I don't understand DNI lists, and I can't control who reads my shit, but if you don't like it, just block me bruh. So again, my fics might be NSFW and will sometimes have dark content, as I'll write anything you ask/use writing to cope with something. If there's a request I don't like/feel comfortable with, I'll just ignore it.
I've been big and small and big and small and big and small again
Pairing: Rex Splode/Reader
Warnings: Probably OOC. Suicide attempt. Abusive/Toxic relationship.
"So..are you gonna jump or what?"
Wow, this guy was a prick.
You had a feeling when you climbed up here that someone would end up finding you. One of those goody heroes who couldn't not help someone, even when it went out of their way. What you hadn't expected, as you stood over the rails of the bridge, was some dickhead showing up out of nowhere and scaring the shit outta you, nearly making you lose your balance.
"What??"
There was a gust of wind that whipped past you, giving you goosebumps. You couldn't believe the audacity of this guy; was this supposed to be a superhero? He was dressed in a yellow-and-orange suit and didn't really seem "villainy and intimidating" to you.
"Oh come on, I'm not a moron. Fuckin' four in the morning, standin' on the edge of a bridge. Not exactly a no-brainer."
"Y'know, actually I wasn't, but after seeing that ugly ass excuse of a costume, I think I just might."
He was dumbfounded for a moment, mouth agape, before staring down at himself, picking at his top, "What? This shit looks sick, you're outta your fucking mind," he motions to where you are, "Clearly."
"I'm sorry, what exactly is supposed to be happening here?"
He struts up, "Well y'know, I was sleeping when I got this call from my boss that someone's tryin' to kill themselves and he wants me to check it out." He clambers over the railing to stand beside you, much to your bewildermentâthis guy was insane.
"And y'know, I'm tired as fuck; it's 4 in the morning, why can't anybody else take the fuckin' call? And now here I am waitin' for you to jump,
So please, God. Just make my job easier and get back over."
You turned away from him, looking down at the rushing water. As much of a dickhead as he was, you didn't want him seeing you jump over. "Listen, you seem like a decent guy, I guess. JustâŚJust go back to bed. You don't know me. I'll be fine tomorrow."
You try to coax him to just leave. To just lie and tell himself he did his job as best as he could, but he was too late.
"Yeahh, y'know that's not gonna happen."
You two ended up staying there for another hour. You hoped by then he'd just give up, but no, he was just casually leaning back against the railing, scrolling on his phone, occasionally chuckling at some video he'd seenâhell, he'd even tilt his phone to show you.
"Y'know this isn't gonna stop me."
"Mean you haven't jumped."
"Because you're here, you fucking idiot."
God dammit, it would be morning soon; the yellow horizon beginning to peek.
"We'll both go back over; job well done for the superhero, yay!" Your fists are clenched, your pointer finger's nail digging into the back of your thumb as your desperation for him to just fucking leave grows.
"And I'll just go back home and do it some other way."
He's quiet, eyes flicking around as he thinks. Maybe he's finally given up?
Nope.
He turns to you, face dead serious, "Sweetheart, 'm just gonna follow you around at this point. Hell, I'll put a tiny ass camera on ya without you noticing if I have to. Pretty sure Cecil has those."
He startles when you push yourself off, narrowly missing the back of your shirt before quickly pulling you back. You try to push him away from you, back over the railing,
"Please, I'm begging you, just let me have this one god-forsaken thing for myself!"
He takes you in. Fat tears are streaming down your face, snot flowing from your nose. Your nails dig into his arm. Ouch. "Seriously, dude?! I just got this washed, you jerk."
He tries to settle you, pulling your arms off himself and moving you bothâas close as possibleâ back against the railing. "Look, I'm already here, and I'm not leaving. Might as well get all that shit out."
Your hands are in your hair, nails digging into your scalp, eyes squeezed shut, but you huff, relenting. "I am nobody. My life isn't mine anymore."
"Come on, everyone says that-"
You cut him off as you tell him about your fiancĂŠ, who's pulled you away from friends and family, making everyone hate you by spreading rumors, making you seem so unstable that you were fired from your job and blacklisted from everywhere; every single fucking thing that was yours, wasn't. All stolen away. His once carefree stance has stiffened. His shoulders become rigid from tension, and his expression hardens.
"I just want this one thing for myself. Please."
The sound of the rushing water has stopped by now, replaced by silence. The yellow of the horizon has grown; cars have started passing over, some occasionally slowing down to see what was happening.
You remind him of himself, a little at least. He wants to ignore the sudden rush of memories of his life being taken from him, being sold to the government; for fucks sake, his own fucking name was because it was the only thing he could decide for himself.
"Let's ditch this place."
You pull your face away from your hands and look to him. "We can do whatever the fuck you want after we get the fuck off this bridge."
His gaze is held by the rising sun until you speak up, "I can't leave. My fiancĂŠ has money, people who can do things. I-"
"Yeah, and I got a boss that'll give me anything I want, and will do whatever I want, if he wants me to keep doing my job." He pointedly glares somewhere past your head.
You flinch when you feel an arm lazily go over your shoulders, "I need a vacation anyway. Where'd ya wanna go? Minnesota's got that big ass mallâŚ
Whatever, we can figure it out over breakfast. Deal?"
You thought for a moment. You could see a familiar car in your peripheral, parked a bit away. Jumping now would be your only chance.
He'd seen it too; a glance at one of Cecil's cameras focused on it assured him it would be taken care of. "Come on," He stepped over the railing, his hand moving to the crook of your elbow. His grasp was barely there, but you knew he wasn't taking any chances. "I'm hungry, and I'm tired as shit."
You looked between him and the car that had moved closer, and with a shaky breath, crossed back over the railing.
"Name's Rex."
"Wrecks?? Like you make accidents happen?"
"What? No, dipshit, Rex. Y'know, like a T-Rex."
"You named yourself after a dinosaur?"
"I'm gonna blow your brains out. Shut the fuck up."
a/n: I might've forgotten what he was like in the show and mixed in Mirage from transformers oops. Oh well, anyways. Wanted to write something for Rex for once. I'm never touching Rudy btw bc I hate his ass so dont expect anything for him. I should probably make a masterlist but ughhh i cba. Big ass gifs killin me man I cant STAND not having a cropping system.
Warnings: Implications towards triggering topics. I don't think I need to say bc I'm being very vague on purpose.
Pairing: Mark Grayson x Reader/Mark Grayson & Reader
Snow fluttered diagonally past the window, the flakes beginning to pile up along the windowsill. You woke up some time ago; your phone read 2:33 A.M. the last time you'd checked it. You'd been having nightmares again; you're not sure why; you thought you were getting better.
You were angry at yourself for still feeling scared. It'd been years since it happened, so why did you keep having nightmares? Why was it so hard to sleep through the night?
You didn't want to think about what happened that day.
You want to forget it ever happened.
You want to be better.
Before you could linger in your spiraling thoughts, a soft snore cut through your rising panic.
An arm wrapped around you squeezed just a bit before relaxing.
You blinked, your attention dragged away from the snow outside.
Mark's face was buried between your shoulders. He must've wormed himself across the mattress while you were thinking. The corner of your mouth twitched. You'd forgotten he was even there.
He started sleeping with you after that day. You weren't sure whether it was for his own comfort or yours. Mark would never tell you, but you scared the shit out of him one night. He caught you awake one night when he woke up needing to use the bathroom, passing by your room before doing a double take. You were just standing there in the middle of the room. He thinks you were asleep? Your eyes were open, but you weren't coherent. He wasn't sure, but he helped you back to bed anyway and stayed for the rest of the night.
For a while, you were annoyed by it. You didn't need him to do this; you didn't want him touching you. It was like that for a while. Touch would make you feel off, the hairs on your arms would raise, your body would feel tinglyâthe weird, not good wayâand you would tense up. You bruise easily now, your body adapting to this new "habit" of yours.
But one night, you just needed him. You made sure he was knocked out when you slipped into his room, quietly moving before carefully easing yourself into his bed. His body instinctively turned towards yours once you lay down.
Mark's body always ran hot. You had grabbed his arm and made him wrap it around you. The warmth from his body helped you relax, memory nearly forgotten as you melted against him. It felt nice to be held again without feeling like there was something wrong with you.
You didn't realize you were trembling until Mark mumbled against your neck, "Mmm, you alright?"
You refocused yourself, trying not to dwell on anything that would make you feel worse, "Sorry, yeah. JustâŚcold."
Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he made himself comfortable, letting out a contented sigh as he drifted back asleep.
Fucking goofball.
a/n: is there no way to crop gifs burh ts is huge. i wonder what it'll look like on mobile. if it's huge as shit still im getting rid of it. anyways: can be read as platonic hopefully. i didn't know how to end it. i got back into daryl kinda so i might work on that again hopefully idk im not confident in my writing, it's so hard like forming a coherent sentence when i just [write my thoughts in brackets unsure of how to make a paragraph out of it]
Like, I'll tolerate it ig; like if you have ideas you just can't write out or something, but it gets to a point when the fic becomes not enjoyable when you heavily rely on the usage of it.
There was a Mark fic I tried reading on ao3 that I got pretty far in? I'm not sure where I stopped, but o my days Mark was so ooc. Which I don't usually care for y'know, but God I just couldn't get past it
And then you'll see those phrases where you just know it's ai, the most common one is shit like "His gaze was ___. Sharp. Focused" idk exactly how it goes but you get the idea
Well, her name was gonna be Samantha, ib Hamantha, but i completely forgot Eve had a real name. Which sucks bc i got attached to it.
Anyways, for those that would like to know:
New name idea i had - M comes before N, Mark Nolan. So i could try coming up with a C or E name so it can come before or after D for Debbie.
Full-blooded human like her mama, looks like dada ar ar ar arg
Ig this would be an au right? Anyways, the day of the Chicago incident, when Mark is like, on the verge of death, his sister is there trying to talk to their dad. For some reason I haven't figured out yet, Nolan basically kidnaps her
My first thought was he takes her so she can be used as like a breeding thing for the other Viltrumites bc like quite literally why else would he take her when he tokd mark "i can always make another" but I really don't wanna take that route bc 1) I don't like the idea of Nolan thinking of his daughter that way and 2) it's very cliche
I'll pin it as like, a last minute thing where if I genuinely can't think of anything else, I'll be using it
Half ib that arcane scene with vi and powder where she slaps her, but Nolan is vi and powder is her but like
So basically
She's fully human, which isn't getting through Nolan's thick head, who stubbornly believes she will get her powers. But when it isn't working he throws a fit and hits her. Now, he's never put his hands on his daughter, so when he sees her bloodied face, a thinks back on when she was a little girl when she fell off her bike
Basically same sequence as when he beat the shit outta mark and Mark's fucked up mouth reminded nolan of baby mark with a missing tooth
All that was the original plan, but i've fleshed it out more, and better i'd say, bc i thought of that scene from fairy tale where she basically bitch slapped by her brother and dies, but #skillissue, my girl doesn't die. Newish plan is
She does the same as Lisanna, Cecil picks her up and teleports her to the GDA, and she goes into a coma for an unknown amount of time.
When she wakes up, she's terrified of Mark for a bit bc he reminds her of Nolan. So the only way Mark is able to see her is when she's asleep. He ends up falling asleep, exhausted, and she wakes up and just stares at him until he wakes up.
She throws a fit(?) is the best way i can word it, like fat tears and snot running down her face bc she feels awful for distracting Mark/being in the way during the fight.
Goes back home and it takes months for her to recover. She's disabled now, unable to walk properly. Has to start off with a wheelchair, and then Eve makes her custom crutches.
When she fully recovers, she doesn't need the crutches as much, unless she strains herself to much, and has a limp(?) im not sure how to describe it, i'll have to look for a visual reference
I'll still be using that arcane ref lol
She can't stand the sight of Nolan anymore, when he comes back she completely avoids him. I'll have to come up with a conflict scene like the rest of the family has with him.
Forgot to mention she basically has an identity crisis(?) bc like Mark is a mama's boy, she was a daddy's girl. She grew up loving him to death, grew up with everyone comparing her to him. She avoids reflections for a while bc all she can see when she sees herself is Nolan
used this picrew to get an idea of her, i forgot the users name as im typing this i'll have to look after i hit post
Picrew by: @melodikat
If the picrew isn't linked, I'll link it tomorrow I'm goin to bed
Warnings: Descriptive injuries
Pairing: Mark Grayson & Reader
He still remembered the way you looked.
Mark sat hunched forward in the lumpy hospital chair, elbows digging into his knees, eyes fixated on the steady blue line on the monitor on the other side of the bed. Your breath came out unevenly through swollen lips. One side of your face was bruised, purple spreading down toward your jaw, and bandages were wrapped around the other side of your head.
Dad nearly killed you.
The thought kept going, and going through his head until it made him sick.
He couldn't understand why you'd done it. Why you stepped between them; Why you stood there screaming at Dad to stop while he destroyed half of Chicago.
"Run!" Mark had shouted at you. Over and over, desperate for you to get away. He remembered how raw his throat had gotten from it, blood spurting and dribbling down his mouth; the panic in his chest when he'd seen you run towards where he landed after taking a blow from Dad.
But you were stubborn. God, you were always so fucking stubborn.
And DadâŚ
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, thumbs trying to wipe away the image.
It was like swatting away a bug to him.
Your body flew further than any human body should have. You hit the pavement hard enough to bounce once, twice, before you slammed into a wall. Your head struck brick with a sound Mark knew heâd never forget; a deep, wet crack that filtered through everything else.
You were only human.
You hadnât gotten powers like Mark. No Viltrumite strength; No healing factor. You couldn't take a hit from Dad. You were just a human, a fragile human being who had gotten in the way of a monster.
And Mark had watched it happen. He'd been right there.
He'd been close enough to see the blood spread beneath your head, close enough to hear the awful silence after you hit the ground, close enough to know that for a second, one terrible, endless second, he thought you were dead. He couldn't remember anything after that.
The doctors said it was a miracle you survived.
A shaky breath left him as he leaned back in the chair. His entire body hurt; bruises bloomed across his frame, and cuts were still healing, slower now that exhaustion was catching up to him. He should probably be lying down; it hurt being hunched over. But the pain didn't compare to seeing you like this.
The door clicked open behind him.
Debbie stepped inside as quietly as she could, carrying two paper cups of coffee. Her eyes drifted between him and the bed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
He glanced back toward you. Even unconscious, you looked like you were in pain; brows pinched faintly together, fingers twitching every now and then like you were stuck in a nightmare you couldn't escape.
She sat beside him, setting the coffee aside, placing her hand on his back,
"I told her to run," his voice came out rough, "I kept telling her to run."
His voice cracked,
"Mom...he hit her so hardâ"
Mark doubled over suddenly, pressing a hand hard against his mouth as nausea twisted through him. Debbie immediately reached for him, and that only made him feel worse, because she was comforting him while her daughter lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
"I thought she died," he admitted shakily. "I thoughtâŚ.when she hit the wall I thoughtâ"
She pulled him against her before he could spiral further, holding him the same way she used to after he woke up from a bad nightmare. Only this time, the nightmare was real.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the guilt and grief, Mark realized he was terrified to let you out of his sight ever again.
a/n: i tried making this as GN im sorry, but i couldn't figure out what to replace a few phrases with. if you'd like, i could make 2 more versions to fit the pronouns properly,but they'd be on ao3 to not flood my feed, sorry. Anyways, this is an oc thing, but i made it as reader friendly as possible. i could go on a tangent about her but i wont. i have a sketch of her i'll probably post before i go to bed so actually i might go on that tangent
I'm so bad at focusing on one fix burh. Started the Daryl fic, immediately started making Invincible fic. Started a Thragg fic, dropped it to work on a Mark fic.
Ughh, it's bc I get the idea in my head and then I just don't know how to write out the thought process.
I'll give teasers for the fics ig and then if anyone sees this you can comment on what you wanna see more of
Like a Dog: series about you and Daryl. You've been Negan's wife for like 7 months, Negan's not really getting any reactions outta you so he gets you a "pet." Enemies to lovers, Daryl hates you bc he thinks you've kinda like don't care what negan does (if that makes sense) slowburn.
Thragg: oneshot toxic(?) ib SU and it's just Thragg slowly conforming to society. Like, it's similar to the Nolan process but Thragg takes longer
Mark: Age gap oneshot: I had an idea where Mark was stuck on thraxa for years, and when he finally comes back home, nothings really changed. Turns out, his partner is still the same age, meaning only a few months have gone by. I wanna go through like, the grief and the emotions Mark and you will go through bc he's like 29 and you're 17/18 so it's just "I wanna still be with you" but also like "this is so wrong"
Your husband sleeps like the dead. Once that head of his hits the pillow, he's out.
You're used to the heavy weight pressed against you, an arm wrapped tight around you, pulling you flush against him. You're used to the way his body heats like a furnace, which is usually why you either sleep without pants, or just in your underwear entirely.
Most nights, it's perfectly fine. You'll tuck yourself further into him, listening to his breathing even out, his heartbeat slowing down, and drift off right with him.
But sometimes, when he finally hits the REM stage, loud, rattling snores will wake you immediately. Usually, you could sleep through it, practically soothed by the sound because it reminded you he was with you, but there were nights where it was just too much.
On those nights, you'll heave a sigh before carefully slipping out of bed, padding across the room to turn on the air humidifier. You'll adjust his pillow too, easing it so it lifted his head higher. Sometimes, the movement would wake him, eyes squinting open to see what you were doing.
When you eventually crawl back into bed, you'll lie your body on top of his, to which he relaxes immediately. He's sworn to you the weight of you helps him the most.
"Go back to sleep, big baby," you'll murmur to him, your fingers raking through his hair to help him relax.
And eventually, his breathing will even out again, his heart slowing down; the snores quiet enough now they were easier to ignore, if they didn't stop entirely. He'd bring his arms up to wrap around you, a content sigh leaving him as he melted back into the mattress.
I wrote half of "Like a Dog" chpt 1.5, didn't like it, so im rewriting it. Making this, I had Simon in mind, but I'm tagging other guys I thought of in the middle of it and tried leaving it ambiguous. Placeholder divider until I log back in
Warnings: no summary bc im bad at them. This fic will include dark themes such as: implied sexual assault. toxic relationship. forced relationship. torture. this kinda spoils part of it lol, but attempted suicide probably. I'll have warnings in later chapters that require them
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x F!Reader
Thumbnail Art: drizzledrawings
Divider: @thecutestgrotto
You'd always thought "The Sanctuary" was a bitterly ironic name for this place. A place proclaiming itself as a refuge, a place where you didn't have to feel scared every second of the day.
But living here was hell.
Inside, it was musty. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, metal, and the rot of the dead caught in the barbed wire surrounding the compound. You could never find a moment of peace. The furnaces hummed day and night, and fights were always breaking out over stupid fucking things.
Yet, you were "one of the lucky ones."
That's what they liked to say anyway. Lucky that you'd been taken in instead of killed. Lucky because you had a bed. Lucky because you didn't have to work your little ass off or lift a finger to do anything.
For a while, you tried to convince yourself that they were right.
Back when your small group stumbled upon the place, exhausted and starving, you'd thought you'd finally found somewhere safe. You remember that day vividly. It was the first time you saw Negan; he'd been talking to someone when your group was allowed in, his eyes flicking toward you now and then.
Your group had barely been there for a few days before he started showing up wherever you happened to be. It seemed harmless enough at first, flattering even, when you managed to catch his eye. Youâd been standing near the supply tables one day, helping sort through scavenged food, your hands moving through dented cans and torn sacks of rice, when there he was, leaning against a railing with his bat slung across his shoulder, watching you work.
"Now hold on a damn second,â he said. âHow in the hell did I miss you when yâall walked in?â
Your hands froze over an open crate, and for a second, the chatter around you seemed to dull beneath the heavy sound of the furnaces humming in the background. You did a double-take, unsure whether he was talking to you.
âDamn shame,â he continued, pushing off the railing and strolling closer, âPretty girl like you sneakin' past me?"
The other girls giggled, and your friend nudged you to respond. You wish you'd noticed the worried glances from the women who already knew him. You simply gave him a small smile, a flush to your cheeks as you waved him off. After that, it was as if Negan never let you out of his sight.
Sometimes youâd catch him watching you from across the room, his broad frame impossible to miss, a grin already in place the moment your eyes met his. Other times, heâd stride right up to you and try to make conversation.
âWell, look at that,â heâd said once, circling behind you, his boots thumping against the concrete floor. âBet you got some soft hands, and youâre wastinâ them on fixin' some rags?"
You glanced at him, trying to stay focused, âIâm just trying to do my part.â Hissing in pain when the prick of the needle pierced your finger.
He leaned closer, his voice lowering as he reached around you to grab your hand. âSweetheart, if you come upstairs with me, I could find you a whole lotta better things to do.â
You laughed awkwardly, trying to be polite as you attempted to pull your hand back, âIâm good, thanks.â
âGood?â he repeated slowly. âYou sure about that?â
You didn't like the sudden shift in his tone. His hand tightened around yours; you gulped, trying to steady yourself, but the feel of his other hand settling against your hip made your whole body tense.
âI..I'm pretty sure.â
He stared at you, dragging his dark gaze up and down your body before barking out a laugh.
"I like you," he said, still grinning, "but sweetheart, you need to know somethin'.
He paused, taking his time looking at you up close. His hand rose to look at your finger, bringing it closer to peck at the pebbling blood, as if he was kissing it better.
âI can make your life good here,â
His smile never faltered.
âOr I can make it a hell of a lot worse.â
a/n: i'm hyperfixated on this song currently and it reminded me of an old fic of daryl that i read on ao3. It had a nice concept, but i didnt't like the execution, so im basically remaking it? Not really? it's inspired by that fic. idk how long this will be and idk how often i'll update it, so mb. I keep having annoying dreams, so I wanted to write it out. I've been practicing my writing more, I have like 3 drafts from different fandoms đ I finished and tweaked this up april9 at 4:48 am, I'll fix anything wrong when I wake up. Stuck between which divider I want for the series. I'll see what I'm feelin later.
Might delete this in the morning. Someone gave me an idea so I'm writing them here and deciding when I wake up
Make "all I need" into a series. I could start it off from the beginning, or it can be established. Story goes through the two of you coping/getting through reader bring sick
I'll tag the person if I make this one bc I liked their idea: reader has burn scars, they were at the mall when flambae was burning it down; reader has ptsd and a phobia for fire. Will either be rob/you or flambae/you
This is solely bc im coming off my period. Rob smut lol
Warnings: Thanatophobia(?), implications of death
Pairing: Robert Robertson/Reader
Divider: @kodaswrld
Being a light sleeper came with the job of being Mecha Man, and Robert hated it. He couldnât remember the last time heâd had a good nightâs sleep. That's why he loved it when you stayed over.
For some reason, his body just shut down when you'd lie together. The second you curled up beside him, his eyes would feel heavy, his breathing would slow; hell, the first time you spent the night, he hadn't expected to knock out as fast as he had, or sleep as well. As a matter of fact, the two of you had been so out of it that both of you slept through his work alarm and Mandy calling him. This ended up with Robert having to apologize to his landlord for the broken hinges on the door because Mandy had gotten so worried that she sent Golem, out of everyone, to check on him. Robert promised full coverage for the repairs.
"RobertâŚ.
Are you awake?"
So, it was odd hearing your voice in the middle of the night. Your hand cradled his cheek, thumb brushing softly over his eyelid.
"I donât wanna leave you like this.â
Robert's brows furrowed, taking a second to register your words through the haze of sleep before squinting his eyes open, "What the fuck are you talking about?" He blinked slowly, a hand coming up to rub his eyes as he yawned and sat up; it was still dark outside. What time was it? Why the hell were you still awake?
"IâI'm sorry, I justâŚ" You withdrew from him, quickly turning away so you could hide your face, but the streetlamp next to the building peeked through the curtains, giving away the fact that you'd been crying. "Sweetheart,â Robertâs voice softened, more awake now as he fumbled behind him to turn on the lamp, âYou're scaring me. What's wrong?"
Your tears spilled freely now as you sat up, practically lunging into his arms.
"I need to tell you something,â you croaked out against his shoulder, âI should've told you when I found out, but IâŚI panicked, I was scared. I-"
âHey, hey⌠breathe,â he cooed, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, the other coming up your shirt to rub at your back. âWhatever it is, just....Iâm here.â
a/n: Working on a Daryl series(?) rn; this one came to mind like the second I woke up the other morning. This could've been better, but oh well.
dont piss me off dude, there was a cute crossbow divider someone used in their daryl fic and i swear i liked it but i cant find o my days dont do this im TRYING to come back
ughh, i guess i could find something else, but it was soo cute
B-127 always had a hard time keeping friends. Now that he could move along the surface, he took every opportunity he could to meet new bots. However, he always failed to realize exactly why bots would excuse themselves in the middle of his stories, missing the annoyed glances they'd give him when he interrupted a conversation.
Having been alone at Sublevel 50 for as long as he could remember, and with no one to speak to, meeting all these new bots was a bit overwhelming. Going through so many cycles with no one to hang out with can really mess up a guy.
After the whole thing with Sentinel and D-16, a small celebration was held to celebrate new beginnings. Now, surrounded by the vibrant buzz of life on the surface, B was anxious. The celebration was in full swing, laughter and music ricocheting off the walls. Everyone's energy and the scenery contrasted so starkly with sublevel 50's deafening silence that B struggled to keep up.
B's eyes scanned the room, taking in every bot and catching glimpses of their bright, gleaming armor polished for the occasion. The chatter and laughter merged into a loud buzz that made his audio receptors ring. Ori-Optimus didn't seem to be here. B didnât mind, though. He understood Optimus' reasons for not coming. The weight of his newfound leadership and the burden of his choices, especially after the whole thing with D, mustâve been unbearable. But for now, Elita was here, no doubt praising herself as much as she could.
B hovered near a group of bots, his audio receptors straining to catch their conversation. His processor working overtime to keep up.
âAnd then I told him, âThatâs not a weld line, thatâs myâââ
âOh! That reminds me of the time I tried to weld two-â B blurted. He couldn't help himself. The thrill of being surrounded by new faces urged him on, his voice cutting through the joke.
The laughter in the group faltered, and all eyes turned to B, the interruption hanging awkwardly in the air. The bot raised an eye ridge, visibly annoyed. âUh, yeah⌠Anyway, as I was sayingâŚâ He turned back to the group, and the conversation resumed without B.
B-127 stood there for a moment, uncertain if he should try again. He glanced at them all, none paying him any mind. His confidence faltering until a voice cut through,
âWhat'd you try welding?â
B's hands twitched, his eyes flickered and widening in disbeliefâsomeone had spoken to him! His gaze darted across the group, scanning each face. Hope and anxiety flared in his spark, making it pulse rapidly, wondering if maybe he had imagined the voice. Then, his eyes landed on one bot in particular, standing slightly apart from the others, their face bright with genuine interest.
For a moment, B hesitated, afraid that the bot might've been teasing him, setting him up to embarrass himself.
âUhâŚwell. Back when I worked in waste management, I didn't have much to work withââ B's words stumbled as he continued, nervous energy buzzing through him. His thoughts raced, but the bot's continued attention thrilled him. As he spoke, he felt a warm glow spread through his circuits. His words came out faster now, arms waving animatedly.
The bot watched him with undivided attention, hanging on to every word.
When B was finished, there was a pause between them. The bot's steady gaze didn't shift once, as if waiting for him to continue. B chuckled, then hesitated again, âI, uh, didnât catch your nameâŚâ
The botâs eyes softened for a moment before they gave a simple shrug, introducing themselves. The name echoed in his processor and he repeated it softly to himself, committing it to memory as a smile spread across his face.
B used to hate the silence, always tried to fill it with something, anything. It's why he made his little gang back in Sublevel 50 because just having them there helped a little; Steve being able to make noises also helped a lot. But with you, itâs different.
Youâre fiddling with some gadget, hands steady, but he can see the edges of your lips twitch, holding back a smile at how much he's been rambling. Again.
He's loud, unfiltered, maybe a bit too much sometimes, but you donât seem to mind; or if you do, you donât show it. He's caught himself laughing harder, being himself, all because of you.
There's just something about you. Youâre not impatient when he talks too fast or stumbles over his words. Primus, you just listen. And now, he's all too eager to tell stories he knowsâthrowing away archives instead of destroying them himself was Sentinel's mistake. Stories about the stars, the history of Iacon, the way your eyes looked when they caught the light just so....He might've rambled too much that time.
The night stretches on, but he doesn't want it to end. Because thisâsitting here, with youâfeels right. You glance up, catching his eyes, and he canât help but grin like an idiot. You donât say anything, but you donât have to.
Maybe he didnât notice when things shifted. These days, he doesn't even think about it. The way your forms lean a little closer to each other when you sit side by side, the way his face warms when his pinky edges closer to yours.
He'll probably remember tonight forever. Or maybe not the specifics, just the feeling of your lips on his, the accidental clash of your teeth when he gets too excited. And even if he does forget the details, he'll never forget how alive you make him feel.
So yeah, he'll keep talking, keep laughing, keep being loud, because for once, he doesn't care. Not when he's here with you.
This started as a drabble, then just grew because I didn't know when/how to stop. I need to get around to making my page look more nice.
I noticed they used more human terms for things in One specifically, so that's what I'll be using for One fics.
