#nitro zeus

🤣 sure 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mech 🌶️

Needy

Nitro Zeus x Reader

• Turning, you startle as a big hand smacks the wall near your head and even mass displaced he’s massive as he leans down and rumbles, that single optic focused on you. And you’re guessing he likes the apron. Though it could also be the fact that there’s nothing on underneath. Heart hammering, you’d thought this might be the easiest way of letting him know you’d decided. By playing wifey and pretending to clean the chaos of his habsuite while wearing that stupid apron he’d found and brought you as a joke. “This for me?” He asks as he vents, his engine noise almost animalistic sounding to leave you breathless with anticipation. Reminding you that he’s not safe even if he’s relatively tame with you.

• Part 1 & 2 •

Like yeah, bayverse is no where near being the best transformers media out there, but it was the first one I ever saw, so it has a special place in my heart.

This is a matchmaking AU for all Transformers media! I'm not too well versed in lore, so don't expect a masterpiece. Inspired by @revelboo's Soft AU (super good, if you like transformers check it out!) but more focused on the matchmaking/marriage aspect. If you want to feel free to request characters :) Reader IS GN, one use of 'wife' but how people call men/NB babygirl or wifey.

Being married off to an alien robot wasn’t exactly in your 10-year plan. It certainly wasn’t your idea. That honor belongs to your father, who heard about the possibility of accessing an untapped retail market and practically shoved you at the recruiter. Honestly, you’re not too upset. How long have you drifted directionless in life? At the very least, you can go shopping on your new husband’s money rather than your father’s. As long as he likes you…

When Nitro Zeus first heard of a new matchmaking program the humans set up, he laughed. Over the next several weeks though he found himself surrounded by mechs and their new squishy conjunxes . Worst thing was they seemed happy, incredibly happy. As soon as they got matched up they’d walk around with their plating puffed up and gleaming, chuckling with the sweet ethereal little being on their shoulder or cupped in their servos.

Aw, frag, why can’t he have that? That’s how he found himself here; in a large, concrete building staffed with hundreds of the little organics. One stares at him from the elevated hallway across the building. A few other mechs are in the building with more wandering the complex outside. He sidles up to queue behind a vehicon, who shuffles uncomfortably at his presence. When it’s his turn he stares at a little organic sat at a desk. They’re positioned on a catwalk about optic-level. They shuffles some papers around, pick up a pen, and address him in a bored tone. "Name?"

The whole process takes half an hour, questions about his creation, upbringing, alliances, skills, alt-mode, income and social standing. She waves him to the left where they take his height and weight then assign him a class. Afterwards they direct him to a photo station, and he strikes a pose, flexing as the camera flashes once and he's waved on. Lastly, they tack weld a plate containing his designation number and class letter to his shoulder plating and assure him it will be removed once his match is assigned and recognizes him. Apparently, there had been some situations where humans confused similar colored mechs.

So this is the place, huh? You crane your head back all the way as you enter the building. There's a spacious lobby, greeting desk, and four elevators that people flow in and out of constantly. Tapping at the counter, you greet the receptionist then chime, "I'm here for the matchmaking program. My father should have called." She brings up your account information and directs you to the correct floor, then turns back to chatting on the phone.

A light ding announces your stop, and your jaw drops when you step out of the elevator. You're several stories up and to your left the long hallway is lined with floor to ceiling windows that look out into a massive room. That's them, aliens puttering about below. From your position you're looking down on most of them. Except for one, dark blue in color. You watch him stride past, so in awe it takes you a second to realize there's a person sitting on his shoulder. They spot you and wave wildly, cheering when you wave back and drawing attention from their spouse. He turns to glance at you but doesn't slow his stride. Soon enough he's ducked through the doors past a shorter, steel gray one with a single glowing red eye.

Jolted out of your amazed staring when someone rushes by you with a stack of papers. They're cursing all the way down the hallway and into the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly as if that would close the doors faster. You hurry down the hallway, searching for the office you were supposed to meet in.

Finally, you knock at the door and enter with a sheepish smile. "Sorry I'm late. I found the windows."

The man behind the desk nods reassuringly and answers, "You're not late at all, actually. We tell all applicants a time fifteen minutes ahead of schedule for that exact reason. Please, sit, and we'll get started."

You do as he asks, jittering with excitement now that you're actually here. The man starts with a list of questions, likes, dislikes, fears, preferences on the 'alienness' of your new partner and age. They also take a general assessment of your appearance and health, for insurance reasons, he says. With that done you take a picture and get a little lanyard with your picture, an ID number and current match status.

When all the bureaucracy is out of the way the man pulls out a tablet and passes it to you. "The profiles I bring up will appear on that. Please, let me know if you see anything you like. Don't be shy." He pushes his glasses up his nose and continues, "If you have any starting preferences that would be helpful."

"Well, who has the most money?" At this he gives you a look over his glasses, and raises a brow before scrolling for a bit and pulling up too profiles.

"This is Mirage. Cybertron elite, Class A2, suitable for a life integrated into human society, incredibly wealthy." You nod and swipe through his profile. He's handsome, you notice, a charming smirk and laidback demeanor. Also, apparently fourteen feet tall, woah. Ideal for your father's plans. Just as you open your mouth to speak his picture blinks gray then disappears. "Ah, better luck next time. Got to be quick with these speedsters. Hottest thing since sliced bread."

"Next up is," he draws out the S sound while searching then mutters, "aha, here. Blurr. Famous racer on Cybertron, best one around, apparently. That's earned him more than a few credits. He's a bit jumpy though, doesn't slow down much. Class A3. Bit high risk, but capable of integrating with little effort." His profile is similar to Mirage's, but with more information on the 'employment' section. He's also a bit taller at nineteen feet. How are you supposed to...consummate, then? It might have been achievable with Mirage but certainly no taller.

"That face is not inspiring confidence," the man states, shuffling in his seat. "How about this, what would you normally look for in a human partner?"

Oh, this just got twenty times more embarrassing. You should say something posh, someone with a boat, impeccably gelled blond hair, a country club membership, manners and etiquette. Instead you stutter out, "Uh...I don't know. Big, I guess, and strong. A little rough and tumble, but not mean. Just someone that's confident and can handle himself. Someone that can dance." That last bit is added on as an afterthought, videos of dancers playing in your mind. You'd always admired them, that cool confidence, the ease of movement.

He nods, clicking his tongue a few times, and, apparently finding nothing, refreshes the page. "Ooh, a fresh one. Here we are..." He stalls on the R, and taps a few keys to hold the profile. A new picture appears on your screen. Your eyes widen. It's the gray one you saw earlier. "Nitro Zeus. Second Wing Commander. Class D5. You can't bring this one home to daddy, let's say." Immediately, you're transfixed. This one is far larger than the other two, you'd seen if for yourself. That's cause for concern, or would be, if you could bring yourself to care. He's also got a less human face, instead a vertical sort of mouth, a single red eye, and two sweeping horns. More noticeably he's flexing Mr. Olympia style. You giggle, and swipe down to read more of his profile. Most of it is bare bone facts, and you're almost surprised when you find yourself wanting to know more.

"How do I-" The man leans over the desk, head resting on the backs of his intertwined fingers. "Find out more? I'll send a message over to the communications department. They'll contact Zeus here, bring him in for a meeting, and, if he likes what he sees, you should get word within the day.” Nitro Zeus's picture on the screen draws your eyes again. It seems nonsensical, but he's infinitely better looking than either of the robot supermodels. At least, to you he is.