Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

• Swerve is far too nervous for this.
• It’s your first Christmas aboard the ship, and he is determined to confess his love for you. Like, he has spent every last second planning this for months.
• Now that it’s time though, he thinks he might purge his tanks.
• What if you don’t like his gift? Worse, what if you reject him? He knows you won’t be mean about it, but… he doesn’t want to spend his life without you. He really loves you, and nothing terrifies him more than his own feelings.
• Still, here is the moment. You’ve given him your gift.
• It was a crocheted blanket, so he’ll be comfy on movie nights. When did you have time to make this? Oh wow. He presses the material to his face. It’s so soft, and if he takes in some air, it smells like you. Of course it does… You’ve clearly spent ages making it.
• Swerve hugs you and he holds on for a few seconds too long. You laugh amiably, and make a joke about being Christmas crushed.
• Finally, he lets you go and bashfully presents you with his gift. It isn’t wrapped very well. It must have been difficult for him, since it’s relatively small. You can see where the tape has come up a few times, stripping the paper of some of its colour. All this just makes you smile more.
• You tear open the gift, and it’s a datapad, specially made to be human-sized. You flick on the screen and find that it’s filled with music, in a specially arranged playlist.
• Admittedly, Swerve doesn’t know a whole lot about Earth music. He’s more into TV and movies, but he knows how much you love music, so he really tried with this.
• Moreover, the first word of each song creates a message, and it is a long message. It’s a confession. You might have missed it, had the first word of each song not been highlighted.
• You take a while to read what’s written. Meanwhile, Swerve is stuck in limbo, feeling entirely sick. Part of him wants to snatch the datapad back and laugh it off like it was all a mistake or a stupid joke. Instead, he waits, trying to stop his servos from shaking by resting them on his thighs.
• When you’ve finished reading his confession, you let your thumb glide over the first song, hitting play.
• You smile, get to your feet, and approach Swerve.
• “I love it,” You say quietly.
• Then, you kiss him.
• At first, Swerve is completely taken aback. Then, his hands find their way around your back and he’s holding you close, your first kiss to Nat King Cole’s ‘The Very Thought of You.’

Chapter Text

• Rung didn’t actually want gifts. The only thing he asked for was an evening alone with you.
• Normally, he’s so busy with his patients, and everyone always wants time with the ship’s only human, usually so they can ask you questions and place bets on what the answer will be - Rodimus is still pissed that he lost 100 shanix when you were asked what a colander was (Sufficed to say, his answer wasn’t kitchen utensil for draining water).
• So, that’s exactly how you spend Christmas Eve with Rung. You’re sat in his lap, laid back on the sofa while he reads to you from a book you chose.
• His fingers gently glide over your head - You feel safe with Rung - loved - and you know that he feels the same when he’s with you.
• Despite that, you did get him a gift, and little do you know, he’s got you one too. They will both wait for tomorrow however, as you relax into one another, with no obligation to anyone else.
• The next day, you wake up atop the berth, and realise that you must have fallen asleep when Rung was reading and that he has carried you to bed.
• Yet, he isn’t there with you. You’re just getting up when you hear him humming. Your shared hab-suite isn’t like the others on the ship - it’s the only one wherein the rooms are separate as if to recreate a normal Earth apartment.
• So, upon getting up to explore, you find Rung in the kitchen - He’s never been in here before, except when he’s looking for you.
• This is his gift and his surprise. He knows how much time you always put into cooking, and unfortunately, there’s nobody else who could ever cook for you, which he has been led to believe is a normal part of human relationships and something most humans are grateful for.
• It took a while to research the recipes, and even more time to find out what ingredients could be substituted. Moreover, Rung has spent months practising this, between meetings, and now, he’s rather good at it - he always was good at following instructions and handling delicate objects.
• So, your Christmas brunch is courtesy of Rung, and you make sure to tell him how delicious everything is, kissing him afterwards so he might get a taste of the wonderful meal he’s made as his arms wrap around you and he presses you against the dining table.
• Later, after a long, and frankly heated make-out session, you present him with his gift. It’s a model ship of the only one missing from his collection - the Lost Light itself. His eyes light up when he sees it, all ready to be put together.
• That afternoon, the two of you sit together and start building the miniature, all while listening to Christmas music which plays serenely in the background.

Chapter Text

• Megatron is staring at you quite intensely. If you weren’t used to him, you might think he was glaring at you.
• Still, you feel like you might have done something wrong or that he hates your gift to him. It was after all, rather personal, and Megatron isn’t a huge fan of PDA.
• The gift in question was a song. As it turned out, Nautica was something of a musical prodigy, so with her help, you had written a song about Megatron - She had composed the tune, while you wrote the lyrics.
• You assumed that by involving another bot, Megatron felt exposed; it was entirely possible that he didn’t like the idea of someone else singing about him or your relationship with him.
• You couldn’t be further from the truth.
• The truth of the matter was that Megatron loved the song. You had poured your very soul into it, and it was so much more than he could have asked for.
• … And in return, he had gotten you a gift basket. Soaps, shampoos, lotions - His research had led him to believe this was the social norm on Earth. He couldn’t give you that now!
• How would that look? You had given him a piece of your soul, and he got you L'oriel “because you’re worth it.”
• No. It wasn’t good enough.
• “Excuse me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my hab-suite,” Megatron said coolly, before leaving you.
• You deflated, feeling that all was lost, especially since Megatron took a good thirty minutes to return.
• Yet, when he came back, he held out a datapad for you, mumbling an apology that it wasn’t wrapped.
• You swallowed nervously when he wouldn’t meet your eye, and then you took the present reverently.
• You flicked on the screen and found it open in a folder - “(Y/N)’s Poetry.”
• There were well over a hundred entries, all of them dedicated to you.
• 'The Radiance of a Smile’, ’Promises of Forever’, and ’Forgiveness of the Past’, were just a few at the top of the list. Even more surprising was the fact that a great many of them were written before the two of you began dating. When you looked at the earlier entries, you saw how Megatron’s feelings towards you had come about and evolved into something more.
• You were speechless, yet on your face, Megatron was pleased to see that you knew how he felt for you, and that your love for him was just as much of a weight, though it was one you were glad to bear.

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• You work with Minimus a lot, reporting to him on Megatron’s behaviour.
• He was used to your previous hair colour, red and blue with a few white streaks.
• What a coincidence that you should dye it green, black, and blue just as he is becoming more comfortable going about his tasks without the Magnus armour.
• “Do you like my new hairstyle?” You ask him, quietly hinting that it’s him you really like.
• “It’s in line with regulation, so it’s more than adequate.”
• Honestly, you didn’t know there were hair regulations until Minimus said that. You should have guessed. He is meticulous after all.
• You thought you were being direct, but you’ll have to be more to the point if you want this boyyo to notice you.
• “I thought it would be nice to match you.”
• You think you can hear Minimus’ cooling fans click on.
• “Yes, well,” He clears his vocaliser. “I am proud to have been a positive influence on you.”
• He hastily finds an excuse to look away from you, staring pointedly at his beloved paperwork.
• It’s only when he sees you practising your handwriting to be more in line with his that he thinks he might be feeling something akin to love.
• Nope, no, not love. Probably just a spark infection. He’ll see Ratchet to make sure his systems are functioning optimally later.

Chapter Text

• Swerve notices the change in your hair and clothes immediately. He always notices the things you do.
• Oh wow… Do you even realise that you match his colour scheme now? Probably not. This was likely just a happy accident.
• Oh, if Swerve could match you, he would.
• He likes to imagine those happy couples on Earth with the same Christmas jumpers on, and you would send a card to everyone you knew. There would be a dog of course, and three children, all in the same outfits, and- did you say hi to him? Primus! He’d been so far off in his fantasy that he’d completely blanked you.
• “Do you like dogs?” He asked point blank, forgetting himself momentarily. He’s checking for accuracy. If not, he’s going to change the fantasy pet to a cat.
• “Sure,” You grin. “Dogs are cute.”
• You’ve got up to the bar now.
• “Your hair looks nice,” He says after a minute, smiling softly. “I really love you- IT! THE HAIR! Not- Not you. I love your hair. It’s nice that we match, 'cos like, orange is a good colour, which is why it’s my paint job, so it’s good to see you like it too, 'cos you match me- Wait, did that sound arrogant? It did, didn’t it!”
• Now he’s spiralling. He’s trying to wave off the embarrassment and he’s knocked some energon on you.
• “Shoot,” You say, though you’re not too upset, it’s just a mild annoyance. “I don’t have any other orange clothes. Guess we won’t match any more.”
• You want to match him? Even when he was such a glitch. Swerve has hearts in his optics.
• Okay, he’s working up the nerve to ask you out. He’s gonna do it. Just give him like a month to build up the courage.

Chapter Text

• Usually, everything is about Starscream, especially now that he is the official ruler of Cybertron.
• Any time he snaps his digits, there’s a servant there to fulfil his every whim.
• Yet, Starscream wouldn’t be where he is today, were it not for you and he knows it.
• The two of you had been together since he invaded your measly planet. Starscream didn’t care for Earth, but it was your home and you had left it, for him.
• He knew all you had sacrificed, and he wanted to repay that.
• Besides, there had been so many nights when he was in a dark depression, all thanks to the abuse of his fellow Decepticons and Megatron.
• On those nights, you had been there for him, talking him down from the edge. Nobody else would have been able to do so, but you always knew when to speak, and when to be silent, offering him your company and a shoulder to… Well, he didn’t often cry, it left him far too vulnerable, but you were there to listen when he needed you.
• Your love language was physical touch, and he adored you for that; you were his anchor to reality.
• Then, when Starscream was tense, you had been there to work out the kinks under his plating. Granted, you were too small to give him a real massage, but you could reach where no other bot could, and it had felt oh, so good.
• There had been times when you used a ladder and a jet wash to scrub at him, treating him like a king even before he was one.
• Now, Starscream was determined to return the favour.
• He had access to everything he needed, and he knew enough about humans to give you a spa day.
• First, he had all the best items imported from Earth, for facials, a back rub, a foot massage and that other thing, a pedi-mani? Mani-pedi? Whatever it was that you were supposed to do with a human’s servos and pedes.
• He wasn’t going to hire anyone for this either. No, for you he would create a holo-form. There would be nobody else touching your body but him… Not that any other Cybertronian would know what to do anyway. Admittedly, Starscream was a touch possessive of you, and he was somewhat insecure about other bots getting too friendly with you.
• You were his S/O, not somebody else’s.
• Anyway, once you were nice and relaxed, he was going to run you a hot bath with all those infernal bubbles that he hated so much. The wash pool was built for a Cybertronian, and though you had quite a lavish one in your quarters, he would rather spend time with you as himself so once the massage was over, he would shed his holoform.
• He would get in the wash pool with you. He’d done that before. He liked to cup you in his servos and watch the water drain from them. He also adored it when you sat in his lap, and he had to lift his knees so you weren’t in too deep. It was after all supposed to be a relaxing session, not an exercising swim.
• Then, once you were all warm and dry in your plush dressing gown, he would lay with you by the fire and feed you chocolate-covered strawberries, or whatever else your heart desired.
• And after all that… Well, there was one more human custom. A ring in a box, and the promise of forever.

Chapter Text

• Ratchet is a grown mech, older than most, and far too old to take this slag from a disrespectful young mech.
• He’s about to go off on one of his old men tirades. It’s the kind that always makes the younger mechs feel ashamed, but you beat him to it.
• “Are you fucking kidding me?” You seethe, glaring at a bot six times your size.
• “What?” The bot deadpans, looking at you like you’re nothing.
• “Ratchet does everything around here. You would be dead if it wasn’t for him and you have the nerve to backtalk?!”
• This is where Ratchet jumps in. “I expect nothing from fools like you. Get out of my med-bay. Go on, ”
• The other bot leaves grumbling.
• You’re still full of energy and wish that you had chance to expend it, but now Ratchet’s attention is on you.
• “Don’t ever do that again,” He orders, worried about all the ways that could have ended badly and the ways in which you might have gotten hurt.
• “But-” You start.
• Ratchet holds up a servo, “I can handle myself. Don’t do it again!”
• You wilt slightly, upset that you’ve offended Ratchet when really it’s the opposite, but Ratchet doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. In all honesty, he’s proud of you. You’re brave, polite, and when push comes to shove, you won’t take shit from anyone. But you’re also human, and humans are delicate.
• “Promise me,” Ratchet says sternly.
• You nod, then excuse yourself from the med-bay. You want to be alone for a while.

Chapter Text

• Rodimus is loving this. One minute the two of you were having a laugh at “Visages” then a bot said something about Rodimus being a bad captain and you had completely lost it.
• You threw a bottle which smashed off the big bot’s chassis effectively getting his attention and then you started ripping into him, listing off all the good things that Rodimus has done as Captain.
• The whole bar is watching you. The music stopped, but the dance lights are still going, painting you in a variety of colours as you continue to yell.
• Somewhere across the bar, Rewind is filming this, and afterwards, Rodimus knows he’s going to ask for a copy of that footage.
• Still, there is a small part of Rodimus that knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this. He knows that it’s irresponsible. The bot could fight back, or seek revenge and you could get hurt.
• But… He’s going to let you go off a little longer before he calls off the attack. He needs to hear why you think he’s a good captain. You’re his friend, and he has to hear you say it, because you’ll tell it like it is; you always do.
• Yet, just in case, Rodimus is ready to grab you or plce his servo in front of you at a moment’s notice, just in case.
• Yet for now, he needs this, and by the rage in your voice, it seems that you needed to blow of steam too.

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• If Whirl had a jaw to drop, he would. As is, the only difference in demeanour is that his pupil dilates as he watches you scream at the bot in front of you.
• It’s usually him that flies off the handle at things. In every instance that he has known you, it has always been Whirl looking out for you, protecting you, and yes, often irrationally losing his temper when there’s an offhanded comment made about you.
• You’ve heard other bots insult Whirl before. Usually, they don’t get very far before Whirl throws a punch.
• Yet, in those instances, you always remained calm, or hid if Whirl was fighting since that’s what he always told you to do because he doesn’t want to see his human pet hurt.
• On the few instances that you thought Whirl wasn’t there, he’s heard you defend him to other mechs. He knows you’re always telling other mechs how good he is but you’re always being polite about it.
• Yet this time, a mech said something and Whirl and… For the first time, he really didn’t give a frag.
• It was a lazy insult anyway so he just ignored it, thinking about all the times he’s nearly gotten you into trouble.
• But this aft of a mech isn’t letting this go that easily. Whirl is trying to walk away with you in tow, and this guy just keeps pushing him,
• Yet, before Whirl can lose his cool, you do.
• “CAN YOU JUST FUCK OFF?!”
• Silence follows. The other mech doesn’t know how to respond. Everyone knows you, and you’ve never once shouted… Except for Mario Kart Rainbow Road, but everybody shouts at that.
• You don’t stop. “WHIRL IS DOING HIS BEST AND YOU’RE FUCKING PUSHING HIM. WHY? SO YOU CAN GET A REACTION THEN PRETEND IT’S ALL ‘COS HE HAS A SHORT FUSE. FUCK THAT.”
• You stop shouting but you’re no less irate as you continue your tirade about how this is the problem. Everyone is so set on how Cybertronians should act since everyone has long memories, but sometimes, people want to change and personalities aren’t set in stone.
• In the end, the offending mech looks a little bit embarrassed. He mumbles an apology to you, and you correct him, telling him it’s not you he should say sorry to.
• The mech very bitterly chokes out an apology to Whirl who is all too smug about this and makes a big performance out of accepting the apology, only toning it down when you elbow his leg.
• The next day, you wake up to a leather biker jacket lying on your bed. On the back, scribbled messily is one word: Bodyguard.

Chapter Text

• Maybe it’s just because you were so small that you escaped into the vents unnoticed, or maybe Getaway was planning on keeping you as a hostage, or some kind of fucked up pet. That seemed like something he would do.
• Either way, when the chaos began, you went unfound, and you decided to keep it that way, stubbornly hiding inside the ventilation system. You knew them a bit too well because of regular games with Skids where you hunted one another, trying to beat the timer.
• You had tried to get to Rodimus, Megatron, Ratchet, and any number of the bots you knew. But there was no reaching them in time.
• Now, you were stuck on the Lost Light, unable to return to your room, except for the rare occasions you needed to reach the food replicator. You were damned lucky there were a select number of tiny storage compartments only you could get into which had been turned into toilets for you.
• Frankly, you wished more of them were showers, but sometimes it helped to be sweaty and gross as you mentally lived the John McClane lifestyle, though frankly, you could get through the vents upright, with no need to crawl.
• Initially, Getaway must have suspected that you might still be on the ship because he put your room under guard and left food traps out for you.
• Honestly, how stupid did he think you were?
• You were smarter than he knew, and on top of it, you were pissed.
• Yet, when it became clear you couldn’t rescue the bots he and his crew had mutinied against, you decided to use your intellect to psychologically destroy him… or at least fuck with him as best you could.
• Having fallen asleep in the vents, you had lost track of him. This happened every couple of days or so since you were more determined to watch Getaway than you were to rest.
• Honestly, you didn’t know whether you were more or less healthy than before. You were losing weight from tiredness, despite having enough food and water in your pack from the replicator. But you had more stamina and endurance than before from all the stalking you did.
• “Target acquired,” You said under your breath as you found Getaway in his hab-suite. He was in stasis.
• Perfect.
• You got in position, standing directly above his chassis.
• “Okay,” You whispered, kneeling and rooting through your backpack. “Ready to deploy, Agent RJ?”
• Agent RJ was one of the Roombas you had collected from the vents. They had a more rounded top than Earth Roombas, and kind of reminded you of a horseshoe crab with the rounded top.
• This one was Agent RJ, full alias: Rodimus Junior.
• You had recruited it, painted it with Rodimus’ colours, and now you were going to drop it on your enemy while he slept.
• Lifting the vent grate slightly, you threw Agent RJ as hard as you could, then scurried back where you wouldn’t be seen.
• Getaway woke with a start then yelped an undignified scream at the sight of the message on top of RJ.
• I’m coming for you, you ship-stealing fragger!
• The best part was that it was written in Cybertronian so he wouldn’t ever think of suspecting you. You had learned to write it from Cyclonus a long time ago, though it was impossible for you to speak it.
• Take that fucker.
• Getaway ran to the other side of the room, starting the alarm. You smiled in satisfaction. It was great whenever he did that. The remaining crew were getting really sick of his paranoid antics. Especially when Getaway claimed he kept hearing someone, but that was also just you pretending to be the voices of those he’d thrown off the ship, though you only did it when he was alone.
• Once, Roller had heard you and found you shortly thereafter, but he had let you go and told you to stay hidden.
• You asked him why he was helping you, and he’d informed you there were a few bots with regrets about the mutiny.
• You visited him when you could, but it was always a risk to leave the protection of your high haven. Still, you felt safe knowing there was at least one bot on the ship who would look out for you, probably more if the rumours about others regretting their actions were to be believed.
• You waited for Getaway to get some distance from you before going after him, leaving just enough of a gap so as not to be noticed while you spoke into a… Well, you didn’t know what it was, but for the sake of your sanity, the little machine was a voice recorder, even if it couldn’t technically do that.
• “Day 32 in the vents. Mission success. Note: Enlist more Roombas into the rebellion.”
• It took a little while to run across another of the little cleaners whilst following snatches of Getaway’s conversation, seeing him every couple of minutes through the grates you passed over.
• You snatched up the Roomba, hugging it to your chest.
• Then, very seriously, you addressed it, “Welcome to the war effort, Megatron Junior. Sometime in the next 30 days, you will be deployed to the enemy camp when he sleeps. You have until then to train.”
• When Getaway finally settled in a seat, grumbling at his subordinates, you took some time to start painting Agent MJ. He needed to look good for his Quest against that double-crossing son of a bitch.

Chapter Text

• Optimus Prime… Orion Pax. Right now, Optimus feels like he is both people, and neither.
• The war on Cybertron is finally over, and having come back to his home planet, Optimus realises that nobody wants him there.
• It’s such a strange and hollow sensation, yet he can’t blame any of the so-called NAILS for wanting him gone.
• But without the war, who is he and where can he even go?
• He knows too much. He’s not the archivist anymore. He can’t fathom going back to being who he used to be. Yet, he no longer feels like Optimus Prime.
• He’s mulling this over when he spots you. An old flame from a long, long time ago. You and he used to hang out, back in the day. You were the personal assistant to some of the wealthiest bots on Cybertron, though they kept you more like a prize pet.
• Optimus remembers how the two of you used to sneak away for stolen moments together, dreaming about the future, one where he was maybe a senator, and you were free to simply be yourself.
• Then you both started listening to Megatron’s rallies, believing that you could be more than what the Functionalists decreed and after that… Optimus didn’t know. He had become the leader of the Autobots, and honestly, he thought you were dead.
• Optimus followed you through the rowdy crowds of those recently returned to Cybertron.
• He tried calling you, but you couldn’t hear him over the noise. Sometimes he lost sight of you and it stressed him out completely, even though it was ridiculous that he should still be attached to you after all these millennia. But he would always spot you again at the last minute, and finally, he was able to catch up with you. When he did, all he managed was a lame “…Hello.”
• “Hello,” You echoed back, equally surprised to see him, and that he had followed you.
• Optimus tries to explain why he had to catch up with you, but in truth, he doesn’t know why. He has seen a hundred familiar faces of friends he thought had perished, yet you were the only one he had felt the need to chase down.
• He tries to ask where you’ve been all these years and how you’ve managed to stay safe, but again, words fail him.
• Finally, you smile sympathetically. “Want to get a drink? I’ve got some high-grade on my ship.”
• Optimus nods and follows you away.
• When you said your ship, he thought you meant the ship you lived on, not literally your ship!
• But it is. He asks you about it, but you shake your head and tell him to wait for drinks. You and he pass some crew, but a warning look from you sends them scattering. It’s not that you’re being mean, but rather that you have seen Optimus for the first time since the war began, and it’s clear that he needs something to hold onto. So, for now, you’re going to give him time to just
• No leading, no pressures, just two old friends, catching up.
• You talk about everything and nothing while you both get started on the high grade, waiting till Optimus is just a little bit tipsy before you explain where you’ve been all these years.
• While Optimus was leading the war effort, you became a space Pirate, and Captain of the Good Ship Misery. It’s not an aptly named ship. It’s actually one of the happiest in the nearest 7 quadrants.
• Your crew set up supply runs between the few colonies of NAILS that managed to survive. You looked out for the bots who couldn’t take care of themselves, bringing them energon, and medical supplies, or even escorting the occasional bot through Decepticon territory. Meanwhile, you learned how to fight, boarding Decepticon ships and taking what you could from their weapons to their body parts, if there was an innocent bot in need of repair.
• You are so far from the meek young bot Optimus once knew. Then again, he’s nothing like he used to be either.
• Yet, the way you tell it, that isn’t a bad thing.
• Soon, you get onto the harder stories. Friends lost, traitors found, enemies made, that kind of thing. Optimus has a whole trove of such stories too. So, you both drink more and more, until it’s not as sad anymore.
• Then, you’re both laughing. After that, you’re crying, but given even more high-grade, it’s back to the good times.
• Finally, it’s getting early into the next cycle, and you’re sitting at the bar, head resting lopsidedly in your palm, staring at Optimus.
• “Why did you follow me, Optimus?”
• He looks at you like a sad puppy who doesn’t have a home to go to and follows the first friendly face it finds.
• “I don’t know,” He replies, fear lacing his answer.
• You lean forward to kiss his cheek-plate, only lingering for a few seconds.
• “When you figure it out, tell me. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here, but I’ve got to get my crew together. We’ve still got work to do.”
• You leave Optimus at the ship’s bar, giving him time to figure out what he wants now. It’s nice to see him again, even if you’re not sure that he’s going to stay.

Chapter Text

• Rung thought he knew what heartbreak was.
• He has been around for a long, long Yet, he never felt old until now.
• He has seen friends come and go. The deaths of so many people he knew, but he wasn’t close to any of them, or rather, not as close as he could have been.
• He never lost an Amica Endurae, or worse… a Conjunx, until now.
• So many of his therapy sessions revolved around him comforting other bots through the worst losses imaginable. He has seen this before, known what it looks like, and felt the related compassion, but to go through it himself? Nothing can compare to this feeling of emptiness.
• You were a medic. You followed the rules. You really believed it when you said: “Do no harm.”
• Rung had seen you do commendable things. You even had to be dragged from a DJD bot once because you refused to distinguish between any bot that needed medical care.
• It was Ratchet who had dragged you away, knowing that you were wrong and that the bot wouldn’t be thankful for your help; he would have killed everyone around him as soon as you brought him back online.
• You had cried for weeks after that, letting Rung comfort you over the loss of a prospective patient.
• For you to die when you weren’t even fighting- For another bot to murder you while you were trying to resuscitate a fallen friend- It was unspeakable.
• Rung removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, overcome by grief and tears.
• He vented a few puffs of air through his systems and tried to compose himself, surprised when he felt a servo resting gently on his back.
• He looked up to Drift, who nodded grimly at him, eyes alight with understanding.
• Rung nodded back, replaced his glasses and stood up.
• He would cry as soon as this was over, but first, he had to give a eulogy in your name as was his duty. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Chapter Text

• “You know kid, it’s okay to- Hell, to anything! Scream, cry, break something. Please!” Hound begs. He wishes that he wasn’t the one who had to tell Rodimus but he was there when you… When Rodimus’ Conjunx Endurae died.
• Upon hearing it, Rodimus didn’t say anything. He sat down against the wall and looked to the floor. It’s like he hasn’t heard a word that Hound said, but Hound knows he did. Whether he’s processing it is another matter.
• “Rodimus, I-”
• “How did it happen?” Rodimus asks quietly, clutching at his knees hard enough to make dents.
• Hound likes telling stories. He likes to tell bots what it’s like on Earth, about the best places he’s visited, hell, he even enjoys regaling the crew with his best fights, but this? The story of your death? He doesn’t want to recount it. It’s too painful for Rodimus to hear.
• Instead, he shakes his head, “I don’t think-”
• Rodimus shoots up, enraged and shouting, “HOW DID IT HAPPEN?! TELL ME. HOW DID-” His voice breaks as the coolant starts pouring from his optics, “How did (Y/N)- Why did it have to be (Y/N)? Why? WHY?”
• Rodimus is being irrational. They both know it, but Rodimus is hurting too much to be reasonable, and Hound isn’t going to argue.
• Hound hugs Rodimus, feeling awful for the young bot. He doesn’t exactly answer the full truth of what the DJD did to you for getting in the way of their mission, albeit accidentally since you didn’t know who the bot you were treating was, let alone that he was on the DJD’s list. Yet, without answering the full question, Hound gives a half-truth. “I couldn’t provide enough cover fire.”
• That much was true, but Hound wasn’t the only bot with you. It had been Drift to call a tactical retreat, and by the time everyone had looked back, you weren’t with them. You had stayed with your patient, till the very end.
• They went back for you, of course they did, but they needed backup and their communications with the Lost Light had gone down over a cycle prior.
• When they found your body… Hound felt sick at the memory. Sufficed to say, there wasn’t much left to find.
• “I’m sorry, kid,” Hound says, and he repeats the words over and over as Rodimus clings to him. Rodimus is also stuck on his mantra. “It should have been me. (Y/N) was too good. It should have been me.”
• By the time your funeral rolls around, Rodimus is a disgrace. He doesn’t attend the funeral. He hates such events. Instead, he sits alone in his room, crying. Some people come by to try and coax him out, but he ignores them all.
• He can’t bear to be around anyone.
• Now, after the funeral, he hates himself. All he keeps thinking is that he should have gone. He should have been there, and now it’s too late.

Chapter Text

• When Whirl is told about your death, there are bots on standby, waiting for the inevitable rampage.
• Sure enough, it happens but at first, they leave him to it, seeing as Whirl is only destroying the furniture and given the circumstances, that’s reasonable.
• Then, Whirl devolves into a shoot-the-messenger mindset, running at Rodimus with a knife he’d concealed in one of his subspaces.
• Rodimus does little to defend himself. Frankly, he’s also in shock by your loss, and losing any crew member, especially one as sweet and kind as you takes a heavy toll on him.
• But, that’s what the other crewmembers were for, and even though Rodimus never called for backup, they ran to defend him.
• It takes Whirl a very long time to calm down, and he only does so because there’s nothing to destroy in the brig.
• Whirl feels like shit. On the last day that he saw you alive, the two of you had been in an argument which he had started.
• And even though he had been a complete aft, you still put your arm on his shoulder-plate to try and apologise, even though the argument hadn’t been your fault. Then Whirl shrugged you off and told you to join the slag heap.
• He’d felt you sigh at that, but you somehow managed to put up with it. You told him you loved him, and to take care of himself, and- and that you’d be back soon.
• Whirl can’t apologise for the things he said. Worse, he hadn’t even meant them.
• The only reason he’d picked that stupid fight with you was because he was terrified of losing you.
• That morning, you had brought up the subject of performing the Conjunx rites with him, and Whirl had this feeling of dread. Dread that you would be trapped with him, and by extension that he wasn’t good enough for you.
• So, Whirl did what he always did. He fucked everything up and tried to push you away, even though he always wanted to be with him.
• Then you had gone to work and- ARGH! Whirl didn’t want to think about how you died. You were gone and there was no bringing you back!
• Still, that’s all Whirl can think about. He spends the next few cycles alone, stuck replaying the stupid argument in his head and wishing he was dead.
• When Ultra Magnus has security cautiously let Whirl out, Whirl doesn’t bother to fight.
• There’s no point.
• Besides, he won’t do anything to jeopardise attending your funeral. It’s all he can do to make it up to you.
• So, when the day of the funeral arrives, Whirl makes a speech, and for once, everybody listens to him. No hatred or derision, only sorrow.
• Whirl speaks about your character, strength, and how in a perfect world, this wouldn’t have happened. He lists your greatest medical achievements, brings up your proudest moments, and shares some of his private memories of you.
• Ultimately, Whirl gives the perfect eulogy. He had to. He owed you that much. It’s the only way he can think to apologise to you.

Chapter Text

You took a moment to observe Megatron, sitting in the rec-room booth on what was supposed to be a date. He hadn’t spoken in some time and while you were accustomed to his lapses in speech, it did not look like he was mentally composing a poem or musing anything pleasant. If you had to guess, you would say that he was once again stuck in the past, finding himself undeserving of anything even remotely pleasant.

“You’re feeling guilty,” You commented, your tone just short of being playful, as if you recognised the weight of Megatron’s feelings but were trying to help with some levity.

“I…” Megatron considered denying the accusation, but what was the point? You saw right through him. “I am.”

“We’ve talked about this,” You said, grabbing his servo and kissing the knuckle, glad when he helped you manoeuvre his body where you wanted it. “You can’t spend your life feeling guilty. What matters is that you’re trying to make amends for your actions now.”

As usual, Megatron became putty in your hands. Most times, he didn’t believe he deserved you, but it was hard to argue against your kind words, gentle caresses, warm kisses, and an open heart. You were the greatest thing to ever happen to him, and so when you told him that it was his actions in the present that mattered, he was inclined to believe you. It was that sort of attitude that ensured he never gave up or thought about returning to his old ways.

Megatron had spent centuries hating. To love was different. It was much harder to cherish and nurture a good relationship than it was to burn down everything around him, but it made life worth living and the rewards for his efforts were never-ending.

“Of course,” Megatron said agreeably. “You are right, my sweet. I will continue trying to build a better life.”

“That’s good to hear, Gentle Heart.”

Megatron warmed at the pet name. Until you, nobody had ever called him anything of the sort. He kissed his digit and pressed it against your head, relishing the way you looked in the ambient lighting of the small rec room.

If he strained his audials, he would hear the judgement coming from some of the surrounding bots, but what did they matter? It was like you often reminded him, he had not forced you to be with him, and normal couples were free to enjoy such public displays of affection.

There was a time, at the start of your relationship when everything was kept private and Megatron would not even consider walking too close to you lest people make their judgements.

Now, he took your hand in his and whispered how much he loved you, only too eager to give as much praise as he received. He laughed through your truly terrible pick-up lines, recited poetry loudly for you, and found other ways to show his affection.

For the first time in his life, he was happy. For the first time in his life, he was free. And, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone. What a wonderful way to spend one’s existence; alongside another whom he loved.

Chapter Text

• Optimus never saw himself becoming attached to any particular human. He didn't have the time to look after anyone like Bumblebee with Raf or Arcee with Jack. Yet, sometimes fate made decisions and Optimus wasn't sure whether you needed him, or he needed you.
• You weren't as young as the children, yet you still seemed young to him. Maybe it was just your general attitude and love of life.
• You found time for fun but also knew when it was time to buckle down and work.
• All the same, despite Optimus' attachment to you, he feels guilty that he doesn't have a lot of time for you.
• Yet, you never complain, completely understanding of his cause.
• But sometimes, you seem so lost and lonely. It's like you need more peers, but haven't found those willing to laugh with you. Maybe that was why you had made the Autobots your surrogate family.
• It was on a quiet night in the base when Optimus found you watching a midnight run of the Star Wars films.
• He approached you and decided that tonight was a good night to spend some time with you.
• As he approached, he noticed you making up your own words that somewhat matched the story. You had the high ground and Anakin was a burning marshmallow.
• "Good evening, (Y/N)," Optimus greets you, sincere as usual.
• You mute the film to talk with him. He tells you not to stop on his account.
• Feeling like continuing the film would be rude, you offer to help him work.
• Optimus shakes his helm. Tonight he will find time for you. He asks to join you. Your eyes light up, but instead of continuing the film, you start a new one from the beginning, using an old projector Raf re-purposed to flash the film onto the large wall so Optimus will be able to enjoy it properly.
• You start with Iron Man and talk through the whole film, glad to have someone to infodump to. Optimus enjoys the way you light up far more than the actual film. You are happy, and because of that so is he.
• He will try to do this more often with you.

Chapter Text

• Swerve reached under the bar searching for a cleaning rag. This was his favourite part of the night, cleaning the bar after everyone had left. It gave him time to process the day and to daydream about a certain human he was infatuated with. He liked to come up with different, domestic scenarios, imagining the many ways he would tell you he was truly, madly, deeply in love with you.
• Swerve’s servo settled on something which was decidedly not a cleaning rag. He frowned and bent down, looking at his supply. Atop the rags was a small box wrapped in orange paper with a white bow, matching his paint job.
• A present? Swerve’s processor went wild. Granted, the present could have been from anyone, or even a cruel prank from one of the many bots who found him annoying, yet there was a part of him (a large part) that was immediately excited, hoping beyond hope that this was from you.
• He didn’t have to check his calendar to know what day it was on Earth. Valentine’s Day had been on his processor for far too long, though he was too terrified to do anything about it other than fantasise about a life with you.
• Primus, let the present be from you.
• He thinks about you all the time these days. Always wondering what it would be like if you two were together. How it would feel to press his lips against yours. Pulling you against his chassis. Comforting you when you’re upset. Laughing with you when the mood is right. Building a life with you.
• Swerve hurriedly tore open the box, too afraid to take things slowly in case this was a cruel joke after all. His servos shook as he pulled out a handmade card with a picture of a heart and spark joined by a red ribbon.
• ‘From your secret admirer,’ written inside.
• Beneath the card lay a datapad. Swerve flicked it on, finding a bunch of documentaries all about how his favourite films were made.
• Swerve covered his mouth to keep sound from escaping, laughing and crying simultaneously. He was excited, nervous, and generally overwhelmed to be admired as someone as incredible as you. Granted, the card claimed to be from a secret admirer, but only a handful of bots knew how to write your language, and Swerve recognised your writing.
• He carefully placed the box back under the bar where it would be safe, then ran out of the bar and transformed, nearly knocking Blaster over in his haste.
• He found you on the way to your hab-suite, casually looking at your phone while you walked.
• Far too excited, Swerve transformed, skidding and crashing into the wall in front of you.
• He grunted but mostly ignored the pain in his shoulder-plate.
• You ran to Swerve, bewildered by his dramatic approach. “Swerve, are you okay?!” You asked, resting your hands on his thigh.
• “(Y/N!)” Swerve smiled at you.
• You were about to ask if you ought to get a medic when Swerve pulled you towards his chassis, kissing you fervently.
• He knew it was impulsive, but he couldn’t spend his whole life living in his imagination when the real you was right there in front of him.
• You melted into the kiss, and Swerve’s grip tightened on you, cementing that this was reality, and not another dream. He thanked Primus that Valentine’s Day existed, giving you a reason to tell him exactly how you felt.

Chapter Text

• Megatron scanned his messages. The first was a request to stop by a nearby port for supplies. After some research on the port, he signed his approval and moved to the next.
• It was a request for new weapons material. He rejected it but didn’t hold out much hope since the request would likely be sent to Rodimus next, and Rodimus tended to agree to things left, right and center if it meant the crew would like him more.
• This went on for a while with Megatron accepting some proposals and rejecting others.
• After a while, he opened a message to find a very flattering image of him. It had fine hand-drawn lines and was deftly painted with watercolours.
• Megatron didn’t know what to think. Typically, he didn’t like images of his likeness. They always showed him dominating his victims in war-like poses that reminded him of a painful past he would never be allowed to forget.
• Megatron closed his optics as he remembered the screams of a thousand bots who had begged him for mercy, only for him to deny it, sometimes prolonging their suffering before ending their lives.
• When he opened his optics again, he was still faced with the image. It made him look kind… gentle. That was something he hadn’t seen before.
• Beneath the image was a message painstakingly drawn out in Cybertronian. It was obvious that the author only had a rudimentary understanding of the language. There were some grammatical errors and more than a few spelling errors, but Megatron still understood it well enough.
• The message told him that it was okay to let go of the past, that it was a gift to forgive oneself and that changing for the better was something to be admired.
• Megatron felt himself relax as he held onto those words. He needed them. He had no idea just how much he needed them until that moment.
• Megatron took a minute to think about you, since it was obvious that it had been you to send the message. No Cybertronian would make that many mistakes in their native language, and nobody else on the ship had access to watercolours or knew how to use them so perfectly.
• Why did you send this message to him? What did it imply? And why now? Deciding not to waste any time, Megatron went straight to the source.
• When you opened your hab-suite door to him, you looked almost shy.
• “Why?” He asked you in lieu of any formal greeting.
• “I- It’s- It’s Valentine’s Day,” You replied as if that was enough.
• Megatron stared at you quizzically, realising that for all the time he spent on your planet, he knew practically nothing about your culture or customs. But he would have destroyed it all once. How can you see past the monster he was then to the mech he is now?
• Megatron wants to know you and more about your planet and people. He wants to be the mech you painted. He wants to be more for you.

Chapter Text

• It was your creation day? Rodimus felt angry that you hadn’t told anyone, especially him.
• There was a lot of speculation about why you hadn’t brought up your birthday. Depression about not being on Earth, thinking the bots wouldn’t understand, a fear of causing a hassle. Nobody knew exactly why, as they could only speculate, but Rodimus had spent a long time on Earth and knew that creation days were important among your race, being so short-lived at all.
• That was when he got the crew together and ordered them to do the best day ever!
• An entire hallway full of rec-rooms was designated as the ideal location.
• Ultra Magnus was in charge of catering for you. He had the most knowledge of the foods you liked and what was safe for human consumption.
• Swerve made a theatre in one of the rec-rooms, picking out the best films that would play for a 24-hour cycle, giving anyone who wanted a rest somewhere to go.
• Mirage was working with Brainstorm to outsource his outlier ability, creating a hologram room that could play out any fantasy world of your choice. The rich bot was hooked up to a machine that left him stuck for the cycle, but he was happy to do so as long as he got a small break in between to explore.
• Blaster and Roller had been charged with creating a silent disco filled with 23 music stations, each staffed with its own DJ.
• Rodimus had dragged Megatron into some flashy pyrotechnics using the ex-warlord’s intellect combined with his fiery outlier ability to create a show that would last a lifetime.
• Nautica had a paint station set up with human-safe paints. She had seen this done on celebrations in movies and was almost certain that human adults liked face-painting too. Besides, most of the bots were already lining up for temporary paint jobs, so who was she to deny them?
• Rung had set up a room full of pillows and sleeping bags, with a constellation simulator lighting up the walls with soothing patterns and soft music. Although he knew that Rodimus had no plans to let you sleep, it was also a safe space to unwind and bond with your friends through deep conversation, which he understood to be a ritual at sleepovers.
• Rewind was set to record the event, following you like you were a celebrity, so he could ultimately put a tape together as a gift at the end of the celebration.
• Finally, all they needed was the guest of honour.
• A support crew headed by Whirl was sent to retrieve you, everyone eager to see how you would react to the many miniature parties thrown in your honour.
• Although a betting wall had been set up to determine which room you would spend the most time in, the real joy of the event was showing you how much you were loved, and hoping that you would never try and hide yourself away from your friends again.

Chapter Text

Whirl

• “Okay, what is brown and sticky?” Whirl asked elatedly, bouncing on her tiptoes.
• “A stick,” You answered. “Gotta try harder than that, Whirl.”
• “What do you call a dinosaur with no eyes?”
• “Do-you-think-he-saurous.”
• Whirl hummed, then tried another joke, “How do bananas get out of trouble?”
• “They split.”
• Whirl ran her hands down her face, “ARGH, this is impossible. You know too many jokes.”
• You smiled, not bothering to explain that her jokes were the first ones most people learned. Whirl knew you liked jokes, and she had learned to love comedy from you.
• “I wouldn’t worry, Whirl. Besides, I’ve got something to cheer you up.”
• Whirl’s head shot up from her hands, “A present?!”
• You nodded.
• She held out her servos, “Ooh, c’mon, gimme, gimme, gimme.”
• You laughed and handed her two tickets.
• “Dara O’Briain?” She read aloud.
• “He’s a Scottish comedian.”
• “Oh good!” Whirl perked up. “Then I can learn his jokes.”
• “Sure,” You beamed. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
• Whirl scooped you up in her arms, smushing her face against yours, “This will be the BEST. OUTING. EVER.”

Hotshot

• Hotshot was often in need of a good laugh, especially when he first started at the academy.
• He was always getting called into the office by Heatwave. There was always something he’d done wrong, or he was called out for being impatient, or arrogant. Him! The number one Jr Cube player and most handsome bot on the team, arrogant! No way.
• But you always managed to cheer him up with terrible jokes and even worse pranks. There was a time you filled Cody’s hair dryer with flour, coating him in the stuff, though you made sure to use it after, ensuring the prank was harmless since you were both messy.
• Or that one time when you hid a walkie-talkie in Heatwave’s office and periodically meowed into it so he was looking for a cat for a full cycle.
• One time when you were supposed to be learning basic mechanics, you taped a few harmonicas next to Wedge’s exhaust, making him whistle when he drove. That was Hotshot’s favourite prank so far. He loved seeing Wedge turn into a car-monica.
• Hotshot wanted to thank you for all the laughter you had provided. It made him feel more at ease around the team and occasionally helped to break the tension.
• “Hey,” He approached you almost shyly.
• “Hey,” You grinned, “you okay?”
• “Uh, look, I just wanted to say that I think you’re awesome and it’s uh Valentine’s Day, so here!”
• Hotshot thrusted out his hand that was previously hidden behind his back, holding out a bouquet of roses.
• You saw the joke flower in the centre almost immediately, but pretended not to, taking a deep whiff.
• When you were squirted in the face, you took it on the chin, laughing amicably. Hotshot, though smiling, still looked a little nervous.
• “Happy Valentine’s day?” He said uncertainly, spark pulsing anxiously. Was it too much to prank your crush?
• You chuckled certain he was mixing up Valentine’s Day and April Fools Day. Yet, as you passed, you kissed him on the cheek and returned the platitude.

Hoist

• Hoist was far too easy to prank. He was gullible and sweet, making him an obvious target. You had him going for ages, trying to work a printer. You had put a sticker on it that said voice-activated, and so he had stood, trying different variations on voices, sure that he was the problem since it wasn’t working.
• Eventually, you took pity on Hoist and told him it was a joke.
• At first, the sensitive bot was annoyed at you, but after you apologised and promised that you would keep your sense of humour set only to bad jokes and puns, he forgave you.
• Eventually, he started to come around to your idea of fun and lifted the pun ban, noting that you didn’t do anything in states of emergency, timed your jokes appropriately and never aimed to hurt or upset anyone.
• Hoist even asked you to teach him some of your jokes over a meal (energon for him, picnic for you) and a movie.
• It wasn’t till you sat down on the whoopee cushion that you learned it was a trap all along.
• “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said coyly, turning his attention back to the film.
• “Touche,” you nodded, also watching the film.
• Meanwhile, there was an unspoken agreement, let the prank war begin.

Medix

• Medix doesn’t always get your trickster ways. He once tried to learn how to be funny from Chase, but instead realised that it was better for him to be himself. He likes you though, even if sometimes he gets just a little bit jealous of how much everyone else finds you more palatable to be around with your quick quips and witty retorts.
• You make lots of dumb jokes like when you had suffered a laceration and you insisted it was his words of admonishment that ‘cut deep.’
• Still, you were always there when he wanted to do something like watching a documentary on the history of bandages… even though you wasted an entire box the next day to pretend to be a mummy and scare the spark out of Hoist the next day.
• Medix liked your jokes. They weren’t aimed to hurt or upset people. They were to create moments of levity. You enjoyed making people happy and easing tension.
• It took Medix some time to think of how he could show how much he appreciated your humour and you, but he thought he was ready for when Valentine’s Day rolled around.
• You stared at the present, trying to get the joke, since Medix wasn’t always the best at jokes, but you knew there was something there.
• “A jokebook covered in breadcrumbs…?” You mused, examining it through the plastic wrap. “Because my jokes are crummy?”
• Medix smiled, “Close. More because your old jokes, like the bread, are getting stale.”
• You placed a wounded hand over your heart, smiling all the same, “Touche.”
• Opening the book, you recited the first joke, “What do you call a mummy, covered in chocolate and nuts?”
• Medix waited.
• “Pharoah Rocher.”
• Medix didn’t get the joke, having little knowledge of human confections, but he enjoyed the way you snorted, laughing at the simple stupidity of the joke.
• “Best gift ever,” You laughed, hugging him tightly.

Wedge

• “Come again?” You asked, curious about Wedge’s request.
• “I need you to help me prank Hotshot,” Wedge reiterated.
• “Because…?” You prompted.
• “Because he’s become a total pain. Look, you like playing pranks, so it shouldn’t be a problem, right? Just do something that will knock Hotshot down a peg or two. Scare him or something, He’s driving me crazy!”
• Wedge knew you would agree to help him. You loved those dumb pranks you were always playing on people.
• “No,” You said, incredulous that he would ask.
• “What? Why not?”
• “I like stupid jokes, like putting glitter in people’s pockets or swapping the salt and the sugar around.”
• “So?”
• “So, I don’t want to do anything that would shake Hotshot’s confidence or upset him. That’s not why I do this.”
• “It isn’t?”
• You scowled at Wedge, “Jokes are for fun. Doing this to mess with Hotshot just because you find him to be a bit of a pain isn’t fun. Talk to him, vent your feelings, but don’t involve me.”
• With that you left Wedge to think about what he had asked of you.
• Later, he came over to you, holding a box of store-bought brownies.
• “Hey, (Y/N),” he said apologetically. “I’m… I’m sorry I put pressure on you to upset Hotshot. It wasn’t cool, and I respect you for putting me in my place. I guess it was me who needed taking down a notch.”
• He held out the box for you, asking, “Apology accepted?”
• You considered him for a moment, taking the box, “Sure, apology accepted.”
• “Cool… Want to hang out for a bit? Catch a movie?”
• “Yeah, I’d like that.”
• After that, Wedge began to really appreciate your sense of humour. He wanted to understand it more, especially the difference between a fun joke and something that might hurt someone.