#perceptor x reader

• Straightening, he’s thankful the ceilings are at least high in here so his helm isn’t scraping anything. But staring at the flimsy looking tables and chairs, dread that he’s going to embarrass himself spills through him. Especially when he’s positive those chairs won’t hold his weight. And he startles when you grab his servos and tug him toward a serving counter. Studying the trays of strange, alien food as you order, he clears his vents. “Energon?” He asks the serving human and they glance from him to you looking lost. ‘Supply,’ you whisper and they’re leaning to yell at another human to run to supply for energon.

• “Sorry,” he mutters as you grab your tray with one hand, the other hand still gripping his servos. ‘It’s all good,’ you mutter, thankful the person on KP duty didn’t make it a big thing. To be fair, there’s no rule against the Cybertronians being in here or eating in the commissary. No one had thought that they might want to, either. Eyeing the tables and chairs, you glance back at him. Because there’s no way the cheap plastic and metal chairs are holding his weight even mass displaced. And sensing your dilemma, he tugs out a chair at the closest table for you before moving another out of the way and just sitting on the ground.

• The two humans already at the table are staring at him as you sit down with your tray. “What’s wrong with humans?” One of them mutters under their breath and you go still, your pronged eating utensil in hand. Plating lifting slightly as your jaw works before you smile sweetly, you gesture at the other human with the eating utensil. ‘Xenophobic much?’ You ask and they frown at you. And you’re turning his way, back to them. ‘My place or yours after lunch?’ You ask, still smiling even though your eyes are angry.

• Flustered and annoyed as you meet his optics, he reaches to grip your free hand and tug it to him. Head ducking to brush his mouth against your knuckles as the other person stiffens. And you’re not even surprised when they grab their tray and pointedly move to another table. It does surprise you when the other person just grins and keeps eating. “Sorry about them,” you whisper as you see someone hurrying out of the back with a barrel of energon, a glass, and a measuring cup on a cart. ‘I’m not, because now you’re coming back to my place,’ he says and your face heats because his expression is dead serious.

• He’s standing slowly, optics traveling over you to make you painfully aware of how you’d heard some mechs had reacted to the new coveralls. Making you unsure how you want to him to respond. Heating as his head tips slightly and he mass shifts to make you rock back a step, you doubt you’re ever going to get used to them doing that. It’s too sudden and always leaves you dizzy. And he’s reaching out, servos toying with the tab on your zipper, his big frame so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him. Flustered, you study that handsome face as he leans down until his lips are almost brushing yours. “Have you decided then?” He asks and heat spills through you. Realizing exactly what he’s asking. If you’re ready to be his.

• Catches a slip of your little tongue when you wet your lip and he wants to kiss you. Taste you. “Say I have decided. What then?” You ask breathlessly and he vents to pull in the heady scent of your need, his spike aching to pressurize. Hooking a servo in the front of your covering he backs up toward your cart and tugs you along with him. When he sits, he grips your hips to tug you into his lap, but you’re grabbing his plating to haul yourself up. Servos cupping your chin as his spike pulses and aches, he brushes against your bottom lip. ‘Then you’re mine,’ he growls, hearing your breath catch at the possessiveness in his voice. The hunger. How long has he fantasized about this? About you?

• His head angles, lips right there. Waiting for you to decide, making the choice yours. And you arch into him, mouth pressing against his, feeling need spread in a hollow ache inside you. His lips softer like his mesh as they slide against your own and his hands tug you flush against him. When you make a little noise, his glossa steals inside, stroking along your tongue. Exploring to make you swallow a whimper. Hanging onto his chassis, the zipper on your coveralls is shockingly loud when he tugs it down and you’re shrugging the top half off, breaking the kiss as he growls a protest. “How many layers are you wearing?” He asks, voice low as a servo hooks in the neck of your undershirt, his frustration almost making you laugh. ‘Too many,’ you breathe, reaching to tug it off over your head and hoping no one comes into the stall. Afraid that if you stop, you’ll overthink this and lose this chance altogether.

• Relaxing slowly as the embarrassment fades, your legs swing as they dangle over the edge of his palm. And you try to pin down when this became normal to you. Maybe it’s some weird survival thing that’s wired into your brain and you just reach a threshold for weird that once crossed, your mind ignores since it can’t deal with it. Giant, alien robots? That’s just a normal Tuesday.

• “What are you smiling about?” He asks, watching you as he walks and he realizes he has no real idea where he’s going. Only that he doesn’t want this moment to end and once he puts you down, it will. ‘How weird humans are,’ you answer and he hesitates. Because that feels like a trap. Rumbling as he debates if answering will get him in trouble, he settles for a noncommittal hum of noise.

• Where is he even taking you? You’re pretty sure he’s headed toward the Autobot habsuites. “You have to at least buy me dinner before you take me back to your apartment,” you tease and he rocks to a stop, optics pinched. Making it apparent that he was absently taking you back to his place. ‘Dinner,’ he echoes like he thinks you’re serious. And he’s changing direction to head toward the cafeteria.

• Food exchanges are part of human courting? That’s familiar at least and that similarity is reassuring. And you look up at him, bottom lip between your teeth. Trying not to laugh. Stopping, he frowns. “What?” He asks and you wave a hand. ‘I thought we were getting dinner before going back to your place?’ You ask, voice thick with amusement. Teasing him though he’s missing the joke. Venting warily, he starts walking again.

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• “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, servos flexing as you sit up in his hands, legs dangling and swinging slightly. And you smile weakly, looking up at him but avoiding his optics. ‘Are we good?’ You ask, the words hesitant. Unsure to make him force a smile of his own in response. “Of course,” he manages, aching to curl his servos in. Brush one against your arm. You like him. But he thinks he might love you.

• Everything’s out of whack and you fidget in his hands, not wanting everything to grow strained and awkward. What would it be like to say okay to him? To say you choose him. Know at least one of your coworkers is in a serious relationship with their Cybertronian and that it seems to work for them. Inhaling slowly, you try to get the words right in your head. To figure out how to say you want to give this a try. If he’s still willing to try at all after you shut him down hard.

• “I’m not good at this. I mean, like disaster levels of bad,” you say, gesturing as you talk and making a face and he does smile then. Do you have any idea how adorable you are when you get excited or frustrated? “Normal relationships are just hard,” you add, face flushing again as your field prickles through him with embarrassment. “And I think I make them harder. I don’t mean to.”

• “We could figure it out together,” he interrupts, throwing you a life preserver as you flounder. And the fact that he doesn’t laugh at you, doesn’t get exasperated or say you’re too much? That’s scoring him major points in your book. “If you wanted to try and earn your alien bling,” he adds dryly to startle a laugh out of you. If he’d been human it would be so simple. Actually, you’d probably have dragged him home day one without any hesitation. So why is it so different if he’s not human? ‘Try? It’s already mine.’

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• Hugging Perceptor against yourself, you carry him over to where Wheeljack and Brainstorm are arguing. And something about seeing one of the diminutive bots holding a pencil in two little hands as he jots alien glyphs and math while the other shakes his head, has you smiling despite how serious the situation is. They’re just so cute this size and harmless.

• Watching Brainstorm arguing with Wheeljack’s math, Perceptor clears his vents tiredly. So far, neither of those two has claimed responsibility for this mess. Making him suspect the Decepticons. Though, from what he’s heard, that side is blaming his. “What were the two of you working on before this happened?” He asks and Wheeljack’s vocal indicators flicker pink. ‘Nothing that could have caused this,’ the other scientist insists as Wheeljack’s own caretaker reaches to pat him on the head to make his shoulders slump.

• “By itself, maybe not. But what if this was because of multiple dangerous experiments in close proximity?” Perceptor asks and you have to resist the urge to give him a kiss on the head, because he’s too cute all serious and scientifically reasoning the problem out. While fun sized. “Likely ours and theirs combined,” he adds sounding tired. Theirs meaning the Decepticons.

• Jogging through the base before your shift, your nose and ears are aching, fingers stiff even with all the layers you’re wearing. And you’re so focused on the thump of your music in your ears that you almost don’t even realize the big, red leg you’re running past belongs to your assigned mech. Neck craning, you smile up at Perceptor and pause your music. “Good morning!” You call out, hooking a finger in your scarf to pull it down as he just stares at you.

• Servos faintly trembling, he curls them under into fists to resist the urge to reach for you. Pick you up. You’re already so soft, but right now, you look softer, fluffier. Wants to gently squeeze you, but knows better. Are you warm in all that? You look warm and cozy. Makes him want to press his face against you and vent deeply as irrational as it is. “Hello,” he manages, realizing he’s just staring. Not reacting at all. Aching to touch you.

• His reaction time is off. Maybe the cold affects Cybertronians, too? Slows them down? “Are you okay?” You ask as those optics stare at you, his big hands flexing. Poor guy. Looks like he’s freezing up. Reaching up a gloved hand toward him, you smile. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.” And he’s mass shifting, arms wrapping around you as your boots leave the ground and he presses his face against your neck, venting. “Percy?”

• Stalking restlessly, he rumbles as he vents, picking up a familiar scent. It’s so hard to think now, consumed by the hunger. By the need to devour and kill, but he doesn’t really have an appetite for energon anymore. Hissing softly as he crouches and moves closer to the only thing keeping him sane, he knows you. Remembers you. Your scent, your softness, grounding him. Keeping him from losing himself completely. “Hi,” you whisper as he approaches, venting to pull your scent deep, trying to remember your name. To understand who you are, because you matter. You’re the only thing that does. “Are you hungry?” You’re holding up an energon cube, but he doesn’t want that.

• Startling when he mass shifts and keeps pacing closer and closer, circling you like a predator checking out prey, you feel your skin prickle. Know it’s still him, that he’s still in there somewhere. That the others are trying to find a way to bring him back. A barbed tendril rasps against your leg, those sharp points laying flat for now when they could tear you apart instead, and it coils around your thigh as he steps in front of you, looking down at you and growling, engine revving and snarling softly. And a big hand catches your hip, dragging you to his broken, terrifying frame. Feel sharp servos scraping skin when he presses his face against your neck. After something besides energon as he hisses, engine purring raggedly.

• “I missed you, too,” you tell him, that familiar voice anchoring him. You’re his. Knows you. Needs you and can scent your heat. Trying to figure out your coverings, he snarls when you back away from him, but you’re only stripping for him. Spike pressurizing as his barbed tendrils brush against you, snaring you like he would prey as he backs you up against the wall, lifting you. Wishes he could speak. If he could just focus, maybe he could remember how. Can only seem to manage rasping moans and hisses, though as his sharp denta brush your throat and your head tips back. Soft hands brushing over him until he feels out of control and he pins your wrists over your head against the wall with his tendrils. Can’t understand why you keep coming to him even as it means everything to him. How can you stand to look at him like this? He wasn’t always like this, right? Can’t remember.

• It’s still him. The heat of his frame against you familiar as his mouth brushes your neck, denta scraping skin with the threat of biting. Know if you’d been Cybertronian, he’d be tearing into you even though you’re his conjunx. Ripping you apart with those denta even though you’re certain he still knows you. Recognizes you. But since you’re human, he doesn’t see prey. Trembling as the head of his spike slides against your hip, you’re not quite ready yet. Not relaxed enough and you squirm when his hips roll against you, grinding himself against your belly. Arching into him, you feel his mouth slide down your body as he crouches, before he puts his mouth on you.

• Remembers this. The taste of you, your scent. Can’t remember your name, but this is home. You’re home. Knows he’s losing bits of himself every day. That it’s harder to remember things. Snarling against your wet heat, his glossa strokes, tunneling inside you as his tendrils keep you pinned. Because this urge is the only thing stronger than the hunger. The need for you. To drown himself in you. Feels you trembling in his grip as he palms your thighs to keep them open for him, mouth sliding against you until you’re gasping, pleading. Crying out his name as you shatter on his glossa.

• Breathing raggedly as he slowly straightens, you moan at the feel of his spike stretching you in a hard surge. And his hips pump urgently against you, rutting frantically as his clawed servos scrape against the metal wall at your back. When he releases one of your legs from a tendril, you hook it against his hip, chasing that friction. Another release. Needing it, needing him. As desperate and wild as he is. Want him back. The real him, not this pale imitation. Miss his little smiles, the sound of his voice. Straining against the tendrils pinning your wrists, you’re gasping as he ruthlessly drives you over that edge again. Feel him shudder and snarl, the heat of his release when he overloads and his tendrils relax before he’s sliding down onto his knees, taking you with him as you wrap your legs and arms around him. Feeling his spike still pulsing inside you while you hide your face against his neck and he rumbles raggedly. “I miss you,” you whisper, feeling a hand slide up your back and you need to believe he knows you. Remembers you. It’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Tried creative mode for the first time last night and mistakes were made after I realized I could spawn Endermen and got a baby, I just kept spawning them trying to find another one. I made the assumption they’d all teleport away and spawned about 30 in my new house. Yeah, no. Most of them went outside but are staying in the immediate area, but about ten just won’t leave at all, they’re merrily decorating my house with dirt blocks and apparently just live there now. If I want to play outside of creative mode, I’m going to have to move and build a new house, because this is their house 😭

• Squinting up at him when one corner of his mouth twitches, your lips part. For an alien, he’s got a handsome face. A deep voice. Gentle hands. And he’d had a crush on you. Until you’d broken his heart. Spark? Whatever giant aliens have. But if he can tease you, he has to still like you. At least a little. “I can’t believe you were about to just ditch me,” you mutter, flushing.

• You like him. It’s not really a declaration of love, but it’s something. Knows you’re going to break him. Knows it, but he can’t make himself put you down either. “I thought-” He begins and he falters. Nothing really changed even if you like him. Is he just a friend to you? Nothing more? Can he ever be more? Spark aching, he knows he should walk away. Protect himself. But as you sit up and look up at him, he knows he won’t. Needs the comfort, the feel of another field brushing against his. Needs it so bad sometimes when the nightmares and flashbacks become too much. “Never mind.”

• He really is adorable, serious and embarrassed. But you’re embarrassed, too. Unused to being vulnerable, letting your guard down. It’s easier to joke and tease. If you pretend nothing touches you, you can’t get hurt. That’s what you always tell yourself anyway. That it doesn’t hurt when things fall apart. “Were you planning a conjunx gift for me? You know, before?” You ask, wincing at yourself for the question as he clears his vents tiredly. Why can’t you be real? Say what you really mean?

• “No,” he murmurs tiredly. Those are meant for after a choice is made. Though he’s fully aware of Tracks’s caretaker wearing a piece of him like a bracelet. Everyone’s aware. It’s scandalous, but at the same time, he can understand the urge. The visceral need to mark his conjunx. Except you aren’t his. “You have to earn it,” he adds, surprised when your eyes narrow like he’d offended you. ‘You think I’ve not earned alien marriage bling?’ You counter, raising an eyebrow and he looks away. It’s so easy with you. To smile. To imagine there can be a future. Even if there might never be. “You only like me.”

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