“You’re my good boy, Rodimus,” Your captain flushes at your words, shoulders tense as you kiss down his long, lean body. He always squirms when you tell him he’s been good, that you’re proud of him, but clearly relishes in the praise. Your questing lips soon arrive at his bare array, tracing past his half-pressurized spike to kiss at his anterior node nestles just beneath it. Rodimus whimpers, just the barest sound, hips arching up to follow you eagerly. He’s vivacious in everything he does, always so beautifully alive in the berth and open with what he wants. There’s not a thing he’s willing to hide from you like this.
“I’m so proud of you, Roddy,” His ventilations stutter, fans whining at your words, as your lips kiss up to the beading tip of his spike, lubricant spilling readily, “You’ve been so good, so brave. You deserve to feel good.”
His brows pinch upwards, helpless and needy, as his mouth flaps open upon the whining of his vocalizer. You’ve hardly touched him and yet his spike twitches and leaks fiercely at your words, desperate for your touch but even more desperate for your praise. Your wrap your digits around the base of him, giving a slow stroke upwards before holding him still. You steady his hips with a single hand, more-so to let him know you need him to stay in control of his body’s involuntary movements. It’s with familiar ease that you take him down your throat, urging yourself to push as far as you can. Rodimus’ beautiful responding moan, choking as if you’ve never done this for him before, is well worth the ache and sting of being opened so wide.
His digits cup the back of your head gently, soothing and recognizable pressure that keeps you grounded as you bob your head. You swallow around him, tongue laving the underside of his spike to press against those flattering biolights that flicker flirtatiously whenever you see them. Rodimus arches his back, trying desperately to not impede your newfound rhythm, chassis heaving with moans that graduate in pitch and volume. Let the whole ship hear how beautiful he is, how good he’s feeling, how much he deserves to feel this way. Your hand strokes what little of his spike you can’t fit in your mouth, a steady rhythm upon the last two segments or so that matches the downward movements of your head.
You slowly pull off of him unwillingly, but your jaw needs a break. Your hand taking up the slack to spread your combined fluids up and down the handsome length of his spike.
You make eye contact with Rodimus, his face flushed and helpless and open before you. Like he’s embarrassingly vulnerable and unable to contain the most intimate parts of himself, lip wobbling so enticingly,
“You’re perfect, Rodimus. The only one I’d want to call my captain,” You press fond kisses along his biolights, “beautiful inside and out,” up, up, and up until you’ve reached the transfluid dripping from his head, “All I want is to see you happy, just like you deserve,” You wrap your lips around the head of his spike, tongue readily licking up the transfluid spilling forth, anticipating the very moment he overloads. Rodimus arches off the bed, just as you’ve seen so many times, but it never becomes mundane. He’s the brightest star, the only thing you can see, as he overloads down your willing and ready throat. You swallow everything he has to offer, trying to keep up with how explosive he always seems to be in everything he does. You can’t help the grin that can’t quite spread across your lips but reaches your eyes anyway.
How could you ever bore of seeing a happy, satisfied Rodimus smiling up at you.
Your anus is slack, but your hemorrhoids make up for it. If you remove your hemorrhoids, your anus will look bigger. The best thing to do now is to give you an anal contraction when you remove your hemorrhoids.
With a frustrated growl, Ratchet scowled up at Drift, arching his back to get more friction out of Rodimus' throbbing spike. Fluid oozed out of Ratchet's eager sex, sending waves of pleasure through Rodimus. The speedster bit his glossa hard, it took every ounce of his spark not to thrust his entire self into Ratchet. Imagining his spike bottoming out in the medic's tight, wet valve made Rodimus vent harder.
"Please, Drift...do it for Rodimus. Kid's practically on fire..." Ratchet purred, wrapping his arms around Drift's neck, planting soft, loving kisses on the exposed cabling. The ex-con sighed softly, forgetting his bedroom persona for a moment, "You know what you have to do, Ratchet. You're the one in control here."
Rodimus rutted uselessly against Ratchet's inner thigh, his optics glazed over from the arousal consuming his processor, "Please, Ratch...I'm dying here." Feeling the friction of Rodimus's spike brushing near his hyper-sensitive cunt made Ratchet's vents shudder.
Ratchet squeezed his optics shut, his faceplate burning hot as he buckled under the pressure, "Have your way with me- I'm yours for the night..."
[ID: two photos of a stylized plushie of Rodimus from the transformers 2005 comics. The first photo is of the front of the plush and the second is of the back. End ID]
💔Of course the edit is mine, the characters and comic don't belong to me. Transformers and all of it's characters belong to Hasbro. The audio and art aren't mine.💔
//subnautica au but YOU are the sea creature!!!!!//
You grumble dazedly as you coil your body tighter around the tail pressed warm to your cheek, fingers clenching into the firm scale-coated muscle. It must be Rodimus with how warm it is, his body a radiator even in the depths of the ocean. You hear Nautica's half-awake trill muffled into the metal of your abdomen, a soft cooing in response to her dreams.
The sea is quiet, only the distant drone you were born into, but you still border on wakefulness. Most of you desires to turn your face into Rodimus' bulk and return to sleep, but another part of you wonders how long you've slept. If you should extricate yourself from the pile to mill about in the quiet and solitude.
As if in response, a familiar powerful tail flutters and tosses over onto you as the mer in question fusses in his sleep. The side of Riptide's tail that comes to rest upon you is chilly, but quickly warms where you touch. He settles as he steals away your heat, soothed into a more restful recharge.
You crack an optic open, just for a second. The soft light of the star overhead breaking through the water just to die at the cave entrance. Mid-day. Still several more hours before the majority of your ragtag crew will naturally become active for the night. You bury your face into Rodimus' warm, red scales and let recharge take you off again.