#g1 bombshell

The Autobots can't expend their resources on some factionless Cybertronian. That doesn't mean he won't be cautious. That Prime is so self-righteous in his convictions. Bombshell knows you're too prideful to lay yourself at the pedes of the Autobots and ask for assistance.

The raw power of the Insecticons overwhelms you with ease. It's so easy that it leaves Bombshell feeling paranoid. They hop from place to place, so the disappearance of one unknown, lone Cybertronian shouldn't spark anyone's suspicions. Still, simply still, there is always a new variable that may pop up in the most unfortunate of moments.

Bombshell doesn't claim to love you. If owning is love, then he loves you. If it isn't, then his feelings are too complex to be boiled down to such a simple term.

Love.

The word is tantalizing; it's a substance that must be carefully monitored and controlled.

This is much more than such a word, but Bombshell has already made that clear enough.

He shows you his collection of faded sparks that he's gathered from his millions of years of battle. He can't help but chitter happily while introducing the immobilized you to all of his trophies.

He walks you through his lab, vaguely explaining the various life forms he has caged and sedated. He goes into an awfully detailed explanation on how he is manipulating the biology of the non-organic ones.

He shows you to your new habsuite: such a well-constructed cage with electrical inhibitors that weaken you enough to the point where you can barely stand, with all of your higher thought processing shut off in an attempt to conserve power. It's isolating: four grey, freezing walls that are soundproof. Nothing gets in or out unless it has Bombshell's permission.

He is your only point of contact. Bombshell has forbidden any of his kin or other Decepticons from meeting you, at least for the time being. It'd set back your training.

He's eager to "play" with you and has been doing it since your first meeting. Only now dods he have complete authority over what to do with you. He does so with a sparkling-like glee that contrasts his sadism. A few of the Decepticons pity your fate, but they do well to mind their business. They don't care that much.

First he implants a cerebro-shell into you so you have no chance of escaping. His cerebro-shell connections form a bond that is stronger than that of a conjunx or a cassette player and its deployer. This bond isn't mutual. It's parasitic and consuming, and he gets off on how he feels your circuitry bending to his whims.

Next comes him forcing you into increasingly ruinous and degrading acts to break you. He has made himself acquainted with the things you wouldn't dare utter, much less share willingly with a con you claim to despise. He preys on your traumatic memories, forcing you into these simulated situations where he is the arbiter of your suffering. He inflicts your greatest embarrassments upon you, relishing in your once stubborn edge morphing into a state of panicked begging.

He does all of this because he needs a blank slate, after all. To recreate you in his image is the greatest honor he could bestow upon you. It isn't something you deserve, but if you are his most-loved subject, then you must be worthy of his praise.

It takes longer to make you compliant than he calculated. He feels a heaviness in his spark at this turning in your transformation. It's something he can't quite describe. It's gain with loss, and that is the nature of science. He's simply beginning to realize that as much as he abuses you, breaks your processor, and breaks your spark (metaphorically), he treasures the essence of you. He'll make sure that doesn't get lost on his way to making you anew.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙺𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

Kick back and relax; you'll always have a good time with him. You'll have such a good time that you may never want to leave.

The other Insecticons can be a little much. He understands.

An Autobot ally—ugh, the word disgusts him so. But you'll never be able to tell. Some nasty Insecticons, whom his brothers and he may or may not have created, attempted to attack you while you were all alone! How scandalous. How vile. How bad. You poor thing. Then he jumped right into your life and saved you.

Don't cry, please; he isn't like the others. Not all Insecticons are so bad. You don't trust him. He understands. He'll prove it to you, even going as far as to save an Autobot, which he later offlined when they gossiped about him to you. He has no idea how your friend died! Oh, that's so sad.

He slowly grows closer to you, and that nasty, possessive feeling rears its head. That feeling that says you aren't quite as disposable as he planned on being. Which is bad. A human should capture his affections, but something about you is irresistible. You're so easy to manipulate. You'll sit in his servos and chat with him like he isn't fantasizing about having his way with you and then letting his kin join in. He just wants to slather you in honey and then lick it off of you. You're the sweetest treat he could ever have.

His charming nature will falter for less than a moment when you call him a friend. "Friend" is another word for "fool." He's far from that. He will be so much more than that. Just look at him. He's the perfect mate for you.

Now, now, he understands that he can't just pin you down and mark you. He wouldn't want to startle such a delectable thing as yourself. He's used to playing the long game. He's patient, and he will claw his way into every facet of your life.

Does his new interest mean he will stop using you to his advantage? Oh, never.

You're such a lovely, naive little informant for him and his siblings. Don't tell your friends you know him! Hush, they're so judgmental, but he isn't like the others. He just wants to get to know you. He enjoys hearing about your day, your entire life in fact! He catalogs each word of yours into his processor and stores the data for later use.

You provide him with such sweetness. Yet you leaving to go back to the Autobots leaves a certain bitterness gnawing at his plating, threatening to dim his spark. He'll make sure he can monitor you. A tracking chip never really hurt anyone—well, maybe it will considering he was able to get you under Bombshell's knife and had his fellow Insecticon attach it to your nervous system with paralyzing capabilities. Such a small addendum. There's really nothing to worry about.

It's practically untraceable too! He can't let any awful accidents happen on his watch. Even if the tortured expression of betrayal on your squishy face would be delightful to intake.

Slowly but surely he keeps you in his nest later and later. He makes sure a nice concoction Bombshell cooked up keeps you submissive while Shrapnel uses his fine-tuned electric shocks to gently stimulate you. All of your yummy pheromones and hormones and other organic stuff releases. They can smell it. It makes them all chitter happily. All the while you're sleepy yet awake, blissful while surrounded by beasts that until late wanted nothing more than to eat you.

He feeds you such believable lies about how the Autobots betrayed your trust. The Insecticons are Decepticons, but they're nothing like that nasty Megatron and his degenerate crew. The world is so scary. Remember all the times you almost died because of the Autobots' carelessness? Crime is on the rise, he heard. And your so-called organic support system did such bad things while you weren't around. You didn't know? Now you do. It's a benefit of the Insecticons having wicked good hearing.

He treats you so good and gives you so many things! Some would say they are the best things. Anything and everything you would ever need. So he may make you do humiliating things and be his glorified pet. So you may get passed around to the other Insections. It isn't anything you can't handle. Has he ever steered you wrong? No, he hasn't.

You're his favorite piece in his collection: his collection of miscellaneous treasures. It reminds him of that organic saying he once heard, and he despises that he's even referencing it: "One man's trash is another man's treasure." Just don't get too out of place in his collection. He won't mind putting you back in line; it's only for your benefit, of course.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝚂𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚗𝚎𝚕 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

Having to live in such squalor―squalor for millions of years―years tends to drive one's processor to the brink of insanity―sanity.

Tearing through organic farms―arms is good for one's spark―spark. It's almost as satisfying as seeing how the humans―humans react to being fried―fried by his electrical shocks―shocks.

Such a little creature―creature as yourself should've stayed indoors. Instead―instead, you were met with three hulking metal insects chowing down on anything they got their dentae on. That includes humans. The organic matter of such fleshy creatures is delectable―delectable. It causes his mandibles to stim happily, oral lubricant rolling from his intake at the thought of devouring another one―one.

They would have to tear off your coverings. Those don't taste as good―good. But watching you cower―cower stirs something in his circuits―circuits. It gets so boring―boring when there is nothing to play with after their ravenous rampages. Flesh is so easy to break-ache under their digits. You'd be a short-lived distraction but an entertaining one―one. He churrs to his fellow Insecticons-cons, relating the plan to them.

Keep you―you. Use you―you. Easy disposal when done.

Shrapnel loves—loves to collect broken things, especially scarred things, things that deal with e-lec-tricity. He can do all to you while pointedly telling his fellow Insecticons that he gets to break you first—first.

Mold his fun toy into the perfect pet. Make your organic processor die out (from all the fun he'll have with you)—well, almost—a dead toy is no fun. Unfortunately, he's a little impatient. Constantly hungry. Loves your struggling but also finds that sometimes he doesn't have the time to deal with it. He'll hand you off to Kickback and Bombshell. At first, he practically throws them to you, wanting to hear those bones crack—crack, flesh squelch—squelch.

Then he's just a little more careful. He dumps you into one of their servos. He starts mumbling for Bombshell to put you back together. There isn't softness in his tone, but there is hesitance you can catch glimpses of, and that's the most you'll get for a long while.

You aren't close to being his equal—equal, so why should he care?

One of his favorite pastimes is zapping you. He doesn't exactly do research on how many volts a human can take before they offline. He prefers to find out himself (which really is the fun part when you think about it)! You never know when you'll either feel a tiny jolt or an entire lighting bolt. Lightning only strikes twice—twice? Much more than that. It either strikes you, those stupid Autobots, or a conniving Decepticon!

Mhm, Shrapnel adores—adores poking and prodding, rubbing, licking, and more over the electric burns and their resulting scars that he so willingly and lovingly gives you. It always causes his mandibles to clack against each other, inadvertently creating more electricity for him to use, most likely against you. You really are lucky! Most beings are taken down—down in one strike—strike! He even keeps the amperage down for your frail, human body. How kind.

He isn't the best at taking care of you, if you couldn't already tell. The resulting injuries from your shock therapy, as Bombshell has coined it (seeing as how he is always patching you up and logging how much does what to you), aren't pretty. His minor shocks only create superficial damage to your skin: first- or second-degree burns. The blisters adorn your body, so beautiful—beautiful and red—red—red! It may be his favorite color on you—you! His favorite canvas to chew on when you're already so deliciously—liciously groaning out in agony. It's overloading pressure to his audials—audials.

The higher the voltage, the more he's expressing his love to you—you!

Cardiac defibrillation and heart arrhythmias are irrelevant words. Spasming from his love just means you look even more like delicious prey—prey to him. Bombshell can find new organs for you! Kickback can whisper pretty words in your fleshy cartilage to get you to not shake so badly around him—him—him.

Entrance and exit wounds look so good on you. The skin around them blackens as your bones become superheated from his wonderful charge—charge. After a while the necrosis begins to irritate him. So much time—time before he can love on you again. He may have Bombshell reinforce your skin with metal. Ooh, perfect—fect! Then the zaps will hurt extra hard, and you'll still be alive for it!

Maybe after all of this, he realizes that he does want to bond with you—you—you—you—you! He isn't pleased with your memory loss from all his love, but that's okay! It makes it easier to be, what is the word Kickback uses, softer with you. Letting you recharge with him, refuel with him, and even engage in Insecticon traditions—traditions.

You may eventually exchange the shock therapy for something else, but it will be far more invasive and humiliating knowing Shrapnel. Don't worry too much though—though! He has the best aftercare—aftercare.

𝚈𝚊𝚗. 𝙶1 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡 (𝚠/ 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐)

He's held many species within him that have been aided by the Autobots, but humans are by far the greatest mystery to him. He may reside on Earth most of the time, but that exposure does little in helping him learn about your nature. You, the unbonded human who resides within him—you, whom he has helplessly become enamored with. It was accidental, obviously. He can think of at least five intergalactic rules he's breaking by being infatuated with you. He just can't stop how his spark pulses, causing power surges all throughout the city, as his audials tune in to listen to you speaking with the others.

His feelings bring him great shame. Perhaps it would be better if you were human-bonded, married, he corrects himself. Spike has Carly with their offspring, Daniel. They seem so—happy together; even when the Decepticons threaten everything they still cling to each other, their bond growing stronger. He wonders if he could ever have such a thing with you.

He's gigantic. He's well aware. He's always felt such insecurity in his size; there's a lack of fulfillment in his duties. It is and will never be enough. Too many bots have died within him. He has failed many times over. Seeing you, though, soothes the ache of it all.

The ache grows when he realizes he could never be the partner you need. He's thousands of feet tall, greater than 305 meters, a gargantuan—a Titan. That has always been his greatest strength, but it's a weakness in attempting to connect with you. He's far too vital to mass shift just so he can spend time with you. Even if he did, he'd easily dwarf you, unable to touch you without fear that he'll break every bone in your human frame.

He can use his holoform, but he isn't actually sure how he's supposed to project himself. Would you prefer him or an organic version of him? Would you be disgusted, seeing as how you reside inside him? Do you even wish for him to form a relationship with you?

All these doubts circulate in his processor, creating problems for the bots. They aren't entirely sure what's wrong with Metroplex. These anomalies have never popped up before. Yeah, they recently had to fix his T-Cog, but the diagnostics didn't show any other physical irregularities.

In all honesty, it isn't Metroplex who you should be wary of; it's the bots that will do anything to keep their ultimate weapon, their greatest and final defense, in good health. He's too self-sacrificing to be selfish when it comes to you. He'll yearn himself to the Allspark, such a strain on his emotions that it manifests into tangible reality. The Autobots can't allow that.

They found out when some of the engineers heard something eerily similar to your designation being creaked out by his various mechanical components. Rumors spread fast in the city. Many chattered about whether a human could learn the art of cityspeaking. Others became panicked, realizing that if this human were to betray them, they'd lose their greatest ally.

"Anxious," "paranoid," and "fanatic," are just a few of the things you could call the bots who began watching over you like carriers, insisting on this and that about who you are and what you will do. Quite honestly, it greatly irritated Metroplex. The kin he has given protection to now betrays him in such a visceral way that it makes the anomalies normalities. More bots are spooked, more control is exerted over you by others, and he is further displeased.

A solution is needed—swiftly, at that. After a battle with Trypticon, Rodimus engages with Metroplex. Both Autobots want you to have a say in this, but Metroplex's spark threatens to collapse in on itself at the thought that he may be separated from you, for your own safety. Surprisingly, Rodimus got you on board with the Autobots' idea with ease in a way that makes him foolishly believe that he will have a chance with you.

You will work in his most intimate of places in exchange for the Autobots treating you (semi-)normally. You even have a habsuite right next to his spark chamber. He functions better than he ever has. He falls deeper in his need for you, to the point where your arrangement turns from a suggestion into a demand. Rodimus makes the hard choice to keep you locked inside Autobot City. Any time you leave, problems arise. They can't fix it, and sacrifices need to be made when leading—no matter how hard.

The Autobots only hope that being stripped of your autonomy to a certain extent won't anger Metroplex. Never in any time in any reality do you want to see Metroplex enraged. Scum of any kind threatening you has his gears already turning so that he may meet them faceplate-to-faceplate. Very few can meet his height. His judgment is swift. The verdict? Death. He has never felt more alive than when he crushes a threat under his pede.

He feels great peace knowing that you will no longer be in danger. His fuse may not be short, but when it blows, it is explosive.

• Chuckling at your anger, because it’s better than the numb, emptiness, Bombshell cups your butt in a clawed hand and you elbow him in the head. Prefers you fiesty. “If you act like prey, we’ll treat you like prey,” he murmurs and you elbow him harder. Bending, he dumps you in the middle of your bedding, laughing at your startled yelp when you fall. Leaning over you, he catches your chin and retracts his mask. Sees the alarm there that he’s going to drug you and he bares his sharp denta. “Show me your fangs, little queen,” he says, snapping his denta and your eyes narrow before you bare your blunt, human teeth in a pitiful mockery of a snarl. “Pathetic,” he says, reaching out to lay a clawed hand on your hand, clawed servos ruffling through your hair.

• Head turning to watch Bombshell leave you, Kickback hisses when his brother seizes him by a wing and drags him with him. “Ow-ow,” he growls, antenna back and chirping. Playing that he’s no threat. “I didn’t do anything.” Had only encouraged you to let him play with you. And Bombshell had stopped him. Following tilted at an angle since Bombshell won’t let go, denta gritted in pain, Kickback watches their leader grab Shrapnel by one of his m altmode’s horns and yank. “Where are we going?”

• Snarling as he claws at Bombshell’s arm, Shrapnel hisses. Aware of you watching the interaction with wide eyes as Bombshell drags him and Kickback out of the cave. “Hunting,” Bombshell growls, ignoring as Shrapnel makes him bleed. ‘Leaving our little queen alone to run away again, again,’ Shrapnel snarls, snapping his sharp denta trying to bite. Hears Bombshell clear his vents as he shoves him and Kickback toward the trees. “Won’t run,” Bombshell says, bringing his gouged plating to his mouth, glossa sliding against the wounds Shrapnel’s claws left.

• They’re leaving you alone? Tensing with the need to run as your heart goes racing, you hesitate. If what Bombshell said is true, there’s no point in running. No escaping period. This is your life now, queen to those feral psychopaths. If you act like prey, we’ll treat you like prey. So what then? Own up to this bullshit? Take back up the act you’d started with Bombshell? Pretend you’re in charge. That you’re the queen they want you to be, because otherwise they’re going to bully you into it. Dropping your face in your hands in frustration, you hear peds and groan. Back already? Head lifting, you freeze at the sight of an alien mech you don’t know.

• Time. To think and decide, to find that attitude you’d shown him a glimpse of before. Because he liked your fire. Liked you making demands instead of cringing. Instead of numb. Venting as he moves through the trees, Bombshell hears Kickback chirp. “Someone’s been here,” Shrapnel growls. “Trespassing, trespassing.” And he pulls air through his vents, picking up the faint scent. ‘Free food,’ Bombshell snarls, denta bared as his head turns back toward the cave, alarm ringing through him because of how incredibly vulnerable you are. ‘Go.’ How vulnerable you make them.

• Racing through the trees for home, Shrapnel takes the lead. Knows this scent. Decepticon, one of their enforcers. Barricade. Sending the mech after them, to their home, a declaration of war. Lunging into the cave, he snarls spotting the mech mass displaced. In their home, servos wrapped around your arm to keep you in front of him. Hissing as he drops into a crouch, Bombshell pushes past him and Shrapnel notes the damage done to the other mech. “Saving a little snack for later?” Barricade asks, hauling on your arm to make you gasp. And the mech is going to die for that. For daring to touch you.

• “Nice of you to invite yourself to dinner,” Bombshell rumbles confidently as Kickback crouches, shifting closer to the wall. “You’re dinner, by the way.” Watches Barricade back up a step, dragging you as you struggle to get loose. And he can scent the other mech’s spilled energon to make him start drooling hungrily. How long has it been since they’ve devoured a still living mech? A pulsing spark. Groaning as his wings flick, he runs his glossa over his denta. ‘Megatron demands an audience,’ Barricade growls, the mech’s expression less certain as Shrapnel hisses. ‘What is it with you bugs and fragging humans?’

• Kicking at the stranger as your mates circle wider, you start laughing despite the terror. “You fucked up big time, buddy,” you tell your captor and he glances at you right as Kickback lunges, denta sinking into the mech’s arm and you hit the ground on your butt when he suddenly lets go of you. Rolling and scrambling to get clear as Shrapnel slams into the mech from the other side, clawed servos shredding into plating to spatter you with energon. You watch as the Insecticons drag the snarling, fighting mech outside the cave. Covering your ears with your hands when the snarling becomes screaming and your skin crawls.

Previous

You don't know how the pit you got into this situation. You were on night watch and saw some suspicious activity on the outside the ark camera so you noted it to Teletraan 1 to alert the others if you didn't relay back in a few klicks and went to check it out. Next thing you know, you're getting electrocuted so hard your senses reset themselves. You come to on your back with the spark damned insecticons standing over you. You jerk upwards, ready to physically bash your way out if you have too, only for Bombshell to shove himself forward and something to strike you in between your optical ridge.

You have half a nanoklick to realize you're fragged before your frame slacks of its own accord under Bombshells control. "Ha lucky- lucky! We got the one we wanted! Wanted-!" Shrapnel grabs at your faceplate and tilts your helm side to side.

"Autobot slave! You'll forget how to use your communication system while under our command." Bombshells voice is ringing on your audials, and just like that, you forget exactly how to use your com system. Oh Primus, what were they gonna have you do for them. Slag, what could they have you do before Teletrann 1 alerted the others-?

"Lie back slave!" Your frame slacks on the ground, and you're staring at the trees now- "Open your interface panel." Oh- Wait- This is happening? Your interface panel snapped back, exposing your array to the open air. Digits are suddenly rubbing between your valve mesh and- Oh yeah, this was apparently just happening!

"Slave, you're in control of your own frame, As long as you don't move from your spot on the ground, close your panel, or touch my shell." Your optics snap wide when you abruptly have even partial control of yourself again. And you have exactly enough time to get your elbows under you before you get jumped.

Now you're staring down, wide opticed, at the insecticons who've readily taken to slobbering all over your array. Bombshells between your thighs and using his usually hidden mouth to lap greedy strips along your valve. (Why is his glossia so long!?) You can't see him over Kickback and Shrapnel. Who are on either side of your hips and dragging their glossias along the length of your spike. Your servos had tried to push at them, but it only served for both of them to grab one of your wrists. You hissed in a vent and watched when Shrapnel dragged his glossia along the underside of your spikes head. Your spike throbbed on the insecticons' glossia, while Kickback dragged his own glossia along the side of your shaft. Bombshells digits suddenly slipping inside your valve made you buck your hips. "Slave tastes good. Good-!" Shrapnel's words sends humming fits down your spike since he's muttering against you.

You can- Can you call for help? Slag, would it be loud enough, though? It might just only make them order you to stay quiet- and Teletraan 1 should alert someone soon anyway. You just needed to hold on- Bombshell sucking hard on your anterior node makes you cry out and abruptly start overloading right onto Shrapnel. Shrapnel got a splash of your transfluid right in the faceplate, which made him jerk back in surprise. Kickback only leaned forward and started stroking your spike off as you continued overloaded all over yourself. You grunted when bombshell began to curl his digits and lap at your anterior node.

"Naughty slave." Kickback murmured and started lapping at your spike again- like you hadn't just overloaded. Shrapnel wiped your transfluid off of his faceplate and lapped it off his own digits before joining Kickback in cleaning your spike- Slag slag slag- You were sensitive still- Your digits flexed against the dirt.

"Stop-" you whined when Bombshell quickly pulled his digits out of your valve. You could see his helm suddenly, his mask back in place, and something else was pressing against your valve- "Don't-!" Bombshell bottomed out inside you with no remorse. Your back jerked, but your frame refused to raise off the ground. You could only grunt when his hips snapped against your aft in short but forceful thursts.

Bombshell groaned, "Your valves taking me well, slave." Bombshell brazenly admitted, before grabbing one of your legs to hoist onto his own pauldron. His pelvis knocked against your aft every time he thrust back into your valve.

Your attention was quickly brought back to your lap when Kickback and Shrapnel actually started fighting over your spike. Kickback finally raised a leg and smashed it into Shrapnels chassis, sending him tumbling off through the shrubbery. Kickback laughed and threw the already raised leg over your hip. The cons array snapped back, spike pressurizing and valve dripping onto your own plating. Kickback lowered himself, making your spike kiss his valve entrance. "Wait-" Bombshell bottomed out in you hard enough, his pelvis grinded down on your anterior node- And Kickbacks valve was suddenly taking in the entire length of your spike. Your servos latched onto Kickbacks waist, your digits tight enough to want to warp the metal underneath it.

Kickback only laughed "Big- and nice." Kickback rocked back and forth, and you whined through clenched denta. His valve squeezing down on you without remorse. Kickback didn't hesitate to get his own thighs under him and promptly start slamming himself up and back down your length. Valve fluttering over your spike and making your thoughts get even more muddled. Bombshells spike slammed into a deeper pleasure node, and you cried out again.

"Slagger Kickback! Slagger-!" Shrapnel hissed, scampering back over to where you were. You didn't even have the chance to glance at the angry con. Too focused on getting fragged and rode with no regard. So you weren't exactly ready when Shrapnel suddenly straddled your throat with his array out. "Use your glossia slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened on its own accord, and Shrapnel didn't wait to sit his valve right on top of your faceplate. Your muffled noise of protest only made Shrapnel grind down on you with a huffy laugh. Your servos abandoned Kickbacks waist and clung onto Shrapnels thighs instead. Your glossia moved itself against Shrapnels mesh and node. At least he didn't taste terrible (Small mercies.). But Primus, they were using you like an interface toy!

You groaned against Shrapnel when Bombshells spike smacked into another deeper node in your valve. You instinctively clenched down on his length, which made the con groan. Bombshells thrusts only picked up till he was practically slamming back into you to bottom out every time. Kickback started picking up his own pace, his servos grabbing onto your chassis. Thighs working faster to frag himself down your spike. Shrapnel only ground down more enthusiastically, his servos grabbing at your helm kibble. "Good slave-! Take it- take it!" You groaned against his valve, and you felt your second overload rear it's helm and smack you right in the chassis.

You arched as well as you good against the three of them. Overloading under the triple insecticon assault. Kickback overloaded right after you, his valve fluttering in pulses around your spike. Kickback laughed and ground down on your length through his own overload, making you keen pathetically against Shrapnel. Bombshell overloaded next, spike buried deep as he could be inside you and pumping your valve full of transfluid. His servos were squeezing your thighs, and you could feel what you thought was his glossia lapping strips along your leg. Shrapnel finally overloaded with a breathy cackle- hips grinding down on your faceplate through it. Servos clutching your kibble tight and keeping your helm still. Once Shrapnel finally slacked, you relaxed under all three of them.

Shrapnel pulled himself off of your faceplate. You gasped in vents only to watch Shrapnel turn, so he was above your helm- you tilted your helm back to keep a view on him only to find his spike tip kissing your derma. "Now take my spike! Open up slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened of its own volition, and Sharpnel shoved his spike into your intake. A muffled noise echoed out of you when Kickback started fragging himself back on your spike again. Bombshell followed soon after and started fragging your valve again. Valve fluttering and squelching when he fragged his own transfluid out of you.

Frag- They were insatiable- they always were! Just- you just needed to wait for help- you could do that! Your glossia lapped along Shrapnels spike, your servos grabbing back onto Kickbacks waist for some type of purchase. You could survive this- just- You needed to hold on. You could hold on!

...Right?

-

It was morning, the sun streaming through the gaps in the trees. Your helm was fuzzy from how many overloads the insecticons dragged out of you. If the insecticons are smaller then you (which considering they were about minibot sized, the chances were high) They'd end up figuring out that you can take two of their spikes in your valve at the same time. After that, your valve was constantly double stuffed for the rest of the night. (If you're noticeably bigger than them, then they will attempt to fit all three of their spikes in your valve simultaneously.)

They ended up making you overload so hard at the end that your senses reset again. Only when you came to this time, they were gone. Bombshell did not pull his shell off of your helm before he left, so you're stuck on the ground- Covered in transfluid and fragged silly. With copious amounts of transfluid still dripping out of your valve. Waiting for rescue still- Primus, you wish you remembered how to use your comm system.

"-I don't understand how Teletraan 1 shorted out." A familiar voice makes you perk up- as well as you could anyway still stuck on the ground.

"There was a big electrical surge, and Teletraan 1 couldn't handle the output, so Teletrann 1 reset and couldn't turn back on. We only realized it this morning- and they sent that alert actual earth hours ago- I just hope they're okay."

Hoist! And Grapple! Primus! Okay! You could get help. And well... it suddenly made sense why you got fragged till morning with no help at all.

You glanced down at your transfluid stained self.

Yeah, there was no hiding this. You were covered in purple, dark, and silver paint transfers, too. You stared at your still open modesty panel. Which you still couldn't close because of the shell...

Slag it all. Hoist was a medic, and Grapple wasn't the type to gossip. At least your spike wasn't still pressurized. Plus, you technically just got... sexually assaulted. And neither of them were afts, so you should be fine.

Knowing you wouldn't keep what little dignity you had you through your helm back and shouted for help. You thankfully heard your designation being called back and the shrubbery starting to shuffle towards you.

At least Red Alert couldn't be mad at you for abandoning your post... small mercies.

...