#metroplex

The Autobots can't expend their resources on some factionless Cybertronian. That doesn't mean he won't be cautious. That Prime is so self-righteous in his convictions. Bombshell knows you're too prideful to lay yourself at the pedes of the Autobots and ask for assistance.

The raw power of the Insecticons overwhelms you with ease. It's so easy that it leaves Bombshell feeling paranoid. They hop from place to place, so the disappearance of one unknown, lone Cybertronian shouldn't spark anyone's suspicions. Still, simply still, there is always a new variable that may pop up in the most unfortunate of moments.

Bombshell doesn't claim to love you. If owning is love, then he loves you. If it isn't, then his feelings are too complex to be boiled down to such a simple term.

Love.

The word is tantalizing; it's a substance that must be carefully monitored and controlled.

This is much more than such a word, but Bombshell has already made that clear enough.

He shows you his collection of faded sparks that he's gathered from his millions of years of battle. He can't help but chitter happily while introducing the immobilized you to all of his trophies.

He walks you through his lab, vaguely explaining the various life forms he has caged and sedated. He goes into an awfully detailed explanation on how he is manipulating the biology of the non-organic ones.

He shows you to your new habsuite: such a well-constructed cage with electrical inhibitors that weaken you enough to the point where you can barely stand, with all of your higher thought processing shut off in an attempt to conserve power. It's isolating: four grey, freezing walls that are soundproof. Nothing gets in or out unless it has Bombshell's permission.

He is your only point of contact. Bombshell has forbidden any of his kin or other Decepticons from meeting you, at least for the time being. It'd set back your training.

He's eager to "play" with you and has been doing it since your first meeting. Only now dods he have complete authority over what to do with you. He does so with a sparkling-like glee that contrasts his sadism. A few of the Decepticons pity your fate, but they do well to mind their business. They don't care that much.

First he implants a cerebro-shell into you so you have no chance of escaping. His cerebro-shell connections form a bond that is stronger than that of a conjunx or a cassette player and its deployer. This bond isn't mutual. It's parasitic and consuming, and he gets off on how he feels your circuitry bending to his whims.

Next comes him forcing you into increasingly ruinous and degrading acts to break you. He has made himself acquainted with the things you wouldn't dare utter, much less share willingly with a con you claim to despise. He preys on your traumatic memories, forcing you into these simulated situations where he is the arbiter of your suffering. He inflicts your greatest embarrassments upon you, relishing in your once stubborn edge morphing into a state of panicked begging.

He does all of this because he needs a blank slate, after all. To recreate you in his image is the greatest honor he could bestow upon you. It isn't something you deserve, but if you are his most-loved subject, then you must be worthy of his praise.

It takes longer to make you compliant than he calculated. He feels a heaviness in his spark at this turning in your transformation. It's something he can't quite describe. It's gain with loss, and that is the nature of science. He's simply beginning to realize that as much as he abuses you, breaks your processor, and breaks your spark (metaphorically), he treasures the essence of you. He'll make sure that doesn't get lost on his way to making you anew.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙺𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

Kick back and relax; you'll always have a good time with him. You'll have such a good time that you may never want to leave.

The other Insecticons can be a little much. He understands.

An Autobot ally—ugh, the word disgusts him so. But you'll never be able to tell. Some nasty Insecticons, whom his brothers and he may or may not have created, attempted to attack you while you were all alone! How scandalous. How vile. How bad. You poor thing. Then he jumped right into your life and saved you.

Don't cry, please; he isn't like the others. Not all Insecticons are so bad. You don't trust him. He understands. He'll prove it to you, even going as far as to save an Autobot, which he later offlined when they gossiped about him to you. He has no idea how your friend died! Oh, that's so sad.

He slowly grows closer to you, and that nasty, possessive feeling rears its head. That feeling that says you aren't quite as disposable as he planned on being. Which is bad. A human should capture his affections, but something about you is irresistible. You're so easy to manipulate. You'll sit in his servos and chat with him like he isn't fantasizing about having his way with you and then letting his kin join in. He just wants to slather you in honey and then lick it off of you. You're the sweetest treat he could ever have.

His charming nature will falter for less than a moment when you call him a friend. "Friend" is another word for "fool." He's far from that. He will be so much more than that. Just look at him. He's the perfect mate for you.

Now, now, he understands that he can't just pin you down and mark you. He wouldn't want to startle such a delectable thing as yourself. He's used to playing the long game. He's patient, and he will claw his way into every facet of your life.

Does his new interest mean he will stop using you to his advantage? Oh, never.

You're such a lovely, naive little informant for him and his siblings. Don't tell your friends you know him! Hush, they're so judgmental, but he isn't like the others. He just wants to get to know you. He enjoys hearing about your day, your entire life in fact! He catalogs each word of yours into his processor and stores the data for later use.

You provide him with such sweetness. Yet you leaving to go back to the Autobots leaves a certain bitterness gnawing at his plating, threatening to dim his spark. He'll make sure he can monitor you. A tracking chip never really hurt anyone—well, maybe it will considering he was able to get you under Bombshell's knife and had his fellow Insecticon attach it to your nervous system with paralyzing capabilities. Such a small addendum. There's really nothing to worry about.

It's practically untraceable too! He can't let any awful accidents happen on his watch. Even if the tortured expression of betrayal on your squishy face would be delightful to intake.

Slowly but surely he keeps you in his nest later and later. He makes sure a nice concoction Bombshell cooked up keeps you submissive while Shrapnel uses his fine-tuned electric shocks to gently stimulate you. All of your yummy pheromones and hormones and other organic stuff releases. They can smell it. It makes them all chitter happily. All the while you're sleepy yet awake, blissful while surrounded by beasts that until late wanted nothing more than to eat you.

He feeds you such believable lies about how the Autobots betrayed your trust. The Insecticons are Decepticons, but they're nothing like that nasty Megatron and his degenerate crew. The world is so scary. Remember all the times you almost died because of the Autobots' carelessness? Crime is on the rise, he heard. And your so-called organic support system did such bad things while you weren't around. You didn't know? Now you do. It's a benefit of the Insecticons having wicked good hearing.

He treats you so good and gives you so many things! Some would say they are the best things. Anything and everything you would ever need. So he may make you do humiliating things and be his glorified pet. So you may get passed around to the other Insections. It isn't anything you can't handle. Has he ever steered you wrong? No, he hasn't.

You're his favorite piece in his collection: his collection of miscellaneous treasures. It reminds him of that organic saying he once heard, and he despises that he's even referencing it: "One man's trash is another man's treasure." Just don't get too out of place in his collection. He won't mind putting you back in line; it's only for your benefit, of course.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝚂𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚗𝚎𝚕 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

Having to live in such squalor―squalor for millions of years―years tends to drive one's processor to the brink of insanity―sanity.

Tearing through organic farms―arms is good for one's spark―spark. It's almost as satisfying as seeing how the humans―humans react to being fried―fried by his electrical shocks―shocks.

Such a little creature―creature as yourself should've stayed indoors. Instead―instead, you were met with three hulking metal insects chowing down on anything they got their dentae on. That includes humans. The organic matter of such fleshy creatures is delectable―delectable. It causes his mandibles to stim happily, oral lubricant rolling from his intake at the thought of devouring another one―one.

They would have to tear off your coverings. Those don't taste as good―good. But watching you cower―cower stirs something in his circuits―circuits. It gets so boring―boring when there is nothing to play with after their ravenous rampages. Flesh is so easy to break-ache under their digits. You'd be a short-lived distraction but an entertaining one―one. He churrs to his fellow Insecticons-cons, relating the plan to them.

Keep you―you. Use you―you. Easy disposal when done.

Shrapnel loves—loves to collect broken things, especially scarred things, things that deal with e-lec-tricity. He can do all to you while pointedly telling his fellow Insecticons that he gets to break you first—first.

Mold his fun toy into the perfect pet. Make your organic processor die out (from all the fun he'll have with you)—well, almost—a dead toy is no fun. Unfortunately, he's a little impatient. Constantly hungry. Loves your struggling but also finds that sometimes he doesn't have the time to deal with it. He'll hand you off to Kickback and Bombshell. At first, he practically throws them to you, wanting to hear those bones crack—crack, flesh squelch—squelch.

Then he's just a little more careful. He dumps you into one of their servos. He starts mumbling for Bombshell to put you back together. There isn't softness in his tone, but there is hesitance you can catch glimpses of, and that's the most you'll get for a long while.

You aren't close to being his equal—equal, so why should he care?

One of his favorite pastimes is zapping you. He doesn't exactly do research on how many volts a human can take before they offline. He prefers to find out himself (which really is the fun part when you think about it)! You never know when you'll either feel a tiny jolt or an entire lighting bolt. Lightning only strikes twice—twice? Much more than that. It either strikes you, those stupid Autobots, or a conniving Decepticon!

Mhm, Shrapnel adores—adores poking and prodding, rubbing, licking, and more over the electric burns and their resulting scars that he so willingly and lovingly gives you. It always causes his mandibles to clack against each other, inadvertently creating more electricity for him to use, most likely against you. You really are lucky! Most beings are taken down—down in one strike—strike! He even keeps the amperage down for your frail, human body. How kind.

He isn't the best at taking care of you, if you couldn't already tell. The resulting injuries from your shock therapy, as Bombshell has coined it (seeing as how he is always patching you up and logging how much does what to you), aren't pretty. His minor shocks only create superficial damage to your skin: first- or second-degree burns. The blisters adorn your body, so beautiful—beautiful and red—red—red! It may be his favorite color on you—you! His favorite canvas to chew on when you're already so deliciously—liciously groaning out in agony. It's overloading pressure to his audials—audials.

The higher the voltage, the more he's expressing his love to you—you!

Cardiac defibrillation and heart arrhythmias are irrelevant words. Spasming from his love just means you look even more like delicious prey—prey to him. Bombshell can find new organs for you! Kickback can whisper pretty words in your fleshy cartilage to get you to not shake so badly around him—him—him.

Entrance and exit wounds look so good on you. The skin around them blackens as your bones become superheated from his wonderful charge—charge. After a while the necrosis begins to irritate him. So much time—time before he can love on you again. He may have Bombshell reinforce your skin with metal. Ooh, perfect—fect! Then the zaps will hurt extra hard, and you'll still be alive for it!

Maybe after all of this, he realizes that he does want to bond with you—you—you—you—you! He isn't pleased with your memory loss from all his love, but that's okay! It makes it easier to be, what is the word Kickback uses, softer with you. Letting you recharge with him, refuel with him, and even engage in Insecticon traditions—traditions.

You may eventually exchange the shock therapy for something else, but it will be far more invasive and humiliating knowing Shrapnel. Don't worry too much though—though! He has the best aftercare—aftercare.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

He's held many species within him that have been aided by the Autobots, but humans are by far the greatest mystery to him. He may reside on Earth most of the time, but that exposure does little in helping him learn about your nature. You, the unbonded human who resides within him—you, whom he has helplessly become enamored with. It was accidental, obviously. He can think of at least five intergalactic rules he's breaking by being infatuated with you. He just can't stop how his spark pulses, causing power surges all throughout the city, as his audials tune in to listen to you speaking with the others.

His feelings bring him great shame. Perhaps it would be better if you were human-bonded, married, he corrects himself. Spike has Carly with their offspring, Daniel. They seem so—happy together; even when the Decepticons threaten everything they still cling to each other, their bond growing stronger. He wonders if he could ever have such a thing with you.

He's gigantic. He's well aware. He's always felt such insecurity in his size; there's a lack of fulfillment in his duties. It is and will never be enough. Too many bots have died within him. He has failed many times over. Seeing you, though, soothes the ache of it all.

The ache grows when he realizes he could never be the partner you need. He's thousands of feet tall, greater than 305 meters, a gargantuan—a Titan. That has always been his greatest strength, but it's a weakness in attempting to connect with you. He's far too vital to mass shift just so he can spend time with you. Even if he did, he'd easily dwarf you, unable to touch you without fear that he'll break every bone in your human frame.

He can use his holoform, but he isn't actually sure how he's supposed to project himself. Would you prefer him or an organic version of him? Would you be disgusted, seeing as how you reside inside him? Do you even wish for him to form a relationship with you?

All these doubts circulate in his processor, creating problems for the bots. They aren't entirely sure what's wrong with Metroplex. These anomalies have never popped up before. Yeah, they recently had to fix his T-Cog, but the diagnostics didn't show any other physical irregularities.

In all honesty, it isn't Metroplex who you should be wary of; it's the bots that will do anything to keep their ultimate weapon, their greatest and final defense, in good health. He's too self-sacrificing to be selfish when it comes to you. He'll yearn himself to the Allspark, such a strain on his emotions that it manifests into tangible reality. The Autobots can't allow that.

They found out when some of the engineers heard something eerily similar to your designation being creaked out by his various mechanical components. Rumors spread fast in the city. Many chattered about whether a human could learn the art of cityspeaking. Others became panicked, realizing that if this human were to betray them, they'd lose their greatest ally.

"Anxious," "paranoid," and "fanatic," are just a few of the things you could call the bots who began watching over you like carriers, insisting on this and that about who you are and what you will do. Quite honestly, it greatly irritated Metroplex. The kin he has given protection to now betrays him in such a visceral way that it makes the anomalies normalities. More bots are spooked, more control is exerted over you by others, and he is further displeased.

A solution is needed—swiftly, at that. After a battle with Trypticon, Rodimus engages with Metroplex. Both Autobots want you to have a say in this, but Metroplex's spark threatens to collapse in on itself at the thought that he may be separated from you, for your own safety. Surprisingly, Rodimus got you on board with the Autobots' idea with ease in a way that makes him foolishly believe that he will have a chance with you.

You will work in his most intimate of places in exchange for the Autobots treating you (semi-)normally. You even have a habsuite right next to his spark chamber. He functions better than he ever has. He falls deeper in his need for you, to the point where your arrangement turns from a suggestion into a demand. Rodimus makes the hard choice to keep you locked inside Autobot City. Any time you leave, problems arise. They can't fix it, and sacrifices need to be made when leading—no matter how hard.

The Autobots only hope that being stripped of your autonomy to a certain extent won't anger Metroplex. Never in any time in any reality do you want to see Metroplex enraged. Scum of any kind threatening you has his gears already turning so that he may meet them faceplate-to-faceplate. Very few can meet his height. His judgment is swift. The verdict? Death. He has never felt more alive than when he crushes a threat under his pede.

He feels great peace knowing that you will no longer be in danger. His fuse may not be short, but when it blows, it is explosive.

Alas, the gigantic size difference between you has always just been another thing to take into account when you realised you had feelings for the titan. Soft-spoken, humble, kind and intelligent. What more could you ask for in a city lover?

The fake spike currently between your bare legs is directly linked to Metroplex’s pleasure lines. You’re not sure how he obtained it, and frankly, you’re a little afraid to ask. He must’ve called in a favour here or there, but whatever. You’re not entirely sure if he has a spike, and even if he did, it’d be impossible for you to do anything with.

So, here you are. Hovering over a metal spike currently protruding from the space in his chassis. He won’t push you, but he’s been craving something physical with you for a while now. You’re so small, but so soft, and so pliable. And he can’t help thinking about how good your body would feel. Only if you would just—

Metroplex’s optics shutter with fading light as he feels your pussy sit on the spike. Your warm hole spreads over it, working yourself down bit by bit. You hold him by the base, keeping yourself anchored to it as you bite your lip from the stretch.

You get as far down as you can, rolling your eyes and letting out a sigh as your thighs already start to tremble. You lean forward, placing your palms flat against the floor before you start bouncing your hips. Up, down, up, down, as consistently as you can. Your knees will definitely have bruises in the morning, but it’ll be worth it.

Pretty moans start tumbling from your lips as your body starts to ease around the sensation. From the way the ground vibrates beneath you, you can only assume Metroplex is also enjoying himself.

His mouth is agape, hung in an O shape as the feeling of your tightness stirs within his intimacy plates. He wish he could have you on top of him, and let you ride to your hearts content, but he’ll have to make do until another way to be intimate can be found or created.

“Metroplex,” you whine, the sound stretching in your throat. Your giant lover can hear your noises travel through him to reach his audials, and the sound is pure heaven.

The moan that leaves him is involuntary, and at his size, he’s just glad that he’s ensured there’s nothing in a 5-mile radius of you both. A deep moan from him could cause the entire ground to quake, unleashing chaos on his fellow smaller Autobots.

“Keep going, just like that,” he mumbles, but it echoes all around you. You huff another moan, dropping your head. His sweet encouragement proves to fuel you infinitely more, leaving you bouncing on the spike with an adamant goal of having him overload.

“Fuck, I want your spike,” you sob, feeling your pussy get wetter and wetter as your fluids start to pool on the floor below. You want his spike more than you want anything, even if you know it isn’t possible.

“Soon,” he rumbles, “I’ll find a way.”