#first contact au

[mskenway97]

Well here I have another drabble in mind focusing a little on how Ih got there:

You couldn't complain about how you lived but on days when Orion and D 16 weren't around and you'd stare out the window you'd think about how you got there.

You were a scientist helping in maintenance, you had always been fascinated by space travel. You had put a lot of effort, days and nights studying for see more... Earth was not in its best situation due to pollution and destruction of land. They were desperate to find a solution before it became unsustainable.

To see what was beyond was your dream, to see the innovations but of course no one had ever gone further than a trip to Saturn and finding a compatible world was also complicated. There were ways to survive thanks to the new spacesuits that were like a second skin, batteries that would take years to break down. You specialized in those designs and configurations.

Until one day you approached one of the ships they were working with, they said it was able to go farther than expected...

Your curiosity got the better of you and you entered the ship, you were surprised by the lack of security. You didn't dare to touch anything out of the ordinary until you saw that the surroundings were closing and an alarm sounded and then everything went black.

By then you were already on their planet. You were still looking for explanations as to what happened when you fainted, were they looking for you? You asked yourself a lot of questions: was it a mistake, was it planned?

But you had to access the ship's computer which was fried but maybe you could reroute the power. Your thoughts were interrupted for a sound.

You heard the door to see D16 had arrived first, he didn't seem to be very happy. You moved from the table. You jumped and move your arms and hands , you caught his attention. His optics focused on you as he placed the servo on the table. You knew what it meant, so you went upstairs as you snuggled into his chest.

When he had days like this he liked to have you near his spark he wouldn't admit it but he liked to have you close as your hands gently touched him.

Your mind while I was between you had to know what happened and if someone was looking for you. But...

Did you want to get out of here? Leave them? Thinking about it only hurt your heart but you wished you could talk to them, know what they were doing outside.

You felt divided... They had kept you safe but you had to know what happened.

Your thoughts were interrupted as he nuzzled you. making you purr a little, embarrassing you on the other hand D16 I thought that sound you made was adorable.

You relaxed and let those thoughts drift away. Only one remained that they might not like your action.

You need to get back to your ship.

[pinkanonwrites]

Handle with Care

Rodimus has finally been allowed to bring you into a meeting to hopefully curb some of his rampant fidgeting problems. It ends up having unforeseen consequences.

First Contact AU! Rodimus/Human Reader

NSFW, DUB-CON, Accidental Stimulation, Rodmius has ADHD and you can pry that fact out of my cold dead hands

(Since this is a First Contact AU Rodimus uses Cybertronian words for body parts instead of human ones for you, but the Reader is a human!)

Rodimus knew he always did his best thinking when he had something to do with his servos. As insistent as Ultra Magnus was that his endless tapping, bouncing, and desk-carving was simply "an untapped well of craving for mayhem", Rodimus knew that having even a little something to fiddle with would make those endless, droning safety meetings into something just barely bordering on tolerable.

And since Ultra Magnus was also sick of his relentless desk vandalism, he finally gave the begrudging all-clear for Rodimus to bring his favorite organic to the meeting room.

"They can remain so long as they are not a distraction." With his soft little buddy cupped carefully in his servos, not even Ultra Magnus's stern words could sway his captain's notable enthusiasm.

"You say that as if they could be any more distracting than the bot carrying them." Megatron added.

"You worry too much! We'll be quieter than moon mice, right bud?" Rodimus ran a thumb over your soft, fuzz-covered helm as he took his seat. You were sitting comfortably in the center of his right palm, legs dangling over the edge between his digits. He kept his middle and ring digits curled up slightly to keep you from toppling forward, and you'd settled yourself in with your arms folded atop them and your chin resting against the tips of his digits. He gave you another soft stroke to the helm and beamed at the content little chirp you let out in response.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents. "If we may begin, we have a lot of ground to cover. Starting with the grievous filing system Brainstorm has insisted on using for the weapons bay. It flaunts any Cybertronian standard known to bot and presents a massive safety risk when considering…"

Yeah, if Rodimus hadn't brought you along he'd already be itching for a dagger to start carving caricatures with. Instead his left-servo digits wandered lazily over your helm and shoulders, absentmindedly petting as his processor already started phasing out the dialogue of his second-in-command. Primus, organics really were so soft. Even your little coverings were soft, he noted as he ran a digit tip over the fabric covering your torso. You let out another quiet hum, melting ever further into Rodimus's grip as he patted you.

"And if you think your petition to install turbo-thrusters on your private vehicle was approved, Rodimus, I assure you it was not."

"WHA-?! What's wrong with the turbo thrusters? Brainstorm already approved the prototype!" He sat upright and forward in his seat, left servo cupping around your back to make sure you weren't overly jostled. "And they'll look great on the Rod Pod, too. Already painted and everything."

"We can't have one of our captains blowing himself up meteor surfing just because he wanted a thrill. And must I emphasize the use of the word 'prototype'? Meaning 'unfinished and untested'?"

"What better way to test them than on my ship?" 

"Do you want them listed alphabetically, or by order of safety protocol?"

Rodimus grumbled, a buzzing charge of irritation spiking through his frame. He cupped your back tighter with his servo to make sure you were still settled in as he flumped back into his seat with an overly dramatic ex-vent. The motion pushed your entire soft fore up against his wide digits, and he could feel a shiver course through your small frame. 

"You bored yet?" He murmured, knowing you couldn't fully understand him but also knowing his comments would needle at Ultra Magnus. "Or are you cold? You feel pretty warm." A single digit stroked down the length of your spinal strut and Rodimus startled at the sudden, shaky in-vent you'd failed to stifle. "What was…?"

"Affectionate little organic you've found for yourself, Rodimus." Megatron's comment nearly made Rodimus leap out of his own plating. The taller mech gestured to the way you'd wrapped both of your arms around Rodimus's digits, your cheek pressed against the metal tip of one.

"W-Well yeah! I am their favorite, after all." He asserted, though his free digits kept wandering up and down the expanse of your back. The last thing he wanted was for Megatron and Ultra Magnus to think something was wrong with you. That would just give them more reason to not let him bring you to meetings. No, as soon as he could slip out of here he'd take you to Perceptor himself to get you checked out. Hopefully you could wait it out that long.

But as the meeting progressed Rodimus found that everything that was being said to him was going in one audial processor and straight out the other. He was too focused on your movement, each tiny rock and wriggle. He kept the palm of his other servo pressed against your back to keep you snug and warm, though his own sensors didn't indicate anything out of the norm for your current ambient temperature. Maybe you got bored like he did? Absent-mindedly he began bouncing you in his palm, just barely enough movement to jostle your frame. The dull motion would keep you occupied and keep Rodimus from going stir-crazy with nothing to fiddle with. He was killing two birdbots with one stone!

"...And if we're going to allow Swerve to continue his antics, I must insist that he is at least properly licensed and certified." 

"C'mon! It's good for-!" Rodimus had tried to interject, but before he could he was interrupted by a strangled yelp from his palm. All three bots' optics were drawn to your form as you shuddered in Rodimus's servo, arms and legs squeezing around his digits and your helm hanging over the tips of them, hiding your faceplate from view. Your own little servos pushed pathetically at Rodimus's, trying to shove your fore away from his touch as you whimpered.

"You didn't squash them, did you? Rodimus."

"They don't appear to be harmed. Merely… distressed?"

"No worries everything's fine let's pick this up next cycle sounds good okay BYE!" Rodimus spat out a flurry of placations and excuses as he scrambled to leave, cupping you close to his chest the entire sprint back to his own habsuite. Only once he was over his desk, littered with your various human-sized furniture and items, did he carefully uncup his hands and let you sprawl out across a single palm. You remained lying flat on your back, fore heaving as you vented, helm fluff sticky with your organic-made coolant where it clung to your face. As you made optic contact with him you let out the tiniest, most pathetic whine as your servos flew up to cover your face.

"Rodimus…" Though you couldn't fully understand each other, you had settled on a throaty, metered recreation of his name, doing your best to mimic the mechanical warbles he had used to introduce himself to you. He'd heard you use it a handful of times before, mostly to get his attention. But now? Now you seemed absolutely distraught, whining out the word in a high, flustered pitch through your cupped servos.

"What?! What did I do wrong?" He blinked owlishly down at you, poking ever so gently around your form with a free digit. He prodded at your helm, your shoulders, your chassis… But as his digits trailed down your fore you whimpered, hips jerking pathetically up as he neared your pelvis. You let out another embarrassed squeak, one of your pedes kicking frantically against his digit with a metal 'bang!' to shove it away. 

Oh. Oops.

Rodimus wasn't stupid, he knew that humans didn't have armor plating. Instead you delighted in covering yourself with various colorful fabrics for different occasions and times of day, a freedom of self-design that he both greatly admired and slightly envied.

But Rodimus had never actually considered that no armor really meant no armor. Not even a modesty plate. 

"I'm so sorry!" He hissed, heat rushing to his own faceplate as well. Accidentally making you overload in the middle of a meeting wasn't even on the list of possible ways Rodimus thought things could go wrong, but apparently now it needed to be added. He'd used the vibrating buzz if his digits many a time on other mechs and femmes, but he never intended to use it on you. At least not in that way! Letting you slide oh-so-carefully from his palm and onto the surface of the desk, you continued to languish in your humiliation sprawled out on your back. "I really didn't mean to! I know you don't know what I'm saying but I promise it wasn't on purpose!"

You glanced through your fingers at his faceplate and his apologetic frown, letting out another huff. This one sounded less overwhelmed though, more resigned. You gestured for him to bring a servo closer and he did, only for you to duck your helm under one of his digits and let him pet your soft organic head fluff. 

"You forgive me?" You couldn't understand him but gave him a small, reassuring pat on the palm. "Ahh, thank you! If it's any consolation, I don't think either of them noticed."

But as he carefully stroked your helm with two digits, a teeny tiny part of Rodimus's processor was curious. How hard was it for you to keep quiet? Was the wiggling around from you trying to get away from the stimulation, or chase it? Were you scared, overloading in a room full of giant mechs? Or was there a chance that part of you might have… enjoyed it?

Weird. He was weird. And he was going to file those thoughts away behind a door in his processor to only be opened when he needed things to feel self-deprecating about. Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light, secret fantasizer of human overloads… Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well.

And yet, Rodimus couldn't help how little he actually minded that.

[michaela-o]

Clueless Tailgate is my fav Tailgate🥰 i either need a really heavy smut with Cyclonus and Tailgate fragging reader until they cry or really good book😭😭

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Desperation vs. Domestication (Pt. 2)

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 4431

Summary: Though you have been lulled into a deep sense of security by Drift's kindness and comfort, you still haven't completely lost the need to be free. A terrible nightmare refuels your desire for escape...but Drift isn't someone who wants to let you go.

HEEHEEHEEHEE I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE A PART 2 OF THIS...so I did. It's because Drift is my all-time favorite Transformer and I absolutely LOVE putting my favorite characters through angst. If you enjoyed reading part 1, then I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, comments, feedback, and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated! Enjoy! :D

Here is the link to pt. 1 if you haven’t read it!

Also available to read on AO3!

  Two months later…

  You dream of Earth tonight.

  There are fields; you are standing in one. Long Bermuda grass tickles your ankles with the gentle presence of the planet recognizing its own. The endless green is splattered with occasional droplets of color: pink poppies, yellow sunflowers, marigolds, dandelions. It is warm. There is a slight wind blowing, playing with your hair. You turn your face towards the sunlight and bask in the relief of knowing you are home.

  All of a sudden, you hear a sound. Thumping. Steady, rhythmic. Loud. You feel the wind die down and suddenly the sun is gone, and there is only darkness. A massive shadow blots out all of the light. You see a figure looming over you, red-and-white with bright blue eyes that stare into your soul and make you feel terror.

  You try to run, but find you cannot move your legs. There is nothing you can do when you watch a giant hand reach down in slow motion and pluck you up, holding you between titanic fingers. The monster’s mouth opens, and then you are tumbling down, right into an abyss of metal and isolation. The Earth melts away forever. You are trapped. You are alone.

  Shooting forward out of your nightmare, you hear yourself scream. The squishy floor underneath you makes you lose your footing when you scramble upward in a blind panic and fall into Drift’s stomach wall. Everything moves, the organ grumbling unhappily at you being awake. Your hands scramble at the mesh cables. Little pink bubbles of cybernetic blood pop anxiously beneath their semi-transparent surfaces. The walls close in to squeeze, holding you in a secure hug, attempting to keep you still. But you cannot think. You are scared, and you feel trapped, so you desperately begin to thrash and fight against the stomach.

  Drift’s voice booms above you, panicked. “Little one? Little one?!”

  “Let me go!” you shriek. “Please, letmegoletmegoletmego!”

  The walls loosen up, freeing you. You collapse into the fetal position, gasping while sweat beads your brow and your heart goes crazy.

  Drift presses his hands over his middle. “Little one, little one, shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” he hushes frantically. “Safe, safe…safe, all is safe...no need for fear…”

  Gradually, you calm down. Only when you are no longer trembling does Drift tentatively begin to squeeze you again. In and out, slow kneading, like he’s silently coaxing you to continue breathing at a healthier pace. “Little one…okay?” he asks.

  Your voice quivers. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay. It-It was a bad dream. A nightmare.” You sit upright and lean into the stomach wall. Drift holds you close, the undulating muscle relaxing you with its constant massage. His biolights pulse and flicker, a clear sign of his stress. You woke him up with your screams. It makes you feel bad, so you snuggle his cables further. The robot’s stomach is not a big place, but Drift likes to be conscious of you. The support you provide him in completing this task is obviously appreciated, because he hums softly and pats his hand over where you are.

  There is peace again. Peace and warmth. But you don’t feel the usual safety. There is a lingering pit of dread growing deep within your gut, foul roots clawing their way through your body, leaving you jittery, uneased. Your nightmare is the first one in months, and it’s a sure sign things are not right.

  It has been such a long time since you thought of your possible escape plan. You don’t know how long, but you do know that you can’t be comfortable here anymore. Your mind is sending the signals loud and clear.

  No more stalling, you think to yourself. No more being complacent.

  You are not domesticated yet.

  When Drift lets you out of here…you will go through with the plan to take an escape pod home. For real this time.

  It takes you weeks to perfect your plan. And when you do finally have it all figured out, you come to the conclusion that things may end up being more complicated than you thought. Escaping a spaceship filled with giant alien robots is hard enough, yes. But then there’s the issue of what will happen when you return to Earth. You don’t know how long you’ve been abducted. It could be months. It could be years. What if all of your family and friends are long gone by the time you get home? What if things are so different that you’ve been completely left behind?

  No. You can’t think like that. A sharp patting to your cheeks snaps you out of it. Keep it together. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Regardless of what awaits you on Earth, you will be there to face it.

  You’ve packed everything you own into a small fabric knapsack your mech gifted you during your first days here (Who knew robots are such good knitters?). It’s not much, not much at all: snacks Drift gives you, strange pellets that clean your teeth, three cans of filtered water…but that’s all you really require for the trip you are going to embark on. You don’t believe it will be particularly long. The escape pods need to have some sort of device that allows them to leap through lightyears to their destinations. You believe this because you’ve watched the mothership do it from the observation windows Drift likes to bring you to sometimes. Hyperspace will occasionally be activated, with stars and planets blurring together into dazzling white paint streaks before coming to an abrupt halt in a totally new galaxy.

  Now, do you know how lightjumping works? Absolutely not. Last time you were on Earth, no such human technology had been invented yet. So you don’t exactly know how you’ll get the escape pod to lightjump like the ship does. But you’ll find a way. You have no choice.

  Now for the hard part: getting away from Drift long enough to activate the escape pod and blast away. He’s not going to make it easy for you. Drift doesn’t like letting you out of his sight if you aren’t in his room, and hardly lets you roam free. You’ve spent hours, both within his stomach and out, pondering how to go about this. It’s left you with the agonizing decision that you’ll just have to wing it somehow.

  The door to his room slides open. You’ve been sitting on his berth with your hands beneath your head and one leg crossed over the other, thinking, thinking, thinking, that at first you nearly didn’t hear him come in. You sit up to greet him with more eagerness than you’d like to show. The nightmare didn’t stop your affection for Drift from rearing its persistent head.

  There’s no waiting for him to give you his time today. When he enters the room, his focus is immediately on you with no prior distractions. Drift walks with a spring in his step, his finials perking up like an enthusiastic dog. You notice a small white box he holds in one hand, and think nothing of it. Drift’s room is decorated with countless knickknacks from other planets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought some strange little souvenir home.

  “Hey, big guy,” you murmur happily when he kneels down before you. He settles the box to the side and cups both hands behind you, humming his typical car engine-purr greeting. You hug him when he draws you forth so he can nuzzle his nose into your middle. “I’m guessing you missed me?”

  Drift beep-boops excitedly. He gives you an affectionate tickle to your side, causing you to giggle. Your reaction delights him. He keeps it up, and pretty soon you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “D-Drift, s-stop! I-I can’t breathe!”

  He gives you one last light prod, then ends the bout of torture with more cuddles. You recover from the laughter, feeling airy and light like nothing else matters except for the giant robot holding you.

  “Little one,” he coos. “My little one.”

  “Mhm,” you mumble goodnaturedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

  He suddenly looks like he’s remembered something very important, and he straightens, chirping rapidly. You watch as he grabs the white box and, to your surprise, presents it to you. You glance at it, then turn to him. “For me?” you ask, pointing at yourself.

  He chirps again and nods.

  You take it from him and open it with a slight air of confusion, because he’s never given you something like this before. You think it might be a piece of jewelry, or some sort of charm. But what you see inside is neither of those things. You suck in a sharp breath of pure disbelief and go numb.

  It’s a collar. A damn collar. Sleek and narrow, its solid red with a single white stripe circumnavigating it. On one side is a strange symbol of a boxy red robot’s face-the same symbol he has on his chest. These are his colors, you realize. He’s making us match. He wants the other mechs to know that he owns you.

  Drift rumbles expectantly. When you remain frozen, unable to pry your eyes away from the collar, he gently pries it out of your now slightly shaking hands. With extreme carefulness, he clasps it around your neck. It fits comfortably and locks with a quiet click.

  “My little one,” he repeats. “Mine.”

  He’s not trying to scare you. You know he isn’t. Yet your throat is dry, and the snug weight of the collar makes you feel sick.

  You need to get the hell off of this ship.

  You spend the night feverishly trying to break the collar off, working yourself up like a caged animal driven mad by captivity. But no matter how hard you yank at it, it remains stubbornly fast around your neck. You refuse to eat the food given to you and cry yourself to sleep within a very concerned Drift’s belly, who can’t seem to console you no matter how hard he tries.

  Drift doesn’t know what to do with you.

  You’ve been moping ever since he gave you the collar. Over the next few days, any sort of drive to escape has left you. You're depressed and disappointed in him for what he’s done. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to accept any of his gifts. Blanket after pillow after plushie-all made by him, with the crude markings of homemade love-are ignored. You shy away from his touch and reject his attention. When he swallows you at night, you give him no inclination you care. You sit like a stone within him and just…stare off vacantly, unable to ignore the collar around your neck.

  He’s brought you to the ship’s doctor multiple times. On the first trip, the old red medic bot looked you over and finished his checkup with a shrug and dismissive chuff. The second time, he growled at Drift and waved him away. And on the third time, he didn’t even let him through the door. There’s nothing physically wrong with you. But mentally, how could they know? How could he know he’s hurt you? You trusted him to treat you with some level of respect despite your situation, and he had, until now. The collar was your breaking point. There truly is no way for him to ever see you as anything more than a pet, and it hurts you, because by god, you love him.

  “…Little one?”

  Drift calls out to you with a soft, sad tone. You huddle up tighter beneath one of your blankets and give no answer.

  You hear him shift at his desk. There’s silence between the two of you that is not wanted. He heaves a low sigh and tries again. “Little one…please?”

  Damn your heart, you can’t keep giving him the silent treatment when he sounds like he’s about to cry.

  You push the blanket off of your head. Drift slouches in his chair, back bent like an old man’s. His finials are drooping, and the glow from his biolights is dimmer than usual. He’s obviously been letting his personal hygiene go for the sake of finding a way to help you, and it hurts to know he’s in this state because of your shitty attitude towards what he simply sees as a gift. The collar is a curse, but you can’t exactly tell him that, can you? This entire situation is all your fault.

  It's the treacherous part of your mind which attempts to convince you of this. It partially works. Giving in, you sit up slowly, drawing the blanket tightly around your shoulders and tilting your head while giving him a questioning look.

  He’s surprised by your action, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to respond to this extent. But he takes advantage of it. Drift offers you a hopeful smile and picks something up from his desk. He stands and walks to you, going slow. You don’t flinch when he crouches down to your level. The warm light of his eyes leaves a kind feeling on your skin.

  Tentatively, Drift extends his hand. In his palm is a piece of chocolate, one of the many treats he has at his disposal to provide you with when he feels you are being especially good. It’s an olive branch. A reach in the right direction.

  You hesitate…and then you think, Oh, what the hell. Staying mad at Drift when he has no clue he’s done something wrong in the first place won’t get you anywhere. So you accept the candy and take a small bite.

  He sags with relief, exhaust whooshing from his nose as he watches you eat with a smile. When you're finished, he moves his hand closer, twining the palm around you and resting the tips of his digits against your head and sides. You hold his index finger, resting your forehead against it and closing your eyes as a sign of trust. But you feel guilty.

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing he won’t understand. But you say it anyway. “I love you. I love you so, so much. But you're destroying me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

  A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t notice it until Drift gently brushes it away.

  “I have to go.” Your voice breaks. “I need to leave. I hope you’ll learn why. And I hope you won’t hate me for it. I-I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I hated you.”

  Drift coos. His reply is indecipherable. You think he’s trying to comfort you…but you’ll never know for sure.

  He doesn’t swallow you tonight. You don’t know why; maybe he thinks you need a break. Maybe he just wants to hold you in a different fashion this time. You stay awake hours after he falls asleep, your little form nestled in the crook of his neck while he snoozes on his stomach with his arms crossed beneath his massive pillow. You peer off into the darkness, listening to his quiet breaths.

  For the longest time, you’ve thought of this room as yours and his. A space the two of you share together. Ours. It's fed into your delusional ideations of a future in which the two of you learn each other’s languages, where you stand on equal ground, you belonging to him and him belonging to you. A future where mechs and humans join hands and say “I see you. I know you. I understand you and you understand me. Neither of us is higher than the other.”

  But it will never happen. The collar around your neck is physical proof. There is no future between the two of you anymore. If you want to be you again…you need to let Drift go.

  You shuffle away from the bot’s neck and stand. The only parts of him that are lit up right now are the red symbol on his chest and the soft blue of his mouth. He’s so peaceful. This giant alien, who you know has fought in many battles from the scars you can see, is soothed by your presence. You, an insignificant little human being. The dynamic is honestly quite hilarious. You're like his very own version of a chihuahua.

 You want to hug his nose, knowing you will never have another chance again. But Drift is a light sleeper, and you're testing the waters enough already. You can’t risk it. It pains you, but you drop your arms and turn away.

  Using the metal ladder he made for you so you’d have easy access to his berth, you climb down and grab your knapsack. Quietly padding across the long expanse of the room, you make it to the door. It senses your presence and slides open. You force yourself not to look back when you walk out.

   You wonder if he will cry for you when he wakes up and finds you gone.

  The spaceship is ominous at night. The only thing you can hear as you traverse the hallways is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You're trying to be quiet; passing by multiple rooms with slumbering bots inside has you holding your breath and then letting it out in a forcefully slow, reedy wheeze. You are, after all, a mouse in a prison filled with cats; slow and steady and silent wins the race.

  You survey the elevator when you get to it, at a loss of how you’ll possibly find a way to operate it due to how small you are. A miracle finds its way to you, however, in the form of a mech. This one you don’t recognize. He has a similar color scheme to Drift, but is noticeably bulkier, with a strange cannon sitting on his right shoulder and a blue eyepiece over the adjacent optic. All of his focus is on the datapad in his hands as he summons the elevator. You wait for the doors to open and for him to step inside before darting after him. Luckily he doesn’t look up fonce on the short journey. Your cover remains unblown when the doors part again and he heads off. You go in the opposite direction, because like hell are you going to follow the strange robot to someplace where there are probably more strange robots.

  You slip in and out of sight, staying far away from any mechs who are awake. They do not see you, which means you are doing this right-though there are some alarming instances where you think you’ll be caught. One such occurrence happens when a tall, thin blue mech with a chest like the front of a helicopter nearly sees you duck into an open storage room for quick cover. Its single orb ominously scans the darkened room. You watch from beneath a large shelving unit, terrified out of your mind. You don’t move, nor do you make a sound, keeping a shaking hand over your mouth.

  Finally, after what feels like hours, the mech stomps away. You let your head fall forward respitefully.

  You know you're nearing your one-way ticket to Earth when you see bright yellow signs plastered on the walls with loud black alien words telling you to hurry left with the help of large arrows. Escape pod symbols, accompanied by a funny little robot mascot, are the giveaway. You feel a sort of giddy euphoria swell up within you. You're almost there. You're going to escape. You're going to go home. It all seems far too good to be true; sure, you’ve imagined this scenario happening over and over again, but you never really did believe it would happen.

  You pinch your arm multiple times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming. This is not in your head. This is happening. You really are going back to Earth.

  Your collar suddenly vibrates. And then it starts to screech.

  You nearly jump out of your own skin. The alarm is loud, piercing, and undeniably going to alert someone to your presence. You slam your fists against it multiple times, but it doesn’t let up. Your heart sinks when the realization of what's going on hits.

  Shit. He put a tracker in it.

  You need to run. You shove yourself forward into a full-on sprint, dashing down the last remainder of this hallway, then turning the corner and seeing the numerous escape pods all lined up in the wall. You choose the first one, grabbing the edge of the circular door and pulling with all of your might. The tendons in your neck strain as you grunt and slowly bring the door back with you. Clamoring in, you give it one last heave before it shuts on its own and seals you inside. You hear the lock click into place. The entire cabin flickers to life, with the lights on and the control panel booting up. As you expected, everything is far too big for you to reach. But it seems you won’t need to. A loud robotic voice emanates from the central console, speaking to you in the native mech language.

  Your collar is still going off. You don’t have a lot of time.

  “I-I can’t understand you!” you yell over the din. “I’m a human, from Earth! I speak English!”

  The voice pauses. Seconds later, to your amazement, it talks, and you can understand. “Language notifications made. Destination updated. Scanning…” A panel on the ceiling pops open, and a blue light filters out, washing over you. “Scanning complete. Species: Homo Sapien. Homeworld: Earth. Milky Way Galaxy. Status: Critically endangered. Suggesting immediate travel to Earth.”

  You clap your hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Earth, set the destination to Earth!”

  “Destination set. Awaiting command to launch LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01.”

  You are about to give the order when something slams against the door. You whirl around, your heart stuttering when you see who’s there. It’s Drift. He’s made it. And he looks horrified. With trembling fingers, he yanks on the handle. When the pod remains fastly shut, he pounds on the circular window with so much force the entire thing shudders and you think he’s going to rip it right off of its hinges. “Little one!” he screams, voice muffled beyond the barrier of glass. “Little one! Open…!” The rest of the sentence comes out as sharp metal shrieks.

  You stand there helplessly. The pod once again inquires for your command, yet you can’t find it within yourself to speak.

  Drift is doing everything he can to get to you. He’s like a rabid beast, clawing at the window, teeth bared in visible frustration. His biolights are going mad when he roars and sends his whole body into the door. This time, it does give a little. You can see some dents in the gray metal.

  This…is a side of Drift you have never seen. It is desperate, vicious. And it terrifies you. You stumble back to the opposite end of the pod and curl up, hugging your knapsack to your chest like a child squeezing their favorite stuffed animal. Drift continues his futile attack on the door, but pauses when he makes eye contact with you. His face falls. His fists relax and slide downward to press palm against the glass.

  He’s quiet as he seems to reflect on how he just presented himself front of you, then whispers heartbrokenly. “...Sorry.” Tears stream down his cheeks. His hot vexation melts away and exposes his remorseful center. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Little one. Y/N.”

  Oh my god.

  All noise ceases when you register what he just said. Your name. He said your name. He’s never done that before. You didn’t think he knew your name.

  He learned to say it. For you.

  Drift whimpers like a kicked dog, moving to crouch lower. “Y/N. Y/N, please. Stay. Stay with me. Please don’t go. I love you.”

  You’ve changed his life. You don’t need to be told this. You know you’ve brought him a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in years. You didn’t come here of your own free will. But you freely chose to love him. You gave yourself up and became his everything while he became yours. Isn’t he your home? Isn’t he the one who saved you? Can you really leave someone who cares about you so much?

  Your legs move on their own accord. Your heart beats with his and you take tentative steps towards the door. Drift twitters and gives you an encouraging nod, gesturing for you to keep walking.

  Why do you want to leave him so badly? Why would you want to throw away this perfect life?

  Your little human hands come to rest right over his massive robotic ones. You two are separated, but you think you can feel the warmth coming from him. Drift bonks his forehead against the window anticipatingly. “Come on,” he whispers. “Come on. It’s…okay. You're okay. Please.”

  Your hands are human. You will never see another pair again if you return to him.

  Your life is not supposed to be perfect. A human’s life is messy, and disastrous, and chaotic, and beautiful. His life is too, but not in the same way as yours.

  “Goodbye, Drift,” you murmur, voice breaking. “LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01…take me to Earth.”

  The escape pods hums and rumbles. “Command accepted,” it announces. “Preparing ejection in three…two…one.”

  The last thing you see and hear before the pod lurches forward and rockets out of its dock is Drift’s agonized expression and his wrenching wail.

  Your vessel speeds away. You get a fantastic view of the ship in all of its stunning glory. It felt so gigantic when you were inside, but from out here, you can fully comprehend its overwhelming proportions. You watch it rapidly shrink as you gain distance from it, until it's just another speck of light in the universe. And when you can’t even see that anymore, you allow yourself to collapse against the floor eagles-spread. You gaze up at the ceiling, feeling surprisingly hollow. There is no victorious sense of triumph, no excitement to return home. You don’t even know where home is anymore. Somehow, after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve come out even more lost than you already were.

  The waterworks start shortly after the escape pod jumps into hyperspace. Heaving sobs, messy tears, you lie there and weep to the stars, not noticing when your collar finally stops beeping.

[callsign-relic]

HI RELIC I’M GLAD YOU’RE BACK!!!!

If requests are open, might I suggest a sequel to the first contact Shockwave fic or the ‘Drift and Ratchet find an injured human’ fic?

Alternatively, if you’re feeling it, a sfw tasty AU Rodimus fic in which he finds a human hiding in the walls or wherever, takes them, and keeps it a secret from everyone else?

Thank you Tripleglitch!!! You’re my first request after literal months, and I’m happy to have written this for you :) For this request I’ve decided to make a sequel to the first contact Drift and Ratchet fic, which you can find here!

Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader, First Contact AU

The next few moments passed by like a blur to your weary head. You weren’t sure if your lack of vision was from your pounding headache, or from how the giant white mech held you cupped against his chest. The beat of his heart (or whatever his equivalent to a heart was) thudded against you in a gentle rhythm— it seemed to be the only thing keeping you aware enough from passing out entirely.

The only place you could look was up, and all you were met with was the chin of the titan who held you. Occasionally, he would glance down at you with furrowed brows, cooing at you softly in alien tones, but you tore your head away before you could lock eyes. The white mech was kinder than the red one who held you before, sure, but you still felt a pit in your stomach form each time you looked into his piercing blue eyes.

There’s a sound of shifting metal, and suddenly you’re squinting from the intruding light. No longer are you wrapped in the radiating warmth of Drift’s big servos, but you’re placed down onto a cool, stainless steel rolling desk. You fold your legs underneath you and rub at your arms at the sudden drop in temperature, sucking in air through your teeth with each touch to your bruised skin.

Above you, Drift watches. You try not to look.

“Poor thing must be freezing,” Drift’s dermas pout to the side.

“Really?” Ratchet asks, too busy pressing buttons and configuring settings on a scanning machine to look for himself. “How can you tell?”

“It’s shivering,” the samurai gestures a hand towards you, causing you to flinch back, but the mech hardly notices as he addresses the CMO. “Maybe it’s trying to warm itself up.”

“It would make sense,” Ratchet hums from behind the console. “Some organics, the energon that runs through them— it flows at a temperature warm enough that keeps their whole frames warm. If they’re in cold enough conditions, that natural warmth from inside them isn’t enough to keep them warm.”

Drift lets out a small gasp at that. “Then we should hurry! We don’t want it freezing to death.” The samurai hurries to Ratchet’s side, examining the screen the medic was working on. Ratchet lifts his arms at Drift’s sudden intrusion, staring at him bewilderedly— but Drift’s too focused on the console to notice. “Is the scanner ready yet??”

“It would be if you didn’t butt in the way—“ The medic shoves his white plated partner to the side— not very roughly, but still enough to get him out of the way. With a last few swipes to the screen, the scanning machine hums to life. You jump back at the sudden noise, scrambling as far back as you can from the alien mechanism.

Drift notices, moving away from behind the scanner to reach a servo out behind you— prepared to catch you if you happened to make a fall off of the rolling table. But thankfully, you stop just a few relative feet away from the edge. Still, you don’t budge.

“Come on, little one, it’s alright,” Drift urges sweetly, slowly bringing one of his hands up from behind you to push you forwards. You gasp at the sudden contact, a scream tearing through your throat as you push back against the massive hand. You may have been injured, sure, but there was no way you were going to let two gigantic aliens push you into a machine that you had no idea of it what it could do. For all you knew, you were being ferried into your death.

“What’s the matter?” Ratchet asks, peeking his helm out from behind the screen. “Just get it in there, already.”

“I’m trying,” Drift insists, “but it’s fighting back. It doesn’t want to go inside.”

“What does it matter how it’s reacting? Just get it in and it’ll see for itself that it’s fine.”

“Ratchet, we’re trying to gain its trust! Forcing it to do something it doesn’t want to do, safe or not, isn’t the way to do that.”

As the two titans debated above you, the samurai’s white servo inched you ever closer into the machine. You try pushing back, but all of your weight combined isn’t enough to even budge the force of the mech’s hand. The eerie blue glow of the machine rapidly approaching, you close your eyes as you’re pushed inside, bracing for impact.

“Oh,” Drift realizes, pulling his hand away. “They’re inside.”

Blue light washes over you once, then twice, then a third time. Agonizingly slow, with a low, droning hum— you close your eyes, expecting the worst. Only, after those few swipes of the machine’s light… nothing happens. You dare to crack open an eye, and are only met with the lights of the medbay.

“Well, Ratchet? What does it say?” Drift comes to Ratchet’s side once more, optics scanning the scanner’s screen impatiently.

“Just give it a second, there are countless organic species this thing could be, after all.” Ratchet steps to the side a bit, allowing the samurai more space to stand. Or, more accurately, allowing the medic more room for himself to breathe. After a few moments, awaiting in bated breath, the scanner chirps out a beep. The results had come in.

Ratchet leans in, studying the text as it all pours in. “‘Species: human’… ‘planet of origin: earth’… hm, and just how far is that from Cybertr— WHAT?!” The medic’s jaw drops as the scanner answers the question for him— thousands upon thousands of lightyears.

“That far…?” Drift repeats Ratchet’s sentiment, he could hardly believe it himself.

“Then how could it ended up on the ship??” Ratchet continues, looking to you, hugging your knees on the steel table. “I doubt we could have picked it up before our initial launch, but on all the planets we’ve visited this far, I don’t recall seeing any humans…”

“How hardly matters anymore, doc,” Drift replies, stepping out from behind the scanner to approach you once more. You look up at the massive white mech, hesitant still. The samurai gazes down at you with soft optics and furrowed brows, but tries to offer you a little smile all the same. “We have to return it home. The poor thing must be terrified, so far away from its home.”

Ratchet grunts, “Well, I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on. But I’m not certain the other two captains want to change trajectory all for a single human.” Raising a servo to his temple as he steps forward too, the red bot huffs out a small sigh. “We’d go way off course, we’d get further behind on our mission than we already are.”

As Ratchet spoke, Drift lowered his hands down— not grabbing you, only offering them down for you to inspect. Your gaze flicks between Drift’s hands and his face, as if you were waiting for him to jump out at you any moment. But he doesn’t. The spectralist simply waits, watching your every move with patience. Maybe he wanted you to climb on of your own accord, this time?

Despite how every instinct in your body told you no, you swallowed it all down and moved forward anyway. You raise one of your feet, placing it down onto the platform of Drift’s hand. Then you did the same with your other foot. All the way until you were centered in the mech’s palm. Above you, Drift smiles, bringing his other hand beside you to give you a wider platform.

“Well, we’ll just have to try,” Drift declares. Slowly, he starts to raise you up towards his chest, to where Ratchet leans in a little to get a better look at you as well. You back away from the red mech— with how roughly he handled you, you still weren’t sure if you could trust him. “I’m a captain on the ship too, you know. I’m certain Rodimus and Megatron would at least be willing to hear me out.”

Ratchet responds with an unsure hum, focusing his optics down on the little creature Drift carried within his servos. Your eyes widen at the sudden attention, and you quickly turn your head, hoping the medic takes the hint and pulls away his burning gaze. “If they say no, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Drift snorts, “C’mon, doc, who do you take me for? Besides,” and his free servo is raising up again, this time extending a single digit to you. You lean away, staring at it cautiously. You weren’t sure what this meant… but if offering your finger meant the same thing as it did on earth, then, you might as well be polite to the alien who was kindest to you. Tentatively, you place your comparatively tiny hands atop the top of the offered digit, shaking it a little. Drift beams. “We’ll take care of it as long as it’s on the ship.”

“Wha— what do you mean, ‘we’?!” Ratchet leans back, incredulous. But when Drift doesn’t reply, his attention solely focused on you in his hand, the medic’s dermas straighten out to a thin line. “Ugh… you’re killin’ me, kid. Fine. We’ll both watch it.”

Finally, Drift turns his helm, ecstatic. “Really?! Oh, thank you, doc!”

“Yeah, yeah, only cause I wouldn’t trust this thing under anyone else’s watch.” As Drift coos at you, excited to be able to keep you safe, Ratchet’s own gaze flits lazily to you. You notice, looking back up at him, and trying not to squirm away. The medic only sighs, offering you a slight, albeit tired, smile.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us for now, little one.”

[wifetomegatron]

i want to spoil megatron ( imagine, megatron / reader, first contact au)

My head is about to split open after my exam, but I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to spoil Megatron. To shower him with affection, gift him with luxury, and drape him in all the finest silks — mulberry and tussar, hand-picked and crafted from mollusks living in the deepest trenches of the Earth and worms hiding in the highest corners of the conifer forests. A part of him would be against it.

It was wrong. He refused for fear that such amenities were born out of inequality. You tell him that while such disparity exists in your world and that everyone should campaign against it and give relief when they can, you were not a billionaire controlling the flow of commerce, the railways, or the traffic in the air. And so letting himself indulge in a part of your world will not poison the soil or kill the trees. It won't send anyone into the hospital if you were to commission a sixty-foot-tall ergonomic chair made purely out of titanium metal for him to relax on while he reads. It would probably give the architect a headache, but it wasn't like you weren't paying them handsomely. (And any engineer or scientist would be thrilled to experiment, take a look at Brainstorm.)

Such symbiosis is one example of how there is a way for the finer things in life not to come at the expense of someone's pain.

It could just be the little pleasures in life.

Such as soaking for hours on end inside your bathtub. The hot, rose-infused water engulfs your body as you embrace one another. The mist rising off the water flushed your cheeks and soaked his cables — laughter echoing down the marble tiles. You had fallen asleep against him twice, and he was happy to hold you against his lap with a servo cradled across your chin to keep your head afloat.

It could also be sinking against the king mattress; his weight supported by the metal inserted in between the frames. Megatron thought it was excessive. The cost of fusing a recharging slab with all the soft padding must be expensive, and yet you had waved him off, beckoning him to lay down — and never before did he feel like staying in one spot forever. And never again did you hear him complain, content in stretching his arm out in the morning to pull you close to him, secure and pressed against his chassis as the sheets pile around like clouds. He didn't know such softness existed, and you pampered him with more — bits and pieces of comfort he doesn't feel deserving of.

As if he had invaded your castle, Megatron felt like an outsider to a life of feathers and flowers.

And yet you insisted. Comfort, safety, stability — these must all be so foreign and new and strange to him. Eons of working in the mines, of conflict and war. If anything, you feel a little lacking in your generosity. You always want to give the best for him. And so you never refuse your lover, even when he sheepishly asks whether you could get him a few physical copies of his latest binge.

He woke up to construction workers greeting him cheerfully, installing shelves and chandeliers in the library you had bought overnight for him. Megatron could only gawk by the stairs, speechless as you walked back and forth to oversee the truckloads of books in the mansion's driveway. Is this what you wanted? You asked innocently. And the ex-warlord had to curl his servos to fight back the urge to pick you up and smother you. No, he'll find a way to thank you later.

For now, Megatron is overwhelmed with your love and how it flows endlessly, almost heady at how his wishes are only a snap of fingers away with you as his lover. Forever will the guilt linger and consume him, but the shine of your smile always seems to chase their shadows away — brilliant like the set of pearls hanging off your ears. 

( basically, if megatron has a rich human s/o lol )

[tripleglitchwriting]

I saw that the request is open, so I thought. How about a first contact au with rotb optimus? I've always liked that old bot haha

Hell yeah I rewatched the movie for this. Sorry it took longer for me to actually write this than I anticipated 😅

Some Things Are More Important

CW: Unintentional fearplay, calling a person “it” (also unintentionally)

Ah, the junkyard. A beautiful array of scrap metal glinting under the sun day after day, perfect for welding and crafting. For the longest time the atmosphere of the place put you off, but your drive to create overtook your fear and replaced it with passion.

The day your life changed was no different than any other. You took your time packing your things, preparing to scavenge once again, though the evening sun was already threatening to advance further down the sky. You didn’t need much, it wasn’t a far trip and certainly not a difficult one. You left in good time, pushing down the uneasy feeling you got when you stepped outside the house.

There was a specific piece of metal you were looking for, one you saw a couple days ago but wouldn’t fit in your cart due to how full it had been. It was the perfect size and shape for what you needed, of course you had to leave behind the one thing you needed now, though it couldn’t hurt to pick up some other materials while you were at it. Masterfully navigating your way through the junk was a special talent of yours, one you were quite proud of, so it struck you as odd when a random truck showed up in the middle of the yard.

It was red and blue, one of those trucks that carried huge cargo boxes and were scary to drive next to. It was pretty beat up, though you can’t imagine why someone would leave it here of all places rather than a used car lot or something. Well, you thought, it wasn’t your problem, so you didn’t treat it as such. You simply continued your search. There were so many great pieces of metal, you ended up staying there until dusk, yet you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for.

Now that you think about it, it must’ve been where that truck was now. Maybe somebody moved it, or worse, took it. It would be a huge bummer to lose such a perfect piece to your puzzle, so you figured staying out to look near the truck wouldn’t hurt anybody.

After around ten minutes of picking through trash, you heard a sound. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was unnerving to say the least. It sounded like metal scraping together so you brushed it off as the wind blowing on some light metal or something. Five minutes later it happened again, this time louder. Not long after it happened again, and by now you were getting pretty freaked out.

Taking metal from the scrapyard wasn’t particularly illegal, after all you’d learned how to do it properly from your law-abiding friends, however it came with a certain set of risks. Getting cut by rusty metal, stepping on a stray nail, or even getting robbed by someone who preys on scrap pickers like yourself. You didn’t want to know what the sound was and you weren’t about to find out, perfect piece be dammed. It was time to cut your losses.

You didn’t take two steps before it happened.

A strange, mechanical, alien sound rattled from behind you. You whipped your head around despite your survival instincts telling you to run immediately. Before your very eyes the red and blue truck started pulling itself part, little pieces forming a much, much larger figure. It looked nearly human really, if not for being impossibly large and also a robot truck.

A gobsmacked look etched itself on your face, not that you noticed it. You were a little preoccupied at the time, with the giant robot reaching a giant robot hand at you. Just then you realized there was a giant robot hand reaching at you, and you screamed louder than any horror movie victim ever could. The hand froze for a second, taken aback by your sudden noise, but when you remained frozen it continued its pursuit.

It was already too late by the time your body agreed to let you move. Incomprehensibly large fingers wrapped around your comparatively small form, gripping you tight enough to stop any struggles you tried to make. The thing held you up to its face, bright blue eyes shining like headlights in your vision. There were plenty of words that came from your mouth at the time, none of which were at any point comprehendible. To your utter shock, the robot seemed to notice this.

“Perhaps I have downloaded the wrong language pack… or I have found the wrong species…” It said to itself in a distinctly human voice.

“Wh- what the- what are- what are you?” Hooray! You got a sentence out. Your heart was not as excited though, as it felt more like it was going to pound out of your chest.

“So you can speak.” The voice boomed, knocking any hope you had of replying out of your throat.

“What?? What???” You rasped out, two words was better than none, you supposed.

“Did I… break you?”

“Did you- no, no you… didn’t. Please don’t.”

“I do not intend to bring you any harm, little one.“

“Then… stop squeezing… me” The grip immediately loosened. You took in a deep breath of air. “Thank you…”

“My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to hurt you.”

“That’s good to know… but, um, what exactly are you? I asked it before but… you know.” The robot nodded with you, a thoughtful motion but a generally unwelcome one because even the smallest moments it made caused you a bout nausea.

“Yes, introductions. My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” Optimus Prime… a strange name. Though it’s not like your current situation was any more normal.

“…I’m Whyen, nice to meet you. Could you… put me down, by any chance?” Optimus nodded, gently setting you down. He stood up again, but realized how much you had to crane your neck up to see him, so he resolved to a kneel.

“What are you.” However tough he looked on the outside, you would feel the sheer curiosity oozing off his voice.

“Uh, I’m a human.”

“Human… and you’re the dominant species on this planet?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I see. I was lucky to find a vehicle mode with your language on it.”

“I… don’t really know what that means but ok. So, what are you?”

“I am Cybertronian, from the planet Cybertron.”

“Huh. Another planet.” You kicked by the oncoming existential crisis in hopes of more answers. “Right… so, if you’re from space, why are you here?” His face suddenly shifted from curiosity to a grim look of remembrance.

“There is a war on my planet. Me and my team have ended up here on accident, I’m afraid.”

“Oh… well, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I have no intention of staying here longer than we have to, doing so could endanger this entire planet.”

“Wait, what? The- all- the whole planet?”

“Yes,” He responded in a low, distant voice. “Our enemies, unlike us, would not hesitate to destroy any planet if it meant winning the war.” You started at him in shock. In an attempt to avoid further panic, you decided to take a different route on questioning.

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“The Autobots, my friends.”

“So you’re saying… you’re leading your side of the war? Like a general?”

“Yes, to put it simply.”

“Wow… this is… a lot. How are you going to find your friends?”

“I… do not know. I was attempting to contact them before I noticed you.“

“Oh…”

“Do not worry. If the Deceptions attack this planet, we will protect it with our very sparks. A young species such as yourselves do not deserve to be punished for our mistakes.” Your expression softened. As this metal titan spoke to you, in gentle, deep tones, you felt strangely at peace. You felt silly for ever being afraid of him, like you’d known this alien for ages. He didn’t even know you, yet he was willing to risk his life for your home.

“…Thank you.”

“Do not thank me now, young human, I have yet to get your people out of harms way.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” Optimus’s eyes widened for just a second before his face broke into a warm smile.

“…I will be just fine.”

“Well, if it’s my planet at stake… I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah. I know more about this planet than you do, so I can show you how things work around here. It’s the least I can do.”

“That is very kind of you, you have my thanks.”

“Well, first I have to get home and sleep- my house isn’t too far from here, and I live alone so you don’t have to worry about anyone else freaking out. Not many people live around here.”

“That is good. I… apologies if I am too bold, is it okay if I carry you back to your home? It would be in our best interest to get to your home as fast as possible.”

“Ah, true. Well, I guess so.” He laid out his hand. It took you a second to climb on a stabilize yourself, nodding when you were ready for him to move. And he did, and you guided him all the way home. You hardly even noticed the junkyard and forgotten scrap metal you’d spent the night collecting.

Some things are more important.

[bugboioli23]

Hey guys horny time here

But you know how like,, first contact au’s are usually portraying the human as soft and innocent little babies. Now imagine the shock of a bot finding out that their precious little human can utter the absolute filthiest shit and can get just as charged up as any Cybertronian. Just,, without the charge Yk? Should I do a lil fic about this?

Tell me what bots to include and I’ll do it 💪‼️

GUYS IM TALKING CHARGED UP AS IN SEX. SEX PEST. HUMAN SEX PEST.

[ask-tf-first-contact]

Blog Start!

*last thing you can remember is the alarm as your shared escape pod made a crash course for an unknown planet. someone managed to get the distress signal out before the pod hit the planet and you black out.

....

...

..

.

*you're waking up. it's a struggle, but you manage. how long where you out..? where are you, what's that-

*the thing crouching in front of you sounds like it speaks garbled nonsense as it inspects you from a short distance. the other looks shocked, staying back

[mskenway97]

I got the urge to write more drabbles, this time I have continued when orion shows d16 to the human:

D16 didn't understand why orion always disappeared when he least expected it, in fact it had surprised him that he had found an unknown ship, he was going to know more about the communication but it was cut off.

It was his problem, he said to himself, but he still went to look for him.

-Orion, what are you doing? We have already been told that this area is dangerous," said d16 as he saw that he was carrying something in his servos.

D16 stood with his optics wide open to see what that thing was.... It looked like a smaller cybertronian, no... it was different organically...

-In the name of Primus! What is that? - shouted D16 scaring that little thing that had covered what looked like its head.

- I found it in one of the crashed ships, there was never anything like it. It's like a version of us, it's like an alien," said Orion stroking the head of that being.

-You've gone crazy! It could be poisonous! - said D16 as orion handed it to him in his servos.

-It looks kind of hostile to you?" said Orion as D16 took a closer look.

Actually it didn't, D16 noticed its tremors and something in its eyes.... Maybe it felt threatened? No, it was scared... He lifted his digit to try to touch what seemed to be its face but it was resisting a lot. Until he had contact and moved the servo carefully, making the sensation calm the creature.

-Careful, it's delicate before it gave a squeak... when I lifted it off the ground," said Orion.

D16 had never held anything like this in his life, unlike metal it was a nice touch.

- We should leave it where it was," said D16.

Orion denied - its ship is destroyed... it's technology I don't know. But it looks like this little is trapped here," said Orion.

D16 looked again at that little being, being in this area he wouldn't survive.... In an unknown world, alone...

-We can take care of it... until we have more information about it. But don't let anyone else know," said D16 while Orion smiled.

-I knew you'd grow fond of it," Orion said as he looked down at the little boy who seemed to be calm in D16's servos.

Maybe having it among them wouldn't be so bad.

[pinkanonwrites]

Somewhat inspired by my last reblog, imagine First Contact 'bots not knowing what is and isn't okay for humans to eat, and being overly cautious about anything and everything their charges want to eat.

Human: *chewing*

Bot: "What's in your intake?"

Human: "..." *chewing faster*

Bot: "HEY, STOP THAT!"

[michaela-o]

Told ya im working on something🥰 Tailgate is gonna learn something new about humans soon☺️

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Do you think Cybertronians would make funky little collars to put on their humans to show the human is theirs

Like imagine the mech stylizing the collar so their human fits their color scheme or they decorate it with little lights or bells or even add specific gadgets like a walkie-talkie so they can talk to their little one even when they’re separated, or maybe some sort of system that will defend the human if they’re in danger.

Whether the human likes this or not doesn’t matter, they’re wearing that collar no matter what.

Rodimus, putting the ugliest fucking red-and-orange collar on his human: “Look Little Buddy, now we match!”

The human: “I want to kill myself.”

[callsign-relic]

ahhhh! So excited may I request a MTMTE!Ratchet x Gn!Human Reader (first contact) where ratchet meets reader maybe they were a paramedic on earth and accidentally bumped into them? Thank you!💚

I’m glad to hear you’re excited! I eat First Contact up every time so this was super fun to write. It’s also my first MTMTE Ratchet request, I hope I captured his character well enough! Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader

In all your years of medical school, you never would have thought you would be on the receiving end of a thorough examination.

Physicals and check ups were one thing. Standard practice, quick and simple work done between you and your fellow human medical professionals.

But as you found yourself lifted into the air, the only thing holding you up being a massive red servo wrapped around your waist- you had a sneaking suspicion that this was much more than a quick check up. You might have just been the newest scientific discovery for a completely alien species.

Ratchet watches you squirm under his scrutinizing gaze. While field research wasn’t his forte, when he was told that this distant planet was filled to the brim with new, undiscovered life, he thought surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a look for himself.

What he didn’t expect was for the dominant species of this planet to be so… tiny.

With his free hand, he pinches one of your arms between two fingers- lifting it outwards. His optics squint as they scan the length of it, astoundment written all over his faceplate.

“Remarkably similar to Cybertronian anatomy…” he comments to himself, not that you could very well understand it. He drops the arm he’s holding and raises the other, examining it the same way he did the one before. “…and yet, at a markedly miniature scale.”

While he wasn’t exactly hurting you- a fact you were extremely grateful for- this was rather an uncomfortable experience, the existentially terrifying idea that sentient life existed beyond your planet aside. And while you didn’t exactly want to touch this gigantic metal creature more than you wanted to, you had a shift at the hospital to get to, and one encounter with a space giant wasn’t going to stop you. You spent all that time and money for a reason, dammit. Pressing your hands against the metal beneath you, you struggle to free yourself from the grip he had around your waist.

Blinking, it takes Ratchet a moment for him to realize what you were attempting to do. “Oh, my apologies.” In the blink of an eye he tilts his hand and unfurls his digits— his wide servo becoming a platform for you now. He hums curiously to himself, “Just how sentient are the members of this species, anyhow…?”

You sit there for a moment, stunned. How easily he freed you, an effort that took much more work on your part. And even though he never took his optics off of you, he didn’t seem like much of a threat at the moment… maybe you could try and talk to him.

The medic tilts his helm as you let out a series of noises unfamiliar to his audials. He raises an optic ridge quizzically, and after a few more moments of your chirps and trills, you slump over in defeat. Okay, time for a new approach.

Slowly, you approach the edge of his servo, and point downwards. The medical officer looks down to where you’re pointing, then back up at you, before what you’re asking finally hits him.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Ratchet promptly lowers his hand to the ground, from which you’re quick to hop off. As you step backwards to fully get a sense of the scale of this titan, even as it rests upon one knee before you, you have to crane your neck up high. You back away cautiously towards your car— sure, it was nice enough of him to let you go, but who knows if he would change his mind at the last minute?

All the while, Ratchet watches your movements closely. You seemed hyper aware of your surroundings and attempted some form of communication, so you must have had some intelligence. As the red and white mech gets to his pedes, you freeze as you grab the car’s door handle. Seeing you suddenly still yourself, Ratchet takes a single step back— perhaps you were concerned about his proximity?

The quiet click of the car door finally opening rings through the air, and you move quickly to take a seat inside your car. You couldn’t freak out now, not while you still had an entire shift in front of you. Maybe this was all just some stress-induced hallucination.

You chance a look at your rear view mirror.

Okay, not a hallucination, he was still there.

And as you finally drove off, making sure to never look back again, the doctor couldn’t help but find himself truly intrigued by humankind. Not only that, but intrigued by you.

Perhaps another visit to this planet was in order.

[mermaidmoose]

Finally finished some doodles of my design for a first contact au human. Originally had them in just an oversized t-shirt and pants but then my brain went “but what if you gave them a spiffy space suit?” So now they get a space suit. I like to imagine with this version’s original star-ship exploding they never had time to fully acclimate/unlock all of the features of the suit until stuck on the Lost Light.

As for their escape pod, after Ultra Magnus cleared it for anything dangerous it got chucked into storage somewhere. Cue human finally figuring out their “Track my pod!” feature built into their suit only to have to leg it across the Lost Light to get to it. Horror shenanigans ensue of course.

A couple more pieces with the human’s previous design before switching over to their new design.

The mini bot sleepover:

[skelswritingcorner]

A Vessel, A Stranger, An Experiment

A/N: This took half a week to write, and is significantly longer. Also, the reader character's canon name is Ailith, but I use Y/N since this is the reader character. She behaves like a stray cat. I mostly consulted tvtropes because the wikis aren't exactly helpful with getting a nail on the bots' personalities. Also, the translator is an idea I took from @tripleglitchwriting's Ignition fics,

This is a partial rewrite of An Unfamiliar Place.

Part 2 can be read here!

Word Count: 3K

Reader character is written with gender-neutral pronouns. POV changes and timeskips are designated with three stars.

Warnings: SFW, mentions of blood and injuries, communication problems, G/T (giant/tiny), mentions of unethical experiments

You knew about your injuries before going on the little ship you called home. It’ll be fine, you remember assuring your most recent client after you got your payment, I know how to mend myself.

Clearly, based on the spike that impaled your torso, you were indeed not. Your client didn’t need to know, you had the money to pay someone to fix you up if you can’t do it yourself. Perks of being a bodyguard for hire; the money makes up for any injuries sustained. At least the cloak hid that from the client; you knew they’d prevent you from leaving the planet if they saw.

You removed your mask and cloak, peeling your gloves off your hands as well as removing your grappling hook, and limped toward the mirror. Shit, you thought to yourself, the injuries are more severe than what you assumed. The spike in your torso was the one you knew about, but there were also bullet holes in your left calf. You checked your sleeves, mostly just small scratches and scrapes. Nothing you couldn’t fix.

Grabbing the medical kit, you went to work. Cleaning the wounds of blood and possible grime, then applying the bandages and wraps. The spike would have to be removed by someone more professional, you need to navigate to the nearest space clinic. Plopping onto the chair, you set the ship to go to the nearest clinic. However, as a precaution, you turned on the emergency signal in case a larger ship with someone more skilled in medicine could help. Hopefully the trip will be quick, and smooth-sailing.

Oh, how much of a fool you were. Oh-so foolish of you. You thought this was going to be anything but a disaster? You fool, you absolute buffoon.

There was a massive ship, you knew it was for something gigantic. How and why did you end up in this situation?! You weren’t sure what to do, so you kept the ship where it was. The ship you were facing was ten miles wide at least, and you might be its target.

Something grabbed the ship. It pulled you closer and closer to the gigantic vessel, until you knew you were inside it. Launching yourself off the chair as fast as you could, you hurriedly fastened your magnetic grappling hook on your right arm and grabbed the smallest weapons you had. No time to grab anything else, you needed to run as soon as you could. You held the handle of one of your smaller blades between your teeth.

Clearly, what was holding you was massive, footsteps jostling both you and your vessel, but eventually the ship you were in was put down somewhere. Once everything went silent, you cautiously opened the front hatch.

The vessel you were in was truly massive. Whatever crew is inside this thing must be members of species ten times larger than you at least. No time to dawdle, though. You needed a place to hide, and with haste.

Using your grappling hook, you descended down to the floor. It gave out midway, however, and you unceremoniously fell. Waves of intense pain overwhelmed you, fortunately the knife in your mouth prevented you from shouting out in pain. You’d check what happened later, though. You needed to find a hiding spot some distance away from your ship.

Holding onto your bloodied side, you scurried to a wall and started searching. Fortunately for you, there were some boxes that were open on its side after a few minutes of sprinting. You used your grappling hook to get to them, and entered one of the boxes. Now all you needed to do was wait. See if the crew is friendly, or if they’re going to kill you. Or if you end up dying from blood loss, which is the most likely option.

✩✩✩

It was Ultra Magnus out of anyone who noticed the object at first, and the blood trails coming outside of it. It’s an organic, and an injured one at that, he thought. Using his comm link, he informed all upon the Lost Light of the injured “intruder.” As they were minibots, Tailgate and Rewind were delegated the responsibility of investigating the interior of said object; see what it was for and if anything about what was inside could be discovered. Fortress Maximus chose himself not to look for the organic, for his size made it difficult for him to detect the source of the blood trails. That, and he didn’t want to squash them, so he checked all the cameras in the ship. Ratchet and First Aid were to prepare a berth, as the blood implied potentially life-threatening injuries. Brainstorm and Perceptor were to prepare some restraints and trapping items, in case said organic was being difficult. Now, to figure out who to find the organic…

Much to his dismay, however, Rodimus declared to find the organic himself. “I’m the captain of this ship,” he argued, “I’m going to search for them!”

Magnus pinched his enstril, a deep sigh coming from his intake. Rodimus has always been stubborn, refusing to heed anyone’s advice and acting without plans. Which, given the potential gravity of this current situation, could be disastrous. “I’d suggest not running off by yourself, Captain. At least bring one other Autobot, two pairs of optics are better than one.”

He could feel Rodimus roll his optics.

“I’ll go with the Captain.” Drift sighed. “I know you don’t trust me, but I’ll do the best that I can.”

Magnus grumbled, “Fine. You go with the Captain. I’ll remain by the object the organic came out of. Based on the size, they shouldn’t be too far off. Follow the red trail, and once you get them, bring them to the medbay.”

✩✩✩

POV: Tailgate and Rewind

When Tailgate and Rewind entered the ship, it was relatively empty, yet had signs of life. The blood on the floor made Tailgate panic a bit, but he carried on with reassurance from Rewind.

There were a few items of note, mostly the mask and cloak on the floor. The mask was birdlike in appearance; midnight blue in color with signs of wear. Mostly scratches. The cloak was a similar shade of blue, and rather bulky. There was a cut on the back of it, with blood around where the cut was.

Tailgate turned on his communicator. “Oh, this is bad.”

“What is it, Tailgate?” Magnus questioned.

“There’s an item on the floor, there’s a deep cut on it and… and I think the organic’s injuries might be way more severe than we think!”

“Ten four. I’ll inform Ratchet and First Aid of this.”

Rewind noticed a container, opening it up to see several weapons. Most of said weapons were blades. “We’re not dealing with just any organic,” he muttered, “this is one that knows how to fight. They could be armed as well.”

Rewind opened his comm link to Rodimus.

Tailgate investigated thoroughly, there could be a bomb on the ship. Every container he opened lacked bombs, however. Replacement parts, some stuff written in an unfamiliar language, and… diagrams?

Tailgate looked at the diagrams more closely. Based on the shape, the form was of a human. There were peculiar additions on the chassis, left bitarlueus, and right side of the midsection. Likely something Perceptor and Brainstorm could figure out.

“I found what looks like a recording device! It seems rather old, but I think it might work.” Rewind’s words broke Tailgate out of his trance, “We should activate our translator modules so we can figure out what it’s saying. Once everyone’s translators are online, I’ll play the recording.”

Once everyone confirmed that their translators were online, Rewind pressed the play button on the device. The words that came out were steel cold.

“If you’re listening to this, you’re on my ship. You’re a sneaky one, ain’t cha? I’ve been given many names; The Masked Merc, The Bodyguard Who Shot That One Guy’s Eye Out, and many other names. You’ll be getting my real identity from my cold, dead corpse. If you’re expectin’ me to cooperate with you if I’m alive, you better be polite about that. I’m willing to throw hands if you try to force anything out of me. I might be a mercenary, but I’m not one to throw hands just for the sake of it.”

The recorded message on the old device ended. The two bots looked at each other, and back at the device.

“Wait, there’s another button next to it.” Rewind pressed the button, and another recording played. The voice this time was much softer, and younger. Likely their first recording.

“Hello. I am Y/N. I’m not sure what I really am in this world, this is my first time experiencing many things. Heh, the consequences of living your first decade of life in a lab, I guess. I doubt I can find my ‘real family’ at this rate, if they even miss me at all. I’m a bodyguard for hire. Rarely need to use my weapons, guess some people find me too scary. Goodbye for now. If you see me, you see me. If you don’t, you don’t.”

Silence.

“So the organic’s a bodyguard. Y/N, huh? Must be a pacifist, from the sounds of it.” Tailgate pondered.

“Or is powerful enough that most don’t even try to challenge them since it means swift deactivation.” Perceptor rebutted through the comm link.

“WE FOUND ‘EM!”

✩✩✩

POV: Rodimus, Drift, and Reader

Once the two reached Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, and Rewind, Drift began checking the blood. “There’s a splatter on the floor here,” he mentioned, “must’ve had a nasty fall before they started finding somewhere to hide.”

Rodimus winced trying to imagine the pain. Why couldn’t the organic stay put until they got help? Weren’t they the one sending out the emergency signal?

“Let’s go find that organic!” Rodimus started walking while looking down at the blood trails, Drift swiftly following.

The two walked slowly, optics scanning for where the blood led towards and listening to their comm links. They heard Tailgate and Rewind’s notes about the organic’s possible injuries, the weapons, and the recordings.

Rodimus noticed a slightly open crate, where the blood trail ended. A squeak from inside was all he needed to justify putting a servos on the crate’s side, and opening it up.

“WE FOUND ‘EM!”

Well, you got caught. Took what you believe is half an hour, but better than dying. You weren’t going to hop onto them instantly though, they might try to kill you. More likely than not, they might not be super cautious. Especially the orange one, they seem like they’ll accidentally manhandle you and make your injuries significantly worse.

Wait, how can you understand them? Are they using a common tongue? You have some handle on certain languages from your years as a mercenary, but you weren’t sure how they knew any of the languages you knew. Nobody mentioned giant sentient robots when talking to you. Actually, they probably did it in whispers since most people are scared of you. Dammit.

The white one tilted their head, “You’re clutching your midsection with your servo. Are you hurt there?”

Well, shit.

You slowly removed your hand from where you were covering your injury. The spike got pushed when you fell, and is currently jutting out from your stomach. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it didn’t end up on the side of the subspace pocket the scientists installed on you, so you can hide that for a little while longer. Your hand, however, was covered in blood.

The orange one held out their hand, or what they called a servo. You did not trust him to handle you gently, and walked further into the crate. They grumbled, something about you being difficult.

“Let me, Rodimus.” The white one held his servo out, “I think they don’t trust you with holding them.”

You approached the servo with caution, touching a digit with your not-super-bloody hand. When they didn’t try to grab you, you slowly crawled onto their open palm. Another squeak of pain came from your lips when your injured leg touched the hand, though.

The servo slowly brought you close to their body, and the one you assume is Rodimus put a servo on the side of their helmet. “Drift’s holding the organic, I’ll go with him to the medbay and have Ratchet look at ‘em.”

“Percy and I will be there too,” another, more younger-sounding voice said, “I think I found something of note.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What did they find? The medical kit that’s pretty low on supply right now, your sewing kit, or…

They found the files you took with you when you escaped, didn’t they? All those diagrams and logs about your conditions and states, and how your body responded to the implementations. You should’ve kept that in the subspaces, in hindsight.

“Don’t worry,” the one holding you, Drift, comforted, “Ratchet’s a bit grumpy, but he’s one of the best doctors here.”

He’s gonna struggle with the spike since it’s so tiny compared to them. Unless he has some sort of assistant closer to your size, you’re probably gonna be the one to remove it for the doctor.

They started walking, Drift making sure that you were safe, and that you wouldn’t be jostled too much.

You heard a door open, and heard another approach.

“This is the injured organic? The berth is ready, First Aid and I will take care of them.” you assume that was Ratchet.

Drift walked closer to a large metal slab, gently lowering you onto it. A pair of smaller servos held you, lowering you so that you laid supine.

“What’s the thing they’re holding in between their dentas?” the voice from who you infer as being First Aid asked. You removed the switchblade from your mouth without saying a word. With a flick of the wrist, the blade went out, but you then put it back in its original position.

A red servo took the knife away. You wouldn’t need it right now anyway, but they better give it back once they’re done fixing you.

“We should take care of what’s poking out of them first. It’s incredibly tiny though, I doubt my servos can even grab onto it without slipping.” Ratchet prodded around the injury, making you wince.

You sighed, grabbing onto the spike. A growly voice came from your mouth, “I can remove it for you.”

First Aid grabbed onto your bloody hand, “You’re injured! We should be the ones removing it!”

“And you’re literally twice my size,” you rebutted, “I’ve had worse done to me. This is nothing.” You weren’t bluffing either. Those researchers have done worse things to you with their twisted experiments.

Ratched sighed, “They’re probably right. I know it hurts your spark to have a patient removing something that you can, but it seems that they have… experience with removing things from themselves. Clean the wound and stitch it up once they remove the object.”

First Aid looked into your eyes. Despite the plate on their face and visor preventing you from reading his expression, you knew from his tone of voice and body language that he was worried. He reminded you of yourself, in a way. That hyper-empathy that frequently decides to say hello when you least expect it.

“Ready?”

You nodded, slowly pulling the spike out. First Aid held your hand during this, not caring about the blood staining his servos. Comes with the job, you suppose. Once it was removed, a cloth was put over the gaping, bloody hole.

It took a decent amount of time before all injuries were cleaned and stitched up. They also made you digest some kind of liquid that Ratchet claimed to help speed up the healing process. Throughout, you were as obedient as a dog.

During the time the procedure was happening, Drift left. In his place, two other robots were there. First Aid was lifting your upper body so you could sit.

“The patient was rather pleasant, didn’t try fighting me or anything.” Ratchet reported to the red and blue one.

“Eh,” you shrugged, “You spend half your life as a lab rat, you get used to followin’ orders and getting weird things injected into your body.”

Everyone went silent and stared. Some looked confused, others horrified. First Aid stopped.

“Y’all’re lookin at me funny.”

The white and blue bot, who was likely the one who went into your ship, said those six words you remember hearing years ago, “What did they do to you?!”

Not this again.

“Based on those documents,” the red and blue one spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, “many things. I translated all of them. It appears that the patient,” he gestured to you, “was used in experiments to see if subspace entrances could be added to organic bodies for purposes of smuggling items. Clearly, they were successful.”

Welp, cat’s out the bag.

“Do these documents have any information other than that?” First Aid asked, “Where they’re from? Their name? If they have a family?”

You scoffed, “I was taken when I was a baby, as far as I’m concerned I’m an orphan. And I’m confident it’s too late to try and find my biological relatives, if they’re even alive.”

The white and blue bot covered where their mouth would be, “But do you know what planet you’re from? We can start there.”

“The documents say they’re from Earth, and therefore a human. From that recording Tailgate and Rewind found, their name is Y/N.” The taller bot said.

“Thank you, Perceptor. I’ll look over the documents once we clean and sanitize the berth.” Ratchet nodded.

You were exhausted from the chaos of today. Closing your eyes, you quickly fell asleep.

✩✩✩

Ratchet carried the sleeping human to the scanner, looking at the screen as it was scanning.

“There appears to be multiple points of trauma, both new and old. Along with those, signs of experimentation are shown especially on the upper chassis, left bitarlueus, and midsection. The peculiar crescent scar below their tank shall be noted for later questioning.” He noted on his datapad. “For now, it’s best that they rest.”

After the scans finished, he brought the human to a berth meant for the minibots, and sat on a chair nearby to monitor them.