Heavy Metal (Transformers x Reader Oneshots)

(G1 Rumble) - Just A Phase

Reader's current ability: Phasing/Intangibility

In other words, vibrating your atoms so god damn hard you go through stuff.

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"Hi, welcome to Cwispy Cweme. What can I get you?"

Right, time to test the recited dialogue you went over in your head for the past 5 minutes.

"I'll have the uh-"

The number 9.

The number 9 large.

The-

"The number 6 with extra dip-"

'Way to go, (Y/n).'

"And a uh... and a large soda."

You didn't even want that, you'd realized. Alas, you were too far gone and decided that, even if their soda wasn't at all to your liking, you couldn't order what you actually wanted now - all thanks to your shining ordering skills.

"Great! What dip would you like?"

You got this one.

"I- BBQ."

You don't got this one - you don't even like BBQ sauce. You have to redo the order, try and get the number 9 large. It's a Cwispy Cweme for fuck's sake, just-

"Coming right up!"

Nevermind then. The cheesy cashier was already gone to get your unwanted order to the kitchen. Can't stall the line any longer, you'd told yourself as you moved over on the waiting side, allowing the next customer in line to order his sad, stale donuts. You crossed your arms over your chest, foot awkwardly tapping to the beat of 'Hot Stuff'.

Had you been paying attention to your surroundings - and not focusing on the 'Hot, hot, hot-' that was continuously blasting over the old speakers in the background - maybe you would have noticed the sounds of metal-on-metal accompanied by angry voices shouting something about boobies and turkeys. You were brought out of your blank wall-staring when a heavily auto-tuned voice smoothly yelled something about rumbling and ejaculating - that's what you guessed whoever-it-was said, at least.

Looking towards the window, your eyes got to witness a blueish-purple, roughly 2-meter robot drop from the skies about as graciously as a three-legged ballerina, his feet not-so-gently landing on the poor pavement - cracks appearing where he landed.

'One heavy bastard, ain't he?'

Ironically you didn't panic when he looked at the building, you didn't jump when his visor directed itself straight at your human self, and you certainly didn't scream when a smirk plastered itself on his faceplates - his arms morphing into-

"Pile drivers?" you'd asked nobody in particular. Your fellow broke Cweme customers seemed to be too frightened to answer your rhetorical question or dare move from their spots in fear of angering the somewhat well-known robo-terrorist. Before you could even look around some more, the heavy purple bastard rotated his body to face the building, bent over and-

A terrible earthquake - produced by none other than the rumbling tincan - broke out, causing the poorly-made Cwispy Cweme to begin shaking itself apart as bits of plaster and regulation-violating chunks of ceiling started to sprinkle themselves on top of you and your fellows' heads.

The ceiling sprinkles were probably better than the food itself, to be honest.

As soon as the cracks started appearing, however, people rushed towards the exit, closing the space between themselves and the sentient can of ravioli that was currently shaking the building apart. Pushing each other left and right - they resembled headless chickens.