#request are open

James needs a pretty girl (you, yes you, gorgeous!) who will play with his hair, and just listen to him talk

He’s a total yapper, about anything and everything, but especially whatever has his interest atm

Convinced that when you have sex, James talks you through it, and praises you the whole time, but I don’t think y’all are ready for that yet

Type of boyfriend to sit on the toilet and chat while you shower, no hesitation, no issue

Now if you let him shower with you, I’m personally convinced he’d just soak in the chance to be close to you

Maybe talks more quietly, if at all. Mostly he just wraps his arms around you, and relishes that you let him be so close and intimate

Adding on that, I’m convinced that man is touch starved, and/or super into physical affection

Maybe I’m projecting, but the little self soothing thing he does, when he’s leaning on the door frame? Yeah, you need to hug that man

James would probably love to just exist in your orbit. Like following you around the apartment, helping with cooking, sitting and reading with you, anything

Praise kink praise kink praise kink

Tell James that you’re proud of him, please (he may not know if his dad is proud, but he sure as hell knows YOU are!)

Also, don’t call him James, or Ogilvie- to you, he’s Jamie, honey, sweetheart, etc- if you call him by his actual name, he’ll get the saddest, kicked puppy expression, and assume he’s in trouble

He’d hate if anyone else called him Jamie, but loooves it from you

Clearly, James Ogilvie has invaded my brain. I definitely want to write more about him

The room is darkish but still lit well enough for you to see. It’s filthy. Your arms are bound to a table leg while the rest of you sit on a damp concrete ground. You wonder why it's damp until you look up. A bit further from you, the ground is full of murky greyish brown water. You hear water dripping from a pipe you can’t quite see. Beside you, there’s a large metal table with something on it and a smaller table next to it with a bunch of… butcher tools? You try your best to focus and see what’s laying on the table… oh do you regret it. Emma lays there with her face beaten in. Her face is unrecognizable. You could only tell it was her by her hair. Blood slowly drips from her head and onto a large and growing pile on the floor.

A choked sob escapes you that’s even more muffled due to the gag. Fat, warm tears fall down your cheeks. What have you done to deserve this? What has Emma done to deserve this? Sure, she could be a bitch sometimes (a lot of the times) but no one deserves to have whatever happened to her. You close your eyes tightly and turn your head away. You need to do something. But what? Your hands are bound so tight there's no way you could do anything to escape. Maybe there's a tool lying close enough that you could use. You open your eyes again to look and once again, you heavily regret it. Jason hangs there on… a meat hook? At least, that’s what you think it is. The sight makes you gag but you repress the urge to gag, knowing the vomit will not go anywhere with the gag in your mouth. You see the rise and fall of Jason's chest. Good. He’s alive. You try to yell his name by the gag makes it hard and very muffled. Attempted yells of his name turn into sobs.

You don't know what to do. Where’s Steph and David? Are they still alive? Are they down here somewhere too? A familiar pair of heavy footsteps start to head down the stairs. All you can think about is how you're next. You’ll end up like Jason or Emma. Think fast. Think. Think! You close your eyes again and pretend you're still unconscious. Is it the best plan? No. But it's the only one you got. Now, you only rely on your hearing.

The water sloshes and you assume that’s him waking through it. The steps get closer until they’re right next to you, at the table where Emma is. You can’t help but peek and open your eyes just a bit. Not enough for Thomas to notice but enough that you can still see. He takes Emma off the table and throws her limp body over his shoulder. The sight makes you nauseous. You can see her a lot better now. Her face is beaten in so badly that you wouldn’t even imagine what kind of pain she had to go through. He takes her over to one of the meat hooks beside Jason and sticks her body on it. More blood pools onto the floor. Now, he turns to Jason. He picks him off the hook and the movement seems to wake him. The cry of pain he lets out makes your eyes well up with tears once more. He tries to weakly thrash and hit Thomas but he just slams him down onto the table that Emma was just on. You watch as he fastens restraints on his hands and feet that are connected to the table. Jason yells out Steph’s name and you have to hold back another sob that threatens to rack through you. He tries once more to call out for you, David and Emma. You want to yell, to help him, to just get away from this nightmare. But you know if you do, you’ll both end up dead.

Thomas picks up one of the tools from the table and grabs Jason's face. Jason thrashes as best he can and spits insults at Thomas. “You freak! Get away from me! I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna kill you and that fucked up family of yours.” His threats seem to fall on deaf ears as Thomas ignores him once more. You watch as Thomas makes a deep cut into the side of his face. Jason doesn’t stop his insults or movements and it seems like Thomas gets tired of listening to him because he picks up a chainsaw. The fear in Jason’s eyes is almost immediate. “No… listen man, you don't have to do this! I- I got a whole life ahead of me, please! Please!” Ignoring his pleas, Thomas starts the chainsaw. Jason continues yelling but his words are overpowered by the roaring of the chainsaw.

The chainsaw is brought down into Jason's abdomen. His body starts shaking violently and blood splashes everywhere. You feel some land on your cheek. You watch as Thomas chainsaws through his whole body and as Jason goes limp on the table and the pool of blood under the table grows and grows till it reaches your feet. The chainsaw cuts off and he sets it down on the table beside him. He once again picks back up the knife that he used to cut Jason’s face earlier. He grabs his face again and starts to cut. You watch as his hands work with a steady skill as he cuts out around Jason's face and scalp. Despite how gross it is, you can’t tear your eyes away. You feel like you're frozen in place.

You’re next. Your mind echos. A sob finally escapes you at the thought. You didn’t mean to make a sound. You didn’t mean to make him look up. Thomas sets down his tools and tears his focus away from Jason to look at you. More muffled cries and tears come out of you. Fuck it. He’s already noticed, there's no reason to keep it all in now. He rounds the table with slow steps and comes over to you. You tuck your legs up to your chest and turn your head away as best you can. You can’t look at him. Not after what he's done to your friends. You tremble violently. You’re next. You’re next YOU’RE NEXT. His big fingers untie the knot that holds your hands above your head. He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder like he did to Emma. You try and hit him in the back and scream as loud as you can through the gag but he doesn’t put you down or even flinch at your burst out. You won't go down without a fight. At least, you think you're going down. You assume he's gonna put you on one of those meat hooks. But when he passes them, you pause for a moment.

Where is he taking you? That question is answered when he sets you back down. You’re in a different area in the basement. The ground is not damp nor is there any blood soaking the floors. It is further away from the meat hooks and the table but you can still see them and the area. He binds your arms to a nearby post but they are significantly looser than before. He leaves your legs free again. You’re confused. Why didn’t he hurt you? Emma got her whole face bashed in but the only injuries you have is an unknown gash on your forehead and probably a concussion from when Hoyt knocked you out? It doesn’t make sense. You look at him while he ties your hands. He looks at you with that same look in his eyes you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s definitely not how he looked at Jason and 100% not how he looked at Emma. He look at Jason like he couldn’t give a fuck about him, and he looks at Emma with such a hatred you didn’t know a person could have.

But the look he gives you is neither of those things. He’s also treated you more than fairly. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense! He stands back up after securing your hands to the pole. Thomas goes back over to the table but now his back is turned towards you so you can’t tell what he’s doing. Probably finishing up with whatever sick things he’s doing to Jason’s face. You rack your brain for any possible idea of why he’s treating you like this. Is it for you to play a little twisted game? He’ll keep you on edge just to attack you when you let your guard down? Or is it because he’s doing this because he doesn’t want to hurt you? But why wouldn’t he hurt you? Was it because you were kind to him at the gas station? He did hurt Emma pretty badly and she did insult him. But Jason didn’t do anything that you know of. Or did he? He was gone with David here for a while. Maybe he did do something. But you hit him when he carried you, why didn’t he hurt you then? It’s all too confusing. The back of your head throbs with pain and exhaustion takes over your body. Everything is too much. You silently cry until your body gives out from exhaustion.

_________________

You wake up to you being carried again. You’re roughly sat down in a chair with your hands bound to the arm rests. You once again try to refocus your eyes. It’s a dinner table. You’re put at one of the ends. To your right, the old woman from the gas station sits with another older man in a wheelchair. What is she doing here? Is she a part of this too? You haven’t seen the older man at all. Who is he? To your left, sits Steph and David. They’re alive! Well… barely. David's body sways slightly in the chair, like he's struggling to keep his body upright. An unknown gash, somewhere hidden in his chair, leaks blood down his forehead. His eyes are glazed over and they look like he’s anywhere but here right now. You don't blame him. You wanna disassociate. You wanna be anywhere but here. You wanna wake up and this will all be a dream. That you’ll wake up in your shitty apartment. But you know better than to hope for such things.

Steph doesn’t look too good either. She has yet to wake up but you can see she’s still breathing. There’s a huge cut just above her eye. Her clothes look torn. Did she try to run? What happened to both of them? You look a little closer and see that there are bruises on her neck. No. Not bruises. Hickies. And you know for a fact that Jason wasn’t the one who put them there, he's long dead. It had to be that damn sheriff! He was a fucking creep since the beginning.

And there he is. At the head of the table. Hoyt sits across from you. You wanna jump out of your seat and scream, yell, hit, curse him. Do anything. Why is he doing this? Why are any of them doing this!? You lightly tug on the binds to see how tight they are. There’s no way you could get out of these.you look up when Steph starts to wake. “Oh look, mama. Our guest decided to wake up. Now we can start dinner.” Hoyt says with that same creepy ass smile he first gave you when you knocked on the door. God, how badly do you want to beat it off his face.

the old woman, now known as “mama” (though, you doubt that’s her actual name), speaks, “Well, get on with it. We ain’t got all day.” She says as she waves her hand dismissively at him. Hoyt stands from his seat and places both hands on the table. “You city people think you’re so high and mighty coming into my town and judging my people! But y’all don't know nothin’. You’re just a bunch of little hussies who think this whole world revolves around you. You don't know what it's like to put in hard work. You don't know what it's like to survive. Oh, and my family does what we have to do to survive. My family does what we have to do to eat. But all you sensitive bitches don't seem to understand because you’ve had everything handed to you on a god damn silver platter! That’s why people like you make the perfect little dinner!”

Work to eat? People like us make the perfect dinner? What does he-…. Oh. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This meat in front of you. It’s not beef or steak. It’s not animal meat. It’s human meat. Could it be Jason or Emma? The mere thought makes your stomach turn over itself. They’re cannibals! This has to be some sick fucking nightmare that you’ll wake up from in any second. Steph seems to have the same realization as you because you give each other a helpless look before she starts to sob.

”Oh, what’s the matter? You don't like Mama's cooking? You haven’t even tasted it yet!” He gets up from his chair and rounds the table over to Steph. She tried to scream and pull on the ropes but it doesn’t get her anywhere. Hoyt comes up behind her chair and ties her gag. “Get off me you sick fuck! You’re a bunch of freaks! Fuck your family!” Hoyt slaps her across the face. You can see blood start to spill out of her mouth. It must have made her bite her tongue. He picks up the fork and a piece of meat on the plate. “Open up. Come on, try Mama's cooking.” Steph refused to open her mouth, keeping it closed. Hoyt plugs her nose and she thrashes in her chair. She can’t breathe. He’s making her open her mouth by suffocating her. David starts yelling at him through the gag. “Oh, you shut your mouth, boy! I’ve had enough of your shit.”

Steph opens her mouth after a few seconds. In a blink of an eye, Hoyt shoves the meat and fork down her throat. She tries to resist and cough but it’s usually. She’s choking. “Ain’t that good?” Hoyt says with that fuck ass smile as he pats her head. Steph tries desperately to breathe but her struggles are silent and failing. David continues yelling. You close your eyes tightly, hoping that when you open them, you won’t be here. About a minute goes by before you hear a thump on the table. Your eyes slowly open. Steph is lying face first, limp and unbreathing, on the table. A choked sob escapes you and you turn your head away. You hear David’s muffled yells and The sheriff’s laugh.

When you turn your head away, you’re met with Thomas standing in the doorway. He’s watching everything happen. Your eyes meet for a second. That look. That look again. But there is something else etched on his face. Worry? Pity? Maybe you’re imagining it or the lights are playing tricks on you. Why would he look at you like that after all he’s done?

“Thomas! Get in here and take these fuckers away. If they don’t like Mama's cooking, they don’t need to be sitting at the table!”

His eyes tear away from you to look at Hoyt when he speaks. Once again, something strikes the back of your head and you fall unconscious.

———————

The next day (or what you assume to be the next day), you wake up with a blanket around your legs. Well, it’s more like a worn quilt. It looks like something you would find at a grandma's house. Weird. Though, you are thankful for it. Your clothes are still a bit damp and it’s kind of cold down here. Your head pounds with an indescribable ache. You look around again. You can’t see Jason on the table nor Emma on the hook. You wonder what happened to their bodies? Did they throw them out like trash? What happened to Steph and David? You think of their families at home, waiting for them to come back. You think of your family. They think you're out having this great camping trip with friends when you’re actually in hell itself, not knowing when your last breath might be. Once again, tears start to fall. You’re too lost in your mind to hear footsteps approaching. You jump when you realize Thomas is in front of you and he’s holding something in his hand.

You look up and he bends down. You see what it really is that he’s holding. It's a plate…full of breakfast food. He takes the gag away from your mouth and it hangs loosely around your neck. He then picks up a piece of bacon and holds it to your mouth. You turn your head away. Why is he trying to feed you? What if it’s poisoned? What if it’s not pig and actually human meat? Why is he even bothering in the first place? He puts it back down onto the plate and you turn your head back. He looks at you expectingly. “I-…I don’t understand…why are you doing this?” Your voice comes out weaker and more hoarse than you expected it to. Again, he just stares at you. That’s when it hits you. You haven’t heard him utter anything this whole time. Not at the gas station, not when he was helping Hoyt tie Emma up and not even when Jason was begging for his life. Can he even speak? You doubt it. Not a single peep has come from this man. He tried once again to feed you but your head turned away. You thought maybe he’d get mad and hit you or something but no. He just sets the plate down where you can reach it and walks over to the table, his back to you as he starts working. Odd. But everything that he’s done for/to you has been odd.

Looking down at the plate he left, your stomach now seems to gnaw at your insides, you didn’t really realize how hungry you were until now. It seems like a normal breakfast and doesn’t look poisoned and like any ordinary bacon. But then, you don’t know what tampered food looks like. Fuck it. If you’re gonna die, at least you wanna have a full stomach. With your hands still loosely bound, you pick up a piece of bacon and put it in your mouth. It tastes good, really good. It tastes like bacon. You chew on it for a while, taking slow bites so as to not upset your stomach. You turn your head towards where Thomas is. He’s cutting and wrapping meat. You knew he was a butcher! A butcher and a murderer. Sounds like something that would be in a horror movie. (Get it? cause TCM is a horror movie? No? Tough crowd)

Though you doubt that that is animal meat…

His hands cut clean and even. He works at a steady pace too. He’s quite good at this. It’s hard to believe that this is the man who killed two of your friends hours before. He just fed you and you assume he’s the one that put the blanket around you. Why is he being so kind? The only real reason you think is that it was because you were nice to him at the gas station. Are people that so rarely kind that when he does meet a victim that treats him with basic respect, he does this? Before you know it, your whole plate is cleared. You look down at the plate and back up when you feel a pair of eyes on you. Thomas looks at you and then at the plate. The look in his eyes is one of triumph before he goes back to working.

___________________________________

taglist: @questionablefruitsalad @stygianoir @everysecondcounts1 @pixieszlov

if you want to be apart of my slasher taglist put a 🦇 in the comments!!

But that all happened one night. At the age of 6 you notice your eyes color is different from both your parents. Bruce didn't notice yet, not even Selina did.

You know who did? Alfred did. How? Simple. He was preparing you to have a family dinner with the others. Of course you are excited. I mean…who wouldn't?

You were so excited you didn't notice the stairs. You trip down the stairs and say bye bye to your head.

As soon as you wake up, Alfred is there taking care of you while your parents and siblings fall asleep on the floor or couch.

That's when he noticed. His eyes widened. “Miss…your eyes? It's pink?”

You just stare at him wondering. When Bruce wakes up he notices your bright pink eyes. That's when it all went downhill.

Bruce and Selina fight all the time. With Bruce accusing her of cheating and her trying to defend your right. And then the next thing you knew.

Divorce paper was signed and Selina has moved out, returning to her work as Catwoman. You just stand there awkwardly. You guys are probably wondering how the family starts to neglect you.

It's because Bruce started it first. Everytime he looks at you. His eyes fill with betrayal. He started to drink and neglect his work as Batman. When he did become Batman oh boy. He doesn't have mercy on any of the villian.

The boys started to blame you little by little because everytime Bruce made eye contact with you. He felt despair. Those bright pink eyes. He looked back through your old picture and noticed something in your eyes. Each picture where you are. You have dark red eyes. From far it looks like black eyes but it turns out to be dark red. Crimson red like blood.

He never noticed your eye color but he clearly remembers that when you were born you had his hair and eye color so…what changed?

Then, one day after finishing your lunch alone. You hear your mother's voice. You quickly run to where the voice is. And there she is talking with Bruce and Alfred with all the boys assembled there. Then she presents a girl the same age as you. 6 years old. But with blue eyes. Bruce's eyes. You stared at them from afar.

Selina handed Bruce something and he looked shocked. He quickly kneels down and hugs the girl. After he finishes hugging her. He stood up and looked at the boys while smiling. You miss his smile.

“This here is your real sister. Y/n.” He announced. Dick takes the paper and scans the DNA test and damn…it is the same Bruce and Selina DNA that came out positive with the girl. (Something like that idk how to describe it but the DNA is positive about the girl being their daughter.)

You can feel your stomach twist. That's when you run to them. “Papa!” You called out to Bruce. All eyes turn to look at you. Even the girl did. You don't know why but you feel…scared as if you did something wrong. “Papa…” Selina just stares at you.

“Papa? Who is she?” Ask the girl. Jason looks at the little one and replies. “It's nothing she's the new maid Alfred hired to be your playmate. Alfred looks shocked too.

“But master? She–” Bruce raises his hand to signal Alfred to stop talking. “Just like Jason says. Since I can't really throw you out considering the outside is Gotham. Then I have no choice but to take you in. From now on you are no longer Y/n Wayne. I do not have a daughter with pink eyes. You may pick out another name for yourself.” just like that your little heart shattered.

Bruce turns to the other daughter. He picked her up. “But you my dear shall be Y/n Wayne the real Y/n Wayne” he smiled gently at her and Carried her to the living room. You just stared blankly at the place they once stood.

Alfred looks at you and leads you somewhere. “Mis– I mean uhm dear. I'll buy your outfit later, alright?” you just stare at him with betrayal in your eyes. You don't understand why Alfred treats you like this.

Everyday is like hell to you. Not only Bruce and the others openly spoil her. They seem to be abusing you mentally. Apparently this…daughter has some fear. Especially in the dark. Dick will always sleep with her. Sometimes she sleeps with Bruce and sometimes Damian reads her bedtime stories. While you?

You are trained to be the perfect maid for her. Your new name? Well it's [name] now.

(Pls use different name for Y/n and different name for [name])

Years passed by. You don't even remember how many scars you have on your back. One from when Damian was angry with the joker for trying to ‘almost’ kill his precious sister. He was training and you tried to earn his trust. Big mistake. He was so angry that he slash everything on his way. You were 7

While training with his katana he uses a blindfold. He didn't notice it was you and he ‘accidentally’ slash you from In front. Luckily Alfred was there to save you from bleeding too much. Damian never apologized.

Second scar was a burn mark.

You are tasked to bring some tea to Jason as he's tired. In the garage he was fixing his motorcycle. You once again try to earn his trust. Accidentally pick up a crowbar and drag it across the floor. He who heard it immediately went to his ‘survival’ mode.

He literally choke you and hold the teapot close to your left eyes and pour it down. Making you scream in pain. Luckily again Dick was on his way to the garage when he saw this. He quickly pushes Jason away and brings you to the hospital. Sadly the scar is permanent. Jason never apologized. You were 8

The third scar hurts you more. Apparently ‘y/n’ went missing and the family went crazy looking for her. At the same time you went missing too. Coincidence huh.

The kidnapper posted a video where they cut and stitched ‘y/n’ back up again to the batfamily. They all went crazy raiding that place looking for her. When they did. Bruce carries her still bleeding body to the manor. How many stitches does she have?

Let's count!

Both arms - 4 = 2 at each arms

Both legs - 2 = 1 each legs

Stomach - 3 = they cut and stitched back up

Back - 5 = same thing they did to the stomach.

Left chest - 1 = they cut open to see the ‘heart’ in a hurry they didn't stitch it properly.

Bruce was apologizing again and again to her. Key word = her.

Then Tim noticed someone standing at the front door. It's Selina and…y/n!!

Then he looked at the unconscious girl in Bruce's arms and he took off the blindfold and was shocked. It isn't their precious y/n it's you!! Bruce almost let you go but he kept a tight grip. His tears already stop and he takes you inside the manor. The rest of your recovery is tended by Alfred.

That's when Selina tells them she forgets to inform Bruce she's taking y/n for a mother- daughter outing.

You who are barely conscious could only let a tear fall down.

Present time

You are 15 now. Same age as y/n. You [name] l/n. You are forced to abandon your name to some wannabe you. Like it or not hey it's life.

“[name] go hang the laundry please I need to pick up the miss at school.

Your age : 15

Wannabe you : 15

Damian : 17

Tim : 19

Jason : 23

Dick : 26

Bruce : 46 (let's all just pretend okay?)

Selina : 46 (PRETEND OKAY!)

“Yes Alfred.” Being a maid wasn't on your bucket list when you were little but now…you can't complain cause Bruce truly treats you like a maid meaning…

Maid + salary + Wayne manor = a lot of money

So a win-win situation.

After Alfred picks her up from school. You were cooking lunch for them. Before suddenly you feel dizzy. So you quickly cook lunch and lay on the bed in the maid room.

That's when you feel the urge. The urge to bite into something. Your body feels warmer than usual. The next thing you knew you were biting your arm. Which is currently bleeding right now.

‘It hurts! It hurts but it's delicious!’ you think. Through your dizzy state. You didn't realize someone was knocking on your door. Alfred opens your door since you aren't answering.

It was dark. With the curtain closed. And you are not opening the light. He decided to open it. Once he did he saw how messy your room was. “[name] didn't I tell you to clean it up?” He looked around for you cause he clearly heard your voice. Before he could turn around something or someone pounced on him.

🦇🦇🦇

From : Flares Emily

🦇🦇🦇

How was it the ‘part 1’ do you all batfamily x neglected reader lovers want more? COMMENT THEN!! (not me forgetting how taglist work😞)

"BUMBLEBEE, LOOK OUT!" Bulkhead's booming vocalizer rang out across the chaos of the battlefield, a cry of alarm that snapped Bumblebee out of his moment of distraction. The younger scout reacted instinctively, darting to the side and narrowly dodging a Decepticon's attack, confident he could catch the Autobot off guard. The blow, however, shattered into nothing, leaving his opponent empty-handed.

Deftly regaining his balance, Bumblebee fixed his blue optics on his enemy with a look of incandescent determination. "Nice try! Now it's my turn!" he exclaimed with a challenging grin. In an instant, he transformed, his engines erupted in a burst of metallic roars, and with a burst of pure energy, he launched himself at his opponent, determined to leave no room for a counterattack.

This battle was far from over.

Across the city of Detroit, nestled in the blackened ruins of an abandoned, smoke-filled industrial area, Optimus Prime faced Starscream in a fierce battle. Their figures dominated the horizon, casting imposing shadows beneath the intermittent light of the null rays that tore the sky above them.

"You pathetic Autobots almost make me feel sorry," Starscream hissed with mocking arrogance, his vocalizer filled with the venom accumulated over eons of war and resentment. With swift, snake-like movements, he masterfully avoided a devastating blow from Optimus, laughing to himself as he positioned himself behind him. His faceplate, masked by a perpetual grin of satisfaction, betrayed the belief that every battle was already won by his cunning.

Yet, that defiant look belied something else. Beneath his apparent security, Starscream felt the crushing weight of reality: another battle with an uncertain outcome that would likely end in the usual defeat—an endless cycle that seemed to bind the Decepticons since the day Megatron had regained command. It was a bitter knowledge that corroded his pride like rust on hot metal. Even so, he couldn't completely suppress that insidious glimmer of hope, that remote possibility that maybe—just maybe—this could be it.

"Prime, behind you!"

Prowl's determined cry cut through the tense atmosphere like a sharp blade. In an instant, the Autobot ninja leaped forward, hurling his shurikens with deadly precision. The weapons flew swiftly and silently, striking the most vulnerable joints in the Seeker's armor. Starscream roared in rage and pain as glowing streams of energon began to flow from his new wounds—painful, yes, but still not enough to permanently disable him.

"YOU… HOW DARE YOU?!"

Starscream's vocalizer emitted a growl that mingled with a metallic, almost rhythmic growing up, amplifying the fury devouring him. Every inch of his frame seemed to vibrate with pure indignation, while the sound of his engine filled the air like a war cry. His scarlet optics glowed with a sinister light, a living, breathing warning directed at Prowl. The Autobot ninja had made the grave mistake of interfering at the crucial moment of his clash with Optimus Prime, disrupting the duel's rhythm and robbing Starscream of his long-desired triumph. That minimal disruption had been enough: an unforgivable distraction that Optimus, with his usual quick wit, had exploited without hesitation. In the blink of an optic, the leader had leaped forward to strike, taking advantage of the momentary imbalance caused by Starscream's rage.

*SWOSSH*

But Optimus missed. His attack barely grazed the air where Starscream had been a moment before. In a lightning-fast leap, the proud Air Commander rose into the sky with unexpected agility, leaving behind only a whirlwind of dust and pent-up rage. His sensors, honed for battle in the cosmic skies, had detected the movement even before Optimus's attack could materialize. Floating above the battlefield, his vocalizer pierced the air with a shrill, contemptuous note: "Fools! Did you really think a measly surprise attack could hit ME? You're more pathetic than I imagined!"

With these words, Starscream unleashed a furious barrage of neutralizing beams at Prowl. The Autobot ninja did his best to avoid the relentless bombardment, performing rapid maneuvers that only his ninja training allowed him. Still, fatigue was taking its toll; the long moments of battle were wearing him down. His movements were still impeccable, but no longer as precise as they once were. Fatigue clouded his sensors, slowing his reflexes.

*FSSSHHH—CRACK!*

An enemy beam whizzed past his right arm, leaving it black and smoking. Another struck his side, eliciting a strangled groan of pain. Forced to retreat, Prowl gritted his dentas, fighting back a wave of frustration along with the growing awareness of his own vulnerability. The duration of the battle seemed endless; time had stretched out like a relentless grip, pressing down on his exhausted structure. Drops of hot oil dripped onto his visor like mechanical sweat, mixing with the steam that escaped irregularly from his now-overloaded air vents. His breathing had become a ragged, rasping moan, almost drowned out by the sound of his internal lights flashing bright red.

[WARNING: CRITICAL ENERGON LEVEL]

[COOLING SYSTEMS OVERLOAD]

Starscream watched it all from above, savoring the spectacle with a cruel satisfaction that was reflected in his twisted smile. Every nerve in his mask seemed to bend in a sneer, celebrating his newly reaffirmed superiority. His neutralizing beams blazed ever brighter, charging with destructive energy as the air commander prepared to finish what he had started.

"Well, well," he muttered in a sharp vocalizer. "It seems the great Autobot ninja has finally reached his limit." The circuits in his arms hummed, building energy in an eerie crescendo, like a dark omen. "That was… fun."

A metallic click.

The charge was over.

"But now… DIE."

Optimus instinctively clenched his fists, helpless: too far away to intervene. Even with all his strength, it would be impossible to reach Prowl in time.

Until then.

*ZING!—THUNK!*

Suddenly, a glowing stasis tether shot out like a bolt of lightning, wrapping itself with surgical precision around Starscream's leg. "GAH—?! WHAT—?!" The Seeker let out a strangled sound, his vents contracting, revealing surprise and bewilderment. Getting distracted, such was his fatal mistake.

"Sorry to interrupt your plans, Starscream." The vocalizer was calm, soft yet powerful, resonating through the air like an imperious call.

A new figure emerged; the firm sound of her metallic footsteps against the asphalt seemed to announce an inevitable doom."But for today… enough."

*CRASH!*

In an instant, the cable tightened, and Starscream, in disbelief, was torn from the sky with brutal force. His metallic body crashed relentlessly to the ground, generating an impact that shook the earth and raised a curtain of dust and debris. When the smoke cleared, a smoking crater marked its ruin: in the center, the air commander lay in a pitiful state.

His slender, graceful wings were now reduced to twisted wreckage, quivering in intermittent spasms. Erratic sparks raced along his ravaged torso, while torn fibers and cables dangled from his disemboweled joints like dying snakes.

His left optic—that fiery red that had struck terror into the hearts of so many enemies—gleamed intermittently, a flickering, shapeless light. His right optic, however, was blank, its cracked glass reflecting only the vast sky above.

A raspy, fragmented breath escaped from his damaged air vents, accompanied by sporadic splashes of energon. His long, clawed fingers gave one final convulsive spasm as he vainly attempted to rise, before his arm fell heavily to the ground with a metallic thud.

In that excruciating stillness, only a faint sound remained audible in the air:

*PLINK!*

A single, perfect drop of sweat rolled down your temple in true anime style as you realized you'd perhaps slightly overestimated the amount of force required.

Oops.

Your processor analyzed the situation at lightning speed:

Starscream? Still intact. More or less.

The surroundings? Fine… just a couple of cracks, nothing too serious, right?

Optimus Prime? He was staring at you like a bot whose operating system has just crashed.

An awkward silence fell suddenly, heavy and cumbersome.

The young prime remained completely still, his optics wide in a surreal expression. You could almost feel a giant '404 ERROR' flashing in his circuitry.

"Um…" you muttered, scratching your helmet in the hope of hiding your discomfort with a casual gesture. "You know… the first shot is always a bit… let's say, trial and error?"

It wasn't true, of course.

As you clumsily attempted to ease the tension with nervous, awkward jokes, Optimus peered at you intently, taking his time to analyze you in detail.

You were definitely a Femme, but not the delicate type many were accustomed to. Your frame was lithe yet powerful, a perfect balance between grace and power. Your armor shimmered with vibrant colors: (A/C) - (S/A/C), almost contrasting with the dull grayness that enveloped the battlefield.

There was something about you that relentlessly captured attention. Your stance exuded confidence; your every movement expressed controlled strength. And then there was that small detail that was hard to ignore: you were slightly taller than him.

For the briefest of moments, something faltered in his systems. You didn't resemble any Femme he'd ever met before.

You weren't a Prime. That much was clear to him immediately. You didn't have that aura of a leader. But when his optics focused on the emblem you wore proudly on your chassis, a spark of understanding flashed through his circuitry.

The Elite Guard.

'An Elite Guard,' he mused. The connection was almost immediate: Ultra Magnus must have sent you personally.

Yet, among all the implications your presence raised, one question in particular burned in his thoughts:

Who are you?

The curiosity was almost unbearable. He, Optimus Prime, wanted to know everything about you. Who you really were. Why you'd been sent to Earth. How you'd struck down Starscream as if he were little more than a sand sculpture, dispatching the threat with shocking ease and saving Prowl in one fell swoop.

He was about to speak. Seriously. He'd even activated the voice circuits to formulate the question when—

Beeep! Beeep!

The communicator on his arm suddenly broke the silence.

From the other end, Bumblebee's lively, breathless vocalizer boomed out: "Hey, Bossbot! Soo… things are a little heated up here! Bulk and I urgently need—"

*CRASH—!!*

Bumblebee stopped abruptly, having to narrowly dodge a vehicle that had been hurled at him with brutal force.

"—urgently need a backup!" he concluded with a high-pitched laugh, more laced with nervousness than actual humor.

Optimus wasted no time in confirming. With a firm nod, he ended the transmission: "We're on our way."

However, turning to you, his gaze immediately fell on Prowl: the ninja was semiconscious, his visor flickering, as if on the verge of shutting down entirely.

"I think you'd better take care of him first," you suggested. Then, with a quick jerk of your chin, you indicated the smoking crater where Starscream (or what was left of him) lay, "while I take care of this… er, 'little guy'."

Optimus was about to protest, opening his vocalizer—

*THUMP!*

Your pat on his shoulder shocked him so much that he let out an embarrassed, surprised "OOF!" But before he could say anything else, your determined, confident smile blocked any objections still lingering in his processor.

"All clear?!"

"Wait, I—"

"Great! Then it's decided!" you replied enthusiastically, whipping around toward the crater. Your arms were already preparing for the effort.

"Wait—"

Too late.

Before Optimus could finish his sentence, you had already shot forward like a rocket launched at full speed. Behind you, only dust and wind rose… and the Prime stood there, frozen, like a bot who had just witnessed the AllSpark explode completely before his optics.

And he remained like that.

In that position.

For a long time.

His processor?

Filled with nothing but emptiness.

A desert of wind and sand, with perhaps a solitary intermittent pixel flickering in the background: 'Reboot needed?'

The communicator's tinkling BEEEP! finally snapped him out of this mental catatony. A name appeared on the screen: Bulkhead.

Scrap.

(Because if Bulkhead was calling instead of just yelling randomly in the background, the situation must have been seriously "we just lost half the city" level.)

With a deep sigh that sounded more like 'Why today?!', Optimus shook off the residual shock and sprang into action, running without hesitation toward his struggling companion.

The mission had been a success!

…Or rather, it would have been a complete success, if it hadn't been for the thunderous MEGA-SCREAM that was now shattering the eardrums of everyone within a five-kilometer radius.

Ratchet, the Autobot medic, wasn't simply speaking: he was a blast of pure sonic fury. His vocalizer thundered with such power that it rivaled that of a jet engine in full throttle, so much so that even the tiles on their base vibrated almost in empathy. In the midst of this dangerous acoustic storm, Sari, the small human, was crouched behind a table, her hands pressed tightly over her ears in a desperate attempt to protect herself.

The poor thing was visibly shocked: "If I can get out of here with even one working ear, I'll call it a miracle!" she thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut every time the thunderous voice echoed through the room. For a moment, he even swore he saw a metal glass shake so violently that it fell off the table with a resounding clang, as if to free itself from that auditory torture.

But who were the targets of the Autobot medical officer's fury?

The answer was simple and blatantly obvious: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead. All three were perfectly aligned, sadly aware of being the targets of the most deadly murderous glare ever seen on Cybertron. Ratchet was wasting no time in sparing no detail while making them feel like insignificant particles.

And Prowl? He had been lucky to escape the reprimand: he was already lying in "forced stasis" on a medical table, with the seraphic air of someone grateful to Primus for his semi-consciousness.

The real curiosity, however, concerned Optimus. How did his designation end up on the list of culprits? What did he have to do with all this mess?

Well… the leader had tried to intervene as per protocol, believing he was helping. But instead of solving the problem, his contribution had turned out to be the perfect equivalent of pouring gasoline on a fire already out of control. And when even a Prime makes the situation worse, it's clear that everything can only go downhill.

The doctor hadn't found the chaotic turn of events amusing or comprehensible at all.

"Not only have we practically lost half the city—but your 'plan'… WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU DO? RUN INTO…?!"

Ratchet looked like he was about to explode further, but something—or someone—interrupted him before he could complete yet another sentence with a volcanic eruption.

A new voice broke through the air. It was a foreign presence to three of those present (Actually, four, including Prowl, even though he was still in stasis). But to two bots in particular, it wasn't an unfamiliar voice at all.

Not at all.

A sudden, unmistakable thought flashed through Optimus's processor:

It was her.

The Femme he'd met that morning.

The one who'd dismantled Starscream with such ease that the feared Decepticon seemed little more than a pesky insect to be squashed.

That memory suddenly resurfaced, bringing with it a familiar sensation:

A dull ache in his shoulder.

It wasn't intense, but it was enough to be noticed. Annoying, persistent.

Your "gentle touch" had left a mark, a small physical reminder of your encounter. As if he truly needed another reminder.

And yet, one crucial detail persisted. He still didn't know your name.

That doubt crept inside him, silently gnawing at his circuitry like a creeping, insidious virus. That void of information echoed in his processor, obsessive and unstoppable, more cumbersome than any military order issued.

And then there was the legacy of your presence: the memory of your firm touch, a symbol imprinted on his armor, almost branding him.

He waited. Until the next time.

If there actually was one.

And that moment materialized; You quickly reappeared.

Meanwhile, in Ratchet's processor, turmoil began. Fragments of a past he had repressed or deliberately buried resurfaced, like forgotten shadows now illuminated by your voice.

And at that sound, Ratchet's internal system processed a single piece of data: your designation.

(D/n).

A whirlwind of emotions and frantic thoughts overwhelmed his every circuit. He tried to maintain a stoic facade, concealing his inner turmoil as best he could. But his weathered faceplate betrayed him; his metallic features revealed something even he couldn't fully control.

A tiny crack in his steel mask became visible to those who knew him too well. Optimus Prime caught the change instantly, a subtle signal that spoke louder than a thousand words: surprise, disorientation, and… something unexpectedly sweet.

In that fleeting moment, Optimus understood everything. Not only did Ratchet know you—he knew you well. Too well.

Your irreverent vocalizer broke the atmosphere of carefully calibrated tension:

"Ratchyyyy, you really should not strain your voice box—"

You emerged from the darkness with incredible grace, like a well-modulated whisper that seemed borrowed from silence itself. Your temporary hiding place had enveloped you in the space where artificial light gave way to the thickest shadows—a dead zone that served as perfect cover. With your optics off and your breathing rate under control, you had been a ghost between the mechs and the human in the room.

Not even Prowl, with his legendary attention to detail, would have noticed your maneuver. Had he awoken from his forced stasis, he would most likely have begged you to teach him the technique; but you knew all too well that it was a skill you jealously guarded, for yourself and no one else.

The others stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and confusion: how had you found their base? And more importantly, how had you evaded every single alarm system without triggering anything?

Ratchet, however, wasn't surprised. He knew you too well to be. You'd used this trick before during missions in enemy bases, and it was precisely this that had made you one of the most extraordinary soldiers under Magnus's command. Your reputation was justified: no wall was too high, no sentry too vigilant, no technology too advanced to stop you.

And as always, your brazenness quickly resurfaced:

"Unless you want to blow some circuits…"

You chuckled as you confidently approached the gruff doctor. Your arm rested gently on his shoulders, while you, with a casual gesture, cupped one of his plump, metallic cheeks with your servo.

His cheeks flushed slightly blue, a clear sign that, despite the passage of time, the memory of you was still fresh in his processor.

Your moment was abruptly interrupted by a sudden cough.

Almost reflexively, you looked around at the others in the room. Bulkhead was clearly the one responsible for the noise: he was fiddling with his servos, awkwardly, trying to clumsily draw attention to himself.

"Um, a-are we—" he stammered, stubbornly avoiding optics contact with his large optics. His digits made a nervous clicking sound, cute and slightly involuntary. His expression? Pure, simple, embarrassed confusion.

With a chuckle, you turned your full attention to the shy wrecker.

"Oh~ Absolutely not, big guy!" You began in a cheerful and theatrical tone, momentarily abandoning Ratchet to walk over to Bulkhead. You stared at him intentionally, exaggerating your movements, as if to disarm him further.

Oh yes ~ . This would have been very amusing.

"Look at that, you look almost more tense than a freshly oiled engine!" Your playful tone floated through the air, accompanied by the exuberant movements of your servos. Your energy seemed unstoppable, and no mech in the compartment could ever match your crackling enthusiasm.

Without even realizing it, you had already dragged poor Bulkhead into a vortex of overwhelming audacity and chaotic improvisation. It was your trademark, that irresistible mix of spontaneity and overconfidence. A combination that sent everyone around you into a tailspin, including him… but it was best not to reveal it too openly.

That was you, Undeniably yourself: the same one who wouldn't have thought twice about laughing carefree even in front of Ultra Magnus, if only it weren't for that little detail called "keeping your job."

Ratchet watched the whole scene, seemingly impassive but with an aftertaste of inevitable resignation. You were destined to upset the delicate balance of the team, that much was clear. It was only a matter of time before you also became familiar with Bumblebee and rallied the entire group for some epic adventure or organized disaster. And yes, he was already sighing at the mere thought.

A slight headache was beginning to creep into his processor. Resigned, Ratchet let out a barely audible snort of frustration. Best not to think about it for now.

May he be granted plenty of energy.

A sudden sound—your vibrant chatter—brought him back to reality. He shook his thoughts away and fixed his optics on your larger frame again. You seemed tireless, dominating the scene with your incomparable vitality.

"Oh, but where have my manners gone… "You began, clearing your intake with a theatricality reminiscent of a student on their first day of school. "Designation: (D/n). Currently an Elite Guard and… an old 'friend.'"

The conspicuous movement of your digits, emphasizing the word "friend" in quotation marks, went unnoticed by most of those present, except for small, silent human that had approached with a stealthy, discreet step.

"…of your grumpy doctor," you continued, your tone a little more relaxed. "I was sent here by Ultra Magnus to—"

Your introduction came to an abrupt halt as your optics finally captured the small figure of a human, now standing a few feet away, staring directly at you.

"Look who we have here…"

Fluidly and without any stiffness in your movements, you lowered yourself to your knees, bringing yourself to a visual level close to that of the little human. As you settled, you could hear the faint hum of your metal plates finding a more stable configuration.

"…Hello, little one."

The smile that accompanied your words was kind and sincere. With studied and deliberately delicate gestures, you placed the open servo in front of the child—a clear, yet unforced, invitation.

She examined that servo for a few moments. Then, hesitant but intrigued, she accepted the invitation.

When you lifted Sari to your faceplate, your demeanor changed to one of extreme sweetness: "What's your name, darling?"

The little girl's name came timidly, almost whispered: "S-Sari…"

Click. The mechanisms of your faceplate adjusted imperceptibly into a softer mimicry, the touch of your expression becoming something incredibly human.

"Sari, huh?" You repeated with an intonation that exuded warmth. One of your metal fingers cautiously reached out to touch one of her pigtails, as if they were the most precious thing.

"A perfect name… as sweet as your beautiful face."

With the tip of your digits, you traced a small circle in the air, just close to her cheek but never quite touching it. The gesture had more the feel of vigilant protection than of invasive curiosity.

Meanwhile, Sari was thinking about how incredibly cool you were! Sari couldn't take her eyes off your sinuous lines, the way you moved with a natural grace that seemed innate. She'd never had the chance to observe a cybertronian femme up so close, and everything about you fascinated her like never before.

She wonder if you would have liked playing with her..… She ran a finger across her lip, holding back a smile as her imagination already imagined her walking on your shoulder during missions or chatting with you, proudly showing off her Earth-bound gadgets.

Maybe you could even teach her how to fight!

The desire to get to know you better grew by the minute. She wanted to learn more about you, what it meant to be such a strong warrior. And maybe even something about your connection to the Autobot medic.

As time went by, you and Sari began to spend more and more hours together. Without even realizing it, you had become a guide for her, a reassuring presence: that figure so much like an older sister, a bond Sari had never experienced but had always longed for. It didn't matter if you weren't truly one; for her, that was enough.

By now, your company was a constant. During missions, when she was left behind at the base, she no longer felt alone. Your days were filled with shared moments:

You told her stories of your home planet, opening up an unknown world for her.

You helped her navigate schoolwork, which she often found boring or difficult.

And you simply stood by her side, a silent but reassuring presence.

Over time, your closeness grew, so much so that it truly seemed as if you had welcomed her like a little sister to protect. She too felt over the moon, admiring your strength and skill with the enthusiasm and wonder of someone observing their idol up close.

But, as often happens in life, the moment came to face a question you'd rather avoid.

That day, you were together in his bedroom: a cozy and well-kept space, almost a personal refuge that contrasted sharply with the functional disorder of the Autobot base. The walls were decorated with posters of old Earth bands and images of mythological creatures from distant worlds. Curious, your gaze wandered everywhere: shelves and tables were laden with gadgets, toys, and electronic devices of every kind, intricate and fascinating in their fragility.

Next to the bed, a workbench showcased her creative spirit: among the scattered metal components and cluttered tools, the soul of a brilliant little inventor could be seen.

At that precise moment, she was absorbed in combing the silky hair of one of her dolls. And obviously, you were doing the same, with a delicacy unusual for your usually robust nature, caring for another doll. Your digits handled it with extreme care, perfectly aware of the intrinsic fragility of a human toy, so different from the sturdy, metallic ones of your childhood days on Cybertron.

Suddenly, the rhythmic motion of the brush stopped in Sari's hands. The little girl looked at you with a questioning look, filled with that innocent curiosity that characterizes small humans, while her mind was clearly buzzing, filled with questions ready to explode.

Immersed in your work, focused on what you were doing, you hadn't noticed those eyes that continued to search your face, full of unexpressed thoughts. It wasn't until you heard that hesitant little voice call out to you: "Um… (D/n)?"

The call of your designation immediately snapped you out of your concentration. Your helm rose in a fluid motion, the optics focusing on Sari with an expression so perfectly confused it seemed straight out of an anime—as if you were expecting to see a giant question mark materialize next to your helmet.

With your facial plates tilted just enough to radiate curiosity, you stared at her patiently, waiting to understand the reason for her interruption.

"Can I ask you something?" Sari asked. The seriousness in her tone couldn't go unnoticed; a hint of shyness added further depth to her request. What could she possibly ask you?

A nod was all she needed to gather her courage. You noticed her nervousness hidden in small gestures: her eyes wandered around the room, trying to find the right words from the void to formulate the thought buzzing in her head.

"Why do you always smile when you talk about Ratchet?"

Your optics widened for an infinitesimal moment, a meticulous mechanical movement that betrayed surprise. Immediately afterward, you attempted to compose yourself.

"Smiling? When did I ever—"

The answer wasn't enough to stem the enterprising girl's gust of cunning. A mischievous smile began to appear on her face. "Yessss! Like now! And yesterday too, when she scolded you for touching her tools… you made that face!"

Your energy field underwent a visible change: the air around you seemed to tremble slightly under the weight of your embarrassment, which was no longer concealable. And if there was one thing Sari knew well, it was precisely that reaction: the unmistakable signal that she had you trapped, with no way out.

"What a spy you are…" you finally confessed, without even attempting a plausible defense.

It seemed like a conclusive admission, enough to settle the debate. But Sari? She was never prepared to leave things hanging.

"SO IT'S TRUE!" Her triumph exploded in a cry of victory as she clenched her fists in exultation. "I can help you! I've seen plenty of romantic movies with Dad… I know exactly how—"

You cut her off with a curt, "No plans, little star," your metal fingers mimicking a slash through the air. "That old wreck is… complicated."

Too bad the word "complicated" turned out to be the fatal ignition for the most dangerous mechanisms in the universe: the brain brimming with ideas of an eight-year-old girl determined to solve what you were desperately trying to ignore.

Oh no.

Oh no no no!

And you knew it. Inside that miniature skull, the alveoli were already smoking. Star-shaped pupils, nails drumming on her chin as the evil plan in her head was beginning to take shape with frightening speed.

OPERATION: SPARKS IN LOVE. COMMENCED.

— HEADCANONS —

— Of course, Sari would be the first to notice that rascal never misses a beat. One day, she explodes into the common room, not only shouting out your interest in Ratchet but also adding, "COME ON GUYS, IT WAS OBVIOUS, HOW COULD YOU NOT NOTICE?!"

— Well, better late than never, right?

— OPTIMUS PRIME —

— When Optimus finds out from an enthusiastic Sari that Ratchet has an admirer, his emotions will be decidedly ambivalent. Of course, he'd be happy for his grumpy friend, but at the same time, he might be surprised to see Ratchet in a relationship, given his cold and aloof nature. Optimus might mull over, "Is it really possible that our old doctor has a hidden side?" But ultimately, he'd know that Ratchet deserves a little happiness in his life.

— Ratchet has never been the type for romance or sparkmates—he's always preferred solitude, believing love to be an inefficient distraction. But apparently, he was wrong. And while Optimus would be the first to agree, he'd also admit—with a barely perceptible smile—that the idea of their gruff doctor in a relationship… well, it still feels a little weird to him.

— Not that Ratchet would ever let him comment on it out loud, anyway. A single scowl and Optimus would throw up his hands in surrender.

— It might not seem like it, but Optimus would be the kind of mech to pepper you with questions about what attracts you to Ratchet. He knows the old medic all too welland those little tips he'd give you on how to handle certain sensitive topics? They'd work. Without fail. He knows exactly how to approach that stubborn guy.

— Optimus doesn't seem like the type, but he's extremely protective of his friend. He certainly doesn't want your crush to be just a brief infatuation—he knows how much it would hurt Ratchet if he were disappointed. To him, preserving his friend's hope is far more important than any personal curiosity.

— Optimus would have that you work alongside Ratchet more often. Not only to increase the time we spend together, but also to try to get you to open up a little more. Maybe, spending more time together, you could make a difference...!

— BUMBLEBEE —

— Bumblebee would be the one dropping his jaw like, "RATCHET?! SERIOUSLY?! How did he do that?!" Then he'd pepper him with questions until the poor doctor finally gave him one of his death glares.

— Yet, beneath the shock, he would be overjoyed that the old doctor finally has someone (even if he still doesn't understand how it's possible).

— Bumblebee would be jealous of how the old doctor has an effortless admirer while he has nothing. Yes, he has unfinished business, a war to wage, defending the humans, and blah blah blah, but... he'd still feel a little jealous.

— Like Optimus, though, he hopes your interest in Ratchet isn't just a passing crush, but something more solid and lasting—a spark of true connection.

— Beware of little Bumblebee, who's not to be trifled with—despite his innocent appearance, he could turn the tables and get the two of you to spend a lot of time together. After all, who knows: maybe you'll end up becoming Conjunxes.

— If there's one thing Bumblebee is determined to do, it's to make this budding couple blossom. And he's determined to use any excuse to keep you two stuck together. Nothing can stand in the way of his plan—not even Ratchet, that's for sure. With the help of Sari, perhaps (and later, Bulkhead), they'll do everything they can to make everything go smoothly.

— Bumblebee will be your second-biggest fan of the your ship (Sari is the number one), ready to use any excuse to tease you both. Be careful, because that little mech is hell-bent on watching his favorite couple set sail—even if that means you'll have to be incredibly patient with him and his antics!

— BULKHEAD —

— The most overreaction? Probably Bulkhead's. The big mech will be the first to drop his jaw, seeing how the old doctor has captured the heart of a belle femme—obviously without any effort (or so he pretends). Bulkhead can't keep up with the situation, and has no idea what's about to happen... but one thing he knows for sure: it's going to be crazy.

— Bulkhead, in his typical exuberant style, couldn't contain himself, jumping up and down with excitement—"RATCHET?! WITH A FEMALE?!"—as if this were the discovery of the century. His naiveté would lead him to ask very direct questions like, "So… do you like it when he grumbles? Because I usually run away."

— Imagine: Bulkhead accidentally destroying a passageway, just to force you to spend time together. And the wrecker would give a trademark toothy grin and shrug: "Oops? Anyway, Ratch, that's not so bad. At least you can talk a little, right?"

"BULKHEAD, I SWEAR I'LL BREAK YOU TO PIECES AND BUILD YOU BACK AS A VACUUM CLEANER—"

— But ultimately, he's just another important member who cares about you two, and wants to see this little love blossom and flourish.

— PROWL —

— Prowl would be the last one to expect it—Ratchet? With an admirer—and yet, against all odds, he'd remain strangely calm. Perhaps because, beneath all that ninja composure, he's still happy the old doctor has found someone. (But don't say that out loud, or he'd deny it all with a 'Hmph. Inefficient.')

— Naturally, he'd keep all his thoughts to himself—not that he's usually much of a talker, after all. But underneath it all, the mech-nin would be curious to see how things unfold between the two of you. After all, everything that happens on the ship interests him, too—in a more general way, of course. Certainly not because he's interested in Ratchet's love life.

— If Ratchet has truly found someone for him, it's important that everything unfolds according to plan—and the doctor is known to never have things under control. In that sort of thing, at least. Maybe he should keep an eye on him and you... to make sure everything's okay. Of course, he'd only do it for Ratchet's sake—nothing more.

— Ultimately, Ratchet is just a good mech who deserves a little happiness. Sure, he's grumpy and grumpy, but underneath that steel armor lies a good heart. Someone will have to make things work between him and you—and if necessary, Prowl will be ready to step in, for the sake of general safety, of course.

— And as Prowl continues to observe your accidental encounters arranged by Bee (with Bulkhead casually pushing Ratchet towards you every time), something in his spark tells him that... maybe this relationship could actually work. But it's Ratchet, so you better prepare for a cosmic-level emotional disaster before the happy ending.

What Ratchet and the Reader reminded me of while i was writing :