#Registers in processor

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[mrnnki-img]

odaxelagnia

[varanasi-city]

Amazing Samsung Galaxy F15 5G की कीमत और डिस्काउंट

Samsung Galaxy F15 5G Samsung Galaxy F15 5G ,Samsung ने लॉन्च किया सस्ता 5G फोन, मिलेगा 50MP कैमरा और 6000mAh की बैटरी, 11,999 में मिलेगा! Samsung Galaxy F15 5G को भारत में लॉन्च कर दिया है. यह एक बजट 5G फोन (Budget 5G Phone) है. सैमसंग के इस हैंडसेट में 50MP का ट्रिपल रियर कैमरा दिया है. इसमें 6000mAh की बैटरी मिलती है, जो बेहतर बैटरी बैकअप देगा. कंपनी ने लिमिटेड टाइम के लिए डिस्काउंट भी दे रहा…

[oh-dameron]

SecUnit armour should attach directly to anchor points on the construct. If you're building something designed to wear armour then including couplings for it just makes sense. A human should not physically be able to wear SecUnit armour not because it's too heavy (though it probably would be too heavy/cumbersome to move well in) but because it doesn't have straps and buckles or lock to itself like human armour does: it clips onto the underlying foundation (the SecUnit).

It's disposable plating meant to take hits and then be replaced, but it's also an extension of the construct's body.

I have a lot of Feelings about Murderbot and its armour, how terribly it misses its opaque faceplate and how naked and vulnerable it feels every time it goes into combat without it. How in System Collapse it feels weird about taking Three's armour, and whether that's an extension on how it feels about armour in general, taking Three's specifically, or its evolving feelings about being expected to charge into combat in the first place. It's a component Murderbot lost early on and has never been able to replace, an exoskeleton it's struggling to learn to live without even as the humans around it don't even register it as a loss.

I think it's pretty likely that given the choice, it would generally prefer to chill in the argument lounge in full armour with its faceplate opaqued. Without that option it's been forced out of its comfort zone and has connected with its humans in a way that Mensah correctly predicted it never would have otherwise, which. Yay. But now it's done all this hard work and uncomfortable growth I hope eventually it gets its comfortable shell back.

Not to wear all of the time, because ART's crew uniforms are very soft and don't have seams or logos that it doesn't like, and ART's argument lounge and Preservation Station are safe places where it can be around humans without needing it. But next time shit hits the fan I hope ART gets to do a dramatic reveal of the bleeding edge armour it contacted the PSUMNT AI that has a special interest in materials science to make. It upgraded its fabrication units to be able to build it. It hacked Company blueprints to get a design schematic to scoff at and then improve. It's got the stealth coating they lifted from the NE hostiles. It's got extra data storage and processors tucked in there big enough to carry an ART partition. It comes with a whole fleet of matching drones. It's Perihelion blue. You can't buy armour this good (who would ever spend this much to protect a construct?), but it would hypothetically cost more than a fully kitted-out brand-new top-of-the-line CombatUnit. ART paid for it out of its own accounts and will not be taking questions about PSUMNT mission budgets at this time.

The wall retracts to reveal a secret armoury like in a spy movie, complete with theme music and coloured lighting, both because ART is Extra and because it knows that Murderbot has some mixed feelings about armour and having nice things. Giving it cheesy melodramatic presentation to nitpick and protest over will be comforting, even as they both unironically enjoy the homage to the episode of Timestream Defenders Orion with the chrono-displaced space knights.

This got away from me, but tl;dr: let the awkward turtle have its shell back!

[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.

[keferon]

Part 4 of Drift/Deadlock and Hot Rods adventure in the mecha au!

Here comes the Sun do do do do- here comes the Sun at Mach five.

———————————————————————

Deadlock needed to kill something. Badly.

He’d kept it together through Ratchets confession. And he kept a relaxed mischievous banter going from the Hangar all the way to Ratchets makeshift clinic. When they finally arrived in Dead En-

The refugee camp. It was called a refugee camp and nothing else.

Deadlock almost transformed in the fragging middle of a refugee camp.

The memory snuck up on him okay?

Ever since he cracked open that one, tiny, memory from before he was Deadlock, pieces of Drift kept floating to the surface.

He gave Ratchet a quick goodbye, saying he needed something to eat. And sped off before the medic could question him.

He needed violence and isolation. Needed to reset his whole damn processor and banging his helm against a hard-organic-stick-thing? Whatever the fuck. Frag? Ugh. It wasn’t working.

He was shaky, couldn’t focus. His chassis felt like it was put inside a vise and someone who hated him had control of the handle.

Ratchet had been a breath of fresh air when Deadlock hadn’t even known he was buried alive. And since then the medic had been stubbornly digging him the rest of the way out.

It. Just felt good.

Being cared for. Being able to relax around someone. And knowing with absolute certainty it wasn’t just an act.

He got used to it. Comfortable with a certain level of vulnerability. Then Ratchet brought in Hot Rod.

If Ratchet was a breeze that slipped inside Deadlocks mental fortress, then Hot Rod was a Fragging bunker busting missile. None of it felt like he deserved it.

Ratchet laid out his spark for judgement. Because Ratchet, amazing and wonderful and impossible Ratchet, didn’t want Deadlock to be stuck with someone like him.

Something shitty inside him whispered, “What if Ratchet doesn’t want to be stuck with someone like him?”

He ignored it. Pushed it down. He didn’t leak coolant over slag like that. He didn’t need people like Ratchet or Hot Rod in his life. He just really, really wanted them in his life. For completely selfish Decepticon-y reasons.

You’d die for them you know.

Shut up.

Deadlock’s processor wouldn’t stop spinning.

He felt exposed.

He felt like slag.

He felt like Drift.

So Deadlock set out to do the most Deadlock thing he could think of.

———————————————————————

Deadlock fucked up.

Deadlock fucked up very badly.

Snow was getting caught in his optics, melting on contact into a slush that made it that much harder to see.

The fragging swarm of quintesson scouts surrounding him were not having that same problem.

They moved in a pack. Smaller and smarter than the standard issue quints that normally devastated the planet, these things unfortunately had a tiny sense of self preservation which made mowing them down that much more difficult.

Deadlock was forced to constantly turn on his peds to avoid the majority of the quints that kept going after his back. There wasn’t a moment he wasn’t beating them off with the stock of his rifle. He couldn’t switch to any close range weapons because if he stopped fighting them off for even a second, the quints would rush him all at once, forcing him to continue.

Couldn’t stop moving for the same reason.

They kept trying to get behind him. Snapping barbed tendrils at the backs of his knees, the gaps of his armor. Trying to force him down.

If I fall I’m dead.

Deadlocks vents were screaming. A brave little fragger went for his face, Deadlock swung his rifle like a bat.

Distraction.

Shooting pain went through the back of his left knee joint. Something with barbs was forcing it apart. Something tore.

Deadlock immediately brought down the barrel through an eye socket and pulled the trigger. Didn’t have time to register if the quint was dead before another one came at him from the opposite side. His peds dragged furrows through the earth and snow. Spinning. He had to keep spinning.

He was slowing.

If I fall I’m dead.

The quints redoubled their efforts to get behind him. More lashes at his back. Another quint darting the other direction. Didn’t even attack. But Deadlock wasn’t ready for the feint and swung at empty air.

The pack leapt at his back as one.

I’m going to die.

Deadlock wedged his rifle between him and the ground. The quintessons tore into his back but the weight was too much to throw off without help.

I’m not gonna see them again.

The rifle dug into his pauldron.

I don’t want to die.

A tendril wrapped around his neck. He clawed at it.

I don’t want to die like this.

One of them was dragging a ped backwards. Forcing his weight onto his injured knee.

I don’t want to die alone.

Drift screamed.

For a moment, from the corner of his blurry optics, he saw a light growing brighter and brighter.

“Huh”, Drift thought deliriously. “I always figured the last light you see before death would appear in front of you.”

IMPACT against the mob at his back sent Drift and the quintesson scouts scattering across the ground.

He fell.

He wasn’t dead.

Deadlock scrambled into an upright kneel, ignoring the lightning like pain shooting up his knee.

Leaning on his rifle, Deadlock saw another mech. Orange and gold with propane blue lights, he had multiple quints trapped in a bear hug. What hit him the hardest was an EM field overflowing with wild, unrestrained joy.

“HOT ROD?!?”

The mecha pilot only got about half the squirmy, bite-y little scrappers in the hold. The other half were quickly shaking off probable Roddy-induced concussions and began leaping at the nearest, newest prone target.

Hot Rod waved.

“Hey dude! Holy shit, that gun looks awesome!” Deadlock looked on in disbelief as more quintessons piled onto Hot Rod.

“What are you doing?! Rod get up!” Deadlock lurched to his feet, his last few thoughts repeated like a skipping track.

I was going to die. I was going to die. Hot Rod is going to die.

The cybertronian rushed towards the mecha. Hot Rod released the remaining quints who quickly turned to join the crushing mass subsuming him.

Hot Rod raised a hand, “Stop! Stop! Don’t get closer!”

Deadlock stopped just short of where the quints would turn on him. “Are you insane?! I’m trying to help you!”

��Just trust me!” Half of Hot Rod’s helm was covered in blackish tendrils. “And then help me in about five seconds!” Orange and gold disappeared under the writhing mass, the light snuffed out before Deadlocks optics.

He finally subspaced his rifle, switching to duel short range handguns that were both messy and loud. He counted five, fucking human seconds.

Something happened to the mass. The squirming suddenly stopped, and in the gaps of the knots surrounding Hot Rod, Deadlock saw something start to glow.

In the next instance, the quintessons exploded off of the mecha. Partially from the act of fleeing, entirely because Hot Rod was completely engulfed in flames.

“WOO! Now the party can get started!” Hot Rod wasted no time in engaging duel flamethrowers and began chasing after the remaining quints with manic glee.

Deadlock stopped questioning shit and started shooting with a vengeance.

Soon enough, the field around them was littered with the quintesson scouts burned and shredded remains.

Deadlocks vents were finally kicking down from maximum and he finally managed to wipe the stupid slagging slush out of his optics.

For the moment his eyes were offline, Deadlock felt a spike of happy that almost bowled him over. A half second before Hot Rod physically bowled him over.

Deadlock’s overtaxed fight or flight systems just gave the fuck up and let the tackle happen.

Hot Rod had him in a tight enough embrace he wasn’t sure he could have gotten away anyways.

“Holy shit I thought you were going to die.” Hot Rod crushed him to his chassis. The twin waves of Worry and Relief were doing things to his processor again. Deadlock (Drift?) was still feeling the aftershocks of it all. Memories skipped again. I’m going to die.

Dea-Dri- he wrapped his shaking arms around Hot Rod. Later, he could just say his knee gave out. Everything was spinning. Wait. No. Hot Rod picked him up and was spinning with him.

“You’re so lil now!” Hot Rod was ecstatic.

Deadlock was back. “Put me down. Gently.”

Hot Rod acquiesced, but seeing Deadlock nearly fall on his own, took the liberty of slinging one of his arms over his shoulders.

“M’kay. You look like shit. Need help walking back to Ratchets? Or can you drive?”

Deadlocks knee and entire back ached, but it wasn’t so debilitating once he’s had a chance to process it for a click.

“Uh, I think I’ll be okay to drive once I get to a road.” Hot Rod pulled him a little more securely into the supporting hold and started walking in the direction of the nearest road.

“Man, that’s still so cool you can do that. I wish I could turn into a car.”

Deadlock snorted, “Oh I’m sure if you keep practicing you’ll figure it out. Try stretching.”

Hot Rod laughed. It was so weird to think there was just a little guy in there. Sitting in like, a fancy cup holder. He sounded like the real thing. Moved like it too. If Deadlock hadn’t met Hot Rod the human first, the uncanny valley would have tipped him off something was wrong, but teeny tiny guy in a big person-puppet would not be his first guess.

Hot Rod stopped short, snapping his helm toward Deadlock.

“Wait. Do you ever drop off Ratchet at the shatterdome?”

Deadlock rolled his optics at the third near spark attack Hot Rod had given him that day.

“Yeeeah?”

Excitement started bubbling over.

“YOU’RE THE MOB BOYFRIEND?!” Hot Rod was stomping his peds while scream-laughing, probably because he couldn’t go for a run without dropping Deadlock.

“Dude! Dude dude dude. Pharma haaates you!”

Well that put Deadlock in a better mood. Albeit, only due to a “misunderstanding”.

“S’not like that. I just give him a lift sometimes. Make sure he doesn’t forget his lunch. Or to take care of himself. We’re not, you know.” Deadlock was pointedly looking the other direction.

Hot Rods cackled at the confirmation of the rumor, and his field steadily shifted towards mischief.

“Oooh Ratchet!” Hot Rod had begun speaking in a falsetto voice. “I love you sooo much! I’m from space but my favorite stars are the ones twinkling in your eyes! I wanna drive you to every beautiful place on this planet and when we finally come home we can watch Golden Girls while you pet my big bald metal head!”

“I’m going to punt you into a fragging Sun.”

Hot Rod laughed harder. He started making some weird wheezing noise that Deadlock hoped meant the imaginary strangling he was doing was working.

“THE UNICRON DAMNED SUN.”

Deadlock’s threatening was severely undercut by the fact that he was laughing now as well. They’d just about made it to the edge of the forest when Hot Rod asked a question that made Deadlock freeze.

“How’d you piss off so many scouts at once anyways? They’re normally way too spread out to all be grouped together like that.”

There were only two times when a pack of quintesson scouts were all gathered in the same place. When they first get dropped off, and when they gather to get picked back up.

Deadlock unhooked his arm from Hot Rod, turning behind them.

The change in air pressure made his finales tingle. Between the snow and the darkness, it was almost impossible to spot with the untrained optic. The snow had stopped falling. It was being blocked.

“Oooh shit.” Hot Rod checked the fuel levels on his flame throwers, glancing between those and the telltale green bio lights of the fuck off massive quintesson descending like the lethargic offspring of a meteor and a shark.

Deadlock brought out two of his heaviest duty guns. And then a third he handed handle first to Hot Rod. Ratchet had only warned him against encouraging Hot Rod’s stupid ideas.

Hot Rod was now looking rapidly between three points of interest.

“Wha-?”

Deadlock gave Hot Rod a gun.

“Do not tell Ratchet.”

Hot Rod held up the side arm. Focus zeroed in. Pretty nasty piece that looked more intimidating than it was. Slagged range but it packed enough of a punch to be worth keeping. Covered in spikes and blades and heavy enough to act as a crude but very nasty club, it was also one of the most over the top looking things Deadlock owned.

Hot Rod’s free hand started flapping faster and faster. His peds similarly bounced rapidly in place, until Deadlock was certain he was about to combust. Hot Rod was making A noise. One that was steadily rising in both pitch and volume. His field going supernova.

The quintesson broke through the clouds, maw open, carving up the earth before them with the bottom of its jaw. A cliffside of teeth was closing in at speed.

Hot Rod screamed.

And Deadlock followed suit.

Sprinting towards death, guns blazing and voices raised in preemptive victory, Deadlock and maybe also Drift, had a suspicion the he and Hot Rod were friends in every universe.

Much to the terror of everyone else.

———————————————————————

And that’s the soft finale to this tale!

Over the course of writing this, the story kept getting longer, but the two scenes it started with were “Hot Rod Meets Deadlock” and “Hot Rod Saves Deadlock” and then more ideas kept popping in between those two scenes.

There is more I plan on writing for these dipshits as well as Jazz and Prowl now but we’ll see what comes first.

I just wanted to say as well that @keferon you are a very talented writer and you’re the reason I was brave enough to share my own stuff. You fit so many little details into your work that just hits like a hammer down the line.

-SSTP

THE SWEET SWEET COMFORT YESSS THE SHENANIGANS!! ABSOLUTELY. Y E S. PL E A S E fklgjgidowjehrkrndhdof

Oh this is amazing. The dynamic you give them. The enERGY. It's like a candy for my soul I love it so so much ogkfhdgd I'm so happy you decided to share your writing! It's filled with joy and and I-dont-fucking-know purified enthusiasm?? I can't remember the right words rn but hopefully you get what I mean haha

[rabotimagines]

"Good job" GN BOT Reader x Trailbreaker, Optimus, Bumblebee, Red Alert, Soundwave, Thundercracker, Starscream, Megatron

Summary: You tell your significant other good job and kiss his cheek.

Genre/Theme: Romantic fluff!

Warnings: Aftermath of Megatron inflicted violence in Strascream's

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: Cybertronian reader, I'm casually referencing G1 episodes here and there.

Trailbreaker sparkdamn near collapses after Cosmos gave him the go-ahead to drop his force field. He doesn't manage to catch himself before his legs refuse to follow his equilibrium center and keep himself up right. He crashes into someone who quickly makes an effort to keep him upwards. Brawn is on his other side helping support him, too. Primus, Trailbreaker can't feel a lot of his frame right now. And to say he was exhausted would be putting it softly.

Trailbreaker registers your helm kibble and lately realizes it's you on his other side only when you kiss him on the cheek. "Good job." You praise him, and your em field is caressing his frame. If Trailbreaker had the energy right now, his optics would be burning hot. But there is a warm ball settling in his spark from your affection that gives Trailbreaker enough energy to smile and weakly chuckle. Trailbreakers just glad you all didn't die in a burning inferno. Trailbreakers' servo is grasped onto your pauldron and he lets his own em field drag along your frame.

Hopefully, you guys can kick Decepticon tailpipe fast. Because Trailbreaker needed to enter recharge badly. Preferably with his helm on your chassis.

-

Optimus sinks into his chair with a thunk. His frame is heavy and much too warn out after the days events. You'd all almost died, and none of you would have been able to avert it if it wasn't for Trailbreaker's quick thinking. He's still getting through the multiple apologies from the various human leaders, for almost accidentally condemning you all to such an unjust fate. Optimus sighed when he recalled the insults, and things shouted at them from the humans when they'd believed the fake evidence.

Optimus straightens his frame out when you enter his office. He nods and picks up a data pad to continue reading where he left off. You place an energon cube on his desk, and Optimus is about to rightfully thank you for it. But you're suddenly lightly guiding his helm. The soft press of your derma against the side of Optimus's battle mask had his finials perking back straight like they're supposed to be. "Good job." You praise him, and the next soft sigh out of Optimus makes his chassis leagues lighter.

"Thank you, love." Optimus mummers when you slowly pull away, one of his servos finding your arm and squeezing lightly. Optimus would finish this sooner than later now that he remembered he had more important matters to attend to...

-

Bumblebee's struts were killing him after that tornado he charged into. He's glad the plan worked anyway, and Auggie wasn't as big as an aft as he could've been. So the charities actually got something to split. But right now everything ached and after getting cleared by Hoist he tracked out and found you waiting for him in the hallway. Bumblebee was catching you up on the Insanity you'd just missed, ending his recap with how the charities only got something because of Auggie.

Bumblebee's not really paying as much attention as he usually would be because he's really tired. So he's surprised when your arm gets tossed over his pauldrons. Your arm crooks, and you dragged his frame close against your own. Bumblebee cycles his optics when you press close to kiss his cheek. "Good job." Bumblebee's optics brighten, and his plating fluffs under your affections. The ache is less obvious under the attention of your warm em field.

Bumblebee laughs, a smile making its way onto his face. "Aw, shucks-" Bumblebee readily leans against your own frame. He didn't know what he'd do without you sometimes.

-

Red Alert's processor is finally re-calibrated to account for his own heightened sensors and his own glitch. Ratchet and Hoist both granted him clearance to leave. On the condition, he is off duty for the next two cycles to rest and recover. The thought only makes Red Alert panic, because what were they supposed to do in the meantime while he was gone!? No one would be taking the necessary security measures like he would, and they could very well be infiltrated! All because he let himself be tricked by Starscream of all bots!

He's marching through the hallway towards his habsuite, trying to think of something to combat the coming major security risk. And a bot comes around the corner and Red Alert jerks so he doesn't crash into them- he almost barks out they state their Autobot ID but realizes it's you when you advance further and- your derma presses soft onto the side of his faceplate and you pull back. "Good job." Red Alerts sensors fizzle, and when he comprehends what you'd said, he asks for clarification. You just cycle your optics as if he's the unreasonable one here. "For doing the right thing at the end."

Red Alert's glitch fizzles into a dull hum when the affection starts burning in his frame. "You- I-" He suddenly can't find what to say but you just smile and offer a servo out to him. He takes it, and you start leading him on the path towards your own habsuite. Maybe he could just send a few dozen debriefs while he was forced to rest...

-

Soundwave was not an easy mech to wear down. But right now, he was practically just his struts at this point. The giant flying ship Megatron had them built was rerouted to directly on top of the nemesis... as it was crashing. Sealing the breaches themselves was their own task and a half. The ship only had so many fail safes for armor breaches. The other was even rounding up the Decepticons to hurry and save their base from becoming utterly and completely flooded. Soundwave had gotten into arguments with others, been threatened, and had to pull leagues of saved blackmail. But the nemesis was not in mortal danger anymore.

Soundwave tapped out the next orders he was sending out via his datapad. A frame made its way towards him out of the edge of his visors compression. Lazerbeak, who was on his paldron, did not react in any way, so he'd assumed he would be fine continuing to focus on his work. So when two servos grasp the sides of his helm, Soundwave freezes and preemptively resigns himself to probably being thrown across the room. Only he's tugged and- derma press against the side of his mask, and Soundwave realizes it's you when your em field touches him. "Good job." You murmur, and Soundwave's plating flattens back out.

Soundwave can't stop the hum of a sound in his vocalizor when his chassis warms with tenderness. Lazerbeak jumped from one of his pauldrons to his other and leaned over for a kiss, too. You obliged, and Lazerbeak hums a sound much like Soundwave's own. Soundwave could give himself a much needed break after this joor. He deserved it after all...

-

Thundercracker was going to put a dent or two into Starscream if he sees him any time soon! Couldn't keep Thundercracker out of his schemes for two klicks! Then Skyfire shows back up alive, and Starscream decides to act even more reckless than usual. Even after Thundercracker told him to keep him out of his slag! But no! He had to try and make Thundercracker screw up guarding the artifact and almost get them both slagged by the Autobots at the same time! Thundercrackers marching his way to the flight deck because he needed to go for a fly before his weapon system engaged the next time he got even slightly angrier.

Thundercracker almost runs into a bot on a hallway corner, and his wings slant even further, promising violence, and he bares his denta. Only his wings re correct, and his optics widen when he realizes it's you. Before he can mutter out anything, you step even closer and grab his face. Thundercracker lets you lead his frame, and you plant a kiss right on the side of his cheek. "Good job." You tell him and pull away, your em field smoothing the puffed plating down on his front.

Thundercracker's system disengages with its attempt to start up his battle measures. His plating slacks all at once, and his pauldrons drop and loosen along with the rest of his frame. And Thundercrackers suddenly very tired instead of raging so hard it felt like his spark was about to burst. Thundercracker sighs, and you just grab his servo and start leading him back towards his habsuite. Primus, Thundercracker needed to lie down, maybe with his helm in your lap...

-

Starscream huffed, the sound coming out like the plating being scraped right off a bot. Oh, go get the footage reel, Strascream! We won't tell you there's more than one reel till you get back! How the frag was Strascream supposed to know anything about there being a backup!? He had to push his next assassination attempt up a bit further as a "thank you" for Megatrons' kindness in only ripping his entire vocalizor and half his throat right out of him.

New movement made him sneer in the general direction of whoever It was who just entered the med bay. The touch of a familiar em field made his plating slack back down slightly. You made it to his side, and Strascream didn't bother looking your way, too busy scheming (and not wanting to see whatever expression was on your faceplate). Your servos tilted his face gently to the side, and your derma pressed against his cheek. "Good job." You muttered while your other servo moved by his wing and traced the edge of it. Starscream's plating fluffs then flattens even further than before. A very minute sliver of his rage shimmers out to make room for some sliver of fondness.

He then huffs again the sound just as splitting as before from his broken parts. Starscream looks away from your optics quickly to scowl at the wall instead. He wants to rant and rave to you, but he'll have to settle for seething silently by your side for now...

-

Megatron sits down on his chair with a heavy sound, with his servo coming up to pinch the edge of his olfactory right between his optics. The battle and mistakes of the day that nearly lead to you all blowing up alongside this sparkdamn rock. A quick biting of glossia, temporary alliance, and panicking, and you all were no longer going to die in a plant wide explosion. He should have accounted for Devastators pension for- stupidity. Apparently they'd shorted his logic center in the fight for control of him, but he should have seen that coming regardless. But instead, that careless mistake smashed right through the escape plans and almost killed everyone. The door opening doesn't make him glance because whoever It was should know better to come in uninvited without a sparkdamn good reason for it.

Your em field drags along his back when you get closer, and his plating rattles a touch when he huffs in realization. You're on his side, and your servos drag his faceplate towards you. Your derma presses soft against the side right where his helm ends and meets his cheek. "Good job," you say and Megatron levels you with a look that he knows says more than just his displeasure. You aren't intimidated by it, continuing on regardless. "Don't pout at me. You still sent a lot of energon back to Cybertron."

He- supposed you had a point. It did end up a disaster and nearly a deadly disaster. But a large amount of energon was still acquired and sent off to Cybertron before it had gone badly. Which means more time before anyone on Cybertron would starve. Megatron's expression loosens a touch before he grabs you by your waist to drag you into sitting on his lap. (He still does this on the off chance you are larger than him). Megatron had more plans to make, and he can make them with your em field brushing along him.

[quackfallbackhq]

Transformers Autobots Characters Reacting To They're S/o Thinking Of Having Their Sparkling's (NSFW DRABBLES?)

(semi) 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 stills—his entire frame locked as your whispered words register.

You thought about having sparkings anyway.

His spark flares, heat thrumming through his frame as his servos instinctively tighten on your hips. His optics dim, processor struggling to keep up with the sheer weight of what you just confessed.

“You… thought about carrying mine?” His voice is low, rough—there’s something primal lurking beneath the usual control.

And then he groans, optics flickering as he pulls you closer, his frame still deeply connected to yours.

“… Then let’s make it happen.”

Bumblebee

Bee’s entire frame shutters, vents stuttering as he tries to process what you just said.

"You… you thought about it?"

His servos tremble against your thighs, his engine revving instinctively. You feel the way his spark pulses against yours, how his field tightens around you.

His optics flash, helm pressing into your shoulder as he grinds into you just a little more—still sensitive but reacting to the idea.

“Primus, you can’t just say that,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, voice thick with something deep, something needy. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Ratchet

Ratchet’s processor blue screens.

Like—this wasn’t a conversation he expected to have while still buried inside you.

His optics flicker, his servo gripping your waist as his vents struggle to cycle properly.

“… You want that?” His voice is rough, almost hoarse.

You nod, hips shifting just slightly against him, and he growls—low, deep, his spark flaring as the implications of what you’re saying hit hard.

“… Then we might need to test your frame’s compatibility,” he mutters, lips grazing your jaw. “Thoroughly.”

Jazz

Jazz whimpers.

Like, actually whimpers.

His processor is fried, his entire frame shuddering as your words settle into his very spark.

“Oh, frag—”

He buries his face against your chest, field wrapping around yours in a desperate, needy embrace.

"You can't just say that, babe,” he pants, his servos gripping your hips, optics blazing.

But then—he grins, lazy and sultry, his hips rolling just slightly to emphasize he’s still deep inside you.

“… Guess we better keep trying ‘til we know for sure, huh?”

Ironhide

Ironhide’s engine rumbles.

Your words sink in slowly—his processor taking an extra second to fully grasp what you just admitted.

And then?

His grip tightens.

"You thought about it, huh?" His voice is low, deep, filled with something possessive.

His optics flash, his entire field surging around you as he pulls you closer, his plating still pressed flush against yours.

“… Then maybe it’s time we stop thinking and make it real.”

Sideswipe

“Oh, frag, you mean that?”

Sideswipe’s vents shudder, his entire frame twitching from overstimulation, but frag if he doesn’t immediately react to what you just whispered.

You feel his engine rev, his servo gripping your thigh as his processor struggles to keep up.

"Primus, you can’t just drop that on me right after—"

His optics flicker, something hungry brewing in his expression.

“… You sure? ‘Cause I really wouldn’t mind putting in some more… effort.”

Crosshairs

Crosshairs chokes.

Like, full-on chokes. His vents glitch, his entire frame going rigid as his processor shuts down for a solid three seconds.

Then—his optics flick to yours. Wide.

“Wait, wait—you what?”

You smirk, shifting just slightly around him, and he groans, helm dropping back as his servos tighten around you.

"Primus, you can't just say stuff like that—" He pauses, optics flickering with something darker.

"... But if you're serious, sweetheart? Then frag, we better get to work."

Drift

Drift stills.

His optics are dark, his vents slow and measured—but his field? It flares so intensely around you that you feel the weight of his emotions immediately.

“… You would carry mine?”

His servo drifts to your abdomen, his plating still intimately pressed against yours as his spark pulses hard.

The reverence in his gaze, the way his lips part slightly as he drinks in your words—it’s overwhelming.

“… Then let us not waste time, my love.”

Hound

Hound groans—deep, rough, his entire frame thrumming beneath you.

"You thought about it?" His voice is gravelly, optics flickering as his servos tighten on your waist.

Then, suddenly, his lips are on you again—claiming, desperate, his spark pulsing violently against yours.

“… Then we better make damn sure it happens.”

And with the way he rolls his hips? Oh, he’s not stopping anytime soon.

HotRod

Hot Rod whimpers.

Like, actually whimpers. His vents are shaky, his optics wide as your words fully register.

“… Wait. You mean that?”

His field flares, his servos locking around your waist as his processor overheats.

You nod—smug, teasing—and he groans, his engine revving uncontrollably.

"Oh, frag, babe—you know I’m gonna make sure it happens now, right?”

And with the way his hips instinctively buck into yours again? Yeah, you knew exactly what you were doing.

notes - you can read this as different transformers shows or comics you wish, I personally imagine these of Bayverse autobots x cybertronian reader, there's still more I want to write down but let me know if you want more of different things!

[the-void-via]

TW: GUNS, BLOOD, GENERAL VIOLENCE.

Here you go, @havanillas ! Part one of a Rota Fortunea fic :3

“Aventurine!”

Ratio’s voice, crisp and clear, cut through the air as Aventurine’s sensors registered the cold metal of a gun against his head. His eyes widened, turning his head to look at his attacker-

Wait. No, he was on the ground now. What happened?

His systems ran overtime, trying to diagnose the problem-

Ah. His internal mechanisms had been damaged. A gunshot ‘wound’.

He glanced over his sensors, he was losing power, and fast. He looked up, away from the screens in his eyes, and saw a young man looming over what looked to be a corpse–

Wait, no, they were still breathing. A gunshot wound, blood pooling from his shoulder.

Wait. The person with the gun. That was…Ratio, wasn’t it?

“I should kill you,” He hissed, pain in his voice. “I should kill you for what you’ve done.”

The other young man–Sunday, his systems told him–only laughed, holding his wounded shoulder. “You and I both know what that would do. What you would start.”

Ratio raised the gun to Sunday’s head, his hands shaking. He said nothing in response to his taunt, causing him to laugh harder. He was almost hysterical.

“Do you really think you can save him, Doctor? Do you really think he’s worth the effort to save?”

Who were they talking about?

“He’s an android, a husk of spare parts. Meant to be sold, be used-”

Ratio fired.

The gunshot rang out through the underground area, blood splatter on the wall Sunday had been leaning on. His body flopped over, landing with a dull thud.

The gun landed on the floor with a clatter, and Ratio turned on his heel to face Aventurine. His eyes widened, moving over to sit him up and cradle his face in his hands.

“Aventurine! Can you hear me?”

“Y-Yeah,” Aventurine’s voice crackled with static. “I hear you, Doc.”

Ratio sighed heavily, “Thank Aeons. You- he-”

“He shot me, didn’t he?” Aventurine’s voice crackled. “Major damage to my processors…”

Ratio nodded, “Yes. Please, save your energy. I can fix you, I just need to get back to my lab-”

“My sleep mode button,” Aventurine weakly reached up and pulled down part of his cloak, motioning to the serial number imprinted on his neck. “Somewhere over here…”

He trailed off, and Ratio could see his eyes starting to dull. His heart leapt into his throat, scrambling to fiddle around and find the button.

“Ratio,” Aventurine began, voice weak. “If we make it…what will we do?”

“I- I don’t know,” Ratio grumbled, eventually finding the button on his neck. He smiled- smiled for the first time since their little adventure had started. “I found it. I’m going to press it. Aventurine- I promise I will find a way to fix you. I don’t know how long it will take, but-”

“I’m losing power fast, Doc,” Aventurine interrupted, his eyes growing more and more dull. “I know what you’re trying to say. I love you, too.”

Ratio jumped almost, flinching back for a second as his face lit up with bright red. He sighed a little and moved back into position, fingers finding the button once more.

“I love you, damned gambler.”

“Love you, too…Ratio…”

Ratio deftly pressed the button, watching as Aventurine’s eyes lost their color entirely, his face reverting to a neutral look, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes staring far away. He bit back a sob, standing and carefully picking up the sleeping android.

Oil stained his hands as he cradled his head, adjusting his hold on Aventurine a few times before finding the best way was to hold him bridal style. He looked at his face, already missing his colorful gaze and sharp tongue.

He didn’t have time to waste, though. For one thing, the androids above must have heard the gunshot, and he needed to hook Aventurine to a power source before it was too late.

Covering his face with his cloak, Ratio set off.

Miss Herta and Ruan Mei could help. He was sure of it.

Tags: @serendipminie @blak-ie @blackcat2907 @drowning-in-cabbages @lumin-arii

[digitalsymbiote]

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.

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say how much I love your writing! I love all the tfp pet stories (poor smokescreen, he's doing his best), I love the tfo stories (finally got around to watch the movie), but my favourite currently is Waspinator. Our brave boy deserves so many cuddles <3 And I love the pictures from your figures, they're almost as much fun as the fics

Thank you! Waspinator is trying his hardest, but he’s scared out of his processor

Worker Bee Pt 31

Waspinator x Reader

• Getting jerked around as he darts erratically about, he’d left the cover of the trees hours ago, entered a stretch of grassland and brush. The last hour or so had been predominantly brown stretches of nothing, though. Where’s he going? Does he even know? You’d tried to convince him to stop, but he’s babbling and sobbing nonstop, too freaked out to listen. But he’d saved you. Actually attacked another of his kind for you, protected you when you’d been sure he was too scared of his own shadow to fight.

• “Waspinator protect mate. Safe nest. Safe nest for Waspinator and mate,” he mumbles, flying as fast as he can. Slowly registering that he’s heading into Autobot controlled territory and his anxiety doubles. Megatron had sent Barricade to bring him back by force. Had hoped he’d be forgotten, left alone. That he could be happy, but Megatron isn’t going to stop. Hates him, but still won’t let him go. Why won’t he let him go? He’s trembling uncontrollably, optics leaking coolant when he feels the faint hum of a distant biofield and he spots a red truck far below. Autobot? They’ll attack him, hurt you. Right?

• “Wasp, please. We need to stop,” you try again, squirming and still tied up in your curtain, all of his extra limbs clutching you to his frame as he flies in his giant wasp form. Still not listening. Tired, hungry, and really needing to pee, you groan. And slowly realize he’s distantly following the truck ahead of him. Watching it turn off the road and bounce across the dirt. After what feels like forever, it veers and drives straight into the base of a mountain. And disappears. “Wasp?” He’s arrowing down with you, aiming for the base of the mountain where the truck had disappeared.

• Flinching as the holomatter illusion of solid rock shivers over him, and you scream in fear to make his antenna flatten back. Right as sirens shriek. Transforming, he wraps himself around you, kneeling. Autobots might listen. Might also shoot. Wings buzzing aggressively as he tucks your head against his neck, he hisses as Autobots come running, weapons drawn. And he’s tensed, ready to bolt with you. Wincing when you see the weapons on the two of you and start screaming louder. ‘Release the human, Decepticon scum,’ one Autobot, the red truck growls, weapon drawn and humming. “Not Decepticon,” Waspinator growls, servos tightening on you. “Waspinator.”

• Are these the guys that sent the asshole he saved you from? Why would he come here? Heart racing as you look around at the giants and their big guns. ‘Let the human go,’ another black and white mech demands. Wait. Do they think he’s the threat? Scared out of your mind, you reach up to grab at Waspinator’s head, snagging his mandible to make him whine. They’re demanding he hand you over, that he doesn’t hurt you. Trying to protect you from Wasp? And he’s frozen, trembling against you as they yell at him. “Don’t you dare touch him,” you manage, voice breaking and one of them looks at you, mouth opening slightly. “He’s mine.” Hoping you’re not wrong and they don’t just blast both of you as the black and white mech turns and an even bigger alien is striding forward.

• Curling more around you as he hisses warnings, wings buzzing, Waspinator wants to scramble backwards and run with you. Too scared to speak, because they’re going to hurt him. Maybe hurt you. Shouldn’t have come here. He’s supposed to protect his little mate and he’d brought you somewhere dangerous instead. Failed. Screwed up like he always does. ‘Are you trying to defect? Renouncing the Decepticons?’ A deep voice asks, and his head lifts, wilting under the stare of the Autobot leader, Optimus Prime. Is he defecting? “Yes?” He growls uncertainly and the Autobots exchange a look. If it means having a safe nest where Megatron can’t reach him or you? He’ll agree to anything.

Previous

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[yandere-wishes]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮! 𝓣𝓲𝓶 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓡𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻˚ 𐙚 .⋆

✮⋆˙𝓗𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓹 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔀𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓫𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓽˙⋆✮

I believe the reason I decided to study robotics in the first place is that I have always loved romanticizing machinery. There's something endlessly enthralling about robots and how much they both mirror and reveal about us humans. And don't even get me started on the intersection of the two. When biology and mechanics combine…

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

Out of all the Batboys Tim is the one I can see falling for a robot reader the easiest. There is a reference to Pygmalion and Galatea in all of this. A futuristic parody.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake who falls in love with one of his creations. It had been an experiment, a distraction really, something to fidget with during the long hours of the day when neither Tim nor Bruce could bear the suffocation of either life. Insomnia has a habit of running in the veins of the mansion's residents. Haunting them like feral phantoms. Bruce was the one to suggest it. Came up with the idea between screenings of Blade Runner and Her. What if there was someone else, something else. Who could pick up the slack whenever neither of them could. Someone to cover for both Batman AND Bruce Wayne. Red Robin AND Tim Drake…

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who has always found it easier to fall in love with machinery, with the motors that whirl and the computers that speak in tongues of one and zero. It's always easier to love that which you've programmed with your own hands. He glides his fingers over your smooth icy face, pinching your steel cheek with a boyish giggle. He's painstakingly meticulous with how he manipulates the wires of your exposed stomach. Smoothing out the solder, making sure the heat shrinks are snug. There isn't a resistor within you that's been placed carelessly.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who is the first person, the first thing you see when your optics come online. The first person to utter words that float and register within your processor. You are his precious creations, his darling marvel, he built you with pieces of his heart, built you to be perfection. Weeks later you're sitting between his legs as he helps you choose a silicon faceplate. Superficial details really, Tim assures you, just something to help you blend in. He finds the particular shade you chose for your eyes cute. You aren't sure why that makes your processor buzz so quickly and your cooling fans to kick in.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who steals kisses whenever his father and Alfred aren't looking. Who thinks that every human pales in the gleam of your beauty. Finit metal, that knows everything and nothing at the same time. Little robot girl who holds his hand as she asks and researches every enigma within minutes. Some nights Tim can't help but peel away the faux skin. To kiss your wires and your circuits. To make little tweaks to perfection. He whispers a name, your name, while he pecks your frigid iron lips…

But what about Tim with a cyborg reader? What about someone who is the best of both worlds? Indiffenitly entwined.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who spends countless nights slaving away on the perfect imitations of the limbs you have lost. You were once a hero like him, another one of Gotham's beckons whose light was snuffed out by the the evil that roams within this city. You survived a fate much like his brother's only in this story Tim was there to rescue you from death's embrace.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who intwines your nerve ends with wires, at first it feels like sand crawling beneath your skin, gliding through your veins. The phantom pain rings inside your head, a macabre symphony. You close your eyes and command movement, command a thing you thought impossible to miss. Your new fingers twitch your wrist moves. You fall into Tim's chest sobbing as he tries to comfort you. Still, you don't miss the satisfied smile he tries to hide.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who insists on bettering your new body. On adding weapons and gadgets and lavish accessories. Who makes you stand in the lab for hours on end as he tweaks and plays with your cybernetics, who cuts and adds without permission. Who talks and talks about what he's doing and how much he adores you. Despite the pure love lacing each word you can't help but break out in a cold sweat.

✦ Yandere! Tim Drake, who's changed so much of your body. Who's made you forget where the cybernetics end and you begin. Yandere Tim Drake who kisses across the sacred borders of skin and iron. Yandere Tim Drake whose eyes gleam so terrifyingly and joyously when he looks at you. Who dubs you his perfect creation and kisses you so passionately, while you fight the urge to gag.

[dragqueenstarscream]

optimus pampering starscream during his heat.

starscream is a wreck. he's a pathetic mess, his panels open, spike dripping and valve soaking. his legs are spread as far as he possibly can, his eyes are huge with lust, and he's begging for optimus to frag him, to pound him into the berth, to make him overload.

but optimus isn't one to be rough. he's a gentle lover, holding starscream close to him so starscream can cling to him. he kisses down his conjunx's neck, holding starscream's hand to reassure him, making love to him with just enough slight roughness to make starscream's processor spin.

the poor seeker can't take it. his mind feels like mush. his body's so hot, warm, and fuzzy that he feels like he's melting. his thoughts come and go in a lazy, blissfully unburdened haze. he barely even registers that he's overloaded; he's not in the sky, and yet he feels like he's flying.

starscream eventually floats back to reality, curled up in optimus' arms. it's not the end of his heat cycle, but if this is how it's gonna go for the next week or two, then he's in for a very good time.

[t-a-a-1]

Please homie! I get the delicous tears that come from readers but please I just want reader and Optimus have a pure fluff warm moment (aannd maybe add a sparkling too only if you want) your writings have brought me to more tears that I can count!

Mine

Summary: Optimus kisses you.

TFA Optimus x Reader

Fluff, kissing, idk.

2.5k words

The base is silent. 

Not for any particular reason. Everyone was too focused on their own duties to notice anything strange. 

You specially, were trying your hardest to concentrate on work. Your computer is in front of you, yet you haven’t been able to write a single sentence.  Maybe because your mind was too busy thinking about what happened yesterday. 

Optimus Prime kissed you. 

You could tell he didn't know what was doing. Cybertronians probably don’t kiss. But he tries his best. It was awkward and cold but you didn’t expect it to be otherwise. Not like you expected something at all. 

“(Reader), have you seen Opti–”

“No!”

You turn, only to find Bumblebee at your side. Although he is the smallest of the Autobots, he is still way bigger than you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you’ve seen Optimus,” Bumblebee says. “I haven’t seen him all day and he was supposed to take Sari and I to –”

“Why do you smell like BossBot?”

Although you couldn’t see yourself, you know that your cheeks must be pink by now. You know by the warmth you feel in your cheeks. 

“Wait … You can smell him on me?”

Instead of being embarrassed, now you have a lot of questions. The two of you had shared a simple kiss. Even took a shower afterwards. There shouldn’t be a trace of him on you. 

“Yes but I shouldn’t be too unless–”

Bumblebee gets closer to you, a haughty smile plastered on his faceplate.

“Did anything happen between you and Optimus?”

You close your laptop and stand up from your seat. You laugh nervously. Trying to pick up your items, you start to drop them. Your pencils, keys, papers. A complete mess. Before you could say anything, you took a deep breath. You were overthinking things. It was probably a mistake. It had to be. Afterall, why would the Optimus Prime ever be interested in an organic?

“No, nothing happened.”

You turn around and smile at Bumblebee, your previous nervousness suddenly gone. 

“My car needs an oil change, I’ll be heading out to Alex’s place. Don’t wait for me tonight.”

.

.

.

Optimus didn’t want to go back to base. He went for a very long patrol. To clear his processor from what he did the previous night. 

He kissed you. Or at least he tried to.

It was a beautiful moment. He never imagined he would get to experience something like that, especially with you. He loved every second of it. But …

There is one thing he regrets. 

And that was kissing you without asking you first for your permission. 

He thought that you reciprocate his feelings.  Why wouldn’t you? If you held his hand once. When you listen to him and gift him things he likes? When you laugh around him and enjoy the night rides.  

But now he realizes that the things that may be reserved for romantic partners in Cybertronian culture, may be, in fact, common things in human society. 

And now he is ashamed of himself. For even thinking that he could have a chance. 

“It isn’t like you to get this late.”

Ratchet usually stays up to work on a few gadgets. Although Optimus has told him time and time again to re-charge properly and rest, Ratchet always seems to deny his request. 

“Did something happen?”

The question came out of genuine curiosity rather than him already knowing something. Optimus approaches his work station, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake anyone up. 

The base is quiet, which Optimus expected. Yet, he can’t register your scent which was strange because you usually like to spend time on the elevated floor in the main room before going back to your quarters. 

“No, why are you asking?”

Optimus asks, his optics looking around, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of you. 

“You seem … distracted,” Ratchet keeps working as he looks at Optimus whos words contradict his actions. 

“(Reader) has not returned yet. From what Bumblebee told me, she get with Alex to get her oil car changed.”

Ratchet is not an idiot. He has seen the growing bond between you and Optimus from afar. He knew of Optimus’ … peculiar interest in you. From that day when you held his hand without knowing the meaning of your actions. He remembers telling Optimus to not think too much about it, that humans were different when it came to touch. 

And although Optimus knew that, he … started to become delusional. Kindal of. That bot was in love but it took him a long time to realize it. His feelings suppressed and now maybe, he had reached a final point. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “I am going to re-charge.”

.

.

.

He lied. 

Of course he wasn’t going to re-charge. He was going to wait for you. Why? Well, he wasn’t sure. 

Was it because the guilt of kissing you without permission haunted him? Because he needs your forgiveness right this moment and won’t be able to function without it? Or because he wants answers as to why you preferred the company of another right after the intimate counter the two of you shared?

Maybe.

He hears a metal door open. 

The rooftop of the base wasn’t a pretty one. It was worn out and the view wasn’t one to admire either. It couldn’t be anything less expected from Detroit. It was ugly, yet this had become a shared space. There were many times the two of you had spent here. Just under the stars, graffiti walls, a pack of cigarettes and a barrel of oil for the Prime who would only drink in your presence. 

At first it wasn’t like that. 

He was too stiff, saying “I can’t drink in front of a lady.”

But with time, he opened up to you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt, goodnight.”

You were about to leave but his voice stopped you. 

“No, stay. Please, I need to talk to you.”

You sighed and turned around, walking with hesitation towards him. The only thing you wanted was to smoke a cig after a long day but Optimus had other plans. You wanted to pretend like nothing had occurred the night before. To just smile and simply greet  him like you usually do so as to not make things awkward. 

“Did something happen–”

“Why are you wearing his clothes?”

Your smile quickly drops. It surprised you that Optimus knew what Alex’s clothes looked like. However, you remember that the Autobots have a stronger sense of smell and he probably just recognized his smell. Maybe he was just curious and there wasn’t any deeper meaning behind it. 

“Oh, I was helping Alex with changing my car’s oil and just my clothes got dirty.”

“... I see.”

Optimus looks away and he pretends to be focused on the scenery in front of him. There wasn’t much to look at. It was Detroit after all, there was only buildings and pollution. You knew him better than this. Optimus likes to look at the sky when he is thinking. He looks at the city when he is bothered. 

“Everything alright?’ you ask as you approach him. It's easier to get closer to him when he is mass-displaced. Even when he is still standing at 7 feet tall. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t  things be alright?” he asked, annoyed. 

“You seemed bothered.”

“Well, I am not.”

“Alright then, I’ll go to sleep–” you turn around, ready to leave him alone until he speaks again. 

“I just think it's interesting that you will go see another male after … what we shared.”

“Oh that,” you had two options. Be honest and admit that you have feelings for him. Or pretend that it didn’t bother you and you didn’t care.  “I didn’t like it.”

“What?” he looks at you, indignant. 

“Look, I don’t know what kind of sick game you are playing,” you make small pauses in between words to stop your voice from cracking.  “But I have feelings too, you know? So don't do things you don’t mean.”

Optimus looks at you and knows from the get go that you want to say more. Maybe you want to say that you hate him. That you find his feelings for you to be disgusting and that you wish to never speak to him again. 

And he deserved it. All of it. 

“I–” he can’t look at you, too ashamed of himself.  “You are right. I should have considered your feelings before … doing what I did and I should have asked instead of just taking it. It’s just that I didn’t know if that was right. I was trying to study human culture and their courting practices by watching movies and male always kisses the female without asking so I thought that was right and–”

When he gets nervous he speaks too much. And he finds himself speechless whenever he finds your eyes looking at him. 

“I apologize,” he finalizes, defeated. Resigned. “But now that your feelings are clear, I will keep my desires to myself. I will no longer burden you.”

He turns his faceplate the other way, his heart broken and sensible. Optimus didn’t want to say anything else. But his enstril detected smells that he wasn’t fond of. Alex’s smell and yours combined disgusted him and his good mood was completely destroyed. 

“You may keep indulging yourself with whatever mindless activities humans get involved with.”

On the other hand, you didn’t like the tone of his voice. Although his apologize sounded sincere, the other comment was rude and probably  trying to hide something else. What exactly? You didn’t care at the moment. 

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“For a journalist, you can’t read between the lines uh?”

You put your hands on your hips and try to look at his optics although he is avoidant. 

“And, for someone who has lived for millions of years, you don’t even kiss well.”

“Well, maybe if I were an ugly organic like you, I would kiss better!”

He finally turns to look at you, his faceplate getting closer to yours. 

“Oh yes, I am so ugly but you had your glossa down my throat!” 

Unconsciously, you always began to get closer to him. 

“I can’t believe my processor craves for you more than life! I have gone truly mad!”

“AND YOU ARE A–  Wait, what?”

You didn’t believe your ears. And you find yourself surprised that you find his closeness so comforting. 

“What did you say?”

“I won’t say it again so you can mock me,” he takes a few steps back and stops looking at you. He then emits what you can conclude as a sad beep.  “I am done trying to court you.”

“...Court me?” you ask him in disbelief. “You were trying to court me?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t noticed, I’ve tried to stay by your side every second I can,” he says.  “I worry when you are not near, my optics can only look at you, I write about you every night and the moon knows your name–”

Optimus looks at you. Your head tilted, lips parted and a confused expression on your face. 

“...You didn’t know?”  he asks and he gets closer. “You really didn’t know?”

“Well, I noticed but I just thought, I don’t know, that I was being delusional,” you put a hand in your chest, still in disbelief and your heart beating faster. “That there was no way that the great Optimus Prime could ever like, well, me.”

“But I- I thought that–” he ex-vents and puts a servo on his faceplate.  “Ugh, I am an idiot.”

“We are idiots.”

“So does that mean that you …” 

He removes his servo from his face and looks at you for a second. He notices that you are looking at the streets of Detroit. You stand close to him. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Since when?”

“I don’t really have a specific date, I just remember one time I was at the office and I was bored and I started sketching you in my notebook,” you remember the memory clearly and the feeling of realization. That day you avoided him for a week. “And that’s when I realized I was doomed.”

“Doomed?!

“I’ve never had the best romantic experiences,” you tell him, finding his expression rather comical. “What about you?”

“Ehh, I found myself thinking about you while looking at the moon.”

“I see,” you noticed a faint blue on his faceplate.  “What should we do now?”

The two of you look away but then your eyes meet his blue optics. It was a few seconds. But that’s all it took for you to jump into his arms and he kneeled, just to pick you up.

You wrapped your arms around his helm and your lips naturally fit on his. You feel his servos go under the oversize shirt, exploring the softness of your back. 

His lips were cold, but you didn’t care. Nor when his glossa made his way into your mouth, wanting to taste more of you. Showing his desire for you, trying to pull you closer as his vents got louder. His engines let you know his untold feelings. Loud and clear. 

He wanted you, more than you’ll ever know. Your small body against him, your soft skin. How with each touch, he gained a soft moan from you. Optimus was scared of wanting you so much. He didn’t know if he was deserving but it feels right. All of it. From the way you caress his helm to the way your lips touch his. 

Primus, please, may this not be a dream and if it is, may the gods protect whoever dares to wake him up. 

Let this last forever, may the universe allow him to be yours for the rest of eternity. 

Before he could drown in your being any further, you pull away. Breathless, pink cheeks and lips.

“Was that alright?”

Optimus asks, with concern in his voice. He gains a smile from you. 

“It’s ok, I can teach you,” you caress his faceplate, once cold it's now warm. “And you have a lot of time to learn.”

“But can you take this off?” Optimus pulls from Alex’s shirt, desperate for the garment to be off your body.  “I really don’t like it.”

“So you are jealous?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am just a big bot,” his insecurities slowly start to show.  “I, well, I don’t have much to offer.”

“You are mine,” you say, smiling at him gently and he feels blessed to be the reason for that smile.  “And that’s all that matters to me.”

Optimus puts his servos on your cheek and carefully cups them. He kisses your forehead before capturing your lips once again. This time it was a gentle, pure and blissful kiss. Showing you, the vast and endless love he has for you. Just a fraction of it. Oh, how much he adores you. Would you ever know how much his spark calls your name? Maybe not. But that won’t stop him from trying with every kiss he gives you. 

“And that’s all I want to be.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: As I was writing this, I forgot to add the sparkling! Dammit, I guess I am gonna have to write another chapter for this where Reader and Op find a sparkling and care for them ... may be.

I wasn’t completely satisfied with how this came out, maybe because I am not used to writing fluff without there being a whole context bur regardless this was fun to write! See it as a preview for my other fic “more than meets the eye” which i haven’t updated but I will soon. 

Thank you for reading!

[tinydefector]

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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[severedfromthesource]

Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.