Can we get some sort of spicy scenario or story continuation with our Waspy boi 😈 I still want that buzzyboy to spark me up one day 🥺
Sure! 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mech 🌶️ ⚠️ sparked reader
Worker Bee- Sparked
Waspinator x Reader
• Toes barely brushing the ground as you squirm, pinned on your belly on your bed, you can hear and feel his buzzing rumble humming through you. And you’re glad the frame is reinforced as the headboard thumps against the wall. Have no idea what’s gotten into him, but he’d just slowly turned to look at you, venting and growling ‘heat’ at you in question as his antenna had lifted right before he’d come at you like a heat seeking missile. Fingers fisting in the sheets you gasp feeling his mandibles brushing the back of your neck.
• Hips pumping as his wings fitfully fan, that heady shift in your scent strings him tight. Until it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the slick heat of you wrapped so tight around his spike. Nuzzling against your neck as he thrusts, one of your legs slides against his and his mandibles graze your skin. Wanting to bite so bad. To mark you as his. It’s only the worry that he might upset you that keeps him from giving in to the urge. Feels you tremble under him, squirming to make the urge to bite and pin you even harder to ignore. Then you’re fisting his spike and his thrusts falter. Overloading hard and feeling his spike swelling inside you as he shifts his plating to snare you. To bond you.
• Startling when you’re pulled under, you can feel him still inside you, his spike leaving you uncomfortably full as his hips lazily rock against you, barely moving. And his light tangles in you, hesitantly spiraling around you. Asking. Every time he brushes against you, his memories spark through you. Images, emotions. An overwhelming confusion of his life that threatens to drown you. His hurt and confusion. His resignation to being hurt. The moment he’d decided he deserved to be hurt. Then finding you, expecting pain. Never expecting gentle touches or patience even when he knows he’s frustrating you. Knowing he’s broken, that he doesn’t deserve anything good, but wanting it anyway.
• Your grief sinks into him and he flounders. Trying to pull away, because it must be him. He’s doing something wrong. Upsetting you. Hurting you. Babbling apologies against your skin as his hips keep rocking, you reach for him. Your light arrowing into his, your fingers gripping his clawed servos. Tangling yourself more firmly in him as bits of you sink into him. And it hurts to be accepted completely. Hurts more than he’d imagined possible to hope. Asking hesitantly, he feels you respond. Feels the pull and he’s trembling against you, wings buzzing urgently.
• There was a question. Had felt it, felt his longing and his certainty of being denied. And you’d agreed without really understanding what he was asking. Shivering at the pull, at the sense of losing a piece of yourself, something precious, he cocoons you more firmly in himself. Feel him shuddering against you, overloading inside you again with a growling whine as that coaxing pull shifts. Reaching for it as it aches through you, needing whatever it is. Feel it become yours as his wonder spills into you, his frame shifting against you to sever the connection with his spark and you tremble at the loss even as it had been overwhelming to be seen like that. To be known completely. “What was that?” You ask, feeling his mandibles brushing your jaw and neck. ‘Sparked,’ he growls, cheek brushing against you as he shifts and you grunt at him when his weight momentarily drives the air from your lungs, his spike tugging uncomfortably inside you. Is he talking about the bonding? Because this time was different, you just don’t understand why. But he’s humming happily, spike still pulsing inside you as his wings fan your sweat-slicked skin.
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You know, I'm going through my emails and realizing that the last time I got a message that you'd updated your AO3 archive was back in April. I know you've got a lot on your plate rn but I wanted to let you know because I'm sure I'll forget within minutes if I don't now.
😭 thank you for the reminder- I’m terrible about remembering to backup AO3. I got up to May 16 last night and after work I’ll resume backing stuff up to hopefully get it current again. Every time I have to back up months work of fics I swear I’ll do better about doing this weekly because it’s a pain once it gets this behind. And then I promptly forget again
Worker Bee Pt 38
Waspinator x Reader
• “Upset with Waspinator?” He hesitantly asks and you shake your head. ‘You’re allowed to have secrets,’ you say and he relaxes slowly because there’s no anger or condemnation in your tone. No judgment. Nervously chewing on the energon rod, he nudges your head with his as his rumbling dips to a rough purring of engine noise. Wings flicking aa he scoots closer to the warmth of your body, his mandibles worry the treat.
• Feeling his antenna brushing the top of your head over and over, you study those big, guileless optics. Remembering how much he’d scared you at first. How ugly you’d thought he was. A monster. It seems crazy that you’d thought that now. Reaching up to smooth your fingertips against the side of his head, he leans into your touch, legs sliding against yours. All the frustration, all the misunderstandings, should upset you. Had lost your home because of him. So why doesn’t it bother you more?
• Chewing as you meet his optics, it’s strange to not feel the need to cringe away from your stare. To not be uncomfortable because usually when anyone pays this much attention to him it’s going to hurt. Moving slowly, he catches your hand. Staring at how small it is in his as he smooths his clawed servos against your fingers. And you smile faintly, turning your hand to fit your palm to his as his wings flick. “Same,” he says watching you interlace your fingers with his servos. “Different but the same.”
• Staring at his big hand clasping your own, you tug your joined hands up and press the back of your hand against the berth. See his optics brighten as his antenna lift and he’s shifting to straddle you. But otherwise he’s still. Waiting like he needs permission still. Reaching up your other hand, you find his and link your fingers with his servos. Bringing that hand up so they’re both pinned by your head even though he’s not holding you down and he’d immediately draw back if you pulled your hands away. His wings fan out slightly and the translucent material catches the light behind him, creating prismatic rainbows as his rumbling becomes a near growl.
• Staring down at you with your hands pinned over your head, he rumbles and tries to guess what you want. Knows you won’t punish him if he’s wrong, but prefers when you just tell him what to do. What you need from him so he can’t mess up. Wings buzzing restlessly, he knows what he wants. You. His plating heats as you stare up at him and your scent shifts to make him ache to claim you. Head lowering, he lets go of your hands when you tug free, laughing and pressing your palm over his mouth. “Baby, put down the treat first,” you say and he obediently drops it in your hand, watching your nose wrinkle.
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Capitalism is designed to nurture itself by making you, the worker bee, smaller. Tiny, minute, microscopic. Capitalist structures make more and more profit by making you smaller and smaller, to an extent where you eventually become so small that it becomes second nature for you to dismiss your own needs and expectations to suit theirs.
So you start defining yourself by the standards they have set for you; where you discipline yourself to sit for 8 straight hours working in your cubicle, where you judge yourself by your levels of productivity and how much profit you make for them, where you pat yourself on your back to have mapped out your whole routine around work that benefits them.
And so you start justifying sleeping less, ignoring your mental and physical health, having no hobbies or interests outside of work, no friends or human connection, no quality time with loved ones, no rest, and eventually you don't even know who you are outside of your work.
Eventually you burn out. And when you do, you are thrown off your pedestal and replaced in a blink of an eye. And it becomes YOUR failure, YOUR cross to carry, YOUR problem to overcome.
Capitalism sustains itself by killing your soul and then putting a disclaimer on its death acting as if you were really given a choice.
