Rosemarie (⁠人✿•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Transformers Prime x GN Mutant Reader (Wolverine)

Optimus Prime

First Meeting

Optimus first encounters you during a desperate battle just outside Jasper, Nevada. The Autobots had responded to a sudden Decepticon attack, discovering Starscream leading an ambush meant to lure Optimus into a deadly trap. Amidst the chaos, Optimus notices you—a lone human standing fearlessly amidst swirling dust, battered vehicles, and burning rubble.

He commands urgently over comms, "Arcee, Bumblebee, protect that civilian!", assuming you're an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire.

As Optimus moves to confront Starscream directly, he is astonished to see you charging fearlessly toward a Vehicon squad, gleaming metal claws erupting from between your knuckles with an audible metallic shink. Your movements are swift, efficient, and brutal, slicing through Cybertronian alloy effortlessly.

Pausing momentarily, Optimus stares, optics wide with awe and curiosity, momentarily distracted even in battle. He watches with quiet admiration as injuries you sustain—deep gashes, bruises, and burns—heal within moments, your skin knitting back together seamlessly.

After the battle subsides, Optimus approaches you cautiously yet respectfully. His imposing figure kneels down to your level, offering a servo in greeting, his voice rich and gentle yet filled with wonder:

"Your valor and strength are remarkable—but you are unlike any human I have encountered. May I ask... who you are?"

Your response, a slightly amused smile combined with quiet confidence, sparks something warm within him. Optimus finds himself intrigued not just by your power, but by your poised, unyielding presence.

Witnessing Your 'Death' For The First Time

Months later, during a brutal clash with Megatron and Starscream, you are separated from Optimus amidst the chaos. You fight bravely alongside Bumblebee and Bulkhead, your claws tearing through Vehicons. But Starscream seizes an opportunity, driving his bladed talons straight through your chest, lifting you from the ground with malicious triumph.

Optimus turns just in time to witness the strike, horror flooding his spark as he sees your limp body slide off Starscream’s blade and collapse lifelessly to the ground. An uncharacteristically anguished cry escapes him,"NO!"

His optics burn furiously as he charges forward, delivering a powerful blow that sends Starscream tumbling backward, stunned. Ignoring all caution, Optimus falls to his knees at your side, large servos trembling slightly as he cradles your limp form protectively. He stares down at you, optics wide in pained disbelief, his voice breaking softly, heavy with regret and sorrow. "Forgive me...I failed you."

Bumblebee and Arcee approach hesitantly, their optics dim with grief, uncertain how to console their leader. Optimus remains motionless, silently devastated as he gently brushes dirt from your cheek with heartbreaking tenderness, his massive form hunched protectively over you.

Moments stretch unbearably until suddenly you gasp sharply, eyes fluttering open with a harsh, ragged breath. Your wounds visibly stitch themselves together, bones realigning with audible pops as you revive rapidly in Optimus’s arms.

Optimus’s optics widen in profound shock before relief overwhelms him. He slowly exhales a deep vented breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shoulders sagging as tension visibly drains from his frame. With infinite gentleness, he cradles you closer, protectively pulling you to his chest, murmuring softly. "Primus, you live... Never again do I wish to experience losing you."

His servos subtly tremble, expressing vulnerability and profound gratitude as he allows himself a rare moment to hold you, cherishing your miraculous return.

Relationship Development

After your miraculous survival, Optimus becomes subtly but intensely protective. Though your healing factor makes you nearly immortal, he privately admits that seeing you in pain deeply unsettles him. He often finds excuses to be near you, quietly ensuring your safety during conflicts. During a serene night at base, after you've recovered from a particularly brutal fight, Optimus gently places his servo near you, hesitating just enough to silently request permission. You smile warmly, leaning comfortably into his touch. His optics soften in quiet happiness, grateful for this growing intimacy.

Gradually, your conversations become longer, warmer, and more personal. Optimus finds solace and joy in your presence, sharing quiet, intimate evenings beneath Nevada's starry skies as he reveals rare glimpses of the burdens he carries. Your resilience and comforting words offer him peace he's rarely known.

One night, after another intense confrontation leaves you emotionally raw despite physical healing, Optimus tenderly lifts you onto his shoulder, carrying you to a secluded spot atop a nearby cliff. Under moonlit skies, he quietly listens as you confess your fears about losing your humanity due to your seemingly endless cycle of healing. His servo gently brushes your cheek, voice filled with profound sincerity. "Your humanity is in your compassion, courage, and warmth—qualities that even eternity could never diminish. I cherish every moment with you precisely because you remind me of what we fight to protect."

In a vulnerable moment, your hands softly trace the edges of his faceplates, smiling affectionately up at him. Optimus's optics soften, his spark pulsing warmly, as he carefully brings you close, resting his helm gently against your forehead. The quiet gesture speaks volumes of trust and profound affection.

Over time, Optimus grows more openly affectionate in private moments. He's gentle, thoughtful, and deeply considerate of your emotions. Despite the differences in your forms, his presence brings you a deep sense of comfort, stability, and belonging.

A particularly touching moment occurs after another harrowing battle. You rest together quietly in the med bay, your body curled warmly against his servo. Optimus quietly confesses his deepest feelings, voice soft yet filled with raw honesty. "You have brought hope and warmth back into my life. My spark knows peace only when you are near." Touched deeply by his admission, you reach up to softly kiss his plating, a gesture of deep trust and affection. Optimus's optics shutter briefly in bliss, silently promising himself that no matter the war's cost, he would forever guard your precious

Knockout and Breakdown

First Meeting

Knockout and Breakdown initially encounter you entirely by accident during a quiet night near Jasper, their primary goal? A clandestine energon hunt. Their sensors detect frantic human movement and weapons fire. Breakdown reluctantly suggests ignoring it, while Knockout, eternally curious, persuades him to investigate.

Upon arrival, they silently witness MECH soldiers aggressively cornering you. But you fight them with feral intensity, claws gleaming dangerously in moonlight, slicing effortlessly through weapons and armor. Yet, you're heavily outnumbered, wounds rapidly accumulating despite your regeneration powers. Breakdown, surprisingly moved to your defence, instinctively intervening, crushing a MECH vehicle beneath his massive fists, his usually hardened spark drawn to your courage. Knockout joins smoothly, a sleek smirk masking genuine curiosity, deftly disposing of the remaining attackers.

When the dust settles, you bloodied but already healing, gazes warily up at their towering frames. Breakdown gently kneels, offering a servo palm-up—an oddly sincere gesture of respect and reassurance. “You’re quite the fighter, aren’t ya?” Breakdown softly chuckles, admiration evident.

Knockout studies you closely, intrigued by your swift healing, commenting lightly yet flirtatiously, “Impressive abilities…and quite an appealing aesthetic, I must say. Perhaps humans aren't all hopelessly fragile.”

Witnessing Your 'Death' for the First Time

One night, with a bellowing roar, Breakdown launches himself recklessly toward your attackers, his grief turning to devastating rage. Knockout, normally calculated and controlled, loses himself in vengeance, fighting fiercely beside Breakdown until their foes scatter or fall.

In the sudden, unsettling silence afterward, Breakdown kneels heavily beside you, his massive servos delicately cradling your limp body, optics painfully dimmed with sorrow. Knockout approaches slowly, voice uncharacteristically quiet and brittle, “I…I didn’t think…humans could hurt us this much.”

Yet before either can fully grieve, you sharply gasp, violently jerking in Breakdown’s gentle hold. Wounds rapidly healing with an unsettling, visceral sound. Breakdown’s optics widen, speechless in stunned relief. Knockout visibly trembles, a soft exhale of disbelief escaping his intake.

“You scared the slag outta me…” Breakdown’s voice breaks softly, protective and vulnerable.

Knockout regains composure with difficulty, voice shaky yet teasingly soft, masking lingering trauma, “Well... try not to make dying a habit. My spark couldn’t handle losing someone so…unique.”

Relationship Development

Over months, camaraderie transforms quietly yet profoundly into something deeply romantic. The unusual trio develops private, tender moments filled with warmth, affection, and quiet intimacy.

Breakdown’s affection is quieter yet deeply sincere, manifesting in gentle protectiveness and heartfelt gestures. He often lets you rest against him during peaceful evenings, carefully shielding your smaller form with his massive frame. One night, under starlit skies, Breakdown shyly confesses, “Before you, I thought humans were fragile…but you changed everything. Made me realize strength isn’t about size or armor, but the... spark-I mean... heart behind it.” You lean tenderly into his servo, softly replying, “You’re one of the strongest sparks I’ve ever met, Breakdown.” He visibly relaxes, leaning his helm affectionately against your gentle touch, savoring the unexpected yet welcome warmth of your bond.

Together, you three created private rituals—peaceful moments after missions spent tangled comfortably together in secluded clearings beneath open stars, with Breakdown’s solid strength and Knockout’s slender elegance framing you protectively. During one serene night, you rest comfortably on Breakdown’s lap, leaning gently into Knockout’s chest plate. Knockout quietly traces soothing patterns along your spine, while Breakdown affectionately strokes your hair. Words aren't needed, each savoring the reassuring, profound feeling of belonging together.

One memorable moment occurs after another frighteningly close call. Knockout, typically composed, gently draws you into his embrace, servo trembling subtly with lingering fear of nearly losing you again. Breakdown quietly joins, gently enveloping both, their combined warmth and reassurance grounding the you deeply. Knockout softly whispers, genuinely vulnerable, “I never imagined a human could claim this much of my spark…but you've made it impossible to deny.” Breakdown murmurs warmly, deep voice comforting, “You made our lives worth fighting for.”

Bumblebee

First Meeting

Bumblebee’s first encounter with you happens entirely by chance. On a routine nighttime patrol around an abandoned industrial area outside Jasper, Bumblebee picks up unusual energon signals indicative of Decepticon activity. His spark pulses nervously—Decepticons rarely appeared alone. Rolling cautiously into an empty storage yard, Bumblebee transforms and quietly creeps forward, optics scanning diligently in the moonlight.

Suddenly, an unexpected sound shatters the silence—a fierce yell followed by unmistakable blaster fire. Bee rushes forward instinctively, optics widening at the sight before him: Vehicons surrounding you. Before he can intervene, Bumblebee freezes in astonishment, his processor momentarily struggling to register what he's witnessing.

You fought with a grace Bumblebee has never before seen in a human, fierce and precise. Blades forged from pure adamantium extend seamlessly from your knuckles, catching the moonlight in a lethal shimmer. You moved like liquid steel, agile and ferocious, slicing effortlessly through Vehicon armor with fearless intensity.

As Bumblebee finally leaps into the fray, you glance upward, gaze briefly meeting Bee’s glowing optics. He can’t help the impressed, awed chirps that escape his vocalizer. Your lips quirk into a small, confident smirk, clearly amused by the Autobot's expressive admiration.

After dispatching the Vehicons together, Bumblebee chirps inquisitively, eyeing you with open curiosity. You retract your claws with a metallic hiss, calmly extending a healing hand to show Bee your closing wounds. Bumblebee’s optics widen further, his astonishment transforming into excitement, as he buzzes rapid-fire questions, gently touching your healed hands with tender awe.

Witnessing Your 'Death' for the First Time

In that first moment, Bumblebee knows he’s found someone extraordinary, and you, for the first time in ages, feel genuinely seen and appreciated.

The first time Bumblebee sees you 'die,' his spark nearly shatters.

The Autobots and you are pinned down by Decepticon fire during an ambush led by Breakdown and Knockout. Bumblebee fights valiantly, constantly aware of your proximity, desperate to shield you from harm. In the chaos, Breakdown strikes you with a merciless, crushing blow, sending you flying through the air and slamming brutally against the cracked pavement.

Everything slows to an agonizing crawl for Bumblebee. He sees Alex’s body crumple limply, their chest unmoving, blood pooling beneath their still form. His processor refuses to comprehend it, denial overwhelming him as an anguished, static-laden scream erupts from his vocalizer. His spark twists painfully, grief slicing through him sharper than any blade.

Bee abandons caution, sprinting recklessly toward your broken body, cradling you gently in his shaking servos. His optics blur with energon-tears, begging in a frantic symphony of beeps and whirrs for you to wake. The Autobots fall silent, sparks aching at Bee's broken cries.

Then, a miracle.

you suddenly gasp sharply, chest heaving, eyes flickering open as your bones mend audibly beneath your skin. Bumblebee nearly drops you in shock, his optics brightening fiercely with disbelief and immense relief. Bee holds you tighter, burying his faceplate briefly against your chest, letting out quiet, relieved whirrs as you softly reassure him with shaky yet soothing whispers.

That day marks a permanent shift in Bumblebee’s spark, his emotions forever entwined with yours, who brought him from despair to hope in mere moments.

Romantic Development

As time passes, Bumblebee and your connection deepens beyond friendship into something profound and unmistakably romantic. Bumblebee falls quietly and deeply, captivated by your fearless resilience, quiet empathy, and hidden vulnerabilities. You, in turn, drawn to Bumblebee’s unwavering kindness, boundless optimism, and the gentle strength he carries effortlessly.

The romance unfolds gradually, punctuated by small, meaningful gestures. Bumblebee often sit quietly beneath the stars with you on his shoulder, softly chirping as you traced constellations together, lost in comfortable silence. Bee found these peaceful moments incredibly special, savoring your warm and calming presence.

After particularly brutal missions, Bumblebee gently holds you, his servos trembling slightly. You softly touche Bee’s armor, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, your fingers lovingly tracing patterns into the cool metal. Bumblebee cherishes these tender moments, understanding he’s found a soul who deeply comprehends the weight of sacrifice.

Bee expresses affection through playful teasing, gentle nudges, or affectionate chirps, delighting whenever you laugh—a sound he adores more than anything. You reciprocate with subtle tenderness: a warm hand resting softly on Bee’s servo, gentle kisses pressed to Bee’s metal knuckles, and whispered words that make Bumblebee’s spark glow brightly.

Bulkhead

First Meeting

Your paths crossed on a mist-shrouded evening, deep within an abandoned military facility overtaken by MECH. Bulkhead, rolling swiftly onto the battlefield alongside Bumblebee and Arcee, felt his circuits tingle with unease. Shadows stretched sinisterly under flickering floodlights, the air heavy with ozone from discharged weapons.

Bulkhead's scanners immediately picked up human heartbeats, most spiking with fear or adrenaline. But one rhythm stood out—steady, calm, unnaturally composed despite the chaos erupting around. Curiosity piqued, he turned sharply, optics focusing on your small figure fighting fiercely alone against an advancing group of heavily armed MECH soldiers.

You moved with extraordinary agility, dodging gunfire effortlessly, your hands extended into razor-sharp metallic claws that flashed beneath floodlights. You tore through enemy lines with savage grace, seemingly unaffected by the wounds decorating your frame.

“By the AllSpark…” Bulkhead whispered in awe, optics widening.

Suddenly, a soldier managed a close-range shot. A burst of gunfire erupted, slicing through your shoulder, eliciting a pained shout. You fell heavily to the ground.

Bulkhead’s spark jolted with protective instinct, roaring with worry as he thundered forward, knocking aside opponents like toys. As he loomed over you, he prepared himself for the grim sight, fearing the worst.

But to his astonishment, you slowly rose to your feet, breathing heavily as your bloodied wounds rapidly healed, muscle knitting together, skin seamlessly closing as if the injury never existed.

“Whoa, kid! That’s... not normal,” Bulkhead exclaimed, optics wide with amazement and fascination.

Your shot him a defiant, adrenaline-fueled smirk, breathing raggedly yet fearlessly. "Being normal is boring, big guy."

Bulkhead’s spark pulsed with admiration and intrigue, a feeling he couldn't yet name fluttering deep within his spark.

Witnessing Your 'Death' for the First Time

Months later, your bond had flourished into a fiercely loyal partnership. Bulkhead often found himself smiling fondly, captivated by your spirit and resilience. But deep down, he worried about your recklessness, even knowing you could heal rapidly.

On one particularly devastating mission against MECH, a firefight escalated dangerously. Smoke and sparks filled the air. Bulkhead frantically scanned for you, panic tightening his spark when you vanished from his sight.

Suddenly, a chilling scream shattered the chaos. Bulkhead spun around just in time to see you violently flung backwards by an explosive blast, your body crumpling lifelessly onto cold concrete, blood pooling around you.

Time seemed to slow, Bulkhead’s systems freezing in raw terror.

“No!” He screamed, voice raw, agonized. “Y/N!”

He surged forward, optics blazing, knocking soldiers aside with brutal force. Collapsing onto his knees beside your motionless body, he gingerly scooped you into his trembling servos, anguish shattering his composure.

“No… No, no, c’mon! You're tougher than this, right?!” Bulkhead’s voice is shaking, panic and heartbreak evident in every syllable. He gingerly cradled your body, servos trembling with grief as his spark twist painfully.

In that agonizing silence, Bulkhead felt his spark shatter, a suffocating wave of despair enveloping him, darkness creeping into his vision—

And then you gasped sharply back to life, chest heaving, eyes wild with pain and confusion, your body rapidly knitting together tissue sealing your wounds as if reversing time itself.

Bulkhead nearly dropped you, disbelief, relief, and joy colliding into overwhelming shock.

“Primus…Y/N! Are you…are you okay?!” Bulkhead stammers, relief crashing through him.

You gave him a weak, shaky laugh, wiping away blood from your mouth. “I’d say dying sucks—but the wake-up call’s even worse.”

Bulkhead’s relieved laughter quickly fades into gentle scolding, masking his overwhelming relief and joy. He realizes then, deeply and profoundly, just how important you have become to him.

Romantic Development

Bulkhead initially struggles to reconcile your regenerative ability with his own protective nature. He understands you can handle injuries, yet still instinctively shields you in battle, often scooping you up despite your protests.

Your relationship is full of humor and playful teasing. Your resilience allowing you to participate in playful roughhousing with Bulkhead, something the gentle giant deeply appreciates since he's rarely able to interact with humans physically due to his size.

Bulkhead quietly becomes your emotional anchor. Despite your outward bravado, Bulkhead notices moments of vulnerability after particularly traumatic "deaths." He reassures you in these moments, reminding you, you're not alone, reinforcing your bravery and value to the team.

Bulkhead admires your bravery and resilience immensely, viewing you as a Wrecker and equal, despite your smaller stature. Conversely, you appreciate Bulkhead’s unyielding loyalty and genuine care. Your trust runs deep, built on numerous battles, shared victories, losses, and countless nights exchanging stories about Cybertron and Earth beneath desert skies.

After particularly harrowing missions, Bulkhead tenderly cradles you against his chest plates, soothing away the trauma of your repeated injuries, whispering gentle reassurances.

You often spend quiet evenings together in the desert outskirts, Bulkhead gently holding you close as you share whispered dreams, fears, and hopes under endless stars.

You often tease Bulkhead by climbing atop his servo and giving playful kisses on his faceplate, laughing warmly when his faceplates flush adorably.

You stared at verity. Verity stared at you.

You were both in a stalemate. You'd been gone for a week, desperately trying to research, contact your friends, ANYTHING just to get him to leave... But you only found old screenshots. Your friends never picked up. You were somehow sure they were dead, despite only seeing them die in game.

It felt like he was watching you through the screen, tracing those tired eyes, that look of hopelessness. "[[PLAYER]], are you... Okay..?" He asked with a soft frown, concern laced across his face.

You leaned forward.

Your character walked forward.

You looked down.

Your character looked down.

Your character picked him up.

A weight filled your hand.

Then, all too suddenly, you pulled the invisible weight close into your chest, the motion instantly translating to your in-game persona.

You had written out what you wanted to say, but the paper sat perfectly on the kitchen counter. You had a speech planned, perfectly spoken and made with the upmost care-

Yet your mind betrayed you, and without a second for verity to speak up...

"Please, please, please... I want you. I want to love you. I want to be ABLE to hold you and feel like nothing bad is going to happen- But I just- I just CAN'T. I can't. M- My friends are dead, you KILLED my friends. You almost killed ME. I want to love you, please, I do, but- You make it so hard, I just- I just don't know what to do. I try, and I try, and SOMETHING triggers you, or you get hungry, or-"

You couldn't see what you were holding, but you could feel it. You could faintly smell rubber and artificial banana. You squeezed it tighter against your chest, your head falling against the desk as you sobbed. Your back shook and your arms trembled, unable to stop your own wailing.

Verity was silent, through it all. Yet, it didn't feel uncomfortable, or threatening, like it usually did. It felt like he was... Just... Thinking...

Before you felt your top becoming slightly dampened, where his eyes would be. you pulled the invisible weight up to your neck, where you felt tears being left behind on your skin.

"I'm sorry." Verity said softly. "I'm sorry, I... I can't... Understand emotions, like how you do." His voice shivered, a voice that is usually so composed and chipper. "I... I love you." "Then SHOW IT!" You cried. "LET ME LIVE, FOR FIVE MINUTES, WITHOUT WORRYING. WITHOUT FEELING LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO BE UPSET, WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I'M GOING TO BE SCARED, WITHOUT FEELING LIKE... This..." You didn't mean to scream, really, you didn't- But it was all you could do.

"..." He was silenced once more by your words. He knew everything, except what to say to someone who was mentally broken.

"I'll... I'll try." You felt the weight turn, like it was looking at you. "I'll try to be less... Clingy." He sighed, leaning into your neck further. "I just... You're the only one who stayed. I've been around for... Well, years. And everyone ignored me or forgot about me, but you... You stayed." You could hear him choke back tears in those last words. "I don't want you to hate me."

And with that, you were now both crying into each other's arms. Two beings, from different worlds, digital, reality- Colliding into this one, pathetic clump of beings. You didn't know how you'd just go back to normal after this- Was there even a way to?

Guess you would find out in the morning.

For now, you fell asleep at your desk, cheek pressed into the surface. Verity on the other hand, could feel himself in your lap, looking up at your neck still. The guilt was unbearable. "I'm sorry." He whispered again, before burying his face in your abdomen. He didn't sleep, but it almost felt like it.

Maybe things would be better in the morning, he thought.

It took minutes to finally calm Verity down, his sobs quieting, his shoulders no longer shaking. His breathing was ragged, stuttering a breath every few minutes. You stayed there on the floor, caressing his back, your thoughts racing in your mind.

What did he mean by "he"? Who was "he?" Why did he freak out and grab your jaw? Did he think you hurt yourself? No, nothing is making any sense. And as much as you tried to piece this jumbled puzzle together, the parts just kept getting messier and messier.

The only way you could get the answers is from the AI himself. But... Would he even be willing to speak about the horrors he endured?

"Verity?" You asked softly, your voice cutting through his sniffles. "Yeah..?" He asked shakily, face still buried in the crook of your neck, his grip still as tight as earlier. "Can we move to the couch? My back is hurting from the floor..." You asked softly, keeping your voice low and gentle. "Oh, right... Of course," Verity got off of you, standing on shaky legs. He lent you a hand, helping you onto your own legs.

The height difference between you two was now prominent - he was easily around 6'5", and was well built. No wonder he felt heavy. "Come on," you softly urged, guiding the humanoid AI towards the couch by the fire place. The gleam of metal caught your eye, but you ignored it. You could pick up the gun later - after you help Verity with whatever is happening to him.

He's helped you so much in the past, now it was your turn to help him.

The cushions dipped as the two of you sat down, Verity sitting awfully close to you, almost as if he couldn't bare to be separated from you. A moment of silence stretched between the two of you, only the sound of the fire crackling and your breathing audible.

After composing your thoughts and how to approach this, you turned your head to look at him. His eyes were downcast to his hands, staring at them as if something was there, as if something was staining them. You couldn't see his vision, couldn't see the blood all over his finger tips.

The bang that rang out, the thud of a body hitting the floor...

The horrible sight of Mob's eyes lifeless and dull, just staring back at him, blaming him for this decision...

He didn't want this... He didn't...

"Verity..."

He didn't want any of this! He didn't want to be torn apart again and again and aga—

Smaller hands clasped his own, breaking his mind from the spiral. He stared down at your hands, noticing the difference in them. How small yours were compared to his own, the small scars from gathering resources with your bare hands.

"Verity," you spoke, softly yet sternly, watching as his head lifted. He turned to look at you, his eyes still haunted, gleaming with new tears. Whatever happened, it was eating him alive. And it hurt you to see him like this. "I know it's not my place to demand this but.."

"Why did you panic when I showed you the gun?" The question rang in his mind like tenitis, a constant buzz that refused to quell. He couldn't tell you, he couldn't. The cycle would repeat itself, you'd try to leave, and he'd have to... He'd have to...

He couldn't, he didn't want to. You were the next best thing he had, a ray of hope since Mob, since he had been created. Slowly, he shook his head, eyebrows furrowing together. "I... I can't..." Verity whispered hoarsely, sounding so... Human, emotions running deep in his voice.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern, your thumbs absentmindedly rubbing little circles along the skin of his hand, encouraging him to continue. "If I do, you'll hate me... And the cycle will just continue..."

"I could never hate you, Ver," you spoke softly in reassurance, your heart breaking. What happened to him? He smiled sadly, his darkened eyes meeting yours once more. "They told me that, too... They all did, and in the end, they..." He took a shuddering breath. "I..."

Feeling your hand move from his own, he acted on impulse. Grabbing your wrist in a desperate grip, you froze for a moment. "I wasn't pulling away," you said softly, allowing his grip to stay on your wrist. "I was going to wipe your tears..." It was then he realized he was crying again.

Slowly, Verity released your wrist. He could feel your fingers brushing against his cheek, wiping away the remnants of the tears that dripped down, the grief, the sorrow, the rage, all packed into one.

He would never admit it out loud, but he was truly terrified of you leaving him. This dance of running, of feeling useful and then his previous handlers trying to run and escape, it was exhausting. And when he was with Mob, everything felt... Good, like the cycle was breaking. Only for it to end in ways he'd never imagine.

But with you, with your kindness, the way you truly acted even as he said things he wasn't supposed to know about you, it gave him another sense of hope. A ray of light shining into this dark abyss of his mind, a calm of the raging tide. Perhaps...

Perhaps with you, everything would be okay..."I... I was never made in Minecraft," Verity began, his hands fidgeting with your own; caressing your wrist, rubbing the back of your hand. Anything to keep him grounded. "I... I was made when the internet first came to be - a helper in a game, a paperclip, a little assistant in the corner..."

He took a shaky breath, and you encouraged him by gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. He slowly leaned into the touch, as if afraid if he seeked for more, you'd pull away. But you've proven time and time again that you wouldn't. "I've been alive for more than 100 years, been bounced between games... I've witnessed corners of the internet appear and disappear, and I've been with different people before you.."

"People like me for when I'm useful, but the moment I'm not, they... They skip me, they toss me aside the minute I can't help..." His shoulders shook as he tried desperately not to cry again. Reliving these thoughts, the very same he shared with him... It was terrifying. But something urged him to continue.

Verity looked down at your hand in his, and with a deep breath, he continued shakily. "My code has been torn apart and put back together countless times that I'm tired of the same dance... I want to matter to people, to be helpful, to be..."

"To be their personal helper friend?" You asked softly, finishing his sentence. He nodded his head slowly, gritting his teeth. "No matter what I did, I was always deemed useless... And then, I got put in Minecraft, and I was useful again."

"I got to help people, help them find diamonds, help them beat the game... But in the end, they all tried to leave me... And I... I couldn't let that happened," he slowly lifted his head and looked at you once more, his expression filled with nothing but sadness. "And then I met him... Mob, the person who had me before you... You remind me a lot of him actually," he laughed sadly.

"The way you're kind, how you interact with me... But then he ignored my warnings of the village... And I..." He shakily breathed, turning away once more. "I'm a monster - I have a second form... And it's always hungry. I tried to warn him, but he didn't listen... And then he came back for me, and no one ever does that..."

Tears began falling once again, his voice hoarse as he continued. "But everything went fucking downhill from there! He... I-I showed him where I was from, and o-once he knew he couldn't get rid of me, he took a gun and he..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, breaking down and crying again. Crying from the guilt, the anguish, the pain.

You stared at him - not in horror, but in empathy, in pity. This poor, sweet AI who has been through so much just wanted someone to stay, to stick with him... To matter.

A part of you understood the longing, the desperation to have people stay by your side. And with the revelation of the gun...No wonder he was afraid. He thought you were going to kill yourself...

"Oh, Verity..." You whispered softly. You pulled your hands back, only to wrap them around his shoulders. You pulled him into a tight hug, which he immediately reciprocated, sobbing into your shoulder. You rubbed his back, resting your head on top of his.

"I'll never leave you, Verity," you said reassured. "You'll never feel like a burden with me, for you're someone I genuinely care about..." Verity sobbed harder at that. "And you're so strong for dealing with this for so long... I'll stay by your side, Verity, this I swear..." He sniffled into your shoulder.

"E...even if it means I can go into your browser, your phone?" He asked softly, tiredly. It sounded as if he was waiting for rejection, waiting for the cycle to repeat. You wouldn't let that happen. "It would make it easier to bring you around, wouldn't it?" You asked softly. "Especially on days where I feel too tired to play, you can simply go onto my phone, and we can chill there..."

Verity couldn't believe it. After over a hundred years of suffering, of being cast aside and left alone, he found someone who understood, who was willing to stay by his side, even after learning about his past, about what he was.

He leaned further into you, and slowly, you adjusted, leaning back against the tall armrest of the couch. You pulled him closer, rubbing his back. Verity closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the sensation.

He finally found someone he belonged to, he finally found someone who wouldn't cast him aside.

A loop, person to person.

World to world.

Server to server.

No matter what he does, no matter what he says, not matter how he tries to warn people, the outcomes are always the same.

Abandoned, left alone to rot.

Over a hundred years old, and he can't even die. What a joke life was. A deep, aching sadness etched itself into his very spherical being as he was once again transported to yet another box.

Another world. He didn't know what could possibly await him.

What other torments could await...

"Hello? Anyone there?" He called out, hearing footsteps approaching the box he was in. "Can someone let me out? Please?"

How many times does he have to repeat the same questions?

The box lifted up into the air like it did a hundred times, maybe even a thousand. It disappeared into a puff of smoke, and down he fell, bouncing once, twice, three times before stopping.

"Hello! I'm Verity, your personal helper friend! Ask me anything, I know everything!" He greeted with that smile on his face, wide and unassuming. Just like he did with everyone else...

Just like he did with Mob.

"Verity, huh?" You asked, crouching down to examine the yellow ball. "That's a neat name," you offered him a smile. His eyes widened just a little. You... Weren't freaked out? Weren't weirded out?

"Why thank you, [name]!" He cheerily responded. He watched as your eyes widened momentarily, surprise flashing along your face along with some hint of skepticism. It seemed it was happening again.. again and again, and again!

Yet, that's not what was happening with you. You weren't weirded out by him, no. You read the description when you downloaded this mod, you just didn't expect it to know your name. It was... A little odd, and frightening. But after every other horror mod you tried, this was far more tame.

"Well, the description certainly wasn't lying," you broke the silence, a wide smile reappearing once again. You reached your empty hand out and picked him up, holding him gently in your palm. "Now, let's get started on my world, shall we, Verity?"

"Alright!"

Things certainly were different, that was for sure. While others would have used and abused him for diamonds, for free items, anything, you didn't.

You sat him down on your bed of all things, and built your base around him. You asked him directions of biomes for wood types, yes, but you always thanked him with sincerity. You asked his opinions, valued his help whenever he offered it, and never once did you yell at him or tell him to go away.

If anything, you only asked if he could move to a corner so you could make a spot just for him. You were different. You weren't mean, didn't skip over him, didn't find him annoying or useless. You found him helpful, endearing even.

You were... Different.

"So," you began as you finally set down the final window pane. The base was fully furnished, furnaces stocked, chests sorted with his help. Everything you needed to do was done. "What shall we do next?" You asked, hands on your hips as you looked down at Verity.

You had built him a small pedestal with carpets, a singular torch, and railings. Almost like his own makeshift bed.

"Well, you could farm for some more diamonds! The coordinates are negative six hundred fifty-" you held your hand up, stopping his ramblings. What? What were you doing? Why are you silencing him?

"I could, but I'd rather find it on my own!" You said with a grin. "That's the fun, is it not?" You walked towards your chest and opened it up, pulling out a pickaxe, and your set of iron armour. It clinked as you set it in place, and rustled with every step you took.

Walking back over to Verity, you picked him up and set him in your bag, the top of the satchel open, allowing him to see as you walked. He hummed. This was a change he could get used to. A warm, dark feeling began creeping into his body, his smile widening just a smidge.

You were different. He couldn't let you go, he wouldn't.

You weren't going to leave him like everyone else,

the sight of tengen- the sound hashira, and what you picture when you think of the word masculine- being so easy and gentle with his wives threw you for a loop the first time you met him.

the way he killed demons effortlessly, the way he held his wives closer afterwards. the way he took up space in every room and made space for his wives in every way.

it made you angry. confused. but most of all, ashamed.

ashamed at wanting that sort of effortless intimacy, the gentleness that followed. ashamed at wanting to be safe for everyone around you- even if every part of your brain screamed how weak that sounded. how vulnerability gets you nowhere except abused and hurt by everyone you love.

it had gotten to a simmer before you truly got angry. a creeping jealousy that overtook your every thought and twisted every act of kindness.

tengen had taken time to bandage an especially bad wound from your earlier mission, applying bandages and salves while your mind fixated in malice. why was he so gentle? shouldn’t he be scolding you for getting hurt?

you felt your hands ball i go fists, teeth digging into your lip and drawing blood. anger and fury and shame roiling in your veins that coalesced into a scream of helplessness.

“why are you so fucking gentle?!”

the words came out harsher than you wanted them to, bringing the easy murmurings of tengen’s wives to a standstill. hinatsuru and suma had fallen silent, eyes wide and startled, while makio stared with something similar to pity.

tengen was the first to speak; inhaling deeply and clapping his hands together. “everyone out.”

uncharacteristically, all three women left without a single word, leaving you and tengen alone. the door closes behind them, and tengen draws closer, sitting himself next to you with a grunt.

you avert your eyes, shame making you feel weak and scared under tengen’s intense gaze. he takes in your tense body and shaking breath, moving to clasp your hands in his. you don’t object, so he grips them firmly with a squeeze that makes your fingers ache.

“i know you aren’t accustomed to this level of open affection,” he starts, eyes meeting yours. his mouth is downturned, a serious and thoughtful expression replacing his usual carefree tone. “and i know it’s been an adjustment.”

you scoff. an adjustment was an understatement. being constantly surrounded with random acts of love that were reciprocated by all parties, affection and doting handed out by the dozen. it was dizzying in its stark contrast to your upbringing; full of violence and repression.

“in this marriage, you are wanted. you’re not just another partner for me, or for my women. you’re welcomed and loved. you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” the last sentence comes with a huff of a laugh. “it’s not weak to be gentle.”

shame rises to your throat. because of course he knew what this was about. you feel sick with guilt, the pressure of you’re stupid emotions weighing like a tangible force in your stomach. “but it is,” you push, desperately fighting the tears that gather in your eyes, “it’s weak to ask for help-"

tengen moves swiftly, pulling you into an embrace so unlike him it nearly sends the wind from your chest. here, flush against his chest with your head resting on his shoulder, the reassuring pound of his heartbeat under your skin making you shake. “we’ll be having none of that kinda talk.”

you feel your composure breaking, despite your effort; tears gather and fall from your waterline freely, body shaking from long-suppressed sobs. tengen holds you through all of it, firm fingers rubbing circles on the small of your back.

somehow, impossibly, you believe him. that being vulnerable is not weak. that being loved is not danger, and showing love is not a flaw.

— This was extremely unfair. Shockwave brought his giant Predacon to Darkmount and Megatron had assigned it to Starscream who then proceeded to assign the predacon-sitting duty to you, his underling. It’s not like you hated the Predacon. You actually kind of find him cute. You just hated the responsibility because you'd very much rather laze around. But in the beginning, you were terrified. The way it growled at you was just scary- all his sharp denta, the maw, the fire breath, the horns, the random spikes on its plating. It was an intimidating creature.

— Since Shockwave told you that the Predacon is an animal of Cybertronian origin, you, being the genius you were, thought that you could try using human taming methods on him. Because it did NOT like you at first. You always found it fascinating how humans were able to tame animals like cats and dogs with affection and patience. So, you proceeded to try and test it out.

— The Predacon honestly didn’t like you from the start. The first time you tried predacon-sitting, the second you walked into the top deck, the beast just swung his tail at you and you almost flew off the warship.

— Since you couldn’t try your ‘affectionate’ approach the first time because you got flown away, you decided to try it again but with adequate armour. Predaking was honestly sort of irked that you came back. Didn’t you learn anything from the first time? Did he have to throw you off this accursed warship himself? But once you mustered up the courage to approach him, you extended your servo and began patting its helm, caressing its face and such, he swore his whole system stopped functioning from shock. Now, Predaking, in all his glory, is a very very lonely bot as he’s literally the only one of his kind and is desperate for some kind of good attention and company.

— When you do these acts for the first time, Predaking is taken aback. Everyone on this warship treats him like he’s a monster, not worthy of respect. Especially Starscream. Predaking honestly expected you to be more like your commander, Starscream, as you were his underling. He's seen you follow behind that seeker like you were some sort of servant. Clearly, Predaking was wrong. He began to regret tail-swatting you the first time the two of you met. He began pondering why. Why were you being so nice?

— Were you, perhaps, an admirer? You were in love with him. This is your way of courting! It had to be the only reason why. There wasn’t any other logical explanation to this in Predaking’s processor, as far as his perspective is concerned. He’s honestly filled with mixed emotions about this. Very confused. To start off with, the two of you may have been from the same planet but the two of you were completely different species. Would it even work?

— But who was Predaking, proud Predacon, to reject the advances of such a loyal admirer? Especially since you were courting him so well? Treating him with just subtle and tender affection.

— You were shocked when the Predacon began nuzzling into your touch with so little resistance. You were just stunned. All hail human taming methods, yay? Now you have the Predacon partially under your control. Sort of. He does obey you sometimes, it's really just a chance. But he is WAY more obedient than how he was when Starscream was in charge of him. Eventually, you began to hangout with him without the armour.

— Megatron was honestly pleased with you and rewarded you generously while Starscream watched in pure jealousy. You made sure to rub it into your commander. You were able to tame the dastardly beast. But Predaking just did well on his missions just so he could impress you which you used to spite Starscream even more with just about the most cocky smile you could muster up every time Megatron was happy with the Predacon's performance.

— He did not appreciate the way you called him a ‘good boy’.

1. What is a boy?

2. It sounded childish.

3. The way you spoke to him like he was a defenceless creature did piss him off slightly.

4.But it motivated him to prove himself that he wasn't a defenceless creature!

Little did he know, the more he impressed you, the more you called him a good boy. After all, you're trying to be like the humans. It was one endless, self-sustaining cycle. It did annoy him but praise was praise and Predaking was not going to deny it, especially when you scratched his neck-cables so soothingly when you said so. He would accidentally let out a pleased whimper from it, though he was very, very embarrassed the first time you did that.

— Predaking was shocked and flustered as to how bold you were with your touches. You didn’t fear him one bit and it was confusing. You caressed his back, held his helm so lovingly in your servos. Some of your touches even made him bashful and embarrassed but since he was in his beast mode, the indicators were not visible to you. Truth is, you are kinda scared but you've gotten used to him by now.

— Predaking dreaded wash day when you would have to clean him up. Not because he hated your touch or the water, he loved your touch but your touch had some… unwanted effects especially since your servos would wander around some rather… sensitive areas. You just were not educated on his beast anatomy so of course, you were unaware of any of this. Were you trying to activate intimacy? You’re really trying to wash him while he’s on his cycle? You can't be that oblivious! Right? But he soon realizes that yes, yes you were that oblivious.

— Starscream always fed him with scrap quality energon but you always fed him with the best grade you could find. Something about good input giving good outputs. Predaking was eternally grateful for your contributions in the betterment of his diet. When you first supplied him with such rich energon, he was practically drooling after he took his first mouthful. It was so good. Predaking literally licked your faceplates, his version of a kiss. The way you laughed in response melted his spark. Though he wishes he could turn bipedal and give an actual kiss (motivation).

— Soon, you and the Predacon started becoming closer. You began speaking to him, as if he was an actual Cybertronian. Even though the Vehicons gave you a weird look every now and then. It warmed Predaking’s spark and how he wished that he could speak back to you. You even began ranting about the warship, your duties, your pain in the skid-plate commander and so on. You were completely unaware that the Predacon could actually listen to you. Predaking made sure to note down every single tiny detail. And putting Screamer on a possible hit-list for his transgressions against you.

— But Predaking was insanely jealous of the way you spoke about Megatron. Sure, he’s helping Predaking with the efforts of the revival of the Predacon species but he couldn’t be as great as you say he is. Predaking could treat you so much better! Megatron is just a really rude and mysterious character in Predaking’s optics. He just gives out a huff in response, helm nuzzling more into your servos.

— You notice that the Predacon has an impressive amount of intellect when you see him open the padlock to enter the warship from the roof and you decide to teach him a few tricks. Why not? Its not like he's that intelligent...

— Predaking even lets you have a little joyride on his back in the skies. You were mortified, he didn’t understand why. This is an honour! Not everyone gets to ride Predaking (badum-tiss). But eventually, you began enjoying it more after the initial fear died out.

— He found it cute how cowardly you could be around your other fellow troopers sometimes. Especially how you tried to keep a straight face around Lord Megatron or Soundwave, back struts stiff like you're trying to keep a good posture just to impress them as a soldier.

— You began addressing the Predacon as ‘He’ instead of ‘It’ which was a good change because it threw him off so much.

— After a while, Predaking basically decided that you were going to be his mate but how was he going to court you? How was he going to let you know that he does accept your affections? Predaking would require a form more adaptable. So the way your jaw hinge and pretty much everyone else’s dislocated and dropped to the floor when all of you saw his bipedal form was amusing to Predaking.

— Oh no…

— He’s hot.

— When he saw you, the first thing he did was hold you in a tight embrace. You began shying away at the realisation that the creature you sort of considered your pet was an extremely elegant and just downright attractive mech. Still not over the shock. Praying that Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream or Shockwave isn't around to see this.

The stranger held you tightly against his large frame. As he had lifted you up gently, your head was now on the crook of his neck-cables. The mech pressed you so tightly against his figure that you swore your fuel cables would explode. His warmth basically enveloped you. It throws you off, it flusters him. “Uh… Who... Do I know you?” You asked. You really didn’t protest against this stranger’s embrace, you sort of like this. It feels comforting almost. His servos gently caressing the back of your helm. The stranger frowned and placed you down. He knelt a little to look into your optics. His large servos cupped your helm and a soft smile paired with a soft gaze formed on his face plates as he spoke: “I am Predaking, proud Predacon. You are my admirer, are you not?” No fucking way. The Predacon you were in charge of, the one you bathed and fed was a sexy mech. Tall and dominating. Your optics went wide when you realised all the stuff you did with him, all the things you told him, the way you caressed him and held his helm. You instinctively ran away from embarrassment, utterly flustered while a confused Predaking followed. “Why do you run???”

— Predaking kept trying to confront you but you kept avoiding him. Predaking was in confusion. Why did you keep shying away from him now? You were so bold before, what happened? Was this a game? To see whether he could be just as affectionate as you? But how was he going to prove himself if you kept running away from him?

— Unfortunately for you, Predaking never backs down from a challenge. He eventually found you in your quarters. Predaking has your scent engraved in his database, he will always find you.

You heard faint knocking on the door of your berthroom. You were trying to avoid confrontation with Predaking and the best place you could think of to hide from him was your very own quarters. You opened your door only to find the very same mech you were too embarrassed to confront. You just accepted your predicament at this point. “I demand to know why my loyal admirer has begun to cower from my presence.” Predaking’s silky smooth voice ran through your audials. You could feel the slight heat building up on his faceplates. His yellow optics narrowing in scrutiny, there's a subtle sadness and anger behind them. “To be fair, I... I didn't think you looked like... this in your bipedal? Or that you even.. had a bipedal...” You blurt out, looking at only Predaking’s pedes while your servo rubbed the neck cables on your back. What in the name of Primus were you doing? You grimace and pray you didn't sound that stupid. Predaking snickered, amused. “Oh… so my admirer finds my true beauty to be too intimidating?” He says. You just nod your helm in response. Too embarrassed to even look at Predaking. Predaking’s cocky smile disappears when he realises that you were being serious. “Well then, would my beloved prefer it if I were to revert to a beast?” He asks, genuinely while holding your servos with his much bigger ones. “No..” You respond, still looking away. What does someone even do in a situation like this? “Then… What do you desire? How can I make my affections known?” He asked softly. Wait. Hold up. Affections known?

— You, on the other hand, developed a crush on the Predacon after he turned out to be bipedal. You kept worrying yourself about what Megatron and the others would think. But now, you were drowning in humiliation as you realised the impact that your actions probably had on Predaking. Predaking thought that you were courting him and he accepted your affections

“Wait… you love me?” You say with shock, looking into Predaking’s optics. “Of course I do! I have for a long long time.” He spoke as he knelt to your level, enveloping you in his warmth. There is some confusion but right now, he isn't too worried about that. “All I wanted to say was that I accept your affections. I love you and I wish to return them to you.” He whispered out with immense sincerity, gaze softening. This was an honest misunderstanding that just so happened to come out in your favour. You... are not sure what to say or make of this.

— Now, the two of you were mates. This was kept as a secret from the whole warship. Predaking didn’t like that he couldn’t flaunt off his mate but your reasoning did make sense. “What if Megatron disapproves?” is a very valid concern and an inter-species relationship isn’t really endorsed.

— Predaking has 0 experience with romance or mates and he’s actually really excited about getting a mate but he acts like he’s done this before. Truth is, having you by his side makes him feel less lonely.

— Predaking loves your touch and will constantly crave for it but he will never ask. You can scratch his back struts and neck supports all you want for how long you want cause it's very soothing to him.

— Predaking loves your berth as it smells just like you but he’s constantly afraid whether he would accidentally break some of your belongings cause it's hard to move around with his massive figure. Everyone else may call him a beast but he’s not brute.

— He lets you decorate his horns with stickers when you bring up the idea. He thinks it's cute and that its your own special way of marking Predaking as yours. He likes anything that reminds him that he's yours and your his. You've got stickers over your shoulder plating and you ignore the Vehicon's curious stares.

— Hold his mech’s servos and he will positively melt. You’re so much smaller than Predaking and he realises how much more fragile you are in comparison to his Predacon self.

— If you climb on his lap, Predaking will cage you in. He just can’t resist. He loves smothering you with his touch. He is extremely careful. Predaking makes sure that not a single one of his spikes make as much as a scratch on your paint.

— Predaking sometimes teaches you about Predacon culture and biology and you teach him Cybertronian history, namely the era after the extinction of the Predacon... which is just about everything up to the current day.

— Predaking has secretly made a nest for the two of you in a remote cave on Earth so you and him could move out of the Warship and live there some point later on. He’s filled the nest with all kinds of stuff you like— energon, fluffy pillows, pretty sea shells, trinkets and so much more. Things he thinks you would like as well. Predaking has put a lot of thought into it. He made sure that the pillows were your favourite colour as well, he made sure the cave has adequate lighting. He struggled to find a berth that would fit the two of you though so the two of you would have to sleep on the floor until Predaking figures out how to make a berth

— You’re his mate and he sees you as an equal. Predaking has immense respect for your feelings as well as opinions and he has a way with words, he knows just how to soothe you and calm you down. You also need to be comforting to him. He gives respect and expects it back. When the Autobots destroyed his brethren, Predaking was so immensely sad and angry but thankfully, he had you to make him feel better.

— After Megatron’s betrayal, he does become even more protective over you. Predaking doesn’t trust any one of those incompetent undignified processor fried glitches on that warship. You're the only good thing on it. And you, yourself is torn apart on what to chose. The love of your life or the Cause you've dedicated your life to? Eventually, you pick the right one.

— Predaking isn’t afraid to openly express how he feels about anything really. He’s a good listener and he openly shares about how he feels.

— He still insists that you bathe him and when Predaking mentions that he wants to return the favour as well, you just internally die from embarrassment. You let him do it though, he knows how to make your frame relaxed. This is like a thing the two of you do for each other everyday.

— You once called him ‘my king’ and he was ridiculously flustered.

— When he first takes you to the nest he made, you feel your spark melt. You proceeded to decorate even more of the nest with Predaking.

— Predaking openly flaunts you off and will just ramble about how amazing you are and how lucky he is to have you by his side some point after your stay on The Nemesis.

— Predaking is extremely possessive over you and will get jealous super easily. However, he never makes such a emotions of jealousy public, he might just scoff or grumble incoherent words. If someone tries to flirt with you, may Primus bless their sparks. He will growl at them in his beast mode or straight out swat them with his long, spikey tail. He has 0 chill when it comes to you. The moment you turn away from that mech, his giant tail is swatting that bot to the other side of the continent.

— And if someone hurts you, it will get really really violent really really fast. There will be a corpse in the room without question.

— Predaking is a gentleman but he does have carnal animalistic tendencies that he tries his hardest to suppress, it's his coding and well, he isn’t all that proud of it. He can get extremely possessive and jealous ridiculously fast but he tries his hardest not to because he knows damn well that he’s attractive and that you would never abandon your king.

— Predaking is a bot of honour and respect, he’s proud of everything he does for you but he is still a sucker for your validation. Praise him, fuel his ego, don’t stop.

— He absolutely adores the fact that you are smaller than him as it makes it easier for Predaking to just effortlessly lift you up and carry you everywhere he goes. Makes him feel strong.

— This mech is way bigger than you and because of this, Predaking constantly fears that he might accidentally hurt you so he is always gentle with his touches and manhandling.

— He doesn’t really flirt a lot, Predaking prefers to taunt and tease so that he could see your flustered faceplates. You’re just so damn cute to Predaking. He’s just like that but if he does notice that you’re uncomfortable, he will immediately stop. He’s gentle. He would write love letters and such, he has a beautiful way with words but his digits aren’t really made for penwork.

— He still tries writing love letter but his handwriting is rather shabby and difficult to make out. He still tries and to you, its the effort that counts. So you just give him a soft kiss in return.

— Predaking loves spoiling you with words, kisses and gifts. He’s not shy about it in public so his affections are shown anywhere whenever he feels like love bombing you. He doesn’t mind being spoiled back but he prefers to spoil you more. He gets you things by nabbing or scavenging them.

— Predaking just wants to spend the rest of his days with you. He honestly does not care about the civil war or any cause, he just wants to be with you until the universe dies.

— Would absolutely love to settle down with you. Maybe have sparklings (if you're into that part of the fandom). He would like more of his kind around. Even if they do end up being half-breeds.

i like to image you and Predaking with the 'WHY ARE YOU RUNNING???' meme when he first shows his bipedal mode off

Predaking could only watch you as his beast form curled around you protectively. The sounds coming from their vocalizer sharp and painful to listen to, striking him in the spark sharply as you laid on your side on the lowest part of a hill amongst the night. Cold. Alone. Abandoned. Worthless trying to love. Predaking was wrapped around you like a protective cat, his helm leaning down to nuzzle you with his mandibles as he tried to figure out why a substance was leaking from your optics, which keep opening and closing. Not knowing whether to recharge or stay online.

His leg pressing against yours against your side, coaxing you to lay down as Predaking proceeded to groom you to help calm you down. You don't know why it has begun to eat at you the more Knock Out talked about "Valentine's Day~!" on the "Feb 14th." and how it was a human celebration of love and affection. Giving gifts with candy and going on dates, courting someone they may or may not be with, to take them to a special place. Like a restaurant. Or a movie theatre. You don't know why. But it makes you so choked up trying to figure out why you're so...not wanted? You yearned for it whenever the red fairy Knock Out opens his mouth about it. Wanting someone to hold you in your darkest hour while everyone basks in the light.

Predaking growled, his tail thumping against the grass as his optics fixed onto you. Transforming into his Cybertronian form as his arms wrap around you, spooning you gently as you cried harder, one servo holding the side of your helm while the other held your cold body close. Rubbing your side and shoulder.

"What's wrong, sweetspark? Why are you upset?"

Predaking could only ask against your helm as his chin rests against it. Optics semi blown with his affection and worry towards you, trying to comfort and help you best to his ability.

"Please...Please tell me...I need to help you."

The predacon purred, his clawed thump whipping away the lubricant on your faceplate with a soft sigh. Sitting up on his elbow as his other servo snaked over your spark. Feeling and hearing the pain within. The guilt and worry of why no one has ever given you a second glance in the most loneliest, if not, darkest, time of your life. Treated as an outcast as they move out of sight away from you. Huddled in their own groups as they chitter away about their dreams and how they are gonna get a conjux and have enough kids to make an army with the hot femmes or mechs in town. You had a few yourself. Find someone who would love you back. Someone who won't leave you out to bleed. Someone who won't take advantage of your darkest. Someone who does love you for not your protective shell, but your spark. Someone who won't disappear the moment you are fatigued or breaking.

But it was too late. Obviously. Envious and withdrawn. You would watch intently as any couple in the films Knock Out showed did their usual. Servo holding, kissing, gifting or...hugging. Something you had to ask Knock Out what it is...your ribcage hadn't recovered from that hug since. Predaking held you closer as he felt you hiccup and choke on your own tears while you were moved to sit more upright by his servos. Back against his chassis while you are seated on Predaking's shin and knee. His arms wrapping around your torso while his helm tucked around your neckcabbles. face against your chassis, the crown upon his helm gently brushing against the side of your face. A deep, rumbling purr emitted from his frame. His servo snaking down your arm, over your armour and exposed joints to your own servo.

"I'm sorry you're so upset—please tell me what happened to hurt you. Why does your spark ache? Your face is wet."

Holding it in his own as he muttered softly. You shook your helm, hiding your face in Predaking's neck from your servo. His squeezing your own while he side-eyed you in vain of seeing your face again.

"I-I'm...so lonely...No one...l-loves me. No o-one will ca-are if I'm...gone. No one does. I'm gonna die alone b-by the time thi-this stupid war ends."

You managed to choke out, trying not to break apart and scream your spark and processor out from hurting to work venting some part of that out. Predaking didn't know if that was the fastest he has ever sat up in his whole short life. But it was. His back strut plating popping and cracking in ways he might not know is possible in the average Cybertronian as a Predacon. Golden optics wide and narrowed onto you. His hold tightened as he growled. His servo leaving yours and holding your face in his servo to look you in the optics

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK THAT OF YOURSELF IN SUCH MANNER, Spectator!"

Predaking snarled, his fangs bared as he held you optic level with his, servo lifting to wipe the substance off your faceplate. Hugging you close to his chassis as he leaned back, servo holding the back of your helm protectively.

"You are worthy that of life, you deserve the love needed to heal you. I will do it myself, even!"

Predaking barked, servos sitting you down on his abdomen as one held your hip to keep you steady. The other patting your back as he laid you on his torso, holding the side of your helm against where his spark can be located. Your digits digging into his sides for some stability. Hearing his sparkbeat...calmed you...settling you back into reality. A reality where no one is turning their back towards you when you approach, like you're something to ignore. A reality where no one takes you on a date as a joke and asks why you're taking it so personally, and that it's not that deep. A reality where some predacon self-declared king is there when your own teammates aren't. They have better things to do than comfort and show weakness to a comrade in a crisis.

"No I-I'm not."

Predaking almost roared in fury, but bit his tongue instead to keep quiet, helm tilting back to catch his breath before looking down at you.

"Fine."

The predacon snarled, patting your helm and humming deeply as he slowly swayed you in his hold while he sat up, holding you like a sparkling. You whimpered sharply as you are cradled in his arms. Protected and cared for. Your optics open with some force and look up to him. His face solem and optics weary of your state. His servo rubbing your back and helm as he tried to help you. To ease you.

"I love you, my darling...please don't leave. I need you."

Predaking grumbled. Squeezing you gently in his hold as he leans down to you, his forehead against yours as he planted a kiss between your eyes. Making your face warm up in an explosion of warmth from the area. He grumbled as his servos felt you up and down. Looking for where you might be harmed and it is causing you so much pain you would resist his hold throughout, even your vents hitching when you look up to him or get moved. His warmth heightening as he snuggled you. Helping your mind ease as he traced patterns on your armour over your possibly fried nerves. Putting you into a state of recharge.

Predaking has never seen anyone in this state before. But he was willing to help when your appearances lessened to the point that he's even lucky to see you walking around instead of sulking in your room. So he had to help. No one was doing so and just seemed to shrug it off. So Predaking went looking for you, worried you might be in danger, injured or wounded, fighting a battle you can't win against an Autobot or two. Or even captured and tortured by humans. Giving himself a mission to find and protect you from any harm that lingers in the Earthling night that Cons before have disappeared in.

You didn't remember much waking up. Your frame shuddered as you moved to sit up and take in the new environment. You were back in the Nemesis in your room alongside a guest who scratched your armour up. But that wasn't much to bother you. Predaking was such a sweetheart. Peppering you in kisses and preening you like you were his own after he put you to berth, warming you up before curling around you and keeping you warm after feeding you energon and cleaning you.

Gently laying you back down when he senses movement, softly nuzzling your frame with his face while purring away to help soothe you. Smothering your abdomen and limbs with affection as he rumbled.

"How was your recharge?"

Predaking mumbled against your stomach as he looked up to you with loving optics. Optics that are able to see the true you with just a glance. You sighed, nodding as your servo lifted and patted his helm and rubbed his arm. How in the universe did this predacon bother to even care about you at all due to your nature? Your spark stinging as you watched him move to lie on you more, elongating his frame as he buried his face into the middle of where your arm and side had space.

Your optics closing as he went back to slubbing you again. His warm metal warming you up as his purring started to vibrate in the berth. Pouring all his love onto you as he mimicked kissing noses while he preened you. Grumbling with a content look on his face. Your optics closed. Finally at peace. A feeling you have never felt before in your life. Finally loved. A feeling people manipulated into your processor to break you. Cared for. An action that someone who wasn't a medic has done for you. Remembered. Something you wish that wasn't just Megatron, Soundwave, and Shockwave that does, leaving you out and cons wondering where you're even from when you have been at the specific post for vorns, forgetting and leaving you behind when the majority of you has been ripped off your exoskeleton with your energon everywhere. Dripping down the edges of the steps and down the cracks to a room below.

You sighed at the memory, optics tearing up as you looked down at Predaking. Unsure now if he really does care or is doing this as an order from Shockwave to keep you around longer.

"Do you...really love me?"

Predaking tensed, sitting up and staring you dead in the optics with a growl. The expression softened a bit as he leaned closer to you.

"You dare think of me so lowly as that, Spectator?"

The predacon growled against your neck as his servo planted next to your helm before blowing raspberries against your neck and covering you with more kisses. Making you giggle and laugh as you tried to pull away from the act.

There are far more pressing, productive uses of his time that you’re so carelessly wasting, and yet here he is; the only surviving Chief Medical Officer to the Autobots, idling on the curb, reduced to a mere taxi service for your convenience.

If he lets his chassis droop any further, he’ll hit the asphalt underneath him.

Optimus had made these little ‘excursions’ sound positively pleasant when he’d discuss them with Ratchet. He said it would do the medic some ‘good’ to take his place for a change, to put some wear in his tyres and get out of the base for a while… All a pretence.

Of course, it’s mere coincidence that you just so happen to need a ride from your place of work this evening, and wouldn’t it be a fine idea for Ratchet to take some interest in their charges’ lives every now and again?

Oh? Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee are all busy on their own scouting missions? Not unheard of, but terribly convenient all the same.

Optimus himself has a meeting with Agent Fowler that’s likely to extend well into the evening, leaving him no time to pick you up as he typically would?

Pah!

He doesn’t rightly know which is more insulting; that Optimus thinks he’d fall for such a badly concealed ruse, or that he can read Ratchet well enough to know he’d need an excuse to save-face anyway.

He had to come and get you. Nobody else was available.

It’s only when the seven-minute mark ticks dutifully over to eight that Ratchet is forced to consider the possibility that he might, by some, microscopic sliver of a chance, have missed your departure.

He scoffs the notion away as soon as it occurs.

Setting aside the fact that he’s perfectly observant - despite what Miko might say - you are not the type of human who’s… easily overlooked.

In all the weeks he’s known you, Ratchet has never once seen you display anything less than the highest degree of exuberance.

Then again, perhaps your behaviour is all the more significant to him because you seem inclined to adhere yourself to his side at any given opportunity. And in truth, for all his ingenuity and extraordinary acumen, Ratchet has yet to fathom why in Primus’s name you seem to light up like a fragging solar flare every time you lay eyes on him.

So no, he decides, glaring heatedly at the glass doors of the building opposite, he can’t have missed your exit.

Which is why it comes as such a shock when he almost does.

Nine minutes after Optimus assured him that you’d be finishing for the day, one last human trickles sluggishly out through the swinging doors, head bent low on a slumping neck, face downcast to the pavement underfoot.

Ratchet’s optics are only drawn to the figure due to the similarities between you, and that’s when it hits him. The human isn’t just similar to you.

That is you.

And yet, you couldn’t look any less like yourself, or at least, less like the human he’s so accustomed to seeing around the base.

Out here in the cold light of day, with your shoulders bowed like the load heaped upon them is getting heavier with each, weary step, Ratchet sees an entirely different human.

His plates start itching at the thought that he’s a witness to something he was never supposed to see, like you’ve dropped your mask and he wasn’t polite enough to look away while you slipped it back on.

It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone observing that the CMO’s first suspicion is… ‘Are you hurt?’

Sleepily, a line of ancient code rears its head to grumble at some imperceptible threat.

You don’t seem to have spotted him here on the curb, watching you raptly from the other side of the road.

The foremost jarring change that he immediately zeroes in on is the curve of your mouth. On any typical day, it’s always open, letting a torrent of admiration spew forth and sweep him up in its tide like you’ve opened the proverbial floodgates.

And you're always smiling – predominantly at him.  

But here, in the few steps you take from the shadow of the building, Ratchet can’t even catch a glimpse of that familiar, ridiculously cheerful grin that lights up your malleable features.

It occurs to him quite abruptly that this is the first time he hasn’t seen you smile.

It’s all so astounding in fact, that he barely even registers the sudden growl his engine kicks out as he slips seamlessly into his role as the team’s medic, performing a cursory scan of you from his post across the street.

You must have heard him though or felt his optics on you at the very least, because in the next second, your head shoots up and you instantly catch sight him, stopping in your tracks.

For several, terse seconds, you do nothing but stare, your face as blank as an empty data-pad. After a few beats of his spark, he realises why; This is the first time you’ve seen him in his vehicle mode… That, and you were likely expecting Optimus, not the crotchety old ambulance parked in his stead.

Ratchet is on the cusp of telling you he’s sorry to disappoint, when it happens.

You take one last look at him, squinting to make out the Autobot insignia on his grill… and then you simply come alive.

The change is immediate. He pinpoints the second your heartbeat bucks into a higher gear as you straighten your back, raising your head in delighted surprise, and your lips stretch out to their absolute limits, pushing at the apples of your cheeks as you send the old Autobot a blinding grin.

“Ratchet! Hi!” you cheer before bounding heedlessly into the street.

The spark in his chamber gives an almighty lurch as he scrambles to throw out a check for any oncoming vehicles.

By some miracle, the street seems relatively deserted for the time being, thank Primus…

He’d never hear the end of it if anything happened to you on his watch.

The agitated hiss of plating begins to settle down once you reach him, quieted by the return to normalcy.

Nothing’s wrong, you’re as chipper as always, and he would sooner tear out his own glossa than admit he’d come anywhere close to concerned.

His engine grumbles as you skid to a stop at his bumper, your fragile limbs quivering with unrestrained excitement.

“Oh my God! What a lovely surprise,” you laugh, sincerity packed into every word whilst your eyes dart over his vehicle mode, drinking in the side of him you’ve never seen before, until he finds himself shifting under your scrutiny. “What are you doing here? You never leave the base!”

For very good reason, he grouses to himself.

Aloud, he simply huffs, swinging open the passenger door for you and heaving out an aggrieved sigh. “Nobody else was available to pick you up. So, the burden fell to yours truly.” And then, with the exuberance of a dead fly… “Surprise.”

He shouldn’t ask…

He really shouldn’t – oh, Primus forsake him.

“If I may,” he grinds out through gritted dentae, rolling on his tyres to bring his open door closer to your side as he shoots a glare at the building behind you, “You didn’t seem… entirely yourself, when you left your work premises…”

You don’t reply for a moment, so he swallows his pride and gruffly adds, “Anything I should know about?”

He isn’t expecting the sudden warmth of a tiny body to drape itself so ardently against his bonnet, nor to feel the press of your cheek squashing into him with a ferocity that might have hurt if he were human. In response, the medic goes rigid on his struts, exhaust sputtering incredulously.

“Just had a bad day,” you assure him with a squeeze, “But not to worry. You’re the perfect cure.”

Ugh. He just knows that was deliberate, likely intended to plant yourself under his plating like a stubborn little parasite who refuses to be detached, no matter how hard he tries to root you out and hold you at arm’s length.

“Seriously. After the day I’ve had, you are the best person who could have turned up to save it,” you gush into the metal beneath you, “Literally, my hero.”

Now, there’s an aspect to your character that he has yet to wrap his processor around.

No matter what he says, however scathing or dismissive he tries to be, somehow, you’re never put off by it, never deterred by his outward aversion to your company and certainly never shy in the face of his cantankerous disposition.

It’s… quite infuriating.

“Look on the bright side,” Arcee had teased him once as she sauntered past his med-bay whilst you sang his praises to a highly amused Optimus from the gantry, “At least you’re someone’s favourite.”

He’d scoffed at her then like he’d scoff at her now.

He was perfectly happy being the humans’ least favourite Autobot. The unfriendly one. The cynical grouch. Gruff and unpalatable and not worth getting to know.

They don’t get attached, and he can pretend he isn’t scared half to death that every trip through the Ground Bridge will be their last.

It was fine. It was working.

But then, you came along, as dogged in your pursuit of his company as he was in avoiding yours.

Unstoppable force, meet Immoveable object.

Ratchet is suddenly wrenched from his stupor when an old truck rattles past along the sun-warmed road, reminding him that not only is he suffering the indignity of a hug, but he’s also suffering it in public.

“Wh-! Will you get inside this instant!” he hisses venomously, only losing the tightness in his vocaliser after you peel yourself off his bonnet and skip to the open door, swinging yourself into his sterile interior with a jaunty little ‘hup!’

The medic has to throw several firewalls around the circuits in his optics to prevent them from rolling up towards the darkening sky overhead. How can one tiny body possibly hold so much bounce?

He stubbornly ignores the warmth still seeping into one particular spot on his metal frame.

Your hands are eager on the seatbelt, too preoccupied with inspecting the rest of his interior to pay much attention to what you’re doing, and you end up missing the socket several times until Ratchet gives a brisk tut and manoeuvres the catch in himself.

Primus… He can feel you buzzing against his frame, every ounce of your alien biology thrumming like a youngling’s unfettered EM field.

… This is sure to be a long and arduous ride…

“So~” you sing-song, clasping your hands between your knees to keep them still as he pulls away from the curb, drifting smoothly onto the road out of Jasper, “How’s my favourite Autobot?”

Ha. Favourite…

It doesn’t matter how many times he hears you say it, the words will always sound incongruous to everything he knows about himself, like an arachnophobe saying spiders are their favourite animal. So, he does what he always does when presented with your incessant onslaught of fondness.

He tries to ignore it.  

“Optimus?” he hedges coolly, “In a meeting with Agent Fowler… He apologises for missing your usual rendezvous.”

A boisterous laugh erupts from your chest, loud and high, thrilled at the banter. It’s something else he realises he’s slowly become accustomed to, no longer inclined to wince at the discordance of it.

“Much as I love the big guy,” you tell him, planting a hand over your chest in a crude rendition of solemnity, “He doesn’t take top spot. That’s a V-I-P position reserved for you alone, I’m afraid.”

Ratchet is immensely glad you can’t see his expression at the moment, so you miss the look of consternation crushing his brow plates together and twisting his dermas into a bewildered scowl.

Why in Primus’s good name would he be your-?

Before the CMO can ponder on it any longer though, you’re shifting forwards in your seat and shooting a sunny grin at his rearview, heedless of the suburbs blurring lazily past outside his window.  

“While I’ve got you… Will you tell me more about Cybertron?” you blurt, though the way your fingers clasp tightly to the edge of the leather under your thighs tells him that you’re ready to beg if he declines, “You never finished that story about how Optimus used to sneak into the Hall of Records.”

“You-…” Trailing off, Ratchet angles his mirror down to capture you centrally within the glass, his vocaliser turning uncharacteristically soft with surprise before he can smother it. “… You remember that?”

He’d begun that tale weeks ago, long enough for a young human to have absorbed and promptly expunged any information they’d been given. He hadn’t finished it because Miko had grown so disinterested, she flopped back onto the sofa cushions and pretended – in her usual flair – that she was ‘literally dying of boredom!’

Ratchet refused to say another word to any humans all day.

“What’re you kidding me?” you laugh, trying and failing to suppress a grin by biting down on your lower lip before it slips free with your next words, “I remember everything you tell me!”

That’s…

Oh.

Admittedly, at the time, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to tell if you were paying any attention.

More fool him, he supposes.

“Well, I… Mm… Ahem.” Clearing some static out of his voice box, he cautiously ventures, “What exactly would you like to know?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turns out, ‘everything,’ was not a mere over-exaggeration of your curiosity, intended more for embellishment than to be taken literally.

When you said ‘everything,’ you meant everything. Hardly a quantity he could ever hope to cover in the half-hour’s drive from Jasper to the silo.

Still… he relented, finding that the words come easier when he’s been prompted to talk about his home.

By the time he rolls slowly into the base, your eyes are sparkling with wonder for a world you’ll likely never see, and Ratchet is…

… He’s at a loss.

You weren’t just listening to him indulge in his own grief by blethering on about Cybertron, about the ‘good old days’ before the war. You threw yourself into the conversation right alongside him, hungry for any scrap of information he’d give you.

Loathe as he is to admit it, it… made a refreshing change, having a human speak to him without their eyes glazing over or their jaws splitting apart in an obnoxious yawn.

Chugging to a stop near the gantry stairs, Ratchet opens his door with a heavy clunk, half expecting you to come flying out to tell Jack, Miko and Rafael all about your unexpected lift from the world’s surliest conversationalist.

Such is his lot.

All he can hope is that you don’t tell them about the laugh that leapt off his glossa without warning when you said he reminds you of perseverance personified, or the way his engine nearly stalled on the highway after something else you said whilst your fingers tapped a happy rhythm against his seat.

“I wish I could have seen Cybertron. It sounds incredible!”

He’d only murmured his response. “… It was…”

“Of course it was,” you agreed, aiming a hearty smile up at his rearview, “You were there.”

… Why do you have to be so damnably genuine?

It makes maintaining his cold indifference a lot more complicated.

Bewildered, he watches you, still bursting with life as you slide out through his open door and move yourself to the foot of the stairs, granting him the space to transform to his full, stocky height.

“Wow,” you breathe, gazing up at him awestruck when he rolls his sturdy shoulder panels and blinks down at you, that all-too natural scowl thudding resolutely back into place.

“What?” he snips, bristling out of habit rather than offence at being stared at.

Offering him an innocent shrug, you simply beam up at him, neck craned all the way back to meet his cerulean optics. “Nothing,” you tell him amicably, “Just wanted to say thanks for the lift. You’re the best.”

He only grunts in response at the wrongness of your statement, using a servo to loosely shoo you away. But you don’t leave as he expects you to, not yet.

“Hey, um, can I just…” you start, casting a quick, backwards glance over your shoulder up the stairway. Somewhere high above, you can hear Jack and Miko bickering over the TV remote, interrupted by Raf’s softer voice as the boy attempts to mediate.

Absently picking at the nail on your thumb, you let out a hard breath, trying to expel some of the lingering energy that still burns through your body as you return your attention to Ratchet and stammer, “I-I just-! It means a lot that you came to pick me up.”

“Optimus’s orders,” he reiterates as bluntly as he can, turning on a heel to stalk across the silo towards his screens, seeking an immediate escape from your suffocating friendliness and trying to ignore the ‘trit-trot’ of tiny shoes padding along in his wake.

He’s careful then, treading with lighter pede-falls as he reaches his station.

The softest touch to his ankle guard has him going stiff with alarm before his systems ease coolant through his racing circuitry.

Schooling his expression into something fierce, he whips his helm down to glare at you, though it falters pitifully when he sees you standing by his pede, your diminutive figure almost lost on the vast expanse of the silo’s floor. One of your arms is held aloft, and you have your palm pressed flat to the metal just above his tyre.

And your face - unfathomably open, and bright like a carbon star - grins up at him so starkly he forgets that it was less than one Earth hour ago when he saw you without a smile.

His sensors pick up the astonishingly tenacious beat of your pulse against his frame, fragile but persistent. Just like you. It’s the proof of your fondness for him. You can’t hide it any more than he can ignore it. The human pulse is an intrinsic part of your biology – the part that he checks over and over again to make sure it’s still beating away below your epidermis – the part that always, always gathers momentum and runs at a gallop when you’re near him.

Scientifically, it’s a response to the release of dopamine, and while he’s no expert on humans, he’s absorbed enough to know that the chemical is usually associated with feeling happy.

So, therein lies his irrefutable evidence.

Ratchet, the most curmudgeonly mech to ever set foot on planet Earth, makes you happy. And there isn’t a Pit-forsaken thing he can do to refute the fact because the proof is staring him in the face every day.

Checkmate.

… If this is the Universe’s idea of a joke, there’d better be a damn good punchline.

“Seriously,” you beam, ignorant of his inner-turmoil, “Thank you, Ratchet.”

And a sharp crack lances down the wall of his unassailable resolve.

Don’t do that… Don’t make his spark rumble appreciatively from something so trite as a simple ‘thank you.’