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rawmeknockout · 8 months ago

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can I please have the lost light’s resident old married couple cdrw taking a hot young bot under their wing as a third? even better if said bot is a complete and total brat that’s still woefully unprepared for whatever those two cook up in the berth

You didn't know them that well, have only heard of them in passing or seen them chatting with their friends at the bar. There are whispers among the crew, large as it is, about their lives. Perhaps not all of it is true, but it made you feel sorry for them. You probably shouldn't have judged based off rumors, but they made you feel... Normal. Like you're grateful you are not as messed up as them. Althought, perhaps that's because you're not nearly as old as them. It may be terribly judgmental, as you are sometimes wont to be, but you didn't know them. It had been fine to feel that way in private.

It was fine until you were trapped with the small one on some abandoned mining planet.

The mission had been to search for the person or persons who sent out a distress signal, but from the start it was a bust. The planet had been left for centuries, once bustling with an entire enslaved population of aliens who worked and died mining for precious jewels. Even with the countless atrocities the war brought, Cybertronians certainly didn't have a monopoly on committing crimes against nature.

It was only terrible luck and unfortunate timing that led the ground to caving in under you two, a result of the failing infrastructure, as one of the expansive tunnels caved in beneath your feet. Perhaps Primus took mercy on you by letting you survive the drop down several stories of crumbling rock. It certainly didn't feel like mercy when you came to with nothing but oppressive dark and one terribly banged up companion. You knew it was impossible to send a message underground, but you attempted to anyway. It, unsurprisingly, failed not a half-second after.

There was only one path even marginally open in the caved in tunnel, so after getting your bearings and checking on your companion (one leg crushed, the other snapped clean off, would make it hard for him to go anywhere alone), you picked up and set off the only way you could. Although not without a bit of whining and complaining on your part. He wasn't much to carry, despite being one of the larger minibots, and his playful banter, although uneasy, had filled the quiet with something to keep your mind off the dreariness of your circumstances. You tried not to waste energy checking your chronometer, but you must have been walking for days. You stopped when you were tired, feet aching and scuffed beyond mere polishing, and simply kept going when you knew you had to. It was impossible to tell if you even made any progress. It was only a day before your companion, chipper as he could be, suggested you leave him behind and try to use your energy to save yourself.

Despite the logic, you wouldn't hear of it. You weren't just going to leave another mech, older and already unable to walk, to waste away in the dark, buried under hundreds of feet of dirt and rock. You almost had to force him to take even a single nip off your energy rations, of mediocre quality and already half-eaten before you had been caved in. He tried to use every rationale he could: he was a memory stick, he had recently saved a copy of his most important historical archives, he was unable to get anywhere without you and would simply increase your energon usage than if you traveled alone. Self-sacrificing as he tried to be, Rewind at least didn't physically fight back when you would pick him up and continue walking. If you simply let him die, left him behind to save yourself, you would lose a part of yourself that you had fought for so long to keep alive. You didn't fight a stupid war so you could forsake your beliefs in a fucking tunnel on a shitty planet. His banter, your playful teasing, kept you from losing your processor to despair.

Your joints ached terribly by the time you found it, Rewind becoming less and less responsive. Perhaps Primus had been looking out for you after all. The light was blinding, much too bright after spending cycles in pitch black, but you climbed for it anyway. Energon leaked from your pedes and fingertips as you clawed your way out of what ended up being a sliver of a cave entrance. Nothing but an overlooked hole in the ground and rock. If you'd had the energy you would have laughed, letting Rewind slide off your backplates onto the ground as you flipped over and let the twin stars beat their rays into your chassis. You reached for Rewind's servo beside you, try to coax his digits into squeezing yours back, but get nothing in return. If he was close to gone, you were not far behind. Your HUD alerted you that your message, finally, got sent off.

You only caught the distant sound of engines as you slipped into what may be stasis-lock.

The Well of All Sparks is, annoyingly, quite loud and clinical. The sound of a spark monitor is clear in your audials, and you wish he wouldn't fiddle with metal instruments so loudly. His voice sounds like Ratchet's, although low in volume it's still gruff and not-so-soothing to the recently awakened. Your optics reboot after a long moment of trying to decide if you want to wake up back on the Lost Light.

Your processor is fuzzy and not moving as quickly as you would like it to, but you are, thankfully, still alive. Ratchet's demeanor has never looked so gentle, certainly not at you directly, as he leans over you for a thorough investigation. He fusses at you about your memories, most notably about who you are, and checks for what you have to assume is any extensive processor damage or pain. You don't know how long you lay there, looking up at fluorescent lights under Ratchet's gentle interrogation, but you don't notice Rewind or Chromedome beside your bed until several moments later.

"You almost went into permanent stasis-lock," Rewind informs you, relief clear in his voice, "Thankfully Magnus got your message as soon as we were out."

Chromedome doesn't say much other than letting you know Rewind has been unrelentingly insistent on staying by your bedside, not letting anyone forget how heroic or brave you were. It makes you clam up, faceplates heating, as he outs Rewind for telling anyone and everyone about how you risked your life for him. The pair that you had heard so many rumors about, who had seemed like mere caricatures of a tragic love story, have become so much more... Real. Their reactions and feelings rational. Like any other Cybertronian.

With just a few days of being forced into each others company, you have firmly and unwittingly enmeshed yourself into Rewind's inner circle. You make a point to tell him you don't need him to 'repay' you or something, but Rewind insists on inviting you for drinks and carrying on conversations. He comes to see you while you're working, introduces you to his friends, tells everyone about his 'life debt' to you. When you loudly, boldly declare your opinions like they are mere facts of life, your new friend agrees eagerly or laughs at your overzealous behavior. If Rewind is grateful, you don't know how to describe Chromedome. He's quieter than his companion, you knew that before actually talking to him, but his attachment to you is no less apparent. Despite his aversion to most people, you find yourself as a rare exception. They always seem to find you in a crowd. Despite your bravado and self-aggrandizing, it feels nice to actually be seen by others, to be wanted and looked for. It was nice that, in spite of your ability to be rather loud and opinionated, mechs still wanted to be around you. It starts a very conflicting conundrum of whether you should indulge this feeling or try to keep it down.

Perhaps it was more obvious to those around you what was happening. It certainly seemed that way to those like Brainstorm and Tailgate, who were under the impression you were 'not like them'. When you even insinuated you were merely in the same category as all of their friends, Brainstorm would give you a puzzled look, investigative even. Something was clear to everyone but you.

It finally dawns on you one night, laying on their shared berth as Rewind replays the battle against Galvatron for the fiftieth time, that perhaps this is what they meant. Chromedome's thigh is pressed into the side of your chassis, a weighty presence warm against your armor, as Rewind tucks himself against your other side, his helm resting on your pauldron as he holds the holovid for you to see. You don't voice your thoughts, far too prideful to make a fool of yourself by stating something that others surely were caught up on, but the realization does send heat up your neck cables to the tips of your audials. Your EM field pushes experimentally against Chromedome's, a brushing of gentle electric energy that mingles in the back of your intake. He doesn't hesitate to push back readily, focus still entirely on his own datapad.

It's a realization that, in hindsight, only goes to your head. You strut around the ship with an ego boosted through the roof, a fact others make not so playful comments about. But you remain unfazed by their ribbing. You let your knee brush and press against Rewind's when you sit at your designated table in Swerve's, lean in to rest against Chromedome's side when there's a ship-wide meeting, make yourself comfortable by leaving your things here and there strewn across their habsuite. It's not long before you find yourself being annoyingly, obnoxiously clingy, arms wrapped around one or both of your partners in any public situation, a fact which leads Whirl to, several times, make gagging noises as if he has a mouth with which to gag. Your partners, ever loving and ever indulgent, don't push you off or attempt any 'face-saving'. Rewind seems all the happier to have you draped across him like another layer of armor.

All of your teasing and physical touch is a mistake you merely rack up in interest, Chromedome's EM field pleased and well-charged but never allowed to disperse. No relief found from your fleeting servos or coiling arms. It is a slow torturous build to an intimate joining in their berth, one you have unwittingly drawn out for months.

It is with Chromedome's derma that you reach his tipping point, his blast mask thrown aside in favor of kissing you passionately and a tad too enthusiastically. Despite all your touching and loving, Chromedome is not liberal with his mouth and prefers to keep his face covered when possible. You throw your arms around his neck, letting him push you back onto the berth with his larger frame. Your well aware of Rewind at your side, eager to record your intimate moments in graphic detail, a thought that sends charge zipping through your frame. His servos find the curve of your frame from shoulder to chest, pet along seams leading to your spark chamber, trail down where they converge at your pelvic armor. He's not so kind as to even lay a digit on it, though, opting to grab your thighs and hoist them around his hips.

For such a cold and aloof mech, gloomy in even the best situations, his kiss, his touch, is unbearably hot. His chassis only growing warmer where you meet, your legs tighten around his back to pull him closer to your codpiece where you need him desperately. He's also an infuriating person who doesn't relent to your wishes so easily, pulling away to smile impishly.

"What do you want, huh?" Rewind lets out a stifled laugh beside you at Chromedome's prodding. Clearly you're surrounded by villains.

"Come on, you know what I want!" You try to reel him back in with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a coiling cyberconda. He's undeterred by your grappling and whining.

"Patience, young Padawan," You wrinkle your nasal ridge at Rewind invoking one of Swerve's nerdy movies, "Good things come to those who wait."

You scoff, ready to give him a piece of your mind for not banging your bolts loose already, before Chromedome interrupts you.

"By the time we're done, you're going to wish you hadn't been so insistent," That... Gives you pause. You know they're pretty amorous, passionate in their interpersonal relationships, but they're still just a couple of old geezers, right? You almost laugh at the notion they could have anything in store that would surprise you. If they frag too hard they might die of spark failure.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The amusement must be far too clear in your voice, because Chromedome leers at you in a way that makes you feel wholly unprepared. Perhaps it's not too late to salvage some sort of mercy from them.

"Have you ever tried edging?"

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