#Tarn x reader

[sad-in-nature]

Been reading @revelboo tarn x reader fic

And I decided to drop a bit of some animation art for them 👉👈

I will try drawing my fav parts from your fic 👀

Tarn doesn’t want your weird dog

(At least not yet)

Anyways I love you fics ❤️

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

☆ A Clueless Child & An Even More Clueless DJD

scenario: a group of psychopaths unwittingly become parents to an abandoned newly built found under mysterious circumstance

note: i also wanted to add that this fic not only centers around reader but also the DJD as a crew, like their dynamics and stuff. mostly because there's such little content about them as a crew and the DJD are my favourite Decepticon sub-faction.

prev: part one next: -----

PARENTS MENTORS IN DENIAL 02

summary: breaking the news to their already stressed out medic, in short, how they decide to adopt you

“They'll be awake within an arc, tops.” Nickel sighs out as she exits the medbay to see the team and they're waiting right outside— Vos sits down on the floor as Kaon, Tesarus and Helex lean on the wall; Tarn stands straight, looking somewhat impatient but it's hard to tell with the mask. It looks like The Pet noticed the commotion and decided to join in from whatever demonic activities that spawn of Mortilius was busy with when everyone else was minding their own business… laying down right by Kaon as he pets it gently. Thankfully, it seems to be very docile right now, tired maybe; its optics looked heavy as if it were going into recharge from Kaon’s gentle ministrations. Maybe Kaon hadn't fuelled the thing yet… They didn't take The Pet with them to Clemency, purely because they did not want The Pet to be anywhere near corpses and that place was basically a graveyard.

Nickel has to stop herself from gagging (she didn't even know she could) at the thought of how she had to get rid of a nasty rust infection the last time that happened with The Pet. Regardless, right now there were more pressing matters than that monstrosity.

The expert medic is done with her world class repairs (rated by Tarn himself), dusting off her servos as all five now wait outside the medbay. She feels somewhat… disturbed if anything. Odd considering she's been with the DJD for a long time now, long enough for such feelings to be usual but… From her examination, she could tell the sparkling was merely a few human months or so old. The wiring within its chassis was not worn or torn in the slightest, the interior of its frame was in relatively pristine condition, especially compared to some of her teammates.

And from the damage on the poor thing’s frame, she could tell that it had been on Clemency for a couple of months. The rust flakes and dried up energon solidified in the crevices of their frame's exterior, the result of a filthy environment. They were absolutely dirty, no wonder why Tarn hesitated to hold the little one himself. She ran a system diagnostic just in case for any chances of a virus affecting its programming only to find out they never had its firewall updated, ever. That… concerned her deeply.

It meant that someone had quite literally dumped this sorry sparkling into Clemency right after it was made. All by itself. All alone. New life left without guidance or resources in a planet ridden with Decepticon corpses. It was a harrowing thought. How did it survive? Who would do that? Why would they do that? What sort of sick frag does something like that?

Maybe they should run the little one’s serial number in their systems to check. Then they'd have some sort of information regarding this mystery, she makes a mental note to ask Tarn but knowing him, there's a high chance he already did so.

The situation of the sparkling is rather mysterious and dire, Nickel couldn't help but wonder what they had to go through to end up so battered… so young and frail. She knocks the thought out of her helm as soon as it enters, she has a couple of idiots to address right now.

“Now, there’s a few good things but there's bad news with it.” Nickel cranes her helm to look up at the five behemoths before her. The minibot is used to the pain in her neck supports at this point, craning her way to see their faceplates. All of their EM fields radiate curiosity and a strange sense of worry, anxiousness almost. It's not the typical aura but again, this situation was far from typical on The Peaceful Tyranny.

“Go on with the good news first.” Tarn commanded, he convinced himself that he cares little to nothing about the sparkling, he only cared because it was one of them. The anticipation from them all builds up tension at the moment.

“Okay, so the newly-built is fine, physically. Their motor systems are intact. At best, their stabilizers might feel sore. They can move fine. The large dent in their chassis from the compression is fixed. Vents are all cleared.” Nickel announces, there's an odd sense of relief in the faces of the DJD. A few sighs escaping some of them. Though, Tarn remains ambiguous, solely due to the mask.

“...what about the bad news?” Helex asks, not as relieved as the rest yet. Though his faceplates do not betray him, upholding up that ideal Decepticon stoicism his position required him to display. Tarn leans down a bit to relieve Nickel, considerate to the minibot and the others were leaning on the wall quickly follow suit but it merely serves to piss Nickel off, it felt somewhat insulting. She grimaces with annoyance but pushes aside her feelings for now as she continues with the sparkling. Her neck supports do feel a little better now that she doesn't have to crane half as much to the crouched down mechs so she's somewhat grateful. Not like she's going to comment on it.

“Well, the kids got a few firewall breaches. I've updated their programming for the most part so it shouldn't have too much of an impact. But most importantly, their vocalizer is glitched out. It'll take a while for them to talk.” Nickel huffs out in layman's terms, conveniently leaving out the fact that there's a solid chance the sparkling didn't know how to talk. If her hunches about the little thing being all alone for most, maybe even all their miserable life was true then it's most likely that their speech-development process was stagnant. Isolation at such delicate stages of life can repress speech protocols, it isn't unheard of. Cybertronian systems did throw out unused code. Unless the kid was talking to corpses and if that was the case, at least they'll get along well with the DJD.

“...so we can't interrogate.” Kaon mutters, inconsiderate to whatever sufferings the sparkling may have suffered. Looks like he and Vos will have to muse themselves with nothing more than their wild theories. So many unanswered questions about their mysterious little house guest.

“Like Pit you can, I suggest you don't speak of Clemency to them, at all.” Nickel mutters, whatever they endured on Clemency had to have been nothing short of traumatic. It would be best to not mention it at all, for a while at least. Kaon nods begrudgingly in compliance, though it's Vos’ compliance that Nickel truly sought. That little aft was as cavalier as they came.

"Ś̸͙̺̥̰̯͙̭͆̏͂ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅk̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ǎ̴̯̀͠ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠?"

Vos asks, helm slightly tilted to the side in curiosity as he remains seated on the floor. Even then, he's taller than Nickel.

"Somewhat." She mutters. The newly built will without a doubt have some sort of issue, though it's a little too early to tell. But now, she could finally ask what she'd been thinking the whole time she had been working on the little one as none of the others seemed to have any questions.

“More importantly, what are you planning on doing with ‘em?” Nickel questions their course of action, raising an optical ridge, her tiny servos on her hipstruts as she waits for an answer.

All of them are looking right at Tarn, of course Tarn has to be the one to say this to Nickel but a part of him wishes he didn't have to. But in the end, he's their leader and he can't disappoint their hopeful faces. As their leader, he has to be the one to hear a mouthful from Nickel. With a heavy sigh, he decides to break the news to her, she won't take it too badly… Hopefully.

“We are going to keep… it.” Tarn says, his velvety voice lacking its usual confidence, as if he himself isn't sure about it. Nickel’s azure optics widen into dinner plates. The servos on her hipstruts immediately falling to her sides.

“...come at me again?” She asks, there's no fragging way. The minibot had to make sure what she heard was right, she had to make sure her audios didn't just glitch out or something. Tarn just grunts a little, somewhat annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“I said, we are going to keep the sparkling.” Tarn repeats himself, his voice with a more aggressive and stern edge though Nickel remains somewhat unfazed by it purely because of how utterly shocking that declaration was. He hadn't used ‘The Voice’, perhaps that's why it lacked the usual immediate response.

“So then… we're… going to fraggin'… co-parent? All six of us? Adopt? Or like… is it just your own?” Nickel speaks up what she felt it was like, astonishment on her faceplates and her usually aggressive tone somewhat softer. The following immediate aversion to the term ‘parent’ was almost comical and would've gotten a good laugh out of anyone watching; Vos looked down at the floor almost immediately, Helex just gave out a tired heavy ex-vent, Tesarus’ derma pursed into a thin line as one of his servos rests on the back of his neck supports, Kaon clenched his jaw hinges a bit from cringing as if he was trying not to recoil away and Tarn… Tarn just leaned back for a moment, baffled beneath his mask. Vos mutters something incoherent in Primal Vernacular.

Parenting or well, mentoring as it is usually called is not a very open-discussion subject, sensitive if anything. It wasn't exactly something mechs like them would ever partake in or even see themselves take part in. Not to mention, most of them likely didn't have the luxury of tender parenting back on Pre-War Cybertron. It isn't very common to raise sparklings; whether it was before the war given the economic situation or now, given there is currently a fragging planet tearing, genocidal war waging on in full force.

It sort of… did sound like parenting now that Tarn thought about it but as much as he wanted to deny it… It was literally what they were doing. They were basically adopting. The leader of the DJD quickly recomposed himself, clearing his vocalizer. Embarrassingly enough, Tarn realizes the sheer improvidence of his decision. He couldn't be blamed either, this wasn't the sort of thing he's dealt with. He’s done heists with Orion Pax, lived as a fugitive in the Jhaxian Academy, worked as a warden in one of the worst prison camps on Cybertron… none of the aforementioned activities had ever brought him near something even remotely close to parenting. He would never take in a sparkling then or now, mostly because he didn't know the first thing on what to do with one but he would never admit that. He'd be damned if he had to take care of one by himself.

“No… No, no, no, no! Dear Nickel, that is not what we intend to do-” Tarn gives out a wry chuckle, a thin veil for his clear uncertainty only to be interrupted by the understandably skeptical minibot. From his tone, it's evident he intended this to be a group project which makes Vos mutter even more incoherent curses in Primal Vernacular.

“Then what the frag are we going to do with ‘em?” Nickel questions, tone as confused as ever. Tarn can feel the weight of everyone's optics locked on him and for the first time, he genuinely finds it suffocating.

“We are merely going to… guide the sparkling in its… Decepticon heritage. A future soldier.” He struggles to word it properly, to word it in a manner where it doesn't make it look like anything parenting related but fails in his desperation. In short; bullshitting his way through this. Tarn is more than well aware that's basically a part of parenting but he sincerely hopes by the name of Megatron that for once, his team is stupid enough to just leave it at that. Tarn is not a parent. His fearsome team are not parents either. Parenting is soft. He is anything but soft and The same goes for his team.

“...isn't that basically-” Helex hushes Tesarus with a glare before he could mumble the rest out, more than well aware that their leader is not exactly in a very good state of mind. Helex was quiet and so it paid him well. The signs of Tarn’s annoyance was something the crew had learnt; navigating through his outbursts and tantrums. The daggers Tarn stares at Tesarus is enough to make the walking talking shredder realise he would be making a mistake if he went on, going mum as he looks away in obvious fear of his Commanding Officer.

“I expect everyone to cooperate.” Tarn adds on to their dismay and from the painfully fake cheeriness in his tone, they could all tell he was not going to allow anyone to back off from this. The atmosphere is suddenly gloomy now.

So basically, they were going to be caretakers. Whether they liked it or not.

…yay.

The room is eerily silent now. Nickel feels it's unfair that she's roped into this. Vos is less than pleased for more than obvious reasons, Tesarus is not sure on what to feel, Kaon is conflicted, Helex continues to pretend to be nonchalant and quiet though he’s also pretty skeptical about this. Even Tarn himself is uncertain despite how he makes it seem. All of their EM fields are a fix of confusion, uncertainty, bitterness and trepidation however, they manage to keep it to themselves.

“Okay… but does any of you even know how to manage one?” Nickel asks, carefully picking her words. Anything that showcases softness might only rile Tarn up even more, avoiding the specific phrase ‘taking care of’ for her own sake.

Tarn again goes silent, looking at Nickel. Finally, a question he actually saw coming. A slight sheepishness behind his mask, concealed skilfully from his team who fails to see this as they surmise Tarn is in a terrible mood which he honestly somewhat was beginning to get there with this whole sparkling thing…

“Well, I-... We were wondering if you would have some pointers.”

They're all looking down at the minibot with hope, except maybe Vos who still partially feels like they should just throw the little thing away into a landfill or something. A lot more economically feasible during wartime in his humble opinion. Tarn has a rather smug smile behind his mask though his body language tries to make it look like he's pleading.

"You guys think just because I'm a medic, I know a slaggin' thing about sparklings!?!?!?"

There's the expected outburst Tarn also saw coming a mile away. Vos continues to merely sit there, taking slight sadistic amusement in Nickel's frustration as he lets out a quiet dry chuckle, trying to be discreet in his attempt to mock the medic; he did not want to be her subject of tirade. Vos almost immediately stops when he sees Nickel glaring at him with a stare that could burn through ununtrium, pretending to clear his vocalizer as if he wasn't secretly getting a good laugh out of this.

"...Yes." So simple, straightforward, direct and eloquent; Tarn did hesitate but truly, what else could he have said? Nickel's helm immediately snaps back to Tarn's direction, she looks like how an Autobot would look like if Megatron got the Matrix of Leadership. As if she were about to explode from frustration and shock. The entire team prepares themselves to hear an explosive rant from Nickel, coloured with crass vocabulary and insecurity inducing takes. But to their pleasant surprise, she just... let's out a very deep ex-vent, a genuinely frustrated sigh. Of course she has to be the one to handle this mess… she always has to clean their messes… why do they burden her like this??? Inconsiderate slagging pieces of- She just looks down for a moment to calm herself and back at the DJD.

“...unbelievable. All of you.”

[jinuaei]

Italian jumpscare

Ough Tarn fully focused on you as you say your prayers... He might be the head Priest but he already chose you as his Deity...

[runicarbiter02]

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

—

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

—

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

[optimusxwbu]

⋆.✧̣̇˚. tarn x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: 18+, virgin tarn, rough sex, 6.6k words.

-> minors dni, you will be blocked!!

read somewhere that james roberts confirmed tarn would be a virgin and man... the brain worms are doing their thing. i had to write this. sry. also this fic exists within the same plotline that my tarn/megatron fic is written in, just an fyi for context!!

●・○・●・○・●

A pin drop could’ve been heard with how quiet it currently was on the Peaceful Tyranny whilst the rowdy members were out doing their business, something you didn’t care to hear the details of. They were a brutal gang, sadistic and relished in the agony of others.

You were sitting on Tarn’s captain's chair, which was comically large in comparison to you, the rich purple metal dwarfing you.

With your back against the backrest, your legs straight out in front of you, one crossed over the other. Your hands were preoccupied with embroidering the latest piece of fabric that Tarn had gathered for you on his last outing. A vivid violet satin-esque material, which you were adorning with winding vine patterns with a gold thread.

You’re currently wearing the newest garment that you made for yourself. A teal chiffon dress, with lantern sleeves, sweetheart neckline and an a-line skirt, embellished with silver embroidery that resembles starlight, a corset-style laced backing to secure it.

You came to Tarn from Megatron, your sweet pleading with your master to allow you to accompany Tarn for a while. Life on the Nemesis was just about as good as it could be for a human. The temperature was always cold, the ship always floated through empty space and the doors were constantly revolving with the number of Decepticons that came in and out. 

It was hard to complain though, Megatron treated you tolerably and came to view you more as a beloved pet than a pest. You were always most interested in the visits from the DJD, mainly due to the illustrious leader. He never paid you any mind when he visited, seemingly more perturbed by your presence than anything. 

Imagine his surprise when his beloved leader ordered him to take you with him for a short while, as that was something you had persistently pleaded for. You wanted something different, a different slice of the galaxy to see. New company, company that wasn’t as drab as Megatron’s high command. 

There was something about Tarn that just drew you to him, but you couldn’t quite place it. 

The commotion of the DJD returning to the ship was loud and boisterous, clearly expressing victory over whatever they had set out to do here on this planet.

The captain's chair shook with the imposing presence of the DJD entering the bridge, but your eyes didn’t pull away from your current crafting project. Instead, you tutted slightly as the jolts caused you to pierce the material in the wrong place, now having to realign your needle at the interruption.  

“More material for you,” Tarn announced as the (comparatively) small dark grey material was clenched between his digits. He stood next to the chair and dropped the material in front of you. 

You looked up from your embroidery hoop to assess the material he’s acquired, poking out your foot to feel the material. Dark grey and unlike any other material that you’ve felt, probably not too comfortable to wear, the fibres are long and rigid, but you’ll find a use for it. 

Of all the materials and gifts he collects for you, you’ve noticed that they are mostly in some way related to him. The colours you’re currently working with, purple and gold, like his frame. The material in front of you, the dark grey, like his tyres. The crystals you have back in your habsuite, a rich red like his optics. You chalk it up to his raging ego, his pride, which could be compared to a large balloon in a room of pins, fragile and always demanding space.

“Thank you,” you smile up at Tarn, “I will be able to make a nice cushion from it, I’m sure.”

He studies you behind his mask before giving a shallow nod. 

Helex looks over his shoulder from the control panel, noticing how you haven’t made an effort to move out of Tarn’s chair and the way that Tarn allows it. He hums with a smile, going back to looking at the next set of coordinates set for their mission.

– ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ –

Running your hand along the shelf of accumulated trinkets and gifts that Tarn has collected for you since you’ve been under his care, you start to realise that he might be pebbling you. Is gift-giving common amongst cybertronians? You can’t quite say. When you were with Megatron, he gifted you 2 bangles and a matching choker from his old armour, but that seemed more of a possession thing than gift-giving thing. 

The large purple tank walks through the double doors of his habsuite, optics falling to you immediately, even though your back was turned to him.

Your ears practically twitched at the sound of him entering the room, your head turning to the side to look over your shoulder at him. 

“All the gifts you get me sure are lovely,” you smile at him before looking back at the gifts. A collection of rocks, stones, scrap metal and crystals.

His shadow looms over you, swallowing up the dull pink that luminates his habsuite. 

“I get them because they remind me of you,” the words are simple, no emphasis or particular tone to accompany them. Very matter of fact. 

“Such a ladies man,” you tease with a chuckle.

“Will you help me out of my dress?” You ask innocently, reaching behind you to try to grab onto one of the pieces of ribbon that acted as a corset attachment to the back of your chiffon dress, making a show of how you can’t reach.

He quirks an optical ridge behind his mask before gingerly bringing up a servo to pinch the ribbon between the tips of two claws, the fabric like a piece of string to him at this size. He pulls on the ribbon, undoing the bow that kept your dress together.

“Do you need me to fetch your night coverings?” Tarn queries, optics flickering down to look away as the back of your dress falls open. You bring one hand up to act as a barrier across your front, keeping the fabric from falling off of you.

He was so oblivious sometimes, it drove you crazy. This wasn’t your first attempt to seduce him, but it went so far over his head last time that you had no idea how to bring it back.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You ask quickly, spinning on your heels to face him, neck craning back to look up at him. 

“You may,” Tarn replied.

A small smirk spread across your lips, “you have to come closer. Mass displace, come here.”

Tarn decided to indulge you, not shy about mass displacing in front of you. But he hasn’t ever taken off that mask in front of you, the curiosity of what lies underneath eats away at you. He even wears it whilst he recharges. 

He steps up onto the counter with one ped before the metal shifts and slides against itself, bringing him down to a fraction of his original height. He steps purposefully towards you. Despite being smaller, he is still heavy and that much was obvious from the subtle quaking of the metal counter with each step.

When he brings himself in front of you, you beckon him down with one finger in a gesturing motion as you peer up at him from under your eyelashes.

Continuing to indulge you, he bends down so that his audial receptor is just by your mouth.

“A little birdie tells me that you have human pornography on your datapad,” you whisper sultrily.

His frame staggers before he shoots back, spinal strut straight as a pin. He seems like he’s about to make a break for it, so you quickly grab his servo before he can. 

“I’ll take your reaction to mean that I’ve been told the truth,” you state with a toothy grin. 

“Who told you?” Tarn accused, panicked. He’d have the helm of whoever tattled on him. That’ll teach him for making sure his datapad had a passcode on it next time.

“Why would you watch videos of it when you have the real thing, right here?” You step closer to him, bringing the servo you had a hold of to wrap around your waist. Not deigning to give his question an answer, as if you would ever let slip who your source was. 

Your subtle hints and taunts are proving fruitless, a mech like him needs something more like a sledgehammer, something to drive the point home. Thus, you are now attempting to alter your attempts of seduction.

He can’t help the subtle squeeze that his digits give to your flesh, unfamiliar with something so soft. 

“The… The real thing?” Tarn echoed, almost not trusting what you were insinuating.

You grabbed his other servo, leading it up before letting your hand fall from your chest, placing his large digits over one of your breasts. You clenched your fingers down over his digits to encourage him to squeeze, which he did. His optics were wide, clearly in disbelief.

“If you enjoyed those videos so much, imagine how much you’ll enjoy me wrapped around your spike,” you declared confidently, even if that confidence was mostly a facade. This was actually quite intimidating, but you knew he would never make the first move. 

Tarn’s wires crossed for a second there, before a surge of courage pierced through him and he shifted his weight unexpectedly, making you both walk backwards until your legs hit the edge of your bed.

“Careful now,” Tarn all but growled, “tease me and you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

Your tongue ran across the back of your front teeth before you placed your hands on his chest.

“You have no idea how badly I want the consequences,” you uttered before pushing on his chest, ushering him back a step so that you had the room to swap the two of you, spinning so that the back of his legs were now up against the edge of the bed.

You encouraged him back, nudging him gently to sit on the bed. Once he was sat, you clambered up onto his lap. Your knees settled on either side of his hips as your lips wasted no time in finding his neck, tucking your head under his faceplate.

Your teeth bared to graze against the neck wiring, skimming just barely enough to feel the electricity pulse along the enamel of your front teeth. A breathy chuckle fanned against his wires when you felt him grind his interface panel up against you, so easily worked up.

Encouraging him further, your tongue licked a slow and purposeful line up the length of his neck. Out of sight, Tarn’s optics shuttered behind the mask.

A shuddered vent erupted from the mech before his servos wrapped around your hips, squeezing the plump flesh. The texture of your tongue against his wiring was something so unique, nothing at all like a Cybertronian glossa.

You peppered heated kisses along him before bringing your hands up to wrap your fingers around the top of the winged plating on his chassis, testing the waters by slowly grinding yourself against him.

“I- I’ve-” Tarn started, stammering and uncoordinated, nothing at all like the mech you’ve come to know.

Your ministrations ceased before you pulled your head away, leaning back to look at him. His optics wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, genuine concern slicing through the heat you felt in the moment.

His helm shook, “No, it’s… It’s not like that. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just- I’ve never-”

A sincere smile graced your lips before you kissed along the jaw of his mask.

“It’s okay, I’ve never been with someone mechanical.”

“No- I’ve never, at all.” The words were awkward and clumpy, struggling to articulate his thoughts, the main cause being his embarrassment about the truth. 

Your eyes went wide as you stopped kissing.

Never?

Tarn? A virgin?

Rolling your head to the side, you came to rest your cheek on the tyre treads that wrapped over his trapezius, a subtle breath tumbling from your lips.

“Do you want this?” You inquired, trying to calm the beating of your heart that thrummed against your ribcage, trying to be as collected as you could to disguise the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be bent over and absolutely ravished by this hunking mech. 

Tarn’s clawed digits flexed, his optics piercing straight ahead as he felt the heat of your body radiate against his frame. It took every ounce of will power not to grind up into you, not to dry hump you until he was a leaking mess. 

“I want this desperately,” was his reply, though his voice was low. 

Your tongue peeked out to lick against your lower lip before you sat up straight on his lap, bringing your face to his direct view. 

“Will you let me take this off?” You hushed, fingers trailing up to ghost against the smooth metal of his mask. Your eyes followed up the side of his mask to where it clipped onto his helm, but your fingers didn’t follow. Not without his permission to.

“Take it off,” he commanded with a delicate tone. 

Your stomach swelled in anticipation, very aware that this would be the first time you would be allowed to see his face since being under his care. The mystery would finally become visible. 

Nimble fingers fiddled with the clasps that secured his mask, trying to figure out exactly how to loosen it. Tarn would’ve helped, but he was too enamoured by seeing you up close and so concentrated. Your beauty did the opposite of soothing him, it was a fire that blazed through him like a wildfire on dry earth. It scorched him, an open flame that he knew he would be burned by if he came too close. 

But he’d be damned if he wouldn’t risk it all just to bask in the heat. 

With a click, followed in quick succession by another click, you managed to unclip the mask on his face. The mask was truly just that, an instrument to conceal what lay underneath. His well-constructed pantomime of honour, integrity, eloquence and loyalty to the cause which acted as a salve to his hypocrisy and burning rage.

Pulling the purple mask from his faceplate with both hands, it was like the curtain call of the most spectacular play you had been waiting for. Your lips parted slightly as you took him in, pupils dilating to the size of the moon as you tried to immerse yourself in the sight before you before he changed his mind.

Magnificence and beauty clung to every inch of his face like stardust, scattered and undeniable. Your eyes gleamed, reflecting every star in the night sky as you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

“You’ve been hiding this from me, all this time?” 

Tarn’s clawed digits came to settle on your hips as your arms wrapped around his neck loosely. 

With a gentleness, as if you were approaching a wild animal that may flee from you if you weren’t careful enough, you brought your head down to skim your lips across his. The plushness of your lips caught on the ripped and damaged part of his derma, but you didn’t pay it much mind.

Tarn’s optics dimmed before you pressed your lips against him. You sighed through your nose, his servos tightened on your hips as his derma conveyed his unrelenting fondness of you. His kisses were unpracticed, bordering on needy. That’s okay, you’ll have a lot of time to train him to your liking. 

His derma were surprisingly soft despite being made of metal, his kiss felt like one meant for a lover, not some glorified pet that he was about to stick his spike into until neither of you could string together a coherent thought.

His spike was thrumming beneath his interface panel, you could feel the subtle vibrations beneath your hips. Those jagged derma took more from you, accompanied by a hungry ambition to lay claim to you. 

The taste of him was like electricity, a sharp taste gathering on your lips and making its way into your mouth, to dress your tongue in volts of his desire. The brief thought flitted through your mind that maybe it wasn’t safe to ingest his fluids, but you trusted him to deal with the consequences if that were the case. That thought certainly wouldn’t obstruct the path that you were currently skipping down.

With heavy reluctance, you broke the kiss. Tarn tried to follow you, but you brought your hand to cup the side of his face to stop him.

“I promise, you will enjoy what comes next,” you spoke with certainty, before shifting your weight so that you could clamber off of his lap and slowly slide yourself down to settle between his legs. 

Looking up at him through your lashes, you made a slow and purposeful lick up a transformation seam on his left thigh strut. Your hands came to place on the inside of his knee plates, prying his legs open a little further for you. With a shaky ex-vent, he complied happily. 

“Will you show me what I have to work with?” you chided up to him, rubbing small circles with your thumbs on his knee plating. 

You sure hoped he had something you could work with.

To your pleasant surprise, he began to shift the panels that concealed his spike and valve. It wasn’t the quickest of transformations, but they were both revealed to you in a matter of seconds.

Oh. Both? He has both? When it rains, it pours.

With your dress loosened at the back, you managed to slip your arms out of the long sleeves. The bodice of the dress fell down, leaving the skirt wrapped around your hips to keep the garment on. 

Tarn oogled at the sight of your uncovered chest, only ever having seen this in the videos he had kept himself preoccupied with on previous nights.

You let out a breath of a laugh before you showed him your wide tongue, teasing him momentarily before bringing your face forward, not breaking eye contact with him. You sensed him tense, cooling fans whirring to regulate his frame. He wanted to know what that tongue of yours was capable of. 

With your hot breath fanning over his valve, you allowed your tongue to lick a stripe up along his slit, the ribbed texture of his valve running against your tongue. Your tongue continued its path upwards until you found his anterior node. If his anatomy was anything at all similar to yours, this should be his sweet spot. You were ready to test that hypothesis.

Although you wanted to tease him, you had waited far too long to deny yourself the meal you were being served. Your want for him was like a storm that was being held at bay behind your teeth, ready to be unleashed as soon as he came apart in your fingers.

Your lips pressed up against his node in an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue peeking out to swirl the bud like you would a lollipop.

A staticky moan tumbled from his derma, optics flickering as his digits wrapped around the edge of your bed. 

Perfect.

Your tongue continued stimulating him, flitting from licking up and down to going round in a circle to keep him on his toes. You brought one hand up to wrap around his spike, making a note of how your fingers couldn’t touch. The promise of the sweet burn that was to come fuelled you, it was like spilt ink through your veins, staining everything that it touched.

You squeezed his spike before bringing your hand up and down in time with your licks on his node. Slowly but surely, you felt the accumulation of what you could only assume was his natural lubricant spreading on your lips. It made the plump flesh tingle, as if the desire was dancing on your lips.

Tarn tried to regulate himself, tried to stay in this realm of reality as he felt your tongue swirl around him just right paired with the squeeze of your hand on his spike. His frame bucked slightly into your hand, his subtle whimpers only encouraging you to give him more.

Oh, what a treat. To hear the infamous leader of the DJD whimpering beneath your hands and tongue. Adding more to the fire, you brought your other hand up to stick two fingers in his aching valve.

His vocaliser shorted at that, stunning him into silence. Truth be told, he rarely even touched himself. Never getting the time for it. The only time he has recently was when he would jerk his spike aggressively to the human porn he was watching.

His slick starting to slide down your chin as you continued to eat him out, as if you hadn’t eaten in days. Your hand around his spike was getting sloppier, finding it a little challenging to focus on so much all at once, fingers working to the beat of a merciless drum inside of his valve as you desperately tried to pull him up to his peak.

With unexpected swiftness, his servo shot to your hair to pull your face away from his valve. You gasped at the tug, bringing both your hand and fingers to a stop, assuming that maybe this was as far as he wanted to go.

His deep red optics bore into your eyes before he vented again.

“I want to feel your mouth on my spike,” he stated, as surely as he could. 

You harrumphed a chuckle, flashing a toothy grin to him. Your lips and chin gleamed with his abundant pleasure.

“As you command, Master.”

His length twitched with anticipation as his eager optics studied your movements, clawed digits still wound in your hair. You kissed his tip, spreading his precum on your willing lips that were so ready to suck him dry.

Your haughty eyes met with his own, you saw the silent threat in his eyes that insisted you give him what he wanted. He wouldn’t force you down, he wouldn’t use the leverage that he had on your hair to order it. He expected you to satiate his every thirst without demanding it, expected it from you as if it was something you were wired to do.

Your hazy eyes flicker to his proud length, lips parted only a slight bit. Your mouth wraps around his tip, your tongue pushing up against the slit of where his transfluid shoots out from to collect the tangy substance on your tastebuds. 

Tarn couldn’t help himself, his hips shot up wildly to shove a good portion of his spike down your throat, the tip hitting the back of it. It took tremendous will to control your gag reflex at that, not having the time to warm up and adjust to his cock. 

Tarn’s servo pushed your head down as fractured moans tumbled from him, his intake dropping open as he revelled in the feeling of your warm mouth snug around his burning spike.

His voice became diminished to nothing more than a throaty grunt as he rocked his hips up into your mouth and used your hair to drag you up and down on his spike. Your fingers still lodged into his valve, you decided to attempt regaining some control and began to beckon your fingers inside of him to rub him just right against the roof.

The biolights that ornamented his chest pulsed, like a visual representation of the blood pumping around your body. His transfluid starts to pool in the palm of your hand, the wetness allowing you more leeway with driving your fingers in and out of him at a pace that made his processor spin.

He pushes you to your limits with how much your jaw has to widen for him. Tears are balancing on your waterline as you look up to this hulking mech with a desperation lashing in your eyes as if your very being would cease to exist if he didn’t keep using your mouth like this. The taste of his spike is otherworldly, so you try to thank him for it with your tongue. 

Your saliva drips down his spike and spills over your hand that is stabilising him at the base. You couldn’t help the rumbling moans that vibrated down his spike, which was heavy on your tongue.

“Fuck, you have–” he vented, “the most wonderful mouth,” he strained under the wetness that was drowning him, “Primus himself saw to it that you would be the perfect vessel to please me.”

Want wound around his frame like ivy, ensaring him slowly and persistently. You would not believe the number of nights he had spent imagining a scenario just like this. How much transfluid he’s spilt at the thought of you. 

His overload strummed through his body with a pitiless command, without warning that he could deign you with, he spilt a thick load of transfluid into your mouth. There was hardly any room in your mouth as it was, let alone with the liquid form of his horniness filling you too. 

With the best will in the world, you swallowed down as much as you could. Alas, you are only human, and swallowing it all at once probably would’ve led you to choking, so some of the pink fluid spilt out around the corners of your mouth and back onto Tarn. 

Your brows creased into a knot as you tried to suck anything more that he had left in him, which caused his frame to quiver with overstimulation.

He pulled your mouth off of him. Panting, finally being allowed the graciousness of air, drops of his transfluid continued to slip from your mouth, your lashes were wet and your face was flushed. Tarn looked to you with wide optics, almost in disbelief.

“That was–” his optics trailed down to the heaving of your chest, fixating on your tits, “sensational.”

You cocked your head to the side with a sly smile before your fingers slipped out of his valve, the skin wrinkling from where it’s been submerged in his heat for as long as it has. 

Standing up from where you had knelt on the ground, your knees felt sore and your legs were a tad unstable. Tarn’s servos gripped your hips to help keep you upright, bright optics trailing up to meet your eyes.

“Take my dress off me,” you uttered softly, “come and claim what’s yours.”

Tarn’s spiked bobbed in arousal as he tried to compose himself. Sharp digits collected the teal material of your half-off dress before he tugged it down, forcing the fabric over your hips. Gravity did the rest, the delicate material pooling around your feet and leaving you completely bare before him.

“If you don’t hurry up and sit on my spike, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself,” Tarn voiced, you could feel his yearning rattle through his frame, like a thread pulled tight.

“Is that a promise?” you teased before bringing your legs up to mount him, movements so agonisingly slow, seeing how far you could test his mettle. 

He growled lowly, claws digging into the skin of your hips as he urged you forward. A decree to relent, to give in to him, to rent your body and mind to him and him alone.

Your hands planted on his shoulders as you brought yourself down, sliding your slit against the tip of his spike. It was hot and weighty, oozing with uninhibited lust. The glint in his optics was dangerous, you knew you were balancing on a fine line, his patience was not unlimited and you would soon find that out if you didn’t just fuck him already.

Fighting against the initial resistance, you pushed yourself down onto his spike, your cunt unwilling at first to house something of this size. You moaned from the back of your throat as you willed his spike deeper, pleaded with your body to accommodate him.

Your nails dug into the tyres on his shoulders as you slowly worked your way down his impressive size. Tarn exhibited immense restraint by not pulling you down, understanding that it may end up hurting you. The fervour beat against his spark, leaving nothing but the echo of a fever that he couldn’t quell. 

With a unified moan between the two of you, you managed to swallow his length entirely in your tight hole.

“F-Fuck,” Tarn mumbled, words broken and haphazard, “you’re squeezing me so tight.”

You paced your breathing as you tried to wrap your mind around the stretch of your cunt. You pulled yourself back up to ease the sensation.

Up. Once.

Down. Once.

Tarn gargled his whimpers as he threw his head back. His claws held so tight on your hips that it threatened to break the skin. You came to settle one hand on his servo.

“Gentle, Tarn,” you warned. His grip loosened, but only by a fraction.

Up. Again.

Down. Again.

Again. Again. Again. Each bounce getting slightly faster than the last.

Tarn’s hips stuttered as his vocaliser ripped a heavy whine from him, thigh struts trembling underneath you, hot release taking him much sooner than he had anticipated.

Your eyes were blown wide as you felt his heat spurt into you.

Did he just–?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered woefully, optics offline, “oh Primus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He fumbled to grasp his mask, his intentions to hide beneath it and conceal his shame. 

You hushed him into silence, your soft hand caressing his damaged faceplate and the other stopping his attempt to hide himself from you, “no, nono, it’s okay. It’s okay, you did such a good job.”

He brought his helm forward to hide his faceplate in your chest, optics coming back online as he rolled your hips over his spike.

“I can– I can keep going,” he stated, embarrassment coursing through his circuits. 

“Okay, then let’s keep going,” you reassured him with a soft stroke to the back of his helm.

Determined to please you, to show you he is more than a mech that can’t handle more than five pumps and he is worthy of claiming you, he flips your positions.

He swings you round so that your back hits the soft bedding, spike slipping out of you in the process. He stalks over you, his wide frame completely swallowing you in a dark shadow.

Without his spike plugging you, his transfluid starts to spill out of you. Not for long, though, as he quickly rectifies your emptiness by shoving his spike back into you until his hips hit your pelvis.

You gasp, back arching at the sensation of being filled so quickly. 

Cutting to the chase, he thrust back and forth, both of his hands settling on your hips to keep you from wiggling them in attempts to ease the burn of the stretch.

"Every time I watched those videos, I imagined them as you. I thought about fucking you, just like this. Fantasised about the kind of moans and sounds you would make," he emphasised his point by rolling his hips, making you involuntarily moan, providing him exactly what he was looking for.

"The melodies you are singing for me certainly do not disappoint," he mused as he rubbed the smooth head of his cock against it, "I wonder what other sounds I can get you to make?"

Woah— what happened to that flustered mech who was just hiding himself away against your chest? 

Your next sound is deep and guttural as your hands find their place around his shoulders, white knuckles desperately clinging to him.

He scoffs once before he brings yours legs to wrap around his waist, angling you so that he’s able to fuck you deeper. The sound of your cries goes straight to his spike, inspiring him to fuck you better than you’ve ever had before.

Tarn isn’t quite certain this is what Megatron had in mind when he was ordered to take good care of you, but the way your eyes are rolled into the back of your head, the way your cunt is begging him for more, milking him, he can’t say you aren’t being treated well.

“Louder, I want you to scream until you lose your voice,” he growled, his demand reverberating through your ears and shooting down your spine in the most pleasant way. His voice was like hunger without a mouth, just a heat, an ache, a need. 

His chest filled with an indescribable sensation as he hardened his expression, focusing entirely on filling you to the brim. He wanted his team to hear, wanted them to know what he was doing to your body, the heights he was bringing you to.

Your pleasured moans become pleasured screams as your oversensitive body tries its best to accommodate him and withstand what he is dishing out. 

Your pitches are sweeter than any song, more euphoric than the Empyrean Suite. Maybe he should record your lustful noises and play that when he’s carrying out the will of Megatron instead. 

“Please, please- fuck, Tarn, please keep talking,” you implored, eager to hear that liquid gold that came from his derma.

“Keep talking? Oh, do you like my voice, sweet thing?”

You mewled, nodding your head frantically.

“You want me to tell you how good you feel? How mad you make me? How I can’t even sit through a meeting with my team without being sidetracked by the thought of being buried in this cunt of yours?”

Your walls fluttered around him, “yes,” you babble with a preen, “yes, keep talking, just like that.”

Your juices slide down his spike as he unforgivingly batters you. A sharp wince yanks from you as his hard servos grip your hips so hard that it turns your skin pale, beautiful sounds coming from you over and over as he fucked into your fleshy walls. You're sure it's the kind of hold that will leave bruises in the morning, skin adorned with his marks, proving that you have indeed been claimed by this vicious mech.

“My perfect little sex pet,” the timidness and embarrassment from earlier are long gone now. All that exists before you now is a tower of conviction, moving like the forces of physics heeded only his will.

His pace slows, instead focusing on getting as deep as he can inside of you, making each buck hard and unrelenting. You shake, desperately waiting for his spike to roughly fill you again. He enjoys watching your arms tremble as you try to brace yourself, enjoys watching your tits bounce with each thrust.

He loves that feeling of your pussy stretching around him wider than it's used to. Wider than any human cock could wish to do.

"Fuck, fuck Tarn," you breathed into the heaviness of the air, "you're filling me so much it aches."

Tarn’s servo comes to grip the headboard of your metal bed with one servo. With this, he’s able to swing his his back and forth with even more ease, pounding your cunt with restless desire. 

Wanting to add an extra level to your pleasure, you bring your dominant hand down to start circling at your clit. Tarn’s optics are snatched by this for a moment, watching you push yourself closer to the cliff edge so that you can release all over his spike.

Ah, ah, ah, ah is forced from you each time his unyielding spike bullies into you, your wetness coating him like a cloak of honour and splashing against the inside of your thighs. His pace is maddening, it promises to push you over the edge.

The grip on your headboard is so tight that he actually deforms the metal, needing to sublimate that rampant strength in something that isn’t your body, lest he break your pelvis.

Your body is in the process of being moulded to his liking, your cunt nothing more than a personalised spike toy, body being fucked into the matrress with nothing but harrowing roars that erupt from deep within his frame. His spike buries deep, so fucking deep, inside of you, that your consciousness starts to slip through your ears like mercury.

You let out interrupted and splintered chokes and cries, trying your very best to restrain yourself. If you were any louder, Megatron might have been able to hear you over on the Nemesis.

“You’re about to overload, aren’t you?” Tarn chided down to you, a grin plastered on his staggeringly beautiful faceplate.

“I can feel it,” Tarn continued, “can feel the way your cunt is trembling around my spike that you’re so close to the edge, that you’re moments away from overloading.”

“Fuck–”

“Do it, overload for me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as your eyes trembled in your skull, his baritone voice like a kiss from the universe, making you feel infinite. Your fingers and his spike took you the rest of the way, catapulting you into white heat as your ears deafened for a moment.

Tarn sighed heavenly as you milked him, every atom of your body aligning perfectly to usher him into his own orgasm, which wasn’t far off. He pumped steadily and purposefully, as his grip on the metal headboard of your bed caused it to groan.

Euphoria took him like the tides of the ocean, surrendering to the powers that be. His hips stilled as he pushed inside of you to the hilt, letting thick ropes of his transfluid spurt into you.

The two of you lay perfectly still as you panted for air, Tarn’s fans running high, intwined intimately with each other as you transcended beyond your physical forms, the stars around the Peaceful Tyranny acting as a blanket to keep you on this higher plane of being. 

After what felt like an eternity of welcomed silence, Tarn was the first to come to, pulling his spike out of your warm cunt. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, your line of sight trailed down to between your legs. 

A mix of your juices and his transfluid was splattered up the inside of your thighs, globs of pink flowing out of you and collecting on your bedsheets. You sighed before looking up towards your headboard, seeing the prominent indents of Tarn’s digits.

“Sorry about that,” Tarn cleared his vocaliser. 

You giggled lightly, “I find it quite hot, actually.”

You snaked your hands up behind his neck to bring his faceplate down to you, “nice to know I can make you lose control like that.”

“Oh, my sweet thing, you have no idea,” he hushed before kissing you.

– ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ –

Back on the bridge, Tarn has one leg propped up on the other whilst he lounges on his captain's chair, datapad in hand, scrolling through the team's reports from their recent excursion.

Helex saunters up to the right of Tarn’s seat, optics briefly overlooking what's displayed on the datapad. Surprised to see reports rather than human porn, Helex smirks.

“Good going, boss,” Helex clears the silence of the bridge.

“For what?” Tarn replies, tone bored.

“For y’know,” Helex quirks his optical ridges, “with Megatron’s pet.”

Tarn taps the datapad to show the next page of the report, not looking away from the screen to satisfy Helex with a response. The sounds you made whilst being on the end of Tarn’s spike did indeed carry through the vents of the ship, meaning that it was likely every member of the DJD knew exactly what transpired earlier that day.

“Yes,” Tarn starts, “and one black mark for you, for telling them about the material on my datapad.”

[revelboo]

Transformers x Reader Masterlist

This blog is 🔞. MDNI. I write spicy Transformers x human reader storylines and scenarios

Buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/revelboo

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevelBoo/works

About/Warnings/Assorted Headcanons and Scenarios

IDW/G1

Starscream x Reader/ Soundwave x Reader/ Megatron x Reader Everything Is Alright Everything Is Alright-full chapters

Wheeljack x Reader Circuits and Wires

Jazz x Reader Over it Now

Soundwave x Reader-stand alone When You're Around

Thundercracker x Reader Better Open the Door

Bluestreak x Reader Where I Belong

Prowl x Reader Stand Too close

Fan Art

Cliffjumper x Reader TKO

Sideswipe x Reader, Sunstreaker x Reader Can't Finish What You Started

Optimus Prime x Reader Gravity

Bumblebee x Reader Last Night

Skyfire x Reader Floating Down The River

Rumble x Reader Alcohol Eyes

Skywarp x Reader Stop Talking

Ratchet x Reader Feel Like Rain

Waspinator x Reader Worker Bee

Ironhide x Reader Hold Me Down

Vortex x Reader I Can't Decide

Grimlock x Reader Shiver

Constructicons x Reader Drive

Insecticons x Reader You (Don't) Know Me

Trailbreaker x Reader Too Tired To Wink

Hound x Reader Heavy Boots

Blaster x Reader Shoot Me In The Smile

Sunstorm x Reader Love Me Dead

Cosmos x Reader In Space

Astrotrain x Reader Sweet Tooth

Tarantulas x Reader Haunt

Flatline x Reader All At Once

Mirage x Reader Scenario-Pampered

Tracks x Reader Scenario-Angles

Shockwave x Reader She Is Afraid

Alternate Takes Masterlist

Lost Light Masterlist

TF Prime Masterlist

TF ONE Masterlist

TF Earthspark Masterlist

TF Armada

TFA Animated Masterlist

ROTB/ Bayverse

Rescue Bots Masterlist

[tinydefector]

Could I please request more Tarn x neutral human reader NSFW? Rut cycle, dubcon, breeding? Your Tarn collection is my absolute favorite and I need more! Please and thank you in advance! 🌈

Tarn Rut Cycle

I had alot of fun writing this piece.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Human/Cybertronian. Oral, anal/Vaginal sex depending on how you interpret.

Tarn Masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

__________

Tarn’s optics dimmed, his clawed digits curling into fists as he leaned against the edge of the table in the conference room. voices droned on, meaningless noise in the back of his processor. His field radiated tension, a flicker of irritation bleeding across the room, though none dared to comment. They could sense something was wrong, but none would risk drawing his attention. Not when the leader of the DJD was so clearly on edge.

His systems were overheating, vents hissing softly as his processor reeled. The scent of them, his Human companion, was a maddening whisper in his olfactory sensors. Tarn had thought himself above such base instincts. His Empurata should have stripped him of such basic needs, and yet. 

Here he was.

He gritted his denta, talons scraping deep grooves into the metal of the table. It had been a mistake to bring the Human aboard the Peaceful Tyranny, he realized now. Tarn had taken them on a whim, fascinated by their fragility, their strange resilience despite their pathetic organic form. They were meant to be a distraction, a curiosity to amuse him when he grew tired of the endless cycle of violence and execution. 

It wasn’t just their scent, though that alone was enough to drive his systems into overdrive. It was their presence, the way they looked at him with those wide, expressive eyes, so full of fear and defiance. The way their tiny hands trembled when he drew close, though they tried to hide it. Tarn had always enjoyed breaking his enemies, watching them fall apart beneath his gaze, but there was something uniquely satisfying about them. 

A low growl rumbled through his vocalizer, drawing a few wary glances from Kaon and Vos. He ignored them, his optics narrowing as his thoughts spiraled further. He hadn’t expected his rut to return, not after the extensive modifications to his frame, not after everything that had been taken from him. But his systems didn’t care about logic or reason. It only cared about the hormones his system could pick up on from his little human. 

“Commander?” Kaon’s voice cut through the haze, hesitantly. Tarn straightened, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room. 

“This meeting is over,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “Leave. Now.”

There was no arguing with him. The others scrambled, filing out of the room without so much as a backward glance. Tarn didn’t wait for the door to hiss shut behind them. He was already moving, his strides purposeful as he made his way toward his quarters. 

The scent grew stronger the closer he got, a heady, intoxicating lure that made his systems thrum with anticipation. When Tarn finally reached his quarters, the door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the small, fragile figure inside, their eyes widening in surprise as they tried to dart away to hide out of reach.  

“Tarn—”

He didn’t let them finish. In a single, fluid motion, he crossed the room, his massive frame looming over them as he reached out, his claws curling around their small form making them yelp as he brought them up to his optics. They freeze, breath hitching as they stared up at him, their expression a mix of fear and uncertainty.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” Tarn rumbled, his optics glowing brighter as his field surged. He had no doubt that the rest of the mechs on the ship knew he was in rut now. “Do you even realize what you’ve done to me?”

The human didn’t respond, their voice caught in their throat. Tarn tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to make his point clear. “No matter,” he said, his tone dark and possessive.

He lifted them effortlessly, carrying them toward his berth with a predator’s grace. The Human squirmed in his grasp. “Tarn please! Put me down, I'm Sorry for whatever I did!” their protests falling on deaf audials. Tarn’s vents hissed, his optics narrowing as he pinned them beneath his talons watching them squirm against his berth. 

They let out a sharp yelp as Tarn's claws pressed into their hips, the razor-sharp talons only just shy of breaking their skin beneath clothing. Their body squirmed instinctively, in a futile attempt to escape his grip, but Tarn only tightened his hold, his optics narrowing. Their chest heaving as they gasped, every little sound they made sent another pulse of heat through his systems.

Tarn’s frame shuddered, his vents hissing audibly as he leaned closer, his massive helm casting their small body in shadow. He could feel the tension radiating from them, the way their muscles tensed beneath his claws, their soft skin is something he had always enjoyed.

Humans weren’t quite as small as Cybertronians often assumed. Tarn had learned that when he first acquired them, their length barely spanned the full reach of his arm. But they were still small enough, still fragile enough to ignite the darker urges buried deep in his code. His claws flexed against their hips, pressing into them enjoying the little noises of protest they made.  

A low, reverberating growl rumbled through his chassis, the deep rattle of metal and mechanical components vibrating through the room. His talons curled, catching the fabric of their clothing, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to tear it apart. startled gasp and the faint whimpers escaped their lips as they tried to push at his claws, small hands pressing against the unyielding metal, but it was useless. Tarn didn’t relent.

The fabric gave way easily beneath his claws, falling away to expose the bare skin beneath. Tarn’s field surged,a loud pulsing beep leaves him similar to an ear ringing sound. as his optics locked onto the newly revealed flesh. Their scent hit him like a physical blow, stronger now, richer, untainted by the barriers of cloth and distance. It was intoxicating, a heady mixture of fear, adrenaline, and something uniquely them. 

Tarn’s vents hissed again, his massive frame shivering as he leaned closer, his optics glowing brighter. He dragged a single claw along the curve of their chest, the sharp edge barely grazing their skin, just enough to leave a faint red line in its wake. They gasped, their breath hitching, “please” they whimpered and Tarn’s engine purred in response.

“You smell… divine,” he rumbled, his voice a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down their spine. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me? What you’ve done to me?”

They stared up at him, wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. Tarn’s helm tilted, his optics narrowing as he leaned in, his faceplate mere inches from their exposed skin. He wanted to taste them, to feel their warmth against his cold metal, to consume the scent that was driving him to the brink of madness.

“You’re mine,” Tarn growled, his voice dark and possessive. 

“Tarn, Don’t—” they finally managed to choke out, their voice trembling, but he cut them off with a low, rumbling growl.

“Quiet,”

 he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. “You’re not here to speak.” His words hung heavy in the air, a dark promise that sent a shiver down their spine. 

“Don't move”

Tarn reached up, his claws releasing their trembling form just long enough to grip the edges of his mask. There was a sharp hiss as the seals disengaged, and with a deliberate slowness, he removed the mask that so many feared. 

The Human gasped, their wide eyes fixed on him as they shivered beneath his gaze. Tarn’s optics burned into their soul, in truth they hadn't expected him to look like this, he had assumed the mask was his face. He leaned down, his exposed face mere inches from their skin, and his glossa flicked out, dragging against the curve of their stomach and chest in a slow, deliberate motion. 

The taste of their skin sent a jolt through his systems, his frame trembling as he growled low in his chassis, smoke billowing out from his exhaust. The warmth of their body against his cold metal was maddening. He pressed his glossa to their skin again, savoring the salty tang of their sweat, the faint trace of fear that lingered on their flesh. 

His claws returned to their hips, holding them in place as they squirmed beneath him. Every little movement, every soft sound they made, only fueled the burning sensation in his wiring, he truly hadn't expected his rut to be affected by a human so much. 

“I could devour you,” he rumbled, his voice low and guttural, against their skin as his glossa traced the line of their collarbone. “You’re so soft… so fragile. It would be so easy to break you.”

The Human whimpered, their breath hitching as they turned their head away, exposing more of their neck to him in an instinctive gesture of submission. Tarn’s optics gleamed with satisfaction. 

“But I won’t,” he continued, his tone softening just slightly, though the possessive edge remained. “You’re mine, my little pet. And I intend to keep you”

His claws moved lower, sliding down their trembling sides before curling around the waistband of their pants. With a sharp tug, he tore the fabric away, discarding it as though it were nothing. Their body jerked in response, a startled sound escaping their lips as they tried to cover themselves, but Tarn caught their wrists with a single claw pinning them above their head. 

“None of that,” Tarn growled, his optics narrowing as he loomed over them. “You won’t hide from me.” He leaned down again, his glossa dragging down, tasting every inch of them. holding them in place, savoring the way their body quivered beneath him. 

But Tarn wasn’t foolish. He knew his own size, the sheer difference in scale between their fragile organic frame and his towering Cybertronian frame. He wouldn’t risk damaging his pet, not when he had gone to such lengths to acquire them, to keep them. 

No, he would take his time. He would prepare them, ensuring they could handle him before he took them. Tarn’s claws traced over their body, careful despite their sharp edges, his optics flickering as he watched their every reaction. 

“You’ll take me,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent shivers down their spine. “But not yet. Not until you’re ready. I want you intact, my little pet. I want to feel you writhe beneath me, to hear you beg for more…”

He pressed his glossa to their skin again, his claws tightening just enough to remind them of his strength. Tarn’s frame shuddered, his vents cycling heavily as he continued to taste them, to savor the scent and warmth of their body. 

The Human’s soft sobs filled the room, their cries muffled as they squirmed beneath Tarn’s unyielding grasp. Their small frame trembled, as he adjusted them, spreading their legs with a deliberate slowness.

They whimpered again, their voice a high, broken sound as Tarn pulled them closer, his massive frame looming over them. His talons curled around their thighs, holding them firmly in place. There was no escape, no chance for resistance, and they knew it, not to mention Tarn had told them not to move, they couldn't move even if they wanted to.

Tarn had them exactly where he wanted them. It was one of the upsides of his outlier ability on Human’s, they would do what they were told, it wouldn't off-line them like it could a Mech, no for Human’s it made their body completely give into commands, only simply ones so far but it had been a rather interesting discovery.

His glossa flicked out again, dragging along the sensitive skin he had exposed. The taste of them sent a jolt through his systems, his vents hissing as his sensors were overwhelmed by their scent and taste. It was intoxicating, like Mixing Diesel, High grade with energy crystals, just as addictive as his transformation cog addiction.

“You’re perfect,” Tarn rumbled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating against their thighs. He leaned in further, pressing his mouth against them, his glossa flicking with precision and purpose. The Human cried out, their body jerking in response as Tarn’s claws tightened on their thighs, holding them still.

 His glossa moved slowly, deliberately, savoring every reaction, His optics dimmed slightly, his focus entirely on the sensation of them against his glossa, the way their body trembled beneath him.

They writhed, their small hands pressing against his claws in a futile attempt to either free themself or pull him closer,but Tarn didn’t relent. He pulled them closer, his massive frame adjusting to ensure they couldn’t escape his grip. His engine purred louder as he pressed the tip of his glossa against them, testing, teasing, before slowly beginning to press inward.

They gasped and cried out loudly, their head tilting back as their body tensed, a broken sob escaping their lips. Tarn’s systems shuddered in response, warning lights flickering in his HUD as his spike panel began to pressurize, the plating heating beneath the strain. But he ignored it, his focus entirely on them, the way their body responded to his touch, the way their taste grew stronger, sweeter, as he worked them open.

“Relax,”

 Tarn murmured, his voice a low growl. His glossa pressed deeper, moving slowly, carefully, as he explored them, savoring every moment. The taste of them was maddening, a sensory overload that made his vents hiss and his frame tremble. He could feel his spike panel straining, the pressure building as his systems screamed for release, but he held himself back. He wouldn’t rush this. He wouldn’t risk damaging them, no matter how desperate his own needs became.

They moan out, their voice high and strained as Tarn continues to work them open, his glossa moving with precision and control, teasing and toying with them. “I could do this for cycles and never tire of it.” Tarn rumbled, his voice thick with desire. 

The Human’s breath hitched, their chest heaving as they choke back little soft moans. They were his. Completely, utterly his. And Tarn would savor every moment of their submission.

Tarn’s optics glowed faintly as he watched their trembling form beneath him, He hadn’t expected this. Tarn had assumed, logically, based on their fragile organic nature, that they would be far more resistant to his touch. He’d prepared himself for the possibility of injury, or having to leave them to take care of his rut. But as he pressed further, he realized how wrong he had been.

Humans were far more pliable than he expected. Their soft, warm body yielded to him, stretching around the intrusion of his glossa with far less resistance than he anticipated. He tilted his helm slightly, his optics narrowing as he studied them, his movements slow and meticulous. Their body was trembling, yes, but there was no sign of pain, no indication of damage. They were adapting to him.

 small, broken whines escaped their lips as Tarn pressed a single digit against them, his claw curlingly slightly to avoid the sharp edges. He didn’t push in immediately, instead, he teased, testing their reactions as his glossa continued its slow, deliberate exploration. When he finally pressed the digit forward, their body tensed, a sharp gasp escaping them as they tried to pull away. Tarn growled low in his chest, his claws tightening on their thighs to hold them in place.

“Don’t fight me,”

he rumbled, his voice dark and commanding. “Your body knows better than you do.” He pressed in further, slow and careful, watching as their body stretched around his glossa and digit. It was remarkable, the way their soft, pliant flesh accommodated him, even as they struggled against it. Tarn’s optics flickered, his systems humming with barely restrained anticipation as he continued to work them open. 

“You’re… adaptable,” he murmured, almost to himself, his tone laced with fascination. “I hadn’t expected this. You’re so soft, so fragile, and yet… your body bends easily.” He added the slightest pressure, his digit sliding deeper as his glossa continued its slow, deliberate movements. The combination drew a sharp cry from them, their body arching beneath him as they squirmed in his grasp. Tarn’s optics brightened, satisfaction flickering in their depths.

“See?” he said, his voice a low growl as his digit curled slightly within them, testing their limits. “You can take me.”

He moved slowly, ensuring they stretched with each movement, each deliberate press of his glossa and digit. He forced himself to remain patient. His spike was far larger than his glossa, and he wouldn’t risk damaging his pet in his haste. Not when they had proven themselves so capable of yielding to him.

“You’ll take all of me,” Tarn murmured, his voice dark and possessive as his optics bore into them. “I’ll make sure of it. Slowly, carefully… until you can handle everything I have to give.”

His glossa dragged against their trembling form one last time before he lifted his helm, his claws gently releasing their thighs to allow him to shift his massive frame. His vents hissed, his systems running hot as he observed their flushed, shivering body beneath him. The sight alone was enough to send another pulse through his overworked circuits.

“You should feel honored,” Tarn rumbled, his voice low and guttural, vibrating through the air like a storm on the horizon. “I had no intention of ever using this.” 

Their breath hitched, wide tear-streaked eyes locking with his optics before shooting downwards, their voice trembling as they tried to form words. Tarn tilted his helm, his optics narrowing as his words hung heavy in the silence.

“I remodeled it,” he continued, his tone carrying a faint edge of dark amusement. “Reduced its size. Softer metals. Less dangerous. I didn’t think I’d ever need it again… not after what I’ve become.”

His claws flexed slightly, holding them in place as his spike panel hissed softly, the sound sharp and deliberate. The Human froze, their body tensing as they realized what was about to happen. Tarn’s optics brightened, his engine rumbling as he leaned closer, his massive frame casting them in shadow.

“But then you…” Tarn growled, his voice trailing off as his spike panel slid open, revealing the length of his spike. His optics flickered as he watched their reaction. “You sent me into rut. You. my fragile little pet, did this to me.”

Their face paling as the full length of Tarn’s spike was revealed. It was still enormous compared to their small, organic frame, the sheer size of it making their stomach twist with fear. The metal gleamed faintly, the design smoother and less jagged than Tarn’s usual armor plating, but it was still intimidating.

They shook their head, their voice finally breaking free as they began to argue, their small hands pushing against his chest plating with a desperation that only made his optics gleam brighter.

“I didn’t do anything!” they cried, their voice trembling as they squirmed against his hold. “It’s not my fault!”

Tarn chuckled darkly, the sound low and resonant, His claws shifted, holding them firmly in place as he adjusted his position, his spike pressing against their stomach. The tip was cool to the touch, the softer metal deceptively smooth against their warm skin. Tarn’s optics burned as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You didn’t ask for this?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Do you think I chose this? Do you think I wanted to be brought to my knees by a mere Human?”

He pressed the length of his spike against their stomach, his optics flickering as he measured the size difference, the way it spanned nearly from their hips to their chest. His claws flexed again, holding them steady as they squirmed, their protests falling on deaf audials. Tarn tilted his helm, his optics narrowing as he observed them, his field crackling with restrained power.

“Do you see this?” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me? This is your fault. Your scent, your body.”

“Please,” they whispered, their voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You’ll take it,” he said, his tone final, unyielding. “Not all at once. Not yet, that will take time and training. But you’ll take it, little one. Your body will adapt. It already has. And when I’m finished… you’ll understand exactly who you belong to.”

The air was heavy, charged with an electric tension that seemed to buzz and crackle like static around them. Tarn’s vents hissed, his massive frame trembling as he shifted, his claws gripping their fragile form. They cried out sharply as he flipped them over, their small body pliant but trembling beneath his hands. A sob escaped their lips, muffled against the surface below, but Tarn’s optics remained fixed on them, 

His spike, heavy and heated, pressed against their smaller entrance, the sheer size of it a stark contrast to their soft, trembling body. Tarn paused there, the tip resting against them, savoring the moment. 

The sound of their labored breathing, their soft whimpered whines, was a melody he hadn’t realized he craved. They were so small, so fragile, and yet their body so warm, so alive, yielded to him, stretched for him, bent to his will.

Slowly, Tarn began to press forward, his optics locked on their back as he watched their body take him. The tip of his spike stretched them, the sight alone sending a pulse of heat through his systems, but he didn’t rush. No, he had control. ensuring they felt every inch, every movement, as he worked his way inside them. 

Their cries grew louder, their small hands clawing at the tarps beneath them, but Tarn only growled, his voice low and reverberating through the room like thunder. One of his claws flexed against their hips, holding them steady as he pressed deeper, grinding slowly into them, making them take more of him with each careful thrust. The other dug into the frame of his berth lesving clesr marks in the metal. 

“Breathe,” 

Tarn rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural growl that seemed to hum in the air around them. “You can take it.”

Their sobs shook their frame, but Tarn could feel it, the way their body stretched, adjusted, yielded to him. The sensation was maddening, the tight, warm pressure of their smaller form around his spike sending his systems into overdrive. His vents hissed louder, glowing red with the strain of holding himself back. He wanted to slam into them, to bury himself to the hilt, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. 

The scent of them was overwhelming, mingling with the faint taste of static in the air. It clung to his olfactory sensors, stoking the fire raging within him. Tarn’s spike throbbed, his systems flickering with warning lights as he ground deeper, pressing further into their trembling form. He could feel his control slipping, his frame trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

Their cries and moans grew louder, their small body arching beneath him as he pushed deeper, grinding slowly, methodically, ensuring they felt every inch. 

And yet, even as he claimed them, his processor wandered, flickering with thoughts he hadn’t considered before. Could they carry? Was it possible? transfluid, designed to create new life among Cybertronians if all else failed, but for a Cybertronian to carry a sparkling to full term was a 15% chance. Would it take to a Human? Could their soft, organic form nurture a sparkling?

The thought sent a jolt through his systems, his spike pressing deeper as his talons tightened on their hips. The idea of them bearing his sparkling, of their small body swelling with his creation, was enough to make his vents hiss louder, his frame trembling with barely restrained need.

Tarn continued to grind into them, his large spike stretching them further with each movement. He leaned closer, his voice a dark, guttural whisper. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone laced with dark fascination, “you could bear a sparkling. My sparkling. Imagine that, little one.”

Their wails grew louder, their small frame trembling beneath him as Tarn continued, his movements slow but relentless. His processor buzzed with the thought that stoked the fire of his rut into a roaring inferno.

The room was alive with the sound of his vents, hissing and cycling furiously, interwoven with the soft, broken cries of the Human beneath him. Their small, trembling body quaked with each slow, deliberate movement of his spike. He could feel his control slipping, his systems screaming for release, demanding he give in completely to the primal, all-consuming cycle of his rut.

And he did.

The deliberate slowness of his earlier actions gave way to something more raw, more urgent, as he pressed deeper, each movement drawing a sharp cry from his Human. Their warmth, their softness, the way their body stretched and yielded for him, it was a pleasure unlike anything he’d ever allowed himself to experience.

“You take me so well,” Tarn rumbled. Each thrust sent his systems closer to overload, warning lights flickering in his HUD as his spike pressed deeper, grinding into them with force. The tight, warm pressure of their body around him was maddening, driving every thought from his processor except the need to claim them, to fill them, to mark them in every way possible.

His optics flickered as he leaned over them, his massive frame engulfing their smaller one entirely. Tarn’s pace quickened, his movements growing more forceful, more desperate, as his rut overtook him completely. He drove into them, his spike throbbing with the strain of holding back his release. He wanted to savor this, to draw it out, but his systems were reaching their limit. His frame trembled, his optics flaring brightly as his engine roared. 

“You’ll take it,” Tarn growled, his voice thick with possession, his words a dark promise that sent shivers through their small frame. “All of it. Every drop.”

Their small body had gone limp beneath him, Tarn’s claws flexed one last time, his optics burning as his frame shuddered, his engine roaring as he drove into them with a final, powerful thrust. His spike throbbed, his systems screaming as he finally let go, his transfluid surging forward in thick, pulsing waves. He growled low in his chassis, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that filled the room as he filled them with bright pink fluid which leaks out in gushes.

His frame trembled, his systems cycling heavily as he came down from the high of his overload. The Human beneath him was still trembling, their small body limp and pliant, their breath coming in soft, broken gasps. “You’re mine,” he rumbled, his tone final, unyielding. “Completely, utterly mine. And now… now we’ll see what comes of this.”

He pulled back slightly, as he watched his transfluid drip from their trembling form, his processor buzzing with dark satisfaction. The thought of them carrying his sparkling, of their small body nurturing his creation, was a thought that filled him with a possessive pride he hadn’t expected.

___________

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[justarandomweeb]

HERE HAVE YANDERE MTMTE MEMES WHILE I STILL COOK.

edit: drabble art inspo by @jinuaei and @xaythefreak

woe upon thee-

TW Valveplug Art and memes used for reference.

[jellymind]

Conjunx Gifts

So, while reading MTMTE and the scene where Tailgate gets inner most Energon from Cyclonus, it got me thinking....

What if, because Energon is dangerous to humans, but the act of giving inner most Energon is seen as very romantic, the bots find a workaround.

Introducing the glow sticks!

Really it's just tubes, but man would I prefer to call it that. Anyway, the idea is simple and both the humans and bots get what they want. It's like a wedding ring for the humans and the bots get to give their love a gift. Furthering this idea, all of the tubes are hand made and designed differently to reflect the bot who gifted it.

Rodimus for example, makes his have flame etchings that are like his plating.

Drift's has old hymns in Cybertonian, and while you might not be able to read them, the meaning is still the same, because he picked ones about devotion and love.

Even wilder ones, Brainstorm, design theirs with features. Brainstorm makes his like his early warning alarm so that his human can get to safety when it gets crazy.

Tarn puts a message in his that will kill any Cybertonians that get close to the his human when activated.

Soundwave's plays music.

Just to list a few ideas.

And to add on, it's fashionable for the humans! They can be created to be worn like necklaces, or designed to be a belt, or even a ear ring. A reflection of both partners and a show of devotion and love all wrapped into a glow stick!

[megtrns]

nsfw! drabbles based on lyrics from my spotify wrapped, 2024 (afab!reader) (minors dni!) ft. mtmte megatron, fortress maximus, tarn

open your hands// take a glass

In the beginning, he blamed his hunger on the fool’s energon. Having been tampered with, the chemo-sedatives were never meant to fulfill him. The rations were meant to keep him in line, and if the constant, dull, pang of hunger was a side effect, then Megatron’s put up with worse. 

Until he sees you underneath him, back arched and body flushed against his frame: skin to metal, chest to chassis.

He has never felt this starved in millenniums. 

You made a breathless, begging sound, fingers trembling against his shoulders as if attempting to squeeze — nails barely denting the surface of his armor. For a fraction of a second, his appetite was sated, curbed by the sight of your bodies intertwined against the sheets. But with the air growing taut and heavy, he suddenly finds himself acting out of blind desire, seized by a new kind of want. 

Dentae licking the column of your neck, he ignores the strain in his wires from being mass displaced for so long, choosing to taste you on his tongue instead.

He tastes the sea and hears you moan, ecstasy gripping his spark. Holding your body with a new kind of vigor, Megatron stared down at you as if he was a desert on the brink of drought. And he knew that for him, you would be his river, endless and giving, already spreading your legs to pull him closer to drink.

2. I must be dreaming // they don’t hear me 

The vastness of space had always made the Lost Light eerily quiet. Well, maybe that was courtesy to the absence of Rodimus and Co, who are currently indulging in the bars of Hedonia and have left the ship in the hands of bots who have no interest in going anywhere near the hab-suite of the mech who had taken Rung hostage and threatened to kill everyone else. So now, in the privacy of his room, you could only hear your breathing mixing with the faint, mechanical whirring of Fort Max’s cooling fans. 

Here, sprawled across his palm with the buttons of your shirt undone and everything beneath the waist removed, you braced yourself on your elbows to catch his optics. 

“ Do you still want to continue?” You whispered, afraid that anything louder would startle him away like a skittish animal. But any apprehension on your part was quickly dismissed when he nudged your knees apart with his nose, eyes red like rubies, gleaming under the silhouette. 

When he pressed his dentae flat against your cunt, heavy and warm and so wet, you were glad that the entire level was quiet. Because it meant the floor was empty, and Fort Max could indulge in the sounds you make all he wants, undisturbed and uninterrupted by the stillness of space outside.

3. If it hurts to breathe // open a window 

Tarn was never cruel to you. It sounded like a lie, but he has done nothing but treat you like you were made of glass: too precious to drop and even more inconvenient to replace. So you do your best to perform. Until the line between reality and pretence starts to blur, the same way the minutes begin to melt into months, and you find yourself no longer sure of where you stand.

Somewhere along the way, your arms are shaking, trembling under the weight of your body as it spasms in anticipation. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, thighs slick with sweat as they struggle to properly wrap themselves around Tarn’s waist.

You can see his eyes narrow in amusement behind the mask, enthralled if not obsessive, servos sure to leave marks against the right side of your hips. You had his spike halfway inside of you, and even with his mass displaced, you had a feeling this was as far you could go. But every time your body clenches down to reach its peak, he abruptly stops you, and you don’t understand what you did to warrant this kind of torture.

But then you catch him staring, unable to peel his optics away from the mess between your bodies. Tarn wants to see you like this — pleading and wet, helpless in his grip. Tarn was never cruel to you, so when you finally cave in and beg for him to give you what you want — what you need — he doesn’t hesitate to press you down the metal slab of his berth.

This time, when you pressed your face against the wiring of his neck, you didn't have to perform. All you needed to do was sing. Because there was nothing more beautiful to Tarn than the sound of you wanting.

[legendarycherryblossomlove]

Chat I feel freaky....SO HAVE FREAKTARN!!

Oh and School just ended for me. SO NOW I CAN ANSWER ALL THE ASKS U GUYS GAVE ME!

.

.

.

"Kneel."

(A very short SUGGESTIVE fic. Tarn x Minibot!reader.)

.

.

"Down, boy." You commanded Tarn. Surprisingly, you didn't expect Tarn to kneel down so quickly. His crimson optics behind that mask starring at you so emotionless as he shifts into a more still kneeling position.

His kneeling position was just the right one, it was your height level. You gave Tarn a stern expression. You were tired of his constant obsession with Megatron, why couldn't he focus more on you than him?!

He then suddenly wraps his arms around your waist. Talons slowly tracing every seam of your plating as he leans down to your audio receptor and whispered. "Forgive me, beloved. For being a fool to the one I most adored and cared for." He pleaded softly. You never knew the leader of the D.J.D would be this...vulnerable. To say the least, you were shocked.

But, as a loving and caring partner you are. You carefully and gently took off his mask. (Of course, you have full permission to do so because you're his sparkmate.) You pressed a small kiss onto the scar of his faceplate.

Tarn lets out a soft rev, almost like a purr. "You spoil me oh so much, little one."

You were gonna answer back but only to be caught off when he leaned down further and kissed down your neck cables. He knows all your sensitive spots. Every moan and small gasp you make, is like music to his audibals.

Your freed servo found his faceplate and tried pushing him away. Only for it to be captured by his talon-like servo, placing it over his scarred cheekplate. Pressing a long and gentle kiss on your cold, metal palm. Tarn continued his kissing assault. From your servo, travelling to your wrist, to your arm and many more where he can reach.

Oh, how you silently prayed to Primus that none of the D.J.D members would walk in on you guys.

.

.

.

Enjoy, you tarn lovers.

[kitkatorin]

RAAAAAA FIRST PART OF THE TARN FIC IS DONE

I think I'll post it in about 3 parts. Full thing will be on AO3 at some point. Just hoping I can get these random ideas I have into a cohesive storyline.

Also I hope I wrote the Cybertronian reader bit ok ;;;; never really done it in a published work before

「ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ」

ᴛᴀʀɴ x ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴛʀᴏɴɪᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Part 1/?

Word Count: 2.8k

SFW (for now 👀)

Cybertronian GN Reader, Decepticon aligned

CW: Violence, mentions of death, torture, coercion/subjugation, mind control if you squint, Tarn monologuing

---

A lot can happen in a couple million years, especially when it's primarily occupied by war. Some things you can recall as if they happened in the last cycle, others were filtered out by your central processor as trivial information that wasn't even worth the effort of digging back up. Sure, you may not have always operated impeccably to all of the Decepticon ideals to the nanobyte in all that span of time, but you at least considered yourself generally loyal to the cause since Declaration Day.

So Primus only knows how you ended up on The List. Well, Primus and the Decepticon Justice Division, of course.

The lonely outpost you were surviving out of with your ragtag group of fellow 'Cons was overrun first with sheer panic at the sight of the Peaceful Tyranny on the short range scanners. There was no talk of fighting back, no negotiating. Maybe running, hiding, or escaping if that was even possible. But those desperate prospects quickly dissipated when the ruthless enforcers were first sighted treading down the halls.

You were forced to experience the horrors you only heard as hushed rumors. You watched your comrades - one by one - slashed, gutted, and mutilated in unimaginable fashions. How many did Megatron's posse victimize to learn just how far they can go with their creative, tortuous theatrics? One was savagely stripped of their plating and kept conscious enough to witness the evisceration of their own inner components. Another had their limbs shredded like junkyard scrap in the bladed chest cavity of the one called Tesarus. One was left to convulse in agony as their faceplate was gouged by the deathmask belonging to another named Vos. The last was incinerated in a furnace interred in Helex's torso, leaving barely a pile of smelted slag in their memory.

The sheer intensity of the experience skewed your chronosense, confusing moments for eternities watching your friends suffer until their sparks were eventually extinguished and what little was left of their bodies littered the room. By some obscure methodology or maybe a cruel twist of fate, you were the last one to remain barely functional, though you didn't expect that to last much longer. You laid with your faceplate pressed against the cool floor while searing electrical burns pervaded your frame. Somewhere in your peripherals, heavy pedes treaded around you in a slow, calculated pace. Your systems were long since exhausted to even bother identifying the source, but they eventually crossed into view.

"Such a pitiful state you find yourself in." It was Tarn who spoke as he stood over you. You figured this was his personalized monologue to you before your own demise, as even your spark seemed to shudder within its chamber just at the sound of his slate-smooth voice. "Self-preservation is such a capricious thing. It is undeniable, of course, that we possess the innate drive to mitigate any threats to our life. But what place does it serve in the struggle of morality? One may think that fleeing to fight another day grants the future prospect of redemption, that they can somehow still prove themselves valuable to the cause in another way." Tarn paced meditatively before stopping directly in front of you. He took a moment to scan your weakened frame through malicious crimson optics.

"When we align ourselves with the Decepticon cause, do we not commit our usefulness to Megatron's will? We aim to put our faith in his decrees without fallacy, for doing so ensures that our service in life or our sacrifice in honorable death in a defining moment of loyalty furthers the Decepticon creed."

Your spark increasingly resonated to a precarious frequency as he spoke; panic quickly flooded over you, but your body could do little to rectify it. Tarn clasped his servos behind his back and languidly approached you, taking in the fear that permeated your electromagnetic field.

"You would let existential fears override your determination to serve a cause greater than yourself. Your undirected retreat - your cowardly act of self-preservation - was a foolish exhibition of defiance. And look where that defiance brought you now. True, it may have provided you the opportunity to fight again under the Decepticon name. But since then, could you claim that your spark was truly devoted to the cause if you were able to selfishly defy those direct orders?"

Your spark now felt like it was on the verge of combustion. What started as a buzzing hum grew to a deafening ringing in your audials. It burned so viciously in your thoraxal cavity that you wished you could rip your spark out from its own casing. Through all of the brutal torture for however long it lasted, your final undoing would seem to come through Tarn's vicious sermon.

Through the warnings of imminent termination that crowded your visual displays, you saw Tarn stoop on one knee in front of you. The Decepticon insignia mask that he sported was mere centihics from your faceplate, and the glaring optics that peered from within locked with your faltering gaze. He paused with an unsettling silence, perhaps deciding what words he would use to finalize your execution. He had your dwindling spark within his clutches, and at any moment, he could decide to snuff it out. Throughout all these cycles and everything you experienced within them, you never envisioned your end would be a slow and excruciating torture at the hands of someone who wore the same symbol you had proudly branded on your chassis as their face. Regardless, your fate felt sealed as your spark seized with a terminal finality from Tarn's influence, like his digits were closing its grasp on your very life force.

"Though... perhaps your efforts of self preservation has afforded you a second chance at proving your usefulness." Clawed digits delicately grazed beneath your mandibular plate before clasping the sides your chin and angling your helm just enough to force what little focus you had left to conjure solely on him. "After all, redefining one's function beyond their perceived form is a cornerstone to the foundation of all that we fight for."

The noose on your life eased, though it still loomed over you with Tarn's intimidating presence. He removed his hand from where he was holding your faceplate, letting your helm fall back to the floor.

"Immobilize this miscreant and prep them for transport." Tarn stood up to his full height as he issued the command. He cast his gaze down to you and the pathetic state he left you in at his pedes before turning and walking away without another word.

It didn't take long for you to come to the regrettable conclusion that termination might have been better than whatever new plans Tarn now had in store for you. But those thoughts were quickly cut short as cackles of electricity erupted around you and almost instantly followed by overwhelming energy burning through circuits. The image of Tarn striding away was the last thing you saw before your overcharged systems went dark.

---

Indistinct monophonic noise first filtered through your audial feed before gradually recalibrating to stereo fields. What was first nondesrcipt noise was actually a mixture of the lulling hum of running engines and... music? Yes, it was some kind of vaguely recognizable music that was playing, but your processing power was more focused on rebooting your systems than identifying the melody.

As the sounds droned on, your internal visual display became more organized, and external spectrums sharpened to a coherent view. You were on the floor of a fairly lit room, appearing to be an office or personal quarters judging by the furnishings that were immediately visible. There was a moderately sized desk directly ahead of you, and while your optics continued to adjust from the reset, you were slowly able to identify neat stacks of data pad volumes and other memorabilia.

There were several badges of varying sizes - mostly Decepticon, but you saw a few red Autobot insignias in some places - and trophies of a more personal design. Empty sockets of a cranial chamber perched on the edge of the desk met your gaze, and when you recognized what was staring back at you, you jolted in shock. Your awakening tactile sensors alerted you to unexpected resistance - your servos were restrained in front of you by inhibitors.

"Ah, you're back online." The sound of that hauntingly familiar voice sent a wave of dread through your reawakening circuits. Before that, you could have tried to convince yourself that this was all a terrible nightmare, but the undeniable reality was that you were still functional and helplessly bound in Tarn's presence.

"I was beginning to think that Kaon went a little overboard with the voltage." Tarn sat behind the desk, data pad in one hand as he casually propped his helm with the other. Dull pain washed over you as you tried to readjust yourself to see him better. His optics rose from the slate's contents to watch you struggle.

"I had a chance to go through your personnel file, and I must say, you have quite the record." Tarn placed the pad upon one of the orderly stacks and then pushed it slightly by its side to align it near perfectly among the others. His demeanor was ominously relaxed as he had apparently waited patiently for you to reactivate. "If not for a few instances of poor judgment, you would have made an exemplary Decepticon among your ranks."

You didn't want this overly casual conversation with someone who had brought you to death's door. It just further puzzled you as to why he would even keep you alive. The question of "why" and the need to know what he had planned for you formed in your processor, but only distorted static, barely recognizable as any comprehensible words, came stumbling out as you tried to speak them. You still forced yourself to talk despite the initial embarrassment, thinking the lingering malfunction would clear up so you could eventually voice your concerned confusion. Tarn observed your pitiful attempts with an unwavering stare, almost seeming amused by your efforts.

"What's wrong, little dissident? Glitches in your vocalizer?" He chuckled as he leisurely rose from his chair. "It should pass in time, though I do hope you realize that nothing you could possibly say can change your current circumstances." He passively let his digits glide along the desk's surface as he moved before you.

"You should feel honored - as your old companions lay as little more than rusting piles of scrap in a crumbling outpost, you were allowed to remain functional for just a bit longer." With a fluent sweep of his arm, Tarn gestured to the rest of the room you had yet to visualize. "And to be among relics of our celebrated legacy despite your tainted reputation... truly an act of undeserved clemency."

Your stiff actuators were slow to respond, but you managed to turn your head to observe the other sides of the room. Various campaign banners lined one wall, some in pristine condition, others tattered and torn from use on the front lines. You recognized most, but a handful were unknown to you. Beneath them, requisitioned weapons and tools - some still attached to the severed limbs of their previous owners - were displayed on pedestals and in glass cases. Your optics tentatively gazed over the rest of the room that was adorned like a disturbing museum. Even whole lifeless frames were suspended on the walls like any other decorative piece. All the while, soft, decietfully soothing music continued to play in the background. It served as an apathetic attempt at counteracting the horrors you saw, only to further compound your growing unease. It was somewhat of a relief when Tarn resumed so that your attention was drawn away from the morbid furnishings, but that was extremely short-lived.

"Do not think that you are pardoned. You were specifically ordered to hold the line in that critical operation, but you choosing instead to retreat out of fear cost precious time and energy thay could have been focused elsewhere. Your transgression is inexcusable."

He passed in front of you and stood before a large window to your left. The cold, dark expanse of space was displayed beyond, but the glass reflected Tarn's form within it. Though his gaze was directed outward, the angle of the reflection made it seem like he never lost sight of you.

"But I saw fit to reinculcate your understanding of the Decepticon ideology prior to your exacting your sentence." Tarn turned his helm toward you so that his gaze pierced you from the side of his optics. "After all, it does no good if a sinner does not truly understand the gravity of the sin for which they are punished."

Tarn moved away from the window and paced back toward his desk, passing in front of you again. "The ruthlessness that the Decepticons have become known for is ultimately rooted in a focal aspiration - achieving progressive change through decisive action." He stopped for a moment, pedes fixed in place with an upright, dignified posture that gave the impression that he was directing a philosophical discussion among academy students instead of sociopathically preaching a doctrine to an audience of one.

"Think of how society would have been without Megatron's revolution - stagnant, oppressive, self-destructive. Without his call for change, a call for action, we would be suffocating ourselves in a broken system."

As he continued, you were helplessly inclined to listen. But instead of filling you with the fear that your spark would be extinguished in a mere moment, a numbing daze washed over you that made your lingering anxieties virtually irrelevant. It was like being infused with a sedative prior to an operation, except that your life was not in the hands of a trusted medical professional - you could be subjected to untold machinations of Tarn's design. You were powerless to do anything, and as he carried on in a tone that seemed to effortlessly harmonize with the persisting music, the less you cared.

"Megatron's influence has called many to the cause over the millennia, resonating with those who felt dissatisfied and victimized by blatant injustice." Tarn shifted his optics to the stack of data pads again. "So many individuals, rallied behind the ambition of one..." He let the thought fade with silence, then his gaze suddenly snapped back to you, his frame following as he turned to face you directly.

"I'm willing to think that despite your grevious shortcomings, you still have the capacity to understand loyalty and obedience."

Tarn began moving towards you in an unhurried pace, and you instinctively stiffened like cornered prey as he drew closer.

"Your traitorous legacy could have ended along with your compatriots. But that would have been too fleeting, a viable opportunity would have been wasted."

He lowered himself to kneel over you, as if he were studying you like some fascinating specimen. He was just above eye level as you timorously shrunk back from him in apprehension. Perhaps he was studying you - with those glaring crimson optics burning straight through you - maybe he was able to see the parts of you that weren't publicized in a service record. Maybe he could discern the secrets you thought were locked and hidden away. And as your dorsal plates pressed flush against the wall you shrunk back to, that overwhelming helplessness flooded your systems again. It felt like everything was laid bare for Tarn to exploit; no matter how much armor you had, you felt entirely stripped down to the point where he could see the cables and wires lacing through your protoform. With nowhere to retreat to, Tarn minimized what little space remained between the two of you, bringing his upper half so dangerously close that his subtle passive venting swept across your dermal receptors.

"I intend to impress upon you the very essence of servitude, so you will understand clearly just how gravely you've disgraced Lord Megatron." Tarn's voice couldn't have been louder than a hushed murmur, but it echoed within your own mind like a persistent thought, reverberating with an undeniable intensity that drowned out all other possible notions.

The words "obedience," "loyalty," and "servitude" in Tarn's entrancing voice ricocheted in your cortex to the point that you perceived nothing else beyond that. Or simply because the only other source of sound had automatically deactivated.

"Ah, it seems we've reached the end of the suite." Tarn just barely turned his face in the vague direction of his desk, referring to the now silenced device that was playing his choice musical pieces throughout his discourse.

"How timely." He returned his icy attention to you. "I was thinking it was about time to indulge in a different musical number."

---

Part 2

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

☆��A Clueless Child & An Even More Clueless DJD

scenario: a group of psychopaths unwittingly become parents to an abandoned newly built found in mysterious circumstance

warnings: this started off as a crackfic series i took too seriously. found family, may get more gory in the future, reader is a child. remember, the DJD is their own warning.

note: this may be slightly OOC, forgive me! also, Vos' dialogue is in a different font to convey the use of Primal Vernacular. this will start off as a coherent story and then diverge into headcanons and 'what-if' scenarios with multiple possible endings.

next: part 2

DISCOVERING A LITTLE FELLA 01

summary: how they found you

The air is thick on the surface of Clemency. Before Tarn is a vast battlefield abandoned, rusting frames of thousands of Decepticons lie scattered across the horizon, remaining in their position almost like immortalized statues of the destruction this war has caused. Poetically ironic given it's the moment where they approached the end of their mortal lives that have been mostly preserved, the rust only beginning to gnaw into their internal systems. Tarn is filled with a sense of melancholy, almost. How far the war has gone. He will admit though, the view is pretty wonderful despite the dark, dusk atmosphere.

Had their soldiers been stronger, maybe this wouldn't have gone for as long as it had. It's almost an apathetic view but Tarn believes that's the truth. The air feels almost heavy with the weight of this 'necessary' cost of war as he takes in the sombre sight.

“And that's another one.” Kaon mutters, another name crossed off The List. Some cowardly deserter really thought he could hide in the ruins of the battle he ran from. How shameless. Kaon sighs out as he goes through The List, datapad in servo; Helex and Tesarus are chatting off and Vos seems to be interested in the desecrated corpses of their own. Probably for his dissection table, no doubt. Tarn doesn't care, he continues to stare into the horizon. Pondering the future of the Decepticon Cause when a loud scream erupts from where Vos was digging around for organs, the sharpness of which startled them all, Tarn included.

He’s slightly annoyed and all of them immediately walk over to Vos who looks terrified.

“What are you screaming for?” Tarn scowls, the last thing he wanted was one of his own unit members to scream like cowards. Vos points at the pile of bodies uncharacteristically terrified, his crimson optics widened as he rambles out in Primal Vernacular. Despite the faceguard, the distress was apparent from his optics alone.

  “T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ b̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅd̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕!”

  Offline frames are supposed to stay immobile. This was not a normal reaction from Vos. A small purple glow emanates from Tarn’s fusion cannon as it loads just in case, better safe than sorry. Though, he seriously doubts it's worth their concern.

“It could be just a scraplet.” Helex frowns, Vos’ reaction seems out of proportion and Tesarus nods in agreement. They always warn Vos that there's going to be scraplets… Vos stiffens a little, slightly offended as he turns to face Helex because he's more than well aware that it's a jab at him. Last time, Vos had one stuck inside his systems. It was not very pleasant for him and the team to say the least. Tarn shoots a nasty glare at Vos through the slits of his mask at the memory. He swears, sometimes his team was just reckless and silly despite being infamous mass murderers.

Kaon scans for any signals that indicate spark signatures other than the five of theirs and… there's a spark signature, faint but present. Originating from the pile of bodies Vos yelped from.

“Actually, there's a spark signature.” Kaon wastes no time in informing Tarn who's somewhat surprised beneath the mask. How does one manage to get themselves stuck beneath a literal stack of dead bodies?

Soon enough, Helex and Tesarus are working on moving partially rusted frames from the heap of bodies like they weighed nothing, with heavy distaste as their servos come in contact with dried up energon, they preferred it fresh and warm; much better to feel. Tarn scans thoroughly, perhaps, there could've been another cowardly traitor that had joined alongside the now offline Runamuck.

But what Tarn sees shocks him and the others. There it is, a small little frame. The poor thing looks crushed. A tiny Decepticon insignia on its erratically heaving chassis. Helex and Tesarus stop hauling away offline, partially rusted frames. They would feel relieved at the prospect of not having to get anymore rust flakes on their frames but they too are very stunned, not expecting to see a newly-built of all things stuck under the rubble of offline frames in an abandoned Decepticon graveyard.

All of them exchange glances while the little one lets out shallow vents, as if the poor thing was compressed. Tarn looks at the tiny purple insignia once again and is reminded that this little one is a Decepticon. Not a deserter or a traitor. A tiny little thing that's somehow just surviving… likely, all by itself… out here… in a desolate battlefield scattered with offline frames… His faceplates soften a little, for the first time in forever, beneath his mask as he stares deep in thought at the little Decepticon.

For the first time, the DJD has no clue on what to do. Kindness was not something they professed. But they had a sense of duty, being Decepticons; to ensure the future of their Cause. They all look at Tarn for any idea on what to do, but even he, deep down, is unsure. But the strength of the Decepticons lies in its internal administration and what good is the internal administration if it ignores the cries of those who would carry its future?

This was not merely an issue of pragmatism. It would reflect the Decepticons as a whole, or so Tarn feels.

“...we need Nickel.”

Immediately, all five of them move towards their ship, The Peacefully Tyranny. Helex holds the newly-built, trying to be as careful as he can but that proves to be a challenge for the far from gentle giant as he walks, the other four DJD members crowded alongside him. Looking at the heaving sparkling with uncertainty, curiosity and even a bit of worry. These psychopaths never have really been in a situation like this, let alone been near a sparkling. Kaon faintly remembers speaking to a few in idle playful chatter before the war, Tesarus can count the number of newly-builts he's seen on one servo and Vos has never seen one, period. Their optics are fixated on the little thing in Helex’s servos, his lower, smaller pair of servos holding onto the little one as well; Helex fears he might crush the thing. They look fascinated; curious optics in awe at how frail new life was. All but Tarn, who is not accustomed to the uncertain conflict that rages on in his processor.

“How did it even get itself in there…?” Kaon mumbles to himself, musing about how such a frail little thing could've possibly ever ended up under a pile of bodies.

  “T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅd̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝?”

Vos thinks that the newly-built may have felt their presence and so, could have taken refuge that ended up being inconvenient for the little thing.

“Who cares about that? We need to make sure this little thing isn't going to offline on us.” Tesarus mutters, looking at the sparkling. Their plates rattling as it tries to vent properly. Helex can feel how warm its little frame is, frowning a bit and speeds up his pace, the others having no issue catching up.

Meanwhile, Tarn is lost in his own thoughts. The sparkling is Decepticon manufactured. He can see the serial number painted on its tiny frame and the little purple badge on its chassis. He might’ve found it oddly cute in a different circumstance, perhaps. But the questions swirl in his helm.

How in the name of all things Decepticon did a newly built find themselves on Clemency? An abandoned battlefield. There's nothing more than death here. How did it survive for so long? What did it even fuel on? How old was it? More importantly, how did it live with such a tiny little frame…? It's so fragile! Tarn barely remembers back when he was fresh off the manufacturing unit. Was he once this pathetic too? The thought is almost alien to the leader of the DJD.

The thoughts continue to whirl in all of their processors as they finally make it to the entrance rampway of The Peaceful Tyranny, moving towards the medbay in haste. Vos and Kaon continue to theorize about what could've possibly happened. Tesarus looks a bit worried, this isn't the usual routine after all. The three of them stand outside the medbay for now. They peep in and watch, listening closely. Helex meanwhile, stands in the medbay with Tarn as they watch Nickel examine the clearly injured newly built.

Now that neither of them were carrying it, they've come to realize that the sparkling is actually… a tad bit taller than Nickel. Vos probably would've said something snarky about it and Helex definitely would’ve chuckled but neither chooses to comment from where they stood, the air filled with tension.

“You know, you guys bringing back a newly built is the last slagging thing I could've ever expected…” The foul mouthed medic mutters out as she expertly works on the little one's small frame. The little one lays on one of the medical berths as Nickel moves with calculated precision, having to use a stool to really see past the berth in order to work. Helex and Tarn look at each other momentarily. All of them are very well aware of the irony of the situation, they were the last mechs that should be allowed near a sparkling.

“Yes but that… thing is one of us.” Tarn isn't sure what to call it as he points at the tiny purple insignia, Helex merely nods in agreement, lacking anything to add on. Nickel stifles an amused laugh at the way Tarn calls a sparkling as a ‘thing’, still focused on the soldering. A master of multitasking. She wonders how she got along with just out-of-touch and downright insane mechs sometimes.

“Yeah, they've got all the trade marks from a standard Decepticon manufacture unit.” Nickel replies, optical ridges furrowing slightly as she words to untangle wires and fix a clogged ventilation system. Such high unnatural frame temperatures were a standard sign of it and considering the poor thing was beneath literal corpses, Nickel is damn sure the kid probably is infected with a virus after all, they don't exactly give firewall updates on Clemency. “...including the bugs.” She mutters out to herself, making sure neither of them heard that but Tarn raises an optical ridge beneath his mask; however, before he could question her by what she meant, a thought strikes Nickel.

“...what are you guys going to do after they wake up?” She asks, looking at the two of them and… Tarn freezes for a moment, what he was about to ask hitting a screeching halt and Helex stiffens. This truly was something he had no idea on what to do. It would appear neither of the DJD had any foresight on what to do next. Helex looks at Tarn, understandable since he is their leader but Tarn does not dare to look back at all. Infact, he wishes Helex wouldn't look at him for this.

“That… will be decided shortly.” Tarn leaves the medbay, signalling Helex to follow. Nickel shrugs and goes back to repairs, the sparkling letting out a sound almost akin to a glitchy cough. Poor thing, Nickel feels. Sighing out words of comfort, she can see the terror in their optics.

“We need to make a decision about the sparkling, now.” Tarn would've unanimously taken a choice himself but… he honestly has no clue what to do here. The urgency is present in his tone as all the other three perk their helms up to Tarn, Helex standing nearby him.

“I say we drop them off at the nearest training facility.” Tesarus says, it is a rather logical choice but…

“The nearest MTO facility is lightyears away and if we go that far, we'll lose our trail on Overlord.” Kaon frowns as he speaks. Flickers of annoyance are hidden beneath Tarn's mask at the mention of that wretched designation.

  “T̷̡̧̬̲̭̦̘̩̊̉͛̓̓̌͌̕ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈p̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅr̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ.”

Vos adds onto Kaon's point. Overlord was a high priority target, they were all aware of that.

“Agreed. But it's not like the DJD can keep a sparkling on board.” Helex huffs, optics narrowing slightly at Kaon. Keeping a kid onboard the The Peaceful Tyranny was a stupid idea. Newly-builts are curious and none of the rooms on their ship are exactly suitable for the little one. Not only that but it's not typical of their reputations to keep a sparkling onboard.

“Are you saying we should risk the possibility of finally getting Overlord for the wellbeing of a sparkling?” Kaon raises an optical ridge, questioning Helex who now has second thoughts on what he had said.

“...fair point.” Helex mutters out. Vos who went silent voices his opinion, his red optics brightening a bit as he finally gets an idea on what to do with their new problem.

  “W̵̰̻͍̉̔̅̀̐͐͒͆̒̚ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅm̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ! F̵̜̜͎͉̯̜̓͂r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅp̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ p̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ…”

Vos says, feeling rather proud of himself for racking his processor up for that idea. Helex, Kaon and Tesarus look down at Vos; faceplates in disapproval. But at the same time… something stops them. They can't really put a digit on it either.

“Normally, if it were any other mech…” Kaon mutters out. The others clearly didn't expect a response like that but it wasn't exactly unwelcome. Though, they were disappointed that neither of them thought of such an easy solution.

“In the usual case, yes…” Helex replies, this was not the usual case after all.

“Maybe if it were an Autobot sparkling…” Tesarus mumbles, in thought.

“We could just reprogram it into a Decepticon then.” Kaon sighs, why waste an opportunity to get a new addition like that? Tesarus looks over at Kaon, murmuring out that usual saying; "Once an Autobot, always an Autobot.".

Vos, despite the faceguard, is very clearly frowning, rather agitated by the fruitlessness of this discussion with his peers and even more so, unable to understand why they feel obligated towards a random sparkling they found in the middle of nowhere on Clemency. Crimson optics narrowing a little. They're the DJD! They commit atrocities! It's literally their job too! Why must they tolerate something which gets in the way of completing their sworn, near divine duties?

  “I̸̺̺͎̰̥̜̯̼̮̰͖̜͂͆̿̈́̿̔f̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ's̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅǎ̴̯̀͠ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕ i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ǎ̴̯̀͠y̶͔͗ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅf̵̢̻͈̫̬̻͔̘̞͈̆̇̍̈̌͊ͅ ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠ d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅi̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ, ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝y̶͔͗ m̵̢͕̫̓̔͑̊̈u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅ ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ b̸̼̋͛̑͆̈́͗̿̅ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠?”

Vos argues, Tesarus clears his vocalizer.

“Because that sparkling is a Decepticon. It isn't a traitor. It's probably too young to even know what counts as treachery. We are the Justice Division. What Justice is there in killing one of our own simply because of their presence being a mild inconvenience?” Tesarus retorts. Vos looks down for a moment, not wanting to admit that Tesarus had a very good point there. They were cruel, they were the DJD but that cruelty was supposed to be reserved to those who truly deserved it. They all go silent for a moment, they've discussed enough amongst themselves now. They turn to Tarn as their final beacon of… not hope, Tarn never gave hope but their beacon of ‘knowing what the frag to do right now’.

Tarn thinks hard about all the points they have presented. All of their helms glued on him. As their leader, he's the one that gets the finalizing vote. The sparkling should probably go with more… sane bots but then, they'd risk losing track of Overlord. They can't kill a sparkling. Megatron did give strict orders not to involve themselves with those not on The List and as far as Tarn was concerned, newly-builts never showed up on The List. But… if they kept the sparkling, they could perhaps raise a strong Decepticon… After all, it survived on the wastelands of Clemency all by its lonesome without hardly any weapons other than the tiny handgun blaster that's out of charge that they found clenched so tightly in its little servos. Anticipation floods the air as he continues to think.

The idea of moulding a Decepticon… an eternally loyal Decepticon…

There is a lot of appeal to that prospect.

“The sparkling is to stay.” Tarn sighs out, making a decision everyone seems to have mixed opinions on. Kaon seems slightly pleased, Vos let's out a frustrated groan, Tesarus looks as unsure as ever and Helex is... well, he's rather indifferent to it.

But the real issue was informing their wonderful medic about this...

the fanon term is ‘sparkling’ but in the comics, they mainly use ‘newly-built’ for freshly made Cybertronians so i’ll be switching between the two but i’ll mainly use the canon comic term. also, reader is not a baby. i think it makes more sense for newly builts to be smaller but able to walk immediately when they are made since they are Cybertronians. though, i feel like other functions like transforming are slowly learnt.

also, most transformers start off with mentor figures which i believe are similar to parents for humans.

[jinuaei]

May I offer you memes in this trying time?

(I have more memes cooking up, like you, Xay and Muletai give me a push to draw bots, I swear I haaate drawing bots and have never drawn bots till last month, but when you guys cooked, I'm like this shit is so good I have to fucking draw this.)

OH MY GOD OH MY PRIMUS OH MY RUNGGGGGGGGGGGG

I LOVE THEM WHAT!!!!!!!!!!! Ough you have to tell me how to draw them without wanting to cry from the details.

"Rescue Mission" HA! Perfect, we all know nobody is getting rescued by their aft. Probably even faked one to make you call them good mechs and get a delicious reward.

And AWEEE RUNG BABY!! He deserved to be coddled, the real good mech between the three of them. Can't do anything wrong!!!

I do love your military/officer (?) Y/N though, perfect addition ngl

[mei-simp]

AHSJFJD @jinuaei religious human tarn is taking up brain space SO i had to draw him

[revelboo]

Maybe a one-shot on how some of the MTMTE bots would react to their human suddenly teleporting back home? My bones crave angst.

Oh. My one weakness… angst… How painful do I want to make this…

This is an alternate take scenario, not part of any of the stories

MTMTE What If Angst Scenarios: Just Gone

Megatron

• Rumbling out a laugh, he affectionately taps a servo under your chin and smiles when you lay a soft hand on him. “You’re quiet today,” he says, the contact with you soothing him. “Everything alright?” And you wrinkle your little nose at him. Know you think he’s worrying over nothing, but he can’t help it. You and the spark he’d created with you are everything to him. A second chance. A family he’d never dreamed possible. A gift that he’s not sure he can ever be truly worthy of after all he’s done.

• “Just a little off today.” There’s a faint feeling of disorientation, but it’s nothing major. Servos ghosting over your cheek, he’s frowning and you know he’s going to hover and worry unless you distract him. “Can I have some water?” Optics brightening slightly, he turns away and watching him, you still can’t believe he’s yours. That you’re here. Sometimes it all seems like a vivid dream. Heart aching as you watch him, that disorientation sharpens. Hooks into your middle to steal your breath and you recognize the pain. Remember it. Don’t even have time to cry out.

• Staggering, his hand catches the counter as sharp pain flares through the bond, almost crippling him as the tiny container of water slips from his servos. Turning, he stares at his berth. At where you should be and aren’t. Can’t sense you at all. You or his sparkling. Just gone. Legs giving out from under him as his knees hit the floor. Servos shaking uncontrollably as he roars out in pain.

Scavengers

• “Hey, move it you two, we don’t have time for-” Trailing off as Spinister just looks up at him, your blanket clutched in his servos, and Krok’s spark constricts. Knowing something is wrong, seeing it in the pain in Spinister’s optics as the big mech curls forward, rotor blades flaring as he hangs onto your favorite blanket. “Where’s Tiny? Spinister, what happened.”

• “Gone,” he manages, keeps turning the blanket over, twisting it like you should still be tangled in it and he’s just missing you somehow. You’d been in his hands, talking to him and your expression had gone strange. All you’d said was that you suddenly didn’t feel well. He’d had you. Safe. He’d been holding you and you’d just disappeared out of his servos. “Gone.” Looking helplessly up at Krok, because he always knows what to do. He can fix this. He has to fix this. Holding out your blanket in his shaking servos. Pleading for help.

Swerve

• Laughing, you push an empty glass across the bar top to him before jogging for the next one. Head turning when Nautica takes a seat, Swerve hears a clatter, a stool hitting the floor and he looks at Trailbreaker. The big mech pointing. And there’s nothing there. Overenergized already? “What is it, boy? Timmy down a well? Use your words,” he jokes, smile faltering when you don’t laugh. You always laugh. Trailbreaker is backing away from the bar gaping. Spark constricting when he can’t find you. You were right there. “Hey, that’s not funny.” Reaching to move glasses to see if you’re hiding behind one. You can’t have gotten down without help. ‘They just disappeared,’ Trailbreaker whispers. No. He’s had too much. He’s wrong. You’re not gone without a trace. You can’t be. He never got to tell you that he loved you. The moment had never felt right. You’re not gone.

Rodimus

• Entering his quarters, he sets down an energon cube and one of Ratchet’s nutrient bars for you. “You wouldn’t believe what Mags said to me,” he mutters, turning. And you’re not on his berth where he’d left you. Freezing, he shifts your blankets to check that you’re not buried under your nest of them. And immediately drops to his knees to look under the berth. Servos warming as his ability begins to flare. Terrified you’d fallen, but there’s no trace of you. It’s like you disappeared. Opening his door, he steps out into the hall and sees Chromedome looking lost. ‘I think the humans are all gone,’ the other bot says reaching for Rewind as the smaller bot grabs onto him. He’s wrong. He must be. His armor plating is popping, heating up. They’re wrong.

Tarn

• Servos sliding idly along your spine as you laze on top of him, he softly sings for you. Relaxed and focused on the steady beat of your heart. Tucking his chin to see you watching him. Humming along even though you don’t know the words, your voice twining with his to make warmth spread through him. And you sit up suddenly with a shaky gasp. Hooking a servo around you as you look up at him, brow creasing. “What is it?” You look afraid suddenly, doubling over and he cups his palm around you. And you’re just gone like you’d never been. And his servos tremble as he stares at where you’d been. Where you should be.

Cyclonus and Tailgate

• Another panic attack? Feeling the fear and pain spark through his bond, Cylconus growls and staggers. Nearly crippled with it. Crossing the room as Tailgate bounces off a wall, backpedaling and yelling incoherently, he catches the smaller bot and drops to his knees. Trying to calm him before he hurts himself. Or you. Where are you? Usually you two are about inseparable. Feels Tailgate clutch at him, and there’s a ragged, aching wrongness that’s tearing at him. All jagged edges through his bonds with you and Tailgate. And Tailgate’s hysteria takes on a new meaning.

• Venting raggedly, he’s howling trying to get Cyclonus to understand and can’t calm down enough to tell him. So he’s screaming, panicking. One minute everything was fine, stretched out beside you as your mouth brushed his neck, lazily tangling in you. Snaring you with his spark to check on the fragile twin sparks you’re carrying and then you’d just been torn away. Lost you and the sparks. Just gone. And he can’t calm down, grieving and terrified and confused. Screaming.

Next

And kitten twins for poor Cyclonus is a thing now