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KSAR-IB43326 "Cricket", Eusan Infantry and Heavy Gunner
Formerly known as Doe, she's defective, perpetually in a state of terror, and madly in love with her lovely ara girlfriend Jensen!
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I've been very stressed about various upcoming events recently, so instead of doing anything constructive about it I drew stuff from my TFP fic. As one does.
Miko and her twelve-ton pet freak who decided to adopt her and now they are two halves of a whole problem. Also Ratchet regretting Starscream's entire existence because he keeps pulling scrap like this, and if he doesn't keel over first then Ratchet might beat him to it.
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Hey, would like to say, I absolutely love your writing. It's a great help getting through the exam period of the year ahaha. Especially your Screamer versions (bayverse one is so good oh). If it's alright, I would love to see more of TFP Starscream though, he is so annoying yet classy I love him
He’s trying his hardest to plot and this human isn’t helping 🔞 MDNI mass displaced mech 🌶️
Distractions
TFP Starscream x Reader
• Clawed servo absently skating over the screen of his datapad, his wings flick. Poison’s always an option, he supposes. Though since that lunatic ingests dark energon like it’s nothing, there’s a chance that at this point the fool might have figured out an accidental form of mithridatism. Isn’t even sure if cosmic rust would phase him. Jaw clenching, he runs his other hand over his helm. “Hey, I didn’t know you could draw.” Groaning as you pad onto his datapad, a blanket draped over your shoulders, you frown down at his caricatures. Of Megatron being hanged, stabbed, and poisoned. “Wow, that’s an unhealthy amount of obsession you’ve got there.”
• “Shoo. I’m busy,” he growls, nudging you with a servo as his wings tremble in embarrassed outrage at being caught doodling. ‘I especially like this one. The bugged out eyes really sell it,’ you tease as he hisses at you. Dropping your blanket, you kneel and lay back. Posing for him. ‘Need some inspiration? You could draw me like one of your French girls,’ you say as he scowls. Even as his optics slide down your naked body. Letting your thighs fall slightly open, you arch your back. ‘Maybe like this?’
• “I’m busy,” he insists even as his spike stirs, aching to be freed. Watching you stretch, the way you move makes him want to growl. ‘Hey, don’t let me stop you from doodling dead Megatrons,’ you say, arms over your head and wrists crossed. Tempting him with your alien wiles. ‘We both know I can always just entertain myself,’ you add, a brow arching as your thighs rub together. Watching a hand slide down your body, he snarls. Mass shifting and smacking his hand down beside your head before you can touch yourself as you smile innocently up at him.
• “You’re insufferable,” he snarls even as his spike releases to pressurize. And he can act all pissy if he wants, but you know where all his buttons are. ‘You love it,’ you tease as his wings flare aggressively. “I do not,” he snarls, mouth skimming against your throat as he settles between your thighs and you feel the head of his spike slide against you. Gripping his wings to make him buck with a hiss, you laugh as he moves against you, the head of his spike smearing slick against you as his rumbling changes pitch.
• “Stop that,” he snarls and your expression is pure mischief. Making it apparent that you’re not going to listen. Not that you ever do. Optics hooded at the feel of your body under his, the scent of your need is growing more prominent so every intake of air through his vents drugs him with you. And it’s all so obscene. Shouldn’t need this. Shouldn’t need you. ‘Stop teasing,’ you gasp, squirming under him. Shouldn’t obsess over you. Need to know where you are, what you’re doing. Need you.
• “Hands off the wings,” he snarls, frame shuddering when he sinks into your slick heat. ‘Make me,’ you counter, smoothing your hands over their surface to make him flick them. “Insufferable brat,” he growls, hips pumping. Hanging onto him to keep him from sliding you against the screen with his thrusts, you’re pretty sure he didn’t shut the datapad off. That there’s going to be all kinds of interesting pressure smudges from your butt on his screen. Laughing at that thought, he snarls and gets rougher, hips snapping to make your toes curl at how good it feels when he gets mad.
• He gets lost in the feel of your body fisting his spike as you gasp and moan, demands falling from your lips. Hates how much he needs this. That he craves you like an addiction. That you make him lose all self control. It’s mortifying, but he still can’t stop. Loves how you look after, skin sheened with sweat, his slick on your skin and your eyes hooded as you breathe raggedly. Groaning as you squirm, an arm sliding against the screen as you shatter, he’s dimly aware of a ping. The familiar message sent notification sound. And he’s overloading even as horror spills icily through his lines. What did he just send and to whom?
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knew this woman who used to be a gay man and when he was a gay man he liked ‘ironically’ referring to himself as she/her and so when he came out as a woman he decided the next logical step was to also switch his pronouns to he/him.
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