I second a pt2 of Tease, yes, please! But more Autobots, please 🙏🏽 🙏🏽 🙏🏽 Cons are good too but just. Love the guilt but still refusing to stop what they're doing. Also, have you ever considered yandere Mirage? He feels like an obvious choice considering his abilities 💕
Yeah! a couple of you wanted more Autobots. Still doing the cons version of this, just this one got started sooner so I finished it first. And I made Mirage extra guilty for you nonnie. Almost overwhelming lust and desire how I adore writing you.
"Tease" pt2 GN BOT Reader x [Yandere/Obsessed] Sunstreaker, Mirage, Hound, Skyfire, Jazz
Summary: The bots snap. Or BOT Reader gets their valve pounded.
Genre/Theme: Yandere Smut 🔞 MDNI
G1 Characters: Sunstreaker, Mirage, Hound, Skyfire, Jazz
Notes: Reader wants to frag but thought it would be more fun to tease the bots while playing coy. The bots don't know this, however, hence the CNC instead of NC or Dubious consent because they think its full NC from their perspective, Jazz is the only one who gets consent here (After he starts grabbing though), Reader is specifically described as smaller than Skyfire (But even Optimus is half Skyfires size so y’know). Spike and valve terms used.
Sunstreaker’s sparkdamn digits are twitching and he’s clenching his fists hard enough to ache when his need of waiting for you to get with the program already hits a peak.
His maintenance and polishing efforts both came with the reward of your frame looking even better than before- Of course it did-! Sunstreaker knew what he was doing! But he didn’t think that would also come coupled together with his processor taking even more notice of you and your frame. And how you’d move, talk, and look that good like that, while still fragging not getting the obvious hints that Sunstreaker needed wanted you-!
He thinks he might just grab you the next time he sees you alone and drag you right back to his habsuite and show you exactly how lucky you were.
Sunstreaker can feel his sparkdamn engine running hot enough it's audible as he stomps his way to the washracks after the battle. The thrill of the fight still pumping in his fuel lines and from being slagged off over the sparkdamm decpticreeps ruining his finish with mud!
He barges into the empty wash racks and is so mad he just picked a rack in the back. And he scrubs and scrubs. He Ignores whoever decided to turn on the shower right next to him. He's clean of the outer layer of muck and his paint was-
He jerks when a low groan of pleasure comes from right next to him.
And he looks right at you.
You sigh in obvious enjoyment and let the solvents spray over yourself- solvents covering and rolling down the gaps of your frame-
Sunstreaker’s battle mode switches on and it’s a blur of tight servos and sudden grappling and he's eventually got you pinned against one of the walls. Hot solvents running down the both of you. One of your legs had ended up over his pauldron during the scuffle- Fight him for it- whatever! Sunstreaker was done waiting!
He doesn't remember ripping your modesty panel open, or his digits in your valve, but he does remember bottoming out inside you almost immediately. Digits clamped firm around the dips in your hips as he curses while your valve flutters around him. Your digits digging into his own frame tight enough it aches isn’t enough to stop Sunstreaker from picking an unforgiving pace.
You could only cry out when he started slamming himself back inside you again and again. Primus, you shouldn’t feel this good-! Your valve squeezes down on him and Sunstreaker grits his denta and grabs your jaw before yanking your mouth against his own. Your denta knock against his own and it stings, but not nearly as much as your digits do. His glossia presses against your own trying to get everything out of you he can- every sound, every gasp, every nip of your denta. You bite him back roughly and he tastes his own energon. His engine revs hard enough his entire chassis vibrates against your own.
You whine against him when he suddenly stops on his next trip bottoming out to grind his pelvis against your own- your pede almost slips out underneath yourself on the solvent still running over the both of you. So Sunstreaker just grabs your thigh and hefts your other leg up in his grip. Your dermas break apart and your back slides against the wall with a harsher sound of your metal against it. You curse and scramble for a better hold onto his frame at the complete weight shift- And the solvent makes you both go slipping and falling against one another against and down the wall.
Sunstreaker’s knees hit the ground and you hiss in a vent but Sunstreaker just pushes forward to press you fully back against the wall he has you trapped against.
Your pedes are almost to your pauldrons the way he’s forcing you to bend and you say his designation-! Sunstreaker doesn’t wait to hear what you might have said- too worried about more important things. Like how your valve is even wetter than before while taking his spike and how good you sound moaning his designation. His hips snap, picking right back up to his original pace- making you say his designation over and over, while your frames ground against each other with each thrust. Sunstreaker knew your paints were rubbing on him- That his yellow was bleeding right into your own colors-!
And Sunstreaker suddenly doesn’t think he’s going to let you buff it out afterwards.
Mark you-! Make it clear who was fragging you senseless enough that your paints were mixing together in an uncoordinated mess. Mixing together sloppy like how your lubricant is mixing with his own-! Slipping down his own array and frame every time he bottomed back out inside you. Your expression a filthy fragging sight, when you looked like you were obviously about to overload right on his spike. Sunstreaker growls at the image and rushes forward to lock you into another smothering kiss. He swallows down the muffled groan out of you when one of his servos finds your spike and he jerks you off rapidly as his pace turns uncoordinated.
His overload hits him so hard Sunstreaker feels like one of his spark plugs might’ve just popped loose. At least it feels like it when his engines practically roaring in his own audials. You bite down on him and fold against him while your spike throbs in his servo. And Sunstreaker wants to fragging drown you in his em field when yours finally starts pushing back against his own.
When he breaks the kiss you’re both venting harsh and Sunstreaker can already see his yellow streaked against your chassis. Your own colors marking him just the same.
Any ounce of the pristine effort Sunstreaker had busted his aft to ensure of your paint job was practically an after thought now. The solvent makes some of your own transfuild start running down your frame and your twitching spike. Expression thoroughly fragged out of it and you looked like you were struggling to even think.
You’re a fragging mess.
Sunstreaker actually feels his engine start to purr at the sight of you. Of what he fragging did to you.
And Sunstreaker suddenly thinks he hasn’t ruined your paint job nearly enough for as long as you’ve been making him work for this.
You saying his designation so out of it, only makes his spark jump in excitement and his spike to throb inside you. You grunt and Sunstreaker just gets a proper grip back onto your frame so he can bottom right back out inside you again. You clawing the paint right off his sides with a grunt only makes him more heated.
Sunstreaker wasn’t going to stop until he knew his yellow wasn’t going to be coming out of your frame without a serious repaint!
(Now Mirage might be later in this list but unfortunately it turns out he cannot keep himself out of your habsuite.)
Mirage knows very well he shouldn't be doing this. Mirage isn't some- filthy pervert-! He's just... worried! Concerned! You've been so- tantalizing as of late, Mirage knows very well some of the other mechs in The Ark could possibly take advantage of you! He's simply checking in on you.
And he's certainly right to do so, because you'd left the door to your habsuite unlocked. Completely and utterly up for anybody on The Ark to walk in and snoop. Or take something of yours- and if you were here when that happened, then what could they have done to you!? It's good he can stop it. Good he can prevent anyone from getting any dastardly ideas or anything else of the sort.
But then you return before he can make his own exit and you do at least lock the door behind yourself… Which locked him in with you.
Mirage didn't allow himself to... shadow you like this with his outlier ability activated very often. (Because he's not some dastard degenerate!) But he's here… and so are you and he can't exactly leave now without you noticing.
So instead he watches you sit on your berth and Mirage waits.
He can't exactly do much else now can he-
Mirage almost gives himself away then and there when you abruptly snap your modesty panel back.
Your array is- active already. Very active.
Your own spike pressurizing is enough to make you audibly sigh in relief. Mirage swallows so loudly at the sight he's genuinely shocked you didn’t realize he was there. You do look in his direction- but after a few astroseconds you dismiss it, not seeing a thing out of place. Mirage preemptively puts his own servo over his faceplate in case he cannot stop himself soon enough again. His optics running over the detailing on your array- (And maybe- maybe he ends up unconsciously moving closer.)
So Mirage watches you shuffle through your things and- almost gives himself away again when you pull out a false spike. Then he watches you spread your thighs apart and line the toys tip up with your valve.
Mirage has to smother down the sound begging for exit at his intake when you take the toy down to base in one go.
Primus-!
Your valve continues to take the toy every single time you’d push it back inside yourself. Mesh and hole obediently accommodating to take it down to base every single time. The obscene amount of lubricant you were producing made the task look laughably easy. His array was already waking up when you pulled your panel back- now his own thighs are twitching inward over the amount of charge steadily building the longer he watches you desecrate yourself.
Mirage’s own array is throbbing behind his panelby the time you're panting. Languidly thrusting the toy in and out of your own hole, completely unaware of what you were doing to him.
You eventually pull the false spike out- lubricant all over the thing and your own valve mesh. Valve fluttering over nothing for a klick- utterly empty (but practically begging for spike-!). You instead roll onto your side to focus on your spike with your free servo moving to start stroking over your frame sensually.
Mirage’s optics unwillingly zero in onto the back of your valve- inner thighs practically soaked in your own valve lubricant.
Mirage swallows again-
And he suddenly finds he cannot stop his frame from acting on its own.
Mirage had- Mirage had gotten behind you on your own berth, settling on his own side- before burying himself against the back of your frame and pressing a servo over your mouth in one motion. You jolted in surprise, his other servo hooking underneath your knee juncture and pushing it upwards.
A muffled sound of utter shock hums against his palm when he pushes his spike into your waiting valve. Replacing the false spike just as easily.
He doesn’t even hesitate before he starts thrusting proper.
This is wrong- this is wrong-! Mirage was better than this! He's so much better than this. But- you squeezing down on him further only makes him pick up his tempo. You- you're so pent up that you were dripping your own pre lubricants on the inside of your own modesty panel! You hadn't even touched yourself before any of that activity had taken place in your array. You were desperate, bucking against the inadequate interface toy and your own servos.
Mirage was just- you just needed some assistance-! That's all this was! (Mirage unfortunately can't delude himself enough into genuinely believing the fabrication.) You were barely struggling against him-! Instead taking his spike everytime. You feel perfect-!
Making all that muffled noise behind his servo- He desperately wants to pull it away to hear you. Hear what sounds you make for him when his spike bottoms out in you so roughly. But he's also terrified of what you may very well say. Mirage doesn't believe he'd be able to control himself enough to actually stop if you'd asked him to right now-!
Mirage’s digit pads squeeze tighter against the under of your thigh he still has hiked upwards, and he starts snapping his hips quicker. Your valve aroused enough- you're aroused enough, that it takes his harsher treatment with no protests. (Protests no doubt on your glossia instead. Mirage knows they're there- he knows-!)
A muffled noise sounds out of your throat when Mirage must strike your ceiling node on his next thrust forward. And Mirage can’t stop himself from hoisting your thigh further upwards and burying his frame closer against your back. Almost as if he can somehow get even closer to you then before.
Your digits dig into his arm unforgivably tight. But still he only huffs and gasps; your designation tumbling out of his mouth.
Mirage doesn't bother trying to restrain himself to stay silent anymore- why would he!? You wouldn't think the invisible mech spiking you unforgivably from behind could possibly be anybody other than himself! Your noises keep catching against his servo and picking up to the point every jump of his hips forces another sound out of you. His invisibility flicks off and he becomes tangible again when you claw some of his paint right off of his gauntlet.
Your valve squeezes down on him and you overload with a sharp muffled cry, spike spilling transfluid onto your own berth. Your spinal strut arching (away from him-), and your plating clamps down on itself. Your grip on his arm might have your entire servo print dented into it at this point-! Mirage wants to know-needs to know what you sound like- but he can't face what he's done yet-! (What he's still doing-!)
So instead he drags you back closer against his chassis and makes sure his servo won't slip away from your mouth before he starts bucking into you with a wild abandon. Each rough meeting of your aft with his pelvis makes you only louder behind his palm. You’re so aroused from just both your lubricants it sounds as if he’d already overloaded inside you!
Mirage grits his denta together harshly, before bottoming out and keeping his hold on you tight. His overload washes over him hard enough his audials are left ringing. Each pump of his spike spilling more of his transfluid into you. You’re left making repeated sounds against him while he overloads inside of you- Valve squeezing down on him periodically, which he knows only makes his transfliud slip deeper inside your valve! Mirage has to abort a whine when it escapes his intake at the thought- so loud and disgraceful it makes his plating tighten back down on itself in mortification.
By the time he relaxes again he's left venting and your valves throbbing around his spike. He finally forces his servo to pull away from your mouth and you gasp in greedy vents. The air fogging from the heat of it, and your optics so so bright. Mirage can feel his spike throb inside you when his designation falls out of your disheveled self and his hips end up bucking up instinctively once more. You grunt and curse and squeeze down on him- and Mirage decides if he's going to face what he's done regardless, he's not going to stop at the single round-!
There wasn't a reason to try and control himself now was there-? He's already ruined everything! Mirage might as well enjoy you while he still can-! His designation falling out of your derma again when Mirage moves only makes him thrust harder after. You latch your servos back onto him tight and moan- which sends another hot volt of charge right into his array.
Mirage still needed to hear your voice while you were overloading on his spike.
Mirage was going to satisfy your frame enough that you won’t be walking around The Ark with your array begging for satisfaction ever again.
Hound doesn’t know if he can keep himself together for much longer. After he'd stolen your cleaning cloth he'd used it day after day till your scent wore out of it. Eventually he managed to look you in the optics again. And Hound was faced by the fact that something was very wrong with him in regards to you. Every touch, glance, and brush of your frame by his own had heat building in his array near immediately in response to it. It was like every little movement of your frame was suddenly provocative.
Hound knows he shouldn't have indulged in your dirty cleaning cloth! The perverted fantasies had only made him worse!
You're both doing some basic inventory sorting together on the ark. (Hound already fighting to continue to be normal while alone with you.). Then the extra gear shift you're holding slips out of your servo and goes rolling right underneath a panel gap in one of the Arks walls. You curse and go after it, Hound watches you go before he looks down to type what he needs to on the datapad wondering if he should offer to help or not.
Hound glances up at you and almost drops the datapad right onto the floor.
You had gotten on your knees and servos to try and get the small equipment out of where it had rolled. Your aft up in the air and modesty panel visible to Hound. You back up about your arms length away from the wall and drop your helm- obviously trying to see where it had gone. But all Hound can see is the gap where the manual release on your modesty panel is.
Hound wordlessly puts the datapad down and walks over, getting on his own knees behind you- because Hound was going to help you get the gear shift-!
But next thing Hound knows he had grasped your hips from behind and dragged you backwards. Yanking your manual release and spiking you right there in the inventory room. You felt so good around him he also couldn’t help the way his hips rut sharply.
Now Hound's got his helm buried against your back or neck cables. (or leaning over you if he's that much bigger than you) But regardless his servos are latched onto your hips. Hound’s huffing and puffing against your metal. His own vents so heated from the burning warmth in his frame- your metals now got condensation fogging where he's against. It drips down your frame and you’re gasping and huffing. His spike almost bottoming out. His spike modification preventing him from being fully inside of you-! Primus he's loosing it! He can't help it-! Please please be okay taking it- taking him-!
When his modification hits the mesh of your valve again Hound yanks you backwards with a muttered repeated gasps of "Sorry-!” when he hears the noise of shock out of you. But his knot gets half way through and then slides the rest of the way in with a quick pop. His pelvis bumps into the back of your aft and Hound bites down on you. Hound groans so loud he's sure you can feel the sound vibrate against where he's sinking his denta into you. You shudder and Hound can feel your knees wanna start sliding but his knot catches slightly on your hole. It starts pulling out of you-!
Hound pulls back, his knot catching lightly on your hole but it still pops out when Hound jerks. You're huffing and the plating on your back plates are shuffling up.
Hound relaxed his jaw and he laps a greedy strip along the condensation he'd built up on your metal. Hound can't help the moan that spills out of him while he's tasting you and huffing in your own natural scent.
You grunt and suck in a sharp vent, when Hound forcibly pushes his knot back into you again. And Hound doesn't stop his practically abusing of your hole. He’s sorry-! He’s so sorry! The apologies die in his own throat when he groans over how good you feel. He wants to stop-! (He doesn’t.) He swears! He swears-!
A strangled noise escaping you only had Hound slamming into you quicker- Hound popping his knot back into your valve easier and easier every time he pushed and pulled it back out of you in between his hurried thrusts. The sloppy sound of your valve taking his knot again and again- His pelvis starts smacking against your aft audibly in his hurried thrusts.
Primus-!
Hound keeps muttering your designation again and again; the sound practically falling out of his mouth every push and pull of his knot. He can’t stop-! He can’t.
Hound then pulled up from where he was nestled flat against your back. Because he needs a better leverage angle!
Hound frame leers over your own and he grips his digits between the gap between your pelvis and your thigh armor. You groaned loudly in response to the sensitive wires and seams being bumped by the tips of his digits-! He needs more of you-! Hound bottoms out one last time, knot slipping inside you, and Hound ends up overloading the hardest he has in vorns. His mouth falls open and a long drawn out groan that makes his spark hum loud, falls out of it. His knot throbs along with his spike- having inflated and promptly locking his spike inside you.
By the time his knot deflates after a few klicks, your face is in your own gauntlets by the ground.
You’re both panting and both of your platings shuddering almost audibly. Hound bites his bottom derma but that still doesn't end up muffling his moan when he pulls out of you. A raspy sharp noise sounds out of you when his knot pulls your hole open again. But your valve finally let's go with a wet pop, the rest of his spike sliding out along with.
Hound straightens his back out so he's not leaning over you finally and he catches sight of your soaking wet valve that's now spilling his transfluid out onto the floor. Your spent spikes still twitching under you. Your own transfluid from your spike ends up getting muddled together with Hound's own when it keeps spilling out of you.
Hound whines and his spike twitches in interest again.
He just- Hound needed just another round or two to make sure his modesty panel will close correctly. Hound can see your own spike is still hard and ready to go. And Hound couldn't simply leave you like this-!
Hound Lined himself back up and gasped when he slid his spike back home- you’re clawing and flexing against the ground at the treatment.
Hound can’t help the way his engine revs when you say his designation like that. Nor can he stop himself from rutting forward with more vigor.
It’s an arduous and near impossible task for Skyfire to end up surviving this long but he does.
He does his job- he flys, he transports- he does his occasional experiments. And he just knows something bad may just end up happening (That he might do something horrible-!).
Skyfire- Skyfire didn’t know what was wrong with himself and his growing- obsession with you. Every glance, every move, every shift of your plating had Skyfire fighting to act properly! It had gotten to the point Skyfire even had Perceptor examine him and nothing came back amiss. Nothing.
But nothing wasn’t what was driving his digits to twitch and his thoughts to wander so wildly- so dirty-! It was you and Skyfire knows he can’t blame you- (You didn’t know. You didn’t know!)
He’s in the lab- trying to research earth marine mammals because of something Chip had said that sparked his interest. And you come in, ask him where something was- (he can’t even recall what it was initially!). But it was on one of the top storage shelves lining the wall. Skyfire doesn’t even allow himself to turn around and face you when informing you where it was.
But he can’t help snapping his helm in your direction when you ask for his help.
The item was just barely out of your reach. So Skyfire clenches his servos and walks over. You stay in your place directly under the item and Skyfire simply got slightly closer. And he reached-
His optics snap downwards when your em field drags warmly over his front due to proximity. You’re staring up at him watching, waiting-. Your frame close enough Skyfire can feel you regardless of the lack of direct contact.
And then Skyfire does something horrible.
Skyfire’s servo abandons the item back in place on it’s shelf.
And instead his servos fly onto your frame instead. You gasp at his sudden touch and say his designation in confusion. And Skyfire can’t stop himself- he can’t- he can’t-!
He’d found your manual release on your array (His digits almost too large to even catch onto it correctly-!) and pulled it and-
Now Skyfire’s here apologizing.
He’s cooing, and his em field is brushing down the ruffled up plating on your frame. And now almost half his spike is sitting heavy inside your poor valve! You weren’t even his size class-! Oh, Primus, why did he do this-!? A shaky moan tumbles out of your mouth and his plating quivers. His spike throbs inside you when you make an almost sinful sound and Skyfire can feel the more coherent part of his processor forcibly shutting down.
So Skyfire swallows down the lump in his throat because you’re so sweet-! You sound so sweet. You feel fantastic! His servos on your hips squeeze for some type of tether. Tether to keep him here and not lose himself in the sensation- in the sensation of you and force you to take even more of his feelings for you-!
Your em field presses back against his own and you whine. He can spot your own now pressurized spike starting to bead pre lubricant-
And you’re cute and perfect-!
Skyfire tries and fails to bite back a whine of his own all before he pushes forward again. Your spinal strut arches further and a sharp sound of alarm comes from you. Your servos scrambling- One finds its hold on one of the shelves, the other gripping his wrist tight enough your digit pads would certainly be left behind. (He wants that-! Skyfire wants that so badly. Skyfire needs to be marked as yours!) Half his spike does slide into your valve and Skyfire forces his hips to stop. He didn’t want to hurt you! Didn’t-
You unsteadily manage to stutter out his designation. And his optics snap wide and again he can’t- he can’t-! “I’m sorry-! I’m sorry-!” His hips pull back and his spike forces you back open yet again- and Skyfire is still a slave to his terrible desires so he doesn’t stop once he starts.
At some point, the apologies falling out of his mouth end up becoming praise. “So good! Doing such a good job!” You're being too good for him-! Taking his spike and all his overwhelming affections without any complaints-!
You’re left taking everything Skyfire is forcing on you- his em field trying to make up for every rough bounce. His servos squeezing and threatening to mark you back with his own prints. His indefeasible apologies- And his spike sliding back into your valve and smacking up against your deeper pleasure nodes. Skyfire can tell when your frame flexes in his grip and you choke on your own voice. You’re taking him so well-!
You’re gasping and mewling at this point, clenching down on him to no avail, Skyfire still just forcibly dragging you backwards to meet his own relentless pace. Skyfire’s helm is foggy and he bites down on his bottom derma so he doesn’t get any louder-! He still keens when you groan richly as his spike hits what must be your ceiling node the right way. Your valves a mess of his and your own pre lubricants and you’re saying his designation and begging-!
Skyfire grits his denta and grips your waist firm enough he knows he’s marked you and slams himself inside you in quick desperate bucks- and Skyfire groans loudly when he overloads. You follow right after him squirming in his hold and squeezing down on him- And Skyfire may overheat-!
By the time his overload finishes Skyfire finally slacks and pants in heavy deep vents. You’re quivering slightly in his grasp and your transfluid is splattered all over one of the shelf’s and the contents on it. While his own is spilling down his and your thighs and dripping onto the ground-! Skyfire has to pull out of you- But he’s a touch busy murmuring apologies while trying to soothe the dents he’d left on your waist. Even though the urge to continue bouncing you up and down his spike wasn’t diminished in the slightest. The small used sounded out of you only make him feel even worse-
But it’s not only shame that builds back up inside himself under the sight of your disheveled state.
He still vents deep before forcing himself to start pulling back out of you- You keen and flex in his grip when his spike slowly drags back out along your pleasure nodes and overworked valve. You groan somwhere deep from your frame- and Skyfire has to bolt himself in place so he doesn’t end up forcing you to take the entirely of his spike in one forceful push back forward.
Forget harming you, he may just out right break you if he does that-!
The filthy thought of staying buried inside you long enough your valve adjusts to only be satisfied with his spike has his thighs tighten down so he doesn’t even entertain the perverted thought.
However Skyfire’s spike sinking a fraction deeper into you with his transfluid acting as extra lubricant certainly doesn't help him in fighting that urge any.
(On the flip side heres a mech that actually makes it to top five on keeping themselves together in the face of this particular advisory.)
There’s running on fumes and running on empty when it comes to missions. And right now Jazz felt like he was running on empty. Well not empty- but what he was running on wasn’t helping what he very very much needed to avoid thinking of- avoid doing. Maybe it was his little video he’d taken of you, His new prized possession of you taking care of your sweet self in that little hide away of The Arks hallway.
But after it Jazz starts noticing all sorts of things about ya- like the way your plating would ease when you thought no one was looking (Showing off seams begging to be touched-). The way your servo would drag when you touched him like you were second guessing if you even wanted to let him go (baby, don’t think about it- Touch him properly finally and he’ll never let you think about it again.)
It gets to the point Jazz starts thinking you might even be goading him on purpose.
But Jazz knows his strengths and weaknesses and he knows you’re his biggest weakness. He can’t let it cloud his judgments and ruin the relationship he even had with you now. So Jazz fists his servos and forces his struts to lock in place when he notices how good you look and how close you happened to be- And he instead records through his visor. And now he’s been combining the videos he has saved with the audio of you overloading in the hallway thinking you were alone. It helps a bit, but he can feel whats gripping his spark only windin’ tighter and tighter-
His spark finally pops free of the iron grip he’d had on it the entire time when he’s in your habsuite- You invited him when he mentioned he had a couple new tunes he really liked- and could show you if you wanted. You had a make shift couch made outta concrete in front of a short table in there and you were sitting by him- close enough Jazz could feel your em field curiously ghosting against the edge of his own- and Jazz already knows he’s playing a dangerous game.
And then you stand and bent over the short table to grab the cube you’d left over by a shelf across before you’d both settled in- And Jazz is greeted to your aft almost directly in his face. He can’t just see your modesty panel, he can see the lining of your modesty panel.
But what makes his spark finally slam free is your leg shifting just a bit so you can reach your cube properly. And your pede and leg end up pressing up against the side of his own. And its like a volt of energy shoots right up his leg and into his processor before he can even realize what’s happening.
And his servos snap out and grab to yank you until you re falling back and in his lap and against his front- and his digits are digging into your manual release- Jazz manages to barely get enough of himself back under control to ask if this was fine when his digit pads were already pressed firm into the detail of your manual release- (Baby please be okay- please be okay with him wanting ya-!).
Jazz actually getting that consent from you before he ruins the entire operation only makes his own panel snap back before he even finishes getting yours open. Because Sparkdamn you want him- you want him! You want him-! His spark feels like its about to burn a hole in his chassis when he gets his digits inside of you. You letting him touch you- You letting him just do this had his array dripping with pre lubricants. Jazz turns his audials as high as they can go so he hears every little even slight sound out of ya- And all it takes is one proper saying of his designation and he’s pulling his digits out and biting down his bottom derma.
You get your own thighs under yourself and Jazz grips your hips to guide his array to slot up with yours right- And Jazz groans when you let him drag you downwards to bottom out inside of ya. Primus, baby, you two haven’t even started and you already got him feeling like he’s gonna offline here. Jazz’s imagination ain’t nothing compared to how you feel taking his spike just right.
You actually end up taking initiative before he can- just an astrosecond quicker though. You pull upwards on your own thighs and Jazz ends up bucking upwards halfway through the process- making him bottom back out quick. Jazz moans when you squeeze down on him. “Doing- Doing great sweetspark.” You were already scrambling his systems real easy like. Jazz runs his optics over your back plating making sure to get a good look at everything so his recording of this would be remembered in more than just his fragging struts.
Jazz is meeting every bounce of your hips as well as he can anyway based on your position. The gravity pulling your pelvis back down. Every hot slide back up his spike almost as urging as Jazz’s own servos. Digits digging into the armor of your hips- trying to get a better leverage to have you taking more of him faster- The tempo dissolves into a needy and hurried one. Quick but it’s still not enough for him- Not enough to quiet the demanding want that’s been bubbling up under his plating for who knows how long.
Your lubricant from you sitting in his lap is rolling down jazz’s own thighs- His own valve slick rolling down to join it where its staining his inner thighs. You still take him sweet- almost as sweet as your sounds. Delicious but also still what Jazz would label as controlled. And that just wasn’t gonna fly for him- especially right now.
Jazz needed more from ya baby!
Jazz ends up hooking his servos under your thighs before he all but shoves you forward and you curse and land on your short table on your gauntlets- aft up and asking him what the pit that was over your pauldron.
All before Jazz follows after you, grabbing you by your hips and buries his spike back down to base into your valve from behind. And Jazz starts putting everything he’s had for ya kept under wraps right into pounding you. You curse when his impatient pace has you scrambling to grab the edge of the table for stability. And it helps- You squeezing down on him- being deeper inside of ya and being able to make you louder if he thrusts the right way. Primus, Jazz’s own point of view is making him feel like he’s pounding till you won’t forget him. So maybe you’d remember this just as easy even if you didn’t have your own recording of it.
You’re valves hot and treating him just right- But Jazz still needed you better. He knew he could get you louder! He knew-!
One of Jazz’s pedes thunks up on the table besides you and Jazz uses it as better leverage to bury his spike even deeper into you. You almost howl when Jazz does it- Frame flexing underneath him and valve squeezing down in him in delight. And Jazz grins while his engine revs loud- because that’s what he needs-! That’s what he needs from ya baby! His next vent is so heavy and heated it has his chassis shaking a bit when it leaves him all before he keeps pounding right into you.
Jazz can practically feel himself slamming into your celiing node on his thrusts back inside you and his sparks slamming into his spark chamber every time along with it. Or maybe that’s the sound of your table rocking every time he bottoms back out inside ya. But you sound so good taking him like this Jazz just keeps going. You were too good to him-! Taking him so good-!
His rhythm degrading quick when you just start saying his designation like that again and again-! Jazz’s servo ends up latching onto your upper frame as he thrusts start getting sloppy. Jazz overloads and he can’t stop slamming into ya- But by the way your gasping only makes him glad he’s fragging you through it. His own servo reaching around and finding your spike to milk through it too makes Jazz think he might have to have the sound you make in response grafted right into his main frame.
His hips slow eventually and Jazz feels like he’s gonna slip down somewhere deep in his own data banks and maybe not come out of it. Your holes a mess of his transfluid- spilling down and on your table from his own enthusiasm. His own frame very uppity on the fact he’d just put that much effort into railing you into your own table. HUD giving him warnings about turning his own fans higher and Jazz just laughs huffy. He turns them higher and watches your own servos twitch against the tables edge you’re still gripping like a lifeline.
Then Jazz almost completely pulls out of you- making sure to focus in on your valve still fluttering around him. And how more of his transfluid starts spilling out of your valve. Your own spike twitching beneath you heavy, pressing against your only table and the small puddle of transfluid there. Before he slides back home with a purpose. Loving the way you sound for him when he does it.
Jazz had a good- ah, he didn’t know- a couple gigs of data worth of recording space open in his saved recordings slots. And baby he’s so sparkdamn happy you’re willing to help him fill them.
Can I please get IDW Mirage? I NEED that old money gentleman of an alien carnally like I need to eat him up, trust I am a ride he will NOT survive.
Sure! 🔞 MDNI 🌶️
Needy
IDW Mirage x Reader
• Venting raggedly as you do a little turn for him, the frothy bit of sheer lace and velvet trim he’d picked out for you flirts with your upper thighs and doesn’t do much to hide what’s underneath. Flashing him illicit hints of all your secrets. And it’s getting harder every day to keep his hands off of you. To not fantasize about pinning you on your belly among your many plush pillows and claiming you.
• “How does it look?” You ask as those optics hungrily slide over you, his cheek propped on a fist. ‘Absolutely darling as always,’ he purrs and that unspoken tension between you stretches taut. Every day you feel it a little more acutely. The way he fusses over you, ghosts his servos against you to help you try on outfits for him, his touch lingering heats your blood. Makes you wonder if you’re the only one that feels it. And you aren’t really sure if you’re only his companion he dotes on anymore.
• Shouldn’t imagine the things he does. Like you sprawled among your pillows, thighs slick with his excess. Lips swollen from his kisses. What kind of sounds do you make lost in pleasure? How would you feel wrapped around his spike. Tired of imagining you as he fists his spike in the wash rack, his overloads hollow when he wants the real thing. Thieving garments you’ve worn and venting against them to pull your scent deep as he strokes himself. Sometimes when he’s weak, mass shifting and rutting against your pillows while you’re washing yourself, imagining your skin soapy and wet. It’s shameful.
• Wish you could get him to see you as more than just a distraction to fawn over. Because you’re in love with his low, cultured voice, that indulgent smile. You’ve felt those big warm hands on you, helping you dress or undress in barely there touches. And you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have those hands catch and pin your wrists. To feel that body move against yours. To straddle him and ride him until he loses that careful composure. Want to hear him groan and growl, to lose control. Want to be the one that unravels him.
• Looking away as you meet his optics, he wonders what you’d think of him if you knew how thin a line he’s walking. That sometimes you wake him up scenting like heat and need and it’s all he can do to not cover you. Release his spike and put his mouth on you. His hands. Claim you so thoroughly you’re both exhausted. To be a little deviant. A little uncultured and wild. “Be a dear and try this one for me, won’t you?” He asks, finding a loose, silken covering and offering it to you. Spike aching as you flush and pull the other one off over your head and he looks away. Seeing the shape of you from the corner of his optic as you try on the new covering and he hurts for more. For everything.
Bonus!: Complimenting their alt-mode and transformation is seen as hardcore flirting back on Cybertron, personal hc, but I thought it was fun to include:)
Note: Please lmk if the ‘read more’ doesn’t work as I’ve has some problems with it on mobile lately! I feel like I might’ve written too much for this one. Also, OOC for a few of them but oh well:) I’m just here for fun lol
CW/TW: MDNI, SFW but suggestive especially Rodimus, gender neutral human reader, some established relationships and some not! (Yet;), I clarified which were newly established and which weren’t by the character names!
Characters: Optimus, Jazz, Mirage, Ironhide, Rodimus, First Aid, Vortex, Hound
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Optimus - not established but is after
The echoing sound of the bases massive garage doors opening has you curiously walking down the halls to the main warehouse, where Prime had just pulled in after going on a supply run with Arcee and Bumblebee. You stay mostly out of the way, the other mechs at base helping to unload his trailer while you head to the front of Ops truck mode to catch up after the long day, eager to hear his gruff but soothing voice.
You two share small talk about your days, he’s telling funny stories from the supply run and you complain about the paper work you’d had to complete, needing to go through annoying phone calls to complete it. His presence soothes any ache from work away too quickly though, it has you noting how your crush on the leader seems to have become much more difficult to sweep under the rug and keep hidden, even earning knowing looks and nudges from some of the other bots.
Within no time the team is done unloading everything, and you make way for Ops to transform, eager to finally catch a glimpse as he doesn’t let you come on patrols or missions with him for safety reasons, so you hadn’t seen it before.
Perched atop one of the raised warehouse walkways after scurrying up one of the long ramps, you’ll be about chassis level with him now.
He detaches his trailer after backing it into the normal spot- red and blue metal plates begin to shift and move across his body, interconnecting with other pieces of metal, his tires rotate then flip sideways and his exhaust pipes move further towards his back as he stands to full height, taking a few steps towards the walkway you’re perched on to face you, (well, mostly.) He looks so leader-like. Confident and caring nature seeping off him in an aura.
And here you are, too stunned to speak, shocked at how intricate and intriguing his transformation was and you can’t seem to stop gawking from your position, now eyeing his chassis before staring up at him, mouth slightly agape.
He lets out a little confused grunt, expression the equivalent of furrowing his eyebrows, “Are you alright?” He sounds concerned, you’ve been staring for a solid minute now and you’re very warm when he reaches to place a large servo on your back. “Do you need me to take you somewhere private?” You shake your head to break your trance, heart rate a bit higher than it should be, and you realize he probably thinks he’s scared you or something. “Oh, no no! I’m fine, just a little shocked is all-“ His servo is checking your temperature now, “Your transformation is just fascinating, I haven’t seen it before.” His lips part a bit, and he vents inwards almost imperceptibly, a little shocked at your words. It’s been a while since he’s received a compliment like that, let alone someone flirting with him, even more so that someone being you, the human he’d taken interest in romantically but had yet to do anything about.
He lightly shakes his helm, optics shutting off for a klik while he gives you a small chuckle, low and rough. He pets his servo down from your head to your back lovingly. “Thank you, I appreciate that. And I’m glad you’re alright.”
You notice Jazz- who was very well aware of your feelings for Ops- out of the corner of your eye, and before you can even respond to Optimus, Jazz is cupping his servos around his mouth yelling from the other side of the warehouse, “That’s some hardcore flirting where we’re from!” And you see Ratchet shove his head forward so he walks away, cackling his aft off down the hall.
You stiffen in his servo, painfully aware that Optimus can feel how warm you’re getting again and see how flustered you are, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I mean I do mean it, I just-“ He finds your stammering cute as it is unnecessary, happy to have received any praise from you at all but still planning to give Jazz a lecture for putting you on the spot.
“It’s alright, no need to worry.” Does he know his voice is that soothing? Is he doing it on purpose? The way he smiles so gently down at you has you thinking he does.
“If you’d like, I can take you for a drive? There are many scenic spots around the base. Apologies for having not offered sooner.” He wanted to confess to you at a good time, somewhere romantic and private but it seems he won’t get that chance as you steel yourself to the utmost, finding a confidence in Jazz’ words that you previously hadn’t known, “It’s okay, you mean like a date?” You look so genuine and hopeful- but he can feel your little hands shaking slightly, clearly still flustered- he takes a few kliks just to commit that look in your eyes to his memory banks.
As if his smile could soften any further, he bends down to place a slow, chaste kiss to your cheek, patting your head and enjoying the way you nearly squeak in response. You can hear that delightful gruff chuckle again through his breath, “I’d like that.”
Jazz - newly established
You’re checking your appearance one last time in the mirror, moving around the house swiftly to prepare for your first proper date tonight with Jazz.
See, you two had gone on many late night drives together, stayed up and marathoned movies, even cooked dinner for one another- it was fun to have him taste test so many human foods and see his reactions- but you had yet to go on a proper first date. Tonight, however, that was going to change! You couldn’t be more excited, and also nervous.
Your anxieties were quickly cut short by the sound of loud cheesy late 70s music playing from your garage, startling you into nearly dropping your phone- you’d given Jazz a key a long while ago even before making yourselves official, as he’d be over at your house practically everyday anyways- so you knew it was him. Rolling your eyes with a snort at ‘it feels like the first time~’ coming from his radio, knowing damn well he had the biggest smirk on his face waiting for you.
Entering the garage which had been occupied more by him than you at this point, you’re presented with a variety of your favorite candy alongside what is probably the largest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen resting atop a rickety old workbench- you had never bothered to replace it. Next to it, Jazz was parked, singing along with the music so loud you can hear the smile in his voice. He’s flashing his lights and wiggling his tires in a funny little dance that has you laughing loud enough he can hear your sweet voice over the radio.
He turns down the volume down as he backs up a bit, shifting out of his alt-mode and back to the form you’ve grown so familiar with. You’ve seen his vehicle mode before but never his transformation sequence, always managing to miss it by a hair.
But now your curiosity is more than sated- seeing the metal plating retract and shift across his frame, his chassis coming up and his door wings moving to their rightful position behind him. You can all too clearly see his mesh flex underneath the rotating metal on his thighs and his servos pushing himself off the ground before he kneels down to reach out to you.
You didn’t think you could be so flustered by such a sight but here you are, kind of wanting to cancel the date and skip to the aftermath. And he definitely notices your reaction. He’s Jazz after all, he’d be nothing if not observant.
“Well don’t you look lovely, care to join me tonight?” He’s not even trying to hide how smug he is, engine revving when you come close enough he can feel the fabric of your outfit brush against his arm. It’s so soft, he recognizes it as one of your favorite outfits and he thinks you look almost too enticing.
Meanwhile you’re desperately trying to cover up how loud your heart is beating right now, clearing your throat before you speak, “You don’t look too bad yourself, I have yet to see your transformation. It’s so smooth..” Your voice is trailing off, but from Jazz’ perspective, you sound so genuine he can’t stop his engine from revving again, a little euphoric from your comment, even knowing you’re unaware that you’re coming on to him hard right now according to his culture.
He lets out a signature chuckle, servo coming around to cup your back protectively, “Ya know doll, that’s considered flirting where I come from,” he’s got that teasing lit to his voice even though you can tell he’s being honest, his vents ticked up a notch now.
“Ah, well-“ pressing your noticeably warm cheek against his chassis to avoid his optics and wrapping your arms around him as best you can, he’s stroking up and down your spine tantalizingly, “it’s a good thing we have a date planned then, right?”
Mirage - not established but is after
Feeling squeaky clean and freshly buffed, Mirage makes his way into the base with a grin so wide it barely fits his face. He looks not unlike a pleased cat after they knock something down, a little cocky.
“You sure seem chipper,” your comment is only met with bright optics, happy to hear from his little crush. He poses dramatically when he nears you, pointing his thumbs at his chassis before giving you finger guns, “Why wouldn’t I? Ya boy just got a nice detail and new rims, I’m feeling fantastic!” You can’t help but think he’s so cute when he’s happy like this, his confidence and cheerful nature both infectious.
“Oh yeah? Show me!” He’s never shown you his transformation to his alt-mode before, having always done it out of sight so as to remain incognito.
He offers you a sweet laugh, “Yeah? Wanna piece of the Mirage? Best and fastest speedster around?” He steps back a few paces from you, incredibly swift with how he switches to his Porsche alt, legs swooping around him almost like he’s breakdancing. You can see how his wheels join together in the middle, new rims on perfect display, his chassis shifts in a way you’ve never seen before and invisible seams appear in his metal plating. His biolights are brighter than before- what with how you’re gawking at him- and he decides to show off a bit, he’s favorite thing to do when you’re around, you’ve learned.
“Oh, ya like that? That’s not all-“ he cuts himself off by spinning into a different alt, a Ferrari this time, that new buffing he just got doing him favors you were unaware could exist on a car. But you can’t look for long before he’s switching to other sports cars, some you’ve never even heard of and he’s spouting off names and models like an auctioneer.
He ceases his impromptu fashion show with another steady transformation and little hop onto his pedes, thoroughly enjoying your expressions, amazed at all you’d seen. “Ha, impressed? Why thank you~” he’s so proud of himself, but internally he’s flustered to the max, hopes you can’t hear his fans when you scurry a bit closer to him, reaching a small hand to his arm when he kneels down to your level.
“That was awesome!! Your transformation looks so cool! I love the rims and your finish looks great!” He’s choking back a stutter, trying to seem as suave as possible while you praise him so earnestly, has no clue if you know what you’re saying to him right now but by Primus does he not want to correct you if you don’t.
He feels too guilty to let you offer him so many compliments without informing you that you’re hitting on him, “Heh, you realize you’re flirting with me, right? Compliments to alt modes and transformations are like, flirting 101 back on Cybertron.” He really hopes you’re not uncomfortable, wants you so desperately to continue it’s not even funny.
“Oh- I did not,” and his spark sinks a little at your tone, excitement dropping from it only momentarily, he honestly thinks you’re going to reject him and he hasn’t even confessed yet, “but I don’t mind, I mean it.” You’re smiling? His optics shoot wide, his lips parted and you catch a hint of his glossa peaking from behind them, had he been biting it?
“You- wait seriously??” He sounds happy and confused all at the same time, shaking his helm as if he heard you incorrectly, “You actually don’t mind that you just flirted with me? Hang on, I did say that, right? Like out loud, not just thought it? I don’t know if I explained myself-“ and you cut him off by laughing- that sweet giggle he’s come to dream of in his recharge- wanting to stop his stammering.
“I don’t mind Mirage, and yes I’m serious. I like you anyway, so what’s the harm?” He swears his spark just stopped. You look so content with what you’d just said, like it wasn’t hard for you at all, like you’d known for so long. Had you? Oh- If this is returning to the All-spark he’s happy to go, being praised by you is nothing short of divine and finding out you like him back? He can offline happy now.
He takes a moment to run a quick system check just to make sure he isn’t in one of those dreams from earlier, still shocked he’s not. “No fraggin way- when we’re you gonna tell me? Did you- Ya know what, scrap that, I’m taking you on a date. Hop in,” and he’s eagerly shifting back to his alt-mode while you laugh, the melodious sound continuing while you two speed off to who knows where.
Ironhide - not established but is after
The wind carries sounds of clanking metal straight to you as you watch from your little makeshift perch, Ironhide and Cliffjumper were sparing out in the field below, though not too far from you, far enough they could freely move and shoot without risking you getting hurt.
You’d been watching for an hour now, having been checked up on a few times by Ops and the others just to ensure you’re good. You enjoy watching Ironhide spar, it’s a nice way to pass the time actually. You’d grown to have a big crush on the grumpy mech, even though you didn’t get to see him as often as either of you would’ve liked given his schedule.
Unbeknownst to you, Ironhide had an equally large crush on you. Cursing himself for acting like a damn youngin trying to impress you without even meaning to. You’re just so funny and sweet, but why would you want an ole mech like him? He’d subconsciously resigned to not confessing unless you came to him first, thinking you’d probably be more interested in some of the less busy, less cranky bots. Though he tends to be much less cranky when you’re around, your voice and presence offering him much appreciated respite.
He and Cliff finish up around the time you shake yourself out of your daydreaming, and you watch as Cliff speeds off after Ironhide pats him on the shoulder. He glances up to your perch, and you offer him a small wave. You realize you’ve never actually seen him transform after watching Cliff head off, and after tossing a few things off their makeshift sparing arena, he starts shifting to make his way towards you.
Watching in fascination as his chassis moves, his servos land on the ground and you can see the mesh underneath his metal which has your mind reeling, he’s quick in his short drive over to you- only a few hundred feet but figured driving was faster- before he’s shifting back and you’re thankful you get to watch his sequence up close this time.
He’s more than a little surprised when you start complimenting his transformation and sparing with such excitement, praising him in ways he hasn’t heard in a long time. He has to force the surprised expression on his face to return to a grumpy pout to hide how he’s actually feeling. Realizing you probably don’t know what you’re saying to him right now.
“Hm, shouldn’t go around saying that stuff or you’ll be askin for trouble,” he’s honestly worried you’d given many of the others the wrong idea if you’d complimented them like that, and he’s a little grouchy at the thought. “To us, that’s flirting.”
You’re a bit surprised at the information he’s provided you, but see this as an opportunity to feel out whether or not he’s interested in you, I mean he seemed a little flattered by your words so, might as well try?
“Ha, sorry, I didn’t know. But I still mean it, you look good! If it helps, I only say this stuff to you.” You emphasize the last word and now he’s unable to hide how he’s feeling, embarrassed and flustered but still the grumpy pout you’ve come to know and love resting atop his face. Though there’s a hint of a smirk under there too.
He clicks his glossa and shakes his helm in realization, you’d felt the same way the whole time and he hadn’t noticed. Mentally notes he needs to get his optics checked next time he goes to Ratchets.
Standing above you only slightly in your little perch, “If ya told me sooner, I would’ve taken you on a date like a gentlemech should,” he’s smiling now, not bothering to keep up any facades around you, offering you a servo, “Care to let an ole mech make good on that, love?”
Rodimus - newly established
He’s pouting, that much you can tell, even from your spot on the side of the racetracks. Rodimus had just pulled off the main track and into a pit area alongside Drift and Blurr. They had been racing for a while, placing bets against each other and low and behold, the fastest himself, Blurr beat everyone by a long shot.
Roddy had managed to pull ahead of Drift and get second, not even considering beating Blurr, but he was still a bit peeved he hadn’t managed to beat his personal best time yet again. Had he just been on a different level that day? Was his matrix doing something? He didn’t know, but he did know it was annoying.
He exchanges a few words with the others before pulling over to the side where you were, eager and needing to hear praise from his beloved little human partner after such a race.
You’d only been together a short while, and work had been super busy, so you hadn’t really caught his transformation sequence before, at least not up close. You’d caught the tail end of it earlier when he was on the track, but missed the real show.
Bright red and orange begin peeling off to different areas of his frame as he moves to stand, arms and legs appearing and pushing himself upwards almost like a push-up, you can see his red biolights revealing themselves once again on his abdomen area. He stands tall next to the guardrails decorating the edge of the seating area, reaching to lay his arms crossed atop it in front of you.
“How’d ya like the show, hmm? Enjoy seeing your future conjunx race?” He’s almost playing coy with the way he wants your praise right now- always seeking it out like a moth to a lamp- little more than just bummed at not beating his record in front of you.
“I loved it, you looked so good! You guys were so fast I can hardly keep up,” your genuine laughter spreads warmth through him and you can feel the way his em field brushes affectionately against you. Warm, familiar and protective, slightly tingly like static.
“Aww, you’re so sweet, thank ya love.” He’s happy to hear it but wants more, feeling all too greedy for you all the time. Realizing what he wants, you offer him honest praise, compliments you’d been waiting to give him since you caught the end of his shifting earlier. “You know Roddy,” he’s looking at you expectantly now, “I never get the chance to see your transformation,” you’re fawning internally over the smoothness, “and I don’t get to see your alt-mode often either. It’s a shame, you’re so pretty.”
He’s practically beaming, fans kicking on and the smile on his face grows ten times larger, showing his denta when he laughs. He leans forward to brush his helm on your forehead, “You know if we weren’t already together I’d think you were trying to get in my panels right now,” he’s just being a tease but you figure it would be fun to give him a taste of his own medicine, maybe distract him a bit sensing he’s a little down and in need of that right now, he always has been easy for you to fluster.
“Who says I’m not, huh? I mean, have you even seen yourself? It’s a wonder there aren’t more people throwing themselves at you, Captain.” And the title slips off your tongue way too deliciously, his biolights are pulsing and he drops his helm to your shoulder when you place a small hand on his cheek. “Hah, realize what you’re sayin right? I mean if you wanted a ride that badly all you had to do was ask~“ oh he thinks he’s funny, “Yeah? Right now? You’ll take me for a spin around the track then?” He’s perking up at your words, having just been poking fun at you before, now he’s excited for where this is going. “You really want that? I’d be happy to!” He looks so eager, happy to have you slotted nice and safe in his front seat while he shows you how fast he can go.
At your nod he takes you into his servos and pulls you against his chassis, nuzzling his faceplate against the top of your head before he’s shifting around you, setting you down gently in his drivers seat and clicking your buckle into place.
You instinctively place your hands on his gearshift and wheel and it has his engine stalling for a moment as he backs onto the track again, you’re flooding him with compliments about how cool that transition was, how excited you are, and he’s eating it up, em field brushing up against you even more now that you’re in his chassis.
Seeing the way you light up as he takes off, your smile so bright it could put a spark to shame, maybe he’s not so upset he didn’t beat his record after all.
First Aid - established
The sudden ringing of your phone startles you, interrupting your current work flow on what was frankly, incredibly boring paperwork. You heave a sigh, annoyed it will take you a few minutes to get back into your groove, but you’re still quick to pick up the call when you see it’s your partner calling.
First Aid had been out getting some supplies for the med-bay a few hours prior, leaving you very bored in the base. While some of the other Protectobots were home, they’d been pretty busy with patrols today, so you chose to help out by plowing through some of their paperwork for them. Needless to say, your boredom was alleviated by your partners call, happy to hear his soft voice again.
“Hi honey, headed back?” Eager to hear about his impending arrival, you don’t even give him time to greet you in return before asking about it. You hear his amused hum from the other end of the call, “Hm, hi pretty, I’m on the way now. Could I trouble you to help me bring a few things into the med-bay when I get there? If you’re not busy, that is,” and he’s always been considerate.
“Yeah, course! I don’t mind at all, I’ll open the warehouse door outside the bay, ‘kay?” While you’re happy to see him and help out, you’re also just glad you won’t be doing mind numbing paperwork anymore. Evidently he was only a few kliks away when he called.
“That’s perfect, cause I’m already here,” he laughs lightly at your little choked noise of surprise, immediately rushing up to go open the door, abandoning your phone at your desk.
Low and behold he’s patiently waiting when you rush to smack the button, and you watch as he backs in towards you and opens his rear doors. It’s not often he transforms these days- only really doing so when necessary or to stretch a bit- which is good honestly. The less ambulance rides the world needs, the better.
“Could you grab those boxes on the right? I don’t want to jostle them around too much shifting back,” already nodding, moving to step inside and bring the hefty boxes out to the counters nearby, you can hear liquid sloshing around inside the bottles the box contains.
It doesn’t take you long, only a few things needing to be moved, and you two make small talk about the past few hours. The nice humans he spoke to today at the hospital, your finishing of some paperwork for the guys. He’s happy to hear your voice after working all day, finding it hard to remain focused while missing you.
“Okay, I can get the rest, thank you love,” he doesn’t want to push you, hearing how busy you’d been, you deserve a rest.
He slides forward a few feet, closing his rear doors before the metal exterior of the ambulance starts to move, decals splitting apart and sliding to lock into place elsewhere, glimpses of mesh and biolights visible beneath his plating as he transforms carefully, grabbing the leftover boxes from within before they can fall. He makes it look so easy, having done it so many times.
You don’t realize you’re silently staring until he finishes setting the last of the supplies down onto the counter next to you, only barely stifling a chuckle, he brushes a gentle servo against your cheek.
“I appreciate the gesture, but you’re staring hun.” You shake your head a bit to break your daze, instinctively placing a hand on the servo resting against your cheek. “Right- sorry,” you laugh a little at the moment, the two of you both finding your ogling humorous, “your transformation looks different whenever you’ve got something in your box, it’s fun to watch.”
His mask clicks out of place and you glance up at the sound- squishing your cheek further into his servo- to find his softened expression aimed down at you.
“Thank you, seems I’m not the only one who’s been missing someone today?” his naturally soft spoken voice only amplifies the teasing lit he’s got now, liking the way you roll your eyes at his words. “I always miss you, I was only staring because your sequence looked different, it’s charming-” your breathy laughter not doing him any favors right now, you’ve known for too long what complimenting an alt-mode does to a bot. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’re so cute.” You’re giving him a playful smile, placing a slow kiss to his servo, knowing his hands are particularly sensitive.
That feels way too good after a long day, and he’s glad he’s got so much self control or he’d ask you not to stop, right in the middle of the med bay.
“Heh, you think so? How about we finish putting these supplies away and then head back to the habsuite? I’m sure we could both use a break after working all day,” and he knows exactly what that not at all innocent smile on his face does as he moves to go back to work, leaving you to turn shades of red that match his paint job behind him.
Vortex - not established but is after
You had successfully made your way to the roof of the base, a big yellow helipad greeting you when you finally managed to force open the heavy door leading outside. Vortex liked to hang out up here, presumably to get some fresh air along with some peace and quiet. It was often noisy in the Combaticons base, cacophonous sounds of rowdy mechs ringing through every hall, random brawls taking place over lost bets.
The breeze felt lovely, the small hairs that framed your face lightly shifting. It makes sense that the helicopter of the group liked heights and the wind. It helped that the view was lovely.
The copter in question turns only his head, glancing over his shoulder at you from his spot at the edge of the rooftop. It wasn’t very tall, but he wasn’t letting you get too close without a servo prepared to catch you if necessary. He’s not entirely convinced your kind can’t be blown away with how small you are.
“Found me I see, do ya need somethin?” He’d sound uninterested, annoyed even, if you weren’t already familiar with his speech patterns. You’d spent enough time with him to know when he was really unhappy, and learned he seemed to particularly like you.
“Just wondering where my favorite mech had flown off to, is all.” You plop yourself down next to him, happily observing both the view and the way his rotor blades on his back shift when he moves back to his original position- leaning back on his servos with his legs kicked over the edge. Swindle had once mentioned that you could always tell how bots with wings and rotors were feeling based on how the body parts moved, but you weren’t sure how much you could believe from him at the time. Getting to know Tex just solidified that the con was in fact honest, though.
He seemed pretty content at the moment, even letting his optics shut off when the breeze picked up a bit, faceplate removed and angled up towards the sky, “Your favorite, huh? I’ll make sure the others hear about that,” he’s trying to sound teasing and tough but he can’t help how his spark thrums at your words, internally cursing himself for being so wrapped around your finger and not even being your partner. Yet, he hopes.
You’re only mostly listening, curiosity peaked at the memory of Swins words, reaching to gingerly lay a hand on his rotor, lightly brushing your fingers against the smooth metal. Immediately he stiffens, servo catching your wrist so fast you don’t even see him move before you’re looking up at wide optics. Noting the facial expression he’s making, you’ve never seen it before.
“Huh? Is that embarrassment I see?“ he’s quick to shush you with bared denta and a low growl, “Shut it,” letting go of your wrist before turning his head away, back to the sky, “You could get cut, be more careful.” He’d almost sound stern if it weren’t for his vents kicking on and the way his rotors were slightly idling-
Great! He’s not gonna be able to get that sensation out of his processor now, and he’s mentally thanking you as sarcastically as possible- though he’s very much hoping you’ll do it again at some point, maybe a bit more private. He does consider himself pretty adventurous though, so then again, maybe not.
He allows you to continue though, post warning, trailing a single finger along the center of one of his rotors. You don’t miss the way his plating resembles that of a bird with the way it almost ruffles up at your touch.
“You know, I’ve never actually seen you in your alt-mode.” You’ve been curious for a while, but his mode of transport doesn’t exactly allow you to see it very often, let alone join him for a flight. Though he’d never ever let something happen to you, he might still tease you about what he does to those unlucky autobots.
“Oh? Curiosity killed the cat, doll.” He’s smirking down at you, a little cocky given your interest in his alt appearance. But you’re used to his antics, you know how to give back what he gives you, “And satisfaction brought it back.” You say confidently, it’s the perfect conditions for a flight today after all.
“That’s how it is huh,” He seems to be humored by that, pushing off his servos and hoping swiftly to his pedes, making sure to bend down and push you away from the edge with a single servo. Smirking when you tumble back a bit. “Fine, I’ll bite. Wanna fly me that bad? I’ll show you heights you’ve never seen,” and he’s sauntering over to the center of the helipad, turning back to you when you follow several meters behind him, staying outside the circle.
You’re already a little flustered at his offer to make you see new heights and the implications of that, but it’s increasing rapidly watching his transformation sequence. Metal glides across metal, it’s almost too fast for you to catch the details. The way his biolights become obscured and covered by plating, folding in on himself yet moving in a manner that retains his large size, his rotors spinning into place as he comes off the ground by a few feet before landing expertly. The wind from his rotors whips across your face but it isn’t as harsh as you’d expected. You suspect he did that on purpose.
“There, happy? Or are you just gonna stare?” You know he’s just teasing you but you’re all too enticed by the way he just moved- which has you questioning many things- and red in the face.
Moving towards him when he slides open his door, he’s keenly aware you are completely oblivious to how much you’re flirting with him when you offer him compliments and praise with every step. He clicks his glossa, feeling your barely perceptible weight as you step into the cockpit and plop yourself into one of his pilot seats excitedly, “Back home, that level of flirting would’ve just earned you a date, or a drink at least.”
You take a moment to process his words before realizing what he means, feeling a bit too warm for comfort all of the sudden. “I- I didn’t know!” Your incredulous stammering just makes him laugh, a bit maniacal in nature as was typical for him, but you start laughing along too after a few seconds, still a bit embarrassed. “I don’t regret it, though.” and your voice is almost a whisper, but he can hear you loud and clear.
He takes a minute to process the situation himself, mentally freaking out for a moment before swapping back to his more suave self, “Sounds like I’m taking you for a flight then.” He’ll ask you on a more official first date when you two get back, but for now, he wants to hear you spill more of that sweet praise just for him.
Hound - not established but is after
Hound is a big sweetspark- you’d come to know that like the back of your hand- always worrying for you and wanting to ensure you get home safely from the base. Or anywhere really. If you tell him about your plans to go out with friends, he’s gently reminding you to give him a call or shoot him a text to let him know you’re home safe. He doesn’t mean to come off as possessive in some way, he’s painfully aware that you two are just friends, and he hopes that’s only for now, he really does just want to make sure you’re alright.
The weather forecast had shown heavy rain all morning when you’d been picked up from your house by Cliffjumper, who had oh-so-lovingly pointed out that you were only calling him because you were too shy to ask Hound. Smacking his dashboard only causing him to retaliate pettily, “Ha!- Wanna be like that? Fine, you can have Hound take you home then.” You’re giving him the most ridiculous look now, and he finds it hilarious. “I mean you could always walk too, what’s a little rain gonna do-“ and you smack him a second time. It’s not enough to hurt, and you two had been besties for so long now he knew how you were gonna respond to his teasing before he’d even said anything.
Work went by smoothly at the base, though the team had kept the weather channel opened basically all day on the TV in the common area. Hound had been checking it periodically, and it wasn’t letting up, pouring even more than that morning. Worried about you making it home safe, knowing you lived pretty far out from base. Maybe he should tell Cliff to take you home- knows you two are very close- but when he makes way to do exactly that, the red bot only laughs and throws a hand up, “Nope, you can take ‘em. I’m sure they won’t mind. And I know you won’t either,” he’s sauntering off after shooting Hound a wink, knowing the green mechs feelings for you already.
Cliff was honestly just sick of being a part of you twos song and dance these past few months, and was using every excuse he could to get you two to finally confess.
Hound exvents heavily, worried he might come off a bit weird asking to take you home when you’d always gone with Cliffjumper. But it appears that little slag won’t be helping him out- and he makes the mental note not to do him any favors this week- so he heads out to find you.
You’re curled up in a blanket on the couch with some of the others, weatherman yammering away on the TV as you guys wait out the storm. Bumblebee is upside down with his pedes over the back of the couch next to you, and Ratchet is standing with his arms crossed behind the two of you. Jazz had already tried to alleviate everyone’s impatience with some music which was nice.
‘Severe thunderstorms set to continue throughout the night until tomorrow morning, watch out night drivers!’ And you’re internally cursing at Cliff for his dramatic display this morning. Know he’s petty as fuck too, he will not be taking you home. He’d probably let you sleep in his berth though, rather you’d just punch in the code that only he’s supposed to know to his hab and sneak in to spend the night since he barely ever rests. You’re not too keen on not being able to brush your teeth or shower though, so you might just have to grovel an apology at him.
You’re brought out of your ‘smacking Cliffjumper a third time’ trance by a gentle tap on your shoulder, careful not to snag at your blanket. You glance upwards behind you, meeting Hounds gaze, Ratchet now missing, immediately growing a bit nervous.
He’s so friendly and sweet, he always makes sure you get home safe, calls you ‘doll’ and ‘sweetspark’ and ‘darlin’. He asks you questions about life as a human, enjoying your company. You think your crush is starting to inhibit your ability to work at the base at this point.
“Rainin pretty hard, asked Cliff if he’d take ya home but he’s not havin it tonight.” He sounds exasperated at your friend, and you hope to everything Cliff didn’t mention this morning to Hound. “Oh, yeah he already let me know this morning he wouldn’t be taking me home,” you hope you don’t come off as dismissive, “I was thinking of staying here but I don’t really have my things so-“ your voice trails off, you hadn’t thought of a solution yet so you weren’t exactly sure how to finish your statement.
“How ‘bout I take ya home then? Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, promise.” And he’s making your heart rate pick up with the way he’s smiling softly down at you. You quickly nod before thinking, “That sounds nice, thank you so much, are you sure it isn’t too much trouble?” You’ve managed to wiggle your blankets edge free out from under Bumblebee, who whines, standing to round the couch.
“No trouble at all darlin,” you throw the blanket over Bee and he happily chirps at you, waving you goodbye, “Ready to head out?” He walks you to the garage door at your nod, backing up after pressing the button, which was nearly smashed from so much use.
The green mech begins to transformer behind you, catching his knees meeting the concrete floor as they shift into his undercarriage, wheels roll into their place and his doors all shut in time with his final movements. You’d even caught a sneak peak of his mesh and biolights beneath his plating. ‘They’re so pretty’ but your thoughts are interrupted when he pops open the drivers side door, already turning on the heat so you wouldn’t catch a cold in the rain.
“Let’s get ya home doll, need to stop anywhere on the way?” You slot so perfectly into his front seat, small gentle hands on his wheel nearly has his engine stalling, “Nope, but there’s no rush,” you mull it over in your head to ask him about his transformation. What does it feel like? What do those lights underneath mean? What’re they for?
“By the way, when you transform, what does it feel like? I’ve never asked,” he’s definitely going to stall if he doesn’t get going now. The seat behind you feels a little warmer than before.
“It’s like a human stretchin, that’s what Ratchet said anyway. If ya don’t do it for a while, ya start gettin stiff in the joints.” He’s pulled out onto the long dark road leading to the base.
“Ah, I see,” silence fills for a few minutes while he drives, the rain dripping down the windows, not really thinking much of your next comments, “I liked your lights, they’re really pretty.” His engine revs unintentionally, and he brakes for a half second causing you to abruptly jolt forward.
“Hound? Sorry, did I say something offensive?” Immediately aware that you don’t actually know if it’s taboo to say that sort of thing. I mean they are often hidden, you’d only seen them a few times, usually after you’d given him a hug or talked about traveling with him someday. He clears his throat, already back to driving like before, but you can definitely feel how warm his steering wheel is now.
“No no, it’s not offensive sweetspark. Quite the opposite actually,” he chuckles awkwardly, hoping to ease your discomfort but painfully aware of how flustered he is now. Knows you have no idea that complimenting biolights is usually only something you do with a partner or someone you wanna interface with.
“For us bots, saying somethin so sweet about our lights ‘s usually a way of showin you’re interested in someone. It’s flirtin,” you could honestly let the world swallow you whole right now. Ten minutes into the drive and you’d basically just laid your feelings on the table without even knowing it, how long until you’d get home?? Can you survive the next few minutes?
“I’m so sorry,” you cover your face in embarrassment, sliding a hand down and sighing loudly, but you laugh despite the thickness in the air.
“I don’t mind, comin from you it’s appreciated,” he debates changing the subject for your sake, deciding he’ll feel it out based on how you respond.
“Coming from me?” You let the question hang in the air, and silence lingers between you two for a moment before he vents out a sigh of his own,
“Guess it’s time to come clean, huh?” He mentally prepares for a rejection that won’t come, “I like ya a lot doll. Such a sweetspark, I adore your company.. No pressure of course, I understand if you’re not interested, and I’ll still make sure ya get home safe like always, no matter what.”
You’re scrambling, choking for a response out of yourself, he really thinks you’re not interested?? “Wait- I didn’t say I wasn’t!-“ he waits for you to finish when you wave your hands in front of you as if to stop him, “I like you too, a lot, actually.”
He takes a few kliks to process your confession, smiling to himself. “Ya do, huh?” And you nod so cute at him, pulling into your driveway around this time, stopping out front.
“In that case, how bout I pick ya up tomorrow mornin, and we can go somewhere nice after work, sound alright?” You smile so wide at his words, offering him a melodious laugh, “That sounds perfect.”
Still thinking about smacking Cliff a third time though.
——————————————————————————————————————
Note: Thinking of doing a part two with: Arcee, Hotspots, Blurr, Dratchet, Nautica, Bumblebee, maybe Windblade and Swerve. Don’t know yet tho! Lol, lmk if that’s something you’d wanna read:)
Evening Revel! I hope botcon/universal went well!! Did you collect any new blokees/figures? (o´・∀・)o And if reader collected little mecha figured like that do you think their cybertronian would get jealous? Cheers! ( ￣▽￣)
I skipped Botcon for a beach and Universal Orlando instead, but no new figures unless you count the Oppy popcorn bucket. Though, that horrifically overpriced Flame Toys Drift still on display in the Transformers ride store tempts me so bad every time.
Indulgent
Mirage x Reader
• Pulling a silky robe out of the bag and holding it up, his lips twitch. Looking forward to seeing you in it, sleepy and warm. And so tempting. Smoothing the material in his servos before setting it aside, he sorts through the rest of his new acquisitions. Because this has become his new favorite game. Taking you shopping with his holomatter avatar and letting you pick out things for yourself while he helps since your tastes are quite a bit different from his own. Sitting mass displaced on his berth with you in his lap, he picks up a box that rattles faintly and studies the image on the side. “And this is?” He asks curiously and your shoulders lift, expression so adorably embarrassed that his plating heats, hunger lifting through him.
• “It’s a blind-box figure,” you mumble, taking the box from him and tearing it open. Aware that he’s watching your every move curiously. And it’s so surreal to have someone like him to share things with. He feels too big, too flashy for your boring little hobbies and amusements. Showing him the little mecha figure, you fidget with the tiny limbs and he makes a soft sound. “I grew up with this show and it’s silly, but when things got bad at home, I used to imagine I was friends with this guy,” you say and his big hand flexes on your waist.
• Staring at the little mecha toy, he curls an arm around you to tip your face up. “Just friends?” He asks, tone teasing and your field prickles him with flustered embarrassment that has him stilling. Did you fantasize about this character? “Did he steal you away? Protect you? Hold you?” He asks, hating the jealousy in his voice and knowing how silly it is. It’s only a toy of a fictional character. No threat. So why does the idea of you seeking comfort from anyone that isn’t him bother him? ‘Sometimes daydreams are all you have,’ you mumble and your tone has him flinching. Because you’re on guard now and he did it without meaning to. Hurt you even though he swore he never would.
• Feel him vent to stir your hair and he lets go of your chin. Messing with the little toy, you’re not sure why you’re so embarrassed, but admitting that felt too real. And then he’d teased you about it. Know it doesn’t really matter, but it still bothers you. “I’m sorry, darling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Apparently I’m jealous over a toy.” Jealous? “I don’t like the idea of you needing someone else, looking to someone else for comfort.” Turning to look at him, he lays back with an arm across his face. “I want you to only want me. Need me.”
• Rumbling when you twist around and stretch out on him, your thighs brushing the outside of his own, you’re gripping his arm and he lets you lift it. Reluctantly meeting your eyes, he’s far too aware of the warmth of you sprawled on him. Tempting him to touch you. “If you want to say things like that, you have to mean them,” you whisper and he stares. What makes you think he doesn’t? “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you add, starting to sit up and he drags you back down, mouth covering yours. Do you really think he’d give you up? You’re his.
If ur still doing those Yandere! Autobot requests, Can I ask for a G1 Mirage yandere plz?
Ok so from what i see in G1 (small mix of idw & rotb lol), pre-war yan mirage would be your typical yandere rich guy as he is in the aristocrats line on cybertron. He'd lovee messing around with his darling, flirting constantly and giving you cybertronian goods like some of his rare energon collection! However if its when he's stuck on earth and paired with human darling? It'd be abit different. His attitude can be a little aloof and he does seem to be disinterested about organics atleast at first. However as his obsession grows, he'd be more open and playful, likes learning humans version of high end goods and gifting you alot of those. If you question how the hell did he know specifically you like or even a potential rival?? Well, that's just where his invisible ability comes in play <3 💙🤍
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You've been pent up and unsatisfied ever since fantasies of a certain Autobot started addling your mind. You're doing a good job of hiding it, all things considered. Except, turns out, Transformers can sense specific electromagnetic fields. Mirage is actually... very close to telling you that.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.9k
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: nsfw; just a humble, first-time smut writer; I'm so lost ngl; PWP; a bit of a suspension of disbelief for how EM fields work 'cause huh; no use of (y/n) or specific physical appearance descriptors; fem reader.
ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This took me. SO LONG. :,) I use reading EM fields in this fic, but that isn't a given ability in all of my Transformers works. I think they're a fun idea to play with, but I don't always want the characters' underlying emotions out there yk?
The incessant, demanding electromagnetic pulses that had been radiating off of you were dizzying. Mirage had been around you plenty before, not a problem! Yet, for some reason, that’d… decidedly changed.
He’d noticed different versions of your field before, sure. Humans, Arcee had explained to him, didn’t have the cybernetic components to produce the much stronger signatures of – say – other nearby Cybertronians. Your species was expressly organic in nature, a far jump from the complex circuitry that comprised even a single one of his servos. Despite that limitation, however, pinpricks of any intense emotion you might’ve been experiencing still emanated off of you. More subtle, but still distinctly there.
Like when you were particularly happy and a lively buzz hummed in the space around you. Or when the two of you were fresh off a high-speed drive, adrenaline quickening the rise and fall of your chest, and you had this trust that gleamed in your eyes and vibrated through his processor. Or that faint brush of fondness – quiet, but steadfast.
Everything you just ignited something inconceivably tender within him.
He looked for you first whenever he entered a room, any space you had the off-chance of occupying. Your laugh was the one he strained his audial sensors for whenever he made one of his corny ass jokes. If, Primus forbid, he believed there to be even an implication of a threat, he was by your side. Sometimes, you’d blink up at him – like you were surprised to see him there. Sometimes, his optics would cycle as he looked down at you – uncertain of when he even decided to put his frame between you and the potential danger.
And then you started eliciting other instincts from him.
He started noticing it sometime last week, when he’d awoken from his stasis to you already in the warehouse they called HQ. You’d been shaking a spray can, several more at your feet – in the middle of tagging the smooth brick walls in various shades of vibrancy and monochrome. Mirage wasn’t quiet by any means, but you still jumped when you saw him, eyes wide. “Shit!” The paint rattled as it slipped from your grip, the sound of it colliding with the floor reverberating through the space.
Something like a laugh had shook his frame, his startup systems still blinking online in his periphery. To your credit, you regained your composure quickly.
“Fucking scared me,” you mumbled. And to think you’d just been ignoring him.
You glared at him like he was the one interrupting in what was essentially his own home. “Oh, c’mon,” he goaded playfully, stepping closer to avoid shouting across the large room and to discreetly peer at your newest project. Rarely did you ever work when someone was watching. “You love seeing this face.”
You rolled your eyes, an amused smile on your face regardless of the gesture. “Keep telling yourself that,” you replied sarcastically, bending down to pick up the fallen spray paint. Mirage forced his optics away until you straightened. Primus, this early? He needed to get a grip. “I thought this place was empty,” you explained, waving your arm out to gesture around you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your much needed beauty sleep.”
Your lighthearted slight snapped him back into focus. “Ouch,” the ‘bot winced, faux hurt flashing over his faceplates. He tilted his helm at you, his form fluid and casual in that way you weren't aware metal could be, as he shifted his weight to one pede. “Y’know, if you wanted to get me alone, you could just say ‘at. The lying’s unnecessary.”
You returned a devilish little smile, eyes sparking in the familiar back-and-forth the two of you shared. “Oh, if I’d known you were here…” There was something wistful in your voice as it trailed off; something that quickly darkened, thickened like honey. “You don’t wanna know what I would’ve done to you.”
The cooling fan positioned slightly below his middle kicked on with startling suddenness. The suggestive nature of your comment, the sultry and ever-so-slightly teasing tone you used to deliver it – those were expected. He wanted to rile that reaction out of you, even. Not that your dynamic didn’t affect him, but it’d never gone further than that. He never let himself think about it going further than that; not in the moment anyway. Later, though, with one servo fisted over his– fuck, he’s getting off track.
No. No, that familiar rhythm wasn’t the cause to his effect.
Now – standing so close to you, hearing those words drip from your tongue – he felt it: the heady, aching hunger that his sensors were saying originated from you. New. That was entirely new. All at once, your field heightened every awareness he had; coursed through his frame, shot straight to a neglected region behind his modesty plates.
The look on your face was peetering towards concerned. Mirage hadn’t said anything. What exactly did he say when his fool’s errand, otherworldly crush inadvertently broadcasted how turned on they were? He was leaning towards short-circuiting. Because there was no way you were doing it on purpose, right?
He sure as hell didn’t tell you about EM fields. That wasn’t a conversation suited to him – too many details, a lot unnecessary in his opinion. But did Arcee? Did anyone?
The squeal of tires had announced someone’s arrival, knocking him out of his stupor. Both of you perked up, his reaction slightly more delayed than yours, to identify the guest.
Bumblebee had cut the turn into the warehouse sharp, skidding onto the concrete and leaping into his bipedal form. A couple long strides slowed his momentum as the yellow ‘bot chirruped excitedly, likely having come off a particularly good drive. Mirage didn’t know if he was grateful for the Camaro’s interruption or if he wanted to scream. Third option: scoop you up, peace out, and explore his little discovery in Noah’s more secluded garage. Obviously (unfortunately), he chose to appear content just standing there while you and Bumblebee caught up.
Nevertheless, Mirage definitely used that memory of you in private one way or another.
Initially, he thought the read he got was a fluke. A result of something else; a faulty processor somewhere subconsciously trying to feed his more intimate fantasies. It was so brief, after all. Never before seen – a one time thing.
Then it happened again. And the next time he saw you. The time after that too.
Okay, maybe he really was going to short-circuit. Contrary to his bravado, Mirage wasn’t actually as egotistical as he seemed. Assuming the changes in your field were from him – asking or acting on it – was a gamble he just wasn’t willing to take. What self-preservation remained wouldn’t allow it. The two of you? Friends! Friends whose quips alluded to something sexual more than not, but whatever. Shit, forget crossing that line – you were wholly different species. Yeah. Primus forbid he overlook that little detail.
But that twinge in your field had reappeared and lasted. And he sat there in it! Schooling his expressions into cool obliviousness, he couldn’t quite help the way his jaw clenched whenever you weren’t looking. It haunted him, almost; like he really was possessed, as Noah had first assumed in their little meet-cute.
Mirage had it bad for you before, for longer than he cared to brazenly admit, but this development? This was bad bad. In long forgotten parts of the city, in back alleys and structures probably on a demolition list somewhere, the mech found himself having to pop his interface panel with increasing urgency after being around you – his spike near painfully pressurized. Every. Damn. Time. With a sharp hiss, he’d rut into his own frenzied servo, chasing an overload from daydreams of an anatomy he’d never felt.
It was seriously throwing him off his game. It was like he was drunk off high-grade he hadn’t sipped in years – instructions occasionally taking two takes to fully register. His wit – while still very much present – came slower, his thoughts addled with something significantly off topic. Not to mention whipping his own EM field into presentable order. Embarrassment wasn’t a feeling he was familiar with, but he had some decorum, dammit. He wanted to avoid you for the first time since he’d met you; he wanted to never leave your side, devour you whole if you’d let him.
Then, the worst thing for his self control had to fucking happen.
In the midst of a Brooklyn heat, your air conditioner had so lovingly decided to stop working. One call-in later, your landlord told you he’d work on ‘finding a solution’ and to – essentially – hang tight until then. Ha! You’d sooner bear the sweltering wave outside and loiter in public spaces than be slow cooked alive in the stuffiness that had accumulated in your space.
Thankfully, you were graciously saved from that abhorrent first option. Noah, after you called him to lament your predicament, offered you an air-conditioned stay in his garage. Initially, he suggested swinging by his place. No one would actually be at his apartment by the time you’d arrive, though; so, with the door locked, he figured something was better than nothing.
“Don’t mind Mirage if he’s around,” he’d said, and you could practically envision the man’s one shoulder shrug – blasé to the psychological conditions of the whole save-you-from-melting setup. You hoped the line didn’t pick up your swallow at the mention. “He likes to crash there if someone’s on his ass.” A pause. “Not literally.”
…to the ‘crashing’ or the ass reference? A Díaz mystery.
On your way to the gift that was central air, you absentmindedly hoped the rest of the Autobots had been especially lenient with Mirage that day. Usually, you’d welcome the idea of company, but you weren’t sure how taut the bowstring-like tension in your body could be pulled. Sweat prickled on your brow, which could easily be excused by the heatwave, but you knew – embarrassingly – better: you were a feather’s weight from snapping.
A couple nights ago – shit, a week? – you’d dreamt of wandering metal servos and glowing blue optics. A certain snark. Slick skin and being stuffed full beyond human comprehension. The sound that left your lips after you’d woken up – alone in your bed, in your Brooklyn apartment – was just pitiful.
Painting didn’t help – you’d tried that the morning after and accidentally stumbled right into him for fuck’s sake. Made a stupid ass joke that probably made you worse off in the long run. Your own ministrations felt like trying to douse a wildfire with a cheap watergun. Humans, decidedly, weren’t what you were seeking. And telling someone about this? Even vaguely? Fuck, out of the question.
And you didn’t think mind readers existed, but you also hadn’t thought fucking aliens existed either. Now look at you – REM cycle containing images of smashing one. Not in a violent way. Not that the violent way would’ve been particularly better. Regardless, you needed to be on your best behavior. At least until whatever made your eyes roam and linger blew over. Yeah. Yeah.
The brick building housing the garage was about as secluded as you could get in the big city. It was quiet. Perfectly seated in the overlooked, yawning maws of far more conspicuous complexes. Even then, not much was populated back here. Fitted with top-of-the-line locks, even petty thieves with too much free time would remain incognizant to the extraterrestrial Porsche within.
The key for the door was nondescript, a little silver thing that you’d started carrying around in your pocket. Noah had presented you with one ever since the two of you bonded over robots from space, of all things. At first, you’d harbored half a mind that the guy was cute. Oh, how your taste had changed.
You twisted the key into the lock, the bolt retreating with a dull clunk. After fitting it snuggly back into your pocket, you popped the door open. A wave of cool, almost cold, air blew out. The two temperature extremes that coated your skin involuntarily elicited a low, satisfied sound from the back of your throat.
“Hello to you too,” a voice called from within. Well, fuck.
This had been a fantasy of yours at some point, you were sure of it. Now? Not so much. Not when you wanted to jump the poor mech, your friend – no dinner required. Sober, too.
Just existing next to the ‘bot felt like a crime recently. It was like your pent up, agonizing, little human brain had activated a damn sleeper agent in your rapidly overheating train of thought. No matter how hard you tried to just ‘be chill’ everything felt like the exact opposite of chill. You were definitely violating that guideline whenever your deft fingers snaked their way under your waistband at night.
Whatever. This was fine. Steeling yourself, you pushed through the doorway, and promptly resituated the lock behind you. This part of Brooklyn was dead, sure, but – sexual frustrations aside – no one wanted Mirage walked in on. Prime, Arcee, everyone – even Mirage – were all very clear on the whole undiscovered thing.
“Okay, I didn’t even know you were here,” you defended, finally seeing the ‘bot leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chassis.
“Just the thought of me then, huh? I’m flattered.”
He had no idea. “Not too much, I hope.” Internally, you were choking down another sigh from the sheer relief of the a/c washing over your senses. And trying not to recall what the ‘thought of’ Mirage really did to you. “Wouldn’t want you getting cocky.”
He pushed himself off the brick, his frame giving off a small whir. It was almost comical how few steps it took him to reach you. “Eh, too late, sweetheart.”
You wiped at your face with the hem of your shirt, hiding your smile – hiding how your stomach dipped at his endearment. He was– he should’ve been impossible. He was an alien who disguised himself as a Porsche, vain bastard, yet you’d never gotten along with anyone easier. Never wanted anyone more. His effect on you – shit, how much longer could you put that off? Even with your vision obscured, the weight of Mirage’s optics unmistakably settled somewhere over your midsection. And, okay, maybe the warmth that pooled there wasn’t entirely from the raging sun outside.
When you dropped the fabric, you caught a glimpse of his helm snapping forward, the mech suddenly seeming fascinated by the garage’s structural supports. It was only when his optics – timidly, or was that your imagination? – slipped down that you remembered your state: sheening with sweat, barely covered in your attempt to cool down. Ah.
It was probably concerning that your first thought was of another circumstance – one that involved you wearing nothing at all. Your eyes dropped to the ground, unable to look at the Autobot in good conscience. Off to a great start.
“Uh, a/c broke,” you supplied, reaching around the back of your neck and resisting the urge to cringe at the stickiness of your skin. “Noah said I could stay here until the thing was fixed.” For a moment, it was like your words hadn’t registered. In the uncharacteristic silence, you brought your eyes up to his face. The ‘bot had that faroff stare again, situated somewhere over your shoulder, one you’d seen a lot recently. His name sounded tentative on your tongue, inflected into a question.
That broke his stare. “Huh? Sorry, I was–” he ex-vented with more force than you knew necessary. “I just remembered something.”
That piqued your interest. “What?”
“You wouldn’t believe it – there’s this crazy thing about ‘bots, right?” Mirage clasped his servos together, beginning to pace around the small space. “So!” He said it with so much enthusiasm, you nearly jumped. You raised a brow. It’s not like he ever stood still, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t acting strange. “Yeah, we can, like–” some hesitation, and you heard some muttering about how Arcee should’ve been the one to ‘explain this shit.’ “Have a sense of what people are feeling. I– we don’t try to a lot, just happens. Better read when they’re, y’know,” he gestured at himself, “but humans are fair game too.”
Humans are fair game. Outwardly, your features were blank – wiped clean in your processing of this new information. Inwardly, you were grappling against a very sharp chill of exposure. Did he know? He couldn’t know – could he? The knowledge that he’d been keen to your emotions as a whole wasn’t discomforting. Surprising, yes, but it wasn’t like he probed voluntarily. Still, the fundamental fear of getting caught doing something potentially reprehensible seized you. You just had to manifest mind readers, didn’t you? Not the same thing per se, but – shit – it might as well have been!
Mirage hadn’t stopped pacing. Not the most promising sign. You nodded slowly, peering at him carefully, “Uh huh. Now, you’re telling me this, why?”
He paused, his shoulders falling in defeat. The sound of his cooling systems flaring to life swiftly volunteered to fill the stillness. His massive frame turned to face you directly, servos rising to bracket his hips. “Look, I was… extra reminded of it. I mean, like, the couples at drive-in theaters are seriously unbearable, I don’t know how the guy puts up with it,” he rambled, clumsily referring to Bee. “They’re like– what was it? Rats?”
“Rabbits?”
“Thank you.”
You’d spoken out of the ridiculousness of his statement, your voice feeling disconnected from your thoughts. He knows. He definitely fucking knows. A stifled panic clawed further up your throat. “Have I been making you uncomfortable this whole time?”
His fans spun a little faster, and you had a hunch that it wasn’t from the heat outside. “Ah, well,” his optics flitted over your form. There was a hesitance there that was foreign to you. “I wouldn’t say uncomfortable’s the word for it.”
Your mind scrambled for an alternative. “Really uncomfortable?”
His throat visibly bobbed, a slight chuckle rumbling out of his intake with a gentle shake of his helm. Like he, too, was aware of the incredulousness of this conversation. Did he actually produce saliva to swallow? Wait, no, you weren’t sure if that information would do you any good. “Try a bit too comfortable.” He threw his servos up in what looked like surrender, letting them fall back down to his sides. “Can’t lie, it almost makes me forget we’re only work friends.”
All you could do was blink blearily at him. Forgive you if you weren’t at the top of your game after that sparkling little confession. Was it presumptuous of you to think he was saying what you think he was saying? For a moment, you let yourself think of a scenario where he’d felt the same. Hot under the collar, fidgeting with an unspoken need. Maybe let his optics linger where they shouldn’t – his mind somewhere depraved. A starved sound curled itself around your tongue, and you weren’t sure you could open your mouth without it escaping. “Mirage–”
“Hey.” It was abrupt, the word just a bit too enunciated. Like he’d lose his nerve if he spoke any later. He didn’t sound like he was berating you, but you stopped anyway; as cautious as you were curious. “Don’t worry about it. Uh, I’m not human, necessarily, but – if it’s really bothering you – I could lend you a hand with that, yeah?”
What was he– woah, okay.
That was… not where you were expecting this intervention to go. Suddenly, the garage didn’t feel much cooler than the air outside. Shit, could’ve been hotter for all you knew. It was very possible that the sun had just followed you in through the door – your body rendered molten.
“On your terms, of course,” he added; bowing at the waist, one servo crossed over his spark. Wow. A gentleman and a dumbass through and through. “But I am told I’m a quick learner.”
You refocused. Right, he’d offered his ‘helping hand’ like a question. Not that it was much of one – no way you were passing this up. Right? “I mean,” you began, your growing desire effectively snuffing out the last of your apprehensions. Mirage knew how you’d felt around him, friendship and biological differences aside, and he wasn't turning away. At least not yet. He was willing to participate. Submitting to satiate the aching parts of you. That had to be something. Right? “‘s what friends are for, right?”
He went quiet. “Friends.” Like he was turning it over in his servos, testing it on his glossa. “Yeah.” Despite his words, his tone betrayed him. ‘Friends’ wasn’t what he was looking for. Before you could ask, maybe apologize, do or say anything, the mech somehow made a vocal show of stretching. One you were content to watch. “Lucky for you, I already got the oil pumpin’ before this. Your cops, by the way? So slow.”
That stopped you short. “You ran from the cops before this?”
“What? Not like you mind a little thrill,” he teased, and you wondered if he too was remembering the several car chases the two of you had been caught up in. The speed. The race of your heart, nearly tripping over itself keeping up. “Clearly.”
“Easy, now,” you half-heartedly chided, face flush at his implication. Would explain why he was here then. After the circumstances he met Noah in, Optimus implemented a ‘laying low’ grace period after getting involved with the police. “I might change my mind.”
“You won’t.”
Your eyes met his – rose to the challenge you thought you’d find there. But, for all of his posturing, the mech didn’t sound so sure. A thin layer of doubt laid underneath the syllables, slathered in swagger. It made your stomach twist. Uncertainty was strange on him. You took in a shallow breath. Voicing your devotion wasn’t enough – you were going to prove it. You were really doing this. No backing down now.
“I won’t.”
Tension snapped from his shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” he chimed, lowering himself to the ground. In a way you’d seen a couple times before, but never like this, Mirage settled himself into a sitting position – minding his tires, legs splayed out in front of him. The height difference was definitely still there, but more practical now. After a bit of wiggling, adjustments you knew were meant to preserve his paint, he patted his leg. “Step right up! I don’t bite – promise.”
You scoffed, grinning as you obliged. “And what if I do?”
The ’bot shrugged. “I’m durable. And maybe I’ll like it.”
His attempts at levity were more than welcome. They helped ease the nerves that tangled themselves behind your ribs. A soft reassurance: he was still Mirage, after all. He always made the risk worth it.
You were preparing to hoist your body onto his lap when an unhurried servo assisted you, making the climb near effortless. His frame bore the entirety of your weight without a second thought. You were about to thank him, but the impact of his proximity stunned you into silence. He was composed of so many moving parts, flickering beneath the surface with that foreign energon glow. You’d never seen him so close, and certainly not from this angle before. And, for a moment, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do now that you were. The look you gave him probably mirrored that of an expectant doe – highbeams unsure and searching.
He spoke first: “So, I can’t take you out for dinner, but can I kiss you?”
The laugh that bubbled out of you bled into your answer: “Fucking dork. Yes.”
Mirage was smiling. And it was goofy and a bit crooked, but you loved it. You loved a lot about him, down to tiny things you’d been collecting for a long while now. The rev of his engine, the slight corniness he carried with him. His easygoing nature, and how the two of you bounced the most arbitrary conversations back and forth. The way he was never held in a still frame. How he let you pen your initials on one of his fake glovebox papers – your initials followed by a, ‘was here’ and a stupid emoticon. You didn’t remember when you’d started doing that, but you hadn’t stopped – filing your findings away only for the image of his face, alight with joy and mischief, to emerge in the evening as you folded laundry.
“Just one question, how exactly is that happening?” Not like you hadn’t imagined it in about a dozen different ways, but you weren’t about to admit that. Your arousal had essentially been a popup for him, and you weren’t fully recovered from that level of mortification yet.
He batted the air, like this was no big deal – an easy fix! “Don’t worry ‘bout it, I’ve got ya.”
With that, the ‘bot scooped you up and let you find your bearings over his chassis. Unrelated: your cheeks were burning. His servos hovered over your middle, letting you move freely, but were nonetheless present in the event you slipped. Straddling, you deduced, was easiest. His patience with you getting comfortable, however, must’ve been the last of his restraint. You’d barely registered how close he was, how warm, when he leaned in. He was slow. In any other context, you’d tease him about that fact. You could have stopped him, had your mind really changed. You didn’t.
He was gentle at first. Navigated with you until the kiss felt right. Despite being made of metal, his lips were warm and malleable. Fit against your mouth with a barely concealed hunger that surprised even him. Less plush than the humans you had experience with, but not bruising or painful. Just firmer. Steady. All you could think of was to touch him; resting your palm on his cheek, another hand landing on the junction between his neck and shoulder. He held you like he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream, like you’d evaporate into the heatwave under his touch. A servo skated across your back. Settled itself against your spine when he felt you shiver. He does produce saliva, you learned. Inoffensive in taste, and doing a number on the throbbing between your thighs.
You were testing waters pre-Mirage you would balk at. I’m not going to half-ass this. Any fears you’d reserved were met with that mantra. I’ve had literal fucking dreams about this.
Experimentally – seeking more – you flicked out your tongue, narrowly grazing his bottom lip. His engine purred. And, in response, you got what you were looking for. Something hot and much larger than your own reciprocated the motion. Your inhale was sharp. God, the size of him. It fueled countless fantasies then, and it was fueling the searing want in you now. And that was just his tongue. Thankfully, he seemed aware of himself. His glossa slid past your teeth, explored your mouth; eager, but was never shoved down far enough to gag you. The amount of spit you were producing, mixed with whatever lubricant he possessed, was borderline sinful. In any other circumstance, you would’ve curled up in abject shame at the quantity. Mirage, however, appeared more than happy to drink you down.
Time blurred as the two of you moved in tandem, becoming increasingly urgent. You felt digits squeeze around your thigh, attempt to hoist you inconceivably closer. The adjustment ripped nothing short of a whine out of you. Angled like this, through the thin material of your shorts, you could feel how your clit dragged across the hard ridges of his body with every minute shift. Fuck, did that pressure feel good. Without thinking, you ground into the sensation, chasing the sparks that lanced through your core with every roll of your hips.
Mirage was the first to pull away, and your tempo stuttered. “I see someone has a sweet spot,” he interjected, optics bright and full. They dropped to where you needed him most, the servo that laid on your upper thigh sliding imperceptibly inward. “Can I– shit,” he hissed, his critical thinking officially hitting an all time low, “what do you want, sweetheart?”
Your reply was immediate. “Touch me. Please.”
He nodded, and you could hear his increased airflow. “Just tell me what feels good,” the mech hummed, thumb prodding at the general area you’d been rubbing against his frame. You made diminutive alterations to your position, clumsily aligning your sex with his servo. His movements were accented with a small tremor, radiating all the way up his arm.
There was a climbing temperature gauge in his peripherals, one he couldn’t bring himself to care about because then he’d have to look away from you. Whatever was making your eyes flutter like that, he wanted more of it. Shit, he’d never felt such a high rocket through his systems – and he’d been involved in his fair share of high stakes.
“There– hah, right there,” you babbled, stilling as you sank into the pleasure. Making good on his promise, his thumb started to trace fast, tight circles over your swollen bud – eliciting a cry from deep in your throat. The way he looked at you… it was pure awe. Primus, you were a divinity he’d pledge his spark to, pour every fragment of his being into, again and again. His helm dipped, and, for a second, your mouth tried to follow his. Instead, you felt his lips brush against your neck, warm and sticky as he trailed messy kisses across his canvas. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire under his administrations, melting you to the spot. Even then, a hazy conclusion flared to life: the friction, although better, wasn’t enough.
Suddenly, your very breathable and scarce clothing felt very heavy and restrictive. Off. You needed them off. “Wait, uh, wait one second,” you managed to plead.
Mirage righted himself, optics cycling blearily – the mess he’d been making on your skin shining on his mouth. The wide expanse of his thumb, woefully, slipped from your clit. He swallowed. “Everything okay?” It was so tender, so innocent, you felt your heart swell.
“Better,” you assured. “Really good, actually. I just need out of, um, my clothes.”
“Oh,” his fans whirred with a new intensity. “Right. Y’know, you humans have a lot of steps for things.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for the bottom hem of your shirt. “That’s just not fair – you don’t even wear clothes.”
“The universe knew it would be a shame if I did. Besides, I’m still plenty modest.”
With a laugh and a quick snap of your wrists, you hefted the inverted fabric off of your torso with a flourish. A retort was teetering on the edge of your tongue – something about a bare chest and modesty – when you saw his face. For joking just a moment ago, there was no trace of humor left in his expression. Only unadulterated wonder.
“You are,” he sounded breathless and so painfully earnest, “so beautiful.”
The desire that gripped you was white-hot. Wordlessly, you removed the rest of your clothing with a newfound necessity, tossing the articles somewhere off to the side. Your shorts had only just landed when you scrambled for the cabling at the back of his neck, drawing him into you. He followed without protest. Together, you collided in a flurry of tongue and the lightest hint of teeth.
The heat outside had become the heat in here – scorching your skin as you let your hands unashamedly wander. Over his face, his pecs, the hidden places only your fingers could reach. Every noise you received only served to heighten your ambition. Excruciatingly, you felt his servo shift, swipe over your chest. Exposure blasted through you. Now, you could feel the tiny vibrations that thrummed through his chassis, his engine. Sweat was starting to gather wherever your two bodies met, naked flesh and metal, muddling with the slick that seeped from your core. The only time you’d been even remotely as wound up as this… it must’ve been the night of your interstellar wet dream. Isn’t that a milestone.
You were just about to surface for a breath when he broke away, a sort of strangled gasp leaving his voice synthesizer. “Sorry, sorry, I have to– fuck,” he bit out.
“Please do.”
“Oh, c’mon,” he half-laughed, strained. His vents sputtered. "Don't do that to me.” The low timbre of his voice had you clenching around nothing. Whatever that was, you wanted to do it again. After affirming that his systems weren’t short-circuiting, miraculously, he said, “Am I allowed to take off my clothes now?”
You stared at him.
“I’m only half joking,” he deadpanned. Then, a conspiratorial whisper, “Just don’t ask me which part of my body I’m undressing.”
Fending off the half-smile, you commented, “This feels like it could be a stripper thing.”
His brow ridges furrowed. “What’s a stripper?”
Oh. “Forget it.”
“Good, because I was seriously getting pent up there, sweetheart.”
You heard the familiar clicks and hums you’d associated with his transformation mechanisms, urging you to look down. Below you, Mirage gave the barest of sighs. Thin tendrils of steam rose from the opening like a damn sci-fi movie, the shift in his panelling revealing something prettier than any human counterpart. Bigger too. Sleek. Silver. Blue accents, like the markings his alt-form sported, ran down either side. It looked pliable, material more akin to the biomesh of his glossa than – say – his digits. And was that a curve? Subtle, unlike the rest of him. Fuck, it was like you could already feel it punching the air from your lungs.
He was trying not to squirm under your observations. Was it too different from what you wanted? Mirage also had enough sense to know, even if he wasn’t anything crazy on Cybertron, that his spike was far above average for any guys you’d be familiar with. Was this too much for you? “Different, huh?” Careful. Gauging your reaction.
You drank down a gulp of too-hot air before answering. “A good different,” you murmured. “You have no idea.”
It twitched. Holy. Shit.
His optics took you in; unapologetic in their path from your face, down to how your bare legs straddled him. The mech bit absentmindedly at his lip. “I have a pretty good guess.”
“Well,” you breathed, “my apologies for assuming.”
He grinned. “Forgiven.”
Now your patience was fraying. His adoration of you, how blatant he’d made it so far, plucked at the delicate strings of your heart. You felt like an impossibility, a beautiful illusion, a subject he was all too willing to learn. “Am I allowed to touch?”
A sharp in-vent. “Please.”
God, you were going to devour him.
With surprising ease, you lowered yourself down to his lap – the condensation that’d accumulated, and the sweat prickling at your skin, assisting your readjustment. Graceful? Maybe not, but it wasn’t like there was anything glamorous to compare it to. I mean, how often did people smash aliens over twice their size? You were trying your best!
There was a fluid beading from the tip, pink and mostly transparent. Exploratory, you reminded yourself. This is exploratory – like, basically judge free. I hope so, at least. Collecting some in your palm, your hand glided over the entirety of his length. Mirage gave you a muted sound of appreciation, optics falling shut. “That’s good.” His mouth fell open with a pant. You liked that. You liked that a lot. Emboldened, you wrapped your fingers around – so damn small in comparison – and stroked. “Ye–ah, that’s good.” His spinal strut arched. The power you felt? Immeasurable.
Every aspect of this subconscious fantasy had been assembled from mismatched parts of experience and guesswork. There had been a learning period, yes; one that consisted of drawing parallels between the terminology for your respective anatomies. It included a lot of Arcee explaining and even more of Mirage interrupting to be the ‘reference.’ Reproductive systems, however, had been notably left out of that lecture. So, while somewhat theorizing that ‘bots just didn’t have parts to jam together, you’d improvised. Yet, this… this was beyond your imagination. Dreams couldn’t even begin to compare to the reality of touching him like this.
But when dipped your head to get a taste, the puff of your exhale sending a jolt through his whole array, Mirage held you back.
It was hardly a servo on your shoulder – more like half a digit with how everything, except the area below his thumb, hovered – but it had enough strength in it to prevent your advance. It wouldn’t bruise, though. He was being too careful. Your confusion was met with that cerulean gaze of his.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he rasped, a ghost of a smirk on his face as his hips gave the barest of twitches. “I already know I’m not lasting with you–” his optics darted over your form, all kinds of disheveled just for him “–looking like, like that.” His glossa flicked out from between his lips. “So, to keep this from being too embarrassing for me,” a short, breathy laugh escaped his chassis, “can we just– hey, just c’mere.”
Before you were able to decide whether that was supposed to be an ego boost or not, Mirage was carrying you again. So, so gently. The mech handled you like porcelain, making sure every major part of you was amply supported. You thought– thought he was going to place you back on his chassis. But, as you ascended, you noticed how high up the ‘bot had really brought you. Past the broad expanse of his shoulders, too awkward for it to be meant for kissing.
You felt like someone who’d missed their bus stop. Looking down, you queried, “Uh, Mirage?”
He met your eyes with a tilt of his chin, looking as though you’d snapped him out of a daze. His fans were still working, seemingly growing in their effort with each passing second. “Yeah, sweetheart? Something wrong?”
No. Yes? A pinprick of heat was threading its way downward, meshing with the flame licking down your thighs. “No, I just– what are you doing?” Suddenly, as the words left your mouth, you were very aware of where this was going. Of what was about to be going in you.
His grin bordered on wicked. “Relax, sweetheart. You ride me all the time.”
“Not like– oh!” It was a sight you couldn’t look away from, his lips parting to lick a languid stripe over your sex, even as you wanted to throw your head back – cry out again. His glossa, guided seamlessly by his generous coating of lubricant and the natural wetness that had been pooling there, plunged deep into your needy cunt. God, did it feel good to tighten around something. You felt your eyes water, the sensation of being filled with just his tongue almost too blissful to bear.
Needing to do something, anything, with your limbs, you scrambled to find footholds – slots in his plating you could latch yourself onto. Your legs were feebly wrapped somewhere around the apex of his neck, fingers foolishly trying to pull him closer. To hold. Even as you knew Mirage wouldn’t let you fall, his servos still cradling you as though he didn’t have his glossa shoved between your legs.
He was making unintelligible noises, ones that simply couldn’t have been words. The ‘bot was in his glory. You tasted so different – like sweetness and salt and sex. He wondered how long it would linger in his mouth, if somehow your taste could intoxicate because he was certain he was getting dangerously close to that point – static straining across his voice synthesizer. And you. He wasn’t exaggerating before in the slightest, underselling if anything; Mirage had seen stars less magnificent than this – this radiant woman he’d been thrown under the mercy of. Because, though you were on the receiving end of things for now, he could’ve been made of putty beneath your touch for all he knew. Your loyal devotee. Would you still let him be, after your needs were met? He really hoped so – this was starting to feel like more than a favor. Fuck, who was he kidding? It’d always been more than that, and he damn well knew it.
That was something to dwell on later. For now, he started to rock your quivering form back and forth, gently dislodging the grip you had on him. He had you, he had you. Just relax. Fucking you with his mouth like this, lapping you down like a man starved, Mirage further tested the waters with the slightest curl of his glossa. You keened. Warbled at him not to stop. Primus. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to close his optics, lose himself in the feel and sound of you, or never look away.
Your clit bumped against his nose, a whimper rising out of you. There was a low pressure building in your lower abdomen, a tautness you so desperately wanted to snap. Needed. “Mirage,” holy shit, you sounded wrecked already, “I want to come, please. I need– fuck, please– I need more of that, ah!” He understood, listened as fast as you told him; pulled you down to the hilt, closed his mouth, and sucked. Right over your sensitive bud.
The stimulation, the stretch of being so damn full– you couldn’t take it. Maybe you cried out his name. Maybe he moaned against you in response, sending brilliant little vibrations through your hyperaware nerve endings. You weren’t sure anymore. Your vision blurred as your release washed over you in a tidal wave – swept up every rational thought into a euphoric storm – leaving you a sticky mess of shaking muscles and verbal nonsense.
Mirage kept working your dripping hole, though slower now, to drag out your orgasm just right. Revelled in how it shamelessly squeezed around his biomesh like a vice. The thought of that pressure somewhere else? His spike throbbed, hips bucking once – consumed by a search for stimulation he wasn’t getting. He could service himself right here, overload in record time. But that would mean letting go of you, trusting one servo to hold your body aloft, and – though he knew his components to be plenty capable – he just wasn’t risking that. He pressed his glossa to that tender spot he found you liked, trying to wring out one more of those tremors that racked your whole, soft, human body.
“Okay, okay, okay,” you sputtered, your head buzzing with a luscious glow as you tapped his helm. “Take me back down.” The mech obeyed, carefully sliding you off his tongue as his servos guided your tempered body lower. You looked up at him. “You are… weirdly good at that.”
He shrugged a mechanical shoulder, a stark contrast to the loud droning of his cooling units. His chin was shiny with you, and you found that you couldn’t look at it without your face heating. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. His glossa, however, darted out to lick some of it away. Oh. “I wouldn’t be much help if I weren’t.”
Ah, right. He was ‘helping.’ “God,” you groaned, slammed with a vivid awareness of everything you might not proudly reflect on tomorrow. “You sound so smug about it.”
“I don’t see you complaining.” Point made.
Curiously, you dropped your gaze, letting it land on his spike again. It drooled transfluid, twitching in sheer need. And the thought of what you could do with that was all too enticing. “Y’know, I don’t get any complaints either.”
A pause. “You sure, sweetheart?” Genuine, not painted in mockery or challenge.
You wanted him to know you meant it. “Yes,” accentuated with a nod.
With an acknowledging hum, he set you down in his lap. You were really, really doing this. Wasting no time, not when your body was finally yielding enough to be able to accommodate his size, you straddled him – maneuvered your molten core over his length. “I could– mmph,” his tip skimmed your entrance as you found something comfortable – warm, wet, and so agonizingly soft. “I could help you? Just tell me what you need.”
Finally settled, you lingered in the anticipation. “Give me a minute, I’ll start so you don’t break me.” It was a joke, delivered as such and intended that way, but his processor was well aware that was a very real possibility if he ever lost himself, forgot your human fragility. And he couldn’t hurt you. It just wasn’t an option, never had been. Especially now, during interfacing, when you were so vulnerable – had so much trust placed in him.
Slowly, you sunk down. He wasn’t just warm, he was nearly hot underneath. The head slid past your entrance with a pop and you nearly sobbed, the pitiful sound blurring with one of his. Thank god you’d finished once before trying this, the pleasant bonelessness of your body and the added slick of arousal and lubricant essentially necessary. It was too much and not enough – a delicious stretch and still so, so short of everything you’d been craving. Taking all of it was a feat you weren’t sure you were capable of, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to stuff yourself full regardless.
“You got room f’me in there, baby?” Mirage was forcing his frame to be painfully still. He wasn’t sure how far ‘start’ entailed, but he wasn’t doing shit until you asked. Despite that, he couldn’t help but whine at the feel of your silken walls taking more of him in. So fucking soft. Just tight, wet, and soft. In lieu of a response, you shifted back, allowing gravity to pull your weight farther downwards. Any flash of pain was quickly smoothed over by pleasure. Occasionally, you’d roll your hips, mewling as you tried acclimating. Well, as much as you could. You doubted you’d ever get fully used to pure size like this. “Yeah,” something like an awestruck moan escaped him; a labored, hoarse sound. The mech was mesmerized. You could feel him pulsing inside you. Fuck, could you come just from that? “You got room f’me in there.”
His servos were stationary at his sides, planted flat against the concrete flooring. Only spasmed every now and then, like he was restraining himself from reaching for you. You missed them. “You can, ah, you can touch, y’know.”
A whoosh of an ex-vent left him. Shit, could he put out more steam? At this rate, probably. Mirage busied himself – kneading the curve of your ass, roaming over your chest, brushing your cheek. Every graze of metal left a fire in its wake. “Thank Primus for whatever was getting you all hot and bothered, sweetheart, shit.”
Whatever..? Okay, maybe he didn’t know. Not entirely at least. EM fields must’ve been vague enough to be deniable, unattributable. You could work with that. Yeah.
You made a choked sound in the back of your throat at the last of your progress, pubic mound just short of his modesty plating. There must’ve been an inch or two you just couldn’t wiggle in, your body weakly protesting with an overwhelming sense of fullness. The mech below you sounded like a computer on the brink of bluescreening. Was he okay? Throwing your eyes upwards, you met optics blown wide with adoration – afraid of blinking. “So pretty,” he marveled, approaching pathetic with how his voice was shaking. Mirage said your name like it was the loveliest thing ever conceived. “Taking me so well.”
The praise left you glowing. Yet, as you finally tried moving, you found it to be clumsier than you’d like. Your legs wouldn’t stop trembling, straining with every bounce. And bounce was generous. Even fully extended, you weren’t getting enough friction. A unique problem, to say the least. Mirage seemed oblivious to it; his hold on you tightening, moans filling the garage. Regardless, you were growing frustrated, feeling laughable in your attempts. A different kind of flush stained your face. The speed and intensity you chased were out of your capabilities. “I can’t do it,” you near sobbed, tears threatening to spill from the futility, stimulated too much and too little. You felt blood rush up your neck at the admission. “Need you to do it for me– just move. Please.”
A chirrup of his fans. A part of his processor still couldn’t believe this was happening at all, let alone what you were asking of him now. But he said he’d satisfy you, and you’d actually allowed him to try. That was the only thing he could bring himself to care about. “You– oh, shit. You want a certain pace, sweetheart?”
Making a decision seemed like an impossible task in your state. You just craved something. Anything more than you were currently getting. “Ah, your choice. You won’t hurt me, Mirage. I know you won’t.”
The mech nodded, a latent affection simmering in his optics. Your muscles loosened, letting him take over, as he altered his grasp on your malleable little body.
“And Mirage?” Dangerous, you knew.
He watched, waited.
“I want you to fit all of it.”
Steam left his vents. And he did what you wanted. His servos held your waist, one thumb petting your stomach while the other occupied itself over your clit – right before sinking you down and rolling his hips, sliding the last of his spike home. Both of you cried out in unison. Mirage ground your sexes together; savoring, colliding with that gooey spot inside. He hoped to Primus he didn’t overload too soon, as tempting as the notion was. Not that he’d be opposed to you being the one to draw it out of him. Then, before you could get impatient, he started to push up as he pulled you down, holding contact with all your most sensitive parts. Stars exploded across your vision. Again, you were reminded of the ‘bot’s strength, the rate of his thrusts quickening. There it was – the stretch, the rhythm, the pleasure you were looking for. You weren’t lasting like this, and you doubted his overworked frame was either. More, more, more. Almost there.
One thrust was particularly deep, ripping a yelp from your lungs. You felt him making changes to the angle, trying to replicate exactly what he’d heard you respond to again and again. “That’s it, pretty,” he panted, sounding drunk and deliciously uncontrolled. And his composure slipped. Just a bit. “Only I can make you feel like this, yeah? Nobody else, not whoever was– fuck– wasn’t taking care of you properly.”
He still didn’t get it, did he? You wanted to correct him. Over your pride. Over whatever dignity you clung to. The confession left you in a mindless stream: “Mirage, how I’ve been is– ah, hah– is because of you.” His rhythm grew sloppy, his pace slowed; you knew he was listening. You kept going. “It was like a damn switch, I– oh, fuck. Just couldn’t look at you without thinking about exactly this.”
He stopped. You didn’t want him to stop.
Profanities filled your mind. That was a mistake. He thinks this was a mistake. I’m too involved, I’m too– Frantically, a wave of awareness drenching you, you tried to explain: “I’m sorry, I didn’t– I wasn’t–”
He cut you off.
Cupping your ass for support, Mirage stood and lifted you – still speared on his spike – with supernatural ease. He turned, pressed your back against the wall; wood and ribbed metal sheets. The new surface was cool to the touch, a relief for your burning exterior even as the air left your lungs in a gasp. Unthinking, your legs repositioned themselves, trying to wrap around him. For support or proximity, you weren’t sure. Blue and silver filled your vision. He was all you could see, all you wanted to see. With renewed clarity, he stammered, “No, wha– you should’ve said something sooner, I– fuck, sweetheart,” he dropped the front of his helm to the wall. An ironic little smile teased his lips. “I would’ve given you whatever you wanted.”
A moment for you to take that in. For the anxiety to dispel itself with every exhale. “Whatever I wanted?” It left you in a rush.
“Yes,” he gritted out, and – fuck – did it sound desperate. His glossa practically dripped with it. As if he weren’t already buried inside you. “Anything.”
“Then just help me– fuck me, please.” And he was yours.
If you thought his thrusts were powerful before, they were borderline brutal now. Repetitive snaps of hips slammed into you, dragging along your walls and hammering back in – the tip pressed incessantly to that spot. You were babbling incoherencies, face torqued up in pleasure. Tears spilled from your eyes. A digit found your clit again – the motions unpractised, but determined. Anything you’d wanted, dreamed of, he gave. And it was so fucking good. He really was going to ruin you for anything or anyone else. You didn’t mind that.
The salacious sound of metal against skin, the slick noise of your cunt sucking him in, muddled with the obscene sounds the two of you spouted. His servos held you just a bit too tight. Your hands clamored for somewhere to hold onto; landed on his wrists, his servos. You looked down. You watched him disappear into you, over and over. All you could do was cry out and take it as his hips pistoned mercilessly into yours.
“Oh, you like that?” He rasped against your skin, hissing as you clamped down – his voice so close to your ear. Your mind was a haze. An unorganized haze of Mirage, Mirage, Mirage. Your field had been driving him crazy, and now? It sent jolts of utter pleasure straight to his spike. “Yeah,” he laughed humorlessly, letting loose a broken noise of his own, “yeah, you do.”
You did. Maybe concerningly so. And you were unraveling fast. “Mir–age,” you garbled, his designation breaking in the middle. It was an effort to speak, to think, but – for some reason – you just needed to tell him. That coil was reaching its limit, and you were hurdling towards a peak incomparable to anything you’d ever leapt from. “Please, I’m so close, I’m gonna– oh my fuck!”
His pace became frenzied, the circles he was rubbing between your thighs inexplicably tighter and faster. He needed you to come before he did – before he crumpled like a tin can, before he fucking lost it. He groaned, slurred praises falling from his lips with no small amount of reverence. You were an altar he’d worship in the early mornings, the fluidity of midday, the intangible parts of the night. Under this quaint planet’s waning moon and the blazing sun that sustained it. He wanted you to be his, and for his entire being – his spark, his body, every processor he possessed – to belong to you. His hips stuttered. For fuck’s sake, you weren’t just friends. You never were.
You let your head fall back. Nothing existed to you except the pump of his spike, the digit on your clit, the sweet nothings in your ear– and you came undone. Beautifully, wholly undone. It was like lightning cracking through your veins; a full bodied, whirling inferno that left everything rearranged and smoldering. Though your head was fuzzy and quiet, heart drumming rapidly against your ribs, you were anything but – writhing with every continued movement, sobbing a blend of his name and breathless exaltations. Mirage was your only tether, the only cohesion you had. He kept giving and you kept taking. Or maybe it was the other way around. Your other senses were too dull to differentiate.
And Mirage– fuck, he felt like his engine was on the brink of exploding. His fans were at their maximum and his internals were still way too hot, your syrupy moans clouding his processor with need. Subconsciously, he’d already decided that he would only stop for one thing: your word. He needed to see that blissed out expression on your face a little longer, to know your body was being rampaged by the same feral gratification as his. The mech couldn’t bring himself to care about anyone or anything else. The way your pretty little cunt squeezed him? Lethal.
His overload was unlike any thrill, any ecstasy he’d ever experienced. Mirage screwed his optics shut against the white, the blur – the tremble that’d seized his limbs since you climbed on him turning into a violent shudder. He moved mindlessly, riding out his high along with prolonging yours. The noises he made were downright filthy. Just shattered cries of pleasure, undulating into whimpers he didn’t think his synthesizer capable of. Transfluid poured into you, only to seep out with every uneven jerk of his hips – coating your thighs and a decent patch of the concrete below. He was half-sure his knees would buckle, that’s how bad you made him.
You tensed against the grinding, your nerves abused and raw. All you could manage was a series of faint whines in reply. If you could feel so much now, you weren’t sure you were looking forward to tomorrow’s consequences. Not that you’d regret it. No. Together, your sounds softened, the taste of them persisting like honey in your mouths. And, after what felt like an eternity, consciousness trickled back in. The aftershocks left you feeling weightless, drifting on light waves of satisfied endorphins. Mirage stilled, his whole body sighing.
Wordlessly, he sank back down, cradling you carefully to his frame. He murmured a soft apology when he jostled you, sensitivity lancing through your delicate form. Pointedly, he avoided the newly-formed, sticky, pink puddle. The ‘bot settled in a position he hoped was comfortable for you, stroking your back. He was still shaking. You curled into his chassis instinctively, relishing in the idiosyncrasies of him. His spike – still sheathed inside – was depressurizing slowly, twitching every now and then. Alas, you couldn’t keep it. With a hiss, he pulled you up and off with a sloppy pop, suddenly agreeing with your mumble of protest. You’d been so snug and warm. Now, your hole spasmed around nothing. Shit.
“Can’t even fucking stand,” he mumbled finally, drawing a laugh out of you.
“I’m not even gonna try.”
“Glad we’re mutual on that.” He mulled something over, watching you with curiosity and a great sum of tenderness. “Satisfied, sweetheart?” You nodded lazily, not trusting your voice. He chuckled, low and content. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You were perfect.”
“Thank you,” you croaked. Your voice was wrecked, body spent. You’d been in better shape, sure, but you’d trade it all again for the contentment that thrummed through you.
The garage was quiet again, smelling of sex and probably a couple degrees hotter despite the air conditioning’s protest. It was peaceful – only disrupted by your breathing, the whir of Mirage’s cooling fans as they winded down. They were dripping condensation. You almost felt bad. Almost.
“Think Noah will be back anytime soon?” He asked.
You thought for a moment. At first, you hadn’t even registered what he was referring to, and had to remind yourself why Noah was relevant to your situation. What time was it? Did it matter? You landed on, “I hope not.”
“I’m telling him that.” But, secretly, he hoped to keep you a little bit longer, too.
Content/warnings: Human/transformer, transformer/transformer, Galvatron. Reader is largely afab written but I did add/mention alternate genital read scenarios for a few characters. Crying, inappropriate times/places to be fucking, primal/fear play.
-Thigh man. In every sense. Have you seen him? Good lord. He loves when you fuck yourself against his thigh, and 100% makes you do so either in front of his troops- Or Unicron's decapitated head. To add insult to injury, he seems to have a thing for insulting and humiliating you for his own pleasure, and as a result he's completely insufferable.
Mirage //
•Valve/pussy eating KING. And.. An evil tease. Genuine worst on the planet who you want to- and should- wallop over rather helm. He'll make eye contact the entire time, smiling against your skin with an idiot all while holding you down by the hips and forcing you still so you have to rely on what he's willing to give. Mirage isn't all that different when he's sucking off a spike, though- Lazy pumps of the wrist and slow, easy smirks that tell you he knows everything, no matter how hard you try to avoid appealing to his ego.
Rodimus //
•His favorite thing in the whole wide galaxy? Spikewarming. Being ridden. Anything where he can sit back and, if you want or need it, let him take the lead. He likes to claim sitting on his spike while he works helps him focus, but if you were to read of his throwaway report drafts, it'd be a bunch of gibberish and keyspams. He usually breaks after a few minutes and just winds up fragging you on his desk, but being able to relax while he can is something he loves and always appreciates being able to do with you regardless.
Starscream //
-His wings are extremely sensitive, but you can't help reaching up and grabbing or pulling on them when he's giving you the spiking down of a lifetime. And every time you do, he pauses- Hip struts stuttering and vent catching in his intake as he shutters before getting right back to it- If only a little shakier and more vocal than before, but trying to hide it in your neck.
-Pretty valve. Always wet with transfluid when you pay attention to him, even before your hands are on his frame. He'll deny it ‘til the day he offlines, though.
Jetfire //
•Dacryphilia. It's not because of any hidden sadistic tendencies or reason, but because of the vulnerability of it- Crying during sex for one reason or another; You being emotional, feeling safe with him- Always gentle and tenderly wipes away your tears with his thumb before pressing a kiss to your lips and your forehead. Best aftercare out of this list.
Dinobot //
•There's no content for his fans on this hellsite, so I've decided it's up to me to provide. The picture of primal play. Did you think I'd say literally anything else? The mech wants to chase and hunt you down in the forest, tear your strange organic coverings off you, and frag you until the sun rises. What else can I say? It ticks all of his boxes in one go- He always wins, it feels good for the both of you, and Dinobot gets to satisfy his urge to hunt, as well as test himself in his own way.
