, “It happens and I know you don’t like that, but it’s true.” Mirage almost sank in his seat, and Red Alert scooted his chair back some, “Did the others in your unit feel the same sense of this false duty?” Hound suppressed a wince, “Well, yeah, otherwise we wouldn’t be all the way out here. Would we?” That brought Megatron some pause and Mirage sighed a bit.

He was clearly thinking, even Hound could see it on the mech's face, “Do you truly intend to die for your planet?” Mirage had a rather abrupt reaction, choking and coughing on his drink and Red Alert stared widely, “Well, our lives aren’t as long as yours, so in a way yes. Either way, I’ll have died. If I can save the people I care about back home, then I’d do so happily.” Setting down his own glass now, Mirage leans forward, “What do you mean, aren’t as long as ours?” Hound sighed and sat back, “Well, I’ve been a pilot for just shy of ten years and that’s ten years of program updates, compatibility tests, and the war. It takes a toll.” His hand came up and brushed over the numbers on his chest, “There were 1,123 pilots before me. I think Jazz and a few others are the only ones still in commission.” The cybertronians were quiet and Hound shifts on the seat, “Just cause we’re designed to fight the Quintessons doesn’t mean we always survive the fight. Like Breakdown today, had his cannon exploded while it was still attached to him that would have been fatal.” He lets out a slow sigh, checking Breakdown’s feed for a moment before glancing back around the room.

They all were staring at him and he shifts uneasily, clearing his throat a bit, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood.” Mirage took his hand quickly, “Don’t apologize, your planet is horrific and all humans deserve better.” Red Alert and Megatron nod, and Hound swears for a moment that they also swap shanix, “My planet, Earth, is not perfect, but we don’t expect it to be because we aren’t.” Slowly, he pulls his hand away from Mirage and sits back, “Tell me, how did your war with the Quintessons start?” The reaction was not one he expected, Megatron groaned, Red Alert perked up, and Mirage sank in his seat again, taking his glass. Megatron nodded lightly, “Forgive me, my conjunx tells the story better than I.” He clears his throat a bit, “This is our second or third war with the Quintessons, it started a vorn or so after the Decepticons and Autobots agreed to a peace treaty.” Hound sat forward, his foot shifting slightly to almost be touching Mirage’s as he tried to get comfortable in his piloting seat. Raptured with Megatron’s history lesson.

———

A/N

It had to happen, I have been wanting to get Megatron and Hound to talk for a minute.

So much more is coming down the line for this story for me, it’s been so fun.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #tf mecha universe #mech pilot jazz au #maccadam #jazz #prowl #hound #breakdown #sunstreaker #sideswipe #mirage #bluestreak #red alert #the arcturus missions #megatron

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solitary-traveler · 9 months ago

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Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why. Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Notes: Ahhhhh, I'm finally free again! I'm so sorry for not posting for a while, I was busy. Anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me. Part 2 is finally outttt. Also, tried a new writing style? I decided to go for less editing on this one, I want to see if it's better in terms of writing emotions. Thank you for 100 followers btw. You guys are the best <33

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, scara's pov after the battle, slight angst?

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

How could he, when the treachery was etched in the steps of his past ?

Yet the solitude that submerged the city of Sumeru leaves a bitter taste resting on his tongue. He settled beside a statue of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, overlooking the city she once presided over. The region he was supposed to subjugate and bend to his will.

For once, he’ll be the one exercising control, toying with the strings of his very own marionette play. He’ll devote himself to the role of the puppeteer, finding delight in engineering the people to act according to his words and his words alone. To constrain them to kneel and beg for mercy, manipulating their resolve for his own amusement.

But alas, it was not meant to be. For he had been defeated by a pesky Traveler and their idiotic companions.

Scaramouche’s face soured.

What a disgrace.

His sharp eyes remained its scornful glare at the city. He can not stand staring at the tranquility he yearned to have. The gentle winds that rushed his way seemed to mock him further . It left a lingering caress on his cheek, offering a taste of what he’d been missing for 500 years. He scowls, the hatred evident in his features. A flurry of fallen leaves soon crashed in his direction, dancing away as it avoided him to catch up with the gust of air. One such leaf had landed on your face though, as you lay asleep beside him. He had almost forgotten he brought you here on a whim, despite the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s warnings.

Their conversation was still fresh in his mind. Having visited you a few times everyday, the Dendro Archon’s attention was caught. She harbored a small smile on her tiny face, her voice warm as usual.

“You don’t have to come here everyday you know?”

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

His answer never really made sense, even to him. He doesn't know why he possessed such a strong obligation to see you. Maybe it had something to do with the turmoil of emotions he was experiencing, raging in his non-existent heart and influencing his thoughts. He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why.

Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Scara still remembers that day. Every single detail. He can’t forget how your body pressed against his, the metallic red a cool contrast to his overheating skin. The way your arms encompassed around him, squeezing him tightly like you were terrified he’d vanish without a trace. He recounts the smash of the debris falling on you, a consequence you suffered for attempting to shield him from danger.

A stupid move, really.

He was a puppet, a mere rubble like that was not a threat to his utility. Yet you , with all your mortal characteristics, decided to play hero and shelter him from it. Now look where that got you.

Asleep .

For two whole weeks.

Why even bother doing something like that? He wasn’t someone you’d want to save. He had hurt you prior to his fall, yet with no hesitation, you jumped to catch him.

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

He was nothing more than a discarded puppet, a vessel that was tossed away. A broken doll who's shattered pieces had crumbled to dust, leaving behind a shell of who he once was.

What part of him was worthy of your adoration? To the point where you disregard your safety just to come to his rescue?

He was insignificant. A failure . A worthless scrap of metal.

The despairing sobs he vocalized that day served as a reminder that his existence was a mistake. He plummeted to a time in the past when a shed tear sealed his fate to be discarded. He expected you to do the same.

Yet you didn't .

You didn't abdicate him. You didn't push him away. You simply emboldened your hold and refused to let go. Your touch brought such fervor ardor he had never felt before, a fleeting emotion that loiters within his senses despite the passage of time. Your touch provided him the solace he'd been searching for. But did he even deserve that comfort?

He eyes your complexion, and his chest burns. What a cruel play by fate, charming the wires of affection out of his grasp and awarding it to you like a trophy.

If only you didn't catch him, then he wouldn't be this troubled.

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

The burn starts to grow, the searing sting tormenting the foundation of his being. His stomach lurches, oh how badly he wants to throw up. Maybe he'll end up vomiting all these useless feelings too.

He wills to change the past, for a preferable outcome in the future. If he never existed, this dilemma would cease to exist. He wouldn’t have to suffer, and you would go on your merry way. Like a parallel line, your paths would never be bound to meet. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be asleep in the first place. Maybe you’d be out there somewhere, roaming Teyvat with the Traveler without the hindrance of his presence.

His existence bordered between pain and fury anyway, and he knew more than anyone how it was certainly a life not worth prevailing.

With a sigh, Scara narrowed those eyes of his in your direction. How dare you look so peaceful when he's over here, drenched in a scorching passion of self-hatred? The audacity to just remain there, with your pretty eyes closed, and not bother doing anything about it. He huffs, ready to hurl more insults at you. Maybe you’ll wake up from it, returning his jabs as you shoot him a dirty look. And yet…

“Sorry…”

Something entirely different tumbled out of his mouth. He blinks, barely registering the phrases ripped from his throat. Did he just-

“...I’m sorry”

Why was he apologizing? What was there to apologize for? He wanted to slander you for your interference in his life, not to beg for forgiveness.

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

He stops. Has he always sounded like that? Strained… and distressed?

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

The pang of discomfort bites him without a warning, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. His trembling hands reach out to you. He wants to nuzzle against your arms again, to have you drown out his sorrows in an act of intimacy he’s been longing for.

“Please wake up already”

Taglist: @featuredtofu, @slaylatus, @feikyuu, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @materialgrowll,

@lxkeeeee, @l4r1n3, @cicil-nema, @alaynac101-blog, @beomtorii2,

@strawbeewie,

@gravy-kfc, @kaeeelie, @pocketdroll, @ladyvelvette, @mmeatt,

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

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