First Aid

✦ ── This sweet medibot has seen some things as of late, and he's got three hundred and thirty-two logs of pure inspiration on how to show someone a world of hurt.

✦ ── Unfortunately, he has to stick to imagining beating the slag out of whoever insulted you. If he did act on his impulses, he'd also be the one fixing them, and that sounded unappealing.

✦ ── But he will fire back at them verbally and show you that you're worth defending with his words. How someone can look down on you, such a talented human who fits right in with the team, is beyond him.

✦ ── When that bot next enters the medibay for treatment, he is ready for his less...ethical payback. Oh, did that hurt? It's only a pinch; no need to be dramatic about it (he totally made it hurt).

✦ ── May or may not have sneakily switched their F.I.M. chip so next time they go for a drink, they don't feel the effects of it. Petty, but at least they'll waste one night and a few shanix on nothing. It's an easy fix, anyhow.

"You didn't!"

You were giggling beside his keyboard, laughing as he slipped his mischievous deed to you.

"That sounds like a gross instance of medical malpractice, Aid." Despite the teasing tone, you were still grinning wide.

He leaned his helm in closer, optics looking around in a mock attempt to ensure the area was clear before he whispered.

"Keep it between us. I'll flip his chip back when he returns."

It was worth it, seeing you smile after you'd been so down about the bot's comment.

Rodimus

✦ ── Critique him for being captain all you want; he can laugh it off or rage about it alone where no one can know it affected him in the first place. But insult you?

✦ ── Immediately at Magnus levels of upset. Yeah, calling you any variety of names or doubting you should be punishable by several cycles in the brig. Of course he can't, no matter how much he wants to.

✦ ── But he is the king of smack talking. He is on them about every little insecurity they do or should have. What's that? Want to speak up about his favourite little human? Could have sworn he heard the same mech that nearly pissed himself last mission saying something about you.

✦ ── They earn themselves a spot at the top of his shit list. Left out of more fun missions, forced into the nasty ones, whatever makes him feel better. He won't tell you, but he'll make sure you find out all the funny details that paint them in a bad light.

✦ ── Is he going too far? In his humble opinion, it isn't far enough. But this will just have to do. Whatever sets the precedent on how to treat his human right, then so be it.

"—aint is all scratched, and it's going to take hours to buff! I hate these stupid missions." The seething bot walking past you and Rodimus barely spared you a glance.

Their paint was scratched clean off with several deeper lacerations. They seemed to be returning with a group of other bots who'd gone to the planet below to handle a skirmish.

At least this time they hadn't said anything rude about you.

"Can't believe they were that damaged from such a simple mission. Should have sent someone who knows what they're doing, huh? Bet you could have done a better job." Rodmus grinned, tilting his head towards where you sat on his shoulder.

"You're just saying that to flatter me." Your hands came up to playfully smack the part of his helm getting too close for comfort.

"Is it working?"

Shockwave

✦ ── Insults were not unusual. Any human amongst the Decepticons could brush them off. Nicknames that painted you in a dehumanizing light weren't much of a threat, anyhow. You'd learned to accept them.

✦ ── Shockwave never seemed troubled by them, either. Not that you expected him to. You were capable of handling yourself; he'd picked you as his lab assistant for a reason.

✦ ── It is one comment from Knockout that stirs a reaction out of the scientist, though you'd tuned it out. It was hard to ignore the aftermath of Shockwave practically slamming what he was holding down.

✦ ── Not the kind to outright attack, but his ability to intimidate is next only to Megatron himself. No one wants to be on the bitter end of his malice.

✦ ── And malice it is indeed. For what little Shockwave expresses of himself, he is clear and concise when it comes to your importance to his research. By extension, importance to him.

"You would be of far better use to me if you knew when to withhold your unnecessary comments, doctor." The scientist had turned towards Knockout, taking one heavy step in his direction.

You watched in awe.

"Right, yes, of course. I just thought a Cybertronian might be of more help." Knockout's hands were waving in front of him, trying to defuse the situation.

"You have not only thought wrong but also insulted my choice-making. My assistant is most valuable to our cause and has the highest projected success rate."

Knockout stood frozen.

"You are dismissed, Knockout."

Soundwave

✦ ── Fortunately for you, your acceptance by Soundwave meant very little was said about your human qualities. The Vehicons weren't troubled by your presence, and Megatron had better things to do than complain about the organic who'd done more for him than Starscream.

✦ ── But that was exactly the issue. You'd earned more respect as a fleshling than Starscream did as the second in command. Anytime he saw you on your own, he'd manage to slip a hurtful comment to you.

✦ ── It'd be stupid to bring it up to Soundwave. The third in command was busy. But Soundwave captures all, and the first time he catches one of those comments? Well, he would hate to break command, so instead he's going to make the SIC's life a living hell.

✦ ── Recommending Megatron send him for missions Soundwave knows the mech would hate. Sending portals in just a bit too late, so the mech gets a few more hits from the bots. Being far less lenient to Starscream's demands of him.

✦ ── And if Soundwave is anything, he is persistent. He will not let up until Starscream is begging for him to stop. Lord knows Screamer takes forever to get over his own ego, too, so it lasts a damn long time.

"Apologize to the human!? Have you lost your damned mind?" Starscream was seething, sharp nail pointing at you as if he wanted to skewer you.

Soundwave nodded his helm once, replaying the audio recording of his insult to you.

When the TIC refused to back down, Starscream grumbled before crouching closer to you.

"Human... I am sorry you felt bad about what I said—" He scrambled away when Soundwave's tendril shot toward him in threat, a squeal escaping him.

"I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry!"

Vortex

✦ ── If it's one of the guys making a comment about you that he doesn't like? They're breaking out into a semi-serious fistfight that has no clear victor.

✦ ── The Combaticons do respect you more than they would any human, hence the kinder beating. Usually it's Brawl making the comments. Vortex has no idea Brawl apologizes to you in private and is only doing it for the fight.

✦ ── If it is literally anyone else, some no-name con or, god forbid, a bot? Fucking hell. They are in for a world of pain. Vortex needs an excuse to fight, and this just gave him one.

✦ ── You have to watch. He is doing this for you, so sit back and enjoy. Whatever bot just insulted you is getting sliced, thrown, and beaten till they're on the brink of death.

✦ ── Would go further, but he kind of wants them to live in fear of you. Yes. Spread the word that any comments about his lovely little human will result in great bodily harm. It gets his engines revving and his rotor blades perked up.

"Did you see that? Cracked his visor right into his optics! Medics 'll be picking little fragments out of there for hours." Vortex was carrying you in energon-stained servos.

He was in surprisingly good shape considering the size of the bot he just took down. You were certain he took some of those hits on purpose, for the thrill of the pain.

"Thank you, 'Tex."

"Huh?" His lips finally stopped moving, gleaming red visor tilting down to get a good look at you.

"For defending me. Thank you."

"Well, someone's gotta."

• Head turning, he watches you, glossa sliding over his denta. They’d forced him to mass displace to make him manageable and bound him, giving him you thinking he can’t manipulate you. Fools. Though he’s enjoyed playing with you, dabbling in your memories. Finding all sorts of lovely insecurities. Like the fact that you’re surrounded by Cybertronians, but so lonely. “You’re just hungry,” you mutter, drifting closer anyway. Because you’re as hungry as he is. Afraid of what the crew will think of you if they find out what you do with him. To him.

• “Starving.” Hands bound at his sides, he flexes his servos. “What has you troubled? Come here.” Those blue optics stare at you, his lips parted as his hips lift as much as they can. Taunting you. “Let me taste.” Know he means your memories, but as he slides that glossa over his denta you shiver. Because you don’t trust him, know exactly what he is, how awful and ruined he is.

• “Not happening,” you say as you toe off your boots and strip off your lower coverings, leaving the rest on. Hips lifting again when you lay a soft hand on his chassis and shift over him. That little touch sparking through him, letting him in. Clever fingers finding the panel and releasing his erect spike. Optics shuttering and lips parting as you grip him and guide him to you. Letting you believe you’re in control as you take his spike deep into your wet heat. Taking your pleasure as he uses the contact to delve into you, feeding off of your memories. Living through them as you brace your palms on him and undulate against him.

• Is It how wrong it is that makes it so good? Or is his corruption spreading to you, making you as twisted as he is. Head tossed back as you bounce on him, your breath catches. Feeling him in your head, spreading like smoke through you. Whimpering as you remember the last victim. Hunting another Cybertronian, so hungry. Eager for the kill, his hunger twisting through you as you devour their memories. Under you, he’s whispering in that silken, terrible voice. Crooning to you as you ride his spike. “Let me go, little love. We could be free,” he groans as you move faster against him. “Take such good care of you.” Hear his chains rattle as his hips rock up against you, voice growing strained. Know he’s lying to you, but you want it a little more every time. Want him even as you fear someone checking on you and finding you on his spike.

Tarn

• Servos tightening on your hips as he kneels behind you, you whimper as he buries his spike inside you. “Weak,” he snarls, hips moving urgently against you to stroke deep. “Blasphemous.” Cheek resting on your outstretched arm, hips up as he ruts against you with deep, hard strokes, his optics glint at you from behind his mask. Because no matter how much he insists this is wrong, he doesn’t stop. Sneering at humanity and weakness in front of the rest of the DJD, but when it’s just the two of you, he can’t seem to stop reaching for you.

• Running a palm up your spine as he thrusts against you, lost in the feel of you gripping his spike, he hates it even as he needs it. Needs you. “Tarn,” you moan and his optics shutter, hips pumping frantically as you tremble under him. Every single time he claims you, he swears it’s the last time. That he won’t succumb to this weakness. This shame. And then he finds himself bearing you down, mounting you again. Wishing he was stronger. That he could just break you and be free of this addiction, but never able to. How many times has he wrapped his servos around that delicate throat while you rest against him, thinking how easily he can end this? But never following through. Unable to lose you.

Vortex

• “Do it,” he groans, mask retracted and denta bared as you press that little blade, the one he’d given you, to the mesh of his neck under his chin. Hands on your hips, he rocks himself against you. Feeling the way you tighten on his spike. “Is that what you want? Me to beg? Please.” Laughing, he lifts his hips and throws you off balance. Feels the little bite of pain of the blade cutting him, before you yank it away from his throat, eyes wide. “Frag, a bit harder. Deeper.” Not sure if he means the blade or his spike stroking inside you. Servos tightening on your hips as he rolls. Hears you swear as the little blade goes clattering and that lovely coppery scent fills his senses.

• Back hitting the floor as his hips surge against yours, you hook your legs around his waist. Feel the wetness running down your wrist where you cut yourself. Spike pounding deep, he catches your arm and drags your hand to his mouth. Latching onto you, the side of your hand gripped in his denta as his glossa slides over the shallow cut to make you squirm. Pain and pleasure spangling together as you dig your thumb into his neck, finding that little nick and pressing against it until he shudders against you, biting hard enough to make you cry out as he releases. Hips surging against you, as he runs his glossa against the inside of your wrist and stares down at you, venting raggedly. Slipping free of you long enough to flip you onto your belly, then he’s inside you again, hips pumping as his mouth brushes your neck and shoulder and he bites again. Gripping you in his denta as he ruts against you and you scream, coming apart. Trembling as he keeps moving against you, both of you unable to find pleasure without pain. The same kind of broken.