thedrifterhideout

[thedrifterhideout]

I always found it comforting how as time progressed, body types in fiction are getting more diverse. This coming from someone who gets insecure of the fact I have a belly and thick thighs, cause I always kinda grew up thinking that because my chest isn't big too, I'm disproportionate. And therefore, ugly. So, let's explore that thought.

For Transformers, I really like the fact that they likely wouldn't give a shit about your body type, no matter if you're big or small or built or whatever. But my favourite to think about that fact is TFA Prowl, cause he's so interested in organics, finding Earth life fascinating.

And I really feel like he'd be fascinated by how his human lover's body is like. Very touchy in a curious way, rather than overly sexual. Loving the natural way of his lover. Like hair on your body wouldn't be something weird to him either, he'd probably like it more if you didn't shave, he'd be so goddamn sweet about it too.

Reminders to everyone and anyone seeing this, you are all beautiful.

[thedrifterhideout]

Humans and mechs in a heat wave!

Fire truck alt mode mechs suddenly becoming VERY popular. Their friends begging them to spray them with water to cool down.

Talking your bestie mech into becoming an ice cream truck for a week. They’re enamored with cooing over all the kids while you hand out ice cream.

Every mech with a car or truck alt being perpetually stuck in their alt because every human in a mile radius will not leave the air conditioning.

Mechs freaking out because you burned your hand on their hood or seat belt or leather seat after they’d been sitting in the sun too long

Mechs finding out about skin cancer and heat stroke and chasing you around with bottled water and sunscreen and a floppy hat

Big mechs having to be extra careful where they step because their shadow collects a bunch of humans every time they stand still in one place for five minutes

Mechs getting jazzed up by basking in the sun while wondering why the humans are all so lethargic under the same conditions

Taking your mech to the beach or lake or pond and using them as a diving board. Or getting them to toss you in the water

Driving home damp and tired but so happy, sun setting and wind in your hair as your mech friend blasts your favorite music and is just glowing with your infectious energy. They don’t even mind (this once) if you’ve tracked sand and saltwater all over them. You’re full of popsicles and saltwater taffy and good memories.

[thedrifterhideout]

Rodimus x reader

MTMTEのラチェットはこういうところで未来を憂いた眼差しで見ててほしい（親切心によるもの）

撮影現場裏のような所でやっている何か。LL版の色の意味知ってた上でやる話じゃないけど、思いついちゃったからには

後ろ姿の子→KindergartenのHot rod

【雑記】

つい先日部屋にやって来ました。かわいいね🔥

[thedrifterhideout]

*Drift is recording*

Y/n is doing it out of spite and Drift can't get mad at all. In the end he took like 50 pictures of them lying in the box then send it to Ratchet.

[thedrifterhideout]

How would Cybertronians react to knowing that human organs are just constantly moving. And I don't mean like heartbeats I mean your intestines move around A LOT. Like with certain health issues or after surgery in certain areas they move around a lot more. But they're just doing the wiggle every 60-90 minutes normally.

I feel like the moving thing wouldn't be what would freak them out so much. They're full of moving parts, too! But what I think would freak them out is, human insides are not nearly as uniform as people might imagine from the nice, neat way we're taught about them.

All those medical diagrams? They're more like, a vague sort of "this is usually here" and "that's usually there." Once you actually get in there, stuff's...different, sometimes.

And, you can't just take one organ from a human and put it in another human without making sure they're compatible. Or else it'll crash the whole system. Whereas we've all seen mechs just take parts from other mechs and be like "yoink, mine now."

We have fuckin' different blood types. We can't even trade blood without risk.

Except some people. Those people can. But only those people.

Humans are confusing.

[thedrifterhideout]

rodimus x reader

ロディマスからの写真…（状況説明）

【おまけ】

最近「アダマスマキ���のロディマスは小型犬くらいの重さ」という知見を得たので。犬属性ロディマス

[thedrifterhideout]

CAT RODIMUS IS EVERYTHING THANK YOU 💞💞💞💞

thank you🐾

[thedrifterhideout]

Merformers Rodimus（Rodimus x reader）

merformersネタで一番最初に描きたい/思いついた子が一番最後になっちゃった

🐬のつもりがだいぶ🦐になってしまったので、機会があればまた描き直したい所存（描けるとは言っていない）

[thedrifterhideout]

Correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I've heard Drift seems to be the type of person who would really appreciate the poem "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

Oh, you are so not wrong. You are the most not wrong. I think he’d probably adore Ranier Marie Rilke, but I can so easily see him bonding with you over Mary Oliver’s work. Once you helped him understand the context, and feelings it’s meant to evoke.

- - -

A goose is one of those feathered creatures? Class Aves?

You shake off the soft ache in your heart that you always feel, that longing for the moonlight on your wings that comes when you read this poem. You look up to find Drift watching you with an intent curiosity.

Belatedly, you remember he can literally sense how you’re feeling. What must he think of you, what must he be feeling from you now? Can he relate to it? Or is it something that doesn’t translate? Knowing English from a download isn’t the same as being a native speaker, or at least a member of the species that cobbled it together. And there's so much about Earth that he's still learning. So much about him that you're still learning.

You let your fingers ghost over the words on the page. Yes. A goose is a bird. They migrate, the wild ones do. So you’ll see groups of them flying in vee-formation, and they honk to each other to communicate while they’re flying.

Drift is patient. Interested. Trying to understand.

What does that have to do with …goodness? Repentance? His voice is soft. You're still coming to terms with the idea that a creature made of metal can have such delicate inflection.

You’d only meant to share some human art with him, but there’s a certain subtle thrum to his engine that makes you think that this poem has caught his eye - optic - for a reason. Fortunately, you're as patient as he is in this joint venture of trying to bridge the distance between you.

Mary Oliver was known for drawing on themes of nature and the natural world, and tying that to our own lives. Our own natures. Showing that we are as much a part of the world we live in, as any other wild creature. That we inherently belong here. You know? "You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here." That's another work I'll have to share with you sometime.

He leans over your shoulder, tons upon tons of metal and moving parts. There's nothing soft or animal about his body, but you feel him like you might a California redwood, towering and living. You've never doubted for a second, since you met him, whether or not he was a person. You just knew it as truth.

He rests a finger on your shoulder, looking at the page. You hold the book up to him, and he reads aloud,

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.

What do those things mean to you? Sun and rain, prairies and deep trees, mountains and rivers?

They're parts of the world that exist for everyone. Sun and rain both come and go, like a dance. There's a saying, it rains on the just and the unjust. Prairies, trees, mountains, rivers. They don't have to be good to exist. They exist, and that's good. And we're a part of that, inherently. We belong. We don't have to fight to come home to a world that already knows us as part of itself.

You feel something shift inside yourself, and some human intuition makes you look up and up into his bright blue optics.

What does home mean to you, Drift? Why do you strive to be good?

His frame goes still and quiet. You've really hit a nerve, now. He closes his optics and bows his head, reflectively.

And what have I done to need to seek redemption.

No, you shake your head, and reach up to grasp his hand. What small part of it you can encompass. "Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine."

He opens his optics and smiles down at you. There is regret older than your entire species in it. You wonder for a moment if he really is about to open up to you about whatever's on his mind, but he seems to reconsider, and the moment passes.

He gives an exvent, and cups his hand protectively around you. So delicately, as if he doesn't trust himself the way you've come to trust him.

"Meanwhile the world goes on."

[thedrifterhideout]

Imagine the different types of radios/vehicle audios that ground based TFs would have as communication device and display when their human partners around. There's a range from AM radio to CD Players, to even touch screen ones depending which model TFs would take in as.

And if the TFs do have a screen radio, they would either have a digital PNG avatar of themself or an icon on the screen, allowing the human to see during car ride.

[thedrifterhideout]

I don't know if you have any stories planned for Thundercracker, but I'd love to see something soft between him and a librarian. I just think it would be really cute.

⋆˙⟡𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: Thundercracker x GN!Human!Reader

ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: Love at first sight

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: After millennia of war, Thundercracker feels exhausted and begins to question everything he once believed in. Now on Earth, the planet, with its rich culture and unexpected beauty, becomes an unforeseen refuge. You are a librarian who’s deeply passionate about your work and walk the neighborhood dogs to earn some extra cash. Your lives begin to shift when a chance encounter in a park sparks something unexpected. The seeker falls for you instantly, compelled to learn more about you and to explore this unfamiliar feeling growing inside him.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: This story will eventually contain sexual scenes, so MDNI. Potential sensitive topics addressed in the story will include a trigger warning before the chapter.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,4k

next chapter

❝ This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you ❞

Author’s Notes: Thundercracker is my Decepticon husband and I’m so happy to finally write about him. My idea is to have all three of my seeker fics connected, so Wildest Dreams and Under Your Spell take place in the same timeline as Enchanted. When I read that ask, I knew the idea of the reader being a librarian would fit perfectly with what I was planning. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! :)

⋆˙⟡𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Thundercracker was genuinely tired of fighting. At first, his sense of justice urged him to take a side in the war. He firmly believed in Megatron’s words and held onto the hope that they could rebuild a fairer, more equal Cybertron. That had always been his deepest desire. When he joined the Decepticons alongside his trine brothers, he was completely certain they could achieve their goals — that the war wouldn’t last long. But as cycles turned into stellar cycles, and stellar cycles into vorns, it became clear just how wrong he had been.

Little by little, the conflict stopped being about justice and started being about power. Megatron's speeches, once revolutionary and inspiring, had become shallow and incongruent, full of hatred and resentment. Thundercracker knew many had joined the cause not out of a noble desire to change the harsh reality most lived in, but because they were drawn to the opportunity to harm and spill energon. Drawn to savagery, to the twisted pleasure of spreading pain and chaos. And that gnawed at his processor, made him question how far his faction was from the truth, how far his leader was from being worthy of loyalty and obedience.

Thundercracker knew his brother, Starscream, was one of the most affected by all of it. The seeker had grown increasingly resentful of Megatron's constant abuse, becoming more and more obsessed with the idea of overthrowing him and taking command of the Decepticons. Thundercracker was aware of his brother’s qualities, but worried about how hatred was slowly blinding him, consuming his spark.

And where had it all led them? They had destroyed their own planet, reducing it to smoke and ashes. There was no hope of ever returning home, and they were walking straight toward the extinction of their species. Yet, Thundercracker remained loyal, despite the turmoil inside him. He doubted Megatron’s judgment, but he didn’t believe the Autobots’ words either. To him, the rival faction was just as guilty, but hypocritical. They acted like noble heroes, knowing full well their servos were soaked in energon too. In the end, to the seeker, Decepticons and Autobots were two sides of the same coin, with the only difference being that at least they didn’t sell a false image of perfection.

Since arriving on this planet, Thundercracker had been watching its inhabitants from afar, curious. He understood they couldn’t compare to Cybertronians in any way — that his kind was vastly superior — but unlike his comrades, he didn’t look at those little creatures with disgust or disdain. It was interesting how they dealt with their problems and, he had to admit, they could be quite creative in their media and literature.

The mech became increasingly fascinated with human books and films, browsing the internet to learn more and exploring countless genres, from action to romance. But the more interested he became, the less satisfied he felt with simply watching. He didn’t just want to observe, he wanted to feel. To live.

Which brought him to the present. He had spent a long time constructing the perfect holomatter avatar, creating a convincingly human appearance that still carried traces of himself. He worked hard for perfect control over the projection, wanting to experience every sense as if it were his own body, even knowing how much energy it would consume. It had taken time, but that morning, Thundercracker walked among humans, fascinated by the colors, textures, and sounds.

He wandered through a park surrounded by greenery. Tall trees with thick trunks and lush canopies, shrubs blooming with all sorts of colorful flowers. Some humans were selling beautifully painted canvases reflecting the exuberant natural landscape, while others, farther away, played instruments quite different from Cybertronian ones, but equally enchanting. Human sparklings ran joyfully, laughing freely or blowing iridescent bubbles through plastic straws, watched from a distance by their sires and carriers. He saw families and groups of young humans scattered across the grass, sitting on blankets while consuming their fuel or simply chatting. Everyone was enjoying the beautiful day, clear skies and a shining sun. It was fascinating to finally witness so much life after so much destruction.

“Hold him!” A voice pulled Thundercracker from his thoughts. When he turned, he saw a relatively large four-legged creature running straight toward him. A dog. Without thinking, the mech leaned forward and caught the animal’s front paws as it jumped on him. The dog was covered in long, soft black fur, with some white and brown patches. Its sticky tongue hung to the side of its open mouth as it panted, dark shiny eyes looking up at the seeker with curiosity and excitement. “Oh my God, thank you so much. You saved my life!”

Thundercracker’s gaze shifted from the dog to the source of the voice, and the moment his avatar’s eyes met yours, it felt as if someone had stopped the Earth’s rotation. Everything fell silent, the world around him darkened, and it was as if a spotlight illuminated just the two of you. He had never felt that before, he was completely entranced. Every detail, he observed intently. Your beautiful eyes sparkled like stars, your lips — so soft-looking — wore the most dazzling smile he had ever seen. Every freckle, spot, scar, things that might go unnoticed by other humans, he saw them all, and considered each one endlessly perfect. Whatever deity had created you must have been utterly inspired, sculpting every part of you with meticulous care.

He realized he’d been staring for too long when you cleared your throat and extended a hand in polite greeting. The mech blinked several times before letting go of the dog and straightening up, mirroring your gesture and taking your hand. Your soft skin was unlike the rigid plating he was used to. A subtle handshake was exchanged, and he almost protested when you let go, already missing the contact.

Upon closer inspection, Thundercracker noticed you were holding several leather straps in your other hand, all attached to chains connected to more dogs of various sizes. “They're all sweethearts, but Bowie here likes a bit of action,” you said with a small laugh, pointing at the dog now lying on the ground with its head resting on the avatar’s foot. “I noticed…” he replied, grinning like an idiot as he stared at you.

Shyly, you crouched to gather Bowie’s leash with the others. There was a short silence between you before you broke it. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I walk through this park every day, and the town’s not that big. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Thundercracker processed your words quickly and rushed to answer. “I… yeah, I’m new. Just moved here recently, still getting to know the place.”

He let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck timidly. You looked him up and down, smiling at the sweet, unassuming demeanor of the man. The mech wanted to keep talking, ask questions, get closer — but he felt stuck, too cowardly to act. “Well, I should get going. I have to return these guys to their humans before they start calling me. It was a pleasure…” your expression turned questioning, and he realized you were silently waiting for a name. Thundercracker glanced around, searching for something to inspire him, until he noticed a distant sign surrounded by human sparklings, displaying two illustrated Earth animals. He quickly blurted out the name he’d just read: “…Tom!”

You repeated it, flashing a wide smile as you began to walk off with the dogs. “See you around, Tom. Thanks for catching Bowie for me!” He kept grinning like a fool as he watched you wave one last time and walk away. His expression shifted when he realized he hadn’t asked for your name. “Wait, you didn’t tell me your name…” he tried to call out, but you were already too far to hear.

Slowly, your silhouette faded into the crowd moving through the park. Thundercracker felt euphoric, the same feeling he experienced when flying freely through the night skies, but he could say this was even better. He had never felt anything so intense, such a deep desire to know someone. Who were you? He had to find out.

Author’s Note: It’s me again, haha! I’m really sorry for not updating the other stories as often as I’d like. I’m in the middle of final exams at college, and it’s been taking up a lot of my time. I’ll try to post a few more things this week! ♡

[thedrifterhideout]

Human with a cat that likes to lay on their Cybertronian buddy's alt mode because of how warm they run. On the hood, right against the windshield, tucked into the wheel well, and in the cockpit if the buddy is a flight frame. If it's spring or summer, the cat just lays right underneath them because they're a comforting presence.

Either way, the Cybertronian is not going to be moving for a while even if they get called in for a mission. They are scared to death that they might accidentally harm this small, oddly vibrating creature taking residence on them. And after all, they do want their new feline friend to be comfortable.

[thedrifterhideout]

i will forever love the idea of cybertronians carrying their humans on their shoulders or stowing them away in their subspace as they're going about their day. like, just imagine sitting there in optimus' chest subspace, watching out his front windows as cybertron goes past. whenever he talks to you, his voice rumbles all around you, a constant sign that you're safe there with him. every once in a while, he'll reach up to his chest, smiling as he feels you right next to the matrix.

[thedrifterhideout]

(This is based off of something that happened for me last week 😅 I should really remember to buy my meds in time. All medical talk is from my own experiences with ADHD, as well as the info, since I don't know everything sadly)

So, imagine you're on the Lost Light. You aren't sure how you got there, but you did. Probably an experiment by Brainstorm, or something similar idk. That part isn't important

What is important, is that you hadn't been keeping track with how many med capsules you had left, thanks to everything that had happened to get you on the ship, leaving you with a single one for the day.

Which, when you found out, leads to you running down the long ass hallways of the Lost Light, stopping every once in a while to catch your breath, and to let your legs rest.

"PERCEPTOR!!" Is the first thing heard in Swerves as the door opens, a little human running into the bar, looking around frantically for the specific red 'bot.

Through the many optics turned to you, you single out his, making you run over to the booth he had sat himself in with some of the other 'bots.

He just stares, perplexed as to what you could possibly want with him. You had regrettably not spoken a whole lot to him, since he had been working to try and figure out how the hell you had gotten here.

Nautica had been the one to reach down for you, letting you sit yourself in her palm. Raising you to the table, you jumped off before anyone could stop you, stopping their sparks for just a moment thanks to the taller height.

You walk really close to him, struggling for a moment to open a little white bottle in your hands. Once succeeding, you shoved a tiny tiny pill as close to his face as you possibly could.

You could barely even reach it, being around the length of his torso and all. "I need you to make more of these, exactly. All the chemicals and other stuff included."

You were quite determined with this, even letting Perceptor take the tiny pill. It laid on his finger like a grain of sand on yours. "Interesting. And why would you need me to do this?" He questioned.

You were quite sure he wanted to do it either way, but was just curious. "I need it. It's medicine." You tried to clarify, not wanting to speak a whole lot on it in the giant room of 'bots.

Many of them could be quite overbearing, downright panicked at the tiniest mention of sickness or injuries to you.

You still remember the panic Tailgate had gone through when you had gotten a minor cold some weeks prior.

Understanding that you were uncomfortable with telling him, he took the hint. Grasping you, he excused himself from the table, placing you on his shoulder.

Leaving the bar, as well as the many stares, you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Revealing right there that you were taking meds, was going to get you questions from some of them, that was for sure.

And either Ratchet or First Aid was going to know as well, with how fast information spreads on the ship.

"Do you wish to speak about your illness now that we are no longer watched?" Perceptor spoke up, holding up the bottle for you to take, the pill inside.

"Uhm, I guess? I won't call it an illness though, a disorder. ADHD." You took the bottle, twisting and turning it in your hands. Your foot had already began tapping against his red plating.

"Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. I don't know a whole lot about it myself, outside of the few articles I read whenever I got curious."

Taking a glance towards him, you noted that he was paying attention. Quite intensely too considering he had to see where he was walking.

"Many reasons for it, I think. Like smaller brain regions, missing chemicals and impairments to certain brain networks. For me, it's hard to pay attention for longer periods of time, my memory is quite bad too. Case and point."

You shook the little bottle, the single pill inside rattling pitifully inside. "My time management is piss poor too." He hummed as he entered the lab he shared with Nautica and Brainstorm, the latter hanging upside down inside.

Honestly, you had seen weirder in your few weeks on the ship. "Ah Perceptor, perfect timing." Brainstorm proceeded to ramble on about the project he was working on underneath him.

Taking a glance at Perceptor as he placed you on his lab table, told you that he wasn't really paying attention to the other scientist. Holding out his servo, he motioned for the little bottle, prompting you to pick out the little pill for him.

Watching any of the Cybertronians transform was always mesmerising, all the little parts fall into place so seamlessly.

Granted, his alt mode was quite peculiar compared to many other 'bots you had seen, but even then, you have heard the others talk about their own strange alt modes.

The thought made you chuckle softly, the faint memory of your speculations to the others coming to the surface. You had questioned Rodimus-, humourously, before the co-captain had exclaimed race car very loudly, in turn prompting Drift to disagree, saying you would have been a weapon of some kind.

It had devolved into an extensive argument with many bots joining in, most of them just proclaiming their own alt modes.

None of them had even noticed you being whisked away by Ravage, who wanted to go cuddle in a dark room, since Megatron had been busy.

Your drifting thoughts lead to time passing quickly, Perceptor placing the little pill back down in front of you.

"It will take some time to synthesize an entire batch. Will you be able to live without it for a few days?" He questioned, already moving on to start on the project.

The thought made you grimace. "I guess? It's not gonna be fun though." The withdrawal was going to be the least fun.

"I will contact First Aid so he can keep an optic on your physical state." You raised a brow. "Not Ratchet?" "Ratchet will know once I notify First Aid. But he wants to learn more about you and humans, so Ratchet has made him the lead in your health."

"Huh, I haven't been told that." Your eyes narrowed. "But thank you Perceptor. The fact that you're willing to help is extremely kind."

The bot just nodded, lowering you from the table to the ground. "I will also notify you once I am done synthesizing these."

You gave him an appreciative nod, before heading out of the lab. It was going to be some long few days, with your only solace of being able to bother the others.

Either that, or you were going to call Ravage for a movie marathon with blankets and everything.

(don't know how to end this, so yeah. That's it)

[thedrifterhideout]

Hii! Could I request headcanons for Brainstorm, Rodimus and Rung with human artist reader who draws them all the time and sometimes draws them right on their desk. For example, one time they found a chibi sketch of you on their desk winking and saying something like "I love you" or "I believe in you"

I love these dorks so much. I hope you enjoy qwq i tried my best.

-

-

Rodimus

- the first time Rodimus sees your little sticky note with a cute little doodle of his helm and your head, wishing him a good day at work he nearly exploded right then and there. Ultra Magnus swears he’s never seen Rodimus work faster, but it was all in the name of getting out of his boring office and rush back to his habsuite to find you.

- The second his last report is done he nearly breaks a hole through the door cause it wasn’t opening fast enough and he wanted OUT! His beloved is awaiting him and his kisses and he can’t keep you waiting! You’re getting yanked from your spot right into his servos and smothered, positively drowned in his kisses, paired with a loud ‘mwah!’ For each smooch.

- Please never stop, he saves every last picture and note you make for him and giggles over them like a school girl with a crush, kicking his pedes and everything. It’s either his biggest distraction or his biggest motivator, cause he will remember you’re still on the ship and he’s not next to you and get the saddest puppy expression until Ultra Magnus is sick of him sighing loudly and let’s him leave.

- If you want to give him something to do tell him you hid a doodle somewhere in his office, and watch him go on the hunt going through every paper, every data pad, every corner of his office is not left untouched. He cheers so loudly when he finds it, giggling so sweetly and adding it to his collection before rushing with a skip in his step to you.

- Nobody can give him shit for it, it’s impossible when he’s rubbing it in everyone else’s face, “Oh, I’m sorry are YOU getting cute little doodles from your partner? Didn’t think so!”

-

-

Rung

- Rung is very private with the notes you leave him, he keeps them in his subspace and has a collection going, he keeps each and every one of them close to his spark so he can always look at them. His optics glow bright behind his glasses, digits tracing the written words of your love for him, the little doodle of you making him smile.

- Your little notes help him through the day, help him after a rough session helping a patient through something so sparkbreaking it weighs on him, but your little notes give him the push he needs soothing his own worries. Your praise and support means everything to him, seeing your little artistic doodles of him and you with little hearts makes his antenna wiggle, and a smile almost permanently stuck to his face.

- You’ll know when he’s found them as when he comes back to your shared habsuite, he’s got a soft blue blush across his cheeks and he so softly asks to be able to pick you up, and when you agree stepping into his servos he kisses the top of your head, “Thank you, my star.” He whispers, kissing you once more.

- He doesn’t show them off he perfers to keep them to himself and on bad days, if you aren’t with him he looks through them to remind himself someone loves him, someone is waiting for him, someone is cheering him on even if you couldn’t be at his side in that exact moment he knows you care so much for him, and having these reminders fills his spark with so much love and joy.

- Rung tries to attempt the same, actually! Though he’s not much of an artist like you are, that doesn’t stop him trying and making a little doodle of his helm and a cartoony thumbs up, wishing you a good day and that he loves you. He often makes these notes when you’re still passed out on his berth, just before he starts his day and goes in for work. Rung wants to properly show you how much he appreciates your notes and drawings. He will get bashful and try to hide his face if you wake up and catch him mid act.

-

-

Brainstorm

- DIVA! oh you have opened a can of worms I hope you have a wrist brace and do wrist stretches regularly, cause if he doesn’t get one little doodle of you wishing him a good day or that you love you and think he’s so cool, he will explode, he will approach you like “So you hate me? You hate me and want me dead, is that is? You do not love me? Where is my love?” Brainstorm needs your love and praise or he dies, that’s all.

- Brainstorm loves and adores every note and drawing paired with it, he will hold it to his chassis and squee softly before rushing to show off how sweet and kind his partner is! He is hellbent of showing you and your art off, his desk is covered in your little notes, he only moves them when they are placed in more dangerous spots and he doesn’t want them to burn or get something on them.

- Brainstorm is a mech who is not at all ashamed or modest in his love for you, you show your love for him? Wonderful, he will proceed to scream his from the roof tops, if no one can hear you scream in space they truly have not met a Brainstorm who is fueled by spite and his overwhelming love for you.

- After he’s gotten one of your little doodles he’s all giddy, and most times that giddiness lasts until he sees you an can finally get his cuteness aggression out on you, so much so it’s not uncommon for someone (likely Perceptor) to ask you two to get a habsuite and take it behind closed doors, cause Brainstorm needs his kisses but also he needs to give you kisses but ALSO he needs to hear you say you love him and believe in him.

- Brainstorm is unsurprisingly a needy mech, he will trap you against him and look at you with such a love sick expression asking you to say it again, just ooooone more time, for him? Please? Mayhaps a liiiittle louder? You will have to bap his nose to get him to stop, cause he can’t get enough of hearing you love him.

[thedrifterhideout]

Rodimus x Reader ; Attempts at (Spark)Bonding

Cuddle sessions with the starboy himself who's feelin' extra needy tonight! It's all fluff with a mix of yearning teehee :3 1.2k words

Rodimus almost trips thinking about holding you. No, he didn't actually. He simply just wanted to stop by the halls. It just so happens that he needed to lean by the flickering walls with his legs crossed strangely.

Oh Primus.

He needs to get it together- Cool your engines! There's no need to crank up the gears at the mere image of your face in his memory processor. At the vivid memory of the both of you cuddling on the berth and giggling about nothing. He wouldn't ever deny it but this mech is whipped. It has him skipping towards his door to his habsuite.

He can put all his frustrations aside, all of those tedious too-many-steps grand plan only to be met with not-so great results when it should've been perfect. Not this cycle. He doesn't have to ponder about it this cycle.

Instead he thinks of his half waiting for him in their shared habsuite. Feels his spark fluctuate and brighten knowing that at the end of every cycle. This one guarantee Primus has graced him with.

His servos slap eagerly against the lock of his door. A beep and it slides open, shimmying his way in without even letting it open fully.

"Sweetspark? You're soon to be conjux is here!" Dropping his hands and slouching when he doesn't get a peep from you. Letting out an amused chuckle to himself. Okay, but seriously where in the pits is little ol' you? Do you not know that this mech needs his fuel of affection and attention from you right now?

After turning his helm this way and that to find you, his thumping spark stops and just melts when he spots your form. There you were bundled up on his berth. The plenty of organic-like blankets arranged around where your body rises and fall. At first he wasn't entirely used to this idea of Blankets, thinking it was useless.

Scrap, it doesn't really matter now, especially when you look so at peace. All snuggly and comfortable on the pile you so meticulously set up for yourself. He feels that stupid smile on his face when he sees you up close, a faint click from his helm to capture you in this moment. File it in his memory bank to tease you later. He adores how so up in arms his tiny mate gets when he shows you these candid photos of you. He had to remind himself not to pounce and put all 4000 pounds on your much frailer body. Though, gets his head spinning by how fast he displaces himself, cursing at his own haste and plopping into your thighs.

He didn't realize how much he craved your touch now that hes nuzzling himself to you. Each of his cold metal fingers to your side. Dipping his fingers further to rub your tummy in circles with his thumb. Feels your whole body jitter under his touch, stirring you slightly awake. Blurry eyes make out that red goofball and that you're certainly sure he has sly expression on his face at the moment without needing the consciousness to see. You know that smartass' face by heart.

"Ew, get your cold freezing hands off of me you, you troglodyte" Slurring just slightly, your morning sleepy voice slipping through. No real heat behind your complaint and actually scooting closer to hold the top of his hand. Yet, Rodimus takes the chance to try out his theatrics and push his face further into your body, making a whinny whirling noise.

"Ew?" That baby voice of his and he sounds so offended "Don't say that,"  Sweet and somewhat needy. It makes you chuckle and melt at the same time.

You can't get used to how despite being made entirely of metal and bolts, his lips, or rather his 'intake' he's explained feels so soft and plump on you. A long press on the top of your covered stomach. His hand kneading into your sides and feel him slight get even more closer. As if this wasn't enough to wake you already.

Another kiss, this time Rodimus pulls your shirt up just slightly. Light kisses all over your exposed skin. Each more longer than the last, as if he was savoring every single one. You can feel yourself tensing up and melting at the same time, that dumb cold fingers of his to your side and softer lips playing with you. How his face goes from that playful pout to a soft and reverent expression with each kiss. Leaving you breathless and grasping his wrist.

His processor catches the faint EM field emitting from yours mingling with his. It's a rare treat. Mixing and jittering with his. Are you getting flustered? That question leaving him wanting to chase after that sweet calling of your fleeting energy. To elicit more of that warmth. To hear more of those breathy murmurs.

As impossible it was with your autonomy, he still wished he could feel your spark. Want to be entangled with all of you, whatever your soul was made of; he wished to have it all and keep it with him forever. His kiss trails further and further up your chest. In hopes that maybe it's possible.

He indulges, opens his chest panels just slightly. You hear that familiar small hiss. Glancing down to see that alluring light of glare. Never too bright. Enveloping your whole body with his sweet high. Before you knew it. You feel fuzzy all over, skin tingling pleasantly. Sinking into his space the feels just right. Warm and safe like no one could ever get to you, only his own. In this haze, you can almost feel all of him; Parts you could never reach with mere hands. Dreams you never knew. This pleasant reverie has you making expressions you don't mean to from the funny expression Rodimus is making.

He looks at you. Now face to face and chest lightly pressed to yours. Spark close to where he'd assume your heart was. Feels himself thriving when he sees how much this affects you. Assured by the feeling of your living heart thumping against his eager spark. Yet despite it all, that stubborn spark of his is desperate to do more. He shouldn't. He has to understand that you're human, far too fragile to start experimenting. The warnings he was issued with suddenly coming back. Yet.

There's something in this warmth energy you're basking in. A shift somewhere. You notice that glint in his eyes. Even if he leans even closer to leave fleets of kisses down your jaw and neck. Much hastier than the ones before. Is it sadness?  Maybe something you can't seem to put words into it. Your hands reaches out to cup his helm then run your fingers against his brow to smoothen it.

You can feel him smile on your skin, pulling away to brush his own lips against yours again. Sometimes, you wish he could just tell you instead of sulking like that. Nevertheless, you don't resist when you press further to kiss you. That warm fuzzy feeling shrouds you both again, what sounds like waves hitting another against a glass. Whatever it was, you forget it in favor of chasing that high again. Chasing after each other's lips and holding him closer.

[thedrifterhideout]

2 Road 1 Together

SUMMARY - you float around in space like it's your home, and the exosphere is your backyard. The one that he have passed through twice, two times passed, two times met at different times

PAIRING - drift x reader, deadlock x reader (mostly)

Wandering through space with no rules, no map, and absolutely no idea what counts as "dangerously close to death" or "might get shot down just for blinking wrong"—now that’s your style.All you need is a curious cluster of stars, a planet with an unscanned surface, and a weird energy signature that makes your gut go: “Yep, I wanna poke that"

You’re the kind of curious that’s probably going to get you killed one day—or any minute now, actually. But hey, you’re still here, right? If the universe wanted you gone, it would've tossed you into a black hole eons ago. But no, you're still out here—vibing, floating, sipping lukewarm energon, and flirting with fate like it's an ex you never really broke up with

So, of course, you turned toward it

Like always and of course, you really shouldn't have

That was the first warning—the radar pinged something it couldn’t categorize, just before it cut out completely from interference that wasn't in any of your logs. You blinked slowly at the screen while your ship’s front cam caught it: a gleam of black and silver slicing through the void like a shark in deep water. Yeah, that’s not a meteor

You leaned back in your pilot seat, cradling your half-empty metal mug of slightly-warm energon, eyes narrowing from the star-glare bouncing off some uncharted, no-name rock in the distance “…Well, hello there, flying corpse” you muttered, flicking the comms open just as a voice came through—deep, stern, and not particularly in the mood for jokes

“Identify yourself. Unaligned vessel. You are trespassing in Decepticon patrol territory"

You made a face—not because you were scared, but because the word Decepticon always made your energon taste a little like regret

“Chill. Do you guys always open with that?” you replied casually, swirling your mug

“I’m not here to pick a fight. I just got… wildly off-track. As one does”

There was a pause

You half expected lasers, half expected dead air.Instead, your screen lit up—someone patched through the visual. And the face you saw? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t some border grunt, sharp frame, red optics that looked like they wanted to extract your spark and write your sins on it in high-grade. His face was so calm it was actually unsettling, like he’d done way worse than kill people and still didn’t lose sleep. You could practically see dried oil on his plating—except you had the feeling it wasn’t always oil

“I am Deadlock” he said coldly “Who are you? And who owns that ship?”

You smiled, shifting in your seat like you weren’t very much sitting under a Decepticon fleet’s laser sight

“Ship’s mine. Bought it used—nameless rock, three months ago. Total steal. As for me…” you lifted your mug for a sip, real slow “...do we ask names before killing now? Kinda kinky, but alright. I’m no threat. Ship doesn’t even have weapons"

Another long pause

“Land your vessel at the coordinates. Sent”

“Copy that, scary-voice”

—

The planet's surface was dry, dusty, and iron-flavored. You landed inside a neat little circle marked with a big ol' Decepticon symbol—like a passive-aggressive welcome mat that said “Congrats, you didn’t get shot. Yet” The ship door hadn’t even fully opened before something banged hard against the outer hull

“Exit the ship. Slowly” You did. Hands up. Easy smile. Totally unarmed. You scanned your surroundings—three figures, but only one stepped close enough to make your instincts twitch

Him

Deadlock stood tall, all hard lines and silent threats. His plating was scratched, weathered, and battle-worn—less a bot, more a weapon with legs. Red optics, still sharp, still watching like they could slice through lies with a blink. Every part of him screamed danger. Your processor finally caught up and flashed his stats across your HUD

DEADLOCK

CLASS: ENFORCER / SIC

STATUS: ACTIVE – TURMOIL UNIT

You swallowed. Great. Out of all the possible space-gremlins you could have annoyed today, you picked the tall, deadly, not-even-bothering-with-a-gun guy

But, hey. You’ve danced with worse. Probable

“I ask again” he said, voice like a warning shot “Why did you enter this sector?”

“I didn’t know it was your sector" you shrugged, hands still up “I saw an energy spike. Looked interesting. So I checked it out. That’s kinda… my thing"

“Lying?” he said flatly

"Exploring” you replied with a grin “Freelancer. No allegiances. No interest in your war. I’d offer to let you search the ship, but honestly, I’d rather you didn’t rifle through my underwear drawer”

He stepped closer. Way closer than was reasonable unless you had a death wish—or you were him. For a second, he said nothing. Then he turned to his subordinates

“Return to base. I’ll handle this one"

You blinked “..Ohhh, so that’s how this day’s going..”

.

.

The light from an unfamiliar sun stretched long across the ochre stone, painting shadows like veins on the broken skin of a dying world. The ground was cracked, breathless—as if the planet itself had exhaled its last—and in that breathless silence, only the sound of metal kissed the gravel underfoot

Deadlock moved slowly, every step deliberate, the rhythm of a ghost not yet ready to stop haunting

He was approaching you

And you—

You were seated beneath a jagged outcrop of native rock, its harsh form worn smooth by time, your back resting against its flank like you belonged there. Like you'd always belonged in the quiet places that war forgot

Your gaze was tilted to the sky, distant and full of wonder, like an astronomer from myth tracing constellations no one else remembered.

There was no tension in your frame, no fear, no urgency

Only that soft stillness of someone who had long since stopped expecting answers from the universe—and had begun, instead, to listen. One hand moved through the air, slow and unhurried, drawing symbols only you could see—delicate arcs, invisible lines, like mapping a star’s secret trajectory across your mind, the way a poet might write with light

“You can’t leave” His voice broke the silence like a blade slipping into a lake—sharp, but careful

You didn’t flinch

Instead, you turned to look at him the way one might acknowledge a passing signal: calmly, politely, almost absentmindedly

“Still being interrogated, huh?” There was no sarcasm, only mild curiosity—like he’d asked you what frequency you were tuned to, not just informed you of your captivity

“You searched my ship already, didn’t you?”

You returned to the sky without waiting for confirmation, like the answer didn’t matter, not really

There were stars out there still

Stars that had seen wars rise and fall, and didn’t blink for either

Deadlock didn’t reply right away. He stood there, the shadow of his frame stretched over you, his optics unreadable

He didn’t know what held him in place

There was no protocol, no justification – You had no weapons. No data caches. You weren’t a spy, or a threat, or even an asset. You were, in every practical sense, nothing

And yet—that was the part he couldn't let go of

You were the only one who had ever looked at him and not recoiled. Not bargained, not grovelled — You just sat there — Unchanged, unbothered, unreachable, like the stars above you

“You travel alone” he said at last

“No crew. No defenses. No shields or countermeasures”

“That’s right”

“Why?”

The question came out rough. Not because he wanted to accuse you. But because he didn’t know how else to ask the thing that was clawing at him inside: "Why do you risk this?" "Why are you not afraid?" "Why are you not trying to escape from him?" "don't you feel.. lonely?"

You turned to him again, the way one might turn toward warmth in the cold—softly, gently—and offered a smile.

Not mocking, not performative just a quiet honesty, carried like a candle between hands “Because I only want to see the world. Not conquer it”

It wasn’t the kind of answer that struck like thunder. It didn’t burn like fire. It was gentler than that — Like a drop of clear rain falling into a war-scorched desert and disappearing without sound, yet leaving behind something that didn’t quite evaporate

Deadlock stared at you

He had seen empires fall and comrades bleed out in the silence of space. He had delivered death in cold precision, had seen entire planets turned to ash in pursuit of conquest. But he had never, never, heard someone say they simply wanted to see

No dominion. No survival

Just presence

He didn’t understand it and he hated what he didn’t understand. But he didn’t leave ��� Instead, he lowered himself slowly to the ground beside you

No fanfare, no force

Just the quiet, unfamiliar act of choosing to stay. He left a small space between you. Enough not to intrude, not so much as to sever the thread between you, thin and strange as it was

And you—You didn’t shift away, didn’t question it, didn’t even ask “How long are you going to keep me here?”

As if you'd already decided the answer didn’t matter. Not compared to the way the stars still shimmered, ancient and unapologetic, above a planet that had nothing left to give

.

.

He was quiet for a long while, as if the words had to crawl their way out of the wreckage inside him “…You like it, then?”

“the stars?”

“No… I meant the way it makes you feel”

You didn’t answer at first

You just smiled—that faint, elusive thing, like starlight trying to find its way through the dark of a half-shuttered window and then, without a sound, you laid yourself down fully on the flat, cold surface of the stone

It cradled your form like a long-lost memory—unforgiving in texture, but strangely familiar in its silence

“Of course I do” you said at last, voice barely above a whisper “It never demanded anyone to pick a side. It never pulled anyone into a war they didn’t ask for..”

There was no venom in your tone, no bitterness. Just an old ache, worn smooth like the stone beneath you—like something you'd carried for so long it had stopped cutting into your circuits. Deadlock stared down at you, at the way your optics held no urgency, no defense

You weren’t trying to justify yourself, weren’t trying to change his mind

You were just… being

“Are you running from it?” he asked, though the words felt foreign in his own voice. You let out a breath that could’ve been a sigh, or a laugh, or maybe just the sound of something letting go

“I’m not running” you said

“I’m just not chasing it anymore”

He didn’t understand

Not really

Not in the way he understood blades and missions and silence that followed orders. But something about your words lodged itself inside him, like a shard of light piercing a place he’d forgotten he had

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Because what he wanted wasn’t something he could ask

He just… watched

Watched you trace invisible shapes in the stars with your optics, your fingers twitching slightly like you were sketching something only you could see.

Watched the way you seemed content to let silence fill the air between you— not as a weapon, not as a shield, but as a choice

He wondered how long you would lie there if he said nothing. How long you could let peace settle over you like a cloak. How long before the world demanded something of you again—and whether you’d yield, or vanish, or simply turn away

He didn’t know and it scared him—this not-knowing

This ache for something he couldn't name

Because deep in the pit of his spark, in that place no training could reach, he feared that if he let you go—he might never see that kind of freedom again

—

The stars were bruises in the night sky—deep violet and silver, bleeding slowly across the horizon as the remnants of a distant supernova whispered through the black. Cold wind stirred the dust around the rock you sat on, sharp with metal and ozone, the smell of a world long-abandoned

Deadlock stood a few paces away, framed in the dim light like a statue too stubborn to erode. His armor caught the faint gleam of a dying moon—scratched, dulled, but still solid as the name he bore. He hadn’t moved in a while. Not since you both fell silent

Perhaps it was the silence itself that unmoored him

“…What are you, really?”

His voice broke the stillness not like a blade, but like the creak of ancient hinges—rough with disuse, but careful not to slam anything shut too quickly. He spoke with edges, yes, but underneath those edges was hesitation. A low hum of something that could be called longing, if he had the words for it

You didn’t look at him immediately. Your optics remained fixed upward, toward constellations that didn’t belong to either of you. They were just… there. Unclaimed. Free

“An explorer? A wanderer? A drifter?”

You let each word roll lazily off your glossa like you weren’t quite sure which one fit “Take your pick”

He shifted his stance. Barely. But you caught it. The uncertainty behind the motion

“No mission? No objective?”

“I follow gravity” you said at last “Whichever way the pull leads. A planet, a moon, a quiet stretch of empty space”

“I move toward what draws me in. That’s all”

Deadlock’s optics narrowed faintly

“That sounds… senseless”

You finally turned to look at him, head tilted just slightly “Maybe. But it’s mine”

Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “What about yours?”

He hesitated

Not because he didn’t have an answer—he had one ready, and you could see it form on his tongue. But saying it aloud here, in this quiet pocket of the universe where war wasn’t echoing off the walls, made it feel… false. Outdated

Still, he answered “My duty is to eliminate the enemies of the Decepticons..”

The wind blew again. Cold this time

It caught on the edges of your plating and rustled loose grains of shattered stone. He didn’t move. But something in him seemed to shift. The tension between you both wasn’t combative anymore. It was quieter now. More like a question waiting to be asked. And then, he asked it

“What’s your name?”

“Will you remember it?”

A flicker passed behind his optics

“I don’t forget the name of something I’ve decided… not to kill” The way he said it—carefully, precisely—told you everything

How rare that decision was. How dangerous it felt to say it aloud. A soft laugh escaped you, almost involuntary

“That almost sounds romantic”

“It’s not” Too quick. Too sharp

And yet… not sharp enough

There was doubt bleeding into the edges of his voice now, undermining the flat certainty he tried to wrap around his words

You didn’t tease him for it—Didn’t press

You simply said your name

Soft. Unrushed. Like the first syllables of a melody that didn’t need to go anywhere

He stood still as stone

But his optics shuttered for a moment—just one flicker—like he was sealing the name into memory, not in the way a soldier memorizes a target…but the way a starless wanderer might memorize the name of the first light they ever saw in the dark

—

Space doesn’t remember you but you try to remember it

Time was a cycle on a ship—measured in rotations, daybreaks, dusks. But out here, there is only the faint light of stars that have not yet arrived. A delay of millennia between what was and what now flickers through the viewports. You sit alone on an old research vessel once built for Central Exploration. Once. Now it is yours. Yours alone

The lab is a chaotic graveyard of curiosity

Uncatalogued star samples lie scattered across the workbench, dimly glimmering like fossilized light. A datapad blinks open beside a half-finished cube of energon, lines of unintelligible code and notes scribbled hastily on translucent film paper. Your handwriting—jagged, erratic, alive with questions. The low murmur of galactic radio frequencies hums in the background, like the universe whispering to itself through static

You press a finger to the recorder and begin speaking into the dark

"Date... I don’t know. I’ve lost track time"

"Today I saw a star. Not a bright one. Not large. But for some reason… I couldn’t look away.. something about it felt familiar—as if I’d seen it before in another sky"

You stare out past the hull window where stars burn like slow-dying embers

“If a star dies… does it still exist in memory?”

A question. Not yours. Not originally

A voice from long ago, from one drifting bot you met in the deep of the black. You never remembered his name. Not truly

You don’t even recall the shape of his faceplate now—only the texture of his voice, like worn brass and hesitant gravity. You remember the way he asked the question, during a night you were both stranded on a derelict moon. It hadn’t matched him—this strange softness, this sudden philosophy. But he asked anyway and now you carry the question with you. Like a splinter in your spark

.

.

He stood still, alone in the quiet hum of his quarters.

Not Deadlock anymore—not in name.

But beneath the new plating and repainted insignia, there were fractures in the armor that couldn’t be covered. Slivers of memory embedded deep in his frame.

The past clung to him like dried coolant. Regret, like rust

They had made a brief landing on a backwater star system—standard protocol. Faint signal detected. Possibly a distress call. Possibly a trap. The Wreckers were ready for either. What they weren’t ready for was… nothing. A desert of broken scrap. Torn structures. Empty wind

Except for one thing

Half-buried in the sand like a secret someone tried to forget. A datapad, scorched at the edges, humming softly with preserved memory

He found it or perhaps it found him

“Still asking too many questions, huh…” His voice was low, hoarse—spoken more to the silence than to anyone present

He brought the datapad back with him

Now, sitting at his desk, the lights dimmed to a soft, amber hush, he stared at the familiar, impossible scrawl on the screen. The symbols, the tangled phrasing, the dense streams of data interspersed with words that shouldn’t have belonged there. Shouldn’t, and yet—you always made them fit

It was you. He knew it like he knew his own scars

No one else wrote like that, no one else could thread particle physics through metaphors of burning leaves, no one else could take gravity equations and lace them with longing

His hand trembled slightly as he swiped to the final line – There, typed alone in the last blinking entry:

"A nameless star… but once, I knew it well"

He read it three times. The fourth time, he didn’t need the screen

He could feel the words pulsing through his core memory, reverberating through every old protocol he had tried to bury. That you had been here—recently, possibly—That you had looked up and seen something familiar

That maybe, impossibly, you remembered him

Not his face, not his voice

But the version of him that asked questions beneath dying stars and maybe that was enough

He closed the datapad and sat there for a long, long time. The silence around him was no longer empty—it rang with a single memory: A voice, low and curious, in the echoing dark of yours—

“If a star dies… does it still exist in memory?”

He didn’t have an answer

But now, perhaps, he wanted to find on