#RATCHET LASHING

[jcblifttech]

When it comes to heavy machinery and construction equipment, few names resonate as strongly as JCB. Renowned for their innovation and reliability, #JCB LiftTech have revolutionized the construction industry, enabling efficient lifting and manoeuvring of heavy loads across various job sites. At the heart of these impressive machines lies a crucial component: the Chain Pulley Block. In this blog, we delve into the intricacies of this technology, exploring its design, functionality, and the pivotal role it plays in powering #JCBLiftTech . Read More Info: https://jcblifttech.com/chain-pulley-block-effortless-power-seamless-control/

[blighted-lights]

someone stop me from writing a purely self indulgent fic with ten and ravage bonding please i already have so many other things to work on. i'll ramble more in tags just oughh thinking about them

[transingthoseformers]

I have some ideas for the Bad Ending last night here

Considering an idea where drift contemplates his history as a sex worker and ultimately has more positive experiences and associations with it than not, and in the end we see this is the BE and he's seriously contemplating going back into the job, after all he made a promise he wouldn't go back to mercenary work

Not because he needs the money, but because he needs something to do after Ratchet's funeral and Rodimus has more or less weaned off associating with the rest of the "rod squad" since Megatron's verdict, Drift worries about Rodimus but they'll meet again one day in a better context, perhaps in an alcohol-free club that doesn't serve intoxicating drinks but good music and all sorts of energon.

I don't think he changes his name back to Deadlock, but he might choose an entirely different and new name (WindDrift? Dancer? Wind dancer? Maybe it's an alias for the job? I like Dancer as his job name but not as his name-name)

Rodimus primarily starts going by Roddie

Whirl, Cyclonus, and Tailgate are in a pretty good relationship with two kids Lug and Anode are raising one with another on the way, with them working part time at a museum and Anode babysitting on occasion.

Maybe Swerve owns the club with an oc or two ... Chromedome via Rewind remembers Rung.

All in all a very bittersweet glimpse into the After.

[dancingbirdie]

I interrupt your daily schedules to present some purely plotless Astarion x gn! Reader smut. Courtesy of me listening to an oldie but goodie "What's My Name" by Rihanna ft. Drake during my morning commute.

Note that this is seriously NSFW so don't read below the break line unless you're a horny little gremlin like this pair or me since yeah I wrote it. :)

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

The Things We Could Do in Twenty Minutes…

Rating: MATURE

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), hand kink, slight praise kink, slight dom!Astarion/sub!Reader, public sex/exhibitionism

Summary: You and Astarion have been tasked with a scouting mission. You grow a little bored from waiting around and very horny watching Astarion play with his knife.

***

The two of you were leaning side by side against the alley wall. Watching. Waiting. Poised to strike whenever your quarry exited the tavern across the street. 

But it was late. You had been skulking about for hours. You were bored. 

And Astarion, gods damn him, was flush against you, smelling like temptation and sin. Subtle wafts of his signature bergamot, rosemary, and brandy scent teased your nose as his fingers idly spun his blade around in his hands. 

Your breath hitched as you watched him. Watched how gracefully those long, slender fingers absently played with the knife while his eyes scanned the street for any signs of activity. He was totally oblivious to your ogling, which was good because you could swear you were starting to salivate just watching him toy with his weapon. 

You wondered how those fingers would feel scratching against your scalp. Pulling your hair. Clasping your jaw. 

Fuck it, you thought. Throwing caution to the wind, you reached a hand forward to caress his chest. His head whipped around immediately to look at you, brow furrowed. It was an innocent enough gesture, but his eyes caught the look on your face, illuminated dimly in the silvery light of the moon. How your pupils were blown wide with unbridled lust. 

He smirked, one delicate fang peeking out from between his lips. 

“Can I help you?” he drawled. 

“You can actually,” you whispered. Your hand lightly traced down his chest, down his abdomen, before it stopped at the bindings of his trousers. 

You looked up at him beneath your lashes, your eyes beseeching.

“My, my,” Astarion chuckled, his voice like silk. “Wanting to play while we’re on the clock? Tsk. What would our comrades think?”

“It’ll make our cover seem more convincing, don’t you think?” you reasoned, licking your lips as you noticed the growing bulge between his legs. “Just two unassuming lovers, swept up in a moment of passion as they passed this dingy alley?”

“Our target should be leaving any moment now, darling. We wouldn’t want to miss our window of opportunity.”

“I give it at least twenty minutes before the tavern closes. And just think, the things we could do in twenty minutes…”

He gave a throaty laugh. “You make a very convincing argument. How could I ever deny you?”

“Is that a yes then?” your voice was husky, struggling to contain the urge to drop to your knees and taste him. You would wait for his consent. Of course you would wait. But you couldn’t deny the heady desires ratcheting up within you. 

“Yes,” he cooed, nuzzling your neck and planting a quick kiss against the fang marks he’d left earlier that evening. “Go on then, love.” 

“Thank the gods,” you groaned, immediately kneeling before him and undoing the bindings of his breeches. 

You captured him in your mouth as soon as his impressive length sprang free, tasting the salt and musk of him as you took him as far back as your throat would allow. Your eyes watered with the pressure of him pressing down your throat. It was the sweetest pain. 

You heard the muffled thump of his head as it hit the brick wall. You relished the tortured groan that spilled from his lips as you continued to gorge yourself on him.

Then a moan of your own vibrated against him as his hands moved to grip your hair. His fingers scratching against your scalp nearly had your eyes rolling back into your head. With your hands braced on his thighs, you continued to bob your head, sucking, licking and swallowing around him. 

He tasted like the purest drug you could ever inject into your veins. You would never tire of doing this for him. Of hearing and feeling how your mouth and tongue caused him to shiver and quake with pleasure. You could feel your own release building because of it, despite the lack of any stimulation to your groin. It didn’t matter. 

You had no desire for anything but Astarion’s pleasure tonight. 

“Look at me,” he growled suddenly. You felt his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. 

You peered up at him as you continued to piston your mouth around his length, whining softly as you beheld the look in his eyes. 

“I want you to look at me while I cum in that gorgeous, sinful mouth,” he whispered, his hips beginning to buck into you, meeting your movements in perfect synchrony. 

You moaned again at his words, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum as you continued to suck him. 

“Are you ready, darling?” he murmured, his other hand reverently stroking your hair. A stark contrast to the absolutely deplorable things you were doing to his cock. 

You gave a garbled assent, taking him in with a surge of passion as you anticipated the feeling of his release shooting down your throat.  

A few moments more and your anticipation was rewarded in full. You groaned as you heard him grunt. Felt his final, feral thrust into your mouth. Tasted the salty sweetness of his cum on your tongue. 

As he came down from his high, you gave him one last, obscene lick before removing your mouth. Slouching against the wall, utterly spent, he watched as you deliberately met his eyes and swallowed his cum with a gulp. He hummed his approval, grinning wickedly. 

“You naughty thing,” he crooned. “You’ll be the death of us both.”

You returned his grin with an impish one of your own before wiping your mouth clean on the sleeve of your shirt and rising to stand next to him once more. 

You surveyed the street. Scanned the tavern for signs of movement. Nothing was amiss. Your quarry hadn’t escaped.

“See?” you murmured, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Twenty minutes was all I needed.”

***

[witchpassing]

notable categories of wing restraint

type A: elaborately adapted shibari ties, designed to showcase as much as restrict. true virtuosos of the art display their subjects in intricate midair suspensions, wings drawn out and set like the work of a taxidermist, birds hung in the hardpoint-to-hardpoint webs of unseen tarantulae. red rope is, as ever, a popular choice, complimenting or contrasting the plumage of most common morphs.

type B: gear, paired or monowing sheathes in canvas, latex, leather; claustrophobic, and thus best suited for punishment. harness-style binders are also available, if tactile access or an unpanicked angel is a concern.

type C: ratchet straps. you know, those things they use for lashing cargo to flatbeds? you can get them at any hardware store; some angels just don't deserve better.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any headcanons for the bots' fears/phobias? Specifically TFP

The only one I have is that Bumblebee is, ironically, afraid of bees for no reason other than I thought it would be funny. I'd like to hear your takes!

Hmm I think their fears would go something like this:

Arcee: Terrified of blood.

She's seen too much energon over the course of her long life. Watching so many good mecha die and losing both her partners has left her with a strange apathy to energon. She's grown used to it. But blood? Human blood is vibrant and so different and yet so similar. When she sees blood, it ignites old horrors and memories she's long tried to suppress. Her servos shake when one of the children ends up getting a cut large enough for her to notice. It's all too similar for her to handle.

Bulkhead: Afraid of Deep Water

Bulkhead is a big mech, one lacking in serious dexterity. He's a combat and manual labor unit and he knows it. When he was young, he fell into a solvent pool, and while unharmed, he was so heavy that he couldn't get out on his own. He was trapped there for almost a whole cycle, and now that he knows what lurks in Earth's waters, he's terrified of falling in and possibly being crushed to death by either the pressure or something that lurks in the deep. He hasn't fallen in any deep water yet, but he's terrified that it may happen and much prefers the desert.

Bumblebee: Scared of Being Alone

The fear of being alone stemmed all the way back from Bumblebee's sparklinghood. Growing up in a time of war meant that he was often left to his own devices cooped up in a base or safehouse while the grown mechs went off to war. He came to despise being left alone, and so joined the war effort both to help and to be with them. The fear of being alone only grew after he lost his voice to Megatron. When he's alone, he sometimes hears the Warlord taunting him. This can lead him to spiral badly, and so he relies heavily on others for support. This is part of the reason he bonded so well with the children.

Ratchet: Paranoid of Biological Agents

Being a Doctor, Ratchet has seen many things. Not a lot bothers him anymore, save for scraplets. But in his mind, that's not even a fear. It's common sense. But with that said, the Cybonic plague awoke in Ratchet a fear he'd never realized lurked within him. After that great plague, he now fears biological agents above all else. Not necessarily germs, but anything that could become a weapon of war. Contaminated items especially. In that regard, he is an increadible germaphobe when it comes to his supplies and will grow frantic if anything is brought into his medical bay that reeks of disease.

Ultra Magnus: Fear of the Dark

Being inside the Magnus armor means that Ultra Magnus, or perhaps Minimus, is entirely reliant on the armor's optical systems to see. The fear of the dark developed the first time he lost his sight and was completely incapable of maneuvering the armor, effectively leaving him open to any and all attacks since he couldn't use his personal field or even his senses to navigate. He has told no one about his fear, but when the lights go out, he often panics and instinctually enters a state of fight or flight out of a pure primal fear that something may harm him even within his armor. The team doesn't understand. Only Optimus knows why Ultra Magnus goes to recharge with a nightlight.

Smokescreen: Frightened by Fires

Smokescreen's fear stems from his time in the Archive. It is a new fear, one he has not fully realized. But seeing Iacon burning and the Archive coming down around him, destroying the home he'd known for so long... it changed him. At the time he was too busy being enthralled in the thrill of potential battle to care. But now, whenever he sees fire in close proximity, he automatically flies into a combat position, often lashing out at the first thing that moves simply because he associates fire with foes. Anything greater than a candle unsettles him.

Wheeljack: Unsettled by Connections

He doesn't talk about it. Ever. However, from what Bulkhead knows, Wheeljack got very attached to his ragtag family back when he was young and promptly lost them all one at a time. He tried to get attached to fellow workers before the war, but every connection fell through. Now he doesn't bother and actively flees anything that could feel like it weighs him down. He's scared of caring enough to actually cry when someone dies. Bulkhead is a rare exception to his rule of no connection, and it is simply because Bulkhead has lasted this long and all but demanded friendship.

Optimus: Petrified of Being Lost

The fear began when he was still Orion Pax. At the time, he got lost almost every time he travelled, and often, he ended up in frightening back alleys and dangerous situations. The fear evolved after he became Prime and now Optimus does not fear being lost in his journeys. Rather, he fears becoming lost within the grasp of the Matrix and the madness of war. It is such a real fear that often, Optimus will throw himself into days long studies after patrols, reviewing everything he knows about Cybertron and the corruption of the Council just so he can reaffirm who he is.

Just so he won't lose himself to the tempting thought of letting go of his morality.

[weirdlookingsnakewithlegs]

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war? Funny af

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war and getting snatched up by Autbots? Not so funny

The only way I can think of it happening is maybe one of the trine taking the two out on a scouting mission where they end up getting shot down and taken into Autobot custody. Of course, which ever seeker was shot down is definitely much more worried about the sparklings in their cockpit than being apprehended by the opposing faction.

For humor purposes I say it was Skywarp.

Now, Skywarp is definitely the type of mech that likes to lash out not just physically but with his EM field as well, but he can’t do that with the sparklings because they’re really sensitive to that sort of stuff. So, the Autobots are thinking something is wrong because Skywarp has never held back is EM field and he’s being more reserved, not lashing out physically but he’s still making snide comments and insulting every Autobot within radius.

It’s probably just when they get to the Autobots base that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker start making noise because they love being convenient. It starts with soft chirps, barely noticeable to anyone but Skywarp and unfortunately he’s cuffed, tending to two sparklings while cuffed in an extremely difficult task. He can only hope they stay quiet.

And then Sideswipe starts shrieking and suddenly all optics are on him. I think Skywarp could only really give a nervous smile and take a step back before somebot like Prowl is up in his face and questioning what that noise is.

Eventually, after way too much verbal bullying, Skywarp is forced to open his cockpit and he has to scramble because both of them are immediately attempting to escape.

Now that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are out in the open it’s pretty clear of what they are, hell their frames are probably just now gaining color at this point.

Red Alert is around I just know he’s accusing him of stealing the little ones because and I quote, “They look nothing like you.”

“They take after their sire.”

“They aren’t seekers.”

“Their sire was a race alt?” Truth is Starscream never told them.

“Who’s the creator?”

“Starscream.”

Immediate silence and Skywarp realizes that maybe he should have claimed the little scraplets but the problem with that is that these two are very sure of who their creator is and would never play along with that idea. Plus that would just confuse them and the last thing he wants is a lecture from Starscream but at this point it may be too late.

The two sparklings, now settled on the ground and hiding behind Skywarp’s legs, are not having it. Their little optics are glaring at every Autobot in vicinity and Sideswipe is even flaring his very unformed door wings at the nearest one.

The group at the moment probably consists of Prowl, Red Alert, and Jazz but now that sparklings of all things were involved, Ratchet and Optimus were sure to be offered a spot in the ring of fools.

Skywarp is immediately shoved(he’s being dramatic) towards the medbay, sparklings hot on his thrusters. Sunstreaker doesn’t bother with the chase, doing his usual cling onto Skywarp’s leg which makes the seeker more hobble than walk. Yet, the moment they reach the medbay, all civil nature is out the door.

One thing Skywarp hates more than Autobots? Medics. And what’s worse than that? An Autobot Medic.

Immediately the seeker’s wings are hiked up the moment he’s on the medberth, positioned to a point they show off any injury sustained from being shot down but also to the point it puts strain on his hinges. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe probably try to copy him only to whine when they feel how uncomfortable it is because ow.

Now, Ratchet is… somewhat civil, and by somewhat I mean he’s actively yelling and waving a wrench at whoever thought it would be a great idea to shoot down one of the Elite Trine especially while he was carrying sparklings. The answers he gets are not satisfactory and both Prowl and Red Alert are chased out, Jazz leaves before things even got bad.

Now, mind you, it’s only Skywarp, the sparklings, Ratchet, and Optimus fragging Prime in the med bay. Skywarp is trembling like a leaf and Ratchet hasn’t even addressed him yet. The sparklings are just as frightened by Skywarp’s reaction and have probably cuddled up tightly against the seeker’s cockpit, though they refuse to go back in.

Eventually a very long conversation is had and Optimus ends up being forced to call the Decepticons to tell them that their missing sparklings were ready to be retrieved. He doesn’t expect to see Megatron cowering when the call is accepted, he also doesn’t expect the amount of screeching in the background.

“Prime.”

At least Megatron still has the class to pretend he’s not terrified out of his processor.

“TELL PRIME I’LL DEACTIVATE HIM”

“Starscream wishes to tell you-“

“I heard… I have called to inform you that we will be handing the sparklings over, along with Skywarp.”

“We will be there to pick them up.” Megatron just barely dodges something being thrown at him, “Starscream is already leaving.” He adds and the call flickers out.

[emergency-vehicle]

TF1 OptiRatch headcanons, go!!!!

...oh my god... so i just spent the last two ish hours writing a little drabble that has been stuck inside my brain, only for tumblr to make me take a screenshot of it instead of letting me copy paste the whole thing. anyway, irrelevant. the drabble has allowed me to come up with this list of headcanons!

Ratchet

the first time orion and ratchet meet is immediately after the iacon 5000

ratchet HATES the iacon 5000. he thinks its an utter waste of time and resources.

when they meet, D-16 is still very mad and he kind of lashes out at Ratchet too, but Ratchet is like ??? aint no way this bot is mad at me but in the suspicious way, not the angry way

anyway, the entire situation makes ratchet think theyre conjunxes, its very funny.

still ratchet gets absolutely enraptured by orion

big, blue doe eyes are his weakness, and boy howdy does orion pax possess those.

orion is actually very free with his field and while it kind of startles ratchet at first, he realizes that he really likes the way orion's field feels

orion is still very, very giddy and coming down from the adrenaline rush of the race. he's all smiles and laughs and jokes, which pulls ratchet in even more

the best way to describe him is absolutely enigmatic

without even realizing it, ratchet accidentally spends way more time with orion than he does D-16.

Ratchet has always been...suspicious of cogless bots. He knows that there is something seriously wrong. Not with the bots themselves, but with the fact that they have no cogs.

While the medical records had been wiped clean regarding the fact that all bots are born with cogs (unbeknownst to ratchet), he finds it very curious that bots are born with the place for a cog, but no cog itself.

so, ratchet has begun to do some digging on the side. mostly just making notes of patients regarding their frame types and the curious ailments they come in with

orion is not exempt from this

his hands are much too delicate for mining, far more sensitive and dexterous than sturdy and forged for manual labor.

he has to keep reminding himself that theyre not in his private office, nor is this something that he can look into.

ratchet really, really wants to be the one to repair orion's hands. anything to see this very curious bot one more time

D-16 is not having it.

when ratchet leaves he has to catch his breath. it was so hard for him to be professional when orion's big eyes were staring at him like he held all the knowledge of the universe

ratchet does not consider himself someone who falls easily, nor does he really consider himself romantic at all

even then, he felt this pull towards orion. he chalks it up to curiosity, even though it's obviously deeper than that.

plus its not like it even matters, ratchet wouldve sworn up and down that orion and d-16 were a thing.

Orion Pax

orion is fucking grateful that finally it's not just him and D-16 in the room

dgmw, he loves D-16 with his whole chest, but orion always, always struggled with him when he gets like this. mans is not emotionally intelligent enough to deal with his bestie's BPD (yes this is my personal D-16 headcanon, i will die on this hill)

so when ratchet comes in, he almost instantly relaxes

he thinks ratchet is kind of stuffy at first, like he's obviously uncomfortable and the way he talks is very indicative of that

orion immediately wants to help him loosen up. man cannot deal with two socially inept bots at one time. so he opens his field to him

to his surprise, ratchet reciprocates, but only slightly

orion ALSO likes the way ratchet's field matches with his. instant "i want to be your friend" vibes here

when ratchet pays special attention to his hands, orion is internally screaming the entire time

hes generally not used to gentle touch, and theres something about the way that ratchet is holding his hands that makes his spark flutter

he is desperately spinning code so his aux fans don't kick on. this guy gets flustered so easy. he cannot bear the thought of D-16 making fun of him for almost instantly getting a crush on this doctor

that doesnt stop his processor from failing to form thoughts. he knows ratchet is asking him important questions, but all he can think is "pretty mech touching my hands"

if orion didnt already have his gay awakening, this would've been it

i feel like after ratchet leaves theres a good 15 minutes of silence between him and D-16 where orion is just trying to get his Gay Thoughts(tm) under control

final yapping

in the end, i think its incredibly funny to make orion pax like this far less mature version of optimus. he feels everything x10 and doesn't really know what to do with the feelings, so he just kind of acts like a fool.

meanwhile ratchet is out here like "yeah he's pretty but i have a job to do." that doesn't mean orion doesn't haunt his thoughts after though. he definitely does. the image of his big eyes staring at him won't leave ratchet for a long time.

theyre both gay fools. the tiny crush is mutual. its forgotten about though throughout the events of the movie. orion has much more important things to worry about than a pretty doctor who gently held his hands.

the next time they see each other is after orion became optimus. this was for a standard check up, in which ratchet had to run a full diagnostic of him. ratchet can't help but begin ranting about how he knew something was up with sentinel, with the cogless bots, with that entire fucking situation.

the check up ends with optimus listening to this clearly autistic (positive) mech explain every red string he put together, and how the revolution confirmed all of his missing pieces. (im projecting here because this is my personal brand of autism)

tbh, optimus is impressed. they quickly do become friends, and as the war begins, he realizes that ratchet is a very talented doctor and quickly they earn each others trust. they become good friends, too. optimus likes to listen to ratchet talk about science, talk about new medical breakthroughs. he will often bring ratchet decepticon medical tech he finds out in the field for him to reverse engineer.

optimus absolutely enables ratchet's special interest (medicine) and ratchet absolutely loves optimus for it.

in conclusion, theyre gay neurodivergents your honor.

[in1-nutshell]

Another thought just popped in how about some possible more interaction with old Predacon buddy and the other cloned predacons maybe just predacon buddy just trying to make sure the other predacons don't get into trouble and basically grounding them

More Old Predacon Buddy coming up! Quite the popular Buddy I see.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon with Predaking, Skylynx, and Darksteel

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

Buddy needed to take a break.

They had been couped to the base for the last 3 months and hadn’t been able to fly due to the amount of work that needed to get done on base.

The recent Decepticon activity, everyone was on edge.

And Buddy’s patience was running low.

It was bad enough they had to deal with the constant bickering between their teammates over stress, but now they couldn’t even go out without someone telling them otherwise.

Well… Buddy needs their little flight break.

Right.

Now.

“I’m heading out.”--Buddy

Ratchet looks at them.

“What do you mean out?”--Ratchet

“I’m going flying Ratchet.”--Buddy

Ultra Magnus stands in front of them.

“We are to stay in the base until its time to deploy. You especially given your alt mode.”--Magnus

Buddy straightens their back struts and looks at him dead in the optics.

“I am going to go flying Magnus, or are you going to try and stop me? Because believe me, I need an outlet for everything that is being pent up in my chassis. Do you want to be that outlet?”--Buddy

“Let the go Magnus.”--Ratchet

“Ratchet—”--Magnus

Buddy moves past him and runs to the entrance of the base and shoots for the sky.

Magnus just looks annoyed at Buddy’s form.

“Trust me Magnus. You do not want to have Buddy get like that when they are already looking for peaceful solution.”—Ratchet

Magnus grumbles a bit, but silently agrees with Ratchet as he walks back to his habsuite.

Buddy knew better than to go flying to densely populated airspace and areas.

But they did know a place that hardly anyone went to.

To their surprise, someone was there.

Well, more like several bots were there.

It was Predaking and… two other Predacons?

Buddy immediately shot down and surprised Predaking when they landed next to him.

“Predaking.”--Buddy

Buddy walks over to their fellow Predacon.

Predaking nods curtly.

“Buddy.”--Predaking

Skylynx and Darksteel are still tussling around.

“Who are they? I didn’t know there were others like us.”--Buddy

“Shockwave.”--Predaking

“Ah… that explains it.”--Buddy

Buddy tries to introduce themselves but the two are suddenly interested in fighting them.

Predaking is about to lash out at them, but Buddy makes him stand down and dares them to attack them all at once.

Predaking is a bit stunned by the dare but knows full well that Buddy could handle themselves.

“Now boys, on the count of three, I want you to attack me in any way you see fit.”--Budy

“Buddy…”--Predaking

“Its fine Predaking.”--Buddy

“You want us to attack you?”—Darksteel

Buddy stretches out their wings.

“Yes.”--Buddy

“Deal old timer.”—Skylynx

Buddy gets in the ready stance and nods at Predaking to start the count.

“3…”--Predaking

The two Predacons get ready to pounce.

“2…”--Predaking

All their limbs are ready.

“1.”--Predaking

The two Predacons leap at Buddy.

They don’t last 3 minutes.

Buddy standing over them.

“Now, what do you have to say about this old timer?”--Buddy

The two Predacons beneath Buddy are in awe by how this clearly older Predacon managed to handle two younger Predacons at the same time.

They try to edge Predaking to fight Buddy.

Buddy playfully edges him too.

But Predaking already learned his lesson from last time.

The four of them fall into a comfortable conversation before Buddy needs to head back home.

Buddy says goodbye to the others and flies back home.

Buddy lands outside the base entrance panting a bit.

“Buddy!”—The kids

Buddy looks up to see the kids running up to them.

“Why hello to you too.”--Buddy

“You just got back?”--Miko

“Yes…”--Buddy

Buddy takes a sharp intake feeling the dent on their side.

Jack is the first to notice.

“Woah… Buddy are you okay?”--Jack

“I am fine Jack.”--Buddy

“That doesn’t look fine to me.”--jack

“I’m an old bot Jack, I’m bound to get some dents that take longer to heal than others.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but that one looks like someone rammed their head into your side.”--Miko

“…Anyways—”--Buddy

“Don’t change the subject!”--Raf

“…What if I told you tomorrow instead? I’m about ready to drop into stasis.”--Buddy

The kids look a bit unsatisfied but let Buddy go on their way.

They will get the answers one way or another.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part i

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

series prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, implication of drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death

For the haunted hoedown! Looking forward to sharing this, I wanted to do a vamp!din last Halloween but wasn’t able to. So to work on this with the inspiration of these prompts is so exciting! I hope you enjoy! 💖

When it’s revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you’re hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not alone. Because he has one, as well.

The nervous energy of the crowd is palpable - it’s impossible not to get swept along with it. The cowl of your cape is tugged down lower as you follow the others streaming out ahead of you.

Out of the small town, winding around the side of the steep hill. The air growing heavier, the fog rolling in as you climb the moss-covered steps. The castle looms against the darkening horizon, all blackened stone and tall, twisting spires.

They mirror the curl of your stomach - the weight of your feet as they seem to slow, the closer you get.

But you’ve come this far. You can’t go back now.

The gates remain shut, and you’re forced to halt. Huddled together in small groups, nervous and excited whispers breaking the silence.

A shiver even with the heavy cloaks that protect the bared necks and shoulders, a detail noted on that weathered scroll left in the town square.

And for the first time, you doubt.

When it had been announced that the Mand’alor was seeking a Companion, the news has spread. It was no secret that the vampire lord had sought blood.

But he had never chosen anyone before. Never pursued someone, like this.

There had been others but they had never lasted long. Just let into the castle long enough to keep him alive for another moon.

It had amassed a crowd, those who couldn’t resist the reward that was offered - thousands of gold coins, enough to live any life they could want.

Those who wanted the fame.

Those who wanted protection.

Those who wanted to see the spectacle for themselves.

And then, there was you.

Now that you’re at the doorstep, you’re suddenly unsure. If you were chosen - once you step through - it’s unlikely you’d leave alive.

Would that be worth it?

Would you get what you were looking for?

Even after all your training, it hadn’t truly prepared you for the patchwork of emotions you feel now.

Guilt and desperation and melancholy and regret and anger - all branding into your skin until you can feel yourself trembling with the effort to hold it back.

But the gates are parting now. And it’s too late to turn back.

A figure it stepping through - her leather armor blackened with oil. Her eyes are bright, and not the shade of red you were expecting.

Her chin is held high as her eyes sweep through the crowd, an eerie silence settling over your travel companions.

And wordlessly, she begins to sort. Sizing up each person as she approaches. A quick dart of her eyes as she plucks at clothes, examines faces.

Pulling a few to one side, the rest clearly dismissed. No pattern to her choosing that you can sense - that feeling of dread ratcheting up in your stomach as the crowd grows smaller and you grow closer.

Until she’s standing in front of you.

Her fingers pinch at your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Dark eyes under darker lashes flick across your face, until they drop down to the clasp at your throat.

Your hood is pulled back, as deft fingers unhook the brass fastenings. The wool pools on the cracked stone as your skin is exposed.

Her eyes follow the curve of your cheek, to your neck, to the sharp curves of the scar on your shoulder, just above the cut of your tunic.

A reminder of that night. One that still haunts you, a year later.

Those eyes flick back up to yours.

There’s a second where you stoop to collect your robe - feeling bare, flayed open under her gaze - but her boot presses purposely against the hem.

Shooting you a small smirk as you rise again obediently, before a hand is guiding you towards the group she had selected.

And then, it’s over.

“Those chosen will be brought before the Mand’alor.” The woman’s voice rings out, “And he shall decide from there.”

With her signal the gates creak open again, and you're ushered inside. Across a wide bridge and through a massive set of wooden double-doors.

And then, you’re inside the castle. Those doors shutting behind you with a sense of finality.

The long halls are dark, in the fading evening. The last of the sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows - their shadows broken into shades of crimson and silver and gold, distorted where they spill across the floor.

A chill creeps into your skin. The ice of it feels reminiscent of your dreams - that cold bite against your skin, a balm to the burning heat that had surrounded you.

It distracts you enough that you don't see him slip from the shadows. Near-silent steps as he moves to stand before the small crowd, even with the heavy plates of his shining armor.

Everything seems to go still then. The inhale of a collected breath, now held.

You should feel terror. This man - this vampire - has killed hundreds. Thousands. Has feasted on even more.

He's a monster.

The fight or flight should be sinking in - but somewhere deep inside, there is only that weight that you still carry. A prickle across your skin at the way he moves, all sleek and careful movements.

Starting where the woman guides him. His hands stay motionless - tucked in the curve on his belt, the other curling around a black hilt at his waist. Her quiet murmurs that only he can hear. As he stops in front of each one.

No expression can be leaked, with the mask he wears.

Their faces, and finally yours, reflected back at you.

You do your best to gather your courage.

To keep your chin tilted up, gazing into that dark band of his visor. As you hear the rattle of the slow inhale of his breath, as if he could smell you from beneath his helmet.

Even you can see the fear in your widen eyes, feel the small tremor in your limbs as his hand suddenly and slowly moves.

As if he can't help himself.

As if it is on instinct.

Reaching out to touch your shoulder, your neck - but then, just hovering.

Your terror catches up now. That steady beat of your heart now pounding in your chest, knocking wildly against your ribs.

The smallest flinch as his fingertips hang in mid-air, before his hand is curling into a fist.

Dropping back down.

There's the smallest jerk of his head. A gleam in the woman's eye as her hand curves around your bicep, as he sweeps from the room.

A murmur of confusion, disappointment - the rest robbed of their spectacle and entertainment. It had taken longer to get here - everything over so quickly, it feels as if you’ve only just stepped inside.

Armored guards move from their neat rows - shields raised to ward off the remainers of your group - to urge them back outside and back to their homes.

Leaving only the chosen behind.

Only you.

The woman in armor guides you quickly to your new home. Taking you through twisting corridors lined with ancient portraits, up a winding path of stone stairs.

You’re utterly lost, and a part of you wonders if that’s intentional. To keep you trapped inside. A silent realization that perhaps, you haven’t been nearly as clever as you thought.

Those worries lingering as she stops outside a heavy wooden door, lit on either side by flickering oil lamps.

“This is your room,” She tells you, her fingers resting on the door, before she’s pushing it open.

With the stories you’ve been told about the fearsome Mand’alor and the fortress he lurks in, you certainly weren’t expecting a room so… beautiful.

There’s a luxury that seems to weave throughout it. Rich wooden floors and plush rugs. A constellation of glittering stars painted on a domed, navy ceiling - as if you had invited the night sky in to stay.

Bookcases line the walls - framing a wooden desk, plush seating next to the bench that was built into the space beneath the iron-wrought windows.

Thick velvets curtains thrown back to let the setting sun in, casting the four-poster canopy bed in a golden light.

You almost forget yourself, as your fingers run across the bedspread. Finely-made beneath your touch, as soft as spun silk.

If the situation had been different… you think you might have loved it.

“There will be someone to call on you if there’s anything you want. And to take care of things during your day.” She interrupts your admiring thoughts, bringing you back.

You send a silent chastisement to yourself, as your fingers clasp - the picture of docility.

“The Mand’alor has been looking for someone for quite some time. I will give you a moment to get settled, but understand that your duties are to begin tonight.”

The pounding of your heart begins again, not realizing it would be so soon.

She must see the surprise that flickers across your face - her arms crossing as she leans in the doorway, “He has not fed since the last. We’ll all be happier once he does.”

Since the last Companion.

You wonder what happened to them. If they were used and cast aside. If they were drained dry.

If the same would happen to you.

No. You won’t let it.

“I’m happy to begin my work as soon as it pleases the Mand’alor.” Your voice is soft, and her sharp look softens.

“You’re quick.” She smiles, “That’s good. If you listen, you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nod you give is cut short, as the door closes. Left alone, your attention immediately goes to the furniture in the room. You don’t have much time.

Something used as often as a bed would be impractical, especially if someone will be tending to you as the woman says.

The bookcases touch both the ceiling and the floor, the books in neat, uniform stacks. No room for disruption.

Your fingers tug at the bench, but it’s solid wood - there’s no storage beneath.

No closet either, an empty brass rack stands against one of the curving stone walls.

Leaving only the desk, as you hurry over. The bottles of ink clinking together as the tips of your fingers run over the wooden top, and then under.

Looking for a hinge, your fingers closing around the ceramic knob as you carefully pull. Revealing a drawer full of rolled-up scrolls, a handful of quills, a thick leather-bound book.

There’s a knock then, and your pulse races.

Fingers fumbling as you reach for the fastenings of your tall boots. A creak of the door as it begins to open.

Undoing them just enough to pull the thin silver dagger and the sharpened stake free. Hastily shoving them behind the scrolls of paper inside your desk.

Before you’re pushing the drawer shut - just as the Mand’alor fills your doorway.

And the first of the 2 secret prompts are: 'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you. (The second part to come into play!) thank you for checking this out! And hope you like this au! 🥀

[jcblifttech]

"SHAKE ME" "IF YOU CAN !" #JCBLiftTech #JCB #jcblovers #JCBIndia #JCBProducts #chainpulleyblock #ratchetleverhoist #electricchainhoist #towstrap #ratchetlashing https://jcblifttech.com/ratchet-lashing/

[wifetomegatron]

perceptor wants to study you. afab!reader. nsfw! drabble. skirt mentioned.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. The most reliable questions to answer were equations, solid and truthful: numerical variables were tangible enough to pull apart and rebuild without straying too far from his reality. They only have one answer.

But you were different. A moving target that never stood still. Always changing and taking him by surprise. You were a blow to his ego. And that caught his attention. A beauty that had no source in his stout and unyielding world. The possibilities were endless.

He wants to drink you dry.

" Open your mouth."

His voice was barely short of a whisper. Do all humans have this ability to render sentient beings speechless, to rob the room of any sound? Maybe they are also capable of manipulating magnetic fields: of defying the laws of gravity to knock their opponents off their axis. That would be dangerous. It was a good thing that you didn't see him as a threat. Not when you were looking at his past your lashes, eyes coy — fingers drawing circles around his shoulders.

" My," You hummed, " How bold of you, Perceptor."

Have you always had this lilt to your voice? He searched his processor for a comparison — the water running down the creek back in your green organic planet, the lonely echo of bullets as they ricochet, the tentative hum of a spark as it reignites. None of them comes close. He feels sick. Dizzy. Maybe he needs to go and see Ratchet.

" Open your mouth, please."

He repeats himself. Voice surprisingly level, even though it felt like his vocalizer was going to snap. And that earned him a smile. He did nothing to warrant your laughter, and yet you indulged him like you always do. Tongue — pink and wet — peeking past the row of pearls you call teeth as you tilt your neck gently backward. His hand moved instinctively, dwarfing the back of your head for support. 

He pressed the pad of his thumb flat across the soft surface and felt the metal sink. Your eyes fluttered shut, legs, slightly parting to let him slot his body in between. He held you in place. Chest to chassis, the thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to hide the subtle race of your heart.

Sinew and muscle, humming, unlike anything he's ever heard. 

This is for science, Perceptor tells you, retracting his servos to pick up his PADD, mind bursting with a flurry of thoughts. He couldn't even remember what he wrote down. He will have to review it later. 

He runs a few more exams. Medical needs it. And yet he had offered himself to run them. He says it was also crucial for his research. 

What kind of research, Ratchet had asked him.

A personal one, he had replied.

No one stopped him, especially not when you were so eager to help.

He kissed you on the lips. Tentatively, once, twice. You sighed into his mouth. Lips soft. Too soft. He needed to know if you were just as delicate between your —

This is for science, Perceptor tells himself, already sinking onto his knees. You were a plethora of texture, so different from his biology. So far from the mundane. While he clings almost religiously to the dependable — facts, numbers, metal — the purest, rawest form of science is the unknown. He nudged your knees with his nose, wider, and you wordlessly complied. 

Every scientist is an explorer at heart. And what is more unfamiliar than the feel of your skin? 

Perceptor rubs up and down your thighs, feeling you shiver. His cooling fans clicked to life, reacting, responsive. And this pleased you. And you pleased him.

Prettiness is symmetry, all things in the right place. And yet you were an artifact of unknown beauty, with no origin, no source. All things have to start somewhere — stars were born out of gases, sparks out of a mass of positrons supercharged by energon. But where did you come from? So alien. So different.

If the Earth was your creator, then you must be molded out of clay, shaped by her gentle hands, not carved, for he was sure even under his touch you would break. That the slightest misplace of pressure would shatter and scatter you into pieces.

But humans were known to be resilient. He likes to call you generous instead. Ever so giving, ever so kind.

Today, you wore what you called a skirt. Isn't it pretty? He doesn't have much to say about its color other than that it was practical and worn with a purpose. An invitation.

You mewled in encouragement when he pressed a kiss square against the plush, wet slit of your cunt.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. And there is still so much he wants to learn from you. He wants to map every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He wants to chart every delicate twitch, every clench. And with your body arching atop his table — sweat dripping down your brow, you were his muse.

But make no mistake, this was a symbiotic relationship. You were also studying him, changing him. ( He was certain you've ruined him for anyone else.)

Perceptor knows he should have stayed as an objective observer, standing on the sideline. Yet you were a very seductive hypothesis, just waiting to be kissed to life. There was lubricant leaking down his chin as you reached your high, nails scratching the back of his helm. Objects cluttered off the table in the distance, yet he continues to drink.

You broke his idea of truth, and Perceptor lets you.

[mychlapci]

We need more absolutely deranged merformer aus!

I always sees mers portrayed as “almost as Cybertronians”, in terms of intelligence and acting, but what if yes, mers are indeed smart, but also like, evil little shits… like old folklore fairytales or dolphins. They intelligent but also incredibly aliens and with a totally different cultures, like, they feel love, attraction, know how to use tools, solve riddles and understand basic cybertron… but they also consider cannibalism ok.

They’re also incredibly unpredictable, they might look soft and curious, but in a matter of second they can turn into vicious killing machines that will start eating their prey before they’re drown.

So, Ratchet is somewhat an odd mer, as he’s very easy to handle. He’s kind, curious, and doesn’t show aggressive behaviors. Maybe he used to live in a part od the rust sea where contacts with land mech where at minimum, and he never had bad experiences, or maybe cause he was handled very young, it doesn’t matter. Ratchet is quite the unique specimens and Pharma can’t help himself.

It starts very easy, very innocent, Pharma would test Ratchet, both his intelligence and on a physical level, rewarding him with treats every time he acted right. Soon enough, Ratchet feels comfortable enough to be handled back and forward from his tank to the lab.

Soon, Pharma becomes obsessed with his new pet. It seems like Ratchet would let Pharma do anything to him, accepting even the most painful treatments.

At some point a new mer is introduced into the tank and he and Ratchet are immediately all over each others. If the stats is at first worried to death, they soon realize the two mers are not fighting, but mating. The new mer, someone calls him Drift, for the way he always seems to be Drifting by Ratchet’s side, some others calls him Deadlock, for how vicious he is against the staff’s members, was found hunting close where Ratchet was caught.

Pharma is livid, his Ratchet doesn’t seem interested in their games anymore, only focused on their new guest. But the doctor can’t really say anything about it, as having a living couple in the tank and being able to observe their mating rituals and maybe, even a gestation is something no other lab has been able to do.

Soon enough, Ratchet began showing signs of a possible litter growing inside his belly, and the staff comes out with a plan to release the couple of mer back into their habitats, with a localizer welded on their armor. Pharma is not happy about it, but he’s reassured in the knowledge that he will be able to track Ratchet and takes him back.

The mers are released back into the ocean and quickly disappear in the depth. Pharma keeps track of their location and during off shifts, tries to find them and lure Ratchet out, believing he will be able to attract the mer back.

In reality Ratchet has never been attracted to Pharma. Even among his kind, Ratchet is not a warrior, but a healer. He can defend himself but often prefer to play along, to study his surroundings and buying time for his bigger and way more heavy armored partner, to come to his rescue. Ratchet would often distract their enemies and potential predators, just for Deadlock to lunge in and kill them quickly and efficiently. He acted all sweet and soft with Pharma cause he had to.

But not that Pharma has come in their lair…

auhhh... Forgot about this one.

Ratchet acting docile and soft with Pharma because he's actually scared shitless of his current predicament is so interesting... He knows he can't lash out right now, that he needs to keep his cool and just tough it out until he can figure out a way to solve this. Pharma does not harm him, he's a little condescending, a little presumptuous about the level of Ratchet's intelligence, a bit clingy and overbearing, but he can handle it. Drift finds him quickly enough, and with his personality, most of the facility staff don't really bother messing with Ratchet's tank anymore. Not even Pharma.

Once they're released, Pharma wants his pet mer back. Ratchet was so good, so domesticated, so obedient, he can't be put back in with those savage mers... Pharma would honestly keep him in a tank in his home if he could. He's sure his old buddy Ratchet wouldn't mind :) Of course, he gets quite the surprise when he meets Ratchet back in the wild, his tail fat with pups... The mer is not as responsive as he was before. His wary body language turns aggressive the moment Pharma floats a little too close for comfort. Ratchet and Drift are on top of him in an instant.

And then Pharma gets torn apart and eaten <33 poor guy, but that's what he gets for trying to poach a wild mer!

[scriberye]

Distance

    ➥  Megatron x GN!Reader     |     1133     |     Ao3

⚠️ Emotional Distress, Physical Injury, Hurt/Comfort Your human heart is soft and delicate, nothing like Megatron's.

It’s here in the vast empty coldness of space, aboard a ship filled with mechanical beings, that you find something you hadn’t realized you’d been searching for — love. Cupid chose the oddest of places to work his magic and picked the worst bot to be the object of your affection. Things are difficult at first, and love is seldom easy. And Megatron, the very bot who caused the fluttering swarm of butterflies to come alive in your stomach, seemed to hate your guts.

He refused to be in the same room as you in the beginning, excusing himself whenever you entered. With time and a lot of patience, Megatron allowed himself to be within a tolerable distance of you, despite the heavy tension that lingered in the air. He tolerated your presence. It’s small, but it gives you hope.

When the plan to keep you at arms length failed, he used his words.

His words are sharper than any blade, and he wields them with finesse. Each word cuts through you and claws at your heart, but your feelings never waver under their harshness. It’s unfair. A small and terrible liability, he called you.

You are human — and weak.

You face Megatron’s relentless efforts to put distance between you with unwavering determination. The more he pushed, the more you dug your heels in and pulled. Until you couldn’t do it anymore — not physically, at least.

The strain of these feelings you carry for him has become a burden on your poor heart. In a moment of vulnerability and frustration, you corner Megatron one evening and unleash a torrent. Angry tears burn your eyes as you unburden yourself — from the hurtful words that cut too deep, and how much you still cared about him. You’re tired of nursing this flame that Megatron seems so determined to snuff out. It’s ugly and gross. And he says nothing — does nothing but stare at you.

You lash out.

With all your strength, you kick him in some futile hope of breaking whatever barrier separates you two, yet you only succeed in breaking yourself. It wasn’t the smartest choice, but in the heat of the moment, it felt like your only option. The sharp, searing pain surges through your foot and rips a scream from your throat. Megatron’s spark seizes, and for all his reluctance, he never wants to hear that sound again.

Ratchet confines you to the medbay while your broken foot mends.

It’s safer for your mental and physical well-being, he says, instead of letting you hobble around the ship, risking possible further injury. You hate it, but you wisely don’t fight him about it. The days drag on. Each moment feels more monotonous than the last, and it’s lonely with nothing but your thoughts. Some bots come to visit you with news of the latest drama.

But he never visits you, and you resign yourself to the fact that your outburst may have pushed Megatron even further away. So, it surprises you when it turns out you’re wrong. Late one night, well past visiting hours, and after all the other bots have settled in for recharge, Megatron appears in the medbay. A dark, imposing shadow among the dim lights, with his helm hung low, heavy under the weight of his worries.

“Megatron?”

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you. There was — no, there is no excuse for my behavior,” he says, his words heavy with remorse. He hesitantly extends his hand, resting it on the edge of the berth. “I understand if you wish to return to Earth.”

“Do you hate being around me that much?” you ask, and Megatron falls silent. The only sound is the rhythmic hum of medical equipment and your pounding heart.

“No,” he finally responded. “It’s the opposite. I wish to be around you more than I should. I don’t —”

“—think you deserve to, right?”

He visibly deflates, and the walls he had built around himself crumble, leaving him weak and vulnerable. Megatron shutters his optics as if he were shielding himself from his feelings — from you.

“I don’t understand why you would care,” he admits, sadness tinging his voice. “Everything I’ve done… The pain I’ve caused to them, to you.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Megs,” you sigh. “Everyone deserves a second chance, especially if they want to change.”

Megatron lifts his head, and for the first time, his optics soften, a flicker of hopeful understanding crossing his features. “Rung told me the same thing.”

“You’ve talked to Rung?” you ask, surprised.

“I did, but I don’t want to hurt you…”

Warmth blossoms across your cheeks as the tendrils of hope weave through your heart. These feelings are raw and fragile, but you believe in this. You two can build a bridge. You want to touch him, to reach out and close the distance. Encouraged, you place a small hand on one of his much larger digits.

“You won’t. I believe in you, Megatron.”

He smiles. The hurt gives way, replaced by a gentle, hopeful warmth, like the first rays of dawn.

Megatron remains by your side through the night. No longer held back by shadows of self-doubt, he speaks with you in hushed tones. Whispered conversations and confessions that bring your hearts closer together. He admits openly to his flaws and the unease that surrounds them. It wouldn’t be perfect, but if a relationship with him was what you wanted, he commits himself to trying. And you vow to be understanding.

From that moment forward, things changed. Everyone, having tread on eggshells, exhaled in relief. Megatron’s once harsh and hurtful words took on a gentler tone of support and encouragement. He held fast to his commitment, carving out time to spend with you. The gradual pace of your relationship allowed you to explore and discover each other’s boundaries.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Megatron settles in for recharge, and you take your usual place next to his head. You caress the expanse of his cheek, feeling the coolness of metal beneath your fingers. It’s a ritual, one you take great pleasure in, content to admire and adore him. A gentle servo presses you closer, and you nuzzle closer, pressing your cheek to his.

“I feel I don’t have the right to be thankful,” he whispers. “But if there is one thing I can be thankful for, it is to have you.”

Megatron had given you his spark, something no one had ever touched before, and in return, you’d give him all the love you could muster. Your life is short compared to his, but at this moment, surrounded by love, you feel a bittersweet ache. You hope that every moment and touch will be a cherished memory to comfort him in his grief when, inevitably, the distance will be too great.

[cozzzynook]

After Optimus has Hot Rod. He's a very fussy sparkling. He's always crying and has a hard time sleeping and eating. He also has a spark condition which is hard on him.

Optimus is exhausted and is struggling to bond with Hot Rod. He's also dealing with the war and one day Hot Rod won't stop crying and he lashes out. He yells at him and pinches him.

Realizing what he has done he takes a step back. He decides to give Hot Rod to Ratchet and Drift to raise because Hot Rod seemed happy with him. He'd stop crying when they held him and would sleep whenever they watched him. They both knew how to take care of his medical problems. Ratchet better than him.

I..*sobs*

*claps* this is perfect angst.

I have no notes. No words.

*sobs* my heart 😭

Optimus is forever going to suffer under the guilt of what he’s done to his sparkling.

Ratchet is so disappointed in him and I’d like to change it a little and say Drift is still Deadlock when they get Hot rod who is the sweetest sparkling they’ve ever seen. He plays so well with their own sparkling First Aide and Hot rod only gets fussy with them like he did with Optimus when he was in pain.

It kills Optimus to know his sparkling was in pain and he didn’t even notice. He thought his sparkling was just bad. He didn’t realize he was hurting.

Deadlock is so protective of both bitties he truly forgets Hot rod didn’t come from Ratchets valve like First Aide did and he gets angry when bots bring it up until he remembers. And then he just says Optimus has no claim to their sparkling not caring how it hurts Optimus until Ratchet tells him Optimus probably had post carriers down spiral.

Deadlocks stops saying it then and doesn’t make anymore hurtful comments to Optimus and apologizes but Optimus feels he doesn’t deserve it because deep down he didn’t want Hot rod and he thought it was karma.

Taking it a step further.

Hot rod knows optimus is his carrier and has the memories from being a bitty.

He’s distant from Optimus and hides that he knows and remembers.

The step further is Optimus having bitty bumblebee and just..having so much love for the sparkling that was so adorable and so much easier. Bee had problems too but not as serious as Hot rods spark condition that couldn’t be cured. Bee may always have nutrient and mineral absolving problems but his treatment is so much easier.

And Hot rod seeing his carrier love and raise his little brother with so much love and caring optics that he never gave him…

It fuels him to become a prime so his carrier will finally look at him like he looks at bee.

Hot rod may have a spark condition but he’s incredible in battle and terribly smart and tactile when he isn’t insecure or doubting himself.

Of course he becomes a prime because he’s shot in the spark but this time by Galvatron and he’s reborn as Rodimus prime.

He comes back ready to see his carrier and show he’s worth something now. Worth loving. That he’s not bad anymore if the matrix accepted him.

But then he just….

Stops…

And something in him breaks because he never had to prove a thing to Ratchet and Deadlock now Drift.

He never had to prove a thing to First Aide his brother or Bee he who came to know and never showed ill will towards. He was jealous for a while but one look at the bitty and he just..felt the need to protect him like he did First Aide and how First Aide excelled in spark conditions to protect him.

Bee was smarter than he let on and admitted he figured out they were brothers in private and asked Rodimus, at the time Hot rod, if they could be brothers outside of blood and Hot rod agreed so easily.

Remembering all these things, how Ratchet never once looked at him different from First Aide or how Deadlock now Drift has always said he has two sparklings and acted like it…

He turns and goes home.

He knocks on his creators door where he knows First aide is also at and waits..they haven’t seen his new frame, don’t know his new name and haven’t heard whats happened to him.

He hopes they welcome him with open sparks and arms like always and waits…

It feels like hours thats really nano kliks until the door is open and First Aide turns his helm to greet the bot at the door when he stops and pauses.

“Hey banders, I um..Its me..Roddy..I,” he goes to explain that he inherited the matrix, still insecure of not being enough, when the mech buries him in a hug.

He’s shocked but hugs his brother back before the mech is pulling back still holding him and dragging him in the house frantically yelling, “carrier! Sire! Roddy! Its roddy! He’s back!”

The silence that envelopes the home as First Aid drags him into the living den makes his spark stop until he hears heavy pedes hitting the floors and his creators are staring at him with wet optics in the doorway.

“Hot rod..”

He smirks sheepish, spark pulsing from emotion that his medicine counteracts making it painless as he stands there blushing, crying, smiling.

“Its um..its um..its Rodimus now..Rodimus prime..,” he bumbles, caught completely off guard when Ratchet and Drift envelope him and First Aid in a frame breaking hug as they splatters tears onto their frames.

“My bitty, you’re okay,” Drift cries ever the secret not so secret emotional sire like always. His carrier scanning him internally not at all trying to hide it as he keeps him close.

“You idiot, you went and got yourself shot in the very thing we drilled into you to protect,” his carrier sobbed, kissing his helm over and over again. Not missing a beat doing the same to First aid who buries his helm in Roddy’s neck cable.

Rodimus can’t, he can’t help but ugly sob…

“I’m sorry..i’m sorry…but I came back..I came back like I promised,” he wails, gripping them tight the best he could.

He feels the injection to keep his spark from overstimulating in his side and knows his sire did it.

Drift always carried his medicines just like his brothers, yes bee too the sweet little slagger, and carrier did.

“I’m sorry i got shot carrier,” it feels so good to say that to the mech who deserves to hear it. To the mech he owes everything to but would have nothing better than his family safe.

“Don’t forget your sire brat, I almost went out to get you,” Drift laughed making him beam.

For a klik Drift and Ratchet saw the sparklings they used to carry in their arms who held servos because it made them feel safe and he cried for a new reason.

“Don’t..don’t leave again okay, roddy?”

“I won’t banders, I won’t,” he kissed First aids helm and the two held servos like when they were sparklings.

“I’m on paperwork and med duty, I won’t be going back out unless another war breaks out and we all know no bots want that.”

Roddy stays home that night and he’s happy to see Bee the next day and reunite with his little brother and lift him even further off the ground.

Now he can be even more of a menace to his little brother, Bee grumbles but doesn’t move away from how close he stands to Roddy, like always, and he joins his brother to see First aid at the new oil shop that just opened.

First aid is blushing like mad as Ambulon flirts with him and Bee flutters his door wings at the sight of Starscream waiting for them. Drift and Ratchet sit at a table with a few of their friends and Roddy joins his brothers and their future conjunxs. He teases them through the comms about conjunxing ceremonies and they throw forks at him making him laugh.

He isn’t laughing so much when he sees Optimus enter the outdoor shop but he hides it and pays the mech little mind.

Things are going well so long as he ignored the way Optimus kisses Bee’s helm and sits with the others after greeting everyone in a friendly way.

The mech doesn’t notice he’s his sparkling right away and Roddy shakes his helmet at his creators and goes back to chatting.

He’s having a good time when he feels a digit tap his shoulder plating after noticing bots have gone silent. He feels a warmth behind him that makes him turn a little. He waves at Magnus and Megatron who sit side by side with the older bots before looking up and feeling his spark be stolen once again.

“H..hey sound,” he stood, smiling at the mech who tipped his helm in what he knew to be a smile.

“Greetings: Hot rod. Happiness: at seeing you well and recovered. Frame: beautiful star.”

The words made his intake dry and his medicine injected into his spark to stabilize it. He turned his optics blushing as a smile took over his face plate.

“Umm..do ya wanna join us? I missed..I mean..it’d be really cool if you joined us,” he vented a little off and he felt his carrier and brother shift closer only for Soundwave to pull out a medical mesh adhesive he had Shockwave design.

He gently lowered Rodimus back into his seat and placed the adhesive on his neck cable just as he did when they were in and out of battle off world.

“Pleasure: would be soundwaves to join.”

The mech politely nodded at everyone and specifically Ratchet, Drift, First aid and Bee before sitting beside Rodimus who couldn’t stop his spoiler from fanning in subtle court ship display.

Starscream smiled behind his cup of oil before saying something that had Bee elbowing him and grouching at the mech making conversation flow and the attention leave them.

Mostly.

He felt his creators watching him and Soundwave and knew they would be grilling him and doing a thorough vetting on Soundwave like they did Ambulon and he looked flustered glancing at them.

They gave him the look and he knew he was cooked.

Rodimus. A grown mech. And still about to be grounded by his creators.

“Hot rod creators: loving. Soundwave: happy to know Hot rod has love he deserves.”

That made Rodimus smile like a love sick puppy in a romance novel until he remembered.

“Oh, my designation..umm..its Rodimus now,” he looked nervous at Soundwave, since they’ve gotten closer he can better read the mech. So he was looking for anger or disappointment at this next part, “Rodimus prime,” he spoke the last part quietly. Unsure of how Soundwave felt.

There was silence until Soundwave suddenly slipped his tentacles on Rodimus and felt his frame.

“I’m okay Sound, all my injuries are healed up,” he giggled, actually giggled like he was some school bot.

“Previous actions: forbidden from repeating,” Soundwave’s deep voice made him smile and he nodded along as Soundwave still checked him over.

He had nothing to worry over. Soundwave would be his friend through anything.

“I’m on paperwork and medic duty now. I’m not doing anymore fighting any time soon,” Roddy assured, seeing his creators give an approving hum. A step in the right direction of a long road.

He was glad.

Though Soundwave resting his tentacle around his waist was not accepted and Drift came over removing it and Rodimus burst out laughing when Soundwave started egging his sire on harmlessly.

The mech was such a troll.

He loved it.

He didn’t notice Optimus horrified look at not immediately recognizing his own sparkling nor did he notice Optimus lower his helm in shame.

Optimus wasn’t at fault for not being able to initially connect with his sparkling after emergence but he was at fault for not bridging the gap and leaving it broken.

[impala-dreamer]

Cracks In The Plaster

A Supernatural Quickie

~After a long day in the car, Dean's got plans to relieve a little tension...~

Dean Winchester x Reader

763 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Rough and Yummy Motel Sex ;)

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

God it hurts but it's also really fucking good the way he's ratcheting into you, every pull out lifting you off of the wall, every thrust slamming you back into it. The plaster is groaning nearly as loud as you are and the dusty wallpaper is threatening to curl around you. The motel room didn’t know what was in store when you checked in; truly, neither had you.

Dean had turned the key, stepped back to let you in, and then attacked out of nowhere. Hours on the road with your teasing smile and flirtatious side-glances had driven him wild and the beast inside took over as soon as the latch caught.

You were in his grasp before you knew what was happening, gasping as his plump, cracked lips locked onto your pulse and his strong arms twisting around you from behind. His right hand cupped your tits while the fingers of his left hand splayed across your soft belly, teasing at the hem of your jeans.

You could feel him growing hard against your ass, denim fighting denim, heat building, breaths matched in heaviness.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed, moaning as he gripped your right nipple hard and twisted it into a tight bud.

“Need you,” he growled, teeth leveled at your jaw. “Now.”

A thrust of his hips made your eyes roll and you shoved back against it, rubbing your ass over his caged erection.

“You got me, cowboy…” You pushed again and his hand slid up from your tits to your throat, fingers tigtening around the sides as he yanked your head back.

“You sure about that?” He squeezed and your eyes fluttered, breath stopped for a moment. “Because I’m not gonna let you go…” With a snap, he had your jeans open and his fingers crawled inside, pressing hard up against your throbbing cunt. “Ever.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Spinning in his arms, you let go, giving yourself over to his desires, his whim. Almost too quickly, he had your shirt off and your bottoms gone- fabric twisted and damp and tossed carelessly away. He left your bra on, enjoying the way your tits looked propped up when he turned the cotton cups down beneath. He dipped his head to taste your nipples, biting and suckling until your skin was on fire and each scrape of his teeth made you wince and moan in pleasure.

Pushing your fingers through his short hair, you tugged as best you could, egging him on, silently begging for more.

“Driving me nuts all day,” he slurred, tongue heavy with lust as he shoved you back against the ugly wall by the television. “Such a fuckin’ tease…” He whipped his belt away and tugged his jeans down, letting them fall around his bowed knees.

Breathless, you chewed on the corner of your mouth and batted your lashes up at him. “Who? Me?”

Giant hands grabbed at your face, fingers curling in your hair as he licked into your slick mouth. “You.” He grit, kissing his way across your face and back as he dropped his hands to your sides and lifted you up.

Feet off the ground, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as the tip of his cock slammed against your clit. Dean groaned and rolled his hips, rubbing himself through your lips, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Please…”

He pressed his tongue between his front teeth, tipped his head down to look up at you through impossibly thick lashes. “Love it when you get all whiney and desperate for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to the canvas jacket and layers below. “Please, Dean… Please…”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “just like that…”

And now he’s really got you. The crack of his thighs against your ass makes your body ache, the racing, frantic thrust of his cock deep inside makes your mind melt. You struggle to hold on, hands clasped behind his neck, legs dandling, feet anchored on the plump globes of his ass.

The emerald of his eyes is nearly eclipsed by lustfilled pupils and he stares at you, panting, ruby lips parted and struggling, and fuck, it’s so good.

One, two, three, and you’re cumming hard on his cock; a pathetic cry muffled by his big palm. His eyes grind into yours and he pistons a little bit faster, a little bit harder, and you’re sure the wall is going to come down around you.

“Yes…” he groans, ready to plummet, holding back just long enough to really make himself insane. “Just. Like. That.”

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