Transformers X OC Oneshots (REQUESTS OPEN)

Our Song // Tarn X Femme

Important: This takes place before the war, but after Megatron has become a gladiator. The Decepticons are a known terrorist group, with a badge, but there is no war. Y/n is a construction worker and rising gladiator, Damus - aka Tarn or Glitch - is her Conjux Endura.

WARNING: INTENSE VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF EXPERIMENTATION, AND SOME MASOCHISM

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       It's been almost a stellarcycle since my beloved Damus disappeared. Through our sparkbond, I can tell that he is still alive. But it feels...different. There was a time when all I felt from him was pain, pain that was hard to ignore. I've never minded pain before. I think I've grown to enjoy it. Is that me, or him? Where is he? Does he know where I am? What would he think if he knew...

       I'm jolted out of my thoughts by pedsteps coming my way. I look up from my datapad, quickly hiding it in my locker. I know some would kill for personal technology like that in a place like this. I can defend myself just fine, but I'd rather not get in a fight over something so small. I wasted almost my entire paycheck on that pad, I'm not about to give it up.

       "Y/n, you're up." I stand up and face the smaller mech who has come to alert me that it's time. I give him a nod, clicking my visor on as I head for the pits. Then I hear it. Music. Every time I walk down this hall, I hear that song. It's a calm song. A sad one. I get a sense of longing from the delicate notes I envision dancing on a page, a sense of missing a piece of your spark that is right in front of you, but just out of reach.

       An interesting choice of music to hear before I enter an arena of shouting, bored out of their processors, higher caste pricks. Music to echo in my audials as I face my opponent, an opponent who likely will not live to see another day. The song never plays if I'm not alone. I've abandoned fights to try and track down the source. But the sound is an enigma, an enigma that occupies my thoughts as I fight for the entertainment of others.

       I enter into the pit, entering a blinding light and deafening cacophony of shouts. My optics land on the mech opposite to me. I scan over him. As most opponents - including myself - he has gotten illegal upgrades to equip himself with weapons. He is a construction worker, like me. Luckily, I do not recognize him. At least, not from work. I've seen him fight before. Like most, he relies on brute strength. He is weaker on his left side.

       An alarm rings. I attack.

       I do not wait around and play. I am not cocky. I know my skillset, and I know letting my quick-thinking go to my helm will only hinder my attacks. I go for his left. I tear off his missile launchers. He grabs onto me with one servo, swinging me around to grip one of my sensitive wings. He tears.

       Pain courses through my spinal strut as my wing is almost torn off.

       I hum. Why is it that pain only encourages me? Is it because of living decacycles with pain in my spark, from my beloved conjux going through who knows what, who knows where?

       I turn with the momentum of the attack, transforming my sword. I stab my opponent in the shoulder.

       Damus never knew me to be...sadistic. What other word is there for it? I used to fight for the same reasons as everyone else. Fighters are given access to medics and Energon rations. Blessings the lower castes can only dream about unless they fight for it. Now? I think I enjoy it.

       I flex my digits. In the nanoklik of my enemy tensing in pain, I strike forward. With one arm still embedded in his shoulder in the form of a sword, I use my other servo to stab my digits into his chassis. I feel his spark chamber.