Strong Language - Tumblr Posts

The very overdone ‘sparring turns into excessive kissing’ trope, plus Megop✨

Some sort of ceasefire AU with combined factions. As always...

I refuse to proof read this anytime soon, I don’t want to see what humiliation I’ve conjured for myself.

Warnings are in the tags💕

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“If you’re going to live amongst arrogant bots thousands of tonnes bigger than you are, you’ll have to learn how to defend yourself.” Megatron said seriously, but the irony, of course, left a tickle in his throat.

Obviously Optimus could hold his own against mechs 3 times his size and then some, or Megatron wouldn’t have been forced into this ceasefire in the first place by the little Prime’s bare fists and a shoddy axe.

Which speaking of, he really needed to repay the smaller mech for shattering it during their artillery training. It really had been an accident. Though he suspected Optimus was going to hit during this sparring match with a lot less forgiveness than he’d assured him with at the time.

“Oh, so you admit that your soldiers are rude, thuggish brutes half the time there’s an Autobot in the control room?” Optimus asked, readying his stance on the square of padded floor. He would never stop being amazed that the Decepticons had entertained such a luxury -that is, until he’d learnt that Starscream had been the one to complain about being thrown to her delicate wings on the cold, hard floor one too many times.

That Megatron had been the only one the self-obsessed seeker leveled to spar with meant that Megatron had agreed solely on the promise that he’d be able to continue doing so.

Megatron sized up the brazen thing before  him and smiled. In regards to his question, Decepticons were like that more than just half the time.

“Yes, I confess. Though I also admit I’m often guilty of the same arrogance myself.” Because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have thought so little of one lowly Prime once upon a time, and would have otherwise dominated an entire foreign planet in deca-cycles. Perhaps that was the arrogance talking again.

But Optimus had indeed bested him, and thank goodness it’d happened sooner than later before Megatron had let himself go completely.

He’d found his footing since then and was moving with a ferocity he hadn’t in ages. He hadn’t even known he was slipping until he was shaping his wayward Decepticons, thousands of years out of practice, up in one single, terrifying rant about the disobedience he’d noticed in his absence. He hadn’t even needed to threaten them. It felt so good to be back.

And he believed he had this brave mech here to thank for that. Which unfortunately meant that Optimus really did have a merciless force of nature to worry about now in a way he hadn’t before.

Well... only a little bit ‘merciless’.

Optimus returned his smile then, though it was far more genuine. Megatron tried not to let it sway him off his pedes and focused on the lesson.

“Now,” He began, distributing his weight through spread pedes and opening his palms, making for a more intimidating foe. It would have worked on anybody else.

“Ready yourself, little Prime.”

“I’m ready.” Optimus murmured, big optics trained on the other, and innocent little smile starting to look a tinge wicked.

Megatron liked the fire in this one, possibly too much, as he often tried to rile it out of him.

To test his claim, Megatron offered no further warning and lunged.

Optimus was easily taken to the floor with a surprised little ‘oof’.

“Decepticons don’t play fair.” Megatron purred. His gentle reminder overshadowed by the crush of his chest into Optimus’. He could hear him struggle to vent and had to repress a snicker.

A knee thrusting up just above his pelvic plating, forcing the air from his vents, turned that snicker into a wheeze.

“I can see that.” Optimus hissed, already adapting to the change of pace.

Dumbstruck, Optimus was able to roll Megatron off of him and pin him to the mat by his shoulders.

Megatron considered reaching up and digging his claws into his forearms and tearing, just to reiterate what he’d said about playing fair -and he would have, if it wasn’t Optimus.

A simple buck of the hips was enough to throw the other off his balance and push him away.

Feeling generous, Megatron even allowed him to scramble to his pedes.

“You’ll have to be on your guard at all times.” Megatron said, infrared pupils dissolving into slits. Assessing.

That time the lesson stuck, and Optimus was quick to dodge another lunge.

But predictably was unlikely a thing in the wild. Decepticons were conniving and unfair. They’d had to be to resist Autobot forces, who were supplied by better resources and more fuel.

What a difference nearly a year had made between their factions and their coming together. How long before natural instincts such as those became obsolete and written from their code?

Megatron made to lunge again and deftly fell to the floor on palms and knee to sweep a pede out and right from underneath a parrying Optimus. He fell hard and had to bite back a curse when the other was moving to cage him there, giant black servos encasing his again. Crushing him into the mat.

Knocked to his back twice in half as much time...

Megatron didn’t let up this time and tensed his abdominal plates for any impending kicks. What would Optimus do when he ran into the less honorable sorts? He’d have to find a way out of this without Megatron’s goodwill.

Optimus pulled and writhed and made to kick something that’d have some affect, but all he could do was scramble against slick, gunmetal grey armor and the servos clutching him.

“Are you going to keep me down here?” He growled.

“Or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

Megatron snorted. Warm breath ghosting over a finial and making it twitch.

“Are you trying to talk your way out of this?”

When plenty of the ‘Con population could hardly be bothered to articulate beyond grunts?

Optimus had stopped trying to wriggle his way out then, so clearly he thought a bit of psychology was the logical way to go here. Most mechs weren’t Megatron, unfortunately, and couldn’t withstand a legitimate conversation, though.

“It worked on you.” Optimus pointed out. Which wasn’t saying too much these days.

Megatron remembered how’d he’d gotten here with nothing but Optimus trying to talk his way around everything like a hopeful, insistent fool -around violence and conflicting agendas of mass destruction. And the fact that that had eventually done him in somehow was.... well....

Regardless, it had worked. Partly. Though another part of Optimus’ success at establishing this ceasefire was due to his impressive display of tactical resourcefulness during their Earthly encounters- and, admittedly, a bit of his brute strength. He was worthy, Megatron had come to find, and only then had he learnt to listen.

Decepticons weren’t going to spare him much time to prove himself. They couldn’t afford to in the wars prior.

But... Megatron was just fine to let him try.

Talking to Optimus was it’s own reward, and it was easy to forget he was supposed to be teaching him an important lesson when he’d managed to get him like this.

“Go on and try to get yourself out of this, then, if you’re so sure.” Megatron’s grip tightened painfully on his wrists to remind him this was supposed to be an example of some nameless thug getting the upper hand on him.

Optimus swallowed, and Megatron watched with terrifying interest the way his throat tubing moved.

Miraculously, he pushed the tremor from his voice when he next spoke.

“You’re supposed to be teaching me to fight, aren’t you? You can’t do that from here.”

On the contrary...

But Megatron wanted to see where this was going.

“Yes, I am, but these imaginary foes who have only the wish to harm you will have no other reason to release you. Your enemy, Decepticon or not, is going to need a reason to let you out of this. If you’re so intent to talk your way out still.”

Megatron secured Optimus’ wrists into one massive servo and bared down.

Optimus went deathly still, carefully distant stare betraying any fear that might be thumping around his spark chamber, threatening to burst through.

Megatron couldn’t help but grin at his cornered prey. Optimus’ poker face was was truly a commendable thing, but there was little that could sway Megatron from his goals once he was determined.

“So...” He whispered, dipping his helm into the small space of Optimus’ throat cabling and his servo raised above and pinned. Mouth angled towards his audial.

“You’ll have to give me an incentive to let you up~”

He was impressed by how limp the other had gone, rather than tensing and squirming in every direction to break free. When he slowly pulled away to get a look at that pretty blue face, Megatron had expected to see the same disinterested gaze the other always wore when he was trying -and failing- to intimidate him.

But there was Optimus, practically thrumming below him as the gears turned and his processor span. Thinking much too hard about.... something....

Optimus stared up at him for so long with those wide blue optics that Megatron worried he’d broken him. Either by being too suggestive or too outright forward. He could never tell how civil frames perceived the things war types casually said -and Strika was always threatening him to act with some amount of manners towards the little mech, so he must be coming off too strong in most cases.

He decided he’d gone and crossed a line this time, too, when-

“Let me up... and I’ll thank you.” Optimus whispered, barely able to withhold an embarrassing stutter.

Megatron was compelled to challenge him how that would incentivize a foe to do anything, if only to further the lesson and keep them on track. But he’d had the mech off his pedes for long enough to make his point.

....And he really wanted whatever this ‘thank you’ was.

It’d be his own fault if the ‘thank you’ was a swift punch to the nasal ridge, and he hoped honestly it was just that. Optimus would certainly prove he had the necessary skills to handle his opponents that way.

Megatron was on his stabilizers in two short moves and helping Optimus up with the assistance of those manners Strika had insisted he locate from deep within his hard drive.

Oddly enough, manners had never been a chore when extended to any other bot. Optimus made him forget how to act half the time.

But on his feet again, Optimus looked considerably less annoyed to be thrown about as freely as he had been than he should.

Megatron wondered if that was because he had been the bot doing all the throwing. Optimus had shown himself rather tolerant of his touch on prior occasions since peacetime. And he’d been no stranger to it before peacetime either, unfortunately.

When he didn’t back away to put some more appropriate distance between them, it became clear he was anything but ‘annoyed’ with the treatment.

“Better?” Megatron couldn’t help but tease, something warm licking below his tanks. Optimus, breathless and flushed, was a sight. Better than with his battle mask sheathing his face, and an axe poised and ready to split Megatron’s helm with.

Which he really did owe him a new one. One made from durabyllium-steel so that he might shave the arm off any attacker who might come his way and avoid all this talking nonsense in the first place.

“Yeah.” Optimus said then. His voice pinched, clearly struggling to voice his real concerns.

“Allow me to thank you.” He added, after a tense moment.

Megatron’s glossa worked faster than his brain module could.

“That’s not necessary.”

Maybe those manners weren’t so far out of reach, actually...

Optimus’ finials did that infuriating thing when he was nervous where the dipped down upon his helm, making Megatron physically have to restrain himself from reaching to touch them, and shifted his stance on restless pedes. Trying to quiet the urge.

“Well, it was part of the deal.” Optimus murmured, voice gone soft, optics growing heavy. Megatron unconsciously leaned into him.

“I am a mech of my word, after all.”

Which was how Megatron had known he could come to trust him as he had. But still-

‘I am a mech of standards.’ Megatron had wanted to say -to insist it wasn’t necessary. Instead, a less coherent gasp of some indecipherable thing escaped the tip of his glossa, as a firm blue palm planted itself high up on his chest plates.

There was a brief pause, and then someone’s engine rumbled at the contact. Warmth began to flood their cheek plates, a vibrant color bleeding through. Suddenly keeping optic contact was too great a feat for either of them.

“Here.” Optimus maneuvered them closer, and Megatron was moved without the barest hint of resistance. Vaguely aware he was being moved from helm to toe-pede by two little palms cupping his cheeks.

So be it.

He leaned over the shorter bot just enough to reach him better. Face level and drawn in a line to Optimus’ full lip plates like he was being pulled forward by a string.

Which was good, as that was exactly where the smaller mech had blessedly wanted him.

Their lips nudged and parted until they were properly slotted together.

Megatron swallowed the sound the other made into his open mouth. Little servos fell away from striped cheek plates to run themselves down and over layers of thick chassis, beginning a curious search to map the other out.

Megatron was happy to let him. The distraction gave him an opportunity to deepen the kiss with a tilt of his helm.

Optimus jumped, seeming to just realize he was stood there, locking lips with a once fearsome warlord and finding it unbearably dizzying. In an absolutely delicious way.

Megatron lavished the inside of his mouth with tame little licks, purely to incite some warmth and comfort in the other.

Encouraging intimacy, encouraging Optimus to trust Megatron with the more private, delicate parts of himself. Encouraging those hands to linger longer.

Optimus hummed something like the start of his name into his mouth and something blistering hot shot through Megatron’s spinal strut and down to his pedes.

Proving he could manage some ounce of control of himself, the bigger mech somehow refrained from wrapping a servo around Optimus’ middle and lifting him up into a kiss more fierce and inescapable.

He curled thick digits easily around the other’s arms instead. Pulling him close, forcing their chests to bump, knocking a noise loose from Optimus’ throat.

The little truck settled an open palm over a hip seam and stroked, and Megatron did well enough not to smotherhim back into the floor right there and-

“Ze mat is for sparring.”

Optimus pulled away with a squeal not unlike that of a trapped glitch-mouse in a Cyber cat’s claws. Megatron grinned like an incorrigible cur, elated to have left the other in such a bothered state.

He looked down at the plush of those dermamesh cheeks, turning the same color as his daydreams. Soft, gentle hues of pink and red. Megatron could kiss at them until the end of time, let the world and empire he’d built for himself crumble around them.

But there he’d gone and been appallingly romantic again.

“I’m sorry, Commander Strika.” Optimus said looking somewhere between brave for the sake of due respect and melting through Megatron’s servos and into the floor.

Megatron looked considerably less apologetic. He looked downright proud of himself, even.

“Well, we were sparring, if you ask me.” He chuckled, delighting in his mate’s affronted gasp.

Strika was quick to defend Optimus’ honor, intent on Megatron keeping this intelligent, responsible mech in his life for as long as she was able to see to such. If that meant acting her age while her Lord was acting half it, very well.

She was only a party mech on her off shifts, anyway.

“You outdated, carnal-wired circuit board. Take zis somevhere you aren’t parading your prize for every optic to see.”

Optimus blushed deeper at being called a ‘prize’. And by his temporary commander, no less.

“You don’t want just anybot ogling your precious little Prime vhen he’s like zis, do you?”

That did it.

Megatron bristled. Optimus could feel his plates tighten and lock, finding the decency to compose himself finally. His hands on Optimus’ low back -when had they gotten there?- flattened, as if to shield as much of him as he could from the world outside their little sparring mat.

“You are the only one taking audience.” He snarled at the tank.

Optimus always admired how Strika never buckled like most mechs did under his ferocious gaze. Like how he did when it was Ultra Magnus talking to him.

“I’m making sure jou don’t do anyving inadvisable and unbefitting out here in public.” Vacant room, or not. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Her leader chided, and Strika looked closer to punching him now, than ensuring he had a future with this darling, little idiot firetruck.

But Megatron stood firm.

“It wasn’t going in.... that... direction, obviously.” He carefully explained. Honestly unsure how the civil frame would feel about such a thing. He certainly didn’t want to imply he would have done so without his agreeing to such.

But Optimus blinked in surprise at this.

“It wasn’t?” He asked before his better sense could tell him to bite his glossa and think first.

The two war mechs startled and looked him over, then shared a look amongst themselves. In the next blink, Megatron was back to looking his wolffish and clever self again. Eyeing Optimus up and down shamelessly, despite their livid chaperone.

“I was trying to be a gentle mech-“

“Not hardly, my ‘Lord’.”

“And keep my intentions to myself, until they’d been discussed properly. Gracious, little Prime. Were you hoping for something more?”

“Megatron!” Strika had forgone formalities. They’d agreed using his title while she was beating him into stasis did feel condescending, honestly.

Optimus was torn how to answer, because yes. He definitely had been thinking it was.. headed... that.... ‘direction’.....

Oh, Spark.

Optimus stared down at his pedes like they’d done him a great disservice not choosing to run at full speed in the opposite direction. Full lips pulled into a scowl that looked rather venomous.

Megatron basked in the sight of those glowing red cheeks on his favorite mech in the infinite universe, standing there flustered and fuming at having been so free with his affections.

Well, Megatron would gladly be the first to assure him they hadn’t been misplaced, nor were they unappreciated.

“The room is yours.” He told Strika, not sparing a glance away from the pretty Prime who’d occupied much of his processing power -including the parts once dedicated to the important matters of being a faction wide leader.

He’d given up getting through a field report without staring at sleek, silver pedes walking about in the corner of his optic. Imagining them strutting over his way and offering him to come take a break from ‘working so hard’ with their company. Crossed at the knee, sat atop the edge of his desk.

“I don’t vant it.” Strika sighed, exhausted, though waiting until Megatron had carried off his ‘prize’ and found someplace secure before abandoning the misused room.

Comforted only by the memory of what she’d had Lugnut do to her on the very mat they’d gotten themselves familiar on.

Megatron, as she’d imagined, couldn’t resist a spark deep calling within himself to sling an indignant Optimus over his shoulder and march off towards his quarters like a gladiator peacocking his beaten opponent in the pits.

Optimus put up a well enough attempt at looking scandalized by it. All up until Megatron dropped him down into his awaiting arms and carried him off with a tentative palm rubbing under both his knees and back. He forgot he was supposed to be offended after that.

—————

Just wanted to write Megop kissing, y’all, I’m dying.

drabble #89

yoongi x reader || angst || 1.301 words (oops?) prompt: “i noticed” warnings: cursing, mentions of violence, death & murder rating: pg-17 tags: brother’s best friend to lovers, spy!au

“You know what’s funny? I never asked for any of this. You think you’re doing me a favor, but you’re not” you pointed your finger at him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t need anything, to be honest. Matter of fact, I don’t know why you’re still here.”

“Because I care about you” he walked towards you.

“Oh, you care about me?” you scoffed, “Please, just get out” pushing him out of the way.

“I promised your brother I would take care of you” he turned his back, grabbing your wrist.

“That’s not my problem” you yanked your arm away, “That’s between you and him.”

“You’re acting out. It’s fine, go ahead.”

“I’m not acting out. Don’t treat me like a child. I’m a grown woman.”

“You didn’t have time to process his death” he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for just a second, like he was talking to himself more than to you, “This is your way of grieving.”

“Shut up” you shouted.

“Let me help you” he reached for your hand once again.

“Are you deaf?” you took two steps back, hitting your lower back on the doorknob, “I don’t need help. And if you’re not getting out then I am.”

He was faster than you, and as soon as you tried to cross the threshold he blocked the way, both hands on the frame, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Watch me” you challenged him, feeling the rage burning inside, and proceeding to go below one of his arms.

“No” he moved his right leg and blocked you. Again.

“Move” you warned him, punching his left rib with your right hand, yet he didn’t even flinch. “Yoongi, get out of my way.” You weren’t shouting anymore you were straight-up yelling at his face.

“Not until you calm down.”

“You know I’m not scared to punch you in the face, right?”

“I noticed” he mocked. The frustration you felt was overwhelming, and the mere fact he was alive and breathing instead of your brother was driving you absolutely insane. So you tried to punch him a few times with no luck. He kept dodging.

“You’re going to get hurt” he held your wrists firmly, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You already did! Now move!”

“I did? When?” he asked, letting you go.

“When you let my brother die.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about” Yoongi's eyes displayed so many emotions at once, it was hard for you to understand what was truly going through his head. But one thing you were sure of: he was on the verge of shedding a few angry tears.

“He trusted you, you know? He really did. Fuck, at some point so did I. Never, in my wildest dreams, thought you would betray him.”

Yoongi took a step closer, your noses almost touching, “I didn’t betray him.”

“Fine. Whatever you say” you laughed, and then pushed him, “Now let me go.”

Yoongi closed his eyes in exasperation as soon as your hands touched his chest.

“Calm. Down” he replied annoyed.

“Stop telling me to calm down. Stop telling me you’re going to help. Stop telling me you care about me. Stop with all this bullshit. You’re not who I thought you were. Again, you think you’re doing me a favor, but you’re not. I’m tired of looking at your face and being reminded of what happened. I will always be better off on my own. You took him away from me. You really did. He never wanted this life, this was not his dream, but he went along with it because his ‘best friend’ needed him. And where does that leave me, huh? He never cared to ask either. It’s okay. I get it. But you? Ha, you have some nerve showing up like this, trying to boss me around. You act like you need to save me or something. I don’t need saving. I need my brother.”

“I know” Yoongi ran his fingers frantically through his hair.

“Get out of my way” you walked past him, heading towards the door again.

“Please,” he shouted and you turned, “just listen to me” he added more softly.

“Let me make one thing abundantly clear,” you ran up to his face, tears streaming down your cheeks, “I don’t know what my brother told you but I’m not some fragile little girl. If I wanted to I could kill you right now.”

He tilted his head, eyes red, looking like a mad man, “Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not like you” you stared at Yoongi like he was trash. Absolutely disgusting. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You were hurt, lost, and scared. Living in a world without your brother was very scary.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” Yoongi sniffled and started pacing around the room, “You don’t know the whole story. Stop acting like a child then I might stop treating you like one. Fuck!” he punched the air, “Do you think this is easy? I lost my best friend, my brother.”

“You’re so fake, oh my god” you covered your mouth.

“That bratty attitude won’t get you anywhere” he stopped and faced you, “Instead of saying so much shit, why don’t you ask me what truly happened that day? Why don’t you ask me the full story? You go on and on about your brother’s death but you weren’t there. You didn’t see it. You didn’t feel it happen. You didn’t hear him take his last breath. You don’t know what it was like to see your favorite person just cease to exist right in front of you.”

By the time Yoongi was done with his rant he was once again right in front of you. It was a stare-down contest for a few seconds before you managed to voice more calmly what you really wanted to say.

“I don’t trust you” you poked his chest, “I don’t know you” you poked again, “For all I care you can lie about the whole thing, which is exactly what I think you've been doing since December so…” you turned and walked to the couch to grab your bag. You were leaving.

“So what? What are your other options?” Yoongi confronted you, coming right behind, “Who can you call right now that knows your brother better than I do? Who? Do you know any of his friends' names? Numbers? Addresses?” he stood beside you and leaned down to see your face as you threw a few things into the bag, “Were any of these people there when he died? No. So there you go. I’m all you got” he slapped his chest a couple of times, “You have no choice other than believe me.”

“This is ridiculous,” you threw the bag over your shoulder, “go fuck yourself.”

Yoongi chuckled, “You’re not leaving this room”, pulling you by the bag.

“Here we go again” you threw your bag on the floor, ready to slap the shit out of him if you had to.

“Listen to me very carefully because I won’t repeat myself” he kicked your bag to the other side of the room, “As of today, February 23rd, you have been placed in the witness protection program due to your brother’s death. He was targeted and killed, and we suspect you’re next.

“We?” you looked at him confused, “Who is we?”

“The government” Yoongi bluntly stated.

You felt your head spinning all of a sudden like you opened your eyes too fast on a bright summer day, “Are you a spy?”

“Something along those lines” he nodded, “So was your brother.”

You gasped. 

“That’s why I need you to stay fucking inside. I promised him I would take care of you, and I’m going to keep that promise. Whatever it takes.”

the new detective pikachu game is wild

Ahh yes. Let me introduce you to the ancient Australian hymn, Song About Birds.

nothing has fucked me up more than knowing the australian white ibis has a near-identical sister species called the african sacred ibis. the african sacred ibis is associated with thoth, ancient god of wisdom and reason. the australian white ibis is most commonly referred to as a “bin chicken”.