“There’s all sorts of jobs— chefs, mechanics, cyber analysts, engineers, dont just have to be a soldier.” The army recruiter outside your local supermarket rambles, clearly trying to get at least one recruit today at the minimum. Otherwise he’d definitely get in big trouble. “And you’re a beta, so you can do both work with Omega and Alpha jobs! You’ll be fine!”

“What?” You look at him, that mention perking you up and he looks at you with glee. You were only listening in hopes he’d get you off his back, but that was certainly news to you.

“I bet you’re sick of fighting with even more people for jobs now, huh? In the military omega’s and alphas are kept very seperate, even so, they’re required to be on suppressants so everything’s very easy.” 

—————

So, that’s how you ended up here, bullied and forced into the shape of a soldier, something you still feel fake about even after countless deployments. It’s quickly forgotten though when you have the thrill of finally finding your place in society.

Your first team was mostly alphas, a beta here and there, but it felt great to have them treat you equally, slapping a hand on your back and grinning at a job well done. The omega team wouldnt even bat an eye when you were assigned to them, just as welcoming. Truly the best of both worlds, you could be anything you wanted in this system— it was like it was built for you to thrive.

Then the taskforce got established, and by a stroke of luck, you got transferred on. “You always run this early?” A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jump just to meet Sergeant Mactavish’ grin. After completing your demolitions course with flying colours, you soon got assigned under him. His hair is wet, mohawk flat for once, and you can only assume he just washed off. Still, his scent washes over you, easing your momentary shock and you nod, smiling. “Yeah, isn't the water too cold this early?”

“It’s alright. C’mon, let’s go meet the others for breakfast.” 

You follow him, the faintest happy scent trailing off of you as you do so, and spiking just the miniscule amount when you sit down at the table.

“Please please give me your bread roll, i love the jam they use for it.” Gaz pleads, clasping his hands together and you can't help but roll your eyes, letting him trade it for his fried egg. “I love you so much-“ He mumbles, already taking a bite out of it that Price rolls his eyes as he takes a seat. 

“Almost thirty years old...” He mutters and you giggle, eyes moving to where Ghost comes with his tray, sitting next to Price.

“I saw you on the track, you looked tired.” He says, giving you a pointed look, and making your cheeks flush. Oh, right. The night prior you’d been suddenly awaken to help deal with a feral omega, forced to give up hours of sleep to soothe them to submission.. 

“Just didn’t get the best sleep. I’ll feel alright after a coffee.” You give him a small shrug, eating more of your food. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer before nodding and carrying on.

 The sergeants were more than happy to include you in all their plans, barely batting an eye when your scent wasn't as strong as theirs or in combat training you couldn't hold as much of an intimidating presence. Nor did the Captain and the Lieutenant care either, always praising the fact you could slip by unnoticed, with no chance of wavering from the other two designations and such. 

It felt almost like a pack.. and it was perfect. So perfect.

“Johnny, just spill it!” Gaz groans as the Scot dances around the subject for the tenth time that morning, making you all roll your eyes at the breakfast table. 

“I got an omega!” The whole table falls silent, and then Gaz lets out a low whistle patting him on the back whilst the Captain nods approvingly. 

“And you wont show us a photo?” Ghost chimes in, making Soap stumble to get his phone out, excited as he passes the phone around. A sweet, soft omega. Round cheeks, a bright smile, hanging off his arm like it was the key to her heart. A perfect match to him.

“She looks perfect with you, good on you, son.” The Captain says, giving him a gruff smile and Gaz snickers at his father-like praise. Then they turn to you, as you sit in shock, fork gently clattering on the plate.

Your jaw hurts from how you physically have to force a wide enough smile, standing up and coming around to congratulate him properly. It’s even worse when Kyle insists he should show more pictures and so you stand there between them, making fake ooo’s and aaah’s in hopes it would hide the slightest change in your scent.

It changes everything.

“Soap, me and Gaz are going to the pub later—“

“Ah… cant, omega wants me to watch a movie with her. What about friday?”

“Oh— do you mind if we do some sparring today?”

“Uh.. okay, sure. Just gotta finish up this text to my omega. Ye know she’s getting stronger by the day! I’ve been helping her keep fit, yknow, to stay safe and all.”

“Do you want to go grab lunch?”

“Oh— sure. Feels like i havent seen you in forever.”

You smile wide when he finally agrees to hang out with you again— after all, it’s not like he was acting like this with Kyle. So you both enter the mess, going to grab your plate. 

“Ahh.. the ‘mega loves chicken like this, makes hers a bit more seasoned though. Bloody good.” You smile weakly, trying to start your own conversation about work, and the mission you’ll be going with him on. 

“Oh ye havent heard yet.” He falls quiet and you tilt your head in confusion, about to place the dish on your tray.

“Havent heard what? Was there a new brief?”

“You should talk to the Captain.”

Confused, you do stop by his office later that evening, gently tapping on the door with your knuckles and announcing yourself. With a weaker scent, he couldn’t tell you apart from the alpha’s across base with their scent blockers on, unlike the rest of the taskforce.

“Come in.”

“Soap said i havent heard something about the mission im going with him on soon? Did something change?”

“Ah, right. You dont need to go anymore.”

You blink in surprise, suddenly really confused by all of this and you step forward a bit more, scent souring. Not that he’d pick up on it.

“He’s a claimed alpha now, there’s no need for a beta to mediate.”

You stand there, the contents of your stomach in your throat as you process his words. Mediate. You werent there because of skills.. the CO who encouraged you to take a demolition course didn't even think you were good at it either. They just needed a beta to mediate in a field lacking them.

“Oh. Right.”

A month passes by of you watching Soap slip away from you, barely talking to you if not about his omega, never joining you on a morning run until you’re sure he’s forgotten about you altogether. At first you had chalked it up to him just being busier with mated life. After all, you’ve witnessed the pull of an omega first hand many times, how it makes them change. Though, his relationship with the alphas didn't change in the slightest.

With his protective instincts he was drawn to the alphas more now, always hanging around Gaz and and Ghost when they weren't busy, beelining straight past you unintentionally. You cant really blame him either, no one remembers the beta’s faint scent.

It was Gaz next. One evening you were leaning against him on the couch, unable to hide your despair and luckily he’d been nice enough to let you sit there without explanation. It was nice, you thought that if you had no Soap, at least you had your other best friend. He always made you smile, and he was the reason you even got a slice of attention from Soap these days.

And then it came. 

It started small, just hanging around Soap more often than not. Really you hadnt thought much of it, but it did feel rough when you sat also on the rec room couch just to watch them fully invested in something you could never join in on. You figured it was about Soap’s omega again, not something you particularly wanted to hear about.

Then it turned into turning down bar nights altogether. They would both cancel, Gaz excusing it with ‘plans’ whilst Soap was always honest. Sure you had the whole team, but being in the vicinity of four alphas in an alpha only bar was enough of a scent overload to give any beta a headache. 

Then you saw his lockscreen on accident, just wanted to check the time really. It was unmistakably obvious though, the smiles, calmer than Johnny’s one, but just as gorgeous and adorable. A real treat for the eyes.

“Congratulations.” You mumbled when he came back to the couch with his can, raising a brow at you. 

“What..?” He knew, of course he did. You knew his lying look.

“Got yourself an omega, when are you gonna tell the others?” 

He seems embarrassed, quickly grabbing the phone off of you, cheeks burning. “How did you see that?!” 

The next morning he announces it to the team and you join in with congratulating again, only too aware of the cycle that was soon to repeat. Only, it wasn't too bad with Gaz. You were grateful, so grateful when he still would spend a lunch or two with you, or even just talk to you.

“Hey, we going on our usual grocery run this week?” You two were put together on the rota for stocking the rec room and so you both head out, riding shotgun in Gaz’s car. 

You both had a copy of the list, walking around the store together, until you eventually got them all. “Oh! Just a second, need to grab some scent stuff.” In the small beta section they allowed, there were really good products to clear out scents from others that’d stick to betas and linger around. After all, you had a keener sense of smell, so being around the taskforce meant it racked up pretty fast on your clothes and on your room. 

Kyle was the first you confided in after you suddenly fainted once, at a bar, the scents too much for you to handle. Though you managed to quell it pretty quickly with these. Some you could just spray in your nose and go— perfect for getting rid of the oncoming dizziness.

“You know you dont have to get the fanciest things, just get the base ones. It’s at the back of the store and they’re expensive.”

You pause, he never questioned this before, not even the first time you had nervously told him— afraid to be undermined. 

“There’s no base ones..” You say with a raised brow, but you cant bring yourself to be too rude to him. Even if his tone was almost sharp, scolding, as if you were being selfish. Right now it feels like you’re reduced to your designations, and that’s it. Not humans, not friends, not even teammates. Alpha and beta. “There’s only one brand that ever does it.”

“Really? And what about the cheap scent clearers? The ones you used to use before.” He gives you a firm look, challenging, and you swallow, unsure where this hostility came from.

“..They got pulled off the shelf, Kyle. Thousands of beta’s got chemical burns— i couldnt smell properly for a week.” 

He pauses for a split second, like he’ll acknowledging the truth in your words and his wrongs, then just huffs, turning to scan where the empty checkout is. “Fine. Get what you want then, but I'm going to pay. I’ll meet you at the car.”

When you return with the small plastic bag, he puts his hand out for the receipt so it can be handed to you at a price for expenses on the card. “I paid for it myself.” You mutter back, your scent tinging sour and in the close proximity it might be noticeable this time. He pauses, and then puts his hands on the wheel, choosing not to comment further.

———————————

The sergeants are on a mission, one you were supposed to be on, but now you’ve been shoved into another with unclaimed alpha’s who need a bit of extra settling. Or rather someone lesser than them they can secretly believe they’re higher than. It doesn't feel much different to secondary school now, and you find yourself with less will to argue about it. 

Thankfully, Lieutenant Ghost is here with you. He’s always been alright— not exactly friendly but not rude either. You were quite intimidated by his rank at first, convinced he’d be strict and unforgiving but he’s content if you get the work done. 

“Handled that bomb in record time.” He comments beside you on the way back to base. There was another demolitions expert on the team but when news came up that there was another bomb they had not suspected, he immediately put his trust in you to disarm it. 

“Thanks for the chance, Lt.” You smile up at him and he nods, acknowledging your hard work. After all, you really did always put in more than your best. Even so, he cant help but notice you sink as soon as he shifts his attention to someone elsewhere, the conversation falling quiet. He’d be blind to notice the gap between you and the sergeants, even if you were a beta and them having omega’s shouldnt even bother you. Him and Price had to regularly reminds them to not walk around in clothes stinking of their partner.

“The sergeants are back from their mission, could hit the pub tonight. Whole team can come”

You feel too bad to decline now, so you just nod. “Okay. Yeah.”

—————

The Alpha only pub is bustling and you offer to grab the third round just so you can escape the thick scents building around you. It doesnt help that you’re basically rationing your scent-refresher as of right now.

“Omega’s doing good.” Soap responds to Price’s questions.. At least you’ll miss this mandatory conversation while you go. The bartender already knows you, greeting you with a welcoming smile as you start your order. It’s all going on Price’s card, so you take the opportunity to get a sundae instead of alcohol. He did owe you one after an explosive you caught right by his position. Besides, it was less than a tenner, and you’d savour it for life.

“Heat’s coming up though. It’s only three days long usually, but should go smoothly. The store almost ran out of supplies too.” Soap sighs loudly, shaking his head and Kyle nods along, also probably having similar issues. 

You’re not exactly listening, carefully holding the plate of drinks so you don't accidentally spill it with the countless bodies in this crowd.

“If they got rid of the beta section, they’d have more to spend stocking on the omega stuff.” A soldier hanging around elbows Soap, but he doesnt disagree. If anything the buzz of alcohol just makes him want to finally speak his truth now.

“Right? I mean really? Beta period products? Beta scent enhancers? Like those would actually even work to attract an alpha let alone an omega. Those scent refreshers cannot be real either, i mean, you’d think they’d want to smell us, ya know? Not like they get anything else— ”

The table goes silent, Gaz obviously kicking Soap in the leg until he looks up and meets eyes with you. The other soldier doesnt bat an eye, raising a brow at you. “Oh, your drinks are here. Can you order me two aswell?”

“I’m not a waiter” You snap back, and the Captain stands quickly, taking the tray from your hands and placing it down on the table.

“Think your team wants you back over there.” He motions for the soldier to go with his eyes, and he quickly leaves. “Thanks for grabbing them, i’ll get yours. Come, sit.” He turns to you but you freeze, shaking your head, and turning back into the crowd. “I’ll get it myself.”

“You idiot!” Gaz puts his head in his hands at the very obvious tension from Soap’s words. 

“I didn't know they was there!” He retorts, though also slumps into his seat a little more. “It’s true. What do you want me to say?”

“Enough.” Price sighs, pinching his brow, he should’ve stopped the sergeants earlier but he hadnt known he’d be stupid enough to say that. Even if it was something that they were all thinking.

They take their drinks from the tray you brought, Gaz and Soap downing theirs immediately as if that’ll get rid of the dread hanging on their head. Price begins to sip his light chatter starting up again until Ghost suddenly speaks up.

“They still haven't come back.”

It’s been five whole minutes, and there’s no sight of you to be seen anywhere. 

—

You’re sitting at the back entrance of the pub, empty at this time with the game roaring inside the pub. The alleyway it leads into is dirty, a few football decorations here and there, but mostly just black bin bags spilling out the large bins. There were two guys who had been staring you down for a while, like you were something that needed saving. The second one of them approached and caught your lack of omega scent, they immediately groaned and just turned away. 

You just stick your spoon back in your sundae, not even lifting your head the entire time, just letting the cold sweetness try and keep you together.

There’s a small noise as someone sits down beside you, a rustle of clothing, and then the soft click of a lighter. You turn your head, slightly surprised to find Ghost there instead of a random drunk bloke hoping to score a sweet thing.  He meets your eyes but neither of you say anything as you go back to eating your sundae. 

“Should’ve got the other one.”

“What?” 

“The bigger one.” He shrugs, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. “Price told us to order whatever.”

“This is the only one that can come in a takeaway cup.” You mumble and he doesn't say anything further, not even when you lick the spoon clean.

“Why are you here?” You ask, unable to keep silent anymore. It’s not like he actually came to see how you were, and you’re suddenly glad he didn't come ten minutes earlier when you were on the verge of bawling your eyes out. 

“S’posed to be a team night.”

“Maybe for the Alphas.” You grumble and he cant help but hum alongside you, not arguing with you on that fact.

“Cant stand the smell, can ya? Got the takeaway cup cause you knew you’d need to go regardless.” Of course he figured it out immediately, though you’d think it’s impossible to read you given how some people treat you.

“You mad i’m not fawning over your scent?” You scoff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, making sure no chocolate sauce lingers— especially with how he’s watching you right now.

“Johnny is a stupid drunk, ‘lright?.” He mutters, a bit of bitterness in his tone that always lingers, but it’s not directly at you. “Price’ll convince you it’s just his instincts and all, looking after the omega.”

You look over at him and give him a deadpan look, the most honest you’ve ever been with the man. Usually you’re pretty agreeable, in fact the only time you’ve had a conflicts was when they got injured. Turns out you’re the only voice of reason whenever that happened, as the smell of the blood sent the rest of them into a spiral of worry.

And well, after that, he can't really blame you for being like this.

“I’m going.” You mutter, standing up and throwing the plastic cup in the bin before wiping your hands on your jeans. 

To your surprise, he doesnt hesitate to follow you as you round to the front, heading to the little bus stop. It’s not the first time you’ve left early, but it is the first time someone’s made sure you’re alright by the end of the night. 

————————

Soap only makes a quick apology which you’re forced to just accept,, because what else can you really do? Mess up a whole team because of one thing he said which wasnt that far from the truth?

As predicted, Price did try and tell you it was due to protective instincts, wanting the best for his omega. Right, the same instincts that made him leave you like you were dirt on his shoe. 

Besides, life was getting busier for you as you now got passed between two teams. Either working with Ghost and Price or a different group of alphas. Passed around like a damn stress toy in your opinion. 

“So we’re going to the one in the highstreet?” Gaz and Soap are chatting on the couch, not that you’re listening, just getting your things out the cupboard to make yourself a hot drink. 

“My ‘mega loves it, craves the food there all the time. She’s gonna love meeting yours.”

Whatever, it wasnt the first time they’ve discussed plans in front of others. Wouldn't be the last.

“I’ll text the Captain and Ghost.” Soap adds, humming as he starts tapping away at his phone, opening their group chat you assume. One that you’re clearly not on, given that they dont invite you.

“You think he’ll even come?” 

“He’s not that antisocial.”

“Yeah but he’s only one without an omega dumbass.”

The container you're holding clatters against the table and they both back to stare at you with the exact same wide eyed look you’re giving them. If he’s the only one then Price..

You walk out like nothing happened, even if you can feel the tears start to burn your eyes. It was all going so well, you were all happy together— werent you? So why?

The cycle repeats for the third time. You’re taken off another team, not deemed useful enough anymore. You congratulate Price when you next see him, and he doesn't say more than a thank you. Somehow it hurts more that he didn't purposefully tell you— he just forgot, like everyone else did.

You stopped coming by the rec room the last time the sergeants had a movie night without you. The texts between them and you ran dry, and after skipping one breakfast, you just never came back again. That’s just how it was now, and they didn't even reach out once. In fact, all of the last messages were from you. An unanswered question, a conversation cut short, or a text that just never even got opened. 

Except for Ghost. He still spoke to you— well, as much as he’s known to anyway. A hello in passing, a chat between sets in the gym, maybe when you’re queuing for food. As much as you wanted to take the opening, you just couldnt, too terrified to. After all, it was only a matter of time until Ghost left you aswell. You should know that you should savour every last moment, cling onto it tight, but you just can't. It’s not like you two were ever the closest anyway.

——————-

You’ve been moved to an omega team this time. It’s not the first time you’ve worked with one, but usually they can balance each other out easier since they aren't as explosive as Alphas. It also means this is a mission you can't slip up on from the months of work they’ve put into this.

They welcome you immediately, and you grasp the ropes of it all fairly quickly, until it’s finally the day. The prisoners are right where you expected them, and just as told, the one in the middle has explosives strapped all over.

They evacuate the rest out whilst you kneel down before the explosives, watching the wires and where they turn and twist intently whilst the person tries their best not to squirm too hard. Even with your best efforts, nothing seems to match what you know but you frown as you notice the wire reaching towards the chair they’re bound to. Down to the floor.. a weak floorboard. The weight of the chair.. essentially a mine.

One hostage on that chair— you move her off and everyone dies. What do you even do? 

“Do not stand up at any point, okay? I’m going to get you out, but you have to trust me.” Shrugging all the gear off, you cut the straps that locks the person to the chair.

You hand her your gear carefully and step back, just enough to reach the doorway. There’s no telling how large this bomb is, but you can assume it cant be enough to seriously damage the ship you’re on. 

“Okay, you need to shuffle forward just slightly and place the gear behind you, okay? Then, when you’re ready, cover your head with your hands and run towards me.” The woman trembles, doing as you told and the weight of the gear seems to be a good enough trade off for the mine to not set off. 

After that, she bolts, and you pull her through the doorway and as far away as possible, shielding her as the shockwaves rattles through the ship.

———————

Ghost hadnt expected to see his phone buzz at this time, by the infirmary no less. But when they relayed what happened, he had made his way there immediately. You had just come out of surgery, a high enough dose of anaesthesia in you that you just werent acting right. He intended to wait outside until you stabilised, that is until the nurse rushes out suddenly.

“Would you mind coming in, sir? We need someone to restrain them.”

He steps inside to see you squirming against another nurse, slurring and trying to escape your bed, clearly panicked. 

“Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself more.” He reaches for your flailing wrists, forcing the nurses out the way as they stand at the back and watch you get manhandled by the alpha. 

Something in his gut feels uncomfortable with the stains of red across the bandages across your body, burns peeking out of some. So he carefully restrains your wrists against each other, holding them firmly.

“L-lieutenant?” You stammer out, dazed eyes searching for him intently until you manage to focus on his mask. Finally you stop freaking out for a moment. He turns but the nurses are already gone, probably called to another patient— the operation you were on had quite a few injuries for different reasons.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y’just came out of surgery, you’re okay now, alright?” He carefully lets go of your hands, helping you reposition yourself after you had tried to squirm off the bed. “I’ll grab the nurse, then we can see when we can get y’outta here.”

The nurse?

You blink at him, looking around at your surroundings, the sterile smell of the place attacking your nose. Simon was an alpha.. and the nurses, well specifically in this wing.. your eyes glance to the sign outside the door, the familiar writing.

“No- no you cant!” You barely manage to grasp his arm as he pulls away and he looks at you in confusion. The beeping in the room starts getting even louder than before, almost incessant and you feel like your chest is going to explode.

“Your heart rate is rising, sarge. You need help—“

“Lieutenant— no, please-“ You whine pathetically as he pulls away from you, leaving him stunned until he reluctantly steps closer again before you throw yourself entirely out of the bed to reach him.

“I wont let ‘em hurt you, promise.” He can only assume you must be scared of needles or something, a fear of medical care surely. He never knew that about you, and it spikes something in his chest, a cog in his head. The fear radiating off of you is palpable, and he can smell the faintest change of your scent in the air. 

“No- no! The nurse— she’s an o-omega, you cant—“ You choke out, head getting dizzy from all the sudden movement as you desperately clutch his sleeve. It forces him to stay right there, not the grip on his sleeve but the desperation in your eyes.

“Sarge— i’m not gonna act like a wimp in rut from talking to an omega.” He huffs but he knows you’re out of it. It must be the anaesthetic getting to your head, making you say all these silly things.

“You’re going to leave me- you’re going to—“ A sob escapes you as grip loosens on him and he freezes, watching you curl into yourself. Your forehead gently hits his arm, tears wetting his sleeve.

“I’m right here.” He says, voice quieter and it makes him breathe relief when the beeping settles down to a steadier rate, even if it is still high and you look even worse like this— so lost and terrified.

“You are..”  You sniffle, pressing your nose further against his arm. “t-the omega nurse- she- she’ll come and you’ll leave with her. You’ll leave me- a-and never speak to me again, please- lieutenant please.” Your hands tighten and he swallows sharply, letting your words sink in.

It was never about envy, not even the way you stared at them whenever they spoke about omegas. It was pure fear. And this feeling in his chest, it was tightening with each soft sniffle from you, instincts flaring. He’s never felt like this in his life, infact he was convinced he never would. But he just cant stand the sight of you like this— the bloodstained clothes, the fear in every small movement, your vulnerability. 

He steps forward without thinking about it, his free arm gently prying you off of him until you fall back against the pillows. “Not leaving you for some random omega, you silly beta.” He scolds, picking you up off the bed until your head rests on his shoulder, sniffling into his shirt.

“Gonna take you where you belong. Gotta tell me if i hurt you, though.” Warmth spreads through him now that he has you against him like this. It clicks something in his brain he didn't know was waiting for a stimulant.

All that leaves your lips are the sobs that keep coming, staining his shirt, but finally settling now the dizziness has settled. “Dont go.. don’t, please, you cant..” 

You’re right, he cant keep you around these omegas and all of this. No, he needs you to be healing properly around things you like— you want. He needs to look after his beta.

He grabs your duffel off the chair where it’s left, checking the corridor twice before marching through the quiet corridors towards the barracks. 

“I’ve got you, i promise.”

———————-

PART 2

taglist: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @mxxnechos

Letting out a grunt, Ratchet tried not to sniff the air to much and not let another grunt out at what information was given to him through this kind of intel. From even small distance he can tell just how bed their health is and from observing them his anger rose even more with every sip they took from that damn can. In fact he was upset with every one, but mostly with human who was Optimus’ pet, even if Prime rejected the accusations, hiding his over possessive behaviour behind protectiveness. And constant late night “snacks". Even if Prime tried to hide it, Ratchet knew that they were his “pet" and it be best to keep them in best of health condition. Which human failed to upkeep on their own, choosing to fill themselves with harmful fast food and high dosages of coffee, and then take pills to keep expected headache under control.

“You really should drink some water, Y/N" Ratchet sighed loudly, reminding Optimus human to actually hydrate, glaring at their fifth empty can as they tossed it in to trash can, hands visibly shaking from over stimulation, eyes red and clearly dry from how many times you blinked and rubbed them to try and focus back on the bright blue screen, reaching for another can from the bag “Y/N. Did you hear me at all?” raising his voice a bit to get human’s attention. Finally they reacted, lifting their head, blinking rapidly, letting out a questioning hum

“Huh? Oh sorry Ratchet, I could not hear you to well, I have music in one ear" pulling a small Bluetooth device out of right ear, they stared at him with confusion and at the same time apologetic look, “Sorry, you were saying?”

“You need to drink some water! You can not keep drinking this concoction of coffee and sugar. And for the love of primus get something better then this" finally snapping, Ratchet reached for bag of chips by their side, pinching in between his digits and taking it away from human, who tried to grab it, getting up and jumping to get it back, making Ratchet snort at the pitiful attempt to retrieve unhealthy snack. Finally you gave up and just grunted with exhaustion, leaning on knees to catch breath and closing their eyes from another headache. “I stand corrected, go get some water"

“I will I will” mumbling in defeat, you set back down, focusing back on your homework that needed to be finished “After i finish this page, I promise I will get some water" you sighed, letters swimming in your eyesight, and you can feel your heart beat and echo in your head. Ratchet only grunted with disbelieve, letting air out of his system through his nose, shaking his helm and rolling his optics, walking away to tend to returning team from a mission, helping humans with some kind of political issue. Seeing Ratchet walk away, you rolled your eyes as well, thinking to your self that maybe back on Cybertron, before war, he was chugging something similar to coffee as well before exams, cus you heard rumours how hard nursing schools are. You quietly opened the seal, taking sip of energy, while feeling your body shake. You need to stay awake, stay focused and finish this assignment, even if dead line was far away, you still did not wanted to leave it for last minute and then panic rush it. Letting out a heavy sigh, you dove back in to letters, lost in the meaning and using your caffeinated brain to try and force something intelligent out.

After hours you finally finished it, listening to read aloud going through last letters of your report, leaning back against the chair, bones cracking in your spine with pleasant relief and you got up thinking of something to drink, mouth dry despite finishing last can of coffee minutes ago, staggering toward restroom first and then thinking of visiting the vending machine in faded canteen. You avoided it for a bit after Prime literally pulled you out of it, body panicking any time you were near it for some stupid reason, even if the first “incident" was not the rooms fault. Still it took some time. Walking over to the vending machine, you ordered the same thing as always – chips and coke. Walking out, you only twisted the cup letting trapped gas escape with hiss when you heard it. Angry stomping. Looking up, you saw a very pissed ambulance walking towards you.

Noticing human walking away, after still drinking that poison after he asked them to stop, Ratchet quietly followed them, keeping an eye on what will they do next. Will they follow his advice, or do something stupid, further harming them self. Stepping behind them, he knew well how to hide his presence when needed, his footsteps quite and light, stalking human, optics focused, he can see them go in to restroom, then towards canteen, can hear the machine beeping, something falling and them leaving. And the choice that they made, made his energon boil with anger. After all the warnings he gave them, through weeks of observing, they still chose to continue harming them self, flooding their system with toxins and sugar. Letting out a loud grunt and marching towards human, he can see them jump in their skin, eyes wide, taking one step back, then another, turning and bolting down the hallway, dropping their food, as if understanding why he was angry. Far to late for that. It didn’t take much to catch up to them, in fact only three steps to gain on them and swiped at them. They immediately let out a yelp, gripping on digits and kicking air.

“What did I tell you!” anger rattled through him, shaking human a bit, seeing their whole body wobble with movement, eyes growing even wider and little hand hammered against his metal fingers, now pleading to be stopped shaken “Are you trying to kill your self!? If you want it so bad I’ll just let next decepticon get his claws on you!!! Primus" turning to side, he lit a loud huff mixed with snort. “I told you to drink water but no! The first thing you do is go for this sugar loaded crap, after drinking the other crap! I need you to be in best health! I I I have no words!!!” finally running out of words to scream at human, all he could do is just stared at them. Without even scanning them he can see just how bad they are right now – eyes still red, with small blood vessels popping, blinking repeatedly with short intervals, heart beating fast and he can feel it thanks to his servos hyper sensitivity, small trembles from to much sugar and exhaustion they were pushing them self through. And they steel had nannites in their bloodstream who were doing god knows who? Yeah, that’s it...“If you refuse to follow my orders I will make sure you get rest you need!”

Lifting them above his helm, he opened his jaws as wide as he could, intending on swallowing legs first, knowing that out of entire body, they had some good legs with all the escapes they have behind their belt. The human immediately started trying to wriggle out, kicking even more and Ratchet swiftly lowered them down, trapping legs against the roof on his intake, pushing body in to intake tube. Swallowing quickly, ignoring please and empty promises to take care of them self, Ratchet felt them quickly slide behind his intake and snapping dentas shut, he swallowed again and again, until entire body was in his throat and sliding down, plating shifting to adjust to prey, that attempt to fight back against him, but he was more stubborn and coding of a medic made him even more determent to send them down as quickly as he could. As soon as their weight got flagged entering his fuel tank, Ratchet let out a heavy sigh of relief. Wiping off a line of lubricant, bot placed a servo on abdominal plating, making his tank form a tight ball, restricting human from any attempts to get out and to finally get rest.

Unlike Prime or Bee, Ratchet was more rough with you, shoving quickly in to his gullet, machinery angrily gripping on your body and restricting any movement as it dragged you down, no matter how hard you fought back. It was to tight, in fact, you could hardly get a full breath and any movement felt like fighting against rubber. Finally you slid in to tank and you manage to get some moment to relax, though not for long. The tubes around constricted quickly, eliminating what ever space you had and wrapping around like a constantly moving weighted blanket. The tubes pushed against, rubbing liquid against you in uncomfortable manner, until it all calmed down and you were just left there, wrapped in tubes, wet and upset. You tried to move, but there is no space to even unwrap you arms from your chest, knuckles pressing in to cheeks, legs folded against your stomach, and you can feel something pressing in your back, momentarily making you suffer from sudden sting. What was going on?! You tried to kick to let angry ambulance know your discomfort, but you just could not, so you grunted and just closed your eyes, not that you can see much besides faint lights. It was far to uncomfortable to sleep, so you decided to stay awake, mentally focusing back on assignments. Though your thoughts soon become hard to follow, slipping through your fingers and anytime you tried to focus, you just lost it again... few time you snapped your self awake, body jerking with force, fighting against sudden sleep attack, yet you kept nodding off.

The morning sun hasn't quite burned off the dew when you pull into the park, rainbow flags already fluttering from vendor tents in the distance. Your car is packed with boxes that seemed much lighter when you volunteered for this. Pride festival booth setup. Solo. What were you thinking??

You weren't, clearly. But the community center needed volunteers for the Pride festival, and you'd raised your hand before your brain could catch up with your mouth. Now you're staring at an empty patch of grass in the heart of the park's festival grounds, a folding table that's seen better days, and approximately seventeen boxes of Pride festival promotional materials, banner poles, and what you're pretty sure is a canopy that requires an engineering degree to assemble.

"Okay," you mutter, hauling the first box out of your trunk. "You've got this. It's just a Pride booth. It's just one booth. People set up booths all the time."

The box is heavier than you remember. Of course it is. You can already hear the festival crew setting up the main stage in the distance, testing the sound system.

You're on your third trip, arms full of rainbow tablecloths and a box of buttons that's threatening to split open, when you hear footsteps behind you.

"Need a hand?"

You turn, nearly dropping everything. The woman standing there is gorgeous in that effortless way that makes you immediately self-conscious about the fact that you're already sweating through your shirt. She's got dark hair pulled back, warm brown eyes, and a smile that's equal parts friendly and amused. She's wearing jeans and a fitted tee that says "LESBIAN" in bold letters across the chest, which is both incredibly direct and somehow works perfectly on her.

"I..." You adjust your grip on the boxes. "I mean, yes? If you're offering?"

"I'm offering." She steps forward, easily taking the box of buttons from your arms. "I'm Parker. Parker Ellis. I signed up to volunteer this morning, but I wasn't sure which booth I'd be assigned to. Guess it's this one. Looks perfect.?"

"Oh, thank god." The relief in your voice is probably embarrassing, but you're too grateful to care. You introduce yourself, then gesture at the chaos around you. "I thought I was doing this solo. Which was optimistic, considering I ycan barely assemble IKEA furniture."

Parker laughs, and it's a good laugh. Warm and genuine. "Well, lucky for you, I'm an ER doctor. I'm great under pressure and I've definitely assembled worse things than a Pride booth. You should see what we have to put together when equipment arrives at the hospital."

"ER doctor?" You set down your boxes and wipe your hands on your jeans. "That's impressive."

"It's chaotic," Parker says, but she's smiling. "Which is probably why I'm good at this kind of thing. Controlled chaos is basically my job description." She surveys the pile of supplies. "Okay, so what's the plan here?"

That's when you realize you don't really have a plan. You've got supplies and enthusiasm and a vague idea that it all needs to come together into something resembling a functional booth, but actual steps? Those are fuzzy.

"Um," you say intelligently.

Parker's smile widens. "No plan. Got it. I can work with that."

For the next twenty minutes, it's awkward. Not bad awkward, just the uncertain energy of two strangers trying to figure out how to work together. You both reach for the same banner pole. You start explaining your vision for the layout at the same time Parker suggests a different arrangement. You're trying to be polite, she's trying to be helpful, and somehow you're both just getting in each other's way.

"Okay, wait," Parker says, stepping back from the canopy frame you've been wrestling with. "This is ridiculous. We're both competent adults. Why does this feel like a three-legged race?"

You laugh despite yourself. "I was literally just thinking that."

"Right?" Parker runs a hand through her hair, looking at the canopy like it's personally offended her. "Okay, new strategy. You seem organized. What if you direct and I'll do the heavy lifting? I spend twelve-hour shifts on my feet dealing with trauma patients. I can handle manual labor."

"Deal," you say, grateful for the structure. "But I'm not totally useless with the physical stuff. I can help."

"Never said you were useless." Parker's eyes meet yours, and there's something playful there. "Just playing to our strengths."

It works better. You start calling out what needs to go where, and Parker follows your lead, offering suggestions when something doesn't quite fit. The canopy goes up (after only two false starts), and you're arranging the table underneath when Parker suddenly stops.

"Hey," she says. "Quick question. Why does this box of condoms have a label that says 'dental dams' on it?"

You look over. She's holding up a box with the most bewildered expression you've ever seen.

"Oh god," you say. "Someone at the community center definitely mixed up the supply boxes."

"So what's in the dental dam box?"

You both look at each other, then at the stack of boxes. You grab the one labeled "dental dams" and open it.

Condoms. So many condoms.

Parker starts laughing first, but you're right behind her. It's the kind of laughter that builds on itself, getting more ridiculous the longer it goes on. You're both doubled over, tears in your eyes, and it's exactly the tension break you needed.

"I'm sorry," Parker gasps, wiping her eyes. "I just, the mental image of someone at the community center frantically labeling boxes and just completely giving up on accuracy..."

"They were probably like, 'eh, it's all safer sex supplies, close enough,'" you manage, still giggling.

"Close enough!" Parker repeats, and you're both off again.

When you finally catch your breath, something's shifted. The awkwardness is gone, replaced by an easy energy that makes everything feel lighter. You fall into a rhythm without even trying. Parker starts hanging the banner and you're already there with the zip ties. You reach for the box of pride flags and Parker's got the display stand ready. It's like you've done this together a hundred times.

"Hand me that tape?" Parker asks, and you've already got it in your hand.

"We need more buttons on the left side," you say, and Parker's nodding before you finish the sentence.

"The pamphlets should go—"

"In the holders, yeah, I'm on it."

You catch yourself smiling. This is actually fun. What you'd been dreading as hours of solo tedium has turned into something genuinely enjoyable. Parker's got a running commentary going, telling you stories from the ER that range from heartwarming to absolutely chaotic, and you're matching her with your own stories from your work, your life, whatever comes to mind.

"So there I am," Parker's saying, arranging pride flags in a rainbow gradient that looks way better than what you would've done, "three AM, this guy comes in because he's got a toy stuck somewhere it shouldn't be—"

"Oh no," you say, already laughing.

"Oh yes. And he's trying to tell me it was a medical condition, like he just naturally developed a vibrating object in his—"

"Parker!"

She grins at you, unrepentant. "What? I'm a doctor. I'm very professional about these things."

"You're telling me this story at a Pride booth setup. You're the opposite of professional right now."

"Fair point." Parker steps back to admire the flag arrangement. "But you're laughing, so I'm calling it a win."

She's right. You are laughing, and you can't remember the last time volunteer work felt this easy.

The booth comes together piece by piece. The banner hangs straight (miracle of miracles). The table looks professional with its rainbow cloth and organized stacks of resources. You've got a whole display of pride flags, pronoun pins, safer sex supplies (properly labeled now), and information about local LGBTQ+ resources. It's actually beautiful.

You're stringing up the last of the decorative lights when Parker hands you the final strand without you having to ask.

"We're good at this," she says.

"We really are." You clip the lights in place and step down from the stool. "I was dreading doing this alone, and now I'm kind of sad it's done."

Parker tilts her head, studying the booth with a critical eye. "You know what? We make a surprisingly good team. Like, scary good. I don't usually sync up with people this fast."

"Same," you admit. You're both standing there, looking at what you've built together, and there's a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the morning sun.

The booth really does look great. The canopy provides shade, the Pride banner is visible from across the festival, and everything is organized and welcoming. You can already picture people stopping by, picking up resources about local LGBTQ+ organizations, grabbing pride buttons and flags, chatting with volunteers. It's exactly what you'd hoped for, but better. This booth is going to matter to people.

"I work with a lot of people," Parker says, and there's something different in her voice now. Softer. "Doctors, nurses, techs. You learn pretty quickly who you can rely on in a crisis and who you work well with. It's not always the people you expect."

You look at her. She's still looking at the booth, but there's a small smile on her face.

"And?" you prompt.

"And I wasn't expecting this." She turns to face you fully. "I signed up to volunteer at Pride because I always do it every year. It's important to me to be visible and give back to the LGBTQ+ community. I figured I'd show up, help with a booth, do my part, go home. But this was actually really fun."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "Yeah," you say. "It was."

There's a moment where you're just looking at each other, and the air feels charged with possibility. Parker's eyes are warm, and there's something in her expression that makes you think maybe, just maybe, she's feeling this too. This unexpected connection, this easy chemistry that turned a mundane task into something memorable.

"So," Parker says, and is she nervous? She seems nervous. It's endearing. "The booth doesn't officially open for another hour. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. There's a really good breakfast place like two blocks from here. They make these incredible breakfast burritos."

"Are you asking me to get food with you?" You're smiling; you can't help it.

"I'm definitely asking you to get food with me." Parker's confidence is back, but there's still something soft in her eyes. "Unless you need to stay here? I just thought: we work well together; we should probably test whether that extends beyond booth construction. For science."

"For science," you repeat, laughing.

"I'm a doctor, everything I do is for science."

"That's absolutely not true."

"Okay, fine. Not for science. Because I'd like to have breakfast with you and keep talking to you, and maybe see if this—" she gestures between you both, "—is as good over food as it is over manual labor."

Your stomach flips. In a good way. In a very good way.

"I'd like that," you say. "I'd really like that."

Parker's smile is brilliant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You glance at the booth one more time, at the work you did together, the unexpected partnership that turned into something more. "Let me just grab my bag."

As you walk toward the parking lot together, Parker falls into step beside you, close enough that your arms almost brush. The morning is getting warmer, the park filling with volunteers and early Pride festival arrivals, rainbow flags and signs everywhere you look. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the main stage sound check, someone testing the microphone, and you can already feel the energy building for the day ahead.

"So," Parker says, "I should probably warn you. I'm very competitive about breakfast. If you order something that looks better than mine, I will absolutely steal bites off your plate."

"Noted," you say, grinning. "I should warn you that I'm very protective of my food."

"This is going to be a problem."

"Probably."

But you're both smiling, and when Parker's hand brushes against yours, just for a second, it feels intentional. It feels like a promise of more moments like this, more easy laughter, more unexpected connections.

You'd shown up this morning expecting to spend hours alone, struggling with canopy poles and banner displays at the Pride festival. Instead, you found Parker Ellis. You found someone who matches your energy, who makes work feel like play, who looks at you like maybe this morning was just as unexpected and wonderful for her as it was for you.

The booth is set up. The Pride festival is ready to begin, and so are you and Parker.

☆☆☆☆☆

A week has passed since the nightmarish incident. That day, all staff at Top Gun were informed, as is protocol, of the crash that resulted from a sudden birdstrike during field training, nearly taking the lives of two pilots. Both of whom had been close friends of yours.

Thankfully, both Natasha and Bob survived. Although, they and Coyote were rushed to the hospital for urgent care and testing.

But part of your job description as a rookie R&D Analyst was to assess post-mortems, and when you got your eyes on the images of jet – completely destroyed and burned, your mind flooded with awful hypothetical images.

They were lucky – you realized. Because one minute longer, one detail off, and they could have been gone. He could have been gone. For good.

Images flashed in your mind. Blood and lifeless brown eyes...

Your chest hurt.

Before anyone in the office could notice, you turned away from your computer screen – leaving the images of the destroyed jet on display – and strode out of the room.

☆☆☆☆☆

Engineers — even brilliant ones — didn't go into a job expecting to confront the potential violent death of the people they worked with. It’s not part of their emotional framework. So as a young adult that was new to the field, watching Bob and Phoenix nearly die did something to your brain. Making it scramble for control. And the easiest way it could think to do that was Distance. Detachment. You never wanted to feel that way again.

Prior to the crash, you had been assigned a project; a request to improve the laser nav systems, submitted by Lt. Robert Floyd. You and the WSO had gotten along extremely well, right off the bat. He didn't discard your ideas like many members of your own team did, and you were extremely impressed by his expertise as a Weapons Systems Officer and overall badass.

And he was kind. He often came across as technical and serious, but you found yourself inspired by his dedication to his job.

He was also... distracting.

When you two worked together when you just couldn't help a glance over at him. Your eyes tended to linger.

On his lips pressing together when he would concentrate. On the movement of his arms – muscular under his uniform, muscular from days of training out in the sun as he disassembled and assembled the machine you were working on. On the gentle hums he would make when you had suggested an idea and the way he would listen with the most intense gaze, afraid to miss a detail. On the way, his hair was a curly blonde mess falling into his forehead after a long day of training – the only time he could come and assist you with the project.

And what's worse? He was brilliant! He knew his stuff almost too well. Every observation, every test, and every note was detailed to near obsession.

You pointed it out once.

It had been when he had disassembled the laser chamber, displaying each piece on the desk and labeling them to perfect accuracy.

"I didn't know pilots knew so much about the cogs and gears of the weapons systems." You had murmured, not thinking much of it.

"I'm a Weapons Systems Officer." He leveled you with a smirk.

Your face must have gone red, because his smirk widened into a laugh.

He offered you his hand as if to introduce himself. "Hi I'm Bob. It’s my job to use the systems in combat. If it fails, I take the hit."

"Sorry! I didn't mean it like that."

He shook his head, laughing. "Don't apologize, I get that a lot. Just know I’m not just here to press buttons and look good in a uniform.” He winked, a rare gesture from him, and it was enough to ease a smile out of you.

Alright, so he was smart, beautiful, snarky, and also a badass. Great.

You always looked forward to interacting with the aviators, but it was different with him. It made you giddy. And you often had to remind yourself to be professional.

Annoyingly, thoughts of him would often cut into your personal life. At the gym, you motivated yourself with memories of him doing push-ups with his fellow flyers on the concrete. Sweaty and tired but still determined, and God damned resilient. With your friends, you'd re-told some of you work stories, which mostly involved him. And when you were by yourself...

That aside, you two had even made great progress on your project to improve the laser systems. In fact, the day of the bird strike, Bob was testing out a new fix you two had come up with.

Now, it had been destroyed along with the rest of the plane. And what's worse, you were pretty sure what you did next was going to hurt him even more

Because that evening, after you dried your tears in the bathroom and got your breathing under control, you requested to be reassigned from working with Bob on the project.

☆☆☆☆☆

You went through the next few days on autopilot, burying yourself in your work. Your new projects were dull, but dull meant safe. Your coworkers helped. They joked, they complained, they distracted you. They left at reasonable hours.

The aviators were all back at the academy, too busy pushing their bodies past the edge of human capability. Their breaks were short, their evenings longer. You barely passed them in the halls, and you were grateful for it.

Occasionally, the uncomfortable conversation you'd had with Bob would replay in your head.

On the day he was discharged from the Military Hospital, it was 18:05 when Bob strode through the metal doors of the hangar. Boots, cargo pants, white shirt — the usual. He carried his tablet under one arm, his dog tags tapping softly against his chest.

“We lost the prototype with the last jet, so we’re back to square one,” he said as he walked up to your table. "We gotta move fast to catch up—"

He paused.

You were perched on the edge of the desk, your work bag at your side. Not unusual in itself — end of the day and all — but you weren’t unpacking, rearranging, or reviewing notes. You were just sitting there. Like you were done.

His expression shifted. "Are you going somewhere?"

You stood, shouldering your bag. Just say it, you told yourself. Be professional. Clean cut.

"Lieutenant," you said, voice steady, "it’s been an honor working with you. But I’m stepping away from the project."

He blinked. "...Can I ask why?"

You hesitated. He was waiting — not with anger or even with disappointment, just that open Bob-ness that made it worse somehow. So trusting.

"I’m just not interested in the project anymore," you said quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

There was a beat of silence.

"That’s… sudden," he said slowly.

You looked away.

Then, he spoke up softly. "Was it something I did?"

Your stomach twisted. "No," you answered too fast. "Not at all. It’s not you."

"I thought we worked well together," he said, softer now. "Didn’t we?"

"We did." You adjusted the strap on your shoulder. "This isn’t personal. I just… want to try something else."

He nodded, but not like someone who believed you. More like someone who was trying really hard not to push.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat and standing straighter. "Good luck with whatever’s next."

You nodded and offered a tight smile. "You too."

You'd jerk back and shake your head as if trying to force the thought away willingly.

☆☆☆☆☆

You’d stayed late in your cubicle, distracted by some calibration notes. You barely registered the footsteps in the hallway until a shadow fell over your desk.

"Hey."

You looked up.

He stood in the doorway, uniform loose on his frame, dark bags under his eyes, stubble on his chin, his dog tags still. 

Iceman's funeral was mere days ago. It had really hit the aviator's morale. The death of a legend. Someone who'd been a mentor to them.

One hand clutched the strap of his bag like it was the only thing grounding him.

"I’m flying out tomorrow," he said.

You blinked. " …you were picked."

An unsettling feeling began to grow in your stomach. Either anxiety. Or fear for his safety. You weren't sure at the moment.

"Phoenix and I." He nodded. "With Mav."

"Congratulations." Your throat closed. You set your pen down, bracing your hands on the desk to stop their tremble. "Who else?"

"Rooster. Payback. Fanboy."

You nodded slowly.

Then, your voice caught as you said. "Be careful."

He didn't react. Almost as if deliberately. At first, it looked like he was ready to leave, but then his gaze was back on you.

"You know," He took a small step forward. "I asked Phoenix and Hangman about you."

You raised your brow, unsure where he was going with that.

He took another step, coming closer. "Figured maybe you needed space. But… turns out they haven’t heard from you either. None of us have."

You backed up just a little until the edge of the desk pressed into your hip. "You were all busy."

"Oh, we’d have made time." He paused — not hurt, just searching. The rest of his sentence was implied in his furrowed brow. And you know it.

It was true. Being one of the youngest recruits, you were closer in age with the mission candidates and have grown quite close with all of them through your work. And you've been avoiding them like the plague in hopes you wouldn't have to see any of them possibly die...

"See…" Bob cleared his throat. "I was going crazy, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Thought maybe I’d said something. Maybe come off too strong."

You didn’t allow yourself to speak. How could you explain leaving them in a way that didn't make you sound childish?

"I saw you nearly die and it fucked me up. But since you do this for a living and something... worse could happen, I'm scared of what it would do to me, so the less we interact the better."

Yeah, good luck with that.

His voice softened. "And then I realized. It was that day. Wasn’t it?"

You inhaled sharply, eyes stinging.

He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd you, but enough to make you feel him. "The crash."

You looked down. "You nearly died, Bob."

"But we didn’t."

"But you still could have!" Your voice cracked. "And what if you... don't walk away next time?"

His tone lowered, serious. "That’s the job."

"Well, I don’t do what you do!" You sniffled. "I haven’t had friends die mid-air or disappear off the radar. I'm not used to this. I'm not wired for it. And hearing you drop like that—seeing what was left of the plane... if you were still inside—"

You choked on the next words, eyes blurry now. "I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know it’d hit me like that."

He took another step. "So you left?"

"Wouldn't you? I mean—wouldn’t anyone?"

You found yourself wondering this to no end for the past says.

"And you lied." his voice was hurt now.

You flinched.

But he didn't fill the silence, waiting for you to speak.

"I didn’t want to tell you because…" you swallowed. "Because if I said it out loud, it’d mean I couldn’t handle it. That I’m not strong enough for this. For any of this.”

That I don't belong here. At the job I've dreamed of since I first picked up a physics textbook back in elementary school.

Silence. A breathless, raw silence that pulsed between you like static.

Deep, beautiful brown eyes searched your face. He was so close bow. "You think I don’t get scared too?"

You swallowed hard. 

His hand brushed your cheek. Barely there. And still, you felt it like lightning.

He leaned in — close enough you could see the pale gold of his lashes that brushed his cheeks.

Then he stopped. Right there. Inches away. His breath uneven.

"I want to," he whispered.

Your breath caught. You looked up at him, eyes glossy. For a second, he leaned in — the moment hanging in the air like a held breath.

Your eyes held his, steady now.

The words were on the tip of your tongue.

If you're going to kiss me... you'd better come back.

He hesitated, then stepped back. A full, aching step. "This isn't right."

Your chest squeezed. He was walking away and taking his warmth with him and what if he wasn't coming back.

Timidly, your hands moved from their place behind you and grasped as his uniform, and you brought your lips to his.

He gasped. The soft intake of hair brushing your lips. Then his arms wrapped around your waste and tightened, pulling you into himself.

He deepened the kiss. Lips possessive over yours, brushing in a slow but powerful movement that barely gave you a chance to take a breath as he took a step forward. Your back was against your desk.

Capable hands brushed over your body, as if memorizing it.

You wondered if he was thinking the same thing you were. What if this was the first and last time?

Sometimes, his timid demeanors made it easy to forget he was an battle-hardened soldier, a fact that was very evident now by the way he lifted you up with ease and held you like you weighed nothing.

He groaned against your mouth, his glasses brushing your nose.

"Its not fair to do this." His tone was quiet but hard.

With a sinking feeling, you nodded, agreeing. But as your harms began to lower from around his neck, he began to kiss down your throat, not as keen on stopping as you thought he was. Each brush of his lips or his tongue on your sensitive neck sent you gasping arching into him.

Thank god you'd stayed late and most people had gone home for the day.

Your fingers curled into his dirty blonde locks, also attempting to memorize the feel of him.

"M-maybe we should stop?" You stammered.

"Yeah," he nodded, though his fingers were undoing the buttons of your long-sleeved shirt, pulling it out of your skirt. "After, we'll stop."

You couldn't help but giggle, then shudder against the cold air hitting your skin all at once. He gently pushed you to lay down with your back to the desk.

Most of your shirt was still mostly on, only open at the front. His movement was slow and deliberate, lowering your bra straps and cups like he was disassembling a machine. Then he took your breasts in his hands and rolled his thumbs over your nipples.

Your breath caught as pleasure shot through your beasts and you moaned before your could stop yourself. He lowered his mouth on yours to remind you to be quiet.

You felt one of his hands travel down from your breast to the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, making you shake. He pulled your panties aside and slid his finger into your heat.

"Oh fuck," he was struggling to keep quiet too.

You could feel how slick you were, how easily he could slide his digit in and around your pussy, spreading your slick around and over your clit.

You looked up at him, as your chest still rose and fell with his stimulation of your left nipple. Bob had his lower lip between his teeth, eyes scanning your face and body, committing them to memory.

Then he lowered to his knees. Your hand flew to cover your mouth as you felt his tongue join his fingers.

"Nhn!"

You were getting very close.

His mouth began to move your your folds. Kissing you, licking, sucking your clit. He added another finger inside you, curving and making you buck your hips.

Your hands grasped the edge of your desk. Everything he was doing was sending waves of pleasure through your body. Palm still over your mouth, you bit your finger to stop the moans slipping out.

Then, as if he sensed you were there, he sped up his mouth and fingers.

Oh god.

You couldn't stop panting loudly as you reached your orgasm. Hips shuddering and bucking against him, you fingers grasped hus hair, needing him closer.

His mouth was on you throughout. Still leaving slow, gentle kisses on your poor, sensitive cunt as you came down from the high.

Standing up, he cupped the nape of your neck and brought you up to taste yourself on his lips.

He kissed you for a long time. You don't know how long.

"I had to." He said against your mouth. "I had to know what you tasted like."

The words made your breath catch. "Promise me you'll come back," your voice broke.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck. "I can’t promise that," his voice barely audible in your ear.

You nodded, even though it cracked something in you.

Bob lingered in the doorway. Just before he turned, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Oh — by the way… the laser nav works perfectly." A faint smile. "We fixed it."

And then he was gone.

Another meeting at LuthorCopr has just adjourned leaving everyone back to their task. though you didn't even know where to start. Somehow Lex had the confidence you would be able to uncover the identity of the red, white and blue hero that terrorized the city night and day.

As more hero's littered the earth you were taught to hate. Your father used to be a government official, convinced that the hero's would twist their agenda to then take over our legal systems. He set you up with a job at LuthorCorp hoping you would help bring an end to this madness society feeds into.

It was also your fathers attempt to hide a secret of your own. You had been a project of government experiments. Then adopted by your father to challenge the power of superheroes. Intensifying your strength, intelligence, and instincts.

Lex was convinced that Superman had an undercover persona he resided as. Uncovering that would surely destroy the sheer curtain of privacy he still somehow hid.

It really was just a waiting game for you, all there was to do was wait for the next unnatural disaster. After about a whole 15 minutes later a giant alien stormed through the city making his way for the park. A typal occurrence for Metropolis these days.

Running outside you catch a blue blur souring towards the monster hitting it in the jaw with a direct punch, Low and behold in was Superman.

The monster was quickly defeated by the people's hero. He landed by the crowd gathered watching asking if everyone was ok. But all you saw was the crumbled city that was left behind. Roads Destroyed, buildings burned, and windows shattered. You glared at the man.

You truly despised his self-righteous smirk has he greeted the needy fans. Rolling your eyes at the women who bit their lips and giggled as he walked by in his ridiculous suit.

--------

In the following weeks you spent hours studying all of whom Superman was. You calculated where he appeared from and where he left too. You studied his face. As much as you hate him you couldn't deny how used you got to looking him. Or his body. God.

He was caught visiting local markets and stores while in character that you tracked down. You studied interviews upon articles. One reporter in particular seemed to know superman very well. Clark Kent.

If you could get a little closer to this reporter maybe you would get the key to your impossible mission. How hard could it be to get your hands on him.

--------

You watched Clark Kent through the windows of bullpen. He was sloppy in his organization, clumsy with his feet, and had absolutely no control over his height even smacking his head off a door frame when walking into a hallway wrong.

After stalking the Daily Planet all day Clark finally decided to leave at 7:30 the sun just starting to set. You followed him all the way home until you reached a quaint apartment complex. Standing in your designed suit made from engineers at LuthorCorp. It was sleek black with pieces of protection that lined your body. A mask of course was necessary if you were going to go interrogate an innocent civilian.

Following Kent was pathetically easy, his large frame made astonishing noise walking up the echoey stairwell. You were close behind enough to hear him trip over his own feet while humming some stupid tune.

For a moment you heard him hesitate, almost like he knew there was someone following him, but his keys started to jingle, the door shutting behind him.

Carefully you pick the lock silently until in clicks open. The sound of running water spills from the bathroom, you peak in and the showers running covering the glass in fog. but there's no one in it.

All it takes is one small breath behind you before Instantly you turn around landing a solid punch to Clarks Face. Instead of fainting at your superhuman blow, he stands up straight staring back at you. His glasses slightly crooked now. How is he fine?

He gasps "What the actual heck are you doing in my house"

The exchanged silence of shock only lasts a second before you charge at him jumping onto his torso as he screams "why are you here!"

Your attempt to knock him down only backfired as he threw you across the living room. Clark Kent can fight superhumans?

"Huh?" It clicked after you recovered looking at him in his work suit but no glasses. He pushed his hair out of his face and in that moment, you knew you had found who you were looking for.

Now you were terrified because you hadn't just broken into the home of Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, but Superman himself. You were totally fucked.

This time he takes the first move quickly leaping across the room to capture you in his grasp. Both of you wrestle on the floor competing for dominance. It doesn't take long for the Kryptonian to win, you may be strong but still no compared match for Superman.

His large frame straddles you pinning your hands above your head, keeping his legs on top of yours so your unable to move. He rips off your mask and you make contact with his deep blue eyes.

"Who are you" he demands.

"Well, I came looking for Clark Kent, but I think I found something even greater" you say out of breath from the recent combat.

he picks you up pinning you against a wall the plaster crumbling behind you from the force.

"You can't tell anyone about this" he scolds "or I will..."

"You'll what Superman, because I know you're not gonna kill me" you look up at his height through your eyelashes. Smirking at his unlikely threat to hurt you.

The longer you study his face the more your distracted from the sole purpose you're even standing here right now. His strong arms pressing against your frame made you feel weak.

He brings his hand to your throat testing his own morals, never breaking eye contact. As he fingers slowly wrap around you notice the rough delicacy of his hands, and how big they are.

He squeezes slightly and earns a unvoluntary moan from you. Your cheeks are red with embarrassment as he looks down at you. Clark holds his breath as he tongue licks his lip in amusement.

In this moment you love the way you hate him, and he can sense the effect he's beginning to have on you.

Clark keeps one hand clutched around your throat has the other lifts your legs to wrap around him, he doesn't know what is overtaking him, he shouldn't be doing this it's dangerous.

A part of him loves the feeling for being reckless just once, the feeling overtakes his body as you squeeze your legs tighter around him.

Without thinking Clark carries you over to the bedroom throwing you down, you're back hitting the mattress firmly. He's quick to craw over you his hands roaming your suit.

the small symbol on the suit catches his eye "LuthorCorp put you up to this, probably didn't think you would get caught so easily huh sweetheart."

His lips crash down on to yours as your bodies press together in a heated kiss filled with lust and adrenaline. The kiss gets sloppy quickly, his swollen lips traveling down your neck.

bringing his hands up to the top of you ripping the high-tech fabric off like it was made of paper. His dress pants showcased a tent reflecting the heat he was feeling.

Now that he could see your body there was no going back " you're so beautiful" he panted while diving back into your lips not lasting one more second apart.

You unexpectedly flip him over discarding of his tie and ripping his white dress shirt off revealing his muscled body. Eagerly you made your way to his belt and zipper.

As soon has you pulled his pants down his large cock sprung out eagerly "mmmm Clark" you moaned at the sight.

"Oh, sweetheart this might be the only way to keep your little secret quiet" he said before sliding his whole length between your lips filling your entire mouth.

Clark kept a steady rhythm, both hands guiding your movements as he gripped and patted your hair. He praised you with "good girls" as you looked at him in awe spit dribbling down your chin.

Without warning he rearranged you underneath him holding your thighs apart to lick a wet stripe on your heat earning a deep moan from you as he started to suck. You knew you wouldn't last long.

"Clark, I need you in me"

He groaned entering you as your tightness squeezed every inch of him. He bottomed letting you adjust to his large size, while sinking into your lips for a deep kiss.

he didn't know such a bad idea could feel so good. He slowly started moving but was almost unable to control how quickly he needed more. Grabbing and kneading your breast eagerly.

You were practically limp as Clark picked up the pace ramming into you with such neediness. He was a whimpering mess with all loss of control the pleasure forcing you to grip his dark curls, to scratch down his back.

He reached his hand down between you two moving it in calculated circles, your eyes nearly loosing vision "fuck Clark I'm so fucking close please."

He wiped the tears of pleasure off your face; his brows knit together in ecstasy "cum for me sweetheart" he moaned as you both came undone. His sensitive cock twitched as his warm load releases inside of you.

Laying there striped of all energy you both catch your breath.

"So..." he hesitates "are you gonna tell anyone"

you smirk biting your lip "well... are you gonna let me come back"

He laughs "I think I can make some arrangements."