A - Z Megatron X Reader Series

A - Z Megatron x Reader Series

Part one of my A-Z reader/Megatron drabble challenge. There’s a little something in here for all tastes, though many of these are going to be graphic in one way or another. Ratings will be posted for each installation, as will warnings, so please read them to avoid anything you might not want to see.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: sexual situations

Megatron/Reader(You) in the role of his subordinate: mild bondage, sticky interfacing, Megatron being an a**hole, kinda/sorta manipulation and dubious consent.

A is for Arch

“Higher.”

“My lord, I-I can’t.”

“I don’t want your excuses. I said… higher.”

Bent over the railing, servos secured behind your back, you could hardly move. Still, disobeying an order was not something that would go unpunished, so you pressed your weight into the bar and pushed  up onto the very tips of your pedes, backstrut curving up to an almost impossible angle.

“Better.”

The pleased timbre of his voice sent shivers along your circuits, so you held the position, jaw clenching as you fought to maintain it. Steady digits traced up the back of your tibulen with agonizing slowness, drawing nearer and nearer to your interface panel. A frustrated hiss slipped from your vocal processor as he bypassed the region, large servos cupping your hip plating.

“Open.”

Eager paneling parted without hesitation. The lubricant that had been gathering there for some time slips out, streaming down the inside of your right tasset. You hear him kneel behind you, tense as his glossa traces the wet trail upward to the joint of your leg and chassis, where the deadly points of his denta nip none-too-gently at the cabling there. A slight chirp escapes you, and he chuckles menacingly as he pulls himself to his full, towering height once more. You hear the metallic slide of his spike casing retract, feel the blunt tip of him as he presses into your valve. Helm tilting, you look up at him as he leans over you, placing his servos on the wall above as he angles his hips forward, spearing you onto the length of his spike. Pressed tightly against the railing, you cannot withdraw, and are forced to seat him fully in one hard stroke. A startled cry is lodged in your voice box, optics widening in shock at the mixture of pleasure and pain. You think to yourself that – while you’d hated his teasing at the time – you were certainly glad for it now. Being any less lubricated would have no doubt resulted in the severe tearing of your lining, and given the intense look he wore you doubted your lord would have bothered to stop even if that had been the case.

Megatron gives you only a second to adjust before withdrawing and surging forward again, his powerful thrust coupled with his superior size lifting you straight off the ground, your aft cradled perfectly in the curve of his pelvic plating. This time a shout manages to escape, along with a string of unintelligible gibberish as your master quite literally rails the sense out of you.

Given that you’re servos are bound and your pedes are no longer on the floor, you can do little else but feel as the war machine behind you brings you to heights of sensation you’ve never experienced and then proceeds to smash right through the ceiling and keep on going. You don’t know how many times you overload before he finally tenses against you, spike pulsing as he reaches his own peak.

There is a moment of silence before he steps away, and you slide rather gracelessly off the railing and onto the ground, his transfluid and your lubricant puddling beneath your shaking frame. Horrified, you scramble to rise, trying your best not to slip in it. When you finally do manage to stand, Megatron steps behind you and pinches the bonds holding your servos, disabling them and storing the device away in his subspace before he shoots you a stern look and orders, “Clean this up and return to your duties.”

Flustered and disoriented, you stammer, “Y-yes, my liege!” You couldn’t even find the decency to care about how terribly he treated his subordinates as you knelt to do just that, your processor helpfully reminding you that no one… and I mean no one, fragged like Megatron.