#a fistful of energon

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

[sug4r-melon]

❤️💕❤️😵‍💫❤️💕❤️❤️💕❤️💕❤️❤️💕❤️💕💕❤️❤️💕💕❤️💕❤️❤️💕

[transingthoseformers]

Reading certain fics just changes you

And sometimes it's for the better goddamn im still lost over that one megop series that i can't seen to find again

[witchofthesouls]

Sam ending up throught groundbringe fuckery in Tfp would be such a vacation for him i think. Less action, less aliens ripping each other to shreds every miniute, the difference between how bay formers and tfp formers look.. Sam would look at tfp cons deadpan not afraid at all

Meanwhile the kids in Bayverse would get treated like sparklings probably(wattch Miko growl once at a con and promptly get adopted) Raf especially. Jack would take one look at everything and just go to work in NEST cafeteria until others can figure a way back home for him, Miko and Raf because he's NOT getting involved in this housefire(would avoid bay!Op like a plague something something honorary prime nonsense)

Sam is right there, chilling and spazzing on the minor things (to everyone else in TFP), while completely blasé to the major world-changing/world-ending things. He's been in more than one "end of human civilization" scenarios. It's not his first rodeo, and he's not even counting the doomsday panic of 2000 and 2012. He's immune to crazy, otherworldly shit via alien technology. If anything, he's weirdly disappointed over the lack of alienness of their Artifacts.

He literally resurrected his version of Optimus, met the Dynasty of Primes, had the Allspark in his mind, and dealt with the Fallen that manipulated gravity fields.

Sam's treating it like an unwanted vacation to a place that lied upon the brochure. That guy is like a powerful magnet for destroying Decepticon plans. He would probably fall into a chasm of a hidden Energon mine or interrupt an Artifact expedition to his advantage because 1) Allspark guided him, or 2) he was getting to antsy in the base of nothingness (no human personnel, no cafeteria, no agents, no systems or tasks for him) and did a runner.

He definitely puts his foot in his mouth when he meets Arcee. Sam would never get used to their more human-like frames.

Sam's boogeyman would be M.E.C.H.

Meanwhile, the Jasper Trio is stuck on Diego Garcia. They're taken back by the immense operation that's N.E.S.T. and feeling really lost. Miko doesn't have a Bulkhead-equivalent, Jack doesn't know what to make of the triplets, and Raf isn't clicking this Bumblebee.

Because everyone is too busy, they're trying to slot into things without getting too underfoot. Jack already has certifications related to his fast food job, so he gets into the mess hall to prepare meals for hundreds. Raf and Miko get into the science portions. Raf is making a name for himself as he has the most success bridging tech and understanding the Cybertronian script. Miko likes explosions.

The kids are boggled by all the politicking that goes into it and the more intensely magical things with the Allspark.

Those three will never, ever not laugh at Dorito-Starscream.

(Both sides have the not-so-fun realization about the malfunction connected to Unicron in the middle of Earth. That's too farfetched for anyone, but the truth literally grabbed the respective Primes with giant elemantal fists to viciously shake them.)

[tinydefector]

Hello! How are you? This is my first time requesting so I hope this is okay, but can I request a shorter scenario g1 Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz and Ironhide with a human s/o lives for chaos? They would point at Megatron and say ‘bitch’ just for the reaction. 🩵

Cursing Megatron out

Ps I'm sleep deprived af it's 12am right now and just finished this so enjoy.

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: description of fighting, swearing

Ratchet masterlist

Ironhide masterlist

Jazz masterlist

Optimus prime Masterlist

________________

Optimus Prime

They yell loudly as Megatron goes to grab them, they smash him in the face with a tire iron as he is then tackled by Optimus. The Decepticon leader had ruined their date night. They flip him off as Optimus throws Megatron across the ground, his servo wraps around them quickly pulling them closer as they scramble up onto his shoulder. "Eat shit and die Fuck face!" They yell at Megatron. 

Optimus clutched their small form protectively against his plating, battling protocols roaring. Had circumstances been different, the Prime would have roared in fury at your fierce defence against the tyrant but he was dealing with trying to keep them safe. 

Megatron howled, clutching a fist to his dented face as energon streamed between digits. His optics blazed murder, craving nothing more than to snuff the fluttering spark of Optimus' and the human he held so closely. 

"You've made a grave error this day, little beast. No corpse shall hide you from my wrath!" Megatron bellowed, brandishing his fusion cannon as if to raze the very earth. His field screamed promised agony that sent lesser mechs scampering for shelter.

Optimus vented his battle mask into place, tucking them securely against the safety of his backstrut. weapons primed and wrathful fields promising eons of hurt against any who dared to touch his Human.    

"You shall not harm them, Megatron. Leave. now. while your spark yet functions," Optimus warned in a voice low and in a heavy growl that sounded feral and unlike the Prime.

"Maybe you should get Shockwave to give you a facial reconciliation!, oh wait I did it already!" They sneer back from Optimus' shoulder at Megatron. Their teeth are bared at him as they snarl. If anyone else had seen the human they would have thought they were an animal.

Optimus suppressed an amused sigh at their show of fangs, so small yet fearless against the monster terrorising his people for millennia.  Megatron bellowed in foaming rage, lunging toward where they perched upon Optimus's armoured pauldron. "Insolent pest! I shall grind your bones to powder and force-feed them to - aggh!"

A well-placed shot from Optimus's ion blaster struck the warlord, toppling the tyrant shrieking to the dirt. "Last warning, Megatron. Leave. or face me," Optimus rumbled, field pulsing protectiveness intertwined with fierce Protection.  

With a snarl Megatron takes off. Once both Optimus and his human lover settle from the adrenaline and battle protocols. Optimus cradled their small form within his battle-worn servo, venting slow ex-vapor to purge lingering fumes. His optics dimly regarded their fragile body. 

"That was a foolish act of bravery, little one," Optimus rumbled gently, digit carefully brushing across their  forehead and down their cheek admiring their eyes alight with fire. His spark swelled at the determination.  

"Sorry, I..  I got caught up in the moment, he missed me off ruining date night" they huff out while pressing their face into his neck cabling. Their body shakes from the adrenaline. "I hit Megatron with a tire iron" they whisper as it slowly registers in their own brain.

Optimus vented a soft huff of static, equal parts worry and weary amusement filling his field at their admission. "A valiant act indeed, though foolhardy against one as powerful as he," rumbled Optimus, vocals warm with approval despite the danger of the situation. His optics flicker in fondness. “Please do not do that again” 

Ratchet 

 Megatron let's out a horrific scream as he gets electrocuted. He hadn't noticed the humans who had shoved the taser between the plates of his armour. "Get Tazered Bitch, not so fucking tough now huh?" They shout at the downed Decepticon only to be scooped up by Ratchet. Ratchet swept them into his servo with a staticky huff, deftly dodging the warlord's flailing blows as voltage shocks wracked Megatron's colossal frame. His field buzzed approval at their fearless defence of him. 

"Reckless sparkling! You'll deactivate my rusting struts with stunts like that," Ratchet grumbled, though optics shone bright relief beneath grizzled plating. Megatron howled upon the earth, shaking off aftershocks that would crush the stoutest Autobot, madness glinting a terrifying helm snapped halfway 'twixt beast and machine.

Ratchet backed swiftly from flailing reach, hoisting their small form beyond harm's sight. Ratchet takes off transforming around them before he begins scolding the for how stupid they were, how dangerous it was. And the fact Megatron would personally hunt them now.

"Have you any idea how foolish that stunt was?!" Ratchet's engine revved indignantly even as he sped across the scarred earth, his cabin vibrating with barely-suppressed wrath and equal measure relief. 

His sensors remained fixed upon the precious organic cargo nestled within his altforms cab, monitoring vital readings  "Do you want a personal vendetta from Megatron? Because that's how you get a personal vendetta, you glitched little slagger!" Medical scans analysed each minute shift of breath. 

"Reckless, Just...do not scare me so, small one," Ratchet rumbled quietly, worried and care etched in every bolt and wire. 

"He had it coming Ratchet, plus that Amazon taser is getting a 10/10. 'WORKS GREAT, I Tazed a large alien warlord and he screamed like a bitch, will in fact work on creeps on the street' " they laugh while they look in the revision mirror to make sure they aren't being followed by said Decepticon.

Despite himself, Ratchet's engine sputtered an amused huff at their tone - so fearless in the face of giants who had destroyed armies. "Oh I've no doubt - the reviews certainly won't lack colour!" Ratchet agreed wryly, subtly activating scanners to sweep their escape route while watchful optics remained pinned to their reflection. 

His vents sighed relief upon confirming no stalking signatures upon their trail, enemy or otherwise. Swinging wide the Ark's bunker doors, Ratchet transformed with care not to jostle his delicate cargo. Blue optics peered down aglow with a glare "Come now, troublemaker. No more outings for the next month for you while the oaf licks his wounds." His states while guiding them to the medbay. 

“no fair Ratchet!” 

Jazz

They cling onto Jazz as the bot hides behind a boulder, multiple autobots had been out when the Decepticons had attacked. They are held tightly by Jazz as he debates the best possible to get them out of there unscaved.

Jazz vented softly, hugging their form protectively against his plating as pedefalls rumbled outside their scant cover. 

"Ain't nothin' t'fear, li'l light. Ol' Jazz'll getcha outta here one piece, ya feel me?" he murmured soothing static against their ear, subtly scanning surroundings through plating. An opening presented itself, if he could provide distraction just long enough...

Pressing a swift kiss to their forehead, Jazz.” Go, sweetspark! Ain't got but a klik - I'm right behind ya!" Jazz called desperately over the roar of weapons, swerving and banking with abandon to keep pursuers engaged but alive. 

 "Hey ol' buckets 'a bolts! Over here!" With that, he peeled from cover in a burst of speed, transforming mid-leap to present the biggest possible target, tailfins flared wide. Weapon systems engaged, greeting the three pursuing seekers with enthusiastically snarky exclamations as he led them on a merry chase. His sole purpose in those seconds - buy precious time, before sharply veering back toward cover with afterburners blazing. 

They do take off running but stop as they see Megatron advancing towards Jazz. They aren't far from either bot and in a split moment of bravery or stupidity their shoe is off and being flung right at Megatron's helm. "Your shit ass piece of Junk you lay a fucking hand on my boyfriend and I'll rip you apart with a fucking Magnet and plyers, don't you fucking test me you dipper wearing, goofy as looking supervillan wannabe!" They shout. It make the whole battlefield go almost dead silent. " Yea you fucking hear my bucket head, ill make you wish you were rusting!" They shout again. 

Jazz's optics widened in horror behind his visor, witnessing your defiant act through static-laced vision. Fear gripped his struts like freezing polyhexian tundra. 

Megatron's helm barely shifted from the impact, regarding their small form with optics glinting cruel amusement. His cannon charged with purpose to squash resistance as pointless and fleeting as an organic.

"Foolish creature. Your lives mean less than insects" Megatron sneered, taking ponderous steps their way that may as well have been a funeral march. The field around him broadcast murderous intentions that sent even the seasoned warriors around bolting for cover. 

Jazz would not be denied. With a grief-stricken keen that curdled energon in lines, he flung himself between you and that doom-wielding arm aiming to end what meaning he had left. His field pulsed frenzied protectiveness tangled with pleas no words could voice. 

"Ya want 'em, Megs, you'll hafta go through me first! An' I been dancin' this dance a long time..." Jazz spat static. Jazz was quick to get them out of there grabbing them and taking off. It isn't until they were back at the Ark did he finally transform, arms wrapped around them as he gives the a peace of his mind.

Jazz clutched their body against his chest plates long after abandoning the battle site, fleeing farther than ever felt safe from those sworn to end all he had left. His engine roared wildly, fuel pump pounding faster than any sabotage mission's duration against the relief of delivering them from harm. 

Only within the Ark's fortified bunker did his struts unlock enough to collapse wearily to the floor, holding them close as grateful cries and static escaped in equal measure. "Don't you ever fraggin' do that ta me again, ya hear?" Jazz gasped brokenly at last, cupping their face desperately within his quaking palm. His visor glimmered tears unshed, relief and terror warning in equal measure. 

"Can't lose ya...yer all Ah got left in this mess. Please, li'l light...don' scare me like that." Raw emotion clogged his vocalizer to near uselessness, pressing reverent kisses between choked intakes. 

"He was going right for you baby!, I'm not letting the 3 tonne prick hurt you, so what I lost a shoe next time it will be a hydro flask of salt water and I hope it dents his helm" they state as they grab his face plate returning his kisses with fevor.

Jazz huffed a static-tinged laugh at their fierce declaration, so brave yet trembling in his gentle grasp. His cooling fans cycled accelerated drafts, systems still buzzing from terrors faced alone to shield them from doom's sightless gaze. 

"Frag if ya ain't the bravest thing this side'a Cybertron," Jazz rumbled. He pressed his faceplate into their shoulder holding them tightly, not willing to let go yet. Curling them protectively against the humming mass of his spark, Jazz vented shaky ex-vents. "Mah brave, beautiful li'l light...keep shinin' that fire, sweetspark." Jazz whispered raggedly into their shoulder. 

Ironhide 

 Ironhide shoots at Megatron. His human companion latched to his back as he uses his body as a shield so the war lord couldn't get them. But they were making it rather hard as they tried antagonising Megatron. 

"Damn did they build you like a shit box on Cybertron or did you pick this form yourself!" They shout out. 

Ironhide careened across the scarred terrain, engine roaring as his heavy cannons unloaded volley after volley into the Con warlord's encroaching chassis. Megatron's howls shook the earth, armour blistering under Ironhide's righteous fury for daring to threaten his human lashed securely to broad backstruts.

"That's it, slaggertits, dance for me!" Ironhide bellowed back at Megatron. 

Megatron lunged forward through a hailstorm of plasma, cannons charging in a frenzy to end lives denying his rule. But Ironhide spun on a dime, releasing another blast to cave in an optical relay before transforming ram-tight around you both. 

His engine pounded like the Pit below, field alive with devotion harsh as his bearing yet gentle as newborn sparks flickering against red-and-blue armorweave. When Megatron gets too close they lob a can of WD-40 At him which Ironhide shoots cause it to explode in his face. "Get sunbeam shitlips!" They yell in delight as Ironhide takes off with them trying to get to safety.

"That's enough outta you, squishy," Ironhide rumbled, yet his cannons sang in harmony with your unbound spirit. His mission remained unchanged - shield the light of life, defying all forces that sought to smother its radiance. Ironhide's cannon fire consumed the volatile projectile in a brilliant fireball, engulfing Megatron in inferno. As they take off leaving Megatron in a fireball of energon and wounds. 

"Right in the visual output, squishy!. Primus, I think I'm in love," Ironhide roared instatically, tires biting earth as he tore across the ravaged wastes well beyond enemy sensors. His spark soared like the smelting winds of Vos. Ironhide's engine purred a low rumble as his struts unwound, tension leaching from armour plating now safe. His field pulsed weariness, yet underlying it swirled pride and fierce gratitude for your indomitable spirit so small, yet burned brighter than any star.

"Can't say I approve of y'all's antics out there, squishy. But Primus if you didn't frag up that rustbucket good," Ironhide chuckled, copper-sheened plating creaking in amusement. Never had he witnessed such fearless bravery, nor met a soul so worthy of the praise.

"He had it coming, Ironhide!You're not going to tell prime are you?" They had just faced down Megatron and cursed him out yet they were worried over being ratted out. Ironhide's engine grumbled a tired huff, his massive frame unwinding into a sprawl across the barren earth. He transforms lifting them up into his arms

"I'd be a fool to deny you put the fear of Primus in that rustbucket," Ironhide chuckled. "But Prime's got enough weighin' his wires. Don't need him fryin' more circuits over our antics." A digit gently booped their nose, gaze softening. "Your spark burns brighter than all the Well's glory. Ain't no mech takin' that from you - least of all one as glitching as Megs."

"Our secret?" They asked looking up at him.

"Our secret, squishy.” Ironhide replied, massive frame creaking gently as massive fingers curled to cradle them against his chassis.

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

[withered-tears]

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the autobots aren't human.

Well, not in the literal sense. Of course they aren't human. They are giant alien robots that turn into cars, for goodness sake.

But they talk like humans. They walk like humans. Even the way they think sometimes feels extremely human-like.

So sometimes, yes, it is easy to forget they are not human.

This had the unfortunate side effect of, unintentionally, see more than one situation through a human filter, so to speak.

Such as, for example, their durability.

Because when Bulkead ran through the groundbridge carrying Bee's body, with Arcee running next to him carrying Bee's head, every human present in the base froze.

Jack's eyes were wide open, face growing pale.

Miko, in contrast, was looking almost green. Hands clasping her mouth, either to stop herself from sobbing or puking. Tears were streaming down her face.

June, although horrified, was focusing solely on keeping Raf in place.

Raf was the worst. As soon as he saw Bee, he started screaming.

June was doing her best to try and comfort the kid while keeping him from running to his friend's body. Hugging him against her chest to keep him from looking at the horrible visage.

Agent Fowler was grim, fists and teeth clenched. When Cliffjumper died, he was the one who dealt with the horrible bureaucracy of asking the bots about proper protocol. About post-mortem condecoration, about burial rites, about tradition and wishes.

Now, at least he knew the proper way to proceed, which boils down to let the bots do as they please with their dead and keep any nosy superior out of their business.

Then Ratchet spoke.

"Finally. Bulkhead, drop him in a berth, and bring me the second crate of spares. Arcee, bring the head here. I want to start running diagnostics before- Bulkhead! The second crate! I'll have to repair most ports on Bumblebee's neck, f not replace them outright."

June was the first human to speak.

"What do you mean 'repair' his ports?"

Bumblebee's head had been cut off. Surely there's no repairing that, right?

Ratchet rolled his optics (once again, such human-like gestures) at the question, barely paying any mind to the humans as he worked on Bumblebee's head.

"What, you expected me to just shove his head in place and wrape tape around it? Sorry to disappoint, but reattaching a head is a bit more complicated than-"

"Bee's alive?"

Raf's voice was awful. Voice cracking and filled with such fragile, fragile hope.

Ratchet's eyes widened (so human-like) in surprise before his entire demeanor changed.

He carefully and gently picked up Raf to bring him closer to his workstation.

"Of course he's alive. Here, look. Although his neck was severely damaged, his processors, his brain module, are unscathed. The sudden lost of power caused them to crash, which is why I'm running diagnostics through his software."

Raf, small, young, terrified, and brilliant Raf, was quickly putting the information together.

"So it's like, it's like a computer that got unplugged without being properly turned off first?"

It was obvious Ratchet was not happy being compared to such inferior, human technology. But he held any complaints to himself.

"Yeah, something like that, kid. As I said, I have to check every port in his neck to make sure they won't overload his processors once I reconnect them. Not to mention, all vital components on a cybertronian body not only receive power from the spark and energon processing, but they also store a small portion of it. Like an internal battery. Bumblebee's brain could be kept powered off for years without any side effects, other than some minor lag once reactivated. Not that his repairs will take nearly that long. I'll have Bumblebee back online in a couple of days, a week at most."

Raf was sniffing, wiping his face with his sleeves. "Can, can I help?" His voice was still scratchy.

Ratchet huffed, trying really hard to sound annoyed.

"Why not. Might as well have a second pair of optics double-checking the code. Maybe you'll even learn something."

Yeah, the Autobots were not human.

But they sure acted human-like often enough.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! Longtime lurker here, I adore your writing and all the oneshots you publish. Do you have any cute headcanons about Optimus and Elita’s relationship (for instance, how they met, deciding to become Conjuxed, and other miscellaneous stuff)?

That I do! I love them very much your honor, so let me specify based on continuity. For now, lets stick to G1. I've had longer to think about them.

G1

Orion and Ariel met in a barfight. Orion decked someone for making nasty comments about Ariel and she in turn decked Orion thinking he was the one being gross.

They made up afterwards with a drink and proceeded to dance the night away, promptly exchanging communication lines.

Once Orion figured out where Ariel worked and after they had been talking for a while, he marched across Iacon in order to sign on at her depot.

Dion thought he was nuts but came along because he enjoyed the drama.

Orion made it a point to be a gentlemech even while working at the docks. He would carry anything heavier than a cat for Ariel's and would go out of his way to get her energon for her so she didn't have to stand in line for rations.

They began courting after Orion got into yet another fist fight in Ariel's defense. He got his face busted in, and while Ariel helped him get patched up, Orion blurted out that he couldn't just let other mechs touch her.

Ariel took that personally and proceeded to become just as devoted as Orion. This earned the duo many gags and amusing reactions from their fellows who referred to them as the "lovebirds".

Ariel and Orion never actually managed to be Conjunxed as dock workers. That came later when they met under the light of Luna 1 before the Exodus late into the war. Optimus brought Elita-One the last crystal rose he could find and asked her to be his Conjunx right there.

She agreed and they spent a mere three cycles together before having to go their separate ways. But Elita wore a simple pendant with contained a petal of that single rose. Optimus for his part carried the piece of Elita's antennae that had been torn off in combat.

During the war, when they were able, Optimus and Elita would call each other by their old names and dance under the stars, singing wild songs from the docks while playing music that didn't match the mood in the slightest.

When the war ended, Elita wept for Optimus during his many moments of death. But after each miraculous return, they would always reaffirm their oaths to each other. Usually with a few soft touches.

Post war, Elita and Optimus are the most sappy couple to have ever become a thing. They are constantly calling each other nicknames like "honey", "Sweetspark", "pooch" (that one is elita's and only for when she's feeling mischievous), "My forever", and Optimus's favorite, "My rose." (For obvious reasons).

They openly wear very obvious marks of their conjunxing now that they aren't being attacked left, right, and center. Elita keeps her pendant but also loves to have a little engraving of Optimus's pet name for her on her neck guard. Slightly scandalous, but she enjoys it, especially because Optimus has "pooch" written on his inner thigh where only she and the very observant can see.

They are also very good at being quiet about their activities as a couple. But when they feel like shooing mecha away, they love to get sappy and gross everyone out of the room.

They are also notoriously dramatic when the situation isn't serious. Put them in a war room and neither will so much as smile. But give them a minor issue, and they can and will make fun of those who are enduring some slight embarrassment.

Whenever Optimus takes on a new apprentice (adopts a child-), Elita has been known to mother them relentlessly in her own way. Some get beat around in training, others get homemade goodies. Others still may end up getting actually adopted.

Rodimus still has no idea that technically he's Optimus and Elita's on paper. Only Kup and Ultra Magnus know. Both think its hilarious and have no intention of telling poor Rodimus anytime soon.

[anon-e-miss]

Ever thought of transformation pregnency?Like Jazz is giant-like creature and he gets to have Prowl as his bride(probably in some ritual sacrifice).Prowl gets to be sparked by him but since his sparklings would bigger than him,he will start to grow with them,so their sheer size does not tear him apart.

When the Dark priests had toed Prowl to the altar they had intended for him to be an Energon sacrifice to the God of Death. Instead, that God had made Prowl his bride. The tentacles that had fallen upon him had claimed him, rather than killed him, filling his womb with divine seed and leaving Prowl ensparked. Jazz as the god called himself was impossibly giant, even his tentacles strained Prowl’s interface equipment. Very quickly, his progeny strained Prowl’s forge, until he himself began to grow.

Prowl grew tall as his belly grew wide. His godly conjunx watched fondly as he progressed. He still felt unnaturally large, which was only fitting as he carried not one but three divine bitlets. Jazz was diligent on contributing, through his seed, his divine essence flowed, ensuring both Prowl and the bitlets prospered. He was familiar with the caress of Jazz’s tentacles. It was different to feel his servos, still large, so large compared to Prowl as he was only so tall as the god’s midsection now. Jazz cupped Prowl’s engorged wells as he held Prowl on his lap. His spike was hard against Prowl’s back, rubbing between his doorwings.

A half dozen tentacles speared Prowl’s wet valve. They strained his lining, spreading him impossibly wide. His god-conjunx lifted him up and Prowl stared at the pool below’s reflection as Jazz lined his spike up with Prowl’s slick folds. He gasped as the spike, wider than his fist popped into his well claimed hole. Though the tentacles had stretched and strained him, they were nothing compared to this spike. He could not ventilate, could not speak as Jazz pulled him down until their arrays were flush. The god looked down at him with smouldering optics as the mortal sputtered on his lap.

“Perfect,” the god groaned.

“Gah,” Prowl’s glossa lulled out of his mouth as he bounced on Jazz’s lap. Overload and overstimulation were unending. His ruined valve gaped so wide it was a miracle his internals did not fall out of it. Jazz kept his legs spread as he played with Prowl’s ravaged hole with his digits. Not a drop of transfluid oozed out. Every dropped had been siphoned into his swollen belly.

“Just think how my eggs will destroy yer sweet lil valve,” Jazz told him as he rubbed the heel of his palm against Prowl’s tender node as he digit fragged him. “Y’ll overload as the air brushes yer internals for orns after.

He did not lie. Prowl wailed and keened as he pushed the giant eggs from his straining frame. The lubrication from his overloads helped ease their way. For mega-cycles after giving emergence, Prowl could not close his legs. Every moment, every breeze made him wet and desperate. He fuelled his divine creations from his valve as their godly progenitor watched on with mirth. When Jazz came to his berth for the first time after emergence, his spike breached him with ease. Prowl’s legs kicked as the god’s spike speared his womb and flooded him with promise, ensuring Prowl would bear him another brood in a vorn’s time.

To think Prowl had been a Vestial Virgin before the god had claimed him for his bride. He had turned up his olfactory ridge at the sins of the flesh. Now he lay under the god, screaming in ecstasy as the god plowed his aft. He could think of nothing but pleasure now.

[ultra-phthalo]

Enclosure Encounter

[Transformers Reversed First Contact AU. Your encounter with an unspecified bot held in an enclosure] Word count: 725 ------------------------------------------------------------- To not be heard. Imagine talking to someone and they don’t know that you were talking to them. Do you ever remember being distressed? Something had happened, your stress evident in the most readable wide eyes you have ever seen. Your movement hasty and you raise your voice to beg the person in front of you to do something. But the release of acknowledgement never came. Devoid of any reaction to your voice. Your distress was invisible to the person next to you. You were the unreadable one…

Looking at the light of the enclosure reflecting off the red railing in front of you. You watch your fist’s grip tighten around the railing from the memory. The metal to skin contact made an odd creaking noise that peaked above the catting crowd. The hums of accidental bumps and kids impatiently slapping the railing buzzing through your hands. The sight of the bot’s far off gaze and spent form returned that unpleasant memory. Clearly your mind is still hung up on something.

The early morning visit to this natural history museum exhibit was meant to be a last minute decision. But you had no clue that you'd got the luck of turning up here during feeding time.

A grinding noise was heard as the bot finally noticed its tray of mini pink energon cubes. It sat beside the tray. The whole set up having the energy of a regular person sitting at a cafe. Eating from a raised blocky table and sat on a cube for chair. The bot avoiding eye contact from all angles.

The bot began to slow its chewing. And looked in your general direction. “It’s going to freak out.” Murmured one voice. “Do you think it’s going to snap at us?” Another. There was excitement when the chewing stopped entirely. Energon crumbs on its face. The sight causing you to reach for your phone. *Click*

You glance at your phone screen before returning it to your bag. The bot’s optics dead centre with the lens of your camera. You felt the buzz of the crowd skip.

The lone bot that had its back against the corner of the enclosure got up and was walking towards your direction. “Is the glass capable to hold a bot like that back?” The thought whipped by. “There must be something more interesting to it behind me. It couldn’t have been because of me-.”

The bot sat down beside the glass. Closer than ever before. You stuck to your spot. As others stepped back. The bot had its tray of energon with it. And proceeded to break a pink chunk off and leave the share in front of you. “He’s sharing his food with me?”

Looking over the pink shimmer of the crumb of energon through the glass. And looking back up to the face of a bot taking their time calmly snacking next to you. You can’t help but let a smile slip. Before impulsively putting a hand over your mouth from the shock. Optics — giving you a wide eyed response. Puffing a sharp exhale. You grab something from your bag. Pulling out a chocolate bar, you break a row and place it on the small ledge outside of the enclosure glass. Then breaking a second row for yourself. The bot’s language as it leaned closer telling you it was intensely interested in what you were doing. With it flashing a smile back as it saw your acceptance of the gift and the gesture of giving something back in your own strange way.

They managed to find a way to socialise with one another. But with both sides finishing their last portions. You felt another tug as the bot relaxed leaning to the side you stood. With its regular glancing making sure you were still there next to him. You had to go now. Turning your back to the bot. The light of your familiarity guided his eyes through the crowd. And you left.

The two gifts, unable to be taken by either side of today’s wonderful exchange. Stayed together long after you and the bot lost sight of one another. As you gave that last, shy and real goodbye wave to the bot. Your hand seen above all else. Followed by a foolish sensation, causing you to dive into the hallway of the next room.

[ikkosu]

PROWL HEADCANNONS

a/n: prowl on 'how he'd fall for you' headcannons because I’m bored and I love this war criminal to bits. (human gn.reader btw) warnings : just me rambling about prowl. might make part two of this idk.

I feel like prowl wouldn’t be the type to seek out someone; the only reason he’ll fall in love with you ( or in his case, have an illogical, spur of the moment, chemical reaction) is because you’ve been working him long enough to understand how his mind works

you’re gonna have to be the calm type, smart enough to know he’s off his rockers — since you’re going to have to tolerate him, anyway

or dumb enoug you don’t know wtf’s going on half of the time and just,,,supports what he does — he keeps you around for that

either ways, you're only there because the high council needs someone to keep tabs on prowl. in case he gets bored and decides to scheme another conspiracy to overthrow the government

(an exaggerated bias, as he'd say)

dumb is like his emotional support golden retriever, and calm is also the same, except less rowdy and just stares into his soul when he fucks up. But he stares back though and you're not one to give up either (in the end he does)

(Trope dynamics of loud dumb x smart and internally seething calm x smart is what I’m thinking lol)

calm would be someone in the science field or in the medical field, sassy, knows a lot (because if you’re going to lose your shit, it’s likely you’re never going to win an argument against him so = logical sympathetic + done w/ his shit + I stick around bc I care )

and for dumb loud would be someone in his profession, like buddy buddy cop + someone that just tags along because, hey, you like pissing him off

‘in both cases, if he falls for you it’s either because (for internally seething calm) you’ve managed to sooth him down from another temper tantrum or understand how he feels, in a way.

[i]

it’s not his usual tantrum, he’s a lot more emotional today and you’re incredibly concerned. this is prowl of all people! what’s got him so worked up? he's the least logical when he thinks someone's about to betray him

you notice the whispers as you saunter along the halls, everyone passing their remarks about the earlier supposed argument between the autobot SIC and his commander

brother was going off on the walls of his office when you slip in, punching holes, flipping tables — lotsa tables — and datapads were strewn across the floor, stylus pens cluttering about. it’s a barren hell hole. more barren than clemency combined

all this you’re not so interested in, it’s a normal thing, a three to four stage process : you’ll listen as he rants. you’ll nod and slowly, not so subtly in his peripheral, coax him to sit on the couch as you fix up the place.

"His perception of justice is too idealistic!" He chuffs and you'd reply “Oh? Optimus is not taking your advice again? I thought he’s a lot more understanding…”

something like that

today, however,

The moment you slinked inside the room, swiftly locking the door, you're greeted with his back is turned, helm hunching over his taut shoulders

your gaze swivelled from the upturned tables to the mess around and it's only then you notice energon plinking down to the puddle on the floor then energon seeping from the crevices of his fist.

Your eyes find the similar smear on the wall, then to the glass shards of a fractured cup on the floor, glinting

he’s bleeding

your medical instincts take reign, voice soft with concern.

“prowl—“

“don’t touch me.” He reels away.

His vents are shuddering, a staticky sporadic bursts of chuffs. He’s not breathing well, much too fueled by his own anger, his optics dart around the place, unable to focus, jittery and restless.

he paces around the room, servos unable to still

you know that hopeless feeling. The desire to do something , anything, but rooted at the inability to do so purges all instincts

you inch closer, palms up placatingly, treading on a light rake of glass. “It’s alright. Breathe. think about your three senses—"

“I said don’t touch me.’’ his voice is louder, more defensive, the kind you see a lot given you're his partner and the fact not all his propositions weren't taken so well. you can guess that's what happened today, or an altercation he's taken a lot too personally.

"I won't. I just want to see your wound."

"Its nothing. I said leave." his door wings flare up, a prey cornered with no where to go, lashing out as its last primal instinct to survive

pity spools into your chest

"it's alright, prowl. It's just me." you're halfway close and he backs up against the wall. "Let's talk like we always do, hm? Talk to let out some steam. Talk about what happened this morning or we can talk about something else."

"you don't understand." his voice wavers off a little, still having that tinge of sharpness yet it's loosing it's edge. his optics fail to meet yours. It's lodged to your feet. somewhere there. he's never been this vulnerable

"I won't have to understand." You say, and your hand curls experimentally over his own, testing to see if he'd lash out

When he didn't you intertwine you hands with his, easing down the stress of his knuckles. "You don't have to tell me anything. Just let me see your hands. I'll leave after once I fix everything up."

A moment — a beat; he relents.

Or more accurately, he's reeled silent as you tow him to the couch, clutching an ivory medical kit in the other hand.

With his servos on your knee, you work delicately, picking the fractured shards from the crevices of his digits that were lodged deep into the cords

His expression doesn't betray much pain plaguing his face with the usual pinched, dour look as he gazes outside the window. Though, he tenses up when you'd come across a deeper wound

then something hard on your shoulder startled you. You blink when you feel the crook of his nose nestle your shoulder blades. he's never been this affectionate and while you prefer to assault him with all kinds of question, you chose not to

It's like handling a startled cat; you're afraid of overwhelming him in case he'd draw back again. So you follow along, leaning a bit back so he's neck is comfortable with the bend.

The white bandages were purged a purple mauve when you roll the fabric around his digits, tying the loose ends with a dainty little bow.

You fix up the kit, his head still on your shoulder and you were about to leave when something grasps your sleeves. It's a tight clutch, digits curling around the fabric.

Prowl's now staring at the ground, any emotion on his face is imperceptible. Later punctuated by a remark, soft yet demanding, he uttered :

"stay."

[zeonomicon]

I gotta ask: I've been craving G1 Soundeave having his buttons played with, either SFW or NSFW, I just *shakes fist* I need them to be pressed. Soundwave my beloved <333

Wonderful ask, I see you are a fellow person of culture. Shout out to Soundwave, gotta be one of my favourite stim toys.

Since the pairing wasn't specified, I went with a Cybertronian reader.

Answer under the cut, mostly SFW but suggestive.

G1 Soundwave x Cybertronian!Reader

It was nice to have moments like this with just the two of you, when Soundwave had a chance to take a break from his multifarious duties keeping the ship running and neither of you were being roped into the latest of Megatron's grand plans to take down the Autobots once and for all. You were reclined on the berth with the TIC in your lap, playing some pre-war song he'd kept in his databanks while you caught up on a holonovel you'd become engrossed in. You hadn't been paying much attention to the lyrics, captivated by the story unfolding in your datapad, but as a few lines caught your attention you decided to play it back to hear the last verse again. You snaked your arm around Soundwave's waist, feeling for the raised surfaces of his buttons, and Soundwave stiffened a bit; you supposed in surprise. You pressed his stop button, then your digits found the narrow-angled edge of his rewind button and you held it down for a few seconds before pressing play. Each button lit up energon magenta when you pressed it. Soundwave's buttons were quite satisfying to press, offering a little resistance and making a pleasing click once activated.

Soundwave's servo had gripped your knee while you fiddled with his buttons, but now he laid himself against you with his backstrut to your chassis and his helm on your shoulder, leaving not much room for you to pick up your datapad and read again. You didn't mind, content to enjoy your lover's music for a little while. You moved your servo, intending to set your datapad aside, but he placed his own servo over it quickly. Curious. Experimentally, you stroked his play button with one digit, feeling the texture of the raised symbol, and then slowly applied pressure, holding it just before its active position. Soundwave's cooling fans clicked on.

Emboldened, you held down the rewind and fast forward buttons at the same time, causing the music to stutter and skip before smoothing back out as Soundwave corrected the contradicting inputs internally. He pushed up into your touch keenly. You pressed all of his buttons at once, then alternated quickly switching between each of them in random order, deriving equal gratification from the sheer fun of playing with him as from the way Soundwave arched and shifted in your hold, vents growing shallow.

You pressed the record button and moved in close to him, winding your arms about his chassis and running your digits up the smooth glass. Soundwave let out a whine filled with static when your digits left his buttons, but then you found the eject button on his shoulder and his visor brightened in anticipation. You splayed your servo over his chest compartment and pushed, the spring mechanism attempting to propel the tape deck open only to be met with resistance. He pressed himself even more firmly back against you to give it room to open, but you pushed it shut with a click, holding the button down. Soundwave's visor flickered. "Release it."

"Or what?" You massaged his compartment, pushing hard with your thumb just above his lower hinge to keep it closed, your digits stretching to mess with the buttons on his abdomen again, playing back Soundwave's melodious sighs and the hum of cooling fans.

"Or Soundwave: Will press your buttons."

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

[hoiststowline]

hits different

ultra magnus x female!reader

orginally posted on my ao3 here! tw: mentions of claustrophobia and arachnophobia.

There's a brief moment where Magnus considers it may have been a horrible idea to ask you to accompany him for this mission. While he regularly seeks out your company, it seemed like second nature to assume you'd want to tag along, but your hesitation was evident, even if you tried to hide it. Magnus knew you better than you thought, optics dimming at your jumbled words, eventually circling back to the original question. 

"Yeah, sure. Why not." He observes how your tiny fingers furl into fists and then unclench, knuckles kissed red by the winter weather. "Sounds good to me."

Magnus wants to tell you that you don't have to come if there's elsewhere you had plans to be. However, he finds it difficult as his processor leaps for joy, a vast contrast to his stern outward expression. He's finding it harder and harder to uncover things that cause him excitement anymore, so much time lost between his servos that he cannot scrounge back up. If he can spend a couple of Earth hours with you alone, he'd take what he could get with stride. 

During the drive to the cave system, you had been unnaturally quiet. You were obviously off-put by something, but Magnus had yet to extricate the premise, himself stoic and unsure in how to proceed. You had his trust, and he, yours, but he understood oftentimes he appeared unapproachable. 

"Is it...like really far inside?" It's the first question you've asked regarding the energon deposit, voice just above a whisper. He could almost compare you to a mouse, timid as you struggle to match his stride even in his slow gait. At your inquiry, he looks down at the top of your head, but you keep your gaze fixated on the caverns ahead. 

"I do not think so, but I cannot be certain." He answers, heavily concerned now. "What is the matter, y/n? Do you not feel up to par?" 

You fumble with the strings of your sweatshirt, sneakers kicking up dirt as you nearly trip, but catch yourself. At this, Magnus makes a noise in the back of his throat, but ex-vents as you righten. "I'm fine." You sniff, hands now stuffed inside your hoodie's pockets. "I kinda maybe sorta dislike closed-off spaces, but I'm fine." 

Magnus freezes, pedes halting as you nearly breeze past, stopping just ahead of him as you turn to look his way. "Pardon?"

"Oh, you're cruel to make me say it again." Your shoulders jump to your ears, then fall as a shrug of sorts. "I wanted to hang out with you, but I hate this. I feel closed in and I know just about every species of spider lives in here."

He's unamused, rightfully so, as this is new information to him. The knowledge of a fear of spiders isn't, but he's come to find arachnophobia is a common trepidation to humans. It's never crossed his mind that you had other paranoias and fears, but such a topic wouldn't come up naturally in conversation. 

"I see." Magnus rumbles, now understanding your avid atypical voicelessness, wanting to quell that fear that he knows is sitting like a pit in your stomach. "I owe you an apology then, my intentions were not for you to be afraid,"

"No, no apology needed. It's my fault, I should have just said so." You should not feel any ounce of fear with a mech like Ultra Magnus at your left, however, that gnawing feeling still comes in fleeting passes. 

"What would you suggest?" He hums, lowering himself to one knee in front of you. "I can take you home, or we can cease for now and I shall return later?" 

The toe of your sneaker runs along the dirt, shy all of a sudden as you look up at him with a small pout. "Continuing isn't an option?"

His shoulders sink in a defeated manner, unsure of what you mean. "I am not understanding your request, y/n. I thought you wanted to leave?"

"I guess I'm still scared, but it's a little less when I'm with you." Voice small, your colorful irises meet his cerulean optics with a glimmer of something he cannot describe. "We're already here, no point in turning around now."

"If it gives you discomfort, there's assuredly good reason to turn back." The way he looks at you makes your head spin. Magnus was rough around the edges, but for some unknown reason, he was always understanding and empathetic with you. You almost didn't want to tell him, but knew the further inside you traversed, the anxiety would begin to swallow you whole. "You aren't disappointing anyone, y/n."

"I'm good." Your palms run over your pants, a motion so you don't have to meet his eyes. "I wanted you to know. It didn't say it to leave, I said it so maybe you could understand my, ah, hesitation." 

Magnus hums, a soft noise that sends a chill straight down the length of your spine. "Very well. I appreciated you disclosing such to me, rest assured it will not be breathed to another soul." 

Most described Ultra Magnus as stuffy and overly formal, the exact opposite of a rule-breaker and in basic terms, boring. You've never found him to be any of those things, preaching about his solicitude and forbearing nature, a true force to be reckoned with. At a glance together, the two of you could generally be compared as exact inverses, your upbeat attitude was no match for his nearly permanent frown, but it was a match made well, a trusted method to the madness you both often found yourselves in. 

"Thanks, Mags." He scoffs at the nickname but pulls a servo free that was previously across his knee. 

"Is there something I can provide to palliate some of your fear?" It's not an odd request, thinking it over for half a second before nodding your head, one of your tell-tale smiles breaking through at his query. Magnus loves your smile, the way your entire face alights with an unimaginable amount of content. 

"Actually," You start, beginning to feel that wariness subside. "There is one thing." 

Your ask was not that much of an ask, rather than an action that Magnus likely would have offered later on in the trip anyway. You've come to sit on his shoulder countless times, and he dares to think he likes you there best because he can better address you, and it's a position that keeps you close to him. Your fingers find their usual spot atop his plating, almost leaning into your touch. 

"For the arachnids?" He muses, sending a small smile your way, now standing to his full height, albeit painfully slow. 

"I'm not thinking about the ones likely above us, so please don't remind me." A breathy laugh escapes your lips, catching his gaze as he continues onwards. "I really do appreciate it, Magnus. Normally people just look at me like I'm crazy and tell me to get over it."

The look he sends you is a mix of confusion and alarm. "You are not crazy, y/n. It's a genuine fear, that is nothing to take lightly." 

Something that hasn't happened in a long while was the kick-on of his cooling fans, the systems whirring to life as you lean over to kiss his cheek gently. The touch is soft, much softer than anything else that's brushed his outer plating, and while it took him by surprise, he hoped he covered it well enough. "Such a gentleman," And it's not a coo, it's a statement, nearly a whisper but wholehearted. 

Ultra Magnus adores you, that is downright obvious to anyone who observes your interactions, but one would have to search a little deeper to discover the reasoning. Upon first contact meeting you, you had nearly fainted, and that is a memory he'd like to permanently remove from his processor as he thought he offlined you. After that initial interaction, it'd be fair to assume you'd want little to do with him, though he was infatuated with you nonetheless. 

It took him with great surprise that you always ended up next to him, nearly standing behind his leg at first as if you were reserved but comfortable around him. Very early on, you had even accidentally touched the back of his knee, and he nearly choked on his sentence. Upon opening up to him, there was little where he would go, that you would not. 

He's heard the comparison of those with kind hearts and the patience of a saint. Primus knows that you've put up with his bluntness and unfamiliarity with the terrain, a simple gesture that means bounds to him. "Everything okay?" You ask, cocking your head to the side at his faraway look. 

"Of course." Magnus resounds, going to straighten his posture before realizing where you are. "Many thanks." 

His words are so formal sometimes he reminds you of an old professor you've had, gentle but stately. It makes him more attractive in a way, admiring sometimes how he slips up and talks to you with a bit more casualty in his tone, especially when he's exhausted. You wonder if anyone else has seen him in these moments, but then again, it's likely if they have, it wouldn't be something worth advertising. 

"No worries." You smile, quietly tucking your legs underneath you. "How far now, Maggy?"

Now his brow furrows, groaning. "Must you?"

"I must." Nodding, you laugh aloud when you catch him rolling his optics. 

"Another dozen yards or so. You'll be alright?" Taking a deep breath, you silently exhale through your nose. 

"Yessir," He's come to like the feeling of your palms, nearly melting under their minute pressure. "I'll be just fine." 

[whatwooshkai]

24?

Heatwave should've seen this coming.

He knew he was forgetting something last night, and now sure enough, there's a pressure behind his optics and a burn at the coolant ducts beneath them.

"I'll be right back," he mutters, pressing the back of his hand to his face and detangling himself from the other rescue bots on the couch. No one bats an optic, they all just shift slightly to give him an easier exit.

Heatwave steps into the closet where they keep the medical supplies and grabs the coolant bucket, plopping himself on his aft and bringing it between his knees. Coolant begins to flow freely from the ducts under his optics, and Heatwave sighs heavily, settling in best he can.

Heatwave's frame has always produced excess coolant, something Ratchet had told him after The Incident was a symptom of his outlier ability, going hand in hand with his frame running hotter than most. His other rescue bots have known about it since he's known them, there's only so long you can hide having to siphon excess coolant from an auxiliary intake every night before someone notices and has questions. They've always thought it was just an issue with his code, and he's let them believe that. It certainly makes more sense than "symptom of having psychic visions".

This is the first time in a long time he's forgotten to siphon out his coolant. It happened a lot when they first got to Earth, what with the completely different solar cycles, but he got used to it pretty quick, and his rescue bots have taken to reminding him on the regular. So what happened last night that he forgot?

Heatwave wracks his processor as coolant runs down the natural divots in his faceplate, filling up the bucket far more quickly than he thought it would. That shouldn't be right, it should be just enough to even out the tank, why is there so much coming out?

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he can't really remember the last time he properly siphoned his coolant tank beyond just skimming off the top…

Heatwave suddenly lurches forward as he vents hiccup, and another, stronger wave of coolant pours out from his ducts. His servos are beginning to shake, his vents quickly becoming faster and shallower. Shit, shit, shit. He quickly checks his coolant levels and-

Holy fuck- 371%?!?! How-

Oh.

He hasn't siphoned his coolant since The Incident, has he?

Heatwave presses his fist to his mouth, feeling a burn in the back of his throat. He's been good about this his whole functioning, he's never ever let it get this bad. Some part of him wants to blame his rescue bots, for being so on top of him about everything lately and yet letting this slip through the cracks, but he knows through and through it's his fault.

Ratchet had lectured him for hours about taking proper care of himself. And yet he let the simplest, most habitual thing he can possibly do to keep his frame in good condition is the thing that he hasn't been going.

His frame gives another uncomfortable lurch and Heatwave purges into the bucket.

Purging coolant burns in a weird, new, freezing and uncomfortable way and Heatwave already wants it to stop so he can never experience it ever again. But that's wishful thinking, and they'd established years ago that Primus hates him specifically, so he purges again, his optics beginning to short out from the flood of coolant running the ducts ragged.

Heatwave pulls up his levels and the slowly decreasing number is almost comforting. But when it's been twenty minutes and he's barely down to 200%, Heatwave jams two digits down his throat.

Purging has proved to be the most effective way to dump coolant, and his coolant ducts fucking hurt, and the burn in his throat will be soothed by self repair eventually, his ducts are going to hurt for days.

He doesn't know if the pink swirls in the bucket are blood or unprocessed energon, but it's not like it matters. This is unusable, anyways.

Normally they can reuse his coolant excess on hot days or during emergencies, but this... is bad. Yeah. He's got to get rid of this before the others find out.

Between purges Heatwave checks his levels, watching it slowly creep down to 100%, then past, to his normal 50%. It'll be back to 100% in a day or two.

Heatwave wipes his face, getting into the divets to clear the coolant out properly and cycling his optics, hoping to get the feed back to normal. He stares reproachfully into the bucket, then slams a cover over it and forces it into his subspace. He'll throw it in the junkyard later.

Stepping out of the room, Heatwave continues rubbing at his optics, trying to ease some of the ache.

"Heatwave?"

Heatwave looks up to the couch, where Boulder and Blades have fallen asleep, and Chase is looking up at him blearily from between them.

"Are you alright?" he asks, squinting at him.

"Yep," Heatwave says, coming up behind the couch to rub between his finials. "Just fine."

Chase frowns, clearly fighting against falling back into recharge. "Have you siphoned your coolant lately?"

Heatwave bites his glossa to keep from laughing aloud, and instead pushes Chase's visor down. "Yep. Go back to sleep."

There's a noncommittal hum from Chase, before he succumbs to recharge and his vents even out. Heatwave sighs heavily, and rubs under his optics again.

Better take care of this before he forgets.

[cozzzynook]

Fem Megatron x Fem Rodimus NSFW pls :)

Fem megatron has extremely large breasts that her chassis just can’t really hide.

She’s more vicious in battle and larger than when she’s a mech.

As a femme she’s deadlier and more cunning. A real problem that the autobots are glad changed sides even if they still are terrified of her and don’t want her there.

Getaway thinks twice about trying to kill her, Getaway still tries but it takes longer to figure out its him since he went through all the trouble of pinning it on someone else out of fear. It was Rodimus he should’ve been afraid of.

Rodimus is a gorgeous femme, more gorgeous than when a mech.

Her chassis is decent sized and she’s still around male Rodimus’s size but she’s got a very very large pair of breasts hidden beneath her chest plating. Rodimus has very thick thighs and a ridiculously curvy waist. She’s used to the stares and doesn’t mind so long as no one touches.

The best part?

Rodimus has two valves for double the penetration, she can also make the two one big valve but she needs a lot of slick and transfluid to do it.

Back to Rodimus being a threat.

She is much more vengeful as a femme and when she gets her servos on Getaway she takes pleasure in tearing him apart piece by piece after hunting him down on the ship and slowly killing him for what he did to herself, Megatron, Tailgate and her crew.

The sight of Rodimus so brutally killing Getaway makes Megs so charged she scoops up Rodimus right in the heat of her heaving from ripping Getaways spark apart and rushes them both to her hab.

Right there she pops her panels open, slides her glossa down Rodimus’s throat and hears Rodimus’s panels click open and slides her extremely large spike into Rodimus’s valve that struggles to form into one and take all of her.

Megs is careful with her rough treatment but she does give Rodimus the fragging worthy of an energon soaked femme after battle like in the days of her gladiator past.

Rodimus is more than willing, more than eager to accept Megs spike and servos wandering every part of her she once kept hidden.

The two are roughly pushing against the other, undoing chassis locks, panel latches and helm keys to see all of each other in the most raw form they can.

They’re soft with each other after their charge comes down.

Their overload is loud and rattles the berth and door, Megs thunderous slam into Rodimus that ignites sparks that start a small fire on the floor leaves them slightly exhausted. The fire is lazily put out and Rodimus gropes Megs first while Megs can’t take her optics off Rodimus’s large jiggling breasts.

They’re both mesmerized by the size of their breasts and colors of their mesh and protoforms.

Rodimus would’ve thought Megs to be all gray but the shades of black, brown and surprisingly red thrill her.

Megs is more than happy to be right about how bright and vibrant Rodimus is. Hues of orange, yellow, red and even deep honey enthrall her.

To see each others sparks glow for each other beneath their breasts has them pushing the large mounds together. Of course Megs are bigger but Rodimus isn’t that far from her.

They rub and touch each other in no hurry.

Rubbing their nozzles together feeling milk from Rodimus’s ducts spill, their outer nodes rubbing each others swollen, coated in slick and fluids they both slid digits into to taste.

Megs won’t let Roddy’s fuel go to waste of course.

She drinks from Roddy’s nozzles greedily as Rodimus slides a fist inside Megs valve and Megs slides the fat outer node of hers into Rodimus’s valve.

They both make each other overload for hours.

The crew has the unfortunate pleasure to hear whats going on.

Its only unfortunate because they can’t join.

[mochimelt]

Half-Built

Shockwave & Gn!Reader (could be romantic or platonic)(oneshot)

Your audials activated first. The whirr of your machinery and the low hum of the lab filled your senses, slowly dulled out as the rest of your body began to wake. Your digits twitched against the table, curling into a fist and flattening again, the cold seeping into your metal servos. A sense of familiarity washed over your spark.

“Test. Test.” A close voice spoke out, bits of static slipping into your audio sensors as they recalibrated. “One, two. Do you hear me?”

Your voicebox creaked to life. “Yes, sir.” Far too much static for your liking.

“Staticy and unstable.” A scribbling sound followed, pen on paper, instead of the typical digital clicks and clacks of typing. “Visuals?”

“Not on yet.” Smoother than before. You pushed down the tiny sense of pride that grew in your chassis.

A short ‘hm’ sounded from beside you. “Slow. … Continue.”

Anxious disappointment took over the tidbit of pride like a weed. Unwanted thoughts crawled through your processor, leaving as quickly as they came. Did you break? Had you done something wrong? Corrupted your own body? Was he disappointed with you? You hadn’t failed him, had you?

Your optics flickered online after far too long, the glow of your eyes filling your vision as the rest of the room came into focus. Your vision traced the metal paneling of the ceiling above you, the tubes and wires running into the wall beside you, the flickering light and shadow from the bulb just out of sight.

Oh. That light didn’t typically flicker that way.

“Optics are online, sir.”

“Good. Can you sit up?”

Your helm nodded and scraped lightly against the metal table. Cables pulled against the movement, resting uncomfortably behind your helm. Your arms braced against the table as your servos pushed against it, body slowly raising, optics flicking across the space as you did. The room was in disarray. Wires pulled from their sockets, sparks of electricity from broken tubing, cracks spread across the tile floor. The computer display was missing, the comforting blue glow absent for the very first time.

“Sir, may I ask a question?” You spoke softly, your vision finally focusing on the mech before you.

He had a purple frame, his servo resting on the table beside you, his other arm limp by his side. His digits tapped rhythmically against the clipboard resting on the table. Paper clipped tightly in place, a pen set just beside it, neat handwriting filling half the page. A singular, yellow optic watched you as you moved. Two gray ‘audials’ (though you hesitated to call them that, unsure if those were his audials or not,) sat on each side of his helm. Like little antennae, they flicked up at the sight of your movement. His helm nodded slowly to your request.

“Why is the lab in such disorganization?”

He turned to the rest of the room, looking over the broken wiring and cracked floor, and turned back to face you. “There was a disturbance that resulted in damage to the local area. Power has been cut and is being fixed at the moment.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Sympathies are useless.” His hand picked up the pen once more, holding it just above the paper. “Remain focused on the task at hand. Status?”

“Right.” Your digits held to the edge of the table you sat on. “Status update; all systems online. Audials green. Optics green. Touch green. Vents green.”

Your body moved to demonstrate each system as you read them off. Your optics flickered on and off, your servo tapped against the table, your chassis venting out the slowly heating air within. Energon flowed freely through your body, your spark thrumming rhythmically within your chassis, safety tucked away from open air. You’d need to refill soon. Shockwave responded to each check with a sharp nod and a scribble on the page.

“Left arm online. Right arm online. Servos online.” You flexed each arm and digit before letting them fall limp once more. “Left leg offline. Right leg offline.”

Two stumps sat at the bottom of your torso, where your legs would someday connect. This was expected. Shockwave wasn’t finished building your legs yet, and there was no point in connecting them when they still didn’t work. Not that you minded. His work was difficult, and you would wait as long as he needed to finish building you. You had him to thank for your life, after all.

“Damage report?” His voice rung out, snapping you out of your thoughts. His optic watched you curiously, head tilted only a couple degrees to the side, one digit tapping against the side of the pen he held.

You twisted your helm, one hand pushing into the wiring of your neck. You could barely see the metal of your open back, your internal wiring visible and unfinished, temporarily patched together until Shockwave could find the pieces for your wings. Small wires pulled from your back into the machinery beside you. “No damage to helm. No damage to chassis.”

He hummed. You twisted each arm and bent each digit, stretching and tensing, then let your arms fall. Wires tugged and loosened from each limb as they moved. “No damage to arms or servos.”

“Very good.” His scribbling came to a stop and he stood straight. His helm looked down at you just a bit, optic unchanging as he observed you, as always.

You weren’t sure if his optic was unsettling or comforting. Shockwave was the only mech you knew, and something within your spark cried of fear at the sight of his single optic, his mangled arm turned into a weapon, the cold tone in his voice and the uncaring words he spoke. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a warm comfort at the sight of him. More than once you were left in the lab alone, unable to rest and shut down, staring up at the empty ceiling. It wasn’t often, but on these occasions he would stay in the room with you. Off to the side doing his own work. He would tell you about things he encountered that day, other mechs he ran into and possibly ran over, and theories he had regarding you and your form. He would ramble about the modifications and adjustments you needed, the pieces he planned to give you to complete your body. You were his perfect experiment, he said. A mech to traverse all areas. Land, air, and sea of any kind, you would travel them all.

Your form was all thanks to him. All the metal of your body had been repurposed from dead bots, melded and shaped to fit you. A menagerie of colors lay on your plating, cracked and peeling at the ends, not that you cared. Once you were finished you would worry about getting a fresh coat of paint. Maybe you’d go with purple, to match Shockwave. Would he like that?

There was a deep warmth in your spark. A feeling of comfort and familiarity, of care and admiration. Your spark. You didn’t know if he had taken your spark from another mech, or if he had somehow created one of his own, or taken a piece of the Allspark. At the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. There were no memories within this spark. Nothing to connect you to anyone or anything, nothing to taint your memories. A blank slate in the purest sense.

“May I ask a question sir?”

Shockwave stared down at you for a moment before nodding, waving his servo toward you.

“Why wake me up?” A cable pulled at the back of your helm as you leaned forward, twisting to look behind you, at the group of wires and cables that connected to your helm and back. Sparks of electricity emanated from tiny cracks in the wiring insulation, bits of tape wrapping together the more broken pieces. “Am I not a waste of limited power? You could have waited until the power had returned to wake me.”

He watched you as you spoke. His helm sat still, his optic revealing no emotion beneath, none of his thoughts or feelings. But the way he tilted his head just a bit, the way his digits tapped against your frame as he watched you, subtly checking for any external damage, it revealed more than he knew.

“I wanted to check on you. Ensure no damage was done to you during the power outage.” His voice was smooth and monotone as ever, his digits tracing the scrapes on your arm. “Yes, you use some of my limited power, but it was optimal to do so. Tracking your state and fixing any errors is of most importance at the moment. Trying to fix any problems when they have settled and corrupted would be far too troublesome a task.”

You couldn’t help the twinge of satisfaction that came to mind when he spoke. He cared about you, your safety and your status, enough to use his limited power to boot you up and check on your state. His touch drifted away from your arm, leaving behind the insignificant scrapes and peeling paint, and you leaned in to try and keep him there.

“Now, allow me to fix the errors within you.” His servo found purchase on your chassis, a gentle push moving you to lay back down.

“I have problems?”

“Yes. Your slow activation shows you cannot run optimally on low amounts of energon. I will fix this error and optimize your frame to run smoothly on limited quantities of energon.”

“Right.” You didn’t resist as he pushed you back on the metal table, shuffling slightly to get yourself as comfortable as possible for the process to come. It was a familiar routine. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Of course.” His helm nodded above you, servo fiddling with the machine hooked up to your form. “Disabling pain sensors.”