#grimlock x reader

• “Lockup?” You repeat, sounding wary and his shoulders hunch, servos picking at a spot of paint on the energon barrel. Why did he say that? Always blurting out things without thinking. ‘I’m not like that anymore. I just, I made some mistakes. Fell in with a bad crowd,’ he mumbles, embarrassed as he shrugs. Had let others talk him into things because they’d included him. Pretended to be his friends. But they’d just liked his strength. His size. Had used him and thrown him away to save themselves when the authorities had closed in on them. They weren’t his friends.

• Huffing out a breath, you understand that a little too well. “I’m not judging. It happens,” you mutter, thinking about how slippery that slope can be. You’d fallen for your ex because he’d said all the right things, had given you attention, sweet words and sweeter kisses. And you’d not even realized he was methodically separating you from anyone that might warn you, that might help. Turned you against them, murmuring that they were just jealous. Disgusted with yourself for believing him, you find a sponge and drop it in. You’d been young and desperate to be loved and he’d taken full advantage of it.

• Surprised, he slowly relaxes, watching you grab the soapy bucket and carry it over, motions quick. Almost angry though he’s not sure why. “Thanks,” he says and you look up at him, brow furrowed. “For not judging. Most people do,” he adds with a shrug as he sits heavily on the metal bench in the stall. ‘Oh, believe me. I know,’ you mutter sourly, hauling the bucket closer and then dragging the hose over to spray him down and his plating ruffles slightly. Now that the excitement of being chosen, being seen and accepted are ebbing, he’s not really sure what to do. What to say.

• Why did you volunteer that? Why did you say anything at all? It’s because he’s smiling down at you like that, expression slightly puzzled and innocent. Shoulders hunching, you force a smile and start scrubbing his ped. Was he tricked and lied to just like you? Used. Like you’re doing to him right now to protect yourself. Hands trembling as you hate yourself a little more, because you learned from the best. Know exactly how to manipulate and coax because he did it to you. Is that who you want to be? Just like him?

Previous

• “Just thinking,” you say as you roll over onto your stomach, stretching your arm to dabble your fingers in the water and his still semi-pressurized spike stirs. ‘Thinking?’ He asks, shifting between your slightly spread thighs and you look back at him over your shoulder. But he’s staring at his excess on your thighs, loving the way you look when you’re messy with his release. Covering you, he groans as you tilt your hips and he buries himself inside you again. Needing you even though he just overloaded inside you. Unable to stop reaching for you.

• Breath catching as his hips rock, there’s no urgency in his movements as he nuzzles against the back of your neck. Mask retracted and denta teasing the skin there. And you don’t bother trying to unravel the convoluted way you feel about him, losing yourself in the feel of his spike stroking inside you as he rumbles possessively at your back. “Worrying?” He grunts, hips pumping as one of his big hands completely engulfs yours. Suppose it is worry. That this can’t last. That at some point, you’ll have to go back to reality. ‘No,’ you lie, fingers interlacing with his servos.

• Venting as he grips your shoulder in his denta, hips bucking while you tremble under him and fist his spike, he wishes you’d talk to him. Explain what’s wrong, because he can tell something is. When he’s with you, he feels less out of control. Less a mindless brute, but he’s still limited. Whatever happened to him, making it hard to think. To communicate. But he wants to. Needs to. Growling as you gasp his name, coming apart for him, he shudders.

• Feeling the heat of his release filling you, his glossa drags against your shoulder and you belatedly realize he’s accidentally broken the skin even though you didn’t really feel it. Laying your cheek on your arm as he shifts at your back, spike pulsing, the heat of his frame and the sun are almost too much. You’re sweating and you need to bathe again. Shivering with a moan when he finally pulls out, you yelp his name as his arm hooks around you and he tosses himself and you sideways into the lake.

• Heart racing as the huge mech grins at you, you’re forcing yourself to smile back. Reminding yourself that this is why you signed on. Because these giants have the very misguided notion that the caretakers are courting them. That you’re here looking for love. And you plan to exploit that. Want to feel safe again. To not be constantly looking over your shoulder waiting on your past to catch up to you again. “Hello, sir,” you call out, forcing a smile as your nerves hum. He’s big enough, scary enough looking that anyone would think twice before they mess with him. Hopefully.

• “Grimlock, Grim. You can call me Grim,” he says, taking a step into the stall as his servos flex. Wanting to pick you up but trying to not overwhelm you. You just look so small. Soft. Venting softly, he rumbles as he looks around the stall. Not really sure how this works. What to say or do. “You got a name?” He asks and he winces when your expression eases, smile becoming real. “I mean, I know you obviously have a name. I just, I don’t know what it is.” Wishes the ground would open up under his peds as you bite your lip. Already messing this up.

• Trying to not laugh as the knot of tension inside you eases, you give him your name and he grins easily again. Relaxing slowly, you study him. And honestly, it feels like you’ve lucked out. The mech seems friendly enough. Eager. All you have to do is play along. Pretend you’re all in on finding an alien husband. Because with a guard dog like him, no one’s going to come after you. It won’t matter if he finds you again when he can’t get his hands on you without going through your new, alien boyfriend. “Would you like some energon?”

• You’re smiling up at him, expression expectant and he realizes you’ve asked him something. Has no idea what, but he’s nodding anyway. And you turn away, startling to wiggle a barrel of energon nearly as big as you are off your cart. Starting forward, he reaches past you to pick it up. “I got it,” he says, servos fiddling with the lid on the barrel as you study him. ‘You’re really strong, aren’t you?’ You ask and he straightens slightly, plating fluffing up as he rumbles and hefts the barrel. “Pretty strong,” he growls, pleased.

There was a storm in Grimlock's skull.

Not a storm of thoughts—there weren't many thoughts—but a storm of sensations. It was noisy, hot, and confusing. It was like a malfunction in his optical sensors, where everything was blurry and sparking, but this malfunction was happening within his entire being.

He didn't understand what it was. The word "love" wasn't in his vocabulary. Instead, there were words like "Strong," "Weak," "Enemy," "Friend," and "Mine." And with the latter word, something strange was happening.

When he saw you, his processor would hum with a low, uneasy sound. His fingers would clench into fists, not out of anger, but out of a painful tension. He wanted to... what? Break something? No. To protect? Yes, but not only that.

He was drawn to the reader, as if by a powerful magnetic field that he could not overcome. He did not choose to be near you. His feet carried him to where you were, and once there, his powerful processor, capable of calculating the trajectory of a strike in a nanosecond, froze in a helpless stupor.

Why? he asked himself aloud, looking down at his hands. "Why is Grimlock here?"

There was no answer. There was only that tugging feeling in his chest. The instinct to be close. To mark her with his scent, his presence. To drive away all the other males. To bring her the most shiny, the most durable part of his prey.

He interpreted it through the only lens available to his narrow mind: power and possession.

He didn't understand that he was in love. He just knew that when you were around, the world seemed brighter, and his own strength took on a new, strange meaning. He wasn't just protecting a bot. He was protecting his sun, which warmed his armor with an incomprehensible but desired warmth. And this fire within him was stronger than any plasma blast, more terrifying and beautiful than any battle. He didn't even know what to call it.

~ So how would he behave if he was in love with you?

1. Showing off his strength is his love language. He won't say, "I like you." Instead, he'll say, "Grimlock is the strongest! Grimlock can break a Decepticon with his bare hands! Watch!" He'll try to impress you with his feats, often in a showy manner. When he sees you, he might intentionally roar louder, break walls in his path, or challenge someone bigger to a fight, just to show you how powerful he is.

2. Primitive "help." He'll try to help you in his own way. For example:

· If you're injured in battle, he won't pick you up gently. He'll roar and hurl the enemy into the distance, then rudely point a huge finger at you, saying, "You're not fighting well! Give it to Grimlock, Grimlock will protect you!"

· He might bring you a "gift" - a piece of debris that was supposed to be a part of another new mechanism for Wheeljack, which he personally crushed, or a piece of particularly durable alloy that he bit off from Megatron. These are valuable items to him.

3. Jealousy and possessiveness. The canonical Grimlock considers himself a king, and what does a king do? He asserts his rights. He won't be cute and jealous; he'll be blunt about it.

· If he sees you chatting with someone like Bumblebee, Grimlock might step between them and bark, "My reader! Get out!" (meaning, "I've chosen her, and she's under my protection.")

· He might point at other Autobots and say, "He's not a good match for you! He's weak! Grimlock is strong!"

Clumsy gifts. He might bring you the wreckage of a Decepticon drone that he personally crushed, or someone's stolen item from someone else on the Ark. In his world, these were valuable items that demonstrated his strength and prowess.

4. Awkward attempts at interaction. He will be constantly around, but he won't know what to do. He might sit silently in the corner of the room where you are, just staring at you (which can be awkward). Alternatively, he might hover around you, stepping on your feet (literally), and dropping things that you are trying to fix, trying to "help."

He may also find himself constantly nearby. He might simply stand behind you, breathing down your neck, unable to think of a way to start a conversation.

• Clearing his vents, stretched out in a sunny spot in the wash stall, his chin slides on the concrete when he hears your voice. Optics opening, Grimlock doesn’t bother to get up yet. And he rumbles when two small bitlets run into his stall and stop short, eyes wide. Before you run in, cart rattling as you pull it behind you before you stumble to a stop, face flushed. Are these your younglings? Aware of the other Dinobots stirring, one of the younglings points. “Dinosaurs!” He shrieks, running over as you let go of the cart to chase after. ‘What did I just say?’ You yell, catching one youngling around the middle as the other one runs up to Slag and smacks a hand on the other mech’s face to make him snort. ‘No touching!’

• Wing walking closer as his head tilts, the bitlet trying to climb Slag looks up at Swoop with no fear. And the other youngling is kicking and struggling to get loose as you struggle to hang onto the bitlet. “Are you a puh-terrydactyl?” The bitlet climbing Slag asks as the other mech rumbles and tilts his head to send the youngling sliding off of him. ‘Am Swoop,’ he says, venting and scenting you on the youngling before reaching to grip the little one by a leg, head tipping as they giggling hanging upside down when he picks them up. Are all young humans so small or are these runts? Normally humans run from him, not to him and he isn’t sure what to make of it.

• “No. Swoop, no,” you yelp as the Dinobot holds up one of the twins by a leg and you drop the other one to run over. “Swoop! Put him down right now!” You demand. Not that your stern voice is any more effective on Dinobots than it is on small kids. The bot just stares at you. ‘Why?’ And your brother is just laughing, shirt riding up as he squirms, halfheartedly trying to get loose. Apparently having the time of his life while you just imagine him accidentally getting dropped on his head. Turning when you hear Grimlock getting to his big, clawed peds, your heart stops as that massive head lowers toward your other brother.

• Croaking as he nips at your backpack, tempted to fly to a perch with you where the others can’t easily reach, Swoop rumbles when you obligingly run those wonderfully soft hands over his head. And he can feel the others glaring at him. Every day a competition to see who you greet first. Who gets washed first, because that’s your favorite for the day. It has to be. “Swoop is dirty,” he says, hearing Slag growl at him when he almost whines the words, stretching out a wing to show the dirt. “Neglected. Sad.”

• Stalking over, Grimlock’s tempted to put a massive ped on the flyer. “Swoop dirty,” he growls and you smile up at him, momentarily derailing his thoughts because you’re pleased to see him. “Swoop rolled in dirt,” he accuses and you laugh as Swoop hisses a denial even though they’d all seen him do it. ‘You wouldn’t do that would you?’ You ask Swoop and the other dinobot can’t meet your eyes as Snarl and Sludge both snarl ‘would.’ Though Grimlock supposes the others might just be annoyed that it didn’t occur to them first.

• “Slag is favorite,” he rumbles as he tries to nudge you away from Grimlock and Swoop with his head. Hearing your laughter as you let him and the other two snarl in protest. “Slag not roll in dirt. Brought present for little conjunx.” Hears your confused ‘conjunx,’ as his head turns, casting about before carefully picking up a bucket in his jaws and setting it down by your foot. “Present.”

• That’s your bucket, but you thank him anyway, reaching out to rub his head as his optics shutter. And you suck in a breath when Sludge uses his tail to pull you his way so it feels like they’re playing tug of war with you, the big bot rumbling a warning. Even if you didn’t have to go through them squabbling over you every single day, it’d still take forever to wash them when you have five and they’re huge. Know you’ll end up washing Grimlock first because as he likes to point out ‘he’s king’ and the others usually back down before it becomes an all out brawl to challenge Grim. Turning over that strange word, conjunx, you wonder what it means as Sludge’s head lowers on that long neck to nose against you, nearly knocking you on your butt.

Next

• Waiting patiently for you to swim free, his head lifts to watch you paddle for the shore. “Sure. That’s fine. My clothes needed washing, too,” you mutter sullenly as you swing your bag off and start stripping, and he eases his bulk into the water. Watching you dig out your soaps. Swimming lazily in the lake, he listens to you mouthing about all your stuff being wet before submerging himself.

• Naked, you’re glad it’s a warm day as you ease back into the chilly water, using a bar of soap to scrub your clothes before flipping them up on a rock and scrubbing yourself. And belatedly realizing your enormous, alien, dinosaur husband has disappeared. Blowing out a breath, you straighten and turn in a circle. How can something that big just vanish? About to call out, you scream when arms come around you, hauling you up out of the water as you kick. Realizing he’s mass shifted and transformed out of his altmode. Hear him laughing as his masked face brushes against your cheek.

• “Don’t do that!” You groan as he walks you to a rock, hearing you protesting that you just washed your clothes as he lays you down and palms your thighs open. And your fussing wavers off into a moan when he retracts his mask and puts his mouth on you, rumbling at the familiar taste of you. Your legs hooking over his shoulders as his glossa slides against you, pressing inside you while he listens to your little noises. Growling against your slick heat, he seals his mouth against you.

• You can wash the damn clothes again. Hips trembling as he rumbles and his mouth slides against you, you whimper his name, body coiling as those strong servos flex against your butt. Squeezing gently when you buck against his mouth, breath hitching. Hear him snarl against you and you cry out as you come apart, that glossa driving inside as he swallows hungrily. Heart racing, you let him ease your legs down and he covers you, back arching at the slight burn of his thick spike stretching you. Clinging to his shoulders while his hips pump, you hear birds chirping as he snarls and ruts against you. Free in a way you’ve never been in your life.

Next