#mild stockholm syndrome? idk i don't usually like to use this tag

[transformers-spike]

@yandereskies come get your juice, guess who couldn't take a break without writing a sequel to the G1 Soundwave x reader fic Tw:dubcon

You've grown used to it Someway, somehow, it doesn't feel as bad. A few months ago, you would have rather died than allowed it to happen. But now, you're too tired to do anything about it. Kick yourself all you want, you can't force flight or fight. You've run out of adrenaline.

The human mind isn't designed to withstand constant stress; you notice the threat, you run, you fight, you freeze or you allow yourself to be molded by it. The alarms blaring in your head have shut off, leaving you numb and exhausted with nothing to rely on.

You've been waiting for so long for the Autobots to reach you, but it's like you never existed. Are you this forgettable ? A no-one with the misfortune of meeting Gods? You are no Paris, no Perseus and certainly no Achilles; not even a meager soldier. You're a background character in your own life, meant to be overlooked and eventually forgotten.

“So why…” you want to ask, “why did you notice me?

He handled you gently despite your aggression, even as your insults turned vicious, he ignored your desperate attempts to hurt him.

The dread caused by the mere echo of his synthesized voice has disappeared altogether, lending a new strange sort of comfort that beyond all logic should not exist.

Yes, you are trapped. But is it so wrong to trade your freedom for recognition? He listens to you no matter how boring and one sided your conversations get. He offers you a generous (although limited) access to your favorite media; obscure shows he shouldn't know about, movies on your private watch list, and plenty of books, most from your old apartment. You still recognize their faded pages and worn out books.

You don't have to attend your 9 to 5 white-collar job anymore. Your office cubicle is empty if not outright replaced, your place in the company has never mattered and so does your fate. Why can't you let yourself be happy?

Your basic needs are met, you have more time than ever to focus on what you love, and you have access to much needed social interaction.

At first it was Laserbeak assuming sentry duty, standing guard in Soundwave’s quarters, watching you like a hawk. You must admit , you've made a wild dash for the exit countless times, only to have Laserbeak dive between you and the door, wings spread out and snapping his beak.

But you've mellowed out over time. Laserbeak switched to Ravage. Ravage switched to Buzzsaw. Buzzsaw switched to Rumble and Frenzy. Soon enough , you started watching your series with them; Laserbeak perched upon the edge of the couch, Ravage curled up at your feet, Buzzsaw lying next to you or Rumble and Frenzy casually hanging out on your ouch like roommates.

It shouldn’t be that hard to accept. You're fine. You're part of their fucked up little family – if you can even call it that. Soundwave carries you around like a beloved pet, the other Decepticons treating it so casually you wonder if you're the only human they own. If Megatron is bothered by his Communications Officer’s behavior, he shows no sign of it.

This is fine. Being around Soundwave makes you feel secure in yourself, because he cares about you. And if this is the only love being offered to you, you’ll gladly take it. Past you would have abhorred your actions, but that version of you is long dead and buried.

You let him have sex with you. It started off small; lingering touches, digits ghosting over skin you’d never let anyone else see. When he entered you, you felt complete, like he was your missing piece, and you became at peace with your own being. A single one of his digits filled you to the brim, unlike your old dildo. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt, a burning sensation as he stretched you open, having you clench around him like a virgin. He patiently worked you up until you came, delicately circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs with the tip of his massive thumb.

When you opened your eyes, he was leaning over you, spike fully pressurized. You welcomed it against your entrance, stroking it between your spread legs until your inexperienced mouth brought his overload, coating your stomach in transfluid. “I love you,” you said, unsure of your own reality.