need-me-some-robots

[need-me-some-robots]

being a predator fan is so funny. you’ve got maybe four good movies out of seven-ish, but that depends on who you ask. the fandom is about the size of a rural town in idaho and most of those fans want to fuck the monsters. the storyline of your crossover movies is basically “what if we watched a big scary monster beat the shit out of a bigger, scarier monster”. they’re also our babies and we love them. one of the more popular forms of fan debate is powerscaling but actually funny. the second to last movie in the series had “autism is an evolutionary superpower” as an actual plot point. said movie was genuinely so fucking bad that it killed the franchise for a few years until it came back with a great movie and an upcoming spin-off film + tv show- mirroring jesus being crucified for his sins and then resurrecting after three days. you’re also Technically a sister series to a franchise that’s way more culturally relevant and popular to the point it’s comedic

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Ok so I just came up with a line that I know I would probably never use because I don’t think I’ll be writing in the future

(This is set in an au where oppy is the reincarnation of orion pax, megatron’s conjunx that died from an assassin from the council)

Optimus: Why do you keep saying that you love me? Me and Orion Pax are two different mechs, he’s your lover while I’m just…me

Megatron: Yes you are you. No matter who you are, what faceplate you wear, or even what name you bear. You will always be my conjunx

[need-me-some-robots]

In the Shadow of the Hunt

Yautja x Reader

Warning: Smut

Summary: Trained to outlast any Predator, you never expected to earn the respect and heart of one.

You were doing fine until something far worse than the Yautja entered the territory.

The creatures were not natural.

Mutations, maybe. Bloodthirsty beasts designed for something else's war.

You heard the Yautja before you saw him, you heard clicks low in the trees, that faint hum of cloaking tech.

At first, he was your death sentence.

Now he was your only chance.

It started with a standoff.

You had your knife drawn, back to the river, as he de-cloaked in a shimmer of light and metal.

Eight feet tall, heavy with muscle, body scarred and worn from a hundred battles. His mandibles clicked as he studied you with a curious expression.

You should have attacked.

Instead, you lowered the knife.

"Common enemy," you said slowly, keeping your voice low, hands spread open. "You can kill me later. But right now we both have bigger problems."

He tilted his head sharply, as if weighing your words. His wrist-blade retracted.

It was the beginning.

You learned to communicate through simple gestures at first.

Pointing. Nodding. Grunts of acknowledgement.

He didn’t speak human languages, but he understood survival, a universal tongue.

You nicknamed him R'thok in your mind, it sounded close to the snarling sound he made when introducing himself.

In turn, he began to call you a series of low clicks that almost sounded affectionate.

When you saved him, dragging his heavy body out of a pit trap, using your last medical kit to seal his bleeding side, everything changed.

He touched your wrist afterwards.

A careful touch. Not demanding and not threatening.

Grateful.

Respected.

At night, you camped near each other.

Not too close but close enough that you could hear his breathing.

He carved strange symbols into the dirt. You answered by sketching your own.

A new language bloomed between you, drawn in sand and mud.

Safe.

Danger.

Hunt.

Stay.

And sometimes he would leave you little offerings, cleaned bones from his kills, scavenged tech scraps, a strange fruit you had never seen before.

His way of caring.

You started smiling more around him.

He noticed.

His mandibles twitched into what you thought might be a grin.

The first time you touched him was after another ambush.

One of the mutated beasts had cornered you.

Its claws had ripped through your shoulder, blood hot down your arm.

R'thok tore it apart with a roar that shook the trees.

You stumbled. He caught you.

Huge clawed hands, shockingly gentle, cupped your body and kept you from falling.

You pressed your forehead against his chest without thinking, panting.

"You… you’re warm," you whispered weakly.

He made a rumbling sound, almost like a purr.

Without words, he hoisted you up, carrying you like you weighed nothing, and set you down in the shelter of a hollowed tree.

When you woke later, the wound was stitched neatly, and R'thok was there. Watching. Guarding.

Yours.

The final fight was brutal.

The leader of the beasts pinned R'thok first.

You had a split-second decision: save yourself, or save him.

You didn’t hesitate.

You drove your knife into the creature’s eye, grabbing a discarded plasma caster and blasting it at point-blank range.

The thing screeched and died.

You turned to R'thok, chest heaving.

He was staring at you in a way he had never before.

Not as prey.

Not as an equal.

As something more.

He leaned down, his clawed hand brushing your cheek. You shivered, not in fear, but at the intensity in his gaze.

When he pressed his forehead gently to yours, you understood: it was a vow.

Among his kind, that meant something deeper than any words.

A bond. A claiming.

Love.

You closed your eyes and pressed back.

Yes.

Months later, after the rescue teams came and went, after you chose to disappear from your old life, you lived among the stars.

In a hidden place where Yautja and humans met in secret.

Where no hunt ruled your days anymore.

Only him.

Your mate.

Your hunter.

Your heart.

The ship thrummed around you, metal walls glowing faintly blue with low light.

You sat on the narrow sleeping platform in R'thok's quarters — if they could even be called that. Everything was raw, functional: weapon racks, a table of trophies, pelts spread across the floor. The air smelled like steel, blood, and something warmer... him.

He stood before you, massive and still. His armour stripped away, leaving only thick, scarred skin that shimmered faintly in the low light.

His golden eyes softened as he looked at you.

You got up slowly, your pulse a wild drumbeat. You barely came up to his chest, but he bowed his head to you, patient, waiting.

Waiting for you to make the move.

You reached up, fingertips brushing the hard line of his jaw. His skin was warm, surprisingly soft over the brutal strength beneath. His mandibles twitched, a low, almost uncertain rumble rising from his chest.

"R'thok," you whispered.

You didn’t need to say more.

The bond between you crackled like a live wire.

With a low groan, he caught your hand and drew it to his mouth. His tusks brushed your knuckles as he breathed you in.

And then, so slowly it made your head spin, he pulled closer.

You felt the heat of him.

His massive hands slid down your sides, claws grazing lightly over your hips, your thighs, as if memorising every inch.

You reached for the woven cords across his chest and tugged.

He growled low, a sound of approval and need, and helped you, stripping the cords away.

He was all muscle and old scars.

A living weapon who had chosen you, knelt for you.

He bent, pressing his forehead against yours again, the sacred gesture of his people, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering as wildly as your own.

Your fingers traced the thick cords of muscle over his shoulders, his chest, sliding lower.

His body shuddered under your touch.

When your hands grazed the hard line of his abdomen, he snarled low, catching you at the waist and lifting you as easily as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped, but he was already carrying you to the furs on the floor, laying you down with impossible tenderness.

Hovering above you, he hesitated.

He brushed your cheek, your throat, your racing pulse.

Are you sure? - his eyes asked.

You answered by grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down.

The kiss was clumsy at first, Yautja mouths weren’t made for it, but he learned quickly.

Pressing his mandibles against your skin, nipping lightly, tasting you.

His scent wrapped around you, wild, electric, addictive.

Your clothes came off in pieces, discarded into the dark.

When you were finally bare under him, his gaze raked over you with a hunger that was almost reverent.

He touched you like a treasure, each brush of his massive hands making you ache.

He was careful as he explored you.

Mapping every sound you made, every shiver, every sharp intake of breath.

You gasped when his hand slid lower, between your thighs, and he paused, snarling softly in warning, in need. 

Telling you he would go slow.

You wrapped your arms around his thick neck, anchoring yourself to him, and whispered against his ear:

"I'm yours."

He froze.

Then he roared and surged against you.

The first push of his made you cry out, he was so big, you could feel every inch.

But he was gentle, trembling with the effort to hold back. Giving you time to adjust and grow used to him.

You clutched at his shoulders, at the ridges of his back, moaning into his skin.

He rocked into you slowly at first, every movement careful, deliberate. Worshipful.

But soon restraint gave way to need.

His pace quickened, driving deeper, and you met him eagerly, rising to meet each thrust.

It was overwhelming. Consuming.

You felt the bond between you ignite — something ancient, primal — not just physical, but something deeper.

As you shattered beneath him, you felt him follow, his body locking tight against yours with a desperate, broken snarl.

He didn't let go.

Not even after.

He curled himself around you, protective and fierce, his breath hot against your neck.

One massive hand covered your belly. His way of marking you.

You lay there, panting, stroking the side of his face with trembling fingers.

"Yours," you whispered again, kissing the corner of his mandible.

A deep, vibrating purr answered you, the sound of utter devotion.

You closed your eyes, safe for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Not hunted.

Not alone.

Chosen.

Loved.

Forever.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[need-me-some-robots]

YOUR TELLING ME HIS HAND CAN FIT AROUND A HUMANS WAIST!? I want this mf to do unspeakable things to me. Im a start barking at him bro. PLEASE TAKE ME NEXT!!!

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I want to show this man my bone collection from the animals that were larger and watch his eyes widen and then me and him can cuddle together

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Merformers Optimus x reader

前（メガトロン）に描いて楽しかったので、オプティマス版も。オプティマス・オルカ・プライム

[need-me-some-robots]

What about the idea of old man yaoi between Warlord and Badlands elder please someone get the vision

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May I request a Grendel King x reader where the reader used to be like a ship supervisor and is an alien attack survivor? But the yautja stole her (easily, as she was already in a cryo-pod). Grendel is just infatuated by her, as she's technically "blooded."

Damn lady, you survived both of that!?

You must have some crazy luck surviving all the action, but hey at least your luck caught the king's attention

You shall have a xenomorph spine cape too, match this king! >:3

I can tell you were "In the wrong place at the wrong time" so that's how you ended up with a yautja king hubby. You have a cool random strength, like you suddenly have someone dead by accident which I think it's funny to add. All those xenomorphs you survived? Pretty sure you accidentally killed 'em somehow.. Maybe grabbed a powerful gun? Probably lead 'em to a trap? Who knows but they're dead! So yay!

Grendel will most likely want to see this "luck" up close. He saw it yeah, but not up closeeee! Get someone killed, now! Let him see!

Okay maybe your luck works at intense situations: Grendel thought

He'll try to get you to kill someone, somehow, just you wait

(I really hope this is okay how I wrote this, idk but I added some comedy if that's okay😅)

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Grendel King Head Canons:

-He was relatively young when he became Warlord. While trained by the previous one, he was just the best in the competition and absolutely dominated the competition.

-Some parts of his cloak are made of human spines threaded together with other small species.

-Is extremely playful. This is due to him being very self assured and confidant in himself. It's pretty rare to ever see him being fully serious. To the point that most of his clan know not to fuck with him or be in the room when it happens.

-Was actually born as the runt of his litter, but made up for it in spades.

-Surprisingly generous when he wants to be. If he likes someone, he'll literally go hunt their favorite food for them as a fun gift.

-Loves music. Not as fond of most human artists, but will try and enjoy something about it at the very least.

-Major sweet tooth, specifically for fruit.

-Far more gentle than the muscles imply. Can control his strength easily and could be trusted to hold a newborn.

-Was an enforcer/bad blood hunter before he became Warlord. The skull he wears was one of his proudest achievements. Knows exactly how to thread the needle when it comes to the honor code and isn't afraid to use it.

-He bet on Ursa, and that's a large reason why he froze her again, rather than kill her. He's smart enough to also know that the boys will be likely to try and save her if given a chance. Half bargaining chip, half "no, I spent a lot of cash on her."

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So uh, remember how I said the Warlord Predator from Killer of Killers had me in a chokehold?

Yeah here’s a couple of more-rushed-than-I would-have-liked, experimental sketches of ✨Him✨

@symbioticyautja I have to thank you for encouraging me after I reblogged your edit of this guy 🤣

[need-me-some-robots]

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some things humans do that seems like self mutilation to your yautja mate

when you cut your nails or file them down after they break off unevenly, constantly annoying you or scratching over your skin. it looks like you’re de-clawing yourself to your yautja and the next time you try to file down your nails, the nail kit is harder to find or has been used up as target practice while a very much innocent yautja clicks and clack his mandibles around

when you cut your hair short or at least trim the edges, especially at home. to yautjas, their dreadlocks AKA tentacles, are their extra sensors. they must be greatly taken care of, handled with care and even longer and well maintained dreadlocks are greatly desired amongst yautja society. long and well cared of dreadlocks means the yautja is an experienced hunter and old even in some cases and their kin desires to be an experienced, well aged, elder hunters. some tribes would even cut off the dreadlocks of prisoner yautjas of other tribes or bad bloods, so whenever the snipping sound of the scissor rings out, your mate has to suppress a shiver or hold back an angered growl at the scissors for daring to hurt his mate. the first few times, there were definitely snatching away of the sharp object or perhaps even one of their precise laser beams were fired to kick that thing away from your hair and hands. but even after many times of explaining and soothing, your yautja mate would still have some problem hiding his angered growl every time you snip away at your hair

whenever you brush your teeth. brushing teeth is nothing known to them due to their mouth anatomy and fangs. plus, their diet consists of fresh, uncooked meat most of the time which requires sharp canines and not so bright teeth (side note: yellow teeth are okay in humans because the actual bone color is yellow so yellow teeth means strong teeth or so i read). besides, the sound the brush makes when you brush your teeth sounds like the one a file would make when filing down bones so to them, it sounds like you’re filing down your fangs. sometimes, your yautja mate thinks that perhaps this is why you need to eat cooked meat and doesn’t have sharp fangs like him. and of course, the first few times, your toothbrush went missing

‘oomans are very weird with odd customs and desire for self-mutilation. sometimes, your mate would think this is perhaps why ‘oomans are so physically weak. that they purposefully make themselves weaker and would sometimes even have a growing sense of respect for ‘ooman warriors for even with all these self-mutilations and making themselves weaker, smaller and slower, they still manage to survive and sometimes even win against yautjas. ‘oomans were truly fascinating little creatures. but right now, your yautja is more keen to the idea of wrapping his body around your smaller one to keep you safe while you rest. though one of the many positive aspects, is that you make cute noises in your sleep

[need-me-some-robots]

I’m sure this is a very common take, but I haven’t had any motivation to write fandom stuff lately, so I wanted to get this little bit down while I had the inspiration

—

Being the human partner of a Cybertronian, any Cybertronian really, and turning this huge, hulking, intimidating bot into a giant mechanical cat with some gentle touches, some kisses, and sweet words. Standing on your bot’s shoulder, gently stroking a hand over their cheekplate, and listening to that earthshaking rumble of their engine as they purr. Your bot gently nudging you with their cheek or nose when you stop, silently insisting the continued touch and affectionate words. Your bot mass displacing and crawling into your bed, arranging pillows on your lap before laying their head down and promptly falling into a well deserved recharge. (Let’s pretend that they wouldn’t shatter the bed frame just by putting a little weight on it, lmao-) Your bot trying to teach you chirolinguistics, not realizing that you don’t have the same kinds of sensors in your palm as they do, leaving you incredibly confused. Your bot relishing in the tiny flickers of unabashed emotion they get from your very weak organic EM field. Singing softly to your bot, only for them to croon one of their favorite Cybertronian tunes right back, and the both of you giggling over just how vastly different your music is from each other’s. Your bot trying to teach you the Cybertronian language, and you trying to teach them about human art/literature/philosophy/etc. You and your bot being soft and cute and fluffy. Send tweet 🏃‍♀️💨

—

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, but you’re the one who motivated me to get back into writing!!! This lil drabble certainly isn’t my best work, but it’s the most I’ve done in awhile, haha @revelboo

[need-me-some-robots]

I need TFA Megatron to look at his newborn sparkling with pure disappointment when he first sees it. Bro is out here trying to figure out how he can turn this into his successor/Second in Command when it's the size of a jellybean

He can bide his time, sure, but there's no telling If it will take after its human parent or its sire. It's so small and useless

The main thing that could gain at least SOME respect (or probably just amusement) is the little thing hissing at him

(TFP Megatron would be all about it holy shit - has Soundwave record it so he can rewatch it in private - and probably poke fun at his kid once it gets older)

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Imagine being taken- not as a great warrior but a great doctor- to take care of the captured warriors. To maintain any injuries or post-freeze illnesses before battles. To ensure they’re in too shape for their battles.

You know the warlord hates you. He can’t battle you, barely respects your skills but knows they’re needed. You’re just a necessity, a slave with immunity to battle but not cruelness.

One day one of the guards gets a little too rough with you. Slams you a little too hard into your cell and the warlord notices.

He notices.

The next thing you know, the guard’s head is on the floor.

You’re not immune to cruelness, but only he can touch you like that. You’re his.

[need-me-some-robots]

Monkey Yautja concept