#tf fanfic

[the-decepticon-apologist]

Me trying to remember the plot for the TF fanfic I was writing after I haven’t touched it for 7 months:

[jarofloosescrews]

I got to take part in the @tfbigbang-blog and it was such a great experience.

I wanna thank my author partner, @legendtrainer for all their time and work, please check out their awesome story here:

Summary:

In just a few short days, the Autobots, already on the back foot in their civil war, have lost their single greatest advantage — Prowl.

Unable to pinpoint the culprit, Jazz grows desperate. His faction doesn't have the time or resources to burn on a protracted, dead-end search, but Jazz knows they can't afford to give up. There are no long-term prospects for survival without their tactician.

Taking the investigation into his own hands only gets him pity from those who think Prowl is long gone and that Jazz is in far too deep, but he doesn't see another option.

He's gotta do it anyway.

---

Also huge thanks to the mods of this project, it was a huge project and their organizing skills were impeccable.

[hello-gloomy]

Okay, but Shockwave-

Like imagine him holding you in his servo while reading over some reports, and, at some point, he tightens his hold on your body digits, starting to caress your warm little body. It was beginning to distract you from whatever you were doing, so you stopped and looked up at him, only to find he wasn't even paying attention to what he was doing. His digit starts to go under your clothes, and you're trying to stay quiet so as not to disturb him from his work, but he starts massaging your chest, and you are letting out little mews in response to him. You try wiggling out of his grasp, but his hold is too tight.

Lol lemme stop (unless?)

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

On Transformers and Human soulmate tropes...

(i do personally attack starscream at the end, i'm sorry starscream lovers, i love him too, but he's just a sad, devious little guy.)

Just a little thought here, so, I love soulmate tropes. Depending on the plot, they can be really fun and take so many interesting paths as a medium used within storytelling, whether romantic or platonic.

But what i want to talk about specifically is Transformer x Human soulmate tropes. Like, you have this super sweet side to it where the bot can be like 'I have waited my entire life to find you, finally, I can hold you in my arms and we never have to part again'. Depending on the character/story/type of SM (soulmate, shortening it because I'm not gonna keep writing it out) trope of course.

Can I just say how...instrumentally fucked this is though? So you have this race of robots who live for, what is essentially millennia out in the wild unless they catch the smoke. Their soulmate ends up being this little creature that lives for 80, maybe 100 years tops before dying. -Unless we're going for some kind of mind switch body type thing, but we all know how that went with spike in g1.

Our beloved robo blorbos will eventually have to cope with the fact that their soulmate, the person or creature they're MEANT to be with via laws of the universe, will die a LOT sooner than they will.

This especially hits hard with the decepticons who, depending on continuity -- hate humanity already. Bots who've gone through so much, losing their home, friends, and their dignities; have to learn to put up with and accept this creature as their fated mate/spouse/conjux endura, whatever you want to call it- SOULMATE.

Then the decepticons just have to deal with the fact that they're going to lose this person too, just like they've already lost everything else and oh GOD. Maybe they choose to forget about them and move on, stay alone and mourn what could have been if the universe hadn't had such a fucked sense of humor. Maybe they choose to accept it, but never let their SM too close because they know they'll just be hurt so much more hurt when the inevitable comes.

Then you have to think about decepticons having to possibly protect their SM from other cons! From being taken and 'saved' by the autobots.

Imagine some bots or cons just flying off the handle, going crazy just to try and keep their human alive in any way they possibly can, afraid of running out of time.

(Starscream lovers forgive me for the angst)

And Starscream especially, Maybe he'd try. He'd have a great time, take a chance, and give it a go. But what if he's actually terrified? Maybe he'd also self sabotage a little, knowing the relationship will never last too long anyways; not in the short blink of time it would be next to his life. Maybe, he doesn't actually know what to do with himself in a positive relationship after being, i dunno, consistently dogged on by megatron and he freezes.

There's something actually good for him, and since he isn't sure how to receive or accept that fact, he's gone. And maybe he'll come back, but the cycle could repeat.

(Im sorry, unless you put a tracker on him and call his ass and really give him some therapy. get him some god damn therapy.)

But yeah. All around, the angst potential is immense for this stuff and it makes me sad to think about so I thought i would share it instead of just write about it in an actual fic because my character analysis and ability to comprehend my own thoughts is so shit.

Okay, CIAOOOOOO~

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Starscream is given a bath, Part 4:

Bet y’all thought I was done with this. I’m not done, I was just stuck on this part for a really long time. It wasn’t going the way I wanted it to, but then again, I always have doubts when it comes to Starscream’s characterization.

Anyway, it ended up being pretty long. 1298 words. I’m not all too satisfied with it, but I gotta just post it and move on.

Part 3: here

——————————————————————————

“Starscream.”

He opened his optics once more, taking a few seconds to recalibrate. It appeared that he had actually fallen into a recharge without noticing. He looked down at himself, seeing that his arms and chest were looking…shinier than usual. He flexed his digits, touching the tip of every talon to his thumb. She’d done a good job, for a human. Collecting himself but still feeling a little drowsy, Starscream looked down at her.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I need to clean your vents.”

He bristled at that statement, his expression quickly turning sour. “You don’t need to do that.” He waved a servo, wings flattening behind his back.

“Come on, would you rather be breathing dirty air for the rest of your life?”

“My cooling system cleans itself.” He huffed. “I thought you knew that by now.”

“Your air filtration and internal components do. The vents don’t. They’re external.” Damnit, why did she have to know so much about cybertronian biology? The human reached up, her hands grabbing onto the vents on both sides of his face and tugging on them. He grumbled at that, still wanting to avoid this wretched fate. Nevertheless, he allowed her to pull him down. He knew by now that arguing would be pointless.

“I won’t get any water in, I’m just gonna run a towel over them.” She let go of him, stepping out of the bathtub. She quietly walked to a cabinet, opening it and grabbing a soft little towel. The human ran some warm water over it, before squeezing out the excess and returning to him.

“Lean on the side of the tub, please?”

He didn’t say anything, but did as told. His wings were hanging low, as flat as they possibly could be. Seriously? Did he hate vent cleaning that much?

“This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”

He only grumbled in response.

The human brought the towel up to him, first rubbing it over his faceplate to wipe off anything that wasn’t cleaned by the initial run of water. She cleaned him with the soft cloth using one hand, the other holding onto the side of his vent intake to keep him still. Starscream had shut his optics as tightly as possible, not moving an inch during this part of the cleanup.

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice gentle as if talking to a child. “Doesn’t that warmth feel so soothing, Starscream?”

“Don’t patronize me.” He replied, his voice muffled from the towel she kept rubbing on his face. The human just chuckled at the sight.

“Now if you just tilt your head back, I can move on to the vents.”

He did as instructed, but she could easily see how tense he was. Starscream’s servos gripped the sides of the bathtub, holding himself still. She tilted his chin up ever so slightly, noting that the seeker still refused to open his optics. Slowly and being as gentle as possible, she pressed the towel into his vents, using her fingers to assist in cleaning any grime off the grilles. The process went smoothly for the most part, Starscream obviously uncomfortable but managing to keep himself still. All the way until-

He yelled and kicked up the water when she touched a bad spot, his servos finding and gripping her wrists as he pulled her away from himself.

“That’s enough touching, thank you very much.” Starscream scrambled away to the other corner of the tub, a flash of irritation on his faceplate and a defensiveness to his mannerisms.

“Hang on, I think I saw something in there.”

The seeker wrapped his arms around his frame, pulling his knees all the way up to his chest. The human let out a soft sigh, sitting on the side of the tub and trying to sound as gentle as possible.

“Do you want me to get it?”

He met her gaze and the look on his faceplate momentarily shifted as though she’d just offered to rip his spark out. Then, his expression changed again to one of contemplation. He knew this was going to hurt. But he also knew that he was going to feel much worse over the long run if she didn’t get it out. Could she really, though? Get it out?

Starscream could tolerate pain, best to just get it over with. Better her than asking the Autobots for help. Fine, he’d trust her to get it out.

“Fine. Just… be quick about it?” He asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

The human nodded, and Starscream shuffled back to his previous spot, unusually timid. He was partially acting, pretending to be more scared than he actually was with the hope that it’d earn him a gentler touch.

“Try not to make any sudden moves, alright? I won’t lose a finger if you flinch, not there, but please… be mindful of your strength.”

“Right. The usual.” He replied with a tiny chuckle and a subtle crack of his voice.

Evidently, it had worked. She held his faceplate between her hands, positioning it just right so she could see inside the grilles- which he had feathered to a 90-degree angle for better access.

“Thank you.”

She leaned forward, peering inside. Once she had a good look at the piece of debris, she spoke up.

“Okay, I’m gonna start now. Don’t panic.”

Starscream didn’t resist, just kept his optics shut hoping that this would all be done soon. Carefully, the human reached her fingers inside- this felt weird. This felt so weird. Cooling vents were not supposed to have anything solid entering them. Not so deep. Even though he knew the human’s hand was there to help him, that she was not a threat, he had to clench his servos in order to ignore every coded instinct telling him to keep his vents clear, to remove the obstruction that was her hand immediately.

He was so focused on keeping still that he didn’t even realised she was done until his temperature regulation system suddenly stopped yelling at him. Hesitantly opening his optics once more, he was met with the sight of the human looking down at him, a shard of metal in her hand covered in dried energon.

The first thing he felt was relief, as he took in a strong intake of air and a slight smile found its way to his faceplate.

That hadn’t hurt all that much.

“See? Got it out. didn’t hurt too much, I hope.”

Seeing as he didn’t reply, she continued.

“But I think it left behind a cut, do you need me t-“

Oh no. He knew exactly what she was going to ask, and he wouldn’t allow it.

“No, no need!” he suddenly cut her off, and grabbed the piece of shrapnel from her hand, examining it. “If this is all that was in there… my frame will be able to repair any leftover damage on its own now.”

He turned his gaze back down to her.

“As helpful as you have been, I’d rather not have you rooting through my internals any longer than you absolutely have to. Especially there.” he explained, an aversion of his optics accompanying that last word. He didn’t want to seem rude, especially after all this human had done.

“Hmm, that’s fair. I guess I see why it’d be uncomfortable if our roles were reversed.”

He was relieved at her understanding. Well, his problem was solved. He should probably thank her for that. Starscream scoffed. He was doing too much thanking today.

“I’m…grateful. For the help.”

She smiled. Huh. There she went again. He could really get used to that.

“Don’t mention it. Must’ve been painful. And besides, it’s not time to thank me yet. We’ve still gotta do your wings.”

[starimusprime]

dont mind me,, just tweaking over ur literature and playin the guessing game 😖😖

Yeah, this is pretty much what I have in mind!

Also WHAT!! I’ve never gotten fanart of my fics before, and this is TOO CUTE AAA THANK YOU MUNE 😭💜

[orion-archives]

MegaSound Week - 2024

Day 4: Dreams / Nightmares

Frag

Soundwave onlined his optics, looking around in confusion and panic. He realized he was no longer standing on the bridge, surrounded by the Nemesis’ computers but laying on a berth… in Megatron’s personal chambers?!

How long had he been on recharge? How could HE have fallen on recharge on the job? How did he even get here, in his leader's room?

Soundwave, cursing internally, was lifting his body from the berth, ready to run back to the bridge and continue his work when, suddenly, someone pulled him by the arm, grabbing him tightly.

“Don’t get up,” spoke a deep, raspy voice in the dark. “I found you knocked out in the bridge and brought you here.”

Soundwave immediately recognized who the owner of said voice was and his frame relaxed a little bit. He then looked to his side and spotted Megatron’s giant frame beside him. The warlord was staring at him with drowsy optics, an indication Megatron had been recharging too.

The silent Decepticon was about to use a clip from someone else’s voice to ask Megatron to let him go so he could return to his duties, but before Soundwave could even make a noise, the warlord answered his question:

“You need to rest, stay here and recharge…” Megatron then changed to his usual commanding tone, making clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “That is an order.”

Obedient as always, Soundwave returned to laying on the berth. Megatron pulled him closer, his arms hugging Soundwave as the warlord nuzzled his head on Soundwave’s visor. He started to purr, making the silent Decepticon relax his frame, slowly starting to fall asleep again.

“Rest now, Soundwave,” hushed Megatron, feeling Soundwave’s spark beating, “you deserve it.”

Soundwave didn’t raise any objections. As he slowly fell back into recharge state, the TIC started to record the sound of Megatron’s vents and sparkbeat as he let the warlord snuggle with him.

Soundwave then thought: Maybe he should fall asleep on the job more often; it came with very good benefits…

I like to think Soundwave dreams of a peaceful place where he can rest without worry and has no pending duties, just total silence to enjoy.

Megatron's dreams are him exploding Optimus with his mind.

[sketchnskribbles]

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

“Things have been far too quiet lately.” Ratchet mused in a low voice, with a quick suspicious look to the locked jet. “Save for our new unwanted resident, nothing out of sorts has happened in a good while.”

“They're biding their time.” Arcee agreed with a grim tone.

Bulkhead just looked plain antsy. Which went along with the thrum of anxiety that had been filtering through the air since obtaining their current prisoner. It was never a good thing to have bored soldiers itching for a fight in the same vicinity as an enemy captive.

Ratchet struggled to think of some tasks he could have them do for him. There was still that leak down in Corridor - C. They were probably also due for a quick stock check on their supplies. Decision made, he sent them off. They grumbled but complied. Leaving the main room back into the tentative peace it’d been in.

Or so Ratchet had thought.

A notification window popped up and interrupted his current task. It was Wheeljack requesting to be bridged to base. Withholding a groan, the medic inserted the command and pulled the lever. As he turned toward the bridge’s light in wait, Miko had dropped the eraser she’d been furiously using. Having finally gotten around to doing some of her homework, she struggled on figuring out the equations of her math class.

The eraser hit the floor at an awkward angle and the rubber flung itself out wide in the air. With hardly a thought, the exchange student flew after it. Her shoes squeaked against the hard ground below. Arms outstretched with hardly any notice to anything else.

Jack’s and Raf’s cries of warning were left unheard by her single-focused devotion to catching that eraser. She grinned when the pink rubber finally lost altitude in its arch and felt that she was successful in getting to the spot she needed to be to grab it out of the air.

Her legs slammed into something hard. Pain burst through her and the eraser only just brushed against her fingertips.

It began it's descent downwards… and Miko found herself going down with it. It was the in the next moment when her brain finally registered that she had hit into the railing and her momentum was taking herself over it. Down a deep drop.

Panic froze her limbs and took her voice, save for a shallow gasp as she found herself feet over head. In the next beat of her heart, she could hear all of the yells and the burst of movement around her.

In her line of vision, large gray hands swooped down in an attempt to catch her but only just missed by inches. Miko’s heart stuttered.

Everything had slowed down. Moving in time with her heartbeat. Which had become very loud to her ears. Her eyes blurred with water. Her brain simultaneously focused on the fact that she might just die, but also couldn’t find herself quite comprehending it.

Then all at once it seemed to click and found herself screaming and flailing. The air whistling in her ears.

Then she stopped.

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

[startheskelaton]

I did a script for a comic I may or may not do . Go crazy, you can read it for 6 bucks if you want

[acoffeemug]

Love making creatures

Here my interpretation of a creature in Chapter 4 from a fic of @whatwooshkai

Crystalized Energon Entity

That was a fun draw

[mecha-milkers]

I CAN TREAT YOU BETTER THAN HE CAN BABYGIRL GIVE ME A CHANCE

BARK BARK WOOF WOOF AWOOOGA-

[rubski02]

My piece for @tf-bigbang !! Amazing and fun fic by @bairdcrevan !!

Go read it >: D <3

[vengefulwings]

Megatron / Soundwave (Pre-War)

The Cybertronian coliseum pulsed with the roar of the crowd, a sea of metallic faces gleaming under the artificial lights. Energon-splattered sands bore the weight of countless battles, and tonight would be no different. Gladiators strode into the arena to test their mettle, each seeking victory, fame—or survival.

Among them was Megatronus, a towering ex-miner whose reputation had already begun to eclipse others. His movements were calculated and powerful, his crimson optics scanning the space like a predator. Yet, for all his notoriety, this was his first time facing an unfamiliar name: Soundwave.

The gate across from him groaned as it opened, and out stepped the enigmatic figure. Tall and leaner than most gladiators, Soundwave’s face was a blank visor reflecting the glaring lights. His posture was calm, almost eerily so, as if the jeers and cheers around him did not exist. The only sound from him was the faint whir of his systems, a symphony of mechanical hums that somehow harmonized with the chaos.

Megatronus found his optics lingering, intrigued. This gladiator was different—not just in appearance, but in the way he held himself, an aura that demanded attention without a single word.

---

The gong echoed. The battle began.

Soundwave moved like liquid, weaving through Megatronus’s thunderous strikes with grace that belied his size, tentacles always ready to strike. His movements were deliberate, a dance of precision and efficiency. It wasn’t long before the audience fell silent, enraptured by the duel.

“What are you?” Megatronus rumbled mid-battle, voice strained but laced with fascination.

Soundwave did not reply verbally. Instead, he dodged another swing and countered with a quick strike to Megatronus’s shoulder, forcing him back. The visor tilted slightly, a silent challenge.

Megatronus smirked, a rare expression for him. “Silent, yet so loud.”

The battle continued, but it was clear that neither fought to end the other. There was no overreach, no attempt to finish the duel. It was as if they were testing each other, learning.

---

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gong rang again, signaling a draw. The crowd erupted in mixed reactions, but neither gladiator seemed to care. Megatronus approached Soundwave, his massive frame casting a shadow.

“You intrigue me,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I’ve faced countless warriors, but none like you.”

Soundwave tilted his head, his visor flickering faintly as if considering the statement. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion yet somehow intimate, he replied, “Observation: you seek more than victory.”

Megatronus chuckled, a sound both dark and amused. “Perhaps. And what do you seek, Soundwave?”

There was a pause before Soundwave responded, his tone soft but firm. “Purpose.”

The single word struck Megatronus harder than any weapon. He saw a reflection of himself in it, an echo of the drive that had pushed him into the arena in the first place.

“You’ve found it,” Megatronus said, surprising even himself.

Soundwave didn’t answer immediately, but something shifted in the tilt of his head, a subtle acknowledgment. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the gate, his steps soundless despite his size.

Megatronus watched him go, an unfamiliar feeling stirring in his spark. For the first time in eons, he felt a connection—not of rivalry, but of understanding.

As Soundwave disappeared into the shadows, Megatronus knew this would not be their last meeting.

It was only the beginning.

[til-all-are-loved]

Hihii! Your IDW megatron makes my heart swoon (he's very well written, hehe) I'm wondering if you have HCs for G1 Megatron as well? Maybe with a human reader too

oops this became like a whole thing (do people even make oneshots anymore). also this became nsfw, if that's not what you wanted please shoot me another ask and i'll redo it <3

{Mascara Running Everywhere}

G1 Megatron x Reader One-Shot

NSFW, afab reader

rough sex | power dynamics | sex servant | 2110 words

You were just an average civilian, taking a walk down a public trail into the barren hills. Hiking seemed like a good idea—a chance to get outside, feel the sun on your skin, and maybe find some peace.

Wrong day for that. Very wrong.

The Decepticons were retreating when it happened. Out of nowhere, you were scooped up in the jaws of Ravage and whisked away to their headquarters. The world blurred past, and by the time the rushing air settled, you were unceremoniously dropped at Megatron’s feet.

For a long, harrowing moment, he simply stared down at you. Cold. Isolated. Frightened. Something flickered in those piercing red optics. Not pity—never pity. No, it was something darker. A desire to control, to dominate.

Your ordeal began soon after. They kept you in a cage—small, cramped, and situated in a high-traffic area like some grotesque display. The humiliation was endless. Decepticons would pass by, sneering, their optics glinting with amusement or disdain. Verbal jabs cut deep, their cruel laughter a constant reminder of your helplessness. You sat huddled, cold and shivering, alone in your prison. No signs of rescue. No one coming to help. By the second night, your sobs echoed through the metallic corridors.

At first, Megatron reveled in your despair. The sound pleased him, a testament to your broken will. But the noise soon became a distraction, grating against his patience. On the third night, he'd had enough.

The ground trembled under his heavy footsteps as he approached. You froze when his towering form loomed over the cage, his optics blazing down at you. He stared, silent and unreadable, before the lock clicked open. The door swung wide, and before you could even think to run, his massive servo descended.

His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either. The cold metal pressed against your ribs and hips, reminding you how fragile you were in his grasp. Struggling felt pointless. Resignation set in—you would endure whatever was coming next.

He carried you briskly to another room, its dim light casting long shadows. With a calculated motion, he placed you on a dashboard. The surface was unyielding beneath you, and the room thrummed faintly with energy. Megatron pulled up a chair and sat heavily, the impact reverberating through the space. He leaned in, his red optics casting an ominous glow that painted you in shades of crimson.

Without a word, his massive digits reached out, pinching at your clothing and prodding at your face. The gestures were curious, deliberate, and invasive. You didn’t flinch. There was no point. His gaze bore into you. As you endured his explorations you were as well analyzing his expression. Irritation curled into fascination, a smile played at his lips and his cheeks rose in satisfaction. He likes what he sees.

You dared not flinch as a digit stroked your face, swiping underneath your eye.

"Hmmmm." A low rumble of interest purred out of him, vibrating through the air. "What could this be?" he murmured, his optics narrowing as he examined his fingertip.

In the dim light, you caught a glimpse of it—a dark smudge of mascara on the tip of his grey finger. Your lip quivered involuntarily, betraying your nerves.

"Be still, my sweet bird," he said, his tone deceptively gentle, though there was no mistaking the edge of command beneath it. "Your war paint is... fascinating. A pity you've made such a mess of it." He held the smudge up for another moment, as though pondering its significance, before dismissively wiping it off on the edge of the table.

"Clean yourself up, whelp," he ordered, his optics locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. "And return to me only when you’ve made yourself beautiful again."

Before you could react, his massive servo enveloped you once more, plucking you from the table with an ease that reminded you just how insignificant you were in his grasp. The world blurred as he carried you off, his heavy steps resounding like distant cannon fire.

You were deposited abruptly onto the floor of another room, where a smaller figure waited. The one called Rumble stood there, arms full of towels, clothes, and various toiletries. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t linger long.

"Uh—yeah, boss says to, uh, clean yourself up... and, uh, yeah," he mumbled, unceremoniously shoving the pile into your arms before scuttling away like a startled rodent. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone.

The wash racks were utilitarian and grim, but the cold saltwater that poured over you was a surprising comfort after everything you’d endured. You scrubbed yourself clean, the sharp chill biting at your skin and grounding you momentarily in the present. When you turned to the pile of supplies, you were stunned to find an array of surprisingly high-quality products—luxurious even. Brushes, palettes, and powders lay in perfect order, the kind of items someone might steal from a boutique rather than find in a warlord’s lair.

Still, you worked quickly, applying your makeup with practiced hands in the reflection of a small handheld mirror. When you were finished, you steeled yourself with a deep breath and stepped into the hallway.

You didn’t make it far. Megatron swept you up again with terrifying speed, the force of it leaving your head spinning and your heart pounding. His laughter boomed, a deep, resonant sound that chilled you to the core.

“Well, well,” he mused, his voice a twisted mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “Such a pretty little pet to entertain me.”

His grip tightened just enough to remind you of your fragility as he carried you back to his quarters. When he sat down, it was abrupt and deliberate, the vibrations from his weight settling into the chair reverberating through you. He placed you on his massive thigh so that your legs straddled him, The force made you lurch forward forcing yourself to catch yourself on your hands. Leaning in close, his optics flaring brightly in the dimness. The faint whir of his internal mechanisms filled the silence as he examined you sprawled out on top of you.

“This is where I will keep you,” he commanded softly, his massive frame looming like a storm.

It was wrong. So utterly, undeniably wrong. And yet, somehow, you grew to look forward to your days with him.

He made sure you were cared for—though in his own twisted way. Deliveries of stolen luxury poured in: designer clothes, glittering jewels, opulent bags crafted for someone with a life far removed from this metallic fortress. Week after week, the offerings grew.

He expected you to dress for him, to dazzle with beauty, and, most importantly, to entertain. On days when you failed to captivate him, his disappointment was evident. With a dismissive wave of his massive hand, you would be sent away to try again, to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

And so, you lived for those fleeting moments when his raspy, low voice would utter words of praise. It was intoxicating, his approval. You found yourself craving it. Wondering what more you might earn if you pleased him enough. Surely, you thought, even your own pleasure could one day be a possibility.

That day, you had dressed with meticulous care for what had become your grueling eight-hour "shift" of looking perfect. The black silk dress you chose clung to your body like a second skin, its elegance heightened by the glittering diamond-encrusted bangles on your wrists and the delicate silver necklace resting against your collarbone. Every detail was deliberate, calculated to ensure you looked flawless.

He wasted no time. in sweeping you up and you were placed on his lap like a prized possession.

And thus began your dance. You shifted forward, bracing your weight on your hands. Your knees squeezed tightly against the sides of his massive thighs, as a rider on a saddle. You arched your back dramatically. You turned your head, your eyes meeting his with a smolder.

If it was his attention you wanted, you had it entirely.

His expression betrayed him, a flicker of surprise mingled with excitement. You’d caught him off guard, your boldness sparking a reaction that even he hadn’t anticipated.

You reach back to pull your dress back, tightly sliding off to expose your ass.

This earned you a pantherine smile, and a firm tug on your ankle. Now your ass lined against his-- what would one call it? "Modesty panel"? You almost laughed to yourself. The implication that there could be something beneath lit your imagination on fire. You imagined yourself being stuffed with a large warm metal cock in a slew of indecent ways.

With some new inspiration, you grind your hips against his crotch. He didn't release a servo from your ankle, observing you desperately search for some friction to achieve relief. With his other servo he slipped his digits under your dress, playing with the feeling of the fabric and your hot skin. With no effort at all and a quick snap he tore the garment off your body.

In a swift motion you were flipped onto your back. You silently gasped at the sudden exposure.

"Such a fragile little thing," he rumbled, his optics burning into you. "Do you squirm like this for anyone else?"

With a servo around your back he lifted you to another that now supported your ass as well as keeping your legs parted. With a hard click his plating hit the floor followed by a soft hiss. You watched his spike pressurize against your pussy.

You squirmed against him observing this alien dick. It was already covered in a thin slick lubricant, warm and pulsating. Small red lights trailed down the underside and some between paneling in the mesh. You lowered yourself excruciatingly slowly past the tip. You guessed that it was about 18 inches in length, an intimidating girth as well. It took almost a minute of bobbing up and down to stuff half of it up your pussy.

Megatron sighed and moved into a languid position. His other servo found its way to your back again and provided firm support to guide you up and down. A fierce roar of his internal fans was all the assurance that you were thrilling him. That and the frequent low staticky sighs he made while fucking you.

"Cry for me" He ordered. "Sing for me, human"

His demand was enforced with a thrust from his hips and a rapid increase in pace, earning him a wail from you. Your swollen cunt made hideous wet slapping noises off his body. The sensation your entire pussy being stretched while being mechanically railed sent waves of pleasure through you. Every movement built the intensity higher and higher. Your skin and core burned hot, the fire rising inside you. With a gasp and cry your body shuddered and you climaxed at last, your fluids dribbling down his spike.

His relentless pace did not let up as he continued fucking you through the orgasm before his spike pulsed and throbbed inside you. The sensation of incredibly hot cum filled your already sore pussy. Already filled to the limit the pink fluid dribbled out of you.

His body slumped further into the chair and he let out a crackling groan. His hands softened their grip on you and you took a deep breath, you hadn't realized how firmly you were being held until you were free.

His head tilted back, optics dimming slightly as a rare moment of quiet overtook him. “Hmph,” he muttered, his voice low and rasping. “You endure well… for a creature so small.”

You slid to the floor and gathered yourself. Your body trembled with exhaustion and something unnamable. He didn’t stop you, his optics dim and unreadable as you picked up the tattered remains of your dress.

“Go,” he commanded, his voice a deep rumble, quieter now but no less commanding. “Return to your chambers... and prepare yourself. You’ll be summoned again soon.”

You didn’t look back as you stepped out of the room, the echo of his words and the lingering weight of his touch still heavy on your skin. The metallic halls stretched ahead, cold and unfeeling, a stark contrast to the heat that still clung to you. You clutched the fabric tighter to your chest and walked on, your mind spinning, knowing that tonight would not be the last time you would entertain him.

The door slid shut behind you with a hiss, sealing away the towering warlord and the line you had crossed.

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

Mirage has my whole heart bro.

Just saw the movie. Yes I'm in love with him. He's such a chill dude. I loved every moment that he was on screen and I wish I could have more. My head is literally full of him but I do not have the words to express the exact feelings I have for him without spoilers. So I wont say anything but this. Im gonna try to write at least a little about this man since my motivation is back up.

Speaking of writing, when I do write about him I might add in some g1 quirks to him that he didn't have in the movie, but wtvr just be prepared my brain be workin on some funky shit rn. Oh and-

He definitely whimpers

[gl1tt3r-gutz-and-r0b0tz-sl]

I like this version of her head more. I might make it more digitally. I'm formulating my actual main au now, I'm just bipolar with everything lmfao