#jazz is so soft with Prowl

[keferon]

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAH

[transingthoseformers]

Hi, gremlin from recent coment here.

I got bit more ideas to dump in. Until they get proper name and look I will refere to them as "Cat".

-Cat being a minicon just like Ravage, but maybe without working with bigger bot. They could either be free minicon or had master that died or they run away from.

-They might be a bounty hunter, hitman or spy to hire. Maybe without faction they belong to, just who pay more.

-Alternatively, them being opposite of Ravage: Autobot security guard, responsible for keeping sensitive data from getting into Decepticon's hands.

-Since Ravage resembles black jaguar, Cat could look like other species of big cats, like lynx or caracal.

-Since I brought Kitty Softpaws, Cat having sort of disability/permanent injury. Not working T-cog, their animalistic paws replaced with clawless version or something else.

I've thought about more about this kittycon more while I was gone, and the best name I could come up with was Feliform or Felifast which is a bit ehh

May I suggest they had a host mech who died in the war (or after the war)? But they've been alone for a While since

BOUNTY HUNTER MINICON SOUNDS SO COOL TO ME

That or maybe an assassin

Or the autobot security guard idea, maybe that'd pit the two of them against each other temporarily??

Hmm, I was tempted to either base them on a more sleek panther or even a serval cat? Honestly there's so many options, though I'm still stuck on their color palette (maybe, considering Ravage is black and whitr, Cat more brightly colored?) (I'm thinking almost white and blue or yellow with black highlights?)

I feel like we should absolutely lean into our inspiration here and suggest Cat has no claws, and it causes issues like declawing usually comes with issues.

[safflowerisyes]

Okay, so I was looking at @keferon's mecha pilot Jazz au, and I just had to write abt it because oml the angst

Also, keep in mind I haven written anything in a very long time

Prowl was still having a hard time wrapping his processor around it. His emotions were a hurricane of confusion, rage, and betrayal. As he stared down at the organic infront of him, he couldn’t help the deep frown that formed on his faceplates.

“I guess this is a lot for you, huh Prowler?”

The organic stared back up at him with an apologetic smile. It rubbed the back of its neck awkwardly. Jazz was never awkward. At least, not that Prowl could tell. Though, it wasn’t like Jazz had an EM field to show that.

“A human, you said?”

Prowl needed to hear it again to believe it. There was no way this tiny little bag of flesh had been controlling Jazz. No way it had been Jazz.

The organic nodded. “Yeah. I know it’s probably very confusing, but imagine my confusion when I found out you were all actually sentient mechs, not pilots in mecha suits.”

This was indeed all very confusing, and yet it also made a little too much sense. It explained why Jazz had always felt so… hollow.

Prowl scoffed at the organic’s words. The implication that he was just some lifeless suit to be worn was insulting in the very least.

The organic seemed to recognize Prowl’s disdain, quickly revising his previous statement, “But that makes so much sense now! It makes sense why you’re so expressive, and how you have all these little ticks and habits. Like whenever you’re flustered your wings turn forwards a little.”

It noticed? The organic took notice of his mannerisms. That would imply that it cared enough to pay attention to those things. Well… Prowl knew Jazz cared enough to notice those things, but this organic, this human…

It made Prowl think. Think of something other than the fact that his crush friend had just opened up, and a small organic crawled out of said friend’s chassis.

“Prowl. It’s still me. It’s still Jazz. I’m just… smaller.”

The organic was giving him a hopeful smile, its voice soft as if comforting a close friend. It made Prowl’s spark melt. A part of him wanted to take the small organic and hold it in his embrace for all eternity. He just wanted Jazz back.

But the other part of him wanted to squeeze the organic till it popped. He just wanted Jazz back.

Prowl glared at the organic, and its smile faltered. This sent a pang of hurt through Prowl, but he ignored the aching in his spark.

He turned to walk away. Being there talking to it wouldn’t make things go back to how they were. Things would never go back to how they were.

“Prowl, wait!”

Prowl turns to see the organic running after him. It gets to the edge of the table and tries to stop, but it’s going too fast. It stumbles, loses balance, and falls.

But Prowl is quick, and catches the tiny being in his servos. His expression is that of fear. He felt like he was about to lose Jazz. Again.

The organic smiles. “So you do care about me.”

Prowl’s expression swiftly turns to annoyance. But… the organic did have a point, he had to admit.

Prowl began to look at the organic differently. Instead of being the parasite that crawled out of Jazz’s chassis, it was now what remained of said mech.

And maybe… just maybe… Prowl could get used to him.

[revelboo]

Assorted headcanons- scenarios 🌶️ 18+

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Jazz x Reader, Wheeljack x Reader, Bluestreak x Reader, Prowl x Reader, Thundercracker x Reader, others. G1/IDW, TFP, TF One. Mass-displaced Cybertronians x reader scene pack- no plot here

Sorry, not sorry at all.

IDW/G1 Starscream

• Kneeling, body bowed over yours, he chuckles and runs his servos over your rib cage. “Something wrong?” He almost purrs the words, lips twisting knowingly. With your hips up, thighs spread over his you can’t get any leverage. Can’t move and you desperately need to, feeling the thick length of his spike pulsing where it’s buried inside you. You tuck your chin to glare up at him, but his optics are focused on where you’re joined, almost seeming fascinated with watching himself slowly rock against you, his spike slick as it disappears inside you before he glances at you, sly expression growing wicked. “Say it.”

• “Please. Please move,” you growl at him voice straining, trying to wiggle and he leans back, servos tightening on your soft hips to pin you still with him buried deep right where he belongs. Teasing his own control and yours. Wings flicking, he studies your flushed face as your thighs clench around him, struggling in frustration. Needing him. Only him, because you’re his. “Star.” Your voice hitches, begging for him and his restraint shatters. Shifting to stretch out over you, he begins to move. You cling to him as he drives into your wet heat, adoring those softy needy sounds you make and the way you feel like you’re made just to take his spike.

TFP Megatron

• Coiling the length of your leash around his fist, he buries his face against the softness of your throat as he covers your much smaller frame. He lets his claws play over your core, testing how wet you are for him. Feeling you squirm as he runs his chain wrapped servos along your belly and up to caress the delicate line of your jaw with a claw tip. Those sharp denta tease the skin of your shoulder, biting just hard enough to send little sparks of pain through you to mix with the need coiling you tight. Leaving marks so there’s no doubt who you belong to.

• Trembling in need as he palms your throat with a hand, draping himself against your back on his knees and a fist planted against the berth. You can feel his spike against your inner thigh branding you with his body heat, leaving a wet trail as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Such a good little pet,” he growls, before his mouth slides down along your throat to your shoulder. You don’t even have time to form a retort or get offended about the pet comment, before he’s spearing you on his spike and you brace as that first thrust almost sends your sprawling face down. Then he’s firmly pressing against your nape until you surrender with a whimper, chest down, hips up as he ruts against you with a possessive snarl, pace relentless.

TFP Soundwave

• That soundless hum crackles over you, through you in an electric rush that lifts the fine hair at your nape as he settles against you and that tingling awareness washes over you. Arching against his grip as he uses those tendrils like built in shibari to restrain you. Pin you immobile where he wants you. Positioned how he wants.

• Everywhere his flesh meets yours, more of you sinks into him, giving everything you are to him as he presses his forehead to yours, servos sliding down your sides. There’ll be no keeping your thoughts out, no mental walls between you as he spreads you to him, holding you immobile and gripping himself, slides the head of his spike against your slick heat. Your need lashes at him, demanding wordlessly and he can’t deny you. Uses his tendrils to pull you down onto his spike and shuddering as your heat, your thoughts, all of you, envelopes him. Those little noises you make as he claims you almost musical.

G1/IDW Prowl

• “Screw you,” you curl your lip at him. “You can’t just crook a finger and I’ll come running.” The first time had been an accident. How were you supposed to know that if you kept pushing his buttons he’d react that way. Your back thumps against the wall, his fist smacking against the wall as he glares down at you, all frustration and heat and hunger. It’s a feeling you understand all too well as his mouth crashes against yours with bruising force. It’s not a kiss, so much as a domination. And then he’s gripping you, lifting you to pin against the wall with casual strength, settling himself between your thighs so you can’t shut him out. You don’t like him, you’re pretty sure he hates you, but the both of you are equally screwed by how much you enjoy angry sex.

• You bite his lip hard, hands shoving at him like you can actually force him to budge and he nips back, hearing your sharp intake of breath, those angry eyes flashing that he drew blood. He’s almost certain you’d do the same if you could, can feel your fingernails digging into the seams in his armor, biting into the mesh there. Trying to hurt him, mark him as yours. You can hate him all you like, glare and snap at him, but you want him. Want this. A fact that winds him tight as he pulls back enough that he can line your bodies up, find that wet heat and thrust into you. You cling to him, legs hooking around him as he bucks into you and your lips and mouth press whimpering kisses against his throat. Needing him. Hating him. Begging and cursing.

G1/IDW Bluestreak

• His servos tunnel into the softness of your hair, lips running over your jaw up to the corner of your mouth. Internal systems hitching as you shift on top of him where he’s sprawled and the servos of his other hand tighten and almost immediately relax against your hip. Fighting himself and the urge to just move you where he needs you so he can drive up into that tight, wet heat. Your blunt little teeth nip at his lip, soft fingers playing with the mesh of his protoarmor under his jaw. And you shift against him, sitting up on his chassis, eyes dark with need, hair messy from his servos.

• Bluestreak’s head is thrown back, denta bared like he’s in pain as he curls his warm hands around your waist. Every rough vent blowing across your sweat slicked skin as you brace your palms on his chassis and rock back. Sliding yourself against his spike until he shudders under you, servos tightening on you so much you know there’ll be bruises later. “Please,” he growls, optics gorgeous as he looks up at you, that hungry stare almost worshipful. Making you feel powerful as you reach back to find him, grip his pulsing spike and lower yourself on him. His venting hitches under you, hips lifting as he groans in Cybertronian, seeming to forget you can’t understand him now as his hands slide down your waist to your hips and he pulls you the rest of the way down to take all of him. Now you’re throwing your head back as he uses his grip to grind himself against you, still murmuring softly in his language. As soon as his grip eases, you brace your palms and ride him, hips rolling.

G1/IDW Thundercracker

• “Please,” that soft, almost whining whimper strokes over him as he lazily rolls his hips. “Thundercracker, I can’t.” Pinning you on your belly, legs spread so you can’t try and shut him out, his arm hooked under you just enough to keep your hips tilted where he needs them as he keeps rocking himself into you, he smiles indulgently. Feeling your slick heat quivering around his spike as he nudges you toward that peak again just so he can fill you again, because you definitely can for him. His wings shiver in lazy little tremors as he feels you clench around his spike.

• “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips tenderly brushing the back of your shoulder as he thrusts a bit harder, his servos flexing under you, brushing where you’re joined so you gasp and moan. He’s trying to kill you with pleasure, coaxing and demanding until your tired body is coiling again. Until you need it again as he adjusts his angle, spike stroking inside you and you’re crying out again, shattering. And he groans as you fist his spike, taking him along with you.

G1/IDW Jazz

• “Frag, doll,” he groans, the ragged sound of his voice winding you up as your arch under him. Servos span your sides and glide up, pulling your arms up and pinning your wrists as he rolls his hips, that big spike driving deep inside you. He’s not letting your hands loose since the feel of your hands on his spike had nearly done him in if his ragged venting is any indication. Makes you wonder what he’d do if it was your mouth on him and what kind of noises he’d make. You hook a leg over his hip, bucking your hips to chase after your own pleasure, because it’s so close. As he snarls at you in Cybertronian, you’re almost certain he’s swearing at you.

• Primus, how can you be so tight? Your heel digs into him as you grind yourself against him and he almost bites his glossa. You apparently have no patience, don’t want gentle or slow. And honestly? That’s fine by him. Growling soft, little nothings in your ear, he stops holding back. There it is, your head thrown back as he pounds into you, tenuous control fraying. Crying out his name as he takes you.

TF One Megatron

• He likes this view of you, your body spread open under him, as he props himself up on an arm. The ragged sounds of pleasure you make just for him and the wet heat of you around his spike. Fingers of his other hand sliding over the fragile line of your throat, he bucks into you, chasing down his release. You writhe under him, little pleas falling from your lips. Begging him so sweetly as he thrusts harder.

• He shifts over you, hips pinning yours to the berth as his thrusts grow more urgent and you can only hook your legs around him as he ruts into you, losing all control and it’s a powerful feeling to know you do this to him. He’s always reminding you that you’re his, but that just means he belongs to you, too. Especially as his rhythm quickens and he slides a hand under the back of your head and presses his face against your throat as you cry out, warm tremors crashing through you as his denta grip your shoulder with a snarl. Hard enough to leave a mark on that soft skin.

G1/IDW Ratchet

• Those little teeth try to bite the palm he has covering your mouth as he ruts into you from behind. The container he’s pinned you on your belly on with your hips and legs hanging is just tall enough you can’t reach the ground. Can’t do anything but squirm as he claims what’s his. Taking you like this in the medbay where anyone might walk in hadn’t been the plan, but you’d started it.

• Feeling every, deep drive of his hips, you cling to his forearm. All because you’d felt bad for Fowler getting hell from his supervisor. All you’d done was touch the guy’s arm in platonic sympathy. Next thing you know, Ratchet is picking you up in his servos, locking you both in the medbay. And taking out some pent up frustration on you, not that your complaining as you writhe under him. He stops trying to muffle your cries, gripping your hips in both hands so he can drag you back to meet his urgent thrusts and the wet sound of your bodies meeting, the feel of him inside you mixes with his rough, growling venting to send you over that edge.

G1/IDW Wheeljack

• Little hands on his vocal indicators. A soft mouth against his throat and the feel of you wrapped around his spike, so tight and wet. His hands tremble as they ghost over your ribs, scared if he holds you, his grip might bruise that soft flesh. Scared he might do something that makes you stop. So he just sits still, growling softly, systems revving as you roll your hips against his. Perched in his lap as you torment him with that slick heat and your slow, cautious rhythm. The feel of you anchoring him.

• He’s trembling under you as you ride his spike. His head falling back, vocal indicators flickering mauve. Over and over you feel his servos barely there against your cheek, your side, or your hip. Needing more contact and being denied because he seems to think he’ll break you. Pressing soft kisses against his throat, you roll your hips almost dancing in his lap. Moaning against his jaw and tracing the mesh of his neck with the tip of your tongue. And then finally whatever was holding him back snaps. Those big hands find your hips and he’s in control, thrusting up inside you as he pulls you down to meet him.

[rainybyday]

Pt 2 | Pt 3

Jazz was in awe of her baby brother. Sure, she had seen him in her Ma’s tummy but seeing him in person was different. 

He was so.... squishy and tiny and small and soft! His hands waving in slow motions with legs kicking in the air, closed eyes and baby soft clothes on his new body. Jazz was content on watching her brother like this, hearing his soft coos and simply staying with him but she felt a nudge from her left. 

“Touch him Jasmin,” Big Sister Rosa said. “Hold out your finger to greet him.”

Jazz looked back at her Big Sis. Her dirty (mud covered) blond (dark red) hair shifted so her green (missing) eyes stared at her in gentleness (and understanding, for she too was a big sister once upon a time). Seeing Jazz’s hesitation, she nudged her again towards the crib to encourage her.

Jazz looked at her, then glanced back at her brother. The baby was still wiggling in his position. Hesitantly she reached out her hand to hover over her brother, still a bit unsure as to what she should do. Just when she was about to retreat her hand when the nerves got the best of her, she felt the touch of feathery soft skin. 

Wide blues eyes watched in awe as a tinny tiny hand grazed her’s. Danny was blindly waving his arm to feel her own before little fingers with even tinnier nails finally unclenched from his fist and latching on to her hand. 

A moment of silence passed by before the tiny ittiy bitty baby made a soft whining sound. 

And then-! And then-!

He opened his eyes!

Jazz felt all her breath escaped her in a loud gasp as blurry blue eyes blinked against the bright lights of his nursery. He blinked for a long time before his eyes seemed adjust enough to seek out the soft thing he was touching. 

“Hi baby,” Jazz breathed. “I’m your sister.”

Little eyes blinked as responding hums answered back. 

(The specters watched the two living breathing beings as they conversed with each other. Neither of the siblings knew that those words would have taken a hold of them both. A bind that transcends beyond blood and water.)

(Both pair of eyes glowed under the veil, ebony hair became wispy white and crimson hair became blazing embers.)

(One held the starting of a star in his eyes, space under his shadow, and eternity written in his future.)

(One held the shine of a sun in her eyes, magic on her fingertips, and the birth of infinity that will be the tale of her destiny.)

Jazz protected and loved her brother. Twin laughter can be heard in rooms they claim to play in. Jazz would always insist on feeding him when her parents come to grab him for food. Giddiness would push Jazz to rush to her brother once school is over to tell him about her day. Slowly, Jazz’s life was becoming brighter with her little star by her side. 

The birth of her brother also had another side effect. She would converse with her Big Sisters more, asking questions about her brother's health or ask them what stories her brother would love to hear. Craft projects were made with the upmost care in order to gift them to her little star. She spent a large about of time digging for pretty rocks and wildflowers to present to him as well. More and more she planned her days around what she can do to make her little brother the happiest he can be. 

More and more she started to spend more time outside 

(More and more people of the town started to notice how the predator began to prowl the streets of their uneasy town.)

(Tension began to rise, and every person would start to slow down around corners of their homes. Afraid to meet the gaze of something unnatural, the beginning of something dangerous with too white teeth and too bright eyes. Tension was becoming thicker and only time will tell when it snaps.)

(And it did.)

“What are you smiling about?”

“Hmm?” Jazz hummed as she turned questioning to the voice behind her.

“You heard me!” A classmate yelled. “What are smiling about Witch!”

Jazz tilt her head at the term, not noticing the growing uneasiness of her classmates around her who were staring at the altercation. She pondered at the new word as she answered. “I was smiling because I was thinking of my brother.”

The classmate waited, clearly looking for more of an explanation but got none which agitated them. “So what? You just smiling thinking of your pet?”

Jazz frowned. “Pet? Danny is not my pet.”

No, Danny was her little brother. Her sweet little brother who would smile so adorably with so soft cheeks and playing with ever do gently. Her little brother was her prefect little star. He wasn’t some pet.

Her classmate looked at her disgust. “Thats what a Witch would say.”

“What’s a Witch?”

“What you are!”

She doesn’t understand what that means at all. 

(The unseen dead children cower under the name. The name that was said with such fear yet hunger. The need to destroy and take and light on fire because of that name. Many have seen those that set ablaze, many have been there longer than what their appearance may imply.)

(Many have seen the start of the hunt.)

(The Witch Hunt.)

“Why would you ask that?” Big Sister Annie asked Jazz. 

Jazz, unaware of the troubled look her Big Sister had, answered. “A classmate called me a Witch, but I don’t know what that means.”

(The Fenton Household became still. The elderly couple at the back stopped gossiping with each other as their auras became a deadly shade of black. Big Sister Rosa frozen in kitchen, her open wound on her neck started to drip blood once more and her mulated hands tumbled. The women in dresses of fire started to burn, skin turning black and the smell of ozone.)

Big Sister Annie stayed silent for a long moment. So long that Jazz started to shift every so often for waiting for so long. Finally, as years of waiting (not) Big Sister Annie crouched down to meet her eyes. 

“Listen to me Jasmin.” A̸̰̹̬̭͌̏̅̍͜n̷̺̆͌̽̈́̽́͝n̴͔͉̻̯̪̤͇̐̐͛͋̚͝ę̶̦̓̀̃b̵̈̀̓̀͛ͅë̷̡͚̬̳͎̪́̚t̴̡͊h̷̜̪͖̓ͅ ̷̡͖͎̥̇M̴̡̛̠͖͚͈͋̈́̑̾a̷̢̺̝̭̣͎̾̈́̋̾̑r̷͕̣̐ḯ̶̢̤̉͗̔̒̽͝b̸͍̓̅̂̀ͅe̶̝̬̹̪͇̒̄͒̌́̃͝l̴̰̍l̸̼͕̭̞͂̋̽͝ ̴͖̼̙̞̬̈́̔̃̓G̴̠̭̖̥̦̮̙̓̓͆̉͋̋r̴̜͙͊̽̉͗ã̸͖̞̬̠͎̦̓͆̃͂͜c̷̱͙̬͈̺͗͐͌͆̚e̶̪̭̦̬͉̯̩̔̇̽͂̀ demanded. “Listen to me very carefully to what I am about to tell you. Do you understand?”

“Uh.. Yes?”

“Jasmin.”

“Yes!”

(There's something about history. History always tells us the stories of the past, the winnings of war and the start of buildings anew. History is always taught to show the mistakes we make so that we will be blessed to no repeat them.)

“Witches are people that are hurt by others because people fear them. They don’t mean to cause fear, it's just that people are scared of things they don’t understand, things they deem strange.”

(But we often forget that History is written by the survivors, the winners.)

“Jasmin, you're not strange to me nor to Roselle or Madame Victoria or Master Wischer. We love you so very much, but you have to understand something Jasmin. Not everyone can see us, they don’t understand us, nor do they accept us. It's not their fault nor yours, but sometimes people believe in stories that are passed down far to earnestly.”

(And History, is not always right.)

“We don’t want you to be hurt, so please, listen to me Jasmin. Listen to me.”

(Witches, as they all know, were always burned at the stake.)

That day was the day that Jazz learned how to pretend. Pretend because if she did not, then she will be hurt. 

She doesn’t want to be hurt so she pretends, even if she doesn’t like to pretend that she can’t see the children in her classroom. Or how she can no longer call out to the madams in beautiful gown in the streets or dance in the forest with them anymore without getting caught. Sure, she could still talk with them behind closed doors, but her family started to come less and less by the day. 

Slowly, it became just Jazz and Danny. But her and Danny. And no one else.

(She wonders why they left her.)

It would be years of being normal, years of pretending to read more silently and walk away a bit faster. Years of pretending to be someone she is not. 

It was years of fakeness when she meet someone new, someone lost. 

His name was Jason. 

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve. Warnings: NONE For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on,  fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

[tinydefector]

Marine Centre 3- merformers AU

Warnings: talking about mating, loss of babies. Arguments

Word count: 2.1k

Masterlist

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Here's some information on how the Pods kinda work in this fic. If you want more details on the pods let me know.

Here are the Five Pods that reside at the Yawk-yawk Marine Rehabilitation centre. Mind you, there are other pods, but they don't reside at the centre but will make appearances in this fic later on.

Pod 1 - Autobots

Optimus

Ratchet

Bumblebee

Jazz

Prowl

Beachcomber

Ironhide

Pod 2 - Decepticons

Megatron

Starscream

Thundercracker

Skywarp

Soundwave

Shockwave

Pod 3 - Young Autobots (off branch Pod/ Young of other members)

Rodimus

Sunstreaker

Sideswipe

Bluestreak

Smokescreen

Mirage

Pod 4 - mixed members

Windblade

Drift

Pharma

Chromedome

Rewind

Whirl

Arcee

Pod 5 - Combaticons

Swindle

Vortex

Onslaught

Brawl

Blast Off

________________

Little thrills and chirps come from the cove as a tiny blur of yellow and black zips through the water, Chasing the human who walks along the shore line. The little pup eagerly calls out with little noises trying to catch their attention. A chorus of soft crooning rises among the mingled pods at the greeting of the tiny pup.

"Hello Babybee!" The human calls out softly to the baby mer. many of the other oceanides kept looking out over the pup, but they were already aware that the human wouldn't hurt the little one.

The little mer thrills delightedly while trying to drag himself onto the sand closer to them. "No, no, no baby you can't come onto the sand." They call while trying to usher the little yellow and black pup back into the water.

A pout forms on the little one's face, tiny fins flapping in dismay. But just as swiftly Dancer is there in an instant, gracefully scooping the youth back into the safety of the pool.

It's only the deep rumble of Big Blue which makes Bee turn around quickly and call out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move. "You haven't been annoying your papa while he's been healing have you?" They inquire only for more little thrills and chirps to leave the pup. Big blue emerges then from the depths, red and cobalt scales gleaming serenely as ever in the midday light.

Bee pouts but subsides against his sire's side, tiny purrs and trills of disappointed longing leave the pup as he clings to the larger mer.

_______

Windblade is first to respond to the little pup, drifting nearer with grace. "Bumblebee, there you are! You know better than to crawl on the sand" she Coos softly to the stripped pup.

Starscream scoffs, though his fins lay flat in disinterest. But ever-playful Skywarp spins gleeful loops around Windblade and pup. "Aww, lookit the little bitlet! You're getting so big, your colours are looking bright" he hums while gently looking over the pup.

"Now now, little one, you know the rules. The beach side is for walking friends, not us, can't have you getting yourself beached." She soothes, calming his upset with the practised ease of a carrier well versed in youthful disobedience. "Aww let him have his fun, Blades! We were all curious pups once."

It's only the deep rumble of Optimus which makes them all go quiet. Bumblebee turns around quickly and calls out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move from Windblade’s hold. Optimus slowly takes his pup from her hold cradling the little one close.

"Bumblebee," he rumbles gently, "you know the rules, little one. No going on the sand, you are too young." Gently yet firmly he lifts the pup into loving arms, cerulean eyes glowing with warmth at his little one.

Bumblebee pouts but subsides against his sire's powerful arms, still emitting little Trills of disappointed longing. Optimus meets the caretaker's eyes, they both watch each other for a moment as he continues to cradle his pup.

A mournful stillness falls over the mingled pods as they watch Optimus with Bumblebee.

"last season was a difficult one. But I'm glad to see your little one out and about" Her field pulses faint sadness, she had lost her own too early, taking quickly to Bumblebee as many of the pod did.

“As am I, I'm forever grateful for all the humans have done for Bee, I doubt he would have survived without their help” he rumbles softly. Windblade continues to wiggle her claws at the little one who giggles and grabs them.

"We can't keep losing generation after generation like this. Something's thinning the gene pool and we're not breeding fast enough to replace what's lost." Ironhide calls out while swimming closer. “Hey pup” he hums, giving the little one a head rub.

Starscream hisses uneasily. "There are fewer pods venturing near each cycle. It's those land crawlers doing, mark my words they are the reason for it!” He huffs out.

"I'm aware of the drop in our numbers but as it is, the only help we have received with our young is from the humans, had I not taken Bee to them when I did we would have no surviving pups." His words give them pause. they all knew Optimus was right, Bumblebee was very sick and without the marine centre's help he would have perished.

Optimus to turn to Starscream. “How is Megatron?, I haven't seen him since out fight”

"Megatron's wounds mend, though slowly." Starscream's fins flick in agitation. "The stress is getting to him, he wonders why Primus forbids him his own spawn. But spared yours”

Skywarp chitters nervously. "It's never been this bad before, not for long cycles. Even Megatron knows something bigger's going on, making it hard for the little ones to survive.”

"Maybe the softskins are right and it's more than just bad luck or genes. Something's changing in the deep, and we're on the losing side regardless of the cause." Ironhide shoots back

But Windblade flashes her finned guardians a quelling look. " What matters now is caring for Bumblebee and hope that we are granted a change with the next season."

Windblade continues stroking the youth gently. "Bumblebee would not be here if not for the humans' care. It seems...our song may rely on theirs, if it is to have any hope of continuing in the seas."

Her words are met with uneasy hesitation never before have the Oceanides relied upon outsiders, but Optimus had. Drift speaks up as he Drift's beside Rodimus "Our numbers fall while theirs climb ever higher. If we do not accept assistance, soon there may be no pods left at all."

Starscream hisses uneasily. "Dolphins grow ever more bold and numerous, harassing us when we feed where once they gave a wide berth. The orcas too have tasted our energon and now we have to be wary of them."

Ratchet croons in concern. "The humpback and grey kin have fallen silent, their great pods have moved on. No allies remain in which we can seek refuge when predator numbers swell, our best option is to stay here till they return to these waters."

"The great sharks now prowl only the farthest blue edges, driven from their feeding grounds by the loud noise and flashing lights of human undersea vessels. We have no kin but our own, our safety is the shorelines unless we are in number but with a youngling we can not take to deep waters yet."

Bumblebee chirps again, wiggling in his sires' hold until he escapes, disappearing from Optimus' side and swimming back to the human on the sandy shore again. It earns a laugh from the human as they scoot forward a little. Gently brushing the little frills of his head. It makes Optimus' spark ache.

Starscream vents quietly. "Few among us have known the happiness of sparking and rearing young. I doubt the other pods are having the same issues as us, perhaps we need new mingling when they come to the sands again"

“ It could be an option, considering our five Pods seem to not be having the best of luck” Sunstreaker mutters softly.

“ I'd like to see Chromia again, Hopefully Elita’s pod returns ” Windblade murmurs to herself, she could only hope that Chromia had better luck with a pup. But she did miss her bonded.

“You know the landers don't seem to have much issues with offspring, maybe they'd be willing to help us out” Rodimus blurts out, he wasn't exactly paying full attention to what was being said.

Windblade's fins flare in startled protest. Turning towards the bright orange and Red Oceanide. "Mating with outsiders goes against the sacred bonds of pod and kin!"

"Mating season nears and our numbers dwindle," Rodimus insists. "I'm not saying we have to do anything, it was just a thought!." He huffs out but lounges back against the rocks, his eyes watching the human now playing with Bumblebee in the shallows. But it does make many of the others stop to think. Humans seemed to have much better luck with their young than the Pod. But even that there was no promise of young or if a coupling of that sort would be viable.

Skywarp speaks up next. "If it means pups, what does it matter who their carrier is?"

Ironhide rumbles grim concerns. "Involving outsiders in matters of our Pods could alter both species in ways none foresee."

The younger mers pulse with surging field and logic as Rodimus presses his point. Bluestreak begins voicing his opinion. "Look how the caretaker cares for Bumblebee. Is that so different from how one would care for our young? And see how the little one beams at their touch, as content as any podling among kin!"

"He's got a point - the softskins aren't so strange. And if it brings pups, what's to lose?" Vortex states while watching the other pods continue to argue over the subject.

"Frag the fleshies, if it means more bitlets! Who cares? if it saves our pods I'd say it's worth it” Onslaught remarks only for other mers to hiss at his crash words.

But steely Jazz croons, despite his love for their little caretaker and the other human's of the centre he didn't trust that other humans wouldn't use it to their advantage. "Breedin' another species ain't no simple thing, mech. what's to stop the softskins wantin' somethin' back we ain't willin' to give?"

“We mate freely when the tide flows, so why not them? On land or sea,” Swindle shrugs, it was true, some mers had multiple mades others single, but due to the times they had taken to mating with multiple in hopes for young.

Rodimus refuses to relent under Elders stinging reprimand. "Do you think I propose this out of boredom or mere lust?" he retorts hotly. "Since my own youth, our numbers have halved - and how many more fading cycles must pass before no pups remain at all?, this season we have one surviving, one Pup between Five pods"

"The landers recognize as we do that something ails us. If natural means no longer can restore our numbers, then must we not embrace other paths, however unorthodox, hey im all for if we find another way, but what happens when next season we have no pups"

Rodimus spins to pin each dissenting elder with a fiery piercing glare. "Or would you have us fade to nothing instead, condemning future generations to exist only in memory?" His impassioned defence strikes silence from many.

Optimus' gaze turns to watches with quiet intensity as the human and pup interact, observing how they handle the bitlet with such care.

Long has he guided his pod, but he too knew something was amiss. The broods he once bore long since ventured into the deeps few remained. Yet...if agreement could be found, built, why not try. “If by this season we have no young It will be something the human will know. They are intelligent. If they are willing to assist, we will gladly take their offer” Optimus rumbles, it's the end of discussion as he slowly moves away from the others towards his bitlet.

____

"Yes, yes hello sweet baby, you know I'll get in trouble if I'm around you too much, vets said you need to be around your pod, can't have you getting too attached to me" they hum mainly to themself knowing full well the little pup didn't understand.

Bumblebee thrills piteously, tiny claws outstretched and straining toward them, flexing futilely. "No test today baby, you look so healthy now!" They chimed but sigh as the little one drags themself into their lap. Slowly scooting down the sand they sit in the water so Bee doesn't dry out too much. Their eyes watch the larger Oceanides talk amongst themselves. It almost sounds like a melody with the sweet sounds they made.

“Are the adults boring you baby?” They tease softly only for the little yellow and black pup to snuggle Into their side purring contently. “Gonna get me in big trouble with Quin Beebee.

It's a long while before the older mers finish what seemed like an intense conversation.

Gracefully Big blue nudges nearer, slowly beaching himself close to them, trying his best not to startle either of them. gently but firmly he lifts the pup away, cerulean eye meeting their own with gratitude beyond words. They smile and laugh softly as it earns a grumble from the little one who didn't want to be disturbed.

_______________

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[weirdlookingsnakewithlegs]

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war? Funny af

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war and getting snatched up by Autbots? Not so funny

The only way I can think of it happening is maybe one of the trine taking the two out on a scouting mission where they end up getting shot down and taken into Autobot custody. Of course, which ever seeker was shot down is definitely much more worried about the sparklings in their cockpit than being apprehended by the opposing faction.

For humor purposes I say it was Skywarp.

Now, Skywarp is definitely the type of mech that likes to lash out not just physically but with his EM field as well, but he can’t do that with the sparklings because they’re really sensitive to that sort of stuff. So, the Autobots are thinking something is wrong because Skywarp has never held back is EM field and he’s being more reserved, not lashing out physically but he’s still making snide comments and insulting every Autobot within radius.

It’s probably just when they get to the Autobots base that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker start making noise because they love being convenient. It starts with soft chirps, barely noticeable to anyone but Skywarp and unfortunately he’s cuffed, tending to two sparklings while cuffed in an extremely difficult task. He can only hope they stay quiet.

And then Sideswipe starts shrieking and suddenly all optics are on him. I think Skywarp could only really give a nervous smile and take a step back before somebot like Prowl is up in his face and questioning what that noise is.

Eventually, after way too much verbal bullying, Skywarp is forced to open his cockpit and he has to scramble because both of them are immediately attempting to escape.

Now that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are out in the open it’s pretty clear of what they are, hell their frames are probably just now gaining color at this point.

Red Alert is around I just know he’s accusing him of stealing the little ones because and I quote, “They look nothing like you.”

“They take after their sire.”

“They aren’t seekers.”

“Their sire was a race alt?” Truth is Starscream never told them.

“Who’s the creator?”

“Starscream.”

Immediate silence and Skywarp realizes that maybe he should have claimed the little scraplets but the problem with that is that these two are very sure of who their creator is and would never play along with that idea. Plus that would just confuse them and the last thing he wants is a lecture from Starscream but at this point it may be too late.

The two sparklings, now settled on the ground and hiding behind Skywarp’s legs, are not having it. Their little optics are glaring at every Autobot in vicinity and Sideswipe is even flaring his very unformed door wings at the nearest one.

The group at the moment probably consists of Prowl, Red Alert, and Jazz but now that sparklings of all things were involved, Ratchet and Optimus were sure to be offered a spot in the ring of fools.

Skywarp is immediately shoved(he’s being dramatic) towards the medbay, sparklings hot on his thrusters. Sunstreaker doesn’t bother with the chase, doing his usual cling onto Skywarp’s leg which makes the seeker more hobble than walk. Yet, the moment they reach the medbay, all civil nature is out the door.

One thing Skywarp hates more than Autobots? Medics. And what’s worse than that? An Autobot Medic.

Immediately the seeker’s wings are hiked up the moment he’s on the medberth, positioned to a point they show off any injury sustained from being shot down but also to the point it puts strain on his hinges. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe probably try to copy him only to whine when they feel how uncomfortable it is because ow.

Now, Ratchet is… somewhat civil, and by somewhat I mean he’s actively yelling and waving a wrench at whoever thought it would be a great idea to shoot down one of the Elite Trine especially while he was carrying sparklings. The answers he gets are not satisfactory and both Prowl and Red Alert are chased out, Jazz leaves before things even got bad.

Now, mind you, it’s only Skywarp, the sparklings, Ratchet, and Optimus fragging Prime in the med bay. Skywarp is trembling like a leaf and Ratchet hasn’t even addressed him yet. The sparklings are just as frightened by Skywarp’s reaction and have probably cuddled up tightly against the seeker’s cockpit, though they refuse to go back in.

Eventually a very long conversation is had and Optimus ends up being forced to call the Decepticons to tell them that their missing sparklings were ready to be retrieved. He doesn’t expect to see Megatron cowering when the call is accepted, he also doesn’t expect the amount of screeching in the background.

“Prime.”

At least Megatron still has the class to pretend he’s not terrified out of his processor.

“TELL PRIME I’LL DEACTIVATE HIM”

“Starscream wishes to tell you-“

“I heard… I have called to inform you that we will be handing the sparklings over, along with Skywarp.”

“We will be there to pick them up.” Megatron just barely dodges something being thrown at him, “Starscream is already leaving.” He adds and the call flickers out.

[mychlapci]

Prowl’s nozzles start aching out of nowhere, one day. A hot, throbbing ache that just won’t go away. Easy to ignore at first, but as the days pass it becomes intolerable. Soon he’s finding his hands gravitating to them, pressing, then rubbing, then outright massaging them for relief. Not even noticing that he’s doing it until he finds people staring at him during conversation. Entranced with the way he’s rubbing and squeezing at his headlights. They’re so sore and achy, is the thing, just begging to be touched. Prowl just needs a little relief, and then he can get back to work. The wash of embarrassed arousal makes him moan low in his throat. His coworkers just stare at his groping hands as they nod. Swallowing hard.

Prowl’s so distracted by the ache that he doesn’t notice the swelling at first. Going from flat mesh to an undeniable pair of breasts in a matter of weeks as Prowl whines and tugs at his sore nipples. Still sitting at his desk, doing his work. His bumper gets so full that his tits start pressing against the hood and Prowl still doesn’t notice until it’s popping open and smacking him in the face. Coaxing his hood closed again is nearly impossible, tits straining against it. The pressure against his sore boobies is… undeniably erotic. But he’s hardly going to masturbate in the workplace, so instead Prowl stews in his charge all day. Node tingling and belly tight as he massages his perpetually sore tits.

Prowl’s tacnet can handle the vast majority of his duties with very little personal input—although of course Prowl’s attention enhances the results—something that turns out to be a blessing when the awful, aching press of his sensitive buds against his hood steals his breath away. Luckily Jazz bringing him his cubes provides enough of a distraction from the sting. It’s all so overwhelming, so sudden and foreign, that when his hood flies open again and flashes Jazz a framed view of his still-growing tits Prowl finds his optics leaking. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, just that he can’t stop. It’s humiliating, is what it is. Nothing to bother Ratchet over, surely, but embarrassing all the same. When Jazz makes a comforting noise, it all comes spilling free. The ache and the stretch, the too-full feeling in his breasts, and the way they’d just begun swelling one day and how overwhelmed he feels and and and—

“Let me help you feel better, Prowler,” Jazz offers, cupping his cheeks gently to wipe tears away.

“Okay,” Prowl croaks.

And then Jazz is standing between Prowl’s doorwings right where he can’t truly reach, arms wrapped around Prowl’s abdomen as he massages the tactician’s poor, aching tits. Deep, perfect pressure chasing the ache away for once until Prowl can’t help arching into his hands. Panting steam. A long, low groan when Jazz starts rolling his sensitive nozzles between his fingers.

“Theeeere ya go, Prowler,” Jazz croons, “that’s a good mech.” Prowl doesn’t even notice, too busy basking in the relief. It quickly becomes their little secret. After they’ve had their lunch together, ferried in by Jazz, the mech treats Prowl to a lovely titty massage that leaves his node blinking and his pussy wet. Yet no matter how aroused the tactician gets, moaning and whining needily as he tries to thrust his still-growing boobies into Jazz’s squeezing hands, his spike never even tries to pressurize. Stays soft and sweet and small in its sheathe even as Prowl’s node swells a little. Every day the massage gets a little less professional as Prowl gets effectively conditioned by the pleasure to love his breasts.

The first time Prowl overloads just from having his slutty tits played with is the day Jazz finally teases milk out of them. Jazz likes to press their panels together as he teases Prowl’s nozzles from behind, taking note of the growing heat without ever saying a word. Prowl’s so grateful to have him as a friend; he’s so understanding and generous. And then Jazz circles his fingers around Prowl’s stiff nipples and tugs, moaning in surprise when they come away damp. Prowl nearly crashes when he realizes he’s started lactating, but Jazz helps him realize how wonderful and useful it is. How many sickly mechs he can help with his yummy, purified milkies. Orphaned sparklings, injured mechs, Jazz… It keeps him from going to Ratchet to get it turned off. That and the clear desire he can see on Jazz’s face at the thought of sucking Prowl’s titties.

Somehow the question of how or why this is all happening never seems to cross his mind. Oh well… the tacnet chugs away at the strategies and Prowl can’t deny how wet his valve is getting as Jazz nurses for much longer. The pressure is finally lessening, but the warm, wet feeling of Jazz’e mouth on one nozzle as the mech’s hand teases the other has charge crackling across Prowl’s frame. Prowl’s spike stays soft… but his pussy is slowly soaking the inside of his panels. Until Jazz gives it a teasing little squeeze, fingers lingering over the spot where Prowl’s entrance would be if the panel was open. And then Prowl’s overloading with a low moan, clutching Jazz close to his ample chest. Valve fluttering and calipers clenching on nothing. So empty, so needy.

From then on, Jazz milks and massages Prowl with his spike buried to the hilt in Prowl’s dripping valve. A pretty crystal plug fitted into Prowl’s sheath to keep his limp cocklet contained. Prowl’s favorite is when Jazz nurses directly, Prowl bouncing slightly as he rides the mech’s spike. Can’t help moaning. He’s starting to love his boobies. Starting to love the way they ache when they’re full of milk. His hood can’t close at all anymore, so he takes it off completely. Lets his sore, heavy boobies bulge against his bumper for anyone to see.

Soon Prowl is in a near constant state of arousal, unable to keep his paws off of his huge, warm, *milky* tits when Jazz isn’t playing with them. Lately Jazz has him moaning that he loves his tits before letting Prowl orgasm, pinching Prowl’s nipples when he’s a little too slow. And Prowl squeals when he’s punished, hips dragging against the cushioned seat of his office chair. Node blinking with charge.

“Try again, Prowler,” Jazz croons, massaging the sting of the pinches away, “I didn’t quite believe you.” And Prowl squirms in his seat, nipples tingling and pouches aching from being overfull. So hot, so desperate to cum that he doesn’t even fuss.

“I love my titties, Jazz,” Prowl moans eagerly, this time thrusting his chest into the other mech’s face. Jazz rewards him by pressing him lips together and suckling until Prowl’s dry, fingering him all the while. Granting overloads whenever Prowl moans about how good it feels and how much he loves his big, swollen boobies. How happy he is that they’re all full of milk. Usually Jazz cums around then, and then feeds Prowl another cube.

Jazz, of course, is happy to keep supplying the doctored energon that is putting them in this “predicament”

-☀️

hgrhh... forcefem him... give him a pair of achy titties for Jazz to play with... He needs to become a pretty girl...

[keferon]

*throws at you idk*

——————

“Don’t beat yer’self up if this doesn’t work.”

Prowl ignored the whispered plea, watching as Shockwave, Wheeljack, and Ratchet all argued over how the procedure should work. Transferring an organic soul into a Cybertronian body had never been done before, after all. There were so many (4,768,546,786) ways that it could go wrong and so few (9,457) ways for it to go right. It should have been similar to a cold construct like himself, but Prowl couldn’t get his TacNet to account for the Spark issue. Human’s didn’t have those after all and—

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered again, voice whistling and wheezing, tearing the Praxian from his panicked calculations.

The little human looked broken. His wounds patched as best as Ratchet and Knockout could have done, the machines they had attached to him keeping him just barely conscious and away from the pain. Prowl could feel his doorwings droop in sympathy, his spark aching at seeing the little organic who had crawled into his spark in so much pain. He wanted to hold Jazz close, to cradle him against his spark, to protect him, and to promise him that he’d be fine and all of this was temporary. That their plan would work!

But he couldn’t…

This plan was… wasn’t likely (9%) to work at all. But it was either this or Jazz died. Humans were so fragile, their lives so finite compared to a Cybertronian’s.

“Prowler, s’fine. If it doesn’t work. I knew what I was doin’. Saved you, that’s what matters,” Jazz whistled, that soft pained smile crossing his features, single unwrapped eye glazed over in pain.

Prowl swallowed, voice box stuttering and clicking as it reboot. He could feel coolant threatening to fall from his optics as he reached out with a single servo. Getting as close as he dared to without actually touching Jazz.

“It’ll work.” (8%)

Jazz hummed, tipping his small head into Prowl’s touch gently, not believing, but willing to humor.

“It’ll work, and you’ll get to enjoy annoying me and scaring the spark out of me for eons to come. It’ll work,” Prowl stated, firm, ignoring the way his TacNet glitched out a bit as emotion wracked his spark.

“Yes. Because we are going to make it work. Calibrations are done, Commander,” Shockwave interrupted whatever Jazz had been about to say.

Prowl looked up at the scientist, giving the finished cold constructed frame a glance over before looking up into the cold single eyed stare. The tactician hesitated. Just because Decepticons and Autobots were all aligned, had been for centuries due to the Quintessons, it didn’t mean Prowl trusted all of them. Shockwave was the worst one (98%) in his opinion.

“It’s now or never, Prowl. His vitals are fading fast,” Ratchet said softly from behind Shockwave, face drawn tight in sympathy, optics on the system that had hooked up to Jazz’s being.

Prowl looked back down at Jazz. 8-9% this worked. 65% that if it did work, that Jazz would be hindered immediately. 98% that he lost Jazz if he didn’t do this though, that if they didn’t try.

“Prowler, s’okay. I trust you,” Jazz croaked, smiling up at him.

Prowl ached.

“In theory, the frame not having a spark, should help him. Even if a spark doesn’t form, the frame has enough processing power to hold him. It should work,” Wheeljack offered as a final bit of reassurance.

Prowl closed his optics, feeling coolant leak down onto the medical table harboring his human counterpart. Now or never, huh.

“Do it,” he finally said, looking up at Shockwave, optics focusing in on that single red optic.

Shockwave nodded and pulled a lever. Prowl forced himself to stay calm when Jazz’s human heart immedietly just stopped. He pulled himself away from Jazz’s organic form over to the new Cybertronian one, TacNet racing as time just seemed to crawl on.

“Upload at 87%. Should take only a few moments for him to calibrate,” Shockwave announced, and as if at his very command, pure and blinding white optics opened up on the table.

Prowl’s spark jumped up into his intake as all four mechs watched as Jazz slowly oriented himself and sat up. Prowl’s servos twitched, wanting to reach out and touch, but waiting until he was sure this was Jazz. Silence washed over the room as the new mech looked over his own servos in curiosity, before looking straight up at Prowl.

Prowl’s knees nearly gave out when a cautious and yet hopeful EM field washed over him from the mech.

“How do I look,” Jazz asked, a small and nervous smile crawling across his face to match his new EM field.

Prowl made a rather undignified noise as he reached out and firmly tugged the mech forward, off the medical bunk, and into a tight hug. A hug he could finally provide without fearing he’d hurt Jazz.

“Alive. You look alive.”

JUST RIP MY HEART OUT OF MY CHEST AND EAT IT ALREADY

I. Uh m. F u cc. HAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH IT HURTS SO GOOD HELP

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 3

The Praxian Beta swirked at the stump at the end of Lockdown’s arm. The bounty hunter snarled at the insolent half-mech. He snarled threats, promising to turn his valve inside out. It annoyed Lockdown that the Beta did not even blink. If anything, the gold-faced Praxian looked bored. Well restrained with stasis cuffs, Lockdown could not punch the smug face and put the enforcer in his place. The cocky Beta stared at him a moment longer before stunning Lockdown by taking his head and driving it into the interrogation table. Lockdown felt his olfactory ridge break. For a moment, he was blind. Tasting his own energon, the bounty hunter cursed the Beta. The curse was cut off when the enforcer drove his fist into Lockdown’s belly. He fell from his chair, groaning. Without missing a step, the enforcer nailed him in his panel this the armoured tip of his ped. Lockdown rolled from side to side in pain. He would rip this enforcers spark out.

“Pray they don’t extradite you to Praxus,” the enforcer said.

“I’m not afraid of a half-mech,” Lockdown groaned. “Wouldn’t stand a chance in a fair fight.”

“I don’t fight fair,” the enforcer replied. “I fight to win and there is no way I’d lose to you. From a distance, I would shoot off your cock and watch you bleed out, up close I’d cut it off and pour Gideon’s glue in the stump. If I had my blaster, I’d do it right now, maybe I’d shoot you right through your sheath. Unfortunately, the Simfurite’s are soft.”

“What happened here?” Just in time, on of the Simfurite enforcers appeared. The Praxian turned. His doorwings did not so much as twitch when he was caught. Lockdown growled a threat at his back.

“He tried to escape.”

***

“Oh, oh Primus,” Prowl moaned.

Jazz licked his spark chamber as he toyed with Prowl’s tender nozzles. They were wet with the Alpha’s oral lubricants and throbbing in time with his spark. Prowl’s legs were wrapped around the saboteur’s narrow hips. Exhausted as he was, he wanted and wanted desperately. It had been two orns already and his heat was only just starting to ebb. Somehow, Jazz had never lost the strength and the energy to match it. Every moment of the last two orns, he had focused on Prowl and his comfort. He held Prowl’s legs open in a wide ‘V’ as he spiked Prowl. The Omega’s belly was round, even as fast as his frame metabolized the Jazz’s transfluids, the Alpha filled him with more. There had never once been the agony of the burn with this heat, Jazz had kept it well satisfied.

“One more, Sweetspark,” Jazz crooned. Prowl was spent, face down in the berth, his optics glazed over, jaw slack.

“Uhn,” he moaned weakly, overloading as the Alpha had commanded him.

Sometime later, Prowl woke. He brought his servo up, blocking the solvent spray from running over his face. Jazz hummed as he washed Prowl. For his part, the Omega was exhausted. After nearly three orns of interfacing, all but constantly, he did not think he could walk. His jaw fell open as Jazz ran a cloth over his well-used valve. His anterior node sparked at the brief contact. He had been fragged strutless, something Prowl would not have considered remotely positive before. The heat had passed and Prowl felt strangely satisfied. Jazz grinned at him as he tried him off when Prowl looked blearily back at him. He was carried to the berth, newly made and left alone. It was the first time Jazz had left him since they had come up here. Soon though, Jazz returned and in his servos, he had a cube of steaming energon. Prowl took it with gratitude.

“I think y’re gonna need a cube or two before y’re gonna wake up all the way,” Jazz said. Prowl nodded and drank it. That was something about Jazz. Even when they quarrelled over a mission, the next time they met, Jazz had a cube of black energon for him.

“Thank you,” Prowl said. “Even when you have been contrary, you have always been considerate.”

“Sounds like yer processor is wakin’ up,” Jazz chuckled.

“Mm,” Prowl murmured. Jazz refilled his cube and Prowl happily swallowed more. “I did not know you were entering a rut.”

“I usually make sure to be out in the field,” Jazz replied. “Use the energy to scrap Cons. Ya cancelled the op.”

“I did not intend...” Prowl defended himself.

“Hush,” Jazz told him and Prowl hiked up his doorwings. “I know ya ain’t that kinda manipulative, Prowler.”

“Most would argue with you,” Prowl replied.

“Yeah, well, they’re dumb aft,” Jazz declared. “Do ya need to see Ratchet?”

“Eventually,” Prowl said. “I will need to have a scan done.”

“Fair,” Jazz said. “Might reabsorb yet.”

“Reabsorb?” Prowl asked.

“Ya didn’t feel yerself ignite?” Jazz asked. “I heard it.”

“Oh?!” Prowl gasped. He did not mean to drop the cube but Jazz caught it, without spilling a drop of energon.

“Never happened before?” Jazz asked. He put the cube back in Prowl’s servos and encouraged him to drink.

“No,” Prowl said, feeling shaky. “No. Never.”

“First for me too,” Jazz replied. “Or ya’d know.”

“Oh.”

“It could still reabsorb,” Jazz comforted him. Prowl stared straight ahead. He had hoped he would had least have the good fortune to be sterile, but no. What Lockdown had started, Jazz had finished. The world spun. As Prowl half leaned and half fell over, Jazz caught him and held him. “Easy. Y’re okay. Y’re okay.”

***

The worst part of heat was even with all the pain Lockdown inflicted on him, Prowl’s treacherous frame lubricated anyways. He overloaded anyways, a typical Omega slut as his progenitor would have said. Lockdown slapped his aft as he fragged roughly. The frag, the rape was so brutal, Prowl’s aft was becoming dented. Yet, his valve lubricated. When Lockdown drove to the hilt in him, there was a wet, filthy clang, again and again. When Lockdown overloaded inside him, Prowl overloaded. The bounty hunter leered down at him as his knot deflated a little, he pulled his spike free. A loud, squelch echoed and Prowl sobbed as lubricants splashed against his thighs.

It was not enough to unmech him, Lockdown was determined to breed him. The thought of carrying his rapist’s spawn made him ill. Prowl sobbed, broken in spark and processor as Lockdown bit down on his mating node and ground his denta, cementing a hold on Prowl’s frame through that horrid code. Lubricants gushed from his valve as it reflexively milked his rapist’s spike. Lockdown cackled as he realized all he needed to do to make Prowl overload was bite this node. He knew the more an Omega overloaded, the easier it was to spark them up. He held Prowl by his shoulder, denta dug into that node as he sawed his spike, knot inflated in and out of Prowl’s broken valve. Even as Prowl cried with pain, he overloaded.

Even with the enforcers pointing blasters at him, Lockdown bit down on Prowl’s mating nodule a final time, making him overload on the bounty hunter’s knot in front of everyone. It would be preferable to die than to endure this shame but Lockdown had not given him that mercy. Barricade swooped in, growling when Alpha enforcers pulled Lockdown off of Prowl. He shielded Prowl with his doorwings as he pulled a warming blanket from his subspace. Prowl shook. Alpha enforcers audibly sniffed the air as the stink of Prowl’s heat was everywhere. His cousin, a Beta, snarled at them as he bundled Prowl in his arms. Now would have been the time to pull his pride together but the broken enforcer hurt so badly, so deeply, the sobs he had already been crying turned to keens.

“I have you Prowl,” Barricade promised.

[revelboo]

"Y'all good?"

No none of us are that should be obvious 😭 all of us have robot fetishes.

Trust me, I understand that completely as a certified TF fragger. And speaking of fetishes…

Transformers x Reader Headcanon-kinks 18+ 🌶️

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Prowl x Reader, Jazz x Reader. Mass displaced mechs

Megatron- size kink

• Even mass displaced, you’re still so much smaller than he is. That size difference making it so easy to pick you up and pin you right where he wants you any time he wants to. Those eyes of yours darkening with need as he tangles his servos in your hair and uses it as a tether to angle your head back so he can claim that soft little mouth, sharp denta scraping against your skin. Sometimes biting just to hear your little gasps. Little nips that will linger for days on you, little marks that show you belong to him. His little pet. His sweet toy.

• Rough hands sliding up your sides, his grip is on the verge of bruising as he lifts you and settles you on your back so he can drag you to the edge of the surface he’s perched you on, your legs hanging. You tuck your chin to watch him as he grips himself and rubs his spike along your slick seam, before sinking deep. Those red optics focused on watching you take him, narrowing as you arch in his grip feeling that thick spike stretching you. Pace slow as he works into you in steady strokes before shifting his attention to your face, lips twitching in a knowing smirk as you squirm, hooking your legs around his waist to buck your hips against him. Needing more friction, for him to move faster. Those big servos palm your thighs, forcing your legs open wider to keep you from having any control. Keeping you helpless under him for a handful more of slow thrusts before those servos tighten on your thighs and his venting grows rough.

• Teasing you. Testing his own control, he snarls as you wiggle again, clenching on his spike when you’re already wrapped so tightly around him. Those little needy sounds of yours fraying at his restraint, because those sounds are because of him. How much smaller you are and how perfectly you take him, winding him up, shattering his control. Slipping his servos under you, he lifts your hips up higher so he’s in complete control, baring his denta in a smile at your whimpering protest before he begins to move in earnest. Then you’re arching your back, taking him deep in that wet heat of yours as he pounds into you. Those lovely gasping cries of pleasure of yours almost lost to his rough snarls and the wet sound of your bodies meeting. So small, but made just to take him.

Starscream- breeding kink

• He’s snarling in your ear, a broken mix of English and Cybertronian as he drives into you, thrusts growing more frantic as you come apart, milking his spike. Bracing yourself on shaking arms, you whimper as the servos on your hips tighten. Yank you back to meet him as he grinds and bucks against you with hard slaps before you feel him release inside you. Again.

• Denta grazing that sensitive skin where your shoulder meets your neck as he covers you, he vents against your sweat slick skin. Feeling you tremble under him as he drapes himself more firmly against your back, an arm curled around your waist as your arms tremble with exertion. You’re his. Knows he needs to let you rest, but as he shifts the arm curled around you to let his servos slide over your slick flesh where he’s buried deep, you tighten on his semi hard spike. And he can’t help it, hips moving against you again even as you lower your upper half, trembling and looking back at him over your shoulder as he uses his grip to keep your hips up because you’re even tighter, wet, hot, and silken like this. Affectionately sliding his hand up your back, his wings flick, straining. You can take more. Optics shuttering, he lets his head fall back as he ruts into you. Needs to claim you so thoroughly you’ll never doubt that you belong to him. That’s you’re his to keep. His to breed.

Prowl- control kink

• Groaning, you curl your toes and fight the strong grip on your hips keeping you pinned firmly in place with your thighs spread wide as he pounds into you. And those stupid handcuffs on your wrists and the chain he looped through them to bind your arms over your head, jangling cheerfully with every hard thrust, making you pull on them and strain to get any leverage. Head back against the wall, you glare up at him, even as passion winds you tight and worse, he knows you like being helpless under him. His blue optics aren’t as icy as normal as he stares down at you as his hips meet yours with scandalously wet sounds, your world narrowing down to that stare and the feel of that big spike stroking deep. Claiming you.

• Those angry eyes are locked with his optics, dark with arousal as that soft mouth parts with a needy little noise when he uses his grip to shift you, hunting ruthlessly for that angle that makes you shatter for him. Right there, he ruthlessly bucks into you, feeling you tremble against him. “Look at me,” he snarls the command, as your eyes close, body going taut against him. Fisting his spike as you come apart and he moves faster, servos tightening on your soft skin with bruising force. “Eyes on me.” Those eyes open sullenly and hold his, dragging him along with you as you milk his spike. Neither one of you breaking that stare as he fills you.

Jazz- oral kink

• That warm mouth moves up your neck, his glossa teasing the shell of your ear, denta nipping along your jaw. Tasting and biting as he explores. You cling to him, running your palms over his helm, gripping those faintly trembling door wings when they’re in reach since they seem to be sensitive if the way he growls is any indication. His big hands slide along your sides, over your breasts, throat, down along your belly. You can feel his spike, hot and pulsing as it dampens your thigh, but every time you try to reach for him, he’s catching your hands, pulling them away. Tormenting you with that mouth of his when you need him inside you, that ache almost maddening like you’ll die without his spike buried inside you. He’s on the move again, leaving little stinging nips down your front, before he’s wrapping his servos around your hips and lifting you. “I’ve got you, kitten.”

• Those little frustrated noises you make grow ragged the moment he puts his mouth on you. Tunnels his glossa inside you in slow exploration of that wet heat that feels so amazing wrapped around his spike. Your hips buck as he fucks you with his glossa until you’re writhing in his grip. Until his spike aches unbearably, and then he’s shifting in his sitting position to lower you, gripping himself and pulling your hips further up into his lap to sheath himself in your welcoming heat. Glossa tucked against the corner of his mouth, he rolls his hips under you. Thrusting almost lazily against you as you cry out and tighten on his spike.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

in your eyes

let's go another mermaid-bunny installment! featuring dust watching killer sleep like a creep.

(cw: stalking behaviors, paranoia)

killer has to admit, the right-hand man to his new owner is kind of a creep.

the weird thing is that the guy often just ignores killer and pretends he isn't in the room with him at all. so killer does the same to him, no feelings harmed. but whenever killer feels a prick at his neck, he will turn to look just in time to see the usual dull white eyelights intensely focused on him for just a millisecond before they break away and look at something else.

killer knows a predator when he sees one.

but dust never acts upon his position over killer. he only watches from afar, as killer gets more acquainted with cross and horror, the other two under nightmare's employment. horror is a bit of a mean character, but cross balances that with a healthy dose of niceties that killer hasn't seen in a while. all in all, not too bad of an arrangement. anything would be better than the situation he had with chara.

that doesn't mean everything is nice and dandy, of course. the first thing killer took note of on his first night in the castle was that while they have their individual rooms, there are no locks. something about "we're all trusted comrades here, aren't we" and all that jazz - killer couldn't be bothered to pay attention to an obvious lie. so killer spent pretty much the first three days having what little shut-eye he could have against the door of his room, with his knife held tightly inside his jacket. on the second night, he could hear it - the light footsteps that stopped just outside of his room, the soft clacking of someone trying to twist the handle and open the door. killer was jolted awake immediately, but he stayed still, waiting for the maybe-intruder to force themself into his room. but they never did. instead, after a few attempts, they gave up and walked away. killer stayed wide awake for hours until the next day came, vigilantly guarding his door the whole time.

he didn't confront dust, nor does he have any intention of doing so just yet. but he's sure that there is no one else in this castle who can move as silently as dust does.

creep, the voice in his head, eerily similar to chara, scoffs. killer, sitting on the couch next to horror, looks up from his phone. there is dust again, coming down from the stairs. and their eyes meet for a second before dust angles his head and goes past the communal area, disappearing into the hallway.

"what's his problem?" killer asks aloud. horror pauses in his little wood carving project to look at him.

"just ignore him. he's like that all the time."

"what? being a weirdo?"

"like you have any place to say," horror mutters, back to his carving.

"funny. last i remember, i'm not the one prowling the halls at night like a glorified janitor."

"he does that," horror muses. "he doesn't sleep much. just don't get in his way during nights. you won't like the aftermath."

"heh," killer props his chin on his knees. "now i'm curious."

horror only gives him a side-eye. "seriously, don't provoke him."

"sure thing," killer smiles at his comrade. horror doesn't look like he believes him. truth to be told, killer doesn't either.

you're a dumbass for doing this, the chara-voice in his head bemoans. killer ignores it as always, snuggling into the surprisingly cozy blankets on his surprisingly comfortable bed. do you want to get killed by that insane murderer?

well, that's what he's trying to find out here. he can't figure out what dust wants with him, and the quicker he knows the better. lying down on the bed with one hand under the pillow where his trusty knife is, killer closes his eyes and slows his breathing. a trick he learns from his before-times. comes in handy whenever chara is around.

time trickles by as killer stays still in his bed. seconds stretch into minutes into hours. eventually killer hears it - the slow creak of a door opening and closing. he could hear the footsteps approaching him, just stopping at the foot of the bed. his hand tightens around the handle of the knife. there's no more sounds, not even the rustling of clothes. it sounds like dust is just standing there, watching him sleep. he could feel the eyelights burning into his form, like a colony of ants crawling onto his body. creepy, but not the worst thing to endure.

things get interesting when dust decides to move. but not towards killer. sounds like he's perusing killer's room, as if searching for something. killer wouldn't know - he doesn't have anything of importance in here except for his share of clothes and some trophies he stole from chara. killer listens to dust moving around his room and finally stopping right next to the bed, just behind killer's turned back. killer can't sense any intent, with his soul being like that and all, but he has a feeling dust wouldn't do anything further than watching him anyway. something pangs in his chest, a sensation he cannot pin down exactly. it's... uncomfortable.

he counts in his head how long dust stands there - about three hours and eleven minutes - before leaving. he waits for a few minutes before springing out of his bed to check around his room. he can't find any camera yet. his room looks unchanged as far as he knows. none of the clothes was taken away. his secret stash hasn't been discovered yet - the unfortunate finder will have their hand stuck in a bear trap already.

so all in all, killer still doesn't get why dust is stalking him. great.

maybe it's time to get proactive then.

[kaeso4ka]

You're favoring your Prime today…. Or is that a lie?

Pairing: yandere shattered glass Optimus Prime x reader

Somehow that cycle begins with a burning desire in the roaring systems. Prime stares and stares and stares, gazing into the familiarly bubbling room of his own throne room. Notices the flasks - and the housings in them, of course - the muted holy glow of the Arc lamps, the extraordinary silence… Has he gone into forced offline from lack of power right on his throne?

“My Prime…?”

A voice like the finest symphony catches Optimus' attention. Only now does he notice you sitting on his lap.

This is perhaps the first time Prime has ever seen you so seductively submissive. Never before have you clung to him so trustingly and willingly. A collar shimmered around your slender human neck… One you had once rejected. But not now?

“What's wrong with you?” you settle more comfortably, stroking the almost-hot metal. You try to get your palms under the joints of the armor. “I thought you'd be offline longer. Even kicked Jazz and Prowl out when they came in with some kind of report.”

Listening to you babble doesn't happen the first time. Prime doesn't want to think about anything else, especially when you're so close to him. And so benevolent.

“You're… Here today.”

“What do you mean? I'm with you every cycle,” you frown, but only for a click. The smile quickly returns, “you're tense. I want to help you.”

Before Prime can answer anything, you pull him into a kiss. The already attention-demanding systems heated up more. Optimus pressed his palms on your thighs, savoring the softness of a human body. Still human, for now.

“Open up,” you broke away from Prime's lips, tapping the mech's crotch armor, ‘I'm hot to sit on you,’ the slyness added to your familiar look. Less submissive and proactive. But it was all erased when you knelt down between Prime's servos, “I'm waiting, Optimus.”

“Slag,” Prime threw his helmet back, commanding the release of the connector. The mech didn't know the reason for your good mood today, but if there was one, it was worth taking everything. “My Spark…”

Prime looked at you, capturing every lazy movement. Capturing your every sigh and barely perceptible half smile.

The ringing of the alarm systems interrupted everything.

It took Prime a couple seconds to come back online.

A dream. It was only a dream. With a quiet growl, Optimus rose from his throne. He planned to head to you, to your shared quarters and your cage, to make the dream a reality.

[tinydefector]

Rut Cycle- Jazz

Jazz x human

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

Jazz masterlist

Warnings: Smut, Size difference, Alpha/Omega hinted, Heat/Ruts, creampie, Oral

Other info: I've got a vote going for who you guys want next but this is a full on Gen 1 ones hot series I'm making.

__________________

The whole autobot base is on high alert due to everyone's rut cycle hitting. The multiple meeting between the Autobots and Decepticons over a ceasefire truce for Rut cycles. Jazz's Engine lets out a churn of noises as he leans back against his berth, he had decided it was for the best he retire after the meetings, it meant he was less likely to have problems with the scent of the human allies that also roamed the Ark, most of the humans had been asked to go home for the next week and a bit but a few still hung around. 

The soft sound of knocking breaks Jazz out of his thoughts as he moves towards the door to see who it is. Jazz’s visor flickers as he sees his favourite little human standing at his doorstep with a cube of energon on a cart for him. They smile as they look up at him. “Boss bot said you'd be back here, thought I'd drop you off a cube and come hang out if you're up for it” they state while pushing it into his room. 

 Primus they weren't helping the situation despite how much they tried to assist the bots, how close they came To nearly being snatched up by starscream in their meeting early, he knew it was just the rut and how sweet their scent was to the bots but even he was getting close to his limits with how much he could handle before he eventually succumb to the old coding. 

He cycled a deep ventilation, savouring the sweet crystal high grade smell wafting from their form. It makes his sensors ache and his engine whine in need. “ thanks Lil’ Bit. Yer always lookin’ out fer us bots.” He hums as he leans down to grab the Energon Cube. Primus, they stirred circuitry like nothing ever had. 

“Reckon ya better skedaddle now, ‘fore things get outta hand round here. We’ll be right as rain once this wave passes... but it ain’t no place fer a little sweet thing like yerself,  while tension are High with the Cons.” Most of the Bots hadn't Told the humans the reason as to why they had been asked to leave, many believed it was because of the Decepticons, and the Autobots not wanting any harm to come to them, in truth that was only part of the reason, the other part was how their scent made the cybertronians Rut worse and many of them weren't willing to risk hurting any of their allies Due to it. Didn’t stop Jazz from wishing, though, just for a taste, but he knew it wouldn't stop at just a taste.

Slight worry crosses their face as they look up at Jazz.  "Robo flu?, you didn't get that static bug again, or that little critter the Cons made which caused so much issue in the base last time" They teasingly inquire as they press a hand to his plating as if to check him for a fever out of habit. 

a ragged vent of air leaves him at their touch, joints locking to steel against surging charge and wanting to grab them. Plating heated beneath their hand. His visor lit with barely-restrained longing as azure optics peered down at their concerned face. "Ain't no bug, cher," he lamented softly. "Jus' a bit of a... condition we bots get sometimes. Nuthin' t' worry yer pretty headplate 'bout." 

Gentle digits itched to trace the curve of their cheek, taste their skin against glossa sensors gone mad with need. But he'd offlined his hardsuit protocols, locking down his traitorous system until after they left the room. His frame grew hotter with each passing breem. 

"Ya best skedaddle now, sweetspark." His field pulsed bittersweet promise of a raincheck, "And leave you by your lonesome while Prowl's even more foul?, could keep you company and get you energon when you need it, plus don't need you having a short circuit while i'm gone, cant have my favourite DJ sick can i?" The sweet scent on their skin has Jazz nearly drooling as they offer to stay with him and keep him company. 

Jazz cycled a shuddering vent engine whining loudly in need, grip creaking upon his half-empty cube as lithe form crossed their arms as they moved to make themself comfortable on his berth that was now piled with Blankets, tarps, polish clothes. 

His systems flashing warning as the magnetic field begged surrender to baser instincts, he desperately wanted to interface or at least let off some steam before he lost his mind and control. "Gonna hafta refuse that favour, li'l sweet. Y'got no idea ... th' things ya do t'me right now." His digits flexed, aching to caress them, claim. He walks to the other side of the room as if an injured animal that's cornered.  

Optics linger over their temptin' outline, memorising every curve as if famine-struck. "Please, lil' spark. F'r both our sakes." His Field pulsed apologetically for cutting their visit short, but he couldn't risk them. They stand up on the berth as he walks around in circles. 

Worry lingers on their face as they try to calm him down. “Jazzie talk to me, you're walking around like a cornered animal and you're worrying me” they state as he stops in front of them, his frame stiff as he holds off one last attempt to let them leave before he does something he would regret. Jazz nearly purrs as they cup his face looking up at his visor. Their hands feel divine against his faceplate. 

 The last shred of Jazz's ironclad control sheared away as they ran their fingers across his faceplate holding his face as they stared into his optics as sparked couples would. Tender servo curls around their waist as he uses a digit to lift their chin as a rumble resonated from his cracked spark.  "So sweet t'care... but ya jus' don' understand, li'l sweetspark." Trembling digits traced the fragile line of their face, unable to withstand their pull any longer. 

A deep, subsonic field pulsed from his frame. “I think I've got enough of an idea” they state while pressing their lips to his. A thundering roar leaves his engine as he grabs hold of them pulling them up against his frame as his lips desperately move against theirs. Tasting the sweet yet sinful flavour that is their skin. 

 He cycled his systems,warnings flashing critical. but Primus, how he ached to finally seize what haunted his every fantasised line of code...They whined loudly against his lips, his name muttered between breaths.

All of Jazz's fraying restraint snapped like cheap cabling. A strangled keen tore from his vocalizer as delicate grip yanked them flush against Plating as he eagerly pressed them down against the berth. 

He seized their jaw in a trembling servo, glossa delving past yielding lips with a starved groan. They taste like ecstasy and Rust sticks. Another rumble left deep from his frame. 

His other servo scoured down their back in rapture, digits aching to rip through their clothing and discard it across the floor. "Cher..." he gasped against their mouth. Name spilled like prayer as his interface panel snapped open his spike snaking out, straining against their covered form. 

Whimpered moans leave them as his servos grip thier clothing, dragging it off their body as he throws it across the room, glossa tracing down their form as he eagerly laps against their skin. 

At their little nosies Jazz’s Optics flared, visor blazing, Trembling servos gentled spead their thighs, pressing gentle kisses along them before he bites down and sucks a mark into the skin. “H-hold on t’ me, li’l one,” he rasped out as his glossa traces along their sex “Jus’ hang on tight. Lemme take care’a ya...” 

Slowly, with far more grace than rationality warranted, Jazz began to rock his Glossa against their pulsing warmth with aching care. A loud groan and engine roar leaves him at the taste of them. His optics drank in every flicker of pleasure stealing across their face as the arch and rock against him.

 His spike aches and leaks against the bedding as he slowly works his little human open with his glossa, preping and readying them.  

Jazz burrowed his faceplate between their quivering legs, purrs interlacing pleasured moans dragging from his vocals. His servo curled beneath their legs, hitching them higher. "Primus, babydoll.. so perfect..." He gasped prayers and profanities, they arch and grip his helm as his glossa continues to drive into them. Their gasping cries, have his engine roaring louder.

He pulls away for a moment as he flips them lifting their hips up as he grinds his needy spike against their back, a guttural moan leaves him before he snarls, gripping their waist firmly. Jazz shuddered out a keening groan as he slowly presses his spike into them, stretching them to accommodate his size. 

so tight - so hot and sweet he feared offlining upon first plunge into their sweet little form, their scent driving him wild as his field lets out pulse of energy.  

He curled his servos around their fragile hips, grinding slowly into them, helm tilted back as he clenchs his denta from how tight of a fit it is. "Frag, yes!" he bellowed, slowly picking up pace as he drives into them. Their hands grip onto the blankets as needy moans and cries fall from their lips each time Jazz thrust back into them, grinding his spike into their Smaller form. 

" So beautiful, so perfect...mmm, my Lil mate..." He gasped brokenly, intake clenching.

His thrusts turned feral, spike swelling. He dragged their joined frames up. Holding them to his frame as he goes into frenzy, slamming brutally home again and again.

"Mine," Jazz snarled ferally. "Gonna overload ya so fraggin' good, li'l cher..."

Another savage buck of his hips sent them keening, body pulsing and bucking as they cry out from pleasure. “Jazz oh God!, Jazz!” They claw at his plating desperately trying to grab hold of his arm as he drives into them as feral snarls leave him. A guttural groan echoed from Jazz's intake as their clamp and fluttered wildly around his spike, 

"Frag, li'l bit-, that it, mmm so good" he moans, His spike throbbed mercilessly within their small channel, Another ragged groan was wrenched from depths of his frame as their orgasm hits, his name falling from their lips as if it were a prayer.

He tenses, another guttural moan leaves him and he presses them back down onto the berth, frantically griding into thier tight body. spike pulsing frantically. With a static-laced keen, Jazz finally tumbled over the edge, filling their much smaller body to the brim with bright pink transfluid. Jazz threw back his head with a roar as their tiny frame rolled back to meet each piston in desperation as he pumps more and more into their needy hole. "Frag, yes sweetspark - take it, take m'transfluid, take it all!" 

He rolled deftly within, overload ripped through wiring in a cascade. Transfluid spurted from them as it rolls down their  thighs onto the berth as Jazz holds them close, smaller whines leavign his intake as he grinds into their shuttering body.  

With one finally thust he settles, fan systems on full blast as his frame desperately tries to cool down as he rolls to his side, cradling their body against his, holding them close, his other servo piles the blankets around their exhausted body as he keeps them plugged with his spike. Little whimpered whines leave them as he leans his helm down to press a gentle kiss to their forhead. His systems are slow to reboot, but one thing was for certain,  he wasn't finished with them and he would be damned to the pits if he let them leave his berth until after everyone's rut had subsided. “don't move Babydoll, ain't done with ya yet” he mumbles voice still static laced as his optics shutter behind his visor. 

___________

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[skylarkking]

My list of NSFW headcannons for the TFA Autobots because I'm a degenerate. NSFW under cut.

Optimus

Really sensitive audial fins. Kiss or gently bite those and he MELTS

Definetly a twunk although VERY CLOSE to being a twink

Prefers to give oral over all else. I mean, he's got them BJ lips

Shivers when digits are lightly traced down his chassis

Tends to whimper during interface

Sentinel and Optimus were fuckbuddies

Ratchet

During his college years he was an absolute slut

Party Ambulance was his nickname

Very vocal during interface

He once participated in an orgy with 6 other bots

Not much of a party animal because of his age

Still knows how to do the fancy rope work from the BDSM sessions he use to attend

Prowl

Look you cannot convince me that Prowl hasn't had a kinky past

Like with that level of flexibility? Cmon

Probably did pole dancing

Huge bottom energy

Favorite position is probably doggy style

Seems to be the type to like pet play

I bet he likes the thought of being pinned down

Bumblebee

Overloads quickly but can last an insane amount of rounds

Gives off switch vibes

Into bots bigger than he is (size kink)

Sometimes gets too cocky for his own good

Inexperienced as hell but he tries

Horndog

Bulkhead

Huge into aftercare

Becomes massive teddy bear after interface

When he overloads he sometimes clings too tightly and immediately apologizes after

Because he's soft in nature I feel like that transfers to how he has interface

Prefers a slow and passionate pace rather than a quickie

Jazz

Jazz gives off vibes of a guy who has done pretty much everything yet bots are still shocked when they find out

"You did [such and such]? Why didn't you tell me?!" "You didn't ask."

Likes music to play during interface

Seems to be the type to have a lower sex drive due to his laid back nature

But that won't stop him if asked

Has fragged Sentinel just to shut him up when he's in a heat cycle

Sentinel

Whiny ass brat bottom

Even more of a little bitch boy when during his heat cycle

Secretly had a thing for Elita-1 in a frat boy kind of way

Has a huge kink for being yelled at by smaller bots

You cannot tell me he doesn't have some sort of knot mod on his spike

Jet twins

Adorably innocent

Yet oddly kinky

Since technically they are two halves of the same protoform they can feel eachother's sensations

Like if Jetfire is getting head Jetstorm can feel it as if he were the one getting it

They do everything together, and I mean everything

But I feel like Jetfire is more naive than Jetstorm so Jetstorm has to explain some things

The twins may or may not secretly want to blow Sentinel

Blurr

Definetly dated Longarm (aka Shockwave) or at least fragged him

Way hornier than the other bots because, like his movement speeds, his heat cycles happen faster than others

Vocal af, so much so that his partner(s) have to gag him to get him to shut up

Prefers his spike over his valve because he likes to frag bots silly with his speed

Ultra Magnus

You cannot tell me he and Megatron havent banged at least once during the war

Acts all serious but has a huge kink for praise

Jerks off a lot when he has the time

Despite his age his sex drive is still up there

I feel like if you kissed his servos like he was some sort of princess he'd blush SO HARD

So yeah, my headcannons for the TFA Autobots has been released to the world. Maybe I'll do Decepticons next.