Top Posts Tagged with #skids transformers

THAT SKIDS FROM YOUR DRABBLE? absolutely cinematic. Say, could I perhaps ask for a Skids' fanfic?

Where, let's just say.. since he's a thigh person, he'd be the type of mech that would go for seconds and thirds, hell maybe fourths in eating the reader out just because of their thighs.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. skids x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: minors dni. overstimulation, pussydrunk!skids. 2k words

oh… oh noo… another request that has been in my inbox for three gabillion years and i’m only just answering </3 I’M SO SORRY trying to keep up with the asks is so hard LMAO. i hope this is a yummy, delicious meal that makes up for how late it is 🫶

Stacks upon stacks of reports await you on the left of your desk. A much smaller pile of completed reports are positioned to the right of you. You very foolishly decided that to make yourself useful around the ship, you would assist Ultra Magnus in whatever he needed. It's now your job to read through the reports of all the crew, from facilities management, stock reports, to excursion details. You're constantly drowning in text, but at least you aren't bored out of your mind.

A light knock sounds from your office door, making you peer up from the datapad. Your vision blurs, an indicator that you're going crazy from how much you're reading.

"Come in," you voice clearly.

The door cracks open, and in walks Skids, not yet mass displaced but with something small cradled in his large palm. You look up to offer him a warm smile, glad for the company of your partner. Even if you do have a ton of work to do, you probably should just get on with it rather than letting him take your attention.

"Hey, I thought you could use a drink," he says, walking through the length of the room to reach you. He takes the human-sized glass from his palm using his forefinger and thumb on the other servo, crouching down in front of your desk to carefully place it on top.

"Thank you, Skids," you say sweetly, reaching forward to grab the glass. You take a quick swig, only realising at that moment that you haven't at all been keeping yourself hydrated whilst couped up in here.

He grunts, lowering down to the floor to sit cross-legged in front of you. He gazes down at the datapads you have towering on your workspace, shooting you a sympathetic look.

"Magnus is working you to the bone, huh?" He asks softly.

"Mmm," you hum, looking around at all the work accumulated around you. "Maybe a little. But it's okay, I'm glad to be of use."

"Have you taken a break today?" He questions, genuine concern laced in his words. He knows that sometimes it's easy to get carried away with the flow of work and not realise how much you're doing without rest.

"Not yet," you reply, taking another sip of your drink.

"Can I take you for lunch?" He suggests, a familiar glint apparent in his optics.

You rest back on your chair, looking up at him with a cocked brow. You know what this means.

"What did you have in mind?" You reply.

⋅☆⋅

His hot derma lay fervent kisses on your lips as he gropes your thighs, which are currently wound around his waist. You're lying with your back on the bed and Skids is hovering above you to fully enjoy this bout of love. Sometimes, making out just to make out is nice, but you know tonight won't unfold that way. He's raring to go, the unchecked lust rampant beneath his armour.

Sturdy servos smooth over your shirt, exploring up to the mound of your tits to rub over them a little. You sigh into the kiss, drawing him closer with one hand on the back of his helm. He moves against you with passion, already sensing the subtle vibrations in his modesty panels.

Grabbing the slopes of your shirt, he tugs outwards on them. You gasp as he easily rips through the buttons, making them all pop off. You break the kiss, looking down to see the shirt pulled open over your chest and the loose threads from the discarded buttons.

"You're insatiable," you lightly chide, but all he does is chuckle in response.

"What can I say? I want you," he burrs, before capturing you for another kiss, wrangling with the shirt to get it off. You help as best you can, getting it off you before Skids pulls it out from underneath you to throw it to the side. He tucks his servos behind your back next, working on the clasp of your bra before taking it off you and letting it join the pile of your shirt.

"Lemme eat it," he begs, gathering the length of your skirt in his servos, tugging it down. "I wanna taste you so bad, you have no idea."

"Mmph," you whimper, "Please."

"That's all I needed to hear," he replies, throwing your skirt behind him. He moves to your underwear next, just as rapid with his movements to get them off you.

He kisses your lips one last time before he ventures south, scooting down the bed to face your hot core.

Wasting no time, he dives in. His wet glossa flicks over your clit, working you to get you dripping for him. You moan out, immediately grinding your hips against his fast movements.

His greedy servos take generous grabs at your thighs, admiring the silk-like skin under his touch. He moans into you, in love with how cushiony your thighs are. It's such a treat when you let him thigh fuck you, it's the highest level of ascension in his life.

"Just like that," you moan as he stimulates every inch of you.

He mumbles something you can't quite make out, his faceplates are stuffed too far into your heat. He sucks and licks, desperate to have all of you. You whimper, throwing your head back against the pillow.

Grasping your thighs a little harder, he pulls them in to squish his helm between them. He groans, his optics flickering as he feels the warm housing of your plump skin. You offer a small giggle, entertained by how simple he is to please.

He laps his glossa against you as if he's earnestly searching for something that only can provide. It's almost as if you hold the eternal elixir of life at the apex of your thighs, and Skids has gone on a self-seeking journey for it. He charts your cunt with his glossa, making sure to cover all ground.

It seems that more days than not, he's down between your legs, covering his faceplates in your juices. You've expressed concern over him rusting, but he says it doesn't work that way. So don't worry, and please just let him do this. He needs it more than you know.

"Let everyone hear you scream for me," he says.

You don't hold back with your sounds, making sure he picks up on every pitch. The ship is so big that it'd be hard to imagine anyone could hear you, unless any unfortunate souls are loitering near any connecting vents. Still, they might not know it's you.

Somehow, he's everywhere all at once. His tongue slips through your folds before finding your clit, tasting your slick with taut circles. He thinks this started as a thing to rile you up, but now finds himself in it for the love of the game. He could get lost down here, and he'd pray that no one would ever come to find him. Even in his day-to-day life, he finds himself thinking about going down on you. It's such a fulfilling reward for all his hard work.

And you enjoy it, too. The power that it gives you when he's down there, pleasuring you like it's all he was made to do. When his fans whir and his voicebox glitches, it's some of the sexiest things you've ever experienced. It's unlike anything else.

You tense your thigh muscles, crushing him between them. He moans, hot and heavy straight into your core, sending vibrations through you that end up as a loud moan of your own.

His thick spike deploys from its casing without Skids asking it to, and as soon as it's out, he starts to grind against the bed. He just needs something to work against his spike, he needs some kind of friction. He's gotten off just from eating you out before, and he suspects today will not be any different.

He wraps his derma around your clit and sucks, making you scream out his name as your vision blurs. You gasp, your hands flying to his helm to pull him closer into you, if such a thing were possible. You're flooding him with touch, and God, you've never been so grateful to have a partner that doesn't need to breathe. He can just keep going and going, until you're begging for him to stop from how overstimulated you are.

"Mphh— I'm so close," you mewl.

"Cum for me," he requests ardently against you, lapping up every drop.

You can feel the sensation of your orgasm reach the tips of your toes, your fingers pressing against his helm harder as your mouth drops open in a silent moan. It hits all at once, gracing you in a powerful way that has your vision flashing white. Your thighs tremble around the sides of his helm, and you suck in a sharp breath as the bliss flutters through you.

"That's so good," he praises as he drinks down your sweet release, "Can't get enough."

He licks your slit a little more before sheathing his glossa into your hole, making your back arch as you semi-squeal. His powerful glossa moves against your upper wall, fully intending to devour you from the inside out.

"Oh, fuck! Skids!" You moan as you feel a flush of heat flare over your neck and chest.

"One more, want another one," he says with his glossa buried inside of you. Your breath hitches as you try to settle your body, telling yourself that it's okay. The overstimulation will only take a couple of moments to battle through, and then you'll be back on cloud nine.

"I love it down here," he muses, fucking you with his glossa in an impressive show of stamina. The rumbles of his words send pleasant vibrations through you, and the overstimulation is only bordering on painful. It's a self-indulgent kind of pain, the type you could get used to.

He's bound at your mercy, and there's no place in the universe he'd rather be. He slips his glossa out, going back to suckling on your throbbing clit. A broken cry leaves you, feeling the pang of sensitivity strike through you. He chuckles, fanning warm air over your core. Your noises are a beautiful melody to him, and he enjoys orchestrating more and more from you.

His talented intake elicits a parade of sensations through your body which melts your system into a puddle of lust. You're desperate for him and the way he lauds every inch of you, depicting his undying love for you with his silver glossa.

The fire that coils in your stomach lashes once more, threatening to topple you over the edge, albeit much quicker than last time. Your toes curl as a layer of sweat slowly starts to form around your body. You hump against his face, searching for everything and anything he has to offer.

"Fuck yourself on my face, that's it, keep going," he encourages sweetly.

With nowhere else to go, you succumb to your body's needs. It feels as though flames erupt from your body to scorch everything in sight, another powerful orgasm claiming dominion over your better senses. You cry his name, louder than any time before, as your body recoils with pleasure.

He continues to wag his glossa, but this time it proves to be too much. You shiver, tapping against the top of his helm to signal him to stop. He listens immediately, ceasing his actions before gazing up at your bliss-riddled expression.

Your hands slide off his helm, and your legs relax, freeing him from the confines of your body. He pulls away a fraction, licking his derma to help clear up just a fraction of the mess that he made of you. It's all over his cheeks and chin, and a wet patch sits on the bedding from what he couldn't catch.

"How was that?" He asks, cupping your thigh softly before giving it a gentle kiss.

You hum, high on the endorphins, before nodding your head.

"You know how to savour your meals," is all you reply with.

"Well, my compliments to the chef."

You can't help but giggle at that, shaking your head lightly at the ridiculousness of it.

"I'm tempted to go in for a third course," he says, glancing down at your wet core.

"Come cuddle for ten minutes, and then you can. I need a moment to recover."

"Sounds like a good deal to me."

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