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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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.
Hi there! I was rereading worker bee and it had me wondering about Waspys levels of comfort. Like I would love to pet his wings and tell him everything is gonna be okay, but would he even be trusting enough for that??
Also, kinda off topic, but did you know some sociable wasps sometimes huddle for warmth? Sometimes they even have a preferred partner to do it with. I thought that was cute, and I wonder if that's what waspimator was doing (or trying to do) when he first sought out the MC in their bed!🥰🥰
Awww, I didn’t know that 💕 he trusts his human, but everyone else is under suspicion and a possibly threat
Patrol
Waspinator x Reader
• Startling awake as your mattress dips slightly, you roll over onto your back when Waspinator crawls over you and just flops on top of you, head against your chest like your own personal, heavy sleep paralysis demon. “Patrol go well?” You ask hands sliding over him and you frown at how chilled he is when he normally runs hot. Is it snowing again? And you still can’t believe the Autobots are trusting him to help with their patrols already since he’s still so new to them, but then, from what you’ve seen they don’t have a lot of air support.
• Shivering as his mandibles find and toy with the neck of your top covering, his wings buzz restlessly when you try to stroke them. “Cold. Cold and lonely,” he mumbles, even if it had felt good to be asked to help. Hadn’t liked leaving you unprotected, but wasn’t that the point of coming here? To find a safe nest where the Decepticons couldn’t hurt you, take you from him? ‘Want under the blankets?’ You ask and he vents, extra limbs plucking at the edges of your mattress. Doesn’t like being under the covers, having his wings pinned down. Trapped.
• Deciding it’s a no when he just whines at you and presses his cold face against your neck, arms squirming under you as he vents. Know he doesn’t understand that he’s not exactly comfortable to cuddle with, that when he sprawls half way on you like this it’s like a cement block laying on top of you. Stroking his wings when they finally still, he makes a noise, but doesn’t protest. Your best guess is that they’re sensitive, but you like the alien, silken feel of them. The way they flex if you press against them even as they’re warm. Snorting when you nearly get smacked in the face with an antenna, he hums softly at the petting. “We should help them if we can,” you tell him meaning the Autobots. “They didn’t have to take us in.”
• Knows that, but it’s hard to trust that they won’t hurt him. Mechs like them have always hurt mechs like him. Looked down on them. Beastformers, Cybertronians with organic altmodes, worth even less than the lowest castes. Prejudiced against, sometimes treated more like animals than Cybertronians. Arms wrapped around you as you stroke his wings, he relaxes against you. Trying not to remember the fear. Being hunted for sport by bigger mechs because he was different, looked different. Being scared and hungry all the time. It was the promises Megatron made that made him join the Decepticons, but they’d treated him no better even though the warlord had sworn there would be change.
• He’s buzzing, making a deep humming vocalization as you play with his wings, fingers stroking over them and his back. Feel an antenna card through your hair as he rolls over onto his side and you barely pull your arms up against yourself to keep one from getting trapped under his side. “Wasp,” you protest when he tries to curl around you, legs drawing up and arms around you, he clears his vents at your tone, but doesn’t ease up. “You’re crushing me,” you groan and he finally eases up, head lowering to brush his face against your cheek. Sighing at him, you can’t even manage to stay annoyed at those big, puppy optics, resting a hand on his head to play with his antenna. “What did you see on patrol?” And he perks up, excited to babble about things he saw outside the Ark, telling you about deer and squirrels.
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Does Waspinator trust his human conjux enough to sparkbond with them? Its understandable if he isn't, he's been hurt so bad in the past. But it would give reader an insight on all the pain he's suffered and an understanding of why he is the way he is
I think it would take some time for him to relax enough to sparkbond. He trusts them, but he’s used to being hurt and betrayed.
Worker Bee Pt 37
Waspinator x Reader
• “Open up,” you say, holding out one of the human sized energon rods Ratchet had given you and his mandibles flare slightly, inner mouth opening for you to stick the end in and he rumbles, servos reaching to hold the thing as he chews on it. Watching his wings frantically buzzing as his sharp denta gnaw on it, he really does remind you of an excited puppy sometimes. And it really drives home how different he is from the other Cybertronians. Not just in his form, but in how he acts. You’ve seen the way they look at him, the pity in their expressions. Know something is off. “Wasp?”
• Optics flicking to you as he chews on the treat, his antenna lift. Momentarily off balance from the way you’re looking at him. “What happened to you?” You ask and his wings flatten against his back. Rumbling, he twists to lay down on the berth on his side with his back to you. ‘Recharging. Tired,’ he tries, hearing you sigh before you walk around him and he avoids your eyes. Even when you lay down facing him, soft fingers brushing a mandible as he fidgets with the energon rod. “Were you always like this?”
• Warm air fanning your face when he clears his vents, he hisses softly but there’s no hostility in the noise. Reaching to press your palm against the back of his hand to keep him from bolting, you wait and he whines softly. “Waspinator doesn’t remember. Waspinator is just Waspinator,” he mutters, voice strained and unhappy. And you’re almost positive he’s lying to you. That he knows and doesn’t want to relive whatever happened. ‘You know you can talk to me if you want to.’ Want to push, but you know how anxious he gets when he doesn’t want to talk and you try to make him.
• Little mate doesn’t seem upset with him, but you’re asking him to remember things he doesn’t want to remember. Painful, shameful things. Would you still let him lay beside you, hold you, if you knew everything? Isn’t sure and he’s scared to risk it. To lose his home. To lose you. “Waspinator is just Waspinator,” he insists and you shift closer, your forehead brushing his. Antenna sliding against you to make you huff out a little laugh, he feels your little hands playing with one of his. Knows he frustrates you, makes you mad, but you never punish him for it and he can’t understand that. Just wants to cling to that feeling of warmth that’s you. Of someone wanting him.
• He’s not going to talk. Not yet and you know better than to insist. But you have a suspicion about what might have happened to him. Staring at his big, clawed hand, your thumb slides against the barely visible, pale lines crisscrossing his plating. At a causal glance, they’re hardly noticeable. It had taken forever for you to notice them, but now you can’t stop seeing them. They form a heavy tracery all over him and you’re positive that they’re scars. Hundreds and hundreds of old scars crisscrossing his whole body. Even as accident prone and hapless as he is, there’s too many for them to be all accidental. Someone hurt him. Over and over again. Broke him.
