Minors/no age in bio will be blocked

rules:

I am only familiar with G1 cartoon and comic and TFA.

Open to doing pretty much any ship excepting G1 Jazz/Prowl

Will do canon human/Transformer

Won't do OCs or reader inserts

Drabbles will be between 500 and 1000 words

I wanna talk about the dark version of the AU. Not a SG, just a slightly different version where the themes are darker. In the commotion of TFA’s first season finale, Queen Megachile of this underground colony awakens and send two of her colonists to find her a new breeding stud since her last one retired recently. They happen upon the battle, take one look at both Optimus and Megatron, and go “Those two? Yeah those two.” And wait for one of them to drop. They both end up unconscious and they take Oppy cause Megs is too heavy for them to take both.

Back at the hive, Queenie starts hooking her claws in him by personally attending to his wounds, building a rapport, etc. All this to cover the fact that she’s tuning a literal siren song to fit him specifically. When the crew track down where he is and come get him, she has her colonists act hostile so she can “call them off” and return Oppy to them without issues.

Throughout season two, she continues to dig her claws into him until he comes to the hive of his own free will and starts being her personal stud. Whether he takes the rest of the crew with him is undetermined but I’m leaning on yes.

That’s not all that happens though. After repeated fluid exchanges, Oppy starts showing a slew of symptoms that culminates in him starting to produce silk from his fingertips. Turns out that enough transfluid can mutate other types of cybertronians into insecticons, and Oppy’s starting his conversion. They help him get comfortable and give him the basics of what will happen and how to properly cocoon himself, but the rest is up to him. Queenie has guards posted to keep him safe.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a plot point without a conflict, so of course the Decepticons get up to some shenanigans during this time. It starts out easy to manage but quickly gets out of control to the point where Queenie has to intervene and prove why she’s the queen of her hive. During the battle, Oppy completes his conversion and soars onto the battlefield as backup and the most beautiful Madagascar Sunset Moth/Mothra hybrid the hive has ever seen. He absolutely mollywhopps Megs btw.

Oh and of course, the “something something sentinel gets horribly mutilated/killed for his hubris” that’s contained in all my stories.

Such as "is he even he still alive? Will I ever feel the incredible grip of his valve again?"

G1 idea...

Megatron is tired of his subordinates' failures to steal energy from the humans, so he tasks Soundwave to build some sort of new energon processor/generator thing.

Soundwave comes up with a great idea... a generator powered by the energy released during overloads. All they have to do is stick a bot inside and have them ride a dildo until they output enough juice.

Starscream is chosen to be the one locked in the machine. It starts slow, then ramps up, feeding off the electricity produced via pleasure and friction. Starscream is embarrassed to find he actually really likes it (despite yelling to be let out of the thing), and he makes it through three overloads before Megatron has mercy on him and sets him free.

From then on, whenever Starscream is in trouble, the first thing he says is "no, Megatron! Don't throw me in the sex box! Anything but that!" in an attempt to reverse psychology Megatron into putting him into said box.

Megatron thinks Starscream genuinely hates it, but Starscream is thrilled to go in the box (though he would never admit it of course)

short n silly thing that's not really explicit, but still. TFA Ratchet & a really (un)lucky human mechanic.

Benson had, like most citizens of Detroit, gotten used to the Autobots. They were almost like celebrities, really. Benson's son was nuts about collecting all the merchandise they made of the little yellow guy, and his daughter was infatuated with the big green one. Benson himself didn't have much of an opinion on them. He guessed they were good guys, but he never really thought about what he'd do if he met one in real life.

Which was why he was at somewhat at a loss for words when one of the Autobots rolled (or rather, walked) into his shop at 11 P.M.

“This is a mechanic's shop, right?”

Benson had to crane his neck to look up at the robot's face. “Uh, yeah. Benson's Automotive, at your service — sir.”

The red and white bot grumbled. “It'll have to do,” he said, more to himself than anything.

Great, this was the cranky old man Autobot. His name was Ratchet, which Benson only remembered because it was like the evil nurse from that one movie.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, trying to put on his best customer voice.

“Well, I've had this… thing ever since I got to your planet and started transforming.” He hiked up one leg and rested one foot on a workbench. “Hasn't given me any trouble, but I keep wonderin’ what it is.”

Benson nodded, and before he can do anything else, the metal on Ratchet's crotch kind of… opened up, and where there was a red plate before, there was now a purplish blue — pussy.

There was no other word for it. The damn robot had a pussy. With inner and outer lips and everything. Benson struggled to remember if he'd gone to sleep earlier and was just having a bizarre dream, or if this giant alien robot (male alien robot, he was pretty sure) was just casually exposing himself in his shop.

“Are you just gonna stare?” Ratchet said. “Or do you know anything about this?”

“I —” Benson's entire face was so hot it tingled. He pulled at his collar, loathe to imagine how red his face must be. "This… that, uh. Isn't a part of your standard… uh, transformation?”

"No," Ratchet said, as if it were obvious. "This isn't part of one of your earth vehicles?"

Benson swallowed and tore his eyes away. He would rather have been standing naked at his high school graduation than face this situation. "No, ain't any vehicles that have that goin' on. It's…uh… biological."

Ratchet's optics narrowed. "So it's a human part, then."

"…kinda?" Benson coughed. "I mean, it looks like… I guess it's a bit like a human part, but, you know, not exactly."

"What's this part for on humans, then?"

The words stuck in Benson's throat. He was going to have to explain human anatomy to a giant alien robot. God help him. "It's… for… you see, humans are —"

"Spit it out already, human!"

"Reproduction," he finally managed. "And — uh — love. Between humans."

Ratchet hummed, rubbing the exposed organ with a casual air. "Reproduction, huh. Well, don't think I'll be needing it. This old frame isn't built for that kind of nonsense." He closed himself up again.

Benson just nodded awkwardly. "It doesn't give you any trouble?"

"Gets slick sometimes, but not enough to leak."

"Good to know." He wiped his sweaty palms on his overalls. "If it does, I guess uh, come by and I'll check it out?"

"I'll keep it in mind." Ratchet stepped back and transformed, driving off into the night.

BeachCeptor in some AU where bots suddenly find themselves able to be prengananant because. I don't know. Unicorn messing around or something.

Either way, Perceptor is absolutely fascinated by the possibilities and decides the best thing to do is experiment with getting a willing volunteer to go through pregernetcy and take it from there. Said volunteer is Beachcomber because of course he loves the idea of bringing new life into the world.

Its fairly casual and clinical at first. Perceptor decides to interface a few times, just to make sure Beachcomber gets inprengated. Beachcomber, who knows what pegrancy is because of his studies of organic creatures, just loves the feeling of something alive inside him. Just the thought of being bred is hot.

He begs Perceptor to keep giving him more transfluid. Just in case the bitlets need it to develop... they gotta get biomass from somewhere, right? Even after perceptor disproves this hypothesis, Beachcomber still begs for it because it's not like it could hurt, right?

He ends up round and heavy with large, hollow, plastic-like capsules. After laying the "eggs", Perceptor opens the capsules to find a compressed component with which to assemble a protoform. One batch of capsules does provide quite enough material to build an entire protoform, so Beachcomber least at the chance to be impreggnated multiple times.

here's a ffictional I ran out of steam for. Not really that explicit. I probably won't continue it unless there's interest

Tracks would be hard pressed to call Beachcomber his friend. They were more like acquaintances with benefits. In fact, the best descriptor for him would be “reoccurring pest”.

For some reason, there was a glitch in Beachcomber's map protocols that led him to believe Tracks’ garage was actually Swerve's bar, the place where he usually stayed. He'd come by so many times that Tracks had gotten tired of throwing him out, and just let him crash on the couch for indeterminate lengths of time.

Despite his horrendous lack of style and the fact he was almost always high off some substance, Beachcomber was actually nice company. Tracks did like having a… an acquaintance who didn't judge him for his looks, unlike all his other high-class friends. For all his posturing, Tracks wasn't nearly as high in status as Sunstreaker, or as accomplished as Powerglide, and he knew they looked down on him.

Beachcomber was just… easy to talk to, really. He drifted through life with a casual air that Tracks wished he could have, seemingly unbothered by events around him. He didn't care about Tracks’ status, or his own lack thereof.

He didn't really think much about what Beachcomber did for a living until the skinny blue mech came up to him one day with a data pad in hand.

“Hey, Tracks. Can you take a look at my latest manuscript?”

"I didn't know you wrote. What's it about?" Tracks asked, his curiosity piqued as Beachcomber handed him the data pad.

"It's called 'Dunesurfer and Trails in Heat'. There's a terrible disease spreading in Cybertron. It creates a heat cycle, like mechanimals have, but it's affecting Autobots and Decepticons alike," Beachcomber began. "The only way to stop it is for the infected to have wild, passionate sex with someone who's not."

Tracks barked out a laugh. "You can't be serious."

"Hey, people love silly stuff like that." Beachcomber shrugged. "But the real kicker is the love triangle between Dunesurfer, Trails, and a mysterious Decepticon. It's going to be a hit, I can feel it in my circuits." He flopped onto the couch.

Tracks couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, alright. I'll entertain your delusions of grandeur.” He began scrolling through the text.

The two bots were huge, chest plates marked with the Decepticon symbol and optics glowing with malicious intent. Trails could feel the ground vibrate with each heavy step the Decepticons took. The Autobot's hand inched towards the emergency button installed on the wall, ready to call for backup. But Dunesurfer just looked at him with a serene smile, his spike at half-mast and his valve glistening with excitement.

"There's only one way to take these two down, Trails," Dunesurfer whispered into his audial. "We have to frag them."

Trails looked at Dunesurfer, his mind racing. He knew what his friend was suggesting, but could he really do it? Could he really trade his dignity for the survival of Cybertron?

"Great, isn't it?" Beachcomber said.

Tracks couldn't help but roll his optics as he scrolled through Beachcomber's ludicrous manuscript. "It's… generic," he finally said. "A fine example of the 'sexual slop' genre."

"Slop? What do you mean 'slop'?" Beachcomber sat up.

"I mean it's mediocre. Average. Bottom of the barrel. Something a hack writer slaps together for quick shanix," Tracks said, not looking up from the pad. "And yet, it's also too dull to really make fun of. It's bad, in a boring way."

Beachcomber slumped back down onto the couch. "What? How? It's got everything. Action, romance, sex…”

“All poorly implemented. It really seems that you've never experienced any of those three things in your life.” He tossed the datapad at Beachcomber, who fumbled it to the floor.

“It's not like any of my readers have experienced that, either.” Beachcomber half-slid off the couch to pick it up. “Hey, you've done all those things, right?”

“I'm not going to give you writing advice,” Tracks said flatly.

“I was thinking more like a practical lesson —”

“I'm not going to give you that, either.”

"Aw." Beachcomber looked crestfallen. "Not even a little kiss? For demonstration?"

Tracks rubbed his chin. There was a small part of him that was ever so slightly interested in being intimate with Beachcomber, purely because the laid-back mech lacked the judgemental attitude that Tracks' previous partners had possessed.

He imagined interfacing with him. No expectations, no drama, no worrying about his "performance" being picked apart later. It was tempting.

So he figures Beachcomber would be the perfect bot to ask since he's so chill about interfacing. They try out a lot of intimate things, from cuddling to Perceptor getting his valve absolutely pounded, and he comes away thinking it was about the same as self-servicing.

Tracks/Raoul dollification... decepticon plot of the week leaves Tracks like 10 inches tall and he manages to fly to Raoul's place until the shrink thingy starts to wear off.

Along the way he like... okay so I imagine Tracks and Raoul have this almost petplay thing going on where Tracks goes into alt mode and pretends to be an inanimate vehicle while Raoul cares for him. They do something similar now, except Raoul dresses Tracks in old doll clothes and loves the opportunity to test out human fashion (even if it's at a small scale)

Beachcomber didn't mind interfacing on the job. He was a lot better at it than cleaning, really, but he really didn't want to lose his position as janitor. Sentinel Prime already didn't like him for his status as a conscientious objector, and he was probably looking for any excuse to fire him. If he found out Beachcomber had been lingering around in Longarm's office, hoping for a repeat of that one late-night encounter…

Well, Beachcomber would drift on to some other job. He should've been named Flotsam, with the way he aimlessly drifted wherever the tides took him. For now, he would do whatever he needed to do, and leave any worries to his future self.

Tracks initially scoffs at that, and says he's too beneath him to even consider that. (In reality, Tracks is also a virgin, and is afraid of making a fool of himself). But he eventually says he's willing to stoop to Beachcomber's level for a little interfacing. Purely for educational purposes, of course.

Transformers animated, Bumblebee/Prowl('s holoform)

Bumblebee had a holoform, but he didn't really use it. It wasn't that short, scrawny human protoform that he'd ended up as in Soundwave's weird simulation, either — he'd based it on a popular music star instead. Bumblebee figured if he was going to have one, it would at least be a good-looking one.

He hadn't really thought much about it until he'd gone on an Allspark shard-retrieving mission across Michigan with Prowl.

Oh I love that. How have I never considered bot/bot holoform before?? I imagine the convo would be like.

Bee: are you sure you don't want to like. Do this normally

Prowl, strapping on the biggest dildo he could find: I think you could learn a lot from a human touch

Bee: ugh okay fine I guess I'll try it 🙄

Bee, 5 minutes later: holy SHIT this is good