#dark deception

At least that’s what the demons thought. That these mortals that have treated them so kindly and with patience are innocent and wise.

But

There was a time.

Long before any god, any Lucifer, or any jokes or fun. Violence rained. Filled the heart and soul and war still lead the minds of every AU that came. Conquest and genocide. The way of the people. Savagery.

The AUs weren’t always patient. And they weren’t always tired and tolerant of one another.

But the demons didn’t know that… or need to. Every history should be left to rot…

But sometimes?

It can’t help but remain as a stink.

Especially when a new strange portal opens up in the meeting room. Shining blood red and showing the symbol of a peacock, a rat and a snake all biting each other’s tails and clawing.

@endstar

The demons who had all gotten comfortable with the lives they had been rebuilding look to the portal warily. 🍲"Th-that looks... v-very violent..."🪰

Beelzebub mumbles.

Between Metal and Mayhem (Bayverse Optimus X Human Reader) Oneshot!

Summary: You’re a street racer, living life in the fast lane, until a mysterious semi-truck (Optimus) ends up in your garage with battle damage. You patch him up without knowing who he really is—until the Autobots come knocking.

Warnings: none.

Word limit: 718 words

The first time you saw him, he was half-dead on wheels.

A massive red and blue semi-truck, battle-scarred, barely holding together, rolled into your garage at two in the damn morning. You’d been working late, tinkering with your prized ride—a matte black beast of a car—when you heard the sputtering engine outside. The truck looked like it had been through hell: deep gashes in the plating, shattered windows, and one side dented like it had taken a direct hit from a wrecking ball.

"Whoa," you muttered, circling the vehicle. "You get into a fight with a freight train?"

Silence.

You frowned. No driver in sight. Odd, but you’d dealt with stranger. The city’s underground racing scene wasn’t exactly known for law-abiding citizens, and you’d had your fair share of mystery clients before.

Sighing, you grabbed your tools. "Alright, big guy. Let’s get you fixed up."

A week later, your garage was starting to feel… watched. Maybe it was paranoia, or maybe it was the sentient truck you’d unknowingly adopted.

You didn't know Optimus was listening when you got into an argument with your least favorite racer, Joshua. The guy was all ego, no skill, and he had a bad habit of running his mouth.

"You’re seriously entering the next race?" Joshua scoffed, arms crossed. "Please. The only thing you’re good at is talking big."

You leaned against your car, smirking. "You’re right, I do talk big," you admitted. "But at least I can back it up. You, on the other hand? Last time we raced, you wiped out so hard I thought you were auditioning for a Fast & Furious crash scene." Joshua his pride taken down, exited from your garage muttering some curse words.

A low chuckle rumbled from behind you.

You turned, heart skipping a beat.

Optimus had been silent this whole time, parked like an ordinary truck, but now… he laughed?

"You find this funny, huh?" you mused, running a hand over his hood.

"If confidence is measured in words, you would be unmatched," Optimus rumbled, his deep voice nearly making you jump out of your skin.

You stumbled back. "WHAT THE—"

Optimus just sighed. "We need to talk."

So, yeah. Turns out, your truck was an alien. And now, his alien war was your problem.

The Decepticons came looking for him two nights later.

You were out testing your car when the first explosion rocked the street. A sleek, black Decepticon with glowing red optics skidded into view, gunning straight for you.

"Shit, shit, shit!" You swerved, tires screeching, narrowly avoiding a blast that took out a lamppost.

"Get clear!" Optimus' voice boomed through your earpiece.

"Kind of trying here, boss-bot!" You yanked the wheel, cutting down a narrow alleyway. The Decepticon followed, but it was a mistake—you knew these streets better than anyone.

"Let’s see how well you handle corners," you muttered, shifting gears.

You pulled a handbrake turn so sharp it should’ve been illegal, sending the enemy bot skidding into a concrete wall. Before it could recover, a streak of red and blue thundered past you—Optimus, in all his towering, sword-wielding glory.

"You drive like a Cybertronian," he remarked, cutting the Decepticon down with one brutal swing.

"Thanks," you panted. "You fight like a pissed-off gladiator."

"Not inaccurate."

You should have been terrified of him. He was a giant alien robot leading an intergalactic war, and you were just some grease-stained street racer with a death wish. But instead? You found yourself intrigued.

One night, while patching up his plating, you decided to test something.

"You know," you said casually, tapping a wrench against his side, "for a guy with a war record longer than my grocery list, you’re pretty easy on the eyes."

Optimus didn’t react immediately. You figured he'd either ignore it or give you some wise, noble response. Instead, he tilted his head, optics glowing in amusement.

"I could say the same about you," he said smoothly.

You blinked. "Wait. Hold on. Did you just—did you just--?"

He chuckled, low and deep. "Merely an observation."

You pointed at him, grinning. "You so did...flirt. Don’t think I won’t remember this, Prime."

"I would be disappointed if you didn’t."