your daily reminder for ai writers, ai-assisted writers, and anyone using tools in their creative process—
you don’t have to justify how much of your writing is “you” versus ai. that question is often less about understanding and more about drawing lines to decide who “counts,” and that’s not something you have to prove against.
if you use ai for brainstorming, outlining, drafting, rewriting, or even generating full pieces you then edit, reshape, or curate—you’re still creating. choosing what stays, what changes, what gets cut, and what actually feels right is part of authorship.
there isn’t a minimum “human input percentage” that makes writing valid. writing has always involved tools, influence, drafts, and revision—it just looks different now.
you’re allowed to care about story, emotion, and craft without every word needing to start in your head.
and you don’t owe anyone a breakdown of your process to prove your work counts. if you made it, shaped it, or decided what it became, it already is yours.
I'm not sure if I seen any posts going around discussing the recent VERY DETAILED (and honestly kind of poetic in how vitriolic they are) AI generated spambots on AO3.
I feel like I just need to spread the word, because these guys are NASTY. But they aren't real! You can tell that by the fact that they don't mention a fandom, a character, or anything even remotely about the fic itself.
Just wanted to put it out there in case anyone gets one of these and it crushes them. Never stop writing. Writing and story telling is one of the oldest ways of connecting with other humans. It's a gift to this world. Keep writing!!!
After Sentinel Prime's revival, the world inside N.E.S.T tightens like a drawn wire. The legendary Autobot's return is hailed as a triumph- but not everyone feels relief. You to watch the Prime with the same cold precision you once reserved for enemy targets. Something about his composure and silences, feels... wrong.
Yet in the middle of it all, what started as friction between you and Ironhide begins to shift, forged in the fire of trust, edging into something neither of you are ready to name.
Tensions rise as whispers of a new Decepticon plot spreads through the ranks- one that circles back to Sentinel himself. But as the smoke clears, you can't shake off the feeling that the real enemy is already inside the gates.
Content: AU Events takes place in Transformers DOTM. Major Movie Spoilers. Mild Coarse Language. Mentions of weaponry, violence and injury. Enemies to Lovers. Fluff. Bayverse Ironhide x F/Human Reader.
Inspired Song: Blood Like Gasoline by Against The Current
Word Count: 3,455
Forged in Fire Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 (Coming Soon)
The hangar seemed to buzz slightly quieter in the late night hours.
From the catwalk above, leaning against the steel railing, another mug of bitter hot beverage warming your hands, while your narrow gaze scanned the scene below. Occasionally attempting to rub away the subtle bags under your eyes, determined to get rid of the proof of another night plagued by nightmares of the past.
The distant sound of disapproved grunts and back handed comments caught your attention, your gaze flickered back down to Sentinel.
The legendary figure stood within the empty hangar. His frame towering, yet his armour- thought weathered and dulled with age, still carried a regal gleam. A soft frown framed your lips, witnessing the faint twitch of his servo's while Sentinel seemed to adjust to the world around him. But something about him rang wrong in your gut.
His movement's are... too careful and deliberate. Almost as if... Your head cocked to the side, as Sentinel's narrowed glare flickered from door to door, optics flashing with scholar's disdain. As if he's trying too hard to blend in.
"What are you looking for at this hour?"
Raising a slight eyebrow, as Sentinel didn't answer straight away. Merely peering up at you with a ghost of a smile that never quite reached his optics. "Nothing for you to trouble yourself over, soldier. I... expected certain arrangements to be in place."
"Arrangements?" your eyes narrowed. "At two in the morning?"
Sentinel bristled, his towering frame shifting defensively. "I have every right to assess my surroundings-"
"That would be understandable, considering your current position." Taking a sip from your beverage, not breaking eye contact. "But... this is Lennox's base, and when unauthorized personnel paces around the barracks at lights out. The coronel's gonna start asking some questions."
A tense pause stretched between you.
Past the shadows of the hangar, Ironhide passed the final curve of the perimeter. The memory of your earlier flirtation played upon a loop within his processor. Lingering, tucked into the seams of his armour where your silence had settle like grit. Making his spark heavier, and footsteps slower than ususal.
Ironhide could hear the sharp but measured tone within your voice. Instantly recognizing your guard, that defensive edge you only used when something felt... wrong. Stepping into the shadow of one of the maintenance overhangs, unseen but within clear earshot.
"You're too observant for a species that's... replaceable." Sentinel rumbled.
The last word caused you to pause mid-sip. "Replaceable?-"
"Everything all right here?" the weapons specialist spoke, tone even but carrying that subtle authority only he could manage. Easing into the hangar like a ghost in armor- weight on the outer edges of his pedes, servos quieted, shoulders lowered.
"Huh?" hiding your fraction of a startle under a shallow sip of your now cold beverage.
Sentinel straightened to his full height, armor bristling like a mech caught somewhere between pride and irritation. "The human," he said with a dismissive gesture, "seems to think my actions require... an explanation."
Ironhide's raised an optic ridge, as he approached a little closer. The glow of his optics cutting through the dim light. "Do they?"
The old Prime tilted his helm just enough to feel like a challenge. While your gaze flickered between the Autobots, biting down on whatever retort was sitting behind your teeth.
Sentinel's optics burned faintly, while a sharp, irritated sound escaped his vocalizer- something between a scoff and a growl. Before turning upon his heel, his heavy footfalls echoing far too loudly in the hush of the base, as his silhouette vanished into the shadows beyond the main doors.
Finally letting out a heavy breath, allowing the set of your jaw to change. Suspicion clicking into place like a safety switched off, as your fingers tapped once, twice- faint yet controlled against the ceramic mug. Taking a sip that had long gone cold just to have something distract your thoughts momentary.
Ironhide took a step forward, slow and careful- mindful not to crowd you. Noticing the faint smudges under your eyes, how your skin was too-pale. And the way your shoulders sagged whenever you thought no one was looking. His voice rumbled softer than usual, "checking in. You looked ready to pull a sidearm on him."
"I'm fine. Just... didn't like his tone, nor him snooping around, that's all." You said, too casually, shoulders lifting in a shrug that didn't reach your eyes.
"You... gonna tell me. What's gotten you up at this hour too?"
Your eyes flickered up at him, only responding with silence.
Fuck... You had to ask didn't you! The Autobot's processor cursed. You need to stop! She's only gonna throw up those walls again. Retreat behind her ususal steel and sarcasm-
"Nothing new. Just... nightmares" He almost missed your soft tone. As a small shrug followed, almost like you was apologizing for it. "Old missions. Old faces. They... don't stay buried long at night."
Ironhide shifted his weight, metal joints clicking softly in the cavernous hangar. Your exhausted gaze, with a hint of trust shimmering behind your eyes, made something in his spark twist. Then- hesitant, almost as if testing your own courage, you leaned forward, closing the last bit of space between you. Until your forehead rested lightly against the wide, armoured plating over his spark chamber.
The contact was so small. So fragile.
But Ironhide's entire frame went completely still. Optics flickering in surprise, as his audios picked up your muffled sigh- like the weight you've been carrying finally slipped for half a breath.
Saying nothing, the Autobot barely vented, as though the smallest motion would shatter the fragile thing balancing between you.
One hand clutching at his chassis, almost as though you needed something solid to hang to. While the other let go of the mug, allowing it to fall and clink against the catwalk's metal grating. Hand balled into a fist, weakly thumping against Ironhide's chassis, once... twice...
The sound so dull, that even your anger had run out of strength.
"Why?... Out of everything... you?" you whispered fiercely, frustration slipping through the exhaustion. "When I've hated your kind for years. Why the hell is it you that makes me feel... safe?"
Ironhide's vents stuttered faintly, as your words trailed off. I-I... don't know, Rook. Trust me, I want to understand as much as you do- why the sight of your exhausted frame, or the sound of your voice ties knots within my spark.
Gears and plating shifted softly, as he lowered a free servo. Slow enough that you could have moved away if wanted. But you allowed his servo to awkwardly settle against the small of your back, feeling the carefulness of his touch- like you were made of glass.
"You don't have to know why tonight." He finally said, "all you need to know is that I'm here- not going anywhere. Even when you feel like everything else does-"
"But this doesn't make sense." Your voice cracking a little more, tilting your head up slightly and meeting his soft gaze. "I don't do this. I don't... fall apart in front of anyone."
"I know..."
"You can't keep carrying it alone, kid." Granger's tone echoed deep within your memory. His voice rough with cigarette smoke, carrying that familiar half-laughed weariness. "Friendship, loss, guilt... love... you shut it out too long, it'll kill you slower than any bullet. Don't be afraid to feel it. Even if it hurts later.
Feeling your body slowly uncoil one tension at a time, melting into Ironhide's embrace, as your forehead rested against his chassis again, breath fogging faintly against the cool metal.
For years, you slammed a door on the memory of your old unit- especially Granger. Slammed and locked it away, because losing them hurt more than you'd ever admit aloud. Yet the recollection resurfaced, slipping back through the cracks.
"Attachments gets idiots like you lot killed. That's why I am and foremost a soldier- don't need anyone, or anything!" Your angry tone echoed throughout your thoughts, as the memory came into startling clarity. Granger, standing in that dusty motor pool, laughing tiredly. Only shaking his head and giving you his ususal smug smile, "one day, someone's going to break through that armour of yours. And you're gonna let them- whether you like it or not."
A scoff escaped you- less disbelieving than your response in memory, as something shifted inside you. Like a lock quietly clicking open after years of refusing to turn.
Ironhide sucked in a vent of air he didn't need.
Systems registering your touch before his processor did. How your warmth made his temperatures spike. The closeness between you. His spark- which had beaten steady, disciplined, unchanged through centuries- stuttered once. Then... adjusted, slowly recalibrating. The rhythm inside his chassis beginning to fall in step with your heartbeat.
Something unseen had begun to weave itself between flesh and metal.
The Next Day
Monitors flared with satellite feeds and traffic cams, as Lennox and Director Mearing stood over the central table within the main comm-room. Standing off to the side, arms folded behind your back in the half-parade stance of someone who refused to look rattled- even when the room vibrated with tension.
Mearing pinched the bridge of her nose, as a name she begrudgingly recognized flashed across the screen. "Mr Witwicky, I thought I made it crystal clear that I didn't want you contacting-"
Sam's voice crackled over the comm panel- rushed, agitated and insistent. "Listen, the whole thing has been a setup since the beginning! The Decepticons wanted Optimus to find Sentinel, cause only a Prime could revive him."
Your eyes flickered upwards the moment Sam mentioned the old Prime.
Lennox stepped forward. "Mearing, if Sam's right-"
"Coronel, we have the space bridge." Mearing challenged, straightening her sharp suit and adjusting her glasses. "You want me to move a recently awakened, politically sensitive Cybertronian because a twenty year old college dropout got a 'bad feeling?'-"
"Ma'am, we have five pillars." You corrected, "this... college dropout has just learned that the enemy have hundreds. You're doing exactly what the Decepticons wanted you to do! What do you need him to say?-"
"The Decepticons are coming for Sentinel." Lennox's voice was steady but weighted. "Rook... if you've got input- now's the time."
The command center stilled, as you drew a rough sketch of arrows, firing arcs, red Xs where choke points lived. Pointing at various points as Lennox and Epps helped spread out your plan.
"Base wide lockdown," your tone held pride yet urgency in equal measure. "Sentinel comes through the east service tunnel, and straight to Bay Three. No sightseeing. No stops. Jammers on a rolling interval so we don't blind ourselves. I recommend overlapping fields of fire here, here and here. If the Decepticons get inside, we'll drown them in a killbox."
"Copy that," Lennox spoke. "Harris, get me the blackout teams. Park, bring up the point-defense turrets and calibrate to Autobot IFF- I don't want friendly fire if someone moves wrong. McGraw, decoys- we'll run three dummy convoys in case the Cons' are watching-"
"I'll take overwatch on the east tunnel." Ironhide rumbled, gears and cogs of his cannons whirling to life. Weapon systems coming online and clicking into place, "weapon's locked and loaded. If I see anything bigger than a motorcycle- trust me to scrap it-"
"I'll be two levels up." You butted in with a smile. Shouldering your custom rifle, checking the old, scuffed scope that never quite sat properly. Brushing your thumb against Granger's name etched onto the side out of habit.
"I've got your six, sharpshooter." Ironhide lowly rumbled, allowing you to hear his engine slightly purr.
"I know."
---
Sentinel's escort had barely cleared the base perimeter when everything detonated at once.
"Decepticons! Coming in bound!" Lennox's voice warned through comms. "Ironhide! Sideswipe is engaged! Hostiles pursuing Sentinel convoy downtown!"
The coronel almost had to do a double take, as the sound of your boots harshly echoed against the grated catwalk- skipping two steps at a time. "Rook! You're not cleared to leave the perimeter-"
Ironhide didn't waste a moment, when his optics caught the sight of you hitting the stairwell at dead sprint. "Care for a spin, sharpshooter?" he rumbled, converting into a blur of shifting plates and hydraulics. Landing upon his shocks with a growl, popping his passenger door open with an almost gentleman-like swagger.
A small smile tugged the corners of your lips as you slung yourself into the back of his cab. "Something just told me, you'll need someone watching your back."
Tearing out of N.E.S.T Gate Six into full daylight, skidding onto the highway. Ironhide's exhaust howled as he past Bumblebee, the road a blur of black beneath you. Wind knifing through downtown as Sideswipe spun between incoming fire, his silver altmode flashing like a blade within your peripheral vision. Running a Decepticon off the road- clipping a hydrant, causing a geyser ripping skyward, turning sunlight into a shimmering fog.
The lead Decepticon's tires screamed smoke- immedictly steel panels flexed, the sound of whirling gears and cogs filled the air. Dreadlocks of cable and wires flowed over the Decepticon's shoulders, as a hooked spear arced up like a scorpion's tail.
Tightening the seat belt against your chest, as Ironhide picked up speed. Transforming mid-movement- the shift was violent yet elegant. A scream escaped your mouth, eyes closing tightly as you felt the Autobot's panels move and guide protectively around you. Feeling the weapons specialist slam full-force into the scorpion-like Decepticon with all his mass. Causing the enemy to crash through a bus stop in an explosion of glass and metal.
Coming to his full height, Ironhide's plates pushed you up onto his shoulder. Allowing you to regain your balance and the air to escape your lungs, as the plating locked and secured beneath you. Quickly clutching onto weapons specialist's neck cables, while raising his cannons towards the enemy.
"Is there a problem?-"
"Try something like that again, and I swear I'll yank on these!" you hissed through your teeth.
A low chuckle rumbled within Ironhide's chassis, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. "Wasn't aware you had such a kink-"
The scorpion-like Decepticon crouched low on the Autobot's left, claws dug into the concrete while raising it's spear-head tail, vents hissing like a cornered animal. While the other- more humanoid, stood upon Ironhide's right, aiming their weapon at you and the Autobot.
"Whoa. A little Mexican standoff we got here." Sideswipe grinned, blades glinting in the sun, standing across from Ironhide.
Ironhide's optics flickered from enemy to enemy. "Weapons down-"
"And we'll let you escape with your dignity."
Your glare narrowed, studying the Con's exchange glances. The one you mentally nicknamed 'Scorpion' snarled- a violent, shuddering intake, plates flexing like he might spring. While the other muttered something to him in Cybertronian.
"Drop 'em." Ironhide commanded. Throwing his guns into the middle of the standoff, cannons retracting back into his forearms.
With Sideswipe following suit. Grinning as the Con's begrudgingly complied. "That's good-"
"Swords!-"
Sideswipe was airborne before your warning finished, twin blades screaming. Scorpion lunged for you- only to meet both of Ironhide's withdrawn cannons point-blank, the blast ripping away half of the Con's chest.
Allowing Ironhide's cables to snake around your waist, anchoring you to him as you straddled his shoulder. Quickly aiming your rifle at the enemy's weak point within his neck, firing your round without hesitation. The bullet drilling through Scorpion's through the joint, just as Ironhide slammed his fist into the Con's sternum. Causing him to hit the pavement in a rain of sparks and metal teeth.
Sideswipe dropped to a knee, sliding and crossing his blades in a bright X, catching the other Deception's claws and shunting them wide. Steel sang. The silver Autobot twisted- graceful like an acrobat- severing the Con's forearm at the elbow. A screeching howl escaped their vocalizer, energon sprayed in a blue fan across the concrete.
"Left hip! He's heavy there- take it!"
He obeyed your guidance without looking. Sideswipe's next cut low and mean.
Scorpion's recovery caught your attention, as the Decepticon ripped a grenade out of his chest holster- a nasty, hooked thing that pulsed with a wrong kind of light-
Bang!
Your round struck the grenade within his servo. Detonating it inside his grip with a wet, concussive whump, blowing his forearm into a ragged stump and punching a smoking hole through his torso. Scorpion staggered, optics flaring bright as if rage alone could knit him back together.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three quick body shots hammered into the Decepticon from Ironhide's cannons. Allowing the enemy to attempt to claw at his chassis, before putting a final round through Scorpion's opic at arm's length.
The Decepticon fell in a heap, twitching then... still.
The remaining Decepticon lunged again, wild- one arm gone, the other hooked for Sideswipe's throat. The silver Autobot dipped, spun, and hamstrung the enemy with a spark of silver. Forcing the Con onto both knees, as they roared up into Sideswipe's face- only be finished by Ironhide's cannon thundering point-blank.
"Decepticon punk!" The shot caved chest plate and spine, the Decepticon folded like a felled crane, all that killer geometry collapsing into junk.
Silence dropped in a hot, ringing sheet. The only sound was the ticking of cooling metal and your slow, measured breath in your own ears.
"Class dismissed." Ironhide turned, smoke curling off his cannon vents. Looking over to you, feeling your thighs squeezing his shoulder as he tried to push down the purr within his engine. "Nice pop on the hand grenade. That shot was-"
"Lucky?"
"Sexy." He cheekily corrected.
You shot him a look that could have sanded steel, but your soft tone and blushing features betrayed you. "Don't push it, big boy-"
"Convoy just cleared." Lennox cut in, relief bleeding through the coms. "Sentinel's secure. Good work."
Roughly 30 mins Later
The late-afternoon light washed the concrete in a pale gold that made everything look unreal. N.E.S.T in full lockdown. The blast doors peeled open.
Stepping off the transport with Ironhide's engine still ticking hot at your back, as you were still coming down from the fight- hands slightly trembling with aftershock, mind calculating angles and exits. Rifle slung and ears full of the base's pulse- forklifts beeping, hydraulics hissing, that ever-present hum of alien power threaded through human steel.
Sentinel stood at the center of it all, like a legend set upright, ringed by soldiers and Autobots. While Lennox coordinated the security perimeter, his firm tone interrupting Sam Witwicky through coms. "I know! I've got my whole team deployed, looking for 'em- Ironhide! Protect Sentinel! Keep him locked up inside!-"
"Consider it done!"
Your instincts went cold. Unease coiling in your spine like a living thing. As every nerve in your body whispered two words. Something's wrong.
"What you must realize, my Autobot brothers, is we were never going to win the war. For the sake of our planet's survival, a deal had to be made... with Megatron."
Ironhide stepped forward, confused. "What are you- GAH!"
Your lungs stopped working. Sentinel's frame rotated with a movement too fast for age. Shield deployed with gunshot crack, his blade arcing out in one impossibly fluid motion.
Twin rust-red bolts tore through Ironhide's plating at close range. A shower of molten fragments rained down, forcing the weapons specialist to stagger, vents churning.
"Ironhide!" your scream was obliterated by the explosion. Running full sprint, allowing your rifle to hit the floor behind you. Hand ripping a grenade from your belt, arming it mid-stride, pulling the pin with your teeth. Hurling the grenade with every ounce of your strength at Sentinel.
The grenade hit the old Prime in his collar plate, going off in a concussive burst that staggered him half a step back. Smoke and sparks sprayed from the impact site- not enough to drop Sentinel, but enough to interrupt his second shot.
The next blast took Ironhide's shoulder, rust crawled like a living thing. Eating through plates, chewing into structs. Making him drop to one knee, pistons juddering, cannons lowering in jerks as if the weight of them had doubled.
"No!" your voice cracked at the word. Hope and panic scraping raw in your throat, forcing your body to keep moving. Weaving between fuel bowsers and pallets, ignoring Lennox's order to hold.
"Rook!" Ironhide roared- a sound that was more engine than voice, shoving himself upright on ruined legs. Rust blooming across him, plating collapsing into mulch, seams hissing apart as if they'd waited years for this permission. He took one step towards Sentinel, cannons lifting but his right arm simply... failed.
Beneath the constant hum and duty of the N.E.S.T base, you begin to discover long hidden secrets and repreative lies, that starts leaking through the cracks. Noticing how the subtle rift of distrust and the question of loyalty slowly wedging in.
And with the revival of an ancient Autobot whom is wrapped in rehearsed pleasantries, smiles which are too polished and speaking too carefully- as if each word was measured for effect.
All the while, a certain weapons specialist annoyingly continues to chip at your walls with patience, bad jokes and loyalty that begins to feel something dangerously close to gravity.
Content: AU Events takes place in Transformers DOTM. Movie Spoilers. Mild Coarse Language. Enemies to Lovers. Fluff. Bayverse Ironhide x F/Human Reader. Fuff/Romance.
Word Count: 3,404
Forged in Fire Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 (Coming Soon)
The sun had barely crested over the Washington skyline, its pale light bleeding through the hangar's high windows, throwing long beams across the metal walls. The cavernous space still faintly smelled of oil, scorched steel, and jet fuel- a perfume you've gotten used to by now.
Standing upon one of the upper-level catwalks, leaning over the rail, raising the chipped enamel mug to your lips again, while staring down at the organized chaos below. Secretly admiring the vantage point, removed and above the chaos. Yet close enough to see, but also be hidden from others view.
Technicians moved between parked Hummers and armoured transports, their chatter echoing faintly. The Autobots roamed beyond, silent silhouettes lit by floodlight's as if waiting for a command that hadn't yet been given.
Your eyes were half-lidded, muscles stiff from another restless night. The hot beverage not doing much, besides coating your tongue with the taste of cheap caffeine.
Constantly attempting to prevent your foggy thoughts from wandering. Convincing yourself that you weren't looking for him- a certain gun-metal mech with a too-sharp grin. But... your eyes kept searching the floor all the same.
"You lied to us! Everything humans knew of our planet, we were told had all been shared." A sharp, commanding voice cut through the air, drawing your attention down to the far end of the hangar.
Optimus- crimson and cobalt armour gleaming under the lights, even from this distance, you could see his rigid stance. Sensing the restrained frustration within his tone, as he gestured towards the small Cybertronian artifact recovered from Chernobyl. "So why was this found in human possession?"
You leaned forward, curiosity catching before your better judgement could stop it.
Before the Prime stood a woman dressed in a pressed suit, her blonde hair neatly tied into a smart bun. Her stern expression unshifting, as Lennox gave her an awkward side-glance.
"We were in the dark on this also. It was 'Director Only' clearance at Sector Seven until now." You cocked your head slightly, subtly trying to figure out the folder that the woman pulled from her bag. "This is a secret a few men knew. And fewer still remain alive."
You froze, mug halfway to your lips, as your eyes slightly widened. Something tells me, this isn't the kind of classified briefing that I should be hearing.
Your eyes flickered to the grated metal beneath your boots.
One wrong shift... One careless scrape, and the sound will give me away.
Your grip tightened on the mug, heat biting into your palm. Jaw flexing, a breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a curse quietly escaped.
"Allow me to please introduce to you to, two of NASA's founding mission directors. And astronaut, Dr. Buzz Aldrin, one of the first two men to step foot on the moon." The blonde woman proudly shook Aldrin's hand. "Sir? Optimus Prime."
The elderly astronaut's hazel eyes sparked with child-like wonder, as his gaze flickered up to Optimus. "And from a fellow space traveler, it's a true honor."
"The honour is mine." Optimus bowed his helm.
"Our entire space race of the 1960's, was a response to an event. We- the astronauts investigated a crashed alien ship." Aldrin's gaze softened as Prime crouched, lowering himself more to human height. "No... survivors were onboard. We were sworn to secrecy by our Commander in Chief, that this was a mission we'll never speak of. A total of 35 people at NASA, knew the real plan. But the ... Soviets managed to land unmanned probes. Somehow, they must have picked up that fuel rod."
"We believe that the Russians possibly thought, that the rod was a fissionable fuel assembly." The blonde woman continued, gesturing towards nearby computer screens. "Probably believing they had it mastered, and tried to harness it at Chernobyl."
"We landed six missions in all." Aldrin's gentle tone effortlessly flowed through the hangar. His words capturing everyone- more so you, like how a grandfather would remising old tales from his youth. "We took hundreds of photos and samples, only to... lock them away forever. And the moon program was shut down."
"Well... did you search the crash vault?"
Their silenced, puzzled expressions and questioning gazes was enough to answer Optimus' question.
"The ship's name was the Ark. I watched it escape Cybertron myself. It was carrying an Autobot technology which would have won us the war... and it's captain."
"Who was its captain?"
"The great Sentinel Prime, the technology's inventor. He was the commander of the Autobots before me." Optimus sighed heavily. "It's imperative that I find it before the Decepticons learn of its location. Our Autobot spacecraft has the ability to get there. And... you must pray that we get there in time."
The hangar fell quiet, tension still clinging to the air like static. Ironhide shifted his massive frame, turning away from the cluster of officials and soldiers. Cannons retracting with a hiss, shoulders rolling as though shrugging off the argument he'd just witnessed.
His sensors picking up a subtle change in the air, causing his blue optics to scan the hangar. Lazily watching everyone hurry back to their former positions, your chest tightened as his gaze flickered up towards you. Tilting his helm in quiet interest, as you leaned out over the railing a little more than you should've, now making it obvious you'd overheard the whole thing.
Fuck...
Forcing your posture to straighten, shifting your weight and feigning nonchalance. The weapon's specialist approached you slower than ususal, his shoulder plating still patched from the Chernobyl op, but still looked steady and reliable.
"You heard that, didn't you?"
"Don't know what you're talking about." Your gaze flickered away, sipping the now cold beverage, grimacing at the taste. As if this small act itself, somehow explained away the Autobot's doubts.
Ironhide stops just beneath the catwalk, a small scoff escaping him while titling his helm upwards. "Please. We both know you were standing there long enough to memorize the main points of that argument."
"You read too much into things, big boy." The words left your mouth before you realized.
"So we're giving each other nicknames now, sharp shooter?" Ironhide teased, his words holding a flirtatious edge. "Could it be possible that you're... warming up to me?" a mischievous glint sparkling within his optics. His next words rumbling in a low seductive purr. "Bet I could really warm you up, with your legs wrapped around me."
You nearly spat out your drink. Eyes immediately snapping back towards Ironhide's smug expression.
W-What the fuck? No! There's no way he actually...
Pressing your lips against the rim of your mug, failing at stopping the soft laugher of disbelief slipping past before you could stifle it. Your shoulders shaking once, betraying you, as you tried to bury the small smile behind the chipped ceramic mug.
Ironhide's optics flickered for a moment, his processor checking- and double checking, as he studied your expression. How the corners of your lips subtly turned up, the faintest shimmer of humor within your eyes.
I-I've never seen her...
"Well, well... look at that. So you can smile?"
You stiffened. Lowering the mug deliberately, expression hardening back to stone. "Don't flatter yourself. I simply laughed at you, not with you. Anyone would of scoffed at that attempt of flirtation."
A low chuckle escaped the Autobot, noticing the soft blush upon your features betraying you. "Is that so? Why don't you do one better then? Show me how it's done, sharp shooter."
The challenge hung in the air.
Ironhide tilted his helm, optics flinting as he savored the rare sight of you caught off guard.
"W-What?"
"You heard me, sharp shooter. Say something that would make my systems overheat."
For a long moment, you said nothing. Simply keeping the mug close to your lips, your ususal nonchalant expression remaining unreadable. Leaning slightly over the railing, lazily cradling the ceramic mug in one hand.
"Y'know..." the faintest edge of a smirk tugged the corners of your lips, "I gotta admit, for a walking arsonal, you've got a... pretty fuckable body."
Ironhide stiffened slightly, genuinely stunned for a split second by your sultry tone, yet before he could say anything. The corners of your lips tugged further, your subtle smirk almost turning cheeky, while with a deliberate casual motion, adjusting the collar of your military uniform with mocking innocence.
P-Primus almighty...
With a noticeable flicker within his optics, his gaze raking over the curves of your cleavage, as a mechanical whir escaped his faltering systems as though someone had pulled the power from his circuits. Attempting to look less flustered, as his gaze watched you trail a hand down your neck, over your collarbone and down between the valley of your breasts, with mock innocence.
"Has this... made this your systems overheat?" a knowing smile framed your features, as Ironhide's engine reved a little louder.
"Of course not." Clearing his vocalizer, trying to regain his usual gruff bravado. Despite clearly struggling to keep his gaze from dropping to your cleavage. "J-Just a... little warm in here."
Blush crept across your features, as realization of what just happened slowly sunk in. Your soft chuckles died down, while doing up your buttons and adjusting your shirt. "I-It... is... isn't it?"
Ironhide's optics flicker up at you, seeing you avoiding his soft gaze and trying to hide behind the chipped ceramic mug. Sensing the familiarity of your walls already rebuilding.
"...Yeah." His voice dropped back to a low rumble. Pausing for a moment, running a servo down the back of his helm. "I'm... gonna head to the range- get some fresh air and all that... You... up for a little one-on-one?"
"No... Thank you... I've got reports to write, logistics to double-check. I don't exactly have time to-"
"Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two?" the gun-metal Autobot closed the gap between you a little more. "Reflex training. Improved recoil control. Maybe even show you a trick I used on Starscream in Doha-"
"I've already given you an answer. Take it. You'll also won't speak a word about..." words briefly trailed off, as you gestured to the pair of you. "To anyone-"
"I will... unless you join me."
Your eyes narrowed, giving the kind of look that's made full-grown men recheck their life insurance policies. "Careful... That sounds dangerously close to blackmail."
"Wouldn't dream such a thing." Ironhide lightly teased, his words holding a mock of innocence. "Merely stating that I've got a pretty detailed audio log of you saying a cute nickname for me earlier. I wonder... what Lennox would think of that playing through the loudspeakers during morning drills? Plus his reaction when I... accidentally hint that a certain sniper eavesdropped on something, she shouldn't have heard."
Your stomach dropped. "You wouldn't-"
"Really? You wanna test my curiosity of the quality of the base intercoms?"
A long silence stretched between the pair of you, until a sharp exhale escaped your lips. "You get ten minutes. No gloating, no recording, and if you ever bring up any of this again. I'll purposely put a bullet into your other shoulder!"
A flash of entertainment sparkled within his optics. "Of course... unless you beg to stay longer."
Your glare deepened, but the colour in your cheeks betrayed you. "You're insufferable."
Ironhide's smirk widened as you abandoned the mug upon the railings, storming towards the shooting range. A low chuckle rumbling within his engine. No matter the femme. They're all cute when they're mad.
---
Squaring your stance upon the elevated platform which brought you more to Ironhide's height. His optics flickering with lazy amusement, as your gloved hands tightened on the handle of your rifle.
Bang!
First round landed left of the target's center.
Bang!
The second hit low.
"You're rushing."
"I'm not." You bit back, adjusting your shoulder again and bracing. "If you remember, I hit everything Lennox through at me on day one. You're just breathing down my neck."
Bang!
Another bullet clipped the edge of the target. A frustrated groan escaped you, while lowering your weapon, shoulders tense.
"Plus... I'm not in the mood for some Cybertronian philosophy from a walking turret."
"Too bad." Ironhide chuckled, moving behind you and lowering his servos just above your form. "I'm going to give you one anyway."
Your breath hitched, as his touch- surprisingly gentle, guided your elbow up just slightly. Adjusting your rifle's angle with a feather-light touch. The tips of his digits brushing over your shoulder blade, as he straightened your spine, his touch trailing down to your waist. Ironhide guided your grip, adjusting your fingers against the stock and trigger guard.
His voice low and steady whispering into your ear, causing your heart to skip a beat. "Your weapon isn't a mare tool. It's an extension of yourself. Your will. Your instinct. Allow it to breathe, as you do. You move, it follows."
Swallowing the butterflies that threatened to entangle your nerves, the Autobot's free servo awkwardly cupped over yours around the grip.
"Relax your elbows. Shift your weight just a little forward- there. Now feel it. The balance. The rhythm."
You complied almost without thinking, eyes narrowing at the target, body adjusting under his quiet guidance.
"Every shot should be thought of like a breath. No hesitation or overthinking. Just a part of you... finishing a thought."
"... Is that what you tell all the rookies?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.
Ironhide chuckled, his ususal arrogant smirk framing his lips, while his flirtatious words whispered into your ear. "I don't waste time on rookies."
Squeezing the trigger, and with one sharp bang- the round punched through a perfect headshot.
Your chest rose and fell quickly, the moment heavier than the shot itself. After a moment of hesitation, your gaze met his. "You always this pushy?"
"I'm direct." Ironhide softly corrected, straightening his posture. "Saves time."
A small smile teased the corners of your lips, "bet that makes you real popular."
"You'd be surprised... but popularity never mattered to me. Loyalty does."
Eyes flickering away, checking your rifle like you suddenly became desperate for a distraction. Only breaking the brief silence, when it stretched for a moment too long, "you're... not what I expected."
"Neither are you."
Your stomach flipped, hating the way you tripped over yourself, heat pooling in your lower abdomen at the sheer intensity of his gaze. Out of everyone I've ever met... how is it this... this machine can dismantle distance with nothing more than words and patience?
"I could show you more." Ironhide's voice was low, almost coaxing. "Help you live through shit. How to walk away when others don't. Including those nightmares of your past."
Your lips parted, but only for your protest to die, as Ironhide's surprisingly featherlight touch brushed against your forearm, with precision that shouldn't have felt as intimate as it did. Breath hitching as the Autobot shifted closer, feeling the thrum of his spark against your back.
His free servo lowering, tracing the dip of your waist. The curve of your hip fitting too naturally beneath his palm, Ironhide's optics flickered with something he couldn't name.
Heart skipping a beat, as you subconsciously leaned into his chassis a little more. Feeling his spark hum against your back, it's beat too loud and uneven. Your posture slightly straightening, allowing the tips of his digits to map out the slope of your ribs. His touch memorizing the subtle curve beneath your breasts, a path too slow to be innocent.
Your throat tightened, forcing yourself to meet his soft optics. "And... what do you get out of it?"
The weapon's specialist dipped his helm lower, swearing to himself that he could feel the warmth radiating off your skin. His words coming out in a rumble that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "Hopefully... someone I don't have to bury."
The rifle hung forgotten in your hands, muzzle tilting towards the floor as your breath skimmed the back of Ironhide's knuckles. His servo stayed splayed across your ribs, not quite bold enough to claim the space. While the hum of his spark met your staggered breath, both threatening to sync.
Your head tipped the smallest degree upwards towards him, a surrender measured in millimeters. His optics flickering at your pulse as your skin gleamed in the low light.
Both of you close to a single breath away of closing the distance-
"Be advised, Prime inbound." Lennox's voice crackled over the intercoms, causing both of you to suddenly jump apart. "All personnel to Bay One. Team, prep for Subject Sentinel transfer. Repeat: Sentinel arriving main hangar."
"You're clear to move through!" someone shouted. "Watch the line, watch the line-"
Eyes widening. Reality crashing back over the pair of you like cold water.
Jerking forwards, breaking away from Ironhide's touch, as if you'd been burned. With your rifle wrenching back up into your hands, clutching like a lifeline, not meeting his gaze. Shoulders squaring, your jaw set hard and expression unreadable once again. Every muscle snapping taut, while clearing your throat. "I-I... should go... Sure the boys could use some help bringing that machine back."
Ironhide didn't move. His servo still hovered where your waist had been, digits curling slowly against the empty air before lowering it back to his side. While his spark ached, a low thrum of something foreign. As his optics dimmed to a soft glow, silently watching you square your shoulders and rigid your back, while approaching the main hangar without a word. As if nothing had happened.
A shaky breath left Ironhide. By the AllSpark...
An Hour Later- Bay One. Main Hangar
Leaning against the nearby wall, your gaze staring at nothing in particular for a moment. Before your eyes drifted upwards, wondering over the red-and-silver Autobot that laid cradled in a harness of steel and cables. The tang of jet fuel and coolant filled your lungs, as the wind picked up through the opened doors.
Don't... Your grip upon the strap of your weapon's holster tightened. Biting the inside of your cheek. Don't even think about that walking arsenal and this silver tongue. Or... how aroused you felt when showing him...
The thought repeated upon your mind, cruelly grinding the words into your own chest until they cut.
He's nothing but metal! Circuits and programming. Not a man- not human! Not someone you can-
"Set him down on three!" Lennox's voice cut across the floor, providing a welcoming distraction from your thoughts. "Energizer pack to the left, I want that line isolated. Give the Autobots room, guys! Optimus needs to do his thing!"
"Sentinel Prime..." your gaze slightly flickered to Sideswipe, casually parked in his altmode nearby. His low tone loud enough for you to hear, but also talking to no one in particular. "He vanished during the war back on Cybertron, I... honestly thought he was lost for good."
The floodlights above bathed the hangar in harsh white beams, illuminating the old Prime's figure lying dormant at the centre. A body once proud and regal, now battered and silent, scorched crimson and silver armor dulled by time and ruin.
Optimus approached his old mentor, his frame tense with equal parts reverence and hesitation as the Matrix of Leadership emerged from the Autobot's chassis.
"Matrix of Leadership." Sideswipe answered your silent question, smiling to himself as he watched your gaze grow curious at the glowing artifact. "Optimus holds the only thing in this universe that can revive a Cybertronian spark. The old Prime was the... Einstein of our civilization, if anyone can tip this war in our favour- it's him."
Your brows furrowed. "So... why do you sound like you don't trust him?"
Sideswipe's headlights briefly dimmed, before returning to Sentinel. "Because... I know what it's like when legends come back to life."
"They're never quite the same as you remember." Muttering to yourself in agreement. Words just too soft for the Autobot to hear.
"Sentinel Prime... we bid you return." Optimus fused a portion of the Matrix's energy into Sentinel's spark chamber with practiced precision.
A violent tremble coursed throughout his frame, as it groaned and protested the return of life. While a pulse of raw Cybertronian energy flooded the hangar, sparking against Sentinel's ancient wires and conduits. His body convulsing, hydraulics screaming as centuries of silence broke with a roar of grinding gears. Optics flaring wide, scanning wildly as his blurry vision snapped onto Optimus.
"Hold your fire!" Lennox shouted over coms, as the ancient Prime lashed out at Optimis. Withdrawing his Cybertronian blade, and placing it towards his student's throat.
Your fingers twitched against the stock of your rifle. Not realizing the shift in your stance until Sideswipe gently rolled forward, the hood of his almode gently nudging the back of your legs.
"Stop! Sentinel! It is I, Optimus Prime!" the Autobot dodged his mentor's attack, the tip of Sentinel's blade piercing the concrete where Optimus' helm was. "It's all right. You're safe. There's nothing to fear.... we are here... You are home, Sentinel."
Sentinel scanned his surroundings with a calculated, measured and weighed stare. "The war... the war!-"
"The war was lost, Cybertron is now but a barren wasteland. We have taken refuge here on Planet Earth, its human race is our ally." Optimus' voice remained calm and composed, as his mentor returned to his full height. Begrudgingly withdrawing his weapon.
"My ship... We came under fire! The pillars. Where are the pillars?"
"You saved five of them, including the control pillar-"
"Only five?!" a flash of annoyance spread across Sentinel's face. His gravelly tone and firm words a stark contrast to Optimus' calm words. " We once had hundreds!-"
"Excuse me, gentlemen. What... is it that you're searching for exactly?" a feminine tone of sharp words and professionalism, rudely interrupted the Primes.
"Director Mearing." Sideswipe somewhat cursed under his breath. "Donno what's worse. Rust in my under-carriage, or her."
Titling your head slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. As your studious gaze watched the director climb the scaffolding stairs, making herself more to Sentinel's height. That's the blonde woman from earlier this morning...
"It's technology that has the ability to reshape the universe." Sentinel's words didn't become any kinder, nor gentle. As his gaze narrowed on Mearing. "The pillars form a space bridge. I designed it but I alone, can control it. It defies your laws of physics to transport matter through time and space."
Your eyes slightly widened. He's... talking about some kind of teleportation device?
"It's a mare device that allows us to easily transport refugees, resources-"
"Or troops of soldiers, weapons, maybe bombs!" Director Mearing interrupted. The calm of Optimus not appearing to pose any effect upon her mannerism towards him or Sentinel. "A means of an instant strike! That's its military function, isn't it?!-"
"It's our technology and it must be returned-"
"Yes, if humans say so, Sentinel." Mearing protested, "you can't just bring weapons of mass destruction into our atmosphere! You have to clear Customs first! A little formality called 'paperwork.' Kinda separates us from the animals-"
"I will overlook your condescending tone, if you heed the gravity of mine. The Decepticons must never know the space bridge is here. For in their hands... it would mean the end of your world."
EVERYONE BE CAREFUL. ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN PHISHING SITE (first link)
(the link is purple bc i clicked on it to get the link w/o special characters to report to various phising page report places).
the page leads to what appears to be the normal archive page, w/ the popup about the privacy policy & everything, with the url https://xn--iao3-lw4b.ws/media DO NOT LOG IN. THEY ARE HERE TO STEAL YOUR LOGIN CREDENTIALS. LOOK AT URLS BEFORE ENTERING ANY PERSONAL INFO.
Sometimes we’re unsatisfied with a thing we made because when it only existed in our head, we saw all the things it could have been and when it’s done we know all the things that it isn’t, but we can’t see the way it expands into a million new things when someone else unpacks it in their head.
This is your semi frequent reminder that there is no official AO3 app
All those are unofficial and available on the Google play store as of August 13th 2025. They mirror AO3's content and insert ads, for which the developer gets paid by page impression (that's every time the ad appears in the fic you're reading) not just clicks.
No money goes to AO3, nor to the fic writer. It goes to the person who did the bare minimum.
Many of these apps have poorly worded or non existent privacy policies, so they may also be mining as much data as possible and selling that on to unknown third parties.
Please, just use the official AO3 site and the browser.
With a mission upon the horizon, you find yourself amidst forbidden ruins where air tastes like rusted secrets and the ground hums with something older than war. Shadows move like memories, while old terror stirs the fault lines you hide behind steel discipline.
But when mechanical monster from your past arises, the line between enemy and ally blurs in the heat of the mission. Now, with old wounds ripped open, and the threat of history repeating itself.
One question begins to form within you. Who is the real danger?
Contents: AU Events takes place in Transformers DOTM. Mild Coarse Language. Reader Insert. Ironhide x F/Human Reader. Mentions of violence, weaponry and PDSD. Slight Enemies to Lovers.
Word Count: 5,900
Forged in Fire Series: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Coming soon)
The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed low over the concrete-walled command room. Operators filed into the circular briefing chamber beneath the rail yard. The walls, lined with polished alloy plating while the mission flickered upon a screen, glowing in soft amber lighting as the holographic table in the center flickered to life. Muted chatter floated between soldiers, engineers, and analysts as military personnel filtered into the room.
Standing within the far corner, away from the gathered teams, resting your back against the cold wall, arms folded tightly across your chest. Posture composed, professional and unreadable as always. Your custom rifle resting against the nearby steel table, already prepped and locked.
But Ironhide noticed the difference within you, how you were more colder, more distant. As though the moment of vulnerability a few days ago cost you something, therefore your walls became higher because of it.
Colonel Lennox entered with his ususal commanding stride, datapad in hand. Behind followed Optimus, his presence heavy and calm, while Ratchet and Ironhide lingering a little further back but in hearing distance.
"Listening up guys, we're on the clock here." Lennox began, standing at the head of the table, as a grainy satellite image appeared. "Yesterday, General Counsel Voshkod from Ukrainian Department of Energy gave me a confidential report. The type that his government will officially deny that the conversation, and the upcoming mission ever happened. Now... one of their decommissioned facilities discovered something that they believe may be... alien in nature. The facility's name is... Chernobyl."
The satellite feed blinked to life behind him, showing a wide thermal scan of the overgrown facility. A pulsing energy signature burning at the heart of it.
Lennox continued, pacing slowly. "We don't know if it's Autobot, Decepticon, or... something else. We'll be inserting under full blackout with Voshkod's lead. No NATO support. Stealth is upmost priority. We go in, assess, recover, and get out. Recon drone footage confirms structural instability and radiation leaks, so we're sending in an integrated team: military personnel and Autobot. I want tight units, no loose elements."
"Unit Delta will break and secure the perimeter, Sideswipe and Taylor are on point. Rook. Ironhide. You'll be leading Vanguard Unit One. Scouting perimeter and clearing entry zones."
A few glanced your way, only to witness you nodding once as your gaze flickered to the screen upon the central table. "Loadout?"
Lennox blinked, surprised by your immediate focus and nonchalant tone. "Custom gear en route. Radiation-filtered masks and extra mags. We'll be deploying via stealth transport tonight. 0600 drop." A heavy sigh escaped him, as Lennox's gaze returned towards the others. "Alright guys... that's our brief, lets lock and lead out."
Everyone left in groups- some still murmuring about the pairing. Others traded nervous glances.
Your eyes flickered over towards your rifle. Running a hand over its case, fingers tracing over the name etched into the scope. Feeling its weight, like it subtly brought you some reassurance.
Operation Cold Silence: Chernobyl. 8am.
A gray morning settled over the ruins, swallowing broken towers and sagging ruins in a thick veil of fog. Wind cut sharp through dead trees, rustling bare branches that hasn't bloomed in decades. Concrete skeletons loomed in silence, rusted train cars cracked open by time and decay. Pale mist rolling in soft waves across cracked pavement and collapsed rooftops, while nature begun reclaiming the city- ivy crawled over rusted pipelines, moss grew between fractured Soviet concrete.
But the land still bled poison.
Lennox's team moved through the debris as they reached the meeting point. Motion detectors humming, radiation counters crackling faintly upon their belts.
You moved like a wraith- silent, smooth, perched above them on a shattered roof of a communications tower. Through your scope, scanning every twisted corner and collapsed building, finger twitching slightly on the trigger. Hearing Lennox's voice crystal clear through your comms.
"Mr. Voshkod... heard this place has been uninhabited since '86." Lennox carefully eyed his surroundings. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but won't it be livable again for another 20,000 years?"
"At least..." Voshkod sighed, avoiding the colonel's gaze. "Ukraine was the most fertile land. It's... a tragedy... this way."
His tone is... too nonchalant. Posture... not as stiff as it should be, for someone whom discovered an alien artifact. You briefly peered over the scope, raising an eyebrow at the Russian as he gave his surroundings another nervous scan.
"Something wrong, Rook?" Ironhide lowly spoke, remaining his perimeter fairly close while his shields kept the radiation surrounding the pair of you down.
"Nothing that concerns you, machine-"
"Gear up!" Lennox shouted to his team. "We have 60 minutes on the ground. Watch your radiation levels."
A low breath escaped your lungs, slightly fogging up your mask as you lined up your sight with the scope again. Tasing the dust as it clung to the back of your throat, chalky and bitter. Where's Voshkod's protective gear?
---
"It wouldn't matter." Voshkod vaguely explained to Lennox as the colonel asked the same question. "For me, it's only a matter of time... over here, through the school."
Following the Russian's lead deeper into the skeletal school, weaving through rusted scaffolding and buckled rebar. Their boots crunching over shattered tiles and moss-choked concrete. Sunlight filtered through the holes in the ceiling, but it did nothing to brighten the mood.
Every shadow looked like it could move.
Lennox ducked under a collapsed archway, holding the support beam open for Voshkod as he slid beneath it. "Yuri will take you below. And one other thing, colonel. In private."
He paused, moving aside as N.E.S.T team cleared another stairwell.
"There were some... energy experiments-" but Voshkod's words immediately fell silent, as he peered over the colonel's shoulder. Eyes widening slightly. "N-Never mind... it can wait..."
Lennox raised an eyebrow, giving his comrade a confused side glance as Voshkod pushed forward. His steps hurried, striding past the N.E.S.T soldiers to presume lead once again
It's almost as if... the colonel looked around, gazing at their surroundings with a studious stare. He's trying to put distance between himself and something. And something's telling me... it's not us...
---
Lennox and his team descended into the guts of the school, walls began to close around them. Choked hallways lined with dust-blackened warning signs. Dead equipment. Twisted staircases. Thick cables snaking through collapsed doorways like arteries. At the centre of the basement- half buried in concrete and rubble, was something not built by humans.
"Optimus, we've got a visual." Lennox spoke into his coms, "looks like the object's clamped in some kind of metal harness." His eyes lowered to a black case upon the floor, brushing away the grime and dust. Why... does this thing have Soviet space program markings?... Sputnik?-
"Energon reading, sir."
Vibrations echoed through the concrete under their boots.
Heavy. Deliberate.
"It's strong... Below us... It's coming fast-"
The ground cracked behind them- rubble exploding upward in a cyclone of shattered steel and concrete. A monstrous roar filled the air, followed by a blur of motion and a singular, crimson optic whiched stared down at them like a targeting system. It's armor a jagged violet, burnished with scars. Tubes and cables pulsed like veins beneath its plating.
"Contact! Contact!"
"Get topside now! Move, move, move!"
---
Your heart stopped. Body going stone still.
Your throat tightened.
The rooftop seemed to drop out beneath you. Stepping out of the crumbling east wall of the building opposite you, was the titan of your nightmares.
It's armour of jagged violet plates sent a shiver of sickening faminularity throughout your body. It's one glowing crimson optic burning through the fog and dust, like a malevolent sun.
That sound. That impossible, inhuman silhouette...
The Decepticon roared a deep, mechanical snarl as he fired again. The blast struck near your perch, throwing you off balance. Crashing against a crumbled support beam, gritting your teeth and ignoring the pain flashing down your side. While Optimus intercepted mid-sprint, slamming into the enemy with a bellow of metal on metal.
The impact shook the ground, weapons colliding in a barrage of light and fury.
Sprinting into a better firing position, climbing up an exposed steel beam overlooking the combat zone. From here, you saw it- the slight opening at its exposed spine joint. The same weakness you saw four years ago.
Time folded in on itself.
Hot desert wind replaced Chernobyl's cold air. The chemical tang of scorched metal was drowned out by the thick scent of dust, cordite, and burning fuel. Cracked concrete of the rooftop became jagged rock and shale.
Your comms filled with voices that you hadn't heard in years.
"Rook, cover fire!"
"We've got movement, left flank-!"
"Morales is down-he's down!"
Hands clenching reflexively on your rifle, as it somehow felt heavier in your hands. Knuckles white around the grip, as smoke curled from the barrel.
Breaking from cover and dropping onto one knee, firing round after round into the Decepticon's exposed gears. Armor plating pinged and sparked, as your shots staggered it, forcing the mech to shift focus.
Raising it's fusion cannon, the lens locking directly onto you, as you advanced two steps. Each breath deliberate.
"Rook!" Ironhide shouted, firing his cannons in a wide arc to suppress the Decepticon. "Get to cover!"
Another bullet of yours struck it's wrist actuator, forcing the Decepticon to recoil as Optimus surged forwards. Roaring through the ruins, transforming mid-charge and slamming into the enemy with a fierce blow.
The two titans collided with devastating force, concrete crumbling around them. While Lennox and his ground team moved through the chaos, covering one another as they extracted the Cybertronian relic.
The Decepticon let out a guttural metallic screech as Optimus drove it back, his blade slicing through the air in graceful, brutal arcs. "Fall back, Shockwave! This world will not be yours!"
"Evac teams- move!" Lennox ordered over coms. "Delta team, fall back north! Vanguard, cover extraction!"
Your vision tunneled onto Shockwave as he began to retreat, firing erratic plasma bursts to cover his exit. Each blast sent tremors throughout the ruins, buildings groaning in protest.
But you barely registered anything, the valley of Kunar overlapped the present, as you moved from roof to roof. Feeling the hot sands against your boots, instead of the crunch over broken tiles. The flicker of firelight becoming the glare of the desert sunset.
The voices in your comms fading into static. As you took a step forward again, loading another round, finger already tightening around the trigger.
The past and present bled together until they were indistinguishable.
---
Ironhide's optics widened as his gaze flickered above you, witnessing a wall slowly fracture. Chunks of rebar groaned under the strain, concrete dust sifting down in thick curtains.
"Rook! Above you!"
Leaping over the rubble, throwing his frame between you and the collapsing debris, Ironhide's massive armor shielded your entire body. The chunk of steel and concrete slammed into his back and shoulder joint with a deafening impact, driving the Autobot to one knee. Sparks burst from his wounded plating.
A shot rang out- your final bullet striking Ironhide's shoulder, deflecting off his armour with a glancing hiss of heat and metal. Sparks exploded from the impact.
"Gah-!"
Knees planted on either side of your body, one arm braced into the ground for stability. As a sizzling crack of Ironhide's shoulder hydraulics hissed. Looking down at you only to meet the barrel of your rifle, your glassed vision narrowing down the scope as you aimed perfectly at his optic.
Your finger twitched upon the trigger.
"Rook..." Ironhide's voice dropped, low and gentle. "Look at me. You're not back there... I'm not your ghost."
Slowly with an aching care, the Autobot reached with his good servo, the pad of his index digit cradling your wrist. With infinite care, he guided your fingertips towards his spark chamber.
"My spark, listen to it. Feel the low rumble of my engine."
The pounding in your ears dulled. The desert heat in your mind faded, replaced by the cold, acrid tang of dust. The red glow in your vision dimmed into the steady blue of the Autobot's optics.
His warmth vibrated against your palm, the steady thrum of his core beating in soft, rhythmic pattern.
Deeper than thunder. Warmer than fire.
Your breath matched his sparkbeat without meaning to. Inhale on the lift. Exhale on the fall. The weapon in hand lowering just a fraction. Dust settled in slow spirals around the pair of you, turning the air into drifting ash.
"I-I...Ironhide...?"
Everything in him went very still, as if the entire ruins of Chernobyl paused to listen. A tiny spark of static popped between you. His gaze softened, just enough for you to notice. "That's it. You're here. With me. Not... wherever you went."
You blinked up at him, disoriented. The iron taste of adrenaline faded to dust and oil. Palm spreading against the scorched seam of Ironhide's chassis. "You...?"
"... Told you." He rumbled, voice rough from strain, "we ain't so different when we're breaking.
Debris creaked above the pair of you. Ironhide adjusted his shoulders with careful, inching shifting to carry more weight, so nothing scraped you. A ripple of pain stretched across Ironhide's side, thin arc of sparks kissing the floor near your boot, where your bullet tore the edge of his shoulder.
A flash of guilt softened your expression. "Don't-" your own soft plea surprised you. "Don't move-"
"It's just a scratch. You're what matters."
N.E.S.T Medbay: 10pm
The corridors to medbay were different after lights out-quieter, colder, the hum of the base pared down to a soft electrical throb that made the concrete feel alive. Your boots softened on the rubber strip in the center of the hall, each step measured, re-considered, nearly turning back. You've already stopped twice short at a junction, palms to your thighs, jaw working as if the right words might appear if you just chewed the silence long enough.
Doors to the main hangar parted with a muted sigh. The overheads were dimmed to a blue wash that turned steel and glass into a calm, artificial dusk. Benches sat empty, the surgical arms parked like sleeping cranes in the medbay corner, while tool trays sealed beneath sterile film.
The air smelled faintly of coolant and antiseptic.
Your gaze flickered to Ironhide, who laid upon a heavy-duty berth that had been reinforced and widened to fit. Another thorn of guilt nipped at your heartstrings, as your eyes saw his shoulder plates unseated and propped open, like the hood of a truck. While weld lines of clean silver seam beneath his scorched paint.
"You... awake?"
His optics flickered towards you, as you stood upon the threshold of the medbay corner. Gaze softening while tilting his helm in curiosity.
A small smile teased the corners of his mouth, "...You wanted to make sure I didn't go offline? Don't worry. I'm too stubborn for that-"
"I didn't say that I was worried-"
"Didn't have to."
Your fingers fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeve, before flattening against your thighs again, while taking five slow steps forward. Eyes glancing towards the floor.
"You... took a round because I didn't know where I was. I almost-" Your words briefly caught in your throat. "It... shouldn't have happened. Just like Kunar shouldn't have happened." Your fingers curled into tight fits, clutching onto your cargo trousers, eyes glaring at the floor like it somehow personally offended you. "Next time, I'll boil that cyclopes-machine to nothing but molten metal! Just like the rest of that things kind!-"
"You think I don't get it?" Ironhide leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, the movement deliberate and slow- as if not to startle you. "I too lost a lot of good mechs to Shockwave. He once ambushed my first squad on Praxus Ridge, that Decepticon punk isn't faster, nor better armed. He just... meaner. Left me buried in rubble while he..." his words trailed off, briefly glancing away. "Let's just say... I know what it's like to crawl out alone."
For the first time, you looked at him. Really looked at him. Your expression softening, as your gaze trailed over the faint scars along the Autobot's black frame. Dented seams, the wear that only came from surviving fights someone shouldn't have.
"I'm... sorry." The word sounded foreign to your own ears. But the meaning didn't lessen.
Ironhide gave you a warm smile, that strangely made your heart flutter. "No need to apologize... for anything, Rook. You don't have to trust my kind. By the pits, you can hate all Cybertronian's all you like... but it wouldn't hurt you to trust me."
As a fic writer, i need every reader to know that:
I don’t care if your comment is coherent. I know what you mean and i love you
I don’t care if you ramble. I read every word and i love you
I don’t care if you leave a comment on a fic from four years ago or leave comments/kudos on like ten of my fics in one go. This isn’t IG, pls stalk my AO3. I love you
I don’t care if you mention the same thing in your comment that four other people have already mentioned. It’s actually really useful to know what resonated with people and I love everyone who takes the time to tell me they liked a particular turn of phrase
I don’t mind if your comment is super long or just a couple of sentences, i love them all
Haunted by a mission gone wrong and a past no one dares to mention, elite military sharpshooter, Sergeant Y/N- AKA Rook, is reluctantly assigned to N.E.S.T within Washington D.C, partnered with Cybertronian allies she refuses to trust and blames for everything she's lost.
Cold, calculating, and unwilling to let anyone in, she clashes with the towering weapons specialist, Ironhide, who sees through the frost to something far more deeper.
But when a routine sparring session unlocks something buried too deep, her world begins to fracture. As lines blur between memory and reality, one thing becomes terrifyingly clear- some ghosts don't stay buried.
Content: Ironhide X F/Human Reader. AU events takes place in Transformers: Dark of the Moon. Reader Insert. Mild Coarse Language. Mentions of PDSD, violence and weaponry.
Inspired Song: Paint The Town Red- Doja Cat
Word Count: 3,500
Series: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 (Coming soon)
The sun raised over Washington, D.C, casting long shadows between towering skyscrapers, glassed surfaces glowing amber in the morning light. Rotor blades of the Black Hawk kicked up dust, as it landed upon the rooftop helipad of N.E.S.T's new fortified base, situated discreetly within the outskirts of an old industrial compound.
Stepping down from the chopper, boots hitting concrete with practiced precision. Your rifle slung across your back, sidearm holstered. Stoic gaze sweeping across the open helipad, observing the bustle with a critical eye that matched the sharpness of your aim. Jaw tight, body tense beneath your tactical vest and dusted fatigue jacket. Your code-name patch over your heart read ROOK in sun-faded black.
The hangar welcoming you was vast and industrial, steel beams crisscrossing overhead, draped with countless of thick cables and flickering LED panels. Several tactical vehicles, both military and civilian-grade, lined the concrete walls. Armed soldiers in black tactical gear moved with practiced efficiency around rows of monitors glowing in blues and greens. Despite its size, the space felt stifling, oppressive, every surface gleaming yet utterly devoid of warmth.
"Sergeant Y/N." Colonel William Lennox called out confidently, sleeves rolled up, dog tags visible beneath his military shirt. Approaching you with a warm smile, extending his hand. "I appreciate you coming on short notice.."
Your eyes briefly flickered at the handshake before gripping it firmly, voice clipped. "Let's not pretend that I'm only here, because someone with stars on their collar thinks I'll be valuable to your... 'course.'"
Lennox forced a casual smile, as he tried to discreetly massage his hand, which was tightly squeezed from the handshake. Leading you deeper into the hangar.
"Glad you've been debriefed. The lack of communication made me begin to wonder... ah! What perfect timing!" Lennox proudly gestured towards a begrudging Autobot, their gun-metal frame glinting under the morning sun. "Sergeant, may I introduce you to the weapons-specialist of the Autobot's. Ironhide."
You raised an eyebrow, "this... is a weapons-specialist?"
Ironhide grunted in a affirmative manner. Expression remaining mostly neutral, as he crossed his arms over his chassis. "I am, why? Got something to say, sharpshooter?"
"Was just... expecting more."
"More... what?" Ironhide challenged, optics narrowing onto your firm features. "More shine? Chrome-plated charm like Optimus? Or maybe you wanted Bumblebee's dance moves?" He leaned down slightly, voice dropping to a gravelly mock-whisper. "Sweetheart, I'm the reason Decepticon punks stay dead. You want fireworks?"
Slightly cocking your head in interest, admiration flickering within your eyes for a brief moment, as a panel upon the Autobot's forearm slid open. Just enough to reveal a hint the cannon beneath.
"I'll give you fireworks. Just say the word-"
"Easy now..." Lennox quickly interrupted, knowing all too well about the Autobot's tendency to be irritable around new recruits. Putting a hand upon Ironhide's forearm, who in turn rolled his optics in mild irrational. "Please... pay no attention-"
"Don't worry, I'll do my job, Colonel." You muttered, striding past the pair. "Just hope the scrap metal don't get in the way of my bullet."
Following in silence, as Lennox led you past the weapon lockers and training rooms. Your eyes absorbed every detail—ventilation lines, support beams, how many steps it would take to reach the front gates of the base from your current position within the hangar.
"We call this the 'East Wing', all private quarters are here." Lennox vaguely gestured to various parts of the metal hallway. "Mens first sub-level. Womens second sub-level. Yours is, Room 26-B."
The door to your room slid open with a low, mechanical hiss as the keypad registered Lennox's ID clearance. "Here we are." He stepped aside, allowing you to enter first.
Not blinking nor smiling. You stepped inside like you was clearing a corner in enemy territory.
The room was surprisingly well lit. It was wide, and stark- but not bare. Unlike the clinical sterility of most barracks, the space had been retrofitted into a more lived-in industrial studio style.
Clearly modified to make long-term occupants feel more... at home.
Bare brick walls showed the building's herrtage age, while polished concrete framed the flooring. One side of the room featured a long industrial-style shelf made from rusted piping and reclaimed wood, stacked with survival gear, blank storage crates, and neatly folded spare linens.
A wide steel-frame bed rested against the opposite, a tall arched window that looked out into the Autobot hangar below- complete with bulletproof glass and a blackout curtain which could be easily pulled across. The mattress was bare, but the sheets were folded with military precision. A worn leather armchair sat in the corner beside a stack of metal ammo boxes, retrofitted as a side table.
"I... know it's not a five-star setup," Lennox lightly spoke. "But... most of our guys say it helps ease the concrete tomb vibes- plus, the added luxury of not sharing bunk quarters is a bonus."
"Rook... I've been in your shoes, trust me. We've all had long roads to this place. None of us got here by accident. N.E.S.T was built on soldiers who didn't quite fit the mold- myself included. I think... you'll find more in common with this team than you think-"
“I want access to the shooting range and a list of local terrain for off-base recon.”
Lennox paused for a moment, startled by your sudden yet firm request. "Granted-"
"And, with all due respect, Sir. I've been... 'apart of a team' before. The difference is, this time... I won't make the mistake of getting comfortable."
Lennox exhaled deeply, recognizing the finality in your tone. "Fair enough. I...understand that we've all got our own demons. But... don't got yourself off completely, alright? Try to keep an open mind. Give this... us... them... a chance."
---
The silence sat heavy on your shoulders as you walked further into the room. The echo of your boots on the polished concrete faded with every slow step.
Stopping at the foot of the bed, setting your rifle on the edge of the mattress, and dropping your duffel bag beside it.
Running a hand along the armrest of the worn-out armchair. It was stiff. Unwelcoming. The synthetic leather had a sterile, chemical scent- like it had been steam-cleaned too many times to erase what came before.
Returning to your bag, kneeling and unzipping it. Only pulling out what was necessary at first- your uniform, cleaning kit, three field-grade MRE's that you preferred over base rations. Then, more reluctantly, you opened a small internal pocket.
Your fingers brushed against the cool leather of your old, weather-worn journal. Pulling it out and setting it on the ammo-box, side table without opening it. Followed by a photograph.
Bravo Team.
Six soldiers bathed in the desert sunlight. Dusty smiles framing their faces. A barbecue pit half-assembled behind them. Your younger self positioned in the middle, arm locked with Lieutenant Granger, who had a beer in hand and sunglasses resting upon his nose.
You always did grin like you knew something no one else did.
Quietly assembling your rifle. The slide of metal, the soft click of the barrel, the snap of the bipod- it was the only rhythm that ever calmed you.
Each piece locking into place like armor.
Outside the windows, the heavy stomp of Cybertronian feet passed by in the hangar below. You stared out at the glass until the echo faded, before deeply exhaling.
Regardless of what they say. You're not here to make friends. You're here to make sure no one else ends up in a photo and a casket...
Three Hours Later
The reinforced blast doors rolled open with a low grind, revealing a massive combat simulator bathed in harsh white lights. The air was thick with the scent of scorched rubber, cordite, and fresh oil- the unmistakable perfume of a training zone pretending to a be a classroom. Burned-out vehicles were scattered throughout the urban mock up, partially crumbled walls simulating battlefield chaos. Up in the rafters, automated drones tracked movement, while holographic target systems flickered on and off across the kill zone.
The crackle of radio chatter and barked instructions filled the open-air training ground deep within the furthest hangar. The best-of-the-best recruits from U.S Rangers, British SAS, Israeli counter intelligence, Japanese SFGp operative, and even a few Canadian JTF2 stood shoulder to shoulder. A rare environment where egos had to be tempered by necessity. Some feeling the mild disapproval gaze of Ironhide, as he lazily watched from afar while calibrating his weaponry.
Lennox stood before the group of recruits, sleeves rolled up, hands upon his hips. His authoritative tone firm yet fair. "We're not training to shoot clay pigeons, people. You're prepping to engage hostile Cybertronian targets. That means high speed, high mass, and one mistake away from body bags. You miss a critical shot- you die. Hesitate for a moment- your teammates die. Understood?"
A quiet rumble escaped Ironhide's engine, as all gave the colonel a curt nod. Is this all their 'best' had? A bunch of boring, boot licking drones?
But the Autobot briefly paused, optics flickering away from the cannon upon his forearm, once his curious gaze noticed your firm posture. Tilting his helm slightly, studying you standing apart from the group, arms folded, wearing that same unreadable expression you always did.
Cold. Calculating. As though everyone in the room was just another variable in a tactical equation you'd already solved.
Lennox cleared his throat, gesturing to a battered Decepticon torso- a life-sized training dummy made from salvaged parts, rigged with sensors and target points. It's jagged plating bore years of scorch marks from prior exercises.
"This is a Class-B Decepticon hunter-unit- nicknamed a Ravager. Your standard-issues firearms won't even dent the armour plating, so you'll be armed with weaponry of special grade. You'll want to aim smart, not just hard. Go for joints, optics and secondary power systems. Show me what you guys can do with a thirty foot tall target that's plated like a tank."
He motioned towards the row of reinforced weapon tables behind the recruits. "You'll each get five shots. Simulated nerve-point targets. Show me you belong here."
One by one, each soldier stepped up. Some made solid shots- one recruit from JTF2 even landed a tight cluster on the Decepticon dummy's shoulder mount. A Royal Marine hit two exposed joints but missed the final neck shot. While a U.S Military sniper nailed one of the optics, but hesitated on the moving limb.
Ironhide and Lennox briefly shared an unamused expression, almost as if they could share one another's thoughts.
Impressive, but routine.
Stepping up to the plate, not even acknowledging the weapons table. "Permission to use my own?"
The gun-metal Autobot tilted his helm in interest, while Lennox quirked an eyebrow. Taking a moment to consider the request, before giving you a curt nod. "Sure, go ahead." I'm curious to see what she's got.
You unhooked your custom rifle from your back. A collective murmur rolled through the space, as they all eyed your trusty weapon.
The weapon gleamed under the fluorescents- a sleek matte-black frame with cerakote finish. Extended carbon-fiber barrel. Recoil- absorbing composite shock. High- speed bolt action with a magnetic resistance stabilizer- definitely not military issue.
But it was the scope that caught Ironhide's attention. It was old, not poorly maintained- but clearly from another weapon altogether. Bolted into a non-standard mount, its housing a mismatched steel-grey and far more weathered than the rest of your gun. There was a faint dent near the eyepiece, and the adjustment dials were old-fashioned- analog, no digital assist, like the newer scopes the recruits had.
The Autobot's sight zoomed in upon the scope, something barely visible, hand-etched into the underside of the housing.
'Lt. M. Granger'
Positioning yourself at the shooting platform with surgical calm. Your stance low. Body still. One knee resting behind cover. Elbows in. Breathing shallow.
BANG!
The optic on the Decepticon dummy exploded. Red sensor shattering in mid-blink.
Before the recruit's soft gasps could fade-
BANG!
Bullet straight through the elbow joint. Metal sparks flew.
As the dummy jerked into a shifting evasive pattern, it's legs trying to reset. You barely adjusted by a millimeter, before lining up your next shot.
BANG!
With pierce position, the bullet ruptured the knee joint. Causing the towering dummy to slightly tip to the left, bearing all it's weight onto it's good leg before-
BANG!
A round hit the base of it's neck, just as the dummy fell. Collapsing like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
"Well... I'll be damned." Ironhide muttered, tilting his helm in interest.
One of the British SAS whispered, "Blood hell... did she even breathe?"
Your narrowed glare briefly went over your shoulder, before changing your position. "You want it?"
Before the colonel could answer-
BANG!
A small ping echoed within the rafters. One of the cameras monitoring the simulation snapped off its track, dropping to the floor, a clean hole through it's leans.
You calmly slung the rifle back over your shoulder, "you've got it on film. Feel free to replay it later."
Half An Hour After The Weapons Demonstration
The atmosphere in the East Compound was tense but electric. The recruits didn't stop glancing your way, since the take down of the sim-Decepticon.
Once again, you stood in the shadows at the edge of the new arena- large octagonal rings set across the polished concrete flooring- each reinforced with hard-light projectors and electromagnetic barriers, capable of absorbing the punishment of both Autobot strength and human tenacity. Your arms crossed, expression stone-set again. The praise and stares rolled off you like rain on reinforced armor.
Lennox stood at the command platform, clipboard in hand, cycling through the next matchups. The recruits already lining the walls- tactical vests cinched tight, sweat glistening upon brows.
"Reed, you're up with Dino. Park with Sideswipe. Rook, you're with Bumblebee"
The yellow Autobot gave a cheery beep, revving his engine in excitement and raising a servo in a friendly salute.
But before you could answer, yet alone step into the central ring-
"Switch it."
Lennox looked up, caught off guard.
"She's with me." Ironhide stepped forward from where he'd been leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, a slow grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "If I'm going to test my reflexes, might as well do it against someone who actually makes me work for it."
"You want a test?" you gave the weapon's specialist a hard, unblinking gaze.
"I just wanna see, what you've got."
"Careful, machine. I might dent you."
Ironhide crouched, lowering his frame to combat stance with a cocky tilt to his helm. "Do that, and I'll give you a ride sometime."
You blinked, raising an eyebrow. "That's... supposed to be flirting?"
"Just admiring your style. Cold, deadly, and dangerously sharp. Just like my kind of ammo."
"Say another thing, machine, and I'll shoot out your knee actuator."
A low purr rumbled within Ironhide's engine, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. "Foreplay, got it."
Lennox hesitated, glancing between the pair of you before slowly nodding. "Two-minute round. Keep it in the sim zone. Training protocols only."
You stepped into the ring, cool and silent, as you pulled on weighted gloves and a close-quarters harness. While Ironhide crouched opposite you, the cannons upon his forearms retracted beneath the plating. His servos open- non-lethal sparring mode engaged.
The walls shimmered to life, light barriers flickering as the field locked you two in.
The buzzer echoed.
You moved lightning fast- low, fast, calculating. Your body tense and precise as a coiled spring.
Ironhide circled you in wide arcs. His movements careful, but confident- testing your rhythm, balance and aggression.
He feinted a swing with his forearm, but you ducked, spun, and landed a blow just above his knee joint.
Within your peripheral vision a small Autobot drone appeared- programmed to randomly throw distractions into the drill.
But it's shape. Posture. The gleam of it's sensor rung a familiarity within you.
A haze glassed over your vision, as your past blurred into the present. Rocks painted in blood. Gunfire echoed within your ears. Smoke choked the air.
Your own voice echoing in your own head, "Granger- on your six!"
Obscuring your sight of Ironhide, a large machine of towering height crashed through the ravine, tearing your old unit's formation apart.
A monotone voice came from it. Staring down at your team with a cold, unnerving stare before ripping Blake apart at the waist.
A warning bubbled within your throat as Granger charged past you, trying to give you time to retreat. But just like the repeated nightmares, you watched him never make it past the third step.
The bot's claws sinking through his armor and crushing Granger's spine with a sickening ease.
Suddenly lunging forward, catching the Autobot off guard, barely able to deflect as you ducked under Ironhide's defenses and drove a strike directly to his power node. Pulling a training knife from the outside of your boot- standard protocol, dulled for safety- but your grip said otherwise.
Ironhide stepped back. "Rook?- Hey- Hey!"
"Back off!" you lowly growled, "You're not taking him too!"
Ironhide's optics widened, witnessing your paled complexion and wild eyes. "Rook. Whatever it is you're seeing, you're not there. Whatever ghost you're fighting, I'm not them."
But your fists came faster, wild and brutal. Launching yourself at him, climbing partway up Ironhide's chassis, swinging for his optic with the blunt of the knife. Snarling at the him like a trapped animal.
Ironhide pivoted, catching you in one servo, gently but firmly placing his touch at the base of your back, and pinning you to the mat with a slow, precise motion. Enough pressure to keep you from hurting yourself, but not enough to harm.
Ironhide's voice dropped to a low, calm tone- only enough for you to hear. "Rook... stop. It's over. I'm not your enemy."
For a moment, you struggled beneath his grip before slowly freezing. Eyes widened. Body trembling. The present smacking you in the face and clearing your vision once again.
Your confused gaze quickly scanned the ring, seeing the lights above. No sand nor blood touched your skin. No screams filled the air. Just Ironhide's servo keeping you from hurting yourself. Breath caught in your throat, choking upon a breath as you looked away from him.
The Autobot slowly released you. He was slow, careful. No judgment within his gaze.
You sat up, knees drawn to your chest, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "You... noticed?"
"Of course. Kinda hard not to." Although his words were gruffy, no judgement lined within Ironhide's tone, only blunt honesty that cutted through the tension. "But... I don't know what happened, nor what it was about."
"Did... anyone else notice?"
Ironhide slowly shifted his position, blocking you from the view of the others, shielding you from their gazes with his body. "No"
You looked down at your hands, "are you... going to report it?"
"... No. We've all got shrapnel in our heads, rookie. Some more than others."
Hello, dear. Silly question regarding your work. (That I love so much). I was wondering what you use for word count? Do you use an app or a feature on your phone?
Hi!
Thank you and really appreciate the compliment ☺️❤️
I don't think your question is silly. I'm honestly quite happy to answer anything, weather it's regarding my work or not. Also my DMs are always open, if you'd (or anyone) ever feels like chatting.
Regarding with word count. I honestly copy/paste my fic into a Word Doc, and see the word count at the bottom of the page towards the left. (I think Google Docs and Word Pad also does the same). Or if I'm feeling super lazy, I'll copy/paste my fic onto AO3, as I also publish works on there and it also tells you the word count, once you publish it.
Hope this helped and don't hesitate to ask me anything else. 👌
It's nice to re-read one of my own fanfics that I haven't looked at in a while and think "You know, this isn't half-bad".
Just now I did this with the only fic I wrote for a big fandom, which is also one of my least popular. Makes it easier not to care about that. I like what I've written, the person I wrote it for seemed to like it, that's enough.
Due to the humans betrayal, the Autobots remain separated from one another and forced into hiding.
Yet within the chaos Crosshairs remembers a time where he found unexpected refuge on a quiet farm—and in your arms, who offers him peace he never thought he deserved.
As tension simmers into slow-burning romance, the fragile peace is shattered by familiar faces from your past. With secrets exposed and loyalties tested, Crosshairs must choose between retreating to survive or risking everything for the one human who made him feel alive. In the quiet before the storm, one truth remains—some sparks never fade.
Song Inspired: The Machine- Reed Wonder ft Aurora Olivas
Content: Events takes place a year before 'Transformers- Age of Extinction. Mild-Coarse Language. Slow Burn. Fluff/Smut. F receiving oral. Creampie. P in V. Autobot Crosshairs x F/Human Reader.
Word Count: 10K
"We-have to- stay!" Bumblebee's voice buzzed, his radio switching between stations as he squared up to Hound. "It's what- Optimus would- of wanted!"
"I don't remember anyone putting you in charge." Hound challenged, pushing the yellow scout away from him. "Just because you're soft on the meat-bags, doesn't mean we all are!"
Bee quickly caught his balance, avoiding of tumbling into the nearest boulder. "They're- just scared! Humanity is- capable of- so much- more!"
"Ah! They're assholes! The whole lot of them!-"
"Will you two pipe down!" Crosshairs snapped, barely looking over his shoulder as he cleaned the barrel of his blaster. "Can't bloody hear myself think."
"You thinking?" Hound briefly raised an optic ridge at Bumblebee, before turning back to Crosshairs. "Now that's dangerous."
An uncharacteristic silence radiated from the green Autobot. His shoulders slumped over causing his posture to slouch even more, his optics fixated upon the handle of his weapon. Cradling a pair of human-sized military dog tags within the palm of his servo. Staring at the unusual accessory with a sense of longing, a low sigh rumbling deep within his chest.
Hound studied his comrade's posture, "what's gotten under your plates?"
"Nothin..." Crosshairs' thumb trailed down the tags, as if he was caressing a lovers cheek. Before sheathing his blaster back into his back plates, his optics looking out at the horizon. The settling sun casting shadows over the desert landscape, while the colours of blue, orange and pink painted the sky. "Just... thinkin..."
One Year Ago
A low hiss escaped Crosshairs' lips as pain shot throughout his entire frame. Tightly pressing a servo against his mid-section, energon seeping between his digits with each step.
"Hound? Bumblebee? Come in- Ah!-"
Fucking humans! Damaging my comlink!
The distant sound of the military SUV's came to his audio receptors. A deep groan rumbled within his throat, forcing his already exhausted body to continue further into the rolling hills of the countryside. His optics scanning for something, anything that could potentially hide him as he towered over the treetops.
"Autobots?! Anyone?- Ah!"
---
The ground trembled beneath you, as something heavy thunderously fell against the hill just behind the trees of your ranch.
"Easy. Easy" your calming voice soothed, attempting to settle the spooked horses as their plowing came to a halt. "It's alright. You're alright."
What... was that? Your questioning gaze looked up at the boundary of your property line. It felt way too heavy for a fallen tree...
With the horses finally settled, you carefully and cautiously approached the tree line. Raising an eyebrow as the sound of painful groans filled the air.
"Holy... shit..."
Crosshairs' helm rolled to the side as he laid upon his back. His optics eyeing your approach with a mixture of caution and curiosity. His wrist flicking the barrel of his blaster in your direction, but his expression softens slightly as he sees your wide eyes fix upon his wounded side.
"Hold it right there!" his voice lined with a gravelly and tense tone, as a low growl escaped him. "What do you want?"
Far in the distance behind Crosshairs', the voices of the military filled the air. Your eyes flickered between their direction and the Autobot, as he pressed his servo harder against his mid-section.
If... the military is the cause of his injuries. Then... it's only a matter of time before they reach here... A sympathetic tug pulled upon your heartstrings, as you heard another painful groan escape Crosshairs. And they'll eliminate him for good...
"Autobot?... Or Decepticon?"
His skeptical gaze narrowed onto you. "Do these colours look like Decepticon scum to you?!-"
"Then come with me."
"And why should I trust you?" a hint of suspicion lined Crosshairs' tone, his optics studying you intently. "You could be leading me into a trap!"
"Cause, it's either you trust me. Or... go offline..."
The Autobot grinded his dentas, punching the ground in frustration and anger. "Fine!"
Crosshairs begrudgingly sheathed his blaster into his back plates. Struggling onto his knees as energon continued to weep between his digits. Fuel dripped and sputtered onto the grass, as it weeped out of the bullet holes all over his frame.
Crosshairs crawled over the tree line, knocking down branches and rusting half the leafs off. Pain ached through his frame, his systems ringing in his audio receptors as his levels closely reached critical.
"Come on! Come on!-"
"Will ya shut your trap! You try moving with your insides spilling out!" Crosshairs' annoyed gaze flickered towards you, as you quickly approached your horses. Raising an optic ridge, as you untied them from the plow. "W-What are you?-"
"Lay on your back. They'll pull you."
With another grind of his dentas, Crosshairs grudgingly laid down making sure his helm was close to the horses. His warily and sceptical gaze studied you, as if he tried to guess your intentions. His breath hitching in pain, as you tied the ropes to his shoulders. The Autobot tried to occasionally either put most of his weight upon his tires, or shuffle his pedes along the dirty field. In attempt to assist the horses in pulling his two tone weight.
---
Now hidden in the safety of your barn, untying the ropes around his shoulders, you released and encouraged the tired horses to rest in their stables at the back of the barn.
"Quick! Tell me your stats!"
"E-Energon levels... 57%... a-and falling." Crosshairs' muttered through clenched dentas, as he leaned heavily against the wall. Raising an optic ridge while watching you harshly kick away straw and hay, revealing a hidden trap door.
His gaze flickers within confusion and curiosity, as you pull out an old military duffle bag. Parts of him tensed up as the sound of metal tools clanged together, as you yanked it out from underneath the floorboards. His frame already trembling from the effort of sitting upright.
"What's all that stuff?"
You felt his suspicious gaze follow you drag the duffle bag towards his wound side. Ignoring his question you asked, "which fuel line is damaged?"
An annoyed huff escaped his lips, "it's the... primary energon cable. The one on my right side-ah! Damn thing's cut deep!"
Grasping the necessary tools while your thoughts calculated the damage. Tying your hair up as your eyes flickered up at him, "sounds like you need a manual repair." His optics slightly widened, as you removed your jacket, exposing your crop top. "I'm... gonna need to climb inside you."
"Are you outta your damn mind?!" Crosshairs' growled, his frame tensing up at the thought. "That's insane!. You're... a human! You... You can't climb inside me!-"
"Stay till and shut up! Keep pressure on that wound!" You snapped. Quickly approaching his right side, briskly removing the access panel just under his wound.
His optics flickered with discomfort as your hand lightly brushed against his sensitive inner circuits. Glancing down at you as to study your critical gaze.
"Hold on." You briefly met his gaze, your tone a bit more softer this time. "Things are... gonna get uncomfy for a moment."
Crosshairs' grumbled in protest as you carefully climbed inside him, causing his frame to hum and shudder as you squeezed between his wires and cables. Feeling every movement you made, while trying to reach the inside of his wounded circuits.
Your eyes widened as you saw the damaged cable. Multiple puncture wounds pierced through the wire, causing blue energon to sweep through the cracks of his metal plating and drip over his digits. More dripped down his inner circuits. Carefully pulling the tools you shoved into your jean pockets, you started patching up the cable. Attempting to avoid energon getting onto your hands.
The green Autobot shivered as you pressed yourself against his inner circuits, causing a jolt of a... almost pleasurable sensation run throughout his entire body every time you breathed. Feeling every feathered touch, every stuttle movement. Both sensations surprisingly not uncomfortable and... oddly... intermate.
His optics rolled, as he gently rested his helm against the wall. Th-This shouldn't feel-
"Stats!" you called from the inside. Frustration lining your tone as another leakage pooled out of the cable.
"43% a-and... falling."
Shit! If I don't get this fixed soon, he'll be close to critical levels! A heavy sigh escaped your slightly parted lips. Damn it... looks like I'm just gonna have to-
Crosshairs' flinched as your sudden scream filled his internals, the sound like a piercing shockwave throughout his frame. His optics widening as he felt your hand clamp around his broken cable.
"What are you doing in there?! You're burning yourself!"
"I-I'm fine! Just... shut up and keep still!" biting your bottom lip, as you attempted to hold back hisses of pain. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, as the blue energon spluttered against your skin. Burning your palm, fingers and the back of your knuckles, as your free hand continued to fix the cable.
"You're hurting yourself, damn it! Stop!" his gruff voice was laced with a hint of worry.
Crosshairs felt the tremors within your wounded hand, as it remained clamped upon his broken cable. The sensation causing his internals to hum in response. His audio receptors picking up your pained gasps, and the soft pitter-patter of your tears falling onto his metal frame.
His spark only stopped aching once your grip released the cable, a heavy sigh of relief escaping him, his internals relaxing once the sensation of your touch disappeared.
"Stats!" you hissed in pain, carefully climbing back out of him.
"Energon levels, 36% and steady." his gruff tone muttered. Optics flickering at your burned hand, noticing the red rawness appearing upon your fingers and knuckles. "Damn it... look what you've done to yourself."
"I-I'm fine." Pain lined your tone as you spoke through your teeth. Cradling your injured hand close to your chest, brushing tears away from your cheeks with your free hand. "I... need to weld you close."
"You're not fine. You've burned you damn hand! Let me see it-"
"I-I ah! Need to get my welding equipment. It's in my shed-"
You flinched as Crosshairs reached out and rested his servo in front of you, blocking your attempt to walk away. "You're not going anywhere! You can't weld my frame closed with one hand. Just... let me see it."
You tried to give him a convincing smile, "not the first time I welded with one hand. Won't be the last."
His optics narrowed at you in annoyance, "that... doesn't make it any better."
Crosshairs gaze softened as you hesitantly held out your injured hand, as a sigh of defeat escaped you. Sitting himself up right again, cradling your hand upon the pad of his index digit. "Shit... You really did a number on yourself."
A weak smile came to your lips, "not the first time I got burnt by energon."
His optics flickered at you with a questionable gaze, as he used his thumb to spray antiseptic upon your hand. A low irritated growl rumbled within his throat, his optics trailing down your neck and resting upon your necklace.
"Those dog tags... they're military." His gruff tone dripping with irritation. "You work for them... don't you?"
"I did... but... that was a long time ago."
"What you mean... 'did'?" he raised an optic ridge. A underlying hint of curiosity hid within his voice. "You're... no longer a soldier?"
You nervously licked your lips. "I... was... discharged when N.E.S.T was forced to shut down."
Crosshairs pause, "N.E.S.T...? I've... heard of them. The military division that once worked with us. So... you were a part of that?"
"Yeah. See?" reaching for your tags, showing the Autobot your name and rank engraved upon the stainless steel. "Lieutenant Echo... well, 'Echo' was just a nickname. It's just Y/N now. But like I said..." you tucked the tags back into your cleavage. "That was a long time ago. You got a name?"
"Crosshairs... and just because it's been a 'long time.' Doesn't mean I trust you."
You slowly nod, "I understand. With this civil war happening between our species, why would you trust me?" you flashed him a warm smile. "But... I just hope you'll trust me enough to nurse you back to health."
A small scoff came from him, "I don't trust you at all! But..." his gaze slightly softened, his spark slightly relaxing at the sight of your smile. "But you did help fix my energon leak... I've give you that."
You both looked at your injured hand, noticing how the antiseptic begun to take affect, already healing the burn. Causing your skin to be less red and agitated.
"Does it... hurt?" Crosshairs' tone was slightly... quieter. His voice still holding it's usual gruff but, with a more softer edge.
"No, it's getting better." Your smile became a little warmer, as your hand fell back to your side. "Are... you ok?"
"I'm fine... That energon leak was the only thing in danger of taking me offline."
"Any other damages?"
Crosshairs paused for moment, his optics flickering as he ran a quick self-diagnostic check. But only resulting to him shaking his helm, and gesturing various parts of his frame. "Minor cosmetic damages. Nothing too serious... I've been through worse."
"Have you tried contacting the Autobots?"
An annoyed sigh slipped out of him, "I haven't... been able to reach anybody. It's busted. Either that, or the pesky military assholes have put some jamming signal in the area, so I can't reach anyone."
"It's most likely busted. My ranch is on the outskirts of a nature reserve. There's nobody around for miles."
Crosshairs tilt his head as he listened to your explanation. His optics flickering with surprise and curiosity. Occasionally glancing around your barn and peeking out of the window.
"A nature reserve, eh?" He muttered but intrigue lining his voice. "That would explain why it's so quiet around here."
"It's peaceful. Away from people, it's how I like it." You spoke with a smile. "Plus, I live alone so you don't need to worry about anyone snooping in the barn... I'm happy to see if I can try and fix your com-link. But I need to weld your wounds closed first."
Crosshairs grunts in agreement,"fine. Just... try not to hurt yourself again while fixing me up... I can't have you burning yourself every time you touch me." Although his voice was reluctant, a hint of concerne lined his gruff voice.
His spark fluttered slightly as his optics drunk in your soft smile.
"Don't worry. I'll be careful." You spoke while packing up your tools and shoving them back into the military duffle bag. Kicking it back into the trap door under the barn's floorboards. "My welding equipment is in the shed. I won't be long."
Crosshairs sat alone for a brief moment, his optics roaming around the spacious barn as a heavy breath left him. His wary gaze looked down at his wound mid-section, tracing over the bullet holes through his metal frame.
This better not take long. I have to get back to the others!
The sound of your footsteps caught his attention, his optics flickering at you as he watched your approach. Just about struggling to carry the equipment you dragged beside you.
Gotta stay on guard. She could pull any dirty trick at any given time! Your soft gaze and warm smile made his spark skip a beat. Heat gently rose beneath his face plates. But then again... she is repairing me...
"You... really think you can fix my com-link?... Those guys really damaged me good."
"Honestly... I won't know till I have a look at it. But... I'm sure between us, we'll be able to figure something out." Your voice remained it's calm and gentle tone. As a hint of concern flashed across your features, looking up at Crosshairs once finishing setting up your equipment. "How... did you caught up with the military anyway?'
"Damn bastards ambushed me." Crosshairs grumbled, annoyance and anger flashing across his optics. "They were setting up some kind of operation, and I stumbled right into it! They got the jump on me before I could transform or retaliate."
A sad sigh escaped your lips, pulling your goggles over your eyes. "Sounds like the squadron that's been tasked to specifically hunt Cybertronians."
"They had those military grade energon dampers all around the place!" A small hiss escaped Crosshairs as he begun to feel your torch melt his frame close. "I couldn't transform or activate any of my weapons. I was totally defenseless! Humans are getting too damn crafty for their own good!"
"That's... because those who were with N.E.S.T... ure now apart of that task force."
Crosshairs glanced down at you, his audio receptors picking up the underlying sadness within your tone. But it didn't stop his servos clenching into fists, as anger rose within his chest.
"You mean to tell me... that the very people who worked with us. Are now the ones responsible for hunting us?!" a hint of disbelief could be heard within his growling voice.
The green Autobot grit his dentas, wincing while you worked. The heat from the torch seeping into his frame. Despite the pain, he tried to remain focused upon the convocation.
"How the hell did it come to this? Why would humans turn on us like this? And why would the N.E.S.T agents simply go along with it?!"
"Because... the government got scared of you Autobots. The destruction of cities. How your war with the Decepticons followed you to our planet. Not liking the fact that Optimus only shared a portion of your guys technology. The list goes on." A heavy sigh escaped you, sadness swelling within your heart. "But... it's all bullshit if you'd asked me."
"Damn humans!" Crosshairs gruff tone muttered, his tone full of disdain. "They're always so scared of what they don't understand. Just because we brought... some destruction with our war, doesn't make us the 'bad guys.' And those assholes in N.E.S.T... are just as bad! Playing both sides and betraying us like that!"
"Well..." Putting out your torch and removing your goggles, your gaze wondering over Crosshairs form. Double checking for any further wounds, "you guys will always have me."
As he gazed at your smile, his optics flickered as a strange pang of something soft and tender hits his spark. Crosshairs held his gaze, almost like he's searching for any hint of deception or insincerity. But... he finds none. Only replying with a grunt as his expression softens just slightly.
"You're... different from other humans." Although his voice kept it's gruff tone, his words were noticeably warmer. "Most of the humans we've encountered are either scared or hostile. But you... you're something else."
A sweet chuckle escaped your lips, "careful. Keep complimenting me like that, and I might just fall in love with you."
Crosshairs felt a strange heat creep into his frame as you chuckled. Something new and strange fluttering through his circuits. His wide-eyed stare simply watching you pack away your welding equipment, and placing it aside. His processors still spinning, as he tried to attempt to figure out his emotions. Your flirtatious joke causing him to pause, as surprise and embarrassment flashed a crossed his features.
"As if, human." He muttered, but his voice lacked the usual sharpness. "I'm... just stating a fact. Don't get cocky!"
Your eyes roamed over his form, a sweet smile tugging your lips as he avoided eye contact with you. "Sure... whatever you say."
The sunrays of dusk caught your attention, as the pink, orange and blue sky framed your barn window.
"Sorry Crosshairs, but is it alright if I take a look at your com-link tomorrow? It's getting late and I still have a few things to do around the ranch."
"Fine..." His reluctant tone sighed.
A strange spark of warmth ran through his circuits, as you placed a comforting touch to the back of his servo, accompanied with a soft kiss to his knuckles. The gentle caress of your fingers against his digits send an unfamiliar wave of emotions coursing throughout his frame.
The Autobot grunts. Still trying to maintain his usual gruff demeanor, but your words. Your touch melts something in his spark.
"Goodnight Crosshairs."
Crosshairs watched you close lock up the barn, leaving him alone in the quiet. The sound of horses settling in their stables for the night, the small barn owl up in the rafters rustling its feathers. He took a moment to process the strange and unfamiliar emotions swirling within his spark.
As the night grew quieter, Crosshairs settled back against the wall. Trying to ignore the lingering sensations of your touch and kiss.
The Next Morning
Sitting upon the ground, leaning his back struct against the large, circular hay stack which you perched a top of.
Crosshairs glanced around the field, taking in the open space and the clear sky. The sound of the wind rustling through the grass and the occasional bird call created a comfortable atmosphere. Slowly shifting his attention towards you, his gruff exterior faltering more, at the sight of your exhausted yet satisfied expression.
"So... you do all this... by yourself? Every day?" His tone still had it's soft gruff tone, but with a tinge with a hint of admiration.
"Uh-huh... Took me a while to get used to the routine, and there was some challenges. But... I'm kinda used to it by now."
His soft whistle filled the air, a flicker of respect softening his optics. "I gotta hand it to you, human... you're tougher than you look. Running this place all alone, it takes guts-"
"Y/N..." your soft tone interrupted him. Your warm smile never faltering. "The name's Y/N... and, thank you..."
"Y/N..." your name almost felt strange upon his glossa, but also igniting a small zap of affection within his spark. "How long have you been running this place?"
"Hmm...." your soft gaze looked out at the field in thought. "Five years now."
Crosshairs raised an optic ridge in surprise, another low impressed whistle came from him. As he shifted his position, turning for slightly towards you. "What made you decide to take on this place all on your own?"
"It was... passed down to me from my folks when they passed." Your eyes flickered towards the ground, a small ache tugging upon your heart. Causing your smile to fade, "I... knew it would be a struggle running this place on my own. But... I... didn't have the heart to sell it."
Crosshairs expression saddened for a moment, as he watched you look back out to the ranch. A mixture of pride, sadness and determination flashing across your features. Hesitation temporarily stole his words, while outstretching a servo towards you. The tips of his digits gently patting your back, as a weak smile came to him. "Hey... you're holding onto this place out of love... that's admirable."
"Glad one of us thinks so."
His spark clenched slightly, as the Autobot saw the hint of pain behind your weak smile.
Shit. This emotional stuff is way out of my depth... W-What can I even say that would provide comfort? Damn! For once I wish Drift was here! He'd know what to say...
"Well... somebody's gotta appreciate your stubborn determination."
With your laughter filling his audio receptors, a warm glow filled Crosshairs' internal circuits. A faint smile upon your soft lips, as you looked at him again.
"You're a tough one, aren't you? Running this place all by yourself, dealing with raging bulls and annoying Autobots, like me."
"It's... nice to have some company for a change."
His spark fluffered, as he quickly averted his gaze. Attempting to control the warmth which steadily rose to his face plates. Oh great. Just what I need... a human growing fond me...
"Come on..." You spoke with a smile. "Let's head back to the barn. I did promise to take a look at your comlink..."
---
"Fuck..."
A low sigh of frustration escaped you, as you knelt upon the barn floor. Your eyes studying the fired wires and broken circuit boards, as Crosshairs allowed you to examine his comlink, beneath the plates of his forearm.
"Primus, damn thing is fried!" Crosshairs muttered, running a quick diagnostic scan. Sitting cross-legged upon the floor. "Any chance you'll know how to fix this, Y/N?
"Three wires and two of your main circuit boards needs to be completely replaced-"
"Great... So, basically, I need a whole new comlink, huh?"
"Yeah, Ratchet's gonna need to help you with that one... but... I might have something that can temporarily botch it."
Crosshairs raised an optic ridge, as his confused gaze watched you approach the trap door which was hidden beneath the barn's floor boards.
"Back at N.E.S.T, I helped patch up the Autobots a couple of times." You explained while shoving your duffle bag aside, pulling out a large and heavy cardboard box. "And... over my time in the military, I... kinda collected their old parts."
"Autobot... parts? You've... been hoarding these?" intrigue lined his tone, as Crosshairs curious gaze watched you return with the box. Settling it between the pair of you.
"Once I had the approval from Ratchet and Optimus, of course. But yeah... I've got a whole bunch of Cybertronian stuff hidden under these floor boards-"
"Why... have you kept them...?"
A small chuckle left your lips, as you opened the box. "It's... a bad habit I got from my dad. He used to fill the attic with random boxes filled with old junk. And if you'd ever asked him why, he'd always say 'just in case.'"
Crosshairs let out a gravelly chuckle, leaning a little more forwards, his expression softer. "Sounds like your old man had a point." You noticed the hint of a smile tugging upon his lips, "can't count how many times scrap parts or junkyard finds saved our sorry asses during the war."
The pair of you rummaged through the box, occasionally picking up an item or two and studying it before chucking it back in the box.
"Some of this stuff is rusty as." Crosshairs took a couple of components, holding them up to the light. "I'm honestly not sure how useful these old parts are going to be-"
"We just need something to get a signal for a couple of moments-" your voice trailed into silence, as you pulled out an old, crumpled photo. Raising an eyebrow and tilting your head in curiosity, while carefully unfolding it.
With his interest piqued, the Autobot's optics scanned the photo. "What's that?"
"It's... me back at N.E.S.T... with my friends..." your tone was filled with nostalgia but low. A sad smile tugging at your lips, holding up the photo to Crosshairs.
His optics scanned the picture, taking in the details of you in your military uniform. Your warm smile reflecting the more innocent and carefree moment, as Bumblebee perched you upon his shoulder. His blue optics shining with happiness, as your head rested upon the side of his helm. A smug grin stretching across Ironhide's face plates, as he carefully leaned near you, holding up an impressive weapon. While Ratchet begrudging smile clearly showed his reluctance. A chuckle came to Crosshairs, as his gaze flickered towards Optimus in the background. The Prime pausing in the middle of the military hanger, an confused expression upon his face plates.
"Damn..." Crosshairs spoke with a faint smile, "you looked good in that uniform."
"Oh shut up, you charmer."
A suttle warmth slowly begun to build within his frame, as you playfully punched his knee. His spark pulsing through his wires, as his optics soaked in your flirtatious smile. A playful smirk teased the corners of his lips, once noticing the small dust of pink coating your cheeks.
"Hey... I'm just calling it like I see it." His tone teased, "you sure knew how to wear a uniform, soldier."
Bringing the photo close again, tears begun to prick the corner of your eyes. A lump forming in your throat, reading the blotchy, faded ink. "To our darling, Lieutenant Echo... from your Autobots..."
"Lieutenant Echo... that was your rank... wasn't it?" his tone was much softer now, a hint of respect and sympathy lining the edge of his voice.
You hesitated for a moment, just simply answering with a slow nod before finding your voice. "Yes... 'Echo' was just a silly nickname Bumblebee gave me. After a while... it just sticked... in the end, nearly all of the Autobots called me it."
A small chuckle escaped Crosshairs, "it's... a cute nickname. I can picture Bee coming up with something like that."
"Yeah well... nobody's called me that in years." You gave Crosshairs a weak smile, brushing the tears away from your cheeks before tucking the photo into your jean pocket.
Crosshairs' servo curled into a relaxed fist, placing a gentle knuckle of his index digit under your chin. Brining your soft gaze up to his optics once again. "Well... Echo... I know for a fact. That Bee and the others miss you- probably more than you miss them."
His spark skipped a beat, as you give him that warm, beautiful smile that he secretly loved.
With both your faces feeling warm, and shy smiles tugging upon your lips. Your attention quickly returned to the box of parts, after a couple of minutes, Crosshairs pulled out a small, slightly rusted but still operational circuit board.
"This... might work." he grumbled as he looked it over, still trying to shake off the awkwardness from earlier. " It's not a perfect match... but it should get a signal to the others."
Gently plucking the piece from his servo, you studied the piece. Nodding in agreement.
"Alright... let's see if this piece of junk will do the trick." Crosshairs extended his wrist again, retracting his plates once again. Resting his servo upon his knee, giving you easier access to his comlink as you raised onto your feet.
The Autobot watched intently as you swapped out the circuit board and tinker with his wires. Disconnecting, reconnecting and rearranging cables and wires. Hope and relief flickered across his optics, as the sound of his comlink crackling to life.
"Quickly! Give that a try." Your excited tone edged him.
Taking a moment to compose himself, Crosshairs' optics flickered with anticipation as he flipped through the channels. Hesitating for moment, before speaking into his comlink. "Uh... Autobots...? It's Crosshairs, do you copy...?"
A few moments of static passed, then "C-Crosshairs...?"
A small smile came to you as you watched his face light up with a mixture of relief and surprise. "Hound, you old bastard! It's good to hear your voice!"
A broken chuckle came from Hound, "sound off. Where's your aft at?"
"Currently sitting in the middle of nowhere." Crosshairs voice was laced with a mixture of sarcasm and amusement. "Patching up my injured aft with scraps and parts."
"Damage stats?"
"External damages' not too bad. But I've got a few busted wires and some faulty cabling. Gonna need a full tune-up once I'm back with Ratchet."
"Negative. We still... haven't found, Ratchet. But... Drift will try his best to tune ya."
W-What...? Ratchet's missing? You clenched a hand over your heart, as your worried gaze met Crosshairs'.
"What do you mean you haven't found Ratchet?!" Crosshairs concerned tone came across harsher than he intended.
"Sh-Shit's hit the ceiling since the humans have started hunting us." Although Hound's voice cracked over the comlink, the pain and hurt within his tone was clearly heard. "We... had to separate. We... still haven't heard any word from Optimus-"
Optimus?! Ratchet?! silent tears rolled down your cheeks. What's going on?... a dull ache saddened your heart. Making it sink deeper into your chest.
"Damn... things are going from bad to worse!" Crosshairs firm tone snapped you out of your daze. "And no-one's able to reach Prime or Ratchet?! This shit is getting ridiculous!"
"S-Signal's... shit, Cross... Bee and Drift is with me. O-Our location is 100 klicks outside of Las Vega's. Temporarily base is hidden in the rocky formations along Route 66-"
Crosshairs hung his head low, a frustrated sigh escaping him as the comlink suddenly went back to static.
"Hey... hey. Don't cry." He gently placed the tip of his index digit under your chin, his servo curling into a relaxed fist as you looked up at him through watery eyes. "We'll find Prime and Ratchet. They're out there, somewhere, Echo. Waiting for us to rescue them."
Taking a deep breath, attempting to compose yourself, forcing a weak smile, "well... I donno about you, but... I think a good ride and some fresh air would do us some good."
Crosshairs watched you put the old cardboard box back under the trap door. Noticing the weak smile upon your soft lips, hearing the hint of worry and concern within your words.
"A... ride, hmm?" he thoughtfully questioned. "Well... since you're up for it. I could take you for a spin."
Crouching down closer to the ground, Crosshairs' plates shifted and whirled as he changed into his altmode. Your smile growing a little wider, as he rolled out of the barn in his sleek, green and black Corvette Stingray. His paint job gleaming in the early afternoon sun, revving his engine with a loud, proud pur.
"That... never gets old."
---
The pur and rumble of Crosshairs' engine filled his interior, as you rest your forehead against the passenger window. Your soft gaze watching the fields and hills surrounding your ranch steadily roll by. The comfortable silence filled the Autobot's sensors with the sense of contentment, allowing himself to soak up moment as his scanners occasionally flickered at your peaceful expression.
"Turn right into this field." Your gentle tone interrupted the purring engine, as you lightly tapped the window.
With one smooth motion his altmode effortlessly turned into an open field, his tires softly crunching against the grass and dirt.
"See that hill? Park yourself at the bottom. I wanna show you something."
Crosshairs rolled to a gentle stop at the base of the hill, the passenger door automatically swung open for you.
"You can show yourself. Nobody's around." Your soft tone encouraged while stepping out of his altmode, gesturing for the Autobot to follow you up the hill.
After a moment of hesitation, his scanners and sensors ensuring that nobody was around. Crosshairs walked out of his altmode, his metal plates shifting and sliding into place with a whirring and clicking of hydraulics. Returning to his full height, joining you atop of the hill, speechlessly following your gaze as you perched yourself upon a large boulder.
Off in the distance, your ranch was nicely nestled among the trees and fields. The early afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows and playing with the light across the valley. The mountains far beyond created a natural frame, making the ranch look almost picture-perfect.
A low whistle escaped Crosshairs, as he couldn't help but be awestruck by the peaceful and tranquil beauty of it all. A rare moment of calm and serenity compared to his life full of combat.
"Beautiful..."
"Whenever I felt stressed, frustrated or overwhelmed. My mum would always bring me here, we'd ride on horseback trying to beat the sunset. And... when we reached here, she'd tell me to just look at this." A small smile came to your lips. "And she'd say, 'no matter what bullshit life throws at you. Always know that it will pass. For nothing can bother you for too long, when you have this as your peace.'..
"I can see why she'd say that... it's kinda breathtaking." A contempt sigh escaped Crosshairs as he lowered himself to the ground. Shifting his seating position to be closer to you. "Your ranch... it's been in your family for a long time, hasn't it? Y'know... passed down through generations and all that."
His optics flickered towards you, watching you sit in thought for a brief moment. "I... think so...? Apparently, my grandfather brought the land. But the ranch was built by my parents."
"Must be nice... having a place like this, that's been in the family so long. To have roots..."
You raised a curious brow, sensing a hint of sadness in Crosshairs' words. "Don't... you have roots?"
He hesitated for a moment, his optics gazing back out at the scenery before him. "Roots? No, not really. I mean us- Cybertronians- we were created, not born. We don't... don't really have 'families' like you humans do." A low scoff escaped, as he spat out the last words like poison. "Hell, we don't even have a home planet anymore."
A small ache tugged upon your heartstrings, your gaze softening as you reached out for him. Shifting your position atop of the boulder, which slightly brought to his shoulders.
"Well Crosshairs... for what it's worth. You and the Autobots will always be apart of my family. And... I know everything's gone to shit right now, but... as long as I have this ranch... you guys will always have a home."
Slightly turning his helm towards you, sadness and stubbornness flashed across his optics. Looking down at your gentle touch upon his shoulder. Your words slowly sinking into his processors, feeling warmth and a... odd sensation pulse through his spark.
"You... You shouldn't just go saying things like that, y'know..." His gruffness returned to his tone of voice, but his words had a bit more choke. "We're warriors, we don't need a 'home base' like this..."
"Everyone needs a place to call home, Crosshairs-"
"A 'home base' is nothing more than a simple place, where we lick our wounds and plan operations. None of this... sentimental nonsense."
"You're one tensed Autobot, aren't you?" Raising an eyebrow, crossing your arms.
A small scoff escaped his lips, "I just don't believe in getting emotional over something so insignificant. That's all." Crosshairs raised an optic ridge as his sensors felt you shuffle around behind him. "What you up to...?"
Settling yourself behind him, shuffling closer to the boulder's edge. As you carefully slipped your fingers in between his shoulder plates, you felt Autobot involuntarily stiffen, as your fingertips started to caress his cables and wires. A smile coming to your lips, as his frame shivered under your touch.
"Hey! What-" but Crosshairs' protests dies in his throat, as his vocal processor let out a small purr.
Your smile widened slightly, watching his optics flicker as your fingers continued to gently caress his inner cables.
The sensation caused his frame to shiver again, a low involuntary rumble-pur escaping from his engine. Despite his best efforts of trying to keep his usual cool, aloof demeanor. But there was no denying the effect your touch was having on him. Crosshairs could feel the tension within his frame softening, the rigid defensive stiffness starting to melt away as your fingers gently explored him.
A low moan of satisfaction escaped him, as your soft scratching against his sensitive wires and cables sent ripples throughout his neural network. Causing his spark to pulse quicker within his circuitry, like small firecrackers bursting with excitement.
You looked down at him with a sweet smile, as he gradually leaned into your touch. A small warmth erupted the butterflies within your stomach, as his optics flickered up towards you. His expression a mixture of surprise and... dare Crosshairs admit... pleasure.
A small chuckle tickled your throat as you watched Crosshairs' optics rolled into the back of his helm. Your heart skipped a beat, as you felt the suttle pulsing vibrations of his spark. His frame slightly relaxing more as your touch continued to caress his inner cables.
The Autobot adjusted his position as he continued to lean more into your touch. Allowing your fingers trace a path over his shoulders and down towards his chassis, as he leaned his helm back a little further. Now slightly resting against the boulder, positioning himself in between your legs.
A small coat of pink dusted your cheeks, as the sound of Crosshairs' engine purred softly in response to your touch. Gentle warmth coming to your features, and a wider smile teasing the corners of your lips. As you watched the usually gruff, stoic Autobot unable to hide the pleasure you're having on him. His optics flickering slightly, as his expression betrayed the hint of vulnerability.
F-Fuck... P-Primus-
"Fast...? Or slow?"
The sound of your soothing tone pulled Crosshairs out of his thoughts, his optics flickering up towards you for a moment. Swallowing a lump in his throat, as his vocal processor giving another involuntary rumble before responding. "S-Slower... please..."
Y-Yeah... like that...
A soft sigh escaped him, as his optics fluttered shut for a moment, as your fingers continued to slowly caress his cables. His frame shuddering in response to your touch running in circular motion against cross-wires and intersections of his cables.
The sensation was gentle and controlled, sending small sparks of pleasure through his circuitry. A low, rumbling growl of content comes from his engine, as he leaned further back against the rock. Allowing himself to surrender to your feathered touch.
His servo's grips the dirt beneath him, as your fingers plucked and entangled themselves with his cords. Gently pulling and fiddling with them like strings on a guitar, sending small sparks of warmth and excitement pulsing through his frame and into his spark.
"Feel better?"
Crosshairs' frame was still thrumming with sensation, as your hands slowly trail up and away from his chassis. The feeling of your touch upon his cables and wires left him feeling more relaxed than he's been in a long, long time.
"Y-Yeah... yeah." his voice was quieter, more... sincere than usual. Devoid of its usual cocky and snarky tone, he sat up straighter, his frame no longer tensed and guarded. As he looked down at you with a sense of... warmth in his optics.
A moment of comfortable silence passed between you, the only sound of the suttle breeze swaying through the leafs. Allowing the golden glow of dusk sweep through the branches, almost highlighting the pair of you in a romantic light.
"Can we... have a photo?" A small shy tone hid behind your words, a small dust of pink still coating your cheeks. As a warm smile teased your lips, "I'd like to... have something to remember you by."
His optics momentarily widened at your request. A... photo? Never in his life would he have expected a human to ask for something like that. But... there's something about the way you looked at him. The sincerity in your eyes... Crosshairs slowly nods. A small, crooked smile tugging upon his lips, as he watched you stand up upon the boulder. Gesturing for him to come closer, pulling out your phone and setting it to 'selfie-mode.'
Kneeling towards the ground, his massive frame towering over as he positions himself within frame. The sight is almost comical, his bulky, mechanical form somewhat kneeling next to your small, curvy frame.
Your heart fluttered as you quickly turn away from the camera, briefly closing your eyes while planting a soft kiss upon his cheek. Leaving the Autobot completely caught off guard, as the camera flashes just as he feels the gentle touch, capturing the moment. Crosshairs looked down at you, his expression a mix of surprise and... something almost vulnerable. A flicker of a smile playing on both of your lips.
Pulling away from him and looking back at your screen, a chuckle escaping you, as his expression in the photo was priceless. A mixture of surprise and... affection shining in his optics. His usual tough, badass demeanor completely melted away in the moment, replaced by something almost endearing. As your free hand caressed his cheek, a smile hiding behind your kiss. With the golden dusk glow creating beautiful highlights in your hair and along his paint.
The Next Day- Late Afternoon
Crosshairs rest his back against one of the nearby trees outside the barn, watching you with a smirk as you attempt to try on his goggles. The sound of your laughter like a sweet melody to his audio receivers, crossing his arms over his chassis, as amusement flickered across his optics.
"You look ridiculous in those, y'know Toots?" his words held a tinge of affection, within his teasing tone.
The sight of your petite frame completely engulfed by the accessory. It was absurd, yet... the warmth within his spark couldn't help but find it adorable.
"No. No, wait. I think I've got it this time- oof!-"
A sudden burst of laughter escaped the Autobot, as you helplessly fell onto the grass.
"Hey, careful now." He spoke between chuckles, pushing himself away from the tree. "Those goggles weren't made for clumsy humans."
Your sweet laughter still ringing like a sweet melody, as you laid upon your back. Greeting the green Autobot with a loving smile, while he knelt beside you. His digits deftly worked to free you from the entangled mess of straps and lenses. Despite his usual gruff demeanor, there's a hint of concern as he looked down at you, sprawled out on the grass.
"You ok, Toots?"
Your chuckles and simple nod was enough to ease his aching spark. Letting out a relieved sigh while his shoulders relaxed.
"I'm tougher than you think, y'know." You spoke with a wide smile.
"Oh, I know you're tough. But you're still petite and fragile. Can't have you hurting yourself again, can we?"
"Not all of us can be made out of metal, like you Cybertronians."
A small chuckle escaped his lips, "true. But being made of metal has it's perks, we don't get broken and battered, as easily as you humans do. Plus... we Cybertronians look damn good when we're a bit battered."
Your admiring gaze followed Crosshairs' servos, as he gestured to his healed injuries. Cockily showing off his almost flawless green paint-job. "Yea... you do."
A flirtatious smile tugged upon the corners of his lips, "you're just saying that cause you like the tough, rugged look."
"What can I say? It suits you." Your words held a cheeky tone, while tucking your hands behind your head.
Another chuckle escaped Crosshairs, as he carefully settled upon his side. Propping himself up onto his elbow, resting the side of his helm upon the knuckles of his servo. His optics soaking in your soft features and warm smile. "And here I thought you enjoyed those 'pretty boy' types."
His affectionate, yet mocking tone caused your smile to grow slightly wider. Your eyes flickered up towards him, as your free hand ran a feathered touch upon his forearm.
"Na, those types don't do anything for me. I like my men..." your flirtatious gaze subtly roamed over his emerald green frame. "A bit more... rough around the edges."
Rolling onto your side, back facing Crosshairs, you started fiddling with the wild daisies within the grass. Not realizing that your denim shorts rose a little higher, exposing the curves of your ass.
Crosshairs swallowed the butterflies that entangled his wires, his optics roaming over your frame, drinking in the sight of your curves and how you almost sprawled out among the wildflowers. A strange, unfaminular feeling of warmth bloomed within his spark chamber, as he leaned in closer. Shifting plates and whirling gears filled the air, his frame coming slighter more to your height.
A silent gasp escaped your lips, once feeling the cool metal of his servo caressed your thigh, trailing up towards your ass.
Crosshairs couldn't help but slightly pause for a moment as you pushed your ass more against his touch. His throat oddly feeling dry, swallowing the butterflies once more, as he gently squeezed the curve of your ass, thumb rubbing in a soothing motion.
His systems slowly begun to heat up, when your soft moans filled his audios. You shifted slightly as he kissed and nuzzled the back of your thigh, rough calloused digits gently massaging you. The tips of his digits tracing your hip and waist, feeling your soft, warm skin beneath his touch. A part of him couldn't get enough, your warmth, your soft delicate frame, your very presence making his spark throb-
"Crosshairs!"
The moment your surprised yelp reached his audios, the Autobot froze, his optics widening once seeing his bite mark bruise the curve of your ass.
Sh-Shit... My kiss is...
"Sorry... Sorry I..." his voice was gruff and uncertain. As he gently rubbed the small bite mark on your ass, attempting to soothe the slight sting.
Yet when he met your gaze, your expression made his spark flutter. Looking over your shoulder, soft eyes meeting the Autobot's gaze, a shade of pink dusting your cheeks. As the gentle breeze carried your whispered plea, "a-again..."
A strange shiver of excitement shot throughout Crosshairs frame, his servo absent mindedly squeezing your ass. "Again...?"
With the subtle nod of your head, and purposely moving your hips which caused your denim shorts to ride up a little more, Crosshairs' breath escaped him in a rugged gasp. His grip upon your thigh digging into your skin slightly, with the last strain of his self-control snapping like a rubber band. Crosshairs quickly leaned down, pressing a soft kiss upon your ass before biting down again.
Crosshairs satisfied groan muffled against your skin, his desire growing more intense with each passing moment. His servo caressing your hip and thigh, as he continued to leave love bites across the curve of your ass, and up towards your lower back.
The green Autobot pulled away as you rolled onto your back. Butterflies entangling his wires even more, electric volts surged throughout his frame like fire crackers, as his spark thummed within it's chamber. His optics meeting your flushed expression.
His servos gently pushed your legs apart, his touch rough yet tender as Crosshairs slowly lowered himself between your legs. A low purr rumbled deep within his engine, as your breathless gasp reached his audios. Your legs slightly trembled beneath his touch, your back arching in response to his kisses that trailed up your inner thigh. Leaving the feeling of warmth and teasing nips, as he moved closer to your core.
"You humans and these pesky fabrics!-"
Your eyes widened, his name slipping from your mouth with the blush upon your cheeks deepening. Your heartbeat slightly spiking, once feeling his index digit hook into the seam of your shorts, and effortlessly taring away the denim from your clothed core.
Another growl rumbles from the green Autobot, as you shivered under his touch, the soft gasp of his name fueling his desire. A warmth begun to build within your abdominem, his glossa slowly circling around your clit as he took in the sweet scent of your arousal.
That's it, baby. Dig those fingers into my helm! Show me where you want it! Where this glossa of mine can please you, like no other can!
Your wetness covered his glossa, as Crosshairs devoured your core. His soft yet muffled praises fueling your hips to rock against his rhythm.
He pulls away just long enough to look at you, his optics glassed with desire, his face glistening with your essence. Flashing a flirtatious smile, before swiftly tossing you onto your stomach, allowing you to naturally go on all fours.
Crosshairs leaned down, his frame towering over yours as he slowly yet gently pressed his body against yours. His servos caressing your sides, digits exploring and tracing the curves of your body, lowering his helm towards your back. Leaving a trail of soft kisses and subtle love bites through the fabric of your shirt.
Looking over your shoulder, Crosshairs sees your eyes slightly widen, a breathless "fuck" escapes your lips, as his spike his released from his modesty plate. Warmth raises to the Autobot's faceplates, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal upon his features. While his green and silver, ribbed spike leaked pre-transfluid from the tip.
"For someone who claims they distrust humans. You're sure are... keen enough for exploring of one-"
"Th-This... this is different." Crosshairs tries to protest, voice strained and tense, as his spike throbbed in his servo.
A cheeky smile teases the corner of your lips, noticing how hot air escaped his vents. Knowing that the warmth beneath his faceplates was raising.
"Oh... so this egotistical bot wanted..." Crosshairs moaned softly, his frame trembling while you teasingly pushed your soaked core against the tip of his spike. "... Some love? Is that how this is different?-"
"Sh-Shut up..." he muttered, voice ragged and strained. Feeling the sensations of desire pulse through his frame like a live wire. Biting his lower lip, optics flaring as he struggled to focus on your words. The pleasure overwhelming his processor.
"Make me."
"Oh, I'm gonna make you alright!- Ah! Fuck!"
"Crosshairs!"
His engine growls in satisfaction at the sound of your moan, optics darkening further, feeling the heat radiating from you. His servos tightens around your trembeling hips, guiding his spike gently into your core. Feeling every inch of himself stretching and filling you, the seastion sending waves of pleasure through both of you.
"You're not so tough." You teased while rocking your hips to his rhythm. "You just wanted some stress relief, didn't you?"
The way he trembled to your words was the only answer you needed. Revealing his frustration of how accurate you were, how true it was that he's been dying for some form of release.
"Shut up... Shut. Up!"
Squeezing your waist, your scream echoed throughout the empty field, as Crosshairs slammed his spike deeper into you with each thrust. One of his servos slipping under the hem of your shirt, cupping and groping your breast, feeling how you bounced against his touch. While his free servo reached down your core, tracing circles over your clit, while his spike continued to stretch out your core.
"Cr-Crosshairs!... I'm... I-I'm..." your words trembled, just like your legs as you begun to ride out your high.
A low moan escapes the Autobot, picking up his pace as your essence dripped down his spike. Chasing his own high, as your trembling body took his length.
Static shock ran through his inner circuits like a live wire, years of coiled tension within his systems snapped, as his relief painted your womb before pulling out.
Falling onto your stomach, finally allowing your quivering limbs to rest as you weakly rolled onto your back. Deep shade of pink dusted your features, eyes softly gazing up at Crosshairs as he gently lowered himself to you.
Pressing a soft kiss upon your forehead, stroking your hip with his thumb as the Autobot tried to compose himself. Venting deeply, the aftershocks of pleasure still buzzing throughout his frame, as you both silently savour the moment.
"Fuck... You've got me all messed up."
A breathless chuckle escaped you, "It's alright to say you enjoyed it, tough guy." Your eyes flickered down to his spike, covered in yours and his essence, "your body certainly shows you did."
"Do you hear me complaining, Toots?" a satisfied smirk teased the corners of Crosshairs' lips, "looks like we've got some... cleaning up to do."
With a slow, soft seductive bite of your lower lip, your words coming out with a seductive purr. "Perhaps, we should take this in the barn."
"Fuck yea..."
The Next Morning
Crosshairs woke with the scent of hay and wildflowers in his vents, the soft warmth of a body curled into his side, and a spark that still hadn’t stopped humming from the night before.
For once, his optics didn’t immediately scan the perimeter or check for aerial threats. For once, the battlefield in his processor was quiet.
His helm rested back against a rusted support beam of the barn’s interior. Through gaps in the old wood, he could see morning light filtering in like slow-falling gold. Dust motes danced in the slanted rays, and the faint chirping of birds added a gentle soundtrack to the moment.
You lay tucked into his side, one leg draped over his chest, head nestled against the curved slope of his side plating. Hand resting over his spark chamber as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your hair—mussed and tangled from both sleep and intercourse partially covered your face.
Crosshairs gently reached out and brushed a lock away, his servo tracing the edge of your jaw, down to your chest where his Autobot insignia upon a silver chain rested, with a tenderness that surprised even him.
His digits dropping to something hanging loosely off the grip of his holstered pistol—dog tags. Your dog tags.
The ones you’d given him last night in a moment of whispered affection, half-teasing, half-meaningful.
But the sound of engines, low and heavy broke the dawn's silence.
Crosshairs instantly froze, audials narrowing in on the sound approaching from the gravel road that led to the farmhouse.
Not Autobots. Too small. Too smooth.
His battle instincts surged. That peace he'd just basked in was ripped away like a trapdoor under his pedes.
His shifting stirred disturbed your rest. Blinking against the morning light, still warm from his side.
“Mm… Cross?”
He didn’t answer. Simply raising a index digit to his lips in a command for silence, before pointing toward the window slit above the pair of you.
Tires on gravel. Doors opening. Boots disturbing the loose gravel driveway. It all piqued your curiosity.
Cautiously sitting up, adjusting your shirt attempting to hide your undergarments as you approached the window, peering through at the sight.
From the black, military issue SUV that took the lead, your brows furrowed, your stomach dropping as the familiar sight of your old N.E.S.T squadmate, Cal Monroe.
".... Son of a bitch," you hissed. "Crosshairs, stay in the barn. I've got a suspicion of who attacked you a few days ago-"
"Then like hell I'm-"
"I'm not asking. I'm telling you." Your voice was sharp now, eyes deadly serious. "Trust me... let me handle this."
Not waiting for the Autobot to reply, you quickly grabbed some clothes off the washing line at the back of the barn. Slipping out of the back door, and effortlessly shifting your posture into your usual morning routine.
"Well I'll be damned! Look who's still kicking around dirt and chickens." Cal spoke with a mock cheer, opening his arms wide.
"Didn't think I'd see your smug face before my coffee."
"Just in the neighborhood." Cal casually spoke, his men fanning out with practiced ease. "Thought I'd stop by. Figured you wouldn't mind a visit."
Raising an eyebrow, as you peered over his shoulder, staring at the convoy of black SUV's. "And... you brought half of Washington with you? You always did overcompensate."
A prick of annoyance bruised Cal's ego, as a few soldiers chuckled behind him. "Fine... our systems flagged a Cybertronian signature in this region. Just a small one. We thought maybe it was incorrect data, but... I had to check."
You crossed your arms, "And you figured it was on my land?-"
"I'm just concerned about your safety." Cal shrugged, feigning innocence. "Wellbeing and routine of citizen safety. Y'know the drill-"
"I know it's bullshit, or did you forget that I too was in the military? Just like how you've forgotten what operation we were apart of-"
"Things have changed."
"No." You snapped, stepping towards him. "You changed! Like Lennox, you jumped on the Goddamn ban wagon of proclaiming that every Cybertronian is threat! Yet you know other wise, Cal. You fought along side them-"
"And you know, that not every Cybertronian out there got's a noble streak!-"
"Maybe... But I also know that your boys don't know the difference. And neither do the people giving you orders."
A long silence stretched between you.
Finally, Cal sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look... all I'm saying is, if you see or hear something- anything- tell me. For old time's sake."
You glared narrowed onto him, "I don't know anything. And trust me, even if I did... I wouldn't tell you anything. Now you and your shadow squad can get the fuck off my land."
Cal gave a slow nod, but before he could say more, two of his men chuckled by an old oak tree near the farmhouse.
"Hey, Sarge," one called out. Pointing to some ripped lace undergarments carelessly tossed upon the grass. "Guess someone had company last night."
---
From the shadows of the barn, Crosshairs watched the scene unfold with growing fury.
He kept still—too still. His plating tense, his servo hovering near the grip of his rifle. Optics narrowed, tracking every step of the Taskforce men as they spread across the property. None had come inside yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Nearby, you stood your ground in front of the lead SUV, arms folded tightly across your chest, expression unreadable. But Crosshairs could see that your stance was firm—too firm. The kind of posture someone held when adrenaline masked fear.
Cal Monroe stood close now, his arms relaxed at his sides, but his stance was anything but casual.
“You gonna say something?” Cal asked, his hands on his hips. “Because just standing there isn’t helping your case.”
You remained still, jaw clenched, refusing to bite.
"Tch. You always were stubborn. But this? This is reckless."
Crosshairs saw the moment Cal’s patience cracked. He barked to his men, “Fan out. Search every building. Every shed. Burn the barn if you have to.”
“What?!” you snapped, stepping forward. “Cal, don’t you dare—!
“I will, unless you start talking. I am two seconds from tearing this whole place down. You made it complicated. Contain her!" he barked to one of his men. "Get her in the SUV. Clearly, she needs to be reminded who the real enemy is-”
“Don’t you touch me!-"
"Let. Her. Go!" Crosshairs’ vents hissed.
The barn doors groaned as he shoved them open, stepping fully into the morning light. Walking into the open with his shoulders back and a pistol drawn, its barrel trained dead-center on Cal’s chest.
Weapons were drawn instantly. Red laser sights flared to life from at least six directions, painting his chassis in flickering pinpricks of light.
You froze, still held by two men who had clearly underestimated your strength. Eyes widened in disbelief as you saw Crosshairs—fully revealed, standing out in the open like some defiant green knight made of fury and steel.
"Crosshairs, no! Run!"
But he didn’t budge.
His voice was low, deadly calm. “You’ve got exactly three seconds to take your hands off her before I paint your trucks with your own slagging blood.”
“Contain the threat!" Cal shouted to his team. "Bring it down before it gets hostile!”
“Hostile?” Crosshairs snapped. “You stormed her home. Threatened her. Touched her. And I’m the hostile one?”
You pulled free from the grip of one soldier, throwing an elbow into another. "Crosshairs! Run!"
“No,” he ground out. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to!” You stumbled towards him, only to be grabbed again. "Just go—please! I’ll be fine. But if they capture you—”
A soldier raised a weapon too quickly—Crosshairs responded with a shot fired just inches from the man’s boot.
The team halted. Cal threw up a hand to hold fire, but his voice was already tight with warning. “You’re not walking away from this, bot.”
Crosshairs growled. “Watch me-”
"You'll only make this worse," you begged. "Go. Run. You know I can handle myself. Please... don’t make me watch them take you.”
For a long, tense second, the Autobot didn’t move. His weapon twitched in his grasp, still aimed, still burning. His spark twisted.
Crosshairs backed toward the trees, still aiming until the very last second. "Promise you'll come back to me. I don't care how long, or what it takes, you find me when it's safe. You hear me?"
You nodded, tears stinging your eyes. "I promise."
Then, with one final look—one filled with heartbreak and heat and everything unspoken—Crosshairs turned and sprinted into the trees.
Vanishing into the rising sun.
Leaving the air heavy with gunpowder, regret, and something dangerously close to love.
Hi! I saw your requests were open and had one for you if you would be willing, totally understand if not!
Tfp Shockwave x transmasc human reader who's on their period and feeling dysphoric/generally not great
Shockwave comforting the reader about the physical discomfort of cramps/bloating and reassuring them of their gender/genral self even with their period. All in his own Shockwave ways of course
Thanks so much for your time and hope you have a good one!
Hi!
I absolutely loved this idea! Honestly went straight into the comfort/warm fuzzy style with this fic, therefore, apologise if it's a bit short. Enjoy!
Calculated Kindness
Word Count: 848
Content: TFP Shockwave x GN/Human Reader. Comfort.
The interior of the old Cybertronian communications outpost hummed softly in the dark, tucked deep beneath a desert canyon far from Jasper. Hidden from Autobot surveillance and even Megatron’s prying optics, Shockwave had converted the facility into a lab for off-the-record experiments… and, unbeknownst to anyone, a quiet place for one very specific human- his human to rest.
You curled up on the makeshift couch in the corner, clutching your stomach while wrapped in one of the thermal blankets Shockwave had synthesized to match your body’s fluctuating temperatures. The fluorescent lighting had been dimmed to a soft amber glow, casting faint reflections across the curved walls of Cybertronian alloy.
Shockwave observed you from a respectful distance, one clawed servo steepled against the other in thought. He could see your vitals were fluctuating. Not dangerously, but noticeably.
Elevated body temperature. Shallow breathing. Muscle spasms in the abdominal region. Fatigue in their limbs. Low vocal output.
You hadn’t said much since upon arriving, except the occasional mutter of an apology for being “useless today.” Despite Shockwave already telling you once before that apologies were inefficient when directed at allies, especially when dealing with something as biologically inevitable as your reproductive cycle. But still, you insisted on guilt.
"You're experiencing discomfort."
A half-laugh, half-sigh escaped you, as you shifted upon the couch, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. “Is it really that obvious?”
He tilted his helm slightly, attempting to process your sarcasm. “Ovulation is a necessary precursor to reproductive viability. But I fail to understand why your kind evolved such inefficient systems.”
You gave a weak laugh, burying your face into the pillow. “Trust me, we humans ask ourselves the same question.”
Without hesitation, Shockwave reached behind him, retrieving a small, human-sized thermal cup. Tilting your head, staring at him in disbelief as he gently approached you, each heavy step measured with care to not startle you.
“What is this?”
“An herbal compound. Derived from chamomile, ginger, magnesium glycinate, and bio-safe pain inhibitors. Brew it with hot water. Drink twice daily. It will not conflict with any known medications or disrupt hormonal balances.”
You held the thermal cup like it might vanish. “You… made me medicine?”
Shockwave didn’t answer immediately. He instead scanned your face, noting the way how you were holding back tears—frustration, hormones, gratitude and pain all warring for control.
"Affirmative. Synthesized from Earth-native botanicals. I observed you reacting positively to similar... teas last month. You have not consumed sufficient sustenance today. This correlates with increased irritability and poor self-perception during this phase.”
“…You noticed that?” you murmured, a little surprised.
“I observe everything,” Shockwave flatly spoke, but something in his tone hinted at something gentler. Something quiet.
Sipping the herbal tea, feeling the warmth settle in your stomach. The cramps didn’t disappear entirely, but merely dulled to a more tolerable ache.
“I hate this,” you softly spoke, secretly hoping that the kneeling Decepticon beside you, somehow didn't catch your words. “I was going to finish helping you run those synthetic nerve simulations, but I can’t even sit upright.”
Shockwave’s optic softened as leaned in a little closer. His massive servo hovered, uncertain for a moment, then slowly descended, cupping your blanket-covered side with painstaking gentleness. Careful to apply only the smallest pressure—just enough to be felt through the thick blanket.
You couldn't help but look up at him with weak smile, resting your cheek against the back of his servo. “As always, my body planed on betraying me on a day I aimed to achieve things on my 'To Do List.' God, I feel so useless during these times! ”
“I require data. But I do not require perfection.”
You turned your head slightly, pressing into his touch. Eyes flickering up to meet his unusual soft gaze.
“You are useful because you are you. You notice patterns others miss. You complete tasks without instruction. You are—frequently inefficient—but reliably intuitive.” His optic dimmed slightly, like a slow blink. “You provide a variable I did not anticipate. And yet I find… I would recalculate the equation to include you every time.”
You blinked. “...What?”
He adjusted, bringing his optic level closer to your gaze.
“Assessing your value through a distorted framework of cultural aesthetics and temporary appearance, is unlogical. I assess based on function, loyalty, and presence. You are efficient, brave and consistently… compelling to observe.”
A soft smile teased the corners of your lips. “You think I’m… compelling?”
“I would not expend time, data, or concern on a being who was not.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. No sarcasm. No mockery. Just facts, delivered in that low monotone that somehow made the truth hit harder than any flattery.
You exhaled slowly, trying to swallow the rising warmth within your chest.
Tears unexpectedly glassed your vision slightly. And despite the aching muscles and the heaviness in your limbs, you reached out and rested your free hand over the edge of his digit, anchoring yourself there.
“Thanks, Shockwave. I mean it.”
His response was quiet as he lowered his helm, almost resting against your forehead. “Understood."
When a forgotten Autobot distress signal leads Ratchet and Optimus to a wreck buried beneath the Himalayan ice, they expect only silence and death. But hidden within the plague-ridden ruin lies a sealed artifact pulsing faintly with life. As ancient systems stir and secrets awaken, the Autobots uncover something impossible—something that could change the fate of their species forever.
Content: AU of S01 E13 of Transformers Prime. Ratchet being a girl-dad. Comfort.
Word Count: 4,700
The main console in the Autobot base flickered softly as Ratchet stood alone, hunching over it with a deep frown creasing his faceplates. The rec area was quiet, save for the soft hum of the lights above and the power conduits.
"Optimus, you're not going to believe this." Ratchet spoke over his shoulder towards the Prime, "I've found an Autobot emergency beacon, upon an unknown frequency."
Tilting his head, Optimus approached the medic's side gazing at the unusual set of coordinates nestled within the Himalayan Mountains. "I won't leave any Autobots in distress, but we must proceed with extreme care and caution. Ratchet, prepare the Ground Bridge and bring your medical kit."
The swirling green of the Ground Bridge pulsed and collapsed behind them, as Optimus and Ratchet stepped the chill of the howling wind. Ice whipped across their frames as they descended into the snowy ravine, which had been carved out by centuries of glacial pressure. The snow was deep- the kind that swallowed sound, it even made the Autobot's heavy footsteps seem muffled.
Before them laid the shattered remains of a Cybertronian starship, it's hull cracked and frozen in place, poking out of the ice like bones of a long-dead titan. Ancient glyphs upon it's side almost sanded away by weather and time.
"A crash landing." Optimus softly spoke, his spark beating that little bit slower. "Buried here for centuries-"
"Might still be worth investigating." Ratchet's scanners picked up faded life signs, nothing current but not offline either. "If they traveled in stasis pods, there may be survivors."
Pushing what remained of the side hatch, complete darkness framed the corridor, save for their headlights. The rusty remains of the ship groaned under the shifting weight of their steps, ancient metal flooring whining in protest.
Optimus' optics scanned the surroundings, pipes along the ceiling had long since frozen and burst, curling ice veins snaked down every wall. Ratchet's spark sank a little within his chassis as they passed shattered stasis pods, some open, others cracked.
The crew never had a chance to wake. The medic's processor sighed.
Entering the bridge, a dozen of Autobot corpses slumped over the consoles, their frames corroded, covered in a thick crust of rust and frost. Some even laid in pools of blue energon, the Autobot's headlights reflecting a strange purple metallic hue within the energon.
Ratchet slowly moved forward, his expression unreadable as Optimus' gaze narrowed into the dimly lit darkness, somewhat guarding the loyal medic. Kneeling beside the closest corpse, hesitantly running a scan over the bot's frame, the results making his internals plummet.
"Optimus... these Autobots didn't perish in the crash," faint remorse lined the medic's words, his voice almost tight with breaking emotion. "They're displaying the effects... of a virus. Look at the corrosion pattern, the decay rate. There's something... unnatural about it. This isn't just time... it's... pathological."
"This is a plague ship-"
Ratchet immediately placed an protective arm across Optimus' chassis, preventing the leader from taking a closer look. "Don't. Touch. Anything. The virus could still be active! Cyber-viral pathogens have been known to remain dormant for centuries in cryogenic conditions. It's possible this entire vessel is still infected. One wrong move and... we could bring an ancient Cybertronian virus back to base."
"Let their memory rest," Optimus words held a solemn tone. "For their fate... must not become ours." Triggering a remote silent alert beacon to warn anyone else who might stumble upon the wreck, Prime took one final look over the decayed bridge before silently stepping away.
But... Ratchet hesitated.
Something caught his optics- just ahead, half-buried beneath the thick rime of ice and snow that crusted over the ancient controls. A faint metallic glint shining as the medic's headlights roamed over it.
Moving forward carefully, every step making the floor plates groan and creak under his weight. Three steps away, perched atop the main command console, was a metal sphere roughly the size of Ratchet's palm in diameter, it's height barely reaching the second knuckle of his index digit. Thick frost veiled most of it, but the Autobot could just make out the ancient Cybertronian glyphs etched into it's surface, whispering of a time long past. Rusted wires and brittle leads snaked from the sphere, connecting it directly into the ship's flickering power source.
"Optimus..." Ratchet called, voice low but urgent.
The Prime turned, following Ratchet's gaze towards the strange device.
"There. That sphere, I think it's an auxiliary memory core. An old design, but if it's survived... it could contain critical data."
"Is it safe to retrieve?" Optimus' optics narrowed, internally weightly the risks quickly.
"It's casing is intact, sealed against environmental breaches. I can isolate it, quarantine it back at base inside a containment field." Ratchet assured. "I don't detect any viral agents on the exterior... but we would need to handle it with extreme caution."
Pausing for a brief moment, Optimus gave a curt nod. "Proceed with caution, old friend."
---
Ratchet's servos worked methodically over the metal sphere, as it sat locked inside a decontamination field within the medbay. Layers of frost melted away under careful sterilization beams, and with steady servos, the medic connected diagnostic cables to the ancient casing, trying to find any compatible access ports.
The technology was... archaic, predating even Ratchet's early days in Cybertronian medical service. Yet the core had been preserved remarkably well.
With extreme focus, gritting his denta as he attempted to re-establish a minimal power link, determined to transfer whatever dormant data that might be hidden.
Meanwhile, across the main central control room, Optimus stood before the remaining of the Autobots while the human children peered over the railings of their rec area.
"I regret to inform you," the Prime's voice was low and heavy, words filled with solemn emotion. "The ship we discovered... was a plague vessel from the early days of the Great War. No survivors were found, unfortunately, the crew... perished long ago."
A heavy silence filled the air, Miko's face twisted into visible discomfort, her usual enthusiasm muted. "That's... horrible. They must of been so scared."
Jack folded his arms across his chest, brow furrowed deeply. While Raf's gaze stared at the floor, adjusting his glasses nervously.
But before Optimus could continue, a sharp metallic clang echoed throughout the base. Curious gazes piqued by the sudden disruption from the medbay, all seeing Ratchet standing rigid, his back towards them. His shoulders were tense, optics wide and locked onto the now-open sphere on the main examination table.
Bulkhead's light, teasing tone attempted to ease the tension that lingered in the air. "Dropped something Ratchet? Can't blame me for breakin-" but his words trailed off into silence, as his gaze landed on what the medic was staring at.
Nestled within the opened sphere, suspended in a shimmering, translucent energon-nutrient, was something none thought they'd ever see again.
A sparkling.
Small, fragile and barely formed. It's proto-armor was soft and silver, it's tiny frame curled loosely in the fetal position, tubing and delicate cabling connecting it to the inner systems of the artificial womb. Gentle pulses of light flickered faintly through the fluid.
The Autobots stood frozen, their processors attempting to believe their optics.
"What's with the shocked expression?" Jack's confused yet quiet tone cut through the stillness, "It's just a baby. Don't Cybertronians have kids or something?"
"We... did," Arcee lowly spoke, a flicker of pain flashing across her optics. "But the Well of AllSparks- the source of our species' life- went dormant during the early days of the Great War-"
"and that was... centuries ago." Bulkhead finished, sensing Jack's confusion. "No sparklings- um... children have been born since."
Optimus stepped forward, his expression stricken in a way nobody had ever seen. Ex-venting slowly, voice low but slightly shaking with emotion. "Ratchet, is there... any signs of life?"
Ratchet, who had yet to look away from the tiny, motionless form, finally found his voice. "I-I... I don't know." Lifting a scanner, moving it carefully over the artificial womb, lines of Cybertronian script and medical readouts scrolled across his monitor. "The artificial womb integrity is remarkably preserved, and the casing acted much like a stasis pod. But with no power source for so long... whether the sparkling's systems have survived- it's spark, neural net... that's another matter entirely."
Arcee's question slipped out quietly, voice thick with emotion, "can you do anything?"
"I... won't make promises," Ratchet spoke, voice hardening with determination. "But I'll try..."
---
Hours passed like an gruelling eternity.
No one ever seen Ratchet move with such purpose, every calculation running through his processor as he tried to understand technology lost to time.
Ancient data flooded his monitors as he decrypted the hidden files extracted from the sphere. Blueprints of the artificial womb scrolled in alien formatting, system he hasn't seen since the Golden Age. Faint crew logs- fragmented and decayed- flashed in between diagnostics. Some noted "Project Rebirth" and "Prototype: A-7."
But.. no conclusive entry. No final answer.
Yet, Ratchet still persisted. Manually rerouting power through the glass casing, stabilizing nutrient flow with delicate precision. The energon nutrients had thickened over the centuries, so he reconstituted it using trace compounds within the medbay- something that could mimicked protoform energy regulation. With a trembling digit, Ratchet finally reinforced the main power cord to the central power frame.
And then... he waited.
Ratchet slowly pulled back, exhausted. He slouched onto a nearby berth, shoulders slumping for the first time in hours. Optics dulled by fatigue, gaze locked onto the monitors. The sparkbeat tracker read flat. Neural activity... dormant.
Primus... don't let me be too late...
Throughout the whole time, everyone else remained in the rec area just outside, giving Ratchet space- but not straying far. Arcee slouched upon a crate, arms crossed and jaw tight. Bulkhead paced. Bumblebee nervously sat in silence by the main controls.
Jack sat upon the couch, leaning forwards with elbows on his knees. While Miko constantly fidgeted in frustration, "I hate waiting" she muttered, clutching onto her phone but not really looking at it.
"I-It work... right? The... baby is gonna be ok...?" Raf anxiously gazed at the medbay area, only to have silence reply to his question.
With his back still turned against the group, Ratchet stared at his screens, watching the flat line of the sparkbeat monitor- waiting for a flicker, a pulse, something.
One minute. Nothing.
Come on, little one. Come on.
Two minutes. Nothing.
No... No...
Three minutes...
Ratchet lowered his helm, voice cracking as something tugged at his spark. "I-I... tried-"
Beep.
The small sound that echoed across the medbay caused his optics to snap back up.
Beep-beep.
Scrambling forwards, nearly dropping his tools as he reached the monitor, servos hovering over the controls as the data confirmed it.
A faint spark-beat. Weak, fluttering like a candle in a storm, but undeniably real.
"They're... alive?" Ratchet whispered, voice shaking in slight disbelief. "By the AllSpark... they're alive!"
Ratchet's legs nearly gave out as he slumped back against the medical berth behind him, staring at the tiny silver form nestled in the sphere, suspended within its protective fluid.
A sparkling... A living sparkling.
He remained frozen for a few moments longer, a rare laugh breaking through the Autobot's normally rigid composure. It wasn't loud, merely a fragile sound, choked with disbelief and raw, exhausted joy. It was a laugh that hasn't escaped him in centuries- maybe not since the War began.
"Optimus. Everyone. You... might want to come in." Ratchet's voice trembled with emotion as he softly spoke over the medbay comms, "the sparkling... is alive."
---
As soon as the announcement echoed throughout the Autobot base, the doors to the medbay burst open. Bulkhead's heavy frame arrived first, nearly stumbling through the threshold. Arcee and Bumblebee right behind him, with the kids sprinting close behind.
Optimus walked in last- slower, calmer- but there was urgency in his stride and a hint of hidden emotion in his optics that hadn't been there before.
Miko's loud voice broke the silence first, throwing her firsts into the air. "Yes! You serious? Like- an actual Cybertronian baby?!"
Jack let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, grinning slightly as his eyes widened in awe.
"That's... that's amazing, Ratchet!" Raf cheered.
Arcee's optics widened, her mouth opening slightly in shock, as an rumbling laugh escaped Bulkhead, clapping Bumblebee on the back a little too hard. "Ratchet, you old genius!"
Yet the yellow scout still gave a series of excited chirps, bouncing slightly on his pedes.
Optimus stepped forward slowly, his usual somber expression softened, placing an affectionate servo upon the medic's shoulder. "You have done something extraordinary, old friend."
"We're not in the clear yet." Ratchet's gentle tone carried a edge of grim realism. His optics glancing back at the monitors, watching the tiny, flickering life signal. "The sparking's vitals are weak. Her systems are fragile- continuous monitoring over the next week is critical. Any failure in her stabilization could be fatal. The casing acted like a stasis pod, but the nutrient bath and power systems degraded after all these centuries. There's no telling what complications may arise. Of course, I'll do everything I can. But this little one... still has a very long way to go."
"There is... one more concern." Ratchet continued, "normally when Cybertronians are born from the Well of AllSparks, they are naturally guided to imprint onto their carrier. But... this one has no Well to guide her. No carrier, no natural imprinting process. Therefore, when this sparkling awakens... she'll need to imprint almost immediately."
"And... if she doesn't?" Bulkhead shifted uneasily.
"Without an emotional anchor, without a bond to tether her spark to this world... she could fade. Abandon survival. Even if her body survives, her processor could wither."
A thick silence fell over the medbay momentarily.
"So, like... someone's gotta be her mum or dad?" Miko slowly asked.
"In a sense... yes." Ratchet lowly explained. "Someone who can be a 'parent', the sparkling's emotional anchor. Whom will take responsibility... possibly for a lifetime."
---
In the days that followed, the Autobot base was never the same.
The medbay, once a sterile chamber filled only with Ratchet's tools and curt orders, now carried an energy rarely felt among their war-worn walls. Monitors quietly hummed. The tiny silver protoform within the nutrient fluid hadn't moved yet, but the sparkling's spark steadily stronger each day- her beat syncing with the rhythm of the base around it.
Ratchet remained the primary caretaker, running continuous diagnostics, adjusting nutrient balances by fractions of percentages, and logging every flicker of change. But... he wasn't alone.
The whole base stayed involved- especially Bumblebee.
The yellow scout often perch near the containment field, visor reflecting the soft glow of the artificial womb. With curious wonder, tilting his helm, occasionally chirping soft, harmonic beeps meant to comfort.
One afternoon, the sparkling's tiny servos twitched ever so faintly, the first sign of reflex motion. Bumblebee chirped in surprise, practically bouncing in place, as he leaned closer, placing a single digit near the glass. The sparkling twitched again- almost like she was trying to reach back.
Hearing Bee's excited chirps across the medbay, Ratchet gave a tired, amused grunt without looking up. "Yes, Bumblebee. That would be a basic tactile response to external audio-visual stimulus."
---
Even more surprising to Ratchet was the children's involvement. He expected curiosity, not commitment.
Miko, of course, made her presence known first. One morning, she strutted into the medbay with her guitar slung over her back.
"Alright, little rock star!" She grinned, plugging her instrument into a mini amp. "Prepare for your first taste of music therapy!"
The first strum of her guitar thundered throughout the medbay, causing the sparkling to flinch and twitch in sudden alertness within the artificial womb.
"Miko!" Ratchet barked over the loud sound. "Her audio receptors are still developing! That racket will fry her systems!"
Miko simply stuck out her tongue, but undeterred, setting her gitar aside, unplugging the amp, double checking that the sound was low or off before approaching the sparkling. Strumming a set of invisible strings and head banging to the unheard sound of her air guitar.
Her singing wasn't perfect- it cracked on the high notes, slid off key sometimes- but it was Miko. Warm and full of life, as she belted out her and Bulkhead's favorite rock songs, performing dramatic riffs with her hands, humming the bassline between lyrics.
Ratchet watched Miko's face light up in pure joy and fascination as the sparkling responded. Optics once dim and unfocused, flickered gently. Her small servos curled into lose fists while her limbs twitched in the fluid in rhythmic bursts.
"She likes it! She's vibin'!" Miko gasped, pointing at the sparkling. "Did you see that, Bulk?! She moved!"
A prideful chuckle escaped the green Autobot, "guess you're not bad at this 'music therapy' stuff after all, kiddo."
---
Jack's approach was much quieter. At first, he lingered by the medbay doors, watching from a distance. Not quite sure how to contribute, or how to interact with the sparkling.
But guaderally, during the quiet hours- after patrols and in between missions, once everything had settled down. He'd casually sit upon a stool beside the sparkling, fingers laced on his lap.
Simply talking- softly, sincerely. Often talking about the vas wonders of Earth, the rich culture and history of Jasper and it's people. And when he thought no one was watching, Jack leaned closer to the glass speaking words of praise and encouragement.
"Keep going, little one. You hold such strength that not many could hold. Continue fighting and when you wake up, we'll all be here. Waiting and welcoming you to the little dysfunctional family we've found."
---
Then there was Raf.
Being the youngest in his family, he brought his favourite books from his childhood- ones his older siblings and parents had read. Ratchet couldn't help but smile behind the minors as Raf neatly stacked up the books, the dog-eared pages permanently creasing the corners, their spines wrinkled and the covers showing signs of being well loved.
Every evening before Bumblebee would take him home, Raf would curl up beside the sparkling upon the medbay console, legs crossed and reading aloud, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
"And then the brave knight withdraw his mighty sword and marched into the forest..."
Holding up the pages towards the glass dome of the artificial womb, tapping the picture as if to get the sparkling's attention, tracing the colourful images with his small fingers.
"See? Despite not knowing the danger, the knight will do whatever it takes to save the princess."
Sometimes Raf would simply make up stories of his own, if he'd forgotten a book or didn't like the ending to one. Only to giggle quietly whenever Miko teased him about "making up endings again."
Each night, the sparkling's neural readings spiked in quiet bursts. The tiniest movements- a hand shifting, toes curling in the fluid- responded as Raf's voice wrapped around the tiny protoform like a protective blanket.
Raf never noticed the data readings.
He just simply smiled after every story, promising to bring more books next time.
---
Day after day, those silly, tender, heartfelt interactions from everyone continued, and Ratchet silently watched them all.
At first, he had catalogued it clinically- simple notes in his files, empirical data showing stimulation rates and developmental advances.
Each reaction. Each movement. Every time the sparkling responded to their voices, her readings would stabilize. Growing stronger with each passing moment.
His old spark, weary and guarded, ached with an unfamiliar emotion, Ratchet- stoic, snarky, ever-logical- never once told anyone how their warmth, voices and presence were programming something far more important than any nutrient compound he could conjure for the sparkling. Doing what all the medical technology in the galaxy might have failed to do.
Connection.
They were teaching the sparkling the shape of their world. Teaching her love.
---
The base had long since fallen silent.
Outside the medbay, the hallways stretched dark and still. Even Bulkhead's usual snores were distant tonight, muffled behind sealed quarters. The only lights were the low amber glow of Ratchet's monitors and the soft hum of the containment field where the sparkling floated peacefully, suspended in its artificial womb.
Ratchet sat slumped in his usual place at the console, optics dimmed with exhaustion, his shoulders hunched from too many hours spent leaning forward. His tools scattered across the workbench beside him, now unused. There was nothing more to adjust, nothing more to repair.
Only the endless, aching wait.
"By the AllSpark, this... this has to work," he grumbled, voice carrying the edge of frustration, but softened by the sheer, raw care he couldn't hide anymore. "All the work... all the hours... Primus help me, it all couldn't of been for-"
Suddenly a sound- so faint Ratchet almost thought he imagined it- echoed throughout the medbay. Not the hiss of vents nor the ping of falling machinery.
I-Is that...?
The Autobot's frame went still. Optics brightened as he straightened up slowly, the old hydraulics in his joints creaking from the movement. Turning his gaze towards the sparkling, his spark thrumming within it's chamber.
The sparkling's optics remained closed, her small frame still floating serenely in the nutrient fluid. But there- soft and delicate, like the chiming of tiny bells underwater- came the faintest, more pure sound.
A bubbling series of noises, liting and sweet. The infantile Cybertronian equivalent of-
Laughter...? Ratchet didn't move, hardly daring to breathe.
The sound came again, the sparkling's tiny mouth moved slightly, delicate glimmers of light flashing through the fluid as her developing vocalizer twitched with effort.
Ratchet blinked in disbelief, re-running his internal audio recorders twice over, scanning and rescanning his medbay.
No malfunction, and certainly not a hallucination. Her laughter is... real. She's trying to laugh!
His servos shook as he slowly approached, inching closer to the artificial womb with hesitant steps, almost if he was approaching something scared. Crouching down, optics level with the small silver figure suspended inside.
A soft, choked noise escaped him- almost half-laugh, half-sob that the medic immedictly pushed down.
"Look at you..." his hoarsely whisper slowly cracked under the weight of the moment. "Putting up such a good fight, aren't you, little one?"
Reaching out, resting a careful servo against the glass of the containment dome of the artificial womb. Not quite touching, not wanting to disrupt the delicate systems- but just hovered there, as if offering silent reassurance.
The sparkling twitched faintly towards the gesture, as if sensing the nearness. Another faint bubbling laugh slipped from her, the sound pure and innocent, causing Ratchet's spark ache so deeply it nearly hurt. It had been so long, too long, since he heard something so pure and alive.
---
By the end of the week, the change was undeniable.
The sparkling, once so small and fragile within the nutrient fluid, had fully formed. Its proto-armor had hardened to a soft silver hue, laced with faint traces of blue along the seams. Miniature servos twitched. Optical shutters, though still closed, fluttered faintly as neural pathways continued to develop.
In the corner of the medbay, Ratchet cleared a berth and constructed a gentle slope of soft plating, building an area meant to mimic a proto-nest. Warm energy fields surrounded it, cushioning the air like a protective bubble. The medic adjusted lighting arrays to soften when the sparkling's optics first opened, and calibrating ambient noise to mimic the low, comforting hum of a functioning base.
Every motion was clinical- measured.
But inside, Ratchet felt a tension building. A coiled storm of emotions he hadn't allow himself to face in centuries.
The sparkling's 'birth' was close- just days away now. And as it did, every Autobot's optics seemed to stray, almost unconsciously towards Optimus.
It was never spoken aloud, but the assumption was clear.
Of course, Optimus would be the one to 'parent' the sparkling. Who else could it be?
---
In the quiet hours of the night, the sound of low pulse of the monitors and the gentle hum of the nutrient systems filled the medbay. Ratchet had dozed off without meaning to, slumped against the side of the berth he's been preparing for the sparkling's arrival for days now, exhaustion finally claiming him.
It was a soft, barely-there creak that stirred him.
His optics flickered online, groggy and unfocused. For a moment he thought he'd imagined it- until he heard it again. Sharper this time.
Crack!
Ratchet snapped fully awake. Turning towards the artificial womb, the medic froze.
Tiny fractures spider-webbed across the glass, thin lines that spread wider with each second. Monitors blinked urgently, an internal countdown flashing across the screens.
Sparkling Emergence: Three Minutes. Thirty Seconds.
Ratchet's optics widened, internal systems kicking into overdrive. Scrambling onto his peds, bumping into a tray of sterilized tools, sending them clattering loudly to the floor.
With fumbling servos, he activated the emergency birth protocols- heating the berth, initiating gentle air circulation, prepping a low-level energon feed for immediate support- but his digits trembled over the controls.
Immediately opening his comms, "O-Optimus... i-it's happening! By the AllSpark, the sparkling is arriving!-"
"Stay calm, Ratchet. I'm on my way." Prime's ever calm tone responded, turning away from his usual petrol and heading back to base.
Ratchet frantically begun to try to stabilize the containment field to slow the process, inputting manual overrides to delay birth- as if he could stop it. But another loud crack of the glass shattered the silence, signaling the Autobot medic that it was too late.
The thick glass of the artificial womb finally buckled, bursting apart in a slow, wet collapse. Nutrient fluid spilled across the berth like a broken amniotic sac, steaming faintly in the cool medbay air.
Within the center of it all, tangled in cables and flickering stasis lines, the tiny protoform struggled.
The sparkling gasped, letting out a sharp, high-pitched cry. Each moment Ratchet stood frozen, panic written all over his face plates. Her cry began to escalate- high and frantic, full of fear and confusion.
Hovering awkwardly over the berth, servos twitching as his instincts battled logic.
"H-Hey now..." Ratchet stammered, voice cracking with rare helplessness. He leaned over the berth, trying to shield the tiny protoform from the cooler air with his own frame. "Easy. Shhh, it's alright, little one. Prime's coming. You hear me? He's coming. Just... Just hold on-"
But the sparkling only cried louder, tiny arms flailing, vents gasping for air, causing Ratchet to panic further. Come on, Optimus. She needs to bound with a parental bot soon!
Reaching out instinctively, gently yet awkwardly, Ratchet cradled the sparkling's small helm in one broad servo, attempting to offer some form of comfort. And the moment his servo touched her protoform, a zap of warmth surged straight into his spark.
The sparkling hiccupped mid-cry, her tiny form shuddered once- then stilled, softening against Ratchet's palm. Her small digits curled weakly around his thumb, and for the first time, her bright optics slowly blinked open.
Ratchet's breath caught within his throat, the moment he felt it.
The old imprinting code, instinctual and powerful, binding itself to him in the sparkling's new, fragile mind.
"No, no, no-"
The hiss of the medbay doors cut the medic's hoarse whisper, Optimus' stride through with purposeful urgency- only to stop dead at the sight before him.
There, in the middle of the medbay, stood his old trusted medic. Drenched in nutrient fluid, holding a tiny, newborn sparkling who gazed up at Ratchet like he was the center of her universe. A soft, genuine smile teased the corners of the Prime's lips, while panic still framed the medic's face plates.
The sparkling gave a soft, curious chirp as she snuggled more into Ratchet's palm.
"She- She made a mistake!" Ratchet's words came out higher than normal, as he gestured uselessly at the sparkling. "She was supposed to imprint on you! Not me! I-I'm-"
"One of the most wisest and kindest bots, I know, old friend." Optimus placed a gentle servo upon the medic's shoulder, "I'm just an old, battle-worn Prime. Yet you've dedicated time and research for our course, looking after your fellow Autobots- and myself, regardless of how many times you disobey orders to recharge. I don't know anyone, who's better equipped than being a parent than you."
Ratchet looked down at the sparkling, still nuzzling against his palm as she soundly slept. Small, bright and bubbly chirps escaped her with a sleepily contentment.
The medic ex-vented in a long, shuddering breath as a small soft smile finally came to him. Awkwardly shifting his servo to better support her tiny frame, feeling the small, rhythmic pulse of her spark syncing faintly to his own.
