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[tfp] obsessed!starscream x human!reader
+18 content / valveplug
summary: still feeling megatron's claws all over his body, starscream goes to visit the only person who can let him forget the horrors of abuse - you
cw: hurt/comfort, angst, megatron abuses starscream, slight gore, established (but it's complicated) relationship, very ooc starscream, get catified idiot; yandere themes: obsessive thoughts, possessiveness and jealousy, emotional manipulation, clinginess and unhealthy behavior; valveplug with plot: gentle!dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!starscream, backshots (starscream receiving), reader uses a strap (referred as cock a few times), overstimulation, praise kink
word count: 5450
inspired by this ask, bless you for it anon š :
He isnāt sure what provoked the attack. Did he speak too soon? Stepped into Megatron's personal space? Maybe the warlord noticed his mind wandering for a few nanokliks, wishing the speech would end so he could return to you. Or maybe he didnāt need a reason. Perhaps no provocation was ever necessary for Megatron to lash out. To hit, crush, scratch, humiliate him in front of everyone. Sometimes, all it took was a bad mood and a single glance to spill energon. Often, Megatron didnāt need a reason at all to vent his fury. A whim was enough ā a need to display aggression, to assert forced, undeserved dominance.
Starscream doesnāt want to think about it anymore. Heās suffered enough physically. Instead, he focuses on you, channeling the gentleness you always showed him, the calculated grace of your movements. You always knew how to make him forget, even if only for a fleeting moment.
Bruised and aching, he impatiently awaits the meetingās end. He tries to remain inconspicuous, to seem smaller than he is, hoping to avoid further humiliation, because clawing out optics of every bot present is not an option. He longs to return to you immediately, but for now, he must pretend to be the model soldier, still invested in the cause. He wonders if anyone truly cares anymore, if anyone other than Megatron still remembers the original ideals of the Decepticons and adheres to them. Does even the warlord himself believe in what heās fighting for? He quickly abandons the thought, redirecting his focus back to you.
When the meeting finally concludes, he forces himself to walk out with composed, deliberate steps, hiding the urgency in his pedes, the way they ache to carry him out of this hell. The icy chill of the ship bites at his spark, but he waits patiently for Megatronās dismissal, mocking the absurdity of the situation in his mind. Once granted permission, he exits the bridge alongside Knockout, who naturally heads toward the medbay, assuming Starscream will follow, but is visibly surprised when seeker doesnāt join him, instead limping stubbornly away.
"Hey, Starscream, get your aft to the medbay!" Knockout calls out.
"I donāt need your help, Knockout," Starscream replies venomously.
"Oh, really? Whose help do you need, then?" Knockout retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm. "To the medbay, before I lose my patience."
"Iām not going anywhere with you," Starscream growls. "So drop it. As long as Iām still standing, Iām fine."
"Youāve got seven lacerations, three puncture wounds, and two gunshot injuries.ā he starts counting on his digits āNot to mention countless scratches. I donāt know what kind of world you live in where this counts as 'fine.'" Knockout steps closer, grabbing the stubborn seekerās arm. "Stop resisting and let me fix you, you idiot."
Knockoutās touch feels cold, piercing like a thousand needles against mesh, gripping tightly as if intending to crush his arm, though Starscream knows itās just an illusion. He doesnāt want such an unpleasant connection, doesnāt want to be associated with metal and its rigidity right now nor with surgical tools or Knockoutās detached approach to patching wounds.
He doesnāt want to be on the Nemesis, feeling useless, insignificant, and discarded. He wants to be with you, to feel your touch, hear your voice. Now.
He canāt endure it any longer.
"Let go!" he snarls, yanking his arm free with a dramatic sweep, immediately stepping back, closer to you. "I said I donāt want your help, didnāt I?! So leave me alone and go buff that hollow helm of yours!"
Before Knockout can fire back with a sharp retort, Starscream transforms and takes off, leaving behind nothing but a cyan puddle and a trail of exhaust fumes and energon.
"Everyone on this ship has lost their minds," the medic mutters.
It doesnāt take Starscream long to orient himself, to calculate the route to reach you. He immediately sets off toward the coordinates, forcing himself to ignore the searing pain that courses through his frame, the open, leaking wounds that drip energon he knows will eventually hit the ground. Itās reckless to draw attention, but he casts caution aside, overwhelmed by the desperate need for comfort.
From a distance, he spots you lounging in a hammock, absorbed in a book, soaking up the warm rays of the spring sun. Will you be upset if he interrupts you? When he imposes his selfish needs, bringing with him vivid evidence of the horror he endured, likely ruining your peace and cheerful mood. He knows you wonāt turn him away or be angry about his unannounced visit, but he canāt shake the feeling that his presence is always unwelcome. Everywhere.
No matter how you react, no matter what you say, he wonāt leave. He needs to feel your soft hands on him, convinced theyāll erase the sensation of Megatronās fists against his plating, help him forget the claws tearing through metal, the smashing against walls, and the weight pressing his pedes to the floor. Youāll envelop not just his processor but his body as well, wrapping him in an illusion of carefreeness and convincing him, with your unparalleled talent, that everything is alright.
He sees you tilt your head from the hammock, scanning the sky for his silhouette, a smile gracing your lips when you finally spot him. You wave cheerfully, setting the book aside into the hammockās folds. But your joy quickly fades as his alt-mode hurtles straight toward you. Before you can escape or let out a shout, Starscream transforms mid-air, landing above the hammock with you caught beneath him.
He looks down at you, and a wave of relief washes over him. He made it. Finally, heās safe.
āBoo,ā he teases.
The journey cost him more energy than heād anticipated. To prevent collapsing, he braces himself against the massive tree in front of him. Only now does he truly feel how drained he is, how much his injuries ache. But none of it matters ā heās here with you, and for the first time in hours, the pain dulls and the cold from the Nemesis dissipates.
"Holy shit, Starscream!" you exclaim beneath him. "You almost gave me a heart attack! Never do that shit again, understand?!"
"Good to see you too," he retorts with a scoff. His legs tremble and wings sag unnaturally low, yet somehow, he feels infinitely better than he did on the Nemesis. Thereās warmth here, a sense of solace.
He watches as your expression shifts ā you grow pale, scanning his frame with those beautiful, observant little eyes. Fear crosses your face as you immediately climb out of the hammock. A few droplets of energon hit the ground near your feet.
You donāt ask who did this or why. You know him well enough to understand why he sometimes arrives with injuries, armed with a plethora of grievances to share. But heās never appeared to you so broken before.
"My God, Starscream, why didnāt you let someone patch you up?"
He rolls his optics. You donāt need to know about the desperation that drove him here, his overwhelming need to reach you as quickly as possible. "Because I had more important matters on my mind," he dodges. "Now, hand over some energon."
Skeptically, you drop the topic and open the shed where you keep a few barrels of refined energon, stored specifically for emergencies like this.
"Here you go, though I doubt this will solve all of our problems."
His wings twitch upward at the word "our."
"As if I donāt have everything under control," he huffs, limping toward a barrel and drinking it greedily, yet somehow maintaining an air of grace.
"You always do," you reply sarcastically, fully aware of how often he misses the subtlety of your playful tone. The faint smile hidden behind the half-full barrel confirms your suspicion. After finishing the first, he reaches for another.
"Feeling better?" you ask gently.
He takes your care to spark, letting it flood through his frame.
"Slightly," he admits because the word incomparably got stuck in his intake.
He tosses the empty energon container aside without care, locking his optics onto you as you continue to scan his injuries.
"Iāll grab a towel," you announce, turning toward the house.
Ha, youāre going to leave him? Now, when he needs you most? No, you donāt have the right. You canāt hurt him like that.
"Youāre not going anywhere."
Before you can even touch the doorknob, you feel long, slender claws wrap around your forearm. They pull you back with a soft "eep" escaping your lips until you land against his chassis, your shirt now smeared with energon.
"Seriously? Do you know how hard it is to get energon stains out?"
"Youāll manage," he replies, his servos already playing with your hair. His wings tremble slightly, betraying the emotions he struggles to suppress. "Iāve never seen blue stains on that pathetic, soft armor of yours."
"Clothes," you correct him.
"Unimportant."
Holding you in his arms, he truly feels that everything is alright. The open wounds donāt sting as fiercely as they did moments ago, his battered body can rest, and his processor is enveloped by a rare sense of peace. Everything feels better when youāre near, when your unimaginable softness surrounds him, and your tiny hands stroke his chassis, careful to avoid every wound. Itās soothing, and comforting, to have someone who brings solace just to him. To belong to someone, as much as he belongs to you. Almost cozy.
But soon, merely holding you isnāt enough. Itās unsatisfying, incomplete. Always craving luxuries, he wants more, and he wants it now.
He leans in, kissing your neck greedily while his servo slips beneath your shirt, making his desires abundantly clear.
"Starscream," you chide, "thereās a puddle of energon under you."
"Good thing I donāt care," he mutters between kisses, with no intention of stopping.
āAnd will you start caring when I say I wonāt let you into bed in this state?ā
"Stop ruining the mood," he hisses. "I donāt need your berth to interface!"
"But I do," you reply calmly, unfazed by his accusatory tone. To emphasize your point, you cross your arms over your chest, creating a small but significant distance between you. Starscream loathes this gesture, hates the boundary it creates between you. He wants to erase it, destroy it because whether you realize it or not, you hurt him with your cruelty. You set a boundary he never wanted to feel between you again.
"Star, you know I only want whatās best for you, right?"
"And thatās why you want to leave me, huh? Fine, go ahead, leave and never come back if you canāt be bothered to pay attention to me!" He releases you, and this time it's him crossing his arms over his chassis, but defensively, for comfort. Without you near, an unbearable, chilling loneliness takes hold of him and he despises it. āYou have the incredible opportunity to interface with me, and youāre turning me down because of a little energon stain? Foolish human, if only you understood what honor I bestow on you by allowing you to even touch me.ā
"Itāll only take me a minute," you reassure him, cupping his mauled faceplate in your hand. Starscream tries to resist the trap, to demonstrate the seriousness of his words through his body language, but within a nanoklik, he knows you have caught him. He leans into your hand, now smeared with energon, savoring the scraps of attention you offer. His wings flutter joyfully, and his engines hum softly, imitating a purr, a telltale sign of his true feelings, unspoken and originating from his very spark. āYouāre a good mech. Youāll wait for me, wonāt you?ā
He stomps his pede and taps his claws against his arm, wrestling with his thoughts. A single compliment, and heās already willing to do anything you ask, just to earn another, as if enchanted.
"You have exactly one klik. And youād better hurry because Iāll be counting."
You disappear into the house, and he battles the urge to follow, to accompany you everywhere in pursuit of the phenomenon that is your touch and its incredible power to immerse him in pleasure. What a cruel joke, he thinks, as a few nanokliks pass and the pain creeps back. His wings droop and his frame begins to tremble, betraying the weakness and torment he carries within. He doesnāt want to be alone ā canāt bear the lack of you any longer, though not even a single klik has passed. Feeling as if the cold has intensified, mocking him just like it did back on the Nemesis, he hugs himself tighter.
"[Name]?" he calls out weakly, his voice lonely, pathetic, like an addict in withdrawal.
He steps forward but collapses mid-motion, his journey ending there.
"Iām here! And what, I made it in time, didnāt I?" you ask playfully, though your tone quickly shifts to concern when you see the trembling seeker. "Hey, itās okay. Iām not leaving you again," you assure warmly. "Iām not going anywhere."
"Have you finally realized what an honor it is to be in my presence?" His self-admiration returns, a defensive mechanism to shield his vulnerable, true self. With the last bits of his strength, he suppresses his shaking as you guide him to sit on the ground, which he complies with. You shift slightly to the side to avoid the sharp edges of his armor on his knees.
"Star, itās been an honor from the very beginning," you assure him, gently dabbing at his wounds with a towel. You press it against his chassis, ignoring his winces and hisses, soothing him instead with soft strokes along his cheek.
"So, you do have some sense after all. For a human, that is."
"Thanks, I try," you reply, moving to the largest wound and tending to it with a fresh towel. "But Iām afraid youāll still need to see a medic, erm, what was his name againā¦ Knockout?"
Oh, he dislikes how easily you utter anotherās name, inviting its owner into his sanctuary. Jealousy claws at his spark, fuelling anger, because you should know and adore only his name. No one else is necessary for your happiness.
He regrets ever telling you the medicās name.
A sudden urge to merge his glossa with your tongue overwhelms him. To erase the taste of the intruder. But he restrains himself when he sees the genuine concern etched on your face. Starscream doesnāt want to ruin this moment, this rare display of sincerity, though his jealousy remains. Instinctively, his wings raise higher, making him appear larger, desperate for your attention.
"Donāt say that idiotās name," he growls. "From now on, Iām the only mech youāre allowed to address. Understand? No one else deserves it."
"Hm, good thing the only mech I interact with is you," you say. Starscream doesnāt bother hiding the smug smile spreading across his faceplate, his wings trembling with satisfactionā¦ until you add "But Iām not kidding, you need medical help and best I can do is very basic care."
"Have you not realized yet that thatās all I need? Think, if I wanted to see a medic, Iād have gone to one instantly."
He dislikes the way youāre looking at him, as if you donāt believe him, even though heās laid his cards bare for you. How can he explain that he sped toward you recklessly, risking everything, because he needed you, not Knockout, not specialized instruments, nor the familiar texture of an operating table beneath him? How can he make you understand that with just your touch, youāve repaired him more effectively than the Decepticon medic could dream of? Would you ever truly grasp how much you mean to him, how much heās willing to sacrifice for you? Probably not, he thinks bitterly. Heāll never be able to convey it through gestures, words, or even the most tender acts of affection.
"I just donāt want you to suffer," you confess sincerely.
His silence speaks volumes ā it tells you that he canāt grant you this wish.
"Oh, Star," you sigh.
"What?" he hisses. "Do you think itās that easy when you are being punished for merely existing?"
"Iā¦ I know. Iām sorry," you reply, your voice laced with such raw remorse that itās as if youād struck him. Once, he might have relished your guilt, your groveling for sins he never wanted to be atoned for but deserved. Yet now, he just wants to scrape that remorse off your face, to bury it deep and forever. He longs for your sincere, cheerful smile, the one that crinkles your eyelids, softens your features, and radiates enough warmth to thaw even his cold, egoistic spark.
But your expression brings back unwanted memories of todayās horrors. For a moment, his mind drifts back to the Nemesis bridge, to the echoes of his own screams reverberating against the walls, the thrashing, the scent of energon, and the tyrant treating his body like a toy. For a fleeting instant, he was convinced this time Megatron would truly break him, kill him, and he wouldnāt even get the chance to say goodbye to you.
He doesnāt want to remember ā not here, not with you, especially when you need him. So he resorts to the one trick that helps him forget, hoping youāll forgive him for it.
He buries his helm in the crook of your neck and begins kissing, silently pleading for interface, a counterbalance to the agony, because maybe if you frag him hard enough his mind will finally break, freeing him from Megatronās torment.
"Am I clean enough for your bed now?" he asks between kisses. His servo slides under your shirt again, while the other finds your butt, massaging it without subtlety.
"Yes, you are now," you reply, your voice half-lost in a breathy sigh.
Starscream leans forward, almost pressing his entire weight against you, losing himself in you. If not for your gentle reminder, a hand on his chassis, he might have released his spike here and now, demanding mindless, wild fragging under the open sky.
"Bed, remember?"
"You and your impossible demands," he mutters but complies, fully submissive only to you. The change of location doesnāt stop him, though, he continues nibbling and caressing your delicate skin, undeterred even as you bend to pick up the soiled towels and rise to lead him inside.
"Say something nice to me," he demands, still clinging to you as you guide him toward the house.
"Youāre relentless. Strong, because you keep pushing forward. W-warmā¦" Your voice breaks as his servo brushes against your chest. "And so beautiful. I couldnāt dream of a more stunning mech."
Vasking in the genuine praise, he moans into your neck and quickens the movements of his servo, now roaming all over your body ā exploring, eager to take everything he possibly could for himself.
Your home is spacious enough for him to stand upright, his wings slightly lowered. Though such tight, enclosed spaces once felt like torture for the seeker, heās come to appreciate your strange, human dwelling. Here, he feels safe, surrounded by the comforting presence of your scent. Because only here he can stop pretending to be someone and fully accept that he is yours.
Dropping the towels by the front door, you move toward a cabinet where you keep supplies for occasions like this, but having a leech clinging to your neck ā one evidently unwilling to let go for even a second ā makes it especially awkward.
"Star, wait," you plead. Turning your head to look at him, you find him too preoccupied with leaving love bites on your neck to notice your attempt to meet his gaze. He only hums softly to signal heās listening. "How do you want to handle this?"
His answer comes without hesitation. "Make me forget."
You know exactly what he means. "As you wish, love."
You hastily remove your pants and underwear, reaching for the strap youād prepared earlier.
"Go get ready," you instruct, nodding toward the bed. Aside from this brief, vague command, you leave the rest to him. He can decide in which position youāll rearrange his insides.
"Starscream," you chide again as he continues to toy with your skin ā both at your neck and your stomach, where one servo has come to rest.
He has no desire to stop touching you, to abandon the contact for even the short moments you need to prepare. Not when he so desperately needs you. Yet the tingling pleasure from his valve and the swollen spike tapping against the panel now dictate his actions. The directive is clear: make his processor think of nothing but you.
Reluctantly, with a trademark dose of dramatics, he detaches himself from your back, letting you do what you need. "Fine," he groans, making his way to your velvet berth. He rests his chassis and long, slender arms on it, sinking into the softness (though it still doesnāt compare to yours) and his interface panel retracts, exposing the toys you love to play with. Deliberately, he angles his aft toward you, ensuring you see how neglected he is, how much he needs you, tempting your self-control to deal with him immediately.
"How long are you going to make me wait?"
"Just a second," you soothe. He hears you fumbling with your endearing silicone toy, followed by the sound of your sharp intake of breath. Tilting his helm slightly, he glances back at you and grins triumphantly at the hungry, dreamy look on your face. The plan worked.
To entice you further, he gives his aft a calculated wiggle.
"You like teasing, donāt you?" you murmur, stepping closer and gripping his hips. You steady yourself, aligning the tip of your cock to the entrance of his needy, hot valve. "So beautiful," you whisper.
"Is that a rhetorical question?" he snaps back playfully. "Youāre no better in that regard. How much longer do I ha ā AHH!"
Before he can fully dive into another dramatic complaint, you thrust your cock deep into his slick valve, successfully silencing his tirade. His pedes shoot upward in response, and his previously relaxed, widely spread wings now draw closer together, trembling visibly. You enjoy the show before you, always having been fascinated by their expressiveness, especially since their owner likes to hide his true feelings. Theyāre a window to his soul, a delightfully honest indicator of how well youāre loving him.
"F-finallyā¦" he whimpers, pushing himself harder against the silicone, eager to feel it reach the deepest parts of his valve, as though he wants it to enter even his tank, making his entire frame bask in the pleasure youāre providing.
Heās always considered himself a tough mech to please when it comes to interfacing ā rarely satisfied, and even more rarely willing to open his panel to anyone. To him, such access is a privilege to be earned. But when itās you exploring his inner workings with deliberate thrusts of your hips, Starscream spreads his legs wider, making your job easier. Isnāt he generous, letting you join the exclusive few who get to interface with him? Doesnāt he deserve praise and adoration for it?
"Youāre not even tryingā¦" he taunts, voice trembling. "You were supposed to turn me into your mindless toy, ah! And yet I still AHH!"
You cut off his rant by firmly grasping the base of his larger wings.
"Anything else youād like to add, darling?" you tease, your rhythm steady and deliberate as you continue to thrust.
Still ramming your hips, pushing the toy deep into him only to let go immediately and repeat the process, you bend over him now having better access to the sensitive and delicate wings. You massage them at the base, where they meld with his back, drawing meaningless patterns and occasionally kneading, watching with a sense of triumph as the proud creature beneath you trembles all over and clamps his servo tightly around your sheets, exposing pure, unfiltered ecstasy.
"Starscream, weāve only just begunā¦" you say, feigning disappointment, still caressing his sensitive wings. You can hear his engines roaring loudly, and his cooling vents struggling to keep up with the heat radiating from his frame, which has grown unbearably warm, pleasantly heating the tips of your fingers.
"Shut, agh! Shut upā¦" he growls weakly, his words slurred and broken by moans and whines.
Your pace is relentless. Your cock slides effortlessly inside, gliding against slick walls and pushing pleasurably, but it canāt savor the sensation with how quickly you aim to finish and bring this to its sweet conclusion. Yet he canāt pout about it when youāre so attentively tormenting his valve and vibrating wings. You care not just for his insides but his outer shell, too.
He feels as though his whole body is on fire, like his own anatomy will fail to handle the heat and explode, burning both you and himself. But he still wants more, wants to be gracefully ravaged, to climax so many times he loses count. To transform into your ideal plaything so you wonāt need anyone else. His valve, his spike, his glossa, and digits. Only his. His, his, his!
āW-why are you, agh! so quiet?!ā he stammers, oblivious to how heās contradicting himself. āDonāt ignore me! L-love! Haah, adore! Worshipā¦ā he begs.
Heās no longer lying idly, passively letting you penetrate him. He begins moving his hips, quickly matching your rhythm and milking your shaft with even greater fervor and intensity.
āSo beautifulā¦ā you murmur, straining to reach his trembling wings with your lips. āSo wonderful,ā you add, mere millimeters above the gray metal.
You kiss the scars and marks left by particularly sharp claws that carved canyons into his delicate wings.
āMy pretty Star, doing so well.ā
Starscream can feel the care you pour into each kiss, and itās enough to make his spike spasm and tremble, heralding fireworks. Yet he knows he must ask your permission to release the accumulated transfluid.
āAh, ah, Iāmā¦ Iām close!ā he howls, voice glitching, engines whining, and cooling fans falling behind. āI beg you, haah, please let me overload!ā
You kiss him tenderly over another marred spot and allow yourself a few more thrusts to coax out those exotically strange but delightful cries of pleasure.
āGo ahead, my beautiful one, overload for me.ā
Pink transfluid gushes from his spike, spilling over the panels amid loud screams and moans. But you donāt stop yet, knowing full well that one release wonāt be enough, not with him and his inhuman endurance. Instead of pulling back, you lean in, running your fingertips over his sleek, intricate back now arched gracefully. You explore the valleys and ridges of his back strut, admiring its exotic design, unaware that the valve youāre docked in is trying to milk you, tightly clenched around your cock, signaling his desire for more. He wants more, wants you.
āYou did wonderfully,ā you praise and kiss his back a few times, earning a melodious whimper.
With trembling servos still clutching the bedding, Starscream is convinced heās ascended to paradise. How else could he explain the overwhelming bliss you so generously bestow upon him? How can he rationalize the way his field of vision is dotted with hearts, his valve pulsing in time with your heartbeat? He has to stay here longer, to discover what else you have to offer him.
As if it were possible, he presses his aft harder into your cock, goading you to continue the play.
āW-what are you waiting for? Weāre not done yet!ā
āAsk nicelyā
Oh, how he despises those games of yours, yet he eagerly awaits them, knowing they always come with a reward. Impatiently, he moves his aft, pleasuring himself now. The valve slides off your cock only to devour it again, savoring its dangerous proximity to his tank until his spike starts to shudder. Heās trying to entice you to move, to abandon your stillness, even though he knows itās all part of the game, a fact you swiftly remind him of as you grip his hips firmly to hold him in place.
He turns his helm to gauge you, to test how far he can push, but seeing your chastising gaze, he stops teasing, pressing himself tightly against your hips once more and moaning from the feeling of disarming, carefree fullness that makes his valve burst.
āHngh, please!ā he pleads. āAh, I canāt hold on any longer. I beg you, let me overload again, ah! Pleaseā¦ā
āGood mech,ā you praise, resuming your thrusts, feeding his still-hungry valve with your synthetic shaft, dragging it over his abused, slick walls.
āHaah, thank you! Th-thank you!ā he cries, claws raking the delicate bedding.
āMhm, for my most magnificent mech, absolutely anything,ā you adore him as he asked, placing kisses along his arched back, especially on his battered and tender wings.
Thereās not a shred of romance in how you treat his valve. Itās primitive, animalistic rutting meant to rob him of breath from nonexistent lungs, to make his legs quake with excess pleasure, his claws pierce through the bedding completely, and most of all, to make him forget. The complete opposite of the tenderness and love you bestow on his back, ensuring every scratch you can reach taste your affection.
āThe most magnificent,ā you murmur.
After several more powerful thrusts, magenta transfluid spills onto your floor again, mixing with droplets from the last climax.
āThe most wonderful,ā you add.
Starscream climaxes again.
āThe most beautiful.ā
And again.
āThe most perfect.ā
And again. Again and again.
āCaptivating.ā
Until the moans turn into howls and only small, adorable pearls drip from his spike, as thereās nothing left to give.
āMy Lord Starscream.ā
Until your bedding is soaked with coolant, which also coats his chin.
āStar, for fuckās sake, I canāt keep going.ā
Until your hips themselves refuse to obey. You manage to push him into one more empty overload before withdrawing smoothly and unceremoniously, collapsing against the bed with labored breaths. You already know your hips will be sore tomorrow, but for now, youāre more concerned about the state of your thoroughly ravaged partner. To make sure you havenāt caused a short circuit in his processor, you turn your head toward him, unable to suppress a strange, barbaric sense of pride at the sight of his blank, foolish expression, glossa hanging out, optics rolled far back. Because you were the one who brought the great, megalomaniacal Starscream to bliss, and itās a sight reserved solely for you.
āHey, Star, howāre you feeling?ā you ask gently, shifting closer to him and reaching for his helm, immediately beginning to stroke it. This seems to bring him back to life as he blinks a few times, as if reminding himself of the world heās in, and finally focuses his optics on you. His drooped wings lift at the sight of you, his engines, now quieter, start whirring again, and ā most surprisingly ā Starscream smiles faintly but sincerely, with pure bliss, devoid of malice or mockery.
Itās hard not to mirror that smile and tuck it deep in your heart, a gesture he clearly takes as an invitation to move closer.
āStar?ā you call, but he ignores you, more intent on invading your personal space than answering. He leans in to nestle his helm in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you think heāll start nipping and sucking, demanding more, but he surprises you again, wrapping you in a loose but possessive embrace.
Now the grating sound of his engines shifts into a purr that vibrates through your chest, reaching your heart. Itās an odd sensation, like holding a working speaker to your chest, but you canāt deny that itās pleasant and relaxing, almost lulling you to sleep if not for the distracting engine hum. Wanting to return the favor for this peculiar massage, you start gently stroking his helm, unable to stop thinking that youāre petting an oversized, cunning cat.
āYou didnāt doā¦ atrociously,ā he finally speaks, dangerously close to your ear. āFor a human, of course.ā
You couldnāt have hoped for higher praise.
āThanks. You were incredible too,ā you reply, showing him how itās done, though you doubt he understands, especially since his wings twitch slightly, pleased with the compliment.
For a moment, silence reigns as you both recover, but youāre forced to break it when you suddenly realize you need water. Turns out, constantly showering your insatiable partner with compliments can really dry out your throat.
āStar,ā you begin.
As if he has access to your brain, he tightens his hold around you, his purring intensifying.
āYouāre not going anywhere,ā he declares. āYou wonāt leave me.ā
You merely sigh and return to stroking his helm.
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Transformers x Reader Headcannons- problems
Pretty much how I write and overthink their personalities, actions, and motives. Soundwave, Starscream, Megatron, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Jazz.
Starscream
ā¢ Canāt stop self sabotaging. As much as he hates Megatron, heās his own worst enemy. Fueled by self-loathing, ambition, and spite. If every good thing is just going to be taken away, he might as well destroy it himself and take some petty satisfaction in watching it burn.
ā¢ You, though? He wants to protect this feeling you kindle in him. Even if he doesnāt truly trust that itās real, he wants to pretend it is. Needs you to play along with him. Fiercely possessive because youāre his.
Megatron
ā¢ Exhausted all the time. With all thatās been lost, he canāt just stop at this point. Thereās no peaceful end even if he almost wishes there was. The Decepticons look to him, believe that heāll bring them home. To a better world. That guilt and responsibility fuels his hatred, keeping it going. If he fails, itās all for nothing.
ā¢ Theyāre always watching. Looking for weakness to exploit. Thereās always machinations among his officers, plots and schemes. You have no ulterior motives beyond survival and he can respect that. Even so, youāre willing to meet his optics even though you know who he is and what heās capable of. Brave, foolish little thing.
Wheeljack
ā¢ Absentmindedly creating problems in the name of science. Is genuinely surprised when something blows right up in his face no matter how many times it happens. Forgets to refuel and recharge until someone says something or he just crashes. Generally avoided by everyone because of how often his experiments spectacularly fail.
ā¢ Even if heās engrossed in an experiment, if youāre around, his attention is divided. You crash a lot faster than he does and guilt prompts him to take a break, because you definitely donāt look comfortable cheek propped up on a hand, sound asleep. Heās awful at taking care of himself, but surprisingly attentive toward you. Constantly worried because youāre just so fragile compared to Cybertronians.
Jazz
ā¢ Smiling through the stress. Seriously, heās on a knifeās edge of anxiety all the time even as he plays it off. Everythingās a joke. Everythingās fine. Even if he wants to just scream, he keeps that easy going smile in place. Itās his armor and he needs it to convince himself as much as everyone else.
ā¢ Somehow you see right through him. You can lay a tiny hand on his plating and he just unravels. And you donāt expect him to just keep smiling through the pain. He doesnāt have to keep the act up, he can vent to you, bleed all the anger and frustration out instead of pretending it away. And he needs this more than you know.
Ratchet
ā¢ Gruff and caustic, that angry exasperation is all defense, pushing others away with sarcasm. No matter how quickly he works after a battle, the wounded just keep coming. Sometimes heās not fast enough. A spark gutters out while his hands are wrist deep in another patient. Heās not enough. If he loses someone, itās his fault. His burden and his blame to the point where sometimes his servos just wonāt stop trembling.
ā¢ Somehow you understand that if you try to comfort him, heāll fall apart. Thereāll be time to grieve later, but right now the two of you work to save who you can, your little hands able to reach things he canāt. You donāt complain, just do whatās necessary. Later, heāll cup you to his chassis, silent as you break.
Soundwave
ā¢ The worst part of being able to hear otherās thoughts? They never stop. Itās a constant sensory barrage threatening to overwhelm him unless he makes a conscious effort of block them out, so heās always on guard. Can never relax or that tide of voices crashes over him. Finding out he canāt even block out human thoughts is a shock. Youāre there in the back of his processor all the time.
ā¢ Itās why he needs you to sing for him. Doesnāt matter what it is, he just needs that one thing to focus on so everything else fades into background noise. The more you lose yourself in the song, the more he can relax, because you relax. Your thoughts calm.
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Hello ! Can I request Optimus or Starscream with a reader who has self-doubt and struggles with validation (maybe work/academic related if thats ok)? (Fluff/comfort)
Message - Ok Optimus wasn't hard, because he is a sweetie pie, but omg Starscream was so funny to write for because I always saw him as the type to think of self-doubt as weak and is not good with comforting. Hopefully this was good enough, but I liked this a lot!
Optimus and Starscream x Reader Headcanons
Summary - Headcanons of human reader being comforted by Optimus and Starscream when they have self-doubts.
Type of Headcanons - Comfort/Fluff
Optimus
~ This man was kind of the same as you in a way and never wanted to let you go through his problems as well.
~ Whenever he gives you something important, he notices a lot when you are nervously telling yourself not to fuck it upā¦Yeah he is going to work on you.
~ Optimus would tell you a lot that you can work while playing music, which helped him a lot before the war with being an archivist.
~ Now he is embarrassed on spilling his music choices to you, because you have no idea what the Cybertronian music sounds like and might talk to Ratchet later to find out. He will never let you listen to his old favorite music playlist.
~ Optimus will compliment you on your work whenever you are done, which in turn makes you flustered and say "noooooo" a lot. He finds it adorable and when you guys are alone, shower you with kisses and words of affection to hear more of your constant whining.
~ You have no idea why, but being on his shoulders while working on something helps you be more confident. Either the matrix is giving you support, or being on something tall helps you feel like you are on top of the world.
~ He understands your feelings whenever you feel as though you are not good enough for the other Autobots.
~ "You are just as important to the team as everyone elseā¦maybe more."
~ The one thing you both love to do when you are not having a good time with your confidence is to walk around in nature. It doesn't have to be green tree and beautiful skies though, both of you drive to the middle of the desert and walk around. No cities, trees, or people. Just you, the sand, and Optimus taking one slow step at a time because how small you are.
~ You both talk about funny stories, trying to keep your mind off a project you got a low grade on.
~ "Why don't I take you back? You can sleep with me for the night?"
Starscream
~ I am so sorry, but this man is so aggressive with his compliments.
~ He has no idea why you think this way and insults you, making it worse XD
~ "Why do you think such low things about you? What? Is your stupid human brain not working?"
~ After explaining to him why you think those thoughts, that was when he took your problems personally.
~ If you had these thoughts because of a bad childhood, this man would honestly ask where this bad person lives to blow up the house.
~ If you had depression or another mental health issue, he would help by taking you to Knockout and have a fun movie night.
~ If you just wanted to get your mind off of your self doubt, there are two things this man could do.
~ Either he would distract you by talking about his life before the war and what went on.
~ Or he would take you flying. Better get use to the g-force, because he does loops and twists a lot.
~ He would compliment you on your achievements, even if they were small. You could do the laundry for yourself and he would call you his best sweetspark in the universe and congratulate you on finding your strengths.
~ Ok this may seem a bit dark, but he would defend you from Megatronā¦even if it costs him a wing and an arm. Megs is probably one of the many reasons you feel down.
~ He would love to dance with you from time to time. Turning on elegant music and twirling you around with his fingers.
~ "You are wonderful darling, don't let some useless slag get to you."
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hear me out hear me out: obsessed starscream.... there's just something about the thought of him finally getting the affection he refused himself to have and now once he has it he's incredibly self-indulgent that is so. mmm
oh I AM hearing you out
Obsessed!Starscream is such a delicious concept. In the long run, heād be absolutely unbearable in his need to have your attention on him 24/7, even if he doesnāt give you 100% in return but!! Watching in real-time as he slowly tears down the walls he built around himself and allows himself to experience something nice??? Realizing that your touch is pleasant and doesnāt have to be associated with the pain of physical abuse, but with love instead???? And then he starts seeking it out himself?? Exquisite.
He wouldnāt get addicted to it quickly, when it comes to Starscream, it would take you a long time to reach his spark, but once you do, youāll be dealing with a touch-starved, cat-like mech who swears he hates you and doesnāt need you, yet follows you around step by step, becoming your shadow; he shoves his helm onto your lap on his own and would do absolutely anything just to wring a single compliment out of you like a boyfailure he is (affectionate)
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Decepticons being so panicked by peroids. Not only is it a sausage fest its an alien sausage fest. Panicing because they smell blood and necrosis. They think you're dying of some strange aliment but you recover. Then it hapens again 21-35 to days later.
((Hi! Thank you so much for this, I had a blast taking it and running with it! This post is long but it turns into a drabble so that's why there's a cut š
))
OH 100%. Panic is the right word for it, but I see the Autobots babying you, and the Decepticons respecting the HELL outta you.
Like, you bleed and hurt for a week or more AND you just continue on like it's nothing?
That's metal AS FUCK. That's the makings of a gladiator. You are a little warrior and fit to stand beside Megatron's throne- though,,,, maybe after. Because their olfactory sensors are a lot stronger than yours and it IS ever so slightly disturbing...
I strongly believe that being a human on the nemesis is only as easy as how long your sponsor is with you, bonus if that advocate is Megatron. You're gonna have to learn how to play into all sorts of xenophobic fears to survive some of the more crass and violent Decepticons when your bot-boyfriend isn't around to guard.
But pacing the halls wafting the wicked stench of blood and death around has the Decepticons that aren't so fond of humans cowering away from you. Hugging close to hallway walls to pass you even though they tower you. Has even those you have loosely interacted with catch a reverent gleam to their eye. Like some dark-magiced witch, cheating death and weilding blood. Unfortunately, it also has the Decepticons with a "scientific eye" for organics keenly interested too.
And as you skitter round a corner away from the glint of a single red eye, almost into the path of a lower-ranked bot who immediately jumps out of his skin, apologizes and dives out of your way, you think: Maybe I need to address this.
You hail all the Decepticons to the command deck, giving a very, very exasperated presentation on the reproductive systems of humans. Bla bla bla, it's normal, and healthy. Bla bla bla, I appreciate the extra care, but I can't do anything with normal bandages Soundwave. Bla bla bla I'm not 'infectious' or scary please stop sprinting into doorways to get out of my way.
Then you're back to being treated normally. And maybe,,, some guilty part of you liked the extra attention during trying times -some part of you feels abandoned now you're cowering, crunched into a corner trying to survive the burn of uncomfortable irritation that stirrs in your lower belly, alone and unbothered.
Head hung between knees, something soft makes a pathetic thump against your head. It tumbles to settle between your feet and when you look up- it's a box of fragranced maxi-pads.
...
You go to pick them up but more boxes whack against your head and by the third you're yelling 'hey!' and fending yourself from assault with your forearms.
From out under your shield you gleam the pompous visage of dearest Starscream, sneering at you as if disgusted. A hand to hip, he watches down at you.
Definitely NOT who you'd expect to be raining you in what you suppose are gifts. He must have something to say about your sorry state. Your heart braces for his usual clipped tone to say something that gets the two of you bickering as usual, but by the time you're ready, he's tutted and walked the other way.
Okay?
???
Once his larger form is securely out of the door to your little hovel in the Nemesis, you finally looks down to the rain of products you had endured. And-
Chocolate. Gummies. Sweets.
And more pads than you can ever think to use in a year.
Now the pads are already a novelty thought, but the sweets? Surely, grabbed in that way you've seen Starscream do before where he just thrusts his arm in the doors to a store and blindly fists around for stuff while the humans inside cower -at least, judging by the random mix. It's a thought that makes you huff in laughter and lighten up a bit. A thought that you dwell on and feel your face warm to.
Yeah, the sweets are a caring gift. Because you have to remind Megatron you need more (non-energon) food to live, like, every other week. So Starscream has done some kind of research to bring these of his own volition.
It's not like you think Starscream is incapable of kindness. You had been on the Nemesis long enough to know each cartoonish persona was a wall put up in front of hundreds of thousands of years of war-
Just, well- you hadn't expected it. You make a note to thank him as your next unexpected visitor comes in. Lord himself, Megatron- who doesn't show much of a facial expression. Nor any acknowledgement of you.
He scouts the room - let's his eyes float across your small form, smothered in confectionaries - clicks the heating in the room to be warmer, then leaves. Simple as that.
God, these guys are bad with their words, you scorn affectionately, knowing you're still being cared for.
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Who will take him?
The current owner is unhappy with the pet. Perhaps he's causing problems...
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That post that's like "stop writing characters who talk like they're trying to get a good grade in therapy" really blew the door wide open for me about how common it's become for a character's emotional intelligence to not be taken into consideration when writing conflict. I remember the first time I went to therapy I had such a hard time even identifying what I was feeling, let alone had the language to explain it to someone else. Of course there are plenty of people who've never been to therapy a day in their life who are in tune to their emotions. But even they would have some trouble expressing themselves sometimes. You have to take into account there are plenty of people who are uncomfortable expressing themselves and people who think they're not allowed to feel certain ways. It also makes for more interesting conflict to have characters with different levels of understanding.
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I think of that pic of Colin Farrell in costume as Alexander the Great lying on the ground covered in blood with an arrow protruding from his chest and smoking a cigarette all the time.
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miniformers is taking over my brain. I need to cuddle mini Starscream, bumblebee, Megatron, and knockout and kiss their little foreheads, Aghdfbsjfhsb Iām going insane
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bumblebee, starscream, knockout
word count: 1250
A little manipulator (affectionate), who has absolutely no objections to using his charm to coax a few kisses or cuddles out of you
Bee knows he's adorable. Heās well aware of the effect his big, puppy-like optics have on you, and if he really wanted to, he could ask for absolutely anything, and youād agree without hesitation. So it's no surprise that when he gets shrunk down, you find yourself completely incapable of refusing him anything
At first, however, he approaches the idea of using this to his advantage with restraint ā at least until he fully accepts that being tiny is his new reality and that he has to learn how to deal with this new perspective. He stays close because he feels most comfortable in your company and can hide behind you whenever Optimus' towering height suddenly becomes overwhelming
Exploiting your bursts of affection comes later when he realizes just how hard it is for you to resist showering his entire face with kisses and scooping him into your arms at every possible opportunity. He enjoys this reversal of roles, especially since he used to be the cuddle-bug in your relationship. Of course, that doesnāt mean heās going to give up hugging you on his own terms ā you often find yourself with a few extra pounds clinging to your leg whenever Bee feels like getting some affection
All it takes is for you to get momentarily distracted ā maybe youāre trying to discuss this strange height-changing situation with Ratchet, sharing your observations and thoughts, when Bee is already tightening his servo around the sleeve of your shirt, demanding your attention. It's convenient and much more effective than verbally calling for you because the moment he tugs at your clothing, heās guaranteed a kiss or a pat on the helm
He follows you everywhere and wants to be a part of all your plans for the day. You could be working, and Bee will still be cuddled up against you, finally able to sit on your lap without worrying about crushing it. I can totally see him crawling under your hoodie too, trying to get even closer to you, to experience a level of closeness he never could before
He wonāt mind staying like this forever if it means receiving affection from you at every possible moment <3
He bolts before you can even let out a single coo in his direction
Starscream absolutely despises this new state of affairs. Heās become defenseless, easy to overlook, far too vulnerable to aggression from other bots who, in this form, could wipe him out in a nanoklik. Heās fallen to the very bottom of the food chain, which means that under no circumstances can he let himself be seen
Heād like to hide from you too, and from your untamed need to treat him like a sparkling, but the most he can manage is transforming and flying up to a higher level, where he can observe you safely from above without having to endure your cooing about how "cute" and "adorable" he is
That doesnāt mean heāll stay silent, oh no. Youāre going to hear plenty of complaints and theatrics, dramatic laments about the horror of remaining in this pitiful form forever, and screeching about how humans can possibly function while being tiny all the time. Heāll also expect sympathy, tears even, shed over his misfortune, so donāt think you can just ignore his unproductive, egocentric monologue. The moment you stop paying attention, heāll call you out for it, accusing you of not caring, of being selfish ā do you even want to help him? Or do you secretly hope heāll stay this pathetic size forever just so you can continue tormenting him?
He just needs some time before he exhausts himself with all the dramatics and the consequences of his sudden size change finally catch up to him. The helplessness, the inability to fend off sudden threats, the need for support, because thereās no one else he can rely on but you. And so, he descends from his safe height and returns to you, warning you that he absolutely refuses to be treated like a sparkling
Itās a shame that his whole independent and self-sufficient facade crumbles the moment you press a kiss to his forehead, right at the base of his red crest, and coo sweetly, murmuring that you just canāt help yourself. Starscream manages one more outburst before another kiss silences him a little. And the next one makes him temporarily abandon all plans of immediately finding a way to return to his normal size
Perhaps he can allow himself to be adored by you for just a little while, canāt he?
That little while seems to stretch into eternity as you pull him close, hugging him tightly, unable to resist with such an adorable mech right in front of you. And maybe, just for a moment, he lets himself feel loved, without having to initiate touch himself, completely absorbed in the affection you pour into the touch-starved void in his spark
Unfortunately, he quickly remembers that while you make him feel safe, he canāt allow himself to stay in this form. No matter how wonderful it is to be wrapped up in your arms, he needs to return to his normal size ā not just to match his ego but also to protect you and have any chance at victory
He hates this whole situation just as much as the rest of them ā until he realizes youāre much more willing to give him attention in this form
Knockout values compliments from you and absolutely loves receiving them. He relishes every second of your attention, using it to stroke his enormous ego. Especially since, normally, youāre not too eager to spend time with him after he so boldly barged into your life and unilaterally decided that he was the most important part of it
So this sudden shrinking? Itās an unmissable opportunity for him to bask in the attention you now lavish upon him ā even if, after a while, your incessant cooing starts to grate on his nerves when itās not about his attractiveness but rather about how ācuteā he is. Could you go back to praising his exquisitely polished finish? He didnāt spend all that time buffing himself to perfection just for you to completely disregard it in favor of fawning over his āadorableā faceplate
And while he drinks in your compliments like the finest energon, your constant, relentless attempts to touch him with your dirty, greasy human hands? Those are much less appreciated. Youāre smudging his flawless paint job, leaving fingerprints all over him. Do you really have the patience to keep polishing him over and over again? Surely, at some point, youāll get bored of trying to hug him and smother his entire faceplate and helm with kisses, right?
But when your wave of affection actually subsides, Knockout suddenly realizes that he appreciates your attention in all its forms. He immediately goes on the offensive, dynamically trying to draw your focus back to him, even if that means sacrificing his freshly polished shine and straddling your stomach just to pin you down and squeeze a few more kisses out of you
Oh, and by the way, he's definitely taking a few selfies with your phone. Just in case he ever needs to blackmail you with his āadorable little face,ā as you so fondly called it, should you ever refuse to visit him on the Nemesis
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I hate that SEPTember OCTOber NOVember and DECember arenāt the 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th months.
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hey guys i'm going to the store can u make sure nothing happens to my chocolate milk

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I don't feel like Orion trying to stop D-16 from killing Sentinel was because Orion felt like Sentinel deserved to live. I mean, he crashed an entire train into the guy just minutes before.
Imagine you have a chill best friend who is the voice of reason between the two of you, but he goes through a trauma that turns him into a roiling pit of rage. You keep reaching out to him and he keeps shoving you away. He is suddenly getting fusion cannon boners from beating the shit out of potential allies, and you have to beg him not to blow said ally's head off. Your friend frames this restraint as "the last time I will show mercy."
When Orion says "Don't be like Sentinel", I don't think he means "Um, have you considered that ACTUALLY this is not The Proper Way to change the government?", I think he means "You are losing yourself and it's scaring me and it's hurting you."
He was not trying to save Sentinel, he was trying to save D-16.
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Heavy boots of lead/ fills his victims full of dread/ running as fast as they can/ Iron man lives again šµ
Lyrics are from Iron Man by Black Sabbath
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