#g1 blaster

Outside of the trouble those nagging ‘Cons were always causing for everyone else, there wasn’t anything about earth that Jazz hadn’t grown to love. The diversity of life and nature all around them had drawn him in from the start, and the more he got to know about earth and its inhabitants—both big and small, speaking or not—the more fond of everything he became. There was just something special about a planet like earth. There was something in the atmosphere that put him at ease, and whenever he could, Jazz was out and about and enjoying all there was to see, hear, and experience in their new environment.

Jazz ran pretty cool for the most part, and style was kind of his thing. He took pride in his role amongst the Autobots, and he was always pushing the love for both worlds whenever he could. Earth was no Cybertron, but it still had its own charm. With the right kind of company and the right introduction to the planet’s culture, anyone could make themselves feel a little more at home in their new home.

Just like he prided himself on his flexibility and that impressive skill of simply “letting the rough stuff roll of his back,” as Blaster always put it, Jazz took great care in owning his style and his identity on earth. He liked what the planet had to offer, and he loved being able to become apart of the community around them, but sometimes…

…well, sometimes it only took a pebble caught in the gears to throw even the most easygoing bot off-balance, and Jazz was no exception.

The brief conversation he’d had with a few fellow Autobots that morning had left his metaphorical feathers ruffled and his good mood a little dampened. It was the worst possible timing, too, because today was his off-day, and the whole afternoon ahead of him until late evening had all been booked off for some very exciting plans he’d put together with the help of his beloved companion Blaster.

Things were going to be fine, of course, and Jazz wasn’t about to bail on any of the activities they’d put together—especially not when said activities involved good food, better music, and a great group of humans to meet up with later that day after everything was said and done—but Jazz… wasn’t exactly feeling like his usual self anymore. In fact, the longer he sat on the edge of his berth and waited for Blaster to swing by and drag him off to their first stop of the day, the more his spark began to sink with the weight of some very unintentionally painful words tossed around just hours before.

Jazz’s frown was small and wobbly as he slouched forward, his attention fixed on the slight pudge that protruded outward from his middle in a row of soft, small rolls. He poked at each one before pinching the bulk of the fat between his fingers and giving it a jiggle, his frown deepening as he groaned out an unsatisfactory sound in the back of his throat.

He wasn’t fat, per se—at least, not in the way he was starting to think of himself to be. The silly banter he’d had going between himself and a few others that morning was nothing to be stressing himself out over, but the longer he sat with their voices echoing in his head, the more he found himself wanting to dig his fingers into the bulk of his frame and squeeze, assessing for himself just how big he had allowed himself to become.

He was a hefty mech by nature, and his build was naturally made to be bulky and thick. It didn’t mean that he was fat, though, and even if it had, who was he to care? He had always liked the excess mesh packed onto his sides, and he liked the way his belly spilled outward whenever he had found the perfect position to relax into. He was chunky, for sure, and maybe that did translate to being a fat mech, but really… who cared if he was?

Not him. He never did. He never had a reason to… until now.

Jazz nearly startled when he heard the sound of his door creaking open, the noisy barrage of excited knocking coming from the other side only leaving a split second for him to react before the new arrival was bursting through. Blaster stood in the doorway with a bright smile and even brighter optics, and he threw his servos up into the air with a gleeful shout of “Jazz!” before dropping them back down and propped them on his hips.

“Hey, mech!” he said, nodding his helm to his partner. “Sorry to keep you waiting for so long. Just had to wrap up a few things before we left, but… ahhh, I’d say we’re ready!”

With only a second to break out of his slump, Jazz tried hard to put on a quick smile and drop his servos to his sides. He put on a small smile and pushed himself up onto his pedes, the thrill and excitement of the day ahead already working to lift his spirits back up.

“I’m ready if you are,” he said as crossed his arms over his chest, feeling all too aware anymore of the way his chunky frame must have appeared. “What’s first on the agenda? Music? Grab snacks and go?”

Blaster was nearly halfway through his response as he moved further into the room, and Jazz had begun to relax when he realized his little slip up had gone undetected. However, knowing Jazz as well as he did, it was no surprise to him when Blaster stopped midway through rattling off all of the possibilities they could use to start their day’s adventures to stop and stare at Jazz with an unreadable expression.

“Alright, hold on a second,” he said, his optics narrowing as he crossed his arms in a similar fashion. “You’ve got a weird look on your face—one of those looks that says ‘I’m not fine but I’m totally trying to play it off as though I were fine.’”

As he stepped closer, Jazz stepped back. He found himself pressed against the edge of the berth again as Blaster moved in, stopping just short of their frames touching. His gaze roamed as he studied Jazz’s face and watched him shift, and his frown grew more and more the longer Jazz went without voluntarily admitting to the problem at hand.

“I know that look,” Blaster said softly. “What happened, Jazz? Did someone say something to you about you taking the day off again?”

“No,” Jazz said with a shake of his helm. “It’s nothing, Blaster. Really, it’s nothing.”

It was something, though, and while he was a pro at the whole brushing stuff off thing, he knew Blaster knew him well enough to be able to tell when something was stuck fast.

“Someone said something, didn’t they?” Blaster said. “Slag, Jazz, I’m sorry. It’s no biggie, okay? We’re fine! We’ve already got Optimus’ approval for this, and when we get out there, we’re going to have a great—“

“Do I look fat to you?” Jazz suddenly blurted out, his servos finding their way back around the curves of his belly and the thick circumference of his waist. “I mean, I know always thought I looked pretty thick, but… am I actually fat?”

Blaster went silent, his mouth agape and his optics blinking. It took him a moment to process the question, and it took him even longer to stutter out a shocked answer, but the whole time, Jazz stood there in front of him, nervously chewing away at his lower lip.

“I—you… fat?” he repeated as he raised his brows. “Jazz… I mean, no. No, you’re… yeah, you’re on the thicker side, and you might pass yourself off as a little chubby on a good day, but…”

Blaster moved closer still, and this time, Jazz didn’t shy away. He didn’t move as his partner’s servos came to rest on either side of him, Blaster’s warm fingers curling into the soft grooves atop his hips and massaging the pudgy mesh that layered the areas between his plating.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s say you are fat. What exactly does that change, huh? You still look great, Jazz, and… damn, I mean, the look suits you. You look good fat.”

Jazz couldn’t help but snort at that, and Blaster quickly started again, his words a jumbled mess as he hugged Jazz more tightly.

“You’re thick, yeah. You’re… you’re chunky—let’s call it that, chunky. So… what? You’re chunky, Jazz. You look great chunky. It’s your frame, it’s your style, it… I mean, it just suits you, you know?”

“Okay, okay! I get the point,” Jazz said when his giggles finally died down and Blaster’s servos had stopped wandering. “So… chunky. Thick, maybe. Fat…?”

“If you want to call it that, sure,” Blaster said with a shrug. “The point is, you look good like this. You look great, actually. It’s you, Jazz, and… I like you.”

It was Jazz’s turn to flush under the affectionate admission, and he snorted again as Blaster leaned in to give him a good, long nuzzle.

“Blaster! I believe you!” he laughed as Blaster leaned in closer, their frames pressed together as Blaster clung to him. “You’ve made your point, and now you’re gonna make us late if you keep it up!”

“Hey,” Blaster said, stopping briefly to let their helms touch, “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re good again.” He paused, his servo gently patting Jazz’s side, then said, “you’re perfect, Jazz… and if you need a reminder of that, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”