silverrr66

[silverrr66]

Not to bother but could I get some headcanons for obsessed arcce?

sure! <3

[tfp] obsessed!arcee x human!reader a pinch od valveplug at the very end

cw: possessiveness, controlling and obsessive behavior, stalking, overprotectiveness

word count: 500

After Arcee’s feelings become overwhelming, even for such a capable warrior, you’ll rarely be able to afford a moment of privacy.

She goes to great lengths to accompany you everywhere. Drives you to work, willing to wait through your entire shift just to make sure you get home, or back to base, safely. Grocery runs, movie nights, even distant work trips, she’s your personal ride every time she’s not on a mission. And she waits for you. Impatiently, yearning for you to return to the range of her optics so she can keep watch again, but she waits, mistrustful of your vehicle.

Only she can keep you safe, and she’s the only one you should trust. She would do absolutely anything for you, so why would you even need your own car? Whisper a single word about sneaking out of the base, and Arcee will be more than happy to sneak out with you.

Which leads to her spending almost every day parked in your garage. Arcee knows you’re an adult. You can take care of yourself in theory, you don’t need her constant supervision or protection. But she needs to know you’re safe. That she won’t lose you.

Overprotectiveness will seep deep into her circuits. To the point where the need to protect you will completely dictate her daily routine. She thinks about you constantly, always worried that her absence might lead to disaster — just like it had with her previous partners.

She won’t make the same mistake again. You are forever.

Which is why your requests for more space are not something she can truly tolerate. Sure, she’ll back off, she’ll do anything for you. But to her, that just means she needs to be more careful not get caught again. She won’t stop keeping watch over you.

Her paranoia about your safety will lead to stalking during patrols. She’ll watch your daily life from afar, yearning to be part of it, but knowing that being too forward might damage your relationship even further.

So she lurks quietly, watching you hang out with friends, silently longing to be part of you but holding herself back to just a voiceless howl, begging you to come back home. Back to her, where she can wrap you in safety. Where she knows nothing can hurt you. Back to your garage, where the two of you spent countless evenings, nights, and mornings together. Just the two of you, the way your life should be.

Jealousy will lead her to frequently interfere with your outings. A brush of the hand, tucking your hair behind your ear, long lingering glances, all to show others you’re taken. You’re hers.

Arcee isn’t clingy, preferring your presence over constant cuddling, but after every such encounter she needs to remind you who your partner is.

A subtle touch turns into greedy kisses and possessive hickeys, making the ethics of your relationship feel increasingly blurry.

But Arcee begs so beautifully for your attention, loves and adores you with such intensity that the red flags turn pink as she overloads inside you. Rare confessions of love now pouring from her intake like a raging river.

[silverrr66]

Some nasty nurses we have here

[silverrr66]

I have not been able to stop thinking of smokescreen being one with boobs think we could get more of that pretty please like oh god him just being obsessed with your body and adoring it

smokescreen x human!reader very suggestive/sexual content

cw: possessiveness, clinginess, breast play

word count: 1000

"Smokescreen" a reprimand.

"Hmm?" and a cheerful hum.

You glare at the large helm blocking your laptop screen, leaving no illusions about how much you currently disapprove of his clinginess. When all you get in return is an even wider, confident smirk and Smokescreen leaning in to steal a kiss, you reach your limit. You press your palm against the center of his faceplate, covering his intake, and try to clear the space between you and your laptop by pushing him away with all your strength. Naturally, it ends in utter failure. Smokescreen doesn’t budge.

"You won’t succeed, sweetspark," he says, his voice muffled by your hand. "No force in the world can pull me away from you right now."

As he starts placing small, quick kisses on the inside of your palm, you groan in frustration.

Sometimes, his clinginess was honestly endearing, especially after a long separation, when you finally had free time to lounge together on the couch in the garage, showering each other with affection all day long. But today, it was giving you nothing but a headache. You had mountains of overdue work to catch up on, which you had informed him about beforehand, adding that you wouldn’t be able to meet up today. You just hadn’t expected that he’d come to visit anyway, barge into your home, and sprawl out on your bed with you, making it nearly impossible to get anything done with his unrestrained longing.

"Don’t you have some Decepticon afts to kick?" you ask, craning your head in every direction in search of a good place to actually see what you do.

"Naaah, not today. Today, I’m all yours," he says between kisses. "I mean… I’m always yours, of course! Only yours. But today especially."

His large optics gaze at you, but you refuse to make eye contact. You’re still trying to find a way to ignore his advances, which hurts but also fuels his determination to keep vying for your attention. He hasn’t had many chances to do so lately. Smokescreen wanted to make the most of every nanoklik together, not feel like a third wheel between you and your laptop.

"Come on, sweetspark," he whines, prying your hand away from his faceplate. "Let’s do something fun. Maybe we can try beating our last record on the track, hm?"

"Sorry, Smokes. I’m not going anywhere." You sigh. "I have to finish this work, so be a good mech and find something to do."

"Can I keep myself busy with you?"

That question makes you want to scream, but before you explode, an idea forms in your head.

"Actually… you can," you say.

Smokescreen’s faceplate lights up with joy, as if you had just gifted him a star from the sky. He’s already preparing to bury you under an avalanche of kisses when you stop him with an outstretched hand. A single optical ridge rises.

"Give me your servo," you encourage, and Smokescreen obeys without hesitation. "I’ll give you something to play with since you’re so adamant about not backing off. Just, for the love of God, be gentle."

You guide his large servo under your loose T-shirt until it reaches your chest. At the contact with hard metal, you shiver slightly, but you leave his servo there. Immediately, his thumb begins stroking your skin.

You’re lucky you didn’t wear a bra today.

"Wow," Smokescreen sighs, utterly captivated by the softness and plumpness of your breasts. "They’re so soft."

"And sensitive," you warn. "Don’t squeeze too hard, alright?"

"Mhm," he hums, unable to tear his gaze away from his servo working under your shirt.

"Here’s the deal. You let me finish my work in peace, and then we’ll think about breaking that record, okay?"

"Mhm," another barely coherent response. But you’d take that over having his helm constantly shoved in front of your laptop.

Smokescreen found himself on a cloud nine.

He had experienced the softness of your body before. He was convinced he knew it by heart, and though every time he held and touched you was pure bliss, it didn’t even compare to what he was feeling now.

Remembering to be gentle, he alternates between squeezing and stroking, familiarizing himself with this new shape, savoring how easily your flesh yields under his fingers and then bounces back into place when released. He quickly becomes mesmerized by the sensation and craves more. He squeezes again, and again, and again, sometimes gathering more from the left, sometimes from the right, utterly enchanted by the plushness you’ve allowed him to experience, yet profoundly grateful for this taste of true happiness.

Smokescreen suddenly feels the overwhelming need to share that happiness with you. To show you just how grateful he is in the only way he knows how.

Yet, he cannot let go of his selfish desires in the process.

"So?" you ask after several minutes of silence. "Do you like it?"

"I want more," Smokescreen whispers.

"Uh, sure. The other one’s all yours."

"No. I want more," he says mysteriously, staring at your chest like a predator eyeing its prey.

You stop working just in time for the attack.

With a speed unfathomable to you, Smokescreen pushes your shirt up and slips his helm underneath. Without wasting a second, a dense rain of kisses descends upon your chest, starting from your sternum and eventually moving to your breast, kissing all around your nipple and in less precise spots.

"Incorrigible!" you shout.

You pull at the collar of your shirt to investigate what he’s doing, hoping he might reconsider upon seeing your fury, but Smokescreen has no intention of looking up — far too absorbed in worshipping your body.

Which is adorable and lovely… just not when you need to work.

"Primus, you’re so beautiful and soft," he murmurs. He momentarily latches onto the skin of your inner breast, attempting to leave a peculiar hickey, which he successfully does after a few moments. "I don’t want to break any records today," he informs you, nuzzling against your left breast, rubbing his faceplate over it. "I want to stay right here. Forever."

[silverrr66]

Knock Out ABSOLUTELY would have an onlybots account, tho. (He's so popular!)

Literally everyone is subscribed to him. Even the Autobots.

If he brings a human into it things get even wilder. Bots discovering brand new kinks because of KO (yet again)

[silverrr66]

G1 Transformers, where everything is the same, but Megatron and Optimus have human spouses who "interfere" with their battles.

Megatron is on the verge of finally destroying Optimus, but suddenly, he receives a comm link from his adorable spouse, telling him to come home because they're out of an ingredient for dinner. Of course, this means all the Decepticons must retreat. Megatron rushes off as fast as possible to fulfill his beloved's request because Primus forbid he disappoints them. This is already the fourth time this month that something like this has happened.

Optimus finally has Megatron in his sights when he suddenly remembers that his spouse asked him to pick them up from work today because their car broke down, so he has to cut the fight short. Megatron understands the situation. They agree to reschedule the battle for next Thursday.

The Autobots encounter the Decepticons in the wild during a patrol, but the leaders of both factions can’t engage in a duel because they already have evening plans. Optimus has a picnic date. Megatron promised his spouse a walk. They shake servos and promise that next time, they’ll kick each other’s afts.

It turns out that their spouses are actually best friends, casually exchanging tea from the two opposing factions.

[silverrr66]

sinking onto your partners spike but youre so small and so tight that they can only go so far, barely getting past the tip of their spike and having plenty more left. they are just too big, even when mass displaced and you already feel so full. their processor whispers for them to just ram it inside without a care as they battle their own desire for you. theyve been waiting too long for this, to finally feel your valve, to lose themselves fully within you. with your hips up they start a shallow and careful rhythm again only using their tip, contantly fighting their urge to thrust it all inside, bottoming out and thus breaking your little body. it is a dangerous game, one that your soft pleas and gasps for more –despite barely being able to take any– dont make any less risky.

[silverrr66]

scissoring with ES bumblebee. you are so much smaller than him as you work your greedy hips up and down eagerly against his swollen valve, but your eagerness cant match his volume. he is so loud and whimpery, moaning unashamedly, almost crying, bucking his hips each time your nodes make contact through the shared fluids.

drool dripping from his intake. shallow breaths leaving your dry throat.

bee has far more experience under his belt than you and yet he is much more sensitive than you had imagined, probably from not getting any action in so long. he has become a little rusty, so to speak, but thats fine. you will gladly help him gain practice again.

[silverrr66]

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 ✧˖°

[tfp] synth-en!obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader 18+ content/valveplug

cw: possessiveness, jealousy, top!optimus (he can top you once. as a treat <3), subish!optimus (kinda...), reader matches his freak, explicit valveplug, rough sex, overstimulation, breast play, no aftercare?, mention of ratchet's human partner (which is actually different reader lmao)

word count: 5100

sorry it took me so long to write this bitch; i had to rewrite everything three times before I was satisfied. also, don't expect an overly toxic optimus. i decided to stick as close to canon as possible while giving him just a pinch of freakiness, horniness and aggression

Optimus's servo smeared with energon shoots forward, locking around the helm of the nearest Vehicon. Behind him, Bumblebee and Bulkhead fire at the enemies guarding the energon cubes deeper within the cave, forcing the Decepticon soldiers to focus on them rather than on the exposed Optimus, whose servo grips the helm in a death embrace. Prime presses the enemy further against the cold, unyielding wall, just as unrelenting, securing against any escape before tightening his digits. They tremble for a moment, battling against metal, but it does not remain defiant for long. It yields to his strength, bends, gives way, until at last, completely crumples beneath his bare servo, spraying energon straight onto Optimus’s masked faceplate.

Violence is an inescapable shackle of war. Unyielding and inevitable. Optimus loathed violence, despised it, resisted using it, forcing himself only in the rarest of circumstances.

But there was not a trace of reluctance in the way he killed the Vehicon. This was not a wartime obligation or a fight for survival — it was murder. A deliberate act, cold and devoid of sympathy for mere cannon fodder, judging by how nonchalantly Optimus shakes the still-warm energon off his servo, all the while scanning for his next target.

“Bossbot?” Bulkhead asks, but the concern in his voice does not reach Optimus’s audials.

The Autobot leader’s entire focus is on the three remaining Vehicons, bravely defending two carts loaded with energon. On future victims, sacks to unload his uncharacteristic aggression upon. He wants to feel metal yielding beneath his servo again. To plunge his arm into a chassis and tear out a still-beating spark; to experience warm energon coating his entire frame. To break his own moral backbone, free himself, to finally taste victory in an era of failures.

He wants to live, to be free, rid himself of the restrictions he imposed upon himself eons ago. Optimus wants to kill Megatron and bring you his helm impaled upon his blade, for he is finally ready for absolute victory. But he also wants you. To devour, drown in, possess. Now, while the energon on his frame is still warm, while he can allow himself to indulge, while he feels like a god.

The fact that he cannot have you only stokes the unrestrained aggression further.

A storm of emotions swirls within him, spinning through his processor, through spark, and behind the interface panel, tormenting the spike swollen with thoughts of you, until Optimus finally lets rage and hatred win. Allows them to consume him completely and take control over every fiber of his being, including the most hidden, most private parts.

“Cover me!” he throws out a scrap of rationality before charging forward with a speed unsettlingly unnatural for a being of such immense power and height.

With only a few strides, he closes the distance between himself and the promise of liberation, dodging blaster shots raining down from ahead and behind, until he reaches the soldiers still fighting valiantly. He grabs the nearest one in his servo while seamlessly switching the other one to the blade, effortlessly slicing through the helm of a second Vehicon. Digits clench, repeating the sensation of his strength from before, still relishing in the pleasure of breaking free from the chains of nobility. More hot energon splatters onto his tainted frame.

The last surviving Vehicon fights bravely to the bitter end, trying to aim his blaster straight at Optimus’s exposed helm, but he is not granted the chance to strike. Prime releases the headless body of the other soldier and immediately turns his attention to him, predator locking onto his next prey. Before the shot can fire, his blade plunges directly into the Vehicon’s spark, snuffing out his meager, meaningless existence.

Optimus watches the body slide off his energon-coated blade and crumple onto the ground. Only then does it cease to interest him, to hold any value.

Yet, he does not feel satisfied. He still has the strength to fight, craves more enemies to extinguish. He is ready to face Unicron himself, the synthetic energon coursing through his lines whispering that he would win such a battle. He would triumph over anyone. Unstoppable. A god.

“Is that all of them?” he asks, a flicker of hope for more lingering in his voice. He needs to release this energy, to focus his pulsing, muddled processor on something simple. Something that will grant him relief from his hunger, no matter its origin.

“Yes,” Bumblebee replies. Despite his unease over their leader’s state, he adds, “All the energon is ours.”

“Bossbot,” Bulkhead tries again, “are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Exquisite, Bulkhead,” Prime responds, his tone bored, completely uninterested in continuing the conversation.

His thoughts have already shifted to someone else. Someone softer, sweeter.

His spike throbs irritatingly, demanding attention it will have to wait a little longer for.

Optimus presses his digits to his audials, unbothered by the energon staining them, and adds, “I am sending coordinates for the ground bridge. Be quick.”

He retracts his battle mask and turns toward his teammates.

“Gather as much energon as you can carry,” he instructs them, but the words are not truly for them. He is absent, lost in unreachable contemplation.

His optics, now a furious green, stare ahead, fixed on the point where the ground bridge will appear, each nanoklik of delay eroding his fragile patience. He clenches his servos into fists, trying to focus on that sensation, to concentrate on anything that will quell the irritation of waiting. Waiting until he can return to you and see you again.

Yet, he would not refuse one more Decepticon. The energon on his frame is beginning to cool, becoming nothing more than an echo of the euphoria of unchained rage. He had felt its effects for too short a time. Was not granted the full release of all the filth accumulated over eons of functioning on traditional, insufficient energon — and he wants more. Needs more. Wants to hear the clang of metal against metal again, to see the sparks and feel them ignite another fight; to witness how easily his enemies break beneath his might.

He tilts his helm slightly toward Bulkhead. A strong soldier — he would surely pose a challenge. Perhaps he could toy with him for a moment before hurling him across the cave with a single strike, indulging in his restless need to move, to act.

Their gazes meet for a brief moment, and Optimus sees hesitation in Bulkhead’s step. Uncertainty. A shadow of fear that reassures him of his own invincibility. He smirks triumphantly, even though their battle was only a fantasy.

But it could be real. Would you be proud of him if he took Bulkhead down with one hand? Finally proved his strength, impressed you with his power? He imagines you praising him. A simple “my good mech” rings loud in his processor, but its electrifying effect quickly travels downward, teasing his spike, reminding him just how much he needs you. How desperately he wants to be with you.

His pedes shift impatiently.

He prays to Primus that you are in the base right now. He does not trust himself at this moment to believe he could endure even a few more kliks apart without killing someone with his bare servos.

At last, the darkness of the cave is swept away by the flash of the Ground Bridge. Without waiting for the others, Optimus strides through first, each impatient step bringing him closer to you �� until he is met with the familiar sight of the silo. And in the middle of it, standing on a lower platform, is you, seemingly engaged in a pleasant conversation with Arcee, judging by your warm smile.

You say something to the femme, a few words before your attention shifts to him, and you freeze upon seeing the energon staining his frame. As if you were afraid of him, though it is not your shock that truly irks him.

No, it is the fact that you were talking to Arcee, smiling at her, giving her attention that she does not deserve. Because it is he who is your partner, your lover, your soulmate, your future conjunx, and it is he who deserves your affection. He should be the only bot in your life, and this determination, this jealousy pricking at his spark, leads him straight to you, ignoring Arcee’s greeting and attempt to ask a question.

With measured gentleness, a fleeting echo of his former self, he scoops you into his servo and lifts you to his faceplate.

“Optimus, wait!” you plead, but your words do not reach him.

He presses you against the warm, energon-free metal along his intake, securing your back with two digits to prevent any attempts at escape. Like a cat seeking affection, he nuzzles against you a few times, rubbing your entire body and ruining your clothes and hair in the process.

The softness that envelops him soothes his jealousy. Not completely, for he would prefer a far less innocent form of touch, eagerly anticipating that moment, but it is enough to satiate, if only slightly, his hunger for you.

But only for a moment, because he quickly grows bored of simple cuddling. With his thumb, he tugs your shirt upward, revealing a stretch of beautiful, velvet skin, immediately pressesing his intake against it, leaving small but eager kisses.

“Optimus! Optimus, wait!” Your sweet voice quells the hatred and fury within him, but it awakens a different craving, one that has nothing to do with ripping Decepticons apart with his bare servos.

The way you call his name is beautiful. Desperate. But in the mania of his desire, he cannot tell whether it is pleasure or fear that laces your voice. What he does know, is that he needs to hear it again, but in a more private setting. In the seclusion of your quarters within the base, where the only interactions you would be allowed to have would be with him. Where only he would be granted the privilege of experiencing your melodious voice, your laughter, and your pleasure.

With his goal clearly defined, his pedes carry him towards your quarters of their own accord. He forgets about the energon still splattered across his frame — the deadly harvest of synthetic energon — and about his teammates, who continue to watch him in silent horror. His world narrows to you, to the sound of your voice still calling his name, to your occasional laughter whenever his intake tickles a particularly sensitive spot on your stomach. That is all that matters to him in this moment. That is the only thing of importance.

The only problem he is willing to concern himself with right now is the spike pressing painfully against the walls of its cage.

"Optimus!" You try once more. More forcefully, with enough anger and accusation to tear him from his trance of desire. His optics break away from your stomach, and he looks at you with a distant gaze. Yet he has no intention of stopping the way he’s caressing your body. Primus, he wants to devour you so badly. "Can you finally stop?!"

He obeys your demand, watching with invisible amusement as you sigh in relief. His intake remains on you, lips brushing against skin with feathery delicacy, dangerously close to your crotch. He knows he's overstepping, going too far, but he can't pull himself away from you, lost in visions of the future, in mass displacement, in the full-fledged idea of drowning in you.

His glossa, as if it had a mind of its own, slips out from his intake. The tip of his Cybertronian tongue grazes your navel, timidly trailing downward—but before Optimus makes a mistake he will regret for the rest of his life, he feels a kick against his cheek.

Your kick.

Weak, faint, one easily mistaken for an angry kiss, but firm enough to make him retract his glossa. And most importantly, it finally gives you a chance to say something longer than just sweetly crying out his name.

"Christ, why are you so pent-up today?"

"I have dreamed of you for an entire solar cycle. I withered with longing, waiting until I could finally hold you in my servo." He opens up to you, finally gathering the strength and courage to do so. Even if his boldness is artificial.

"I'm glad to hear that, but you've gotten a bit ahead of yourself, my love."

Love. His optics widen slightly, as if that pet name were entirely new to him. And in a way, it was. Because its use reignites the urge to rush to your cozy four walls and beg you to feed him "dearest," "beloved," and "sweetspark" until he goes mad.

"Optimus." A foreign voice pierces through the veil of sweetness, pulling him away from you. Something he cannot accept. His faceplate, unusually expressive today, freezes with irritation because he does not want to be Optimus for anyone but you right now.

Debates ignoring the bitter call, returning his thoughts and attention to you, but a quick assessment of your irritated and rather dissatisfied expression convinces him that, this time, he should at least pretend to care about his teammates. He sincerely hopes you will reward him later for the magnanimity he is about to show them.

Still holding you close to his faceplate but covering more of you with digits to shield his treasure from prying optics, Optimus turns to Arcee, the one who had called him earlier.

"What matter requires my immediate attention, Arcee?" he asks in a sharp tone, so unlike the familiar and beloved gentle giant that it chills your blood.

Arcee must have felt something similar, as she narrows her eyes warily but does not yield under the pressure of her leader's anger.

"Ratchet left the hangar a few Earth hours ago. I can’t locate him, he’s not appearing on the radar or responding to comms."

"So he's with his partner," Optimus replies as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, clearly bored with the conversation.

"What makes you so sure? He mentioned going after Megatron himself. He could just as easily be dead or held prisoner on Megatron’s ship!"

"Arcee is right," you interject. "This isn't something to dismiss so easily."

Optimus sighs, exasperated. This is not how he envisioned spending his time with you. Did not expect to find so many obstacles standing between him and the sweet reward for reclaiming the mine.

"Check his human’s home first," Prime insists. "If he isn’t there, which is as close to impossible as can be, only then do you contact me. Is that clear?"

Arcee studies Optimus with a watchful gaze for a moment but, finding only cold, impenetrable stone, gives up on further argument. For a brief second, her optics shift to you in gratitude for speaking up for her, something that Optimus does not entirely approve of. He shields you further with his servo, a possessive movement, blocking you from any foreign gazes or interaction. At the same time, he straightens his back to appear even larger than he already is.

Today, you belong only to him.

"Fine," Arcee hisses. "Who should I take on recon?"

"Anyone," Optimus says. He ends the conversation by turning on his heel and continuing down the corridor.

His intake returns to nipping at your stomach, but this time, he does so more aggressively. Faster, as if trying to rid himself of the frustration gnawing at him while ensuring that all of your attention remains solely on him. The tip of his thumb starts to toy with the waistband of your pants, attempting to make up for the seconds lost discussing his best friend. In response, you deliver another kick to him.

This time, he finds it utterly adorable.

"Do you really not care what’s happening with Ratchet? You know, your best friend?"

"I feel no need to concern myself with Ratchet’s condition when he himself informed me of his whereabouts."

"What makes you so sure he got held up there?"

"Because I now understand how he felt, rushing home to his beloved when they accidentally called him. Because I feel exactly the same way at this very moment."

His keen optics do not miss the faint blush that blooms across your cheeks.

Primus. Grant him the strength not to devour you right here and now.

"Wait." You speak. You breathe a sigh of relief when he obeys your command, stopping right in front of the newly installed Cybertronian showers. He lifts an optical ridge, prompting you to continue.

"Could you at least wash the energon off yourself?"

"I am heading to the washracks," he states calmly. "I assume you wish to join me."

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

"Later. I have a feeling I’ll need them more later," you reply, and Optimus has to resist the sudden urge to abandon the washracks entirely and rip your clothes to shreds right here and now.

Divine intervention (your words) is the only thing preventing him from completely destroying both his and your reputation.

One last time before your brief separation, he presses a kiss to your stomach.

"I assure you, I will not take long. Wait for me in your quarters."

"As you wish, Opti."

Primus once again tested his self-control.

You shut the door and immediately press your back against it, needing even a second of respite from everything that just happened.

"I have dreamed of you for an entire solar cycle…"

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

Overwhelmed by his unusual assertiveness, you cover your burning cheeks with your hands. But you don’t stay in that position for long, realizing that your blush is nearly as hot as his intake, his glossa. You can still feel the remnants of his kisses on your stomach and the desperation he poured into them. The hot breath that, over and over again, enveloped your bare skin.

You can’t escape from those thoughts, drifting on the edge of madness, wondering what happened to your dignity that his hunger made you feel like a lovestruck teenager.

Who swapped your Optimus for this pent-up, horny beast?

And most importantly, why didn't you mind at all?

In an attempt to regain control over your body and thoughts that were drifting into the near future, you decide to occupy yourself with something. Anything, as long as it is quick and allows you to gather yourself while you wait for his return.

Once again, your mind returns to the searing heat of the glossa working on your stomach. Taking a deep, reassuring breath, you head towards the cabinet and pull out a glass.

Yes, water will do you good, cooling the fire and restoring clarity to your thoughts. Especially since it is only now that you realize the dryness in your throat. Then, you will unpack your clothes from the suitcase. Mhm, that’s a good plan, you think, taking a sip of water. You will certainly have enough time to change out of your old hoodie and sweatpants into something more befitting of Optimus Prime — even if the concept of fashion was still an enigma to him, not entirely comprehensible.

Reaching for the bottle again, planning to pour yourself another drink, you freeze with the glass at your lips as the door suddenly swings open. And through it steps none other than a mass-displaced Optimus Prime, leaving you dumbfounded.

"It hasn't even been five minutes!"

Now free of energon but still dripping water in a few places, he closes the door behind him. "Forgive me, my dearest, but I was compelled to hasten my return," he says.

You finish your water and place the glass at the far end of the counter, cursing internally that your plan has just crumbled due to his untamed excitement. "It’s fine. But seriously, you could’ve at least given me two more minu…tes."

The words die in your throat as you feel hundreds of kilograms of living metal pressing against your rear, pinning you to the kitchen counter. Apparently uncertain of the effectiveness of his trap, Optimus places a servo on the cold marble as well, blocking your escape from the side.

Not that you were planning to escape, really.

"I could not wait any longer for us to be alone," he whispers directly into your ear, warm breath subtly stirring your hair. "I need you, sweetspark."

The unfamiliar passion in his deep, thick voice plays with your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You should feel alarmed — you know this well. Instinct urges you to try and flee, to break free from the predator, but you cannot. Because the truth is, you do not want to move. You want to take advantage of this small shift in your dynamic. To channel his fervor toward your own needs, burning, pulsing, demanding his spike.

"I need you too," you say, adopting a low, raspy tone that does not contrast with your quickened breath. You turn to face him, only to be immediately consumed by the green glow of his optics, which seem to burn even brighter than usual. Optimus presses his hips against you more firmly, and even through the layer of sweatpants, you can feel that he is on fire.

He leans over you, a servo curling around the back of your head, and finally, he devours you, his heated intake sealing over your lips. He kisses you ravenously, greedily, as if he had been starving for centuries, setting a pace you struggle to keep up with. You try, chasing after his intake as it leaves kisses on your lips over and over again, but it proves futile when Optimus decides to trace a path downward. He attacks the corner of your mouth, your chin, and the edge of your jaw before moving to your neck, leaving several quick kisses before pausing for a moment.

"I can endure no longer," he whispers, and to confirm his words, he gently bites the skin on the side of your neck, only to immediately soothe the mark with the tip of his glossa. "[Name], I beg you, if I do not ram my spike into you this instant, I am convinced I will explode," he confesses.

With processor turned to mush and need surging through his circuits, Optimus opens his interface panel. His engorged spike, already dripping pink transfluid from its tip, presses against your stomach, rubbing against the fabric and leaving, thankfully washable, rosy streaks. You cannot tear your gaze away from this pathetically shameless display, basking in the heat of his desire.

"Are you particularly attached to your current coverings?" he asks, snapping you out of your trance.

"No, um, not really. Why?"

"I am pleased to hear that," he replies.

He grips the loose fabric of your sweatpants and, with a single motion, tears them in half, leaving you clad only in your ruined, slick underwear. But not for long. Your panties meet the same fate as your sweatpants, joining the shredded fabric on the floor beneath your feet.

The sight of your heat shatters the deadly seriousness of his faceplate as Optimus smiles, satisfied. At last, he has reached the climax of his journey, having pushed through the jungle of team complications and the forced visit to the washracks. But for a sight as breathtaking as this, for the intoxicating scent of your desire seeping into his intake and clouding his processor, and, above all, for you, it had all been worth it.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, unable to tear his optics away from your valve, even as you struggle to remove your hoodie and bra. "I am the most fortunate mech in the history of Cybertron."

Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you into the air, ignoring your startled yelp, which quickly transforms into a delighted giggle. And Primus, if that was not the most beautiful sound in the universe… Optimus would have crushed every Decepticon into dust if it meant you enjoyed this mere glimpse of his strength.

He aligns the tip of his spike with your burning entrance, teasing your wet lips with a single subtle touch that nearly drives him to overload. But he wants to last. He must, though he knows his stamina will not grant him mercy tonight.

"Optimus," you try, "maybe we could move to the bed, huh?"

"Forgive my impatience, my dearest," he responds, "but I fear I can endure no longer."

"Mhm, alrighhh… ah!"

With a fluid motion, he slides his thick spike into you, fitting two puzzle pieces into perfect unity.

"Primus, [Name]!" he gasps.

His sharpened senses push him down the path of madness.

Your walls tighten around his spike, welcoming your lover with affectionate reverence, and Optimus is overtaken by a profound sense of belonging and rightness, as if, after a long day’s work, he has finally come home. Buried deep within you, lost in the nearly claustrophobic sensation of your tight heat enveloping his spike, he dares to believe that this place is more comforting than Cybertron itself. And if this were to be your daily reality, he would have no objections to remaining on Earth for eternity.

"Opti, ah, fuck…" you try, slightly dazed by the sheer enormity of him stretching you out. Secured by the servos gripping your thighs, you allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing yourself closer to the ocean of green. Being this near, you have the impression that the alien color of his optics is about to swallow you whole. Which is not far from the truth when Optimus begins kissing your collarbones, lightly nipping at your skin, trying not to lose his mind while waiting for your magic words.

"You can move, sweetheart."

The roar of his engine makes it clear — he is beyond delighted to hear that.

"As you wish," he growls against your skin.

The liberation he feels at finally being able to pump his spike into your heat is exquisite, yet treacherous, for Optimus cannot restrain himself from setting a fast pace. His hips ram into yours over and over, savoring the sight of the slight bulge moving across your stomach and the wet sounds of transfluid mixing with your juices — the most intimate union of two species. He is burning up, overheating, but even that pales in comparison to the molten lava that sears him inside your valve. If he cared enough, he might worry that you would melt him, truly fusing you both into one.

"Holy Primus," he pants, digging his digits deeper into the flesh of your rear. In response to the slight sting, you tighten your arms around his neck. "I am not pulling out of you tonight. Not even for a single nanoklik."

"Hah, w-what the hell did that synthetic energon…" you start, but a single powerful thrust momentarily robs you of speech. Seeking balance and clarity, you press your forehead against the cool glass of his chassis, but the tremors Optimus sends through your entire body do not allow you to stay there for long. "…do to you? Where did my mech, the one who begged for the strap, disappear to?"

"He is… s-still here," he assures you, purring with delight as he feels your slick, gummy walls clench around his spike, practically milking him with every drag. With such encouragement from your body, he cannot afford to slow down, determined to grant you a climax that will make you see stars. Or rather, one of your first orgasms. "If you so desire, hrrn, you may see him later."

"I don't think I'll, fuck, have the strength for anything later," you reply, words constantly broken by moans or gasps for breath.

"A-a pity, hah! I had hoped that you, too, might manage to wear me out."

You feel the shape of a smirk against the skin of your neck, where his faceplate is currently nestled. Bastard — you think, but cannot stay angry at him for long when every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. From the crown of your head to your curled-up toes. Optimus is lucky that his spike is so impossibly large. Otherwise, he would be treading on very thin ice tonight — something he proves moments later that he is more than willing to risk.

"My dearest," he murmurs into your neck. The involuntary clench of the softest valve he has ever known in his long life tells him that you enjoy his possessiveness. And what kind of servant would he be if he did not fulfill his master's every desire? "My most beloved. Mine to converse with, mine to kiss. Mine to interface with. Mine. Mine."

His greedy litany is abruptly cut short when your valve clamps down tightly around his spike.

"Ah, Opti!" you cry out. "I'm about to—"

"I as well, ah, I…"

He buries his spike deep inside you, pressing his hips against yours and pulling you even closer. Sticky transfluid spurts from his spike, and you reward him with your own release, now fully sealing your union. And though Optimus fills you perfectly, a few stray drops of your mingled love manage to escape your stretched cunt, soiling the insides of your thighs.

Chasing the divine bliss of overload, Optimus does not grant you much time to rest. He starts moving his hips once more, pushing his transfluid deeper into your body in preparation for a refill.

And at that exact moment, amidst the wet, filthy sounds of his spike plunging into your valve, a faint knocking echoes through the room. Barely audible to you over your own panting, moans, and his loudly revving engines, but Optimus has no trouble detecting the intruder. Their presence disrupts his complete surrender to pleasure, irritating him, bursting the fragile illusion that the world ends with you.

"Frag off," he growls loudly, never ceasing to frag your heat.

Your gazes meet for a brief moment, but Optimus does not hold eye contact for long, too agitated to acknowledge your questioning expression. Instead, he directs his intake toward your chest, stuffing your soft flesh into his mouth. His glossa immediately gets to work, gliding over your swollen nipple, licking and sucking to suppress the stream of curses and sins threatening to spill forth. To ensure you do not collapse backward, one arm wraps around your back, delighting in the discovery that he can afford to gather your other breast into his servo as well. Which he does, kneading the soft flesh like a stress ball.

"My dearest," he repeats his mantra between the worship of your nipple and breast. "My [Name]."

"My Opti," you return the sentiment, stroking the back of his helm. "My good mech."

An involuntary honk of his horn and an exceptionally deep thrust convince you that you have chosen your words well. Even at the cost of losing the ability to walk tomorrow.

[silverrr66]

📌 silver / 23 / they/any

silly transformers sideblog for my headcanons and general writing where i get a little freaky sometimes

have watched: tf one, tf prime currently watching: tf animated, tf earthspark

⚠ will write dark themes

asks are open fell free to entertain my brainrot

[silverrr66]

bruises with starscream.

i feel like he would love to both give and then to tend. to be the poison and the remedy. he has so much to be stressed about on a daily so bruising is a given with him while he takes out his pent up tension on you. sometimes its accidental, but most often he gets rough on purpose, enjoying the little power he has over somebody else.

he would lay with you afterwards, stroking the already darkening spots with his claw as he hums to himself, proud of his work.

[silverrr66]

eating a lollipop around the transformers, nothing weird there except they notice the candy being the same colour as their spike or the detailing thats on it. it gets their processor running as they try to push these thoughts away, the thoughts of your tounge on their spike instead, licking up and down maybe sucking on it even and oops –its already starting to pressurize.

[silverrr66]

[silverrr66]

God tho, the image of TFP'S Arcee's human leaning forward over her handlebars and/or gripping onto them for dear life, drooling and half-moaning half-sobbing her name because she just makes them feel So GOOD, all while she makes them cum over and over and over again, teasing them about how they're so easy to rile up, praising them for being so good for her 😍 I need it so bad, holy shit. 💖

At this point you're singlehandedly keeping her sane in this war - she walks out of it completely revitalized and happy Meanwhile she has to carry you because you came so hard your legs keep giving out

[silverrr66]

Feeling insane about cybertronians having knots/barbs, that post about starscream was my final straw. for a species that uses asexual reproduction almost exclusively their drive to breed is crazy once they really get into it. maybe they have knots *because* this type of reproduction is so rare, so it's best to ensure all that transfluid doesn't go to waste

Also there's some crack idea i've been cursed with about smokescreen knotting his human s/o for the first time, probably accidentally bc he's young and eager and has zero restraint. so now they just lay there recovering from the best orgasm/overload of their lives, stuck to eachother, waiting for it to shrink but it just. won't. he's pretty sure it should've let up by now so there's a little bit of panic setting in. que an extremely awkward emergency call for ratchet who is rightfully scandalized about this whole situation.(primus give him strength, why would anyone think knotting a tiny, barely compatible and notoriously fragile alien was a good idea!?)

DYING This happening to Smokescreen is the most in character thing that could possibly happen. Excitement gets the best of him and now they're both stuck I'm 100% sure they have a medical term for the knot not shrinking back on Cybertron, and it's the most awkward thing to go through. Especially because Smokescreen's on a timer - he can't stay in his mass displaced form forever. Thank Primus Ratchet works fast He'll chew them out (mostly Smokescreen bc he's the one who should have pulled out before it happened). He knows he can't stop them from interfacing, but please - SOMEONE SHOULD WATCH HIS FRAGGING KNOT!

[silverrr66]

Dawg i just know dad Ratchet hides reader's breast pump and he's like "well no pump today my hands can help tho". Not only he'd hand express your milk for your sparkling but also might as well kiss you or talk dirty while doing it to boost your oxytocin and get more out for your baby

stupid old mech i love him

EHEHEHEHEHE Y'KNOW HE WOULD

"Scrap- Where did we put the pumps?"

"Should really look after your belongings better, sweetspark."

"How about I just use my servos, I'm sure I'm more cut out for the job than those things."

proceeds to make you comfortable on his lap, aka his erect spike as he massages and teases your tits as you hold a bottle to them

"Thaaat's it, you're doing excellent. Keep grinding on my spike like that, and let me do the work for you, sweetspark."

[silverrr66]

MORE ON THE BRUISING THOUGHTS CUS IM ILL !!!

i can imagine smokescreen being so nervous the first time he learns that humans bruise. he would have a moment of panic, asking if youre alright, if you should go get a repaint –can you even get a repaint?! he would be so scared to touch you afterwards, he is a mess but only because he cares... you would explain to him that its normal and that it will heal on its own, which doesnt help whatsoever bcs wdym you can regenerate on your own???

i feel like with ratchet it would be somewhat complicated. he understands it on a fundamental level, blood vessel damage -> blood leakage -> discoloration and so it doesnt phase him. he learns to like it with time but keeps it mostly to himself, too ashamed about it. but synth-en ratchet? he is all over that and proud of it too. not only are you able to wear evidence of his touch on your skin but youre even more tender and sensitive after? he cant get enough.

Going feral over these bitches. Damn your sick brain is conjuring up fire ideas

[silverrr66]

Oh I am so in love with these merformers, cultural misunderstandings is easily one of my favorite tropes!!

Since you've been interpretating Optimus's courtship behaviors as merely friendly and playful, imagine mirroring them at him and sealing your fate that much more:

As a thank you for the steady supply of fish (like, really steady. You cannot possibly finish the shear amount of tuna he gives you.) you try feeding him fruits and other foraged items from deeper on the island. Perhaps even actually cooking up some of his fish. His heart just bursts at the delusion realization that you're courting him back, trying to prove your own worthiness and desirability despite his clear devotion to you.

Imagine singing to yourself to pass the time, maybe even playing an instrument that survived your stranding. Even from a distance he's utterly captivated. He's convinced he's never heard a more heavenly sound. And the thought of it being for him, from his wonderful mate? It's enough to make him leap out of the water in joy, even if he can't understand a single lyric of what he's convinced is a gorgeous human love song.

Same, I adore this trope <3

After he convinces himself that you must be courting him back — whether it’s by sharing your food or whistling to yourself (because I think whistling would be the closest thing to the high-pitched sounds Merformers make when they sing) he’s going to get even more touchy. He already was, but he used to hold back on his urges out of consideration for your uncertainty about him, which he tries to rationalize as shyness or some other bullshit, further distorting his already warped perception of reality.

Moments like these randomly pop into his head throughout the day btw, and he gets so overwhelmed with joy and excitement that he gets underwater zoomies lmao

From now on, getting within arm’s reach of him always comes with physical contact. Optimus will use any opportunity to nuzzle up against your neck (he can’t wait until your gills finally appear there!) or your face. The problem arises when he decides that you two are ready to mate. Because what else could your beautiful whistling mean if not an attempt to entice him into mating?

Which is why he’s utterly shocked when you smack the servo that was unceremoniously trying to grab at your crotch. And just like that, your sweet courting comes to a screeching halt, and poor Optimus is convinced he is the most unworthy mate in existence.

And you are back to square one...