#cyberrosewrites

"C'mere, you." Ratchet catches your chin with a servo, bringing your lips closer to capture them in a long-anticipated kiss. His other servo holds your lower back, inching closer down to cup your ass.

Moaning into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck. Hard steel meets soft fingertips as you play amongst the seams. The medic groans with you as he presses his glossa against your teeth, a gentle command exuding confidence that makes your knees weak.

A new set of metallic lips meets your body. It's a welcomed one, inviting your other lover in by tilting your neck just enough. The Prime licks and sucks at your already bruised skin, reminiscing of all the previous bouts of love poured over you. His servos find the side of your ribcage, running the tips over and between where they lie under your shirt.

"We missed you today," Optimus says breathlessly against your ear, nipping at your lobes, "I apologise for our busy schedule."

Parting your lips from Ratchet, who responds with a groan and a small flick at your lips with his glossa, you turn your attention to the mech behind you, "I don't care," You lift your hand to caress his face, "Just fuck me."

"With pleasure," Ratchet mumbles into your neck, having seized the opportunity to nuzzle himself against you. He dips his servos down to tug at the hem of your shirt.

"Here- let me." Optimus strips the fabric over your head, dumping it on the ground. Ratchet is next, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. With hands as dexterous as his, he quickly does so and lets it fall from your shoulders.

Optimus groans at the sight, snaking his servos in front to cup at your breasts. They fit against his palms perfectly, as if you were made for him. He kneads them together, squishing and squeezing them. It causes a soft moan from you, and you lean your chest into his touch. His metal is cold to touch and sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm takin' these off." Ratchet focuses his attention on your pants and dips his digits underneath. He grips your underwear, too, and pulls them down to your ankles to let you step out of them. As soon as he does, Ratchet's dermas are attached to your skin, and he kisses his way upwards. No stone unturned; not one inch of your flesh is spared from his opened-mouth kisses, worshipping your flesh like it's the last time he'll ever get a taste.

You can feel Optimus' impatience poking at your lower back, surely pent up from the stresses of leadership. You can feel your own arousal start to build at the thought of his impatience plunging into you. Rubbing your thighs together to ease some pressure, it catches the attention of both hungry mechs.

"Come on, Optimus," Ratchet grips onto your hips, standing up to full height, which seems to be miles above your head, "Let's get 'em on the berth; I'm far too impatient for mere foreplay."

Optimus agrees entirely, wrapping his arms around your midsection and effortlessly picking you up. He steps back until the back of his knees hits the berth, hauling you up against him. With a small surprised shriek from you, he flops back to lay fully onto the berth, your back lying against his chassis. Your other lover closely follows, climbing up to plant himself between both yours and Optimus' thighs firmly.

"Who's spiking first?" Ratchet asks, placing both servos onto your spread thighs. His optics hold the weight of cement, and he cannot look anywhere but your exposed folds.

"I will allow you first, old friend," Optimus presses his face against the side of yours, "I am sure our little love does not mind either way, hm?"

You nod, a desperate whine dragged from your throat when Optimus snakes his servo around to circle at your clit, "Yes, yes, I don't care, just- just please fuck me."

"I love it when you beg like that," It takes no more convincing from Ratchet to unsheath his spike. It's much smaller than Optimus but large and thick enough to keep you begging for more. He brings a servo to his mouth and spits on it before working his oral lubricants over his spike. Once satisfied, he leans down to kiss the inside of your thigh before letting his lubricants well up in his mouth and spits on your pussy. Optimus chuckles lowly at your reaction, allowing the warm spit to lubricate his digits to spread it all around your folds.

Once he feels sufficiently hard enough, Ratchet presses the tip against the threshold. He's too eager and can hardly wait a moment longer, "Oh, Primus-" He pushes further, slowly working half of his shaft inside.

He's barely seated inside you, and you're already trembling, resisting the urge to cry out. Optimus holds you steady, whispering soft praises and encouragement through it all.

"So well," Optimus watches with hazed optics as Ratchet sinks fully inside you, his digits continuing to work on your bud, "You take Ratchet exceedingly well."

Ratchet lets out a rough grunt, "Though a rather tight fit, might I add-" He leans his body over, making a sexually charged sandwich out of you, "But you feel like fragging silk." He shivers above you, and you've got no choice but to stare into his optics as he withdraws his length and thrusts hard back into you.

"Oh my god-" Your speech falters, and you arch your back against Optimus. Though not as fast-paced as the Prime, the medics feel longer and more powerful each time and ring your vocal cords like a bell.

"That's it-" Ratchet buries his helm into your neck, his work of breathing increasing with every plunge into your plush pussy, "Take it- take all of it."

Optimus chimes in, his voice strained with anticipation and longing, "They certainly are-" The driving force of Ratchet causes your back to grind and rub against his spike. He breathlessly nips at your ear lobe, "Tell him how he makes you feel, sweetspark."

"S-So good-" You moan, stringing together whatever words you can claw at, "Feels so good- nghn-"

"Yeah?" Ratchet grunts as he increases his speed. His grip on your waist tightens with every thrust, all indications point to his overload inching closer and closer, "Gahh- Frag, say my name-"

A filthy rendition of his name falls from your lips, slurred and full of lust for the mech. His thick spike is grinding and pressing against every sweet spot known to humankind. Your hands find his shoulder plating, gripping on for dear life as your own orgasm breaches the horizon. Optimus holds you steady and keeps you from squirming, letting Ratchet indulge in your flesh freely.

"Oh, you sweet thing-" The medic sits upright, pistoning his hips while hungry optics gaze down on your wobbling flesh, "So fraggin' gorgeous."

It takes only a few more pumps of his spike before you call out each other's names. Ratchet presses his pulsing spike as far as he physically can inside you, his frame shaking as he pumps full to the brim. Your body tenses, and your hands shuffle to find Optimus' servos, gripping them as you cross the threshold. The Prime responds by comforting you, intertwining his digits with yours, and murmuring praises against your ear.

"Primus, just when I- guhh-" Ratchet pants, squeezing his optics shut as you clench around him, "Just when I thought you couldn't get tighter." He taps a digit on your other lover's thigh, "Your turn. Ready?"

"Whenever you are satisfied," Optimus says. He snakes his servo to your front once again to prepare for Ratchet to pull out. With a strained groan, he does, and as soon as his spike unsheathes itself from you, Optimus shoves a digit inside to plug you up, preventing the flood of transfluids from escaping you.

"Here, let me help." Ratchet slips Optimus' spike out from under you. He presses the tip against your entrance alongside Optimus' digits, quickly slipping it past your folds, "There you go."

The Prime underneath you groans, vibrating your entire body. He grips your hips with restraint but with enough force to push you down his whole length, helped out by the slick of your pussy and Ratchets' transfluids. The sheer girth has you keening as your walls stretch and clamp down onto it. Ratchets' dermas are automatically on yours to capture your moans and cries.

"Primus-" Optimus lifts you higher onto his hips for a slight adjustment before he begins to move within you. The warmth of your pussy mixed with the hot transfluids has him clenching his optics shut and burying his face against the side of your neck, "You feel wonderful."

"They sure do, don't they?" Ratchet kisses your tear-stained cheek after your soft lips, "You're perfect."

Your ability to speak leaves you when Optimus gives you a particularly harsh thrust, and you cry out his name. Shaky hands find the ones holding onto your hips as you, once again, hold on for dear life as you're fucked for the second time tonight.

Ratchet sits up again, his lust-filled optics trained on the way your pussy stretches around the thick spike, how your face twists in pleasure, and how the drool inches down your chin. You're a complete and utterly fucked mess, and the sight of it all has his spike standing tall and erect once more. He bites his lower derma as he takes his aching spike in his fist and pumps himself, moaning with you and Optimus.

The Prime glances up from your neck, noticing his friend masturbating to you being fucked, "Not- aghh- finished yet, are you, old friend?"

"Never-" Ratchets' hips stutter, gritting his dentae as he squeezes himself from base to tip, "Never finished."

Optimus growls lowly into your ear, "Then we better give him a worthy performance-" He then wraps his arms tightly around your chest, causing you to forget how to breathe for a moment before he fucks up into you so hard you nearly black out. You no longer have control as he pinned your arms against you. He's unrelenting, rutting into you hard enough that the remnants of Ratchets transfluids spurt and dribble out of you. And the said mech groans in approval, jerking his cock faster and faster.

"C'mon, sweetspark," Ratchet edges closer to another overload, shuffling forward so his spike is within inches of your stretched-out hole, "Overload again- nghh- for us-"

"I- fuckfuckfuck-" You whimper out, unable to squirm or even move in Optimus' embrace. Your body starts to convulse, and your head falls back against the mech's neck as your whimpers bloom into sheer, unrestrained, and sinful cries, cumming around Optimus' cock.

"Primus, yes-" The Prime groans, his vocaliser strained. He pushes you down as far as you can take, dumping his load deep within your little organic valve. His own frame begins to tremble, jolting with every squeeze you give him. Your jaw goes slack, feeling every crevice within you filling up with with sticky transfluids. It causes a bulge in your stomach, a wonderous testament to how pliable your little human body is.

Ratchet is close by, desperately pumping his spike. His other servo finds your bulging stomach, caressing and pressing against it, "Frag yes, t-take it..." He moans wantonly, his second overload walloping him. Thick ropes of hot transfluid shoot out onto your stretched pussy, coating your outer lips and clit; some miss and shoot out onto your stomach. It causes another moan to leave your lips, the heat against your sensitive folds sending a tingling sensation up your spine.

He finishes himself off, squeezing every last drop from his tip before he sits on his heels, spikes brushing limply against your inner thigh. Optimus, once barely recovered from his overload, takes a moment to peer over your shoulder to gaze lovingly at the utter mess between your legs. A mess that they caused.

"Goodness," Optimus chuckles lowly, releasing his grip from your torso, "Look at the state you are in."

Your entire groin and everything in between is soaking in their sticky transfluids. It drips down your folds and along the shaft, still buried deep within you. It's a lewd sight, for sure, worthy enough for both of the bots to snap a picture and save it to their internal hard drives.

Ratchet breathlessly laughs with him, caressing your inner thighs soothingly, "Quite the mess, if I say so myself."

"It was..." You pant tiredly, your pussy still clenching around Optimus' dully throbbing spike. Your heart races, but you feel utterly relaxed against his frame as you soak in the afterglow, "Well worth the wait."

Optimus gives you an exhausted smile, kissing the side of your reddened and bruised neck, "I share the same sentiment."

You think there's nothing better than diving face-first into a soft bed. Fluffy blankets, plush pillows, the warmth of a lover and the indescribable tension of the inevitable hanging in the air.

Oh yes, you've been a bad, bad girl.

"And what do you think you're doing?" A low, gruff voice sounds from behind. You can't see him, only feeling when he kneels onto the bed after you, "A poor attempt at hiding yourself from me, hm?"

You can't help but let out a breathless giggle as Ratchet looms over you like a heavy storm, the thrill equally as electric. After all, one does not simply flirt with the first commanding officer and expect to get away with it.

The difference with you, however, is that Ratchet knows the game you're playing. You've both had your eye on Ultra Magnus for a while, and that aforementioned tension in the air wasn't confined to just the berthroom, only you had a bit more guts than Ratchet to make a move.

"Absolutely not." You giggle again when you feel Ratchet's face nuzzling the back of your neck, only for it to transition into a soft gasp as you feel him tugging your pants off.

"Oh please, sweetspark," He moves to nibble your earlobe, "You know exactly what you're doing. A little vixen you are, yes."

His words trail off as you feel a cold, heavy servo trail the back of your thighs. It stops right between your legs and cups your pussy, and you feel yourself clench around nothing. A low hum right into your ear sends tingles down your spine, before you feel the slap of a heavy spike smacking your ass.

"Maybe..." You moan breathlessly and arch your back against him. The whole situation has sparked a fire in the pit of your stomach, and you want nothing more than for him to fuck your brains out.

Ratchet receives the message loud and clear. He sits up and pulls your hips with him. You attempt to follow through with your hands, but he tuts and pushes your head back onto the pillow.

"Oh no, you don't. Stay down." The old medic growls the command. He lines his thick spike to your pussy, and slowly eases himself in.

With a perfect, almost back-breaking arch achieved, he holds your hips in a death-like grip and thrusts forward, splitting you open perfectly.

"Ohpfuck-" You grip the pillow and cry out into it, holding on for dear mercy as Ratchet plunges his spike into you over and over again.

"There's a good girl, taking all of me. Do you like the idea of being shareware? I wonder what Ultra Magnus would think if he saw us like this."

The image conjured in your head rips a moan from you, and you bounce forcefully against his pelvis plate, the tip of his spike kissing your sweet spot perfectly each time.

"I thought so." Ratchet groans lowly, his optics trained on your backside as it ripples from the force.

He fucks you like this for a while, eventually closing his optics and letting himself feel you. The moans and the sounds of metal on skin echoed against the walls.

At this point, deep inside you, he gets a devious idea.

He slows down, and you whine. His spike is pulsing like crazy, and you feel him leaning over you to reach something, "Wait- Ratchet what are yo-"

With the camera open, the medic retrieves a data pad and pushes it into your trembling hands. You force your aching neck to swivel to look at him questionably, but he's already pressed record. Ratchet then cups your chin and redirects you to look at the data pad, angling your face perfectly in view.

"Don't get all shy now," He keeps his grip on your chin as he resumes his rutting, "Go on, let him see your pretty face, sweetspark..."

The view looking back at you is nothing short of hot. Your face, reddened and slick with sweat, your eyes lined with tears, the arch of your back showing off all the curves of your ass, the background completely filled with a metal, white and orange abdomen thrusting into you. You're watching yourself getting fucked, and it's the hottest thing when you know who this porno is getting sent to.

"Fuck! C-Commander-"

-

Ultra Magnus has replayed this video too many times, and he's ashamed. Locked in his quarters with his back against the wall, he watches the intimate act of the resident couple.

He shouldn't be engaging with this, it goes against every rule and code of conduct that flashes through his processor with every stroke of his spike.

He's the Autobots' first commanding officer for Primus' sake. He shouldn't engage with his teammates like this, let alone when a human is involved. But you started this. You both did. He can feel those quick glances and longing stares through the back of his helm. When you sent a wink his way while you brought those soft, delicate lips to meet Ratchet's.

He feels so, so ashamed of himself.

But they sent the video, it's not his fault. It could've been an accident for all he knew.

"F-Fuck! C-Commander-"

At least, that's what he tells himself.

He hears your voice moan out for him for the fifth time, holding the data pad closer to get another good look at you both. His spike throbs in yearning as he watches you cum, fisting his spike harder at the look on your face. It's messy, raw and so human.

He observes some more, watching as the Autobot medic ruts into you hard and fast. He hears a gruff moan, and Ultra Magnus can only guess as to what kind of mess Ratchet has made of your insides. He strokes himself some more, harshly venting as he comes closer and closer to overloading.

The data pad then shows Ratchet leaning down in view, pressing cheek-to-cheek against your exhausted, fucked out face.

"Come join us next time, will you?"

Another day, another few thousand miles of endless space, another few sickly bots. Additionally, a few unkempt humans requiring attention due to poor conditions from their previous owners. With the new organic additions to the Lost Light at the captain's approval, Ratchet had found himself biting off more than he could chew, looking after bots and humans. Oh, how he wished he took up an organic health course or something other than primarily relying on Brainstorm's fervent research on the tiny creatures. Between juggling it all, Ratchet was unsure how much more his threadbare servos could take. Still, there was one thing the old medic was unmistakable about. He was tired.

One good thing, he must admit, is that he gets to return to you. His own human pet, a personal 'Thank you' gift on behalf of the entire crew for his selflessness and hard work, provided with you a basket with fundamental necessities. But the basket had long since been used up, and he had transformed it into a makeshift cot for you. It'll do for now, he had thought.

He was initially still trying to figure out what to think of you. Apart from very rudimentary health checkups and nutritional foods, there wasn't much that Ratchet could provide for you. There's not many enriching activities for such a tiny human like yourself. Until that is, he discovered something quite unusual that had been exhibited in almost every human adopted by the crew so far.

You have an insatiable libido.

Ratchet was unsure, if not downright nervous if other owners were to discover how incredibly beneficial humans could be. Whether or not they had already learned was an entirely different story. It wouldn't surprise Ratchet if that was the very reason why human pets were approved, though it seems shocking. It all seemed so innocent enough, adopting humans for the cuteness factor for the mechs on board. But as with most things, there's always more than just the surface level of what the optic sees. And Ratchet was already way too far below the surface.

Punching in the code for his hab suite, Ratchet waits eagerly for the door to open with twitching digits. He steps inside, tossing whatever work essentials he has on hand on the first bench he sees. He'll worry about reorganising later. Right now, he needs some pet therapy and a well-overdue overload. The dull ache behind his panels only gets stronger as his pedes carry him to his berthroom to you, curled up on his berth. It looked as if you neglected your rudimentary cot, choosing to sleep on his berth instead. The medic can't help the softened expression as he melts at the sight. Of all the things he didn't think he deserved, he never once expected it to be such an adorable little thing like you.

He lets his pedes wander over to you, like countless times before, careful and delicate. He always told himself that this 'fling' he had with you was only temporary and that it was purely for his curiosity, but he tends to find himself aching for you repeatedly. He can't help how his racing neurocircuits seem to fizzle out and calm down when he lies with you.

A roughened servo brushes over your hair to slowly stir you. It looked like you had been napping for some time now, which he believes is a good thing. Brainstorm did say that humans tend to sleep better in environments they consider comfortable. The gentle brushing causes you to stir and lift your head to greet him, though in a language yet to be deciphered. It's a pleasant greeting, and Ratchet can tell they're happy to see him. Something along the lines of 'I missed you,' he'd like to think.

"Hey, squishy. I missed you too," Ratchet smiles warmly. He brushes the hair away from your neck to reveal a collar, "You haven't ripped it off yet. Seems like you like it, hm?"

A slight, sleepy nod in confirmation, you've grasped at what he said. Ratchets' digits trail down to the collar, a small silver plate that reads 'Please Return to Ratchet If Lost - HabSuite ###" engraved in Cybertronian. Not that you tend to wander off, but more or less a just in case. Plus, he gets a thrill seeing his name attached to you. He thumbs it gently, admiring his handy work.

"I'm glad you do. It took me quite some time to make," Ratchet tugs at it softly, beckoning you to come closer. He watches you climb onto his lap, "Such tiny adornments are complex to create, 'specially with hands like mine." A servo cups your back, his thumb moving to play with your soft chest. He shivers when he hears a tiny whimper from you, and you seem eager to play with him already.

"I've had a busy day," A mechanical noise of shifting gears as his spike slides out of its housing, "I think you know what I need." It's well and truly bigger than you, much bigger than your tiny body could ever take. But the way your eyes light up in excitement assures Ratchet that you are more than pleased, already desperately taking off your quirky frame coverings. He eyes off your cute organic valve, notices how dripping wet it is, and staves off a moan.

"C'mere for a second," Ratchet scoops you into his servo to bring you closer to his face. He gets a whiff of your arousal, so earthy and addicting. The more you spread your thighs for him, the more he can smell. He brings you to his intake and licks one hearty stripe up your folds.

Oh yes, he thinks. Better than energon. Better than any high grade to ever pass his dermas, like a warm drink that soothes and revitalises his senses. It thickens on his glossa, groaning at the taste as he swirls it around your little node. He watches intently as you squeal in delight, your thighs trembling around his cheeks and how your little face contorts into one of pleasure. Well, he had always presumed it was in pleasure; you've never exactly shied away from his glossa. He hums when you feel him grinding, desperate little ruts chasing the vibrations.

Ratchet licks one last time at your slick, pulling away to observe. Oral lubricants coat your valve thickly, the sensitive area reddened from his torment. His optics wander up; your soft skin is already flushed and glistening with sweat. He wonders how close you were to overloading; it wouldn't have taken much longer if he had kept going. But his spike grows restless, throbbing against his abdominal plating, begging to be touched by much softer palms than his own.

"Do you want my spike? Hm?" Ratchet teases, "My big spike?" He knows you can't fully understand him, but he can't help but vocalise his salacious fantasy. Holding onto you carefully, he lounges back onto the berth. He bites his bottom derma and lowers you to his lap, showing you his engorged spike, "Go on then, have at it. I'll frag your little brains out soon."

With an encouraging nudge from Ratchet, you straddle the shaft. To anyone else, it looks ridiculous. A tiny human desperately attempting to wrap their arms around a spike that's two times taller than they are. But to any depraved fleshy fragger, it's a sight to behold. Ratchet once thought of snapping a picture to potentially maybe sell it to the highest bidder for those who crave the feeling of such a soft body grinding on them, for he is sure there's a market out there somewhere, probably more than half of the crew onboard. Still, the shame of it all prevents him. There's an image to uphold being the resident medic.

Besides, he'd much prefer to keep you and that curious tongue all for himself.

He feels your little licks along him, a tiny tongue wiggling through the grooves and smooth surface, reaching crevices with hidden nodes that cause his pedes to curl. Soft ruts of your hips press your soaked valve right up against him. He knows what you want. The medic brings a servo to grip around his spike with you squished between, only tight enough to keep you in place as he begins self-servicing himself. He hears you letting out a surprised gasp, then a muffled moan, feeling your grip tighten around him.

"Yeah? You like that, squishy?" Ratchet moans, moving his servo slightly faster, "I bet you-nghh do. You look so cute like that. So tiny pressed against my spike."

Only a taste of your warmth is given through your body, like the little tease you are. Ratchet feels the perspiration dripping off you, likely due to the rise of his internal temperature and the energon being solely diverted to his array. It makes for a mediocre yet acceptable lubrication. He could spike you with it alone, but Ratchet prefers to use alternate practices in the interest of your health. Primus knows how careless other Cybertronians can be with their pets.

The medic is becoming increasingly aware of his overload and yours by the looks of things, your little optics squeezed shut, and your limbs clamped tight around his girth. He consciously decides to stop before you reach it. The idea of you squirming on his spike played on his processor a bit too well. He hears your soft whine at the loss of friction, which Ratchet can't help but chuckle at.

"I know, I know. I'm so mean, aren't I? Hold on, squishy." Ratchet lets you rest against his palm while his weeping spike whirs and clunks inwards to a much more manageable size for a human. His spike may be smaller, but there's not much difference in sensation. Thank Primus for the minicon-compatability modes, "You alright?"

A small squeak from you, yes. The medic watches intently as you waste no time climbing on, guided by his careful servo. You press your little valve against the tip, hissing as it barely slips through. Ratchet digs his pedes into the berth at the intense sensation, gritting his dentae as you bottom out. The feeling is incomparable to anything else; it's uniquely organic, warm, and so, so much softer than mesh.

He then wraps his entire servo around you, effectively turning you into one perfect spike sleeve only for him. Perfectly snug inside you, his grip clenches and unclenches around your torso before gently unsheathing himself from you again.

Ratchet is always careful when he uses you in this manner, ensuring his grip isn't too tight. He pushes you back down again, and he feels you melt into his servo. He hears your little whimpers and cries for him, to go faster, he believes. He learned a long ago that he doesn't need to understand your verbal mumbles when your fleshy hips try to hastefully force yourself down onto him, only halted by his own hand. His grip ever so tightens and gives in to your desperation, or more or less his own.

"You're so good for me, squishy. Hah- Lettin' me use your little valve like a toy." Ratchet mewls, his helm lolling off to the side as his optics flick between your face and the way his spike disappears inside you, "Such a helpful little pet you are."

He feels your velvet walls clamp down on him with each and every praise he gives, your little arms draped over the top of his thumb, clinging on for dear life. Every now and then, he massages your breasts pressed up against it, eliciting more dirty moans from you. Such softness that he can't help but take advantage of.

"So- ngh- tight," Ratchet vents heavily, "Primus, you've ruined me for my own race."

He felt a twinge of shame hearing himself; it was as if he had entirely let himself go. But he knows he can no longer turn back, not when you're the best little creature to ever stumble into his life. Despite him having you wrapped around his digits, it is indeed him wrapped around yours. The relief you bring to him after every gruelling shift, after every stressful day upon this damned ship, had him truly addicted.

And with an internal affirmation of decadence and with your soft little valve clenching and pulsing around his spike, he's sent right over the edge.

"Frag yes, sweetspark!-" He glitches out, pressing you down on his thick shaft as far as your soft little body can tolerate. His energon pulses deeply and shocks his entire body with an overload, shooting gush after gush of transfluids into you. His frame lurches forward, his hips driving into the berth as he milks his throbbing spike, his servo driving it deeper into you in a lust-filled daze. Your whines and cries only spur him on more, and he doesn't stop until you're shaking like a leaf in his hold.

It takes only a few more moments for a spent Ratchet to collapse back with you still in his grip, albeit slumped against his thumb. You're panting hard, and he can only just feel your tiny heart pounding against him. You must have had your own overload by the looks of it if the bliss-filled smile on your soft lips is anything to go by. His optics linger down to your soft, distended stomach and the dripping mess that splatters across your thighs and onto his pelvic plating. Now that truly is a sight for sore optics, he thinks to himself.

Ratchet huffs, bringing his other servo to pat the top of your head, "Now there's my happy little human, huh?" He smiles warmly when he feels you leaning into his touch, "How 'bout I fill you up some more?"

Soundwave

- As one of the most reserved cons on the Nemesis, Soundwave gives little to no information about himself, let alone his private matters. And most certainly nothing about his relationship with you. For most members onboard who are curious enough, it could spell a life-or-death mission to find out what gets the spy hot and bothered. He keeps his desires under wraps in public, always guarded but never truly depraved of lust.

- But when it eventually does come to the berthroom, that thick impenetrable wall of secrecy unveils a door for you.

- It's definitely been discussed amongst the others whether or not Soundwave could put his tendrils to questionable uses. And they are all correct, you discovered that the spy is very much into tentacle play of the hentai calibre. He'll sit back and let his tentacles do the work for him. He'd tenderly snake them around your limbs, spread you nice and wide before him, and penetrate you in the air. It also gives Soundwave the freedom to use his servos for other means, whether on the computer or knuckle-deep in his own valve.

- The rumours have spread that he's into exhibitionism, ironically enough. Soundwave wouldn't be caught dead exposing himself fully, but he's sneaky enough to encrypt a live feed on the monitors of the Nemesis to any bot who's smart enough to access it. And if they do, they'll be met with the garbled and static moans of you being pounded into the desk.

- Soundwave likes a bit of overstimulation and orgasm denial. He'll keep hold of your frame on his spike while his tentacles pinch and 'suck' on your node, bringing you to the edge in an endless cycle until you're limp and twitching.

- Soundwave has a thing for somno; quiet is his style. He loves recharging beside you, don't get him wrong, but there's something so peaceful yet arousing when he slips a couple digits into your puffy valve. He loves how your frame unconsciously jolts when he rubs circles to your node.

- Overall, one of the freakier mechs on the Nemesis, except, of course...

Shockwave

- When Shockwave met you, he knew he just had to have you, despite the fact that a pretty little femme like you had no business with a mech like him. But it was all about business once he got his mitts on you, making you even sign a waiver. Are you stupid or just insanely charged up for the scientist?

- Interfacing with Shockwave borders between super tame and straight-up morally insane. He tested the waters first, plunging his engorged spike into your tight valve as a "control" for his "experiments". He would show nil emotions, fucking into you on his desk, calculating and observing every whine and gasp.

- Shockwave would test the waters more, observing your obedience to him. He'd make you sit on your knees and flex your glossa for him before making you take his spike to the base of your throat. And he liked using your mouth more than he'd admit, unexpectedly overloading just to watch the transfluid dribble down your chin.

- This is where the waiver comes in. Being a scientist, Shockwave likes to experiment on you. Medical play is where it's at with this mech. He'd start with a helm-to-toe assessment while you're strapped and exposed to him, poking inside your intake, then trailing down to your exposed spark chamber. He'd take samples of your energon, maybe even taste it, the sick fuck. He'd inject different substances and observe your reaction, always taking notes. And yes, his spike is erect and throbbing the entire time.

- And when you thought you couldn't possibly risk your life more, Shockwave has a gun kink, specifically his gun. He'll lean over you on the berth, one thick arm beside your head and the other sticking his cannon between your thighs, teasing your slick valve with the tip. He'd push you to your limits, slowly stretching you over it until he has to hold you down against the berth. The thrill of fucking you with it at the risk of blowing your fragile little frame to bits makes him almost overload above you.

"C'mon, sweetspark, you can take it."

"Of course she can, but don't rush her," Ratchet massages the midsection of your back, coaxing you to relax, "She needs time to adjust."

On aching hands and knees, you feel the tip of the wreckers thick spike inching further and further into your pussy. It's a tight fit that has you burying your grimaced face into Ratchets' thigh, right next to his own engorged girth.

Of course, you've taken spike before, but every time feels like the first, especially with your two massive-in-all-departments Cybertronian boyfriends.

Ratchet shifts his optics from Wheeljacks' two servos on your ass to your hidden face, looking down at you adoringly. He brushes a strand of hair away from your cheek with the gentleness of a saint, "Hmm, not quite ready yet, perhaps."

Wheeljack optics snap up to Ratchet with an arched optic ridge. It's a look that the medic only receives when annoyed by him. He grips your hips and drags you against him, hilting into you entirely, all too impatient for your quivering little frame and to wait for Ratchet.

You whine and squeeze your eyes shut, clinging onto Ratchet for dear life. The said mech narrows his optics to Wheeljack disapprovingly.

The wrecker stays there momentarily, sighing at how you stretch and clench around his girth, "You joinin' in or what, doc? Waters not gettin' any hotter than this."

Ratchet looks down at you again, biting his dermas as you kiss his thigh. You seem to be well-adjusted enough, no longer whimpering in discomfort. He takes his spike, pumping it a few times before brushing it against your plump lips.

"Since somebot is impatient. What do you say, flower? Open up for me?"

With a soft moan, you stick your tongue out, letting the medic dance his tip over the soft, wet flesh. His breath hitches at the heat of your breath, making his spike throb and jump. You wrap your lips around the tip with another moan, and Ratchet melts, tilting his helm back in relief. He takes a small bundle of your hair to ever so gently thrust into your throat.

"My, oh my, how gorgeous you are."

It hadn't taken you long to rip the shirt over your head. How could you not when you have a set of dermas all over your neck? It had been a long day apart, and all you both wanted was some close, quality time together.

Mass-displaced, Starscream backs you up against the bed, pressed so close together you can see the condensation of your breath forming on his chassis. Sharp talons carefully dance around your waistline. They slowly travel up your sides and stop at the swell of your covered tits, and you let out a breathy sigh as he gives them a squeeze.

"Feeling touchy today?"

"Am I not allowed to be?" Starscream lightly scoffs, pushing and squeezing them together, enamoured with the softness as always, "I swear, you humans and your euphemisms."

"Would you rather me say you must be horny as fuck because you've had a bad day?"

The seeker pauses his ministrations and narrows his optics, a small smirk playing on his dermas. You must have really tugged on a nerve, a good one, you hope. He swiftly moves a servo to your chin and tilts it up to look into your eyes, and that sends an exciting shiver down your spine.

"How about you be a good girl, get on that berth and take this silly garment off."

"Yes, sir~"

You obey by sitting with unbroken eye contact and reach around to unclip your bra. No sooner than it takes you to toss it away, his servos latch onto you again, pushing you down the rest of the way onto the berth. He's not even worried that you're half hanging off, the desperation in his movements is enough to tell you that you're getting fucked right where you are.

"I've waited enough for this." Starscream murmurs and leans down to kiss your neck again, only to feel the vibrations of your moans when he pinches a bud.

He works his way down feverishly, stopping at the valley between your breasts. The cold contrast of his faceplate against your warm skin sends another shiver down your spine, and you almost cry out when he takes a nipple into his mouth.

"Starscream-" You bite your lower lip and roll your eyes back, head resting on the berth as he lavishes you. Your body immediately reacts by arching into him.

He makes no response other than a smirk against your flesh. Wrapping his dermas around, he gently sucks and flicks at your nipple with his glossa which draws another delicious moan from you. His other servo never neglects the other as it kneads and paws at it, much like a kitten.

Becoming increasingly wet by the second, your thighs spread effortlessly and Starscream takes advantage by pressing his swollen crotch against you, grinding against your clothed pussy as he slowly pulls your nipple through his dentae with a pop. It sends a hot tingling jolt right through you and a gasp.

"Hah- It certainly does not take long for your body to become willing," He enunciates by a hard grind and a squeeze of your breasts yet again, thumbing at your buds, "Though I shouldn't be one to talk, it's hard to resist the... compliance of your flesh."

Your knight in shining armour is late.

Held up with an almost death grip towards the monitor, you claw, scratch and nearly break your teeth on Megatron's servo. You're a piñata to him. A savage, wet-with-sweat piñata that fights back.

Only, there's no candy, just a pint-sized bag of meat flailing about in desperation as the servo squeezes you tighter around your abdomen.

"Kuh-" You wheeze, and you can almost feel your internal organs; a woosh of air escapes from your lungs.

He's really, really late.

"I grow tired, Doctor," Megatron growls, "Patience is not a virtue I possess. Where is Optimus?"

"Unfortunately, he's not here. But I have several guesses as to where. Would you like me to list them all? Perhaps, in ascending order of the most likely?"

Ratchet, you sarcastic son of a bitch. He's going to get you killed.

You hesitate to turn your head to witness the look of fury on your captor's face. The doc bot either has a plan, or he is batshit crazy to back-talk the mech who's mid-threatening to kill you.

Instead, he laughs. It's a deranged, maniacal laugh that makes you almost want to laugh with him, like when a crackhead tells you a joke as they twirl a pocket knife in their fingers. Hahaha, good one, Ratchet.

Megatron hoists himself from the throne chair at the last laugh; the jostling causes a dizzy spell, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You wonder if he'd let you go if you threw up on him.

With a smile full of teeth for show, he walks closer to where Ratchet's smug face is currently projected. The warlord thrusts you forward, and this time, you feel like you're actually going to throw up.

"I don't think you quite understand, Doctor, how close I am to returning Optimus' precious little pet to the primordial goo from which she came."

"He's not joking," You squeak out, breath caught in your throat as he clenches slightly in a teasing way. And as you attempt to suck in sweet, sweet oxygen, he clenches more, much like a snake smothering its prey.

That's all it takes for you to begin full panic mode. Everyone's about to witness what happens when you deprive a human of oxygen. Your head starts to throb with the pressure of your blood trying to escape from your eyeballs, a sight you're positive Ratchet would lose sleep over. If he ever does after this ordeal. It's wishful thinking as you start to thrash and claw in protest of your death.

"Don't even think about it." There's a slight hitch in Ratchet's vocaliser.

"Believe me, it's all I'm thinking about. Regardless of whether Optimus is here to witness or not, much pleasure will still be taken when I crush his beloved pet in front of yo-"

BANG. BANG BANG.

That better be who you think it is.

It's tricky to see when your eyes are full of pretty stars and dancing static.

"Lord Megatron!" You hear a disembodied voice, vocaliser ripped out probably, "I-It's Optimus! He's he-"

Steve, from what you could tell, has no time to finish his sentence as he explodes in a gruesome display by a calculated shot from behind, energon painting the floor. You open your eyes and squint through the static, and you wish you hadn't. Whatever is left of Steve flops forward with a ka-thunk, theatrically revealing your highly anticipated knight in shining armour like a curtain drop.

Your internal audience cheers, similar to when the star of the show finally arrives half an hour late to their gig. If you had the strength and oxygen left, you probably would scream and cheer in relief. And throw up.

Optimus keeps his gun drawn, the barrel glowing with the same ferocity as his optics, currently drilling holes into Megatron's. You might be seeing double at this point, but both Optimuses are heaving with unbridled rage, splattered in some poor bastard's energon. You have never seen him so angry, but he remains silent and still, which is arguably more intimidating than him immediately going ape shit on Megan's ass.

The reason is that his constricted optics have fallen onto you. Underneath the splatter of energon, his face pales. The sight of your progressively limp frame probably doing numbers on his poor spark and his processor, as your mech looks to be intensely calculating the fastest speed he could fire his gun before Megatron has a chance to squeeze you into a pulp.

Most definitely not fast enough.

"I suppose you won't be needing that list after all." You can almost hear the smirk in Ratchet's voice, but he's cut off as Megatron hangs up on him without breaking the deadly eye contact with Optimus.

"Megatron," Your noble knight addresses his opponent, Excalibur, in the form of supercharged alien weaponry, trained and at the ready. He strides forward, stepping over the aforementioned remains of Steve without a second thought, "It would be in your best interest to relinquish the human at once."

"Ah, and here I thought you'd never show. However, I knew it would only be a matter of time. She looks lovely, drained of her colour, don't you think?"

I like colours; you stupidly think as a plethora of rainbows sparkle your vision once again. Your hypoxic delusions are rudely interrupted by another clench of Megatron's servo, and you wince in pain.

Optimus takes a deep in-vent, sheathing his Excalibur, but not entirely. If there was any hope of saving you, it required suppressing all his urges to slash his helm off right then and there.

"What is it that you require of me, Megatron? That you would be so reckless with human life?"

"It's simple, really. You and your Autobots have been dormant for a while; I was starting to wonder if you had given up the fight. But you've been in hiding, replenishing your energy, perhaps. Or gathering intel? For so long? That did not sit well with me. So, I drew you out of your... hidey-hole, in simpler terms."

It's a standoff. Your knight flickers his optics from Megatron to you, almost reaching out to you at your whimpers, but stops himself. If he jumps him now, there's no getting you back. He lets his servo linger in the air. Megatron notices and curiously looks at you, then back at Optimus with a sly grin.

"When my troops caught the scent of your trail, I had initially thought you'd given up on hiding. However, that was far from the truth. This human, strolling around carelessly on this waste of a rock, had the stench of a Prime."

Can't a girl just get a latte?, you think to yourself, I could really go for a latte.

The silence that filled the room was so profound that you could hear a pin drop if you listened hard enough. You don't care enough to make an effort to, nor care that the Decepticons are now well aware of an intimate relationship you share with their rival. You need to breathe, for Christ's sake.

"Your desperation for humanity's protection and survival has always been your forefront. But tell me, Optimus, is your desperation a means to blanket your true desire for the native species?"

He's got Optimus right where he wants him; he's stepped right into the snare that is yet to snap. A whirlwind of thoughts runs through his processor. The small fear he had once conjured in his mind has turned into his worst nightmare.

All because he fell in love.

Optimus takes one last look at you, chassis heaving uncontrollably. He prepares himself for what could be the final stand of the war. At this point, it's fruitless to exchange hard-hitting words. Your expressionless face is all he can focus on. He charges forward, unsheathing his blade at the very last second with a broken war cry.

"You... know nothing of me, Megatron!"

-

"She's fine," Ratchet flicks his optics from his vital sign interface to you, then to Optimus, a seldom look on the medic's face, "No significant injuries, only some superficial bruising. I'm quite surprised, honestly, that that's all she sustained."

Optimus holds your hand as you sit on his berth, far too large for you, but what else is new. Not wanting you to be bombarded by the kids upon your return, both mechs had decided the best place for you to rest was in your shared berthroom.

You remember what had happened to you. The sudden kidnapping, the shocking feeling of your internal organs bruising. Optimus, coming for you at last. You don't remember much of the rest; the last thing you recall is something about lattes. Weird. You don't even like lattes.

"Your progression in human medical knowledge has been a welcome relief. Thank you, old friend."

"We... should all be thankful. She's quite resilient," Ratchet backs towards the door, looking back empathetically, "Get some rest, both of you."

He leaves, closing the door behind him. Silence finally fills the room, and you're unsure if it's a good or bad thing. You fidget in place, ignoring the ache of your bruising, the hand holding his beginning to sweat.

"Y/n, I-"

"You don't have to say anything or apologise, Optimus. It was my fault. I was careless, a bit cocky, thinking that you'd- that I'd be-"

You don't know what you're trying to say. If anything, you didn't want Optimus to blame himself, which you were ninety-nine per cent positive he was. Any words that leave your mouth now are scraping the bottom of the barrel for excuses and explanations for your kidnapping for the sake of his mental health. But, at the end of the day, this entire relationship is the reason why. There's no denying it. You're the weak link.

But you're scared to admit it.

You look up to those optics. Those brilliant blue oceans you could get lost in. They're focused yet soft. He can see through you. He understands the point you're trying to make because it was one of his worst fears.

"Careless? You are... quite the opposite. Carelessness is allowing Megatron to live after all this time, that I know for sure is true. To prey on you as a means to get to me whilst you were... living your life is something that will never happen again."

His words flow over you like a river over the stone as he squeezes your hand, and you look down. So similar, yet vastly different. It's a wonder that he would ever consider you as a partner, not just for the physical differences but also for the capabilities. You feel helpless sometimes, and today was the cherry on top of the cake. Who is to say that this was the end of it? His enemies know now, and you have a feeling, a fear, that if you were to stay, neither of you would be safe.

But you don't want to leave him either.

"Optimus," You take a shaky breath, squeezing him back, "What if... what if you can't next time. Save me, I mean. What if this was just the beginning?"

The mech tightens its grip on your hand. That was something he probably hadn't thought of, and you immediately feel awful for suggesting such. Still, it's a valid question that would've played on your mind if you hadn't asked.

"It... It is a possibility."

"What if you're not around next time? O-Or worse, they actually succeed in killing you," You place your other hand atop his, and you can't help the tears that well in your eyes, "I couldn't live with myself if you die because of me. I don't want to be the reason. I don't want to be the weak link that brings you down."

"You think too highly of me, Y/n-"

"You're practically a God. And I'm the sin. You're an immovable object of sheer godliness and power, yet I'm your sin. I can't fend for myself like you can. My weakness is yours. A-And, I can't compare to you."

Optimus stays silent for a moment, perhaps in slight awe of the sudden word vomit. You're unsure, but you can hear the soft whirs of his processor as he thinks. You half expect him to agree, to finally say that it's far too dangerous to continue the relationship. But you're surprised when he gently tilts your chin and presses a kiss to your lips.

"You faced Megatron bravely, and I admire your courage." He starts after he parts, his face mere inches from yours, "I may hold the title of a Prime, but the title of heavenliness and glory belongs to you. For if I am Godly, then... my heaven and home is within you."

Your words are quite literally stolen from you as Optimus presses forward to kiss you once again. You're at a loss for how to respond to such a compliment. There's nothing you could say to counter his. After all he does for you, he's still here. Despite all the obstacles thrown at you both, he still loves you. That's more than enough for your tears to fall off the edge, moving your hands to cup his helm to deepen the kiss. The only way you could ever return the compliment of the century, you believe, is by physical appreciation.

Optimus lays you down as gently as a piece of stained glass, and like artwork, he admires you. Slowly, ever so gently, he slots himself between your legs and nudges them apart. His optics trace your face down to the quickening pace of the flesh over your heart, your still beating heart. He starts there, pressing a soft kiss over it. It's a sweet gesture that sends butterflies to your stomach as he trails up your neck. He hums into your skin, resting his dermas momentarily over your pulse, inhaling your scent, a deep whiff of your essence. It excites him.

He parts his dermas, pressing his glossa against you before he gently sucks. You breathe a soft sigh and allow your head to tilt just for him. Optimus hums again at the appreciation and continues his assault. You feel a cold servo dip under your shirt, slowly trailing up to cup your breast, sending a wave of goosebumps through you. You decide to finish the job and pull your shirt off, taking your bra off with it, with only some difficulty from your aching ribs.

Optimus watches as you toss your garments to the side, optics dropping down to your bare body. He regards your superficial injuries, delicately trailing his servo across your bruising. You can see the sadness and resentment in his optics, and it hurts your heart.

"Hey, look at me," You say, reaching up to cup his face. His attention is redirected to your eyes, and he leans against the palm of your hand. "Not that, me. I'm alright, Optimus."

He sighs softly, closing his optics momentarily, "As you wish, my love."

After the successful redirection, Optimus' servos find your breasts once again, now bare just for him. He cups them, rubbing the nubs with a thumb as he paws and squeezes them. He's entirely focused on the way they spill between his digits, and he leans down to nuzzle against your neck.

"If Megatron was right about one thing, it is that I possess a profound need for your softness. I am... undoubtedly corrupted by you."

He politely attacks one of your nipples with a soft growl, applying gentle suction that makes your thighs clench. Placing a hand on his helm, you let him indulge you, fingers softly teasing the kibble that has him moaning into your flesh. He flicks and nibbles before relinquishing it, a string of lubricant following his glossa, and makes a beeline for the other breast.

"Optimus..."

"Mmm."

He pulls off your breast with a pop, pressing a chaste kiss to the reddened nipple. His dermas find your lips again in a passionate collision, glossa pressing past your teeth to dance with your tongue, and you moan into him. His kisses are demanding yet so utterly gentle, making your head spin and your core throb with the aching need for him.

Optimus hums against you and deepens the kiss more. His in-vents start becoming louder the more aggressive the makeout gets, his frame warming up a few degrees, where you can feel the heat radiating off him. You feel his servo trailing down your side before it slips past the waistband of your pants.

"Oh god, Optimus-" You whine into his intake as he cups your pussy, running his digits through like you were the softest petals of a rose, "Please..."

He hears you, and your pleas lead a digit to your clit, rubbing slow circles into you, all while lidded optics gaze fondly into your eyes. It causes an open-mouth gasp to leave you, to which Optimus softly chuckles.

"So gratifyingly warm, I would rather not keep you waiting much longer," He retracts his servo, slick with your arousal, and tugs your pants off. In truth, he can't bear to tease himself with the inviting warmth any longer than he already has. "You've had a stressful day."

"We've both had a stressful day," You swallow, chest heaving up and down from your increasing heart rate, "Just fuck me."

"As she commands."

Optimus sits back on his haunches, smoothing his servos over your inner thighs to part them. He groans at the sight, taking the time to part your folds with his thumbs. Hardly an indignifying sight to him, nor to you. He always takes the time to appreciate your raw beauty, even when you don't think you have any. Even when you're all battered and bruised.

"Just a moment." He breathes out. He lets his spike pressurise, slotting itself almost perfectly against your clit. He takes hold and runs it through your folds.

While he's lubricating himself with your slick, it's your turn to admire your well-set mech. Your thighs draped over his strong ones. The plating that creates his Adonis belt, the way it curves and leads your eyes to his robust torso that casts its shadow over you. And once again, it surprises you every time that this vivacious, absolute piece of eye candy chose you.

"Holy fuck, how'd I get so blessed?"

"I should be asking that question, sweetspark."

As soon as you realise that that wasn't as under your breath as you thought, Optimus presses his spike past your folds, and you're immediately gripping the berth.

"Or rather, how was such a pristine being like you perfectly crafted solely for taking my spike?"

Oh hell. That shot straight to your core, the fluttery sensation followed soon after by Optimus plunging deep into you. A surprised cry tries to escape from your lips, but falls flat as Optimus gently silences you with his own.

He's careful, calculated even. His servos slide underneath to grip your ass as he settles into a firm rhythm, most definitely to avoid the colourful patches scattered along your abdomen. He usually loves hanging onto your sides for dear life, and you're relieved he didn't, but not because of the pain. Having his servos cupping and pawing your ass is giving him leverage to pull you against him. It makes his spike grind against that sweet spot so beautifully that tears start to prick in your eyes, for the second time tonight, but for all the right reasons.

"Oh, pfuck-" You mumble against his dermas, and Optimus makes way for your little noises, pressing a kiss to your jawline sweetly.

He's got you all tucked up against him, careful not to press too hard, but enough to feel like you're suffocating in his adoration and love. His face is pressed against your neck, panting and grunting into your skin. You know he's holding back every morsel of strength to not plough you into the berth like he tends to do. His hips rut into you with restraint, never entirely pulling out of you for even a second.

"My love- I... mhhm..." Optimus messily nips at your neck, "You feel... divine..."

The charge is building, deep knots building up in the pits of your stomach with every deep drive he gives you. The aching pains in your sides are becoming dull, and you almost forget you're injured in the first place. Sexual healing is real, and it's right here in this berth.

"D-Don't stop, please-" You beg, finding the strength to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He still reeks of oil and soot from the fight, but you don't care; if anything, it drives you wild.

Optimus groans into you at your desperation and gains more confidence in his thrusts, "Primus... how could I stop?" He readjusts his servos, snaking them over your hips this time, and presses himself more into you. His strong forearms continue forcing your hips into him, in time with his own. He sweetly nuzzles your head, completely and utterly lost in you.

The pain now long gone, your entire body bubbles with pleasure. It's almost as if it were a complete reset on the day. Why were you injured? You're too blissed and fucked out to care; his thick spike massaging your insides puts you in a mind-numbing state. The tears that had started to well have since rolled down your cheeks.

"Love you... so much..." Optimus slams into you, dermas finding the soft skin of your neck, "Call my name, please..."

"Optimus!-" Your voice is hoarse, but you don't falter. His beautiful, divine name crosses your lips like a prayer. Your hips roll to meet his thrusts, and prayer turns to an anthem.

With one last whimpering moan, Optimus drives into you hard, and you squeeze your thighs tighter around him with a weak cry as you both succumb to the pleasure. He presses his hips impossibly close to yours and overloads deep inside your pussy, spike pulsing as it spurts out all of his love for you.

Both of you remain still for a moment, catching breaths and letting off steam. Optimus' hip doesn't move an inch, remaining perfectly slotted inside you. You don't mind in the slightest, content with just basking in the afterglow. A shaky hand finds his helm, caressing it with your fingertips as a wordless 'thank you'.

A small, sudden sob alarms you. The fog of your mind had started to lift, and you were certain it didn't come from you. You tuck your chin to look down at him, faceplate still buried in your neck, moistened by what you assume are his tears.

"Optimus?" Your hand moves to press against the side of his helm, tilting it, "Baby, are you alright?"

He keeps his optics closed, only leaning into your touch. The sight is not entirely what you were expecting after lovemaking, but it's heartwrenching nonetheless. Rarely do you ever see Optimus cry, and now that you think about it, this may just be the very first time.

Today has been full of surprises, having probably witnessed almost every emotion Optimus possesses.

"I am... fine," He begins, "Just... mollified. I was... abysmally frightened that I was to lose you today..."

"Optimus, we talked about this, remember?" You caress his cheek, wiping lubricant away tenderly, "Or did you short-circuit so hard your processor had a reset?"

He chuckles at that, and a soft smile graces his lips, "How amusing of you, my love." A small falter, a quiet realisation, "I... did not hurt you further... did I?"

"No, not a chance." Even if he had, even just the slightest bit, you wouldn't dare tell him, "Like I said, I'm alright, Optimus."

A soft sigh leaves him, and he rests his helm against your breasts, "Alright."

"Don't get too comfortable there," you say, noticing you're still intertwined, and the smell of heavy diesel has returned tenfold, "I think we're both in need of a shower."

A small groan vibrates you as he flutters his optics in displeasure.

When Shockwave retires to his habsuit for the night, he knows what to expect. You'd be there asleep; your tiny biology hardly put up a fight. It was incredibly endearing. Though you are his partner, he does not wish to put your well-being at risk while he works, so he allows you to do what you please.

So when he welcomes himself in, it's quite a shock to see his little lover in a tango with the bedsheets. Not asleep at all. Curious, he steps closer to take a closer look and tilts his helm at you. He lifts the blanket off in one smooth motion, and for once, he doesn't know what to expect.

An invitation, is what it looks like.

A pillow crammed between your thighs, it's obvious it isn't enough to quell your lust, evident by your lazy hip rolls and quiet little whimpers. His optic finds your dazed eyes, and a shiver jolts down his spinal strut. Despite his known presence, your little body doubles down on that flimsy cushion. Lord knows he can do better.

"That is not sufficient," Shockwave kneels on the edge of the berth and rips the pillow from you, much to your dismay. He tosses it to some far corner of the room to be forgotten.

"Shockwave... please."

As much as that makes his spike throb, there's something not quite right with you. Your speech seems slurred, and Shockwave wonders if there's a reason you hadn't called for him sooner.

"If you needed assistance, you should have commed me."

He slides, or more so shoves his way, onto his side next to you, hoisting your thigh atop of his own. One arm protectively snakes around your head, the clawed servo of the other caresses your stomach. He can feel the heat radiating from you as he squeezes your stomach with affection and pulls your back against him, snuggly. A small whimper from your lips, he knows exactly what you need.

"Poor, sweet thing," His digits work down to find your slit, rubbing it in soft circles, "What has riled you up so incessently?"

Even the slightest touch has you moaning out. Shockwave knows you can be sensitive, yet you're acting like he had been edging and teasing you all day. Unless you had done that to yourself, then he'd curse himself for not coming to you sooner.

The Decepticon runs a digit through your folds, dipping it in just slightly to hear your pretty cries. When you freshly gush against him, he can smell with his olfactory sensors a foreign chemical he hasn't detected in your biology before.

"Intriguing," His digit slips away from you and examines your wetness with interest.

Delta-nine-tetrahydrocannabinol, or more commonly Delta-nine-THC, sticks out to him like a sore opposing digit. A compound commonly used for recreational purposes amongst humans. He hums and sticks his wet digit into your mouth, "You've been dabbling in earth drugs."

You whine around his digit at your abandoned pussy, but you seem worked up enough to suck off every inch of your slick. You start to grind back against his crotch plating, your thigh tightening against his own.

"M'yeah..." You release him with a pop, "Got bored.. nhh.. waiting for you."

Shockwave groans at your grinding and presses his helm against your neck. He feels your pulse point hammering against your skin, and he makes a mental note to delve into the effects of the drug fully later.

"Long is the day for the yearner." A click and his spike pressurises along your folds, thick ridges along your clit that make you jolt in sudden pleasure, "I will make sure it is worth it."