#shrapnel x reader

• And your attention dips down to the head of his spike just barely peeking out of the soft mesh sheath it depressurizes into when he’s not aroused. The other two, you can touch freely. They invite you to explore them, but not him. Always pins you, fucks you silly, and then walks away. Never holds you after. Never whispers with you like his brothers sometimes do. Making you even more sure that he resents choosing you. That maybe he hates you because you’re human. Studying his face as hurt and anger twist through you, you’re shifting to straddle him. Sucking on a finger to wet it, you run it along the mesh around his spike, watching a bead of slick form on the head as his spike twitches and pushes a little more out of his sheath. Keep telling yourself that you don’t care if he doesn’t like you. That you don’t like him, either. He’s an absolute bastard. Mean and vicious. But he’s still yours whether he likes it or not. Splaying your hands on his chassis, you scoot back to rock yourself against the head of his spike and he rumbles under you, spike stirring more. Shifting on him, you gasp when you get yourself lined up and his spike pressurizes suddenly inside you, stretching and filling you as your toes curl.

• Bleary from recharge, his head lifts and he stares at you riding him. Coming online to the feel of your slick heat fisting his spike as your lips part on a soft sound of need. And you stare down at him, your expression a defiant challenge as your hips roll and your head falls back. Looking more alien than normal, exotic and ethereal, as you claim him and his plating lifts aggressively, optics narrowing. Do you have any idea how often he’s dreamed of this? Of you seeking him out, not Bombshell or Kickback. Wanting him. Except you never seem to notice him unless he screws with you and tries to make you angry. Loves the way your eyes flash when you’re furious with him, the softness of your body yielding to him when he frags you. And you’re moving more urgently, bouncing on him as your lips part. Until you’re trembling and squeezing his spike when he’s so close, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts.

• Trembling with little aftershocks as you feel his hard spike still pulsing inside you with the thrum of his spark, your face heats. Because he’s staring up at you, optics narrowed. He’s definitely looking at you now. Seeing you and a shiver of trepidation walks up your spine on icy fingers. Lifting up and almost whimpering at the feel of his still erect spike slipping free, you meet his optics as you try to step over him. And he rolls to his peds with that uncanny quickness they have to pin your front against the rough stone wall of the cave. “Don’t start things you can’t finish, finish,” he hisses softly in your ear and your sweat slick skin prickles at the feel of him venting against you. Heart racing as his sharp denta graze your neck, you shiver. Aware of the silver tracery of scars they’ve left all over you. Love bites that they drag their glossas against and suck on until their nanites mostly heal the damage, because they want to leave marks of possession on you. And his big hands slide over your belly, between your thighs as you feel his wet spike brush against your lower back to dampen you with your own arousal. Hands closing on your waist and lifting you, your toes can’t touch the ground as he sheathes himself inside you with a snarl, his chassis against your back. Groaning as your head falls back against his shoulder, his hips pump.

• Clearing his vents when one of his older sons desperately makes optic contact, Shrapnel adds another log to the fire and stalks over. And you frown when he grabs your arm to spin you toward him, grinning to show his sharp denta. “Let him frag the seeker if he wants. It’s what Insecticons do best, best,” he purrs, ignoring the youngling making disgusted noises when he drags you into his frame to slide a thigh between your own. ‘I’m going to need massive amounts of therapy now, sire. So thanks,’ Stygian mutters and he chuckles as your newest sparkling chirps hungrily at your back. “What’s wrong with fragging?” He growls as you laugh and lay a hand across his mouth to push him away. “Makes more Insecticons and it’s the best thing in life, life.”

• “Behave. Though, maybe it's time you have the talk,” you say as Styg’s plating ruffles up in teenage disgust. Not that you blame him, because his dads have no censors. “Ignore your dad. He’s old and only has one thing on his mind,” you add as Shrapnel hisses at you. “Two if you count eating.” Smiling as Styg’s face turns up toward the high ceiling of the lair, you’re rubbing another smudge of dirt off his arm as he gives you an aggrieved look. Making it hard to resist the urge to ask again if he’s fooling around with the seeker he has a crush on. Hopefully he’s not since her dads aren’t exactly on friendly terms with your husbands. ‘Stop embarrassing him. Let him go tear his own place in the soft meat of this world. Eat and frag. Make your own hive,’ Bombshell calls from where he’s watching a soap opera with several sparklings recharging on him.

• “I don’t want to talk about this. Why can’t you all be normal?” Stygian growls and Shrapnel smiles crookedly, circling you as you give him a look. ‘Bring back something tasty and still squirming for your younger siblings,’ he says as you retreat and he follows. ‘They need to learn how to tear the throat out of something and make the kill.’ Venting as your eyes flash, his rumbling shifts to a coaxing purr. And his son is hurrying away, growling about therapy again as he catches you and tugs you into his frame.

• Watching you lean an arm against the top of the container to rest your cheek on, you’re smiling indulgently down at them as Bombshell clears his vents. And you’d provided a feast for them. Isn’t sure what to make of you. Your attempts to court them, your lack of survival instincts, or that you’re taking care of them. Meeting your eyes, he waits for your demands, because nothing is ever truly free. You’d fed them, but you’ll want something in exchange. “What is it you want?” He growls, aware that his kind are only catered to when they’re useful.

• Looking up as he licks his clawed servos clean, Shrapnel glances between you and Bombshell. Before kicking Kickback awake to make the other Insecticon hiss, wings lifting aggressively. “Right now? To give you guys a bath. You’re kind of… messy,” you say, nose wrinkling and you’d hesitated before landing on messy to make him wonder what you’d wanted to say instead. Disgusting? It’s not like he hasn’t been called that before. ‘Unnecessary, unnecessary,’ he growls, glossa sliding against his palm to make you shudder. As lovely as your hands feel on him, you want to wash them with sweet smelling soaps far more often than is probably healthy.

• Muddled, Kickback’s not sure he’s ever been this close to actually being full before. Hunger just a normal part of his existence. Chirping as he slides into Bombshell when the container tips, Bombshell shoves him into Shrapnel. Making him remember the thing they’re in had wheels as you start rolling it. “I have this cherry blossom bubble bath at the dorm and you guys are going to love it,” you say as he braces his palms against the wall of the container, crouching slightly. Full and uninterested in a bath. Wants to recharge. Preferably in the sun.

• Hurrying as Kickback tenses, wings flicking, you’re tempted to accidentally jostle the bin. Make him lose his balance before he can try to jump out. Because you really don’t want to touch any of them after they’ve been dumpster diving in food waste. Can’t make yourself do it, though and you startle when he launches himself out of the bin and you hear Shrapnel chewing a hole in the side of the container. Realizing you’re about to have to wrangle sticky, gross alien bugs. “I have bon bons at the dorm,” you blurt as Kickback studies you while keeping out of reach. “It’s candy. Food? It was an early Valentine’s present,” you add and the food part at least has their attention, though how they can still be hungry is beyond you. “You can have some after a bath.” And Bombshell rumbles, head tipping. ‘Bribery?’ He asks and you flush, smiling hopefully. “Candy. Everyone loves candy.”

• Struggling to get loose as you adjust him against your hip, Shrapnel hisses. Almost doesn’t even care if you’re poisoned, because he’s so angry at being carted around like a sparkling. “You will release us or suffer the consequences, consequences,” he snarls as you turn backward to use your shoulders to push open a door, waiting to let Bomshell in before you’re backing inside. “Human, you have no clue who you’re messing-” Venting, the scent of human food has his head turning as his words taper off.

• Chirping as he registers food, Kickback’s head turns to stare at the humans working in the building you’ve carried them into. Antenna lifting, he leans toward the smell, rumbling. “Hey,” You’re calling out to the other humans. “You guys have any food scraps from meal prep?” And those strangers just stare at you before one reluctantly says yes while staring at him to make him hiss and bare his denta. Watching the human retreat into the back, you’re lowering him and Shrapnel to their peds.

• Growling as a human rolls out a huge plastic can, Bombshell resists the urge to stretch up to try and see better. Because that smells like food. A bin full of it. Hates this. Being small and helpless, but unlike the other two, he sees the wisdom in sticking close to you for safety. And you’re thanking the other human before Kickback crouches and launches himself at the bin, peds scrabbling against the side before he pitches himself inside with a chirp. And you’re bending to pick up Shrapnel to help him into the bin, too. Head tipping up as you reach for him, he wonders why you’re doing this. Being kind when kindness is weakness.

• Yeah, you thought they’d enjoy this. Smiling as the three go to town on the scraps, you catch the other person staring at you uncertainly. But the Insecticons are helping out with cleanup. Happily going to town on potato peels, meat trimmings, and scraps. The 30 gallon drum rocking slightly as they chirp, hiss, and snarl at each other. Always hungry. “Do you have any more?” you ask. “They’re not picky eaters.” You’re pretty sure that just like actual bugs, they’ll eat almost anything. Leaning your arms on the top of the bin, you watch Kickback hissing at Bombshell over a chicken bone while Shrapnel devours a banana peel. They’re kind of cute this size. Still gross, but also cute. Ish.

• “Give it back,” Bombshell repeats tiredly, head lifting slightly to stare at Shrapnel, several sparklings sleeping on him in his altmode. Daring the other mech to argue. ‘Weak, weak,’ Shrapnel growls and Bombshell clears his vents, rising to dump younglings off so he can transform. Aware of Kickback striding over to bend and grab you and a couple of sparklings. Carrying you clear as you angrily yell about no fighting in the damn house. Waiting until Kickback grabs the last sparkling in the way by a ped and drags them chirping in confusion to safety, Bombshell straightens.

• Crouching near you and the younglings, Kickback is aware of the rest of the swarm gathering, woken up by the noise. Wings flicking at the feel of little hands clinging to him, he’s still not sure what to make of the swarm. Don’t really act like proper Insecticons. Sure, they squabble occasionally, but they never fight to the death. It’s unnatural. Has to be your influence. “Can’t you do something about this?” You demand as Bombshell roars to make the younglings all flinch before he charges Shrpnel, Kickback reaches absently to rest a hand on your head, servos rubbing your hair as you duck and slap his wrist. ‘This is our way,’ he says.

• Snarling as Bombshell slams into him, Shrapnel claws at his face, the two of them rolling on the ground. And he sinks his denta into Bombshell’s arm, grunting when he gets punched in the face hard enough he tastes energon. Hopefully the younglings are watching. Learning something besides your foolish human ways. Learning to be Insecticons. Clawing, biting, and kicking as they roll. Deciding who’s in the right by the virtue of strength and cleverness.

• “Yeah, your way is stupid,” You mutter as Benji grabs your shirt to pull himself up in your lap and Kickback reaches to grab one of the stuffed animals from the pile you’d harassed him to thieve for the kids. Dropping a stuffed cat in the middle of the kids without even looking as they hiss and start fighting over it. “Sharing is caring,” you sing song, leaning to grab several plushies to drop in their midst as Kickback shoots you a dark look. Finally got your kids to stop biting each other and you’re not letting your idiot husbands ruin that. Again.

• Swearing in snarls and clicks, Bombshell grabs Shrapnel by an arm. And has to immediately grab Kickback by a wing when he tries to charge you. “Stop and think,” he snarls even as his optics flick to you behind his visor. Shuddering, he struggles to hold them both back. Feeling himself start to drool as the heady scent of blood sinks into him. Wanting the same thing they do. To devour. So hungry. He’s always hungry, never satisfied no matter how much he eats. ‘Just a little bite. A taste,’ Kickback groans. ‘I’m starving.’ So is he, but you’re also just smiling at them, looking slightly confused.

• Are they wrestling? Sometimes you’ve seen Bombshell smack the other two and they start hissing at each other. You guess it’s some sort of hierarchy thing and that’s how he keeps the other two in line. They definitely seem to roughhouse and snarl a lot. “Are you guys hungry?” You call out and Kickback hisses, clawed servos digging into the concrete as he tries to pull away from Bombshell and drag himself toward you. “I brought you steaks,” You add as they click and hiss at each other in their awful sounding language. Hope they’re not about to fight. If they do, you might not get to do your job and wash them.

• “Do you want to die? We don’t know if it’s poisoned,” Bombshell snarls and Kickback whines, strings of saliva dripping down his chin. Knows you might be a threat sent to take them out, but you smell delicious right now. More so than normal. You’re bleeding. Wounded and he can’t stand it. Maybe you are poisoned but right now he can’t really care. “Cut it out, both of you. We’re not eating it.” Groaning, Kickback’s head thumps against the ground, lying on his front like a sparkling throwing a tantrum and fully aware of that, but unable to care. ‘One bite. Just to check if it’s poisoned, poisoned,’ Shrapnel whines.

• Ignoring as Bombshell swears at him, Shrapnel can feel the other mech shuddering. Knows Bombshell’s as close to snapping and going after you as he is. And you’re humming as you unload trays with steaks. Completely oblivious to the threat they pose. Or just not caring. But if your purpose is to draw them in and get them to eat you so you poison them, you wouldn’t care, would you? “Come here little morsel, morsel,” he croons in your language and you come to him even as Bombshell drags him and Kickback away. ‘No, bad human. Stay back,’ Bombshell snarls and you stumble to a stop looking puzzled. ‘Back.’

• “Don’t,” Bombshell tiredly snarls in warning when Shrapnel’s jaws open wide, head lowering to try to bite into the back of your exposed neck. And his brother reels back when your head comes up. ‘Sorry?’ You ask to make him clear his vents. What is wrong with you? Because something obviously is, you’re just smiling confusedly at him before finding the sponge and turning toward Shrapnel as his brother growls, head turning away. Even the dumb prey animals of this world have more survival instinct than you do. How have you survived this long?

• Going up on tiptoe to start washing as high up as you can reach on your giant charge, Shrapnel flinches away and transforms into a big, metal bug. Which looks much easier to wash. “Oh, thanks. You guys are really tall.” And he’s shuffling sideways with a hiss to avoid you as you try to wash him. Playing? Do aliens play? You keep following and the other one, Bombshell snarls something at him in their awful language that has Shrapnel dropping to the ground on his belly, limbs drawn up against himself.

• Glaring over at Shrapnel getting washed, Kickback keeps trying to rub your clinging scent off of himself. And maybe you are a trap, because eventually Shrapnel stops hissing warnings at you and starts rumbling irritably, leaning into your touch as you wash him. Catching Bombshell’s attention, he clicks his sharp denta together. “I say we take our chances with it being poisoned,” he mutters in their own language. Lifting his arm, he vents and growls when your scent is still obvious under the soap. Because it’s all over him. Like you’d claimed him as yours.

• Leaning into your touch as you scrub him, getting into seams and around joints, you’re humming. Everything about this irritating, even if it feels good. But if you’re off limits, there’s plenty more tasty organics about. And there’s a nearby town. “It’s singing to me, me,” he growls in Cybertronian at Bombshell, unsure how he feels about it. Or that you’re so at ease among them. “Are we keeping it, it?” As a conjunx, a queen? Surely not. You’re obviously prey. Feels your softness brush against him as you move further down his frame. Still humming cheerfully and he wonders who’s been protecting you before you sought them out. Someone has to have been, you’re too innocent to be left unsupervised. Too trusting.

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• “We’re moving,” Bombshell snarls instead of answering you and the other two start gathering things and subspacing them. And you yelp when he abruptly goes back to full size and transforms, trying to snare you in his mandibles as you dance out of reach to his annoyance. “Come here.” Freezing when you huff at him and dart around his side, he feels your hands on him and he tips sideways slightly when you climb up onto his back and sit straddling him. Aware of his brothers staring he hisses at them to get them moving again. Because apparently you’re going to ride him and he vents tiredly at the indignity.

• Trying not to laugh at Bombshell’s annoyance as their little queen sits on him apparently intending to ride him, Kickback keeps subspacing everything he can. Doubts Barricade will come back any time soon, but there’s a possibility he’ll go for reinforcements and return immediately. If the mech doesn’t bleed out his energon in the woods first. Chirping unhappily at losing that tasty meal, he transforms and follows Bombshell when his brother heads out of the cave.

• Taking the lead since Bombshell has you, Shrapnel hisses softly and vents. It’s not like they hadn’t already planned to move to a better home, but getting forced to move bothers him. That the mech had gotten away alive bothers him more. “We should have given chase,” he growls and Bombshell hisses back as you tip your face up toward the sky when it begins to drizzle rain. “He found us once, he’ll find us again, again.”

• “And he’ll die,” Bombshell snarls as you splay your palms on his back, his swaying gait wholly different from the one time you’d ridden a horse as his many legs claw at the leaf litter and dirt. And the rain picks up as you feel leaves and branches slide against your legs and arms, scratching you. It occurs to you that you could slide off of him and run, but really, what’s the point? There’s no getting away from them ever. “We’ll devour him and any he brings with him,” Bombshell continues, tone furious and you wonder if he was worried for you. If he was afraid of you getting hurt. And if it was only because you’re bonded to them instead of any genuine affection. You don’t love them, barely know them, so how could they love you? They’re monsters, but they’re monsters you’re stuck with for life and you let the rain chill you. Numb you.

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