This Was My First Tfa Scribbles Ever, But I Hated How They Turned Out. I Know Ill Never Finish Them,

This was my first tfa scribbles ever, but I hated how they turned out. I know I’ll never finish them, though, so frag it. Here they are.

Context is Optimus stealing the hearts of the Decepticons after he officially becomes Megatron’s courting obsession and fully accepts his new role.

Shockwave was in this, but also stuffed into a corner, suffering Optimus’ kindness. I’ll spare you.

It’s kiss a sassy baby season

How is everyone’s eyes doing after raking past this color scheme?

Them…

No thoughts only Optimus' emoting headfins

two old men in love

💕Continued ceasefire AU, but just Bumblebee doting on his injured man (I am humiliating myself further. As a treat.)

— ———-

Blitzwing separates his servos from where they’d been grasping the corners of the horrible makeshift berth. The moment he’d been cleared to leave the medbay, he’d wandered off with helm held high before succumbing pathetically in the safety of his room. Ratchet was through babysitting him, now worrying over injecting some sense into a battered Prime with needlework they’d both rather have avoided, and ordered him to his quarters- *without flying*.

Well, duh, he’d only just fixed this splitting ache of a wing a few cycles ago, and he’d already nearly gotten his wingtips sheered off. Another trip to medbay, nothing excruciatingly serious, but he’d failed (purposely) to mention how it’d made the nearly healed wound in his underwing throb to life again.

Ratchet’s spectacular medical prowess was no match for a war frame’s personal baggage. What kind of Decepticon (was he even one of those still? Was Megatron really getting closer and closer every astrosecond to throwing old resentment out the window for a gaggle of crazed repair bots?) would he be if he allowed himself to show weakness and buckle under a little pain?

He’d be a terrible one, considering. That didn’t mean he was above quietly taking it out on his berth once away from prying optics. He scraped at the metal, warped it with thick, gouging claws, and held the edges in a death grip as a wave of unholy heat seared the sensors inside the near invisible seam Ratchet’s welder had left.

Logically, and Blitzwing genuinely preferred to conduct himself through the logical side of things, he should of told Ratchet. Logically, he should gather himself up with what pride he had left and go tell the medicbot now...

Logically.

And he definitely would once the others had been tended to. He would, for sure.

Blitzwing flicked his wings, spite getting the better of him, and melted as much as a body tense with sensor pricking pain could into his berth. He lay there with his cheekplate smashed into a fresh claw mark and waited for recharge to prioritize itself over any subroutines screaming at him to scratch at his healing wounds like some carnal instinct.

He was no more closer to restful stasis hours later when a timid knock sounded at his door.

“Ja?” He replied, helm snapping up, listening.

“U-um...” It was the bug bot.

Blitzwing peeled himself away and stood at attention.

“Come in.”

Bumblebee was allowed entry, and he wasted no time in filling up the room with his unique... Bumblebee-ness. Blitzwing was finding it harder and harder to dislike the rambunctious slagger’s presence.

“Hey, how come I’ve never been in here before? There’s nothing here! Why do you always tell me to buzz off?”

“Because jou’re name’s Bumblebee, and it’s funny. Is jour room a cluttered heap or sumving?” What mysteries was the minibot hiding in his significantly smaller room? He talked a lot about video games. Maybe whatever those were.

“Pssh, oh, slag, yeah. Haven’t seen the floor in ages.” The minibot shrugged, surveying the disturbing blankness of Blitzwing’s walls. No shelves either.

“But that’s not the point. I didn’t come here to talk about what it’s like to have a personality.”

Good, Blitzwing had enough of those, thanks. A ‘cool’ one wasn’t necessary when ‘crazy’ was keeping company.

He arched an optic ridge.

“Oh? And vut did you come here for?”

WHIRR

“To clog my processor with your nonsense ramblings?!”

“Well, in a way... sorta.”

Bumblebee was either brave or stupid- likely both- when he made the decision to come any closer to a moody Blitzwing. A third option was simply that he was becoming immune to the unpredictability bound to accompany their conversations. Lugnut had fairly quickly, once he’d realized the triple changer wasn’t a threat. To a fellow Con, at least.

The only hint of a sensible Autobot still rattling around in that reckless little body was his obvious concern upon seeing the state of the berth. Blitzwing could do that to him- cut him into ribbons, crush him with a bare palm. Snap his servos off without more than a pinch.

That, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be his issue with the shredded slab, though.

“I came to see if you’re ok... Doesn’t look like it...”

Blitzwing felt an unwelcome warmth in his faceplates.

“Zis mess of metal isn’t sturdy enough for my frame, zat’s all. I can’t get comfortable without punching a hole in it somevere... So annoying.”

It was sort of true, but also mostly just an embarrassing attempt to reroute his clear misery from Bee’s understanding of the situation. War frames should be better about hiding these soft parts of themselves. *He* should be better.

When he spun back to blue, looking down into wide optics, he noticed Bumblebee had closed the few extra steps between them.

“Wow, ok.” He snorted.

“*That* was a whole buncha lies, wasn’t it? I mean, come on, Bulkhead can’t go a cycle without smashing something, and he’s managed to keep his berth in one piece.”

Frustrated, Blitzwing was prepared to enforce the unspoken rule of being *polite* in other people’s personal spaces, but before he could label him a lousy guest and usher him out, Bumblebee bowed his helm, little servos clutching tight over his chest. Looking even smaller somehow.

A frown pulling the corner of his lips down.

Blitzwing wasn’t sure what was coming, only that he felt immensely responsible for making the bug look so tiny like that.

“Your wing still hurts, huh?” It wasn’t really a question, and Blitzwing hated that he’d been exposed again, and so easily. Bumblebee was either more in tune to him than he’d realized, or his other war type companions had just gone so long ignoring whenever their comrades were biting back grimaces and struggling to ex-vent through pain.

Or he was being an obvious slaghead with his berth on full display for Bee to see, and he never should have let him in.

“You want me to go get Ratchet?”

“Did jou vant me to get Ratchet when jou dented your helm jumping into a ravine?”

“That’s not the same- this is serious, Blitz.”

“Jour *helm* isn’t *serious*?”

Bumblebee tilted his chin up to meet the bigger mech’s gaze, looking surprisingly less like his bubbly self and more sober than Blitzwing’d seen him in a long time. And all on his account...

First Ratchet, then Sari, then Optimus. Now Bumblebee was expressing some kind of concern for him. So odd...

“I won’t sell you out- Ratchet will figure it out on his own, you know....” Bumblebee huffed. Trying to buy time to gather his courage once more.

“But I... y’know. I could polish the welding. I mean, you totally can’t tell it’s there, you war frames heal fast as frag. But, like... I could... make it better? Somehow?”

Oh.

This was *different* than how the other ones had worried. This was different...

How hadn’t he noticed? And for how long?

The thought of Bumblebee interested in him... this was just...

His wings flickered of their own accord- truly embarrassing- and he was thankful the minibot wouldn’t understand what that meant as a grounder.

“Ah, um, vell....” Blitzwing was ashamed to say he was seriously considering it.

“Zere’s no need. It’ll be good as new soon enough.”

Bumblebee didn’t seem discouraged by this. Maybe he did know what a set of engaging wing struts meant. Primus, he hoped not.

“That’s cool, totally cool.... I could just... just... knead your hinges instead.” He shrugged like *that* wasn’t one of the most intimate suggestions Blitzwing’d ever had a friend make.

“No pressure, just, um. If you want.”

Yeah, he did. Which is exactly why it couldn’t happen. What would Megatron and Optimus say? Was this mutiny? Enemy sympathizing? What were they supposed to be faction wise, again? There were still factions, definitely... but they were all just taking a break. Or...?

Bumblebee was possessed by some spirit from the well of sparks that wasn’t his own, telling him to act as foolish and recklessly as he wanted with a war class giant, multiple scales bigger than him and equally as aggressive, by pushing him to sit on the berth.

Blitzwing was possessed, too, for letting him move him without hesitance. Completely susceptible to his advances even, as Bumblebee couldn’t have pushed him an inch anywhere without his compliance.

How unbecoming.

How disgraceful.

How-

Bumblebee climbed up after him faster than Blitzwing could process in this state and slid his servos right against his injured wing at its hinge. Having zero understanding of the sensitive piece, beyond knowing that it was just that, or that cleaning the hinge was more beneficial to release pressure than physically stimulating it, Bumblebee’s digits running over the smooth metal was surprisingly, absolutely *divine*.

Blitzwing’d only ever been touched there for assemblings or reformations. Frag, those little yellow fingers wedging into otherwise unreachable places while Blitzwing wrapped his wings around towards his front was the stuff of fantasies. Ones he’d never entertained personally, but now that he knew what it was like, oh Primus.

Warm palms pushed with the grain of the hinge’s rollers. Working heat into his aching joints there that essentially melted Blitzwing to his core.

This served no purpose, other than as Bumblebee’s gentle attempt to ease his comrade’s suffering. Blitzwing couldn’t say it was too ineffective in that regard, though, considering he was near mewling at this point. When had that happened?

“This ok still?”

Blitzwing answered his utterly ridiculous question by turning face down to stretch out over the berth. Bee scurrying out of his way, though a hand refused to release its grip on his hinge, as they repositioned themselves. Blitzwing didn’t even register the slight weight straddling the low of his back until he was drifting in and out of recharge and forced every so often to assess his environment and determine the risk of stasis.

Each time he immediately concluded he was free of gunfire and cold wind and somewhere perfectly safe, ideal even- scratched berth or not. So long as he had Bumblebee with him, digging digits into lax wings, he’d be alright.

The likelihood that it’d be more than acceptable for him to ask for a repeat of this in the future, considering Bee’s enthusiasm, was comforting enough to see him through an entire recharge.

——- —-

Please stop me.