#Transformers x reader

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Autobots: Decepticons are keeping humans?! THEY'RE PROBABLY LIVING A NIGHTMARE!

The human under the care or the constructicons:

(it's literally babrie dream house, i want to live in babrie dream house)

@revelboo you and you're all fics are making me go wild

[michaela-o]

Minimus likes human hair <3

Should i color this??

[raileurta]

When people talk about the pain of a relationship between a basically immortal transformer and a very mortal human who lives only one of their Cybertronian's years (Vorn: 83 years) I am reminded of the sorta real world example of this.

Pet rats on average tend to live 2-3 years and people will still care for them despite their extremely short life span. This is absolutely heartbreaking for owners as a lot of them see their rats or people just in general, see pets as their children/family. They can care for them to the best of their ability but they still die so soon. They can even can get sick or have a accident cutting their life span even shorter.

There's this sort of guilt that must come with it; feeling inadequate as you "failed" this being relied solely on you. Why are they dying so soon? Why couldn't I be better? Is this my fault? You can't really change nature but you can look at it from a different perspective. (Cheesey I know)

While for Cybertronians humans are just a blip for them for these people bots are there for their entire lifespan. The transformer will be a constant throughout it all and be with their person until the bitter end. They will never know a life outside of their love; The metal hands that cradle them in their own form of softness. The breeze as they feel as they sit on their shoulder. Even in the face of knowing this organic will never always be there to ride in their alt mode, scamper over their frame, or just by their side. They will still be with them; this is a privilege and a burden they must carry within their sparks.

You might find that a human can change a bot's entire perspective on life and even the world itself; because they live so short everyday is a precious one. They must make the most of the time you have left. It can't be wasted in entropy, just slugging through it. This would be a dishonor to their human and a dishonor to themselves.

Which in that case I feel the inevitable heartbreak is well worth it for the bot in the end. They just can be there, and that's the greatest gift of them all.

[revelboo]

Sorry if I already sent you that question, my WiFi sucks.

Hiii, how are you? I wanted to know if there are any updates on TFA Shockwave or maybe TFP Shockwave? I really love your writing and have almost read all your fics.

He is overdue…

Point Of Extinction Pt 16

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• You’re not sure what you expected, but for him to be more unsettling definitely wasn’t it. Had honestly thought that giving in might mellow him out, instead of whatever this is. Just staring at you, antenna back watching you try to clean yourself up with a damp rag. Still not sure what to make of his conviction to take care of you, including sexually. Though making the huge mech whine while you rode him? Apparently you have a thing for that. Flustered you glance at him and he’s still staring. “Thirteen’s body temperature is elevated,” he says, head tipping. Not about to admit that you get a little kick from dominating him or that you’re thinking about sex. Again.

• “Is it?” You mutter, rinsing the cloth he’d given you after you’d asked and then sliding it between your thighs. Cleaning away his release and it bothers him. Rumbling softly, he reaches to carefully catch your wrist, momentarily unsettled by how small your arm is in his grip. Aware that he could break you without meaning to. “What?” That you’re helpless to stop him. And that shivery sensation that can’t be fear slips through him, remembering being helpless.

• Servos curled loosely around your wrist, he’s just staring at his hand on you. Rocking forward slightly as his antenna flick. Absolutely not, he’s not having one of his moments with his big hands on you. Heart racing, you go up on tip toe. Can’t reach his face even with him mass displaced he’s so big, but you pat against his chassis until his optic brightens and he looks at you. Actually seeing you before his attention dips to the apex of your thighs. “My nanites are only effective if they remain inside,” he growls, reaching out with his free hand to cup you. And your brain blanks. Nanites?

• Pressing a servo inside you to keep you from washing away all of his release, you squirm. “I’m sorry. What?” You ask and he hooks an arm around you, cradling you against his chassis, his palm firmly between your thighs. Can always replenish his nanites, give you more, and that’s an unexpectedly desirable thought. “What nanites?” Can fill you again and stay inside you to make sure his release stays where it should be this time. Give his nanites time to work.

• Ignoring your question, he just makes a rough rumbling engine sound suspiciously like a purr. And you’re not letting this go, nanites sounds like weird sci-fi stuff and that crap goes right over your head. “How soon until you are amenable to being pleasured again?” Such a sweet talker, nose wrinkling at him as the servos of the hand cupping you to make sure you don’t wipe away anymore of his alien slick stroke you, you can’t let him distract you with sex, not when you have questions and he’s going to answer them. And that servo inside you is petting, coaxing your tired body despite your resolve and the fact that you’re still sore. Still slick with the last rounds. “I wish to pleasure you now.”

Previous

[muletia]

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.

[transformers-spike]

Diving into tfp megatron‘s valve like a cave diver

[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.

[xaytheloser]

giggling kicking my feet imagining Overlord being obsessed with a human that literally hates only him, like they are literally an angel to everyone else but when he speaks they're just "DIE DIE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!! KYS!!!!!!!!!!" and he's just like "whatever you say babe😍😍😍😍😍"

he doesn't even view it as a bad thing, he's just delusional and thinks they're just playing "hard to get"-

In some ways, I'd imagine he'd be even worse than Sunder jsbfuzksixngvzndgvfuszdx-

[radioactiverats]

I can't stop thinking about jealous cadet... grr...

ANON YOUR MIND….

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (17/?)

I am bending more timelines to make this work :,) Bumblebee introduces you to Hashtag and Twitch - only for you to realize that they're unexpectedly close with Starscream.

---

:: Hey

Bumblebee. Probably some weird Terran meme. You ignore it in favour of reading the report on your datapad.

:: Hey. I know u r there

Starscream's sitting not two meters from you at his desk, grumbling over spelling mistakes in reports submitted to him. You carefully school your expression as you compose a response, not wanting to draw suspicion.

:: What?

:: Are u free?

:: ...Depends

:: Wanna introduce you to my friends

:: Come

:: [Coordinates]

Well. It wasn't like you were busy. You could probably sneak away for a few hours.

"Training," You call to Starscream, who grunts noncommittally without looking up from his datapad. You feel a twinge of guilt. He trusted you so implicitly he wasn't even questioning you - but you were genuinely curious about these friends of Bumblebee's, and even though you felt guilty admitting it, you trusted him. An Autobot.

Two Autobots, if you counted Ratchet.

Still, it meant this would be a low-stakes encounter. The most dangerous thing you would have to face was probably Starscream's wrath if he found out you were sneaking around - and fraternizing with the enemy, no less.

The coordinates Bumblebee sent you lead to a quaint, rural looking area. You spot the yellow flare of his plating as soon as you approach - and he's accompanied by two smaller figures, their frames unfamiliar. You're actually surprised to realize that his friends are Cybertronian - you'd been expecting Terrans.

Descending, you transform.

"Cool!" A voice calls.

"You didn't tell us you were friends with a jet," Another voice interjects.

"Is that... Wait. A Decepticon?"

"Calm down," Bumblebee scolds. "They're cool." He waves at you.

"Hey."

"Long time no see," You say. He was a sight for sore eyes - looking reasonably well, aside from a few scrapes to his paint.

"You didn't reply to my memes," He says accusingly.

"I don't even understand your memes."

"This won't do. I'll show you memes!" The taller of the two bots steps forward proudly. "I'm Hashtag. Pro at all things internet!"

"...internet?" Primus, you feel old. The bot was clearly younger than you were.

Bumblebee groans. "Come on. You're not that much older than I am. Do the Decepticons come from the dark ages, or something?"

You scowl. "The... Terran network?"

"Close enough," Hashtag shrugs.

"Your landing was cool," Pipes another voice. A flash of red zips around you. Your optics widen. A flight frame?

"This is Twitch," Bumblebee says. "These two are part of a Terran family I visit regularly."

Cybertronians, part of a Terran family? Your surprise must show on your face, because thankfully, they just laugh. "It's a long story," Hashtag says.

They're quite obviously younger than you and Bumblebee are, but as you listen to their exuberant chatter, you find yourself relaxing. It's... fun being around them, and before you know it, it's dusk.

"Scrap," You curse. "I was meant to be back ages ago."

"I'm sure it's fine," Bumblebee begins to say, but is abruptly cut off by the roar of a very familiar set of engines above you.

You freeze, as does Bumblebee. You glance at Twitch and Hashtag, about to urge them to hide - but strangely, they look... delighted.

Starscream transforms, striding towards you with narrowed optics. "Training, my aft-!"

"Starscream!"

All of a sudden, he freezes.

"...Hashtag?"

"It is you!"

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?"

"And Twitch, too," Starscream says, an optic ridge raised.

You straighten up slowly, all threat of an aft-whooping forgotten. "You know each other?"

"Yeah!" Hashtag cheers. "It... it is a long story, though."

Bumblebee had been looking wary at first, but his frame had relaxed into something akin to resignation. "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about that."

"You know, too?"

"Yeah. Something about a Dweller? Starscream apparently near sacrificed himself for Hashtag, and she talked my audial off about it for months..."

Huh. That's nice. At least, that's what you force yourself to think in order to prevent the ugly feeling from surfacing in your processor.

You watch, feeling like you're on the sidelines as Starscream complains about fleshlings and Terrans, despite the small smile on his faceplate. Hashtag says something your fuzzy processor doesn't register, and Starscream actually laughs. When was the last time he'd done that in front of you?

Stop, you tell yourself fiercely, struggling to suppress the wave of... some mysterious, unpleasant emotion that surged in your spark. You're being ridiculous. You're being childish.

Just as you felt like you were able to retain some semblance of a normal bot, Twitch hugs Starscream.

You can only stare.

Starscream makes a dramatic show of being disgusted, which only makes the sisters laugh more - and just pats Twitch on the helm.

Starscream catches you staring. He shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I'm not the only one who has surreptitious Autobot acquaintances, you know."

That stings.

You're suddenly aware of just how much you don't know about him, just how great the distance is between you both. You knowing Bumblebee and Ratchet was one thing - but you're suddenly reminded of just how much of his history you didn't know. A history shared with others. Not you. You take a step back, nauseous.

"Hey," Bumblebee says, nudging you. "You look like there's ants in your seams."

"Ugh," You say disgustedly. Leaning way too heavily into your pretense of normalcy. You twist around to inspect your frame for good measure. "There aren't, right?"

Bumblebee rolls his optics. "No." But his expression softens.

"Seriously, you good?"

"Fine," You bite out, trying not to lash out. That was a bad habit you'd realized you were picking up. Was it a Decepticon thing? Lashing out and getting defensive whenever you showed any sign of emotion. You didn't do that before, and the realization only serves to compound your misery. "Hey, I'm just going to get some air."

"You don't look fine."

"Not used to the... forest biomes."

Bumblebee squints, leaning in to inspect your pinched expression properly. His optics flick abruptly to your tense wings, and your spark sinks as realization ripples over his faceplate. Scrap. You'd been so fixated on smoothing out the expression on your faceplate (and failing) that you'd forgotten your wings - which were essentially blaring neon signs that broadcasted your displeasure from miles away.

"You're jea-"

"Shut up," You hiss. "I will be normal and well-adjusted about this. I will go and fly a couple of laps in the stratosphere, and return with the sweetest expression any Cybertronian ever saw!"

Bumblebee snorts. "That's very healthy of you."

Still, he lets you go, probably seeing that space would benefit you more than pressing you to stay.

You stalk off into a deeper part of the woods before actually transforming and taking off. No sense calling attention to yourself - it was the opposite of what you wanted to do. Sulking was a solo activity, and by Primus, you were going to luxuriate in it.

You finally land on a relatively isolated-looking field. It's lush and green, and looks like it would feel quite nice against your wings. You throw yourself under the shade of a sturdy tree, spread-eagled on the ground. For a moment, you take in the blessed silence.

When was the last time you'd been alone? Distantly, the sounds of the local fauna filtered into your audials. Lyrical twittering noises over the gentle whooshing of wind. Birds.

You'd remembered the name of this species easily - they were fliers, and their language sounded similar to Vosian, with their trilling chirps and clicks. You liked birds, you decided, shuttering your optics as you soaked in their musical calls.

Unfortunately, your blessed silence did not last long.

"Cadet?"

Of all bots you were expecting, you were not expecting this one.

"Thundercracker?"

Thundercracker looks just as confused as you are.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"I like coming here to think," He shrugs. "It's peaceful."

His curious optics turn to you. "What about you?"

"Uh. Nothing much."

Oh. It dawns on you that this is his spot, and he's probably here to do some thinking. Alone.

"I was just going, anyway."

"...Wait."

Thundercracker carefully lowers his large frame down onto the grass, next to you. You shuffle over to accommodate his wings - he was the largest of the trine, tall and broad. Ordinarily, a mech of his size would have come across as naturally intimidating. Yet, every careful glance, his pacifistic nature, the way he tries to make himself smaller all the time coalesces into an EM field you can only describe as harmless. "We can do nothing together. Unless you're in a rush?"

He's glancing at you carefully, a gently questioning look in his optics. You reluctantly concede that no normal and well-adjusted mech would be lying listlessly in random fields out of the blue, and he'd clearly picked up on that. It's an incredibly kind offer.

"...I'd like to stay, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Thundercracker says gently. "You're welcome to join me anytime."

You carefully lower yourself back to the grass.

"How are you adjusting to your wings?" He asks, as you shift around to find a more comfortable position.

You flex them, feeling every blade of grass whisper against your sensory nets. Knockout had done a fantastic job with your new wings. If not for the abrupt sense of juddering wrongness that would overcome you at times, the delicate wiring and sensors had been joined together so well that you could shutter your optics and they would feel like yours.

"I did a triple barrel roll the other day."

Thundercracker nods encouragingly. "Not too bad, then."

"I never did get to thank you," You mumble. "I appreciate it. I know... I know you were there."

His optics widen for a klik. "You know-?"

You fight through the churning of your fuel tanks to nod. You are grateful. Flight is not to be something taken for granted, after all. Eventually, Thundercracker sighs. "If it helps, that mech had it coming. It was just a matter of now or later."

That catches you off guard. For someone as timid as Thundercracker to pass such severe judgement on a mech - it must have been bad. Still, confusion roils within you, torn between relief it wasn't an innocent - and revulsion at having the parts of a likely serial murderer weighing heavy on your back.

Thundercracker seems to sense that the topic was not to be lingered on. Unfortunately, his gentleness comes hand in hand with a severe lack of tact, if only because he is completely unable to hide the fact that he worries.

"So, what brought you here?"

You fling an arm over your optics and groan.

"It's stupid."

"Can't be that stupid if it bothers you this much," He prods gently.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Bumblebee introduced me to some of his friends," You mutter. "And it was good, but then Starscream turned up... and turns out they knew each other?"

Thundercracker squints, then his optics brighten. "Twitch and Hashtag?"

The heavy feeling in your internals sours further, immediately pursued by a hot rush of shame. They were nice, for Primus' sake. You liked them. Why were you being so childish?

"Yup."

"How are they?" Thundercracker asks, with genuine interest.

"You know them too?"

"Seen them once or twice."

"They look well," You say weakly. You're not being fair to them, but pulling yourself together is difficult - if only because it means slapping a mask on and pushing those feelings away. Again.

Thundercracker must have picked up on the erratic pulse of your EM field. "Did the meeting not go well?"

"No, no, it went well. I like them."

"But?" Thundercracker presses.

You slump. "They seemed so... familiar with Starscream."

Thundercracker tilts his helm.

"More familiar than me."

"...Ah."

Angry embarrassment heats your plates as soon as the words leave your intake. Thundercracker was trine, for Primus' sake. He and Skywarp understood Starscream on a level that was incomprehensible to you, and here you were, sulking in some field because you were irrationally jealous of someone giving him a hug. Had you ever-?

Thundercracker looks thoughtful. "You've always been top of his class in the Academy, right?"

"I... yeah?"

"So you've always had his attention. And after the whole Academy thing, you haven't really socialized with bots younger than yourself."

"I guess so."

"So," Thundercracker continues pointedly, "it's not out of the ordinary that you'd find yourself unsettled if he gives his attention to others. Others you could feasibly compare yourself to."

"I- I'm - TC, they're kids. How could I be jealous of kids?"

"It's potential," Thundercracker says. His voice is too kind for the painful accuracy of his remarks.

"Just like you, when you were at the Academy. I know a what a mech looks like when they're doubting themselves."

Before you can even open your intake to say something, anything that would stem the coolant rising to your optics, Thundercracker pushes on.

"You think Starscream's going to abandon you to focus on new potential, don't you? That you're not good enough?"

Your silence is damning confirmation, the coolant leaking freely from your optics even more so.

Thundercracker allows you a klik to collect yourself.

"You know," he says gently, "I went through the same thing when we first trined."

"Huh? But..."

You never seem to doubt your connection, is what you wanted to say. Thundercracker seems to understand.

"It was me and Skywarp at first. And you know how he gets... he gets really distracted by novelty." Instead of a grimace like you expected, he just shakes his head fondly. "So when Starscream first appeared, Skywarp was utterly enamoured. Wouldn't stop talking about him, even in berth with me."

"Oh," Is all you can say. You're not sure you'd be able to cope with that.

"But his affections for me never actually wavered. In fact, he was confused when I first brought it up to him."

You can't help but snicker. "He would be."

Thundercracker laughs with you. "Yeah. But it wasn't that he'd... removed some of his feelings for me, only to allocate them to another bot. His bond with me isn't any less strong just because he has a bond with Starscream, too."

He looks at you, optics gentle as ever. "You have a special place in Starscream's spark, you know that? That's not going to change. Even if he refuses to admit it."

You ex-vent, shaky.

"I think I'm just scared of losing him. Especially when I don't know how to keep him."

"That's another thing," Thundercracker chuckles. "A personality like that? No one can keep him. If he's stayed this long, it's by his own volition, and he's not going anywhere."

"O-oh."

You swipe at the remnants of coolant on your faceplate and stare up at the cerulean sky, feeling oddly freer.

"...Thanks, TC."

"You're good enough," Thundercracker says gently. "You've more than earned your place by Starscream's side. Starscream sees that. I promise you."

"Got it. Enough mushiness." You scrub at your faceplate as Thundercracker laughs, briefly pulling you into a friendly, one-armed hug.

Unexpectedly, the moment is disrupted by the overhead roar of jet engines. Wind whistles in your audials as a familiar streak of red, white, and blue descends, transforming to reveal the very bot you'd been talking about.

"Speak of the devil," Thundercracker mutters. You'd picked up on enough Terran sayings to understand what he meant, and you hide a snicker behind your servo.

Starscream storms towards you both.

"Where have you been? Bumblebee said you just took off!"

"Just talking to TC."

His optics flicker in surprise. As soon as he takes in the way you're leaning casually against Thundercracker's frame, his optics harden, but not before betraying a flash of.... was that... hurt?

"I see," He says stiffly.

Thundercracker sighs. "Starscream, come on. We're just talking."

Meanwhile, you're taking in the curious twitch of his wings.

The smears of coolant suddenly catch his attention, and his optics narrow. "Have you been crying?"

"No," you say, immediately.

Displeasure pulls at Starscream's intake. It seemed like forever that he'd been sternly telling you not to pull away from him, but each instance only seemed to make you increasingly uncertain. Save for the times under the cover of darkness, when you'd burrow into his arms and silently stain his chassis with coolant.

Yet, here you were in broad daylight, relaxed wings revealing just how comfortable you felt around Thundercracker. Thundercracker. Not him.

"Come on," Thundercracker sighs, nudging you. "Up you get."

He carefully brushes grass trimmings from your wings, even if it makes Starscream's servos curl into fists.

Abruptly, it dawns on you. You're not the only jealous one here.

You're ridiculous.

You're both ridiculous.

The thought makes you lightheaded, and you bite your intake to restrain the hysterical laughter that bubbles up in your vocaliser.

Thundercracker gives you a purposeful look. "Go on."

You eye Starscream. At the very least, the position would make it impossible for him to shoot you with a null ray.

You in-vent deeply before walking forwards and throwing your arms around him.

Your lax frames may fit together like puzzle pieces when you're recharging - but it's clear that hugging is an entirely different matter. He's utterly stiff in your arms, and you wince as your cockpits clack together. For all the contact that you've shared, whether supporting one another to Knockout's medbay, recharging while tangled in each other, or idle fingers dancing over smooth plating during conversation - it's never been purposeful. Acknowledged.

You're starting to think this is all one big mistake when suddenly, the unmistakable warmth of his arms envelops you. Hesitant, but there. Something Thundercracker had said earlier flashes across your processor.

It's difficult because it matters.

You firmly burrow closer to Starscream. This matters. He matters to you.

"I'm still your favourite, right?" You mutter, muffled in his chassis.

His servos on your back are careful. "What's gotten into you?"

You prickle.

Oh.

So it's weird when you hug him. Not to mention that he's not answering the question. You're about to step back, but unexpectedly, he presses you close again, not allowing you to pull away.

"Let go," You hiss. You are decidedly not crying.

"...You've always been my favourite."

"You're just saying that," You say sulkily. "Look, it's fine. I'm just being stupid-"

"Listen," Starscream says insistently, almost angrily, servos coming up to cup your faceplate.

"You will get it through your processor that you... you are special to me."

You stare at him blankly for a klik.

"I'll train more, I swear." So you can keep it that way. So he won't abandon you, is what you decide not to say.

"That's not what I meant," Starscream snarls, frustrated. "You..."

"He's attached," Thundercracker says placidly.

Starscream whirls on him. "Shut it!"

He's not denying it, though. Thundercracker ignores him to look pointedly at you.

"Oh."

Clarity washes over you in a warm, peaceful wave.

You'd never had anything to fear in the first place. As difficult as it was, you were going to accept it - the truth that you weren't about to be replaced.

You melt against Starscream's chassis, finding that you do indeed fit like puzzle pieces.

Starscream's tirade abruptly cuts short at the press of your warmth against him. One of his servos comes up to cradle the back of your helm, the other securely at your waist.

"Thanks, TC," You mutter, and in that moment, Starscream seems to realize that his jealousy was similarly unfounded. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Thundercracker inclines his helm, satisfied. It seemed that the Terran movies weren't that exaggerated after all - happy endings did exist.

Previous /

[just-a-moray-eel]

I want Megatron tied up, on his knees, leaking spike out and begging as I just sit on his throne and watch him beg!

I want Overlord in ass up and head down position, drooling and overstimulated while getting hate fragged by the reader!

I want Pharma struggling to keep quiet while bent over a berth in the medbay, the reader fragging him roughly!

I want Prowl warming a spike too big for him while doing paper work with shaking servos!

I want Sunder getting tamed into being non-hostile because the bot reader guarding him frags him hard every night!

I want Getaway getting fragged and overstimulated so hard by the reader to make him forget his schemes and plans!

I want Shockwave unable to continue his plans due to constantly getting bent over and fragged by a constantly horny reader anytime he tries to make progress!

I WANT THESE BOTS FRAGGED INTO BEHAVING!

[rabotimagines]

jealous cons sounds really funny, especially if they can't do anything but mald

TOP DECEPTICON MALDERS LETS GOOOO!

"Hero" GN BOT Reader x Megatron, Starscream, Blitzwing, Skywarp

Summary: Your friends save you from the Decepticons. The cons get pissed they missed another chance at you! Then you even kiss your friend on the cheek in thanks! (Scandalous, I know.)

G1 characters: Megatron, Starscream, Blitzwing, Skywarp. (The Autobots that save Reader are Optimus, Bluestreak, Tracks, and Hound!)

Genre/Theme: Cross faction Jealousy

Warnings: Blitzwing is a menace and mentions thinking of ripping readers' modesty panel off. It doesn't happen, but y'know. The Decepticons being brats experiencing being told "No" for the first time (The Cons are malding real bad). The cons generally assuming they have a "right" to Reader.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: This is based on teasing/flirty Autobot Reader, whom the Decepticons get a bit too interested in. Reader knows what they're doing and they do it specifically to fuck with the Decepticons. Via kissing your Autobot friends on the cheek!

Megatron is mad- he's not just mad he is furious when Prime, the fool that he is, puts himself between you and Megatron. Now, if it was any of the other puny Autobots, Megatron would not have cared nearly as much. Because to Megatron, the average Autobot mech meant nothing. They were measly target practice to him! But Prime? Optimus Prime was not any mere mech! He was the slagging closest Megatron would come to finding an equal, let alone out on this rock.

But Prime saves you as he does- the withering sparkdamn fool. And Megatron finally nearly had you in his grasp, and Prime had to come and rip you away from him. Megatron has to pull himself back up to find Prime still holding you against his own frame. "My hero!" You say as you smile the blasted way you do when you look at the other Autobots and you- Megatron can not hide his scowl when you throw your arms around Primes frame and kiss him on the side of his battle mask. Primes optics brighten and widen, and his sparkdamned plating even fluffs under your affections.

Megatrons cannon starts humming loud in response to his own emotional receptors and his own blindly consuming urge to shoot then and there. But Megatron knows he's lost- and that just makes his cannon start smoking in barely restrained murderous indent. "This isn't over Prime!" Megatron snarls out with a digit pointed firm at him. Megatron growls and calls for the Decepticons to retreat. And in his still stewing rage, Megatron internally begins making new plans for the next opportunity he has to try and obtain a hold of you.

Megatron would not come so close to getting a hold of you again and fail twice. Prime wouldn't know what hit him!

-

Starscream is positively fuming! He'd gotten a hold of you again, and he'd made sure those fragging terror twins were busy when he did it. But the fragging praxian stopping him! Not even the battle computer- it was the sparkdamn annoying one! Starscream openly glares at where you two were standing next to one another. You just smile the infuriating way you do at the Autobots. "My hero!" You exclaim, and Starscream bafflingly watches you throw your arms around the praxian- and you even kiss him on the cheek!?

The praxians optics widen and brighten quickly. And his dumb little insignificant door sensors hike high and start twitching. He smiles like a fragging imbecile and even laughs. Laughs about it! Starscream's engines growl hot in righteous fury. How dare this little insignificant praxian Autobot pede solider get in between Starscream and his claim on you!? Starscream had every fragging right in taking you apart, plate by plate for everything you'd put him through! And he almost had you- no, he did have you! And you got ripped right out of his grasp.

And Starscream is positively fragging seething about it. Starscream clenches his servos so tight his joints creak. His wings raise high at an angle, promising violence of the highest intensity. And Starscream knows he needs to retreat because they'd lost. He'd lost. Starscream bares his denta and has to force himself to turn on a pede and retreat. Starscream is irate but he's decided to start scheming once more- if Starscream couldn't get you alone on the battlefield naturally he'd just have to figure out how to distract your fellow sparkdamn Autobots- then you'd be all his for the taking.

If there was one thing Starscream was, it was tenacious. And he wasn't about to stop before he had you in his grasp.

-

Blitzwing was having a fragging good day- a really good one! He'd smashed some buildings, made the puny humans run like the vermin they were. He even smashed up a few Autobots! Oh, and then- and then! He got into a fight with you, and he started winning. Actually winning. Blitzwing actually managed to pin you down, and he was going to rip your modesty panel right off of you- and then Blitzwing gets hit hard and knocked down. And he's lost his fragging grip on you-! It ends with Blitzwing on his aft and you having gotten away from him.

You're standing next to the Autobots discount triple charger! You're brushing the dirt off your frame all before you throw your arms around the blue mech "My hero!" Then you even kiss him on the cheek! The mech jerks and pulls away from your touch and wipes his own cheek- is he stupid? His plating fluffs, and he crosses his arms over his chassis to turn and glare at Blitzwing instead. But Blitzwing had wings, so he knows exactly what it means when the mechs wings rank up high and fan out. And all three of Blitzwing's engines rumble because he was not a happy mech.

Slagging sparkdamnit all! Blitzwing had you right there! You were even under him already- But No! The knock-off poser had to go and get involved and mess everything up for Blitzwing. Whatever! Blitzwing's broken Mr. broody blue over there's frame before! Blitzwing just had to do it again, and then he'd have you all to himself. Except now you're brandishing your own weapon, and now Blitzwings gonna have to pin you all over again! Gah!! Why the in the pit did this reject have to ruin everything for Blitzwing! Blitzwing rushes forward with a shout- and skids to a stop right before he picks up any real momentum because Megatrons calling for retreat! Blitzwing takes one long look at you two before vowing to rip the blue mechs wings off the next chance he got before taking off.

Blitzwing wasn't gonna stop till he had you back under him where you belonged!

-

Skywarp's laughing when you miss another shot on him when he warps. This was going great! He had you alone out here away from the other Autodorks, and he was actually wearing you down! Now he just needed to grab you- Skywarp warps close and latches onto your waist only he stops and cycles his optics because uh- there's another mech on his left- and another on his right- There's three of you suddenly right in front of him!? The two versions of you on his side push forward and get into Skywarp’s faceplate, making him let go of the you he was holding. huh!? Is this one of Skywarps reflux recharges?! Both versions of you grin and then just- disappear!?

Skywarp cycles his optics, and his gaze snaps to the you a ways away. Where you're now standing next to the green Autobot scout. Aw, frag it all! He used his sparkdamn illusions on Skywarp! "You little-!" Skywarp stops short when you turn towards the jeep and throw your arms around him.

"My hero!" You sing all before- kissing the grounder on the cheek!? Wha-?! The grounders' optics brighten, and his plating ruffles up. He even rubs the nape of his neck cables all shy and slag- What the frag!? That should be Skywarp! Not some dirty green hippie grounder who can't keep his olfactory in his own business! Skywarp's wings slant, and he's imagining exactly what cavern he's gonna drop this fragging jeep over-

And his HUDs flashing that Megatron ordered a retreat! "Slag it all!" Skywarp growls before turning back to the two of you and pointing at you. "Next time, gorgeous!" Then the jeep steps in front of you- and oh, Skywarp so wants to rip his fuel tank out for it. His HUD flashes again, and Skywarp flashes a rude gesture at the jeep all before warping away. He almost had you! Frag! Skywarp just needed to get you alone again- Skywarp could do that! Easy!

Skywarp just needed to do that, and he'd have you all to himself!

[smallestapplin]

Hiii :3 I have a fluffy request, lol. So randomly, my nerdy self learnee how to write ancient autobot, right? I can do it from memory now, and decepticon graffiti is next for me to learn.

Can there be a scenario where some of the bots/cons find little cute notes left around only to find out their s/o wrote them? I'd think it'd be cute :)

~SPADE♤🐈‍⬛️

Holy shit that’s so cool :0! I hope you don’t mind I went with Hound and Thundercracker

-

-

Hound knew you were studying something but you never told or showed him what, you begged him to let it be a surprise knowing how observant he can be, honestly he’d be able to tell if you gave him a second to see, but you wanted this to he a surprise for him! And he’s not about to go against his sweetspark’s wishes.

So imagine his surprise when he finds a peice of paper in his glove box after dropping you off at your house. the hand writing is a little sloppy, but it’s in cybertronian autobot dialect and signed off by you.

‘I hope you have a good day, and be safe! I love you.’

- your love’

You learned cybertronian for him? You went out of your way to study his home language, just to surprise him with little notes for him? This was the surprise you wanted to keep for him until you learned it perfectly? He’s paused in the middle of the road just staring at it, he can feel his optics stinging and a smile just overtaking him.

Hound is driving right back to your home, waiting until the garage door closed before transforming to knock on the door. He sits down on the concrete waiting for you to open, though he knows it’ll be a moment as you’re getting out of your work clothes.

When you open the door in your cozy clothes, you are yoinked swiftly into his servos pulled close to his face plate and getting kisses littered across your face. You can’t help but laugh as his dermas tickle your skin, with each kiss being paired with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’

“Not that I’m not happy, but what is this all about? Or did you miss me that much, lover boy?” Your smile just makes Hound melt, and finally pressing his dermas to your lips.

You place your hands on his metal cheeks, holding him in this embrace just a few moments longer before he pulls away to let you breathe.

“I found your note. Did you really learn my home language just for that?”

“I wanted to leave you little notes so you could read them when we aren’t together.”

Hound lets out a pained wheeizng sound like an arrow just struck his spark, before your being smothered in his kisses once more.

-

-

Thundercracker doesn’t ask much, he’s a ‘you’ll tell me when you want’ type of con especially to you, his little human. He does what he can to keep you safe and entertained while he works, he barely bats an optics when you ask him for books or files on cybertron. True, a part of him is happy you want to know about where he came from, but he doubts you’ll have much luck reading it without his help.

Which he did offer, but you denied him. He’s just happy you’re here with him so it doesn’t matter to him.

Until he’s going through the computer in his habsuite and notices a tab open that wasn’t there before, opening it shows him a little messily written message by you, clearly nips use to how big the controls were.

‘I left you some rust sticks in my side of the habsuite. I won’t be gone long but I’ll miss you! Love you!’

- kisses!’

He is suddenly regretting taking you to your friends house, he wants you here now he wants to hold you and kiss you for being far too sweet, far too good for him! You learned to read decepticon code for him?

He barely notices his habsuite door opens as he crumples to the floor groaning.

“Dude, you good?’ Skywarp leans over his friend, poking the blue seeker who just isn’t moving anymore.

“Ugh, you and that damn fleshie again, this is so gross.” Starscream rolls his optics as he notes the message on the computer, and totally isn’t jealous Thundercracker has a loving relationship.

When it’s time to pick you up, you best believe you aren’t leaving his habsuite fot a while, as he drowns you in so many kisses and refuses to stop cuddling you.

It’ll happen everytime he finds another note somewhere, so much so he starts going on the hunt for them checking everywhere he can just because he wants to read what you wrote, to have a physical copy of your love for him. You love him so much you do this for him, and he’s expected to not kiss you?

[revelboo]

Can I request more D-16, please? I finally got to see the movie and my heart is hurting.

Sure!

Fight for You Pt 5

D-16 x Reader

• ‘What is it?’ Orion asks, reaching out a servo and he grabs his friend by the wrist. Trusts Orion, he’s his best friend, but you’re just so fragile and looking up at him. Trembling. “They’re a mini-con and you can’t tell anyone about them,” he says, gently pushing Orion’s hand away so he doesn’t just grab at you. And you’ve backed yourself into a corner, chirping nervously. Reaching out he crooks a servo at you. “Come on, it’s okay,” he croons and your round head tips up toward him, then turns to study Orion before wandering over to him and you reach to lay those tiny hands on one of his servos to make his spark warm. ‘D, I don’t think that’s a mini-con,’ Orion mutters, crouching down beside him.

• Shying away when your giant’s companion stretches a servo toward you and yours growls at him, you hope that your guy telling this giant about you means the new one is trustworthy. Because you’re pretty much helpless to their whims, something you’re painfully aware of. “I trust you big guy,” you whisper, nose wrinkling when his buddy makes soft, repetitive noises at you. Is he making psst psst sounds at you like you’re a stray cat?

• Pleased despite himself when you ignore Orion’s attempts to coax you closer, he reaches in and cups his hands around you, lifting you free of his locker. ��Of course they’re a mini-con. They’re Megatronus’s mini-con,” he says as he cradles you close, listening to you chirp as you make yourself comfortable in his hands. ‘You sure? I’ve never heard of Megatronus Prime having a mini-con,’ Orion says, reaching to touch you and you lift a tiny hand like you’re ready to swat him. So fierce for being so small.

• Smacking at his friend’s servo when he reaches to nudge your helmet, you don’t relax until your giant turns slightly to put himself between you and the newcomer with a rumbling growl that you really hope is him telling the other one off for poking at you. Because yours has been so incredibly gentle with you, and this other one is smiling crookedly down at you like you’re a curiosity. As yours cups you to his chassis and says something to his companion, you really wish you knew what was going on. For all you know, your guy is trying to give you away to this guy. Suddenly afraid, you reach out to pat his chassis until he looks down at you. How do you mime ‘Please don’t leave me with this stranger?’

• Rumbling in amusement when you flap your tiny hands about, chirping and pointing at yourself, him, and Orion. At Orion a lot. Clearing his vents loudly, he’s not surprised. Everyone always likes Orion better, he’s friendlier, easier to get along with, the one that’s better at understanding others. Mildly hurt that even you prefer Orion, he starts to hand you over and you screech at him. Grabbing onto his servos and fussing at him, flailing a hand at Orion as if to fend him off. Not wanting to go to Orion. Choosing him and he cradles you even closer, servos sliding over you until you calm. ‘I don’t think they like me,’ Orion says with a frown as you chirp aggressively.

Previous

Someone had asked about scales and minis, so there’s a few different scales, but 1/24, 1/12, and 1/6 are pretty common

1/24 would be like the Rolife super creator kits. That stuff scales well with the tiny Defender Blokees and comes with a ton of stuff in each kit

1/12 is a super common dollhouse scale and works well with Galaxy class Blokees. You can find that stuff at hobby stores pretty cheap.

1/6 scale is pretty big think, the Re-Ment minis. Those work for Flame Toys or similar sized figures like the studio series Bumblebee Movie Soundwave

The MiniVerse make it from scratch blind boxes don’t have a set scale. Some of it’s going to be 1/12 and will work with Blokees and some is going to be 1/6. The cupcakes are 1/12, but the cat cookies are 1/6. Zuru’s mini brands are the same way

[bizarre-disjointed]

hear me out on this chat

[transformers-spike]

I like to think most TFP bots haven't fragged in vorns - so when they actually get to interface with their human they overload minutes into it. Embarrassing to a degree, yeah - but it's fine, they've got much more stamina than us Except RIP to bots like Starscream, Dreadwing and Skyquake who all have knots and who are currently waiting for them to shrink before trying to frag again

[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.