#and scoot's trying to make all of the parts for a servo...

[ss-shitstorm]

Sorry the next chapter of Bread is taking so long here's an excerpt

Your almost friend pulls you up the final step, pausing at the railing to allow you to get your bearings. How thoughtful. It's every bit as cheerfully chaotic up here, seats, barstools and stage all occupied by scaled-down bots in varying stages and sorts of intoxication.

Actually, the crowd in front of the stage seems more densely populated then it’s downstairs duplicate, tossing their version of currency at a pink and more pink femme scattering violet sparks as she spins suspended by only her hooked wrist and ankle.

Same shit, different stage. You swallow thickly, following Starscream into then around the crowd, wincing as a rust colored bot spins around on his barstool to loudly wolf-whistle at you two, while his buddy sloughs off onto the floor like wet play dough during his own attempt. Holograms or not, they seem to walk, talk and fuck like their living counterparts, and having a hyper-realistic crowd to practice in front of for the first time ever is giving you the heebie jeebies. Especially since they seem cognizant of your exotic-by-proxy status, prompting hushed whispers and elbow-jabs as you walk by.

“Yoooo is that an organic? Primus it’s an organic.”

“SHOW US YOUR PLUMBUS-!”

“Shut the FRAG up SmackJaw, they don’t all have those!”

“God, did you have to put so many people in here?!” you hiss, watching the minicons in the back rows leaving their seats to scoot closer up front as you join your companion on the stage.

“How else do you expect to get used to it? At least this audience won’t cause a problem.” He illustrates his point by kneeling down on the ledge, which “Smackjaw” is attempting to drunkenly climb, and proceeds to smack him directly in his jaw hard enough he falls backwards onto the floor.

Your own jaw drops in horror. Then disbelief as he stumbles back to his peds, blinks a few times, then goes back to cheering in a repetitive NPC fashion.

“Alright everyone-!“ Shouts Airplane man as he rights himself. “This is a LESSON, not a show. You can stay if you want, our little rookie here would benefit immensely from the pressure if you do-“ he gestures toward your shaking self as one would a frightened rabbit, hopefully not one held over an overpass. “-but they’re NOT exposing their plumbus.”

That’s enough of a deterrent for some, but not all. Smackjaw and a few others stay rooted in place while their peers shuffle to the bar or the back, where someone had unleashed a multicolored glowing beach ball to toss around.

“I can spawn a few more helium lob-balls for them, if you’d like.” Offers your teacher, who’s now leaning against the frontmost pole with his arms crossed.

“I-“ Deep breathes. Deep, deep breathes, until you hyperventilate and pass out. You exhale shakily, biting your trembling lip. “-no that’s….that’s okay.”

“You do realize how low the stakes are, don’t you?” he raises an optical ridge. “You concoct more deadly things in your lab on a daily basis and make a hobby of trying to die. Where exactly do you get off being petrified by a bunch of programs?”

He's right and you know it. But tell that to the part of your brain responsible for social anxiety, public speaking and removing clothing in public anywhere other than in front of Garbage man’s garbage gaze. “I don’t. But it’s…it’s different, okay?!”

“I know it is. Appealing to logic works for some bot’s jitters, but not others. I suppose you fall into the “others” category.” He steps off the pole, over to you and kneels down, much to your confusion. “Sit down for a moment, would you?”

You do as told, sliding into a shaky mess on the floor. “Why?”

“Because I’m giving you a medicinal solution to your jitters.” He says, opening his servo to reveal half of a Valium tablet.

Oh boy. Dr. Feelgood at it again. “That’s gonna take too long to start working.”

“If your INTAKE in the orifice you cram it into, then yes. But I’ve done my research of this substance and its bio-availability to your species. There’s other ways that, while reducing the efficacy a bit, will send it speedrunning into your system.”

You choke on nothing. “I’m…I’m not putting it in my ass.”

“Vector-sigma no! No. Why is it always feces and fecal accessories with you?!” he retches.” That’s not what I’m suggesting.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

He answers by abruptly closing his servo around the tablet, opening it once more to reveal he’d crushed it to powder. He then procures a thin metal tube like the one you’d seen Knockout use, and offers it to you.

“Insufflate it into your olfactory organ. It should hit in five kliks tops, peak in a quarter of a groon. If you come down while we’re still working, I can give you the other half.”

Understandably, you’ve got reservations. Reservations that are reviewed and disregarded in a manner of moments, because you can’t be wasting anymore time on this. You’re learning to pole dance in a cat costume from a sentient Airplane to save a rabbit from a perverted meth kingpin mayor you now sell alien chocolate narcotics to, and none of those things should have ever come together to make a sentence. If snorting sedatives out of Airplane man’s cupped servos is going to get you done with this thing and back to your other, equally stupid jobs faster, then you’d be even stupider to not do it.

“Okay-“ you say, tube already in your hand as you push the tip into your nostril, close the other one, and proceed to clean the powder out of his hands.

You’d expected it to burn, probably due to the stabilizers to keep it in pill form. You hadn’t expected it to punch you in the back of your mouth through your nose, making your eyes water as it congeals, oozes, then drips down the back of your throat, where it also burns. You take the tube out, groaning, sniveling and clutching your head as you try to get to your feet, only to be firmly held in place.

“Not yet.” He takes the tube, roping his massive arm around both your shoulders like a lead blanket. “Stay put till it kicks in, then several moments after. Once you’re certain the room isn’t going to start spinning, or once it’s stopped, then I’ll help you up.”

You don’t try to argue, waiting impatiently for the familiar, dreamy, I-never-had-any-fucks-to-begin-with- feeling to come creeping up. Or flying-jump-kick you in the dick.

It seems to be a combination of the two; a lucid apathy setting in the precise moment you open your mouth to ask “how long-?” Only to have a “Wow…okay, yeah…wow.” flop out instead as the sensation surges, nearly knocking your seated ass backwards. Your limbs aren’t limp marionette strings this time, but the muscles in your back relax enough your torso struggles to keep you upright.

Fortunately, your lead blanket has equally few qualms about becoming a backrest. He shifts his weight, bracing the arm not slung around you to hold himself upright so you can lean into his chassis.

You wonder how long he’ll bother to stay like this until he gets bored, impatient, or decides you’re gross again and shoves you out of his lap. You wonder what exactly it’ll mean if he doesn’t do any of those things and stays put. You also wonder when exactly the last time you’d felt this at ease with someone, drugs and death machine nonwithstanding. Because despite everything, you’re experiencing a brief, Bodhisattva level of peace.

“I…uh….yeah..s'good.” you begin so very sagely. “I think I’m…ready.” you flit your (only slightly) blurred vision to your backrest’s face. “Thanks for waiting.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He doesn’t move you, but retracts one of his arms, rolling his neck with a wince. “Not that your minuscule frame could cause any damage, but I’ll need you to return the favor. Sitting here has given me a bit of a crick.”

Blinking not entirely in sync, you crane your head back a bit further than it should go to see him reaching his free arm and servo into his subspace, emerging with a container of dusky blue powder.

“That’s…” you pause, tongue unpleasantly thick and dry against the roof of your mouth. “…that’s not Valium, is it?”

“I’ll consider that a rhetorical query.” He says, sparing you the associated look he’d give if he didn’t. “It’s nucleon nail in freebase form. A bit of a pain to evaporate and salt out of the injector, but far easier to dose out in this manner. Especially if you’re not planning on being unconscious.”

Like your long-suffering, still-recovering B1ll. The same thread of concern unraveled for your assistant tangles for your current companion, though knit with strands of incredulousness. “You’re sedating yourself?” you ask, lolling into the crevice of his side and elbow as his massive-by-comparison form shifts around you to bring the container in front of both your faces. “You’re the teacher and you’re sedating yourself?”

“Firstly, I’m relaxing myself.” He gives the container several firm shakes before popping the lid open. “I’m taking half of a recreational dose, and less than 1/4th of a therapeutic one. Secondly, it’s not just for relaxing. It’s for pain management. One doesn’t live through a war that spans planetary life cycles without incurring multiple injuries, not all of which heal properly or stay healed. Grind-dancing is likely to aggravate at least some of the scars I’ve brought back from the battlefield. He pauses, loosing a bitter growl under his breath. “Or those acquired closer to home.”

He's referring to the maulings your Mastiff dolls out. Both ones you’d failed to prevent, and ones that occurred before your planet hosted sentient life. Your heart tries to plummet, the diazepam slowing it’s fall to a gradual tumble. “I…okay yeah. Sorry.” You blurt out sheepishly. “I’ll raise my hand before I ask another stupid question.”

“Yes, well I’m not sending you to detention quite yet.” He plucks the metal tube still held loosely in your hand, before turning it palm-up towards the ceiling, cupping it in his servo. “Ready to reciprocate?”

You’ve less than zero issues doing that, but the sheer insanity of the situation still gives you pause. Snorting sedatives and alien pain relievers with an alien in a holographic representation of an alien strip club may well be the most ludicrous thing you’ve had happen to you to date, and considering the batshit ordeals you’ve been through and continue to go through in order to protect, serve, and serve your captors fecal-based-hydrocarbons, that’s fucking saying something.

This doesn’t feel like an ordeal anymore, though. In fact, it feels like the exact opposite. It feels special, intimate. The way two beings that genuinely find relief in each other’s presence feel on an excursion planned for exclusively the two of them.

It feels fun.

“Sure.” You hold both hands beneath the container in wait. “I’m guessing the uh…mass displacement doesn’t affect the dosage?”

“Not if I don’t revert to my full height till after it’s been metabolized.” He uses the tube to scrape a dime-sized amount of out the capsule and into your palms. ” Before then, it’ll be reduced to 1/10th of it’s efficacy and I’d get more pain relief from being bludgeoned in the back of the helm.”

There’s probably some fascinating physics behind that. Physics you’re not going to dissect because it falls squarely outside of your jurisdiction of mad chemist and alien cocaine mirror. Instead you stare transfixed, watching the twinkling powder, cool and oddly ticklish to the touch collect in your palms till he closes the lid.

“You really don’t have any reservations about touching organics, do you?” you ask while he cranes his head and neck forward over your shoulders, bringing the tube to his face with one servo, and raising your cradled hands with another.

He grants you a sidelong glance over your own shoulder, lambent Japanese carmine optics narrowing in amusement.

“You’ve already been in my cockpit, haven’t you?” he asks with a grin that makes your lungs stop working. “Were you acutely toxic, I would’ve been poisoned well before now. But honestly-“

He pauses, lowering his helm, shuttering his optics, and vacuuming the powder into his nostril with a soft grunt that sounds the way satin feels. “-you’ve proven to be more of an antidote, haven’t you?”

He lowers the tube and your hands, sniffling incessantly and turning wide, owlishly blinking optics toward the ceiling. At a loss for words, you don’t comment further. Somewhat because that last line was capable of scooping up someone 3 tiers out of your league at any club, alien or no. But mostly because the expression he makes, clutching the side of his face, optics half-shuttered and biting softly into the plush of his metal lips, grants the realization that out-of-your-league someone owns the lap you’re currently sitting in.

Starscream is attractive. You’ve witnessed literally everyone on the ship looking for too long when he walks away, bends over, or puts the "Airplane” in Airplane man and takes off into the stratosphere. And like many ‘isms blessed with their race’s beauty standards by default, he’s also prideful. You doubt he wants anyone beyond the CMO to know he has injuries or pain he’s forced to medicate for. That you do know paints the picture you’ve just witnessed something fairly vulnerable. A vulnerability he’d not only allowed you to see, but trusted you to participate in. Since he trusts everyone in his faction about as well as you do(which, beyond Soundwave and Lazerbeak, is no one), your mutual lack thereof functions a bit like an olive branch.

This whole setup is an olive branch, actually. He’d not only not asked why, but nearly jumped at the opportunity to give you lessons, then dosed out anxiety medication he keeps on hand for you specifically, and was comfortable enough to eat nose candy out of your hands without a second thought. Comfortable enough to leave you lounging against his chassis with his arm slung over your shoulder. To absentmindedly thread his talons through the strands of hair that falls at the nape of your neck. To guide you to the epiphany that, while your attempts to expose the fleshie-fragger your guardians had spoken of hadn’t yielded fruit, they had unintentionally narrowed your search down to a razor-thin line.

A line so thin, perhaps, it could only be traversed by stilettos. Like the ones attached to the disgustingly handsome SIC languidly rolling himself out from under you, getting to his feet, and offering his servo to help you do the same.

"Oh god, it might be Starscream." You think, dawning horror and trepidation freezing in your veins like ice as you take his offered servo and allow yourself to be pulled upright.

“Oh god-” you think again, horror and trepidation thawing to exhilaration as he leads you to the pole, servo squeezing your hand not enough to cause discomfort, but too tightly to ignore. ”-it might be Starscream.”

[minty-plumbob]

daily life

[sam-out-of-energy]

The angst, THE ANGST its consuming me

I had to write something based off this ask because oH MY GODD

This already became too long so its a cliffhanger sorry teehee

______

They'd been ambushed.

Upon trying to retrieve materials for Ratchet the entire base had suddenly sounded the alarm for intruders.

Prowl had quickly scooped Jazz from a pile of metal scrap into his servo and then inside his cockpit. They'd ran, making it to the very end of the hangar before mechas had walled them off.

It was a stand-off- well- emphasis on was, as it had taken about two nano-seconds of Prowl and the others standing there against mechas before Vortex had already began tearing robots apart.

Now chaos reigned as the crew, including Prowl, Jazz, Vortex and First aid, were in the ringer, fighting off an overwhelming amount of mechas.

"It's like they knew we were coming!" First aid comm'd Jazz while the two sat inside cockpits that were trembling from the punches, the mech's visors coated in an unhealthy layer of energon and oil.

"These ain't normal mechas either." Jazz replied.

"Explain?" Prowl's voice was eerily casual considering the situation at hand, wrenching an arm off an opposing mecha before kicking them back.

"They're faster! Stronger too-" First aid noted, watching intensely from Vortex's visor, admittedly a little curious.

"No doubt they used Prowl's parts to rebuild them."

"To hell with 'em! Let's be done with this and go-"

Jazz was caught mid-sentence when Prowl shook.

The inside of the cockpit pulsed, like something had struck him, which confused Jazz because for a short while they'd kept a good distance from the mechas.

Then Prowl just....stood. Very still. Very still.

"Prowl? Prowler?" Jazz scooted forwards and grabbed the controls, pushing them but they didn't budge. Nothing did.

"Prowl?! You're not obeyin' my controls-" Jazz questioned.

"I'm- not- obeying- my own controls either-" Prowl choked out, straining his joints with a loud creak.

["Hello Jazz."]

Both the pilot and mecha stiffened.

Jazz's eyes widened. He recognized the voice that suddenly rang out inside Prowl.

"Shockwave?! Where are you! What've you done t' Prowl?!" Jazz jumped up from the pilot seat (not having been strapped in to begin with)

["I am nowhere you need to concern yourself with. I am simply testing out my new technology."]

Jazz looked around. He could hear a muffled First Aid calling out for Vortex in the distance.

["So, Prowl, was it?. Good to know. Now, let's get well acquainted."]

Prowl shook again, sending Jazz tumbling around as the mech bent over, clutching his helm.

Something flashed. Prowl felt electricity buzzing inside of him, phantom pains in his joints. Like his wing was once again broken, like his optics were busted in and losing vision of reality arround him. His body wasn't his and it wouldn't listen to him.

He tried to keep his expression cool at the face of this new threat but his coolness came crashing down when he looked up.

Quintessons. So. Many. Quintessons. Fire, blazing high like a giant barrier.

The realization struck him like his processor's loud ERROR alarm.

He was on Praxus.

No, he was- no-

Prowl felt like hurling.

He felt something inside him twist and turn, something wicked. Something unnatural, something that was definetly not meant to be inside him.

-

Jazz could do nothing but watch his mech tremble and shake, straining and squirming like something was crawling under his plating.

"J- azz-" Prowl gasped.

"Prowl! I'm here!" Jazz called out, grabbing the controls tigthly despite the fact that they were moving.

"H- elp-"

The plea came out in a stuttered, glitching mess but it was all Prowl needed to say before Jazz began pushing. Pushing, pulling. Whenever the stick moved one way he'd move it back.

"Shockwave, stop! Let him go!" He yelled. He didn't know what sick game the mad scientist was playing but he was not about to let him take Prowl from him.

["It is futile, pilot. Give up."]

Jazz grit his teeth and kept pushing.

Prowl's fight was made easier, so he managed to break free of the illusion for long enough to push with Jazz, taking a step back on his own from the (imaginary) fire surrounding him. (It was all his in his head, surely). Coolant rushed down Prowl's backplates, his motors overexerting themselves to keep control to himself.

["...I see how it must be. Very well, Jazz."]

Prowl was jerked away from his mindscape, straggling, back into the frey, loud echoes of crashing and crumbling of metal plating and concrete. The mechas weren't focusing on him, focusing all their efforts into trying to stop Vortex from tearing down the entire hangar.

Prowl had managed to take two steps forward to go assist before he'd felt more electricity surge through him. Oddly enough, it didn't stop him this time.

What did stop him was the pained scream that carried into Prowl's audials.

Jazz.

"Jazz? Jazz!" Prowl called, stopping and looking down at his chest.

Jazz clutched his head, crying out. Something coursed through him like a painful needle and thread, connecting him to Prowl even more than before, but not in a good way. In a way that hurt, every muscle in his body clenching. It was like he was connecting to a mecha for the first time again, but the feeling of it amplified twicefold.

Then, it was like he saw his own body slump. No, he was slumped. Jazz couldn't move, couldn't speak or scream anymore (In reality he was still screaming).

No, no no no no-

He saw white. A bright light in his eyes. A smell of burning flesh, of ethanol, medical grade liquids in multitudes.

Eyes. He saw faceless masks and he saw so many eyes, shining like the headlights of a car, blinding him into submission, into staying silent despite the aching.

Make it stop, make it stop-

-

"Stop!! Don't hurt him!"

Prowl demanded, the cockpit echoing with his voice, layered over Jazz's screams.

["I will do what is necessary."]

Prowl called for Jazz's name again, opening the cockpit hatch, desperate to reach in and grab the other, until he realized he was still in the middle of a Vortex vs. Vortex's victims skirmish and pulling Jazz out could only risk him accidentally dropping the other or Jazz being hit by something.

Prowl stepped back from the fight, wracking his processor. He had to do something, something to help!

It was easier with him, Jazz could just use the controls to help him fight against this weird virus, but Jazz? Shockwave was most likely inside Jazz's head due to his connection with Prowl, what could Prowl even do to help?! He couldn't forcefully remove or disconnect Jazz. The other was wriggling and twisting in pain, Prowl's servos were way too big to do anything with him without causing further injury.

An anti-virus, a firewall. Something to block Shockwave out. Prowl had to reboot and rewire his systems for that and all of that had to begin with getting Shockwave to release Jazz.

"Please, stop-" Prowl half-blurted out amidst his panicking. He couldn't tell what was happening to Jazz, but he could feel the other. He felt Jazz clutching the arm rest of the pilot's seat, thrashing and kicking on the cold metal of the cockpit floor. He heard Jazz scream and wail, inaudibly begging for release.

["I will stop when you relinquish control to me."]

"So you can use me?" Prowl snapped, his engine revving from the anger, his optic ridge bent down so hard it almost covered his optics.

["As you wish."]

Jazz went silent.

Prowl heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.

[lifetimeshipper]

The Beauty and the Predacon

Chapter 8

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a rainy night when the Nemesis stopped over a cave, Megatron and Starscream had flown down to meet up with Shockwave who was already inside. The Predacon knew the cave was holding his Predacon brethren and he so badly wanted to go see them, but he was supposed to stay on the ship to watch over Arcee who was left under his watch. Megatron didn't want her to see exactly where the Predacon army was being bred in case she somehow managed to escape and get back to her team, she could tell them where it was located if she knew.

The Predacon looked over to Arcee and saw she was fully in recharge, so he headed over to the edge of the ship to look down at the cave. When he hears something going down in the tube that's connecting the warship to the ground he looks to see Knock Out going down with crates of some stuff, he doesn't know what they are. Once Knock Out disappeared into the cave the Predacon flew down and walked into the cave. He usually obeys his master but on this occasion, he has to disobey, he needs to see these Predacons and make sure it's true that they are making a Predacon army.

He moves closer to the four mechs making hissing sounds and small guttural growls before stopping in front of them and screeching at them. He sees Starscream walk over to him with the rod in his servo as he slaps it on his other servo. Oh, how he would love to tear off both of them servos and eat them.

"Unruly beast. You dare to roam freely without permission?" Starscream says as he starts beating the Predacon on the helm with the rod. The Predacon screeches at him while launching slightly forward making Starscream scream and fall back on his aft, looking up at the Predacon. When the Predacon moves towards him he screams and covers himself like a coward, the Predacon would love to pick him up and toss him around again but there's something he needs to try out.

When the Predacon gets close to Starscream he transforms into bot mode causing Megatron, Knock Out, and Starscream to look at him in shock and fear. Shockwave was just slightly surprised, he wasn't too phased by it. The Predacon leaned down towards Starscream, with the meanest glare he's ever seen, and spoke, "Strike me again and I will bury that rod in your spark." He had such hatred in his optics that it made Starscream want to just bury himself thousands of feet into the Earth.

Instead, Starscream just scoots back away from him, "I-I did not realize that the beast was capable of transformation."

"Nor did I," Megatron said as he looked back at Shockwave.

"I am no beast!" The Predacon says before he walks past Starscream, he walks over to one of the Predacons to look at it.

"The ability to transform is a fundamental part of Cybertronian biology," Shockwave begins as he watches the Predacon. "We simply possess no evidence that the Predacon species ever reached that evolutionary stage since they became extinct in the great cataclysm."

"And now we know," Starscream says as he steps forward before growling.

"So, the rumors are true," the Predacon begins as he continues to look at his Predacon brethren. "I will no longer be alone, no longer be the only Predacon."

"And I see you've been keeping secrets," Megatron says as he walks towards him.

"It was not my intention to deceive you, Lord Megatron. I only recently became aware of my abilities. All I remember of my beginning is hunting and battle and the wounding of my pride. Thus I begun to burn with questions. Who am I? Where did I come from? The warship's databanks provided historical fact, but still, I possess no memory of my own past. So I begun to reconsider my place in the present and wondered, could I be like the others? And now I know."

"Yet you are unique, miracle of science," Megatron says as he walks around the Predacon to look at the Predacon behind him. "Cloned by Shockwave from Cyber nucleic acid recovered from the remains of your mighty ancestors."

The Predacon lets the words sink in as he looks back to the Predacon in stasis before them. Starscream approached the two as a question kept running through his processor, "I have a question. What did you do with Arcee? Or did you forget that you were supposed to be watching her to make sure she didn't escape?"

The Predacon turned to give him a stern look, "She's back on the ship still in my sleeping area, she's in recharge. She will not escape."

"Don't be so sure," Megatron says as he turns to head for the tube to go back to the ship.

"You don't know her like we do," Starscream added, "If she wakes and sees that she's alone she'll try to escape without a second thought." Starscream heads over to the tube with Shockwave and Knock Out, and the Predacon comes over behind them.

When they get back onto the Nemesis they head for the upper haul to check on the femme and be sure she didn't try to escape. As they walk through the corridors the Predacon decides to speak what is on his processor, "It is with deepest gratitude for my creation that I pledge undying obedience to you, my one true master. But with more of my species soon to stride among us, I beg your permission to in turn lead them as Predaking."

"Your vision is boundless," Megatron says as he gets an uneasy feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arcee wakes she notices that she's alone, the Predacon is nowhere to be seen. She remembers that Megatron was talking about leaving the ship with the others to meet up with Shockwave in his lab on Earth, so she suspects that the Predacon went with them to see the other Predacons. She's not sure if Soundwave went with them or not but she's suspecting they all left which would leave only the Vehicons to deal with. They basically just gave her a free pass to escape and she sure as pit is gonna take it. She goes over to the door to see if it's unlocked, when it opens she feels relief flood through her. All she has to do is get to the Ground Bridge control room and she'll be free.

She transforms and drives into the ship, remembering where the Ground Bridge control room is from when she went through the ship before. She had passed by it numerous times when she walked through the ship with Megatron and the others. She drives through the corridors and surprisingly there are no Vehicons, but when she gets further into the ship she starts running into them occasionally but she takes them out with ease. The Vehicons are no match for her she can take them out with no problem, it's the top dogs Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, and the Predacon that she can't take on. Starscream too but she doesn't worry about him too much considering she's taken him out a few times already. 

When she finishes taking down the last batch of Vehicons that tried to stop her, she doesn't expect to see the very ones she didn't want to run into standing right in front of her when she turns around. She freezes as she stares up at the big mech standing next to Megatron, he's bigger than Megatron. Is that the Predacon?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lord Megatron, if I may ask for one more thing. Can I--?" Predaking began but stopped when he heard fighting in front of them when they turned the corner. He stops walking and looks to where the sound is coming from, he sees Arcee slicing a Vehicon with one of her blades that is protruding out of her arms. He watches her fight the Vehicons and takes them down with such fierceness it amazes him. He never knew she was such a fierce fighter, it gives him one more reason to make her his mate.

When she finishes fighting she turns to rush off but stops when she sees them standing there. She looks surprised and he knows that she did not expect to see them, she must have thought they were still in Shockwave's lab. When she looks up at him he sees the shock and slight fear in her optics and he gets the urge to hold her and reassure her that she does not need to fear him.

Starscream walks up next to him laughing, "Told you so."

"Arcee, trying to escape again I see," Megatron says unamused.

Arcee didn't respond, she just kept staring at Predaking as her processor tried to process what she was looking at.

Starscream could tell she was trying to comprehend what she was seeing so he decided to explain as he walked towards her, "This is the Predacon if that's what you're wondering." He stops midway making sure not to get too close to her, "Turns out he can transform. Shocking I know."

"Lord Megatron, I wish to take Arcee as my mate. That's what I was gonna ask you for before we came across this scene of her fighting your troops."

Megatron looks at Arcee for a moment, he was planning on giving her to either Soundwave or Shockwave as a reward for their hard work and their loyalty. But if he's to keep this Predacon on his side he needs to keep him happy and if he wants Arcee then he'll have to give him what he wants. He looks over at Predaking again, "You may have her."

Predaking places his claws over his chest and bows, "Thank you, my lord." He walks over to Arcee and motions for her to walk with him. She turns and starts walking so she doesn't anger him but her spark pulses rapidly as she wonders how a Predacon would mate. She hopes it's not by fragging because she will not frag him, but he'll probably just force her if that's the case. Hopefully, it's not spark bonding. She'll find out when they get back to the upper haul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Next Chapter

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Oh heck, I just noticed requests were open. How do you feel about writing some StarQuake? Something something ‘oh I actually feel things for this prick’ this, ‘this brute maybe isn’t all too bad’ that.

Hellll yeah, let's fucking go, dot bringing in the good shit. Not once have you dropped an ask that wasn't good dot, not ONCE.

Skyquake had a lot in common with his brother, but there were also plenty of differences between them. For one thing, Skyquake was the only one of the two that found Starscream attractive. Yes, there was that murder attempt a long time ago, which made him aim to kill him, but time changes things. As in, Skyquake used to find himself eager to end him, but now? He just wanted a piece of that seeker ass. Issue? It meant Starscream was no longer afraid of him, and merely resented him. As in, whenever Skyquake found himself near him, whenever he so much as spoke to him, Starscream turned his nose up at him, you get the idea.

“Skyquake? Hello? Anyone up there?”

“Hmm? oh sorry, I was in the middle of thought. Are we done here?”

“Almost. I just vaccinated you for energon discharge, so I need you to sit there for a few minutes, case you have any reactions. You were dozing off on me, thought it was a symptom.”

Skyquake was getting his usual check up, upon Dreadwing’s insistence. Skyquake chuckled.

“Still can’t believe Dreadwing MADE you give me a check up.”

“He cares about you, case you haven’t noticed. Not that I mind big blue’s yelling at me. I-”

“KNOCKOUT!!!”

They both knew that screech. Starscream. He walked in, and hoo boy. Was he a sight. Paint chipped and scuffed, and most importantly, his wings torn off. Little wires hung out from where they once were, and energon seeped from him, and onto the floor below. Knockout immediately got to work, setting him down on the medical berth and examining him.

“Geez Starscream, what happened-”

“I don’t want to talk about it! Just fix me! And YOU, stop staring at me!”

Starscream picked up an energon container, and tossed it at him, hitting him on his shoulder. Skyquake held his hands up in defense, before Knockout sighed.

“Why don’t you just go? You’re done, and you being here is just stressing me out.”

Skyquake opened his mouth to complain, only to see Starscream’s optics. He genuinely didn’t want him to be here. So he did just that, and left.

-------------------------------

Another difference between Skyquake and Dreadwing. Dreadwing could sleep easily throughout the night, while Skyquake was prone to bouts of insomnia. It was why he found himself wandering the halls often, in hopes to settle his processor. He turned a corner, before realizing he was right by the medbay. Well, he might as well just make sure everything was in order. He slowly peered into the medbay. Silence. Then, sniffing. Through the darkness, there was Starscream. He was still in the berth, shaking a bit as the tears started to run down his face. He looked better now, given that Knockout polished and patched him up as best as he could. But his sorrow. Oh his sorrow, it was immeasurable.

“Starscream?”

Starscream snapped his head up to see him, before rapidly rubbing his face free of tears.

“Frags sake-I can’t even be alone for five minutes on this blasted ship!!”

Skyquake held his hands up in defense. He should’ve left Starscream alone, but he couldn’t help himself. He walked up to him, kneeling down to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, I just felt as if, since I was awake, I should check up on you. Do you need me to fetch Knockout? Are you in pain?”

“Ugh, no. I’m on more drugs than M-”

He halted. Skyquake then understood what had caused his injuries. Megatron. Skyquake had been a loyal follower for ages now, but even he had to admit, Megatron had lost his temper. Starscream got quiet, and looked away, clearly ashamed of his circumstances. Every seeker was prideful, but Starscream had it the worst. Skyquake hesitated, before scooting over just an inch closer.

"I know it does nothing to heal you. But...I'm sorry. I don't know what you did to invoke his fury, but-"

"ITS ALWAYS HIM, ISN'T IT?!"

Starscream exploded, anger taking the place of shame.

"IT'S ALWAYS HIM. EVERYONE THINKS OF ME AS HIS PUNCHING BAG. AS HIS TOY TO ABUSE! WHEN I WAS ON CYBERTRON, I WAS A SCIENTIST, I WAS ME, I-"

"You weren't lonely."

Skyquake had suddenly held onto one of his hands in his own. They both looked at each other, unsure as to how this happened, or where to proceed. But that didn't matter. Skyquake had to do, SAY something!

"You were you back then. You thought joining would only take you higher. You care a lot for yourself. And amongst those hopelessly devoted to Megatron, myself included...that's something incredible."

Starscream looked him up and down, before scoffing.

"Funny way of trying to get into my panel. I almost believed you."

"Believe me or not. I mean what I say. My physical want for you does not reflect my words. You're a traitor to many, and while the attempts at his life do seem like it...you want the equality that once made the decepticons. Equality in terms of individuality. I'm sorry you can't get that. I'm sorry your home feels like a den of violence. I'm...sorry."

Starscream looked at him from the corner of his optics, hesitant. But when Skyquake continued to hold his hand, when he didn't reveal this as some sick joke...Starscream believed him. He groaned, rubbing his forehead.

"Save the pity. I'm just happy you didn't bring up Megatron in that whole speech. I almost don't hate you."

Skyquake chuckled, lightly squeezing his hand.

"I'm not tired. You're not tired. Would you mind my company, just for tonight?"

"Ugh. Of course. I'd tell you to get the hell out, but the medbay IS a free space, I can't tell you to leave. Suppose I'm stuck with you, Skyquake."

"Honor to be a thorn in your side, Starscream~"

-------------------------

"Relax, Dreadwing."

"I will not! He's not picking up my comm calls, I didn't see him for our morning tea, he's not in his room- what am I SUPPOSED to do?!"

"Maybe he went for a morning flight. Either way, can you at least QUIETLY panic? I need to finish my coffee before I handle someone yelling at me."

Dreadwing was about to yell some more. Knockout WAS the last one to see him, so he assumed he somehow knew where he was. Like he was his keeper, apparently. Knockout parted the curtain, about to wake up Starscream, when he stopped dead in his tracks. He chuckled, and turned to Dreadwing, servo at his lips.

"I found hiiiim~"

Dreadwing pushed him away, about to scold his brother, when he stopped. There he was. Sitting down, asleep, next to a snoozing Starscream. All while he was holding one of his hands. They looked...comfortable. At peace. Dreading stammered, clearly unable to make heads or tails of this.

"What. What. Why would-"

"Let them sleep, they've had a long night."

"No! How can he be touching MY little brother? My-"

"If you want to wake up your poor, tired baby brother, be my guest."

Dreadwing opened his mouth to speak, but found no words. Knockout shooed Dreadwing out of the room, and Knockout looked at the new couple.

"You owe me, herr comadant~"

[cyberghost-scout]

Getting familiar

A dumb fic between the rp threads. Enjoy~!

The newly revived femme manages to scoot herself into a corner. Phantasma was sitting, staring back at the very two, the source of the femme's nervousness. Polaris and Oberon were confused by the new bot. Usually, the black cat would not give a shit, but this mini, resembled her master, but at the same time not. It was kind of freaky.

Phantasma stared at the much more significant black cat and the mini silver kitten with apprehension. Those cold white optics glared down with hard curiously at the mini femme's soul while the sweet blue optics looked at her with contrasting affection. She was not sure of these giants. She could easily be the size of their toys! And she did not want to be a toy!

Soon the mini's thoughts were interrupted as the black cat approached her. The inky creature was smooth in her movements towards Phantasma. She was making the poor mini squeak in nervousness.

---

While the confrontation of Phantasma and Ghosty's babies was happening, the rest of the bots were talking. Ghostwire, Flow, and Fedelis were chatting with a friend. Enjoying afternoon oil and Energon while bringing their friend up to date.

"And yeah, after the whole revival thing with Phantasma, things have been just trying to get her up to speed." The grey femme finished explaining some of her past about Phantasma. She held the mug with both servos. "I- can understand that you may be upset with me not telling you about having a sister--now back from the dead. I can understand that. I'm sorry about that." She said to the friend, taking a sip. It was still a battle for Ghostwire when talking about the past and the intertwined trauma, but since her sister came back, it seemed to help the grey femme.

"You know, I am still impressed that you dare to admit a part of your past, and I'm proud of that, Darling." Flow said, patting the grounder's servo in encouragement. As the medic calmly took a sip without their guest seeing his face.

But soon, their conversation was stopped at the sounds of muffled screams. Making Ghostwire jolt up from her seat, rushing out to see what is happening. The rest of the group turned around and noticed what had happened.

Ghostwire stopped and stared dumbly at what she had witnessed.

Polaris was sitting on top of the poor mini. The inky creature was purring contently as Phantasma's arms wriggled around, trying to free herself from being smooshed.

"Uh-- ah ha-- she must like Phantasma-- Haa--" Flow covered her mouth, smothering the ugly giggles as she realized what was happening. Fedelis laughed at the site even more as Oberon joined his mom sitting on the funny little mini bot.

All while Ghostwire rushed over to save her poor sister from being smoother with too much love.

[robuttsinyourthighs]

Could you do starscream caring for a little baby seeker?? I think of little seeker babies flapping their wings when they get excited and it melts my heart. Alternatively him caring for a megastar baby with megatron's dumb bucket head, but starscream loves that baby anyway 😭😭😭

This is too cute ;A; Absolutely!

Cute little oneshot below

Starscream/Megatron - with baby

He let up, cradling the little one and beaming down at him. “I knew you did it, you little energon thief, gobbled it all up. None left for those stinky Autobots. Very clever~” Starscream circled a digit carefully against the little one’s belly and making them giggle and squirm more. They were so tiny and soft, still too little to wear their first plating. The helmet on their head was still barely fitted and fell forward, all laughter stopping as the infant tried to glance around but couldn’t see from behind the helmet. The moment their lower lip began to wobble Starscream plucked the helmet off of their head.

Beady little optics followed him around the room, focused, unwavering. Starscream pretended not to notice. He casually strode, heel-toe in full confidence, from one end of his chamber to the next. He would feign interest in something on his console, then mosey over to his shelves. With a swift turn he jumped forward toward his observer, servos landing on either side of the berth. “Where’s the energon?!”

Squealing laughter filled the room at the demanding question. The seeker hiked his wings up and spoke in a silly, burbling voice to his sparkling. “Weeeell? Where is it? You drink it all? Huh?” He brought his claws under his little one’s arms, scooping them up and holding him high in the air. “Look at you, so GREEDY huh? Slurping up all that energon, none for carrier, huh? Silly widdo bitlet~” Starscream brought his creation to face level, adoring all of its happy giggles and chirps, nuzzling his face into his creation’s soft belly and smiling at how his child flailed. “I’ll have to torture you for answers, won’t I? Take that and that-” He moved his head side to side and tickled the little one more.

“No, no! Its okay, see? Creator is right here!” he little one was immediately delighted again, reaching up to play with the silvery-helmet. “Look, see? Just your helmet,” his smile fell and he glared back to the berth at his partner. “Its just FAR TOO LARGE,” he grumbled accusingly. Megatron side-eyed the seeker, heaving a sigh and looking back to his tablet again.

“I’ve told you, Starscream, they’ll NEED that helmet. Their plating is soft, and they’ll carry on my traits.” He idly tapped into the next document before him.

“You mean your solar panels?” Starscream smiled and cradled his little one’s helm, thumb stroking carefully over the still forming seams. “I don’t think they’ll open for a long while yet.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Megatron countered quickly.

“Then it’s better to pay someone to forge a properly fitted covering,” Starscream sniped back. Megatron lowered his tablet, narrowing his optics and giving Starscream reason to curl his lip in warning. The former warlord gave a snort and shook his head.

“Always so quick to bicker. Trust me for once, why don’t you?” He set the tablet on his nightstand and reached up to his own helmet, disengaging it’s latches and carefully lifting it. The individual panels began to relax and lift from their dormant position. The pedal-esque panels rose up and began to glow softly, the embedded biolights shimmering. Any irritation from their mild disagreement dissipated from the room at once.

"The last time I trusted you we ended up with this little one." Megatron want sure how to respond, lips parted but stuck in thought. He closed his mouth when Starscream carefully sat himself beside him, scooting close enough that Megatron could look down at his creation.

“Look at your sire, little one,” the jet smiled. “You’ll look like that one day. Hopefully without that nasty sneer,” he smirked. Megatron tisked and wound his arm around the seeker’s waist, pulling him closer. Starscream tensed for a moment and the little one fed on the worry immediately and burbled their concern, fussing and kicking his pedes.

Both of their creators leaned their helms together and smiled, Starscream relaxing into the strong, warm hold of his partner and hushing the little one with chirps and coos only seekers understood. When the little one smiled and chirped back Megatron leaned in and kissed Starscream’s cheek. Starscream smiled and pulled his shoulders up shyly, his wings wiggling happily. “You’re such a fine caregiver, my wonderful Second.” Starscream growled, though there was no real irritation behind it. He turned his head up, having the advantage from his shorter angle to bite at Megatron’s neck. His denta were firm and loving on the other’s cables, the warmth resonating from his spark was enough to almost lull the sparkling into recharge.

The larger mech sighed contently and closed his optics. “Always trying to best me,” he chuckled, glad to hear Starscream chuckling in amusement as well. He leaned back, looking up at him lovingly and glad to see that rare soft gaze Megatron showed him only in these most private, intimate of moments. He was glad they had grown, they had learned from their many mistakes and had chosen this new path together. Megatron’s low hum brought Starscream out of his thoughts. “You look like you’re plotting,” he teased.

“Only our future. You’d better not ruin my plans,” Starscream smirked and turned his attention back to the sleepy little one in his arms. “They deserve only our best intentions.”

“I completely agree, Starscream.” Megatron moved his arm further so it cupped Starscream’s on the back of their little one’s helm. He rested his chin on Starscream’s pauldron and the jet grumbled about it being too heavy and pointy.

Kicking their round little legs and flinging one arm forward at a time they crawled after Megatron. He was a giant compared to his offspring, towering over him even as he lay back in the berth. Little digits found his hip and pulled up to his side, the baby making grunts and growls as he clearly tried to scale the mountain that was his sire. One well placed servo under his bottom was enough leverage to help him up. Once he was on Megatron’s torso he began to mouth and bite, giggling and squealing delightedly. To say Megatron was confused was an understatement, the look of uncertainty he gave Starscream was enough to send the seeker into a fit of laughter.

“Get off, your chin weighs as much as your ego.” Megatron growled and pressed harder just to defy him.

“Try saying that without a sparkling in your arms.” Starscream chuckled and shifted himself to try and get up. Not wanting to risk the other jostling their creation too much he let go of him so Starscream could move freely. The seeker stood and looked at Megatron mischievously. He watched his beloved lean in and chirp to their little one, making their optics light up with delight before he set them on the berth on their belly. His attention was entirely focused on their bitlet getting their limbs beneath them in order to crawl, their still small and developing wings wiggling with unabashed excitement.

“Beloved,” he sounded strained in issuing the common term of endearment, “what is our offpsring doing?” Starscream sank himself face down on the berth, howling into the sheets for just a moment longer. When he finally looked up, tears of mirth in his optics, he gave the answer.

“He’s going to eat up all your energon, Mighty Megatron.” The silver mech still looked puzzled, but finally amusement saturated his field. It was sweet and silly, this little moment with his small family, but he would treasure and nurture it.

[megatronswaifu]

wrote a fanfiction and wanted to draw something to go with it!!

if you want to read some sickeningly sweet ooc overlord with nightlight please take a look under the cut. i’m happy with how it turned out because i really didn’t take it seriously like i’ve tried in the past.

“Nightlight’s Shadow” <2k words rating: GEN tw: mild canon-typical violence

-------------

“What’s wrong?”

Overlord peered through the door, hunching over significantly. The phase-sixer was incredibly bored, having killed everyone he felt like and no missions assigned to him for a long while. When Overlord was bored and without those to maim, he went to go bother Nightlight.

The minibot sat in the shape of a ball on her berth. Her helm was tucked between her knees, and her little horns poked out, the only thing clueing Overlord in that “Oh, that part of the purple dot is her head.” When she looked up at Overlord, he thought to himself that this was the most pitiful face she had made to-date. 

The towering bot squeezed into the room, scraping the doorframe with his shoulders as he stomped in (he wasn’t stomping on purpose, it was simply a feature of his size), his pillar audials threatening to pierce the ceiling. Nightlight’s accommodations were definitely made with efficiency and budget in mind. Why would anyone waste shanix and space on the ship just in case someone larger than a pea wanted to visit this room? Overlord thought he should carve out the wall and ceiling so his visits weren’t so difficult.

“What’s wrong?” Overlord asked again, and Nightlight turned to face away, “Why the long face?” 

“I’m not a good Decepticon,” the tiny bot started. Her voice was quivering and hoarse, like she had been crying. Little cheekplates having subtle remnant streaks of tears confirmed this. “I’m not scary. Everyone keeps being mean to me. The bigger bots push me and call me names, even when I don’t do anything to them.” 

“Why don’t you kill them?” replied Overlord like it was obvious. He had slithered onto the berth, laying sideways lazily behind Nightlight, his legs curled so he could fit. Luckily the slab was medium size, having not been made specifically for Nightlight, but it still creaked horribly under Overlord’s weight.

“I can’t do that! I’m not strong enough like everyone else. I’m not big. I can’t beat them up....I...every time I try to fight back,” her face scrunched up and her voice became even higher pitched and even wobblier, “I...I get my- my tailpipe kicked!”

Nightlight choked and whined, stifling a staticky sob in her forearms. She clearly felt so strongly about these simple tussles that it pained her enough to cry. The poor thing. The blue mech brought her into his chest with his big servo like a hockey stick to a puck.

“Don’t cry,” Overlord cooed, “I’ll give you advice.” Nightlight peeked at him from her arms. “You can’t beat them up and you can’t grow any. But that doesn't have to stop you.” 

“When I walk around, everyone moves. As if I have a force field. Nobody gets in my way.” He gestured to Nightlight with his chin. “Why do you think that happens?” She looked away again, not in an attempt to hide her tears, but in thought.

“Um��.because you’re really tough,” the moped said, “And, um, you’ll, maybe you’ll beat them up if they’re mean to you.” Nightlight always said things like “maybe” when talking about if Overlord would do something violent or not. Like she wasn’t sure if he was a bad mech, or she didn’t want to accuse him of anything. How kind.

“Yes, that’s true. I’m very tough.”

“But I’m not...it wouldn’t work for me. I’m not really-”

“Yes it would.”

Nightlight stuttered a few syllables of denial before resorting to looking at Overlord with a tipped helm in confusion. Overlord couldn’t help but laugh.

“When I walk around places where nobody knows me,” he said, “Where nobody knows I could mash them to a slurry, my force field still works. That is because I hold myself a certain way. I hold myself with an expectation that everyone fears me,” the duocon puffed out his chest plating a little, and it made a “clink” sound when it tapped his tiny companion, “With confidence. Confidence in myself and that the force field will work no matter what.” He smiled triumphantly. “Lo and behold, the seas part.”

Nightlight looked at him like he was the coolest mech on Cybertron. She had uncurled and instead was facing him, sitting with her knees forward and her pedes behind her. “So,” she spoke with a bit more pep in her voice, “they don’t know you’re strong...but they still kind of know you’re strong because you walk so confident.”

“Exactly.”

“But...but I don’t think I could do that.”

“Why not?”

“Cause what if I pretend to be strong and then they figure out I’m not and they beat me up?”

“If you walk with enough confidence, they won’t challenge you. And if they do, you threaten them. Then they run off like little glitchmice, with not a finger lifted.” Overlord waved his free servo as he talked, and Nightlight rubbed her fists on her optics and cheeks as he spoke, scooting closer to him.

“If I was injured in a way that left me unable to fight, but able to use my words, I would still win. In that moment, when I threaten them, it is not pain they are afraid of,” he explained, half-lying. Overlord loved to taunt, but he rarely threatened. If someone challenged him, most of the time he smashed their head in immediately. “I’m not touching them. They aren’t experiencing it. What they fear is the prospect of pain. All you have to do if you want to scare them off is make them believe you’ll rip them apart.”

Overlord had a feeling he was losing her, given her big optics staring at him. Or maybe that’s just how she looked. He poked her in the chest with acquired gentleness. “I can teach you. I can make you like me,” he said, “You can be intimidating. And nobody will ever bother you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

-------------

Nightlight had such a tall stack of datapads in her arms that the top of the pile concealed her face. She had to stumble slowly in the hall and occasionally, carefully glance to the side of the stack to see that there was nobody in front of her, and issue out “excuse me”s and “I’m sorry”s accordingly.

Overlord’s lessons on being braver and more intimidating had not yet been put into practice. Fortunately so, in Nightlight’s optics. The two wheeler hadn’t come across anybody who felt like bullying her for a whole week, and she was hoping her lucky streak would last forever. She didn’t want to try out what she had learned from the phase-sixer, even though out of everybody on the ship, he was probably the best person equipped to teach it. Nightlight didn’t want to mess up.

Turning a corner like an old bot driving slow on the highway, she scooted forward on her pedes and shifted her grip on the datapads. She felt the datapads sliding, and she “eep!”ed as she steadied them, and they settled back in place. “Whew,” she whispered.

Despite her dearest wishes on shooting stars, Nightlight didn’t get much time to be relieved. Just as she found her footing again, some mecha decided to sneak up beside her and stick their pede out. The minibot made a brief yelping sound before landing on her front, some of the datapads breaking her fall, layered like a deck of cards. The rest scattered and clattered around them. The floor and the pointy edges of the datapads poked and scraped her chassis and hands.

“Oops,” said the bot above her, laughing. She recognized him from his voice. She didn’t know his name. “Heh, watch where you’re going, squirt.”

Nightlight stayed on the floor for a moment, facing down, steeling herself and her urges to cry. It was action time. She got up, pushing herself with her tiny servos, whipping herself around with gusto and pointed her finger right in the mech’s face. 

“How about YOU watch where YOU’RE putting your STINKY PEDES, BUSTER!!”

The Decepticon stood with his mouth agape. He stared at Nightlight like she had grown another helm. Her being any bit of aggressive was pretty equivalent, really. “Wha-” he snorted, before barking out laughter that scraped Nightlight’s audials from being too loud. “What’s your problem, Autobot model? You think you can just waltz up in here and get sharp with me? You lookin’ to get pummeled?”

“You’re the one asking for a beating, stupidhead!” Nightlight yelled back with surprising volume, looking up at the considerably taller mech, even stepping towards him with gritted teeth. She stomped at him and almost jumped towards him doing so, looking like a dog trying to chomp at a chewtoy placed above it. “Get out of my way or pick these up,” she pointed at the datapads now, “and take them to room L2400! Or I’ll rearrange your face so much you’ll have to get your whole head replaced!!”

Nightlight, venting hard, felt equal amounts proud and equal amounts terrified. She had used the strategies Overlord taught her! Nightlight had tried her hardest and her best, put on her scariest face with her scariest voice. Hours of practice with Overlord, of him showing her how to be unabashed and angry, were coming to fruition.

The mech looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he froze up, his expression contorting into a wide-eyed frown. He frantically vented, taking a few quick breaths before letting out what Nightlight could only describe as a “squawk”. His helm darted between facing forward and towards the datapads. He was shivering so hard his chassis rattled. Was it working?

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it, I’ll pick up the datapads!” he threw himself at them, scooping them up like they were shards of his spark. Nightlight couldn’t help but look on with her mouth in the shape of an O. “Just leave me alone, okay?! I don’t want any trouble anymore!”

“Really?!” asked the purple minibot, “I, I mean, yeah! And I don’t wanna ever see your dumb ugly face ever again, got it?!” She shook her fist at him, throwing in a growl to her intimidation tactics. It sounded like a baby cyberwolf.

Taking no time to look back or even respond, the mech rushed off with the datapads in his hands. He screamed and practically jumped in the air when Nightlight yelled “L2400!” to remind him of where he was supposed to be going.

When the bot disappeared in the hallway, Nightlight stood still. She seemed to start to gradually vibrate, before exploding in excitement, jumping around the hallway, squealing and screaming, dancing and throwing her fists all around. She did it! She did it! She was intimidating! She could stand up for herself! She didn’t have to be bullied anymore! She was a real Decepticon! 

Nightlight then felt a little guilty. She put her servo to her mouth and thought. The mech looked so scared. Had she been too mean? 

No, she hadn’t been. Overlord told her that she should stand her ground, go full force, and dish back exactly what her bullies were doing to her. There was nothing wrong with that. An optic for an optic, and then some. The moped bounced in place. Overlord would be so proud of her!

“...I have to tell him!” she said, out of breath. She dashed down the hallway despite this, giggling and cheering, back in the direction she came from.

As Nightlight skipped away, Overlord stood at the other end of the corridor, in direct line of sight of where her bully had been standing. He backed away into the darkness with a wicked smile.

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 6 - Waiting Game

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Skywarp, Starscream, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Referenced Rape, Referenced Orgy, Coercion, Angst Words: 9428

No I’m not late with this or anything, what are you talking about.

I’m really excited for chapter 7, ngl. But this first.

He would have never guessed that it was possible to fall asleep after something like that. How could the mind calm down enough to allow for rest?

But it wasn’t about the mind. It was about the body, pushed to its limit by an overload after overload—energy reserves used to depletion, all charge drained from one’s batteries.

Exhaustion.

It didn’t matter how the mind suffered and reeled, at that point. The frame took over, demanding things. Demanding rest. A chance to recharge.

And that was what it had decreed in the end. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure how long it had taken, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Those memories were best blurry and out of focus.

Like how many unwanted overloads it had taken to finally knock him out. Sideswipe, too. How much distress it had taken for their minds to shut down, only now beginning to return to him as he climbed out from the grasp of pitch black sleep.

He wished he could’ve fallen straight back into it when reality began to creep in, but his processors’ march to consciousness was unrelenting. Memories began to flood in too, fuzzy as they were, and long before he wanted to, he became aware of where he was.

Of where he still was. 

The only upside in the whole situation was that he couldn’t feel his field or scan his spark signature. Before his optics opened, Sunstreaker was already mostly confident that Megatron was not in the vicinity, and once his optics did open, a glance around confirmed that the tyrant was nowhere to be seen.

Figures. He probably had more important things to go, being the leader of the whole goddamned city and whatnot. Have his fun, fuck and rape, then go on his merry way without a backwards glance!

He couldn’t confirm that last one, but it wouldn’t have surprised him.

There were plenty other spark signatures around him, other fields—Sideswipe was passed out next to him, warm to the touch and–

And covered in all manner of fluids.

Sunstreaker averted his gaze quickly, scanning the rest of the room. They were still on the large berth, and although there were a couple of other mates on it as well, most were recharging in their own cots. Some were already awake, talking in hushed tones to avoid disturbing those that were still resting, but even that didn’t account for everyone.

It appeared quite a few of the mates had recovered faster than him and Sideswipe had. But considering they had gotten most of Megatron—and Soundwave’s—attention, Sunstreaker thought that was fair enough. They hadn’t been allowed to choose their pace, or whether or not they’d like to have breaks, or—Primus, if they even wanted to interface in the first place.

He was shaking, his plating rattling just so. Were his ventilations a little faster than what they were supposed to be? Those were probably just the aftereffects of everything that had happened during the course of the night.

Everything else he shoved down deep, twice as resolutely when Sideswipe began to stir next to him. A small, wounded moan was the first sign of life his brother made, and it was nearly enough to break Sunstreaker’s spark all over again.

As if it had ever recovered from the first time.

Sideswipe returned to awareness much faster, panic seeping in before conscious thought. His optics snapped open to a wild look around, an uncoordinated jerk in his limbs. 

“Hey, hey,” Sunstreaker said at once, battling his own frame to roll onto his knees and land a servo on Sideswipe’s shoulder—and wincing from the stab of pain from his lower body. 

Megatron hadn’t gone out of his way to damage them this time around (and Soundwave hadn’t seemed interested in that either), but his valve was still throbbing angrily and his hip joints protested how much time they’d spent spread around someone’s hips.

He wanted to purge, but pushed that down with the rest of it to focus on Sideswipe instead. His twin’s optics locked on him after a pass around the room, and slowly the look of prey faded from them as his mind caught up.

Megatron wasn’t here, relief. Sunstreaker was here, relief.

Sideswipe’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say anyway? What could they say? Something to make things better?

There was nothing that would make things better.

That thought snapped between them like a whiplash, and Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta before he dropped his gaze. Sunstreaker’s servo on his shoulder tightened.

He hated to see his brother like this. Sideswipe was supposed to be larger than life, the light in the room, centerpiece of any party—everyone’s friend, always cheerful, refusing to let anything bring him down.

Here and now? What Sideswipe was meant to be and what he was were… Miles apart.

But was that any wonder? There was the whole of a planet between where they were and where they were supposed to be. 

Their life had been torn from them. They had been given no chances to let that sink in. All there had been was a relentless input of new things intermittent with abuse, abuse, and more abuse. Change after change after change… And more trauma than he had wanted to believe was possible.

And he feared this was only just the beginning.

That thought he didn’t want to reach Sideswipe, though, so instead he gave his brother a gentle shake to earn those optics back on him.

Sunstreaker smiled. Just a small smile, but even that felt so… Fake. And like it hurt to even produce the expression.

There was no reason to smile, but for Sideswipe he’d try to do so anyway.

“How-” he started, before thinking better of it and cutting his vocalizer. There was no point in asking how Sideswipe felt. Useless words, when he could feel and see all too well how Sideswipe was feeling.

Not well.

To put it mildly.

What to say instead? Or should he let there be silence?

“We- We should probably visit the washracks. Would you like to?”

Sideswipe took a moment to register his words before he nodded carefully, and swallowed, hard.

They both cringed at the taste of transfluid on his glossa and at the back of his throat, but Sideswipe nodded again, more firmly this time around, and began to push himself up. “Yeah, that… That sounds like a good idea,” he said quietly, flinching when he caught a sight of his frame.

Paint transfers and fluids were splattered liberally all over him. Sunstreaker knew he didn’t look any better. 

They really needed those washracks.

As one they scooted over to the edge of the berth and dropped down onto the dais it was on, and from there to the level of the rest of the berthroom. Some of the other mates glanced their way, but they didn’t stick around to see if anyone would’ve liked to say something to them.

They had been a part of it. All of them. Mecha in the same situation as they were… There was no way all of them were here any more willingly than them, and yet.

The fragging shit they’d done. To them. To each other. Just…

He didn’t even want to think about it. He could feel his anger rising, but it had no target in the present, and he didn’t want to take it out on Sideswipe. Sideswipe stumbled along next to him as they crossed the short distance through the hallway into the washracks, that weren’t empty—of course they weren’t, that would’ve been far too much to ask—but that still held the promise of washing away at least some of the signs of the… Orgy.

They scurried over to the far end of the room, to the last showerheads, and then under their hot sprays. Solvent pattered down their frames, and slowly it began to loosen the dried fluids, a process made much faster by the smooth coat Knock Out had applied onto their paint jobs, compared to the rough texture of…

Of before. 

How many times did it need to be said he’d rather have that life than this? It might’ve been a life of poverty, of scraping by, of going hungry, of uncertainty—but was there any more certainty in this?

Beyond the certainty of more ways to hurt them, physically and emotionally.

They had fuel, they had access to high quality paints and polishes, to washracks… A roof over their helms.

But the price wasn’t worth it.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, letting the solvent fall over him and soothe aching cables as it trailed into his internals through the gaps in his armor. Beside him Sideswipe did the same, and blissfully the other occupants didn’t break the silence of the washracks either. Maybe it was just because of the two of them, but the mood felt so somber. Like it wouldn’t have been right to speak.

So they didn’t. Without a word, but together, they grabbed scrubs and began to clean their plating to the best of their ability, helping each other where appropriate. The sealant Knock Out had used to protect their new paint was surprisingly good at its job. The paint transfers littering them came off in a way Sunstreaker hadn’t experienced before. Usually that amount of scuffs would’ve required touching up the underlying paint afterwards, but now… That didn’t seem necessary.

He wasn’t sure how grateful he was about that. It was one less thing to worry about, but also another consequence of their situation—a separation from before, when they evidently hadn’t sealed their paint properly, or hadn’t had the ability to seal their paint properly. Whichever it was.

Same result.

It always came back to it: he’d rather have the before, even with all of the supposed downsides it had come with. 

They hardly even seemed like downsides anymore, compared to the downsides of being held captive in Kaon like this.

But as easily as the paint transfers came off, and no matter how well the solvent and the scrub dislodged the fluids that had dried on him, they did little to remove the ghost sensations that were left behind—and they did nothing to the way lubricant and transfluid streamed from his valve when he opened his cover against his better judgement. The moment he did, Sideswipe wished he hadn’t, but… He just wanted it out. Was that too much to ask? Too much to hope that he could make it feel like nothing had happened?

It was, wasn’t it? Gravity pulled out quite a bit of it, but he knew, he just knew there was still so much left inside that he had no way to remove. 

And he didn’t want to touch it. Primus, he just…

His helm hung. He knew Sunstreaker was worried about him, and Sideswipe knew he was… Acting out of character in a lot of ways.

But could he be blamed for it? Look at what had happened to them. What did they have but each other, anymore?

What had they ever had besides that?

Freedom, that’s what. A right to self-dictate.

His paint was gleaming already, but that was only because of the repaint Knock Out had given them. He looked good.

He didn’t feel good. He didn’t want to look good. He wished he looked the part of the guttermech he was, even if he’d spent his life fighting that very appearance. But it was better than this—being a pretty, polished doll for one tyrant and his lackeys to use. And if he’d ever thought… If he’d ever thought that the other mates could be allies in this situation, those hopes had been crushed last night.

They were complicit. They did what Megatron told, even if… Even when that involved what it had.

It was so wrong. Didn’t they see how wrong it was? How could they just…

How could they?

Sunstreaker’s servo closed around his wrist and Sideswipe was snapped back to the present enough to realize he had washed the same spot for a needlessly long amount of time already. There was nothing left to clean in that area. There was nothing coming out of his valve anymore, his crotch and inner thighs washed clean by the running solvent, and he let his cover close back up. 

So why didn’t he feel clean?

Why couldn’t he forget how many servos had grabbed him by the hips to–

His claws, sharp like they hadn’t been since they were first activated, had dug furrows into the soft scrub. Sunstreaker’s hold on his wrist tightened. “I’m fine,” Sideswipe whispered on reflex, knowing full well his brother’s concern.

He was lying. They both knew he was. He couldn’t lift his helm. Couldn’t… Couldn’t just put on an act and pretend that was the truth. He’d always been able to before, no matter what had happened.

But never before had this happened. Evidently there were limits to what even he could fake his way through. 

Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, but let go of his arm to go back to cleaning himself up. They were both clean already though, at least visually. There was nothing more to wash away. No paint transfers, no lubricant, no transfluid. 

Nothing but the feel of it all, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that could be washed away. Maybe in a million years they could’ve.

But not so quickly. 

“Hey,” came a familiar voice from behind them and Sideswipe jolted from his thoughts. Both him and Sunstreaker spun on their heels to face Skywarp, Sideswipe with wide optics, Sunstreaker with a growl.

Skywarp shrunk back a little bit from the aggression aimed at him, but wasn’t wholly discouraged. “Um, I came to see if you needed help washing up, but it looks like you got it already,” the Seeker said. He was clean too, but that wasn’t a surprise considering he hadn’t been in the berthroom anymore when they’d woken up.

Under different circumstances, the offer would’ve been a nice gesture.

Under these circumstances?

“You have some fucking gall,” Sunstreaker hissed. Sideswipe’s ventilations hitched, and he didn’t, couldn’t look at Skywarp, letting his gaze drop again. Sunstreaker stepped up in front of him, between him and the Seeker, and he was angry. He was so angry it was like a physical wall between him and the rest of the world.

Skywarp wasn’t completely blind to the danger and took a step back from Sunstreaker’s righteous fury. And it was righteous. 

Look at what Skywarp had done. Right along with the rest of them.

And now he was here, acting like none of it had happened.

This place was so upside down. If it wasn’t for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe thought he might’ve started doubting the whole fabric of reality at this rate. 

‘Yeah, I participated in your gang rape, but would you like me to help you wash up?’

Not even an apology. “You and the whole rest in this Primus forsaken place!” Sunstreaker continued, his voice rising until it was nothing short of a bellow. Skywarp took another step back.

Sunstreaker didn’t pursue, but Sideswipe knew the only reason for that was that he didn’t want to leave Sideswipe alone. If it wasn’t him inadvertently holding Sunstreaker back, there would’ve been nothing to save the Seeker from his brother’s wrath.

Justified wrath, if you asked Sideswipe.

“I just thought-” Skywarp tried to say, but Sunstreaker didn’t let him finish.

“Get. Out,” the golden twin snarled instead, pointing at the door. He probably had no rights to order anyone around, yet in the face of the anger directed at him, Skywarp took yet another step back.

“If-” he tried to speak again, and again Sunstreaker cut him off.

“OUT!”

Sideswipe was pretty sure that could be heard all throughout the harem wing, but at least Skywarp finally believed there was nothing he could achieve here, and hurried to the door with just one backwards glance.

He looked… Sad? Hurt?

He had no right.

The few other mates that had been in washracks cleared out quickly after their winged compatriot, sending more glances their way.

And then they were alone.

Sunstreaker’s engine revved, but Sideswipe slumped back against the wall under the still running shower. Numbly he reached for the controls and turned it off—to conserve the amount of solvent used, but what did it matter how much of it was used? Whose solvent was it?

Megatron’s. Everything here was Megatron’s.

Including them.

His vents hitched again at that thought, at the reminder—why Sunstreaker was angry at Skywarp.

The whole fucking mess of it.

Skywarp had been a part of it. And– He hadn’t come to apologize, had he? Unless offering help was his way of apologizing.

But he could’ve said something too. Some acknowledgment that what had happened was so, so wrong. They too had to think it wasn’t right, didn’t they? How could anyone think it was okay? He was pretty sure Megatron knew it was messed up too, but Megatron just enjoyed that fact.

What about the rest of them, though? If Megatron’s behavior could be explained away with just sadism and cruelty, what was the excuse for the others?

Was it going to happen again? Were they, all of them, going to do it again? Turn their audials off to any protests they had, because… What, just because Megatron told them to?

He knew all too well what Megatron was like, already, and they’d barely known him for any amount of time. In that he really… He really couldn’t blame the others for not disobeying him.

But he still didn’t understand it. There was no resistance whatsoever, not even any visible reluctance.

They just did it.

They’d said no, and they just did it.

They might act nice towards them, be helpful, or try to be… Skywarp, Runabout. Aside from Starscream’s weird attitude, no one had been mean towards them.

Aside from last night.

They were just as messed up as the rest of this. How was he even supposed to look at any of them anymore, after what they’d done to them? How was he supposed to look at Starscream and not think of the Seeker’s face or valve right next to him as he serviced Megatron right in front of his optics? Without any signs of hesitation?

Or Skywarp. How he had just… How everyone had just…

How much more of this was there going to be?

When was it going to end?

“What are we going to do?” Sideswipe blurted, prompting Sunstreaker to break his angry staring contest with the door. “We need to get the frag away from here.”

Desperate.

Get out.

But how?

When?

“We’ll find a way,” Sunstreaker said, promised, turning back to him and wrapping him into a warm and familiar embrace. And Sideswipe wanted to believe. He buried his face in the crook of his twin’s neck, and he wanted so badly to believe that they would find a way out before… Primus, he wasn’t sure. Before what?

How much more of this could he take? What would happen when he couldn’t take it anymore? “We just need to hold out until we do,” Sunstreaker whispered to him, and Sideswipe could feel the shiver in him. Neither of them was unaffected by this. But they were holding it together pretty well, weren’t they? Despite everything.

They’d beat the odds before. They would this time too. Like Sunstreaker said, they’d just need to survive until then. They could do that. 

That thought and the pulse of his brother’s half-spark against his chassis steeled his resolve. It was just them, but that was fine, because it had always been just them. And that was all they’d ever needed.

It would be all they needed here too. They would find a way out, and they would do so before it was too late. No, no. It would never be too late. They would just need to be patient and wily, outsmart the cage they were in, undo all of its locks, and steal back their life.

“Yeah,” he responded to Sunstreaker with no more volume than what Sunstreaker had used, and wrapped his arms around his twin in turn. And he meant it. Maybe… Maybe all they’d need were little moments like these to keep a hold of their sanity until they could break free.

The washrack door opened with the quiet swoosh of a well oiled mechanism and they glanced up in alarm. One of the mates was standing in the doorway, looking a little awkward. Like he didn’t want to be there. “Hey. Sorry about the interruption, but,” and Sideswipe tensed all over, because how could any news borne by their assailants be good ones?

His gut was proven right a second later. “Megatron’s summoned you, Sideswipe.

“Alone.”

“What the pit…” Sideswipe whispered, and Sunstreaker growled, his arms tightening around him.

“No,” his brother said. “You can go tell him to frag off.”

Sideswipe burrowed into Sunstreaker’s embrace, his spark beginning to flutter faster and faster with the implications.

Alone with Megatron.

It was bad enough with Sunstreaker there, when he could draw strength from his brother and share the experience and the attention. Sure, they were used against each other too, but it was still better to be together. Bearable to be together.

It was never bearable.

How was he supposed to go without his brother?

His plating was clattering against Sunstreaker’s, but that only made his twin tighten his hold enough that Sideswipe worried their armors would buckle.

And as much as he trusted his brother, as much as he knew Sunstreaker’s desire to protect him from everything and anything… He feared there was nothing Sunstreaker could do to protect him from this. Not from Megatron.

That was a terrible, terrible thought. He keened at the inevitability of it all, of the– Of the–

“Please please please no,” he pleaded, looking up at the other mate still standing in the doorway. “Please I can’t– I can’t go through that, not again, not with him– Please.”

Tears welled, then fell at the thought of what Megatron could do to him, and oh Primus but there was so much, and he was sure his imagination still couldn’t conjure anything even halfway as awful as what Megatron would think to do. Even with everything that had happened already, no matter how many times and in how many ways they’d already been raped, he was sure Megatron would find new ways to torture and humiliate them.

Him. Just him, if he went alone. “I can’t,” was what it all boiled down to, and he couldn’t even hate how badly his voice cracked when he said that, trying so hard to beg with the newsbringer. Make them understand. 

Their look was sad, pitying. Maybe they did understand.

Maybe they’d been through the same thing.

Maybe they didn’t have a twin to share it all with in the first place.

But they were a part of it. Had been, last night. They’d carry out Megatron’s orders.

And even if they didn’t want to do that, what could they do? Could they really just carry the message back to him, ‘hey, they don’t want to, so I guess this isn’t happening’?

Inevitable. Megatron was inevitable. This was his kingdom and all in it lived to serve.

Strength left him, and only Sunstreaker’s hold of him kept him up. “Sunny,” he whined, pathetic, but he was beyond caring about his own dignity. As if he even had any left at this point. “I can’t do it, please.”

Sunstreaker understood, if no one else did, and a protective growl rumbled in his brother’s engine. “He won’t get you,” Sunstreaker promised quietly but resolutely—and despite that, Sideswipe could feel Sunstreaker’s uncertainty.

The want to protect was real, so very real, and there wasn’t a single fiber in his twin’s being that wanted to hand him over to their tormentor.

But neither of them knew how to avoid it. What could they do? They were so powerless against the tyrant.

The mate had disappeared from the doorway, but Sideswipe didn’t feel even a moment’s relief at that fact. And he was right. A moment later two guards and Starscream entered, the Seeker following behind the black clad mechs. “Our Master doesn’t make requests,” he said, sounding annoyed, like this all was just an inconvenience to him. The guards came for them, but Sunstreaker positioned himself between them and him, and Sideswipe cringed further against his chassis.

Inevitable.

“Resistance is futile.” Starscream’s words sounded like they came from a mile away with the way panic began to pound in his audials, but there the Seeker was, echoing thoughts they’d already had.

Turning them into hard truths.

He was frozen in place when the guards took a hold of Sunstreaker and forcibly pulled him away despite his cursing, but without his brother there, fight or flight took over.

He chose flight.

Sideswipe bolted for the doorway the Seeker blissfully wasn’t blocking, through it and into the hallway, and–

And then he didn’t know where to go. Where could he go that would get him away from his fate?

There was further ruckus coming from the washracks behind him, and some other mates either hanging out in the hallway or on their way to here or there looked at him, but Sideswipe didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t know what to do.

Until the sounds behind him got closer, the fields of the guards, and he took his legs under him again and dashed to the main doors leading in and out of the wing.

What did he do that for?

They were locked, as they had been before. The guards on this side having left them hadn’t changed that fact. Of course it hadn’t. 

And he had nowhere else to go.

“Leave him alone!” Sunstreaker yelled behind him, his voice registering dimly but enough that Sideswipe cast one panicked look over his shoulder.

There were mecha peeking through the doorways, curious over what all the fuss was about. There was Sunstreaker, struggling against Starscream’s hold, but unable to break it. Held back. “Sideswipe! You fragging dronebrains, leave him alone!”

And there were the guards, headed straight for Sideswipe. 

Give up?

No. That wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t just willingly subject himself to this.

He deserved better.

He had value, he had rights. This was wrong.

Megatron was wrong. 

“Get away from me!” His voice was still shrill when he cornered himself against the grand doors. As ever, the guards offered no reaction, too intent on following their orders to the letter no matter what. What Sideswipe wanted was of no consequence when pitted against what Megatron wanted. 

It wasn’t right!

The hallway was big, but it wasn’t big enough. When he made one last desperate attempt to get past the guards—and to where? The rest of the harem wing, only to be cornered again?—they only had to reach to get a hold of him, and the grip was like a vice. 

“No!” He struggled all the same, but they merely caught him arm apiece, and push-dragged him towards the doors. “Let go of me! You- Don’t!”

He didn’t want to go through those doors. Not like this. He fought, he fought so hard, and he could hear Sunstreaker’s angry and fearful yells, and feel the way Starscream’s claws sank into his armor to keep him in place.

Just until they were through the doors and they closed behind him and the two guards with a decisive slam.

His ventilations came fast and hard and there was no willing them into a calmer pace, not when his spark was a whirlwind of fright and desperation. He offered none of his cooperation, but the guards were big and burly and didn’t give a damn about his struggles. He was marched through the halls and past the other doors until they came to those ones.

The ones he was going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life, most likely.

They opened to admit them to the bleak interior of Megatron’s wing, but where Sideswipe had expected to be merely shoved in to find a place to hide and postpone what couldn’t be avoided, the guards instead pulled him further into the wing.

And further, and further, all the way to the lounge at the end of the hallway.

Megatron was waiting, big and imposing despite the fact he was presently sitting on one of the couches with a cube of energon in one servo, a lit datapad in the other. He glanced up when they entered, his optics brightening with… Pleasure? Glee? Anticipation? Greed? 

No matter what it was, Sideswipe wanted nothing to do with it.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” the tyrant said as he set the cube down on the table in front of him and subspaced his datapad. It was so conversational, the way he said it, like there was any damn way Sideswipe would’ve come here voluntarily.

Like there were any faint traces of cordiality or rapport between them.

As if they could have normal conversations.

A flick of Megatron’s servo as he rose to his pedes, and the guards let go of Sideswipe, turned around, and left. The door closed behind them, and Sideswipe doubted it would open again anytime soon.

And once again he was the target of Megatron’s focus, except this time there was nothing and no one to function as a buffer between them. Or as a distraction. Or… Anything.

Now there was nothing but the weight of those red optics staring down at him and making him feel so small and vulnerable.

Which he was, when compared to Megatron.

“Where’s your brother?” Megatron asked, but with the way he grinned when he said that, Sideswipe knew Megatron knew exactly where Sunstreaker was.

He was just toying with him.

Sideswipe responded anyway. “You only wanted me,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong and steady.

Sunstreaker might’ve managed that feat.

He wasn’t Sunstreaker.

He was scared out of his wits without his brother. His voice betrayed him completely on that front, wavering and shaking, but he still hoped even some of his resolve remained and shone through—even one remnant of his belief that Megatron wasn’t within his rights to do this, no matter what the mech seemed to think. 

But no one had the rights to do any of this to another living being. Not even the unquestioned ruler of Kaon.

“That I did,” Megatron said, sounding decidedly pleased. “Come. We have much to do.” Again there was a flick of his digits and the expectation that that was all the order Sideswipe would need, as it was all the order everyone else seemed to need.

“No,” was what he said instead, planting his pedes, raising his chin, and keeping his voice steady.

Just for the duration of that single word, but it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

“No?” the tyrant asked, his amusement palpable. “I see. What would you like to do instead?”

Games. The damn megalomaniac was playing games with him, and Sideswipe’s spark spun wildly, but every moment spent pretending Megatron was in any way interested in what he wanted was one less moment spent doing what Megatron wanted.

“I would like to go home,” Sideswipe said, and his voice was shivering again.

“...Please,” he tacked on after a beat.

You know, just to be polite. Couldn’t hurt.

“Home?” Megatron mused, bending to pick his cube back up and… Sipping from it. As they talked.

So casual.

Sideswipe didn’t feel so casual. He swallowed, hard, but the dreadful anxiety didn’t lessen or go anywhere. Of course it didn’t.

“I hear you were guttermechs, you and your brother,” the grey mech continued while Sideswipe just stood there, with nowhere to go and nothing to say that would change the course of this. And no matter what Megatron said now, Sideswipe was sure it wouldn’t change anything. He was just toying with him.

And having fun while at it, by all appearances. “Do you even have anything to go back to?”

“Yes,” Sideswipe answered, and it was true.

There wasn’t a whole lot, he could admit that much. They hadn’t had a lot.

But they’d had enough.

“Really? Did you have everything you do now?” Games, games, games! Megatron knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying himself. There was that gleam in his optic, the caress of a smile on his lips.

Sideswipe didn’t want to play this game.

“You should thank me.”

For a moment he couldn’t believe what he heard. How had he– Why had he expected Megatron wouldn’t go there? Was there anything the tyrant wouldn’t do, any trick in the book he wouldn’t use?

But did he mean it? Sideswipe didn’t know. Maybe his view of reality was so warped that he did mean it, that he was functioning under the delusion that this was somehow an improvement.

It wasn’t, and damn him if he was ever going to be thankful for the abduction and the rape that Megatron seemed to be the base cause of.

Megatron’s orders, Megatron’s desires. “Never,” Sideswipe hiss-growled in a way that was more at home on Sunstreaker’s vocalizer. He could grasp anger now, his servos balling into fists.

That was the only answer there was to stupid suggestions like that.

“Hmh.” Megatron, so noncommittal, but with one more gulp he emptied his cube and dispersed it.

And Sideswipe’s anger deflated, burst by the spike of fear that thought it knew their little chat was over and they were about to get down to business. 

That fear was joined by the fear that the other fear was correct when Megatron began to approach him, and how much fear was that?

A lot, Sideswipe concluded, because his knees nearly buckled from it and he barely managed to stumble away from the tyrant’s approach. His spark was spinning faster than it ever might’ve before. He hadn’t feared a great many things before. Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t.

And he’d never feared anything like he feared Megatron.

Megatron didn’t take offense in his escape this time either, and pits but Sideswipe wished he would’ve. It might’ve broken the aura of smug superiority and full control that surrounded the larger mech—compare that to Sideswipe, barely staying upright on weak legs, tripping over himself in his hurry to keep distance between them.

It was a doomed effort, like it had been all the times before. Slowly but surely—like he was drawing things out just for the sake of it—Megatron cornered him and snatched him by the arm before unceremoniously dragging him to the berthroom. That door closed too, once they were through it, and then he was once again tossed onto a massive berth. Megatron followed him onto it, but slowly enough that Sideswipe had the time to scoot to its furthest corner.

Out of reach.

Not that Megatron cared. Oh no, the tyrant had entirely different plans that apparently didn’t involve chasing Sideswipe around any more at all. Because Megatron merely settled himself onto the other end of the berth and spread his legs in invitation, that damn amusement in his optics when Sideswipe’s gaze passed between them and the dark crotch. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe balked. “What?”

“Coax it out,” Megatron repeated patiently like the benevolent leader he wasn’t.

Did he really expect it? He was there and Sideswipe was here, and he wasn’t in range to force him. 

Did he think Sideswipe would do it willingly?

He almost felt offended. “No!” he said, drawing his knees up and glaring at their captor. The whole situation was absurd enough that some of the anxiety melted away from sheer disbelief–

But it was quickly replaced by the fearful expectation of what Megatron’s plan here was. He had to have one beyond just expecting Sideswipe to do as he was told like a good little mech.  

Everyone else might’ve done it, followed Megatron’s every word and gesture, but he fragging well wouldn’t.

That fear gained more fuel when Megatron still didn’t take the bait and merely said an even, “You will.”

And… Did or said no more than that. Sideswipe waited, a tense ball of nerves, but nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, beyond Megatron shifting his attention away from him entirely. He pulled a datapad from his subspace and focused on it instead, leaving Sideswipe to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

-----------------------------------------------

Hours passed. At some point Megatron got off the berth and moved to his desk, and by all appearances set to work on… What did tyrants even do for a living, besides ordering others around and creatively tormenting them? Sideswipe had no idea.

And Sideswipe… He was left to wait, there, at one end and one corner of the berth, with his knees drawn so tight to his chest and a pit of ever deepening confusion in his tanks. 

You will. That sounded like a threat and a promise rolled into one, but as much as he already knew Megatron to be capable of, he had no idea how he planned to achieve this one thing when he didn’t look like he was planning to use his own frame to get it, this time. What did he expect to happen? For Sideswipe to suddenly change his mind? Out of boredom maybe?

Because he was bored. Anxious, but bored. He was prone to that to begin with and had always had bigger thrills than Sunstreaker just to keep himself satisfied.

And now he was left with nothing more to do than sit and stare at another mech’s back.

It didn’t sit too well with him, but it was far from making him desperate enough for something to do that he would’ve magically begun to want to service Megatron of all mecha. Or really anyone, at this point in time.

Everything was still too fresh for him to want anything to do with interfacing anytime soon.

And although he wasn’t forced to interface right then, Sideswipe only felt a modicum of relief. Sure, the present could’ve been worse, but he feared the future would be even worse than what the present could’ve been if things had at all gone like he’d expected them to. Megatron had a plan and an intent, there was no doubt about that even if Sideswipe had no idea what it was.

But the end goal at least had been made clear already: for Sideswipe to interface with him, presumably without too much force being involved.

If that was it, it was under his control, and it was an easy promise to make to himself and the world that he wouldn’t do it.

No matter what it came down to.

As long as Sunstreaker remained unharmed, but Sunstreaker wasn’t even here.

Why didn’t he feel so certain despite his desire to stand strong? Why did he trust Megatron to have too many trump cards that he wouldn’t be able to counter?

He could’ve taken it as a moment’s respite, but it didn’t feel like respite at all. Just a truckload of uncertainty over what the future would bring. 

He stayed right where he was for what felt like an eternity while Megatron tapped away on his datapads. And then…

Then Megatron got up and left.  

Sideswipe stilled in utter confusion when the door closed behind the tyrant and he was left alone in the damn mech’s berthroom.

He didn’t want to be alone there, even without Megatron present. 

Yet he was, without exactly any say in the matter.

What the pit was going on?

And if he’d thought he’d been bored before, without even the stimulation of watching someone working—and that wasn’t exactly good entertainment either—he thought he was quickly driven towards insanity. He didn’t dare move though, just in case that would’ve summoned his harrower. Somehow. He sort of doubted there were cameras in Megatron’s personal quarters, but what did he know. Maybe the mech just really liked leaving his mates alone here, only to watch them squirm through some hidden cameras.

But Sideswipe wasn’t squirming. Sideswipe wasn’t really doing anything, in fact. Well, besides just… Waiting. Waiting for Megatron’s return, waiting for what would happen next, waiting for what kind of torture the future would bring. 

He waited for a very long time. It was closer to a half an orn before he could hear pedesteps on the other side of the door and tensed all over from the light doze he had entered just to pass the time. Conflicted emotions followed right after, boredom warring with fear over whether it was better there was another living being to look at to have something to do, or if he’d rather not have Megatron anywhere near him.

The latter was winning by the time the door opened to admit the big mech. He strode in like he owned the place—which he did—and landed his optics on Sideswipe. The door closed behind him, and Sideswipe felt as trapped as he ever had.

Was this it? Had Megatron’s patience ran out and now he would just pin him down and rape him? At this point that might’ve even been relief, something familiar in the place of whatever this was.

But instead of coming for him directly, Megatron again climbed onto the berth and stayed well out of reach. He spread his legs, and then he gave the order again. “Coax it out.”

Sideswipe shook his helm. No. He still wasn’t about to do that. What had Megatron expected to achieve by leaving him alone for a time? Cooperation?

No fucking way. 

Megatron waited for a time, gave him a chance to reconsider… And then moved. Sideswipe expected the worst the moment the tyrant came towards him and he bolted off the berth, but instead of pursuing him, Megatron merely…

Reclined. The fragger reclined on his berth like he was about to go to recharge.

And when his systems began to cycle down, Sideswipe realized that was exactly what he was doing.

What the pit?

It was like he didn’t even care Sideswipe was there, standing on the floor of his berthroom, watching him go to sleep. Did he think it was safe, that Sideswipe wouldn’t do anything to him while he was out of it and vulnerable?

Except… Was he vulnerable? Was a mech like Megatron ever vulnerable? Was he dumb enough to shut down all of his systems for recharge, or did he leave enough on to royally mess Sideswipe up if he got too close or tried anything?

Greater mecha than him had probably tried to off the tyrant, but here Megatron was still. What chances did Sideswipe have against him? And there were two ways that could go. Either Megatron would just be amused, or he would take offense and… Kill him in retaliation? That wouldn’t surprise him.

He didn’t want to die here. Not in Megatron’s berthroom, not in this tower, not in Kaon.

He didn’t want to die at all.

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take and not a price he was willing to pay for the slim chance he could end Megatron. And… Even if he did manage that, what did he expect to happen? He doubted Megatron’s lackeys would be too pleased.

No, there was no way that could’ve ended well for Sideswipe. It wouldn’t end well for him if he didn’t do anything, but at least by not doing anything he had the chances to get out of Megatron’s wing, return to Sunstreaker, and return to their escape plots. 

He wouldn’t be able to escape if he was dead.

He still didn’t understand what Megatron was doing, though, but he feared he would learn the answer sooner or later, and that he wouldn’t like it. While Megatron was recharging though… Sideswipe didn’t think he would be catching any recharge himself, not with Megatron there. He didn’t want to let his guard down, even for a moment.

There was no way that would’ve led to anything good. 

Sideswipe glanced around him at the spartan room. Megatron had made sure not to leave any datapads behind when he left, and there was nothing more to explore now either. If he even would’ve dared to snoop around while Megatron was recharging a couple of steps away.

So… Now what? He’d escaped interfacing for the time being, but he still didn’t know what the game they were playing was, and he still had absolutely nothing to do.

With a quiet huff Sideswipe backed up until his back hit one of the bleak walls, then carefully slid down it to sit on the floor, pulling his knees back to his chassis. 

More waiting. A lot more waiting, listening to the peaceful whirr and rumble of Megatron’s systems. The sounds would’ve been soothing if they’d belonged to someone else, but coming from Megatron they only put Sideswipe on edge and made it impossible to forget where he was. He didn’t want to familiarize himself with the sounds of the tyrant’s recharging frame.

But here he was.

He didn’t full on recharge himself, not for the whole of Megatron’s recharge cycle, but he did enter a light doze like before. Not because he was particularly tired, but just to have something to pass the time with.

They were long, long hours that he anxiously waited for Megatron to awaken, and see what that brought with it. It gave his mind far too much time to work over all the unpleasant things that might await him in his unfortunate future, concoct all sorts of possibilities, each one more terrible than the one before.

And he feared Megatron would live up to all of it, somehow.

How had one mech become the biggest boogeyman he’d ever known?

Megatron woke up no sooner and no later than what suited him. Sideswipe snapped out of his thoughts the moment the sounds of the tyrant’s systems changed and started to ramp up again, signaling his return to full awareness. It was a short process with no time wasted, just the steady climb from recharge to everyday functioning. Soon Megatron was already sitting up and stretching like Sideswipe would’ve expected from any mech.

But it looked so wrong coming from the sadistic dictator that had no right to remind him of the common folk that didn’t go around kidnapping and raping others.

It didn’t take longer than that for Megatron to take notice of him, though, and Sideswipe pressed tighter against the wall at his back when the tyrant’s red gaze zeroed in on him. “Sleep well?” Megatron asked.

Sideswipe’s lips drew back in a snarl.

Megatron didn’t laugh, but it looked like it was a close thing. “Come here and coax it out,” he gave the order once again, patting the berth in invitation.

“Slag you!” Sideswipe growled back at him and decidedly didn’t go over to fragging coax it out.  

“Suit yourself,” the tyrant said genteelly before getting up from the berth and leaving the whole room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Sideswipe was alone all over again.

This didn’t make any damn sense. “Why doesn’t he just…” he murmured to himself, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions his spark was pulsing with. On one hand, relief that he wasn’t getting raped like he’d gotten a lot recently.

But on the other he just… Wanted it over with. It would hurt, and he’d hate it, but afterwards he could return to the harem wing, to Sunstreaker, and hug his brother, and listen to him hear say they’d get out yet.

He didn’t want this waiting. Waiting for Megatron to unleash his cruelty, waiting for the suffering, the pain, the humiliation. 

Get it over with.

It’d only hurt for a while. And on the other side… There might just be a moment to gather himself back together before the next time he’d need to survive Megatron’s attentions.

But this?

“Fuck this,” Sideswipe whispered, his servos finding their way to his helmet and cradling it.

---------------------------------------------

Again he sat, and he waited, and again it was such a long, long time before Megatron deemed to return. Sideswipe didn’t even want to count the hours.

“Coax it out.”

He refused.

Megatron didn’t force him.

Megatron sat at his desk, drank his energon, and worked, and Sideswipe sat on the chilly floor, against the wall, and watched him because he had nothing better to do. 

Another recharge cycle Megatron slept peacefully on his berth. Sideswipe remained on the floor, tense and anxious, but not as tense and anxious as before.

He hated that. He didn’t want to get used to Megatron’s presence, but his emotions were tiring him to the point of dulling when nothing bad happened.

Another morning, another order, another time he didn’t do as he was told.

Another time Megatron left him alone while he went off to who knew where.

This time Sideswipe got up and went to the door, experimentally testing if it was locked or if he could maybe even get to the lounge on the other side.

But it was locked. He was not only held prisoner in Kaon and the palace, but now in Megatron’s berthroom too. 

What did he want? For him to just… Was it all he wanted that Sideswipe would go to him and do as he was told? Was that all?

“Frag off with that,” he muttered as he turned from the door and crawled under the berth, all the way to the center where he could be sure Megatron wouldn’t be able to reach him. He curled up there and tried to get some real recharge in the spell of peace and quiet when Megatron wasn’t present.

And tried to ignore his slowly depleting fuel levels.

------------------------------------------------------

When Megatron returned that night, he halted right at the door, probably because he couldn’t see Sideswipe right away. Sideswipe tensed, but it wasn’t like his spark or energy signatures had gone anywhere. In short order Megatron had fully stepped into the room, walked over to the berth, and crouched down to see under it.

Sideswipe met his optics.

Megatron smiled at him.

Sideswipe growled.

But Megatorn said nothing, and did nothing else, only stood back up and went to his desk. He had energon with him again. Sideswipe could hear the cube hit the desk every so often after Megatron took a drink from it before setting it back down.

And although Sideswipe wasn’t exactly exerting himself, his frame was still using his energon reserves for simple functioning. The decline was slow, but steady.

He wondered if Megatron had any plans to give him fuel.

Probably not.

---------------------------------------------------------

Orns. Straight up orns. 

He stayed under the berth stubbornly, ignoring the cold wafting from the floor, barely warmed by the heat of his frame. In fact, putting those two against each other, it was his frame that was cooling rather than the floor warming.

He didn’t move much either, and his cables were getting stiff, but he didn’t dare do anything that would’ve earned Megatron’s attentions. As it was the tyrant only crouched to take a look at him and smile at him right after he returned from spending the day who knew where doing who knew what dictator things. He didn’t say anything and wouldn’t try to get him to come out from under the berth, but Sideswipe knew what was hanging in the air between them despite their silence.

Coax it out.

That was what he was supposed to do. What would happen if he did? Yeah, no doubt there’d be interfacing he wanted absolutely nothing to do with, but… What about after?

Would he get to go back to Sunstreaker?

Primus, but he missed his brother. He was bored out of his mind, but more importantly than that... He just wanted his twin’s embrace and the comfort of a frame near identical to his own, of a spark that was a half of his own.

He could really use a hug right about now, honestly.

Because he didn’t know what to do. Time passed, but Megatron showed no signs of planning to let him leave, or of offering some fuel to him. And his fuel meter, it was lowering to uncomfortable readings. He’d already used up a large portion of his reserves during the orgy, and hadn’t had the time to replenish them.

How far would Megatron let things go? Until he went to stasis?

Would he leave him to rust under his berth? His reward for his determination?

Was it worth it? He wanted to see Sunstreaker again. He wanted to have the chance to leave this hellhole for good. A chance to reclaim his life.

He wouldn’t get that if he became forgotten under a tyrant’s berth.

But what he would need to do to get out of here… Pits. There was no winning. He got to choose between two kinds of damned, that was all. 

He wanted Sunstreaker here, so, so badly. He didn’t want to do this alone, be here alone.

Sideswipe curled up tighter as Megatron settled down for another recharge cycle above him. His HUD was blinking a fitful warning at him, beseeching him to fuel soon before he became too weak to do so. Hunger was gnawing at his tanks, near empty by now. He had little more than the energon in his lines, and that was losing charge steadily. It wouldn’t be too long before there wasn’t enough of it there to power his engines.

And if he couldn’t power his engines, he wouldn’t be able to move. Then what?

Best case scenario was that Megatron would have him pulled out from under the berth and refueled, but that would only land him back to square one. This wasn’t even a game of wills anymore, if it ever had been. It didn’t matter how much willpower he had. Even if he had enough, he’d just lose another way.

Inevitable.

His fate was coming for him whether he liked it or not. There was no way out that didn’t involve doing Megatron’s bidding.

When would he give in?

Was it just a matter of time?

He tried to quiet his sob and drew his field in even tighter than it had already been. Megatron didn’t need to know how he was feeling.

He didn’t need to know he was winning.

-----------------------------------------------

Two more orns. He held on for two more orns, cold, lonely, bored out of his fucking mind, but still preferring that to the future he feared.

Despair. The warning on his HUD had gotten upgraded in priority and was nearing critical. Stasis or pleasing Megatron, those were his two options. He couldn’t see any others.

When Megatron came back that night, he crouched at the end of the berth as was usual by now, and Sideswipe met his optics, knowing his own were dimming.

“Are you hungry?” Megatron asked and brought a cube to his view. Sideswipe’s throat constricted at the promise of much needed fuel. His frame demanded him to take it, to avoid being forced into stasis.

Into being completely helpless.

As if he wasn’t that even when his tanks were full.

“You must be,” the tyrant continued with a tone of fake kindness, like he actually gave a damn about Sideswipe’s wellbeing.

He just cared about how he could get Sideswipe to do what he wanted. How to make him like everyone else in that regard.

And it was working. Sideswipe closed his optics and entertained defeat. He wouldn’t last another orn. It was now or never if he didn’t want to choose stasis over Megatron’s clutches.

He just wanted back to Sunstreaker. What was he doing except drawing things out at this point? He couldn’t win. There was no reality where he would get his way and get out of here without going through Megatron first. 

Without doing what Megatron wanted of him, first. 

He would… He would just have to keep that in mind. He was doing this for Sunstreaker, for their reunion. Not for himself, and definitely not for Megatron.

For Sunstreaker.

He closed his optics tighter. The words hurt when they came out– “What do you want from me?” 

–But the approving pulse in Megatron’s field hurt even more.

“Come out and see.”

-------------------------------

( Previous / Next )

[tasteful-robot-loving]

a tfa shockbee commission for @whirly-says-be-gay-do-crime​!

ao3 link

Longarm has never been on a date before. A good thing because Shockwave has never been on one either. It would be an embarrassing fact for him if it were not encased in dedication and duty to the Decepticon cause.

As it is, though, inexperience makes him nervous. It is an emotion he’s familiar with, but only on the barest of levels.

“So, where’re we going, Longy?” Bumblebee asks, looking up at him with his signature grin in place. But it looks wobbly and that is enough to calm Shockwave just a bit. Bumblebee is nervous too and that is somehow reassuring.

“I thought we’d go get some energon,” Shockwave says carefully, watching Bumblebee’s face for his reaction. “There’s a diner a few blocks away from a transport station downtown. I thought we could take a shuttle there.”

Bumblebee simply nods, expression turning somewhat contemplative, “Should I go back to the barracks and get my credit chip?”

“No,” Shockwave says immediately. “I’ll pay. I have more than enough saved.”

And that was technically true, on some level. Longarm certainly didn’t have savings tucked away, stuck on a recruit’s meager pension—barely enough to buy himself energon some days—but Shockwave did. And he was more than willing to use it for his own personal pursuits, even if he couldn’t transfer any shanix to Longarm’s accounts without suspicion.

“Are you sure?” Bumblebee asks, suddenly looking conflicted. Shockwave, with all he’s grown to understand Bumblebee, knows it’s the guilt of accepting someone paying for him. He even did the same with Bulkhead.

“Of course,” Shockwave says. He doesn’t bother to hide his affection and lets his optics soften. Bumblebee’s own frame seems to soften as well at the reassurance.

“If you say so,” he says. “The shuttles don’t run past ten hundred for recruits, right? Bulkhead mentioned it once but I don’t remember.”

Shockwave nods, turning to look at the shuttle schedule projected on the station wall. It’s only a little bit for show. Shockwave has forgotten exact times in the unfamiliar anxiety that seems to wrap itself around his spark.

“The shuttle should be here soon. Do you want to sit?” Shockwave gestures toward the bench that they’ve both avoided.

Bumblebee nods. He practically sprawls himself across the bench. Had it been anyone else, Shockwave might have found it annoying, but Bumblebee somehow makes the action endearing. Still, Shockwave nudges him, “Scoot over, please.”

Bumblebee grins—a little less nervous—at him but pulls his legs in nonetheless, “You really are this polite all the time, huh?” he asks.

“Is there a problem with that?” Shockwave raises an optical ridge as he sits down beside him. He does not betray the sudden shot of worry that shoots through him.

“Nah.” Bumblebee looks away and worries his lip, pulling his legs to his chest. “It’s cute.”

The latter is spoken quietly, but Shockwave’s audials, enhanced for Spec Ops, pick up the words easily. It’s flattering almost, making the part of Shockwave that harbors affection for Bumblebee warm.

“Do you mind if I stretch out?” Bumblebee asks after a moment. There’s barely a moment before he retracts his statement, though, speaking faster than Shockwave had ever thought him capable—and Shockwave had thought him capable of speed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Just forget it.”

Bumblebee is already scrambling to pull himself even further away even as Shockwave tries to figure out what to say.

“It’s fine,” Shockwave blurts, reaching for Bumblebee before stopping himself. He forces himself back into a neutral position, watching Bumblebee with bright optics.

Bumblebee pauses, locking optics with Shockwave’s. There’s a moment where they’re both silent, before a shuttle pulls to a halt in front of the transport station.

“Our shuttle’s here,” Shockwave says awkwardly, drawing his gaze away.

Out of the corner of his optics, he can see Bumblebee nod. Shockwave stands and the shuttle’s doors open. It’s empty inside, something that is somehow both relieving and terrifying.

Shockwave fears that he’s already ruined his chances with Bumblebee. The awkwardness between them is almost palpable, even as they sit down and the shuttle takes off. The ride is equally grueling and silent. Shockwave does not know what to say.

Thankfully, Bumblebee can’t seem to stay quiet. It is something that Shockwave adores about him. “I, uh, sorry. For the shuttle station,” he says.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Bumblebee,” Shockwave says, trying to take his voice into the low tones of reassurance. Bulkhead would have been much better at calming him than Shockwave—than Longarm—but he’s not here now and Shockwave must try his best.

“I made it awkward,” Bumblebee says, averting his optics and deflating a bit, voice not quite dripping in self-flagellation.

“I’ve heard that all first dates are awkward. It’s nothing to worry about,” Shockwave says again. He cracks a smile that he hopes will reassure Bumblebee as the little mech looks back at him.

Bumblebee hesitates, but slowly smiles back. Shockwave’s smile turns genuine as it can be. It’s comforting to know that this has not been ruined yet.

“So, you going to reveal any more of your plans, Longy?” Bumblebee says. His voice isn’t quite light, but it’s not as strained as before. He sounds much closer to Shockwave’s friend rather than an awkward first date.

Good, Shockwave doesn’t want Bumblebee to be anything but himself.

Shockwave resolutely shakes his helm, “You’ll see when we get there, Bumblebee. But I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“How do you know?” Bumblebee shoots a bit more easily, a bit more petulantly.

“You trust your dear friend Longarm, don’t you?” Shockwave asks. It’s uncharacteristically teasing, but Bumblebee only seems to bring out all of the playful parts of him. “I’d never lead you astray.”

Bumblebee’s expression scrunches in false consideration before he nods, “Alright, I trust you.” The shuttle slows and comes to a stop. “But only because I won’t have to wait.”

Shockwave laughs lightly as Bumblebee shoots from his seat and out of the shuttle.

“C’mon, Longarm,” Bumblebee calls back, looking over his shoulder. “You’re being slow.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Shockwave reminds, amused.

It causes Bumblebee to skid to a stop, turning to face him. “Then come on,” he demands again. He’s truly energetic now, as if their earlier fumbles had no affect on him at all. Shockwave admires his resilience.

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Shockwave says. It borders too much the thin line between personas. Shockwave would never say something so blasé but Longarm would never use quite the turn of phrase.

Bumblebee’s shoulders fall and his gaze turns downward. “That’s not a bad thing, right?”

“No. It’s very… you,” Shockwave says, meaning it. “It’s a part of what makes you so alluring.”

Bumblebee’s cheeks light up pink at the phrasing and a sense of victory pulses in Shockwave’s spark. Bumblebee was cute when he wasn’t being a little slagger, but Shockwave liked both sides of him.

Shockwave steps past him and Bumblebee catches his servo. When Shockwave looks down at him, Bumblebee is looking away from him, but his cheeks are still bright pink.

“Is this okay?” Bumblebee asks quietly.

Shockwave can practically feel his own frame melt, “Of course. Now, come on. We’re almost there.”

The walk to the diner fills with Bumblebee’s chatter once more. He never seems to be restrained by embarrassment or awkwardness. His whole demeanor seems to fight against it. Shockwave wonders if it’s him trying to combat it or if he is naturally like that, but he does not get to consider it for long. The diner, aptly named Crossflight’s Diner, comes into view.

“Is that it?” Bumblebee asks as it does.

“Yes,” Shockwave confirms. “They have a large selection of energon and I never got to know your preferences.”

“Anything’s better than boot camp rations,” Bumblebee says, making a face at the thought. Shockwave could agree. The boot camp’s energon dispensers somehow made already bland energon taste worse.

“Agreed,” Shockwave says, letting Bumblebee slip through the door before him. “Will you pick a booth?”

Bumblebee takes the request in stride, grabbing a snug and cozy booth that sits right next to a window. It gives them a view of the street, shining with lights as the dark cycle becomes more pronounced.

“This will work, right?” Bumblebee asks.

Shockwave nods, “Yes. The streets get quite lovely at this time of the cycle. There are less bots obscuring the lights.”

Bumblebee looks out, optics shooting around so fast Shockwave would think he’d get a helmache were he not Bumblebee. “It is pretty. But it seems empty,” he says.

“That’s true,” Shockwave admits.

He picks up the menu on the table. “Do you want to look at the menu or do you have something in mind already?”

“Do they have anything sweet?” Bumblebee asks as he looks back at him.

Shockwave nods. He says, “They have a cobalt and copper mix. I hear it’s rather sweet.”

Bumblebee looks practically enthused as he nods, “Get me that then. I love that stuff.”

“I’ve never tried it,” Shockwave admits as he makes his own selection.

“You can try some of mine,” Bumblebee tells him.

The idea itself is sweet but it makes heat rush to Shockwave’s—to Longarm’s cheeks. He wonders if he’s as pink as he feels.

A serving drone wanders over, placing a tray in front of them both before wheeling away. “What kind did you get?” Bumblebee asks curiously.

Shockwave takes the silver speckled energon into his servo. “It’s zinc,” he informs dutifully, taking a sip of it.

Bumblebee takes a sip of his own energon, humming at the sweet taste. “Mind if I give it a try?”

Shockwave passes the cube off to him and watches him take a delicate sip. His expression scrunches, “How do you drink this stuff?” he complains. “It’s sour.”

“And I imagine yours is overwhelmingly sweet,” Shockwave says. He takes a sip of Bumblebee’s discarded cube just to make a point and finds himself right. It practically makes his denta hurt.

Bumblebee huffs, lightly shoving Shockwave’s cube toward him and stealing his own from Shockwave’s servo.

“Any other plans, Longy?”

“I was going to take you dancing,” Shockwave admits. “But most of the clubs don’t allow recruits inside. Highgrade regulations.”

“It’s fine. We can always dance some other time,” Bumblebee says. “There are no rules against ballroom dancing in the barracks, even if Wasp and Ironhide might make fun of us for it.”

“That’s true,” Shockwave concedes, smiling once more. Bumblebee always seemed to be able to make him smile. “I’m not much good at dancing, though.”

“I can teach you. I’m good at all sorts of dancing.” Bumblebee reaches across the table to take Shockwave’s servo in his own. His optics are soft and hold something Shockwave can’t name.

It makes Shockwave want to kiss him again.

“You going to kiss me or not, hot shot?” Bumblebee asks, a teasing echo of the statement that preceded their first kiss.

“Perhaps not in public,” Shockwave says a bit breathlessly, toeing the thin line between himself and someone else once more.

Bumblebee looks smug, like that’s exactly the answer he was expecting. It reminds Shockwave that Bumblebee, for all his awkwardness, is full of bravado and he knows how to use it.

Half a joor passes before they’re stumbling out of the diner, Bumblebee laughing at his own joke. Shockwave can’t help but be caught up in the same breathless euphoria.

“Kiss me now?” Bumblebee requests, optics crinkling at the edges.

“We’re still in public,” Shockwave reminds.

Still, Bumblebee tugs him down. Shockwave meets him in a sloppy yet chaste kiss.

After a moment, Shockwave pulls away, “Ready to go back?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Bumblebee responds.

The way back to the shuttle of a blur and the ride itself is quiet. Bumblebee’s chatter falls away within breems and Shockwave feels a weight on his shoulder moments later. Looking down at Bumblebee, he’s met with the littler mech in peaceful recharge.

It’s cute and gorgeous and enamoring.

Shockwave wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer and holding him, bathing in the perfection of the moment.

[dildo-swaggins-t-baggins]

Can we have a part 3 of Rodimus running away from the crew with everyone feeling guilty and MUST apologize: When they find Rodimus he’s captured and hypnotized by the DJD to be the new Evil Decepticon Leader, cause unlike most bots the DJD sees Rodimus’ qualities and potential! Drift begs Rod to fight their control, but Rod says: “And go back to bots that always treated me like garbage? HAHAHAHAHA! Sorry Drift, I don’t think so!” Then Rod almost kills Megs until Thunderclash fights him! 💔

Welp I made a few tweeks, but I hope this is to your liking!

His denta hurt, grinding them down started to really wear on his jaw, he knelt down next to the colorful heavily damaged captain. He knew how this conversation was going to go, the captain was in shock, he had questions, and the whole ‘you’re still good’ thing. Rodimus rolled his optics, falling on his aft and leaning back on his servos. “So, might as well get this whole conversation over with.”

 The captain’s optics flickered, they were twisted, washer fluid pooled at the sides. “Rodimus, what? Why?” 

He didn’t like how  the captain’s voice cracked, so much emotion, wasted, then again it was him, and that was normal, always wasting time and energon on him. Rodimus smirked, feeling his lines grow cold. “Why not? Optimus knew I was going to be a leader so,” He shrugged. “It just fits.”

 The captain whined, so broken, defeated, it really did look like the poor mech was going to break down. Then again having half of your frame torn off and bleeding could do that to a mech. “What happened to you?”

Rodimus narrowed his optics, watching the captain’s energon leak out, he vented, scooting over, heating up his digits and melting the lines shut. “A lot,” Patch him up, I’m not done with him, I’m not done with any of them. He felt the blasters on his hips, the sniper rifle on his back struts, the blades on his sides, he wondered if the upgrades made him look like Deadlock at times. That was something he didn’t want.  the captain winced under him, his bleeding optics never strayed from Rodimus. “Like always, I messed up. Put the Rod-pod in orbit, and drank myself into the bottom of the brewery. Blacked out, woke up as the Rod-pod crashed into a moon, and found myself at the peds of Tarn.” He offered a glance to him, eating up the hurt look. “He didn’t kill me, threw a blaster at me, and well, we fought. I was still drunk, and well I couldn’t aim, but I could bite, and burn. Tarn picked away at what happened, and before I knew it Nickel was patching me up, kept saying I was a ‘pit spawn’. They took me in, and well the rest isn’t hard to figure out.” He finished up, grinning as the captain hissed at the new weld, clearly it was a sensitive area. “So that’s that.” He smiled, acting as if this was nothing, and to him it was, ‘bot ‘con, didn’t matter to him now.

The captain huffed, his one good arm reached out, tracing the new badge on his chassis. “Rod-”

Rodimus slapped away the servo. “That’s lord Rodimus.” He hissed, feeling the tiny flames bubble up his spoiler.

 The captain stared up at him defeated, he slumped. “You know, when you left the Lost Light fell apart, the crew were divided, Getaway...got away with it and...Rodimus we were planning on finding you!” The washer fluid didn’t stop.

There he goes again, wasting that emotion, that energy. Rodimus flashed his fangs, a habit he picked up when Tarn got a bit too close. “Well you found me, too bad,” He scanned the ruins, hearing ped steps. A sick grin spread across his intake, he spotted a mech, Autobot badge, white, black and yellow, this was too good. Rodimus rose to his peds, grabbing the rifle off his back, he whistled. Getaway froze, turning towards him, his whole frame locked up in fear. “Hi there.” Rodimus called, lifting the barrel up and aiming for Getaway’s helm.

Blam!

Getaway’s helm burst open, his frame collapsed in a twisted heap, spark fading away.

“Rodimus!” The captain gasped under him, grabbing at him. “This isn’t you!” So broken, funny that he thought that there was any hope. 

Rodimus kicked the arm away, flipping the captain onto his back and pressed down on his throat. He watched as the captain gasped, grabbing hold of his ped but unable to move it. It reminded him of seeing a fish out of water, gasping flipping, hopelessly. His comm pinged. “Yea?”

“Lord Rodimus, they’re making their way to you, we’ll intercept an-”

“No, don’t, someone told me they were looking so, might as well let them find me. Set up around us.” He ended the comm, once more turning to the captain, easing up in his throat. “How’s Drift?”

“Mute, he’s stopped talking,” He sputtered. “Rodimus, please don’t do this!” He wiggled only to have Rodimus press down on his throat again.

“And Ratchet?”

“Bad, he’s bad!” The captain wheezed out.

Rodimus tilted his helm, staring down at the not so colorful frame. “Are you dying?”

“Yes, for awhile now.”

“Hmmm,” Rodimus opened his intake then promptly shut it, hearing voices, once more a grin spread across his intake. Come, find me, find me you fraggers!

“There, over there, Thunderclash is there!” Velocity snapped, her engine roaring over the wreckage. 

The captain wheezed. “No,” He grabbed Rodimus’ ped. “Please, Rodimus don’t do this.” 

His spark twisted in on itself, much like a snake, turning, twisting, coiling around and around, willing to snap at any moment. His intake opened but promptly shut as screeching tires filled the ruins. Velocity was the first there, she instantly jumped to her peds and stared at the scene, then Ratchet who stumbled. 

“Rodimus?” The retired CMO gawked, his optics trailing all over Rodimus’ frame, taking in the new and improved. “You’re a ‘con?”

More engines echoed in the distance, to Rodimus’ right 3 other mechs appeared, Megatron, Minimus, and Drift. The taller mechs froze, optics wide, shocked. Drift was the first to react, always the first. “Rodimus?” His voice was weak, broken, like his intake had hardly moved since Rodimus left.

He hated how his spark ached, hearing the broken tone in his friend’s voice. Rodimus ground his ped into his throat, Drift flinched. “What?” He snapped, narrowing his optics, digits twitching. There were too many of them, too much anger, hurt, there was too much disappointment. 

Drift stumbled forward. “Rodimus, what?” He laughed, it was dry and hurt to hear. “This isn’t you.” He mumbled, glancing down at the mech under Rodimus. “Rodimus we’ve been looking for you, the crew misses you, Primus I broke down when you left. Please,” He was brave, his servo rested on Rodimus’. “Rodimus, come home.” His optics watered and started to fill with washer fluid, he smiled, grabbing the back of Rodimus’ helm and pressing their helms together. “I miss you so much, Rodimus the Lost Light isn’t home without you.”

He pressed down on the throat even more, fighting back that horrible feeling at the bottom of his spark. Feeling the burn around him, the captain gawked and gasped, but Rodimus was faster. The blade sliced through Drift effortlessly, right under his spark chamber, a warning, something Deadlock understood. Drift stumbled back, clutching the newly formed wound. A twin pain sprang in Rodimus’ chassis.

“Drift!” Ratchet shouted

Rodimus watched as his friend fell back, then the world spun around him as his frame was thrown. He jumped to his peds and spun to face none other than Megatron. He grinned. “Megatron the Autobot, that’s a good joke.” Rodimus chuckled, licking up the energon from his leaking lip. “What were you trying to accomplish?” 

Megatron glared back at him. “Rodimus that’s enough.” His servos tightened.

Rodimus snorted, exchanging his blade for a blaster. “Hardly,” He was always faster, he glided past Megatron, slamming his ped into Megatron’s knee, then spinning around and round house kicking the mech in the helm. Megatron hissed, he hasn’t been in battle for ages, funny that he once lead the most feared army in the universe. 

Megatron sat up, scowling but stopped when Rodimus pried off the badge. “Give it back.”

He rolled his optics. “I don’t get it, you believed that you could wear this, of all the mechs, you?” He shook his helm. “Best joke there is out there. Then again I believed in it once before, you didn’t deserve to wear this, and neither did I.” His digits played with the metal, heating up slowly, metaling it, molting it until it turned to liquid and dripped down his frame.

“Lord Rodimus.”

He turned, eyeing the massive purple frame of Tarn, his team was in place, all he had to do was snap his digits and watch as the crew was murdered. Then again that was too easy, no he wanted them to feel what he felt, lost, hopeless, alone. Discarded. 

“Orders, my lord?” Tarn rumbled standing next to him. “We could end this now.”

Rodimus held up his servo. “We could, but this isn’t the whole crew.”

“What do you suggest?” 

“One by one, let them come, the crew will look for them-”

“No.” It was weak, pitiful, hardly a word, a whimper in the darkness. Rodimus turned to the downed captain, the replacement, his spark boiled. Somehow the mech turned to face Rodimus. “Lord Rodimus, face it, you hate me the most, who wouldn’t want ‘The Greatest Autobot of all Time’ as a prisoner?” He smirked, energon leaking out of his intake.

There he was again, being honorable, stupid. “Why, you’ll die like the rest of them.”

“What, don’t want to savor this one? Then again you never saw the whole picture. No wonder you’re- excuse me, were a useless prime.” He laughed.

Rodimus burned, it would be so easy to shoot his helm off now, but he was right, Rodimus wanted to see him suffer. See the great Thunderclash so broken, shattered and fragmented, nothing but remains of the mech he used to be. “Fine, but once you die your crew is next.”

“Well good luck with that, maybe you’ll be a better aim.” he smirked, energon spilling out of his intake. 

[vivaciousvalves]

Hrrrrnnn.... old forgotten shiiiiiipp that I looooove...

I also forgot a long fic I wrote for them~

“Optimus, get up!”

She didn’t even get a grumble of protest; he just laid on his side, facing the wall. She folded her arms crossly, tapping her pede impatiently. They were supposed to be at the meeting several minutes ago, and Optimus was still lying in bed. She didn't want to show up any later, much less without the leader of the Autobots. 

“I’m going to leave without you,” she warned, still waiting for a reaction from him. He stayed right where he was. 

“Fine, I'll just tell everyone the mighty Optimus Prime wanted to stay in bed instead of attending this important meeting.” She tried one last time, waited, and got the same result. Finally, she threw up her servos and turned to leave. 

All in the same second, Optimus sat up, threw his legs over the berth, wrapped an arm around Elita's hip, and threw her effortlessly back onto the berth. Elita bounced slightly, not even able to utter a sound of surprise. Optimus appeared above her, the slightest smile on his face. 

“Optimus!” She exclaimed when she found her voice. “What are you doing? We have a meeting to attend!” She tried scooting to the edge of the berth, but he planted a servo to block her. She tried squirming downwards to slip under his chest, but he seized her hips and heaved her higher onto the berth, her helm flopping onto a pillow. She squawked in protest, pushing his shoulders away to escape. 

“If you keep struggling, I will drop my resolve and take you right now,” he murmured huskily.

Elita froze, stunned by his unanticipated words. She tried to respond, but the only sound that came out of her mouth was a surprised eep. 

“Good femme,” he murmured, pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. 

“Optimus,” she protested, though the kiss was very nice. “The meeting.”

“Who cares? I’m more concerned about the gorgeous femme in my berth,” he purred, licking his lips. Elita was caught in his smoldering gaze, and a slight blush spread across her face. She shifted her hips a little, trying to at least make herself comfortable. Grinning hugely, Optimus pulled out a soft blindfold from seemingly nowhere, showing it to her. Elita stared at it, and her blush flared hotter when she realized his intentions. 

“I love you,” he praised, kissing her lips. Still in disbelief of his sudden actions, she snuggled down into the berth, a little thrown with his ministrations. She kinda knew what he was planning to do, but from his body language and lingering touches, she was getting embarrassingly nervous. Optimus tied the blindfold around her optics, kissing her cheek again. His servos cupped her face, his warm lips pressing to her forehelm. Her mouth inevitably cracked into a smile; how could it not? He kissed her forehelm multiple times, moving downwards slowly, taking his sweet time. When he reached her cheeks, his thumbs began grazing her chin, stroking the sensitive protoform. He never got to her lips, always kissing a trail along her chin to switch to the other cheek, much to her disappointment. Elita knew what he was doing now. Eventually, he smooched the corner of her mouth but pulled away before she could capture him in a kiss.

“Optimus,” she complained, all thoughts of the meeting disappearing with the warmth of his love radiating in their bond. “let me kiss you.” She puckered her lips and blindly kissed the air, earning a chuckle. 

He shifted, and she could feel his venting on her neck. “Retract your armor that cannot be removed physically, love,” he said smoothly, peppering her neck and collarplating with quick, wet kisses.

Elita did as she was told, purring in satisfaction from the kisses she was receiving; this was turning into a pleasurable time. With a few soft clicks and hisses, her main armor was stowed away, her bare protoform still framed by extra, hardy pieces of armor on her shoulders, hips, breastplating, and abdomen. Optimus hummed in appreciation, one servo dipping down to slide down her side.

“You are so beautiful, Elita,” he whispered, nosing under her chin and tilting her helm up. “My dear sweetspark, you put all other femmes to shame.”

Elita was about to deny his alluring statement with a joke when his denta sunk into the protoform of her neck, making her choke.

“Oh, did I hurt you? I’m sorry sweetspark.” He dragged his glossa over the bite, making her squirm. “Lemme fix that for you.”

Elita, again, tried to speak, but Optimus latched his mouth onto that spot on her neck and began sucking, no doubt working it into a love bite. He was vigilant, making sure it would be quite visible for those to see later on. He rarely did this, but he wanted to do everything he could to his femme while he had her in these precious moments. Elita tried to be quiet, she really did, but with his helm buried in her neck, a few nice sounds escaped her throat. Optimus didn’t stop until she had a good amount of hickeys decorating her neck and throat. He then returned to kissing her cheeks and chin, his thumbs sliding into her breastplating armor.

“You are so gorgeous, my Elita,” he praised lovingly. “So very beautiful. I can never keep my optics off you.” His thumb pressed into the base of a breast, making her squeak. “Or, it is servos?”

He kissed rapidly down her chin to her hickey-covered neck to her front, halting at the piece of armor protecting her bosom from harm, or, in this case, his servos.

“Can I take off your armor for you, sweetspark?” he crooned, massaging the base of that particular piece of armor as he gazed at her blind optics. 

“Be my guest,” she vented, barely able to prevent herself from trembling. His slow teasing was really getting to her.

Optimus carefully and gingerly removed her front armor, smiling widely when her big bust was finally revealed. She was bigger than most femmes, but he never compared her verbally to anyone else. He set the armor on the floor, returning above her. Elita shifted, her face warming a little. She never liked to expose her breastplating, even around Optimus; she always felt a little too big for any optics to see. But Optimus wanted to worship her tonight, love every bit of her, and that included her big boobs (though she hated to refer them to that).

Optimus took both mounds in her servos, just appreciating how they felt in his grasp for a moment. They were soft and slightly squishy, bouncing when he jiggled them. Elita made a small noise, overly sensitive in that area. He smoothed his thumbs over her nipples, the little nubs tightening in his palms.

“Oh, lover,” he breathed, palming her over and over again. “you’re perfect. Stunning. I love your big breasts. I love to touch them, tease them…”

“Optimus,” Elita whined, her venting now audible. “you know they’re sensitive.”

He chuckled. “But isn’t that the best part?” He plucked her nubs gently, earning several gasps and sudden whines. They became erect and strained in his servos, arching in the air from the simulation. Elita had a pillow in her grasp, fighting to keep herself composed.

Optimus dipped his helm, brushing his lips over one nub. Immediately she stilled, holding her breath. He settled into himself, then sealed his lips over that nub, causing her to release that held vent shakily. He kept himself there, though he was tempted to suck her whole breast into his mouth and make her squeal. But he took it slow, just teasing it slightly. Elita mewled quietly, her legs clamping together as she gripped the pillow. He suckled the nub, molesting it passionately with his glossa until his mate voiced her pleasure. She squirmed and moaned loudly, shooting rapid tingles of arousal down his frame. Optimus then used his servo to pluck and tease the other, leaving neither unattended.

“Ah! O- Optimus!”

Optimus rumbled a reply, his slow, teasing mindset becoming clouded with lust and desire. He wished he had more servos so he could tease her breasts while stripping her of her remaining armor. He pulled off her nub with a wet pop, then switched to the other nub, his thumb rubbing his oral lubricant off the first one. Elita was melting in the berth, her breasts aching with pleasure. It felt so good she could barely moan. Optimus sucked and plucked her nubs until his mouth was dry and she became sore. He detached himself, mouth and servo, licking his lips. Elita sucked in a breath from the sudden lack of contact, when finally, finally, he kissed her lips deeply. There was no glossa, just squishy lip smooching.

“How was that?” Optimus murmured when he pulled away.

“Why don’t you take off the rest of my armor and I’ll show you,” she panted blindly, arching her back slightly.

Optimus smiled widely, though she couldn’t see it. He busied himself with removing the rest of her armor, dumping it quite noisily on the floor. He would press hasty kisses to her newly exposed protoform, until she was lying beneath him, completely exposed. He paused, optics glistening as he admired his alluring mate. She licked her lips nervously, not able to predict his next move without being able to see. 

“Hmm, where should I start,” he hummed to himself. “I don’t think I have the patience to kiss every part of you.”

Elita squeezed her thighs together, trying to relieve the tight spot in between her legs. It had been there since he had thrown her on the berth and spoken in his deep, sexy voice. It was also getting increasingly uncomfortable.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” Elita asked innocently.

Optimus chuckled, interlocking his digits with hers before pinning her servos to the berth. “Not just yet.”

Elita grumbled in disagreement but quickly silenced herself when he forcefully pressed his lips to hers. He just couldn’t kiss her enough; he wanted to consume her lips every chance he got. He nipped at her lips, smoothing them with his glossa, tilted his helm just so; anything to get a reaction out of her. Elita was quickly overwhelmed, assaulted with his teasing lips. A noise escaped her throat, trying to match his pace; she hated not being able to keep up. They made out hungrily, clutching servos, tilting helms, and pressing their bodies against one another. Optimus had retracted all his armor so he was naked too, but he was so involved with kissing her he hadn’t made a move to continue. Elita finally broke away first, if only to cycle a new vent into her heated systems. Her optics were blown wide despite the blindfold, her face flushed slightly with adrenaline from their make-out session. She just really wished she could see her mate’s face.

“I love you,” she breathed, grinning foolishly.

“I love you too,” Optimus purred. “Primus, I can’t kiss you enough. Did you know I adore kissing you? I just can’t get enough of your plump lips.”

Elita giggled embarrassingly, but Optimus continued. 

“Your mouth tastes delicious; I can’t get enough of your taste. I always want to tangle my glossa with yours and kiss as hard as I can. I don’t even wanna interface with you, I just want to hold you and make you breathless.” He dipped his helm, tonguing just under her audio. “I just want to worship you with my glossa.”

Elita squirmed and bit her lip, having no idea how to respond. He really got her when he talked in that sexy way. Optimus kissed her shoulder, then leaned back on his haunches, releasing her servos. He took a moment to just appreciate her frame, from her strong arms, hourglass torso, beautimous breasts, wide hips, and curvy legs. She laid out beneath him like a gorgeous goddess, almost unreal from her serene beauty. Optimus felt himself falling in love with her all over again.

“Now can I take the blindfold off?” Elita asked impatiently when he had taken his moment. 

Optimus chuckled and gently tugged it off her helm, tossing it to the side. “Don’t know why I put it on in the first place.”

Elita rolled her optics before pulling him down for a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. Optimus’ servos settled on her hips as she lovingly stroked the back of his helm. He hummed into the kiss, having not a worry in the world. He could stay in bed with her forever and never be unhappy. He wanted to praise her again, but he knew she was getting tired of it, so he just loved her with his lips. As soon as she began to make little “mmph” sounds, he took action. Snatching up her hips, he abruptly turned on his side and kept himself in motion until he was on his back and she was sitting in his lap. Elita blinked in surprise, her servos hovering in the air hesitantly. Optimus gave her a big smile and she settled with resting them on his stomach. She had to admit, she loved to see him at this angle. She loved his broad chest and powerful shoulders that could protect her without waiver, or pin her to the wall and have his way with her.

“So pretty,” he smiled cheekily. 

Elita grinned and pressed a digit to his lips. “Hush up, handsome.”

Optimus surprised her by trapping her digit in his mouth, maintaining strong optic contact the whole time. His glossa snaked over the tip, chuckling at her expression. He sucked on it a few more times before forcing it out with his glossa. 

“What, you didn’t think this would turn into innocent kissing time, did you?”

Elita blinked. “You sucked my breasts like they were candy and teased my nubs so much they’re still sore.” She grasped her breasts and squished the soft protoform together. “They’re still swollen. Primus, I forgot how your mouth can make my nipples hard. You’re dangerous with that glossa.”

He chuckled huskily. “Indeed I am.”

Elita smirked, shifted her weight around on her aft. “So, what do you plan on doing to me tonight?”

He placed his servos lightly on her bare hips. “I dunno,” he said casually. “I was planning on kissing every part of you until we were both breathless, which I kind of accomplished. Only, I got distracted by-“ he gestured to all of her. “and got impatient.”

Elita cocked an optic ridge. “A little impatient?” She bounced her breasts in her servos and bit her lip seducingly to give him a show. 

Optimus couldn’t help but groan from that. “Okay, I was very impatient, but can you blame me?” He gave her his best mechanopuppy eyes. 

She giggled, shifting up his frame a little. “I can never blame you.” She leaned down, placing her servos on his broad chest, and kissed him. He kissed back with rising hunger, a deep rumble blossoming in his chest. He lifted his strong hips just slightly, then set them back down quickly. It wasn’t a large movement, but it was just enough for Elita to feel the wave of his frame moving beneath her. She broke off the kiss abruptly, her optics blown wide. They stared at each other for a minute, until Optimus rolled his hips again and she gasped just the slightest.

“Aren’t you going to prepare my valve first?” She asked in a slur, digits curling into her palms. 

Optimus snorted, then unexpectedly removed his codpiece, his spkie sliding up between her aft cheeks. A gasp erupted from her, startled from the hard spike pressing against her aft.

“I think you’ll manage,” he murmured. 

Elita squeezed her optics shut, struggling to keep her composure. She had never felt anything quite like this before, and she really wasn’t complaining. 

“You like that?” He teased, moving his hips just right so his shaft strained in between her cheeks. Elita was visibly struggling, vents short and optics half-closed from the sensation. 

“Optimus-“ she managed to force out, gasping slightly. 

“Yes, say my name, just like that,” he urged, moving his hips more. 

“Optimus,” she repeated, a little louder. “Please…”

“You want my spike?” She nodded vigorously. “Well, I would’ve thought you could last longer.” He kept his rough pace, grinding his hard spike into her soft cheeks. He could feel a little warm lubricant seeping out of her tight valve, still sealed despite what they had gotten themselves into. Elita whined and slapped his chest weakly. “Ahh~ you know I can’t do it by myself.”

He giggled foolishly, grasping her hips. “Then I’m here to help. Open your valve.”

Elita did as she was told, her panel sliding open with an audible click. The thick smell of her reached his olfactory sensors, his spike hardening even more. He loved the smell of her sex.

Elita pressed a servo to her groin, a little tighter than she wanted to be. With a questioning look from him and a nod from her, Optimus raised her hips and aligned himself with her tight opening. When his stiff tip first pressed into her puffy folds, Elita sucked in a vent, never used to the feel of their first contact. Struggling just slightly, Optimus lowered her slowly onto his spike, his arms trembling. She began gasping slightly as he filled her bit by bit until her hips were once again flush with his. She was panting now, her thighs clenched around his hips as she struggled to get accustomed to the big bulge in her groin. Optimus loved seeing her like this: optics closed, mouth opened in a pant, servos clenched on his chest, breasts aching in pleasure, and full of his spike. It was in this position that she could really fit him. 

“Oh yes,” she finally moaned. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“You good?” he breathed, his own chest heaving. 

She nodded, a fat smile plastered on her face. She couldn't express enough how much she enjoyed doing this with him. 

“Can I start moving now?”

A slight nod from her was all he needed; holding her hips, he began to move his up and down, up and down, until Elita was riding him like a wave. Her servos flew to her face to clamp her mouth shut or fell back down to dig into his abdomen, or hover in the air from the amazing feeling of his spike plunging deep inside her. He was panting from the effort, groaning from the sensation of her wet, puffy folds clenching around his hard spike as he rolled his hips into hers. The squelching sound of his spike thrusting into her sopping wet valve increased with each of their gasps. 

“Yes- aah!” Elita whined happily when Optimus abandoned her hips to grab her breasts, thumbs pressing into her nubs. She nearly overloaded from that alone. “Deeper, ple- aaaah- Optimus! Faster- oooh...”

Groaning, Optimus complied, and soon his rhythm changed from steady rolling to fast thrusting. Elita cried out from the sudden change, but it quickly died out into a loud moan. He was panting and grunting now, his servos dropping to hold tightly on her sides to help himself along. Elita bounced on his hard spike, helm tilted back in complete ecstasy. Her transfluids were sloshing out of her valve with every thrust, staining his groin and thighs. Her rapid little “ah ah ah” sounds came with every thrust, both of them straining to keep their rhythm. 

“Oooooooh I'm close Optimus,” Elita moaned, her dropping forward. “Oooh, you feel so good inside me. Harder, love, please…”

Optimus groaned, slowing just slightly to return to rolling his hips aggressively. “Ah, you're so tight, Elita. Primus, I love feeling your heat.”

The berth was moving beneath them now, rocking forwards and backward as their movements increased. Elita planted her servos on his chest and started slamming her groin into each of his hard thrusts, her moan faltering as his spike positively plummeted her valve. The berth was creaking now, the noise egging them on. 

“Optimus,” Elita cried. “I'm so c-close! Oh, love, I’m gonna over-ooooh!!”

“Come on baby scream for me,” Optimus urged, his own overload approaching rapidly with every deep thrust. 

Elita gasped once, twice, then came with a cry as her climax erupted inside her. Her lubricant gushed out of her valve in a flood of pink, coating his spike in her fluids. When Optimus saw this, he came with a small groan, shooting off inside her like a faucet. Elita squealed when she felt his hot fluids erupt inside her, having a smaller overload as his lubricant no doubt doused her valve in his seed. They kept thrusting until they had both finished, their hips now covered in each other's fluids. Finally, Optimus halted his hips, panting heavily. Elita was weak and trembling, barely able to keep herself up. He caught her shoulder, and she collapsed on his chest with a satisfied groan. He winced when his spike was wrenched in her valve as she fell forward, but didn't complain. It took a long time until they could wrap their arms around each other and speak. 

“Primus,” Elita finally said with a huge sigh. 

Optimus chuckled and kissed her helm, stroking her bare back with a servo. “We didn't last very long.”

Elita laughed lightly. “You did make me come twice though.”

“I did? Maybe I haven't lost my touch then.”

Elita giggled and shifted, too satisfied to moan as his spike moved inside her. “You never will.”

Optimus grunted as he tried to pull Elita higher up his chest, trying to pull his spike out of her now loose valve. 

“Scrap, Elita,” he cursed, embarrassed. “Could you lift your hips for just a second?”

She giggled again but did as he asked. He quickly put his spike away, pulling her closer. She tucked her helm in his neck, sighing blissfully. The afterglow of their intercourse had yet to fade, so they laid in each other's arms pleasurably. Every so often Optimus would kiss her helm, and she would smile from it. She slid her servo into his free one, lacing their digits together. 

“I love you,” she crooned, nuzzling his collar with her cheek. 

“Impossible,” he murmured. “I love you more.”

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 7: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it was still beginning.

“Wow, you really have a thing for organics.”

C-53 hummed innocently. “I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about, Bargie.”

After he and Pleck had cleaned up the medical mess in the kitchen, the tellurian had disappeared in search of his old Zima scrolls, leaving C-53 alone in the common area. Well, as alone as one could be on a sentient ship. The Bargarian Jade’s attention span was selective, so one could never be sure whether they were being actively observed at any time.

“I saw what just happened,” Bargie said. “The tension between you two is - well, let’s just say it’s high. It’s very high.”

“That was a private conversation,” C-53 responded, somewhat defensively.

“If you wanted to have a private conversation, you should’ve had it off the ship,” Bargie said matter-of-factly.

“We’re in space ,” C-53 argued. “And I don’t see how this means I have a thing for organics.”

“Aw, come on,” Bargie’s rough voice insisted on the loudspeaker. “I know what I saw when we accessed each other’s memories a few years ago. You definitely have a type.”

“So do you,” he shot back, deflecting.

“Oh, I have a type?” Bargie exclaimed, affronted. “Do you know who I’ve dated?”

C-53 tuned his audio sensitivity down as the ship launched into a monologue about her exes. Out of courtesy, he uploaded a subroutine to offer various hmm s and ah s as a placeholder for listening while his cube went elsewhere.

Whether he returned Pleck’s feelings was not the priority right now. His friend needed help, and C-53 was going to help him. It was as simple as that; there was no need to complicate things with whatever feelings he may or may not have for the tellurian. So what if he had a type? That didn’t apply to the current situation - Pleck was different. He was vulnerable, and it would be unfair of C-53 to take advantage of that.

He was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with tenderness every time he laid scanners on Pleck, and his loader programming urged him to stick a label on him that read FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE. That particular instinct was easier to bypass than the instinct to lift, and he was left wondering if picking Pleck up had been a good idea after all. His one-eyed stare, aching and exhausted, had stirred something in C-53.

At least it had gotten his message across. I, C-53, am going to care about you. On purpose. Whether you like it or not.

He had to set his romantic notions aside. There were more important things to worry about right now. He dimly registered Bargie still steamrolling overhead with her story, and he broke in respectfully.

“That’s all very interesting, Bargie, but I don’t see how it helps me.”

The ship sighed cantankerously. “I’m just sayin’ you’re gonna have to confront this sooner or later,” she said.

“Hm,” C-53 considered. “I think I’m going to choose later.”

---

“Okay, I brought all the scrolls we got copies of from the library and uh, all the originals I have that Nermut didn’t make into a nest,” Pleck said around the box of papers in his arms.

He carried them over to the dining table, pausing when he saw the pre-existing mess of administrative documents, campaign flyers, and junk mail that already cluttered its surface. Hardly anyone used the table for eating these days.

C-53 watched bemusedly as Pleck nudged the mess aside to make space for his new mess, dumping the contents of the box out. This was not going to be a very organized process. Things involving Pleck rarely were.

“Are these texts all about the Zima religion in general, or you specifically?” he asked.

“Ah, well,” Pleck paused to brush a lock of hair out of his eye, gazing down at his chaotic archive. “The thing is, I don’t really know how to interpret all of them? I mean,” He began to shuffle through the stack, “there’s… here, this one says my actual first and last name,” he extricated a page and held it out for C-53 to read.

“A ticking clock, in which Pleck Decksetter stands, to spin and draw nearer to the void, ” the droid echoed aloud.

Pleck nodded, grimacing. “But then, like, then there’s this one,” he unrolled a tight ream of parchment and recited,

“Whose stick is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite happy though. Full of joy like a rainbow, I watch him laugh. I cry hello.”

C-53 paused. “That sounds… dumb,” he said.

Pleck chuckled, rolling the parchment back up. “A lot of it is pretty dumb,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what all is relevant to, y’know, my whole thing, and what’s just some old Zima getting creative with their meditations on the Space.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t sort them out,” C-53 said, lowering his frame enough so that he could read the texts from his vantage.

That was their afternoon, reviewing and puzzling over the pile of ancient scrolls. C-53 had never given the Zima religion itself that much thought, but the more they dug into their teachings, the more he was convinced it was mostly just nonsense. He did have to give them some credit, though. A few of the scrolls had predicted Pleck’s life almost exactly. It was… kind of eerie, if he was being honest.

The crew wandered in and out while they worked, checking in on their activities curiously but quickly losing interest once they realized they were essentially just studying. At one point, AJ asked if he could help, and they gave him a flowery poem to slog through until he gave up after about ten minutes.

“You did a good job, AJ,” Pleck smiled as the CLINT left the room to find something else that would hold his attention. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Pleck was looking significantly more relaxed since that morning, C-53 noticed. His shoulders had returned to their usual easy slope and his smile sprang readily to his face. The droid found himself distracted from his task on more than one occasion, choosing instead to fixate on Pleck’s careful hands as he leafed through papers, or his delicate neck as he bent low to decipher some stray scribble. By the time the evening rolled around, they had stopped trying to make sense of the scrolls altogether, and were instead pointing out ridiculous lines to one another.

“Wait wait wait, here, check out this one,” Pleck brandished a photocopy in C-53’s face, barely containing his laughter.

“To pass through the eye, one must first pass through the butt?” C-53 read aloud, incredulous. “Do they mean literally?”

Pleck was fighting to get the words out through his giggling. “Who wrote this? This was a Zima?”

“This is a sacred text .” C-53 insisted. “A sacred religious text. This is your religion, Pleck.”

The tellurian shook his head, still laughing, as he set the paper aside. “Good Rodd.”

“Oh, here’s a good one,” C-53 raised a careful claw to slide one of the documents in Pleck’s direction.

Seeing the grin spread across his friend’s face was like watching a sunflower bloom. “Oh my Rodd,” he exclaimed, “is this a love poem?”

“Heaven hath no elegance like you, my radiant swan,” C-53 recited the first line, his vocal modulator lilting with his own laughter. “I have no idea why this was preserved as an ancient text.”

“We’ll put that one in the ‘dumb’ pile,” Pleck said, cheeks still rosy with mirth. He was smiling wide enough to show off his dimples, and it was a pleasant sight to C-53’s scanners.

They continued to shuffle through papers in companionable silence. Pleck managed to assemble a fairly linear timeline of his own prophecy, and was attempting to piece it together with anything that seemed relevant. He had a better eye for patterns in the texts than C-53 did, something that the droid was surprised by. Perhaps deciphering the ancient words of the Zimas was something that was only inherent to other Zimas.

“C-53, look,” Pleck exclaimed suddenly. “I thought I had lost this one. It’s the scroll you’re mentioned in.” He excitedly uncurled the parchment and held it flat against the table.

C-53’s head tilted with interest. “ I’m in the Zima scrolls?”

“I mean, you’re not mentioned by name,” Pleck admitted. He scooted the scroll toward the droid so he could get a better scan on it. “But I’m pretty sure it’s talking about you. Based on, y’know, context.”

And the humidifier will rise from its slumber Newly untethered, a free soul in a rectangle And the Great One will feel a lump in his throat To wonder if this appliance would entrust his soul to him

“Wow, this is… very specific,” C-53 commented. His coding was already drawing connections for him about the implications this had on his and Peck’s relationship. He was inclined to dismiss it as mindlessness, like so many of the other texts, but a small, irrational part of him clung to the words. Was the tellurian meeting him destined? Better question: did C-53 want it to be?

“Yeah, I thought it was weird that they included that,” Pleck said, pulling the scroll back.

“You were worried I didn’t trust you?”

“Well, I mean-” Pleck’s ears reddened. “Up until that point you’d had your restraining bolt on, so I couldn’t be sure.”

C-53 nodded pensively. “True, I didn’t have a lot of allowance for personal expression back then.”

Pleck gave a small exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, it was like you became a totally different droid after that.”

“It was a punishing part of my life, to be sure.”

Pleck’s eye brightened. “Remember that time Nermut made you pick up that marble over and over again for like, an hour?” he asked, turning his sunny grin on C-53.

“Oh, Rodd, yeah,” the droid sighed, amused at the memory. “And you and Dar asked me to do it all sexy so I’d actually have some fun with it?”

“That was great, I really enjoyed that.”

“Oh, you did?” C-53 prompted, servos humming. “You enjoyed that?”

“No, I mean like-” Pleck went a darker shade of pink. “Not like, sexually, it was - I was just-” he stopped, gathered his thoughts, and restarted. “It was nice to see you having fun, is all,” he said. His smile softened as he reminisced.

C-53’s voice lost its teasing edge. “It was nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad we were able to become friends despite our initial differences.”

“Yeah…” Pleck trailed off, staring up at the droid earnestly. “Yeah, me too.”

Rodd, C-53 felt he was going to combust in that pure sunshine smile. He would fight wars and burn down cities to keep it safe.

Chapter 6 <-----> Chapter 8

[skyfallofcybertron-blog]

Transformers Skyfall: Chapter 4. Blackbird.

It was a mistake. It was all a slagging mistake. We had fallen into a Autobot trap. We were starving and the Autobots knew that. The energon caste that Night Glide was sent to investigate was just a fake hotspot. There was no way we could have known. Not without proper equipment, but by this point, most of the Generals had pulled out to distant planets. Leaving those left behind to fend for themselves.

Both Night Glide and I were stationed on a warship at the time; The Covenant. Our head officers ditched us on Megatron’s orders to chase Team Prime across space. Along with most of our good equipment and resources. Leaving only a servo of us with enough processing power to protect the ship. We suddenly became officers over a few hundred vechicon drones. A few hundred hungry mouths to feed.

Night Glide crashed. Hard.

I still remember the grinding sound of plating being scraped across the ground. The twisted wreck of metal that he became. Somehow, I summoned the strength in my tiny body to drag him out of the crash sight and into a open sewer grate. I can remember, clear as a Vos morning, the whirl of a heavy helicopter making passes trying to find us. The loud chop, chop, chop.

I wasn’t faring any better myself. I wasn’t deployed at the time. The missile that the copter hit Night Glide with managed to dislodge me as well. I didn’t crash nearly spectacularly as my carrier, but the side of my helm became ragged and torn. My built-in equipment for linking us to The Covenant was now part of the sidewalk above us. Didn’t stop me from trying though.

“Communications Officer Skyfall...to Decepticon warship Covenant...Can you read me, Covenant?” I breathed into what was left of my comm. system; a few loose wires and a shattered vidscreen, “Energon cache; Autobot ambush...Requesting immediate evac... First Lieutenant Night Glide down….Repeat; First Lieutenant Night Glide down…”

My optics wondered to my carrier’s shallow intakes. To the cracked windscreen of his cockpit. The sizable hole blown right through his narrow waist that now leaked energon into the sour fluid below us. The Autobot copter wasn’t slagging around. Hit Night Glide center mass; right dead target. A little higher up that missile would have gone right through his fuel pump. Killing me in the process.

“Covenant...can you hear me…?” I pleaded.

All I got was static. I started ripping wires out of my helm as I scooted over to the Seeker. His optics flickered online as I carefully inspected his helm. He muttered something, but my audios were ringing. I quickly tossed the broken piece aside. It probably wasn’t pleasant for Night Glide, but my small servos removed his to implant it in mine. I whimpered apologizes the entire time.

The copter made another pass. I froze in my place. Holding my intakes until I was more then sure they were gone, before returning to my work. At least, I could hear them now. Thank Shockwave and his horror show; I could tell how far the Autobot was out and that she wasn’t alone. I had about two clicks to work on this.

“You need..to get out of here…” Night Glide whispered.

I ripped off my arm casing; fiddling with my secondary weapons to disable the electricity. The weapon heated up red hot quickly. Then I twisted two wires together. I looked down at Night Glide.

“And you need to shut up…”

“The Autobots…”

I fitted the casing on top of the hole on Night Glide’s side.

“Will find the both of us, if you don’t shut up...right now…”

I’m not a medibot, but beggars can’t be choosers. I needed to patch up Glide. I wasn’t going to let another one of my carriers abandon me. I wasn’t going to watch another one die. We had to make a little noise. I transformed my free servo to my built in taser and began to melt him close. Night Glide took it like a champ and clamped down hard on his glossa; muffling himself as much as he possibly could. That did quicken the Autobots search.

One click left. Time to pull something from my aft.

I messed with more wires than I knew that was in the both of us. Sticking them together. Pulling things apart. Testing. Retesting. The static in my audio became clearer. The Covenant was trying to get a hold of us. I could almost hear them. I could hear the Autobots better. They were in the sewers now. I stood on wobbly legs to get better reception; hooked up to Night Glide as my receiver.

“Com-Sky-all...R-peat...Ov-r…”

“This is Communications Officer Skyfall to Decepticon warship Covenant. Requesting immediate evac. First Lieutenant Night Glide down. Autobot squad almost on top of us.”

“We hear you, Officer.”

I never thought I would be so happy to hear Starscream’s voice. The tunnel lit up with the echoes of Seeker engines. The floor underneath us shook with cannon fire. I toppled over trying to gain my footing, only to have Night Glide catch me in his arms. He held me against his broken and bloodied chassis. I shuttered my optics as listened to Starscream gloat and Skywarp cackle in manic delight.

“...Sing for me…?” Night Glide requested weakly.

I hadn't sung in years, but I used too. It was something I was originally built for. I was part Singer after all, but I stopped singing after I was sold to Swindle. I found that it hurt too much to do so.

Yet, when Night Glide asked so quietly, I didn't give it much of a second thought.

I sang an old Vosian migration song. Something that Seekers used to sing to keep themselves in formation. Also to find those that were lost from the trine. I have no idea why I picked that off all things. I'm sure Night Glide could barely hear me over the chaos of battle. It didn't seem right to ask.

Starscream and his trine found us eventually. After they blew the Autobots sky high. Out of the three, Skywarp wore his horror the most outwardly. Both Thundercracker, and to my surprise, Starscream, where eerily silent looking the two of us over. We were a mess of scrap, wiring and energon.

They couldn't get us separated. Thundercracker had to carry both Night Glide and I through Skywarp’s warpbridge (I can still see the purple Seeker’s grin in my mind over his scraping pun). The three Air Commanders were appalled over the condition of ship. There was one thing that I’ve learned about Seekers; they will destroy any bot that harms one of their own. The original commanding officers of The Convenant where striped from their positions. Personally dealt with Starscream’s trine. Thundercracker took command of the ship afterwards.

It took our medic Echo hours to finally untangle me from my carrier. Both of us got kudos for trying to save our crew and team. Night Glide got promoted. Minicons didn’t, but I now had the Decepticon elite watch my every move. It wasn’t often to have a Deployer jerry rig a communications system out of their own (and carrier’s) haft dead corpses. Some called me insane. Others called me resourceful. I would have called myself frightened, desperate and wanting to survive.

Perhaps that’s why I landed this job in Immigration. Perhaps, somebot read my file, saw the information on that day and threw me in with the big bots. Or maybe it was a P.R. stunt; hiring a former Decepticon as a sign of good faith. Primus only knows. I was happy to be here. Happy to be alive and useful to so many.

One of those was Cityspeaker Windblade. The city was literally built on the back of a titan. Poor Metroplex was wounded during the Exodus. He never managed to leave the planet with the rest of his colossal brothers; trapped forever in his alt. mode. The Camiens learned the titans’ ancient language. So, in turn, Windblade came to Cybertron to speak for Metroplex. I was assigned to assist her in this. On top of everything else I did. The Autobots may have won the War, but it didn’t stop them from being paranoid about letting their secrets out.

“Good morning, Cityspeaker.” I addressed the scarlet femme and her bodyguard, Chromia.

“As to you, Skyfall.” Windblade smiled softly, “Are you my little shadow today?”

“Afraid so, ma’am.”

Chromia hummed softly, “Still not giving up the keys to the city, huh?”

I couldn’t help, but to fidget. Chromia did slightly intimidate me. I did see her train with Fireworks once and she was brutal with an axe.

“Sadly no, I’m afraid. Not yet at least.”

Chromia smirked, “Yeah, it’s not your fault, kid.”

“You’re going above and beyond to help.” Windblade reinsured.

I felt my wings perk up slightly with the compliment.

We started making our way down. Down, down, down. Pass all kinds of security and checkpoints and locked doors. Picking up our own security in the form of Ironhide (the Autobots where ever so careful). Into the very center of the core of the city. Where Metroplex’s mind laid.

Windblade beamed upon reaching the chamber where Metroplex’s brain module powered away, keeping the city up and running. He controlled everything; power for the towers, the lights in the streets, water, sewage, everything. The city was him. It was Windblade’s job to keep him happy and healthy. My job was to make sure she didn't tamper with him.

Biolight vidscreens popped up all over his cerebral cortex. He was greeting us as best he could without a functioning voice box. Windblade smiled as she read his messages.

“Good morning to you as well, Metroplex.” She said, “You are ready to start?”

I broke away from the little group to set up my workstation. I wasn't a skilled mechanic like Ironhide or I couldn't read titan like Windblade and Chromia. The only glyphs I was familiar with was the ones that Windblade pointed out. Which was our names and ‘hello’. So, I wasn't going to be much help. Other then answering questions, of course. These days where a good day to catch up on my emails and read reports.

I was pulled out of my reading when I heard Windblade chuckle softly.

“Alright, I'll ask her… Skyfall?”

Like on cue, I lowered my datapad and perked at the sound of my name.

“Yes, Cityspeaker?”

“Metroplex wants to know what you were singing. He remembers it, but can't place the name of it.”

“Um, oh,” It was like getting caught with my plating off. I didn't even realize I had started singing to myself while working. “I-It's the hymn of Juno the Skold.”

I found myself playing with my database nervously, being caught under Metroplex’s curiosity. If I was small compared to most Cybertronians, I was a speck to the titan. A tiny star among a vast cosmos. I shyly hide behind my screen.

“If it's bothering him, Windblade, I can stop.”

“On the contrary, Metroplex wants you to sing louder. He's enjoying it. He didn't think people would remember such old tunes.”

My wings twitched in surprise, “R-Really? He likes it?”

The Cityspeaker smiled with a nod. I nodded back. Windblade’s smile was contagious. I went back to my work and I sang.

[feels--on--wheels]

Knockout Meets June...Again

RID15 AU working title “ContinUnity”. Follows Prime, ignores Rescue Bots, mostly follows RID15 up to the end of Season 2.

Context: Unable to adjust to post-war Cybertron, Wheeljack becomes a bounty hunter bringing in rouge Decepticons.  He adopts a human named Marisol as his Second in Command, makes contact with Bee on Earth, and ends up with Knockout and Sunstreaker as part of his team.  Marisol gets hurt badly because of Sunstreaker's willful disregard of her orders.  They race back to Earth to get her treatment.

"Mari?  Come on, answer me.  Are you with us?" A large claw slipped against the back of a trembling tan hand as the body it was attached to spasmed with pain. "Knocks?  -hurts..." The shining red mech crouched on his knees next to the stretcher, letting her grip the blunt back edge of his talon as she squirmed atop the sheets. "I know sweetheart, but I need you to stay conscious.  Ratchet's getting help.  You're gonna be okay." The squealing of tires in the groundbridge backed up his claim as the older medic's voice started shouting before his wheels had stopped spinning. "Get the equipment out of my cab, carefully!  I need it to-" "-He did this!?  How could you let him in here?" Knockout froze, servos full of supplies, as the new voice cut Ratchet off mid-instruction.  He recognized that quiet, angry voice.  Slag. "June, ignore him, we don't have time!" "Oh, I will make time!  What is that monster doing in this base?  This place is supposed to be safe!" Knockout's engine growled low in irritation.  This was not helping! "You can hate me later!  I-" "Knocks?  What's-ah-what's wrong?  You said- mmmmmm- you weren't hurt.  What's-" Marisol struggled to raise her shoulders off the stretcher, trying to see around Ratchet's bulk.  Knockout scooted back to his place next to her, returning his clawed digit to her searching hand and guiding her back down as the older woman moved around the ambulance after him. "Deep breaths, Mari.  Everything's fine.  This is Nurse Darby, Jack's mother.  She's going to take care of you.  Just keep it together a little longer, Wheeljack's on his way, and you know how he gets." "He didn't...he didn't do anything stupid, did he?" "Just dropping off the 'Cons at Bee's place.  He'll be fine, and you will be too.  I don't know how we'd keep from killing eachother without our little Voice of reason." June stared at the young woman accepting comfort from the disturbingly gentled decepticon medic in the Unit-E hangar.  This was not something she had ever expected to see when she woke up today.  Ratchet transformed and knelt next to his stunned friend. "I didn't think to warn you.  There have been a lot of...changes recently." The nurse's eyebrows nearly hit her hair in response as she gave him a look, but it was enough to get her moving again as she started setting up IV lines and laid out the chemical agents she would need.  For once, Knockout was right.  She could hate him later.  With June back on track with treating their patient, Ratchet moved back to the groundbridge, altering the settings and re-opening the vortex.  Three cars immediately roared through, the yellow lamborghini coming closer to the humans than June was comfortable with.  She was suprised to recognize Bee as the first to transform.  The sleeker yellow one offloaded an orange minibot barely larger than her as a group of people piled out of the white sportscar.  Next came most of Unit-E, and another man in a loud shirt, before Wheeljack transformed and bent next to Knockout as the yellow car she didn't recognize took up a position on the other side of Marisol.  June was taken aback again as the gruff old wrecker delicately stroked one finger over the girl's hair until she opened her eyes. "Hey Mari.  We brought the brats, and Fixit.  Nurse Darby and Ratchet are gonna get you all fixed up.  How're ya doin?" No amount of effort could keep the tension from her body or face, but Marisol seemed determined to try. "Oh, I'm fine.  Gonna be fine.  Knocks keeps sayin' so.  Kid didn't know.  He didn't mean it." "I know babe.  He's okay, 'm not gonna hurt 'im.  Just relax and let the medics do their thing." The roar of another engine drew attention back to the still open groundbridge, and a sleek red car offloaded more passengers before transforming and tugging on the yellow autobot that has so far been silent, alone in the corner.  The similarities between the two were instantly recognizable.  If they were human, June would have said they were brothers.  Red led Yellow away, giving them more room around the bed. "What in the Pit happened out there," Ratchet rumbled, kneeling down himself in the newly vacated space.  Wheeljack frowned at the space above Marisol's head, and Knockout flinched. "She decided to infiltrate a Decepticon's ship with one idiot to free another idiot while Wheeljack went after the last 'Con.  Sunstreaker decided to start a fight instead of going in quiet, which was supposed to be the plan.  I heard the noise from the holding cell before I ever saw her.  Sunny got tossed in the cell with me before 'Jack blew something up outside and drew the guard off.  She got the cell door mostly open, but we didn't know about the minicon.  I didn't even see the little fragger coming up on her.  He tossed her into a pile of junk, did something to her leg when she landed, but she jabbed him with that little tool she and 'Jack came up with and got the door open.  He got ahold of her again before Sunstreaker could get to them, and I don't know what happened, she was just screaming on the floor, with her leg torn open like that and half-cauterized.  All I could think to do was put a pressurizing wrap on it to stop the blood loss, but...there's something broken inside her, and I can't get to it to fix it.  I didn't use any of the scanners that are contraindicated with humans, but...This was the only place I knew of that could help her.  It's been almost...twenty hours." Marisol's good leg scrambled, pushing against the stretcher. "Hands were hot.  Burned." "Little fragger has a Sigma.  Raises the temp in his hands 'til it could melt through armor.  Sunny got a good hit too." "So she has deep cuts, burns, and possibly broken bones?  This is not...Ratchet, get Bill, now.  She's going to need surgery immediately, maybe more than one...I'll have to take her to the hospital.  We're going to need to move her as soon as she's stable, but first I have to see that wound.  She's going to need a cover story."

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Scenario to get creative with: Skyquake taking Dreadwing to brothel to "get loose" a bit. ;)

So I found this buried in my asks, and I’m shook because this is actually a VERY fun idea, so let’s fucking go, let’s get carried away with this fuckin idea.

“Ah ah ah, optics closed, brother.”

Dreadwing was usually the one in charge of their creation day celebrations,  but this year, Skyquake wanted to take the reigns. Dreadwing, being a bit of a pushover for his little brother, allowed him to take this one. He knew Cybertron better than he did, so he was expecting something new, something exciting, especially given his tone. Dreadwing allowed his little brother to guide him, optics offline and walking to Primus knows where. Then he finally stopped.

“Okay, open!”

Dreadwing looked around. A bit of an odd building. It didn’t have anything on the outside, apart from a glowing neon sign, depicting a fem blowing a kiss. Dreadwing raised a brow.

“Okay, you got me. What is this?”

“The one thing that makes this place a million times better than Caminus.”

Skyquake paused, clearly wanting his brother to take a moment to think. It then clicked.

“Brother! Are you telling me we’re at a BROTHEL? That’s not even legal-”

“On CAMINUS. Here in Cyberton, they’re quite popular, and this one is the best of the best.”

“Primus sake, how many of these have you seen?”

“I’m not flinging myself at any pretty fem I see, brother. I just like supporting local businesses. Besides, you’ve been so tense with work lately, you deserve just one night to relax. Come on, you trust your brother, do you not?”

Dreadwing hesitated. Skyquake had promised he was going to pay for the evening, and his intentions seemed honest. It felt rude to say no, as uncomfortable as he was. He sighed.

“Fine. Just, make this easy for me, and...be in a different room when you do your thing.”

“Because you need to see my aft when I’m giving it to a fem.”

“Brother.”

“Sorry, sorry, just trying to ease the mood. Come on, follow me.”

Skyquake pushed past the front door, and were met with mechs and fems alike, greeting them loudly. Dreadwing let his brother walk up to the counter as he looked around. There was quite a pretty bunch of mechs and fems around. Freshly waxed and painted, some in the laps of paying customers, some bringing out drinks, and quite a few giving him the optic.

“So, in short, we’re here to celebrate!”

Dreadwing just tuned in to what Skyquake was saying. He was talking to an older fem, who was quite fetching herself. Claws that looked like daggers, and optics that glistened in greed, she looked like she’d have her fair share of prey. She gave him a look over, and chuckled.

“Mmm. Handsome thing, that one is. First time in here, darling?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re from Caminus, so this is...different.”

“Ah yes, these kinds of places are a big no no there, if I recall. Anyhow, don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of you both. A friend of Skyquake’s is a friend of ours, afterall.”

Skyquake shrugged as his brother gave him the side optic. While there was nothing wrong about visiting this place, Dreadwing was still kink shaming. Skyquake chuckled.

“Don’t look so nervous. They’re all quite kind, I assure you. Now, I’m paying for everything afterwards, I don’t want him to see just how much this is. He’s nosey like that.”

Dreadwing turned his helm away, a bit flustered to be caught in the act of peeking.

“I’m not nosey. I’m...observant.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, Is Maxima here tonight?”

“Yep, you’re lucky, she JUST got in. I’ll see if she’s willing to see you.”

“Maxima?”

Dreadwing found it odd that he was so specific on this particular fem. Skyquake scoffed.

“She’s just a fem. Don’t read too much into it.”

“You mentioned her by name, a bit late for that.”

The fem behind the counter chuckled, seeming to type something on her data pad, before leaning over at Dreadwing.

“Okay handsome, what do YOU like? You lookin’ for a wine and dine type, or a wham bam thank you ma’am?”

Dreadwing stammered. What a question to be asked. Skyquake snorted.

“We can’t afford taking ANYONE out tonight, so tell Cheesecake we gotta pass on that front. Just let him meet a few, see who he clicks with.”

“Can do. And Maxima just told me she’s got time to see you, so head to room one fifteen, you know where that is. Big blue, you’re with me.”

“Please don’t leave me alone. Not that you’re uh, not good company ma’am.”

Skyquake rolled his optics, patting his brother on his shoulder.

“If I didn’t trust them, we wouldn’t be here.”

Dreadwing sighed, before nodding. Skyquake left him to Primus knows where, and Dreadwing followed the fem ahead of him. She opened the door to a reasonable sized room, and the large couches signified it was meant as a sort of waiting room.

“Now, take a seat, we’ll have a few girls and boys pop in, see who you like. Once you find someone, you just come and give me a holler outside. Don’t be nervous, now.”

Dreadwing sat down, and let her leave. He was alone in this room now, and he felt tense. He had the occasional bout of intercourse, but that was SO long ago. Relationships of any sort just felt...odd to him now, as if the only other bot he could interact with, was his own brother. It was a bit sad, if he thought about it for too long. Enough so, that meeting all these mechs and fems did nothing for him. Some of the fems were pretty and sweet, some of the mechs were charming and handsome, but none of them really caught his optics. He was about ready to call it quits, when one remained.

“Hello. I’m Orion Pax.”

He was a small, cute little thing. Amongst the shiny paint jobs, fresh wax, and fish nets, he stuck out like a sore servo. Dreadwing couldn’t help but look at him up and down, perplexed.

“I’m sorry, you...work here?”

“As a part time job, yes. It’s nice to have a little extra credits to spend on the weekends. May I sit next to you?”

All the other’s did the same thing, but for some reason, this made him...nervous. He nodded however, scooting a bit to allow him to sit.

“Everyone is talking about how difficult you are to please. I take it you aren’t quite like your brother.”

“Primus I should hope not.”

That made little Orion chuckle. He pulled out a data pad from his sub space.

“You seem a bit tense. Poetry always relaxes me, personally. Would It help to read you something I wrote?”

“Please, I do love my fair share of poetry.”

The little bot cleared his vocal processor.

“Migrating answers

Beast of love discovers all

Bargain intertwined.”

“That’s...rather lovely. Did you write that?”

“Yes actually. I dabble in poetry in my free time, and more often than not, my sweetspark double checks my work.”

“Does...your sweetspark know you do this?”

“Of course. And he’s fine with it. He isn’t...around a lot, and sometimes you just need a big mech to-”

His face suddenly flared, and he hid it past his data pad.

“I..shouldn’t have said that, ignore it.”

Dreadwing chuckled, pushing the data pad down. What pretty optics, this little bot has.

“There’s...nothing really wrong with that, honestly. You like big mechs, and I like...well, you quite frankly.”

There was an odd moment of silence between them, before Dreadwing pressed his lips against his. There was no resistance, no uncomfortable tension. Dreadwing wanted him, and he clearly felt the exact same. Orion pulled away, cheeks still aflame. Even if this was just some kind of act to draw in more customers, Dreadwing didn’t care. It FELT honest, and the shy little poet angle was adorable. He was cute, innocent, and Dreadwing wanted to frag him till his processor malfunctioned. Orion clearly felt the same way, given how he lingered for a moment, before tapping his servo.

“I...have to go. Don’t forget my name.”

Dreadwing wanted to just take him here and now, but he was not the kind of mech to break etiquette, especially in new places. He waited for little Orion to walk out of the room, waited a moment, and the fem from before popped her helm in.

“So, you got your pick of the litter. Anyone-”

“Orion Pax. The small fellow.”

Realizing he sounded a bit too eager, he cleared his vocal processor. How desperate was he? Not even letting her finish her sentence. She chuckled, before motioning him to follow her once again.

“Let’s get you a room big guy. Feel like if I keep you two apart any longer, you’ll start breaking doors down.”

Dreadwing slipped past the other mechs and fems, and was brought to another room. It felt so much more intimate in here than the previous room. A nice, soft looking berth, soft music being played in the background, and the best part? A little Orion Pax. Standing there, in a rather thin looking night gown. The fem chuckled, nudging his side.

“Don’t let his size fool you. He’s sturdy.”

She slipped out, and Orion groaned in humiliation.

“I’m sorry about that, she uh, has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Are you saying you’re NOT sturdy?”

Dreadwing had no idea where that question came from. He delivered it so eagerly, it made BOTH of their faces feel flushed. Orion rubbed the back of his helm, finally putting his gaze back upon him.

“I...I mean, I wouldn’t say THAT…”

Dreadwing had no idea he’d be so easily wooed by someone so small. Orion gestured to the berth.

“Do you uh, want a massage? We usually do that to kinda ease customers into it.”

“I don’t need easing in, to be frank.”

Dreadwing had no idea what came over him. He was on Orion like some hound dog, lifting him off the floor, and practically flinging him onto berth. He pressed his lips against his, and Orion did nothing to fight it. His little servos ran across his chest, dipped in between those nooks and crannies of his armor. Dreadwing savored those touches. Savored the way he groaned into his lips, savored the way he smelled even. Orion pulled away, servos lightly caressing his face. 

“You...should open your spike panel. A big mech like you needs to be taken care of.”

It might have been just sweet talk, but Primus this little one had such a way with words. Dreadwing pushed off of him, popping open his spike panel. He was almost embarrassed, how pressurized his spike was already. There was greed in his optics, and he sat up, using his little servos to grab and stroke his girth.

“Something...tells me you aren’t as innocent as I thought previously.”

Orion chuckled, rubbing his cheek against the thick, eager spike.

“I...just like big mechs. And you’re as big as they come. You deserve to feel SO good.”

Orion pushed the tip past his lips, and Dreadwing felt himself tense up. Such a little mouth, with such a wanting, skilled glossa. His glossa was small, just like the rest of him, but with the way it circled around him, the way he let the drool dribble down his base. Dreadwing couldn’t help but have his helm toss back as the little mech only took him further. This wasn’t the first time he took a spike that size, he doubted it’d be the last. After a good, solid moment of lubing up his spike, Orion pulled away. Orion laid on his back, opening both his legs, and his valve panel. He made quite the show; playing and kneading at his already soaked folds. Dreadwing couldn’t help but stroke himself, and that seemed to only egg on the little bot.

“If I can be lewd for a moment...I want you to frag me as hard as you can. I want to feel that big, throbbing spike inside of me. And YOU want my little valve.”

He was right. Dreadwing leaned forward, putting his servo over his little chest, as if he’d try to run away from him.

“When you say as hard as you can, I do hope you understand I do not take that lightly.”

“Oh trust me, I know what I’m asking for. Come on big mech. Give it to me. Use me. Fuck me.”

Such pretty words, they could be poetry in itself. Dreadwing no longer hesitated. He pushed himself past the lips, and instead of taking it slowly, Dreadwing just stuffed himself right inside, fully and totally. Orion threw his helm back, little servos clinging to his back desperately.

“Are you hurt? Should I-”

“Don’t you pull out. Don’t you dare.”

That was all the permission Dreadwing needed. He was done being nice. He started thrusting into him, his hips clanging against his own. Dreadwing wasn’t merciful; having enough force in his thrust to move the berth itself. Orion’s mouth was a tool for evil, first being used to charm him into this berth, now using it to arouse him further. The way he cried out for him, the way he cried for more, the way he screamed, as if for mercy. Dreadwing kept his face shoved into that sweet, soft neck of his, and the little one wasn’t even spared his bites. Orion’s breath was hot, husky in his audial.

“You can bite me harder, big boy. Take a bite out of me, like I know you want.”

A good, harsh bite not only made his neck bleed, but made Orion squeal in ecstasy. Dreadwing knew he wasn’t going to last very long, not with a tight valve like this, not with a mech so hungry for his touch. When Orion grabbed fist fulls of his aft (with a rather surprising grip), he was forced into an overload. He panicked, realizing he was still inside, before he pulled out. He ended up showering the little mech in his pink, hot load. The sight of the little mech bathed in the afterglow, was enough to make Dreadwing want him yet again. Orion wiped his face with his servo, and licked it off, sighing in content.

“You...REALLY needed that, didn’t you?”

“More...than I thought, honestly. I apologize, I don’t know what’s the polite thing to do from here. Am I supposed to...give you a tip, or-”

“You gave me a LOT more than a tip, big mech.”

Orion chuckled, one hand leaning down to help ease fluids out of his gaping valve. This little mech was so quick witted, so eager to pull him further into affection. Dreadwing was about to go for a second round, when there was a knock at their door.

“Time’s up you two. Everything alright?”

“Just fine! He was just saying he wants to buy more time.”

Dreadwing was about to speak against that, as he said no such thing, until Orion held onto his helm, taking a nip out of his chin. Dreadwing lightly gulped.

“I...suppose I could use more time. It IS my creation day, after all.”

“Good to hear! Go on you two, I’ll check in later!”

As the voice left, Orion chuckled.

“Now that we have just a little more time...how do you feel about letting me at YOUR valve?”

-------------------------------------------

Dreadwing lost track of time as he walked out of that room. His brother had been waiting there for what seemed like a while, given the relief on his face.

“Primus sake, there you are! You were in there for SO long, thought someone was killing you or something.”

“I...apologize. I lost track of time.”

Skyquake chuckled, shaking his helm.

“Alright, let’s see the damage here…”

Skyquake handled the final bill for them both, and Dreadwing was too lost in his thoughts to peek over his shoulder. He did some rather...embarrassing things in there. Sure he liked it all, but he didn’t like figuring out all these secret kinks he seemed to have. No matter.

What were the odds he was going to see him again, anyway?