#ikkosuwrites

[ikkosu]

DISTRACTION

summary : prowl gets distracted and it’s not his fault. warnings : suggestive, not full smut

PROWL feels strange and he hates it. Much like entities perched onto his shoulders, he hates that he’s stuck between giving into the warm impulse of the angel and shoving the thing away with the ire of the devil. Not that the latter wasn’t preferable, he’d do it in a heartbeat if he had any, the former was just — too tempting.

In the event he’d give in — to the angel, of course, — his actions would contradict the program he set for himself. The strict routine of a decree he abides by with the full heart of a servant. What is he, a lowly coward to fall prey towards such minuscule temptations?

“Prowl?”

There. There it is again, that adorable lilt in your tone. The stretch of the vowels that chirps into a playful purr. Oh, to strangle you dead and throw you outside the window was a better temptation than the one you're prodding him with. If Loki was a human, not that he wasn't one, you'd be the prime embodiment of the trickster.

He’s glaring at the datapad than the source of his misery : the lump of human flesh, cradled on his lap, the same way a cat does when it prefers to breach it’s owner’s sense of privacy. Except your face is smushed against his chassis and your arms are curled around his sides. Your pliant lips pressed against the cool metal did nothing to help. Why was it even there in the first place if not to piss him off?

"Prowwwwll."

"What.”

“What’s with the long face?” You had the nerve to ask.

Prowl grimaces. "If you didn't know any better I'd say you’re deliberately trying to distract me.”

“Distract you?" You guffawed dramatically like you weren't. "Me? Me distracting you? What makes you think I, the oh so vulnerable fleshie, am?"

Of course, he didn't have the pride to address that, because if he did you're never going to let it down until the day he's old, worn, rusty and tattered. And Cybertronians live for on centuries. So he hisses. "Don’t test me, missy. I'll have you know I'm still your superior. So you're in no way—"

“You said I could sit, so I sat.”

"On the couch. Beside me."

"On you or off it, it doesn't matter. I followed your orders and stuck to the plan. So suck it."

"In a professional manner. This is, in now way, howba subordinate would treat their superior."

"But this is more better." Your finger curls out to tap his nose and he flinches with a scowl. “You’re the one who’s getting aaaall warm by yourself and you're mad at me?"

“This is ridiculous. I’m getting warm because you’re hogging my body heat.” He grits through his dentas, reigning the last thread of calm. “ I’m not a chair for you to use as you please. I am the chief strategist, the second in command and I demand that you—"

“Too late, I’ve taken colony here,”

He's this close to snapping. Also, inaccurate wording, if you must. “That’s not how it works. Colonization refers to—“

“I meant, I like it here.”

“ I was under the impression humans would prefer things that are warm and soft. Not hard metal that could potentially crush you.”

That’s not the only thing hard, right now. He thinks grimly. Just as he thinks you're out of antics, you pull yourself up further against his torso, thigh against his sides, warmth wrapping around him. Prowl stiffens, hiding the muffled clang from below with a cough.

“Oh, they do. But d’you know what’s interesting about humans?”

His circuits cloud with the buzz of a hundred bees nagging his processors. No, he mustn’t give in. Ignore the thing and it’ll leave when it pleases. As he steels himself not to lose focus, his faceplate burned up, much the same way when he’s chastised by Ultra Magnus for implementing another ‘unruly’, ’inhumane’ course of actions against — well, whatever the problem is. But this time it’s not vexation he feels, no. It’s chagrin.

Your soft hands curl around his neck cables, dancing around the cords, tracing along the lines. Curse Primus and whoever forged that region to be so sensitive. He’s snapped into a trance against once the warmth of your body archs into his cold metal ones, molding into the crevices perfectly. The smile is still there; mischievous, always so playful.

“Do you know what it is, Prowl? Why humans are considered so interesting? So lovable, so adorable so....enticing?"

Prowl feels his dentas grinding and digits further digging into the rims of the datapad. That’s impossible. He can’t possibly be deterred like this. Prowl? The Prowl. Second in Command Autobot Prowl? Please, that’s just atrociously, physically imp—

“If you’re so insistent…” His helm swivels to you. The datapad is long forgotten, tossed to the side and his servos cup your sides with a gentle grip. He's seething calmly if that's even possible. “Can you indulge me about what’s so interesting about humans?"

He leans close, arching his body to dwarf over your own. The heat of his body is just as flaring as his frustration.

"They're inferior, just like you are—" You're now caged in by his arms, "—Emotional, brittle little fleshbags who can't keep their hands to themselves, so pathetic—" His croons rumbles like waves through your body even if he's an ass about it.

"How can they possibly be so...lovable, as you insist it to be so? In fact, I find them quite repulsive. Good for stomping."

His thumb pressed against your lips. What's a better way to counter his attack than striking up a better blow?

“How about you find out for yourself, Prowler?”

Your tongue flicks out, pink and slick and it trails a path down the digit.

He’s not always one to smile, but when he does it’s always that punchable, smug ridden tug of his lips. Like he knows better than half the planet does.Like he's always right and you're wrong. The crook of his nose nudges your own.

“Maybe, I will.”

His helm dives down, dermas latching onto your lips and before you know it you’re pushed up against the desk, datapads and stylus pens cluttering about to the ground disregarded. Your fingers curls into the crevices of his back.

So much for distracting.

#prowl x reader #idw prowl #idwprowl x reader #maccadam #transformers x reader #ikkosuwrites #transformers #transformers idw #valveplug

[ikkosu]

you want pharma and prowl? I’ll give you pharma and prowl!! Them both as romantic rivals trying(and failing) to woo reader (gn, can be whatever species) cause they are both losers (affectionate) they keep trying to flirt with reader, but are so jealous and possessive they keep getting in each others way, which is not helping their image in front of readers eyes. Maybe reader is a secretary and has worked under both, and their personality(and bod) attracted them in the first place . Here’s your pharma and prowl <3

author’s note : YESSSS YESSSSS THIS IS THE CONFLICT I NEED. ILL GIVE YOU A SMOOCH FOR THAT IDEA ALONE ANON. I’m a sucker for these tropes on goddd. Also don’t mind me as I change it to a medic, since it’s more flexible for me to work with <3 possible three some later ;;)) also, whoo! This is a lot longer than I expected.

ONLY ONE WAY UP THE HIGH WAY

summary : prowl and pharma finds themselves as rivals when they pine for the same darling pet and thus the inevitable egos clash.

You hate rom-coms.

Now, you might be a hopeless romantic; delving and losing yourself in romantic stories, tugging even the most deepest heartstrings which gets you all giggly and kicking your feet. What you hate, however, are bland characters. A random, mix and mash kind of chemistry, forced with no substance, set up as a love triangle.

Which is, quite literally, what's occuring right now.

You see, you’re a medic up in Delphi for some time before being paired up as Prowl’s buddy-buddy partner, because Chromedome insists someone needs to look after that unruly cop who’s always destined get himself killed.

And so you do. Upon Ratchet’s introduction to the Autobot SIC he’s not exactly someone friendly. He's, ah, rigid and prickly, the know it all by the book, kind of prickly. His unresolved anger issues takes quite the toll wheb you tend his wounds or even so much as to touch his arm. Though, demure as you are, you know when to stand up for yourself when the situation gets out of hand. And this kind of resistance managed to ease down his sharp edges. Now, he’s still a prick, a tolerable prick more accurately, but you’re both good pals!

Or so, that’s what you thought.

One unassuming day, you were lounging off as usual in the main area, gathering your bearings after another tough match with the hoards of patients when your communicator buzzes with a ping. It's a message from Pharma.

An Autobot base will be set up here in Messatine at due time. Will be expecting your arrival promptly.

Ah, Delphi. How long has it been, seven years? Meeting your mentor again was something of a, well, it wasn't far from a dream. Wasn't really a need, either. But it's definitely something, at least. Besides, Prowl said he had to monitor the new crew in case they messed up the communication systems, again. So, you decided, with a hopeful heart, to follow along with the Coppa to Delphi.

Yeah, bad decision. Whomp, whomp.

That hospital might have it's up and downs, and while saving patients might not be it's strongest suits, it's decor are definitely a catch to mind. Goodness, since when did they have the funds to do that? The stark white of the tiled floor ( since when did they had marble designed pillars? ) embellished with grey, engraved carvings stumped your prior, blatant distaste of the facility.

It's safe to say you're surprised.

You're sauntering across the halls of the hospital, admiring the added features of new wards, machinery and nurses, when you bump into a wall that is, apparently, Pharma. Your, uh, very, very nice superior who you squint at your notes is definitely obsessively clingy BUT very smart , but also crazy. Like, mad crazy. Haha....

Why do you attract people like this.

"And, who ..? is this?" Condescension spools from his tone as he sizes up the Autobot SIC with a careless wave of his hand like he's some newly discovered specimen.

"Their partner." He makes sure to emphasize the 'partner' like it's a bullet. "The 'who', here is a Prowl."

"Oh, is it now. I didn't expect you to move on that quickly, dear."

"You're in a relationship?" You feel his glare on you; it's not a question.

"No, he's just—"

"Kidding! I'm only kidding." Pharma gives a hearty laugh. "My, my, officer. You know, tight muscles are a sore to deal with if you're not going to loosen them anytime soon."

"No thanks. I'll stick with a stroke."

"Ah, the ever so pessimistic. Pleasure to meet you then, officer. I've heard lots about you."

The doctor gracefully extends a hand to which Prowl ignores and then replies without much a look to him.

"If that's so, then I'm not very pleased."

The hand falls sharply, so does the smile.

"Oh, good,"

You swore you heard a joint breaking when he snaps his neck to your direction, and while you look away, you knew the chesire grin-like smile on his face is nothing but a threat.

"Very, very good." He straightens up. "How about a tour?"

Honestly, you expected the two would be more civil since they’re both so heads over heels about their reputations in front of another superiorly defined character. What you didn’t expect, however, is intruding in a tug of war that materialized from, seemingly, out of nowhere.

Right, the doctor insisted on an individual tour of your own. He suggested Ambulon show Prowl around, while he would take the pleasure of doing the same to you.

Obviously, Prowl isn't having any of that. So, you're currently between them, one arm in Pharma’s grip and the other in Prowl’s unrelenting grasp. You wince as their digits dig into your skin. If they're not careful, that's gonna leave a mark for sure.

“They already know their place around the medical facility, Jet-fuel. I’m sure they’re able to handle themself just fine without your guidance,”

“Oh, yes indeed,” Pharma, despite Prowl’s 100 degree glare, grits through his forced grin and yanks you back by the scruff of your collar, right into his chest, “I invited them here, I might as well show them around. If I didn’t know any better you’re trying to hog my staff.”

You know better than to voice your opinions. Their inner brain workings, all the cogs and mannerisms were already familiar; operating under their influence is like treading around a field of broken hards bound to prick you at any moment lest you misstep.

"Your staff?” The Autobot SIC scoffs. “Im not hogging them. It's long gone. They're not working for you, anymore. But I'm sure you're not aware of that since you've got a stick up your ass."

“Not quite, actually. Before they became your little pet—“

“They're. Not. My. Pet. I’d prefer it if you didn’t reduce them to some mindless animal—"

“Doesn’t matter. they’ll be fine. I know you haven’t you heard about this since you’re new here but Delphi has its new additions around the facility. I’m merely trying to greet back an old prodigy of mine back. In fact, they’ll be fine without you.”

"Oh, really." Prowl's up in his face now, grinding his dentas.

"How about you push my buttons and let's see where this leads?" Pharma taunts with an obvious tick on his under-optics.

That’s last week and you’re surprised when Prowl is frequenting your work station more often, always nagging you about your reports and how you ‘incorrectly’ structure them. That's strange, he never does that. Why is it only now he's bothering you about it?

When you asked him to take a look, however, he merely tosses it elsewhere and hands you his own datapad for you to look through. Of course, Pharma pops up round the corner and chastises the strategist for hogging his medic’s working hours. He says it's 'unethical' use of Power-play and authoritism and that Prowl should be locked up in jail.

Even worse, they’ve had this tug of war battle where they would try to ‘woo’ you when they can. You weren’t surpised; Pharma’s quite full of himself, so obviously he’s got territorial problems, even though you're not sure why he's so possessive over you. But later you realized he IS the entire problem. Not singular, not plural, he’s a walking embodiment of a complicated problem.

It gets worse when you're trying to do your work and here they are barging into your cubicle with another problem. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a fight Pharma puts up because he hates sharing his pets. Now? He’s gotten too far down the rabbit hole to get up. For sentient robots who’s been through a war and back, they’re so damn petty.

Pharma’s idea way of flirting is more up and personal, he doesn’t care about your personal space and he never will. Brother in Christ, this mech does NOT leave you alone. AT ALL. He touches you whenever the time allows him to and you knew he's doing that to get under the lesser affectionate Cop-bot's skin, who finds physical touch repulsive.

Sometimes, you feel his hands up on your waist, your back against his chest as he leans over to regard your report, chin on your shoulder. If he’s feeling more bold, he often puts in his two cents of insinuating a quick session in the office which you, uh, politely decline because you’ve got a meeting with the new interns.

There's always another time, he'd jest. Yeah, well, not so funny. He’s clingy, obsessive and despite the charming suave-esque front of a Bond Villain he puts up, he’s easily the best person you can turn into a pile of seething venom.

“My little pet, I think it’s high time Prowl has his duties transferred off elsewhere, don’t you think?” His optics are twitching, and his unusually sharp talons pierce the metal desk. “ Not that I mind, that rancid Cop-bot has been getting in my nerves, recently. Wrong, this, regulations that. Can you believe it, he terminated half of my crew for, as per his words, carrying out unsanitary operations! Thats defamation! A false accusation. It takes a whole restraint not to shove him down the grinds of the accelerator.”

Please, don’t.

“He’s just monitoring the district, sir.” You maintained a neutral tone. He’s at your desk again. And, instead of trying to woo you into his bed he’s complaining. Oh, my god. I’ve got a report due tommorow. And you’re complaining. Someone, help me.

“Well, he’s not monitoring anything anytime soon with how much blood he’s leeching from your body. I should've known better than to agree with his demands to stay in your office as well. He’s stuck to you like a damn mosquito.”

Like, you're any better. You deadpan.

Prowl, on the other hand is aware and accepted the fact that he’s definitely not the most likable or the best lover kind of material out there. And, to take someone like YOU to like him, someone playful and fun, not ripping out his head every two seconds, is a blessing in and of itself.

He can't even stay a second around someone without pissing off their early descendants. So, with his glock locked and loaded he takes 'counteractive measures' to ensure that nobody is going to take that moment of happiness away from him. Even if in unethical terms he’ll have to ensure it.

“You’re been forty five meters off from your office.”

You let out a startled yelp, swivelling around to meet Prowl, oh thank god prowl, who's expression is pinched, lips pressed in a thin line and his hands are intertwined behind his back, military-like.

“I’m buying drinks,” You clutch the myriad of snacks and drinks in your arms, blinking away your pounding heart. “ H-how’d you find me?”

Prowl merely glances at the contraption on his wrist where, when you crane your neck to look over, is a circular radar with a blinking red dot.

“You’re to notify your disappearance when necessary.” He grunts out and turns on his heel. “Let me know when Jet-fuel decides to harass you again,”

Weird. Still, you brush off his disdain for the medic as nothing when instead his, ah, paranoia (?) goes on for months. That one instance youre in the bathroom? Yeah. Hello, there. I'm just walking. Totally not peeking. Totally not—

Is that a new sock?

"Prowl!"

"I'm checking if there are cameras here."

"It's a bathroom?!"

"All the more reason why I should ensure there isn't."

What's more strange is the fact that there's a blatant evidence of someone meddling with your schedule. And, you had an inkling their tug of war session travelled even to technological seams.

This rivalry continued on (despite, literally, the entire hospital's annoyance) until you eventually lost it.

It was a Friday night.

A party was held in the lounge. The younger mechs had set the celebration up to mark the lethargic end of July. Of course, since you’re invited to the party, the two came along despite not being known as party-dwellers themselve. So, it was quite a sight for the young mechs to see.

You thought they’d tone down the hostility a little and even warm up with how much time they spnd trying to one up the other. That's enough months to start a relationship, God damnit. Unfortunately, you’re not able to drink freely without the two mechs pushing against your personal space. Prodding, blabbering away about how skimpy your outfit looked. You're wearing your uniform.

At some point you drink in defeat, squished between their two frames as either tries to stop you from drinking your misery out while the other eggs you on with another bottle.

After the party they insisted dragging you back to their quarters. You’re not even halfway into your room when they start bickering again.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Prowl?” His name is a venomous jab in the guise of a forced, seething smile. “Your presence in the hospital is unnecessary as the security guard up front. A mandatory monitor check doesn’t require you here all the time. If i didn’t know any better, you’re deliberately trying to distract them so they’ll end up in your berth.”

You hold back a vomit as Pharma nabs you into his hold, the alcohol seething your veins aren’t doing much for your psyche and you stare dumbly at the floor, wanting to retch over it.

”I’m checking up on my partner.” Prowl stands his ground then tugs you into his chest again, “Doesn’t have anything to do with you, Jet-fuel.”

“Oh, it does, actually.” Another tug back, “ It’s called harassment and I'm going to report to your superiors for pestering one of my medics.’’

“Your medic?” He scoffs. “You’re a sad sorry bunch who’s got no chicks up his ass. If I didn’t know any better you’re manipulating them into caving into a newly registered scheme. A play toy, plaything, exhausted for pleasure. Don’t think I know you used to work with the D.J.D, Jet-fuel.”

“Call me that one more time and I’ll ensure your processor isn’t he only thing I’m dislodging from that helm."

“Illegal malpractice of surgery is an offense. Is that a threat, Jet-fuel?”

“Oh, you’ll see, Officer. You’ll see just how skilled I am with my Servos.”

They’re both at already each other’s throat, servos clenched, door wings, jet-wings flaring and blasters at the ready. The Engex they’ve ingested earlier only prompted the hostile ambience and as they were about to—

“Why won’t you both fuck me already!?”

In a fit of annoyance, inebriation and stupidity, the three horsemen of your misery, the words left your lips before you even think. They stop bickering and it felt like forever as they did a 180 , full, joints creaking swivel of a ‘What did you just say???’ baffled expression thrown at your direction.

But you’re still seething and only then you’ve realized your slip-up, you’re a crumpled mess on the floor, palms wide and open, clutching your face that’s unrelentingly burning. Pharma looks like he's been kicked in the crotch and Prowl looks like he's seen God.

Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.

“Both of us, hm?” You hear Pharma muse and whether or not Prowl is considering the prospect, all you want to do as of now, is to rot in this hole you dug for yourself.

#prowl x reader #idw prowl #transformers x reader #maccadam #idw pharma #pharma x reader #pharma #ikkosuwrites

[ikkosu]

Megatron angst, you say?? Megatron is ashamed of the kindness the reader shows him and even more ashamed of the love that developed from that kindness. He remembers keenly how little he thought of organics, the devastation he caused to Earth. The billions of organic lives across the universe that were snuffed out on his command. He can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror. He buries himself in his duties to hide from that vicious guilt, but it doesn't help, not really. Megatron feels he doesn't deserve your affection. He doesn't realize his distance hurts you, if only he would open up to you.

IT'LL PASS

Megatron x gn!scientist!human reader

a/n : ooooh I love these kind of angst! so yummy and gobble-able. I stayed up late writing this. megatron angst be upon ye (if that's how the saying goes, anyways). hope you won’t mind me using this Au, SSAU, in case confused of the size difference.

warnings : little bit of fluff on first half, angst on the second (yipeee) 💀 this is so long, god help me.

[i]

He remembered the first time he met you.

Your hands clinched over his larger ones, tugging it down so you could peer on your toes to get a better look at his face, It took him a moment to register you, first it was the pliant flesh curled over his digits like vines, warm and soft then his head swiveled down with a jolt to meet your curious, wide unblinking eyes.

"Is this...Megatron?" Your eyes narrowed, focused — words, innocent yet simple, came off as almost dumfounded.

He doesn't know what to say.

A raise of his brows and the purse of his lips were all he could muster in response. You’re the walking embodiment of the species he sought to eradicate. To destroy. And yet, here you are, unfazed. Jumping on your toes, drumming your hands over his digits, pawing at his broad, mettalic arms like he was a specimen. Before he could reply, Ratchet grabs the scruff of your collar and yanks you away.

“Wha— hey! I was about to introduce myself!"

“That can wait until the actual debrief. Which is due time. Sorry about this, this one’s a bit of a loiterer.” He grumbles, then yanks you away to fall in step with his pace. “Stir up another problem in the lab and make it count. If Rodimus asks, I am not dealing with his moping about whether or not the body gets decimated or cremated.”

"Oh, come on! " You’re now half-way across the hallway, disappearing. Voices muffled. “It’s like, the size of my palm, Ratty. It’s real cute too, with the puffed out fur and all. We should keep it!”

“I don’t care if it’s the size of your brain. Drift thinks it’s some kind of miracle. Like spiritual miracle or something.” Ratchet grunts out. “Dispose it before someone like you could be infected and you’ve got bad allergies, remember?"

"But—"

“Don't fight me on this. Earth is miles away and I am not comm-ing the Liason Department with a petty issue like that!”

Your altercation disappeared, much the same as your figures, through the sliding door, where the squabble continued into what’s possible the lab the medic mentioned.

Megatron stares, slightly dumfounded as it swishes close and Magnus, for a large mech he’s incredibly a silent walker, teeters behind him, shuffling on his pedes.

“I see you’ve met the organic scientist. An interesting subject to behold, no?”

Rodimus is somewhere behind the duly appointed, a few steps back, moping with a scowl.

With a small wolfish grin, he managed. “I wasn’t aware you’re keeping pets.”

“Excuse me?” The sports car bristled, fists clenched, now already close. “Who’re you calling pets you—“

“Rodimus, please.” His tirade of a decent chewing out is halted by Magnus, whose arm is a barrier between the two, “ Ease down and stay in that corner until I’m done.”

"You're gonna let him say that?" A digit jabbed his way. “But he!—“

“Is trying to a rise out of you.” The bigger mech lays a terse hand over his shoulder. “You of all people should know that. Now, go.”

He’s surprised the younger mech even complied, given his role as the ‘co-captain’, Megatron assumed Magnus would be the one subverscient to his commands. With a scowl he whirled around, stomping away to whatever room deemed worthy of another tantrum. Magnus, however, swivels back with a firmer look, determined not to be swayed by his prodding.

“Discrimination is an offense.” He begins with a finger wag. The grey mech sags. Oh, not this again. ‘’ Any more remarks like that will terminate your stay here. The human you’ve met is the only one residing here in the Lost Light. I expect you to treat them with the same respect they'll have for you."

"Only?" He drawls.

"Many are still not fond of us. Take it a small step towards peace between organics, if you will. " Magnus said, craning his neck over the warlord’s shoulder in time for the med-bay doors to slide open again.

Ambulon steps out, First-aid beside him, and in that split second, he gets a glimpse of you haggling Ratchet at his desk. On your palms were the rat they encountered earlier. He could only assume you're fighting for it's refuge here with how you're assaulting ratchet with desperate puppy eyes and coddling the little rodent to your cheek.

Then the doors slide shut again.

“ In your habsuite are several books on Organic history. Optimus encourages amending tension between Organics and Cybertrinians. So, you can start there. And, while that may prove a bit difficult I hope it isn't an obstacle towards your..."

He struggled, not able to to find the word. Perhaps, repenting is too much of a long stretch so he settles on, “Your stay here.”

"I'll manage just fine." He says gruffly and turns on his heels.

There was something brimming inside his chest. A familiar tinge of energy, much the same when he used to regard Orion with the same kind of fondness.

It'll pass. He reminds himself. It's just a fleeting feeling. It'll pass.

[ii]

You’re like a shadow.

Quick to come, quick to leave — a passing blur.

From the corners to the hallways, you were always there, except he never had a chance to properly introduce himself. Why? He doesn't know why. After all, you were the first person who greeted him with enthusiasm.

The next time he met you was evening, if it was even considered that way, space was in a constant plunge of darkness, anyways. Magnus's caution not to dwell at the bar was indeed taken into consideration as well as disregarded with much care — since drinking is naturally prohibited during 'work hours', according to Magnus, a notion that is an always for him.

Swerve's was fondly quiet.

The rest had gone to ogle another 'off-world chick flick' Rewind proposed. One of those action packed, cheesy films mechs these days are so sodden for. Obviously, he turned it down, ignoring Whirl's attempt to provoke him for being a 'buzz-kill' (he dodged another blaster to the head in doing so) and slumped by a cubicle , nursing a drink he kept swivelling aimlessly in his servo. He watches the purple curl then crest, sloshing about, caking the rims dry. His mind, plagued.

Too caught up in the voices in his head, the swift yet gentle pitter patter of footsteps prodding towards the counter was unheard. It was only when you slid into the empty seat in front of him that he blinked, jolting much as he did when he first met you.

He eyed the datapads and pens cluttering on the surface, following your tandem, gloved hands gently pushing the cup of engex aside. A barrier no longer. You laced your fingers and leaned over, nose close to touching. When it appeared you've caught his attention, your eyes creased, much like a half moon and he finds himself faltering at the sight of the sun.

Though, he stood his ground by holding a firm gaze.

"I hope I'm not bothering you?" Your voice is low, like you're half-expecting Ratchet to pop out again and drag you away.

"Well..." Megatron swivels to his half opened book of the Autobot Code on the table. He still has, much to his chagrin, a thousand more chapters to go through and might as well spare himself from this heinous task and deal with Magnus's preaching.

"Not at the worst time you found me." He folds the book primly and sets it aside.

"Splendid! Is that, ah, how you say it there?"

"What?"

"How’s it going buddy! Or, what's got you up in a twist pal! Something like that. Magnus is always haggling me about 'conforming' to certain ranks with the way I speak. So, what does it?"

He stares at you for a moment, more accurately, staring down, brows pinched. You're awfully small. And not in a 'teeny, tiny, precious little pet' kind of way. His gladiator instincts overruled his prior thoughts and the heigh difference is so explicitly stark he could crush you with a mere swing of a fist. Why are you here? I could kill you. He's not so sure what to think of that. Though, his lower region can preach otherwise.

He should really stop drinking.

"You're not suppose to be here."

"Not quite."

The smile turns into a wolfish grin. It's only now he noticed you've plopped a black satchel on the table.

" Actually, to tell you the truth I'm old enough to be drinking. Hell, even mingling with the lot of you. It's just that, ah, the chemicals! Chemicals, am I right? It hurts the human brain. Makes it woozy. Real, woozy. Can’t think well. I don't know about you bots, cons, uh, there's more gosh, but you see I'm—"

"Referring to your presence." He crosses his arms, leaning back.

"Rodimus doesn't like you here."

The satchel flaps open with a click. You shrug. "Hm. That's a lot less fun, no? Guess he'll have to suck it up. Can’t keep me in a cage forever. I need my own breath of fresh air.”

He looks off to the side, forcing back an imperceptible smile. " Is that so? Whatever happened to conforming to ranks?"

"Ah, apologies, he'll have to handle shoving a stick up his tailpipe."

"You would prefer mingling with me than—"

" Obviously. It's a perfect time for our interview to start!"

.Megatron shifted slightly away, fighting the urge to frown. His digits drum the service, irritated.

"You're interested about the war." He states plainly.

"It's not much about the war, you see. It's, well more about the performers. No, wait not performers, the ah—“ You wag the pen in front of him, struggling to find the words, other hand fumbling to open the book. When you're unable to muster a coherent explanation, you settle on, "Short story, I’m a researcher. Journalist, even. Half-scientist? You get the gist."

Your eyes flicker down to the clutter of datapads by his side, an amused grin this time, " What's the point? I suppose you're already aware of my name, then?"

He feels his faceplates burn. The many datapads you caught contained the ship's dwellers and one, sticking out from the others, is your profile. It was a harmless dive, but with how blatant his stylus circled your picture a deep red, he knew he was in too deep. He clears his throat, a swift digit nudged the rim aside and it's hidden under the others.

"A bit of curiosity isn't too much of a harm these days." He doesn't shake your outstretched hand but taps your palm with his digits. "What would you like to know?"

The touch lingered. You smiled.

"You."

[iii]

He's not sure what to think.

Several weeks after the incident at the bar there's been a routine he's now accustomed to. Wake up, have a cup of energon, haggle both Magnus and Rodimus before making his rounds around the ship. (Succumb to dirty looks from mechs, as well). Then, it's only then he's able to spend time with you in the confines of his habsuite.

The first time was very uncomfortable. He's twiddling his thumb like a schoolboy as he’s perched on the edge of his birth, glaring at the floor while you're sprawled on the couch, scribbling whatever he uttered onto the paper like it's a holy scripture.

He needs to say something.

Anything to keep the conversations aflow. The sessions were about two hours long — three if it became a little more in depth — and he finds himself short circuiting when you’d throw in an ‘joke’ or two. Apparently, he missed the joke. It flew right over his head. When the rest of the conversation fell off awkwardly, it's only then he realize how inept at casual conversation he is.

"I suppose you can say the commodities there were made were satis-factory." He pauses for a moment, letting it simmer.

You blink a little, the one in your hand twirls for a moment before your palms clutched your mouth, hunching over the chair, shoulders heaving. There was a pleasant sound from your lips. Is that—

"Are you laughing?" He asks, strangely offended.

"Sorry, it's just— mhmaha, eheahag. Hehehnskslk,” You gathered yourself but the cheeks still twitched. “. Is— is that, like, a pun. Are you punning?"

He gave in, looking away. “…Magnus urged me to be a lot less ‘stiff’ with how I deliver certain….statements. ”

“So, you went with puns.” The pen nudges his cheek, playful.

He swats it away with a chuff. “We were discussing about industrial propaganda during the early courses of the war, it’s only appropriate that I put that in.”

“How many more have you got under your sleeve, megs?"

From his faceplate, a small smile cracks. “If you have enough time to spare.”

[iv]

When he looks at you, he's reminded of Orion.

Compassionate yet strong-willed. Accepting yet firm. Perhaps it's because you're as youthful as the first conjure of a star or perhaps he likes to believe that you are. You innate curiosity for knowledge, your naive recklessness for danger; determined to be the hero, despite lacking — it worries him.

In what way does it so?

Sometimes, he half expects you to emerge as a different person. One day, a bright smile on your face, the other, a facade. Your true self. He finds himself dawdling towards the mirror, scrutinizing his faceplate. The creases and wrinkles that amass his grimace, they eased into a gentle smile when he thinks about you.

It’s the little things that gets him.

Your hand on his arm when you speak, the focused adoration in your eyes when he goes on another tirade about his poems, or when he’s particularly feeling a bit sour, you’re always there with your own two cents which breaks a smile out of his face — it makes him feel something he doesn’t want to prod.

“Energon?”

He stares at the outstretched cup, his other servo is cradling his temple, migraine induced. He’s at his desk, hunched over a datapad, stylus working with abandon when you came in, the brief respite of luminescent light flaring his room stark before it shrouds dim again. Everyone had clocked in for the night. Magnus left a few hours earlier. You, on the other hand….

“How…how did you make this?” He’s dumbfounded, watching as the purple swirls around his reflection.

You declare proudly with a puff of your chest. “Being a scientist, you can pull off a few strings or two to get it. Though, I did almost combust a ‘certain’ contraption trying to filter off raw energon. Brainstorm's instructions aren't easy to read. I should really stop trying to crank up the generator to max….”

“Please, i implore you — don’t do that again.”

You shrug, a little grin.He vents. Guess he’ll have to tolerate you for the time being. You set the cup of energon on his desk and peered over a little.

“What’re you up to?”

He feels his face burn. “Annotating the next poem you requested. For our next session. You…wanted to see my earlier poems and their possible significance."

There was a bright twinkle in your eye — too bright he swiveled away for a moment.

“May I?”

“If you have time…”

[v]

It appears interviewing isn't your only vice.

Off you go to expeditions outside the Lost Light, floating about on meteors, wrangling native plants from native planets, returning to med-bay, sometimes, with parched gloves that're burnt at the tips and hair a different color from the chemical abrasions.

Megatron sometimes finds himself on the gurney instead with how much pressure his spark is taking its toll.

Once, he's startled off his armor when you tapped the window from the outside, mouthing about how Brainstorm probably started another fire in the east wing.Safe to say it wasn’t long before the fire reached him. And, you’re the one chipping off the burnt metal parts from his arm, gently cradling his servos.

It's just a little brain worm, he tells himself. Another delusion he conjures because he's so desperate to feel something — anything to contradict his guilt. Your touch is nothing but miniscule and yet he finds himself in front of laboratory often, and he'd look lost when you're greeted at the sight of the warlord dawdling in front of the lab, another excuse concocted on the spot to deter you from the possible reason.

"Isn't he a little too keen on experiments like these?" Perceptor mutters. "I didn't realize he's fond of...whatever new shenanigans they've made. If anything, I surmise an ulterior motive."

"Oh, let him be." Brainstorm waves him off dismissively. " There's no harm in finding new hobbies. He's an ex-warlord let 'im live. Besides, I heard he wanted to be a medic once, can you believe that?"

"Until the day I die, no."

"Oh, Percy, you bore."

"Please, don't even go there "

Megatron blinks as you set down a pink vial on the desk, your own hands gripped his own with a vice, tugging him along to your experiments. Your scruffed up lab coat is half-burnt at the sleeves and the bubbling beaker by your side is driving him up the wall. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation, whatsoever?

"So, I was working on the prospect of dying acids, right? Not, die die, as in, well, dying. Die as in coloring. Trying so that when they explode it explodes a certain type of color. Neon, too! And here, take a look at this—"

You're ranting. Mouth moving, not stopping. He can't seem to focus. You're so much smaller. Just below his torso, fun-sized, easy to hold and when he's touching your soft parts —you guide his hand to pry open whatever contraption-lock you're making, he finds himself flinching.

You're so...soft.

"I'm what?" You say, yelling over Brainstorm's loud generator resounding across the room.

You're squinting, straining to hear. He wants to peel the goggles away. He wants to see your eyes.Wants to the see the way the luminescent lights freckles off the white like sparkles. He clears his throat, jabbing a finger to whatever contraption he can set your mind on, not at how his faceplate is burning much as the generator is.

"That doesn't look safe."

"That's because it's a bomb." Perceptor emerges behind you both, a scowl on his face, and paid no mind to his startled expression as he makes a beeline towards the other scientist, struggling to hold the generator together. There's a distance muffled yelling and shuffling. You both stare at them, unmoving.

"You build bombs."

"Unethical, I know."

He whirls to look at you; you're focused elsewhere. "That's not what I meant."

"Okay, okay. I might've lied a bit on that Journalism thing. But hey, I've got to make meet ends right? Hm? Megs?” You look around. “Where’d he go?”

[vi]

"What's this?" He's snapped out of his tirade, swivelling his gaze from the dome-ish greenhouse he's been ogling at to you crouched near the pot, gloved hands shoved inside the soil.

He remarks bitterly. "I pour my heart out and you're pulling out weeds?"

"Yup. Wanna help?"

They're in your personal laboratory for today. Given the amount of flora and fauna strewn about the room, Ratchet remarked it was like a greenhouse of some sort. Megatron vents, lumbering from the chair and towards your form. He snagged the recording pen from the table, clicked it and dropped it into the satchel

So much for a moment of heart to heart.

"What's this?" His digits curls out, prodding the petal of the bud, clutched between your palms.

Even when he's crouching, he's still towering over you like a building.

You smile up to him, child-like. "A new kind of flower I made."

"Really, now."

"Oh, come on hear me out."

"If it's complete and utter jargon to mess with my circuits — don't even try."

"Fine, fine, fine. I'll keep it simple."

With a snap of your finger the room became dim and from a pot, you plucked out a flower. It wasn't, however, a normal visage of one. Megatron slowly extends his palm, cradling the plant like it was crystal. The petals are glass like; it sparkled blue, frolicking purple. Against his chassis it glew, a faded tinge of color on the gunmetal grey. His face eased into a smile.

"This is....fascinating. How did you make this? Don't answer that. You'll only give me a headache." He tries to clamp a servo over your lips but you duck away. "Even so, I have no words to conjure... how much I feel about this. What implored you to create such a remarkable plant?"

" Your poem."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"The one where you compared sparks to flowers. In a way, I do see that too." You gestured around. "My own world is like a garden. And i like to keep my garden clean. Weed out the bad stuff, put in the good stuff. But sometimes, new flowers grow amongst the old, and when they do..."

You look up to him with a small smile. "They bloom into something beautiful."

It took him a moment to understand.And when he does, his spark thrummed for a desperate plea for touch. Without thinking, his digits find your chin and reels you close.

He thinks about this often. Your kindness wasn't because you were simply kind. It's because you believed everyone had a chance.

He doesn't deserve one.

It's like everything clicked together. The sullen memories strung itself into shape, now etching across his processors. Limb, lifeless bodies across barren land. Blood smeared the soil dark crimson. What is he doing? This is shameful. Shameful of him. The very species he sought to kill, to snuff out, to eradicate. The wide, spanning field of flowers. Blue, hauntingly beautiful. Those were the lives lost.

You could’ve bloomed amongst them

He shoved you away, not to harshly but in a manner of surprise, jolting much as he did when he first met you. His shoulders grazed the pot on the table as he stood and it toppled to the ground. The shards crackled, breaking on impact. Soil a barrier, sprawled between you both.

His own anger flared, fists clenching.

“Woah, there. Something wrong? Did you get pricked?”

Megatron says nothing as you clean up the mess. Hands plucking the shards off the ground, rambling again. "Man, your shoulders are really wide. Not as big as Mangus's but still, they're like a whole wall of—"

"You should hate me."

You freeze, the shards paused halfway down into the duster, tipping a little over the edge.

Megatron kept his gaze to the floor. He needed to tell you this. He needed to remind you now. He's not what you think he is, and just because he's had his moment of respite with you, he's still, and will always be the Megatron who sought domination through means of violence, ethical or not.

"I know."

Your face smoothens out a moment before it eases back into a smile. The gentle kind.

"I killed your people. Eradicated thousands of them. Torn through vibrant planets, decimated floras, faunas, and life that teemed in those regions. I hurt nature. I hurt it's mother."

"I know."

"Then, why are you so subverscient to your own compassion? Why not take your anger out on me?" He takes a domineering step forward. "I don't understand. A person can't be this forgiving."

"Because it's wrong." You say simply. "Because it won't do anything. Look, just because you think I'm nice to you doesn't mean Im not aware of what you did.Even if I get to break several joints off your sockets, would that get me anywhere? If anything, it'll make me more miserable."

”You’re naive.’’

The flower no longer crackled. No longer bright. Like the broken pot, it lay shattered on the ground, glinting.

"If that’s how you see it..." You trail off, eyes creasing into a frown. "Is this about the poem? I didn't mean to overstep—"

He whirled away without a word. "I need to go."

[vii]

He can't get you out of his mind.

Day by day passes. From night to morning to dawn, he finds himself plagued with thought hes not able to comprehend.

Everytime he wakes up, there's this urge. He finds himself wanting to see you. He steeled himself, however, walking past you when you approach. Answering in clip tones when you ask. Magnus notices he's in his office a lot more recently, pouring through the mountains of datapad like he's on a grip.

"You should rest, Megatron." He tells the captain once.

What returned however is a grunt. Neither affirming nor denying. The enforcer frowns. He'll have to ask you about it. And yet a quick look to the scientist deters his thoughts. You're less bright and while you still have the amiable streak it appears as though you're forcing a grin through it all. Something must've happened. A fight, more preferably. That led to him confronting Rung about it, and the psychiatrist confronting Megatron — in a less subtle way, of course.

The warlord tells him it's just a brain worm, something eating at him for a while.

Something passing,

"I do think that is something quite more." He mutters, stylus crossing another scribbles on the datapad. "Given your nature with the former it's only normal to feel shame to such sentiments. Inter-species relationships dwell on that complication a lot. I get questions regarding guilt, betrayal of their own race and the unethicalities of it all. The only significant point here, however, is how you're willing to approach this problem.”

Rung, straightens his goggles. “How would you like to look at it?"

Megatron ponders. He thinks. Gears churning, scheming. Silent. He wants it to be something more yet he wants it to be nothing beyond what they are. How can he, a warlord whose actions eradicated almost half the cosmos, bring himself to feel even a minuscule hint of happiness? No, he can’t. He doesn’t deserve any of this. It's not like you feel the same.

"Nothing. It's just a fleeting feeling. It'll pass.

"Surely it can't be that easy to put aside."

Megatron frowns. "What, you don't think I can do it?"

Rung pulls a terse smile, folding his fingers over his lap.

"t’s not a matter of whether or not you can do it…" he trails off, unsure. It appeared as though he wanted to say more with how his lips part for a second. "But if that's how you would like to proceed, I am not forcing you. After all, your feelings wouldn’t fare better if I do. The choice is yours."

."I think it's best I keep my distance.

Rung seems a little distraught at that. "Perhaps it's better that you don't. Your feelings, they’re not something you can toy around with such ease. And while they're indeed very complicate, avoiding them is—"

"Don’t pretend to understand how I feel.” Rung flinches at the sudden venom in his tone. “I know how to deal with this. I just need time. Time…time is all I need.

It'll pass. He tells himself.

It never does.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #megatron x reader #idw megatron #transformers idw #ikkosuwrites #mtmte megatron #lost light

[ikkosu]

MY DARLING MEDIC

(fem.human.medic.reader x pharma)

summary : tarn strikes up a deal with pharma. but when he refuses, the tank takes up a more personal measure to confront him.

warning : angst. fluff (if you look real close💀). blood. this is the DJD what'd you exoect. bro I fucking died writing this. wanted to cut this in like several parts but decided to merge it together. wanted to write this into a multi-chartered fic but my commitment could never. could be a series ig.

my darling medic doodles

[i]

Pharma doesn’t know what to say.

One moment he's caught Ambulon at gunpoint, then the next he’s scampering down the halls, clutching the vials close to his chassis as he tears through for an exit. The game is up. He should've known better than to nab the easy path. Responsibility purges itself a mile away when confronted at the baseline of his problems. Now, it's got him cornered and Ratchet — who barged into the room — his friend, his oh-so-dear friend, pulls up a blaster.

Points it at his face.

His own mirth were flaked with rust, crinkled into a grimace, where along the crevices, the miniscule cracks, oozed spatter of crimson. The gun was unsteady; he’s shaking. He's infected. The uncomfortable feeling of your insides twisting punched him back. It gutted him more than he could realize and he’s got no guts, just thrumming circuits struggling, and failing, to prevent the inevitable.

So he does just that— prevent the inevitable.

A, one, two, three BANG of bullets barrage the other side of the room. Disregarding the startled shout of surprise, he stepped round the corner, making a beeline for the shaft. Storms of remorse whirled around his processors as he pulls himself up the ladder. It jostled and creak, much like how his jitter palms does when he's drunk on andrenaline.

He’s made that mistake again. He should’ve known better. He should’ve. Impulse stumps logic and now, he's outside. In the cold. Digits clinched the edge, close to slipping. Close to falling. Ratchet is aboven and where his optics catch below, he can see the fall, the descending vertigo of ire before his eyes.

“Pharma, buddy — what the hell happened to you?”

He doesn’t know; he might never will.

[years before]

You scroll aimlessly through the datapad.

Propped against the armchair, legs crossed and ankle bobbing, the screen flared your face with a soft blue-ish glow as the lines of words blurred together the more you strained to stare.

You're bored. Tired, too. But mostly bored. You were able to rest in your office after a tough match with several unruly patients. They were mechs. Pretty big mechs. And, they were a little, ah, how do you put this, organicophobes?

One of them had a more dire diagnosis : a t-cog malfunction. A type 3 kind. One that involved the t-cog overheating from too much usage, causing it to, in a way if you were to explain in human terms, like an organ, rot. It was deteriorating quick and the metal shards, miniscule ones, had already infected the internal circuitry.

A kind of job that required smaller, steady hands.

In short, they required humans.

You can handle a bit of discrimination — resentment against Organics was normal here despite the rules ensured to prevent so — but it still gutted you, knowing these mechs can do better than to hate another race from their own.

Especially when the said race tried to save their life.

A little bit of acknowledgment doesn't hurt from time to time.

You hope they were doing well, though.

The silence of the room was broken by footsteps approaching your office. The sliding doors opened with a swish and there you could discern the wide Cheshire grin of smugness amidst the slight darkness of the room. You should really stop shutting the lights, its begging to hurt your eyes. His teeth were practically glowing and was obvious he's quite in a good mood today.

You tucked the datapad inside the cabinet and caved against the cushion of the armchair, tipping your chin up into a smile, brimming with curiosity. One much as a 'whats he gonna pull this time?' type of curiosity.

“Working hard, I presume?” He croons, slinking across the room to your cubicle with several strides.

You quirk a brow; he's got something behind his back but you don’t press.

“Depends on which report you’re haggling me about,” You reply back, a playful smile. “Though, I can’t say for sure which region I am currently hard in, doctor. Would you like a scan?"

It catches him off gaurd for a moment — a simple one, two, three blink of his optics and your smile prods wider upon the not so subtle twitch of his wings. It sags in frustration.

“And here I thought I might have, for once, an appropriate greeting from my darling. I can never grasp your vulgar little mind, no less the entire mapping of your organic, squishy little brain,” His optics twitches as he vents. "But I’m not here to lecture you on prudence, no. I’ve got you a little, ah, herbal gift from my trip off world. The one you adore so much.” Then he adds with a mumble. "So much more than me, apparently.”

You perk up, and if you’re anything like a bunny, those ears would straghten right up to the brim. "What, like tea?”

"Even better, dear."

A ceramic mug is quickly perched onto your desk with a clink. You can't help but to coo in adoration at the utterly adorable little thing. It’s those tiny little teacups with teal blue flowers pasted across. A petite like holder, round and smooth, accommodated the curl of your finger. Nostalgia wrings you nto its clutches, back to teatime with your stuffed animals. You'd always be the princess.

You inhale the drink, warm steam wisps from tea, the color is an emerald-like-ore cadence under the stark white light.

"Since when did they have green tea in Nexus?"

"Earth, apparently. Globalization this, Space-localization that. Ignore the specifics. I'm sure you're better off without another lesson in economy?"

"I'd rather keep my thinking intact."

“Hm, that's a lot less fun. Anywho, I've taken some of my time to make it myself.” He pronounced, optics closed, regarding the cup with a theatrical wave proudly. "In fact, I have purchased the finest, well-endowed tea packet from the best of the best merchants. Never mind the cost, it's a splendid little thing, no?”

You’re still a little stunned admiring the cup but you blurt the first thing to mind.

“Smells fruity, for sure.”

He snaps one optic open, then entire look falls into offense. “Fruity is not what I had in mind.”

Ah, fuck.

"....nice?”

"Not that, either.”

“Ah, er, well — Great....?"

“Try again, dear.”

“C'mon docbot, what do you want me to say?”

”I’ve bought a tea packet that costs more than what this entire hospital is worth and you're describing it as 'nice?'”

You scrambled for words, fishing for the right one until— “Fragrant!" You snap your finger. "Right, fragrance.”

He stares.

You stare.

His rigidness loosens a little.

“One of these days I should really lecture you on the essence of compliments. See there? The mug is a ceramic. I’ve taken much care to handle it. It's from a lovely old organic. Her little shop in Nexus are a must to visit again."

You lean against your palm, eyes crinkled, cheeks round with warmth. “Is this a compensation?"

"For breaking your bed, yes—" you choke a little at that "—Now, go on, taste it.” He bends over to rest his elbows on the table, perching his chin on his two servos like a girl would, kicking their little feet during a sleepover.

“Don’t you have to buy me a new bed to compensate for that?”

He huffs, “ I already did. This is a bonus. Now, stop stalling. I have a patient to tend in a few hours and unless you've not taken a sip, I'm not going anywhere."

"Right, right. No pressure, doc."

"Very much."

You pinch the cup between your index and thumb. A pinkie is jutted out the for dramatics where you caught his lethargic look of disdain to it. And the final act concludes when the rim kisses your lips and you take a sip.

"Well?"

You stare at the ceiling for a moment.

"s'good...woah, real good." You blink in surprise, licking your lips to process the taste. "It's like my mother's! How'd you make this?"

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” He takes it upon himself to sit on your desk, inching close. "It's a, well, how do I put this — an obscure ingredient I am not willing to disclose."

"...You didn't lace this with laxatives didn't you?" You challenge.

"Laxatives?" He almost balks. "No, of course not. Why would I ever do such a thing? Think again."

You squint like that'll help you think. "Vanilla extract?"

"No."

"Oh, come on! Sugar?"

"Not a chance, dear."

"Milk."

"Far from close."

"Salt?"

"Are you serious?"

"What is this, 20 questions? I'll die by the time I cover the whole list of ingredients." You stand up with a huff.

All he does return, however, is a bemused crinkle of mirth from his eyes.He says nothing, only curling out a digit where it prods the area just above your chest. He taps it. Once. Then twice. It took a moment before the cogs turned on its own, and when it does, your cheeks flared up much to your chagrin.Oh. Oh. Your heart. The secret ingredient is—

—love?

You slumped to your chair, clutching your face to fight away the embarrassment at his audacity. You wanted to say it was the lamest, cheap, heart grabbing compliment of all time but you can't.

You just can't.

It's too....sweet.

"I swear Pharma...." If anything, you're reduced to a sputtering mess.

"Pharma? Not so much. I think 'God' would be the latter end. I swear to God, no?"

"Okay smartass."

"I know my rear-end is quite fine. Though, reduce your compliments to the bedroom, please."

"Pharma!"

There was something innately fond with how he’s fixated upon your scrunched up faces and agitated eyes.

Your eyes, they were always so expressive, so bright, much like stars when they flicker amidst the darkest night. A miniscule notion yet so wide in prominence. A haven he could dwell in when plagued upon with sullen days.

He couldn’t resist, and with his digits squishing your cheeks, he pulls you close. The agitation melts the moment you feel his lips against your temple, cheek, nose then your lips.

You glare at him when he pulls away."

"...You’re really making it hard for me to focus my angry molecules into an explosive blast, you know."

“Blast? Please, the least you can do is wield a knife and you're horrible at combat.Also, that's scientifically inaccurate.”

“Oh, shut up.” You look away, faltering at the sight of the door. “....You know what I meant.”

“How about you, as the humans would say, shut me up for a change?" His eyes became playful, tone borderline seductive. You're still fixated on the door. “On the topic of something explosive. Since we’re getting off our shift early today, I was wondering if you’re willing to test the new coils on our bed—“

“….Pharma?” But your eyes on fixed on somewhere else, or someone behind him.

"Doctor."

That isn't your voice.

Pharma’s sensor flares much as his wings did when he whirled around. His spark churned at the sight of the engraved decepticon insignia on his chassis and the gruesome signature mask upholstered on the mech’s face. A mask intended to revel fear, douse the flames of sanity.

Instantly the atmosphere shifted.

It dawns upon him how vulnerable he currently is. How close youre in proximity to the tank. How easily he could tear through the room and kill you. Lodge a knife through your chest. Leave you there on the floor. Skull, cracked. Brains, spooling. Blood agash. A simple red stain on the rag.

Pharma is terrified — he’s terrified of his unpredictability. Whatever thoughts are churning in his head are reduced to a blank slate as his shadow looms over, dwarfing his frame. He's not even moving. Just lingering there by the door. Any second now he could lose his temper and any second later you could be dead. Reduced to atoms. When crimson eyes flickered over, leaning to the side to get a better look, Pharma steps aside to shield you from his gaze.

“I’ll be there, Tarn.” He says stiffly.

The mech regards you for a moment before striding off. Away. The doors swished closed. How'd he knows where he was?

“Who’s that?” You ask, an innocent question he wished he could answer but Pharma pulls you up to your feet, his optics locked on the door.

“No one important, darling .” He replies yet he's already packing your stuff, pulling and shoving everything from your desk. His servos are jittery, wings twitching, brows furrowed.

You follow him around, wringing your hands. "Pharma? I thought you said—“

“Go home without me, dear.” He whirls around after tucking in your jacket into the last slot of your pouch and slips the bag over your shoulder. "It’s late and you have an early shift tommorow, no?"

You deflate, defeated. "Yeah, but i—"

"I have a meeting to attend. It'll be be fine. I won't stay up too late, I promise."

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s composed but you know he’s not. You know from the twitch of his digits he’s hiding something. He's a cunning deceptive man amidst all the layers but he's never a good liar. You wonder if it’s a reasonable time to press but in the end he’ll just figure out another lie to deceive you.

It'll hurt to leave.

You give him a wry grin. “Don’t stay up too late then or she’ll hog the covers.”

“Fortify the bed for me.” He pulls you for a kiss. "Get home safe."

"Will do, doc bot."

[ii]

Pharma doesn’t want to open the door.

Instead, he's pacing the front, wringing his servos, muttering to himself. He knows he should. But the temptation to stride in, get it over with, then walk back out was inviting. An in and out kind of ordeal wasn't the kind Tarn tolerates, much rather, he's mech hiding behind the facade of patience.

He's the worst to impatient.

Steeling himself, Pharma juts his chin up, bearing his usual haughty demeanor and barges through the door. Tarn's imposing presence was enough to halt his circuity but he pulls on the act, pedes an impatient thunk against the floor he rounds the desk, slumping on the chair. Unbothered.

“Make it quick. I have my duties to attend. Another influx of patients up from the east were admitted today. My schedules are full."

Tarn says nothing, regards him for a moment before tossing a deception insignia onto the table. It skidded across, bumping his elbow. By the scrapped off sheen of metal surrounding the symbol, it appears to be ripped out. There’s still energon on it. Barely dry. Pharma pulls away with a grimace. He needed air.

"One of your patients that I've taken care of."

By taken : unruly, unethical forms of torture.

“You ruined a nicely done table in favor of your dramatics.”

“Dramatics to which I prefer not to be taken ever so loosely, doctor." He flicks off a chip fron his talons. It plinks on his desk.

“You’re hiding them here.” He grits, a smooth croon of his voice. So deep, relaxing if not for the fact that he's close enough to snap his neck broken.

“No, I do not,”

“You know better than to lie to me, Pharma. You see, I know everything and it doesn’t take long for me to wrench that truth out of you, I assure you. So, answer me : are you hiding them here?"

“What does it matter to you?"

"A whole lot if you're anywhere close to the ranks of a deception warrior. But, for this circumstance, I will turn a blind eye to it and leave you alone."

Pharma straightens up, surprise. "Impossible. There should be a catch."

He can imagine how smug the smile behind the mask is. A crinkle of his eyes, a gentle prod of his lips — a facade so deceiving it was hard to believe this mech was the cause for all the sufferings they've imposed upon those traitors.

"Yes. And I'll get to the point. I accepted your rejection to your proposal last week because I understood your hesitance. I gave you time to think about it and right now it is dire I require more stocks of the T-cogs. Refuse me and I'll have to take up a more, personal counteractive measure to persuade you."

Pharma stiffens. He tries not to glance at your framed picture on his desk.

"You wouldn't want that would you?"

He narrows his optics. “I don’t know what you mean,"

Tarn shoots out an arm, wide digits curled around his neck cables before he yanks him close, clamping down, choking him. The doctor struggles, clawing at his chest.

“You’re meddling with an organic, Pharma—"Tarn croons, squeezing tighter with every disgust that laced his word. "—That is what I mean and while I prefer not to cut out the pleasantries, she will suffer from the consequences of your actions if you’re not going to concede. So, I’m going to make myself clear. Do you accept that deal or do you not?’’

Pharma tugs on his wrist to loosen the grip

“Please, anything, please, I—“ He holds up his hands placatingly, choking down his last grip of pride. "I'll do it. I'll do it! Just don't..."

Please, don’t hurt her.

"....Just don't. She's innocent. Don't bring her into this, Tarn. She's a remarkable doctor, please—"

Tarn releases his hold. Pharma drops to the ground, clutching his neck.

"I'll send you the list of requirements and a few donors willing to concede. You know where to find me when a problem arises."

Pharma is still on the ground, shaking, pressing his helm against the cold, metal floor. The footsteps disappear much like the diminishing hope in his chassis.He shouldn’t have listened, he shouldn’t have. Tarn and his sweet, sweet lies that’ were always so alluring, drawing him into the abyss.

[iii]

The tea cup, the one with the flowers painted across were discarded shards on the floor. Fragmented much like the reality he denies as he's wrangled behind. Arms tied. Wrists bounded. He stares, distraught.

You're in front of him. Behind was Tarn. He's got a blaster. And from the core were wisps of smoke,

”Ph..Pharma…” You’re confused as your palm hover overs the stain, the hole on your torso, the white a crimson red. You look down then up, expression contorted like you're asking him why. “I- I don’t understand…” You ramble and three frantic steps back you collapse, stumbling to the floor.

"What have you done....." Pharma tries to wrench away from Helex's grasp, voice rising to octaves. "Organic internal structures are weaker than a Cybertronians! This blow is fatal, do you not realize she'll die?!

Tarn steps over your body, and marches over to the jet, grabbing his face with a forceful shove. "Think again before you lecture me about those flesh-like scum. Why do you think I've chosen this method of action to condemn your actions with?"

"I couldn't get hold of the corpses in time!" He's frantic, shuffling, leaning aside to peer over the wide shoulders of Tarn. " They're not easy to get when you're a doctor every hour. I couldn't possibly kill the patients, cant I? Please, she needs medical attention, Tarn."

"And it's delayed, much like how you delayed my commodities."

"A deal is a deal. You should know better than to disrupt it."

He should've known better.

[iv]

Pharma shoots out an arm, he clutches the white jacket, the sleeve, pulling the body. He ignores how heavy, how limp and lifeless you were, compared to the motning when you were just laughing, rolling around on the bed that smelt like lavender, smiling about some pointless joke you scoured from the net.

With each pull, crimson stained and scraped the concrete floor, grime collecting at the base of your body. He doesn't seem to mind. He's too tired. Much too lethargic. When he's got you in his arms, he cradles you, holding you. His digits pinch your cheeks, You’re not warm anymore. You’re cold. Just like his armour, just like the air, just like your eyes. Much like a star, it's doused. The brightness — it's gone. No longer flickering. A mass, the singular speck, gone.

“Pharma, buddy —what the hell happened?”

“Everything. Everything did.”

He cups your jaw, presses a kiss to your temple, your nose, then one last lingering kiss to your lips.

#maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers #ikkosuwrites #pharma #pharma x reader #idw pharma #angst #Tarn x reader #mtmte tarn #mtmte #idw #canon divergent #transformers idw #mtmte pharma x reader #mtmte pharma #mtmte tarn x reader

[ikkosu]

BOUNDARIES

summary : pharma and his lack of boundaries. (established relationship + female reader).

warnings : pharma being a dick. nudity. slight non-con. slightly suggestive(?) part of MDM (my darling medic verse)

PHARMA lacks a conceptual understanding of space. He might despise bursts of affectionate touches from his love little pet but if it is his turn to show off his streaks of intimacy you're in for a ride — any semblance or care to your own boundaries are disregarded.

Oh, you're working? Too bad he's got you on his lap, prying the reports off your brittle fingers. You've got twenty four hours in a day. You can do it later. No, he doesn't care if the deadline is today. You're to be disciplined about diligence and work productivity. That's on you.

It's not that he doesn't want to care, he's well-versed in the cultural differences between a Cybertronian's mindset to a human one in regards of nudity, he just needs more than a brush of your fingers against his own.

You're endearing just as you are amusing with the thing you call 'clothes' draping over your soft little body. In many of his cold days, he thinks about ripping the fabric to shreds. A fantasy of how you'd feel underneath that primitive fabric takes up much of his waking hours. However, the only thing stopping him for doing so is the fact that you'll reduce his beddings to the outside lawn with the dogs.

It's atrociously blasphemous! How dare he be restrained from touching his pet by a mere textile linen from worms? If anything, it was you who should be grateful he cared enough to press about the matter in the first place. To be graced by the touch of the best medics in Delphi.

Pharma glares at the chronometer.

It's ticking close to the end of his shift and a quick swivel to his datapad, it's clear he hasn't drawn up a single report. No, no, no. Whatever happened to diligence? He's getting frustrated. This thought. This feeling. It's distracting his work. He needs answers, quick. Even if in unethical terms he'll have to seek it.

After a lengthful day in Delphi, forbid he ever said it's 'quiet', he slinks Into your shared room — half a habsuite and a normal apartment, if that's even possible to describe — and his hearing processors perks upon the running splash of water. A snake-like grin curls the corner of his dermas. Perfect, he muses. He's just in time for your evening bath.

So again he's goes, off to concoct another of of his unruly experiments. Will it end well? No, probably not. But who cares.Why would you ever want to hide a body like that from him?

"Dear? Are you in there?" He calls out, turning the knob.

You're too busy belting off to that song again. Skyfall by 'Amdbele', or whatever.He should've smashed that jukebox the moment he laid his eyes on it. That four sided, two, three (?) inch of metal you call a 'phone' take sup too much of your time and it irritates him to no end.

Really, you are blind sometimes.

The door gives way with a pull and the warm mist of the bathroom prickles his face. Your figure is a haze amidst the mist and his optics shutters, adjusting to the dim, golden lighting of the bathroom. Then he halts with a harsh jolt. His wings flare up just as how his face does when he regards the nape of your neck down to your back, to your—

"My, my, oh my..." He mumbles with a raised brow.

"Pharma!?" You gave a girlish shriek and on instinct, whether it was reflex or reflux, you ploughed the cleaning sponge to his helm. It bounces off with a plink against the metal. The mech,however, lay undeterred.

Pharma regards your scrunched up face and your arms — he only now realized how slick and glistening your body was — clutching your chest and legs pressed together like that'll cover up your modesty.

Oh, and your hair is matted much like a wet, tattered cat freshly wrung from a bath. He's especially fascinated by the way the fat of your chest is pushed up, though. Two circular mounds of flesh. So soft and so snug. How, pretty.

Now that would make an interesting study.

On the other hand you're stunned. Speechless. You hadn't expect him to be home this early — usually he'd come by ten. But that doesn't matter, you're too speechless that all you could sputter was his name again and again, finding the familiar grip of his name.

And when you do it's another shout. "Pharma!"

"I heard you the first time, dear." He mumbles lazily, his optics drifted off to the side and lower a bit.

"You can't just barge in here anytime you want!"

"If I wasn't suppose to then why was it unlocked?" He stares, bemused, as you curl around the curtains to hide yourself further. He catches you eying the towel within reach of his arm on the sink.

"You should be careful next time you decide not to follow simple basic house rules."

Pharma begins stalking towards you, blatantly ignoring the towel on the sink. Forget the curtains, you push yourself up against the tile wall to prolong the distance between the mech and your bare body. He's got that stupid smug smile on his face and his servos are clenching and unclenching on an invisible stressball. Said stressball is about to be the mound of your flesh in a moment. But that's fine. You've got a plan. Come any closer and you'll jam a foot up his dick.

"That doesn't mean you can just—" You cut yourself short, feeling your face burn up. He's so handsomely irritating that the urge of throttle him dead overrides your prior chagrin. "I told you, you can't just come in here unannounced like that. I was naked, Pharma!"

"And?"

"What do you mean 'and' ?!"

"Depends." He shrugs, now a foot away "What's there to hide?"

" Everything! There's this thing called boundaries, you walking, talking piece of—" You feel something metal and cold groping the flesh of your ass and you're pulled flush against his chest.

"Oh, I would love to be educated on such matters, sweetheart." He's hunched over, helm craning down close to your own. You feel the ozone breath of his mouth prickling your face. "I can't even begin to comprehend the little evolutions of every miniscule organs you stock up that little body of yours."

"What's with you and organs?!"

"That aside. I have another inkling. I was quite curious why humans are so insistent on hiding their flesh from other humans..."

"And how's that working out for you, huh?" You bite back. He grins.

"My conclusion comes clear. I'd prefer it if you were to expose such delicacies to me and only me alone..." He purrs and, much to your chagrin, buries his face into the mound of flesh that is your chest

This bastard, I swear. Your face flares up and you try to pry away from his grip. He doesn't care, however, too focused with peppering kisses down your sternum and the crook of his nose trailing after. You feel yourself lowered until you're backed against the cold, unrelenting touch of the tile floor.

"Why must you hide this from me?" He's hovered above you now, casting a shadow over your face as his head blocks the light from the ceiling. "I think it's high time we should have ourselves a little bonding session, no?"

And on cue his modesty panel opens. You disregard the slick member pressing against your stomach and wrangled away from his body, braced your stance into a standing position and well, jammed a foot up his dick.

Safe to say, he won't be using the baby factory maker for a while.

[BONUS]

It's just another day at Delphi.

Ambulon stares, concerned as the CMO waddles from ward to ward with a grimace etched on his face.

"Pharma, you're limping." He speaks up eventually and the jet halts.

It felt like hours as he did a 180 swivel around. His face twitched, a forced grin and he grits out. "You don't think i know that?"

Ambulon stands his ground. After all, wounded doctors are a blemish to the system.

"I understand you might not need a helping hand. But you don't have to hide it. I'm well verse with the feeling as well." Ambulon trails off, glancing at his own prickled off paint job. "It's not something to be ashamed of. In fact, it just means your circuits are faring well."

Pharma blinks. Once. Then, twice. "Ambulon, my man. What in Primus's spark are you going on about?"

"Your joints." He seems equally puzzled. "Aren't they rusty?"

What returned, however, is a funny look.

#pharma x reader #idw pharma #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #ikkosuwrites #maccaddams #maccadan #macc #mascsdn #cnt spl im half askeep #valveplug #idw pharma x reader

[ikkosu]

PET-ABLE HIJINKS

summary : pharma scenarios if you adopted a pet.

warnings : domestic fluff + a bit of implied stuff (ehe ‘stuff’ amirite). part of MDM (my darling medic verse)

PHARMA

With Pharma, nothing is ever balanced. He’s an affectionate lover, much too affectionate you’d have to dart around the corner when he’s in view. If you’re too late Ambulon would have to pry you off his digits, dragging you back to the safe confines of your quarters and letting the poor human rest.

Psh, like the door is gonna stop him. He’s been through much worse during the war a mere block of wood is a minuscule minority. Seconds later, he ploughs through the door and you stare at the ceiling in defeat as he pounces on you.

For a well-versed doctor who hates physical touch with Organics, as he always preaches to be so, he’s got no sense of personal space whatsoever. So, you’re in your room one day, broiling up mischiefs and antics to get his smug face back and a little ding of eureka shrouds your waking thoughts. That’s it! A pet! You’re going to buy a pet.

And you’re going to make it count.

You wait for another week before deciding on what you’ll get. If you’re going to have a little ball of mischief walking around, it has to be a cretin that acts just like Pharma. And for the past few days you’ve been analyzing him with utmost scrutiny, you’ve decided you’ll get a cat.

Pharma gets a little uneasy while making breakfast. He notices you’re a lot more quiet these days, staring holes into his back whenever you could. His mind is stumped with prior memories of yesterdays and many days before. Did he do something wrong? Was he too much for you to handle? No, no. It’s just paranoia. He’s getting too worked up over this. He might not show it but if you’re planning to cut ties with him he’ll have to strap you down to the counter.

And you’re going to stay.

When you did get a pet without his knowledge, the little gremlin is the spitting furball of feline, cat Pharma.

Tabby was the name. A white Siberian floof of white fur. She’s a sassy, fiery little thing who loves to be showered with affection when she wants to have it. Nothing more, nothing less. The first time they both meet, he’s back from work and he’s appalled at the sight of you cooing at the thing like it’s some child. Of course he’s pissed. His darling pet, to ignore Pharma of all people and reduce your affections to that organic, feline, brat of a cat? Not under his watch.

First, it’s a battle between the two beings on who's able to take up much of your personal space, now it’s a battle on who’s able to piss off who more.

And neither gets the advantage.

In the early mornings, as you flop over to cuddle your Jet lover, you’re surprised to see he’s busy wrangling off Tabby who’s insist his faceplate was a better cushion than the bed. Sometimes, you’d walk into them punted into a staring contest : the jet’s wings flared up much the same as Tabby arching her back and sneering at Pharma.

Other times, in the garden, while you’re watering the flowers, Tabby would furl lazily on the plastic chair, grooming her paws and fur. The peaceful slumber of the evening air is shattered when Pharma comes in and dumps a whole bucket of ice cold water on the cat, turning on his heel later then heading back inside without another word.

Safe to say, the scratches the next morning on his newly added paint isn’t a coincidence. Hah! Like, that’ll do it. He’d get her back by pushing a chair against the trapdoor so she’ll won’t be able to come in after her nightly walks outside.

However, Tabby does have one advantage that pisses him off more than her tearing up his datapad and that’s — cockblocking.

You wake up with a gentle kiss on your neck, his cold metal hands — hard yet pliable — grasps your stomach and pulls you against his chassis. Sunlight seeps through the blinds, flaring his armor stark white as he peppers kisses down your shoulder and nape.

A lazy smile tugs your cheeks and you lean into his touch. He palms your thighs, then over to your ass, pinching it a little before tugging down your shorts and hiking the fabric aside. You sigh and brace, hearing the familiar hiss of his panel retracting when—

Something jumps on the bed. Before Pharma could react Tabby flicks her tail at his face and he edges the bed, stumbling to the ground, pulling the blankets along his tumble. That sudden thump sits you up with a startled blink of two, three times of your eyelids. Andrenaline wrangles the sleeoiness away. Tabby, however, doesn’t seem to mind the seething scrap of metal on the floorboard and licks your face affectionsly, opting to curl around your neck.

“That cat is atrocious.” He grumbles as he lifts you off and away from the pawing mewls of the cat.

“Put me down, I want to see my baby!’

“Absolutely not. You’re coming to bed.”

“But this—“

“Our other bed. The guest room bed,” He grits and hauls you over his shoulder. “One of these days, my dear I’ll lock that wretched thing outside the lawn and let it succumb to the unethical weather Earth has in store it. What were you thinking when you nabbed this feline cretin? Consider yourself lucky I have the patience to deal with such incessant tomfoolery.”

A giggle bubbles from your throat. At least, he’s got the taste of his own medicine.

#idw pharma #pharma #pharma x reader #transformers idw #maccaddams #ikkosuwrites #transformers x reader #idw pharma x reader #valveplug

[ikkosu]

everytime I write something remotely horkny I get a fourth wall break and see my royal family ancestors (servants to the kings) regard me with disappointment

#maccadam #ikkosuwrites #transformers x reader #no bc i asked my parents who were my ancestors qnd they were like OH we were royals #👍👍👍 then they were like i meant royal servants my bad

[ikkosu]

pharma PROWL pharma PROWL pharma PROWL ugh IM SO BRAIN ROT ABOUT THEM SOMEONE GIVE ME IDEAS (I say as I have 13 wips in the basement)

#prowl x reader #idw prowl #transformers x reader #tfp #maccadams #ikkosuwrites #idw pharma #pharma x reader