#mtmte x reader

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Hello! I’ve always been curious about the “human in a space shuttle somehow ends up on a cybertronian ship and all the bots are trying to figure out what this random metal this is while the human is terrified” plot.

It would be interesting to see it played out with any character, but for the sake of direction, I’d like to request this with the Lost Light Crew?

It could be vore if that’s what you feel like wrong at the time, but I’d also go for some good ‘ol fearplay.

I apologize if this is too vague, have a good day/night and I love your writing!

Thank you for the request Glitch! I hope this is up to your expectations! I hope you don't mind that I picked specific members of the Lost Light crew to include in this story. Feedback is always appreciated! Have a great day/night as well! :D

Doctor’s (And Scientist’s) Orders

Pairing: IDW Ratchet, IDW Perceptor, and IDW First Aid x Human Reader

Word Count: 3115

Summary: You are a teacher who is being sent from Earth to a colony on Mars. A new life as an educator for the red planet’s children is on your horizon…until you are thrown terribly off course and end up in the bowels of the Lost Light. All seems lost for you when you find yourself injured and cut off from human society, at the mercy of the three Cybertronians who end up finding you and taking you in, whether you want them to or not.

The first thing you hear when you come to is the horrid screeching of your ship's alarms.

  You groan and sit up. Smoke and flickering emergency lights greet you when you open your eyes. Electricity sparks from the stasis tank you were asleep in. Gas spurts from the ceiling, and everything is strewn about with the chaotic air of a tornado that just tore through an entire town.

“Warning,” your ship’s AI urgently alerts. “Breach detected. Damage is collateral. Warning-warning-” It sputters and fizzles out.

  You rub the back of your head and feel something warm and sticky coat your palm. When you pull your hand back to take a closer look, you see blood.

  Shit. That’s not good.

  Standing up makes you feel like you are going to puke. Your head throbs and every breath you take sends piercing pain through your chest. Dragging yourself out of the stasis pod takes longer than it should while black spots dot your vision as you stumble to the dashboard and press your hands against it. “Run ship diagnostics,” you manage to rasp. The voice that struggles to exit your mouth is one you hardly recognize. It is thin and strewn with violent coughs. A metallic taste coats your tongue. More blood.

  The AI glitches as it attempts to answer you. “Severe damage to hull. Severe damage to engines. Severe damage to thrusters. Life support online, but rapidly depleting. Escape pod offline.”

  “Shit,” you breathe. “Try contacting Earth control.”

  “Communications systems offline. Attempting self-repairs. Current status…5%.”

  “How long until repairs are complete?”

  “Estimations indicate repairs will be completed in…5 days.”

  Not good. Not good at all. You push yourself away from the dashboard and take in all that has happened. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. When you were chosen to be sent to Earth’s Mars colony as a teacher for the young children growing up on the red planet, you thought it would be a smooth seven month trip with you peacefully slumbering away in stasis. You were supposed to be woken up by fellow human beings, not a devastating crash resulting in your ship being decimated. Something must have thrown you off course. A freak asteroid strike probably. Which begs the question…where exactly are you?

  Ignoring how much pain you are in, you hobble through the remains of the vessel and head for the airlock doors. They remain tightly shut when you make it to them, hiding the knowledge of where you are from view. “Open the doors,” you call out to the ship.

  “Warning. Remaining onboard is strongly recommended. Current exterior environment is unknown.”

  “Override. Open the doors.”

  The doors whoosh apart. You know there’s oxygen outside. If there hadn’t been, the ship would have prevented you from even entering the airlock chamber in the first place. Stepping off, you expect to see the barren landscape of Mars, or the alien environment of some other planet you might have ended up on. Part of you thinks you might still be on Earth; perhaps something went wrong with the ship before you could even break the Troposphere.

  What you see surprises you. You are in some sort of…massive cargo hold.

  Gigantic metal crates surround you, most of them exuding a pinkish glow. There are lights on the ceiling far above you, but they are dim, and serve little aid in giving you an estimate of just how large this place is. Turning in a circle, you feel awe fill you. “Yeah,” you murmur to yourself. “The ship definitely didn’t crash on Mars.”

  Speaking of your ship…you take in the damage. It's an absolute mess of warped, crippled metal doomed to remain collapsed on its side until self-repairs are complete. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for damage of this caliber to be fixed beyond the communications systems. With no way to contact Earth or Mars, you truly are stuck.

  You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Calm. You are calm. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. Yes, your ship is destroyed. Yes, you are suffering from critical wounds. Yes, you are in an unknown place with seemingly no way out. But you're alive. That’s what matters. And now you just have to survive for five more days.

  You hear thumping in the distance.

  It takes you a moment to register the pattern of heavy steps that are coming towards you. It’s something alive, you realize with dawning horror. Wherever you are, you have obviously made quite a racket, and now this planet’s local faunal residents are going to seek you out. There’s no way for you to know exactly what sorts of animals live here; any technology you might have used to your advantage is directly connected to the ship. With the ship offline, thus go the tools as well. You are completely in the dark, relying only on the little information about alien lifeforms you have to keep you safe.

  You don’t need that information to know you have to hide right now.

  You scurry back into the ship, biting back a shout of pain. God, there’s pain everywhere. How have you not passed out yet? Adrenaline does wonders for the human body, you sourly think to yourself when you have to lean against the wall to catch your breath. A hacking cough swells within your chest. When you cover your mouth with your elbow and release it, blood is splattered over your suit sleeve.

  That’s when you hear the growling.

  It’s unlike anything you have ever heard before. You’ve studied a multitude of animals. You’ve heard big cats roar, wolves howl, hyenas cackle, and birds screech. This is not a growl you can associate with any of those. It…holds similar qualities. But there’s something about it that remains blatantly off.

  It sounds strangely like the growl of a machine.

  You look outside of the airlock doors, and something huge lumbers out from behind a stack of crates. The first things your brain registers are its red and white armor platings, its bright blue eyes, and the horn-like finials extending from its forehead. It’s humanoid, yet possesses qualities that remove it from any such grouping. This thing is definitely not like you in any sort of way beyond having a face and walking on two legs.

  “It’s…a robot,” you whisper. It’s a giant fucking robot moving all on its own, and looking none too happy to be here.

  The mechanical creature snarls, lips upturning to reveal sharp canines that are probably longer than your arms. It hasn’t noticed you yet. Its focus is trained on the datapad it holds in its hands. Your mind is blown. This is obviously a member of a clearly intelligent race. Have you just discovered a new extraterrestrial species?

  The robot looks up. At first, its eyes scan the crates around you, and it doesn't seem to notice the little ship nestled between them. You remain still, prey instinct taking its course and demanding you freeze where you are. Hopefully it will just move on…

  It backtracks, and to your utter horror, it makes direct eye contact with you.

  Fucking shit, you think.

  The robot stares at you with an expression of pure shock. You stare right back with an equal amount of terror.

  It steps towards you. That’s all it takes for you to scream at the ship. “Close the airlock doors! Close them now!”

  The doors slam shut. You hear a shout from the robot, and everything shakes as it thunders forward. You stumble and fall with agony ripping through your poor body when you make contact with the floor. The cry that leaves you is riddled with pain.

  “A-Activate self-defense protocol!” you order the ship.

  “Self-defense protocols offline,” it says back.

  “Well, how long until they are online?!”

  “Estimated time equals…ten hours.”

  “That’s not enough!” you scream rawly.

  A gentle tapping echos from the other side of the doors.

  You push yourself back, heart pounding as you listen to the robot move all around you. It’s growling softly to itself, and you can hear it touching the ship, running massive mechanical fingers across the walls that act as the only barrier between you and potential doom.

  You don’t know what to do. Panic makes you frantic and you desperately try to think of how you can get yourself away from the monster outside. You have no way to defend yourself. You can’t even run. This thing wants you out, and you know it has the power to rip your ship apart in order to get to you if it wishes for it.

  Suddenly, everything rocks. Your stomach drops when the entire ship shakes and you feel it being lifted into the air. Realization of what is happening hits you: it’s picking it up. If it can’t get you, it’ll just have to take everything.

  “Nononono!” you cry out. The ship tips a little, and you slam into a wall with a grunt. “Stop!” You bang your fists against the metal. “Put it down! Put it down now!”

  The robot simply growls in reply. You don’t even know if it hears you. There’s nothing you can do to stop this. You slump back and cover your face as hot, helpless tears finally begin running down your cheeks.

  “What exactly is it?” First Aid asks as he peers down at the mangled hunk of metal sitting before them on the medibay berth.

  “It’s a ship,” Perceptor flatly replies with a silent “What else would it be?” evident in his tone.

  “This is a ship?” First Aid looks horrified. “But it's completely destroyed! How could it have gotten here?”

  “It must have crashed during our last refueling.” Perceptor lays his servos over the top of the ship, examining it closely. He huffs and straightens, looking at Ratchet. “Where did you find it?”

  “The cargo hold,” the medic replies. “I was down there searching for some extra medical supplies I know we have stored. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for what’s inside.”

  “There’s something alive in there?” First Aid gasps.

  “A human,” Ratchet replies. “It locked itself inside when it saw me.”

  “Impossible.” Perceptor shakes his helm. “Humans are an endangered species that only occupy a small sector of a primitive solar system. They don’t have the technology to make it this far out in space.”

  “Well, clearly they do. I know what I saw. These old optics aren’t that far gone.” Ratchet raps his knuckles gently against the ship. All three mechs have to lean in close so they can hear the soft squeak from inside.

  “How do we get it out?” First Aid asks. “It could be hurt!”

  “It is hurt,” Ratchet answers. “I saw it before it hid itself away. I don’t know how severe the injuries are, but I know it's in pain.”

  “Then what are we waiting for? We need to help it!” First Aid presses his forehelm against the ship and whispers softly. “Hello, little human? Please don’t be afraid! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

  A whimper is all he gains in reply.

  Perceptor crosses his arms. “I can force it out, but you won’t like how I do it.”

  “You can’t hurt it,” Ratchet sharply snaps. “That would be cruel.”

  “I’m not going to hurt it,” the scientist bites back. “I’m simply going to pump a nontoxic gas into the ship that will cause it to eventually lose consciousness. It will have no choice but to come out, and then we can go on from there.”

  “Are…are you sure?” First Aid wrings his servos nervously. “I don’t want it to be scared of us.”

  “Whether it’s scared of us or not doesn’t matter,” Ratchet says. “It’s injured, and if we don’t do something, it’ll succumb to those injuries. It’ll understand we don’t want to hurt it after we patch it up.” He nods to Perceptor. “Go ahead, smoke it out.”

  The scientist’s right servo transforms into a syringe. Ratchet watches with anxiousness churning in his tank as Perceptor presses his left index digit against the side of the ship and presses a small hole straight through with little resistance to stop him. A terrified shout from the human within causes First Aid to whimper.

  Perceptor sticks the upper part of the syringe into the hole, pumping gas into the ship and pulling it back out after a moment, wisps of vapor trailing from the tip. A few seconds later Ratchet hears a string of weak coughs from inside. There is a tense moment where all three of them stand there, and then the doors open and you stumble out with a cloud of gas nearly enveloping your tiny form. You wheeze into your servos, then notice the mechs staring at you and try sprinting right back into the ship. Perceptor cuts you off, slamming his servo down and pinning you under his digits before dragging you back even though you yelp and thrash. You squirm one last time in his grip before suddenly going limp.

  Perceptor gently shifts you to lie in the center of his palm. For a terrifying moment, Ratchet thinks you are offline when he sees how still you are with your optics closed. But then his sensors pick up on the rapid beating of your organic spark, and he relaxes. Not dead. Just simply unconscious.

  “Give it here.” He holds out a waiting servo. Perceptor hands you over; you are given a quick look-over as Ratchet scans your body. There is a nasty cut on the back of your helm, and your vents are gravely bruised with terrible red marks. “Internal bleeding,” he mutters. “As well as external wounds. The crash really messed it up.” He curls his digits lightly over you and brushes his thumb over your forehead. “Doesn’t have a fever though, which is good. Damage is minimal, nothing life threatening. I can have it fixed in a few hours.”

  “You know how to heal organics?” First Aid questions.

  “I’ve been around for a long time. War changes you. I’ve had my equal share of saving Decepticon-ravaged planets inhabited by organics as well as machines.” Ratchet walks over to another berth, being careful not to jostle you too much. “First Aid, go grab the restrainers. We’ll have to keep it still so it doesn’t accidentally hurt itself when it wakes up.”

  “You’ll have to keep it sedated too,” Perceptor says. “I can help with that. Just a little puff of the gas will keep it asleep.”

  “Thank you,” Ratchet says, then pauses. “Listen. Don’t tell anyone about this yet. I don’t want everyone flocking into the medibay and stressing it out. We could accidentally scare this thing to death if we aren’t careful.”

  “I won’t.” Perceptor nods. “Just…make sure it heals properly. I don’t doubt your expertise, but…” He looks down at you, and his optics soften. “It hurts my spark to see something so small in so much pain.”

  First Aid returns with the restrainer. It’s a small mechanism that runs on magnetic power, created by the Lost Light’s resident mad scientist, Brainstorm himself. Ratchet places it directly over your lax form. With a quiet beep, it presses lightly over your midsection, and magnetic bindings weigh down your ankles and wrists. Seeing you trapped like this makes him feel guilty. This obviously isn’t going to be something you will like when you wake up. But there’s no other way for this to go. You won’t understand his good intentions until he heals you. Until then, he has to keep you still.

  He grabs a small serum of glowing blue liquid and bends over you, gently pinching your little fleshy cheeks and working your intake open. “C’mon little one, drink up,” he whispers when he carefully forces the liquid down your throat. He sees your faceplate tighten with discomfort, but your throat pulses as you subconsciously swallow. “There you go. Good human, good human.”

  “What are you giving it?” First Aid asks.

  “Something I learned to make back in my early days,” he replies. “It heals from the inside. Works on both organics and machines.” He pats your cheeks praisingly and draws away. “There. That should help with the bleeding. It’ll be fine now. I’ll continue to monitor it over the next few days.”

  First Aid exhales a relieved sigh. Perceptor reaches out a tentative hand and brushes your hair away from your closed optics. “It’s so small…so soft…”

  “We have to be careful with it,” First Aid frets. “We don’t want it to break.”

  “Listen.” Ratchet’s tone hardens authoritatively. “I said this before, but I’ll say it again. We have to keep this between the three of us. Don’t tell anyone about a human being in here.”

  “But what about the captain?” First Aid asks. “Shouldn’t he know?”

  “The captain can’t know. If he finds out there's a human on the ship, he’ll go nuts with excitement and probably end up accidentally crushing the poor thing. Until I confirm it’s not going to drop dead at any moment, we keep it a secret. Got it?”

  Both bots nod. Ratchet nods with them. “Alright. I’m going to stay here and make sure it’s condition remains stable. You can come back tomorrow to check in on it and see how it’s doing.”

  Perceptor dips his head and leaves without another word. First Aid lingers, optics never leaving you.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ratchet reassures him. “I’ll take care of it. Go recharge.”

  It takes a lot for the other medic to step back and exit the medibay. Ratchet watches him go, then sighs and drags a servo over his faceplate. Becoming the caretaker of an injured organic lifeform was not something he had planned for today. Primus, how the hell am I going to tell Rodimus?

  A soft noise drags his attention away from the alarming thought of what might happen if the extroverted captain learns about his new “crewmate.” He looks down at you and startles a bit. Your eyes, foggy and unfocused, are staring right at him. There’s a fatigued expression of utter terror on your face that once again has his spark feeling like it's been ripped from his chassis and stomped on.

  “You’ll be okay,” he whispers to you. “I promise.”

  You close your eyes and let your helm loll to the side. Ratchet watches the soft rise and fall of your chassis for a few moments longer, then dims the medibay lights and returns to his previous work on the other side of the room.

  Never do you stray far from his mind.

[michaela-o]

( sound on <33 )

I love reading dark fan-fiction about humans being abused and used by evil Cybertronians to whatever purpose they seem fit to put them into. Might be kinda weird but inspired me to do this so :3

Also im sorry for dissapearing for a while but i recently got a job and im trying to enjoy life😌❤️ but i still browse tumblr everyday i just dont have many things to post❤️ but if anyone ever needs me im always here🥹❤️

[wifetomegatron]

Imagine a liaison aboard the lost light who calls people 'love' and 'dear' in a very soft, delicate tone.

based on this post because this is just too tempting to not write about, we must sound like debutants making their first appearance in fashionable society speaking in skittish whispers and sighs all the time when in reality organics speak in different octaves and wavelengths. definitely self indulgent cause me and my friends do this.

Imagine a liaison aboard the lost light who calls people 'love' and 'dear' in a very soft, delicate tone. In a ship full of battle-weary, pessimistic, cybertronians desensitized to almost everything, that single drop of warmth coming from a human whose touches feel like silk — feather light and alien, would be enough to make them putty in your presence.

The last time Brainstorm received a — " How clever, Brainstorm, thank you for your help." He had nearly popped a circuit trying to come up with a reply, stunned silent for what Perceptor claimed was the first time he was without one of his usual snarky remarks. Then it was Swerve, who wouldn't shut up about how you had called him 'darling' — Skids was adamant to prove to him that it was just how you spoke to people, even if the theoretician himself had his chest puffed out from being called 'dear'.

Then there was the time that you had scolded Whirl for nearly stepping on you, voice still painfully tender in comparison to the mechanical lilt of metal vocalizers —" Ooop! Careful there, handsome!" You had jumped, swerving just in time before his pedes crushed you. And the watchmaker froze, with a single optic pinning you in place. Then Drift had to chase him down several hallways, yelling that he wasn't allowed to just pick you up and run off.

An intervention was needed when a group of mechs were sent down a Decepticon outpost and returned with injuries. Apparently, everyone wanted to be pat on the arm and have you crooned — " Oh, you poor, brave thing" to them. With your brows knitted in worry, lips pout and slightly parted as they tell you all the heroic things they did. ( Ultra Magnus wasn't too impressed when said intervention from Rodimus was just a plot for him to cut the line and show you his battle scars. Someone in the back of the line had yelled that he wasn't even scratched. Judging from the infighting brewing, it was most likely Whirl.)

[cyberrose2001]

HUMAN PET AU <3

Ratchet finally comes home from working all day at the med bay, the poor medic is tired as hell and just wants to relax in the comfort of his own berth. Fortunately enough, ratchet owns an exotic pet. A human he has grown fond of. They are fully trained and even have their own collar (with the message “Please return to Ratchet if lost” written on it), they have also learned how to help Ratchet de-stress by letting him use their hole as his personal flesh light <3 His happy little human loves becoming his cum dump to help him get his frustrations out, such a helpful little pet <33

any continuity of ratchet is fine (pick ur fav!), afab but gender neutral reader please and thank you moni 🙏❤️‍🩹

A Sight For Sore Optics - Human Pet AU

IDW/MTMTE Ratchet x human! afab! gn!Reader

Hi Gem! Thank you so much for your request, I was literally foaming at the mouth ready to write this. To make this more anatomically possible, Ratchet's spike transforms to a more "safer" size. So I hope this is good please be good (I haven't finished reading mtmte yet so forgive me). Also if I have missed any tags please let me know!

Warnings: Xenophilia, Size Kink, Collaring, Oral (both receiving and giving), Masturbation, Praise Kink, Cum Dumping, Mild Dubious Consent (?)

Word Count: 2.3k

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Another day, another few thousand miles of endless space, another few sickly bots. Additionally, a few unkempt humans requiring attention due to poor conditions from their previous owners. With the new organic additions to the Lost Light at the captain's approval, Ratchet had found himself biting off more than he could chew, looking after bots and humans. Oh, how he wished he took up an organic health course or something other than primarily relying on Brainstorm's fervent research on the tiny creatures. Between juggling it all, Ratchet was unsure how much more his threadbare servos could take. Still, there was one thing the old medic was unmistakable about. He was tired.

One good thing, he must admit, is that he gets to return to you. His own human pet, a personal 'Thank you' gift on behalf of the entire crew for his selflessness and hard work, provided with you a basket with fundamental necessities. But the basket had long since been used up, and he had transformed it into a makeshift cot for you. It'll do for now, he had thought.

He was initially still trying to figure out what to think of you. Apart from very rudimentary health checkups and nutritional foods, there wasn't much that Ratchet could provide for you. There's not many enriching activities for such a tiny human like yourself. Until that is, he discovered something quite unusual that had been exhibited in almost every human adopted by the crew so far.

You have an insatiable libido.

Ratchet was unsure, if not downright nervous if other owners were to discover how incredibly beneficial humans could be. Whether or not they had already learned was an entirely different story. It wouldn't surprise Ratchet if that was the very reason why human pets were approved, though it seems shocking. It all seemed so innocent enough, adopting humans for the cuteness factor for the mechs on board. But as with most things, there's always more than just the surface level of what the optic sees. And Ratchet was already way too far below the surface.

Punching in the code for his hab suite, Ratchet waits eagerly for the door to open with twitching digits. He steps inside, tossing whatever work essentials he has on hand on the first bench he sees. He'll worry about reorganising later. Right now, he needs some pet therapy and a well-overdue overload. The dull ache behind his panels only gets stronger as his pedes carry him to his berthroom to you, curled up on his berth. It looked as if you neglected your rudimentary cot, choosing to sleep on his berth instead. The medic can't help the softened expression as he melts at the sight. Of all the things he didn't think he deserved, he never once expected it to be such an adorable little thing like you.

He lets his pedes wander over to you, like countless times before, careful and delicate. He always told himself that this 'fling' he had with you was only temporary and that it was purely for his curiosity, but he tends to find himself aching for you repeatedly. He can't help how his racing neurocircuits seem to fizzle out and calm down when he lies with you.

A roughened servo brushes over your hair to slowly stir you. It looked like you had been napping for some time now, which he believes is a good thing. Brainstorm did say that humans tend to sleep better in environments they consider comfortable. The gentle brushing causes you to stir and lift your head to greet him, though in a language yet to be deciphered. It's a pleasant greeting, and Ratchet can tell they're happy to see him. Something along the lines of 'I missed you,' he'd like to think.

"Hey, squishy. I missed you too," Ratchet smiles warmly. He brushes the hair away from your neck to reveal a collar, "You haven't ripped it off yet. Seems like you like it, hm?"

A slight, sleepy nod in confirmation, you've grasped at what he said. Ratchets' digits trail down to the collar, a small silver plate that reads 'Please Return to Ratchet If Lost - HabSuite ###" engraved in Cybertronian. Not that you tend to wander off, but more or less a just in case. Plus, he gets a thrill seeing his name attached to you. He thumbs it gently, admiring his handy work.

"I'm glad you do. It took me quite some time to make," Ratchet tugs at it softly, beckoning you to come closer. He watches you climb onto his lap, "Such tiny adornments are complex to create, 'specially with hands like mine." A servo cups your back, his thumb moving to play with your soft chest. He shivers when he hears a tiny whimper from you, and you seem eager to play with him already.

"I've had a busy day," A mechanical noise of shifting gears as his spike slides out of its housing, "I think you know what I need." It's well and truly bigger than you, much bigger than your tiny body could ever take. But the way your eyes light up in excitement assures Ratchet that you are more than pleased, already desperately taking off your quirky frame coverings. He eyes off your cute organic valve, notices how dripping wet it is, and staves off a moan.

"C'mere for a second," Ratchet scoops you into his servo to bring you closer to his face. He gets a whiff of your arousal, so earthy and addicting. The more you spread your thighs for him, the more he can smell. He brings you to his intake and licks one hearty stripe up your folds.

Oh yes, he thinks. Better than energon. Better than any high grade to ever pass his dermas, like a warm drink that soothes and revitalises his senses. It thickens on his glossa, groaning at the taste as he swirls it around your little node. He watches intently as you squeal in delight, your thighs trembling around his cheeks and how your little face contorts into one of pleasure. Well, he had always presumed it was in pleasure; you've never exactly shied away from his glossa. He hums when you feel him grinding, desperate little ruts chasing the vibrations.

Ratchet licks one last time at your slick, pulling away to observe. Oral lubricants coat your valve thickly, the sensitive area reddened from his torment. His optics wander up; your soft skin is already flushed and glistening with sweat. He wonders how close you were to overloading; it wouldn't have taken much longer if he had kept going. But his spike grows restless, throbbing against his abdominal plating, begging to be touched by much softer palms than his own.

"Do you want my spike? Hm?" Ratchet teases, "My big spike?" He knows you can't fully understand him, but he can't help but vocalise his salacious fantasy. Holding onto you carefully, he lounges back onto the berth. He bites his bottom derma and lowers you to his lap, showing you his engorged spike, "Go on then, have at it. I'll frag your little brains out soon."

With an encouraging nudge from Ratchet, you straddle the shaft. To anyone else, it looks ridiculous. A tiny human desperately attempting to wrap their arms around a spike that's two times taller than they are. But to any depraved fleshy fragger, it's a sight to behold. Ratchet once thought of snapping a picture to potentially maybe sell it to the highest bidder for those who crave the feeling of such a soft body grinding on them, for he is sure there's a market out there somewhere, probably more than half of the crew onboard. Still, the shame of it all prevents him. There's an image to uphold being the resident medic.

Besides, he'd much prefer to keep you and that curious tongue all for himself.

He feels your little licks along him, a tiny tongue wiggling through the grooves and smooth surface, reaching crevices with hidden nodes that cause his pedes to curl. Soft ruts of your hips press your soaked valve right up against him. He knows what you want. The medic brings a servo to grip around his spike with you squished between, only tight enough to keep you in place as he begins self-servicing himself. He hears you letting out a surprised gasp, then a muffled moan, feeling your grip tighten around him.

"Yeah? You like that, squishy?" Ratchet moans, moving his servo slightly faster, "I bet you-nghh do. You look so cute like that. So tiny pressed against my spike."

Only a taste of your warmth is given through your body, like the little tease you are. Ratchet feels the perspiration dripping off you, likely due to the rise of his internal temperature and the energon being solely diverted to his array. It makes for a mediocre yet acceptable lubrication. He could spike you with it alone, but Ratchet prefers to use alternate practices in the interest of your health. Primus knows how careless other Cybertronians can be with their pets.

The medic is becoming increasingly aware of his overload and yours by the looks of things, your little optics squeezed shut, and your limbs clamped tight around his girth. He consciously decides to stop before you reach it. The idea of you squirming on his spike played on his processor a bit too well. He hears your soft whine at the loss of friction, which Ratchet can't help but chuckle at.

"I know, I know. I'm so mean, aren't I? Hold on, squishy." Ratchet lets you rest against his palm while his weeping spike whirs and clunks inwards to a much more manageable size for a human. His spike may be smaller, but there's not much difference in sensation. Thank Primus for the minicon-compatability modes, "You alright?"

A small squeak from you, yes. The medic watches intently as you waste no time climbing on, guided by his careful servo. You press your little valve against the tip, hissing as it barely slips through. Ratchet digs his pedes into the berth at the intense sensation, gritting his dentae as you bottom out. The feeling is incomparable to anything else; it's uniquely organic, warm, and so, so much softer than mesh.

He then wraps his entire servo around you, effectively turning you into one perfect spike sleeve only for him. Perfectly snug inside you, his grip clenches and unclenches around your torso before gently unsheathing himself from you again.

Ratchet is always careful when he uses you in this manner, ensuring his grip isn't too tight. He pushes you back down again, and he feels you melt into his servo. He hears your little whimpers and cries for him, to go faster, he believes. He learned a long ago that he doesn't need to understand your verbal mumbles when your fleshy hips try to hastefully force yourself down onto him, only halted by his own hand. His grip ever so tightens and gives in to your desperation, or more or less his own.

"You're so good for me, squishy. Hah- Lettin' me use your little valve like a toy." Ratchet mewls, his helm lolling off to the side as his optics flick between your face and the way his spike disappears inside you, "Such a helpful little pet you are."

He feels your velvet walls clamp down on him with each and every praise he gives, your little arms draped over the top of his thumb, clinging on for dear life. Every now and then, he massages your breasts pressed up against it, eliciting more dirty moans from you. Such softness that he can't help but take advantage of.

"So- ngh- tight," Ratchet vents heavily, "Primus, you've ruined me for my own race."

He felt a twinge of shame hearing himself; it was as if he had entirely let himself go. But he knows he can no longer turn back, not when you're the best little creature to ever stumble into his life. Despite him having you wrapped around his digits, it is indeed him wrapped around yours. The relief you bring to him after every gruelling shift, after every stressful day upon this damned ship, had him truly addicted.

And with an internal affirmation of decadence and with your soft little valve clenching and pulsing around his spike, he's sent right over the edge.

"Frag yes, sweetspark!-" He glitches out, pressing you down on his thick shaft as far as your soft little body can tolerate. His energon pulses deeply and shocks his entire body with an overload, shooting gush after gush of transfluids into you. His frame lurches forward, his hips driving into the berth as he milks his throbbing spike, his servo driving it deeper into you in a lust-filled daze. Your whines and cries only spur him on more, and he doesn't stop until you're shaking like a leaf in his hold.

It takes only a few more moments for a spent Ratchet to collapse back with you still in his grip, albeit slumped against his thumb. You're panting hard, and he can only just feel your tiny heart pounding against him. You must have had your own overload by the looks of it if the bliss-filled smile on your soft lips is anything to go by. His optics linger down to your soft, distended stomach and the dripping mess that splatters across your thighs and onto his pelvic plating. Now that truly is a sight for sore optics, he thinks to himself.

Ratchet huffs, bringing his other servo to pat the top of your head, "Now there's my happy little human, huh?" He smiles warmly when he feels you leaning into his touch, "How 'bout I fill you up some more?"

If this was what it took for the old medic to de-stress and relax, then so be it. If he were to be exposed to the rest of the crew, then may he join the rest of them. In secret, for now, he will proudly declare himself a lover of organic flesh.

[star-gxze]

asking for them pads

reader with period!!!!

rodimus

rung

ratchet w/ drift (?)

whirl

starscream

pt2??

gn lovlies

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[in1-nutshell]

Could we get Fearless getting dropped into TFA? I would love to see how they react to the small Autobots and giant Decepticons, especially to how different otherwise familiar bots would be!

I’m hoping to see Transformers One this weekend, your positive review made me that much more excited!

I'm surprised I haven't sent Fearless to TFA yet. Well, better late than never!

Hope you enjoy!

Fearless meets Team Prime

SFW, Platonic, Human Reader

TFA/MTMTE

A portal opens in the middle of the Plant.

The bots are ready to attack anyone who comes through.

Surprised when it’s a human.

Fearless brushes off the dirt and looks around taking a double take.

Fearless waves at them. They wave back confused. Fearless looks around. Fearless: “This is defiantly a new one I’ll say.” Optimus: “New what? And Who are you?” Fearless jumps a bit. Fearless: “That voice is going to take time to get used to. ANYWAYS, the name’s Fearless and I’m from another dimension.” Team Prime: “What?!” Bulkhead: “Human’s haven’t made that much advancements on teleportation yet.” Prowl: “And how do we know if you’re lying?” Fearless: “… I literally came from a portal and you’re questioning if I’m lying? Who are you Prowl?” Prowl: “How do you know my name?” Fearless: “…Sweet Solus Prime, YOU’RE PROWL?!”

After the initial freakout of names and explanation of how the portal’s worked, Optimus welcome’s Fearless to the Plant for the time being.

Both parties are curious about each other’s universes and both share facts about them.

Fearless learned from last time that too much info-dumping was bad for the head or helm.

Fearless: “So, your war is over?” Optimus: “Yes and no. Megatron and a small group of Decepticon’s are stuck here on Earth with us. The Decepticon’s mainly dispersed after the Great War and Ultra Magnus’s decree.” Fearless: “Ultra Magnus?” Bumblebee: “Yeah he’s the leader of Cybertron.” Fearless laughs a bit. Fearless: “Hahaha… oh, you’re not joking. Man, My Magnus would have a panic attack if he found out he was suddenly in charge of a whole planet.” Ratchet raises his optic. Ratchet: “Magnus? You mean Ultra Magnus?” Fearless: “Nah, just call him Magnus or Minimus, depends on the day. But if Magnus is leader of Cybertron, then who are you leading Prime?” Optimus: “Just my team.” Fearless: “The Autobot’s right.” Optimus: “No, just this team the 4 of us.” Sari: “Hmm.” Optimus: “5 of us.” Fearless: “What?! But how?” Ratchet: “We’re just a space bridge repair crew kid.” Fearless: “…Say sike.” Optimus: “What?” Fearless: " Say sike right now…”

Fearless nearly has a nervous breakdown realizing part of the situation these bots were in.

Thankfully they had weapons.

…Right?”

Fearless, for once, is begging for that portal to come and spit someone, ANYONE from the Lost Light to help them.

After the internal breakdown Fearless is Ready.

Fearless staring down Team Prime. Fearless: “I will do whatever it takes to protect you all.” Bulkhead patting Fearless head. Bulkhead: “That’s nice.” Sari whispering at Bumblebee and Optimus. Sari: “They don’t literally mean it right?” Bumblebee: “Of course not.” Optimus: “I don’t think they mean it in a literal sense Sari.” Prowl and Ratchet just look at each other and brush it off. Of course they didn’t literally mean it… Later that week… Starscream hovering near some buildings with his blasters pointed down at the bots. Starscream: “Now it is time for you all to feel the wrath of—” Fearless flinging themselves off a nearby rooftop. Fearless: “GERNONIMO!!!!” Fearless lands on the Seeker’s faceplate. Starscream: “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!!” Fearless: “I’ve heard other Starscream’s shriek louder than that!” Starscream starts flailing around with Fearless still having a death grip on him. Starscream: “GET IT OFF!!!!” Team Prime just stares in horror. Bumblebee: “So that why their called Fearless.”

The bots now take whatever Fearless says seriously now.

Ratchet has also threatened to tape them to the wall.

He becomes increasingly concern when Fearless tells him that ‘that’ hasn’t stopped them before.

Fearless loves telling the team about stories that have happened on the Lost Light… as soon as they manage to tell them that Megatron is a good bot in their universe after the surrender.

Speaking of Megatron, Fearless does ask a lot of questions about him and the other Cons.

They don’t know why Fearless looks a bit sad.

Fearless is protective of this team but also wants to get to know them one-on-one.

From walking in the park with Prowl.

To painting with Bulkhead.

To cleaning up messes with Ratchet.

To watching movies with Bumblebee.

Surprising enough, Optimus is the bot that Fearless feels like they need to protect more than the others.

…It may or may not have stemmed from the incident on Archna 7…

Optimus does feel a bit touched that this human, a complete stranger cares so deeply about him like that.

Then the Elite Guard shows up.

Fearless looks at The Guard standing next to Sari. Sentinel gives them the stick eye. Sentinel: “What you looking at human? Surprised to see a real mech here?” He puffs his shoulders in emphasis. Fearless: “Umm, Optimus is behind me?” The mech sputters a bit while some of Team Prime try to contain their giggles. Sentinel: “You wouldn’t know a trashbot from—” Fearless: “I’m gonna stop you right there Chin’s.” They look up at Ultra Magnus. Fearless: “Huh, figured you’d be taller.” Optimus already feeling a migraine coming: “Fearless…” Sentinel: “How dare you say that to Ultra Magnus! You should be on your knees begging that he doesn’t squish you. He has order over all of you right now.” Fearless: “Not My Magnus… I didn’t get your name.” Sentinel: “The names Sentinel Prime.” Fearless eye twitched but before they could do anything, Optimus scooped them up and held them tightly to his chassis. The Elite Guard and his team looked at him confused. Optimus: “Trust me, I’m doing everyone a favor…” Flashback to Optimus telling Fearless about Sentinel and Elita… Fearless places a sympathetic hand on his servo. Fearless: “You know it wasn’t entirely your fault, right?” Optimus sighs. Fearless chuckles humorlessly. Fearless: “You Prime’s always beat yourselves up badly. But on a serious note…” Fearless gave him a serious look. Fearless: “If I see Sentinel, it will be on sight.” Optimus looks at them confused. Optimus: “On sight—wait isn’t that what you said when we told you about Starscream?” Fearless just smirks and walks off. Optimus thinks for a second before coming the horrible realization. Optimus: “Oh no…”

Fearless gets along with most of the Guard.

Jazz is their favorite besides Blurr.

The Jettwins would have taken that place, but they threw them up too high and ended up getting stuck on a rusty vent covering.

Fearless avoids this Magnus… something just seemed off about him…

Fearless was not allowed anywhere near sentinel without Optimus being around.

Last time they were with Bumblebee and… things didn’t go too well…

Optimus was driving around with Prowl and Jazz. PING! Optimus had received a message from… Sentinel? Optimus: “Sent—” Sentinel: “GET YOUR FILTHY ORGANIC OPTIMUS! ITS TRYING TO BITE ME!” Bumblebee in the background: “They don’t bite!” Sentinel: “YES THEY DO!”

Soon its time for Fearless to say goodbye to Team Prime.

Fearless promises that when they do eventually come back to bring someone with them to help with the Cons.

It isn’t until Fearless is gone that they realize that they said ‘when’ and not ‘if’.

In the Lost Light… Fearless lands on the bar counter at Swerve’s. Trailcutter: “SWEET PRIMUS!” He jumps out of his seat in surprise. Swerve just smiles at the disheveled human. Swerve: “Came back from another dimensional hop?” Fearless: “Yep.” Swerve: “Can’t wait to hear all about it.” Fearless nods. Fearless: “But first, get me a bottle of my favorite drink… this one was rough.” Swerve winces a bit. Swerve: “That bad? How about telling me one thing that went well or some sort of highlight out of the whole trip?” Fearless without missing a beat: “I bit Sentinel Prime.” Swerve: “WHAT!?” Fearless: “And I’d do it again!”

[showstopper35]

Bodyguard! Fortress Maximus

a/n- possibly the most self-indulgent thing I’ve written

-He needs a job, and he needs one that won’t leave him traumatised for life. His days of being a prison warden are over. The war is over. But he can’t shake the feeling that he needs to be doing more. He still wants to fight—but this time he wants to do it to maintain peace. -Enter you: a returning “nail” from a wealthy merchant family who unfortunately sold weapons to both sides during the war. Needless to say, you’ve got a lot of enemies. People who want to manipulate you, who want to take your family down. -Money solves problems, and Fort Max is your solution.

-His towering form sits outside your door, follows behind you in crowds, his optics always travelling to your frame. His gaze is gentle, but nervous. -If there’s ever a need to touch you, he is so careful. So afraid of breaking you. -Privately considers you a princess, and he your knight. -If anything should ever happen to you, he would blame himself for the rest of his life. -You once took his hand to thank him and he swears he could feel the warmth from your fingers for days afterwards. -Each time you thank him, he falls a little bit more in love with you. -At night, he buries his face in his hands when he finds himself thinking too much about you. What it would be like to hold your hand…hold you in his arms…keep you safe forever.

-Once you smiled at him and he was all ready to run away with you at that very moment. -He would genuinely do anything for you.

[cybertronian-reader-imagines]

Hillowhillow may I make a request? How about relationship headcanons for MTMTE Megatron with a s/o who is taller than him? Many thanks and take your time!

((As a Tall Girl™ this speaks to me.))

Being Megatron's EVEN TALLER sparkmate would include...

- To say you intimidate people when they first meet you would be an understatement - after all, not only are you usually looking down at them, but your significant other is one of the most infamous (former) warlords to ever walk the face of Cybertron. Surely, you must also be tough as nails, right?

- You're actually a pretty nice, chill person once someone gets to know you - Megatron admires that about you. You don't let people's quick judgements stop you from being kind, something he is working on within himself. Your personable demeanor balances him.

- This inevitably means you end up being more liked than Megatron aboard the Lost Light... but the first time someone makes a comment about how such a jerk could have such a nice sparkmate, everyone present sees that you are just as capable as Megatron of putting your foot down and speaking your mind, regardless of what others think. If some bot isn't willing to let Megatron have his second chance, you two are not going to get along, period.

- But what ends up surprising people more than how soft YOU are is how soft Megatron can be around you. Primus, it's almost creepy how much his gaze softens when he looks at you. Who is this bot and what did you do to Megs?

- And that's just the public sappiness - half of the Lost Light would probably short circuit if they knew just how often you found love poems you found left on a datapad in your habsuite. 

- (Magnus apparently knows about this, because someone had to beta read the things, but of course he never lets it slip.)

- Megatron writes about you like the softest, most delicate thing.... even though you might be able to judo throw him over your shoulder at all. A few of the poems hint that probably into into that actually.

[master-muffinn]

Asking the scavengers to hold your drink

Misfire

Not a good idea. He goes like, "yeah, sure!" but the moment you are gone he'll drink it. He does it on purpose with no regrets. What did you expect? He's a glutton and he steals food all the time, even from friends! And he won't buy you a new one either. "Sorry y/n i don't have any money on me right now"

Misfire: 0/10 trustworthy drink holder.

Spinister

He will also say 'yes'. But you shouldn't take too long, it gotta be quick! It could go two ways; either he gets distracted and forgets about your drink and you won't find it. Or the longer he looks at the drink the more suspicious it looks. "It looking at me funny, I think I will shoot it"

"NO!"

Spinister: 2/10

Grimlock

He will just stand there, holding your glass. Not knowing exactly what to do. Looking around and then on the drink without moving and looking confused. If it was Grimlock with better mentally health, then he would be the same but more protective and more confident and looking like a bodyguard.

"Nobody touch y/n drink on my watch!”

Grimlock: 8/10

Nickel

Honesty, she doesn't really want to, but she holds the glass anyway if it isn't too big. Don't expect her to hold your drink multiple times though or you will get the: “Why are you asking me all the time? Can't you just hold your own drink or ask someone else?” 😑 We know she was reliable with the D.J.D and it’s the same with you and your drink as well. The way you left your drink with her is the same way you get it back.

Nickel: 9/10

Fulcrum

"Oh okay". It's not a bad idea to ask Fulcrum. He will hold the drink with no problems…until he starts to second ask himself and overthink the situation. What if ‘someone’ he doesn't know approaches him with bad intentions and wants your drink? If that happens he will give the drink and run away. Hopefully he hasn't been shaking while thinking about it or the liquid in your glass will be less than when you left it.

Fulcrum: 5/10

Krok

Is the most ‘normal’ about it. He just holds it for you and still does what he is doing. Doesn't do anything weird with it, no drinking, just holding it. He doesn't bother asking what took you so long, unless you completely forgot about it.

However, he expects you to say ‘thank you’, or he won't do it the next time. (Krok deserves at least some appreciation).

Krok: 10/10

Crankcase

It depends. You most likely get a no, but if you ask again nicely, he'll might say yes. If he still says no, then it's better to ask someone else or he will be irritated and complaining. But if he says yes, he'll most likely just be sitting down and drinking his own drink in the other hand and looking grumpy around until you come back. If you take too long he is going to complain. "What took you so long?”

Crankcase: 6/10

Bonus: I can see Crankcase as the typical grandpa sitting in the corner of a party drinking beer and judging/watching people making fools of themselves on the dance floor and then use it against them later.

Thank you for reading! Have a good day! ^^ Reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

Post made by @master-muffinn

[robolvrr]

I loved your swerve x gn human bartender headcanons. Do you have any more headcanons for swerve x gn human if you do please share them ❤️

two bolts in a pod! ᴗ｡✷

swerve x gn! human reader headcanons.

thank you anon! enjoy.☆

"i.. you actually like listening to me talk?"

"... hey ratchet, check this one's processor! think they mighta hit it or somethin'..."

on the note of a human crew member it's common consensus that swerve is part of the many that have an intense interest in you as a species.

however, if you do happen to enjoy his company and questions and puns -- consider him your personal jester.

he gets so, so dramatic whenever you aren't fused at the hip joint. suddenly his shifts feel long and he's lamenting to his other cybertronian crew members which while is endearing to some in the way any lovesick trainwreck is, is incredibly annoying for others.

has helped make a stool at his bar for you, sized to scale.

there's this funky little staircase at the end of the table to help you up (since he doesn't want you squished in between mechs) that doesn't match at ALL.

spends an embarrassing time cycling stories ready to tell when asked. he frequently bites his fist because he thinks it's going to be boring, but you're in awe because hello, this is space and there are giant metal hot aliens.

you try to teach him to dance once. minibots are stockier, so seeing you bend and twist is as enchanting as it is perplexing.

it ends with him almost slipping and crushing half the bar but hey! your little laughs and snorts are more than enough to stroke a bruised ego.

brags. so much. when you develop nicknames and inside jokes.

"did you know that they call me and only me hotshot? huh? did ya?"

it's easy to just. lie to him regarding questions on humans. he's no means gullible but imagine he asks a normal question like "why is it called a tailbone" when you have an anatomy rundown and you confidently say you actually have a long, fluffy tail that only comes out every blue moon.

cue him researching through his limited sources (cough cough movies) to see where he missed THAT detail.

speaking of movies: will make you watch his collection before asking for yours.

enjoys lots of 80s sci-fi and cheesy b-thrillers.

expect him to whisper in your ear as you sit on his knees like a cute, nervous directors reel.

tries to get you to match those colorful clothes with his plating paint.

wh - romantic? him? nooo, it's just a friendly thing? a total cybertronian thing. uh huh. yeah. unless you'll know - wait no, don't clarify with brainstorm-

falls helm over pedes when you start giving him stuff. old, vintage bobbleheads. records and sports vanity jerseys and engraved shot glasses.

the courting gestures between your kinds are so different and alike it makes his coolant heat. you could be just beaming because you've alphabetically and flavor organized his stock records and he's here wondering how to sparkbond with a human without killing 'em.

my personal headcanon - he sits you on his shoulder when he's going around passing drinks. think of those bodybuilders and pretty models on the beach photoshoots. primus, he's down bad!

i see you getting spoiled rotten in all aspects, platonic and otherwise. he loves, loves all your reactions and expressions. has to sit in his habsuite and think about some venting exercises so he isn't buzzing in your presence all the time.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Desperation vs. Domestication (Pt. 2)

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 4431

Summary: Though you have been lulled into a deep sense of security by Drift's kindness and comfort, you still haven't completely lost the need to be free. A terrible nightmare refuels your desire for escape...but Drift isn't someone who wants to let you go.

HEEHEEHEEHEE I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE A PART 2 OF THIS...so I did. It's because Drift is my all-time favorite Transformer and I absolutely LOVE putting my favorite characters through angst. If you enjoyed reading part 1, then I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, comments, feedback, and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated! Enjoy! :D

Here is the link to pt. 1 if you haven’t read it!

Also available to read on AO3!

  Two months later…

  You dream of Earth tonight.

  There are fields; you are standing in one. Long Bermuda grass tickles your ankles with the gentle presence of the planet recognizing its own. The endless green is splattered with occasional droplets of color: pink poppies, yellow sunflowers, marigolds, dandelions. It is warm. There is a slight wind blowing, playing with your hair. You turn your face towards the sunlight and bask in the relief of knowing you are home.

  All of a sudden, you hear a sound. Thumping. Steady, rhythmic. Loud. You feel the wind die down and suddenly the sun is gone, and there is only darkness. A massive shadow blots out all of the light. You see a figure looming over you, red-and-white with bright blue eyes that stare into your soul and make you feel terror.

  You try to run, but find you cannot move your legs. There is nothing you can do when you watch a giant hand reach down in slow motion and pluck you up, holding you between titanic fingers. The monster’s mouth opens, and then you are tumbling down, right into an abyss of metal and isolation. The Earth melts away forever. You are trapped. You are alone.

  Shooting forward out of your nightmare, you hear yourself scream. The squishy floor underneath you makes you lose your footing when you scramble upward in a blind panic and fall into Drift’s stomach wall. Everything moves, the organ grumbling unhappily at you being awake. Your hands scramble at the mesh cables. Little pink bubbles of cybernetic blood pop anxiously beneath their semi-transparent surfaces. The walls close in to squeeze, holding you in a secure hug, attempting to keep you still. But you cannot think. You are scared, and you feel trapped, so you desperately begin to thrash and fight against the stomach.

  Drift’s voice booms above you, panicked. “Little one? Little one?!”

  “Let me go!” you shriek. “Please, letmegoletmegoletmego!”

  The walls loosen up, freeing you. You collapse into the fetal position, gasping while sweat beads your brow and your heart goes crazy.

  Drift presses his hands over his middle. “Little one, little one, shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” he hushes frantically. “Safe, safe…safe, all is safe...no need for fear…”

  Gradually, you calm down. Only when you are no longer trembling does Drift tentatively begin to squeeze you again. In and out, slow kneading, like he’s silently coaxing you to continue breathing at a healthier pace. “Little one…okay?” he asks.

  Your voice quivers. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay. It-It was a bad dream. A nightmare.” You sit upright and lean into the stomach wall. Drift holds you close, the undulating muscle relaxing you with its constant massage. His biolights pulse and flicker, a clear sign of his stress. You woke him up with your screams. It makes you feel bad, so you snuggle his cables further. The robot’s stomach is not a big place, but Drift likes to be conscious of you. The support you provide him in completing this task is obviously appreciated, because he hums softly and pats his hand over where you are.

  There is peace again. Peace and warmth. But you don’t feel the usual safety. There is a lingering pit of dread growing deep within your gut, foul roots clawing their way through your body, leaving you jittery, uneased. Your nightmare is the first one in months, and it’s a sure sign things are not right.

  It has been such a long time since you thought of your possible escape plan. You don’t know how long, but you do know that you can’t be comfortable here anymore. Your mind is sending the signals loud and clear.

  No more stalling, you think to yourself. No more being complacent.

  You are not domesticated yet.

  When Drift lets you out of here…you will go through with the plan to take an escape pod home. For real this time.

  It takes you weeks to perfect your plan. And when you do finally have it all figured out, you come to the conclusion that things may end up being more complicated than you thought. Escaping a spaceship filled with giant alien robots is hard enough, yes. But then there’s the issue of what will happen when you return to Earth. You don’t know how long you’ve been abducted. It could be months. It could be years. What if all of your family and friends are long gone by the time you get home? What if things are so different that you’ve been completely left behind?

  No. You can’t think like that. A sharp patting to your cheeks snaps you out of it. Keep it together. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Regardless of what awaits you on Earth, you will be there to face it.

  You’ve packed everything you own into a small fabric knapsack your mech gifted you during your first days here (Who knew robots are such good knitters?). It’s not much, not much at all: snacks Drift gives you, strange pellets that clean your teeth, three cans of filtered water…but that’s all you really require for the trip you are going to embark on. You don’t believe it will be particularly long. The escape pods need to have some sort of device that allows them to leap through lightyears to their destinations. You believe this because you’ve watched the mothership do it from the observation windows Drift likes to bring you to sometimes. Hyperspace will occasionally be activated, with stars and planets blurring together into dazzling white paint streaks before coming to an abrupt halt in a totally new galaxy.

  Now, do you know how lightjumping works? Absolutely not. Last time you were on Earth, no such human technology had been invented yet. So you don’t exactly know how you’ll get the escape pod to lightjump like the ship does. But you’ll find a way. You have no choice.

  Now for the hard part: getting away from Drift long enough to activate the escape pod and blast away. He’s not going to make it easy for you. Drift doesn’t like letting you out of his sight if you aren’t in his room, and hardly lets you roam free. You’ve spent hours, both within his stomach and out, pondering how to go about this. It’s left you with the agonizing decision that you’ll just have to wing it somehow.

  The door to his room slides open. You’ve been sitting on his berth with your hands beneath your head and one leg crossed over the other, thinking, thinking, thinking, that at first you nearly didn’t hear him come in. You sit up to greet him with more eagerness than you’d like to show. The nightmare didn’t stop your affection for Drift from rearing its persistent head.

  There’s no waiting for him to give you his time today. When he enters the room, his focus is immediately on you with no prior distractions. Drift walks with a spring in his step, his finials perking up like an enthusiastic dog. You notice a small white box he holds in one hand, and think nothing of it. Drift’s room is decorated with countless knickknacks from other planets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought some strange little souvenir home.

  “Hey, big guy,” you murmur happily when he kneels down before you. He settles the box to the side and cups both hands behind you, humming his typical car engine-purr greeting. You hug him when he draws you forth so he can nuzzle his nose into your middle. “I’m guessing you missed me?”

  Drift beep-boops excitedly. He gives you an affectionate tickle to your side, causing you to giggle. Your reaction delights him. He keeps it up, and pretty soon you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “D-Drift, s-stop! I-I can’t breathe!”

  He gives you one last light prod, then ends the bout of torture with more cuddles. You recover from the laughter, feeling airy and light like nothing else matters except for the giant robot holding you.

  “Little one,” he coos. “My little one.”

  “Mhm,” you mumble goodnaturedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

  He suddenly looks like he’s remembered something very important, and he straightens, chirping rapidly. You watch as he grabs the white box and, to your surprise, presents it to you. You glance at it, then turn to him. “For me?” you ask, pointing at yourself.

  He chirps again and nods.

  You take it from him and open it with a slight air of confusion, because he’s never given you something like this before. You think it might be a piece of jewelry, or some sort of charm. But what you see inside is neither of those things. You suck in a sharp breath of pure disbelief and go numb.

  It’s a collar. A damn collar. Sleek and narrow, its solid red with a single white stripe circumnavigating it. On one side is a strange symbol of a boxy red robot’s face-the same symbol he has on his chest. These are his colors, you realize. He’s making us match. He wants the other mechs to know that he owns you.

  Drift rumbles expectantly. When you remain frozen, unable to pry your eyes away from the collar, he gently pries it out of your now slightly shaking hands. With extreme carefulness, he clasps it around your neck. It fits comfortably and locks with a quiet click.

  “My little one,” he repeats. “Mine.”

  He’s not trying to scare you. You know he isn’t. Yet your throat is dry, and the snug weight of the collar makes you feel sick.

  You need to get the hell off of this ship.

  You spend the night feverishly trying to break the collar off, working yourself up like a caged animal driven mad by captivity. But no matter how hard you yank at it, it remains stubbornly fast around your neck. You refuse to eat the food given to you and cry yourself to sleep within a very concerned Drift’s belly, who can’t seem to console you no matter how hard he tries.

  Drift doesn’t know what to do with you.

  You’ve been moping ever since he gave you the collar. Over the next few days, any sort of drive to escape has left you. You're depressed and disappointed in him for what he’s done. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to accept any of his gifts. Blanket after pillow after plushie-all made by him, with the crude markings of homemade love-are ignored. You shy away from his touch and reject his attention. When he swallows you at night, you give him no inclination you care. You sit like a stone within him and just…stare off vacantly, unable to ignore the collar around your neck.

  He’s brought you to the ship’s doctor multiple times. On the first trip, the old red medic bot looked you over and finished his checkup with a shrug and dismissive chuff. The second time, he growled at Drift and waved him away. And on the third time, he didn’t even let him through the door. There’s nothing physically wrong with you. But mentally, how could they know? How could he know he’s hurt you? You trusted him to treat you with some level of respect despite your situation, and he had, until now. The collar was your breaking point. There truly is no way for him to ever see you as anything more than a pet, and it hurts you, because by god, you love him.

  “…Little one?”

  Drift calls out to you with a soft, sad tone. You huddle up tighter beneath one of your blankets and give no answer.

  You hear him shift at his desk. There’s silence between the two of you that is not wanted. He heaves a low sigh and tries again. “Little one…please?”

  Damn your heart, you can’t keep giving him the silent treatment when he sounds like he’s about to cry.

  You push the blanket off of your head. Drift slouches in his chair, back bent like an old man’s. His finials are drooping, and the glow from his biolights is dimmer than usual. He’s obviously been letting his personal hygiene go for the sake of finding a way to help you, and it hurts to know he’s in this state because of your shitty attitude towards what he simply sees as a gift. The collar is a curse, but you can’t exactly tell him that, can you? This entire situation is all your fault.

  It's the treacherous part of your mind which attempts to convince you of this. It partially works. Giving in, you sit up slowly, drawing the blanket tightly around your shoulders and tilting your head while giving him a questioning look.

  He’s surprised by your action, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to respond to this extent. But he takes advantage of it. Drift offers you a hopeful smile and picks something up from his desk. He stands and walks to you, going slow. You don’t flinch when he crouches down to your level. The warm light of his eyes leaves a kind feeling on your skin.

  Tentatively, Drift extends his hand. In his palm is a piece of chocolate, one of the many treats he has at his disposal to provide you with when he feels you are being especially good. It’s an olive branch. A reach in the right direction.

  You hesitate…and then you think, Oh, what the hell. Staying mad at Drift when he has no clue he’s done something wrong in the first place won’t get you anywhere. So you accept the candy and take a small bite.

  He sags with relief, exhaust whooshing from his nose as he watches you eat. When you're finished, he moves his hand closer, twining the palm around you and resting the tips of his digits against your head and sides. You hold his index finger, resting your forehead against it and closing your eyes as a sign of trust. But you feel guilty.

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing he won’t understand. But you say it anyway. “I love you. I love you so, so much. But you're destroying me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

  A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t notice it until Drift gently brushes it away.

  “I have to go.” Your voice breaks. “I need to leave. I hope you’ll learn why. And I hope you won’t hate me for it. I-I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I hated you.”

  Drift coos. His reply is indecipherable. You think he’s trying to comfort you…but you’ll never know for sure.

  He doesn’t swallow you tonight. You don’t know why; maybe he thinks you need a break. Maybe he just wants to hold you in a different fashion this time. You stay awake hours after he falls asleep, your little form nestled in the crook of his neck while he snoozes on his stomach with his arms crossed beneath his massive pillow. You peer off into the darkness, listening to his quiet breaths.

  For the longest time, you’ve thought of this room as yours and his. A space the two of you share together. Ours. It's fed into your delusional ideations of a future in which the two of you learn each other’s languages, where you stand on equal ground, you belonging to him and him belonging to you. A future where mechs and humans join hands and say “I see you. I know you. I understand you and you understand me. Neither of us is higher than the other.”

  But it will never happen. The collar around your neck is physical proof. There is no future between the two of you anymore. If you want to be you again…you need to let Drift go.

  You shuffle away from the bot’s neck and stand. The only parts of him that are lit up right now are the red symbol on his chest and the soft blue of his mouth. He’s so peaceful. This giant alien, who you know has fought in many battles from the scars you can see, is soothed by your presence. You, an insignificant little human being. The dynamic is honestly quite hilarious. You're like his very own version of a chihuahua.

 You want to hug his nose, knowing you will never have another chance again. But Drift is a light sleeper, and you're testing the waters enough already. You can’t risk it. It pains you, but you drop your arms and turn away.

  Using the metal ladder he made for you so you’d have easy access to his berth, you climb down and grab your knapsack. Quietly padding across the long expanse of the room, you make it to the door. It senses your presence and slides open. You force yourself not to look back when you walk out.

   You wonder if he will cry for you when he wakes up and finds you gone.

  The spaceship is ominous at night. The only thing you can hear as you traverse the hallways is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You're trying to be quiet; passing by multiple rooms with slumbering bots inside has you holding your breath and then letting it out in a forcefully slow, reedy wheeze. You are, after all, a mouse in a prison filled with cats; slow and steady and silent wins the race.

  You survey the elevator when you get to it, at a loss of how you’ll possibly find a way to operate it due to how small you are. A miracle finds its way to you, however, in the form of a mech. This one you don’t recognize. He has a similar color scheme to Drift, but is noticeably bulkier, with a strange cannon sitting on his right shoulder and a blue eyepiece over the adjacent optic. All of his focus is on the datapad in his hands as he summons the elevator. You wait for the doors to open and for him to step inside before darting after him. Luckily he doesn’t look up once on the short journey. Your cover remains unblown when the doors part again and he heads off. You go in the opposite direction, because like hell are you going to follow the strange robot to someplace where there are probably more strange robots.

  You slip in and out of sight, staying far away from any mechs who are awake. They do not see you, which means you are doing this right-though there are some alarming instances where you think you’ll be caught. One such occurrence happens when a tall, thin blue mech with a chest like the front of a helicopter nearly sees you duck into an open storage room for quick cover. Its single orb ominously scans the darkened room. You watch from beneath a large shelving unit, terrified out of your mind. You don’t move, nor do you make a sound, keeping a shaking hand over your mouth.

  Finally, after what feels like hours, the mech stomps away. You let your head fall forward respitefully.

  You know you're nearing your one-way ticket to Earth when you see bright yellow signs plastered on the walls with loud black alien words telling you to hurry left with the help of large arrows. Escape pod symbols, accompanied by a funny little robot mascot, are the giveaway. You feel a sort of giddy euphoria swell up within you. You're almost there. You're going to escape. You're going to go home. It all seems far too good to be true; sure, you’ve imagined this scenario happening over and over again, but you never really did believe it would happen.

  You pinch your arm multiple times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming. This is not in your head. This is happening. You really are going back to Earth.

  Your collar suddenly vibrates. And then it starts to screech.

  You nearly jump out of your own skin. The alarm is loud, piercing, and undeniably going to alert someone to your presence. You slam your fists against it multiple times, but it doesn’t let up. Your heart sinks when the realization of what's going on hits.

  Shit. He put a tracker in it.

  You need to run. You shove yourself forward into a full-on sprint, dashing down the last remainder of this hallway, then turning the corner and seeing the numerous escape pods all lined up in the wall. You choose the first one, grabbing the edge of the circular door and pulling with all of your might. The tendons in your neck strain as you grunt and slowly bring the door back with you. Clamoring in, you give it one last heave before it shuts on its own and seals you inside. You hear the lock click into place. The entire cabin flickers to life, with the lights on and the control panel booting up. As you expected, everything is far too big for you to reach. But it seems you won’t need to. A loud robotic voice emanates from the central console, speaking to you in the native mech language.

  Your collar is still going off. You don’t have a lot of time.

  “I-I can’t understand you!” you yell over the din. “I’m a human, from Earth! I speak English!”

  The voice pauses. Seconds later, to your amazement, it talks, and you can understand. “Language notifications made. Destination updated. Scanning…” A panel on the ceiling pops open, and a blue light filters out, washing over you. “Scanning complete. Species: Homo Sapien. Homeworld: Earth. Milky Way Galaxy. Status: Critically endangered. Suggesting immediate travel to Earth.”

  You clap your hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Earth, set the destination to Earth!”

  “Destination set. Awaiting command to launch LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01.”

  You are about to give the order when something slams against the door. You whirl around, your heart stuttering when you see who’s there. It’s Drift. He’s made it. And he looks horrified. With trembling fingers, he yanks on the handle. When the pod remains fastly shut, he pounds on the circular window with so much force the entire thing shudders and you think he’s going to rip it right off of its hinges. “Little one!” he screams, voice muffled beyond the barrier of glass. “Little one! Open…!” The rest of the sentence comes out as sharp metal shrieks.

  You stand there helplessly. The pod once again inquires for your command, yet you can’t find it within yourself to speak.

  Drift is doing everything he can to get to you. He’s like a rabid beast, clawing at the window, teeth bared in visible frustration. His biolights are going mad when he roars and sends his whole body into the door. This time, it does give a little. You can see some dents in the gray metal.

  This…is a side of Drift you have never seen. It is desperate, vicious. And it terrifies you. You stumble back to the opposite end of the pod and curl up, hugging your knapsack to your chest like a child squeezing their favorite stuffed animal. Drift continues his futile attack on the door, but pauses when he makes eye contact with you. His face falls. His fists relax and slide downward to press palm against the glass.

  He’s quiet as he seems to reflect on how he just presented himself front of you, then whispers heartbrokenly. “...Sorry.” Tears stream down his cheeks. His hot vexation melts away and exposes his remorseful center. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Little one. Y/N.”

  Oh my god.

  All noise ceases when you register what he just said. Your name. He said your name. He’s never done that before. You didn’t think he knew your name.

  He learned to say it. For you.

  Drift whimpers like a kicked dog, moving to crouch lower. “Y/N. Y/N, please. Stay. Stay with me. Please don’t go. I love you.”

  You’ve changed his life. You don’t need to be told this. You know you’ve brought him a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in years. You didn’t come here of your own free will. But you freely chose to love him. You gave yourself up and became his everything while he became yours. Isn’t he your home? Isn’t he the one who saved you? Can you really leave someone who cares about you so much?

  Your legs move on their own accord. Your heart beats with his and you take tentative steps towards the door. Drift twitters and gives you an encouraging nod, gesturing for you to keep walking.

  Why do you want to leave him so badly? Why would you want to throw away this perfect life?

  Your little human hands come to rest right over his massive robotic ones. You two are separated, but you think you can feel the warmth coming from him. Drift bonks his forehead against the window anticipatingly. “Come on,” he whispers. “Come on. It’s…okay. You're okay. Please.”

  Your hands are human. You will never see another pair again if you return to him.

  Your life is not supposed to be perfect. A human’s life is messy, and disastrous, and chaotic, and beautiful. His life is too, but not in the same way as yours.

  “Goodbye, Drift,” you murmur, voice breaking. “LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01…take me to Earth.”

  The escape pods hums and rumbles. “Command accepted,” it announces. “Preparing ejection in three…two…one.”

  The last thing you see and hear before the pod lurches forward and rockets out of its dock is Drift’s agonized expression and his wrenching wail.

  Your vessel speeds away. You get a fantastic view of the ship in all of its stunning glory. It felt so gigantic when you were inside, but from out here, you can fully comprehend its overwhelming proportions. You watch it rapidly shrink as you gain distance from it, until it's just another speck of light in the universe. And when you can’t even see that anymore, you allow yourself to collapse against the floor eagles-spread. You gaze up at the ceiling, feeling surprisingly hollow. There is no victorious sense of triumph, no excitement to return home. You don’t even know where home is anymore. Somehow, after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve come out even more lost than you already were.

  The waterworks start shortly after the escape pod jumps into hyperspace. Heaving sobs, messy tears, you lie there and weep to the stars, not noticing when your collar finally stops beeping.

[michaela-o]

Here’s some evening doodles before playing path of titans again😌❤️

I love the concept of human lialison on the Lost Light. Literally can’t get enough of it🥹❤️❤️

[wifetomegatron]

an alchemy of ore & eu de parfum : how i imagine cybertronians react to human perfume (afab!reader) (nsfw!)

most of the lost light crew only knew about it in passing. rumor was that before the war, the wealthy would import organic plants from off-worlds to extract their oils: steam distillation, boiling, maceration. of course, it wasn't very popular when the planet's atmosphere lacked the proper gases. without volatile elements in the air like oxygen, the exotic scents hardly smelled like anything. it didn't stick against their armors the way it clings onto organic skin. so it became a short-lived experiment that barely dented the surface of the planet's long history of achievements. mechs, trying to replicate organic perfume. it sounded ridiculous.

until perceptor caught a whiff of it: phantom light, brushing against his olfactory sensors. he lifted his helm, finally compelled to tear his optics away from the datapad to look at the human liaison. he inhaled experimentally, failing to be discreet. embarrassed, you tell him it's the new bottle of body wash you've tried: a mixture of wild violets and pink hibiscus. do you like it?  he thinks of strange fragile flowers, drifting under the wind. perceptor nearly missed the question, slowly nodding as you leaned closer in worry. it took the mech a lot of self-restraint to not pull you flush against him when the new, alien fragrance hits him square in the chassis like a bullet.

minimus drags his human's wrist across his intake, peppering light kisses along the skin. it was where the sweet, smoky odor was strongest, luring him closer. with you sprawled across his lap: trembling, laughing at the ticklish sensation, minimus couldn't contain the small, helpless groan that escaped him. shamelessly tipping your chin down to press your lips against his. the fragrance of mandarin and jasmine, crowding the space between your bodies.  the scientist hovered above your shoulders, mouthguard grazing the junction where your neck meets your jaw. brainstorm tightened his grip against your wrists, pining it above your head. he wants to melt into you, to drown in the overwhelming scent of amber. tyrax, benzoin; he knows they're just a cluster of chemical reactions coming to life along the curve of your collarbones. bonds breaking and fracturing to release something tangy, saccharine. but you're telling him that bulgarian rose, sandalwood — foreign, outlandish names of floras he'd never heard about before was making you smell celestial ? he was the universe's biggest heathen, but primus, save him. you were wiggling underneath his frame, back flat against the pristine table. he says he wants to run a few experiments, noticing how your pupils respond by widening, skin prickling with excitement. 

he's trying to be gentle, servos encasing your hip to lower you down his spike. megatron watches as you take him, inch by inch. with your back pressed against his chest plate, he could feel the thrum of his spark against the line of your spine as it bows and curves in pleasure. as you spread your legs further to sink further, he rewards you with a kiss — brushing your hair aside to press his intake against the pulse point beneath your ear. and he tastes it, or rather, breathes it in. he didn't need to, but when your sweat mixes itself with the perfume you always wore: bergamot and peony, he inhales and loses himself even more.

the habsuite reeked of sex, and it crowded the air: humid and heavy, whirl's optic nearly offlined at how obscenely wet you were around his spike. already drunk on your pheromones. so when he lifted both your legs higher — up to his shoulders — to fit himself up to the hilt, whirl didn't expect to catch a whiff of your perfume around your ankles. you whined, a high-pitched, desperate sound, when he stopped thrusting to press his enstril against your achilles heel. that was enough for him to snap. he hoisted you up into a mating press, driving into you with a new kind of vigor. 'you did this on purpose', he emphasized by roughly grabbing your ass to push further into your already trembling cunt. causing you to moan into the dark. 'you knew we'd end up here. like this. filthy, little —'

sicilian mandarin and citrus musk. you made a mental note to yourself to wear the combination around your lover more often.

a/n : for @robot-horde because you're brilliant and left a comment on the tags of this post and it just inspired me to make more.

[cyberrose2001]

Under Pressure

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

GRAHH SURPRISE!!!!

Relic and I have been... discussing... very hard about an ask they got a couple days ago so I wrote this eheh (THANK YOU FOR DISCUSSING THIS WITH ME AND LETTING ME WRITE THIS ILY)

Also please yell at me if I forgot any warnings!

Loosely based of this ask over on @callsign-relic's blog

Warnings: Human reader, Giant/Tiny, Dub-Con(?), Nocturnal emission, Crack fic(?)

Word count: 1,887

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Rodimus denies it every time, but he's a heavy sleeper. He snores like a congested rhino; he constantly sets twelve alarms that only barely stir him from his slumber. Despite being captain of the ship, his sleep schedule is far from tip-top shape.

And no, you're not a stalker. You're just Rodimus' observant little 'pet' human, always there, with a California king on his bedside dresser. Yeah, you're treated like royalty by an incredibly hard-to-deny hot alien robot.

So, as the ship ventured further into deep space and the nights got colder, you whined and begged to stay with him.

Rodimus was very hesitant to let you join him in the berth. As much as he cared about you and would kill an army for you, he didn't want to accidentally kill you, which was very much a possibility in any scenario on this ship. But he caved. You had mastered the sad, wet cat look, and Rodimus had the willpower of a rock.

Relishing in victory, you're curled up comfortably against Rodimus' lower plating for the third consecutive night in a row, warmed by the large servo of a sleeping giant. The entire palm of his hand covers your back in subconscious protection, and every so often, you feel a twitch of one digit. It's tranquility and a rare comfort, the touch of another you haven't felt since being on earth.

Until he rolls over.

Rodimus, choking on his snores, flips over onto his stomach and nearly tosses you off the berth if not for the grip he has on you. Despite almost winding you and making an audible 'Oof' sound, he doesn't wake up, his unconscious body assuming another comfortable position.

It takes you a few moments to register what the fuck just happened, but you realise that you're now underneath Rodimus. Almost his entire body weight is now pressed against you and pins you to the berth.

Oh god, you think to yourself.

This is less than ideal; this was not supposed to happen. How the hell are you, a tiny ass human, supposed to get out from under him? You probably shouldn't even be alive right now with how restricted your breathing is, not to mention how hard he flopped on top of you. But thankfully, with how Rodimus' legs have fallen into position, it leaves you with just enough room for your chest to rise and fall.

"God." You whine, muffled as your cheeks squish against his abdominal plating.

Your mind runs wild as you try to think of a way out. Maybe he'll just roll over again soon? God, you hope so; you can handle only so much weight, and Rodimus feels like he could hold down a cargo ship. Probably because he can.

But until then, however long that may be, you need to try something at least.

"Rodimus?" You try to wiggle but to no avail. He has you pinned pinned, and you use what little breath you have to yell out to him, "Hello? Are you awake or what?"

A loud, seemingly exaggerated snore replies to you. He's still deep in recharge, ruining any chance you have of waking him up yourself. You try to use your nails to scratch the surface of his frame, hoping it would tickle him or something, but that doesn't work either.

"Great." You roll your eyes, only you would ever end up in this type of situation. If only you had listened to Rodimus when he first said no, then you wouldn't be currently experiencing a near death experi-

"Y/n..." Rodimus' hoarse voice crackles above you, sending vibrations through your bones.

"Oh, thank god," You sigh in relief. You attempt to wiggle around some more, hoping to get his attention this time, "Listen, can you get off me now? This kinda hur-"

You squeak softly in pain as his sharp pelvis presses against you, and you hear your name again. This time, though, the tone of his voice came out as a whine, like a soft plea.

Because of where you were positioned before you became a pea under a princess' tower of mattresses, Rodimus' lower panels rested right against your stomach. This means you can feel his panels start to bulge slightly.

Oh no, you think to yourself bleakly once again. You're not sure how similar Cybertronian anatomy is to humans, apart from a crude explanation by an engex drunk Swerve. Still, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're feeling him getting hard. Putting two-and-two together using two out of the five senses, you've realised that Rodimus is nearly boner deep in a wet dream.

And not to assume, but you're thinking that the star of the show is you.

It's also the wrong time to cackle to yourself about getting crushed by your crush.

You might have some issues to work out after with Rung.

"Oh fuck," You reasonably panic, trying to push against his heavy frame weakly with your pinned arms, "Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-"

You start to thrash against Rodimus when your arms fail, your tiny body rubbing up against him. This doesn't help at all, you've come to realise but actually digs you in a deeper hole as he begins to rock his pelvis into you.

Rodimus moans your name again as he sleepily grinds against you. Whatever he's dreaming of, it must be an insanely hot pornographic fantasy of you. The bulge grows bigger, pining you down further into the berth. He shutters and lets out a soft groan before his plating shifts, and you feel a very thick, very hard, and very hot object slide up against you.

Oh god, it's his dick.

Swerve might not have told you all the details, but he seemed to conveniently leave out how fucking huge Cybertronian cocks are.

As if you thought this couldn't get any more debilitating, you now have the head of Rodimus' spike pressing against your face. It's as if the Alaskan bull worm had slithered up between yourself and Rodimus to give you a kiss. The behemoth of baggage has already started leaking what you would believe would be the Cybertronian equivalent to pre-cum, smearing all across your face.

At this significant turn of events, you've realised you have come to a crossroads.

Either struggle and continue to wiggle and wrangle your way out from under him, but risk pleasuring him, whether or not he could feel you squirming against him anyway with how small you are compared to it. Or, the more realistic and obtainable outcome, lie still and take it until he wakes up from an orgasm.

Who are you kidding? You don't have much of a choice at all. Both options risk you drowning in alien robot cum. It's wishful thinking as Rodimus starts to rut against your entire body again.

"Y/n..." He whimpers again, though very garbled and unintelligible. Every roll of his hips causes more pre-cum to dribble against your face and down your chest, and with each, it spreads all around in between yourself and his train-sized spike. Making an absolute mess of you.

If you weren't getting humped up against right now, you would indeed find a way to kill him for ruining your only set of pajamas.

"Rodimus-" You gag as a spurt of pre-cum falls into your mouth, "Guh- Rodimus stop-"

His work of venting increases, and so does his rutting. The comatose mech gasps and hitches his breath, oblivious to your cries and pleas for him to stop. He pushes up against you in heated desperation, fucking into your soft body like a grind pad.

"Rodimus! Wake the fuck up!" You start to heat up yourself; the increased pressure and friction of his plating will give you a fucked up version of carpet burn if he doesn't wake up. Sweat drips from your skin, adding even more lubricant to his incessant grinding.

"Wha- Oh, Primus!" Rodimus rears his drool-covered helm and cries out in equal confusion and unrestrained pleasure. He's woken up by his overload as he shoots his load up against you, flooding the minimal empty space left between you both with hot transfluid.

"Oh god-" You couldn't close your mouth in time when a spurt of transfluid hit you in the face, causing you to cough and spit it back out, only for more to splat you in the face.

Rodimus moans tiredly, shuttering violently as his spike pulses and leaks the remainder of his overload against the berth.

Or what he thought was the berth. Since when did he use a self-service mod on his spike? Especially when he shares a room with-

"Hey!" Cough, "Are you done?"

His optics slam open in horrific realisation.

"Oh no," Rodimus rolls over onto his back, his softened wet spike flopping against his abdominal plating, "Oh no, no, no..."

He looks down where he once lay, and his face plates flush a bright blue. Laying in a puddle of his transfluids was you, his little human, sopping wet with a highly unimpressed look on your tiny face.

"Oh Primus, Y/n," Rodimus scoops you up in his servos, gently tossing you from hand to hand as he wrings them off his transfluids, "I am so sorry, I- frag what was I thinking!" Rodimus babbles and holds you to his face, "Are you okay? God, I'm so stupid-"

"Ughh," You lay limply in his palm, exhausted and out of breath, "After that... I don't know anymore."

Rodimus hides his blush with a servo before pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm glad you're okay, but what were you doing down there?"

"Great question," You lift your head up to deadpan him, then eventually drag yourself to sit up. Sticky, pink transfluid drips down your body. Your face, and hair, are all drenched in him, "It's not like you rolled over in your sleep and had me pinned for nearly half an hour. What the hell?"

Rodimus blinks, and his face turns a deeper shade of blue as he rubs the back of his neck, "Oh, so that's why I had that dream about you..."

Is he serious right now?

"Oh, you think?" You wipe your lip when it starts to drip into your mouth, "I think I could tell when you started moaning my name in your sleep."

"Well, you're just so tiny and soft and-" The red and yellow mech bites the knuckles of the servo not holding you in embarrassment. "But what was I supposed to do, huh? Hold it in?"

God, he is.

"I'm literally gonna kill you, Rodimus." You shiver, his transfluids cooling against your skin. You can't believe he dares to look you in the eye, "I am never begging to nap with you ever again, or maybe at least warn me next time."

"No offense taken," Rodimus nods in agreement for once, watching you wring your hair out, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I really am. I can help clean you up? As a sincere apology from yours truly?"

"As long as I don't come into contact with more of this stuff," You flick a bead of transfluid off your finger into his direction, "And you better be sorry, or it'll be a long time before I might actually let you fuck me."

"Wait, you'll what-" Splat, "EWUGH!!"

[safimira]

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request drift (idw/lost light) having an opposite personality, daughter? With said daughter being with him since he was deadlock?

First of the MTMTE cast to have a daughter with the opposite personality!

Hope you enjoy!

Drift with a daughter with the opposite personality

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Familial, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Deadlock found the little sparkling while wandering aimlessly through the gutters of the Dead End.

The poor thing was struggling around in a deep puddle of oil, whirling and chirping for help.

Drift immediately went over and scooped her up from the puddle and placed her down.

Using some cloth and thinner pieces of scrap, he managed to get most of the gunk from the little one’s vents and cleaned most of the excess oil off her.

Drift: “There.” He feels a bit proud he managed to help someone out, even if it wasn’t much. The sparkling stared at him with wide optics and curiously chirped at him. Drift looked around. Drift: “Where are your guardian’s at—oh?” The sparkling was attempting to hug his pede. Drift: “Oh! I’m not—Little one I’m—now go on now.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling away from him. The sparkling looks a bit confused before waddling right back to him… but not before tripping going headfirst back into the puddle. Drift quickly grabs the sparkling from the puddle again. She blinks as Drift once again cleans her face. Drift: “You need to watch where you’re going, little one. Now go and this time the other way.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling in the opposite direction. The sparkling chirps at him sadly before waddling sadly away. Drift spark clenched. This was for the best… Right… SPLASH! Drift: “Oh sweet Primus not again!” Drift picked up the sparkling in the cloth, but this time made no move to put her down. Drift: “…I guess you’re stuck with me… At least until your guardians arrive.” The sparkling chirps happily as she snuggles up into his chassis.

What was he doing?

Drift barely had enough as it was to support himself and now, he had a little sparkling!

…But he buckles up a bit and tries working odd jobs to at least get more credits for some kind of energon for the sparkling.

He was grateful that the little thing was quiet and not that fussy.

Though her curiosity and slight clumsiness were the downside.

Drift is looking around for his sparkling. Drift: “Little one! Little one where are you!? I really need to name her…” He hears some chirping and frantically looks around him. A rock falls on his helm. Drift: “OW!” He looks up and feels all the energon draining from his frame. The sparkling was sitting on a rusty guard rail a couple feet up in the air. Drift: “How did you get up there!?” Drift pulls a stray crate and stands on it trying to reach her. Drift: “Hey little buddy, come here. Come to papa buddy!” The sparkling chirps before the rail gives in. Drift manages to catch her just as the railing came down. He frantically looks at his sparkling, who was thankfully unharmed. Drift: “Oh thank Primus… you really scared me there buddy. Buddy? Hmm… that’s sounds nice don’t you think?” Buddy chirps in agreement.

As the years grew on, Buddy matured much quicker than Drift would have liked it.

It seemed that one minute he was holding her servo as she nervously tried her first transformation.

The next she was carrying him to safety after a couple of mechs decided to beat him to a pulp for not giving him the rest of his circuit booster.

She often scolded him about taking those… enhancements and telling him the damage they could cause.

Buddy manages to messily wield a bit of scrap metal onto his arm. Drift winces a bit. Buddy: “…This wouldn’t happen if—” Drift: “I laid off the boosters. Buddy how many more times are we going to go through this?” Buddy gives him a slight glare. Buddy: “Enough times to see when that message gets into that thick helm of yours… I don’t know how to fix you if you…” Buddy grunted a bit, not even daring to say the last thing. Drift gives her a reassuring smile. Drift: “Have I mentioned I have the best daughter a mech could ask for?” Buddy smiles a bit. Buddy: “Not too often… but that still doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about the boosters.” Drift: “Scr—” THWACK! Drift rubs his helm. Drift: “Buddy!”

Buddy was a scrapy youngling when Drift nearly overdosed on speedster circuits and engex.

She remembered cradling his glitching frame, crying for someone to help her.

Was pushed and nearly beaten by some thugs who wanted Drift’s frame, before the famous officer Orion Pax cuffed them.

Buddy tried to stand up and protect her father by trying to shield his body with her frame.

She was utterly terrified but ready to fight for him.

Was surprised when the officer kindly told her he knew someone who could help her and Drift.

As frightened as she was, Buddy decides that any chance of saving Drift was worth the risk.

She makes it very clear that Drift needed more care than she did and would refuse until Drift was okay.

Thankfully Ratchet was able to get Drift stable and moves on to help Buddy.

Ratchet starts patching up Buddy. Ratchet: “I take it the mech I just fixed is your guardian?” Buddy: “He’s, my dad.” Ratchet: “Hmm…” Buddy twitches a bit. Ratchet: “You got a question kid?” Buddy hesitantly nods. Buddy: “What are those tools for?” Ratchet: “Those help me see better into a bots smaller crevices.” Buddy: “…Do you think you can teach me how to save a bot from overdosing?” Ratchet stops for a minute. Buddy: “I just don’t know if he might do it again and I want to be prepared for it.” Ratchet looks at the youngling who had determination and slight twinge of fear in her optics. Ratchet: “I can teach you how to better hide some of the boosters and the warning signs, but I can’t teach you the proper procedure.” Buddy looks down a bit. Ratchet: “Not because I don’t want to, but because it is a difficult procedure to do, near impossible without any prior medical knowledge. If you come to me with at least some sort of certification you can do some healing besides a standard patch job, then we’ll see.” Buddy smiles at him with a new look of determination. Buddy: “Then… can you tell me about that tool?”

Drift is glad to see Buddy okay.

He brings her close as they start to depart.

His audial ring a bit with what the doctor had told him about starting a new life and to watch for his daughter.

Buddy makes sure to remember the location of the clinic.

Ratchet is surprised to find the youngling back.

She wants to help him, help others like he did with Drift.

Buddy couldn’t exactly go to school or medical school, so he was the next best thing.

Ratchet makes her work for it.

Constantly randomly asking her random questions about certain parts of the frame of a Seeker, to names of certain tools and what they are used for.

Buddy makes him proud by putting the work in.

Drift doesn’t notice Buddy’s absence.

He had taken up more tasks and jobs that were taking even more time than before.

As much as Buddy loved Drift, she did wish he was home more.

Those were peaceful moments where they would staring into the sky and see how many constellations they could spot.

Buddy soon stops coming by the clinic, which worries Ratchet but there are other things he needs to worry about now.

As much as it pains him…

What happened?

Drift had brought Buddy to one of Megatron’s rallies.

There was supposable going to be some free energon at the event.

The pair is surprised when the leader of the movement himself came to them.

Megatron asked Drift if he’d like to join.

Drift accepted seeing a new opportunity in life, maybe a better one for him and Buddy.

He was even given a new name, Deadlock.

Buddy didn’t like the name, but never voiced it.

Megatron kindly turned to Buddy and asked her if she wanted to make a difference, to help bots less fortunate to find a voice.

Buddy was onboard with the idea of helping others.

Just like doctor Ratchet!

They became Decepticon’s that very day.

Being a youngling, there wasn’t much Buddy could do but do odd little jobs or be a messenger.

She showed promise in the healing department, and given that the Decepticon’s were short on medics, thoughts on teaching her the ropes didn’t seem too bad.

Buddy was taught by engineers and other doctors around the base.

She quickly rose up to the occasion once the injured started arriving.

It would take a couple more years before she officially was given her doctor’s title.

This happened around the beginning of the war.

Deadlock started becoming this infamous bounty hunter.

Buddy did not like this deadlock persona.

He was rude, snappy, and at times even cruel.

The pairs paths crossing was rare.

The only time they would be in the same room for more than a minute would happen whenever he was sent to the medbay.

Deadlock refuses any medic besides Buddy to see him.

She would feel flattered if the injuries he came back didn’t hurt her spark.

Buddy is patching up Deadlock. He hisses at some of the sparks. Deadlock: “Would it kill for you to be a bit gentler?” Buddy: “Would it kill you to be more careful out there?” Deadlock stays silent. Buddy: “That’s what I thought.” Deadlock: “…How are the exams coming along?” Buddy: “I passed those exams… 6 months ago…” Deadlock: “You did?” Buddy: “I’m a doctor now.” Deadlock chuckles a bit. Buddy swears she hears Drift for a second. Deadlock: “Look at you. I would be proud if you could be a bit gentler with your patients.” Buddy doesn’t say anything as she finishes patching Deadlock up.

The first time he snapped at her, she gave him the silent treatment, a bit in shock that he did that.

Deadlock would later apologies by managing to snag a couple of new tools for her to use.

He would be gone for an unknown number of times, but Buddy found herself trying to cherish the time that she did have with Deadlock.

Deadlock was the last thing she had left of Drift.

Soon enough she stops giving him the silent treatment when she patches him up and continues to scold.

Buddy was tired of seeing her loved ones and friends get hurt all the time, there was some part of her that hoped that nagging enough would get them to be more careful.

It never happened or worked too well.

She hated losing her patients to this war, she hated losing everyone to it.

But the only thing she could do now was do her job.

This was not the future she thought when she stood in front of a smiling Megatron.

Soon enough Buddy was given a promotion.

As Megatron’s personal nurse/doctor.

A doctor that also became a therapist of sorts when he’d started ranting about Prime or the recent battles or just about Starscream.

Given the recent attempts on his life, Megatron saw fit to have someone trusted to care for him.

Buddy just so happened to be the least likely to betray him on his list of medics.

Also least likely to do something other than heal his frame.

Buddy was patching up one of his pedes from a nasty mesh wound. Buddy: “If I’d have to guess… this was Starscream’s doing?” Megatron: “Not entirely.” Buddy: “How so?” Megatron: “I do not believe that is part of your concern.” Buddy gives him a tired look. Buddy: “Yes, silly me, a doctor asking her patient how they got hurt. Silly me for wanting to make sure I am healing it properly.” Megatron: “… I trip down the stairs.” Buddy blinks. Buddy: “You what?” Megatron: “And in falling I kicked Starscream in the face causing him to retaliate.” Starscream on a nearby berth: “How do you think I would have responded!?” Skywarp laughs by his side, ‘playfully’ slapping the Seeker. THWACK! Skywarp was now on the floor groaning as he held his helm. Buddy has another wrench in her servo while not taking her optics off the wound. Buddy: “Don’t touch my patients like that.” Megatron: “…How is it that you never decided to join your fa—” Buddy gives him a sharp look that surprisingly shuts him up. Buddy: “I’d rather fits the bots that I see, not dismantle them.”

Buddy began to see Deadlock a bit more too, no surprise him being one of the few mechs in the warlord’s inner circle.

Though not much was said between the two.

It wasn’t personal, but there wasn’t a lot of time between the pair given one’s job being outside the base taking bots out.

While the other spent most of her time in the base patching up the wounded.

It would be a simple miscalculation that would cause a major shift in Buddy’s life.

Someone had breached the information of the location of Megatron’s base.

It was compromised and they all needed to move.

There was a rapid panic through the troops as they tried to move everything before the Autobots would arrive.

Buddy was in the med bay trying to get patients to safety when the first shots were heard.

She only had two bots left.

There was an explosion knocking her back.

Waking up, Buddy quickly realized that she was pinned down by some of the debris.

The doctor struggled to move when a blaster was shoved close to her faceplate.

Buddy freezes staring at the blaster. Spark pulsing too fast. Suddenly the blaster was yanked back. Buddy just stared dumbfounded at the red and blue mech. The scene seemed strikingly familiar to her. Buddy: “Optimus Prime.” Optimus looks down at the medic before it clicked. Optimus: “Buddy. It has been a long time. I see you made yourself a medic.” Buddy: “Doctor actually sir.” Optimus chuckles a bit before he starts to get some of the debris off her. There are some bots arguing against the action, suggesting leaving her there. Buddy stiffens a bit at the thought of being trapped under the rubble alone in the dark. Buddy: “Sir, if I may. I am a doctor and word around is that you need more medics. Allow me to help you.” The Prime looks at her confused. Optimus: “You’d willingly leave your side of the war to join the enemy?” Buddy gives him a serious look. Buddy: “I joined this cause in the promise to help bots and make a better place for Cybertron… I have been deceived sir. I am disappointed and to say I am furious is an understatement.  I can’t think of a better way to get back at the Decepticon’s than taking away a good medic who knows where the secret compartment of data slugs of the location of the next base are.” Buddy was hoping that the data slug would be enough to persuade the Prime. Optimus looks at her with surprise and slight suspicion. He finds no sign of lying. In a single kick, he manages to get most of the debris off Buddy. She now noticed she was down a pede thanks to the explosion. Optimus gently picks her up. Optimus: “Lead the way, Buddy.” A couple hours later in some remote location… Deadlock gets a call. Deadlock: “Yes Lord Megatron.” Megatron: “The base was compromise. We are moving to the next base of operation in the South quadrant.” Deadlock’s optics widen a bit. Deadlock: “The entire base?” Megatron: “The Autobot’s took no prisoners. Anyone who was in the base has been massacred.” Deadlock is silent. Megatron: “…You have my condolences on your loss Deadlock.” The call ends as the Decepticon screams into the silent night.

Buddy was brought into Autobot custody.

She kept a stoic face on meeting the other Autobot’s.

Buddy knew well enough that these bots did not trust her, not that she would blame them.

The only reason she was alive was because she was a medic.

After a fresh coating of paint and change of insignia the doctor was finally allowed in the medbay.

Her façade almost completely dropped seeing Rachet there.

Buddy had long come to the terms that he had offlined at some point in the war.

Her spark warmed seeing her first mentor had survived this long.

Ratchet was surprised to see his former student in front of him.

Under Optimus’s direct order, she was to always stay by Ratchet’s side unless under dire circumstances.

Buddy knew this was for the team to get used to her, but the thing she cared most was seeing how her mentor managed to stay online for so long.

The two would eventually sit down and talk about the past and why she was a part of the Decepticon’s even though she had different views.

Ratchet’s spark clenched a bit hearing one of the biggest being her father staying.

She truly thought if she left the Decepticon’s earlier that he would not last long.

But now… call her cruel but she did not care where he was.

It wasn’t like Deadlock would look for her.

It was thanks to Optimus and Ratchet that Buddy would get integrated fast into the group.

A lot of the bots thought Buddy would soften up Ratchet considering she was younger.

They were so wrong.

Buddy might as well be known as Mini Ratchet because she acted JUST like him!

Buddy finishing the final patch work on Sunstreaker. Sideswipe and Bumblebee were on the berth next to them, wrapped up and waiting for one more look over. Buddy: “And what was going through your processor when you and Sideswipe decided to take on the Elite Trine alone? And to bring Bumblebee, of all bots as back up? No offense Bumblebee.” Bumblebee: “None taken.” Sunstreaker: “In our defense—” Buddy tightens her grip on his armor making him wince. Buddy: “Try again? Sideswipe: “We had it under control.” Buddy gives him an unimpressed look. Buddy: “Yes because nothing says that you have it under control than sitting in themed bay with injuries that could have been avoided—” Bumblebee: “Aww, you do care.” Buddy huffs and continues working. Buddy: “One more peep and its lights out for you.” Sideswipe: “Yeah, like you’d hurt a poor defenseless mech—” THWACK! Sideswipe was knocked out on the berth with a wrench on his chassis. The other yellow mechs stared at her in shock. Buddy just continued her work. Ratchet enters the room. He glances at Sideswipe. Ratchet: “He couldn’t stop running his mouth?” Buddy: “To be fair I gave a warning.” Sunstreaker: “Are you sure that Ratchet isn’t your father?” The young doctor tenses up. Buddy: “And that’s nighty night for you.” She presses a pressure point and watches the mech crumble on the berth. Bumblebee makes the right decision and lays back down.

Buddy hadn’t exactly introduced herself to Drift.

She remembered hearing about Deadlock defecting and going by Drift once again.

She also remembers waking up in the medslab with a concern Rodimus by her side.

But any opportunity of meeting him Buddy had to stop herself.

It was too painful.

Too many why’s and hurting for Buddy to handle.

Ratchet was very admitted about having her go and meet him, that he was nothing like Deadlock.

She still refused to.

The young doctor knew that if she met this new mech and didn’t see any sign of Drift...

She’d rather avoid that as long as she can.

Timeskip to Lost Light boarding… Buddy was accompanying Ratchet to the med bay when Drift and Rodimus turned the corner. Drift stopped dead in his tracks staring at her. Ratchet continues into the medbay, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Buddy was going though. Buddy mentally and physically steeled herself up. Buddy: “Captain Rodimus, Third in Command Drift. What brings you two to the medbay?” Rodimus: “Buddy you can lose the title thing.” Buddy: “I’m just being polite Captain.” Rodimus raises an optic at Buddy. Buddy: “…Fine. How does Roddy sound?” Rodimus puffs his chassis. Rodimus: “Now that’s better! Anyways, Drift and I were just doing the last walk around the ship. You’ve met Drift, right? You know he defected too?” Buddy and Drift just stare at each other. Buddy: “I am well aware of who Deadlock was.” Buddy pretends not to notice Drift wincing a bit at the sound of his previous name. Buddy: “Now, if you two excuse me, I need to make sure everything is secure and ready for quantum leaps.” Buddy returned back into the medbay sitting close to Ratchet. Rodimus shrugs and continues his walk with Drift who had yet to say anything. Rodimus notices his friend’s silence. Rodimus: “You okay Drift? Did you and Buddy have some sort of history?” Drift: “Rodimus… that was my daughter.” Rodimus: “Oh just your daughter, I thought you—wait what!?”