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jweekgoji · 3 months ago

Note

Hello! Can I request a nsfw cogged Orion pax x cog less femme reader ? I was thinking after he came back from the surface to his miner friends.

Cogged!Orion/Cogless!Femme!Reader [TFO]

tw: size difference, valveplug (MDNI), soft and inexperienced!Orion, sub-ish!Orion at the start, first time, awkward intimacy, size kink. word count: ~1800 a/n: uni work makes me a little more busy now, but i hope i am not making you wait for too long. i tried to read it a few times and check for mistakes, but i'm eepy so...

Orion likes to touch. The way he gently places his servo on one of his friend's shoulders or lightly taps their frame to get the attention, it's how he used to show his care towards someone, to bring comfort. Growing up and being surrounded by many bots, some so friendly or not, it was natural for him to become the most tactile bot you ever met.

With you, it is only worse. The young troublemaker just can't stand a minute without having his servo around you, because that's how he is, so clingy and needy of the same affection and closeness with you.

You can't remember at least a one day when he wouldn't approach you with a surprise hug from behind, often pulling you closer to his chassis during a short breaks from working in mines. Even though every day he was risking his own life for the better of Iacon, sometimes even smacked by your supervisors, he never lost this innocent smile on his face. What more does he need in his life when he has you next to him?

Orion is the real definition of the sunshine person, the natural-born leader, always everywhere at once, seeking for more trouble the second you look away from him.

When he is so close, servos around your waist, his chassis against your own, you find it difficult to stare for too long into those big, bright blue optics of his, you feel your own one straining as if you had been looking for too long at the Sun.

Now the same intimacy between the two of you feels different, somehow, the touch is as gentle as before, but the usual brightness of his optics is not the same. Orion himself now looks different.

Stronger, taller, mature...tired?

A lot had happened in that short time he had on the surface of your home planet, so you never press on him to tell you more about than he wants. Right now, he wants to cling to the bits of comfort you can provide. How much he wants to hug you tighter, just to express that suppressed desire for warmth and solace.

Orion's hold around your waist tightens just a little more before he slowly relaxes. He notices how his servo is large enough to wrap around your entire waist now.

He knows you're strong, no matter the difference in size or lacking the cog, it doesn't make you any less strong than him. If anything, the position you are in makes him more vulnerable than you ever have been. It's almost cute how quickly he pulls his servos from you after holding you a little tighter than he intended to, already looking all awkward and guilty, like a kicked puppy.

“Sorry, didn't uh...” he pauses for a moment, his optics shyly flickering to one side and to the other, then going back to your face. “...didn't mean to do that.”

How can he be so afraid to touch you now? As if you were made of a fragile glass? You couldn't help but huff, placing your servos on his face, your thumbs gently moving over the smooth metal of his helm. That tiny little «ears» he had now much longer, as you note silently in your mind, and that almost makes you want to gently tug at them.

Orion leans into your touch, closing his optics and relaxing, as he lets you caress him. In a position like this, when you straddle his thigh, he has nothing against letting you do whatever you want with him. Makes it easier to focus on the feeling and relax, rather than the constant fear of doing something wrong.

You can feel Orion's servo carefully placed over your own, his digits circling over your wrist in an almost soothing manner.

If only someone could see you two right now, such a big bot like him, melting under the touch of the small no-cog? And you were the one, acting all gentle towards him? The thought makes him shiver in pleasure, just staying with you like this is enough to warm his spark.

You lean closer for a kiss, struggling to reach for his face, until he tilts his head down, meeting your lips. A quiet groan escapes from him once you press yourself closer. If you try to listen intently, you might hear how fast his spark is beating in his chamber right now.

His servos slide lower, moving over the sides of your frame, only to stop to rest on your thighs, digits gently squeezing the soft plating.

There's something in his mind wanting more of it—that just those innocent, butterfly like kisses and tight embraces aren't enough, his spark practically yearning for your body against his.

But he can't tell you this, can he? He doesn't want to sound too greedy, too pushing, you probably aren't ready for him...for this. He never wants to make you feel uncomfortable. Orion would rather let you do everything at your own pace, no matter how agonizingly slow your servos move over his frame right now. It seems like a silent torture once you start teasingly moving your index finger around the center of his chassis, where the empty slot for his t-cog once was.

Orion tilts his head back a little, servos visibly trembling, as if trying to ground himself from flipping you underneath him and finally having his way with you. The silent struggling doesn't go unnoticed by you. Even though it was obvious to both of you, how much he wants to continue and ask for more, but he refuses to beg for it. He feels too shy, too scared to ask it from you, stubbornly suffering in silence.

Luckily for Orion, you might be no less stubborn than him as you begin gently grinding against his thigh. Slowly, carefully at once, just to concentrate on his reaction to this. You were ready for him to tell you to stop or to pull away immediately, but your concerns disappeared as soon as you heard a soft, strangled moan.

“Don't stop,” he manages to say between heavy breaths, optics half-lidded as he looks at you.

It's almost like he was waiting for it for cycles, given how quickly he wraps his servos around your thighs, only to position you between his legs, your back now pressed against his chassis.

He knows you're small, with him being almost twice your size, there's no way you would be able to take his spike without hurting you. Just thinking of it, of accidentally making you hurt at the moment as special as this...—

“It's fine” you murmur softly in response, leaning back against him. "Let's start little by little at first."

Orion only nods silently, and you can almost spot a tiny blue tint on his cheeks the moment he finally opens up his interface panel for you. A mech his size, and here he is, nuzzling his face against the top of your head in weak attempts to hide his own shyness, and that could not but encourage you to continue.

You lower yourself a little, so your valve could gently grind against the tip of his spike, already glistening with droplets of transfluid. You wonder, how long has he been like this, trying to ignore his own needs when you were right beside him?

A thin line of lubricant spreads around your entrance, mixing with your own wetness, now making you shudder at the burning, hot feeling, seeping into your frame. It is so unfair, the way you are so, so close and at the same time, so far away from where he desperately wants you to be. It's too much to bear.

You are so tiny compared to him, he can't help but remind himself to always be careful with you. Not to hold you too tight, or maybe not to accidentally break you the moment he can finally push his spike deep into you. No, no, don't get too tempted with ideas, Pax!

Orion groans softly, breathing a hot air against the crook of your neck. You're barely doing anything, and somehow, it is just too much. You can feel his spike desperately twitching against your folds, as if silently begging you to take mercy on him. He grinds against your entrance once more, rubbing the tip until he lines up with your valve.

He carefully thrusts up into you, the tip of his spike slipping in and out, just a fraction. It takes all of his self-control not to give in to the urge to thrust up into you, to bury himself inside you till the hilt. Even then, he is grateful for everything you give him.

“So good, so good around me, sweetspark,” he praises, planting a soft kiss on your neck, muttering your name over and over again in sync with a slow roll of his hips.

Orion groans as you continue to meet his thrusts, moving your hips against his own. The thought of his sparkmate, so smaller than him and yet you're taking him so well. There’s no mistake, Primus himself blessed him with you, with how perfect you are for him, everything in you is flawless. There is no way you weren’t created and destined to be his.

He looks down at you, an obvious fascination and adoration in his optics once he meets your own. The sight of you, almost salivating from pleasure alone is enough to push him over the edge.

It feels much more intense for you than you could have imagined. Each slow, tender thrust makes you arch your back as he stretches your insides. You already struggle to take him like this, with not even a half of his size inside you, yet you're already a shaking and whining mess on top of him. So full.

You let out a soft mewl once Orion thrust into you again, and that was enough to suddenly bring you to overload. You pant softly, closing your optics for a moment to catch your breath. Poor, poor tiny thing, didn't even fully realize how close you were already with how good his spike felt inside you.

You feel him throb inside you again, and you tense up at the realization. He didn't reach his own release.

Orion notices your slightly panicked state when you gently try to sit up again, only to slump back against his chassis, too tired to move for now. Despite everything, he's happy. He's so, so lucky to have you right now. It's so adorable how you immediately think of his own pleasure, a second after your own overload.

“Don't worry about me,” he gently kisses the top of your helm, his servo soothingly rubbing your thigh. “It brings me more pleasure to watch you like this.”

#orion pax x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers x reader #transformers one x reader #transformers one

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in.

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

��Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~”

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow. Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.”

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

#transformers #valveplug #transformers x reader #rumble #transformers rumble #rumble x reader #transformers imagines #g1 transformers #my writing #long post

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squibsformers · 2 months ago

Text

Miscommunication

Rodimus x Human Reader, Drift x Ratchet x Human Reader

Summary: After Rodimus tried looping you into something you really weren't into, you sought out your other partners to complain about his reveal of character.

Word Count: 1,128

AN: NSFW suggestive talk, no outright smut. Also hi this is my first tf writing soooo lmk what your thoughts are, i love comments. I'm already working on a reader insert series and wanted to start with a few one off bits. Enjoy! tagging valveplug just in case.

Drift looked up when you entered the medbay, his greeting dying on his glossa as his field just PINGED with the waves of displeasure coming off you.

“Jeez… what's got you all wound up, huh?” He straightened his backstuts as he stood up more from the desk he leaned over, messing with Ratchet temporarily set aside.

You hissed a rush of words under your breath as you strutted in, something that he couldn't TELL what was said but he understood it wasn't very polite. Even the older medic bot lifted his head to address you.

“I only managed to make out Rodimus in all that. What did our oh so brilliant captain do to piss you off?”

“I thought this whole time we were leading up to something… fun. But it turns out I misread every step. He thinks he's BETTER than me.”

“He's the captain, he is better than you.”

You whipped your head around to glare at Ratchet. “Better enough that I deserve to clean the dirt off his kibble with my tongue?? Because I feel that's pretty fucking degrading.”

Both bots stilled, and the medic's “Wait, what-” was interrupted by Drift stalling briefly and talking over him. “That doesn't sound at ALL like something Roddy would say.”

“I thought so, too.” You huffed before your attitude melted into something a bit sadder. “I mean… I've been flirting with him for so long, and he's been receptive towards it. You even told me he said he likes me. So I don't know where this came from…”

Groaning, you put your face in your hands, and idly Ratchet patted your back while working (and half listening).

“I didn't even think that would be a thing with you guys, making someone tongue-polish your like, plating and stuff.”

“That sounds like something Megatron would have had Starscream do back in the day,” Ratchet groused, making Drift mock gagging.

“I'm going to purge my tank, don't make me think about those two like that.” A shudder wracked the ex ‘con's frame. “Eugh. No it's not really a thing with us. Is…is it a human thing?”

“Ah…” The question made you pause to think. “Not… really? I mean, kind of. It's usually an extremely exaggerated form of punishment from someone who wants to uh… show superiority while demeaning the other. Though it's shoes or boots for us, not armor spikes. The idea is to polish the dirtiest article of clothing with their tongue - or glossa - so they feel... sub-human. Though there's always exceptions, and some people are into that kinda thing as like, a kink? But it's really not…what I'm looking for.” You wince.

….Ratchet paused his comforting as he listened, before turning to look you over. “Hold on, back up. Armor spikes… kid, what did Rodimus say to you?”

Drift leaned over the autobot's shoulder, studying you closely. The samurai looked both confused…and disbelieving.

Alright, fine then.

“He said ‘Y’know… Maybe you can put that glossa of yours to use and… clean my spikes with it.’” They let out a grumble. “I didn't peg him for the degrading type…”

The two mechs went oddly quiet and still.

“Spikes… plural?” Drift pressed.

You thought back more, mulling the memory over, of the captain of the Lost Light leering down at you with that heated smirk and his thumb on your cheek…and shook your head.

“No, sorry. Just spike.”

“PFFT-”

You looked up to see Drift looking away, one of his servos clamped over his intake as he cackled. His limbs shook and he held onto Ratchet to steady himself. The medic was looking away, face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook.

He was also laughing at you.

“What. WHAT! HEY?? HELLO!!”

“Kid…Kid, Sp..spike is another term we have for plug.” Ratchet mumbled out. Still laughing. Very much laughing at you. His words caused Drift to wheeze and bend over, his vents stuttering as he cackled.

“He was asking you to interface finally and you totally missed it..!! Oh Primus help me, what did you say? What did you say, tell me. Please, it has to be good.”

Your face got warm as you thought of the fact that you had finally gotten Rodimus interested enough he would make a bold pass. Your face was hot when you realized you had totally missed his signals. Your face was practically on fire when it clicked just how badly you fumbled the whole interaction.

“I… I said Ew, no thanks. And came here-”

“THAAAAHAHAATS THE WORST THING YOU C-COOOHOULD HAVE SAID!!! AAAHAHAGHA OH PRIMUS-”

“Frag me, kid you did not-”

There was no saving you. Both mechs were now openly laughing at your misery. Your face buried in your hands you mumbled out a weak “How was I supposed to know!” that only made Drift start losing it all over again.

After some time (Ten. Minutes.) the two much larger beings had settled, Ratchet returning to his work and chuckling on occasion while Drift…pestered you over your absolute dropping of the ball.

“I can't believe this. I'm almost scared to flirt with you now because you may not get it!”

“Driiiiift…!” You whined, the cheeky samurai squeezing your hips. “Let me go, I want to jettison myself out of the airlock.”

“Not a chance!! I mean I want to make sure if I tell you I wanna have you eat my valve from the back that you aren't going to mistake it for me, say, threatening to mug you or something.”

Your face was bright red. “Drift!!”

“Or, oh man, if I tell you I want to slot my plug between your thighs, maybe you'll think I'm wanting you to-”

“RATCHET! DRIFT IS BULLYING ME AGAIN!” Complaining loudly, you squirmed in Drift's hold while eyeing his Conjux, displeased and humiliated and hoping the medic would scold him or something.

Ratchet barely spared you a glance with his optics as he continued his inventory count. He was literally busy and not paying attention to you two.

“Between words from attractive mechs, manhandling, and something almost too big to go in, you enjoy being bullied, and all of us here are very aware of it,” drawled the grouch's response.

You stared at him, mouth dropped open in shock and WORSE embarrassment at how he called your bullshit out. All while Drift began cackling all over again.

—

You stared up at the habisuite door, staring at the imposing metal barrier of captain Rodimus Prime's personal chambers. Your stomach twisted in knots nervously, your palms somewhat sweaty as you raised a fist and knocked hard, twice. Mentally, you prepared your apology as you heard shuffling and the soft clank of pedes across a metal floor.

God, you hoped the mech thought stupid was hot.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #drift x reader #ratchet x reader #rodimus x reader #valveplug #tf x human #tf x reader #reader insert

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glitch-after-dark · 2 months ago

Note

Valveplug idea: Tarn's first rut/heat after his "Tarn" upgrade/reformat coming at a VERY inconvenient time

I HAVE BEEN ON A TARN KICK SO EXCELLENT TIMING ANON!

He got his body glow up pretty immediately from joining the Decepticons since he already had it at Grindcore, even before the DJD were a twinkle in Megatron's eye. Probably safe to blame the usual culprits of either Lobe (Phase Sixer Creator) or Shockwave for it. But just picture Glitch turned Damus again, since it's more dignified, all baby deer legs getting used to being a tank and the utter joy of having hands and a face, doing his physical therapist transformations and walk to test the new body.

He transforms and takes off excited to experience it and runs straight into Overlord, who is all ready to bully Megatron's new favorite, and challenges him to a spar. Damus, overconfident and feeling powerful for the first time in a very long time, refuses to backdown and starts fighting with him. He actually gets distracted on the high of how good it feels to be so sturdy after taking a solid punch to the face and ends up smiles at Overlord strangely sweetly in a way that throws him enough to let Damus get in a crotch shot which is when things start getting dirty.

He did get in plenty of stupid wrestling fights with the Outlier Gang and he was always " a bit of bastard" when fighting previously, though he is used to being smaller and wigglier he is untrained but not inexperienced.

Overlord though has been fighting for thousands of years even before the war and is an Actual Bastard. So when he starts feeling the early pings of a heat starting to clear all the junk data of the new frame and the temperature starting up he decides to take advantage. Grappling turns to caressing and groping. Focuses more on pinning and forcing their bodies close together. Teasing sensitive seams and if he can get his mouth close enough a quick bite on a choice piece of kibble.

The thrill of his new body and physical exertion quickly starts to turn salacious and Damus is finding it hard to think or truly fight back as Overlord manages to pin him more and more easily, nibbling along his neck cables, hands grabbing his hips and pulling their arrays flush together while steam puffs from the seams.

Before he knows it he's open mouthed panting and grounding back, metal sending sparks against each other's plating that fold away when Damus skills after a particular sharp bite falling forward on his face, head swimming with a yelp. Overlord laughs and is not kind at all when he pulls back and bottoms out in one cruel push making Damus scream at the sudden use of his valve array which is soaked but oversensitive from both heat and newness.

Soon he is squealing and moaning uncoordinated and clumsy trying to push back, only to have his head shoved down while Overlord fucks him gracelessly through two quick overloads in succession before the first witness arrives. Damus recovers enough sense to weakly push himself so his face isn't completely pressed down with a steadying arm when the second one shocks through him clearing a little bit, though he is still physically lax and a puddle of static and pleasure as anything and everything Overlord is doing from digging fingers into his seams to biting everything he can touch to gripping his hips so hard they dent flips over the pleasure sensors.

Damus makes eye contact with the first Decepticon come to watch Overlord's catch and starts to struggle only for Overlord to grab him and force his head upright to watch as others gather and be able to look away or hide while they get to see his face through each and every subsequent overload.

It ends with Damus shaky, looking like he'd been mauled and simultaneously feeling satisfied and utterly humiliated. Overlord never lets him live it down and the hatred is entirely personal from then having to limp back and get repaired.

#valveplug #tarn #robots in heat #overtarn #overlord #exhibition kink #dubcon #inconvenient heat while fighting your future nemesis for the first time

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iliterallydecepticanteven · 3 months ago

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A Guide to Valveplug: Sticky Interfacing Edition

So I made a post yesterday about how I should make a guide for new fans coming into the Transformers fandom regarding valveplug (the term used for 18+ Transformers content) since it can be kind of hard to figure out if you're new. This is that guide.

This post in particular will cover what is called sticky interfacing, which is the most common. There are three other types I am aware of: 1) plug and play, 2) tactile, and 3) sparkplay. This post will just cover sticky.

Obvious warning, everything below the read more is mature content so proceed with your own discretion.

Okay, so, first thing to get out of the way: interfacing means sex in the TF fandom. This is not a canon term, it's a fanon term, so if you are watching or reading official Transformers media and someone uses the word interface/interfacing, no it's not a tongue-in-cheek sex joke. Interface is a real word with real meaning beyond the fanon definition.

As mentioned above, this post will cover sticky interfacing, which is the most human version of TF sex in the fandom. This involves the characters having human like genitalia and experiencing orgasm through physical sexual stimulation akin to the way humans would. This most commonly is shown as penis-in-vagina style sex, but anything that can be done with a penis and vagina can be done here, like blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, and use of both penetrative and non-penetrative vibrators.

(EDIT: I completely forgot that in Transformers Prime Knock Out does make a joke about two human characters interfacing. So far as I can tell, this is the only instance of the writers being in on the term.)

The word interface/interfacing is used interchangeably and simply despends on context. For example, "Did you two interface?" and "Interfacing can be hard on my joints" are both ways the term can be used.

Let's cover anatomy terms first. A spike is the term for a penis and valve is the term for a vagina. Some fics also make reference to a node or anterior node around the valve, which is the term for clitoris. That's really the biggest hurtle to clear when it comes to getting into reading sticky interfacing.

Additionally, regardless of the character's gender, TFs usually have both a spike and a valve. Gender, and by proxy whether a character is a mech or a femme, is truly a social construct in TF fanon and canon. As such, the character will always have both. For as long as I have been reading sticky interfacing fics (which is way longer than I want to admit), I can count on one hand the number of fics that stuck to a strict one sexual organ policy. So characters will be packing both.

Because of this, the character's role in sticky interfacing really comes down to preference. The character may prefer to penetrate or be penetrated. This is most commonly how the bottom and top tags on AO3 are used.

Now that we've covered anatomy terms, let's get into physiology and how they work. (And apologies for the diagrams incoming, I did my best.)

Both the spike and valve have similar positions on TF characters to where they would be on humans, that being in the groin. It's generally agreed that the organs are covered by retractable plating that can be moved back and forth at will by the character, similar to a human putting their pants on or pulling them off.

The spike is tucked fully into the body and will pressurize outwards when the character becomes aroused (see picture above). The valve is simply covered by plating (see picture below), but arousal does cause the production of lubricant and some swelling in the outer lips (which, so far as I can tell, everyone has just agreed to call the vulva the lips of the valve).

Now you may be wondering, well when are we going to talk about the term for testicles. And the thing is, there isn't because they simply aren't there. Solely the spike expanding outwards is there.

That's not to say there isn't a parallel for semen though. In this case, the term transfluid is often used. It is produced within the body and, like with human ejaculation, is expelled during orgasm. The valve also produces lubricant like with a human vagina, which is produced in abundance when aroused in preparation for penetration. The valve also may need to be gently fingered open prior to penetration, depending on the size of the character penetrating, and is flexible and able to stretch with enough time and lubricant.

As for the color of everything mentioned, it varies. Typically spikes and valves will be similar color schemes to the character's themselves, other times they'll be a plain metal color. One fun thing I see people do that I personally enjoy is when they say that anterior node glows the same color as the character's eyes, but that's just my own personal preference. Transfluid and lubricant are typically translucent and I personally see them as both being a silver sheen.

And I know I will be getting asked this question if I don't include it so I'll just cover it: anal sex isn't really a thing. I believe this stems from the belief that TFs do not produce waste products like humans do and therefore do not a way to get rid of them. I don't know if that's canon, but that's how I have always seen it. But, I have encountered it twice, so from what I have seen, a port is the term for an anus, ports do not lubricate themselves and so some other lubricant source must be used, and again, regardless of the character's gender, they will have a spike, valve, and port.

Finally, to answer a question I'm sure you have bouncing around in your head, yes the robots can get pregnant but only if the author/artist/creator wills it. In instances where the TF character has the equipment to get pregnant, the forge is term for the uterus. And additionally, the term mprg is not used, we use the term mechpreg.

I think that covers the basics. Obviously, everyone has their own spin on things, so you may encounter something you have to use context clues to figure out. But just this knowledge should be good to help you get into sticky interfacing fics, art, etc without being too lost. So go forth and be horny for those giant alien robots!

#valveplug #my guides #idk how else to tag this #any questions my askbox is open #and there are no stupid questions!#nsft

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thunderwetter · 10 months ago

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Warden's Pet - Overlord x Prowl - Chapter 2

Check this post for Chapter 1, this is going to be a three-chapter-story!

WORD COUNT: ~4900

WARNINGS: 18+ NON-CON, Violence

TAGS: Sticky/Valveplug, Torture, Punishment, Revenge, Restricted Movement, Toy Usage, Electrostimulation/Shockplay, Overstimulation, Spark Play, Non-consensual Voyeurism

Final Warning! Prowl is NOT enjoying this!!!

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When Prowl came back online, his first reaction was a pained groan. It took him a moment to register his position, servos behind his back, leaning against a cold metal wall. Very creative, really, to use his own handcuffs against him. It took a while for his sensory system to work, but with satisfaction he recognized himself to be fully repaired. He could see, he could hear, his frame seemed to be a mess no more. Even his face was fixed, although an uncomfortable sensation was still haunting him, some pain in the joints from the stiffness of being immobilized. Leftovers from a previous surgery, he remembered the feeling, albeit it usually had different reasons.

The current reason for his predicament was sitting at the desk across the room, pedes on top, tapping away at a communication pad. Prowl could still feel him on his tongue and suppressed a gag at the thought of it. Overlord's lips curled upwards with every ping of the comm-pad. He noticed Prowl returning to his senses in his periphery, so he spun the chair around, landing his pedes with a heavy thump, taking a quick snapshot of the view and apparently shipping it through the console. Curious, Prowl thought to himself, whoever was on the other line trusted Overlord with their contact data, they were close enough to be updated on Prowl’s condition, but not close enough to communicate over the personal communication system that would be the standard.

Then again, Prowl’s own personal contacts were limited to those that he worked with regularly, the only current exception being Jazz, who rarely ever utilized the old code. Prowl would not be surprised if he, like Chromedome, had changed his contact data by now.

Prowl did not remember laying on the floor, panting and moaning around a spike that had long left. Neither did he remember Overlord recording this moment of no dignity to send it to Fortress Maximus. He was left to believe that he passed out from being used, from being abused in a beaten state. He was left to believe that his processor had never blanked out.

“Good Morning, Prowler!”, Overlord hummed, an uncannily cheerful melody to his words. A nickname as rarely used as his personal code, usually by the very same person. He checked the line. No, nothing. Still jammed, he had no means to communicate, not even his emergency signal could get out. Perhaps that was why Overlord used the console. Perhaps getting his fingers on it would be Prowl’s way out? All he had to know was who the contact on the other side was, perhaps they would be convinced to help him. But could he really rely on-

“Maxie’s happy with my work, you know.”

No. No, he couldn’t. Fortress Maximus had brought him into this situation and as a convinced realist, Prowl knew he was not gonna go anywhere if his closest contact was the warden. He defaulted his gaze to an annoyed glare, pressing his intake shut to form a straight line. Overlord chuckled. “I fixed you so carefully and all I get is a glare. That supposed to be intimidating?”, he said, the mockery clear as day. He typed a last message into the comm-pad and got up, casually picking up the little pill from the day before and strolling over to Prowl. “Cute.”, Overlord spat out, grabbing Prowl by the chin. He had to reach down to do so, the smaller mech barely reaching his knee in his current posture. “Yesterday, as much fun as I had…”, Overlord licked his lips, caressing Prowl’s face as he did, as if it were an extension of his glossa, “I have so much more in stock for you.”

With that Overlord knelt down, bringing himself closer to Prowl and yanking him up, using the hands that previously caressed his face to choke him against the wall. Of course, the ventilation system was not impacted by such a movement, however Overlord dug his blunt digits into the fuel lines that ran down Prowl’s neck, resulting in a choked noise that allowed Overlord to force his glossa into Prowl’s intake, pulling him into a violently deep kiss. Once they parted he went for the neck, biting at cables, drawing Energon just for the bliss of tasting it. Prowl underneath him tried to pull away with no avail, he vented heavily from the willpower that was needed to suppress any kind of noise that would make his captor happy. He wouldn’t give in so easily. He could use him until his face warped into a state of no recognition and still, his mind would not break.

“Second chance Prowl, you’re only getting three”, Overlord said, lips stained in pink. He held the pill up, offering it to his prisoner in an unnervingly urgent, yet gentle matter. What was it anyways, what kind of drug was Overlord so intent of putting him under? Prowl’s reply was a well-aimed spit, for once his instincts had overruled his reason. He wasn’t getting out of here anyways, he was going to be abused whether he behaved or not, what did it matter? He still had pride, he still had his will and his intellect and those were things that Overlord couldn’t frag out of him. Overlord let out a dry chuckle as he wiped the oral lubricant from his face and rewarded Prowl with a flick to his optic, strong enough to break the sensitive glass. It wasn’t enough to provoke a reaction. He returned to his desk once more, placing the pill on top and rummaging inside the drawers.

With half of his vision gone, Prowl had to tilt his head to get a glimpse of the box that Overlord dug out before casually walking back to him, sitting down cross-legged with an almost serene smile. Overlord was silent. Prowl did not like that. Silence was just another way to torture him, surely. Among the most suspicious behaviors were either chatty bots being silent or silent bots drowning your audials in a flood of information all of a sudden. Prowl had two options, no, three. He could ask Overlord about his plans, however this would most likely either result in his calm smile turning into an arrogant, knowing one, feeding his otherworldly ego even further – or he would receive a reply that would give him everything except for a clear answer. He could also attempt to get into Overlord’s head, figuring out by himself what he had to offer, what he could be planning, what he was toying with inside the container of which the lid had been conveniently angled to just barely obscure the secret item. Besides the obvious wonder of what was in there, what he was planning was another question. Tightly intertwined with the third option was one more: Did Prowl want to know what was going to happen? As much as he hated being out of the loop, only being able to watch, listen and let happen rather than to calculate and take control, what benefit was there to go through the effort of knowing how this would play out? He could demote his mind to be a spectator and just wait. Patience was no weakness of his, he had plenty when needed, but evaluating his current situation was exhausting in many ways.

To only wait, to not act, was that not a surrender in itself?

Silence, he swore to that thought and went back to the second option. Overlord knew a lot about him, information that was without a doubt passed on by Fortress Maximus, perhaps even by a network of bots he had ticked off in the long years of war. Prowl’s jaw tensed up by the mere mention of his name, by the memory of bots not rarely turning violent against him due to some infantile grievances. A heated feeling ran through his pulse. What pathetic behavior it was to not only be bitter about a minor mishap some years ago, but also to not execute this grudge himself. He didn’t expect this cowardice from someone like the unwavering warden of Garrus-9. Prowl discarded the topic and refocused on the box, trying to get a proper view of Overlord’s servos, of his face that was now deep in thought. He looked up. Their optics met. Overlord smiled. “Eager, aren’t you?”, he said, cocking his head. Prowl took a moment to recognize the statement and snapped his neck into a different direction. Maybe in the reflection of Overlord’s optics he would have been able to see what he had in his servos. He considered the thought but couldn’t resume his analysis. He could feel the stare digging into him and didn’t want to risk encouraging the banter any further. Being forced into a position of cluelessness gave him a headache, he had no need for something as ridiculous as this mockery to worsen that condition. Prowl tried to focus on the noises of fidgeting, hoping for hints among the general clutter. He heard metal clicking together in assembly, he heard plugs being connected and if he concentrated very deeply, he heard a slight electrical whirr.

It was an unfamiliar collection of noises, at least up until the point where the whirring grew louder and eventually turned into distinct vibration. He recalled the feeling of a spike in his mouth and shuddered involuntarily, turning his head back to Overlord who, as if in celebration turned the box around with exactly the knowing smile that Prowl had expected to see. As he had predicted. That was good, he thought, he was managing to get a better read on his opponent. He looked down into the container and his short-lived victory immediately died off. The vibration had in fact not misled him, a fake spike was neatly placed in the center. Prowl did not have much experience with them, being too prideful to indulge in this kind of pleasure, however he still recognized by the assembly lines that this was a customizable experience. Considering the parts that weren’t installed and the amount of time spent on building it, Overlord must’ve had chosen a very specific collection of mods. There were barely any hints visible from the outside though and that was what made Prowl feel a sense of dread creeping into his system. He suppressed the urge to throw up and forced his mind to silence itself before the possibilities of what this creation was capable of made him lose his cool. It was a proper size, but smaller than Overlord’s. He hated his ability to even make that comparison.

His face unfazed, he looked at Overlord who was now fully grinning. Prowl’s servo twitched in the sudden desire to punch the grin off his face. He wasn’t in charge of his annoyance today, certainly an inconvenience. Inconvenience was an understatement, he corrected himself, this hateful thinking was a sign of Overlord getting to him. It was an actual problem. “You know what this is?”, Overlord said, feigning innocence as he picked up the toy and turned it around in his servo, allowing Prowl to inspect it. “A false spike.”, he replied dryly. No emotion, no expression, just a voice with a hint of static. Surely left there from the day before. Overlord’s grin widened as he pointed to the box. “What else is there?”, he asked, his voice melodic and amused. He let his thumb caress the underside of the fake spike, an internal clicking could be heard. It was reactive, almost impressive. Prowl’s gaze wandered to the case. He saw cords, discarded parts, cables strewn around in a messy way. It was a sight that would put any orderly mech into stasislock but there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. A trick perhaps, to fool him into overthinking. A trick that didn’t work. Being afraid of things that didn’t exist was something he left to the more superstitious mechs, to those that feared things like gods or sparkeaters. He looked back up to Overlord and gave him his reply: “A mess.”

The hollering laughter that followed inflicted only a small injury to Prowl's confidence; his fuel tank however seemed willing to crawl out of his throat in aversion to the sound of being ridiculed. “Maxie was right! Oh, he was so right about you!”, Overlord almost cheered, openly sharing his amusement as he put the spike to the side, spinning the little chest around and plucking some specific electronics out of it. Prowl didn’t recognize them; he was not an engineer, a scientist, a doctor or anyone that would bother himself with such things. “Come on, you’ve never seen these?”, Overlord said, leaning forward and giving Prowl a closer look at one of the roughly thumb-sized circuit boards. He stared at them blankly before replying with a disinterested negative. “Impressive, Prowl, you’re either the most boring bot I’ve ever met- “, Overlord was repeating himself, that was a positive, “- or you really have as little game as they say you have.”

Prowl scoffed, internally rolling his optics. There were many, far more important things than interfacing. Sure, he could not deny the significance in knowing how crucial intimacy was to a social species like theirs, however aside from using it to gain vantage he saw no value in it. Any bot he ever held close had eventually ended up turning their back and surely enough Prowl did not miss the voices around him. Not Jazz’ never-ending cheer, not the Constructicons’ endless support, not the intellectual challenge that had accompanied him through Chromedome. All of these relationships had been temporary alliances for his benefit, a moment of pawns moving alongside each other, alongside their strategist, before ultimately separating again to relocate and adapt a more advantageous position. There was neither time nor need for sentimentality, all it did was interfere with his work. With his mind. With anything. Overlord reclaimed Prowl’s concentration by attaching a circuit board to his neck. A technology similar to Simultronic, perhaps? He remembered the machines; he remembered the addicts that more often than not ended up so lost in their hallucinations that they perished from not consuming any energon. He never pitied them from overindulging. A sudden shock rippled through his body, springing from the neck and rushing through the fuel lines straight to his array. The unexpected sensation drew a surprised hiss from him before he snapped his mouth shut in horror of his own noise. Overlord released a jeering snicker in response and attached a second board on the other side of Prowl’s neck, a second rush to flood his body. This time he was prepared, he remained silent and motionless despite the invasive sensation. Another set of circuit boards was attached to the wrists behind his back, to the insides of his thigh, one right between his doors and a final one on his torso, right above his modesty plating. Prowl mentally prepared himself, expecting a wave of pleasure-inducing signals to flood his body, but nothing happened. Overlord put away the chest and as he was standing near his desk anyways, he resumed to chatting with presumably Fortress Maximus.

Prowl was left to wonder just how exactly their relationship dynamic worked, analyzing the relaxed way that Overlord sat in his chair, legs occasionally jittering in excitement, the expression in high spirits, as every other message had his face twitch just for a moment. One could count the amount of times Overlord drew his glossa over his lips, sometimes biting it, holding it while typing and slipping it back into his intake. Lewd messages as encouragement or motivation, most likely. Disgust was the sole judgement. Without even doing as much as looking at Prowl, Overlord’s expression evolved into an increasingly lustful grin before touching the false spike that he had placed on his desk, caressing it with utmost care. The message that followed let him release an appreciative whistle as he pressed the button in his hand. The button that had previously activated the-

Overlord typed a last message into the communication pad and resumed to Prowl, bringing both the remote and the false spike with him. He knelt down, grabbed Prowl’s face by the sides and wiped away the tears with his thumb, licking the wiper fluid from it as he purred deeply. For once, he didn’t comment on anything, he merely tapped the modesty panel that held back Prowl’s aching interface equipment. “No.”, Prowl said firmly, knowing exactly what the silent order meant. Overlord seemed satisfied by the statement, wrapping his hand around the panel instead and locking their optics in search for fear. All he found was a provocative boldness, unflinching and prideful. He slowly tore the cover from its place, watching Prowl’s expression tense up as he clenched his jaw tightly, keeping his vents steady and controlled. An agonizingly rough creaking sound filled the room along with the growing noise of systems running in overdrive, covering up the barely audible grunt of pain as the plating finally came off, only to lovelessly be thrown to the side. Prowl’s pressurized spike twitched helplessly as the cool air caressed it, the valve vulnerable and wet, aching to be loved, but quickly hidden by Prowl pulling his legs together. Overlord could not ignore such a sweet plea for mercy, forcing his knee between them, travelling his servo up Prowl’s thighs and gently drawing it along the edges of his valve as he pressed the remote in his other hand. Prowl noticed the motion early enough to stiffen up, but his frame was not nearly as resilient as his mind. He grit his dentae as hard as possible, trying to use the pain as a way to remind himself that he was a captive, that this was a forced situation, that this was not pleasurable, but merely the foreplay of worse things to come. Overlord pressed the button for what felt like an eternity, watching Prowl attentively as the initial impact wore off and the previous petulance returned. At least to his face it did, his interfacing equipment was speaking in a completely different tone. Prefluid dripped down Prowl’s spike, lustfully decorating the tip and gliding along the underside in a display of pure want. The valve was just as needy, perhaps even more, making a mess of Prowl’s thighs, vibrant lubricant painting him and the floor beneath. Overlord dipped his fingers into the liquid, contemplating about whether he should have a taste or not. He decided against it, instead holding Prowl’s head steady and smearing the fluids across his face. Overlord licked his lips with delight, putting his servos on Prowl’s knees to spread them apart further. Keeping him exposed with one servo, he grabbed the false spike with his other, kissing it gently, causing it to vibrate ever-so-slightly under his tender touch. Prowl realized where this was going, not that he hadn’t considered the possibility before, it was just the lack of certainty that had been missing from his calculations.

Prowl’s processor had to reset from the amount of electricity exploding in his frame. Too many sources, too much stimulation all in one shock, the moan that left him being no more than a pained cry as his sensory system was violated with pleasure impulses beyond anything comfortable. The temporary disconnect between higher and lower functions led to the vocalization being aired shamelessly as he bent forward, cowering as his frame tensed and trembled, as he tried to calm his voice and ventilations. Insults were muttered, so laden with static that it was barely recognizable which words he attempted to use, oral fluid bubbling from his intake along with the wiper fluid that dripped from his optics. Just with the press of one single button, Prowl had become a mess. Somewhere in his mind he envied the powerful tool. How useful it would have been in the earlier days. How much time he could have saved by using it on his victims.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a slight whistle from his ventilation system before swallowing the pooling oral fluid and shutting his mouth. He straightened his posture as best as he could and gave Overlord a disdainful glare. Even with only one functioning optic, the other still broken after being flicked and cracked, even with tears still shimmering on his cheeks, Prowl’s arrogant defiance seeped through as he held his head high enough to give the illusion of looking down to Overlord. He merely had been caught off-guard, he still had himself under control. He was prepared now; he knew what to expect from the little applications that were so carefully placed in sensitive spots. His doors still twitched slightly, the charge being persistent in them, but as long as that charge was kept far away from his interfacing equipment, he saw no reason to worry. He sorted his processor, attempting to coax his functions into thinking about escapes and plans and mind games instead of giving any attention to the growing pain in his body. The shock that had filled him with heat before had left him to feel suspiciously cold now in its absence. Temperatures were a way to simulate intimacy and comfort. A cheap trick that he was immune to. He knew warmth, but even better he knew the lack of it; the true freezing cold of solitude. He reveled in it. Overlord was doing him a favor. Prowl still had the upper hand.

The last variable was in place; instinctively he unraveled one of his legs, kicking the servo that tried to hold him in place. The cuffs that kept his wrists tied recognized his attempt to fight back as an attempt to flee, activating the programming to send an electrical shock through him to immobilize and prevent his escape. The electricity was amplified by the circuit boards, sending a raging current through his frame, an unfiltered and honest scream fried his vocalizer as the movement had trapped him in a circle of pain. How had he miscalculated this badly? Had this been a scheme? Never, no, Overlord wasn’t that smart. Prowl had expected the cuffs to react, considering he was the one who specifically requested them to be made that way, but he hadn’t thought about the boards. Writhing in pain, there was no way to fight back when Overlord caught his leg and used the leverage to spread him wide and lay him down. “I don’t remember allowing you to enjoy yourself.”, Overlord said smugly before shifting his weight, breaking the hinges of Prowl’s doors, their clattering coming to a halt upon being disconnected from their body. After securing his prey, Overlord realigned the false spike and forcefully rammed it into Prowl’s valve. Prowl swallowed a groan, the pain from being filled so suddenly was nothing compared to the torturous experience he had made just mere moments beforehand, leaving him sore from a mistake caused only by himself. He felt the spike inside him twitch, it was curious just how realistic it felt, how responsive it was. Even more so, how long Overlord waited to make his next move.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Overlord slowly rotated the spike as he pulled it out before ramming it back into him, fully sheathing it. His heavy servo on Prowl’s chest prevented the deep ventilations required to cool his systems, a pressure right above his spark, it would be easy to just crush it. Prowl almost hoped for this mistake to happen, but this was not the death he wanted. Violated by a tool, by a mech he had attempted to use before. He cursed Chromedome for failing his mission and freeing Overlord. He cursed him for opening his mind to Bombshell. Absentmindedly he began cursing other mechs, with every thrust that Overlord hammered into him he cursed someone else that was somehow at fault for his current situation. It was his last straw, an effort to cling to his own sanity as he felt the false spike slide in and out, the noise of it unbearable enough to make him miss the way his senses had been dampened the day before. Prowl could feel his calipers stretching more and more, having a hard time to let go once they got caught by the surface of a spike that he could swear was growing every time that it pounded into him. His optic was online, his dentae gritted, his ventilation almost calming from the steady rhythm. He fled himself into a safe space of noting other people’s mistakes, of reevaluating situations and knowing that he was the smartest mech in most rooms, that he would end up as the superior victor of every game he played. He reminded himself that this was only happening because of Fortress Maximus’ inability to let go of the past. To see the bigger picture that was so blatantly obvious. He reminded himself that this happened because he was Prowl, he was a, no, the strategist with plans beyond a simple warden’s understanding, beyond the understanding of a psychopath that turns prisons into gladiator pits.

Who else would be able to endure this and keep their integrity intact

The door was still open.

No matter how forceful Overlord was, Prowl seemed to almost doze off while daydreaming, his face was tense, his body under constant stress, but his mind seemed to be distracted, at ease even. Overlord couldn’t allow this relaxation and pulled out the spike entirely, watching as the empty valve twitched, lonely and abandoned. Poor thing, he thought, resisting the urge to invite himself into the warm and welcoming port. He balled the servo that kept Prowl down to a fist, lifting it off of him before smashing it to his chest. Only the slightest grunt was heard, a disappointment. Overlord repeated the motion, with more force. He hit him a third time, and a fourth, until with the fifth a cracking noise announced the injury that he aimed for. Prowl immediately returned to the present, his optic flashing back to full brightness. He felt a stabbing ache in his spark chamber and the warm feeling of energon spreading in his internals. Overlord released the drills from his fingertips, Prowl swallowed down the anxiety that the noise of mnemosurgery equipment caused in him. Overlord was not Chromedome. Overlord was not Bombshell. Overlord was better. Tempering with his mind the direct way was the easiest method of manipulating anyone, but Overlord didn’t do easy, it was not his style. He had to do things in the most complex and extravagant ways, it was in his nature and he knew he could allow himself this arrogance. This indulgence. Prowl turned his head, looking up to see his captor hovering above his chest, the drills not yet activated. He had been waiting patiently for Prowl’s full attention before turning on the drills, slowly resting them on his captive’s chest, a vibration that not only reached his spark immediately but also had his whole chassis feel the sensation. A nudge to his valve was all the warning he got, Prowl tried to disconnect himself from his body, shutting down his optic willingly.

This was not a surrender. This was acceptance. This was preparation. He felt the drills enter his spark chamber at the same time the spike entered his valve. The drills vanished quickly, only being used to make it easier for Overlord to tear open Prowl’s frame to expose his very soul. Prowl shuddered as the cold air hit his internals, the shuddering being answered by the spike inside him activating its vibrations. Overlord grinned, touching Prowl’s spark ever so slightly with surprising reverence. He didn’t seem to have the intention of injuring it, which was about as unexpected as suspicious. Even worse, it was the most pleasant feeling so far, dizzying Prowl’s processor into a delirium that he had a hard time keeping himself out of. He couldn’t hold back a shaky moan, soft and pathetic, only ever so slightly audible but filled with despair. Overlord immediately drew back his servos, leaving Prowl’s spark craving and his valve neatly plugged by the false spike that was still happily vibrating. Overlord stepped back, typed into the console, snapped another picture of his work and returned to the messy scene. Prowl laid sprawled on the floor, leaking, exposed, expressionless. Overlord gave the false spike a kick before bending down and securing it with tape, making sure that it wasn’t going anywhere. Along with it, he taped the remote for the circuit boards to its base, a steady current now running through Prowl that was blurring together with every other sensation into a mess of pleasure, pain and misery. He couldn’t distinguish a punch from a caress anymore, it was all just the same in this void of consistent stimulation. Even his thoughts were no more than electrical signals passing through his processor. Overlord got up, and sighed with contempt. “See you tomorrow, Prowl.”, he said, his voice almost nearing sympathy. He turned off the consoles and lights, Prowl’s body being the only source of illumination as his biolights flickered weakly. Overlord halted for a moment. “Take the pill. I mean it.” He muttered as he left the room.

Prowl couldn’t afford to care.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

And with that, Chapter 2/3 is done!

My ask box is as open as always, currently running an offer for free horny headshot sketches if you wanna see more of my illustrations 👀

Until then, keep your eyes peeled for Chapter 3 and the release of this 'fic on my AO3 where it will have the proper formatting~

#prowl #overlord #overlordxprowl #valveplug #mtmte #fanfiction #thw wardenspet #thw nsft writing

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fiftyshadesofmetal · 8 months ago

Text

Post-gut Clarity

1.5k words and I've finally managed to work up the motivation to get this edited and posted, so here y'all go ^^

Based off this piece I did

Warnings for: vore, valveplug, explicit content, non graphic digestion/reformation, weightgain, and chub

Sunstreaker onlines his optics slowly.

The lights in his hab suite felt too bright…Sideswipe must have turned them on when he left this morning.

He slowly heaves himself into a sitting position, his helm pounding and glossa dry as he fumbles for his chronometer to check the time; usually he was far better at getting up on time, and it was him hauling Sideswipe’s aft out of the berth. He looks blankly at his chronometer that was marking him late for Ironhide’s combat sims today, sighing with a smidge of annoyance.

What had happened to him?

Sunstreaker hadn’t been this hungover in a long time, and Primus was he regretting it; Slag, it felt like he had been taking shots of Sideswipe’s 80% distilled high-grade.

A aggravated rumble stutters out from his engine, and Sunstreaker turns over in his berth fully intending to get back to sleep.

Or, at least, he tried to turn over, but a little problem decided to make itself known- or more accurately, a now much bigger problem became apparent as he attempts to roll over onto his belly.

A gasp leaves his derma, and Sunstreaker jolts up and stares disbelievingly down at his usually lithe form… only to find his gut plating removed and his protoform was practically bursting out from between the spaces of his armor.

When had he gotten this fat-?

The frontliner pinches at his now flabby and soft belly, running his digits over the slightly swollen pudge in confusion and horror.

Sunstreaker is a vain mech. Everyone knows that. He takes pride in his appearance and he constantly monitors his fuel intake and plating polish to ensure he looks flawless 24/7.

Sunstreaker thinks back; The last time he had looked like this he had- had… oh. Oh no.

He drags a servo over his face plating, feeling his cheeks flush and familiar tingle and clench from his array. The last time he had gotten this fat was when he caved to his urges and sent a mech down to his tank to digest.

Frag.

He hauls himself off the berth and makes a beeline to the twins' private washrack where Sunstreaker keeps a full-size mirror. He has to resist the urge to address the ping from his array to undo his interface covers at the sight of his newly padded-out frame.

Sunstreaker starts to rub his hand over his stomach and hips, wondering and pinching at the soft mesh, and the subtle jiggle it has. He feels his venting start to become a bit heavier, his hands wandering over his body more.

Sunstreaker is jolted from his lust-addled haze when his cooling fans click on, realizing he should probably figure out who he had eaten and how fragged Ratchet was going to be over having to reform them…

The yellow mech lets out a grumble, vividly imagining the dents he would have to fix on his helm after telling Ratchet. Come to think of it, he probably shouldn’t go see the irate medic while he was feeling this revved up… what harm was there in indulging himself a little right now?

With his processor set, Sunstreaker retreats back to his berth after locking the hab suite door and putting up a block on the twin bond. Nothings as big of a turn off then realizing Sideswipe could feel what was happening.

Fishing under his berth, he slides out a rather sizable bin full of interface toys- zoning in on a massive false spike that had a rather lovely knot. Grabbing it, Sunstreaker settles on the berth, spreading his now chubby thighs apart and finally- finally allowing his interface panels to open.

They retracted in record time, his spike hardened and dribbling pre-fluid while his poor valve was clenching on the air and lubricating already. With a soft groan, Sunstreaker's servos flit down to his array, getting one of his digits slick in the copious amounts of fluid to start rubbing soft circles into his anterior node, with the other servo beginning to stroke and tease his spike tip.

As he plays with himself, his thumb works his anterior node and two digits snake to scissor his valve open, and Sunstreaker can’t find the patience to work himself up to ease the toy in.

With a most definitely not winded noise, he heaves himself into a squatting position above the spike and impales his poor valve over it with a loud grunt. The lewd noise of natural lubricant squelches as he thrusts his hips down, whimpering a bit as the large length stretches his lips wide open over the sizable length.

Sunstreakers mind, however, is desperately thinking back to the drunken haze of last night; imagining the feeling of the mech squirming in his mouth, the taste of them on his glossa as he lightly gnaws on their plating with his canines… he moans softly remembering the way they struggled down his throat and the way it bulged obscenely as he forced their large frame down.

With a sudden groan, he feels himself slip down the false spike's length and reach the apex of its knot, keening as he tries to pop it inside himself. One servo is rubbing along his pudge while the other fervently pumps his spike as his valve is stuffed to the brim- he almost feels as if he’s about to split in half from the knot.

Sunstreaker can vividly remember the feeling of the mech finally squeezing into his tight tank, the sound of them sloshing in with all the high-grade he had consumed intensely satisfying…

Oh, and the sensations…

His gut stretched tight around them as he struggled to stand upright under the weight. He could recall rubbing at his strained belly and hiccuping profusely, too full and drunk to think straight as he had waddled through the Arks halls and back to his hab suite.

He remebered the way they squirmed as he collapsed on his bed, engine purring as he drunkenly cooed sweet nothings to his prey… He could remember they were moaning as he started digesting them, and Sunstreaker had been grinding himself against the berth- he had overloaded hard, easily 3 or 4 times until he had collapsed from exhaustion to digest his meal.

A throaty porn star moan rips from Sunstreakers vocals again, his plating shivering and clanking as he approached his peak.

Overload courses through Sunstreaker's frame, electricity crackling along his plating as his valve ripples and his spike spews pent-up transfluid over his chassis that would make even the lewdest buy-mechs jealous.

In a moment it’s over, and he’s falling back against his berth, cooling fans whining and straining to keep up with the heat flooding his systems.

He's is a panting mess as he sits in a pool of his own transfluid, too content in his afterglow to want to get up and clean himself, shockingly. Instinctively, his hand goes back to the pudge on his middle, squeezing and prodding at it as his engine idles happily.

There's a sudden banging at the door and Sunstreaker bites back a snarl as his interface panels snap shut quickly; Of course, Sideswipe had to ruin his afterglow.

The pitspawn himself was whining at the door, saying something about recharging-?

Begrudgingly the yellow twin eases their bond back open to be hit with an irritating mess of Sideswipe’s tantrum at being locked out.

Primus, he was such a glitch sometimes.

“Sunstreaker, lemme in it’s been fifty thousand vorns- could you quit grinding your panel like a fraggin playbot for a click and open the door?”

Oh and now he’s pissy. And a pissy Sideswipe meant a fragged off Sunstreaker.

The yellow mech gets up, wipes himself and the berth clean of any transfluid to go open the door and- frag.

His middle plating wasn’t on and there was the not so tiny issue of fitting into it...

“Sunstreaker hurry up you slagger!”

Sideswipe bellows from outside the door, giving it another bout of pounding.

Sunstreaker snarls back a retort as he was fighting to fit into his armor.

Sunstreaker finally manages to stuff himself into his armor plating, his gut getting squished slightly within the tight confines. The fit is uncomfortable but better than having his hefty paunch out for everyone to see. There was no way he was going to be able to work all this fat off anytime soon... he could feel it squeezing out from between the gaps in his armor for primus sake.

He opens the hab suite door to be met with Sideswipe.

Sideswipe's engine snarls in irritation when he sees Sunstreaker, getting ready to chew his twin out. The red twin has to do a double take though, eyeing Sunstreaker up and down. He looks him over once more, taking in how chubby his twin appears.

“... Why in Primus’s name are you so fat-?“

There's a heavy (heh) silence, and Sideswipe's face breaks into a slag-eating grin. He knows Sunstreaker far too well.

Sideswipe casually leans against the doorframe while waving a hand at Sunstreakers gut. He knows exactly what happened to his brother last night.

"-Soooo, this whole situation wouldn't happen to have anything to do with you talking Cosmos up last night now, would it..?"

Sunstreaker processer stalls as he takes a second to think about what Sideswipe was implying. If he had digested Cosmos... Ratchet was going to murder him for having to reform Cosmos.

Sunstreaker just stares at Sideswipe, realization slowly turning to horror.

“Ratchet is going to kill me..."

#sunstreaker #soft vore #chubformers #cosmos #sideswipe #valveplug #tabs writes #chubby

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virovirokun-has-adhd · 1 year ago

Text

Hollow Shell of a Man

"Oh if only there were words to describe how disappointed I am in you"

[ABOUT]

Names ::

-> Fizziepop! [or just Fizz for short ehehe]

-> Viro

& more

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

he / xem / h3 / vi / ren / it / zomb / static / mach / they

transmasc , genderfluid , catboy , luniboy , demiboy , cybrgender

lesboy , demirose , a-spec , qplatonic , aesthetic attraction , ambiamorous , robosexual

[#flags 4 me tag] \\ [gender & tertiary attraction] \\ [pronouns.page]

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

ADHDer + minor sensory issues

-! taken & in a polycule !-

-! w/ @mayday-mayd4y & Malware @m0memto-mori <3 !-

"Strong believer of being queer being about defying societal norms about gender and sexuality and not about depending on feeling love at all"

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[LINKS]

Discord Servers Masterlist

Tags <- (outdated)

FIXATIONS , DNI & MORE UNDER THE CUT

[FIXATIONS]

=ordered by how intensely I'm fixated=

Transformers

Regretevator

ULTRAKILL

Electric Dreams

Gravity Falls

Pressure

Lone Echo

Mogai/Liom Community

RotTMNT

Ponytown

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[STANCES]

shipcourse stance :: peacefic /+ neutralship -> more detail

syscourse stance :: pro endo , willo & tulpa

queercourse stance :: check my flags 4 me tag but mainly radinclus + anti radqueer

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[DNI]

MOUTHWASHING FANS.

anti any of my fixations

queerphobic / exclusionary towards any of my identities

-- (including polyamory , ace/aro , mspec identities , mspec lesbians & gays , lesboy && xenogenders)

radfems.

ableist

darkship / pedos / tcest

disrespectful to others' beliefs

zionist / neo nazi / racist

dsmp stans / apologists / "kinnies" (cc&c!) [genuine system kinnies are fine] / ect. *

anti system / plural & anti endogenic/non-traumagenic system

anti kink

-- (this isnt just u thinking some kinks are gross this is genuine lowkey kink-shaming with no respect or regard for the kink haver's feelings)

nsfw/porn blogs

-- (unless i follow you first ig)

-- (i'm kinda sticky on these grounds, but im ok with valveplug)

*(for clarification idc if you still watch old dsmp creators' content (other than dream ofc bash that pedo's skull in) idc, i still watch Ranboo & stuff so as long as you're not trying to apologise for their wrongdoings / saying they've done nothing wrong, you can interact. Additionally if you support Dream or Wilbur for their wrongdoings stay the fuck off my blog and do not fucking interact. We support Shelby/Shubble here whole heartedly)

[OTHER]

I occasionally use Cybertronian terms or slang in my everyday speech, whether its referencing a body part

- (helm=head, processor=brain, servo=hand, optics=eyes)

- or to replace swearing (frag=fuck, scrap=shit/crap)

- or just talking about Primus in the place of Jesus/God or whatever

I oftentimes struggle with tone in text so tonetags are immensely helpful :D

I meow a lot, I sometimes refer to "cat brain" when my brain stops working like a human's brain should and I forget things

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[HOUSEKEEPING]

=just some general rules i have=

Don't DM/PM me out of the blue. (duhh)

Don't send hatemail or things you know/think might trigger me.

Don't do the above to any of my moots/friends/partners either, if you do this you will be blocked as soon as I find out what you've done.

Stay in your lane, don't interfere with conversations / rb threads that's just common sense.

If I didn't reference you directly then I am very most likely not talking about you.

I only roleplay with people I'm closest to. (usually my partners)

Be kind obviously

[SIDEBLOGS]

@kingalice-not-so-villain-au - Sona AU with my good friend @bananabiskit

@fizziedraws - art blog

Old Pinned Post =]

[OTHER SOCIALS]'

FlipAnim

================================================

IMAGE BRACKET

#viro pinned post #viro selfpromo #viro's discord servers #dni ableists #dni anti endos #endo safe #good faith idenities #lesboy #dni darkship #< for personal comfort

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fucking-solar · 3 months ago

Note

Thinking about Hotstreak, but having no idea's worthy enough to write down lmao. Figured I'd ask you if you just wanna ramble about them? I would love to listen to anything tbh

-silly anon

Hi!! Hello!! Sorry this took me a while, a certain deity wanted to watch Shadow the Hedgehog while I was doing homework. Anywhoooom, I’ve been thinking about em. More valveplug thoughts cause I tend to think about those more (hypersexual brain).

I like the thought of Sunstreaker not abusing his rank over Hot Rod but teasing it since he knows he’ll give in anyways. Hot Rod doesn’t tend to like it outside of the usual sexual banter cause he doesn’t like authority in general. Sunstreaker is also very loudly possessive when the two are overcharged in a bar specifically, he’ll be really touchy too. Hot Rod isn’t really better cause he’s clingy.

Breeding kink on one end, “I want to keep him needy” on the other end. Sunny likes to watch him cry. Rodimus enjoys it less (especially when he’s the one crying) but he understands how he gets aroused by it. Bickering is their foreplay.

Sunny and Roddy often go drinking together, Sunny keeps him from getting too overcharged just for his own dignity. Roddy won’t protest too much because Sunny is letting him stick close while he’s leaning on him, flicking his spoiler so he looks more innocent/less suspicious.

#rodimus #valveplug #transformers #solar answers #suggestive? i suppose?#sunstreaker #hotstreak #hot rod #who is a punk who was HIGHLY encouraged to join a government (he hates it)

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pinkanonwrites · 10 months ago

Text

Repaying The Favor

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 4600+ words NSFW, Valveplug, Miscommunication, First Time, Oral Sex, AFAB Reader - They/Them Pronouns for reader

The sequel to "Oh! That's What That Does?!" is finally here! Same reader, same Rumble, same trying to figure each other out, only this time they get to slam down crazy-style about it. When will Frenzy get his turn in the spotlight? Eventually, I think! Maybe once I've finished a few other pet projects.

NSFW WRITING BELOW THE CUT!

It had been exactly fifteen days since you had last heard from Rumble.

Not that you’d been counting.

Sure, the cassettes probably had more important things to do than lounge around your workshop waiting for your attention, but that's exactly why it was so odd. They always had better things to do, things that they were pointedly avoiding doing by barging in on your work and taking up what little free space the shop had remaining. But since your little tryst with Rumble, you hadn't seen armor nor optic of any of the usual cassette bot suspects.

Maybe you'd broken some sort of ancient, space robot taboo that you'd never heard of. Or maybe Rumble was just embarrassed that he jizzed all over your jumpsuit. Either way, it wasn't like you had any way of getting ahold of them besides them dropping in, so there wasn't much to be done about the situation but wait.

You were leaving the corner store when you heard it, the cacophonous boom of a jet flying far too close to the tips of the skyscrapers overhead. The sound sent you reeling, bags crumpling to the sidewalk as you hurried to cover your ears. Down the street you could make out the screech of metal smacking against metal, see the flailing limbs of two massive robots staggering clumsily through the street as they traded blows with each other. Neither of them were one you recognized, the red Autobot with the oversized chest window wrestling one of the identical jet Decepticons into a clumsy headlock. As they stumbled about one of them trampled on a car parked along the curb, and you winced as the metal shrieked and crumpled under his massive foot.

Yeah, time to get out of here. You gathered up your bags and ducked into the alley between the buildings, slipping past trash bags and old graffiti, trying not to tread in any unidentifiable puddles. Off in the distance you could hear an emergency siren start to wail, hopefully signaling that whatever the space robots were quarreling over this time would be settled sooner rather than later. All you really wanted was to get back home without any further interruptions.

But as you emerged from the back alley entrance and found yourself hoisted into the air by two massive metal hands around your waist, you'd decided to kiss that chance goodbye. Your bags clattered to the ground once more, bread and fruit and canned goods spilling out around a familiar pair of pedes. When you glanced up to his faceplate, the glow of his visor was nearly enough to blind you.

“Rumble?!”

His visor dimmed enough that you could see his intake, which had just before been pulled into a maniacal grin, drop open in visible shock. Then, as quick as it came, it was gone, replaced instead with a tight, furrowed frown.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” He barked.

“Buying food. Or trying to, at least.” You glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Ravage pounce on that yellow Autobot with the horns that was always showing up in the news. “You guys having a little play date or something?”

He scoffed out a laugh, quickly stifling it with a clearing of his vents. “Whatsit matter to ya? Didn't think you cared dat much about lil’ old me.”

“Rumble, what…?” Was he seriously pouting? Or maybe trying to guilt trip you? For what, making him cum? “What are you even talking about? I haven't seen you in like, two weeks.”

“Aww, real funny! You know what I mean! I let you poke around in my chassis and run up my charge, an’ after that it's radio silence? Whaddya humans call it… ghosting? Make a mech feel like second-rate shareware, why don't ya?”

You blinked at him once, twice, mind spinning as you tried to process his words.

“Are you- are you mad I didn't call you?”

His optic lights beamed as he bristled, armor flaring with a hiss before clamping tight back to his frame. “I told you to comm me!”

“Rumble, I don't have your number! I couldn't call you even if I wanted to!”

His grip went slightly slack as he stared at you, leaving you dangling from your armpits like a cat.

“I… I hailed you my frequency. In da EM field.”

“Humans don't have… whatever that is. Do you have a phone number?”

He stared at you again, much longer this time as the discordant crashing of giant metal men continued in the background. Then, with a sudden jolt, you were slipping free of his fingers as he dropped you unceremoniously to the pavement. It wasn't a far fall, just enough to make your feet tingle upon landing. When you looked up you saw he had both servos covering his faceplate, a string of muffled curses eking out between the digits.

Your mind was reeling. He actually wanted you to call him? To… repay the favor? Heat pooled in the pit if your stomach as your mind conjured up wicked memories of his stifled gasps and whimpers, how he’d squirmed beneath you as you prodded around his spark chamber. How behind all the billowing and smashing and Brooklyn-accented bravado, when you got down to the core of him, he was actually kind of… cute.

“You- just- I don’t- Get outta here! Go on, scram! Before you get stomped on or somethin’!” His face plate was flushed and glowing as he shooed at you. You would go, that was certain, you really didn't want to get stepped on after all. But first you were going to say something potentially risky, deeply embarrassing, and undoubtedly very, very stupid.

“Come over.”

His optics shuttered, flickering for a moment as he stared down at you, frozen.

“What?”

“Not right now. Tonight. When you guys are done getting wailed on? Come over.”

He opened his intake, then closed it. When he opened it a second time you caught a wisp of steam slipping through the gap in his dentae. He swallowed, hard. He never stopped staring at you.

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Awright. I'll be there.”

“Cool. Watch out for the yellow guy.”

“Huh-HGGRRK!?!” You stumbled back a few steps just in time for the Autobot to chuck Ravage directly into Rumble’s helm, sending him crashing into the brick wall beside you.

“Sorry! Are you alright?” The little Autobot called. “You should probably get out of here!”

He didn't have to tell you twice.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The news was just wrapping up their coverage on the ‘latest Decepticon assault’ when you heard a rap on your warehouse’s roll-up door. There wasn't much to see peering out the window, the street only haphazardly illuminated by old street lights. Not that you really needed to look, there was only one guest you were expecting at this time of night anyway.

You'd stopped at home first, mainly to take a shower and put on something that wasn’t a pair of mechanic’s overalls. But for some reason the nerves hadn't hit you until right now. You clamped down on the prickle of… anxiety? Excitement? Somewhere between the two? As you pulled the strap at the base of the roll-up, the groan of shifting metal slowly gave way to reveal…

“Are you wearing a bowtie?”

“Not bad, eh? Don't say I never cleaned up or nothin’. Here.” As Rumble stepped from the dark street into the light of the warehouse he pulled something from his subspace: a large, green bottle that he offered to you pinched between two fingers. A bottle of wine. Judging by the label, an expensive bottle of wine.

“Where did you get this?” You turned the bottle over twice in your grip, scanning the details on the back. French Merlot, aged… fifteen years? Holy shit.

“Dat fancy Italian place on the corner of Fourth and Vine! What, ya don't like it?”

“I didn't say that!” Rumble positively beamed as you clutched the bottle. “I just didn't expect it, is all. Are you… wining and dining me right now?”

“Is dat a good thing or a bad thing? Your human movies said you’re ‘sposed to bring a little somethin’ somethin’ before, y’know,” There was a sly, lopsided charm to his grin as he pulled the roll-up back down with his pede, clanking shut behind him, “Before you let me run your charge for a change.”

“You know, you don't have to try so hard to im…press… me.” You trailed off, staring down at the bottle in your hands, then back up to him, then back at the bottle, then him again. When you made eye contact with him the slyness seemed to falter a bit, leaving behind something softer in his smile. Something a little more vulnerable.

How did it take this long for it to click for you? He was wearing a bowtie, for Christ’s sake.

“Oh my God you're trying to impress me.”

“Eh?” A fidgeting servo tugged at his bowtie- which appeared to be made of… an old seatbelt? “Nah, you're crazy! Dis is jus’ what humans are ‘sposed to do!”

“Oh my God you are!”

“H-Hey, what'd I say about you and gettin’ big ideas?” He tried to deter you, but your mind was already racing a mile a minute.

“Do you actually like me? Like, want to date me? Do alien robots even date, cause I didn't know th- MMPH!”

With a massive metal palm pressed to your chest, Rumble pushed you back into your adjustable work table, still sitting at a mostly upright angle from the last time you'd repaired him. The table against your back was cold, a sharp contrast to the radiating heat from his servo as he pinned you in place with his hand. His face was inches from yours as he leaned over you, visor now gleaming with frustration and embarrassment.

“You can't get enough of dis, huh? Like pushin’ my buttons so much?” His servo pinned you down just a touch harder, forcing the air from your lungs in a breathy wheeze. “‘Oh, it's so fun to get Rumble all flustered! Lemme mess wit’ his head a lil more!’ Well maybe it’s Ol’ Rumble’s turn to do da messin’ around, huh? See how you like it when someone’s toyin’ with your sensitive bits.”

He bared his dentae as he spoke, another hiss of steam curling around your cheeks. It made your hair stand on end. A hot thrill ran through you, and you fought the urge to let your knees knock together, confident that Rumble would be able to keep you in place with brute strength alone. You could feel his thumb smoothing back and forth across your shirt, and as he glanced down at his servo the glare of his visor lessened slightly.

“...Why’s your fuel pump goin’ all crazy? You scared or somethin’?”

You swallowed a mouthful of saliva, willing your foggy mind to function. “Not… Not scared, exactly.”

There were a few seconds of tense silence, before the wickedest, prideful grin crept back up across his faceplate.

“Oh? Is dat so?” His other servo rose to grip the top edge of the table, fingers molding to fit the dent he’d left there previously as he loomed over you. “Well maybe we oughta do somethin’ about tha- SCRAP!”

His flirtations were cut short by the sharp SNAP of the stabilizing lock on your workbench failing under Rumble’s weight and flipping 180 degrees over. The world pitched and spun as you tumbled backwards, yelping as the table flipped and deposited you upside-down on the floor, legs sticking akimbo in the air. From between your dangling feet you could see Rumble peering over you with his sly expression wiped off his visor by one of concern.

“Slag! I didn't crush your little pedes when you flipped, did I? Cause I don't no nothin’ about fixin’ up injured squishies.”

Miraculously, you had managed to make it through that ass-over-elbow fall without hitting your head on anything, or Rumble accidentally pinning your legs in place between his bulk and the table frame. “I’m alright! Just didn't expect it, I’m okay.”

“Dat’s good. Here lemme jus’-” You felt a servo close around each of your ankles. With an effortless tug Rumble dragged you back up, tabletop tipping with you as it clunked back into its standard, flat position. Of course, this now left you with your ass and legs dangling off the edge of the workbench, Rumble standing between them with a servo resting on each knee. “Better?”

You sucked in a breath, trying desperately not to look overeager. “Better.”

“Ah, slaggit all…” But instead of putting his servos back on you (where you most certainly wanted them) Rumble began to scratch at the back of his neck, failing to meet your gaze. “Guess I ain't really cut out for all this… whaddaya call it? ‘Winin’ and dinin’?’ Can't even get my servos on ya without fraggin’ it up.”

“Hey, I’m definitely not complaining.” You attempted a jokey tone, but it didn't seem to do much to dampen Rumble’s current self-deprecation. You let the playful edge fall away as you dropped into something a bit softer. “I mean it though. You don't have to try to impress me. I mean it's appreciated! But, y’know, I wouldn't have agreed to this if I wasn't already happy with the bot I was getting into it with.”

“Heh. Even if I end up crushin’ you a bit?”

“That's a risk I'm willing to take.”

He barked out another laugh, accompanied by a coil of thin steam hissing through his gap-dentae. “Well I guess I better make it worth da risk, shouldn't I?”

He snuck a servo under each of your knees, pushing them apart as he rocked his modesty panel against your clothed core. You stifled a gasp, the ridge of sturdy metal almost hot against you, even through layers of cotton and denim. The slow roll of his hips made your own stutter up off of the table, desperate for further friction.

“Cute. You like grindin’ on my panel? Should I make you bust jus’ like this?”

Despite the warm curl of arousal pooling in your stomach from the feeling, you knew this wouldn't be enough to get you off. Rumble seemed to know it too, letting out a low, pleased chuckle at your desperate expression.

“Jus’ yankin’ yer crankcase, sweetspark. I got somethin’ a lot more fun in mind for tonight anyway. Dat is, if you'll start gettin’ dese off.” He hooked a digit through your belt loop and gave them an experimental tug.

“Mmh, what, you don’t want to take them off yourself?”

“Oh, I’ll gladly take ‘em off ya. Just figured you’d take care of dis part here…” His thick digits slid inward, ghosting over the button of your jeans. “So I don't gotta rip ‘em off ya instead.”

You weighed your options. On one hand, the image of Rumble tearing denim apart with his bare servos as if it was no more than wet tissue paper was far more appealing to you than you would have originally expected. On the other hand… well, they were new jeans.

“I got it.” You mumbled, quietly filing the image away in your brain for later use as you undid your button and zipper. “Careful with th- Oh!”

With a sharp yank, Rumble tugged your jeans and underwear off your legs and let them crumple onto the floor. Shoving himself into the space between your knees, you could only barely make out the top of his helm over the slope of your stomach as he knelt before you, spreading your folds with two digits and… staring.

You waited for a response, a quip, the slow drag of metal over your slick hole, but were instead greeted with silence. Something prickled in the pit of your stomach as you fought the urge to squirm. In the back of your mind you vaguely remembered that you hadn't really gotten to see what Rumble was packing, and only now were you grappling with the truth that you were trying to have sex with a truly alien being. Would your bodies even be compatible? Was he weirded out right now? You tried to pull your knees together, only to be stopped by a rough servo shoving them back open.

“...It's rude to stare.” You muttered.

“EY! I ain't starin’! I'm, uh, admirin’. Dat’s it.” There was a similar tightness to Rumble’s voice. You shuddered as a thumb stroked the crease of your thigh. “Soft… An’ it's supposed to be dat pink?”

“Y-Yeah… that's, mmh, normal.” You shuddered at a wave of steam curling over your sensitive heat as he spread you again, visor locked on your twitching entrance.

“Primus. And you're really gonna let me spike ya in this tiny little hole?” You could feel his thumb just brushing the rim and stifled a groan at the sudden, aching emptiness, the demand to be filled. “I don't wanna tear you in half or nothin’.”

“It’ll fit.” You whined, core tensing around nothing. “We’re, unh, we’re pretty flexible. C’mon, Rumble…” You forced your knees further apart, pushing your hips up into each of Rumble's far-too-light touches. His motor snarled in response, a massive hand gripping the inside of each of your thighs.

“Slag. You're really achin’ for it, aren’tcha?” His voice was lower than you'd ever heard it before, deep and resonant and primal. “But I ain't gonna give it to ya dat easy, doll. Gotta make sure you can take it first.”

He raised his helm for just a moment, just enough for you to get a peek of his beaming visor and his wicked, gap-toothed grin between your legs. Then he descended, lathing his thick, hot glossa up the length of your cunt. You choked on a gasp, his servos the only thing keeping your hips from rabbiting up off the table. It was hot, his glossa thick and sturdy and drooling with oral lubricant, a thin layer of silicon over sturdier metal mesh dragging up through your folds.

“Easy, sweetspark…” You weren't the only one enjoying themselves. Rumble's low, rattling groan pulsed through your cunt. You swore you could just barely make out him groaning your name but it was lost, muffled as he pressed his faceplate further between your legs and his servos shivered where they gripped your thighs. He was messy and all too eager, arousal and oral lubricant spilling down his chin as his glossa stroked you; slow, deliberate drags up your folds until you were left dripping. At the apex he found your clit and took it between his dermas, a teasing hum rattling throughout his engine that had you gasping, thighs clenching around his thick helm. Your legs jerked as warmth bloomed outward from your core, hips writhing against the onslaught of pleasure. Dragging across his back your heel caught in a rounded divot, pulling a raggedy vent through Rumble’s dentae as his frame twitched.

“”Mmpfh!~ E-Ey, watch da spindle. It’s sensitive in dere…” He groaned, face still pressed into your cunt, servos only dragging your ass further off the table in his efforts to get somehow even closer to you. But instead you dug your heel in harder, pressing into the ridged divot and twisting your leg. The internal ring jerked with a sudden CLICK CLICK CLICK, each pop of noise making Rumble’s frame spasm like he'd just been electrocuted. “FRAG! Primus, that’s- ghh!~”

“Feel good?” You teased, breathless. His optics beamed back up at you, an oscillating, glistening red as you caught another peek of his gap-toothed grin from between your legs.

“So dat’s how you wanna play dis? Don't say I didn't warn ya, doll.”

You barely had a chance to respond before the noise was punched out of your lungs in a sharp whine as Rumble shoved a thick, metal digit into your drooling cunt. Achingly hard, unrelenting, he flexed it against your rippling walls as his dermas nestled themselves snugly around your clit. The hum reverberating through his frame coursed through your body like a wave, hands scrabbling desperately at his helm as the twinge of pain at the sudden intrusion melted into thick, syrupy pleasure.

“A-ah, fuck! Rumble, Rumble that's good, that's fucking good.~” Metal clanged as you lolled your head back against the table top, no longer able to keep it upright. Each drag of his digit, textured and ridged and unrelenting, sparked euphoria behind your eyelids. You felt every muscle in your body starting to prickle with pleasure, radiating outwards from your cunt and pooling in your head, your stomach, the tips of your toes…

You all but whined when he drew his digit away, dermas releasing your swollen clit with a slick pop. “C’mon! Rumble!”

“You want it dat bad, huh?” A shadow cast over your rumpled form as Rumble rose to his full height. From between your legs you could catch a glimpse of silver and blue panels fluttering and folding away, one of Rumble’s servos hiking the underside of your knee and the other stroking the gap between his thigh and pelvic armor as his spike rose to full attention. Christ, he was huge, the thick metal rod draped across your lower stomach as he rocked experimentally against you. Each thrust had the tip drooling a translucent, pinkish fluid you remembered scrubbing from the back of your jumpsuit, hot and vaguely smelling of well-oiled machinery and pooling across your bare stomach.

Rumble, for his part, seemed to be as entranced as you felt, visor vibrant and flickering as he stared down at the place his frame rubbed against your soft, supple body. A harsh ex-vent punctuated each roll of his hips, steam coiling around the corners of his slack, open intake as he pulled back, letting the tip of his spike slide wetly through your folds.

“Dat’s it, doll… You're gonna get exactly what you want. Gonna get you bouncin’ on dis spike, jus’ beggin’ for it…” His tone was low, entranced, just barely tinged with desperation. He dragged his tip through your folds again, and again, covering your cunt with his thick transfluid, making your breath hitch whenever he slid over your clit just right. You angled your hips up, guiding it right over your entrance, toes curling at the promise of pressure.

But before you could utter his name again, or any other placation or demand, you felt the heavy press, the slow, aching slide as he entered you. It teetered just on the edge of pain, muscles twinging at your inner thighs as you forced your legs wider to accommodate his bulky armor. And his spike offered just as little give, covered with a thin layer of silicon like his glossa but still distinctly sturdy, inflexible metal. Your walls rippled helplessly around the intrusion, stretched to a delicious degree as he bullied his way inside you.

About halfway to being fully sheathed in your heat he paused, visor hazy and unfocused, intake still hanging open as he vented steam. A servo was resting on each of your hips, but while one stayed in place the other slid up, up, bunching your shirt around his digits and shoving it up above your chest. There his servo paused on your side, his massive thumb stroking back and forth over your nipple, quickly pebbling under the cool metal.

“Primus.” He breathed, distinctly softer than you ever remember hearing him before (and oh, if that didn't do just as much for your arousal as everything else). Finally, his hips began to move again, that intoxicating ache only beginning to border on near-unbearable when you could feel your ass and the backs of your thighs smushed against his pelvic armor. For another moment he paused, one servo cradling your hip and the other your chest.

Then he drew back, and thrust home.

The first thrust forced the air out of you in a desperate, sharp wheeze. This didn’t slow him, not in the slightest, digits sinking into the plush meat of your hip as he jackhammered into you. Each thrust had the entire table rattling, the sharp clang of metal against metal where his thighs hit the dented table’s edge. His quiet reverence had given way to an onslaught of erotic babble, visor locked on your face as it twisted and furrowed in pleasure.

“Takin’ it so fraggin well… You’re just made for takin’ my spike, aren’tcha?” He scooped his servo under your hip and lifted you further up, all but folding you in half as he loomed over you. His dermas brushed the curve of your jaw, just below your ear, and you could feel the heat of his ex-vent making your skin tingle. “You’ve jus’ been waitin’ for me to frag you stupid, plug up that achin’ valve til you can’t think of nothin’ else.”

“Mmmh…~ It’s so big.” You slurred, thighs slick with sweat and slipping on his plating as you struggled to lock your ankles in the small of his back. His frame shivered like an electric current ran through it, clutching you somehow even closer to his massive chassis.

“Nghh…~ Yeah? You love dis fat spike, don’tcha? Say it.”

“I love it!~”

“You want me to spill my load in this tight little valve, don’tcha?”

“Please!”

“Aghh, slag! Y-You’re gonna get it, sweetspark. You’re gonna take it all, j-just-mmfh!~” His vents were ragged and desperate, thrusts stuttering as he neared his release. You squealed as his thumb found your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in rough, tight circles. Euphoria was buzzing throughout your body, the ache of your lower back buried beneath the onslaught of pleasure and heat coiling in the pit of your stomach and blooming out through your limbs, legs shaking, hands trembling.

Sparks exploded behind your eyelids as your orgasm washed over you, hips jerking weakly against Rumble’s. There was no give to his spike at all, thick and steady and unyielding as your pussy squeezed and pulsed around it. You felt a flood of something molten spill into your core, filling you nearly to the point of aching as it spilled out around the tight ring of your hole around his base. Rumble’s frame stuttered, jittering, a harsh crackle of static and mechanical chatter pouring from his drooling intake where it was still buried in the crook of your neck. Finally, finally, his frame grew still. The only noise between the two of you were your shared, harsh breaths and the low churn of the occasional car driving past outside.

“Mmmmnnghh…” Rumble groaned, shifting his hips to pull his shrinking spike from your core as he rose unsteadily back to an upright position. You could feel transfluid dribbling from your hole as he tucked himself back away- thick, translucent globs spilling down the insides of your thighs and hitting the floor with a splatter. His engine gave a little, stuttering snarl despite himself as he dragged his digit tips through the shimmering line along one of your inner thighs. “I oughta take a picture of dis…”

“Don’t you dare.” You kicked weakly at his servo, legs now tingling with static as blood rushed back to them. He barked out a sharp laugh, effortlessly batting your foot aside. His servo rested atop your lower stomach and gave a teasing press, and you shivered as more globs of thick transfluid drooled from your cunt. “Jerk.”

“Eyy, you love it!”

“Unfortunately.” There was no real bite to your tone, you could tell by the way Rumble grinned. “Think you can give me a hand getting over to the bathroom before my knees give out?”

“Depends. Does dat count as you owin’ me a favor?”

#transformers #transformers x reader #x reader #rumble #rumble x reader #tf rumble #g1 rumble #valveplug #long post #my writing #nsft

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