call me boot!

i write for:

- transformers prime 

- bayverse (tf, rotf, dotm, aoe, tlk, rotb)

- bumblebee (2018)

things i will write:

✓ platonic pairings

✓ cybertronian!reader

✓ lgbtq+ (this is obvious but just in case people arent sure :])

✓ fluff

✓ angst/heavy angst (character death, gore, etc.)

✓ suggestive

✓ polyamorous

✓ depressive subjects

things i wont write:

✘ nsfw

✘ pedophilia

✘ non-con/dub-con

✘ incest

✘ oc x canon

✘ pregnancy/birth

✘ romanticization of toxic/abusive partners

✘ romanticization of disorders

general:

unless you specify what you’d like the readers gender to be, i will always write them as gender-neutral

if i feel like you’re asking me to romanticize an extremely sensitive topic or i just feel uncomfortable writing your request, i will ignore it

this is prone to editing as i spend more time developing what i am and am not comfortable with. whether or not i get to your request depends on my motivation! dont spam me with the same thing until i do it. also, my actual writing is completely different to when im just typing casually, so dont worry, it wont all be in lowercase without punctuation lmao

“Yea- totally.” sending the wrecker a strained smile, you gave him a half-hearted push back. He tilted his head, about to open his mouth to ask you something when Miko booked it over to the two of you, questions spilling out of her mouth at a mile a minute. All of them were something gore or violence related, asking Bulkhead if he got any pictures of some “hardcore massacre-ing”. The girl's interests were a little concerning, but endearing. Nonetheless, you took the opportunity to slink away and avoid any more attention. Angling your helm, your face scrunched up at the sight - and feeling - of the wound on your shoulder.

Too focused on the fight in front of you, a stray Vehicon had been able to sneak up behind you and catch you by surprise. Fortunately for you, Vehicons were mass trained for quantity over quality and didn’t have the best shots. The blast grazed your shoulder, tearing between some of your paneling to the barely exposed wires. It hurt like a bitch at first, but adrenaline buried it enough that it wouldn’t distract you - plus it was small enough that none of your team noticed. Now that you were back at base, though, the piercing sting prodded at your processor incessantly. You did want to go and see Ratchet about it - always finding some kind of excuse to be around the mech - but he was dealing with Bumblebee right now, and you didn’t want to add to his plate. Not like it was anything life-threatening, anyway. You could just try and patch it up yourself - you’ve spent enough time with Ratchet to pick up a few things yourself.

You stole a glance at said medic, who you only just noticed was looking right at you. Immediately you realized from the questioning look on his face, raised brow and all, he had probably caught both your reaction to Bulkhead bumping into you and the grimace you had made at your shoulder. Optimistic, you shook your head at him, giving the mech a meager thumbs-up and a “I'm-actually-totally-fine” smile. He gave you a hard stare, and your spark sank when he motioned you over with a flick of his digits. You begrudgingly made your way over to the medical bay. As you neared, Ratchet had already cleared Bumblebee and was shooing him out. The scout passed you, and your attention was focused on Ratchet waiting with a cocked helm and his ever-present RBF. Standing awkwardly under his gaze, almost scrutinizing, you huffed. Without a word, the red and white medic picked up his scanner, turning it on with a loud click and running the green laser over your frame.

“Really, doc - I’m fine. It’s nothing.” you tried, and failed, as he kept the device lingering at your shoulder. With a deadpan look covering his faceplate, he put the scanner down and placed his servos over your shoulder plating. You grit your denta to keep a pained hiss from leaving you, wincing when he felt around the frayed wiring.

“Nothing, huh?” you pouted at his scoff, his metal brows knitted together as he examined the shot that had barely missed doing any serious damage. “Sit.” he ordered, gesturing to the medical berth while he moved to grab some tools from a nearby counter. Embarrassment was settling in your chassis, but you did as you were told.

It technically didn’t take long to patch you up, but the old mech made it seem like eons to you with the way he was muttering about “some of the team having egos too big for their own good.” It only made the burn of embarrassment grow, and you ducked your head when he gave you a pointed look. Ratchet was nothing if not thorough in ensuring you knew when he disapproved of something.

Soon enough he finished up, giving the patched wound a once-over.

“Anything else you’re not telling me?” he questioned, the familiar lilt of sarcasm back in his tone. That at least steadied your nerves a little.

“No, sir.” you mocked, raising one of your servos in a half-assed salute.

He scowled, crossing his arms, “I’ll have Optimus enforce mandatory health checks every time you come back to base.”

Frantically shaking your helm, you raised both servos defensively, “Okay, okay!” you sputtered, “Won’t happen again.” His optics narrowed, giving you a hard stare, and you released a heavy sigh. “Promise.”

Ratchet debated it for a moment, still having half a mind to just assign the checks anyway, but as you kept your optics trained on his, the mech’s will buckled and he huffed a quick, “Good.”

You both were staring at each other for just a moment too long before Ratchet gave a quick cough. “Come back if the pain flares up again.” he waved you off as he made his way back to his usual spot at the terminal. You blinked, watching him walk off with a slightly heated face. Awkward. Hopping off the medical berth, you were careful not to irritate your shoulder and mess it up more than it already was. As you walked past Bumblebee he whirred to grab your attention. You paused, turning your head to him with a raised metal brow.

The scout chirped at you teasingly from where he sat, nodding his head way too obviously towards you and then Ratchet, who was already burying himself back in his work. Your optics widened, immediately narrowing into an offended glare as you jabbed a digit towards him.

A faint mechanical fwoosh greets your audials, and a soft purple light is cast through the open door for a brief moment before being blocked out by a large, spiked shadow. You don’t even make an attempt to look up as heavy footsteps, followed by a lighter pair, make their way to the center of the room where you hang. The chains that secure your arms above you chime against one another as you shift, grimacing at the twinge under your shoulder plating.

“How is our prisoner today, Knockout?”

The cherry red medic slowly waves a scanner over your frame, clear disgust setting onto his faceplates at your state - or more so the state of your finish, ever the most important thing on his processor. Your gaze narrows at the mech while he waits for the scan to process. You had never known of a cybertronian who could be so unapologetically self-absorbed.

Knockout hums and skims over the data pad, tone annoyingly peppy when he answers, “Besides some minor energon loss, I believe they’re capable of taking another session or two before their… expiration, my liege.”

“Good.” Megatron replies lowly, “You’re dismissed.”

As soon as you hear the door close, sharp digits grab your chin. The servo lifts your helm so that you look straight into the warlords blazing red optics. “You only have so much time before my patience runs thin, Autobot.” he threatens, “Where is your base?”

You return his gaze with steeled optics, “Doesn’ matter how many times you beat me,” your voice is littered with faint static as you speak, “‘m never tellin’ you.” Megatron glares at you, opening his intake to disregard your words; but before he can speak you raise your helm and spit at him, a small glob of energon splattering onto his chassis. His optics widen, a hilarious mix of disgust and anger shaping his features - in any other situation, you would’ve laughed.

His narrow optics flit to you before raising a digit and swiping the blue substance from his frame. He flicks it away, and your vision suddenly spins when his fist slams into the side of your helm. Your frame shudders and you grit your denta, trying to let the sharp pain roll off you.

“If you’d like to play dirty,” Megatron snarls into your audial, “then I would be more than happy to accommodate.”

//

Energon drips from your intake. You feel as if you had been thrown into a spiked pit, scratches and dents littering your frame. Megatron circles you, running a clawed digit along your form. The sound of screeching metal-on-metal makes you cringe, and you try to ignore the flaring pain it leaves in its wake over your already battered plating.

He drops his servo from your frame, moving in front of you to raise your helm once more. He says nothing, only glaring. You return his gaze, exhaustion clear, but he doesn’t miss the glint of challenge in your optics. Megatron isn’t an idiot - he knows your type, and he knows you meant what you said.

The warlord snarls, “If you refuse to tell me the location of your base,” he raises his servo. “Then I will at least take the opportunity to thin your ranks!” Panic floods you right before he swings down, claws ripping through your chassis; bright, blue energon splattering onto both of your frames.

You wail - hot, white pain overtaking your thoughts. You thrash and kick out, sending Megatron stumbling away from you - but all of your attention is locked onto the excruciating pain taking hold of your body. Optics blown wide, you can’t help but stare as energon spills from the four, deep gashes carved into your chassis.

You barely feel his servo grab your helm and violently shove it upwards, trying to force the last of your attention on him.

“You should have taken your chance.” He sneers, sharp denta glinting as his gaze bore into yours.

You can’t look back. Not with any real meaning behind it. The only thing you can process is the pure, unfiltered agony taking over your frame. It was spark-splitting, and you can do nothing but wallow in it as Megatron makes his way towards the exit; leaving you heaving as you bleed onto the floor from the chains that suspend you.

Not moments later, you feel the ship rumble. Blaster fire can be heard behind the door, and you feel a sliver of hope grow in your spark. Even if they can’t save you, at least you won’t spend your last moments alone on a Decepticon warship. However an explosion jolts your frame, twisting you at a particularly painful angle; you cry out, venting labored as you try to re-focus on the sounds outside - anything but lingering on the torment of your wounds.

The gunfire dies down, and you hear a shout. Their voice wasn’t familiar, but you didn’t particularly care at this point - as long as you were given a chance at escape, you couldn’t give less of a scrap about what faction, or lack of, the bot saving you aligned with.

The door slides open. With strained effort, you lift your helm just enough to see who it is. You tense up in apprehension - this isn’t anyone you know. They were slightly blurred to you, but from what you can make out their frame is silver and blue with two red stripes on the top of their helm, and comparatively smaller than most of your comrades. Whoever it is, they seem to freeze as soon as they lay their optics on your mangled, energon covered form.

You probably looked dead.

The bot runs out, and for a moment fear seizes you at the prospect that they thought you were already gone, and decided that a sparkless Autobot wasn’t worth their while. You try to call out, but you only irritate your wounds - your chassis throbs as your voice fizzles out into static. All you can manage is a whine as you curl in on yourself; only managing to lift your knees a few inches upwards.

Your venting stutters. Tears well up in your optics. Your frame begins to shake. 

A misstep had earned yourself a blast in your side when an energon scouting mission turned sour – it wasn’t exactly life-threatening, but it still hurt like the Pits. Smokescreen, who’d been assigned to go with you (and was promptly panicking), contacted Ratchet for a ground-bridge once you had both finished off the last of the Vehicons. Just because you were injured meant in no way that you couldn’t still blast the enemy halfway to the Allspark, right?

As soon as the two of you had gotten through the ground-bridge Ratchet patched you up, all the while chewing the both of you out for “unnecessarily engaging Decepticons on a mere scouting mission” and “putting yourselves at risk”. Once the old medic was sure that you were stable, he shooed the others away so that you could recharge.

Not that you were doing much of it.

You perk up at the sound of pedes making their way across the hangar, hoping it was a ‘bot you could actually have a conversation with. While you beyond respected him, small talk with Optimus Prime isn’t exactly what you would define as fun. Relief washes over your form as Smokescreen peeks his helm around the corner.

“Hey, Y/N? You still awake?” The mech not-so-quietly whispers. You shake your helm.

“No, I just have my optics online while I recharge.” You reply, mouth quirking into a smile.

He chuckles, bashfully glancing to the side as he lifts a servo to rest behind his neck cables, “Probably could’ve figured that one out myself, huh?”

“Probably.” You grin as he makes his way over to you, wincing a bit when you prop yourself up. The still-healing wound didn’t want to lose your attention, it seemed. “What’re you doing in here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be recharging?”

He shrugs, picking up one of Ratchets’ tools and aimlessly fiddling with it in his servos, “Couldn’t.”

One of your metal brows quirks up, but you brush his answer off. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have a hard time falling into recharge, having spent many lunar-cycles staying up with him until you were both worn out.

“How are you feeling, though? Ratchet said it would still hurt for a bit.” He nods to the covered gash in your side. When you look at the wound it seems to only hurt more, as if it was something sentient and knew it had your attention. You ex-vent.

“It hurts, yeah, but other than that I’m fine.” You answer, the corner of your mouth curving into a smile as you bump a fist against his shoulder plating, “C’mon, you know it takes more than a few ‘con scouts to get rid of me, Smokes!”

The mech swats your servo away, the smile that stretches across his faceplate making your spark flutter.

“Only because I was there to save your aft.” He taunts. The statement sends your optics rolling; but a laugh still bubbles up through your chassis. It was beyond tempting to shove him from where he sat, but you simply wave him off with a scoff and a flick at his armor. Once the laughing subsides, he perks up to look at you, “Seriously, though – you really did a number on those ‘cons. It was kind of cool.”

“Did you just compliment me?” Obvious mock surprise lines your tone as you lift a servo to the side of your helm, “My audials must be malfunctioning.” Smokescreen rolls his optics.

“Whatever, smartaft.” He shakes his helm, “I better get out of here, Ratchet will scrap me if I bug you for too long.”

Nervousness prickles through your chassis. Your wound still hurt, and you knew that if Smokescreen left you would be alone again, unable to recharge with thoughts running through your processor. You hated being left on your own.

When he pushes himself up, panic grips you - and without thinking you reach out with your servo to stop him.

Both your optics widen, and the mech shifts to look back at you, questioning optics searching your faceplate. Your servo is stilled on his forearm as you stare back at him. What were you thinking?! Yeah, go ahead and grab the mech without any warning; I’m sure that will make him want to stay!

“I’m sorry-“ You blurt out, snatching your servo away from him before you glance down. Embarrassment burns your faceplate, “I just- please, don’t leave me alone.”

His brows raise, and for a moment you think you over-stepped. Before you can say anything, though, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Alright, if you like my company that much I guess I could stay.” He lightheartedly teases. “But you’re taking the heat if Ratchet gets on my aft about this.” Your body relaxes as he sits back down, and you choose not to point it out when he shifts the chair closer to the medical berth.

Once he sits down, he guides his servo so that you’re able to climb onto his shoulder plating. You settle near his helm, leaning your own head against the warm metal as your mind spins, listening to the beat of his spark as he listened to your breath. Both of you were content to sit in eachothers company in silence, latching onto the last few minutes you had and milking it dry to the bone. Yes, you were content – but neither of you were anywhere near satisfied.

“It’s not fair.” He can sense the pain in your whisper of a voice, already strained as you struggle to keep your composure - a balancing act on a taut and frayed wire, ready to snap and drop you at any moment. The comfort that only Optimus can give washes over you, desperation melded into his reassurance.

“Yes, I know, but we have no control over it.” He speaks quietly, the low rumble of his voice keeping you in the moment. Keeping you grounded with him. “I will always be with you no matter the circumstance – you know that, right?” Your throat tightens at that. All you give is a broken hum of agreement, pressing yourself further into the crevice between his shoulder plates and neck cabling, as if everything would just stop if you only hid deep enough.

He feels you trembling, hears your sniffles and stuttered breathing. He washes his E.M. field over you once more, wrapping you in its heavy blanket of warmth, love, and reassurance. He can’t rely on his own words right now. It would likely only make things harder.

When someone calls for Optimus, the both of you tense. He sighs. You know it's time. He brings his servo up to his shoulder. You stare at it, stomach churning into knots as you tentatively step onto it, as if it was your first time ever interacting with him. His servo shifts, and you turn to look at his face, drinking in every detail you can - committing every paint chip, scratch, and seam to memory. You’re already choking up again at the slightest hint of a thought that you wouldn’t see him again. With shaky hands, you place them on either side of his helm – or at least try to – and he watches, bright blue optics holding something back, but you know not to ask.

“I love you.” You speak. He brings his other servo up to place a digit, with the utmost gentleness and care of any being in the universe, next to your head. Pressing one of your hands against it, you repress the urge to beg him once more to stay – to say that you could make them reconsider, to make them realize how wrong this was and how they were handing Earth over without a fuss, leaving them all to the mercy of the Decepticons. But you had already tried, and he refused to make matters with your governments worse by going directly against their wishes after they had provided the Autobots with a home for so long. A home which was about to be destroyed by its species’ own stupidity.

He nudges you, pulling you from your own mind. The fear in your eyes is clear as day to your partner, and it makes him feel all the more guilty. Though he still couldn’t tell you. No matter how much it hurt the both of you, it was for your and the rest of your planets’ sake.

“Everything will be alright, my spark.” He soothes. It at least settles your nerves; his voice having always acting as a sort of beacon for you when everything was too overwhelming.

“Optimus.” Ratchet’s voice has his comms crackle to life, “We are leaving in one hour, we need you up here.”

You watch as he returns the call, letting him know that he would join them in a moment. Once he closes the line, all he needs to do is look back at you and you’re tearing up. For his sake – and your own – you swallow it down, forcing you to compose yourself. This was it, and he didn’t need you sobbing like a child in his servos as his last memory of you before he left Earth.

“I’ll miss you.” You say, a gentle smile working its way onto your face as you rub a stray tear from your cheek, “Well, more than miss you, but you know I’m shitty with words.” He returns the smile, lifting you closer to nudge his helm against your head. The gesture made you melt, bumping your forehead against his with a soft laugh.

“We will see eachother again.” He promises.

Before you can even try to get yourself comfortable on the stiff furniture, heavy footsteps echo across the building. Well, if you can describe a forty-ton walking hunk of metal simply as ‘heavy’.

Angling your head back, you’re met with a set of blue optics looking back down on you. It takes you a moment to plaster on a slight smile, obvious fatigue dragging your brain.

“Hey.”

Optimus’ metal brow quirks upward, and for a moment you think you see slight concern glint the leaders face. But he simply nods to you, making his way to his designated station and busying himself with one of the terminals. One of the few moments of peace he gets, and he uses it to work.

You expected nothing less of him.

“So, where’s the rest of the crew? Bee said he’d take me with him for patrol.” You ask, settling deeper into the (very uncomfortable) couch. Usually you would be nervous talking to the prime, but you don’t particularly have the energy for it today.

“My apologies, but I’ve already sent Bumblebee on his patrol. He may not be back until later.” he answers distantly, mostly focused on the work in front of him, “However I do not think it’s wise for you to go with him either way, it may put you in danger – and you cannot exactly defend yourself from Decepticons.”

You frown, lowering your gaze. Alright, so the one thing you were looking forward to after your ultra-shitty day was just blown out the window. That’s fine. Who cares? Totally not you.

”(Y/N)? Are you alright?” Optimus’ voice shakes you out of your thoughts, making you glance up at the Autobot leader who was currently pausing his work- wasting his time to check on you.

Pushing another smile to your lips, you wave him off, “Yeah- yeah, I’m fine, dude. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” his blue gaze hardens, almost scrutinizingly, as if he could see straight through your words. Which, in all honesty, isn’t that hard to do when it comes to you. You’re more surprised to see that he’s choosing to linger on the topic.

Sighing, you already want to end the conversation before it goes any further, “Look, I just had a bad day, alright? Happens to people all the time - and you’ve got more important stuff to do than waste your time worrying about some stupid fucking human.”

Optimus stiffens, and you immediately regret opening your mouth at all. You go to apologize, but the cybertronian interrupts.

“(Y/N), your welfare is just as important to us. If I have made it seem otherwise-“

“No, you haven’t, that’s not- that’s not what I meant.” Guilt worms its way into your chest. “You’ve treated me fine and whatever, I’m just- not used to it, I guess? I don’t fuckin’ know-“ Now your voice is beginning to strain, and you duck your head to avoid Optimus’ piercing gaze - almost as if it would tear you in two you should you so much as glance at him. You hear him ex-vent, and the sound of metal clunking against the floor greets your ears, growing louder until you can safely assume that he’s standing close. Still you refuse to meet his gaze, muscles tense within your now hunched form. All the stress packed into your tiny, miserable body is evident.

“…Sorry.” You mumble.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for.” He speaks softly, the seemingly constant hum within it allowing your body to lose some of its tension.

“But there is.” You counter, dejected gaze finally meeting his face, “I always end up ruining shit for other people because I can’t just keep my damn mouth shut – I always waste people’s time.”

Silence engulfs the hangar. He places an open servo next to you. Hesitantly you climb into it, and the prime lifts you to his shoulder as he stands. You stumble onto it, having to grip the metal collar so you didn’t slip off as the metal giant makes his way out of the building. Warm desert air hits your face as the two of you step out.

cba to finish this properly but heres what happens

Just sits outside with you and neither of you say anything

Eventually he speaks up and hes like “I value you no matter what you think of yourself. I am here for you, and you could never waste my time.” Something along those lines, yk

You start crying a little bit but he doesn’t mind whatsoever, knows you’ve probably been bottling your shit up for a while and needed this

After a while (like ‘a couple hours’ while) he asks if you’re ready to go back inside

“Yeah, I think so.” You still feel like shit but he at least helped you open up about it

Before you both head back in though you tell him to wait and you’re kinda just like. “Uh, thanks… I really needed that.”