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

[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.

[smallestapplin]

Can we please get some more con harem fluff when you have the chance???

I struggled thinking of a scenario, so this is kinda set in the Prime continuity. Mostly with Dreadwing, Arachnid, Soundwave, and implied Megatron (and the rest of the ship-)

-

-

Dreadwing looks at you with mild confusion on his features as you climb up his shoulder, settling down swiftly and cuddling close to his helm. True at first he found the decepticons having a shared human on the ship was…odd, but who was he to argue with Megatron? Though he learned why quickly with how you seemed to have charmed him.

“Little one, while I enjoy your company, what is the meaning of this?”

“What, am I not allowed to spend time with you?”

Though your voice was light and teasing, he can’t help but sigh and shake his helm.

“Stay as long as you wish, but I must get these reports done.”

You kiss his cheek trying to scoot even closer and lean into him, such warmth of your smaller body was always welcomed. Off the corner of his optic he can see you pull out your phone and scroll along it, simply just wanting to bask in his presence. His spark swells at the idea, you merely just wanting to spend time with him is making his wings twitch, trying to flutter behind him but he fights it.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, though only filled with the occasional sound of you chucking and his engine softly purring as you kiss him again and again. Such a sweet beloved he has, you know how to make the boring parts of his job entertaining.

He blinks his optics once, twice, then a few more times as he realized he feels like he’s being watched, there is another in his office and it’s not just you. You hum in confusion as Dreadwing brings a servo up and grabs you, holding you protectively to his chassis.

If he opened it his spark would be easy to attack, but if he didn’t and held you here he’d be down a servo to fight.

“You know, I know you guys don’t usually get along, but Aracnid please don’t drop.”

Dreadwing looks up, following your gaze and sure enough the purple optics of the spider femme bot stare back at him. She sighs, mockingly so.

“Oh sweetspark, must you ruin the fun? I was just coming to see how our little human was doing.”

Dreadwing glares at her, holding you even closer and covering you with his other servo.

“Our human is fine, they are content sitting with me.”

Arachnid hums not at all caring of his words, “yes yes, that’s all well and good, but Lord Megatron wishes to have his pet.”

Dreadwing makes no move as he refuses to trust her word, he does not feel safe lending you to her even if was technically also one of you ‘consorts’ as Megatron called them. Arachnid isn’t to be trusted with a human, must less one of your importance.

“Dreadwing, I would hate to traumatize the cutie in your servos, but I will if you don’t hand them over to me.” Her voice growing agitated as more of her legs move from the ceiling above, and grow pointed ready to attack him.

You sigh, this isn’t really something you can stop, but you know who can. You unlock your phone once more and make a call, and sweetly asking for a little help. And just in time too, as dozens of cables move com the walls, wrapping both Dreadwing and Arachnid up and away from each other.

And one taking you from Dreadwing’s grasp, much to his displeasure, and taking you to the black and purple con standing just at the doorway. You smile up at his screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave, but you didn’t need to do all that. Your help is appreciated though.”

The black screen of his faceplate statics for a moment before emoting a little heart. Walking away, he drops Dreadwing and tosses Arachnid out of the room, uncaring what they do now, as he has his little human. You fit so perfectly in his servos, he can’t help but hold you up and nuzzle his screen against you, another heart emoting as you place a few kisses to his face.

He cares not for the arguing around him, or the two cons yelling at him from down the hallway demanding you back.

He has his human, that’s all that matters.

Until he hears Megatron return to the ship and a sad face appears on his screen. He just got you, he doesn’t want to hand you over just yet, how cruel.

[revelboo]

Been stalking your blog for the last few weeks... I cannot get enough of your fics they're so good and scratch the Transformers brainrot. I come requesting more IDW Starscream with maybe a reader who is on their period 🤲

-🦇 Anon

Sure! CW- blood/period 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Period

Starscream x Reader

• Waking up to your big mate curled around you, venting against your neck and rumbling softly, you roll to face him. Or try to. Blinking sleepily as you’re flipped onto your back, Starscream shifting to straddle you, wings flared aggressively. What is he doing? Can hear him loudly venting against you, nosing against you before scooting down your body. “You’re hurt?” He snarls and you blink in confusion.

• Wings flicking in distress, as he palms your thighs open and his spark hurts at the smear of red on your skin. Was he that rough with you? Why didn’t you tell him to stop? And you’re sitting up, frowning at him before noticing and your nose wrinkles. “Oh,” you mutter, grabbing for a blanket and trying to cover yourself. Frowning up at him when he catches your wrist to stop you. “I’m fine. This happens.”

• And he’s just staring at you, wings flaring out like he wants to lash out at something. Making it apparent he doesn’t understand human reproduction and you blow out a breath. Because you really don’t want to explain to him why you’re bleeding from his absolute favorite place. Especially when he already looks really freaked out. “It happens? You just bleed for no reason?” He snarls and you groan.

• “It’s part of my reproductive cycle. It happens. If you want to help though, I’m going to need some stuff,” you say, little face upturned and serious as you grab his hand and he allows you to press his palm against your lower belly. “You’re a decent heat pad, though.” And you relax somewhat under his touch to make him suspect you are hurting. Your biofield a prickly, uncomfortable mess against him to make him certain. ‘What do you need?’ He growls.

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Plating ruffling up slightly like an affronted cat, you swallow a laugh at Knockout’s expression. Because while you’re sure he does love you in his obnoxious way, that love apparently has limits. “Breakdown!” He yells and you narrow your eyes at him to make him scowl. “You think I’m getting that sticky mess all over me? Under my plating and in crevices?” And you both look up as Breakdown pokes his head in to Medbay, frowning. “Human’s horny. Frag them for me, I’m busy.” Seriously? You’d wanted him to help you deal with the cramps, but at this point, you’re miserable enough to take what you can get.

• Venting as he reaches to curl his servos around you and lift you, Breakdown frowns slightly. Why are you warmer than normal? And you’re flushed, avoiding his optics. Making it apparent you’d wanted Knockout not him. Little brat. “Strip,” he growls, carrying you into his shared habsuite adjoining the Medbay and setting you on his berth, annoyed that he was your second choice. Because while he didn’t want you, he’s the one taking care of you most of the time. Making sure you have food, clothes, and water. And you still prefer Knockout. Venting, he frowns at the coppery scent in the air. What is that? Nudging you onto your hands and knees as he mass shifts to join you and frees his spike, he tries not to take it personally. What had you called Knockout that one time? Pure, unadulterated sex? It’s not like he can argue with that. Shifting behind you, he sheaths himself inside you with a growl, moving against you. Listening to you moan as you push back to meet his thrusts.

• Sterilizing tools, Knockout nearly drops a scalpel when he hears Breakdown yell his name. “Why are you fragging bleeding?!” Breakdown roars. Huh. He’d assumed you’d tell his partner what’s going on since you’d told him. Maybe you’d figured he’d say no, too. Venting tiredly as you say something too low for him to catch right before you and Breakdown start yelling at each other, he’s not about to get involved. It’s probably fine. You two can angry hate frag and then go hit the washracks. Not his problem, drifting over to his console, he begins researching human reproduction and hears Breakdown snarling. Apparently you two are angry fragging.

[anony-man]

Thank you for the kind words, anon! It’s much appreciated!

Chubformers drabble #249!

Character: Megatron (& Optimus - ES)

Word count: 1.8k

The shiny new desk chair creaked like an old piece of machinery as Megatron leaned forward and squinted at his computer screen. It was only a few weeks post-purchase, and he had had high hopes for its abilities, but he was already being proven wrong by the telltale signs of a chair that simply couldn’t hold up.

Megatron paused his work to recline back into the seat with a sigh, his outstretched servo snatching up the last of the goodies stashed in a little ziplock bag to bring with him. He couldn’t expect much from a planet that was known for living beings a fourth of his side or smaller, but still… how fragging hard was it to make some good, sturdy furniture?

The transition from war to peacetimes was difficult enough. Megatron had sorted through a dozen or more jobs, responsibilities, and other tedious tasks before landing on the simply clerical business to try out for a time. It wasn’t glamorous, and it sure didn’t bring him nearly as much excitement as the old days did, but the longer he worked at it, the more he realized that was precisely the point. Still, it had its stressors, its bad days and its troubles. It sure as slag gave him a run for his money, and he was the ex-warlord of the Decepticon faction.

Peacetime was hard, plain and simple. Things were different. Everything was different. He was trying, though. He was doing his part, pulling his weight, and proving himself—both to the Maltos family and to Optimus, who he was surprised to find had supported him every step of the way.

The process wasn’t going to be easy, and he knew that. At the same time, slag, was it tiring. Days had turned into months before he and Optimus had gotten anywhere with the technicalities, and during those harrowing times, Megatron had found himself turning more and more to life’s simpler and sweeter things. Food had helped a lot, he realized, as did the new desk job—for the most part, of course. If anything, he could stuff his face with sweets and munch his way through packs of snacks throughout the day, all while working through his list of responsibilities and making progress in the sticky trek towards a better future for all of them.

Between the sheets of overdue papers and the ominous screen shining with dozens upon dozens of forgotten tabs and links begging for his attention, Megatron’s workspace was littered with half as many empty bags and discarded containers. His daily routine consisted of snacking between projects and breaking for meals, and despite the many, many opportunities to destress with a few bites of something sweet, his stress levels were still off the charts.

Moving towards peace after a millenia or more of war was never going to be easy, but boy, was he stressed. The snacks helped, though, and the sweets. According to Optimus, they may have helped a little too much, but with so few options available to him, Megatron took what he could get.

His chair squeaked in further protest as he scooted forward and tossed the last bag of chips onto the mound of trash littering his desk. The day was nearly over, and with it, his snack supply. He typed a few more formal emails to various recipients and tore open a little stash from tomorrow’s snack box before finally shutting down the computer and leaning back into his squeaky, creaky chair. As always, his food came with him, and Megatron spent the last few minutes of the hour munching away in silence.

The job wasn’t hard, but the transition certainly was, and so far, Megatron still hadn’t found a good middle ground between his past and his present as he strove towards a better future. The food helped, though. It cleared his mind, it filled his belly, and it kept his busy thoughts at bay long enough for him to step in, do his job, then head on out. He knew Optimus didn’t like it, and he knew it was a temporary solution, but for the time being, it helped.

Things would go back to the way they were before soon enough, Megatron would tell him. Once things had finally settled, and he was finally free of the stress of transition, he could go back to the days where he wasn’t constantly snacking or breaking furniture under his newfound weight.

Maybe tomorrow, he could start working for the better. Maybe in a few days, if tomorrow was too soon. Perhaps in a week, if he were being realistic. Two weeks, give or take, maybe three.

He’d get there soon enough. This was nothing, really. A little fat on his frame was nothing compared to finding a comfortable new place in a post-war world. Besides, he was already getting better. Fatter, but better.

The weight would come off easy. The stress would go with it, too. They just had to be patient. They just had to wait it out for a little while longer.

He knew Optimus was worried. He could understand why, too. It was new for both of them, all of this. The talk of turning over a new leaf and turning towards something better, something greater, was scary in of itself, but Megatron was already doing better.

Megatron pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched his arms high up over his helm, satisfied with another day on the books. After throwing another empty snack bag onto his desk, he braced himself against both armrests and began wriggling his way free. Hours spent stuck in the same chair would have anyone feeling a bit snug, but with a little bit of wiggling and a good bit of grunt work, he had finally pried himself out of the small seat. He even had a chair left in good condition for his efforts, unlike the first few he had been forced to use. It was a noisy one, but hey, it hadn’t fallen to pieces beneath his weight. That was a plus—and these days, Megatron was taking what he could get.

His clock-out routine was the same every day: he’d squeeze his way out of the chair, gather up all the trash from his workday to toss out in the bin beneath his desk, then waddle his way across the room and begin daydreaming about all of the downtime he had left to look forward to that evening.

Peace really was better than war, the more he thought about it. Clerical work wasn’t the most exciting thing to do every day, but it was consistent, entertaining, and kept his mind busy. Now that he had spent most of his day working, he could go home feeling productive and tired and ready for another night in.

Dot was cooking up something delicious for tonight, and Megatron couldn’t wait to sneak a taste. He knew Optimus was going to be home by the time he arrived, too, already ready to drag him off to the couch for some mandatory loving while they updated each other on the peacemaking process and any progress either mech had managed to make. The Terrans were home too, and maybe tonight, if he were feeling up to it, he’d take them into the barn and cook up an old Cybertronian sweet from his golden days, and—

Megatron paused, his frame hovering in the doorway. The walls groaned around him, and his frame felt unusually squished between the doorframe, but at first, nothing seemed amiss. Nothing seemed wrong… not until he tried to move again, that is. Then again… and again.

He braced himself against the doorframe and pushed, but nothing happened. He tried to squeeze himself through, then twist his frame around until he was walking out sideways, but to no avail. The space between his upper half and the doorway was slight, but it left just enough room for him to twist around from the shoulders up, look back…

…and find that he was stuck fast. It was a tight squeeze, and judging by the way the fat around his thighs bunched up against his aft and squished him so tightly between the doorframe he couldn’t even move, he was in some serious trouble.

First it was the chair, and now it was the doorway. Megatron’s mind raced as he looked back and forth down the empty hall, desperate for someone to appear in his line of sight and catch onto his plight. He needed help, and badly.

He tried to shimmy back, hoping that pushing himself back the way he came might help, but the walls only groaned in protest, and his frame hardly moved an inch. He couldn’t suck his belly in—not when it was his aft trapping him and his hips squeezing him and his thighs stuck together so tightly.

“Scrap,” he frantically muttered under his breath, his servos scrabbling for purchase against the wall.

There was no other option. He couldn’t get out on his own… not unless he took down the whole doorframe with him. As soon as he’d managed to calm his intakes and slow his spark down, he wriggled around until a servo was free and reached for his comm link.

On the other side, there was only static for a time. Then—

“…Megatron?”

“Optimus,” Megatron said as he struggled to keep his voice calm. “I… I’m afraid I need your help. I’ve gotten myself into a situation, and I—“

“What is it?” Optimus cut in. Megatron could hear him rushing to stand up on the other side, his attention now completely on Megatron. “Are you hurt? Has something gone wrong?”

“No,” Megatron said. “Well… yes, but—I’m fine. I just need to… I need your help to…”

Megatron’s words trailed off. On the other end, he heard a small, breathless laugh.

“You’ve gotten yourself stuck again, haven’t you?” Optimus asked. Before Megatron could respond, he said, “wait there. I’ll be there to help in a few moments.”

Megatron was quiet as the call ended. What an embarrassing predicament to find himself in, and made even worse by having Optimus coming to save him once more. It was a sign that something needed to change more than anything, and he knew that for sure now.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, he would begin to adjust his way of dealing with things, or at least start to clean up his snacking habits. And if not tomorrow, the day after, which gave him plenty of time to adjust. Or maybe… maybe next week, right at the start. He needed time to cool down, and he needed time to arrange his routine.

Megatron stared down at his belly and sighed. It was only a few pounds… a few pounds, really. Nothing more.

Soon, he would start working his way towards shedding the excess and finding his way back to the old frame. Soon… but not today, not tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe the week after that.

[quilloleander]

Even Morale Officers Need a Pick-Me Up (SG)

Prompt: A story with SG Soundwave and baby megs

This is part of the High Guard + Sparkling Megatron One-Shot Book I promised to make.

"I'm back to writing" and then I proceeded to remain sick and have a terrible cough. My immune system hates me, but it's fine because I hate it more out of spite. Anyway, hopefully I can actually continue writing now lmao.

So, the prompt was just SG Soundwave and sparkling Megatron. As such, I didn't have a lot to work with so just have this very fluffy interaction between the two. I do admit I have a hard time actually writing in SG Soundwave's POV and dialogue because he's one of the few SG characters that I can't actually pin down skskks. He's supposed to a loud dudebro but... I am not a dudebro SKSKKS. I don't even have any friends that are dudebros, the closest I have is a guy who goes to the gym and he just likes to be fit lmao. But yeah, I tried my best with SG Soundwave and I will still try to practice writing this guy until I'm satisfied with an actual characterization of him I like.

Also AAAAAAAAAA sparkling SG Megatron... my baby ;-; (I have a clear favorite and I am not sorry HAHAHA).

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65467561/chapters/168501307

================================================

Checking his chronometer, Soundwave felt very happy that he had done his duty as morale officer for the solar cycle. Not that his job was ever done as there were many bots to still talk to and still so much to say, even during the lunar cycle.

Lowering the volume ever so slightly, knowing how some bots could get over how loud his music was, Soundwave spun around in his chair as he moved away from the broadcasting equipment that controlled the communications system of the entire High Guard base. 

All in all, the solar cycle had been pretty great.

Leaning back slightly, Soundwave glanced down at his servos, recalibrating the digits and wincing as it took a bit of time for each digit to move. Spending most of his time behind a desk did not come without a few consequences. Even before he had joined the High Guard all those cycles ago, he always had trouble with his servos and their tendency to lock up.

Being on the surface without a proper medic to help maintain his frame only worsened the condition, and now sometimes even his wristplates had trouble moving efficiently.

He hadn’t even told his Cassettes yet…

Just as he was about to stand up and head out, he heard the door panels to the room slide open. He leaned further against the chair, teetering it just enough that if he moved any further it would fully fall over with him right on it.

At first, he couldn’t see who had entered the room, then as he turned his gaze down, he found a familiar white frame come into view.

“Awwww, hey buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be having your energon, right now?” Soundwave quickly sat upright, reaching down for the small sparkling who happily reached up.

Little blue wing panels fluttered as Megatron settled on Soundwave’s lap. Now that he was closer, Soundwave noticed that the sparkling had brought an energon cube with him. Patting his helm encouragingly, he waited for Megatron to refuel. Shockwave was usually in charge of giving Megatron his energon, yet Soundwave didn’t mind if the sparkling wanted to stay with him for some reason. 

Like, he was a little envious that Starscream and Shockwave usually got to have the sparkling. Not that Soundwave minded, he knew it would be boring for Megatron if he was cooped up inside like Soundwave was.

And like, Megatron probably wouldn’t be so fond of the music Soundwave played. Most of the High Guard already complained about the music, but hey, if they wanted good music they should have brought some over before they had fled Iacon.

With one servo carefully around the sparkling in case he suddenly moved, Soundwave slowly scooted over to the broadcast system and lowered the volume even more. Sparkling audials were so sensitive. Even if Megatron was not a fussy sparkling, being so quiet all the time that it was concerning, Soundwave wanted him to be comfortable in the broadcasting room. 

Nobody ever goes inside to visit unless they needed to talk to him, or if it was his cassettes coming back to tell him what they saw in their reconnaissance missions, or if it was Starscream about to give him an order. Soundwave would like Megatron to know that he was always welcome in the broadcasting room.

He glanced down again at the sparkling on his lap, shaking his helm as he realized that throughout his internal ramblings, Megatron hadn’t taken a single bite out of the energon… which… Shockwave did teach him how to eat on his own, right?

“That.” Soundwave pointed at the energon, drawing Megatron’s attention as blue optics stared up at him curiously. He directed his digit to his face, wincing slightly as he realized that he still had his battlemask on. “Goes into the intake.”

He repeated the action, hoping that Megatron could understand him. After doing it for the third time, Megatron shook his helm, a small pout appearing on his dermas as he held up the energon. Small servos were wrapped around it carefully, as if he was afraid he would drop it.

Guess Shockwave didn’t teach Megatron to refuel yet.

Soundwave didn’t mind. He pried the energon away from Megatron’s grip, holding it in the palm of his servo so that the sparkling could see it. Instead of throwing a fit (because Soundwave could still fondly recall how his Cassettes used to be upset each time they thought he was taking their energon away from them, oh they were so cute back then, though they were still just as adorable!), Megatron looked very happy that Soundwave had taken the energon.

“Okay, little buddy, let’s take your energon, then you can play and have a good recharge later, how’s that sound?”

He moved the energon closer, hoping that would be enough to make Megatron take a bite. Yet instead of what Soundwave wanted, Megatron’s optics narrowed and a small frown took over the smile that was on his dermas. Soundwave tilted his helm, trying to think of how Shockwave or Starscream did this.

“Uh… oh! Here comes the train, choo choo!” He tried to mimic the noises of the cargo trains, as he’s seen Shockwave do this. Still, even as he tried to press the energon, Megatron did not budge and got even more upset as he glared up at Soundwave.

“Okay, little buddy, you need to like totally work with me here cause I don’t know what you want.” He handed the energon back to Megatron, who quickly snatched it away from him with a small huff. “Ah! Don’t be mad at me, little guy, I’m only trying to help you.”

Megatron shook his helm, rolling his optics (a habit that Soundwave knows came from Starscream as it practically mimicked the flight commander’s same look of exasperation) before reaching the cube out towards him. He hadn’t learned to form any words yet, so Megatron just let out a long beep.

Soundwave stared at the energon, his confusion slowly disappearing as he realized what the problem was.

He checked his chronometer.

Megatron already did refuel. Soundwave knew how meticulous Shockwave was, so of course he wouldn’t have missed Megatron’s refuel time. 

So that meant—

“OH! Is this for me?” He picked the energon up again, eliciting a beep from Megatron who pointed at the cube before reaching up to poke Soundwave’s battlemask. Soundwave couldn’t help but laugh, feeling so silly. Megatron must think he was being very, very ridiculous. “Awww, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

Reluctantly, Soundwave unlatched the battlemask. He quickly slapped the servo that held the energon to his lower face, swallowing the energon immediately before the battlemask hissed close.

Even his own cassettes haven’t seen him without it, and… Soundwave didn’t think he could show his actual face to anyone yet.

He glanced down at Megatron, who had looked away as Soundwave refueled. 

Soundwave couldn’t help it, he brought the sparkling into a hug. “So respectful! You’re never that nice to Starscream!”

Megatron giggled, servos hugging Soundwave back.

Maybe one day Soundwave could gain the courage to show his face.

But for now, he was happy as he was.

[therocketeer0501]

IDW Starscream X Reader

Rendezvous Part 6

Warnings: none

Slowly your brain came back to life as you rested clutched in the servos of that creature. It said it was from the government. But that didn’t make any sense either. ***you*** work for the government. Granted you work for a research branch that deals with strange anomalous geological formations, but surely you would have heard office gossip about literal sentient mechs being developed. The guys you work with couldn’t keep their mouths shut once they got a few drinks in them. Lucky for them, the government kept them far away from anything sensitive. Still, this didn’t add up in your head. There was no way you were going to argue with a giant robot though so you just smile weakly at him. Hoping he’ll put you down soon as his grip was digging uncomfortably into your ribcage. He just looked at you with that odd expression you can’t really place.

Thanking him for rescuing you? Of course you are. What else would a helpless creature like you do? He grins back at you. Baring his denta in what he hopes is a genuine looking smile. slowly lowering you back to the frozen ground where he snatched you from. He’d let you go of course. Only because he knew no one would believe you, and killing you would be more suspicious than not. “Don’t tell anyone about this or there will could be horrible repercussions.” He said, voice rumbling through you as he let you drop the last ten feet to the ground. Standing back to his full height, he lifts his wings and makes himself look bigger for emphasis.

You drop painfully to the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of you for a brief moment, making you wheeze as you try to stand. He’s standing there now. Towering over you as you slowly back up towards your car. Making a mad dash you start the engine and nearly peel out on the ice as you throw it in drive. Down the icy dirt road and onto the pavement, you take a deep breath and try to convince yourself that what you just saw was real. You shake your head. Your brain telling you that there was no way you should have gotten out of there alive. The tremors in your hands refusing to cease as you break the speed limit by at least thirty. Giant robots? Now this was something your coworkers were going to want to hear about.

He watches you go. Tracking your vehicle as it speeds away. He had found out where you lived. Just in case he had to get rid of you. No other reason. Definitely not out of concern for your safety. He vented heavily and sat down in the clearing. Finally some alone time. What he had come for in the first place. His place to think wasn’t sacred anymore but at least it was just some random organic. He couldn’t stop thinking about your little face, your curiously Cybertronian expressions and how you didn’t scream. Just sat there in his servo and stared. He scoffed. No sense of self preservation at all. Turning his attention to his most recent scheme to usurp Megatron, he puts you out of his mind for now. If all goes according to plan he won’t have to deal with you ever again.

***the next morning***

You hadn’t slept a wink. Tired eyelids sticking together as you drag yourself into work. You wave at the few people you pass, looking rough and a bit out of it. Your mind was filled with questions as you sit at your desk across from your research partner. He peers at you from his place sitting with his feet propped up on his desk. Th pile of paperwork un-filed in front of him and slightly stained by his third cup of coffee this morning resting on top of it. “Something happened. Spill.” You nearly startle at his voice. Your mind still racing as you plop down in your desk chair. “You don’t know if Weapons is developing anything….ai related do you?” He pauses and looks up, seemingly wracking his brain. “You know those guys. They don’t like to talk about anything. It’s all “classified” or something.” He rolls his eyes and scoots his chair back from his desk. Placing his face in his hands and elbows on either side of his chair, giving you his full attention. “Why? Did you hear something?”

[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.”

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Rumble pt 2

eghhhhhhh I hope you like it, but I had to rewrite it a couple times. Writers block hitting me hard.

Part one

Rumble, as you eventually learned his name, had become your defacto caretaker. You couldn't deny that your captivity was a bit more... comfortable? He was an odd one, constantly touching, poking and picking you up. Teasing you on how small you were. Pipsqueak became his go-to nickname. When the room they kept you in was empty save for the two of you, Rumble would do odd things. The theme of the week was music. Not something too surprising as his master of sorts seemed musically inclined himself. But this...

Rumble was not a musician. He liked it okay, at least what Soundwave would play. Human music was okay. The minibot had taken great measure to obtain a human music device without breaking it, and now stood, holding it over his head. Playing all the songs that made the ladies swoon in the movies. You weren't swooning. This had been a sure thing! He's playing the music, swoon already! three days of this! None of the other stuff he tried was working!

"Come on Pipsqueak, you gonna invite me in or what?"

You stared down from the table they kept you on, watching this.. show? He just entered the room and held up the boombox and played music. Staring at you. Invite him.... oh... Oh my god. He... He wanted you to... It was all starting to make sense now. the weird gestures, cheesy lines. The Alien robot, your abductor, is trying to put the moves on you. Eighties style.

Rumble stares at you with a huff before just climbing into the glass enclosure himself. Getting comfortable on one side. It was cramped with him in here, crowding you into the corner. But you were just sitting there starring at him. Mouth hanging open. What did the characters always do.... Play it cool. Yeah, he just had to play it cool.

You watch as Rumble leans back, looking around. He looks as lost as you feel confused. He starts talking about something but it's not being heard. You are in shock... but... maybe you could use this to your advantage. If he wants to seduce you, then it would be easy to turn the tables and escape.

You were looking at him funny. A different kind of funny. Scooting closer to him. Oh slag, did it work? You were smiling and crawling over, practically right into his lap. Sure, he had you sit there before, but you were coming to him now. Rumble grins, cupping your face. "Well look at you pipsqueak."

Oh this would be too easy. You crawl up, lean against his chest, smiling at the minicon. He just grinned, putting a servo on your waist and says something about it being about damn time. Now he didn't have to bribe Laserbeak to find more movies. He was about to say something else when you started leaning closer to him. Rumble feels you press your mouth to his like they do in the movies.

His lips were harder than anyone you had kissed before. Not unpleasant, you suppose. Very different. He is still as stone after the first kiss, visor starring you down. Metal curls in your hair and pushes you back against his mouth, suffocating you with the taste of metal. You tell yourself it's a few kisses, then you can escape. Distract him and run. That was the plan. But it's rather hard to run when your pinned beneath the still-bigger-than-you minicon.

Like a ragdoll, Rumble pushes you down and moves over you, hovering. Primus you're so small. His servo spans over your whole chest and his feels big. Plucking at your flimsy coverings, he notices you're breathing funny. Mumbling at him to be careful. He knows that! Can't leave any trace after all. If the others found out about this... Rumble is pretty happy when you start helping him undress you. The buttons far too small.

You decide that if this ever gets out, you'll kill the minibot yourself. Letting your legs spread open at his batting and feeling him immediately slot himself between your thighs. He doesn't quite fit, needing to push your legs towards your chest to press against you. Slag eating grin as he touches you. Saying you have a pretty valve. No chance to question it as a metallic thumbs get well acquainted with your body.

Rumble spreads your valve open, amazed how similar it is to a cybertronian's. No idea where you hide the spike, but he is more focused on this. Leaking, warm. You sigh when he touches the node at the top. Good to know you have that too. Rumble mumbles something in his native tongue as his spike pressurizes, tip rubbing against you.

"Wait, wait~" You try to paused him but he thrusts and you wince. It wasn't too painful, but just enough to be a little uncomfortable. Rumble moans, curling over you. Helm to your forehead. The sound of his vets going fills your ears. "FUCKING-fuuuck." You cling onto him, cursing him out a bit more. It's smooth, but hot. He cages you in.

Oh Primus, do you feel good. Soft is not enough to describe this, silky doesn't even explain how amazing this feels. Rumble ruts into you a few times, getting just a little deeper. Can't even snark at your cussing him out, but the way you hold onto him, arms around his neck, feels slagging amazing. It takes a smack to the side of his helm to keep him from just chasing an overload.

His visor flickers before he focuses on you again, pulling you close against his frame. It feels almost tender. Easy, you ask him. Slow, you tell the minibot. He listens, metal hands adjusting their grip on you, his pace becoming measured. There would be bruises on your hips, you know it. But as he listens, a few more taps with your fist, it gets good. He's faster than you would like, for his size, but moving your own hips makes it match your preferred pace.

"Frag, you feel good, pipsqueak."

Rumble wants to frag you till he overloads but he knows if he wants to do this again, he's got to be mindful. Soundwave is always going on about mindfulness. He can't help it if you feel like a bit of heaven on his spike. Looking cute with the way your mouth hangs opens as he moves. "Yeah? My spike making you feel good?"

A nod and your let your head fall back, eyes closed. His plating is rubbing against you just right, and god help him if he moves. "Close... I'm close..." You mewl, too distracted to make sure he knew what you meant. He shifts and before you can cuss him out for ruining it, he hits something just right.

You arch against him, and make a face that has Rumble thinking he hurt you. No time to panic as he felt you clench down on him and pull him right into an overload with you. Perfect was almost the way to describe it, but almost over stimulating. He had to pull out, getting a thick pink fluid all over your stomach.

You would demand he get you some new clothes later, for now to busy grinding your hips, trying to draw it out. He pulls away, you give it no mind... Till you realize he was shutting the glass cage. Seems after care was non existent, and your escape gone with it. "You you little-"

[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~"

[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.

[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.

[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.

[revelboo]

Hello! How are you? I had an early ask that I think got eaten by tumblr but to put it simply anything for TFA sentinel? I must be like one in a handful of people who like him lol.

Have a good morning/afternoon/night! :D

He has a storyline started, but here’s a spicy snippet. 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Needy

TFA Sentinel x Reader

• Jaw clenched as his hips lift, spike straining, he groans. Mortified at how desperate he is for this, aching for you to touch him. Wanting to beg for it even as he’s repulsed and aroused by the feel of those soft, organic hands on him. It’s disgusting. Blasphemous. And his engine whines, spike twitching when you slide a thumb along the underside and he nearly overloads right then. “Is this mine?” You ask, eyes dark with heat and mischief as your thumb slides over the head through the bead of slick there to smear it. “Do you want to be ridden, hero?”

• Face flushed as the big mech swears, hips tilting slightly, you hear him growl, the sound tapering off into a moan when you straddle his thighs and rock yourself against his length. And his fans kick on as he vents raggedly and stares up at you. Expression somewhere between worshipful and horrified as you grind against him, like you’re some terrible deity that shouldn’t be named. “You’re going to make me beg,” he snarls, voice thick with need and you don’t understand this game, but here? You have all the power. And he wants to be dominated.

• “That’s right,” you whisper, lips parting as your slick heat slides against him over and over. “You haven’t earned the right to overload yet.” And those eyes are hungry, awful as you watch him. Using him. You’re monstrous as you lift up and he groans at the loss of that delicious friction when you crawl up his body and straddle his face, teasing him with your scent and taste. Shouldn’t want this, need it. “Be good and I’ll let you come inside me,” you whisper.

• And his hands are on your thighs, dragging you where he needs you as his mouth moves against you, sucking and licking. Rocking yourself urgently against his face, you don’t look away from his optics as his glossa drives inside you, stroking hungrily. Trying to not be self conscious about making demands, conquering him because this is apparently what he needs to overload. Listening to his growls and whines as he devours you until you’re heating, body coiling. You’d collapse against him when you come apart if not for those big hands holding you up as you tremble and feel his glossa sliding against you. And his chin and lips are slick when you scoot back down his chassis.

• This is wrong. Beneath him even as he’s begging, watching you reach between your thighs to grip his aching spike and sink down on him. Hips lifting to almost accidentally buck you off when your silken heat fists him, taking him deep. It’s disgusting. The way his servos can dig carefully into you, encouraging you to ride him. Can’t look away from the sight of his spike sliding almost free, shiny with you before pushing back inside and you’re so tight. Feel like you were made just to take him. “Just like that. Slowly,” he groans, shuddering when you roll your hips. It’s sinful. “Wait, wait, wait,” he chants, hips lifting when you ignore him and move faster on him, his spike driving into you with obscene, wet sounds as his venting grows ragged. And his servos tighten on you as you bounce, feels it building inside him and when you gasp and grind on him, he overloads hard, giving you everything until he’s trembling. ‘So impatient,’ you moan and you’re still moving on him to make him groan, your hips rolling. Tormenting him.

[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.