Can I ask you write something with Ultra Magnus and/or Dreadwing? Something like the prompt of staring at each others lips then kissing?
(And maybe reader be like “do you want to kiss me?”)
I’m assuming since you mentioned Dreadwing, you mean TFP for both of them. It’s been literal years since I watched TFP, but yes, I’ll give it a shot. (I wasn’t going to do Dreadwing until I realized that he would absolutely kiss the back of someone’s hand as a romantic gesture)
Ultra Magnus:
The base was silent, too silent. It always was after Wheeljack left. Still, silence was better than the chaos of war, so you’d manage.
Ultra Magnus stood like a guard beside the side rail you had chosen to lean upon. He watched the exit like a Hawk, as if he were expecting Wheeljack to roll back through.
“I bet you’re glad he’s gone.”
He straightened his already impossibly straight back as his optics regarded your face. “Wheeljack is a nuisance.”
“Is that a yes?” You watched as his optics flickered downwards, then back to your eyes.
He gave you a curt nod. “Affirmative.”
You hum, amused. “It’s a shame really, he’s an interesting mech.”
“You shouldn’t be within his proximity.” He glared at you, but that was essentially his neutral face, so you ignored it.
You couldn’t help but snicker. “Oh? So you do care about me?” You smile at him, and he clears his throat. A good sign that you had hit the mark of what he was thinking. In a moment of giddy pride, you decided to tease him a bit, “Next thing you know it, you’ll want to kiss me.” You crossed your fingers and hoped that statement wouldn’t completely backfire.
Ultra Magnus cleared his throat again, this time pointendly turning his head away from you to hide the slight blue tint of his metal cheeks.
Then it clicked. You leaned further onto the railing, until it dug into your stomach. Was it uncomfortable? Yes. Did you care? No. You shot him a shy, sweeter than honey smile. “Do you want to kiss me?”
Ultra Magnus stood stock still. Who knows, maybe his brain module crashed. He looked at you with wide blue optics that focused on you like camera lenses. He placed one metal hand against the platform, his fingers lacing through the railing. He glanced down at your lips, then back to your eyes.
You closed the distance and kissed his lips, the metal soft compared to his tough armor plating. The kiss didn’t last long, only a few seconds before you pulled away to look at him straight in the optics. “Was that so hard?”
Ultra Magnus turned from you, but didn’t leave his spot. You watched as he touched his digits to his lips in slow disbelief.
You were proud. It had only taken six months to crack his shell.
–
Dreadwing:
You and Dreadwing had a tentative relationship, to put it simply. Honestly, you didn’t understand why a loyal Decepticon that aimed to take over your planet would bother.
That didn’t matter: today he was teaching you how to disarm one of his grenades. He stood behind you, mass displaced, sometimes even reaching around you to guide your hands. He lingered there, even once you had gotten the hang of it. When you got particularly invested in what you were doing, he would lean forward until his chest was touching your back.
He watched your hands diligently. You brushed it off as him being an explosions specialist.
The moment you had clipped the last wire and the little screen on the grenade had turned off, he had gently taken your hand. He held it as if it were made out of painted porcelain, something precious. He looked you in the eye as he brought your knuckles close to his lips.
“Why do you look like you want to kiss me?” You joke.
His gaze softened, the lights of his optics dimming slightly. “May I?” He glanced down to where he held your hand.
You pause. “Yes, you may.”
Dreadwing proceeded to pepper you knuckles with kisses before he properly pulled you in.
“Some Securities Specialist I turned out to be. Didn’t find out about Chronos until after he was assaulting the House, needed my baby sister to break free, and a talking training dummy had to teach her how to fight. My entire family, as well as most of my friends, are still held captive, and I can do nothing. I don’t even have a weapon.”
“...Yeah, that sucks. But you know what might make you feel better?”
Zagreus drags his hands down his face and glares. “If you’re going to suggest I take one of those Arms in the pool and hit you repeatedly, so help me Skelly I will tell Melinoë the truth about you the moment she returns.”
Butting in on @wanderingquill and @skip-supports-ships 's au
Newt knew some people reacted strangely to the animals at his zoo. A harried reptile house keeper looked horrified when a child climbed into a locked snake exhibit, there were reports of one man performing a heartfelt rendition of "Hakuna Matata" to a family of prairie dogs. Now Newt was witnessing someone's mental breakdown in front of the echidna exhibit at two in the morning. He had just wanted to check in on everyone for the night...
"Just gimme those back so I can cuddle the stripey-meows." The well-dressed and quite drunk man cried. Newt blinked slowly, not sure where to start with that. The man sighed and rested his head against Cooper's information plaque. Newt had had issues with Cooper picking up soda tabs, keys, and once a visitor's camera--the little kleptomanic kept wriggling through the busted hinge on his door. That really should be fixed, but first he needed to pay the bills. Then Frank's vet bills, Petunia needed to be vaccinated, the tiger's tire needed replacing...Newt frowned as the list kept growing. He loved his job and the creatures were all precious to him down to the dung beetles, but they just didn't have enough money to cover everything.
"Hah, gotcha!" The triumphant cry broke Newt out of his tailspin and he rushed to the exhibit. The man was hunched over, fingers working on the small lumpy form on his lap.
"Unhand him at once!" The man jumped and Cooper slid down his lap, scurrying up Newt's blue lab coat to hide in a wide pocket. A shiny ring of keys fell off his spines and landed by Newt's shoe. He carefully bent over to pick them up, only to clunk his head against the intruder's. Blinking the stars out of hus eyes, Newt felt his anger rising. How dare this man break in and start accosting his puggle! Cooper was a bit of an imp but he was a sweetheart!
"Yer pre'y." The man slurred dreamily. "But I wanna go see the tiggers." He lurched to his feet and began stumbling towards the big cat section. Newt got over his brief embarrassment, remembering his initial purpose here.
"H-hold right there," he demanded. The man looked around before turning and pointing at himself. As if there was anyone else here! Newt frowned, Momma instincts rising. "You have no business wandering about here and scaring my poor babies out of their minds. Now leave at once or I shall call the authorities." They stared at one another before the intruder broke the silence.
"Yer nah juss pretty, yer gorjus!" he beamed. The alcohol was clearly taking over his system. He swayed dangerously but still tried to take a step forward. It was almost comical, a man falling flat on his face like that, but Newt was a bit too frazzled to appreciate it. Cooper peeked out of his pocket and began niffling about for treats. Growls picked up, sending the echidna back into its pouch.
"Oh my." Newt gasped as he realized the sounds of a rhinoceros with congestion were actually snores from the man in front of him. He could just leave him here, but no telling what trouble he'd get into when he woke again. Biting his lip, Newt weighed his options. He could probably lift the man into one of the staff carts and dump him in the break room.
The keys fell again when the stranger was moved and Newt realized they weren't keys, rather a set of lock picks. He glared down at the unconscious brute hanging off his shoulder and wondered what on earth he had been planning. Perhaps he was dumped in the break room a bit too roughly, but given the hangover in store for him later, Newt doubted the man would notice. Humming cheerfully he made sure to open the curtains by his guest before going back to his research notes. At least one of them would appreciate the bright morning sun streaming in.
After hours as about as quiet as the Lost Light got, which is to say you still heard the occasional screech of tires or drunken bots stumbling back to their rooms. At least it was quiet enough to get some sleep.
You don’t even remember when the doors slid out of the way for Drift, just that his silhouette had his back to you with a sword that glistened in the low light scraping with a consistent rhythm against a whetstone.
You shifted in your mess of blankets, and watched as he glanced over his shoulder at you. You rolled over to turn your back to him, and you listened as he set his sword back on its stand. There was a slight dip at the edge of your mattress, but not heavy enough to be a bot in mass displacement. A human sized dip.
You glanced over your shoulder to check that his back was to you. It was, and with a determined smile you slowly shifted your weight onto your arms and legs.
Drift’s holoform whipped around to catch you before you could even pounce into his arms, nearly knocking both of you off the bed and onto the cold metal floor.
Seeing Drift’s fangs bared in a smile was worth every scolding word there would have been from Ratchet.
He laid you back down in bed, looming over you for a moment with vaguely luminescent eyes before tucking himself into bed with you.
The room was so dark you could barely see his face. You sat across each other with legs crossed, his optics shining softly, and his frame backlit by the stars. Metal had never looked so soft.
His optics dimmed, bearing down upon you like stars blocked by clouds. Air from his vents brushed against your face. “You won’t like what I have to say.”
“Try me.” Blue light glinted off your teeth. “I trust you.”
Drift huffed out another gust of wind. “You won’t-”
“I trust you.” Your voice hardened, like steel in this soft metal world illuminated by two twin blue stars staring down at you.
There was an audible gulp. The blue stars shut off. “I was a Decepticon.” Words escaped his mouth as guided by a bitten tongue. You placed a hand on his digit, as long as your arm and twice as thick.
Your hand warmed the metal beneath your fingers, smooth paint an eager substitute for softness. His blue optics opened again, regarding you with a feeling that washed over you like a wave of warm water.
“I know.”
The blue stars flared. The wind stuttered. “Who?”
“Rodimus.”
“Ah.”
The room fell to silence.
“Aren't you afraid?” Drift called out to you, drawing his hand back so as to not startle you. The metal clicked together, shaking, trembling.
You cupped his digit in both hands like you would a fellow human's cheeks. You pressed your forehead against his knuckle. “No. I trust you.”
In which Megatron is pining for the reader, and the reader is just glad that he isn’t sulking
This was the best day of your career.
You had joined the crew of the Lost Light with a brisk farewell to everything you’d ever known. You had stayed with them through the fighting, the deaths and the occasional visit to a planet. Or charisma parasites. Or the occasional series of time travel shenanigans. Anyways, none of those victories tasted as sweet on your tongue as this one. Nothing could beat the swell in your heart as you sighed in blissful relief.
Megatron wasn’t sulking.
He hadn’t hauled himself up in his habsuite, waiting for you to knock with a report and light conversation. He didn't pinch the bridge of his nose as Rodimus cartwheeled onto the bridge. He didn’t even make one sharp remark towards one of his fellow Autobots, if he could actually even be properly called one at this point. You were starting to truly believe that maybe one day, he could.
He was teaching.
You didn’t even know that the Lost Light had a lecture hall, but to see it filled with Autobots as you sat on a table in the back of the room was something else. It plastered a smile onto your face as Riptide asked if he had passed. Megatron had said no, but that he would explain why…
This was great.
Between statements, Megatron would glance in your direction and at your gigantuine smile. His back would somehow get straighter, and occasionally, he would give you a small smile back. Something glittered behind his ruby optics. You assumed that it was joy. This was good.
This was progress.
The class had ended as soon as it had begun, or it at least felt like it. You pulled your sleeve back from over your watch. Three hours had passed. Looking at everyone leaving, you could tell. Skids was getting rather twitchy. In the scramble to get out the door, Megatron strode over into long, unsure steps towards you.
“Y/N?”
You hum in response, the grin still splitting your face. “That was a great lecture…You make a good teacher.”
You could have sworn that you heard his cooling fans on their lowest setting, but that had to be your imagination. He paused, as if he was searching for the right words to say. “...Yes. Thank you…I hope that you are not too worn out for a few poems?”
“I never could be.” Not after he finally started step two of an attempted redemption: Actually getting up and doing some good. You had waited far too long for this for you to shut him down now. You could hardly even believe he had started writing again. A few love poems nonetheless. You wondered who they could be for, but you never asked. With the progress he was making, he would come to you eventually.
Megatron smiled, only slightly, as his optics crinkled up at the corners as much as they could with his metal face. For an ex-warlord, he had a nice smile. The way that the light of his optics bled onto his cheeks almost made it look like they were flushed with energon.
With eyes full of something that Megatron could only hope was adoration. Your smile shone brighter than the stars outside any window on the ship. He watched you from across the room, optics flicking between you and the group of autobots making their way through the door.
It was wonderful.
Just like that, he had another list of topics for his newer works of poetry. No wonder he wrote so much about you. Had showing them to you softened your heart to make you see him in a new light?
Then you mentioned his teaching.
Oh. Of course you were doing this. You had always watched any sort of kindness or intellectuality with the same kind of tender expression. Still, Megatron couldn’t help but relish in the unfiltered joy that flooded his spark when it was in his direction; made his spark flare and push against his spark chamber as if to reach out for you.
He paused.
How could he ever have thought that he deserved this kind of happiness? Your smile was his light in an ocean of darkness. Hope in a sea of hopelessness. It’s a shame that he met you when he did.
You would have loved him in his youth: A miner and a poet with a dream.
Megatron decided that he was more like that version of him now than the one he had left behind with his Decepticon badge. He snuffed out the voice in the back of his processor that said otherwise in hopes that it wouldn’t rear its ugly head ever again. If you would allow him to have you, he would. He just had to earn the right for the chance.
It was a simple question that had passed your lips before you could truly process it. You took another sip of whatever contraband concoction Swerve had come across, or maybe smuggled through the airlock. But it was good and sweet and had a nice bite to it, so you really couldn't care less.
Megatron cleared his throat and took a sip from his energon cube. It was so pungent that you could smell it across the room, like minerals and paint thinner. “It appears we do.” He pointedly kept his gaze from you. The red light of his optics bleed onto his high cheeks. “You tasted divine.” A sip from shaking hands.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread lopsidedly across your face. “I’m glad you think so. I’d do it again.” You didn’t mind how loose the drink had made your lips, grateful for the confidence.
He studied your face. “As would I.”
“How long have you been writing about me?”
The delicate mechanisms within Megatron’s optic whirled. The soft mesh of his faceplate allowed them to widen a sliver. You immediately decided that the soft shock suited him well. Then he narrowed his optics. “How did you know?”
“I realized during the meeting.” You twirled a metal rose from your desk between your fingers as you drained your glass. Your tongue slipped out to collect a drop of the amber liquid from your lips. You chuckled as Megatron’s cooling fans clicked on. It was a warm laugh, one that Megatron could write a million more sonnets about. “You use a lot of organic imagery in your more affectionate poems. And before you ask, I love the ones I’ve already read.”
“I appreciate-” He cleared his throat again, “Thank you.”
You sighed, fondly if not a bit disappointed. You really had hoped that you were past the stiff shoulder struts. “Maybe now that everything's out in the open, I’ll get to see more of it.” All you could offer him was a reassuring smile as you crossed the room and closed the distance between you both. “And if I’m really lucky…” You place a hand on his cheek, watching as your hand blocked out portions of soft red light. “I’ll get to hear it in your own voice.”
Megatron softened. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a sentimental romantic.”
“Nor would I have taken you for one, but here we are.”
He pressed his forehead against yours the best he could while mass displaced. “I don’t-”
You placed a finger over his mouth before he could finish. “Well I love you so that doesn't exactly matter right now.”
Megatron froze, taking on a look of adoring shock for the second time that evening. He didn't say a word, merely taking hold of either side of his helmet and lifting. The petal-like panels flared out like those of a sunflower, all complimented with yellow and black hazard lines.
It was your turn to be shocked. “Wow…” The light of his optics softly highlighted the high points of your face. You look at Megatron, eye to eye.
Megatron, ever the opportunist, dives in for another sweet kiss, leaving his arms at his sides. Leaving you room to push him away.
You kissed him without a second thought, tasting sweet metal and contraband alcohol on your tongue.
