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keferon · 2 days ago

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“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

#maccadam #transformers #sigh #wanna find out what kind of genius tag I came up with for this story?#behold #tf mimics au #feel free to pat me on the shoulder or decapitate me or something #I spent the whole day googling fancy English words #and decided that I’m tired and just wannna be practical #Orion pax #Prowl #Shockwave #senator shockwave #Ratchet #this story will contain a lot of JazzProwl but I need to show what the fuck is going on inside Prowl’s head first #Prowl being a cruel fucker. <- definitely not preparing to drag him through the excessive amount of life changing angst #to make him grow as a person #no no what are you talking about #I’m sure his worldview would never turn over and bite him back lol

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autonomousroboticorganism · 2 months ago

Text

period madness (TF Prime)

featuring - Optimus Prime x F!Reader, Bumblebee x F!Reader, Smokescreen x F!Reader, Knock Out x F!Reader, Soundwave x F!Reader, Shockwave x F!Reader, Wheeljack x F!Reader

summary - your Cybertronian partner finds out just what a human woman's period entails.

warnings - none

a/n - Knock Out's takes place when he defects to the Autobots. also, don't fight me, these are based on my experiences and what helps me.

OPTIMUS PRIME - cramps

While he may not fully understand what's going on and what's happening to your body, he is still extremely attentive and supportive. He is there to provide any comfort you need, and will not hesitate to take one of the other humans out to a convenience store if you need anything. He knows when it's that time of the month because he'll walk into base after another mission and see you laying face-down on the couch.

"Are you okay, (Name)?"

An unintelligible grumble from you was the only response, before Miko spoke for you, "Her cramps are bad this month. Really bad."

Optimus looked back at your figure, then reached over the railing to carefully lift you into one of his servos, ever the gentle giant. If there was one thing he did know during this time, it was that you were somewhat appeased by warmth.

"How was the mission?" You finally looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears from the pain.

"I shall tell you all about it when you are warm and comfortable," the Prime replied, taking you to his room in the base and laying on his berth. He lay you on top of him, right over his spark where it was warmest. "Is this better?"

"Mhmm, much," you sighed in relief and satisfaction, curling up on his warm chassis. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he smiled, happy that your pain was eased, if only slightly. "Today was quiet, no sign of Decepticon activity. We found an empty Energon mine that had been stripped entirely of its contents."

"Aw, man," you empathised, "I hope you guys find some soon. But I welcome a quiet mission, as opposed to you going out and getting hurt."

It warmed his spark to know that even while you were in pain, you still worried about him getting hurt. He knew you cared very much for him and the team, but he was unaware it was to this extent. He carried on with his story, explaining how they had found something more disturbing than an Energon mine filled with cons. You listened intently despite being overwhelmed by pain in your uterus, happy to be distracted by one of his tales. And it always helped that you liked to listen to his deep voice, because it was soothing to hear.

BUMBLEBEE - emotional

Bumblebee knows a bit more than Optimus, but less than he feels he needs to. So a few days before your period, when you exhibit the warning signs, he asks Miko - with Raf as translator - to help him with research on the topic so he's better prepared to help you. He doesn't want to let you know he does this, but you know and you think it's very cute. And sweet.

He knows when you have it, because on your first day you storm into base looking for him and you cling to him like a little koala. He has no complaints of course, until you end up crying into his arm.

Immediately he's concerned, his little beeps translating in your mind to 'are you okay?' Apart from Raf, you were the only human who could understand what he was saying. Neither of you knew why, but it was so convenient and a happy coincidence that you never questioned it.

"Today I saw a duck," you sobbed, "And you know, it reminded me that Jasper doesn't even have ducks because we don't have any lakes and..."

You rambled on and on, tearfully so, while Bumblebee shot Smokescreen a confused look. Your guardian shrugged.

"She's been emotional all day."

The scout turned his attention back on you and held you up, whirring and beeping in concern. You stopped whatever story you had launched into afterwards and looked at him, before your eyes lit up.

"Ice cream? That sounds great!"

Bumblebee beeped and whirred again, telling Smokescreen where you two were going before transforming and driving off with you. He played some of your favourite music, and eventually you calmed down enough to look at birds and not burst into tears.

Once you had your ice cream, he took you on a nice, long scenic drive. The long way back to the base. You relaxed in his passenger seat, happily eating your cold treat.

"Thanks, Bee," you smiled, "I can always count on you."

The scout beeped back that you're very welcome and he'd do anything for you. And he mentally thanked Raf and Miko for telling him that ice cream might be a good idea for mood swings.

SMOKESCREEN - cravings

The newbie is not as great with human beings as he'd like to be. He'd had to learn a lot since coming to earth, and one of those things was to navigate a relationship with a human being. One that was both his girlfriend and his charge. So throw periods into the mix and you have...a very very confused Autobot. He knows absolutely nothing about periods, stemming from his lack of knowledge about the human anatomy.

"So...why don't human guys bleed?"

"SMOKESCREEN!" You protest with a burning face. "You can't just ask that!"

"I...thought it was a valid question?"

You sighed, "Men don't menstruate because they don't have to have babies." At his clueless expression, you added, "They don't have to give life to what you call sparklings."

"Ohhhh..."

He still didn't understand. Nonetheless, he was eager to help. Anything you asked of him, he tripped over himself in his rush to do it. Anything you wanted or needed, he found a way to get for you. Hugs and kisses? Of course! Cuddles? He would never say no to that. He had grown so fond of and attached to you that he was even clingier than you were on your period. But you thought it was sweet.

"So it hurts...here?" The giant mech prodded your uterus, gently.

"Mhm," you nodded, devouring a slab of chocolate Jack had given to Smokescreen to give to you. "Hey, don't poke me!" You smacked his servo away.

"Sorry," his faceplates burned in embarrassment.

He watches you happily munch on your chocolate, amused that such a small thing could appease you when just moments ago you had been screaming at Ratchet for not knowing about female human anatomy.

KNOCK OUT - body pain

Knock Out knew humans were fragile. He's used that against the Autobots multiple times when he was a Decepticon. But now that he's become an Autobot, he has to be extra careful around you, Jack, Miko, Raf, June and Fowler. Especially you. But it seemed that every month you would go into a state where your body hurt for no reason at all, and it wasn't until June explained to Knock Out what you were experiencing that he finally understood.

"(Name)! Are you okay?!" The medic panicked, rushing to your side the moment he heard a pained whimper come from you.

You were trying to roll over on the couch, but sharp pain erupted in your lower back causing you to let out that sound. You looked up at your concerned boyfriend, pretty optics putting you at ease.

"Mhm, just really sore."

Knock Out looked at June in desperation, and the older woman laughed at the fact that he had once kidnapped her and forced her to play a crueler version of hide-and-seek, but now he was desperately seeking her medical advice.

"I'll get some painkillers and water that you can give her," the nurse stood to go retrieve those items.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked you in the meantime. Knock Out hated feeling useless, helpless, which was a side effect of being criticised so often.

"Pick me up?" You suggested.

The bot was more than happy to oblige, lifting you onto his servo with surprising gentleness. You happily laid on your back on the warm metal, sighing contentedly until your head started to hurt.

"Maybe also poke me in the head?"

"What?! I could kill you!"

"That's kind of the idea. My head is already doing that."

"I will not terminate the one good thing I've managed to earn, thank you very much," he insisted, cooling his free servo and pressing a non-lethal part of it to your temple. "That better?"

The pain in your skull receded, and your body relaxed, "Oh, much better. Thank you, Knock Out."

The bot beamed at the grateful response, "You're very welcome!"

June returned with the painkillers and a bottle of water, which Knock Out carefully handed to you with the servo he had used to ease your headache. He watched you intently as you took the medication, before lying back down on his palm.

"Now just hold me."

The former con eagerly obeyed that command, even taking you to his assigned room in the base and laying with you on top of him on his berth. He placed a servo over your smaller frame, practically blanketing you with it. He further eased your pain by slowly running it up and down your back, gently and affectionately caressing you. The mad doctor had truly changed for the better.

SOUNDWAVE - nausea

Soundwave had taken it upon himself to learn about humans when he'd first taken you. So he knew very well what the warning signs of anger, hunger and cramping meant. He was well-equipped to help you, because this bot is hardly ever ill-equipped for anything. He searches the human internet for things he can do to help ease your pain and make this uncomfortable period of time more bearable for you. So you usually find stuff you need and crave during your period already laid out on his berth when the first day comes.

The Decepticon walked into his berth one of those days to see you happily munching away on the snacks he'd gotten Laserbeak to acquire for you. Speaking of the little bird, you were laying atop one of its wings, and Soundwave always liked to see how comfortable you were around it.

But then a weird look came over your face, and you turned a little sickly. The bot worried that the snacks had done something to you, but you just set them down and curled up, breathing in and out deeply. Soundwave was by your side in a second, touching your shoulder in concern.

"I'm-I'm fine," you reassured him. "Sometimes I just get nauseous. And sometimes it's the snacks that I like that cause it. I can't explain it."

The silent Cybertronian nodded to say he understood, before scooping up into one servo and soothingly rubbing your back with the other. Then he handed you a sugary drink he'd also obtained for you, his screen showing you research saying that something sweet and fizzy might help.

You smiled at him and took the drink, taking a few sips and finding that he was right, "Thank you, Soundwave. I can always rely on you."

His screen showed something else now, a bright red heart. Your cheeks heated up, and your smile became flustered at the gesture. Despite being committed to not speaking at all, he could be expressive and sweet when he wanted to be. His actions always told you more than his screen did, though.

SHOCKWAVE - bodily insecurity/bloating

Like Knock Out and Ratchet, Shockwave is scientifically and biologically knowledgable. He's an expert in all things physical and mental. Unfortunately, he spent so much time on a dead Cybertron that he was completely helpless when he first got attached to you on earth. Fortunately, he was a quick learner and very studious. Meaning he found out pretty quickly what he was meant to do during a time like this. Though sometimes, you still confused him.

Like now, when he walked into the room to see you sitting in front of something that mirrored your reflection. You were frowning and poking your midsection, eyes becoming glassy and bottom lip trembling.

"What has happened?" The intimidating Decepticon approached. "Are you hurt?"

"No," you wailed. "I'm getting fatter!"

"..."

Shockwave was, well, shocked. He never thought once that you were a displeasing weight or size, and he would never mind or care if you were picking up weight. But in this case, it was not true.

"Little one, that is a most illogical statement," he picked you up with his one servo. "You are not looking any different."

"Then explain this!" You cried, poking your stomach again.

Once more, Shockwave failed to see the issue, "You are perfect, my little human. There is nothing wrong with you."

"You're just saying that!"

"Have you ever known me to lie?"

"No..."

"Then cease your worrying," he reassured you. "I understand that on your...period, as you humans call it, you may feel bloated. But that does not mean you have increased in size. It is normal, and it will go away."

That was...oddly comforting.

"Thank you, Shockwave. That means a lot coming from you."

"Good. Now stop crying, little one. I have something to show you."

WHEELJACK - anger/frustration

Wheeljack was generally a lot more sensitive and considerate towards you than anyone else on base, but that doesn't mean that he was perfect. There were times when he didn't mean to offend you or incite your fury, but his actions or words that just tumbled out of his mouth left you shaking. He wasn't aware of human periods until Miko told him about them when you'd first started dating him, but he still continued to piss you off.

"WILL YOU STOP FOR ONE SECOND!" You screamed at the Wrecker one day while you were lounging in front of the TV while watching Jack and Raf play video games.

Wheeljack and Bulkhead were lobbing a giant ball of metal around, as they tended to do every other week, and Bumblebee and Smokescreen had been tempted to join. They promptly changed their minds at the sound of your yell and the glare on your face.

"Sweetheart, we're just playing around," Wheeljack responded calmly, shrugging your attitude off. Bulkhead got nervous, though.

"Well could you go play somewhere else?!" You snarled, rubbing your temples. "You're making my headache even worse!" You were usually irritable on your period, so Wheeljack took this as a sign.

He sighed, "Would you stop being such a buzzkill?"

Dead silence. Everyone beside Wheeljack froze up, knowing that was exactly the wrong thing to say to you at this time. Your eyes narrowed, and you stood up so fast your head spun.

"Well if I'm a buzzkill then I'll just leave!" You spat, storming down the stairs while trying not to burst into tears. Both angry and sad.

"Sweetheart, I didn't mean that," the bot immediately regretted his words, spotting your glassy eyes. "Come here."

"Go away!"

He sighed and grabbed you before you could leave the base, "Where are you going to go? There's nothing but dirt outside this base, sweetheart."

"I'd rather walk across the desert than spend more time arguing with you," you grumbled.

"Alright, alright," he relented. "I'm sorry. Can I make it up to you? We'll go sit in my berthroom and I'll project your favourite movie onto the wall."

"...Fine."

Wheeljack was an idiot, and impulsive, but he sure knew how to charm his way back into your good books. He cuddled you and rubbed your uterus for you, getting help from Miko to get you snacks that would keep your temper at bay.

#transformers #transformers x reader #tfp #tf prime #transformers prime #knock out x reader #smokescreen x reader #bumblebee x reader #wheeljack x reader #soundwave x reader #shockwave x reader #optimus prime x reader #tf prime x reader #transformers prime x reader #tfp x reader

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imaroyalmess · 3 days ago

Text

An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments

based on @energ00n 's apprentice AU! (i'm obsessed with the concept of apprentices making up garment rules)

Wc: 2.1k

The datapad—an older model with discolored spots, showing where servos touched its framing—is the first thing Orion Pax’s optics land on as he walks into his new room. Orion snatches the datapad and tilts his helm as he reads the title over again. A peek at the contents shows that it begins with Hey newbie followed by three exclamation glyphs (an overabundance of any glyph, if you asked Orion).

Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.

He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.

Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.

Hello newbie!!!

Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!

It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.

Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!

DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.

D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.

“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”

Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”

Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”

D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”

“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”

He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”

“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”

Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.

D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”

Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.

DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.

Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.

Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.

��D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.

“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.

Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”

D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.

An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”

A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”

Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”

“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”

“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”

D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.

“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”

Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”

“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.

“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.

Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.

D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.

D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”

But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.

“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”

Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.

DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift?

“I’m sorry, D.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”

“...no. You didn’t.”

DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.

(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)

What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.

He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”

“Hm?”

Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”

“Fine,” D-16 says.

“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”

D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”

Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”

“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”

“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made.

Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!

In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)

D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.

That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!

“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.

“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”

Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”

A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”

“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”

D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”

Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.

Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”

And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)

“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.

Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.

~~~

A/N: tysm for reading! i'm sorry if i got any details wrong, i read all the comics over again to make sure i got it all correct but just in case i missed something! please check out the main comic if you haven't already. the worldbuilding, writing, and art style are all stunning!

#dpax #megop #transformers one #apprentice au #d 16 #orion pax #might write more for this au as it continues!#cannot believe i wrote orion accidentally giving d16 the equivalent of a hickey #i'm not sorry tho #royal writes #i'll cross post on ao3 later maybe #did i...also technically make a transformers oc?

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enigmatist17 · 2 months ago

Text

Continuation/just ideas I have of the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon

First part can be found here :)

A03 version -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60978709

---

No one is really sure what to think when Jazz finally returns to the general populace, the crowded common room he steps into with Prowl at his side going silent at the mech's arrival.

No, not a mech, a frame piloted by an organic Wheeljack swore to the Pit and back was smaller than most of their servos.

"Soooo, what's up?" Jazz leaned against the closest table as Prowl got himself some energon, no longer keeping up the pretense he needed such liquid.

"That's what you have to say?" Starscream gawked from his seat, the seeker looking like he wanted to start dissecting Jazz's mecha as much as pry the pilot out. "Are all organics from your planet this...this flippant?"

"Not really?" Jazz shrugged, glad no one could see the grin on his face when Prowl rejoined him, placing himself between Jazz and everyone else in the room with a minute flick of his doorwings. "Hell, you sound like one of my commanders, he'd be having a fit right about now."

"Rightfully so, I should say." Mirage commented from behind Jazz, the pilot grinning to himself when he turned, only to see what was supposedly a blank wall. "Then again, you seem to be the type of bo - organic to cause mayhem on the regular."

"Human." Jazz could hear more than a few processors whir at the strange term, and after a moment, grabs a seat at the table next to him. "Organic sounds weird to me, so you can call me human or just my name, I'm not picky."

"Human...weird." Jazz isn't sure who spoke as his visor offlined, ensuring his mecha was supported before fully breaking the connection. The entire room went silent when Jazz's chassis made a soft click before opening, noises of alarm escaping vocalizers as they expected to see a spark, wondering what in Primus' name the org - human was thinking when something moved. What should have been a spark chamber was something else entirely, the central interior some sort of piloting seat that housed the human they'd all come to trust and fight alongside, who waved as he undid a harness. Prowl was the only thing stopping the Cybertronians around Jazz from moving any closer, his doorwings up in a sharp V when he carefully placed one of his servos just below Jazz, Mirage shimmering into view on the other side of Jazz's mecha when the human hopped onto the limb.

"Hey, fellas." Prowl kept his hold on Jazz as he stepped back from the temporarily deactivated suit, setting him on the table's surface as carefully as possible. "Aw, thanks Prowler!"

"You look strange for an organic." Thundercracker tilted his helm slightly, wanting a closer look but not stupid enough to test how close he could actually get.

"I guess?" Jazz reached up to unlatch his helmet, biting back a laugh when there were a few surprised vents at the reveal of his hair. "Back home, I'd say I'm about the best we humans can look."

"With an ego to match." Mirage cycled his optics with a smirk, eyeing his friend curiously while keeping himself between any bot stupid enough to try and sneak up on Prowl's blindside. "Your frame suits you."

"And don't I know it." Jazz winked, setting his helmet on the table by his feet. "Man, you guys are just...so much bigger in person. I mean I know you are, it's just weird ta see it with my own eyes, er optics."

"Trust me, it's weird for us too." Sideswipe commented from his spot among the crowd, amused more than anything when the inevitable questions started pouring in. To his credit, Jazz tries to answer some of them, but he steps back when Prowl draws himself to his full height and silences almost everyone when he crosses his arms, smiling to himself when the bot speaks.

"If you have any further questions, you can ask them another time, most of you are late for your assigned duty shifts, Jazz included."

"Ya wound me Prowler!" The human let out a whine at the supposed betrayal, but the grin never left his face as he turned to his mecha. "I guess I could get movin', don't want to keep Brawn too late."

"Indeed." Prowl offered his servo once more, aware of the many prying optics watching as Jazz hopped onto his palm, slipping his strange helm covering back on as he was safely delivered back to his larger frame. They watched Jazz buckle himself back into the harness within the spa - piloting chamber, the chassis closing up when something connected with the back of his helm covering, the visor on the frame they were all accustomed to lighting up with a slight hum.

"Fun time's over." Jazz waved his servo, everyone murmuring to each other while they slowly dispersed. "Man that was fun."

"You find most activities fun, dangerous or otherwise." Prowl shook his helm in exasperation as Jazz laughed, the human leaning over to gently bonk his helm against Prowl's.

"I'll see you later, gorgeous." With that Jazz sweeps out of the room, Prowl watching him go with a look that made Mirage do a double take.

"You definitely chose someone...interesting." The saboteur chuckled, saving the image of a soft smile on Prowl's face for some future use.

"So I have..."

---

Jazz had wondered what Prowl's face felt like from the moment the met, in awe at how the metal creased and smoothed out much like his own skin did. Would it be cold and stiff, or warm and pliable? Ah the thought plagued him from time to time, becoming worse when he fell for said mech.

So, when he comes across Prowl asleep (no recharge) at his desk, a data pad clutched in his clawed hands, Jazz grins. Locking the door to Prowl's office, more for the tactician's peace of mind than his own, Jazz quietly grabs the only other chair in the room and sets it down on the other side of Prowl's desk, resting one arm on top of the table. Prowl is still asleep when Jazz powers down the link with his mecha, shivering at the sensation of becoming so small before slowly unbuckling himself, setting his helmet aside before starting the (admittedly) long journey across the room. Thankfully his magnetic lock boots made his journey down the arm of his faithful mecha relatively safe, staring up at his boyfriend (boybot? Ugh no, no way in hell) with an amused smile.

"Always gonna be the smallest huh?"

Now, here comes the hard part, one that could end up getting him flung across the room or smashed into paste if he triggered the wrong response from his sleeping partner. Okay, deep breath, and with a quick crossing of his fingers, Jazz activated the magnetics in his gloves before placing them on Prowl's arm as a test run. One doorwing twitched at the initial contact, but Prowl remained still, and with a deep breath Jazz started climbing, climbing up his mech's arm nice and slow. It was a little tricky when he reached Prowl's shoulder, but with a little awkward shuffling and a twist of his upper body, Jazz was within reach of his partner's face.

Now here comes the Hard Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.

It took a few tries to unwrap the base of his glove with his teeth, heart racing when he was only attached to Prowl via his shoes and magnetized knee pads in order to free his hand, but soon he was ready to do the biggest thing he's wanted to since he first laid eyes on Prowl. His hand is shaking slightly, but that doesn't matter when it makes contact with Prowl's cheek, brain short circuiting at how...soft and warm the metal was to his touch. While it didn't exactly move with his touch, Jazz could feel the nanites that were on the outer surface of every Cybertronian react, twitching when he felt a buzzing under his finger tips. He becomes used to the buzz as he takes his time mapping out the dips and curves of Prowl's face, missing the cycling of optics before a loud chirp breaks the silence, Jazz yelping as he jerked back in surprise far enough to detach from Prowl's shoulder. He doesn't fall very far when he lands on a hand (servo dude) with a grunt, Prowl looking worried as Jazz propped himself up on one arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep! Next time I need ta clip a harness on you or somethin', don't want to fall again." Jazz waved with his uncovered hand, sitting cross-legged on Prowl's palm. "Saw you asleep, an' I couldn't resist."

"Resist what?" A quick look at his chronometer showed he'd not been asleep too long, optics flickering down to his partner when he felt something strange touch one of his digits.

"This might sound kinda weird, but I've wanted ta touch your face since we met." Jazz had uncovered his second hand and was touching the closest digit, a look he couldn't classify crossing Jazz's face when he gave it a squeeze. "Weird, these are warm, but not as warm as your face."

"Did you enjoy your...examination?" Something fluttered in his spark at the smile Jazz gave him, and once again gave thanks to Primus that he'd been given a chance.

"Mhm! I'd love to again some time, see those pretty lil' optics of yours." Jazz winked, watching doorwings give a full on flutter. "Glad we both agree."

"You shall be the end of me, Jazz." Embarrassment colors Prowl's words as he sits back in his chair, watching Jazz lay back on his palm, hands underneath his head as he sighs happily.

"Your hand is pretty comfy...not a sentence I ever expected to say to my boyfriend, but it is what it is."

"I suppose you shall have to make yourself comfortable then, I still have some reports to finish." Prowl clicked, grabbing the pad he'd been reading before he fell asleep.

"Gives me an excuse to nap then." Jazz moved to remove the outer layer that supported his pedes, his processor supplying the word shoe as Jazz resumed his position with a yawn. "Have fun Prowler."

"Have a pleasant recharge, Jazz."

Jazz doesn't need to know he had already completed his work before his "nap", merely settling in for a novel he'd wanted to get through as his partner slept in his grasp.

#personal #transformers #mecha pilot jazz au #tf mecha universe #jazzprowl #jazz #prowl #mirage #absolutely adore this AU #feral Prowl barely holding back to keep his human safe

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toshisdecadence · 1 month ago

Text

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol—a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off.

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half—an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner?

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering—to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it—the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body—everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much—burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel—the stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going—his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him—he felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

#honkai star rail #star rail #honkai sr #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail svarog #svarog x reader #svarog smut #hsr svarog #svarog #robot fuckers unite #tw: dark content #cw: dubcon #size difference #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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muletia · 3 months ago

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[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: optimus has a dream about you

cw: obsessed!optimus, angst, fluff (only at the beginning), implied robot-fucking/valveplug, mentioned pregnancy, optimus is depressed

word count: 810

The mission took longer than he expected. Retaking the energon mine from the Decepticons stretched on for what felt like an eternity, as the enemy kept calling in reinforcements. For every fallen Vehicon, two more would appear, alive and ready. The battle dragged on too long, completely draining the Autobots’ energy and morale. But they succeeded. For the first time in many months, they claimed victory, securing a steady supply of energon.

Optimus was the first to cross the ground bridge, praying to Primus that you were still in the base. Once inside, he transformed gracefully, though in haste, and headed toward the platform. The tension left him instantly when he saw you on the couch with a book in hand. He made a mental note to ask you about it later.

Despite his exhaustion, he managed a smile, mirroring your animated expression. Getting close enough to the platform, he leaned down and pressed the gentlest, most tender kiss on your head, pouring all his immense love for you into that single act. You giggled as his warm breath lightly tousled your hair, and Optimus listened to your laughter as if it were the most beautiful melody, composed just for him. Feeling playful, he blew gently once more so you’d grace him with your laughter again.

The other team members paid no mind to the sweet scene, fully accustomed to your little exchanges of affection.

"Hello, my dearest," he murmured, still close to you. He didn’t want to leave your side. Ever.

"Hello, love. Mission accomplished?"

"Yes, we managed to secure the mine. We have supplies for the next few months."

"That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you."

Now it was your turn to shower him with affection. You planted kisses on his warm metal face, making sure not to miss a single spot, so Optimus knew just how much you loved him. Such a simple gesture was enough to make the leader of the Autobots weak in the knees, looking as though he’d ascended to heaven. But thankfully, he didn’t have to ascend anywhere — his heaven was right there, wherever you were. He had never been so happy, so blissfully content. After all those years of brutal war, spilled energon, and lost comrades, he had finally found his piece of heaven.

"Optimus?"

He blinked a few times. He was no longer in the base. Before him stretched a vast panorama of mountains, forests, valleys, and lakes, with no beginning or end. He’d passed similar landscapes many times on patrol, admiring the beauty of this planet. Each time, they left him speechless.

"Optimus?"

He looked down to where the voice was coming from, and a smile appeared automatically when he saw you. You looked concerned, likely because of his momentary distraction; to comfort him, you were gently stroking the metal on his shoulder… When had he managed to mass-displace? He had no idea, and it didn’t matter as long as you were so close, touching him, focusing all your attention on him.

He wanted to hold you and never let go so much.

"You were gone for a long time. I was worried."

Looking at you as if you were the eighth wonder of the world, Optimus gently stroked your cheek, handling you like fine porcelain. You smiled at his gesture, snuggling closer into his metal servo. He was always so tender with you, so gentle, a contrast to his true, raw strength. He took care to never harm you, to always make you feel safe.

Especially during the pregnancy.

His caring optics instinctively shifted to your slightly rounded belly, widening in surprise. He looked startled, and he was. Shocked that your biologies were compatible enough to create an offspring together.

But he had known about it for a few months now…

Slowly, he moved his trembling hand to your belly, caressing the curve. A smile appeared on his slightly parted lips. Could it be that his life had finally come together? No more war, no more being a Prime? Could he finally be free?

"This is a dream, isn’t it?" he whispered, looking into your eyes.

But you were no longer there.

Optimus woke up tense and anxious. Of course, it had only been a dream. His life couldn’t be so perfect, so flawless. He clutched his face as the scenes from the dream played over in his processor, now tormenting him in the real world. You haunted him even in his dreams, offering no respite even in his most private realm. But, unfortunately for him, there was only one antidote for this condition.

With a heavy spark, he got up from his berth and left his quarters. He automatically headed toward the main section of the base, clinging desperately to the faint, naive hope that he’d find you there and maybe, just maybe you would spare him a glance.

#transformers #transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #tfp #obsessed!optimus

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cyberrose2001 · 3 months ago

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HUMAN PET AU <3

Ratchet finally comes home from working all day at the med bay, the poor medic is tired as hell and just wants to relax in the comfort of his own berth. Fortunately enough, ratchet owns an exotic pet. A human he has grown fond of. They are fully trained and even have their own collar (with the message “Please return to Ratchet if lost” written on it), they have also learned how to help Ratchet de-stress by letting him use their hole as his personal flesh light <3 His happy little human loves becoming his cum dump to help him get his frustrations out, such a helpful little pet <33

any continuity of ratchet is fine (pick ur fav!), afab but gender neutral reader please and thank you moni 🙏❤️‍🩹

A Sight For Sore Optics - Human Pet AU

IDW/MTMTE Ratchet x human! afab! gn!Reader

Hi Gem! Thank you so much for your request, I was literally foaming at the mouth ready to write this. To make this more anatomically possible, Ratchet's spike transforms to a more "safer" size. So I hope this is good please be good (I haven't finished reading mtmte yet so forgive me). Also if I have missed any tags please let me know!

Warnings: Xenophilia, Size Kink, Collaring, Oral (both receiving and giving), Masturbation, Praise Kink, Cum Dumping, Mild Dubious Consent (?)

Word Count: 2.3k

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Another day, another few thousand miles of endless space, another few sickly bots. Additionally, a few unkempt humans requiring attention due to poor conditions from their previous owners. With the new organic additions to the Lost Light at the captain's approval, Ratchet had found himself biting off more than he could chew, looking after bots and humans. Oh, how he wished he took up an organic health course or something other than primarily relying on Brainstorm's fervent research on the tiny creatures. Between juggling it all, Ratchet was unsure how much more his threadbare servos could take. Still, there was one thing the old medic was unmistakable about. He was tired.

One good thing, he must admit, is that he gets to return to you. His own human pet, a personal 'Thank you' gift on behalf of the entire crew for his selflessness and hard work, provided with you a basket with fundamental necessities. But the basket had long since been used up, and he had transformed it into a makeshift cot for you. It'll do for now, he had thought.

He was initially still trying to figure out what to think of you. Apart from very rudimentary health checkups and nutritional foods, there wasn't much that Ratchet could provide for you. There's not many enriching activities for such a tiny human like yourself. Until that is, he discovered something quite unusual that had been exhibited in almost every human adopted by the crew so far.

You have an insatiable libido.

Ratchet was unsure, if not downright nervous if other owners were to discover how incredibly beneficial humans could be. Whether or not they had already learned was an entirely different story. It wouldn't surprise Ratchet if that was the very reason why human pets were approved, though it seems shocking. It all seemed so innocent enough, adopting humans for the cuteness factor for the mechs on board. But as with most things, there's always more than just the surface level of what the optic sees. And Ratchet was already way too far below the surface.

Punching in the code for his hab suite, Ratchet waits eagerly for the door to open with twitching digits. He steps inside, tossing whatever work essentials he has on hand on the first bench he sees. He'll worry about reorganising later. Right now, he needs some pet therapy and a well-overdue overload. The dull ache behind his panels only gets stronger as his pedes carry him to his berthroom to you, curled up on his berth. It looked as if you neglected your rudimentary cot, choosing to sleep on his berth instead. The medic can't help the softened expression as he melts at the sight. Of all the things he didn't think he deserved, he never once expected it to be such an adorable little thing like you.

He lets his pedes wander over to you, like countless times before, careful and delicate. He always told himself that this 'fling' he had with you was only temporary and that it was purely for his curiosity, but he tends to find himself aching for you repeatedly. He can't help how his racing neurocircuits seem to fizzle out and calm down when he lies with you.

A roughened servo brushes over your hair to slowly stir you. It looked like you had been napping for some time now, which he believes is a good thing. Brainstorm did say that humans tend to sleep better in environments they consider comfortable. The gentle brushing causes you to stir and lift your head to greet him, though in a language yet to be deciphered. It's a pleasant greeting, and Ratchet can tell they're happy to see him. Something along the lines of 'I missed you,' he'd like to think.

"Hey, squishy. I missed you too," Ratchet smiles warmly. He brushes the hair away from your neck to reveal a collar, "You haven't ripped it off yet. Seems like you like it, hm?"

A slight, sleepy nod in confirmation, you've grasped at what he said. Ratchets' digits trail down to the collar, a small silver plate that reads 'Please Return to Ratchet If Lost - HabSuite ###" engraved in Cybertronian. Not that you tend to wander off, but more or less a just in case. Plus, he gets a thrill seeing his name attached to you. He thumbs it gently, admiring his handy work.

"I'm glad you do. It took me quite some time to make," Ratchet tugs at it softly, beckoning you to come closer. He watches you climb onto his lap, "Such tiny adornments are complex to create, 'specially with hands like mine." A servo cups your back, his thumb moving to play with your soft chest. He shivers when he hears a tiny whimper from you, and you seem eager to play with him already.

"I've had a busy day," A mechanical noise of shifting gears as his spike slides out of its housing, "I think you know what I need." It's well and truly bigger than you, much bigger than your tiny body could ever take. But the way your eyes light up in excitement assures Ratchet that you are more than pleased, already desperately taking off your quirky frame coverings. He eyes off your cute organic valve, notices how dripping wet it is, and staves off a moan.

"C'mere for a second," Ratchet scoops you into his servo to bring you closer to his face. He gets a whiff of your arousal, so earthy and addicting. The more you spread your thighs for him, the more he can smell. He brings you to his intake and licks one hearty stripe up your folds.

Oh yes, he thinks. Better than energon. Better than any high grade to ever pass his dermas, like a warm drink that soothes and revitalises his senses. It thickens on his glossa, groaning at the taste as he swirls it around your little node. He watches intently as you squeal in delight, your thighs trembling around his cheeks and how your little face contorts into one of pleasure. Well, he had always presumed it was in pleasure; you've never exactly shied away from his glossa. He hums when you feel him grinding, desperate little ruts chasing the vibrations.

Ratchet licks one last time at your slick, pulling away to observe. Oral lubricants coat your valve thickly, the sensitive area reddened from his torment. His optics wander up; your soft skin is already flushed and glistening with sweat. He wonders how close you were to overloading; it wouldn't have taken much longer if he had kept going. But his spike grows restless, throbbing against his abdominal plating, begging to be touched by much softer palms than his own.

"Do you want my spike? Hm?" Ratchet teases, "My big spike?" He knows you can't fully understand him, but he can't help but vocalise his salacious fantasy. Holding onto you carefully, he lounges back onto the berth. He bites his bottom derma and lowers you to his lap, showing you his engorged spike, "Go on then, have at it. I'll frag your little brains out soon."

With an encouraging nudge from Ratchet, you straddle the shaft. To anyone else, it looks ridiculous. A tiny human desperately attempting to wrap their arms around a spike that's two times taller than they are. But to any depraved fleshy fragger, it's a sight to behold. Ratchet once thought of snapping a picture to potentially maybe sell it to the highest bidder for those who crave the feeling of such a soft body grinding on them, for he is sure there's a market out there somewhere, probably more than half of the crew onboard. Still, the shame of it all prevents him. There's an image to uphold being the resident medic.

Besides, he'd much prefer to keep you and that curious tongue all for himself.

He feels your little licks along him, a tiny tongue wiggling through the grooves and smooth surface, reaching crevices with hidden nodes that cause his pedes to curl. Soft ruts of your hips press your soaked valve right up against him. He knows what you want. The medic brings a servo to grip around his spike with you squished between, only tight enough to keep you in place as he begins self-servicing himself. He hears you letting out a surprised gasp, then a muffled moan, feeling your grip tighten around him.

"Yeah? You like that, squishy?" Ratchet moans, moving his servo slightly faster, "I bet you-nghh do. You look so cute like that. So tiny pressed against my spike."

Only a taste of your warmth is given through your body, like the little tease you are. Ratchet feels the perspiration dripping off you, likely due to the rise of his internal temperature and the energon being solely diverted to his array. It makes for a mediocre yet acceptable lubrication. He could spike you with it alone, but Ratchet prefers to use alternate practices in the interest of your health. Primus knows how careless other Cybertronians can be with their pets.

The medic is becoming increasingly aware of his overload and yours by the looks of things, your little optics squeezed shut, and your limbs clamped tight around his girth. He consciously decides to stop before you reach it. The idea of you squirming on his spike played on his processor a bit too well. He hears your soft whine at the loss of friction, which Ratchet can't help but chuckle at.

"I know, I know. I'm so mean, aren't I? Hold on, squishy." Ratchet lets you rest against his palm while his weeping spike whirs and clunks inwards to a much more manageable size for a human. His spike may be smaller, but there's not much difference in sensation. Thank Primus for the minicon-compatability modes, "You alright?"

A small squeak from you, yes. The medic watches intently as you waste no time climbing on, guided by his careful servo. You press your little valve against the tip, hissing as it barely slips through. Ratchet digs his pedes into the berth at the intense sensation, gritting his dentae as you bottom out. The feeling is incomparable to anything else; it's uniquely organic, warm, and so, so much softer than mesh.

He then wraps his entire servo around you, effectively turning you into one perfect spike sleeve only for him. Perfectly snug inside you, his grip clenches and unclenches around your torso before gently unsheathing himself from you again.

Ratchet is always careful when he uses you in this manner, ensuring his grip isn't too tight. He pushes you back down again, and he feels you melt into his servo. He hears your little whimpers and cries for him, to go faster, he believes. He learned a long ago that he doesn't need to understand your verbal mumbles when your fleshy hips try to hastefully force yourself down onto him, only halted by his own hand. His grip ever so tightens and gives in to your desperation, or more or less his own.

"You're so good for me, squishy. Hah- Lettin' me use your little valve like a toy." Ratchet mewls, his helm lolling off to the side as his optics flick between your face and the way his spike disappears inside you, "Such a helpful little pet you are."

He feels your velvet walls clamp down on him with each and every praise he gives, your little arms draped over the top of his thumb, clinging on for dear life. Every now and then, he massages your breasts pressed up against it, eliciting more dirty moans from you. Such softness that he can't help but take advantage of.

"So- ngh- tight," Ratchet vents heavily, "Primus, you've ruined me for my own race."

He felt a twinge of shame hearing himself; it was as if he had entirely let himself go. But he knows he can no longer turn back, not when you're the best little creature to ever stumble into his life. Despite him having you wrapped around his digits, it is indeed him wrapped around yours. The relief you bring to him after every gruelling shift, after every stressful day upon this damned ship, had him truly addicted.

And with an internal affirmation of decadence and with your soft little valve clenching and pulsing around his spike, he's sent right over the edge.

"Frag yes, sweetspark!-" He glitches out, pressing you down on his thick shaft as far as your soft little body can tolerate. His energon pulses deeply and shocks his entire body with an overload, shooting gush after gush of transfluids into you. His frame lurches forward, his hips driving into the berth as he milks his throbbing spike, his servo driving it deeper into you in a lust-filled daze. Your whines and cries only spur him on more, and he doesn't stop until you're shaking like a leaf in his hold.

It takes only a few more moments for a spent Ratchet to collapse back with you still in his grip, albeit slumped against his thumb. You're panting hard, and he can only just feel your tiny heart pounding against him. You must have had your own overload by the looks of it if the bliss-filled smile on your soft lips is anything to go by. His optics linger down to your soft, distended stomach and the dripping mess that splatters across your thighs and onto his pelvic plating. Now that truly is a sight for sore optics, he thinks to himself.

Ratchet huffs, bringing his other servo to pat the top of your head, "Now there's my happy little human, huh?" He smiles warmly when he feels you leaning into his touch, "How 'bout I fill you up some more?"

If this was what it took for the old medic to de-stress and relax, then so be it. If he were to be exposed to the rest of the crew, then may he join the rest of them. In secret, for now, he will proudly declare himself a lover of organic flesh.

#transformers x reader #transformers x human reader #idw mtmte #mtmte #idw ratchet #mtmte ratchet #mtmte x reader #mtmte ratchet x reader #idw ratchet x reader #human pet au #first contact au #valveplug #cyberrosewrites

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weirdlookingsnakewithlegs · 4 months ago

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Seekers are natural caretakers.

It comes with being in a trine, with being in a flock. It comes with being a Winglord especially, so I imagine in TFP Starscream is so jittery, he needs something to fuss over. He doesn’t have his trine anymore and his remaining seekers are all scattered around the universe.

The need to preen and fuss and groom grabs onto him and refuses to let go. Often times he’d find himself looking over Knock Out or Soundwave, on rarer occasions Megatron or Breakdown, searching for gunk. He eyes their joints for anything stuck between them and sometimes he’ll reach out to itch something off only to pull his servo away when he catches himself.

I imagine Soundwave is the first to fully understand, he understands the need to fawn and fuss and care for others, Lazerbeak was prime proof that he understands. So he hands her to Starscream, making some lie that she was hurt on her last scout and needs a watchful optic while he’s busy. He almost doesn’t expect Starscream to jump at the offer.

And that’s how it starts, because when Lazerbeak returns to Soundwave at the end of the cycle she’s about eight times cleaner and seems rather happy about her visit. Primus she’s even covered in fresh polish and Soundwave hasn’t seen the cassette so excited. She shows Soundwave everything, the overzealous grooming, the careful polishing in which Starscream had to very gently hold her steady, and they even played.

It nearly blows Soundwave away, he hadn’t expected such gentleness from the seeker, he hadn’t expected the seeker to take it so seriously either. Well, he had his suspicions, but this is much more than what he thought.

And it just starts with grooming, before Soundwave knows it, Starscream is catching scraplets for the cassette. When the seeker first brings one he almost thinks it to be alive, its frame slightly twitching after he dropped it on Soundwave’s desk. Though, the energon leaking from its frame and the crashed in helm make him realize otherwise. Lazerbeak isn’t sure what to make of it as well and it’s a standstill until she, before Soundwave can stop her, sips up some of the leaking energon.

She loves it.

And it doesn’t take long before Starscream is almost always focused on her, foreground and background. Soundwave often finds Starscream staring at Lazerbeak while she rests against his chassis during their conversations. He senses Starscream’s worry in his EM field every time Lazerbeak is on recon. And Lazerbeak soaks up the attention like nothing else, happy chirps going back and forth between seeker and cassette.

Something about catches Soundwave’s spark but he stays quiet, happy with watching for now.

#starscream #transformers #seeker culture #tfp starscream #tfp soundwave #starwave #soundscream #idk the ship name for these two #lazerbeak #tfp #feralscream

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rabotimagines · 25 days ago

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"Toping you when they usually bottom" GN BOT Reader x Jazz, Prowl, Thundercracker, Soundwave

Summary: First time the bots top you when you usually top them.

Warnings: None.

Genere/Theme: Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: Jazz, Prowl, Thundercracker, Soundwave.

Notes: Reader bottoms for the first time. Bot reader so valve/spike used.

Pronouns: You, your, yours.

Jazz is a true no leaning switch himself. He expertly folds to fit his partners likes and wants. Jazz isn't too fixated on topping or bottoming, really. He just wants to have fun and share the moments with you. So he's not exactly bemoaning or anything about not topping you yet. ... But it's his creation day, and you ask him if he wanted anything particular, and he leans real close to you, smiles, and asks, "Let me eat your valve out?" Which leads to his current residence between your thighs, with him working you through your third overload of the night with his glossia. Jazz always gives oral like he's on a mission, and tonight wasn't any different. Jazz loves making you fall apart for him. Shame you didn't let him do it more often. He pulls away when you stop shaking from overload number three. "Let me just say... I love my gift." Jazz smiles easy and nuzzles his cheek against your inner thigh.

"Jazz -" the pitch in your tone makes him pause to make proper optical contact with you. Your expression was serious with no room for argument. Jazz fully expects you to tap out for the night when the last thing he expects sounds out of you. "Spike me."

Jazz's jaw sets, and he's on his pedes at a startling speed. "Oh baby can do-" his array pops opens and his spike pressurizes properly. He savors the sight of your dripping valve under his spike before sliding home easily due to how aroused you were. "Frag- Really spoiling me today, huh?" Jazz huffed a laugh, enjoying how you felt fluttering around him. Jazz doesn't wait to start thrusting in lazy but deep motions. Making sure to bottom out every time he did so. Jazz hoists your pedes up onto his pauldrons and traps you against him and his berth.

Jazz's pace picks up till he overloads with a sharp invent. Jazz groans at the feeling of spilling inside you, his hips lazily rolling against yours through it.

You're both venting against one another until Jazz eventually picks up his pace again. Hips soon snapping like they had been before. You jerk and grasp at Jazz's armor tight, your optics are deliciously bright while huffs and gasps slipped outta you. Valve still taking his spike so nicely. "Got two more overloads to go! Need to- catch up with you, Sweetspark." Course Jazz was planning on catching up again if he got you to overload again- and again-

It was unlikely, but Jazz really hopes he breaks before you do.

With Prowl, it's a touch- complicated. You didn't really "Top" so to speak before this point- but neither had he. Prowl didn't like losing control on the battlefield or in the berth. You just so happened to be the same. So you'd both begun with servo and mouth activities, with most times it leading to hot and heavy frottage. Most often, it would end with you both usually rutting against one another like a pair of aggressive cyber hounds. Yes, Prowl would like to overload in your valve, but he also wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of the opposite. So Prowl knew he had no right to ask you to do the same. You found a middle ground regardless, and it worked.

Prowl didn't count on it occurring, but it does end up happening when you're grinding against one another again. Both of your servos are over each other's spikes, jerking up and down at a steady pace. Prowl is already close to his own overload- only you end up releasing your own spike and shift, pushing your hips upwards. Prowl hissed in a vent and glanced down at where the head of his spike was now slotting against the folds of your valve. When he glances back up he was met by your bright optics "Prowl, if you don't spike me right now I'm leaving-" Prowls optics widen and he grasps at your armor and snaps his hips harshly. His spike bottoming out inside you with a gasp. Prowl vents harsh at the sensation of your valve wrapped around him.

Prowl frags you harsh against the berth, his chassis coming down and pressing hard against your own. Much too pent up from thinking he'd never be inside your valve like this and already much too close to overloading. Your servos grasp tight on the base of his doorwings, and Prowl groans. His hips buck harder and harder, trying to savor the hot rush it is. Eventually, you squeeze his doorwings, and Prowl overloads only to keep fragging you both right through it. His transfluid makes a mess of your inner thighs in the process. Until Prowl eventually bottoms out inside you and stilled. Prowl began huffing in panted vents.

He pulled back a touch, the sound of you huffing brings his optics back to your cobalt tinted faceplate. The after effects of a hardy valve overload are still obviously rocking through your frame.

Maybe Prowl could... offer to return the favor. Especially if it raised the chance of you doing the same afterward.

Thundercracker kinda does mind, but he also doesn't know how to bring it up. He didn't hate bottoming or anything he just really wants to top you more- or at all. He's got a spike, and he wants to frag you into the dirt with it. The problem is Thundercracker isn't going to say that, and he doesn't exactly know what he's supposed to say about it. So he elects he'll say something when he finds the chance. You're in Thundercrackers lap, glossia in his mouth with your modesty panels pulled back, grinding on one another. And in the heat of it, Thundercracker lifts your hips and drags the length of his spike across the opening of your valve. Your valve lubricant coats his spike, and he gasps at the feeling.

You only jolt and break away to stare down, and Thundercracker lately realizes what he'd just done. But this was the perfect chance to ask, right?

Thundercracker grabs your hips and tentatively lines his spike up with your valve. "Can I?" He asks stupidly, and Thundercracker is immediately regretting how he'd asked that. Why did he do that- Before he can rip into himself mentally, you wordlessly grabbed his pauldrons and started lowering your valve on his spike- and Oh Pit! He's inside you now- Thundercracker hissed a vent at the sensation of you dropping down his length. Digits grasped tight on your hip armor when you sat back in his lap, spike now fully inside you. Oh, you feel Perfect- slag. You squeezing down on him every time you vented made Thundercracker feel hazy.

Your digits abruptly dig into the sensitive base of his wings and Thundercracker keens and spills inside you. Thundercracker groans and ruts against you in short motions through his own overload. Thundercracker can feel his optics brighten fast and harshly in mortification when realization sets in. You're staring at where his own transfluid is now spilling down into Thundercrackers lap. Thundercracker opens his mouth to apologize, but all that comes out is a sharp grunt when you grind down in Thundercrackers' lap. Thundercrackers digits dig hard enough in your own waist the metal wants to try to give and you still. Thundercracker huffs and makes optic contact with you. "Wanna overload in me again?" You casually ask, apparently much too forgiving for Thundercracker.

Thundercracker nods fast a quick. "Yes." Sounding out of him, very glad you were giving him a chance to redeem himself. He genuinely did not know what he'd do with himself if that was his one experience with your valve.

Here's to hoping (and praying) he didn't frag up round two.

Soundwave is a true verse normally. But he's frankly so tired from war efforts that he barely has the energy to interface, let alone top most days. He doesn't have a problem indulging you with his valve when he's feeling lazy but still wants to sexually satisfy you. Yes, Soundwave would like to spike you more often or once even. But the days and battles take up most of his energy and free time. One day, you have a mission, and it ends with Soundwave pissed after stupid battlefield decisions that made the entire battle drag on much longer than needed. You were in group A and had a much easier time than Soundwaves group B during the mission. He enters his habsuite to find you already laying face down on his berth, having let yourself in.

Soundwave walks over and doesn't hesitate to straddle, and full-on shoves his faceplate flat on the back of your chassis. Eventually, his servos start wandering with his earlier frustrations feeding his continued touches. Soundwave skipped tracing and moved to fondling and pulling on your frame. Soundwave sees your modesty panel where your valve would be visible to him. he's digging his digits into your hips already. "Permission to spike?" You grant him it and pull your array back, and Soundwave doesn't hesitate to spike you then and there.

Soundwave would usually take his time to savor you or this, but Soundwaves frustrated. And you at least seem content taking that frustration for him. He'll have to reward you later for it, but right now, he's slamming himself into your valve from behind over and over again. "Soundwave- spike!" you muttered and- Ah- he sees. Your spike can't pressurize right with you flat on his berth. Soundwave pulls your hips up a touch, and your spike pressurizes instantly. Soundwave then snaps his hips hard enough to frag you back flat on his berth. Your spinal strut arched and your servos gripped at his berth for some type of purchase. You squeeze down on him, and Soundwave realizes he's about to overload. Soundwaves servos abandon your thighs, and he reaches over further to press his digits over your mouth.

Soundwave groans deep when you wordlessly take two of his digits in and start sucking. Your glossia laps along them with a hum and Soundwave bottoms out and promptly overloads inside you. You overload right after him, which makes Soundwave only press you harder into his berth. Your valve is twitching around his spike length as you come down from both your combined post overload high. You huff when Soundwave pulls his now oral lubricant soaked digits out of your mouth.

Soundwave might have to adjust his schedule and make the time so he can spike you again like this.

#transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #transformers x y/n #transformers #x reader #jazz x reader #prowl x reader #thundercracker x reader #soundwave x reader #transformers x reader smut #valveplug #Rabot writes #Last post had alot of reds now we got alotta blues #🔞

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webtech-group · 2 months ago

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revelboo · 3 months ago

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Begging for more soundwave...especially the kink list. We are just little creatures in need of big mech babes XD

Not sure if you meant silent, tentacle cryptid Soundwave or IDW tired, single-dad Soundwave… so here’s both versions 🌶️ 18+ Mass displaced mechs

Soundwave x Reader- Encounters 🌶️

IDW Soundwave x Reader- bad dream

• He can feel the moment your dreams shift and go somewhere dark. Your emotions snarling and crackling over him as he sits up and looks over at you. Face buried against your pillow, you shift in your sleep. Reaching over, he smoothes a palm along your spine, the contact strengthening the connection between you two, but he can’t make any sense of the nightmare, only the visceral fear. Venting softly, he hooks an arm under you and pulls you into his lap.

• Your distress follows you into waking as you fight the arm wrapped around you in blind panic before Soundwave hums at you, holding you as the shaking eases leaving your heart racing. A fact he notes by pressing a servo right over that frantic rhythm. His mask brushes against your cheek and neck as he rumbles against you. “Safe, little one.” Smiling at that low, tonal voice, you lean into him in response.

• “Did I wake you?” Worrying about him to try and hide how shaken you still are? Sliding his palm up to tip your head back against his shoulder, he vents against your skin just to feel your body go taut against him. Knows if he asks you won’t tell him about the nightmare. It’s not the first time and as much as it bothers him, likely won’t be the last. Whatever haunts your rest is something you don’t trust him with yet. He understands even as it doesn’t sit right with him, but he also knows how to banish that fear from your thoughts completely.

• Servos against your throat, keeping your head back against his shoulder so your body is arched, you feel the arm curled around you shift, slide down to cup you. Know exactly what he’s doing, because somehow he knows when that nightmare surfaces and his response since you can’t talk about it is always the same. Distraction. Shuddering as his servos pet you, stroking as you respond for him. Body heating and softening, because this sort of distraction? The kind that makes you feel alive and cherished? You need it right now. “Please,” you murmur, rocking against his servos and with a low growl, he buries one inside you. Curling it to stroke deep.

• You tremble in his grip, hips bucking to demand more. Fucking you with that one servo in slow deliberate strokes until you’re mindlessly whimpering his name. Begging for him. Until he just can’t fight it anymore. That noise you make when he slips his wet servo free so sweet to him. Lifting your hips and guiding himself to you. And that noise when he buries himself fully inside you in one deep stroke? It almost undoes him right there. Shuddering with restraint, he grips your hips to keep you still while he reins himself in, because otherwise you’ll start moving in his lap and it’ll be over far too soon.

• “Soundwave,” you groan, head falling back against him as he keeps you still. Won’t thrust and won’t let you rock against him, tormenting you with that thick spike stretching you. “Please.” Growling against you, he lifts you until he’s almost free of you, shuddering when you grab onto his hands in protest, because you might just die if he does stop now. But then he’s lowering you again, slowly so you can feel every ridge and bump of his spike. Too slow when your body is thrumming and aching.

• It’s almost like drowning in you, the connection between you both one sided as your emotions crash over him and then he’s gripping your hips, moving you faster on his spike as your need fuels his own. Your head thrown back against him, needy sounds getting ragged and louder as he lifts his hips as he pulls you down, the wet sounds of your body taking his fraying the last of his control. Now he’s making noises, growling as he claims you in urgent drives of his hips and chasing after when you tighten on his spike. Burying himself deep and pinning you in place as he releases inside you, hips rocking to stretch it out.

TFP Soundwave x Reader-tease

• Always busy. Always working. You watch his long servos flying over that weird holographic keyboard, his visored face limned in the screen’s glow as line after line of indecipherable alien gibberish scrolls away. And you’re bored as you stare at his spiky back, mind wandering to things you could be doing instead of work. Like him. And that head turns to stare at you, tipping with predatory interest. The weight of that stare making you breathless with anticipation. Because while he can’t read your thoughts exactly as far as you can figure, he definitely can pick up on when your mind goes hurtling in that direction.

• Need and hunger, pull at him in an intoxicating rush as your face reddens because you know he knows. Snaring you with a tendril looped around your middle, he brings you to him and mass shifts. Your emotions crash over him, straining his own control as you cling to that tendril. Protesting with a laugh as he uses his servos to shred the thin coverings you wear. Needing more connection. A second tendril coiling around your upper thigh, curving to run against you and find you already so wet for him.

• Rocking your hips against the tendril to feel it sliding against you, it’s all you can do to bite back a whimper because he’s toying with you. “Mean. So mean,” you groan as the coil around you tightens slowly before easing. The tendril against you slides again in lovely friction but not nearly enough before he’s finally lowering you onto his spike, long servos curling around your hips to pull you down flush and keep you there. It’s for calling him mean. You know it is and his grip is too strong, you can’t move the way you want to. Need to move as you feel that big spike speared inside you, pulsing with his spark.

• So needy and impatient as he savors the feel of that wet, silken heat gripping his spike. Curling an arm around you, he carefully rolls you under him, pressing his visor against your throat as you gasp. Tendrils capture your wrists, pulling those soft hands up and pinning them and those eyes flash at him in annoyance. But if he lets you have any control, it’s over far too soon. You arch under him as he rocks himself against you teasingly before he begins to thrust in earnest. You don’t understand how hard it is to stay in control when he’s inside you, that telepathic link molten with your need. Feeling what you feel.

• Finally, he begins moving, that spike driving deep as he sets a brutal, urgent pace. He lets go of your wrists long enough to snake one tendril under you and hook around your waist, lifting your hips up and the next thrust slides deep, sparking through you. “Right there, please,” you want to push back to meet those thrusts and can’t with his grip, your hips up as he moves faster, harder, every deep stroke of that spike sliding right where you need it. Right there. And you’re coming apart with a cry as he ruts against you, silent except for the wet sounds of his spike pumping inside you and your own ragged cries before he drives deep, hips jerking against you as warmth spreads through you with his release. That visor rubs against your cheek until your eyes open, breathing raggedly and you snort when he offers you a little heart emoji.

#soundwave x reader #transformers #idw soundwave #tfp soundwave #transformers x reader

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tom-foolery-incorporated · 2 months ago

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I’m thinking something with starscream!? Like smut with a dom starscream and sub reader where he bends her over and overstimulates her pls🙏

Bro did you shoot like some CIA brainwave thingy at me because the night before I had a dream about Starscream and today I’ve been thinking about him all day. Poorest meow meow, most evil loser, fucked up princess

Starscream x Reader, AFAB gender neutral reader, racially ambiguous, overstimulation, g/t, brat taming, finger fucking, slight breeding kink, degradation

Starscream wasn’t known for his patience. He constantly jumped on every opportunity to overthrow Megatron that came his way but somehow Starscream managed so be methodical.

Impatient and methodical.

Maybe more so impulsive and methodical.

He jumps in leaps and bounds to conclusions, always the worst ones. Starscream wasn’t the easiest to get along with by any means yet here you were always by his side. Soft little human form perched atop his shoulder and hugging his helm. Tiny, flesh fingers dancing over his wings as he allowed himself to rest into a recharge state. You were his and Starscream made that very clear.

“Too big!” You cried drool dripping from your mouth and onto Starscream’s desk. Your ass was propped up over Starscream’s arm in the air while your lower body was slumped against the cool metal of his personal desk. His other servo was busy pushing two of his digits into your wet hole.

“I’ve seen you take larger,” Starscream said smugly. “You have no business complaining about taking two of my fingers.”

You moaned as he scissored your hole open. You managed to take his digits down to the second joint and covered them in your dripping arousal. “I can’t believe how greedy you are,” Starscream scolded as he set a brutal pace fucking his fingers into you hard enough to push your body forward. “Speaking to Thundercracker like that,” Starscream huffed as you moaned out for him pathetically. “Is your human valve really so desperate to be filled you’d take any Cybertronian spike that came your way?”

You shook your head desperately. “No! No I only need yours!” Tears welled up in your eyes at the feeling of having your poor pussy brutalized by Starscream’s fingers. “Hm,” Starscream stopped pulverizing your sweet hole for a second to think. “I don’t believe you.” He added a third finger giving you no time to adjust as he returned to his previous pace.

“Please! I only want you!” You wailed feeling your wetness leaking around where his fingers plugged you. “Please!”

Starscream smirked at your reaction reveling in your pathetic form. “Prove it.”

He pulled his servo away from your body taking his fingers out of your slick hole with a schlick. Starscream brought his digits to his intake cleaning off your arousal with his glossa.

You panted watching him over your shoulder. His lascivious display did nothing to help you catch your breath. You turned your body over so you were on your back propping yourself up on your elbows with your legs spread.

Starscream simply sat back in his chair with a smirk plastered on his stupid, handsome face. You pouted at your lover completely furious with how smug he could be.

“Don’t tell me you’re already scared?” Starscream teased releasing his modesty plate with a hiss. His spike sprung to life slapping against his abdomen. You tried your best not to melt at the sight of his fully erect cock and kept your grimace firmly in place.

Starscream gave a firm stroke of his spike before frowning down at you. “I don’t think you want to learn what I do with brats,” he warned with a scowl.

“Takes one to know one,” you snap back with an all too proud smile.

You felt the air shift for the worse as Starscream’s turbines whirled loudly. He pounced slamming his hand down to grab you as you skittered backwards like a crab. “I shouldn’t have to put up with this attitude,” Starscream growled grabbing you around your waist. You shrieked at the sudden motion of being brought to Starscream’s lap.

His spike throbbed between your thighs as the tip beaded transfluid against your chest.

“I generously let you lay on my berth,” Starscream started as he pulled your body upwards so your cunt dragged along his spike. “I amuse your little human antics.” He pushed the tip of his spike against your clit letting his transfluid lubricate down your vulva. “And you still continue to behave like a brat!” Starscream reeled his hips back then pushed forwards stuffing the head of his spike inside of your hole.

You grabbed onto his wrists as your whole face scrunched up in pain. “I think for once I’m going to take what I want from this little organic valve,” Starscream purred with a sharp thrust. You cried out his name pressing the bottom of your feet against his thigh plating. “Such a lovely little hole to fuck,” Starscream said punctuating the last word with a deep rolling thrust.

He kept a steady rhythm using you like a toy. Your cries and squirming only did more to excite him. Your hole felt raw from his fingers previously abusing it and now his spike stretching you to your limit. Tears streamed down your face as you babbled out praises and cries of pain. Starscream seemed all too pleased with how you writhed against his spike. Your squishy body so tender in his servo he could crush you like a bug. The way you gushed and squeezed around his spike made his cooling fans sputter in bliss.

“Say it,” Starscream barked stilling his thrusts. You cried out in protest at him ceasing his movement. “Say that you’re my hole to overload in.”

You whine in embarrassment and softly repeat what he had said.

Starscream pinched your clit harshly earning a cry of pain from you. “Don’t test me, human,” Starscream growled. “Try again and be louder this time.”

“I’m your hole to overload in,” you said breathlessly. Starscream huffed still not satisfied. He flicked at your sensitive pussy making you yelp.

“I’m your hole to overload in!” Your voice rang out.

Satisfied with your display of submission, Starscream grabbed you around your waist and lifted your body up and down his spike. You went limp in his servo having every ounce of your being controlled by Starscream’s drive to cum in you. “I want you to thank me for interfacing with this filthy organic valve,” Starscream spat.

“Thank you Starscream!” You cried feeling yourself pushed far past your limits.

“Unlike you,” Starscream started with a grunt. “I don’t go around taking whatever spike comes my way.”

“I don’t-“

“Shut up,” Starscream barked. “As I was saying, I don’t just interface with anyone so you better feel special to even brush up against my interface panel.”

You nod giving breathless thanks to your lover. Starscream smirked all too satisfied with his fuck toy.

His spike twitched and writhed inside of your gripping cunt. The wet noises produced by your conjoined bodies mingled with your croaking thanks to have your pussy used by your lover made Starscream dizzy with lust. “I’m surprised how you managed to stay so tight,” Starscream hissed. He could feel his release crawling its way through his circuits. “With such a floozy lifestyle I was sure you’d be gaping for any spike that came your way.”

You cried out apologies and continued raining your gratitude onto Starscream. “I don’t want any spike but yours!” You cried feeling your lower body throb in ecstasy.

Starscream swore under his breath trying not to let his hips falter. His little human so beautifully submissive in his grasp. He could be as mean as he wanted to you and still control how you clench your thighs in arousal. “Tell me what you need,” Starscream panted his thrusts becoming erratic.

“Fill me,” you panted squirming in his iron grip. “Please! Fill me with your transfluid!”

Starscream whined your name pushing his spike into you frantically. His optics were squeezed shut as he sneered in pleasure. Your velvet walls were gripping him trying to milk him dry as transfluid spilled from his needy spike. Your combined juices leaked around where he plugged your hole. Starscream’s frantic thrusting didn’t cease until his lower body was shaking. You only shivered and groaned in delight at being so full. You could feel your womb stretching to accommodate the load your lover delivered deep into you.

Starscream’s fans blared in the silence of the room. His tired optics trained on your sweaty body. “My love,” Starscream panted giving you another thrust that made you cry. “Don’t act like I’m finished taking what I want from you just yet.”

#transformers #starscream #starscream x reader #starscream valveplug #starscream x reader valveplug #transformers x reader #transformers valveplug #valveplug #maccadam #transformers smut

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smallestapplin · 14 days ago

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getting obsessed with swerve thanks to your fic, could i request a swerve x human reader where he accidentally overstimulates the reader to the point where they squirt?? (it’s both the reader and swerve’s first time and they’re both so messy and affectionate)

at the end swerve is like absolutely flabbergasted at the reader squirting and he’s like “soooo… how’d i do?”

happy new year also!!!

-favicon anon 🩵🩵

I like the way you think! (Also sorry if there re any errors, my autocorrect hates me.)

Warnings : enby afab reader, squirting, swerve being a pussy fiend. Oral fem receiving

🔞Minors do NOT interact! Adults only!🔞

Word count : 2,212😔 I went a tad overboard.

You both are a little awkward, and who can blame you when Swerve is over twice your size, and who can blame him when you are so much smaller than him? Despite being a minibot he’s still at least four or five feet taller than you, not to mention how much thicker he is than you.

The size difference between you two is made more apparent as he leans over you, his cheeks flushed blue with energon realizing he’s finally going to get to taste you, to please you and finally make his claim. But you look so cute under him like this, removing any of your coverings, letting him fully see your soft body.

He’s never been with a human before, especially never interfaced with one! Primus, what if he messes up? What if he hurts you on accident? Oh, he’d never be able to live with himself if anything happened to you-

“Swerve, you’re overthinking it.”

The bot snaps for his thoughts by your voice, followed by a soft chuckle as you grab his right servo gently moving it to your face to kiss his palm. His cheeks burn with color, frame trembling slightly from the affection.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you, Doll.”

What a sweet bot you have.

“You aren’t doing to hurt me, I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much, okay?”

How can he answer when you look so pretty under him, it’s a chore keeping his optics from wandering down your naked body, how your chest slightly moves with each breath, how he can smell your arsoual even feel it in your weak EM field, beckoning him further, silently asking him to take you to have you.

He nods dumbly readily agreeing with easy before he could find his voice, stopping you just as you started to sit up.

“Can…can I prep you first? I-I wanna make you feel good and make sure you’re wet enough for me.”

Swerve knows you want to please him too, suck off his spike, and while his spike twitches and valve clenches at the thought, he knows your body is going to need a lot more prep with just how much bigger he is than you, he doesn’t even know if your human valve will be able to take all of his.

“Are you sure? I want to make you feel good too.” You sit up from his berth, wrapping your arms best you could around his neck and resting your forehead against his.

“I finally get to have you like this, I want to learn your body, see what brings you the most pleasure, see how I can make you tick-“

You’re cut off as he slams his dermas against your lips, effectively silencing you. Had you spoken anymore he might’ve just overloaded right then and there, and he can’t do that so soon when he hasn’t even gotten to touch you yet!

Swerve pulls off your lips and hangs his helm down on your chest.

“Don’t talk like that.” It’s cute how his vocie cracks and waivers just from a few dirty words.

“Ok, ok, use me how you wish then.”

His optics widen under his visor, watching you lay back in your pervious spot and spreading your legs just enough to give him a teasing view of your leaking slit, all the kissing and heavy petting earlier had gotten you going, you don’t want to stop now.

Swerve let’s out a strangled whimper at the mere sight, struggling to remain up right and now take you or devour you right then.

“Frag, you’re so pretty.”

You smile at him, a teasing laugh muffled by your hand.

“Not bad yourself, handsome-mm!” You’re cut off with a whine, dropping your head back against his berth as his tongue licks up your wet slit.

Swerve groans, ex-venting loudly at just the taste of you. The mech is quick to lose himself, his glossa lapping messily and wildly at your pussy, as if trying to devour you, drink up every drop of slick you have to offer him.

He's a fast learner, growing more and more confident and comfortable with setting a pace. He moans, groaning so loud against you, the vibrations making your thighs squeeze around his helm.

Fuck, the taste is even better

It's like a switch flipped inside him, going from hesitant and gentle, to a thirsty deprived man the second he tasted you and knew what made you tick.

What he lacks in true technique he makes up with pure, raw enthusiasm.

"H-hey I’m not- oh, haaa…so…so good..!”

You try to plead, try to reason with him, this is his first time going down on you he doesn't need to rush, but it's like he doesn't hear you, he can’t hear you. Shakily, you look down trying to meet the bright gleam of his visor, if only you could see his optics rolling back as he shoves his glossa into your clenching hole, messily slurping up all your dripping slick.

Stars above he can't believe he deprived himself of such a pretty valve! All this time such a fragging meal has been in front of him, and he had no idea! He has to make up for it, he needs as much as he can get, he needs more and then some.

You place a hand on his helm, trying to push him away to slow him down a bit, but yet it doesn't work. Swerve’s servos clamp down on your thighs, shoving his face plate impossibly closer to your pussy and making sure your thighs are tight around his helm.

There is no reasoning with a bot gone mad.

His grunts and feverish moans increase, making you look passed his helm to see his hips sloppily moving, humping the berth subconsciously, as if he has no idea he's doing it, merely fueled by his need for you.

You don't get time to think about it more before you're rocking your hips against his face plate, your eyes fluttering and crossing as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

Swerve is drooling, sounding more beast than machine as his body trembles. He had no idea giving pleasure would feel so good, it's like every sound, every twitch, every clench you make just sends a zap of ecstasy through him, making his heavy spike twitch and leak transfluid.

He can't get enough!

Swerve pulls his glossa out from you, licking along your hole to your clit, messily kissing your pulsing nub before wrapping his lips around it with a light suction. His valve clenches at how your thrash, near shrieking with him continuing to make you feel good after cumming not moments ago.

You dig your heels into his upper back strut, but the mild pain doesn't even phase him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, please, I can't!!" You can feel drool leaking down your chin, chilling your hot skin with the cold room air.

If he could just give you a moment, catch your breath-

Your back arches off the bed, a loud cry of yours echoes in the habsuite. Swerve kisses your clit once more, only pulling away to spit on your messy hole before moving one of his hands down and slicking up his middle and ring finger in the mixture of his spit and your juices.

His thick digits easily slide in, stretching you open around them.

"Swerve…you’re so…oh god.” you whine his name, missing the warmth of his intake but looking down you see him not even glancing up at you, clearly staring at your pussy, watching his digits disappear into you.

He's mesmerized, learning more and more about your body just makes him want to overload so badly.

You open your mouth once more, fully intending to talk him through fingering you, though you're swiftly cut off by a squeak ripping itself from your lips.

He's already moving his fingers, gently pushing them in and out, slightly curling his fingers, trying to find anything that makes you scream.

But he can't keep his intake off you too long, already licking and nipping at your throbbing nub, desperate to make you cum again, wanting to taste more of you. Your chest is heaving, panting and mewling as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

He's a fast learner, much faster than you expected, but that’s just the vicious need he has for you, it's like he's tuned to your body, watching and picking up the smallest cues you give and make.

You didn't expect him to find your g-spot so quickly.

"Ohhh fuck!...haaa..! Right there, please please right there!!" your voice breaks, whining for him to curl his fingers again.

And he happily does. His hazy optics finally glance up to your sweaty trembling body, watching in a daze as your hands grip his helm so tightly

Tossing your head back with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing down on his fingers with your cum gushing around them. Swiftly, he moves from your clit to your hole, taking his digits out and licking up your mess.

His spike throbs, spruting his hot transfluid onto the berth below him, yet he can't stop rutting against the now soiled bed, no matter how sensitive his spike gets he can't help himself.

Now two for two, but his greed and thirst only grow.

Swerve wants more, to keep eating you out until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess beneath him, he needs it so much, pussy whipped for his little human. But he’s so desperate to shove his spike into you, your cute little valve is all spread open, taunting him, tempting him, clenching down on nothing to lure him into fragging you.

“Fuck me…please just fuck me already, I can take it.” You’re near tears, just needing his fat spike inside you.

Your pitiful expression sends him scrambling up, moving his helm from between your legs and finally placing your legs on either side of his hips. Your eyes widen at the sight of just realizing how much bigger he is than you, his dick especially resting over your pussy, as he grinds his fluid covered spike against your slit, mixing your juices together.

You doubt he’s going to fit, could he even fit all of that inside you?

“Is this okay? I don’t want to move without you sayin so.”

Before he could ramble on a moment further you’ve made up your mind, seeing the large bot above you shaking, his cheeks flushed blue with energon, and that dorky smile of his wavering.

You reach up grabbing his cheeks and yank his face down, slamming your lips against his muffling his choked sounds. You barely pull away from him to speak.

“Don’t make me beg. I wanna feel you inside me, fucking me, please?”

Swerve makes a dumb sound, exventing loudly as he weakly mutters a rushed out ‘yeah okay’ as he scrambles to carefully line up the tip of his spike to your needy hole and slowly pushes in. Swerve chokes at the feeling, you’re so tight around him even after all that prep! It’s like you’re trying to milk him of all his transfluid, make him overload again and again.

Drool drips down his chin from his open intake, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as he tries so hard not to blow his load early. You are fighting to take every inch of him, he’s so big! His chubby cock fills out your cunt so much, too much even.

Every push just makes his shaft drag across your sweet spot, putting pressure on them the more of his spike he makes you take, your eyes flutter, slowly rolling back into your head.

“O-ohh! Don’t, don’t clench like that—!!” Swerve squeals, his voice cracking as your pussy clenches down on his spike. The bot nearly overloads at the sight of your human valve gushing around him.

A cry leaving your lips as you cum again, though it’s swiftly morphed into a loud sob as Swerve’s hips buck into you, shoving more and more of his spike into your stuffed pussy.

His hips moving on their own, he can’t stop it! Feels so good so good, he’s losing his mind! He hunches over you, folding you in half to make it easier to rut into you, fucking you, intending to make his claim, fill you.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s med you cum, even how long it’s been since he managed to push his spike inside you, molding your pussy to his shape within hours.

“Just one more, pleasepleaseplease one more, overload for me, take my transfluid-“

He keeps rambling, muttering and crying out words your muddled mind can barely comprehend.

You weakly whine, feeling yet another gush of hot transfluid filling your already stuffed pussy. Swerve barely stops himself from collapsing ontop of you, his body trembling at the effort to hold himself up, but he wants so much more.

He leans back with a heavy sigh, his fans working overtime to cool him down.

“So…um…did I do good?” He looks hopeful, like a dog waiting for praise.

As if he hasn’t just fucked you stupid for hours on end, your pussy still leaking his spent.

#smut #spicy #🔞🔞🔞#valveplug #transformers smut #transformers swerve smut #transformers swerve x reader #transformers swerve x reader smut #transformers x reader #transformers idw x reader #transformers lost light

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