Revel

• Getting slid backwards on the berth, you know he tends to just do what he wants. “Don’t wake her up. Please,” you say anyway because she finally stopped raggedly mewling and you’re exhausted. Had taken you restlessly pacing while singing and rocking her to get to recharge. But he’s reaching anyway, big hands gathering your daughter up as you sigh. And she chirps uncertainly, chubby legs kicking as he wakes her.

• How did he make something so tiny and fragile? It has to be your influence. Because her spark is part human. Frowning as he holds the tiny sparkling up, she chirps louder and squirms in his grip. She’s soft like you, no real plating, yet. How will she inspire fear? How will she defend herself? “You have to support her head,” you say, frowning at him and hands up like you want to take the sparkling back. Venting against her to make her kick and clear her vents, his optics narrow as she warbles.

• “I know how to hold a sparkling,” he growls as your tiny daughter smacks a hand on his face. And he rumbles softly, one corner of his mouth twitching as she chirps shrilly. Shoulders hunching, you know what’s coming as her face scrunches up. Before she’s screaming unhappily in his face. Listening to him chuckle, he brings your daughter closer and brushes his face against her as she wails. Don’t even have time to warn him before she bites and you see the surprise flash across his features before he slowly smiles.

• Smiling when his head brushes yours, he vents softly. “We can move more freely once the wall is done,” he says and you blow out a breath. ‘I know.’ Has to be frustrating to have to sneak around. And the fence will either give your nosy neighbor a stroke or just offend her that she can’t spy on you anymore. “Go recharge,” he insists, servos wrapping around your upper arms. His touch lingering there.

• It’s tempting to just pick you up and carry you inside. Up the stairs and to your bed. Instead, he takes a step back, makes himself let go. You’re protecting them, giving them a safe space away from the Nemesis, a place where they can relax. Don’t have to be on constant guard. And you treat them like people. That alone means more than he can ever repay when other Cybertronians treat them like objects to use and throw away. “Go,” he insists and you give him a bemused look, but let yourself into the house.

• He’s just standing there as you close the door and turn towards the stairs. A part of you is aware that you probably shouldn’t be as okay with all of this as you are. That you should be concerned by the fact that you have a yard full of aliens. Giant, transforming aliens that are in hiding. Because whatever is bad enough to make them need to hide is probably something you should be worried about. And more of them show up every day. Like your place is a designated alien sanctuary.

• Clearing his vents, he turns back toward the others. There’s work to do, but this is work he chose to do and that’s a strange feeling. To realize that he decided to do something. No one gave him an order. Had he ever made any decision on his own outside of those needed to follow orders before? It’s something he’s never thought about, but it bothers him now. Because he’s not a mindless automaton. Has to be more than that. Can make his own choices. Needs to believe he can choose his own path.

• Still doesn’t understand how that strange covering will keep you from falling to your death. Venting softly, he pushes to his peds as you look back at him, the wind playing with your hair. “Catch me,” you say. There’s a look in your eyes that spins him tight. Something wild and joyous that echoes through him, that feels familiar. And you turn, feet running as you leap. Throwing yourself into space. Transforming, he launches himself off the ship after you, arrowing after your small form. Had explained that you couldn’t fly, but you could glide. Could control your fall. For the most part.

• Arms and legs spreading as the wind whips you and stings your eyes until tears blind you, your heart races. That familiar rush you crave has you grinning like a lunatic. Never jumped from this high without a chute. Know how dangerous this is. But also that he’ll catch you. Head turning, you almost spin yourself end over end trying to find him. And there he is, massive wings spreading to slow himself and claws reaching for you. Tucking your arms against yourself, you speed away from him. Making him chase you.

• Growling as you try to elude him, he tucks his wings and spirals around you. How can you be so fearless? Claws reaching, you meet his optics, your own eyes wide. Your arms stretch, fingertips touching his claws. Catching you, his wings spread to slow himself. Can feel your heart pounding against his claws as you laugh. Delighting in the danger, in the joy of flying. Understands this rush, but he’s surprised that you do when your fragile body was never meant for this. Wings flapping lazily as he hangs there, he tucks you against his chassis and pulls his wings in. Free falling.

• Looking up when you spot movement, you smile at your assigned mech walking over. Even as he holds his hands out, vaguely gesturing at you to make your brows lift. “What?” You ask tiredly, knowing him and knowing how weird he can sometimes be with his strange preconceived ideas. You’re pretty sure this trip was his idea. He’s definitely whined the loudest about it. Going on about camaraderie and sexual tension. ‘Why are you dressed like my holomatter avatar?’ He finally asks, looking so miserable you almost laugh. Guessing he wasn’t expecting the loud, Hawaiian shirt and shorts. “I’ve had sun poisoning before and it’s a hard pass,” you say, attention dropping back to your book.

• “Don’t you want to at least frolick in the waves?” He asks weakly, gesturing at the ocean and your brows lift as another caretaker snorts. ‘No, but you go ahead and I’ll make sure to watch.’ And he’s just staring at you as you stare back. ‘I’ll even record you if you want,’ you add and he just slumps down into his knees. Before slowly and dramatically collapsing with his face in your lap. Whatever he groans is muffled against your thigh. ‘Swerve,’ you sigh as he clears his vents.

• It feels like an obscenity. Like a betrayal. You’re not only wearing that, but you’re not even going to play in the ocean and get wet so your clothes cling distractingly to you? Feels one of your hands rubbing his helm as he lays there. “If it means so much to you, I’ll go get in the ocean with you. Knee deep,” you say and his head lifts enough to see your face. ‘Shoulder deep,’ he counters and your brow furrows. ‘Knee deep isn’t really swimming. It’s a beach cop out,’ he tries and you press your lips into a thin line, but slowly nod even though your expression says that you don’t believe him.

• How can you be sick? There are only two other humans even on Delphi and you’re rarely ever around them, so how could you pick up a bug? Definitely feels like you’re sick, though. Full body ache, pounding head, shivering and sweating at the same time. And you feel First Aid nudge you in the butt with a servo. “You can’t sleep all day,” he says and you almost regret that you can understand each other now. Mostly because you can’t tell him to go away without hurting his feelings.

• Nudging the lump that’s you under the blanket, he clears his vents when you smack at his servo. But you finally sit up, hair in disarray and expression tired. And he goes still as you rub at an eye with the heel of your palm and don’t smile. Don’t laugh and ask for five more minutes. Reaching for you, his servos brush your arms and you lean back with a frown. “That’s cheating,” you mutter as he tries to mine your weak field. ‘Then talk to me,’ he says reaching for his scanner, sharing a meal forgotten.

• “It’s just a cold.” Probably. Leaning back when he tries to pass the scanner over you, no matter how many times he insists that the thing is safe, you can’t help but wonder if he’s irradiating you when the the light plays over you. And he’s frowning at the screen as the servos of his other hand cup against your side. ‘Your body temperature is actually elevated,’ he mutters and your mouth opens and closes. Too tired to figure out how to explain that a cold can mean temperature or being sick.

• Looking around as his plating lifts slightly, he doesn’t like how exposed he is right now. “Stay close,” he growls when you start to wander away. Wants you within grabbing range if he needs to bail suddenly. Especially since he can’t properly fight while worrying about you. And he rumbles when he hears tires and sees headlights. That at least spooks you into moving closer to his ped. ‘What are we doing out here?’ You ask suspiciously and he ignores you to watch the van driving closer.

• Know the exact nature of your relationship with him can be a bit confusing, but if he’s trying to trade you for energon or intel, you’re going to be mad. Especially since that’s a GHOST vehicle. But then van comes apart, transforming and you realize it’s one of them. One smaller than he is. And her expression brightens when she spots him and you wrap your arms around yourself, unsure if you should be jealous or not. “Hashtag-” He begins right as the femme notices you and she squeals. Startled, you’re almost falling in your panicked attempt to not get grabbed when she crouches suddenly and starts babbling. Asking you your name, how you met Starscream, if you like cat videos, if you like Starscream, how old you are. Making you realize this is a kid. A big, alien kid.

• “Hashtag,” he growls and the Terran makes a face, but stops bombarding you with nonsense. Staring at her to make sure she’s not going to cut him off, he introduces you and uses the side of his ped to gently nudge you. Because you’re just gawking. ‘Is this your kid?’ You ask slowly and Hashtag makes a noise, hands over her mouth and smiling in delight. “No,” he mutters even as Hashtag tells you that she calls him Dad 2. And he vents in aggravation as you bite your lip, brows lifting. “No,” he repeats as you look at Hashtag and the femme shrugs, a hand wobbling back and forth in the air in a sort of gesture.

• You look up at him, eyes wide, grinning, and out of breath and he knows you understand. That you feel it, too. That sense of connection and kinship. The rush of excitement that comes with speed. Knows a lot of the other Autobots don’t get it. Think he’s immature. Irresponsible. But he only feels truly alive when he’s pushing himself to his limits. “When you banked back there,” you say, the words fast and breathless. “I thought we might wreck. We were flying,” you add with laughter in your voice. ‘Close to it,’ he says, easing down to sit on the warm sand.

• Aware of him watching you walk down to let the water rush in around your ankles, your heart is still hammering. Your hands trembling with adrenaline. You’ve always loved thrills. Ziplines and roller coasters. Speed. That moment when fear and exhilaration are both tangled together so thoroughly that you can’t tell one from the other. When he lets loose, you get that same heady rush. Sitting and then flopping back in the sand, he plants a hand beside you, leaning to cast you in his shadow. “I didn’t scare you, did I?” He asks, starting a laugh out of you. ‘I’ve never been more scared in my life,’ you tell him and he frowns, expression shuttering.

• “I loved it,” you add and he hesitates. ‘Being scared?’ He asks and you laugh at his expression. “Blurrberry, horror movies and haunted houses exist for a reason. You’re just lucky I’m an adrenaline junkie,” you tell him and his optics study you as you lay there breathing raggedly. Blurrberry? Puzzled, he slowly vents and stills when he catches the shift in your scent. ‘Fear revs your engines?’ He asks and you snort. “Humans can be wired pretty weird,” you answer as he smiles despite himself. “But yeah.” You really do understand him then, because his frame is hot, fans cycling. Revved up just like you are.

• “No, I distinctly remember that law being amended,” he says and you huff out a breath, your expression giving away that you’re trying your hardest to not laugh. “Something about it not applying to Primes,” he adds, walking with you. Likes the feel of your small frame in his hands, the warmth of you. That he can feel the beat of your heart and the illicit hum of your weak field buzzing against him. ‘That so?’ You ask, tone teasing and he nods solemnly.

• “I’m afraid so,” he says and you smooth a hand against his chassis, wondering where he’s carrying you. Not that it matters. You know you’re safe with him. “If you’d paid your conjunx tax, you might have been safe.” Conjunx? ‘Yeah, I don’t really feel that worried,’ you counter as you wonder about the alien word. ‘But if I wanted to pay the tax?’ You ask and he rumbles softly, optics flicking down to you and you can barely see the ghost of his inner workings focusing on you behind the lens.

• Lifting you higher, his mask retracts. “I can’t stop you from making a payment, though interest has accrued,” he says, spark thrumming faster as you eye him. Before laying your small hands on his face and leaning up to press a kiss against his lip. Against his cheek. His chin. The corner of his mouth. Venting softly as you give him a look that’s pure challenge, he tries to keep his expression serious. Barely shaking his head slightly as you snort at him, he cups his hands around you. Needing to feel the rapid beat of your heart. “You’re still short.”

• It’s quieter like this somehow. Or maybe he’s just more aware of the world around him at this size. Can hear birds in the trees, the wind rustling through the leaves, and insects in the tall grass. It’s strange to feel more at home on an alien world than he ever felt back home, but your world is alive in a way that he’s not sure Cybertron ever was even before the war. Everywhere he looks, there’s life. Watching you toy with the flowers, your eyes fascinate him. How had he never noticed those striations and flecks of color in your irises before? “Is it bad that I hope none of the big minds can figure out how to undo this?” He asks and you meet his visored optics, your expression surprised.

• “You don’t want to go back to normal?” You ask, frowning. Because that’s all the rest of them seem to care about. You’re pretty sure they hate being small. Especially smaller than humans. You imagine it has to feel particularly vulnerable to them. That it can’t be a pleasant feeling. ‘I think it would be better for your world if we didn’t,’ he says with a surprisingly human shrug. And it reminds you that the truce is a fragile thing. That it’s reliant on keeping both factions separate and preoccupied with literally anything besides plotting and scheming.

• Though, if he did go back to normal, he could hold you in his hands again. He could mass shift to be closer to your size. Tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. Let his servos linger on the curve of your cheek. Startling when you reach for him and pull him to you, your fingertips smooth over his helm. Can feel your heart beating against him, the rise and fall of your chest. Alien things that are still so familiar after being around you so much. “What about you, though? Don’t you miss being big?”

• Studying your faint smile, you meet his optics before looking away. “Everything okay?” He asks and you shrug. ‘It’s just me. I get kind of melancholy on my birthday,’ you reply, drawing your legs up against yourself and wrapping your arms around them. Does that mean it’s your creation day? Or is this the day you procreated life? A birthing day? Puzzled, he rumbles. ‘Do you guys celebrate birthdays?’ You ask and he slowly shakes his head.

• “Yeah, my family doesn’t either,” you admit, relaxing with his calming presence right there. At one point celebrating alone had bothered you, but not anymore. Mostly. “We don’t even do birthday cards.” He rumbles softly and you suspect that a lot of what you’re saying is probably getting lost in translation. And his expression is mostly confused when you glance up at him. Smiling when his servo brushes your shoulder, you lean into his touch. “I know where there are some baby geese,” you say and his wings lift.

• Cupping his hands when you grab his servos and climb into his palm, he slowly stands with you cradled against his chassis. “Happy birthing day,” he says feeling like he should say something and your nose wrinkles. ‘Just birthday,’ you correct. ‘Birthing day is weird. Like you’re saying I just gave birth.’ So it does mean your creation day. Staring at your small form in his hands, he wonders how old you are. How long humans live. Doesn’t really know much about your species at all and it bothers him. “So humans do have live births? You don’t lay eggs?”

• Furious as he withdraws deeper into himself, he resents that sense of connection. That he can feel your disappointment that he refuses to acknowledge your attempts to summon him. Like you don’t understand that in sealing him, you doomed his people. That he was meant to lead. To save his kind by claiming this world as their new home. Instead he’d failed. Was captured. But that doesn’t mean he’ll bow to your will. “We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” you say and he rumbles in irritation. Why do you insist on talking to him? Never responds or acknowledges you.

• The others had eventually come around for the most part. Some very grudgingly. But he won’t even speak to you. That proud and angry about being captured. Understand what he was trying to do, that he thought he was saving his people. It’s just that he’d been certain that coexistence wasn’t possible. At all. Hadn’t even wanted to try. Can’t really understand that callous instinct to just try to preemptively wipe out humanity. “We could have worked together. We still can,” you whisper and the metal breath sparks warningly. And none of your other bots wants to go into the metal breath now because of his hostility. He’s been nothing but trouble since you first saw him.

• What do you know? Nothing. You’re just some soft, weak organic. That he’s bound to. It’s infuriating. “You could at least come out and stop sulking like a baby,” you mutter and his rumbling roughens. “I mean, it’s kind of pathetic, really. And you’re not exactly accomplishing anything by hiding.” Hiding? Feels your fingertips ghost over the surface of the metal breath, feels that pull whisper through him as you try to summon his card again. Do you feel so confident that he’s leashed that you think you can insult him without consequence?

• Inhaling slowly as you focus, you expect him to lash out again. To singe your synapses and your fingertips. But the hum gathers, growing until you feel the card materialize. Eyes opening as you stare at it, you start to smile. Right up until he unseals and his peds thump down far too close as your neck cranes. Had forgotten how big he was and now his optics are narrowing angrily as he stares at you and your mouth goes dry. “You can’t hurt me,” you blurt, even though you know that’s not exactly true. And his angry rumbling fills the air as your skin prickles. Had wanted him to come out and now that he has, you have no idea what to do with him.

More screencaps I grabbed trying to find one of him I liked

• Brightening because you remembered his name, he spreads his hands. “Oh, me? Yeah, I mean it was a day, you know? How about you? Doing good?” He asks, pretending you’d smiled and said hello. Asked him about his day. And your eyes narrow as he gestures at an aisle and pretends to browse for something to buy. The day before he’d grabbed a candy bar and you’d stared him down until he’d gotten so flustered he’d taken a bite, wrapper and all. Had purged for a joor after, that weird, melty stuff clogging his lines and souring his tank. “Right?” He calls out like you’d answered. “We do need to hang out sometime. A date?”

• Struggling to keep your over it poker face in full force, you wait until he looks your way and then you roll your eyes. “Not happening,” you say and he shrugs. ‘Intimidated by my ruggedly handsome features?’ He teases and you have to bite into the inside of your cheek to not laugh. “I’m not helping you stay on earth.” Because as cute as he is, you know that’s his game. He’s looking for a conjunx and a fake marriage isn’t on your to do list. “Find a different sucker,” you say and he presses his hand to his chassis like you’ve mortally wounded him.

• “This right here? This rapport we have going? It’s meant to be,” he says and you snort. Which is almost a laugh. Grinning he watches you shake your head at him. ‘Buy something or get out,’ you repeat and he shrugs, grabbing the nearest item. Been just subspacing whatever he buys so he can linger a little longer. Get a few more kliks worth of time to flirt and win you over. Or just wear you down until you agree out of exhaustion. He’s good with either, because he’s decided on you. “So about that date,” he says, dropping the little box on the counter and leaning into your space with his best smile.

Soft AU- Heat

Heatwave x Reader

• Primus, give him strength. Had been against this. Against being reduced to a glorified lawn sprinkler for a bunch of overheating humans, but then you’d asked while wearing next to nothing with your sweat-slick skin on display and his resolve had failed him completely. It’s embarrassing how quickly he’d caved. Staring at you stretched out on a lawn chair as he keeps up a steady, gentle rain for you and the other little humans, he shifts uncomfortably. Staring at that thin material that’s hiding all your mysteries. Plating heating from more than just the sun, he rumbles irritably.

• Relaxed as the cool water swings lazily over you and the others hanging out on the lawn, you rest your chin on an arm while you lay on your front. Glancing over at your assigned mech, he’s staring right at you, those optics intense when you meet them. Flustered, you look away. Uncomfortably aware of him when he looks at you like that. Like he’s starving and has his alien spark set on you. And you’ve flirted with him from time to time. Like his gruff humor and how blunt he can be, but you’ve yet to cross that line.

• Rumbling as you turn away, his fans cycle on. He’s tried being good. He’s been patient. Wanted you to come to him. Seek him out. But patience has never been his strong suit. And right now? You’re trying him when he’s dying to smooth his hands over you like you do him when you’re washing him. Keeps coming back even though every time it gets harder to keep his hands to himself when your own hands are all over him. It’s like you’re trying to see how far you can push before he loses control.

• Know a few of your coworkers have been sampling the exotic fare, though. Have heard the whispers. The rumors. Sneaking another glance at him, he’s still staring at you as he lazily swings his arm to keep the water raining down on everyone. As you watch, his optics narrow and his lip lifts to show his denta as he deliberately mimes biting. Flushing, you look away and you hear him chuckle. What was that? A threat? It feels like a threat as a shiver of heat and interest lift through you.

• “I’m not,” you answer, still smiling. Can understand needing a little space. Some quiet. And he also knows being surrounded by the noise and chatter of others can sometimes be shockingly lonely. ‘Lot of other humans in that dorm,’ he says, making it not quite a question as you stretch. “Yeah. I’ve never been great at dealing with people,” you admit, meeting his optics and quickly looking away. ‘I can go,’ he offers and you look up. “You don’t have to.”

• Hadn’t meant him. It’s just the other caretakers sometimes are a lot. Laughing and arguing until you feel disconnected by the noise, unable to focus. Overwhelmed by the chatter until it feels like you can’t think. Like you’re drowning in the sound of their voices and can’t hear your own. “Alright,” he says, leaning against the building as his optics study you before sliding to the horizon. “But if I’m annoying you, just tell me. I can take it.” Huffing out a laugh, you meet his optics and he faintly smiles as he drapes an arm against the roof. And you’re struck by how big he is. How small you are. That the odds of this friendship were never in your favor. ‘We’re friends, right?’ You ask suddenly.

• Friends. Spark aching because he wants more and knows he shouldn’t, he smiles ruefully. “We’re friends,” he agrees tiredly, reaching to carefully touch the top of your head with a servo. Warmth spreads through him as you smile in answer and lay a small hand on his servo. What would you say if he told you that he doesn’t want to be just friends? That the way he feels about you is more than that? Wishes he knew what you thought of him. What he is to you. You’re here courting him, caring for him, so he’d thought maybe you wanted more, too. Wanted a conjunx. But what if he’s wrong? What if he’s missing something important?