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When you saw the autobots again, it was–no, it could’ve been better. The thrashing of your limbs, the violent threats rolling off your tongue far too easily, it was a disaster.
Starting from the top, you had assumed you were the only extraterrestrial being on this planet. Hell, even going as far as assuming you were the only autobot on this side of the universe. Failed attempts to reach anyone drilled that thought into your head for good.
Trudging through the terrain of the western hemisphere undercover–or better known as the ‘United States,’ whatever the humans you had overheard had called it, you tried to contact your people for what felt like ages.
Trying to evade whatever would slow your mission down wasn’t easy, so you never stayed in one place for long.
After a while, your energon supply would run low. The lowest it had ever been, in fact. So desperate times called for desperate measures.
After five or so stellar cycles–years, you began to slow down. You traveled slower, avoided turning into your vehicular mode, and more often than not sometimes would stay stationary in a deep recharge to clear your mind of your worries.
It never worked though.
Your lack of knowledge of any Energon deposits got you into this mess, how were you even going to get out of it?
So, here you were, in the middle of nowhere–’Nevada’ the humans called it, in a rundown barn. This was rock bottom, you were sure. You were stuck in a desert, on the brink of almost death, about to fall into recharge one last time.
What a wonderful way to go out.
Shutting the barn door, you looked around, finding nothing but tools and dust. You hoped the humans that occupied the nearby home wouldn’t mind you taking solace in this place.
With a final exhausted sigh you rubbed your tired eyes, the glow of your optics guiding your way through the night.
You shifted into your vehicle mode after finding a decent spot and your autobot insignia shone one last time before shutting down for good.
Or so you thought.
See, you really thought you could rest for good. You really did, but the white light being aggressively shined into your closed eyes really irked you, causing you to open them.
And boy, was that a mistake.
The unknown figures were swarming you, both small and decently large. And with your brain finally coming out of its permanent shutdown high on nothing but pure drugs and– energon , your instincts came into play.
You practically leaped up and thrashed at whatever was around you, crazed eyes trying to get a gauge on your situation but everything was so.. blurry. An extreme feeling of anxiousness and fear in the back of your mind.
The blades that you hadn’t used in forever that were embedded into your forearms unsheathed and shined with color, threatening to slash into whatever came your way. That seemed to cause some of the figures to back up.
Though you couldn’t say anything at first, the drugs scrambled your mind. How long was I out for?
“Bulkhead, restrain her, I need to administer more sedation. She is out of control.”
What? No, I don’t need sedation. I’m just fine.
As the person you assumed would be ‘Bulkhead’ neared closer, you hit and scratched at the large figure. Unknowingly loudly promising to kill them if they got any closer.
But alas, he was stronger than your drugged up body, and wrapped his arms around you tightly as the other figure came closer to your form. A slight pinch to your wires spreading warmth throughout your body.
It was a few moments before you were finally able to focus and look around, mind still fuzzy but the crazed feeling washed away.. Your weary eyes meeting with another bots.
Wait.. another bot?
Your widening eyes stared at the white and red bot in front of you, unable to form any coherent words. It was better you mulled over the situation before saying anything dumb like ‘Primus, I owe you my life you beautiful bastard’.
“Now, I know you just woke up from your delightfully long nap, but I’m going to need you to answer a few questions of mine,” he said, his optics narrowing at you skeptically.
“Who are you?” you blurted, mentally slapping your helm for not thinking at all. But a mech can be excited about finally seeing her kind after years after all.
He took a few moments to respond. “I am Ratchet,” he gestures to the others that were behind him a few paces, “and the Autobots.”
You physically relaxed after hearing the name you were so dearly wanting to hear, tears threatening to spill. In a cracky voice, you listed your name and rank before escaping the war, expressing how happy you were to finally see a familiar face after all this time.
After Ratchet gave the okay to Bulkhead, he took his arms away from your frame, stepping back and joining the others. You apologized profusely for the aggression–for your slight distaste of humans getting ahold of you and your mechanics was a heavy fear in the back of your mind.
“How did you find me?” you questioned, being extremely aware of your surroundings now.
“We found an energon reading and tracked your location,” Ratchet began, doing a check-up of your frame. “Since we’ve been low on our power sources, we followed the beacon the EM field gave us–not knowing that it was you instead.”
You let him move your limbs with caution, blinking away any creeping thoughts. “I ran out and just accepted my fate here–in Nevada,” the name oddly rolling off your tongue like you didn’t know how to feel about the barren desert.
Rolling his eyes, Ratchet stepped away and started typing at a workstation nearby. “Well, now you’re going to be struggling for energon with us. The others will greet you once I’m finished.”
Looking away, you spot a few tinier figures, blinking profusely at what you were seeing. Primus, am I just going crazy?
“Are those.. humans?”
Scoffing, he side eyes you like you had just asked the stupidest question ever. “Well we are on their native planet, so yes. Better get used to it.”
So back to now, after staying with the autobots for a few months, you grew closer and closer with the ones you hadn’t gotten the chance to meet back in the war.
Arcee and Optimus were familiar faces, but being in a different faction than the rest made you have to get out of your comfort zone to get used to them–along with the humans. Oftentimes you, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee would go for a drive and reminisce about cybertron. Finding a lot of things in common.
Sometimes you even stayed at base to get to know the kids, to try and understand their species and cultures so you’d have a better grasp at things. And to maybe beat your slight fear of the tiny ants.
One problem you had was trying to get to know Ratchet. He was a grumpy docbot–per Miko’s words. Drowns himself in his work, is uptight, old, the list goes on.
It was just so simple to just bicker instead of having an actual meaningful conversation with Ratchet. He just made it so easy and fun to irk his nerves every now and then. Make that little helm of his catch on fire with your pestering.
He wrote you off as just some younger bot that got his wires in a twist in the beginning, swatting you off like some insect no matter how hard you tried to talk with him. Before he gave you a chance that is.
Which you didn’t expect to happen. At all.
So, now the two of you still argue, but this time with purpose. Even respecting each other now and oftentimes finding each other comforting to have around because sometimes silence is nice. The sound of his typing amidst the quiet base as you rested nearby was perfect, but you weren’t going to admit that to him.
And you were definitely not going to admit you enjoyed having his eyes on you. You knew he took a little peek every now and then, in the beginning just brushing it off like nothing.
But you knew deep down what you were feeling wasn’t nothing .
At times when you would get back from a quick drive to take your mind off things huffing and puffing, your frame rattling with adrenaline, he’d stare out of the corner of his eye, watching you.
Obviously you couldn’t make passes at him, but you’d catch his eye sometimes and keep contact as your high came down, faceplate flushing slightly before eventually looking away and walking off. Feeling his stare bore into your metal frame.
He tended to do that. Watching but never saying anything.
You think things changed recently after you got hurt badly on a scouting mission with Bee. Being ambushed by a bunch of Decepticon bots left your weak arms having to drag Bee’s deadweight body by the limb through the portal back to base.
By somehow fighting off the rest of the cons, you were covered in splattered energon–obviously it wasn’t yours, but the group didn’t know that. You covered in energon dragging in an unconscious Bee was all that they needed to see before coming to your help.
You let Optimus and Bulkhead take Bee from you for Ratchet to see, Arcee worriedly looking over your beaten frame for any life threatening injuries, finding little to none. Eventually she had to force you to sit down on the other berth next to Bee once he was finally stabilized so the medic could take a look at you.
Ratchet was like a crazed man when checking you, eyes flitting over your body when he saw the amount of energon on your frame. You could almost see a hint of fear in his optics if you looked hard enough.
His stone cold expression but frantic movements when he attempted to check your vitals caused you to explain that the energon wasn’t yours, his jaw clenching in response. Maybe Ratchet actually was worried for your well-being.
It made your cabling warm at the thought.
He soon expressed his concern for your arm that was hanging limply by your side, the wound spilling energon down your frame. Instead of admitting his weariness for your state, Ratchet preoccupies himself with his work.
After everything was over, you stayed around base a lot to heal. Although, you didn’t go down without a fight. Ratchet required a check-up or two during your mandated resting period, against your complaining.
You really thought nothing of it after a while, really just being able to see your favorite medic for more one-on-ones rather than being alone made you satisfied.
Now the base was empty. The kids were off to school, and the other bots were out scouting like usual, no big deal. Only Bee already being out in the field and not you irked you ever so slightly.
Remembering Ratchet’s demand for ‘one last checkup’ before letting you get back on the field, you exited your private space and made your way through the base. This time he’d finally clear you and let you go.
Stepping up to Ratchet’s workplace, a sigh echoed from your voice box and sat down on the medical berth next to his working frame. Staring at the side of his helm until he finally looked your way.
Ratchet gives you a curious look before finally realizing what you wanted, his body turning. Cyan eyes flitting over the patch job he had given your wounds.
“Have you been gentle with your arm recently? No excessive weights, didn’t overuse it, or any broken seals from the wound?” Ratchet said, getting straight to work. Seeming to mark off a mental checklist as he evaluated your injuries for the third time this week.
“No, sir,” you responded with a slight smile, enjoying the feeling of his cold metal fingers skimming across your arm and cabling as always.
Sometimes his digits lingered for a bit too long, but you wouldn’t complain nor outwardly take notice.
His expression stayed the same as he then typed the results in his system and ran another vital check on you, causing your gaze to flicker around as the silence consumed you both.
Say something. Make conversation. Primus, you’re awkward.
“You might need to stay behind on the next mission as well. I want to make sure you’re definitely fully healed.”
Snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze flits to his own serious one already looking your way, your jaw dropping. “Ratchet, I’ve already missed out on so much!”
Shaking his head, Ratchet stopped typing and fully turned to you. “Medics orders. Your cabling doesn’t look fully healed and I don’t want any more unnecessary energon spilled if it was something small we could’ve avoided.”
You knew the group had been collecting more and more energon after finding more deposits and supplies via Agent Fowler, so him insisting you stay back like your resources had dried up confused you.
Scoffing, you almost laughed. “Sounds like you just want me around more, docbot.”
That seemed to pinch a cable. “I don’t think I need to remind you who the medic is and who is not.”
“Or what, old bot?” you accused in a cocky tone, leaning forward. “I think it’s just funny that I’m still here and not Bee, even though his wounds were far worse.”
If he was going to be holding you back from leaving, you might as well rip the bandaid off. It felt unfair at this point.
He neared closer as well. “What did you just call me?” he spat aggressively, ignoring your other claims.
“Old–” your gaze flickered over his faceplate, your cooling fans subtly kicking on. “Bot.”
Crossing your arms over your chestplates, you donned your usual smirk that you wore only when you knew that you got under his plating.
Jackpot.
Ratchet seemed to go quiet for a moment, his fists clenching at his sides like he was struggling to make a decision. Jaw clenched like always.
It took a few seconds for him to mull over what you had just said before he finally understood your body language. A rough hand coming to grip your chin.
“You are very–very irritating,” he says gruffly, voice box low and scratchy.
The fingers lining the outline of your jaw threaten to tighten ever so slightly, the promise of taking full control being just at the edges of his grip.
You stare at Ratchet. “Yet you’re still here.”
Your optics screamed at him to just frag you already. Meeting your heated gaze one last time before closing the space between the two of you.
The noises he pulled from your vocal box were downright nasty, his hips slotted in between your legs as you made room for him, clawing at his frame for purchase as he slides his glossa to yours.
His hands played with the cables under the plating at your waist, the medical precision of his fingers sending a shiver up your spine since he knew just where to play to get the desired response.
“Ratchet,” you weakly moaned as he pulled away to assault your neck, nipping the wiring along the crook in between your helm and chestplate. “Please.”
Pulling away ever-so-slightly, he looked down into your pleading eyes. “So responsive,” he smirks, bringing a hand up to caress your chin again as the other plays with your hip cabling. “I wonder what else I could pull from you.”
“You can’t–” your lidded optics fluttered closed when he softly pinched that one spot, making you lean forward and grasp onto his chest. Trembles littering your body as you gasped.
He caught your lips again with a firm kiss, letting you softly play with his neck cabling as he devoured you. Ratchet thoroughly enjoying the noises his receptors were hearing from you. Your deft hands traced upwards to play with his audial fins, earning a satisfied grunt into your face plate.
“I can’t what?” Ratchet asks teasingly. “Hm?”
When you don’t respond as his servos trace downward to trace the cabling along the seam of your legs, he chuckles.
“I can do anything I want,” Ratchet says casually, voice dripping. “You forget who is in charge here.”
Your argument died on the tip of your glossa, words dying as his modesty plate grinds against your own. Heightening your body wracking pleasure.
It had been slightly before the war since the last time you’d interfaced with another bot, so Ratchet intimidated you without even meaning to. His dominance was hot though.
His experience with knowing just where to touch and grab made your systems run hot. Almost too hot. Your inner lining bubbled with pure need, body shuddering as he pulled you even closer.
Quick hands scrambling, you reach to undo your plating, a sudden release of pressure making you sigh. Your valve leaking onto the table below.
“Eager, hm?” Ratchet hums as his eyes slowly trail to the new view he had gained. His shoulders slightly stiffening at the sight.
Maybe he hadn’t been in as much control as you thought.
Your breaths were heavy, systems racing to catch up. Barely able to hold your optics open when he traces a thick finger around the outline of your entrance. Puffy with need.
Ratchet takes a slight breath in before plunging a digit into you, your valve clenching hard without even meaning to. Noting just what makes your systems overload or pause.
“Be good for me,” Ratchet says lowly, smirking at your state. “Let your medic take care of you.”
With his digits pumping in and out of you, paired with another circling your node, it all made your helm spin. Soon becoming overwhelmed from the sensations. Especially the voice in your ear coaxing you to overload for him.
Which you oblige, hips canting forward to meet his digits halfway–needy and wanting. Soon crashing into the wall of your system overload, body buzzing as your optics flicker from the feelings you were experiencing.
Ratchet takes his servos from you and gropes at whatever he can, letting your sensitivity wash away. What you didn’t catch was when he removed his own modesty plating.
Ratchet’s fully pressurized spike rests between your spread legs, the biolights flickering under your attention. The ridges full and beckoning.
Your optics were locked on, the much larger bot making your system freeze up. Not expecting what you were seeing. He seemed to enjoy your gawking, pride simmering beneath his metal frame.
“You cannot stop now,” he says roughly while his hips thrust shallowly at your entrance, not yet plunging in. “The fun has yet to begin.”
Holding onto him dearly, you accept the challenge. Your optics rolling back when the tip finally notches itself in, your jaw hanging lazily as the pleasure wracks through your frame.
When the bot before you finally pushes through the first few spasms of your arousal, he sets a firm yet slightly giving pace. Your noises punched out of your voice box punishingly.
Voice glitching, you wail as he pushed his hips deeper and deeper into you. Flush with your frame as he chases his own high while also giving you another wave of intense pleasure.
His frame seemed to shudder when your servos traced along the cabling near his neck, pulling just where he liked. His cyan optics closing as he huffs into your neck. His body hunched over as he pistons in and out you.
“Not an–” he pauses, words lost in his shuddering pleasure. “Not an old bot now, aren’t I?”
The words are enunciated with a particularly sharp thrust into your heat, making you even forget about the previous argument.
Slight cursing is mumbled under his breaths, trying to control his reactions to seem more in command. Less vulnerable.
His helm tilts downward, ticking against the metal of your own. Face plate contorted in pleasure as another overload is right around the corner. Begging words leave your lips to achieve said high yet again.
Ratchet seems satisfied enough with your insisting, because his hips shift their angle ever so slightly and push you right over that edge. Again. His own release following soon after.
Electricity pulsed between the two of you, shockwaves rippling through both of your bodies. Systems interlinking with the connection.
Its like your minds weave together, emotions and physical connections becoming one. Just being together .
After the bot before you is finished pumping you full of his transfluid, he sits there for a moment, still resting his helm against yours. Enjoying the connection of systems that more than likely haven’t interlinked in a very long time.
“Ratchet,” you say quietly, feeling his spike slowly depressurize and pulled from your valve. You wince at the feeling.
He hums against you for a few more moments before fully pulling away, his servos tracing along your frame before he turns back to his work. Cyan optics already pinned on the screen again, still showcasing your vitals. It seems he’s already put together and back to his usual self.
“I will require one more checkup. For now, you will stay put until I say so,” Ratchet says firmly. Backing up his earlier diagnosis before you quite literally jumped his frame.
Picking your jaw up off the ground, you groan loudly, making a move to get off of the berth. Valve already covered by your plating.
Ratchet’s eyes pin you in place, piercing through your frame. A look that left no room for argument.
Ever the gentleman.
Sighing, you slowly come off the bench and test the waters of your shaky legs, core still burning.
What you definitely feel are his eyes still on you, tracing after your ruined form as you try to seem like you were definitely put together. A sight that amused him.
Watching as he’s glued back to his work once again, a hum echoes within his workplace as you walk away. Pedes shuffling on the concrete ground with exhaustion.