metal desk

Everything Has Changed (Part One)

Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,880

A/N: The goal is to make this a mini-series. Fingers crossed that it stays that way. 

Originally posted by caps-bucky

“All clear,” you whisper. For anyone else, those words would’ve been indiscernible because of how softly they were spoken. Luckily for you, you’re not with just anyone. You’re with a super soldier equipped with enhanced hearing.

From across the empty hallway, Bucky abandons his spot behind a tall filing cabinet and runs towards you, keeping his gun up and ready to shoot at any given moment.

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Stripped Bare

Title: Stripped Bare

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Summary: The reader plays strip poker with Dean.

Characters: Demon!Dean Winchester x female reader

Word Count:  2801

Warnings:  canon typical violence, nsfw, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex

Author’s Notes: Written for @deansdirtyduchess Birthday/1000 Follower celebration. My prompt was strip poker.

***My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Originally posted by the-captain-destiel

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That Goddamn Stealth Suit

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve takes out his frustrations on you after the events on the Lemurian Star…In Fury’s office…still wearing the Stealth Suit…

A/N: I have no excuse. 

(also will someone please teach me how to title things? i’m sick of my shitty titles)

Warnings: It’s just smut. PWP.  no plot. filth.unprotected sex, stealth suit porn..language..captain kink..sorta

Words: 1875

tags: @yourtropegirl @jimtkirkisabitch @daybreak96 @feelmyroarrrr @sistasarah-sallysaidso @itsanerdlife

If you were honest, it was all your fault.  You had made a comment to Steve just before he’d left for the mission on the Lemurian Star about the stealth suit.  Something about the deep blue of it and how it sat just right across his broad shoulders.  He’d laughed it off at the time, but you’d seen the look in his eye.  And to be fair, you were the one that suggested a way to relieve some stress and get back at Fury at the same time.  Which is how you wound up here, pinned against the inside of Fury’s office door, legs wrapped around Steve’s trim waist and hands in his perfect hair.  

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Little Tease

Originally posted by banshy

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) x Reader

GIF Credit: ^^^ (holy fuck I could watch this gif forever)

Warnings: Daddy kink, rough sex, choking, name calling, dirty talking (a.k.a I am in heaven)

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Got this from an anon: “Daddy!Kink for Bruce? He’s trying to work and reader is prancing around in lingerie, teasing him to no end.” I have always found Bruce just daddy af, so this is my jam.

Just because Bruce Wayne, your fiance of two years, was Batman didn’t mean he couldn’t pay attention to you. You were not needy most of the time, but it has almost been two weeks since you and Bruce have had sex and you were going crazy. Yeah, Black Mask was trying to bring in huge shipments of cocaine from Mexico and Bruce was trying to track it, but that didn’t mean he should stop having sex with you.

“Bruce?” You asked, walking down the cold steps to the Batcave, only wearing a baggy sweatshirt and tiny panties. Now these weren’t just regular old panties, these were the ones that, along with the matching red lacy bra, were Bruce’s favorite. There was just a grunt of response. Working, of course. You walked down the steps and up to the computer. Bruce was still in his suit, his black hair messy, he must have just gotten in. He seemed to be reading something but you weren’t interested. “Bruce,” you whined, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You missed dinner.”

“When don’t I miss dinner?” He had a fair point. You started to try and rub his neck but the metal was getting in your way.

“Bruce take off the suit so I can rub your neck.” He didn’t even respond, just narrowed his eyes, focusing on what he was reading. “Babe,” you whined, sitting down in his lap and grabbing his face, trying in vain to get him to look at you. He didn’t. “Bruce I’m pregnant.”

“No you’re not, you haven’t missed a single period since you started your new birth control method.” You sighed, your hands falling.

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  1. Shower before class. Have a 9 a.m. class? Hop out of bed in the morning and head straight for the shower. It’ll wake you right up! Plus, your classmates will probably thank you.
  2. Bring a water bottle, and drink plenty of H2O. Staying hydrated is a key factor in staying awake. Try putting ice in your water bottle; the     cold water will keep you lively and alert.
  3. Go to the bathroom. Walk off the sleepiness by taking a trip to the bathroom. The process of walking will get the blood circulating again. And don’t forget to take a stretch break while you’re in the hallway.
  4. Bring eye drops. It’s hard to stay wide-eyed and awake when your eyes are dry and irritated from the lack of sleep. When they’re feeling dry, splash a couple drops in them. You’ll feel more refreshed and your eyes will be grateful.
  5. Sit in the front row, or at least in the middle! The closer you are to the professor, the less likely you are to fall asleep due to volume. Not to mention the fear of getting caught dozing off will keep you wide awake!
  6. Take note. If you are daydreaming, eventually that will turn into real dreaming when you fall asleep. It might be hard when you are so tired, but taking notes during class can help keep you awake. It will keep you focused on the class material and less focused on how tired you are.
  7. Pressure points: Two of the best, and conveniently subtle, pressure points to keep you up are your earlobes and wrists.
        For your ear, while it may look like you’re just learning your cheek on your wrist, rub the area right above your lobe (or where a traditional ear piercing would be) between your thumb and index finger. Not only is it a fine motor movement to keep you active, but also invites blood to rush up towards your ear, and therefore, to your head.
        Or putting the inside of your wrists against something cold: the metal bar of your desk, the desktop, your laptop. The pressure point here will keep you awake!
  8. Small, repetitive movements: Foot tapping and chewing gum, just like rubbing the pressure point in your ear, “wakes up” those muscles, returning blood to those areas and reinvigorating your blood circulation.
  9. Hold your breath for a few moments. Every time you feel like you are falling asleep, hold your breath to a count of 100. You will become restless and more wakeful while you hold your breath. When you start breathing again, you’ll feel relieved and awake.
  10. Tap your feet and drum your fingers. Even these slight movements will help get your circulation moving and keep you  from falling asleep.
  11. Avoid consuming too much sugar. Sugar will give you a short     energy boost followed by a prolonged descent into sleepiness. Try a     healthy energy boosting snack instead, for example, carrots. Carrots are a  good energy booster, they’re healthy and won’t drain you of energy.
  12. Snap a hair tie. Okay, this is a weird method but I swear it works for me. Seeing as I always have a hair tie on my wrist, anytime I feel myself falling asleep, I just snap the hair tie against my wrist to keep me awake. It doesn’t really hurt, but it is enough to keep you alert. Next time you feel like snoozing, just try it to see if it works for you.
Growing Pains

Originally posted by harrysimpact

Hello, everyone! I’ve decided to start writing again. This will be a three-part series as of right now so I hope you enjoy the first installment. 

A special shout out to @hcrrystvles for editing this, I love you bb.

dad!harry + teacher!harry

warnings: mentions death, nostalgia, fluff. loads of fluff.

word count: 3,648

summary: the one where Harry’s a school teacher who finds himself teaching the daughter of his first love

Every day that students walked into room 202, they were instantly greeted by the sweet smell of cinnamon buns and vanilla (an air freshener Harry always kept plugged into the wall when he first started working there because it smelt too much like wood). Fairy lights hung above the perimeter of the room, pictures students have drawn covered the wall behind the metallic desk which was covered in magnets. The whole classroom just felt warm. Stepping into Mr. Styles’ year 3 classroom felt like a hug from a friend you haven’t seen in years. It was a safe space for both little ones and teachers alike, no one ever left the room without a bright smile on their face. That was Harry’s specialty.

Harry had taken his job as a teacher very seriously as he took it upon himself to teach the younger generations the most valuable lessons. Not multiplication and cursive writing like the other teachers would say, but things like positivity, acceptance, and kindness. Harry took pride in knowing that when each and every one of his students left his classroom at the end of the year, they carried his teachings with them for the rest of their lives.

Tonight was back to school night and Harry felt himself getting a little nervous as he looked at the time. Parents could be brutal and all he wanted was to be on their good side. He had a feeling this year was about to be little easier though. This year the parents of his students were most likely his age and it brought a strange sense of comfort to him. He could tell because the kids were a lot more open minded and though he wouldn’t admit it, he had a few favorites. Like Harper. The little girl made him feel nostalgic in the strangest way. Maybe it was because she was quite witty for a 7-year-old or that she had an interest in joining his after school choir, but it was something else about her that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

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taglist: @dr-tardis-who @petah-parkah-and-potahtas @mamanewta5 @sarcasticvodka @wandering-at-midnight @peterparkersgal @castellandiangelo @i-survived-my-trip-to-nyc @once-upon-a-walking-wolf-demigod @notfabulousanna @dec-snowy @b0okjump3r @sunshine-little-miss @marveltomjunkie @whiitee–sxxl @kawaiianime03 @homecomjng @espritdefleur @muffinfangirl28 @brokenanxiety @aussie-holland @meganschuster07 @queen-zipey @cutie1365 @llamaoomph @avispate @riverdalemami @nevva-winter

summary: When your father contacts Tom to protect you, he just sees a spoiled, rich girl from Upper East Side. But behind designer clothes, exclusive parties and expensive champagne there’s a lonely girl with a big heart.
[from the story] “Keep your hands off that dress” you screamed “That dress was a gift from Donatella Versace. She made it for my eighteenth birthday. I bet you can’t even spell ‘Versace’”
One of the twins rolled his eyes at your statement “Tom, I’ll give you fifteen dollars if you let me punch her”



Harrison was walking in a dark alley, while smoking a Marlboro Gold. New York that autumn was colder than usual and the leather jacket he was wearing could barely warm him up.
He nodded towards a few people he knew and stopped in front of the entrance of the old garage.
“Harrison Osterfiled” someone in the dark greeted him “Long time no see, bud”
Harrison kept his eye peeled and then smiled widely “Jacob” he chuckled “always surrounded by nice people”
Jacob moved a few more steps further and stopped under a street light. He was wearing a brown fur coat and a pair of black trouser, hanged on the belt, Harrison could see a holster that shielded a Magnum calibre forty-five, in his hand a Cuban cigar. Beside him, a Slavic girl who wore just a little black dress and dizzying high heels. Her black hair contrasted the pale complexion.
“As always” he chuckled “She’s Svetlana”.
Harrison and the girl exchanged a malicious smile.
“Are you still in around doing business?” Jacob asked.
The blonde guy looked at his feet and kicked a pebble far from him “Sometime. Yesterday I received a call from Don Pietro” he looked back at him “He still needs my help. I think it’s something big.”
Jacob nodded and puffed off his cigar “Well, good luck. Even if you don’t need it. He is one of the best man I know, one of the only I trust” He explained to the girl who was listlessly playing with a lock of hair.
The conversation was interrupted by the garage’s shutter. In that exact moment, Regina Lewis made his way toward Harrison. She was wearing a red dress that exposed her long legs. The last time Harrison saw her, he had her legs fastened around his hips while she was leaving marks on his back.
“Hi Harrison” she said with a mischievous smile as she gave Jacob a quick glance “Don Pietro is ready to talk to you”.
Harrison didn’t reply, he just gave a quick wink to Jacob and followed Regina into the garage.
“How’s things Hazzy? You never called me back” she said swinging on her heels.
His eyes were glued on her hips. She was a very attractive woman, with amazing blond hair and deep green eyes.
“I’ve been busy” he cut her short “Here and there”
Regina was clever enough to understand and she didn’t add anything more.
They walked through a long and badly illuminated corridor. The interior was humid and Harrison shrugged his shoulders, he almost forgot how Don Pietro’s studio was. Regina stopped in front of a huge door with golden handles.
“Call me when you’re not too busy. My phone number is still the same”
Harrison gave her a soft – and fake – smile and a flick on her cheek.
“Sure, doll” he would never call her.
Regina gave him one last glance before turning around to reach her desk.
The blond guy passed a hand through his hair and sighed. He opened the door and took a step into the room. Don Pietro’s studio was still the same: in the middle of the room there was a huge desk and, behind it, a marble chimney where he placed family pictures. But the object that always captured his attention was the Persian carpet on the floor. Harrison swore that he has never seen anything that precious.
“Harrison! Che piacere, siediti (What a pleasure, take a seat)” Don Pietro welcomed him with open arms “How are you?”
Don Pietro was a man of fifty years old with clever eyes hidden by his designer glasses and a charming smile. He had a strong Italian accent, but no one could say exactly from which part of the South, probably Sicily.
“I’m fine, thanks” Harrison said one seated on the chair in front of Don Pietro “I’ve been pretty busy”
Don Pietro looked at him into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts “Uhm, ho capito (I understand). Well, ragazzo mio (my boy) I have a job for you”
“Sure, tell me about it” Harrison rubbed his hands.
“You see” Don Pietro started, between his lips a cigarette “I have an unfinished business with a gentleman. Today, my men had to kidnap his daughter but they failed.”
“Do you want me to capture her?”
Don Pietro had a puff of cigarette and gave him a wink.
“Consider it done”  he snigged.

Tom Holland entered the building with a confused look painted on his face. The note on his paper said “Y/L/N Company, Seventh Floor”. He looked around one more time before getting into the elevator. The lift was full of businessmen and secretaries wearing suit and tie and the air smelled like Chanel N°5 mixed with Hugo Boss. Tom felt like a fish out of water.
When he reached the seventh floor, Tom breathed again.
On the seventh floor, there were a few studios of architects, a design lab and Mr. Y/L/N office.
Tom didn’t know what he was doing there. He was just a twenty-four years boy from Bronx who worked as a bodyguard.
He opened the main door and his gaze was immediately capture by the prestigious of the room. Every small object costed a fortune, more than he could ever afford in his whole life.
His eyes laid on the brunette secretary who was typing something on her brand new laptop.
“Ehm… excuse me. Have an appointment with Mr. Y/L”
“Mr. Y/L/N is waiting for you in your studio, Mr. Holland” she interrupted him, her eyes never left the screen of her computer.
Without adding a word, Tom turned and approached the luxury door, he knocked and waited.
“Come on in” Mr. Y/L/N said from the other part of the door.
Tom passed his hand through his hair one last time trying to fix his look as much as he could before lower the handle and enter the room.
Mr. Y/L/N’s studio wasn’t like the rest of the building: walls were white and in the middle of the room a metallic desk ruled the space. Mr Y/L/N was seating at his desk, he was signing some papers when his eyes laid on Thomas.
“Mr. Holland, the man I wanted to see” he stood up and shook his hand “Nice to meet you”
“It’s my pleasure” Tom said.
“Please, take a seat. I think we’ll have a long conversation”
Thomas sat in front of him while Mr. Y/L/N was spilling some brandy in an elegant glass.
“Oh, I don’t drink while I’m working” Tom stopped him, trying to be as polite as he could. That brandy looked expensive but he really wanted to give Mr. Y/L/N a good impression.
“Well, more brandy for me” Mr. Y/L/N joked “Listen, Tom. Can I call you Tom?” Thomas nodded as the rich tycoon took a seat “Well, first of all I want to let you know that we already met”
Tom nodded again “It was two months ago, if I’m not mistaken. At the court.”
“Yes, it was. I have to tell you, I was pretty impressed by how you tackle that mad man with the gun. I really think you are the right man for this job”
“I hope so”
Mr. Y/L/N chuckled “I’m sure you are. But before telling you what you have to do you swear that no one will ever know about this conversation. All right?”
“You have my word. I’m all ears”

Play With Fire

Author: completedylantrash

Characters: OFC x Thomas


Word Count: 11,023 

A/N: So this is my first Thomas fic and it’s really fucking long lol. This takes place in The Scorch and none of it is canon, I just thought it would make for a good story. I could have split it but I said fuck it and just left it as one long story. So I hope y’all enjoy it because it took me a while to get this done. Also, instead of Googling names for different explosive devices, because I’m paranoid lol, I just made up a name so that would be the name in Bold.  

Names. They give everyone their identity. Your name is part of who you are. I don’t have a name. Not one that I remember anyway. I was known as Subject 2184, according to WICKED. I have no memory of who I was before they got their hands on me. I spent most of my life locked in the facility.

Until he showed up.

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Ilvermorny House Aesthetic
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b>Wampus:</b> loud, clear voices; speaking up without fear; clenched jaws; sloppy handwriting; a commanding presence; the first inhale after coming up for air while swimming; strong noses that flare when angered; staying up until 3am laughing with friends; messy buns; strength training; bitten lips; cinnamon; fishnets; muscles shifting under a lover's fingertips; powerful thighs; neon and bright colors; chiles rellenos; that moment right before the free fall on a rollercoaster; scratch marks; the sound of a knife sharpening; fruit infused water; tongues burnt on midday coffee; kisses from big dogs; hair ties breaking; unsettled dust; linking arms; backless dresses; very hot baths; rock climbing; mosh pits; Doc Martens; smudged lipstick; spicy curry; tunnel graffiti; charcoal-stained fingertips; baring teeth; caffeine addiction; wrinkled noses; gasping between passionate kisses; sharp cut creases; holographic knives; 1967 Chevy Impala; heterochromia; the snap of leather; the scent of an extinguished match; hickeys; ripped leggings; inner ear headphones; screaming at the top of your lungs; twists; the sizzle of steak hitting the grill; strobe lights; the anticipation of a bassdrop; new age tattoos; dermal anchors.<p/><b>Thunderbird:</b> tilting faces toward the sun; mountains in the distance; bright smiles; weathered and worn books; hammocks; darjeeling tea; the look of awe and wonder; smirking; wavy hair; paper airplanes; muted nail color; sunkissed highlights; aster flowers and wildflowers; recycling; legs aching from standing and/or moving too long; trailing hands over tree trunks; wide, open spaces; stargazing; hipster fashion without hipster elitism; whistling along to the music in your head; lightning bugs landing on hands; music festivals; Sailor Moon; choker necklaces; abandoned railroad tracks; making custom playlists for friends; lifted pinkies when drinking; crochet braids; space buns; dresses with pockets; morning fog; being unafraid of, or even thrilled about, getting lost; high cheekbones; petrichor; feeling breathless contemplating existence; a light sheen of sweat; septum piercings; blushing from ears to chest; schadenfreude; OTEs; power lines; burnt marshmallows; accidentally dropping food on shirts; horizontal bamboo blinds; tripping over words around attractive people; vintage suitcases; reading field journals; Long Island iced tea; maypoles; handmade flower crowns; serendipity; elote; Volkswagen vans; bathhouses; windblown hair; pastel hair; homemade granola; picking up bits and pieces of language while traveling.<p/><b>Pukwudgie:</b> herbal tea; warm, fond smiles; dimples; brown eyes; being underestimated; thick blankets; humming along to music playing in the background; journaling; macadamia nuts; the sound of cicadas; tracing hands over tall grass; tight hugs; peaches; tiny, dainty tattoos; naturally long eyelashes; muddy hemlines; elderberry wine; holding hands; jumping as high as possible on a trampoline; rain pattering on a window; succulents; crystals; terrariums; bangles; flannel shirts; tear tracks; powder-lined cat eyes; finding an onion ring in your fries; balloons; throwing autumn leaves in the air; honey bees; stickers; apple cider; crickets chirping; damp cotton; Ford Farlaines; hide and seek; an unnoticed stumble; sunlight reflected on lake water; Eskimo kisses; ice cream melting over fingers; the twitching of squirrels' tails; raw spider silk; headwraps over natural hair; tapping toes to the beat; "Christian cussing" around children; competitive sand castle building; fiercely protecting others' autonomy; bunny teeth; dulce de leche; harmonizing; grass stains; gardening; gel pens; absolutely losing it to memes; angel bite piercings; naturally pink cheeks; the countdown before taking the plunge; freshly clipped nails; rushing to aide someone having a panic attack.<p/><b>Horned Serpent:</b> narrowed eyes and pursed lips; box braids; stacks of nonfiction books; satire; forehead kisses; hands gently caressing cheeks; helvetica; a collection of partially filled notebooks; a face softening in realization; diffused light; bitten nails; eavesdropping; Earl Grey tea; fencing; the sound of the A/C kicking on; A-line dresses; freshly shaved legs against cool, clean sheets; glass ceilings; minimalist tattoos; sketchbooks; cursing when spilling coffee over your notes; plum lipstick; thick-rimmed glasses; vindication; neutral tones; smudged makeup from rubbing eyes during an all-nighter; button-up shirts; aching fingers and wrists; taking a break from a project only to realize hours have passed; Cadillac Broughams; julienne cut vegetables; fish tacos; ankle socks; being 10 minutes early; origami; spiral staircases; soft smiles watching children learn; flyaway hairs; finger-walking on metal desks; mint ice cream; having a 10 or more kill streak; pressed flowers; silhouettes; the crunch of biting into an apple; limericks; sake; Frank Sinatra; lighthearted debates that turn into yelling matches; sphinx cats; pastel hair; deadbolts; elaborate mosaics; nostril piercings; YInMn blue.<p/></p><p/></p>
Roomies; Part 1

Pairings: Steve x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, sarcasm, second hand embarrassment, wanting

Word Count: 3,450+

Blurb: Tony fucks up, causing half the tower to relocate – you get to bunk with Steve for a few weeks.

You were sitting in the dining room, along with a few of the other Avengers. You were all talking and laughing when an explosion on the other side of the tower rattled through the building. You heard people screaming, glass shattering and then everyone was up and running out of the room.

Steve was in the lead, barking to FRIDAY. Before you could hear her reply Tony came over the PA system.

“Before anyone freaks out, I fucked up” he said, the group slowed to a steady walking pace. “All non-essential personnel please exit the building, anyone who currently lives in the tower, can you please meet me in the conference room now.”

You all headed for the conference room. There were already a heap of people in there, talking, yelling and groaning when you and the rest of the team arrived. Tony was standing at the head of the table; Bruce was sitting just beside him.

“Stark, explain!” Steve snarled as he entered the room, people parted like the Red Sea so he could stand and face off with Tony.

“Well, Bruce and I were testing out a new chemical compound and well, things didn’t go so well,” he started, before explaining what the chemical was for, how it was going to be used, and then what had happened and why the explosion occurred. “Now FRIDAY has scanned the building, no one was killed or injured, but –”

“You’re one lucky sonofabitch Stark” Bucky said plonking into a seat and putting his feet up on the table.

“But what, Tony?” Steve said.

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anonymous asked:

Kirishima reacting being separated from his girlfriend for week. Scenario?

Kirishima’s eyes bore into the surface of his desk, chewing on his lower lip. His whole body was throbbing, numb almost. You, his girlfriend, have gone on a vacation with the family for a week, and it was killing him.

He had heard about the separation consequences between mates, separated for a long period of time can cause anxiety, or being without their scent could cause pain or mood swings.

Right now, his head was pounding. You had left him with your scarf, covered in your smell from your scent glands.

But he forgot it today.

It was lunch time, and the entire class was bustling, talking in groups. He would join in, but he was too distracted by the ministrations of his body betraying him at the moment.

“Shiiiit..” Kirishima mumbles, burying his face into his forearms, hands gripping the sides of the desk as he taps his foot against the floor at a blistering speed.

God he needed you. He was in deep. He just wanted to wrap his arms around you, scenting and nuzzling into you as you reciprocated his actions. He just needed you to-

“Kirishima-kun!” His head shot up at the mention of his voice, realizing it was Asui beside him.

“You have blood all over you..” She points out, as the entire class turns to look at him. Surely enough, his sharp teeth had pierced right into his bottom lip, blood dripping off his chin and onto his uniform.

“Oh.. Shit.. I-I’m sorry I-”

“And the desk..” Sero pointed out. Again, his hands seemed to have hardened, causing the metal desk to dent under his grip.

“What’s wrong, Kirishima?”

“Oh.. Well.. It’s (Y/N).. She..” Kirishima looked around the room, a light blush on his cheeks.

The door to the classroom flying open caught everyone’s attention.

Kirishima was already out of his seat before you could even say a word, hugging you so hard that you stumbled back out of the room.

“K-Kiri..” You mumbled, breathing in the fiery scent he wore, which also had a soothing component to it. Like the calm before a storm. You felt your body relax into his embrace, the jacket of his you took was nothing like the real deal.

“Don’t ever leave me again.. Please..” Kirishima mumbled into your hair, a low growl reverberating from the back of his throat as he held you. 

You were going to comment on his disheveled appearance, but thought better of it, soothing his pent up emotions with a calm voice and a nuzzle into his sent glands. 

Having his Omega in his arms again was everything.

the art of the emoji

this came out of a conversation with @mryddinwilt about the slight suggestiveness of the selfie emoji in relation to another one and turned into her coming up with a brilliant headcanon about Killian and emojis that became a “write the thing” sooooo here’s the thing!

David liked to think he was a cool dad—a fun dad. Being the same age, at least physically, as your daughter tended to help that. But every now and then, there did prove to be a generational gap, likely due to most of his memories of the modern world coming from the mid-1980s.

He was filing his reports on a quiet afternoon when a glance into Emma’s office showed her ignoring her own paperwork in favor of texting away on her phone. She had a smile on her face, which generally should make a father happy; but knowing who was likely on the other end of those messages—and not being sure of their content, given Emma’s wry smirk as she read and replied—made his protective father senses tingle. 

(Also: damn millennials, always on their phones! With their selfies and their sexting and their tweeting!)

Emma barked out a laugh, shook her head, and then finally set the phone down before getting up and heading out toward the restroom. (At least she didn’t bring her phone in there.)

From where she left it, her phone vibrated with another text notification, making an awful loud racket against the metal of her desk. It made David jump and his hand fly to his holstered gun, but once he realized what it was, he relaxed and went back to work. But not a minute later, it happened again. 

Well, that was too annoying to leave be, because odds were that whoever was sending the frequent messages would again, especially if it was who he thought it was.

Quietly, he got up and slipped into her office. He picked up her phone to put it on a stack of papers, when it vibrated in his hands as another message rolled in. Curiosity got the best of him as he glanced at the sender; it was Hook, of course. But did he really want to know what they were discussing?
Of course he did. 

He scrolled to the first missed message and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline:


What the hell did that mean? Was that a euphemism? What kind of strawberry was being licked?

He had a better idea what the next one meant—


—and he didn’t want to hear commentary on anyone’s melons.
He nearly dropped the phone on the last one:


Nope. Nope. He definitely knew what that one meant and he knew he’d seen way too much now. He shouldn’t have looked; what was he thinking? But he just kept staring in horror at that eggplant and didn’t even hear the footsteps until Emma was right in front of him.

“Dad? What are you doing with my phone?” she demanded, sounding way too much like a teenage girl for David’s comfort. 

“I…it was…I just…”

Emma grabbed the phone from his hand as he stammered and she glanced at the screen. Then, to his surprise, she laughed. “You read these, didn’t you?” she asked in a teasing tone. 

“Wish I hadn’t,” he muttered back.”

She giggled. “Not that it’s any of your business what my husband and I discuss, but we weren’t sexting.”

“Could have fooled me,” he scoffed. “I know what those emojis mean.”

“You do, but Killian doesn’t.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” That man was the king of innuendo—there was no way he was ignorant to the meaning of the eggplant emoji. 

“Here, look,” she said, unlocking the screen to show David the conversation. “He uses emojis literally; he’s grocery shopping right now.” One of the messages prior to the string of images did mention the store, but…he wasn’t convinced. 

“I don’t buy it.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “This one means the strawberries taste good,” she explained, pointing to the first, “and this one means he managed to get two cantaloupes,” she continued. 

“And the eggplant?” he asked accusingly. 

“It means they’re ripe.” David just stared at her; she didn’t really think she could fool him, did she? “If you don’t believe me, then why don’t you guys come over tonight. Killian’s making eggplant parm.”

“I might just take you up on that.”


A few hours later, at the table in Emma and Killian’s kitchen, David had to admit defeat: that was the best eggplant he’d had in ages. 

“I told you,” Emma teased as she took his dish away. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he conceded, but it looked like the verbose pirate was indeed ignorant to the suggestive language of emojis; the generation gap was no match for one of over a century. If dinner wasn’t proof enough, what happened next, as Killian was bringing out dessert, certainly was.
Hook set the bowl—filled with fruit salad—on the table, and glanced over Emma’s shoulder while she was again texting away. His brow furrowed as he read her screen, and he had to ask the question. 

“Swan, why are you talking to Ruby about my peaches?”

some humor for your Sunday, friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @shipsxahoy (thanks for looking over it!) @its-like-a-story-of-love @fairytalesandtimetravel @cocohook38 @ive-always-been-a-pirate @laschatzi @kmomof4 @annytecture and everyone!

Odium and Oasis


A/n: in celebration of The Last Jedi movie fast approaching, I wanted to write and post an idea I’ve had for a heavily canon inspired story that’s been stewing in my head for quite some time. It’ll involve a LOT of SW characters and be (mostly) accurate to the universe, from the politics to the planets. I hope you all like it, and as always, let me know if you want to be tagged in new chapters!

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Swerve X Reader – A Human Crewmate - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Changes

A/N – Based on a lot of @rocksinmuffin head-canons so extra special thanks to them for that. Special thanks to the commenters on the last chapter for being super awesome, @tranformers-4-life @lilysflowershop

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

After much debate between the four bots who knew of your presence, it was finally decided that they’d have to tell the crew about you; they couldn’t exactly keep you hidden like some sort of pet and you couldn’t live the rest of your life in one room, never getting out. However, with advice from Rung and Ultra Magnus, it was decided that the crew would only find out when you were ready. As such, Rodimus would visit your ‘room’, which wasn’t much more than a metal desk with a hastily crafted bed and toilet on top of it, to ask if you were ready on a daily basis daily. Each day for a week you gave him the same answer, ‘no’, before heading back to bed.

You realised it was somewhat pathetic that you were hiding away in your room, neglecting bodily care but you could barely come to terms with never seeing Earth again, let alone being stranded with an alien race. Fortunately, as far as thinking ahead and taking care of yourself went, Ultra Magnus had the food problem covered and while the food wasn’t amazing, it did sustain you. Rung meanwhile, also visited daily, repeatedly asking you to see him as a patient, whilst also trying to respect your request for space; when you wanted to talk, you’d ask.

Eventually, your bodily odour got the better of you. It served as a reminder that you had to help yourself or slip further into the bleakness of depression. With one more day to gather courage, you awaited the return of Rodimus.

Rodimus was ecstatic to hear that you were ready, mainly because he was having a hard time keeping you a secret; the crew would be so excited. Despite his elation, you had a few requests to make of him first.

“Sure, sure,” he answered confidently, “whatever you want. If I can get it, I will.”

“Okay,” You said, thinking of your list. “First off, I need a proper room Rodimus, I’m talking one with a fully-equipped bathroom, and I won’t go out before that because I really need a shower. Then there’s the little things like a washing machine and dryer, a proper bed, not that this one’s too bad. Also, clothes, these ones need washing,” you tugged your shirt. “Oh yeah, food. Magnus isn’t doing too bad but he’s not human and putting peanuts in butter doesn’t make peanut butter so like, I need to see what stores he has to see if it’s going to last… are you even listening?”

Rodimus’ optics had glazed over and he was grinning broadly; he was actually planning his speech to the crew and getting to the ‘Til all are one’ part when you called him out.

“Sure I am, you said bathrooms,” he answered, affronted.


“And some other stuff too.”

You glared at him, “Rodimus, this is important, do I need to get Magnus for this or are you going to listen?”

“Alright, fine but we’re going to need someone else for this job.”


“(Y/N), meet Brainstorm, he’ll build all that human stuff you need,” Rodimus introduced a blue and white bot who had a scrutinous gaze or so you thought; the face plate unnerved you, it made Brainstorm’s emotions hard to read until he spoke, reflecting his personality in his voice.

“Magnificent,” Brainstorm marvelled, inspecting you.

“Oh, um thanks,” You replied, feeling awkward.

He laughed, “No, not you. It’s magnificent that you get to meet me. After all, I’m clearly the smartest being you’ve ever encountered.”

“And the humblest,” You added under your breath.

“Anyway, lucky for you, you get to spend your time with me while I build your room.”

“Ha, yeah, about that, I actually have to see Rung about something, unless you need me here.”

“Even better, now it’ll be a surprise.”

“…Right. Rodimus, can you sneak me to Rung please?”

Rodimus smiled cockily, transforming into a car before your very eyes. You stared, stunned and unsure of what to do or say. The door opened, inviting you in and making the situation stranger still. You weren’t concerned about yourself, for surely it would be like any other car ride but would it feel bad for Rodimus? Like a parasite that needed ejecting. Gingerly, you sat in the front seat, feeling out of sorts as a seatbelt wrapped over you. With a whoop of joy, Rodimus sped off towards Rung; you’d been wrong, it wasn’t like anything experienced before.

Fortunately, Rung was alone when you arrived, allowing Rodimus to let you out and transform back.

“Resident human here to see you Ring but first, how was that (Y/N)?”


“Speechless huh, so cute. Well I don’t mean to brag,” Rodimus crowed, clearly bragging, “but that’s definitely the best ride any humans ever had.” He didn’t leave time to respond as he left the room, whistling.

“I have a feeling he’ll be quite hard to keep up with,” You noted quietly.

Rung chuckled, “Never a dull moment, that’s for sure. Now, I’m glad you’ve come to see me (Y/N), is there anywhere in-particular you’d like to start? With Earth, perhaps?”

A dull throb of pain resonated within you at the mention of the home you’d never see again, leading you to retort, “Oh no, none of that psyche stuff, not today. I just came to ask some questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely, whatever you want to know, uh, would you like to sit?”

A quick glance around the room revealed the difficulty of finding an appropriate spot. You scanned every surface, smiling at the model ships, big enough to fit you in, and what you presumed were sweets for Cybertronians. After a minute, you spoke, “I’ll take the desk, if you’d give me a lift please.”

Rung obliged, lifting you to the desk, where you sat cross-legged; he sat opposite, on his chair, waiting for you to speak.

“I guess my curiosity finally got the better of me. First off, do Cybertronians have gender constructs? If so, are you all male?”

“We do pertain to genders yes but not all bots are male. After the war however, our females were scattered.”

“War? Hang on, we’ll come back to it in a minute. How long do bots live?”

“Billions of years, our bodies simply go on with the proper care and attention.”

Your mind reeled at the possibility of living that long; it was incomprehensible what you’d do with that much time. “How will the others re-act to me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, just like you couldn’t say how each individual human on your planet would re-act to me; only time will tell.”

“Rodimus… he told me about a co-captain, Megatron. Why won’t Megatron see me? He knows I’m here, Ratchet told me.”

“Megatron is… troubled, especially by organics. Once you learn of our war it will become clearer.”

The answer was dissatisfying, it left too much unsaid. “Alright then, tell me about the war, the crew, the ship and its quest, no matter how long it takes.”

After hours of explanations from Rung, multiple queries from you, and several questionable snacks brought in by Magnus, you had a decent knowledge on Cybertronian history as well as the answers you’d been looking for. It was almost terrifying to think about how one bot’s reasonable disdain against an unfair system led to the destruction of countless worlds and the citizens who lived upon them. Then again, humans hadn’t been so different within their own species; one should never forget the acts of power-hungry men such as Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini. However, nobody was asking you to meet Hitler and treat him with indifference; how could you do so for Megatron?

Before you could ask more about then mysterious co-captain, a call came through Rung’s comm-link, informing him that Brainstorm was finished and Rodimus was on his way back to pick you up; something you were thankful for because exhaustion was beginning to set in. Politely, you thanked Rung for his time, assuring him again that you’d be back if you wanted to talk about life’s deeper matters. He saw you out with a smile, hiding his worry about your mental welfare. As a psychiatrist, he had to trust that you’d keep your word and come to him, though he wished, not for the first time that he could make you stay and release any bottled-up emotions that might harm you later down the line.

“So, what do you think?” Brainstorm beamed.

You gaped at the room before you. It contained everything you needed and more. It was still set on the table so nobody would accidentally step on you if they came to visit or went in the wrong room accidentally. There was a kitchen with all the sparkling, chrome appliances you could never afford on Earth, like the kind featured in glossy magazines or on TV. The bathroom was the only room with walls added around it to ensure your privacy. Many luxuries had been added, including a TV bigger than a cinema screen against a wall across the room. Another wall had been completely replaced with glass, showing the vastness of space outside. Even the bedroom was spectacular, including several wardrobes (yet only two other outfits), the new bed was a canopy bed, like something a princess might have. Yes, the room had everything you needed and more, there was only one problem. No matter where you looked, pictures of Brainstorm were printed on every surface. The bed spread had a full-body image of him finger-gunning, the shower curtain was him in a rather promiscuous pose, the table which served as your floor held different closeups of him; lamp shades, cushions, even a dress which had been brought in for you. Everything depicted him.

“Aww, who’re we kidding? You love it, I can tell. How could you not? I am after all, your favourite mech. Hmm… I do wonder if I should sign any of it, would that be too much?”

“I um, right now, I- I think you’ve done enough,” You said, finally finding your voice.

Brainstorm sagged slightly, “Oh.”

“No! I mean, I love it but I wouldn’t want to ruin your uh, artistic vibe, by asking you to do even more for me.”


“Uh, it’s just… I mean…” You sighed, “I suppose the bed wouldn’t be complete without a signature.”

Instantly perking up, Brainstorm signed the bed with a laser pen, making it permanent. It read, “From the mech you live for, Brainstorm.

Considering his sudden burst of energy, you realised quite how manipulative he could be; it was all an act.

“And now, as much as I’d love to stay, I have much more important science-y stuff to do, bye,” he let himself out, leaving you alone once more and very overwhelmed.

You were unsure of what to do first. Despite your need for sleep and a shower, you found yourself staring outside, to the vast expanse of space; looking out there, at the cold darkness that had come close to being your demise, you felt more alone than ever. The thought made you cry. 

Jonerys AU: Pet Shelter

In which Jon totally didn’t hit a dog on purpose and Dany is too tired for this shit. Plus adorable baby Ghost! 

Prompt from the wonderful @oadara :) Hope you enjoy! 

He’s wearing the wrong outfit for an injured dog to bleed out on. 

Fuck, the last thing I need is another dry cleaning bill. It couldn’t have been any other day. Nope. The dog just had to jump in front of his car while he was on the way home from his sister’s wedding, still in his good tux, still reeling from the breakup and the look in his (now ex) girlfriend’s eyes when she said they were finished. Luckily the impact didn’t kill the dog (really, it’s more like a puppy if he’s being honest) but its paw is bloodied and he thinks he can see some bone sticking out. 

The situation is kind of bad. 

The dog doesn’t protest when Jon picks it up, trying to keep the pressure off of its bad foot as much as possible. Instead, it seems to be doing its best to cuddle into his side, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. It’s a cute dog; maybe a Samoyed, all white and fluffy and smaller than it should be. It’s also skinny; its ribs are poking out like it hasn’t had a good meal in days and the remains of a collar are around its neck but the edges are fraying so badly it’s a wonder they haven’t torn entirely. 

Keep reading

who did it? ➙ k.t.h ➙ teaser

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst | smut | minimal fluff | au

warnings: language | mentions of death | little mentions of blood


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anonymous asked:

Could you do a fic or headcanon about Junkrat being in love with the Queen's sibling and trying to kidnap them.

I made this one slightly comical because hell, even yanderes need a bit of a laugh sometimes. Plus it’s Junkrat. Were we really expecting this to go well? Plus, you said try and we all know that a lot of things that Junkrat tried while in Junkertown didn’t go extremely well

Anyway, enjoy!


The yell draws Junkrat’s attention back to the problem at hand; that problem being the fact he’s stood in the queen’s throne room with two guards behind him, each pointing spears into the small of his back. The corner of the queen’s mouth twitches downwards with displeasure.

“Fucking rude. Keep your attention on me when I’m talking to you,”

Junkrat nods hurriedly, but he can’t help but let his eyes flicker back to where you stand, completely disinterested in the whole procedure, digging dirt out from under your nails with the tip of a rusty blade. The look of blatant disinterest on your face is downright sexy, as is the dexterity with which you twirl the blade through your fingers.

“Sorry, your majesty,” Junkrat replies, flashing her a wide, crooked grin, “I-I promise, whatever it is that I did, it won’t happen again,”

The queen doesn’t react to his promise or his friendly smile. If anything, the look of disgust on her face deepens.
“You’re fucking impossible,” she mutters, and then waves her hand dismissively, “I’m done with ya. Get out,”

Junkrat practically leaps forward away from the sharp points of the guards’ spears.
“Yes, your majesty,” he says, then looks towards you hopefully, “your majesties,”

You offer him the quickest of bored glances, but it’s enough to make his heart flutter, and grin like a lovestruck puppy.

The queen waves her hand again, and Junkrat is wrenched backwards as one of the guards grabs the back of his harness and tugs him backwards. Junkrat stumbles and shoves the woman’s meaty arm off the strap.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, I’m leaving,” he mutters, glancing at you once more and then scuttling out. Roadhog stands outside, twirling the point of his hook against the pad of his finger. He doesn’t say anything as Junkrat practically skips out past him, just falls into slow, ground shaking step behind him.

“They actually looked at me this time, Roadie,” Junkrat stage whispers gleefully, “god, they’re gorgeous when they look all bored and uninterested like that, ain’t they? They’re a real looker, ain’t they? Ain’t they, Roadie?”

Roadhog says nothing, just inhales and exhales loudly. Junkrat had given up trying to tactfully slip you into the topic of their conversations, and had instead just gone to shouting his affection for you from the rooftops. It was a wonder he hadn’t painted the words “MARRY ME?” across the wall opposite your bedroom yet.

Junkrat rubs his hands together as he walks.
“I’m so sick of waiting,” he says, “definitely time to set the whole thing in motion, don’t’cha agree?“

Roadhog shakes his head.
“Bad idea,”

Junkrat rounds on him, almost hitting someone in the head with his riptire as he does.
“B-bad idea?!” he spluttered, “what the hell makes you think it’s a bad idea?!”

Roadhog gives Junkrat a withering look, and continues walking. Junkrat glares at Roadhog’s back, and then bounces after him.

“I show ya,” he mutters as he passes Roadhog, taking the lead again, “I’ll fuckin’ show ya,”

Moving silently had never been Junkrat’s forte. Even if he shed every piece of clothing that creaked, or clinked, or squeaked, there was still the question of his prosthetics, which weren’t made with silence in mind. The sound of his peg leg hitting the floor alone was enough to alert everyone within a 50 metre radius that he was coming.

That was why he was being extra cautious tonight. Gone was his riptire, his harness and his belt, and he’d stuffed rags in the parts of his prosthetic arm that clicked when they touched. He’d hurriedly tied a piece of old rubber tyre on the bottom of his prosthetic leg to muffle his footsteps, and walked quickly and on tiptoe. This was a night that absolutely had to go perfectly.

He scales up the wall of the queen’s ‘palace’ easily. Even though her fortress was sleek by Junkertown standards, it was still haphazardly built from scrap and junk, meaning there were easy footholds and handholds the entire way up. Besides, years of crawling and scrambling through wreckage and ruins had made climbing up and down walls second nature to Junkrat. This was a piece of cake.

Few people patrolled around here. The queen was the main attraction in this fortress, and few people bothered themselves with her sibling. You weren’t of importance.

Except to him.

He hoists himself up onto a windowsill, and peers inside. The room is sparse, decorated only by a long desk spanning 3 of the four walls, covered with junk and scrap, and a bed. Definitely your room, judging by the impressive array of homemade weapons decorating the walls. Junkrat can’t help but be wary of them as he climbs in, eyes lingering for a moment on one nasty looking spear with coiled metal running the length of it like a drill.

You aren’t anywhere to be seen, but that can change. Junkrat tucks himself into a little nook under the desk, perpendicular to the door, so he can see it, but anyone entering won’t immediately see him.

He only has to wait for about 15 minutes before he hears a rhythmical clanking, and the door is kicked open. You walk in, laden down with various chunks of metal, rubber and cloth. You walk straight past Junkrat’s hiding spot, muttering something to yourself.

With your back to him, he silently extricates himself from his hiding spot, then decides how best to knock you out. Winding you would take too long, strangling you could go wrong. He doesn’t trust himself to use brute force to knock you unconscious, and nor does he think you’ll agree to come quietly with a threat and a shaken fist.

In the end, he pounces on you, wrestling your arms behind your back and pressing his knee into the small of your back. He overestimates his own strength a little, and also his height, and almost sends himself tumbling over you. You go down with a squeak and a hiss of pain, your head snapping backwards and smacking Junkrat in the chin. The pain sends a bolt of arousal straight to his crotch and his grip loosens momentarily as he loses focus, giving you more than enough opportunity to turn the tables, grabbing his arm and flipping the two of you over, so you’re straddling him, pinning his arms down.

He certainly isn’t complaining about the position, that’s for sure. He grins at you, and you scowl back, narrowing your eyes.

“You!” you snarls, “you were in the throne room earlier! What the fuck do you want?”

Now there’s a question that stumps him a little. He opens his mouth, licks his lips, and then finds himself quickly distracted by the gorgeous, sexy, angry look on your face. He shakes his head to clear his mind.

“I came to see you, of course,” he replies.

A look of disgust flickers across your face.

“Likely story,”

Junkrat glances left and right. As much as he’s enjoying this position (you’re pressing right against his crotch, and it’s driving him wild), his arms are beginning to ache. He’s stronger than you. He can easily overpower you. Even if he doesn’t succeed today, he knows you won’t tell anyone, because that would be admitting that someone tried to take something from you, and you didn’t knock their lights out. That was a big no-no in Junkertown.

However, before he can even formulate a way to get out from underneath you, you shift your weight from over his crotch to the side, and to his horror, press your knee against his crotch. He squeaks in pain, and your grip on his arms tightens.

“Tell me what you were doing here,” you snarl at him. Junkrat clenches his teeth, trying not to squirm at all lest your knee press any harder and turn intense discomfort into intense agony.

“I-I’m telling you the truth!” he replies, and feels your knee press a little harder, reducing him to a blabbering mess.

“Well then,” you growl, leaning down closer to him, until your nose is almost pressed against his, and your hair tickles his cheek, “if that’s the case, you’d better get out. Because I don’t want to see you. Got it?”

It’s worth the extra pressure from your knee when he doesn’t answer just to have your face as close as it is to his for a few more seconds.

“U-understood,” he replies, “your majesty,”

You make a noise of disgust, and before you get a chance to pull away, Junkrat cranes his neck up a little and plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

You wrench your head away with a cry of disgust.
“You fucking animal!” you screech, and slap him hard across the face. He’s been slapped a lot, but that slap definitely felt the best. He looks up at you with a lovestruck grin, and you slam your knee into his balls, distracting him from you as you clamber up, grabbing a jagged piece of metal off the desk.

“You can either jump out the window, or I can call the guards and have them execute you,” you tell him, pointing the metal piece at him, “or, I can slit your throat myself,”

As appealing as tussling with you sounds, Junkrat doesn’t underestimate your ability to snap his neck. And so, with a quick bow and a hastily blown kiss, he hops back to the window and throws himself out, allowing himself one last glance at you before scrambling down as fast as he can.

Swerve X Reader – A Human Crewmate - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Recovering Together

A/N – Based on a lot of head-canons from @rocksinmuffin and @straightouttacybertron so extra special thanks to them for that. I really like this chapter ^_^

Warnings – Mentions of self-harm.

Rating – T

Swerve sat on the floor in his hab-suite, despondent over the way he’d hurt you. His optics welled with lubricant at the thought of your visits with Ratchet and Rung. Prior to the accident, he’d thought ‘eyebrows’ had been wrong and that he could be good for you – with you – but intellectuals were rarely wrong, and the truth often hurt. All Swerve had intended to do was share the beauty of space with you as you often shared amazing things with him, however, he may as well have thrown you out of the ship’s air-lock for all the good it had done.

Another glance at the room he’d prepared for you was enough to start the coolant flowing. Swerve’s shoulders wracked with sobs, his vocaliser crackled, and he had his first rational thought of the day; he had to let you go.

Tipping his helm to the side, Swerve saw a sharp piece of metal under the desk which held your ‘house’, something he must have missed whilst cleaning. Slowly, he picked it up, fat drops of coolant fell on it as he twirled it around in his servos. Shakily, he held it over his forearm, ready to puncture until all the energon left his body.

“This is what you deserve!” He cried, thrusting down.

He dropped the metal with a clatter before it touched him, hating himself all the more for failing.

Unicron take me, I can’t even do this for her…”

Crumpling to the floor, Swerve opted to let himself waste away; he’d almost done it before, this time he would succeed.

On the walk back from Rung’s, you felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. It was obvious that you weren’t fully recovered yet but addressing the problem was a start. You wondered briefly what you’d tell everyone about the ‘incident’; it was a secret between Rung, Ratchet, Swerve, and Rodimus, which meant that by now, the entire ship knew about it.

“(Y/N)! Are you going to die?! Can we stop it? What do we do?” Tailgate, a small, blue bot you’d grown rather fond of panicked upon seeing you; his optics filled up with unshed coolant.

They can cry?” You were taken back by the revelation.

Cyclonus, a somewhat intimidating, larger, purple bot pulled Tailgate back slightly, “Give her some room.”

You smiled at the small exchange between the two, “No guys, I’m not dying; that’s been greatly exaggerated. I just had a human problem, no big deal.”

“So, you’re okay?” Tailgate whimpered.

“At the top of my game.”

He hugged you tightly; despite the inability to breathe properly, you noticed the hug was much lighter than his first attempt which had almost bruised several bones. “Good, I don’t want you to go anywhere. Do you- do you want to come to “Visages” with us?”

If there was any air left in you, you would have laughed at how fast the bot had recovered. “Another time maybe,” You breathed, “I have to see Swerve about something. See you later?”

“Okay, next time.”

Tailgate skipped away, Cyclonus lingered a moment, gave an acknowledging nod and trailed after him; in his own way, that was as good as staying “you’re a part of the family now.”

Deciding that the excuse ‘human problem,’ was effective in the case of questioning, you continued the journey home. You paused, had you really thought of it as home? Yes, brief as it was; perhaps the odd inhabitants of the Lost Light were slowly becoming family. You entertained the strange thought until you reached the hab-suite. You placed your hand on the scanner, mildly annoyed when it wouldn’t open.

“Swerve, are you in there?”

A shuffling of metal revealed that he was; Swerve cursed himself for the noise.

“Did- did everything go okay with Ratchet and Rung? Are you injured?” Swerve asked from the room, keeping his priorities straight.

“I’m fine Swerve, there’s nothing wrong. Can I come in now please?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What’re you talking about?” You laughed. “Is this Cybertronian humour?”

“It’s not a joke (Y/N), I think you should leave.”

You frowned, “Alright, I get it, you need time; I’ll be back in ten-”

“No, I mean- I think you should move out.”


“I’m sorry (Y/N),” Swerve said solemnly through the door, shutting his vocaliser off afterwards to hide any more pain.

“Swerve, I get it, you’re upset but you need to pull yourself together and let me in to talk this out.”

Nothing happened. “Swerve, you open the door this instant!” You used the tone angry parents often used. “Alright, that’s it young bot, you won’t talk, fine, then listen! I chose you as my roommate because you’re my friend. There wasn’t a moment that I thought things would magically work out perfectly; life isn’t a TV show. There could’ve been a million complications, there probably still will be and that’s alright, you want to know why? Because we’re going to learn from our mistakes. I don’t like Space too much, we know that now and can act accordingly. So, you’re going to let me in and we’re going to move on from this, happier that we learnt something. Now, open the damned door.”

You had to wait a few minutes before Swerve complied, he barrelled out, crying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You could’ve died; I’m sorry.”

You hugged him as best you could, “Hey,” You soothed, “I’m made of stronger stuff than that. Come on, where’s my best Swerve? The one who has a joke about everything? I’d tell a space pun to start us off, but I need a bit longer to planet.”

Swerve managed a weak laugh, “That joke was out of this world.”

He held your back lightly, you smiled sympathetically. “Roommates?”

“Roommates,” he agreed.

The next few weeks passed by almost easily; there were many instances where you and Swerve learnt about each-other’s species and had to adjust accordingly. However, after almost a month, the two of you got into a routine. He learnt not to attempt cooking for humans, just as you learnt not to touch the power cables near his side of the room. Sometimes he would recharge when you were sleeping but mostly, he’d leave the room and tend the bar; personally, you liked it when he recharged with you, the two of you would swap stories till you fell asleep.

Since the routine acted like a guide, settling you further into ship life, you didn’t know whether to be concerned or excited when the routine was broken.

A ship-wide announcement woke you from a deep sleep. Rodimus’ voice boomed ecstatically over the speaker, commanding that everyone gather to the main hall for a meeting. Although you were half the size of him, you sat on Swerve’s shoulder, mainly to stop his panicked ramblings about the many, many, many ways you could get hurt.

“Alright, is everyone here?” Rodimus asked, running energetically on the balcony. “Good? Good! We have great news everyone; I know some of us have been going a bit stir-crazy lately, but there is no need to worry; there’s a planet nearby and we’re going to PARTY there.” He banged a gong with his face on it.

Cheers exploded through the hall, echoing wildly until Megatron stepped forward, bringing a hush over the crowd.

“What I believe my co-captain meant to say,” Megatron glared at Rodimus who was looking very impressed with himself, “is that we may visit this planet, not party on it. We will conduct ourselves to our best behaviour, and we will do nothing to offend the locals there. On another note, the planet is hostile towards non-organics, that means holo-forms for everyone. Anyone who misbehaves shall be punished accordingly. We will reach the planet in three cycles. Is everything clear?”

There was a general murmur of agreement, leaving Megatron free to excuse himself.

Swerve had stopped listening halfway through the speech, he was stuck trying to think of how he could ask you to go with him without making things seem like a date. If he could make you see how good he was as a potential boyfriend, then surely your relationship would come together more naturally. Should he ask now? Should he wait a while? Would it be funnier if he made a joke out of it? Would you even want to go?

“Cool,” You said. “A friendly planet? I could use a chance to stretch my legs. You coming too, Swerve? I don’t really want to go on my own.”

“YES!” Swerve shouted elatedly. “I mean- uh- Yeah, I could use some new stuff in the bar, maybe I’ll find something there.”