Could I ask for some tenderness and a little smut from Terminus?
I'm getting used to my new job and I'm really missing a little comfort.
Sorry for the mistakes, English isn't my native language, but I love reading your stories.
Thank you for your attention, and please improve ( ＾ω＾ )♡
Thank you, hun! I do feel better today. I’d like to go weed the garden, but I’ve already figured out antibiotics and baking in the sun don’t mix 🤣 the naughty bits go on the other blooooog
Soft AU- Rift Pt 2
Terminus x Reader
• Confused as you chatter happily, he has no idea what he’s doing. Why he let you coax him back into the stall. Doesn’t know how to do any of this. Hadn’t really thought of settling down, of conjunxes or sparklings. A future. Hasn’t really thought of much beyond the mines and now everything has changed. And he has no idea what to make of you or your assertion that his altmode doesn’t matter. His caste doesn’t matter when it’s everything. Maybe your people don’t have castes or your own standing is so low that you can only hope to secure an alien partner?
• Mixing up soap, you can’t decide if your mech is just taciturn or shy. Maybe he doesn’t like organics. Some of them don’t, but they’re usually pretty vocal about it. Dropping a wash rag in the bucket, you pick it up and carry it over to the ladder beside his bench. “The energon okay?” You ask and he fidgets with the barrel, that frown deepening. ‘It’s fine,’ he says slowly, but as alien as he is, his expression is uncannily human. And far too easy to read. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? With me touching you?” You ask, guessing that’s the issue.
• Plating barely lifting, he smiles wryly. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it,” he mutters. Is the peace contingent on your kind being able to secure conjunxes? Has so many questions. Not only about this world, but about what he’s missed. The war, the rebellion. Trying to imagine the lower castes actually pushing back against the upper classes and taking a stand makes his spark thrum in his chassis. Maybe these alliances are purely political. But then, why choose him? He’s no one. “Are you okay with this?” He asks, wondering suddenly if you got to choose at all.
• Hesitating, because you’ve heard enough gossip to know some of them get prickly about the caretakers admitting that they’re in it for the money, you shrug. “I think we could get along,” you say. He seems pretty mellow anyway. Hadn’t immediately grabbed and pawed you. That has to count for something. “Maybe we could be friends.” Setting the bucket down, you reach in for your soapy rag. And he moves his leg away when you reach for him. ‘I don’t even know your name,’ he growls, looking almost pained and you smile sheepishly.
• You laugh softly, like the fact that he wants to know is funny even as you tell him your name. Making him certain that you didn’t choose him. That you have no say here at all. Spark aching because he understands that feeling, his servos flex against the top of his thigh. Aching to reach for you. To reassure you. Knows what it’s like to be trapped by his caste, to want for more and know it’s out of reach. That it’ll always be out of reach. A dream that can only ever hurt him. But maybe this place is a chance to be more. To want and not be punished for it. To be heard.
You write most of the mechs like they have wet their wick at some point in history (some maybe pre-war).
Are there any you head canon are just straight up virgins still? 😂
🤣 well, Tarn is canonically a virgin, but how about Terminus since someone asked for some fun with him on the other blog and I doubt this mech had any fun in the mines 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mech 🌶️
Soft AU- Inexperienced
Terminus x Reader
• Mouth sliding against his, you smooth your hands over his chassis and feel the hum of his rumbling sinking into you where you’re sprawled on top of him. When your head lifts, those big hands reach for you to pull you back down. He’d been clumsy at first, hesitant like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. How to touch you. But he’s a quick learner and you’re so thankful for that. Pushing up on him, you smile when he growls a low protest. Up until you roll your hips. Moving yourself against his modesty panel to make him shudder.
• Venting raggedly as his fans cycle even higher, he can’t tear his optics away from you. From the way you’re moving on him. Spike aching and pulsing, his frame strains and his hips lift under you. Needing more. Wanting you as he pulls the heady scent of your need deep. And his spike releases to pressurize when you lift up slightly. On your knees over him, that flimsy robe you’re wearing isn’t actually covering much as his palms smooth reverently up your sides. “Is that for me?” You ask and he’s not sure that he can answer. That he can do more than growl.
• Laying your hands on top of his as they smooth over your hip, against your belly, and up your sides, you roll your hips. Teasing yourself with the hard length of his spike as your breath catches. The way he’s staring up at you makes you feel powerful. Desirable. Has anyone ever looked at you like that? And he’s not moving at all, lips parted and optics hungry as he growls. But he’s not making any move to take control. Like he’s not sure what to do. Or maybe he’s afraid of spooking you. Reaching to grip his spike, his lip lifts and that rumbling growl gets louder as you line yourself up and sink down on him.
• Fans humming as your slick heat takes him deep, his servos flex on you. Head lifting to watch his spike disappearing inside you and you’re so much tighter than he’d guessed. Silken and wet inside as your hips roll. Wants to drag you down and kiss you. To roll you under him and rut against you. Instead he’s frozen, watching you lazily ride his spike as his spark thrums in his chassis, his plating heating. Head falling back against his berth, he’s venting raggedly as you move on him.
• Moving slowly as you moan his name, you can feel him stretching you, stroking deep inside you. Hips rolling, you hear him snarl and his big frame shudders, hips lifting so you have to splay your palms on his chassis for balance. Can feel his spike swelling inside you right before he’s overloading to fill you. Startled, you stare at him as he smooths his hands over you and growls something in his own language. Shifting on him, you shiver at the faint discomfort and tug. Realizing you’re not going anywhere anytime soon as his rumbling deepens to a rough almost purring and he pulls you down to lay on him.
(terminus x reader (implied normal) drabble, i love terminus. kinda ambiguous if romantic or not.....)
TERMINUS tends to appear to you as a black cat, many of thousands. THEY cross your path in this form, to the point you start to think that a black cat is the aeon that somehow always makes time in THEIR journey to bask in your presence. you sometimes think if these cats are simply like a hive mind or multiple TERMINUSES existing simultaneously, walking backwards to reach Origin. you wonder if you've ever truly met THEM at all, or simply THEIR fragments. in the end, are you just a simple amusing stop in THEIR divine journey? the black cat this time never speaks, simply stares at you as you speak your worries.
truth is, TERMINUS avoids to gaze you. THEY know THEIR power, and what THEY brought upon THEIR birth. THEY have lifted the wheel of time, THEY became the destroyer of worlds, and THEY will travel to what all perceive as the Beginning to signal THEIR End. THEIR existence is a never-ending cycle, bound to repeat as long as AKIVILI, THEIR antithesis, journeys from one planet to another, till THEIR fall catches up to the waywarding Aeon.
THEY are doomed as THEY are blessed.
yet... your presence is a guiding constant, in every cat THEY manifest into. no matter what time, what moment, you seem to be always there, always ready to welcome THEM. no matter what Finality, you were always a constant. its a comfort, though TERMINUS long left a mortal emotion in the cracked egg of THEIR mortality.
as such, THEY will never gaze you. not until the time is right. for THEY while they wish an early Finality so your path will end in THEIR embrace, THEY will not strip you of this journey of life.
for now, TERMINUS, the Shapeless Prince, is long content of being a cat stopping in its favorite spot. fleeting, yet always there. till one day, Finality swings and brings you to THEIR hold.
Then, together you will witness the Origin of this Universe... and the End of Finality.
what about s/o who was a friend of megatron and then he introduces them to terminus, they fall in love and megatron kinda becomes a stepson? lol
omg this is hilarious i love it!
If Megatron had known that introducing you to Terminus would result in this he would never have done it. Currently he was sitting across from his closest friend and his father figure, silent as he attempted to process the news you’d just delivered. You sipped delicately at your engex and sighed contentedly. Terminus couldn’t quite meet Megatron’s questioning gaze.
“Conjunx Endura?” Megatron finalled managed.
You beamed. “Yes. But we wanted your blessing first.”
Terminus cleared his throat. “You are the closest thing to family that I’ve ever had, Megatron. It only felt right to reserve this honor for you.”
Megatron polished off the last of his highgrade. “I would never deny you happiness, Terminus. Of course you have my blessing.”
You gleefully ordered a round of celebratory shots. While you waited for them to come, you side-eyed Megatron mischievously. “So, son, what family activities should we do this weekend?”
Megatron knocked over his glass in his hasty escape.
Along with that ask about admiring the bots servos. I have always been so intrigued by their optics. Their eyes are so unique and stunning, the little bits that spin, or how they’re like camera lenses? I could get lost admiring how their optics function.
Same 🤣
Soft-Fascination
Terminus x Reader
• Bowing forward slightly toward you as you stand on his thigh, those soapy fingers and wash cloth dip into seams. And you keep looking up like you’re checking on him, those strange eyes of yours boldly meeting his stare. Like you see him and don’t care that he’s nobody. A miner not some aristocrat or someone with a flashy altmode and bright paint. Compared to others, he’s dull. Boring. So why did you pick him? Why do you keep coming back? Smile at him like he matters to you.
• Unable to look away from those blue optics, they snare you as the complex inner workings nearly hidden behind the lens focus on you, brighten. So alien, but not a machine. Not really. He’s alive, warm under your hands. And you like the way he watches you, like you fascinate him. Like it’s more than just a job. It’s uncanny how human most of them look as you reluctantly drop your attention to his chassis. Because staring at his face makes you wonder things you’re not sure you should be wondering.
• When he’d dreamed of peace, rallied to Megatron, this isn’t exactly the equality he’d imagined. This isn’t the world he thought he’d end up on one day, either. If he’s completely honest, he never dreamed of seeing other worlds because he knew he’d die in the dark in a mine on Cybertron. Imagining anything else, anything more could only ever hurt. Servos flexing against the side of his thigh, he’d give anything to touch you. Mass shift and hold you against himself. Feel the frantic beat of your heart and pull your now familiar scent deep. To feel those hands hold him close.
• Glancing back up at him, those optics are still watching you. Flushing as his lips slightly part, it’s getting worse every day. That sense that there’s an unspoken word hanging between you both. Soapy fingers explore dents and scrapes in his plating, a lifetime of rough treatment. You’d hesitantly asked how sensitive his plating was one time and he’d told you that he could feel everything. Could feel you and it had left you flustered and awkward.
• Your field is a whisper running through him, pulling at him to strengthen the connection. But part of him is afraid the others are wrong. That you and the other humans are only being kind, not looking for a conjunx. Wants to ghost his servos against your spine, losing himself in the feel of another. Feel alive. And your shy, alien eyes lift to meet his optics. Seeing him when he’s so used to being overlooked. Dismissed. Every day it’s a little harder to not hold you. To not dream.
Looks like everything that got delayed by CNY from my manufacturer finally shipped. I’m getting in some new crybaby keychains today including Teebs. And a mystery package from overseas that showed up on my USPS informed delivery and that I can’t match the tracking number to anything I’ve ordered- so random surprise! 🤣
Revel I need you to know, I've had Terminus on the brain all day, mulling over your previous installment with him, and I'd really appreciate an update/true start for him. I know he died/disappeared in canon and Megs would be a very different mech if he'd lived, but I need that sweetheart alive and happy.
~Much love.
Sure!
Soft AU- Rift
Terminus x Reader
• Hurrying through the base toward your assigned wash stall and hopefully, your assigned mech since you really need the pay increase that making caretaker gives you, the cart rattles behind you. You try to not gawk at the new Cybertronians everywhere, some of them just look weird. Don’t really understand what had happened, but you’d felt the shockwave of the explosion coming from the Cybertronian side of the base. It had prickled over you in hot and cold sparks of half remembered memories that weren’t yours. Overlapping realities. Temporal anomalies. Reality rifts. All that matters is that the base has more than quadrupled in size suddenly. That there are multiple variants of some mechs wandering around now. And some of the newcomers? They’d been dead in their timelines. But quite a lot of the newcomers had brought over their caretakers with them. The displaced humans keeping the new mechs from trying to leave the base more than anything.
• Still bewildered even after he’d had it explained to him, Terminus moves through the base, optics sliding to study some of the stranger looking Cybertronians. Different realities converging violently. Sounds like fiction. Rumbling as he watches a group of humans running by, some of their coverings are colored and patterned to match the plating of the mech they’re courting. Understands that about as well as he understands the science of what happened to him. And it takes him a klik to realize he’s headed toward the wash stalls. Had been told to report there, but hadn’t consciously decided to go. Isn’t sure that he wants one of the strange organics courting him.
• Slowing as your car rattles behind you, there’s a mech lingering in your stall and you don’t need to consult your phone to know he’s yours. Studying him as he lingers like he’s not sure if he wants to go inside, you wonder if anyone told him he’s dead. Will die. Is supposed to die? Multiversal realities and time travel just confuses you, so you try your hardest to not think about it too closely. But you hope no one was so cruel as to tell him.“Terminus, sir?” You call out and he turns, looking around before he thinks to look down.
• Plating almost lifting when he spots the little organic looking up at him, he wishes he hadn’t walked over here. Hadn’t meant to. Why him? There are so many other mechs you could choose. Mechs with better social standing, flashy altmodes. It makes him feel lacking. At least in the mines, he hadn’t had the wealthy flaunting themselves right in front of him. Glossy paint and impressive altmodes are everywhere here. In the mines, even if the upper classes looked down on him, he’d mattered. What he could do mattered. Here he just feels lost.
• “You’ve got the wrong mech,” he finally says, looking away. “I’m sorry, but I’m not what you think I am.” And he’s walking away. Skin prickling because you’d been told to keep him preoccupied and away from his former buddy Megatron until the Autobot scientist that made the screw up figured out if there were going to be repercussions. So you jog after him, abandoning your cart. ‘We can just talk. I have energon for you- you’re hungry right?’ You call out and he glances back like he’s surprised you’re following him. “I’m a miner,” he adds, with all the resigned exhaustion of someone imparting a terrible secret. ‘Cool,’ you say smiling and he frowns. “Cool?” He echoes and you grin at his confusion. ‘It’s a good thing,’ you assure him as he studies you. ‘Want some energon?’
