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She could feel his gaze. The feeling of being watched and stalked never left her, not even when she was shopping in broad daylight, nor when she headed to her mediocre job at night. She never managed to see him, but she knew he made sure to stay hidden. A futile effort, considering she always knew he was there, watching her.
"It's about time, I was bored," her coworker said as soon as she walked through the door.
She didn't have time to respond before she ran off, leaving the air thick with haste. The afternoon clouds swirled in a dull gray, an imminent promise of rain. Perhaps that was the reason for her colleague's hurry. Or perhaps it was the strange men who had just arrived. Strange to anyone, of course, but not to her. After all, when someone is used to living with their own oddities, few things truly make them uncomfortable.
Her job as a receptionist at a small motel wasn't anything special, but it was enough to pay the rent, feed her cat and herself, and maintain a certain level of comfort. Sometimes, she even earned an extra tip, either by lying to an angry wife or, conversely, by telling her the truth. But today had been a busier day than usual, and just as she suspected, the rain had become torrential after nine.
She checked her bag, grateful she'd brought an umbrella. Though small and far from keeping her completely dry, it would at least help her withstand the deluge. It was almost midnight when her shift finally ended. The rain was still falling heavily, and now the water ran like a river through the streets. With a sigh of resignation, she left the motel, ready to walk the few blocks home.
The umbrella did what it could, but it wasn't enough. Her boots and jeans ended up soaked from the splashing of the standing water. Walking at night was never completely safe, especially for a woman. She'd been mugged more than once, which was why she always carried pepper spray in her purse. Luckily, since she didn't have any valuables, the thieves usually made do with what little she had. However, tonight was different. Knowing he was watching her gave her a strange and contradictory sense of calm.
That calm was broken when the rain got even heavier and she heard the laughter of some drunks taking shelter around a corner. Unfortunately, that was the same corner she'd have to walk past. Drunks were always a problem. She'd witnessed enough incidents caused by them to know better than to be around them. But this time, she couldn't.
One of them spotted her. It was obvious. A woman standing in the rain, her clothes semi-transparent from being soaked, holding a small umbrella. How could they not have noticed? The man pointed at her, and the others smiled. That smile put her on alert; it was a sign that things could go wrong. Although, when had he ever had good luck?
Perhaps, until today. A sleek gray Mercedes pulled up in front of her, standing between the drunks and her path. The passenger door opened in a silent invitation. She peered inside: it seemed warm, inviting, dry—the complete opposite of her current state.
"I'm wet, I'll make a mess of the car if I get in," she murmured hesitantly.
There was no reply. The door remained open.
It didn't surprise her at all. Resigned, she quickly fastened her seatbelt, which flew toward her and fastened itself. Part of her felt ridiculous for implying that she would get the car wet, especially when Soundwave had endured the entire rain without losing sight of her. She wasn't sure how to feel about that.
The interior of the vehicle was warm, something she appreciated more than she was willing to admit. However, the drive was so short that she didn't have time to relax enough to fall asleep; in the blink of an eye, they were in front of her house. The rain had eased by the time they parked, but she still ran out. She left it open when she turned on the lights, knowing there was no point in closing it; he would follow her sooner or later.
She put the kettle on to heat while throwing her soaked boots in a corner. Wasting no time, she entered the small room where she took off her wet clothes. When she returned, Soundwave was already settled in one of the armchairs, with his kitten on his lap. The little girl purred happily, enjoying the caresses of those hands that looked human, but weren't.
"Would you prefer tea or coffee?" he asked, as he approached the kettle.
Perhaps going out in a robe wasn't the best idea, considering that in front of her was an alien robot that could project such a perfect human form thanks to its holoform. But, after all, nothing in her life could be considered "normal."
"You know I don't care," he replied. His deep, authoritative voice sent a shiver down her spine, as always.
"Coffee then. I like it with sugar. I love anything sweet. But I'll serve it bitter... maybe that way you'll learn to stop bothering me," she added with a touch of irony as she poured the cups.
He smiled, amused by her reaction, as he watched her sip her coffee and clumsily dry her fur. No matter how much she seemed to hate him or how hard she tried to push him away, he knew she'd never succeed.
"He likes me a lot," he commented, noticing how the kitten insisted on staying curled up in her lap.
"Being a 'pet lover' must take its toll, right? Laserbeak hangs around here some days," he replied sarcastically, though with no real intention of harming her.
"I can't be around all the time." "It helps with that," he said calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Have you considered unfollowing me?" she suggested with an irritated sigh.
"Never. Not while my spark is still alive."
There it was again. That feeling that shouldn't exist, but did. Their first meeting hadn't exactly been fortuitous. She'd traveled to the city on business, and then a gas leak or something similar occurred. In the midst of the chaos, she'd fled, only to find herself confronted by three robots engaged in battle. One of them had taken her hostage, but she was later freed. What came next, as they say, was history.
"I... thanks for the ride. I owe you one," she murmured, biting her lip slightly, a sign of discomfort mixed with gratitude.
He raised his gaze, meeting hers. His eyes, a deep hazel with hints of red, were so real she could almost forget what she knew. But that faint tinge of scarlet was a constant reminder that, no matter how perfect his appearance, he wasn't human. Nor would he ever be.
Soundwave let the silence settle for a moment, broken only by the satisfied purr of the kitten on his lap. Then, in that deep voice that always managed to put her on alert, he commented,
"Without me, you'd be a mess." She let out a short, ironic laugh. She took a sip of her coffee before answering.
"You may be right. But, even though I don't have luxuries, this is enough for me. I don't need more."
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words from some angle she couldn't quite grasp. Finally, in a tone that sounded almost like a whisper, he said,
"If you would agree to be my conjux, I could give you the world. Anything you wanted would be within your reach."
His words left her silent, not because they surprised her, but because his insistence unsettled her in a way she wasn't willing to admit. She looked down at the cup in her hands, searching for the right words to respond.
"I don't doubt you would," he said finally, his tone a mixture of gentleness and firmness. "But your way of giving me the world wouldn't be the right one."
He didn't respond immediately, but the intensity in his eyes made her feel like she could read every corner of his mind. It was as if he wanted to challenge her words, but at the same time, she knew what she'd said was true.
"And what would be the right thing to do, then?" he finally asked, with a hint of genuine curiosity.
She shook her head, a small smile touching her lips.
"To give up this war you're waging, to stop plotting against my kind... Something like that would be a good start. But I know it's something you'll never be able to do or understand."
The kitten shifted slightly, seeking a more comfortable position on Soundwave's lap. He looked down at the small animal, stroking her absentmindedly, as if processing her words.
"Don't underestimate what I can understand," he finally murmured.
She stared at him. She would never understand why someone like him had taken notice of her. Perhaps it was a mere whim, or just a toy for his entertainment. But in these domestic moments, it was impossible to ignore the way her heart fluttered with emotion.
"Perhaps I don't underestimate you. But I know you won't change, even if I ask you to."
The firmness in her voice made him smile. Yet it was impossible to decipher whether that smile reflected resignation or simple amusement.
"I guess we'll settle."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation, getting up from her seat to take her empty cup to the kitchen.
"I don't know if you can be helped, Soundwave."
He didn't respond. Instead, he stood up and followed her. Before she could react, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. His holoform even simulated breathing, a deception as cruel as it was perfect. And yet, she fell for it with disconcerting ease. She closed her eyes, leaning against his chest, letting that false warmth envelop her and bring her comfort.
He turned her in his arms with disconcerting ease before joining their lips in a gesture that, although expected, was still electrifying. She didn't hesitate to reciprocate. There was something about him, something about the way those lips, simulated but astonishingly real, felt sweet and soft, disarming any resistance she tried to muster.
Soundwave didn't break contact. With an ease bordering on arrogance, he lifted her off the ground, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. He moved with her to the bedroom, knowing every corner of that small house better than the owner herself. "How cruel you are," she thought, feeling the weight of his gaze even with her eyes closed. "You know every detail of my life, every weakness, and yet... I can't walk away."
The kiss continued, intense and voracious, as if both were trying to fill a void they knew was impossible to satisfy. Upon reaching the bedroom, he closed the door with silent precision; she didn't hear the click, but she felt it in the atmosphere. The darkness wasn't an obstacle; the dim light filtered through the curtains barely outlined the shadows of the furniture and the outline of their entwined bodies.
She felt the bed brush against the back of her legs, and she understood that he had led her there with that calculated precision that seemed to define him. He didn't break the kiss; instead, he gently tilted her, allowing them both to fall onto the mattress in perfect synchrony.
"This is wrong," she thought, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, guided by an impulse she couldn't stop. "It's always been wrong, and I know it. I know there's no future in this, but I don't want it to end."
It was a vicious cycle she couldn't, and worst of all, didn't want to break out of. There was something addictive about that contradiction: the false comfort he offered, the emptiness he filled while simultaneously creating it. The way her emotions manifested as an obsession as sick as it was seductive.
When he finally pulled away, barely enough to look into her eyes, she searched for something in that artificial gaze. Something she never found, but couldn't stop searching for.
"You're cruel," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Soundwave didn't respond. Instead, he caressed her face with a tenderness that seemed as real as everything else about him. And in that moment, she knew she was lost. Getting lost has never been so easy or so inevitable.
"So are you," he finally murmured, his voice ringing with a mixture of reproach and need. "Because you're not mine, and yet you let me have you."
It was ironic, coming from the psychopath he was, but the words became unnecessary when his lips claimed hers again. The robe was soon forgotten, along with her nightgown, as her stupid brain found itself unable to think of anything beyond Soundwave's hands roaming over her body, caressing her with a precision only he could possess.
Her own hands responded to the touch, unbuttoning the shirt that, to her misfortune, felt all too real, like the broad, toned chest it revealed. His touch, the apparent warmth of that engineered perfection—it all seemed like a cruel mockery.
Because he was cruel. Everything in his holoform was created to be a trap, her trap. Every detail meticulously planned to lure her, to envelop her in a desire she knew was doomed, but from which she couldn't and wouldn't escape. And he knew it.
He knew his trap was perfect. He knew it from the way he kissed and sucked her nipples, drawing gasps from her as she clung to his back, trembling under the provocation. He knew it from the way her hands, gentle but relentless, slid down his chest, searching for something he would never allow her to reach. And he knew it from the moan that escaped her lips when he stilled his movements, trapping her hands above her head with an ease that only accentuated his control.
He watched her tremble, her body surrendering, her legs opening in a silent invitation he would never refuse.
"Soundwave, please," she whispered, her pleas becoming an addictive echo that resonated in his mind, impossible to ignore.
Perhaps, deep down, Soundwave was also a victim of the cruel poison of love. But he couldn't—shouldn't—believe in those feelings. A Decepticon didn't allow himself such weaknesses. So, instead of responding with an "I love you," he kissed her again.
She broke the kiss, letting out a sigh heavy with frustration and pleasure, her eyes rolling back as she felt him enter her. His wet warmth would always be an unforgettable experience, no matter how many times they did it. Her hands remained trapped beneath the firm grip of his, but Soundwave kept his other grip on her hip, setting a gentle, deliberate rhythm, one he was sure drove her wild.
"Sou... Soundwave..." she gasped, her voice choked, nearly breaking under the intensity of the moment.
He waited, with almost cruel patience, until her words became unintelligible sounds and the only language she could speak was the moans that bore his name. Only then did she let that gentle rhythm transform into something brutal, overwhelming, designed to push her to the limit.
There was something deeply arousing in the knowledge that he was her superior in strength, an imposing being who could crush her with a gesture, but never would. He always found the exact right spot, the perfect dose of power, to bring her to climax again and again. He didn't just claim her; he marked her with every movement, every touch, and every stifled moan. Because, even though she hated him with every fiber of her being, she belonged to him in a way neither of them could explain or deny.
The climax came like a devastating wave, consuming them both in a whirlwind of pleasure and vulnerability. She arched beneath him, her hands clenching the sheets as if they were her only anchor in a world falling apart. Soundwave, with one last determined movement, let the intensity of the moment claim him as well, his body trembling briefly as he enveloped her completely.
The room fell silent, broken only by their ragged gasps. He didn't pull away immediately, as if prolonging this contact might give her a more real, more lasting connection. But she, her breathing still ragged, looked at him with half-closed eyes, shining with a peaceful weariness.
"I love you..." she whispered, her voice soft and sleepy, as if those words had escaped from the depths of her being without her being able to stop them.
Soundwave tensed. That confession, so simple and so devastating, pierced his defenses with the precision of a gunshot. He looked at her, studying her relaxed and vulnerable face, and for a moment that seemed eternal, he considered what that meant to him.
He knew those words weren't for someone like him. He wasn't designed to receive them or to reciprocate them. Love was an alien, almost absurd concept for a Decepticon, and yet the way those two words struck him disarmed him.
He didn't respond. He couldn't. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that belied his nature, a gesture that said everything he could never put into words. As she sank into a peaceful sleep, Soundwave watched her silently, his mind caught in a tangle of conflicting emotions. He knew he could never say "I love you" to her, because it wasn't his place, because he shouldn't, because he couldn't allow himself that kind of weakness.
But he also knew something else. She belonged to him, as he belonged to her, even if neither of them could fully admit it. And as the night wore on, he stayed there, protecting her, still trapped in the cruel, beautiful poison of what he couldn't have.
Dawn light filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, silent glow. She woke slowly, blinking to clear her sleep as the feeling of emptiness beside her began to settle in even before she fully opened her eyes.
She knew it before she realized it. The bed beside her was cold, the absent weight of his body confirming what she always feared and, at the same time, hoped for. Soundwave was gone.
With a sigh, she sat up, letting the sheets slide over her skin. She walked barefoot to the living room, where the low hum of the television filled the space with a constant murmur. On the screen, images switched from channel to channel, a movement too deliberate to be random.
"Laserbeak," she murmured, recognizing the invisible but constant presence that always followed her when he wasn't there.
On the coffee table, she found a note folded with almost military precision. She took it with trembling fingers, instantly recognizing Soundwave's neat, mechanical handwriting.
"I have business to attend to in Chicago. Laserbeak will continue to monitor you. Stay safe."
The words were simple, impersonal, as always. But this time, something in them resonated differently. An unfamiliar restlessness lodged in her chest, like a shadow that expanded with every heartbeat.
She sank back onto the couch, the note still in her hand, as a sense of loss began to creep in. This wasn't the first time he'd left without saying goodbye. It was his routine, his way of protecting herself from something they both knew they couldn't have. And yet, this time, she felt something different. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that, perhaps, this had been the last time she'd ever see him.
The thought struck her with unexpected force, making her throat close and her eyes fill with tears. She resisted, as she always did, but one of them escaped, tracing a slow path down her cheek. She stood there, staring at the television without really seeing it, as Laserbeak continued his silent vigil. Deep down, she knew she would keep waiting, even if waiting meant facing the possibility that he might never return. Because, even though she hated him for who he was, she loved him in a way no one else could understand.