#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.

[revelboo]

Omigosh I miss the scavengers 🥺🥺 got me on the edge of my seat with all your fics!! It's such a shame they don't get much luv 😭

They’re goodish boys 18+

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 21

Scavengers x Reader

• Helm pressing against the back of your shoulder, Spinister groans and you swallow a laugh. “It’s not that bad. Come on,” you say, awkwardly reaching back to touch his helm. “We can’t just hide in here all day.” Venting against you, he finally gets up, sliding his legs off the edge of the Medbay berth and just pushing off as your heart leaps into your throat. Can’t breathe even as he mass shifts and safely lands on his peds, flaring his rotors slightly while your heart races. And he’s turning toward you, completely oblivious to the fact that he just scared you. Reaching out his cupped hands, he rumbles at you when you scoot into his palm. “Clothes, Spin,” you say when he starts for the door and he does a little shuffle in a circle with you cupped in his hands before you point at where he’d tossed them.

• Bending to pick up your tiny coverings and handing them over, he opens the Medbay door and you squeak, swearing and clutching your coverings to yourself. Oh. Aware that the other Scavengers are right there staring at him and you, he turns so his back is to them while you hurriedly dress in his palms. And you swear again when Misfire drapes an arm against his shoulder on one side, leaning to look at you and Crackcase comes up on his other side as you tug your bottom covering up your thighs, face reddening. “What?” He asks as you turn your scowl his way. “What?”

• “Spin treat you right, Tiny?” Crankcase asks, grinning down at you fighting to get your top covering on. Hadn’t realized you could change color like that as you squint sullenly up at him. Trying not to think about what Misfire had done, because even if he’s a much more eligible partner than Spinister, he’s aware of the way you glance uncomfortably at his damaged helm from time to time. That it bothers you and he doesn’t want to be a pity frag. Suspects that’s what Spinister is. Why else pick him?

• “You’re not shy all of a sudden are you?” Misfire purrs, reaching to run a servo down your spine. Messing with you and seeing how territorial Spin is after claiming you. Rotors swinging slightly, Spinister just watches him. Making him think his little speech worked. That Spin won’t interfere if he or any of the rest of them flirt and try to lure you to their berths. And he wants to have you to himself. Curious about you.

• “Leave them alone.” Already tired of Misfire acting out and doing precisely whatever he wants without caring about the consequences. Because Krok’s sure that’s what the Seeker’s interest in you is- another impulsive decision. Doubts Misfire actually cares about you romantically, only the challenge you present and he hates it. It’s all harmless fun until you realize Misfire is just messing around and he hurts you. And that’s not happening on his watch even if he has to guard you from the rest of the crew and be the bad guy.

• Embarrassed on your behalf, Fulcrum watches you smack at Misfire’s servos when he ignores Krok and keeps petting down your spine. And you’re so small, fragile and unsettlingly alien. Wouldn’t have believed your two species were compatible if he hadn’t seen more than he’d wanted of Spin rutting against you. Unable to forget the wet sound of it, those unsettling noises you’d made. Can’t stop remembering the way you’d looked, head tossed back and lips parted, eyes locked with his optics as you took Spinister’s spike. It’s unsettling. Scandalous. And he keeps picturing it against his will.

Previous

Next

[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.

[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]

I'm asking for more Jazz or Ironhide crumbs... I will consume any content you throw at me at this point.

I'm a huge Jazz and Ironhide fan, ngl....

Hides the rest of my favorites in the closet

I just live those two

How about scenarios with both? 18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

I may be a bit scarce today- one of my friends has lovingly hounded the unholy crap out of me to suck it up and actually publish a manuscript instead of just saving them to my computer and starting the next book- she even mocked up a cover for me, but I think she’s mostly invested in me continuing the series since she has a thing for the twins in the next book…

All I ever really do with finished manuscripts is enter them into Romance Writers of America national chapter contests to try and win certificates to hang on my wall 😅 So I’ll be editing a sci-fi romance manuscript today at work between, well, actual work.

Jazz and Ironhide Scenarios

Jazz x Reader

• Groaning, you hang onto the pillow when Jazz tries to tug it away, the mattress dipping slightly as he cages you. Sprawled on your belly, you hear him chuckle before his mouth brushes the back of your shoulder. “Come on, kitten. Share a meal with me,” he whispers, venting to stir your hair. Feel his chassis bump your back as he shifts against you and a big hand braces near your head. And there’s not much point in pretending to be asleep. Not when he bites your earlobe just hard enough to sting.

• Primus, you’re so sweet. Head turning to shoot him a sleepy, disgruntled look. Laughing he presses another soft bite against the back of your shoulder and you reach back to swat at him, whining his name and it goes straight to his spike. Head lifting, he grins at the faint mark his denta left on your skin. And the urge to leave more lifts through him. Mark you as his. Leave those little mementos all over you. Feels you suck in a deep breath, but you don’t bother to get up. So he scoots back and bites the curve of your hip, laughing when you nearly roll off the mattress, kicking out a leg, little foot landing on his shoulder. “Don’t,” you growl.

• Shifting against you, he catches your leg and keeps it up. Hears your breath hitch when he leans over you, carefully pinning you. Distracted from refueling by the sight of you naked, sprawled inelegantly under him. “Don’t what?” He teases, servos flexing against your calf as he reaches with his other hand to touch you. And those eyes he loves flare with heat and need, lips parting. Freeing his spike, he grips himself and slides the head against you. Teasing himself as much as you. “Don’t do this?” He asks, voice roughening.

• Body heating at the laughter and need in his voice, he’s grinning crookedly down at you, hips rocking slightly so the head of his spike presses against you before he’s sliding against you again. Visor brightening when you lift your hips as much as you can with one of your legs up. “I thought you were hungry?” You manage, arching on a breathless sound at the next lazy slide. Head tipping as his attention slides from your face down, watching as he rocks himself again, slowly stretching you as his lips part.

Ironhide x Reader

• Letting himself into his habsuite, he swears softly seeing you and hurriedly shuts the door cutting off Red Alert mid sentence before the other bot can see you sprawled on his berth amid your blankets. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get off rotation, darlin’?” He growls, trying to keep the irritation from his tone. Little brat, laying there legs spread on full display from the door. What if someone else had gone into his habsuite? Seen you like that, little fingers playing with yourself? He’d have to offline someone. Of course, as much as you love drama, you’d probably find it entertaining.

• Head lifting to stare at him, you keep pumping your fingers inside yourself. “Took too long,” you manage, flashing him a grin to make him rumble as he secures the door and strides closer. “I have needs, you know. And I was bored.” It’s not like there’s much else to do and baiting the bot? Trying to rile him up? Too much fun when you know what the repercussions are. And he’s grabbing the edge of the berth, expression thunderous as you make a show of it, arching your back on a moan. Taunting him. Not even surprised when he vaults up with you, mass shifting.

• “Bored,” he retorts, optics lazily sliding from your fingers moving urgently up your body to your face and the challenge in those eyes. “You missing me, darlin’?” That sinful mouth of yours twitching into a cocky smile as he kneels between your spread thighs and catches your wrist. Venting when you tug against his grip with a little huff. “Always in a hurry,” he mutters, using his hold on you to move your hand against yourself. Slow and deep.

• Squirming as he watches you, controlling how fast you can go, you’re aware of those optics sliding over you. Seeing everything. Seeing too much. No matter how many times he’s seen your old scars, you hate when he looks at them. When he calls them proof of your strength instead of just ugly reminders of all the bad decisions you’ve made. Eyes closing, you shiver and lose yourself to the feel of him touching you, taking control. Not understanding why he wants you even now knowing how broken you are.

[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.

[vivaciousvalves]

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

I also forgot a long fic I wrote for them~

“Optimus, get up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah! O- Optimus!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elita giggled embarrassingly, but Optimus continued. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So pretty,” he smiled cheekily. 

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

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

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

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

He chuckled huskily. “Indeed I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I start moving now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 7: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it was still beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To pass through the eye, one must first pass through the butt?” C-53 read aloud, incredulous. “Do they mean literally?”

Pleck was fighting to get the words out through his giggling. “Who wrote this? This was a Zima?”

“This is a sacred text .” C-53 insisted. “A sacred religious text. This is your religion, Pleck.”

The tellurian shook his head, still laughing, as he set the paper aside. “Good Rodd.”

“Oh, here’s a good one,” C-53 raised a careful claw to slide one of the documents in Pleck’s direction.

Seeing the grin spread across his friend’s face was like watching a sunflower bloom. “Oh my Rodd,” he exclaimed, “is this a love poem?”

“Heaven hath no elegance like you, my radiant swan,” C-53 recited the first line, his vocal modulator lilting with his own laughter. “I have no idea why this was preserved as an ancient text.”

“We’ll put that one in the ‘dumb’ pile,” Pleck said, cheeks still rosy with mirth. He was smiling wide enough to show off his dimples, and it was a pleasant sight to C-53’s scanners.

They continued to shuffle through papers in companionable silence. Pleck managed to assemble a fairly linear timeline of his own prophecy, and was attempting to piece it together with anything that seemed relevant. He had a better eye for patterns in the texts than C-53 did, something that the droid was surprised by. Perhaps deciphering the ancient words of the Zimas was something that was only inherent to other Zimas.

“C-53, look,” Pleck exclaimed suddenly. “I thought I had lost this one. It’s the scroll you’re mentioned in.” He excitedly uncurled the parchment and held it flat against the table.

C-53’s head tilted with interest. “ I’m in the Zima scrolls?”

“I mean, you’re not mentioned by name,” Pleck admitted. He scooted the scroll toward the droid so he could get a better scan on it. “But I’m pretty sure it’s talking about you. Based on, y’know, context.”

And the humidifier will rise from its slumber Newly untethered, a free soul in a rectangle And the Great One will feel a lump in his throat To wonder if this appliance would entrust his soul to him

“Wow, this is… very specific,” C-53 commented. His coding was already drawing connections for him about the implications this had on his and Peck’s relationship. He was inclined to dismiss it as mindlessness, like so many of the other texts, but a small, irrational part of him clung to the words. Was the tellurian meeting him destined? Better question: did C-53 want it to be?

“Yeah, I thought it was weird that they included that,” Pleck said, pulling the scroll back.

“You were worried I didn’t trust you?”

“Well, I mean-” Pleck’s ears reddened. “Up until that point you’d had your restraining bolt on, so I couldn’t be sure.”

C-53 nodded pensively. “True, I didn’t have a lot of allowance for personal expression back then.”

Pleck gave a small exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, it was like you became a totally different droid after that.”

“It was a punishing part of my life, to be sure.”

Pleck’s eye brightened. “Remember that time Nermut made you pick up that marble over and over again for like, an hour?” he asked, turning his sunny grin on C-53.

“Oh, Rodd, yeah,” the droid sighed, amused at the memory. “And you and Dar asked me to do it all sexy so I’d actually have some fun with it?”

“That was great, I really enjoyed that.”

“Oh, you did?” C-53 prompted, servos humming. “You enjoyed that?”

“No, I mean like-” Pleck went a darker shade of pink. “Not like, sexually, it was - I was just-” he stopped, gathered his thoughts, and restarted. “It was nice to see you having fun, is all,” he said. His smile softened as he reminisced.

C-53’s voice lost its teasing edge. “It was nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad we were able to become friends despite our initial differences.”

“Yeah…” Pleck trailed off, staring up at the droid earnestly. “Yeah, me too.”

Rodd, C-53 felt he was going to combust in that pure sunshine smile. He would fight wars and burn down cities to keep it safe.

Chapter 6 <-----> Chapter 8