#and he was pretty distracted by Optimus's aft on the battlefield

[transingthoseformers]

I'm campaigning pretty hard for autobot / defected! earthspark Thundercracker, but I'm currently thinking about the "Thundercracker and Novastorm transitioned and swapped places" idea and I'm imagining the hilarious idea that the rainmakers and the elite trine proceeded to gaslight everyone into thinking nothing happened.

Megatron: is it just me or were you blue before?

Now Novastorm: no, it's just you(lying)

[weenwrites]

TFP Optimus, Knockout, Soundwave, and Dreadwing Being Carried Out Of The Battlefield By Their Cybertronian S/O

Pairing - Romantic Category - Headcanons Trigger Warnings - None

Optimus

He was once again having a solo throw-down against Megatron, and was loosing.

So you, Bulk, Bee, and Cee had to go in and save his aft.

The three of them distracted Megatron while you heaved Optimus up over your helm and held him over your shoulder as you ran back to the groundbridge.

Needless to say, your other teammates were pretty surprised to see you picking Optimus up so easily, he’s pretty heavy, y’know. Especially if you’re smaller than him.

He appreciates that you came in and saved him!

Knockout

He was backed into a corner, all his exists were blocked off by Autobots who flanked every side.

He certainly thought that there was no way out of this any time soon, but you had proved him wrong when you came in and suddenly took him up in your arms- er, wrapped your arms around him and carried him held him by your side.

You had a squadron of vehicons to take care of the autobots, so you mainly focused on trying to get the two of you out of there.

He appreciates the save, but couldn’t you have been more careful? He just waxed and buffed this morning!

Soundwave

I think he’d be pretty lightweight, actually.

Back before the war he was “thicker”- but in all seriousness he had a whole lot more bulk to him. Now-a-days he’s like a couple sticks stuck together.

Anyway, he was outnumbered and pretty injured thanks to one of Wheeljack’s grenades, and Ultra Magnus’s heavy-hitting punches.

You then slipped right in and scooped him up in your arms as a group of vehicons took care of the rest.

You basically carried him bridal style all the way back to the Nemesis and onto Knockout’s medbay examination table.

He’ll give you his silent gratitude for saving him back there.

Dreadwing

Autobots on all sides and injured by his own explosives, this wasn’t really the most ideal situation to be in.

That is, until you came in with a squadron of vehicon troopers and saved his chassy.

He was appreciative of the rescue, but he thought it to be rather unnecessary and embarrassing for you to carry him out of there.

His leg struts were perfectly functional, you didn’t have to carry him by yourself..

[rawmeknockout]

(Never requested before, sorry if I submitted wrong) Rumble/bot!Reader/Frenzy smut. That's it. Literally all I want out of life. Plz?

You’re not as loyal and upstanding as your comrades seem to think. Everyone talks big about you, looks to you for a dependable ally. It’s not that you’re some goody two shoes like Optimus, looking to be a hero and save Earth. You have no reason to break the rules. Nothing in life seems so important to get in trouble over. You like to be unseen. Passed over, if you can help it. That’s how you will survive.

That being said, you also don’t fuck around with enemy mechs, despite it being fairly common. You’re particular about your berth partners, and if there’s not an Autobot who can match your taste you don’t think there will be a Decepticon worthy of your attention.

You think that until you see them. Those two loud, feisty minicons; cassettes paired with Soundwave. The SIC never caught your interest, besides being a royal pain in the aft, but now you look for him on the battlefield. Giddy with the possibility that he could call out the only two bots to spice up your mundane life: Rumble and Frenzy.

You’re processor almost short circuits when Frenzy knocks you back into the rocks. You’re far from your allies, at least you think you are. It’s hard to focus on anything but black and red paint, scuffed from battle but shining nonetheless. He’s on you in an instant, faster than you can recover. You do your best to kick him off, but Frenzy is scrappy and knocks you hard in the jaw leaving your audials and denta ringing. He’s so short, hardly able to straddle your torso, but the size difference doesn’t deter him. If anything he has something to prove.

“No where to run, Autobot. We’re gonna send you back to Optimus in pieces,” Frenzy spits venom, face alive with the promise of gore and fire. You want to retort but your glossa is tied. Two minicons shouldn’t be such a challenge, but your processor is fried and they’re more aggressive than the average Decepticon. You shove at him, return punches and kicks when you can, but you’re pinned like a squashed cockroach. Alive and squirming and feeling. Your EM field intermingles with Frenzy’s, feeling his rage and lust for spilled energon. It scares you but draws you in all the same. The two of you squirm in the dirt, fighting each other with limbs flailing and denta gritting. He senses that part of you that’s not entirely wrapped up in surviving, that thing you try to hide from other mechs. You’re in his space so long that you forget where his field ends, absorbed and enthralled by his overwhelming energy.

“You’re pretty obsessed with us, huh, mech?” Rumble peers over his brother at your familiar, beaten face, servos on his hips, looking much like a vicious ringleader. He may just be teasing, cruelly mocking you, but something in his tone sounds pointed, “Always up in our business. We’re gonna show you what happens to curious Autobots,”

Their fields are all consuming, all you can focus on. Mingling around you and feeling your fear, your apprehension, your anticipation. That burning in your processor you try to ignore.

Rough servos on you, hauling you up into a more suitable position, is enough to make your spark burst.

“Don’t mistake this for anything else. If we ever want to get our spikes wet, we have to do it before Megatron rips you apart for information,” Rumble is kind enough to inform you, tone brusque and unconcerned. You suppose he has nothing to be concerned about, but you desperately wish it was shade warmer. Slightly more flustered. Anything that would indicate this is anything but a conquering.

You don’t pay any mind where their fingers go, lips and mind preoccupied with Frenzy. He almost tastes like the suffering he has inflicted, like a million steel knives. His servos are rougher that Rumble’s, made for grabbing and tearing and taking, feeling your armor for seams and weak points. You don’t remember why you are infatuated with them, what could be appealing about roughness and cruelty in bots so small.

Rumble isn’t teasing or tentative with your valve, set on what he wants, digits working your calipers none-too-gently. But his face isn’t drawn into downwards scowl like Frenzy’s, hard lines like a mesa, focused on what he’s doing. He gives no warning besides the sound of his interface panel transforming away, pushing into you without even much of a grunt. His chassis shakes with a sigh, though, and his shoulders slump down like you’ve relieved a burden. It’s a burden you’re more than willing to take, as he sets a brutal pace. He moves quicker than you expected from someone so small and bulky. It’s always a surprise the intensity Rumble harbors, but your hips move and buck into him. It’s almost painful, his armored thighs hitting your aft at such a rough speed.

Frenzy doesn’t appreciate your distraction, servos grabbing the sides of your face to refocus your optics on him. Recenter your mouth on his. You expect his interface panel to snap away like Rumble’s, but he’s too focused on feeling your glossa and denta. Focused on digging his blunt digits in every nook he can find on your chest armor. The most he gives you is taking your own slimmer servo and pushing it up against his array panel, grinding the burning hot metal on your palm. You take anything he gives you eagerly, trying to reciprocate the ferocity in Frenzy’s field. Trying desperately to quell your single-minded obsession.

Frenzy’s glossa is sliding over your molars, his panel slick with trans fluid on your palm, when Rumble overloads deep in your valve with a stuttered, choked groan from his open mouth. Overloading has never been so overwhelming, come over you so quickly. You don’t even have the time to appreciate how satisfying it is, because you’re only aware of how empty and cold you are when you’re not surrounded by the suffocating fire and fury of Rumble and Frenzy.

In the sudden harsh silence of a huge mistake, there’s a distant cry of “Decepticons, retreat.” They look torn between the trouble of taking you as a prisoner, and simply leaving. Without a word Rumble and Frenzy come to the conclusion you’re too much work, leaving you collapsed and overheated on the ground like they had never been there.

You had thought this would stamp out the fire in your stomach, destroy the intense focus they drew from you, but even in the aftermath you feel something gnawing at your processor. Something that will always be hungry.