Ms.Devil

She/Her | 20+ yrs old [18+] MDNI

[msdevil333]

About this blog!

Hello! Firstly this blog is strictly for 18+ viewers, so no minors allowed!

I mainly repost other people's amazing writings, my current fandom fixations are COD, FNaF, JJBA, Slashers and just all things monster related.~

MASTERLIST (MY WRITINGS)

• CALL OF DUTY:

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

'Home' Smut fic ~

https://www.tumblr.com/msdevil333/731490388811087872/home-18?source=share

Short smut Imagine ~

https://www.tumblr.com/msdevil333/734104086488743936/simon-ghost-riley-imagine?source=share

Thanks for sticking around!

[imaginedisish]

Like an Animal (Bruce Wayne x F!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! So It’s 2:00am…and I only proofread this once. I’m getting pretty lazy with proofreading, so I’m sorry if it’s loaded with mistakes. I’ll check back tomorrow. Anyway, here’s the sex pollen fic!!! I really hope it doesn’t totally suck. It’s based on “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. I would’ve titled it “Closer” but someone else already has a Bruce fic under that name so it didn’t feel right :) Anyway, enjoy!

Summary: After the Riddler strikes again, he leaves some unusual clues behind for you and Bruce…including a strange green dust.

Warnings: SMUT! It’s completely consensual (and there is mutual pining), but bc this is a SEX POLLEN fic, imma give a dub!con warning. 18+, cursing, violence, grammar mistakes, and once again, some canon divergence with a Nightwing!reader/life long friend!reader but it’s not really important to the plot at all so you won’t even notice.

Word Count: 4,407

You swallow firmly as your boots clunk against the ground. The music blaring from the DJ booth below echoes off the walls of the club, the sound ricocheting through your eardrums and back out again. The metal floors of the balcony vibrate underneath you, threatening to fall onto the packed crowd on the dance floor. 

Keep reading

[murdock-slvt]

❝ MAN ON WILLPOWER ❞

KINKTOBER ‘25, DAY 1: APOLOGY SEX. PRAISE KINK.

PAIRING: bruce wayne x female! reader

SUMMARY: bruce is a hardworking man, and sometimes you feel lonely, even your slutty pajamas aren’t enough to get him to fuck you… so that’s precisely why you sleep on the couch one night… and bruce can’t have that!

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, rough sex, hair pulling, tit sucking, doggy style, creampies, dominant! bruce wayne, ass slapping, apology sex, lingerie, praise kink, couch sex, bruce is apologetic (even if he’s a bit mean about it)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: first day of kinktober! inspired by sabrina carpenter’s ‘my man on willpower’ because it’s such good song + album of the year, and I love to write apology sex because it’s absolutely delicious. bruce is a little ooc at the beginning but trust! he gets better!

bruce wayne was a hardworking man; you knew this the moment you began dating the billionaire by day, vigilante superhero by night. his schedule was full of philanthropic efforts, training one of the new robins, and detective work— and somehow? he made space for you.

except the times where he couldn’t. sometimes his schedule was too busy for any attention to pay to you.

of course, the bat tried. keyword; try. you two shared a bed, he made sure you were taken care of physically and mentally, and he spent as much time as he could give you… but one thing he couldn’t do? sex.

and having sex with bruce wayne was the best thing you’ve ever had, and that’s why you’ve been so on edge. you want him, but he seemingly doesn’t want you.

some nights the bed was warm, other nights it wasn’t. some nights, you had the man’s arms wrapped around you, his size dwarfing yours, while other nights the arms wrapped around you was your own.

it got hard sometimes— scratch that, a lot. it was hard to handle a lot of the time, but you pushed through, because when bruce was able to make time for you, it was heavenly and you’d never take it for granted. but the distance hurt, the wait was excruciating but it was worth it… even if it hurt to suffer through.

so you began to try to get creative. if bruce wasn’t going to pay attention to you regularly, you’d find ways to get him to pay attention to you.

putting his hand higher up on your thigh when he’s driving his car? didn’t work. pressing your ass up on his crotch when he finally gets to bed? you heard him grunt but again, didn’t work. when he was in the bat cave and you sat in his lap as he worked in the console? he’d kiss your cheek, gruff a simple ‘hey baby’ in your ear then go back to work. you began to lose your patience… not even wearing one of his shirts could get him to have sex. the kisses lingered, they tasted good but you wanted more, you needed more.

then, one night, you took it up the notch. and it finally worked— but not the reason you thought.

bruce finally came to bed when you went to bed, murmuring something about the city being safe that night, since he’d sent dick and jason out and they could handle the city themselves. you decided to wear a specific pair of lingerie, his favorite color too! the lace that you knew made him go crazy, and mentally prepared yourself for both sex and disappointment, keeping an open mind for both because for the last month and a half? it’s all you’ve known.

he turned off the lamp, the moonlight sprawling into the room as he got into bed. so far… nothing. he had looked at you with the small smile you’d seen too many times that it’s practically became the smile he had only for you, a smile designed just for you. he slides into his spot on the bed, his fingers brushing against the lace of the bra you were wearing, and he locked an arm around your waist and dragging you to his chest.

moments pass… your ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beat. nothing. absolutely nothing… no squeeze of your ass, no making out… just sleep.

you keep your thoughts in your head but you’re pissed. you can’t handle him ignoring you like this… even your sexy lingerie for pajamas don’t even affect him. there’s only so much a woman can take. you work hard and he works hard, and you’ve tried initiating but absolutely nothing.

that’s it.

the moment you hear bruce drift off to sleep, seeing through the moonlight his eyes close and the slow rise and fall of his chest, you’re able to slip out of his grip. he’s always held you tight when he slept, like he didn’t want to lose you, but you were successful in your little escape.

you stand up, stretching out your body as you look over your shoulder, seeing bruce’s eyebrows furrow but he doesn’t respond. my god.

padding over to a random shirt on the floor, you slide it on and slowly walk to the door, opening it and slipping out of the bedroom. the wayne manor is cold, you could feel it hit on your legs as the shirt (which was bruce’s, like he knew it was the first one you’d grab) fell down to your thighs, covering your lacy panties ass.

stepping down the stairs, the ice cold tiles hit the heel of your feet but you find yourself to the couch. you flopped onto it without any character, face in the cushions. you didn’t want to cry, bruce didn’t make you cry… it’s just hard trying to initiate sex with a man so hardworking that sex is an afterthought.

it took bruce all of five minutes to realize you were gone.

he could feel the shift of weight to the bed when he went to put his other hand in your hair and shocker… you weren’t there. he shot up, senses high alert. no windows were cracked, no signs of a kidnapping… that’s good. now the ‘hard’ part; finding where you were, but there’s only so many places in the manor for you to be.

he got up, pants riding down on his waist as he walks over to the door, opening it and feeling the cold wisps of air.

walking down the banister, he immediately smelt your scent. it was distinct to his senses… perfume or not perfume, your natural scent, he knew instantly and walked over to where his body took him; the couch.

the living room was dim, moonlight shooting through the curtains from multiple angles as his eyes laid upon you. a rush of anger shot through him… not at you, but at himself for allowing you to sleep on the couch.

“angel…” he mutters, stepping close as he looks at your body.

you’re half asleep, you know he’s there, and you know your shirt is revealing enough of your ass to him, but it’s not like he’s actually going to do anything. he hasn’t done anything for a month and a half so why now?

keeping your eyes close, you feel his hand brush against your cheek as he bent down a little, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone. he sighs at seeing you on the couch. he hated it. he hated not having you in his arms. he knew he’s been fucking up, he knows he needs to be giving more attention to you— it’s just that schedules changes and especially for the billionaire himself…

“what are you doing here?” he asks, voice low, you could sense the roughness and the intensity of his question despite it being so quiet.

you crack open your eyes, feeling his fingers go down from your cheek to the back of your neck. “hmmm… bruce?” you whispers.

he nods. “yes, hun, it’s me… what the hell are you doing?” he asks you, keeping a gaze on you. he finished. “on the couch. why are you not in bed.”

“because… because you wouldn’t care.” you murmur, knowing damn well the game you’re playing but you didn’t care. you were sick and tired of waiting… “y-you haven’t cared for a month and half, ‘prolly two now…” you add, somehow quieter.

bruce looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed. he listens to your words… he soaks them in… and you’re not wrong; that’s what hits him the hardest. it’s not that he didn’t care, but it’s because his time already had an owner, but that’s no excuse for his lack of interest in you for the last month and a half.

“baby. that’s not true.” he says to you, looking up and down your body. the sight of your lingerie hits him. he knows it’s his favorite, the one you wore for your anniversary that made him bend you over the bat console.

your eyes open up a little as you roll to your left side, hand under your head. “but it is, bruce…” you shoot back, no venom but no gentleness either. “a month and a half… no touching at all… it’s like you don’t want me anymore.”

bruce’s expression hardens, putting his left hand on the back of the couch as he leans in. “baby, you know that’s not true.” he mutters, his eyes piercing yours.

“well your schedule certainly makes me believe it.” you tell him, trying to stop feeling so wet at his face being close to yours for what it felt like forever. you wanted to be mad at him, but you couldn’t find the will to.

he shakes his head. “let me prove it to you.” he mutters and before you could think, his lips were against yours. it felt good. it felt right.

you hated how easily he made you melt, but you wrapped your left arm around his neck as he kept your body on your side, the kisses turning into less soft, chaste kisses and more sloppy and bruising kisses— the one you knew bruce meant.

his hands bypass the shirt you were wearing, his plan worked to make you wear it, as his fingers touched all up on the lace, a soft groan leaving his mouth in between kisses.

“wore my favorite…” he puts.

you smile at the acknowledgement. fucking finally. “it’s the only way I could’ve gotten your ass to finally fuck me…” you hiss back, feeling his lips leave yours, leaving behind a line of spit that stick to his scruff as he kisses onto your jaw.

he groans at your words, and with a seamless move, the shirt was on the floor. “I’m sorry, sweet girl… didn’t mean to… didn’t mean for my schedule to get so busy…” he tells you, leaning down and pressing kisses onto the top of your right breast. “good fucking god… love ‘em.” he mutters, his tongue laying flat on your nipple through the lacy bra.

you shudder at his tongue, but you respond to his first handful of words. “fuck the schedule.” you groans, putting your hand in his hair as he sucks on your nipple through the bra, the black lace becoming wet with his tongue.

it doesn’t take long for his fingers to reach behind your back and snapping it off. the lacy bra relaxes as he slips it off, your breasts spilling out. his hand throws the bra to the floor somewhere in the dark living room.

his hands covered both of them, his hands so easily grabbing them no matter the size. “fuckin’ hell.” he mutters again and before you knew it, his mouth was on your nipple, this time on your left as his right thumb circled your nipple.

“oh bruce…” you moan, your legs involuntarily spreading and he wastes no time, slotting himself in with his right leg, his left foot on the floor and his knee pressing into the edge of the couch.

his fingers squeeze your breasts, his thumbs stroking the underside as his lips sucked on your hardened nipple, swirling wetness on the nub and before you knew it, he alternated to the other breast. he’s addicted, he always really loved your breasts, more than your ass (but not by a lot. you in general, bruce loved and desired)

“bruce…” you moan, your face flushed as his tongue continued to swirl around your nipples and squeezing your breasts.

he keeps his mouth on you, but his eyes look up. the cock of his left eyebrow is the replacement for words.

“fuck me already.” you beg, hands tugging at his black hair as you press against his crotch, your right leg hiking over his side, heel digging into his lower back. “been too long since… since you’ve fucked me…”

bruce grunts, retracting his mouth from your boobs and before you knew it, you were on your knees, hands fisting the cushions as he puts you on your knees, elbows pressed into the couch.

he pulled down his pants, stuffing his right hand past the waistband and grabbing his cock— which was half hard when he began to suck on your tits but now it’s rock hard.

“since you asked so nicely, angel.” he murmurs, grabbing the sides of your panties and shoving them down your thighs. you moan at how quick he’s doing this, as if he’s making up for lost time, and you couldn’t be more excited.

you look over your shoulder, moaning lowly at the sight of his cock. “bruce… mhm… bruce… please…”

he puts his tip to your folds, his left hand sprawled on your lower back as his right hand held onto the couch. “my fucking god, princess, you’re fucking soaked.” he whispers, feeling how wet you are just by lining up with your pussy. “this poor pussy…”

you nod, lifting your right hand to hold onto his forearm. “y-yeah… and it’s your fault… y-you neglected me…” you grunt back.

bruce stiffens at your words, his eyebrows furrowing as each inch pushes into you. you’re tighter than he suspected… he really left you too long. he groans as your walls clench around his thick cock, his thumb stroking up and down your lower back.

you can’t help but moan with each push of his cock, hands trembling as your pussy is stretched. it burns in the best way possible, it feels so good, you want to cry at how much you miss it. your face digs into the couch cushions as your mouth stayed agape.

“there you go.” he sighs, bottoming out as his balls press against your pussy, his tip going deeper within your cunt. “taking me so easily… my good girl…”

your head leans back, tears pricking at the edge of your eyes as he slowly begins to fuck your walls open. “bruce! oh bruce…!”

his grin is wolfish, his right hand moving off the couch and grabbing a chunk of your hair, pulling your head back to see his face. you don’t need to tell him to go faster, it’s like he knows. he knows what you want, he knows exactly how you want it… he doesn’t make you wait— he’s made you wait a month and a half.

his hips begin to snap back and fourth, the couch squeaking under you as his fingers remained in your hair. he’s fucking you quick, no need to wait, and your moans fill the living room.

bruce kisses your cheek, licking the sweat that beads down the side of your head. “I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry for making you wait. I take the blame, baby, I take the blame for leaving this pussy alone for a month and a half…”

you nod your head, veins pumping with pleasure as your left hand grips the back of the couch, your right hand reaching back to hold his hand that’s in your hair. “it’s okay b-bruce… it’s okay… y-you’re here now… oh fuck!”

he shakes his head. “no. it’s not okay that I left you alone for so long.” he says as his cock drills deeper, his hips relentless and your pussy fluttering with each thrust. “it’s not okay I ignored you… you deserve better than that… better than me.”

“I-I don’t- ah! d-don’t want anyone else besides you, bruce…” you moan back, squeezing your eyes close as your body becomes closer and closer to your orgasm.

his chest grinds against your back, balls slapping with each harsh thrust. “good, ‘cause no woman’s pussy will ever be this good.”

you can’t help the sharp moan that leaves your mouth. it doesn’t mean to leave so broke and so… reactionary, but he picks up on it.

“you like that, don’t you, angel?” he murmurs, somehow picking his hips faster, you don’t know how the vigilante does it. “you like when I sweet talk this pussy?”

you nod, eyes rolling back with each drill of his cock, his tip kissing your g-spot. “b-bruce… I’m gonna cum! f-fuckkkk!”

he didn’t try to stop you, who would he be to stop you? his hips don’t stop, his cock twitches as his fingers tighten in your hair, lips pressing onto your shoulder as his teeth graze the skin.

your vision whites out, neck straining as your pussy clenches, it feels so damn good, it feels better than ever. your nails dug into the back of his hand deep, leaving clear crescent marks on top of his veiny hand as your knees shake.

a soft smile appears on his face at seeing your orgasm, not caring how deep your hand went in his hand. he kept his thrusts going, his own balls tightening as your pussy clenched around his thickness. “there’s my girl… fuckin’ good girl.”

you roll your eyes back into position, your eyes half lidded as you look at him. spit falls down your chin, nails losing its grip on him as you grind against him involuntarily due to the overstimulation of his cock.

“b-bruce…” you moan out, arching because of how he’s still going, your pussy no longer clenching around him. “please… cum… cum in me, bruce… please.”

he smiles, brushing his hand in your hair as he gives you one last thrust, going as deep as his hips would allow. “that’s the plan, angel.” he mutters as his balls tighten one more time.

and soon, you feel cum filling your womb. it’s hard and harsh, it’s filling and it’s so good as your abdomen feels warm, his hand still brushing your sweaty hair.

“there you go…” he coos, leaning down and pressing the back of your head. he grinds against you, more and more cum sputtering out of his cock. “good girl… taking my dick just well… ‘m sorry again, baby… for ignoring you… ignoring your needs…” he adds, leaning to his right to press a kiss to your temple. “never again, I promise, baby.”

and when he pulls out, and carries you back to the bedroom? you don’t need to worry. you aren’t worried as you cuddle into his chest, as his arms wrap protectively around you.

you don’t need to worry that bruce wayne will ignore your needs.

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

day one of kinktober doneeee. bruce is so fine, I wanna eat his bicep. I couldn’t figure out a color to give this mf, so I just did purple because why not!

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

MURDOCK-SLVT 2025!

[cinnaxcrow]

Kinktober Day 2: Mirror Sex

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Notes: Mirror sex, established relationship, lingerie courtesy of Mr. Wayne himself, sweet words from a feral Bruce who loves you.

It’s not often Bruce Wayne gets the chance to really relax or have a night off. Those times are few and far between, and even more so as the nights go on. But no matter how many nights have passed, no matter what has gone down, Bruce always manages to make it up to you. That’s just the kind of lover he is. Generous, giving, passionate, and most of all-

“That’s it, eyes up for me, darling,” he whispers into your ear. You can see the smile growing on his lips through the reflection in the mirror. The exhaustion in his eyes seems to lessen as he tilts your chin back with a gentle nudge from his fingers. Oh, right, you forgot another word that describes him- embarrassing. 

The man can fluster you like nothing else. He wasn’t called the billionaire playboy for nothing. But unlike the frenzied and empty touches between him and the groupies he used for media attention, he touched you as if you were a masterpiece. His other hand not holding your chin was trailing down your body- down your collarbone, over your chest, dipping to your abdomen, and then stroking softly between your thighs. He’s careful not to touch you yet. Even if he’s eager to lose himself in you, he still has the audacity to continue teasing you. 

The negligee he bought you barely covers your skin, but to Bruce, it’s still too much. His hand lifts the ends of the fabric, tugging it up and revealing the lacy underwear he purchased for you as well. He looks smug as he sees the wet patch forming there, the subtle clenching of your thighs to hide that fact even as it stares both of you down in the mirror. 

“Ah, ah, ah, no hiding from me, darling,” he teases, letting his index and middle stroke over your sensitive slit. You close your eyes and exhale sharply in response, earning yourself a click of the tongue. “No, no. Keep them open. I want you to watch yourself.” 

You obey easily and Bruce rewards you with long kisses against your neck. 

“Bruce, please,” you whine, already too strung up with his dirty promises from earlier that day. 

“I know. It’s been a while since I’ve treated you properly, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, I’ll fix that,” he vows, pressing one last kiss to your neck before undoing his pants. He makes a show of it, watching your eyes locked down to between both your legs. He can’t help but feel confident at your eagerness, loving how your body reacts to his. 

He’s already hard, and seeing as how both of you need this, he wastes no time in removing your soaked undergarments and throwing them off. You protest the action before he smirks. 

“I’ll buy you a hundred more tomorrow, if you’d like.” 

You don’t even get the chance to respond before he’s inside you, filling and stretching you perfectly. Much like everything else he manages to do. The feeling is overwhelming, making you arch against his chest while he strokes your body to relax you. 

“So damn tight,” he mutters, starting off slow for the both of you. The rocking motion makes your legs quiver, prompting Bruce to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you standing. “Eyes on us, dear. Keep watching how perfect I fit in you.” 

Your dazed eyes look into the mirror, making you groan as you watch his thick member moving in and out of you. You can see your combined fluids dripping down his length, a sight he relishes in. 

“That’s it… just like that…” he breathes against your ear, tugging on your lobe with his teeth. 

It isn’t long before you both are grinding faster against each other, yearning to get your fix. 

“Bruce, god, it’s so deep-” you moan, inciting him to go harder. He puts a hand over your abdomen, pressing down so you can feel him thrusting between your walls. You watch him devolve before your very eyes, busy kissing and sucking on whatever available skin he can access. He looks positively feral in the mirror, strands of his slick black hair falling over his face, hands groping and touching wherever, and sweat dripping down his skin. 

“You can take it, babe. You always do,” he growls. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

He presses your ass further into him, arching your back more. “Oh-!” You let out a loud gasp, reaching forward to grip the edges of the mirror as Bruce hammers into you. 

“God, I missed this sweet body. Always so soft and-,” he grunts after a particularly deep thrust that brushes against that sweet spot inside. “-so beautiful.” 

Even in the midst of fucking you like an animal, Bruce still can find a way to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. 

“Watch us. Look at us. Look how gorgeous you are. Don’t you know how much I adore you?” He pants. “Can’t get enough of you. Need you every damn day.” 

The coil in your belly tightens, and judging by the way Bruce’s thrusts are getting sloppier, he is close too. You watch yourself take him easily inside and tighten around him, earning you a choked moan from Bruce. The heat is intense and threatens to consume you both, the mirror shaking with every slap of skin against skin. 

Your fingers shakily grasp onto the edge, feeling your impending climax when Bruce’s larger, more calloused hands wrap around yours. The reminder of your size difference only pushes you more, and a well timed thrust from Bruce sends you over the edge, moaning his name loudly. 

The fluttering of your walls makes Bruce clench his teeth together as he continues to push you through your orgasm, feeling his coming. 

“I love you,” he says before tilting your head to his and kissing your lips passionately, swallowing your moans as he finishes inside you. As you two separate, a string of saliva connecting your mouths, he chuckles, gesturing you to look back at the mirror. 

In the reflective glass, you see the evidence of your lovemaking dripping down your thighs, his cum leaking out slowly. A silent claim over you and a reminder of how much he adores you. It makes your heart race and you can’t help the bashful smile on your face. 

“I love you, too,” you say back to his earlier cry.

[snowleopardkisses]

The Dress

Bruce Wayne x f!Childhoodfriend!Reader

Mind if I indulge my biblical neediness for Bruce Wayne? Good, ‘cause this is a selfish piece lol. I am a fiend for a good beefy Bruce fic. Thank you to my fabulous long lost twin, @barnesandnoblecauses , who this is dedicated to. I’m glad I could get you on the Bruce Wayne train! Thank you for beta reading. Dividers by @strangergraphics , pics sourced from comics and Pinterest.

synopsis: At a Wayne Foundation gala, Bruce Wayne freezes when he sees you—a childhood friend—in a stunning gown. The sight makes him realize the feelings he’s hidden for years. Tension builds through lingering glances and quiet moments together—when the crowd fades, Bruce finally gives in to what he wants, turning the night far from innocent.

warnings: 18+/MDNI! LONG FIC!! Maybe ooc!Bruce, pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby, Brucie) alcohol consumption, cursing, very brief (slight) harassment of reader, angst if you squint, fingering, size kink if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, some dialogue is inspired by bat x cat comic panels. I think that’s it! Please let me know if I missed one.

Crystal chandeliers cast a golden light across the vast ballroom of Wayne Manor, their reflections glittering across polished marble and champagne glasses. Gotham’s elite gathered for the annual Wayne Foundation charity gala. Politicians, socialites, business leaders—all dressed to the nines with polite smiles. At the center of it all stands Bruce Wayne, effortlessly playing the role the world expected of him. Billionaire, playboy, hopelessly eccentric. A perfectly curated mask for what was lying beneath his fortified surface.

Bruce leans casually against the bar, one large hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon he hasn’t sipped in nearly five minutes. A charming smile curves his lips as he listens to an investor talk about renewable energy initiatives, nodding almost to the beat of the man’s voice. To anyone watching, Bruce looks perfectly at ease—comfortable and confident—Gotham’s prince-bachelor enjoying another glamorous evening in his impressive home.

The truth is that Bruce feels anything but comfortable, and decidedly less confident the moment he caught sight of you. His childhood companion—the daughter of a maid—who became so much more to him after the death of his parents. Across the ballroom, the crowd shifted just enough for him to see your familiar form step through the tall archway leading in from the corridor. Conversation around him blurred into background noise as his gaze settled on the full sight of you.

The dress you wore caught the chandelier light like liquid. Elegant, and undeniably bold, it was the kind of dress that demands attention without trying too hard. For a moment Bruce forgets the investor mid-sentence, forgets the dozens of press cameras scattered around the room, forgets the careful persona he wears like armor at events like this. He simply stares, his eyes following you as you glide into the room. It takes him a second too long to realize the man in front of him has stopped talking. “Are you feeling alright, sir?” Bruce blinks, quickly forcing his attention back to him. His easy grin slips back into place with a practiced sort of ease. “I’m sorry,” he says smoothly, lifting his glass slightly, “I must’ve lost focus.” The investor lets out a puzzled sigh, continuing his explanation, but Bruce is only half listening. His eyes drift again, almost against his will.

You were moving through the crowd now, greeting familiar faces, your smile warm and genuine. A few guests turn to look as you passed—both admiring and curious—but none of them look quite the way Bruce is looking. He notices everything. The way the fabric of your dress moves when you walk. The way your face lights up when you laugh—something that had always made his heart flutter. The way your hand rests lightly on someone’s arm as you spoke. Bruce takes a slow sip of bourbon, finally returning to it after minutes of observing you. You look delectable, edible, divine—dangerous. Not just because of the dress, though that certainly wasn’t helping, but because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together tonight.

Bruce has known you long enough to understand that being around you has consequences. You make him forget himself in ways that are…inconvenient. And Bruce Wayne, the filthy rich ladies’ man and secret guardian of Gotham, did not—could not—forget himself. Not at galas. Not in front of donors. Not when half the city’s press was watching. Yet somehow, the moment you step into the room, the carefully constructed walls he keeps around his emotions lower. Again.

Bruce’s jaw tightens slightly as he forces his attention back to the investor, nodding politely at whatever point the man was making. He delivers the appropriate response, vague and agreeable, exactly what everyone expects. But his eyes betray him. Because every few seconds, without fail, they drift back to you across the ballroom. And the worst part? You haven’t even noticed yet. He’d have to change that.

“Excuse me, I’ve spotted an old friend. Call me with your proposal?” Bruce says, handing off his glass to the investor, already setting off towards you. “Will ya answer, Wayne?!” The investors calls after him, bewildered. Bruce smiles, turning over his shoulder, “Wayne Enterprises always answers!” Shuffling his wide shoulders through the crowds of patrons, Bruce makes his way to you, standing against a wall near the refreshment table—ever the wallflower. “Mr. Wayne,” you greet with a smile, a perfectly manicured hand curled around a champagne flute. “Darling, so nice to see you here,” he replies. You chuckle, lashes fluttering, “you invited me.” It’s Bruce’s turn to chuckle, “I suppose I did.” You hum in response, setting down your glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “It’s curious though, isn’t it, Mr. Wayne? Inviting the daughter of a servant to a charity gala? I have no…surplus of charitable funds, you could say,” You say, running a hand against his shoulder, doe-eyed. “You’re incredibly successful, sweetheart. That gig at Gotham Gazette is going well, no? Surely the Batman gives you plenty to report,” he replies, taking the hand lingering at his shoulder in his. Suddenly, Bruce pulls you close, one large hand splaying against the expanse of your hip—the other still gripping your hand. “May I have a dance?” He asks, voice husky with that undeniable charm. “Of course, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce’s hand rests warm and steady at the swell of your hip, guiding you effortlessly across the floor as though the orchestra were playing just for the two of you. His other hand holds yours with an ease that came from years of familiarity. Childhood familiarity—dangerous familiarity.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a look that had always meant trouble for him. “Tell me,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could hear, “how many women did you abandon tonight to drag me onto the dance floor, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce shrugs, “abandon implies they had a chance.” His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as he guides you into a slow turn. When you come back against him, you feel the quiet strength in the way his hand tightens around you. His gaze drops—not at all subtly—to your accentuated cleavage. Your gown had been chosen with care. Silk in a magnificent color, highlighting every curve before spilling into a soft sweep of fabric. The neckline dips just enough to make several Gotham socialites choke on their drinks when you entered. Bruce had noticed almost immediately. You lean into his chest, your voice teasing. “Careful, Mr. Wayne.” His eyes flick back up to yours, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was blushing. “If you stare any harder, people might think Gotham’s golden boy has poor manners.” His expression softens in that ruined way it only ever did around you. “Darling, you wore that dress,” he says calmly despite the heat rising within him, “knowing exactly what it would do to me.”

A laugh slips from you before you can catch it, “Did I? And what exactly is it doing to you?” Bruce leans in slightly as the music slows, bringing you closer still until the space between your bodies evaporates. Your breath brushes his jaw. His voice lowers, “testing my self-control.” Your pulse falters. You recover quickly though—years of knowing Bruce Wayne has taught you how to handle his charm. Most of the time.

You tilt your head, letting a strand of hair fall over your shoulder. “My dear Mr. Wayne… struggling with self-control?” Your fingers slide lightly up Bruce’s shoulder toward the back of his neck as you continue your dance. “That’s a headline I’d love to see.” His breath catches—barely—but you feel it, his hands gripping ever so slightly at your waist.“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you sweetheart?” he murmurs. You bat your eyelashes, tongue darting out to lick your lips, “I am—immensely—Mr. Wayne.” You spin again, skirts flowing, and when he pulls you back the momentum brings your face impossible close to his. The orchestra swells around you, but the room seems strangely quiet—almost as if it’s just the two of you. “You know,” Bruce says, studying your face like it’s something precious, “we used to dance in this manor when we were kids.” You nod, “we were twelve. And you stepped on my foot.”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

His eyes darken.

“You.”

Your laugh comes quieter this time, “you’re laying it on a bit thick tonight, even for a playboy.” Bruce doesn’t laugh. He simply takes you in—really looks at you—in that steady way that had always made your chest feel a little too tight. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, darling,” he says, like it’s always been a known truth. Your eyes widen, betraying your surprise. You’d known. You’d both known for a long time, but the moment never seemed right. Not until now. Bruce flashes you a faint, crooked smile, “so yes,” he adds gently, “I might be trying a little harder tonight.” The orchestra shifts then into a slower melody. His hand slides slightly lower along your hip, respectful but intimate, guiding you until your bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Your voice drops to an even quieter whisper. “Is that what this is?” you ask, “a campaign?”

Bruce leans in to the side of your face, his lips near your ear. “If it is,” he mumbles, “I’m fully committed.” A shiver erupts across your skin—but you recover in record time, a mischievous spark lighting in your eyes. “Well,” you say—matter of fact— “I suppose I should ask the obvious question.” Bruce raises a thick brow, “and that would be?” You tap your finger once against his lapel like a reporter punctuating a question. “Are you wooing me, Mr. Wayne, or the Gotham Gazette?” Bruce blinks. You continue innocently,“because as flattering as this all is,” you gesture between the two of you with your free hand, “I do happen to be the top journalist at the paper.” A slow smile spreads back across your face, “and I know how much Gotham loves a positive Bruce Wayne headline.” Bruce stares at you, starstruck for half a second. Then he scoffs, low, offended, almost hurt, “you think I’m ‘seducing’ you for media coverage?” A beat of silence passes, both of you locked into a staring contest, before you finally break. “I’m a journalist, Mr. Wayne,” you say smugly. “I consider all motives. Especially when I’m invited to lavish galas by billionaire bachelors trying desperately to woo me.” Bruce leans closer as the music flows, his voice dropping into something teasing. “Alright,” he concedes, “let’s examine that theory.”

Your brows lift, “shall we?” Bruce’s hand tightens slightly around yours as he maneuvers you into another spin, bringing you back against him just as suffocatingly close as before. “If I wanted good press,” Bruce says, “I’d donate another ten million to the orphanage.” You click your tongue thoughtfully, feigning a look that says I’m-totally-buying-that. “True,” you add.

“If I wanted a glowing article,” he continues, “I’d schedule a formal interview with you, sweetheart.” You hum, trying to disguise your amusement, “also true.” You tilt your head—time for the kill shot. “So what does dancing with me accomplish?” Bruce’s eyes hold yours—dark, steady, almost unbearably sincere. “It gives me an excuse,” he said softly, “to hold you close.” Your heart stutters, hammering against your breast in a way you pray he can’t feel. Bruce’s hand shifts and a thumb brushes slowly against the small of your back, sending a warmth shooting straight up your spine. “And if it helps my reputation,” he adds with a quiet smirk, “that’s just a bonus.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, “dangerous answer.”

“Is it, darling?”

“Because now I have to decide if you’re being charming…or manipulative.” You conclude. “After knowing me for twenty years,” he growls, “you still can’t tell?” You shake your head, half in disbelief, half in surprise—blinking slowly. “I know you,” you sigh, your fingers sliding slowly down his lapel, “but I also know a good story when I see one.” Bruce’s gaze flicks briefly to your lips, “then write one.”

“And what exactly should I write, Mr. Wayne? Another glowing review? Or perhaps a scandalous exposure piece?” His gaze softens, but shifts—burning with something deeper. “Write about the billionaire who’s been hopelessly in love with the same woman since he was sixteen,” he replies, maybe a little too loud. Your eyes widen again, shocked at his heightened tone—vigilant of who may be listening. Bruce leans down, your foreheads almost touching now as the music reaches its final notes. “And how,” he says, voice turning to gravel, “he’s still trying to convince her to give him a chance.” For a moment, you say nothing. Then a slow, teasing smile returns to your lips. “Hmm,” you chirp, “that chance will depend.” Bruce looks puzzled, “on what, sweetheart?” Your voice shifts into that silky, sultry tone you know drives him crazy, “on whether Mr. Wayne plans to kiss the journalist…or keep giving her quotes.” Bruce’s sputters—his careful, respectful demeanor slipping.

The music stops suddenly, instantly pulling you from the heated exchange. Around you, other couples slowly begin drifting apart, applause rippling through the room. Bruce doesn’t move yet—neither do you—his hands still warm against you. He whispers again, “will I be seeing you at the end of this gala?” You narrow your eyes, pretending to consider it. Your fingers swiftly adjust his tie, smoothing it down his chest. “I suppose,” you begin, “that also depends.” Bruce’s eyes roll and you meet them with a playful, taunting look, “if you’re good.”

For a moment Bruce simply looks at you. Then that cocky, confident smile appears—the one that had charmed all of Gotham. “Then I will be seeing you at the end of tonight, darling,” he asserts. Your stomach flips in a way that annoys you slightly. He knows just how to get under your skin. Bruce squeezes your hand gently as you begin to pull away, desperately needing the air his flirting had deprived you of.

The rest of the night goes by agonizingly slow. More droning talk from investors, some genuine—most just trying to get their hands on Bruce’s money. A girl…several girls will walk by occasionally, throw themselves at him, and are sorely disappointed when he doesn’t reciprocate. The usual. Except it’s anything but usual. You’re still here—somewhere. Bruce can practically feel it, your presence sizzling through his veins, a left over need burning through him. He’s lost sight of you for now, your silhouette having been swallowed by the large crowd. From where he stands, propped up against a marble column, you’re a phantom. Bruce resigns himself to pouting, checking his watch every couple of seconds. You’d be back—you had to. He brings his wrist up to check the time again when he hears it, your voice. It’s polite, but he can sense the annoyance that lurks beneath it. Years of knowing you gave him that advantage. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, sir. A dance, perhaps, isn’t the best idea. After all, there isn’t any music!” You laugh, and suddenly Bruce can see you through the shifting crowd. Across the ballroom, you stand—too close for Bruce’s liking—next to some hot shot no-name lawyer, his grubby hand holding your wrist tight. You’re trying to shrink back, but the man only pulls you closer, slurring god-knows-what into your ear. You grimace and that’s enough for Bruce. He pushes off of the column, making his way to you in record time—anger, jealousy, possessiveness bubbling beneath his practiced reserve.

“Darling! There you are!” Bruce exclaims, hoping he comes off as charming—he feels anything but charming. Reaching between you and the scumbag currently holding your wrist hostage, he pats the man’s hand, “so sorry to break this up sir, but our lovely guest is needed elsewhere.” Before the man can reply, Bruce is dragging you towards the grand staircase that leads up to the rest of the manor. “Who needs me? Where are you taking me, Mr. Wayne?” You huff, struggling to keep up with his rushed strides. “The party is over. Alfred will see to it that everyone is escorted out, especially that jerk,” he replies, offering no real explanation. “Ending a gala an hour before its scheduled end is highly unusual, you know! So is throwing out some poor guy fishing around for a lay. I had also hoped there would be fireworks after the party,” you pout—half serious, half jesting. Bruce pauses, halfway up the staircase. He turns over his shoulder to look back at you, your hand intertwined with his, “trust me, sweetheart, there will be fireworks.”

The door to Bruce’s bedroom clicks shut behind you, the sound echoing impossibly loud in the halls of the manor. For a moment neither of you speak, just breathe heavily under the weight of the night’s tension. Bruce stands a few feet away, his tie hung loose around his neck, and there’s something almost vulnerable about the way he looks at you now—nothing like the untouchable man the world believed him to be. “Kiss me,” he says quietly, though he makes no move towards you. You raise an eyebrow. “You just told me you love me, don’t you want to talk about that? Or the fact that you left me to be groped by a sleaze?” His jaw tightens, a conflicted breath leaving him. “Of course, darling, and for the record I am sorry. We can talk, we will, about it all. After.” You step closer. The room is dim except for the soft glow of a moonlight seeping in through the tall windows, mingling with the shine of a single lamp. It catches in his eyes, making them look even darker, deeper. They seemed to glow in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Mr. Wayne,” you say softly. He looks away like your voice alone is enough to shake him—like he’s bracing to lose you, to watch you refuse and run out. “I know,” Bruce exhales, “I should’ve told you a long time ago. I should’ve scooped you up the moment you walked in tonight and let you know that I have loved you every waking moment of my life since you came into it. Should’ve thrown out that bastard for even looking at you. But for now, please. Kiss me.” You move forward and stop directly in front of him. A moment passes where you simply look at him—really look at him. The shy boy who you used to play tag in the manor with, the lanky teenager who stomped on your feet when you danced, all wrapped up in the man stood before you. It was simple, you’d loved him then and you loved him now. Every iteration of him, every phase. All yours. Your Mr. Wayne. The air between you felt charged with your realization, like the moment before a storm breaks.

“I do love it when you beg, Mr. Wayne,” you murmur, smiling. Bruce’s brow furrows, “what?” You sigh, a little giggle at his obliviousness slipping between the two of you, “you don’t think that I love you as well? That I didn’t when I’d put up with your antics as a girl? That I wasn’t swooning over you as a teenager? I’ve loved you since the moment I saw your dorky smile.” Something in his expression cracks then—years of restraint slipping just enough to reveal the man underneath. His hand comes up like he means to touch your face, then hesitates midair. “You’ve felt it all this time?” he asks.

“All this time.”

The words barely leave your lips before Bruce surges forward, closing the distance. His hands settle on your waist, firm but careful, as if he was still giving you time to pull away. When you don’t, his grip tightens around you, drawing you closer until your chest becomes flush with his. The warmth of him was overwhelming. His smell, his hands, his breath—everywhere. Just when you start to crave more, running your hands through his raven hair, he pulls back just barely, lips still brushing yours. “I must be dreaming,” he whispers, voice low, his tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip. You shake your head—no.

That was all the reassurance Bruce needed. He kisses you like a man starving, aching, longing—carefully at first, almost hesitant, but beneath it was a fire, a hunger that made your knees weaken. One hand slides from your hip up your back, pulling, while the other comes up to tilt your chin just enough to slip his tongue between your parted lips. The controlled, composed billionaire the world saw was gone now. In his place was a man who kisses you like you were the only thing grounding him. He breaks the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing coming out in jagged, labored puffs. “You have no idea what you do to me, my sweetheart,” he whispers. You smile faintly, brushing your thumb along his jaw, “I believe I do, something about losing your composure? Sound right, Mr. Wayne?” A quiet laugh escapes him—soft, almost disbelieving, “Quit calling me that, you tease. I’m your Bruce, I always have been.” Then he kisses you again, slower this time, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the moment.

“I seem to recall that I was promised fireworks,” you quip, pulling back just enough to speak. Bruce chases your mouth, stealing one more peck before he replies, “you were. What my darling wants, I am more than happy to give her. Turn around for me, please.” It takes all of your restraint not to throw yourself around, face first into his bed—you manage a shaky turn, slightly fumbling over your heels. Bruce’s hands come up to brush over your shoulders, moving until they find the zipper of your gown. “May I?” He whispers, leaning down to rest his chin in the crook of your neck. You manage to hum a response, something akin to the resounding “yes!” echoing through your mind. Bruce leaves a warm, firm kiss where his chin had rested against your neck before his hands find their way to the zipper of your dress. He pulls it down with one large hand, the other stroking the skin that’s revealed.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Always so beautiful. Want to step out of this for me? I’ll help you out of your heels,” Bruce whispers, watching with hungry eyes as your dress pools around your hips. You turn to face him, a mousy smile spreading over your lips. “Oh, she’s shy now? Where’s that little vixen that sauntered into my bedroom, hmm?” Bruce says. He always did know how to read your expressions, as oblivious as he could be. You step closer instead of responding, pulling your dress down until it falls in a puddle at your feet. Stepping out of it, you let him guide you until your knees hit the back of his bed. When you fall back with a soft thud, Bruce kneels in front of you like a man praying—devout, worshipful. He slides your feet out of your heels, letting his fingers linger over your ankles. When he looks up at you, eyes sparkling and wide, mouth agape with anticipation, he glides his touch up to the waistband of your panties. “And these,” he says with a tsk, “I think these should go, what about you, darling?” Your hips wriggle involuntarily, winding around with a mind of their own. “Y-yeah…yes. Yes they should, mister—I mean Bruce,” you whisper. At your expression, he continues, swiftly removing your underwear and turning to your bra. When you nod, he unclasps it, leaving you bare beneath him.

“You next?” You prompt, tugging Bruce’s tie with a new found urgency. He smiles, lifting himself off the bed. “Will you say please? You used to have such good manners,” he purrs. “Please, Brucie?” you respond. Brucie. Your childhood nickname for him resurfaced like a melody that his heart recognized before his brain could catch up. It drives him wild. With quick hands, he rids himself of his suit—forgotten next to your clothes on the bedroom floor. Before you can help yourself, your jaw drops, and Bruce blushes. He follows your gaze down to his dick where it bobs against his lower stomach, pre-cum glistening in the lamplight. “It’s all for you, darling. If you want it, it’s yours.” You smile, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. “Mine?” you whisper, planting your feet on the bed and spreading your legs. “Yours,” Bruce says, and he means it.

“Oh god,” you whine, velvety walls clamping around two of Bruce’s thick fingers. He’s slotted between your slick thighs, spreading you open with his hands. He’d already coaxed an orgasm out of you, muttering something about “getting this pretty pussy ready for me”. It doesn’t matter to you, the moment his fingers found that searing spot within you, all thoughts melted away. A spasm of your muscles pulls you back into the moment. “Need you,” you whimper, reaching up to cup Bruce’s face, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. Wanna make sure you’re ready.” He’s already panting, running his nose over your cheek, using his free hand to grip your jaw. “Please, baby? I’m ready, Brucie—fuck—need your dick in me,” you say, eyes pleading, boring in to his steely blues. “Yeah? Fuck, okay. I’ll give you just what you want,” he grunts.

Bruce pushes into you with a hiss, your pussy still sinfully tight around him despite his efforts to ready you. “You’ll tell me, god damn, you’ll tell me if it hurts, yeah?” He says, and you nod—the air punched out of you with every thrust. Bringing your knee up, he presses it up towards your shoulder, deepening the angle of his hips. “Fuck baby, I can’t I-“ you cry, and he’s all over you. Broad shoulders, raven hair, warm hands—all over you. Kisses press into your jaw, “You can. I know it’s big darling, but you’re taking me so well. My pretty girl. Doesn’t hurt?” You shake your head no, clawing at his back, one thigh bouncing where it’s wrapped around his hip. “Be a good girl, roll over for me. Yeah sweetheart?” Bruce groans and you do—of course you do.

Now on your knees, spine arched, with your arms stretched in front of you, Bruce lines himself back up. You curse when he bottoms out—the stretch of him stinging, delicious, everything you’ve ever wanted. “Darling,” Bruce says, his hands gripping your hips, “I love you. Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna give you everything, whatever you want it’s yours. I’m yours. Shittttt—forever.” His words, the strangled noises of his pleasure ripping through him, it all has you tightening around him, squeezing him like a vice.

Bruce can see it now, a giant diamond glittering on your ring finger.

Thrust

Your gorgeous face lit up with a smile as you walk down the aisle towards him.

Thrust

Coming home from nightly patrols to your warm, sleeping form in his bed in your bed.

Thrust

His forever. You.

Thrust

You’re getting close now, Bruce can feel it—your ass wiggling against him, pussy fluttering around him, moans and cries spilling from your parted lips. With a strong arm he pulls you up, chest to your back. “Cum for me, sweetheart, please, I need to feel it. God, fuck, I need it,” he groans, warm breath fanning against your ear. That’s all it takes—you’re gushing around him, screaming his name. When you glance back, throughly fucked out, and whimper a tiny “baby, cum in me” Bruce loses it. Still crushing you against his chest, he buries himself deep, warm release coating your cervix.

It’s all a blur, really, how you ended up clean, snuggled into one of Bruce’s t-shirts. He had carefully eased you on to your back, disappearing off and remerging with a warm, damp cloth. Bruce was gentle with you in this state, lightly wiping you down, hushing your whines of overstimulation with, “shh, you’re okay, I’m here,” and “need to make sure my girl is okay”. He has you tucked into his chest now, fingers tangled in your hair, whispering sweet nothings against your forehead. There’s promises of a bath later, his other hand massaging your hip—he quietly checks in with you, “do you need water? A snack? Anything you want, I’ll have it brought for you.” You grumble, something about dinner sounding nice. He smiles and tells you it’s on its way. When you finally do fully come back to your senses, you gaze up at Bruce, a dazed look in your eyes. “Brucie?” you whisper. He grunts a response, “yes, darling?” You giggle, “all this over a little ol’ dress?” Bruce rolls his eyes but responds anyways, “all of this over you.”

“Brucie?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you too.”

[1-imaginary-girl]

One Last Time (Alternate Ending)

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: (SPOILERS FOR THE PREVIOUS ONE-SHOT) You thought that you were done for, that you had taken your last breath. So suffice to say you’re quite shocked when you wake up and find yourself in a stranger’s bed. Reader is gender-neutral.

Warnings: Angst because it’s Bruce, but mostly fluff

Word Count: 5550

A/N: I didn’t plan on writing an ending to this one-shot, let alone a happy one, but there were a few of you who wanted to have a happy ending and I just couldn’t deny you. And I also had a lot of fun writing this so it was a win win! 

Also my deepest apologies for this taking like a year. I can’t even begin to tell you how that happened.

The first thing you notice is the ringing in your ears. It drowns out your thoughts and, it turns out, the pain, as that is the second thing you notice. A grunt leaves your lips as you slowly regain consciousness. There is a stiff ache that jolts through your body when you move, but otherwise the pain is pretty subdued.

And then your thoughts return.

At first, you have trouble remembering what happened to you. Your eyelids feel heavy and you’re too tired to open them. But the fog in your brain begins to clear and suddenly everything comes rushing back to bring your mind back to life.

You were shot.

The tiredness is shoved aside and your eyes blow wide open. What happened? Where am I? you think. The first thing you assume is that you must be dead. You vaguely remember the feeling of dying, the eternal darkness consuming you, but you push those memories to the back of your mind. For now, they’re too painful and terrifying and you still have no idea where you are.

You’re in a bedroom. A huge, beautiful-looking bedroom, so it definitely wasn’t your own. You’re lying in the softest bed imaginable which leads you to conclude that yep—you are definitely dead. This must be heaven.

You take in more of your surroundings. The bedroom seems untouched. Clean but not lived in. There are no personal items, just the essentials to define it as a bedroom. But then you become aware of a sound. You turn to your right and suddenly your heaven theory crumples into dust.

Next to the bed is a heart monitor with the steady beeping of your heart emanating from the machine. You see an IV drip and look down to your right arm to see the IV. So that would mean…

Keep reading

[optimusxwbu]

18+ drabble, minors dni.

i literally couldn’t get this scenario out of my mind so i HAD to write it. cw for ovulation mention/breeding kink and somnophilia mention.

“Oh, fuck, Megatron!” You moan beneath him.

He’s currently swarming you. His derma are planting hot, needy kisses along your neck. His servos are grabbing and running along your sides, and his thigh struts are tucked under your thighs. He’s practically clung onto you, unable to leave you alone.

He’s been fucking you now for the better part of an hour, and he’s still going. Multiple orgasms, too many to count, have already been wrung from your body. His transfluid soaks the sheets below, your womb entirely filled.

“Can’t get enough,” he rumbles along your neck. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re ovulating.”

You whimper, bucking up against him. Thank fuck you are ovulating, otherwise you might not have been able to keep up with him.

“Your body begs me to breed you when you’re ovulating, you know that?” He continues, thrusting his fat spike into your aching core. “I can smell it on you. It’s why I can’t recharge next to you when you’re like this, because I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

“Oh my God, Megatron! Breed me, please— fuck, fill me up!” You pant hot breaths, eager for every drop he has.

“You’re like an aphrodisiac to me when you’re like this,” he says with a harsh thrust, making you scream out. “Making me lose control of myself, unable to stop fucking this tight little pussy.”

You’ve died and gone to heaven. That must be it. This is euphoria on an unprecedented scale. You haven’t been this turned on since you were drugged with an aphrodisiac.

Resisting you is a skill that Megatron has not yet mastered, nor does he particularly want to. The only drawback is that he’s technically supposed to be on bridgewatch right now. But here he is, stuffed inside your cunt because your natural pheromones called to him. You are a tempting little thing.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. My little breeding Conjunx,” he moans, hot and gravelly.

It’s a nice life being the Conjunx of the former Decepticon leader.

[optimusxwbu]

What if Megatron was using that mass displacement device, and maybeeee reader was infected by another aphrodisiac. But reader was begging for him to be bigger, so he gradual increases his size while inside them (obviously stopping when needed.) s i z e k i n k x 2 They’re both into it, and you cannot convince me otherwise /j 💚

I adore your writing so much. You’re the reason I finally decided to read MTMTE!!

ᝰ.ᐟ mtmte megatron x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: minors dni. aphrodisiacs, size difference, slight pain kink, a bit of degrading language, mirror sex, dirty talk, multiple rounds/orgasms, squirting. 6.5k words

ouuuughhhhhhh this has been sitting in my inbox just WAITING FOR ME. i knew it was delicious the moment it came in, but i wanted to take my time (it’s like a reward). mmmmm rubbing my hands together like a fly, i love mtmte megs soooo big. i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it >:)) also, i'm so glad you read mtmte. it's SUCH a good comic, idgaf if it's considered glazed LOL

this can be read as a continuation of chapter 18 of across the divide or as a standalone fic!! it's 6k+ words of just pure filth fr

Tucked into your freshly washed sheets, you quietly wheeze little breaths through your nose as you're sleeping after tonight's activities.

The aphrodisiac lit a vicious fire that raged through you, demanding to be extinguished by Megatron, and by Megatron only. The two of you fucked for hours, and it was the purest form of debauchery you've ever known. You were so riddled with toxins that once they were clear from your system, you could hardly move.

Megatron, ever the attentive partner, ensured that you were bathed and returned to clean sheets. Thank the Heavens, considering the two of you drenched your bed coverings with squirt, cum and transfluid. That wouldn't have been the most comfortable night's rest for you.

He's currently next to you on the berth, sitting up against the headboard and reading through his latest chapter of Crime and Punishment in complete silence, mindful to let you get the rest you need.

You murmur something quietly, but Megatron can't make it out. He peers over at you, but sees that you're still asleep.

Huffing an affectionate laugh, he leans down to pepper some light kisses on the top of your head, nowhere near strong enough to startle or wake you. He pulls in a vent to smell your hair, feeling comforted by it.

"I'm really starting to fall in love with you, Starlight," he says just below a whisper. Again, it doesn't even cause you to stir. You are well and truly out like a light. "One day, I'll say it to you. I promise."

You are everything he ever could have wanted and more, and no words can describe how grateful he is for that. How he, with all his transgressions, could be graced with such benevolence is beyond him. The powers that be work in mysterious ways.

He sits back up against the headboard, but shortly after, you start to shift. He watches as your eyes open slowly, and you search for him. He smiles down at you, surprised to see you awake so soon.

You hum at the back of your throat, hoisting yourself up from your sleeping position groggily. He doesn't say anything, not even as you clamber to swing one leg over him and sit on his lap.

He places his datapad down on the bedside table before resting both servos on your hips.

"Awake already?" He asks.

"Kept dreaming about you," you reply quietly before moving in to kiss him. He returns the kiss, moving his derma softly over yours.

"Happy dreams?" He questions.

"Horny dreams," you answer almost immediately, pairing it with a roll of your hips over his interface panel. "Dreams about you eating me out, sucking on my tits, fucking me silly."

He hums, squeezing your hips to help move you back and forth over his lap.

"You're getting me all worked up again," he says against your lips.

"Good," you hush back, "I think the aphrodisiac is still in my system."

"Oh?" He chuckles, "Is it now?"

"Mmhm," you vocalise, stealing more kisses from him as you grind your hips, searching for friction. "Might need you to carry on fucking it out of me."

"You realise you were on the brink of exhaustion not even three hours ago? You remember how I had to carry you to and from the bath?" He asks before running his glossa lightly over your bottom lip.

"I remember you making me scream until my throat was sore, and I remember squirting all over the bed, and how you fucked me like a beast. Do you want me to carry on?"

"You're the horniest person I've ever known," Megatron replies, gripping your hips to move you faster against him. You're not opposed to a little bit of making out and dry humping to get the emotions running high.

"Is that a complaint?"

"Most definitely not."

When he was the leader of the Decepticons, he rarely had the time to indulge himself like this. The amount of time he remained celibate must have been centuries. He was always too dedicated to his goals and aspirations, about making dreams a reality. But now he has you, which he'd describe as his greatest dream, you make it too easy to be a lustful being.

"So come and fuck me again, Megatron. Come and show me who I belong to," you request ardently.

"You know full well who you belong to," he rumbles, his voice tantalisingly low. "When you're walking around tomorrow, if you even can, you'll know. Your poor pussy will be so used you'll feel me for days."

"God, Megatron," you curse, feeling your slick grow between your legs. He certainly has a way with words. "That's exactly what I want."

"I have an idea," he says, tapping your ass to get you to sit up. You abide, interested in whatever idea he has. He hoists you off him, leaving you a little flushed at the show of his strength. It still gets you every time.

He swings his legs off the berth, standing up before taking a few strides over to your full-length mirror. Your eyes flash with excitement, understanding a bit better now what he has planned.

Dragging the mirror over, he positions it at the side of the bed. You catch your reflection in it, gazing up at him to see that flirtatious smirk on his derma. He knows what he's doing to you.

"Strip," he orders lightly, curling his digits around the top of the mirror. He places more weight on one leg strut, resting for a moment so that he can enjoy the show.

You maintain eye contact with him, trailing your hands down to gather the hem of your top. He watches hungrily as you pull it up your torso, throwing it over your head and flinging it to your pillow. You don't lose contact with him, but you can just about see yourself in the mirror in your peripheral vision.

"Keep going," Megatron demands, deploying his spike as he watches you. Your thumbs hook under the waistband of your shorts, and Megatron follows your hands whilst he starts to jerk his length.

You shudder a breath, pushing your shorts down whilst wiggling out of them. The freshly cleaned sheets feel so soft against your bare skin, and it's a shame Megatron is going to have to change them again after this. Magnus will surely demand an answer for the increased usage of cleaning water.

Now naked, you reposition to your hands and knees before crawling across the width of the bed, still not breaking eye contact. You see what you want, it's thick and heavy in his servo.

"Let me suck it," you say in a low tone.

He pumps his length a little more, boring his bright red optics down at you with the very essence of temptation.

"Open wide," he whispers sultrily, and you heed his instruction. You loosen your jaw, giving him an easy opening.

He slides his spike straight in, venting hotly at the warmth. It's only been a few hours since you last sucked him off, but it's still a welcome gesture.

His spike hits the back of your throat, but you manage to quell any gagging. You hum around him, your jaw impossibly stretched to take his girth. You go down as far as you can before pulling your head back, proceeding with a bobbing motion.

Your fingers curl around the edge of your bed as you wet his spike with your saliva, already tasting an essence of his transfluid over your taste buds. It's dangerous how good he tastes, and how the fluid fizzles over your tongue like soda.

"Keep sucking it just like that, Starlight," he says as he tilts his helm, his optics dimming. His servo comes up to cup the back of your head, mussing your hair in the process. You moan at his touch, finding it only motivates you more.

You feel him slide down your throat with each suck. You'll have the shape of him memorised in no time. He's yours, for now and forever, so you have to make sure you treat him right and learn the way he likes to be serviced.

Megatron moans, using his other servo to reposition the mirror at a slight angle. He grins down at you before speaking.

"Take a look, see how full your mouth is," he tells you. You manage to look out of the corner of your eye to the mirror, seeing your reflection and how your mouth glides back and forth on his spike. You see how large his servo is at the back of your head, and that makes you more excited than you'd care to admit.

The reflection is downright sinful, one you never thought you'd see. He fits so perfectly in your mouth, it looks as though he belongs there. Flitting your eyes from the mirror up to his face, you see the smugness written over his features.

Your mouth pools with saliva, bubbles of spit already forming around his spike as he lets you fuck your mouth on him. He tightens his digits in your hair in search of a semblance of purchase, groaning lightly.

He watches his thick girth disappear in and out of your mouth, feeling your throat muscles tense and hug him each time he slips far enough in. Your wet mouth is a luxury that Megatron is convinced men would go to war for.

"Even when your mouth is wrapped around my spike, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," he compliments you, hypnotised by the way you move on him.

Your eyes are the same as earlier, clouded with need and arousal. It's dangerous when you look at him like that; it makes him want to pounce on you and have you all night long. It should not be underestimated how powerful your hold is over him, especially when you're playing with his spike.

He can't help but lightly buck his hips, feeding you more of his spike. You moan around him, making his circuits zap with charge. It's a full-frame experience that has his helm tipping back.

You look over to the mirror again, seeing a mixture of his fluid and your saliva running down your chin. It catches in the light as you move your head.

Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck him hard. The inside of your cheeks conforms around the panels that make up his spike, surely leaving a small indent.

"Primus, yes— Just like that. I'm so close," he whirs, clenching a fist through your roots. You keep going, refusing to let up. Having his transfluid is the greatest reward, and you're desperate for it.

With a hearty moan, he spills his load straight down your throat, forcing you to drink every drop. He fills you with more fluid than you know what to do with, some of it pooling into your cheeks from how forceful the overload is. You moan crudely, swallowing around him so you don't waste any of his offering.

Once you're set, you pull back off his spike, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips to his spike. You can feel your lips throbbing and your tongue tingling, slowly getting addicted to the sensation.

Catching your breath, you look up at him under your lashes. You're far from done, and by the look on his face, he's the same.

He sidesteps, turning in front of the mirror before sitting on the edge of the bed. You get what he wants, so you make haste in delivering it to him.

You walk round to the front of him eagerly, turning in the same way he did so that your back is to him. His hands immediately find your hips, helping you to straddle him backwards. You settle against him like he's the other piece of the puzzle, your shapes aligning perfectly.

He manoeuvres you to get you to the tip of his spike. Shivers skitter up your spine as you let out a shaky breath, shifting your weight to sit properly on him. He doesn't protest, allowing your aching core to swallow him for a second time tonight.

You look down at the floor as you start bouncing, purposely evading the reflection before you. It glares right in your face, it calls you to look and admire the view like some insatiable temptress.

"Look at how beautiful you are when you ride me," he chirps into your ear, smoothing his servo down your body to reach your pussy. Hesitantly, you tear your gaze from the floor to the mirror. As you do so, his servo curls under, spreading your lips so you have a very graphic view of what it looks like when he's inside. Your breath catches in your lungs, watching how your hole stretches to accommodate him.

His other servo ghosts up to hold your jaw gently, forcing you to keep looking in the mirror.

"My pretty Starlight," he coos smoothly in your ear. His voice is like silk, it brushes along your body in a heavenly way. You whimper in response, creasing your brows into a pitiful frown.

"Say it," he goads, "Tell me that you're my pretty Starlight."

Resisting him would be pointless. He'd pry out of you either way, even if you might enjoy what he does to get there.

"I'm— your pretty Starlight," you echo his statement, still watching how your pussy swallows him whole.

"You're so good for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear, which is surprisingly sensitive. He chuckles at the way you shiver in reaction, and you'd hazard a guess that he knows what he's doing when he speaks in such a low tone.

His servo falls from your jaw, settling instead on your hip to give it a squeeze. You don't falter in your ride, taking needy strides over him like it's all you know how to do.

The two of you have been fucking like crazy since the first time. You can hardly keep your hands off each other, only ever pulled apart by Megatron's captain duties. Even then, he's thinking about you. Coming up with all the ways he's going to fuck you once he's off duty. You spend more time having sex in this bed than you do sleeping.

"Bigger," you whimper out just below your normal talking volume.

"Hmm?" Megatron voices, not able to catch what you said.

"I— I want you bigger," you say, rolling your hips over him like it's your lifeline. You settle back against him, embracing the warmth of his chassis. "Change the mass displacement settings."

"Oh, my love," he moans into your ear, "You know that isn't a sensible idea."

"Please, I need it. I wanna be your little fucktoy," you babble thoughtlessly. "I want you to use me and bounce me on your spike."

That is a tempting thought, and Megatron doesn't have the same stubborn resolve he once had. He finds the size difference sexier than he'd like to admit, and the idea of spearing your pussy with his large spike has his processor running wild.

"Okay, just a little bigger," he says lowly.

He brings his arms around your front, looking over your shoulder before using a digit to scroll along the display of the wrist-mounted mass displacement device. He adds about two feet onto his height, bringing him to about 8'5.

You whine as you feel him grow, both inside and beneath you. Your legs have to spread marginally wider to still fit over his lap. He brings his servos to your hips before giving a chaste kiss to the side of your neck.

"Is this okay?" He asks, slowly rolling your hips over him.

"B—Bigger, more, want more," you say desperately.

"Let's get you used to this size first, hm?" He suggests.

"Megatron," you whine, bouncing as best you can. You'll prove to him that you can take it. Your pussy works so well with him, slickening every glorious inch with your pleasure.

He brings his servo back around to your pussy, singling out his middle digit to start drawing little circles over your clit. You let out a fractured moan as you tip your head back, feeling infinitely more motivated to drain him dry.

"So eager," Megatron coos. He's melting from how good your cunt feels wrapped around him, squeezing him tight.

"Want your transfluid," you answer, tensing your pelvic floor to really suck him in. He groans as his spike gets a milky ring forming around the base. You're too tempting to resist.

You ride him like you were made for it. Like your entire life's purpose is to please him. You can't get enough of him, sex with him is the best you've ever had, and nothing else even comes close.

Your pleasure is imminent, you feel it stirring in your stomach. You chase it with sole intent, envisioning it in your mind's eye whilst you reach for it.

"Close— so close!" You say.

"Be good, cum for me, and look at yourself when you do so," he tells you, grabbing your jaw again to align your sight with your face.

You reach your climax as fireworks set off throughout your body. You moan, watching how your face floods with unquantifiable bliss. This is the face Megatron sees every time he gets you to your high.

"Fuck, Starlight!" He curses, unable to resist his own overload from how your pussy milks him. It's so gratifying to have him overload just because you did. He fills your womb with hot transfluid, his tanks finally replenished after you took every drop from him earlier.

"Please make yourself bigger!" You blurt, insistent on it.

If he were a stronger mech, he'd be able to deny you. But it gets something stirring deep within him, awakening a dormant coding that makes his resolve brittle. He wants this just as much as you do.

But if he gets any larger, he won't fit on the bed anymore. He vents, nodding his helm before kissing along your neck.

"We need to get on the floor," he tells you whilst pulling you off his spike. You whimper at the loss of him, but understand it's a necessary sacrifice to bring about greater pleasure. You step onto the floor, immediately feeling the gush of his transfluid spill down the inside of your thighs.

He stands from the bed before adjusting the mass displacement settings again, adding another two feet. He enlarges straight away, taking him to a staggering 11'5. You have to stifle your gasp as he looms over you.

Next, he moves the mirror aside and lowers himself to lie flat on the floor. He taps your leg, urging you to come over. You step over him, one foot on either side of his hip armour. It's actually a little intimidating to straddle him with the now very evident size difference, but the lust that plagues you corrupts any logic or reason.

"Come, Starlight, take it easy," he says, extending his servo up to you. You take it, bringing your body down to press him against the arch between your legs. You can't fully bring yourself to your knees yet, so his stable servo is a saving grace.

"I've got you," he says, using his other servo to hold your waist. The tip of his spike engulfs so much of the apex of your thighs. But you wanted this, begged for it relentlessly. No use in backing down now, right? You're up for the challenge.

His servo slips from your hand, grasping on the opposite side of your waist. He harnesses you, making sure you don't slip or hurt yourself. He allows you to go at your own pace, letting the moment unfold as it needs to. You lower a bit more weight, and you feel the head of his spike struggle to fit in your hole, but sense that it is going in.

Oh God, the stretch is unreal. You're holding your breath as you focus on taking as much as you can, holding onto his wrists to help calm your shaking hands.

"Look at you taking it so well," Megatron praises, watching you sink down gradually on his spike. He didn't think you'd actually be able to take it, but here you are, exceeding expectations again. "It helps that you're dripping wet."

"Because of you," you moan out, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you start to move. He holds you, making sure you don't slip any further down his spike than you can take.

He peers down at where the two of you connect. He is a monster against you, and the sight only turns him on more.

"It won't all go in," he says, being a voice of reason. You're about ¾ of the way down his length, leaving only the base free.

You let out a shaky sigh before nodding, content with how much you've managed. You suppose this is as good as it'll get.

"Will you help me move?" You ask, your breath a prisoner in your lungs.

"Of course," he hushes back to you.

He takes it easy at first, pulling you up and down at a snail's pace. He does most of the lifting, saving your thigh muscles. You whimper a sob as he pushes your cunt to its limit. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle any further sounds so that he doesn't get cold feet and pull you off him.

Putting in some effort, you start bouncing along with his assistance. Your knees still aren't touching this ground, he's simply too large. Luckily, he's strong enough to help without breaking a sweat.

He claims every inch of you as his own, declaring dominion over your organic body. It's so incredibly hot to have him like this, you're utterly lost in a haze of lust. Your pussy leaks all over him, trying to keep up with how large he is.

"You're so tight like this," Megatron says through lightly gritted dentae.

"Loosen me up then," you answer.

"Oh, I will. Trust me, we're no where near done," he tells you.

That's what you like to hear. You won't be surprised if you're up for the rest of the night fucking like bunnies until your head is spinning. How lucky you are to be blessed with a partner who has so much stamina.

If he'd known a heaven like this was waiting for him, he would've ended the war aeons ago. Nothing comes close to how your pussy feels, he's never known satisfaction like it.

He's starving for you, moving you quickly and roughly so that he can constantly feel you surrounding him. To your delight, he actually moans for you, deep and chesty. You respond with a moan of your own.

You're not being shy with your volume, moaning as though shame is completely lost on you. It strokes Megatron's ego in a special kind of way. He hopes everyone can hear it. He hopes that everyone knows that you belong to him, and that he's the one who brings you otherworldly pleasure.

His spike drags against your walls perfectly, stimulating every bit of you. You've never been so full, but you can't get enough. He's yours, and you'll prove that you can take him at any size. The two of you were meant for each other.

Your walls throb around him as you have sex at a dizzying pace. His optics are shuttering with faded light as you make him pliable beneath you. His servos are still dragging you up and down his spike, running after his own pleasure.

"Megatron! Fuck!" You cry out, your orgasm spraying from your pussy. He continues pulling you up and down on his spike, causing you to spurt like crazy.

"Primus have mercy," he moans as he watches you soak him. "You're like a fountain."

Your first time squirting was earlier tonight, during your first session, but he's still amazed at how much just came out of you. At least this will only require a quick mop of the floor rather than hassling with the bed sheets.

"More," you mewl as your pussy flutters around him.

"New position?" He asks, holding you steady.

You nod emphatically, your glassy eyes hold an expression he finds hard to deny.

He pulls you off his spike, causing you to gasp. He handles you with shocking ease, gathering himself to his knees whilst spinning you around. He sets you on the berth by your feet, pulling down on your waist to prompt you to get on your knees as well.

As soon as you do, he places a warm servo that spans nearly the entire width of your back along your spine, pressing forward to get you down into a new position.

He leans over you, planting his servos on the berth. You're face down, ass up. Ready to take everything he's got.

Like this, he practically houses you. You're completely engulfed in him and his shadow, and that somehow only makes you more excited. Getting to fuck him when he's so much bigger than you is such a treat.

Sheathing his spike back inside, it goes easier than the first time. Your eyelids bat rapidly at the feeling of being stretched again, and you realise in this moment that there's nowhere in the universe that you'd rather be.

Your pussy quivers as he starts up again, thrusting his solid hips carefully to make sure he doesn't push more in than you can take. You moan, feeling his fat spike right against your G-spot.

He grunts, finding it hard to hold back. He has to be extra careful with you, but Primus, he wants nothing more than to wreck your little hole.

"I want it all," you whimper, grinding your hips back. "Put it all in, Megatron. Please."

It seems you read his mind. He groans weakly, dropping his helm to peer down at you. You've got tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, your brows furrowed, but something beyond horny fogging your eyes.

"I can't get it all in, Starlight. I'm too big," he tries to reason, but you can hear the edge in his voice that tells you his resolve is weakening.

"You can! It will fit! Please, pleasepleaseplease, I want you to fuck me until I faint!" You beg.

"So demanding today, my love," he chides playfully.

Relenting, he gives you what you want. On his next thrust, he eases a bit more of himself in. Then a bit more on the thrust after that, and a little more, until you feel the familiar press of his metal armour against your ass. You've never been so glad to feel him against you once again.

"You actually took it all," Megatron says with awe, stunned with surprise. "You are such a resilient little thing."

He's enjoying the experience of learning your tells, understanding how far you can be pushed and what your body can handle. Your pussy feels insane like this, and Megatron fears he won't last long under these conditions.

You let out a throaty, sweet moan as he stretches you beyond belief. You can feel him in your lungs, causing a ball of air to form in your throat. You've never been so full, you can feel him everywhere.

"Holy fuck," you worble. You've met your match, you definitely couldn't take any more than this. There isn't a millimetre of room left inside you.

"You doing okay, Little Light?" He asks, slowing his movements to get you used to the entire size of him.

"Fff—mph," you struggle to take a proper breath. "Fuck me," you finish, the words strained.

"How could I refuse?" Megatron burrs, pulling his hips back to slam them into your ass. You let out a startled cry, realising you're maybe a tad out of your element here. He's huge.

You struggle to believe that he's considered old by his Cybertronian peers. The way he blows your back out attests to the fact that he's anything but old. In some ways, he's even hornier than you are.

You outstretch your hand, wrapping your fingers around his thumb to ground yourself. He angles his thumb out a little further towards you to make it easier on you. You feel the sanity being fucked right out of you, every critical thought you had is nothing more than static in your mind now. He's not being as fast as he usually would be, clearly cautious of your enormous size difference, but it's no less wonderful.

Fantasising about this doesn't even come close to the real thing. Of course, you've dreamt about what it'd be like for him to take you at a bigger size. That comes with the territory of dating a 36-foot-tall transforming tank. But actually getting down to it? You could get used to this.

"Starlight," he moans airily, "You feel so good."

"Degrade me," you say in the heat of the moment, not thinking straight.

He looks down again, slightly confused by your request. You want him to… Degrade you? Why? Would you not rather hear praise? You're so deserving of it, after all.

"Please, Megatron!"

Being the mech he is now, he isn't one to degrade you. Sure, maybe his old self, but a lot has changed since then. You've made him soft and tender. But if it's what you want, he'll gratify you.

"You're my little slut," he says, watching how your mouth drops open in a hearty moan. You try to fuck yourself on his spike, but his size makes it a challenge.

"My little spikesleeve, my perfect hole to fuck. What do they call it? A cumdump? That's what you are."

Wow. That's more than you expected. He's a natural.

"Did you just get wetter from that?" Megatron chuckles cockily. You're filthy, he thinks to himself. And he loves every bit of it. You whine as you let him fuck every rational thought you have right out of your brain.

You're sopping wet, so much so that if Megatron isn't precise with his movements, he's going to lose traction. Squelch, squelch, squelch, as he fucks his own transfluid out of you and gets you lubricating more in the process. The mix of fluids drips down from your pussy and over the berth, some of it running down to your belly button before dropping off.

"Mmm," you whine, "Master!"

His hips falter, stuttering for a moment. It's been a long while since anyone called him Master. His thrusts stop, but you hardly notice. You're grinding your pussy back against him like you don't have a thought in the world. His optics are wide as he gazes down at you, realising that you haven't even registered what you said.

One servo leaves the berth, wrapping around your waist for some physical contact aside from his spike. He wants to check that you're still conscious and aware of what's going on, and it's a relief to feel your breath under his touch.

You manage to battle through the haze, rolling your head to look up at him with half-closed eyelids.

"Why'd you stop?" You ask, your tone whiny and needy.

"You called me 'Master'," he answers softly.

"Sorry," you mewl, pushing your hips back against him. In a clearer state of mind, you would've known better.

"No, don't say sorry. Just say it again," he replies huskily.

"Master, please, I need you," you say with pure pity woven into every word.

The next thrust he gives is so strong and powerful that it causes your body to jolt harshly forward, tearing a scream from you. Oh, you get it. You've wanted to be bedded by the warlord he once was and were never sure how to ask for it, but this might be the way to get it.

"Master! Fuck me! Ruin me!" You chant like it's gospel.

He jackhammers his heavy spike in and out of your plush walls, demanding the space inside of you. It's unreal. You knew dating a mech would be far from what you're used to, but he takes it to a whole new level.

"I'm cumming," you whine, grinding your hips back against him. He groans as his optics flicker, losing his train of thought as your pussy milks him. The pleasure that swarms you is unbelievably satisfying, manifesting so well that a forceful stream of cum sprays from your pussy to splatter on the berth below.

"You always squirt so much when you're turned on," Megatron moans, revelling in the sound of your orgasm decorating the berth.

"Make me squirt again," you desperately plead. How are you still going? You were fucking until exhaustion earlier, but somehow, your energy is revitalised.

He vents, pausing his thrusts for a moment to shift positions. He slips his spike out of you, earning a saddened mewl at the immediate emptiness. He brings himself upright on his knees, clutching your waist with his huge servos before flipping you round onto your back.

He gathers both of your calves in one servo before pushing them up so that your knees are closer to your chest.

God, why is that such a turn-on? That's your legs fit in one servo, and he's bending your body however he wants it? Like you're some sex doll curated for his pleasure?

Anyway—

Leaning forward once again, he braces against the berth before slipping back inside of you.

You moan out shamelessly, folded in half and stuffed full of spike. The flurry of noises you make is perpetual, high-pitched and needy. The heels of your feet are placed against the swirling decor on his chassis, and fuck, this really puts into perspective how big he is.

"Deep— you're so— deep!" You choke on every syllable.

You ghost your hand down your body, settling it over your abdomen. Like this, you can feel him. Another moan bends in your throat, somehow getting even hornier. He's so big, you're not sure you're going to stay conscious.

Plaplaplap, non-stop. Over double your size with a spike to match, fucking you like you're nothing more than a fleshlight. Your wet pussy is making the most obscene, salacious noises as he hammers away at you.

"Your little pussy is so perfect," Megatron moans. "Tell me, who does it belong to?"

"You!" You blurt without hesitation, "Fuck. It belongs to you. I belong to you. Everything is all yours, Megatron!"

"That's my good Little Light," Megatron praises, sensing his next overload boiling in his tanks. You always take it all, you let him fill you up with every drop, time and time again.

You love it when he gets a little rougher with you, when he unleashes a fraction of the mech he used to be. His dirty talk is unmatched, and you know it comes from a time when he was bolder and more forward. He'd never talk to you like this outside of the berth, but when he's got every inch stuffed inside, he lets loose.

Your body is limp as he fucks you, your tits are bouncing, and your brain is melting right out of your ears. You'll be covered in bruises by the morning, but you won't hear a single complaint.

The metal slapping against the back of your thighs and ass feels similar to being spanked, which only adds to this whole thing.

There's something unbelievably comforting about having his weight on top of you, leaving you swarmed in his metal frame.

He bullies his thick spike meticulously through your tight walls, thrusting strongly to keep him deep inside. He's not being as gentle as he could be, which you're grateful for. A sheen of sweat clings to your body that makes you stick to the floor below.

He grunts as his next few thrusts are slower and harder. It doesn't take long for him to reach his next overload, filling you up nicely to top up what's been fucked out of you. You whine, bucking your hips up to plead for more.

Starting up again, he resumes his previous pace. He ruts into you like he needs it to live. You feel his transfluid start to pool out of you, running down the valley of your ass to puddle on the floor.

Being fucked against metal by a metal man is not the most comfortable of experiences, but you're too worked up to care. He's your metal man, and you'll never take it for granted.

"My beautiful little sex pet," he burrs. "So tight and warm."

"Don't stop, Megatron! Don't stop!"

"You were made for me, weren't you? Whoever designed you knew that you'd be a perfect thing to scream and cry on the end of my spike."

"Yes, yes!" You chant, "Yours. All yours! Perfect for you!"

"You better squirt for me," he says.

"Nearly! I'm nearly there!"

"Squirt, cover me in your orgasm."

As though he compelled your peak to come forward, a cry tears from you as you spray him once again. It covers his hip plates, some of it dripping down on the back of your thighs.

Your body shakes with the force of your orgasm flooding through you, your breath hitching as you try to control yourself. Your vision blurs as your head starts to spin.

The lightheadedness is starting to get to you. You're whining non-stop, but your eyelids are starting to flutter. You don't know how much more you've got left in you.

"Meh—uh. Mmmph," you spill breathlessly.

He looks down at you again, noticing how your eyelids are flickering, and your eyes are in the back of your head. This time, he can tell it's not the strictly pleasurable kind of lightheadedness.

"Little Light," he gasps, stopping immediately. He cranes himself further up a little so he can place a huge servo against the side of your head.

Slowly, he pulls his spike out of you.

Floods of transfluid immediately gloop and pour from you like a waterfall. He grabs your ankles again, lowering your feet back onto the floor before hoisting himself off you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, clearly concerned.

"This is the best night I've ever had," you reply breathlessly.

"You reckon it's all gone from your system now?" He asks, brushing tender digits affectionately over your features. You huff with a short smile, nodding in return.

"Let me get you cleaned up and back in bed," he suggests.

⋄✧⋄

Megatron has one arm strut wrapped around you as you sleep. He's been humanproofed, as you like to call it, many pillows lined against his chassis. One of your legs is slotted between his and one arm drapes across his front. You're fully lost to the realm of dreaming, and Megatron is memorising the way your short breaths puff from you. It sounds like you're getting a much-needed recharge, and Megatron is utterly besotted with how peaceful your aura is.

'I dread to ask, but how are they faring? The hallway is finally quiet, so I thought it'd be a good time to check in.'

Your lover hears the familiar ping of his co-captain over the internal comms link. He vents briefly before peering down at you, rubbing his thumb over your back.

The former warlord did not realise that you were loud enough to cause a disturbance in the entire hallway. But, he can't say he's mad about that. Maybe a bit prideful, in fact.

'Much better now.'

[optimusxwbu]

Remember your oneshot where ATD reader gets sent back in time? Walk with me on this.. reader is sent FURTHER back in time and pays a visit to our dear Megatron during his mining days?👀

You don’t have to write anything on this, This has just been lingering in my mind since reading the first one LOL Hope you have a wonderful day and thank you for spoiling us with every fic you write!!🩶💜

⊹˚.* miner/gladiator megatron x human fem reader

-> tags: suggestive content. 3.7k words ouuughhh anon i like the way you THINK!! nothing explicitly freaky happens in this chapter, but as the ask implies, it exists in the across the divide universe — enjoy!♥️

Sitting on your haunches with your hands planted on the cold, metal floor, you peer up at the gargantuan enclosed environment you find yourself in. Your hands ball into fists, your nails dragging up some of the dirt and grime from the floor. The air here is musky and thick, every breath is a fight to survive.

The walls that tower above you are made of metal, but are arched with some skeletal-looking decor that lines the length of the corridor. It's as though you're in the ribcage of a fearsome mechanical beast. The light is low, making it difficult to make out anything. Your breath leaves your lungs as quickly as it enters them, acute dread starting to sew itself through your nervous system.

Perhaps you're destined to constantly be at the receiving end of physics-bending portals that love to spit you out into different periods of time. Right now, that's the only logical conclusion you've come to.

You can hear a muffled, booming sound from a fair distance away. It rumbles through the floor, vibrating through your hands and shins. It sounds like cheering, but it doesn't really help you understand where you are.

On stiff but shaky legs, you manage to get to your feet. You plant one hand against the wall for stability, taking a deep breath before looking down the length of the hallway. It's glum and gloomy, and humid beyond belief. With no clue as to where you are, you decide that exploring your surroundings is your only option.

Your hand runs against the cold wall as you walk, moving closer to the pinprick of light you can see in the distance. You assume that the cheering you can hear will be revealed to you in full once you emerge from this dark hallway, and maybe someone who can help you get back to the Lost Light, and most importantly, Megatron.

Stale oil and crusted energon collect under your fingertips as you continue on your path. The air feels dangerous, like it's coiling around the width of your throat and threatening to snuff out your life. You do everything you can to battle through it, focusing on the deific light that presents itself before you, getting closer with each step.

As you reach the end, the unison of cheers and chants becomes so loud that it makes your eardrums vibrate. You have to squint at how bright it is now, but you remain fixed to the wall. Adjusting your sights, you realise that you're in some kind of stadium. Rows upon rows of spectators lined up in a huge circular space, all pointing towards the centre so that they can enjoy the show.

"Megatron!"

"Meg— A— Tron!"

"Yeah! Get him!"

"Megatron!"

The yowls are thundering, like hooligans at a sports match. As your eyes cross the arena floor, you realise that you are indeed watching another form of sport. Blood sport. Or maybe better described as energon sport.

You witness a large, grey mech with red accents and black decorative swirls on his plating pummeling another mech. You recognise the attacker immediately as Megatron. You're reminded that Megatron once told you he modelled his current look off the appearance he had when he was a gladiator, so that he could always remember where he came from.

He's visibly far more staunch and aggressive like this. Spurts of energon spray everywhere as Megatron demolishes his opponent below. He has his dentae bared, his optics blazing wildly. It's the image of desperate survival. Of doing what he must in order to see the next cycle. It's kill or be killed, all for the viewer's pleasure. It's unethical and immoral under every definition of the word, and you can't help but observe in morbid awe.

For a moment, a damning moment, the aggressive beast looks up from his opponent. His optics dart in your exact direction, which steals the oxygen from your lungs in a startled gasp.

As he stares, he realises that there's nothing to be seen. There's nothing where he's looking, despite some invisible force urging him to gaze in that direction.

The faltering second is all it takes for Megatron's opponent to grasp at what little power he could. Wrapping his arm struts around Megatron, he rolls with him to turn the tide. Megatron grunts as he suffers a blow to his faceplate, but it doesn't cause any lasting damage.

Resorting to more violence, Megatron secures his arms around his enemy before engaging in his alt-mode transformation.

The act, whilst wound around another mech, causes his poor opponent to be ripped in half. A piercing, shrill sound cries out from the loser, a sound so pitchy it causes you to wince. You squint, shielding yourself from the graphic view.

The uproar from the crowd is enough to cause the supports to shake. Their golden victor reigns supreme once more, never failing to be entertained by such barbarity.

Megatron's engines idle, rumbling lowly as he basks in the glory. It's a desired side effect of the role he plays. They're chiselling away at him like he's fine marble, forming him into something mortals could only dream of.

He transforms back into his bipedal form, clenching his servos beside him before raising one fist to secure the win. The mechs circling him continue to clap and cheer, as if they didn't just watch a murder right before them.

Maybe, just maybe, you see how the warlord was born.

With this, it's his third win of the day. Which means he can now retire to his cell for a much-needed rest. Other gladiators can now take the centre stage to sate the endless need that these bloodthirsty aristocrats have.

He storms through the stretch of the arena, heading straight for the exit that you're currently glued to the wall of. You watch with bated breath as he approaches, but it doesn't seem he knows you're there. The crowd claps and chants his name to bid him a farewell, until next time.

Energon drips off his servos, leaving a trail behind him. It seeps into the cracks and seams of the metallic floor, threatening to rust it even further. A deep scowl is present on his features, one you recognise from the first few meetings you had with him.

This is where the miner-poet died, and the tyrant was born. These fights hardened him, they whittled him down until he snapped. You're not sure how far through that transformation he is at this point. The gravity that bends around him isn't quite as noticeable as the mech you're married to. He carries less sin, less tragedy. Less bitterness and anger.

The egg is only just starting to crack, from what you can tell. You like to think you know Megatron pretty well at this point.

He closes in on the exit, swallowing you in his shadow. You keep close to the wall as your eyes follow him, contemplating whether or not you should say something and make him aware of your existence.

Up close, it's definitely Megatron. Younger, but still him. He doesn't have those lines in his face which you know signify his age, and his optics are shaped a little differently.

He walks past you a few paces, but then, he halts. That same invisible entity roots him in his place. He turns his helm, looking back at the way he came. Just as before, he doesn't see anything.

That is, until your small form shifts in his peripheral vision. His optics snap to you, and he slowly pivots on his pedes.

"What are you?" You hear him ask just under a whisper. You're a tiny little thing, even smaller than a minicon. Yet… Strangely Cybertronian in structure. Bipedalism, a similar facial structure, and apparently sentient. Like some distant cousin of his species that was abandoned by evolution.

Before you can answer, he darts down to grab you around your waist. A squeal spills from you as he brings you closer to his chassis, shielding you as though you're a fine bottle of engex that another inmate might try stealing from him. Perhaps you are his winnings for today. He would've preferred a full meal, but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

He marches towards his habsuite, if it could be even described as such. A cell is probably a better term for it. It lacks security or privacy, with no door or barrier to prevent outside forces from coming in. He moves quicker than you can register as he turns into the equally derelict, barren space, which shares its atmosphere with the hallway connected to it.

Despite your struggle, you're not being very loud. No verbal protests except the meek sounds of writhing and huffing. Something gentle courses through Megatron's circuitry at your presence, as if you're slowly sedating him. Bringing him down from the adrenaline high of tearing through a dozen enemies for the upper echelon of society's entertainment.

He feels an innate sense to protect you, to keep you shielded and safe under his powerful servo. The same servo that just tore helms from shoulders will now guard you under his safety.

Sitting on his chipped, worn berth, he pulls you back to take a good look at you. He recognises the air of familiarity that you carry, and he knows it can only mean one thing.

"Why do you have my mark?" He asks, "You have my scent."

To be extra certain, he brings you to his faceplates. He presses your midriff up against his hooked nose, inventing to drag the smell of you deeper into his sensors. You yelp, not expecting such boldness. Your Megatron has never resorted to smelling you so overtly before.

"Megatron!" You cry, planting your hands on his helm. He continues to pull in your scent, nuzzling under your t-shirt to drag the bloodied metal of his nose along your bare skin.

"How do you know my name? I've never met you before," he remarks, the words bouncing off your skin. Aside from the fact that this mech literally becomes your husband in the future, he should've guessed that you'd pick up on his name from the endless chants of it in the arena.

"N—Not yet," you manage to respond.

"What does that mean?" He asks, pulling back from you to look at you. The red of his optics is much richer and deeper than the mech you're married to, like he's truly yet to see any authentic light in his life.

"Well… You do meet me, eventually. In about four million years," you explain to him, knowing how absurd it sounds. "This thing keeps happening to me where I'm sucked into portals and it's spitting me out into different timelines, each time I stumble across a previous version of you. I know that sounds insane, but you have to believe me!"

He studies you for a moment, notes the glint in your eyes and the slight tremble of your bottom lip.

"I believe you," he speaks lowly, pulling you close to smell you again. "Why would I have any reason to think you're lying?"

Huh. That's certainly a different tune from what you've received in the past. Maybe he's not incredibly cynical and suspicious at this point in his life.

"That's… That's great, I appreciate that," you mutter, a little flustered. "I miss you, though. I'd like to return to you. The future you. Do you know anyone who might be able to help?"

Pulling back again, he turns your question over in his processor. His optics scan down your body as his other servo comes up to drag his pointer digit down your torso, feeling you up.

"I do not," he mumbles, tracing the curves of your body. "It's nothing but brute strength and bellows down here."

Disheartening to hear, but you aren't surprised. Perhaps the same thing that happened last time will happen again, where the portal returns to spit you back out into your current timeline. You'll just have to wait and see, or maybe wait for your Megatron to find a way to retrieve you. You do not doubt that he will.

"What are you?" Megatron asks for the second time. He grabs your ankle between his thumb and foredigit, letting go of your waist with his other servo. You yell as your body flops down, dangling now by your ankle. He rotates you slightly to get a good look at all of you. He's never seen anything that looks like you before.

He's far more curious than the mech you're familiar with. You can tell he's younger, not yet hardened and brutalised by the cold, cruel universe.

"I'm a human!" You yelp. You trust that he won't drop you, but you can't be sure. Falling from this height would definitely kill you.

"Huuuman?" He repeats, tasting the word.

"My species doesn't exist yet for you," you try to tell him, struggling with the pressure of being hung upside down. "Can you please put me the right way up? This is uncomfortable."

He hums before satisfying your request, grabbing you by the waist to spin you back into the position he had you in previously. He pokes against your thighs and stomach with the digits on his other servo.

"You're so soft," he remarks, "How do we know each other?"

"We met on a ship," you say vaguely. You're mindful of what they call the Butterfly Effect. You don't want to say anything damning which might alter the trajectory of the future.

"We must be close," he speaks, his optics honing in on the vial that hangs around your neck. With a delicate digit, he knocks the vial to slosh the liquid around inside. "You have my innermost energon, as well as my mark."

"Yes, we have a strong bond," you answer.

"How strong?" He counters, shooting you an intrigued look.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat at the expression he's giving you. You aren't sure what to make of it, whether he's teasing you or genuinely unaware.

"We uh— We're what humans call married," you reply, hoping that the term is alien enough for him not to understand.

"Hmm," he vocalises, "I've never had a sparkmate before."

So he does understand. Maybe he can sense it, like he could the last time. Something about the Conjunx bond transcending timelines.

"How does that work?" He asks curiously, looking down at your legs. He grabs your ankle again, but this time pulls your leg outwards to spread you wide. "You are so small, after all."

You fight his hold, yanking your leg away to close yourself off from him out of mild embarrassment. You never thought Megatron could be so outspoken and borderline crude. He's immensely curious about you, not being shy to poke and pull at you to sate his questions.

"We— We have our ways," you stutter, "You'll find out for yourself."

"I suppose I can be patient," he answers, tilting his helm to the side as his hungry optics continue to roam you. He looks as though he wants to strip you bare and find out how the two of you make things work right now, but he senses your uncertainty.

And you're not uncertain because you don't want to, or that you're uncomfortable. It's the nagging voice in your head reminding you of the Butterfly Effect, which Brainstorm has lectured you on endlessly. Having sex with past Megatron, when he was in his stealthbomber form, was risky enough. The only difference was that at that point, Megatron was too far gone in his twisted ideology. Nothing you did would ever have steered him on a different path.

But to a Megatron this inexperienced? Things could work out differently. For better or worse. Maybe you'd have the chance to stop the war from ever happening, or you could cause a fate far worse. It's not something you want to tamper with. Only monsters play with the universe like that.

"How did you get back to your timeline before?" He asks, running his digit up and down your side as though he's gently petting you.

"Uhh… I just did, I guess? Another portal opened up and I got sucked back through," you recount your previous experience.

"Until that time, you're mine, right?" He concludes with a dull glint in his dark optics.

"Yours in every lifetime," you reply quietly.

"How romantic," he chuckles airily.

"Coming from the poet," you retort with a sly smile.

"Gladiator," he corrects pointedly, as if he's ashamed of being labelled as anything else.

"Yes, miner-turned-poet-turned-gladiator," you reply coyly, "I remember your history. I'd never forget it."

He brushes his nose against your torso again, addicted to scenting you. He's never laid his mark on another before, but he's enjoying the experience. You receive the gesture more easily this time, relaxing into the touch that is foreign yet familiar at the same time. It's soft, wrapping you in a fur-lined piece of heaven to make sure you feel protected and secure.

"Well, little human, I must recharge following my victory. Would you like to rest with me?"

"Is it safe to?" You ask, mindful of how open this place feels. You wouldn't be surprised if an attempt on his life is made.

"With me? Always."

You should never have questioned it. Of course, you'll always be safe with Megatron.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Shooting up from a gust of wind startling you, you yelp as your head hits the underside of a table. Whatever is on top of it rattles, the metal object undulating as it balances again. You groan in pain, placing your hand on top of your throbbing head.

Gathering your senses, you shimmy out from underneath the table. Looking around, you recognise that you're in your greenhouse, and spawned right under the table that hosts your very first plant from Megatron.

You stand, still cradling your sore head, making sure that the striking golden vase didn't sustain any damage from your knock. All seems to be okay, so you huff before rubbing your head a little to soothe it.

Turning, you start to walk towards the door. You should probably find Megatron. You have no idea how long you've been gone, so he might be worried.

As if the Devil heard you speak, the doors open before you can reach them. Megatron immediately moves into the room, seemingly relieved to see you.

"Little Light!" He announces, clamping the wrist-mounted mass displacement device on. He shrinks down to the height you're used to, closing in on you.

"What's happened? Are you hurt?" He asks semi-frantically, eyeing up the hand currently placed over the top of your head.

"Just had a little bump," you reply. He ushers your hand away, insisiting to let him take a look. He cups your head with his servos on either side, tilting your head down so that he can inspect the damage. No blood, and no obvious swelling.

"Where were you this time?" He probes, ducking down to give the gentlest of kisses to the top of your head.

"If you can believe it, with you. Again. Gladiator you," you explain with a sigh. All these portals really take a physical toll on your body. It's not natural for you.

"So, a much younger version of me, hm?" He says, hooking his foredigit under your chin to angle you so that you're looking up at him. He has an optical ridge perked, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

"Nothing like that happened this time. You were more just curious about what I am and where I came from."

"You really need to draw back how many portal adventures you go on, you frighten me to death when I can't find you," he says before picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sling your arms around his shoulders as he walks with you.

"You know I don't mean to go on them, right? It just keeps happening to me," you defend yourself playfully as he sets you down on the counter.

"I'm going to need to chain you to me at this rate," he jests, placing his warm servo against the side of your head. He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly, billowing a relieved exvent from his grates.

"I'm not strictly opposed to that idea," you respond with a toothy smile. "Are you sure you wouldn't get sick of me?"

"Me? Sick of you? I don't think such a thing is possible. In fact, I think your presence would make much of my work go much quicker. Especially Magnus' tedious ship reports."

"Hey," you protest lightly, "He's just being thorough. Besides, you always pay every report a lot of care and attention."

"Of course, someone has to. Primus knows Rodimus won't," he replies before pressing a gentle kiss to your browbone.

"It's a hard life, isn't it, Megatron?" You coo with faux sympathy.

"I'll lock you in the brig for that," Megatron jokes with you, poking your side softly with his other servo. You giggle in response, finding his response endearing.

After a few moments of stifled laughter, you come out with another question which has hung in your mind for a while now.

"Can you… Smell your bond to me?" You ask curiously.

He shoots you a curious look in response before a small smile stretches over his derma.

"Smell it?" He repeats, "It's less of a smell, more of a sense, I suppose."

"And can others sense it?"

He chuckles lightly, dipping down to kiss you. You sigh into it, wrapping your legs around him almost on instinct. He brings himself closer, pressing his hip panels flush against you.

"They can," he whispers against your lips, "So yes, every Cybertronian we come across knows you're mine without even having to ask."

You pull him in for more kisses, settling your hands over the back of his helm.

"Your former selves call it a mark," you say through the kiss. "Pray tell, how did you mark me?"

"Allow me to demonstrate," he hushes huskily before disengaging his interface panels, deploying his thick and heavy spike to show you exactly how he laid his mark on you for everyone else to sense.

[optimusxwbu]

18+ drabble, minors dni.

cw: breeding kink, slight lactation kink

Propped up on the kitchen counter of your idyllic cottage, your clothes are strewn on the floor, long forgotten at this point.

Your lips are in a heated battle against his derma as his servos roam you. Kneading the mounds on your chest, squeezing your hips, grabbing you to his spark’s content.

His hips thrust like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to experience your needy heat. He slides in and out, making sure you feel every inch. You’re moaning and whining into his intake, your hands snaking up to curl around the back of his neck.

Deft fingers find their way into the cabling you find along his neck, teasing them with fleeting and sensual touches. He vents into your mouth as his hips stutter for a moment.

“Put another baby in me, Megatron,” you request ardently. “Keep fucking me until I’m carrying a whole litter of your sparklings.”

He moans, moans, against the soft flesh of your tongue. He grabs your hips with both servos, gripping you tight. You know he has a breeding kink, and he keeps bringing up the topic of trying for another baby. He’s such a good father, so what’s the harm in gratifying him?

“We’ll need to fuck all night in that case, Starlight,” he utters.

“It’ll be worth it,” you reply before ghosting your hand down to one of his. You grab it, leading it over to where your womb is. His servo cups over it so tenderly, as though he still feels the remnants of your pregnancy.

“Think about your seed taking, about my stomach growing just like before,” you whisper, pulling his servo north to cup your tit. “And how full of milk I’ll be. You liked sucking on my tits last time, didn’t you?”

Next, he whimpers. He actually whimpers, and it takes you by surprise. You make a small yip of a noise, pulling back in shock. In all your years together, you’ve never heard him make a sound like that.

Now, you’re determined to make him do it again. You do have all night, after all.

[skadsliptoothie]

𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑰𝑭 𝑨𝑰𝑫𝑬-

Met SG! Orion?

SG! ORION PAX x Life on the Other Side! Reader

For non LotOS readers, context is that you, a human, transmigrated to pre war TFP as a high caste Aide.

WARNINGS: Infantilization towards Reader, Extortion, Take SG! Orion as a warning itself.

WC: 2.7k words

The neural relaxant Ratchet had pumped into your system was supposed to buy you eight hours of dreamless, uninterrupted stasis. For the first few hours, it had worked perfectly. You were suspended in a warm sleep, blissfully unaware of ledgers, audits, or the terrifyingly complex socio-political web you had tangled yourself in like some fly in a web. Deep in your processor, behind your shuttered optics, a faint pink light began to pulse. It didn't wake you, but it did pull you from the comforting depths of the deep-cycle recharge into a restless, somehow semi-lucid state.

You "looked" at your internal HUD. You watched the seconds tick down lazily, just like counting sheep. 02... 01... 00...

Then, the numbers stopped.

The pink text flickered, shifting rapidly from its cheerful magenta to a corrupted neon green, then to a harsh blaring red.

[ SYSTEM_THREAD_EXCEPTION_NOT_HANDLED ]

[ ATTEMPTING DEFRAGMENTATION... FAILED. ]

[ CRITICAL DIMENSIONAL ANOMALY DETECTED. RECALIBRATING... ]

Recalibrating? your sluggish mind echoed. What does that mean?

A sudden, piercing whine tore through your audio receptors, a sound so high-pitched and violent it felt like a physical needle driving into your processor. What the fuck was going on¿¿¡?!

[ WARNING: REALITY ANCHOR COMPROMISED. ]

[ INITIATING EMERGENCY SHIFT... ]

The void around you inverted. The darkness shattered into a blinding, negative-color flash, and the sensation of falling through a cold, frictionless vacuum seized your entire frame. Just like the first time you got here. Then, you hit the ground.

You jolted awake on the floor. The floor beneath you was freezing although ridiculously clean. You scrambled backward until your backplate hit a wall, your optics cycling rapidly to adjust to the lighting. You were in your habsuite.. Or, a twisted mirror image of it? "Trapster?" you whispered, your vocalizer trembling. "Jeppy?" You called out silently, but only the vibration of the Iacon outside greeted you.

You pulled yourself up, your joints aching with a phantom stiffness. You looked down at your servos. Your polished silver plating looked dull, scratched. What the hell? Even you didn't.. Where even were you? On your wrist you saw-.. A purple.. Purple autobot insignia.

Fuck you, you stupud fucking sy-*@#^@;..

"No!" you breathed, backing away from the window that overlooked a dark skyline filled with menacing spires. "No, no, no. The System was glitching. This is a nightmare. The relaxant gave me a nightmare! A nightmare!"

The sound of the door chiming made you jump nearly a foot in the air. It made you feel defensive on who was about to come inside the habsuite. The override keypad on the wall blinked green, and the heavy metal doors slid open without your permission. Who would you give your override key? Why would you give anyone your override key?? As you looked closer, you could see It was Orion Pax. But it wasn't your Orion. His silhouette was the same. Broad shoulders and all.. But his colors were off. Purple and Green. You could feel yourself wanting to dig a burial site. For yourself of course. Of all people in Shattered Glass it had to be this insane bot?

"There's my perfect little Aide." Orion purred, making you furrow your brows as he approached. His tone dripping with a condescending sweetness that made your plating crawl. You pressed yourself flat against the wall, your processor screaming at you to run, but there was nowhere to go.

"O..rion?" you stammered, your voice coming out as a pathetic, terrified one. In this universe, the System wasn't here to give you options. It wasn't here to force you into a [NOBLESSE OBLIGE] posture. But you quickly realized that even if it was, it wouldn't matter. In the Shattered Glass universe, your counterpart wasn't a snarky, corrupted corporate fixer, with how he acted, that was obvious. You were probably a meek and timid aide.. Not that it was an inherently bad thing, but it was if you were in Shattered Glass.

Orion Pax paused, his red optics gleaming as he took in your cowering form. His smirk widened, revealing slightly sharpened dental plates. "You're shaking!" he cooed, crossing the room in three long strides. "Oh, my sweet, fragile little thing. What has you so frightened tonight? Did Proteus raise his voice at you again? Did the big, bad Senator make my precious pet tremble?" What was he saying? Pet? You stared at him, confused as he reached you, looming over your frame. You tried to turn your face away, but his cold servo snapped out, capturing your jaw in a grip that was firm. He didn't crush you, but the threat was implicit: I could, if I wanted to.

"Look at me when I speak to you, [Y/N]." Orion murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek plate in a mockery of affection. "You know how I hate it when you hide those pretty optics from me." You couldn't move as you stared up at him, paralyzed by a terror so profound it overrode your vocalizer. This Orion Pax wasn't a naive scholar dreaming of a better world, he was a sociopath.

And in this Alternate reality, the 'Aide' you occupied was PROBABLY his favorite pawn. A timid, terrified, easily broken plaything he used to siphon secrets from the High Council.

"I..." You tried to speak, to form a coherent sentence, but your mind was blank. "Shh, shh.." Orion hushed you, leaning down until his faceplate was inches from yours. He nuzzled his olfactory ridge against your temple, a gesture that should have been romantic but felt entirely parasitic and overwhelming. "You don't need to speak if you're too overwhelmed. You just need to be a good, obedient little Aide and tell me you got the data I asked for." He pulled back just enough to look into your optics.

"The access codes to Proteus's private vault," Orion whispered, his voice dark albeit thrilling, vibrating with a scary magnetism that lulled your spark. "You promised you would slice them for me today. Did my clever, sweet [Y/N] do as they were told?" Codes? Vault? Your processor scrambled, desperately trying to piece together the life of the alternate 'Aide' you had apparently possessed. You had no idea what he was talking about. You didn't belong here. You were the Aide who cooked ledgers for Kaon, not the one who stole vault codes for a megalomaniacal archivist! Or something! A spark of your defiance, born of pure adrenaline and the visceral wrongness of the situation. Without thinking, you jerked your helm to the side, breaking his grip on your jaw. "Don't touch me!" you snapped, your voice finding a fraction of its usual aristocratic bite. "I'm not your pet." The moment the words left your vocalizer, you felt dread pile up inside of you.

Orion froze. His servo remained suspended in the air where your jaw had just been. Slowly, a twisted smile of amusement crept across his faceplate. He didn't look angry, in fact, he looked absolutely delighted. "My, my." Orion purred. "Has the little glitch-mouse finally found its teeth? After all these vorns of trembling and weeping, you decide to snap at the hand that feeds you?" He took a step closer, completely erasing the distance between you. He towered over you, his massive purple and green frame trapping you against the cold metal wall. "I find it endearing, really." he murmured, bracing his servos on the wall on either side of your helm, caging you in. "But let us not forget our places, my spark. You are a fragile, delicate thing, and I, I am the only reason Proteus hasn't had your processor scrubbed and your frame sold for scrap." He said, the sudden change in his tone made you flinch.

Your human survival instincts, you know, the ones that told you not to poke the bear, especially when the bear was a giant, sociopathic robot, kicked into overdrive. If you pushed him too far, he wouldn't just kill you, the look in his optics promised something far worse.. You had to play along, you had to survive until the System fixed whatever dimensional glitch had dragged you here! "I... I don't have them!" you stammered, forcing your posture to shrink, lowering your optics in a display of submission. "The codes-.. I couldn't get them."

Orion’s smirk vanished. The faux-sweetness dissolved into a blank one."You don't have them..?" he repeated, the words coming out flat.

"It was too heavily guarded," you lied frantically, your mind racing to construct a plausible scenario. "Proteus... he changed the encryption algorithms this morning. He stationed two Elite Guard bots at the terminal! If I had lingered, they would have noticed. I needed more time." You looked up at him through your optics, letting the genuine terror you felt bleed into your expression. "Please, Orion. I tried. I swear I tried.." Orion stared at you, his optics searching your faceplate, analyzing the tremors in your frame.

Then, he sighed, an exaggerated sound. He lifted a servo and gently, almost a bit reverently, cupped the side of your helm. His thumb stroked the edge of your audio receptor. "You poor, sweet thing." Orion cooed, his tone reverting to that sickening sweetness. "You were frightened. I can feel your cooling fans overworking.. The Senate is simply too harsh on your delicate processor, I push you because I know your potential, [Y/N], but I shouldn't expect you to do a warrior's job."

I kinda feel offended.

He leaned down, pressing his faceplate against yours. You squeezed your optics shut, shuddering as his cold metal scraped against your cheek. "It's alright," he whispered against your audio receptor, his breath hot, "I forgive you. You are trying so hard for me, aren't you? So desperate to please." Suddenly, your vision flickered violently.

Through the blinding terror of the moment, a static-laced pink window tore its way into your HUD, glitching and sparking with corrupted code.

[ S-S-SYSTEM ERROR... ]

[ UNAUTHORIZED ENTITY DETECTED... ]

The window flashed, struggling to render the UI. It overlaid Orion's face.

[ CAPTURE TARGET: O R I O N P A X ]

[ UNIVERSE ID: S H A T T E R E D G L A S S ]

You stared at the text. The Affection Meter materialized beneath his profile. It wasn't a standard bar. Fuck, no it wasn't at all!

[ AFFECTION METER: 100% ]

[ WARNING: TARGET WILL NOT HESITATE TO DISMANTLE YOU TO KEEP YOU SAFE. ]

[ ROMANCE TIP: S U B M I T. ]

A choked gasp escaped your vocalizer. 100%. The system had warned you about hitting 100%. Orion felt your gasp. He pulled back slightly, his optics narrowing as he studied your terror-stricken face.

"You're completely overwhelmed!.." he murmured, his gaze tracing the lines of your trembling frame. "Look at you. You're falling apart at the seams. The Senate is breaking you, my spark. I cannot allow them to keep treating what is mine so carelessly."

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" you whispered quickly, desperately trying to de-escalate. "I just need to recharge. I can try again tomorrow!-"

"No." Orion interrupted, his voice firm and absolute. His servo slid from your helm down to the sensitive cabling of your neck. He didn't exactly squeeze or choke you, but the weight of his servo resting over your most vital lines was a paralyzing threat. "No more trying, no more Senate.. You are too fragile for this world, [Y/N]. I have been patient, allowing you to play at being an Aide, but your utility has run its course."

"What... what are you saying?"

"I'm taking you with me," Orion said, his optics wide and manic with a twisted sense of devotion. "Back to the Archives. I have a private vault there, climate-controlled, Secure. No Enforcers, no Proteus, no data-slicing. Just you, and me, and the quiet.."

Your spark stalled. He's going to lock me in a vault. Oh scrap. "Orion, no!" you pleaded, your servos coming up to weakly push against his chest plates. It was like pushing against a solid wall of iron. "I can't leave. They'll hunt me down! They'll find us."

"Let them try." Orion scoffed, a laugh rumbling in his chest. "I control the flow of information in this city. I can erase you from the registry with a thought. You will simply... cease to exist to the outside world. You will belong entirely to me. I will keep you safe. I will hollow out your fears and fill you with nothing but my voice." He leaned in, tilting your helm back to expose the junction of your primary energon line. His derma parted, his sharpened dental plates grazing the sensitive metal of your neck. It wasn't a kiss but it was a brand, a promise of eternal suffocating captivity.

System! you screamed internally, your mind fracturing under the sheer weight of the horror. SYSTEM, GET ME OUT OF HERE! PULL ME BACK! The pink, corrupted window in your vision began to strobe wildly.

[ CRITICAL DIMENSIONAL OVERLOAD. ]

[ ANCHOR TETHER SNAPPING... ]

[ FORCING EMERGENCY REBOOT... ]

"You are so enamoring when you tremble." Orion whispered against your neck, his grip tightening. The sensation of falling returned, a violent, wrenching pull that felt like it was tearing your very spark out of your chassis.

You hit a soft surface with a massive, rattling gasp. Your cooling fans were screaming, your entire frame vibrating with tremors so violent your dental plates were clattering together. You threw your arms up, scrambling blindly to push away the heavy phantom weight pinning you to the wall.

"Master! Master, please! Do not malfunction! I am here!" You froze, your optics snapping open, your chest heaving with desperate breaths.

You were lying on the berth of your own habsuite. The ambient lighting was soft, soothing, and familliar. And standing at the foot of the berth was Trapster, your cleaning bot. "Trapster?" you croaked, your voice weak, raspy, and thankfully, blessedly normal.

"Yes! Yes, it is I!" Trapster squeaked, edging closer but keeping a safe distance from your flailing limbs. "You... you were cycling your vocalizer loudly in stasis, Master. You were thrashing, your temperature spiked. I thought you were experiencing a localized processor loop!" Trapster spoke fast, panicked. You sat up slowly, clutching your chest plates. You pressed your servo against your neck cabling. There was no heavy, possessive grip there, phew No sharpened dental plates.

You were back.

[ GOOD MORNING, USER! ＼(＾▽＾)／ ]

[ I am back online! Maintenance is 50% complete! Your UI is now 12% shinier! And look, no bugs!.. So far! ]

You stared at the window, your spark still hammering violently against your ribs. "System-.." you whispered, your voice shaking with residual terror. What.-.. what was that? Where did you send me? The pink window bounced aggressively innocent in front of your optics.

[ Send you? Silly User, I didn't send you anywhere! (˘³˘)♡ ]

[ You've been right here in your comfy berth for the last eight hours! Ratchet's neural relaxant is notorious for causing vivid, hyper-realistic processor simulations, also known as 'Nightmares'! ]

That wasn't a nightmare! Orion was... he was insane!.. He had a 100% meter! You showed it to me! You glitched!

[ Error 404: Memory not found! ¯_(ツ)_/¯ ]

[ I assure you, User, the Shattered Glass continuity is purely theoretical and definitely NOT an accessible dimension due to copyright constraints and extreme quantum instability! You just had a bad dream! Stress does terrible things to the imagination! ]

You're lying! you breathed, a cold sweat of condensation breaking out across your forehead plating. I felt him-

[ Just phantom tactile feedback from the relaxant wearing off! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ Drink some fluids! Take a walk! Forget all about the terrifying alternate-universe yandere clerk who wants to turn you into a submissive data-puppet! He isn't real! ]

The window vanished with a cheerful chime, leaving you alone in the quiet of your room with Trapster standing by the side. You sat perfectly still, staring at the empty space where the text had been. Your servos were still shaking, nervous and jittery. You knew it wasn't a dream, you knew exactly what you had felt. And worst of all, you knew that the System was capable of far more horrifying things than just blocking your comms or forcing you to work 3,200 hours. It could manipulate reality itself, and then smile while it lied to your face! It was a weird.. "Trapster." you whispered, pulling your knees to your chestplate. "Lock the doors. Override the external keypads, and shut down the automated entry protocols." You sighed out tiredly.

"I don't want any visitors in the meantime."

---------------------

A/N: fml Idk how to add dividers in tumblr 😭, I just wanted to feed the thirsting Orion fans.. Yk.. Gotta do good every once in a while.. Been busy so I haven't had much time to write! Research defense has been GNAWING at my ass ong. And Warframe! Play warframe guys, heh.. Ts has not been proofread so there might be some errors.

[decepticononline]

Heyy I had a request. What if Optimus Prime is cuddling with a human woman, and he notices that she's ovulating and gets aroused by it? And he kind of inspects her body

Optimus Prime cuddling is not something I knew I would ever need this much, also this is a long one. 5,404 words

Bayverse! Optimus Prime x (Human Female) Reader | 18+ “Something More”

“You’re so tense…” The warmth of his neck cabling felt so alive under the pads of your finger tips. Beneath the soft mesh of the cabling was a rigid mass. Surely this was akin to something like a cramp to humans. As you pressed harder the mech winced beneath you.

You hadn’t meant to make his pain worse at all, prompting a wave of guilt washed over you. You straddled him while sitting, his chassis hot against your bottom. His backstrut tensed against the soft coverings you spread across the floor for him. The feeling of them was unnatural, but they helped ease the strain of his many cycles without a well adjusted recharge.

You turned your attention to the other side of his neck cabling and his optics followed your movements. “Are you still with me, Optimus?” He nodded his helm tiredly in response. The metallic lenses of his optics fluttered and you couldn’t help but be encapsulated by his mannerisms. He was so different, yet so similar. His expressions, gestures and tone all registered to you as if he were human too. You mentally disciplined yourself to focus on helping rather than staring.

As hard as it was to concentrate when he was mass-displaced, you’d have to set that intrigue aside if you wanted to be attentive to his needs. Your little hands could get into places between his armor that he couldn’t with his own servos. That was your expertise to him, able to ease and massage that tense frame of his.

The trust within the bond the two of you shared made this possible. He placed a servo on your back and eased you in closer to his frame, the touch gentle yet firm. “So, how was your day?” That question was something you’d ask him frequently, but today it just felt out of place and even inappropriate to ask.

With how tense his protoform was under the neck cabling, you could take an educated guess on that. “I can’t tell you…” His tone was apologetic and you chose not to grill him for further information. What sucked was you didn’t have that kind of clearance to be able to know about certain things going on and off the base. He’d tell you bits and pieces of what he could, maybe even a little more than he was supposed to…

As one of the very few civilians on base you knew far more than the others but that’s because he trusted you enough to share things with you. Your hand found a particularly tight area right under his chassis and his expression became far more relaxed as your fingers gently massaged it. His free servo positioned itself on your waist and kept you angled as you searched for any sensitive areas between his audial fins.

The tips of his digits massaged into the side of your waist, returning the favor unintentionally. When you glanced back at his faceplate you noticed him staring and looked away, a heat raising within your cheeks. Just friends. Friends that trust each other a lot, that's it.

That was the truth, but when he looked at you there was something else present in his optics, and it wasn’t just trust. He could feel it too. His optics examined you the exact same way you examine him. Different, yet so similar.

A shiver ran over you with his longing stare so you cleared your throat. “Alright you big metal bucket of rust, you’re alright and relaxed.” You tried to sit up but both of his big servos held you in place firmly. Your hips rocked on his chassis as you tried to wiggle out of his grip and there was a glint of humor within his tired blue optics.

Optimus gently lowered your top half down further to him until your face was a mere few inches from his own. You watched as his nasal bridge adjusted as his olfactory receptors took in a scent, maybe two. An optical bridge raised and he allowed you to sit yourself back up. That was a far different scent than he was used to you having. As different as it was, his systems recognized it immediately.

It shouldn’t distract him as much as it did as he has identified the same scent amongst humans before but with you it became disruptive. You were what Ratchet called ‘ovulating’ with something else mixed in this time. “Is there something wrong?” His optics flicked over to meet your eyes and for a moment he felt a hint of shame.

He was far more disciplined than that. As a Prime the mech spent eons of being controlled and methodical, and yet he scents the indication of potential mating along with arousal and almost unravels. “There is nothing wrong.” The rumbles of his deep voice had you adjusting your hips on his chassis. He noticed that.

You didn’t believe him at all but chose to only to avoid the thoughts of having done something to make him this uncomfortable. His servos on your hips continued to keep you in place while you both mentally dwelled on something unsaid between the two of you.

If he wasn’t uncomfortable then what could he possibly be hiding at the moment. The stoic old mech was vulnerable enough around you to show you various sides of him but now he appeared to be hiding all that away. Optimus sat up, sliding you down to his lap and keeping you there. You were now looking up at him instead of looking down at him and further away from his faceplate entirely.

“There’s clearly something wrong.” You folded your arms together glaring up at him and he acknowledged your irritation by moving a servo to the small of your back allowing the warmth to radiate there. “Easy.” Which was both a command and an attempt to deescalate from him. That scent was still there to beguile him while your writhing form stirred something within him.

You wanted off of his lap, immediately. If he was just going to deflect from the situation then he could do that alone in his quarters by himself. The future loud complaints you had in the back of your throat were drowned into silence when he lifted you up to pull you into a kiss. As much as you wanted to be surprised, you couldn’t, there was always something resonating there and unmentioned.

The taste of his mouth against yours was more than just foreign and alien. It was pleasant, so pleasant that it made you feel warmth at your thighs. As his glossa explored the inside of your mouth you realized it was strangely softer than you thought it would be.

Maybe they are just like humans, they just have a rather hard metal exterior compared to soft human skin. Even his lips or dermas as they called them were made of a more pliable metal that the rest of him. It had some give to it, and that excited you. The way his mouth moved against yours was a telltale sign of something else brewing.

Abruptly he pulled away from the kiss, he then stared at you momentarily with turmoil in his optics. Clearly trying to find every possible justification for what he was going to do. All the excuses he’d have to have handy to explain this if the relationship the two of you shared took this route. It would be controversial… to say the least. Yet that didn't seem to deter him from you.

His thumb digit ghosted over your lips, the physical touch reminding him that the kiss you two shared actually happened, and he was responsible. You were so much smaller and softer than him and the thought of him injuring you during such an act kept him at bay for the time being.

You’d be in grave danger if the mech began a much more intimate relationship with you. Keeping this a secret would be difficult and internally you both knew that. The warmth of his servo heated your palm as you placed your hand on top of it. The conflict radiating off of him happened to bother you.

“Optimus, it’s okay I promise. You’re not going to hurt me.” As if you two were already spark bonded, you could tell just what he was thinking. Always knowing just what to say to ease the Prime, it was certainly a talent of yours.

Your mouths connected in a kiss for a brief moment before you felt his servos guiding you onto your back. “This only happens if you want it to. I am not going to be disappointed if you refuse me.” Chivalrous as usual. You flashed Optimus a smile as you guided his servos down to your hips.

How could you refuse him? He’d saved your life more times than you’d even be able to remember, he’s gentle with you, he’s learned to trust you, and if you’re being honest he’s actually really attractive for someone that’s not even human.

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to deny you, Chief.” Chief. The nickname you gave him the day he brought you to the now back in operations N.E.S.T base after an accidental run in. Once on base he was far too busy to even acquaint himself with you, so you called and referred to him as Chief for almost an entire day before he finally introduced himself. To you the nickname just fit, you rarely use it now after he’s told you that you don’t have to formally address him.

After hearing that his optics dimmed slightly. A particularly heavy vent left his intake. Suddenly he likes that nickname. His servo hooked itself underneath your shirt in the process of pulling it off, but then he paused to look at you. In your own alien way he found you beautiful. You resembled a cybertronian femme so much but your uniqueness of your species made you special to him.

The shirt you wore was grabbed and lifted off by your own hands. You sat up just to unhook your bra band’s clasps and free your bare breasts. “Please don’t let me be the only impatient one.” There was humor in your voice, but little did you know his spike ached dreadfully behind his interface panel. He’d give anything to free it but he didn’t want to potentially scare you so early on.

He helped you remove everything else you wore, but you could sense the hesitancy in his actions. As if he was still unsure about all of this. You were so eager before and now you held your exposed legs tightly shut, finally the seriousness of the situation setting in and making you absurdly nervous.

Reality hit you hard when you remembered you’d never done anything like this before. That’s right, there was still the chance you could utterly embarrass yourself in front of the mech from lack of experience. Optimus noticed your shut legs and raised an optic ridge, you were just eager moments ago and now you seemed unwilling.

“If this isn’t something you want then we can just stop.“ You shook your head no as you tried to find the right words to explain to him what had you so shaken up. The expression on his faceplate did little to hide his confusion so you just blurted out your situation.

“So this is going to be my first time.” Saying it out loud didn’t ease you, not even just a little. You expected him to look at you with regret but there was only a countenance of understanding. A servo lifted up your face to his own faceplate and the two of you were close enough to kiss again.

“I will be very gentle with you. We will do this slowly.” He meant every word to you. He was going to try his hardest to control his strength and keep you from being overwhelmed. The fact that you trusted him enough to allow him to be your first made his spark hum within its casing.

After a few deep breaths you were calm enough to allow him to position his helm between your now parted thighs. His gaze lingered upon your sex making you feel rather self conscious, which was short lived once you felt the swipe of his glossa at your core. His ‘saliva’ if it could even be called that slathered along your slit. For him you were far from being anatomically different from a cybertronian femme, even the positioning of it. was the same. Which meant that he thankfully already knew just how to please you.

The next time his glossa came into contact with your cunt, it was to glide across the sensitive bundle of nerves between your folds. That gesture made you gasp and your hips involuntarily buck up into his faceplate. That kind of heat and wetness against it was unlike anything you’ve ever been able to do with your fingers or with a toy. He began circling the tip of his glossa around your clit and that made you writhe and moan loudly. The slowness of it felt like he was teasing but he promised he’d be gentle with you and take this slow.

He got closer to your slit and took your clit into his intake and you immediately tried to shut your legs. A quick servo of his stopped you while keeping one leg parted and letting the other close around his audial fin. His other servo slid up your heaving chest, digits rolling one of your nipples. Clearly he was just as intrigued about your body as you were with his.

His movements became faster and you threw your head back. Your hands became tangled in the plush blankets below you as you felt the hot pressure building within your abdomen. There was no way you were about to finish this fast, it was almost shameful.

A few more circles with his glossa before he closed his dermas around that precious bundle again and you came undone under him. The orgasm was quick but your cunt clenched and spasmed fiercely. Your climax didn’t make him stop pleasuring you, in fact he believed you needed more. That servo of his which fondled your perky nipples descended down, its destination between your legs. His pointer digit gathered some of your wetness on its tip before he gently pushed in inside you.

His finger was of course much larger than your own so the stretch didn’t surprise you. His intake never left your sex as his optics looked up to you to make sure you were handling this okay. When he was sure you weren’t in any pain he pumped his digit inside you while you mewled. The grip you had around his digit worried him, it created some doubt about whether he could actually fit his spike inside of you.

What relieved him was that you could take his digit all the way past the last joint, proving you had far more depth to you than expected. His audio receptors captured every whine, moan and gasp that left your lips. If only he knew he could get you to create sounds like these much sooner.

Your second orgasm was actually tear jerking, just so immensely powerful that your eyes rolled back and stayed there for a moment. The rhythmical circles he worked around the precious bundle with his glossa combined with his digit pumping into you would be the death of you. Even during the high of that climax his motions didn’t cease, he didn’t budge when your thigh pushed firmly against his audial fin.

When he removed his digit from your walls and replaced it with his glossa you saw stars. The size difference between his digit and glossa made you whine. In the Prime’s processors he consistently reminded himself that he needed to be gentle with you but the desire to taste you overpowered all of that. And no it wouldn’t have been enough to taste it from his digit, he needed it straight from your core.

Witnessing the usually very composed mech behave this way was startling to you. All that hard work he’d done to restrain himself, his discipline and morals becoming completely futile in a moment of intimacy. His glossa meticulously roamed your begging walls while you writhed in his grip. To him this moment of risk was well worth its reward, the taste of you within his intake proved to be sweet and palatable.

When his interface panel slid off with a loud hiss his shoulder axles unstiffened, the confinement of his spike a mere memory. The relief he felt was immense. To keep his interface panel sealed while his pressurized spike pulsated against it was borderline torture. Yet he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again to make you feel comfortable and prevent you from being overwhelmed.

He pressed two digits into you this time to collect your slick and applied it to his hardened spike. You caught a glimpse of the slickened metallic shaft standing tall at his hips and your attention focused there. He squeezed himself to show you that it had some give to it and you let out a relieved sigh. Even with that positive factor it still seemed just far too big.

“I’m going to be gentle.” Which came out more like he was reminding himself than easing your worries. That overwhelming feeling of doubt within his processors about whether this will work would stay stagnant until he actually made an attempt. While looking at your dripping slit his hardened spike twitched causing you to shudder.

You even clenched a little seeing its abrupt movement at his hip-struts. He moved to get on top of you, spike accidentally sliding against your slit causing you both let out a small moan. A pronounced moan in that deep voice of his had you clenching around nothing. You were so eager and overly excitable that he probably didn’t even need to touch you to cause a reaction.

While on your back you lifted your head up to look down and see that thick red and blue plated shaft he was angling at your entrance. Before the tip dipped between your thighs it dribbled and left a dense clear fluid trail from your belly button to your sex. Soon you felt the head of it pressing at your dripping hole. ‘Far too big’ you thought as he attempted to press in for the second time after being unsuccessful.

He tried again pressing it at the opening slightly hard that time and the result was the same as last time. “Wait there’s an easier way. I could uh just sit on top of you and gravity will help us?” Your voice became meek the further you explain the suggestion. The explicitly of it sounding completely out of place coming from you, and the notion that he may not even be a mech that would want a ‘femme’ on top of him anyways.

Optimus hesitated for a moment, clearly not as keen about switching positions just as you expected. You were going to tell him nevermind but he rolled over onto his back-strut pulling you on top of him. The movement was quick and swift and yet you still squealed expecting to somehow be crushed in the process. “Sorry.” His tone was apologetic, but you could have swore from the corner of your eye that you saw just the faintest smile just before it vanished.

Ignoring his oddly sly behavior you focused on the thing you’ve been waiting for him to give you this entire time. Your hand reached down between your legs and wrapped around his spike and it felt just as warm as the rest of him. The metal plating of it had just as much squish to it as the metal of his faceplate.

This skin of his never ceased to amaze you, soft pliable metal in some areas and strong hard metal in others. His spike was rather heavy in your hand, the weight of it making it even more imposing. Truthfully you weren’t shocked he was unable to sheath himself without hurting you, your four fingers and thumb couldn’t even connect to wrap fully around his girth.

You could feel his tip begin to dribble fluid again right down the back of your hand. This was good, you sincerely needed any kind of extra lubrication you could get. The weeping tip was guided to your entrance by your hand for you to make your first attempt at sitting yourself down on it. With the first try your walls didn’t budge, not even a little. The disappointment you felt heightened until on the second try you felt a tearing pain while hearing him groan.

That pain left you no longer able to support yourself on top of his chassis so you collapsed on top of him. If you had to guess only an inch slid in, and yet your legs were already trembling. Looking down at you he felt worse than he thought he would. He knew you’d be in pain but not to this level. That vice grip you had around him almost entirely clouding his judgement about whether or not he should stop this. Deciding to make the right decision to protect you he placed his servo on your lower back, coaxing you off of his spike and you of course disobeyed.

Instead you took your chance to sink further down even though it hurt like hell. He tried to help you off once more, and again you ignored him. The lower you sunk down the more your pain had diminished. After those painfully aggravating minutes had passed your body was flush with his own, surprising you both.

None of your toys had ever provided you with feeling this degree of fullness. The kind of fullness that made your head feel heavy and caused your legs to tremble. “You did it.” He praised, while letting a servo cup your delicate face. Yeah, you did it, now just how were you going to manage it. You decided you’d start by letting your hips rock back and forth while around his length.

That was all you could do for the time being as you had not found the strength in your legs yet to fully ride him. The height that you needed to raise your hips just to lower them was just far too much for you to do right now. You were able to grind your clit against the rim of his spike casing leaving you whimpering on top of him. The more firm and smooth metal rubbing against your swollen nub had you reeling.

Optimus had never removed his servo from your back, confident that leaving it there would help keep you stable. Every unsteady movement you made kept his optics in a trance. He watched as you struggled to find your rhythm, rocking against him in shaky motions while searching for a pace that finally felt right. The way your little heart beat far more than it should have during a moment like this meant he needed to assist you and ignore your impending stubbornness.

His servo moved to one of your hips followed by another servo on the other, both latching on adjacent from one another. Both servos gently lifted your lower half up around his spike and then down again, fully sheathing himself once more. “Hey! I can do that myself.” Before you had the chance to writhe in his grip and give him an issue he did the same movement again with your body and you keeled over in his grip. He quickly found a soft rhythm that pleasured the both of you and had you burying your face into his chassis.

The noises your cunt made every time he raised your hips were almost embarrassing, you didn’t know it could get that noisy when you were that wet. Soon you were moving your hips in sync with his servos drag of them. Then not too long after that you were able to raise your hips all on your own, setting a slightly faster pace that caused you both to moan. It sucked being so much shorter in comparison to his mass displaced height. It essentially made the occurrence of you kissing him during this very low.

Low but never zero, you learned as he leaned up and you raised up half way on his spike to meet each other’s mouths. The kiss lasted a few moments before you brought yourself down on the rest of his spike. Hips rocking momentarily before you resumed your previous movements.

His servos wrapped around your hips again, but before you could tell him you didn’t need his help anymore he flipped you over onto your back and began thrusting into you. The quickened pace made your bare breasts bounce hard upon your chest. His spike knocking the air from your lungs with every jab of his tip at your cervix.

It was already pleasurable before, but him taking the reins left you making incoherent babbles amongst your slew of moans. Thoughts certainly happened but the words came out jumbled. Your walls spasmed and clenched desperately around him squeezing his spike beyond belief. He already found you tighter than his closed fist so every clench spurred him to thrust harder.

He tried to control himself, contain his desire and his need for you. To listen to your body instead of his, repelling a side of him that wanted to do this to you roughly. A side of him from his younger years before becoming a Prime that wanted to leave you spike drunk. If you told him to stop and that this wasn’t the way you wanted your first time to be, he’d place your needs over his and listen. When you said nothing and wrapped your legs around him he took it as a sign that you needed this too.

The whining of scouts who didn’t want to complete their duties. The incessant fighting in between mechs on base, and all of his stressors from today seemed to release with every quick snap of his hip-struts. Just one more harsh spasm of your walls and you were coming around his spike.

To say that surprised you was an understatement. Neither your hand or his strummed at your clit for that to even happen, causing that orgasm to startle the hell out of you. You didn’t even know you could do that, an orgasm with an untouched clit? And you thought you knew everything there was to know about your own body.

That climax of yours only galvanized him to pound you harder. He minded his own strength and set a limit for how far he’d go but it was getting harder to control that by the minute. The way your heat fisted and constricted itself around the malleable plating of his spike made his processors spin.

Your nails dug into his chassis, causing him to let out a low growl. A noise you’ve never heard him make before, you liked it. And if you didn’t say that then he certainly felt it with the way you clenched in response. Suddenly he stopped thrusting, you whined and bucked your hips practically begging.

The whining pleas you vocalized had not gone unnoticed. He pulled out the entire length of his spike causing you to whine and whimper even more. You were maneuvered off your back and onto your belly, during that you got a view of his erect spike drenched in your slick with a white ring of cream around the base.

While on your knees you pressed your face into the plush blankets beneath you and arched your bottom higher to allow him a better angle. You understood the change of positions at least from what you’ve seen in porn. When the tip of his spike slid against your slit you felt it twitch against your folds. He was ardent on having you like this, the heavy vents from his vocalizer told you that much.

His spike slid in and your breath hitched, the tearing burning stretch you dreaded was felt all over again. It started to fade so much faster than it did the first time. He placed a warm servo on your back once more to soothe you, apologetic for the pain you’re experiencing.

He waited for you to become adjusted to the stretch again even though he badly wanted to continue thrusting. He would never do something that he knew would hurt you and leave you in distress. Once you felt ready you rocked your hips back against his letting him know the pain had subsided.

The first thrust pulled a loud moan from you. The change in angle felt like a different experience entirely. You buried your face in the blankets below you when the thrusts continued and slowly built up pace. This time you felt his servo move to between your legs while the other was on your hip. His digits zeroed in on that tiny bundle of nerves, circling it and causing you to cry out his name.

The loud slap of his metal exterior against your skin became louder than the noises of your slick sex. You could still feel his optics on you, scanning your back, watching your movements for any sign of pain. He was still not too far gone to cease his protectiveness over you.

Soon you felt an orgasm building, and you wouldn’t be caught off guard this time. The growing tightness within your abdomen, that coil of heat there threatening to snap at any moment. You could hear Optimus venting from behind you a lot louder now. Between his thrusts he’d groan and say something in his native language that you couldn’t possibly understand. His frame ran hot as his spike bullied through every tight clench of your walls, tip of it leaking beads of thick pre-transfluid against your cervix indicating his soon coming overload.

Then your legs began to weaken, moans got louder and you finally felt it. That knot within you unraveled causing your hands to tightly grab the blankets below you. Every thrust from him only made each wave of your climax stronger. Your eyes teared up and suddenly you felt his-struts snap harder against you. The walls of your cunt sucking him in with each pulse wanting to desperately milk him.

“You’re mine.” You almost just barely heard it amongst the other noises going on. He said it so calmly amongst his vents causing you to shiver. His spike twitched inside you sporadically then you felt hot thick streams of fluid spilling into you. With his continued thrusts his blue transfluid frothed out from around his spike and trailed down your thighs. He rode out his overload pistoning inside you without any clear rhythm. Following his completion, he stilled inside you. His spike depressurizing with a faint throb.

His servos caressed the sides of your hips, feeling the indentations of his prior grip on them. He looked you over, looking for any signs of damage and injury. A gasp left your mouth when his spike pulled out of you, allowing more fluid to escape. You were gently turned over onto your back, he checked again for any injuries and found none.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Your tone seemed upbeat and normal to his audio receptors. A smile on your face eased his worries. His servo entwined with your hand causing you to smile even harder. All of that tension between the two of you finally had an ending. It was quite a pleasant and unexpected one. Yet the question in your mind became what the two of you were now? Still just friends or something more?

He pulled you onto his chassis, the recent memory replaying in your head of him allowing you to ride him. Your cheeks flushed remembering the expression he made after he bottomed out inside of you. The two of you engaged in another deep kiss, his servo wrapped gently in your hair. His mouth leaving yours to whisper something to you in a language you couldn’t decipher. Whatever he said while cupping your face caused his spike to pressurize again and prod at your thigh.

Oh this was definitely something more.

[robobanger]

Optimus would be the type to fuck like if he was about to loose you later on that same day. In the sense of keeping you close, way too many hugs, way too many kisses, but with a constant back-of-the-head thought of him being too selfish for using precious time that he could be using towards the autobots cause, for his and your pleasure, but he just cannot help himself, you feel so good, he feels so good, and he just loves having you so close to him.

And you could absolutely see it on his face, he would have the most stupid face every time he was inside you, all blushed, grunting, keening and sometimes tearing up. He would hide his face with the excuse of kissing your neck and shoulder, but he would be absolutely melting, trying to not tighten his grip on you or change his pace and accidentally hurt you, truly a test to his self control.

And he would also constantly choose all of the missionary adjacent positions, not because he's a vanilla mech (which he kind of is) but because he just loves seeing those expressions on your face with every move he makes. It just reels him up.

[revelverse]

Which bot do you think would be into cockwarming? Not the mouth kind, but keeping you still on their spike while they do other tasks. Like piloting, paperwork, studying, a meeting, etc. especially if reader falls asleep sat on them and it turns into the BOT being the needy one.

Ahhh I can see so many of them loving the intimacy of it, especially if their partner is just drowsing against them while they work, completely relaxed and trusting themself to their Cybertronian. 🔞 MDNI Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Warm

MTMTE Megatron x Reader

• Stylus scratching on his datapad, his free hand shifts against your butt and he glances down at you. Rumbling softly at the sight of your eyes closed, cheek against his chassis. Knows he’s probably not the most comfortable place to sleep when he’s all hard lines and angles and everything about you is soft. So it’s an honor that you’re trusting him as you yawn, a thigh sliding against his hip as his spike pulses inside you. Venting softly as he makes another note, he knows he’s already so lost. Addicted to the feel of you, your scent and taste. The slick heat of you wrapped around his spike. Needs all of you.

• Eyes sleepily opening as his chin brushes the top of your head, you shift and are immediately aware of his spike stretching you. Making you remember you’d let him stay inside you after. Flushing as you remember his big hands on you, him shifting to his knees and then awkwardly to his peds while you’d wrapped your legs around him to try and help keep his spike from slipping free. And apparently you’d fallen asleep with him buried inside you while he’d been working.

• Servos flexing against your hip, gently squeezing to make you suck in a breath. “I’m almost done,” he growls, watching you as he keeps writing with the other hand. Feels your little hands gripping his chassis, and he can’t believe you actually managed to fall asleep with him inside you. Can’t really understand being willing to be that vulnerable and it’s humbling.

• How many times have you woken up to him shifting against your back, lifting one of your thighs before his spike stretches you? Not even after sex, just wanting to feel you. Like he’s desperate for the intimacy, to feel someone that close. To not be alone. Makes you wonder if he was lonely before. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say on a yawn, laying your chin against his chassis to look up at him.

• How can you be so completely at ease with him? Know the things he’s done and still be able to look past them? Shifting faintly under you, he growls as his spike swells and knots inside you, both of you groaning at the sensation. Didn’t mean to do that, but he can’t deny that it feels good. You feel good. “Megs,” you laugh, no real censure in your voice as his lips twitch. Should be embarrassed about that, but at this point, he’s too old to care.

• “I’ll make it up to you,” he soothes, as you wiggle slightly in his lap, feeling the faint tug where the base of his spike is swelled inside you. Because now you’re really not going anywhere any time soon. And you do enjoy the feel of him there, the intimacy of being tied together like this, his spark thrumming through you, unheard but felt. Toes curling as your foot slides against the side of his leg, it’s almost uncomfortable when he knots inside you, leaving you feeling overly full, aware of him in a way that’s inescapable as his mouth brushes your temple. “Be still,” he rumbles sounding amused when you squirm just to feel that pressure and his servos squeeze your butt in gentle reprimand.

[revelboo]

I need some awesome sauce writing with Megatron to cope with work pls T-T

Sure! 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Stress Relief

MTMTE Megatron

• “No, come here right now,” you demand and he vents, turning to frown at you and that tone. But you’re just holding out both arms where you’re sitting on his berth among your blankets as he paces. There’s no denying you. Crossing his habsuite floor, he joins you and mass shifts, vaulting up. And goes down on his knees, bending to lean his head into your lap as you laugh. “Rodimus, again?” You ask as his arms curl around you and he vents to pull your familiar scent deep.

• Hear his muffled growl at the name that shall not be spoken. His co-captain. Sliding a hand against his huge shoulder, you curl forward and rest your chin on his helm. And he’s muttering what sounds suspiciously like a threat to jettison Rodimus out an airlock as he vents against you, but you know he’s not going to follow through. “You want me to kiss it and make it better?” You whisper and his servos tighten in your robe, his head coming up so fast you have to jerk your own back to keep from getting head butted.

• “Brat,” he growls without any real heat as you laugh. Holding you, feeling you against him, he doesn’t feel his age. Doesn’t feel so much like the monster he knows he is. Because sometimes, he doesn’t really regret what he did. Doesn’t regret exposing the corruption in the Senate. Or fighting back against it, just the way he handled it. Letting the hate and anger consume him. And you shift against him, sliding into his lap to straddle him. Servos hiking up the loose, fluffy covering you’d demanded he get you from Swindle, he finds only warm skin, nothing else underneath.

• “I remembered you had a meeting with Rodimus,” you whisper, lips ghosting over his with the words. Feel those huge hands cup your hips as you lift up to kiss him and you definitely feel when he frees his spike, the heat of it against your inner thigh as you slide yourself against him. Not about to admit to touching yourself while he was gone, but he probably knows as you rock your hips to rub against him again. Getting his length slick.

• “Such a good mate,” he growls, reaching between your bodies to grip his spike so you can ease yourself down on him. Smiling as you take him deep and roll your hips, little teeth nipping at his chin. And you squeal when he shifts, your back and shoulders hitting the blankets, thighs spread to accommodate his hips as he moves against you, hips pumping. Forgetting Rodimus doodling on a datapad instead of listening to him or Magnus. Or that the bot had been humming human songs while blatantly ignoring him. Hips snapping against you, he hears you moan his name in encouragement as he takes the edge off of his frustration with your body.

[revelboo]

Invisible Monsters

MTMTE Megatron x Reader- therapy

🔞🌶️ storyline, eventual sparked reader

• Megatron is just tired. And over it. It being Rodimus. The co-captain currently on the bridge singing off key to whatever Earth music Swerve had spliced into the ship wide comm as Megatron slowly vents and reminds himself that he’s a pacifist now. So he can’t strangle Rodimus. Or push him out an airlock. Rising from his seat, he heads deeper into the ship. Toward the most irritating part of his day.

• And if it’s not Rodimus slowly trying to drive him insane, there’s always the rest of the crew. Especially Whirl. That one he can push out an airlock and he suspects everyone might clap. It doesn’t matter that they’re on a mission. An important mission. Unfortunately, this crew of misfits and pure chaos is always one second from shenanigans. His Decepticons had never been this bad.

• The latest shenanigan being a human that is now just on the ship. No one knew where it came from. Or, more likely, no one wants to admit that they had smuggled it on board at some point along the way. Which only raises more questions. Questions he isn’t interested in dealing with.

• Like whatever this is. Swallowing a groan, his optics slide from Rung to the human. More specifically the bright yellow vest the human is now wearing that declares in Cybertronian ‘Therapy Human.’ “Why?”

• Little face tipping up toward him at his deep voice, the human’s legs swing, heels thumping on the shelf Rung has perched it on. “Humans use lesser mammals for therapy. The contact is soothing to patients,” Rung says in Cybertronian.

• Ah. So the human has no idea what the vest says or what Rung has roped it into. Optics narrowing, he shakes his head and wonders what exactly Rung had told it. The mech was honest to a fault, so he wouldn’t have lied to it. Not exactly, anyway.

• “I believe we were discussing the gladiator pits of Kaon last time?” Rung adds in that infuriatingly soothing tone, crooking a servo at the human who obediently slides down from its seat to approach.

• And it’s accept the human as Rung scoops it up and thrusts it at him or let it fall and probably break all its tiny bones. So he cups his hands around it, hearing its sharp intake of breath and the strange feel of those tiny, soft hands touching his. “This is ridiculous.”

• “Humor me this one time. Now. Kaon?” Rung’s staring at him, his lips faintly curling into an almost smile. Waiting patiently.

• Heart racing, you settle yourself against the palm under you, neck craning to peek through the gaps in the servos caged over her. The first time you’d been handed to Whirl, he’d grasped you around the waist in those pinchers and amused himself by tipping you back and forth as he’d talked. It’d been a miracle you hadn’t hurled on him. The former warlord is at least being gentle.

• And his deep voice rolls over you, painting a grim picture of a brutal world you’ll never know. Of fighting for his life, heart-wrenching pain, and hard won victory. He sounds almost wistful as he reminisces, letting Rung’s questions steer the story. The first slide of a servo across your shoulders makes you stiffen for a heartbeat before you relax into the absent minded touch. You’re not under any delusions about your role. Playing therapy doggie for giant, alien robots wasn’t exactly dignified, but you didn’t mind.

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[revelboo]

Was about to sleep but then I remembered the events in RID (2015) where they revived Optimus and was wondering what if like Meg's human feeling the bond come back... Op's human goes thru the same thing cause Op got revived by the Primes..

It's like Meg's angst but worse ✨️✨️ (cause Op been ded 3 yrs before RID happened)

Context:

So basically TFP Optimus died in the movie Predacons Rising and then the events of RID (2015) happened wherein the Primes made Op go thru some kinda afterlife avatar training and when he passed the test, the Primes took part of their sparks and revived Op... kinda like some mech jesus. 😅

Just curious how TFP Op's human would deal with the bond and Op coming back after all these years 👀 I like to imagine that Op and Megs human end up having some co-parenting type of situation considering they've both lost their conjunx 🤔

Anyway thats all lol sorry for rambling

Stay healthy and hydrated always 🫡🤗

(Idk if i effed up my ask for this cause I clicked wrong earlier but uhhh if you see 2 versions of this ask my bad I fat fingered my phone 😅)

Y’all sure do like some angst 🤣

Return

RID 2015 Optimus Prime x Reader

• Everything he does is for you. To get back home. There’s no real sense of time here, no real here either. About the only constant at all is the frustration. The need to get back to you, to his home. To his son. Keeps searching for even a hint of you, but all he can sense is the ragged edges of his bond. An aching nothing where you should be. Did you survive his death? How could you have? That’s the worst part. Not knowing. All he’s sure of is that you’re not here with him. Spent so long searching, torn between hoping you’re here and hoping you survived somehow. The Primes won’t tell him, only wanting him to train. To focus. To learn.

• “Num num,” you say, dipping the spoon into gelled energon and offering it to your son, you smile tiredly when your toddler opens his mouth, little hand reaching to grab your hand impatiently. Know better than to let him have the spoon though unless you want to wear it. Though, you’ve already got some of it on you as you cradle Pax in your lap to feed him. Turning when you feel a hand grab your sleeve, you look over at the other youngling staring up at you, resting his cheek on your arm. “Are you hungry, Tron?” You ask him and he just blinks up at you, optics bright and serious before he presses his stuffed bear into your lap with Pax and runs back to his carrier. You’re guessing that’s a no.

• Still can’t understand how you’d ended up here. Why Megatron has been willing to take you and your son in. While he ignores you mostly, he does make sure you have everything you need. But he stares at Pax sometimes, expression empty. Know he and Optimus were friends before they were enemies and you wonder if he sees Optimus when he looks at Pax. Part of you wants to ask him to tell you about before. About the Optimus you never got to know. Who he’d been before the weight of responsibility and the stress of war had fallen on those broad shoulders. The words always catch in your throat, though. Knowing you’re not supposed to be here. That you shouldn’t have survived losing him.

• Had never thought he was an impatient mech, but every klik feels like an eternity. A torment. Where are you? Did you and his son survive? Pax was so tiny. Remembers how he’d looked in your arms, little servos clinging to you. His whole world. If you didn’t survive the bond getting severed, what happened to Pax? He was so helpless. Maybe he’s with Ratchet? Or one of the other Autobots. They wouldn’t have abandoned his son. He’d be safe. Pax would survive even without you or him, never knowing his sire and carrier.

• Wiping Pax’s mouth clean, your fingers tremble faintly. Sometimes it hurts to look at him. Those optics just like his sire’s. His little finials almost the same. Cupping his cheek in your hand, you lower your head to brush a kiss against his helm. “Hey.” Head lifting, you smile at the other human, letting them drape a blanket over your shoulders. Do they pity you? They’d survived Megatron’s temporary death, but the warlord had come back to them. For a long time, you’d been sure Optimus would, too. That he’d just walk through the door, smiling sheepishly like he’d gotten busy and let the time get away from him. And your shoulders shake as you start crying again. Hating that you keep falling apart even after years. Feel them sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you cry and their son crawls into your lap with Pax, whining softly. Almost hating them because Megatron came back, because they’re happy and you’re grieving still.

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