#transformers scenario

That cycle had finally come to an end.

A slight yawn, accompanied by the creaking of your stiffened limbs, could be heard by anyone near you. The fatigue weighing heavily on your circuits, like molten lead.

Meanwhile, the Ark's artificial lights caressed your armor, almost making it feel like a second layer of warm skin. And to make matters worse, there were those constant little buzzes in the air that didn't help at all.

You would have collapsed on your feet if it hadn't been for Optimus. With a firm gesture yet filled with almost paternal warmth, he placed one of his massive servos on your pauldron. That simple gesture and the intensity of his gaze held an affection that only he could convey. He didn't say anything at first: it wasn't necessary. Then, with that calm, deep tone, he delivered his customary wisdom and encouragement:

"You've given so much today… you can go recharge."

Optimus embodied the ideal of a leader everyone should emulate. If the world had more leaders of his caliber, perhaps conflicts would have been avoidable and the universe would have breathed peace. His dedication to the group was total: a pillar everyone relied on in the darkest moments, capable of instilling hope when no one else saw it. And, above all, he managed to choose the right words with surgical precision when the situation demanded it.

Doubting his leadership was unthinkable. There was an uprightness about him that inspired respect and unconditional trust. Despite everything, he always found a way to care for you, your structures, and your fatigued processors—a stark contrast to the cold cynicism of those on the other side, yes, you were referring to him: Megatron.

The mere mention of his designation was enough to make your internal circuits tingle with irritation…

A slight jolt brought you back to reality: Optimus was calling you into presence with a perceptible touch, staring intently at you under the shadow of his attentive, questioning mask, patiently waiting for your response.

But there was no need. With a small nod of his helmet and a quick "Thank you" accompanied by "Have a good recharge, too," you passed your leader without hesitation… heading for the quarters.

During the night walk, the Ark was wrapped in an almost sacred silence: only a few distant whispers or distant technical noises filled the void—like an artificial lullaby lulling the entire spaceship into its nocturnal peace…

But that background noise didn't bother you at all; on the contrary, it instilled a kind of subtle warmth in you. It was a reassuring feeling, especially now that new recruits had begun to populate the corridors. The movement had intensified, it's true, but for you, that wasn't a problem: on the contrary, it was a sign of hope. Each new bot that joined the right cause, the faction that chose to protect rather than destroy, was a small victory in this endless war.

A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escaped you as you reflected on how much I preferred this situation to inhabiting a ghostly ark, empty and desolate like the unmanned wrecks drifting in space.

A few other mechs passed by you in the corridor: some heading to their quarters for a well-deserved recharge, others intent on completing their last tasks of the day. But nothing seemed to disturb the almost unreal calm of the earthly night.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn't even noticed you'd quickened your pace. Your metallic feet seemed to move with a precise goal in processor: to reach your quarters. And more importantly, your bunk.

You longed with every fiber of your being to get there, not so much for the simple need to recharge, but for something far more important: the moment when you would finally see Cheetor again, your sparkmate. The previous evening, you'd parted with an implicit promise— "Tomorrow night"—and now that moment had arrived.

The hours we spent together were few, you could count them on a servo's digits. Yet, neither of you dared complain about it. On the contrary, you welcomed those fragments of time as a precious gift, living them intensely with affectionate gestures, light caresses, and intimate conversations. And when would he transition into his alternate animalistic form? On those occasions, he never wasted time wrapping himself completely around you, exuding a familiar and comforting warmth, creating the illusion that you were the only two living presences in the entire universe.

Keeping a relationship alive in times of war was anything but easy. If things had been even a little more complicated—on the battlefield or inside the Ark—perhaps you would have had to give up. But miraculously, that had never happened. In fact, your connection had proven strong and profound, a rare bond capable of withstanding every test.

Cheetor was a lifeline for you, a constant in an unpredictable world. You could never get enough of his presence; it was as if every moment beside him soothed the chaos around you and offered you a shield against life's storms. You missed him every day, every moment. Your processor was constantly crowded with thoughts of him: his unique scent, artificial yet imbued with familiarity; His crystalline laugh that resonated like a sacred melody through your spaces; his constant purring when he assumed feline mode in the berth; his luminous green optics, two beacons of love capable of illuminating even the thickest darkness.

And then there were his dermas—that sweet desperation with which they incessantly sought you, fearing you would vanish in his arms if they even for a second sought you. His metallic arms held you as if trying to capture that eternal moment in his processor, as if he could stop time and make that moment infinite.

Being with him was like falling asleep in the warmth of a living, pulsating stove, a perfect refuge that protected and warmed the other half of your soul. He was there beside you, irresistible and indispensable. Just where he was supposed to be.

Another incident in particular that had happened a few times—rare, but enough to stick in your memory—was that your need to be with Cheetor had made you late for a few meetings. A couple of scoldings from your superiors, a few stern looks… nothing truly serious. However, from those times on, you stopped, not wanting to risk your position on the Ark. As much as you loved spending every free moment by his side, you knew that duty came first. And he understood that. Cheetor had his responsibilities, too.

Your train of thought broke when your (O/C) optics lingered on a familiar door: the one to your quarters.

A faint smile appeared on your faceplate, so subtle it was almost invisible, yet charged with emotion. As you approached the cabin, that shy smile transformed into an explosion of uncontrollable joy, as if a current of positive energy coursed through every fiber of your chassis, from the spark to the external plates. It was impossible to contain the euphoria: who could not yearn to see their partner again after hours apart?

Even before you approached the door, you could already feel his presence, a palpable sensation through the faint magnetic field he emanated. It was the most you could share for now. (As much as you would have liked a room together, for now it wasn't possible, and despite that, you had to make do.) He was waiting for you inside, with that seemingly calm air that in reality hid all the impatient trepidation of someone who has counted every second.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you imagined the scene: Cheetor in there, perhaps busy keeping his processor occupied, while he kept scanning the entrance, as if he could sense your footsteps or your arrival in advance. The image made you let out a faint electric buzz, a faint laugh. How adorable he was in his naive, passionate way… There was no doubt about it: that pure, all-encompassing affection was just one of the thousand reasons you loved him.

And who or what had brought him into your life? What extraordinary fortune had you amassed to deserve such a gift? Cheetor seemed to have stepped out of a dream, a blessing that almost defied every law of the universe.

This was certainly not the time for further reflection. You had to see him.

In three long, quick strides—almost like a turbo—you reached the door. Your magnetic fields intertwined naturally, like twin stars attracting each other after a long separation. You felt his field gently tighten around yours; it was as if he were desperately trying to hold you in his orbit, yet so delicately, as if you were made of porcelain. And you willingly surrendered to that sweet connection.

You quickly entered the access code on the panel, while a soft click confirmed the door before you had opened. The door slid silently on its tracks, revealing the interior of the room. But inexplicably, your steps, once quick and energetic, now became more uncertain and slow. A timid hesitation filled you for no apparent reason; perhaps it was the intensity of the moment or the emotion itself that held you back.

When you finally crossed the threshold, the door closed softly behind you, sealing that intimate space where you could finally be together, far from the world.

And there, standing before you, was him: Cheetor.

He was sitting on your bunk.

You stared at those familiar green optics, so etched in your processor. They were trained on you, glowing with a silent joy. In that moment, their intense glow made them look like two full moons illuminating the darkness. The expression on his faceplate had that feline touch you so loved, like the steady rhythm of your own spark.

He kicked his metal feet lightly, a nervous tic that betrayed his impatience to check the time again and again. The gesture wasn't just an outlet, but also a way to mask the boredom accumulated in the hours spent without seeing you. The thought of the two of you, separated like lovers divided by planets and galaxies, made every encounter even more precious. And so, every evening the same scene repeated itself; a ritual that never seemed to lose its charm.

Without a word, his arms opened in a silent invitation, a gesture that said it all without words. There was the call of an embrace, of that reassuring warmth that only he could give you. There was no hesitation as you threw yourself into his strong, metallic arms; they themselves felt like a living blanket, as large and warm as they were welcoming thanks to the soft fleece that covered them.

He had no intention of letting you go that evening, and you were more than fine with that. You lost yourself in that long-desired, familiar warmth, the only thing you truly needed in that moment. Your helm found its place on the right shoulder strap of his frame, with a gentleness that revealed all your exhaustion. Your legs adjusted effortlessly to the sides of his hips, as if they were meant to fit there.

Straddling him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him in a full embrace. He reciprocated immediately: his delicate servos positioned themselves firmly around your waist, ensuring you remained stable, safe, without the risk of slipping or falling.

His unspoken promise seemed to vibrate in the air: there, in those arms, nothing would ever happen to you.

Then it began. The purring. A deep hum—almost imperceptible, if it weren't for how close you were—came from the core of his own chassis. You watched him without looking away, fascinated. Nestled against his right shoulder pad, you scrutinized the elegant, decisive lines of his structure, as if carefully sculpted. For a moment, a thought crossed your processor: it was as if Primus himself had smiled as he shaped that magnificent mech.

His arms tightened around you in that sweet embrace, so well-deserved after a long day of work. Those were precious moments, little treasure chests of serenity that you jealously guarded, to be recalled during endless missions, when the distance became almost unbearable.

Everything was wrapped in the most eloquent silence, until his vocalizer gently pierced it. Calm yet forceful, with that warm edge he always used to affectionately break the ice. "So… how was your cycles?" he asked softly, his muzzle gently resting on your soft, metallic cheek, rubbing against it with slow, rhythmic movements…

With a soft sigh, you began to recount your cycle. It had been exhausting: new Autobot recruits arrived from Cybertron, military strategies to develop to counter your enemies, and even a little help offered to friends with less important tasks. Your words flowed calmly, unhurried, following the natural rhythm of your thoughts.

And him? Completely enthralled.

He listened to every syllable with such profound devotion that it seemed he was breathing your emotions. He didn't simply follow out of courtesy, but absorbed every detail as if your story were a precious gift.

For Cheetor, your relationship was a bastion of beauty and meaning in an often cruel and difficult world. You were his anchor, the main reason he faced every challenge, even Unicron. And, if necessary, he would travel the universe only to offer you the rarest and most splendid flower, knowing that no wonder could ever match the brilliance of your spirit.

He was deeply captivated by you, lost in your gestures and your essence, infatuated to the point of spark.

As you continued to share fragments of your cycles, his thumbs traced small circles on your waist, offering a gentle massage that seemed to dissipate the accumulated tension. His touch always had the same calming effect on you.

Every time you asked his opinion on a detail, he not only answered, but with a feline smile, warm and radiant like the horizon at sunset, he began showering you with kisses:

*MWUAH*

A kiss on the cheek.

*MWUAH*

One on the tip of your olfactory crest, which inevitably made you laugh.

Your smile, that overwhelming smile, lit up everything around him like a star-studded night sky. It was his guide, the light in a day otherwise marked by darkness.

*MWUAH*

Finally, another kiss… this time bolder. With a firm yet delicate gesture, he took your chin and kissed the spot closest to your derma.

"Wrong place, sweetspark." you joked with a vibrant laugh.

But there had been no mistake. It had been a deliberate choice. As soon as you finished your story, he seized the moment: the last kiss was fleeting and deliberate.

His derma finally found yours for a brief but incandescent moment… which soon transformed into something deeper and more engaging. Without words, your derma sought each other and intertwined like magnets drawn by an irrepressible energy.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still as the fusion of your souls translated into a passionate and sensual play. Your flavor enveloped him completely—bold and unique, sweet and warm—tingling every fiber of his being.

His clawed servos tightened around your waist, as if he feared you might dissolve into thin air. He held you pinned to his knees, as if you were a fixed point, untouchable. Meanwhile, your servos scratched softly at his helmet… and the purr, already sweet, grew louder. You were pampering him unreservedly, without reserve.

He was convinced he could never experience such feelings. The pure, sincere love he saw in his former companions seemed unattainable. And then, you appeared. If old Cheetor, the skeptical and disillusioned one, could see himself now, he would slap himself for doubting: you were like an angel sent by Primus himself, sent to rescue him from solitude just as the shadows were about to overwhelm him.

He watched you silently as you spoke, losing himself in the movements of your derma, the ones he could never tire of kissing. Every time his optics rested on you, his spark seemed to beat faster, as if the mere sight of you lit a sweet, unstoppable fire.

When you parted, he seemed immersed in a sweet melancholy, almost as if he longed to continue claiming your kisses forever. Yet he understood, and so he let go of your derma, abandoning it very slowly.

Your slightly amused smile took him by surprise. He hadn't expected that reaction and, overcome by a slight embarrassment, he lowered his gaze, trying to escape your optics, filled with affectionate irony for those tender moments.

With delicate grace, you placed your servo on his cheek. That touch, so full of sweetness, immediately brought him back to you. His sensors focused entirely on the contact, and he abandoned himself to the moment: his optics closed in apparent tranquility, while his chassis seemed to breathe rhythmically slowly… as if enveloped in a sensation of pure bliss.

Softly, your words drifted through the air, caressing the silence: "I'm sorry, love… but you're incredibly adorable like this." And him? He melted, completely overwhelmed by the sweetness of your vocalizer, capable of transforming every part of his existence.

Then came the long-awaited promise: "Tomorrow I have the whole day off… we can spend as much time together as we want." A sigh of relief, filled with joy, escaped his derma. It was a dream come true: an entire day just for the two of you. He wouldn't pass up that opportunity even if the world were to end.

But your moment was interrupted.

A slight yawn floated through the air. This time, it was Cheetor who intervened without hesitation. Gently, he lifted you as if you were the most precious gem at the center of the universe—and to him, you truly were. He didn't hesitate to pull you against him, and you effortlessly wrapped your arms around his neck, abandoning yourself to the reassuring warmth of his chassis and already feeling sleep gently approaching.

The journey was short, little more than a couple of clicks, yet his pace remained carefully measured, thoughtful, so as not to disturb your peace. Arriving near the berth, he lowered you with a gentleness that seemed impossible to attribute to his powerful frame. Every movement was a caress, as if you were made of crystal.

Finally, it was time to lie down next to you. To make his embrace even more enveloping and comfortable, without taking up too much space, he transformed into his alternate mode. His imposing figure compacted into a slimmer and more hospitable shape.

As soon as he reached the other side of the bunk with a nimble leap, Cheetor jumped on it without hesitation. He curled up next to you, still in alternate mode, and you reacted immediately: you held him close as if he were your favorite pillow.

Your arms wrapped around him tightly, while a tired but affectionate kiss touched the tip of his muzzle. You murmured in a whisper, "I love you… thank you for everything, Cheetor." Those were the last words before the recharge overwhelmed you.

He didn't hesitate to reply sweetly: "Me too… rest well, sweetspark." Then he settled closer to you, not only to keep you warm, but also to feel closer to you; he was like a living stuffed toy, made of metal and love.

Finally, slowly, you fell asleep like this: cuddled together, immersed in perfect tranquility.

How did you get so lucky?

The others would be like "dude the ship can make the food automatically, that's what it did for Daniel, why do you need to learn this" but then Chromedome would explain that earth customs are interesting and there's no harm in learning the art of cooking. Highbrow would probably join in to say he's read some cool stuff about it and then ask if Cab can teach him sometime.

"Cab's cooking is not a thing to be trifled with!" Ginrai would semi-jokingly chime in, flashing the boy a thumbs up.

"If Shuta here doesn't eat it all first!!" Cab jokes, still beaming from the praise he so appreciates.

Shuta jumps on him, shouting indignantly and trying to defend his honor. As the adults laugh at the play-fight, they proceed to eat, and the food is surprisingly really good!! The boys abruptly end their fight and scramble over to the table after Minerva and Waverider joke about nearly eating everything.

At this moment Hawk joins them after his usual extra hours monitoring the city, wearing something other than that brown suit he always wears because it's a warm summer night and he is going to have fun hsjsjsj Hawk ily but please wear a normal thing for once because if you don't I'll draw you in a normal thing myself and it'll be a Hello Kitty t-shirt I mean it,,

They praise Cerebros for an awesome first try at cooking!! <3 

Hardhead, eyeing the colorful feast set out on the table, immediately asks if he can do anything to make Energon taste interesting, so the Autobot commander starts thinking about that...

"Calm down, buddy!" Brainstorm and Chromedome pat their aggressive friend on the back.

"But it looks so good!!"

"Commander will cook for us sometime, don't worry!"

Cerebros nods. "Yes, that I will do, Hardhead."

"...fine."