I got inspired by @1244950 interpretation of Bayverse and Transformers Prime interactions with each other. Especially Bayverse Optimus with him finding out about TFP MegOp and everything. Hilarious stuff.
I'm glad that someone loves Bayverse Optimus a lot to actually take a look into his character in a different light other then just lable him as a "cold blooded sociopath". It baffles me actually.
So have my love for the Bayverse franchise. No matter how bad they are, they're the reason I'm in the Transformers Fandom.
Recently moved into my uni dorm with my hive of bumblebee figures, could we mayhaps get some Bayverse bee writing for the bumblebee fans?
Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️
Clingy
Bayverse Bumblebee x Reader
• Wheezing as you wake up to the weight of the big mech draped across your upper back, even mass displaced, he’s heavy. Know he’s being careful not to squish you, but he’s definitely k ok eating your feel some of his weight. Can hear him rumbling, making little warbling chirps and noises as he vents. His chin rests on your shoulder as his head tips and his cheek rubs against you. And sometimes you really think Cybertronians are just giant, space cats. Especially when you try to ignore him and go back to sleep and he thumps his speakers, bass-heavy rock and roll thrumming through your bones where he’s laying half on you. “Okay, I’m up. I’m up,” you groan, trying to squirm out from under him.
• Pushing up to sit on his lower legs, he watches you stretch, the blanket sliding off to reveal bare skin and he’s reaching for you. Hears you snort when he drags your hips back and up and you shoot him a bemused look over your shoulder, eyes sleepy. “I’m not even awake, yet,” you grumble and he lifts his antenna slightly, optics dilating since he knows you find it cute when he does that. Finding and playing Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On for you as he whines.
• Hate the puppy optics, his antenna and door wings slowly lowering to make it even worse. “Fine, but no pouting if I fall asleep during,” you sigh and one of his big hands slides under you to cup you as he releases his spike to pressurize with a chirping groan. Grabbing a pillow and hugging it to you, you feel his spike sliding against you, grinding lazily as he warbles and his servos pet until your body gets on board with the plan, sleepy or not. Would feel bad about not being into it every time, but there’s no keeping up with his sex drive or stamina. Especially not first thing in the morning. Eyes closed, you moan when he finally stretches you in a slow drive, his servos gripping your hips as his frame trembles slightly against you.
• Groan laden with static, he moves in slow, unhurried thrusts inside your slick heat. Loving how tight you grip him, the feel of you wrapped around him. And unable to explain it’s not the interfacing he craves, it’s the full body contact with you. Your softness and scent soothing him as he shifts to cage you more, after more contact with you and feeling your weak, human field sinking into him. Comforting him with something soft when so much of his life has been hard and fraught with danger. Fighting for his life, for freedom. You’re his sanctuary and he’s rubbing his cheek and jaw against your shoulder, hating that he can only tell you what you mean to him with stolen snatches of songs that aren’t nearly enough.
• His chassis rubs against your back with every lazy drive of his hips and he trembles faintly when he buries himself fully inside you with each thrust. And he’s playing snippets of love songs as he claims you, the lyrics running together when he shudders and his hips pump a little more urgently. Fully awake now as he groans and snarls, warbling when his hands leave your skin and his servos dent the metal berth and he’s shuddering against you with his overload, feel the heat of his release as he aggressively rubs his cheek against yours, chin on your shoulder, feeling his spike swelling to knot inside you as more of his weight carefully eases down on you. “Love you, too,” you say on a yawn, knowing you’re not moving anytime soon and not really minding.
GORGEOUS DELICIOUS GIMIE 14 OF EM RIGHT NOW 🤩🤩🤩 (talking about your bumblebee fic :3)
✩ 𝙎𝙖𝙛𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙔𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬
ʙᴀʏᴠᴇʀsᴇ!ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You get hurt on accident, and Bumblebee feels more protective of you than any friend should.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.2k
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: fluff; reader sustains bruising by mistake; Bee is less playful in this and more worried because wdym he left you alone for like five minutes and you had to get an x-ray; literal hurt/comfort?; except reader is chill about it; headcanon in style.
ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ASJKFKJHFHKA messages and comments like these keep my will to write alive 😭 thank you so much, and hopefully I can get some better quality stuff out soon. I'm working on a longer knightverse!Bumblebee piece and something Mirage, so we'll see 🤞
A couple days ago, Hound was a bit too rough when he was messing around with you. It was an accident, really. The bulkier Autobot had swept you up by your middle during a mock argument on cannon vs. firepower weaponry, effortlessly knocking the wind out of you with too much force. He hadn’t noticed your reaction until he held you at eye level. Locked his optics on the unforeseen pain on your face. The warrior nearly dropped you from how suddenly his grip loosened.
A wicked bruise bloomed across your abdomen and ribs in the morning. Reddish undertones faded to concerning blotches of purple and yellow. There was a dark shadow encompassing part of your back.
Oh, that’s great.
And seatbelts were hell.
After reluctantly dragging yourself to a doctor, you’d been told – by a specialist who was actually human – that nothing was fractured or broken. Thank God.
You definitely made a lame excuse as to why you were so beat up, though. Anyone who’d seen your injuries peered at you with investigatory eyes. Not that you had the expendable focus to care. Everything hurt – even doing nothing didn’t ease the throbbing under an expansive graph of your skin. And “Oh, a Transformer just forgot I was soft!” didn’t seem like an adequate answer.
You weren’t mad at Hound. It was a risk just being around them and their hulking frames, one you had long-ago decided you were willing to take. Him hurting you had been a mistake. The mech had voiced as such when he put you down, muttering inward swears and apologizing.
Bumblebee, however, was pissed.
Anything somewhat competent could see that Bee was particularly fond of you, as much as he tried to keep his cool in your presence. Anything; except you, it seemed.
Despite his broken voice box, he always made an effort to talk to you. However he could show off to you, he did; pushing his speedometer’s limit and adding extra flourishes to his already fluid fighting style. Whenever you needed a lift, he would be there – his paint spotless. Yet you appeared to be none the wiser.
When the scout had returned from a routine perimeter sweep, Hound told him that you wouldn’t be coming around for the next few days. When prompted, Hound said why – feeling like he owed Bee the explanation.
That may or may not have led to a short scuffle.
Notably, Bumblebee was winning before Prime broke them up.
You know, there’s some really colorful ways to tell someone they did something stupid using radio clips.
Your injuries seemed all surface level, yes, but what if they went deeper than that? If Bumblebee’s experience with humans told him anything, it was that – as determined and capable as they could be – their bodies were fragile. Organic. Much slower to heal.
While you’re nursing your entire middle, Bumblebee is distracted beyond belief. He was easier to instigate than ever, and he was unable to formulate even two cohesive thoughts before his processors circled back to you. Lingered.
How bad was it? Were you doing okay? It was just bruising, hopefully, but still. He hated the thought of you in pain – hated that he possessed the ability to inflict that same pain, if he ever forwent the proper precautions.
A little longer than a week later, you wandered your way back into base. To everyone’s relief, you were in one piece. You’d stopped wincing constantly, at least. They were seriously counting on your reappearance to get Bumblebee to wind the fuck down.
You, meanwhile, were oblivious to how much your absence had affected your Cybertronian companion.
Your concentration was further settled on moving tentatively so you didn’t feel like shit, having cut down on the dosages of your OTC painkillers.
Bumblebee had always been protective of you before. He cared about you, openly and then even more so than he ever let on. But now?
You cracked a wry smile at the black and yellow mech as he approached, slightly amused at how quickly he’d found you. “Hey,” you called, trying not to expend your voice – because of course that fucking hurt too. “Long time, no see. You miss me?"
You'd missed him. Very quickly, embarrasingly, you'd learned how little you liked staying away.
His optics roved over you, as though trying to assess you without seeing the damage. Static; then, "You have no idea."
Silence. The expression in his faceplates was no less dire.
Would've thought you'd needed surgery.
“Don’t look so worried,” you chided lightly, “it’s not a good look for you, Bee.” It was an unusual one, so separate from his playful demeanor, and you didn’t like it. “I’m all good! Promise – got a doctor’s note and everything.”
He looked unconvinced. Bee crouched down, leveling himself with you best he could and pointing at your midsection with a single metallic digit. “Believe it when I see it,” his radio crackled.
You rolled your eyes, tenderly lifting the hem of your t-shirt to display the skin underneath. The coloring had evened out a little bit, though the impact you’d sustained was still remarkably pronounced. “All the organs are in there,” you rambled, “no broken ribs or fractured vertebrae or…” You wavered as your eyes landed on his face. He was staring at the patch of your body you’d exposed with an intensity you couldn’t place. “...anything like that,” you finished, quieter than how you’d started.
Bumblebee’s spark ached. Inflicted from such a miniscule action, but he could see the tightness in your expression and the occasional clench of your jaw – all the telltale signs that you felt every bit of the discoloration he was seeing.
It was a crime: your skin harmed instead of revered.
He was going to beef with Hound for weeks after this. Wonder why.
Bee jumped through channels, piecing together: “That’s not… gonna happen again– okay?” Reassuring. Earnest. Concerned that it’d even occurred once in the first place. He lifted a servo to – ever so gently – displace the hand that held your shirt up, letting the fabric fall back over your stomach. Like he couldn’t bear looking at it anymore. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Okay,” you whispered. And you found yourself believing him.
From then on, Bumblebee made it a point to always be somewhere nearby when you were with the others. Just until they got used to you, like he was used to you humans.
Worry, siphoned into something calculating.
He watched you constantly. Sometimes, you caught him looking. He’d notice your gaze, give the slightest nod of his helm, like, ‘I’m here if you need anything.’ He wouldn’t look away unless you did.
It made your stomach dip, how attentive he was. How protective.
Now that you're out and about again, he's resumed his routine of driving you. His cab is kept comfortably warm – though you're always welcome to tamper with his temperature dial – to hopefully ease any tension in your muscles. He avoids the rougher roads, trying to jostle you as little as possible. Bee will even drive sensibly to keep any unnecessary pressure off.
Everyone else didn't have to show you the same treatment. He might even dislike it if he ever saw another Autobot so close to you. But he did want to keep his word to you.
For being so easygoing, mans could be intimidating.
His name was notorious amongst Decepticons for a reason.
So, Bumblebee made it abundantly clear that it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep you healthy.
If he ever sees you hurt like that again? Hurt worse? Friendlies are going to need a couple parts replaced. ‘Cons are going straight to a scrapyard.
