#swerve x reader

[drabbletron]

So, I know everyone is all convinced that Rodimus is the one to get freaky in his alt mode, but we've forgotten about Swerve and Hound in this.

It is canon that Hound would like to be human. He would totes do his human in the backseat of his alt mode while they're on a hiking/sigh-seeing date. Hands down, he would do it.

Swerve might be the one to take his partner to a drive-in and get freaky in the back of the truck bed under some blankets, praying he doesn't get caught.

Swerve and Hound are also probably guilty of trying to double-team their human significants between their bot modes and their holomatter avatars.

I know these might seem far-fetched, but I have my reasons!!!

[revelboo]

Hope you don't mind me asking, but which Transformers do you think would have a breeding kink?

Sure! Here’s some new ones

Headcanons and Scenarios- breeding kinks

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Swerve

- absolute, babbling mess during sex, going on about sparking you with his sparklings even though you have no idea what he’s talking about

• “Oh, Primus,” Swerve groans, hips lifting to meet you as you ride his spike. He’s watching you, mouth parted as his hands slide up your sides. “Wanna spark you. Can I spark you? Primus, please.” Have no idea what he’s talking about as you move on him, feeling that thick spike slide deep, every ridge and bump stroking inside you. But he’s too cute absolutely out of control and babbling, making you want to agree to whatever as long as he keeps rolling his hips like that to meet you when you lower yourself.

• “Give it to me,” you whisper, voice breathy and he almost releases right then. Hears you gasp as he rolls you under him, hips moving frantically. Rutting against you with frantic movements.

ES Soundwave

- even after he warms up to you, he still snarls at you like a wild animal, especially during sex. Would rather offline than admit that he fantasizes about sparking you

• Gasping when his servos close around your upper arm and you go up on tiptoe, glaring up at him as he snarls. Know not to pick at the temperamental mech, but when the repercussions are this good? You can’t help yourself. Chin lifting, you grin at him. “Make me.” And you don’t even mind when you end up stripped and bent over the nearest convenient surface, his spike pounding into you. Angry fucking seems to be his only mode, but damn.

• Hips snapping against you as his spike drives deep into that slick heat of yours, he knows there’s something really wrong with him for wanting this. Wanting you. Can’t even say it’s about having power over you anymore, when he’s the one addicted to the feel of you gripping his spike like you were made just for him. And he also knows that you’re provoking him on purpose, wanting him angry and almost too rough, so there’s something equally wrong with you. Listening to your breathless moans and cries, he tries not to think about sparking you, but it’s harder every time. Shouldn’t want you sparked, definitely shouldn’t fantasize about it.

Krok

- allows himself to fantasize about it, but knows sparking you probably isn’t possible, and even if it was, with the life they lead it would be too dangerous.

• Lazily thrusting inside you as your arms loop around his neck, he just wants to savor the rare moment of peace. Nobody bothering him, had caught you alone so he doesn’t need to share. Lips brushing yours, your breath is warm on him, mingling with his rough venting. And the urge lifts through him to spark you. Pushing it down like he does every single time, because their lives are too dangerous for a sparkling. Can’t ask you for that, but he can dream. Hips moving faster to make you gasp, thrusts growing rougher, more urgent. Wanting to fill you over and over.

Waspinator

- desperately wants a home, to belong and dreams of sparklings with you.

• Glossa sliding against you, he can’t help his rumbling, buzzing growl as the taste of you, the scent of your heat and need become everything. Mandibles brushing your inner thighs as you arch and come apart, he goes up on his knees over you, forcing you to release his antenna, flipping you onto your belly and hooking the extra limbs from his alt mode under your hips to tug them up. He’s aching, almost hurting as he lines his spike up and feels you stretch to take him. Clawed servos digging into your bedding as he begins to move, hips snapping urgently against you. Finally. Finally accepting him as your mate and all he can think of is breeding you. Claiming you so thoroughly, you won’t leave him ever.

ES Megatron

- feels guilty for wanting to breed you, like he doesn’t deserve to be allowed this, but can’t stop himself either

• Frame straining on a rough snarl, his hips pump against you. Letting you milk him of his release as his lips brush the back of your neck. Draped against your back, it’s his arm and his cannon hooked under you keeping your hips up for him. “I can’t, please,” you protest when he shudders and begins rocking himself against you again. Taking his time coaxing your tired body. Knows he should let you rest instead of wanting to fill you again. Already made a mess, his excess slicking your thighs, but can’t seem to stop. Driven to give you everything, to breed you.

• “One more, just one more,” he growls against your nape, hips bucking faster, each thrust rocking you forward against his arm curled under you. Trembling on a breathy moan, you feel your oversensitive body coiling again, betraying you. Know you’re probably not going to be able to walk later, but that he’ll fuss over you after, take care of you. He always does.

TFP Ratchet

- when he’s dabbling with synth-energon, all impulse control goes out the window. Can’t resist trying to spark you.

• Legs hooked around his waist as he ruts against you, watching him bare his denta, you know he’s going to be annoyed later about the mess you’re both making on his console. But he’s the one who’d plopped you on it so you’d be at the perfect height for him, easy access. Optics green with that stuff, you just go along for the ride and enjoy the feel of his spike pounding into you almost too roughly.

• Groaning as he moves against you, driving deep into your heat, you’re so slick for him. Heels digging into him as if demanding he not stop until you’re sparked. And his mouth crashes against yours, servos tangling in your hair as that thought takes root. Fragging you all night long until his nanites can get established, then sparking you. He’s not even sure if it can work between yours species, but he wants to find out. Even if he has to try over and over again.

Armada Starscream

- it’s a guilty fascination with him. He’s seen how you fuss over his mini-cons like they’re your sparklings even if they’re bigger than you and he keeps imagining you with his sparklings.

• Mouth brushing along your jaw, back behind your ear as he groans at the feel of those little hands clinging to him, your wet, heat fists his spike as you arch on a ragged cry. Thrusts faltering slightly, he rocks his hips urgently until he comes apart, filling you. Brushing his cheek against yours, as you hold onto him. And from out of nowhere, he thinks about sparklings. Wondering about young when he’s never allowed himself to even consider that as a possibility. Because he’s remembering how you treat his mini-cons and imagining you with his sparklings instead. Whole frame shuddering as he releases inside you again, wings flaring.

• Hands sliding against his wings as he rocks himself against you, mouthing your throat. Still hard and apparently ready for another round as he begins to move faster, hips snapping against yours.

Bonecrusher

- unfortunately for his brothers, the first time they form Devastator while Bonecrusher is obsessing about breeding you, it unlocks the same kink in the rest of them because of how the gestalt works

• “Primus,” Hook snarls, tempted to shove the biggest of his brothers, but knowing that he’ll get punched in the face for it. Because Bonecrusher had been fantasizing of fragging and breeding you, trying to imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his spike. And when they’d combined, those graphic urges and fantasies had spilled into him. Into all of them.

• Hand over his face, Scrapper vents and tries to ignore that his spike is throbbing painfully where it’s trapped behind his plating. Can hear Long Haul and Scavenger speculating on if you’d survive one of them, much less all of them. Remembering Megatron’s warning about fragging humans. Because someone has to be doing it to have warranted that. And Bonecrusher is completely unapologetic about what’s he’s just inflicted on them. “Bet they’re soft inside, too,” Bonecrusher says as Scrapper groans. The big idiot deals with explosives, and he doesn’t understand that he just set a bomb ticking.

Kup

- knows he made quite a few mistakes raising Springer, that he was much too hard on the kid and wants a second chance at a sparkling with you

• You’re smiling up at Ricochet and Springer, little hands folded behind your back as you rock up on tiptoe. Can hear Ricochet flirting and joking with you, and of course you’re smiling. He’s a young mech. Most of the Wreckers are. The young, brave, and reckless. Knows he shouldn’t be bothered that you like the attention, that you’re not his. But he’s the one you run to when there’s danger, the one you trust. Because you have no idea that when you sprawl on him, leaching his heat at night, he’s thinking about rolling you under him. Exploring you with his hands and mouth. He’s old, but he’s not offline, yet. Can’t help but wonder about you, fantasize about claiming and breeding you. At having another chance at being a sire and doing better this time. Try to be gentler, less rough around the edges.

Breakdown

- would rather offline than admit that he wants to spark up Knockout’s little shared human.

• Resting his palm between your shoulders to bend you forward, for a moment he’s off balance at how big his hand is on you, just like how unbelievably tight you are wrapped around his spike. Always making him release quicker than he means to, but it’s easier with Knockout helping. On his knees behind you, he grips your hips, lines himself up and sheaths his spike inside you. Shuddering when you make that soft noise and quiver around his spike. Then your head is lowering, mouth teasing Knockout’s spike. Hears the other mech growl, servos sliding into your hair and that’s what he focuses on. Not you or that he keeps thinking about sparking you when you’re Knockout’s. Even if they are sharing.

Tailgate

- fantasizes about sparking you, but would be as happy if Cyclonus was the one to get the job done. Would ask Cyclonus to breed you so he can watch

• Mask retracting to brush his mouth against your neck, Tailgate lets his hands wander over soft skin. Spike still hard against your back where he’d tugged you to sprawl against him. And he’s aware of Cyclonus trying to ignore you both, a datapad in his hands. That the bigger mech is failing terribly as his hand slides to your thigh and hooks it over his own so you’re spread open to him. Watching Cyclonus, he slides his servos against your slick flesh, dipping his servos inside you to push his excess back where it belongs. Wants Cyclonus to take a turn, for their nanites and release to mingle inside you. “Cyclonus,” he whines, lazily pumping his servos. “We need you.” Wants to feel Cyclonus thrusting against you while you’re laying on him. Trapped between them both as Cyclonus breeds you. Wondering what would happen if they both tried to spark you at the same time.

[robolvrr]

f-r-e-a-k !‿⁠✷｡✧

lost light members react to human porn (and develop some preferences of their own.)

ft. skids! megatron! rodimus! swerve! ultra magnus!

nsfw under the cut.

rodimus prime - top-five ranked

when he first heard actual, genuine human content had reached aboard his ship, he had quickly formed a half-assed meeting to announce that he, of course, being captain and all should review with ultra magnus.. and perhaps rewind too, before dispersing it out to the crew.

of course when ultra magnus expressed his surprise at this new leaf turned, eager to scour through intergalactic protocol he simply let one word out the other audial and made some grave, grammatical errors to distract the mech and let the captain do his own decision making.

he spends a lot of time nitpicking. he doesn't like movies as much so he reserves those to swerve nor does he care too much about books.

a functioning computer however....

he's bored. and curious. two demons that never dwell well together in the same room.

clearing browser history? never heard of that!

good thing the previous owner has lots of bookmarks, because he finds it infinitely easier to sift through links there than carefully type.

"porn...hub? what's that? must be some kinda uh.. uhhh... uh."

cue the fan whirring. he's hunched over and slack jawed, staring at the frankly color-clashing archive and almost pushing himself away when the cursor hovers over a video - and the humans in it start moving.

clicked the first video with a bold "#1 ranked". he really shouldn't. he really, really should just toss this tempting contraband out the nearest garbage disposal.

"unhh! harder! haaarder! ♡"

he's focused hard on the spike - cock, he learns, or dick, humans got lots of funny terms - ruts rough into you, forcing you to melt forward and squeak through sheets.

the loud, exaggerated moans make him pitifully decide otherwise. imagine him, all weak in the knees, sliding down to sit as he watches transfixed.

flesh on flesh hitting sounds a lot better when it's this and not fighting.

sooner or later, he's huffing into his servo, jacking off his spike and squeezing the tip so rough he's almost jealous seeing you bouncing away. you'd be so, so fragging soft. he can imagine squeezing your limbs and twisting you around to his liking.

overloads fast. he's almost ashamed enough to be embarrassed.

now? can't reach his climaxes unless there's some raunchy, wet-coated squeals in his memory banks. doesn't bother searching up anything because he doesn't have the patience to cultivate. you just happen to be at the top so he gladly sticks watching your holes get sticky any cycle.

skids - playboy bunny

"oh for prime's sake, chromedome don't make me feel like i'm trading for somethin' illegal."

won a "mystery stash" from a late night gamble. of course, not all of rodimus's finds stayed quiet.

he isn't sure why it's such a big deal. the cardboard box which spills open easily under a digit's care isn't filled with weaponry or bombs.

it's almost funny, this giant picking up a magazine in a pinch, helm tilted and keeping it an arm's distance away like the pages might bite.

he looks at the front cover for a long, long time.

his processor isn't catching up. then he squints. gets reaaaaal close.

there's you! all dolled up, as the humans would say. except you're really not, because half of your squishy aft is out, and your servos are covering up your chest but aren't doing a good job.

neither is the bright, blue bow christened at your pelvic area, where he realizes with a jolt is lacking any modesty panels of any kind.

flips a page. oh, it's you again. curved over a lounge. cheekily spreading yourself with a... gathering of lace twisted around your frame.

another one. you got something round in your mouth. he looks carefully at your lips.

and then he's flipping through all of it, and digging into the box and oh, he's found a jackpot because it's all you.

now he understands why it's got the markered "collectors items" on the side. he doesn't question too much when he spits lubricant down onto his spike. dedicated some of that cotton candy gossamer all over your february edition of playboy in approval.

megatron - classic erotica

a true mech of literature. now, unlike many of the lost light, he's had his run in with humanity before. not that he particularly got or wanted to enjoy their culture back then.

though when he did find his way back onto a possible path of redemption, he did indulge once upon a time.

at his spark, he's a poet. a linguist. enjoyer of golden age, art and craftsmanship.

earthen literature has its.. moments. he reads novellas and lost to the history manuscripts, plays, all of which have almost all been uploaded to more convenient means as upkeep for the paper is a pain.

however, he has found one book. a funny looking book, with a funny looking cover.

he observes, rigidly, the scandalous embrace of what he assumed to be the characters, how clothing lacked in areas it shouldn't and skin was almost.. glistening. "seven nights of passion." a chuff left his dermas.

ah, to pit with it. why not?

megatron finds himself slowly involved with the chapters despite the comedy of its advertisement. the writer, you, no doubt under a penname, push development shockingly far.. for a human.

and the intimacy? interfacing? so descriptive. while he has not seen what he is reviewing, he can imagine it. images of sweaty bodies, grinding and yearning and crying.

cybertronians have no reason or function to. the thought of a human, pushed to the brink overloaded with stimulation is... stimulating.

it is a shame when it comes to an end but he might in his free-time peruse for more. leaves his plating warm and intake dry.

the authors note suggests that your inspiration drives from personal experience.

his ... array fizzles at that. fascinating.

swerve - r-rated movie night

"wowza. that's hh. haha. woah! they all do that.. ?"

first movie he flipped onto the projector was supposed to be an "action and feel-good film with hints of romance, angst and sci-fi elements."

not even halfway through, you, the imaginary captain of the imaginary "roman's ravager" have your uniform shimmied down to your ankles, mouth mashing against your supposed rival, who everyone has been heckling for the past forty-five minutes.

some of the mechs cheer, other grumble and argue to skip, others squirm and grimace. swerve watched you push the other down, head tilting back as the camera zooms to your face.

"it's just acting, ya' degenerates, stop acting like protoforms!"

it isn't until he feels a servo smack upside his helm that he starts fumbling for the remote. too much noise but now he's getting a comm from mags asking about what the rackets for so! fast forward he goes.

at 1x.

while the chaos starts to settle, he peeks between digits. catches glimpses of your open mouth. the goosebumps down your chest. how you shake at the insinuation that someone is between your legs, servicing.

slag. when's the last time he's even played with his valve?

movie night was a hit regardless of the commotion. he has to clean up after, which thankfully didn't result in any expelled energon or skid-marks.

that also means he's alone. alone, in his bar. all by himself, staring at the rest of the discs with your pictures on the front, credits humming in the background.

it'll be good for the economy. (all of it is pirated.)

maybe it's for the best. because now, he's realizing you really are a great actor, in lots of different genres, able to adapt and really grab his attention.

it's not as if his spark pulses seeing you in costumes, or using that soft voice you do in all your roles when you make a point.

not like he's riding his digits and crunching into a fist when you're running on the beach, sand dappled and leaving little to imagination.

ends up on his back, charged up and shaking. hurts to speak, to move or to dab up the puddle of transfluid, laughing deliriously when his panels are even too much effort to close.

ultra magnus - audio praise

"you're doing such a good job. you're perfect. you know that, right? yes you do, so good for me."

when he first heard you, he damn near crushes the auditory device and full-blown shudders in the confines of his hab. he's sputtering, optics wide and there's a million reasons he should report this to rodimus and question just what he's given him.

"to help ya uh... research? take the edge off pal."

half-contemplates storming back to the bridge himself if it weren't for your sugar-coated mumbles still coming through the unpaused recording.

you'd think he was dealing with a ticking blast with how he warily handles the device, gruffly spitting out curses that he'd otherwise never allow in crew vicinity.

"i want you to reward yourself. you earned it, honey. can you do that for me? here, listen."

to his horror - and crumbling interest - a slick cacophony of sound rattles in his helm. there's panting, a shift of material that he assumes is tangled around you and frag, he's able to think up you and a thousand faces.

what's worse? is he's hypnotized. you don't demand. you coo to him, just loud enough to let him know you'd be broken too. if he let himself let down that wall, just for the twenty minutes you sing in his audials, he'll know it's done with you just as weak.

"g—gooood job ahhhh!" that does it. ultra magnus groans, shutting off his optics entirely. his large servo feels up along his frame as you suggest.

"i wish you were here. hah.. mmn! could see me. see me fucking myself to you. let you kiss me. you deserve it, sweetie. deserve me on you."

magnus and the sobbed growl to his motors reminds him just how lonely he's felt. always monitoring. always stressed. hearing the spit collect at your throat as your commands grow hoarse makes you feel real.

would you... would you kiss him? would you let him pick you up, rest you flat on his servo and have his glossa lap up your want?

he towers over nearly all. having a partner so much smaller, tinier than even an minibot, shouldn't run up a charge but it does.

he overloads when he's sticking digits near the casing of his spark, ignoring the spurts of pre sizzling down his thighs.

"w-was that as fun.. for you as it was for me?"

dazedly falls onto his berth. this isn't leaving his dermas unless he's had a drink.

a/n : a little haha funny idea i had. there's just something so funny thinking of these giant old robots realizing just how much porn is out there.

[rungssparemodelpieces]

Human, taking a seat at Swerve’s: “Excuse me, bartender, I’m hoping for a bit of a recommendation.”

Swerve: “Sure, whatcha like?”

Human, smirking and giving a wink: “I’d like a short, chatty drink of a bot.”

Swerve, fans blowing hard as he pulls the fire alarm: “Everybody out, bar’s closed!”

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Swerve x Reader Blurb: Perfectly Molded 🔞

Swerve x AFAB reader, gender neutral, racially ambiguous, short and to the point, oral, cum eating, fingering, size kink, vaginal penetration, NSFW MDNI

The first time Swerve fucks you it’s a tough fit. As small as he is compared to other bots, he’s still at least twice your size. He tried to bully his spike into you, I mean you were already so wet surely he could slip right in. The head of his cock could barely catch on your needy hole before slipping up through your vulva and bumping against your clit.

It took a lot of prepping. His digits stretching you out as he cooed in your ear. His glossa assaulting your folds like you were his last meal. Your cute little clip pinched and prodded by his fingers until you came on his face. He worked his fingers back into you barely stretching you enough to take the head of his spike. You were so tight, so warm, and oh so wet around him.

The next time Swerve fucked you he focused on opening up your hole. Digits scissoring your vagina open, thrusting in and out rapidly then slowing down to focus on your g-spot. He still loves eating you out of course. Swerve wouldn’t miss a chance to have your stiff clit between his dermas and suck on it with all he had. Teasing laps from his glossa make you come undone and finally he thinks you’re ready to take his spike. Still you can only fit his tip but so much better this time.

Each time Swerve fucks you he wrecks you. By the time he’s done you’re a mess of sweat and covered in various fluids all while Swerve is asking for another round. Cybertronian stamina was going to kill you but what a way to go.

Swerve just about lost it when half his Spike could fit in you. The way you writhed in his grip from being so spread open on him. He could barely think straight with how velvety your precious cunt felt around him. Still, he had to be gentle when he pushed his hips to yours. In and out, he thrusted what you could take of his spike letting you feel every pulse of his energon pipes run along his shaft.

Then he realized how much easier it was getting to push his spike into you. Foreplay was shorter because he could practically slide into you. Swerve still loved to eat his own release out of your overstimulated pussy but he couldn’t help the excitement he felt at having your hole so easily accessible to his spike.

It hit him like a freight train.

Your pussy was being molded to fit his spike. Swerve was training your cunt to wrap around the shape of his spike whenever your gummy walls gripped onto him and milked him for all he was worth.

That’s when Swerve just about lost his mind.

He couldn’t help pistoning into you like a beast in heat. He had left his mark on you by molding your body to fit his. Especially now that his pelvis was flushed against yours. You swore he couldn’t reach any deeper inside of you without moving your guts to the side. It was like you were a custom made spike sleeve for him to fuck as he pleased. So perfectly molded in the shape of his cock.

[megtrns]

how to take care of your human 101 : a psa brought to you by the lost light crew. first contact au. sfw! with slight mentions of nudity.

a/n : to preface this, it was seven am in the morning and i was supposed to catch a train in about an hour or so to go out of town alone for an errand. but as i was putting on my skincare, i began to feel so overwhelmed that i started crawling back under the covers mid-makeup. and for the first time in what i think is forever, i woke up at noon, disoriented with powder smudging my pillows. and there was just a different kind of misery to look down at my phone to realise that not only did i miss my train, but half the day was gone. but then my flatmate came and told me i put too much pressure on myself, and suddenly it clicked on me. it's always a reality check when someone you care about tells you to your face that you've been pushing yourself too hard. this made me wonder how the bots would intervene when it was obvious that their human needed a mental health break.

ratchet suspiciously eying the young medic drifting down the halls of the sickbay like a wayward ghost: with sunken eyes and sluggish movements, running on what he assumed was a quarter of your designated sleep cycle. the last straw was when he caught you asleep at a broom closet, waking up in a panic and apologizing as if it wasn't his fault for assigning you the same shifts as the others, all of whom were part of a non-organic species that could run on an empty tank for months if needed.

feeling guilty, the cmo offered to send you home. you were stubbornly resisting until he said something along the lines of 'paid leave.' that was enough to send you skipping into the parking lot so you could nosedive into your bed. when you returned after the weekend, with a pep in your step and a smile across your face, first aid had wondered aloud that he didn't know humans could glow.

minimus would take it upon himself to run you a bath, lowering himself into the bathtub so your back could rest against his chassis, knees bent and legs intertwined with his. the water is warm and welcoming, sloshing onto the tiled floor as he adjusts himself to hug you from behind. here, in the blissful silence, the bathroom was wet with steam; the precipitation clinging onto the glass of his optics, creating a lazy, unhurried atmosphere that lulled him to the edge of recharge. he listens to the sound of your breathing, slow and calm as you doze off. and he would smile fondly at the sight of your resting, knowing that this was much needed for the both of you.

rodimus, mass displaced and laughing, standing under the pouring water of your shower. he makes the stall feel crowded, but you don't mind, dangling both arms around his neck as the captain washes your hair — skin to metal, hip to hip. he said something about how he loves the smell of flowers in your hair, servos firm yet gentle as they cradle your head. he wiped the soap dripping down your brow, peppering kisses all over your face to keep you awake. but you were drowning in bliss, content and lazy, thankful for his help and enthusiasm during the days when you couldn't even take care of yourself.

drift cleverly working his servos across your shoulders, down the curve of your neck to the base of your spine. already you can feel the muscles loosening, the strain from sitting too long, melting away under his ministrations. you were also in awe at how much control he wielded, precise and careful, never once hurting you with too much force. it was hard to believe that these were the same set of servos that struck fear into the sparks of so many mechs. as he presses a soft kiss in the square of your back, you can only sigh in delight against the pillow — putty in his arms and already drifting to a dreamless sleep.

ambulon would blearily open his optics to the yellow glow of the bathroom light pouring into the peaceful darkness of the room, recharge interrupted by soft noises. he slowly peels the soft blankets away from his frame to creep to the sound of your movements, the sight of you dressing before the sun has barely risen, tugging at his sparkstrings. he is aware humans need at least eight to nine hours of rest, and yet with less than six, his lover is already by the bathroom mirror repeating the same, tiring routine every week. one might think that his past as a decepticon and medic working in the lost light would make him a senseless partner, but it was quite the opposite, ambulon would give you the world if you asked. but maybe the closest thing you need now is a day to yourself.

so when you come home that day to the apartment spotless, the smell of fresh linen in the air and the sound of something delicious sizzling atop the pan; you can't help but cry by the doorway, your boyfriend nearly dropping the glass of high-grade he was casually sipping to rush to hug you — "are these happy, human tears? oh, okay, that's good. that's good."

swerve discovering that your birthday is coming up but you have no plans to celebrate it, too busy and too tired from the long weekday. the minibot wasn't too happy about this, deciding that he was going to fix it before the special date rolls around. this is how you find yourself walking into a surprise party, with candles and cakes and decorations dangling from the ceiling. you had screamed in delight at the sound of the confetti going off, immediately throwing yourself in the arms of your friend, rounds of laughter echoing in the room where all your giant friends have gathered to celebrate your coming into existence.

whirl noticing how the days you spend together have grown shorter and shorter each passing day, with you either rushing off to finish a deadline or already dressed to eat dinner with your new co-workers. the ex-wrecker insists he isn't jealous, no, of course not — he just hates sitting by the couch watching the clock tick away, unable to focus on his earth shows because you were always coming home so late.

so when whirl stopped you from putting your shoes on one morning to tell you that he had called your workplace to say you needed some time to yourself, you were struck by his thoughtfulness; feeling guilty that you never considered that whirl could do something so sweet. until you switch on the tv to hear the news anchor announce that the police needed help to identify an anonymous caller who had sent a bomb threat earlier this morning to your office. he says it was obvious that he wasn't going to do it — "what? i thought you needed the day off, sweetspark? it worked didn't it?"

you didn't know whether to be flattered or to call prowl and the local precinct that the search was over.

[threestarproductions]

Yall seem to like the last swervy art hehe so eat up!

I already posted this on bluesky [plz follow me there] but I said it before and I'll say it again...there needs to be more bent over swerve art

[bugboioli23]

Hey guys! Been a while but I’m doing better now! I missed you all, so here’s our fav bartender sending you a selfie of him jorkin it

[pinkanonwrites]

Always Tip Your Bartender

MTMTE Swerve/Human Reader, 2000 words, GN Reader, Valveplug, Oral, Begging

I finally stopped procrastinating on this and I'm so glad I did cause I really enjoy it. Here's Swerve getting his spike sucked AND his valve ate as a treat.

Primus, you were going to kill him. Or break up with him, which would pretty much accomplish the same thing cause Swerve didn't really know how he would live without you. 

Either way, he was dead. And he had no one to blame but himself.

The evening had been going so well. You'd always insisted how much you enjoyed watching him work, and he was more than happy to have you sitting at the edge of the bar, dangling your feet off the side and chatting with whatever bot occupied the nearest barstool as he flitted around taking orders and refilling drinks. Whenever he'd brush past you'd hit him with that brilliant smile, the one that made him go all weak in the processor and wobbly in the knee joints, before playfully waving him off, insisting he gets back to work. 

Was it incredibly distracting? Yes. 

Had he broken several glasses while admiring you? Also yes. 

Would he ever want you to stop? Not in a billion cycles.

But tonight had been particularly busy, and maybe Swerve hadn't been able to give you quite as much attention between orders as he usually had. A concept that had completely slipped his mind until the moment Whirl raised a single claw and pointed you out across the bar.

"Don't look now, Chatterbot. But I think Fizzle over there's making a move on your fleshy!"

Spinning on his heel, there was a tight clench in Swerve's tanks when his optics landed on you. Fizzle stood, drink in servo and elbow strut propped on the bar, leaning more than a little bit too close into your personal space. Every time you seemed to shuffle back he moved closer, and though Swerve wasn't the best at reading lips he could tell by the furrow for your brow and crinkle of your nose that you were not enjoying the conversation at hand. He tossed the tray he was holding onto Whirl's table and ducked through the crowd, dodging flailing elbows of dancing patrons as he hurried back to your side.

As he neared, the drone of chatter and thumping music gave away enough that he could finally begin to pick up snippets of your conversation.

"I mean, everybody's curious!" Fizzle slurred, identifiably sloshed just by the way he spoke. "Just cause you don't hear bots talking about it doesn't mean we're not all thinking it."

"Look, dude, I'm not really comfortable with you asking about-"

"So how's it work, huh? Barely the size of a mini-con and you can still get spiked down by one of us? Swerve's kinda puny, yeah, but he's like twice your size! Got a real greedy little valve, don't y-HGGK!?!"

The next thing Swerve knew, Fizzle was laid out flat on his back at the edge of the dance floor. It took the sudden, hushed stares of the surrounding patrons and the sting of his knuckles before Swerve realized that the one who had punched the words out of Fizzle's slimy, inconsiderate intake was him. 

"Swerve!"

Oh Primus. You did not sound happy.

"I was- he'd just-" He stammered, making aborted hand gestures in between you and himself and the 'not unconscious but fairly woozy' Fizzle. "I don't, uh, he uh, really shouldn't be talking like that."

You hopped down from the bar and stalked over to him, gripping the edge of his forearm plating with an unexpected force and tugging him in the direction of the storeroom. He could have resisted you, if he wanted to. But he let himself be led away instead, pedes scuffing and dermas trembling as you tugged him along. The rolling din of the bar began to pick up again as you moved away, and Swerve could swear he heard Whirl yell something sarcastically supportive over the rumble of the crowd. A sound that was quickly cut off with the resounding metal slam of the storage room door.

“Um… H-Hi, sweetspark. Angel. Light of my life.”

“Get down here.” You snapped your fingers, pointing to the ground. Swerve slowly took a knee.

“Look, about Fizzle. I’m sorry, okay! I know I shouldn’t have hit him like that, I just couldn’t let- MMPFH?!~”

But before he could finish his desperate apology your lips were meeting his own, fingertips gripping and caressing the sides of his helm and brushing a ticklish trail along his armor. Your tongue lathed across the seam of his dermas and he couldn't help but open his intake to you, servo falling instinctively into the curve of your spine as you deepened the kiss. He let out a low, needy rumble of his engine when you began to pull away and you chuckled.

“Whu… Whuh?” He managed to force out, his processor still halfway caught between the realization that you weren't actually mad at him.

“I can't believe you actually punched him. In the face. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“So you're not- mmfh,~” His train of thought was only slightly interrupted by you pressing another wet kiss to his dermas. “Not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? He deserved it. Plus, I got to see my big, strong bot standing up for my honor.~”

“Ohhhh, thank Primus.” Swerve slumped his helm into the crook of your neck and let out a relieved groan, half from his own emotions and half from the pleasant tickle of your little fingers toying with the exposed cabling just beneath his helm. You had put a foot up on the bend of his thigh in order to reach him properly, and his servo gave your butt a soft squeeze when it came up to support you. “Thought you were gonna tear into me back here, to be honest.”

“Aww, did I worry you?” You pressed another fluttering kiss to the curve of his jaw. “And here I was thinking I should be giving you a reward instead.” He shivered as your lips traced just below his audial. A familiar clang and a muffled curse reverberated from Swerve, the unmistakable sounds of his spike pressurizing behind its panels. “That sounds like a yes?”

“Hoo yeah. Absolutely. Yes please. Whatever you want, sweetspark.”

“Wanna say yes a few more times?” You joked, sliding from his grasp and sinking slowly to your knees in front of Swerve’s modesty panel. As your fingers traced over his Autobrand the panels snapped back with a snikt and his chubby spike pressurized eagerly into your hands.

“Do you need me to?” He babbled through a wobbly grin. “Cause I will! I'll say whatever you want me to say if it'll keep your hands on me.” 

“...Y’know what? Yeah. I like that. Keep talking for me, baby.”

“Y-Yeah? I can talk all da-AaAaaAayy!?” His words choked off into a glitchy, garbled mess as you teased the underside of his head with the tips of your fingers. “Oh, oh! Mmmhmm, ahh! That’s se-sensitive…”

“I know, baby.” You cooed. Your fingers traced the biolights up the length of his spike before smearing the bead of transfluid at the tip wetly across the head. Swerve’s panels rattled as he shuddered, digits clawing absentmindedly at the door he was braced against to keep his hands from gripping his own spike. “That’s what makes it good though, isn’t it?”

“Mmh! So mean,” A low curl of steam hissed between his dentae.

“You love it.~”

“M-Maybe… Hngh!~” He gasped as you pinched the head between two fingers. “Ah! Ah! O-Okay, I do! I like it! Please, just- Ohhhh…~” He trailed off into another garbled mess as your lips wrapped around the tip, teasing the slit with your tongue. You took as much of his spike into your mouth as you could, stroking the rest in a tight fist as you swallowed around the solid, unrelenting obtrusion. The sharp metallic screech of his fingers gripping the door was only drowned out by his whines and gasps, staticky glitches increasing which each bob of your head. Drool and pre-fluid trickled from the corners of your mouth and down his length, further slicking your hand. When you pulled away with a wet, shaky breath, Swerve thought his spark was going to pop out of his chassis right then and there, valve cycling desperately around nothing as you pressed a slick kiss to the underside of his spike head with a barely audible moan.

“Swerve.” You murmured, your eyes hooded and glossy, your lips still grazing his spike.

“Yes?” He responded, twice as desperate and equally as enamored.

“Spread your legs for me. Push your hips out a little more.”

He let out a low, whimpering groan, widening his stance and pushing his hips out from against the wall. You ducked your head further, keeping a tight hand around his spike as you dragged your tongue up the length of his valve. 

“Ohh!~ Oh, oh that’s- ahhhh, ah, ah!~” Swerve did his best to fight the urge to wriggle, stabilizers shivering with need as you buried your mouth in his plush folds. Each time your nose bumped against his anterior node he let out a hiccuping gasp, transfluid dribbling  from both his tip and his valve as his calipers cycled around your intruding tongue. “It's so soooft, y-your mouth, I can’t- MMH!~ Oh, oh, please I- please make me…”

“You wanna cum?” You murmured, lips still pressed to his valve as you furiously stroked his spike, the rhythmic shlick shlick shlick almost drowned out by Swerve’s whirring fans and desperate whines.

“Yes, yes yes please! P-please, I want it, I want- AHHH!~” His vocalizer pitched up into a staticky howl as you took his node between your lips and sucked, hard. He glitched and wailed, helm thunking back against the door as his spike pulsed again and again in your grip, thick waves of transfluid shooting over your head and splattering against the store room floor. His valve clenched rhythmically, more translucent, pinkish fluid spilling down your chin and neck in kind. Only when he stopped shivering beneath you and fell limply back against the door did you draw away, fighting the prideful smile that tried to crawl across your face at Swerve’s ragged venting and still-flickering visor. You rested your cheek against his plated thigh, stroking the other with the hand no longer cradling his flagging spike. His helm lolled forward a bit, clarity beginning to blink back into his optics as he gazed down at you. Suddenly he let out a sharp gasp, one servo flying to cup the back of your head, digits splayed and feeling around frantically. Then he let out a soft, relieved sigh, the desperate groping of his servo slowing into something absent-minded and soothing.

“Whew. I didn't get any in your hair.” A quiet chuckle slipped through his dermas as he twiddled a bit of your hair between two digits. 

“Got it a few other places though. Not that I'm complaining.” You made a show of wiping your fingers across your chin before drawing them into your mouth and lapping them free of his fluids. He shivered, a delicate blue glow rising to his face plate, split wide in a crooked smile.

“C-careful now, or you might get me all charged up again. Then we’ll be here all night.”

“You’re saying that like you think it'd be a bad thing.” You teased.

“It wouldn't, if I didn't have to get back to work soon…” Swerve trailed off, that gentle glow beginning to rise into a furious blush. “How, uh… How much of that do you think they could hear?”

Beyond the door you could just barely make out a congratulatory cheer in a voice that sounded just a little bit too close to Whirl’s. His celebration seemed to be working up the crowd, and soon a resounding cacophony was echoing through the storeroom door. Swerve’s free servo flew up to cover his face plate, helm clanking back against the door as he let out a humiliated groan.

“Oh Primus. I'm never gonna live this down.”

[til-all-are-loved]

{Fanboy}

Swerve x Reader Headcanons

SFW and NSFW

Swerve has watched every single piece of media from television and movies. He considers himself an expert on human behavior and culture.

It would be awesome for you if that was even remotely true.

Instead you put up with his stream of endless chatter filled with references that don’t make sense. You correct him when you have the energy for it but sometimes it’s easier to just let him believe what he wants to.

When you’re friends, he picks you up each morning to drive you to wherever you need to be. You never asked him to do this, but wouldn’t take it for granted. He asks if you had breakfast, asks you to tell him what you ate, how you cooked it. Sleep well? Did you dream? And did you finish that show he asked you to watch? A barrage of questions that you gracefully answer each morning. It becomes a comfortable routine.

Some days Swerve is the only bot you talk to, your only real friend aboard the lost light. Your conversations turn to your problems back home, you talk about your family, job, painful memories, school bullies. It feels easy to talk to him about anything.

Over time he talks less, listens more. In a way you’re his only real friend aswell. He’ll take you to his bar just so that the conversation never ends.

Your rapport is comfortable and safe, physical boundaries between you melt. It starts small, giving you a small boost to get on a barstool. He’ll place you on his shoulders so that you can see better, he offers tentative hugs when you seem sad, he’ll pick up your hands in his and look into your eyes—

Your tiny yet huge expressive eyes—he can’t look into them for long. The connection feels intimate and it makes him squirm. Buried fantasies bubble to the surface only to get shoved away. His spark feels like it shrinks a size.

You sense his trepidation and pull his hand closer to you. You speak softly, “It’s okay Swerve.” And place a chaste kiss on the side of his helm.

This turns him into an absolute mess. His fans kick on noisily, he curses and apologizes for his poorly maintained cooling system. The excuse doesn’t fly with you, you reassure him that you don’t mind.

Pulling him in again to whisper in his audial, you tell him you need company tonight and drag him by the hand into your hab-suite, the door closing with a soft-click. He stumbles around stuttering over himself.

Swerve fidgets constantly when he’s in your hab-suite, tapping his fingers and venting air to calm his nerves. He tries to mask his awkwardness with humor but fails adorably.

You gently take his hand, pulling him in for an embrace. This intimate closeness both reassures and flusters him. He admits he’s not used to being serious or open about his feelings, and he struggles to articulate what your relationship means to him.

You feel him place a hand gently on your back. His touch is hesitant but warm in its own way, the cool metal a comforting contrast to the warmth of his spark you can practically feel humming through him.

The touch sends a shiver through you. You nestle closer to his chest with one hand on his shoulder you use the other to guide his hand down your back. He cups your soft ass with his large hand. He's a minibot but still one servo is big enough to envelop your entire backside.

Emboldened, he squeezes softly. Moving his other hand across your back he slips it under your shirt disgarding the garment. He ex-vents hard, the sound marked with excitement.

Your entanglement moves to the bed in a few rushed desperate movements you're fully undressed and on your back. Laid bare he takes a long pause to admire your body before diving between your legs.

His mouth was cool and already slick with your own saliva. His faceplate absorbing your warmth mingled him the sensation of his glossa licking on your desperate cunt. Clearly enjoying your noises he grabs your thighs pulling your hips up into his face.

Clearly Swerve is very enthusiastic about giving head, but he'll use his thick digits inside of you. Stretching you out, curling and feeling your silky insides.

He doesn't waste time in trying to get you to come, he's just so enthusiastic about you, so desperate to please. Your orgasm comes as a swift force erupting through your stomach and out your wet pussy.

You look up to see him smiling and kissing your lower legs. His face dripping with your fluids.

[drabbletron]

headcanon: Swerve is the best at dirty talk because he never shuts up, Megatron is the best at dirty talk because he's so poetic, Skids is the best at dirt talk because he learns all the right things to say, Ratchet is the best at dirty talk because of experience, and Rodimus is the best at dirty talk because he's too proud to be less than the best at it.

[revelboo]

I had a question for you! What would your headcannons be if a few IDW autobots walked in on you naked. Let's say you finally were able to get washed up and take off your towel when someone like Rodimus or Swerve walks in. How do you think they'd react?

I feel like Swerve would try flirting while failing, meanwhile Optimus apologies profusely, immediately shielding his eyes.

Oh, poor Optimus. Still embarassed even though he’s been intimate with his human

Accidentally Flashing Bots Headcanons

Optimus

• Head thrown back into the warm spray, you’re half tempted to go give Wheeljack a kiss on those blinky vocal indicators of his for rigging up showers for all of you humans. Suspect his human might not appreciate that, though. Poor thing is so lovesick and it’s their luck that their bot is oblivious. You’d told them they should just strip naked, order him to mass shift, and ride him into the sunset. That comment had only gotten you shocked looks from all of the other humans. Except the one stuck with Prowl. They’d gone red faced and refused to meet anyone else’s eyes. Well, at least you’re not the only alien fucker of the group. Shutting off the water when you hear the door open, you push aside the sheet of plastic meant to give you some privacy and step out.

• Turning at the soft rustle, he startles and immediately averts his optics. Because you’re naked and wet. And laughing at him. “I think we’re past modesty, big guy,” you say, grabbing a towel and bending over to dry your hair. There’s no not staring at you now. Especially when you glance back at him with a little snort and pointedly slide your thigh a little so you’re more on display in invitation and his spike throbs. “You know, I can always take another shower.”

Swerve

• Coming in to his habsuite, he rubs a hand against the back of his neck as he stretches. Where are you? You’re usually waiting to greet him, smiling up at him. Being quiet in case you’re sleeping in your nest, he leans to look and vents sharply. Well, you’re in your nest of blankets, head thrown back and naked. A hand between your thighs, little fingers pumping into yourself and he groans. And your little head snaps toward him, eyes wide as you claw to drag a blanket over yourself and he covers his optics with a hand. “I wasn’t spying on you, I swear. I mean, I can leave so you can finish if you want?” Even though he wants to watch you. Wants to touch you. And you groan, completely hidden under your blanket when he peeks.

• Why is he back early? Mortified, you hide under your blankets. And you can hear him awkwardly shuffling around. Probably as horrified at catching you as you are about being caught. Does he even know what you’re doing? He acted like he did. He’d asked if you needed him to leave so you could finish. You’re not going to be able to look him in the optics after this.

Rodimus

• Face turned up toward the spray, you let the warmth relax tired muscles. And nearly jump out of your skin when something brushes against you. Hip and shoulder banging against the little shower Brainstorm had rigged for you, you try to shove a mass displaced Rodimus out while covering important bits. “What are you doing?” And he stares at you before awkwardly turning his back to you. Still not leaving.

• “The wash racks were full,” he mutters, plating heating as you swear at him and try to shove him out. And maybe he’d wanted to see what a human looked like under all those coverings. What you looked like. Flustered, he stands under the spray with his back to you. How angry would you be if he touched you, because you look so soft and wet. Had gotten a glimpse before you’d covered yourself. Enough to realize you’re made to take a spike. That maybe mass shifted, you could take him. Shouldn’t be wondering about that as his plating pops and becomes uncomfortably warm. Becoming dangerous.

[robolvrr]

galaxy girl ༉‧₊˚.

long way from home? you must be awfully lonely.

[ donations : open! ]

swerve/rewind/whirl x gn! fem camgirl warnings: nsfw!

it's an accident.

ultra magnus had pretty much declared no "contraband" allowed aboard, unless it was bought ethically and consumed ethically. whatever that meant.

"it's in the guidelines", he'd said. "and we can't just abandon the rules. it's what prevents this place from caving into vicious decline."

in short? "don't have fun guys. i'm a giant pole in the mud."

so it wasn't all that surprising when that got thrown out the window. it was usually little things. some other-planetary historical junk. doo-dads and whatchamacallits. brainstorm had a terrible habit of smuggling shit that no doubt would actually blow up the place.

when swerve started suggesting smuggling entertainment, in efforts to of course make the bar a little more interesting, not many disagreed. granted he has to keep it a total secret (though we all know the ships gossip can only keep his mouth shut a cycle a time.)

from the sound of it? he's found something good.

"now listen. i paid an arm and a servo for this, so i better not hear any complaints. don't ask me how i got to work - because i don't know!"

a groan cuts through his speech. whirl chitters in his seat, banging the table.

"get on with it! i don't have all night to hear you toot your own pipes."

swerve doesn't even crinkle his smile.

"oh cmon, don't be like that pal. you guys don't even know what i have!" he turns around, bent behind the bar top as he rummages through belongings.

he's gotten a mildly entertained "first viewership party" consisting of whirl, rewind, aaaaaand...

well. the others weren't too interested in one on one time, all making up great excuses to just "wait until it's ready."

a thin, screened device is plopped onto bar top.

rewind stares.

"... a geriatric electronic. swerve wow you've.. you've really outdone yourself there."

his frown turns to a pout and he moves it away before whirl has a chance to crush it.

"hey. don't say that. it's not the device, it's what's on the device. i'm talking connections outside the species. full, galactic communication. for free!"

rewind looks a little dubious. "i don't know. you've been scammed before. what if it doesn't work-"

"rewind, buddy, i love you, really, i do. but that last time doesn't count because i was totally given some very misleading information---"

whirls servos jolt forward with frustrated ease. he almost yanks the poor thing wide open.

"will ya both stop yapping my processor off! just show the damn thing! i am missing out on prime wrecker -"

the screen finally lights up. the trio quiet down, and it's funny, because they have to crowd around the smaller screen and there's some shoving and grumbling before they can actually see. it opens up to a "browser" - that's what the broker called it.

a used "laptop" but working functionally and much less sophisticated than any of the other tech they frequently used. wasn't a surprise they were so advanced compared to their spacial neighbors.

the browser had a chat pinned at the right. some of the language was understandable but most was not. either way it was moving too fast and that wasn't what was catching attention either.

it was you.

you look to be in a room. berthroom?

"bedroom", swerve corrected rewind quietly. what? he's seen enough movies.

it's pale and pink and soft. lacking alloy, or hard surfaces. it's so painfully.. soft looking. and you are too. your hair is pinned up and there's something small and cylinder strapped to the inside of your thigh. the wire is taped. your face is partially hidden under a thin mask, though your nose and lips are visible. lace and sheer mesh plaster your frame.

"... is that a fragging fleshie."

swerve bites his servo. oh primus, what did he buy?!?

"uh. it appears it is."

whirl squints. his golden optic trains on the movement you provide. how your fingers trail up your waist. when you tap back to your viewers on the keyboard, giving cheeky laughs and little looks down your cleavage.

"... she's tiny. could probably squeeze her and she'd yelp like a turbo fox."

rewind shifts uncomfortable. leave it to whirl to make things weird.

"that's what you're focusing on? not the fact that swerve just smuggled on. organic porn onto the ship?!"

swerve shushes them both, loud. he feels admittedly a little hot under his visor. you're not looking at them, it's not how the camera works - you are broadcasting yourself. but it certainly feels like you've got that coquette, impish gaze all for him, sighing soft and starting to move your hips. he's not a prude.

he's seen plenty of those human movies and some of them had the species interfacing thrown in. it's all acting, though.

this feels raw. feels like he's being a little pervert voyeur.

suddenly, he has the urge to go back to his habsuite and loosen his modesty panels some. they feel tight.

"you like that, sunshines?"

amidst the baffled bickering, your voice coyly whispers and tugs their attention, forces their heads to turn. you got closer to your camera, turning around until your knees rest on the pillow.

neither of them can even describe what they're looking at. you don't have a spike, and your valve looks nothing like any cybertronian. but it's wet and pink and messy. there's something pink plugging up the other hole too. it's got that same, soft fluff as your nightgown at the end. whirl's knee hits the table hard.

"you guys have all been so good for me. i think it's high time you get your rewards. i love when i can make you all happy. mmn.."

several dings blast the speakers. the device on your thigh buzzes. you sing the prettiest note of pleasure any of them have ever had the millions of years to experience.

your face goes into the pillow. every donation is met with whimpers and thank yous and whiny support.

"primus. oh my.. geez. frag. she's so... it's so flexible. you're recording this right? rewind, tell me you are."

"i am, swerve, shush!"

you look so cute. they can't explain why.

maybe it's because you know most of the viewers aren't your kind, but your smaller frame is still just as enticing. your skin glistens as you kick your legs, overwhelmed. stockings peel down and it's about the sexiest thing since wireplay.

"yoooo, swerve!"

the three mechs almost yell in unison. the laptop is shut hard. swerve is the first to turn around. his smile looks dopey and he sucks at lying.

"heyyyyyyy. heyyyyyy. do what do i owe the pleasure, captain? didn't ya hear? opening hours changed for today!"

rodimus quirked a brow-ridge. weird. "uh-huh. did you? sorry, didn't know." didn't remember. he probably wasn't listening. "hoo, anyways. i need you to look into hosting an event. you see, there's been some in-fighting with the crew."

"how awful!" swerves dentae grits. his smile is bordering painful. rodimus pats his shoulder and the last thing he wants is to be touched by anyone when his spike is threatening to chub.

"yeah, i know. lack of camaraderie just won't do. makes a spark hurt, you know? so, i had a brilliant idea. you are gonna host a party. a big one! one that not even ultra magnus can question, because he'll be invited. unfortunately."

"super!" by the stars above, strike him down now!

"see, i knew you were the minibot for the job. i dunno why they always complain about you."

"shucks, thanks -- wait what?"

rodimus continues. whirl has long stalked off but from the sound of crunching metal on his exit, he's just as pissed that he's gotten a bit of a spike kill. or maybe he's just mad a flesh bag has gotten him riled up. probably both.

but one thing is painfully clear. this?

best purchase of his life.

[rungssparemodelpieces]

Human, hanging out at Swerve’s: “I bet I can drink you under the table!”

Swerve: “I’d like to see you try!”

Human, smirking before getting under the table to suck off that spike

Swerve, all flustered: “Apparently you ca-Ah-an…”

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Read your Swerve X human fic and oh my Primus… a true master piece. A small part had me think if Swerve would be able to handle cockwarming?

I’m glad you liked my fic anahdhsiajbdhf ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!

And I don’t think Swerve could handle cockwarming. He’d definitely suggest it thinking it’s romantic but the second you sink onto his spike he’s biting his servo trying not to pound you into his berth.

You’re just so soft and wet and cute and the way you just clenched around him-

Aaaaand he’s done.

Swerve would wrap his servos around your waist to steady you before fucking into you like a rabbit in heat.

“Sorry!” He cried. “You just feel so good!”

“Swerve!” You moaned in a mixture of disappointment and arousal.

Swerve only huffed angling his hips to better ruin your sloppy hole.

I also believe that Swerve has an insane libido and would pounce on his human any time of day. Definitely the type to towel whip you.

[megtrns]

not to sound insane but i'm bedridden at the thought of being intimate with these giant bots — no, not interfacing (although that's also great), but rather the nervous brushing of fingers against servos, the firm press of skin against metal, the bend and curve of muscle to cradle the shape of their armors. 

fort max, who came to life in the crux of war and violence, wiping a stray eyelash from the corner of your eye, servos faintly trembling as they tentatively cross the space between your bodies. unsure and afraid of hurting you, he tries not to exert too much effort, constantly reminding himself that just because his mass was displaced doesn't mean he didn't have the strength to tear mechs apart with his bare hands. his optics, garnet red under the distant starlight, soften the moment you lean your cheek against his open palm; the skin under his touch, smooth and organic and alive with a warmth he didn't know existed. 

brainstorm running his digits playfully over your face — tickling your nose, your chin, your ear — causing you to giggle against the pillows as he conducts a thorough examination for the purpose of 'science', using it as an excuse to 'stimulate your nerves' and make you smile. here, face to face with him above the mattress, with laughter embracing your bodies like a weighted blanket, you let him gently trace his servos across your lips. the scientist, drunk on studying you. 

swerve letting you throw your arms around his neck — body melting against his chest plates, nose already buried at the crook of his neck cables to express your sympathies. you were one of the few people who see through the chink in his optimistic armor, always trying to cheer him up even before he even realized he needs the comfort. and how can he not feel better already, when you were looking up at him like he hung the stars for you? 

perceptor catching himself in awe of human irises and the myriad of colors they take after. he thinks it's beyond fascinating that, for some, the eyes reflect the color of their seas, cerulean blue dissolving against white foam. and other times even the forest, their strange and halcyon woodlands dense with emerald trees that sway with the wind. but most curious of all, he thinks, is the color of the earth : darker than rust yet radiant like the sun — a shade that doesn't naturally occur on his planet, swimming like liquid gold behind your eyes.

megatron, elusive and distant, anchored by the delicate weight of your fingers above his servos. when he saw your hand sliding across your lap from under the metal table — using the distraction caused by whirl in the middle of a crowded night at swerves — to move closer to his, megatron had thought about stopping you. he thought about retracting his hand to excuse himself back to his hab-suite. but the ex-warlord is tired and worn, powerless against the sight of your affections. so he let it happen — and it was fleeting, only a brush and barely a touch. yet it went straight to his spark like a jolt of electricity. just like that, under your fragile, tiny hands, the mighty has fallen.