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megtrns · 6 months ago

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thinking about the different kind of lovers megatron would be across timelines (nsfw!) (mdni!) (tfp, mtmte & transformers one) tw : rough sex, voyeurism, megatron being megatron

01. TFP Megatron is a callous warlord, if not a little cruel. And even if it was never in his intention to hurt his little human (because he's grown too attached to go through the trouble of replacing you), his roughness still bleeds into the bedroom. Sharp dentas, long claws: they were bound to leave marks on your body. But while they were never enough to injure, they were always enough to remind you that he placed them there on purpose. Megatron doesn't make mistakes ; every move is calculated and deliberate. Because whenever he runs his servos down the hickeys along the column of your throat, you can tell from the look in his optics that the sight gave him a special kind of high that not even dark energon can replicate.

He moves like he's been starved, bending you over tables and thrones, and sometimes, Megatron doesn't care for interruption. Once (without his mass displaced) as he was occupied with you in his throne room, a single talon circling your entrance as you sat across his lap, he had summoned a meeting — your back arched and eyes shut, legs spread open for his scientists and second-in-command to see. (It's safe to say that you and Starscream couldn't look at each other in the eye for weeks).

He doesn't make love. But on the days when he has the patience for it, and there is no urgency above the nemesis, Megatron moves with deep, shallow thrusts that leaves you on the edge of sobbing. With both wrists pinned above your head, he wants you to look — to watch as he slowly pushes into you. He wants you to feel every stretch, every delicious burn, unable to decide if he enjoys the sound of you begging more than the feel of your wet, human valve. And even when his mass is displaced, it still takes you some time to get used to him. Always, the pain was fleeting and barely there, quickly replaced by a growing heat that unfurls from your abdomen throughout your body. He treats you like a stretch of land for him to conquer and take — who are you to deny him? Under his commands, your body does nothing but surrender to the raw pleasure each time. 02. MTMTE Megatron would be hesitant , apprehensive about this new relationship between you and him. He would initially withhold himself, only going as far as peppering kisses down your chest before retreating in guilt. On the days where he feels too undeserving, he'll act withdrawn and even cold, leaving you to wake up alone — the imprint of his body against the sheets the only thing convincing you that you hadn't dreamt him up. You tell him you're sick of it : of the push and pull and the slow, dull ache that rises to your chest whenever he refuses to look at you in the eyes.

But Megatron was always somewhat obsessive. He used to want a lot of things : the war, the fighting, the victories. But you made him feel like that was another life altogether. These days, all he could want was you spread out underneath him : chest to chassis, heartbeat singing along to the thrum of his spark. The image of your spine, bathed under the faint starlight creeping past the windows, running amok within his processors.

So somewhere along the way, he gives in. For the first time in millennia, he let's himself want — the taste of your mouth against his was the closest thing to benediction he'd ever received. Like a sinner sinking into his knees, Megatron seeks atonement with his helm between your legs, glossa slow and careful as both servos knead the curve of your waist. He says he likes giving more than receiving, eager to please, the mech's always been a little poetic (you don't expect less from him.) But you knew his guilty pleasure was losing himself to the feel of your mouth against his spike, soft and wet, so foreign to his sharp and unyielding world.

03. TF ONE D-16 is curious, all wide-optics and eager to learn. He doesn't think too much about the consequences of misusing his newly found T-cog to displace his mass so that he can see optic to eye with the little alien who had escaped a Quintesson ship. As much as he tries to act as the more responsible one between him and Orion, D-16 is still young. And like all young and healthy mechs (yet to be scarred by war), he has the usual appetite for visual contraband that had been smuggled and circulated into the mining sectors. He has never been the one to indulge in...strange preferences, but he’s heard about them before.

Of wealthy mechs and their voyages off worlds, where they'd suffocate themselves in exotic luxuries and mingle with all sorts of alien species — organics, particularly, were always tucked away somewhere in the furthest most empty corners of the galaxies. They are as rare as they come, only growing to become a popular genre of fantasy for Cybetron in the past decade. So, realising that he had one currently sitting across him, so squishy and gentle, D-16 had to swallow his shame when the request to pressurise his spike pinged to life within his internal processor.

Somewhere along the way, as you two were being held in a windowless prison by the High Guard, you’ve end up like this : with your shirt hiked up and his servos impatiently circling your back to pull you close. While you both couldn't understand one another, there is a universal kind of language in wanting. And you could see a kind of appetite in his electric, yellow eyes — as if he wanted to eat you. From the staring whenever you're bending over or fixing your clothes to the sudden surge of possessiveness whenever the other red and blue bot tried to hold you. Now, the second you are alone, he shrinks himself down to your size. There was a silent question in the air waiting to come to life, and as he waited, the air had grown taut and thin with tension. It was a good thing you had nothing to lose, choosing to answer his question by taking big, bold strides across the room and crashing your lips against his.

At first, you struggled to slot yourself against his armor: the hard surface and edges just wouldn't weld with your limbs. But he was persistent, and so you tried your best to breach the language barrier and teach him, satisfied that he's already learning not to bite you too hard. It was rough and fast and sloppy : a lot of fumbling and bumping into one another. And by the time you both got the hang of it, you were sticky and sweaty everywhere, the surface of his metal armor heating up against your skin. He had you pressed down against the floor, ass up in the air as he finally succeeds in pushing the head of his dick past your soaking, aching cunt. You both moaned in relief, his voice a broken jumble of foreign whirs and clicks. He paws experimentally at your chest, the noise between your bodies wet and obscene. You two must've looked like rabbits, and you were too far gone to care, letting him have his way with you if it meant you were going out with a good time.

#this took the whole day to write whew #please don't ask me about the mechanics of d-16's scenario #d-16 #d 16 x reader #megatron #megatron tfp #megatron mtmte #mtmte #maccadam #tfp #transformers prime #transformers one #transformers #megatron x reader

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berracids · 1 month ago

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I love the idea of cybertronian ‘gut rearranging’ is ‘wiring rearranging’, just hear me out on this one

You are having your beautiful mech all sprawled out magnificently on your shared berth with his abdominal panel all open and welcoming for your your hands to rummage through freely throwing the colorful wirings they have,

Each tug, twirl and twist elicits a different feeling and reaction,making it unpredictable for each mech, for instance who would have known that the yellow wire upon tugging on would make them squirm this much?, even back on cybertron such a thing wasn’t common.

Curiosity starts simmering in you as you hands instinctively dove onto your beloved’s mech abdominal cavity in a grotesque fashion as your fingers take a hold of his inner wirings in a clutch, a violent jerk of their frames surprises you as their voice processors glitches and has static in them as they arche their back struts into your hands as you tug on their wires again and again, giving you easier access, as they squirm and shake uncontrollably with their optics taking turns into dimming and brightening like some wild rave party that the two of you are having

Now that’s an another way to do checkups on your mech instead of doing it in their vehicle mode like a mechanic

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capricorn-writes2 · 13 days ago

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Hey! Can I Get a headcannon of Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus and Ratchet with S/O that got infected in cybonic plague?

Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus and Ratchet with S/O Who Got Infected with Cybonic Plague

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I try my best to make the portrayal of their character based on their personality, and I would like to apologize for replying to the ask late because I had horrible carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand and depression, and I had to focus on finding jobs as well as therapy. Thankfully, I graduated in July from my university and able to get a quick 6 months of internship before leaving to find a new job.

Gender: Neutral

Warning: Angst to Fluff, sickness, mention of injuries and Profanities

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

OPTIMUS PRIME - Autobot

When Ratchet first tells Optimus you're infected, his spark clenches. He masks the fear behind his usual stoicism, but his optics dim. The Cybonic Plague is a deadly, ancient virus, and he vows silently that you will not meet the same fate.

Optimus spends long hours at your side, even when he should recharge. He watches your spark signature fluctuate on the monitor with quiet intensity. Every labored intake of your vents feels like a countdown ticking louder.

He searches the archives for ancient medical data, something even Alpha Trion once wrote. Sleepless and single-minded, he sifts through fragments of forgotten science. If the answer lies buried in the Well of All Sparks itself, he’ll find it.

When Megatron offers a cure to him but in exchange a cruel price. Optimus would consider surrendering himself if it means you’ll live going through Megatron’s database to get the cure. He volunteers instantly to deliver it, no matter the danger.

Inside your subconscious, he finds a corrupted image of yourself. It’s terrified, glitching, dissolving into plague data. He kneels beside it, shielding you with his own spark energy.

The process nearly destabilizes both of you. Your systems scream under the pressure, and Optimus begins to fade. But his spark surges, wrapping you in protective light.

After what feels like forever, your optics flicker back online. You see him there, battered and dim, but smiling just for you. “You… stayed,” you rasp, and he nods, servos brushing your cheekplate.

Recovery is slow, and he never rushes you. He adjusts your routines, brings Energon himself, and reads to you aloud. No mission takes priority over your healing, not even war. He keeps a fragment of your corrupted code stored away safely. Not as a reminder of the pain, but of the strength you showed.

Your near-loss changes him, even if subtly. He becomes gentler in the quiet moments, less afraid to show his affection. When you reach for his servo now, he squeezes back without delay. He lets you stay by his side in the command center now.

Sometimes, he wakes up from recharge fearing he lost you again. You always pull him close, resting your helm against his chest plate as your arms wrap around him to comfort your sparkmate. “No plague. No pain. I’m here,” you remind him.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The first symptom was a flicker. Just a minor glitch in your visual sensors, nothing big, just a half-second blackout that you chalked up to fatigue. But then came the spasms. Your servo twitched, then locked. The base lights blurred, the floor shifted beneath your feet, and Ratchet’s voice faded into a muffled hum. By the time you collapsed in the medbay, Optimus was already on one knee beside you, calling your name repeatedly.

Ratchet’s diagnosis was quick, in a second, and brutal: the Cybonic Plague. A virus from Cybertron’s darkest past. You barely heard the details, lost in a haze of heat and static, but through the buzzing in your head, you caught one thing: from your receptor, the fear in Optimus’s voice. No, he didn’t shout; he didn’t panic. He never did. But when he asked, “Ratchet, is there a cure?” The weight behind his words could’ve cracked stone.

You drifted in and out of stasis, each moment flickering between memory and dream. Sometimes you were back on Cybertron, laughing in golden-lit corridors. Other times, you were locked inside your own mind, fighting the virus as it twisted your code. On the other hand, the leader of the Autobots sat beside you, silent, his servo resting against yours.

When your vitals began to crash, Ratchet proposed a dangerous solution: someone had to enter your mind through a neural link and manually inject the cure. Optimus didn’t hesitate. “Prepare the link,” he said. "Optimus Prime, Are you sure?" Ratchet was surprised. The medic even warned him of the risk, of the chance he might not return, but Optimus had already decided. “She is worth the risk.”

Inside your mindscape, the virus had created a corrupted version of you. It was ugly, fractured, glitching, and afraid. Optimus found you there, curled in a pit of static. He didn’t rush to pull you out; instead, he knelt beside you, his sparklight flickering in the dark like a pulse. “You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice echoing like thunder through the data storm. “And I’m not leaving without you,” His voice was louder. You reached for him with a trembling servo as his hand gently held your hand.

The battle inside your mind was like drowning in code, each surge of infection trying to rewrite who you were. But with every wave, Optimus pushed back, pouring light into the cracks. He shielded you with part of his own spark signature, even as his systems began to flicker too. “Stay,” he whispered when your form began to fade. “Stay with me.” And this time, you did.

You woke to the soft hiss of medbay monitors and the familiar warmth of his servo against yours. Your optics blinked open, and there he was, damaged, dim, but alive. And smiling. “You’re back,” he said, as if those two words were enough to rewrite the universe. You tried to speak, but all you could do was nod, the heat of tears burning behind your eyes. He leaned forward, pressing his helm gently to yours. “I believe in you; I know you could do it.”

Recovery was slow, but he was patient. He helped you walk again, holding you up when your joints trembled. He sat through quiet recharge cycles with you, read aloud during your checkups, and let the others take the front lines so he could stay close. The war could wait, he told them. Because for the first time in a long while, the hope had won against the cybonic plague virus.

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❀

RATCHET - Autobot

Warning: The doctor is tsundere

The moment Ratchet scans you and detects the Cybonic Plague, his spark skips a beat. He double-checks the readings, then checks them again. But the data doesn’t lie, your code is breaking down. “…No. No, no, not them. Not you,” he mutters while already grabbing tools.

He doesn’t even try to hide how shaken he is, there’s no time for pride. His servo trembles for the first time in centuries. You try to joke about him being dramatic while the rust starts to form, but he silences you with a look.

Ratchet keeps a close vigil at your bedside, monitoring blinking over your spark signature. He rarely leaves your side, only to mix compounds or pace violently. The others offer help, but he snaps at them without meaning to.

He digs into archives older than the war itself to find a possible cure. Your medical file grows thicker by the hour, stained with energon smudges. He barely recharges, too afraid that he’ll wake to silence from your berth. Your steady pulse is the only thing keeping him from destroying himself.

When your systems crash temporarily, Ratchet genuinely breaks down. He slams a servo into the wall, a spark roaring behind his chassis. The monitors scream, and he’s barking orders at the others like a war general. No one dares disobey him when you're on the line.

He eventually constructs a prototype antivirus—but testing it is risky. Ratchet debates for only seconds before deciding: he'll inject it directly. If it fails, it could speed up the deterioration… But doing nothing is worse. “Better to die trying than to watch you fade.”

He injects the cure with a shaky servo, optics locked on your frame. You seize up, systems sparking, and he nearly overloads from panic. But then your vitals stabilize a little. It was not perfect, but enough. He doesn’t breathe until your optics flutter open.

He’s exhausted, hunched over your berth like a rusted-out frame. When you whisper his name, his entire posture softens. “Don't ever do that again,” he says quietly, voice raw. But there's relief under the gruffness, and it bleeds through.

Ratchet orders a full scan every two hours after your recovery. No exceptions, no excuses, even if you insist you're fine or if you just have a simple cough from dust. It’s annoying… but deeply sweet in a Ratchet kind of way.

He brings you energon personally, even if he pretends it's 'standard check-in protocol'. He triple-checks its composition, temperature, and nutritional balance. When you smile at him, He huffs and mutters, “Don’t get used to this.”

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You were just teasing him over another one of his grumpy lectures when it happened. A sharp pain cracked through your spark, and suddenly your systems seized up, dropping you to your knees. Ratchet barely caught you in time, optic panels wide in alarm, shouting your name like it was a medical emergency code. “No, no, no! Stay with me!” He barked, already scanning you with shaky, frantic digits.

The diagnosis was something Ratchet had hoped he’d never see again: the Cybonic Plague. A virus so ancient and insidious that even whispering its name made bots flinch. You were already twitching, glitching, fighting to hold onto reality as the virus gnawed at your code like rust in your processor.

Ratchet didn’t react with panic. No, panic was inefficient. But his voice lost its edge of sarcasm, and his hands never once stopped moving. “You are not dying on my table.” The others offered help "Ratchet What happened?!" Bulkhead asks with panic in his voice. "We can help you," Arcee tried to step up as Bumblebee buzzes.

But Ratchet didn’t let anyone else touch you. Instead, his optics silently glare at the other Autobot teammates and blocking them away. “No one knows their system like I do!” he snapped, the words heavy with something more than professional pride. "You all step away from (Y/N)!"

He worked tirelessly for hours, then days, ignoring recharge and energon warnings, digging through corrupted Cybertronian medical files older than Orion Pax. You were more than just a patient. You were the only one who’d ever made the old medic feel again, you're his sparkmate and the only one who could understand him.

Every time your spark signature flickered, something in Ratchet faltered. He’d pace the medbay like a caged beast, muttering equations under his breath, cursing the virus and whatever careless god had let it survive this long. He really wishes that time Megatron hadn't made a virus as the biology weapon as he remember all of those passing comrades who rusted away from the cybonic. Even when Optimus offered to assist, Ratchet nearly shouted him down. “Don’t take this from me! I have to be the one to save (Y/N)!”

When your systems dipped into emergency stasis, Ratchet broke protocol. He ignored the risks, activated a neural bridge, and entered your mind full in desperation and determination. Inside, your consciousness was a mess of static and corrupted data. He found you in the center of it, your voice distorted and broken, barely able to reach out. But he knelt beside you anyway, optics locked on yours, his touch gentle as he whispered, “I am not losing you, too.”

Fighting the plague from the inside was like performing surgery in a hurricane. Every data spike you sent at him nearly knocked him offline. But he kept moving forward, shielding you with pieces of his spark signature, injecting the antivirus into your core line of code while taking damage himself. “You're worth every scratch,” he said quietly, even when you begged him to leave. “Don’t ask me to walk away from the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

You came back slowly, stuttering and disoriented, optics dim but conscious. Ratchet was there, slouched in his chair, faceplate smudged with energon and exhaustion. When your hand twitched, his optics widened, and the relief that washed over him nearly dropped him to the floor. “You stubborn glitch,” he whispered, and for once there was no bite in his voice. Just soft gratitude, like your survival had rebooted something inside him.h

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❀

WHEELJACK - Autobot

Wheeljack doesn’t panic often, but the moment Ratchet says 'Cybonic Plague' his spark freezes. He clenches his servos so tightly they spark. He’s used to battlefield injuries, not watching someone he loves slip away without a fight. “You’re not fraggin’ leaving me,” he growls, already planning something reckless.

He tries to play it cool around the others, but you can tell he’s on edge. His optics flicker faster, and he paces like a caged beast. He gets into three arguments and almost punches a wall in the first hour. No one dares call him out, except maybe Ratchet.

He hates not being able to fight the plague with his blades or explosives. But he sits beside you anyway, blades sheathed, just watching you breathe. Because being there is the only fight he can win right now.

Wheeljack once storms into the medbay covered in Energon because he thought you flatlined. Turns out it was just a system recalibration. Ratchet yells at him for scaring everyone and nearly bleeding out but he doesn't care, he just wants to see your condition.

When Ratchet finally gets a possible cure, Wheeljack insists on testing it himself. He offers his own code as a host “Load me with it. I can take it.” Ratchet refuses, but Wheeljack doesn’t stop trying to bargain.

He holds you through the injection of the antivirus, despite Ratchet’s warnings. You’re spasming, screaming, nearly overheating, but he won’t leave. His armor gets scorched, his frame rattles with yours. “Easy, sweetspark. You’re tougher than this thing. Just hold on.”

Once you are awake when your vital stabilized, , he cracks the dumbest joke to make you smile. It’s so bad you groan, but it breaks the tension. Of course he does this is because he wants to distract you and himself from what just happened.

He actually hugs Ratchet after the cure works, and then immediately denies it. The medic bot would pushes him away, rejecting his hugs but secretly the doc was smirking and says nothing. Everyone at base teases him about it for weeks.

Wheeljack would secretly builds a private recharge chamber for the two of you. It’s lined with Wrecker badges and LED lights shaped like stars. It is a sanctuary for you two.

He puts your spark signature into his own HUD overlay. He monitors it 24/7, even when you're fully recovered. Says it helps him 'focus' but you know it just helps him breathe easier because after what hapened he became twice more protective around you as he tries not to show it (but it's too obvious).

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You didn’t even feel it at first. Just a flicker in your HUD, a small static delay in your vision. You chalked it up to a power drain or a bad line of code from your last mission. But when your limbs started locking up mid-step and your systems spat out unfamiliar alerts, you knew something was wrong.

The moment Wheeljack caught you collapsing in the hallway, optics wide and frantic, you knew things were about to get worse before they got better. He carried you like you weighed nothing, sprinting to the medbay with a speed that would’ve impressed Flash from the DC Universe.

Ratchet was already scanning your systems before your optics flickered out. His voice is grim, “It’s Cybonic Plague.” That’s when Wheeljack went completely still. Not in fear but in that deadly kind of stillness that comes before a storm. “You sure?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Because if you’re wrong—” “THE DATA IS NOT WRONG!” Ratchet snapped. "Get out of my way and let me try to save them.” But Wheeljack didn’t leave after Ratcher ordered him.

He stayed by your side like a guardian drone, arms crossed, pacing only when the tremors in your frame got bad. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, but the tension rolled off him in waves like a bomb waiting for someone to trigger it. His fists were clenched the entire time, even when your body seized and your vents wheezed like you were drowning on dry air. “I’ve seen ‘bots fall apart in my hands,” he muttered one night, eyes locked on your dimmed optics. “Never thought it’d hurt like this.” His voice cracked for just a second before he stuffed it down.

No one else saw that moment. He made sure of it. But you heard it—through the haze of pain and corrupted data, you heard the fragging heartbreak in his voice. The worst night came when your spark signal flatlined for 4.3 seconds. Ratchet got it back, but Wheeljack didn’t speak for an hour after. Not one word.

He just stared at you like he was memorizing everything in case it was the last time. When you jolted awake with a scream during the antivirus injection, he held you down himself, letting your thrashing scorch the paint off his arms. “Easy, sweetheart. Come on. I’ve got you,” he whispered like a promise.

When it was finally over, and your vitals stabilized, he didn’t cheer like the others. He just slumped into the wall and let his optics close. You’d never seen Wheeljack rest before, it was almost unsettling. He didn’t speak until you weakly reached for his servo, and he took it like it was the most precious thing in the universe. “Welcome back,” he whispered, smiling with that cocky lopsided grin that always made your spark flutter. “Told you you were tougher than scrap.”

Late at night, when the others were recharging and the base had gone still, he’d sit beside your berth and tell you Wrecker stories, a wild, impossible tales of explosive stunts and near-death victories. But there was always a pause at the end. A breath. A moment where he looked down at your frame and whispered, “Nothing I survived out there scared me half as much as this did.”

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❀

BULKHEAD - Autobot

Bulkhead instantly panics the moment you stumble mid-step. You’ve handled worse injuries before, but this was different. Your optics dimmed, and your balance gave out. He caught you before you hit the ground, yelling your name so loud it echoed through the base.

When Ratchet announces it’s Cybonic Plague, Bulkhead nearly shuts down. He’s heard of it, he’s lost Wrecker comrades to it in the war, and the thought of you having it nearly crushes him.

Bulkhead refuses to leave your side, even when ordered to. He snaps, “I don’t care if Megatron walks through that door. I’m not leaving them.” Miko tries to convince him to get some rest, but he just shakes his head.

He strokes your helm gently whenever you’re unconscious. It’s a side of Bulkhead few ever get to see, soft, wordless care. His massive servos are surprisingly gentle, brushing away coolant leaks and static from your face. Sometimes he whispers old Wrecker stories, just to fill the silence.

He threatens to storm the Decepticon base for a cure if needed. When Ratchet mentions the cure once came from Soundwave’s systems, Bulkhead's optics flash with rage. “Tell me where, and I’ll smash my way through if I have to.” The team knows he means it.

When Ratchet tests an experimental antivirus, Bulkhead is the first to volunteer to help. He doesn’t care about the risks. “If it saves them, then I’ll take ‘em all.” He’s the wall that keeps everyone moving forward.

He keeps a record of your vitals and treatment schedule. It’s scrawled in messy handwriting on datapads. “Just in case someone else gets sick. I want them to have a head start.” Even in your worst moment, he’s thinking about helping others.

When your systems finally begin to purge the virus, he almost collapses with relief. “They’re stabilizing,” Ratchet says. Bulkhead just lets out a broken laugh. “You fraggin’ did it, sweetspark!” The first time you speak after recovery, he nearly sobs.

He organizes a celebration after your full recovery, but it's more of a quiet hangout with the team. He brings Energon treats and music, keeping you close. The way he smiles when you're laughing? Pure sunshine.

He starts spoiling you with homemade energon treats. They’re not great. He accidentally makes them too spicy, too sweet, or too burnt. But he tries, and he beams every time you take a bite. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Even after you recover fully, he watches you like a hawk. He pretends to be casual, but you catch him staring every few minutes. “What? Can’t I look at my favorite bot?” he teases. But deep down, he’s still guarding your spark with all he’s got.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

Bulkhead had seen a lot in his time, explosions, Decepticon traps, close calls that would make any normal mech fold under pressure. But nothing could have prepared him for the moment you collapsed right in front of him. One minute you were laughing, teasing him about how slow he was on recon, the next, your legs gave out, and you hit the ground with a terrifying clang. “(Y/N)?!” he shouted, running to you so fast the ground shook beneath his feet.

Your optics flickered, static buzzing through your words. You tried to smile. Primus, you tried, but all that came out was a pained whisper of his name. Ratchet didn’t need a scan to know something was wrong. “We need to get them to the medbay. Now.” Bulkhead didn’t wait for anyone else; he scooped you up like fragile crystal, whispering your name like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

The word 'Cybonic' nearly made him drop. He’d heard it before, on the battlefield, whispered like a curse. It was a plague that turned circuitry against itself, shutting down bots from the inside. “ You’re kidding,” he muttered to Ratchet, his voice cracking. But the medic just gave that grim look he always wore when hope was wearing thin.

Bulkhead never left your side. He sat beside your medberth with Miko’s blanket wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders, your servo gripped tightly in his own. He didn’t care if the others thought he was being dramatic; he’d rather be dramatic than alone. Every time your frame spasmed or your systems flickered, he flinched like he’d been hit. It was like watching the world end, one glitch at a time. “C’mon, Y/N… you’re stronger than this,” he murmured on the third day, optics bloodshot from lack of recharge.

His voice was soft, nothing like the boisterous Wrecker tone everyone knew. “You still owe me that race through the canyon, remember?” His laughter broke into static halfway through, and he leaned forward, pressing your servo to his cheekplate.

On the sixth day, your vitals dropped, and Ratchet yelled something Bulkhead didn’t understand, some medical code, some numbers, some urgent demand. But all Bulkhead could see was the way your body arched, seizing, like it was rejecting life itself. “No, no, no! Stay with me, (Y/N)!” he begged, almost in tears. The world blurred, and he wasn’t the strong, dependable Wrecker anymore. He was just a mech in love, losing his everything.

When you stabilized the next morning, he didn’t dare believe it at first. Ratchet hesitated, then finally said, “They’re responding to the treatment.” Bulkhead didn’t say anything. He just slumped forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, shaking. You were still there. You were still here.

The day your optics lit up fully again, the first thing you saw was Bulkhead slumped in a recharge chair next to your berth, snoring loudly, with dried energon streaks staining his cheek. You reached out and poked his shoulder. He jolted up like he’d been shot, optics wide. “Y/N?!” he shouted, voice cracking. You smiled. “Hey, big guy.”

The energon tears shed openly, and unashamedly. Not the silent kind, not the pretend-tough tears. Real ones. He gathered you in his arms so gently it nearly hurt, rocking you like you were the last spark in the universe. “Never—never—scare me like that again,” he whispered. You could feel the tremble in his voice, but beneath all of it… you felt the safest you’d ever been.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

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deeznuts944 · 4 months ago

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Optimus came back from the dead to get a shot on that ex-con warlord's aft. (Both finally got undoomed by the narrative, so the wedding is BACK ON.)

Day 5 - Beastformers (but not)

Sorry huhu, i don't know anything about beast formers i'm a newbie in this fandom. (Finished TFP, watched Bayverse, and watching RID so far) What can only come up from that word is how Megatron in the finale looks like a cat then i saw this cat meme, so yeah.

Credits to @misqnon!!!

#transformuary #moldy looking ahh car #artists on tumblr #transformers #megop #maccadam #tfp #opmeg #tfp optimus prime #tfp megatron #optimus prime #megatron #i am still coping from the tfp ending #let me cope guys #can't find a tfp version of the running optimus png #the cat's expression perfectly encapsulates megatron's reaction in this scenario-

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1244950 · 1 year ago

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Bay! Optimus showing up to TFP! Megatron's live execution

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bots-and-cons · 8 months ago

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Just saw that your requests are open and would like to request an angst/no comfort scenario for Megatron.

Imagine his romantic partner defected to the autobots because of the violent behavior of the cons and was presumed MIA. Once both fractions are on earth, the s/o shows up and both meet each other again after a long time during a fight.

I hope everything is understandable. (Sorry for grammar mistakes, english is not my main languages)

A/N: Oh boy, I love writing angst and the little sprinkle of “no comfort” is just great lol. I also have this scenario which I wrote like years ago, but it’s also total angst with Megatron. I also got an idea for a part 2. Idk if I’ll ever get around to it, but we’ll see

He couldn’t believe his optics. It was you, it was really you. The video from his troops' first battle on this puny planet was playing on the screen and you were right there. You were fighting against the decepticons you had once been a part of, alongside the autobots and that damned Prime.

“Turn it off” Megatron growled at Starscream.

“That traitor, I’ll have them disassembled for this” Starscream hissed as he paused the feed.

“You will do no such thing! Now leave me!” Megatron raised his voice, not even glancing at the seeker.

His optics were fixed on the screen. It couldn’t be anyone else, he knew that frame as well as he did his own, or at least he did in the past. How many more scars had you acquired during your time away from him? How much had you changed? How much had the autobots managed to brainwash you for you to fight alongside them?

Back when you had joined the autobots, you had been lost. You couldn’t stand the decepticons and their cruelty anymore, but above all you couldn’t watch what Megatron was becoming. He wasn’t the same mech you had fallen in love with so long ago. You had tried to reason with him so many times, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. Even the way he looked at you wasn’t the same as it had been. There was something dark about it, something wrong. You weren’t even sure if there was love in his optics anymore when he looked at you. It was such a drastic contrast to the warm, loving gaze the two of you once shared. So you left, you left behind all your friends, everyone you knew and your whole life. You hoped that maybe you could make up for some of the pain you had caused by joining the autobots.

You had a reputation among the autobots of course. The partner of Megatron, the mech that was the root of all evil. The one who had stood by the most terrible warlord the galaxy had ever seen, while he had destroyed your home planet and slaughtered countless of your fellow cybertronians. You knew you had a responsibility to try to balance the scales. You just wished you’d realized it sooner.

Megatron needed to find you, he needed to know why and how you disappeared. The thought of you leaving him of your own free will had never really even crossed his mind. He had been sure you’d been captured by the autobots, that you hadn’t just left him, but now his faith in that was wavering. He needed to know the truth, and he needed to hear it from you.

Megatron was on earth. That certainly explained the uneasy sense of dread you’d been feeling, but when you heard Ratchet say the words, it didn’t make you feel better. If anything, you felt even worse. You had never wanted to see him again, but now he was here. You were on the same planet as him again, and you didn’t know what to do or how to feel. You would have to face him eventually, probably in the field of battle, and you didn’t know if you could handle it. You didn’t give him an explanation, you just left during one mission and never went back. You would never go back. The autobots, even during war, had shown you a world of empathy, kindness and true friendship. They were your family. Something you never really had with the decepticons.

Even though you wanted to, you didn’t hate him. Somewhere deep inside, you might’ve still even loved him, but you had pushed those feelings aside long ago. When the time came, you would be willing to pay for your sins with your life if that’s what was needed. If it would save others, you would give your life to save your allies from the one you once called the love of your life. If someone had to die by his hand, you’d rather it be you than anyone else.

It took weeks, but when Megatron finally got word that you had appeared at an energon mine with a couple of autobots, he rushed there, not wasting a second. When he finally saw you on the battlefield, you looked the same as you did the day he lost you. The two of you looked at each other, and for just a second, it was like there was no one else there. For a moment, it was just the two of you, and for a moment Megatron was convinced things could be like they had once been. Then it happened, you turned your blaster towards him and the look in your optics was one he’d never seen before.

You hesitated, just for a split second, but that was enough for him to dodge your shot. You could see his expression change as you fired. He looked like he couldn’t believe what you’d done. That you would turn your weapon against him. Then it came, that look of rage and that the burning hatred you’d seen him aim at so many others. There was a time you’d been sure he’d never look at you like that, but here you were. You were aiming to kill the one you used to love more than anything, and you almost couldn’t bear it.

Megatron couldn’t believe that it had come to this. The one he had loved and still loved was attempting to kill him. He had given you everything, and you were trying to take his life. This must have been the work of the autobots. There was no other option, you would never try to hurt him of your own free will. He looked around frantically with a crazed look in his optics and pinpointed the Prime in the middle of the battle.

You could see Megatron looking at Optimus and you knew what he was thinking. You moved before you could even really think. Megatron was so laser focused on Optimus, that you managed to tackle him and make him fall off the cliff behind him. You fell with him.

Megatron didn’t even realize what he’d done before his back hit the ground. The fall wasn’t long, so it didn’t really affect him, but when he noticed he had wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner to shield you from the fall, he didn’t know what to think. The anger that had just been burning in his chest was gone, and all he could think about was having you in his arms again.

“Let me go” you said quietly as he kept holding onto you, while laying on the ground on his back.

He couldn’t help but ask. He had to know, he had to hear it from you.

“What happened to you?” Megatron asked, still holding you so you couldn’t get away. Your arms were pinned to your sides, and you were laying on his chest, facing him.

You couldn’t look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you would throw away everything you had built with the autobots just because he looked at you lovingly again. You were afraid you would give in and go back to him. You didn’t want that. You would never be treated like that again. You wouldn’t be treated like an object, or a trophy he could parade around.

“Let me go” you repeated, forcing the words out of your mouth.

Megatron hesitated for a moment, but he decided to let you go. He wanted an explanation, but no matter what it was, he was going to take you with him.

You got some distance between him and yourself, but you still didn’t look at him. Not in the optics anyway. He looked the same he had the day you left, but there was a different, more destructive air about him.

“What happened to you?” he repeated.

You weren’t going to answer, and you didn’t owe him an explanation, but you still opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, a nearby explosion interrupted you.

“Come on (Name), we have to go!” Arcee yelled from on top of the cliff.

You looked up at Arcee and then glanced at Megatron, who took a step towards you. You could guess what he was thinking. He surely wanted to take you with him, but you couldn’t allow that to happen. You swiftly started climbing back to the top of the cliff.

Megatron took another step forward, but froze as he noticed a few of the autobots standing on top of the cliff, pointing their blasters at him. He considered his options for a moment, and no matter how much he wanted to drag you back to the Nemesis with him, it wasn’t worth a potentially serious injury. All he could do was watch as you climbed up and got to the top of the cliff. You were going to slip away again. You were going to be taken away from him again.

You were about to leave, but you finally gave into the desire to look back at Megatron. This time you met his gaze, and you could feel yourself growing confused as soon as you met his optics. You weren’t sure what to make of his expression. For a second, just a second, you thought you could see the old him. The one before the war started, the one you’d fallen in love with so long ago, but that thought faded as his optics grew colder and his expression hardened. Now all you could see was that same jealousy and possessiveness you’d seen before you left him. He looked at you like a possession, something he owned, something that he thought had been stolen from him and something that he would tear through anything to get back. That thought terrified you.

He would get you back, and he would do anything to make that happen. He would rip apart the autobots to get to you and make sure you could never be taken from him again. You were his, and he would get you back and never let you go again.

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #decepticons #megatron #tfp scenarios #transformers angst #reader insert #tfp x reader #transformers x reader

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weenwrites · 5 months ago

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Happy Autumn Ween!! 🧡^_^

May I request a scenario where the human reader tells Bumblebee about how they love fall and they make a leaf pile together and it’s super fluffy? Thx 🙏

Autumn

Summary - Who knew a giant robot would like autumn so much? Characters - Bumblebee Content - Gen Category - Scenarios Trigger Warnings - None

✎ A/N: Sorry it took me an eternity to write, but I hope you enjoy it if you're still sticking around!

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Yeah, it's pretty, isn't it Bee?" Y/N grinned.

They cradled the yellowing leaf between their fingers for the bot to observe. Bumblebee gave a couple beeps in agreement before looking down to the forest floor which was painted with leaves of differing hues. With one swift brush of his hand against the ground, he scooped up a handful of yellow, orange, red, and brown leaves, and held it out to them like a puppy proud of what he's found. He gave a couple thoughtful beeps as he sifted through the colored leaves before looking to them quizzically.

"Oh, uh, the amount of sunlight that a plant gets will change with the seasons. Y'know, days get longer in the spring and summer, days get shorter in the fall and winter." They explained, propping their arm up on a rake's handle as they spoke. "During the shorter days, trees technically begin to 'hibernate' in order to conserve energy and last through the winter, so that's why it changes colors. The chlorophyll in the leaves are broken down, and the plant doesn't bother to replace them as it falls into hibernation."

He buzzed in response and gently tossed the handful of leaves up into the air, watching them shower down onto his plating and over Y/N's head and shoulders.

"Ah man, wait really? Not once in all the time you've been here? Come on that can't be true."

He nodded, buzzing all the while he watched the leaves drift down.

"Hmph, well, I suppose I shouldn't underestimate how annoying the 'cons can be... But hey! Today's your chance to enjoy fall to the fullest! And if anyone tries to take that away, I'll punt them with pine cones!"

The two laughed, and Y/N reeled their arm back to take a faux-throwing stance. Yet in that moment something seemed to spark in their mind as their eyes shot a little wider.

"Wait, wait, wait, watch! This is my favorite thing to do in the fall." They drew the rake across the grass, bringing all the leaves into one pile on the ground. "Hey, could you help me out real quick? Just scrape up the leaves into a pile."

Although confused, Bee continued to follow their lead anyway and drew his hands across the lengths of the forest floor to help the growing pile of particolored leaves. It wasn't long till the grass was once again visible, and a rather decently sized leaf pile had was formed thanks to their joint effort.

Y/N motioned for him to step back a little ways just as they stepped further from the leaf pile themselves, and once he was a good ways away they held their hands still.

"Ok, ok! You're good right there!" They called to him, "I'm gonna show you why I love fall so much, are you ready?"

He responded with a few befuddled beeps, yet got no response as they simply clenched their fists and bolted into the pile, diving in head-first and disappearing amidst the leaves. Bumblebee beeped in surprise and leaned here and there to better observe as they waded around beneath the crinkling leaves up until they popped their head out of the pile laughing.

"Bee! Come on, help me make another pile," they called to him as they waded out from the leaves, "and then you can jump in next!"

Bumblebee narrowed his eyes, the bright blue rings spinning and dimming, as he buzzed hesitantly and patted the ground.

"Ok, fair point, but you don't necessarily have to jump in like I did. You could just sit and lay down in the pile." They suggested as they worked, "as long as you send leaves flying in the air then you've properly enjoyed a leaf pile in my books."

And the same as before, the leaf pile once returned, though now it was noticeably bigger, as Y/N insisted upon covering more ground to make a "proper pile for someone Bee's size".

They now stood with baited breath and a smile that went ear-to-ear—a few meters away, but still watching nonetheless—as Bumblebee leaned back into the leaf pile with an audible thump that sent small tremors through the ground. The leaves were sent swirling up in the air all around him in these vibrant red, orange, and yellow hues, before beginning to fall to the ground like pieces of confetti.

Bumblebee craned his head up a the sound of their laughter, only to be met with them running to him through the leaves that showered down.

"Bee! Bee that was awesome!" They beamed as they began to clamber up onto his chassis, to which he gently helped them up as he now sat upright. "Did you like it?"

He stared at them for a second, then all around at the twirling leaves around them, and back at them before he began to nod and buzz. His beeps began to grow more and more enthusiastic till he scooped up what leaves remained on the ground beside him and tossed them up in the air again.

"Yeah." Y/N smiled, gingerly cupping either side of his face, "it really is pretty."

#tfp imagines #tfp scenarios #tfp bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites #[ OK WOW YEAH THIS TOOK AN ETERNITY. ]#[ i don't have any hope that you're still around to read this ]#[ but if you are i am sorry it took me 2 years to get to this. ]#[ if i haven't made it clear already i have an abysmal work ethic. ]

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