Valves and Things

Scorponok mewled like a desperate bitch in heat. He was blindfolded and completely at the mercy of the mechs manhandling and fragging the soul out of him. He tilted his purple hips back, hissing from pleasure-pain as another spike nudged against his already stuffed valve. Greedy servos groped over his thighs and aft, adjusting him while one mech continued to thrust brutally into his aft. 

“By Unicron,” Scorponok gasped.

Scorponok was absolutely in love with his new toy. He’d spent so long alone that he felt like splurging. So, he caved and bought the Tentacle Freak 300X. On the outside, the toy looked like a large black ball on top of a suction cup. It was deceitful in its simplicity. He suctioned the device to the center of his berth and opened his panels, gently massaging himself as he waited for the day to register his arousal. 

The ball on top started to transform, folding away to reveal a mass of writhing, bioluminescent, viscous green tentacles. They snaked outward, expanding as they wriggled their way up Scorponok’s thighs, leaving a tingly, sticky substance behind. He spread his knees further and moaned low as the thickest tentacle rubbed between his swollen valve lips, teasing his entrance.

“Ah, frag,” he groaned.

A tentacle with a wide hole at the tip, curled around his twitching spike and started to work its way down, swallowing him whole like no bot ever could. His hips jerked and he cried out as the tentacle on his spike tightened and undulated and the one between his thighs prodded his valve insistently. 

Starscream was still furious with Megatron for siding with Shockwave during an earlier argument. But he’d never been one to turn down a frag. So he stubbornly kept his mouth shut as Megatron thrust into him slowly, gently. He braced himself on his forearms over Starscream and dark red optics squinted down at him. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Megatron rumbled. He paused in his careful thrusts, bowing his helm to ghost scarred lips over Starscream’s delicate throat cables. 

Any other night, Starscream would have lost himself to the awe of these rare moments when Megatron was gentle and attentive, even borderline vulnerable. Tonight, however, he glared up at his much larger partner. When he didn’t answer, Megatron’s expression hardened, guarded once more. 

“If you didn’t want this,” he growled, slowly easing out of Starscream’s tight heat, “you should have stopped me.” He pulled away to sit on the edge of the berth they sometimes shared. His spike curved towards his belly, throbbing and leaking prefluid. He didn’t touch it. 

Starscream let out an irritated huff, his valve achingly empty and his slender spike twitching. He snaked a servo down himself to massage the tip of his spike. Megatron’s help whipped to the side, his optics locking on Starscream’s servo. He snarled, expression dark, and snagged Starscream’s wrist away from his spike. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Megatron snapped. 

Still, Starscream bit his tongue. 

Megatron bared his fangs. “Fine,” he growled. “You’re mad at me.” He shifted on the berth, shoulders pressing Starscream’s thin thighs open wide enough to burn. Megatron dipped his helm, licking a slow stripe from the bottom of Starscream’s valve to the tip of his spike. “But you do not get the privilege of ignoring me. Ever.”

Starscream shivered, fighting back a moan when Megatron swallowed his spike to the hilt in one quick motion. He felt the slightest bit of guilt, but he was still hurt over Megatron almost allowing Shockwave to harm him. 

Megatron worked his intake over Starscream’s spike hard and fast, his frustration bleeding into his denting grasp on Starscream’s hips. He scraped his dentae carefully over his small partner’s spike, finally eliciting a sharp cry from Starscream. Megatron doubled his efforts, slipping one servo down to piston two digits deep into Starscream’s leaking little valve, thumb rubbing harshly at his exterior node.

Starscream arched off the berth, optics blowing wide from the overwhelming pleasure-pain of the dueling sensations. He couldn’t stop the high pitched whine that escaped him. His servos gripped Megatron’s helm as his hips thrust frantically into the larger mech’s hot mouth. His cooling fans kicked into overdrive and he trembled, teetering close to overloading. 

Megatron completely detached from Starscream’s array, a cruel grin stretching his lips. Starscream whimpered, hips desperately chasing after Megatron’s digits and mouth.

“Oh, were you close?” Megatron taunted. He made a show of sucking the fluids from his digits. “If only you’d told me.”

Starscream groaned, writhing uncomfortably on the berth. “Megatron, please,” he whimpered. “Please, Master, I’m so close—”

Surprisingly, I did not have anything hiding in the backlog that is my Google drive lmao. But here, have some fresh and spicy First Aid!

First Aid liked to think he wasn’t a prideful mech. But, by Primus, this just proved that. He sat at his desk, furiously struggling to focus on updating a patient’s medical records while waiting for his lover to return. They’d been gone for nearly an hour as is, leaving him trapped in this excruciating device. 

First Aid shifted his hips to try and alleviate some pressure, but let out a sharp whine at the worsening sensations. He glared down at the cage magnetically locked to his pelvis. It’s curved and forces his hard, leaking spike to bend slightly. There’s a ring locked around the base of his swollen spike, preventing him from softening or retracting it, and it pulses with just enough energy to keep him right on the sharp edge of the knife of pleasure and pain. 

He never should have agreed to “trying something new,” he thought. He couldn’t even touch his valve because the cage cupped that too, and until his lover returned, he was left a whimpering, profusely leaking mess. His frame was close to overheating despite his fans running on overdrive, so when the door to his hab slides open, he almost overloads from pure relief. 

His visor glitched white and he was panting, turning to his lover and preparing to beg. They walked over, all too slowly, cupping his chin and lifting. 

“Have you been a good boy?” They rumbled, optics dark with lust at the sight of him struggling. 

First Aid nodded fervently. “Yes, please, please take this off, I need to—”

It wasn’t strange, how he watched her. It was possessive and admiring and awe filled. She twisted and twirled, swaying and swooning. Her hips were magic, her eyes more so as they focused on him, half lidded and blissful. It didn’t matter that there were others close by, Optimus and she were the only two in the world, each being focused solely on the other. He’d never seen her dance like this and he wondered if it were the drink in her cup which he guarded dutifully, or the bouncing music, or simply the chance to freely express herself in a new place surrounded by strangers who wouldn’t remember her. 

When Ratchet suggested that Optimus and the others test out their newly acquired holoform tech, she had lunged at the opportunity. She was the oldest of their human allies, twenty-four and an artist whose studio had accidentally been destroyed during a skirmish with the Decepticons. She was all too eager to suggest going to a club, and Optimus was quickly outvoted for going to a museum instead. 

So there they were, Optimus leaning against the bar, her glass in his faux human hand, head pounding with the too loud bass. Everyone but Optimus and Ultra Magnus were dancing. Wheeljack was off moving erotically with a group of women who just lapped him up. Bulkhead awkwardly hovered nearby. Bumblebee, Arcee, and Smokescreen stayed close to their human friend.

Friend. Is this how friends watch each other dance, Optimus thought. Perhaps. But certainly a friend’s mind would not wander with his eyes, tracing her curves, the flush of her cheeks, the sweat spotting her brow. He wouldn’t wonder what the sweat between her breasts tastes like, or how soft her thighs would feel in his hands. 

The moment Predaking woke up to you writhing against him, whining in your sleep, he knew what was wrong. He didn’t even have to look downward to know that your array was open and leaking on his thigh. Since you both slept in Predacon form, Predaking craned his long curving neck and nuzzled your jaw, gently trying to wake you. You whimpered and your optics flickered online, hazy and clouded with raw lust as they focused on him. 

Predaking took a deep breath, a growl rolling up his throat at the scent of your raging heat. “My love,” he rumbled.

You were already shifting in the nest, your tail flicking eagerly and accidentally whacking Predaking in the face. He snarled and quickly rolled to his taloned feet, much larger frame blanketing yours. 

“Speak to me, sweetspark,” Predaking growled right next to your audial receptor. He carefully lowered his body, allowing only a fraction of his weight to pin you to the nest floor. The sticky sweet scent of your heat was intoxicating, flooding his snout and making it hard to restrain himself. Although he’d helped you through your heat cycles before, he always made you give consent regardless. “Tell me what you need.”

You tilted your hips up and Predaking had to bite down on your shoulder to make you stop grinding your soaked valve against his throbbing spike as it hardened and poked out of its sheath. 

“Please,” you finally gasped out. “Please, love, it hurts.”

Predaking gently licked over the bite mark he’d left on your shoulder. “Please what?” He rolled his hips forward, teasing you as the tip of his spike caught on your entrance. 

You cry out and shift under him, pressing your hips back but he ruthlessly pulls away, refusing to give you his spike. “Frag me, baby, please! I need your spike, knot me and fill me with your—”

Shockwave groaned low, hips rocking, pumping his swollen spike into his fist. Overload coiled, like a hot spring, in the base of his spine and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him. By Unicron, he needed this. Megatron had been breathing down his neck about the Predacon project, and Shockwave never got to spend any of his time focusing on his frame’s needs. Now, with Soundwave kneeling before him, he stroked his spike harder, faster.

“Do you want my transfluid?” Shockwave snarled. His hips juttered and he groaned with the effort of not finishing right then and there as Soundwave tilted his helm back and let his visor retract just enough to reveal his mouth. “Open,” Shockwave demanded. 

Soundwave immediately did what he was told, parting his beautiful thick lips and holding out his glossa.

Shockwave grabbed Soundwave’s helm and tugged him closer as he shouted and overloaded hard, thick strings of transfluid landing all over Soundwave’s face, a lot around his mouth. Shockwave moaned low as Soundwave swiped his tongue over his sticky bottom lip and smiled. 

Out of the blue, they'll say

'Bro, [blank] wouldn't give me sloppy tippy and now am saddd'

Or

'Evrything is a spike If you're not a pussy boy'

Even

'The things I'd let that man do to me brah'

While looking at shockeave, experimenting on someone

How do you think intercourse would work or how soundwave will deal with them? lol

Nsfw please brah

Soundwave was convinced that his crush said the most vulgar, vile things possible just to get a rise out of him. It worked. Every. Damn. Time. After weeks of hearing them say things like “everything’s a spike if you’re not a pussy, boy,” and “Megatron wouldn’t give me sloppy toppy and now I’m sad,” Soundwave discovered his breaking point. They were standing next to Soundwave, both of them watching as Shockwave experimented on his newest victim.

Out of nowhere, they nudged Soundwave and said, “The things I’d let that man do to me, ugh.”

Soundwave couldn’t take it. He turned and wrapped a slender hand around their throat, guiding them back against the wall. He slotted himself between their legs and pressed tight against them. His visor was dark and dangerous and he pressed his forehead to theirs, wishing that he could kiss them right now. 

They blinked up at him, bewildered and wide eyed. 

Tarantulas tilted his head at you, his lovely little lover. His mandibles clicked excitedly as he inspected your bindings, your wrists and ankles wrapped in his webbing and holding you splayed out for him. His visor flashes and he churrs at the sight of your arousal dripping down your thighs. 

“I wonder if you enjoy this more than I do?” he says smoothly. He lifts one of his extra eight spider legs and gently runs the foot through the mess between your legs. 

You whimper and turn pleading eyes up to him. “Tee,” you whine, “please, I—”

Tarantulas cut you off by tsking. “Darling, you get what I choose, when I choose.” He paused, visor darkening with desire. “But I do love to hear you beg.” 

May I pretty please, get a NSFW drunk/Tipsy Rodimus prime going all out on his Cybertronian S/O. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the bar or their hab-suite 🙏 Thank you

Rodimus was never one to shy away from the public eye. Unfortunately, that also meant he had little to no shame when it came to PDA. Case in point, how he was running his hands all over you, massaging your aft and chest as he sloppily kissed and nipped at your throat. 

“Mm, you taste so good baby,” he purred against your throat. He bit down a little harder and tugged you into his lap. His hips twitched and he groaned when your codpieces rubbed together deliciously. 

You couldn’t help the low moan that escaped your mouth, and you dipped your helm in horror when a couple of the other bots in the bar turned your way. “Rodimus,” you hiss.

His servo trailed from your hip down to your inner thigh. “You can’t convince me to stop, love.”

You let out a huff. “Everyone’s watching.”

Rodimus ground his hips against yours again, moaning low in his throat. “Let them watch, sexy.”

can you make one of a servant bot with tfp soundwave, megatron, and other bots you have in mind? (Okay with GN mech or male mech)

Like on-duty the reader is mostly an emotionless servant, but when off-duty they like to hang out with the officers (platonic/romantic) they do arts & crafts, and maybe even go flower picking.

(IDK CUZ MY OC HAS PURE WHITE EYES AND HAS TERRIBLE VISION, SO MAYBE YOU

CAN INCLUDE SOME OF THAT, PLEASE🙏🙏)

IF YOU DO WRITE ABOUT THIS, TYSMSMSM🗣🗣🗣🗣

Soundwave: He is convinced that they are the love of his life. He watches their every move, if not in person than through Laserbeak and the security cameras littered around the Nemesis. He sits with them and curiously watches as they do their favorite arts and crafts. He doesn’t understand how their servos are so capable of creating beautiful things. 

Megatron: At first, he doesn’t like that they linger around him while they’re off duty. But when he gets used to their presence, he starts talking to them idly, asking how their day has been and simple little things. He dislikes when they don’t look at him, even though he knows their vision is poor, and is always gently grabbing their chin and tilting their head up so he can peer into their stunning white optics. He likes being close enough so that they can see him, even if it means constantly towering over them. He’s definitely a little obsessed and a lot possessive. 

Shockwave: It took him a while to stop asking them if he could run tests on their optics and just accept that they didn’t want him prodding around their eyes. After that, he worked tirelessly to create a datapad that reads the text out loud. When he gives it to them, he seems almost shy, his optic darting around and not meeting theirs. He’s a flustered mess when they kiss his palm in gratitude. 

Could I request a oneshot of a human reader × shockwave (tfp, g1 or similar, just not tfa pls!) being touch starved and the reader offers to massage his sore joints after overworking himself and he's like oh. This is very nice. petting and dotting on him n stuff lol can be fluff or smut your choice! i just wanna pamper him so bad 😭

Shockwave let out an irritated huff and rolled his neck. He’d been staring at his notes too long and was becoming stiff. He hated it, but the only way to relieve some of the tension in his joints was by cracking them. The sound irked him and so did the sensation, and it just made him more irritated. Of course, he didn’t voice this. 

You were watching him from your makeshift human roost on his work table, he could feel your gaze. But Shockwave refused to acknowledge it, knowing you’d attempt to scold him for overworking himself. Again. 

“Shock?” you asked quietly. 

He cursed mentally and turned one unblinking red optic towards you. He said nothing. 

You set down your own notebook and tilted your head up at him. “Is your neck bothering you again?”

Shockwave couldn’t lie to you. He couldn’t explain why, it made no logical sense, he just couldn’t. “Yes,” he answered simply. 

“Want me to massage it?” You offered. “I’ve got the perfect tiny hands for it.”

Shockwave also couldn’t say no to you. He decided to bend in his chair and lie his upper half against his workspace. That way you could crawl over him like a little scraplet. He turned his helm to the side and watched you approach, apprehension and excitement churning in his tanks. No one ever wanted to or bothered offering to touch him. They saw him as a freak, a maniac, nothing to be doted on. 

But when your hands slipped between the plates of his spine, Shockwave felt normal, sane even. He melted under your touch, losing himself to the sensations embarrassingly fast. You were warm and soft and applied pressure in all the right places. It was heavenly, and Shockwave was no religious mech. 

He shifted under you slightly, a soft moan escaping him when you massaged the sensitive protomesh on the side of his neck. He stiffened, expecting beratement, but you didn’t stop touching him. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” you said gently. 

Dreadwing and Skyquake smiled down at you. They had the same smile, the same heated gazes, and such perfectly similar spikes. One stuffed your valve and the other your mouth. Skyquake thrust hard and steady into your valve, his massive servos wrapped around your waist as he rocked you forward into his brother. Your optics beaded as Dreadwing fragged your throat, his servos gripping your finials and keeping you in place. Occasionally he would brush his knuckles against your cheek, all the while purring soft encouragements to you. 

You were used to being so completely stuffed, but you weren’t used to this shift in power. Although they kissed over your spine and rubbed your sides, your cheeks, your throat, the brothers were clearly the ones controlling this moment. As if to prove that point, Skyquake picked up his pace and started dragging your hips back to meet his. You whimpered around Dreadwing’s thick spike when Skyquake reached around to roughly rub your node. He didn’t stop even after you cried out and overloaded, just chuckled and bent over you to kiss your shaking shoulders. 

“Does it feel good, love?” he purred. 

When all you could do was whimper in response, Dreadwing let out a low moan. “That’s it, let us hear how much you enjoy this, being rightfully destroyed.” He tilted your chin up and smiled down at the tears of overstimulation slipping down your face. With the pad of his thumb, he gently swiped them away. “You’re so beautiful like this, dove.”