Construtiprowl, But Is The Praxian Who Got Them Pregnant?

Construtiprowl, but is the praxian who got them pregnant?

You mean all of them? Tough job, but more decent than his regular bastard cop activity, so why not? I think there is some kind of unspoken agreement among all Cybertronians that Prowl is such an incurable asshole that he simply should not procreate. Who needs his bastard cyber-DNA spreading? Good news he's a loner by nature and it's unlikely for a sane bot to carry from a casual fuck with him. Well, until his green harem shows up and sees that their precious Prowl doesn't get enough cunt. Maybe five big strong valves could count as enough? At first Prowl is reluctant, playing hard to get. He gets notifications about a lounge in a bath house booked for him and his "company" but deletes them. Until, late at night, he finds himself in the washracks in his apartment with his spike out and his mind playing a half-dream, half-fantasy about big hands holding him, passing him on to each other. Like in a moment of despair he agreed to form Devastator one more time, he surrenders and accepts his admirers' offer. They bathe him in oil a little messily, jostling and squabbling, until Prowl's spike sticks out of the oil like a periscope. He is fished out of the jakuzzi (thanks Hook) and manoeuvred to lay between Long Haul's thighs. He can't suppress his relieved moan when he's finally inside. Touches here and there encourage him, and he's fucking his first valve in a long time like it's his last valve. He's too small to stretch any of them, maybe only Scavenger, but they cheer him every time he's shooting his load. It ends in a haze, Prowl laying sated in the oil bath, Constructicons tossing drinks to each other and him. Could be worse, yeah? It gets worse when Prowl receives a message from Hook with test results attached. He knocked them up. All of them.

Clear as daylight, Tarn must keep Overlord's head in his room as a trophy to decorate his edgelord dwelling. I was just wondering, does he turn it to face the wall when he needs to blow off some steam? Then I remembered about those actual miners' corpses hanging on his walls, which can mean two things: ๑ Tarn is already fine with dead people watching him pleasuring his insatiable self. Motherfucker just invented necroexhibitionism. Holy fuck. ๑ He does it shamefully, hiding under the blanket and hoping it looks and sounds like it's just another withdrawal hitting hard. Or like it's his T-cog burning off again. Or both, which is not unusual.

Honestly, my hate for Tailgate is just nothing compared with my mind-numbing, wall-crushing, ground-shaking, church-burning, child-eating loathing towards MTMTE Megatron. Hating fictional characters is not my style, so I wasn't prepared for how this abomination of Marty Sue-ing ALL my favorite tropes will make me want him off dead, so I can get back to my weird space opera without it being focused on his crocodile tears and lame "second chances" bullshit.

I'm cool with IDW's dark and detailed take on him, even MTMTE sometimes made sense (for ex, I really love the issue with the LL's crew visiting the Necroworld and Megs facing the reflexion of his atrocities, even though it's questionably romanticized). If done better, there was a chance I would love Megs' portrayal. 

But god, it was so awful, it's just outrageous. And you know what pisses me the worst? This dirty bastard is sexy as hell, I don't know what to do with my hate-boner, which in this case HAS something to do with an actual boner. (And I still see the effort in his characterization, and I'm a sucker for effort.)

I'm still up for some sorts of sexy content with him. Not any, it's a matter of perspective, timeline, and utilized tropes. 

(There should be a term for getting off hypocritically.)

This is already a fic idea but I want to see more so, idw Megatron in the early days getting slutted out to raise funds for the deception cause, and then he becomes a spikeslut <3

Class inequality and poverty-influenced prostitution are huge turn-offs for me. But you've really made me think. What if young Megatron considered it? Maybe not for The Cause™ (I imagine it happening before The Cause™ was even fully formulated), but for his underground activism (not mining though, lol), for publishing his early works? I'm already writing and it's getting disgustingly long. I'll post it separately later, just know it's gonna be hella vanilla, but Megatron will be there.

Egg-laying Starscream is the cornerstone of the fandom. Mostly, it's Megatron's brood. But what if it's not?

Maybe some Cybertronians, regardless of their alt-mode (so it's not just seeker/plane thing, let's admit, Orion Pax did it too before the Matrix fucked up his reproductive health), can lay unfertilized eggs if healthy, well-fueled, and interface regularly (or use other methods to properly discharge). That's how their reproductive system keeps itself toned. So, it's Knock Out x Starscream getting a bit eggy.

Starscream stopped laying even before the war started. Being constantly stressed, underfueled, in proximity of Megatron, then on Earth, everything just screams "fuck, no". Not getting laid for years doesn't help. 

Well, until enter Knock Out. Who, after Breakdown's death, starts giving Starscream some special and oddly gratifying attention. He's not courting him. But a thorough and careful check-up, an unnecessary but attentive repair, a buffing session, adding his ration with nutritional supplements from Knock Out's medical stocks… It gets Starscream warming up to him. And not only Starscream himself. 

That's how Starscream starts coming not only for medical treatment, but for straight-up massage. Yeah, to "maintain his wings", but have you ever seen a seeker with their wings on their waist, neck, or hips? Inside their valve? Knock Out is happy to provide, though, since he gets this valve to himself for fucking and massaging his spike with its outer petals. 

That's what Knock Out is counting on, when Starscream is melting in his hands once again, pointy fingertips buried under Starscream's plating and massaging needy whines out of him. His valve is already on display and unusually wet. Nodes are pulsing like a warning light. "Someone is eager today," Knock Out is teasing, placing his hand on this dripping valve. But the reaction he gets is bordering on panic, Starscream is thrashing and whining in confusion. The sensation is vaguely familiar but long-forgotten, he feels like it's something inside of him that he needs to let out. Like… oh hell, like he needs to void his waste tank, bad, and he can't hold, and…

It doesn't happen. Something is pushing through his valve channel, spreading his flexing inner rings and stimulating his nodes so hard he's overloading, losing his kneeling stance, and falling onto Knock Out. Who, as Starscream notices when he's finally able to vent and process the input, is holding something energon-blue and glistening. 

"Oh, we're laying pretty little eggs today," Knoch Out whistles. "That's juicy".

Rodimags or Rodimims please? I dont have any specific kinks, just them, but may be something with discipline and punishment?

I've started writing down a Rodimus x Minimus piece and got wordy again. Will post separately later. For now, a little headcanon for you. I don't think Magnus Armor ever had interface equipment, so to have a fucktime with him you have to love and cherish a fun-sized, handsome moustached bot.