𝖁𝖎𝖗𝖚𝖘

My design for Sunder's alt. mode

— My brain? — You asked, looking into his optics and noticing how his gaze had stopped at your head.

— Brain? — Sunder repeated, as if tasting a new word. — What a primitive... term. — Feigned politeness laced his voice, with hidden mockery beneath it.

— And what do you need it for? — You locked your gaze onto his optics more intently. He squeezed you tighter in his hand.

— It's where all the most delicious things are stored. All the fears, memories, thoughts, emotions... — Sunder drew out every word. — Do you know which ones are my favorites? The vices. Their vices. Their sins. Fear. — You felt a creeping discomfort and squirmed in his grip. It became harder to breathe. You were afraid of exactly how he would do it.

— I'm curious — if I can't get into your head visually, then perhaps through a tool? — He brought the needle on the finger of his other hand to your temple once more, prodding. — Where does this open? — He was baffled.

— There's nothing to open there! — Your voice cracked. It infuriated you that he was playing like this and violating all boundaries. — If you open it, you'll tear everything in there apart.

Sunder withdrew his hand.

— Really? — He looked at you, as if craving confirmation.

— Really. — You answered more calmly. You had the feeling that you were dealing with a child, not a giant killer robot.

Sunder x fem reader…

Froid hated the feeling of fear hidden deep within his spark — the feeling that was constantly with him whenever he was near Sunder. But the fear was overshadowed by another feeling, stronger, denser, prouder. Froid believed he had taken control of Sunder, believed he was the only one who could do it, the only one who could tame the monster — and it only stroked his ego, allowing Froid to forget the fear, forget his self-preservation instincts around a killer like this one.

— You've brought me new portions, haven't you, Froid? — Sunder sat in the cell, watching Froid with his piercing blue optics. His voice was calm and maddened all at once. — I can sense... that aroma. Your fear, mixed with your absurd research curiosity. It's so... sweet. — Sunder's voice was smooth as oil. He let out a low, guttural sound, like the rumble of an engine.

— No. — Froid answered coldly, walking up to the cell and crossing his manipulators over his chest. Though it irritated him how Sunder could read him, Froid loved control, and someone else's control shattered that predictability, making Froid nervous.

— No? — Sunder repeated, raising an optical ridge and looking at Froid. — I can still feel the tension in your circuits, no matter how much you deceive yourself. — He moved closer to the bars, staring at Froid. — Do you really think this distance will save you?

— You think I'm looking for salvation? — Froid looked at Sunder with something like arrogance. — If I were looking for it, I wouldn't be standing at your cell. And you are the complete opposite of salvation. — Froid's voice did not waver, betraying not a single emotion. After all, the psychologist had learned to do that, but it didn't help much.

— The opposite of salvation... — Sunder repeated, slightly quieter, gazing somewhere at the wall beside Froid, then shifted his gaze back to him. — So what are you hoping to find in this rotten, nightmare-stuffed mind? — Sunder tilted his head slightly to the side, watching Froid with curiosity.

Froid took a small step back, looking at Sunder with disgust.

— My thoughts are my own. — An attempt to set a boundary, though boundaries didn't exist around this mnemosurgeon.

— Your thoughts? Oh, Froid... — Sunder's voice dropped. — Do you really think they belong only to you? — He slowly ran a finger along a metal bar, as if it were a string.

— Shut up, Sunder. — Froid snorted, his irritation growing.

— You want to understand what it's like to be me, don't you? — Sunder looked at Froid.

— No, I don't need the kind of mess you have in your processor. — Froid loved order and clarity. A stronger irritation began to wash over Froid, and he turned around and left, closing the door behind him and leaving Sunder.

Some time passed, and Froid returned. Sunder was sitting in the corner of the cell on the floor, lazily scraping his claws against the floor, when he heard the familiar rhythm of footsteps.

— You again? — Sunder slowly turned his head in Froid's direction, but the psychologist said nothing. He walked up to the cell, touched the lock with his slender fingers, and opened it. Froid took a step back, as if allowing the mnemosurgeon to step out, if he wished.

Sunder's optics widened with surprise.

— What are you doing? — His voice sounded astonished. He slowly stood up, pushing the cell door, which slid aside with a creak. — You do understand that...

— Froid left me... a gift. — Sunder let out a low, drawn-out hum, vaguely resembling a cat's purr, which sent a vibration through your body, and raised his thumb, running it along your back in a stroking motion. Roughly. Firmly. But without breaking anything.

You winced slightly, feeling the pressure of his finger on your back. It was disgusting to be treated like a pet, but at least he wasn't trying to drive a needle into your spine.

— Why did he even choose me? — You asked, desperate enough to be questioning this monster.

— Why? A good question... — Sunder's voice was viscous and smooth. — Perhaps the doctor wanted to test whether I could extract memories from a human.

— And why would he need humans? — You interrupted Sunder, burning with curiosity. The Autobot didn't even take offense; on the contrary, he seemed to enjoy the questions. He looked at you attentively.

— You reek of fear. — Sunder said it with disdain, using primitive terms as he leaned in and touched his metal lips to your neck, feeling how the muscles in your throat tensed beneath them. Despite being metal, he was warm and smooth. You didn't know for sure — could he really feel it, or had he read your body language, or was he playing again? A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation.

— What do you need me for? — You asked. You were curious about his motives — of course, you knew he was unlikely to tell you directly, but you could at least latch onto some word, some clue. Why hadn't he crushed you yet? Or would he, just later?

— Need you for? — Sunder repeated, lowering his voice, going still. His lips froze against your neck. — Froid left you to me. — Sunder pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. — Though, he didn't live to see this moment. — A wide, Cheshire grin spread across his face, one that made your skin crawl.

— Froid? Who is that? — You wanted to distract yourself from the fear.

— Why did you kidnap me? — But curiosity got the better of you, and you slowly lowered your hand.

Overlord shifted his gaze to you, lazily turning his helm in your direction.

— Kidnap? — His voice was smooth and low. — Darling, I didn't kidnap you. I found you and picked you up — you were just lying around.

— Lying around?! — Your voice cracked. — I was just walking home when you scooped me up and carried me off! That's funny, right? — Indignation washed over you, and this sadist seemed only to be enjoying your reaction.

Tarn narrowed his red optics, watching you through his mask as if recording every reaction. Deathsaurus was watching you too. They were all watching. Analyzing. You felt their gazes on you.

— Where even am I? — Your voice sounded less steady now. You glanced around the room you were in.

— Peaceful Tyranny. — Tarn answered in that same even, calm voice.

— Oh wow, that clears it right up. — You let out a short laugh, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and rolled your eyes. — Peaceful Tyranny? What kind of nonsense is that. What do they even want from you?

— Patience. — Deathsaurus paused, hesitating. — ...What should we call you? — Deathsaurus looked at you.

— Oh, great. Now the robot is asking for my name. Wonderful. Why? Have you decided to keep me as a pet?

— Definitely. — Overlord answered with a smirk, lazily crossing his manipulators over his chest and looking at you.

— Awesome... Well, I've got nothing to lose... y/n.

— Cute. — The phasesixer chuckled, not taking his optics off you.

A couple of seconds passed, and your patience began to demand an answer.

— So are you going to introduce yourselves or not?

***

And what am I supposed to do with this? — Froid stood with his manipulators crossed over his chest plate, eyeing you with half-lidded yellow optics, trying to figure out why you were needed. The opportunity to see a human had fallen into his hands, and he wasn't about to sit idly by — after all, the psychologist always sought to extract benefit.

— The human race... — Froid spoke with a certain weariness born of incomprehension and disdain. — And why do the Autobots keep you on the Ark? You're useless and have absolutely no useful functions. — The psychologist made a sound resembling a human sigh, if you could even call it that. He uncrossed his manipulators and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

— Perhaps you should be given to Sunder to test how he would react to a human... Yes, exactly. — Froid's voice became more animated. He snapped his fingers with a metallic clang, as if an interesting idea had just come to his mind. — Provided, of course, that the human doesn't turn out to be too fragile for the strain Sunder's abilities are capable of inflicting. — Froid fell into thought. He knew the mnemosurgeon possessed such power that the strain would be too great even for cybertronians, let alone a human — but curiosity itched in Froid's spark to test his thought.

Froid sat down in the chair, making the furniture creak, crossed one servo over the other, and brought the tips of his fingers together, looking at you.

— We don't have much time, considering it hasn't been that long since you arrived here, which means the Autobots will already be looking for you. — Froid mused with a hum. He didn't want to go looking for Sunder again. His work irritated him, but more than that, he hated the feeling of fear that was always with him whenever he was near the mnemosurgeon — but he would never admit it, not even to himself. To himself, first and foremost. Froid held the cage key in his hand, tapping it rhythmically against the table. A habit, when he was thinking.

Froid quickly grabbed the fabric from the table and threw it over your cage, covering you, then rose from the chair with a clang. Just then, his communication system beeped.

— Froid here.

Froid held the key in his hand and, without much thought, dropped it onto the shelf without even closing it.

— Sunder... He what? Coming.