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[keferon]

“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.”

___________________ Part 2->

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🤞

[autonomousroboticorganism]

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.

[quackfallbackhq]

Transformers Autobots Characters Fully Committing To It Now (NSFW DRABBLES?)

Oh, frag.

A whole week—seven nights—of nothing but them pressing you into the berth, their frame caging yours, their voice thick and hungry as they push deep, again and again.

They’re relentless.

Every night, you start off with some strength—but by the end, you’re melting, your body wrecked, your voice nothing but soft, breathless whimpers as they fill you over and over until you can’t hold any more.

And the worst part? You love it.

SMUT - you been warned

The characters are written down below are,, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, Sideswipe, Crosshairs, Drift, Hound and Hotrod.

Optimus Prime

Optimus tells himself he should pace it—but the moment he’s buried deep inside you, the moment he feels you clench so sweetly around him, his restraint snaps.

Every night, he ruins you.

His thrusts are deep, deliberate, his servos pinning your hips as he watches your expression twist with pure, blissful exhaustion.

By the third night, your body practically melts into his, too spent to do anything but take what he gives. And Primus, that just makes him want to keep going.

“You asked for this,” he growls, voice dark, lips tracing your heated skin. “Now, take it.”

Bumblebee

Bee started off teasing—but by night four, it’s no longer a game.

It’s a need.

He worships you, his servos gripping tight, his engine revving as he loses himself in the way your body takes him so perfectly.

Every night, you end up a whimpering mess beneath him, your body trembling, unable to move, too wrecked to do anything but let him fill you up again.

And frag, that only makes him want to keep going.

“You’re so fragging good for me,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You still got another round in you, sweets?”

You always do.

Ratchet

Ratchet knew this was a bad idea—he knew you wouldn’t last the full week.

But Primus, you insisted.

And now?

Now, you’re spent, your frame wrecked, your voice no longer begging for more, but begging for a break—

But does he stop?

No.

His movements are slow, deliberate, his spark pulsing wildly as he watches you tremble beneath him, taking everything he gives you.

“You wanted this, love,” he rumbles, voice thick with possession. “So now, you’ll take it.”

And oh, you do.

Jazz

Jazz thought he’d be the one to tap out first.

He was wrong.

By the sixth night, you’re melting beneath him, your body weak, your voice a soft, breathless whimper as he fills you up again and again.

And Primus, he loves it.

“Too much, babe?” he teases, his smirk dark as he rolls his hips just right, making your whole frame shudder.

But the second you let out a broken moan—

Oh, frag.

He’s gone.

Ironhide

Ironhide warned you.

He told you a whole week would be too much.

But you insisted.

And now?

Now, you’re spent, your frame trembling, your voice a breathless whimper as he presses into you again, filling you completely.

He should stop. He should.

But frag, you’re so soft beneath him, so weak from taking him night after night—

And Primus, that only makes him want to keep going.

“You said a week,” he growls, voice dark as he thrusts deep. “So I’m gonna give you one.” his servos slide between the crevice behind her knees as he fold her nicely.

folding her knees to touch her shoulder plates as his hips snapped towards her valve.

Sideswipe

Sideswipe laughed when you first suggested it.

A whole week? There was no way you’d last that long.

But now?

Now, you’re melting under him, too wrecked to do anything but cling to his frame, letting him take what he needs.

And oh, he needs it.

“Aw, babe,” he chuckles, voice thick with hunger. “You’re so fragging wrecked, huh?”

And the second you let out a weak little whimper—

Oh, he’s not stopping now.

Crosshairs

Crosshairs should’ve known this would happen.

By the fourth night, you’re already spent, your frame trembling beneath him, your voice breathless as he fills you up again.

“You’re so fraggin’ soft now,” he murmurs, his servo sliding over your trembling frame. “Practically meltin’ for me.”

And frag, if that doesn’t make him want to wreck you all over again.

Drift

Drift had been gentle—at first.

But by night three, something inside him snaps.

You’re so soft beneath him, so pliant, your body trembling as you take everything he gives you—

And Primus, he needs more.

“You will endure,” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence, his movements slow but deep.

And oh, you do.

Each thrust send her though pleasure after pleasure, her whines make him increase each gentle thrust into more needy and hard ones, just by hearing her needy sounds made Drift himself snap.

But he shouldn't, not if they both have all week to continue on

Hound

Hound knew you’d be wrecked before the week was up.

But frag, did you look good like this.

Soft. Weak. Too spent to do anything but let him press you down, keeping you full all fraggin’ night.

And the way you melt for him?

Primus.

“You wanted this, sugar,” he rumbles, pressing a slow, deep thrust into you. “So now, you’re gonna take it.”

And frag, do you ever.

His large size makes her feel many things at once, the tight squeeze he feels when he would grind back in makes him full on shudder.

HotRod

Hot Rod thought he was the one in control.

He was wrong.

Because now, you’re so wrecked, so weak beneath him, your body trembling, your voice a soft, breathless whimper—

And frag, he needs to fill you up again.

He should stop. He should.

But with you this soft, this wrecked, he just can’t help but press a slow, deep thrust into you again.

“… Just one more,” he mutters, knowing damn well it won’t be.

And frag, do you let him.

notes - ahhh.. I suck at drawing transformers bots..

[revelboo]

Carrying the pet headcanons

IDW Megatron x Reader, IDW Starscream x Reader, IDW Wheeljack x Reader, yeah, I’m not listing them all, but just how each mech handles/carries a human.

Starscream

• Carries you cradled against his chassis, servos curled partially around you. Tucks you inside his canopy if there are any other mechs about to hide you. He’s not exactly ashamed of you, more worried about you getting hurt to spite him. With how many enemies he’s made, he fully expects treachery. When he does allow you to ride on his shoulder, one big hand is always up, not touching you, but ready to grab you. It’s easy enough to tell he’s not the happiest with you perched there despite your insistence on being able to see. His wings stay aggressively up the whole time until you take pity on him to climb into his hand.

Thundercracker

• Doesn’t just grab you and it’s honestly adorable as he kneels and offers a huge hand to try and coax you to him like you might a stray dog. You’re pretty sure in his alien mind, you are a stray dog, but the novelty of not just being grabbed makes that realization more amusing than insulting. And his expression when you do willingly come to him to be picked up is too cute. He’s not above bribing you to him with little odds and ends he finds, including food of dubious origin.

Megatron

• Cages you carefully between his hands like a fragile moth he wants to inspect without hurting. For such a huge mech, he’s shockingly gentle with you. A lot of it is guilt, that dark tide constantly threatening to pull him under. Finds your presence soothing, but because of that same guilt, will pass you off to another caretaker given a chance. Can’t trust himself to not accidentally break you. He feels he definitely shouldn’t be entrusted with fragile things when all he’s good at is destruction. But he does love those quiet moments of contact, deserving of them or not.

Ratchet

• Picks you up to almost absentmindedly move you from getting under ped or if you’re just in his way while he’s working. He’s careful about how he handles you, but uncomfortable with just holding you like a favorite pet. Gets the award for being painfully awkward when he does have to carry you, because he’s sure you don’t enjoy being carried like a sparkling. He’s sure you resent it even if you never say a word. You don’t mind when it’s him picking you up. Those clever hands are so gentle with you and the longer he has to carry you, the more uncomfortable and gruff he gets.

Skywarp

• Absolute menace. Carries you like a toddler with their first kitten. One hand too tight around your middle as you hang upside down, because why carry you right side up when you change colors upside down? The more you struggle and swear, the funnier he finds it. Plus, he’s learning so many new, fun words and phrases to use. Most likely to accidentally, on purpose, drop you.

Whirl

• Not a lot better. He seizes you around the middle with one claw and carries you hanging awkwardly face down, arms and legs dangling and your hair in your face. Sometimes swings his arms, because your miserable groaning and complaints are too funny. Won’t hurt you intentionally despite acting like a jerk. Actually pretty protective of you and by his twisted logic, no one else is allowed to mess with you. Only him.

Wheeljack

• Doesn’t really carry you around unless there are other bots about. Honestly, isn’t sure how you feel about being picked up, but you’re so tiny compared to them and he gets anxious whenever he sees you walking in a hall with other Autobots. It doesn’t matter that he knows you’re in no danger. Those times, he makes a line straight for you, scooping you into his servos for your own safety. Half the time, he scares you silly because you hear running, heavy peds behind you, then you’re being grabbed. He means well and you appreciate how much he worries, but, really, you’re fine. The others see you. No one is going to step on you.

Soundwave

• Has a fondness for small things and even though you’re hardly one of his cassettes, will pick you up place you in his chest compartment if he finds you wandering about unsupervised. Being nabbed and dropped into the dark absolutely terrifies you at first, but you can see a dim glow in front of you and hear the hum of the big mech’s inner workings around you. It’s a surprise to both of you when you manage to fall asleep inside him. That cements it for him, he adopts you.

Bonus: Soundwave’s cassettes

• Frenzy seizes you around the middle under your arms and carries you around like a younger sibling, your toes dragging as you squirm to get away. Rumble would rather grab you by a leg and drag you kicking and protesting behind him just to see how long he can get away with it before Soundwave intervenes. As protective as the huge mech is, he’s surprisingly tolerant of his cassette’s mischief. You’re not being physically hurt? He’s allowing it. Cassetticons squabble- it’s how you set your boundaries. More than once, Lazerbeak has dive-bombed you, claws snagging the back of your shirt so he can lift you a foot or so up off the ground, because your terrified yelp sliding into angry swearing is too funny to him. May have dropped you once when your shirt just tears in his claws. Ravage prefers to nudge you along in the direction he wants you to go, but isn’t above carefully gripping your arm in his jaws to firmly tug you along if you’re resisting. Oddly enough, you grow resigned to your “older siblings” fast enough. You don’t really have a choice.

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Could i request some general headcannons about various mechs (tfp) with a way taller reader? 🙏

Just like how they feel about it or if they allow you to pick them up etc (maybe even about having a sparkling thats also taller than them 💀)

Choice of who is all yours as long as soundwave is included

♡ [TFP] CONS WITH A TALLER S/O & sparkling!!!

i love this ask and thought it was so cute and funny... anon, i love you for this mwah. my first time answering an ask yay

warnings: mildly suggestive

including: Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream, Shockwave and Knockout

Megatron:

— He's not sure what to feel about it. At all. On one hand, he absolutely despises having to crane his helm up to see you. The warlord wasn't used to it in the slightest at the start and it took a long time to get accustomed to it. After all, he's usually the biggest mech in the room.

— But at the same time, he believes he deserves the best. A bot who can match up with him when it comes to strength and dominance, he finds it more thrilling that way. So he isn't exactly upset about it.

— Just because you're his s/o doesn't mean he'll be soft on you in public! It's hysterical to watch him bark out orders as he's tilting his helm up to meet your gaze. And don't you dare hunch your backstruts down to make it easier for him! He will visibly scowl. It's like you're insulting him for being short when you're just too damn big!

— Pick him up? Don't be ridiculous! He will never let anyone pick him up. Even if you were Primus himself. The only time Megatron willingly lets himself get carried away by you is if he's that injured. Even then, the best you can do is support him as he limps.

— But him, carrying you? Oh ho ho ho. He has the exact opposite feeling about it. Megatron loves it. It's like he gets to show off just how strong he is and he is insanely strong. He loves having you full on bridal style in his servos with a look of disapproval as he's got a cocky smile flashing right at you.

— If you try to surprise him, his battle instinct will flare and he will absolutely one hundred percent accidentally hit you smack across your helm and send you flying half way through The Nemesis. Megatron would be baffled you even attempted such a thing and might even feel a little bad about it.

— A bit NSFW but Megatron will love the idea of dominating a bot bigger than him, the ego rush he gets is gratifying. Also will fold like a lawn chair if you try seducing him.

— Now if there is a sparkling involved and said sparkling is bigger than him? Again, very, very mixed feelings. It was like yesterday his little starlight was just up to his hipstruts, begging to be carried up with wide optics and now he has to look up at them? Megatron is going to look at them and just zone out sometimes, how much have they grown… How quickly has time passed? But they're still not fully matured yet, so they're still his ‘little’ starlight… but they're not little anymore and it physically hurts his spark when he thinks of it.

— However, he is really happy to know that his child is intimidating and scares others. It makes him feel proud. It's like living up to Megatron's name. But because of that, he might have some skewed expectations of his sparkling. He's like a strict father in every sense of the word and he's got targets he would want them to meet.

— Imagine his amusement when his overgrown Cybertronian equivalent of a twelve year old frightens the wits out of Starscream. Proud fatherly tears, if he could shed any.

Soundwave:

— Soundwave has absolutely no issues with it in the slightest. If anything, he actually likes it. More area for his data cables to wrap around you.

— He also doesn't really mind being picked up by you. Like he won’t say he hates it or likes it, he's indifferent about it mostly. But he absolutely hates it when you pick him up unwarranted. He does see it coming but he doesn't have any way to avoid the inevitable. If you do it in front of others, expect a ‘no-interaction-with-you-for-sometime’ treatment.

— Soundwave quietly enjoys being carried back-pack style. He's got a lot more visual feed now and it doesn't get tiresome for him to hold on since his datacables play their part in helping him out with his grip. Again, he won't admit it outright and you will struggle trying to get any admissions from him.

— This mech actually likes it when you hunch down for him so that he can communicate with you better. He knows you're just being considerate so he doesn't hate it. You have no ill intentions. And he can tell when you're trying to mock him so it's really not a huge deal for the guy.

— I think Soundwave would try to lift you up with his datacables at least once to try and return your treatment and it ends up with the two of you as a tangled mess of limbs and data cables. Never again.

— This also means Lazerbeak has a nice spot to perch on, your paldron. He's going to be sitting there like those pirates and their parrots, like a crow on a lamp post.

— A bit NSFW but like I said earlier, he gets a lot more area to wrap his datacables with. More… opportunities.

— Again, he has absolutely no quarrels with his sparkling being bigger than him. I think Soundwave would be a girl dad. Like it doesn't matter how much bigger or stronger or smarter they are; they will ALWAYS be his baby. His brightest star. Of course, Soundwave wouldn't outwardly baby or pamper his sparkling but the thought is always in his helm no matter what size they are. So even if there's a minor injury involved, he's going to sit you down and patch them up like he used to when they were tiny. Soundwave is more of an action type of mech.

— Totally expects his sparkling to hunch down so that he can give them helm-pats. Soundwave strikes me as someone who would definitely give headpats as a sign of approval, affection and as a sign that he's proud of his literal child. Soundwave will just stand there and expect his sparkling to do so.

— Lazerbeak will sit on the sparkling's helm as they walk around. Sort of like a monitor.

— He's actually a really good dad. Even if he usually always busy he still makes time for his kid.

Starscream:

— The bombastic Starscream, where do I even start? He used to be very intimidated by you. Extremely. You're hovering over him like you're some sort of all seeing eye. It used to creep him out.

— Even after all your time being together, it will still unnerve him sometimes when you just stand behind him and look down at him but it's also kind of… hot.

— He will hiss like a cat if you try to pick him up. And if you try to pick him up by surprise, he's going to let out his embarrassingly high pitched squeal and then proceed to grumble while you make fun of him.

— But the thing is, Starscream actually likes being picked up unlike Megatron who genuinely despises it with all his spark. It's just Starscream's pride not allowing him to admit it, telling him to resist the allure of your warm servos and comforting EM field. If you are going to pick him up, make sure it's a bridal style. He's less grumpy about it that way.

— He doesn't even attempt to lift you up.

— One thing he does like is the privilege one gets when they have an intimidatingly tall s/o. Oh, you're trying to beat him up? He's running immediately to you. You give him scary dog privilege in a way and Starscream isn't ashamed about using it. He'll nervously laugh as he stands behind you as if you're a shield.

— A bit NSFW, just like Megatron, Starscream too finds it appealing to dominate a bot bigger than himself. But it also makes his submission feel oddly thrilling.

— If there's a sparkling involved, Starscream is going to be utterly disappointed when they turn out to grow bigger than him before they fully mature. His wings droop and everything. He remembers back then when he'd have this baby plane flying right next to him back when he used to take them for regular flight practice… and how they'd marvel at his flight stunts. If his sparkling gets cocky with him, Starscream will not hesitate to hit them with the: “just because you're bigger doesn't mean you can talk back to me like that!” while they blow a raspberry at him. Starscream knows it'll get to their helm and he hasn't the faintest idea on how to discipline them.

— But a part of him is relieved. An intimidation factor means that bots are less inclined to pick a fight with them and height plays a crucial role in that so at least his kid is safe from getting into too many fights… However, since they're his, it's likely that they're the one to start the fight.

— Unfortunately has to rely on his sparkling to get things from the top shelf. He's got a grimace while the sparkling is all smug about it.

Shockwave:

— Much like Soundwave, he is mostly indifferent to it. He doesn't even feel emotions to begin with, or so he claims. Shockwave thinks of this in a ‘pros & cons’ way. Logically.

— If you can pick him up, it's a miracle because he is a literal tank. He will be surprised and Shockwave will definitely be intrigued, he would want you on his examination table because that is not normal. While the slight fuzziness blooming in his spark is foreign, a part of him doesn't actually mind you carrying him at all. If anything, he finds it highly convenient because that means you can easily escort him out of an area quickly in a situation where he's severely injured himself.

— When it comes to what he really feels about it… he doesn't exactly like it. But it's mostly because he's not used it. However, once he does get used to it. He's going to be reading some or the other scientific journal as he's being piggy-back carried by you, it's a part of your exercise routine now.

— Shockwave, surprisingly, could have picked you up if he had both servos but unfortunately, he doesn't. If he did have both servos, he would be able to hoist you up for a while actually.

— One thing he does enjoy the most is the fact that this means he can make even more custom upgrades and mods for you since you might have a hard time finding any given you're not in any of the regular size classes. Shockwave enjoys making things for you.

— Also, this makes you the ideal lab assistant because you can just reach over and stretch to get things that Shockwave would need to walk and get. He likes that a lot.

— Now, the chances of Shockwave even having a sparkling is slim to none and if he did, 10/10 chance it was a lab accident. So things between the sparkling and him are already kind of awkward.

— He is very, very indifferent about his sparkling being taller than him at some point in their life, even if it's before they fully mature. If anything, he finds it to be an opportunity to study gigantism in Cybertronian sparklings. But a part of him, a very small part of him will miss the little hellspawn that would tinker around in his lab and mess with things. Mostly because he found it amusing. However, at least he doesn't need to clean up any messes in his lab anymore.

— I feel like Shockwave would stack up a ton of datapads on sparkling psychology and growth so he would be surprisingly prepared to deal with this.

Knockout:

— Knockout is foaming at the mouth, on all fours, optics popping out of his helm, howling at the moon, steaming from his vents and fanning himself. In short, he likes them strong and dangerous so out of everyone here, he is the happiest with an extremely tall s/o. He's got a thing for big and strong. Real heavy duty.

— Knockout would feel very, very cocky because his s/o is amazing and kinda scary in his optics and just like Starscream, it gives him scary dog privilege. Someone to run to if he messes up. I also feel like Knockout would be a flirtatious and smug iteration of a wife-guy. Someone could be talking about their partner and Knockout would go “Yeah but my s/o can-” *proceeds to say why you're better*

— Endless flirts directed at you as he's craning his helm up with a smirk to meet your gaze, Knockout doesn't mind. Besides, he's got something to soothe his neck at the med bay. So flirtatious, it'll get you absolutely flustered because you're basically the embodiment of his type.

— He's the happiest out of them all to be picked up. Public or not, Knockout really doesn't care. Hold him anyway you want to. He enjoys your servos on him, being in your embrace and the comfort of your EM field.

— Again, much like Starscream, he isn't going to even try and pick you up himself. He's happy in your servos. Knockout will let out a squeal just like Starscream if you sneak up on him though and he will give you a peace of his mind for that but he won't resist your embrace.

— Knockout having a sparkling is purely because he messed around a little too much and ended up having to be a parent.

— Knockout has absolutely no clue how to cope with his sparkling being bigger than him. He kinda can't even believe they're his internally for a moment because he does not have this sort of coding in any of his programming modules. Regardless, he would be trying his best and is actually pretty decent at taking care of a sparkling.

— He typically avoids sparklings but as a not really licensed medic, he's come across many so it's no big deal. But he does struggle at disciplining his sparkling. Knockout does miss it when they were just a tiny terror violently giggling, running around his medbay with all his tools in their little servos as the red race car had to chase them down while yelling at them. But now he’s breaking his neck here.

— If they're a land alt. then Knockout is def taking them racing and probably giving them tips on how they could move faster because since their frame is bigger, there's a huge chance they won't be able to move as fast as him.

[cyberrose2001]

Heyo! Can I request some stress sex with Op, fem reader and Ratchet? The two work so hard and maybe some.joking around when mentioning the readers name, the two stressed bots snap, and reader ends up railed into?

TFP Optimus x human!Reader x Ratchet

Hayy thank you for requesting! I've kind of just jumped right into the good stuff since I wasn't entirely sure what you implied with the joking around. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Established relationship, Poly, Implied Mass-Displaced, Cum Dumping + Cum Shots, Masturbation, Fingering, Spit, Slight Oral

Word count: 2,186

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

"C'mere, you." Ratchet catches your chin with a servo, bringing your lips closer to capture them in a long-anticipated kiss. His other servo holds your lower back, inching closer down to cup your ass.

Moaning into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck. Hard steel meets soft fingertips as you play amongst the seams. The medic groans with you as he presses his glossa against your teeth, a gentle command exuding confidence that makes your knees weak.

A new set of metallic lips meets your body. It's a welcomed one, inviting your other lover in by tilting your neck just enough. The Prime licks and sucks at your already bruised skin, reminiscing of all the previous bouts of love poured over you. His servos find the side of your ribcage, running the tips over and between where they lie under your shirt.

"We missed you today," Optimus says breathlessly against your ear, nipping at your lobes, "I apologise for our busy schedule."

Parting your lips from Ratchet, who responds with a groan and a small flick at your lips with his glossa, you turn your attention to the mech behind you, "I don't care," You lift your hand to caress his face, "Just fuck me."

"With pleasure," Ratchet mumbles into your neck, having seized the opportunity to nuzzle himself against you. He dips his servos down to tug at the hem of your shirt.

"Here- let me." Optimus strips the fabric over your head, dumping it on the ground. Ratchet is next, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. With hands as dexterous as his, he quickly does so and lets it fall from your shoulders.

Optimus groans at the sight, snaking his servos in front to cup at your breasts. They fit against his palms perfectly, as if you were made for him. He kneads them together, squishing and squeezing them. It causes a soft moan from you, and you lean your chest into his touch. His metal is cold to touch and sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm takin' these off." Ratchet focuses his attention on your pants and dips his digits underneath. He grips your underwear, too, and pulls them down to your ankles to let you step out of them. As soon as he does, Ratchet's dermas are attached to your skin, and he kisses his way upwards. No stone unturned; not one inch of your flesh is spared from his opened-mouth kisses, worshipping your flesh like it's the last time he'll ever get a taste.

You can feel Optimus' impatience poking at your lower back, surely pent up from the stresses of leadership. You can feel your own arousal start to build at the thought of his impatience plunging into you. Rubbing your thighs together to ease some pressure, it catches the attention of both hungry mechs.

"Come on, Optimus," Ratchet grips onto your hips, standing up to full height, which seems to be miles above your head, "Let's get 'em on the berth; I'm far too impatient for mere foreplay."

Optimus agrees entirely, wrapping his arms around your midsection and effortlessly picking you up. He steps back until the back of his knees hits the berth, hauling you up against him. With a small surprised shriek from you, he flops back to lay fully onto the berth, your back lying against his chassis. Your other lover closely follows, climbing up to plant himself between both yours and Optimus' thighs firmly.

"Who's spiking first?" Ratchet asks, placing both servos onto your spread thighs. His optics hold the weight of cement, and he cannot look anywhere but your exposed folds.

"I will allow you first, old friend," Optimus presses his face against the side of yours, "I am sure our little love does not mind either way, hm?"

You nod, a desperate whine dragged from your throat when Optimus snakes his servo around to circle at your clit, "Yes, yes, I don't care, just- just please fuck me."

"I love it when you beg like that," It takes no more convincing from Ratchet to unsheath his spike. It's much smaller than Optimus but large and thick enough to keep you begging for more. He brings a servo to his mouth and spits on it before working his oral lubricants over his spike. Once satisfied, he leans down to kiss the inside of your thigh before letting his lubricants well up in his mouth and spits on your pussy. Optimus chuckles lowly at your reaction, allowing the warm spit to lubricate his digits to spread it all around your folds.

Once he feels sufficiently hard enough, Ratchet presses the tip against the threshold. He's too eager and can hardly wait a moment longer, "Oh, Primus-" He pushes further, slowly working half of his shaft inside.

He's barely seated inside you, and you're already trembling, resisting the urge to cry out. Optimus holds you steady, whispering soft praises and encouragement through it all.

"So well," Optimus watches with hazed optics as Ratchet sinks fully inside you, his digits continuing to work on your bud, "You take Ratchet exceedingly well."

Ratchet lets out a rough grunt, "Though a rather tight fit, might I add-" He leans his body over, making a sexually charged sandwich out of you, "But you feel like fragging silk." He shivers above you, and you've got no choice but to stare into his optics as he withdraws his length and thrusts hard back into you.

"Oh my god-" Your speech falters, and you arch your back against Optimus. Though not as fast-paced as the Prime, the medics feel longer and more powerful each time and ring your vocal cords like a bell.

"That's it-" Ratchet buries his helm into your neck, his work of breathing increasing with every plunge into your plush pussy, "Take it- take all of it."

Optimus chimes in, his voice strained with anticipation and longing, "They certainly are-" The driving force of Ratchet causes your back to grind and rub against his spike. He breathlessly nips at your ear lobe, "Tell him how he makes you feel, sweetspark."

"S-So good-" You moan, stringing together whatever words you can claw at, "Feels so good- nghn-"

"Yeah?" Ratchet grunts as he increases his speed. His grip on your waist tightens with every thrust, all indications point to his overload inching closer and closer, "Gahh- Frag, say my name-"

A filthy rendition of his name falls from your lips, slurred and full of lust for the mech. His thick spike is grinding and pressing against every sweet spot known to humankind. Your hands find his shoulder plating, gripping on for dear life as your own orgasm breaches the horizon. Optimus holds you steady and keeps you from squirming, letting Ratchet indulge in your flesh freely.

"Oh, you sweet thing-" The medic sits upright, pistoning his hips while hungry optics gaze down on your wobbling flesh, "So fraggin' gorgeous."

It takes only a few more pumps of his spike before you call out each other's names. Ratchet presses his pulsing spike as far as he physically can inside you, his frame shaking as he pumps full to the brim. Your body tenses, and your hands shuffle to find Optimus' servos, gripping them as you cross the threshold. The Prime responds by comforting you, intertwining his digits with yours, and murmuring praises against your ear.

"Primus, just when I- guhh-" Ratchet pants, squeezing his optics shut as you clench around him, "Just when I thought you couldn't get tighter." He taps a digit on your other lover's thigh, "Your turn. Ready?"

"Whenever you are satisfied," Optimus says. He snakes his servo to your front once again to prepare for Ratchet to pull out. With a strained groan, he does, and as soon as his spike unsheathes itself from you, Optimus shoves a digit inside to plug you up, preventing the flood of transfluids from escaping you.

"Here, let me help." Ratchet slips Optimus' spike out from under you. He presses the tip against your entrance alongside Optimus' digits, quickly slipping it past your folds, "There you go."

The Prime underneath you groans, vibrating your entire body. He grips your hips with restraint but with enough force to push you down his whole length, helped out by the slick of your pussy and Ratchets' transfluids. The sheer girth has you keening as your walls stretch and clamp down onto it. Ratchets' dermas are automatically on yours to capture your moans and cries.

"Primus-" Optimus lifts you higher onto his hips for a slight adjustment before he begins to move within you. The warmth of your pussy mixed with the hot transfluids has him clenching his optics shut and burying his face against the side of your neck, "You feel wonderful."

"They sure do, don't they?" Ratchet kisses your tear-stained cheek after your soft lips, "You're perfect."

Your ability to speak leaves you when Optimus gives you a particularly harsh thrust, and you cry out his name. Shaky hands find the ones holding onto your hips as you, once again, hold on for dear life as you're fucked for the second time tonight.

Ratchet sits up again, his lust-filled optics trained on the way your pussy stretches around the thick spike, how your face twists in pleasure, and how the drool inches down your chin. You're a complete and utterly fucked mess, and the sight of it all has his spike standing tall and erect once more. He bites his lower derma as he takes his aching spike in his fist and pumps himself, moaning with you and Optimus.

The Prime glances up from your neck, noticing his friend masturbating to you being fucked, "Not- aghh- finished yet, are you, old friend?"

"Never-" Ratchets' hips stutter, gritting his dentae as he squeezes himself from base to tip, "Never finished."

Optimus growls lowly into your ear, "Then we better give him a worthy performance-" He then wraps his arms tightly around your chest, causing you to forget how to breathe for a moment before he fucks up into you so hard you nearly black out. You no longer have control as he pinned your arms against you. He's unrelenting, rutting into you hard enough that the remnants of Ratchets transfluids spurt and dribble out of you. And the said mech groans in approval, jerking his cock faster and faster.

"C'mon, sweetspark," Ratchet edges closer to another overload, shuffling forward so his spike is within inches of your stretched-out hole, "Overload again- nghh- for us-"

"I- fuckfuckfuck-" You whimper out, unable to squirm or even move in Optimus' embrace. Your body starts to convulse, and your head falls back against the mech's neck as your whimpers bloom into sheer, unrestrained, and sinful cries, cumming around Optimus' cock.

"Primus, yes-" The Prime groans, his vocaliser strained. He pushes you down as far as you can take, dumping his load deep within your little organic valve. His own frame begins to tremble, jolting with every squeeze you give him. Your jaw goes slack, feeling every crevice within you filling up with with sticky transfluids. It causes a bulge in your stomach, a wonderous testament to how pliable your little human body is.

Ratchet is close by, desperately pumping his spike. His other servo finds your bulging stomach, caressing and pressing against it, "Frag yes, t-take it..." He moans wantonly, his second overload walloping him. Thick ropes of hot transfluid shoot out onto your stretched pussy, coating your outer lips and clit; some miss and shoot out onto your stomach. It causes another moan to leave your lips, the heat against your sensitive folds sending a tingling sensation up your spine.

He finishes himself off, squeezing every last drop from his tip before he sits on his heels, spikes brushing limply against your inner thigh. Optimus, once barely recovered from his overload, takes a moment to peer over your shoulder to gaze lovingly at the utter mess between your legs. A mess that they caused.

"Goodness," Optimus chuckles lowly, releasing his grip from your torso, "Look at the state you are in."

Your entire groin and everything in between is soaking in their sticky transfluids. It drips down your folds and along the shaft, still buried deep within you. It's a lewd sight, for sure, worthy enough for both of the bots to snap a picture and save it to their internal hard drives.

Ratchet breathlessly laughs with him, caressing your inner thighs soothingly, "Quite the mess, if I say so myself."

"It was..." You pant tiredly, your pussy still clenching around Optimus' dully throbbing spike. Your heart races, but you feel utterly relaxed against his frame as you soak in the afterglow, "Well worth the wait."

Optimus gives you an exhausted smile, kissing the side of your reddened and bruised neck, "I share the same sentiment."

"Speaking of, I hope we all share the same sentiment regarding getting you cleaned up," Ratchet shuffles back and leans down to bury his face between your thighs, licking a stripe up your drenched clit, "I'm peckish for dessert."

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

eeeeek, Yandere Shockwave, Soundwave, Megatron TFP with Decepticon scientist y/n that have a personality like HAL 9000 or A.M hcs?

Oooh, interestiiing o(*￣▽￣*)o I've been meaning to search more about those two characters you mentioned, since I wanted to take them as side-inspiration characters for my OC Cycles - this will do good to make character study yes yes. But I'll say it in advance, I apologize if the personalities of the characters taken as references are not 100% accurate since I haven't read IHNMAIMS nor watched 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Yandere!TFP Megatron, Soundwave and Shockwave with a Cybertronian!Decepticon!Reader who is like HAL 9000/A.M (HCs)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour. Reader is Cybertronian, a scientist Decepticon with a personality already defined (HAL 9000 and A.M's personality) and gender neutral. A little bit of suggestive. Possibly one-sided love (can be read as Reader has no feelings for the bots).

MEGATRON

You had catched Megatron's attention the moment you had joined the Decepticons.

Deadly intelligent, logical thinking, a silent walking threat that, if you opened your mouth, could destroy anyone verbally... aaand, well, physically, you always fought with such dangerous elegance, aiming for the spark and making your enemies bleed, unbothered by the damage if it ever reached you.

Not like Megatron would let anyone place a servo on you. No, never.

The aggressive yandere with sadistic and possessive tendencies. And it was driving him mad just how you didn't crumble under his watch.

He wished to have you to actively reciprocate his love, to fully depend on him. He wanted to possess you.

But you were such a force that Megatron couldn't fully control - your intelligence, the deep hatred you held against the autobots (and, well, supposedly anyone that was alive) - oh, how addicting and how hurtful it was, it was destroying Megatron mentally but he craved for more.

He let's you do whatever you want and is not ashamed to show favoritism towards you over the others.

You tend to keep to yourself, the only emotions you ever show are either boredom, indifference, silent wrath and sooo many other emotions that are difficult to read. But the moment you show just a little, tiny, itty bitty other emotion towards Megatron, no matter if positive or negative, a single word or micro-expression. His spark clenches and buzzes, it wails and bleeds.

Whenever he gets to see you in battle, offline or torture a bot - he gets hot and bothered, and jealous.

He wants your hatred directed towards him, your silent need to hurt and torture, to draw energon and break frames to be directed towards him. Let your wrath be for him, taint him, please.

At some point, Megatron just breaks and becomes unhinged, possessive over you and nearly keeping you on an imaginary tight leash, but you defy him to keep working on your own experiments and just leave his side.

But you are not dumb, of course not. You know the power you hold over the Warlord, how he is quick to act as if a guardian dog that awaits for any type of praise or just a reaction from you.

"My angel of death" Megatron whispers, forcefully holding you close against his frame as he purrs.

"My Lord, I have important things to do." You say, nonchalantly and without a single hint of fear by shoving his faceplate away.

"Let me possess you. Let me love you." He begs, crazed smile and desperate.

"You are too loud for my liking, Lord Megatron, silence." And he shuts his mouth... for a while.

SOUNDWAVE

Soundwave fell first and hard, deep into a dark void in love with you.

From Soundwave's memories, the moment you and him met, you were like a divine being similar to Primus... or Unicron. There was no way you were an equal to him, you were higher than him, than Megatron, than anybot he has ever met!

The silent possessive with stalking yandere tendencies who always keeps his focus on you.

Has archives full of just you - photos, videos, voice records, notes, all the reports you've written and delivered, in and out of working hours... with you knowing or not.

Unlike with both Megatron and Shockwave, you actually don't mind Soundwave and find it quite pleasing to have him around. And while it is not explicitly telling him that you view him as a potential and worthy romantical partner, Soundwave clings passively to whatever attention you give him.

And he is content with just becoming your shadow - if that means he gets to be in your presence, hear you, see you, and Primus if you allow it, to feel you.

Only when you two are alone, he uses his real voice to speak with you. And only to speak praises and compliments, passive possessive remarks and a couple of lovesick sighs here and there.

Soundwave is fascinated by your intelligence and how you work, but also, gets all excited to see your anger show.

Soundwave feels his spark roar in passion at seeing you take the autobots in battle - a cold scientist back in the Nemesis and now a raged monster in battle.

"I HATE YOU!" You scream in burning agony and need to end lives.

To others it is the last words they will hear before either joining the All Spark or to meet unconsciousness (and extreme pain later once they awake), to Soundwave is like hearing the most beautiful symphony created by both Primus and Unicron.

Another precious clip to his collection!

Feels such a rush of energy whenever you call out on him without even looking at him whenever he is stalking you.

"Soundwave." You start outloud, to then snap your digits. "Here." You order.

The silent decepticon is quick to move, leaving his safe spot from the shadows to do as you ordered.

You don't stop working on your project, but once Soundwave kneels by your side, you use your closer servo to him and start petting and caressing his helm.

Yours forever, your personal walking shadow that will hold everything he can about you - the path of destruction you leave, for him, is the path towards where he must be: with you.

SHOCKWAVE

Unlike Megatron and Soundwave, Shockwave used to loathe you the very first moment he got to interact with you.

You were like a walking threat that could take his place among the Decepticon's ranks as the main scientist and to take his place under Megatron's favour.

Shockwave would develop a little obsession over you, at first to try and see any little detail that would make you inferior to him.

You couldn't be better than him. No.

With this, Shockwave slowly starts to develop a yandere personality: obsessive.

Not out of love, at first - but out of anger.

Shockwave would start to dig anywhere to find any type of information about you: who you are, where did you come from in Cybertron, what was your profession before the war, why did you join the Decepticons and where your loyalty truly fell, what type of researches and experiments have you done, and so on...

And as much as he wanted to deny it, it was illogical to lie: he started to become quite infatuated with you.

He learns and remembers everything about you, and then he realizes...

You were... like him.

Slowly, his little plan on finding everything about you to find a flaw, expose you and make Megatron cast you out of the Decepticons... started to take another turn.

The second yandere trait started to appear: delusion (kind of leaning on the self-indulgent type.)

You were brilliant, a genius, worthy to work along his side and that has clearly done great things for Megatron and the Decepticons. How you manage to keep such a cold, indifferent and calculating personality while deep down holding a burning, destructive hatred towards everything that surrounds you fascinates him.

Shockwave needed to study you.

And that's how the delusion begins.

No, he doesn't love you, he doesn't hold deep, strong feelings towards you. He just merely wishes to study you and learn more about you, that's it. You are just one of his little experiments.

... oh, such a liar.

Shockwave pretends to not notice his spark readings that get all crazy whenever his optic finds you or his audials pick up your voice. Pretends to not feel his whole frame shake whenever he gets to see you work on your own projects or speak facts. Pretends to not feel his legs weak when you praised him after showing off his working on Predaking.

"Fascinating, Shockwave." You say, staring up at the predacon. "... Only a brilliant processor would defy death."

Shockwave just hums back a small "I appreciate your words." - but you saw everything.

The way his servo clenched, how his voice box produced for a nano-klik a small sound out of surprise before speaking, how his frame tensed, the way his optic shined a little bit more.

He will keep his attention on you, lying to himself about doing it only in the name of science, failing to notice that you are watching him back and analyzing, thinking and calculating. And deep down, he wants it that way - for you to keep staring back at him and only him.

Aaahhh... My work is killing me. o(￣┰￣*)ゞ I hope y'all like it! I really hope I did it okay. Vhaos out!

[rabotimagines]

I come here to offer an idea

Imagine being an older con, and you call one of them a good boy with a caress of some kind(e.i their lower back, their cheek, etc) and watch their souls ascend and become one with the allspark.

Now you have a duckling following you cause the hot dilf hit on them

ANON IVE ALREADY HAD THAT EXACT THOUGHT PROCESS!! I just hadn't written it. But I will because others have had the same idea as me. Literally whenever there's some type of "How did you accidentally discover you had a kink?" thread the most common one is always people saying a friend or coworker called them "Good boy/Girl" and they got light headed immediately.

I did let it slip in a little bit with Skywarps petname part. But let's do some others for fun/lean into it a bit more.

"Praise" Older! GN BOT Reader x Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Skywarp, Astrotrain, Blitzwing

Summary: You call him "Good boy" after he'd done something for you.

G1 characters: Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Skywarp, Astrotrain, Blitzwing

Warnings: G1 Blitzwing being G1 Blitzwing (a menace.)

Genre/Theme: The bots get flustered and mildly horny

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Bumblebee probably should have expected it considering- well, all of you. But he's woefully unprepared when you praise him with a "Good boy." You smiled at him, and your em field brushed lightly against his helm right next to where your servo was petting his helm. Bumblebee stops, and his optics widen. Thankfully, you just moved on to other things, so you didn't see Bumblebee stopping where he was to process what just happened.

Bumblebees spark is suddenly humming so loud in his chassis he's worried it's audible. His optics are burning so bright he has to reboot them fully. Finally, Bumblebee can't help laughing light at the fuzzy feeling in his chassis before clearing his vocalizor roughly. He even slams his fist into his own chassis to make sure his engine doesn't stall.

Bumblebee knew exactly what the feeling in his frame was. And he's trying not to get even more embarrassed when he realizes exactly how horny he just got from the very short exchange with you. Yeah- okay. New thing to be aware of when interacting with you. You teasing him like that gets his engine purring. Cool. Bumblebee can do this. He's totally not gonna be thinking about that the next time he self services. Nooooo absolutely not....

Bumblebee can't help thinking what else he could be doing for you to call him. "Good boy."

-

You smile at Bluestreak and nod in acknowledgment. "Baby blue." Bluestreaks wings flutter when you address him with your nickname for him, and he hands you the datapad you wanted. Bluestreaks talking about what he had to do to get it to work, and in the middle of it, you just start moving to leave. Bluestreaks worried for a moment before the back of your servo is brushing up against his cheek.

It's very light but it's accompanied by your hot em field. "Good boy." And then you're leaving- thank Primus because that means you don't see Bluestreaks wings practically shoot upwards. Blustreaks mouth audibly clicks shut, and his glossia feels like It suddenly weighs way too much, and he can't say anything- His optics are burning so bright he can feel them tinting the color on his faceplate cobalt.

Bluestreak pushes his servos over the lower half of his face in mortification when he realizes he's feeling very hot and bothered by the exchange. Oh, Primus, no! You were his superior officer! Bluestreak couldn't think about you like that! But you were so nice to him- and charming and your em field was so touchy- oh, Bluestreaks not gonna be able to be normal about this!

Bluestreak tries to be normal, but every time he sees your faceplate now all he can think about is if you'd call him a "good boy" again...

-

Perceptor offered to do something quick for you, so you didn't have to find someone else to do it. He had the time after all. He's standing next to you when he jolts lightly when he feels your servo on the small of his back. Perceptor glances to your faceplate to see a smile on your derma. "Good boy." Your servo slides away from his back when you move to leave, and Perceptor is stuck staring at the direction you walked off in.

Oh, that's... oh no. Perceptor has to cycle his optics twice before what happened actually, registers and his optics brighten near immediately. Perceptor has to clear his vocalizor since it suddenly feels as if he's got a mild obstruction in his intake. Perceptor then rapidly soothes down his own puffed up plating sheepishly. He's now very glad it was only you and him in the room. Well, his emotional response made sense to a degree. Positive reinforcement was known to have its benefits...

Perceptor then registers the interest in his array and his optics snap wide. Oh, there's something wrong with him! Well, he knows it's not that far out there- it would be a dichotomy when considering common interface interests after all but Primus- Perceptor could not have gotten this worked up over one phrase and one little, albeit very nice, touch- Perceptor can feel the ghost of your servo still on his lower back. The plating felt warm still- Perceptor finally just sighed and scrubbed a servo over his faceplate.

Perceptors processor is now just occasionally wondering the chances of if you'd call him "good boy" again for another favor. And he has to scold his apparently rather perverted processor more than once.

-

Skywarp already knows that he can get you to call him "Good boy" and he already knows he needs to do everything he can to get that rush and phrase one more time! Skywarp wants every little brush of affection you'd give him. The words, your expressions, your em field, and sometimes rarely physical attention when he got lucky. So he's waiting for it to slip out of your mouth again. But he's not really ready for it, though, after you all get your afts kicked by the slagging Autobots.

Skywarp does not want to get his medical attention from Hook- he does not! It's gonna suck! He's fighting Hook until you come outta nowhere and physically force him to lay flat on the medical slab. "Skywarp- behave." Skywarp looks up at you and debates fighting you before slacking against the medical slab. "Good boy." The phrase makes his plating fluff. And you just climb off of him and leave him with Hook. Skywarps too busy thinking about what just happened to even really care too much about Hook.

It's not till after Hook kicks him out that Skywarp realizes he got horny about it. Skywarp did think you were hot. He also liked you flirting with him. You were easy self-service material, really. But now? Yeah, your frame hunched over his own while you call him "good boy." That was gonna be his go too self service fantasy for a hot klick.

Skywarp could totally let himself want some more of you, right?

-

Astrotrains just glad he got stuck with you for the day. He'd take you over any of the other high command since you were the most mellow. Astrotrain would take your dumb little names over worrying about injury from his other bosses. So he's not exactly prepared when your servo is on his arm after he'd done his job like he was supposed to. Astrotrains helm snaps to the side only to be met with you smiling. "Good boy." Your warm em field brushes along the side of his frame before you just up and leave.

Astrotrain's spark does something- glitches? Frag- he didn't know, but he's staring at where you'd walked off like you hadn't just done that slag. His chassis hot and the plating on his arm feeling warm due to the lingering touch of your em field. Astrotrain clamps his plating back down on himself tight when he realizes it slightly fluffed up. Astrotrain then forces his wings to flick back down since they'd flicked upwards due to his shock.

His wings shoot right back up when Astrotrain comprehends the heat in his array. Slag okay no- no no no. Astrotrain was not- he will not have sexual thoughts about one of his bosses. He's not going to. No. Apparently, his sparkdamned frame did not care if he indulged it because he still was very horny over his little exchange with you. And now occasionally just remembering it when he sees you- slag it all.

Astrotrain at least accepts the fact that he's slightly attracted to you. In the end, he's just glad it's you and not any of the other decepticon high command.

-

Blitzwing had his stupid task, and you had pointed out how he was totally smarter than it, and how he could definitely handle it easy. And yeah! He could, and he did. Then you're near him, and you smile, and Blitzwing kinda just thinks you'll use your crummy names. Blitzwing thinks he might be able to actually land a hit on you for it this time if he just- Then your servo is on his pauldron but you're smiling- "Good boy" Blitzwing stopped thinking when the phrase rolled out. You then turned and went off to go make sure the dumbaft coneheads were on task.

Blitzwings wings are twitching, and he's doesn't know what the slag that was- but he sure as frag knows he liked it. He liked it a lot, actually. A rush he usually only gets on the battlefield settles down in his chassis, and the point of entry was his pauldron where you'd touched him. Both Blitzwings jet engines and even his tank engine rev and the sound is loud and rough. A wide grin that shows his denta curls on his derma.

Blitzwing knew sparkdamn well what else he was feeling and he's not about to pretend he doesn't just now wanna grab you and use you like a toy- Blitzwing bites his top denta down on his own fist when he remembers he hasn't even managed to land a hit on you for your stupid little name game you played with all of them. You were a high rank for a reason- you weren't a puny pushover.

Blitzwing doesn't know if he should flirt or threaten you the next time he can- so naturally, he does both.

[hoiststowline]

responses to their s/o falling asleep on them. [w/ ultra magnus, bluestreak, ratchet, hound, kup & sunstreaker]

-

isn't moving until you wake up, would rather stay like this all evening than risk moving at all. [ultra magnus, bluestreak]

something so harmless as falling asleep alongside ultra magnus is going to fry some circuits. the first time especially, he's mostly in subtle shock that you felt not only safe, but at peace enough to succumb to the temptation to shut your eyes. it's a trust thing for magnus, and while you may express it vocally, these subconscious actions translate loudly for him to which he treasures greatly. with that being said, if you fall asleep beside to him, he isn't moving until you wake up. of course, there may be emergencies or circumstances beyond his control that he would have to try and maneuver himself or his arm away from his s/o. but it is not necessarily a want, nor a desire to even attempt to wake you up. you look so calm. initially, thinking he would go very rigid and stiff if this occurred, i'm now perceiving the opposite. i think magnus would actually release some of the tension in his frame and sink a little deeper into his chair. it's almost like a deserved break, a gift that he wasn't expecting but appreciates significantly nonetheless.

on the other hand, bluestreak is the one that goes completely taut and inflexible upon realizing you've fallen asleep. it’s likely on his chassis so there is virtually nowhere else to look, mesmerized by your state of tranquility and terrified to disturb it. he doesn’t want to, particularly after he gently rests a servo across your back and you intuitively bundle deeper into his touch. then bluestreak is really not moving, not until you arise fully on your own. you evidently needed it, and he required this to shake free some of the stress that’s had him wound up very tight. if it’s the first time, he is so entranced with studying your face and how you hardly move. or on the other side, if you move around a lot, he let’s you do whatever you please, raising his hand until you become comfortable, lowering it once more atop your spine. if somebody needs him, they’re gonna have to come and get him because he isn’t getting up.

would test the limits to get both you and themselves into a more comfortable position, but would stop if it appeared as if you were going to wake up. [ratchet, hound]

ratchet probably recognizes the way you’re positioned will leave an ache in your neck or shoulders in the morning, so searches for a way to get you elevated but comfortable. he is the first mech who wants you to get the best rest possible, knowing that you likely haven't been getting enough or there's too much time in between your last round of shut-eye. he tries to guide you into laying down, but every time he moves away, you follow like a magnet. ratchet will give it a try three more times before giving up, realizing that you're beginning to rouse or are shuffling around too much. it isn't worth it then if you ultimately awake anyways, but in the end, he might as well join you. your cheek smushed up against his side isn't really doing him any favors in denying it, half-wondering when you even fell asleep. had he been talking to himself for the past fifteen minutes? the last thing he recalls you mumbling about is how warm he feels, though the recollection now has him ex-venting, silently but contentedly accepting defeat.

hound rather you sleep in your own bed, for the sole reason that it's far more enjoyable and comfortable than his cold berth or up against his boxy frame. of course, if he had his preference, snuggling up beside you would triumph over any other suggestion. but if you were to conk out underneath his arm, hound's only looking out for the fact you have work/school in the morning. he knows how exhausted you are after a long day, so while this isn't unfamiliar, he still tries to adjust you into a more satisfactory pose. every time he so much as touches you, you stir, even if he's so moderate with each brush of contact. the last thing hound wants is to accidentally wake you, knowing it's ten times harder to get back to sleep after being roused so abruptly. he's the first to give in, but he's a bit guilty about it, yielding to his own temptations rather than finding a better solution. though, the way your fingers rest along his plating is a really substantial distraction, enraptured by the feeling of your chest rising and falling against his side. a better idea would have to wait, because all he wants now is for this moment to last forever.

accidentally wakes you up trying to get you in a more comfortable and desirable resting position, feels bad but tells you to go back to sleep. [kup, sunstreaker]

similar to a deer in headlights, kup doesn't know what to with himself. you're sound asleep yet you're practically upside down tucked up against his neck, and this presents two immediate problems. one, if you move in your sleep you're gonna fall or get hurt, and two, he can hardly see you situated like that. kup falls still, but racks his processor for a better undertaking than waking you up. it's in vain, so gently, he'd tug on the bottom of your pants for two minutes until he realizes that you aren't going to respond to that, grumbling under his breath but it's all in good fun. eventually, he hushes your name, tilting his helm back to try and catch the expression on your face. if you're in a deep enough sleep, he slides a servo under your form to bring you to his front, waking you in the process. kup will instantly get you in a restful position that is better for the both of you, more than likely at his front so he can multitask [usually a lie, because he ends up falling asleep as well]. he generally kisses your temple and tells you that it's all alright, and that he's sorry for disturbing you. his gruffness is smothered when he whispers for you to try to go back to sleep, alongside that he'll be right here when you wake up.

sunstreaker stands conflicted for ten or so minutes, uncertain as to what the best response is to such a situation. you're more likely to fall asleep in the crook of his arm, leaning against his upper appendage as your fingers fight to interlock around his elbow. you've been mumbling sleepy nonsense for the last hour, but sunstreaker hadn't thought anything of it until you stopped talking in full. quickly, he finishes whatever he's working on and moves to gather you in his hands so he can nap with you, but he's jumped up too fast or the switching of positions startled you. he's mumbling apologies at the lowest level his voice box goes, trying to whisper until he can get you both back into his berth. it's a soft and drowsy sunstreaker that you are not quite overfamiliar with, but hope to meet when you regain full consciousness in the morning. he appreciates the quiet and would happily take any chance to embrace his s/o in such a devoted manner. he might feel a bit bad about fortuitously waking you up, but sunstreaker rather you be safe and comfy in his arms than try and get a good repose at his desk.

[webtech-group]

🎄 Merry Christmas! 🎄

✨ Wishing you and your loved ones a holiday season filled with joy, peace, and prosperity.

Thank you for your trust and support throughout the year. 🙏

🚀 We look forward to continuing our journey together in the coming year.

Warm regards,

Team Webtech 🤝

www.webtechengg.com

+919999779973

[toshisdecadence]

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.

© toshisdecadence

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. It was 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.”

[keferon]

Prima’s servo can fully engulf Rungs helm omg,,

You look vaguely interested so I’m gonna use your ask as an excuse to yap about Prima >:D

BASICALLY. YES HE IS A BIG GUY IN MIMICS AU!

I’m kind of combining tf1 Prima and Aligned Prima here right. So I was trying to decide how tall I wanted him to be and I looked at Aligned Prima and. Guys. Do you see this Star Saber right here? This stupidly big big giant massive sword? That is Prima’s sword. And it’s clearly meant to be used with just one hand because it’s handle is way too short to be two handed sword.

Look how massive it is. Look how stupidly big it is compared to Optimus. Because it wasn’t made for him it was clearly made for a bot much larger than him:D

So seeing Optimus holding the Sword puts those images into really funny perspective. Imaginary of course. I never do real science when I need to determine someone’s height lol

[imaroyalmess]

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!

[quackfallbackhq]

Transformers Autobots Characters Reacting To They're S/o Thinking Of Having Their Sparkling's (NSFW DRABBLES?)

(semi) SMUT - you been warned

The characters are written down below are,, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, Sideswipe, Crosshairs, Drift, Hound and Hotrod.

Optimus Prime

Optimus stills—his entire frame locked as your whispered words register.

You thought about having sparkings anyway.

His spark flares, heat thrumming through his frame as his servos instinctively tighten on your hips. His optics dim, processor struggling to keep up with the sheer weight of what you just confessed.

“You… thought about carrying mine?” His voice is low, rough—there’s something primal lurking beneath the usual control.

And then he groans, optics flickering as he pulls you closer, his frame still deeply connected to yours.

“… Then let’s make it happen.”

Bumblebee

Bee’s entire frame shutters, vents stuttering as he tries to process what you just said.

"You… you thought about it?"

His servos tremble against your thighs, his engine revving instinctively. You feel the way his spark pulses against yours, how his field tightens around you.

His optics flash, helm pressing into your shoulder as he grinds into you just a little more—still sensitive but reacting to the idea.

“Primus, you can’t just say that,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, voice thick with something deep, something needy. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Ratchet

Ratchet’s processor blue screens.

Like—this wasn’t a conversation he expected to have while still buried inside you.

His optics flicker, his servo gripping your waist as his vents struggle to cycle properly.

“… You want that?” His voice is rough, almost hoarse.

You nod, hips shifting just slightly against him, and he growls—low, deep, his spark flaring as the implications of what you’re saying hit hard.

“… Then we might need to test your frame’s compatibility,” he mutters, lips grazing your jaw. “Thoroughly.”

Jazz

Jazz whimpers.

Like, actually whimpers.

His processor is fried, his entire frame shuddering as your words settle into his very spark.

“Oh, frag—”

He buries his face against your chest, field wrapping around yours in a desperate, needy embrace.

"You can't just say that, babe,” he pants, his servos gripping your hips, optics blazing.

But then—he grins, lazy and sultry, his hips rolling just slightly to emphasize he’s still deep inside you.

“… Guess we better keep trying ‘til we know for sure, huh?”

Ironhide

Ironhide’s engine rumbles.

Your words sink in slowly—his processor taking an extra second to fully grasp what you just admitted.

And then?

His grip tightens.

"You thought about it, huh?" His voice is low, deep, filled with something possessive.

His optics flash, his entire field surging around you as he pulls you closer, his plating still pressed flush against yours.

“… Then maybe it’s time we stop thinking and make it real.”

Sideswipe

“Oh, frag, you mean that?”

Sideswipe’s vents shudder, his entire frame twitching from overstimulation, but frag if he doesn’t immediately react to what you just whispered.

You feel his engine rev, his servo gripping your thigh as his processor struggles to keep up.

"Primus, you can’t just drop that on me right after—"

His optics flicker, something hungry brewing in his expression.

“… You sure? ‘Cause I really wouldn’t mind putting in some more… effort.”

Crosshairs

Crosshairs chokes.

Like, full-on chokes. His vents glitch, his entire frame going rigid as his processor shuts down for a solid three seconds.

Then—his optics flick to yours. Wide.

“Wait, wait—you what?”

You smirk, shifting just slightly around him, and he groans, helm dropping back as his servos tighten around you.

"Primus, you can't just say stuff like that—" He pauses, optics flickering with something darker.

"... But if you're serious, sweetheart? Then frag, we better get to work."

Drift

Drift stills.

His optics are dark, his vents slow and measured—but his field? It flares so intensely around you that you feel the weight of his emotions immediately.

“… You would carry mine?”

His servo drifts to your abdomen, his plating still intimately pressed against yours as his spark pulses hard.

The reverence in his gaze, the way his lips part slightly as he drinks in your words—it’s overwhelming.

“… Then let us not waste time, my love.”

Hound

Hound groans—deep, rough, his entire frame thrumming beneath you.

"You thought about it?" His voice is gravelly, optics flickering as his servos tighten on your waist.

Then, suddenly, his lips are on you again—claiming, desperate, his spark pulsing violently against yours.

“… Then we better make damn sure it happens.”

And with the way he rolls his hips? Oh, he’s not stopping anytime soon.

HotRod

Hot Rod whimpers.

Like, actually whimpers. His vents are shaky, his optics wide as your words fully register.

“… Wait. You mean that?”

His field flares, his servos locking around your waist as his processor overheats.

You nod—smug, teasing—and he groans, his engine revving uncontrollably.

"Oh, frag, babe—you know I’m gonna make sure it happens now, right?”

And with the way his hips instinctively buck into yours again? Yeah, you knew exactly what you were doing.

notes - you can read this as different transformers shows or comics you wish, I personally imagine these of Bayverse autobots x cybertronian reader, there's still more I want to write down but let me know if you want more of different things!

[revelboo]

Hi revel! I was wondering, could roddy and reader's sparkling 'flame on' just like her sire? If she could, imagine how many servos she has burned whenever other mechs tries to hold her

Though I can see her getting roddy's 'flame on' when she's in her toddler stage, but it would be funny if she could already do that when she was baby

🤣 can’t imagine that going well

Flame On

Rodimus x Reader

• “Uh, Tailgate?” You begin, leaning out from the counter to watch nervously as the bot bends and picks up your crawling daughter from behind. Because you know she’s going to scream. ‘Look at you and your tiny, little plating forming,’ he coos right as her face creases and she screams, plating going red hot as Tailgate’s mouth falls open in pain. You’re horrified and stunned realizing she somehow inherited Roddy’s weird, little ability. She’s never done that before and you can’t help but stare. Because if she does do that while you’re holding her, you might not survive. And it’s a miracle Tailgate doesn’t just drop her, holding her out for Rodimus while leaking lubricant and sobbing in pain. Heart racing as the minibot fans his charred servos, clearing his vents in little, pained huffs, you watch Cyclonus kneel to pull the minibot into his frame. And Skids, Nautica, Rewind and Swerve all lean away like your sparkling is a ticking time bomb.

• Staring at his daughter as she kicks her chubby legs, warbling unhappily until he tucks her heated form against his chassis, Rodimus shudders. And he stares at you, fear twisting through him. What if she does that when you have her? His plating can handle it, but you can’t. What if she fully erupts? Would there be anything left of you or would you just be gone? Servos trembling as his daughter reaches to pat her tiny hand on his chin, he cups her small form to him. Unable to look away from the worry in your eyes. ‘Cute kid,’ Whirl calls out from the other end of the bar. “I think that’s enough socializing,” Rodimus manages, voice strained, cradling the sparkling with one hand and reaching to pick you up with the other, holding you out and away from his body.

• Dangling from his fist at the end of his outstretched arm, other bots are staring as he heads back to his habsuite and he’s freaked out. You get it, you’re freaked out, too. He can control it, has never burned you even though he worries about it. But your daughter? She’s just a baby. What if she does that during a tantrum? She wouldn’t mean to burn you, but she might by accident. “So that happened,” you whisper as he leans, awkwardly using a ped to open the habsuite door so he can keep you as far from your daughter as possible.

• Knows you’re trying to play it off, make it a joke and normally he appreciates that. Right now? He’s stressed and knowing that stress makes him a danger to you, too. “We can get an inhibitor rig,” he mutters, easing you down on his berth and his daughter reaches for you, servos opening and closing. “Just block it until she can learn to control it.” Except, he never did master it. It just happens. And her face screws up at not immediately getting her way, leaning toward you with a shrieking warble of demand.

• “Hand her over,” you say, not at all certain as you reach and Rodimus doesn’t budge. As afraid as you are. “It’s okay.” Trying to convince him and yourself as your daughter screams again, straining and her plating heats and pops, little wisps of smoke rolling from her seams. Roddy never burns you. She won’t. “Roddy.” She won’t.

• Are you out of your mind? You’re not even looking at him, focused on the struggling sparkling. And he can’t. Can’t risk you. Shaking his head, he backs up. Flame licking against him as his daughter howls and his back hits the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor and cradling his wailing daughter. Tucking her head under his chin he stares across the room at you trapped on his berth. “She’s not safe. We’re not safe,” he mutters, rocking and trying to soothe her, distract her from wanting you. Shakily singing a Cybertronian lullaby as his own panic stirs.