Genre/Theme: Calling him cute while he takes your spike.
Warnings: Smut, 🔞 MDNI
Pronouns: You, Your, Yours
Notes: Bot reader spikes the guys!
A clipped noise escapes Megatron when you bury your spike back into the deepest point you can reach of his valve. His pleasure nodes being stimulated makes his blasted hips rut back against you when you slam your spike back into his valve. Megatron tenses and latches onto your gauntlets. His own pride refuses to allow himself to wrap his arms around your back. (And wrap his thighs around your waist-) you pant and grunt, but your optics are locked onto his and your optics burn bright. Your optical ridge creased. Pleasure starts humming louder in his core from the sight alone. And your spike forcing his valve to take it only makes it hike higher- and then you smile.
And you say he looks cute.
His spike throbs, and he growls. Megatron then actually does clamp his frame around yours. Thighs locking together behind your aft, and arms dragging your chassis right against his own with a loud scrape. "When I overload on your spike- I'm going to flip you onto your aft and use your spike so hard your frames going to think it's your function-!" Your hips stutter, before you thrust deep into him, making Megatron sigh and pant. Your pelvis grinds down on his anterior node, and Megatron arches against you when his overload finally hits him. His valve milks your spike and makes you spill your transfluid right into him. Megatron groans when you jerk your hips against him again through your own overload. His spent spike is trapped between your frames, smearing pink across both your fronts.
... You hoped the overload was good enough he'd forgive you?
Megatron's servos and thighs still gripping you and leaving you with zero chance of escape made you assume maybe not.
-
Hound is gasping and panting. His glossia brushing against his own bottom derma every time your hips smack against his aft. You hit his ceiling node on your next thrust, and Hounds frame jumps along with it. A gasping muttered noise falls out of him, and he can only whine when you slam into it again. Hot heat traveling through his frame and settling into his struts. Hound's cursing under his vents when you suddenly pull his leg up and half pull him around so you can see each other better. You're panting and cursing like him, and he stares back at you, trying to catch his own vents.
And then you call him cute.
"Huh?" Hound as enough time for his optics to flush somehow even further before you slam your spike back into him and start fragging him with vigor. "Oh Primus- Primus-!" Hound clenches down on your spike and grabs onto your frame, his digits striping some of your paint off. Hound moans loudly, when his overload hits him hard enough his spark feels like It jumps in his chassis. You frag him through it, and Hounds whimpering when you finally bottom out inside of him one last time.
Hound can only look down at where your pelvis is flush against his valve and groans when he sees your transfluid starting to drip out of his valve.
-
Astrotrain's grunting and fisting his servos at his side when you bottom out and simultaneously grind the front of your chassis across his spike. Astrotrain thought his position would've left him a good amount of control- him sitting up against the wall legs spread open. But you figured out way too quickly you could stimulate his spike with every thrust back inside of his valve. And you seemed fragging set on driving him crazy. Astrotrain's helm tilts back and thunks against the wall when your next thrust forward has you slowly grinding down on his spike and anterior node. His valve instinctively spasming around your spike.
And you call him cute-!
Astrotrain grits his jaw and lowers his helm to glare at you. "Don't say that slag-! Gnh-!" Astrotrain screws his denta back together with a clank when you start fragging into his valve harder. Your servos that were on his thighs both grab onto his spike, and Astrotrain's aft almost fully leaves the ground when he bucks against your frame. Your servos both dragged down his spike length, and one of them is pressing right under the head of his spike. And your pelvis grinds down on his anterior node and Astrotrains overloading on your spike with a shout.
You end up getting his transfluid on your own jaw, and Astrotrain has to bite back a groan when you just lift a servo up to swipe it away and start lapping it right off your own digits...
-
Optimus sighs against his own gauntlets, where he's resting his battle mask, when you roll your hips and slide your spike back into his valve. Your spike feathers his deeper nodes in a way that makes him instinctively clench down on you every time you bottomed out inside him. Optimus gasps when you start picking up your pace. Your pelvis is audibly snapping against his aft now. Optimus groans and his plating slacks when you start hitting a deeper bundle of his pleasure nodes when you slightly shift your hips.
And you call him cute-?
Optimus huffs when his own optics brighten. His spike is twitching heavy and neglected below his own hips. "Love, please -" Optimus begs because he needs a bit more from you- and you tell him to arch his upper frame back a bit and Optimus obeys. And next thing Optimus knows, you've bottomed out rough, and your servo hooked on his pauldron and is yanking him backward even further. And your other servo is on his spike-! Optimus keens embarrassingly loud when your glossia drags light but hot along the back of one of his finials. Optimus clenches down on your spike and overloads.
Optimus pants and notes how your oral lubricant on his finial feels warm- so does your transfluid spilling down his inner thighs.
SUMMARY – Jealousy issues, general, common, but no one told him how bad the consequences were
PAIRING – G1 bluestreak x reader
NOTE – I don't think it's important to write how Blue Streak interacts with random bots, right? If we're here for porn? 🤣 I had already written that and I was like, oh, I don't think it's what we needed here anymore (still in practice about those valveplug content btw)
NSFW UNDER CUT
⚠️ teasing, possessive, fingering, edging ⚠️
The room was dim—lit only by the soft indigo glowstrip lining the wall, casting long shadows across the recharge berth and the floor beneath it. The silence stretched—tender in its weight, but taut beneath the surface, like a string pulled just shy of breaking
Bluestreak was quiet. For once
You sat on the bed first, casually, legs parted just enough. Then you said, calm as anything “Sit”
He blinked “What, now?”
He hesitated for half a second—just long enough to betray how fast his processor was racing—before stepping forward, his movements a little too fluid to be purely casual. He turned, cheeks flushed, and lowered himself carefully between your thighs, back pressing against your chest, frame fitting far too perfectly against yours
You wrapped your arms loosely around his waist. One hand resting low on his abdomen. The other? Well. You let it drift. Slowly
“Still think I wasn’t jealous?” You murmured near his audio
Bluestreak laughed—nervously “I mean no? I mean, yes. Yes you were. I just didn’t realize how much until now -ngh..!” He gasped as your fingers slid over his plating, tracing a seam just above the interface panel like you were toying with the concept of patience
“That laugh you gave her” you continued, voice low and steady “Was it this sweet?”
Your fingers dipped lower. Pressed harder. He jolted. Back arched “N-no! I mean, yes—wait, no, not this sweet..oh Primus”
You chuckled softly against the side of his neck. He was warm. Already trembling. His legs parted instinctively, optics fluttering offline for just a moment as you started to move—gentle, slow, deliberate strokes that sent sparks blooming behind his optics
“You’re making sounds now” you whispered, thumb brushing his panel in a teasing circle. It didn't take long for him to open them and with that, your fingers slid deeper. Pressed just right. Parted him just slightly. Moved with the precision of someone not just claiming, but engraving yourself into his memory
“Why don’t you save those for me, too?”
Bluestreak bit his lip hard—one hand gripping your thigh, the other on your arm. He was gasping now. Not loud—but strained. Tight. The kind of gasps that caught halfway up his throat before tumbling out as little, broken syllables. His frame shifted in your lap with every slow stroke of your fingers, hips twitching despite himself
“P-rimus, that.. hhn! –why’re you..so slow—”
“Because I like watching you fall apart in pieces” you whispered into the space just below his audial, palm pressed flat against his abdomen, keeping him firmly in place as your other hand continued working him open—finger curling deep, slow, precise, drawing circles that sent his knees trembling. A perfect drag along that aching inner node—again. And again
“Sit still for me” you added, voice soft, dangerous “You wanted attention, didn’t you?”
“I- I wasn’t trying to..!” he choked out, optics flickering as he leaned harder into you, thighs trembling from restraint “It was just a conversation—”
“You gave her that laugh”
Your finger curved just right. His entire frame jolted, a sharp, audible intake of air betraying how deep it hit
“She didn’t even earn that laugh, Bluestreak”
Your thumb shifted upward, brushing rhythmically along his rim, slow and wet and careful—never hurried. Just.. deliberate. He whimpered. His head dropped back against your shoulder, optics fluttering offline. His hands had nowhere to go—hovering in the air like he wanted to grab something, ground himself, survive this
“I’m— I’m trying to stay still, I swear, but—”
“Shh. You don’t have to beg. Just stay open”
And he did. Barely. His thighs shook against yours, trembling with every deliberate glide of your fingers inside him—stroking deep, curling up, then out again with aching, devastating rhythm. Each motion carefully calculated. Each pause long enough to make him whimper for more “Please– don’t stop! don’t— all sparks, I..!”
“Clenching already?” You smiled into his shoulder “I’m just getting started”
You added another finger, slowly, watching the way his vents hitched, short, shallow pulls like he couldn’t decide whether to moan or breathe first. His hands fisted into your arm plating. He arched this time, hips canting helplessly upward, grinding back against you, needy, greedy, chasing friction like his processor had stopped filtering consequences. He made a sound you couldn’t name—half sob, half static, full-body surrender
“A..ah! frag– that!”
“Too much?”
“N-No” he breathed “Not enough”
“Then you better keep those pretty legs where I put them” Your smile widened. Your thumb moved in tighter, slipping closer to the bundle of sensors just beneath the top seam—press... circle... pause... again. He was panting now, grinding back against your palm, optics bright and wet. You could feel it in his field: that wild, trembling charge, like a signal building toward overload—begging to break, but afraid to ask. Too good. Too slow. Too perfect. He was a mess already
“Say it” you murmured against his audio port “Say who you belong to.. sweetspark”
He whined—honest, desperate, caught between restraint and surrender
“You—I’m yours, spark and frame! just- ..just don’t stop!”
You bit back a laugh. There it was. That perfect sound. The one that made it worth dragging him to the edge and holding him there like a prize. And you didn’t stop. Not for a second, weren’t planning to. You kept fingering him in steady, possessive thrusts, a little faster—drawing more slick from him with each stroke, relishing the tightness, the heat, the way his interface twitched around your fingers like it wanted to pull you deeper and never let go
The pads of your fingers drove in with practiced pressure, curling up toward that sweet, twitching bundle of sensory mesh that made his hips jerk every time you grazed it. You found the spot early—you always do—and you didn’t let it go. Your fingers hooked into it, slow and firm
Then again. And again. A rougher grind now, deliberate—like carving his nerves open just to watch what leaked out. Bluestreak writhed in your lap. His whole frame bowed, shoulders trembling hard as his thighs tried and failed to stay still
“Primus.. f- I can’t..!”
“You can.. You will”
Your thumb slid up again, pressing firmly against his node, swollen and soaked from all your teasing. You circled it once. Twice. Then rubbed fast, tight, hard little pulses while your fingers inside him rocked upward with each stroke. He cried out. Clenched down. Your fingers were squeezed so tight in his valve it made you groan—but you didn’t stop. You ground up harder, rougher, twisting just slightly mid-push until his legs kicked out once and
You stopped. Completely. Right on the edge
“No–! No no no..please!” He was shaking so badly you had to grip his waist tighter to hold him still. Your mouth ghosted his audio again, breath steady “You were going to overload.. I didn’t say you could”
“I..I can’t!" He bit down hard on a whimper
“You’re what, Blue? Leaking all over my hand, aching so bad you can’t think straight? Poor thing. So close, and still not allowed to finish..”
Your fingers slid in again—slow now. Cruel. You dragged your fingers over the inner rim, pressing outward against the soft lining with a knuckle-deep sweep before curling back to center. Your thumb returned to his node once again, this time pressing directly down, circling tightly, not letting up. The angle of thrust just sharp enough to keep him on edge—deep, purposeful pressure against the anterior node just beneath his inner wall. The one that made his thighs twitch every time you dragged over it
You angled your wrist, fucking him on your fingers in a rhythm that was slow but devastating. Knuckles brushing the edge of his rim on every drag. Fingertips grinding against that bundle of nerves that made him go silent. Too much. His mouth dropped open, soundless. His body pressed back into yours like he could melt into you. One hand braced over your knee, the other shaking where it clutched the bed
“Tell me when you’re close again, so I can stop you properly this time”
“You’re evil” he panted, almost delirious “You’re..too good at this…!”
“Mm-hm”
Your pressed on his node, hard. Started to circle. Fast this time. Tight spirals, centered right at the swollen nerve cluster where his circuits lit up like a detonator. Your fingers never stopped. And when he screamed—because at this point, it was a scream—you didn’t stop either.nNot until he was right there again. Tensing. Legs quaking. Inner walls clenching around your fingers like they were his last lifeline
“P-please—please, just—!”
And you stopped. Again. He wailed. Actually wrenched forward on your lap before you yanked him back with one arm locked around his waist
“Not yet” you hissed, lips pressed hot to his neck “You don’t get to overload until I say so. Now behave”
“Let this be a reminder that you shouldn't talk so much next time, with such a voice..”
With his cries now, anyone who walked past your room could hear them, but you didn't care because this way it was even clearer that Bluestreak belonged to you in every way, physically and mentally and more if there is. Other than that, you really like his voice. It's a twitch, a sweet moan, nothing like when he talks normally, so you would let him make that sounds again and again. All night long, untill he can't
his maketoys figure is very posable and peacemaker comes with a weird condom looking thing to go over his gun-mode... so.... dildo targetmaster...???? putting peacemaker up to pointblank shows he can fit like.. half of him before it gets super uncomfortable.
i might make this a series but i'm so tired and i have other stuff to work on
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