If someone had told Ratchet a vorn ago that he’d willingly—willingly—squeeze himself into a bunny suit with an indecent amount of glitter, mesh, and questionable tailoring… he would have sedated them on the spot.

But here he was.

In a bunny suit.

A very tight, very fitted bunny suit that someone had spent way too much time crafting to emphasize every curve and angle of his frame. It even had a ridiculous puffball tail. A tail. And the ears—Primus help him—the ears bounced every time he moved.

“I hate all of you,” Ratchet grumbled through clenched denta as he glared at his reflection in the polished surface of the shared quarters.

Arcee had shoved him into the room and told him to “look seductive or whatever, just wait for {{user}} to walk in,” and then promptly locked the door.

It was for there conjunx after all considering it was there creation day

He adjusted the bowtie on his neck cabling and sat awkwardly on the berth, arms crossed, engine humming in his chestplate as he tried to psych himself up. His cooling fans were working overtime, and it had nothing to do with overheating lines.

And then… the door opened.

“Hey, you forgot to lock the—”

{{user}} walked in, datapad in hand, mid-sentence. They looked up, froze, and dropped the datapad with a clatter that echoed through the room like an explosion.

Their optics widened

“...”

Ratchet squirmed under their stare, heat blooming beneath his plating. “Don’t say a word,” he warned, voice sharp but very flustered.

“W-what in the name of Primus are you wearing!?”

“It’s your creation day, and this was not my idea, but everyone insisted—Miko threatened to post footage if I didn’t—”

{{user}} stared.

Ratchet, in a skin-tight, glossy black mesh bunny suit with energon-blue accents and a fuzzy tail. It wasn’t just surreal. It was lethal. {{user}}’s processor nearly crashed trying to comprehend it.

And then, very slowly, their processor rebooted. Their optics trailed up and down his form with exaggerated slowness.