I quite like Cybertronian!Reader, who can transform into a motorcycle. So Reader's size is just taller than a human. They can still stand in the palm of a larger Cybertronian's hand. What do you think?
TFO!Chars/Motorcycle!Reader [hcs]
tw: size difference, mentions of possessive/overprotective behavior.
chars mentioned: D-16/Megatron, Orion Pax/Optimus Prime, Elita-1, B-127, Sentinel Prime, Darkwing, Airachnid.
word count: ~2000
a/n: the size difference is sooo yummy thank you for request anon
D-16/Megatron
One of the tallest from the miner gang. When D-16 finally gets his cog, be ready for a constant tease from him. I feel like cogless D-16 is the most respectful one, he understands how hard it is for you to fit in a society where physical differences play a huge role in how others would treat you. So every time you get into trouble, he will pick you up and like «my apologies!» before quickly walking away since he does NOT want to be punched for the second time this day. He is a total sweetheart, but please, don't be like Orion.
Cogged D-16 is more bold. He is happy he can finally transform, and he desperately wants to test the limits of his own powers. You might walk next to Orion and Elita-1 one moment, and then he quickly grabs you from behind, placing on his shoulder with a «here, let me help you» which is kinda sweet if you think about it.
He also has that tiny overprotective side in him, which is borders with possessiveness. If Orion tries to ask D-16 about it, he will get defensive. What is wrong with him, helping his fellow bot? He never means to disrespect you, his intentions are pure, it's just happens that he is taller and stronger than you. How ironic.
I still believe that, as Megatron, he never treats you as someone weak and unable to protect yourself. He admits that you're skilled, you are a capable warrior if necessary, but he'd rather keep you close than let you wander around others. His touch is careful, his whole servo covers most of your frame, and he loves it, but he's not sure about the others. He doesn't trust them with you. If other decepticons try to mumble even the slightest insult towards your size and alt-mode, he will act as if they dare to insult Megatron himself. [reader is hot enough to replace you whenever I choose, Starscream!]
Orion Pax/Optimus Prime
Cogless Orion is a huge troublemaker, and he is reckless, despite his good intentions. He constantly wants to prove himself, to Sentinel, to others and to you. He can see you struggle with everyday life, and he wants it to make it better for you. Orion often brings you some tiny energon cubes he stole during one of his secret visits to the archives, or maybe it's some pretty shiny thing he gets you because he knows you love it. When he sees your optics almost sparkling in amazement when he holds a trading card of Micronus Prime and you immediately go to reach it, he will be like «what's the magic wooord~?» playfully making you try and reach for it. He's not a bully, usually he quickly quits it and gives you it anyway, but he just adores that cute, tiny smile on your face.
The height difference between you and Orion once he gets his cog is even more noticeable. But after everything, there are noticeable changes in his behavior. He sees you from a little different perspective (no pun intended), and he practically looses that playful and teasing side of his now that he has many responsibilities on his shoulders.
If Megatron is a bot who prefers to hold you close to himself, standing on his shoulder, Optimus is the one who would kneel so he can look into your optics. Now that he's a Prime, a real, kind and caring one, it might feel a little different for you because with Sentinel everyone was used to looking up at him. What Prime would stand on his knees for a small bot for you? You're dear to him no matter what size you are, and he wants you to know that you're important to him.
^ a tiny addition, but he's the bot who probably would like having you on top of his alt-mode, a tiny bot on top of a truck. It gives more mobility during a fight, and he can be sure you're safe next to him. a cute sight for autobots, but a dangerous combo on the battlefield for others!
Elita-1
Elita doesn't really care if you're short or tall, she is more occupied with her own thoughts about how to deal with today's mission and get her promotion. If you do your job well and listen to her orders without being a trouble, she also has no trouble with you. She's not rude, just a busy woman who is thinking about her career, you know? But if you somehow are friends with her, she can spare a minute or two to have some rest.
I feel like she shares the overprotective trait with D-16 if you're much smaller compared to many other bots. Mines are already dangerous for everyone, so she has to keep her optics on you 24/7 so you wouldn't get in trouble, for example, if you accidentally got stuck by a rock or lost somewhere. She explains it like «I don't want to lose my chances of promotion because of you» but it is only a partially true.
Cogged Elita is as bossy and commanding as before, but now she's more open about her feelings about you. You two have some similarities between your alt-modes, you're both cybertronian motorcycles after all. << but the size difference between her and you are a little funny tbf. She might give you the same treatment as Orion with her «I am better than you» talk, but she quickly adds all your other unique abilities. You're fast, brave and strong despite your size, despite often being teased by others, you never give up and continue to fight. She's inspired, and she makes sure you know that she adores you for it. But when someone else tries to pick on you, she will punch them straight into their face.
B-127
You two are both short. Congratulations! But somehow...he's not the shortest on the squad? Bee doesn't see anything wrong with you being small, if anything, he will try to make it look like it's the coolest thing he has ever seen. He is just happy to have new friends, especially the ones who can talk back to him! like «what do you mean you can transform into a motorcycle? that's like super, mega, ultra AWESOME! can you drive while standing on your one wheel? can you do some cool trick??» he's your biggest fan.
B-127 is really touchy with you, mainly because he had never talked with other bots for cycles while being stuck on level 50. He likes to hug you, pull closer to himself, and nuzzle his cheek against your helm, sometimes even doing it without realizing it because he has so much energy and affection he has to release, and you're just around him...it's hard not to give you some love.
This guy probably makes you his victim of loooong, long talks. He will keep you close to himself, and you just HAVE to listen to him talking about Steve, how he struggles to pick a new nickname for himself, and how happy he is to have a cog and finally work for the government...! Bee is very enthusiastic, it doesn't hurt at all, but he has this death grip around your frame that you have no chance but to listen to him. He probably doesn't realize that he holds you, maybe he's unconsciously a little scared of being left all alone.
Sentinel Prime
That man is a bastard. And a huge prick. If he chooses to let you have your own cog, that's probably for his own amusement. I mean, with or without a cog, what difference would it make for him? If anything, he might accidentally kick or step on you if he wasn't careful enough, so consider yourself lucky because he was in a good mood to spare your life. Maybe with a cog, you would be more useful for him?
Personally, see him as a bot who would have you on his shoulder/palm while posing for some photo just because he wants to look like a very respectful guy. Look at him, some tiny two-wheeler and THE Sentinel Prime? Ohh he's so kind and caring for all of his citizens! But he just does this for a boost of confidence and support from other bots. Whatever helps him rule over Iacon and get energon faster?
In private, if you have a closer relationship with him, I can definitely see him loving your small frame the most. Other bots I mentioned before pay a little to no attention to it, for Sentinel this is a thing that makes him feel even more powerful.
He's careful around you, his touch is gentle and soothing, but in his mind, it's tempting and hot; one wrong move, and he can easily damage you, but he never does it because he is in control. You're lucky he likes you or just finds you amusing to keep around. He's a control freak.
^ definitely into holding you on his lap if he has a chance. you can mind your own business until he randomly picks you up and places you where he wants it.
Dakrwing
He is a jerk too, but at least he doesn't hide it. It really depends if you just got your cog recently or if you were with it all your life. If you were a cogless miner before, Darkwing has no mercy for you. He needs his work done and fast, after all, it is an order from Sentinel and he doesn't care if it's too hard for you to hold mining equipment that is almost as big as you. Do your job or he will report you, there's no other expectation. << but he might pick on you more than on anyone else just because of your size. Poor you.
If you were born with your cog and one of the elite cybertronians, might be a racer too, I can see him being softer. As a cogged bot you have a lot of free time, and most bots usually spend their time racing or minding their own business but let's say, you are popular enough to be noticed by him, who happens to be your biggest fan. If he spots you walking through the streets of Iacon he will awkwardly approach, holding his poster of you, shyly asking for you to sign it. His height and voice in intimidating but he acts like a total fanboy around you.
Airachnid
The spider lady is scary, intimidating and a little freaky. Most of the time she's really quiet next to you, whenever you are in the same room, listening Sentinel yapping about something unimportant as usual, you will notice her glancing at you. At first you might think it was an accident, the second one as just awkward, the third time she would not look away once you notice her staring. she has that little pleased smirk on her face whenever she sees you.
Airachnid is probably the second one of the tallest bots here. she's taller than Sentinel (but I'm not sure if she's bigger than Megatron with Megatronus cog), her spider-like appearance makes most bots uncomfortable and it will surprise her if you weren't at least a little scared of her. she's not the one to openly tell you that she enjoys the height difference between you and her but her silent interest tells you everything. her optics always focused on you and no matter how small and stealthy you are, you have no chance to make a move past her.
NOTE – please be informed that scenario-chapter is just an additional part/story that this expands on the HALL OF RECORD (one-shot) not a full series and this might come out a bit weird and a little out of character? I don't know. I wrote this fic with three lattes shot and a lot of confusion, so enjoy?
and you can tell who is fav. I'm a little biased here
O r i o n P a x
The sound of the metal door untouched for what might as well have been an eon whined softly as it scraped against its timeworn track. The hinges gave a creak like an old archivist waking from a nap, cranky and reluctant, groaning at being disturbed after centuries of peace. It was a small sound, really. Barely louder than the low thrum of power conduits far down the hall
But to him, it was the sound of trespass
Orion Pax stepped inside as if the shadows might bite
Faint cerulean light dripped from ancient overhead strips, casting the corridor in the sort of glow usually reserved for ghost stories or forgotten secrets. The deepest level of the archive the forbidden floor, shuttered by Sentinel before Orion had even existed still exhaled softly beneath its shroud of dust and disuse. It felt less like entering a room, more like entering a memory that didn’t want to be remembered. He moved like a student sneaking into the dean’s office half-curious, half-sure he’d regret it
His fingers grazed the edge of a shelf, careful not to disturb the decades of quiet. Or the dust. Especially the dust. It looked like it had unionized
“The Matrix…"
He murmured under his breath, blue optics catching the faint shimmer of dormant holograms “There has to be something here. A record. A clue. Anything” He leaned down, reaching for the ancient relay socket at the base of the console—
“Trigger that, and you’ll wake the whole sound grid"
The voice came from behind him. Calm. Dry. Unhurried. The sort of tone one used when catching a cat burglar who clearly forgot to check for traps. Orion flinched hard enough to rattle a few data shelves and spun around on his feet
You stood there, half-veiled in the shadow of a pillar taller than he expected, posture relaxed, like someone who’d been waiting for him to trip the sensor just for fun. The faint light from your data reader bounced off your optics, revealing a gaze far too unsurprised to belong to a stranger
It wasn’t your first time sneaking in
“Who are you?”
He asked, voice low but edged with a kind of jumpy defiance. His hand inched toward the nearby control panel—not so much in defense as in that universal gesture of ‘I might make this worse but I’ll do something, I swear'
You didn’t answer right away
Instead, you let out a breath. You sighed the long-suffering kind. Then tilted your head and gave him a look that could only be described as academic disappointment. You looked at him the way a librarian might regard a wayward patron using a sacred first edition as a coaster
“The better question is: what exactly are you doing here?”
“This isn’t a tourist wing. No one's supposed to be down here. Not unless you're a glitch in the system or a Prime in disguise" Your optics flicked over him like a scanner on autopilot dusty fingers, light frame, and most telling of all: the cavity at his chest. Empty. No transformation cog. No fancy upgrades
A miner
Your field didn’t spike, didn’t flinch. Just took it in with the sort of ease that said: "Ah. One of those"
He bristled. Just slightly
“And what about you?” He countered, trying for defiance but landing somewhere closer to awkwardly offended “You’re not supposed to be here either… right?”
You smiled then. Not the friendly kind. The kind that curled at one corner like a page in a too-old book “Smart enough…” you said, arching an optic ridge
“For someone who leaves the ventilation hatch wide open while sneaking in"
He snuck into the archives more than once—and more than once, he stumbled into you. Neither of you had the right to be there. You both knew it. But you never sent him away and though you pretended not to care, you always watched him, always
Orion was like a flicker of flame brushing through the ashes inside you. A dreamer, yes but not a fool. Funny, but never dismissive of history. Stubborn, but when you spoke, he truly listened. He wasn’t like anyone you'd met since the age of the Thirteen
He wasn't afraid to ask stupid questions and he wasn’t afraid of you. You often looked at him with a weary kind of exasperation, the sort reserved for someone who should know better. But he always laughed when you snapped at him, as if the weight of silence in the archive had never once touched him
You told him once by accident more than intention
The air between you had been dusted with a kind of trust you hadn’t felt in countless cycles. A quiet ease. The sort that hadn’t truly touched you since the age of the Thirteen faded into ash
Orion Pax a randomly-forged miner with far too much hope and far too little support was the sort to chase impossibilities like they were his rightful inheritance. He reached too far, spoke too loudly, and stood too often where no one asked him to. And yet, he never stopped. Not even when they laughed
“..I used to be Alpha Trion’s aide”
you said, voice quieter than you expected
He froze. Then almost immediately he dropped down beside you, like the truth might vanish if he didn’t plant himself right there, fast enough to catch it. Surprise widened his optics, but so did something else recognition. The name Alpha Trion carried weight: Scholar. Sage. Keeper of knowledge
“Really? I’ve heard of him, but it was always more like… like a myth—”
“It does sound like a story, doesn’t it?”
You gave a faint huff of laughter, more memory than mirth “But I was there. I walked the Hall of Records with the Primes themselves. I once transcribed battle doctrines meant to change the course of the war. I was Alpha Trion’s eyes. His ears”
“And now?” You gestured vaguely, as if your current state explained itself “..Now I’m ‘Advisor to the Prime’ Sentinel’s pet title”
“Sounds good on a datafile, doesn’t it?”
You let your gaze drift toward the ceiling “But it’s a cage. He doesn’t want my counset just my silence. He doesn't want me asking, no more. He says it’s time to let go of the past"
Your voice dipped on that last sentence, quieter than even you meant it to be. Beside you, Orion slowly set his hand close to yours. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough for the intent to be felt
“So… what will you do?”
“How long will you let him keep you quiet?”
You looked back at the desk. Scattered with restricted data slates salvaged from sealed archives. A few of which you had, perhaps, allowed him to read. Just fragments
Maybe, in some strange way, you weren’t so different from him after all. You’d slipped away whenever the chance arose. Found your way back into old vaults that should’ve been wiped from the map. You’d pulled truth from the edges of erasure, and hidden it in places no one else would look. In hopes someone, anyone would find it. Someday
You smiled “It’s not like I’ve been sitting still"
He laughed low and warm, like it lived in his chest “I think I’m starting to like you”
“No! I mean, I like it when you.. don’t just stay still!” You rolled your optics, but couldn’t hide the fact that the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile as well
“You gonna record me, then?”
“–If I ever turn into something important?”
You stared at him. Long enough for him to shift his weight, then chuckle, awkward and a little sheepish
“Kidding. I know someone like me doesn’t exactly scream historically relevant—”
“Please. I’ve been archiving you every days, spark-for-brains” You cut him off, tone dry, but softer than your usual “And if you ever do become something important… I’ll be the one to write that story. Properly. With footnotes”
He blinked. You didn’t smile but your optics said enough
D – I6
The underground quarters of the labor miners weren’t much to look at
Concrete walls, low ceilings, overhead conduits that flickered as if sighing with age. Everything smelled faintly of rust and recycled air. It was the sort of place where voices fell flat against the metal and hope tended to decay faster than the tools on the racks. No one expected anything new to walk in and yet. One day, Orion Pax brought someone with him. Not a supervisor. Not a guard. Not an auditor sent from the upper halls
But you. You, who walked in with a step just slow enough to take in the room
Not cautious, exactly but composed. Observing. Weighing. Like you had done this far too many times, and were still waiting to be surprised. D-16 recognized you before you even spoke. He had never heard your name not officially. There were no public briefings with your designation, no files that reached the lower sectors. But he had seen you. On every state broadcast, every emergency address, every ceremonial function where Sentinel Prime spoke before the world. You were always there never in front, but never far like the shadow just behind the throne
Orion had mentioned, in passing, that you had once served beneath the Thirteen themselves. The statement had sounded so absurd at the time like someone claiming to have dined with myths. But now, standing a few meters from you in the dim half-light, D-16 wasn’t laughing
He swallowed. Then, before his mind could interfere with his mouth “Did you… really meet Megatronus Prime?”
The words tumbled out like gravel down a mine shaft too loud, too fast, and entirely unrehearsed
Immediately, he stood straighter. As if trying to fold the question back into his body by sheer posture. His arms snapped to his sides, shoulders tense, expression schooled into impassivity. But even a casual observer would’ve noticed how the plates at his spine had locked up stiff, and how his field normally tight and subdued now bristled with mortified awareness
Orion, standing nearby, shot him a sidelong look that all but screamed Seriously and pressed his mouth into a thin line, clearly biting back laughter. His field buzzed with that particular kind of amusement only friends could afford
But you didn’t look offended
You simply turned to D-16 with a slow, deliberate grace. One optic ridge lifted in mild surprise, not mockery. The look you gave him was not one of superiority but memory. And something just shy of sorrow, your gaze slow and precise, like someone turning over an ancient page
“I didn’t think I’d hear that name spoken aloud” you said, voice soft and even “Not in this era. At least”
Something in the way you said it made the air feel older. D-16 opened his mouth to respond then overcompensated entirely
“I- I mean, I respect him. Megatronus. I really do. Not that I don’t respect the other Primes! I do! It’s just, his power, it was… I mean, the records say he was beyond classification. Singular”
He said it all in one breath, like pulling off a bandage, or confessing something shameful. The words just stumbled out faster than he could polish them, tumbling over one another in a mess of admiration and awkward intensity. For someone usually so reserved, the enthusiasm betrayed him utterly. The silence that followed was so complete it could have been scripted. Orion exhaled sharply through his nose. If he’d had something to throw, he probably would’ve thrown it. But you—
You just laughed
Quiet. Warm. Deep. A sound dredged up from beneath centuries of dust, as if even your voice had forgotten how to smile “You’re the first to say his name with that kind of light in your optics since the fall”
“If Megatronus could hear you now, he’d probably be baffled that he’s become some kind of hero to miners” You tilted your helm, smiling just a little “Though, honestly, I’m not surprised”
D-16 looked like he wanted the floor to collapse beneath him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to will away the flush creeping across his faceplates. But then. Your voice shifted. Quieter now. Calmer
“I stood beside him. Yes”
You didn’t elaborate immediately. You let the weight of that admission settle, like dust returning to a long-forgotten shelf
“Not as a disciple” you said, after a moment “But as a witness”
D-16 froze. Not just with reverence, but intent. His posture didn’t just still it listened “Was he really like the stories?”
You didn’t answer at first
Your optics drifted upward, tracing the long silver line of a power conduit above, but your vision reached far beyond it. You were looking back through wars and ages, through the collapse of dynasties and the silence left behind “He was strong"
“Of course he was. But that’s not what stayed with me” Your gaze returned to him. You didn’t look at D-16 like he was a soldier or a worker. You looked at him like someone who had just asked the right question “What I remember most… was the way he shielded the weak. The way he stood between them and harm like he was born to carry the weight of their world, and never once questioned if it was too heavy..”
Silence again. But not a heavy one this time
A reverent, holding sort of quiet. Then, you stepped closer not imposing, but deliberate. Your optics met his without flinching “If you want to walk his path…”
“Don’t begin with your fists, begin with what you’d give your life to protect”
You weren’t surprised that Orion kept returning to the old archive. He was persistent like that drawn to lost records and locked doors the way some bots were drawn to light. What did surprise you, however, was that he started bringing D-16 with him. Not just once. Not as a fluke. But again. And again
Each time, the miner sat with his back straight, posture stiff as if the room itself required reverence. He never touched anything without permission. His focus was unwavering, his questions, clear and concise. Never a wasted word. At first, he spoke like someone walking on thin ice. Awkward, hesitant. Always respectful. And always always his questions were about Megatronus
“Did Megatronus ever overrule the other Primes?”— “Is it true he once fought a Quintesson with his bare hands?”– “What did his voice sound like?”
It was always about him in the beginning. D-16 would ask you to recount field notes not available in the public archives. He’d ask what Megatronus thought during the final war what moved him, what held him back. And you told him. You told him everything you remembered. You spoke of war. Of victories. Of moments carved from metal and memory. You even told him how Megatronus once pulled you bodily from the battlefield without hesitation
But then quietly, gradually, his questions began to change. They grew softer. Slower. Less historical. He started asking about you instead. At first, you hardly noticed the shift. His voice was steady, his tone still careful. But the pattern had changed. His curiosity had turned inward toward the storyteller rather than the story and you realized, one day, mid-sentence. You were no longer recounting the past. You were being recorded into it
He hummed
A low, thoughtful sound less an answer than a pause, a space carved out to think, to consider. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re weighing the ground beneath them before taking a step they can’t take back and then, it came. The question.
Delivered with the kind of casualness that only made it more obvious
“And—did you… ever have anyone? Back then. During the wars" His voice caught near the end, like the question had tripped over its own boots on the way out
Your optics lifted from the datapad slowly. Not sharply. Just… knowingly “Anyone?"
It was a simple word, but layered with intent. You weren’t asking for clarification. You were asking if he knew what he was really asking
He immediately straightened his posture a move so sudden it bordered on mechanical. Which was impressive, considering his spine had already been stiff enough to pass for reinforced alloy “I mean allies. Or comrades. People you… trusted. Fought beside..”
The correction tumbled out like bricks falling into place too neatly, too fast. His words tried to anchor the moment back into neutral ground, but the field around him betrayed him. It had shifted subtly, but unmistakably. That buzz of restraint pulsing just a little too sharply at the edges. You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t reach for sarcasm. Didn’t turn away.
You simply let the silence sit between you undisturbed, like dust in a sealed room “I had those” you said, voice low, level. A truth you’d long since polished smooth from memory “And more..”
That did it. The datapad nearly slipped from his fingers just slightly, just enough. He caught it without looking, reflexes honed from years in the mines, but his control faltered for a breath. Long enough for you to feel the ripple of heat in his field. Not embarrassment. Something quieter. More sincere
he muttered “Right, of course- makes sense”
His optics stayed locked forward, trained on some far-off point just above the floor. Nowhere near you. Nowhere dangerous. And after a moment that pulsed like a heartbeat. He said it – So softly it barely left his frame “I think… I’d like to be one of them.”
The words didn’t echo
They didn’t need to
They settled into the room like something that had been waiting a long time to be said. You turned to him slowly
Not with surprise. Not with mockery. But with something gentler. Quieter. As though he'd just offered you a piece of himself he wasn’t used to sharing and didn’t yet know if he should regret it. He didn’t meet your gaze. Couldn’t. But you noticed the tight line of his jaw. The slight tension in his servos. The way his shoulders rose just enough to brace against whatever answer you might give and his field normally so disciplined was frayed at the edges. A flicker of static in his composure. Like a transmission that wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You didn’t press. Didn’t tease. Just… watched him, the way one watches something rare and very carefully offered, without changing your tone, you smiled. Not the kind of smile meant to reassure. But the kind that held memory in its corners. That knew what it meant to be seen
“Then start by asking better questions” you said, voice low—carrying more warmth than he probably knew what to do with “I might even answer them”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But it was there. Not quite a smile. Not yet
But close
You hadn’t said it like a joke. You hadn’t said it to dismiss him. You said it like you meant it. Like there really was a door, just slightly open, and all he had to do was reach and that—that was dangerous
Because he wanted to. He wanted to know more. About you. Not just the archive, not just your history, not just what you’d seen. You. The way your voice changed when you spoke of memories that mattered. The way your optics drifted skyward when you thought no one noticed. The way you never laughed at his awkwardness—only… watched. Quietly. Kindly. Like it didn’t bother you at all
He let his helm rest against the wall
Shut his optics
Let out a slow vent
He shouldn’t get caught up in it. He knew that. He was a miner. A worker. Just another cogless bot trying to survive and you… You were memory incarnate — You carried wars and wisdom in your voice. You stood beside Primes. You remembered gods.
What business did he have wanting to be remembered by you?
But still—under all that logic, that silence, that self-restraint— His spark pulsed just a little faster
S e n t i n e l P r i m e
The corridor stretched long and silent, wrapped in a hush that felt too deliberate to be natural—like a room holding its breath
Ancient murals loomed on either side, half-lit by overhead glowpanels designed to mimic the old morninglight of pre-war Cybertron. Each image painted a different fragment of the same sacred lie: unity, strength, unbroken lineage. The brushstrokes were delicate, reverent, rendered by artists who had believed the Primes were eternal. Immortal. Immutable.
You moved through that quiet with hands folded neatly behind your back, each step measured, silent. You had walked this wing hundreds of times before. Cataloged each pigment, each artisan’s mark, each brittle metadata layer coded beneath the paint. But now even the images you knew by spark felt… remote. Like they belonged to someone else’s story. Your gaze paused at a depiction of Solus Prime, tall, radiant, her forge-hammer glowing in the cradle of creation. But the dataplate had been changed: “Commissioned in honor of the Divine Reconstruction”
Reconstruction?
That plate hadn’t been there last cycle..
Your hands clenched slightly behind your back, jaw tightened. Then footsteps. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Just… assured. You didn’t need to turn. The rhythm was unmistakable
“You always did prefer this wing”
The voice came soft—too soft. Like an echo meant to blend in with the art.
“The lighting’s better here” you replied evenly “Less curated”
Sentinel Prime’s presence filled the space behind them long before his frame did. His silhouette, massive, statuesque, lined with cold gold filigree moved into view with all the ease of a king inspecting his garden. But his steps were quiet. Thoughtful. He approached not like a ruler claiming ground, but like a memory creeping forward on quiet feet.
“I remember” he said, now beside you
His tone was warm. Familiar. Intentionally gentle “You used to drag me here to correct plaques. Spent hours lecturing me on timeline deviations”
“I let you talk. You do know that, don’t you?”
Your optics flicked toward him, then back to the mural “I wasn’t lecturing”
“You were” he said, smiling “But you were right. Mostly” His voice was lower now, quiet enough to ripple through the stillness like heat. He was standing just close enough for his shadow to graze the edges of your frame
You turned toward him at last. Slowly. He was tall. Too tall. The kind of height that once symbolized protection but now only loomed. You wasn’t small, not by any Cybertronian standard, but beside him, you looked like something meant to be set aside. Kept behind glass. Preserved “That didn’t stop you from rewriting it all”
His smile twitched. Only slightly
“Things change”
“Convenient”
“I’m not here to argue”
“You never are” The space between them was thick with old familiarity, but strained now like a song slowed half a beat too long, dissonant where it once sang in sync
“I miss when we used to talk” Sentinel said, his voice thinning with a note too careful to be casual “Real talk. You challenged me”
“so I’m still here”
“You just don’t like the shape of the challenge anymore” He moved a little closer. Not to dominate. But to surround
“You don’t have to fight me..”
“I’m not fighting. I’m resisting. There’s a difference”
His expression shifted only slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite angered. But something beneath the surface moved “Then stop resisting” he said, barely above a whisper “Let me in again”
The words hung too heavy in the air
You turned to face him fully now, field flickering slightly not with fear, but warning “You’re not asking me to let you in. You’re asking me to comply. To pretend none of this happened. That this mural, and the hundreds of others like it, still mean the same thing”
A long pause. Then quieter “You want me to become part of the illusion..”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, his field pulsed faintly outward magnetic, warm, intentional. The kind of closeness that might’ve once felt like comfort. But now only pressed too much, too close “I never wanted to lose you in this”
“Out of all bot, not you”
The words were too tender. Too particular
And you heard it. The inflection. That little fracture of emotion that didn’t belong in a public address. That wasn’t meant for a former archivist. That if left unchecked would lead to something harder to survive “Then you shouldn’t have replaced everything we stood for”
Silence
He didn’t step away. Not yet. But his gaze lowered just slightly. Not in defeat but in the careful weighing of what he couldn’t control and just before leaving, Sentinel said so quiet it barely moved the air “You don’t have to be the last relic of the past, you could be part of what's next”
“There's still a place for you, beside me”
Then he turned. The shadows swallowed him slowly, step by step, until only the lingering hum of his field remained warm, familiar, and unbearably wrong. You remained there, surrounded by murals of rewritten myths and stories you no longer recognized, stared up at Solus Prime one last time. And for the first time in cycles…
You couldn’t remember what color her optics had been before Sentinel repainted her
You had always wondered quietly, carefully. Why the miners had no T-Cogs. Why these workers–those newborns, forged strong and silent beneath the surface of Cybertron, lacked the very thing that made transformation possible.But it was only ever a question left unspoken. Not because you lacked curiosity but because you knew Sentinel would never answer you
And so speculation took root. Not in accusation, not yet. Just quiet observation hypotheses formed in the hush between truths, the kind no one dared to say aloud. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t. Surely not even Sentinel could be that cruel, could he? Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Until you could see it with your own optics
He treated you much the same as he always had. The teasing still lingered in his voice, familiar as a memory. The smiles came easily, often too easily warmer than necessary, threaded now with a tension you couldn’t name. He could have just wiped you off. Silenced you. Replaced you. But instead, he kept you close. Closer than before. You told yourself it was strategy. Easier to watch you. Easier to contain
But perhaps, just perhaps. He couldn’t bear to let you go. Perhaps Sentinel had drawn you so deep into the architecture of his world that the thought of ruling it without you, felt incomplete, dangerous, like failure. And so, in every public address, every state broadcast and ceremonial decree, when he stepped into the light and into the eye of the world. You were always there. Not to speak. Not to challenge. Not to stand as an equal. But simply to stand. Beside him as if that alone would be enough. And it was. That’s all he needed. For the new age he ruled to begin—with you still in it
The plaza had been remade not merely rebuilt, but reborn for this very moment. Steel arches arced overhead like the fossilized ribs of a long-dead colossus, burnished to a gleam beneath the planetary sun. Between them hung banners of deep cobalt, stitched in gold thread so fine it caught the light like fire
THE ERA OF CONTINUITY, they read
Beneath that, the unmistakable crest of Sentinel Prime, repeated, mirrored, multiplied across every surface like a sigil of divine right. A thousand optics turned as he emerged onto the marble dais. Flanked by honor guard. Flanked by silence.
And flanked by them. You followed exactly half a step behind, as protocol required close enough to signify loyalty, far enough to signify subordination, your frame was immaculate under the precision lighting, each panel polished, each edge adorned with ceremonial filigree. Upon your chestplate gleamed the freshly-forged insignia of Principal Historical Advisor to the Prime a title announced only a cycle prior, yet already murmured through the chambers of power like scripture passed hand to hand
Sentinel raised a hand
The plaza obeyed
“My fellow citizens of Iacon” his voice unfurled like silk over steel calm, crystalline, unyielding “today marks not only remembrance but restoration. A new page. A unified future”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried like gravity inevitable, inescapable
Behind him, you held your stance with exquisite poise, expression serene, the curve of lips calibrated to precision not warmth, not joy, but symmetry. The kind of smile meant for monuments, not mouths. You weren’t unrecognizable. You had merely become… curated — A fixture, flourish
“In every age of transformation” Sentinel continued “we must reach not only toward innovation but to those who hold the lineage of wisdom. And so, I walk forward with those who once stood beside the Primes themselves” He turned just slightly enough to cast the gesture like a flourish of choreography, an artist unveiling his favorite piece “My advisor. My historian. My conscience”
Applause
You bowed, flawlessly. An angle measured. A nod practiced
“They remind me, daily that the past is not to be erased, but honored”
And that, you thought behind your perfect smile, is what a lie sounds like when it wears poetry for armor
The crowd didn’t know. Couldn’t know
They didn’t see the redacted records, the vanishing cross-references, the warped timelines spliced together like a forgery passed off as scripture. But you did, knew every phrase pre-approved for the interview after this, knew which questions to feign surprise at, which answers to lace in ambiguity, which smiles to hold half a second longer—for the press, for the pose, for the pageantry
When the mic was passed to you, you spoke clearly. Without tremor “It is my privilege, to ensure that the light of Cybertron’s past still guides our steps. We move forward… not in forgetfulness, but in reverence”
The voice did not falter. But behind your back, fingers curled
Just slightly
You could feel him watching. Not with threat. Not with command. But with the kind of gaze one reserves for polished statues an artifact restored, admired, and displayed. He stepped closer. Just enough for proximity to read as intimacy to the cameras drone. Just enough to veil the weight behind the words “That was beautifully said” he murmured
You didn’t even look at him “I know”
“You still surprise me sometimes”
“I shouldn’t”
He laughed. Quietly. It sounded like warmth. But you knew the tone was forged from pressure. You just smiled again for the cameras, for the world, for the lie. All the while counting the seconds until they could shed this costume of allegiance
and return to silence. To truth. To records that hadn't yet been rewritten
The applause hadn’t faded. Not truly
Even as the final words of the speech dissolved into the crisp evening air, even as the recording lights dimmed and flickered out, the plaza still thrummed with the afterglow of orchestrated pride. A thousand optics shimmered with patriotic sheen. The banners above caught the wind like the sails of a sanctified warship, reborn, rebranded
Sentinel turned slightly as they stepped from the marble dais. His hand extended not in earnest assistance, but in something more… choreographed. Just close enough to suggest warmth. Just distant enough to deny obligation
You did not take it. You descended with mechanical grace, each movement refined to ceremony, smile remained a studied curve, not a flicker out of place, electromagnetic field was wound tight, compressed close to frame static-thick, airtight. But Sentinel didn’t retract. He adjusted A beat. A breath. Then he fell into step beside them. One hand still positioned loosely at their back not touching, not quite, but present. Suggesting
“You handled that perfectly” he murmured, voice pitched just for them an intimate register dressed in silk “Even that line about reverence” he added, with a glint behind his words “It almost moved me”
“I was quoting your own speech, from six cycles ago. You just don’t remember”
He laughed, quiet, indulgent “That’s why I keep you close”
His hand settled lightly at the small of your back. A touch that, from a distance, would read as fondness. Dignified. United. Photogenic. The Prime and his trusted advisor—l a tableau of loyalty
You didn’t recoil. But felt it. The message in the weight of it. The duration. The confidence. The performance. You tilted your head a fraction not a glare, not yet, but a signal
“You’re taking liberties” you said, voice sheathed in quiet silk. A murmur passed as jest but honed like a blade
“I’m taking advantage of optics” Sentinel countered, unapologetic “That’s what this office demands” He leaned just slightly toward you, as if confiding something lighthearted. The angle of his smile curled with practiced ease “Besides” he added, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the crowd “if I wanted to take liberties… I’d be far less subtle”
Your optics slid toward him — Sharp. Unblinking. Glacial “Then it’s fortunate, that subtlety suits you. It keeps your hands clean”
He didn’t respond immediately
Let the silence grow roots. Let the proximity say what words couldn’t. Then, with the grace of a ruler accustomed to applause, he stepped ahead. Half a pace. Reclaiming the lead. Shoulders squared. Expression unblemished. A portrait of command. A symbol of benevolent strength. Behind him, you followed. Impeccably. Your smile still worn like enamel. Uncracked
The drone captured the moment—the Prime descending the steps, his advisor close at his side. A soft brush of proximity. A glance. A smile. Unspoken trust. Unshakable partnership. A unity sculpted for the archives
You kept the pace
Matched the image
“You don’t want me. You made that clear from the beginning”
“No” he said, softer, took a step closer now “I said I could no longer have you in the same way”
Unmasked. Unarmored. No shield of title, no pageantry of power. You’d forgotten how tall he was. Or perhaps he had been refitted. Prime-forged and sculpted for presence. It hardly mattered. What mattered was how close he stood now, and how easily someone like him could end you if he wanted to. One strike. One breath
And yet. He never had. Not once. Not with force. Not with violence. He wasn’t that kind of tyrant
“You were a pillar” he said, voice slow, deliberate “Unshakable. I relied on that. Trusted in it”
“But this world. My world, has no place for things that do not change” His tone was not cruel. It was… sorrowful. Almost reverent. The voice of someone delivering last rites to something sacred “That doesn’t mean I wanted to break you”
“You’re the last piece of a world that made me who I was”
A i r a c h n i d
The hallway this time was brighter
Wider. Less suited to shadows, and yet—still quiet enough for things to go unnoticed
You stood near the polished threshold of a secondary archive chamber one of the newer annexes built under Sentinel's regime. The walls were smooth. Unscuffed. Sterile in a way that felt unnatural, like something grown in a vacuum instead of history. Every surface gleamed too perfectly. Nothing here had aged yet. Nothing here had memory. You scrolled slowly through the contents of a datapad not reading, not truly. Just moving. Optics skating over headlines, edit trails, deleted citation links. The silence here was curated. Sculpted
You weren’t here for the records
You were waiting
And right on cue “You're early today”
The voice arrived like a brush of silk through charged air. Smooth. Deliberate. It always was. Familiar now but still edged like a knife’s smile. You didn’t look up immediately, didn’t have to
You already knew who it was
Airachnid was leaning against the terminal bank, as though she’d been there since the system powered on. One hip balanced lightly against the edge, arms folded, posture relaxed but not truly at rest. Her helm was tilted just enough to unnerve, like she was watching from an angle no one else thought to use. Her smile was slight, carefully measured. It didn’t quite reach her optics, but that was the point
“You’re very consistent” you said mildly, glancing at her from the corner of your optics “Do you clock in like this for everyone?”
“No” Her tone was a velvet purr, low and intentional “Only the ones worth watching”
“I’m flattered”
“You should be”
The silence that followed was thick enough to hold shape. You looked back down, scrolling through the datapad with a laziness that masked purpose “Do you enjoy this?” you asked, voice light
“Watching me sort metadata? Or is this just another item on your schedule?”
Airachnid’s helm tilted further, just a fraction “Do you enjoy testing the patience of your security detail?”
“I prefer to test the depth of curiosity”
That earned a quiet sound from her. Not quite a laugh, more a click. Dry. Surgical. Like a scalpel being returned to its velvet-lined case “You don’t strike me as the reckless type”
“I’m not. But I’ve spent more time speaking to corrupted code than to people lately. You’re more intriguing than most encrypted files” Airachnid uncrossed her arms with slow precision and stepped away from the terminal bank. Her movement was seamless, gliding, but deliberate. Too fluid to be lazy. Too elegant to be harmless
“Careful. Curiosity makes a poor shield”
“So does ignorance”
They stood across from one another now.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough to read nuance. Like two scholars dissecting the same artifact, each searching for a different truth beneath the same surface “Tell me something” your voice gentler now
“Were you always like this?”
Airachnid’s optics narrowed slightly
The light from the overhead glowpanels traced cold reflections across her faceplate, catching in the sharp line of her jaw, the subtle gleam of her plating “Define this” she said, quietly, but with that razor-curious edge. Like she was offering you a choice: explain, or be dissected
You didn’t flinch
“Loyal to the point of silence. Efficient to the point of invisibility– I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hold power so tightly… without wanting it”
Airachnid said nothing. She simply looked at you. For longer than was polite. Longer than was comfortable. Not with surprise. No, she rarely wasted optics on emotion but with something like scrutiny. A kind of analytical regard, like she was reassessing a threat level. Then, just a half-step forward. Just enough to be noticed
“What makes you think I don’t want power?”
“Because you already have it. And yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest” You didn’t hesitate, voice remained even
Her smile shifted at that small, curling inward like a claw retracting just beneath the surface. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t for show. It was closer to truth
“You assume I follow him”
“Don’t you?”
The silence that opened between you wasn’t heavy but precise. Like a scalpel laid on a sterile tray, gleaming and untouched. No breath. No movement. Just tension wound in stillness “I serve Sentinel Prime” Airachnid said, her tone glass-smooth “Because he knows where he’s going. And because he gave me a place where I no longer have to pretend”
You didn’t blink “Pretend to be what?”
Her optics glinted, cool light on polished alloy, the gleam of a trap sprung just enough to warn
“Anything less than what I am” That landed harder than you expected. Not just the words. But the way she said them. The calm certainty. The unapologetic sharpness. You watched her – still, quiet, measuring
“He trusts you”
“Utterly”
“That’s rare”
“That’s earned”
This silence felt different. No longer stretched like wire across a minefield. It settled between you like cooling metal, coiled, yes, but no longer poised to strike. A mutual understanding, or something close. You gave a small nod
“Thank you. For the conversation”
Airachnid didn’t nod back. Didn’t tilt her head. Didn’t break the mask. She simply said, plainly “I’ll still be watching”
“I know” You turned back to the datapad but didn’t move. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t type. Your hands rested on the console’s edge, tension vibrating faintly in the joints
Behind you, Airachnid moved with the silence of trained instinct, less like she walked away, more like she was subtracted from the scene. Gone. Clean. Seamless. Somewhere behind her careful silence, something lingered. Not doubt. Not regret. But the smallest flicker of recognition. The way one predator sees another in the wild not a threat, but a mirror. A different species of survivor. She’d known from the first time she was assigned to monitor you
You were dangerous
Not because you fought. But because you watched. Because you remembered. Because you asked questions like knives and in this golden empire built on curated truths, it was those who asked quietly that had to be watched the closest. As her shadow faded into the long corridor. Airachnid didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. You were still there, rooted in archives, cloaked in dignity, poised like a weapon Sentinel still thought ornamental and if there was war coming beneath the sheen of peace
Airachnid would not choose a side
She was the side. Already chosen, already loyal, already lethal
Sentinel doesn't have the time to watch you every day. To follow you. Track you. Monitor your movements. And that’s precisely why Airachnid does it in his place. He entrusted her with the task assigned her to keep a careful, unflinching eye on you. To guard you, yes. But also to measure. To evaluate. To intercept, if needed. She has never failed him before and so, Sentinel has no reason to question the arrangement
When you are not with him then you are with her. It’s always one or the other and you’ve grown used to that rhythm. Far too used to it. Used to it enough that you’ve begun to speak with her. Start conversations. Ask things. Curious. And, strangely perhaps suspiciously. Airachnid lets you
She allows the exchange. Doesn’t cut you down. Doesn’t shut you out. Maybe it’s a tactic. Maybe she’s letting the walls fall just enough to get closer. To make it easier when the time comes, when Sentinel finally decides to erase you but you know how to play this game. You’ve survived long enough by knowing when not to step away. And you’re not about to waste the opportunity now
“You already have power and yet, you stay in the shadow of someone else’s crest”
She almost laughed at that. What a foolish perspective. Sentinel isn’t her shadow. He’s her axis. He gave her a place where she didn’t have to soften herself to fit. You doesn’t understand that kind of loyalty. Because theirs is built on memory. On rules. On history. And all of that burned. Still—Airachnid cannot help but.. observe you
You doesn’t speak like a politician. Doesn’t stand like a servant. You carry something harder. Older. The weight of someone who has seen too much truth to be satisfied with a lie, but is too tired to shout it anymore. She doesn’t hate you. That surprises her. She respects. And that’s dangerous. Because it means that if Sentinel ever does order her to remove them. It won’t be clean. It won’t be mechanical. It will leave a mark
The archives were quiet, but that’s nothing new. What was new, though, was the feel of someone waiting in the wings—someone not standing in the open, but lingering just at the edge, just beyond the light, as if they were the shadow. Airachnid’s presence was invisible, like most things she did. The moment you began to analyze data once more, she appeared at the edge of their peripheral vision, standing just far enough not to intrude. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even move. She just waited
“I thought you’d be occupied” you said, voice not accusatory but more curious “Or are you always so quiet?”
Airachnid remained still, like a spider perched at the edge of its web.
She didn’t look directly at them. Not yet “Sometimes” her voice just soft enough to blend into the silence of the chamber
“quiet is all that’s needed”
“You’re not here for me to ask you questions”
Airachnid shifted her weight slightly, taking one step closer without breaking that eerie calm that surrounded her “I don’t answer questions” she said, stepping into the slight illumination cast by the panel. Her silhouette now clear, framed in the soft light “I observe. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You turned, but the motion was slow, thoughtful “Observing? ..or controlling?”
Airachnid tilted her helm a fraction of an inch, her optics glinting in that same sharp, calculating manner they’d seen so often. Yet, this time, there was a softness, a subtle understanding that hinted at something deeper “If I wanted control, I wouldn’t have left you alone long enough to ask me that question”
There was a moment of hesitation, of silence that stretched far longer than it should have. You lowered your optics, a soft chuckle escaping their lips, though it wasn’t directed at Airachnid
“You do like keeping your distance, don’t you?”
“Distance is necessary” Airachnid replied simply, her voice like ice melting in the sun “But observation... that’s personal”
You stopped, looked at her again, not with caution, but with genuine curiosity. For all her quiet, for all her efficiency, there was something about Airachnid that had always fascinated them. The way she moved, measured and deliberate. The way she saw things others missed
“Why do you stay here? Why stay with Sentinel?”
Airachnid’s optics darkened slightly, but she didn’t look away. Her answer came with a slight, almost imperceptible shift in her stance
“I don’t stay. I’m here because I choose to be”
You let the question settle, watching the way she stood, poised but not impatient and just as your optics lingered too long, just as your mind shifted–Airachnid’s hand moved, almost without a thought. She slid a small data disk onto the edge of the console. Not just any disk. One with new directives “It’s not what you’ve been told to look for” she said softly, almost as if she had read the question forming in their mind “But it’s something you’ll need soon”
You stared down at the disk, thoughts moving a mile a minute, hadn’t expected this. Not from Airachnid, not from someone so loyal to Sentinel. But the glance she gave them, fleeting, calculating, spoke volumes
“Just make sure you don’t miss it”
she added, before stepping back into the shadows, fading from view once more. The disk sat there. Silent. Waiting. As if it, too, knew that its secrets had already begun to spill, even before you had reached for it
She remembers their last conversation, low-lit corridor, quiet exchange. The way they tried to read her.
As if she were text on a slab of archive steel. ‘You can’t catalog a predator’ she thinks. And yet… something in you had watched her not with fear, but effort. Like they wanted to understand. To connect
It was foolish. Possibly suicidal. But it was real and real things are rare. She reports to Sentinel later that cycle. The conversation is short “They’re stable. Contained. But restless” Sentinel leans back in his chair. Fingers steepled, voice soft
“And still trying to find where they belong?”
“You’ve already decided where they belong”
He smiles. That cool, refined smile that has sealed fates without ever raising his voice “Then make sure they stay there”
She nods once. No hesitation and yet. Later that night, she walks past the corridor where you sometimes works late. She does not stop. She does not speak. But she slows. Just for a moment. And in that moment, she wonders ‘If they ever fall… will I warn them first?’ It is a thought that should not exist. So she leaves it behind, buried in silence. Where it belongs
Sometimes when you sneak out to hide in the old archives that are considered a forbidden place for no one to invade, or even when you talk to the bots that you shouldn't, she doesn't report that to Sentinel
BONUS ON
D A R K W I N G
The lower quarry shook with the thunder of drills
Sparks flew. Gravel sang under heavy treads. Miners shouted to one another over the noise some urgent, some desperate, most ignored. And at the center of it all stood Darkwing. Massive. Smudged with energon soot. Half-snapped shoulder armor from who-knew-what yesterday. He barked at two workers who’d paused too long
“I said get it moving, you slagging excuses for bolts! You want the Prime’s wrath down here next?! MOVE!” He raised a reinforced datapad like he was going to throw it. The worker scrambled back, someone coughed
A soft, polite cough. A very high-ranking, polite cough. Darkwing froze. Turned–
You stood at the edge of the overlook, flanked by two silent escorts and dressed in the calm, formal sheen of someone who did not come here to yell, ust… to observ
“Oh. Uh. Sir-Ma’am-Advisor!”
Darkwing stiffened, saluting with one shoulder (the only one still intact) “Didn’t, uh didn’t know you were coming down today”
“It was unannounced” you replied mildly, stepping closer “I was told this sector has been underperforming”
Darkwing nodded too fast “Yes! I mean no! I mean uh, there were some delays. But nothing that can’t be! Well, you know. Handled. Promptly. Professionally”
You raised an optic ridge. Behind him, a miner who’d just been shouted at looked up, mouth slightly open at the shift in tone “We noticed an unusual spike in damage reports from your crew” you continued
“Yes-eh-that’s…” Darkwing tried to scratch the back of his helm. Realized he had a dent there. Scratched beside it instead “We’re in a rough phase. You know how ore layers get. It’s the… uh. The fault of… geology”
You stared. He stared back.
Then laughed-awkwardly. Loudly “Heh! Cybertron, right? So unpredictable!”
The silence behind Reader was immediate and cold
“We’ll be reviewing your operation logs and your conduct notes”
“Absolutely. Please. All yours. I love paperwork. I dream of audits”
“Of course you do” You turned slightly to speak with their aide, but before they could finish a sentence “Would you-like some energon, Advisor? We have, uh, local brew. Very unrefined”
“...No, thank you”
“Good choice. It’s terrible”
You looked at him one last time. Measured “Carry on, Supervisor”
Darkwing saluted again—sharper now. Nearly knocked his own helmplate with the angle. Once advisor and their group disappeared from the walkway, he let out a sound between a groan and a short-range radio malfunction
Behind him, one of the miners whispered “Did you just call geology unpredictable?”
Darkwing glared “SHUT UP AND DIG”
Maybe it was Sentinel’s bad habits rubbing off on you. Or maybe it was your own emotionally-repressed tendencies finally leaking out sideways. Because, sometimes.. you enjoyed bothering Darkwing. There was just something undeniably satisfying about watching him get flustered just a little. The way he’d fidget, posture, start to sweat wires the moment you casually inquired about the progress reports and mining quotas under his jurisdiction. Naturally, that only made you press harder. Because why wouldn’t you?
It was fun. In a terrible, twisted, borderline-unethical kind of way. It wasn’t you. You swore it wasn’t you. And then when you know Orion and D-16. After that, well, let’s just say you suddenly found a lot more reasons to “personally inspect” the lower levels of the mines. Every now and then, you’d find an excuse to stop by. Just a quick visit. Just enough time for a few questions. Some light conversation. Perhaps a little friendly interrogation
Occasionally, you had to bribe Darkwing with a few of Sentinel’s private assets. Nothing serious. A datachip here, a high-grade component there but most of the time? You just threatened him. Nicely. Harmlessly. In that special way that makes guilty bots break into a cold sweat and confess things they didn’t even do. Honestly, it was probably fine. Mostly …Probably
Okay here's a oneshot idea: Tf One Darkwing x Female Cybertronian Miner Reader. He tries to do his usual angry act with her but she thinks he's cute when he's angry. Flustered Darkwing time maybe? IDK i feel like im the only one who thinks he's kinda cute and silly lmao
DARKWING X READER
Oh my god thank you anon, you’re definitely not the only one who thinks so…I love him. He’s such a bully but I love him I think. Sorry this is short, I def have to write more for him :3 ps there's like no HD pics of him
cybertronian!reader
no spoilers, fake scenario. loser flustered Darkwing
“MINER Y/N. Reports say you’ve been slacking off for the past three days again…WHY?!”
Darkwing bellowed, squaring his massive beautiful frame to tower over you. Not that he needed to—he was already bigger than any miner bot around. Way to rub it in.
This was the second time you’d been called in for a little chat with him this month, and by the way, he called you out by the full name in front of everyone else. Who does that? Despite being slightly annoyed, you had a smug smile plastered on your faceplate.
You casually leaned against the wall behind you, shrugging lazily. “Dunno. I don’t really feel like mining,” You deadpanned.
You weren’t lying, your frame has been extra sore for weeks. Honestly, a break sounded great right about now.
Darkwing let out that little, irritated growl he always did when bots got under his plating. His servos clenched in the air, digits flexing as if he was physically holding back his frustration. If he could, he looked like he could rip out his own helm. He stomped closer, jabbing a metal digit in your face.
"WHY DON'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?! GO. GET BACK TO W-"
"Hey Darkwing," You interrupted smoothly, not budging an inch as you looked up at him with a playful grin.
"You know, you're a bit cute when you're mad at me like this."
Darkwing froze mid-rant, lowering his servos. "What?" He sputtered, reeling his helm back in confusion.
That tough facade of his? CRUMBLING before your very optics.
"I'm not..IM NOT CUTE!"
His voice hitched, his fists dropping to his sides, clenched tight as he glared through his visor. Your grin only grew.
"SOMETHING IS CLEARLY WRONG WITH YOU!"
You rolled your optics.
"Yeah, yeah. Something’s definitely wrong with me if I think you are adorable. You could help me out, though. Maybe working overtime with you would fix my… problem." You slyly added, holding your servo to him.
He took a step back, grumbling under his breath. If his fists curled into themselves even tighter, he might leave an indent in his own servo.
Darkwing x reader soulmate au but he's JUST overcome his hatred of miners and joined the Autobots/Decepticons, deciding instead to despise humans as a replacement. And then he meets his fated sparkmate he's been looking for all his life-
TF1!YandereDarkwing x Cybertronian!Femme!Reader Oneshot
Part 2
Content: 18+
Introduction Movie Oneshot Masterlist
TW/Tags: This is a pretty dark fic, didn’t want to go too far with some scenes, kidnapping, forced relationship, noncon/smut (Will be in purple), forced pregnancy, not really use to writing a dark fic like this but I do hope it was a little enjoyable for you guys. Omg the sparkling at the end so so damn cute!!!!
You were a miner who worked every day since the day you came online. You have worked under your supervisor Darkwing since the beginning. At times you’d notice he’d talk to you most.
And was a bit more gentle at you at times when he would be more cold and strict with other bots like Elita.
You were as big as D-16. And one of the strongest miners there was. So you were a pretty respected femme next to Elita.
But that all changed when you chose to work a late night shift. A few of the other bots left being tired. And so you stayed behind. But when you weren’t looking. You were soon knocked out from behind everything going back.
When you woke up. Nothing has been the same since.
Ever since you woke up in a comfy and warm berth belonging to Darkwing. You couldn’t feel the cold recharge “berth” you were once use to using for a good while.
Confused as you are forced to stay in an apartment. Not allowed to leave as you’re forced to stay inside at all times. Darking always returning to you at the end of the day with tiredness and not always the right mindset.
As if he was doing the miners work most of the time. But he’d always be gentle with you if your showed to behave.
No attempt to mess with the doors security.
And the window were tinted. Only to see through then for others to see in. Though the window had security as well. All you could do was watch tv and make food whenever you were hungry. And some days you dreaded the berth more time then when he’d fall asleep on the sofa….
One day as you were making some energon. You were watching some movie about a family sitcom. Made from the other side of the planet.
You just got done crying. Something you do often every day while Darkwing is out.
As you sat on the sofa and ate your energon. you thought about the others. Orion, Elita, Jazz…….D-16… You know Darkwing lied to the miners. Saying you died thanks to the mining cave closing on you one night.
You were truly trapped..Never going to be able to finish your courtship to D-16.
As you finished and leaves out Darkwings plate. You’d then hear the unlocked of the front door. Darkwing soon walking in as he looked at you, closing the door behind him soon.
You knew what he was waiting for. He “taught” you well how to greet him when he returned home to you. And so you stood up and walked up to him. Putting your cervos together infront of him as you spoke. Looking at him.
“Welcome home Darkwing. How was work?”
He never really took off his visors and mask when he wasn’t in his own apartment. His face wasn’t that different from any other bots face.
His face paint being more of a mid grey color and having purple optics. He’d always take it off when he came home to you as he did now. Always either having a smile..or a frown.
A grin on his dermas as he stared down at you. His optics narrowed as he held one of your cervos and kisses the back of it.
”Busy as per usual. Have you been good sweetsaprk?” He asks as he checks the security.
”Yes darkwing..”
”Is my dinner ready?”
”Yes Darkwing…”
His grin still on his dermas as he walks to the sofa past you. Sitting down and picking up the plate as he ate the energon. Relaxed against the sofa as one cervo held the plate of energon. His other cervo on the arm of the couch. His legs spread as he watches the sitcom….
The only thing he lets you watch.
You sat on the other side of the sofa as he ate. And Once he was finished he placed the plate back on the coffee table and looked at you. Your spark raced a bit.
He knows this.
His cervo then reaching for yours. Scooting in a bit closer as he placed his dermas against the side of your helm. Then kisses down to your neck. He spoke inbetween kisses as his cervo rests onto your waist and the other holding your cervo. Then whispering in a low voice.
“I missed you Sweetspark…” He continued as you looked at the TV….What else can you do..besides just sitting there…
———————————————————————————
After you both snuggled on the couch. The sounds of the tv drowning out your kisses and moans. You’d soon be carried by him to your now shared berth room.
You’re sure hours went by. You grew so numb to it at this point. Only able to stare up at the ceiling or out the window as Darkwing did as he wished. The feeling of your body moving back and forth.
Your legs spread next to his waist depending on the position he wants.
You’d stare out the window as you see bots fly by and the sun setting as you try to numb out the sounds of Darkwings grunts. His helm above yours as he presses the side of his helm against the pillow of the berth.
One of his cervos holding your neck fully covering it. His other cervo holding on your yours with your digits interlocked together.His frame fully against yours as his hips continue to slam against yours after each thrust into your valve.
You legs open as his hips only brush against the side of your innner thighs every so often.
You’d close your eyes. Tears running down your optics as he sits up. Holding your waist as his thrusts gets rougher. You placed your cervo over your stomach as your frame continues to rock back and forth.
You knows he’s trying to give you a sparkling. That only made things worse for you as all you can do is just wait until you have a little mini him running around. You were pulled out of your thoughts as you felt his cervo hold your chin.
Making you look at him as he placed his dermas on yours.
Slamming his hips against yours once more. Overloading into you as he groans into the kiss.
After a moment once calmed down a bit from his high. He looked down at you. With love and lust. His optics dim and narrowed as he stared down at you.
You just stared up at him. Your face emotionless as you just closed your eyes.
———————————————————————————
After a couple month. You felt a surg of energy in your stomach. One morning you ran out of the berth to the sink. Throwing up some energon from the night before.
Darkwing coming along at first thinking you were trying to run away.
After he cleaned you up he went to the doctors who knew of his secret and you. For the next few months he was very protective over you. Always placing his cervo over your stomach as he feels his little sparkling move inside you.
They were a big baby. Little outer dents showing around on you waist as he would be the one to remake his on food and carry you around. Treating you like glass.
Even when you both watch your sitcom he’d keep you on his thigh with his arm around you. His cervo resting on your stomach as his other arm rests on the arm of the sofa.
Your cervos against his chest as your frame rests against his waist and chest.
Your sparkling slowly growing inside you until the day of the birth of your sparkling.
———————————————————————————
When the day came for your sparkling to come out. Darkwing was fast to take you to bring the doctor and nurses.
After they were able to help you give birth you were exhausted! Your sparkling is a girl.
She looke dos much like dark wing. Only having the same colored optics as you as his face painting being the same color as yours.
As you laid in your berth. Gaining your strength as the doctor and nurses left, Darkwing stayed sitting on the berth holding the small sparkling in his arms as he stayed close Waiting if you need anything like energon or want to shower.
The little sparkling reaching up to his faceplate as she giggled. You stayed ther watching the two…although she’s a sparkling given to you bu someone you never wished to be with… she is a part of you… and you know in your heart..
She’s the only thing you’ll truly love in this entire apartment…
I hope you guys enjoyed this. Requests are always open and as always re repost is appreciated. Hope you guys have a good rest of your day and see some of you in the comments!
I’ve noticed some things about myself and likely other people who think soundwave or most of his iterations are hot: it’s the mask/visor and voice
Yk who also has a mask/visor and similar enough voice? Darkwing in tfo
I’m begging for someone to write something about him, even just one smutty fic of him and a miner who he really likes picking on and decided one day to call her into his office(?) and basically use her
I just need one fic and if anyone writes it pls tag me
