Flash Fiction Fills Take 65 Part One
May. 25th, 2016 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22For Sunnybutte
Prompt: TFA Waspinator/Starscream, pheromones/impregnation/oviposition
Universe: Transformers Animated. Warning: nsfw, oviposition, sticky sex
For Fulcrumisthebomb
Prompt: G1 Rodimus/Magnus, Hurt/comfort
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
For Notanevilmastermind
Prompt: Ratchet/Sunstreaker/Sideswipe, Video games
Universe: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
For Rizobact
Prompt: Prowl/Jazz, handfeeding
Universe: G1. Warnings: handfeeding, biting, elements of dubcon
a/n: Lots more flash fics to come!
Prompt: TFA Waspinator/Starscream, pheromones/impregnation/oviposition
Universe: Transformers Animated. Warning: nsfw, oviposition, sticky sex
In the end, it was about survival.
Starscream refused to be defeated or abandoned or left for scrap. He would not be ignored or cast aside. He would not accept any of it.
There were probably better paths, harder paths, he could have taken. Succumbing to the sweet temptation of Waspinator's pheromones was not one of them. Letting the creature Wasp had become 'mate' him was little better. But it was a choice, an option, and Starscream took it.
Because buried in Waspinator's inane and incomprehensible chatter was the inkling of a plan. It was present in the ridiculous ease with which Waspinator lifted him, and the insectioid mech's unmatchable strength. As will as his ability to survive that which would kill most mecha.
“There will be more,” Waspinator rasped as he stroked Starscream's frame, lingering over his midsection and abdominal cavity. His field was a strange static-electric buzz against Starscream's, further proof of the changes Blackarachnia had wrought in him.
Waspinator's pheromones permeated the air, sticky sweet, infecting Starscream inside and out. They made it easier. They made him slick and open. Ready. His spark spun faster. His vents rapidly cycled. Higher thought processing dulled, narrowing his desires to a select few.
He didn't look down.
He'd seen the thing Waspinator used for an interfacing unit. It was not a spike, but something borne of night purges. Starscream did not want to see it enter his frame, though he felt the blunt knob of it prodding at his valve.
“Eggzzz,” Waspinator chattered as he groped at Starscream and made several uncoordinated thrusts. “Breed hive. Make hive. Make queen. Lotzzzzz.”
Waspinator's coherency dissolved the more frantic his rutting became. His frame temperature skyrocketed, blasting Starscream. His fingers hooked in transformation seams, digging deep, scraping cables. The pain was lost to the need throbbing through Starscream's lines.
He canted his hips back impatiently. “Frag me already, you fool!” he snapped. Or tried to. He wasn't sure how much of it came out words, and the rest static.
Waspinator trilled an odd noise. He snapped his hips forward, and Starscream hissed as the predacon finally found his mark. He worked that thing inside Starscream, bulldozing a deep path to Starscream's ceiling node, and the channel to his gestational chamber, eagerly open thanks to the pheromones. Lubricant eased the way, but Starscream's calipers protested. Sensors pinged back pleasure.
He had the pheromones to thank for that, too. Which was a good thing. He had no idea how many “eggzzzz” Waspinator planned to implant on him, but if it brought him an army, Starscream would put up with it.
It was a small price to pay.
“Zzzzzooon,” Waspinator cackled, thrusting harder, with wild abandon, like a beast.
Starscream gritted his denta against the rising tide of pleasure.
Yes. Soon.
Starscream refused to be defeated or abandoned or left for scrap. He would not be ignored or cast aside. He would not accept any of it.
There were probably better paths, harder paths, he could have taken. Succumbing to the sweet temptation of Waspinator's pheromones was not one of them. Letting the creature Wasp had become 'mate' him was little better. But it was a choice, an option, and Starscream took it.
Because buried in Waspinator's inane and incomprehensible chatter was the inkling of a plan. It was present in the ridiculous ease with which Waspinator lifted him, and the insectioid mech's unmatchable strength. As will as his ability to survive that which would kill most mecha.
“There will be more,” Waspinator rasped as he stroked Starscream's frame, lingering over his midsection and abdominal cavity. His field was a strange static-electric buzz against Starscream's, further proof of the changes Blackarachnia had wrought in him.
Waspinator's pheromones permeated the air, sticky sweet, infecting Starscream inside and out. They made it easier. They made him slick and open. Ready. His spark spun faster. His vents rapidly cycled. Higher thought processing dulled, narrowing his desires to a select few.
He didn't look down.
He'd seen the thing Waspinator used for an interfacing unit. It was not a spike, but something borne of night purges. Starscream did not want to see it enter his frame, though he felt the blunt knob of it prodding at his valve.
“Eggzzz,” Waspinator chattered as he groped at Starscream and made several uncoordinated thrusts. “Breed hive. Make hive. Make queen. Lotzzzzz.”
Waspinator's coherency dissolved the more frantic his rutting became. His frame temperature skyrocketed, blasting Starscream. His fingers hooked in transformation seams, digging deep, scraping cables. The pain was lost to the need throbbing through Starscream's lines.
He canted his hips back impatiently. “Frag me already, you fool!” he snapped. Or tried to. He wasn't sure how much of it came out words, and the rest static.
Waspinator trilled an odd noise. He snapped his hips forward, and Starscream hissed as the predacon finally found his mark. He worked that thing inside Starscream, bulldozing a deep path to Starscream's ceiling node, and the channel to his gestational chamber, eagerly open thanks to the pheromones. Lubricant eased the way, but Starscream's calipers protested. Sensors pinged back pleasure.
He had the pheromones to thank for that, too. Which was a good thing. He had no idea how many “eggzzzz” Waspinator planned to implant on him, but if it brought him an army, Starscream would put up with it.
It was a small price to pay.
“Zzzzzooon,” Waspinator cackled, thrusting harder, with wild abandon, like a beast.
Starscream gritted his denta against the rising tide of pleasure.
Yes. Soon.
For Fulcrumisthebomb
Prompt: G1 Rodimus/Magnus, Hurt/comfort
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
It was too much.
Rodimus paced back and forth across one of the few ledges not destroyed in the battle that changed everything. His pedes fumbled over debris, some of which went skittering over the edge, clattering on its way down. He still felt ungainly in his new frame – too tall, too heavy, too well-armed, too much everything.
The Matrix welcome him with open arms. It was confident. It was the only one.
Rodimus Prime spun on a heelstrut. His vents stuttered. His spark felt like a wild flicker racing toward supernova. He was hot and cold. His hands trembled.
It was all normal, First Aid claimed.
Rodimus trusted his new CMO, but First Aid was young. He'd never witnessed the ascension of a Prime, or the passing of the Matrix. What did he know?
Everyone was dead. On both sides. Even Megatron, and he'd left someone even more unbalanced in his wake.
Optimus was gone. Gone. And Rodimus was supposed to do this somehow. Without guidance or training. With an ancient relic against his spark that spoke in glyphs and riddles and songs and Cybertronian hieroglyphs.
Rodimus Prime wrung his hands together.
It was too much. He couldn't do this.
“Rodimus?”
He whirled, optics bleeding of their color. “Ultra Magnus! I, uh...” He forced a smile, but his clamped plating betrayed him. “Is something wrong?”
Ultra Magnus lingered in the doorway, still larger than Rodimus despite his upgrades, and taking up most of the space. “I should be asking that of you,” he said. “I could feel the unrest in your field through the wall.”
Rodimus winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I'll try to-- I mean--” He paused, took a deep ventilation, reminded himself he was Prime now. “I apologize. I will make an effort to control my field better.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him for a long moment before he crossed the balcony until he stood in front of Rodimus, the both of them barely fitting on the narrow ledge. “I was friends with Optimus for longer than you know,” he said.
Rodimus flinched at the reminder. “Yes. I am aware. If you need some time away--”
Large hands rested on Rodimus' shoulders, a warm weight that seemed to chase away the chill residing deep in his frame. “It is not that.” He lowered his helm, staring intently into Rodimus' optics. “I do not envy you the burden you now bear, Rodimus Prime. But you are not alone. I am here to assist you.”
Rodimus worked his intake. “You are the worthy one. It should have been you,” he said quietly. It was a thought that haunted him, had been haunting him, since the moment reality set in after Unicron's defeat.
“But I am not, because you are,” Ultra Magnus insisted, his hands squeezing Rodimus' shoulders, a gesture of comfort. “I believe that with every beat of my spark.”
Rodimus' ventilations hitched. His internals warmed. He felt at once as though he was Hot Rod again, not the ungainly mech thrust into the frame of a Prime.
“Thank you,” he said, or stuttered rather, composure in tatters. “I… well, your faith in me is worth it's weight, Magnus.”
Ultra Magnus smiled at him, just a small curve of his lips, but that, too, was worth its weight. Especially when he pulled Rodimus into a hug that chased away the last of the chill, further proving that he would not have to isolate himself as Optimus sometimes did. He wouldn't have to do this alone.
Rodimus still wasn't sure he even could do this. But he couldn't discount Ultra Magnus' faith either.
The least he could do was give it his best shot.
Rodimus paced back and forth across one of the few ledges not destroyed in the battle that changed everything. His pedes fumbled over debris, some of which went skittering over the edge, clattering on its way down. He still felt ungainly in his new frame – too tall, too heavy, too well-armed, too much everything.
The Matrix welcome him with open arms. It was confident. It was the only one.
Rodimus Prime spun on a heelstrut. His vents stuttered. His spark felt like a wild flicker racing toward supernova. He was hot and cold. His hands trembled.
It was all normal, First Aid claimed.
Rodimus trusted his new CMO, but First Aid was young. He'd never witnessed the ascension of a Prime, or the passing of the Matrix. What did he know?
Everyone was dead. On both sides. Even Megatron, and he'd left someone even more unbalanced in his wake.
Optimus was gone. Gone. And Rodimus was supposed to do this somehow. Without guidance or training. With an ancient relic against his spark that spoke in glyphs and riddles and songs and Cybertronian hieroglyphs.
Rodimus Prime wrung his hands together.
It was too much. He couldn't do this.
“Rodimus?”
He whirled, optics bleeding of their color. “Ultra Magnus! I, uh...” He forced a smile, but his clamped plating betrayed him. “Is something wrong?”
Ultra Magnus lingered in the doorway, still larger than Rodimus despite his upgrades, and taking up most of the space. “I should be asking that of you,” he said. “I could feel the unrest in your field through the wall.”
Rodimus winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I'll try to-- I mean--” He paused, took a deep ventilation, reminded himself he was Prime now. “I apologize. I will make an effort to control my field better.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him for a long moment before he crossed the balcony until he stood in front of Rodimus, the both of them barely fitting on the narrow ledge. “I was friends with Optimus for longer than you know,” he said.
Rodimus flinched at the reminder. “Yes. I am aware. If you need some time away--”
Large hands rested on Rodimus' shoulders, a warm weight that seemed to chase away the chill residing deep in his frame. “It is not that.” He lowered his helm, staring intently into Rodimus' optics. “I do not envy you the burden you now bear, Rodimus Prime. But you are not alone. I am here to assist you.”
Rodimus worked his intake. “You are the worthy one. It should have been you,” he said quietly. It was a thought that haunted him, had been haunting him, since the moment reality set in after Unicron's defeat.
“But I am not, because you are,” Ultra Magnus insisted, his hands squeezing Rodimus' shoulders, a gesture of comfort. “I believe that with every beat of my spark.”
Rodimus' ventilations hitched. His internals warmed. He felt at once as though he was Hot Rod again, not the ungainly mech thrust into the frame of a Prime.
“Thank you,” he said, or stuttered rather, composure in tatters. “I… well, your faith in me is worth it's weight, Magnus.”
Ultra Magnus smiled at him, just a small curve of his lips, but that, too, was worth its weight. Especially when he pulled Rodimus into a hug that chased away the last of the chill, further proving that he would not have to isolate himself as Optimus sometimes did. He wouldn't have to do this alone.
Rodimus still wasn't sure he even could do this. But he couldn't discount Ultra Magnus' faith either.
The least he could do was give it his best shot.
For Notanevilmastermind
Prompt: Ratchet/Sunstreaker/Sideswipe, Video games
Universe: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
Sideswipe didn't get three steps into their shared quarters before Sunstreaker slammed into his back.
“Hey!” he snapped as a bright red scratch appeared on his chestplate. “What the frag is your malfunction!”
“It's Ratchet,” Sideswipe said, sounding confused.
Sunstreaker shoved his back, pushing him into the room. He rolled his optics. Ratchet showing up before them was nothing to gawk at. Idiot. Given their conflicting schedules, it was often a surprise who managed to get in the quarters first.
Except once Sunstreaker got inside, his mouth dropped. Because there was Ratchet, kicked back in one of their chairs. He had a game controller in his hands, empty cubes of high grade on a tray to his right, and a plate of energon jellies next to them. On the large screen, Ratchet was in the middle of a heated round of Halo.
“Ratchet plays?” Sideswipe whispered.
“Ratchet wins,” Sunstreaker said, elbowing Sideswipe in his lateral seam.
“Ow. Stop it!”
“Both of you stop it,” Ratchet snarled as his fingers flew across the controller. “I need to concentrate, slag it.”
Sideswipe inched closer to Ratchet. “Uh, since when have you played video games, Ratchet?”
“Since I found out it was a great stress relief.”
Sunstreaker's optics tracked across the screen, willing to admit that he was impressed. Ratchet was good if the stats were anything to go by. And then he spotted Ratchet's user name and gasped.
He batted at Sideswipe's arm to get his brother's attention. “Sunny? What are you…?”
Sunstreaker pointed and Sideswipe followed his line of sight. His optics widened and his jaw dropped, just as Sunstreaker's had.
“No way!” Sideswipe whirled toward Ratchet. “You're BurytheHatchet? But-- But--”
“You whip his aft at least three times a month,” Sunstreaker finished for Sideswipe who couldn't stop stammering. “How?”
“Wheeljack has a console, too. Who do you think built yours?” Ratchet never once took his optics off the screen. “He's JackofallTrades on here, you know.”
“But--But--” Sideswipe stuttered.
Ratchet grinned. "What? You think you have the monopoly on fun?" His optics gleamed, full of energy and pride.
Sunstreaker's spark skipped an oscillation. Surprise or not, this was welcome.
On screen, Ratchet's victory was declared. He smirked, and set down the controller, dusting off his hands.
"So," Ratchet said, "Which of you wants to challenge me first?"
Sunstreaker exchanged a glance with his brother.
"That depends," Sideswipe finally said with a swagger and a swing of his hips. "What're the stakes?"
Ratchet barked a laugh. "Loser does whatever the winner wants?"
"Deal!" Sideswipe vaulted into the chair, squeezing in beside Ratchet. "C'mon, Sunny. You can be the judge."
"What do I get then?" Sunstreaker demanded, but he took the other chair anyway. He also stole a handful of Ratchet's treats.
"The winner," Ratchet drawled with a playful wink. "Fair is fair."
Ooo. Sunstreaker rather liked those odds. Either way, he'd win.
“Hey!” he snapped as a bright red scratch appeared on his chestplate. “What the frag is your malfunction!”
“It's Ratchet,” Sideswipe said, sounding confused.
Sunstreaker shoved his back, pushing him into the room. He rolled his optics. Ratchet showing up before them was nothing to gawk at. Idiot. Given their conflicting schedules, it was often a surprise who managed to get in the quarters first.
Except once Sunstreaker got inside, his mouth dropped. Because there was Ratchet, kicked back in one of their chairs. He had a game controller in his hands, empty cubes of high grade on a tray to his right, and a plate of energon jellies next to them. On the large screen, Ratchet was in the middle of a heated round of Halo.
“Ratchet plays?” Sideswipe whispered.
“Ratchet wins,” Sunstreaker said, elbowing Sideswipe in his lateral seam.
“Ow. Stop it!”
“Both of you stop it,” Ratchet snarled as his fingers flew across the controller. “I need to concentrate, slag it.”
Sideswipe inched closer to Ratchet. “Uh, since when have you played video games, Ratchet?”
“Since I found out it was a great stress relief.”
Sunstreaker's optics tracked across the screen, willing to admit that he was impressed. Ratchet was good if the stats were anything to go by. And then he spotted Ratchet's user name and gasped.
He batted at Sideswipe's arm to get his brother's attention. “Sunny? What are you…?”
Sunstreaker pointed and Sideswipe followed his line of sight. His optics widened and his jaw dropped, just as Sunstreaker's had.
“No way!” Sideswipe whirled toward Ratchet. “You're BurytheHatchet? But-- But--”
“You whip his aft at least three times a month,” Sunstreaker finished for Sideswipe who couldn't stop stammering. “How?”
“Wheeljack has a console, too. Who do you think built yours?” Ratchet never once took his optics off the screen. “He's JackofallTrades on here, you know.”
“But--But--” Sideswipe stuttered.
Ratchet grinned. "What? You think you have the monopoly on fun?" His optics gleamed, full of energy and pride.
Sunstreaker's spark skipped an oscillation. Surprise or not, this was welcome.
On screen, Ratchet's victory was declared. He smirked, and set down the controller, dusting off his hands.
"So," Ratchet said, "Which of you wants to challenge me first?"
Sunstreaker exchanged a glance with his brother.
"That depends," Sideswipe finally said with a swagger and a swing of his hips. "What're the stakes?"
Ratchet barked a laugh. "Loser does whatever the winner wants?"
"Deal!" Sideswipe vaulted into the chair, squeezing in beside Ratchet. "C'mon, Sunny. You can be the judge."
"What do I get then?" Sunstreaker demanded, but he took the other chair anyway. He also stole a handful of Ratchet's treats.
"The winner," Ratchet drawled with a playful wink. "Fair is fair."
Ooo. Sunstreaker rather liked those odds. Either way, he'd win.
For Rizobact
Prompt: Prowl/Jazz, handfeeding
Universe: G1. Warnings: handfeeding, biting, elements of dubcon
"This is for your own good, you know," Prowl said as he rooted around in the box on his lap for another cerulean energon gummy.
He ignored the labored vents, rattling chains, and whines of a stressed engine. He reminded himself that this was necessary.
Prowl located a blue gummy and held it to Jazz's lips. A visor glared back at him, baleful and edging toward red. Well, that wasn't good. Especially when lips peeled back over denta rather viciously.
Prowl sighed. "Don't give me that look," he said, and nudged the gummy against Jazz's lips again. "These are your favorites."
Jazz hissed. The chains rattled. They also creaked. Prowl gave them a concerned look, but they seemed to hold. For now. Jazz was apparently much stronger than he looked.
"Come on now," Prowl urged. "The longer you resist, the longer we must keep you chained."
Jazz growled and then snatched the goodie from Prowl's fingers. He nipped them in the process. It hurt, Prowl had to admit, but at least his fingers came away intact.
Prowl examined the scrapes, but they were nothing a short buff wouldn't fix. Relieved, he rooted around for another blue gummy, but could only find a purple one. Alas.
He held it to Jazz's lips. "You'll thank me for this later," he said. "Now open."
Jazz's engine whined, but at least he obeyed this time. The glint of mischief in his visor made Prowl wary, and that caution saved his fingers.
Once upon a time, Prowl would have enjoyed those denta. It was less enticing when Jazz meant him genuine harm.
Prowl sighed again. "Hopefully, we'll laugh about this together later." He found another purple one and braced himself. "Open."
Jazz grinned, feral and dangerous.
Ten gummies, two scratched fingers, and one bruised thumb later, Prowl eased himself from Jazz's cell.
"How'd it go?" Wheeljack asked as he accepted the box Prowl handed over.
His door panels twitched. "With any luck, the virus will clear itself by morning. How is Ratchet faring with Sideswipe?"
A very loud curse echoed from the next cell over.
Prowl raised an orbital ridge.
Wheeljack chuckled. "Believe it or not, that's a good sign. Just be glad you're not Bluestreak."
They shared a look and glanced one more door down, to the ominously silent cell which contained Sunstreaker.
"Someday, he's gonna tell me how he does it. Tame Sunstreaker, I mean," Wheeljack said wistfully, thumbing his mouthguard.
"Let us hope we need never ask," Prowl said. "Let me know if you need another round."
"Sure thing!"
Prowl excused himself just as a muffled shout rose from Sideswipe's cell.
Prowl shook his helm. This was the last time he'd let Jazz download a movie from an unconfirmed third party. Human-made computer viruses were unexpectedly... virulent.
An American Werewolf in Paris was not worth three suddenly feral Autobots.
Not even for a second.
He ignored the labored vents, rattling chains, and whines of a stressed engine. He reminded himself that this was necessary.
Prowl located a blue gummy and held it to Jazz's lips. A visor glared back at him, baleful and edging toward red. Well, that wasn't good. Especially when lips peeled back over denta rather viciously.
Prowl sighed. "Don't give me that look," he said, and nudged the gummy against Jazz's lips again. "These are your favorites."
Jazz hissed. The chains rattled. They also creaked. Prowl gave them a concerned look, but they seemed to hold. For now. Jazz was apparently much stronger than he looked.
"Come on now," Prowl urged. "The longer you resist, the longer we must keep you chained."
Jazz growled and then snatched the goodie from Prowl's fingers. He nipped them in the process. It hurt, Prowl had to admit, but at least his fingers came away intact.
Prowl examined the scrapes, but they were nothing a short buff wouldn't fix. Relieved, he rooted around for another blue gummy, but could only find a purple one. Alas.
He held it to Jazz's lips. "You'll thank me for this later," he said. "Now open."
Jazz's engine whined, but at least he obeyed this time. The glint of mischief in his visor made Prowl wary, and that caution saved his fingers.
Once upon a time, Prowl would have enjoyed those denta. It was less enticing when Jazz meant him genuine harm.
Prowl sighed again. "Hopefully, we'll laugh about this together later." He found another purple one and braced himself. "Open."
Jazz grinned, feral and dangerous.
Ten gummies, two scratched fingers, and one bruised thumb later, Prowl eased himself from Jazz's cell.
"How'd it go?" Wheeljack asked as he accepted the box Prowl handed over.
His door panels twitched. "With any luck, the virus will clear itself by morning. How is Ratchet faring with Sideswipe?"
A very loud curse echoed from the next cell over.
Prowl raised an orbital ridge.
Wheeljack chuckled. "Believe it or not, that's a good sign. Just be glad you're not Bluestreak."
They shared a look and glanced one more door down, to the ominously silent cell which contained Sunstreaker.
"Someday, he's gonna tell me how he does it. Tame Sunstreaker, I mean," Wheeljack said wistfully, thumbing his mouthguard.
"Let us hope we need never ask," Prowl said. "Let me know if you need another round."
"Sure thing!"
Prowl excused himself just as a muffled shout rose from Sideswipe's cell.
Prowl shook his helm. This was the last time he'd let Jazz download a movie from an unconfirmed third party. Human-made computer viruses were unexpectedly... virulent.
An American Werewolf in Paris was not worth three suddenly feral Autobots.
Not even for a second.
a/n: Lots more flash fics to come!
