« 🎻 » ||  He hadn’t been given a choice in this.

Starscream had been told by his creators, time and time again on their way to Tetrahex, to stay polite -- to keep his wings held high, but not too much so, to soften that glare in his optics, to stop pouting and for all their sake, not to throw a tantrum. But no matter what, the thought that his agency had been taken from him refused to leave the young Seeker’s mind.

He hadn’t been given a choice. And now, even not knowing his intended, he wanted nothing more than to rip out the other mech’s spark.

Starscream huffed as he was ushered into the entryway of the Crown’s tower (he wasn’t sure that that was what it was called, but it was close enough), standing next to his carrier as he waited to be greeted. His EM prickled with rage; his digits twitched.

There he goes, carrying his lover off to somewhere unknown (probably the observation deck) for adventures unknown (more than likely quality time and a nice dinner). Good luck stopping him.

First Aid let out a laugh. No, he wouldn’t be stopping him. 

    send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse.    

 ?

nah, we just use brotp. But there should be one!! We should try to make one.

ϡ for a kiss that lets you know I love you.

First Aid had fallen asleep at his desk when Cyclonus came into the medbay. It had been a very long day and he should have gone back to his room an hour ago. 

He mumbled softly when he felt himself being lifted. First Aid knew who was carrying him away. He didn’t protest or fuss about it. 

A smile crossed First Aid’s face when he felt lips press against his forehead. A silent gesture to mean you are safe– you are loved.

« 🎻 » ||  He’d been a pleasure mech, in his last few homes, and that was part of the reason this home confused him so much. The Master -- Cyclonus -- refused to touch him. Refused, sometimes, to even look at him. The only chores “Cascade” had been given were cleaning related, and while part of him was relieved -- it wasn’t as if a pleasure bot was usually actually pleased by their job -- the rest felt almost offended.

Was he not good enough? Attractive enough? He polished his armor every other day until he was gleaming, made sure to bathe with scents most mechs found pleasurable. Cyclonus had been kind enough to allow him those luxuries, even. So why buy him, if not for interface? Was he just to sit there and look pretty?

He took it upon himself to find his way in the master’s berth, some way or another.