Hello! I'm Kier and i love robots and transformers. I write fanfics on quotev here and have owned previous writing blogs...but we don't talk about them. Anyways, I'm currently in school so content may be slow, but expect a lot of shitposting :D
My DMs and Inbox are always open!
RULES -
I write for all genders! I'm mostly used to female readers but will try my best for anyone and everyone
I don't write for specific characteristics like "short reader, shy reader, etc" if you want me to write for things like that, please specify a scenario for it
I don't do NSFW! I can write for some slightly suggestive stuff, but no more than that
please be specific with your request and try to include: headcanon or oneshot, what pronouns, continuity and character, etc
I write for cybertronian and human readers! I'm only familiar with those two
No offensive themes
I write fluff, angst, gore, crack, and basically anything besides smut
WHO I WRITE FOR -
I write for almost every character in the following continuities:
Transformers Prime
Transformers Animated
Bayverse Movies (only the first two)
Shattered Glass
MTMTE
War for Cybertron
Earthspark
Rise of the Beasts
Beast Wars
TRANSFORMERS ONE
Please specify what continuity you want in your request
Don’t judge me, I saw his sharp denta and that venom glossa and I’m so very weak. 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️
Taste
Cyberworld Sky Byte x Reader
• Skin prickling as you tread water, you try to tell if you’ve lost him. If you’re safe. And you suck in a breath as a hand closes on your ankle and you’re yanked under. See him flash those wicked denta at you as you struggle to get free and he’s dragging you down nearly to the bottom. Releasing you and circling as you swim frantically for the surface. Coming up for air, you’re immediately pulled back under, his clawed servos on your hips and there’s a whisper of fear that he might actually drown you this time as he hangs there in front of you, those predatory optics narrowing as you struggle to get loose. Playing with you like a cat with a mouse.
• The way you look struggling in his hands, eyes wide and frightened, spins him tight. Spike straining to pressurize, he waits until you jerk, bubbles escaping your lips before he speeds you back up, lifting you up as you sputter and gasp. Chuckling as he swims you to the beach he lets you crawl halfway out of the water before he flips you onto your back and rests his chin on your belly. “Can we play anything but Jaws, please?” You rasp when he slides his palms down over your hips, servos hooking in your lower covering as he strips you.
• “I happen to like Jaws,” he croons in amusement, disappearing below the surface and you arch, fingers digging into wet sand as he palms your thighs open and his long glossa slides against you. Head back and sand in your wet hair, you whimper and hope no one walks up on you like this. Not that it would be the first time. Lower body in the water as you whimper and gasp, you tremble. Feeling those sharp denta press against you in the threat of breaking your skin and sometimes he does. That thick glossa pushes inside you, curling and exploring to make your thighs quiver and you dig your nails in harder, squirming when he starts dragging you back into the water. Threatening to drag you under.
• Pressing his mouth more firmly against you as you kick out a leg, trying to stay out of the water as he lazily drags you in. Loves how you look hanging in the water. That moment he’d found you, you’d been struggling and he’d circled your body as you’d fought to keep your head above. Unable to pull yourself out after you’d become trapped in an active track he’d been practicing on. Had been fascinated with the drama of that moment, watching your violent struggles grow weaker, watching you slip under the surface. The violence of you drowning and the sudden stillness as you’d slowly sank, hair a halo around your head had been startling. Erotic and lovely. And he’d hooked an arm around you. Saved you.
• Body trembling and straining as his glossa strokes inside you, you cry out as you come apart, the water lapping around your chin as his denta scrape against you. And he rears up over you, that glossa sliding over his denta as one of his two spikes stretches you. His claws dig into the bank to anchor himself as his hips pump and you hook your legs around his waist as he snarls. Know he thinks about drowning you sometimes, almost like he can’t seem to help himself. Listening to him snarling as his spike drives deep, the other one trapped against your belly, you moan. His head lowers and you feel him vent against your skin before those sharp denta grip your shoulder hard enough to sting as he shudders with his overload and you think suddenly of kelpies tricking a rider into climbing on their back so they can drown them and strip the flesh from their bones. Sucking in a frightened breath as he throws himself backwards into the water, pulling you down tangled in him.
Hey there! It’s been a while. I actually still write, just in another account. I write for other fandoms and such, but I DO plan to return to this profile some day. I have lots of requests I wanted to write but I just need to get back into transformers again <\3
Bet you never thought you'd see me again. Was just thinking of this story, I'd like to continue it. Might reread MTMTE again. Anyways. Uhhh here you go.
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / ?
As he approached the psychiatric office, Swerve’s eagerness to share with Rung diminished. What if his advice was the same as everyone else’s? Don’t talk to them – you’ll overwhelm them, you’ll annoy them, you’ll creep them out. Or, knowing the extent of his feelings, Rung might say he’s crazy, even report him to Rodimus. Maybe he’d never even be able to see you again. These possibilities overtook him as he wandered mindlessly into Rung’s office. He didn’t even notice where he was until the doors shut behind him.
Rung’s expression was pleasant but professionally detached. “Thank you for coming, Swerve – I see that you’re nervous,” not a difficult observation, “So let me assure you that you’re in no trouble.” He gestured to the chaise near his own seat. “I’ve just noticed that you’ve acquired a … specific interest. Let’s talk about it.”
“You’re finally taking your revenge for the Fort Max incident, huh?” Swerve asked, standing with his arms crossed.
“No, I –“ Rung sat back and considered his next words. “I didn’t mean to imply anything negative. As your psychiatrist - your choice, not mine - and maybe even your friend,” As well as y/n’s, Rung thought, “It’s my job to recognize these things.”
“These things?” Swerve fumed, “See, you think it’s so bad that you won’t even put a name to it.”
“I simply didn’t want to put words in your mouth,” Rung clarified, “But if you already have terminology in mind, what would you call it?”
Swerve felt his chassis lock up. He hadn’t said a damn word about any of this to anyone. Barely even to himself. If he didn’t name it, it couldn’t be real.
Silence. Rung let it go on for about a minute before saying, “Swerve, I can’t believe I need to say this, but, please, just talk to me.”
Swerve caved and sat down, began actively searching for how to describe his feelings. His expression shifted as words neared the tip of his tongue and retracted, like waves.
“I mean, I just don’t understand what you see in them,” Rung broke the silence. “Is it just that they’re a human?”
Swerve took the bait. “Don’t understand? You’re not half the omniscient brain doctor you think you are if you haven’t noticed them!” A harsh reaction, but Rung was glad his tactics got him talking. “You’d need to be scrapping blind not to see the way their face lights up when even the simplest thing grabs their attention. Primus, they’re so curious, so adorably fragging curious about so much, and so smart too - if they weren’t so shy they would’ve put Perceptor out of a job! And of all the places they could be, of everything they could be doing and everyone they could be with, they come to MY. BAR. My bar! Night after night! And they just sit all the way up there in that booth like a … a chandelier or something, catching the light and watching over everything, looking so beautiful - I can’t for the life of me figure out why nobody else seems to see that - and you know who they pay attention to, Rung? You know who they listen to up there?”
Rung raised a curious eyebrow.
“ME! Of everybody there, in a room of bots teeming with charisma, and genius, and good looks (not naming names), they sit up there looking at me, listening to me! And I know it’s me! I thought I was being delusional and egotistical for a while, because, well, I mean, it’s me, but I see them reacting to the things I say, perking up when I speak, laughing when I say something funny. And when I, you know, make myself the butt of the joke, or talk about something bad that happened, even when I’m being objectively hilarious about it, they look, like, they look shocked? concerned? I don’t think they pity me, though, it’s like they - … care?” He said this final word like it was a totally foreign one.
“Have you spoken to them about any of this?”
He put his helm in his hands. “I’ve barely spoken to them at all.”
“So, to my understanding, the two of you … regularly watch each other from across the bar, without a word?”
“Well - they … I don’t think they know it’s a two way street.” The flush in his face shifted from angry to embarrassed. “I try not to make it obvious I see them too, which the visor helps with. I thought I’d creep them out if I looked up there, since they’re so private. But I guess that’s way creepier.”
“What’s stopped you from talking with them?”
“You know how I get.”
“How do you ‘get?’”
“Oh, don’t give me that. You know how I get when I talk to people.”
“Do you think you can’t control yourself?”
“Why are you pretending you’ve never been on the wrong end of a conversation with me? You know how I get.”
“Tell me.”
“I ramble. I annoy. I overwhelm, I intrude, I share too much, I embarrass myself. I only talk to entertain myself. I’m a creep. I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.”
“What? In my office? I invited you.”
“I knew you wouldn’t get it, it’s an Earth song. That was just exhibit A of me entertaining myself. You know all this. Let’s just get to how I stop it.”
“Not so fast - where do these impressions come from?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone on the ship feels this way?”
“Seems like it.”
“Astonishing. Everybody on board feels this way. That must be quite the obstacle in your line of work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you run the most popular gathering space on the ship where you, by nature of tending bar, need to interact with everybody and foster an enjoyable atmosphere. I have no idea how difficult it must be to pull off when, according to everyone, you always annoy, overwhelm, intrude, and overshare, entertaining only yourself. How ever do you manage?”
A pause. “The high grade helps.”
“Because you’re the only place on board they can get high grade?”
“Well—even if they have Mirage’s now, they just… habitually come to mine.”
Rung took off his glasses, rubbing them absent-mindedly. “I have a feeling you have an ‘explanation’ for everything I could say to you, so let me make this clear. My job as psychiatrist has been made very easy by the fact that our literal material reality—i.e., your livelihood—disproves this theory that you are unpleasant to talk to. The cutting remarks of some bots, who doubtless have issues of their own, do not hold a candle to your many friends or your success as a host.”
“But even my friends told me I’d annoy [y/n]!”
“Does [y/n] seem annoyed to you?”
Silence. “Well, they left. So maybe.”
“If I can get you to internalize one thing, it would be to recognize when you’re assuming you’re in the worst case scenario without much evidence.” This was quite similar to the advice he had given you. “In this instance, there are many possible reasons [y/n] might be taking a break.”
“Yeah… plus, I think I made a pretty good impression when I bumped into them a few minutes ago. You should have seen it– it was some of my best work. They didn’t seem annoyed or sick or in trouble. It’s hard not to worry about, though.”
“I know, Swerve, I know. How about this: when you find yourself stuck in a cycle of worry, I want you to think of two neutral possibilities then distract yourself with something else.”
Swerve wasted no time rattling off potential distractions and educating Rung on the virtues of each.
~~~
Meanwhile, back on the observation deck, you were really, really glad you reached out to Tailgate. The two of you were getting along very well, and your pointy purple chaperone was seeming less intimidating. After getting your permission, Tailgate eagerly introduced you to a friend, Skids, as he passed. You recognized him as another common character from Swerve’s stories and a friend of his.
“They’re hanging out with us at the bar in a couple of days,” Tailgate informed him.
“I look forward to seeing you there,” he said. Then, turning back to Tailgate, “Have you warned them about our little bartender yet?”
“‘Warn’ is a strong word,” Cyclonus interjected.
“I didn’t mean they should stay away from him!” Skids clarified, “I love the guy. You know I love him. They’ll just want to know ahead of time the fellow that’ll be talking to them all night. Or has he already introduced himself?” he asked you.
For a moment, you put aside the dizzying thought of talking to him all night. “Yeah, I know him,” you answered. “Kind of a … a smooth operator, that one. A charming scoundrel.” Why did I default to 1950s colloquialisms? You cringed at your word choice.
Skids and Tailgate burst out laughing, and you felt forced to laugh along. “You’re a funny one,” Skids said, “A bit mean, maybe, but funny. We’ll get along fine.”
After a few seconds, Tailgate saw your confused expression and realized you were being serious. “Wait, really? What gave you that impression?”
“Oh, you know, I kinda overhear him sometimes from my little suite. Just some of his stories here and there.”
“Take them with a grain of salt. A shaker of salt, even,” Skids laughed.
You cocked your head, looking like a kid who just heard Santa wasn’t real. “Di- didn’t you save everyone from that Sparkeater? Like a spy, with, like, a grappling hook, and Rung clinging to your back? You discovered the bar with Swerve, right? You were the first bot to have a drink there.”
“Well, I— yes, yes, that’s all true.” Skids was a bit surprised that you’d heard of him. He had a look in his optics like he was reconsidering his opinion.
“I think single a grain of salt would suffice,” Cyclonus commented. “We have accumulated our fair share of unbelievable stories.”
You stumbled. “I mean, he’s, he’s always doing those tricks and stuff, he’s, he’s pretty quick-witted, isn’t he?”
“I guess he might be, behind the bar.” Tailgate mused. “Did you know he shot his face off once?”
“He WHAT?” you burst out. “And you’re standing around here talking like this about him? Do you think he’s okay now? Is he seeing Rung??” Tears started rising to your eyes.
“On accident.” Cyclonus clarified.
“He shot Rung’s face off too, though,” added Skids.
“Also on accident,” Cyclonus clarified again. “He isn’t very proficient with firearms.”
“Oh, okay,” you said, embarrassed. “That’s okay.”
“He’s a good mech.” Cyclonus concluded.
“I, uh, look forward to seeing you again at Swerve’s,” you said to Skids, looking to end the interaction and recover.
“Same to you, [y/n]. Nice meeting you!” He waved and went on his way.
---
Another kind of awkward end, but whatever. I'm here. That counts.
WiTFW is a week to create fanworks celebrating all of the wonderful leading (and not-so-leading) ladies in Transformers, run by @nielsthecat and @termagax . Here's this year's schedule:
February 9: Prompt submissions open.
February 22: Prompt submissions close.
March 1: Prompt list is released.
March 23-29: Event week!
Reblog, tell your friends, and tag your posts with "women in transformers week 2025" or "witf2025"!
reading Waspinator story reminds me of this for some reason
Pretty much 🤣
I like to think the Cybertronians with more animalistic alt modes are much more keyed into subtle differences in scents
Worker Bee Part 12
Waspinator x Reader
• Shivering and defeated, you don't resist as he tries to 'help.' When he finally grips your chin in his claws and tips it up, you lean away and fumble until you get the water off. And he follows you as your back hits the cold tile wall, his mandibles flexing to make your skin crawl. "Don't." At your hoarse growl, his antenna flatten back before he presses his face against your neck to force your chin up. Staring at the shower head as his arms curl around you and lift you off your feet to walk you backwards out of the stall and down the hallway. And you can't even care that you're both dripping all over the carpet, too exhausted to deal with him right now. Too exhausted to even cry anymore.
• Carrying you to your nest, he sets you on your feet to find something to dry you with and his wings flick when he hears the nest creak. Turning, he finds you laying sprawled face down across the sheets. Still wet. Whatever's wrong with you, he doesn't like it. "Little friend?" You don't acknowledge him at all, and he hisses softly, grabbing your legs hanging in the floor and moving you so you're fully in your nest. "Little friend?" Already recharging? Crawling up with you, he cages you with his body and brushes his mandibles against the back of your neck, but you don't fuss at him or resist. Recharging, he decides unhappily. Venting against you, he rubs his jaw against your shoulder, buzzing softly before pulling away. Hungry. Lingering in the doorway, his wings flick. Needs energon, but you'll be defenseless while he's gone. Needs to protect you. You're his.
• Face down on the bed, you feel it creak under you as Waspinator moves off of it. And you hear his peds going down the hall. Leaving you alone. You're afraid to hope that it's actually over. That he's finally bored of following you around all the time. Reaching for a pillow, you pull it over your head. No, he's probably just eating the rest of your damn silverware. He's never leaving. This is just your life now. A big, alien puppy invading your space. Destroying your stuff. Eyes closing, you let the stress and exhaustion pull you under.
• Tearing the thin plastic you'd sealed the hive with, his wings flick as he steps into the cold night. Anxiety humming through him as he lingers close to the entry. He'll be quick. Steal some energon and return before you wake. "Waspinator return," he whispers as he starts back toward the Decepticon base. You'll be safe without him to protect you and your hive for just a little bit. You have to be.
• It's the sunlight slanting through the blinds that wakes you and you squint and roll over and don't find yourself face to ugly face with your roomie for the first time since you'd found him. Shivering, you sit up and slide out of bed to get dressed. You're chilled to the bone, used to your alien space heater nearly smothering you in your sleep. Drifting through the house, your breath catches when you find the torn tarp over the door. He's gone? Really gone? It's over. Laughing out loud, you sweep into the kitchen to fix some breakfast and freeze looking out the window over the sink. Out in the yard half buried in snow, you catch a glimpse of a wing. An antenna. And you're shoving through the tear in the tarp, running barefoot through the snow as the cold bites you to the bone. "Waspinator?" Dropping to your knees beside him, you pull his head into your lap and those purple optics open, one flickering. Hurt. Much worse than when you'd originally found him. And he whines softly, an arm lifting and then falling again. Shivering, you hook an arm around him and pull. Movements slow, he drags himself after you, back to the house.
Waspinator is such a fun character and the way you did him in the worker bee series is chefs kiss! We need to show that bug some more love! Give him a big smooch!
(Sorry for this deranged comment/ask, hope you’re having a good day!)
He’s a bit slow, but he tries his best
Worker Bee Pt 7
Waspinator x Reader
• Leaning out into the hall, you make sure your unwanted houseguest is still preoccupied with the TV and the brightly colored animated movie playing. And he’s still sitting on your broken couch, staring with wide optics. Because finding out his short attention span means he’s easily distracted is something you plan to milk. Even though you’re annoyed about having to sneak around your own house as you slip into the bathroom and lock the door as quietly as possible. Just want to take a shower without your big shadow following you and having to explain why he can’t join you. Somehow, you’ve got to get rid of him, you’re just not sure how as you turn on the water to get warm.
• Antenna lifting at the sound of water, his head turns. Realizes his little friend isn’t nearby and slowly stands to stalk through your home, your hive. Wings flicking restlessly as he searches for you room by room, passing by a shut door. This room you don’t like him entering, pushing him away when he tries to follow you. Reaching out, he tugs on the door handle and the whole door pops loose from its hinges, his antenna flattening back. Didn’t mean to do that and now you’ll be angry again. A clear door inside the room opening enough for you poke your head out, hair wet. “Get out!” A wash rack? Antenna perking up even though you’re annoyed with him, he grabs the handle and pulls, seeing your wet shape on the other side fighting to keep the door closed until you get dragged out when he wins and opens it. “Waspinator, don’t you dare.”
• “Heat,” he purrs, voice buzzing as he backs you into the walk in shower and tips his face up into the spray. Ignoring the fact that you’re naked or not caring, even if you do care. A lot. While your shower isn’t small, it’s definitely not meant for you and him both. One of his wings brushing you as you end up against the back wall to avoid pressing up against him. “Waspinator shares,” he adds, shifting sideways so he’s looking at you and you can at least get some water, too. No way to get out without sliding against him, either. Miserable, you turn your back on him and try to wash as quickly as possible.
• Is that stuff why you smell that way? Mandibles rasping against your shoulder as he tries to scent the container in your hands, you startle, hip and back hitting the wall and then just sliding down to the bottom in an awkward sprawl. Reaching to grip your upper arms, he picks you back up. “I just wanted a shower,” you mutter, tone unhappy as you don’t fight his hold. Antenna flattening back when you start leaking, eyes watering. Doesn’t know how to fix this. Are you hurt? Clawed servos gentle, he takes your little, soft rag and tries to help, ignoring as you swat at him, making a funny hitching noise.
• Torn between wanting to cry and laugh hysterically as he tries to help you wash, your forehead just thumps against his hard chassis. Why can’t he just leave you alone? What exactly did you do to deserve this humiliation? Tensing when his servos cup the back of your head, reminding you that you’re naked and that while it means nothing to your idiot, alien dog, you care. Ducking out of his grip and brushing against him as he makes a funny clicking noise with his mandibles, you nearly fall trying to get out of the shower. Grabbing a towel and dripping wet, you run to your bedroom, aware that there’s soap in your hair and burning your eyes and you’re just too over it to care anymore.
• His little friend is upset again. Servos flexing as he drops the cloth, he steps out of your tiny wash rack and flicks his wings until they’re dry. Trying to figure out what he did wrong this time. Knows he doesn’t do the right thing a lot, that he has trouble focusing, that he’s broken and that why he’s hated by everyone. He deserves to be punished. But he tries to be useful, because this place with you feels warmer than anywhere he’s ever been. Wants to stay with you even if he annoys you, even if you want him to leave, because your hands are soft and kind. Even angry with him, you never lash out. You talk to him, explain what he did wrong. The water is still running, warm and tempting, but he heads down the hall to find you. Needing to understand why you’re upset, what he did. Doesn’t even mind if you punish him just as long as he can stay here with you.
