#first aid / reader

[kazumist]

HANDLE WITH CARE .ᐟ

✩ — in which soshiro hoshina finds himself getting treated by his favorite nurse, you.

✩ — includes: soshiro hoshina x gn!reader. fluff. cw: mentions of blood and injuries, inaccurate use of medical terms ?? sorry i just used google uhm. wc: 990. established (secret !!!) relationship. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

✩ — note: i became obsessed with these two that i might just write a part two of reader treating him after the tachikawa base raid arc actually.

soshiro hoshina does not play favorites.

when it comes to his subordinates, at least.

when it comes to the medical team assigned to the tachikawa base, however, that is when he plays favorites (though you would never see the vice captain of the third division actually admit that; he prefers calling it his “preferences”). whenever he finds himself in the base’s infirmary, he will always look for you. and when he’s lucky, which on most occasions he is, then he’ll have you treat his wounds. it’s just something that hoshina has grown accustomed to whenever he finds himself there. nothing more, nothing less (a lie).

you were a special case for the vice captain. there was just something about the way you handled his wounds compared to others. call it picky, but he just prefers the gentle treatment that you give his wounds. (how come hoshina constantly prefers to be treated by you when others would treat him the same? isn't that part of your job in the first place?)

(the answer is simple—it’s simply an act of soshiro hoshina asking for some quality time, even if he’s all bruised and bloody.)

“i’m almost convinced that you do this on purpose sometimes.”

soshiro simply grins at you. you weren’t entirely wrong—but it’s not like hoshina asks himself to get hurt when he goes out on missions in the first place. he could handle himself pretty well; he has the high position of being the vice captain of the third division, for christ’s sake. but perhaps it is inevitable that even the vice captain would come out of a mission unscathed.

“i like the concern from you.”

you give him a lighthearted eyeroll, to which he only grins even wider. "i'm sure you do," yet that grin slowly dissipated as he winced slightly at the feeling of the alcohol touching the wound near his eyebrow. “sorry, did that hurt too much?” you asked him, worried that it might’ve stung too much for his liking. this type of close proximity was normal for you and him. after all, it’s not like this is the first time your face was this close to his—though those are times when hoshina feels rather affectionate with you rather than in pain due to some wound he got.

“nothing i can’t handle, love.” he says, recovering quite fast from the alcohol sting. he was then met with a gentle tap on the lips—hoshina knows it was a warning from you. “watch your words, vice captain.” you say, applying a small gauze pad to his wound and securing it with paper tape.

“can’t really help it when you look so pretty up close, sweetheart.”

you ignored his remark but soshiro could see the smile that tugged on your lips at the petname. you then moved on to his next wound, which is on his left shoulder. his expression softens as he watches you inspect his wound, a small amount of guilt bubbling up inside of him. “this is gonna need a little stitch,” you sighed, grabbing another cotton ball, pouring the right amount of alcohol on it, and preparing to gently dab it on the wound. “and this might hurt a bit again.” you give him a heads up.

“like i said, it’s nothing that i can’t handle,” he reassured. whether it’s you he’s reassuring or himself to convince himself, neither of you really know. he hissed slightly when the cotton ball came into contact with his skin; it was barely even heard that he hissed in the first place. but you noticed it; you always do. you would notice everything about the man before you and he would do the same.

after cleaning his shoulder wound, you proceeded to prepare to stitch it up. there was no one else in the infirmary at the moment; it was now only you and hoshina there. he silently watched you as you quickly arranged the surgical suture. and even when you started the stitching, the deafening silence was still comfortable. 

soshiro gently raised his right arm since it was uninjured and used his hand to smoothly tuck your other strands of hair behind your ear. you looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his gesture. he smiles at you in return. “your hair might get in the way. we don’t want my stitches to have your hair stuck in them now, don't we?”

you quickly finish up the stitch and put gauze on top as well. “i’m sorry.” soshiro’s apology is as genuine as it always is whenever he gets treated in this same room. “i’m starting to feel quite better now, though. couldn’t do it without my favorite nurse.” he continues, as he grabs ahold of your unoccupied hand.

he hears you chuckle at his words as you interlock your fingers together. “avoid arduous training or activities for a good one week and you’ll be good as new.” you said, sighing as now you’re finally done with treating your boyfriend. “eh? no fair. i have to go help the rookies train the day after tomorrow.”

“i’m sure captain ashiro would let you off the hook in the meantime, soshiro.”

“oh, we’re on a first name basis now?” he asks, and this time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing it as your thumb grazes his cheek bone. he leans into your palm as if it were a reflex. “we’ve always been on a first name basis, dummy.” you say.

“maybe all of my pain could go away if you just gave me a little kiss, you know, as your vice captain.”

“now that’s just abuse of authority. do you ask other nurses for a kiss too?” you pouted.

“that’s why your my favorite nurse.” he replies, clearly emphasizing the word “favorite” as he steals a kiss from you.

yeah, vice captain soshiro hoshina definitely does not play favorites.

[sparkriddledfever]

Okay but like the milk maiden dress definitely gets those engines revving.

Reader is gender neutral.

Warning: 18+ under read more. Cunnilingus (in First Aid's part)

(Megatron, Prowl, First Aid, Hound)

Megatron may be an old, tired mech. Though that does not stop him from appreciating this sight before his optics upon entry into his habsuite.

The dress slightly hiked up your thigh, the front almost daring to slip off; threatening to tease his optics with the bare flesh. Daring him to descend upon your form without remorse since you just want to be a slagging tease. His fans switched on low, his face failing to hide behind that stoic persona. Yet you knew you had him flustered, a soft laugh roused from your lips.

"I was-" he cleared his throat to clear it of the static, "was not aware of any special occasions."

"No special occasion besides wanting to surprise my favorite mech," you winked.

A light snarl escaped him at the tease; he swiftly enters the suite and descends upon your flesh.

Prowl necessarily didn't have time to stop and drop everything. However, you just had to come into his office while he's leg deep in his work and show off that dress without shame. Telling him to take a break all the while purposely spreading your legs wide, leaning back on your hands as an invitation to him.

Well, since you kindly allowed him to take what he wants. He shall take advantage of it.

"P-Prowl! Slow down!-" you squeaked when his servos slammed down near your head. His optics glared down at you in those same fiery shades of blue, never once did his hips falter in their thrusts, a slight uptick of his dermas sent that fiery liquid feeling through your nerves and pooled in your stomach.

"I believe you don't have a say since you gave me the choice to relax. So, I am relaxing-" he grunts when a comm blimp into his HUD, growling as his tempo was thrown off, "fraggers."

"H-Huh?"

"Silent," he press two digits to his audials, "what is it now?"

Prowl rolled his hips slowly while quickly covering your mouth. He sent you a silent warning to behave, but you were never the one to follow his orders.

First Aid always admire his sweetspark even you happily show off new stuff or clothes to him. He always took the time to compliment you or share your joy, if he was going to play favorites though. His absolute, all-time favorite is you in a red and white summer dress; of course, he's a sucker for anything you wear that's in his colors. This specific one had his engine revving in delight.

His digit played with the strings while his dermas kissed down every bare inch of you. He softly vents, the air billowing over your heated skin sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, he lifted the skirt up; groaning softly at the sight of your wet pussy under the sun's gentle light flooding through the window.

He leans forward without a thought to his processor, placing a sloppy kiss to your clit. His glossa lapping up your juices and running it across his dermas. Rousing a sweet, shrill gasp from you. Making him smile in delight and filled with the urge to hear more of your sweet sounds.

Hound is a sucker through and through. You, who got him all wrapped up around your pinkie, have him stumbling and chuckling like a young mech. Flutter your eyes up at him while wearing that dress in his shade of olive green. He's truly panting like a dog when you press yourself up against him, letting him rut his spike between your thighs.

His servos trembled to keep his strength in check to not squeeze your hips too hard. His optics never once left your ass, too much focused on it rippling under his thrusts.

"Yer- ngh- killin' me here, darlin'. Yer gon be tha death of me, I swear."

It's not fair that your laughter gotta be so saccharine to his audials, making him feel like liquid with such ease. His helm drops into your neck with a barely audible whine when you squeeze your thighs together around his spike. You lean back into his hold, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Your lips brush against the sensitive audial, smiling with a soft blow to it,

"It'll be much easier for you to overload in me, no?"

Now, you're truly trying to kill him, huh?

[revelboo]

I was reading through some of your works again and found the “Just Gone” scenario again and was wondering about a second part? Maybe all the humans get flung back onto the lost light or they ended up on a nearby planet or something, but seeing their reunions could be cute

Here’s part one- a bit more angst. I know there’s more asks about this, but they’re buried in the inbox. Part two soon

MTMTE Angst Scenario- Just Gone: Aftermath Pt 1

• “Threatening me isn’t going to make this happen any quicker,” Brainstorm snarls, yanking out of Rodimus’s grip as the heat of his servos begins warping his plating. And his attention nervously slides to Megatron, the big former warlord disturbingly silent. Doesn’t think Megatron’s said anything since his human disappeared with the rest, his expression utterly empty and that’s somehow much more terrifying than Rodimus’s over the top fury. “Believe me, I want them back, too.” Servos trembling as he works, thinking of you. Are you okay? Were you blipped back to where you’d come from? Or are you lost now? Afraid and alone?

• Feels like he’s in a fog, spark hurting and unable to find any trace of you or his sparkling. Megatron keeps reaching out, searching for that bond and finding only ragged edges. Too far away or really gone? Maybe this is the punishment for his many sins. To be finally happy and just have it all ripped away. Servos pressing to his chassis over his spark, shaking slightly. Knows he deserves this, but you didn’t, his sparkling didn’t. Can hear Tailgate’s hysterics and Cyclonus’s attempts to calm him down as Perceptor and Nautica try to help Brainstorm.

• Shrugging off Drift’s hand, Ratchet joins Perceptor. Feels so numb, as he studies the thing Brainstorm’s cobbling together. A modified mini-space bridge? That despair digs in a little deeper as he tries to help, knowing that the humans were all snagged at random the first time. How are they going to pinpoint them all? Servos clenching as they start trembling, Drift is right behind him, a steady presence. “You can do this,” Drift murmurs. And he has to. Can’t fail you or Drift.

• “They’re not alone, right? Wherever they went back to?” Venting at Rewind’s soft question, Chromedome pulls him into his arms, resting his chin on top of Rewind’s head. Knowing how scared you are of being alone, being abandoned. Reassuring Rewind even though they both know it’s a lie. Know exactly where you’d come from and likely went back to.

• Lingering at the back of the lab, the noise and chaos sounds like it’s a world away. Skids unable to focus on anything, wondering where you are. If you’re okay without someone there to anchor you. Distract you from everything you’ve been through. To make sure you don’t spiral and give up completely. Dimly aware of Brainstorm yelling “power it up” and then swearing when it doesn’t work.

• “He’s still carrying that blanket around,” Crankcase growls and Krok’s denta grit behind his mask. Knows Spinister refuses to let go, to move on. And it’s hurting all of them, a constant reminder of what’s missing. Misfire had gotten angry enough to try and take your blanket away and the big medic had gone ballistic, not calming down until it was returned. They’re all on edge. All hurting. Feeling your loss and it’s so much worse not knowing if you’re okay. If you’re even still alive.

• Swearing, Swindle keeps searching. For any stories about weird, unknown species. For you. Can’t find any trace of someone sneaking onto the ship and taking you, but they must have. Humans don’t just disappear. You’re just gone and he has no idea where to start looking, spark aching. One of your fans maybe? Do they have any idea how fragile you are? Are they hurting you? Not knowing is killing him.

• “Stop sulking like a sparkling. It’s beneath you,” Nickel growls, smacking his ped and he growls a low warning. “You have a job to do. Go do it.” Knows the tiny femme is trying to distract him from his grief, trying to bully him into moving on and he appreciates it even as it hurts. Can’t feel you at all. Does that mean you’re just gone? You never should have meant so much to him. Shouldn’t have gotten attached. You’re just a little organic. But you’re his and if someone’s responsible for what happened? He’s going to enjoy taking them apart piece by piece.

• “Hey, what about-” Trailing off sharply, for a moment he’s frozen. Keeps forgetting you’re not there. That you’re not going to answer him ever again. Servos tightening on his datapad. The worst part was coming back to his habsuite to find you just gone without a trace. Not knowing what happened. And he’s smashing the datapad against the edge of his desk, head dropping into his hands.

Previous

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[earthsparked]

Four hummingbirds, who also had never met

Chapter 1/2 (You are here) | Chapter 2/2 | (Story on A03)

Don't step on the organic!

You're crouched under a giant table, shivering with reaction despite the soft blanket thrown around your shoulders. It smells slightly of what you think might be silver polish, but it's tight and warm. The pressure around you, holding you to earth, is a small kindness in the wake of what you've just been through.

Huge metal bodies come crashing through the door in a ballet of moving parts that is dizzying to watch. The red and white robot who'd plucked you away from the tangled wreckage is helping the three larger ones, who haul in your metal person-that-was-a-car who started this whole mess. You watch, frozen, edging further under the massive slab of a table when they come clattering toward you with their smoking, sparking, dripping burden. It's alarming how much this one, they'd called him Bluestreak, both does and doesn't look like a corpse despite First Aid's promises that he wasn't dead.

What are these people?

You'd been minding your own business, delivering pizzas to make a few extra bucks. You were on your last leg of the day, picking up an order to an address way out in the middle of nowhere. You'd had your tunes cranked up, singing along and thinking of making something non-pizza for dinner. You cursed and flinched when a very fancy car blew past you in the opposite direction, going at a lethal speed. Who in the absolute fuck -

You glance in your rearview mirror to track them for a beat. Only for you to slam on your brakes and fishtail when a god damn fighter jet descended like an angry dragon, chasing after the car and flying way lower than any air traffic control would ever allow.

For a heartstopping second you're sure you're about to die. The stack of Hawaiian and barbecue chicken pizzas in their keep-warm bag go flying, and there's one order you won't be getting a tip for delivering. You head whips back against the seat as you fight physics and death and the steering wheel. The jet blasts over you and past, there and gone like a hallucination, if not for the dirt and roadside trash that gets thrown up against your car from the force of its passing.

You only start breathing again when your car's come to a halt, half on the shoulder. Your music's turned from some nonsense in the background, to the full soundtrack of your heart pounding out of your chest and the roar of jet engines. It was going slow, you realize, because there wasn't a sonic boom.

But you have no time to ponder that or anything before there's a noise that's not a sonic boom, but also like nothing you've ever heard before. And then your car, the pizzas, your entire body, the ground, the world shakes like a giant hand has picked the earth up and dribbled it like a basketball.

You scream as there's a massive WHUMPF. All the windows and both windshields blow out in a shatter of safety glass, and the force of it all knocks your car forward and a few dozen feet off the road. The wheels tilt and you think for a sickening second you're going to roll, but then the car crashes back town on its tires. One of them pops, because of course it does.

You hear the sound of jet engines growing slowly more distant. You're shaking and bleeding from tiny bits of glass as you slowly open your door, nearly forgetting to put your car in park and turn the engine off. You all but crawl out and look for danger, for shelter, but all you see is a tangled pile of metal. Glinting silver turned to sootstained black, twisted wreckage splayed out across the road a few hundred meters behind you.

Oh, god.

The - the jet. It had been chasing whoever was in that car. It had fired a missile at it.

You crouch down by the rear tire of your car, not quite hiding. You can't make yourself walk over there, you can't. Your active imagination makes it possible to envision what you might find...but then the scene in your head switches to someone gasping out their last breath, while you wait here for them to die alone and afraid. You can't do that, either.

You force yourself across the distance. Dripping small drops of blood on the blacktop as you go, the adrenaline drowning out any real pain. It's the most hellish walk of your life. But you get there.

You're not sure what you're looking at. There's shrapnel everywhere. It doesn't even really resemble a car anymore, though you can see a shredded tire and broken glass. There's something pink all over the place. If you weren't already so shocked, you might have noticed the way it made a little current run through you when you stepped in a puddle of it. But you hardly notice.

Where would...the driver...? You're fighting down nausea now. You step closer. You start to think there's no way in all the hells that anyone could have survived that. Not and be in anything like one piece. But you call out anyway, tentatively, as if the jet might hear you and come back.

Hello? Can you hear me? You're not alone. I don't know how to help you...can you see me?

You slowly circle around the wreckage, feeling incredible heat baking off it. There's all sorts of weird smells, and you're scared to get too close in case it bursts into fire. Or, well, more fire. You've gone from thinking about survivors, to desperately hoping you don't find one, because what would even be left of them? A quick death, at least –

-llo? skrrzt ye-

A voice speaks up from the wreckage, or you think it's a voice. You inhale sharply and close the last remaining distance, wincing at the heat. Where are you in there? Can you - maybe stick your hand out, wave to me? Can you move at all?

Maybe then you can at least spot what part of the car they'd ended up in? Your eyes are wide, watching, expecting - hoping - dreading to see a hint of skin, a flash of bright or dark red. You jump back and let out a shocked screech when a huge hunk of the wreckage itself twitches toward you.

And then that marvelous pattern-recognition software that is the human brain does its thing, and the magic eye puzzle in front of you, abruptly comes into awful focus. It's a person. The whole thing's a person, a giant metal person. You'd call them a jaeger or a robot or something, but you can see their face. There are eyes there, blue, barely visible. And as you stare in horror, it twitches again, making you realize it's a hand reaching toward you. You had asked them to move. You stand in the road, bleeding, terrified, and start crying.

You don't know exactly how you know this is a person, but they look like one, they have a face, what's left of it. And they moved. And they tried to speak. Then they try to speak again, static lacing the words as they cut in and out.

-don't- bshhts -afrai-

You clasp a hand to your mouth. Now you're openly weeping.

You had always been afraid that you were alone. That this life, this world, these people were all that would ever be. You'd dreamed that there was more out there. Someone, anyone. Whatever it took so you weren't just one faceless insect in a hive of eight billion, drifting through space.

The day you find out you're not alone, is the day you become more alone than you could have imagined. You rush toward them, heedless of the heat, the sharp edges, the broken glass. You grab on to what might have been a hand, and you hold it tight. You get one single moment of the hot metal twitching under your palms, a precious glimpse when your eyes meet theirs. And then the light dims, and the limb you're holding is wrenched out of your grip as it falls heavily to the ground. You follow it to your knees, getting even more of that pink stuff all over you, and other fluids too. But the agony in your heart drowns it all out, as you sob and crumple over this person you'd just met. This person who died trying to tell you not to be afraid.

Maybe that's why, a few minutes later, when a caravan of emergency vehicles comes down the road at Mach Jesus, all lights and sirens, you hunch over your metal person as if you could protect them from the questions that were to come. The dissections, the desecration that would follow whenever the people in power got word of this being's existence.

You can hardly hear anything but for your own sobbing cries, but it's impossible to miss when the ground shakes and deep shadows fall over you. You can feel attention on you. You steel yourself and whip around, fists clenching, ready to do god only knows what.

Don't fucking TOUCH him! Go away! you shriek through your blurred vision, stumbling a few steps forward. Only to be caught, gently as a plucked dandelion seedhead, in a cage of giant metal-and-rubber hands. They steady you, and you look up into an echo of blue eyes. But these are bright and vivid, and the hands that hold you are strong, and the deep red paint that covers the being looks like they'd just stepped out of a spray tan booth for robots.

Oh, oh no, please don't be injured. There's such dread in their voice as they kneel by you that it catches you off-guard. I can fix Bluestreak, I can't fix an organic! And you're the first one I've ever met! Please, little guy...oh, no, no.

The other giant beings rush to the still wreckage and doing things to your metal person. One is big, stocky almost, and white and red. Kind of like the one steadying you, but not exactly. You push weakly at the enormous fingers that prod and press against you with a sort of worried care, gathering information about you from the touch.

I'm not. I'm not hurt! There was a jet, and it came out of nowhere, and it - it -

The tears return, and you're wrong that you're not hurt, because your heart's broken. You'll never be the same. The red and white being makes several alarmed noises, their face a startling picture of empathy.

I'm sorry. I tried to help, but they d-died, you hiccup. Are they your friend?

The being looks surprised, then confused, and by the time you have grasped that their facial expressions are similar enough to yours that you can read them effortlessly – they're smiling, and you can even read the nuance in it. You can see they're a little sad, but a little happy too.

His designation is Bluestreak, and he's not offlined. Not "dead," the being tells you, as if he had to find the right word to explain. His smile grows to something bright and beautiful as you choke on your tears and shake your head in disbelief, but feeling hope rise in your chest. You look over to where the other giant metal people are doing all sorts of weird things to your metal person.

He's not? But -

He will be if we don't burn rubber to get him back to base, one of the other metal people says, and it's short-tempered enough to make you cringe into the shelter of the one not-quite-holding you.

The grumpy one seems to notice, and those blue eyes land on you with the intensity of a pair of lasers. You get the feeling this one doesn't miss much. You're not sure you want to know what they - he? is seeing of you. You startle and squirm when they actually sweep you off your feet, effortlessly, as if you're an unruly kitten getting a vet exam.

Oh, Primus. Now you've gone and done it, 'Aid. You just had to go picking up strays, soft-spark. AND this one's damaged, of course. That red fluid's supposed to be on the inside of them...I'm pretty sure. The grouch is nevertheless gentle as he moves your limbs, glowering at the spatters of blood from the glass that cut you. He heaves what is clearly a disgruntled sigh. Well, you found 'em, you can take care of 'em. And YOU can explain to Optimus and Jazz. Take them and let's go before more of the natives show up.

Now you're trembling as the world flips wildly and you're unceremoniously handed over like a beanbag. The red and white nice one doesn't restrain you, just cups you to his chest. His expression turns worried again as you struggle to get your balance, and have to sit down or else fall down. Suddenly you're feeling awfully dizzy, and your head is throbbing. Aw, fuck. Whiplash. Maybe groucho there wasn't wrong after all.

...I might be hurt a little, you admit, and the metal person who's not your metal person, but is pretty nice even so, starts cooing over you like a mother dove with a single, slightly toasted chick.

Poor thing. We saw your vehicle. You were in that when Starscream...? Merciful Primus, how are you even alive? He seems to realize that's not terribly comforting, and gives himself a little jolt.

Ratchet's right, you're coming back to base with us. Don't worry, I just want to help. And you can see Bluestreak when we have him repaired. He's in stasis lock, which isn't good, but Ratchet's the best medic we have. He'll be all right.

He's taken to gently rolling the pad of his thumb over your shoulder and down your arm, and you're not quite sure if he even realizes it. Um. Do you- have a name, too?

Oh! Yes of course I do, it's –

FIRST AID! Get a haul on! the one called Ratchet bellows. And then you see the metal person change and shift, collapsing into a...oh, god, that's an ambulance. It's so stupid that you start laughing, only to almost immediately start crying again. This is all way, way too much.

Shh, no no, it's all right, don't cry, First Aid croons. Look, see? Trailbreaker and Hoist are ready to go with Bluestreak. We're going to go back to base, and I'll get you cleaned up. Whatever you need. Are you in pain? Where is it? How bad? Are you cold? Hot? Is your airway clear? There are so many things that can go wrong with organics! he nearly wails.

You pat him awkwardly, but you hope it's at least a little reassuring. It seems to snap First Aid out of his worry-cycle enough to carefully put you down and turn into another, different ambulance.

Can you get in on your own, or do I need to call one of the others back - oh, good, he says, relieved, as you tremblingly haul yourself up into his cab, correctly guessing the popped-open door was an invitation. He stops hesitating once you're in, a seatbelt sliding around you of its own accord, pressed right over your heart. You wonder if he can feel your heart juddering wildly. Probably? He seemed to have very good pressure sensors in his hands, at least.

Which only made things worse when you catch a glimpse of Bluestreak being hauled away. He must have been in so much agony. You wonder how they feel pain. If it's anything like the way you do.

We're going, all right? First Aid gently questions, though you're not sure what the hell else you could do. You're in no shape to drive, physically or emotionally, with your headache coming in something fierce now, and who knows if your car would even start. So you just hiccup and nod, as First Aid closes his own door and tears off. Lights and sirens going, but the sound is muffled in his cab.

I don't even have proper materials for securing you. I should have something bracing those cervical struts - bones of yours, he mutters. If you start feeling very ill or having a lot of pain, you speak up, little one, and I'll divert to get you to a human medic. No matter what Prowl or Ratchet say about it.

You drift a little, mentally, on the drive back to "base," whatever that was. Not asleep, but not quite in your body. You get the feeling First Aid notices, because he keeps up a soft, meaningless patter of talk, low and quiet. It's a while before something he's saying actually breaks through to your conscious mind.

Blue's going to be so glad to see you when he's back with us. He's been pestering Jazz and Prowl for ages to let him sneak out and play with the cute organics, but, well. They didn't want anyone in the general population to become aware of us. I suppose that turbofox is out of the metalmesh sack, now. Blue's going to just love you, really. You'll like him, too, I'm sure. He's a very nice mech...

Why- why are you hiding? The world turns to a bit clearer picture. Is it because of that jet? or is it because of us?

Bluestreak had told you not to be afraid. They were certainly self-aware to know, humans could be clannish and reactive. Prone to shooting first, shooting second, continuing to shoot and then picking up whatever pieces might remain. But you didn't like the idea of them having to hide.

First Aid makes a sigh-sound far less grumpy that the one Ratchet had made. That jet was Starscream, a Decepticon. They're on the other side of a war we're fighting. We're Autobots, from the planet Cybertron. And we came to Earth, some would say by accident. But maybe it was providence.

Even with your throbbing headache and slight nausea and dizziness, you manage to learn a lot about your new metal people in the half-hour it takes them to get back to base. Which, it turns out, is a crashed spaceship half sticking out of the side of a mountain. You're so tired by now that everything's a bit of a whirl.

Next thing you know, you're being set loose and swaddled in a warm cloth smelling of something like silver polish, being asked to wait just a minute while Aid helped get Bluestreak settled on the table. Don't step on the organic! he reminds them as they bring the badly injured metal person in for help.

You want to watch what they're doing to Bluestreak, as if you can help him be okay just by fact of not taking your eyes off him. But the many clomping feet feel incredibly threatening. Before you know it you're backed up against the struts of the table, huddled and shivering like a tiny purse dog with a chill. You start to wonder if something might actually be badly wrong with you.

As if they could read your thoughts, Ratchet, his hands already wrist-deep in Bluestreak's innards, and First Aid both peer under the table at you at the same moment.

Adrenaline crash. Too much of a survival hormone being dumped from their system all at once. Shock and a rattled processor, Teletraan says. Some fluid buildup, surface abrasions. Painful, bad, but not fatal. Usually. You get the feeling this Ratchet person is half expecting you to drop dead any second, despite his words.

Caught in a hellish place of jangled nerves and exhaustion, you can't help but flinch back even from First Aid's gentle hands when he reaches for you. You're in a strange place, surrounded by strange metal people, and YOUR metal person is currently undergoing like...five or six kinds of surgery. Most of which seemed to involve a lot of sparking wires, fluid spraying everywhere, and mechanical cursing in what must be their own language, as Ratchet goes back to his work.

Go on, get 'em cleaned up, 'Aid. You're not going to be any use here, distracted like that. Gruff, grumpy. But for the first time you sense a spark of something else when Ratchet says, I commed ahead and had the scouts grab some human-sized med kits from ...somewhere. They're over in exam room four. That one's got running hot H20, at least, even if half the ship's still a disaster area. They're homeothermic mammals, they won't like being cold or dirty. And Primus only knows what all that energon is doing to them.

You stare up at Ratchet, feeling him out. Reevaluating. Then you shrug off First Aid's hands to toddle, wobbly as a foal, to drape yourself across Ratchet's foot. He goes immediately still, looking back down under the table, blue eyes bright and surprised.

Thank you, Ratchet, you tell him. You hug him until you're scooped up again, blanket and all, by First Aid. He's smiling down at you in wonder as he carefully carries you off to the exam room, so he can finally treat your injuries.

Hmph, you hear behind you, and then whirring and clanking of metal-person surgery resumes.

First Aid waits until you're safely seated on another enormous table in the exam room to say, I've never met an organic like you. You're so familiar, but so strange at the same time. Your servos are so tiny. How can something like you even be alive? But you are. You're so very much alive.

You let him drape your hand over his, admiring his fine control despite the size difference; as much as he's admiring the delicacy of the tiny system of calcium strut and sinew-pulleys and muscle that let you flex and close your fingers.

I've never met metal people before, you tell him. So I guess it's a new thing for both of us. This time when he smiles at you, you're able to meet it with a shaky one of your own.

[megtrns]

thinking of the little moments between you and the bots experiencing intimacy together for the first time, how foreign yet exciting it must be to explore one another — the rush, the thrill, the quiet, almost hesitant interactions, where every touch and look feels electrifying. (sfw!) (slightly suggestive)

rodimus urgently running his servos down your body: metal fingers grabbing your thighs and squeezing your hips. too impatient to wait and too eager to slow down, he starts fumbling with the hem of your shirt. unsure of how to undress you, the captain glared at the material as if it had personally insulted him, almost tearing the cotton to shreds. and for a brief second, it was just the two of you standing under the half-light, laughing together as you teach him how to pull it over your neck. he tries to be careful, going as slow as he can even when his hands shake in anticipation — cooling fans growing louder with every inch of skin you reveal underneath.

minimus brushing your hair to the side to reveal your nape, the cold air of the room acting as a delicious counterpoint to the sudden press of his warm mouth against the back of your neck, causing you to shiver. the first kiss had been tentative, shy, and barely ghosting over your skin. you understand that the last thing your lover wants to do is to hurt you, but judging from the noises you're making : breathless and begging, minimus has nothing to worry about. and so the point-one-percenter carefully tilts you forward to continue a path down your bare spine, making you sing into the pillows.

skids staring at you from across the table, servos drumming against the chair. even when your eyes were cast down to read the papers in your hand, you could sense him watching—the gears in his processor turning. you knew it was because you had your glasses on, and for some reason, the mech had taken quite the fascination with them. with a call of your name, you looked up, fully expecting him to distract you with one of his usual hypotheticals. instead, he used a single servo to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. tilting your face upwards, skids continued to shamelessly stare, flashing you a lopsided grin before swooping down to press his mouth against yours.

first aid trying his best to undo the buttons of your shirt, big, blocky servos struggling against the fabric. you didn’t want to intervene, urging him to continue and using this opportunity to steady your breathing. the medbay was void of any sound, save for the incessant whirring of the monitor systems and machinery faintly beeping in the background. once the last button came undone, it was as if every single noise suddenly ceased to exist. all you could focus on was the medic sinking to his knees, resting the side of his helm against your chest—audials trying to pick up the faint beating of your heart. he said this was for research, but even with his visor, you didn’t miss how his optics followed the flush blooming from your face down your neck.

[wigglermansblog]

REFORGED

[ Transformers x Marine! Reader ]

Next

------------------------

A/n : This is more of a crossover between two shows I like. Transformer x One Piece. This will be a review chapter and if the story gets a lot of attention , I'll keep it coming. For the Transformers, I don't choose any continuity and build up my own universe.

Also, sorry for not being active. I've been busy with work for the past months.

----------------------

P R O L O G U E

----------------------

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I have to do this— please, forgive me!"

The man beneath you wailed, his hands trembling—slick with your blood. The kitchen knife is buried deep in your heart.

He stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor, his sobs loud and broken. Tears streamed down his face like a waterfall, his body wracked with guilt. You’d seen that look before—the hollow, haunted eyes of someone who had been forced to commit an unforgivable act. Someone who had been cornered, crushed under the weight of desperation.

"It's... okay..." you rasped, copper flooding your mouth with each word. "It's not your fault. Please... don't blame yourself..."

Your voice was weak, your breath shallow. You smiled through the pain, your lips trembling. His breath hitched, eyes wide with disbelief as he clutched his chest.

"Take care... of yourself… and your family..."

Your body lurched forward and crumpled to the cold floor, the metal of the blade clinking softly as it slid free. A pool of blood expanded beneath you, warm and spreading.

The man’s cries were the last sound you heard—raw, anguished, broken.

And then—

.

.

.

.

You expected darkness. An end. The peaceful embrace of the Sanzu River, where perhaps your family waited on the other side with open arms.

Instead, you felt cold.

A biting, unnatural chill.

And the low hum of something mechanical.

.

.

.

Your eyes snapped open.

Cold metal surrounded you. Panels of glowing glyphs pulsed in hues you couldn’t name. You were enclosed in a pod, dimly lit from within by an eerie blue light. It hissed loudly, and with a mechanical clunk, the hatch released.

HSSSSSH—

The pod’s door split open. You stumbled forward and crashed to the ground with a heavy clank. Disoriented, you looked down at your hands—except they weren’t hands.

They were metallic. Sleek and angular, with glowing lines of energon coursing beneath the plating.

Your fingers moved, jointed and smooth like a machine. You gasped, the sound rattling through a new, unfamiliar throat. You scrambled back in shock, metal scraping against metal.

"What in the—"

Your voice sounded distorted. Echoed. Then suddenly, your vision was flooded with glowing symbols.

[ Welcome Online : XXXX ]

[ Body Status : Stable ]

[ Energon Levels : Medium ]

[ Alt-Mode : None ]

The glyphs flickered, then disappear. You blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what just happened. The text was alien—but somehow, you understood it. Like the knowledge had been placed into your mind without permission.

You turned your arms over, inspecting them. Your limbs were metallic, the plating smooth and sharp-edged. Your movements were shaky, like a newborn deer testing its legs.

What happened to you?

What happened to your human body? Why were you metal? What are you?

You barely had time to think when—

BOOM!

The entire structure shuddered from an explosion above. Dust and sparks rained down. You tried to stand, only to collapse again. Your legs weren’t used to supporting this frame. The second explosion shook the floor beneath you.

BOOM!!! CRASH!!!

This one was closer. A portion of the ceiling gave way, a massive chunk of debris crashing down only a few meters away. Instinct took over. You scrambled to a nearby pipeline running along the wall and used it for support. Your metal fingers gripped tightly as you hauled yourself upright.

You staggered forward, each step heavy, your balance unsteady. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to.

Up ahead, a stairwell.

You took the stairs slowly, gripping the rail. Metal creaked beneath your weight with every step. When you finally reached the top, you shoved open the door—

And the sight that greeted you took your breath away.

A night sky, vast and star-strewn—but not peaceful. The city was in ruins. Towers burned in the distance, their skeletal remains glowing with molten steel. The air smelled of smoke, ash, and scorched metal. The ground trembled with distant impacts.

Then—something zipped overhead.

You looked up. Two sleek aircraft zip across the sky. Its engine roars very loudly like an enraged beast and they weren’t like anything from your world. They twisted mid-flight, their bodies shifting, contorting—

—Transforming.

With grinding, mechanical grace, both aircraft morphed into towering humanoid machines. One was bulky and bristled with armor. The other, leaner and faster. Sparks flew as they collided mid-air, exchanging blows with thunderous force.

Your eyes widened.

Robots.

Living, sentient robots.

Another explosion rocked the ground near you, snapping you from your shock. You dove behind a fallen pillar as debris rained down, one hand shielding your head.

The battle raged around you, echoing in your ears like a storm. Lasers streaked across the sky. Missiles detonated in midair. Metal clashed on metal in a brutal ballet of destruction.

You gritted your teeth and pulled yourself up, limbs shaking.

This… this was a battlefield.

Not unlike Marineford.

Except you were no longer a human Marine.

You were something else now. Something forged in metal.

But your heart—whatever it had become—still beat with purpose. You had no allies for now. You have no idea who was fighting who. But one thing was certain. Firstly....

You have to get out of here.

.

.

.

[ End of Prologue ]

[scribblecon]

Could I request romantic headcanons for Whirl, First Aid, Brainstorm with gentle human reader who constantly praises them? 👉👈

Oh man this is such a cute concept 💖

SFW, fluff, GN reader

—

Whirl

At first you make him kind of uncomfortable. So soft and gentle, both in appearance and personality, yet you aren’t scared of him. You remind him of what he used to be like, what could have been, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that so at first he rejects you.

Over time though, he warms up to you as your kindness and fragility slowly breaks down his walls. He becomes protective once you’re together, keeping you by his side whenever possible, either having you perched on his shoulder or tucked inside his cockpit. He still intimidates others and causes trouble, but with you around he becomes less violent. Won’t say it out loud but he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

He likes to rest his helm on whatever surface you’re sitting or standing on while you pet and compliment him, peppering kisses along the side of his head. Play with his antenna and he is practically purring from your affections.

Sometimes he will return your affections by gently bonking his head against you, or, if your hair is long enough, using his avatar so he can braid it for you. He likes using his avatar when you’re alone together in general; he likes how he towers over you and can pick you up at will in his regular body, but using his avatar allows him to be more tactile and gentle with you.

Once the relationship hits long term and it’s clear you really aren’t going anywhere, Whirl will surprise you with a gift, left for you to find next to your bed in the morning, in the form of a watch. It’s relatively plain in design, but you can tell it took a lot of work and craftsmanship for Whirl to make for you. It can’t be easy for someone as large as he is to make something so small and delicate, especially with his claws.

When you thank him for the gift, showing him how it looks on you, he’s quiet. Staring down at you with his single optic, his expression would be unreadable to anyone else, but you can tell by the soft glow emanating from his single eye that if he could, he’d be smiling right now.

First Aid

After working under Pharma for several years, it’s nice to have someone around who appreciates First Aid and how much work he’s put into being a medic. He’s bashful at first, not used to the affection, trying to brush it off as just doing his job. But he also wants to hear you say more nice things about him.

You act as a sounding board for him. When he thinks he’s found a new breakthrough on medical research, he talks his work through with you. Knows you don’t understand all the medical jargon, but being able to voice things out loud helps. It also doesn’t hurt that you give him endless support and encouragement.

You aren’t the only one giving out praise. First Aid is going to acknowledge your own accomplishments and skills too. Not one to lay it on thick, but he’ll let you know when you’ve done a good job on something or just tried really hard and his compliments are sincere.

After a long or stressful day he likes to hold you against his chassis, running a finger up and down your back while you tell him all the reasons you love him. Some of his past actions weigh on him. The patients he couldn’t save, what happened at Delphi, Ambulon, Pharma… needs you to help keep him grounded in the present, remind him that he’s on the right track and doing enough.

Brainstorm

The first time you call him a genius in a quiet voice, he pretends he can’t hear you. Leans down to your level, servo to his audial, asking if you could repeat that for him please? Thinks it’s super cute how your face reddens and you can’t make eye contact when he’s so close to you. When you shyly look back and call him a genius again you could swear he makes a tiny squeal of delight in response. You’re just too cute!

Would love it if you stayed with him in his lab, so he can show off his creations and watch your reaction as he explains and demonstrates what they do and how they work. Your curiosity and excitement whenever he manages to make the impossible, possible warms his spark to no end.

Will carry you on his shoulder when he can, thinks it’s adorable how you react to his PDA, face flushed and buried against his neck cables when he coos over you in front of other bots. He’s an absolute menace. A handsome, affectionate menace.

In private, Brainstorm will mass displace so he can cuddle up to you properly, faceplate nuzzling against your neck to make you laugh when it starts to tickle as he gets you to list all the things you like about him between giggles. He might also sneak his digits under your top to tickle your sides if you aren’t paying attention, making you shriek in surprise as he asks you what else you think of him, besides the fact he’s a super handsome, ultra charming genius?

[hoiststowline]

may i please shamefully beg you for more First Aid from IDW MTMTE... im starving there's only 11 fics of him on ao3... (planning to change that as soon as i get more free time.) but yeah... fluff angst suggestive WTV i just want crumbs like a lonely mourning dove pigeon... 😓

-🤸 anon

_first aid x reader

[a/n: hell yeah!! here's somethin' a lil suggestive. thanks 🤸anon, and i am so very sorry it took so long! enjoy!]

a thought momentarily passes you by that in this situation, he was wordlessly trying to prove you wrong, of all things. a servo moves somewhere above your head, grabbing fistfuls of dirt and grass to keep his balance steady. as fast as the notion arrives, it leaves your mind, realizing that your proposition meant concluding the evening. now, the focus veers to the quiet of the moment, the way he holds himself here, rooted in the idea of making you happy. his servo shifts, grasping at the earth to steady himself once more, and briefly you wonder if he's doing it for you, or if it's just the only way to stay in this space between you before it's ceased.

at least until the next time you are reunited.

you now find you can hardly move, first aid expertly straddling your waist but never placing any weight on top of you, more so looming overhead before diving forward. his other hand has enveloped your stomach, thumb making sweeping motions so gentle that they hardly ruffle your shirt. there’s a rosy twinge to your cheeks, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so as to stifle the round of laughter that bubbles upward. 

“Are you sure?” you had asked, looking over his way when he had proposed extending the evening a little longer. 

in return, he sends a perplexed expression, not expecting that as a rejoinder. “Of course I’m sure. Why do you ask?”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look a little…tired.” 

you had tried to deliver it in the utmost sincerest way, looking out for his well being when sometimes he neglected it himself. knowing that first aid had a strenuous and long week, you had prompted some alone time after a short drive to an area you were both well acquainted with.

the area was secluded. an unkept and weeded stretch of dirt, miles off from the main road and ways away from prying eyes. the two of you could finally have some peace and quiet, catching up with each other along the shoreline of a small pond. 

“Tired?” responded with a hint of exaggeration, he bends forward from his position beside you. “Do I look tired to you?” 

teasing, you decided to push his buttons a little more. “A little bit, yeah.” 

it’s amusing, watching as he feigns offence, steadily moving closer until he’s right on top of you. his touch is slightly cold, emitting a squeal of laughter as he runs his digit up your sides, yourself landing gently on your back with a short gasp of surprise. first aid observes your body language, adoring how you begin to reel back your previous goading with some giggles inbetween.

“I didn’t-” but you’re still laughing, unable to gather the right string words. 

“Didn’t what?” he mumbles, servo settling permanently up your thigh as his palm engulfs your torso.

you can’t see his face, but you’re trying to ignore the sound of his mouthplate retracting as he leaves a trail of kisses across your shoulder. the hand holding him up above you retreats lower, now resting against your left arm but still atop the grass. 

a shiver runs the length of your spine, squirming when he ex-vents a puff of hot air against the exposed skin. 

“I’m not tired.” first aid insists, knees sinking to some degree into the dirt as he shifts his weight. “Take it back.”

before you can even think about withdrawing your jests, his mouth moves over and up, awkward somewhat due to the size difference but benign and calculated all the same. 

“I meant-” another kiss, one that moves up the length of your neck. “I thought maybe-” 

thinking he had you distracted, first aid pulls back a bit to readjust himself when you catch his chin in two hands, going rigid at your warm touch. 

“You could use some rest.” you finish, sending him a smile that could melt him right where he was sitting. 

“So maybe I could.” first aid concedes, dipping downward once more as your fingers rise to his cheeks. “But I can push it off for a little while longer.”

his movement slows as your fingers find their place, first aid completely enamored and enraptured by your compassionate nature. he wants this moment to last forever, unable to immediately yield to your desires, subconsciously aware you are likely very correct. sleepy exchanges were more common with him than he’d ever care to admit. 

“I’m not quite ready for this to be over.”

[drabbletron]

Time of Need: First Aid X Reader FLUFF

|| Just having fun with some friends (@hoiststowline and @dommiso) and a prompt we made while we were chatting on discord. Enjoy! ||

Prompt: A bot runs an important item up to your place of work.

It was pretty easy to miss if he hadn't seen you with it before. An inconspicuous black notebook, spiral bound and plenty used if he had to guess sat tucked under a data pad at his work station. You'd kept it with you at all times, so he's certain you had to have been in a rush to forget it like that. He picks it up and turns it over to see pen scribbles all over the back of it. Little doodles of plants and animals and a few sketches of his medic badge. He's be hard pressed to admit that he did the same thing. First Aid knew you had to be busy today too, what with all the new environmental laws in place. He'd better get this to you so you can do your work proper. He tells Ambulon and the others he's taking a break and sets off to your work site. By the time he's made it to rolling down the dirt road you've already called him three times. The first time to see if he'd seen it, the second to ask him if he's sure he wants to bring it, and the third to check and make sure he knew where he was going. Patience it's your strong suit it seems. No matter, he will be the one to put you at ease when he brings you that much needed notebook. Once he's pulled up outside the low building he's rethinking how out of place he actually looks. A red and white ambulance, no sirens or lights, just parked at a building with what looks to be not a lot of employees in the middle of nowhere. Good thing he's determined to help you. First Aid sucks up whatever reservations he has and activates his holomatter avatar. A moderate looking female human with bright red hair, big blue glasses, and a surgeons mask. He gives himself a once over in his mirror and heaves a sigh. Maybe the mask is too much? You're a scientist though and this is a lab. Humans wear those here right? Before he can question he's appearance you're already calling him a fourth time. "Hello, I'm outside." "I can see that," you laugh. Of course you would laugh, "People are wondering what an ambulance is doing out here. I'd get inside if I were you." The folks at your work must be bored or something because he's only been out here for a few minutes at most. "I'm on my way." First Aid hops down from his cab and makes his way to what he assumes is the front doors. You're already standing at just inside and opening the door to meet him. "Ooh! Who's this cutie coming up to my work?" First Aid tries to stop the smile from spreading over his face. He always did like them a little flirty. "I have your notebook," he reaches into his lab coat and fishes it out to give to you, not failing to notice you grazing his hand in yours as you take it. "Thanks Aid. You really didn't have to. I know you're busy and all." "It's no trouble, really. I'm glad I can help, and if I'm being honest," he steps forward to invade your personal bubble while pulling down his mask, "I'm glad I get to see you." Without a second thought you lean in and plant a sweet kiss over his scarlet lips. There's an odd tingle considering the avatar is made of light, but it's still real enough to give you and him both butterflies. "I'll see you at base then?" "Maybe after one more kiss," you smirk pulling him in again by the lab coat.

[wifetomegatron]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[smallestapplin]

I humbly request First Aid nsfw with whatever content you feel in the mood write, I just love your work teehee

I love him, I’m too down bad

(Please feel free to delete, have a good day<3)

First Aid is a cutie, I’m a sucker for any G1 character (or animated) I went with a human gn!afab s/o! (Also i love your work aaaa)

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only!

-

-

First Aid is attentive and even that is an understandment! His visor glowing softly in the dim light of his habsuite as he worked on opening your human valve open, he has been at it for what felt like hours, his servos gently rubbing yout thighs as he laid between you legs, his helm keeping you from closing them no matter how sensitive your body became.

“First Aid, please, I can’t…mm, fuck! Can’t take much more…!” You toss your head back with a cry, practically sobbing his name.

“I’m sorry, my light, but I just want to make sure you are properly prepared. I don’t want to risk hurting you.” He kisses your inner thigh before trailing his glossa back through your needy sex.

His spike twitches against the berth, leaking pre-fluid onto the metal slab, and his puffy valve clenching around nothing. He wants to please you so badly, to worship you, make you overload over and over and over again, make a mess on his glossa. First Aid wants to spike you, he does! There isnt a day that goes by where he isn’t feeling like a pervert imagining what your cute human valve feels like around him, but he’s much too big for you.

It’s not completely lost, however, he found he is addicted to the way you taste, he can’t get enough he never wants to stop! You taste so good, each overload you give him is never enough to sate his thirst for more of your slick. His optics never leave you, taking in ever last expression yout make, noting it all to memory.

His own frame shaking as you arch your back with a loud cry falling from your spit covered lips, you sound so alluring, tempting him in for more, calling to him, begging him to keep touching you.

“Please, please, I can take it, fuuuck just let me have a taste, please!” Tears stinging your eyes as you just want to make your partner feel good too, but he can barely hear you.

Moaning against your all too sensitive pussy. Your throw your head back, hips bucking trying to ride his face as he slowly pushes his long thick glossa into your weeping hole. You squeal, hips jerks sloppily as you cum yet again, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure is mounting, a mix of too much and not enough. And not enough it is, at least for First Aid, your pleasure and comfort is his number one priority, and it’s just to make sure you can take us spike later, so this is fine!

“So good…so pretty for me. I love you.” His mutters into your skin, glossa never leaving your pussy.

“First Aid.” You whine his name, only earning you a pitiful whine frm him.

You’re just too good, too intoxicating, he can’t seem to help himself. You can at least rest well knowing he is the king of aftercare, because you are going to need it.

[hanibalistic]

faint idea dump. alternative universe where both wukong and the destined one exist at the same time.

since destined one doesn't talk nearly as much, modern!reader during their journey to do something decided to start teaching him sign language to communicate if he doesn't feel like talking, and wukong doesn't enjoy it too much because it gives reader a reason to touch the destined one a lot

[revelboo]

Could we pretty please have some smut scenarios with the best medics Ratchet and First Aid when it strikes your fancy?

Sure! 18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Scenario-Medics

Ratchet x Reader

• Gritting his denta when you make that low, throaty noise of pleasure for him, his servos still. “Don’t stop,” you whine, laying your cheek on your arm to look back at him. Straddling your thighs as you lay naked on your front, he gently slides his servos against your spine again and you push up against his touch with a whimper. Half suspects you’re doing it on purpose, making sounds like that after asking him to massage your back. And his spike is aching trapped behind his plating. “Please, doc. Right there.” Venting at your little moan, his optics shutter. You are doing it on purpose, you brat. You have to be. “That’s good.”

• Groaning as his strong servos find and massage every single knot out, you’re aware of the low noise he’s making. That the sound of him venting is now mingling with a low, annoyed rumbling, but it’s hard to care about much besides that his servos are pure magic. Stroking down your sides to make you shiver. And he’s bending over you, venting against your bare skin as his lips brush against your spine and everything shifts. Blood heating as those strong servos keeps stroking and he brushes kisses down your spine to make you stretch lazily before he’s lifting up slightly to hook an arm under you and roll you onto your back. Settling himself between your thighs and- what is that look for? “I don’t enjoy being teased,” he says. Teased?

• “Doc?” Tone all innocence like you have no idea what you’ve been doing to him. Staring up at him when he palms your thigh and lifts it, he smiles down at you as he pins your leg against his side. And then he’s freeing his spike, gripping himself and stroking himself. Watches you tuck your chin to be able to see what he’s doing and you tug at your trapped leg, but he refuses to let you go. Teasing you like you’d teased him with those sounds. Growling, he fists his spike, slides the head against you. Watching your back arch, hips rocking as your breath hitches.

• Can feel the head of his spike against you, branding you with heat as he slides himself against you, finds you and begins to stretch you only to slip free and continue teasing you. Torturing you by keeping what you need just out of reach, but he’s suffering, too. Jaw clenched and denta bared as he growls. “There you are,” he murmurs, teasing and finally he’s burying himself deep in a slow drive. Shifting to cover you as his hips move against yours. “Let me hear you.” And it clicks as you cup his cheek. Had he really thought you were making those sounds just to screw with him?

• Those eyes he loves soften as your lips part on a moan, thumb brushing his bottom lip. And all the tension washes out of him as he ducks his head, mouth finding yours. Moving lazily inside you, savoring the feel of you under him, those little hands on him. Listening to your breath hitch, those shaky moans and feeling the way you move under him. Cling to him. Painfully aware that if he’d been a day later in finding you, that you might not be here. That he’d still be alone, stressed and miserable without even realizing just how miserable he really was. Without knowing what was missing. And he’s moving faster, hips pumping listening to your breath hitch, your sounds almost lost to his own. It’d been too close a thing. Sometimes when he’s recharging he has nightmares about it, about arriving just a moment too late. About watching you slip right through his servos. Your mouth brushes his as you shudder under him with a cry, fisting his spike and he’s caught between reality and that nightmare, losing the moment. Wrapping himself around you as you come apart for him and he can’t finish, can’t get out of his own processor. Hears your muffled ‘Ratchet?’ as he cups the back of your head to him, curling himself around you. Just needs this. Needs to feel your heart beating against him, the sound of your breath.

First Aid x Reader

• Laughing as he lifts you and carefully pins you, he’s pressing his masked face against your throat, forcing your head back before its retracting and his mouth is on you. Feel him venting against you as his spike ends up trapped between your bodies when he rocks himself against you with a rumbling noise suspiciously like the purr of an engine. And his mouth is sliding against your jaw, finding yours before his head reels back, visor flaring. “You bit me,” he says, and you flush at his shocked tone even though it had just been a little nip. “Can you do it again?” He asks, lips brushing yours and he sounds embarrassed about it. Oh, you’re going to absolutely ruin him as badly as he’s ruining you.

• Shifting his grip on you to lift you slightly, his aching spike slides against you, finds you and he groans as your slick heat takes all of him. And from outside the closed storage room, voices softly murmuring and you tense, pressing your face against his neck as your legs wrap around him. Excitement at the risk involved, that this time he might get caught thrums through him. Cheek brushing your hair, his servos tighten on you. “Don’t let them hear,” he whispers, fighting a laugh.

• And he’s rutting against you, deep, urgent drives of his hips. Nails digging into the seams of his plating, you press your mouth against the mesh of his neck to try to suppress your moans. Because as much as First Aid acts like a sweet puppy, he loves playing this game. Dragging you into shadowy spots that are often used by Ambulon and Pharma. Seeing if this time he’ll get caught fragging you, if you can keep quiet. And you can hear the wet sound of his spike stroking deep, his ragged growls and hitching vents as you open your mouth against his neck. Driving you ruthlessly to that peak as his servos tighten on your hips and he’s groaning. Making you fight against your release, because you can hear Pharma right there, hear his voice, his peds on the other side of the door. And it tips you over the edge, cries muffled against First Aid’s neck as his thrusts get rougher, hips snapping against yours, your back and butt hitting the wall behind you, making too much noise and you grab his face, mouth covering his as he shudders against you. Because he’s doing it on purpose, wanting to get caught, turned on by the danger as he kisses you back, spike pulsing inside you, filling you.

[earthsparked]

Four hummingbirds, who also had never met

Chapter 1/2 | Chapter 2/2 (You are here) | (Story on A03)

You guys asked, so here's the continuation and finale! <3

-

It was an ambush, and he should have seen it coming from a mile away. A stray signal appearing at the edge of his radar while out on patrol, in an area that Decepticon activity had been reported a few days prior. But nothing concrete to give a clue at what was going on. Bluestreak had only meant to snoop around at a safe distance with his enhanced vision, then call back to the Ark for an update on his orders. Instead, the second he had passed the perimeter of the old, abandoned fuel depot, he was set on by three Vehicons.

He was a gunner, not a brawler, but he managed to damage one of the ‘cons with quick thinking, and caused a second to spin out and crash in the pursuit. He lost the third by pushing his speed into redline territory. He’d called for backup immediately, though there was a concern Soundwave had managed to tap their frequency that morning. Prowl scrambled the Aerialbots.

All that, while Bluestreak hauled aft out of the more heavily-occupied areas. Mindful the whole time that humans seeing what was happening would not only be bad for the mechs’ continued secrecy on this planet, but also dangerous for the tiny organics who called it home. There were a few close calls early on in the chase, but he’d become familiar enough with the surprisingly good human-made road system that he was able to lead the ‘cons out into the middle of nowhere.

His reaction when he spotted your vehicle coming towards him on an otherwise empty road was an ear-splitting crackle of Cybertronian expletives that most ‘bots probably didn’t even think he knew, much less used. He’d left the remaining Vehicon behind, but he had a bad feeling in his gears that he wasn’t out of the rust-pit yet. When his warning systems stopped fussing at him about pushing himself too fast and started screaming about an incoming missile lock from above, his spark sank into his tires.

No no no no! he moaned, snapping into the comms channel again with a direct line to command. Prowl, priority update! Starscream’s on my aft and there’s a human in the area! Repeat, civilian in danger! I’ll try and draw him off but this is really really really bad! Somebody’s gonna get hurt!

Blue wasn’t a strategist, but he tried his best to figure out a solution. His processors ran through a million calculations. He could pull over, transform and try to get a shot off, but that would both blow his cover and could make Screamer crash right into your oncoming vehicle, which was about as sturdy as a first-frame sparkling compared to himself. He could try and block you from going any further, maybe shield you physically – cover be damned – but that would give the ‘con a two-for-one deal with one shot. Higher chance of you getting killed, or at least seriously injured, and he’d almost certainly get slagged.

Or he could put everything he had into running and hope he could get enough distance between you that you’d be out of the attack range when it came, and that Starscream would choose to target him instead of your dinky organic vehicle.

He could run, but he couldn’t hope to outrun a seeker. Option three had the highest chance of you surviving, and the lowest chance of him getting out of this alive. As he got closer, his audials picked up the sound of human music, and your sweet little voice singing loudly and imperfectly along with it. Any other time he’d have turned around and cruised behind you, posing as a human vehicle so he could listen to you. Feel that mysterious, tiny, but vibrant EM field that he’d so far only been able to sense from a distance. He’d wanted so badly to meet one of your kind…

Whatever the others thought of him, he was an Autobot to his core elements.

Right. Getting slagged it is. He put every bit of energy his frame could muster into speed. He caught only a startled flicker from you as he passed your vehicle, and then heard the screech of your tires as you saw Starscream. No no no no you need to keep driving and get far, far, far away!

He couldn't talk to you, but that didn't mean he couldn't talk. Talking was what he was best at. He threw open a comm line.

Hey, Screamer! Think you can catch me? You’re too slow to catch a virus! You call that peashooter of yours a missile array? I’ve seen minicons with bigger bombs! he taunted, while at the same time, shooting one final SOS to the Ark. Better send a medic. Several.

You impudent little nothing! Starscream screeched back at him. You’re not worth the energon in your fuel tank! How dare you! I’ll turn you into scrap!

They were past you. Not far enough, but past you. But the jet was so, so much faster than he could ever hope to be, and there was nowhere to take cover. The trees along the road and open fields offered no respite. Oh, this was going to hurt.

In the last second before his missile lock system threw a glitch from being too close for it to properly calculate the ballistics, Bluestreak ground his gears and lost some tread off his tires, and pulled off a wild mid-air transformation that he hoped would’ve impressed even Sideswipe. He grabbed the ground with one hand, ripping some of the rubber off his servo, slowing him just enough that he can go for his gun with the other. Maybe get a riposte off –

He's not fast enough. The world explodes, and all he knows is pain.

It’s not his first time getting slagged, but eating a missile straight from a seeker at close range is definitely not an experience he’d like to repeat. If he even lives to get the chance.

Half his systems are knocked out. A quarter of the rest are so damaged they’re not making sense. The remainder are all throwing red, red, red until he finally shuts them off like a drunk trying to slam down their phone alarm.

This is bad. Bad, bad bad bad.

Time goes weird, as more and more of his senses blink out as the mechanics involved in them smoke and go black. He hopes the Aerialbots hurry. He hopes the medics hurry. He hopes –

There’s a tiny brush against his shattered EM field, which is screaming all the pain his busted vocalizer can’t. It’s fear and caution, horror, shock and dread. It takes his increasingly sluggish processor way too long to realize that it’s the human. He can hear you speak, though your voice fades in and out of his audials as things involved in his hearing, spark and sizzle.

Stay back, he tries to say, but can’t get his vocalizer to work. He’s leaking energon and other fluids, there’s so much sharp jagged armor in pieces everywhere, he is overheating from lack of coolant and his fans are down and humans’ skin is so so so fragile. He pushes his worry and concern at you, trying to get you to back away, but you can’t seem to feel it. It really is true – humans have EM fields, but they can’t pick up on his?

He forces something barely, barely intelligible through his vocalizer. Yes, he can hear you. It fritzes out before he can warn you away. To his disappointment and yet, secret joy, you come closer. Your sweet voice shouldn’t be laced with such panic. You’re asking him to move, he grasps. To show you that he’s alive. You sound so confused and upset, it sends a pang through his already overwhelmed spark.

Don’t be afraid, he tries to say, only a few of the syllables screeching out before his vocalizer entirely shorts out, and he can’t communicate any more. Or so he thought. Because all the words he might’ve said are washed away when you go still and sudden realization, surprise, joy, fear, grief blast from you like a detonation. His optics are going, but he catches a glimpse of you. You’re so tiny, and you’re so upset. He wishes he could grab you and take you away from this. That you could both go far, far away to where there isn’t a war, and you wouldn’t be leaking that red liquid from the broken glass that’s cut you.

You’re alive. He has to content himself with that, as his emergency systems begin the countdown to stasis lock. He gets a ping from Ratchet that the medics are on the way, but he ignores it, because you’ve come even closer, and you’re alive. You’re so damn cute. Even with something that must be human sparkache radiating from you…

He reaches out with the last of his strength, wanting to touch you. Just once. If once is all he gets, it’ll be enough. And by some miracle of Primus, you reach back. He would smile if he could. Instead, the soft touch of your little servo on his is the only thing that doesn’t hurt. And then nothing hurts, because it’s all gone black and silent. Stasis lock. It was a mercy, at least, that he didn’t have to see you fold over him and weep like you were the one broken.

-

There’s no sense of time in stasis lock. Coming out of it is always confusing, an unbroken moment of being in pain and danger to being in a medbay, surrounded by medics and friends.  Instinctual programming brings weapons systems back online before nearly anything else, with the result that waking mechs often end up causing more patients, themselves, by behaving as if they were still under attack. That’s why the medics always used override codes to lock those systems down.

Bluestreak was familiar with all of that. So it wasn’t a surprise when his very next experience was that of waking up with every single one of his alarms going off in a cacophony of internal and external chaos.

What was a surprise was, the first thing he saw was you. You were there! You were in danger.

No!

He didn’t have to think about it, only act. One second you were smiling at him with wide, worried, wet little optics, oblivious to the threat; and the next you were safe in his servos, clutched to his chest over his spark where the armor was thickest. His systems fought against the medical overrides, and when they tried to push him back into stasis, he burned out several fresh repairs to override the overrides. He rolled over and came up in a defensive crouch, painfully aware of your sudden spike of fear like a blade to his spark. Unacceptable. You had to be protected, you had to be safe. He burned out several more of the fresh repairs transforming his arm plasma cannon, which whined as the capacitors charged. There was a lot of shouting and emergency codes being thrown at him, which he ignored.

Clank.

Bluestreak blasted the thing that had hit his helm the second it touched the ground. Your little voice shrieked, but he’d pressed you so close that you hadn’t even felt the heat from it.

Then his auditory processors finally kicked back in properly, and the yelling turned into words.

Primus frag it, Bluestreak, that was my favorite spanner! Ratchet bellowed. Blue reset his optics. Ratchet had another spanner in his servos, which were now on his hips, as if he’d thought better about launching another attack. There was a melted puddle of slag at Blue’s pedes where he’d destroyed both the thrown spanner, and part of the Ark’s deck plating. Teletraan wouldn’t be happy about the friendly fire.

But none of that mattered, because tiny human servos clutched at him, shivering in his grasp. A swift-beating human spark thready but strong against his chest. Shallow, quick breaths as you vented in fright. You were alive. He’d protected you. You were okay.

Then the thought hit that you were scared. Of him.

All his weapons systems dropped offline so fast that it made him dizzy, and Blue more or less fell to his knees. Blowing out even more of the fresh welds. He transformed his hand back in a rush to more securely cup you in front of him, so he could look at you.

I’m sorry! he blurted, finding his vocalizer scratchy but working again. I’m sorry, little one, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! Please don’t be afraid of me! I’d never ever ever hurt you. Are you okay? Are you injured? You were leaking, you looked so sad!

You were still shaking, beyond words (or worse, too hurt to speak). He looked up to quickly take in the rest of the scene. Ratchet was looking on like a looming stormcloud on Jupiter. The other mech in the room, First Aid, was frozen and watching with his EM field the kind intentionally dampened that meant Blue had scared him, too. Was still scaring him. Oh.

Take them, ‘Aid, he urges, gently lifting you up and out. Make sure they’re okay! They’re shaking and their spark is going so fast, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - !

With Blue back to his senses, First Aid moves smoothly and quickly to reach out for you. But you surprise them all. You burst into tears and cling on to Bluestreak’s hands as if they’re a lifeline. Wrapping yourself up in his touch like the polishing cloth draped around your shoulders. And everything in the room, all three mechs, go still. All focused on you.

-

First Aid had drawn a container of hot water so you could wash all the weird fluids off with a bar of soap from the 32-pack that the “scouts,” whoever they were, had gotten for you. Then with you wrapped in a giant beach towel with brightly colored cartoon fish on them, the medic had carefully given you a look-over with his sensors and scans, and some more gentle poking and prodding. Just to make sure you hadn’t burst anything inside, or broken any ribs or fractured anything else. Like, for instance, your skull.

When you’d finally admitted to having a horrendous headache, and dizziness that the hot bath had seemed to make worse, and a touch of nausea – the medic had visibly had to keep himself from freaking out. More to avoid alarming you than anything, you’re pretty sure.

With a bit of joint research and consultation, and some painless, quick scans that he said could detect changes in temperature and pressure and fluid movement inside your brain, eventually he came to the conclusion you had a bad case of whiplash. But he was going to be re-scanning you every thirty minutes for the next twenty-four hours, to check for any changes to make sure nothing worse was going to happen. If it did, he admitted with a resigned ex-vent, he’d have to hand your care over to a human doctor. That was a worst-case scenario to you, considering you didn’t want to leave. Not while Bluestreak was still in emergency stasis – something like a coma, you’d come to understand with a true sense of the gravity of his condition.

Then began the uncomfortable process of patching up your wounds. You’d had to do some of the doctoring yourself. Even First Aid’s finely-tuned servos weren’t quite able to handle tweezing out tiny shards of glass from your thin skin. There was something he could use to just dissolve the shards, he said, but hesitated to use it when he didn’t know how your body would react. Ratchet – busy tending Bluestreak’s far more critical condition – did have the extra mods to be able to do that sort of delicate surgery, but First Aid didn’t just yet. Something about a lack of resources because of the war, he said, seeming regretful. You patted his hand in sympathy, returning at least a little of the kindness he’d shown you.

You let him help where he could. You allowed him to apply a coating of antibacterial cream to the places you couldn’t reach. A little too enthusiastically, but you tolerated it. You’d realized pretty quickly ‘Aid was the type of person who needed to be needed. Not being perfectly versed in human medicine was driving him up the wall from his desire to help being thwarted.

You didn’t think it was a coincidence that he was studying you the whole while, taking readings (with your enthusiastic permission) and asking questions with the kind of medically detached professionalism that was familiar from any of your past trips to the doctor. You had a feeling he’d be rectifying his lack of knowledge from now on, and decided you’d worry later about probably being turned into a very well-treated guinea pig.

He had topped off the antibacterial cream with a mummifying level of bandages, despite you feeling pretty sure you could get by just fine with band-aids. A few of the deeper cuts on your arms probably needed stitches, but you decided not to mention that, and made do with butterfly bandages. A few scars didn’t seem that important compared to what Bluestreak had suffered.

Finally, after you’d gotten dressed in some very wrong-sized but clean clothes, First Aid had fastened a cervical collar around your neck. Insisting on it, despite your groans that it was uncomfortable. You really weren't sure whether it was necessary, but you were hardly more versed in medicine than he was. And that was when you began to believe 'Aid really was Ratchet’s trainee, because the mech could put his foot down like nobody’s business when necessary. You still couldn’t help scratching at it, feeling rather sorry for all the pets you’d ever forced into a cone of shame, when he shot you a Look every time your hand inched upwards.

A couple of pain pills and one dose of steroids that First Aid very carefully measured out, and every bit of you was just done. No more. You passed out right in his hands. And that was your first day with the Autobots.

The next day sucked. You’d been so sore and stiff you could hardly move, let alone walk. ‘Aid helped you soak in some hot water with Epsom salts, and then had to help you open the packages of food that had mysteriously appeared in a pile. (Bee and Cliff are having fun, he assures you as you tiredly thank him and whoever is running errands for you.) Then you collapse again, but wake up soaked in sweat and screaming with a nightmare. First Aid almost broke the door getting to you. The rest of the night was spent wrapped in a burrito of blankets, drifting in and out against his armor while he read a datapad on human psychology.

The day after that was more of the same, and the one after that, but finally on the fourth day since the Incident you felt sturdy enough on your feet to be up for a little walk around the rest of the medbay. Which was good, because you’d been demanding to see Bluestreak and kept being put off.

He’s still in stasis to give the major repairs time to stabilize, but he’s out of the worst of the danger, First Aid promised you. Until finally he was satisfied with your own recovery enough to give you a hand up to let you perch on the table they called a berth, where you finally got your first good look at Bluestreak.

He wasn’t actually blue, you’d commented, and Ratchet, busy with some task or other at a giant computer, had snorted in such a human way that it had just about given you a second case of whiplash. Not why he’s called that.

You sat with him, admiring what he looked like when he wasn’t that awful, struggling, smoking pile of wreckage. You could see just how much work had gone into fixing him, and had a basis for comparison now of how horribly he’d been hurt. When you wobbled over to his head – helm was the word they used – and curled up beside him, one hand tentatively touching his face, Ratchet had opened his mouth to growl something at you, then thought better of it and turned away to do whatever it was he was doing.

You felt like you weren’t quite real, like all of this was happening to someone else, or that you were seeing it through a screen. Over the next few days, your little circle of unreality expanded. You met Optimus Prime. He’d made one hell of an impression that your dizzy mind was still trying to grasp. He was huge, and deeply kind, and had treated you with a respect that for some reason was nearly shocking. He’d asked after Bluestreak’s status, then your wellbeing, and then gently explained it was too dangerous for them to let you go home just yet. Some of their team had gone out to look for your car and bring it back to base, and found it a smoking, burned-out ruin even less intact than Bluestreak had been. Either Starscream, or some other ‘con had found it and destroyed it. That they’d even bothered meant nothing at all good for you.

He'd left you to numbly process that after asking if you needed anything. You’d asked his help to take care of a few basics – letting your family in another state know you’re fine, you’d just lost your phone, mostly. And letting your job and your part-time delivery gig know you’d been in a bad car wreck and were on sick leave, regardless if it meant getting fired. Because you were not going anywhere, ‘cons or no ‘cons, until you got to finally meet your metal person properly.

You spent so many hours by Bluestreak’s side, despite Ratchet’s huffs about organic contamination, that it started getting a little bit boring. When you started peppering Ratchet with questions, at first he sourly brushed you off.

Why do you want to know? he’d glowered suspiciously.

Because he’s hurt. And I want to know how you helped him. Please?

No. He turned away, making something clatter.

First Aid had eyed him for a time, and then you were pretty sure they’d had an argument over the internal communications system you knew, now, that they all had. It made you feel weird, knowing they were talking in a way you couldn’t understand. The same way it felt strange, knowing that they had an entirely layer of communication wrapped up in some weird energy field that you also had, explaining why it seemed like they could almost read your mind sometimes.

After a few minutes Ratchet had eventually thrown his hands up in a too-human expression of frustration, and gone storming out. But hours later, he came stomping over with a handful of components and devices you’re pretty sure had never been touched by human hands. You sat up, leaning against Blue’s shoulder as he deposited them in front of you.

This is part of a hydraulic system. Bluestreak’s frame has seventeen of them. Most of them non-critical, but necessary. Sixteen of them had to be replaced. I put in emergency fixes to give me time to machine the parts to rebuild the others. I have completed fifteen of the sixteen replacements.

You hopefully hold your breath as he glowers at you. If you can follow directions, not injure yourself more than you already are, and use that crumpled wad of tissue of a processor of yours to a reasonable degree…you can help me with this last one.  

You nearly trip and lose your balance as you stand up too fast, rushing over to wrap yourself around his wrist in a thankful hug. Ratchet! Thank you! So, so much. I’d love to help!

He grumbles something about organic skin oils gumming up his servos but he doesn’t pull away until you do, with a gentle pat to his arm plating. You beam up at him, the first time you’ve really smiled in days, and he’s the first to look away, blue optics turning down as if he’s embarrassed.

My medbay, my rules. Got that, human?

You’ve told him your name, and he hasn’t yet used it, but whatever. You nod enthusiastically, as best you can through the collar of shame, and he narrows his optics as you wince at a twinge of pain. You stop nodding and just tell him yes.

Over the next few days, you learned more than you think you ever did in college. Once the hydraulic replacement was done and neither you nor Bluestreak were on fire or dead, Ratchet seemed to internally upgrade you from “helpless invalid, not to be trusted with own life” to “helpless invalid, not to be trusted with own life, but good with a pair of pliers.”

It turned out that he was a fantastic teacher. Surprisingly patient for a guy who literally threw wrenches at injured mechs. Didn’t blame you for making mistakes and never put you in a position where a mistake could hurt you or someone else. And once you’d gotten past that first hurdle, he never once balked at answering a question. Even the ones that you later wished he hadn’t answered, like how they felt pain, and why they had body parts that turned into weapons, and what happened to their sparks when they died (offlined). But it was a relief that unlike ‘Aid, who was equally curious about humans, Ratchet kept his questions about you related only to your immediate well-being.

Are you refueling enough for your species? Are you recharging enough? You’re not working in my medbay if you’re not. There’s inflammation in your wrist. Does it hurt? What helps it? I’ll get you an ice pack. Take an NSAID. No, put the spanner down, you’re done for the day.

It was nice, really. Your brain fog slowly seemed to melt away as your whiplash injury began to heal, and eventually ‘Aid let you remove your collar of shame. You started feeling more aware and present in your body, and began to wonder if First Aid had had something to do with convincing Ratchet to let you help. As you assisted with small but attention-demanding tasks, all which helped Bluestreak’s recovery, the sense of panic lurking in the back of your mind began to fade. When you fell asleep in First Aid’s clutches, it was because he just felt nice and safe, and clearly enjoyed the company. Not because you’d woken from a nightmare.

Then the day came when they were finally going to let Bluestreak wake up.

-

You’d been allowed to perch nearby, eagerly hoping to see life come back into those optics. Ratchet had explained about the override codes, how they would keep Blue from leaping off the table and shooting anything that moved, because otherwise his defensive systems would kick in immediately and he’d pose an unwitting threat to everyone around him.

After he’d walked you through that, you’d caught ‘Aid looking at Ratchet when the grouchy chief medical officer’s back was turned. First Aid looked oddly smug and pleased, and it dawned on you that maybe he hadn’t just had your well-being in mind when he’d nudged his teacher to take on his first-ever organic student.

And then it all went to shit. One second you were letting your eyes well up with tears at the sight of blue optics flickering on. The next you had been grabbed and rolled over in a dizzying rollercoaster that had you flailing and crying out. It happened so fast and with such force you almost blacked out, your vision going grey around the edges.

Bluestreak! Slag it all, he’s overridden the overrides! How in the PIT! Ratchet snarled, his white and red armor puffed up like a pissed-off rooster. First Aid was trying to calm Blue down, terrified that he might accidentally hurt you, despite clearly trying to protect you. From them. A threat his systems were warning him about, allies that he wasn’t with it enough to grasp were his friends.

Blue, let them go. Please. They’re delicate, and they’ve already been injured once, he pleaded softly, empty servos raised in a display of surrender.

The mech was crouched over you, and when Ratchet swore something foul and did his usual routine of percussive maintenance, the thing they’d been dreading happened as Blue’s plasma cannon fired. You cried out and for an awful second the entire room went still. Ratchet grumbled over his favorite spanner, now a liquid melted into the metal decking (Teletraan crankily sending zaps of electricity to anyone unfortunate enough to be near a terminal, in retribution). First Aid sighed with relief when Bluestreak finally realized where he was and what was going on, and he couldn’t move fast enough to swoop in to rescue you from your rescuer.

Only for you to refuse.

-

You hold on to your metal person. Because even though he scared you, he’d also saved you. Now he was awake after that horrible attack where he’d almost died, and his first instinct is still to save you. You are shaking like a leaf, all that awful adrenaline and fear returned with a vengeance in a way you can't help. But for all that your biology is betraying you, your heart's never felt more full of joy. Because he's alive.

Bluestreak, you say, and he flinches. You don’t like that. You reach for his face, and he slowly obliges, bringing you closer. First Aid and Ratchet hover silently in the background, and you can’t begin to imagine what they’re thinking right now. It would be nifty if you could read their auras or fields or – whatever they were.

Hey, it’s okay, you say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. A tremor runs through his hands, but you know he won’t drop you. I’m not afraid of you, you just surprised me. You saved my life, Bluestreak. I was so happy to see you for the first time, but you were hurt so bad. I thought, I thought you were dead. Offlined, and that I’d never get to –

That’s as far as you get before you learn that mechs can cry, too, as he pulls you into the shelter of his neck, holding you close and ex-venting roughly. You pat his shoulder, thinking of what the inside of it had looked like when you’d replaced the hydraulics. Wires instead of veins, sure, metal instead of flesh. But even on the inside, you’d been right all along. You’d known, and you’d been right. They are people.

You’re all right? he asks, shakily, and when you murmur an affirmative, his eyes go so bright that you can hardly look at them. You’re not scared of me? But – but you were so so scared, and I couldn’t tell you not to be, and I know we’re really different and I’m so much bigger than you, and I’ve wanted to meet a human ever since we came to earth but Optimus and Jazz and Prowl said I couldn’t, we had to hide, and then Starscream – I couldn’t let him hurt you! You’re just so little, and your voice is so sweet, and you feel so much even though you’re so small. I couldn’t let him hurt you.

He says it like a plea for understanding, and now you’re both crying. You don’t see Ratchet and First Aid share a look, and quietly leave to give you two some privacy, now that they know you’re both stable. You only have eyes for your metal person.

I tried to help you and I didn’t know how, you sniffle, trying not to be embarrassed by how emotional you’ve been the past week. Maybe you can blame it on the trauma and injuries. But your heart’s felt just as bruised as the rest of you. Ratchet’s been teaching me. Does your shoulder feel all right? I helped fix the hydraulics.

Blue rumbles something that you realize is a laugh. It feels great! You did a great job! Wow, the Hatchet really let you work on me? In his medbay?! Do you know how hard First Aid had to work to get him to take him on as a trainee? And you got him to do it in just a few cycles? Wow. You must be really smart. Um, I’m Bluestreak. But you already know that. What’s your name?

You laugh, too, through the flood of happy, confused, exhausted tears, and tell him.

That’s so beautiful! What’s it mean? Do human names have meanings? Where were you going that day? Why were you out in the middle of nowhere? What was that music you were listening to?

He stops short and looks chagrined. Sorry, sorry, I know I talk too much, everybody says I do, I just have so many feelings and questions and –

Bluestreak, you tell him, smiling, as you reach to grab his other hand. He lets you, optics bright, armor spotless. Even if he’s going to have to get yelled at by Ratchet for destroying some of his repairs, he can’t remember ever being this happy.

I’d just found you, just met you, and I lost you. I thought I’d never get to hear you speak again.

You squeeze his hands, the same shape and number of fingers as yours, and capable of both the same violence and the same gentleness. This isn’t the end. There’s a road of healing you’ll both have to walk, but now you know you really aren’t alone. You didn’t know it at the time, but you never were.

Blue, I could listen to you talk forever.

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　MTMTE x gn reader

　　　　『　rodimus ,, ultra magnus ,, chromedome ,, rewind ,, megatron ,, whirl ,, tailgate ,, swerve ,, cyclonus ,, first aid ,, ratchet ,, drift ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　-> christmas on the lost light

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, crack

　　— sorry i havent been uploading as much 😭💔 ive been busy with work and school ,, but im on christmas break so hopefully ill be able to get through the few requests i have sitting in my inbox rn and reopen requests :(( ima try to start uploading more now as much as i can ❤️ heres a little something for christmas though ! hope you all enjoy christmas this year <3

• it was natural for the bots aboard to be interested in human customs ,, having lived in a war most their life . death and violence were something they were quite used to experiencing ,, never really having the time to experience anything outside of the horrors of war itself .

• swerve was one of the few main bots that pestered you often about human holidays . cybertronians didn't celebrate much ,, unless they were a group of autobots who just gave some decepticons a what-for .

• then again ,, swerve usually asked many questions regarding things on earth and what humans do . sometimes you humored him ,, sometimes you told little lies ,, like if you clapped three times in a mall it would be a sign that a tiger was loose . it was quite fun to put silly nonsense in that processor of his at times .

• though when it came to christmas he would not leave you alone . whether you celebrated it or not ,, you still explained the custom in general to him . how old saint nicholas would mosey on down the chimney ,, eat the cookies and drink the milk left out for him ,, and leave presents under the tree lit well and adorned with ornaments .

• you even pulled up the santa tracker for swerve ,, showing him where santa would go and be ,, how on christmas eve he would be flying around with his reindeer and leave presents

• hearing all of this intrigued chromedome and rewind ,, as well as tailgate and whirl . cyclonus didn't understand the hype and belief of having an old random man leave gifts in your house and eat your food even if left out specifically him . tailgate was thrilled though ,, a funny little old man leaving him gifts seemed so heavenly to him . chromedome and rewind ,, however ,, had different opinions . rewind was interested in this human holiday ,, whilst chromedome shared the same opinion as cyclonus . how were you sure this 'santa' guy wasnt gonna rob you ? and when you were sleeping nonetheless .

• rodimus already knew of this tradition ,, as did ratchet and ultra magnus . rodimus was quite ecstatic at the idea of having a christmas party ,, watching christmas movies and sipping on energon . maybe he could even have you sit on his lap ,, all cozy in those soft blankets and sippin on your own mug of hot chocolate .

• ratchet couldnt care less ,, grumbling something about how 'you humans and your holidays and customs' . though he definitely didnt deny the offer of going to this christmas party ,, it was nice to spend some time that didn't involve life threatening situations for once .

• ultra magnus ,, on the other hand ,, was quite picky about how the christmas party should be set up . he even tried to ban home alone ,, saying he didnt want rodimus to get any ideas from the traps in the movie . the last thing he needed was to end up in one the next day . though ,, the many outweigh the few ,, and so home alone was allowed in the movie marathon .

• now when you told him about the grinch ,, he wasnt sure if you were mocking him by saying it was an actual movie or if he should be concerned for what this dr.seuss guy was drawing . i mean ,, have you seen how hairy the grinch is ? or how the whos in whoville are shaped ? pointy noses and all ,, it was quite new to magnus .

• megatron ,, who overheard everything ,, already knew he wasnt going to be wanted at the party . it made sense ,, his past and everything he's done to earth and its people . though when you asked him to come ,, that you personally wanted him there ,, he swore he felt his spark stop for a second . he only gave a nod ,, whilst ravage bickered to him that night in his habsuite .

• whirl ,, to say the least ,, was prepared to fight santa . he was watching the santa tracker ,, waiting for the jolly fellow to pop up so whirl could fly down and bring out the big guns ( that brainstorm recently made ,, not yet tested out or put through a test trial so lord knows what may go wrong) . magnus almost had to throw him in the brig if he couldnt contain his sudden rage and fury for the old man .

• first aid was somewhat interested ,, never having celebrated a holiday before . it would be nice ,, getting together and doing nothing but watching movies all day . he hadnt seen movies from earth that much either ,, besides a few fast n furious ones here and there . needless to say ,, he was somewhat concerned for humans need to trash cars . he cringed a little on the inside ,, watching those perfectly good cars blow up . it was like a horror movie but for cybertronians .

• during the movie marathon ,, whirl tried to sneak violent night and black christmas in ,, saying they were also christmas movies and that they should watch them . magnus ended up throwing them out ,, saying no one really felt like seeing dying people during this one time of peace .

• drift enjoyed the nightmare before christmas ,, the claymation alone was enough to captivate him . then the designs of the characters ,, the music and songs ,, even jack's childlike wonder for christmas matched his own (in a few ways) . during that movie you sat with him ,, sharing a few facts about the movie itself . how long it took to make and how hard it is to do claymation movies .

• during the polar express you stayed with rewind and chromedome ,, snuggling in between the two and sippin on your hot chocolate . rewind enjoyed watching the train on the ice whilst chromedome puffed about how he coulda easily done that himself and saved everyone . you only rolled your eyes ,, muttering out a sure as you fought back a smile .

• during a break in between the movies you noticed megatron ,, standing awkwardly in the corner with his own cube of fools energon in servo . you smiled at the bot ,, walking up to him and having a small conversation with him . you didnt honestly think he’d show up ,, but youre glad he did . he let you sit with him during one of the movies ,, bonding well with the giant bot .

• he was quite warm ,, heat coming from off his body as you huddled close to him . he tucked his servo around you ,, worried you may fall off . for a few moments during the movie you swore you saw him smile at some of the corniest parts ,, or chuckle softly at some of the dumbest jokes .

• you took turns ,, switching between bots during different movies . you would sit in their laps ,, explain little things you liked about the movie playing and share a few things of your own childhood during this time of the year .

• it was nice ,, to say the least . having time to the bots ,, doing things that reminded you of home . it wasnt the same ,, but it was the thought that counted . spending time with them peacefully was more than enough for you ,, and definitely more than you could ask for this christmas .

[wigglermansblog]

Lost in Space

A/n : Transformers have been worming its way into me and I am not a really big TF fan but I want to be one, I don't know where to start with the comics. Anyways ...Imma drop this shit down lmao. Also, everything is random and won't follow the comics or anything.

----------------

Synopsis : A human explorer, lost in space with a goal to find her missing crew and find a way back home.

-----------------------

You're panting heavily as you run down the dark corridor. Blood is seeping from the wound on your side but it is something you don't want to worry about.

Firstly, you don't know where you are and also you have been attacked and kidnapped by humanoid robots. Your vision is still blurry but you have to keep running. Whatever weird drug they have injected in you is strong but it won't deter you.

Three giant robots appear and block your way with tasers in their hands. You dodge their attempt to electrocute you, you jump and give one of them a strong kick on the side sending them flying to his comrade. You turn to the other one as he shouts at you before charging towards you. You dive under him and push him to the wall. You grab the taser from his hands and shove it between the gap under his rib, he lets out a gurgle scream as smoke comes out from his vents before dropping to the ground.

You hear shouting in strange languages, you quickly turn around and run.

.

.

Heavy footsteps can be heard echoing through the corridor, you've hidden yourself in one of the crates in the storage rooms that they do not even bother to check. When you think the coast is clear, you crawl out of the crates and try to find your way out.

Your body flinches in pain every time you take a step, you clutch your side while your other hand presses against the wall, to avoid falling.

'This is...bad..' you thought.

Through your blurry vision, your eyes see the light. Is it...the exit? You slowly climb the stairs and make your way out. You walk around blindly until you stumble across an alleyway, you lean against the wall and slowly sit down.

'I'm going to die from blood loss....' you thought. You look up at the sky, wondering how your crew are doing and you hope that you gave them time to escape.

In the corner of your eyes, you see white and red. They drop on their knees and call out for you, but their voices are drowned out as you start to lose consciousness. You feel your body drop to the side as a pair of arms caught you before you hit your head on the ground.

.

.

.

It is rare for Ratchet to be out here at this time, mostly he would spend his days within the med bay drowning himself with endless piles of work. This is an occasion where he goes out to find stuff that he needs on this planet. He could ask the other bots to get it for him but he prefers to get those certain items by himself and doesn't trust other bots with the task.

As the red and white bot walks around, two bots rush past him in a frantic manner. "Argh! It got away! The boss are gonna kill us!" one of them says. "With that injury, it won't run far. Let's keep on looking" the other replies as they run off.

Ratchet quirks an eyebrow, what was that about? Oh, well. It is not something he needs to be concerned about. As Ratchet turns around the corner, his pede steps on something wet and sticky. He cringes at the sticky feeling and looks down, hopefully he doesn't step on something disgusting.

His optics widen at the sight of familiar liquid...

Blood....

He kneels down and inspects the blood, his optics follow the trail which leads to a dark alley way. He stands right back up and carefully walks over to the alley, his optics widen at the sight of a human leaning against the wall.

He rush over to them "Hey, are you alright?" he asked, it was a human female. He could see a deep gash on the side of her stomach, it seems something had impaled her and she's losing consciousness. Her eyes roll back as she falls to the side. Ratchet catches her in time before she hits her head and holds her in his arms, "Stay with me!" he calls out to her.

It's not good. She's losing blood.

He picks her up and quickly makes his way to the ship. He enters the med bay alerting First Aid and Ambulon, "Ratchet, what's happening and wait- is that a human?" Ambulon gasps at the sight of the human in Ratchet's arms.

The medic sets the human on the berth and starts treating her wound, he lifts her clothes and reveals the deep gash on her side. "Oh, Primus...what happened? Where did you find her?" First Aid questions, wondering what had happened to the human to be in such a state.

"I found her in the alleyway" Ratchet replied, his optics scans her body and sees that her wrists and neck have bruises on them, the signs of struggles and it seems she was restrained.

Ratchet wonders how she's still alive with such injuries, the old medic knows about organic life forms since he has lived long enough to study how their anatomy works and will try his best to fix her.

and he hopes that she'll live....

.

.

.

Ratchet wipes away the blood from his servos, seemingly in deep thoughts. He had transferred and laid the human on a much more comfortable berth so she could get as much rest as she needed. She is fatigued and starts to show signs of fever. All it needs is to keep her in check for the next hour.

First Aid is standing next to the berth, and has a worried look on his face. "She will be fine, First Aid" Ratchet assures the bot. Ratchet turns to his data pad, he gives the human a few glances before focusing his optics back to his data pad.

"Ratchet, am I seeing things or that the human is.... larger...?" Ambulon speaks up. Yes, there is something unusual about the human. A normal human would be around 5-7 feet but she is three times the height. Which was unusual, no humans can be that tall...

Unless....

Ratchet stays quiet for a moment, he puts away his data pad. Could it be that she came from a different universe? There is a possibility, space travel can do a lot of things and there are chances to get sent into a different universe.

Then, he remembers the two bots he comes across. Were they looking for her? Are they traffickers? He heard about cybertronians selling humans in auctions, it was cruel and unforgiving. To take someone away from their home, sell them for money and she has become one of those unfortunate victims.

"How are we going to tell the others that we have a human in the med bay? and a...well a big one too" question Ambulon. "I will handle it, for now we let her recover" Ratchet said. If the captain heard that there's a human in the ship and the said human is the size of a bot, he would flip in excitement and will bombard him with questions like a bullet train. He doesn't want that to happen....

"I'm going to get a few things from the cargo and Ambulon, follow me" he said, optics fall on the human's blood covered clothes, there are clothes within the cargo hold but he isn't sure if there's one for her size. He turns to First Aid, "Keep an eye on her and make sure nobody comes in except us" Ratchet said, First Aid nods as the two bots leave the med bay.

First Aid turns his attention to the human, he gently holds her hand.

"Get well soon" he said.

Timeskip

First Aid occupies himself with his own work, staring into the vial filled with energon. While he is working, the human on the berth starts waking up. A groan escapes her lips, causing the medic to turn his head instantly. Both eyes collide with each other, blue visors looking into (e/c) eyes that is filled with shock.

"Ah, you're awake! I'm so glad-" the human picks up the closest thing to her which was the monitor and throws it to the medic, catching him by surprise. He caught the monitor before it hit him.

He sees the human slip past him in the corner of his visor, "Hey, wait! No!" he shouts out to the human. Hey, at least he locks the door—

BAM!

First Aid stands there, trying to process of what just happened. 'Did...she just...' he stares at the broken door. The medic snaps out of his thoughts before running after her, he had to admit that the human is fast on her feet!

She's already down the hall before turning around the corner.

As soon First Aid reaches the corner, the human is already gone. He presses his finger on his comm link to contact the medic officer.

"Sir...I have good news and bad news. It's about the human....the good news is, she woke up and the bad news is....." First Aid takes a breath.

"She ran away..." he said.

.

.

.

.

The moment you wake up, you are shocked to see the change of environment. Instead of a dirty alleyway, it was a room that is similar to a hospital. You hear something and the moment you turn your head, you see a red and white robot talking to you with a smile on his face.

You don't understand what language he's talking about but it is similar to the sound of an engine or machines. The moment the robot starts approaching you, your first instinct was to throw something at him which caught him off guard and you sprint past him.  

You have to get out and find your crew.

You skid to a stop when you pass by a large window, you look out and gasp. "Shit! How in the world am I going back?!" you finally realised that you are now on a ship that's floating in outer space. You know nothing about space but you know that there is no air out there and you will die once you step out of this ship.

You hear a gasp, you crane your neck to your left and see a short white and red bot. He is shorter than you and has a bulky frame. The bot start stammering at the sight of you. You couldn't see his eyes since it's hidden behind blue visors but surely he is shocked at the sight of you.

"A-A—human"

"...."

"A human!?!" he shrieked. Wait, did he speak in human language?! You pin him against the wall, caging him with your taller frame. "Tell me, what is this place?" you hiss at him, the robot freezes at the interaction.

.

.

.

Swerve was on his way back to his berthroom after a long day at the bar, it has been a long day and he wants to recharge. As he walks down the hall, his optics spot something down the hall.

Upon coming closer, he instantly froze. His body locks itself at the sight of a human. A really big human female to be precise, he could see her clearly. She has (s/c) skin, round (e/c) eyes with long eyelashes and has (h/c) hair that tucked underneath a marine cap.

How did the human get on the ship? Swerve started spouting words at the sight of the human, he was surprised.

The human notices his presence and cranes her neck to his direction, both locked in an intense gaze. "A human!?!" he yells and in a flash, the bartender gets pins to the wall which causes him to squeak at the sudden 'attack'.

The human is glaring down at him, eyes narrowing as she grits her teeth. "Tell me, what is this place?" she asked. He doesn't know what to feel about this situation.

Being caged in by a large human is something....

"You're in...our ship...." Swerve answer, "And where is it heading?" she asked again. "Well, nowhere in particular....as for now" he said. The gaze from the human becomes intense and Swerve feels his body froze like a statue and he couldn't look away from her eyes. Something about them prevents him from looking away. She closes her eyes as she cusses under her breath.

His body relaxes after she turns her gaze away from him, his optics land on her side and see blood staining her clothes.

"You're injured" he said. He notices that she looks weak and he could see that she's not doing well. Her face is flush red and she is sweating.

The human looks down at her clothes, she lifts clothes to take a look at her wounds to see it was covered in bandages. Blood already soaked the bandages after she ran away and might have reopened her wounds.

.

You hold your head, you don't feel well. After countless days within the cell and barely eating or drinking anything have weakened your body. With the wound, it makes it worse.

You can feel the concern gaze coming from the robot as you lean on the wall. The robot hesitates to touch you, you know he wants to help.

"I...need...to find...my crew..." you pant through heavy breathing. Turning your head to the robot, "Please....they...need me.." you said before falling to the cold floor as you feel your consciousness slip away.

.

Swerve watches as the human falls on to the floor with a loud thud, he panics and goes to her side. "Hey! Are you alright? F**k! Of course you are not—Swerve you are so dumb!" the bot says, smacking his head. He shakes her body gently, trying to wake her up but to no avail.

There's nobody within range and everyone already returned to their berthroom to recharge. The only bot that can help is...

Ratchet— yeah, that's it!

He gently scoops her into his arms as he sprint towards the med bay.

.

.

"You lost her?!" groan Ratchet who is in disbelief. First Aid drops his head slightly, "I'm sorry, I did lock the door but didn't expect her to kick it open" he said. The door is indeed broken but that is something not to worry about, they have to find the human quickly before the others find out.

"How are we going to find her? She could be hiding anywhere on the ship" Ambulon speaks up, First Aid turns to him. "We can use the security camera to find her" he suggests.

"I'm sure she doesn't get too far" Ratchet sighs, feeling worried about the human's condition.

At some point, they need to alert the crew about the human's whereabouts. Some may not be happy, like Prowl. Some may be concerned and some might become excited.

"Let's find her before she—"

"Guys! I need help and I'm sure you're going to freak out as I am—" a certain bot comes in, all three medics turn to the bot at the door.

"There's a human on the ship!" he said. It was Swerve with the unconscious human in his arms.

Silence.....

"Why are you guys not...freaking out?" the bartender question, filling up the awkward silence.

"Swerve...we already know" Ambulon said.

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