Breakdown

Breakdown is so big and tough, I just know there’s that part of him that wants to treated gently. Like he’s something fragile and worthy of paying attention too. Oough, I just need Knockout to talk dirty to him… tell him everything he wants to do to him in detail before doing it. About how he wants to stretch him wide and big, before pumping him full of transfluid. How he’s gonna eat him out until he’s crying and pleading out Knockout’s name, licking up every last drop Breakdown can give before he’s utterly dry. Praising him about how he’s such a good boy who needs to be taken care of. Let him be the pillow princess he deserves to be!

And I know Breakdown would try and please him back, but Knockout would stop him. He says “there is plenty of time to make this about me. But right now, this is about you.” Because honestly, I think apart of Knockout would feel bad for not tending to his partner’s needs. After all, he IS a doctor. So he acts a little possessive in bed. Not exactly a bad way but it’s clear that BD isn’t sure if he’s completely wanted and that idea scares the shit out of Knockout. So he just needs to give a little reminder of who he belongs to <333

Because it’s not that he didn’t care. It of Breakdown he loved—his spark, his presence, his personhood—was already gone. The frame? The finish? The bulk and shine Knockout used to brag about? That wasn’t Breakdown anymore.

And that’s what makes it so interesting. Knockout, who’s obsessed with looks, who literally catcalled other bots using Breakdown as the gold standard (“You’re real heavy-duty, just like my friend here” to Optimus / “You’re no Breakdown, but I’ve always admired your lustrous finish” to Starscream)—he doesn’t even flinch when that same body is desecrated.

Because he never loved Breakdown for his armor or frame. He loved him for his spark. So when that spark was gone, the body was just… parts. Just metal. Just another slab on the table. And Knockout, medic that he is, defaulted to what he knows: detachment, sarcasm, control. And Knockout knows how to handle parts and metal too. That’s his job. He didn’t flinch because flinching would mean admitting that Breakdown was really gone.

“Not really” wasn’t coldness. It was grief, buried under ten layers of polish and pride.

Anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for letting me spiral about robot grief on the main.