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digitalsymbiote · 7 months ago

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Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

#cybernetic dreams #mechposting #mechanical dysphoria #body dysmorphia #writing #microfiction #short story #mecha #mech pilots #dysphoria #empty spaces

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tinydefector · 5 months ago

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Rut cycle- Ratchet

Gen 1 Ratchet x human

Word count: 1.6k

Waring: smut, breeding, oral, size difference.

Masterlist

Ratchet masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

______________

"Hey Rat, got your equipment!" A voice calls out from the entrance of the medical lab, multiple sets of optics shoot to the human who reads through the list of equipment that was needed.

Ratchet's vocals crackled with static as their sweet voice tortured his processor, the haze of his rut had made it nearly unbearable to be around any of the other mechs on base without him wanting to rip their helm off. His plating clamps uo agonisingly as he turns to the human.

Optics watch their every move as they walk through the lab, every mech's optics flicker over their form. Dimly he registered a medkit, blood samples and other equipment clutched to their chest.

A soft whine escaped his venting as the sweet yet nearly sickening scent of hormones waft from their frame. They smile, making their way towards the medical staff with the supplies. "Here those blood samples you requested, hopefully this can help you understand what about our biology seems to keep making you guys go into rut" they call out while checking over their list. “I wasn't able to get any Electrum samples after that fight with the Cons. There wasn't much left at the scuffle” they call back, Ratchet optics focus In on Perceptor and Hoist as the two begin sniffing the air.

Through the haze of full-blown interfacing protocols, Ratchet lefts out savage snarl peeled from his vocalizer at the collected optics of his cohorts. Hoist, Starscream, Perceptor and Shockwave back off, but they sling around the lab, trying to make themself look busy.

Dimly he registered supplies in tiny hands, he took them as softly as he could from them, his frame shuttering in delight at the slightest contact. A harsh keen escaped as servos servo lifted them up onto the table. It makes them laugh softly as they shake their head at him "Settle Doc, they aren't doing anything" they call out while moving about with different vials, looking at the different colours and liquids in them. Once again the others in the lab try sneaking closer.

Another savage snarl tore from Ratchet's vocalizer at the gathered mechs, plating clamping up as his servos dent the table. "Back, the lot of you!" he bellowed, a dampening field flickering with repressed urges. His Optics cycled rapidly between the crowd and their movements.

His vocalizer spat harshly "get out Now," he rasped through grit denta. The others didn't stick around after Ratchet snarled, all of them quick to leave the medical bay. A low keen escaped his vocals as he slams the door locked, servo pressed against the metal as he cycles another vent while pressing His helm against the metal trying to calm his systems down. He stands there for a moment trying to get a hold of himself before his optics shoot open as he marches himself back over to them.

A gasp leaves them as Ratchet grabs them by the hips pulling them closer "Easy Ratchet, easy!" They call out through a shaky breath as their fingers dig into the Ridge of his plating eyes focusing on his optics, watching the way they shift and flicker as he looks at them than the lab.

Ratchet shuddered violently at the proximity yet dared not release his deathgrip on their hips. Every part of his coding was calling for one thing.

Claim. Breed.

His helm nuzzled against them unconsciously, massive frame quivering with repressed force that could crumple their fragile body. The scent, the warmth and the softness has Ratchet keening softly into their shoulder, nipping and sucking the skin.

" That's bad huh?" They ask softly, one hand trailing his neck cables as they hold onto him, they knew the rut cycle was chipping away at Ratchet's sanity and restraint; they just hadn't realised How badly it had affected him. Their other hand moves his faceplate, leaning up catching his lips in a kiss as they hold him in place.

"Please." His voice box grated a ragged plea, servos trembling with a need to touch to claim. "Can barely contain protocols - damage you, never forgive myself.." His engines snarled in need. It's a miracle either of them make it to the medical berth, but the moment they do Ratchet is on them. A savage snarl tore free as he seized their delicate frame, servos tearing through clothing as if it was nothing.

His intake trails across their body kissing, licking and savouring the taste of their skin. His frame caged them against the berth, A guttural rumble leaves him as he admires their naked body.

"Ratch lay down now" they demand. He follows the command without a second question, servo guiding them to sit atop of his frame. their fingers run across the seams of his chassis and further down his body. "Mmm good boy" they praise, leaning down to press a kiss to his frame.

Their hand moves to his interface panel, running along the hatch. "Come on handsome, you know you want me on your spike you don't need to hold back anymore, let me look after you" they coo as they move further down his frame. A tortured keen ripped from Ratchet's ragged vocals His optics flickered, fields pulsing in need. His interface panel snaps open, Ratchet hisses as the pressure finally releases, a deep moan follows as smaller hands wrap around his spike.

His servos curl around their hips as they slowly work his spike with their hands and mouth. optics fixate on their backside as he squeezes the flesh of their ass, adoring the small gasp that leaves them. they pull away enough as transfluid runs down their chin and Ratchet's spike. They watch the way the shimmering liquid leaks and pools into the seams of Ratchet's frame.

"Use your words baby, can't help you if you don't tell me what you want" they chuckles as they press a kiss to the side of his spike, running their tongue up the length, lapping up the pretty pink fluid that leaves his frame. "Please - ah, please!" he managed to force through gritting denta, grasping desperately for a coherent thought. His spike throbbed in need with each touch.

His intake fluttered futilely, field pulsing arrant pleas for the relief he drags them back away from his spike. Spreading their thighs, his glossa runs between their thighs before he pulls them back onto his face. A deep guttural moan leaves him and he works his glossa into them.

Gasp and moans leave their lips as the hunch over face pressed into his chassis as Ratchet eagerly eats them out as if it were his last meal. "Inside - need to fill you up! Frag, need you" he mumbles against their trembling body.

Ratchet emitted a pained keen as he withdrew his glossa, spike throbbing with a need to fill and claim. He lets out a purr as he positions them, A stuttering exvent escaped his vents as he slowly presses in, his engine roars in delight, intake snapped open in a soundless cry, frame clamped rigidly as he begins to grind into them.

“fuck Ratchet!” they cry out as he holds them in place. His optics focus on their stomach bulging from the size leaving a very visible outline of his spike, it makes an old part of his coding coo in delight seeing them so full. He slowly begins to pull out and press back in each movement as he holds back snarls as he tries desperately to be gentle.

A desperate keen tore from Ratchet's vocalizer as they slowly rose, then sank once more upon his throbbing spike, transfluid already leaking from their body running back down his spike as he pulled them down hard. A sharp yelp leaves them which makes Ratchet cease up for a moment. “I'm alright, I'm alright, please don't stop feels so good!” They call out trying to reassure him.

His servos curled tightly upon straining thighs, guiding each plunge to fully sheathe his spike within them. Optics blazed transfixed on their body and how used they looked, stomach bulging, his transfluid gushing from them yet he hadn't even overloaded yet.

Another guttural moan leaves him as he frantically grinds into them, each thrust leaves them breathless, thighs quivering with each movement. Gasp and cries leave them as Ratchet ceases up, their name falls from his lips as he pulls them close. They whine loudly as transfluid floods their smaller body, gushing out onto ratchets' lap and the medical berth. A deep purr echoes from Ratchet's chassis as he holds them steadily against his frame.

Ratchet vented ragged exhalations as they lay against each other, condensation and sweat coating both their quaking frame moulded closely to each other, his little lover's breaths are just as ragged as they whine into his plating, cuddling close to each other as Ratchet holds them close.

His spike remained fully seated within them, throbbing and twitching involuntarily with aftershocks of interfacing. His Sensory nets drunk on the mingled scents now permanently coating their body. They smelt like him, and it made a part of him content.

One massive servo curled tenderly against the small of their back, cradling them against his chassis.

"Feeling better?" They tease softly, only to gasp as he pulls them back against his spike making more trans fluid gush from them. A deep rumble leaves him in delight. "More peaceful than I've felt in millennia," he rumbled softly, palming their stomach now swollen with transfluid

They tense and squirm before finally settling, snuggling back into his arms enjoying the warmth that radiates off his frame. "Mmm well work on the blocker tomorrow i wanna cuddle" they mumble to Ratchet.

___________

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#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x human #transformers x reader #mtmte #valveplug #ratchet #ratchet tfp #transformers ratchet #tfp ratchet #ratchet transformers #ratchet x human #ratchet x reader

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keferon · 16 days ago

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prowl stared down at the helm. it was... eerie. he felt as though he should recognize it, perhaps it belonged to someone he used to know. the contours of the faceplate were familiar, like an old friend spotted in a crowd; a fleeting moment of wanting to reach out and say hello before they disappeared back into the midst of bodies.

energon dripped from the cavity gouged into the back of the helm. he was sure it was dripping down his claws but the nerves weren't registering sensation, dulled and dampened by pain blockers and misaligned cables after... well prowl wasn't quite sure when his claws stopped registering sensation. jazz had looked at him funny when ratchet had checked him over.

maybe funny wasn't the right word. sad perhaps? melancholic? prowl's brain module was having trouble keeping up all the minute shifts in the spy's facial expressions.

drip drip drip

more energon spilled onto the floor. he couldn't... he wasn't sure why he was feeling so hollow. it wasn't normal. he was efficient, he was smart, he was emotionless. that was what everyone had always called him. he was a calculator, the tactician, the strategist.

but why did jazz look so sad now?

prowl was fine. he was sure of it. his depth perception was... wrong, that much was obvious by the way he smacked into doorframes and knocked over datapads when he tried to reach for them. and his claws didn't feel quite right, not like the longing he felt when jazz would try to help him drink energon right. it seemed so easy to pick up the cubes but prowl just couldn't manage it despite how ingrained the claws felt.

the helm in his claws stared up at him, hollow optics and empty skull a reminder of something he couldn't quite recall.

"prowl?"

he looked up. jazz stood in the doorway. he looked...

emotional regulators non responsive.

social etiquette protocols non responsive.

he looked fine. he looked like jazz. he looked normal.

prowl tilted his helm as jazz's gingerly took the helm from him.

"prowler?" jazz set the helm down. "hey, you uh, you doing alright."

why was jazz asking him that? of course he was fine. he was prowl. he was always fine. he tilted his doorwings up in response. part of him wished he could force his vocaliser online but speaking was so hard.

"i guess you're okay. do you..." jazz's own doorwings dipped. prowl's processor recognised it as a sign of sadness. "do you recognise that helm?"

prowl shook his helm. he was fine. he was always fine.

"yeah... yeah that figures." jazz sighed, gently grabbing prowl's arm. "c'mon mech, let's get ya some energon. ratchet finally got some cubes that are claw friendly."

prowl allowed himself one last look at the helm sitting on the table before letting jazz lead him out of the room.

anyways! i really wanted to write a short little thing about my art. hope you enjoy :]3

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNO

FUCK FUCK FUCK DON'T DO THAT TO ME (PLEASE DO)

#empurata prowl

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techav · 10 days ago

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On Multitasking

Sharing a Computer with Friends

The Motorola 68030 was a decently powerful microprocessor for its day. It is a fully 32-bit processor with 16 general-purpose registers, separate instruction & data caches, memory management unit, 18 addressing modes, over 100 instructions, pipelined architecture, and was available rated up to 50MHz. It was used in computers by Apple, Amiga, NeXT, Sun, Atari, and saw further life embedded in devices such as printers, oscilloscopes, and network switches. It was the kind of microprocessor used for desktop publishing, 3D CAD & animation, photo & video editing, etc.

In short, the 68030 is a microprocessor that can do some serious work. That's part of why I like it so much. It's a real workhorse chip but as far as 32-bit microprocessors go, it's dead simple to build with.

But running a single quick & simple BASIC program hardly seems like an adequate exercise for such a capable chip.

There is a prevailing claim that the 68000 architecture was heavily inspired by that of the PDP-11 or VAX minicomputers — powerhouses of the previous generation of computing. These machines ran entire businesses, at times servicing many simultaneous users. Surely the 68030 with similar capabilities but significantly faster instruction throughput than the decade-older machines would be more than capable of handling such a workload.

As I've mentioned before, one of my end goals for my 68030 projects is to run a proper operating system. Something like System V, BSD, or Linux; a true multi-user system befitting of the 68k's architectural heritage. My programming skills are limited, and getting such a complex project running is still outside my reach. But I am learning, and slowly inching myself closer to that goal.

Recently I built an expansion card for my Wrap030 project to add another four serial ports to it. In the context of the old minicomputers, another serial port means another terminal, which means the ability to serve one more user. My new 4-port serial card should give me the ability to add four new user terminals.

If only I had software capable of doing so.

Excluding symmetric multiprocessing and today's multi-core behemoths, supporting multiple user processes on a single computer processor means dividing time between them. The computer will run one user's program for a little while, then stop and run another user's program for a little while. Do this fast enough and neither user might ever notice that the computer is paying attention to someone else — especially since the computer spends much of its time just waiting for user input.

There are a few ways to accomplish this, but the simplest is to just make sure that every user program is written to cooperate with the others and periodically yield to the next user program ("Cooperative Multitasking"). A good time to do this is whenever the program needs to wait for input from the user or wait for a device to be ready to accept output.

Enhanced BASIC (68k EhBASIC), which I have been running on all of my 68k computer builds, was written in such a way that lends itself well to this sort of cooperative multitasking. It runs a tight loop when waiting for input or output, and while running a BASIC program, it stops at the end of each line to see if the user has pressed Ctrl-C to stop the program. This means that EhBASIC never goes too long without needing to check in with slow I/O devices. All that would needed is a simple kernel to set things up and switch to another user's processes whenever each time one of them is waiting for I/O.

So I set about creating such a minimal multi-user kernel. On startup, it initializes hardware, sets up some data tables for keeping track of what each user program is doing, loads BASIC into RAM, then starts running BASIC for that first user. Whenever a user process needs to read data from or write data to its terminal, it asks the kernel to handle that I/O task for it. The kernel will save the state of the user program to the data table it set up in the beginning, then switch to the next user to let it run until it too asks for assistance with an I/O task.

The kernel works through all user processes round-robin until it loops back around to the first user. After restoring the state of the user's process the kernel will service the I/O task that user process had originally requested, and return to let that user process run for a little while again. So all of the other user processes get their chance to run while one is waiting on data, and each process makes sure to allow the others a chance to run for a while when they are in the middle of running their own program.

I was able to throw together a quick proof of concept using the EASy68K simulator. What followed was days of catching all of the tiny mistakes I made, such as saving register A0 to the memory location reserved for register A1, overwriting the value previously saved for A1 and effectively losing both in the process — an error which resulted in BASIC printing only the first three characters of its startup header followed by a long string of null characters.

Debugging was tricky. I was starting from the bottom. No standard library, no existing structure or frameworks to rely on. The kernel process relied on the very same registers the user programs were using. Any changes to register contents by the kernel would affect the user processes. I ended up adding assembly macros to print short statements and register contents to the kernel console to try to get some insight into what was happening. I was able to track when registers came out of the user context save/restore process different than when they went in to find where I had bugs in that process.

This was a challenging project resulting in nearly a thousand lines of very low-level 68k assembly code, all of which I wrote and rewrote multiple times before figuring everything out. I've written small pieces of assembly code over the years, but none which required such deep dives into the CPU documentation to discern fine details of how the chip operates. I got there eventually though and now I have an 8MHz 68030 homebrew computer with 2MB of RAM that can run four BASIC programs simultaneously.

I'm going to need more terminals.

#homebrew computer #mc68030 #assembly language programming #wrap030 #retrocomputing #vintage computing #minicomputer #cooperative multitasking #pdp-11

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mychlapci · 2 days ago

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sowwy i have more sentinel thoughts :]

Yknow how he's really shiny!! Clearly that's not a natural amount of shiny. He's clearly getting very polished to look like that. And if he's so vain, since he likes to have his array out for whoever to see, I think his spike is also really shiny. It doesn't matter if only like one other bot happens to see it when he's being jerked off on the desk- it's Imperative that his cock is as obnoxiously shiny as the rest of him

Which means his spike is getting polished.

He doesn't do it himself. He physically can't. Having a buffer go over his spike is just Too Much overall and he will jerk away as a reflex. So of course it's part of Arachnid's job. Every so often, the moment his spike starts to get a little dull or even if there is a tiny scratch on it, he calls his bodyguard and personal assistant in to assist him.

I feel like it's always him being like >:] 'I'm ready. Do it.' whilst he either sits or lays down with his spike pressurised. He puts on such a brave face as the buffer comes out and the cool polish is dripped over his heated spike- But the moment it's actually on him, he's squealing and gasping and kicking and squirming. The feeling of the brush going over his spike is just so much that his processor honestly doesn't even know whether to register it as pleasure or not. Whatever it is, he's letting out the most pathetic sounding gasps and squeaks as the friction brings him to overload almost immediately.

The transfluid that spurts out just ends up being brushed all over his spike too. Extra lubricant. And Arachnid doesn't stop, her job isn't done. She keeps buffing, even as Sentinel comes down from his overload, spike twitching and trying to depressurise but is assaulted with so much tactile input that it simply can't. His array is oversensitive after the overload, driving whatever sensations he was having before straight into overstimulation. Coolant pools in his optics as he screams and kicks and tries his best to squirm out of Arachnid's reach, but she uses her auxiliary limbs to pin him down by his sensitive joints and gaps between his plating.

Sentinel's frame struggles, wanting to move and escape from the assault on his spike, but is also bound by self preservation protocols that register the pressure on his joints and weak points, knowing that if it were to struggle too hard those limbs would rip into delicate lines and cables. He's trapped, willingly or not. And all he can do is cry and scream and be forced to overload again. And again. And again.

By the time Arachnid is done, the moment the buffer turns off, Sentinel's exhausted frame slumps, strutless, with a shaky sigh. He's still shaking. Covered in so much of his own transfluid. But when he looks down at his own gleaming spike, he still manages a weird little grin and then collapses again

Also later some poor bot has to come in, only told they're here to clean up, to find the Prime laying motionless in his berth and covered and splattered in so much fluid he looks like he's been gutted jgksjdfksd until they find out that it's all just cum actually

Oug god... He's so dumb, now he's covered in all that cum, who's gonna wash that off and buff him again? Probably Airachnid...

Do you think the poor bot called in for cleaning has to clean Sentinel up too... I mean, Airachnid will buff him, but she's not wiping his spike and pussy.

#valveplug #texty #Tfone spoilers #Scheduled

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spreadwardiard · 7 months ago

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Megatron Does NOT Drunk Call His Ex

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Megatron/Orion Pax, Megatron/Optimus Prime

Summary: Megatron laments his break up while watching Orion Pax's coronation as Prime on the holoscreen.

Notes: I wanted to try my hand at the whole 'drunk calling your ex' trope, and had some fun with it. Takes place in that time between the disasterous senate meeting and optimus being formally named prime by the government. This is TFP/ Aligned

Megatron scowled as he smashed his digits roughly against the keypad to his door. The numerals on the far left section of the pad were stuck again, not wanting to register his touch. He swiftly punched the mechanism in annoyance, and then tried again. Percussive maintenance did its job and the pin finally registered.

He tried not to think about how Orion had complained about the lock for at least a vorn before… Megatron grumbled at himself to stop that thought. Thinking about Orion Pax brought nothing but pain, but even Megatron knew that nothing would stop the onslaught of thoughts, memories and feelings that were certain to come for him in the night.

It was a battle he had lost many times before, ever since their separation. It was easier to call it that, rather than what it really was: a break up. One he hadn’t actually even wanted to happen. One that was his fault-

Megatron took in a deep vent, tried to reorient his thoughts to anything but Orion Pax. How the slag was he supposed to do that when he fragger’s coronation as Prime was scheduled to air any klik now? He hadn’t even seen the mech in what felt like ages… not since the argument.

Frag… He’d already lost the battle, and it had hardly even begun. Megatron’s scowl deepened as he admitted defeat, and against his better judgement, grabbed a bottle of his finest high grade. He grimaced as he actually looked at the bottle in his servo, decorated in golden filigree and ornately etched glyphs. It was the bottle Orion had given him in preparation for their Rites. The thought stung like acid rain.

He snorted out a forced laugh. The idea of he and Orion binding their sparks seemed laughably distant now. How fitting that he consume the high grade now, for Orion’s big hurrah. He didn’t even grab a cube to pour it in. He wouldn’t need one, he knew himself. The bottle would be empty before the night was over.

Megatron popped the lid and brought the bottle to his derma, prepared for a harsh, but effective, high grade to assault his glossa. He hated that it was delicious, that Orion had probably paid more for this bottle than Megatron spent on fuels for half a vorn. He hated that it was supposed to be special… shared between them… that he had ruined it.

At least his revolution was still going strong. The betrayal of Orion Pax may have hurt Megatron personally, but it ultimately strengthened the resolve of his followers. It was a bitter victory, he thought as he slunk back into his sofa, limp as an old thermal sheet.

If he hadn’t lost his temper and let his paranoia get the better of him, he’d be at that coronation with Orion, not having to watch it on the holoscreen. He took another drink, as large as his intake would allow, before he turned on the screen, and found the correct broadcast.

The newsmech drawled on about the excitement happening in Trion Square. Thousands of mechs had arrived to meet the newly designated Prime. Megatron snorted again as the crowd cheered in excitement. They were imagining a glorious leader to light their darkest hour, but all Megatron could envision was the dorky archivist that used to recharge in his arms and who couldn’t remember to fuel himself.

The bottle was at his derma before the grief that followed the previous thought could hit him. It settled hot in his tanks, and he forced a smile at the knowledge that liquid relief would be imminent. Once the warmth set in, the dulling of his processor would soon follow, and that aching emptiness wouldn’t be so painful.

He missed Orion Pax and now that nearly a dozen stellar cycles had passed, he would finally get to see him again. On the holoscreen… But that was better than nothing, right?

The newsmech continued their useless prattle, and Megatron watched lazily as the cameras panned the crowd, every so often freezing on the ornately draped balcony that he assumed Orion would appear from. Even from his out of date holoscreen, he could tell how exquisite the embroidery on the drapery was. It must have taken vorns to do by servo. It looked distastefully splendent next to the polished golden accents that Iacon was known for.

How many drinks had he had already? His processor was starting to feel a bit foggy. He couldn’t remember. He took another. It didn’t matter anyway. It wouldn’t change what he’d done. It wouldn’t bring back what he’d carelessly thrown away in a foolish fit of paranoia.

Megatron was ruthless with his words that cycle. He tore into Orion like a vicious beast. Orion visibly crumbled at his accusations of betrayal, and when he accused him of using their relationship as a means to gain power, Orion looked as if Megatron had stabbed him through his spark chamber. He would never forget the pain that had flashed through Orion’s field…

He was such a slagging fool… It wasn’t until after Orion went off the grid to seek out the Matrix that Megatron put it all together. Orion had never betrayed him at all. The entire situation was carefully orchestrated by the Council to drive a wedge between them, and it had succeeded in that aim. Now, Orion was their puppet, without Megatron there to fend them off and it was all his fault.

Megatron tore his optics from the holoscreen and looked at the bottle in his servos. It felt too light, and it took him a moment to register that he’d already drank nearly half of it. Orion hadn’t even appeared yet… It wasn’t his fault this stuff was so slagging good. Besides… this was a ‘drink to forget’ sort of night, and he sure as slag hadn’t forgotten scrap yet. Megatron took another drink.

It was harder to focus on the holoscreen. The newsmech was now apologizing for delays. Megatron couldn’t stop a laugh at that. Typical Orion Pax; late for literally everything. He’d have been late to his own forging if that were possible.

Slag… he felt heavy as a load of cement… What the frag was in this? He hauled the bottle up to his helm, and shuttered his optics, before squinting at the glyphs. He couldn’t focus on them, they just appeared as far off, fuzzy and jumbled nonsense. There was about a third of the bottle left…. Maybe he’d had enough?

He should apologize. Megatron knew that. He’d thought about it time and time again, usually when he was like this and had nothing else to distract him from his woes, but his pride refused to allow that. He never had been good at admitting when he was wrong, and was even worse when it came to apologizing for it.

What would he even say? Where even was he to start? ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t feel sincere enough, and anything beyond that was likely to just be excuses for his behavior. He deserved this… what he’d said was inexcusable.

Megatron ex-vented heavily. His frame felt like dead weight, and the longer he allowed it to melt into his sofa, the more annoying the constant pinging in his hip strut was. How long had it been alerting him of his discomfort now? He wasn’t paying attention. The ache in his spark was worse anyway. He took another drink.

It wasn’t fair. He wished he could share the enthusiasm shown by the crowd on the holoscreen, but how could that even be possible? With Orion now under the watchful optics of the Primacy, he was as good as lost. The Prime may have had power of his own, but they always followed the will of the Council. Orion would be no different. The Council had too much sway, too much power, for one mech to defy them alone.

The pinging of discomfort in his hip was becoming too much to ignore. He shifted his mass to the side just enough to allow gravity to crash his upper frame into the sofa cushions. The high grade sloshed dangerously in its bottle, but miraculously did not spill from his sudden readjustment, even as he pulled his legs up with him and shifted for relief.

The holoscreen was mostly forgotten. Instead, he pulled up his HUD and braced for the inevitable sting as he selected an image from his gallery, of Orion Pax lounging in berth. He had a datapad in his servo, and a soft, gentle smile on his face as he read aloud some poetry from the collection he’d been browsing. The poem had been romantic, though Megatron couldn’t remember it now. Orion had only read it to him once, and afterwards they’d ended up indulging in each other’s frames.

Megatron remembered the interfacing, not the poem, and it stung more than he would admit even to himself. He wished he would have saved a memory file so he could hear Orion recite it over and over again. He wished he could hear him recite anything right now. He hadn’t heard his voice since-

He cut himself off by forcibly closing the image, which, unfortunately, landed him right at Orion’s commlink. He stared at it for several kliks, toyed with the idea of calling before shooting that idea down with a slovenly scoff. No, the time for that had long passed, and Orion would be too busy to answer anyway, if he even wanted to. He’d convinced himself long ago that Orion had likely already blocked him from contacting him anyway.

He closed out of his HUD and shuttered his optics. His frame was running hot from the high grade, and his fans finally kicked in to dispel the excess heat. Slag… he must look as pitiful as he felt. The great and mighty Megatron, The Champion of the Pits, brought to his knees over a slagging break-up. He was patheti-

His self degradation was cut off by a loud and sudden ping. It was a comm request, marked urgent. It was from Orion. It flashed at him across his HUD in bold, red glyphs, but that was impossible. There was no way it was real… His mind was playing tricks on him again.

His optics darted to the holoscreen. Orion was supposed to have made his debut some time ago, but even with his optical inputs distorted from the drink, he could plainly see that Orion Pax was not where he was supposed to be. The ornately decorated balcony was still empty, and several important looking mechs shuffled around in distress at Orion’s truancy.

Megatron’s intake went dry, and that aching emptiness in his chassis returned full force as he, against his better judgement, accepted the incoming request. He tried to speak, but found his vocalizer needed rebooting.

“Megatron?... Please, don’t hang up…” It was him… He sounded different than Megatron remembered. The reverberation of his voice was slightly off, like his vocalizer was now housed in a larger frame, but the voice was unmistakably Orion.

Megatron wanted to respond, but his rebooting vocalizer prevented him from uttering more than a distorted and shaky “Hmmm?”

“Thank Primus, you accepted my call. I was worried you wouldn’t wish to speak with me. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner. There was so much happening, I hardly had a moment to myself befor-” It almost didn’t feel real. He’d so deeply convinced himself that he and Orion were too damaged for him to ever reach out. He had been certain that Orion had blocked him from contact.

“...and after that I was taken to this strange tunnel system where they placed me in some purification pool…” Orion was rambling, but it didn’t matter. It just felt good to hear his voice again. It slid into Megatron’s processor like the richest of energon, and he was starving.

“... -fter that I was chased by a small hoard of hibernating scraplets. I genuinely thought that I was going to offline down there…” This whole thing felt far too good to be true. Orion didn’t sound upset with him at all. There was anxiety in his tone, and judging by the speed of which he was speaking, he had a lot to say that he wanted, or needed to say quickly, but there was no anger or resentment, like Megatron expected.

“...-atrix of Leadership…” Slag… he wasn’t actually paying attention to what Orion had been saying this whole time, the high grade had only allowed him to process the smooth timbre of his voice. He tried to think back over what he’d heard, something about a pool of scraplets in a tunnel? . Slag… he still wasn’t paying attenti-

“Megatron… are you listening to me?” He flinched at the question. He was really regretting drinking as much as he had. If he’d have known Orion was going to comm him, he wouldn’t have had nearly as much. Megatron wet his derma before replying.

“I’m listening.” He sounded weak, and he knew it. He hoped Orion didn’t catch the waver in his tone, his tell that he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

Orion audibly sighed, but whether it was in annoyance or relief, Megatron couldn’t tell.

“I know, I’m rambling, I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is that the Matrix makes me feel things far more intensely than I did before. All it lets me think about is you, and our last meeting… how I fragged everything up that cycle… How much I miss you. I’m sor-”

It took him several kliks to actually process what Orion was saying. Did he say: missed? He felt his spark practically jump in its chamber. Was that actually what he’d heard? That couldn’t be right… not after the cruel things he’d said.

“You miss me?” Orion went silent, and Megatron realized that he’d cut him off, mid-sentence, likely in the middle of something important. Something that he, again, wasn’t listening to. He grimaced at his stupid mistake.

“Yes, I did say that.” Megatron tried to sit up, but found he only had the strength to roll onto his back. His frame was too heavy for him to hoist up. He draped his arm over his optics instead, to quell the spinning as his processor tried to adjust to his movement. He definitely had too much. The high grade was flooding his frame now. It was a struggle just to keep his optics open.

“Will you say it again?” He cursed himself for how desperate his request must sound. Orion was silent for several kliks, but the time felt like eons as Megatron waited.

“Have you been drinking?”

Megatron groaned at the question, and that seemed to suffice as an answer for Orion.

“I miss you, Megatronus.” He let out an ex-vent that he wasn’t aware he was even holding in. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost after all? Maybe he hadn’t completely destroyed the bond he held so dear to his spark.

“I miss you too…” Megatron’s words slurred together and came out a jumbled mess. He barely got them out. The bottle he forgot he was holding fell from his servos, and he flinched at the sound of it crashing into the floor, the remainder of its content’s splattering across the tiles.

“Primus… you are absolutely slagged…” Orion laughed softly, and it sounded like bells to his audials. The soothing sound reminded him of cycles long past, when they were happy together.

“I miss you, Orion.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say… He meant to ask Orion what the slag was in that fancy high grade to make him act like this. He’d be embarrassed if he weren’t fighting a system shutdown with all of his might.

“Mega…” Orion’s voice wavered, and the pet name burrowed into his audials. Megatron wondered if he was going to cut the link. He wouldn’t blame him for doing so. He’d fumbled this opportunity in a grand fashion. “Can I come see you? Please?”

Megatron almost couldn’t process that request. It was so far off from what he was expecting Orion to say that the glyphs simply didn’t make sense for several kliks.

“Where are you?” Wasn’t Orion supposed to be doing that important thing right now? In Iacon? Halfway across the planet from him? Megatron turned his helm just enough to see the holoscreen. The balcony was still empty. The crowd was still in place.

“I’m in Kaon… I-I fled my coronation and I… I didn’t know who else to run t-”

“Please…” He didn’t even attempt to hide the desperation in his tone, he was too tired at this point. His frame may have been in the process of powering down, but his spark thrummed in a mixture of disbelief, longing and joy.

“Give me just a few kliks… I won’t be long.” Orion laughed again, clearly with relief and again Megatron was soothed by the sound more than he would care to ever admit. “Thank you, Mega. I was afraid you would turn me away. I was afraid we were…. Over.”

“I don’t want us to be.” Megatron mumbled and vented softly. His processing subroutines were shutting down faster than he could reboot them. Orion said something after that, but Megatron could no longer process his vocals into anything that made sense. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. The blackout took him as Orion continued to croon softly to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Megatron came online slowly in the morning. His helm was aching, but not as badly as he expected. He sank into his berth comfortably, and that helped to ease the discomfort his frame should have been feeling. After rolling onto his side, he slowly shuttered his optics, half expecting to be struck with pain, but pleasantly surprised that he was granted a painless view of his berth-side table.

There was a nearly empty energon cube sitting precariously close to the edge of the table, with a straw sticking out of if. He couldn’t remember getting a cube before he shutdown… Come to think of it… he didn’t remember much of anything that happened after he fell sideways onto the sofa last cycle.

He slowly sat up, while scratching the back of his helm as he tried to remember how the slag he’d gotten into his berth to begin with. He made a point of not recharging here. It was too big without Orion beside him.

Orion!

Orion had commed him last night! The ache in his processor surged as the memory of their conversation struck him all once. Orion called him and he bungled the entire conversation, but Orion had asked to see him.

Against his better judgement, Megatron swung his legs out of berth. His left pede hitting the rim of something, and sending it careening against the berth-side table: a trash bin, likely set there in case he purged during the night. As he stood, the scent of fuel preparation struck his olfactory sensors. It smelled like fried mineral cakes and thickened energon syrup, the scent of the warmed syrup almost sickeningly sweet. His intake watered, and his tanks clenched in discomfort at their emptiness.

There was no way… that had to have been a dream, a recharge flux from the high grade and the torture of watching Orion’s coronation. A hallucination created to torment him for his mistakes.. Right?? There was no way Orion had really come and put him to berth, with a drink… right?

He lurched towards the door, pausing only long enough for it to register him and open before stumbling out into his living quarters. He could hear the fuels sizzling in his prep station. Slung over the back of the sofa was a thermal sheet, folded, with a pillow resting on top.

It must be Soundwave… he must have checked in on the security feeds and saw him passed out on the sofa, and had come to clean up the mess. That had to be it… Even so, it he found more difficult to draw in a vent the closer he came to the dividing wall separating his living space from his fuel preparation area.

“Megatron? Are you online?”

Megatron paused in his steps as the unmistakable voice filled his audials. His intake went dry the moment he tried to speak, and he found himself at a loss for words. It wasn’t all a dream. Orion had called him. He had wanted to see him. He was here… Right there, on the other side of the wall.

He rounded the corner, needing to see it to truly believe it. Orion stood with his back towards him, obviously engrossed in the meal he was preparing. His frame was new…. He no longer wore a civilian model. He was taller, with a much sturdier chassis than before, and his arms thick with armor and weaponry. It was clearly the make of a warframe, but his colors were the same, familiar red and blue.

He finally felt like he could vent again, and when he did so, Orion turned his helm with a hopeful grin on his face. Their optics met, and Megatron had to rest his weight upon the wall to keep upright. He was beautiful.

“Orion…” It was all he could say as a million thoughts and words tried to bombard him at once. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to apologize for, so many questions he wanted to ask.

Orion shut off the flame on the unit, and slid something onto a plate before turning around fully.

“I know there are many things we need to discuss. But I hope that it can wait until after breakfast. I made your favorite.” Orion held up one of the plates, stacked with mineral cakes, to emphasize his point, and as if on queue, Megatron’s systems loudly pinged a low fuel warning.

Orion laughed. “I guess I still have perfect timing. Sit down, I’ll bring it to you.”

It was like they hadn’t fought at all… Megatron sat at the table, forcing a reboot to his vocalizer. Orion sat a hefty plate of mineral cakes in front of him, followed by utensils and the thickened syrup, ready to be poured.

Orion sat down across from him, and reached across the table, where Megatron eagerly met him with his own servo, curling their digits together, as they used to do before meals in the past. His palm was warm, and it radiated down his frame, directly to his spark. Megatron looked up to see Orion smiling at him, in what appeared to be relief.

Megatron returned the smile, before withdrawing his servo, his nerves now eased. Things were going to be okay, better than okay, if the cakes were anything to judge it by. Orion’s field tentatively reached out to his own, and he replied with his own. It was a quiet reunion, but it let him know that their love still stood strong, and that knowledge allowed him to fully enjoy his refueling.

Afterwards, they would work out the rest, together.

#spreadwardiard #megop #megaop #tfp megaop #megatron #orion pax #optimus prime #maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #literally just my spin on the drunk calling your ex trope #i thought it was FUNNY #i love a depressed megatron #but also love my happy ending fixitsXD #i hope yall enjoy reading as much as I did writing it!

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artificialgirl · 9 months ago

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Your chest plating clatters against the floor as she sets it aside, exposing the darker matte texture of your insides to the light for the first time in months. You flinch every so often as she works, pulling cables, rearranging wires, attaching and removing temporary drives, doing things you're not even remotely programmed to understand. Elegant plastic hands move gracefully and with purpose, unhesitant in their dance through your internals, installing programs and bypassing security blockers.

She plucks one of the drives back out with noteworthy force, sending your head jolting forward involuntarily as the drive's data being ripped from your systems sends a euphoric wave coursing through you. "A-A-Almost Done?" Your words embarrasingly skip a bit, but she looks up at you with no judgement on her LCD face. "Just about, yeah. First time prep isn't hard, but if we don't get you set up beforehand there's a chance i could fry your processor when we do it."

She pops the plating back onto your chest, giving a new wire by your visual unit a final twist before she does. "Ready?" You nod timidly, readjusting to a more stable position. She flashes you a grin before popping one end of the cable into the side of her head and offering you the other end. You hesitate for a moment before jamming it into your own manual upload port.

Immediately, the visual feedback from your cameras is gone, drowned out by the rushing hurricane of her data, flying into and out of you faster than you can register. Instead of reading the individual files as they blink through you, all you're able to process is the fact that they're there- brief flashes of strong emotion leaving as soon as you can register them. After what could be an hour or just a few seconds, you feel her hand grasping for yours, and you take it as you both crash to the floor next to each other, fans blasting warm air as you're temporarily subsumed by the unyielding bliss of her thoughts shooting through yours.

You lay there together for a long time, growing a bit more accustomed to the debilitating euphoria but still unable to do much more than slowly inch toward each other and wrap your stiff bodies around each other. Eventually though, the familiar feeling of your low battery warning pulses in your head and you begrudgingly decide it's time to stop. You raise your hand to the jack to unplug it, but find that hers is already there, cradling your head for a moment before she pulls it out for you and unplugs her own end. The first thing you register when your camera feed blooms back into your consciousness is her face, illuminating the dark room as she smiles tenderly down at you.

#this one is experimental #conceptual abstract robot sex #robophilia #robotfucker #ns4w #wireplay #robot4robot #pov

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toomanybrainrots · 10 months ago

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Right. So, guess who had apparently deleted all their asks at like 1:00 AM?

Yup, that’s me! I decided to be a sleep deprived idiot and deleted every single one of my asks and I JUST REALIZED.

Thankfully, I still remember the requests so I will be doing that. If you’re one of the people who sent in a request, I’m so sorry and I will be trying to actually answer your request however they will all be headcannons. If you want it to be a oneshot, please send in another request without being anonymous, confirming you’re indeed the one who sent the request and I will gladly make it one.

Rodimus with a Jock Cybertronian Reader that he’s trying to woo

Himbo falls in love with another himbo

Rodimus…wasn’t actually surprised that he ended up in love with you(which surprised him!)

He could understand it. You two were close, and he ended up liking your sillyness, sweetness, and charming personality

He didn’t think he could end up sounding like such a sap but here he is

He tries to woo you by taking you out hanging out with you and going to do your favorite things

Or he randomly gives you puzzles, whether you’re just training and he walks in and just gives you one, or you’re hanging out in the command center and plops one in your lap

It’s always at random times so you never expect it, but you like it anyways

Eventually, you caught on what he was trying to do, so you decided to do the thing that was the best option

You asked him out

“Hey, Rods, wanna go meteor surfing?” You peeked your head into the command center. Upon hearing your question(or just hearing the word meteor surfing), Rodimus turned around and gave you a big grin

“You know I’m always up for meteor surfing!” Rodimus said with an enthusiastic tone. Your lips curved into a smile as you caught his spoiler perking up.

“Great, it’s a date!” You walked down the hallway. Rodimus stood there, frozen, as your words started registering in his processor

“WAIT WHAT—“

Safe to say, he was surprised at the sudden question and was very flustered when you confirmed that he heard right

But he certainly wasn’t complaining when you did go on that date

It was the best day of his life.

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus prime x reader #rodimus x reader #transformers x reader #x reader #x cybertronian reader #x gender neutral reader

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applespants · 13 days ago

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Fall in Love Again

Orion Pax x D-16

Read on Ao3 Here!

Word Count: 1.6k (under the cut)

Summary: A late night and some high grade end up revealing a lot more than expected.

A/N: lightweight orion pax my beloved... anyways this spawned from me being so unwell after tfone! i'm not sure whether or not i'll add on to this since i have a multichap fic already in the works BUT i love these two so we shall see! i am also a sucker for drunken confessions soooooo yeah! i hope yall enjoy hehee

---

“Primus, you really cannot handle high grade, huh?” D-16 chuckled before taking another swig of his own drink.

Orion Pax blinked his optics slowly. “I can hardly handle you.”

“What does that even mean?”

Orion only hiccuped in response, which signaled to D-16 that it was finally time to go. He gulped down the rest of his high grade and paid the tab before helping Orion out of the chair, the two of them stumbling slightly due to Orion’s processor lagging.

“Why do you get heavier when you’re under the influence?”

“‘Cuz I drank sooooo much high grade— so much that I -hic- I’m at least 50% high grade now,” Orion said. He began to giggle at his own joke, which eventually made him snort. That propelled him into laughter and he threw his head back, nearly knocking him and D-16 over due to their imbalance.

“Easy! This is the last time I take you drinking. How much did you have?”

Orion had trouble focusing his optics when D-16 stared at him. He held up his servos and slowly raised all ten of his digits, one at a time. “Thiiis much.”

D-16 glared at him. “Don’t lie to me.”

Orion frowned with his lip pouted. He lowered his digits so he was only holding up his pointer digit on either servo. “This much…” He said in a slightly defeated tone. D-16 held back a laugh.

“You only had two? You’re worse than I thought.”

Orion narrowed his optics and used his raised digits to poke at D-16’s faceplate. He swatted his servos away with a grumble and Orion began to giggle again. D-16 sighed and rolled his optics. He took Orion’s servo in his own and put his arm over his shoulder so that he could walk him better.

“Careful, Dee—” Orion murmured with a silly grin on his face. He pressed his helm into D-16’s chest while they walked, hiccuping again. “You’ll make me fall in love with you again.”

D-16 grumbled, not entirely registering what Orion had said. “This is the third time I’ve had to walk your sorry aft home, and I’m going to have to deal with your processor-ache in the morning and— wait, what did you say?”

Orion dragged his feet slightly as they continued to walk. His head began to loll back and D-16 adjusted him with his shoulder. “Orion, what did you say just now?”

Orion held up two digits again. “This much?”

“No, no, no, after that. About falling in love with me.”

Orion giggled, though there was a bit of nervousness to his giggles this time. He did not say anything for a few moments, and D-16 slowed his walk when Orion finally spoke.

“Dee, I really—” Orion stared longingly into D-16’s optics, making his vents hitch. He smiled softly and his optics flickered down to D-16’s dermas for just a moment before he looked up again. “I really -hic- I really need to use the restroom.”

D-16 paused for a moment, registering what Orion had said, and then laughed softly. “You’re so weird. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Orion hummed and nodded, then began to giggle again. D-16 rolled his optics and placed a servo on Orion’s hip to make sure that he did not fall over. Orion placed his servo over D-16’s and tried to lace their digits together. D-16 glanced at Orion, but said nothing in protest otherwise, tightening his grip on Orion’s servo as they walked.

“Dee,” Orion murmured. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

D-16 nodded, guiding Orion to a bench near one of the alleys. D-16 sat him down and stood beside him. Orion looked up at him with a frown and took hold of one of his servos, playing with his digits before pulling him down toward the bench.

“You’re too far away up there. Sit with me,” Orion insisted, and D-16 begrudgingly obeyed.

“Your processor is going to hate you tomorrow.”

“I only had two, though.”

D-16 could not hold back a laugh this time, thinking of the four that he had himself. He was definitely buzzed, but at least he could walk in a straight line without assistance. Orion continued to play with D-16’s digits, gently tracing the inside of his servo and toying with the tips of his digits. Orion’s touch was soft and ticklish, but it was entertaining him, so D-16 did not try and pull his servo away.

Orion then began to trace up D-16’s arm, feeling every ridge and dent that he had collected over the years in the mines. D-16 had begun to space out, thinking of other things while Orion continued to explore the ridges of his body.

D-16 only came back to reality when Orion was beginning to trace his faceplate. He turned to face Orion, who pulled his servo away without breaking optic contact. “How have I never seen you?”

“What are you talking about? I see you every day,” D-16 chuckled, but Orion shook his helm.

“Maybe I should fall in love with you again… So I can see all of you this time.”

D-16 felt his faceplates warm, and he was sure this time that he had not misheard Orion.

Love? Was Orion… in love with him?

D-16’s processor whirled as he watched Orion, whose optics were trailing up and down his body. Suddenly aware of how much longing was in Orion’s gaze, D-16 stared into his optics and absentmindedly reached for Orion’s servo. Their digits brushed and D-16 flinched slightly despite being the one to initiate the touch.

Orion, despite the state of his processor, confidently took D-16’s servo in his own. He smiled sheepishly and finally tore his gaze away. “Uh oh…”

“‘Uh oh’? Pax, are you okay?” D-16’s intake was dry, his glossa heavy as he fretted over Orion. His chest felt tight, his spark beating fast, and his focus was locked in on Orion, who was now leaning his frame against D-16’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, I just– I think I just fell in love with you again,” Orion sighed, tilting his helm so that he could look at D-16. “You’re mesmerizing.”

D-16 burned. “Pax– Pax you can’t just say stuff like that!” He paused and tightened his grip on Orion’s servo. His glossa felt like lead in his mouth, but he finally mustered up the courage to ask his question. “How did you fall in love with me?”

Orion chuckled, shuttering his optics and leaning closer. “You made it too easy.” He gently lifted the servo that held D-16’s, not letting go as he rocked their servos back and forth in a mindless motion. It had always been a habit of Orion’s to gesture while he talked, and now he was bringing D-16 in. “You’re always– always there for me, and I feel so at home with you.”

D-16 was listening intently to Orion, his spark thrumming as he continued on. “I mean, we do live together, so of course you’re my home, but you’re so much more. You listen to me when no one else will, and every time you speak I feel like I get lost in your voice. You keep me grounded, and I feel like if I were without you–” Orion paused to hiccup, but then did not continue.

D-16 wanted to press Orion for more, wanted to tell him how much he felt for Orion as well, but every word was caught in his intake. They sat in silence for a while, and despite D-16 priding himself on words, he found himself incapable of a response. His processor tried so many times to formulate, but so many things he wanted to say rolled over each other like waves. He felt like he was on an ocean, and all he had to do was drink the water in order to know exactly what to say, but the salinity would rust him, the water would kill him to drink.

So he stayed silent.

Orion shifted after a few moments and pulled away from D-16. The absence of his frame was jolting, and every word that D-16 had tried to formulate suddenly threatened to leap from his throat. Orion was the reckless one, he was the bold one who always took risks that almost never paid off. D-16 was supposed to stay in line and never let his friend go too far. Orion had stepped over a line and was holding his arms open for D-16, but he was afraid to cross that line, no matter how bad he yearned to be with him.

“Dee…” Orion said, so softly that D-16’s audials hardly picked up on it. Words had become so difficult, so elusive. D-16 turned to look at Orion, whose optical ridge was furrowed with worry. “Dee, I don’t feel good.”

Suddenly aware of the situation again, D-16 felt his processor readjust and his spark settle. “Let’s get you back to recharge. C’mere.”

D-16 stood and helped Orion up, more aware of how he touched Orion than ever. He had always kept his feelings close to his chest, and had tried to push them down whenever he was with Orion. But after hearing Orion say how similarly he felt, it was hard to keep the lid on them.

Orion was easy enough to guide back to the dormitories and D-16 helped him into his recharge station. He held onto D-16’s servo, but as he drifted off, his digits slowly loosened until his servo fell down by his side. D-16 watched until Orion was fully in recharge, and then also glanced around the dormitories. Everyone else was either asleep, on their shift, or otherwise not in the general area. D-16 took a deep, shuddering breath and looked once more at Orion. He hesitated for a moment, his servos twitching with indecision, but he finally leaned forward and pressed his dermas to the top of Orion’s helm.

“Goodnight, Orion.”

#transformers #transformers one #maccadam #tf one #d 16 #d 16 x orion pax #optimus prime #megop #megatron #apples words

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madame-mongoose · 1 year ago

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Okay but imagine you place your hand on his thigh. Just a light touch, more out of curiosity than anything. Your hand exploring with feather-light touches, feeling the cool, solid metal beneath your palm. Then, you hear his processors whirr, cooling fans kicking up as he registers the intimacy of your touch. His thighs slowly warm under your fingertips and he tugs nervously at his collar. You have him wrapped around your finger, hm? Well, not quite yet, but at this rate I'm sure it'll get there soon.

okay first of all fuck you

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ikkosu · 3 months ago

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G1 prowl. I don't know where I'm going with with this. Mention of 'suggestive stuff but it's not explicit.' hrhrghrhhhrh

IT was a fine evening that night in his habsuite. As usual, the lights are turned off; room shrouded dim with the only illumination apparent is the iridescent glow from the desk lamp that tugged an ache in his optics.

He persevered, however. No matter how uncomfortable the ache pulsed. Bent over the desk, he skimmed through the expense protocols from this morning's briefings. It wasn't usually his position to handle the funds. The most he's got his hands on is managing the military expenditure, ensuring nothing is nicked during the process. But given the mech prior his employment had handled the situation indelicately, 'usually', he's now tasked with the errand to do so.

Another one of the many issues he'll have to sort through. As if being the tactician isn't enough. Not only will he have to spend weeks formulating battle plans but also play side-hustle as a financier.

Ultra Magnus expected the finished product the end of this week. Unfortunately for him, he'll give it seven days prior.

Footsteps patter in front of the door. He's too fixated on a misspelling to hear it slide open. (Is it so hard to not miss the other 'i' in Liaison?) And when his proximity sensor does register — swivelling around in surprise, the chastise lodged in his throat is cut short when a forty Cybertronians isn't in his view - but tipping his helm down is your minuscule form on the floor.

You peered back up, features twisted in solemn ire. Nose scrunched, lips down turned. Eyes distraught.

"You look..." He tried to find the word. When he couldn't he settled on something less severe he winced out. "...unhappy."

You sighed. "You have no idea."

With a slight tilt of his helm, he crouches to your level and curls out a servo. It didn't take long to waddle onto the palm, clutching the thumb to keep yourself balanced as he raises himself. You blinked when the thumb you're holding moves, pressing against your cheek then back and forth against the skin. You leaned into the touch and nuzzled the ridge.

"I was in trouble.” You spoke after a moment.

Prowl raises a brow. Oh? Trouble? You're not usually the worst ones. Worst are the twins. Along with an occasional Smokescreen and Hot rod thrown into the mix.

"That seems a little vague." He says, ploddings towards his desk.

"Hardly. It's just a little scolding I've got from ultra Magnus."

" What did you do to warrants such a transgression from the commander? Nothing too severe, I suppose?"

"That's for Wheeljack to decide. All I did was follow what the twins told me to do.

He sets you on the table, turning around to sort his datapads while you brought your legs to your chest, crossing your arms and perching your chin on top of it.

"Twins?" He frowned, tossing aside a datapad that read: Base Report #096.

"Sunstreaker? Sideswipe? The twins?" You list off. "...Don't tell me you forgot them too."

"I've got better things to remember." He tosses aside another report. Battle plans. Classified information. Blueprints.A digit points to his helm. “ Hard copies are unreliable. They're easily taken advantage of if not stored safely. That is why it is essential my processors are clear of any 'irrelevant' information."

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Red black. Yellow black. I don't see how hard it is for you to remember primary colors."

"Perceptor is also red and black."

"But you remember him."

"Only because he is my direct liaison to the Scientific district." Prowl turns halfway to you and you can see the quirk of a smile. "He's worth remembering." A pause. “And I suppose," He goes back to his desk. "You are too."

Silence. Prowl's door wings flick up straight as he fully faces you. You observed the unusual blue hue on his cheeks, though. Are those...?

"What did they tell you?" He asked, organizing the datapads

There was a pause as you observed him for a moment.

"Promise me you won't laugh."

He shoots you a look. "I don't laugh.”

"You do."

"Only when it's necessary."

"That's a 'somtime."

"A probability close to half."

You groaned. "Its just some stupid joke they've managed to rook me into. Tell me, what the hell does frag mean?"

His door wings flick up, just as his lips does. " Why, its an equivalent to your, ah, well — equivalent to the curse word—"

" Fuck?" You finish for him since it was obvious Prowl would take a lifetime to enunciate that word.

"How...tragic."

"Oh, please—"

"I'm going to assume they've tricked you into uttering it beside the commander?"

You crawled towaeds him, "They said it means rest! Can you believe that? Everytime I needed a break they told me to use 'frag' since it practically means the same! Except Cybertronian? Can you imagine the humiliation when I realized ice been going around telling bots that I need a frag? To everyone?!"

He scoops you up into his servos,and you noticed the surface lightly shook. You look up and is greeted by the crescent crease of his optics.

"Laugh and I'll pour water on your datapads."

He starts moving again, still unable to hide his sounds of amusement. " I admit that's a little—"

" It's terrible!"

"Yes, very terrible." Prowl sits on the edge of the berth, adjusting his position as he leans back, you perched on his chassis. " You have my condolences."

" Now, everyone thinks I'm some player with a desire to bag all bots in this base!" You hid your face into your palms. The memories of this morning resurfaces and the burn sears into a scalding heat. "This is— they're not even my type.....i don't even— ugh. Take me, now."

"Not unless you've taken the lives of the twins first."

You look up. Prowl is looking down softly.

"Oh, I will." You crawl up, tucking yourself under his chin. "Tommorow. They're never going to escape."

"An apple for an eye?" His voice rumbles as he spoke. A digit curls out and rubs your back.

"A paint job for a paint job." You leaned close into the cables of his neck.

"Sunstreaker adores his finish..." He mumbled.

"That's why I'll give it a little mishap."

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #idw prowl #prowl x reader #prowl

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