#Tfp knockout

[mr-megaphone]

[dazzletron9000]

drawing that I used for my banner, just breakdown being cute n' silly

plus a bonus alt

[theartofwoompwoomp]

Y’all ever think the bots feel cuteness aggression towards humans

I dunno, i can just see them seeing us stretch or eating and them feeling the urge to give us a big squish.

Like Megatron or Skywarp would just lay their servo on top of you slowly trapping you between the floor and just finding it amusing as you grunt and complain about being squished.

Or if like knockout or bumblebee is taking you out for a drive, it can go two ways. Number one they will start driving a bit reckless but never to the point you’re straight up shaking. Just enough for you to get a bit scared at first, but then having fun after the initial shock. 

There’s just something about being able to keep you on your toes that makes everything worth it.

Number two it’s just a normal drive until it’s abruptly interrupted by them braking and almost serving out of control. This is mainly caused from over sensitivity.

Kinda like the i can’t sit still for too long but i have to and then exploding from energy.

And if you’re a bit on the softer side they’ll absolutely adore you more than normal. Like, hello,extra.warmth.Absolutely. You’re staying on their lap for as long as they can hold ya.

Heck, Jazz could be working and you pass along just minding your own business, when this guy just snatches you from the ground to give you a tight hug and smother you in an instant then putting you down before you could finish processing the whole ordeal and when you look up he’s back working as if nothing happened. 

Anyway we need more cuteness aggression in fics 

———————————————————————

masterlist 

[victorzhuzhakin]

Sad things happen, I've cooled off from the TFP fandom and returned to my OCs as it happens all the time. I remembered a few sketches that I wanted to post when I make more, but apparently I won't make anything anymore :(

Thank you to everyone who was there for me during my hyperfixation, I really had fun, I was glad to be surrounded by your love and support. I am always happy for those who stay with me even after I no longer draw their favorite fandoms :]

[revelboo]

So......

With the new bots being added wat kinks do you think they have?

Also you turned me into a Megs fan. I came for the Soundwave and have been hit with the Megatron hots. And the whirl.

Waking up to more fics is great!! But don't forget to look after yourself

More Scenarios

Various Transformers x Reader

18+ content 🌶️

Knockout

• “Just to make sure you keep your grubby little paws to yourself,” he growls as you wriggle against the soft material he’s bound your wrists with. Huffing at him as his servos lift your hips with casual strength and you feel his spike slide against you. “Can’t smudge the paint.” Back arching as that spike slowly stretches you, you moan. “Do you know how wrong this is? How illicit?” Gripping your hips, he thrusts against you, optics narrowing as his attention dips to where your bodies are joined. Knowing he loves it. Loves that this is taboo and scandalous as much as he loves to complain. Toes curling, you whimper.

• “It’s obscene,” you moan, that breathy sound stringing him tight. Part of him hates how addicted to the feel of your body he is. To watching his spike shiny with your need sliding into your wet heat, the way your grip him. Hips snapping against yours, just to hear that wet sound. To make you whimper and squirm, so responsive to him. So vocal.

Shockwave and Soundwave

• Tension thrumming through Shockwave as his head tips to watch you squirm against Soundwave, head thrown back against the communication’s officer as you come apart. Hears the other mech murmur against you, shuddering slightly as he releases, servos tracing the delicate line of your throat with one hand, the other sliding from your hip to your lower belly. Watching Soundwave’s hands slide to grip your hips and help you out of his lap. Your warm smile faltering some when you come to him.

• Nerves thrumming as Shockwave’s head tilts to study you, there’s always the uncomfortable feeling that you’re an experiment to him, not a person. Soundwave you trust to an extent, he seems to care about you despite how distant he can be sometimes, but Shockwave? This one makes you shiver and not in a good way. When he just stares, you give up and drop to your knees between his spread thighs. Comforted by the fact that Soundwave is right there watching as you grip his spike and slide your mouth along Shockwave’s length and he makes that low, rumbling snarl, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to touch you, just trembles. Because this has become normal. Him watching, but rarely touching.

• That warm mouth of yours slides against his spike, tongue stroking over the head. Antenna flicking back, he watches Soundwave kneel behind you. Unable to move as you make a hitching sound of pleasure when Soundwave mounts you again. Mouth working his spike he cautiously reaches out a hand, processor stuttering when that disjointed feeling of wrongness slams through him, seeing the cannon at the end of his arm when he’d been sure it should be a hand. Shaking as your eyes flick up at him in worry, he runs the smooth metal muzzle of the cannon over your cheek. It should be a hand, shouldn’t it? He’s not sure. Antenna flicking as Soundwave rumbles at you, hips rocking as he breeds you, Shockwave focuses on that. That low, crooning purr and the feel of your mouth on his spike. Letting those sensations ground him in the present.

Rodimus

• Curled against your back, he slides a palm down your arm and twines his servos with your fingers. Hears the sleepy sound you make when he tugs your hand down your body and spears a servo inside you, rocking your knuckles against yourself. Feels you squirm against his hold. “Not even wake, yet,” you protest, voice hitching adorably as he rocks his hips against your butt, teasing his spike against you.

• Leg sliding in the blankets as he releases your hand to grip your thigh with his wet servos and then he’s driving inside you with a growl. Rolling you to pin on your belly as his spike slides deep, thrusting urgently. Rushing for that finish line with no patience at all. Laying your cheek on your outstretched arm, you look back at him, his optics so bright as he ruts against you, growling in a broken mix of English and Cybertronian. “With my sparklings…. Frag, so tight… mine…” Sparklings. He’s said that before while inside you. More than once and you never remember to ask what that means, but as he ruts against you, nothing else is important aside from the feel of that thick spike driving deep over and over.

Whirl

• Leg kicking out slightly as he bends you over the edge of the surface he’d lifted you onto, you shiver as one of his pincers slides against you, hooking around one of your thighs and spreading you open for him. Feel his spike slide against your inner thigh as he tries to line up with you, refusing to let you just roll onto your back and help him. “So wet,” he growls, the outer curve of his pincer sliding against you. “Be loud.” Because you’re in Ultra Magnus’s office. How many times has he fucked you across the poor guy’s desk? You’re almost positive he wants Magnus to walk in on the two of you going at it.

• “Fuck me already.” Impatient and needy, your tone has an angry edge that makes him shudder with delight. Shifting behind you until the head of his spike finds you, he drives deep, thrusting urgently. Figuring out how to mount you with his unique anatomy had been fun. His tit guns as you refer to them in the way in most positions. This way, though? He can rut against you, pincers grabbing onto the edge of the surface he has you on, giving him extra leverage. With the added thrill of possibly getting caught fragging you on Magnus’s precious, oversized datapad of rules.

Tarn

• Big servos scraping against the berth under him, a rough snarl escapes him as his hips buck against you. Big frame draped over your back, you’re tempted to risk his temper to try and remove the stupid blindfold. Especially when you feel his lips brush against you, sliding up behind your ear. Wanting to see his face, but knowing he’s weird about it. Denta grazing your ear lobe, he shifts behind you, his warmth leaving your back before placing a palm between your shoulder blades to push you down.

• So obedient as you lower your upper body, hips up and his hands slide to grip your hips as he moves against you, spike stroking deep. You feel so much tighter this way, gripping his spike as he stares down at you. Sees your blindfolded head turn to lay on your arm, lips parting. Making those little, ragged sounds that string him tight. Movements growing rougher when you push back against him, crying out. Fisting his spike as he keeps bucking, drawing it out as his servos tighten on you. Snarling as he releases inside you, palm surfing up your skin while you tremble under him. “Don’t,” he growls in warning when you try to touch the blindfold. Feels you tense under him, but you don’t argue, turning your face away. Can feel the disquiet in his spark as he slowly rocks himself against you, reluctant to leave the wet heat of you. Why does it matter so much to you? No one sees his face, he tries his best not to see it himself. Venting softly, he braces a hand near your head and curls his frame over you.

Constructicons

• Crying out, head tossed back against Mixmaster, your thighs tremble. Six sets of hands gripping you, keeping you suspended between them as, which one is it now? Scrapper ruts against you. There’s a mouth sliding warm against your hip, a glossa sliding over your belly. Another mouth finds yours as you arch and buck in their grip. Hearing them murmur to you as Scrapper’s spike strokes deep, toes curling as he drives you to that peak again, your brain too muddled to be sure, but you think they’ve started a second round. That Scrapper had already fucked you. “I-I can’t, please.”

• “We’ve got you,” Mixmaster says. Laughing softly as you writhe against them with a breathy cry, arching like you’re trying to escape, and he rumbles at you, hands curled around you under your arms as you toss your head back against him, soft hair sliding against his plating. “Take good care of you,” Bonecrusher growls, his hands under your hip as he bends forward over you. “Such a good little mate,” Hook adds as you buck in their hold, crying out as you milk Scrapper’s spike.

Drift

• “Slow down,” he growls, shuddering and hips lifting slightly as you bounce on his spike. “Not going anywhere.” Worry about you overexerting yourself mingling with his fear of losing control. Of slipping again, rolling you under him and taking you hard and fast. Hates how rough he’d been with you, even though you’d insisted you liked it. Servos stroking your hips as he watches you ride him, those lovely eyes meeting his optics.

• “Not made of glass,” you gasp, rolling your hips as you chase that high. Feeling his palms stroking over you, touch so gentle. Because you’re still not well, but you’re not an invalid either. You want this, want him. And he’s holding back. Always keeping himself in control, but when he slips? When he takes you with that urgent, edge? Fucking you like he might die if he’s not inside you, that had been electric. Made you feel alive in a way you desperately need.

These nerds…

[ladytoon70]

Y’know when people put Christmas lights on their cars, this is that but more gay ❤️✨❄️🎄

[uglysquiddd]

i got possessed and drew this so fast idk what happened

[energon-depo]

KOSS! KOSS! KOSS!

[tempoprimo]

🍿🎬🎥

I drew some cute and naughty 4koma.

They learn human culture Netflix and Chill.

[jaysdoodlehell]

As the winter holidays are approaching, everyone has their job to do around here... well, maybe except Shockwave stealing some snacks >:3 At least in their underground refuge, they can try to celebrate :3

Idk how canon to our story this art would be, but as the season draws near I wanted to do something for me and my partner in crime @kingborb to celebrate in our own way. I hope y'all would have great holidays as well! :3

[areum120]

More knockout interactions

And there even more to come :)..

The kid's first time meeting knockout

[isi567]

I've been thinking, since us humans can be allergic to medicine (penicilin for example) could Cybertronians be allergic to their medicine too? Like imagine Knockout giving Megatron medicine and him complaining it's itchy and everyone is confused until they realized it's allergic reaction and he can't have that medicine. I'm sure that would be a funny thing to explore.

[podvalya]

[skelekerrry]

I would've never thought that I would be able to draw transformers from memory.....

Had nothing better to do while waiting for my friend at the event; I even met a tf fan that complimented it 😭😭🙏

[techhiz]

part 1, part 2

Faded Spark (?)

Months had passed since Y/N’s death, but for Knockout, the pain felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Every time he entered the medbay, he was struck by the haunting memory of her lifeless frame on the table. No matter how much Breakdown tried to help him cope, the guilt and grief remained like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

Meanwhile, at the Autobot base, life had resumed its usual rhythm—until a strange signal disrupted their routine.

“Optimus, we’re receiving a faint distress signal,” Raf reported, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The signal was weak, barely holding together, but it was enough to catch the Autobots’ attention.

“Can you pinpoint its location, Rafael?” Optimus asked, his deep voice calm but laced with urgency.

Raf nodded. “It’s coming from about ten miles outside Jasper. Looks like... a Cybertronian life signal. Barely hanging on.”

The room went silent for a moment.

“A Cybertronian? Out here?” Arcee questioned, narrowing her optics. “Could be a trap.”

“Or someone in trouble,” Bulkhead countered, his tone serious.

Optimus considered for a moment before turning to the team. “Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead—investigate the source of the signal. Exercise caution, but if someone requires aid, we will not turn our backs on them.”

The Autobots transformed and rolled out, leaving Ratchet and the others behind to monitor the situation from the base.

The source of the signal led them to a small ravine, where they found the broken frame of a Cybertronian lying half-buried in the dirt. The bot was barely recognizable at first—missing an arm, one optic dark, and their side leaking faint traces of energon.

“Primus...” Bulkhead muttered as they approached. “Whoever they are, they’ve been through the Pit.”

Arcee crouched down to get a better look, her optics widening as she realized something. “Wait... this can’t be. This is—”

“Y/N,” Bumblebee beeped, his tone equal parts shock and disbelief.

The name struck them like a thunderclap. Y/N was supposed to be dead. The Decepticons had been mourning her for months, and yet, here she was—alive, but barely.

“She’s still online,” Arcee said, placing two fingers to the side of Y/N’s helm. “But just barely. We need to get her to Ratchet, now.”

Without hesitation, Bulkhead gently lifted Y/N’s broken frame and carried her back to the GroundBridge.

“By the AllSpark...” Ratchet breathed as the team arrived with Y/N. He immediately cleared a berth and gestured for Bulkhead to lay her down. “I thought she was dead!”

“We all did,” Arcee said grimly, watching as Ratchet began to work on her injuries. “But here she is. Somehow.”

Ratchet quickly assessed the extent of Y/N’s damage. Her frame was still in critical condition, but it was clear that someone had tried to stabilize her wounds before abandoning her. The patchwork repairs were crude—likely done in haste—but they had been enough to keep her alive.

“Her injuries are consistent with what Knockout described months ago,” Ratchet muttered as he worked. “Missing arm, optic damage, energon loss... It’s as if time stopped for her.”

“Can you save her?” Bumblebee asked, his tone pleading.

Ratchet’s optics softened as he glanced at the young scout. “I’ll do everything I can, Bumblebee. But her condition is precarious. She’ll need time to recover, even if I succeed.”

The Autobots watched in tense silence as Ratchet worked tirelessly to stabilize Y/N. After what felt like hours, the medic finally stepped back, his frame slumping slightly from exhaustion.

“She’ll survive,” Ratchet said at last. “But she’ll need rest and energon to regain her strength.”

Days passed, and Y/N began to show signs of improvement. Her remaining optic flickered weakly as she regained consciousness, but she remained quiet and disoriented. The Autobots were careful not to overwhelm her, giving her space to process her surroundings.

But as Y/N’s condition improved, a difficult question arose: should they inform Knockout and the Decepticons about her survival?

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Bulkhead admitted during a private discussion in the main room. “I mean, she’s Knockout’s sister. He has a right to know she’s alive.”

“And what happens if we tell him?” Arcee countered. “He’s a Decepticon, Bulkhead. If he knows we have her, he might use it as an excuse to attack us—or worse, take her back to Megatron.”

“Y/N was never really a fighter,” Bumblebee interjected, his beeps soft and thoughtful. “I don’t think she’d want to go back to that life.”

“Regardless of what she wants, it’s her choice,” Ratchet said, his tone firm. “She’s not a prisoner here, and we are not her captors. But we can’t make this decision for her.”

Optimus, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. “The question is not whether we should inform Knockout, but whether Y/N wishes for us to do so. When she is ready, we will ask her. Until then, we will respect her autonomy.”

The Autobots nodded in agreement, though unease still lingered among the group.

As the days went on, Y/N grew stronger, and with that strength came clarity. She began to interact more with the Autobots, listening to their stories and learning about their lives. Though she still carried the scars—both physical and emotional—of her time with the Decepticons, she found a strange sense of comfort among her new companions.

One evening, as she sat quietly in the medbay, Ratchet approached her. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Y/N,” he began gently, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

She turned to him, her optic dim but focused. “What is it?”

Ratchet sighed, leaning against the edge of the berth. “Your brother... Knockout. He believes you’re dead. We’ve been debating whether to inform him of your survival.”

Y/N’s expression flickered with pain at the mention of Knockout. She hadn’t forgotten her brother—not for a moment. Despite everything, she still loved him. But the thought of returning to the Decepticons filled her with dread.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to face him,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He... he’d never forgive me if I stayed here. But I can’t go back to that life, Ratchet. I can’t.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, his optics filled with understanding. “You don’t have to make a decision right away. But know that whatever you choose, we’ll support you.”

Y/N managed a faint smile, her spark warming at the kindness in his words. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she had a choice—a chance to rebuild her life on her own terms.

The decision wasn’t easy, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t the same bot who had left the Nemesis all those months ago.

And perhaps, in time, she could find a way to bridge the gap between her past and her future.

The year that followed Y/N's arrival at the Autobot base had been one of healing, growth, and transformation. Under the Autobots' guidance, she slowly regained her strength and found a new purpose. No longer the fragile and broken bot they had rescued, Y/N had embraced the Autobot cause, using her experiences to fight for a better future.

Her bond with her new allies had grown strong, especially with Bumblebee and Bulkhead, who treated her like a little sister. Though her frame still bore the scars of her time with the Decepticons, she carried herself with newfound confidence, wielding her past like armor.

But one thing she couldn’t shake was the memory of her twin brother, Knockout. Despite all the pain and suffering, she still missed him—his charm, his arrogance, the way he always managed to make her laugh. She often wondered if he’d moved on, if he’d forgiven himself for what had happened.

Unbeknownst to her, she was about to find out.

The Decepticons had launched a surprise assault on a remote Energon mine, and the Autobots had deployed to stop them. The battlefield was chaos—a flurry of blaster fire, clashing blades, and the deafening roar of explosions.

Y/N fought alongside her new family, her movements fluid and precise as she defended Bulkhead from a pair of Vehicons. Her optic narrowed as she brought her blade down on one, sending it crashing to the ground before turning to block the other’s attack.

“Nice work, Y/N!” Bulkhead shouted, smashing another Vehicon with his wrecking ball.

“Don’t get cocky, Bulkhead!” she called back, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “We’re not done yet!”

But as the battle raged on, a flash of crimson caught her optic, and her spark skipped a beat. There, amidst the chaos, was Knockout. He stood near the far edge of the battlefield, his polished frame glinting in the dim light of the mine.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

Her grip on her weapon tightened as conflicting emotions surged through her spark—relief, guilt, fear. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to fade away, and all she could see was her brother.

Knockout was in his element, darting around the battlefield with his usual flair. He didn’t relish combat, but when necessary, he made sure to leave an impression.

“Breakdown, watch your six!” he called out, firing a shot that sent an Autobot stumbling back.

“Got it!” Breakdown shouted, slamming his hammer into the ground and creating a shockwave.

But as Knockout moved to cover his partner, his optics caught something that made him freeze in place.

There, fighting alongside the Autobots, was a frame he knew better than his own.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

It couldn’t be. She was dead. He’d seen her lifeless frame, held her cooling hand. And yet, there she was—alive and fighting.

For a moment, he forgot about the battle entirely. His optics locked onto her, scanning every detail of her frame. The scars, the missing optic, the arm she’d lost—all of it was still there. It was her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mix of disbelief and desperation.

Y/N heard his voice and turned, her optic meeting his. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, the distance between them feeling both infinite and insignificant.

“Knockout...” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before she could say anything else, another explosion rocked the battlefield, forcing them both to take cover. When the dust settled, Knockout was already running toward her, his expression a mixture of joy and anguish.

“What—what are you doing here?” he demanded, stopping just short of her. His optics roamed over her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re supposed to be dead! I... I thought I lost you!”

“I thought I lost myself,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft but steady. “But I survived, Knockout. The Autobots saved me.”

Knockout’s expression shifted, his optics narrowing. “The Autobots? You’re... with them now?”

“They gave me a second chance,” she said, stepping closer. “A chance to fight for something better. I couldn’t go back, Knockout. I couldn’t.”

Before Knockout could respond, Breakdown’s voice cut through the moment.

“Knockout! Behind you!”

Knockout turned just in time to see an Autobot charging toward him. He raised his weapon, but Y/N was faster. She leapt between them, blocking the attack with her blade.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Knockout shouted, his voice filled with panic.

“Protecting you!” she snapped, pushing the Autobot back.

The fight escalated as more bots joined the fray, and Y/N found herself caught between her old family and her new one. She fought desperately to keep Knockout safe while fending off attacks from both sides, her spark aching with every strike.

“Y/N, stop this!” Knockout pleaded, his voice breaking. “Come back with me! We can fix this—we can fix everything!”

“I can’t,” she said, her optic shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t go back, Knockout. I belong here now.”

“You belong with me!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “We’re family, Y/N! Don’t do this!”

“I’ll always love you, big brother,” she said, her voice trembling. “But this is my choice.”

As the battle reached its peak, an explosion tore through the mine, sending debris flying in all directions. In the chaos, Y/N was struck by a falling beam, pinning her to the ground.

“Y/N!” Knockout screamed, rushing to her side. He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to lift the beam. “Stay with me! Don’t you dare leave me again!”

Y/N’s frame was battered and broken, but she managed a weak smile. “It’s okay, Knockout,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

Before Knockout could respond, Optimus arrived, lifting the beam with ease. He glanced at Knockout but said nothing, his expression heavy with understanding.

“Take her,” Optimus said, his voice firm. “Get her out of here.”

Knockout hesitated, his optics darting between his sister and the battle raging around them. Finally, he nodded, lifting Y/N into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you, little sister.”

As he carried her away from the battlefield, Y/N rested her helm against his chest, her spark filled with a strange sense of peace.

For the first time in a long while, they were together. And that was all that mattered.

(spoilers: there is going to be a little something for Christmas ;) )

[revelboo]

Greetings, could we please get more of "My Favorite Accident"?

I really love this fanfic!!!

Sure!

My Favorite Accident Pt 6

TFP Knockout x Reader

• “You’re scaring off the business.” Scowling at you as you wash glasses, you just arch your brows at him. And yeah, he has a point with that look. The guy that had been hurling in a bush when you’d arrived had wandered inside and fell asleep, head on the bar, his toupee long since in the floor, looking like a dead squirrel. And he’s the only holdout, your two other drunks having wandered back home. Or at least somewhere else. For all you know, they’re passed out outside in the gravel, but as long as they’re outside, they’re not your problem.

• “I keep waiting for you to explain the joke,” he mutters, his patience slowly fraying watching you go about your ‘job.’ Because at this point, he’s more angry than anything else. And this has to be a joke, one that’s already run far too long. It’s insulting that you work here. Part of him wanted to just leave you here to figure out your own way home, but he’d stayed out of morbid curiosity and because, after defending you from being groped three times, he’d realized you’re too oblivious to survive without someone watching over you. Feeling someone pinging him, he growls.

• “Bills are no joke,” you say, banging a glass on the bar hard enough that the remaining patron nearly falls off his stool when he startles awake. “Last call.” Tone all saccharine sweetness as he blearily looks around and then struggles to get down and get to the door, legs spread like a man trying to keep his footing on a heaving deck in rough waters. He’s definitely going to go water those poor, dead azaleas again, chunky style. “So, mind explaining why you camped at my home and then stayed here all day? I’m assuming you have some important, secret alien robot agenda. You know, something better to do than slum it with me?”

• “You have no idea,” he grumbles, hesitating as that ping comes again. Dividing his attention between the holomatter avatar and his real body, he hears your disgruntled ‘are you kidding me right now’ as the avatar gets glitchy. And half listening to your tantrum, he answers the ping. “Where are you? Megatron’s hunting for you,” Breakdown’s voice growls at him and he shifts on his shocks. Because if the big boss is on the warpath and needs something, he can’t be kept waiting. Or he’ll take it out on his hide with his big fists.

• Watching him have a conversation with himself, that weird, expressionless avatar staring with dead eyes at nothing. Creepy. Still can’t figure out why he’d hung out with you when he really must have better things to do. You don’t think it’s that he’s lonely. Only that he’s decided you need him to watch after you, though how he’d reached that conclusion, you’re not sure. You’ve done fine on your own for years. You’ll be fine after he gets bored of messing with you.

• “Stall,” he says. “I’m coming.” Aware that he and the avatar are both saying the words when you lean away from him, frowning and he ends the communication. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to find a different ride home. Try not to die while I’m gone,” he adds, glancing around to make sure there’s only the two of you in the bar before letting go of the avatar, hearing you screech about security cameras before he goes. You’ll be fine. After he pacifies Lord Megatron, he can come back. Make sure.

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