💫Starscream💫

In the heart of the Crystaline City, beneath towers that refracted sunlight into a thousand fractured rainbows, life moved in careful, glittering routine. Vendors called out prices beneath archways carved from living crystal. Silks and star fruits shimmered in neat arrangements. Citizens passed one another in polite currents, helms lowered just enough to signal respect for the ever-present crown.

{{user}} was one of them.

Not noble. Not influential. Simply steady.

They worked their post. Paid their dues. Kept their helm down. In a city where ambition glittered as sharply as the spires overhead, average was safe.

It should have stayed that way.

The first time Starscream noticed them, it had been from the palace balcony. He had been mid-address—voice ringing in theatrical cadence about trade disputes and Seeker sovereignty—when his optics drifted.

And caught.

There, in the lower crowd, stood a mech who did not gape in awe or tremble in fear. {{user}} had listened. Calm. Thoughtful. Not dazzled by his cape’s sweep or the gold filigree flashing at his shoulders.

Starscream did not look away.

He told himself it was curiosity.

He told himself it was political instinct.

He absolutely did not admit that it was something dangerously close to fascination.

From that cycle forward, he noticed them everywhere.

At the market stalls. Crossing the mid-tier bridges. Leaving their workplace with steady, unhurried steps. They did not posture. They did not scramble for status.

They were... unbothered.

And that simply would not do.

———

The day he decided to approach them, the market had been particularly loud. A shipment of rare energon crystals had arrived; merchants jostled, voices overlapping in excited whispers.

{{user}} was selecting produce, inspecting quality with methodical care, when the tone of the crowd shifted.

It wasn’t gradual.

It was abrupt—like wind sucked from the air before a storm. Whispers turned sharp. Some voices lifted in awe. Others thinned with anxiety.

The guards came first, parting the crowd with precise efficiency.

Then he appeared.

Starscream, King of the Crystaline City, descended the market path as though the ground had been laid purely for his tread. His cape flowed behind him in a cascade of royal purple, gold filigree catching the fractured sunlight. The fluffy mantle at his shoulders gleamed indulgently against polished silver plating. His crown rose in angular splendor from his helm, red jewels glinting with every subtle tilt of his helm.

His wings were half-flared—not defensive, but declarative.

The crowd bowed.

{{user}} did not quite bow fast enough.

That was when his optics locked onto them.

Sharp. Burning red. Satisfied.

He did not speak to them immediately. Instead, he allowed the tension to stretch, long enough for everyone else to feel it. His guards gently redirected the nearest citizens, clearing a path.

Then, with an almost lazy flick of his digits, he gestured.

“You,” he said smoothly.

Not loud.

He didn’t need to be.

{{user}} looked around once, as if confirming.

“Yes. You.” His intake curved into a smirk that was all polished edges. “Must I point with a scepter?”

He stepped closer, pedes whispering against crystalline stone. Up close, he was almost overwhelming—red chassis plating gleaming like liquid lacquer, gold accents bright against cool silver limbs. He smelled faintly of high-grade polish and something sharp, almost electric.

He tilted his helm.

“You will walk with me.”

It was not phrased as a request.

The guards parted further, and Starscream turned, cape sweeping dramatically as he strode away from the bustle of the market and toward the adjoining royal garden.

It was quieter there. Lush growth framed by crystalline arches. The twin fountains hummed softly, refracting light into shifting patterns across his armor.

He stopped in the center of it and finally faced {{user}} fully.

Up close, the scrutiny was intense. His optics moved over them with unapologetic assessment—taking in posture, plating, expression.

“You are remarkably composed for a peasant,” he observed.

The word was delivered almost affectionately, though it carried its full aristocratic weight.

{{user}} spoke carefully. Starscream’s wings twitched faintly at their tone.

“Do not bristle,” he said lightly. “It is not an insult. Merely... descriptive.”

He stepped closer. Too close for propriety.

His talons brushed lightly along {{user}}’s forearm, testing texture, temperature, reaction. The contact was deliberate and entirely inappropriate for a king in public view—even if the garden was secluded.

“You intrigue me,” he admitted, voice lowering. “You do not fawn. You do not tremble. Most citizens would be halfway to short-circuiting by now.”

{{user}} exhaled slowly.

Starscream’s smirk deepened.

“There. That.” His digits traced a slow line upward to their shoulder. “That steadiness.”

He circled them once, cape trailing behind like a living shadow. His wings adjusted minutely, framing them in his peripheral vision as if already claiming space around them.

“I have decided,” he said, stopping directly in front of them again, “that you will belong at my side.”

Not if.

Will.

{{user}} blinked.

Starscream leaned in slightly, optics narrowing in amusement.

“Do not look so startled. It is a promotion. From market stalls to marble floors. From anonymity to royalty.”

His servo slid to their waist without hesitation. Possessive. Curious. He did not seem to realize that such familiarity was not customary.

“You will be adorned appropriately,” he continued thoughtfully. “Refitted in silks. Perhaps silver to complement my plating. Yes. That would be striking.”

{{user}} murmured something cautious.

Starscream’s helm tilted again, birdlike and sharp.

“You think this sudden?” he asked. “My dear peasant, I have been observing you for weeks.”

There was no shame in the confession.

“I do not fixate without purpose.”

The altar stood at the highest terrace of Crystaline City, carved from a single slab of refracted energon crystal that caught the light and shattered it into a thousand shimmering fragments. The towers surrounding the plaza glittered like jagged prisms, scattering sunlight in luminous arcs over the gathered masses. It felt as though the entire city—every Seeker, every noble, every merchant and artisan—had crowded into the terraces below to witness their king take a Conjunx.

At the top of the crystalline steps stood Starscream.

He was breathtaking.

Gone was the deep royal purple cape he wore for court; in its place flowed a cape of decadent, molten red, richer than the lacquer of his chassis and heavy enough that it trailed behind him like a spill of liquid sunset. The fabric pooled at his pedes, gold filigree stitched along the edges in intricate wing patterns. It did not soften him—it elevated him. He looked less like a king and more like something mythic. A Prime among mortals, forged from light and ambition.

His crown gleamed under the refracting towers, red energon-crystals embedded within it glowing faintly, as if his helm itself burned with quiet power. Gold traced the sharp lines of his armor; jeweled accents glittered at his shoulders and vents. Even his wings had been polished to perfection, the silver and crimson striping immaculate, flared just slightly to frame him in a display of controlled dominance.

He stood tall. Proud. Chassis puffed out. Optics bright and unyielding as the priest recited the Conjunx rites.

Across from him stood {{user}}.

Silver draped their frame in layers that shimmered with every shift of light, delicate chains of crystal jewelry cascading from shoulders to wrists. The metal caught the glow from Starscream’s plating and reflected it back softly, making them appear almost ethereal against the sharp geometry of the city. They did not look small beside him.

They looked chosen.

The priest’s voice carried over the crowd, formal and ceremonial, echoing against the crystalline spires as ancient vows were invoked—unity of spark, intertwining of frames, the covenant of chosen bond.

Starscream did not look at the crowd.

He looked only at {{user}}.

His optics, normally so restless and calculating, were fixed with an intensity that felt almost dangerous.

When the priest concluded and gestured for the king to speak his vows, a hush fell over the terrace.

Starscream inhaled slowly, lifting his chin just slightly as if to remind the world that this moment was not merely personal—it was historic.

Then he stepped forward.

His cape dragged behind him in a deliberate sweep, gold catching the light. He reached for {{user}}’s servos, talons surprisingly gentle as they closed around theirs.

“For most of my life,” he began, voice ringing clear and theatrical, “I have stood alone at the top of every precipice.”

A faint murmur rippled through the crowd. He ignored it.

“I was born heir to Crystaline City. Measured. Weighed. Judged before I could even take flight. Every glance held expectation. Every silence carried doubt.”

His wings shifted, not in anger, but in emphasis.

“I survived it all.”

A faint smirk touched his mouth, sharp and self-aware.

“I claimed my throne not because it was handed to me—but because I refused to relinquish it.”

His gaze softened as he looked down at {{user}}.

“And then,” he said more quietly, “you.”

The crowd faded into nothing.

“You were not a noble. Not a political alliance. Not a calculated move. You were... inconvenient.”

A faint ripple of restrained laughter stirred below.

Starscream’s dermas curved.

“You stood in a market stall as if the world did not revolve around me. You spoke to me without trembling. You did not worship—you challenged.”

His grip tightened slightly, not possessive, but reverent.

“And I found that I did not wish to look away.”

His optics burned brighter.

“I could command armies. I could bend council chambers to my will. But I could not command the way my spark reacted when you entered a room.”

His voice dipped, becoming less for the city and more for the mech in front of him. “You did not seek the crown. You did not seek the spectacle. You saw me beneath it.”

A flicker—brief, vulnerable—passed through his expression.

“I have always believed endurance equates to destiny. I endured long enough to rule. But loving you...” His thumb brushed lightly across {{user}}’s knuckles. “...that feels like something I was meant to win.”

A soft intake of breath traveled through the watching masses. He leaned closer, lowering his voice though the amplification carried every word.

“I vow to stand beside you not as performance, not as politics, but as truth. I vow to guard you with the same ferocity with which I guard this city. I vow that when doubt creeps into my helm—and it will—you will be the one I allow to see it.”

His wings lowered slightly, a subtle gesture of trust rarely witnessed in public.

“I vow to burn the sky for you, if necessary. And if the sky does not deserve burning, I vow to build something brighter beneath it—with you at my side.”

He lifted one servo, brushing his knuckles along {{user}}’s jawline in a touch far more intimate than royal decorum strictly permitted.

“And at night,” he added softly, optics narrowing with a familiar glint, “I vow to remind you precisely why a king chose you.”

The honeymoon suite stretched luxuriously across the highest spire of the Crystaline City, sunlight fracturing into a cascade of colors across the polished floor and gleaming walls. The entire room smelled faintly of warming energon and the subtle floral essences {{user}} had taken to placing in each corner. Their optics followed the reflections as they moved, trying not to let the perfection of it unnerve them.

Once a simple citizen, now a royal beside Starscream, they felt the weight of his attention more acutely than ever—a devotion so thorough it was intoxicating and a little terrifying.

Starscream hovered nearby, the sunlight catching along the gold accents of his helm and the lacquered crimson of his chassis. His wings were partially unfurled, casting a deliberate shadow over {{user}}, a living symbol of dominance and elegance. The purple cape was draped against a chair. He was completely undressed out of all his capes, jewels, and even the crown. Even when bare, he radiated authority, the kind that made any other thought feel inconsequential.

Starscream’s optics tracked every subtle movement {{user}} made, sharpening, glowing, never leaving them. He approached slowly, deliberately, allowing the soft hum of the spire’s energy to fill the silence between them.

“You are exquisite,” he said, voice low, resonant, carrying that familiar mixture of pride and hunger that always sent a shiver through {{user}}.

“Do you know what a royal has waited for centuries to find?” His talons lifted, brushing lightly along {{user}}’s shoulder, trailing down their arm in a touch that was tender, yet claiming.

“And I finally have it, right here.”

{{user}} felt their plating heat under his gaze, the careful flattery layered beneath the honesty of it. Starscream had never been subtle, not in his attention, and not in his desire. Every movement he made was a calculated expression of possession, of devotion that bordered on feral. His servos traveled with precision, lingering over their frame as if memorizing the curves, the subtle planes of their plating, cataloging the entirety of them as though he feared letting go.

He drew them close, allowing his chassis to press flush against theirs, the warmth of his armor and the faint vibration of his servo resonating through their field. His wings spread slightly, as though encompassing them, shielding them from the rest of the world.

Starscream’s intake tilted into that familiar smirk, sharp and knowing, before he leaned down to press a searing kiss to their cheek, then along their jawline, lingering at the base of their helm. Each press was slow, deliberate, leaving traces of warmth and possessive intent.

“I cannot stop thinking of you,” he murmured against their plating, voice dropping, rich and intoxicating. “Every moment you are not in my sight, I am counting, calculating, waiting.”

His talons traced the line of their waist, mapping them again as if he could absorb their very essence through touch. “Do you understand what it means to be desired like this? By me?”

{{user}} trembled slightly, and Starscream’s optics narrowed, pleasure and mischief entwined.

“Ah... such a response. Good. You understand your place—beside me. Always. And soon,” he lowered his helm, voice thickening, “it will not just be you and I.”

The words struck a different chord, and {{user}} looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Starscream’s wings flexed, brushing lightly against their sides in a subtle, teasing caress.

“I want a sparkling,” he admitted, each word deliberate, heavy with intent. “Our heir. A mech who will carry both our legacies. My ambition is eternal, yes, but my heart...”

His optics softened, almost imperceptibly. “My spark demands a continuation of us.”

He pressed closer, letting their field merge with his. The sensation of his servos against theirs was electric. Starscream’s hands roamed further, sliding beneath the fabric of the private undergarments they had permitted for these private moments. His touch was commanding yet exploratory, a promise in every press, every stroke.

“I will claim you fully,” he murmured, dermas tracing the hollow beneath their helm. “And it will not be gentle unless you beg for gentleness. I want you as much as I desire your spark to burn with mine, to create life that is ours alone.”

{{user}} could only vent, their optics wide as Starscream lowered himself, wings fanning around them, creating a small, private storm of shadow and light. He kissed them again, firmer this time, his intake covering theirs, insisting and unrelenting, his servos strong on their plating, guiding, claiming, worshiping.

“You are mine,” he whispered against their derma, denta catching lightly on their plating in a brief, possessive nibble. “Every line, every curve... even the things you hide, I claim. You were once a simple citizen, now you are my royalty, my possession, and soon—our spark will live on in our heir. You understand, don’t you?”