🅲🅾🅳🅴🆇 🅾🅵 🆀🆄🅸🆁🅺🆂 (TFOne Movie x Reader)

ೃ⁀➷[ 𝔸𝕌𝕋𝕆ℕ𝕆𝕄𝕐 𝕀ℕ 𝔸𝕃𝕃] || 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐬 {𝙿𝚃. 2}

[ ERRAND 6: ARACDE MACHINE REPAIRMENT ]

The artificial Prime was helping Cliffjumper brush off the artificial fluff from his chassis that stuck onto the short red Autobot when he was snuggling in. "Sorry about that, Cliff," the Codex apologized. "I wasn't expecting my chassis to shed fluff." (Y/Cyb/n) blew on Cliffjumper's face, the (f/c) fluff dropping to the ground.

Cliffjumper huffed as the artificial Prime blew (f/c) fluff on his faceplate. He grumbled and shook his small helm to displace the remaining fur. "It's all good, bud," he reassured the Codex with a smirk. "But seriously, why are you shedding so much?"

He leaned in, gently poking his tiny frame against the artificial Prime's, an amused grin still tugged at his own dermas. "You need some of that Autobot pet grooming product? I'm sure Wheeljack probably has some hidden around here somewhere."

"Oh no," the Codex laughed slightly from the tease. "I can handle myself." He assured us as he began to depart from the short red Autobot. "I'll be on the way to fix the arcade machine Windcharger broke, so if you need anything, or in case," he paused, teasingly smiling. "Wanting for some peculiar comfort, you know where to find me."

"Wh—" Cliffjumper's face flushed pink at the mention of how he enjoyed the bouncy fluffiness of the artificial Prime's chassis. "H-Hey! Don't bring that up!"

The artificial Prime chuckled in response, his wings adjusting against his backplate. He patted Cliffjumper's helm affectionately, a glimmer of amusement evident. "Don't worry, Cliff. Your secret is safe with me."

He flashed a sly smile before turning away, preparing to leave. "Now, I have an arcade machine to fix and Red Alert to surprise. Have a good rest of your evening," he said, glancing back at the red Autobot.

(Y/Cyb/n) walked with a steady pace, the corridors of the Autobot base stretching out before him. With each rhythmic clank of his pedes against the metal floor, he focused his processor on the task at hand - fixing the broken arcade game.

But as he walked, his thoughts began to wander, the weight of his internal struggles and burdens pressing upon him. He was good at hiding it, but deep down, he carried a weight that few knew: the loneliness, the isolation, the feeling of being different gnawed silently at him.

He still didn't understand—despite the peace in Iacon, he still felt alienated and foreign. His processor told him he should feel welcomed and belonged—integrated into society. However, his spark told him otherwise, that people still aren't ready to accept him—the last Codex of his species and being an artificial Prime—into Cybertronian society.

A strange contradiction haunted the fake Prime, the cognitive dissonance between what he was told he should feel and what he truly experienced. He longed for a connection, a sense of acceptance and belonging, and yet he could not shake off the lingering feeling of exclusion, of being an outsider looking in.

While his processor was swirling with conflicting thoughts, he was suddenly and violently shaken out of his contemplation when his faceplate came into contact with a hard and unyielding metal frame.

*CLANG!!*

"Ow." He stumbled back in surprise, rubbing his screen optics. He blinked and looked up, realizing he had bumped into a small, isolated area for arcade games. He had bumped into the broken arcade game Windcharger accidentally and purposely destroyed it simultaneously. It had a label that read "Out of Order" in large words with "Windcharger broke it accidentally" in a smaller font.