43, she / her but I happily accept 'dude'.
Proud polyamorous Aegosexual monster / slasher / Transformers fucker, Ghost enthusiast & Nameless Ghoul adorer. Considering that I both write AND reblog 'NSFW' content, I *will* block anyone who is under 18 from following me. Minors DNI !
I literally have a picture of 'The Character' in my bedroom...I've just apparently been on 'hiatus' while I collect 67 anime boy f/o's (and counting...) and, most recently, 16 more Transformer f/o's (Starscream first and always 💕)
I still love my Asa, but...Sexy Space Robots! 🥰
(I spent so long in the horror fandom and ONLY the horror fandom, it was about time I 'diversified' and added some f/o's who don't murder for shits and giggles...)
which mech do you think would absolutely lose it if you called them a good boy?
Swerve or Roddy would. Megatron would punish you for it, but it would be absolutely worth it. Minimus would love it, but be a flustered mess about it. I keep thinking about that Thundercracker dealing with a rut cycle ask. What if they did have those cycles extremely infrequently, but once they hit, they were a force to be reckoned with? 🔞 MDNI Mass displaced mech 🌶️
Help
Megatron x Reader
• Venting irritably as his fans cycle higher to try and deal with the increased heat permeating his frame, he looks around. Plating lifting aggressively as the alien scents and noises of the spacious building distract him, he frowns down at the proprietor as the organic sweeps three sets of clawed hands. “Discretion is our promise,” the alien simpers. “I think I have a species that you’ll find compatible to your needs. Newly discovered.” Rumbling, it’s mortifying to even be in this position. But this isn’t exactly a problem he can deal with on his own. Trying to just leaves him unsatisfied and aching. ‘I’m not interested in organics,’ he growls, lips curling.
• “Unfortunately, I don’t have any Cybertronians or similar lifeforms in my employ. I could try to arrange for one, but it would take time,” the proprietor says and his servos flex. Time means waiting and suffering. Because once his rut cycle starts, the only way to find any relief is to overload inside a partner. His own hand can’t even take the edge off the need. ‘Show me what you have,’ he snarls, reminding himself that fragging an organic wouldn’t be the end of the world. No one would even need to know. And razing the alien brothel to the ground wouldn’t help him at all.
• Looking up when a chime rings through your apartment, you want to groan. Because you’re being summoned. Still aren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here lightyears from your own world and no way back. Unable to speak and understand the language, terrified of the aliens around you. You’d come to in a cage with several other humans only to get dragged out alone. Fitted with a decorative collar with your owner’s name that also doubles as a translator. And you’d been given a choice. Work to pay your owner back for your cost plus interest to earn your freedom or be sold outright as a pet, toy, or food. Really, there was only one choice. It’s not awful work considering your kind is a novelty and not in high demand. Which unfortunately means it’s going to take forever to pay off your debt. Pulling on a sheer coverup that doesn’t actually cover anything, you stride down to the lobby.
• “I need to overload inside them. Is there an extra charge for that?” He growls, hating everything about this. How impersonal it all feels. ‘No fee,’ the alien assures him, hands sweeping as a door opens and an organic creature steps through. The alien tiny compared to him even mass displaced, but he immediately realizes why the proprietor chose them. They’re curiously Cybertronian in form, face, hands, body. Soft, but so eerily similar. ‘Hello,’ you say and there’s a strange dissonance between the sound and the movement of your lips and his plating lifts as his optics land on the collar. On the tag with the proprietor’s information. Knowing you’re likely chipped too so you can be retrieved if you’re stolen. Or if you run.
• He’s intimidating looking as he frowns down at you, his body all hard lines and angles. Living metal. Heart racing as you force a smile, you shrug off the coverup to pool around your bare feet and wait for him to say yes or no to you. Most aliens are curious about you, but end up refusing you. Saying you’re too strange. Some like that you’re exotic and alien. And you’ve learned a lot more about alien genitalia over the months than you ever wanted to know. He has a handsome face at least, you decide as you steal glances at him when he circles you. “Too fragile,” he growls and his deep voice is a pleasant surprise. ‘You won’t break me,’ you say and he hesitates like he didn’t expect you to answer not the proprietor.
• What even are you? The way you scent is intriguing, not unpleasant. That collar bothers him, though. Had known things like this happened in the outer worlds, but it lands a little too close to home. Reminds him of his past, of the mines. Of having no say, no choice in his own life. Spike pulsing behind his plating, that ache to release is almost all consuming. And you boldly meet his optics like you’re not afraid. “Do you want me?” He demands, reaching out a hand and you hesitate a klik before laying a warm hand in his and your field is a shock as it sinks into him. ‘Of course,’ you answer, but he knows it’s only what you’ve been told to say. Servos gripping your hand, you’re smiling up at him and leading him back the way you’d come.
Don't mind me dropping off a spicy TFP Soundwave request before I go to bed, perhaps a continuation of him using his data cables for bondage things? 😝😝😝😝
🤣 sure 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mech… eventually 🌶️
Needy
TFP Soundwave x Reader
• Startling when a cable snakes around you and hauls you out of the shower, you’re soaking wet as you look up at him and his head tips, visor brightening. “Can I help you?” You tease, because you’re pretty sure you know what he wants as he lifts you higher and stalks back to his desk. Hanging in his grip and dripping on him, you feel two more cables coiling around your legs just below your knees as a third snares your wrists and tugs your arms up over your head. Feel the last cable slide against your inner thigh and you tremble as his visor dims.
• Loves how you look like this, pinned and helpless in his grip, but not the least bit afraid of him. Pulling his datapad closer, he unfurls the tendrils at the end of a cable to stroke you and you tremble with a breathless moan. Venting to pull the scent of your need deep, he presses a tendril inside you, watching your hips buck. Releasing his spike to pressurize, he wraps his servos around himself, stroking as he plays with you.
• Trembling as you feel a second tendril pressing inside you, they’re both stroking and curling, moving independently to each other. And you’re apparently playing the part of his fidget toy as he makes notes on his datapad with one hand and pumps his spike with the other. Moaning his name as a third stretches you, you’re close. Unable to look away from his hand wrapped around his spike, the rough way he’s stroking himself as his tendrils tease you.
• Shuddering as he slides a servo against the head of his spike, you’re so slick you’re soaking his tendrils as they thrust and curl inside you. And you cry out, trembling as you come apart for him. Venting raggedly, he listens to you whimper when he slips his tendrils free and he moves you, cables shifting against you. Rubbing the head of his spike against you, smearing the slick beading at the head between your thighs. Too big right now to fit inside you, so he just rubs against you, frame heating as you tremble.
• He’s going to make a mess all over you if he keeps that up. Sliding the tip of his spike against you over and over as his venting gets rougher, fans cycling on. And he startles you when he mass shifts suddenly, pulling you down on his spike. Hips rolling under you before he shudders hard and you feel the heat of his release filling you. Cables sliding restlessly against you, he stares at you, a servo brushing your cheek before he pulls a mini datapad from subspace and goes back to making his notes, his tendrils lazily moving you on his spike.
Foursome, Female!Reader, (Jealousy and a little fighting). Blowjob, penetration, cunnilingus.
English isn't my native language. 18+ (There's a little lot of text here too)
The doors slid open with a clatter, you and Skywarp turned your gaze towards Thundercracker as he entered. Starscream, dozing behind you, stirred. Your hands reached out instinctively towards the blue mech, and he shifted, leaning towards you as you stood on their shared bed, and, smiling gently, touched the tip of his nose to yours.
"You’re not in such a hurry to greet us," a voice from behind made you jump. Turning round, you met Starscream’s still sleepy but clearly displeased gaze. Always so jealous…
“Don’t make things up. It’s just that I don’t see TC very often, that’s all. I love you both equally.”
“Them both equally?” Skywarp sounded offended now. Oh, God...
Thundercracker couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the amused look on your face. His right servo supports weight as he leans over you. Mech's lips are close to yours, as if soaking up the warmth before tasting it; the distance between you closes smoothly, and cold palms suddenly grab you under the armpits, pulling you away from the blue Decepticon. You don’t have time to catch Skywarp’s gaze as he interrupts your intimate moment, covering you himself and snatching a kiss. His sharp fingers dig into your cheeks and waist, leaving marks.
The two brothers’ eyes are locked on each other; TC’s claws have dug into the metal, causing Warp to smirk smugly and slide the tip of his glossa into your soft little mouth. Starscream felt the wires around his neck bend slightly as he swallowed; his drowsiness gave way to a heat, stronger than any fever.
Ceasing the sweet assault on lips, the con pulled away, leaving a thin thread of saliva between your tongues. Your gaze finally met Thundercracker’s red optics, which had grown brighter—no, hotter, he drew close to you again, abruptly, as if you were about to be taken away once more – for a second, Skywarp’s claws actually tightened their grip, as if unwilling to share – and almost struck you with a kiss. The metal presses against you with such force that it threatens to leave bruises on your lips, and you moan in protest.
Skywarp’s fingers move to your breasts; he presses his faceplate against the top of your head, warming it with hot air whilst simultaneously squeezing your nipples.
"So defenceless in front of the three of us, aren’t you?" Starscream’s hot breath tickles one ear as he moves closer. He’s almost purring, feeling the heat from just the sight of the Seekers caressing and kissing your yielding body. He remembers your last evening together as a foursome, remembers the mingled scents, the wet surfaces, your sweet moans and that enveloping, tingling softness…
Another tip of the tongue joined in, sliding over your ear, down to neck, and to your shoulder to push aside the fabric of clothes and bite.
TC and Skywarp swap places, as if competing to see who can cover more of your mouth with their glossas, and hands, hands, hands. They’re everywhere. They squeeze, they slide, they slip under your clothes, tearing away the tiresome fabric, knowing they’ll buy you plenty more of these rags. Thundercracker steps back, watching with pleasure as you breathe heavily, your bitten skin now bare. The texture of your flesh arouses something akin to hunger in him; every inch of silky skin begs to be marked, bitten, scratched…
Warp's palms turn you over, pressing your face against the bed, the metal’s cold sears the skin and legs twitch involuntarily as his claw slides playfully over the last piece of fabric on your body. Con hooks the edges of the lingerie, taking his time, scratching your skin, revelling in the scent of your arousal. He is interrupted when your calf is grabbed and pulled away from Skywarp, who cries out ‘Hey!’
Your goose-pimpled back catches the heat of his groin plates when Starscream sits you down on his lap. Without hesitation, he pulls your underwear off, gathering the moisture of arousal on his fingers before sliding them over your clitoris, making your thighs trembling and press together. Thunder has already opened his plates and clamped down hard on the base of his dripping spike. His optics, slightly dimmed, are fixed on your thighs and glistening labia.
"Why is it you? You were first last time!" Skywarp, however, refuses to take Starscream’s actions for granted and tries to pull you back towards him, but the hands of Trine's leader hold you fast.
“I was first last time, and I’ll be first this time too!” His fingers continue to caress your clitoris in circular motions, eliciting quiet moans from you, drowned out by the two of them arguing. Starscream suddenly cried out, pulling his hand away from you. “What the frag, TC, you bit me!?”
He’s doesn’t reply; long fingers slide beneath you, lifting your hips, and mouth practically sucks onto you, making you arch back with a moan and search for something to hold onto with fingers. His tongue glides over your clitoris, thumbs massage lower abdomen, lips descend to the tiny entrance of your pussy to lap up the moisture of arousal and rise again to clitoris.
You come shamelessly quickly; neither of the other two seekers had time to intervene or even utter a word before you, still in the same position, curling your toes and exhaled with pleasure. Thundercracker pulls away from you with satisfaction. He looks at his brothers in turn with smugness, before making a couple of final strokes with his fist along the length of his spike and ejaculating onto the metal in several spurts.
Skywarp was the first to come to his senses; he shoved Starscream in the shoulder, causing him to tumble off the bed with a yelp and a crash. He pulled your limp little body back toward him, opening his groin panel, and, positioning himself behind you, smoothly sank into your tight pussy a quarter, halfway, all the way in. Oh, how sweetly you moan at the thickness of his spike…
He immediately starts thrusting his hips, paying no attention to anyone in the room except your back. His engines roar, the room fills with your moans and the quick, lewd slaps. Your palms clench and unclench, nipples rub against the metal beneath you, and you unconsciously try to crawl away from the slaps of thighs, which will leave bruises, but he wraps arms around your waist and pulls you back into place. The stretching is unlike anything else; every nerve is touched as he slides back and forth, the recent orgasm releasing you, giving way to a new one.
“Fuck, please…” your voice is hoarse; you don’t know exactly what you’re begging for.
Starscream watches with a smirk as Skywarp fucks you in that doggy style position, while TC cums again, pleasuring himself at the sight. “How would you feel if I snatched her away from you right before you reboot?”
“Don't. You. Dare” Con thrusts grew more frantic; he covered you with his frame in a protective manner and Starscream just snorted. He sees you open your mouth in a moan, a string of saliva stretching from the roof of your mouth to your pink tongue. Primus…
The Trine leader climbed over Thundercracker, who was resting contentedly with his optics closed, to sit across from you with his typical sly grin. “Hey, princess,” Starscream lifted your chin, ignoring Warp’s warning growl. “Come on, look at me. Open your little mouth.”
The tip of his graceful spike slid across your lips, muffling moan of another orgasm, and the claws clamped down on your hair as he longed to plunge into that mouth, all the way down your throat, you continue to moan, and red optics of the seeker flicker from the vibration. He's thrusts, again and again, giving you a little time, and after a while you join in yourself, sucking on his metal like a candy, swallowing the spike and pressing tip of your nose against the metallic pubis.
“G-good... girl.” The mech strokes your head with trembling fingers. They could never fuck anyone but you and get this much pleasure. Not even the most gifted priestesses of love from ancient Cybertron could surpass the hospitality of your soft throat and the tightness of your smooth, silky pussy.
Starscream and Skywarp reload simultaneously; their transfluid fills you from both sides, warming your lower abdomen and saturating your taste buds with the unique flavor of the viscous liquid. They release, causing you to cough and fall forward, your body sweaty and trembling.
Streams of transfluid flow down the inside of your thighs, pooling into a small puddle at your knees.
“TC… take her on,” Starscream leans back against the wall, spreading his legs and breathing heavily, not letting you catch your breath either. “I want her to take my size without any trouble when I’ll be ready.”
You don’t have the strength to answer as, yet again, hands wrap around you and lift you up like a toy. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.
If you liked it, please give it a like or leave a comment – I’d be delighted!!
FUCK, this was delicious! I'm trying to get back into Transformers after being MIA for 35+ years, and Starscream is the first fictional character I ever loved, first and always, and then, I fell for Skywarp and Thundercracker, and then, 14 more *ahem*
I adore my Seekers, and you nailed their personalities perfectly. A++ 💕
yoooo i was gonna send a pic of all the alchemist primes nobody wants but they have a flatline!!!
(im grabbing a TC but they also have an alpha trion i may go back for)
Ahhhh! I haven’t seen his figure in the wild, yet!
Soft Pt 2
Flatline x Reader
• Your soft hands explore one of his secondary hands, a thumb stroking his palm and he can’t move. It’s not like he’s the only Cybertronian with unusual characteristics or anatomy. He knows that, but he tries to appear normal so he’s accepted. And for a Decepticon, he’s unusual not in his form, because so many of them with oddities had flocked to Megatron and his cause, but in that he’d come from a wholly different background than they had. That his extra limbs and denta set him apart from his carrier and sire and the others in their social circles. Learned to be ashamed of his appearance early on, to hide it. So he doesn’t know how to react right now, but he feels like he’s coming apart as you study his servos.
• Realizing he’s not speaking, you look up and wince. Because he’s just staring at you, making you realize you’re playing with his hands. That you’re making him uncomfortable. “Sorry,” you say, flustered and letting go. Personal space a concept you sometimes forget when you’re excited about something. And his servos catch your fingers to keep you from pulling away completely. ‘I don’t mind if you touch me,’ he says, his voice strained as his primary hand reaches for you, palm sliding against your shoulder. The servos of another hand cautiously reaching to touch your hair. Is the big alien just curious about you? You’d pawed him, so it’s only fair to let him do the same.
• Spark thrumming as the side of a servo brushes your cheek, for the first time in a long time, he lets himself imagine being accepted. An end to his loneliness. Throws himself into his work, trying to help, to be useful because it distracts him, but a hurt part of him he buries deep knew he was always going to be alone. That he was just different enough that he’d never be wanted for more than a one night stand. You’re so much smaller than he is even mass displaced as your hand lifts and his head lowers for you. Wanting to be touched. How long has it been? A warm palm brushes his jaw, fingers tracing the sharp edge of a jutting fang.
• He’s rumbling louder, the sound almost a growl as you touch his face. Aware that this is too intimate, but this is the closest you’ve ever been to one of them. And he’s letting you touch, giving you permission. Hear his fans click on as he takes a step forward, crowding you back. Venting as his head lowers until your face turns away, those sharp denta far too close to your throat as he keeps venting. “Flatline? Sir?” You ask, starting to get nervous. Even smaller, he’s much bigger than you are and you have the sense of something happening you don’t quite understand. Something important.
• Your field prickles against him, sinking into him in jagged uncertainty to make him realize he’s probably overstepped a boundary. That he needs to back off even as he pulls your scent deep. Wanting to rub his jaw against you, to scent himself on you. It’s only fair, because you leave your scent all over him when he’s let you wash him. Wants to tell you he accepts, but isn’t sure he can do much more than growl right now. You’d approached him, chosen him, courted him. You’re his and he does growl as his hand palms your hip.
You introduced me to him and now I’m in love with his chompers and his little hands
He hits my robo/monster fucker bar so hard I’m swooning I’d be such a good junxie for him just give me a chance I’d treat him so sweet and good I’d fawn over him ajddhsifbsjan
🤣 same. His RoTF comic design made me love him, though he’s definitely nicer in IDW/G1
Soft
Flatline x Reader
• Turning, he nearly fumbles his datapad, because you’ve somehow found him again and you’re staring up at t him in disapproval to leave him oddly guilty. Doesn’t have time to be pampered and fussed over by a tiny, soft organic bent on claiming him as a conjunx. “You stood me up again, sir?” You ask, even though you both know he did and now the guilt is twisting around his spark to make it ache. Venting behind his mask as you just stare up at him with those hurt eyes, his resolve wavers. Why choose him? Why keep coming back to him when he’s only tried to discourage your attention?
• “It’s not like that,” he mutters, fidgeting with his datapad, but you’ve got his number at this point. If you act mortally wounded that he no showed on you, he’ll feel so guilty that he’ll cave and march his alien butt to his wash stall so you don’t get wrote up. “I had patients to attend to.” Uh huh. Making a show of looking around at the lack of anyone but the two of you in the room, you go for the killing blow and give an exaggerated sniffle. Because even the threat of tears and he’s apologizing. See his plating lift slightly in alarm as he holds up his hands. “No, don’t do that. You can wash me.”
• And you won’t meet his optics as you rub the side of your palm against an eye to make him feel even worse. Why him? Why couldn’t you latch onto literally anyone else as a potential conjunx? Because as soon as you see the real him, the parts he goes to such care to hide, you’re going to abandon him anyway. But maybe that’s what it will take to get you to understand that you deserve better? Maybe he needs to show you the horror of himself. “You just keep hiding from me,” you protest, tone wounded and he clears his vents, kneeling and mass shifting. Catching your upper arm to keep you from falling when you stumble back, eyes wide.
• Holy crow, they can shrink. “I have been hiding,” he says, servos flexing against your upper warm and you’re aware that even though he’s now smaller, his servos are overlapping. That he’s still bigger than you are. “And I’m sorry about that.” See him glance at his hand on you before he pulls it away and he reaches for his battlemask, hesitating before it retracts with a click and the plating on his chassis shifts. Staring at his jutting, sharp denta and an extra set of smaller arms, there’s something expectant in his expression, a sort of resignation. But you have no idea what he expects or why he’s showing you this. He’s definitely not the weirdest alien you’ve seen. There’s a giant wasp and a spider, for crying out loud.
• You’re not recoiling from him. Just staring at his mouth. “So can I wash you?” You ask and now he’s staring. Because you still choose him? Still want him as your conjunx even after seeing? ‘I don’t scare you?’ He asks and you just shake your head. And grasp one of his extra limbs in your soft hands, warm fingers touching his servos as he goes completely still in shock. “I bet these are really useful when you’re in surgery, huh?” You ask and he just nods numbly, unsure what to make of you. Afraid to hope.
I’m sorry- I just discovered Flatline and I’m making it everyone’s problem since he checks so many of my monsterfucker boxes. I’m also absolutely mashing some of his ROTF comic aspects with his IDW/G1. Absolutely @drabbletron ‘s fault
Medic
Flatline x Reader
• Venting and reaching to pick you up and deliberately move you to the far end of the counter and away from his patient trying to lure you closer, Flatline growls a warning at Onslaught. Don’t you have any self preservation instincts at all? Trusting everyone, him included. And you just stare up at him in confusion, not realizing that the other Decepticon will kill you just for fun. “Let me play with your little toy, doc,” Onslaught rumbles, watching you busying yourself straightening up anything you can pick up. And okay, you’re too small to really help, but it leaves him oddly warm that you’re trying. “I won’t make ‘em suffer. Why do you even have it?”
• Blinking at the big mech Flatline’s working on, you shiver. Well, that sounded ominous. But then his patients like to joke about squishing you, probably because of how small you are compared to them. Some of them even call you Bug, but you don’t think they mean anything by it. “I haven’t studied biological creatures as thoroughly as I’d like, that’s all,” Flatline growls, finishing a weld while you clean up. And you’re not really paying attention as his patient stands until his shadow falls across you. Hear Flatline snarl right as the big mech he was working on stumbles, hand smacking the counter and skidding into you to toss you into a rack of vials. ‘Oops,’ Onslaught laughs as you struggle to get back up and the bigger mech is leaving.
• Reaching to cup you, he growls at the broken glass you’re laying in. The sharp scent of copper filling the air as your arm bleeds sluggishly. And you whimper trying to help him get you up, cutting your little hands in the glass. “Close your eyes,” he growls and you don’t question him. But you never do, always trusting him. Glancing at the Medbay door to make sure no one’s around he shifts the plating at his chassis, freeing his secondary arms. Useful for surgery since they’re so much more dexterous, they’re still unusual enough that he hides them from everyone unless he needs them. Knows he’s different, a monster even to other Cybertronians. Learned to hide those things about himself other Cybertronians won’t accept early on, a battlemask to hide his sharp denta, augmented plating to let him keep his extra limbs bound and hidden. Carefully picking you up in his secondary hands, he examines the cuts and carries you to the sink. Reaching to turn on the water on low, he shifts you to his primary hands and uses his secondary to pick glass off of you. “You can’t trust everyone,” he mutters.
• “Eyes closed,” he growls, the words harsh when you try to look at him and your shoulders hunch. ‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, feeling him removing shards of glass. “What am I supposed to do with you?” And you’re about to cry he sounds so disappointed and exasperated with you. Know you get in the way, that you aggravate him. But also that he’s kind when most of the aliens that come in his Medbay aren’t. They’re cruel, taunting you. Sometimes trying to hurt you like that one just did. “Why are you leaking? Is there glass in your eyes?” He asks sounding horrified and you shake your head as he moves you away from the water and you’re settled on a berth. “Keep them closed,” he growls.
• Venting in aggravation at himself for not protecting you, he finds the kit he’d put together when he’d first rescued you. Mass shifting and using his secondary hands to clean and bandage your cuts. None too deep or serious enough to need stitches and that’s a relief. And he cups your cheek, tensing when you grab his secondary hand. And your eyes open. Seeing what he tries so hard to hide. You don’t look at him, attention on his extra limbs as you press your cheek into his palm. “You don’t have to hide these, you know,” you whisper. “Sometimes you hold me with them when you’re recharging.”
• They make you feel safe. Protected. And he’s just staring at you like you weren’t supposed to know or say that. “I like when you hold me,” you say and he leans until his helm brushes your forehead. Feel him vent against you and you shift, hesitantly sliding yourself into his lap and those arms come around you as his optics shutter. Resting your head against him, hearing the familiar thrum of his spark, you wonder what he’d say if you told him you love him? That you need safe and kind. Need him.
• Resting his chin on top of your head, his main arms wrap around you, feeling the warmth of you, scenting you. What would you say if you saw his denta? Would you accept that, too? Or is there a limit to the amount of horror you can handle? He’s afraid to find out. Recharges every night with you against him, your warm softness sprawled on his chassis. His spike aching behind his panel when he comes online as you haunt his dreams, sometimes pressurizing in his recharge and he has to hide it away from you before you wake. Knows it’s from sharing a berth with you, carrying your scent on him. But it’s more than that, you’re his. So why fight himself over this? Cupping your chin to tip your head back, he brushes his cheek against yours. Angry at himself for not claiming you sooner, for not protecting you better. Because you’re fair game to mess with if you’re not claimed. “Strip for me, little one.” Because he’s done pretending that he doesn’t want you.
• Breath catching as his growling voice dips lower, you stare up at him. Trying to figure out if he’s serious. Because surely you’re just misunderstanding him? Maybe he wants to check for glass he missed? Those secondary hands brush your own, helping you out of your clothes and his stare is heated. As both sets of hands slide against you and you heat in response, you remember seeing his spike, hearing him murmur your name in his recharge and pretending to be asleep so you don’t embarrass him. And he’s laying you back, masked face sliding against your inner thighs as he shifts to cover you and those secondary hands grip your hips, lifting you up and he grinds against you. “I’m claiming what’s mine,” he growls and you’re on board with that, because you want him, want to claim him as yours. Arching feeling his spike pressurize between your bodies, he’s on his hands and knees over you as he adjusts you and you feel the length of him slide against you. Rocking himself against you as you hang under him, grabbing at his chassis for some semblance of control when he grinds on you.
• Venting to scent you, he wants to put his mouth on you. To taste you, but knows his denta might be a dealbreaker. So he ruts and grinds until you grow slick and then he’s shifting you to line you up with his spike and you’re shockingly tight, all wet heat as he rocks himself against you. And you’re squirming, hips rolling, both of you groaning when his spike sinks suddenly into you. Hips pumping as he uses his secondary hands to move you on his spike and he growls. Hears you whimpering his name and he wants to pin you on your belly, rut into you and hold you to him with his extra limbs. Decides he’ll do that next as his primary hands dig into the berth, denting the metal. Sharp denta gritted behind his mask as he moves you faster, feels you tremble against him and you cry out when you climax, fisting his spike. Elbow smacking down as your shoulders hit the berth, he’s thrusting urgently against you. His. Why did he wait so long for this? Pressing his face against your neck, he overloads inside you, hips rocking and he lets his mask retract. Skims his mouth against the thrum of your pulse as he fills you. And clicks it back into place before he can give in to the urge to bite. To mark you. ‘Flatline?’ You whimper and he eases up his grip on your waist, feeling guilty knowing he’s going to leave bruises. “I have you.” And you’re his. Always have been.
i offer you this kitty in my backyard in exchange for a continuation of the chop shop story. the plot has me hooked 👀
Sure!
After Pt 2
Chop Shop x Reader
• Struggling in a blind panic, your heart races. Hadn’t thought there could be anything more terrifying than spiders, but apparently your imagination has been slacking. Because metal, alien spiders that turn into a bigger spider guy hadn’t even occurred to you as a possibility. And now that you know it is? You’re not loving it. Can’t breathe as he holds you up, face inches from yours. He smiles to show sharp denta and you wonder if Cybertronians eat people? Wouldn’t that be a thing that would have made the news?
• Grimacing as you abruptly go limp in his servos, he vents. What’s he supposed to do now? You’re just limp in his servos. “Well, that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it?” He mutters to himself as he turns with you. And his plating lifts because there’s another human right there staring, because of course there is. “You didn’t see nothing, right?” He asks, not even surprised when the human slowly pulls out a phone and starts recording him.
• And yeah, okay. Maybe this does look a little bad. “I’m going to need you to give me that,” he growls, forcing a friendly smile as he shifts you into one hand and reaches out the other. Venting noisily when the human lowers their phone and runs away, all four of his optics narrow. Why did he expect anything else? “Oi, that’s not going to come back to bite me, I’m sure,” he mutters, watching the human sprinting.
• Adjusting you in his grip, he studies you. Months of watching you and learning your habits makes it feel like he almost knows you even though he’s never said a word to you. Venting as his lips quirk, he tries to figure out his next move. And it’s a lot easier to steal things. Less complicated. “You know, you don’t really look like a thief. And I know something about thieves,” he mutters to you. “But your ex is offering a lot for your return.”
• “Makes me wonder why,” he says as he holds you up and your head lolls forward. “I’m hoping you might be able to fill me in on that part, because things aren’t adding up.” Can feel your heart beating against his servos as he examines you. “So if you could just wake up? Preferably without screaming?”
• Honestly, you’re not even sure how you became Wheeljack’s ‘lab partner.’ It wasn’t exactly by choice. The halls of the Autobot base aren’t exactly the safest or human friendliest. It’s not like any of them are openly hostile, but you’re tiny and they sometimes just don’t notice you.
• And for soldiers millions of years old, some of them act amazingly like a bunch of wound up frat boys. Alt mode races in the halls? That’s a thing. You heard the engines and flattened yourself against a closed door, praying. What you weren’t expecting was Wheeljack’s lab door to open and for you to fall backwards in. Those vocal indicator fins on the sides of his head had always been a bit funny to you and you offer him an upside down, slightly embarrassed smile as those panels flicker a dull yellow. As soon as he noticed the roar of approaching engines, he’d huffed out a sound remarkably like a sigh, picked you up and carried you to his workbench. You’d sat down crosslegged and watched him work. When he’d realized you were watching, he’d started explaining what he was doing.
• With nothing better to do, you showed up the next day and the day after. In truth, you’re more of a sounding board for the engineer to talk his way around and through ideas. And your dutiful job is to bob your head like you have any clue what he’s rambling about and ask questions occasionally.
• Wheeljack isn’t sure what to make of you, but appreciates the company. You seem interested in his theories and, most importantly, don’t avoid him. It’s not like his reputation isn’t unearned, but all of his inventions don’t blow up in his face. Some of them do.
• A lot of them.
• And apparently some of the Autobots, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, had taken to calling you ‘hazard pay.’ And learning that there was a running bet on how long until Wheeljack accidentally had something fail so catastrophically that you’re blown to kingdom come hadn’t been exactly comforting to you or Wheeljack.
• But sitting on the workbench with the friendly mech is surprisingly soothing. You didn’t really have any delusions of learning engineering from him, that was so far outside your skill set it was hilarious. But you do like listening to him talk with that faint accent and soft, almost raspy voice. He’s an awkward sort and his humor never quite lands, but you smile for him anyway because then those panel flicker pink or orange.
• You’re almost asleep, lulled by his low muttering. He’s been fiddling with whatever it was he was making since you’d arrived that morning and eventually you’d need to remind him to go refuel, because he would forget and regularly did. But he’d take you to find food and refuel if nudged. You’d long gotten over the mild embarrassment of being carried around like a kitten by him. Some of the Autobots would let you hitch a ride on their shoulders and that was better than walking. Wheeljack carried you cupped between his palms like he thought you might decide to launch yourself out of his hands in a mad bid for freedom just to go splat. You tried not to be offended about it.
• “Oops.” Head lifting, you stare at him as his vocal indicators flicker a sickly green. An oops from him could mean anything from ‘I broke it and need to start over’ to ‘run for the hills.’ Given how still he is, your heart begins to hammer in your chest. This is the latter and dread spirals through you. Know it even before his blue optics slide your way.
• Time seems to go funny as he lunges, hand swiping at you and connecting hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Hard enough to hurt. And then he’s running, his servos painfully tight around you and there’s a very real worry he’ll break your ribs by accident.
• Behind you, his mystery invention that you really wish you’d paid more attention to blows up. Spectacularly. And then he’s falling forward and you know you’re about to be crushed and worst of all? Sunstreaker is going to win his stupid bet.
• Instead, Wheeljack catches himself on his other hand, huge frame curled forward to shield you as he cradles you in that too-tight grip against his chassis. A dull roar fills your head, everything muffled as you hear his frantic voice.
• He took the brunt of the explosion and had to be hurt, but he’s asking if you’re okay. He’s scared for you and it takes your stunned brain a minute before you can reassure him without bawling, because of this sweet, accident-prone mech that must be protected at all costs even if he is still gripping you so tight you can’t hardly breathe.
Officially crediting this author and this series for convincing me to add him as an f/o. I've been circling back again and again to him for over a month now, but, this time, I'm keeping him.
Revellllllllllll!!! It's my birthday!!! If you got a chance, May I request some spicy soft TFP Wheeljack? 🙏 pretty please?
Here's my special eepy girl as tax.
Awww! Sure and happy belated birthday! 🔞 MDNI Mass displaced mech 🌶️
Needy
TFP Wheeljack x Reader
• Coming online slowly, he vents and then vents harder, pulling your scent deep as his head lifts. That subtle shift spilling through him in heat and need to make his spike stir behind his plating. Wonders if you’re dreaming of him. Rumbling as he pushes up onto his knees, he flips back the edge of the blanket and stares at you sprawled naked on your belly asleep, thighs slightly parted. And recharging mass displaced definitely has its perks as he growls.
• “Jack,” you groan sleepily as big hands palm your waist, lifting you. Halfway still asleep as he shoves pillows under your hips, you’re still tangled in the dream of him claiming you. ‘I know, but I need you,’ he soothes, voice a low rumble as you feel his spike release to pressurize against your butt. And your toes curl when he moves over you and slowly stretches you, the last vestiges of the dream and reality blurring together as he settles against your back mindful of his weight.
• Growling at how tightly your slick heat is wrapped around his spike, he lazily thrusts inside you. Finding a rhythm as one of your legs slides against his and you wake up enough to respond. Rocking yourself back to meet every hard drive of his hips. Sliding an arm under you and the pillows to shift the angle, he hears you raggedly gasp his name and he knows he’s found that sweet spot. “Yeah, I know what you need,” he snarls, hips pumping.
• Fingers fisting in your sheets, that cocksure, lazy certainty of his makes you want to smack him even as you’re moaning and pushing back against him. Chasing that high and the promise of pleasure. “This is mine. No one else’s. You’re mine,” he growls, scarred lips brushing your ear and you know he wants you to say it. To stroke his ego. And when you don’t, he nips at your earlobe to make you whimper. Body coiling, you shatter and his movements get rougher. More urgent.
• Jaw clenched at how tightly you’re fisting him, he tries to drag it out. Make it last as he ruts against you. But you whimper his name, trembling with little aftershocks and he’s shuddering with his overload, driving deep and rocking his hips shallowly against you as he fills you. Mouth opening, he grips your shoulder in his denta, frame straining as he grinds against you. Engine grumbling as he vents raggedly, he slowly becomes aware of the feel of your heart racing against him, your own rough breathing as he barely bites down to make you gasp and reach back to swat at him. “I wasn’t even awake,” you mutter as he rests his chin on your shoulder, frame covering yours as he tries to keep most of his weight off of you. But he’s not pulling out any time soon, either. Isn’t done, yet. ‘So?’ He teases, hips rocking lazily.
So I was thinking about the ‘Colors’ arc in the Soft AU, and I just know that the administrators all have a wee bit of a sadistic side to them, which brings me to my beloved Split-Spark surprise of Prowl and Barricade.
Wouldn’t it just be fitting if our dear cutie Reader were to be given a half-Prowl-half-Barricade uniform? I’m sure that it wouldn’t lead to all manners of either bot feeling both revved up and jealous at the same time, nuh-uh. They definitely wouldn’t want to act on those feelings either. Nope. No sirreeeeee. Not evah. ;)
I’m sure that wouldn’t have repercussions at all 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mechs 🌶️
Soft AU- Split Spark- Colors
Barricade x Reader, Prowl x Reader
• It’s like HR has it out for you. Flustered as you glance down at your new coveralls, one side is obviously patterned for Prowl. The other, though? It’s all Barricade. Because the higher-ups have somehow figured out that you’d ended up with an accidental two for one deal. It doesn’t help that you sort of like Barricade even though you’re fully bonded to Prowl. Or that maybe you like the idea of getting to keep both of them. Know that thought is more than a little wrong. More than a little greedy, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re both yours.
• Rumbling as he crosses his arms over his chassis, Barricade’s head turns at the sound of your boots. And his optics slide over you, realizing that you’re in his colors. That it’s an invitation. A statement that you accept him. Pushing away from the wall, he stalks your way as you hesitate. “About time,” he rumbles, door wings lifting. “You finally decide you can do better than him?” Mass shifting as he approaches, he can hear Prowl growling at him in their language. Ignoring his brother, he reaches and grips your chin to tip your face up. “You’re overdressed.”
• Door wings trembling in outrage, Prowl’s jaw clenches. But you are wearing both their colors and he knew this day would eventually come since Barricade is as bound to you as he is despite not even claiming you, yet. “You don’t want a bath?” You ask, voice soft and breathless to make his spike stir. ‘Rather have you,’ Barricade growls, head lowering and mouth covering yours. Plating lifting as he strides over, he’s mass shifting to pull you away from the other mech. But then he catches the shift in your scent. Groaning as you make a breathless noise when Barricade’s mouth skims your throat, he grits his denta and meets his brother’s optics over your head.
• Maybe you stroked out from the heat? Because you’ve got one of them behind you, hands sliding possessively over you as the other one kisses you stupid. Hear material rip and one of them snarls but then you’re fumbling for the zipper on your coveralls and trying to squirm out of them. Hands catch your hips and lift you and you’re not sure which of them it is as your underwear digs into you before ripping. And you feel Prowl’s spike release to pressurize against your butt at the same time Barricade’s own spike pressurizes. Belatedly realizing how much bigger than you are they both are even mass shifted, you have a moment to feel slightly concerned before Barricade is moving against you, the head of his spike stretching you even though your coveralls are caught on the tops of your boots so you can’t wrap your legs around him.
• Groaning as his servos flex against you, you’re squirming between them. Gasping his name he sinks into your tight heat. Rumbling aggressively as his hips flex, Prowl’s servos brush his and Barricade snarls, denta bared. Had thought he’d have privacy for his claiming, but of course Prowl isn’t going to trust him with you. Hips pumping, he’s aware of Prowl rutting against your soft skin, of the scent of your need getting stronger, almost addictive. And you’re so soft as you tremble against him, feel so incredible around his spike. Growling at Prowl as the other mech snarls in answer, he loses himself to claiming you and tries to ignore that he’s going to have to share and let Prowl have a turn with you when he’s done.
• “Spin? Sweetie?” And the mass displaced mech is off in his own little world, not hearing a word you’re saying. But you’re used to him going funny from time to time, getting a bit confused. By everything. Smiling tiredly at him as he stares fixedly at his own big hands, servos splayed slightly, you reach up and line your palm with his and his rotors flex slightly. And he hooks his other arm around you to jerk you into his frame, hand curling around your wrist as he just abruptly sits, dragging you down with him.
• Servos gently manipulating your fingers, he watches the way they bend and rests his chin on your shoulder. Trying to hang onto the thought and venting in frustration. It’s just there, gossamer thin and trying to reach for it, just makes it shred apart. “Something wrong with me?” And you’re gently pulling your hand free, reaching up to cup his cheek.
• Heart aching at that question, because you don’t want to lie to him. It hurts when he seems to remember things, becoming frantic and hostile until he loses whatever thought had slipped in and he’s just so confused again. The others just say he’s broken. That his processor broke under the stress of war, and maybe it did, but he’s just staring at you, those optics trusting and you want to cry suddenly. “Did you remember something?” You ask, voice soft.
• “Don’t know,” he growls, frustration thrumming through him, making him tense and unable to be still. But then he sees the tear slide down your cheek and he’s grounded. Focused. “I know you.” You’re a constant in the chaos, forgets things all the time, but never you. Hands cupping your face, he swipes the tear away with a servo. “Did I make you cry?”
• “I’m fine,” you lie, laying a hand on his chassis and leaning forward to touch your forehead to his, watching his optics shutter. Maybe Misfire is right and Spin’s too broken to fix, but you can’t stop trying. Love him too much to just give up on him. And when his optics open, you know he’s already forgotten. ‘Crying?’ He asks, sounding confused and you force a smile. “Just something in my eye,” you say, brushing a kiss against his mask as he makes a noise and looks around. Confused and lost, but still holding onto you.
