#Ratchet/Reader

[spikezonebby]

Okay, okay I wanna see what you come up with for this song. “Sew My Name” by Josh Pike (the live version at the Sydney Opera House is the best version in my opinion).

GN!Reader x TFA!Ratchet with a dash (or more than a dash) of cathartic angst.

Sew My Name - TFA!Ratchet/GN!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,667

You liked to leave your mark wherever you went.

For as long as Ratchet had known you, you loved to leave something of yourself behind. You thought it important that the universe knew you existed in some capacity. You carried a knife around in your back pocket so you could carve your name into tree bark. One evening, you had asked him to show you how to sew. You wanted to know, so you could sew things into the collars of your clothes.

Ratchet always thought clothes were kind of a strange human invention. What good was armor that didn’t protect anything? Winter clothes, that was a different story. Humans had less-than-stellar temperature regulation so it made sense that you needed that.

Didn’t stop you from shoving your hands into the warm mesh just under his chassis whenever you got chilly, though.

If Ratchet had had any idea how much he’d miss the little things you did, he would have savored it longer. Been a bit more hesitant to pluck you off of him, or tried to close the distance between you a little more. 

Bumblebee was lucky, the little scrap. He was lucky because his favorite organic was actually a techno-organic and would live a long, long life alongside him. For Ratchet, it seemed like with every visit back to Earth from Cybertron, there was less of you to go around. 

Then one day, there wasn’t any of you left.

You passed away on a seemingly innocuous Tuesday evening and he didn’t even hear about it until the next time he came to Earth to check up on Sari. She broke the news to him, and he wasn’t even sure if he felt sad or not. Perhaps he’d been mourning all this time in preparation for the news, knowing how short organic lives were. He knew what he did feel though.

He was angry. Angry, raging, pissed off beyond belief that you could put so much of yourself into the universe, only for it to not even blink or grimace in your absence. He wanted to drag Primus himself down by his audials and give him what for.

“Doc-bot, I didn’t even think you were that close with them.” Sari said, setting a hand– or were they servos now? He still wasn’t sure with her unique anatomy— on the back of his calf.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I was their primary doctor! Not only that but they were a part of the team, weren’t they?”

Sari didn’t really have an answer for him, she wasn’t really looking at him even when he turns to face her. After the battle with Megatron and his copies of Omega Supreme, things changed. It was largely for the better, with Team Prime being accepted as heroes. Prowl’s death, though noble, shocked all of them to their cores. It’s been decades since then and Sari had gone from a teen to an upstanding young femme, struggling with her father’s own slowly decaying mind. Ratchet hated to say it but he always figured Issac would go before you, not out live you.

It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. 

“What happened? I thought humans could live to be over a hundred years old.”

“I don’t know.” Sari admits, “I wasn’t really close with them. It just… got hard to talk to them, ya know?”

Ratchet hadn’t thought about that before. Sari, with her unique nature, may very well be the only person capable of understanding both the human and the Cybertronian angle of time. It made sense that Sari would slowly become unable to relate to you, a fully organic human being, the older you got…

It made him wish he’d spent more time talking with you. 

“They did want me to give you something though, Ratchet.” Sari speaks up after a tense moment. 

Sari had always been a girl that packed light, but Ratchet had entirely overlooked the bag she’d been holding. It was just a plastic bag but the real mystery was the parcel held within. Something small and light, bound up with a red ribbon. Sari sets it in his open servo and immediately he’s drawn to the softness of it. 

It’s fabric, whatever it is. You were known to be a purveyor of various hobbies, it isn’t strange to think you might have gotten into fashion before your passing. Last he’d heard, you had taken to raising these insects called ladybugs. And before that, you had had an infatuation with sailing and the early history of your planet’s nautical culture. 

He should have seen the signs of you slowing down way, way before this.

He unwraps the gift, revealing the folded fabric. A long strip of soft and silky material carefully hand embroidered with delicate gold. It reminded him of a thin scarf. On the very end, he finds his name stitched into it by hand. There’s the taste of something bittersweet on his glossa then, knowing he taught you how to do this. You kept up with it all these years later.

“Oh! I know what that is!” Sari chirps, and in an instant, her jet pack pops free from her back and boosts her up onto the medic’s shoulders. On her way up she snags the fabric from his grip, and with practiced ease, balances herself just behind his helm. She wasn’t as small as she used to be but still small enough. 

“What on Cybertron are you doing?” 

“Gimme a sec here!”

And a second is all she needs, because she loops the fabric around his neck cables and starts folding and twisting. Then, turns it around on him so the delicate puff of fabric is on the front of his chassis, hanging down and standing out as a stark, bright shock of color against his white paint. Like an ascot or a necktie or some other name for the vast many types of cravats there were on Earth.

“Guess they didn’t think you looked spiffy enough, Doc.”

The established base had tons of reflective surfaces, so one of them, a monitor, made a good enough mirror for Ratchet to adjust his new tie a bit. It was pretty, like Sari said, spitty, on him. He appraises himself, turning this way and that.

“Huh, not something I woulda gotten myself.”

“Pfft. That’s probably why they got it for you.”

“I didn’t think I was gone from Earth for that long for them just to… vanish like that.”

Sari shifts so she’s resting her arms and chin atop Ratchet’s head, legs throne over either of his shoulders and hoping her weight and her presence are soothing to the old medic. She squishes her cheek into the top of his helm.

“I don’t think anyone actually has a schedule for when they plan to kick the bucket. It just… happens. They probably wanted to give it to you in person but just ran out of time.”

Ratchet could picture it. You, old and greyed and still insisting they ride around on his shoulder while he talks about all of the numbskulls back at headquarters. Then they poke his cheek and tell him to stop being so grumpy, and give him their gift.

“Hey, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t wanna but…” Sari’s big blue eyes find his face in the monitor’s reflection, scrutinizing his expression for any minute detail. “Did you like them?”

“Of course I liked them. Why else would I put up with them? I like you, don’t I?”

“Awww, you do?” She flicks the unbroken point of his chevron, “Cute but that’s not what I meant. I meant like-like.”

“Oh, you mean like you and Bumblebee?”

Sari sputters and gives him a quick bop on the helm, “Yeah, yeah sure! If you need an example.”

“Honestly, Sari?” Ratchet begins, rubbing the golden seam of the tie between his fingers, “I…I don’t know. Cybertronians live so much longer than any organic life. It stands to reason that we fall in love slower too.”

“But that isn’t a ‘no.’”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s not a ‘yes’ either. I guess, maybe, I could have if there was just more time.”

Sari doesn’t respond to that, not verbally anyways. She drums her fingers atop his helm, then he feels her squeeze him a bit tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m Ratchet.”

That gets a snicker out of Sari. She pats the top of his helm and then he can see her in the monitor as she jerks her thumb back behind her.

“Bee wants to go grab some highgrade if you wanna join us.”

“Who’s ‘us?’”

“Me, Bee, Bulk, Jazz, and hopefully you. Optimus is still busy– Because when is he not– but he promised to call us all tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be? All my old friends are finally together so, why wouldn’t I wanna hang out with them all? Don’t have to have a reason besides just saying you miss someone.”

Sari always was the glue of the team. Her and Bee, friends against all odds. Young bots that just loved one another and loved all of the people around them, even if they could be a little annoying.

“Yeah, I don’t gotta head back to Cybertron for a while yet. Might as well show off their gift, right? And hope Bulkhead doesn’t spill highgrade on me.”

“Aw yeah! That’s the spirit!” Sari pumps her fists, then bounces on his shoulders, “Giddy up, let’s goooo!”

That gets a laugh out of Ratchet. Yeah, it was probably better that he spent some time with friends anyways. You would have wanted to if everyone was in the city at the same time. Even if he didn’t like to have a drink himself, he’d drink to you. To your memory.

So that the universe knew that you really had your name stitched onto his very spark. That there was some piece of you that couldn’t be erased. He wouldn’t let it be erased.

[ss-shitstorm]

Ya think FP ratchet would like bojack horseman or would the alcoholism ect ect hit too close for comfort

He'd enjoy the fuck out of the first few seasons while trashed, sober it makes him really uncomfortable.(but mostly bc of the tortured relationship between Bojack and Diane that feels way too much like his and yours dynamic before y'all became a thruple) The last few seasons are almost unwatchable in any state but he does it anyways for closure. You catch him watching the roof scene alone occasionally when he's not feeling well.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

Part 2 of when you’re a British tourist that got lost in the Nevada desert

Part 1

Continue under the cut 👇👇

I gave up shading this part 😭😭

Apologies for the inconsistent comic style idk wtf I'm doing

[izsheum]

GOD IM DERANGEDDDDDDDD

thank you ann for showing me the guy who didnt like musicals…ratchet is now The Strange Biology Professor in my head.

sighs dreamily i wish he’d sing and dance to me while i was strapped to a chair and forced to watch

[runicarbiter02]

I’m sure this is a very common take, but I haven’t had any motivation to write fandom stuff lately, so I wanted to get this little bit down while I had the inspiration

—

Being the human partner of a Cybertronian, any Cybertronian really, and turning this huge, hulking, intimidating bot into a giant mechanical cat with some gentle touches, some kisses, and sweet words. Standing on your bot’s shoulder, gently stroking a hand over their cheekplate, and listening to that earthshaking rumble of their engine as they purr. Your bot gently nudging you with their cheek or nose when you stop, silently insisting the continued touch and affectionate words. Your bot mass displacing and crawling into your bed, arranging pillows on your lap before laying their head down and promptly falling into a well deserved recharge. (Let’s pretend that they wouldn’t shatter the bed frame just by putting a little weight on it, lmao-) Your bot trying to teach you chirolinguistics, not realizing that you don’t have the same kinds of sensors in your palm as they do, leaving you incredibly confused. Your bot relishing in the tiny flickers of unabashed emotion they get from your very weak organic EM field. Singing softly to your bot, only for them to croon one of their favorite Cybertronian tunes right back, and the both of you giggling over just how vastly different your music is from each other’s. Your bot trying to teach you the Cybertronian language, and you trying to teach them about human art/literature/philosophy/etc. You and your bot being soft and cute and fluffy. Send tweet 🏃‍♀️💨

—

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, but you’re the one who motivated me to get back into writing!!! This lil drabble certainly isn’t my best work, but it’s the most I’ve done in awhile, haha @revelboo

[transformers-spike]

mmmm the intimacy of hand holding between bots and humans

[transformersxreader]

Hey guys, I know it’s been a long,long time since I’ve uploaded, I kinda got lost with everything around me but I’m feeling loads of better and stories are coming soon! ✨✌️ Accept these quick sketches of (Y/n) with a few transformers prime characters of what their children would look like!

[l3ibnest]

A good doctor never ignores his patients

+)

[muletia]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 <𝟑

[tfp] various x human!reader optimus / ratchet / bumblebee / smokescreen megatron / soundwave / starscream / knockout

word count: 2200

Optimus most often kisses the back of your hand

He learned this way of showing affection while delving into Earth’s culture. Perhaps he read about it in one of the books you recommended to him. Maybe he saw a scene where a gentleman kissed his chosen one exactly in that spot. What matters most to him is the meaning of such a kiss and the emotions tied to it.

Optimus could pour all his love into a single gesture. Demonstrate to the whole world that he has the most wonderful partner and is endlessly grateful for your presence in his life. Make such a kiss merely a greeting, but Optimus desires you to see the multifaceted nature of his feelings toward you

When he bows down and takes your hand in his servo, he wants to show the respect he holds for you. By brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, he demonstrates gentleness and support. Finally, by enveloping your knuckles with his lips, he pours all his adoration into the gesture. He reveals his admiration for you in the least intrusive way, so as not to overwhelm you with the true strength of his love. He shows respect, proving his gallantry

He wouldn’t hesitate to kneel on one knee during a hand kiss to further emphasize his feelings. To meet you at eye level, look optics to eyes, or make you look down on him. He would renounce the title of Prime in your honor. For you, he is simply Optimus, striving to unveil the boundless, infinite love he has for you <3

Ratchet most often kisses the top of your head

He is a busy mech, often working overtime on research and ensuring no Autobot faces health issues. He doesn’t have time to be romantic. He rarely takes you on rides, and persuading him to go for a walk around the hangar borders on a miracle. Even in his private habsuite, he only appears sporadically, sacrificing recharge for a few more hours of work. And constant exhaustion means using mass shifting is out of the question for fear of fainting and possibly harming you

Still, Ratchet wants to be a good partner—or at least try to be. To thank you for choosing such an old mech, despite being a young human, without having to say it outright. To convey what he struggles to say aloud. To appreciate your constant presence and the support you give him, even when you do nothing extraordinary

That’s why he loves kissing the top of your head. You don’t need to do anything special—just sit there reading a book—and suddenly you feel passion and gratitude in the touch of his lips on your hair. But before you can ask, Ratchet is already back at work, leaving behind only his silent love

He’s always gentle, blending the precision of a medic with the softness of affection in his kisses. Sometimes he lingers there a little longer, taking in the scent of your shampoo, experiencing the unique texture of your hair—both firm and fluffy. If he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he wraps his servo around your back. It’s his way of showing he’s there for you, even when his work often keeps him away. To remind you of his feelings, that they still hold him firmly by the spark <3

Smokescreen loves kissing you on the lips

He’s a young mech, full of energy and hungry for experiences. That vitality is something he wants to share in his kisses, along with his passion for life—and most importantly, his weakness for you.

He seizes every possible opportunity. Greeting you, saying goodbye, or simply showing affection. He always aims for your lips, even in front of others, as he has no problem with PDA. Besides, he wants others to know you’re taken. That you belong to him, just as he belongs to you. And there’s no better way to express that than through a kiss

He loves catching you off guard. First, he runs his servo through your hair, then leans in to kiss one corner of your mouth, only to immediately claim your lips because he has no patience for the other corner

It’s worth noting that he’s terrible at kissing due to a lack of experience. He focuses more on showing than perfecting, losing his senses around you, always craving more and more. His intake moves impulsively across your lips, chasing the motion of your mouth, often outpacing you in his insatiable appetite for affection. Eventually, it leaves you with swollen lips, breathless, and a very satisfied Smokey, already eager for the next make-out session <3

Bumblebee places kisses on your cheeks

Or at least he would, if his lips were accessible. As a young mech fascinated by human culture and well-versed in its nuances, he knows how significant kisses are in human relationships. It pains him deeply that he can’t give you such an important experience, no matter how often you reassure him it’s not his fault and that you don’t hold it against him. Bee still feels disheartened about it. That’s why he’s come up with his own way of showing physical affection

He nuzzles your cheeks with his battle mask, always remembering to do both sides. It’s a sweet gesture he’s utterly addicted to, so much so that he’ll “kiss” you this way at every opportunity. Greeting you, he caresses your cheeks, chirping cheerfully and listening to the melody of your radiant laughter, immensely pleased that he’s its source

If he’s mass shifted, he always pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your back, practically supporting your entire weight against his chassis. In this position, he has perfect access to your face, which he overzealously takes advantage of. He snuggles into the softness of your cheek, tracing uneven circles and pushing his mask forward as if truly planting a kiss. If only he could, he’d spend an eternity pampering your face, pouring all his nonverbal love into the gesture <3

Megatron particularly loves kisses on the palm of your hand

At first, he simply wanted to surprise you with his tenderness. To prove that he even possesses it, doubting your trust that he could be anything more than a domineering, unfeeling tyrant. That’s why, when he first took your hand and placed a kiss in its center, he got exactly the reaction he anticipated: surprise, but also bashfulness, that the mighty Megatron could treat you with such calculated delicacy

Over time, such kisses became almost an everyday occurrence for you both. He leaves kisses to draw your attention when you’re lost in thought, focused on something other than him. To elicit the reaction he desires, to see the smile on your face and that captivating shyness, so rare in your usual demeanor

He grabs your wrist to guide your forearm into supination, bringing your hand to his lips with a roguish grin because he knows he’ll surprise you again. His kisses in that spot are subtle, unhurried, but they remind you always to think of him. He always looks straight into your eyes, as if showing respect—or perhaps issuing a challenge? Or maybe, deep within his spark, he’s a gentleman

It’s undeniable that he has class. He’s calculated and self-assured, traits that carry over to his kisses. He always knows exactly where to "strike" to tickle you or send shivers down your spine. He knows the effect he has on you—how you squirm when he lets his shark-like teeth lightly graze your skin, mocking your self-control. In a way, he plays with you, teasing only to stop and move to another spot, this time the base of your thumb. Again, he proves his tenderness, cherishing and adoring, only to move to yet another place, striving to show you that his feelings for you burn as fiercely as the values he believes in <3

Soundwave loves to kiss your forehead

Another mech without a mouth who’s devised his own way of compensating for having a display screen instead of a face and a human significant other. With access to all the information on the internet, he knows well that humans love kissing and that it’s important to them. That’s why he’s determined not to deprive you of this pleasure, to not deny you something you deserve due to his anatomical limitation

So, Soundwave touches his forehead to yours. It’s a delicate gesture but carries the weight of his complex and multilayered feelings for you. It shows that he cares, that he’s there for you—even when he spends countless hours standing by a console. He doesn’t need breaks, capable of working endlessly, but for you, breaks have become a daily ritual in his life, just to prove that he’s with you, not just in thought

He pulls you close until you’re level with his faceplate, tilting his helm to connect your foreheads in an unusual yet tender kiss. He loves when you close your eyes during this gesture, giving him tangible proof that this form of affection satisfies you and that you’re content with his efforts, no matter how minimal they might seem. You validate him, giving him a sense of trust that you don’t regret entering a relationship with him

Sometimes, he tilts his helm in a similar gesture while working, as if kissing you from afar. Manifesting you suddenly before him, so he could spend hours in such a position, foreheads melded together in a silent confession of love. He often misses you, and that longing later translates into prolonged sessions of such kisses, as he strokes your forehead with his, trying to pour all his feelings into the gesture <3

Starscream most often kisses your neck

Not necessarily to spark desire and lure you to the berth. Starscream isn’t a sappy mech. He’s not romantic, but his kisses bear the weight of his complicated and uneasy feelings for you. Sometimes they’re soft and sweet; other times, they’re fierce and fiery, trying to engulf you in flames of yearning. He has no qualms about kissing your hand to achieve a similar effect, but kisses on the neck hold great significance for him

He can lose himself in them—in the sensation of skin beneath his lips, the warmth radiating from it. The bones pressing against the flesh, the moles, scars, and marks. Above all, he loses himself in the feeling of reducing the world to your form alone. In the hollow of your neck, he hides from the demons that haunt him. He doesn’t feel Megatron’s breath on his nape, nor the impossible duties, broken promises, and missteps. There’s only you and the safety you offer, even if you can’t truly protect him

He can spend hours like this—or as long as his duties aboard the Nemesis allow—exploring your neck with his lips. Sometimes, he nips at your skin when he wants to extract a compliment from you, but most of the time, he tries to be gentle, as much as his ego permits. Hidden and surrounded by you, grateful for your presence, though he’ll never say it aloud

With his limbs wrapped around you, he pulls you to his chassis. There’s no escape from this trap; Starscream ensures you sit perfectly before him, where he has ideal access to your exposed neck still bearing traces of your previous rendezvous. He immediately buries his helm in your softness, kissing a trail from your collarbone to your ear. Subtle at times, yet swift, as if trying to devour you—eager to seize the rare opportunity for genuine and natural contentment obtained without schemes or deception. Just you and him, mutually showering each other with affection <3

It’s no surprise that Knockout adores French kisses

However, to "mature" to them, the Decepticons’ sex symbol has to overcome a long road of shedding his phobia of human bodily fluids. Only then does he discover how incredibly satisfying it is to explore your intakes with his glossa. How much passion he can convey through this gesture, showing desire not just through interfacing

He usually catches you off guard. Maybe you weren’t paying him enough attention, or maybe he just suddenly felt the urge to kiss you. He places his servos on either side of you, trapping you with no way out, and starts to charm you before launching into fireworks

He quickly learned what to do to make a kiss anything but average. It took a few tries—in the beginning, your kisses felt more like bumping faces—but Knockout has a knack for kissing. He can adapt to your rhythm or set his own. With unrelenting fervor and intensity, he explores the depths of your mouth. He never cares if anyone’s watching or not

Knockout can be quite possessive, a trait that shows in his kisses. He’s not bothered by PDA; any fear of your relationship being exposed to the public has long been forgotten when he can show everyone who you belong to. This often impacts his patients, who must patiently wait until Knockout reaches a satisfactory level of affection to pull away. Otherwise, you’re inseparable.

He won’t let go until he’s sure he’s poured all his feelings into the kiss—the ugly and the tender, the physical and the ones rooted in his spark

He always leaves you breathless with his intensity and passion, ending with a fleeting peck on your lips. <3

[tinydefector]

Do you think cybertronians ever get a bit freaked out on how tough we are? Yes they can break us like toothpicks but humans seem to be able to take a good beating as well with adrenaline helping. Even our own body and oxygen trys kills us and yet we stick around like roaches. We're fragile in some reasonable and dumb ways and then resilient in the most dumbest ways.

Oh definitely, alot of the bots are very off put by how fragile humans are just in general and tend to avoid them.

But then there's the moments like Ratchet working a late shift and a small knock on the door alerts him someone's there, he turns around expecting it to be Rodimus or Whirl who he's about to scold but instead it's one of the humans and they look worse for wear. After fussing over them for a moment, detailed scans relay fractured ribs, a broken collar bone, and a heap of bruises and yet the humans just like. "Can I have some Panadol, Nurophen, and a glass of water?" Because they don't know what else to do its what they would get. Most of the times they ended up in the hospital. Ratchet is losing his God dawn mind as he rushes around looking for the best painkillers he can find for orgaincs in the smallest dosage he can give, hoping to primus it doesn't shut their heart down. In the end, they end up on a medication that makes them extremely drowsy, almost like the green whistle/ Weed.

Ratchet ends up doing alot of study on the human body and realises just how fucked up little monsters we are. We literally need oxygen to survive but he we have to much pure oxygen it will kill us. Water, we need a certain amount of it, if we don't have enough we will get dehydrated and die, if we have to much we will get water poisoning, intoxication, or a disruption of brain function. This happens when there's too much water in our cells, such as the brain and blood cells, causing them to swell. When the cells in the brain swell, they cause pressure in the brain, resulting in death. The issue is that it can become an addiction to drinking too much water for the effect it has on the body. Same with nearly everything we consume, it can kill us, but we need a lot of it in moderation.

Human: "I just need some basic pain killers and a nap"

Bot: "No, you need full surgery, sedations, and 3 weeks of recovery!"

Human: "nah she'll be fine!"

Bot: "Absolutely Not, bed now before I cuff you"

____________

Following that imagine a first contact AU where Cybertronians and humans are just slowly getting to know how the other works and next thing a human is kneeling over in horrific pain and it send the bots all into panic mode trying to help them, wondering what's happening and thinking they are dying. And the human after about ten minutes some pain killers still looking rather pale and unhealthy just go. "Sorry about that fuck I hate, Cramps/palpitations/ phantom pains/ and such" and the bots are just looking at them horrified like.

Bot: NOT NORMAL!!!"

Human: what you talking about?

Bot: everything that just happened you literally just short circuited!

Human: nah that's causal wait till you see the really funky shit.

______________

Human pet AU

Cybertronian's keeping humans as pets is like humans keeping hamsters. Humans are some of the most homicidal, suicidal and just deranged creatures that Cybertronian's could keep as pets. It's gotten to the point that they are a luxury/ exotic pet because if you do not feed them the right stuff, give them the right amount of light and socialising, and they will just die. There are so many Cybertronian's who take their human into clinics worried as and its just the human being a little bustard because they didn't get the treat they wanted 2 weeks ago and are still holding that grudge. Not to mention, we are prone to causing as much trouble and issue. We are like cats.

But we are also very easily sick and primus forbid a human gets sick because to a bot they think it's a death sentence for their sweet little spitfire of a human who they have had now for ages. And the human looks ready to die, and the next day, they are up and about like nothing ever happened.

Human: if you don't feed me the meals I want I'm going to pretend to die. If you do feed me what I want I might actually die because I shouldn't be eating it.

Panicked bot: "MY HUMAN HAS GOTTEN SICK. HELP!?!"

Human: totally worth it.

_________

In conclusion, the cybertronians are rather wary/ concerned about how resilient humans really are.

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[quackfallbackhq]

Transformers Autobots Characters Fully Committing To It Now (NSFW DRABBLES?)

Oh, frag.

A whole week—seven nights—of nothing but them pressing you into the berth, their frame caging yours, their voice thick and hungry as they push deep, again and again.

They’re relentless.

Every night, you start off with some strength—but by the end, you’re melting, your body wrecked, your voice nothing but soft, breathless whimpers as they fill you over and over until you can’t hold any more.

And the worst part? You love it.

SMUT - you been warned

The characters are written down below are,, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, Sideswipe, Crosshairs, Drift, Hound and Hotrod.

Optimus Prime

Optimus tells himself he should pace it—but the moment he’s buried deep inside you, the moment he feels you clench so sweetly around him, his restraint snaps.

Every night, he ruins you.

His thrusts are deep, deliberate, his servos pinning your hips as he watches your expression twist with pure, blissful exhaustion.

By the third night, your body practically melts into his, too spent to do anything but take what he gives. And Primus, that just makes him want to keep going.

“You asked for this,” he growls, voice dark, lips tracing your heated skin. “Now, take it.”

Bumblebee

Bee started off teasing—but by night four, it’s no longer a game.

It’s a need.

He worships you, his servos gripping tight, his engine revving as he loses himself in the way your body takes him so perfectly.

Every night, you end up a whimpering mess beneath him, your body trembling, unable to move, too wrecked to do anything but let him fill you up again.

And frag, that only makes him want to keep going.

“You’re so fragging good for me,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You still got another round in you, sweets?”

You always do.

Ratchet

Ratchet knew this was a bad idea—he knew you wouldn’t last the full week.

But Primus, you insisted.

And now?

Now, you’re spent, your frame wrecked, your voice no longer begging for more, but begging for a break—

But does he stop?

No.

His movements are slow, deliberate, his spark pulsing wildly as he watches you tremble beneath him, taking everything he gives you.

“You wanted this, love,” he rumbles, voice thick with possession. “So now, you’ll take it.”

And oh, you do.

Jazz

Jazz thought he’d be the one to tap out first.

He was wrong.

By the sixth night, you’re melting beneath him, your body weak, your voice a soft, breathless whimper as he fills you up again and again.

And Primus, he loves it.

“Too much, babe?” he teases, his smirk dark as he rolls his hips just right, making your whole frame shudder.

But the second you let out a broken moan—

Oh, frag.

He’s gone.

Ironhide

Ironhide warned you.

He told you a whole week would be too much.

But you insisted.

And now?

Now, you’re spent, your frame trembling, your voice a breathless whimper as he presses into you again, filling you completely.

He should stop. He should.

But frag, you’re so soft beneath him, so weak from taking him night after night—

And Primus, that only makes him want to keep going.

“You said a week,” he growls, voice dark as he thrusts deep. “So I’m gonna give you one.” his servos slide between the crevice behind her knees as he fold her nicely.

folding her knees to touch her shoulder plates as his hips snapped towards her valve.

Sideswipe

Sideswipe laughed when you first suggested it.

A whole week? There was no way you’d last that long.

But now?

Now, you’re melting under him, too wrecked to do anything but cling to his frame, letting him take what he needs.

And oh, he needs it.

“Aw, babe,” he chuckles, voice thick with hunger. “You’re so fragging wrecked, huh?”

And the second you let out a weak little whimper—

Oh, he’s not stopping now.

Crosshairs

Crosshairs should’ve known this would happen.

By the fourth night, you’re already spent, your frame trembling beneath him, your voice breathless as he fills you up again.

“You’re so fraggin’ soft now,” he murmurs, his servo sliding over your trembling frame. “Practically meltin’ for me.”

And frag, if that doesn’t make him want to wreck you all over again.

Drift

Drift had been gentle—at first.

But by night three, something inside him snaps.

You’re so soft beneath him, so pliant, your body trembling as you take everything he gives you—

And Primus, he needs more.

“You will endure,” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence, his movements slow but deep.

And oh, you do.

Each thrust send her though pleasure after pleasure, her whines make him increase each gentle thrust into more needy and hard ones, just by hearing her needy sounds made Drift himself snap.

But he shouldn't, not if they both have all week to continue on

Hound

Hound knew you’d be wrecked before the week was up.

But frag, did you look good like this.

Soft. Weak. Too spent to do anything but let him press you down, keeping you full all fraggin’ night.

And the way you melt for him?

Primus.

“You wanted this, sugar,” he rumbles, pressing a slow, deep thrust into you. “So now, you’re gonna take it.”

And frag, do you ever.

His large size makes her feel many things at once, the tight squeeze he feels when he would grind back in makes him full on shudder.

HotRod

Hot Rod thought he was the one in control.

He was wrong.

Because now, you’re so wrecked, so weak beneath him, your body trembling, your voice a soft, breathless whimper—

And frag, he needs to fill you up again.

He should stop. He should.

But with you this soft, this wrecked, he just can’t help but press a slow, deep thrust into you again.

“… Just one more,” he mutters, knowing damn well it won’t be.

And frag, do you let him.

notes - ahhh.. I suck at drawing transformers bots..

[eminemily05]

As someone who’s prone to moments of major audial/visual overstimulation, I like to think Ratchet would be the most understanding and let me chill out in his vehicle mode

Majorly self-indulgent, I’m not gonna lie. But I’m not ashamed, haha

[izsheum]

someone take away my drawing privileges

i don’t care if the size difference isn’t accurate I WANT TO RIDE ON HIS SHOULDERS RAHHHHHH

[michaela-o]

Wohoo some funky G/T art for ya all o(^▽^)o🧡

( i need more Elita one x fem human fics :,> )

[revelboo]

Assorted headcanons- scenarios 🌶️ 18+

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Jazz x Reader, Wheeljack x Reader, Bluestreak x Reader, Prowl x Reader, Thundercracker x Reader, others. G1/IDW, TFP, TF One. Mass-displaced Cybertronians x reader scene pack- no plot here

Sorry, not sorry at all.

IDW/G1 Starscream

• Kneeling, body bowed over yours, he chuckles and runs his servos over your rib cage. “Something wrong?” He almost purrs the words, lips twisting knowingly. With your hips up, thighs spread over his you can’t get any leverage. Can’t move and you desperately need to, feeling the thick length of his spike pulsing where it’s buried inside you. You tuck your chin to glare up at him, but his optics are focused on where you’re joined, almost seeming fascinated with watching himself slowly rock against you, his spike slick as it disappears inside you before he glances at you, sly expression growing wicked. “Say it.”

• “Please. Please move,” you growl at him voice straining, trying to wiggle and he leans back, servos tightening on your soft hips to pin you still with him buried deep right where he belongs. Teasing his own control and yours. Wings flicking, he studies your flushed face as your thighs clench around him, struggling in frustration. Needing him. Only him, because you’re his. “Star.” Your voice hitches, begging for him and his restraint shatters. Shifting to stretch out over you, he begins to move. You cling to him as he drives into your wet heat, adoring those softy needy sounds you make and the way you feel like you’re made just to take his spike.

TFP Megatron

• Coiling the length of your leash around his fist, he buries his face against the softness of your throat as he covers your much smaller frame. He lets his claws play over your core, testing how wet you are for him. Feeling you squirm as he runs his chain wrapped servos along your belly and up to caress the delicate line of your jaw with a claw tip. Those sharp denta tease the skin of your shoulder, biting just hard enough to send little sparks of pain through you to mix with the need coiling you tight. Leaving marks so there’s no doubt who you belong to.

• Trembling in need as he palms your throat with a hand, draping himself against your back on his knees and a fist planted against the berth. You can feel his spike against your inner thigh branding you with his body heat, leaving a wet trail as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Such a good little pet,” he growls, before his mouth slides down along your throat to your shoulder. You don’t even have time to form a retort or get offended about the pet comment, before he’s spearing you on his spike and you brace as that first thrust almost sends your sprawling face down. Then he’s firmly pressing against your nape until you surrender with a whimper, chest down, hips up as he ruts against you with a possessive snarl, pace relentless.

TFP Soundwave

• That soundless hum crackles over you, through you in an electric rush that lifts the fine hair at your nape as he settles against you and that tingling awareness washes over you. Arching against his grip as he uses those tendrils like built in shibari to restrain you. Pin you immobile where he wants you. Positioned how he wants.

• Everywhere his flesh meets yours, more of you sinks into him, giving everything you are to him as he presses his forehead to yours, servos sliding down your sides. There’ll be no keeping your thoughts out, no mental walls between you as he spreads you to him, holding you immobile and gripping himself, slides the head of his spike against your slick heat. Your need lashes at him, demanding wordlessly and he can’t deny you. Uses his tendrils to pull you down onto his spike and shuddering as your heat, your thoughts, all of you, envelopes him. Those little noises you make as he claims you almost musical.

G1/IDW Prowl

• “Screw you,” you curl your lip at him. “You can’t just crook a finger and I’ll come running.” The first time had been an accident. How were you supposed to know that if you kept pushing his buttons he’d react that way. Your back thumps against the wall, his fist smacking against the wall as he glares down at you, all frustration and heat and hunger. It’s a feeling you understand all too well as his mouth crashes against yours with bruising force. It’s not a kiss, so much as a domination. And then he’s gripping you, lifting you to pin against the wall with casual strength, settling himself between your thighs so you can’t shut him out. You don’t like him, you’re pretty sure he hates you, but the both of you are equally screwed by how much you enjoy angry sex.

• You bite his lip hard, hands shoving at him like you can actually force him to budge and he nips back, hearing your sharp intake of breath, those angry eyes flashing that he drew blood. He’s almost certain you’d do the same if you could, can feel your fingernails digging into the seams in his armor, biting into the mesh there. Trying to hurt him, mark him as yours. You can hate him all you like, glare and snap at him, but you want him. Want this. A fact that winds him tight as he pulls back enough that he can line your bodies up, find that wet heat and thrust into you. You cling to him, legs hooking around him as he bucks into you and your lips and mouth press whimpering kisses against his throat. Needing him. Hating him. Begging and cursing.

G1/IDW Bluestreak

• His servos tunnel into the softness of your hair, lips running over your jaw up to the corner of your mouth. Internal systems hitching as you shift on top of him where he’s sprawled and the servos of his other hand tighten and almost immediately relax against your hip. Fighting himself and the urge to just move you where he needs you so he can drive up into that tight, wet heat. Your blunt little teeth nip at his lip, soft fingers playing with the mesh of his protoarmor under his jaw. And you shift against him, sitting up on his chassis, eyes dark with need, hair messy from his servos.

• Bluestreak’s head is thrown back, denta bared like he’s in pain as he curls his warm hands around your waist. Every rough vent blowing across your sweat slicked skin as you brace your palms on his chassis and rock back. Sliding yourself against his spike until he shudders under you, servos tightening on you so much you know there’ll be bruises later. “Please,” he growls, optics gorgeous as he looks up at you, that hungry stare almost worshipful. Making you feel powerful as you reach back to find him, grip his pulsing spike and lower yourself on him. His venting hitches under you, hips lifting as he groans in Cybertronian, seeming to forget you can’t understand him now as his hands slide down your waist to your hips and he pulls you the rest of the way down to take all of him. Now you’re throwing your head back as he uses his grip to grind himself against you, still murmuring softly in his language. As soon as his grip eases, you brace your palms and ride him, hips rolling.

G1/IDW Thundercracker

• “Please,” that soft, almost whining whimper strokes over him as he lazily rolls his hips. “Thundercracker, I can’t.” Pinning you on your belly, legs spread so you can’t try and shut him out, his arm hooked under you just enough to keep your hips tilted where he needs them as he keeps rocking himself into you, he smiles indulgently. Feeling your slick heat quivering around his spike as he nudges you toward that peak again just so he can fill you again, because you definitely can for him. His wings shiver in lazy little tremors as he feels you clench around his spike.

• “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips tenderly brushing the back of your shoulder as he thrusts a bit harder, his servos flexing under you, brushing where you’re joined so you gasp and moan. He’s trying to kill you with pleasure, coaxing and demanding until your tired body is coiling again. Until you need it again as he adjusts his angle, spike stroking inside you and you’re crying out again, shattering. And he groans as you fist his spike, taking him along with you.

G1/IDW Jazz

• “Frag, doll,” he groans, the ragged sound of his voice winding you up as your arch under him. Servos span your sides and glide up, pulling your arms up and pinning your wrists as he rolls his hips, that big spike driving deep inside you. He’s not letting your hands loose since the feel of your hands on his spike had nearly done him in if his ragged venting is any indication. Makes you wonder what he’d do if it was your mouth on him and what kind of noises he’d make. You hook a leg over his hip, bucking your hips to chase after your own pleasure, because it’s so close. As he snarls at you in Cybertronian, you’re almost certain he’s swearing at you.

• Primus, how can you be so tight? Your heel digs into him as you grind yourself against him and he almost bites his glossa. You apparently have no patience, don’t want gentle or slow. And honestly? That’s fine by him. Growling soft, little nothings in your ear, he stops holding back. There it is, your head thrown back as he pounds into you, tenuous control fraying. Crying out his name as he takes you.

TF One Megatron

• He likes this view of you, your body spread open under him, as he props himself up on an arm. The ragged sounds of pleasure you make just for him and the wet heat of you around his spike. Fingers of his other hand sliding over the fragile line of your throat, he bucks into you, chasing down his release. You writhe under him, little pleas falling from your lips. Begging him so sweetly as he thrusts harder.

• He shifts over you, hips pinning yours to the berth as his thrusts grow more urgent and you can only hook your legs around him as he ruts into you, losing all control and it’s a powerful feeling to know you do this to him. He’s always reminding you that you’re his, but that just means he belongs to you, too. Especially as his rhythm quickens and he slides a hand under the back of your head and presses his face against your throat as you cry out, warm tremors crashing through you as his denta grip your shoulder with a snarl. Hard enough to leave a mark on that soft skin.

G1/IDW Ratchet

• Those little teeth try to bite the palm he has covering your mouth as he ruts into you from behind. The container he’s pinned you on your belly on with your hips and legs hanging is just tall enough you can’t reach the ground. Can’t do anything but squirm as he claims what’s his. Taking you like this in the medbay where anyone might walk in hadn’t been the plan, but you’d started it.

• Feeling every, deep drive of his hips, you cling to his forearm. All because you’d felt bad for Fowler getting hell from his supervisor. All you’d done was touch the guy’s arm in platonic sympathy. Next thing you know, Ratchet is picking you up in his servos, locking you both in the medbay. And taking out some pent up frustration on you, not that your complaining as you writhe under him. He stops trying to muffle your cries, gripping your hips in both hands so he can drag you back to meet his urgent thrusts and the wet sound of your bodies meeting, the feel of him inside you mixes with his rough, growling venting to send you over that edge.

G1/IDW Wheeljack

• Little hands on his vocal indicators. A soft mouth against his throat and the feel of you wrapped around his spike, so tight and wet. His hands tremble as they ghost over your ribs, scared if he holds you, his grip might bruise that soft flesh. Scared he might do something that makes you stop. So he just sits still, growling softly, systems revving as you roll your hips against his. Perched in his lap as you torment him with that slick heat and your slow, cautious rhythm. The feel of you anchoring him.

• He’s trembling under you as you ride his spike. His head falling back, vocal indicators flickering mauve. Over and over you feel his servos barely there against your cheek, your side, or your hip. Needing more contact and being denied because he seems to think he’ll break you. Pressing soft kisses against his throat, you roll your hips almost dancing in his lap. Moaning against his jaw and tracing the mesh of his neck with the tip of your tongue. And then finally whatever was holding him back snaps. Those big hands find your hips and he’s in control, thrusting up inside you as he pulls you down to meet him.

[earthsparked]

You’ve never been this sick before. You’ve had tonsillitis as a kid, typical flus and colds, a memorable bout or three with bronchitis and, of fucking course, came down with covid a couple times. None of those illnesses were like this. Something has gotten inside your head.

You make a quiet noise of complaint as what feels like cold metal surrounds you, painful against your hot skin, even through the blanket wrapped around you. You feel so cold, but you’re sweaty and dizzy. The world isn’t right. Everything’s too big and bright and moving wrong. Your head’s stuffed full of cotton and you’re not thinking right. And there’s a voice you don’t know, rich and deep, with a strange modulation to it you can’t place.

Sorry, little one, but your internal temperature is creeping past the danger zone for your species with no signs of stopping. Much higher and you’re risking processor damage. Don’t be afraid, we’re going to help you.

A machine sort of noise and rush of air, with a very quiet addition you don’t quite catch. I hope.

You are too sick to do much of anything except feel horribly confused, weak, and cold. You flinch away from the light, its brightness like ice picks into your head. There’s another voice snapping something about photosensitivity, dim the slagging lights. The brightness fades, but even in the dim twilight you don’t really want to open your eyes. Everything hurts. You just want to go home.

There’s a hushed argument, and then something very large moves over you. In your delirium it registers as if you’re swimming deep underwater, and a pod of whales has come to say hello.

‘S illegal. Getting me in trouble…caught. You’re mumbling to the whales. You’re not ever supposed to approach wildlife. Even if you always dreamed of meeting them.

That rumbling voice sounds so tired, so sad, that you feel bad for it.

Are they conscious? Are they trying to communicate with us?

A pause. The other voice speaks. There’s a sense of something big hovering directly over you. You can feel it somehow, even with your eyes closed, like feeling a current in the ocean.

No, I don’t think so. Their brain activity is alarming compared to baseline. But who in the Pit knows? Organic processors are a mess to begin with, let alone one infected with something this species has never encountered before.

A big blue whale-song, mournful. We never should have come here. What have we done, Ratchet?

The other, more gruff voice. Also sounding tired. We couldn’t have known that the debris brought a contagion planetside until it happened. Don’t panic just yet, Prime. So far, they’re the only one directly exposed. We got them in quarantine as soon as Nurse Darby realized something was wrong beyond the usual illnesses. It was just bad luck they happened to come across the contamination before we could clean it all up. There’s no reason to believe it can jump from human to human yet.

There’s a pause, and the first voice is even quieter.

Will they live?

There’s more motion. Beeping noises. You must be in a hospital. Yes, you remember that much. Going into the ER late one night after the Tylenol wouldn’t touch your fever, which had come on suddenly.

I can’t make promises, you know that. I don’t know much about this contagion. I didn’t even know it could behave this way in organics when it’s harmless to us.

He sounds frustrated.

But I was fine, the groggy thought drifts up from the depths of your mind. Everything is slow and dark and cold, a thousand fathoms deep.

I was fine, I went out doing my volunteer work. And then I got sick.

You don’t remember meeting your doctors. There might have been an ambulance…you think? Flashing lights, sirens. A woman’s worried voice, low, as she adjusted the IV in your arm. It’s what is making you feel so cold, you decide, and with all your frail strength begin trying to grab and wrench it out.

An immediate shuffle around you, and the grumpy whale reaches out and stops you. You push weakly at its rubbery flipper. It’s a whale, a humpback whale you think. You have about as much chance of moving it as you do lifting an ambulance.

Eh-eh-eh! None of that, now. You pull that out and neither of us will enjoy me trying to put it back in. Optimus, hand me the - yes, thank you.

You whimper softly and cry out as you find you can’t move. There’s things touching you - seaweed, wires, tangling you. Everything’s cold.

There. Sorry, human, but we can’t have you hurting yourself. …why am I even talking to them, they’re not going to remember any of this.

You huff and decide very hard to remember this just because you were told you wouldn’t. You forget a minute later what it was you were trying to remember, and start thrashing around against the seaweed. The beeping gets louder, more painful.

Can’t ever make anything easy, can you?

What are you doing?

I’m going to use the medication June left to sedate them.

But didn’t she say that could -

Yes, but - well, look at them!

Look at who? You wonder, as you fight off the tangling seaweed. You should find the surface. You need to breathe. You’re starting to feel scared. You can’t breathe.

The humpback whale is distressed. Somehow you can feel it, you know it. If they were a mech I could put them in stasis, keep them from suffering like this. This is cruel, Optimus. I - I don’t know.

He sounds defeated, angry. So tired. You reach out past the seaweed to try and pet him, because if the whales are going to insist on hanging out, you might as well earn that huge fine for touching the wildlife. Your sensitive palm makes contact with cold, hard skin, almost like it’s absorbed all the ice in the ocean. There’s a feeling of surprise, and silence, and then something crashes like a wave in the distance. There are big booming sounds. Those waves slamming into rocky, echoing caverns.

Watch them a moment. I’m going to consult with June. Do not let them tear that IV out. Comm me if their breathing gets worse.

The big blue whale is back, filling in the absence of the humpback. It catches your hand in its massive flipper, then brushes your wet hair out of your face. You had always heard whales were impossibly gentle despite their enormous size. You hadn’t quite imagined they could be this dexterous, though.

I’m sorry this happened to you. You did nothing wrong. You and so many other innocents, harmed because of us.

You squeeze his flipper, you think, but things are getting very hazy.

Please live. There is so much more to the universe that you deserve to get to see. I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t give up.

His voice, even full of pain deep as the bottom of the sea, is comforting. You don’t want him to be so sad. But that’s what whalesong always is, isn’t it?

The humpback comes back. He’s doing something with the IV. You had no idea whales knew how to do that. You didn’t know they could be white and red, either. Don’t tell Ahab.

June says to increase the dosage and keep giving fluids. The tests she’s running show this formulation should drive out the infection, but…

But?

…but not without…impacts.

What kind of impacts? …Ratchet?

We can’t be sure. This is all highly experimental, Prime, we’re working off of practically nothing. June thinks it’s doing something to their central nervous system. We don’t know what, yet. It’s going to be a race to see what gives in first: the infection, or their vital systems.

A rumble, contemplative. At least they seem to have calmed. Their heart rate is down to almost normal.

For now. A pause. If they recover, we can’t keep this one. Fowler can find somewhere to stash them, I’m sure.

Silence.

Oh, for - Optimus! We’re not running a xeno-zoo!

Let us wait and see if that is even a conversation we will need to have, old friend.

Disgruntled feelings like poprocks in your mind.

…fine. Oh.

Oh?

Their fever has come down two-tenths of a point. That’s a start in the right direction. Let’s get that oxygen mask on and see if it helps. Of all the gasses to breathe, they had to pick one of the most flammable. Who even designed this fragging species? I want a word with them.

The whales are singing, and you decide it’s not so scary down here, after all. It reminds you of that song. You wheeze out a few words.

Beyond th’ sea, somewhere…waiting…

Hush. Rest, now. Big blue, biggest animal ever on earth. And for some reason, it cares about you.

You fall asleep under a blanket of seaweed, and eventually the ocean doesn’t feel so cold. You’re part of a pod, swimming slowly compared to them, but swimming all the same. And at least you’re not alone down in the dark. Maybe when you wake, you’ll get to see them breach the surface, leaping into the warmth of the sun. Maybe you’ll get to leap with them.