#holo!rodimus
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vi050iv · 5 months ago
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took a break from reading idw because I need to stop rushing and process what I’m reading (I might start journaling my thoughts when I read LL because I regret not doing so when I first started the Idw run)
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sparkriddledfever · 5 months ago
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Can you do a Reader reacting to their MTMTE holo forms and them expecting to fit in only to Reader to feel uncanny valley and has to explain to the bots.
Say lessss
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One would might expect their beloved liaison to be excited to see their holoforms. A fake flesh at eye level to make it more sensible; nonetheless, Rodimus figured they would be jumping up and down in joy that they can do things together under covered. Showing them the life through a "human's eyes" while stuck on earth for the next few weeks.
Only for that same liaison to stare at them like the entire group of bots grown a second head.
"Why are you staring at us like that?" Rodimus crossed his arms with a frown before it morphed into a teasing grin, "is it cause of our dashing, daring looks?"
"No," their deadpanned response elicited a cackle from Whirl somewhere far in the back. His form slumps; Drift pats his shoulder while struggling to hold back his laughter behind his hand.
"Oh c'mon!" He whines, "I was hoping you be so excited! At least excited that we can blend in with you humans!"
"I- well, I mean- To be honest. On a surface level, yes. Deeper level? No."
The excitement and chatter in the air stills. Now, they're the one being stared at like they grown a second head. It confused them with the sudden shift that had them scratching at their arm in nervousness.
"What did you mean by that?" Drift perks up.
"Uh, this is going to be weird," they began, "I can obviously tell you're not human, but even if you tried so hard to make it very realistic to blend in and it just doesn't feel...right? Does that make sense?"
"Like an imposter?" Swerve pops up behind Rodimus, which made the others stare at him. He looks around confused and flustered, "What? I heard of something like this from human movies."
"Yes, uncanny valley is the best way to explain it. It just doesn't feel or look quite right, it triggers a sense of unease or revulsion in us. It doesn't feel...human to us."
"Huh...what is up with you humans?"
"Whirl!"
"WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?! YOU CAN'T SIT HERE AND TELL ME I'M WRONG?!"
"I mean to be fair, he's really not wrong. Earth got some weird shit I could get into," they mused.
"Like?" Nautica pressed.
"Scary accurate intuitions, picking up the feeling of being watched, our brains sometimes being too powerful it can trick us, noises that Earth makes. You know weird stuff."
"Don't let Brainstorm or Nightbeat hear about this unless you wanna play 50 questions."
"It's 20 questions?"
"With them, it's 50 or more."
"Duly noted."
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archie-sunshine · 10 months ago
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HALLOWEEN MERCH DROP!!
AAA OKAY SO I MEANT TO PUT THESE TOGETHER EARLY BUT I DIDNT BUT ANYWAY HERE THEY ARE!! I just put through the order for the stickers, so this will be for preorder (stickers arrive at my house on the 20th at the latest) but ANYHOW! I PRESENT TO YOU [drumroll please]-
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First offering- HALLOWEEN COSTUME CHAIN! have you ever looked at these giant robots and gone 'boy i hope when they go trick or treating they dont get lost!' well youve come to the right place! these suckers come with a clear edge so they can hold hands baby!!
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Trick or treaters not your style? no worries my friend, look no further than my Candy Lovers line, featuring four fantastic ships in lump form enjoying some halloween candy! these come with a beautiful holographic heart film, so glittery so lovely!
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Not a halloween lover?? NO PROBLEM!! Check out my Holo of the month, a celebration of the latest entrant into the transformers franchise featuring all four of our main characters from Transformers: One! This sticker is glossy rainbow holographic foil over vinyl, and is here for a limited run of only 50 stickers!
If none of these pique your interest, I also have leftover stock for all of my lump stickers, and my holographic lounging rodimus stickers!!
all orders with over 4 stickers of any kind are elligible for a 20% off discount with code 'HALLOWEEN4' until November 1st!
>>> GO PLACE YOUR PREORDERS TODAY! <<<
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megtrns · 8 months ago
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seasonal anthologies ft. the mtmte bots, sfw !
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summer is for celebrations and driving down to the beach with drift, where the air hot and thick despite the setting sun in the distance. you stick your head out the passenger window to feel the wind rushing past your ears, the excited roar of his engines bouncing off the cliffside. it's sitting on rodimus's shoulders as he runs past the shore, the spray of cold water making you squeal into the side of his helm. june, july, august — salt dissolves in your mouth while thunder rumbles in the distance. you sit by the steps of your porch with swerve, the air heavy with heat. as if the earth was holding its breath in anticipation, waiting to break and give way to rain. his big, blocky fingers awkwardly tearing through an orange for you to eat. saccharine and sticky, the fruit drips down your forearms with every bite. green is the grass between your toes, grey is the sky as it melts to nightfall. summer is when the mattress dips unequally to one side, where you and tailgate sleep back to back, skin to metal. the warmth sinks into your bone, blanket on the floor as the faint whirring of his systems lulls you to sleep. fall is for new beginnings, shorter days, and knitted scarves. where the sunlight is lighter and softer, casting long, golden shadows across ratchet's face. he displaces his mass to help you tie your coat by its belt, pulling you closer to soak in the heat radiating off his chassis—soft wool between his shiny servos. september bleeds into october, and somewhere between, where the air is so clean it shivers, cyclonus walks next to you in muted contemplation. optics quietly taking in the ocean of leaves crunching underneath his pedes. cinnamon between your teeth as you swallow your longing, fingers tracing over the holo-picture of skids. nautica says the muted colors remind her of him, but she blames it on the morning chill creeping past her cables. you tell her that fall is the season of reminiscing, of missing what is gone and what is yet to come — the ending and beginning of things, the place where all things come to die. the soil is soft and the world is asleep. this is the part where you turn off the lights and leave.
winter is for joy and relaxation, november a mosaic of warm orange windows and deep blue nights, where the moonshine falls thin and silver. minimus is determined to keep you from straying off the path, guiding you through the thick heap of snow — arms intermingled, hand and servo intertwined. your laughter rings into the night like bells, airy and light; a quiet wish, a happy prayer. for some, december is asleep. it's reclusive and shy, just like rung when he gives in to your request to stay inside, submitting to the weight of the duvet as it swallows you both. for others, the darkness only makes them vigilant. optics wide awake, prowl slinks back into the shadows, pale like the blizzard, soundless like a secret. early mornings and frozen lakes, megatron tells you the winter is cruel — barren and empty, silencing the earth. you disagree, telling him that winter is full of hope, where the snow is white with the promise of forgiveness. the promise to begin again.
spring is for waking up under the sun, where the light kisses your cheeks and shoulders; brainstorm suddenly envious of the star. you chew berries against the bark of an old, dying tree. skin buzzing with a new kind of energy, heart bursting at the sight of perceptor studying the small animals in the distance. in february, you stretch your arms to welcome a night of storms. in march, you patiently listen to whirl complain about the pollen in his cogs. finally, in april, the air is alive, sweet and rosy, laughing and singing. first aid lifts you with his open palm, across a running stream, down a winding, rocky path. somewhere behind you, misfire raises his helm to the clear, cloudless sky. drowning himself in the sound of strange birds and even stranger insects. there is a tenderness to all of this, capricious and fickle, flowers buried in the wash of green grass. a dream you don't want to wake up from, an embrace you're not ready to part with. nightbeat says he hates when beautiful things are fleeting, and you think he's no longer referring to the spring, optics sad and distant as they land on you.
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drabbletron · 5 months ago
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Transformers x Reader Masterlist:
Briefing: I write primarily smut of various continuities for the Transformers fandom. This is an 18+ blog and if I see you are a minor I will block you. No exceptions!
🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞
COLOR KEY:
Red = SMUT Green = SFW Purple = Angst Pink = FLUFF Orange = HORROR
Who Am I? (my introduction expanded ver.) This contains also my character list and things I do and do not write for.
GENERAL DISCOURSE:
MTMTE Voice Claims
Stand up Comedy: has suggestive material
RODIMUS (MTMTE/IDW)
Always Next Time (Fire Hazard): Rodimus x Reader SMUT/ANGST
Period Cramps Rodimus X Reader SFW
That’s What Backseats Are For: Rodimus x Reader SMUT
Hot Wheels: Rodimus X Reader SMUT
Under The Pale Moonlight: Rodimus X Reader SMUT
TRAILBREAKER (MTMTE/IDW)
ENTIRE Golden Boy (Trailbreaker x Reader) Draft/Outline thing 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Golden Boy: Trailcutter x Reader fic (PART 1)
Wake-up Call: Trailbreaker x Reader SMUT
Bedtime Stories: Trailbreaker x Reader Mini-shot FLUFF
Where Did You Go? Trailbreaker x Reader ANGST
Trailcutter/Trailbreaker NSFW HCs
Like A Bad Habit: Trailbreaker X Reader SMUT
Sunscreen Please! Trailbreaker X Reader SUGGESTIVE
Need You Now: Trailbreaker X Reader HURT/COMFORT
Scenting: Trailbreaker X Reader Mini-Shot
HOUND (G1/MTMTE/IDW)
Walk Me Through It: Hound x Reader Smut
Domesticity and Other Distractions: Hound x Reader fic 1 2 3
Hound NSFW HCs
Makin' Do: Hound X Reader SMUT
Phone It In: Hound X Reader SMUT
Sharing is Caring: Hound X Reader SMUT
Bump In The Night: Hound X Reader SMUT
HOIST (MTMTE/IDW)
Peace and Quiet: Hoist x Reader Smut
You Are (Not) Normal: Hoist X Reader SMUT
Don't Tease: Hoist X Reader SMUT
BLUESTREAK (G1/MTMTE/IDW)
Tom's the Name (Peeping's the Game): Bluestreak X Reader SMUT
All Alone: Bluestreak x Reader Mini-shot ANGST
SWERVE (MTMTE/IDW)
Two is Better Than One, But Three is Just as Fun: Swerve x reader x Holo!Swerve SMUT 1 2
Would Not, Should Not in A Bar: Swerve x Reader SMUT
Untitled Swerve X Reader FLUFF
Swerve: Heavy Petting
General HCs Swerve X Reader
The Pot and The Kettle smug!Swerve snippet
Can't Stop, Won't Stop: Swerve X Reader SMUT
MEGATRON (MTMTE/IDW)
Behind Closed Doors: Megatron x Reader SMUT
FORTRESS MAXIMUS (MTMTE/IDW)
Small scenario with a human s/o
BEACHCOMBER (G1)
So Sick: Beachcomber X Reader SMUT
WASPINATOR (IDW)
Reverse Bug: Waspinator X Reader SMUT
FIRST AID (MTMTE/IDW)
Not A Moment To Waste: First Aid X Reader SMUT
Time of Need: First Aid X Reader FLUFF
RUMBLE (IDW)
Bucking In The Bathroom: Rumble X Reader SMUT
MULTI X READER:
Bots and Dirty Talk HCs: Various x Reader
Bots and the Zoomies! FLUFF
The French Variety??
Best At Dirty Talk Mini-shot
Drabble Dump: Various X Reader SMUT
The Little Things: Various X Reader
Watch...: Hound X Reader X Bluestreak (Interludes Tie-in) SMUT
UNKNOWN BOT X READER:
Relax A Little: Unknown Bot X Reader
NON-X READER
Cyberformed!Reader PART 1
More items will be added on Mondays as I post throughout the week. If you have any suggestions, or questions/requests, or just want to chat feel free to use the ask box. Anon is always on!
- D. Tron 🧡✨
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tinydefector · 10 months ago
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TINYYYYYYYYYY
Headcanon for human effect !!!!
Rodimus discovered how soft the ambassador is because once, they were in a meeting with UM and Megs about security protocols. Rodimus is bored a bit, so he tries to get the liaison's attention, in vain.
So he just... pokes them repeatedly in their side, because how else would he do that huh?
His digit dig a bit too much in their side, he can feel the warmth and the squishiness, and is surprise when they yelp and laugh.
"URGH!?- Rodimus! stop that it tickles hahaha!"
Oooooohh... ooh he has it baaaad... they just made the cutest noise he heard in a long time... he found their weak spot...
Megs and Mags just stare at him disappointed because the captain is unfocused and disturb the Ambassador.
Twisted ankle 13
Human effects Masterlist
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Word count: 2k
Warnings: post smut, getting walked in on.
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The sound of shuffling and slight movement in the room is what makes the ambassador,  bleary eyes cracking open slightly as they take the form of a blue mech in. "Mmm Traxies?" They call out softly looking up from where they lay against Ratchet's chassis. 
Ratchet's optics online fractionally to see Traxies frozen mid-stride, jaw hanging open in blatant surprise. Drift stirred awake as well, arching a brow plate at youngling in undisguised amusement. 
Venting softly, Ratchet greeted their charge in familiar tones. "Good morning, Traxies. Causing trouble already, before the sun cycle?" Traxes gulped audibly, tripping over his pedes in haste to explain. "J-just wanted some energon, don't mind me! Uh - didn't mean to interrupt..." He trailed off, wide optics roving over the three in utter disbelief. 
Drift finally lost composure, snickering into his servo. Ratchet merely cycled a ventilation, serenely cradling the now-wakening ambassador. They pull their blanket closer in embarrassment being caught in such an undress state.
 Traxes cycled his optics rapidly, pedes rooted to the floor in awkward shock. "Uh, hey Ambassador. Fancy seeing you here..." He trailed off, field pulsing distressed embarrassment. Drift took pity, sending the younger mech. "Relax, kid. But you might want to be quick before this becomes anymore awkward for everyone”  
The medic frowned half-heartedly before turning a softer expression to Traxies. "I wasn't aware you would be back today." His tone is soft. Traxes shuffled awkwardly, kicking at imaginary scrapes on the floor. "So you - uh, fraggin' my friend now?" He blurted before wilting under Ratchet's stern glare. 
Drift howled laughter, drawing a foam pillow and lobbing it at the pouting youngling's helm. "Don't get your wires knotted! Go fuel up, we'll be along shortly." With a mumbled apology, Traxes beat a hasty retreat.
The Ambassador groans and presses their face into Ratchet chassis out of embarrassment. "Fuck" They mumble as the feeling Drift move to get out of berth. Their body felt like jelly and they truly didn't want to move, but knew they had to.  Ratchet's chassis hums beneath the ambassador's cheek. "There now, no harm done," the medic soothed gently. 
Drift stretched languidly as he rose, pausing to send them both fond smile. "He'll get over it. Ain't the first time that mechlet's walked in on more'n he bargained for." 
Ratchet rumbled a quiet chuckle, stroking their back with utmost care."Stay as long as you need." He whispered to them. They let out a sigh. "I've got work today Ratchet, Bridge command meeting about our next port and sending reports back to Cybertron. I think we might also be heading back to Cybertron. I don't look forward to having a holo meeting with Prowl again" they explain. 
Ratchet let out a theatrical groan at the Ambassador's words. "Primus spare us all from Prowl and his endless bureaucracy," he grumbled. 
Rising smoothly, he settled their draped guest against the berth with utmost care as he recovered their clothing and bag. "Well then, best get you ready, can't have you leaving looking a mess sweet thing." 
Drift poked his helm back in, wearing an impish grin. "Sounds like Ratch better patch you up right quick, Ambassador. Can't be limping through a vid call with Prowl looking like you spent the night trapped under this lugnut!" 
A rude gesture was the medic's only response, though his weathered faceplates crinkled with wry humour. "Scoot, you rusting gearstick - go make yourself useful." 
"Ratchet, Drift. Thank you for last night, it was lovely" they call to the two mechs before turning around with their clothing in hand to try and get dressed despite how sore they still are. 
“Pah, don't go getting all sappy now," Ratchet huffed, 
"Anytime you need a couple mechs to help...relax tensions," Drift coos only for Ratchet to swat the mech away, vents gusting irritation. But his optics shone with plain affection as they tracked the Drift's movements. "Take care on your travels and try not to let Prowl's do you in" 
Leaving the suite was a struggle, not wanting to get caught as they left. But walking down the halls with a slight limp was something they could easily state as twisting their ankle.
 Just as the ambassador rounded the corner, two familiar figures fell into step beside them - Nadia and Millian, matching grins stretching across their faces.
"Well well, look who finally decided to crawl out of bed," Nadia drawled archly, shamelessly raking her gaze over the ambassador's slightly dishevelled state. "Quite a night, hm?" 
Millian snickered, throwing an arm around their shoulders. "You dog! Spill the deets - whose bed were you warming, to work up such a limp?" Their smirk made clear they already guessed the culprits. 
Wincing, the ambassador tried to shrug them off with little success. "Nothing to tell. I'd prefer to keep my private business private, if you don't mind." 
But Nadia was having none of it, sidling close to share a conspicuous wink. "Ooh, getting cosy with the bot brass, are we? Can't say I blame you - they do know how to show a human a good time." 
Her grin widened at the ambassador's flustered face, taking their silence as confirmation enough. "Guys enough, I'm already in a  bad position if 'this' " they make a hand gesture at the two. "Gets out to Earth or Cybertron, it will be my neck in a noose so please don't" they try to settle the matter. They did enjoy chatting with Nadia and Millian but this was against regulation and if Megatron,  Rodimus or Ultra Magnus got whiff of it, it could mean their job on the Lost light.
Nadia and Millian sobered slightly at the ambassador's sombre tone, exchanging glances. "Alright, alright, we'll can it with the teasing," Nadia sighed, giving their arm a gentle squeeze. "You know we've got your back, yeah? No way would we see you in real trouble."
Millian nodded earnestly. "You're one of us, Ambassador - we look out for our own." Their grin returned, softer around the edges. "But hey, if anyone asks, you definitely did NOT just limp out of Ratchet's quarters. Cross my heart!" 
Nadia snickered, nudging them playfully. Her smile turned sincere as she studied their friend's tired yet peaceful expression. "And between us? I'm glad you found a little respite aboard this floating madhouse. We all need that, now and then."
"Thank you, I'll give you guys some details later but I do have a meeting with bridge command and I need to try and make it look like I didn't just crawl out of bed with two mechs" they mumble softly only for the two to give them a look of pure shock.
"Two?!" Millian echoes in a frankly scandalised yelp. Nadia elbows them sharply, making frantic shushing motions with her hands. 
"Keep it down, you idiot!" She hisses under her breath before turning back to the ambassador with gleaming eyes. "Well well, you little minx - getting cosy with both the medic and robo Samurai" Her grin is positively wolfish. 
concern shadows Millian’s gaze. "Just be careful, Ambassador. Fraternisation regs or no - getting tangled up with high command could spell trouble if word spreads." 
Nadia nods earnestly. "They're right. Not that we don't support you, but..." she fidgets, taking their hands, giving a gentle squeeze. 
"Both Ratchet and Drift made it clear they don't expect anything from me. offered if I need stress relief I was welcome. Plus Ratchet would rather know what I'm getting up to Incase he needs to perform medical on me" they whisper to them as the three walk towards the Ambassador's next stop.
"Hmm. Well that's reasonable enough, I suppose," Nadia muses pragmatically, though a glint of mischief remains in her eyes. "And who could resist the charms of those two mechs? You do have excellent taste, I'll give you that." 
Millian grin softens as they near the lift that will take the ambassador to their meeting. "Jokes aside, I'm glad you've found comfort here, weird ship though it is. Not the life any of us expected, but..." 
They shrugs amicably. "We make the most of what joys we can. And there are certainly perks to rubbing plating with the people in charge." A final wink, and Millian steps back with Nadia, offering a casual salute. 
"Knock 'em dead at the meeting, Ambassador. And try not to limp too obviously" they chuckle as the lift doors close. 
Megatron is sitting looking rather bored, but his optics light up when he sees the Ambassador a small smile graces his faceplate.  Magnus gives a small nod while Rodimus smiles like a fool waving before making his way towards them. "Hello Rodimus,  sorry I twisted my ankle earlier and it's not pleasant to walk" they chuckle softly hoping the lie passed over their helms without making them question how. 
Magnus merely nodded greeting, ever professional and stern. "Let us proceed with the agenda. Your tardiness sets us behind schedule." 
Rodimus, of course, could not be contained. "Oof, rough night? Happens to the best of us!" He moves towards them with a smile. "Ratchet patch you up okay?" 
Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. "Captain, please. We are in the midst of official proceedings." 
"I'm alright, Ratchet said it will be fine nothings broken, just going to be sore for a bit." They confirm to Rodimus as the mech picks them up and brings them to the table. Rodimus continues to let his servos and digits poke the Ambassador. Making them fidget. 
"Have we heard from Optimus if we have been requested to return to Cybertron, he was rather worried about Traxies, or if Galactica Union has asked for a new report on our recent travels?" They inquire dreading and hoping they didn't have to have another holo meeting with Prowl. 
Megatron studied the interplay with optics gleaming curiosity. " Captain, do cease your pestering the Liason." His field pulsed amusement as Rodimus reluctantly set the squirming human down. "To answer your query, Ambassador - I'm afraid your schedule remains as packed as ever. Word from Prime requests our return within the decacycle, and the Union demands their tedious status updates with predictable punctuality." 
Ultra Magnus nodded curt approval. "And Prowl as well, regarding the security details and records of the ship. He requires an immediate vid conference to...discuss developments." Rodimus groaned dramatically. "Ugh, leave it to Prowl to ruin a perfect morning. Why can't he just lurk in the shadows like Megs here and let us have our fun?" 
Megatron shoots Rodimus a glare but does make an effort to dignify Rodimus’ remark. "Ah sounds about right, I can't convince one of you to handle the Prowl meeting? I will happily deal with Optimus or the Galactica union, and take on extra work. Please" they nearly beg, only to yelp as Rodimus' digits run up their side  making them stiffen not expecting the contact. "Rodimus!"
Megatron observed with growing amusement as the small human squirmed fruitlessly in Rodimus's mischievous grasp. "Captain, tormenting them will not make their tasks any easier." 
He turned a gaze of singular intent upon Ultra Magnus. "I believe a request was made, Magnus. And as holders of far greater stamina and patience with the Enforcer, taking the meeting would be a small alleviation to your schedule, would it not?"
Magnus's field pulsed reluctance but duty compelled as expected. "Very well. As ranking officer, handling communication with Alliance High Command falls under my purview. I will handle Prowl at the scheduled time."
Rodimus whooped with glee, finally releasing the frazzled ambassador. "Looks like you're off the hook! Maybe you can help me with some more of those charts you were showing me last time so I can get better at reading them." He grinned down at them. 
They slowly lean back into Rodimus as they talk with Megatron and Ultra Magnus. "I'll make sure we are stocked for the trip back, do you need to organise anyone for the quantum generators maintenance?" The Ambassador asks, shuttering again as Rodimus continues to touch them.
Ultra Magnus cleared his intake, field broadcasting discomfort yet compelled as ever by duty. "I will see to ensuring all systems are fully prepped and operational for transit. Your role is coordination with our human team so they are set for a quantum jump, Ambassador."
Rodimus fairly purred against the human's back, appreciating how warm their smaller frame is against his. They are so soft and plush in his servos and primus he doesn't want to let go of them. 
____________
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til-all-are-loved · 3 months ago
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{This Charming Man}
Chapter 11 - Permission / Flesh for Fantasy
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word count 4.7 k ao3
You hadn’t intended to keep working.
After everything that was said you figured you’d step down quietly. You had submitted your resignation. You had meant it. But then nothing happened. No acknowledgement, no reply. No shuttle rerouted back to Earth, no official directive from Ultra Magnus or your Earth-side handlers. Just... silence.
So you kept showing up. One more report. One more meeting. One more datapad handed off without fanfare. It was just easier to pretend. And if Megatron had noticed your quiet return to routine, he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said much at all.
The leadership meeting was uneventful—until it wasn’t.
Rodimus was at the front of the room, leaned lazily against the edge of the holo-console like he had nowhere else to be. Ultra Magnus stood beside him with arms crossed and optics narrowed, which was his default setting. Megatron sat to the side, as still as stone.
You took your usual seat. No one commented on it.
Rodimus tapped the screen, bringing up a star chart. “Alright, next matter—access clearance. Our planned route takes us through the C-X  Expanse. There’s a neutral outpost in our path. Bureaucratic nonsense. We need someone to represent us at the station’s orbital council gathering so they’ll authorize passage.”
You blinked. “A... gathering?”
“Not a big deal,” Rodimus said with a dismissive wave. “They call it a ‘civic summit.’ It’s basically a glorified mixer with a roster and badge scanners. Show up, smile politely, leave with stamped clearance. Whole thing takes one night, maybe two.”
You glanced at Megatron. He hadn’t moved.
Rodimus continued, voice light. “Which is why I’m assigning our esteemed ambassador,” he gestured to you, “and our reformed co-captain—” he gestured at Megatron, “to attend on behalf of the Lost Light.”
Megatron’s optics finally lifted. “I fail to see why my presence is necessary.” His voice landed low and professionally. 
You wanted it to slip, just a little. Enough to tell you this was affecting him too.
“You’re a captain,” Rodimus said brightly. “Other captains will be there.”
Megatron, flatly: “So it’s politics.”
Rodimus shrugged. “Call it diplomacy if that helps.”
You spoke carefully. “We’ll be expected to represent the ship’s position on what exactly?”
“Trade neutrality, expedition rights, cultural cooperation, you know.” Rodimus grinned. “The usual fluff. It wouldn’t hurt to score the Cybertronian race some brownie points, would it? ”
“Which you’re not attending yourself?” Megatron asked.
“I’m terribly allergic to bureaucracy,” Rodimus replied. “Also, the last time I was there, I might’ve punched someone. This is a cleaner option, besides Megatron. You’re so much more reserved nowadays, more than me, even.”
Silence settled again. Megatron vented once, slow and steady.
“Very well,” he said at last.
Rodimus beamed. “Knew you'd see reason. Departure's scheduled for tomorrow. You'll be taking Shuttle Three.”
Magnus gave a subtle nod.
“Any questions?” Rodimus added.
You exchanged a look with Megatron. It wasn’t the old, easy kind of look, the kind you used to pass back and forth when Rodimus was being especially dramatic. But it wasn’t cold either. 
“No questions,” you said.
“Cool.” Rodimus clapped his hands. “Meeting adjourned.”
The others began filing out. You gathered your notes. Megatron left without a word.
As you turned to follow, Rodimus blocked your exit. 
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “One last thing.”
You paused.
“Pack a dress.”
You blinked. “Sorry—what?”
He grinned. “The summit’s not a briefing. It’s a party.”
You stared at him.
Rodimus winked, then turned on his heel and sauntered away.
The day of the assignment came faster than expected.
You hadn’t been nervous until now. You’d gotten through the briefings, the logistics updates, the security checks. You even made it through a mind-numbingly long discussion with an outpost liaison who spoke exclusively in caveats and procedural jargon. And still, you’d been fine.
Until you stepped into your quarters and realized it was time to get ready.
Your heart hammered.
You used to go to parties. Back in school—whatever version of that counted for you—it wasn’t a rare thing. Dress up, sneak drinks, pretend the night meant something. There were Greek life mixers and graduate socials and “girls' night” events where you'd trade outfits with your friends and laugh too hard and take pictures you’d regret the next morning.
But this felt nothing like that.
This wasn’t just a party. This was something else entirely. You weren’t even sure what it was.
You peeled off your uniform and stood in your undershirt for a long moment, staring down at the bag on your cot. “Pack a dress,” Rodimus had said, the smug bastard.
Still… you did pack one. A nice one. Just in case.
You tugged it out and started changing.
If he was wrong and it wasn’t a party—well, at least you’d feel more put together than usual. You could pretend this wasn’t about him. You could pretend you weren’t dressing for anyone.
Halfway through fixing your hair, a familiar jingle came from your doorbell comm console. Swerve’s voice crackled through before you could answer.
“Hey, uh. Just heard you’re shipping out with the Captain tonight. You two good?”
You blinked at your reflection. “We’re fine.”
“That’s not a yes.”
You snorted. “Do you need something?”
“Just to say: If he wears a tie, I’m gonna lose my mind. You’ll tell me, right?”
“Swerve.”
“Okay, okay! I’m leaving. Have fun storming the diplomatic summit!”
The line clicked off.
You stared at yourself in the mirror again. You didn’t look like someone heading to a summit. You looked like someone waiting to be seen.
The shuttle ride was quiet.
You sat across from Megatron, hands folded in your lap, watching stars streak past the viewport while he reviewed mission data in silence. You didn’t talk. Neither of you had to. 
When you finally landed, the docking clamps hissed and released, and the ramp unfolded with a smooth hydraulic sigh.
The station was vast. Even through the heavy atmosphere filters of the landing bay, you could feel the sheer scale of it. It was a satellite city, several times the size of the Lost Light. Lights streamed along the outer hull. Protocol drones hovered near arrivals, scanning new entrants and assigning escorts. Dozens of ships had already arrived. 
And stepping down the ramp with Megatron at your side, it became clear: this wasn’t some dry diplomatic formality. This was a display. Delegates gathered in pairs. Some arm-in-arm, others shoulder-to-shoulder. A soft orchestral score drifted in the air, piped through public speakers. Everyone was dressed to be seen.
And then you noticed it. The way some delegates looked at you then at Megatron. The slight pause. The way they waited, as if expecting something. Your breath caught as the realization settled. A formalized social display. Everyone was arriving together.
Megatron paused at your side. His optics narrowed as he scanned the crowd, as if parsing new information.
You felt your voice catch slightly. “We’re... expected to look like a pair.”
He tilted his head.
"Is this a procession?"
You blinked, realizing your mouth was slightly open. You shut it, trying to remember what words were.
"No," you said, voice low. "This is a grand ball."
Megatron glanced around the hall again, this time with clearer understanding. Guests posed for cameras. Couples walked arm in arm. Every movement was calculated and beautiful.
His gaze drifted back to you, catching on the line of your shoulders, the cut of your dress.
"That explains the dress."
There was no irony in it. No dryness. Just a quiet, pointed observation. His gaze lingered on you for one, two heartbeats. 
He exvented slowly. “A moment, please.”
He doubled back slowly at first, then turned the corner and presumably doubled back to the shuttle.The echo of his pounding footsteps over the music made you wince. Too loud. Too fast. Too Megatron.
A few breaths passed, from around the corner you heard your name be called.
You turned to look and your throat nearly closed.
Tall. Easily over six feet. Broad-shouldered, dark heavy duster tailored in sharp lines.  It was amusing, his stylistic choices didn’t quite suit the modern male style on earth, at least not any that you encountered like this. His design held an individualistic sentiment almost like that of alternative subcultures but tempered to flatter an older man… 
White streaks cut through silver hair at his temples, swept back in a style that looked effortless but wasn't. It exposed a tall square shaped forehead revealing somewhat deep age lines. 
The cut of his jaw was too clean to be real. His cheekbones were knife-sharp. His mouth serious, stern, perfectly sculpted. Beneath that familiar pout was a trimmed goatee, it seemed to mirror his cybertronian features perfectly.And his eyes. Not the usual deep red of his optics. These were dark, warm. Smoldering. Intelligent. Still him.
He turned to you slightly, as if unsure how you'd react.
You just stared.
Not because you didn’t recognize him. Because you did. Because it felt like seeing a secret he’d kept from you. A weaponized version of restraint. And damn if it didn’t work.
He didn’t move at first. Just let you look at him.
Then wryly: “You’re staring.”
You blinked hard. “Am I not supposed to?”
His mouth twitched at the corner. “I’m not used to being... admired.”
“Get used to it,” you said before thinking. Your voice came out smaller than intended.
He stepped toward you, closing the short distance between you both. Still at a respectful length, but no longer distant. The ambient glow of the station lights danced across his avatar’s shoulders, catching on subtle metallic threading in the long coat he’d chosen.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.
The act suddenly felt so... pointed. Symbolic. A thousand subtle cues passed between delegates in this place. Every pair walking together was making a statement.
But then, in a quiet motion, you turned your hand and touched the bend of his elbow. Permission.
In his expression you caught surprise, maybe, or a recalibration. He adjusted instantly, offering his arm in full, his other hand resting behind his back with courtly precision.You tested his bicep briefly, if he noticed he didn't show it.
His voice was low, soft at your ear as you began walking together.
“Thank you for not recoiling,” he murmured. “This form is... experimental.”
You glanced at him sidelong. “You’re handling it well.”
“I’ve studied human posture,” he said, tone just dry enough to be self-aware. “And basic expressions of chivalry .” 
“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked down at you, just the faintest glimmer in his eye. “Am I convincing you?”
You exhaled a single laugh. “A little too much.”
Your steps fell into a rhythm as the two of you moved through the grand hall, drawing more than a few curious looks. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
“Let’s get a drink,” you said, nodding toward the curved crystalline bar set into the far wall. Its base glowed with a slow pulse of color. Sleek-bellied glasses and phosphorescent bottles stood in minimalist display behind the counter, flanked by a bartender bot with an absolutely judgmental visor.
Megatron gave a slight nod. “Excellent idea. I believe I’m expected to make small talk soon, and I’d rather do it with a glass in hand.”
The two of you veered toward the bar, your arm still lightly tucked in his, the brush of his sleeve against your skin doing terrible things to your heart rate. You could feel the temperature rising in your own face—not from nerves, exactly, but from the proximity. The attention. And maybe from the fact that he was enjoying it, too. Not smugly. Not with power. But with something approaching pleasure. Delight, even.
The bar was sleeker up close, an art installation as much as a service station. Its surface shifted in subtle, mirrored waves beneath your fingers, like water frozen in the middle of movement. As you approached, Megatron let your arm go, his hand trailing away with practiced grace.
You ordered first, voice clear, posture composed. Megatron followed suit, his tones measured and surprisingly casual. He let you lead, a novelty in itself.
A pair of delegates sidled up beside you taller than either of you, vaguely insectoid, their limbs jointed in six distinct places. They spoke to each other in a dialect you didn’t understand then, in Galactic Basic, just loud enough to catch.
“Oh, how quaint. The human delegation brought representatives.”
“Must be difficult,” the other mused, not unkindly, “to keep such small creatures in sight.”
You felt Megatron shift beside you.
The taller delegate offered what might’ve been a polite nod, their expression unreadable. “Enjoy the festivities,” they added, and glided away, clicking softly as they moved.
Your drink arrived.
You stared into it for a moment before murmuring, “Do you think I count as quaint?”
Megatron’s gaze didn’t move from where the pair had gone. “If they knew anything about you, they’d never risk using the word.”
You glanced up at him. Something in his jaw had set differently. Not anger just... that old stiffness. Like a program running in the background. Like something uncomfortable in the code of his body.
So you touched his elbow lightly. “Come on,” you said, voice soft but purposeful. “Let’s make the rounds.”
You didn’t have to ask twice. He fell into step beside you again, his hand resting behind his back once more. The perfect dignitary.
The two of you slipped into the flow of the event, weaving between delegates, exchanging nods and hellos and the occasional comment. You played your part—answering questions about Earth’s current diplomatic ties to Cybertron, throwing in the occasional joke that flew over everyone’s head but made Megatron tilt his head in that amused little way that meant he got it.
Through the night you couldn't help but steal glances at him. He was handsome. Painfully so, in a way that didn’t seem fair. 
Mustering your confident-ambassador-baddie aura you continued to take the lead. One hand clasping a chilly glass you held it ahead of you like the bow of a ship parting the sea of party-goers. The other hand beckoning Megatron occasionally to keep up.
​​“You carry yourself like royalty.”
You blink. Did you just mishear him? 
“Come again?”
He stiffens immediately, eyes narrowing in defence. He regrets the words as soon as they’re spoken.
“That’s not—”
“You’re terrible at this,” you say, a grin playing on your lips.
“At what?”
“Flirting. That was a compliment, wasn’t it?”
“It was meant to be an observation.”
You bob your head playfully and roll your shoulders, hopefully the gesture comes off as foxy. “Sure. An observation with an aura of courtship.”
But eventually, the charm of the event began to turn. The lights felt too hot. The stares too long. The conversations started looping back, becoming redundant. Megatron’s answers became shorter. He leaned in less.
So you pulled back.
You nudged him gently with your shoulder and said, “Too much?”
He exvented quietly.
“Want to disappear?”
“Yes.”
Without ceremony, the two of you slipped through an archway, down a curved hallway lit in soft green, past a suspended sculpture that rotated slowly without sound. The noise of the ballroom faded behind you, replaced by a hush that felt like reprieve.
You found a quiet space tucked into an overlook meant for VIPs. Megatron stood beside you. But something in the posture had shifted. His shoulders were no longer squared. His hands, now clasped at the small of his back, opened and closed in restless intervals.
You leaned on the railing, watching the light show from below. The delegation was in full swing now, the dance floor slowly filling as a low, pulsing rhythm took over the speakers. It was orchestral in structure but deeply physical, percussive in a way that settled into your sternum. Behind you, Megatron remained quiet.
“I know that face,” you said, glancing sideways. “You look like you’re drafting a brutal speech about the flippancy of luxury.”
He didn’t look at you. “I’m calculating the cost of theater,” he said quietly. “How much it takes from a person to wear a mask. And how long before they forget it was a mask at all.”
You turned to face him fully, arms crossed, hip resting against the railing.
“You’re not being fair,” you said. “You did everything right.”
Megatron’s gaze drifted toward you now. The lighting softened the lines of his avatar, made his expression look more human than you’d ever seen it. Tired, but still alert.
“I wasn’t trying to be right,” he said. “Only tolerable.”
The music shifted. Below, couples moved together in deliberate, synchronized steps. One pair spun gently in a half-orbit around another. Someone dipped a partner low, and laughter followed.
“Would you prefer we just disappear entirely?” you asked.
“I prefer this,” he said at last.
You smiled faintly. “I don't mind either.”
He looked at you withdrawn again. “You’re just saying that.”
You took a pause, trying to steady the pulse in your veins urging you into doing impulsive things .“Can I say something?”
His head tilted. Permission. 
You stepped a little closer. Enough to be able to lower your voice while still being heard. “You didn’t have to do any of this,” you said. “The diplomacy. The avatar. Playing along. And I know you’ll try to tell yourself you did it for appearances, or the mission. But that’s not true.”
His jaw tensed, just slightly.
“I know it’s not,” you continued. “Because I’ve seen how you are when you’re just doing what you’re told. And this... this wasn’t that.”
For a moment, he said nothing. 
Then, softly: “And what do you think this was?”
You swallowed. “Something kind. And... something that’s made me feel very, very happy.”
Megatron looked away, back toward the window.
“You say that like it surprises me,” he said. “But I didn’t come here to make a statement. I came because I thought I might make you smile.”
You blinked, stunned. He wanted this? He planned this? That was—God. That was almost romantic. Too romantic. You felt the elation bloom in your chest, dizzy from what he’d just admitted so casually.
You reached for his hand. And he let you.
The music continued below. The swirl of dancers and delegates became a blur behind the glass.
You squeezed his fingers gently.
“If you wanted to dance,” you said, “I wouldn’t stop you.”
He glanced at you again.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just know I’d like to stay near you.”
And this time, he stepped closer.
You cue for him to remove his coat by taking the sides of the collar in each hand and guiding it over his shoulders. He took the hint, shugging the garment off and slinging it over the railing. It revealed strong forearms beneath rolled sleeves, a neck just barely visible above the collar. Everything about him feels deliberately understated, and yet you can’t stop looking. You felt your stomach knot.
The music swelled again strings melting into a slow, pulsing rhythm, just enough tempo to guide motion without overwhelming it. Below, the crowd moved in waves. 
You turned to face him, heart kicking faster. 
“If you’d like to try,” you offered, lifting your hand, “I can lead.”
Megatron looked at you, visibly uncertain.
“I’ve never danced,” he said, as if it were a confession. “Not like this.”
“That’s alright,” you said gently. “I have. We’ll go slow.”
You reached for him, and he took your hand awkwardly,  unsure how much pressure was acceptable. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, guiding his other hand to your waist.
“There,” you murmured. “That’s the usual setup.”
He looked down at the contact, then up at you again. “This feels... unconventional.”
“That's because you're thinking too hard,” you said with a small grin.
“I’m trying not to step on you,” he said flatly.
“That’s very sweet,” you teased. “But unnecessary. If you stepped on me I’d forgive you”
He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth curved only a little. It was something.
You watched his gaze crawl across your shoulders, the line of your neck, your jaw. His eyes landed on your mouth for a beat too long. You swallowed. Hard.
“You’re observing me,” you said.
“I always do.”
Something about the way he said it left you lost for an appropriate response.
One step back. He followed, stiffly. You tried again. He mirrored, a beat late. Every motion was too precise. He was solving a puzzle rather than moving through space.
“You’re overcorrecting,” you murmured.
“I am attempting to mirror your tempo.”
“Okay,” you said softly, “but dancing isn’t just pattern recognition. It’s listening. To me. To the music. To yourself.”
He blinked once. “That’s vague.”
“You’re doing great,” you lied, because you were charmed out of your mind.
He huffed sharply,. “Where should my hands go now?”
“Same place,” you said, biting back a laugh. “We’re not doing a spin yet.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
You smiled up at him. “Exactly. So don’t worry about it.”
He hesitated again. His hands hadn’t moved. His whole form had gone a bit too still. Withdrawn, even.
You looked up at him, tilting your head. “Hey. Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed faintly. “This feels... unnecessary.”
You stepped back slightly. “Do you want to stop?”
His hand dropped from your waist. “I think I should.”
Your heart stung but you nodded, letting your arms fall, stepping gently away.
“Of course.”
You turned slightly, ready to give him the space he thought he needed.
But his voice stopped you.
“You said I didn’t have to go through all of this for you,” he said. “But I did. I wanted to.”
Your chest rose with your breath.
He looked at you like he just found the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he was asking. His gaze flicks to the side, and he adjusts his sleeve again—same nervous tell. Not ready to meet you where you are. Not yet. But he's still standing here, isn't he?
“You once said I didn’t understand what I was getting into,” you say quietly, “You were right. I didn’t. Not then. But I think I do now.”
He doesnt interrupt. 
“That night… when you told me the truth. I should’ve hated you. I wanted to. But instead, I felt—” you pause, licking your lips, “—seen. It terrified me.”
He says nothing, but you can tell: he’s listening.
“You keep showing up like this,” you say gently, your voice low. “It’s getting hard to tell what this is supposed to be.”
His mouth opens like he’s about to deflect.
“Don’t,” you add quickly. “Just—don’t. I’m not trying to corner you. I just want to know.”
You take a breath, fingers brushing your wrist. 
“Tell me what this is, Megatron,” you murmur. “Because I’m starting to hope it’s more than it should be.”
He looks at you—on the level—and for a moment, you see it: uncertainty. Caution. Want.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
“Okay,” you say, stepping closer. “Then let me ask something simpler.”
You tilt your chin, steady despite the quaking in your nerves.
“Would it be alright if I kissed you?”
He doesn’t speak. Just nods once. Permission.
You step into him, feeling heat radiating off his holomatter projection. Up close, he smells like ozone and something else, clean metal and the faintest scent of tobacco,, translated into something your brain can interpret.
When you kiss him, it’s not elegant. Your noses brush wrong. Your balance falters a bit. But his hand—warm and unsure—touches your side, steadying you.
His mouth is soft. Stubbled. There’s a moment when you feel him start to respond, just slightly, before he pulls back half an inch.
His eyes are still open. Of course they were.
You breathe against him, stunned.
And then he steps back. Not far. Just enough to look at you fully.
“That,” he says, voice low, “was very brave.”
You smile, half breathless. “I know.”
The satisfaction in his expression was subtle—but it was there.
Your face was at full burn by now, hot blood felt as if it was pooling beneath every pore. It was actually getting a bit too much. You looked away, it was all getting a bit overwhelming. The excitement you were gripping onto tightly the entire night refused to unwind even after your very reckless action.
Little words were exchanged between you as a few comfortable silences passed by. Meanwhile the music had drawn to a close. 
The walk back to the launch bay is slower than necessary. Neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t empty. At some point along the empty corridor, you catch him looking at you. 
His eyes—human eyes—flick downward, lingering a second longer than is strictly polite. Your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, the slight shift of fabric where your dress settles against your chest.
It’s not leering. It’s curious and innocent in its focus. You bite back a smile, heart thrumming high in your ribs. Cybertronians don’t have this kind of giveaway. You realize that now—how easily you can see where his gaze travels, how easily he betrays his own attention just by forgetting to guard it. When his eyes flick back up and meet yours, there’s no guilt there. No shame.
The launch bay doors slide open. You pause just before the ramp, and Megatron pauses with you. His form flickers and the holomatter projection dissolves into static. He’s there now. Fully. The real deal.
"So," you say, "you were already here."
"Of course," he replies, words reverberating through the thin station air. "I was never far."
The shuttle ramp hisses under the weight of Megatron’s heavy footfalls.
You follow at your own pace, the stairs ahead of you rising almost as high as your shoulders. You hesitate at the base of the first step, eyeing the climb.
Before you can even think about attempting it, a massive shadow falls over you.
You glance up—just as Megatron stoops low, one hand extending.
“Allow me,” he says, voice pitched low, almost dry. But you catch the undercurrent: an old memory. You smile without thinking and step carefully into his waiting palm.
His servos flex slightly beneath you, enclosing you. You sit demurely, hands braced lightly on the broad curve of his fingers. He lifts you smoothly, almost absentmindedly, like you weigh nothing at all.
He doesn’t set you down immediately. Instead, he carries you easily across the shuttle floor, his other hand adjusting the controls with practiced efficiency.
He glances down.
“You’ll stay here,” he says, the faintest flicker of amusement touching his tone. “I prefer to keep you within sight.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile too obviously.
He settles you near the front console, just beside the primary display—a safe, flat surface with enough of an edge to keep you secure. Close enough that if he turns slightly, you’re still within arm’s reach.
He powers up the shuttle. You sit quietly, the rush of takeoff pressing you back just slightly as the shuttle disengages from the station.
The night is ending. The fantasy is folding itself away.
And still, he keeps you close.
For a while, neither of you speak. The stars drift by outside the viewport, streaks of light against the velvet dark. You let your eyes follow them, feeling the hush settle deep into your bones.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“Well,” he says, voice thoughtful. “What did you think?”
You don’t need to ask what he means. The night. The effort. The strange, human-shaped fantasy he built for you out of smoke and hope.
You consider your answer carefully.
“It was wonderful,” you say honestly. “Strange. Surreal. Like stepping into someone else’s life for a while.”
You shift, folding your hands in your lap.
“But…” you add, looking up at him again, eyes lidded and a smirk playing at your lips—“I think I find you more beguiling like this.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because this is the form you’ll see most often.”
There’s no regret in his voice. No apology.
And you find, to your own surprise, that you don’t want one. You lean back slightly, settling in as the shuttle speeds toward home.
___
WOAH big update FINALS ARE OVER YAY. Alexa play Flesh for Fantasy by Billy Idol
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rawmeknockout · 1 year ago
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I dunno if it's still in the grace period, but man I wanna ride Rodimus in his holoform like a fuckin bronco in his own backseat
//respectfully cunt and pussy are used in a gender-neutral sense 😌//
Rodimus holds tight to your waist while you ride him like a champ. The up and down movements of your beautiful, alien body hypnotizing, he's never seen anything so charge-inducing. He can feel both the holoform and his real metal body surge with arousal. His frame is riddled with excess sparks of energy, armor uncomfortably tight around his sensitized protoform. Although he enjoys the sight of his fake flesh body pushing up into your cunt, Rodimus can't help superimposing his real frame onto the experience. He would love to see you try and take his spike to the hilt, stuffed nearly to capacity.
Your fingers clench and curl into his collared shirt, nails burying deep into the faux fabric. His frame rocks and shudders with your frantic movements, cab bouncing with the rhythm. His engine rumbles and purrs with the moaning of his holoform icon, his true frame trembling underneath and around you. The slap of his damp skin against yours is so real, feels so tangible, you can't help but be brought into the illusion and lose all perception of reality. Your brain can't help but accept the touch of another human, real or not. A sensation you didn't know you even missed.
The charge builds beneath his protoform, pleasure filtering from his holo-avatar to his mech frame and doubling back, all of the sensations blending together. With you on top, clenching around him with your soft cunt, Rodimus loses track of where he ends and the mech-made construction begins. He grabs hold of your hips, keeping you firmly rooted in place as he fucks up into you, chasing the sensation of your body welcoming him over and over. The charge finally reaches the brink of overload, Rodimus' metal frame snapping and popping with it, tensing and jerking upon release. The gentle whimpering and moaning from Rodimus' mouth, the minute, spastic jerk of his hips, is enough to make you come soon after, taken with the way his avatar's brow furrows and eyes squeeze shut. His mouth is open around gasps of air he doesn't need, chest heaving in programmed mimicry.
You roll your hips down upon his lap, milking him to the point of overstimulation. With each tug of your body, Rodimus' cab hitches around you, quickly building up steam again.
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writeyouin · 1 year ago
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Lost light megatron trying to have fun with his s/o, but kinda failing cuz he thinks of all the ways it could go wrong? (Maybe they’re on a planet in a theme park?) and reader has to convince him to let loose?
Megatron X Reader – Let Loose
A/N – Slowly, whittling my list of requests down.
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
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Megatron snatched the cotton candy from you, earning a startled look from the vendor and the surrounding people alike. You, on the other hand, merely smiled, knowing what he was like.
“Babe, it’s not poisonous,” You told him patiently, waiting for him to agree.
Megatron tore off a piece of the fluffy treat, scanning it with a device he had procured from Red Alert; that bot was equally paranoid about all the things that could poison you, or that could contaminate the ship’s supply of energon, or that could… Actually, the list of things that Red Alert was paranoid about was endless.
He hummed and passed it back to you begrudgingly. While it was true that the food wouldn’t kill you, it wasn’t very good for you either, which is exactly what he told you after you tore a piece off, popping it in your mouth gleefully.
“Would you lighten up?” You laughed, elbowing him playfully. “Today is supposed to be fun.”
Megatron followed you through the Carnival that Rodimus had insisted on making the Lost Light stop at. Frankly, he thought that he had been doing well by not complaining that it was a waste of time and energy to visit such a trashy attraction, especially when the crew had to make use of their holo-forms which increased their energon consumption by 3.7%. That might not have been a lot for one bot, but when used by the full crew, it would ensure they practically ate through their energy reserves.
“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but how exactly would you have me ‘lighten up’?” Megatron used air quotes upon repeating you.
“Just cut loose. Have fun for the day, okay?”
Megatron scowled. His idea of fun was composing poetry to sum up his deepest thoughts and clear his processor, or to spend an evening with you, consuming some of the universe’s best literature, while you spent time on one of your hobbies.
Frankly, this was when another bot might comment on how odd your relationship was. You and Megatron were not alike. You were loud, carefree, and energetic. He was sombre and contemplative, and he preferred not to waste energy on frivolous activities.
Yet, Megatron found himself wanting to please you. Part of this stemmed from the idea that he didn’t believe that he deserved you, and partially because you asked very little of him, taking the relationship one day at a time while he learned how to navigate it with you.
“Very well,” Megatron sighed. “I shall…” He tripped over the words cut loose, finding the slang un-endearing, opting to finish by saying, “Try to relax somewhat.”
“That’s all I ask,” You chuckled, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the first game of the day.
It was a simple ring toss over some bottles, with various prizes hanging overhead. You spotted a plushie armadillo which was arguably the most hideous of the prizes, yet it held your attention, your pupils dilating at the sight of it.
“Oh yeah, that’s coming home with me.”
And so the game began. You tried again and again to win the creature, putting more and more credits on it, much to the vendor's satisfaction.
Megatron watched, bemused, until finally, he grabbed your shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“What’s wrong, babe? You want a go?”
You held out a ring to him. Megatron glowered first at the bottles, then at the vendor. “You should leave this game.” He told you matter-of-factly. Then in a whisper, he added, “My sensors show that it has been rigged. Winning is a statistical impossibility.”
“Oh,” You deflated. You had already guessed that the game was rigged, but it had been fun to try all the same. Half-heartedly, you threw the last ring before walking away. “Okay… something else then.”
Megatron silently cursed himself for upsetting you, but it was better you knew now rather than trying to win the impossible.
Your eyes lit up again when you saw what had to be the world’s most unstable rollercoaster.
“How about that?!” You pointed to it excitedly.
Megatron scanned the structure, messaging Ultra Magnus to see how many laws it broke. According to him, the ride had 36 structural weaknesses, broke 17 laws, and would only be legal on 3 planets.
You shook your head as Megatron’s face set into its default scowl.
“Oh, come on, please,” You begged, clasping your hands together.
“I won’t stop you, but I shan’t join you,” Megatron said drily, thinking about how he would be prepared to shed his holo-form and rescue you when the ride inevitably flew off the tracks or something equally terrible.
“Really? I can’t convince you?” You pouted.
“I should think not.”
You opened your mouth to argue until Rodimus ran into you, “Hey (Y/N). You here for the coaster?”
“Yeah, I was about to get in line. I’m just asking Meg-”
Rodimus rolled his eyes, “Megatron isn’t going to join you. It would mean having fun, something he’s completely allergic to, you know, alongside joy, laughter, puppies, flowers-”
“Shut up,” You punched Rodimus playfully in the arm.
Megatron watched as you and Rodimus played, eventually getting his approval to go on the ride together. It sometimes amazed him that you hadn’t chosen to enter a relationship with someone like Rodimus. The two of you were quite similar and had a good rapport.
Megatron sighed as he watched the two of you on the ride. He was somewhat you were relieved that you were with his co-captain. At least that way you would be safe with him should something happen. One person with you, and another on the ground in case something went wrong.
Yet, remarkably, nothing bad happened, except for Megatron putting yet another damper on the day, making him practically miserable.
Once you had come off the ride, Megatron made his excuses to go back to the ship, leaving you alone with Rodimus. He had much to think about when it came to the two of you, and frankly, he felt like he needed to find some reasons that the two of you were together, especially after such a disastrous excuse of a date, wherein he had only helped to sour your vibrant mood.
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Megatron startled at the sound of the doorbell ringing.
He answered the door to find you, holding tightly onto the plushie armadillo that he had claimed was impossible to win.
“So, you somehow won the ring toss,” He stated, gesturing to the toy.
“Nah. Rodimus distracted the guy there and I took this,” You held out your prize, grinning victoriously.
“Stealing?” Megatron said doubtfully, thinking about what a terrible influence Rodimus could be.
“I’d like to think of it as liberating a plushie who needs a lot of love. Besides, you said it yourself. That guy was cheating, so it’s only fair he loses a prize or two every now and then.”
Megatron nodded stiffly, his optics following you as you entered the hab-suite.
“I’m sorry-” He started, surprised when you said “Thank you,” at the same time.
“What’re you-” “Why are you-”
You laughed as you both spoke simultaneously again, gesturing for him to start first.
“I- I’m sorry for leaving you at the fair,” Megatron sighed in his usual melancholy tone. “And you don’t have anything to thank me for. Believe me, I should know.”
You grinned, holding back a bout of laughter since you didn’t want Megatron to be offended.
“I’ll admit, I was sad that you left early, but… I wanted to thank you, for a really good night.”
Megatron didn’t respond. Frankly, he couldn’t see how you had a good time with him at all.
“I know the carnival isn’t your scene, but you went with me anyway, and… I love having someone who looks out for me all the time. I think it’s really sweet that you don’t want me to get conned out of my credits, or get hurt on the big rides, or, y’know, die from poison. I love you, Megatron.”
That wasn’t the first time that you had told Megatron you loved him, nor would it be the last, and yet, you always said it at the most unexpected times.
“I… Love you too,” Megatron said haltingly, scared as usual that his vulnerability would lead to a terrible end for the two of you. “Would you like to spend the night here?” He offered.
“Sounds good to me,” You beamed.
224 notes · View notes
ultracreativelywritten · 3 months ago
Note
How's about a tarot for Optidad?
Three of cups
———
Optimus watched as Hot Rod played with Bumblebee, the two sparklings were building something with blocks. Bumblebee clumsily placing blocks at random and Rodimus fixing them before he carefully lined up the next block on top. It felt like just yesterday that Rodimus was upset about Bumblebee not being a puppy and Bumblebee barely being able to crawl. Both were growing up so fast before his optics. Optimus could only hope that the war could be ended before the two were old enough to enlist.
“Cute kids, aren’t they?” Kup said as he lit his cygar, “Hot Rod is getting faster in his alt-mode. I took a holo-video if you want to watch.”
“I would like that,” Optimus said with a sigh, “I wish I could be there more often for him, and for Bumblebee too.”
“And for the war to end,” Kup said, “but you know what they say, it takes a village to raise a child. You be there for them, but we will be there when you can’t.”
“I will,” Optimus said, “and I’ll make sure to be there when the war ends too. I want peace to be stable, for them and for everyone.”
“I think we would all like that,” Kup said, taking a puff of his cygar, “now go on and see what they’re building, I’m sure that they’ll let you help.”
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theoceanoasis · 2 months ago
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Can I offer some spice?
One evening Rodimus decorates the berthroom with candles, crystal petals and extra soft pillows. Once he's satisfied with how it looks he quickly grabs some black lace cloth and make up and heads into the wash racks to get dressed. When everything is ready Rodimus happily heads back to the berth before activating his holo pad to give Soundwave a call, hoping to tease and cheer up his conjunx.
Meanwhile the blue mech is stuck on late shift and wants nothing more than to go home and recharge. That's until is holo pad goes off and he is greeted by the striking sight of his conjunx is berth all dolled up and looking gorgeous. Soundwave has to quickly lock his office door as his spike is very eager to say hello.
-💕
He placed some candles around the room and fluffy pillows on the bed. Grabbing crystal petals he sprinkled some in the bed wanting to set the perfect mood.
He put on the lingerie he'd gotten recently and put a little makeup on. His Conjunx had been working so hard recently. Even now he was working late and he wanted to give him something to cheer him up.
Lying on the bed all spread out, he called Soundwave, making sure he could see everything. His Conjunx looked startled by his appearance, and then he could see the lust in his optics. He smirked to himself and began teasing him.
Soundwave, who'd been tiredly working, was surprised when he got a call from Rodimus. He'd just been thinking about how much he wanted to go home and go to bed.
Answering the call, he was shocked by Rodimus's appearance and found his spark stiffening. He was gorgeous, and he quickly locked his door just as his spike popped out.
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fucking-solar · 9 months ago
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Had another Hotstreak idea-
Rodimus seems to so be the type to eagerly want to model for Sunstreakers paintings, coming off and flirty and just plain lewd. However, when Sunstreaker finally agrees, he has him posing in the most uncomfortable position for several hours and Rodimus hates it.
It didn't lead to any sexy fun times like he thought it would, and now he's sore from sitting still for so long. Sunstreaker must have done that on purpose! (Still, the art turned out gorgeous)
Idk what this is supposed to be, just a little silly thought
-silly anon
YES! Send me all the silly ideas, I love them so much as well as these silly guys. Fill up my inbox with em if you want! I was thinking about them earlier so this is great timing too
Anyways you’re so right. Rodimus would perk up and get so excited upon seeing the props being like “I can be so sexy with this” and then Sunny is like “no, get that out of your mouth. Do it like this-“ and putting him in the most uncomfortable position that somehow ends up looking kinda flattering? Roddy will put up with it because maybe if he’s a good boy, he’ll get a treat. And he does! The treat is back pain.
Sunny still thinks he looks pretty while suffering. He does his official painting and stuff too instead of a holo picture. He thinks it’s sweet how Rodimus puts up with it. He wouldn’t dare say that though
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gravedwe11er · 10 months ago
Text
Prime and Protector
Dusted off my writing skills to try my hand at some of the rarepair event prompts! Big thanks to my beta @jayden-writes, sorry for making you read mecha lingo. I will do it again.
Pairing: Rodimus/Deadlock
Cw: none
Wordcount: 3k
Summary: In which Deadlock's plans get drastically disrupted within the span of a single cycle by the prettiest pair of blue optics he's ever seen. And also politics. Can't forget that bit.
If Deadlock had known just how utterly, mind numbingly, spark crushingly boring this job would be, he might not have taken it after all.
Well, no. That's a lie. He’d never be stupid enough to say no to that kind of shanix. When you’re an up-and-coming gun for hire and some noble bastard contacts you, shoving a datapad with the most zeroes you’ve ever seen on it in front of your optics, you’re going to take it, no matter how hard or unpleasant the gig is.
Even if the mech they want dead is the new Prime.
It’s not like Deadlock has some sort of a moral objection to it. As far as he’s concerned, Primus has never done a single good thing for him and neither have any of his chosen, so really, why should he care. This Prime’s a mech like any other, and he’ll die like one too.
That is, if Deadlock could ever get anywhere near the guy. He’s been here for a month already, employed as a guard for the primal residence with the help of the new squeaky-clean records his client got for him, and so far, he has yet to see the Prime anywhere outside a holoscreen. Being the newest mech on payroll, the understandably paranoid chief of security has had him standing outside one of the dozen nearly unused side entrances, out of the way of anyone even slightly important.
Probably until he proves himself to not be an assassin sent here to kill his charge or something like that. Hah.
He’s currently alone, his partner for the day having been called away to deal with an unspecified situation in some other part of the ostentatiously huge residence and leaving him to his own devices. If Deadlock were a betting mech, he’d put his favorite pistol on this being a test, so he stubbornly fights the urge to nod off right where he stands and at least pretends he’s keeping a watchful optic on his surroundings.
Something he turns out to be grateful for when, barely a few klicks later, the elevator separating the Prime’s tower from the rest of the senatorial residential district starts showing signs of activity. Straightening up further, he stands at parade rest with his ridiculous electric spear held up at a perfect angle just as the elevator opens, spitting out two mechs in the middle of a heated argument.
The first is undoubtedly some prissy upper caste bastard, his thin, purely decorative cream-colored armor polished to a mirror shine. But it’s the second one, his arm held by the fancy fragger in a grip so tight it’s visibly denting his plating, that makes Deadlock tense up.
The new Prime looks a bit different than on the holos, his paint nanites changed to blues and purples instead of the usual reds and golds, and he’s visibly scratched up. Reeking of exhaust and burnt rubber, Deadlock would bet he was just dragged away from a street race, which is a shock in and of itself. What really gets him, though, are the sharp, almost bitten off glyphs flying out of his mouth, colored with the strong and unmistakable nyonian slum accent.
Deadlock tries not to stare too hard as the two mechs keep shouting at each other, his presence going unnoticed for the moment. In the few official broadcasts he’s made since his appointment to office, the Prime had sounded like any other noble slagger, the I am better than you attitude oozing out of every polished, perfectly pronounced glyph, but now he’s guessing they must have been heavily edited to hide the mech’s less than stellar origins.Which just begs the question, how in the pit was some nyonian allowed to get anywhere near the matrix in the first place?
Shaking himself out of his inner turmoil and shelving his speculations for the moment, Deadlock turns his attention back on his mark and his enraged minder, having no trouble listening in on their debate with just how fragging loud they’re being.
“-an utter disgrace to the Primal line! Escaping your guard detail, engaging in illegal races and shirking your duties! Again!” scolds the noble with his grating, uppity voice, and Deadlock dislikes him immediately. “How many more times must I tell you to conduct yourself as a mech of your statute!”
The white mech closes his optics, attempting to calm himself while the Prime sulkily stares at the ground. “This cannot be allowed to happen again. If you are unable to behave yourself, then we shall endeavor to find someone who will make it so.” he adds, more quietly now, trying to stare his unrepentant looking ward down despite being a helm shorter.
“Like you don’t already do that?” drawls the Prime, causing the other to take in a slow, calming invent before speaking up again.
“Have you considered General Slipwing’s proposal? I believe he would be the ideal Lord protector for someone of your… temperament.”
That seems to bring some energy to the Prime’s frame, Deadlock watching the mech finally rip his arm out of his minder’s grip to gesticulate wildly. “What? Absolutely not! The guy’s a total bore, not to mention insufferable! I am not gonna deal with him for a moment longer than I have to!”
With a dainty flick of his wrist, the white mech waves off his leader’s protests. “Perhaps the proximity to someone calm and responsible would be beneficial for you, my lord Prime,” he says, tone deceptively mild, not at all masking the insult in his statement.
“No way. Nope. I’m saying no and that’s final, you can’t make me,” shouts the Prime, shaking his helm violently. “We’re done here. I can find a way to my own rooms just fine, and you can go back to all those oh-so-important other duties that you keep reminding me you have.”
With that, the mech turns away from the irate noble and begins stomping his way to the entrance gate, Deadlock quickly returning to parade rest and doing his best to look like he hasn’t just been listening to every single word to come out of these mechs’ mouths. The Prime only makes it a few steps before he suddenly looks up, meeting Deadlock’s gaze with the most striking set of blue optics he’d ever seen.
He finds himself frozen as the leader of the entire cybertronian empire stares at him with an odd, considering look, the two standing close enough for Deadlock to feel the mech’s field when it flares out. It’s unusually strong, and warm too, despite the undercurrent frazzle of irritation, with an echo of something ancient and powerful and other that makes him suppress the urge to shiver.
The moment lasts for a few nanoklicks before the Prime stirs to life, pointing at him with one brightly colored digit.
“You!”
Only vorns of practice stop Deadlock from flinching as he tries to quell a wave of rising panic. Could the Prime have recognized him from somewhere? Frag, has Deadlock killed someone close to him, maybe? He doesn’t remember seeing this mech before, but he could have had a reformat and Deadlock would be none the wiser. Hoping to salvage the situation, he forces out an almost calm sounding “Yes?” before remembering to quickly tack on a “my lord” at the end of the sentence.
Out of all the things Deadlock could have expected, “You could be my Protector!” rolling off the Prime’s glossa was not it.
This time, Deadlock really does twitch, a staticky wheeze coming out of his vocalizer. The Prime’s optics widen, seemingly startled by his own words, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly before a shout from behind him takes both of their attention away.
“Have you lost your mind?!” the white noblemech shouts, quickly striding to the Prime’s side. “You would reject dozens of proposals from Cybertron’s elite, yet this is who you would have as your Protector?”
“Well, maybe I don’t want any of them,” says the Prime after a moment of hesitation, crossing his arms defiantly. “Maybe I think, uh-,“ a quick ping against his ID pin, “Deadlock here would be better suited for the job. What about it?”
“What about- Preposterous!” yells the prissy bastard, gesticulating towards Deadlock, contempt obvious on his shiny faceplates. “What sort of jest are you making here? He is a nobody, a common guard, practically a gutter- ah.”
Practically a guttermech, is what that slagger meant, obviously. Deadlock can’t say it bothers him much – some of the things he’s heard aimed at him would peel this little mech’s paint right off, so all he feels about it is the urge to roll his optics, and maybe hit the guy a little bit.
The Prime, to his surprise, seems to take it much more personally.
“What was that?” he grinds out, leaning to loom over the shorter mech like some brawler in a bar. “What were you going to say, huh?”
The noble tries to open his mouth, but is quickly interrupted by the Prime’s finger poking him in the chestplate, the atmosphere quickly growing heated. Quite literally, in this case – Deadlock can see heat shimmering in the air, radiating from the Prime’s armor. A point one percenter ability, maybe?
“’Cause it sure sounds like you wanted to call him a guttermech. Did you forget where your Prime, Primus’ chosen, came from?”
“I apologize, my lord-“
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Just- Don’t let me catch you saying that again, or I swear I’m gonna find some way to make you regret it, understood?”
The mech turns to stare at the ground and nods, looking majorly displeased but sufficiently cowed for the moment, and the Prime steps away from him.
“Besides,” he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way over to Deadlock, “the Matrix approves of him, so there’s that.”
Deadlock’s helm is spinning. He’s having a hard time processing the mental whiplash of all he’s just heard, but he’s given no time to steady himself before the mech is right in front of him, his field stretching out in a friendly manner and mirroring the slightly awkward smile on his faceplate.
“So, what do you say? Would you at least consider it? I know it’s all a bit sudden,” says the Prime, accented words slipping quickly off his glossa. “But hey, you hungry? ‘Cause Primus below I’m starving, and maybe we could talk about all this over a cube?”
Deadlock doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. It feels like gravity has been turned upside down and he’s left floundering, spinning in the void of space. But the Prime’s optics are on his again, and they’re bright and wide and waiting for him to answer, so without really thinking about it, he manages to croak out an “Alright”.
As he’s led away by the excitedly chattering Prime, annoying noble left behind, his thoughts go strangely quiet. This could have been exactly the moment he’s been waiting for, the Prime distracted and vulnerable and alone; an easy target, really. Deadlock could have killed him in any of the empty hallways of the Primal residence, tucked his grey frame away into a random corner and escaped into the night, collecting his paycheck before running away to live out the rest of his days on a faraway colony in comfort and financial security.
With the Prime’s warm servo on his arm and those bright optics looking his way, it doesn’t even cross his mind.
“I’m not stupid, you know.”
In the time it had taken the two of them to wander through seemingly endless fancy looking corridors to find themselves in this lavish sitting room, Deadlock had managed to shake off the mental whiplash and really started thinking through what’s been asked of him. Deadlock, a Lord Protector? Setting aside his real job for a moment, he could just not wrap his processor around why in the pit he’d been asked in the first place. As far as this mech knew, Deadlock was just one of the dozens of guards constantly keeping an eye on his residence. And that mention of the Matrix- It’s not like Deadlock knew much about it or how it worked, never believed it to be much more than a shiny trinket, but if that wasn’t the case? Could it really consider him, him, to be a fitting Protector for this odd little Prime?
Which was why, when they sat down and the Prime handed him a cube, the first question to roll off his glossa was, “Why me?”
“Everyone here sure seems to think I am, but I’m really not,” mutters the Prime, or Rodimus, as he’s been invited to call him, lazily swirling around his own cube of the purest energon Deadlock had ever seen, let alone tasted. Forcing himself to sip it at a measured pace instead of knocking it down like the starving empty he’s been until recently, he can’t help but stare at the Prime’s ridiculously expressive faceplates as he speaks.
“They really don’t want me here. I was never supposed to be a Prime, pit, I was never supposed to get anywhere near the Matrix! But, well, I guess Primus had his own opinion on that,” says Rodimus, throwing Deadlock a cheeky grin.
“So, when it became obvious they really couldn’t pry the thing out of me,” he says, tapping the center of his chestplate, “the senate and the nobles started trying to control me instead. Lightfall has been throwing Protector candidates at me for ages, pretty much the whole time I’ve been in charge. Probably hoping one of them could beat me into submission or something.”
Deadlock rubs his free hand over his finial, helm aching. “That still doesn’t explain why me. We met today.”
“What, you’re saying I haven’t immediately won you over with my shining personality and even shinier polish?” the Prime jokes, spoiler wings wiggling in the most ridiculous display Deadlock has ever seen, and he unexpectedly finds himself fighting a smile.
“But really,” Rodimus sobers a bit, meeting Deadlock’s yellow optics with his own stunning, bright blues, making something inside his chest flutter, “I need someone in my corner. Someone without a political agenda, someone who knows how regular bots live down there, outside of all- this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the riches around them with a downward twist to his mouth.
Contempt colors the Prime’s voice, something very much unusual for a mech of his statute. Then again, if he’s right about his assumption, Rodimus’ origins are far from noble. Oh, and speaking of-
“You’re from Nyon, right?”
The Prime jolts at the interruption before nodding, a surprised smile spreading on his faceplate. “Guilty as charged. You ever been?”
“Once.” On a job. He didn’t stick around for long after the deed was done, would have been dumb idea, but-
Seeing the poor people of Nyon sticking together, helping one another, so different to the violence of the Dead End back alleys he’d crawled out of, made something feel tight in his chest. He tried not to dwell on it.
“Ha, nice! Now, I’m not the best with accents, but lemme guess: Rodion?”
“Got it in one,” says Deadlock with the tiniest hint of a smile, and the two share a look of mutual understanding, no further glyphs needed. There is a certain solidarity in hailing from some of the worst slagpits Cybertron has to offer and, Prime or not, it’s something that never really leaves you.
There’s a pause as Rodimus takes a sip of his fuel before turning back to Deadlock, expression grim. “So, you get it then. You know the slag that goes on outside the tower districts, the way the ‘worthless nobodies’ are treated by the same mechs that are supposed to be their benevolent leaders,” he scoffs.
“But I’m not gonna let them. I believe I was chosen for a reason, that Primus knew things need to change. That I could be the one to change them,” he says, stubborn determination shining through his field.  “But hey, surprisingly, the council is really not happy about that. They’ve been pushing back against everything I try to do, tying it down in complex bureaucracy stuff I don’t really get yet and nobody will explain to me. Pit, I honestly wouldn’t even be surprised if they tried to get me assassinated!”
At that, Deadlock has to suppress a wince, trying to chase away an unexpected frisson of guilt and failing.
“But you, I got a good feeling about you,” says Rodimus brightly, putting a now gold colored servo on Deadlock’s arm and making him feel even worse. “If you became my Protector, we could make things better! We could build better housing in Rodion and get more fuel to Nyon, or push for stricter safety regulations in the mines! We could really make a difference!”
Setting his cube down, the Prime reaches a servo towards him. “I know this is a lot, I know it’s unexpected, but please? Would you help me with this?”
Deadlock stares at the offered servo, thoughts flying around in his processor at light speed. This bot has to be terribly naïve, unbelievably impulsive and potentially mad to be suggesting the second highest government position to a someone he met a few joors ago and who is, unbeknownst to him, an assassin sent here to extinguish his spark.
But Deadlock couldn’t stop thinking about it. About all the times he felt hopeless, helpless to save himself or anyone else. About how the system chewed him up and spat him out, made him feel less than worthless, until he clawed his way out over the greyed-out frames of his targets.
About how this bright opticed, newly minted Prime looked at Deadlock as if he was the solution to all his problems, lovely and honest and maybe a tiny bit desperate. How it made him feel like he mattered. How, for the first time in his miserable functioning, he could maybe, just maybe, change something for the better.
“Did the Matrix really say I should be Protector?”
“Well,” hummed Rodimus, faceplates twisting up in thought, “not exactly? It doesn’t speak, not in words, and it can’t see into the future or anything. But it knows things, knows bots all the way to their sparks, and it communicates that through feeling. Or maybe song, I guess.”The Prime chuckles, waving his servo around vaguely. “It’s really hard to describe, you’d just have to hear it for yourself. But yeah, it’s got a really good feeling about you. Feels like I should do my best to keep you around.”
Reaching out towards Deadlock once more, Rodimus wiggles his digits with an inviting grin. “And honestly, I couldn’t agree more. So, come on! What do you say, Deadlock? Wanna give this better future thing a try with me?”
He thinks about it. He thinks about his paycheck, his plans for a colony getaway, the guns in a hidden subspace pocket he could pull out in a flash and end this fascinating, perplexing, unbelievable bot’s life. He thinks about Dead End, about Nyon, about Kaon, Helex, Tarn, about all the places full of forsaken mechs, mechs just like the two of them. He thinks about Rodimus’ optics, the brightest of blues and full of tentative hope.
Well then.
With a sigh, already dreading the inevitable helmaches that are definitely going to come from this, he accepts his Prime’s outstretched servo, and feels his spark spin faster at the broad, joyful smile on Rodimus’ faceplates.
Looks like he’s gotta inform his client about a change of plans.
Oh, and that reminds him-
“So. About that whole assassination thing you were worried about…”
Taglist: @showstopper35
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cozzzynook · 11 months ago
Note
A little sweet Minimegarod thing
Rodimus let out a long sigh as he slumped onto his desk with a tired expression, the last meeting last hours and his shift had just finally ended. Pulling himself off his desk and getting to his tired pedes Rodimus stretched before walking out of his office and towards the main hallway. There he bumped into Magnus who was waiting for him "Ready to go home?" Magnus carefully wrapped one white servo around Roddy's shoulder pulling the captain to his side. Letting out a sigh and giving a tired smile Rodimus simply nodded before nuzzling closer as they walked down the hall towards their shared hab.
A couple of minutes later they stood outside their door with small smiles, coming from the other side was the sound of giggling and laughter quickly followed what sounded like a toy accidently hitting the floor. Opening the door they were greeted by Megatron lying on his back with a wide smile as he played dead as one of their sparkling stood triumphantly on their Sire's chest, meanwhile their other siblings were busy either doodling on their blank data pads or playing with their toys. Rodimus gave a laugh as stepped inside before scouping up the sparkling on Meg's chest before giving them a nuzzle. "Did you defeat the evil War-lord my little spitfire?" The sparkling giggled as they babbled on about their adventures as Megatron slowly got back up on his own pedes before placing a gentle kiss on Rodimus's helm.
"This 'evil' War-lord missed you both" Megatron smiled as he turned to help Minimus who finally put away the Magnus amour and was beginning to tidy up the scattered toys. With a happy hum Rodimus walked over towards his other bitties before carefully scouping them up in his servos before giving them their own nuzzles. He then walked over to their nest to put them down for the night, while carefully tucking them in he began humming their favourite lullaby as he softly pet their small helms with his servo. It didn't take long for the sleepy sparklings to drift into recharge and with a pleased smile Rodimus returned to the living den to join up with his Conjunxes.
Megatron and Minimus have finished putting away the toys and were sitting on the sofa with open arms. Roddy quickly flopped onto the comfy padding before pulling himself closer to Megatron's side letting out a content sigh, Minimus on the other hand slowly weaselled his way into the middle of his two larger partners before settling with a content smile. With a pleased smile Megatron wrapped his arm around Roddy's waist pulling his smaller partners closer so he can give them gentle kisses.
"What do you two want to watch tonight?" Megs hummed as he grabbed the remote to the holo-Tv before gazing loving down at his partners. Rodimus shrugged giving a confused look before answering. "I'm not sure...I want to have a slow evening tonight. What about you Mims?" The green mech blinked a bit unsure himself.
"Hmm, how about that new drama show? I hear it's rather good" Minimus gave a sheepish smile as he turned to look at his partners. Roddy gave a smile as he wrapped one arm around Minimus's chest before placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Sounds fun, what do you think Megs?" Megatron turned giving a pleased hum as he turned on the holo-Tv already looking through the shows. "I see why not, I just hope it's not like that other cheesy romance drama from last week" He gave a low grumble as both Roddy and Mims chuckled lightly before settling down to watch.
(Hope you enjoyed this fluff :D)
I love this so much! I really enjoyed the fluff oh my goodness this is beautiful!
Megs would definitely be a stay at home sire because he loves sparklings and Minimus would be the “i like to work but also spend my entire break with the sparklings and bring them back with me,” while Roddy is just hogging the kids after work.
So loved!!
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numbbrainstrorm · 1 year ago
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Guess who stayed up All night playing human games on a human-made console IN his office table the whole night
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It couldn't be Rodimus
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Megie came to his rescue ( poor dude was so vulnerable in his holo-form, yet he managed to get Rodimus of out there )
Close-ups + my non-grammar ramblings under the cut
1 - After 5 mins of editing (bc for some reason It looks way darker on my monitor than on my phone) it's not a vibrant mess anymore
2 - Rodimus looks like a K-pop idol
3 - it was false for me to assume that Megatron would wear crimson-red jewellery
We all know he would wear Purple Jewellery
4 - I'm lowkey like Rody rn, so tired (+ I decided to be sick again
So that's fun 👍)
5 - it took all my brain cells to figure out if its "no point FOR yelling" or " no point IN yelling" ( took me solid 5 mins before I gave up 🤷)
Closeups
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M: Minimus, there's no point in yelling and pointing fingers at him when you know that he is a stubborn piece of metal
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1w1wbigher06fan · 1 year ago
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MegaOP Ficlet “ Memory”
Little fan fiction I originally worked for MegaOp week but completely forgot the other days. Fits into my Transformers Sam Witwicky/Rodimus Prime AU for Transformers Prime Enjoy! Fan Fiction under the cut.
Optimus rubbed the bridge of his nose as he decided it was time to take a break from signing paperwork. A small noise from the corner of his office made him look down as in the play pen his son was crawling around clearly bored of the mostly utilitarian office space. “ Rodimus” Optimus’s soothing voice quickly caught the red and orange sparkling attention as the little one let out a warble, tilting his helm as his finals flopped over to the right a little more. Holding a toy rattle in his hand the sparkling let out an excited squeak as the doors to the Primes office opened and said rattle in the sparklings hand went flying towards the poor unfortunate  bot who had poked his head in to ask a question. “ Prime do you have the paperwork for—- oh scrap” at the last minute Prowls’s sensors picked up in the flying projectile before it smacked him squared in the face. 
The sparkling was silent for a minute before a peel of laughter and he rolled onto his back his stubby arms trying to grab his feet as he wiggled and rolled around on the floor. Clearly pleased with himself. “ He’s his sire’s son alright,” Prowl rubbed the spot where he got hit as loud and booming foot falls sounded behind him. “ He inherited my precision aim it seems,” Megatron grinned as he patted Prowl on the back apologetically the tactician as he moved to scoop his rather rambunctious son up into his arms.
“ Roddy careful with those claws-ouch” Megatron winced a little as the tiny bot’s razor thin claws dug harmlessly into his sires armor, climbing up the grey and purple mech’s arm before gracelessly situating himself between his sires neck and shoulder pauldron. His favorite spot to observe the world from. Chirping victoriously the sparkling settled in as his finals flicked back and forth in excitement.
Prowl smirked a bit at the little one’s antics. Megatron only pretended to be hurt to build Roddy’s confidence in himself. During Optimus’s pregnancy the two of them had been watching a documentary on Earth’s wildlife when a segment showed how Lion fathers would pretend to be in pain when there cubs play bite and pounce to encourage them to build their survival skills.
Megatron took that tidbit of knowledge to heart and surprised his mate with how well it actually worked. Then again Bumblebee was a very different sparkling then Roddy. The former warlords optics softened briefly pride swelling in his spark, nuzzling his son as the little one trilled happily.
——- 
Rodimus closed the holo vid as his spark instinctively reached out for his carriers as he sent pulses of love to them, which was received equal and yet more powerful pulses from opposite ends of the bond. :: We love you our little miracle, we’ll be home soon.;; Optimus’s warmth filled the red mech’s frame as he finally was able to drift off into a peaceful recharge in the first time for a long time. 
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