Revel

• Rumbling as he keeps making the face that you’ve used against him so many times, he knows you’re going to agree. That you’re as susceptible to your human warfare as he is. Maybe if he made the sad noises Buster makes that would give you the final nudge you need? Trying it, he has to fight the urge to grin when you mutter under your breath. “Okay. Okay,” you grumble. Just like that? ‘I can go?’ He asks.

• Throwing up your hands in exasperation, you make a face. Because really, it’s not like anyone could stop him if he’s really determined to drop in on your college classes. And at least with him there, you won’t feel like everyone is staring at you since you’re a bit older than your classmates. Giant, alien robot has to beat adult learner in terms of gossip potential. “Sure,” you mutter and you suck in a breath when he mass shifts, grabs you around the waist, and spins you around.

• Grinning as you hang there staring at him, he pulls you in closer, venting to pull your familiar scent deep. “Am I being too clingy? You can tell me if I am. If you’d rather have class time be time away from me,” he says, immediately feeling guilty and you reach up to cup his cheek in your hand. ‘I love our time together. There’s just a possibility that you’re going to give my professor a stroke. The man is seriously ancient,’ you say, smiling.

• “I thought you didn’t really like this human?” He asks and you wrinkle your nose. ‘I don’t, but he is still a human being,’ you mutter with a shrug and his head nudges yours, the warm air from his venting fanning over you. Face tipping up, your mouth slides against his and when he growls, it rumbles through you. ‘Now, my chem professor? I’m not sure he’s human, because nobody delights that much in calling a student out for an incorrect answer. Him you can scare.’

• “Different in what way?” He asks slowly, wondering if you like it here or if you miss other humans, having your human things. ‘It’s peaceful. I feel like I can breathe,’ you answer, a shoulder lifting in a shrug and he relaxes. Can’t help but expect that eventually you’ll ask him to take you back. That this place isn’t suitable for humans. Isn’t enough. That he won’t be enough.

• “It’s yours as long as you want it to be,” he replies and you smile at how serious he sounds. ‘What if I never wanted to leave?’ You ask, looking up at him and he glances at you, his optics studying you. ‘What if you grow tired of me?’ Hate that insecure voice in the back of your head that whispers that he will. That you’re always too much. That you’re fun until people really get to know you and then they drift away.

• “What if you grow tired of me?” He counters and you make a face. “I’m blunt. I can be too intense. Quick to lose my temper,” he adds and you lean over to rest your head against his arm. ‘Well, I second guess everything and sabotage myself and my relationships,’ you tell him and he smiles faintly. “Sounds like we’re meant to be.” Rumbling as you huff out a soft laugh, he studies the storm outside the shelter.

• “Do you think this can really work? Long term?” You ask and he clears his vents. ‘I want it to,’ he says to make you smile, because it’s what you want to hear. That he wants you here. Wants to try to make this work. “Me, too,” you admit as thunder rumbles in the distance. Never really had a relationship like this. One where there were no expectations, no demands. Where you could just be you and you wouldn’t be judged. And you don’t want to lose this.

• Shrugging as he reaches to take the collar, he holds it up, imagining it on you. “Hey, to each their own freaky, little need,” he says and you wrinkle your nose at him. “Want to try it on for me?” He coaxes and you snort. ‘No, but I could put it on you,’ you counter and he grins. ‘Not that I want to put a collar and leash on you,’ you add quickly and his smile widens at how flustered you are. “No, no. Let’s play this one out,” he says, holding the collar against the mesh of his neck.

• His expression is a dare. Taunting you to play along. Flustered as you meet his optics, your own eyes narrow. Because you know he’s just messing with you out of boredom. If you push back, he’ll likely cave immediately. Turning, you grab his chassis and swing up to straddle the mass displaced mech’s lap, reaching to buckle the collar. “Actually, pinks looks pretty good on you,” you admit as he stares, that smile still in place. “I’m not calling you baby girl, though. It’s weird.”

• “What do you want to call me?” He asks, resting his hands on your waist so you can’t just slide out of his lap and run. And you meet his optics even though he can tell you’re embarrassed. That you thought you could tease him without repercussions. “Hang on. We need a leash for authenticity.” Hooking an arm around you to press you against his chassis, he leans to find a leash and straightening, grabs your hand and presses the leash into it. Grinning when you slowly clip it into place and wrap the end around your hand, he waits.

• “Ah,” he murmurs, doing what you’re doing to try and help. “So the objective is to build a base?” And you’re smiling when he glances over. ‘We could play in creative mode and that would be the objective, but right now, the goal is to survive. We need a house before dark for that,’ you reply and he clears his vents. ‘Is that an enemy?’ He asks and your avatar turns around. “Nope. That’s dinner.” Servos stilling on the rigged together controller, he stares as your character runs over to the blocky depiction of an animal. To punch it to death.

• He’s silent as you drop meat for him and eat your own. “Eat your hamburger or you’ll starve,” you say since you’re pretty sure that’s the issue here. ‘That’s where hamburgers come from?’ He asks and you snort, trying not to laugh at the horror in his voice. “Well, I mean, sort of? We don’t normally run up and punch the cows to death, but it is ground up beef.” Yeah, you’re horrifying him, you’re pretty sure. ‘I didn’t realize humans were predators,’ he murmurs.

• “We’re omnivores,” you reply, a shoulder lifting in a shrug. Rumbling as he resumes punching square trees, he notices movement and turns. ‘Who is that? A friend?’ He asks. It’s shaped sort of like the player characters, but its face looks strange. More detailed. And you turn your character to look, before grimacing. “Ah, no. Stop staring at him or he’s going to come over here,” you say, frowning. “That’s from a mod I’d downloaded and forgot about, but he’s really stabby.” Stabby?

• Why is he still looking? But you realize it’s too late as the Knocker bum rushes him. “What do I do?” He asks, freezing. ‘Run!’ Laughing at him as he runs from the horror mod, you yelp when a taller figure in a hat and long black coat blips into existence far too close. Oh, yeah. You’d installed a few of these in this world, hadn’t you? Running away, you’re still laughing as you hear him swap to Cybertronian. And you’re pretty sure he might be swearing as his player character gets killed.

Previous

• Grimacing as you abruptly go limp in his servos, he vents. What’s he supposed to do now? You’re just limp in his servos. “Well, that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it?” He mutters to himself as he turns with you. And his plating lifts because there’s another human right there staring, because of course there is. “You didn’t see nothing, right?” He asks, not even surprised when the human slowly pulls out a phone and starts recording him.

• And yeah, okay. Maybe this does look a little bad. “I’m going to need you to give me that,” he growls, forcing a friendly smile as he shifts you into one hand and reaches out the other. Venting noisily when the human lowers their phone and runs away, all four of his optics narrow. Why did he expect anything else? “Oi, that’s not going to come back to bite me, I’m sure,” he mutters, watching the human sprinting.

• Adjusting you in his grip, he studies you. Months of watching you and learning your habits makes it feel like he almost knows you even though he’s never said a word to you. Venting as his lips quirk, he tries to figure out his next move. And it’s a lot easier to steal things. Less complicated. “You know, you don’t really look like a thief. And I know something about thieves,” he mutters to you. “But your ex is offering a lot for your return.”

• “Makes me wonder why,” he says as he holds you up and your head lolls forward. “I’m hoping you might be able to fill me in on that part, because things aren’t adding up.” Can feel your heart beating against his servos as he examines you. “So if you could just wake up? Preferably without screaming?”

• And he’s chasing you. Face heating, you move a little faster as you round a corner. What’s he want now? Does he just delight in messing with you? He has to have something better to do. Like writing raunchy smut of you and him apparently. Shouldn’t be thinking about that. Shouldn’t be curious at all. Why is he still following you? Is he walking faster? Catching his optic, he smirks at you and your heart goes racing.

• You look back to nervously meet his optics and that heat shivers through him to make his plating feel restrictive. Rumbling as he tracks you, he chuckles when you almost run into another human. Servos flexing, writing out his fantasy is one thing, but he wants more. Wants the real thing. Following you around a corner, his lips curl when you end up cornering yourself in a dead end. “Why are you chasing me?” You demand, chin lifting.

• Backing up as he chuckles, you tense when he mass shifts suddenly to make your skin prickle. “I thought you were curious about what I was writing?” He growls and his deep voice sinks into you. “Perhaps you could go over it with me. Lend your human perspective.” Flustered as he approaches and you back up, your back hits the fence and you tense. “We could act out a few scenes I’m having trouble with.”

• Venting to pull your scent deep, he smirks at how flustered you look. “What kind of scenes?” You ask, voice shaky and he steps closer, resting his hand on the fence by your head. Rumbling as he leans into your space, his lips twitch. ‘I’m having some trouble with how the love interest would react to something like this,’ he growls, refusing to be embarrassed. Free hand resting on your hip to tug you into his frame, his head lowers so his lips can brush your ear and you shiver against him. ‘What do you think should happen next?’

• “I just needed some quiet,” you say and he hesitates, starting to get back up, but then you’re laying a hand on his servo. “You don’t have to go,” you add as he stares down at you. Venting softly, he relaxes again, but he can’t tear his optics away from your tiny hand on his. Rumbling in surprise when you slowly lean to rest your head against his arm, he still can’t believe he’d fought so hard against you sealing him. Had thought it would be a shackle, that he’d lose his sense of self. His free will.

• “I know I should be able to get over this,” you say, inhaling slowly. Know it was a pet, not a person, but you keep thinking about it. And you startle when he mass shifts, an arm slowly curling around you to tuck you into his side. ‘You’re allowed to take as much time as you need,’ he says and you smile despite yourself. Can feel the faint thrum of his internal systems spilling into you, the sensation familiar and welcome.

• You’re silent, cheek resting against him and he vents softly. “Did the others make you feel like you shouldn’t be upset?” He asks and you go still. ‘It’s not like that,’ you finally say, but that silence was telling. Makes him wonder if Mega Trucker had scoffed at you. Said something off hand without considering how you’d take it. Knows the others wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, but sometimes a couple of them don’t think about how the things they say might come across.

• Head lowering, his face brushes against the lump of blankets as he vents and rumbles. Feels you squirm and hears your indignant chirping before a tiny hand lands on his face. Trying to push him away. Clearing his vents hard as he nuzzles more firmly against you, your head finally pops out of your blankets, hair a mess. Head tilting, he watches you gather your blankets while chirping at him and wagging a tiny finger. Fussing at him. Amused, he wonders if you realize that anyone else would die for that. Brutally.

• Glowering up at the massive alien mech as he growls nonsense, you try to fix your bedding to where it’s somewhat comfortable again and he keeps growling at you. Caving when you hear the crinkle of plastic, you look over at him and just stare. Because that’s a fruit basket. Where did he get a fruit basket from? Pushing to your feet, you walk closer as he rumbles and dangles it out of reach. Had tried charades with him to try and make him understand you’re sentient, but he either doesn’t care or you’re awful at acting out words.

• Wiggling the treat basket, he’d been told that getting through the inedible plastic to the food inside was excellent enrichment for your kind. And you reach up your hands, fingers wiggling as you chirp. Obviously wanting the treat. Leaning an arm against his berth, he pinches the treat container by the top and slides it tantalizingly around. Trying to get you to play. To hunt. Moving it closer and then sliding it away, you turn to stare up at him, chirping softer.

• Wings angling as he climbs slightly, Jetfire pings his twin. The familiar sensation of his awareness expanding as Jetstorm syncs in spills through him and its so hard to remember that there was a time before when they’d not been so interconnected, now unable to survive without each other. Any time he thinks about before they were combiners, his processor goes sideways and anxiety blindsides him so he tries to not remember. “Need pickup line,” he says across the secure channel. “Very convincing one.”

• Humming to himself as he does a roll that makes a car honk at him and swerve, Jetstorm clears his vents and tries to remember the human videos they’ve been studying. “Could ask to rizz?” He asks and Jetfire wobbles his frame from side to side in the air. ‘So begging?’ Jetfire asks and he almost laughs. “Might say yes.” Feeling Jetfire’s thoughts sinking into him, he knows his twin is going to agree. ‘Might.’

• Startling at the whoop of a siren, you glance at your mirror and shoulders hunch when you spot the cop car. Because you weren’t speeding. Meaning the alien jets right on your bumper are the problem. You can’t get in trouble because of them, right? Especially if you’re not doing anything wrong. Signaling, you pull over and park. And your two hopeful, alien beaus are transforming and landing between your car and the cop. Without mass shifting. So they’re looming.

• Crouching slightly to see, the human in the law enforcement vehicle gapes at them through his windshield and Jetfire waves. And the human is snatching at something, mouth moving as he talks into whatever it is. A radio, maybe? Glancing at Jetstorm as you roll down your window, a passing car honks. Giving up on the human enforcer, he turns and crouches by your car, ignoring humans in the nearest lane honking and swerving to avoid him. But you’ve got your forehead against your steering wheel, your body scooted down in your seat like you’re trying to hide. Looking at his twin, he shrugs. Must be a human thing?

Previous

Got my new swimsuit and I didn’t actually look too closely at the dinos when I ordered it. I just glanced at it and went ‘cute.’

And these guys are cute.

• “I don’t know,” he admits, smiling sheepishly as he runs a hand over the back of his helm and that feeling of something being off whispers through him. Why is his own frame so unfamiliar? What’s that sense of loss? “I just feel like I’m missing something.” And Megatron lays a big hand on his shoulder. ‘I didn’t want to distress you with the truth,’ Megatron murmurs, venting as he slowly shakes his head and turns away. “What truth?” He asks, following Megatron and the other mech glances at him. ‘You have a conjunx, but the Autobots captured them.’

• Going still, his spark thrums in his chassis. Knew it. Knew something was missing and his strange dreams make a little more sense. Wait, is his conjunx organic? “Where are they?” He demands, turning away from his console and Megatron steps into his path, a hand on his arm. “What if they’re hurt?” He asks and Megatron doesn’t let go. ‘We’re going to get them back, but I need more time. If we just attack, it’s possible the autobots will harm your conjunx rather than let you take them back.’

• Watching the ground bridge come to life, you sneak a glance at Ratchet, his attention on the console. And Smokescreen is striding toward the swirling gate. Heart racing, you tense and as he goes through, you run. Because wherever he’s going, it probably has to do with the Decepticons. Though, your plan mostly falls apart after the get through the gate bit. Hear Ratchet yell your name, but he can’t shut down the ground bridge fast enough and Smokescreen is already through. Exhaustion slowing you down, you throw yourself through the gate and stumble, falling on the other side. If you surrender yourself to the Decepticons, you’ll get captured. May get thrown into a cell with Optimus. You’d be a prisoner, but you’d be with him at least.

• Servos curling into a fist and then relaxing, he makes himself nod. Why can’t he remember your face? Your name? Anything except the fact that you’re missing? That he needs you. “Why did I choose a human?” He asks despite himself and Megatron offers him his crooked smile. ‘You always were a bit odd,’ Megatron says, draping an arm across his shoulders. ‘I didn’t want to stress you, but I’ve had my best scouts looking for your conjunx to reunite you both. I’d hoped to surprise you with them.’ Forcing a smile as that empty ache only grows, he lets Megatron guide him back to his station. ‘I find it’s best to keep busy, don’t you? To distract yourself.’

• “Not a fan of medics personally. You go in to have a tiny bit of rust removed and come out without a face,” he says and you give him a tired look. ‘Do you know that’s the fifth different explanation for all this,’ you say, gesturing expansively at him with the arm that’s not pinned, ‘that you’ve given me?’ You ask and he rumbles, looking away. “You wouldn’t be implying I’m a liar, would you?” He ask as he kicks open the door to the wash racks and Riptide startles, hands cupping himself as he turns his back. “Wow. That’s the type of greed that they talk about in the holy books. At least, I’d imagine it is since I’ve never read one. I mean, can you imagine having two?”

• Face hot, you try to look anywhere but at the other mech as Whirl finds a stall and turns on the water. Stepping under the spray with you, you’re jolting at the icy water. “How would that even work with two?” He asks and you struggle against him. ‘Warm water!’ You demand through your clenched teeth. “Warm,” he repeats, reaching a claw to turn the controls as you shiver. “You thinks he’s getting some or did his human see what he’s packing and run screaming?” Why is he like this?

• “What’s your fascination with Riptide’s equipment?” You grumble and he vents to stir your hair. ‘Equipment?’ He repeats, trying not to laugh as you sigh. Fumbling for the human-safe soap, he glances at Ultra Magnus when the other mech steps into the next stall over and does a double take. “I’m stuck. We’re not doing anything hinky in the showers,” you blurt and now he is laughing. Hinky? Who says that? ‘You’re kind of in the wrong position for anything fun,’ he wheezes as Magnus’s frown deepens.

• “Why don’t you just shift your plating?” Ultra Magnus asks, frowning severely and you go still as Whirl’s laughter falters. ‘Wait. You could have freed me at any time?’ You demand and he wobbles his claw back and forth in a sort of gesture as you try to awkwardly smack whatever of him you can reach. And you yelp when his guns shift and you fall only to get caught in a claw. Wet and furious, you glower up at him. “Not at any time. Only when it’s funny,” he mutters as you stare at him, plotting revenge.

• Watching the way you move, the quick, angry motions as you dress, he clears his vents. Knows it won’t do any good to insist that he thought you might be drowning, because you’ve clearly decided that he just wanted to see you out of your coverings. And he can’t even really deny it when he had. Lips twitching slightly, he catches you staring and your eyes narrow at him before you pointedly turn your back on him. “Stop looking,” you mutter and he chuckles despite himself at how angry you sound.

• “What’s the harm in looking? I’m keeping my hands to myself,” he counters and you glare over your shoulder. And he slowly lifts both hands to wave them slightly, expression a challenge. Like he’s saying ‘see?’ Noisily blowing out a breath, you tug a shirt on over your head and try to ignore the musty smell. Why does anything that goes in a donation bin immediately smell like that? “Unless you’d rather I didn’t keep my hands to myself,” he adds, voice a low rumble and you consider throwing a shoe at him. Before you would have done it without hesitation, but you’re just so tired of fighting him all the time.

• “Why do you do that? Flirt like that,” you mutter and he huffs through his vents, smiling even though that’s a question he’s wondered himself. Why can’t he just let you go? Why pester and tease you when he knows you’re going to get angry? Knows you don’t tease back. Jaw clenching, he crosses his arms and leans against the wall. ‘Why? Is it working?’ He asks, voice roughening. “Can’t you take anything seriously?” You demand and he just smiles. Knows you don’t understand. Wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. That bots in his line of work don’t have long life expectancies. Spend most of their lives in the field. Alone. Fight and die alone. That he’s tired of being alone.

• “Where’s the fun in that?” He asks, pushing off the wall and you freeze, fingers closing on the shoe. Watching him lean to brace his palms on the shelf you’re on, your skin prickles. Know what he’s going to do even before he mass shifts and hauls himself up with you. And you’re tensing as he braces a hand on the shelf above you and leans in. But he doesn’t try to grab you or drag you toward him. Just stands there trapping you in the shadow of the shelf with the collection bin of clothes he’d stolen for you. ‘Life isn’t all about fun,’ you manage and he smirks. “Sounds like you’re doing it wrong, then.”

• “I’m right here,” you whisper back, but he’d felt your field start to prickle him as your mind had gone somewhere else. Relaxing his grip on his own field, he shivers as he feels you inhale slowly at the sensation. And the tension washes out of you as you roll over to face him, body against his own. “What are you doing?” You ask, palm sliding against his chassis and he feels your field mixing in whorls and prickles with his own. “That’s you, right?”

• “I wasn’t really sure if you could feel it,” he answers and your hand slides against him, skin prickling with gooesbumps at the strange feeling. And while you can feel something, you have no idea how to describe it. Like sinking into a warm bed with fresh sheets? A hot bath after a long day? Like being held and feeling completely safe? ‘What is it?’ You finally ask and his mouth brushes against your forehead, one of his hands finding yours and interlacing his servos with your fingers.

• “It’s my field,” he says, a thigh sliding between your own. And you remember the first time you’d met him. How intimidated you were by all of the Cybertronians. How alien you’d found them. It seems so strange now to think you’d been scared of him. “I can feel yours when I touch, but it’s weak,” he adds and your nose wrinkles. Because he feels warm, like a deep, calm pool you want to sink into. ‘Am I projecting all my anxiety on you twenty-four seven?’ You ask in horror as you consider how he feels to you and he huffs out a laugh, arms curling around you to hug you to him. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

• Smiling at how horrified you sound, he presses another kiss against your forehead. “I like that you feel you can trust these things to me. Even if you’ve only been doing it by accident,” he answers and you groan, pressing your face against his neck under his chin. Hears you muttering about deserving a gold star for being the first human to traumatize an alien with your emotional baggage and he rumbles in amusement. Doubts you understand the significance of mingling fields. That it’s rarely done because it’s an intimacy, a show of trust. “I promise that you’re not traumatizing me.”

• Can scent you, feel the soft warmth of you against him and hear the faint clicking of the needles. Knew organics liked to wear cloth coverings, but he’d never bothered to think too much about them. Or how they’re made. Optics hooded as you keep patiently adding to whatever it is you’re making, he rumbles when you lean to find another color of yarn. Weaving it in to make a new pattern. You’re making art he realizes and his servos flex as longing lifts through him.

• “If a mech wanted art supplies, how would he go about requesting them?” He asks softly and your hands still. Art supplies? ‘Like paint and canvas type art?’ You guess and he vents to stir your hair. “Yeah,” he says. That’s something you never considered. That the Cybertronians might have hobbies. Might miss doing them. ‘The mech would ask their caretaker and they’d requisition it from supply,’ you answer and his servos flex against your yarn like he enjoys the softness. ‘I’ll put in a request in the morning,’ you add and his chin brushes the top of your head.

• “It was just a hypothetical question,” he growls, feeling the warmth of your field sinking into him where you’re touching him. And the hooks are clicking again as you make a low hum of noise. ‘I know, but maybe I want to see what Cybertronian art looks like,’ you counter. “What’s human art look like? Aside from that,” he asks, gesturing at what you’re doing and you laugh. Misses the feel of creating something with his own hands. ‘This isn’t art. It’s relaxing,’ you tell him and he huffs through his vents to nearly make you drop your project.

• Embarrassed, he skims his servos up your spine. “Surrender flight?” You repeat and he nods, optics still closed as his wings shift under him. ‘The two would be intimately intertwined as one partner kept them both in the air,’ he says, voice roughening as his plating heats at the thought. ‘It would culminate in a free fall, the two locked together. If one partner panicked and started to struggle, they might not be able to pull out of the dive.’

• Locked together? Wait. Face heating as you realize what he means, you bite your lip. “The uh, knotting thing?” You ask and he rumbles, an optic sliding open. ‘The knotting thing,’ he confirms gruffly as you try not to laugh because the impression you’re getting is that this is almost a spiritual thing to seekers. That it’s also weirdly kinky probably shouldn’t be pointed out. “So they’d spark bond after?” You ask and he nods seriously. ‘If the flight went well, yes.’

• “Does it bother you that we never did that?” You ask, frowning suddenly and he cups your cheek in his hand. “Had our flight?” Rumbling softly as he feathers a servo against the curve of your cheek, he smiles. Appreciating that you care because you’re worried that he might be unhappy. ‘I’m sure I’ve not upheld all of your human traditions,’ he says and you smile, pushing up to straddle him and his hands cup your waist. “We could do the flight, you know,” you say and he goes still. Shocked that you’re offering when it’s not your tradition. Means nothing to your people.