#predaking tfp

Predaking's heavy pedes struck the metal floor of the corridor with rhythmic, thunderous force. Each step sent a vibration through the deck plating that would have made a lesser bot stumble. He was prepared for many things: a stern faced Vehicon, a condescending scientist like Shockwave, or perhaps even a particularly annoying Seeker. He was prepared to growl, to intimidate, and to make it very clear that he was a warrior, not a pet.

He was not prepared for a creature of flesh and bone.

As he rounded the corner towards the main docking bay, his yellow optics scanned the area, searching for the approaching figure. Then, he saw them.

He came to a sudden, jarring halt, his massive frame looming over the corridor like a dark, jagged mountain of black and orange plating. His wings flared instinctively, a sharp, metallic clack echoing off the walls, before he forced them to fold tightly against his back. He lowered his helm, his optics narrowing as he peered down way down at the small, organic being standing there.

They were tiny. Infinitesimally small. Compared to his massive, clawed digits, they looked as fragile as a piece of unrefined crystal. They wore strange, dark purple coverings that clung to their soft frame, and their head was adorned with a curious little clip. But it was the lack of... presence that struck him. They didn't radiate the hum of a spark or the clatter of gears; they were quiet, almost unnervingly so.

A low, confused rumble vibrated in his chest, a sound halfway between a purr and a warning. He crouched, his powerful leg struts hissing with hydraulics as he lowered himself to a knee to bring his face closer to their level. Even crouching, he was a titan compared to them.

"You.." He began, his voice a deep, resonant bass that likely felt like a physical tremor to them. His yellow optics searched their face, noting the black lenses they wore over their eyes. "You are the one Megatron has sent to... guide me?"

He let out a huff of air from his intake, a puff of warm vent steam that could have easily knocked them over if he wasn't careful. His expression was one of intense, guarded skepticism.

"A sparkling? No... you are too old for that. But you are a mere organic," he stated, his tone eloquent yet laced with a heavy dose of disbelief. "Does the Lord Megatron truly believe a creature of such... delicate composition can manage a Predacon?"

"What's up? *They suddenly said in a monotone, almost bored voice.

Predaking blinked. His optics cycled, the yellow light widening slightly in genuine confusion. He had expected a formal greeting, perhaps a bow of reverence, or even the trembling, stuttering terror most organics displayed when faced with a creature of his magnitude. He had expected a lecture of ship protocols or a list of rules to follow.

He did not expect... that.

"What is... up?" he repeated, the foreign idiom rolling off his glossa with a hint of puzzled accent. He straightened his helm slightly, his brow ridges twitching. "Is this a human custom? To greet a king with such... casual indifference?"

He loomed closer, his massive shadow completely engulfing them. The heat radiating from his internal systems was immense, a byproduct of the powerful engine that served as his spark. He watched them closely, his sharp features set in a mask of intense scrutiny. They didn't seem frightened. They didn't even seem particularly interested. Most organics were a flurry of frantic movement and loud, high pitched vocalizations, but they were as still as a stone in the stream.

His gaze drifted to the strange device attached to their hip y, the small speaker. It emitted a faint, rhythmic hum, a sound that was strangely mechanical and repetitive. It was a curious little noise, one that caught his attention more than their words had.

"You lack the typical... vibrancy of your species," Predaking observed, his voice dropping to a lower, more contemplated rumble. He reached out a massive, clawed digit, hovering it just inches away from them, as if debating wether to touch them or simply to test the air around them. "There is no fear in your spark pulse. No frantic rushing of your internal fluids. You are... quiet."

He pulled his hand back, his wings giving a sharp, agitated flick.

"If you are my guide, you will need more than mere nonchalance, little organic," he stated, though the edge of his previous anger had softened into a simmering curiosity. "The Nemesis is a place of war, of steel, and conquest. It is not a place for... drifting."

a few weeks later

The initial tension that had once defined their interactions had long since melted away, replaced by a strange, quiet rhythm that only the two of them understood. Predaking had expected the human to be a nuisance a fragile, loud, and demanding creature that would require constant shielding from the sharp edges of the Decepticon warship.

Instead he had found a peculiar sort of solance in them.

The human did not demand his attention like Starscream did, nor did they command him like Megatron. They simply were. They were a constant, silent presence in the periphery of his intense life. He had grown accustomed to the rhythmic, technological hums that bled from the speaker on their hip sounds that, strangely enough, resonated with the mechanical pulse of his own spark.

They were currently in one of the more secluded observation lounges of the Nemesis, a room with large reinforced viewports that looked out into the swirling clouds of Earth's atmosphere. Predaking was seated on the floor, the only way he could truly be near them without making them feel dwarfed, his massive back against the bulkhead, his wings draped loosely around them like a dark, metallic tent.

He was currently preoccupied with a small intricate piece piece of scrap metal he had been tinkering with, his clawed digits moving with surprising delicacy. But his optics kept drifting to the small organic sitting near his pede.

"The silence of this ship is usually oppressive," Predaking rumbled, his voice low so as not to startle them, though it still vibrated through the floorboards. "The Vehicons scuttle like insects, and the high command is forever embroiled in their petty squabbles. But when you are present... the noise seems to settle."

He paused, his yellow optics glowing softly in the dim light of the lounge. He reached out, not with the intimidating force of a predator, but with a slow, deliberate movement. He used the very tip of one sharp claw to gently nudge the edge of their oversized jacket, a gesture of affection he had only recently begun to allow himself.

"Your 'technology' sounds... pleasing today," he added, nodding toward their hip. "It has a steady cadence. Like the march of a disciplined army, but without the chaos."

He shifted his weight, his heavy plating clinking softly. A sudden, uncharacteristic wave of protectiveness washed over him. He found himself wanting to shield them from the very environment he called home.

"Tell me, organic," he said, his tone turning more serious, more intimate. "Do you find this place... tolerable? Or do you find yourself longing for the soft, chaotic world below? I find that... when you are not in my sight, the corridors of this ship feel unnecessarily vast."

The peace of the lounge was shattered in a heartbeat.

Predaking had been momentarily distracted, his processor drifting toward a thought of the energon rations, when a high pitched, frantic screeching cut through the rhythmic hum of the organic's music. It wasn't a machine's sound it was a sound of distress. A small, sharp gasp of pain.

He didn't even think. His instinct, primal and ancient, surged to the surface.

"ORGANIC!" he roared, his voice a tectonic shift that shook the very walls of the lounge.

By the time he turned, the sight burned itself into his optics: Starscream, the spindly, treacherous Seeker, had lunged from the shadows of the doorway. The Seeker's long, clawed digits were wrapped around their small frame, squeezing with a sadistic glee, his optics gleaming with the desire to provoke the beast.

"See how easily your little pet breaks, Predaking!" Starscream sneered, his voice a grating trill. "Perhaps if you spent less time coddling this organic, you would have more time for "

He never finished the sentence.

Predaking was a blur of black and orange fury. He didn't just move; he launched himself. The sheer force of his transformation from a seated position to a predatory strike sent a shockwave through the floor. He slammed into Starscream with the weight of a falling star, his massive servos clamping onto the Seeker's thin arms with enough force to make the metal groan and buckle.

"RELEASE THEM!" Predaking bellowed, a sound so primal it felt like a physical blow.

With a snarl, he pried Starscream's fingers back, his claws digging into the Seeker's plating. Starscream let out a pathetic, undignified shriek as he was tossed aside like a piece of discarded scrap, tumbling across the floor in a heap of clattering limbs.

But Predaking didn't care about the Seeker. His entire universe had narrowed down to the tiny, trembling form in his grasp. His optics were wide, pulsing with a frantic, golden light as he saw the faint red mark on their skin where Starscream had gripped them.

Fragile. So fragile. They could be crushed in a single moment of carelessness.

Panic, a sensation he rarely felt, flared in his spark. He couldn't let them be out in the open. Not while the vultures of the Nemesis were circling. He needed to hide them. He needed to keep them where no claw could reach them, where no Seeker could touch them.

His movements became a frantic, desperate blur of instinct. He brought them close to his helm, his large, warm digits cradling them with a terrifyingly intense gentleness. Then, driven by a sudden, overwhelming need to protect, he opened his intake.

He didn't bite; he was far too careful for that. He gently swept them into the warmth of his mouth, his glossa a massive, textured surface guiding them softly toward his throat. He swallowed, a powerful, rhythmic contraction of his internal systems, feeling their small form slide down his glossa and into the specialized, cushioned compartment of his internal storage tank.

He sat back on his haunches, his chest heaving, his vents huffing out clouds of hot steam. He ignored the wounded, sputtering Starscream on the floor. He placed a massive hand over his midsection, feeling the tiny, rhythmic thud of her presence within his chassis. They were safe. They were inside him. They were part of his very core.

"Mine," he growled low in his throat, a warning to the entire ship. "Touch them again, and there will be nothing left of you to bury."

Inside the chamber, the world was transformed into a realm of rhythmic, pulsing warmth. It was unlike anything they had ever experienced a cocoon of living metal and humming energy.

The walls of the tank were not hard or cold like the rest of the Nemesis. Instead, they were lined with a specialized, semi pliant membrane designed to cradle sensitive organic components or delicate energon crystals. It felt like being wrapped in a heavy, heated velvet blanket that moved in time with a massive, slow heartbeat. The light was a dim, soothing amber, filtered through the thick layers of Predaking's plating and biolights, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

The sound was the most overwhelming part. It wasn't just the silence they were used to; it was a symphony of power. They could hear the deep, tectonic thrum of his spark a heavy thump thump, thump thump that resonated in her very bones. Above that was the constant, rushing whir of his cooling fans and the melodic, mechanical whine of his internal servos. It was a rhythmic, industrial lullaby that strangely complemented the technology inspired music still faintly playing from the speaker on their hip.

The sensation of movement was strange but strangely comforting. Every time Predaking moved, they felt a gentle, swaying motion, like being on a ship in calm waters. When he roared, the entire chamber vibrated with a low frequency rumble that made their chest tingle, but the cushioning was so thick that it never felt violent.

It was incredibly warm perhaps a little too warm but it felt safe. For the first time in their life, the "quiet" they usually inhabited felt less like emptiness and more like a profound, protected stillness. They were encased in the most powerful predator on the planet, tucked away in a secret sanctuary of heat and sound.

Outside, they could hear the muffled, distant sounds of the chaos: the frantic, high pitched screeching of Starscream complaining about his dented plating, and the deep, territorial growls of Predaking as he stood guard over his own midsection, his voice a low, protective vibration that they could feel through the very walls of their golden cocoon.

Here is how the whole spread looks like :3