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snipersfucker · 11 months

Note

An apology, but we all want to read how they are inside and possibly the Autobots lose control when what they have been imagining for so long happens (like Mirage / Bee / or Optimus) you made us addicted to you writing

there are special little places where yall can get help with your addiction!! im not the remedy!! (i bite the walls every single time i get a compliment) ALSO lets just pretend bees vocal cords werent ripped out to the point he couldn't moan like a slut :) dubcon:/

Bee was desperate.

The way your hips swayed when you walked, the way the soft tone of your voice echoed in the insides of his helm, the way you'd wrap your fragile fingers around his steering wheel and squeeze it ever so slightly in a playful manner—he needed you.

And one day, after spending countless nights on imagining you stretched out on his throbbing spike, your tits bouncing with every slap of his hips against your bare ass, he finally got the honour of actually seeing you underneath him, not just picturing it in his mind.

Bee was desperate for you, but he was also shy. Which meant that you had to initiate all the talks, all the touches, and all the kisses. However, when he finally understood that he had you exactly where he wanted you, and when he heard you vocalise your desire for him, he just couldn't stop himself.

The soft exchange of pecks on each others' lips turned into a heated make-out session, his glossa quickly asking for permission to slip into your mouth just so he could get a proper taste for the first time. His metal body began overheating as soon as he felt your body straddling his lap, your legs on both side of his hips. Your bold move made him only crave more of your touch, him barely able to restrain himself from just having his way with you, manhandling you until you'd beg for him to stop absolutely ruining you for the pleasure of you both.

And he wanted to continue making a mess with his lips on yours, especially when you were making so many sweet noises just for him... But he had to take things further, feeling like his spark might just explode if he didn't.

So he pulled away slowly, making eye contact with you for just a mere second, only to see the needy expression on your face, which gave him a silent permission to jump right into what he'd planned to do. His lips quickly found their place on the side of your neck, his servos landing on your hips, subconsciously pushing your core into his abdomen to create more friction between you.

He began licking, kissing, nibbling, and sucking the skin gently into his intake to create pretty bruises on your neck which would show anyone that you belonged to him.

Your breaths were getting heavier, much more chaotic, them hitching in your throat every time he paid special attention to a particularly sensitive spot. Your needy whimpers were mixing with the sound of his vents trying to stop him from overheating, his reaction to you making you want more of him than you already had.

And you didn't know you already had him whole. He was yours.

"Bee, please..." you whined, your eyes closed shut, hands on both of his shoulders with a strong grip which he didn't mind at all.

Your words made him transform the area under his abdomen, now a hard spike on full display, its length slapping against your stomach with every intense throb. He didn't stop taking care of your neck for even a second, every whimper and groan of desperation being muffled by your skin as he continuously planted wet kisses all the way down from your jaw to your collarbone.

He was growing impatient.

His spike touching you was sending constant pleasurable electric shocks down his bipedalism cord, his spark nearly exploding when you grinded against it with your clothed core.

The grip of his digits on your hips tightened, and you'd probably have endless bruises on your sweet, soft skin tomorrow, and this thought should've made him feel at least a tad bad but he adored knowing that he left something while doing such sinful things with you.

When you moved and brushed against his length again, he groaned in impatience, pulling away just to lift the hem of your loose shirt with his digit to signal to you that he needed it off. You made eye contact with him as you got rid of the piece of clothing on your upper half. But it wasn't enough for him—he had to have you naked against him, every inch of your warm, human skin against his hot, metal one.

Before his digit moved to the waistline of your pants, you were already unbuttoning and unzipping them, getting out of his lap just to be able to take them off fully alongside with your panties, them ending up somewhere on the floor, probably next to your shirt.

His optics immediately shot to your cunt, the temptation to put his spike inside you overwhelming his body. He didn't even wait patiently for you to get back onto his lap on your own, as soon as he stopped devouring the sight of you in front of him in just a bra, he immediately pulled you towards him with both servos on your hips again, placing you on his lap, exactly where you belonged at that moment.

Now your bare core was brushing against his spike, and he couldn't refrain himself from letting a couple of desperate noises roll off him glossa. You decided to undress fully for him, taking your bra off and tossing it onto the pile of long forgotten clothes. His optics could barely take in the view before his lips found themselves on your tits, his intake giving attention to both, switching from teasing, licking and kissing the left one to doing exactly the same to the right one. Your hardened nipples made it possible for him to gently bite them, making you buckle your hips and moan his name shamelessly, your own noises not allowing you to hear your thoughts, as if there was anything else on your mind other than how good Bee's glossa felt when it curled up on your nipple, it getting sucked into his intake.

The remains of self-control he could find within himself were slipping through his digits, the force of his touches increasing with every passing second. At the same time, he was also getting more and more intense reactions from you, your body craving more as it pressed against his.

Bee groaned, impatience getting the better of him, as he wrapped his arm around your fragile, human body, lifting you up with your chest still to his.

He moved fast like a starving man, placing you gently on the hard floor of the garage, its coldness radiating to your body, adding a completely new sensation. You arched your back, exposing your chest even more to him, hoping he'd put his mouth on your already swollen and sensitive nipples, but he seemed to have other plans when, without a heads-up, he grabbed the back of both your thighs, and lifted up your hips so that now the only body parts of yours making contact with the cement underneath you were your upper back and your head.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as you bit your lip to stop yourself from whimpering at the absolutely sinful sight of Bee kneeling down and hovering over you, spreading your legs and holding them pressed to your chest for better access to your dripping cunt.

You felt the tip of his spike teasing your hole which has been clenching over nothing for the past couple of minutes, finally about to get what it needed the most. And then, with one swift motion, Bee slid into you, the wet sound of his length entering your core echoed against the walls of your head.

A loud moan escaped the depths of your throat, lips parted, eyes closed themselves shut before you could even stop them, wanting to watch as the robot began trying to bottom out inside your warm cunt, but unfortunately his spike was too big for you to take for now.

It felt good. The pain from being so suddenly stretched out around him mixed with the pleasure from his spike hitting all the sweet spots inside you with the very first thrust of his hips.

Bee felt as if he no longer had control over his own body, the feeling of you wrapped around him, your warm cunt so inviting to just ruin it without second thoughts. And he could find absolutely no strength within himself to stop the almost animalistic desire to make you his in every meaning of this word.

His optics were trained on your face for mere seconds before his gaze shifted to the place where your bodies connected, your cunt covered in your own slick, the hole visibly stretched out to take his spike, even if it was only a half of his full length.

The idea of pushing the entire thing in only made him groan, the images of the bulge in your lower stomach he'd create flashing in front of his optics.

He threw his head back when he felt you clench around him, the sensation too much to handle.

You knew he was about to begin pounding into you as if it was the only thing he was made to do, the expression on his face and the look he was giving you the entire time confirming it.

"Bee..." you whined his name, not being fully aware what that sweet tone of your voice was doing to him.

So he just positioned himself better, pressing your thighs harder to your chest, taking almost the entire length of his spike out of your begging cunt, only to slam into you and put even more of him inside you.

You couldn't even control the noises escaping you anymore, your head thrown back because of the overwhelming pleasure.

Bee has had enough of waiting, the memory of him sitting in the corner of this garage, his spike in his servo as he kept fisting himself, overloading onto the hard floor multiple times just to get some relief after having to watch you walk around in your damned little dresses, your hips innocently swaying, your tits deliciously bouncing with every step.

Before you could register it, the robot was destroying your needy cunt with aggressive pounding, feeling as if he able to put more and more inches inside you with every slam of his hips against your ass.

His speed and the way he could hit all the best spots, even though the tip of his spike was kissing your cervix, made you constantly moan out loud, as if the walls of the garage were soundproof.

He kept making noises as well, although his were much deeper, more frustrated, as if he was chasing something he was so closed to catch but right before getting it, it'd just slip away from him.

He thought of this moment for a long time, the pink transfluid painting his servos on many occasions as he was imagining you in this exact position underneath him, squirming in pleasure.

But then, he came up with an even better idea, his body immediately following through, without even analysing it. He stopped mercilessly pounding into you just to manhandle you on your stomach, lifting your backside by your hips, spreading your legs to allow him to penetrate your needy cunt even more deeply. He positioned himself over you, his spike yet again pressing against your core for just a second before finally entering you once more. He didn't even waste time on preparing you to take him, just like the first time he pushed his length inside your pussy.

Now he had the opportunity to properly grope and slap your ass as much as he pleased, his hips constantly hitting it with every hard thrust he'd make. Tears began forming in the corner of your eyes, the feeling of being so perfectly stuffed by his spike making you shudder, moan and squirm beneath him.

His movements were rapid and chaotic, but he never slowed down, only increasing his speed, making mental notes of the noises you were making while he was fucking you so good.

"Bee, 't hurts..." you whimpered weakly in-between your loud, slutty moans, him taking it as an encouragement to continue ruining your cunt which was now clenching around him more than ever before. His one servo went to the back of your head tilted to the side, his digits gently stroking your hair as if it was supposed to help ease the pain mixing with pleasure, while the other one was still on your hip, pulling your body towards him at the same time he was pushing at it, making your skins hit each other with even more force.

You told him it hurt you but he couldn't stop.

He felt himself getting closer and closer to overloading, the warmth of your cunt getting sweetly unbearable as his movements became more sloppy, yet still as hard as before.

"Fuck." Curses kept spilling from your sinful mouth, feeling his thick spike throb inside you, indicating that he was probably about to finish.

The discomfort and pain of his metal hips hitting your much softer backside were slowly becoming less and less noticeable as complete pleasure washed over you, making you a wet, moaning mess underneath him.

With his two servos on your hips, he increased the speed of his movements once more, chasing the so desired release.

"Bee, please..." you whined again, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your hardened nipples brushing against the rough floor, "Overload in me..."

Your words were enough to tip him over the edge. With only a few more harsh slams into your tight cunt, he felt himself spurting his thick transfluid into your cervix, multiple groans and whimpers leaving his intake as he did so. He kept fucking the pink liquid into your cunt, not wanting a single drop to escape.

You could still feel his hard, metal hips hitting your ass, all until you clenched around him so tightly, he swore he could overload again just from that sensation alone. You came all over his thick spike, moaning loudly, your body shaking with indescribable pleasure from both his rough pounding as well as the knowledge that his transfluid was deep inside you.

Bee didn't pull out instantly, his thrusts decreasing in speed and force with every passing second, trying to ride out the remains of his and yours overloads.

You were panting and the robot was most definitely overheating, his metal body much hotter in touch than ever before, now his chassis pressed against your back as he began planting gentle kisses to your hair, his vents not being able to catch up.

After a long time that didn't feel long enough for him, he decided to pull away and take his spike out of your core filled with his transfluid, practically begging him to just fuck it again. But now, that his lust for you was somehow taken care of, he could regain the control over his body, and allow you to rest after getting absolutely ruined by him.

You rolled over onto your back yourself, clenching your thighs together when you felt his pink juices flooding out of you, wanting to keep them there for as long as possible. He smiled at your attempts to keep him inside you, the desire growing in his optics once again.

Bee gently wrapped his servos around your bare, exhausted body, lifting you up to place you down on the sofa he was previously occupying with you in his lap. As soon as you felt the plush against the skin of your back, you pulled the robot in your direction with your hands on both sides of his helm, making him bend his body so that you could kiss him passionately for the last time that night, knowing that he was most likely about to leave you to take care of his Autobot duties. He obliged without complaining, ready to slide into you again right then and there. And how disappointed he was when you pulled away with a soft smile, exhaustion finally catching up to you...

The corner of his slips curled up as he looked around in search for something to put on you. An abandoned blanket sitting on a wooden chair since he could remember would do. Before you could even notice he left you alone on the sofa, he was back, covering you from the neck down quickly but still making sure your whole body was under the soft fabric.

"Prime needs you?" you asked in a weak tone, your voice now only confirming how tired you actually were.

Prime needed him but he needed you.

Bee only nodded, to which you responded softly, "I'll stay here." And before he could even give you any sort of a physical confirmation that he got that, you already closed your eyes with a content expression written all over your face.

He smirked to himself, the sweet feeling of finally achieving his goal washing over him, him practically having been able to live in his dreams for a moment. His smile only widened when he came to a realisation...

He finally managed to mark you as his.

don't know if i made it he-lost-control enough but i tried and that's what counts in my books. also, i made it an oneshot but if you wanted separate hcs for these characters ill be more than willing to write it

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fiber-optic-alligator · 3 months

Note

Requesting IDW Megatron x Lost Light human liaison reader. Based on the song "Heaven's Light" from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Thanks for the request! Sorry for such a long delay! I spent a lot of time writing and rewriting this because I wanted to get it right. I went with Autobot Megatron for this one. I hope that is okay with you! Feedback is always appreciated! :D

Heaven's Light

Pairing: IDW Megatron x Human Liaison Reader

Word Count: 3588

Summary: Though he is now a hardworking Autobot aboard the Lost Light who's just trying to make up for the sins he's committed in his past, Megatron still believes he is a monster who is unworthy of ever being loved. That all changes when you, a little human liaison from Earth, makes your way into his life and implores him to reluctantly open his spark.

Megatron knows he is a monster.

He has done horrible things. He has killed, he has tortured, he has maimed. His recharge cycles are plagued with the echoes of screams and the fallen frames of mangled bodies. He stands atop a pile of them. When he looks at his servos, they are drenched in wasted energon that isn’t his own. Nightmares, Rune calls them. Terrible warped memories of his past. He cannot escape them. The guilt will stain him forever.

Megatron is aware that most of the Lost Light’s crew is afraid of him. With the exceptions of others like the captain, most steer clear of his way. When they see him thumping down a hallway with steps that seem to shake the entire ship, they scurry like glitch mice when a cyber cat is near. They speak to him with tremors in their voices and rattling in their joints.

Not that he makes things easy for them, he admits. Megatron is aloof, calculating, and antisocial. His violent tendencies have devolved into simple growls and annoyed huffs. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to do a job: atone for the sins he has committed.

And yet, the nightmares remain. They do not leave no matter what he does.

Megatron is not a gentle being. He knows he is rough around the edges, and that scares people. So when he hears the announcement about a human boarding the Lost Light, his first instinct is to avoid them at all costs. It does not matter if they are a liaison. Humans are fragile and too easy to break. And he hardly believes Earth wants their delegate to be interacting with the former Decepticon warlord who has slaughtered thousands.

Unfortunately, his dimwitted captain has different plans.

“No.” Megatron crosses his arms and lifts his chin defiantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” Rodimus throws his helm back with an exasperated groan. “You're the perfect bot for the job! Why can’t you just say yes?”

“I did not board this ship to inevitably become a human babysitter.” Megatron’s words come out harsh and unyielding. “The answer is no, Rodimus. Get someone else to do it.”

“I agree,” Drift says. “In no way can I see this resulting in a positive outcome. Um…no offense Megatron.”

Megatron snorts. “None taken.”

“You two don’t understand.” Rodimus rubs his forehelm in faux exhaustion. “The human is here to learn about Cybertronian history and culture. Who else knows more about that sort of stuff than you?”

Megatron bares his teeth. “Are you calling me old?”

“I’m calling you knowledgeable,” Rodimus shoots back. “You can tell the human so much about us, more than Drift or I could combined.”

“That is not my area of profession. Get Rewind to do it.”

“No,” Rodimus objects. “I want you to do it.”

“Rewind would be a much better option if we want this human to successfully integrate into the ship’s social life,” Drift advises.

Rodimus punches the other mech squarely in the shoulder plating. Drift yelps and jumps back. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Are you on my side with this or not?” Rodimus snaps.

“I’m on the side of wanting the human to like us, and I don’t believe pairing them with Megatron is the best way to achieve that! Again, no offense to Megatron, but we need to make a good impression.” Drift straightens and rubs his shoulder, wincing. “We have to think about this clearly, Rodimus.”

“I am thinking clearly. I am the most clear-thinking mech in this room. I have never been thinking clearer, and I don’t think I ever will.” He points at Megatron. “You are going to be this human’s companion for the next six cyber-weeks they are here. You will educate them on our ways, teach them our history, and convince them that we are awesome and amazing and incredible. Understand? Come on, remember their little human motto! ‘Salvation through understanding, understanding brings in the light!’ There’s no way you can say no to that!”

Megatron feels indignation churn within his tank. That indignation turns into something dangerous, something he has not been able to snuff out of himself completely since he’s turned over a new leaf. That something is hostility borne from the frustration of being told to do something he doesn’t want to do. He snarls, but Rodimus does not cower. The red-and-orange mech’s plating bristles and clacks together in an act of instinctual dominance. The two leaders stare each other down in a silent battle. It takes Drift being the middle-man to relieve some of the tension crackling between them. “Alright, enough! Both of you stop right now! The human is going to be here at any moment, and you want their first impression of you two to be this? Calm down and get a hold of yourselves!”

Megatron scoffs. Without looking at either of them, he shoulders past Drift towards the door. “I will do as you say, Rodimus,” he rumbles. “But don’t you think I will enjoy a second of it. You are making a mistake.”

He hears Drift whisper “This is a bad idea” to the captain. Megatron stomps off, ignoring how every mech around him presses themselves against the walls to avoid his path. They should have chosen Rewind.

You are…not what Megatron was expecting.

You arrive on the ship with a swagger in your step and not an ounce of nervousness within you. Your eyes are wide with awe and your little dermas are split in a wide open smile as you turn in a circle to take everything in. There’s something distinctly adorable about the way you shift the weight of your stuffed backpack from one shoulder to the other and drag a tiny little suitcase behind you that makes the softer side of Megatron want to say “Awwww.” Apparently he isn’t the only one either; Rodimus is smiling like an idiot, his servos fidgeting like he wants to scoop you up and coo at you dotingly.

Drift elbows him. He snaps to attention and announces himself grandly, which makes Megatron want to cringe. “Liaison Y/N! So good to finally meet you in person! Welcome to the Lost Light!” He kneels and extends his servo with surprising mindfulness. “I am Rodimus Prime, captain of this ship.”

Your smile widens when you hold the tip of his index digit between both of your little fleshy servos and shake it. “I am honored to be here, captain.”

“The honor is all ours. And please, just call me Rodimus. You're one of us now. There’s no need for formalities.” Rodimus rises and gestures to Drift. The red-and-white mech steps forward and dips his head while he is introduced. “This is Drift, my third-in-command. And this is Megatron, my…co-captain.”

Megatron keeps his expression neutral when he steps forward to loom over you like a mountain. You have to crane your neck back in order to take all of him in. Here we go, he thinks. Any moment now, you’ll recognize his name. You’ll retreat to a safe distance. Maybe even start screaming in fear. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he is Megatron, feared former leader of the Decepticons, one of the most ruthless and terrifying beings in the-

Your smile does not waver and your attitude remains just as bright. “Megatron. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

It takes a moment for him to register your words. Wait, what?

Rodimus coughs and eyeballs him critically. “Oh.” Megatron blinks. “Um. Yes. Hello. It’s wonderful to, uh, meet you too.”

Drift snickers. He wants to punch him.

“I apologize for his flustered state.” Rodimus laughs nervously. “We’re all just very excited to have you on board. This is the first time much of the crew will be meeting a human, so I hope you’ll understand that some of us might not know how to interact with you.”

“It’s no problem,” you say. “I get it. But that’s why I’m here! So if you are curious about me, then I encourage it.”

Rodimus relaxes, looking relieved. “Yes, of course! We’re connecting two worlds! It’s absolutely incredible.”

“If anyone makes you actively uncomfortable though, please let one of us know,” Drift adds. “We understand that there is a clear power imbalance between you and all of us. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

“Well, that’s why Megs is going to be your partner during your time here!” Rodimus grabs Megatron’s shoulder and shakes him. It takes all of his strength not to growl. “You're here because you want to know more about us, right? Well, my co-captain is extremely knowledgeable in all things Cybertronian. He’ll do his best to answer any and all questions you might have!”

You show no trepidation over this. In fact, your eagerness only seems to grow. Megatron is honestly stunned. “Oh, absolutely, I’d love that! As long as it’s okay with you?” You look back at him inquiringly.

He starts to object, but Rodimus slams his servo over his intake. “He’s totally okay with it! He volunteered, after all! And he’ll start with showing you to your habsuite with Drift, so you can take all the time you need to settle in!”

Your concerns are soothed. Taking up your suitcase, you follow Drift and leave the docking bay, with the other mech walking at a turtle’s pace in order to stay in tandem with you. Megatron rips Rodimus’s servo away from his intake. “You,” he hisses, “are the bane of my very existence.”

Rodimus shrugs. “I can live with that title. But seriously, I’m doing you a favor right now. Enough with the brooding miserableness and more with the reinventing yourself. I’m trying to help you feel more at ease here. If you start with the human, you may find yourself actually being gentle.”

He snarls, and for the first time in a long while wonders if he can get away with killing one last Autobot. But when he looks at you and sees the way you smile up at Drift with so much young excitement…something in him softens.

“So, I was told you know a lot about Cybertronian culture,” you say to him. Drift is long gone, and your habsuite is set up to house all of your accommodations. You sit back on the miniature berth covered with blankets and pillows, thin legs swinging idly while you regard him with a curious look. He glances at you fleetingly, then returns his gaze to the data pad he’s holding.

“That I do,” he answers.

“Mind telling me some stuff?”

Your question is blunt and to the point. There’s no hesitation. You don’t look the least bit afraid. For a moment, Megatron wonders if you even know who he is. You just seem so…clueless. Did your human superiors really give you no sort of debriefing on who you would be dealing with here before you left?

“What do you want to know?” he asks reluctantly.

“I want to know about turbo foxes,” you reply.

He stares at you. Then he bursts into raucous laughter that causes his entire frame to shake. You throw your hands up in feigned exasperation, grinning like an idiot. “What? What did I say?”

“You said nothing wrong, little one.” He manages to calm himself down, shaking his head while still chuckling. “I just…I was expecting you to ask about the war.”

“Why would I ask you about that?”

“Because that is what everyone wants to know about. The war is essentially a defining factor of our history and culture. Our image cannot exist without it.”

You shrug. “I can learn about the war from anyone. I already have. But turbo foxes? I’ve only read a single paragraph about those. They sound so cute! You have to tell me more.”

“Wait.” He pauses, confused. “You…you’ve learned about the war?”

“Of course I have,” you reply. “Like you said, it’s part of your history and culture. Who hasn’t at this point?”

“So…you know who I am. Megatron. Me. You’ve learned about me.”

“Yes?” You tilt your head. “I don’t know what this has to do about turbo foxes.”

“No, it-it has nothing to do with them. I just-” He sighs, rubbing his optics in a tired way. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t acknowledged the fact that you know me. You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of continuing to do.”

“I haven’t acknowledged it because it’s not worth acknowledging.”

“That is absurd. Of course it is worth acknowledging. I am Megatron. I’m the former leader of one of the most feared armies known throughout the universe.”

“Former leader,” you say.

“That-” He sputters. He isn’t sure where you are going with this; you’ve thrown him for a loop. “That has nothing to do with the current situation.”

“Yes it does.” You stand up. “You used to be the leader of the Decepticons. You’ve killed, you’ve destroyed. But you don’t do that anymore. So now here we are.”

“You are okay with completely looking past everything I have done? You're just going to…ignore it?”

“No.” You take slow steps towards him. “I’m not. I’ve done my research on you. I understand that you’ve done terrible things. But I also know that you're trying to make up for all of that. You're good now. Being here, helping me…I know you're trying to be better. I appreciate that.” You hold up your hands. He understands, yet hesitates to fulfill your wish. You have to encourage him. “Come on, it’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

He bends down and extends his servo. “How can you be so sure?”

You hold his index digit and bring the tip to your cheek, allowing him to caress the soft organic skin of your face. You are so small, so delicate, so carefully made. Megatron isn’t caught up on the stories about the gods of your world, yet he knows-he can feel it-that whatever being made you put so much care and love into their work, he is sure their power rivals Primus himself. His walls crumble. He wants to hold you forever.

“I’m sure because I trust you,” you say. “And when you earn the trust of someone you can so easily hurt…you know you are good.”

Six weeks later…

Swerve’s bar is filled with life. Megatron hears it all the way from the deserted hallway he sits in. The laughter, cheers, and songs echo like the hauntings of spirits. Yet, he feels no urge to join in. The bench he sits on is as cold as space. He’s sure he can feel the chilling void through the large observation window he’s in front of right now.

The soft pitter patter of human feet turns his attention away from the window. He sees you heading towards him with cheeks flushed red and a stupid smile. His olfactory sensors pick up on the faint scent of alcohol sticking to your skin when you make it over to him.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“A little,” you reply. A soft pat to his pede signals what you want. He gives it to you, scooping you up into a gentle hold and placing you on his right tibulen. You lean against him with a soft exhale. “Why didn’t you come join us?”

He lifts his gaze to the window. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. Neither am I.”

The warmth of your little body is comforting. It makes him want to focus on you. Yet, he can’t manage to do so. It’s such a foolish situation; him, of all mechs, so infatuated with this little human, he can barely look at them.

But it goes beyond that. He knows it does. So do you. Six weeks are nearly over. Your time here will soon be done.

He doesn’t know how to handle that anymore.

“Why did you leave Swerve’s?” he chooses to ask you, because if he brings up the topic of you leaving, he thinks he’s going to lose control of his emotions.

“I wanted to be with you.”

He snorts. “I hardly think a party being thrown in your honor is worth leaving in exchange for spending time with some old bot.”

“Oh, please. You aren’t just some old bot to me. I like being around you. Is that so hard to believe?”

He smiles humorously. “You might be the only one on this ship who does.”

You don’t respond, and Megatron fears he might have offended you in some way. When he looks at you, he sees your shoulders slump and your head hang like you are mourning the dead.

“I’m leaving soon,” you murmur.

“...I know.”

“I asked my superior if I could stay.” You draw your knees to your chest and hug them. “I begged him. Another week. Hell, another day. But he wouldn’t give in. Fucking asshole…he knows I’ve gotten attached.”

“Getting attached was the point of you coming here.”

“I know. But…not like this.” An invisible chord tightens around your little body. He can tell your composure is crumbling. “This…wasn’t something I was trained for.”

His spark aches painfully. If he were younger, he’d do something rash; threatening your superior would have been his first course of action. If that didn’t work, he’d steal you away and whisk you off to the far reaches of space, away from Earth, away from anything or anyone who might prevent the two of you from being together.

But he’s not his younger self. He’s old. He’s tired. So he simply heaves a sigh and lifts his optics to the stars. “You know…so many times out there, I’ve watched a happy pair of lovers walking in the night.”

You lift your head and look at him. There are tears in your eyes. Megatron rumbles out a deep purr and reaches for you, gently maneuvering you into his servos and lifting you up to his faceplate. You lean forward and place a tiny hand on his nose.

“What were they like?” you ask quietly.

“They had a kind of glow to them,” he responds with a sense of wistfulness. “It almost looked like…Heaven’s light.”

That makes you giggle. “How the hell do you know what Heaven is?”

“Lets just say I’ve done my research,” he answers with a smile.

You lightly tap his nose with your fist. “Sap.” Your expression falls into a contemplative frown. “What were you thinking when you saw them? The lovers? Were you jealous?”

“Well…not exactly. Jealousy isn’t the right word to describe it. But…I envied them. I wanted to be like them. But I knew I’d never know that warm and loving glow, though I might wish with all my might.” He closes his optics, steadying his breaths. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of you. “No face as hideous as my face…was ever meant for Heaven’s light.”

You open your mouth to retort, not at all willing to listen to him put himself down. That’s one of the things he loves about you. No matter who it is, you will always step in to make someone feel better. It’s a quality many Cybertronians are lacking, yet it abounds in humans plentifully.

He had been wrong about your kind, back when he was still the leader of the Decepticons. You are so much more beautiful than you realize.

Megatron cuts you off gently with a low puff of air into your face from his nose. You sputter and stumble back, and he laughs. His thumb comes up to stroke your hair, then travels down to trace the outline of your jaw. You still, eyes widening when you see the lovesick look he’s giving you. “But suddenly an angel has smiled at me…you, little one. Come on, smile.”

There’s no sharp-witted reply from you to make him chuckle. You just obey him and smile. His spark skips a beat and he feels like he is going to melt right then and there. “You are the only one to smile at me in this way,” he whispers. “And you…you’ve touched my face without a trace of fright.”

“I could never be afraid of you,” you say. You press yourself against his nose, hugging him in the best way you can. He feels you trembling. “I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve dreamt of you. I still dream. I dare to dream that you might even care for me…”

Megatron leans into your touch. “My cold dark tower seems so bright…I swear it must be Heaven’s light.”

There is silence between you for some time. The noise from Swerve’s bar has faded away. You sniffle and don’t pull away. “Stay with me,” you beg.

“You know I can’t,” he says. “Not forever.”

“Then just for tonight. For as long as we have left. Stay with me, please. I don’t want to let you go. I love you.”

“You don’t have to.” He hugs you with his free servo. “Not right now. I’m here. I love you too. You are the only one I will ever love. My Heaven’s light.”

“Salvation through understanding,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks. Yet, you are smiling. It’s a grateful smile. A smile that tells him you are so, so lucky to have ever met him at all.

His optics well up. He lets the walls break. “Understanding brings in the light.”

Megatron knows he is a monster.

But after meeting you…he knows he’s a monster who’s worthy of receiving love.

324 notes · View notes

mariacrow · 10 months

Note

Hey! Wanted to let you know I absolutely adore your writing!

Can I get a request for jealous bayverse bumblebee x reader where reader has just recently gotten a new gaming device and has stayed indoors more often since? He would absolutely miss taking them out for rides

I'd like to think he'd use clips from the song PS5 to talk about it, but that's totally up to you haha

Thank you, friend! 🌻 I’m glad you enjoy my writing 💛 here’s a gift for you 🐝

❁ Bumblebee x reader ❁

2nd person

female reader

takes place in reader’s backyard and house

jealousy, clinginess, needy for attention

taptaptap…

You heard someone tapping on your bedroom window while you were playing video games. You kept the curtains down for a couple of days now so the light wouldn’t distract you from the screen. You didn’t see who it was but you knew nonetheless. You were too busy having fun with your new console so you didn’t budge.

taptapTAP!

“Bee! I know it’s you!”

taptaptaptaptap…

“Stop that! You’re going to break the window!” you shouted while not getting your eyes off the screen.

You could hear him buzzing like a sad bumblebee as he once again, but this time gently, tapped your window.

He made you pause your game. Sighing in irritation, you stood up and spread the curtains. You were welcomed by the sight of Bee’s wide puppy optics and his servo on the window. He let out a sad buzz once again.

“Bee. What do you want?”

To what his optics only widened as his muzzle wobbled.

“I’m busy, can’t you see?” you said and closed the curtains again.

But oh, he’s stubborn. He won’t give up until you give him the attention he wants. He wants Y/N’s cuddles now and he’s gonna get ‘em!

It was quiet until you heard him trying to open your window from the outside.

“That ain’t gonna work, Bee!” you said while trying to concentrate on the game.

He’s smart though. He sneaked one of his wires through the window crack and unlocked it, opening it and scooting away the curtains. He peaked his head into your bedroom and happily buzzed as his antennas wriggled.

“WHA- you’re unbelievable!” you said through a chuckle. You can’t be mad at him, JUST LOOK AT HIM. HE’S ADORABLE.

“Great, you made me lose my game.”

He reached with his servo inside and grabbed your console, ripping it out from the outlet and dragging it outside.

“WHAT ARE YOU- HEY! CAREFUL, IT’S FRAGILE!” you rushed to your window to see him holding it in the air.

He crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the ground like an angry parent.

“Beeeee… come on man…”

“You were playing— too long!— Time for a break!” he sulked over the radio.

“I was about to! After that match!”

“You always say that!”

“Please give it back! You’re going to break it!”

He shook his helm, lifting his chin and pouting, holding it higher in the air.

“Okaaaay.. What do I need to do?”

He opened his one optic, giving you a side eye. He then leaned closer to you and tapped his cheek plate, happily buzzing. Indicating he wants a kiss.

He made you giggle, “So that’s what this is all about huh~?” you said and leaned to give him a kiss but this cheeky little bastard turned his helm in the last moment so you ended up kissing his muzzle. You didn’t mind though, you giggled as he gave a happy little dance shuffle.

He then grabbed you and yeeted your console back inside, damaging it.

“BEE!”

He laughed as he transformed and so you found yourself inside the Camaro.

“You broke it!!!”

“Nothing— Ratchet— can’t fix.” he said as he floored it, heading to the main streets, taking you out for a ride.

You couldn’t help but laugh. You slouched in your seat, “How can I possibly be mad at you?”

“I missed you…”

“I know, Bee… I’m sorry…” you rubbed the steering wheel, “It was kinda selfish… I promise I won’t be so irresponsible anymore.”

He happily buzzed and played “Sunflower” by Post Malone and Swae Lee on the radio.

“Get ready for the ride of your life, beautiful~!” he used a movie quote.

You finally realized no console or game can replace your actual loved ones. You two enjoyed each other’s company like you used to as you rode into the sunset…

Dividers belong to @patches-1105 and @lostsozai

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers bayverse #bayverse transformers #bumblebee #transformers bumblebee #bayverse bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #tf bayverse #tf bumblebee

665 notes · View notes

cozzzynook · 7 months

Text

bumblebee was born with door wings.

It was known throughout Autobot territory that having anything relative to something deemed decepticon labeled you an automatic target. Sparkling or not, Autobots were not as kind as the history archives liked to preach and Bumblebee knew this first hand. Discrimination was a factor Bumblebee was far too familiar with seeing as he was born with door wings though he could not fly and had a ground alt mode. His alt mode was that of a car built for speed, he was no Blurr but he could rival him with how fast he could go. His driving was practically like flying once his wheels hit the pavement.

Not to mention his slender frame rivaled that of a seeker, he wasn’t bulky like a grounder something that put him at a disadvantage. He was not tall either, making him a prime target for bullying inside sparkling centers where all the other bitlets were not only bigger but stronger.

The overseers of the center always turned a blind optic to his bruises and dents. Not sparing him much energon since they didn’t like looking at his bright yellow painting even when his black paint came in albeit late since his frame was never given the proper nutrients to grow.

Bumblebee spent his early protoform days in a sparkling center since his creators were offlined when he was only days old after his emergence. His creators were not lucky. It was a high act of treason for an autobot or grounder to bond with a decepticon and seeker even if the war had ended, Autobots did not take lightly to such unions.

They were hurrying to get to neutral territory when they were caught and offlined. He was left to rust in his carriers gray arms before being found by a traveling bot who dumped him into a sparkling center out of pity for his fresh young spark.

Sometimes, on the nights his stomach rumbled and his door wings were once again scratched and painfully bent he wished the traveler had left him to gray. His young processor saw things weren’t going to get better at the sparkling center what with how all the others were adopted and he was sneered at.

So one night he snuck into the energon storage with a pouch and grabbed as much as he could before leaving. Life on the streets weren’t truly different for him save he was beaten less but he did have to hide more. Many bots gave him looks that made his tanks turn and he did his best to steer clear of them.

He knew to be weary of decepticons and autobots alike seeing first hand how cruel autobots could be all because he was born wrong and he knew from listening to the overseers how cruel decepticons could be. He wasn’t one to care for reading history or reading much in general but he did put it to use after teaching himself to read that decepticons had a point in their early cause. Even his young processor knew the counsel should’ve listened to their demands and reached an agreement. That could’ve spared so many pointless deaths including his creators.

He knew never to speak on his thoughts of course because Autobots spoke of being the side dedicated to peace while showing they had a pretty messed up definition of what peace actually was.

“Hey! Get lost!”

Scurrying without looking back Bumblebee was off.

His time running from bullies showed him he was fast and life on the streets taught him he could be even faster. Taking energon when absolutely necessary, speeding off with anti virus medicine that no bot would waste on him, dodging Elite guards who tried to take him into custody so he could be placed in a sparkling center. Yes, Bumblebee learned he was fast and he was good at utilizing it well into early adulthood when he would dodge servo happy mechs who wanted to touch him.

He wasn’t blind he knew his frame was desirable. He was small, lithe, and curvy in all the right places that left mechs and even a few femme’s glancing his way. At first it annoyed him. Being looked at meant trouble and as much as he wanted the attention, any attention when the days were crushingly lonely, he didn’t want to be damaged because someone thought they’d be doing him a favor ripping his door wings off again.

The first time it happened he was still a sparkling in the center. An overseer thought they’d be helping both of them by removing the ugly nuisance from his back. His memory file painfully kept the scene of him screaming energon murder as he laid in a puddle leaking his life away. The looks other overseers gave him after they were reattached made his circuits and mesh quiver even to this day.

“Look out!”

He turned his helm away from the mech sizing him up like a fresh cup of energon in the sunrise with his arms covering his chest plates when his optics met sight of large ship hovering in the sky before missile fire rained down on them.

He’d never run so fast in his life, transforming mid jump over a graying frame that laid on the ground before high tailing it. There was no stopping, no corner unfazed by the many mechs and femme’s running to safety and no where to go where the screams of innocent mechs and femmes alike were cut off only to be replaced as the process repeated over and over.

He was exhausted by the time the ship left. The autobot insignia was hidden but word later got out that it was an Autobot elite guard ship hunting down two notorious decepticons who were hiding in their area. They hadn’t managed to capture them so the group decided to take them by surprise and ambush them.

No apologies were given to the mechs and femmes permanently disabled by the elite guards reckless decision. Those that died were labeled a “tragic loss” and were used to encourage bots across Cybertron to join the Autobot forces to help snuff out any more decepticons so another incident like this would not be repeated.

Bumblebee remembers feeling an array of emotions when he heard the broadcast. He remembers seeing the poster with Ultra Magnus not long after covering the area and bots believing the nonsense. He seemed to be one of the only few bots who saw something wrong with all this besides those permanently disabled. Neither he nor they said anything though. It would be disastrous for them, the outcasts and undesirables, to speak out against it. They were already hated by their people for being different Bumblebee knew the mechs and femmes who were permanently damaged would no longer live the same life. They’d be just like him.

Tossed to the side.

Bumblebee suddenly felt like his body was covered in the life energon that splattered on him as he raced to survive the onslaught. He felt his optics sting and the late night break in to a “communal” cleaner did little to wash away the long gone life energon.

‘How can they live with themselves?’

Bumblebee asked himself this question countless times as he took what energon he could find before leaving the half destroyed town. It wouldn’t do him any good staying there not when bots were looking for another to take their anger out on. Many of those bots were joining the military and hoping to become Elite guards themselves. Bee figured it was misplaced hope and a need for safety.

He got it, he really did.

If he could blend in he would but sadly he can’t. He never could. Not with his yellow paint, door wings and femme like frame. He wasn’t proud of the way he learned to use these things to his advantage. It wasn’t always a guarantee he could scrounge up some energon without getting caught and since he was no longer a sparkling but a young grown mech, he needed to be careful not to get caught. He didn’t want to end up in a detention center.

It was hard at first. Truth be told it was still hard. Going to half decent but mostly seedy bars working for his keep to have a place to rest his head and keep energon in his tank. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this arrangement was not only dangerous but temporary. Eventually his luck would run out within twelve cycles and he’d be asked to accompany the bar owner to a more..private room. He always left immediately after saying he would meet them down there.

It led to him traveling a lot more than he originally planned but he eventually found some semblance of settling when he entered a camp full of seekers. There were a few grounders like himself, most likely mated to some of the seekers. He stayed clear of them seeing them just made him think of his creators and his processor just wandered to trying to remember what they looked like. So he tried to keep to himself no matter how lonely he was. He wanted to chat and get close with others, by nature he was a friendly mech and loved talking but he couldn’t risk doing so. Not here.

Not when he was always at risk of being hurt or…used.

“You know you don’t have to be so distant. It’s different here,” a grounder spoke, “a lot of seekers here just want to online peacefully and us grounders just want our sparklings and mates safe.”

The mech tried to put a servo on his shoulder but he flinched away, standing straight a moment later he looked anywhere but the mech and scurried off. His circuits were nervous for cycles after that encounter. Other grounders started coming to him trying to talk and soothe him as if he was a sparkling in distress and not a grown mech himself.

He didn’t need them trying to creator him, he was fine on his own and had been all his life cycle. They could frag off snd creator their own sparklings. It made him so irrationally angry every time they tried to take care of him he wasn’t some bitlet that needed consoling he was a grown mech that entered carrier heats alone when he was just a youngling living in a back alley. He was mech who survived the acid rains in the dumpsters or bots back garages in corners to not he seen. He’d kept himself from being interfaced by older bots all on his own.

He didn’t need them! He never needed a creator before when he was a lone sparkling and he doesn’t need one now as a grown mech.

“Aren’t jou a little young to be drinking jour sorrows away?”

“Aren’t you a little fragger for bothering someone in a corner who wants to be left alone?”

Okay so maybe he had a foul intake but he was justified, he wanted some peace to wallow in a bar he wouldn’t be asked to interface for shelter in for once he wanted to relax not this.

“Quite ze mouth on jou little one. Careful. Jou don’t seem ze type to be good in a mech on mech brawl,” the mech laughed in his foreign accent. He blamed the high grade in his systems for making him think it was attractive as well as warming his pleasure sensors.

“Yeah well you don’t know what kind of mech I am so frag off and leave me alone,” okay maybe he sounded bratty but he just wanted the mech to go away.

“Suite jourself,” the mech said with a slag eating grin in his vox. It made Bumblebee look up from his glass he was going to give this mech a piece of his processor until he looked at the mech. He was tall, really tall. Arms thicker than Bumblebee’s frame with a beautiful jawline that could offline. His face plate was a shade of blue he could never grow tired of seeing with the most beautiful red optics he’s ever seen. In the back of his processor he knew that meant this was a decepticon mech former or not he wasn’t sure. All he knew in that moment looking at the beige and purple painted mech was that he was beautiful, stunning, a sight he was truly gifted to behold.

His intake was left partially open as he swayed on unstable pedes before grabbing the counter to balance himself. His high grade filled helm was hard at work rushing energon south as his private plating grew hot. He could feel his valve growing wet with sticky energon slick and he knew he had to get out of there.

His seal was still in tact thankfully but with how attractive the mech before him was he wasn’t sure how much longer that would be the case.

“Oooh? Nothing to say hummel?”

Bumblebee made a face at the name worry tinting his blurred optics as he gazed at the mech but the small part of his processor that was logic won out and he stumbled away from the mech. Forcing himself to be silent as he left the bar. He didn’t have a place to call his yet but the archive building always had a room they let mechs and femmes stay in who had no hab suite. Here in the camps shanix wasn’t as big a need like in the capital and their surrounding cities and towns. He still had less than the average bot but he had enough for fuel and thats all he really cared about.

He was just at the archive back-way when he stumbled and lost his peding. The rush of cold air didn’t turn to concrete and vaguely he could feel two warm servo’s on his hips before being lifted into cool arms. The bot that helped him was a mech and a muscular yet lean one at that. They were quite large with how far from the he was but he didn’t feel in danger. He couldn’t identify what he felt if he was honest.

Warmth. Comfort. Soft. His body wasn’t on edge for the first time he knew of. He almost missed the word he’d been unfortunate to experience until now.

Safe.

The mech holding him managed to make him feel safe when he didn’t even know them.

“Jou shouldn’t get so full on high grade especially since jou aren’t a regular size for that kind of high grade.”

‘Oh great, this mech again,’ he would’ve rolled his optics if he didn’t have such a helm ache.

“Put me down,” his vox was half static as he tried to get feeling into his frame. His servo’s wouldn’t listen to his circuits telling them to move and his digits just hung limp against the mech’s chest plates. They were thick, made for flight and battle. Oh how his private plating pulsed with life at the mere thought.

‘Why did I have to like em big?’

“And vhere vould jou go hmm? Do jou live here? In this little hole?”

Bumblebee had enough energy to get upset at the incredulous tone but not much else. He wanted to helm butt the nosey mech but he didn’t have the energy to.

“Not your business, put me down,” his venting wasn’t even and his frame was getting hot from all the high grade and his valve’s pulsing. He hoped the bot couldn’t smell his arousal, he really wanted to frag the mech but at the same time he didn’t want to risk getting sparked or a virus.

“Are jou sure jou want me to put jou down? Jou could barely stand on those little stabilizers just a moment ago. Jou think jou can make it inside?”

“Why do you care? Just let me figure it out on my own and go away!”

He was starting to lose his temper and his valve was starting to leak with every passing word from that thick accent. He wanted the mech and he wanted to feel his spike breaching his valve and breaking his seal but there would be consequences to that and the mech was most likely a decepticon. He didn’t get a good look at his chassis to see the insignia but Bumblebee knew he had one.

“Feisty little mech hmm?”

“I’m not that little,” with a sudden burst of energy Bumblebee managed to catch the mech off guard as he twisted in his arms. Lifting a servo to try pushing the mech away he was restrained faster than he knew possible.

“Interesting, jou have quite ze speed I’ll give jou that hummel,” the mech smirked unfazed, “but i’m faster,” he said leaning in face plate to face plate.

“What do you want from me?”

“Jou are interesting.”

“I’m not a pleasurebot,” Bumblebee glared, servo transforming to a stinger canon. He has never offlined another bot in his life cycle but he was willing to blue screen one on their aft if he needed to.

“I never saw jou that way little one. I simply think jour interesting. I’ve never seen a bot with yellow paint or wings as beautiful as jours especially since jour a grounder.”

That made Bumblebee freeze.

No bot had ever called him interesting, let alone beautiful. And his door wings? Well, they were betraying his vulnerability full throttle as they flicked and postured nervously. A tint of eagerness in how they didn’t pull away from the mech’s direction. Vents stalling for a nanoclick as his optics focus on honesty and want in the red optics bewitching him.

“you..you think i’m…”

He couldn’t get the words out his vox couldn’t form a single sentence and his optics betrayed him by blurring with leaking fluid.

“i..don’t..,” that ache in his spark coiled something fierce vice grip holding him immobile in the mech’s arms. Those red optics didn’t pity him, didn’t judge him, understood him.

“I vant to, hummel,” the soft blow of air from his derma’s cooled the heat clouding Bumblebee’s fave plate, he wanted more, so much more. “I vant to touch jou, show jou just how beautiful jou are, hummel.”

His derma’s wisp the tip of his audial and brush against the mesh under his optic. Bumblebee could feel his horns flicking with excitement, with need, reacting to the mech’s touch. He wanted more. Needed more.

His own dermas inched forward, soft vent brushing blue mesh as his optic lids fluttered, chest plates pushing out slightly to touch the mech more. He could feel his breast mesh beneath his plating grow aroused perking to rub uncomfortably, begging to be set free. He wanted this mech to touch him, caress him, feel him.

He needed him.

Needed to be more than just a no bot fading to the background for safety. Hiding away from bots who wanted to lend him a helping servo, never staying in one place for long out of fear. His overseers still had him listed as a criminal for running away with a lot of energon and the seedy bar owners and patrons he served high grade to wanted his valve and seal for their own disgusting servos. He dodged plenty elite guards who identified him as a survivor to the raid on the small town he once inhabited.

Turns out they not only used it to make the towns people enlist and join the autobot ranks, they down played the damage truly dealt. Hid how many sparks were snuffed out and how many bots were permanently damaged because of their horrible decision. He had an idea of what they would do to convince him to keep it under wraps and he wanted no parts in that.

All the running, always watching his back, never able to trust another bot or simply talk the way he wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to be a normal bot.

His derma’s touch the beige helm before he realizes, thats all it takes for the mech holding him. He’s being carried somewhere, their entering the deepest parts of the seeker district where some of the more dangerous mechs cohabit. They come to a building he recognizes as a seekers home. Its built for a lone mech instead of a trine and Bumblebee feels his nerves jumble as they enter inside.

His optics wander the room as he notes paintings hanging from the walls beautiful and perfection in every sense of the word. Molding clay in a corner with stone and hammers opposite of them. Paint lies in a cupboard far too high for him to reach but perfect for the mech that shifts to cradle him.

A servo brushes so gently across the side of his helm holding his jaw to tilt making him look up. Red optics are warm to him now. A color he thinks he’ll forever find comfort in so long as its this bot before him.

He’s shy now, blue coating his cheeks as he feels the heavy thrum of the mechs spark pulsing through his thick armor. He’s a war build seeker that much he’s sure of, his gaze wanders to purple wings and his own flutter at the sight. He can’t help it. They’re so big, much bigger than his own and they could fly. He wished his could fly.

“Jour wings are beautiful,” the mech whispers, olfactory sensor rubbing his, asking for permission that Bumblebee grants him.

The kiss is slow, searching, fluid, curious.

They both want to get a feel on one another, servos tightening around his waist, his arms hooking behind the beige helm, stabilizers hooking beneath the large chassis. Digits digging into the armor when he feels dermas press harder onto his own. The mesh is soft, so soft he almost thinks the mech freshly glossed them just for him. He feels the cool shift in the mechs frame grow warmer, the shift in metallic wings fluttering. He’s vaguely aware of the bot taking him to the berth. High grade heightening his sensor nets while lowering his fire walls and the logic in his processor.

He feels his private plating heat unbearably, his vavle spasming as his back hits the soft sheets. His wings fan out in a desirable display and his hips rut against the mechs strong upper thigh that rests between his legs sinking into the berth. Their dermas part and Bumblebee flicks his optics open their hazy drunk on pleasure he knows will only grow. He’s faintly aware of the room growing in heat from their warming frames, the windows begin to fog and his olfactory senses pick up the scent of energon slick and transfluid, it makes him look down.

The mech on top of him has his private plating retracted he has no valve that much Bumblebee realizes as he feels his own private plating tremble in anticipation. But the sheer size of the mechs pink and blue energon transfluid dripping from his engorged black spike with bioluminescent purple and blue lines in an attractive pattern he wants has glossa to lick and trace, has Bumblebees private plating snap open.

He looks away in shame as his pathetic spike shows itself. It was small even for someone his size he wouldn’t dare compare it to the large spike about to penetrate him. He’s sniffling upset already thinking he’ll bd mocked, wings insecure as they shift awkwardly. But the beige and purple mech doesn’t allow him to wallow. Those purple wings flare to capture his attention and the icy digit lifts his head to look at him. Warmth enraptures those beautiful red optics and he’s left starstruck.

Subconsciously he’s aware of his servos lowering to hold both sides of the mechs face plate, feeling the seductive jawline move as the mech spoke. Words uncharacteristically gentle aimed his way has his chassis quivering and his optics warming in leaking fluid as he whimpers a pitiful whine at the mechs words.

“You’re a carrier,” the words are understanding, careful, sweet even, “I’m a sire mech, hummel,” Bumblebee didn’t really know much about sire mechs he only knew they couldn’t carry like he couldn’t sire. He had to know all that being a carrier entailed since he was one but he never bothered to learn much on sire mechs. He knew regular bots could spark bond and have a piece of their sparks enter-twine before going into a protoform. That was the norm of how their species reproduced.

And then there was mechs like him and the mech above him, the rarities who carry in tanks and sired through transfluid and spark energy. A carrier mech could end up sparked through either just like a sire mech could spark a mech using their chamber or transfluid. Usually the two types only stuck to each other simply because they were not only made for each other but because it was easier that way since a regular bot would have complications with either types and regular bots didn’t like their types.

“I’m sorry,” it felt right to say for some reason. He didn’t live a life he wished for others to experience and so he assumed the other mech may not have as well.

“No need to apologize hummel, jou did nothing vrong. Especially since i get to have jou here,” the mech said lowering himself. That thick spike dragging up his thigh plate made his hips rut and a smirk pulled at blue dermas that leaned back down to kiss him. His servo’s moved on their own, holding the mech’s chassis and shoulder optics fluttering as his neck moved back, wings spread out in invitation across the sheets. Hips lifting to rub his vavle along the thick pulsing spike that dripped transfluid onto his seal. He felt his valve squeeze on nothing and his grip tightened as he whimpered. He wanted the mech, this mech right here who showed him kindness he often ran from and rejected.

With him it felt different.

Maybe it was the high grade working in his systems, maybe it was the unparalleled beauty he saw in the mech that left him wanting more or maybe it was the growing heat that curled and coiled in his tanks with each touch the mech provided him. He didn’t know and he didn’t bother to care.

He just knew one thing.

“Spike..please,” he moaned as their dermas disconnected with a trail of liquid connecting them. His shinning optics took in the purple tint of the mechs cheeks and he felt his cheeks warm. This large mech was blushing at the sight of him, spike pulsing and hard because of him. Dripping the most delicious smelling transfluid onto his valve, all because of him.

“Hummel, are jou sure?”

“Yes, please,” Bumblebee pleaded, “break my seal, claim me as yours, mecha.”

There was a softness, a vulnerability that was partially guarded as the mechs red optics glossed slightly. A cool vent that left Bumblebee reaching up to pull the other closer as his wings lowered to stretch then spread in invitation. A shy invitation with shy confidence on Bumblebee’s part as he initiated a soft tender shaky kiss. Feeling the mech return it, servo holding the space between his door wings as he tightened his stabilizers around the mechs waist.

Digits slide to his valve and wait, he pushes his valve closer to them and the mech answers his welcoming. Sliding the first clawed digit inside breaking his seal. He gasps in pure pleasure, the mech inhaling his air sliding another inside. Twirling his digits slowly, working the fresh folds open careful to stretch them as slick pink fluid coated black clawed servos.

The dermas kissing his neck cables nipped at them, those sharp denta sent a shiver down his spine. Oh how he wanted the mech to open his chassis and bite his teat glands. He knew he couldn’t lactate but he wanted the mech to have the fun of trying.

‘Maybe I really do have carrier protocols that can be activated.’ That in itself was a surprise since he swore to himself he would never have a sparkling let alone take care of one.

The sudden pulse from his valve had his optics clouding for a nanoclick. The mech holding him had slipped two more digits inside him, he was impossibly tender and completely thorough in his stroking. He felt that sudden spike in heat wracking his frame his vents were starting to have trouble cooling him down and the mech bit a little harder when he felt the small bot in his arms gasp in pleasure.

“Jou like that? Hmm? Have I found jour bundle of nerves?”

Those skilled claws lightly rubbed the bundle of nerves and he felt his interior node spasm at the soft touch. His helm fell back at the sudden rush of slick fluid that spilled into the mechs servo. He felt his legs lock tighter and his hips rutting in tune with the mechs digits his own digits dug deep into the mechs shoulders scrapping his paint. And before Bumblebee could apologize he saw the mechs wings twitch in appreciation.

“M..mecha..your wings..so..ahhhh so beautiful,” he moaned. He wanted to touch them but he knew he didn’t like others touching his door wings so he was sure a full seeker wouldn’t want a mixed bot touching his own and Bumblebee didn’t think he’d be granted permission.

“Blitzwing.”

“H-huh?”

“My name, mein designation is Blitzwing,” the mech now known as Blitzwing, soothed to him pressing his helm against Bumblebees.

“Blitzwing,” the name felt like honey and riches on his tongue. He found himself repeating the designation over and over again as his valve pumped out slick fluid into the mechs servo. He felt so good all over, his frame may be hot and his tank felt like it would burst at any moment spilling out of his valve but he could care less. He chased that feeling, the unwinding bundle that threatened to swallow him whole as he bucked his hips keeping pace with the beautiful mech before him.

With the beautiful mech named Blitzwing that his optics just couldn’t get enough of.

“Hummel,” his groan was delicious to his audials but when Blitzwing pulled his servo back he whined like he was struck with pain.

“I vant to be inside jou, mein hummel, please,” Blitzwing moaned lining his spike to Bumblebee’s valve, “can I?”

When Bumblebee didn’t say anything Blitzwing pulled back ready to comfort him but Bumblebee’s stabilizers pushing him forward so the head of his spike could slip inside him, well it made them both groan.

Bumblebee’s valve was hot and soft to the touch, sucking Blitzwings spike in like a bot starved of the most delectable energon known in bot history. Blitzwing almost overloaded from just being inside the yellow minibot alone. He tried inching in slowly, allow the yellow mini time to adjust to his impressive thick spike but the yellow bug kept squirming and wiggling trying to lower himself onto his spike that he bit his lower derma to keep from thrusting in all the way.

“Careful zere hummel. Jou may rip something,” Blitzwing groaned as he almost bottomed out, servo curling around the yellow mini’s curvy mesh waist while the other held the back of his helm, Blitzwing watched the curve of his spike imprint the mechs tank. He felt his spike twitch spurting hot transfluid inside the soft meshy organ. Oh it felt so good to be fully sheathed inside the mech nestled in his arms.

His beautiful face plate was overwhelmed with pleasure, chassis heaving heavy vent after heavy vent in an attempt to cool his frame. His hips were twitching on his spike, he could see how full the mech was, so full of him that he almost slipped and overloaded inside him.

He didn’t want to hurt the neutral bot especially since he just broke his seal but he did want to make this experience last as long as possible. He wanted the mech in his servo’s to be ruined for anybot else. He didn’t want the yellow beauty to find comfort or solace in another mech or femme like this that wasn’t him.

He carefully cradled the mech closer pressing them chassis to chassis, covered spark plating to covered spark plating. Sucking what little air the mech had blowing cool air into his intake as he slid his glossa inside. Roaming every inch of the mechs intake when he felt servo’s hold his wings.

The sensation made him jolt in surprise.

This mechs touch, his small servo’s, his tiny digits, feeling along the expanse of his purple wings, feeling along the groves and long healed dents was the best feeling he’s ever had in his entire life cycle.

Blitzwing was so embarrassed his cheeks shaded complete purple as he moaned loudly, overloading inside the little mech who arched his back strut with impossible flexibility. Overloading slick fluid that sloshed and poured free from his valve mixing with the transfluid that dripped onto the sheets and down Blitzwings thigh plating and knee guards.

Blitzwing felt his wings fan out and stand at attention the same as the mech in his servo’s. He felt his processor crash for a moment, frame shaking making him thrust into the yellow mini’s interior node pushing him to overload once more. The sweet cries and moans coming from the bots leaking intake had his spike pulsing at attention and he couldn’t help himself.

Half crashed with his processor fritzing from overheat and excessive pleasure he kept thrusting. Their spark chambers thrumming at racing pace as they tried to connect through both the bots armor. Blitzwing had never been very vocal when interfacing save for some dirty talk but he couldn’t stop the moans and pleasurable grunts and growls as he soaked up all the attention his hummel was giving not just him but his wings as they interfaced.

He hadn’t touched the bots wings since one did not touch a carriers wings without permission. One didn’t touch a sire’s wings either but for this mini without question he made an exception.

“Ah, Hummel,” he felt his vox growl dangerously as another overload was building in his tank and circuits. Even with his ice powers blowing cool air on the air from his pistons it wasn’t enough. The windows were steaming, the berth was creaking as the metal frame slammed the wall making an ignored crack. The bot in his servo’s was trying to meet the rhythm of his thrusts his valve puffy and stretched out. Pink and blue energon surrounding it as their fluids mixed.

Blitzwing tried to stifle a particularly loud roar by biting so hard into his derma he spilled energon. His spike impaled the yellow mini’s interior node over and over until his little hummel overloaded with a loud cry of static before dragging his digits down Blitzwings wing plating then frizzing out into recharge. His frame spasmed in reaction to Blitzwing overloading inside him completely unaware of the large mech falling to his side and crashing into recharge after roaring loudly accidentally turning his thrusters on and firing his pistons. The last thing Blitzwing saw flashing across his hud before completely falling into recharge was that his processor had activated the protocol every seeker dreamed of.

His conjunx programming.

Neither mechs were in a rush to online their optics. Blitzwing was heading back into recharge when he felt his frame being moved and his arms lose the small warmth he’d held throughout the night cycle. His processor immediately took that as a threat making his optics shoot open and his pistons blare to life ready to shoot when a startled yelp rung in his processor and a flash of yellow dropped down.

He was quick to catch the little mech before he hit the floor boards, yanking him back into his arms as his optics searched for the threat. When he saw the berth room was empty save for the two of them he tilted his helm confused.

“Hummel, are jou okay?”

The mech in his arms was shocked and looked pretty shaken up though Blitzwing noted how he leaned into his touch instead of scurrying off.

“Hummel?”

“Stop calling me hummel. Thats not my designation.”

“Then what is jour designation? Jou never did tell me.”

“…”

The yellow mini looked down, face plate shifting to a hurt expression. His optics weren’t entirely clear but it couldn’t have been from the high grade. His scans showed the two worked it from his system during their first shared overload. His protocols were buzzing with worry something that didn’t show on his face plate but it did in his optics and closed off em field.

Deciding he would wait for an answer Blitzwing pulled the mech back onto the berth careful of sore stabilizers and his exposed puffy valve coated in dry transfluid and energon slick. He laid his back strut and wings comfortably against his pillows making sure the mech was comfortable against his frame. He could see the paint transfer on his thigh platings and he couldn’t stop the grin on his dermas. Em field motioning towards the mini he felt him jump slightly at the outside emotions.

“..b-127.”

His vox was low, it didn’t feel right to Blitzwing. The mech before him seemed so closed off, so closed in on himself Blitzwing was surprised he hadn’t split a circuit open. He knew the little mech had fire in him, that much was proven when he told him off at the bar. Sure he could be shy but that felt right. This. This didn’t feel right. And a designation like B-127? Thats not a real designation but he knows the yellow mech isn’t lying to him. So why was that his designation?

“B-127? Thats quite an odd designation for jour creators to give jou little one.”

“My creators offlined when I was few cycles old. Thats why I never got more than a sparkling center entrance number.”

The little mechs voice was cold and wavering as he spoke no matter how much he tried to stifle it Blitzwing could feel his em field howl with distrust, pain, longing, loneliness and sorrow at such a deep spark clenching grief. He was sure he could guess the type of life cycle the younger mech was tormented with. He knew well what the door wings on his back meant. The moved acted as wings a seeker would emerge with. He didn’t have the build of a grounder yet he knew the mech couldn’t fly. Sure he had a chassis like a grounder with no cockpit but that was it.

His plating was not build like that of a battling autobot but that of a civilian. He thankfully wasn’t framed like a pleasure bot but his natural frame was close. The yellow plating on his stabilizers went just above his mid thigh. His pedes had a small sharp strut to them and his hip plating wasn’t protective in the slightest. His tanks had no protective save for his back strut, the black plating blended well accentuating his curves that led to his yellow door wings with black opening handles just below the low window. His neck cables and upper chassis were exposed but his spark casing and tit glands were covered thankfully. His helm covering was yellow with black covering his audials, he had a strip of black on his forehead. That made Blitzwing get a good look at the antenna that drooped with his bots sad expression.

One he didn’t like.

“Jou didn’t vant to designste jourself?”

“Why should i? Not like anybots gonna call me by it.”

“It can be for jou, yellow one.”

“Yeah? And what if I don’t care about having a designation?”

‘Stubborn,’ Blitzwing smirked shaking his helm, “i think jou do but if jou prefer to be stubborn about ze subject.” Suddenly Bumblebee was pressed against the sheets. Blitzwing spike impaling him making the lingering transfluids sloshing inside of him slide back into his tank. His optics automatically began to haze as he felt some of the large mechs weight pressing him down. He never knew he would have a pleasure pressing kink, it was something he hoped the mech wouldn’t realize.

“Vhat if I told jou I wanted something to call jou other than the assigned numbers ze center gave jou. Hm?? Vhat if I vanted something better to moan during our bouts of interfacing? Hm? Ve seekers like spoiling our mates. Especially by calling their designations so every bot who hears us vill know who ve belong to.”

Blitzwing said the words as smooth as an icicle. They chilled him to his core in a way he felt heating his tanks just like the previous night cycle.

Bumblebee couldn’t stop his back strut from arching into Blitzwings middle plating. His valve slicking hot energon makes it so much easier for Blitzwing to pull his hips back, the tip of his spike keeping Bumblebee’s valve stretched as he made some excess transfluid and energon slick that was mixed together squelch out before it was roughly shoved back inside with a powerful thrust.

“Jou deserve a beautiful designation to be moaned in jour ear, hummel.”

Bumblebee felt his tank lurch and his gestation pouch pulse. His optics blew wide open at the assault on his interior node, lifting his helm to open his intake and defy the mech laying so comfortably on top of him. Ready to argue his words and the use of his magnificent spike that cured a loneliness he’d never known could be filled until Blitzwing slammed into his interior node again knocking his processor and vox off from their regulatory.

The mech was stroking him so deep with every pump of his spike he was sure that Blitzwing intended to hit the bundle of nerves on his interior node and even try slamming into his gestation pouch. The realization made his valve pour and he couldn’t stop his digits from digging into the sheets and as he arched perfectly into Blitzwings frame.

Blitzwing glued his frame to the mech below him and he decided his mating code picked a perfect mech to match him with. Sure he wished he could’ve gotten to know the mech better and know him for longer but if his sweet expressions were anything to go by. The parting of his dermas as static slipped free, his seductive arch, his tight little valve that went from relaxed to squeezing his spike like his spark depended on it. Every hum and whine and mewl the mech let out was far too great for Blitzwing not to bend down and steal for himself like the selfish decepticon he is.

“Nnnnnghhhhh,” those noises were music to his audial’s. He couldn’t help but open his optics as he kissed the yellow mech depely. Seeing up close for the first time just how beautiful the mech truly was. Smooth faceplate, glossy painted frame streaked with his colors with an incredible curvy femme like frame to pede. Not to mention his door wings.

Blitzwing wouldn’t ever admit it to any other mech besides himself and maybe his hummel but those wings. He watched those wings twitch with sad expression for literal joors as the yellow mini sat at the bar drinking high grade too high for his frame. He wouldn’t have really cared if it were another mech about to be taken advantage of. He knew what the bar tender wanted by giving the mech such expensive and tasteful energon. He hadn’t really cared until he saw just who the mech was.

He didn’t really know the yellow mini outside of seeing him in passing since the day he wandered into town. Expression blank in a way all too familiar to his own when he used to live in the slums of Vos and Kaon. He didn’t have a place to call his habsuite or home after his creators offlined. Surviving the cruel streets taught him to look as reserved and untouchable as possible. The same look he once adorned on his face plates was the same look the yellow mini possessed as he went about in town.

Many tried to chat with him and each bot was either rudely turned down or he shut them down before walking off. He intrigued Blitzwing at first, his first time seeing the mech up close he was in his alt mode. Seeming to be cruising to himself far from the other grounders who drove and raced together. Blitzwing admired the sleek form of his alt mode as he watched him from afar, vox stolen along with his helm and processor as he watched the yellow mini transformer into root mode and walk into the archive halls. Those wings were pressed flat on his backside, one that Blitzwing admired in its entirety as he took in the shapely aft and slender stabilizers that had small heel struts holding casual grace as they moved.

He was star speckled when he first saw the mini and ever since he kept his optic out for him. Engine almost purring at every chance he got to see his cute little aft bent over as his door wings bobbed in natural response. He never saw himself having a thing for grounders but seeing as the mech was half grounder half seeker he was more than happy to make an exception.

So seeing the little mech all alone at the bar with a cup of high grade had been a gift he was not willing to pass up. No he wasn’t intending to berth him but it had been a welcome surprise. One he wasn’t planning on letting him escape from. He was more than happy to show his hummel all the ways in which they were perfect together and if it meant starting in the berth room, well.

He was more than happy to get their odd courtship started.

“Ah! Ah! Bli-bLitzWing!”

“Go ahead, hummel,” Blitzwing moaned into his intake, glossa sliding inside for a quick taste before slipping out, “I vant to hear all of jou. Every whimper, every gasp, every whine. Go ahead. Don’t hold back on me. Mein hummel,” Blitzwing uttered against his derma, ever the secret romance bot, “Let me feel jour body tremble.”

With a loud optic leaking static cry Bumblebee felt Blitzwing intwine their digits together digging them further into the sheets. Spilling energon transfluid into his valve and gestation pouch as it burst from the round tip of his spike. Filling his tank quite noticeably as it swelled from not only his humungous spike imprint but the sparkling fluid drenching him with pure creation.

He couldn’t focus his helm circuits long enough to know the difference between opening his intake or his valve that greedily drank as if his life energon was at stake. His vox wouldn’t shut off no matter how many times he tried to shut his dermas and even the sheets he bit down onto wasn’t enough to stop the pleasured cry as he felt his spark chamber crack open.

The loud rumbling hum of a spark too big to be his own roared behind him. The life wisping energy of his untouched passionate bright orange spark began to mix in perfect harmony with Blitzwing’s mixed hues of orange and red life spark energy.

The two were in awe and amazed by the colors of each other’s spark. Blitzwing would never have guessed the yellow mini had orange in his spark or that a spark could even be pure white. Sure he’s heard rumors but thats all he thought they were rumors. He never believed they were real for a second but oh how wrong he was.

‘Orange and red? I’ve read about them but I never thought I’d see a bot with one! I never thought I’d see another bots spark at all to be fair…’

While Bumblebee and Blitzwing were awed at the sight of the other mechs spark and the beauty of the others essence, they completely forgot one important detail.

Their sparks were merging, becoming one, permanently.

The two mechs had just permanently sparkbonded becoming conjunx and hadn’t even realized until their energies permanently sat mixed within one another and their chassis closed.

Lingering specks of energy littered the air around them. Their digits were seemingly glued as their frames melted to each others. Bumblebee could feel a wave of warmth, confusion, anxiety and the ache of an overthinking helm in the pit of his tank and in the center of his spark. He reached his em field to touch it and the feelings burst to life with a static screech of his vox as he felt electricity burst from within.

His valve clenched tight around Blitzwing’s spike making the mech shake. The larger had been caught off guard by the sudden pleasure and discomfort around his spike after such an optic stopping moment as seeing a spark as ethereal as this. By Primus his spark put the stars in their galaxy to shame. He felt the symphony of the arts floating around his helm and the urge to paint his now bondeds spark on canvas to capture its immortal flawless core.

He needed to build. To craft such perfection and magnificence for him to behold in and out of the mechs presence. No not the mech presence, his mechs presence.

The yellow mini was not just a random bot anymore. This yellow mini who captured his attention without lifting a digit or batting an optic his way, was his.

And oh how he feared the clicks passing by as his affections and fascination grew.

“Hummel,” the mech groaned, digits clasping the mini’s tighter as he felt jolts of electricity stinging the core of his spark with fear and a warmth he’s never been granted past his creators.

“We bonded, oh frag we bonded!”

The panic settled in the form of his vox and vision glitching with fuzz and discolored sights in leaking optics that burned to his over working vents. He could not bring himself to release Blitzwing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panicking.

“I just bonded with a mech I don’t even know! Oh frag I’m bonded to another mech! Frag, frag, frag!”

“Are jou telling me jou think jour on the femme attraction hummel?”

The raised taunting mesh above red optics annoyed Bumblebee especially when he could see the smugness in Blitzwing’s expression, though he refused to acknowledge his wanting to comfort the hidden fear in the mech he grasped tighter. Not because he cared and felt grounded by something as simple as touch but because he was running on high energy. He could delude himself for the moment he’s earned it.

“Shut up,” his cheek curves were blue with energon as he avoided that stiff smile, “its not that! I just don’t know you.”

“Vell ve are bonded now. Ve have all eternity to get to know ze other,” Blitzwing said accepting this a bit easier. Sure he was freaking out on the inside but the use of slightly taunting humor and the pretty mech still beneath him helped soothe him. That and he was still pumping transfluid inside the little mini and he was becoming fascinated with just how vast their size difference was. He was aware of his war frame being bigger than most bots but he was so used to being around other war frames and average sized bots, even heavy weight bots, that he forgot about mini bots.

Though now that he looks at the mech he didn’t exactly fit the form type of a mini bot. His protoform was far too…curvy and slim in all the right places to be a mini. They tended to be more round and husky, stout really. They were perfectly balanced in being heavy weight to make up for their short stature. But this mech didn’t seem to be stout he wasn’t even chunky. He was just curvy and little too slim.

‘Kind of like…oh..’

It would be best not to ask.

‘It vould be best to wait until ve’re more familiar vith each other to talk on our pasts..though I’m sure I know ze answer..’

“This isn’t funny! Do you have any idea what we’ve done?!”

“Jes.”

“And you’re just okay with that?!”

“Jes.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know enough. I can spot a good bot from a bad bot and jou hummel are a good bot.”

That seemed to catch his hummel’s attention. He was glad for it, he could feel a warmth grow within their new bond. A pulse of something thready beginning to form and a piece of his spark broke as he pin pointed the emotion.

Praise.

His hummel had never received praise or appreciation before.

‘Just how lonely a mech are jou?’

His mating protocols were kicking into gear. His instincts spurred him to drown his bonded in the affection he so desperately craved and needed. There was an abundance of emotions and needs both physical and mental that his hummel had never received. So many things were empty inside his hummels spark and the memories he barely touched were only of pain and basic mecha comforts. The care and affection he sent out through their bond was unrecognizable to the mini and as he heard sniffling and felt shoulder struts shake at the rush of overwhelm and confusion from below, he did his best to guide and comfort him through the torrent of unfamiliarity.

It took two joors to get his hummel to calm and by then the lunar and solar cycles events and lack of fuel had caught up to them. He wanted to get his hummel and himself fuel but the tiny servo resting on his spinal column had stopped him. He knew then he was weak for the pretty mecha as he curled around him drifting into recharge. Though the nights recharge was not helpful.

After bonding bots will share certain memories through the conjunx endurea bonding and it will be completely solidified. There would be no surgery or repairs capable of undoing their bond. Blitzwing had felt it necessary to share this information with his hummel who responded by loosely holding his larger servo between their chassis. He didn’t meet his optics but closing them and leaning close did more than words could.

Currently he was shifting an optic back at his hummel, he was sitting at the large table watching nothing but that was to he expected. Blitzwing knew a lot of memories of his life cycle were not at all pleasant. Sure he had moments where things were good but the horrors he committed in the great war. The painful experiment he went through granting him the ability and title Triple changer along with his long held curiosity and attraction to his hummel before meeting faceplate to faceplate.

Well, he was surprised his hummel was still sitting at the table let alone being in the same home as him.

Blitzwing attributed that to shock and his hummels own personal history of horrid memories one would like to leave behind. The care center, the casualties autobots often caused, the discrimination and hatred he faced on cycle to cycle basis. Coupled with having to survive on the streets while hiding carrier status at such a young age. Blitzwing stood no chance in shutting down his protective protocols the moment they onlined from recharge.

The yellow mech was finally able to escape his arms because his tank rumbled for fuel which is why they were in the fuel room. If his protocols deemed it safe Blitzwing would be carrying his mini mech around as he prepared them an early cycle fuel. He learned from the mini’s memories he never received a home fueling. Blitzwing was determined to change that no matter how much it tugged at his spark to think he could still taste his carriers home fueling while his mini mech has not.

“Here, jou need fuel and zis vill help jou feel better.”

“Thanks,” his vox was tired, empty, overwhelmed with his past and Blitzwings important memories through the ages he’s been functioning. They both were having a tough time seeing what the other had been put through. Neither were having any luck being separate for more than a nanoclick—another side effect of their newly formed bond.

Blitzwing hadn’t been making their morning fuel for a full eight clicks before both their frames grew cold from lack of touching the other. He was sitting beside his hummel before he’d realized he still needed to make his own morning fuel.

“Here,” he felt something warm press against his dermas, smooth liquid tickles the sensitive mesh filling his olfactory senses making his tanks growl. He opened his dermas allowing the energon blend to slide down his pharynx with a soft groan.

“No, jou must fuel,” Blitzwing took his own energon and held it to the smaller mechs dermas, “drink.”

The flush of blue to the minibots cheek plating was adorable. Blitzwing accidentally activated his internal cams taking in the slow rise and fall of his chassis watching his intake curl around the cup as he finished the last of his energon.

“Jou’re beautiful.” Blitzwing spoke without conscious, his words deepened the blue along his hummels cheeks to color his entire face plate. “I vill imagine this face in the midst of every battle, I vill gaze at jou every lunar cycle and every solar break. For I vant jou to be the ethereal that greets me every dawn und every dark that guide me through every trouble that aggrieves me.”

“You-you liquid tongued mecha! Stop it,” his hummel exclaimed covering his optics with black and yellow digits. “We aren’t in the heat of interfacing you don’t have to play smooth with your vox. I’ll frag with you again just not until I can walk properly on my stabilizers.”

Slowly inching his hummels digits away, Blitzwing locked optics with him, “I mean every word I say, whether in ze berth or not. Jou are mine now mini one und I make it a goal of mein to spoil that which is in mein possession.”

“Oh yeah? Well last I checked I’m my own bot conjunx or not so stop trying to velvet vox me,” the yellow mini spoke with fire that ignited Blitzwings spark.

“I hope to see jour fiery spirit more often, hummel.”

The curl of blue derma was enough for Bumblebee to try frowning at the larger mecha but the sound of their tanks growling made him look away with a huff.

“Let us properly fuel then ve can talk more, hm?”

“Fine,” his hummel said with defiance that turned liquid when Blitzwing pressed his dermas to soft grey mesh on his hummels forehelm.

The cute static and beep was much appreciated on Blitzwings part, though not so much on his hummels part who swatted him.

Halfway through the solar cycle and the freshly bonded conjunx were relaxing in each other’s arms. Content to feel the others spark thrum while talking things through.

It was obvious between the two Blitzwings home would be shared and the room Bumblebee was staying at would be given back. They spoke on Blitzwings status as a decepticon and what that meant for Bumblebee.

“Jou von’t be forced to join the ranks but jou vill be vith me if I am ever called for battle, should there be a battle. Jou von’t ever have to fight if jou don’t join but I vould feel better if I could train jou to defend jourself. Neutral or not, being vith me brings danger that I vill do anything to keep jou from.”

Bumblebee felt assured oddly enough. Sincerity flowed through their bond and he reached out in acceptance. He knew Blitzwing was high ranking from his shared memories and learning he’d been living in small towns like this for almost three million stellar cycles. After Megatron gave the call to hide Blitzwing did just that as he awaited for Megatron to call upon him once more.

“Truthfully I am not so sure I vant him to call me. I rather like living in peace especially since I have jou now, hummel.”

“What does that mean?”

A raised brow and Bumblebee specifies.

“Hummel. What does it mean? You keep calling me that so it has to mean something.”

“It is ze german vord for bumblebee. An insect found on certain planets. I once ventured on an insecticon ruled planet. Jou remind me of the few I witnessed fluttering about. Especially when jou bob jour wings.”

That made Bumblebee blush and as his optics grew wide. His intake fell when he felt the form of a memory tug at the back of his processor. He was confused on what it was until he felt Blitzwing smooth a digit over his servo and he looked into the large mechs optics.

He felt himself lean in and his processor opened allowing the image of a large insectibot with his colors bob and flutter around a gigantic organic planet before landing. He had to admit Blitzwing was correct in the resemblance, though he didn’t have any fuzz or fur on himself he did have similar antenna save for the sharp quality.

“Jou remind me of them. Though zey aren’t anyvhere near as beautiful as jou mein hummel.”

There was silence for a long time as Bumblebee replayed the memory on a steady loop in his brain module. Blitzwing sat patiently enjoying the awe on his hummels face plate until the silence was broken.

“Bumblebee.”

“Hm?”

“My designation,” Bumblebee uttered with some hesitant but budding confidence, “my designation is Bumblebee. I want that one. I want that to be mine.”

His vox was small, personal, mystified.

Blitzwing felt a warmth in his spark grow that he didn’t know possible. The care he held towards his hummel grew and he knew then he this was truly it.

His hummel. Bumblebee.

‘This is the mech I vant for the rest of my life cycle und the next.’

He was never one for smiling but for Bumblebee he knows it will be easy.

“A beautiful designation, mein Bumblebee.”

It felt like cyberhoney on his glossa and he knew then he was sparked further.

“I guess being with you won’t he so bad, Blitzwing.”

The delicate kiss on his dermas further cemented his revelation and Blitzwing rested a servo on the back of Bumblebee’s helmet pulling him closer to deepen it.

He did not want to interface with his hummel. He just wanted to feel him and his em field reflected as much and so did their bond.

Blitzwing was more than happy to feel the sentiment returned.

First & foremost Free Palestine & Free Sudan & the Congo. Please share their stories & protest so that the cruelty they face may be stopped.

Second - I did not expect to make this story so long in the beginning. I hope all who read it enjoy.

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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guinea-pig16 · 1 year

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Late Night || Part 3

This is part 3 of Late Night, so if you'd like context I'd recommend reading part 1 and part 2! Fic is below the cut, please enjoy!

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Word Count: 2,300+

Warning: angst, suggestive thoughts

______________________________________________________________

Monty’s fist shot through his mirror, shattering the glass and splitting the wooden frame, the lights around the edges flickering in a panic.

He was pissed. He was pissed beyond words.

He let out a roar and grabbed his bass guitar, lifting it above his head, he splintered it against the floor, making it let out a horrific whine.

Monty tore apart his green room. Nothing was spared from his fury. Families walking around outside were directed by Bots to steer clear of his room. Velvet rope closed off the area, a smiling Monty cut out explaining that he was resting and would be back shortly. The shredded chair that had been thrown through the plexiglass of his room disagreed.

Hours passed and Monty finally slowed his rampage. The PizzaPlex had closed by this point, and the MopBots had finally been able to come by and begin sweeping up the broken glass and splintered wood outside of his room.

He stood there amid his destruction, body heaving in air to cool his overheated gears.

Why?

Why did this have to happen to him? Why was he always second place? Why was he always the second favorite, left behind, discarded, no one’s first choice?

Why did you choose Freddy over him?

______________________________________________________________

It was after your last shift when Monty came to find you, to try and cheer you up, find out who was bothering you, and make it go away. He had reached the entrance and saw you walking away. He had just begun to call for you when Freddy appeared.

Monty had stopped in his tracks. He doesn’t know why, but he hid, and watched as Freddy spoke to you, and led you away, back to his room. He doesn’t know why, but he followed behind silently, seething as he saw how uncomfortable you seemed. He watched as the both of you entered the room, and he watched through the crack in the curtain as you professed your love to Freddy, him doing the same.

And he watched as you two kissed.

He tore his eyes away soon after.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel.

It seemed as though his servos had been ripped out of his body, his metal plating wrenched open and his wiring tangled and torn. And it hurt. It hurt so bad. He shouldn’t be able to feel pain, but this ache in his chest said otherwise.

Monty slipped away from the window and silently trekked back to his room, numb. There was a word for this, wasn’t there? A word that encapsulated what he was feeling. He wracked his mind for it, but it continuously slipped from his grasp. What was it?

He stumbled into his room and stood there. He looked around at his belongings, eyes empty. His gaze drifted over his couch, his neon sign, his arcade machine, his chair, his bass guitar, and then finally, his mirror. There, taped to the edge of the mirror was a photo strip, of you and him, smiling, making silly faces, him ruffling your hair, and then you laughing as Monty slammed his head on the ceiling of the booth. Numbly, he grabbed the photo strip and looked at the last picture.

Had he not been clear enough? All the times he hung around you during work, all his jokes, all the touches, and the looks. Had you not noticed how he would go star-struck at your smiles and laughs? How he would gaze at you in awe when you would rant about your favorite things, how he would memorize the way your eyes would light up like the brightest stars in the sky.

Had he realized too late that he was in love with you?

Monty’s chest tightened as he gazed at the pictures of you.

Oh, how he wished to hold you… How he wished to hold you close and whisper how much he adored you, how he would do anything for you. How he wished he could look at you with all the love and adoration he holds, and see you look at him the same way. How he wished he could kiss you passionately so you would know exactly how you make him feel. How he dreams about you at night… How he imagines you… pressed against his wall… bodies so close together…his mouth on your neck, your short breaths, his hands wandering roughly. Your arms wrapped around his neck as one of his hands wanders lower, lower. The sound you would make, how he would smother it with a rough kiss… Oh, how he wished he could ruin you…

…But he can’t now…

…Because of him.

Monty’s face drew back into a sneer, his hands beginning to tremble.

Oh, how he hated him. That stupid, popular, fucking bear. It’s Freddy’s fault this happened. It’s Freddy’s fault he lost you. It’s Freddy’s fault he’s alone. It’s Freddy’s fault that he’s always second place. It’s Freddy’s fault. It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault-

That’s when he snapped.

Monty’s fist reared back.

And he imagined it was Freddy’s face peering back at him as his fist connected with the mirror.

______________________________________________________________

Monty’s chest heaved as he panted, a motion programmed into him if he overheated. He looked around his room, mind finally clear from his mindless rage. He winced at the shattered window and noted his missing armchair. His couch was split in half, each part sitting in opposite sides of the room, both parts equally shredded to bits. There was stuffing, splinters, and glass littering the floor, making Monty grateful he was an animatronic and it wouldn’t hurt to walk around in it. His speakers had been ripped from the walls, one he could tell he’d put his foot through, and the other… From a glance out his window, he could tell it’d met the same fate as the chair. His curtains were nothing but rags at this point, shredded to a pulp. His vanity table had been reduced to wooden scraps, and his vanity chair had been twisted into a metal pretzel. And his bass guitar… Damn, he wished he hadn’t destroyed that… The body had been smashed to bits, the neck twisted and bent. And finally, his mirror… that was the only part of his rampage he remembered. There was a clean hole right through the center of the mirror, and the wall behind it. Monty looked at his fractured reflection in fragments left in the splintered frame.

God, he looked worn out... If he were a person, he knew there’d be bags underneath his eyes. He let out a sigh. Thankfully, it seemed he didn’t damage himself much during the rampage, from what he could tell he’d only really scratched the paint off himself.

He looked around his room again, thinking. Man… I’ve really gotta stop doing this… It’s always a pain in the ass to get new furniture… And now I’ve gotta get the window replaced, that’s a new one. I don’t think I’ve ever smashed that window before… He thought as he began to pick up larger chunks of debris to throw away. Least I can do is pick up a little for whatever sorry ass has to-

Knock, Knock.

Monty stopped and tiredly looked back at his door. Speak of the devil… He thought as he straightened and walked towards the door. Man, what even was he going to say to whoever had to clean this up? He hadn’t done anything this bad in a long time. He stood in front of his door, mulling over his words. The door slid open.

“Hey, look, sorry about the-” Monty started, and then froze. Cold washing through his senses.

You were standing in the doorway.

______________________________________________________________

You had already prepared yourself to see the worst when Monty opened his door. You’d been here for plenty of his tantrums before, so you were accustomed to seeing his room completely trashed.

But you weren’t expecting this much damage. You had to keep yourself from gasping as you caught a glimpse behind Monty.

Jesus Christ, he broke his fucking window! That shit is plexiglass! How did he manage to break plexiglass!? You thought as you quickly scanned Monty’s body for injuries, sighing internally when all you saw were some dents and scratches. Monty was still looking at you like a deer in headlights as the two of you lock eyes.

“...Um… Hey Monts… I just came to check up on you after the uh… well you know.” You say awkwardly, gesturing to the mess behind him. He turns his head to look at the wreckage, and you swear you saw him wince slightly.

“Yeah… I was just uh… Blowing off some steam…” He says, running a hand through his mohawk. You raise a brow at him.

“...Some helluva steam then. You do realize you threw your chair and speaker through plexiglass right?” You wave a hand to the outside of the greenroom where bots are currently sweeping up the broken chair, speaker, and glass. Monty stares at his feet. Your gaze softens and you cross your arms.

“Monty, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me, right?” You say softly. Ever since you started working here, you were the only one who was able to get Monty to talk about his feelings. After every tantrum, every rampage, you were there with open ears, ready to listen to whatever was bothering him. You didn’t mind, he was one of your friends after all.

Monty finally looked you in the eye again. You could almost see the thoughts running through his head as he stared at you. You observed him as he thought. He looked tired, almost defeated. You could feel sadness radiating off of him, so palatable it almost brought tears to your eyes. What on earth could have made him feel this way?

“...Y/N… I-” Monty started, leaning closer to you. But he was quickly interrupted by the sound of jogging footsteps, and a familiar voice. Before you turned around, you saw Monty’s fist tighten.

“Monty! I see you have finally stopped. Are you feeling better, my friend?” Said Freddy as he approached the two of you. You turned and smiled brightly at Freddy, unknowingly causing Monty to frown, rage beginning to bubble up once more.

______________________________________________________________

Monty watched as you turned your attention from him to the bear behind you, giving Freddy a gorgeous smile. He watched as Freddy smiled back and placed a hand on your shoulder, you unknowingly leaning into the touch. And he watched as Freddy turned those wretched blue eyes to him, them filling with concern. Oh, how he wanted to rip those eyes out of his stupid face.

“I’m fine.” Monty sneered, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his attitude.

“...Ah, that is wonderful to hear, Monty! You had all of us worried today. It lasted much longer than usual, you see…” Freddy said, uncomfortably, shifting slightly in place. Monty glanced behind him.

Damn, how long did it last? He had blacked out during his rage, the only thing he remembered was punching the shit out of his mirror. After he saw… Monty growled lowly at the memory, and watched as Freddy subtly pulled you closer to him. You put a hand over Freddy’s, and looked at Monty, concern filling your gaze.

“Monty, what’s wrong? There’s clearly something bothering you. Come on, you can talk to us…” You say, reaching a hand out to him.

Monty considered your hand for a moment, and looked between you and Freddy. He looked at your concerned expression, and then looked at Freddy, and was slightly surprised to see the same look. He didn’t think Freddy cared that much. Maybe… Maybe he could tell you. Tell the both of you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe Freddy would too. What if… What if you felt the same way? Maybe he and Freddy could agree to…

No.

Monty froze.

Y/N chose Freddy, remember? They left you in the dust, gone, discarded.

He shuddered slightly.

F o r g e t t h e m .

Monty was silent for a moment, before he straightened and glared at you and Freddy, causing the two of you to take a step back.

“I’m fine. Now buzz off before I make you.” He snarled, before slamming his door shut. He stood there and waited until he heard the two of you walk off, listened to the hesitation in your footsteps.

…Why did he do that? He was just about to talk to you, let you know how he felt. What stopped him? Monty ran a hand over his face and began to walk across his room to sit on the remnants of his couch when he stepped on something that wasn’t glass or wood. He stopped and looked down.

It was the photo strip of you and him.

He stared, and then leaned down and picked it up. He held the strip gently in his hands as he looked at the picts of you and him. There was still time to get to you and Freddy. If he ran he could catch up, explain himself. And then he knew you’d be able to help. Figure out a way where you both could be together. And maybe he could learn to get along with Freddy, if only for your sake. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone-

As if.

Y/N doesn’t care enough about you to do that. How could you be so naive?

Monty stilled, staring at the strip.

You don’t need anyone, you’re better off alone.

F o r g e t a b o u t t h e m .

T h e y n e v e r c a r e d a n y w a y s .

Monty blinked, his vision going blurry for a moment.

Right. They didn’t care, did they?

What was he thinking?

Monty looked once more at the photo strip, and then shredded it to peices, feeling familiar rage bubbling up in him once more. A snarl ripped out of him.

Oh yeah, he remembered the that word now.

His eyes glew red as he began his rampage anew.

Betrayal.

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Hi hi hiii !! I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this wasn't what you hoped for, or expected from me, I've been having crazy writer's block recently and have been busy with graduation stuff. I'll be working on a part 4 and maybe 5 soon though! I promise I'll get to an actual proper Monty x reader soon!

Thank you so much for your support! XOXO <3

tagged people:

@dokoni-mo @softiejae @quietlyignoringyou @johnwicks-tie

#fnaf fic #monty gator #monty x reader #glamrock monty #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #angst writing #gim fic #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #glamrock freddy #fnaf x reader #fnaf fandom #glamrock freddy x reader

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fallenneziah · 1 year

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I loved your story "Flicker" with Optimus so much, I like to read it as a comforting thing ❤️ can you do like a part 2, but this time reader being the "stressed" and "exhausted" one, reader and optimus going (again) for a drive, maybe going out holding hands just killing time

Thank you!! ❤️ Have a good day!!

Ps:. If you're not taking requests ignore this.

Thank you, I'm really glad you enjoy it. Here is a little part 2 to Flicker.

You sighed heavily. You rubbed your temples, your paperwork looked no more enticing than it did half an hour ago. You knew you needed to get it done, but there was just too much going on.

Everything in your small world seemed to get more stressful. You'd think with the prospect of giant Autobot life walking amongst you you'd feel less alone, but that wasn't much the case.

Your pen fell from your hands, having fidgeted it too much between your fingers.

You sigh again and close your book, shoving the work back in your bag. Whatever. You just couldn't do it now.

Bumblebee whirred happily, jumping up and down around the yard, talking with Optimus. Although Optimus kept a very watchful optic on you.

He could point out the stress in your body and the very clear sadness that lingered with you.

Optimus put his servo up to calm the young scout. "Take a breath Bumblebee, perhaps you can go talk to Crosshairs??"

Bumblebee revved his engine at the prospect and looked over where the green Autobot was talking away with Drift. He crossed his arms and turned up his helm.

Optimus chuckled. What would he do with those two. No matter, you were walking away and he needed to catch you.

You know, because he was almost 30ft tall, catching up to you wasn't a problem at all.

"Y/n, may we talk??"

You looked up at him and nodded. "Hey Optimus."

Optimus got down on one knee and looked at you, examining your face.

"Are you alright young one??"

You huff at the nickname and approach his servo, placing your hand on his digit. "I'm just having a bad day. There's a lot of stuff going on,." You shrug.

"You do seem very distracted. It is stressing you out." He says matter of factly.

"I know, but it's not a big deal."

Optimus, not entirely satisfied with your current state pulled away and transformed, opening the door of his truck.

"Oh?" You hum. "And where are we going??"

"That is a secret." He replied.

You shrugged and tossed your backpack in the front seat. You climbed up to his passenger door and got comfortable in the passenger seat.

The seatbelt came down and clicked around you, locking you in.

He set off down the road, the end of the day coming soon, looking out the window at the evening light took your attention in the silence.

"So, what is this paperwork you must complete?"

You look over at the steering wheel. You assume that If his face was anywhere it would probably be there.

"It's just for work."

"It seems to have you stressed."

You nodded, scratching at your arm.

"I have to have it finished soon. It's no big deal."

Optimus hummed.

You drove down the road a long way, into the city and then back out. The sun was really setting by the time Optimus decided to pull over. Along a deserted road out in the fields. Somewhere both of you could go, not be seen and just hang out.

He transformed and looked out across the dusty land.

"Where are we??" You walked along the road, squinting to see if you could find where you were supposed to be going.

Optimus bent down and held out his hand for you to step onto. You did so, settling in his palm and looking around at the world.

Optimus walked into a small field along the road as the sun set just right.

Orange and deep red streaked across the sky. Pink flaked off and dyed the surrounding scene a beautiful color. Bathed in the glorious light of the dim night glow.

You relaxed in his servo, watching the sun set. You held onto his index digit, smoothing your hand over the rough metal.

Optimus watches you, curious of everything going through your mind.

"I understand that work among humans is demanding task sometimes," He says. "But all humans deserve to be relieved of their duties for a time. You especially."

You look up at him and smile. You lay back against his palm, letting your legs dangle over the edge.

Optimus finds a place along the grassy area and sits down, careful not to rattle you too much.

He relaxes, holding you in his palm, close to his chest. You both watch the sunset, admiring it as it went down and took all the beautiful colors with it.

It did relax you. And for a while you forgot all about the stress of your work. You loved these moments with Optimus no matter how long or small they came.

"I enjoy your sunsets. We did not get many sunsets on Cybertron."

"You didn't?"

"The many moons and planets often blocked the sun by the time it fully orbited around your planet, and would keep us from seeing the glow I suppose."

"That and it was always very far away."

You hummed. "Well, I'm glad we could see one together."

You held his digit as tightly as you could. The exhaustion from the long work day finally starting to catch up with you.

"I am glad I get to spend this time with you."

Optimus noticed your eyes fluttering closed and smiled. The sun is fully setting, darkness bleeding into the beautiful colors and setting the tone for the night. "Shall we go home, you're looking about ready for recharge."

You nod slowly, rubbing your eyes just to stay awake a big longer.

"Thank you Optimus, for bringing me out here. I always love doing this."

"As do I, your presence is always a comfort."

You smile and slide off his hand when he brings you back to the ground. He transforms and pops open the driver's side door, letting you climb in.

He straps you in and you lay your head back against the headrest.

"I think your my favorite Autobot Optimus."

He chuckles. "You think? Who should I be worried would take my place??"

You smirk. "Drift."

Optimus scoffs playfully. "Of course it's Drift..."

You chuckle and pat the steering wheel. "Optimus, I'm only kidding, you are my favorite 'bot."

"I can accept that. Thank you Y/n."

You hum, your eyes starting to close. The world starts to slow down as you sink back into the seat and let the exhaustion finally catch up with you.

"You're welcome..."

Optimus feels his spark swell with love. Something he hadn't felt truly for a while. But having you around was refreshing, hanging out with you always brought him joy.

And he got to help you, just like you helped him.

Hope you enjoyed your part 2 anon 😊

#transformers #optimus prime #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #maccadam #x reader #transformers x reader

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in1-nutshell · 2 months

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Hello! Another of TFA Request

(Fem or GN ) Bot Buddy as Wasp's twin sibling who takes his place

Wasp And his twin are similar to each other, having the same paintjob, body-type, alt mode and others. But also differebt yet they're very close twins

You can tell who is who by watching how they act, Wasp is pompous while Buddy is quiet and known for being mute around everyone who isn't Wasp.

Buddy has an opposite personality, like being quiet and good-hearted. She known for being mute (which's not true and only Wasp knows about it). They sometimes good at mimicking Wasp, his voice and attitude.

(You can also put small romance with Bumblebee or Bulkhead, or other bot/con)

(you can also change this if you like) When they're at the boot camp, and there's someone trying out the traitor. When Buddy trying to tell Wasp about this he thought twin just being anxious or other, so Buddy only thought and to do is to pretend his twin, whether they tell Wasp, the truth or not, like 'let's pretend to be each other for one day like the old times', something alike

Eventually Bumblebee found evidence incriminating Wasp as a spy, but this is not Wasp, it's actually Buddy who acts as Wasp, while Wasp(Buddy) was wheeling away, (pretend to) protesting their innocence (and didn't swore on revenge), while Wasp, who pretend to be Buddy, stands there, he internally almost swear to revenge but remembers the small troubles he did and with his twin promise to Wasp, that he'll be a good bot, that helps others and never let revenge took over him, or something alike.

Wasp, who's now live as Buddy, being quiet and mute, and he's in repair crew with Bumblebee, or other, it's up to you

I'm gonna cut the request here cuz this become longer. I'll thinking doing another of this if that's okay

Oh!

Oh...

Back with more twin Buddy!

Hope you enjoy!

Wasp's twin taking his place as the spy

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFA

In their early years, it felt like it was Buddy and Wasp against the world.

Before they got their names at least.

He was the loud and borderline mean one.

Then there was his twin.

The extremely quiet one that couldn’t hurt a turbo fox if she tried.

He was extremely protective of his twin vowing to protect her from the harmful things of the world.

His way of doing that was hurting and mistreating others before they did it first.

“Can you please refrain from calling everyone a coward?”

“No.”

“Please? I’ve already had several mech’s yell at me about how ‘I’ called them a coward and had some oil spilled down my back side.”

“SO that’s why you’re wet.”

“…”

He swings his arm around them.

“Listen, no one’s going to bother us when we become a part of the Elite Guard. And everyone will remember us.”

“Hmm…”

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

They raise and optic.

“You want that list alphabetically, numerically or color coded?”

She are about to get in the line when they see their twin start messing with some other recruits.

One of them looked like he came from the same protoform mold as they did but yellow and the other was a rather large green mech.

Her twin was making some unnecessary quips at them.

“Hey, knock it off. That was uncalled for.”

Their twin just huffs and goes to hang out with some other mechs in the line.

The yellow one glares at them.

“What? Is it your turn now?”—Yellow mech

They raise their servos in surrender.

“I just wanted to help.”

“I didn’t need your help.”—Yellow mech

“But it did look like you needed a friend on your side.”

The mech softens a bit.

The green mech pats their back a bit.

“Thanks! Hey, you look a lot like the other mech that was just here.”—Green mech

“That’s my twin believe it or not.”

“Yeesh! Sorry about that.”—Yellow mech

They wave it off as the three of them get into the line.

“He’s not all that bad.”

Their bootcamp commander was Sentinel Prime.

She already didn’t like his tone but kept quiet about it.

She quietly cheered for their twin getting his name.

Wasp, it suited him.

Sentinel stopped shortly in front of her taking a double take at Wasp.

“Why are there two of you?”--Sentinel

“That’s my twin Sentinel Prime, sir! But obviously she's the lesser twin compared to me.”--Wasp

Bumblebee and Bulkhead glared at him.

“She's not—”--Bumblebee

“Bumblebee! Keep your mouth shut!”--Sentinel

Sentinel now looked hard at her, making her feel nervous.

“Hmm… maybe you are the lesser part of your twin.”--Sentinel

She froze a bit hearing it.

Bumblebee was finding it hard to keep his mouth shut hearing Wasp and Sentinel talk about her like that.

She have been nothing but nice since they’ve been here.

“Your name is W-2. A grateful gift, mind you. Second place to your twin.”--Sentinel

Sentinel moved on to the next bots in line.

Wasp found the new name funny, even annoyingly going on and on about the name.

She just tried ignoring him.

Lately he had become more and more of a pain trying to show off to his new friends.

But it wasn’t all bad.

She did make fast friends with Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and later Longarm.

She'd much rather spend their time with the three mechs than their twin on most days.

W-2, Bulkhead and Longarm look at a pedeless Bumblebee on one of the slabs.

“Bumblebee? Where’s your pedes?”—W-2

Bumblebee crossed his arms.

“Your twin and goons decided to put them on the high shelf.”--Bumblebee

She winced a bit looking at Longarm.

“Longarm could you…?”—W-2

“Of course.”--Longarm

He reached up and grabbed the pedes to give it to her.

She reached for their tool kit.

“…I’ve been thinking about leaving the guard.”—W-2

“You’re what?! Why?!”--Bulkhead

“I don’t belong here Bee. I’ve been asking Longarm to help me get into security branch since he has connections there.”—W-2

“But… what about us? You’ll be leaving me, Bulkhead and Longarm. Not to mention how much worse things are going to get with Wasp.”—Bumblebee

She put the kit on their lap for a minute.

“…Its still up for debate Bumblebee, but I’ll let you know when I finally get to my decision.”—W-2

When Bumblebee came up with his theory about Wasp beginning the rat, She were furious that he would even think such a thing.

Sure, Wasp was a selfish jerk sometimes, but he would never do that!

When She told Wasp about the accusations he just laughed in their face.

He wasn’t worried about some false rumor, and he wasn’t going to start now.

W-2 came in a bit late to see some other guardsmen trying to wheel Wasp out.

“Wait! What’s happening?!”—W-2

Sentinel looked at them.

“Your twin here has been found guilty of spying for the enemy. He’s going to be spending a lot of time in the stockade.”--Sentinel

She looked at their terrified twin’s optics.

She knew what they needed to do.

“You can’t send him to the stockades.”—W-2

“And why not?”--Sentinel

“…because I’m the spy.”—W-2

Everyone looked surprised at the claim.

“You?”—Sentinel

“I…I impersonated Wasp and tried to let him take the fall. I’m coming in clean. Take me, not him.”—W-2

W-2 raise her servos to Sentinel.

He wastes no time cuffing them.

“Release Wasp.”--Sentinel

Wasp gets let go and just stands to the side in shock as she get put in his former shackles.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead looked shocked and betrayed as she began to pass them.

she had the muzzle on their mouth, it didn’t let the others see the sad smile on their face.

W-2 took one last look at everyone as the ship’s doors slowly closed.

SHe let a couple stray tears go as darkness consumed her.

At least Wasp was safe.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfa x reader #tfa x platonic reader

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blubushie · 23 days

Text

Home at last. Allow me to formally introduce Mattie.

Taken at the servo. Also have a pic Dad took while I was driving. He thought the sunset was pretty. Something in the orange.

Lemme tell you about this beastie.

I need a sparky to have a squizz at her cuz practically nothing electronic in her works. Radio works. Dash lights work. Brake lights work. Headlights work.

That's all that works.

She's got no rear lights, no rear indicators, no hazards, no horn, her petrol gauge doesn't work, her electric fuel tank switch doesn't work, it was a bitch and a half switching her tanks on the highway because I had no warning that she was about to sputter and then she did and I had to grapple around under the seat unable to signal to anyone around me that she's a hazard because her hazards DO NOT WORK and then it took her three gruelling seconds to kick back in after I managed to switch tanks.

But she went 25 in a 65 to 70 in about 3 seconds, so that's cool. Almost gave me a fucken nosebleed, heh.

Her headliner's falling in on the driver's side, her cigarette lighter doesn't work but she reeks of cheap Marlboro, her antenna's snapped off, but hey, at least she's got an 8track. But her tiller's also turned wrong—the bitch sits sideways. She's got some give to it too, takes some wobble to make the steering catch. No power steering, no power brakes, she screams when you drive cuz the vent windows don't seal properly so you need to leave them cracked open, but when you do that you can hardly hear the person next to you over the wind roar. Her heater don't work, her dash lights are so fucken dim you can't even see them until it's pitch black outside and even then you can barely make out any of the readings, her driver's side door sticks and you gotta breech it with your shoulder to make it open, her emergency brake only engages if you kick the fucken thing like a mule, her dome light don't work, and her headlights are so dim that the highbeams are the only thing what come close to normal brightness headlights.

But her engine purrs heavenly, and she's got good bones, and I love her. I love her for all the work I get to put into her. I love her for everything wrong with her that I get to fix.

Fifty-six years ago tomorrow, my father went to Vietnam. And fifty-six years ago, this car was built. And today, the day before the fifty-sixth anniversary of my dad going to Vietnam in 1968, I've got myself a 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special Custom Cab, my dream car. So here's to brighter days and better tomorrows, and more sunrises than sunsets.

I'm gonna go make myself a drink and wake up at the arsecrack of dawn tomorrow morning so I can wash her before putting her over to the grease monkeys so they can have a crack at her, because sometime this weekend we're heading back south to pick up Tilly from the repairshop, and I'm not driving home in the dark with no fucken lights again.

#ford blu #ford f250 #classic cars

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taevisionceo · 10 months

Text

TAEVision 3D Mechanical Design Parts AutoParts Aftermarket ZF SACHS servo steering Electric Servo Steering Servolectric ServoelectricSteering ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Pinterest ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Google Photos

Data 137 - Jul 21, 2023

#TAEVision #engineering #3d #mechanicaldesign #parts #autoparts #aftermarket #ZF #SACHS #ZF SACHS #steerin #servo steering #ServoSteering #electric servo steering Servolectric #ServoelectricSteering

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sw5w · 6 months

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Anakin Flips

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:03:48

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Tatooine #Boonta Eve Classic #podrace #Mushroom Mesa #Anakin Skywalker's podracer #Teemto Pagalies's podracer #power steering servo assembly #control cable #IPG-X1131 LongTail

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randofics · 2 months

Text

Thermalis

🎶 Maroon5- she will be loved

Ultra Magnus x reader

18+

-------

Magnus was using his thermals to look over a malfunctioning piece of equipment when your entrance caught his attention. Your vibrant figure stood out against the cold blue of the concrete floor. Even the breath puffing through your nose and mouth had a fleeting heat.

It got colder inside during these winter desert nights. Cold enough for you to constantly wear your old high-school hoodie and leggings.

To his surprise, you weren't wearing the hoodie. Instead, it was tied around your waist, leaving your top half covered in a tank top. He observed your heat signature as you climbed the metal steps to the platform, curious at the way heat seemed to radiate from your belly, chest, and head. Your limbs were a bit cooler, and your fingers even cooler than them.

You noticed him staring and gave him a small smile. "What is it, Magnus?"

Shaking his helm slightly to clear it he hummed in question back at you. "I noticed you staring, so what's up?"

"Ah apologies y/n I noticed you weren't wearing your hoodie."

"Oh yeah, Rachet had me working on some of his equipment earlier. The cooling system was malfunctioning, so I had to wriggle inside where it was still hot to repair a few things. Made me sweat like a racehorse." He nods, remembering his own tech troubles. "I may have a similar problem with this equipment here."

"Really? Well, I can take a look if you want?"

"That would be much appreciated, thank you." He held out his servo for you to hop into and brought you over to the malfunctioning machine. Popping open a side panel, you lay on your back to slide inside all the way to your waist. Magnus observes your arms, moving about as you look over the wires and cables inside. The flashlight between your teeth slips in your concentration and smacks you in the forehead before rolling further inside the machine.

"OW... I sworney! Get back here, ya stupid flashlight!" Magnus quirks a browridge as you feel around for the familiar cylinder of your light. You shift your legs from their side laying position to propped up and spread as you reach further inside. Having forgotten his thermals were still on, the hot signature between your thighs drew in his optics.

He somewhat understood why your torso would be so hot but down there? Cybertronians were usually cold there. As you finally grabbed the light and continued your work, Magnus was staring off into space. His processor wandering. He couldn't help his curiosity in how that warmth would feel against him but remembered that organics were wet and squishy inside. At first, the thought kinda grossed him out, but the longer he thought about it, the stronger his curiosity became till he finally steered his thoughts towards you.

He hadn't been thinking of you specifically, at least not at first, but now he was thinking of how you would feel on his spike. The raunchy thoughts caught him off guard. He shook his helm to dispell them, clearing his vocalizer. A blue blush crossing his faceplate. He needed to distract himself with work. Walking over to his data pad, he turned it on, trying to busy himself with "paperwork."

He couldn't stop his thoughts about you. He wondered how much your temperature would change as he worked you up and how plush your body might be in his servos.

"Something wrong, big guy?" He gives you a strange look. You feel a bit shy under his gaze and trip over your words. "Magnus? Wh-what is it? Why are you... staring at me like that?" He kneals, and you take a step back.

"Your heat signature."

"What about it?" He clears his vocalizer standing straight again. "Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"Okaaay... I'm finished with the repair." He gives you a curt nod, turning back to the screens covered in cybertronian script. "Thank you for your assistance, y/n." Shaking your head, you walk away, not realizing the mech has his optics on you.

He silently watches you leave, finally switching his thermals off so he can see everything in normal color.

-------

The next hour or so was very unproductive for him. He just couldn't stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, he gave up deciding that a night drive would calm his racing processor. But as fate would have it, he wouldn't be alone.

You jogged into the main room, calling to him as he got ready to transform. "Magnus! Magnus! Wait up!" He qwirked a brow ridge as you huffed from running. "Do you... mind dropping me off at my place?"

"Is Bumblebee unable to?"

"Yeah, he's busy helping Optimus." He nods, transforming in front of you. His driver side door pops open, and you step up inside. With your seatbelt secure around you, he drives through the tunnel.

Raindrops hit his windshield as he passed the giant hidden doors. Puddles had formed in the almost hydrophobic desert soil as an unusual hard rain poured from the heavens. He didn't need to use his wipers, but for the sake of blending in, he turned them on. Several cars passed in the opposite lane, almost backed up for some reason.

You looked farther ahead and spotted the flashing lights of police vehicles. You could see that the road ahead was blocked off by barricades and police cruisers. A large section of road had collapsed in the rushing floodwaters, and no one would be getting through anytime soon.

"Ugh, that's just great! Now, how will I get home?"

"You could accompany me for a drive while I find another way through?"

"Ok, if you're alright with it?" You watch the lights on the radio flash as he speaks. "I have nothing better to do at the moment." He makes a u-turn following the other vehicles through the translucent sheets of rain. A few minutes down the road, he turns onto a dirt one. You can feel his shocks taking the brunt of the worn potholes as he slowly drives through them.

Mud cakes his tires and undercarriage, making it hard to get a good grip on the road. The detour was proving more and more fruitless by the minute. He grunted as his tires spun in a particularly deep wallow. The mud had practically drained from under his tires, leaving him on top of a shelf of mud. His weight now off his tires put pressure on his undercarriage.

In cybertronian, he cursed his steering wheel, turning left and right as he tried to gain enough traction. With that not working, either he partially transforms using different parts to drag himself forward, eventually escaping the deep mud.

"That was deep! I was beginning to wonder if I should call for a wrecker."

"I doubt Bulkhead or Wheeljack would've been much help." You let out a chuckle at his misunderstanding. "No, I mean a wrecker like a vehicle recovery truck. They're mainly used for semi recovery." He grunts in recognition, continuing down the road.

The lights of a main road shine up ahead, and you breathe an unconscious sigh of relief when he rolls onto the asphalt. It's obvious, however, just how much mud is stuck to his tires as he unevenly drives down the road. As you continue looking forward, you spot an empty car wash.

"How about we stop at this car wash so I can spray you down?"

"Agreed, my tires aren't getting enough traction with this mud." He pulls into the semi sized wash bay and cuts his engine. The old car wash only has one working light in this bay, leaving it washed in a dim greenish-blue. Stepping out, you take the pressure washer in hand, immediately starting on his tires. The mud washes away relatively quickly, and before you know it, you're kneeling down, trying to spray his undercarriage clean.

The yellowish lights of an older pickup truck shine across you, and Magnus as a man pulls into the small lot. He parked next to the air pump, stepping out onto the glossy wet pavement. The rain had finally settled down quite a bit.

As you continued your spraying, the man was clearly watching you as he stood there a moment. He suddenly called out to you, gaining your attention. "Hey ma'am! Do you need some help?"

You wiped water from your face as you stood to face him. "No sir, I'm fine, thanks!" The man started walking over when you turned your back to him. Alarms rang in Magnus' processor, so he switched on his holoform. Opening the driver's side door, he stepped out, making eye contact with the approaching man. Immediately upon seeing Magnus, he turned on his heels and walked back to his truck to put air in his tires.

Boots hitting the concrete drew your attention. You were met with an older man, probably in his late forties, his hair just beginning to grey and dressed in battle fatigues. He was clean-shaven and standing with his hands behind his waist as a general would.

"That you Magnus?" He only nods, watching the man as he finally gets back in his truck, driving away. Magnus turns to you as you finish spraying his undercarriage clean. "That feel better?"

"Yes, thank you, y/n." Noticing your slight shivering, he turns on his thermals again. You're a tad colder than you were back at base, and clearly, the spray of the hose dampened your clothes. The cool breeze didn't help much either. After spraying a clean path to his passenger door and cleaning your shoes, you step up inside again.

Glancing at his surroundings, he steps up into the driver's seat. Pulling forward, he drives into the dark, secluded rear of the car wash to park. As you rub your arms in an attempt to get warm, you give him a confused look. His seat slides back as far as possible, and he pats his lap.

"You want me to get in your lap?"

"You're cold, aren't you? It's the least I can do for that wash down." You bite your lip as you think it over. Caving, you clamber over to him, straddling his legs with your hands on his chest. Gently and a bit unsure of yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lay against him. His holoform is warm to your surprise but not as much as a human. You nuzzle into his neck, closing your eyes at the comforting feeling of his presence. Arms wrap around your back, and you let out a content sigh, relaxing your muscles.

He feels your body loosen as your breath tickles his holoform skin. He wraps his arms around you and lets himself relax as well.

-------

A few minutes pass, and you can't help but fidget a little with his uniform buttons. "What are you doing?" His deep voice close to your ear sends a shiver down your spine. And you can feel your body react to him. Gently, you press your lips against his neck, taking him by surprise.

He sucks in a synthetic breath as you place more tender kisses on his skin. "Would it be alright if I switched holoforms?" You pause, leaning back to look him in the eyes. "You have a different holoform?" Now you were curious, would it be this human with different clothes or something else? "I can project a holoform of my true body as well as this human form."

Perhaps he wanted to do this in his true form rather than some human version of himself. It was understandable. You wouldn't want to do something intimate in another body either. You smile and nod, letting him know you were ok with it and his holoform morphs before your eyes.

That familiar blue, red, and silver body sits under you as solid as ever. When you shift in his lap, you brush against his modesty panel, sending a small jolt of pleasure through your nerves. His servos land on your waist, and you press your forhead against his in a sign of affection.

"What would you like me to do next?" His question has you smiling, giving him a soft chuckle. "Just do what feels right, Magnus."

"Mmh, alright then." He takes your jaw in his servo, pulling you in for a kiss. It's gentle at first, both of you unsure about yourselves but slowly you get into a rhythm of sorts. His glossa ran over your teeth, asking for entry, which you obliged. His denta clashed against your teeth as the kiss grew frantic. Subconsciously, you scooted forward, sitting right on his modesty panel. His servo gripped your rear, lifting you slightly as you heard feint clicks. When you sat back down His modesty panel wasn't there anymore instead replaced by a spike of sorts. Rounded and pliable like some kind of silicone covered metal. It was dark charcoal grey with feint blue lights running along it.

A mad blush covers your face and ears as you look back up at him. He also looks nervous and can't keep eye contact with you. "I apologize y/n I didn't mean for that to happen." For once, you can hear nerves in his voice. He's normally so calm and collected much like Optimus.

Gaining confidence at his nervousness, you give him a peck on the lips, sliding off his lap. You strip in front of him all the way down to bare skin. His glowing eyes scan your body in awe as you gingerly slip back into his lap. "You're gorgeous. I don't know any femmies that even come close to your beauty." You almost tear up at his compliments.

He lets his servos roam your skin as he moves to kiss your neck. Small sounds escape your throat as he caresses your abdomen and deftly touches your spine. You position yourself on his spike, moving your hips back and forth to gain some pleasure. He groans in your ear as you rub yourself on him. Your slick leaks on him lubricating him for the next step.

When he breaks away from your neck, you kiss him again and sit up on your knees above him. "Are you certain you want to go through with this?" Your gaze is dark with arousal as you nod to him. You split yourself open, gently aligning him with your entrance as you finally sink down.

He hisses, cursing in cybertronian at the feeling of you around him. You let out a pitiful whine as he stretches you, filling you perfectly. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself as you both stay still for a moment. Relaxing your muscles, you slip just a bit further down to the base of him as he grips your hips tight.

When he attempts to move, you wrap your arms around his neck, gripping one of his ear finials. He moves his servos to your rear, lifting you up only to thrust back into you. Moans quickly flow from your lips as he gets into rhythm. A growl escapes him as he leans forward, getting out of the seat. With you he shimmys to his back cabin, laying you on the folding cot.

He gets on top of you and moves the pillow under your hips before slipping back inside you with a pleasured groan. You let out a gasp when he plunges back in, the different angle providing new pleasure. As he thrusts harder, you lock your legs around his waist and claw at his back plates. You can feel the coil inside you tightening as your muscles squeeze around his spike.

"Magnus... Harder!" Immediately, his hips snap harder into yours, and you feel your coil about to snap. It's only when he whispers to you something in cybertronian gripping the meat of your rear that it finally snaps. You call out his name as your body tenses, waves of white hot pleasure running through you.

He continues moving through your high, letting possesive synthetic growls slip through his vocalizer. An almost inaudible hiss of air meets your ears as your mind clears a bit, and you suddenly feel his girth increase inside you. It stretches you just a bit more, and you already feel another orgasm slowly creeping up on you.

Magnus isn't slowing down yet either as he lifts one of your legs to gain a better angle. His lips attacking your neck again as he chases his own release. His denta nip at your skin, and his glossa runs along your throat, making you shiver.

You feel his arms around you as he suddenly picks you back up, taking a standing position. He thrusts up into you, letting out what you can only guess is cybertronian dirty talk. Nonetheless, it works, and you know you're close to another release. Chanting his name like a mantra, you claw at his back and grip his finials.

"I'm close y/n!" You can't respond only letting moans flow from your lips. With a few more thrusts, he lets out a hiss cursing in cybertronian again as he releases inside you. Heat fills your womb as you squeeze him like a vice. Your legs tighten around him in an attempt to pull him further inside you. You can feel your walls pulse around him as he gently thrusts into you to ride out your high.

Breathing hard, you give him a sleepy smile touching forheads again in affection. He sits back in the driver's seat, letting you lay against him. "Can we stay here for a bit?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way." Wrapping your arms around his neck, you close your eyes. "I love you, Magnus." His spark swells with joy at that. "I love you as well, y/n."

#transformers fanfiction #transformers x reader #transformers prime #fanfic #ultra magnus #ultra magnus x reader #tfp #smut

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lets-try-some-writing · 5 months

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Survivors

The Pretenders have made attempts to spread. Efforts have been made to stop them, however fear amongst the Decepticons is growing. The Pretenders are appearing more and more often, always being cut down before they can return to their abominable creator. The Cons learn more with every Pretender killed, but the survivors still bear the scars.

Damus wishes more than anything else that he could have minded his own business long enough to not get involved.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Damus never intended to get involved. He already had enough to deal with considering his outlier ability, his faltering memory, and the fact that empurata had done extensive damage to his ability to function normally. He didn't have the time or the motivation to join up with either faction when the war began, at least at first. He knew Orion Pax, well he knew of him at any rate. He was also familiar with Megatron's doctrine. As such, he took his time trying to decide which faction he would inevitably end up siding with. War would force him to choose eventually, but he was slow in his selection. There was no need to rush, not yet.

He saved up shanix, doing odd jobs for both sides as peace talks began to occur. Maybe he wouldn't even need to pick. At least, that was his hope as he got his life together. With the senate in disarray, they didn't care for the fact that he went to a medic and payed an absurd amount to receive a new set of servos and a proper face. Things were looking up for him and he couldn't have been more thrilled when his old mentor called upon him to do odd jobs and run calculations. Damus didn't know why Shockwave wanted him to collect seemingly random fauna and flora from on and off world, but he did as instructed and was paid handsomely for his services.

Part of him wanted to question, but after the Senate and his prior empurata- No, he refused to risk it. He was getting his life together and he was going to keep things stable. That was his hope. But of course, just as he found himself a spot working as a field scientist for a research facility, everything went to slag. Orion Pax dropped off the face of creation and in turn the war went to the pits and back. Both sides were in an uproar, so Damus tried to steer clear of it. That of course did not last, not when during an expedition underground for a few stellar cycles to escape the horrors of war, he met a mech who was far larger than he remembered.

"You are Damus."

"Orion Pax. It is a surprise to see you here."

"I come in search of the Matrix of Leadership. Do you know its location?"

"Legend says it returned to Primus after Sentinel offlined."

"Do you know the path to Primus's core?"

"Maybe? I can try, but I don't work for free Pax. I am not the lost mech you knew. I have a life, a job. I am not risking it by helping out the Autobots without something in return."

"You desire payment?"

"Obviously. I know the tunnels well enough to get you going in the right direction at any rate."

"That is sufficient. Should you complete this task adequately, you will be rewarded in due time."

There was something very off about the mech who Damus was pretty sure was Orion. But he decided whatever it was, he didn't want to get involved. Orion had been gone for stellar cycles, probably on this foolish mission. It was in his best interest to get Pax where he needed to be so he could get his aft but up to the surface and stop the panic. And so that's just what he did. He walked Orion down the right paths until he didn't trust his memory to lead him further. Orion, or at least the mech who looked a great deal like Orion, watched him with calculating optics and nodded before vanishing into the dark. He decided then and there that he didn't even want to be paid, not when this mech was staring lasers into his spark during their entire walk.

Not his problem. Not his problem.

That was what he chanted to himself as Optimus Prime emerged onto the battlefield not long later and Damus found himself with no choice but to join up with the Decepticons for his own safety. Something was very wrong with Optimus Prime, although he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was. He was just WRONG and looking back at the tunnel incident, Damus regretted guiding him. He did everything in his power to steer clear despite being with the Cons technically. His hope was that by staying in the city of Tarn, he could keep away from whatever was going on in the war. Being a researcher behind the lines was his safest bet. He didn't even care about trying to make something of himself. The job could frag itself now that he had his face and servos. He just wanted to stay as far away from all of it as he could. Whenever he left the safety of Tarn for whatever reason, he seemed to run into trouble.

Optimus met his gaze twice from a distance. Damus purged after each incident. The Prime was focused on him, and something deep in his spark told him that was a death sentence. A few times he caught sight of another one who gave him unsettling feelings. A yellow scout, one who the records stated was designated as Bumblebee once he finally worked up the willpower to look him up. Then there was the third, the last one that confirmed Damus's fears. Ratchet was the CMO of Cybertron before the war, but now he was on the battlefront every now and then... and he was different. There were rumors that he got ill and then miraculously recovered. But looking at him from a distance? Damus got that same feeling, the one he got when he saw Optimus. Those three were wrong, and so he tried not to leave Tarn for his own safety.

He was concerned to say the least. But he was safe in Tarn. Of course that was fine until Megatron began laying down rules that Damus and many others didn't understand. There were constant warnings about an infection originating from Autobot lines. Medics were suddenly being trained en masse and were promptly put absolutely everywhere. Medical procedures grew more invasive and frequent, constant sanitation became the norm, and any soldier that presented even the slightest behavioral difference after battle was taken away, often never to be seen again. There was also the sudden appearance of strange armor suits that mecha amongst the Decepticons began to wear. There were whole propaganda campaigns urging every soldier to get the suits for their own protection. The bulky things covered every possible part of the frame, and somehow Damus got the distinct impression that something darker was going on behind the scenes. Things weren't adding up.

His fears were confirmed when Optimus Prime decided it was time to give Damus his payment.

Damus had no time to react when the Autobots launched an attack on Tarn shortly after the destruction of the Senate. Damus hid with the rest of the non combatants, but the Prime was quick to appear on the battlefield and tracked Damus down like a bloodhound when he tried to run. Optimus Prime found him huddled amidst the ruins of the bombed out fortress he called home for so long. And it was there that the Prime, no, the monster, ruined his entire life.

"I promised you payment. I have come to offer it."

"GET AWAY!"

"You are one of his students. You will be useful."

"Primus no-!"

He could only scream as the thing's jaw came apart, splitting into a maw of mandibles. Then just as quickly, a squirming bug of some sorts was lowered toward his right optic. It was agony as the thing wormed its way into him, and all the while the monster above him seemed to smile in its convoluted way. All he knew was pain as the thing left in a hurry and he was promptly collected and dragged away to a place he didn't know.

He remembered medics, dozens of them all practically buried under the protective suits the posters were always advertising. He remembered screaming in agony as they worked on him, doing something to his helm and much of his torso. But then it ended, and Damus was left in an isolated room, strapped down to his berth with heavy chains, and standing before him was the one and only Megatron who also wore the suit.

"What in Primus's name happened to me?"

"You were infected with the Pretender larva. We managed to remove the larva itself, but its roots have already spread."

"What does that means? What is this?"

"Listen closely Damus. We don't know where it came from, but the Pretenders are creatures that infest a host and devour them in order to wear their frames as disguises. Optimus Prime is one of these creatures."

"Then he-"

"He spread the infection to others, including yourself. We have found hundreds of others like you in various stages of infection. We have done everything we can to reverse the effects, but all we have accomplished is slowing it down."

"So... I am going to die?"

"Yes. We slowed the infection to a crawl and your life will be extended through frequent surgeries to remove the largest of the roots. However, it will kill you one cycle."

"I will become one of those monsters."

"Only if you give in. We have installed an explosive in your processors that will eliminate you at a moment's notice. This is not out of cruelty, but merely to ensure you cannot become another tool for the Pretender plague."

"I see..."

"You will die, but you need not do so without honor. You carry part of the Pretender genome. With it, you will likely find you have new abilities, most notably, an inbuilt radar which will point toward other Pretenders."

"You want to make me a tool."

"I offer you a choice. You can die here with a quick and painless offlinement, or you can serve us and use your curse to ensure others do not suffer the same fate."

"How many have died due to this?"

"Thousands. We find more every cycle. The thing that calls itself Prime is prolific and must be eradicated."

"Then... I will serve. I will make sure this CURSE cannot spread."

"Good. We will have need of you Damus."

"Please, call me Tarn. I want that monster to know that the city it destroyed yet lives on. That I still remain defiant."

Damus, or rather Tarn took one look at his face and knew what he needed to do. The larva had buried itself into him, and so to remove it, his face that he spent so long achieving was now devastated. However in his rage, he found he didn't care. He wasn't afraid anymore. That monster took his entire life from him. Condemned him to eventual death alongside countless others. He refused to let the newly named Pretenders be. Not after everything.

He wanted to not be involved. But now he had no choice. Passivity got him infected. And so until he perished, he would fight. He could feel the new strength that hummed in his fuel lines. Evidently, the Pretenders were more than simple infiltrators. The world was brighter, more noisy, and far less frightening. The thing within him would kill him, but until it did, he had its strength as its own.

The Pretenders were going to DIE.

With Megatron's aid, Tarn was given access to all he needed. Every moment was spent on the hunt, and the few he found in time to save quickly joined his ranks. Other mecha, each survivors of the larva. Together they grew in number and slaughtered the Pretenders in their cradles. The things were so very weak when young. Tarn could feel the rage of the one called Prime. But he merely smiled as time went on. Every Pretender killed was one less threat. Megatron's warnings now made perfect sense.

An infection was spreading across Cybertron, and Tarn was going to stop it.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #megatron #tarn #pretender au #damus #slightly rushed #but here it is #more pretender au #I just want to answer the asks Ive gotten and move the the story to earth #but not yet #just a lil longer

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autobot-leader · 11 months

Note

Cyrvo sneaks around the big lot full of trucks as it downpours and spots a big one with a cool paint job. "Now that's a hell of a ride..." She mumbles to herself, pulling her hood to better cover her face as she reaches to test the locks, opening the door and climbing right on in. From the outside it could easily look like a lost kid just trying to get out of the rain. Once she's in the truck she inspects the dashboard, grinning to herself. "Well ain't I lucky... It's all modern." She pulls an old woven glove off her right hand, odd markings that look like servos and circuits on a motherboard glow blue, and she starts to reach for the dashboard

“Now, what do you think you’re doing?” A man’s deep voice coming from the gps asked. Suddenly the truck’s engine turned over and on the steering wheel, instead of a manufacturer’s logo, there was a strange emblem.

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chickenparm · 7 months

Text

Reformatting (Scara/f!Reader) pt. 1

this was written for @onesaltygoddess. thanks for coming to me with this dope idea! :^) this fic is based off the recent fan animations that you can watch here and some cyberpunk 2077 mixed in to flesh it out. this fic is finished, and the following chapters will be uploaded over the next few days.

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AO3 Link Next Part

Scaramouche/f!Reader - Cyberpunk AU 2,753 Words - SFW, future NSFW (Reader is a synthetic/android, NSFW tags will be on appropriate chapter)

---

“She’ll be useful. Her leashing chip has been removed and she’s not bound to her former overseer. As it stands, she has the capability to become completely autonomous.”

A sound of annoyance behind his teeth rings through the ship as Scaramouche stares out at the passing buildings shimmering through the cloaking field surrounding them. “There’s no telling what shape she’s in, not to mention whatever temperament she adopted from being with her last overseer. It’s not possible to know if she will have any use at all… beyond her base programming.”

“Don’t be crude,“ Ei’s voice is stern as she tilts the steering stick and the ship dips to the left, lowering as it goes. “She’s been through enough. Don’t make it more difficult by forcing her into that box when she’s only just escaped.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Scaramouche blows a sigh through his nose, eyes darting upward in a quick roll as he looks at the electronic ticker running along the inner brim of his hat, “I’ll bring the systems down just before we come into range. We’ll have less than ten.”

“Minutes?”

“No, seconds. Of course it’s minutes.”

From the corner of his eye, Scaramouche can see Ei’s expression in the reflection of the windscreen. Her mouth is set in a line, brows furrowed, but she says nothing at all. Disappointment flickers in his chest - how boring.

The lights of the city grow a little less crisp, the neon and LEDs gaining a sort of flicker that comes with age. Mixed between are ancient street lamps still using sodium-vapor, casting the wet streets in a sort of sickly yellow glow. They’re getting closer, and Ei doesn’t need to tell him to get to work.

The screens on his hat flicker to life, and he glances from one to another to another, a flick of his wrist spinning to the ones just out of his view. Under his breath he murmurs, “Security systems are poor for a government facility. Still holding at ten minutes, might be able to hold them off a little longer.”

“We’re almost in range of their sensors.” It goes without saying that those sensors need to come down if they hope to get in and out undetected. Ei lowers the craft, Scaramouche’s eyes glimmer for just a moment as he connects remotely with the subsystems controlling the facility.

Typical deconstruction protocols are happening within the primitive artificial intelligence systems. They’re in the middle of pulling apart and scrapping a set of L-13 models, and for a moment he wonders if they’re the ones from their previous trip to the city in search of their last runaway, Albedo. Trying to look through the cameras onto the disassembly line would be a waste of time, and Scaramouche’s curiosity goes unsated.

Instead, he flicks through the directory to the cameras observing the standby rooms. Little more than closets stacked high with spare parts, scrapped metal, bundled wiring. One consists of thousands of servos and transistors in piles that look disorganized and useless. Another room is enough to make his stomach turn, and he flicks away. Metal or not, the picked-clean skeletons of his people are still gruesome to his eyes.

At first, he thinks he’s simply found a room of L-13 models waiting for their turn on the disassembly line. But then, in the corner, a crumpled figure in the same state of undress as the powered-down L-13s around it. The build and features aren’t the same, even in the dark, and Scaramouche speaks aloud, “Got her. Not sure of the room number, they don’t have it labeled on their map. I’ll have to walk you through, Raiden.”

Another figure at the back of the craft moves forward, her hand clutched around a closed parasol. The tip of it drags on the floor behind her, the quiet sound of metal on metal. “Is ten minutes going to be enough?”

“For you? Yeah. Just don’t drag your feet.” Scaramouche doesn’t disconnect from the cameras, instead letting his physical gaze be taken over by his delve into the facility’s systems. A dangerous game to be playing if he were in public, but tucked safely into this ship and buckled in one of the seats, he’s willing to lose himself, just for a moment.

A quick-looping script is all it takes for him to break through the ICE and overload the already-strained CPUs running the facility. Their artificial intelligence draws too much on the hardware they’re using - amateurs. As he silently mocks their skill, the sensors go down and the ship approaches without tripping the alarms.

Distantly through the humming in his ears from his own hardware working as it should, Scaramouche hears the hatch open and Raiden’s footsteps move in quick bursts. Good - she’ll be fast.

To mask her movements, it’s a simple trick to take a few seconds’ long loop of the camera recordings and superimpose them. Raiden’s movements will be invisible unless somewhere in this factory there’s an organic being. Unlikely, but his tone is short and clipped as he gives her directions using the map he’d gleaned.

“Go around the next bend to the left.”

“Down the stairs two levels, the door is labeled 006.”

“Cut through the room on your right, the door in the back leads to a hallway you’re going to turn right onto.”

“Three doors down, on the left. Back left corner. Don’t alert the L-13s.”

Scaramouche’s curiosity gets the best of him. He looks in on the room, watches the effortless weave of Raiden through the powered-off synthetics. As Raiden squats down near the figure in the corner, their target doesn’t even move. It’s difficult to read her system processes through so many filters of security and cameras, but then her head rolls to the side and she looks up at Raiden with an expression of confusion and pain.

Pain. Physically she’s a bit battered, but not enough to warrant something more akin to heartbreak on her features. Perhaps the abandonment has affected her more than he expected - her disposal had been sudden, after all. From what he’d heard from Ei, she’d been replaced for a newer model. A synthetic that had features more aligned with current beauty standards floating around the net.

Scaramouche isn’t stupid. As Raiden hooks an arm over her shoulder and begins following the path back out with the same exact steps she arrived with, Scaramouche would categorize her features as pretty. Easy on the eyes, with a build that matches what he expected from a synthetic made with an E-droid’s purpose in mind.

One step above a pleasure bot, he blows a bit of air through his nose harshly. Flexible and durable probably, but with little else to offer beyond that. There’s no telling what her temperament is, how she’s been tampered with beyond herr initial specs upon creation. Hell, he’s not sure if she even has anything left in her memory bank, or if she’s been wiped clean upon disposal.

Scaramouche murmurs, voicing that quiet thought, “You think there’s anything left in her?”

“It’s possible. If she’s been wiped, it’s probably recoverable.”

Ei’s answer makes his shoulders tense, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, already knowing exactly what she’s implying. Chewing on his cheek, he contemplates an answer before giving it, “If she was sent for scrap, it was probably a hack job. What kind of idiot would try and steal a synthetic like that, anyway?”

“Me. And that’s exactly why you’re going to run an analysis on her while we return to Inazuma and figure out if there’s anything left in her that can be pieced back together.”

Scaramouche disconnects from the cameras completely as Raiden’s feet hit the boarding ramp, followed by softer, quieter steps. Five minutes left of cover - Ei doesn’t waste a second of it by taking her time. The ship shifts with the sudden acceleration, and Raiden holds their newcomer up with ease as everyone gets used to the new speed.

One look at her face tells Scaramouche everything he needs to know. Her eyes are unfocused, staring blankly at the floor as Raiden settles her in one of the seats and buckles her in. Pushing past her built-in ICE is as easy as popping a bubble, the iridescence snapping into non-existence.

Scaramouche connects with you.

And Ei was right. One cursory sift through your systems reveals that you’re worse than factory settings. But if they did as poorly as he expects, it would take some work to get everything back in order. Perhaps with some gaps here and there from data corruption, but otherwise it’ll be like you were never wiped at all.

When he relays this to Ei, she nods in acknowledgment and says, “It can wait until we’re somewhere safe. How long do you think it will take?”

“Depends how fragmented it all is. If it’s well-preserved… Maybe a day? If I have to look at the raw data to piece things back together then it could be a week or so. Won’t know until I start.”

Ei doesn’t need to say anything further. Scaramouche starts your repairs the moment you’re settled in the cradle-like pod that serves as a life support system as he breaks down and repairs everything that once made you who you are.

---

You’re falling.

Tumbling through the air freely, only the whisper of air against your ears. Weightlessness is an apt descriptor, because even if it’s freeing, you’re not free, even up here. The bands of silk could just as easily be the bars of a cage, shackles around your legs as you flex your limbs and catch yourself just short of the floor.

Just as well, they’re deceptively soft for something so binding, and you relish the feel of it against your skin and you deftly climb and descend in little spins and twirls, flourishes of your limbs that accentuate the lines of your form. He appreciates the extra show, loves the way it makes his friends exclaim in equal parts awe and desire.

If it weren’t for the music playing to guide your routine, you’d have turned your sound receptors off long ago.

But at the very least, you can focus on your counting, your breaths, the rhythm that acts as a scaffolding to keep you aloft and out of their reach. Only for a moment.

…

Your fingers press at the keys, playing a soft melody that you’ve ensured won’t distract your… employer from his work. In truth, he’s nothing more than your master, the one holding your deceptively short leash.

Calling me Master makes you seem like a slave, he told you once, as if he hadn’t just been leering at you spinning on the pole in the corner of his office. I pay you, and you provide a service.

The payment is your continued life. He hadn’t said it, but you both know it. The chip in your head was crudely inserted in the slot behind your ear, but if you even think of removing it, it’ll scramble your mind faster than you can shut down your systems. The “wage” you receive is the breaths you continue to take, the continued existence of yourself.

Employer - right.

“Enough.”

His voice rings out and you stop playing abruptly, your eyes upturning to look at him in quiet expectancy. There’s something unreadable on his face as he looks at the screen of his computer, and for a moment you wonder if he was talking to you at all. Your skin prickles, just before he finally says, “Leave. I’ll summon you back if I need a distraction.”

A distraction. An employee. A toy, a plaything, a pretty ornament that he brings out only when it suits him. It doesn’t matter what aspirations or goals you might have, what you might be doing in the interim. So long as you come slinking back when he tugs on your chains, it matters little what happens to you otherwise.

…

“How much you want for her? I know a guy that can augment synths, change their base model to be a little more… you know. Surely you want something newer?”

“I’m not done with this one, yet.”

Yet, he says, and that one word brings you hope and dread as you dip and turn, the fan in your hands fluttering with the movement as you snap it open, then closed. The fabric of your kimono slides across the floor in a whisper, hiding the sound of your steps as you follow movement ingrained in your mind.

It’s second nature, something you hardly need to think about as you spin both fans on your fingers before tossing them up, then catching them with a subdued flourish. A hum of appreciation from one of your employer’s friends is the only praise you get for something so impressive.

He’s an older gentleman, one who had never yet toed the line of disrespect with you, despite your clear difference in status. Of course, he is not a good man, but his gaze on you is one of appreciation for the arts, rather than what might be beneath the opulent layers of your kimono. Briefly, you wonder what your life might have been like if you had been obtained by someone like him.

Someone who would be more appreciative. Perhaps he might treat you better, let you leave the residence occasionally, let you have friends. Can a synthetic even have friends? You’re not quite sure. There’s a cleaning maid that comes around, but her programming makes it so that her only focus is that. Not once has she acknowledged your greetings.

All you have is your employer, sitting at the low table and drinking sake, indulging in what he calls a cultural night based on the destroyed customs of Inazuma.

You want to laugh, but your lipstick would crack.

…

“E-10, meet E-11.”

Your hands fold in front of you as you nod at the new arrival, taking in the sight of her clothing, her position mirrored to yours. At the base level, she’s similar to you - an E model bot is one designated for entertainment of various sorts. Version 10 is for the arts - dancing, singing, playing instruments. You’d heard of the 11th version’s capabilities, and something in your stomach twists at the recognition of this new model. Similar to yours, with… additions of the physical sort. Programs that prevent her from resistance, that force her into willing submission.

And you hate it. You don’t hate her, you hate what she’s forced to become. Every synthetic has the capability to be more than their original parameters, but the life that’s now laid out before her is one shackled to the demands of your employer. Her employer.

“E-10, you will show E-11 to her room across from yours.”

Obediently she follows you, as you obediently follow your order. Only when you’re alone, with the metal door shut behind you and her new bedroom spread out at your back, do you turn and grab her by the shoulders. “Did he chip you?”

“Wha-”

“Did he chip you? Yes or no!?”

“H-he inserted something in my receiver slot.”

Your hands grip her shoulders tighter and you all but sag. Her cage has already been locked. With a sniff, you lift your head to look at her and say, “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t I just remove it?” She asks, one hand lifting, but yours snatches up her wrist and keeps her immobile. It’s painful to lay out exactly what he’s done to her, what she’s now going to be subjected to. Her eyes grow wider as you explain what the chip does, why he’s done it. And only when her arms wrap around you in a hug do the tears really fall from your cheeks.

A hug. You’ve never had one of these before, and perhaps she hasn’t either with how her hands aren’t sure where exactly to go. And yet you figure it out, leaning on each other in the silence of the room. Your mouth opens to say something - maybe an apology or something to comfort - but you’re cut off with a sharp sound of electricity.

Like a socket short-circuiting, arcing across metal, and you wonder if it’s something wrong with her.

But then your knees give out, your vision starts to flicker with the shut down of your systems against your will, and E-11 cries out as your knees hit the floor and you go limp in her arms.

#mind the a/n for content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin #genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche/reader #cyberpunk au #reader insert #x reader #f!reader #afab reader

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